by Neal Barrett
“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 ash 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.”
Aimie looked pained, then thoughtful. “Burt?” “What?”
“It doesn’t hurt… there, does it?”
“Oh, Lord, Aimie!” Howie almost jumped out of his skin. Aimie worked skillfully at his trousers. He could feel her breath on his cheek, in quick little bursts like his own.
“You just can’t… get a girl all worked up… and then run off and… leave her, Burt…”
“I didn’t exactly… go on my own… Aimie… Aimie!”
Lying back, she spread her skirts and pulled him to her. “God, you ain’t no boy at all, Burt. Burt, honey, I can’t wait no more!”
In the dim starlight he could see the flash of creamy skin. His legs met the inside of her thighs, his hardness touched incredibly warm softness, and the whole world exploded in his loins.
Aimie sat up and stared. “Oh, Burt, you didn’t!” Howie swallowed and looked away. “I couldn’t help it, Aimie, I just—”
“You just nothin’ is what!” she snapped, pushing him off. She turned from him briefly, then stood up smoothing her skirts. Howie helped her. His hand brushed against her breasts and she jerked away.
“You done about all the playing you’re going to for now,” she said hotly. “Such as it was!”
Howie’s embarrassment turned to anger. “Listen. You didn’t have to follow me up here, Aimie. Nobody asked you to. What’d you want to bother with me for, anyway? You got plenty of others to spread out for, the way I hear it!”
He was sorry the minute he said it. He’d lost none of his desire for her at all. If anything, looking at her now, he wanted her more than ever.
“Aimie. I didn’t mean that.”
“It don’t matter.” She looked away, down the hill. “I ’spect it’s true enough.”
“Aimie…”
She looked back, faced him. “You want to know why I come after you, Burt? Truly? I wasn’t lyin’ about… what you done to me. I was all hot and ready and… I mean it, Burt, it ain’t like that with me. Not a lot, anyway. Only it was with you, and…”
“And what, Aimie?”
She bit her lip. “And… I knew you hadn’t had anyone before. I could tell that. And, Lordee, it was something knowin—”
Howie hit her. He didn’t want to, but a second before it happened he knew he couldn’t stop. And then he was on her, tearing cloth and tossing it aside until she was naked under
the sky. He gazed at the awful whiteness of her, loving and hating what he saw, holding her tight against the ground. She stared up at him, eyes wide with fright.
“I ain’t nobody’s prize fool,” he said harshly, “you hear?”
“Burt!”
He slapped her hard, then thrust into her savagely. She cried out and he stopped her with his’ mouth. He let his hands sink into her breasts. Her nails raked at his eyes, clawed his back. He tore into her again and again.
Aimie fought him. She bit at his mouth and flailed out with her legs. Her hands tore at his flesh. In a moment, though, he knew something strange and different was happening. Aimie still struggled against him, but it wasn’t the same. She pulled the pain from him, drank it in thirstily. And when she was certain there was no more there, she triumphantly drew the last he had to give and he exploded in her again. She threw herself up to meet him and he watched in wonder as her mouth opened slackly in a low moan of pleasure.
“Aimie. Aimie, I. I…”
Her eyes opened and a smile creased the corners of her mouth. “Burt, if you start in tellin’ me how sorry you are ’bout something or other, I’ll… I’ll….” She stopped, and her expression made him laugh with her. He moved down to take her up in his arms and she came to meet him.
He held her a long time, not saying anything. He didn’t want to talk and spoil the wonder of what had happened there. It was something you just couldn’t say right with words. Finally, he bent to kiss her and found her sleeping, a funny smile on her lips. Maybe she was thinking the same thing, he decided. Maybe…
The sound rolled up through the valley and climbed the low hills, cutting the chill night air like a knife. Aimie sat up, frightened. Howie held her clos
e. He felt suddenly tired and empty; visions of riding off on a stolen horse—maybe even with Aimie, now—vanished and fell away. Someone had blown a warhorn at the river, and every driver who heard it knew Lathan was finally on their heels.
Chapter Seventeen
The rider who stumbled late into camp and started the war- horn wailing killed his mount getting there, but the warning he brought was worth more than a good horse. The rumor was true Lathan was definitely on the move. A strong element—nobody knew just how strong—had broken out of Colorado, streaked boldly through government territory, and was now less than two-hundred miles away in Old Missouri. Nobody doubted that the big herd was their target.
The news came as no surprise to anyone. Trouble had been expected all along, which was why the army was on its way across Arkansas Territory to meet them. The only real question was: who’d find them first?
“Don’t know any other way it could be,” Pardo observed stoically. “Lathan’s hungry, and there ain’t hardly nothing he can do but try an’ fill his belly.”
Everyone agreed that was so. But even if you knew for certain the river was high and flooding, you could always hope it wouldn’t get there.
When the drive began, most of the owners had said that no matter what happened, the herd would be kept together. There was, after all, strength in numbers. Pardo disagreed with this and had made him self heard since joining the drive. Why bunch up and make it easy for Lathan to get all the apples in one neat basket?
“I ain’t got no say in this maybe,” he told them, “since I don’t own anything and won’t lose nothin’ whether we make it or not. ’Cept maybe my hide, which ain’t likely worth much. But it appears to me that it’s a sight better to git something ’stead of nothing. Which is what you’re fixing to do.”
Pardo’s friend Jess argued violently against the idea. “What you’re figuring on is exactly what Lathan wants us to do,” he said. “Divide one strong force into three or four weak ones, strung out from here to nowhere. Hell, Lathan’d be herding us to the slaughterhouse same as if we was meat!”
Jess fought until he was blue in the face, but nothing came of it. Pardo had done his homework well. Owners and drivers alike respected his judgment. And the truth was, most everyone said, the herd wasn’t all that strong anyway—not against trained soldiers who’d all be mounted and carrying firearms and not worrying about fighting and keeping scared meat together at the same time. The only real chance they’d ever had was the one still open to them now. Don’t get caught by Lathan in the first place. Nothing had changed that.
At sunup the herd divided into three rough sections. One, loosely guarded, headed straight south, following the eastern bank of the Big River. The south was safe government territory and, though a long march would weaken it, the drivers could turn the herd back north and west as soon as the army made contact with the upper segments.
The other two elements headed west across the river. One of these, led by Pardo, would go straight and fast for the army. The other, with a large part of the herd, would move along a southwesterly route not too far away, with minimum protection, and would join Pardo’s group as soon as the army was sighted. This left Pardo with what amounted to a diversionary force: more guards and less meat. It was the section of the herd Lathan would have to hit first, the one with the most strength and the least to lose.
With much to be done, and no sleep for any man on the drive, Howie had little time to think about his aches or bruises, or bemoan the loss of his chance to get away from Pardo. Even Aimie was briefly forgotten. Once, while the herd was moving toward the river, he caught a questioning look from Cory. But Cory didn’t ask him what had happened and Howie was much relieved that he didn’t.
Near noon, he sat his mount with Pardo and Cory, watching the last of the herd cross the river. The job had taken most of the morning. The river was no more than waist high anywhere, but meat never did like the water. And this morning, the drivers were doing more harm than good, being in a hurry to get moving. Howie thought that meat was sometimes smarter than people gave them credit for; he was sure the herd was spookier than usual because they smelled man-fear all around them.
“Folks say it was some river once,” Pardo commented. He leaned over his mount and spit on the ground. “Split the country right down the middle.”
Cory shook his head soberly. “Sure ain’t much now,” he drawled.
Pardo looked at’ im. “Well, now ain’t then, is it? It was near the biggest there was anywhere once’t. Only the War done something to it.”
“The War did.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Must of been some War,” Cory grinned. “I haven’t heard much that ain’t been blamed on it.”
Pardo pulled himself erect and looked holes through Cory. Then he jerked his mount around and left them in dust. Howie watched him go, keeping his face straight as could be. Pardo wasn’t much for jokes, unless he was doing the joking.
Urging his mount through sluggish brown water, he followed Cory across the river. The herd was over and there was no more use watching for stragglers. The only job now was splitting off the last of the sections that would take the southwesterly trail below them. The drivers knew their jobs and the herd was soon on its way.
On the tail end of the drive were the followers they’d picked up along the trek. Most had decided to try the more treacherous route, figuring it was also likely the safest and quickest, if they met the army on time. Anyway, they argued, Lathan was after meat and wouldn’t be looking to run down pot sellers and farmers with empty wagons.
There were gamblers with their women in tow, loaded with trail packs and camp gear. Merchants and corn whiskey dealers pulled hastily loaded carts through the shallow water. They were all afoot; few had ever been close to a horse before. Mounts were for fighting men, or whoever could get and hold one of the rare animals for himself. Less than a quarter of the forty-odd drivers in Pardo’s group were mounted. And not half of that number had guns. Howie decided he probably ought to feel like something special—even if his horse belonged to Pardo and his pistol couldn’t hurt anyone.
Before he splashed up on the far bank he turned and squinted back across. But if Aimie was there, he couldn’t pick her out of the dust-covered followers.
At noon, Pardo and Jess had an argument that came near to going past loud talking and hard looks. The land was flat and easy beyond the river and Jess wanted to speed up the herd some. Pardo said he could understand Jess and the others being anxious to get where they were going, but he didn’t see any use getting there with three-thousand head of dead meat. Jess flared up and said it wasn’t any of Pardo’s meat in the first place—dead or otherwise. The end was they did speed up some—then slowed a little—so no one could tell much difference one way or the other.
Howie heard some of it, bringing water bags up to Pardo, but he got hastily away as soon as he could.
“What you think’s going to happen?” he asked Cory later. “You figure Lathan’ll git here or the army?”
“No way of telling,” Cory shrugged. He sat his mount chewing a stick he’d snapped off a scrub tree. “You can’t never say about Lathan. He’s fooled that old army before, though.”
“You didn’t like soldiering much, did you?”
Cory chuckled and grinned. “Guess you could say that.”
“What’s it like?” Howie asked. “I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to do it either. I don’t care much for soldiers.”
Cory’s face screwed up in a frown. “What it’s like is sittin’ around waiting to do nothing forever. Giffin’ one place, and coming back to where you was. Going here and then marchin’ there—and then sitting some more in the cold ’till your ass falls off. And then, all of a sudden like, some fool’s throwin’ lead at you or coming over the hill screamin’ with a big blade flashing and you’re wishing to shit you was back doin’ nothin’ again.” Cory sighed and shook his head. “It’s some wearin’ on the mind and body,
Burt.”
“Ain’t as good as driving, huh?”
Cory held him with one eye. “Lordee, boy!” He spit wood splinters and wiped his mouth. “Where’d you get the idea one piece of work’s better’n another? Hell, it’s all bad!”
Howie laughed. “That what you going to do when we get to Badlands? Nothing?”
“Not if I want to keep eating,” he said sourly. He squinted hard at Howie. “You sure loaded up with questions today, ain’t you?”
Howie colored and looked at his hands. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just talking . ..”
Cory grunted to himself. “Well… What I figure on doing—after I sober up and get tired of women—is headin’ south.” He winked at Howie. “Might even go after War booty.”
Howie’s eyes widened, then he decided Cory was playing with him.
“No, I ain’t kiddin’ at all,” Cory assured him. “There’s still booty to be found from the War. Gold and silver and all kinds of metals. Specially copper an’ stuff. People find it all the time. There was some fellers in Colorado, right before the war, found a whole building full of goodies. Rain hadn’t got in or nothing. Know what was in there? Coils of copper. Looked just like rope, they say—big around as your arm. Hundreds of reels of it, all higher’n a man.
The idea intrigued Howie. “What’d they do with it?”
“Huh?” Cory turned on his mount and laUghed. “Why, they got rich as old kings, is what they did. Raised all kinds of hell. ’Till one figured he wanted what the other’n had too, and they blew a bunch of holes in each other. Right smart couple of fellers.”
Cory paused, gazing thoughtfully past the horizon. “’Course, you want to make a real find, now. What you want to do is stumble on a whole passle of guns. Lord, I’d rather find me a cache of new weapons than a barrel of gold!” He laughed. “So would everyone else. But there’s still finds bein’ made, an’ it only takes one to make a man rich. And it’ll be that way until we can make ’em the way they used to… and I don’t see that comin’ soon.”
