O'Hara climbed down from the horse a little stiffly, bowed to Mr. Howlett, and stayed to one side without saying a word. James stepped forward and said, "Mr. Daniel gave us half the day off today. You can't blame us for that."
Mr. Howlett laughed heartily, ruffled James's hair, and said to Victor, "Black Mountain's coat has been getting purer lately. You've done well, Victor."
"It's what I should do, Mr. Howlett," Victor replied softly. His composed manner earned another slight nod from Mr. Howlett.
"All right, I haven't moved much these past few days. I'm going to take Black Mountain out for a stroll. Want to come along, James?"
"That would be wonderful, Grandfather. I've always wanted to try riding Black Mountain!" James replied, pretending to be delighted. Then he told O'Hara to amuse herself for a while and that he'd be back soon, before hurrying after Mr. Howlett out of the stable.
Even in an ordinary linen shirt and the wide-legged trousers typical of a cowboy, Mr. Howlett had a distinctive air about him. He wasn't refined and noble like a long-established aristocrat; rather, he had the boldness of an old soldier, and moved with brisk efficiency. He bent down and lifted James onto the horse's back, took the reins, and the two of them rode at an easy pace across the vast pasture.
"Jamie, what do you think of Victor?" Mr. Howlett asked.
"Mature beyond his years, steady and capable," James answered quickly and succinctly.
Mr. Howlett looked at his young grandson in surprise, then praised him with a smile. "It seems you really have taken to your studies. Daniel was right—you've made real progress." Mr. Howlett nodded repeatedly, striding ahead with evident satisfaction.
Seeing this, James thought for a moment, then said to Mr. Howlett, "Grandfather, I heard Victor's father... well, isn't easy to get along with?" Mr. Howlett didn't answer directly. He merely said, "Say what you have to say first."
"The thing is, Victor is someone we can make use of, and I'll need help managing the family's businesses one day. Loyalty cultivated from childhood is naturally the firmest kind. But I've heard Victor and his father, Mr. Thomas Logan, don't get along. Supposedly, aside from getting drunk, Mr. Logan never takes care of Victor, and he often beats and whips him. I hope we can improve Victor's situation to some extent. Then he'll surely be grateful to the Howlett family."
Mr. Howlett's gaze grew increasingly surprised as he looked at James. He asked, "What do you think we should do?" James considered it briefly and said calmly, "Why not send Mr. Logan away from the estate, somewhere far off? Give him a position with little authority but better living conditions, perhaps looking after supplies at the northernmost cattle ranch or the eastern cotton fields. That way, Victor can get away from him and grow up under the Howlett family's care. He'll surely be able to serve the family well in the future."
Mr. Howlett slowed his pace and let out a long sigh. "I've tried to anticipate how much you've grown, Jamie, but you still manage to surprise me. I underestimated you. Excellent, excellent, truly excellent! You're certainly William Howlett's grandson!" James lowered his head with a hint of shyness, wondering whether the idea was really worth getting so excited about. Then he remembered that he was only "twelve" and had once been a weak and introverted child, so it was no wonder Old Howlett was so pleased.
Once Mr. Howlett had composed himself, he continued, "It's very good that you can think this way. As the future heir to the family, you need to consider things like this. I've felt for some time that Thomas Logan would cause trouble sooner or later if he stayed on the estate. Leave this matter to me. Your grandfather will give you an answer you'll be satisfied with."
The grandfather and grandson strolled a little longer, then returned to get ready for dinner. James had been considering this plan for a long time, and so far, things had gone unexpectedly smoothly. He had thought through all sorts of possibilities. The safest option would have been to kill Thomas Logan, but although James didn't feel much resistance to killing the man who was his biological father in this life, he didn't want to bear the consequences of patricide.
He wasn't willing to do that unless absolutely necessary. Besides, he was still in a body barely more than ten years old. Even if he had ways to deal with Thomas Logan, the risks would still be considerable. Sending him away from the estate was the best choice. Even if he was unwilling or refused, Mr. Howlett had plenty of ways to deal with Thomas Logan. As long as Logan didn't lose his mind or try to kill himself, he wouldn't publicize his affair with Mrs. Elizabeth.
With a huge weight lifted from his heart, James ate an extra steak that evening. His appetite had been growing, and the martial arts training over the past few months had clearly helped his body develop. He also hadn't fallen mysteriously ill like he used to.
After dinner, Mr. Howlett mentioned to John and Elizabeth that he wanted Thomas Logan to go to the northernmost cattle ranch and look after hay and other supplies, offering him a generous weekly wage and a small house. Elizabeth was overjoyed and supported Mr. Howlett, affecting a calm manner as she said she would leave everything to her father's decision.
John, however, objected somewhat, saying things like Thomas would eventually get over it. Mr. Howlett couldn't help but feel dissatisfied with his weak-willed, indecisive son. Still, the thought that his grandson had what it took to get things done offered him some comfort.
Everything seemed to have been settled, and the estate appeared to have avoided a storm that might have been coming.
Thomas Logan refused the promotion, as expected. But when Mr. Howlett coldly told him that if he wouldn't go, he could leave the estate and go wherever he pleased, he gritted his teeth and agreed. That very night, he tried to approach Elizabeth and tell her what had happened, hoping to bring their "elopement" plans forward. But by coincidence, Mrs. Howlett had been keeping to herself lately, and he hadn't had the slightest chance to meet or speak with her.
The weather in Alberta had been gloomy and unsettled lately, as if it were brewing something.
After nightfall, a dull rumble of thunder rolled through the dense sky, black as ink. In this era, when there was no moonlight or starlight, the outdoors was truly pitch-black.
Thomas Logan sat on his old, worn sofa, his body sunk deep into it. He held a bottle of rum that was nearly empty, and two empty bottles lay at his feet. Victor had already retreated to his room and was lying down. Whether he was truly asleep or deliberately keeping quiet, he made no sound, as if he didn't exist.
Logan's dark red face was stormy and twisted with rage. He raged inwardly, accusing everyone and everything. The alcohol had addled Thomas Logan's brain, but the mind beneath all that muscle was fired up by the strong liquor. He surged to his feet, grabbed the shotgun leaning beside the bed, broke it open to check the cartridges in the chamber, then flicked it shut one-handed.
Thomas Logan strode out the door. At last, lightning flashed across the sky, and rain poured down.
Mr. Howlett was getting on in years, and the stormy night had kept him awake. He tossed and turned in bed, feeling uneasy. A muffled pounding sounded downstairs, though the rain made it difficult to hear clearly.
Boom!
The deafening blast of the shotgun blowing open the front door jolted him fully awake. Mr. Howlett swung out of bed, took the pistol from his bedside table, checked it, and swiftly stepped into the hallway, pressing himself against the wall.
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
Thomas Logan kept shouting as he paced and yelled in the main hall of the estate's house, his head red as a fighting cock's. John threw on some clothes and came out of his room. He told his wife not to move and to stay inside, then ran into his father by the stairs.
"That sounds like Thomas. I'll go see. You should go back to bed, Father. It'll be fine."
The old man meant to stop his son, but only managed to catch the hem of John's clothing. John said, "Don't worry," then ran downstairs unarmed.
Mr. Howlett hurried down the other side, summoned four hands who were already awake and armed, gave a brief nod, and followed after John with them.
As they neared the hall, the shotgun roared again. His heart sank. The old man's mustache quivered as he rushed forward and took two steps at a time up the stairs. He saw his son, wearing a white nightshirt, lying in a pool of blood, his entire chest stained crimson.
Thomas Logan stood to one side, panting and holding the shotgun, as if he were merely watching.
He watched the four gunmen beside Mr. Howlett raise their shotguns and aim at him. One after another, their muzzles flashed with dazzling bursts of fire...
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