Witemeyer - No Other Will Do

W INTER 1882
C OOKE C OUNTY , T EXAS

Malachi Shaw made the arduous climb back into consciousness with great effort. But everything Mal had accomplished so far in his thirteen years of life had required great effort. Not that he had achieved anything worth bragging about. Orphaned. Starving. And... cold.

Thats what his senses picked up first. The cold. And not just the huddling-under-the-saloon-stairs-in-a-too-thin-coat-during-a-blue-norther kind of cold. No. This was a cold so harsh it burned. Which made exactly zero sense.

With a groan, Mal lifted his head and tried to draw his arms beneath him to push himself up. Thats when the rest of the pain hit. His shoulder throbbed, his ribs ached, and his head felt as if it had collided with a train. Oh, thats right. It had.

Memories swirled through his mind as he slowly crawled out of the snowdrift that must have broken his fall. Hed hopped the train, just as hed done a half dozen times over the month since his drunk of a father finally got himself killedrun over by a wagon while trying to cross the street. The old man hadnt been good for much, leaving Mal to scrounge for food in garbage bins while he spent whatever coins he managed to earn at the card tables on whiskey. But at least hed kept a roof over their headsa run-down, leaky roof supported by slanted, rickety walls that couldnt even hold the wind out, but a roof nonetheless.

The morning after theyd laid his father in the ground, the lady who owned the shack kicked Mal out on his ear. Barely gave him time to gather his one pathetic sack of belongings. A sack, Mal discovered as he frantically searched the area around him, that was nowhere to be found.

No! He slammed his fist into the frozen earth near his hip, then slumped forward.

What had he expected? That God would suddenly remember he existed and lift a finger to help him? Ha! Not likely. The Big Man had never cared a fig for him before. Why start now? Much better to sit back in heaven and get a good laugh watching poor Malachi Shaw fumble around. Taking his ma so early, Mal couldnt even remember what she looked like. Giving him a father who cared more about his next drink than his own flesh and blood. Then even taking that much from him. Leaving him alone. No home. No one willing to give him work. Leaving him no option but to ride the rails, looking for some place, any place, that would give him a fair shake.

And what had that gotten him? A run-in with a gang of boxcar riders who hadnt appreciated him infringing on their territory. Mal reached up to rub the painful knot on his forehead. Thered been four of them. All twice his size. Each taking his turn. Until the last fella slammed Mals head against the steel doorframe.

Malachi didnt remember anything after that. Obviously, theyd thrown him off. He could barely make out the tracks at the top of the long embankment. It was too bad God hadnt just let him break his neck in the fall. But then, where would be the fun in that?

Gotta keep the entertainment around, dontcha? He scowled up at the gray sky that would soon be deepening to black. Wouldnt want you and the angels gettin bored up there.

Mal brushed the snow from his hair and arms with jerky movements and pushed to his feet. He beat at his pants, dusting the snow from the front and back as he ground his teeth. His fingers burned as if someone were holding them to a flame. His ears and nose stung, as well. He couldnt feel his feet at all. Not good.

He stomped a few steps until most of the white had fallen away from the laces of his boots. Cupping his hands near his mouth, he huffed warm air into them. Not that it helped much. The only thing that would keep him from turning into a boy-sized icicle was shelter. And a fire. And a coat. The thick flannel shirt hed gotten from the poor box at the church did little to cut the wind. And now that it was wet from the snow, it chilled him more than protected him.

At least there werent any holes in his shoe leather. The soles were thin but solid. If he were to count his blessings, like the preacher whod given him the clothes advised, hed at least have one. Better than nothin, he supposed.

If only those fellas had left him his sack. No sack meant no food, no dry clothes, no flint for a fire.

Quit your whining, Mal, he muttered to himself. Groanin wont fill yer belly. If ya wanna get warm, do somethin about it.

Straightening his shoulders, Malachi lifted his head and scanned the landscape, looking for any hint of a building in the area. A barn with animals heating the air would be best. But there was nothing. Nothing but snow-dusted prairie grass with a few random post oaks sticking their heads up every now and again.

Whatd he expect? For a closed carriage to show up with one of them fancy drivers whod call him sir and ask him where hed like to go?

Take me to the nearest barn, my good man, Malachi imagined saying. And dont spare the horses.

With a snort, Mal flipped up the collar of his shirt, stuffed his stinging hands in his pockets, and started trudging east. Gainesville shouldnt be too far away. Thats where hed been when he got the brilliant idea to hitch a ride in the third boxcar from the end. Not his best decision. But the fellas already occupying the car had jumped on him pretty fast. The train couldnt have traveled too many miles from town before hed been tossed. Surely thered be a farm or ranch nearby with a barn he could hunker down in for a night or two. All he had to do was find it before full dark hit.