The Cowboy Who Saved Christmas - Jodi Thomas Page 0,76
your horses settled first.”
“I’m Whitt Newcombe.” He pointed to the boys who were staring at Clint’s large black horse. “These are my boys, Bo and Boone.”
Clint extended his hand. “Clint Mitchum.” He glanced down at the boys. “Nice to make your acquaintance, boys.”
One boy looked up at Clint and said, “You got a big horse.”
Clint chuckled. “Yep, he’s a big one.”
“What’s their names?”
“The black is Reb, and that buckskin is Champ.”
The same boy pointed to their horses. “That one is Sugar, and the gray is Britches.”
Clint smiled at the names they’d given their horses. “Those are fine names.” He noticed they didn’t have much in the way of provisions, but their horses were well-tended. He opened his sack of grain and offered it to the boys. “Give Sugar and Britches some of this grain.”
After the horses were settled, they walked back to the fire, where Clint pulled out some food for a meal. Once he’d tossed fresh coffee beans in the pot along with more water, he opened the cans of beans and emptied them in a pan. In another pan, he warmed the bacon and biscuits he had for dinner the prior night.
Clint saw the boys eyeing the food. “It’s not fancy, but we’ll make do.”
“We’re thankful. It’s more than we’ve had recently,” Whitt replied.
“Where are you headed?” Clint asked.
“To a spot on the Llano River, a place called Honey Creek. We’re going to try our hand at panning for gold. A lot of folks from La Grange are headed there, hoping to change their luck. Did you hear about the yellow fever hitting our town and towns to the south?”
Before Clint responded, one of the boys spoke up. “Our ma died of the fever.”
Clint eyed the boys, thinking they were about six or seven years of age. Too young to have lost their mother. Here he was, a full-grown man, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing his ma. The sadness in their big brown eyes told Clint they had already experienced too much sorrow in their short lives. “I’m real sorry to hear that.”
“Just about everyone who hasn’t caught the fever has left town. Where are you headed?” Whitt asked.
“La Grange.”
Whitt looked at him with concern in his eyes. “You don’t want to go there, Clint. They say a peddler brought that disease to town. Too many folks are dying there.”
“I’ve heard, but my mother is there,” Clint answered soberly.
Whitt realized Clint had said his last name was Mitchum. “Your ma is Ingrid Mitchum?”
Clint nodded.
Whitt dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I heard she was real sick. But we left town before . . . well, I don’t rightly know how she fared.”
Trying to ignore the feeling that his heart was being squeezed inside his chest, Clint said, “A lady by the name of Amelia was caring for her.”
“It’s a blessing she had someone to look after her. After my wife died, we left town. I didn’t want to wait for my boys to get sick. I even heard Doc Sims was ill by the time we left. It’s so bad, they were burying folks in mass graves.” Whitt shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. “It was a bustling town, but now the businesses have closed up. There was no way for us to survive. We had nothing left except for a couple of cows.”
“We don’t have much food. Pa shot a rabbit and we ate that yesterday,” one of the boys added.
Clint didn’t know if it was Bo or Boone talking. “Times are hard.” Looking at their small faces, Clint thought they shouldn’t even know what that phrase meant. Another worthless expression when an adult could offer no explanation for what they couldn’t control. He didn’t like that helpless feeling—he never did.
“We really appreciate sharing your meal,” Whitt said. “I’m a pretty good shot, but you have to see game to shoot it.”
“I can give you some provisions that should last until you get to Honey Creek. I’ll be in La Grange in a few days, and I have more than I need.” Seeing the beans were steaming, Clint loaded the tin plates and passed them around.
“That’s good of you to offer your food, but I have nothing to pay you in return. I wish you would turn around and go with us. Your ma wouldn’t want you to go there knowing the risk.”
“I need to go, and the provisions are a gift. I want nothing in return.” Clint