Grace sneered, though whether it was because of his words or his use of her name for the first time, Jessie didn’t know. He bit his lip and wished he hadn’t opened his mouth in the first place.
The riders were nearly on them and it was clear their course was set for a confrontation. Jessie glanced around. “Where’s Kaga?”
Grace rested her palms on Justice and Mercy. “Where he needs to be.”
There was no more time for words. In a storm of choking dust and thundering hooves, the six riders bore down and surrounded Grace and Jessie. Jessie coughed as the cloud of dust enveloped him. Grace sat stoic and still in her saddle. Only her dark eyes shifted as she took in the measure of the riders. They were clad in rough riding leathers and chaps. They wore road grime and their faces were obscured behind thick beards. Jessie reeled at the odor of unwashed bodies and cheap hooch. Their horses foamed at the bit and were weighed down with fat saddlebags. Though none of them held a shooting iron, they were visible everywhere—pistols, hand cannons, and rifles. Jessie had been around enough outlaws inside the Bad Hoss to know one when he saw one.
One of the longriders rode forward. He came alongside Grace. His mustache twitched, revealing a leering grin. “Me oh my, what have we here? A gal playing a buckaroo and a greenhorn playing a man!”
The surrounding gang guffawed. Spurred on by their laughter the lead rider leaned on his saddle horn and eyed Grace. “And a right trat tottie at that.” His voice lowered an octave when he spoke.
Jessie’s cheeks burned with anger, but Grace merely raised an eyebrow and stared at the longrider. He frowned and looked at his fellows stupidly. He’d obviously expected a better reaction from her.
“What you doing out here, girl? Took off from your husband to keep company with this pie eater?”
Grace stared at him without saying a word. The leader squirmed in his saddle and turned to eyeball his gang.
One of the others leaned forward and said, “Look at them shooting irons on her hips, Isom. Might be she fancies herself a gunfighter?”
Isom looked at Grace’s hips, and as he drew his eyes back to her face his gaze lingered on her chest. “That right, girl? Out here looking for scalaws to run in for bounty?”
“Might be I’m just riding through, looking for some peace and quiet. And you know what? Your face is disturbing my peace and quiet.”
Isom blinked for a good five seconds in stunned silence, then broke into a raucous belly laugh. His riders joined him. Neither Grace nor Jessie laughed.
Isom slapped his thigh. “Missy! You got a mouth on you! My face is disturbing your peace and quiet!” He abruptly broke off laughing and leaned toward Grace with a sneer on his lips. “And what you gonna do about my face when it’s bobbing above you as I fuck you bloody?”
“This,” Grace said.
Justice danced to her hand and unloaded into Isom’s face. His brains splattered out the back of his head. Before his body hit the ground, Grace fired three more shots. Three longriders went down in the dirt. Jessie’s gelding pranced nervously at the sound of the gunfire, but Crowbait was steady as a rock. The final two longriders were reaching for their guns when Kaga leaped through the air and slammed into one, knocking him off his horse. The wolf savaged the longrider’s throat. The last goon yanked the reins of his horse and kicked her sides. Grace fired off two shots, but the rider ducked and weaved. Grace swore and holstered her equalizer. She reached around behind her and drew the Winchester.
Jessie frowned. “What are you doing? He’s shinning out. Just let him go.”
Grace slid a bullet into the chamber and pumped the lever. She raised the rifle, nestled it in the crook of her arm, and peered down the sights.
“Grace! He ain’t worth it!” Jessie called out.
Grace drew a breath and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked violently, and Jessie swung his head in time to see the rider jerk and fall off his horse. A little cloud of dust burst up from the ground as the rider hit the dirt.
Jessie spun on Grace. “What did you do that for? He was already bugged out! You could have let him go! He weren’t no demon.”
Grace lowered the Winchester and turned to holster it. She wiped her face and her gloves came away stained with Isom’s blood. “Told you before, boy. Not all demons are evil, and not all men are saints.”
Jessie frowned. “Seems queer is all. You let that demon hound scoot when it dang near ripped us to shreds, yet you beef that bushwhacker who was already running scared. I don’t get it.”
Grace slid out of her saddle and approached Isom’s fallen body. Kaga padded beside her, his muzzle dripping with gore. Grace murmured and patted his head. She knelt beside Isom and started going through his pockets.
“I told you already, things ain’t always what they seem. Chupacabras ain’t demons. They was just doing what they do. Men like these,” Grace counted out a few coppers and stuffed them into her vest, “they’re demons in human skin. Might bleed red and piss and shit with the rest of us but cut down deep and you’ll find a black and corrupt heart.” She rose to her feet and sauntered to Jessie. He glared down at her from atop his horse and flinched as she thrust out Isom’s hat. It was blood-spattered and rimmed with the dead man’s sweat. Grace peered at Jessie and waved the hat at him. After a moment he snatched it from her hand. Grace’s lips twitched as she looked up at him.
“Told you at the outset, a bounty hunter don’t discriminate about the bounty she hunts. Evil is evil. And if you want to keep riding with me, you gotta be okay with that.”
Jessie swallowed and looked at the hat in his hands. He chewed his cheek and reluctantly dragged the shirt from his head. He ran a hand through his greasy hair. With a little breath to steel himself, Jessie lowered the Stetson onto his head. He imagined he cut an imposing figure in the dead man’s hat, but his stomach roiled at thought of where it had come from. Grace nodded and held up the dead man’s six-gun. Jessie looked into her dark eyes before hesitantly taking Isom’s Colt.
“When the time comes, I hope you won’t get bogged down in man or monster. It’s evil you need to watch out for. Evil that’ll sneak up on you unawares and bed you down before you can even blink,” Grace said.
Jessie held the Colt carefully as Grace’s gaze burned into him. He eventually nodded so she would walk away.
Grace patted Kaga and pulled herself into her saddle. She eyed the sky and said, “We better scoot. Won’t be long now till dusk and I’ve a hankering to be somewhere before nightfall.”
Jessie frowned as he handled the revolver. “Gonna be a full moon tonight. We could ride by moonlight if we have to.”
Grace gave Jessie a strange look. “I’ll be riding by moonlight that’s for sure. But we gotta scoot nonetheless.”
Grace kneed Crowbait’s sides and the mare cantered away. Jessie sat in his saddle and looked down at the dead bodies lying underneath the baking sun. A murder was already flapping around overhead, their black wings snapping through the still air. Jessie sighed and urged his gelding on, leaving behind him another chorus of dead bodies. He felt like the eternal gravedigger, doomed to wander from body to body in a sea of never-ending corpses, casting a gloomy pall over everything he passed.
He snorted to himself and a wry smile crossed his lips. He patted the gelding’s neck affectionately. “Least I got a name for you now. I’m gonna name you Paul.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jessie shifted to relieve the pressure on the blister beneath his left butt cheek. He was unaccustomed to sitting in a saddle for so many hours and Grace was not the sort who took regular breaks. She’d made it clear at the outset; riding with her meant riding at her pace.
Jessie sighed and fidgeted in the saddle. His darkly named gelding, Paul, was flagging, and he hoped they didn’t have much farther to go. Between the events of the last few days, the constant riding, and Grace’s surliness, Jessie was beginning to wonder if taking a licking from Orville might have been preferable to riding across the country with this mo
rbid gunfighter. He’d tried to draw Grace into a conversation a few times but had little success in getting anything out of her beyond a one-word grunt. She was fixated on riding and making it to their destination before dusk.
The sky was well into its transcendent journey from pink to violet when Grace reined in her mare and waited for Jessie to come up alongside her. He scanned the horizon and frowned as he spied dots of light in the distance.
“Campfires?” he asked, startled at the exhaustion in his voice.
Grace didn’t answer. She seemed to be counting the campfires. Finally, she nodded and said, “Ba’cho Apache.”
She flicked the reins and Crowbait trotted forward. Kaga, the silent shadow beside her, suddenly loped off into the distance and was soon gone from sight.
Jessie tasted the words Ba’cho Apache on his lips, his breathing quickening as he realized their implications. He snapped the reins and cantered after Grace.
“Ba’cho Apache? As in Apache Injun? Criminy! We gotta shin out before they catch wind of us!” He leaned out to snatch Grace’s reins. She jerked the reins and Crowbait snorted and shied away.
“God dammit!” Jessie cried and snatched for the reins again. A sudden crack split the air and stinging pain shot up Jessie’s outstretched arm. He hissed and hugged his arm to his chest.
Grace held a bullwhip in her hand. “Touch my horse again and I won’t stop at one.”
Jessie bit back a cuss and blinked away tears as his forearm throbbed. “I’m right sorry, ma’am but up yonder, red-deviled Injuns!”
Grace stowed the bullwhip. “Up yonder is a camp of Ba’cho Apaches. And if you want to keep your lovely crop of blond hair, I wouldn’t use words like ‘red-devil’ around them. We clear?”
“You mean to ride on them?”
Grace’s lips slid into a smile. “Well, how else am I going to collect my bounty?” She clicked her tongue at Crowbait to get the mare trotting.
Jessie sucked in a deep breath and felt beneath his jacket for the small notebook he’d taken from the Bad Hoss Saloon. Tonight’s entry would be fit to burst, between the failed longrider ambush and riding into a den of—
Jessie frowned. He was thinking den of evil. His latest discussion with Grace made him hesitate and chew on that thought. All his life he’d been taught native folk were evil. But then again, all his life he’d been taught that things like those chupacabras were evil too. Now Grace’s difference of opinion had put the wind up him and he was beginning to doubt everything he knew.
Jessie shivered and crossed himself just the same.
“Deliver me from evil,” he whispered. He shook his head and wondered at his own stupidity as he followed Grace toward the blinking campfires.
Jessie’s fear that he’d feel an arrow thud into his chest as they approached proved unfounded. Grace was welcomed into the camp like a long-lost daughter, and while Jessie was aware of the hostile gazes turned his direction, he was neither threatened nor mishandled.
Camp was a loose term for the small number of scattered campfires and the handful of natives who surrounded them. Jessie had expected to see tipis tents and dour men in elaborate headdresses, and shy, demure squaws. He was somewhat surprised and disappointed to find only a smattering of men around a few crude campfires. Meat spitted on long sticks dangled over embers and sizzled tantalizingly.
Jessie slid from Paul’s saddle and winced as he hobbled to Grace’s side. A dark-eyed native took the reins and led Paul away, while the remaining folk surrounded Grace and Jessie. Jessie frowned as he eyed the native men, each more impressive than the last. Their bare chests glistened gold in the flickering firelight and they were crowned with streams of long raven-black hair. They were all youthful and chattered away in a lyrical language Jessie couldn’t hope to understand. One masculine young man strode forward. His jaw was chiseled, and his eyes smiled as he looked at Grace.
An irrational twinge of jealousy twisted Jessie’s guts as he watched Grace smile at the tall, lithe native. It was a smile Jessie had never seen her wear before and it softened her hard face. The native slid his large hands into hers and spoke in a smooth voice. Grace nodded. She drew a breath and Jessie jerked in surprise as she responded in the man’s own tongue. Grace finished her speech and rooted around in a saddlebag she’d lifted from Crowbait. She mumbled in English and Jessie realized it was for his benefit. “Got good trade coming. Ba’cho have a special hankering for neniiskoseit bits.”
Jessie frowned. “Neniiskoseit bits?” He stumbled on the unfamiliar word.
Grace withdrew her hand from the leather bag. She held out her fist and when she opened her fingers, Jessie blanched and shrank away. Grace had an inch-long fang in the center of her palm, yellowing roots still attached to the grisly trophy. Beside it was a long, curled finger, the tip of which sported a two-inch claw.
Jessie looked Grace and gasped, “Those...those are Ina’s?”
“’Course. Like I said, Ba’cho pony up good for neniiskoseit bits. They got a real lap for this.” She dug around in the bag and produced a quivering mass of deep red tissue. Liver.
“Think I’m about to air the paunch.” Jessie groaned and turned away retching.
Grace smirked and showed the liver to the natives. The tall male closest to Grace nodded and spoke. She answered rapidly and he nodded in return. Grace slipped the gory trophies into the bag and passed it over. Jessie didn’t have to speak their language to understand their exclamations of awe as they peeked inside the bag. As the bag went around, another young male, whose dark eyes were ringed with yellow, came up beside the first and smiled warmly at Grace. He spoke to her and gestured to the bag.
“That mean they like what we brought them?” Jessie whispered.
Grace shushed him and turned back to the natives. The man closed his strange eyes for a moment and spoke in a low tone. His words were slow and deliberate, and Jessie could see Grace hung on every word. He frowned and wondered what the man was saying. He ached to ask but didn’t want to be shushed again. Instead, he kicked the ground and watched Grace’s expressions as they conversed. Grace’s eyes were focused and a little muscle in her jaw worked as she gritted her teeth. As the native came to the end of his speech, Grace muttered beneath her breath and lowered her head. Her fingers clenched into fists, and Jessie knew whatever they’d told her wasn’t what she wanted to hear. The other native, the one who stood unnecessarily tall in Jessie’s eyes, gently rubbed Grace’s shoulder. Jessie was irritated by the gesture and frustrated at having been left out of the conversation.
“Grace?” he asked.
“Hss.” She looked at the native with the strange eyes and muttered. Jessie had an idea she was saying thanks for nothing. He chewed his cheek as he waited to see what the natives would pony up in exchange for Ina’s ‘bits’. Grace nodded curtly, then turned on her heel and strode away. Jessie blinked after her, unsure what to do. He shot the natives an awkward look over his shoulder and ducked after Grace. She strode between campfires, headed toward Crowbait when Jessie caught up with her.
“Grace!”
“Jessie, get on back over there and see Qochata. He’s the shorter of them two fellas. He’ll set you up with some fixings. We ride out tomorrow.”
Jessie frowned. “But ma’am! You ponied up the nenni... nennisi... The demon bits, but what, he mucked out on paying up?”
Grace glanced at Jessie. “Hard money ain’t the only thing to set store by, Jessie. Qochata ponied up something far more valuable than gold or silver.” She patted the boy’s cheek a little too hard, then turned to Crowbait. She tugged out her bedroll and rifled through her saddlebags.
“Shoot! What did he pay?” Jessie asked.
“Skinny!” Grace called back. She stuck the bedroll under an arm, flashed Jessie a smile, and sauntered off.
“Skinny?” Jessie mused. “On who?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jessie woke from a deep, dreamless sleep with a start. He’d sweat right through his long johns and n
ow the itchy material stuck to his body. His heart hammered in his chest and he couldn’t quite recall what had woken him. He sat propped on his elbows, straining to hear something beyond the chorus of cicadas and nickers of Crowbait and Paul. His head pounded and his throat was dry. His bladder was full, and he couldn’t ignore it now he was awake. He sighed and sat up, rubbed his stiff shoulder, and gazed at the nearby glowing campfire.
Natives surrounded him. They’d hunkered down on the ground to sup, startling Jessie by simply parking their backsides on the rocky ground. Not a single man pulled out a bedroll, and Jessie quickly realized not a single man carried a bedroll. They didn’t have horses, bags, or weapons either. As he’d begun to puzzle on this, he’d been handed a leg of meat to chew. It was undercooked and bloody. After supper Jessie had succumbed to weariness; it was all he could do to retrieve his bedroll and flop down into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Jessie eyed the sleeping bodies around him as they twitched and grunted. He rose and quietly slipped through the night, away from the campfire. He breathed easier outside the soft glow of the campfire where he could no longer hear the slumbering natives. Overhead the moon had just reached its swollen fullness and shed an eerie glow over the sleeping land. Jessie crept up beside a stunted cottonwood tree and found a place to empty his bladder. As he was finishing, he heard a noise, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was the same sound that had awoken him. A cry in the night. Jessie tensed and listened. The cry came again, and he realized it was a woman’s cry.
“Grace!” he whispered urgently.
She cried again, slightly louder and more insistent, and Jessie lurched into action. He lumbered through the darkness, whispering her name and pausing every few seconds to hear her cry out again. He skirted the edge of camp and frowned. Her cries were coming from the black desert beyond camp. He stumbled through the darkness and came across a rocky outcrop. He heard Grace call out from around the other side of the small hill of bedrock.
Guns of Perdition Page 4
