Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  To hear Pardo talk, Howie thought dismally, getting shot and near killed was about the finest thing that could happen to a person. Only it didn't feel all that good if it was your own arm doing the hurting. He was sure his whole shoulder would drop off if the mount stumbled over one more curly root.

  And if it did, he'd get no help from the two brooding giants at his back. They'd as soon see his neck broke as not. Pardo wasn't more'n a hair better.

  The whole business puzzled Howie more than a little. They'd saved him from the soldiers, patched him up, put a little food in his belly. And for what? They weren't the favorgiving kind, for sure. Whatever they had in mind, he 1 probably wasn't goin' to like it. It seemed better to be alive than dead, and feeling another morning when you didn't figure to. But you couldn't trust that kind of thinking. He'd already learned plenty of things could come along to make you wish you were deader'n a stone. A couple had already.

  Just before noon, Pardo stopped and motioned him forward. "Down there," he pointed. "Just to the left of where the river makes that little bend. You see it?"

  Howie wasn't sure what he saw, but he saw something. There was a break in the trees where you could look down on a muddy ribbon of water in a far valley.

  "It's Old Chattanooga," said Pardo. "Where you was when them soldiers got you." He gave Howie a smug grin. "Didn't know the name of it, did you?"

  "I might of heard it some time," Howie admitted, "but I don't reckon—"

  "Hearing 'bout something and knowing what it is is two different things," snapped Pardo. "Two different things, boy." He flicked his eyes away and kicked the horse forward, leaving Howie to watch his back.

  Pardo was a hard man to figure. He talked enough when he had a mind to, but mostly about stuff that didn't matter much. When it came to something you wanted to know, he was about as wordy as a stump. You might as well be talking to Klu and Jigger.

  Pardo was different, though—most of the time, anyway. Klu and Jigger were big, lumbering oaks; Pardo was a tough, gnarly pine. His small frame had been twisted and hardened in the raw winds; his face shaped by hungry winters. There was a power in the man, but it was a thing that came from inside somewhere. The eyes told you that. Klu and Jigger knew it, too. Either of the two could snap Pardo in half like a twig, but Howie was certain that would never happen. Like as not, Pardo could stare down the Devil himself if he took a mind to.

  When the sun was straight up, they stopped at the edge of a high meadow and let the horses graze on short grass. There was a hurried meal of bread and jerky, and time to see to your business if you wanted, then they were back on the trail again.

  Howie gave up trying to pry answers out of Pardo. Where were they going, exactly? What had really happened back in the City? Pardo replied with interesting facts like what kind of berries you might find near a creek or the best way to tickle a catfish. Still, Howie had guessed a lot on his own, by looking and figuring.

  Wherever Pardo was going, he was taking a care about getting there. He sure wasn't looking to be seen, or followed. There was reason enough for that, of course, with two dead soldiers back there in the river. But Howie was sure there was more to it than that. These three had been up to something long before he came along.

  He'd pieced most of the business at the river together and guessed the rest. Klu and Jigger had been watching him some time before he made that dumb move with the frog and let the soldiers spot him. Why, was easy to figure. They'd made that clear enough back at the cave. As to the terrible thing he thought he'd imagined just before passing out in the shallows, that had bothered him more than a little. He didn't see how it could be, though it'd seemed awful real at the time. Well, he had two vivid answers, now. They dangled from Klu's broad belt—long hanks of hair still attached to raw, bloody flesh.

  Pardo hadn't been happy about that and he'd let Klu know it. Soldiers got killed all the time, that being part of the trade, he said. A man could lose his life and his horse and his weapons and no one'd think much about it. But a man's companions didn't view trophy-taking too kindly. It made them look all the harder and that wasn't exactly what Pardo wanted at the moment.

  Howie shifted on his mount and stretched his sore shoulder. The day was just half over and he was already tired to the bone. He remembered something Papa had said, when he was maybe ten or so. Lordy, could he ever have been ten? Papa said men were peculiar creatures to be as smart as they thought they were. The seasons feel the same every year, Papa said, and a man knows this as well as his name, but he gets fooled every time. He welcomes each season for the good it offers and never thinks about the bad. But before it's half finished, he's itching to see it go, ready to take on the next one!

  It was true as it could be, Howie told himself. Look at where he was now. Safe from the soldiers after running his heart out—near gettin' killed a hundred times or so. Compared to that bunch, Pardo and Klu and Jigger were almost family! If you could imagine such a thing.

  More'n likely, though, what he'd done was just what Papa said: traded one set of troubles for another. He wasn't as bad off as he could be, but that didn't mean it wouldn't get that way soon enough. And he sure didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

  Just before sunset Pardo left the others to make camp and disappeared into thick woods. The trail hadn't changed all day. Pardo kept them to the deepest part of the forest; the high ridge to their left, the valley a half mile or so below. The foliage was so heavy here the woods were near dark at noon and the fern beneath the animals' hooves buried all sound in thick blankets of green. A good tracker might have found them—if he knew where to look. But he'd have to be quieter'n breath to do it without ending up under Klu's big belt.

  Howie would have bet on any of the three. They were all natural woodsmen and they could sniff out sign in a rainstorm better'n most men could count their toes in bed. It was something Howie could understand, and appreciate. He already knew staying alive in the wilderness was no easy business.

  It was dark before Pardo came back, walking and leading his mount. Both Klu and Jigger knew he was coming; their noses came up and their dark eyes switched about. To Howie, though, he appeared like a ghost in the clearing. He looked about once; searching out the shape of things, then gave his mount to Howie and squatted down with Klu and Jigger.

  Howie didn't even try to listen. Catching talk from those three was like overhearing the grass sprout up. Later though, after a cold meal, Pardo wiped a sleeve over his mouth and stalked out of camp, telling Howie to follow. He was glad enough to go; most anything was better than riding or squatting. And sitting around with Klu and Jigger made him itch all over. They hadn't tried anything since Pardo'd caught 'em, but that didn't mean they wouldn't if they got a chance to.

  Pardo led him a quarter mile through thick trees, then stopped. When his eyes got dark-sense again, Howie could see the forest ended abruptly at the edge of a high, rocky face. The cliff tumbled almost straight down. Below, campfires and lanterns dotted the valley in bright clusters and threw pale light across a broad river.

  Pardo grinned at his surprise. "It's a meat camp," he explained. "A big one." He squatted under a broad rock and Howie joined him. "Six, seven thousand head." He laughed to himself in the dark. "If the wind was right, you could smell 'ern."

  Howie figured that was so. There were enough fires down there to light a town or two. "What they all doing down there?" he wanted to know.

  "It's what we come for, and where we're going. Or where I'm going. There's plenty of old Pardo's friends down there . . . but there's army buyers in camp, too, for a day or so. And I don't figure it's a good idea for Klu and Jigger to show their pretty faces just yet. Or you, either .."

  His words carried a question and Howie was glad it was dark. "You never did say why they was there," he asked quickly. "Seems like a lot of meat just sittin' out where nobody is."

  "You ought to get yourself something to keep in that mouth, boy," Pardo said darkly. "It ain't exactly sittin' . .
. it's meat moving, 'cept at night. Coming in from all over—bought, sold, strayed, an' stolen—and there'll be two, three times as many before they get out West."

  Howie looked up. "It's going all the way West?"

  "All the way. If they can," he added wryly. "The government's got a right many soldiers out West with bellies cryin' for meat. Those fellers down there know it and they know the price is climbing sky high every day that passes. Only, you can bet Lathan's boys know a big herd's coming, too. And they ain't going to take lightly to it getting there."

  Somehow, that startled Howie. He'd never really thought about just how far the West really was, but it had always seemed a comfortable distance away. He sure hadn't thought about the war, or Lathan's soldiers coming anywhere close to where he might be.

  "They got plenty far to go, of course," said Pardo. "Through the rest of Tennessee Territory, cross a corner of Old Arkansas, and on into Badlands. The government's strong enough there, though you'll see a raider now and then. But they don't get in close to no stronghold town. Lathan ain't got time or men to waste stealin' liquor and stew- pots, which is all that's there except troopers lickin' their wounds."

  He shook his head, peering down at the valley lights. "Now, if Lathan wants that meat—an' he does—he'll have to hit it 'bout Arkansas somewhere. But he'll have to go some to get it." He laughed softly to himself and looked at Howie. "There's some mean buggers down there, and more coming!"

  Howie didn't pretend to understand everything he was hearing. But that was nothing new, he thought wearily. He'd gotten in the habit of doing stuff he either didn't like, or didn't understand. Trailing along after Pardo, for instance. Looking at meat herds in the middle of the night. He wasn't sure where it was he ought to be, but he was near certain it wasn't here.

  He felt, just then, like the whole dark sky was pressing right down on him. Was this what he had ahead of him, wandering around after someone else, doing things he didn't even want to? If that's what growing up was all about . . .

  "Pardo," he said suddenly. "I gotta ask something. You can answer it or not but I got to say it!"

  Pardo squinted at him. "You can ask anything you like, boy. Long as you do it quiet like. Sound carries better'n you'd think . . . and there's some good listeners down there."

  "I got to know, Pardo," Howie rushed on, letting the words spill out before he got too scared to call them back. "I got to know what it is you want with me an' what it is I'm doing here. I got nothing to do with you or Klu or Jigger or nobody. You just picked me up out of nowhere and I'm grateful for what you done . . . but now I'm just trailing after the three of you an' I don't even know what for! I know sure you aren't letting me go off anywhere. I don't even have to ask. Only . . . you keep telling me stuff that's your business and none of mine. Things I don't even know nothing about. Like I was—" Howie stopped; the words quit coming on their own.

  Pardo studied him thoughtfully a minute. "Well, you spoke your piece, for certain." He grinned and shook his head. "Men is all different, boy. I reckon you done found that out."

  "I guess I have, but …"

  "Like there's lots of kinds of trees and bushes, and they all do something different. Now, Klu and Jigger is made for one thing and I'm made for another. That's not to say they don't do what they're good at better'n most. The thing is, I talk to Klu and Jigger about one thing and I might talk to you 'bout another."

  Howie shrugged helplessly. "Why, though? What's that make me?"

  "That's what I'm figuring on," Pardo told him. "You. And what kind of bush you might turn out to be."

  "I don't see where there's much use in that," Howie said wearily. "Like I was saying . . ."

  "Like I was saying, boy . . ." Pardo reached out and gripped his arm until it hurt. His voice was easy as rain, but his eyes said something else. "What you need to get in that head of yours is that a person don't have to know everything at once. You reckon you can remember that?"

  Howie nodded, the fingers in his arm bringing tears to his eyes.

  "Fine," said Pardo, "and it'll also do you good if you keep in mind I ain't forgot you still owe me a real good talkin' . . .about soldiers and horses? An' names like Burt and Jaimie and what all? Don't you never try fooling 'round with my head. You'll sure come to grief doing it."

  Chapter Fourteen

  The drive followed the river, winding down through stony canyons under the brow of thick forests. In a few days, the dark mountains gave way to rolling hills and the heavy stands of fir and pine thinned to lowland scrub.

  The drivers rested easier; with open terrain ahead a man could see where he was going and who was about. A dozen armies could hide themselves in the Tennessee highlands— you could send out all the Hankers you wanted and still not be certain Lathan's raiders weren't grinning down at you from the next dark ridge ahead. There was still danger, and worse to come, but a man didn't feel so bad about what he could see riding at him.

  Klu, Jigger, and Howie followed the course of the drive for three days, keeping well out of sight. Then they pushed south, away from the river, making a long loop through open country to meet the drive again from the west. The morning before they let themselves be spotted by the herd's outriders, Pardo wore a bright shell band around his hat— the signal to Klu that the way was clear. For that was Pardo's story: his two cousins and his boy were coming up from the southwest. They'd try to find the drive and join it if they could. Howie wasn't too happy to find a new father in Pardo, but there was nothing for that at the moment.

  It was clear the man had wasted no time; Pardo had plenty of followers in camp and was liked and respected by the stock owners. His "relatives" were welcomed; signed up immediately with no questions asked. Howie didn't think there'd have been much trouble if nobody'd ever heard of them before. The drive needed all the hands it could get, man and boy alike. And new recruits with mounts and firearms were doubly welcome.

  The days grew warmer, but there was still frost on the ground at dawning and plenty of cause for a fire at night. The drive was moving quickly and the pace was hard on men and meat alike. There were no hungry bellies in the crew, though, for more stragglers died off than even hard-working drivers could eat.

  Two more herds joined the next week. Pardo told Howie that, even losing what they were, it was likely the biggest drive ever—close to ten, eleven-thousand head.

  At night, the camp was a small city. There were plenty of places for men to spend money they didn't have yet—tents for gambling and playing two-stick and for drinking white corn out of clay cups. There were women, too, brought on the drive by enterprising merchants who also furnished most of the corn whiskey, and backed or broke the gambling riders.

  The drive was no secret. Its presence brought visitors from every town and settlement along the way. it was a strange collection: Stolid farmers and their gaunt sons pulling wagons of vegetables and grain for sale. Merchants who knew a driver would buy most anything another man would sell. And people who were just plain curious to see a horse, or a man with a pistol in his belt. All visitors were tolerated, though every man on the drive was sure spies from Lathan's army were openly walking about the camp counting booty to come, dividing up mounts and arms right before their eyes.

  Most welcome of all were grain dealers and feed sellers. The drive couldn't possibly carry enough supplies to feed the hungry herd the whole length of the trip. And moving stock burned up a lot more feed than they did penned up. Prices were outrageous, but the owners grudgingly paid them; telling themselves the money they'd already been promised by army buyers would more than make up the difference. If they got where they were going, that is.

  "And that's the thing," said Cory Halgood, a driver friend of Pardo's, "you don't never get rich riding herd, but you don't get frightful poor, neither—like ol' Jess here stands to be when Lathan turns him upside down an' lets all that army gold run out his boots."

  Pardo and the other drivers laughed, and Jess Blinker turned red and then laughed with t
hem. "Hell's fire," he grumbled, emptying the last dregs of his cup. "I got to keep makin' money. Somebody has to buy corn for deadass drivers that don't have the sense to earn it themselves!"

  "We're just trying to help," grinned Cory. "No sense leaving all them good barrels of whiskey for Lathan."

  The crew grinned, but Jess stared them down. "That just possibly ain't too funny, or far from the truth. The rider that come in from Ozark . . ."

  "You can't believe nothing an Arkansawyer says," Pardo put in. "They'll tell you most anything."

  "If you'll sit still an' listen," Cory agreed.

  Jess eyed them warily. "Trouble is, you can believe most anything you hear these days." He filled his cup and downed it with a grimace. "What he says is likely close to bein'. true, Pardo. A whole regiment of Lathan's men ain't where they're supposed to be. An' this feller works for the government in Badlands and ought to know what he's saying. If it's not true, it ought to be. If you was Lathan, what would you be doin' now?" He snorted and stamped his big foot. "Why, you'd set loose that regiment—which you could spare easy with no real fightin' going on—and just follow the damn parade drifting in and out of here to gawk. And that'd be that, for certain. Likely enough it will be."

  The men considered that, and looked at their cups.

  "Only thing is," Pardo pointed out, "them troopers don't want to lose that meat any more'n you do, Jess. They figure on gettin' here a lot quicker than Lathan can."

  "Figuring and doing is two different things," Jess grumbled. "I figured on findin' copper pennies growin' on trees up in Ohio country, but I never seen any when I was there."

  Howie liked both Cory and old Jess. Cory was near twenty or so, but he treated Howie like he was a man doing a man's job—which was more than you could say for some of Pardo's friends. Cory was tall and lean with dark hair and heavy brows. Deep lines were etched about his eyes—the sign of a man born outdoors, who'd seldom slept under a roof. He'd been in the army once and had fought in Colorado, but hadn't liked it much. That was Cory's way, for the most part. When he got tired of what he was doing, he just upped and walked away and did something else and never mind who didn't like it. Still, he hid his face under a heavy beard, now. "Just in case some army feller's got a memory longer'n his nose."