When Johnny Came Marching Home by William Heffernan

the rest of him it looked hard as a rock. He was wearing a straw hat, which I knew had little hair beneath it, and a full beard flecked with gray that covered most of his round face. His blue eyes always seemed to have a smile in them, and I'd always thought of the man as one of the happiest people in the town.
    "Well, sir," I began, "I was talking to Doc the other day and he told me you'd had a man by here asking after Johnny Harris."
    "Sure enough did. Said his name was Bobby Suggs. I 'membered it, cause it sounded strange ta me. Suggs, that is. Don't have no people named Suggs up hereabouts. Least none I ever heard of. Said he was from Pennsylvania, an' that he fought with you boys in the war. Even mentioned ya by name, Jubal."
    "I remember Suggs," I said. "He was more Johnny's friend than mine."
    "Well, he sounded real anxious ta meet up with Johnny agin. Said he'd had a devil of a time findin' this here town. Din' like the way he said that, kind of smart, ya know, so I din' offer him no help findin' young Johnny. Then when I heard 'bout Johnny gettin' kilt I thought I better pass the information on."
    "Did this Suggs say where he was staying?" I asked.
    "No, never did. I got the idea he might be stayin' up ta Richmond, but not because he tol' me that. He did axe if there was any work hereabouts. I tol' him ta try some of the other dairy farms, maybe the sawmill, and some a the loggin' camps. Said he'd do that; then he left."
    I thanked him and asked that he let me know if Suggs came back, and after some neighborly gossip my father and I started out for home.
    "I'm headed up ta Richmond tomorra," my father said as we rode back toward town. "Got some more tax money ta deposit in the town account. While I'm there I'll check fer any strangers stayin' in any of the roomin' houses. Meantime, why don't ya ride out ta the local farms, the sawmill, an' the logging camps?"
    "I'll start with the sawmill as soon as we get back to town, then I'll set up a route that'll take me by all the farms and camps. Should be able to do it in a day, a day and a half."
    My father nodded agreement. "You'll be earnin' yer money an' more this week," he said.
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    The sawmill manager, Jesse Barton, told me that a man named Suggs had indeed been by looking for work, but there had been none he could offer him. "I tol' him ta try some a the local loggin' camps an' gave him directions on how he might find 'em. Did the same fer some a the bigger farms who take on workers from time ta time."
    Barton was a short, stocky man with a face that was deeply weathered from years of working out in the open. He had a gruff manner about him, but my father claimed he had the softest heart in town. He ran a hand through steely gray hair, and thoughtfully rubbed an equally gray beard. "Ya know, Jubal, there was somethin' 'bout that fella I jus' din' like. Kind of a shifty sort, he was. Scraggly beard, battered old Union cap, and all the time actin' like he was owed sumthin'."
    "Did he ask you about Johnny Harris?"
    "Oh, he was here a good week afore we lost poor Johnny," he said. "If that's whatcha was thinkin'. But no, he din' ask me nothin' 'bout nobody in particular."
    That told me one thing: Suggs had probably already located Johnny by then. I thanked Jesse, and decided I'd try the store to see if Suggs had stopped by there.
    Rebecca was behind the counter when I got there and it gave me a rush of pleasure to see her look up at me and smile.
    "Hello, Jubal, I was hoping I'd see you today."
    "Why was that?" I asked, thinking she had something specific in mind.
    "I always hope I'll see you. Certainly you know that."
    Her words added to my pleasure but left me floundering for a response. "You're very kind to say so," I said weakly. I shifted my weight and hurried on. "I'm trying to track the movements of a stranger who came to town about a week ago. His name is Suggs, Bobby Suggs. He's a tall, lanky fellow about my age, has a scruffy beard, and was