Grace nodded. “An army’s right. Tokota, you saw the wolf we were riding with. You took ill at him coming in with us, but if you just let me bring him in, you’ll see he ain’t no normal wolf. And I can get you a whole pack of—”
“No!” Tokota shouted. Both Grace and Jessie flinched at the vehemence of his tone.
Grace frowned. “Tokota, I’m trying to help—”
“No,” Tokota said again, and his voice had chilled. “I will not let sica like that into my home. The beast is lucky I let it walk away without putting my spear through its throat.”
Grace’s face flushed. “You best watch how you speak about my wolf. I ain’t the sort to tolerate insults.” Her voice matched Tokota’s in chill and intensity.
Tokota met her glare and stood up. Opposite him, Grace rose to her feet and her hands fell to her gun belt. Jessie’s heart sped up, and he could almost taste the tension in the air. Tokota’s gaze slid to Grace’s guns and back to her face. “You will need to shoot me before I let a bad spirit like that into our camp. I do not speak to upset you. I speak to warn you.”
Grace’s lip curled. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about it. Don’t presume to lecture me on things you don’t understand.”
Tokota’s dark eyes flashed. “You are a foolish white woman with no understanding of the spirit world. That is not a normal wolf. It is yee naaldlooshii.”
Grace frowned. “Skin-walker? Sakes, I know that! And if you know it too, then why are you pitching a fit?”
“Because I have seen the evil they do. It was a pack of yee naaldlooshii that drove my people out of our first place. Our blessed place.”
Grace’s frown deepened. “That don’t make sense. They’re peaceable folk.”
Tokota’s dark eyes narrowed. “I watched your ‘peaceable folk’ tear the throat from my grandmother. I watched your ’peaceable folk’ rip our medicine man limb from limb. And I watched their chief—their Alpha—sit in his silver saddle on his cursed spirit horse and laugh.”
Grace’s face paled. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened. She took a step backward. “Silver saddle? Spirit horse?”
Tokota frowned.
“Was he—the Alpha I mean—was he a cowboy? Dressed in fine duds? Stetson hat? All in black?”
Tokota’s expression darkened as he nodded.
“Jingling spurs on his boots...” Grace whispered.
Tokota nodded again. Jessie drew in a deep breath. He recognized the description. All three did.
“Hell in a handbasket. The Darksome Gunman.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Folk surrounded Tokota’s campfire. Grace and Jessie sat side by side, with Kaga taking up a good deal of space beside Grace. Enapay and the medicine man hunkered opposite them. They cast dour glances at all three outsiders. Tokota sat stiff-backed off to the side, his gaze drifting between Grace and the wolf.
After the revelation that Tokota and his people had come face to face with the Darksome Gunman, Grace had briefly outlined her own history with the dark gunfighter. She included the events of Sandycrag Creek and the Darksome Gunman’s ominous words that prompted them to seek out Buzzard’s Ford. Tokota had listened in stony silence, and at the end of her tale suggested they seek the wisdom of the medicine man. He’d also insisted on Enapay being present. Grace agreed, if Kaga too was present at the gathering. Though his face had been dark with anger, Tokota had acquiesced, and the small gathering had grown in size and tension.
“Enapay does not speak English, so I will translate,” Tokota said. He spent the next few minutes recapping Grace’s story. Jessie watched the interplay between the three native men. The medicine man sat like a rock as he listened. Enapay, by comparison, jiggled with emotion. His foot tapped on the ground, his fingers fidgeted, and he snorted and interjected often. Pain and weariness tugged at Jessie’s concentration, and he found himself staring at Grace. She sat cross-legged and leaned forward. The tent confines were warm, and a bead of sweat trickled down the front of her throat and disappeared into the mysteries hidden beneath her shirt. Jessie licked his lips and lowered his gaze to her outstretched hand. He frowned as she toyed with Kaga’s fur.
Enapay’s raised voice drew Jessie back to the natives. Tokota held up his hands as Enapay crossed his arms and glared.
Tokota sighed and turned to Grace. “Enapay is not convinced you are here to help. He thinks you are with the folk of Whitestand Hollow.”
Grace frowned. “P’shaw. I don’t care a continental about them fellas in their highfalutin town. I only want to see that loathsome sonuvabitch Darksome Gunman cold as a wagon wheel. And you all got something to do with making that happen. So, tell me about the time he ran you off your blessed place.”
Tokota’s jaw clenched as he studied Grace. He turned back to Enapay and spoke in a clipped tone. Enapay sneered and waved a dismissive hand. Tokota glanced at the medicine man, who gave no indication of his thoughts, before turning back to Grace. His gaze wandered to Kaga and his lips thinned.
“I never thought I would see the day when yee naaldlooshii sits in my tent.” He shook his head and looked at Grace. “You say you know he is sometimes wolf, sometimes man?”
Grace nodded. Jessie had the feeling Tokota was doing everything in his power not to say “it” when referring to Kaga.
“We thought they were just wolves when they came. Bigger than usual. Bolder. In a pack the size we had never seen before. It was twilight when they attacked. They did not slink in the shadows like normal wolves. They streamed in like a river. Anyone in their path was cut down. Men. Women. Children. Animals. They savaged everything. My people took up weapons and tried to fight them off. There were too many. In a short time, there was only a handful of us left. They hemmed us into one of the horse pens. The horses were already dead. Then the sun went away, and he came.”
“The Darksome Gunman,” Grace breathed.
Tokota met her stare. “He came out of nowhere on his spirit horse. His clothes were made of shadow. Some of the wolves flocked to his side as though protecting him.”
Kaga whined and Grace hushed him.
“Then he spoke. He used our words even though he was a white man. He said, ‘This place is not for you. Your place is where the buzzards circle and the worms feast on the dead.’”
“Buzzards...” Jessie whispered. Grace flapped a hand at him.
Tokota drew a breath before continuing. “Then he drew a silver gun and aimed at Enapay. Then he turned it onto me. Finally, he turned it on Yahto, our wise man, our leader. The gun went off and Yahto fell dead.”
Grace lowered her head.
“Then he said, ‘Go,’ and his wolves parted. Enapay and I gathered the few survivors and walked the path between the yee naaldlooshii. They growled and howled as we walked between them, and I thought they would attack. Their muzzles were covered with the blood of my people. The path they made led us past the man and his spirit horse. I looked up at him as we went past, and he smiled. He said, ‘War is coming.’ Then he waved his gun until I passed him by. We made it out of camp, walking by the dead bodies of our people, and there waited one horse who had survived the slaughter. A red horse that was high-spirited and would let no one touch him but me. A horse no one remembered seeing before. I put a wounded man on his back, and then we heard a terrible sound. It was the yee naaldlooshii changing, becoming two-legged men. They circled the Darksome Gunman and used their men throats to insult us.”
Kaga whined again and pawed Grace’s leg. She glanced at him and patted his side. “I know, I know.” She looked up at Tokota. “It weren’t Kaga’s folk. It weren’t the Ba’cho. Must have been some other pack.”
Tokota shrugged. “It does not matter which pack it was. Yee naaldlooshii are what they are.”
“You’re wrong!” Jessie cried out. “Ain’t no way Kaga or his folk would do something like that!”
Grace’s lips twitched and she looked at Tokota. He seemed taken aback by the lad’s vehemence.
“T
he boy speaks the truth, Tokota. If it were a full moon you could hear it from Kaga’s own lips, but I swear to you now, on the soul of my ma, the wolves that squabashed your folk weren’t Ba’cho.”
“What does it matter?” Tokota interjected. “What does any of this matter?”
Grace gazed at him for a moment. “It matters because I want you to accept the Ba’cho as allies.”
“Allies?” Tokota sounded surprised. After a nudge from Enapay, Tokota quickly translated Grace’s words.
Jessie glanced at Grace and frowned. Her half-smile played about her lips as it usually did when she had an ace of an idea.
“Allies to take back Whitestand Hollow.”
It had taken a good deal of arm twisting and cajoling before Grace convinced Tokota to hear her out. With the aid of the Ba’cho, and with Grace riding shotgun, the Sioux would need only show up at Whitestand Hollow and watch the white men up and flee in terror. “No one gets hurt,” she said, “and the Sioux get their land back.” Then, with her cold gaze fixed on Tokota, Grace had said, “And then you all owe me...and I intend to collect on that debt with the blood of the Darksome Gunman. You help me track and kill that sonuvabitch.”
When Tokota finally consented her idea had some merit, he insisted on taking Enapay somewhere else—somewhere quiet and away from white men’s eyes—to try to convince him.
“He wants bloodshed to pay for the blood they shed. He will not like the idea of war without blood,” Tokota explained.
Grace smiled at the dour native in return. “But you know how to convince him, don’t you?” She nudged his ribs, and Tokota frowned and stammered.
Grace winked and touched her nose. “I’ll keep it dry, don’t worry, chief.”
Jessie watched this entire exchange in confusion, and when Grace sat down beside him, he couldn’t help but whisper, “What was that all about?”
Grace sighed and shrugged. “Tokota don’t want folk to know how much he and Enapay care about each other.”
Jessie frowned. “They brothers or something?”
Grace snorted. “Or something.”
Jessie glanced sideways at her and was about to challenge her cryptic answer when he noticed she’d lowered her head into her hands. Concern clutched his guts and all other thoughts fled. “Grace? You alright?”
Grace raised her head. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. “Feeling kedge, Jessie. Just didn’t expect I’d be leading a war party any time soon.”
“But it won’t come to shooting and scalping and all. You said so yourself. The folk of Whitestand Hollow will just cut and run on seeing the Sioux and all the Ba’cho, right? No one has to die?”
Grace looked at Jessie and shook her head. “Someone always dies, Jessie.”
Jessie’s brows furrowed. “But what about what you said?”
Grace’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “C’mon, Jessie. You know as well as I do there’s a whole mess of folk in that town. Enough to make some brave men out of would-be yellow bellies. There’s a right chance they’ll dig in their heels and fight anyways.”
“But...you wouldn’t fight with these Injuns against white folk, would you?”
Grace’s eyes turned flinty and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her neck flushed an ugly shade of crin. “I want him, Jessie. The Gunman. And these ‘Injuns’ are rolled up in this hash somehow. Might be they’re the ones who can track him down. And if helping them helps me get him...” She trailed off.
“But what about the innocent folk? The women? The children?”
Grace cocked an eyebrow and turned her head away. “All I’m saying is I want you to prepare for blood.”
She would say no more on the matter, and Jessie returned to his sleeping furs to rest his leg and calm his mind. He stared at the roof and cracked his knuckles as he considered Grace’s words. It was obvious to him that her blind hatred of the Gunman drove all that she did, but would she really allow innocent folk to get ousted from their homes—if not hurt or killed—just to catch a lead on his trail? Jessie shuddered. He realized that even after weeks riding beside her he couldn’t be sure. She was too...Grace...for him to predict her actions.
Jessie sat up and scratched his head. Maybe there was something he could do. A way he could head her off at the pass and avoid seeing at least two innocent people suffer. Grace was planning on sending out Kaga to track down his kin. By the time he found them, returned, and the Sioux mounted a war party, more than a week would have passed. More than enough time for Jessie to get a message to Bess and her pa to get out of town.
Jessie gazed at his few meager belongings stacked beside his furs. The Colt sat atop his stolen Stetson hat, both legacies of a dead man. His coin purse, stuffed beneath the hat, was fat with the coins Grace had won in her drinking contest. Too bad the other guy hadn’t come out with a fat purse. He’d come out on a bone-wagon.
Beneath the coin purse was his journal, the only remnant left from Redrock Ridge. A town he’d last seen in disarray after Grace had blown away a monstrous saloon girl and likely killed old Lee “Lonesome” Roberts. Jessie took the book and dug around in his pile of possessions until he found his pencil.
I’ve donned my armor and I’m fighting the war. But all I’ve learned so far is that someone always dies.
Jessie’s thoughts drifted from the drunk in the saloon to Bess, the apothecary’s daughter.
And I don’t always know if it’s the right person doing the dying.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jessie was cloaked in early morning fog as he rode Paul alongside the Sioux warriors bound for Whitestand Hollow. The dense mist shrouded them as they moved silently through Buzzard’s Ford, and Ba’cho wolves loped ahead to silently take out any Whitestand outriders who might be lurking around the town’s perimeter. By the time the Sioux hit the outskirts of Whitestand Hollow, the rising sun had burned off the worst of the mist, and Jessie gazed up at a cerulean blue sky as they trotted along the dusty road toward the Hollow. He turned his attention to the strange party riding beside him, and not for the first time, wondered how he’d come to be here in the presence of such a strange group.
Enapay rode in the middle of the party on his mottled mare. He was a vision of ferocity in a full feathered headdress and war paint daubed across his face and body. Beside him rode Tokota, every bit as imposing as Enapay on the back of his snorting russet stallion—the stallion whose name Jessie still couldn’t pronounce: Uzeblikblik. Tokota said it meant “Firefly”. Jessie acknowledged that though Tokota’s horse cut an impressive figure, somehow he seemed to make Crowbait appear all the more spectral as she trotted beside him, heedless of the press of bodies and streaming wolves who merged with the main party as they approached the Hollow. Grace flicked Crowbait’s reins and peered out beneath the brim of her John B. Her talking iron was holstered close at hand and her cavalry saber was slung on her back. Justice and Mercy were loaded and ready at her hips.
Feeling out of place and beleaguered, Jessie rounded out the group on his placid gelding. Grace had tried to talk him out of riding on account of his busted leg. Jessie p’shawed her and showed her how well the wound had healed. Whatever vile concoction the medicine man had brewed up and applied to his leg had worked a treat. The wound was pink and healthy, even if it still caused him to grimace in pain. It was Jessie’s heart that was scarred worse, and the scar ran deeper than the puckered skin across his leg. He couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding the dawn brought.
He’d ridden into Whitestand Hollow a few nights back when Grace had been preoccupied with the arrival of the Ba’cho. The full moon had been a few days away, so Grace had done her best to negotiate a treaty between the Sioux and the Ba’cho wolves. It had been difficult and time-consuming, and Jessie had taken his chance to slip into town unnoticed. He’d gone to the apothecary and told the man to leave town. Take Bess and head for the hills. Instead of listening, the potion maker had accused Jessie of being a bad egg and trying to stir up a ruckus for no
good reason. He’d even taken a swing at Jessie as he tried to elbow his way inside. Jessie had retreated into the night, and when he’d looked over his shoulder, he’d seen Bess peering out the window at him.
He prayed to the Lord that they’d seen sense and clipped out already.
As the war party trotted along the road into Whitestand Hollow the town was hushed. Waiting. The skin on the back of Jessie’s neck crawled as he looked around at closed shutters and empty streets. At this time of the morning, farmers should have been out checking their livestock, their wives and children at their chores, and shopkeepers opening for another day’s trade. There was none of this going on. The Hollow was...hollow.
Grace raised her hand and the party slowed to a stop. Horses nickered and stomped, and the folk in the back glowered impatiently, frustrated by the sudden halt.
Jessie, peering down the length of the street, saw why Grace had brought the party to a stop.
In the distance, clustered out front of Whitestand Hollow’s sheriff’s office, milled the good folk of Whitestand Hollow.
Armed and ready to wage war.
It seemed all of Whitestand Hollow’s menfolk were gathered and ready. Jessie suspected everyone from the gunsmith to the preacher stood present and accounted for, and each man brandished some kind of shooting iron.
Enapay gazed down the length of the town and muttered something.
Tokota shook his head and looked down at his hands. “It means bloodshed is now likely. We did not come to fight, Enapay. We came to tell them to leave. But they have been warned of our coming. They stand ready to fight. We must ask ourselves now, do we go forth...or back down? How much blood is worth spilling to take back our home?”
Enapay gave a retort in a scathing tone. Jessie didn’t need a translation to tell him the warrior’s resolve was not shaken at the sight of the armed townsmen.
Guns of Perdition Page 10
