Two days later, it was early in the morning when Henry made his way over to a log cabin on the south end of Hester. Behind the cabin, he noticed a field with rows of corn and a disheveled scarecrow attached to a cross-shaped post.

Henry had a plan now. He'd had a couple nights to think about it. He wasn't going to allow himself to wallow. He had a family to take care of, and it was important that he pick himself up and start taking responsibility for his family's future.

Henry knocked on the cabin door.

A moment later, Dale appeared, and he still looked half-asleep, wearing a long white nightshirt and a floppy nightcap.

Henry suppressed a giggle, and Dale must have noticed.

He shot back an annoyed look. "What? You never saw someone in night clothes before."

Henry turned serious. "Hey, I know it's early, but I could sure use your help."

Dale sighed as if he understood and opened the door further. "Come on in."

Once inside, Henry stared around in amazement, surrounded by logged walls that looked like they'd been dipped in bronze. He stood in the living room, a huge space with two rustic couches on each side of a coffee table made from a natural wood slab.

"This looks more like a hunting lodge," Henry said, and he wasn't kidding. Two massive deer heads stared back at him from opposite walls. He noticed a gun rack, and it held ten rifles with large scopes. Four bows and two crossbows dangled on hooks next to a stone fireplace. "What's Mr. Bell paying you? You must have spent a fortune on this place."

"Not at all." Dale waved his hand, gesturing for Henry to sit.

Henry took a spot on the end of the couch beside him.

"I built this cabin myself," Dale said before plopping into a chair. He removed his nightcap and tossed it onto the coffee table. Then he grinned, his hair resembling an untamed bush.

Henry crinkled his brow in disbelief. "Where'd you learn how to build a place like this?"

"After high school," Dale said, "I spent a couple years working for a builder in New York. Saved up some money for school."

"College?" Henry said, curious.

Dale nodded. "Syracuse University. I played ball there, but I also got a degree in agriculture. After graduation, I moved to Hester and got a farming grant for ten acres. So I built this homestead. Started a small farm with corn, wheat, and soybeans. I hunt for meat – deer, turkey, rabbit. The land has everything I need to be self-sufficient."

Henry remained silent. He'd come here with an important question, but he didn't want to overshadow the fact that Dale had just opened up to him. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen between a white person and a colored. Then again, Dale wasn't like the other whites.

Dale broke the silence. "Listen, I heard about what happened the other day. How are you doing?" His expression looked as glum as Henry felt.

"Okay, given the circumstances. I keep telling myself, maybe it's for the best."

Dale shook his head. "No way! Both you and Willy made the Pioneers better than we ever were before. A bunch of us tried talking to Mr. Bell, including Jake, but we couldn't get him to change his mind."

Henry couldn't believe Jake had stood up for him. For the first time, he wished he could thank the Cowboy. Changing his way of thinking couldn't have been easy.

"Thanks for trying," Henry said, "Tell everyone I appreciate their efforts. But I got to put all that behind me now. Sarah's pregnant, and I need to find a job pretty quick."

"Pregnant?!" Dale's eyes lit up and a huge smile broke across his face. "Well, I'm happier than a hound chewing on a big ol' bone. Congratulations, Henry!"

Henry responded with a smile and a nod.

Dale extended his hand, and they shook. "Dang, you work fast!"

Henry chuckled. "Anyway, that's why I came over. I need to find work. You hear of any jobs at the mill?"

Dale wrinkled his brow. After a few seconds, he waggled an index finger. "Yes! I heard they're looking for workers on the loading docks. Union Steel signed a new contract with the Army for a big order of steel plates. Something about using them for body armor."

"That's it!" Henry said. "I'll head over to the docks this morning. Hopefully, I can get one of those spots."

"I'm sure you will," Dale said. "You're a hard worker, Henry. I know you're going to come out of this mess just fine."

"I hope so," Henry said, sighing. "If I get that job, I'll still have time to help you with the mail."

Dale's eyes slid downward.

"What?" Henry said.

Dale replied, "There won't be any more mail deliveries to the black bunkhouses. Not for a while anyway. By order of Union Steel management."

"Why?" Henry asked, surprised.

Dale gave a dubious chuckle. "You think any of those higher ups are going to tell us what's going on? Heck, it was announced in a letter."

Henry pressed his lips together. Those colored workers at the bunkhouses, and their families, had suffered enough. And now they had to endure the indignity of picking up their own mail. "We have to do something about those vandals," he said, his voice resolute.

"We?" Dale shook his head. "I'm not getting involved in the Vigilantes' business. And you'd be wise to do the same."

"You're already involved. The black workers and their families look up to you. Besides, I don't buy for a second the Vigilantes are the ones writing that hate on those bunkhouses. They're just a bunch of no-good vandals trying to fool us."

Dale looked alarmed. "You ask anyone in the black bunkhouse section, and they'll swear on a stack of bibles it's the Vigilantes. That's why they won't come out of their shacks at night to confront them."

It was Henry's turn to shake his head.

"I don't get it," Dale said, his expression dead serious. "Why is this so important to you?"

Henry looked away, gazing out the window. Outside, the clouds had darkened, and it seemed like it would rain at any moment. He swallowed the knot in his throat. "Vandals killed my father." Henry sighed before continuing.

"I was only ten. There were five of them. On the weekends, they'd roamed from farm to farm, throwing rocks at windows. I was with my momma and papa in their bedroom when rocks came crashing through the glass. After the stoning stopped, my father grabbed his shotgun and left the bedroom. He opened the front door and confronted them. There was a lot of screaming. Then one of those bastards threw a brick. It hit my pappa in the forehead. Hit him so hard, it cracked his skull. Those vandals ran off, laughing. They were never caught or tried for their crimes. The white police refused to help. Said they knew who they were. Said if they put those boys behind bars, it would start a riot. That's the kind of justice I've seen all my life."

Henry paused, a decade-old wound burning inside.

"Geez, that's awful," Dale said, visibly shaken up.

Henry met Dale's sad eyes. "I want to catch those bunkhouse vandals. I could use an extra hand."

Dale remained silent for a moment and then his expression turned stone cold. "Henry, I'm sorry, but I got my reasons. I can't help you with this one."

Henry was ready to explode, but he knew that wouldn't make a difference. His heart constricted.

The white folks he had come to trust had turned their backs on him.

First, Mr. Bell. And now Dale.

Henry bolted to his feet, fueled by a silent anger.

Dale braced his arms to get up, but Henry waved him off.

"Don't trouble yourself," Henry said. "I can show myself the way out."

Author's Note

Hmm, it seems like Henry and Dale have had a bit of a falling out. That happens sometimes, even among the closest of friends.

That's a shame, because Henry is going to be in a whole lot of trouble in the next chapter. 

And speaking of chapters, we are thirty chapters away from the end. Maybe less than thirty, because I may combine a few upcoming chapters.

Thanks again for reading, reflecting, and caring.   ;)

Thanks,
Tom