Ezra looked around the vast expanse of land and mopped his face with his already-damp, maroon silk handkerchief. He couldn't for the life of him understand why some people just had to live out on the fringes of a town, far from anything approaching a decent snifter of brandy and a feather bed. He shook his head.
Old Man Duffy was just fine, as it turned out. The curmudgeonly Irishman was simply on an especially long drunk, and that was the only reason he hadn't been in town. He'd imbibed his entire inventory of homemade swill in honor of St. Patrick's Day. The shack still reeked of it.
"They's leprechauns about ye know," Duffy had slurred with a broad, sly wink. "There's one in particular...He's a tricky one..."
Ezra smiled. "I'm sure the bouquet from this unique beverage will keep them at bay."
Duffy didn't hear him as he started to loudly sing "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling."
Indeed, Ezra had sampled it and it had truly been vile. His eyes were still watering as he rode back to town. He rubbed them hard for several minutes, trying to get them to stop and to remove the dust that was forming a paste in his eyes.
When his vision cleared, he looked around him, feeling a niggling bit of confusion. The landscape didn't look quite so familiar all of a sudden. He stopped his horse and stood in the stirrups, surveying the area. No, it wasn't familiar. He must have taken a wrong turn...But still...Something should have looked familiar. It wasn't like he had never ridden out here before, and it certainly wasn't like he hadn't been to old Jack Duffy's hovel before.
He started to turn around and then stopped, frowning. The way he had come looked no more familiar than the way he'd been going. Which way had he come from?
"You...are lost, Ezra," he muttered to himself. "Hopelessly, regrettably--dare I say painfully--lost."
He spurred the horse ahead anyway, and moments later tumbled to the ground in a dusty heap. With a muttered curse, he turned to look at his horse. The animal had turned an ankle in a chuckhole and was limping now.
Ezra was no expert in veterinary medicine, but a cursory examination made him conclude that although nothing was broken of his horse or, for that matter, the rider, his horse wasn't going anywhere for a little while. The tender joint was already beginning to swell. Ezra removed the saddle and led the horse to a small, shaded pond. Wherever he had ended up, the scenery was downright pleasant. Or at least it offered some resources to aid his situation.
At last, with a weary and disgusted sigh, he sat within the shade of the nearest tree and took off his coat. Since it was going to be awhile, he might as well get comfortable. Maybe a nap. The lazy heat and near-still breeze was already making him sleepy.
"Need a bit of help, do ye?" The mysterious voice had a distinctly Irish lilt to it.
Ezra startled awake. Duffy? No, it couldn't be. The man was dead to the world and likely to stay that way until well into St. Joseph's Day. Ezra drew his gun slowly from its holster, looking warily around him. "I might be grateful for a bit of assistance...if you come out where I can see you."
There was a cackling laugh. "Just turn around, lad."
The con artist couldn't disguise a startled look at the wizened little man just off to his right. He couldn't have been more than 3 feet tall, and his body looked bent from age.
"Surprised?"
Ezra shook his head. "I just didn't hear you coming, that's all. You said something about offering assistance?"
The old man nodded. "I did. I did indeed. Got any gold on ye?"
Ezra Standish frowned. Extortion. The old man must have done something with the markings on the trail...But if he had, he had to have been awfully quick, and by the look of him, it could take him a week to cross the street.
"Why? How much remuneration would you say your...assistance...is worth?"
"My question first," said the old man, pulling a tiny pipe out of his pocket.
"It depends on what you're offering. I'd venture to say I'm as...circumspect as you are in a transaction."
"I can show you a way out of here."
"You?" Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Do you expect me to believe you live around here?"
The little man smiled. "I live where it pleases me to. Now would you like my help or not?"
"My question now. How much?"
"Hmm…Five gold pieces?"
"Five?" Ezra laughed, then stopped abruptly. "One."
"I'm worth it."
"My mother would likely say the same about me," he lied. "What makes you think so?"
"Why, because I'm a leprechaun, of course."
Ezra now laughed heartily. "Oh, that's good. That's original. My good man, I've been threatened with extortion before, even perpetrated a few. If you are--and can prove it to my satisfaction, I'll give you two gold pieces."
"Four."
"Three. Take it or leave it."
The old man's tiny, weathered face turned red. "You need me. You won't find your way home without me."
Ezra leaned back against the tree. "On the contrary, I find the surroundings here to be quite pleasant. I'm in no hurry." He placed his hat over his face and pretended to go back to sleep.
The old man watched him in disbelief, his impatience growing. Ezra could tell he wanted his gold and he wanted to be gone. The man's eyes narrowed as he thought.
The old man looked peeved at first, then brightened.
"I can do magic," he bragged. The little man reached up and took the silver dollar. He held it a moment, then pressed it between his palms. He held up the coin so that it glinted in the noonday sun.
Ezra laughed. "My good man, I daresay I've replicated that trick in Kansas City…And in Amarillo, if memory serves. You'll have to do better than parlor tricks if you want to convince me."
The old man frowned. He clearly wasn't used to being laughed at and didn't like it one bit. An idea seemed to come to him at last.
"I know. See to your horse, why don't you?"
"My horse is injured."
"Check him now," the man insisted.
Ezra lifted his hat and smirked. "I'll indulge you, but just this once. If only because you're the most amusing fellow I've come across all day."
He got up and calmly walked over to where his horse was grazing. He lifted the errant foot and saw to his surprise that the swelling was indeed gone. He blinked and looked again. No, it was really gone.
"See?"
Ezra straightened, still staring quizzically at his horse's leg. "Must be one of other--" But no, they all looked the same. And his horse was no longer limping. He started back toward the little old man. "Well," he said, pulling out his pocket watch. "I must've been asleep longer than I…thought." An hour? He looked at the old man. He thought about Duffy's ramblings about leprechauns. He'd listened to a lot of it, picking the old man up the floor and getting him settled into bed.
In a lightning move, Ezra grabbed the little man behind the collar and hung on tightly.
"What're ye doin'? Ere ye daft? Lemme go!"
"If you are as you say, and the legends bear out, it's you who owe me. A pot of gold, I'm told. And I hope we're talking about a large one."
The old man continued to squirm. For someone who looked as very old as he did, he was surprisingly strong and spry. Finally he sagged in Ezra's grip.
"Ye win, ye cheat. If you'll follow me--"
"No, but we can go together."
"Suit yerself." The little man began to hum "When Irish Eyes" as he led him through the thick underbrush to a clearing filled with small, young cottonwood trees. Together they zigged and zagged, all the while with Ezra keeping a good hold on the man until the self-proclaimed leprechaun stopped in front of one sapling in particular.
"If you dig here," he said simply, "you'll find it at the root of this tree."
Ezra gave the man a little shake. "And…?"
"Let yer horse guide the way. Ye'll make it home right enough."
Ezra dropped his hold to study the base of the tree. Instantly regretting the action, he turned quickly but the old man had vanished.
The ground was dry and hard. He'd have to go back to town for some digging equipment and supplies. He stood and looked around him. Saplings all over the place and they all looked alike. He pulled out the maroon handkerchief and knotted it tightly to a branch of the tree. Satisfied, he carefully made his way back to his horse. He registered no surprise that the animal was already saddled and waiting for him as he shrugged back into his coat, and climbed into the saddle.
Let yer horse guide the way. Ye'll make it home right enough, the old man had said. Ezra shrugged and spurred his horse onward. It moved confidently in a straight line toward what Ezra could only presume was home.
When he arrived in town, it was already dark. He was hot, hungry, tired, and thirsty. As he dropped onto his feather bed at last, he cursed the all-too-human frailties of exhaustion and soreness that prevented him from immediately returning to the cottonwood tree to claim his riches.
Morning seemed to come the moment he closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he wished he were an early riser as he dressed hastily. He would need a shovel, a pickaxe, some water…And some clothes in which to dig. He certainly wasn't going to ruin his wardrobe over--Oh, wardrobe be damned, he would buy closets full of fine haberdashery once he'd recovered his gold.
He hadn't counted on running into Buck as he left the hardware store. He carried a new pickaxe in one hand, a shovel in the other, and in arms was a basket of food, a hand trowel, a bottle of good Irish whiskey, some liniment, and a canteen. Buck blocked his path, staring at him in amused disbelief.
"Plannin' on doin' some work, Ezra, or just carryin' those for a friend?"
"I'm in a hurry, Mr. Wilmington."
Buck crouched in an attitude of mock urgency. "Vin trapped in a mine?"
"Normally, I'd be amused--no, I wouldn't be--but I have an important personal errand. Now if you'll kindly stop to one side…You're not stepping, Mr. Wilmington.
"Whatcha gonna do?"
"Nothing that'd interest you." The tools were getting surprisingly heavy.
"Lessee…A pickaxe, a shovel…I'm assumin' these was bought and not rented…Looks like work to me. Manual work. Hard, manual work. It just doesn't say 'Ezra.'"
Ezra sighed impatiently. "It says it's none of your business, now GET OUT OF MY WAY."
Buck smiled. "Whatever is it, I want in. If you're involved in manual labor, then that means there's money involved."
"Buck--"
"Those look heavy, Ezra."
"They are," he said, trying to shift the burden a little. "Perhaps you'd like to--"
Buck ignored him. "I could just stand here all day. Unless I get a piece of whatever it is."
"Oh, all RIGHT. Ten percent."
"Thirty."
"Twenty, and that's that."
Buck smiled and stepped to one side. "Need some help there? Let me carry somethin'" he said.
"Why, thank you. You can carry the--"
Buck had already snatched the bottle of whiskey from him and was sauntering toward the horses.
Ezra was surprised at what an easy time he was having of retracing his path. The horse seemed to know where they were going, and they made good time.
"Where are we goin', anyway?"
"Just a little ways further."
"And…?"
"There's some money at the base of a cottonwood tree. Just look for the maroon handkerchief. We're going to dig it up." Ezra didn't mention that the 'we' was merely rhetorical. Once there, he'd find a way to get Buck to do all the digging.
"This ain't money you stole or nothin', is it?"
"Really, Buck. I take umbrage at that remark. No one has ever been able to prove that I've acquired so much as a dollar by any unsavory means."
"A simple 'no' woulda sufficed."
"No."
"That's all I wanted to know."
"We're almost there. We'll have to walk from here."
The two men dismounted, gathered their supplies and started through the underbrush. Ezra let the larger man lead, clearing a path as he did so. As they moved forward, the gambler felt his body trembling and sweating slightly, knowing what lay just beyond. The culmination of all his years trying to scrounge and trick and finesse a dollar here, a few pennies here. All of it was drawing to a close. In just a little while, the means for realizing all his dreams would be his at last. He began to hum that infernal Irish tune, then stopped himself. If there was enough money, he might be generous enough to share some of it with his friends. Larabee might like a new ranch. And JD could use a more appropriate hat. Some money to Josiah's church would be a good gesture. And maybe Vin would get rid of that worn-out piece of hide that passed for a coat. And Nathan could get some proper medical equipment. Then he'd make a few careful, profitable investments, and retire from this life of violence and bloodshed.
Ezra was enjoying himself. The thought of being the town's philanthropist and patriarch appealed to him. Oh, granted, it was starting small, but still, to see the looks on people's faces and to see how they'd treat him. Yes, he was sure he could get accustomed to that very quickly. After all, it was his destiny.
"Ezra…What kind of a joke is this?"
The con artist snapped out his reverie. They had just cleared the underbrush and were now staring at the broad field of cottonwoods.
Buck waved a hand at the scene before them. "Every ONE of them has a handkerchief tied to it!"
Ezra blinked. Buck was correct. Every single tree had the same maroon silk handkerchief. He took a few steps forward in shaking legs.
"This can't be," he said in a hushed whisper. "I was here just yesterday and…and…"
Buck looked around him in frustration. "It'd take the rest of your life to dig under every single tree out here, do you realize that?" He dropped the shovel in disgust. "You can keep the twenty percent. Twenty percent of nothin' is still nothin'."
Ezra swallowed hard. At first he wanted to cry, and then he started to laugh uncontrollably. Buck looked at him nervously, as the laughter became hysterical.
He'd been conned. The con man had been conned. Ezra had always fancied himself rather accomplished, but the little man was clearly a master at his craft. No, he was an artist.
"Bested by the best," he said softly to himself. He looked out over the field one last time and knew that somewhere out there, Irish eyes were indeed smiling.
The End
