Vultures' Moon

by William Stafford

  “We cain’t grow body parts.” This was Doc Swallow’s contribution.

  “No,” said Gramps sadly. “We cain’t. We can only harvest pre-existing limbs and organs - that’s no mean feat in anybody’s book. It’s common practice on Vultures’ Moon and nobody questions it. Folk here have grown up with it. It’s part of what we do, and it’s thanks to the Pioneers that we do it.”

  “You ain’t just patching up injuries, old man.” Jed made a gesture that took in the workroom and the garrison beyond.

  “No.”

  There was a moment of silence. Jed gave the old man a visual reminder of the presence of his pistols.

  “I don’t believe the drug has worn off just yet,” he said.

  “My task here is twofold,” Gramps resumed. “I strive to furnish my employer with the finest body of fighting men not just on Vultures’ Moon but throughout this whole sector. To do that, I need the finest, ah, materials to work with.

  “Every now and then, a consignment arrives from Wheelhub. People there live a good life. There’s an abundance of food. Clean water. Folks are healthy.”

  “The water...” Jed murmured.

  “Ah. You saw the pumps?”

  “I saw the pumps. Tell me about the pumps.”

  Again, Gramps diverted his gaze to the floorboards; it seemed to make it easier to loosen his tongue. He told them there was something in the water - he said Doc Swallow might appreciate this - something in the water that kept folk docile. They could easily be fooled, Gramps said. You could get them to do anything and even if they realised, they weren’t of a mind to object or do anything about it.

  “And so you pick them off,” Jed’s lip curled upwards in disgust. “You select the best specimens and you bring them here and you - whut was the word? - harvest them for your toy soldiers.”

  Doc Swallow gasped dramatically. Jed sent him a glare. He shrugged; it had seemed an appropriate response.

  “Let me get this straight,” Doc Swallow interjected. “You’re taking bits and pieces from the folk in Wheelhub but not from the folk in Tarnation?”

  “That’s right.”

  Doc Swallow’s expression suddenly hardened. He set his jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. “There ain’t nothing right about it.”

  “What are you going to do, Jed? And when am I going to see my granddaughters?”

  Jed spat on the floor.

  “I’m going to put a stop to all this, of course,” he said. The old man cringed from his contempt. “But first I’m going to find me my Horse.”

  He jerked his head, beckoning Swallow to come with him.

  “But my granddaughters...?”

  Again Jed ignored the question but he did stop at the door and look back at the quivering old man.

  “If there’s so much as a scratch on my Horse...” He left the sentence incomplete and went out. The old man’s expression darkened and became more malevolent.

  “How’s your hands, Jed?” the old man jeered after him. “How’s your hands?”

  ***

  Doc Swallow joined Jed out in the centre of the yard. He did a full turn on the spot.

  “Your horse could be anywhere,” he observed. “Where do we begin?”

  “Right here,” said Jed. He put his thumb and finger in the corners of his mouth and whistled. The soldiers who had been going about their duties fell to the ground, holding their ears in agony. Swallow pulled his hat down to avoid temporary deafness. An eerie silence followed; Swallow suspected he had lost his hearing after all.

  And then a wall across the yard exploded. With a whinny and a snort, Horse kicked its way out of the guardhouse. It trotted over to the gunslinger and came to rest with its nose in the air.

  “You took your time,” it said haughtily.

  Jed patted its neck then conducted a quick inspection. There were no marks to be seen.

  “They couldn’t do a thing with me,” Horse continued. “It appears I’m useless without you.”

  “I reckon so,” Jed laughed. Doc Swallow had never seen such delight in the gunslinger’s eyes. Not even when he was shooting folk.

  Horse snorted. “You’re supposed to say you’re useless without me.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t go that far, but I have missed you - if that’s what you want to hear.”

  Around them, the soldiers were recovering from the whistle blast and were beginning to stir.

  “Um, Jed...” Swallow tried to interrupt the joyful reunion. “Perhaps we should be wending our way elsewhere...”

  “Who’s your friend?” Horse nodded towards the strange man, sniffing and scanning him.

  “Introductions later,” Jed climbed into the saddle. He reached down his hand to pull Doc Swallow up behind him. “Now, are you up for getting us out of here at top speed.”

  “I should say so,” said Horse. “I’ve had plenty of time to rest and recharge.”

  “Giddy up then,” said Jed.

  “He treats me like a child,” Horse muttered, for Doc Swallow’s benefit.

  Horse’s ears flattened backwards against its head. It extended its neck and lifted its muzzle for better streamlining. Without warning, Horse tore across the yard. The soldiers, still getting to their feet, dove out of the way. Doc Swallow lost his hat. He remembered it wasn’t his hat, reached inside his clothes and took out his own. He kept it clamped on his head with his other hand clasped around the gunslinger. His eyes widened as he saw they were approaching the gates - the closed and barred gates - at too great a speed to be able to stop in time.

  “Jed...”

  “Whut?”

  “The gates...”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  Jed pulled back on the reins. Instead of slowing or swerving, Horse rose into the air. Swallow gulped as they flew over the gates like a shot from a catapult. He glanced down at the shrinking fort. Someone had got himself together enough to fire off a couple of blasts - these sailed harmlessly past Horse’s flanks.

  Horse’s flight got them away from the fort and across the scrubland. Their descent was a smooth parabola and the landing like a feather touching the ground.

  “Why have we stopped?” Jed leant towards an ear.

  “Because I don’t know where we’re going,” Horse replied as if talking to a simpleton.

  “Ah,” said Jed. “Point taken.” Ordinarily, Jed wouldn’t have to vocalise his instructions.

  Horse’s eyes narrowed. “What’s up with you? You don’t seem to be...all there...”

  Jed patted its neck. He’d known he wouldn’t be able to conceal anything from his magnificent companion.

  “Tell you later,” he whispered.

  Horse nodded. “I see...For my ears only.” It meant Doc Swallow who was still clinging onto Jed like a python.

  “What now?” Doc Swallow was breathless from the flight.

  “Going to drop you off, Doc - don’t worry,” Jed felt the tension in his passenger, “I don’t mean it literally. Going to take you to the others for safekeeping. Of course, you don’t have to stick with them; you’re free to go wherever you please.”

  “There’s others?” said Horse. It pawed the ground with a front hoof; it didn’t like being out of the loop.

  “You’ll meet them soon enough. Now let’s head west afore those soldiers get themselves organised and come after us.”

  ***

  And so Jed was reunited with the others before he had anticipated, before he had completed his task. Willoughby marvelled to see Horse come bounding up the road and he subjected it to a thorough inspection, which Horse tolerated without kicking the boy in the head, although its tail twitched irritably several times.

  “He’s a beauty!” Willoughby was stunned that such a critter could exist.

&nb
sp; Jed steered the boy away. “Let’s not make it too big-headed now.”

  The wagon was in the stable. Doc Swallow ran to it like a long-lost relative but Jed called him back with the offer of a restorative tipple in the saloon.

  The sisters were already installed, picking at some food. Their faces lit up when they saw the gunslinger and, as though synchronised, their foreheads creased with confusion.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Belle.

  “Is it over?” said Lilimae.

  “Thanks for the warm welcome,” Jed grumbled, “And no, Miss Lili, it ain’t over yet. I’m about to ride for Tarnation right now.”

  “How will you get in?” Belle gestured for him to sit. Jed remained standing so she got to her feet too. “Some folk here saying you cain’t get near the town from any direction.”

  Jed nodded but it was Doc Swallow who answered.

  “My dear, this man has the most magnificent critter I have ever seen - nay, that I have ever had the privilege to ride upon.”

  “You got your Horse,” Belle smiled. “You know I cain’t say enough how I sorry I am for my part in separating you two.”

  Jed didn’t respond to that either.

  “Miss Lili, will you look after the good doctor here? And Doc, you keep out of trouble. These good folks can go without your sales patter and your little bottles for a mite longer.”

  Doc Swallow made a show of being affronted. Lilimae poured him a glass of whiskey and he resigned himself to having his wings clipped.

  “My dear sir, this is the only bottle that will occupy me until your return.” He toasted the gunslinger and tipped the shot down his throat. He smacked his lips and brushed his voluminous moustache.

  Jed tipped his hat and turned towards the door.

  A silhouetted figure barred his exit. A big man but wider at the belly than the shoulders.

  “Howdy, Jed,” the man said and stepped forward. His features became visible. Jed took the hand that was being offered.

  “Howdy, Sheriff,” he replied. “Your girls are going to be mighty pleased to see you.”

  ***

  Jed felt a lot better leaving the girls with their father. He was sure that Doc Swallow would behave himself too with a lawman at the table.

  “You didn’t think to ask him where he’s been and what he’s been up to?” said Horse, as they galloped away from the staging post.

  “No time,” Jed snapped; he didn’t like it when Horse pointed out errors of judgment.

  “Might have been useful hearing what happened to him,” Horse continued. “I’m only saying.”

  Jed spat on the ground. “You can be such a nag at times.”

  Horse conserved its energy for when they reached a broad plain that was blighted by the dark dust.

  “You ready?” Jed stroked Horse’s mane.

  “Yessir!” Horse replied.

  “It’s quite a distance,” Jed pointed out. “You ain’t never gone that far.”

  “Relax,” Horse tossed its head. “Having been cooped up at that fort I am just bursting to take to the air.”

  “Please don’t burst,” said Jed. “At least not while I’m in the saddle.”

  “Don’t fret; I’ll tip you off into the dust before I explode.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  Even though neither of them would be directly affected by the dark dust, Jed didn’t want to take the risk of it slowing them down. It would be like swimming in molasses, he imagined, as the deadly stuff tried and tried again to overwhelm them and - and what? - Jed didn’t like to think what happened to folk or critters once they got covered by the dark dust.

  They could get through - he was sure of that - but it would take too long. Jed was anxious to get to Tarnation as soon as possible and help the folk there face whatever was coming their way.

  Horse picked up the pace. Its hooves became a blur. It looked as though they were going to plunge into the dark dust like a burning man into a lake but instead of submerging into murky depths, they rose into the air, like a shot from a cannon. A rush of air hit Jed in the face like a punch from a barroom drunk. He gritted his teeth, his eyes streaming, as Horse’s ascent continued.

  They crossed the plain in an elongated arc. It seemed as though they had overreached and they would drop to the ground and that would be the end of them. Jed looked down on the landscape. It was no longer a patchwork quilt. It was a uniform grey brown. The dark dust had engulfed the county almost entirely.

  But there! There was a gap of brightness, a hole in the mantle. The town of Tarnation shone like a lonely slice of carrot in a poor man’s broth.

  “There!” Jed pointed. The air snatched his voice away.

  “I see it,” Horse replied in his head.

  “Will we make it?”

  “Let’s find out!”

  Horse twisted its neck and pointed its forelegs towards the dust-free patch. The descent began. The main - and only - street of Tarnation became wider in their vision. The buildings became more than flat roofs, taking on shape and dimensions. Faces of onlookers took on features, all of them amazed and dumbfounded.

  “It’s Jed!” cried someone. Jed recognised the voice as Billy’s - the undertaker’s apprentice.

  Gasps of amazement rose up to greet the descending Horse. Some folk only came to their senses and got the Hell out of the way, clearing a space for the gunslinger to land.

  “Howdy, folks.” Jed raised his hat to the stupefied townsfolk.

  Billy rushed up to pat Horse’s nose.

  “Sure is good to see you, Jed,” the boy grinned. “Whole town has turned to Heck and back.”

  “Looks that way,” Jed agreed. He slipped from the saddle and led Horse towards the sheriff’s office. Billy came along. “Deputy Dawson around?”

  “A-yup,” said Billy. “He’ll be mighty pleased to see you, Jed. Although there ain’t been word of Sheriff Marshall.”

  “The sheriff’s fine,” Jed assured him. “I just left him not far from here.”

  Billy laughed. “I knew it was a good sign, seeing you coming out of the sky, Jed. I just know you’re going to save us.”

  From the looks on the faces of the people they passed, Jed could tell the boy’s optimism was spreading. Like the dark dust...

  “I’m here to try, Billy. Now, you run along to work. I’m sure Nathaniel Grady will be wondering where you are.”

  “Yessir!” Billy saluted awkwardly and hurried away.

  Jed didn’t add that the undertaker might soon have more business than he could cope with.

  He tethered Horse to the hitching post outside the sheriff’s office. This was just for show. No one could take Horse against its will and Horse could untie any kind of knot, but the rope was a signal to others not to try.

  Deputy Dawson came out to greet them. He looked like a man who hadn’t had a wink of sleep for weeks. His red eyes glinted amid the dark rings that circled them, embers in ash.

  “Jed!” the deputy laughed. He seized Jed’s hand in both of his and pumped it vigorously. Relief and gratitude illuminated his face.

  “Let’s go indoors,” Jed moved towards the door, wary of the observing bystanders.

  “Sure. I could use another coffee,” Dawson followed. He clapped his arm around Jed’s shoulders. “Another pot, that is.”

  Charming, thought Horse. Leave me out here to be gawped at.

  Attack!

  The two men caught up over coffee, although Jed’s remained untouched in the mug. Dawson told him how some folk had left town while they still could, having heard reports from travelling traders about the roads to Tarnation slowly being cut off. When the traders stopped coming, it soon became clear that the town was isolated from the rest of the county - the rest of Vultures’ Moo
n too. In the absence of the sheriff, Dawson had done his best to keep a lid on things. Last thing we need, he shook his head, is folk causing a panic, and shooting each other for basic supplies.

  He had called a town meeting in the Last Gasp, saying the time had come for the good folk of Tarnation to prove they had Pioneer blood in their veins and Pioneer courage in their hearts. This motivational speech had been received well but folk were getting fractious all over again; like bugs trapped in a jar, it wouldn’t be long before they turned on each other.

  “I don’t know nothing about bugs,” Jed muttered, “but I’ve a feeling this here jar is about to be tipped over if not smashed altogether.”

  “And that means...?”

  “Trouble’s coming. And soon.”

  “Pity you didn’t bring Sheriff Marshall back here with you. I have the feeling folk respect him more than me. He didn’t tell you where he’d been?”

  “You sound like a friend of mine,” said Jed. “I guess we’ll find out - if we get out of this alive, that is.”

  Dawson drained his cup and shook the coffee pot to see if would yield another swig.

  “You didn’t have to come here,” he told the gunslinger. “I mean, this ain’t your circus and it ain’t your monkey. Folk here are a hardy breed. We can face down whatever’s coming.”

  Jed’s chest heaved.

  “I’m obliged to be here,” he said, flatly. “I owe these good folks a debt of honour.”

  “And that means...?”

  Jed told him about the men he had killed in the mistaken belief that they were robbing an old man and his granddaughters, rather than trying to prevent three wayward souls from perpetrating more wrongdoing.

  “An honest mistake!” Dawson dismissed Jed’s story as though shooing a fly from his face.

  Jed stared at the table. Making mistakes was alien to his nature and injurious to his pride.

  “I’m here anyways,” he stood up.

  Commotion in the street curtailed their conversation.

  “What in Hell...?” Dawson hurried to the door.

  “Trouble’s here,” said Jed.