Raft of Stars by Andrew Graff (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

cold tuna sounded good. Cal let himself down from his horse, yanked his boot from the stirrup.

“We’re making good time,” said Ted, loosening his saddlebags.

“How close are we to the gorge?”

“We’ve covered maybe thirty miles. I figure we can make another forty before nightfall. More if we push ’em,” he said, nodding to the horses. “If we have to.” Ted reached into the saddlebag and pulled out a map. Cal looked around the meadow. He noticed a few bald spots in the grass, weathered slabs of granite emerging from the earth and soaking up the sun. The closest slab was twenty feet wide, its cracks sprouting lichen and moss. An ancient-looking apple tree grew near its edge. Teddy crouched on the rock and unfolded the map. Cal joined him, wondered at the apple tree, how it got there. He walked to it and ran his hand against its scaly trunk.

“That radio in your saddlebag been making any noise, Teddy?” Cal asked. During the ride, Cal had spent about five minutes second-guessing his decision to follow the older man again. Maybe it would have been better to hustle back to town, call in reinforcements to meet at the gorge. But the boys were so close, and Teddy seemed confident they could beat them to the falls. And besides, surely the boys would see the gorge, or hear it, and get out of the river. Cal was committed to Teddy’s course.

Teddy shook his head. “We’re too far from town.” He pointed to a place on the map where the river bent its way through a blank green patch encompassing half the county. “By my reckoning, we’re within a mile of this bend.” He slid his finger north along the river for an inch or two. It wound to the northwest before spilling into the plains and lakes of Ironsford, where the map turned tan. “The gorge is here, before the town.” Teddy stared at the map, then lifted his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.

“You all right, Teddy?”

“I’m fine. Need some coffee is all.”

“You sleep since we left town?”

“No.”

Cal bit his tongue and shook his head. He admired the man. Teddy had the kind of grit Cal knew he did not possess, which was why Cal also knew he needed to seriously rethink this sheriff business. Maybe growing vegetables was more his speed. Corn farming, maybe. He pictured himself on a tractor, digging furrows through a field. Back and forth, the dirt overturned, the world turning around. Cal liked that image of himself riding a tractor. It felt peaceful like the forest felt peaceful. Lonely and quiet and good-smelling.

“If we keep at it, we should make the gorge a little before the boys do.” Teddy tapped his finger on a line in the map, nodded to himself as if making a decision. “Or,” he said.

“Or what?”

“I’ve been thinking how if we left the river entirely, we could travel along an old logging road that runs through here.”

Cal studied the map.

“There’s no road there.”

“It’s there. I drove skidder for the guy who logged it. About eight or nine years ago, but it’s there, and it’s long and it’s straight.”

“If we leave the river, we also leave our chance of spotting the boys.”

“We’ve been weaving in and out pretty regularly. There’s a good chance we’d miss them anyway, if we haven’t already. We know where they’re headed, and if we take the logging cut, we can make a beeline for about twenty miles, then cut back in. That should do it.”

“You’re the boss, Teddy.”

Teddy looked at him. There was immense exhaustion in the older man’s eyes, but there was fire there too. The old rancher had reserves. Cal knew that Teddy had served in Korea but used to have a hard time picturing it. He could see it now, though—a younger Ted with those same gray-blue eyes, humping a pack along some steep Korean hillside, a pouch of Red Man tucked in his helmet band, pure severity.

Ted looked back at the map.

“I’m lost out here, Ted. I mean it. Just tell me what to do.”

Ted nodded, softened a moment. “You could get us a fire going,” he said quietly. “I’m going to water the horses. I’ll get some water for coffee too.” Ted rubbed his eyes again.

Cal swallowed at the prospect of having to try to make a fire again. “Teddy, how about you hang back and make the fire and rest up. I don’t mind walking the horses down and fetching water.”

Teddy was already on his feet, however, unbuckling packs from the horses. “I’ll water ’em,” he said, dropping a heavy saddlebag onto the bedrock. “You don’t know how much to let them drink.”

Cal nodded, pushed out his lip, feigned confidence. The slab of bedrock nearest the apple tree was littered with dry sticks of various sizes. The lichen and moss, some of which looked dead and dry, seemed like it would make decent tinder.

“No problem,” he lied.

While Teddy continued to unburden the horses, Cal set to work assembling a small tepee of twigs and sticks atop a nest of moss and lichen. He then rummaged in his pack for the flint and striker. He knew right where they were, but didn’t want to take them out. He felt self-conscious about using them in front of Teddy.

“Need a hand?” Teddy stood behind him, holding the reins of the horses in one hand and a tin pot in the other.

“Nope. Got it,” said Cal. He pulled the flint and striker from the bag and gave them a happy practice spark in the air. “Got my old flint here,” Cal said, standing up. “I’ll have it going.”

Ted looked at the tepee and frowned. “Hang on,” he said, and started to move toward the tinder and saddlebags. Cal winced at the thought that Ted found fault with his tinder pile, and was going to fix it for him like a father would fix a boy’s necktie. But Cal surprised himself and accepted the idea.