Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  Life on the drive was dreary and hard, but Howie decided it was some better than camping out with Klu and Jigger—keeping one eye open all the time, and one hand on your trousers. One thing galled him plenty, though; Pardo had taken his weapons at the cave and never given them back. Howie hated him for that. He'd rightfully earned those guns, if anybody had. They were his. No one had any call to take them away. If you could use 'em, he told him-self ruefully, you might still have them.

  He vowed that day would come, too. And soon. He wouldn't be caught like Papa had, on foot with no weapons to fend off men who had both mounts and guns. He'd had the strength of half a dozen men and what good had it been? A man on a horse with a pistol in his belt and a rifle on his back—that's who ran the world now.

  He was far enough from that at the moment, he decided glumly. On foot, helping tend the smelly herd and running errands for Pardo or whoever could find him. At the end of the day he was too tired to think who he was, much less who he ought to be.

  Just before sundown, Cory found him above the river at the small stream they used for washing and bathing.

  "You git out of there, and make yourself decent," he yelled. "We got things to do!"

  "I got about ten hundred hours sleepin' to do," Howie told him, "if I ever get enough stink off to matter." He was up to his shoulders in the cool water, his clothes drying on the bank.

  Cory laughed. "Matter of fact, you don't have to get too decent, where we're going. Ain't nobody else gonna be." Howie looked at him. "And where's that?"

  "That's for me to know an' you to find out," Cory grinned slyly.

  "Then it's likely you'll be goin' alone. I ain't much on surprises."

  "You'll take to this one, all right."

  Howie studied him. "What I think I'll be doin' is sleeping, Cory."

  "Not much you won't," Cory assured him.

  Howie decided he was drunk. There was no other way to figure the silly, lopsided grin on his face.

  "Git out of there," Cory told him. "Too much water ain't good for you. Hear?"

  Howie faced him. "Look. I reckon I'll pass up whatever it is. Thanks just the same."

  "Oh, you're just as welcome as you can be," said Cory. He moved off the bank and set one big boot in the stream. Howie stared at him.

  "I don't recollect ever gettin' a feller your size dressed and all," Cory yawned, "but I suppose I can handle it." "Now just a damn minute!" Howie retreated upstream.

  "The wetter I get," Cory warned, "the madder I'm gonna be . . .”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Howie wished he could crawl under a rock somewhere, or die right where he was.

  "You are a fine looking boy," the girl told him. "You rightly are. Didn't no one ever tell you that?"

  She looked at him with dark, lazy eyes and bit her lip in a way that made Howie twist up inside. "Nobody never did, and I ain't no boy," he said bluntly.

  She threw back her head and laughed, tossing black hair over bare shoulders. "Well whatever you are, I like it. For certain I do!"

  Howie scowled at Cory, but Cory wasn't looking. The other girl had perched herself in his lap and was doing 'something to his ear. Howie could have killed him. Worse than that, he wasn't sure whether he ought to be mad. Cory was either treating him older than he was—and a lot older than Howie felt—or else was making a big fool of him. Either way, he wished the girl would leave him alone a minute so he could get his wits back and figure how he felt about anything.

  It had all happened too quick to do much thinking. Cory had just dragged him into the big tent where the drivers drank corn and out the other side. No one had paid any attention to them, except one bearded driver who looked up hazily at Howie like he might want to start something. Howie quickly looked the other way and caught up with Cory.

  Behind the big one, there were smaller tents with plank and keg tables and an oil lamp. There was a bottle of white corn, and straw pallets in the corner. The girls came out of nowhere, and it was plain enough they knew Cory. It didn't take Howie but a second to figure what was happening. That's when his belly turned upside down and he started looking for things to crawl under.

  "Listen, you ain't even told me your name," said the girl. "You know that?"

  "Burt," said Howie.

  "Well. How do, Burt. We goin' to get along just fine, you know? I'm Aimie, and that's Maye." She laughed and climbed in his lap and kissed him soundly. "Only I can't introduce you 'cause Maye's kinda occ-you-pied. Lordee, I guess!"

  Howie glanced at Cory, then turned quickly away. Aimie caught his look and laughed out loud. Maye giggled behind him, until Cory did something that made her gasp. Howie felt the heat rise right up to his hairline.

  "You don't pay no attention to them," said Aimie, holding his chin firmly. "Just watch what's goin' on here." She ran a finger over his cheek. "Where you from, Burt?"

  "South."

  "South what?"

  "Just south."

  "Well me an' Maye are, too. Where'bouts?"

  "It's . . . kinda small. Don't figure you'd know it." "I might."

  "Uh, it's Clinton."

  "Clinton?" She shrugged. "Don't know it. Pardo's your pa, Cory says."

  "No, he ain't! I mean, kinda." Howie wanted to bite his tongue. "Why? You know him?"

  "Uh huh." She raised one brow slightly. "Lord, ever- 'one knows Pardo. Hey, Burt, don't you like me none?" "Well, sure I do."

  "You don't act like it." She showed him a pouty mouth. "What's a feller supposed to act like?"

  "Like you want to be, you know . . . friendly." She studied him a moment, then sat up straight. "Say, you ain't like them uncles of yours, are you?"

  "No, I ain't!" He felt himself color again. "I'm nothing at all like them and don't you go sayin' that!"

  "Okay, don't get mad or anything." She settled back in his lap and leaned her head on his shoulder. Howie had to admit she felt fine enough, laying back like that, her face kind of pushed up into his shoulder. He looked down at her, and smelled the heavy perfume of her hair. He suddenly remembered the girl in the picture, the one on the beach at Silver Island. Lord, that had been a lifetime or two ago! The hours he'd spent wondering what she looked like under those tiny bits of swimclothes. There'd been more than one night when he hadn't been able to sleep, or get her off his mind.

  Aimie shifted in his lap and made a small noise. Howie felt himself stirring under her weight. He felt a quick surge of panic. Could she tell what was happening? He was sure she could, and . . . Well, damn, was there anything wrong with that? That's what you were supposed to do, wasn't it?

  "Aimie." He let his hand run along the curve of her arm. Aimie reached up calmly and slipped her dress off one shoulder. She took his hand and cupped it around her breast.

  Howie couldn't breathe. His hand trembled against a softness he couldn't imagine. He didn't believe what was happening—he was touching a girl in places he'd just thought about before. She . . . she was pulling her clothes down and lettin' him see her and all and do whatever he wanted to and Lordee he wanted to do just about everything!

  "Burt," she said softly, "now you just wait up there." She teased at the buttons of his shirt, grinning with her eyes. "Aimie. I don't want to wait."

  "I guess Aimie was wrong," she whispered. "Burt, he's not no boy, for certain. No, sir, he ain't no boy at all . . ."

  Howie grasped her bare shoulders and turned her on his lap to face him. He pulled down her dress until her arms slipped out of the sleeves and the soft fabric bunched about her waist.

  Aimie's eyes were half closed, like she was looking at something real far away. Her lips curved in a lazy smile. Howie's mouth was dust dry. He was vaguely aware of rustling and breathing behind him, but everything except Aimie seemed a thousand miles east of somewhere. He marveled at what he'd discovered—stared at her, eating up all the wonder with his eyes. When he touched her, the feeling ran up his fingers and filled every part of his body. He delighted in the way her skin turned gold under the f
lickering lamp. He touched the small breasts and watched them swell and wondered if anyone else knew those delicate mounds of flesh were neither soft nor hard, but something in between you couldn't put a name to.

  "Burt , oh, Burt!" Aimie's lips were moist, slightly open. He bent to kiss them and his breath came harder. She finished his buttons, let her fingers play about his belt.

  "Burt . . . I reckon we better find us a place to get comfortable."

  "Uh huh."

  "You want to do that, Burt?"

  "Aimie . . .” Howie couldn't talk anymore. He moved his hand around her waist and down beneath the folds of her dress. He touched the soft skin of her belly and the ache between his legs became an agony. He was sure he'd die right where he was if something didn't happen soon. When he reached out to lift her in his arms she smiled up at him— then stiffened and pushed him away.

  "Hey, what you want!" she cried angrily.

  He stared at her, then saw she was looking past him. He let her go and turned to see a bearded face blinking in the light.

  "You just—go on and git out of here!" he yelled. "St- start moving if you don't want no trouble!" He marveled at his sudden boldness, telling grown men to get up and go and what he'd do if they didn't. The head disappeared and Howie breathed a silent sigh of relief. He'd recognized the face, though. It was the man in the big tent who'd stared at him on the way in. Now what did he want? Howie was certain he'd never seen the man before.

  "Listen, Aimie, I'm sorry about that. I ain't got no idea—"

  But Aimie had already forgotten. She wrinkled her nose at Howie and pulled him toward the straw pallet. When he was down she slipped the dress quickly over her hips and let it slide to her ankles. Howie stared. He fumbled at his belt, wondering why in blazes he couldn't work something easy as a buckle.

  "Aimie . . . Lord, Airnie, you're just—" She looked up at him and he let his eyes start at the long, naked legs and wander on from there. He dropped his trousers, stepped toward her. The room tilted crazily. All the breath went out of him and he hit the ground hard. There was a quick flash of Aimie, eyes wide as saucers, then she was gone.

  The tent was behind him; night air filled his lungs. He yelled, and kicked out with his one free leg. Whoever was dragging him 'cross the ground wouldn't answer and didn't care much what Howie hit along the way. Gravel tore at his back and scraped his elbows raw. His head bounced over something hard and he cried out. Then, suddenly, it was over.

  He stared up and saw black sky through ragged branches. A hand reached down and wrenched him to his feet. For a quick second, he looked close into Pardo's eyes.

  "Smart little son'bitch," grinned Pardo. "Oh, you surely are . . . Burt!" Pardo's big fist swung 'round and caught the side of his head. Howie went sick all over. Pardo hadn't dropped him. "Burt, huh?" The hand jerked him close again. "How 'bout Howie?" He saw the fist coming but there was no place to go. Hard ground came up to meet him.

  Pardo bent for him. Howie rolled away. A boot clamped down to stop him. His hand found a dead branch, swung hard, and heard air whistle past Pardo's head.

  Right away, he knew it had been a bad idea. Pardo'd kill him for sure, now . . .

  "Drop that. Do it, boy."

  Howie did. His head rang like there was something loose inside.

  "You shouldn't oughta done that," said Pardo.

  "You shouldn't oughta took my head clean off, neither," rasped Howie. He tried to get his breath and pull his trousers up at the same time. "You didn't have no call for that.

  No matter what!"

  Pardo laughed at him. "Shit. I ain't even finished." "Listen—"

  Pardo kicked him squarely in his ribs. Howie felt something break inside.

  "Git up," Pardo said flatly.

  "I . . . can't!"

  "Git up, boy."

  "Pardo—"

  Pardo kicked him in the stomach. Howie folded, threw up, and choked on his own bile. He lay on his side, his knees tucked tight under his chin.

  "I said get up, boy," Pardo said evenly. "I swear I'll plain stomp you to death if you don't!"

  Howie knew he meant it. He fought back pain, brought himself to his knees. "I . . . can't go no further."

  "You better."

  "What . . . for? So you can . . . hit me again?"

  "The hittin's done."

  For some reason, Howie believed him. He pulled himself up. His head swam and his knees buckled. But he stayed.

  Pardo studied him in the darkness. "Now, boy—or Howie, I reckon. You got what was comin' and it's over and done with and we ain't going to talk about it any 'cept right now. You run into a feller tonight that knows who you are and where you came from. He seen you with your pa, once. He knows what happened to your folks. Seem's like most everyone east of here does and I ain't surprised. He knows what you done to that Colonel Jacob feller, too."

  Pardo paused a minute. "Now listen careful and don't git nothing wrong. What you done was right and ain't anyone can take it from you. You ruined him good and I figure you had call for it. Only what you done back there in the hills weren't right. You lied to me, boy. An' maybe I can see you had cause, but that don't change nothing. I could have taken you into camp first time I went down, and left Klu and Jigger behind. I thought serious on it, but somethin' told me better. So where'd I be if we'd ridden in with them army fellers still there—and some of 'em maybe the ones after you? Just where'd I be, boy? You answer me that."

  Pardo shook his head and scratched his beard. "You're just damn lucky you got caught by a feller that's a lot scareder a'me than he is of them soldiers. 'Cause they sure as hell want your head in a sack, boy, and they're willing to pay for it. Reckon I'd be a sight better off if I sold it to 'em!"

  "Whyn't you do that, then," Howie said darkly. "Wouldn't surprise me, none."

  "Reckon I won't," Pardo told him. "For now, anyways."

  "And I reckon I'll just get out of your hair so you won't come to no more trouble. That'll suit me well enough!"

  "Well, it don't suit me," said Pardo: "Just get that out of your head."

  "Why!" Howie exploded. "What you want me around for? I ain't anything but trouble, you said so yourself. An' I don't want to be here no more'n you want me to!"

  Pardo looked off in the dark toward the river. "Guess you better get down to the creek and wash up and get some sleep. You'll likely be sore come morning, and I don't want you mopin' around none."

  He started down the hill, then stopped. "I reckon you've earned this right enough. Considerin' how you come by it."

  Something flashed between them and landed at Howie's feet. He picked it up, and felt Jacob's pistol and holster.

  "We git some time," said Pardo, "I'll show you what to do with it, 'sides struttin' around looking all rough-like. Mean feller like you can likely use some gun-learning."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Getting cleaned up for bed was about the last thing on Howie's mind. If he could make his body move up the hill and back to camp, he knew exactly where he was going— and it didn't have anything at all to do with working his tail off another day for Pardo.

  He felt better about having the pistol back—Pardo, of course, hadn't given him any cartridges for it. He never would, either, Howie figured. That business about teaching him to shoot was so much talking. Pardo was real good at sayin' and not doing, unless it fit his needs.

  The idea made Howie so mad he near forgot his aches and pains. Was that what Pardo thought? That he'd be so dang excited about getting his gun back he'd just run and hop in bed like a good boy? After near getting beat half to death? Well old Pardo could just think on that some more. Howie didn't intend to be around long enough to care.

  The camp was in a small hollow on the far side of the hill, protected from the wind. He was relieved to find both Klu and Jigger off somewhere. Getting by those two wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world.

  It didn't take long to gather up his few belongings from the leanto. Most important of all was the good a
sh bow. He'd kept it wrapped from the weather in his old jacket, and there were even half a dozen good arrows left. And until he could shoot…

  He wondered what Pardo had done with his rifle. It'd be a good thing to take if he could find where it was hidden. He dismissed the thought, knowing Pardo would have it stashed in a good place. Along with cartridges and other valuables.

  He hadn't even thought about where he'd go. It didn't really matter much, long as it wasn't east. Just about everyone seemed to be after him back there. West, maybe. 'Cept there was fighting. And in the north, too, most likely. Maybe he'd head south. Whatever was there couldn't be worse than anywhere else. And it stayed warmer longer in the south. For someone on the run, camping out—

  A twig snapped just behind him. Howie froze, then turned quickly and threw himself to one side.

  "Lordee, Burt. You sure are a jumpy one!"

  Howie sat up, feeling foolish. "Aimie. What you doin' out here?"

  "Looking for you, silly. What you think?"

  "Listen, that's fine, only . . .”

  Aimie fell down beside him and drew herself close. "Boy, your pa sure was mad. Was it 'cause of me, Burt?"

  "It didn't have nothing to do with you. It was somethin' else. Between me and him. And he ain't my pa, Aimie."

  "He's not?"

  "No. We're not kin at all, and I'm grateful enough for that."

  Aimie looked at him curiously. "I don't have no idea what you're talking about, Burt. But I don't much care." Her face brightened. "Thing is, I found you again."

  "Yeah. You did that. Only—ow!"

  Aimie drew back. "Now, what?"

  "It ain't nothing you did," Howie explained. He felt his side gingerly. Something seemed to slip back and forth over his ribs. "I just got busted up some, is all."