by Sharon Sala
Letty chose to ignore the slight to her physical appendages and pointed the vinegar rag in his face. “You said, hell.”
Eulis flushed. “It’s your fault,” he said. “You made me forget myself.”
She thought about it for a minute as she finished up her bath, then knew it was time for them to face a few facts.
“No, Eulis, you didn’t forget anything. You were just being yourself. Maybe the other day you were right about the preacher thing. I don’t think it’s working for either one of us.”
Eulis slumped against the wall as Letty tossed the rag back into the basin and reached for her shirtwaist.
“And don’t feel bad about cursing. I have back slid a time or two lately. Maybe the gold fields are the place for us after all.”
Eulis looked up. “You think so?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but if we go there, we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Eulis smiled. “Yeah. You’re right, we’ll find out.”
Letty followed Eulis out the door, taking care to stay a distance behind, just in case the vinegar wore off before the service was over.
Fannie Smithson was a blushing bride. She clung to Myron’s arm as if it was a lifeline, while accepting the good wishes of the citizens of Dripping Springs. They’d come out in good numbers to see this wedding and whatever fireworks came with it. Griggs had let it be known that he was enamored of his bride-to-be, even going so far as to defend her honor by punching out her ex-fiancé, Harley Charles. But it was nothing to what Fannie, herself, had done to Harley. More than one resident of Dripping Springs had seen Harley crawling out of the Smithson house on all fours. It was the talk of the town, and nobody wanted to miss the wedding in case there were more fireworks to be seen.
The wedding had commenced without problems, and just as the preacher was asking if there was anybody who knew why this ceremony should not take place, all eyes turned to Harley Charles, who was standing at the back of the crowd with Lola from the saloon on his arm.
He’d looked startled to be singled out, and responded angrily.
“What are you all looking at?” he yelled. “Griggs can have her. I damn sure don’t want her.”
There was a long uncomfortable silence. Fannie went pale and shrank back against Myron in humiliation. In turn, Myron took the affront to his intended as personally as if it had been said to him. He doubled up his fists and his face turned red from anger.
Eulis realized if he didn’t do something, there would be a fight before anyone could say, I Do. He shook his head at Myron, as if discouraging him from following through on what he was thinking, and then stepped forward to address Harley, himself.
“Amen, Sir, and from what I hear, the feeling was mutual. The Good Lord loves honesty. How astute of you to realize that the best man won.”
Laughter rippled through the audience. Fannie lifted her chin once more and cast a nervous glance in Myron’s eyes. When she saw him wink, she breathed a sigh of relief. Once more the preacher resumed his duties. Harley was old news and all eyes were on the bride and groom.
Due to the direction of the wind and the heat that had revived the skunk scent on Letty, she was standing at the back of the crowd. But she had seen the pain on Fannie’s face and knew first-hand the shame of being second best. And, since she and Eulis were giving up the preaching life and heading for the gold fields, she felt safe in giving Harley a little something to remember them by.
She sauntered up to where he was standing, eyed the woman on his arm as well as the henna rinse on her hair, and recognized her for what she was.
“Nice dress,” Letty said.
Lola gave Letty a hard look. Even though the preacher’s woman was wearing regular clothes, there was a tilt to her chin and a glint in her eyes that was more suited to Lola’s way of life.
Letty smiled, but it was a cool, calculating smirk that matched the jab of her words.
“I had a dress just like it about three years ago. Course it’s a long ways from nowhere out here. Stands to reason that the fashions would be out of date.”
While Lola was still smarting from the slight, Letty turned to Harley.
“Too bad about your face,” she said. “You must have been a nice looking enough fellow once.”
Harley’s face turned a dark, angry shade of red. “Lady, how dare you!”
Letty shoved a finger against Harley’s chest.
“Heard about your last visit to the Smithson’s. It’s a damn shame Fannie didn’t shoot you while she had the chance,” Letty said, eyed Lola once more, then grinned at Harley as she shook her head. “Man, oh man, you are the prince of losers. You gave up a woman who cooks food fit for a king, keeps a spotless house, and who knows ten ways to bring a man to the point of ecstasy, four of which are without using her hands.”
Harley’s mouth went slack, revealing the space where his three front teeth used to be.
“Uh—”
Letty leaned forward until her mouth was against his ear.
“I know this, because I told her how. In fact, I taught her everything I know.” Then she put her hands on her hips and thrust her breasts outward in a sexual taunt, to assure him she knew of what she spoke.
Harley looked sick.
Letty grinned. It was time to finish him off.
“It must make you crazy to know that for the rest of your life, the only women who’ll ever have anything to do with you again are the ones that you have to pay.”
Harley gave Lola a wild-eyed look, and when she flushed and looked away, he gasped. Cursing beneath his breath, he shoved Lola out of his way and headed for his horse. Dust from his hasty departure was still thick in the air when Eulis finally pronounced Myron and Fannie husband and wife.
A cheer erupted.
Letty eyed Lola with disdain. Lola glared back.
“You smell like a skunk,” Lola said.
“Mine will wear off,” Letty said. “What’s your excuse?”
Lola doubled up her fists.
Letty leaned forward. “Honey, trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to mess with me.”
There was something in the tone of Letty’s voice that got Lola’s attention. Instead of punching Sister Leticia in the nose as she’d intended to do, she stomped her feet in frustration, and took off in a huff.
Letty sighed. Not one bit of that had been proper godly behavior. Her redemption must be wearing off. She was going to have to get Eulis to say a prayer for her soul. Then she glanced back toward the happy couple, eyed the preacher dressed in black, and headed for the rooming house. If they were going to go panning for gold, she was likely to need a different kind of wardrobe.
Emory James was forty-seven years old and just under five feet, six inches tall. His elongated face was partially hidden beneath a long, red beard and even longer hair. He was a trapper by trade and a scoundrel by nature. He’d gotten away with thievery and fraud so many times that he’d come to believe he was impervious to the rules and laws that others lived by. He’d made a pretty good living at it for a good number of years, and then he’d run afoul of an Apache half-breed who called himself Black Dog.
If he’d known the Kiowa woman sitting on the Appaloosa pony outside the Sutler’s store at Ft. Mays had belonged to a man who didn’t like to share, he would have left her alone. But it had been almost a year since he’d seen any sort of female that didn’t walk on four legs. He’d manfully ignored the long scar down the right side of her face and neck and offered her some beaded necklaces for a roll in the hay. The upside of their meeting was that she’d taken the necklaces and giggled all the way to the livery stable where their rendezvous was about to take place. The downside of it was that Black Dog found his woman down on her knees with her face in Emory’s crotch. He’d managed to get away, only because the Kiowa woman had thrown herself at Black Dog’s legs, begging for forgiveness. Black Dog promptly pulled out his knife and cut off her braids, alerting Emory to look anew at her scar and accept the possib
ility that this had happened before. When Black Dog started beating on the woman instead of taking the knife to Emory, he took that as a sign that he would not die today. He managed to escape by riding out of Ft. Mays just as the sun was setting, ensuring himself at least an eight hour lead before Black Dog could see where he’d gone.
What he hadn’t counted on was the half-breed’s dogged persistence. It was two weeks and counting since he’d traded beads for some booger, and the son-of-a-bitch was still on his trail.
Emory stood on the edge of a dry land plateau, looking into the setting sun and knowing the tiny trail of dust about a half day’s ride behind him meant death—probably his. He wasn’t in the mood to die for something as inconsequential as screwing a squaw, even though the female hadn’t been his. But his moods were of no consequence to Black Dog, who seemed determined to make Emory pay. Emory was out of options and had to make a decision.
He knew if he kept going southwest, he would ride straight into Apache territory and Black Dog’s people. He couldn’t go back without running into the man, himself, and he was in no mood to face a man out for nothing more serious than using his woman. This left him with only one option.
Cursing the weakness that had gotten him into this trouble, he turned, squinting slightly as he looked toward the jagged skyline of the Rockies and knew the distance was deceiving. It would take days to even reach the foothills. He had no supplies for such a long trek and little hope for surviving, even if he managed to lose Black Dog in the process. Yet it was this way or no way.
With a long sigh and a short curse, he mounted his horse and took the short trail down off the plateau, aiming for the far, blue mountains.
Letty didn’t know exactly when it had happened, but sometime during the past eight days she and Eulis had spent on the trail, she’d lost her fear of everything, including dying. It all started as they were making camp the first night out of Dripping Springs. After taking the team of mules down to the creek bank to drink, Eulis brought them back up to the campsite, hobbled them so they could graze for a bit, and began loading his rifle as Letty dug through the wagon for their cook pot.
“There’s a good number of elms and willows along this creek. I reckon I might be able to shoot us a squirrel or a rabbit for supper.”
“I’ll get wood,” Letty said.
“Watch out for skunks,” Eulis said, and then grinned and dodged when Letty chunked a small rock at his head.
He shouldered his rifle and headed into the woods as Letty began picking up deadwood. She gathered an armful and dumped it near the wagon, took a drink from her canteen, then went back for more. It would be a long night and a fire kept all manner of less than desirable critters at bay. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the hem of her skirt and then paused a moment to survey the area before going back to gather more wood.
The lay of the land was deceiving. The hills were hardly more than intermittent mounds and the valleys between were shallow, giving a viewer the impression that the land was nearly flat. But in truth, there was plenty of room for a man on horseback to be hidden from the human eye until he topped one of those small hills. Even though the knowledge made her nervous, she saw nothing of which to be concerned. With a heartfelt sigh and the thought of hot stew later, she resumed foraging for firewood.
On her third trip back to camp, the largest mule, a big black that Eulis called Rosy, began following Letty back to the wagon, knowing that there was a bag of oats to be had. Letty could feel the heat of the mule’s breath as it hobbled along behind her, and even though she felt no threat, she couldn’t help but walk a little faster.
She got to camp and quickly built the fire, taking time twice to stop and shoo Rosy away from the wagon. About that time, Eulis walked into camp with a skinned squirrel on a stick.
“Lookee here! It’s squirrel stew tonight.”
“Good, I’m starving,” Letty said. “I’ve got the water already on boil.”
Eulis squatted down beside the pot. Without wasted motion, he hacked the squirrel into chunks, tossed a little salt into the pot and then pulled a handful of wild onions from his pocket and added them to the water.
“Wild onions,” he said, pointing to the small greens. “It’ll give it a little extra flavor, I reckon.”
Letty gave the stew a quick stir and then laid the spoon on a nearby rock as she stood. When she did, she noticed the mule was back at the wagon.
“Dang it, Eulis. You fed that mule some oats the other day and it’s turned into one big pest.” Then she waved her hands at the mule. “Shoo! Shoo! Get on with you!” she yelled.
Before she knew what was happening, the mule let out a squeal and began stomping in the dirt. Letty let out a squeal of her own and ran backward just as Eulis grabbed the mule’s ear.
“Here, now,” he said, trying to gentle it, then happened to look down. “Whoa!” he yelled, grabbed the mule and moved them both back. “Letty! Look at that! No wonder Rosy was doin’ all that stompin’. You nearly stepped on a rattler.”
Letty gasped. Eulis was right. There between the front and back wheels of the wagon was what was left of a fat brown diamond-back. She could see at least ten or twelve rattles on it and knew if the mule hadn’t reacted as she had, the rattler would have struck her dead.
“Oh lord, oh lord,” Letty said, and without thinking, walked backward then stumbled. She felt the heat, even as she was falling, and knew she was falling in the fire. In a panic, she twisted, hitting the ground hard and numbing her elbow on a rock. For a moment, she couldn’t move, and by the time she did, her skirt was on fire.
“Have mercy! Save me! I’m on fire!” Letty screamed and started scrambling, trying to get up.
Eulis raised up from beneath the wagon where he’d been removing the snake, and for a moment, was too startled to move. Then he saw the flames running up the hem of her skirt and bolted.
It was a gut reaction that made him grab for the stew pot hanging over the fire. It was full of hot water, skinned squirrel, and wild onions, and he tossed it at her backside. It dampened the flames, but the fabric was still smoldering. At that point, Eulis began kicking dirt on Letty, most of which landed in her face instead of on her skirt.
“Eulis! No… don’t… wait… let me… am I still—”
“Smokin’? Not much. Just hold still though while I make sure your bloomers ain’t burnin’.”
Letty gasped, and then choked as more dust went up her nose. Eulis bent down, swiped another handful of dirt onto what was left of her skirt, then began beating at it with the palm of his hand.
Nervousness added more power to his swat than he meant and his third thump brought tears to Letty’s eyes.
“Oow,” she yelped. “That hurt.”
“Sorry,” Eulis said. “I think the fire is out, but you still got yourself a problem.”
Letty stood up and started unbuttoning her skirt.
“No need to do that,” Eulis said.
“Why not?” Letty asked.
“Cause there ain’t nothin’ left of your skirt but what’s in front.”
Letty grabbed at her backside, felt nothing but bloomers and groaned.
“Oh no! Oh lord! It’s gone! My last dress! Skunked up the first one. Burned up the last.”
She stared at Eulis, as if waiting for him to say it was a mistake, but he was already abdicating the job of savior and vacating the premises.
“Eulis! Damn it! Where do you think you’re going?”
“Huntin’,” he muttered.
“Hunting? I nearly died and you’re going hunting?”
“Yes. For some more supper. I throwed that first squirrel on your butt.” He pointed at the graying lumps of meat that lay scattered in the dirt and ashes. “Reckon I’ll go shoot us another one before it gets too dark to see.”
“But, Eulis, I—”
“Look, Letty! You didn’t even know there was a rattlesnake at your feet till the durn thing was dead. Yes, you set yourself on fire, but it’
s out. You didn’t die. You didn’t even get burned much. The world didn’t stop. I’m still hungry and all you’re missing is a skirt, so I’m gonna go get us another squirrel.”
He stomped off, leaving Letty to think about what he’d just said. It was after she’d taken off her skirt and given it a good look that she had to admit he was right. So she wasn’t the best at roughing it anymore. Somewhere between the age of twelve, when she’d had to learn to survive without parents and now, she’d lost her edge. She’d gotten soft, accustomed to having nightly baths and someone cooking her food—wearing soft clothes and sleeping in a clean bed. She looked up at the darkening sky and sighed. If anyone had asked, she would have said she preferred sleeping with a roof over her head.
Then she gave herself a mental kick in the butt, tossed what was left of her skirt in the back of the wagon and started digging through their meager belongings. It didn’t take her long to realize that the only person left with extra clothing was Eulis. She dug through his pack until she found the smallest pair of pants he owned, and held them up to her waist. They were inches too long and even more inches too big in the waist, but they would cover her bare backside, which was all that mattered. She cut a piece of rope to use for a belt, adjusted it around the waist until it was tight enough to keep the pants up, then rolled up both hems until she could walk without tripping. She frowned at the thin kid shoes she was wearing, and told herself the next time she got a chance, she was going to get herself a pair of men’s boots, too.
Later, as she strode around the campsite, rebuilding the fire and washing up the stew pot to ready it for fresh meat, she began to realize how convenient it was not having a whole swath of skirt tail swishing between her legs and dragging on the ground. A few minutes later, she heard a single gunshot.
“That better be supper, ’cause I can’t take any more surprises,” she muttered, and tossed another stick on the fire to bring the fresh water in the stew pot back up from a simmer to a boil.
