“Grace!” he hissed and lurched around the outcrop. She cried out again, and Jessie pressed his palm against the rocky surface ready to spring into sight and save her. A sharp stone bit into his palm, but Jessie didn’t feel the pain. He was distracted when the moon slid from behind a cloud and bathed the scene in pale beauty. Jessie fell still and silent as the moonlight caressed Grace’s naked flesh and shone like quicksilver in her blond hair. The moon flowed over the angles of her shoulders, the plains of her back, and the curve of her buttocks as she knelt astride the man below her. Moonlight played across the man’s large hands as he kneaded her bare breasts. Grace rode him as easily as she rode her ashen mare, and she flung her head back and sent waves of dun-colored hair rolling down her back. She cried out and gripped his wrists. The man’s movements below her sped up and soon he was grunting in unison with her. The moonlight highlighted his silky black hair, an ink stain on the bedroll below him. Jessie recognized him as the tall male who’d greeted Grace earlier this evening.
Jessie stood by the rocky outcrop transfixed as they made love. As their tempo increased, Jessie’s breeches tightened against his own swollen member. His breathing quickened and his mouth was dry. Grace’s hips thrust back and forth, and she let loose a primal scream from deep within. She slumped down on top of the man. He cushioned her in well-muscled arms and with a smooth movement flung her down on the bedroll and slid between her legs. A few quick thrusts and he finished inside her, adding his own voice to the night chorus.
Jessie’s loins ached and his head swam. His gut churned. He was about to lurch around the outcrop and call Grace a whore for pirooting with some red-devil when she spoke. “Sakes alive, it’s been too long Kaga! I’ve been chomping at the bit for you.”
Jessie’s eyes widened and he mouthed Kaga.
The man smiled and stroked Grace’s curls. “Don’t I know it, pouncing on me like a wild cat. I ought to tell you not to behave in such a way. That such behavior is unseemly for a lady.” His voice was rough as though long unused.
Grace smiled a radiant, warm smile. “And I ought to tell you I ain’t no lady. And you ain’t exactly a gentleman neither.” Her expression sobered and the look of sadness in her eyes made Jessie want to run in and swoop her into his arms. He gritted his teeth as the man stroked her face. “Hanhepi wi? What is it?”
Grace shook her head and murmured, “It ain’t fair, Kaga. Three nights. It ain’t fair!”
The man sighed and dipped low to press a lingering kiss on her lips. “Do not think about it. Not now.”
Grace’s grimace gradually smoothed as his kisses moved down her neck. A smile came to her lips as he dipped lower. “You always know how to distract me.”
Jessie turned away and left the rocky outcrop, leaving the two to their nocturnal activities. He frowned as he struggled to come to terms with what he’d seen and heard. Kaga. She’d called the man Kaga. It had to be a coincidence...didn’t it?
A soft voice spoke beside Jessie. He jerked and cried out in shock. He spun around and stared into the strangely yellowish eyes of the native who had seen him fed and shown him where to sleep. Qochata. Jessie’s face flamed with a swirl of irrational anger as he wondered if Grace had already slept with this one yet, or if he was on his way now to take his turn.
Qochata repeated his question and Jessie shook his head. “I don’t speak Injun.”
Qochata smiled. “No, I would think not. Come. Sit with me a while.”
Jessie’s eyebrows rose. He glanced back at the rocky outcrop, then followed Qochata. At the man’s gestures and simple commands, Jessie sat cross-legged in front of a flickering fire. He gazed into the hot coals for a long time trying to understand what he’d seen tonight. After a while, his scalp prickled, and he looked up to find Qochata staring at him.
“You look whiter than usual, white man. You see a spirit?”
Jessie swallowed and wondered how to answer. Before he could speak, Qochata chuckled. “I think you see something not meant for white eyes. Not meant for people who don’t understand the way of things.”
Jessie frowned. “Was it—that man she was with—was it Kaga? The wolf?”
Qochata shrugged. “Did he look like a wolf?”
“No, but—”
“Then he was not a wolf,” Qochata said simply.
Jessie frowned. “He is the wolf though, ain’t he? Sometimes?”
A small smile touched Qochata’s lips. “Sometimes. Like the wind is sometimes a little breeze, gentle and welcome, but sometimes also a tornado rolling across the prairie.”
“How often is he a man?” Jessie asked quietly.
Qochata waved his hand. “How often is the moon fat?”
Jessie bit the inside of his cheek. “Three good nights a month I reckon.”
Qochata nodded.
Jessie’s eyes widened. “Three nights a month? That’s all? She waits for him to be a man for three nights a month? Criminy!”
Qochata nodded again and lowered his head. Jessie had a sudden flash of understanding. He looked around at the sleeping figures lying on the earth, at the campfires, uncluttered with pots and pans and other necessities of life. “You’re all wolves, ain’t you? The whole lot of you are just like Kaga.”
Qochata smiled. “This white man has more wisdom than I thought.”
Jessie breathed out. He looked at Qochata’s face and fancied he could see the wolf lurking behind the man’s yellow-ringed eyes. “Are you...some kind of demon?”
Qochata surprised Jessie by laughing. He flicked his long hair from his face and said, “That is white man’s word. White man’s view. Black. White. Good. Evil. Love. Hate. Ba’cho do not see things this way. We see gray.”
“Gray?”
Qochata nodded. “Do you think the rattlesnake is evil?”
Jessie frowned. “No.”
Qochata nodded again. “What about the neniiskoseit that you helped Hiihooteet nei’oku to take down?”
“Hiihooteet nei’oku?”
Qochata smiled. “Grace.”
“Oh, right. Well if you’re asking if I think Ina was evil, then yessir. I watched her rip out that old moss’s throat back there in the Hoss. Ain’t something good that does a thing like that.”
“But the rattlesnake will also kill a man given the chance. Yet it is not evil?” Qochata’s voice was soft.
Jessie frowned. “No. It ain’t evil. It just... Well, that’s what rattlers do.”
Qochata nodded. “And what if ripping out throats is what a neniiskoseit does. If it is following its nature, does that make it evil?”
Jessie’s frown deepened. “Well...it’s against God, isn’t it? What Ina did. What the snake does, isn’t. The snake’s something from His kingdom. Ina ain’t.”
Qochata laughed again, though there was a bitter edge to it. When he leaned forward, Jessie felt goosebumps erupt all along his arms. “I don’t know much about white man’s God, but I suspect the serpent is very much against God. That is what your Holy Book says?”
Jessie flushed at having been pipped in a biblical argument by a savage.
Qochata continued, “And you say the neniiskoseit was not from His kingdom. Then where did it come from?”
“P’shaw I don’t know! Probably from Hell,” Jessie exclaimed.
The man’s eyes narrowed, and he suddenly seemed all too wolf-like. “And me? Did I spring from Hell also? I am neniiskoseit, aren’t I?”
Jessie’s mouth went dry and he rubbed his temples. “Aw gummy! I don’t know! My Pa was the preacher. I just know some things ought to eat lead and others oughtn’t.”
Qochata’s expression cleared and he leaned back. “Spoken like Hiihooteet nei’oku herself.”
Jessie smiled wryly at the comparison. His grin slipped as he looked at the native man. “Qochata. Do you know what she’s really doing out here?”
Qochata’s expression grew guarded and he rose to his feet.
Jessie jumped up beside him. “Aw c’mon! I know you gave
her some kinda bad medicine, something she weren’t happy about hearing. What was it?”
Qochata regarded the young lad for a moment, then stepped close to Jessie. Jessie flinched as Qochata laid a callused hand on his chest. He looked into the native’s dark eyes and was startled when Qochata leaned down and sniffed him. Jessie stood very still and let Qochata finish his nasal assessment.
“She hunts,” he said softly.
Jessie frowned. “Hunts what?”
Qochata shook his head. “Not what. Who. She hunts the Darksome Gunman.”
Jessie’s scalp crawled at the name. “Who?”
“She calls him the Darksome Gunman. Don’t know if he’s real or legend. Don’t know if he’s human or other. We just tell her what we’ve heard. Sometimes it comes from white folk overheard talking on the trail. Sometimes it comes from the tribes. This time is different. This time Wahchintonka himself saw the Darksome Gunman.”
“Wahchi...” Jessie stumbled on the long name.
Qochata gestured to one of the sleeping forms.
Jessie nodded. “Right. So, Grace is...what? Going to hunt down this bad egg? Why? What’d he do?”
Qochata shook his head, sending his dark hair dancing. “I will speak no more of this. If you want answers, ask them of her.”
Jessie started to protest, but Qochata merely nodded and wandered away. Jessie blinked after him and looked down at his hand. The cut he’d taken from the rock had gummed shut and was throbbing. He sat down on the ground and stared into the campfire embers. His head was reeling with too much information, and he couldn’t stop seeing the image of Grace sitting astride Kaga, bathed in pearlescent moonlight. When he finally made it back to his bedroll, his eyes stung as though he had grit beneath both lids. He laid on his bedroll and looked up at the stars.
When a crow’s ugly caw woke him up a few hours later, Jessie sat up on his bedroll and looked around in stunned awe.
He was surrounded by a pack of massive sleeping wolves.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Ba’cho wolf pack woke with the dawn and silently slipped away, leaving Jessie with wide, envious eyes. One big beast had paused before him and bobbed its great head. Jessie had eyed the wolf carefully, then nodded back. The wolf had grunted and bounded away. Jessie wasn’t quite convinced the big wolf was Qochata but he suspected it was. He’d contemplated heading to the outcrop to find Grace but had decided against it. If she was saying her farewells to Kaga before he shifted back into his wolf form, Jessie didn’t fancy interrupting them. Instead, he’d checked on Paul and Crowbait, helped himself to some pemican, and huddled down beside the spent campfire to write in his journal. He was describing his encounter with the Ba’cho wolf-men when Grace appeared.
Jessie did a double take as she approached. She had bathed and scrubbed the layer of dirt from her face. Her dirty-blond hair was loose and spilled around her face in thick waves. She wore her calico undershirt without a vest, but her holstered Smith & Wessons were already strapped around her waist. Jessie wondered if she took them off to sleep. He was struck by an unbidden image of a naked Grace standing before him wearing only her gun belt. He choked and Grace swung her dark brown eyes on him. His face flamed and he lowered his gaze.
“Sleep well?” she asked as she made her way to Crowbait. She busied herself with a waterskin as Jessie contemplated his answer.
“Pretty mean actually, on account of all the interruptions.”
Grace took a long, deep pull from the waterskin and wiped her lips on her arm. She glanced at Jessie with red-rimmed eyes. He could guess why they were red and suddenly felt bad about the jibe. He looked down at his notebook. “I mean to say the night was all full up with shecoonery.”
Grace helped herself to a few strips of pemican. She ambled over to Jessie and squatted opposite him, munching her breakfast. Jessie sniffed and a wave of her scent had him reeling—lye, leather, and myrrh.
“I take it as gospel you found out the truth about the Ba’cho?” She chewed noisily as she fixed her dark eyes on Jessie.
Jessie nodded. He turned as he heard a noise and stiffened as Kaga bounded onto the scene. The wolf ranged up beside Grace and flopped down next to her.
Jessie frowned at the wolf. “And I found out the truth about him too.”
To her credit, Grace didn’t flinch, didn’t blush, didn’t even blink. She reached out and patted Kaga’s flank and offered him a piece of pemican. The wolf gobbled the dried meat hungrily. Jessie realized that Kaga had probably spent his whole night with Grace and hadn’t spent any time with his kin. “He spends every night as a human with you don’t he? Don’t shy with his people. Don’t eat or drink. Just spoons with you.”
Grace didn’t answer. She gazed at Kaga with an unfathomable expression on her face.
Jessie shook his head. “Some biggity sacrifice that is.”
Grace flung the last of her pemican into the campfire’s cold coals. “’Less you got something useful to say, quit your yammering, boy.”
Jessie blinked in surprise as the sudden outburst. He realized too late that he’d touched on a sore spot. He cursed inwardly and lowered his eyes.
“Right, then I suggest we bug out,” Grace muttered as she stood up.
Jessie looked up. “Actually, I do got something to say.”
Grace turned her back on him and started toward the horses.
Jessie frowned. “The Darksome Gunman.”
Grace froze. Kaga raised his head from his paws and looked at his mistress. Jessie felt a chill pass over him and glanced up to see if clouds had brewed. The day was clear, the sky was blue, and no clouds were in sight. Grace turned and pierced Jessie with her direct stare. He noticed her hands were balled into fists.
“Where’d you hear that name?” Her voice was low but carried across the desert.
Jessie swallowed. “One of them Ba’chos told me.”
“What else did he say?” Grace asked. She was tense and anger radiated off her like the heat from the summer sun.
“Just that you’re hunting him.”
“Then that’s all you need to know,” Grace said. She started to turn when Kaga rose and pressed against her knees, preventing her from striding away. She looked down at the big wolf with anger on her face and met his unflinching yellow gaze. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Grace sighed and turned back to Jessie. Kaga lowered himself to the ground as Grace hunkered down and fidgeted in her pockets. She produced a tin and opened it, revealing a brown mass of chewing tobacco. She scooped up a wad, stuffed it in her mouth and began to chew. She flicked her dark eyes on Jessie. “What do you want to know?”
Jessie blinked at this sudden turn of events. “Who is this Gunman, for one?”
Grace spat and said, “A sonuvabitch.”
Jessie frowned.
Grace sighed. “Remember when I said not all demons are monsters? Some walk and talk like any highfalutin dandy?”
“Yeah, like Ina?”
Grace nodded. “Right. Well, this sonuvabitch is one of them.”
“With fangs and claws and all?” Jessie asked.
Grace shook her head and spat again. “Nope. The Darksome Gunman ain’t the same as your saloon girl. He ain’t like the Ba’cho neither. He’s something I ain’t never come across before.”
“Where’d you first meet him?”
Grace let the air out of her lungs and rubbed her gloved hands over her face. She glanced at Kaga and snapped something in his native language. The wolf whined but didn’t move. Jessie swallowed and began to regret even bringing up the man’s name. Finally, Grace turned back to Jessie. “You’re what...fifteen? Sixteen?”
Jessie’s chest puffed. “Seventeen.”
Grace waved a dismissive hand. “I was eleven when I first learned about demons, and I learned because one came to our front door. We was sitting down to chitterlings and greens—we being Ma, Pa, and me. Pa finished saying grace and the front door right shook as someone thumped on it. We wasn�
�t expecting no one that time of night. Pa got up and went to the front door.”
The hairs on Jessie’s arms stood on end as Grace spoke. Her voice was low and far away, hollow and automatic. When she spoke next, Jessie knew she was there, an eleven-year-old child watching the scene unfold before her.
“I see Pa fling the door open. He looks down both barrels of a shotgun. There’s a thundering and Pa’s head explodes. Ma and I are covered in blood. Pa drops to the floor and a man steps inside. He’s tall and swell and terrible all at the same time. He’s dressed all mighty proper in a fine wool suit and a shirt the color of wild purple orchids. As he walks in I hear the jingle and thump of the spurs on his boots. Then Ma’s screaming and scraping her chair backward. She’s grabbing for me and yelling, ‘Get behind me Grace!’ and all the while there’s the jingle and thump of them spurs.”
Jessie forgot to breathe as Grace told her story. He leaned forward; his eyes wide.
“Then he takes hold of the table and flips it across the other side of the room like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Ma’s screaming at him to get back and calling on the Lord to smite him. She backs into me and we’re up against the wall. The double-barrel slips from his fingers and smashes on the floor. Ma screams. He walks right up to her and presses against her, all obscene-like. He leans down and whispers in her ear like a man courting his trat. ‘Mary,’ he says, ‘I’m powerful sorry it’s gotta be this way, but it’s part of the plan. Grace has gotta face her crucible.’ He speaks all proper, like an educated man. And Ma’s crying and trying to shove him away. And I’m looking out from between Ma’s skirts, looking up at this man. And then there’s thunder again.”
Grace hesitated and Jessie stole a quick breath.
“Ma stiffens. She’s pushing me harder against the wall. I want to cry out to let me be, but something’s dripping down my face distracting me. It’s warm and red. Then I see the silver of his revolver as he presses it against Ma’s side and she just falls sideways, sort of sliding down the wall. Now he’s standing there looking down at me with his equalizer in his hand and a grin on his lips. ‘Face your fears, Grace. Embrace who you are.’ He takes my arm and drags me over to Ma’s slumped body. I scream and try to pull away. ‘Look at her,’ he says. I struggle. He slaps me hard enough to bust my lip. ‘Look at her!’ I look. Her eyes are open. Her mouth too. Her face is frozen in a death mask. Her eyes are all hollow. ‘See it,’ he says. Then he drags me over to Pa and this is worse to look at on account of his head being all blowed off. He slaps me again till I look. ‘See it,’ he says again.”
Guns of Perdition Page 5
