Lawless Lands: Tales from the Weird Frontier

by Emily Lavin Leverett

  Lotte broke away from Blue and ran to Nellie. “Oh Nellie! I missed you!” Lotte cried. “We thought you were dead!”

  “Of course not,” she said. Her voice was so weak, almost a whisper. “I hid… for days I waited. After Charlie…” With that, the girl began to weep into her hands. They were stained with blood. Blue could see it under her fingernails and caked in Charlie Bishop’s ring. “I tried to help him.”

  “Charlie’s all right, child,” Blue said. “He made it back to Perdition…”

  Nellie shook her head. “No… no no no…” she cried.

  Alistair managed to catch her just as she fell, swooning into oblivion. “Come on,” he said. “This way. I think I see a way out.” Blue gasped as the earth beneath their feet shuddered. Those screams, those all too familiar screams, echoed in the corridor behind them. Evidently the creatures had recovered. Or more of them were coming. “Let’s go!”

  The three companions and Nellie made for a narrow crevice at the end of the tunnel. Moonlight peeked through the small crack in the cave wall. It would be just large enough for them to crawl through. The ground shuddered once more as two of the faceless creatures rushed into the cavern. They screeched as if calling for others before running toward them. Blue took Nellie from Alistair, pushing her and Lotte through first and then herself. Alistair was last, lighting several more sticks of dynamite and throwing them into the pit behind them.

  “Run!” Alistair shouted, shoving the women ahead of him. They barely cleared the mouth of the cave before the dynamite exploded, throwing them forward. Rocks and debris whipped at their faces as the narrow opening from which they’d crawled collapsed, burying the cavern.

  It was what the old schoolmaster had called a Herculean task to keep Nellie away from Charlie Bishop when they got back to town. Since they’d left the canyon two days previous, the girl had been chompin’ at the bit to get over to the surgery, but the doctor kept putting her off. She cried and carried on that she couldn’t live one more second without Charlie's arms around her. To the doc’s credit, he insisted that she get well first. Blue still thought she looked a little pale, but on the morning of the third day, she couldn’t hold Nellie back any longer.

  “He’s been mostly out of it since he came home. But I think he’s going to be all right.” Blue smiled and gave Nellie a reassuring pat on the arm as she led her up the stairs. “Especially now that you’re here.”

  “Thank you, kindly. I promise I won’t get him excited,” Nellie said with a wink. Blue smiled and embraced the girl once more. “I’m so glad you’re back home now, Nellie-girl. That was a close call.”

  “Everything’s all right now,” Nellie said, stroking the old woman’s hair.

  “You the only family I got,” Blue said. “I just don’t think I could take it if anythin’ ever happened to you.”

  Nellie shushed her. “You don’t have to worry, Mama Blue. I’ll always be here.”

  Blue nodded and let go, waving her toward Charlie’s bed. “You go on, child. He’s been waitin’ for you.”

  Charlie lay in a feverish stupor, breathing lightly. Nellie knelt beside the bed, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. “Oh, Charlie. I never meant for you to get hurt this way,” she whispered as she pulled back the blanket to examine his wounds.

  “He looks some better today,” Blue said. “The doctor said his fever’s gone down and the dressing looks real good.”

  Nellie leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then she did the oddest thing. She began licking the tiny wounds at Charlie’s throat and cheek. He whimpered in his sleep, almost recoiling from the girl’s touch. Nellie pulled back, offering Blue a toothy grin that she wasn’t sure she liked. It was too wide. Too sharp.

  “You just hush now, love. It’s all right. I’m here now.”

  5

  Lost Words

  David B. Coe

  The day began normal enough, given how it ended. I didn’t put much trust in the Fates—they were about as dependable as a dowsing rod in west Texas—and yet a person’d think that there’d at least be a warning in the stars when things started tromping off to Hades. But no. I was in my spot before dawn, out front as usual, staring up at the constellations, and there weren’t nothing.

  Business started slow. I sat in my rocker on the porch, Demetrius beside me, my Henry repeater resting on my thighs. The eastern sky lit up, casting reds and golds on the buttes, ridges, and crags this side of El Paso. Lizards scuttled over the dirt, and a coyote slunk through the brush, watching me, watching Demetrius watch him.

  It was a good hour or two past sunup when I got my first nibble of the day. I was tracking a hawk across a cloudless blue sky when Dem lifted his head and gave a low growl. That usually meant company.

  Two of them topped the rise: a grizzled man and a kid barely old enough to shave, who might have been his grandson. Or his boy, I suppose. Maybe Gramps married lucky. Not for me to judge.

  The old man rode a bay. Impressive, big. The kid was on a ragged pinto. If I’d thought they were in the market for a new horse for the lad, I’d have been on my feet already, a grin on my lips, hand raised in greeting. But that bay was the only thing about them that said they had means. The rest was dust and tatters and hard times. I kept my seat, eyed the hawk again.

  Dem rumbled another warning.

  “Easy, boy.”

  He thumped his tail.

  The old man reined to a halt a few yards short of the porch and climbed off his horse. He muttered something to the kid, who swung himself down as well.

  “Good morning,” the man said, smiling a smile I didn’t believe.

  I nodded, spat. But by then, I knew. The kid’s eyes were glassy, and the jolt of his dismount brought a wince. Scrutinizing him, I noticed the swolled cheek and the way he held his jaw, like the slightest whisper might bring him to tears.

  “Tooth problem?”

  The man nodded. “Wisdoms come in. He can’t barely chew.” He gave the Musaeum a once-over, his expression like curdled milk. I’d seen that look on other faces, and I bit my lip so as not to laugh. Not that I blamed him. I knew how the place seemed. Worn wood, a single grimed window, a crooked door on rusted hinges, barely bigger than the average shithouse. My regulars saw the place different, but strangers? Sometimes it was all I could do to keep ‘em from riding off without even a word.

  “Sign’s wrong,” the man said.

  I was used to this, too.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your sign. Ain’t no ‘a’ in ‘museum.’”

  “Sign’s all right. Spelled it that way once.”

  He shrugged, gaze still on the building, skepticism still creasing his leathered forehead. “Can you help us?”

  “Sure can. We’ll get you set up right away.”

  “It don’t look like much.”

  “There’s more to it than you might think. Let’s get the boy inside.”

  “You got a dentist?”

  “I’m the dentist.”

  He squinted and pulled his head back a touch, like a snake rearing to strike.

  “I’m a lot like the building: more to me than looks tell.”

  That sour face had tipped over into a full-blown frown. “Maybe we ought to push on.”

  “Your choice. But you might want to ask the boy what he thinks.” I didn’t wait for Gramps. “Boy, you want to ride on, search for another dentist? Or you want me to help you now?”

  The pinto whinnied and stomped—it didn’t take more than a little tickle from me—and the kid actually flinched.

  “Please, PawPaw,” he said, the words thick. “I can’t ride no more. Just let him try.”

  Sera opened the door and joined me on the porch, respectable in white. “Why don’t you come on inside, hon,” she said, shining a smile the boy’s way. “We’ll get you fixed up just as quick as you please.”

  “Hold on,” PawPaw said, wary like a twice-bluffed poker player. “What’s all this gonna cost me?”

  �
�You can have it done for a song,” I said.

  “A song.”

  “Keep scowling like that and you’re gonna pull a muscle.”

  Sera slapped my arm.

  “Doesn’t have to be a song. You don’t strike me as the type to write poetry, but I could be wrong.”

  “This a joke?” he asked, serious as could be.

  “It’s not, but that’ll do, too. If you know one, and if I ain’t heard it.”

  “Look, mister . . .”

  “Call me Tole.”

  “Mister Tole, I’m not playin’ games, and I’m not in the mood for any who is. My boy here is in pain, and I’m tryin’ to get him fixed up. We’ve got work to get done, and he ain’t worth a horse’s fart to me like this. You understand?”

  Another low growl rumbled in Dem’s chest. I didn’t say a word to ease his mind.

  Sera reached for my arm again, this time to give it a squeeze. She didn’t want me goin’ off on the poor man, at least not before we had whatever goods he might give us. I opened my hand, letting her see it was all right. First customers of the day—I had no intention of scaring them off.

  “First of all,” I said, easy as a morning sky, “it’s just Tole. Not Mister Tole. Second, I don’t play games. Least aways, not about payment. I want a song, or a poem, or a story, or a joke. Something I ain’t heard before. Preferably something you made up. Give me that, and we’ll fix the boy and be squared away. If you prefer to pay in cash, you can, but that price is gonna be steep. Steeper, anyway.”

  He eyed me, flicked a glance to Sera, then stared at me some more. “You’re serious.”

  “As can be.”

  “Well, that’s . . . I ain’t never . . .Well, all right then.” He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed all of a sudden. Bashful. It wasn’t that uncommon, really. Folks made stuff up all the time. Fine words, jokes that were laugh-worthy, songs that could set a toe to tapping or bring a tear to a grown man’s eye. But often times they were embarrassed to share. People might cuss a blue streak, or make asses of themselves spouting nonsense about things they were ignorant of, and think nothing of it. But ask them to repeat a few words with any value at all, and they fold up like a rose in a cold rain. “All right then,” he said again. He laughed, nervous as a boy working up the courage for his first kiss.

  Sera and I just watched him. Even the kid turned his way, pain forgotten for the moment.

  “This is a . . . well, this is a poem, actually. Wrote it a long time ago.” He spared the boy a quick grin. “For your grandma.”

  Sera nodded encouragement.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

  He laughed again, took off his hat, and ran a finger over the rim, his eyes avoiding ours.

  “Sunset colors in a velvet sky,

  Golden glow in sapphire eyes;

  Skin so white, like sweetest cream,

  Lips like rubies, in a treasured dream;

  By flowing waters, by and by,

  Where geese do call and rivers sigh;

  I search for words, fair and true,

  To declare unto God my love for you.”

  On it went for another four verses, none of them much better than those. I’d heard worse, of course. Long as I’ve been collecting, a person would expect as much. But I’d certainly heard better. Still, we’d struck a bargain, and it was new if nothing else.

  Grandpa finished in a sort of daze, a faint smile on his lips. “Been years since I spoke that poem. Years and years.”

  “That really yours, PawPaw?” the kid asked, sounding impressed.

  The man lifted his gaze at that. “Yeah, it’s mine all right.”

  “Say it again.”

  He opened his mouth, only to close it an instant later. He blinked. “I . . . I can’t remember it now. Had it a minute ago, but . . . It’s like it’s gone.”

  “No matter,” I said. “Payment’s been made. Sera, can you escort our young friend inside?”

  “I sure can.” She beckoned to the boy with a waggle of her fingers. “What’s your name, hon?”

  “Um, Thomas, ma’am.”

  “That’s a fine name for a strong lad like you. Let’s get you settled. This ain’t gonna hurt one bit.”

  That was a lie. He’d be all right in time, and a fair bit better off than he was now. The kid had some hurt in his future, though. He probably knew as much. But Sera’s ebon eyes and diamond smile had charmed men a whole lot more sophisticated than this boy. Poor Thomas didn’t stand a chance.

  He stepped onto the porch and let Sera lead him into the Musaeum. Grandpa remained where he was, confusion clouding his face.

  “I can’t remember it,” he said again, more to himself than any of us.

  “I’m gonna see to the boy,” I told him. “You just wait out here.” I waved a hand at my chair. “Feel free to avail yourself of the rocker. We won’t be too long.”

  Inside, the building had made itself a full-blown dental establishment, complete with chair, instrument table, and sink. The boy reclined in the chair, and Sera was clattering my tools onto a silver pan. I didn’t waste time on chatter. Seeing all that I was going to put in his mouth, the boy had gone white as a full moon. I ethered him, wrestled the teeth out, and left him in the chair to wake, Sera by his side.

  I told grandpa that everything had gone just right, and gave him the teeth—some folks are sentimental about such things. He still muttered to himself, wondering where his poem had gone. But he thanked me, and when the boy could walk, groggy though he was, the two of them rode off.

  Sera went back inside, I settled into the rocker, and Dem dropped down beside me, chin resting on his paws, expression forlorn as only a dog’s can be.

  “Boy’s better off,” I said. “And the man himself said he hadn’t spoke the poem in forever. It’s not like he’s gonna miss it.”

  Dem gave me look I didn’t much want at that moment and closed his eyes.

  I guess I dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the Musaeum bustled with voices and noise. Women laughed. Lamper pounded out songs on our out-of-tune piano, and Zeno clinked bottles and glasses behind the bar.

  I knew who was coming before I spotted him kicking up stones and dust on the path leading from town. He raised a hand and grinned. Demetrius woke and lifted his head, but then went back to sleeping. Dennis was a regular.

  People told me he was better than Lamper. “You oughta hire that boy,” they said. “He’s got a sweet voice and light fingers, and he writes his own songs, ‘stead of playin’ the same old standards all the time.”

  Maybe they were right. Problem was, then I’d be paying him instead of him paying me, and I didn’t want that.

  “Afternoon, Tole,” Dennis called, when he was in shouting distance.

  I poked my hat up with a finger. “Dennis.”

  He was a good-looking boy, baby-faced, with feathered wheat hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. Didn’t strike me as the kind of man who had to pay for loving, no matter the price. But Sera said he was on the shy side, and not knowing much about it, and not interested to know more, I didn’t question her. Sure did have a spring in his step, though. Probably the highlight of his week.

  He peered past me, gaze hungry and filled with anticipation. “Clara around?”

  “Ain’t she always?”

  He lifted a shoulder, still hoping to spot her at the door.

  I called for Sera.

  A few seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, her hair done up, a red lace dress hugging her curves, black stockings and high-heeled shoes making her look like she belonged in Paris, France, and not here in the middle of lizard central.

  “Good day, Dennis,” she drawled, eyeing him through her lashes.

  He turned red as a beet. “Miss Sera. You’re lookin’ fine today.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Tell Clara that he’s here,” I said.

  “I will.” She flashed another smile his way. “She was hopin’ you’d come
callin’ today. She’s missed you.”

  The boy beamed like a lighthouse.

  Sera went back inside, leaving him and me alone.

  “What you got for me today, son?”

  His whole bearing changed. His gaze slid away, and he fidgeted with his hat again. “Well, Tole, I was wantin’ to talk to you about that. I was hopin’ maybe you’d let me pay with cash this one time.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Rules of the house.”

  “Please. I’m runnin’ out of songs. People back in town are startin’ to complain because I play too many popular numbers. They like my songs. I like my songs. And I can’t hardly remember any of ‘em anymore.”

  “Guess you need to be writing more then, don’t you?”

  “Quick as I write ‘em, you take ’em.”

  I leaned forward, stared hard at the lad until his glance met mine. “I don’t take them,” I said, my voice dropping low. “You use them to pay for a service. You don’t like my rates, you don’t have to come here. You know that.”

  “Well, sure I do, Tole. And I’m not . . . I don’t want you angry with me. But I like Clara, and her and me, we got plans. So, yeah, I come here to call on her—”

  “Clara works for me. As long as you see her, you pay the price. If that price is too steep, then you can take your business elsewhere. I’ll understand. No hard feelins.”

  Happy as he’d looked before, that was how pitiful he looked now. “I don’t want to go anywhere else,” he said, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper.

  “Well, good. We’re glad to have you here. Now how about that song?”

  He nodded. I thought he might cry. But he took a breath and started to sing. It was a ballad—for all I knew he’d written it for Clara. The verses were pretty enough, but it was the refrain that caught my ear.

  “With night fallin’ o’er the desert, and wolves howling the wind,

  I choose a star, and make a wish for a dawn not long from now,

  When all the world unfolds before us, a life we can begin,