Gasher Creek Part 34

"Hold your horses," Hank said. "The drinks are here."

A tray was set on the table. It contained a silver flask, a small bottle of what looked like laudanum, and a cup of coffee. Jimmy Platter removed the drinks and set them on the table. A vine slithered out of his collar and wrapped around his neck.

"How much do I owe you?" Tracker asked.

Jimmy's mouth was crammed with berries.

Tracker gasped and woke up. He threw back the covers, sat on the edge of the bed, and placed his hand on his chest. He breathed.

In, out.

In, out.

Another blasted nightmare.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

"Jack?"

Jack opened his eyes. Charlie stood over him.

"Good morning," Charlie said. "It's not yet daybreak, but I couldn't stay in bed any longer."

Jack sat up and looked around. He was sitting at the supper table. "I guess I never made it to bed," he said.

After Charlie ran into the house, Emily had chased after him and pressed him for an explanation. Charlie insisted he was tired and just needed sleep. She didn't believe him, but he refused to discuss it further. He climbed the ladder to the loft and went to bed, and she ran into her room and shut the door. Jack, not knowing what to do with himself, brought the fiddle inside and sat at the supper table.

He still felt dizzy from the dance. He didn't know what to make of it. Did he fancy her? And was she sweet on him? The way they'd moved together...

He'd leaned forward on the table and closed his eyes. He replayed the dance in his mind over and over until he must have fallen asleep.

"You have an f-hole on your face," Charlie said.

Jack blinked. "A what?"

Charlie tapped one of the curved wooden slits on his fiddle. "Must have slept on top of it."

"Oh," Jack said, rubbing his cheek.

"Emily not up yet?"

"No."

"I'll brew us some coffee." Charlie built a fire for them and set a pot of water on the swing crane. "I'm not much good at cooking."

"Coffee's fine."

They sat at the table and drank in silence. Charlie didn't mention the previous night, and he didn't have to. Jack knew what had happened. The wail of the fiddle had drawn out the memory of shooting Cole. Music was devious like that.

...with the light brown hair...

Outside, the Morning Blue vanished. Sunlight crept over the supper table and spilled onto the floor. Jack gazed out the window.

"I love this land," Charlie said.

Jack nodded. "It has promise."

"I love it," Charlie continued, "but there's no use keeping it. In two days, Emily will be married and living with Plymouth. I can't work it myself."

"Maybe Plymouth will let you stay in the house," Jack said.

"And what would I do?" Charlie said. "Work on his ranch? I went to Bear Hunt to get away from ranching."

"So go back to Bear Hunt."

"No," Charlie said. "Last night I prayed to the Lord for guidance, and you know what happened?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Jack shrugged. "Isn't that what usually happens?"

Tapping his chest, Charlie said, "Not in here. I used to feel his presence."

"So you're not a rancher and you ain't no preacher," Jack said. "Keep the land, work the soil, and hire some hands."

"I'm no farmer either," Charlie said. He drained the rest of his coffee. "But you are. You could help me."

"I can't," Jack said. "You know I can't."

"You have no place else to go."

"There's Lone Pine."

"If you want land, it's here."

"We're square, Charlie," Jack said. "You saved my life so I got you home. Have you forgotten I'm a wanted man? If I stay here, I'm dead."

"We could hide you."

"I'll not lay that kind of trouble on your shoulders."

"A little late for that."

Jack pushed back his chair. "I didn't ask you to shoot Cole," he said.

"What other choice did I have?" Charlie said.

"You could have let me die."

"Why, do you want to die?"

Emily's door opened. She emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was a mess from the pillow, her eyes puffed and red from crying. After giving an unconvincing "Good morning," she grabbed her broom from the corner and stepped out onto the porch.

Watching her go, Charlie said, "She's angry with me."

Outside, Emily attacked the porch, sweeping with enough vigor to tear up the nails.

"You should apologize to her," Jack said.

"I will."

She swept past the window, grunting and sweating. Even angry, she was beautiful.

Jack's imagination drifted a little. He saw himself waking up every morning at the ranch, smelling Emily's cooking, watching the sunrise melt down her black hair, her smile better than a cup of coffee. He saw himself laughing with Charlie as they worked the land, their hands deep in the cool, damp earth- Monster.

"I want to stay," Jack said. "You and your sister are the first folks who've ever treated me proper. But I can't." He watched Emily reach the edge of the porch and stop. "And I shouldn't," he said. "In case I ... you know."

Charlie looked at him quizzically. "You what?"

I'll hurt her. "In case I hurt her," Jack said, forcing the words out. I'll tear her apart. "In case I-"

Charlie reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Jack, you listen to me," he said. "You listen real hard. A man shows his goodness not by what he says or thinks, but by what he does. I don't know what you did in Gasher Creek; curses man, even you don't know. But I've seen what you've done since then." He paused. "I'm not sure who this raping, killing, Jack Devlin is, but he's not sitting across this table from me. You hear?"

Jack nodded. "But what if I-"

"You hear me?" Charlie said, squeezing his wrist.

"Yeah," Jack said. "I hear you."

"Good," Charlie said, letting go. "Now, about us working the land, I-"

Emily burst into the house. "Come quick," she said.

Charlie and Jack jumped up from their seats. Charlie retrieved the shotgun from above the mantle and followed Emily out onto the porch. As Jack stepped outside, he could see a posse of men on the wagon trail. A momentary surge of panic swept through him before he realized that all the men were wearing similar clothing, and there were far too many for a fugitive hunt. Six men turned into nine, then twelve, and then twenty.

"It's the army," Charlie said, lowering his gun. He stepped off the porch. Jack and Emily followed closely behind him.

What they saw first was the mounted cavalry: twelve men on chestnut colored horses taking the lead. Most were dressed in the familiar tunics and woolen trousers, although some wore buckskin coats. They all wore kepis. Revolvers sat on their hips, carbines off their right sides held by slings. Leading the cavalry was a blonde haired colonel wearing a large campaign hat, the brim pulled so low you could only see his nose and moustache. He rode a few yards ahead of the others, his back straight, his gloved hands keeping a loose grip on the reins like a man out for a Sunday trot. Behind the horses rolled a chuck wagon, followed by more cavalrymen. Behind them marched foot soldiers.

Jack took a step back. "Come on," he hissed. "Let's go back inside. The army don't like it when you stare." As he reached out to touch Charlie's arm, he heard a baby crying.

"Oh G.o.d," Emily said.

A Chewak woman hobbled behind a second chuck wagon. She clutched a small baby to her chest. She wore a tan colored buckskin dress and moccasins. Her braided hair was dusted yellow and red. Behind her followed a Chewak man in ripped buckskin trousers and no shirt. Dried blood covered his chest. He followed the woman closely and glanced nervously at the wailing child.

More Chewaks followed, flanked by soldiers. Most of them were old, or women. The old ones looked skinny and sick. The women clutched at their frightened children and tried to keep up. The few men that Jack could see had been battered and beaten. One looked as if he'd been dunked in blood.

"Our people," Charlie whispered.

The blonde haired colonel raised a hand to them. "Good morning," he said. Now that he was closer, Jack could see a face behind that enormous blonde moustache. He was handsome, with bright blue eyes and skin tanned by the sun. He raised his hat to Emily and smiled. His teeth were very white.

Charlie moved closer.

"Charlie," Jack said. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a better look."

"What, no-" Jack said, but then Emily followed. Jack sighed. He went along with them.

As the procession of Chewaks pa.s.sed, a few looked curiously at Charlie and Emily. An old woman carrying a basket smiled sadly at them, her long white hair whipping in the wind.

"What's happened to them?" Emily asked.

"Relocation," Jack said.

"What does that mean?"

"The army took them off their land."

"They can't do that," she said. "How can they do that?"

"It's a sign," Charlie said.

Both Emily and Jack looked at him. They both said, "What?"

Charlie kept watching the procession. "Last night, I prayed for G.o.d's guidance. I needed a sign, and he's sent one." He turned to face them. "Don't you see? My people need me. They need to hear the good word. G.o.d has forgiven my wickedness."

"Okay, fine, good," Jack said. "Glad to hear it. Now can we please go back to the house?"

"I need to speak with them," Charlie said, handing the shotgun to Jack. "I've never spoken to my own people before."

"Don't be a fool," Jack said. "You see them fellas with the guns?"

Charlie moved toward the procession, and it didn't take long for one of the soldiers to react. A short, skinny private with messy brown hair and a face full of freckles said, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

There was not one hint of courtesy or kindness in his voice. Jack had seen his type at The Ram; young and arrogant, with a foul word for everyone. Aiming his carbine, the private said, "Don't come no closer."

Charlie raised his hands. "I only want to speak with them. As you can see, I'm unarmed."

A sergeant hurried to the private's side. His face was thick with stubble. Messy black hair stuck out from under his kepi. He aimed his gun.