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“I GOTTA CALL YOU SOMETHIN’.” Old Jed grumbled as he stared at Titus across the fire the next morning.
Titus had managed to get some food in him and then promptly go back to sleep.
“I’m sorry old-timer; I don’t have one for you.”
“You lying to me son?” Jed squinted at him suspiciously.
“No sir, I just can’t seem to remember anything.”
“How ‘bout you check your saddle bags, and see if you go somethin’ in there what’s got a name on it.”
Titus rose shakily and headed for his saddle opening the leather bags strapped to the swells and rummaging through.
He had a change of clothes, a mending kit, a knife, and a camp kit with a plate, mug and silver ware.
“I don’t see anything,” he called back to Jed. He had no idea who he was, or what he’d been doing out here in the wilds of Nevada, and no idea where he’d come from.
“Well dig around a bit.” Jed prompted.
Digging further, he pulled out a small card, simply drawn and carefully printed.
“Good luck Titus, see you next time you get home, Abner.”
“What’d ya find?” Jed asked, stepping up to the young man.
“A card.”
“Well what’s it say?”
Titus read the card, but nothing about it triggered a memory.
“Titus,” Jed mused tugging at his whiskers. “Well I reckon I can call ya Titus, was gonna call ya Sam, but I’ll adjust to Titus if you will.”
Titus Smith shrugged his shoulders; it fit as well as anything else.
“Anything else on that there card?” the old man asked.
“No sir, just what I read.”
“Well, probably some kin somewhere. Don’t you worry none about it. You can stay here and help me work my claim for a while, and maybe you’ll remember where you come from before too long.”
Titus stuck out his hand, “Thanks old timer,” he offered, “Thanks for everything.
***
IT WAS DAYS BEFORE Titus was on his feet again and able to move around the camp without assistance or without feeling like he was about to go face down in the dirt with his next step.
He started out slowly cooking meals for himself and Jed, and then progressed to moving the stock so they could graze on the sparse grass, yucca, and shrubs near the old man’s camp.
“It ain’t a great place, but I seen some color so far, least enough to make it worth my time,” Old Jed said, one night over dinner. “Reckon I’ll see it through.”
Titus laughed; as camps went the place wasn’t terrible. There was a spring nearby where animals came to drink, and he was able to catch some jack rabbits to add to the meals.
There was enough grazing for a donkey and the leggy mule that he’d been found with, so for now at least there was nothing pushing him to move on.
The fact that he had no idea where to move on to helped him determine to just stay.
Every day he hoped that his memory would come back, that something would trigger who he was, where he’d come from, or what he’d been doing on the trail where he’d been found.
Each night as he and Jed sat around the fire they discussed his potential past.
Jed thought that he was probably with some cattle outfit moving through the area that had been waylaid by rustlers or other ne’re do wells.
“What if I’m a rustler?” Titus has asked.
“If you was a rustler, what was ya doing riding that there mule, and not some fine horse ya done stole?” Jed had argued.
Titus scratched his head, “Maybe I wasn’t a very good one,” he joked, but the possibility nagged at him.
What kind of man was he? Was he a farmer, a husband, a brother? He didn’t know.
“Well if you’re that worried about it when we get back into Hester you can visit the Sheriff and let him decide.”
Titus chuckled, “that’d be one way to find out,” he agreed.
“In the mean time ain’t no reason you can’t work here with me, and if ya do a good job, I’ll split whatever we find.”
Titus smiled at the old man. “You don’t have to split it old-timer,” he said. “I’m happy to work for my keep.”
An odd recollection seemed to nag at his brain as he said the words. Had he done this before? Perhaps he was a wonderer who worked a while then moved on. The thought was a wraith, a wisp of smoke that he couldn’t capture or hang onto.
The days turned into weeks and by applying his ample muscle to pick and shovel Titus had helped Jed follow the seam of silver through the dusty brown rock.
Each night they cleaned up the ore they’d found, extracted the silver and pushed the rubble into a heap.
“Startin’ ta add up now, it is,” Jed said one night. “Why I reckon we’ve got neigh unto two hundred dollars worth of color here now.”
“Sounds like a lot of money,” Titus agreed, “but our supplies aren’t gone yet, and we could do a little more.”
“You’re sure an eager beaver,” Jed commented. “I guess you have plans for your half.”
Titus shook his head, “No, it’s just that something keeps nagging at the back of my mind. It’s as if I know I need that money for something, but I don’t know what.”
Jed, rose, tossed the remains of his coffee in the fire and laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder.
“Ain’t no use worryin’ about it now,” he said kindly. “It’ll come to ya when it’s s’posed ta.”
Titus nodded sadly. He wished he could put a finger on his past, find out where he belonged, or where he’d been going.
“For now we got about a week’s worth of grub left, so’s we’ll just work on until we need ta get ta town.” Jed grinned, his long white beard wiggling with the motion. “Now let’s get some sleep. I plan on being a wealthy man by close of day tomorry.”
Together they chuckled, doused the fire and rolled into their respective bedrolls. Only time would tell what secrets his past held.
