Haints Stay

by Colin Winnette

  “Which of these men is the richer man ?” said Bird.

  Neither of the brawlers took any notice. The one who had been straddling the other was losing his position. The other man had managed to get ahold of his throat and was drawing him steadily toward the mud.

  “That would be him,” said one of the men from the porch. He gestured to the man losing his grip, as the other rose up from the ground to gain control of the fight. “But I would stay out of it.”

  Bird approached the two fighters and stuck his pistol to the ear of the man who was now atop the other. The other man’s face was pressed into the mud and he was struggling for air.

  “Let him raise his head,” said Bird.

  The other man’s hand came reluctantly from the back of his opponent’s head.

  “You, in the mud,” said Bird. “Will you have me end this ?”

  The man in the mud nodded.

  The other man eyed Bird at a slant.

  “You will pay me five hundred for the task and provide a room for me and my wife.”

  The man in the mud nodded again.

  The other man began to turn, but Bird fired and startled the street. Most of the men and women nearby flinched or ducked, and the man straddling the other man fell into the mud and did not move again.

  Bird helped the other man up.

  “I had him,” explained the man. “You only expedited things.”

  “Yes sir,” said Bird.

  “It’s only worth two hundred.”

  “That was not the arrangement.”

  “Two hundred and a bed and a bath for you and your wife,” said the man.

  “You’ve got a horse ?” said Bird.

  “A mule,” said the man.

  “I’ll take the mule then,” said Bird.

  “I like a reasonable man. My name is Ramon.”

  “Bird,” said Bird.

  “Where is your wife ?”

  “Hiding in the post office.”

  Ramon glanced to the window and waved. Mary did not answer.

  “Can I help you, miss ?” said the postal clerk. Mary turned finally to explain that she was merely hiding there and there were no services needed.

  “You’re thinner than a rail,” said the clerk.

  “I have been on foot for some time,” said Mary, “and eating little before it.”

  “I can get you a square meal for next to nothing,” said the clerk.

  “I have less than that,” said Mary.

  “On the house then,” said the clerk. “My treat. We will eat and you can tell me how you wound up here. You can talk to my wife.”

  The postal clerk led Mary through the back of the post office and out a door that led into an alley. Across the alley was a small shack with smoke bellowing from its chimney. Inside, there was a table, two beds, three chairs, and a window. In front of the stove was a woman named Gretta. She was the clerk’s wife. She had a heavy accent that made it hard for Mary to follow everything she said. But Gretta was very patient with Mary, and did not mind repeating herself.

  “What is your name ?” said Gretta.

  “Isabella,” said Mary.

  “That is a pretty name,” said Gretta.

  “I like it very much, thank you,” said Mary.

  “Where is your family ?” said Gretta.

  “Pardon ?” said Mary. She was slurping the stew they’d prepared : beef, potatoes, carrots, and peas.

  “Your family,” said Gretta. “Where are they ?”

  “Oh,” said Mary. “I haven’t got a family. I came here with a boy, but we are not related.”

  “Where is he ?”

  “He is finding work as a gunfighter, ma’am.”

  “Oh my,” said Gretta.

  “It is a foolish pursuit. He cannot shoot and has but one arm.”

  “He has something to prove then,” said Gretta.

  “You are correct,” said Mary. “I’d like to talk about something else now. I’ve been with that boy for too long and I’m losing track of what it was I enjoyed besides.”

  “Where were you raised ?”

  “On a ranch some distance from here,” said Mary.

  “Where are your parents ?”

  “You’re hounding the girl,” said the clerk. “Let her eat.”

  “Father is dead and Mar — … Mother is in the wilderness,” she said.

  “In the wild ?” said Gretta.

  “Pardon ?”

  “Where is your mother ?” said Gretta.

  “In the wilderness,” said Mary.

  “Why ?”

  “Gretta, please,” said the man.

  “She is hunting down a man who murdered half a town.”

  “Which town ?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Your mother is hunting down a killer ?”

  “She is very strong and brave,” explained Mary.

  “She must be a special woman,” said Gretta.

  “She is,” said Mary.

  “I’m finished,” said the clerk.

  “Then take your sleep,” said Gretta. “I am talking with the girl.”

  “Why doesn’t she like me ?” said Ramon. He and Bird had made their way back into the bar and Ramon was ordering them drink after drink.

  “Who ?” said Bird.

  “Your wife.”

  “She does not like many people,” said Bird. “She’s a contrary bull.”

  “Do you like working with a gun ?” said Ramon.

  “It’s why I’m here,” said Bird. “I would like to become a marshal, or a bounty hunter. I would like to head out and meet evil head on.”

  “A committed man,” said Ramon.

  Bird nodded.

  “A dedicated man,” said Ramon. “Here is to dedicated men.” He raised his glass.

  Bird did as Ramon did. They drank, and Bird coughed. These were his first tastes of liquor. He felt sick and then warm and then sick.

  “You are not a drinker,” said Ramon.

  Bird shook his head.

  “But you are a gunfighter.”

  Bird nodded.

  “A one-armed gunfighter,” said Ramon.

  Bird withdrew his pistol with a clap then set it back behind his belt. One man startled, but the rest in the bar began to laugh. Ramon clapped Bird on the back.

  “Brave boy,” said Ramon. “You are in the lion’s den. But we are friends. Here is your money.”

  He handed Bird a small pouch of coins.

  “There is more than that too to be made,” said Ramon. “We like each other, no ? You are getting to like me ?”

  Bird nodded. He opened the pouch and counted the silver. It was two hundred even.

  “Who was the man I killed ?” he said.

  “He was a bad man,” said Ramon. “He was a killer and a drunk.”

  Ramon ordered two more drinks and toasted to Bird again.

  “To our newest hired gun,” said Ramon. “You’ll sleep with us tonight. In the mission.”

  “Where is it ?”

  “At the end of the road. You cannot miss it. You will like it. Your wife will like it. There is a bathhouse nearby, and you can use it as you see fit.”

  “I did not expect this to come as easily as it has,” said Bird.

  “You were ready for it,” said Ramon. He set his hand on Bird’s bad shoulder, and Bird flinched but did not pull away.

  “I am ready for it,” said Bird.

  “To fight evil,” said Ramon.

  “To face it head on,” said Bird. “With everything within me.”

  “You are a very brave boy,” said Ramon.

  Bird found the postal office locked when he set to fetch Mary. He peeked in the windows and spotted nothing. He went around the side of the building and into the back alley. There, he spotted the shack and the smoke and approached the front door. He knocked and Gretta answered.

  “Have you seen my wife ?” said Bird.

  “I have seen no wives,” said Gretta. “It is late and
you are drunk, boy.”

  “I can’t find her,” said Bird. “Her name is Mary.”

  “She has likely run away or is staying with her mother.”

  “What are you saying ?” said Bird.

  “She is likely with her mother,” said Gretta again.

  “She doesn’t have a mother.”

  “Then you have yourself a problem, boy. Do you know what time it is ?”

  “I am not a boy,” said Bird.

  “You are no bigger than my gut,” said Gretta.

  “I am bigger than your gut,” said Bird.

  “You must go now,” said Gretta. “My husband is sleeping and he will not be happy for you to wake him.”

  “But I cannot find my wife,” said Bird.

  “I know this,” said Gretta. She shut the door.

  Bird stumbled back into the alley. A cat darted past and vanished beneath a crate.

  “That cat is like my wife,” Bird said, to no one.

  Ramon was waiting for him at the staircase. He was bent over, as if talking to the eagle.

  “We have drunk, my friend,” said Ramon.

  “I’m sick,” said Bird.

  “You are not a drinker,” said Ramon. “But you will get better.”

  “I do not trust you, Ramon,” said Bird.

  “Nor should you !” said Ramon.

  Suddenly, Bird was laughing. Then Ramon was laughing. They were drunk in the street together and the stars were out. The windows around them were lit and dark and in-between. There was singing coming from the bar. Someone was banging out something on a loose-keyed piano. A man led his horse down the center of the road. Bird withdrew his pistol and stuck it back behind his belt.

  “Come,” said Ramon, “to the mission. We’ll sleep now and get baths tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to the boys and to the boss. I have a bottle in my room. We will drink before bed and in the morning to cure our stomachs and clear our heads.”

  “You are not the boss ?” said Bird.

  “I like you, little bird,” said Ramon. “Do you like me just a little ?”

  Bird said nothing.

  The mission was raucous, but clean. Men and women crowded the halls, and the enormous chapel space at its center. Corridors of rooms lined the edges and Ramon took Bird to his. It was sparsely decorated, but lined with empty bottles. They drank on the rug in the center of Ramon’s room, and when Ramon began to touch him, Bird did not resist. Ramon removed Bird’s shirt, and then his own. He touched the scar where the boy’s arm had been.

  “I was pinned beneath a rock,” said Bird, “and I freed myself.”

  “You are a very brave boy,” said Ramon. He kissed him then, and Bird retracted.

  “No,” said Bird.

  “My mistake,” said Ramon. “I thought you liked me.”

  “I will sleep outside,” said Bird, and he gathered his shirt and dressed while exiting.

  As he left the chapel, Ramon followed. The men and women in the hallways laughed at themselves and then at Ramon and Bird. They went back to laughing at themselves as Bird and Ramon left.

  Outside, Bird found a fountain with a smooth bench carved into its outer wall. He set himself on the bench and told Ramon not to come any closer. He withdrew his pistol. When Ramon stopped, Bird set the pistol at his side.

  “I will be fine here,” said Bird.

  “I can show you to your room,” said Ramon. “I will leave you there.”

  “I will sleep outside,” said Bird.

  “You’re upset,” said Ramon. “I have upset you.” He was distressed, but soft in his manner.

  “I’d like a safe distance between us,” said Bird. “You’ve made me feel uneasy, but I am not upset.”

  “I apologize, little bird,” said Ramon. He was missing a tooth and the gap sometimes whistled as he spoke. “I did not mean to upset you.”

  “In the morning,” said Bird, “you will introduce me to the boss ?”

  “Yes,” said Ramon. “But you can sleep inside.”

  “I will sleep outside,” said Bird. He pulled back the pistol’s hammer and set it in his lap.

  Ramon left him then. Bird sat alone. He set his hand in the still water of the fountain. Mary had abandoned him. He would be alone forever. He was better off alone. He would be a traveler and a gunfighter. He would be quick and steady, and they would not expect it.

  The bodies in Wolf Creek were arranged as if the townspeople had been executed in a group. The wagon train had sped in to greet the buildings, but now lingered at the mouth of the town’s central road. They kept their distance, for fear of a plague, until Brooke volunteered to approach the corpses. He promised to remain at a good distance if he could not produce another viable cause of death. He approached the bodies with a bandana at his mouth, and yet the stench still struck him like a hand.

  “They are shot,” said Brooke. He coughed and retched from the smell. The sight was less than pleasant too, but nothing he had not seen before. “They are days dead. Maybe weeks.”

  Slowly, the wagon trainers approached.

  “Who killed them, John ?” said Irene.

  “I do not know,” he said.

  “It’s likely the same riders what killed the men in the stagecoach,” said Jack.

  “Or other riders altogether,” said Marston.

  Wendell fired his rifle in the air to announce their arrival.

  “If anyone is still breathing in these walls, show yourself,” he said. “We are not here for trouble. We’ve been traveling for endless days and we’ve come only to make a home. We will work. We will be good citizens of Wolf Creek.”

  There was no response. The wind howled through the hollow buildings. Wendell set the boys to gathering the bodies and burying them on the edge of town. He asked the women to go from door to door and check for life or supplies. He would go with them, for protection. He gave his young confidante a pistol, as well.

  Working together, the men had the graves dug before sundown. They set the bodies one by one at the bottom of each, and filled in all the dirt.

  They found the homes vacant. Some looked as if they had been lived in but abandoned with haste, others seemed to be packed away, as if the owners had had their fair share of life in Wolf Creek and had decided to seek fortune elsewhere. There was an endless turning over of property happening, explained Wendell. Some element of the life desired was always off and people were hunting down something quiet and peaceful, leaving their shells behind like the crabs he’d read about in books. Each of the wagon trainers had a theory to explain what had happened there. Most involved the sudden oncoming of some great misery. The homes that were packed away, Marston explained, likely belong to the people who were smart enough to avoid the snowfall, people who had some sense of what was coming. It had been almost unbearable that year, nearly everywhere. But the bodies he could not explain. Nor the unshakable feeling that the town had been caught by surprise in some way or another. There was blood all over the prison. Something tragic had occurred and had left the town full of bodies and ghosts.

  There was little food to be found, but there was a well and plenty of beds and kitchens and lots of clothing. They butchered a mule and salted the meat. They set themselves up in the homes that were to their individual liking. Brooke asked his wife which home she most preferred and she looked at several before selecting one at the far end of town with a small fence at its side.

  “For livestock,” she said. “Horses or pigs.”

  Theirs was a small home on a small plot in a very small town. It had two beds, a couch, a fireplace and stove, and a large wooden dining table. For anything they needed, they scavenged. She found a piano in what was once the saloon and she had Brooke and Marston move it into their house. In what might have once been the inn, she opened an armoire in a back room.

  “It’s nice,” said Brooke.

  “But not for us,” she answered.

  The piano took up nearly a quarter of the shared space. She played beautifully. Broo
ke had never heard anything like it. It was not like bar music, or the upbeat steps you might hear in a brothel. She lingered the notes, let them ring out. She sang softly, songs he did not know. He kept his distance. She was growing confident in her confusion. She called him John and every time the smirk she wore softened. Soon, she called him John as if it were the name she’d always known him by. They lived together more as brother and sister than man and wife, but they had an affectionate air about them that gave their neighbors no question. Slowly, they began to cultivate the land that extended beyond their home. Brooke dug irrigation ditches and planted seeds he found in an abandoned shop near the center of town. They offered a percentage of their yield to Wendell in exchange for the first calf born from his livestock. Brooke also offered to work for him throughout the reconstruction of most of the buildings, or the destruction of those that were too far gone. They actively traded and dealt with the family, but they were less social here than they had been even while wagon training. Occasionally, Marston dropped by and spoke with Brooke. Marston was planning to open the store. He would get a line on products from the nearest city, an address for which he had discovered amongst the old mail that was clogging the cubby holes in the abandoned post office.

  “It is as if we had stumbled into Paradise,” said Marston.

  They were seated in two of the four chairs claimed by Brooke and the woman he met in the snow, who had taken to calling herself Mary.

  “And what if the good people of Wolf Creek return ?” said Brooke.

  “Wolf Creek is no more,” said Marston, “for we are in Wendell’s Valley.”

  They began to brew and grow and cattle were born. In not much time at all, each had fallen into step with a private life of sorts. Wendell and Irene occupied a home by the church, and led sermons and sing-alongs from the pulpit every Sunday. Marston, Jack, and Clay attended these weekly gatherings with the three younger women, Wendell’s confidante, the slanted-speaker, and the girl who had been in the back of the wagon with Mary when she was ill. These women were named Clara, Dorothy, and Caroline, respectively. Clara, it turned out, was Marston’s wife. Formally, at least. She seemed closer to his father, and achieved most of her ends by going through Wendell, rather than Marston. Caroline and Dorothy were sisters to Marston, Jack, and Clay, and Caroline was the youngest of the lot. They sat in the front pew together at the church, and every so often, Brooke and Mary would seat themselves in the back row to watch the proceedings, if only for the company.