Savage. Part 37

I judged the misfire had had been a miracle, of sorts. Pretty much as if I hadn't been meant to get killed. been a miracle, of sorts. Pretty much as if I hadn't been meant to get killed.

Pondering over that, I saw how I'd squeaked by and survived dicey situations over and over again ever since the night I set out for Whitechapel.

There was the ocean, which should've either swallowed me up or froze me solid long before I ever reached the sh.o.r.e of America.

There was Whittle, who'd butchered so many folks but not me.

Getting chucked off the train by Briggs could've been fatal, all by itself.

Chase had threatened to shoot me. I gave that some thought, though, and allowed it shouldn't count. He'd likely been joshing, and never actually intended to do such a thing.

The conductor, though, had certainly had a go at me and failed.

Not a bullet had touched me during the gunfight at the saloon. Of course, I don't believe that Prue or the others got off a single shot, so maybe that shouldn't count, either.

But the posse men had taken a great many cracks at me, particularly when McSween and I were leading them into the ambush.

Later on that night, a fellow had creased my side. If he'd been half good with his gun, he would've killed me sure.

All that made for quite a string of close shaves, but then I'd come through the ma.s.sacre at the campsite without taking a hit. Mighty perplexing, when you consider I only just stood there and didn't take cover and the bullets flew so thick and everyone but me bit the dust.

Just call me Ishmael.

I lowered the Colt onto my lap and gazed at how its black steel gleamed in the firelight.

"And I only am escaped alone," I whispered.

Had to be a reason.

Had to be a reason I'd survived such a pa.s.sel of narrow calls.

The reason had to be Whittle.

I was meant to live long enough, at least, to put him in the ground.

That's how I figured it, anyhow.

And that's how come I decided not to shoot myself, that night, after all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

Strangers on the Trail Once I made up my mind to go on living, I still didn't feel any better about being the cause of so many deaths, but I did all of a sudden find myself hungry.

General had wandered off, so I had to chase after him. I brought him back to camp and hobbled him. Then I cooked myself up a pot of beans.

When I got done chowing them down, I set up the tin can and some sticks on the rocks around the fire. Then I stepped back, pulled and fired.

My first shot knocked the tin flying.

I holstered and drew and went for the sticks.

When that gun was empty, I practiced with the other. Left-handed. It came out clumsy for a spell. More often than not, I hit my fire or bounced my bullets off the rocks. But I got better, by and by.

Blazing away, I remembered a chap the boys used to call w.i.l.l.y. w.i.l.l.y'd considered it a great adventure to ride with desperados, smashing fun to slap leather and fire away at stumps and sticks and cans and such.

I found myself rather missing w.i.l.l.y.

He was dead.

He'd died with McSween and the rest of the gang.

He'd died young, and never got the chance to return home to his mother or to find his sweetheart, Sarah.

Tough break, that.

I don't rightly know who I missed more, w.i.l.l.y or McSween.

McSween, I reckon.

I used up a whole lot of ammunition, taking turns with both hands, and killed me a heap of kindling.

Then I turned in.

The next morning, I came upon a wagon trail. It appeared to be leading west. I was tempted to stay clear of it, for I didn't relish the notion of meeting up with travelers. But the trail would be a sight easier on General than the rough terrain we'd been crossing. We'd make better time on it, and it was bound to take us somewhere.

Seemed a better way to find Tombstone than if I just kept to the trackless wilds and hoped for the best.

So we took it.

Soon enough, some travelers came along. I spotted a couple of hors.e.m.e.n riding toward me. While they were still a good piece in the distance, I gave some thought to steering General off the trail so as to avoid them. But then I judged it might rouse their curiosity. Better just to act natural and pa.s.s them by.

Funny thing was, much as I wanted to be clear of these two strangers, I didn't feel any fear of them. Not even when they were close enough for me to see how ornery they looked. One had a pinched, pointy face that put me in mind of Snooker. The other had a droopy eyelid. Both had the same sort of lazy, smirky ways in how they stared at me.

"Howdy," I said, and touched the brim of my hat.

"Howdy back," said the bloke with the droopy lid. I nudged General to go around him, but he raised a hand. "Hold her up there."

I did as he asked. Then I dropped the reins over the saddle horn to free my hands. "Yes sir?" I asked.

The one with the pointy face laughed. "Yes sir. sir. Ain't he got manners?" Ain't he got manners?"

"He's pretty, too. Just as pretty as a girl."

"I betcha he is is a girl!" a girl!"

They appeared to enjoy the bit of wit.

"You got t.i.tties in there?" The one winked his bad eye in the direction of my shirt, and grinned. "Give us a peek."

"Ride on, fellows."

"Why, she's shy."

"I'm shy on patience," I said.

"Now you be nice. Angus and me, we haven't had us a girl in near a month."

"And she was ugly."

"Ugly but willing."

They both laughed.

"I'm not a girl," I said.

Well, they glanced at each other and laughed all the more.

"That don't make no difference," Angus of the half-mast lid finally said to me. "Know what I mean? Now, you just climb down off your horse, there, and get shed of them duds."

I didn't move.

"You do what Angus says!" snapped the other.

"If you'd like me to oblige," I said, "you'd best fill your hands."

All of a sudden, they turned uncommon serious.

They glanced at each other, silent and smirkless, then turned their faces toward me.

"Have a crack, chaps," I said. "Or ride on."

They both spent some time studying me out. I saw their eyes flick about, taking in my holstered Colts, the torn and blood-stained side of my shirt, my hands resting atop my thighs, and my face. They took quite a spell on my face.

Then Angus said, "We didn't mean nothing, mister. Only just having us some fun."

The other bobbed his head. "We'll just be moving along. Adios, now."

They split apart and rode past me.

I turned General around, as I didn't aim to get back-shot.

Angus and the other rode off slow at first, neither one of them glancing back. Then Angus, he put the spurs to his horse. His friend did the same, and they both hightailed.

I rode on, puzzling over matters. It seemed odd the way they'd backed down. What seemed odder, though, was that I didn't feel much of anything. They'd had it in mind to use me like a woman, I reckon. But I hadn't been scared, the whole time. Nor had I felt any relief when they'd given up the notion and gone away.

Comes right down to it, I'd just as soon have shot them both.

I didn't wish wish I'd shot them, though. I'd shot them, though.

I just didn't care, either way.

Late in the afternoon, a covered wagon turned up. It was heading west, same as me, but going so slow that I was bound to overtake it.

A blanket draped the rear opening, so I couldn't see how many or what manner of folks the wagon had in it.

Whoever they might be, I wanted no truck with them.

I figured to ride by quick, and urged General to a trot.

But when we came alongside the wagon, I saw how its canvas side was painted up with pictures of red bottles floating this way and that among words that said: DR. JETHRO LAZARUSPURVEYOR OF THE WORLD RENOWNEDGLORY ELIXIR"Good for what ails you."

There was plenty more to read, so I slowed General down to an easy walk.

Toward the rear was a notice that said you could buy one bottle of the Glory Elixir for a "mere dollar." Toward the front, it said: GLORY ELIXIRGUARANTEED TO VANQUISHwhooping coughpalsysour stomachboilsfeminine complaintsarthritisrunny bowelsgangrenerattlesnake bitegaseous embarra.s.smentsdropsydizzinessDEATH The Glory Elixir's list of cures rather amused me till I saw that final one. Death. That one took me by surprise and took the fun out.

I put my spurs to General, figuring to get shut of such nonsense.

As we hurried by, I took a gander sideways at the driver. He was all alone at the front.

"Say there, young fellow!"

"Good day," I said, and left him behind.

"Cowards die many times," he called after me.

Well, I didn't rightly know what he meant by that. And I judged he could call me a coward if he pleased. What got me to rein in General was that I recognized the words.

As the wagon rattled closer, I met the old man's eyes and said, "The valiant never taste of death but once."

He smiled real cheerful. "A man of learning. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Dr. Jethro Lazarus, here."

"Trevor Bentley."

"Who hails, no doubt, from the land of the Bard."

"Quite true," I said.

"Would you care to join me at the helm?" He patted the seat beside him.