Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  It sure wasn't proper work for a girl, but she was damn good at it, Howie had to admit. Even Klu and Jigger, who didn't have much use for females of any kind, gave Kari a grudging respect.

  No one knew where she came from, or how she learned all there was to know about weapons, and nobody much cared. Except Howie. And he wanted desperately to know everything there was to know about her. Most of all, he wanted to get her in bed so bad it hurt just to think about it.

  "What kind of thing is that you're working on?" he asked her. The sun from the window had dried her hair. It looked all fuzzy and bright around the edges.

  Without looking up, Kari said, "You know anything about trigger assemblies for the .38 calibre revolver?" "No," Howie admitted.

  "Then it won't do much good to tell you what I'm working on, 'cause that's what it is."

  Howie felt himself redden. Kari looked up and winked mischievously. "Howie, you going to stand there all day?" She patted the bed beside her. "It's your room. You can sit down whenever you want."

  "I'm . . . just fine here," Howie lied.

  Kari studied him with one eye. "You're standing, because you like to look at me," she announced gravely. "And you can see things better standing up. That's the real reason, Howie. Why don't you just say so? I don't mind you looking . . . just don't stand there pretending you're doing something else."

  Howie swallowed. "You . . . make it hard for a man not to look, Kari.''

  "Do I? How do I do that?"

  "You know damn well what you do. You just nearly . . . show everything 'bout half the time."

  "Nearly everything?" She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Is that what you want, Howie?

  To see everything?" She loosened a button or two and let the shirt fall off her shoulders and down her arms. "There. There's everything."

  Howie's mouth came open. "Kari…My God, Kari!" He stared in wonder at the slim, almost fragile body, the perfect little breasts tipped with amber. His throat went dry and he ached so much he could hardly stand it. He let his eyes touch every part of her. He was sure he could circle his hands clear around the tiny waist and the small, flat belly just the color of honey. All he wanted to do was gather up that slight bundle of nakedness and hold it tight against him forever.

  Kari watched him and he could see where her eyes were going. "Howie, you want to lay me something awful, don't you?"

  "More'n anything, Kari!"

  "Hmmmm." She put one small fist under her chin and studied him coolly. "Yeah, I guess you do. I wondered, 'cause you never asked . . . all you do is look."

  "Can . . . can I, then?" He could hardly believe what was happening.

  "No," she said absently, "you can't, Howie." She slipped the shirt back over her shoulders and picked up the metal part and the file.

  "God damn, Kari." Howie's legs turned to water. "You can't do things like that. It ain't right!"

  Kari ignored him for a long moment, then looked up curiously. "I was wondering, Howie. Why do you stay here with Pardo? You don't really belong in Roundtree, you know?"

  "Huh?" Howie stared at her. "What . . . what you askin' something like that for?"

  "Just wondering," she shrugged. She held the part up to the sun and squinted at it. "Why don't you kill him, Howie? You want to. Bet you can just about taste it."

  "What do you want to do," he said harshly, "watch?"

  Kari put her hands in her lap and considered. "I don't know . . . I don't guess I ever thought about it. Not really. I might, though . . . ."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lew Renner didn't come back that evening from his ride out to Yargo's. It was only an eight-mile trip each way over easy country and there was no reason to spend the night. Unless, someone suggested, Ben Yargo had gotten Lew drunk on white corn and they'd both forgotten about the horse deal.

  Pardo was mildly annoyed, but said nothing. He had more on his mind than trading a few mounts, what with the big gun deal with Hacker underway. In the morning, though, he sent Klu and Jigger out to look—riders were easy enough to come by, but a good horse was something else again.

  They found Lew in a dry creek not three miles from town. There were cold embers nearby, and bootprints that didn't belong to Lew. From the looks of him they'd started at his feet and worked up, using the fire to heat their blades. They quit carving just above the waist, and didn't leave much below. Lew had either died on them, or they'd found out what they were after.

  "Most likely he just give out," suggested Jigger. "Whoever done it sure weren't much good."

  Klu and Jigger carried the body into the front room of the Keep to show Pardo. Jigger touched it scornfully with his boot and shook his head. He thought the whole business had been handled badly. There were a lot better ways to make a man talk and most of them didn't take all night, either.

  Pardo didn't say anything. He studied the body thoughtfully a moment, then took off for town, taking Klu and Jigger with him. Howie helped bury Lew back of the Keep. The day was turning hot and the job was done quickly without ceremony.

  The minute it was over Howie climbed to his room and shut the door behind him. He couldn't forget that it might easily have been him out there under the hard earth, if he hadn't stood his ground with Klu. He thought again about maybe telling Pardo of his encounter with the stranger. For certain, the skinny little man was in some way responsible for what had happened to Lew.

  To hell with it, he decided. Pardo had gotten the message plain enough: someone was pushing him hard, and wanted him to know it.

  Howie dozed through the whole morning, ignoring the stifling heat rising off the plains. When he woke near noon he felt worse than ever. His body was covered with sour sweat and his head was full of dark dreams. Lew Renner was there, staring up blindly out. of death. Only sometimes it was Cory's face on Lew's ruined body. Once, he was on a bright beach with Kari Ann, and he knew right off it was Silver Island, because his sister was there—only it wasn't his sister as he'd ever seen her. She was Kari's age, a breathtaking young girl with swelling breasts and laughing eyes. Her face, though, was just the way he remembered. When he looked at her, Howie was ashamed of what he was thinking, but she winked at him mischievously and slipped Kari's oversized shirt off her shoulders—and showed him the raw, ugly wounds on Lew Renner's body . . .

  In the kitchen, he poured cold water over his head, scrubbing his chest and arms until he could stand to smell himself. He was hungry, but there was nothing in the cabinets worth eating. He wandered through the main room and out to the porch. There was no one around except Harlie and Jake, and neither had anything to say. He could go upstairs; see if Kari was in her room . . .

  He cast the thought quickly aside, and was angry at himself for even thinking about her. It was mostly her fault he felt as bad as he did. Getting him all worked up and everything, then just leaving him hanging. A man couldn't take stuff like that, not without going plumb crazy. And if Kari didn't know what a girl was supposed to do when she took her clothes off, there were plenty of others in Roundtree who did. He'd found two or three without any trouble and they damn sure knew what he wanted. And by sunup, when he'd dragged himself back to the Keep, he swore wearily that he didn't ever want to even see a female again.

  That had been last night, though. He could hardly remember the girls in Roundtree, but Kari was right back in the middle of his head again.

  Lordee, what was a man to do, he thought miserably. What if he didn't ever get her, what then? That wouldn't happen, though, he promised himself. He'd have her. He just had to.

  Pardo’s arrival tore the lazy afternoon wide open. Harsh war cries shook the Keep's foundation and brought armed, half-dressed men stumbling down the narrow stairs. Pardo, Klu, and Jigger grinned up at them from under a ponderous collection of crates, casks, cotton sacks, and crockery jugs. The three looked more like traveling junkmen than seasoned raiders, and it was plain they'd sampled the clay jugs more than once along the way.

  Pardo took one look at the bewildere
d faces and threw back his head and howled. Klu and Jigger near fell to the floor.

  "Godamn if you all ain't somethin' else!" Pardo roared. His smile suddenly faded and he scowled fiercely at the crew. "Why, we could've burned the place down and wouldn't one of you woke up to see the fire! Ain't I taught any of you nothin'? Jerry? Bo? How 'bout you, Jon?"

  No one spoke for a long minute. Then Pardo's grin broke through and they all laughed with him.

  "All right," he said sourly, tossing the sacks at their feet, "you lazy bastards kin dig in and eat 'til you pop a gut fer all I care, but I'm tellin' you straight …" he held up a warning finger, "you best get yourselves movin' proper by sundown, 'cause I'm going to work you all night and ride your asses off come morning!"

  Nobody understood for a moment, then the whole crew burst into a loud cheer all at once.

  Pardo showed his teeth. "Didn't figure you'd mind too much, seein' as how you're ever' godamn one going to be rich as Old Kings 'bout this time next week." He punched Jigger harshly in the ribs. "Git that stuff out where we can see it man, and let's hop on it!"

  The party didn't take long getting underway. Free food and whiskey was news in Roundtree, the same as anywhere else, and it wasn't fifteen minutes before a curious crowd had gathered in front of the Keep. No one got in who wasn't supposed to, which meant riders who worked full-time for Pardo, and whatever women were available. But there was plenty to eat and drink and more on the way. Soon there was just as big a party outside as in.

  Good white corn was on hand for the asking and a few special crocks aged in the barrel, if you knew the right people. There were sacks of new potatoes to toss in the big pot over the kitchen fire, fat loaves of hot bread, and green heads of cabbage brought in from Rebel country, east of the mountains. Best of all, there were great baskets of fresh, hot meat, some of it young colt no more than three or four years old, roasted whole on the spit. Not one slice of that cut found its way out of the Keep and into the crowd.

  Howie knew something was up, for certain. When Pardo treated everybody in the Keep and half of Roundtree, you could bet somebody else'd be paying for it soon.

  He glanced up once and saw Kari at the head of the stairs. She took one look at the brawl in progress below and fled back to her room. Howie wished glumly that he could join her. Not that anything'd come of it, but at least he'd be out of the mess downstairs. He tried his own room, but one of the crew had already taken a girl in and locked the door behind him. For a moment, he thought about rousting them both out and giving the man what for.

  Instead, he wandered down to the kitchen and found himself a hot slab of meat and a piece of bread. Most everyone had gotten their fill and the kitchen was empty, so he settled down behind a big barrel to chew his meal. The noise came in loud as ever, but at least all the people had drifted out to the other room. The eating time was over, and serious drinking was getting underway. It'd last until the whiskey was gone, or a good fight put everyone on the street.

  Again, Howie wondered what in all hell Pardo was thinking about. Maybe he had gone plumb crazy, filling half of Roundtree with food and whiskey. By sundown, every-: one in town would know they were riding out in the morning and no one would have to guess what they were up to. Colonel Monroe and every Loyalist trooper in the Territory'd be just licking their chops and waiting. Then, what? Howie thought miserably. He felt vaguely sick inside and knew it wasn't the meat. The whole business gave him the shivers.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The steep trail twisted like a dry river through a tumble of giant boulders worn by wind and weather. From the top of the ridge he could look back and see the long column winding up to meet him. It was hard going and taxed the best that men and mounts had to offer. Loose stone turned slick as ice under a horse's hooves and threatened to send mount and rider sliding off the path. Men below cursed and held their breath as rock and choking dust clattered down to meet them.

  Howie decided no one could have mistaken the band for anything but what it was. There wasn't a man afoot in Par- do's hire—only heavily armed raiders on horses. Even the precious cargo of weapons was slung across the backs of a dozen sturdy mounts.

  Not one of the riders had ever seen that done before—a horse was for carrying a man, and much too valuable for hauling heavy loads about.

  But wagons were too slow for Pardo. In this war party a man carried what he needed on his back. When he ran out of that, why, he'd just have to do without.

  Harlie reined up beside him and rubbed the mask of sweat and dust from his face. "I'll be godamned if I ain't wishin' I'd of got a lot drunker'n I did," he growled. "Last night I had a right good idea what I come on this trip for, but I sure can't remember what it was."

  "You were goin' to be rich as one of them Old Kings," said Howie.

  "Oh, yeah, I do recall." He screwed up his weathered face and scratched his chin. "'Bout when you reckon that'll be?"

  "I don't reckon nothing 'til I see it, Harlie. And I ain't real sure about it then."

  "Uhuh." Harlie thought a minute. "That's sound thinkin' in a outfit like this." He took a long swig of water and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "Ain't hardly nothin' a man can do but take the breaks as he sees 'em, and hope for the best. But I'll tell you certain, the more I put my mind to it the more I wish I was back under some fine shade in Roundtree with a big, cool cup of corn close by. Lordee!"

  Howie laughed. "Harlie, you want to be poor and drunk all your life?"

  Harlie looked straight at him. "Shit, boy, it sure beats dyin' rich and sober, which is likely what we're in for on this little party." He grinned and whipped his mount away.

  "Least half of that, anyways."

  Howie watched him go. Harlie wasn't thinking much different than anyone else in the crew, he decided. pardo's riders weren't nearly as excited about filling their hats with gold as they had been the night before. The corn whiskey in their bellies had dried up quick on the hot plains. There was nothing to do now but ride, and wonder where you were going.

  Pardo was a tricky bastard, for sure. If you got a man drunk enough, he'd work all night loading horses and packing gear, and take off riding at sunup without asking why. Now, though, like Harlie, they were remembering how they'd left the Keep all stiff and bleary-eyed with half the town up to see them off. Every halfwit in Roundtree knew they were carrying a fortune in guns out to the Rebels. Pardo had done everything but nail up signs pointing the way.

  Now, all a man could do was curse Pardo for a fool and keep a wary eye over his shoulder. If there wasn't something after him already, there soon would be.

  The top of the ridge was a midday stopping point and, before the tail end of the column reached the summit, the first riders had small fires going to warm their rations. The heat felt good, too. Even under the clear blue sky there was a slight chill to the air. A rider who'd been through the country before told Howie they had left the plains behind and were now on the edge of a great mesa that stretched all the way to the far mountains.

  "You seen the mountains?" Howie asked him. "For certain?" He'd looked at a picture once, in a real book, and stared at the tall, craggy white towers of stone that seemed to reach clear to the sky. It was hard to believe they were anywhere near. He was sure you could already see anything that big, if you were close enough to talk about them.

  "They're there, all right," the man told him. "Taller'n God. Some so high a man can't hardly get all the air he needs on top."

  Howie doubted that. There was air everywhere—why wouldn't there be some on a mountain, too?

  In the late afternoon he traded outrider duty with Harlie and rode along at the front of the column with Kari. Howie had mixed emotions about her presence on the trip. He was glad she was there, but he knew they were in almost certain danger and didn't like to think of something happening to her. Pardo had felt the same way, for different reasons. Kari was too valuable to risk on the trail. He sure didn't want to think about trying to replace her.

  K
ari had stood her ground, though—there wouldn't be any shipment of high quality arms without her, and she'd damn sure see them through to the finish.

  Earlier, Howie had promised himself he wasn't going to let anything show, this time. She could make a fool of someone else if she wanted to, but it wouldn't be him. Not any more. The minute he was with her, though, the whole business started all over again. Everything tightened up inside, like something was fair squeezing the life out of him. He felt hot all over, even in the crisp wind sweeping off the mesa.

  He talked about the trail, and the different kinds of rocks, and how cool it was getting, and anything he could think of besides stopping right there and pulling her clothes off and laying her good and proper. Godamn, she looked good, even under the heavy cotton jacket that near covered her from head to toe! It didn't do any good at all if you knew what was there.

  "Howie . . . ."

  "What?"

  "Stop it, Howie."

  Howie flushed. "Stop . . . what?"

  "What you're thinking."

  "You don't have any idea what I'm thinking, Kari." "Sure I do, Howie."

  "You sure as hell don't!"