Bringing Ezra Back by Cynthia DeFelice

Trasks were lying. They only want Ezra to stay so’s he can make more money for them. It was plain as the nose on your face!”
    Beckwith’s expression grew troubled. “Well, if all that’s so, what makes you think they’re going to let you just walk away with him?”
    â€œI reckon they have to let a free man do what he wants,” I said.
    â€œMaybe so,” Beckwith said. “But what about that rifle you had pointed in your face?”
    â€œThey’re not going to shoot me in front of a bunch of people who came to see the show. Besides which, you’ll be there, too, as a—a what do you call it?”
    â€œA witness?” Beckwith said uneasily.
    â€œThat’s it! They won’t dare to pull any funny business. Then we’ll head on out of there with Ezra.”
    In my mind the whole thing had already happened, just the way I’d described it. I was so happy imagining Ezra heading with me toward home I guess I didn’t notice right at first that Beckwith was backing away from me like I had the pox.
    â€œThere ain’t no we about it, Nathan,” he said in a flat voice. “You’ve got the wrong fellow. I never signed on to be a witness, or a hero, or to be mixed up in this White Injun affair at all.”
    I stared at him as he held up his hands, palms out, almost like he was pushing me away.
    â€œI’m just a businessman trying to make my way through this world, Nathan, and get me a stake of money. I don’t need any riled-up, rifle-toting showman chasing after me. So you go on. And don’t come running back here if you get yourself in a pickle tonight.” He paused, then added, “I told your pa I’d help you find your friend, and I did, didn’t I? So here’s where you and I part company. I hope you got no hard feelings about it.”
    I shouldn’t have been surprised, or disappointed, either. And after a minute or two, I wasn’t. Beckwith was only stating the truth of how it was. I was beginning to see that here in the wide world outside our farm, money was real important. To some folks, like Beckwith and Trask, it seemed more important than just about anything.
    I shouldered my pack. “I hope you get your stake,” I said. “And don’t worry. I won’t be back, whether Trask’s on my tail or not.”
    â€œI thank you for that,” Beckwith said. “Now, you hold on to what’s left of that half eagle.” He gave me his foxy grin and added, “When I get out to your place next time, I’ll sell your father them spectacles and get it back. Don’t you worry. I’ll give him a good price.”
    I might have laughed if I hadn’t been thinking so hard on Ezra. “Well, I reckon I’ll see you come spring,” I said.
    â€œYou will,” he answered. Then he added, “Unless I make my fortune by then, in which event I’ll put down this confounded pack for good and never lift anything heavier than a crystal goblet.”
    I had to smile at that picture. And, strange as it seemed, I was glad to think I’d see Beckwith again. He was surely right when he said he was no hero. But he’d never pretended he was, either.
    â€œIn the meantime, I wish you safe travels, young Nathan.”
    He put out his hand, and I shook it. “The same to you,” I said. I meant it. Then I turned to leave, my thoughts already moving ahead.
    I had a couple of hours before the show began, and I had to decide what to do next. I considered heading to the center of town to ask at a tavern if I could fiddle for a meal. But I decided instead to find a place to sit and settle my mind.
    When I discovered an old, overturned hay cart that had been abandoned on the bank of a creek headed to the river, I put my pack underneath. From the look of it, the cart had been there for a while. The wheels had fallen off or been taken by somebody, and the wood was rotted. It was