He turned and gave the dog a toothy, checkered grin. “You know what I’m gonna buy you with this gold, Plugger? I’m gonna buy you a big ol’ pile of fresh-cut steak.”
Plugger panted happily as the old man scratched his shaggy ears.
“And I’m gonna get you a whole mess of bones fulla marrow. You like that?”
Plugger licked the prospector’s liver-spotted hand.
The old man let loose a gravelly, bellowing laugh.
Plugger barked loudly in response.
The man patted the dog’s mangy back. “Okay, okay, that’s enough now,” he said with a smile.
But Plugger’s barking did not stop. Suddenly it became more intense.
“Hey, hey, settle down there, boy, whatsa matter?”
And then, as if in reply to the inquiry, the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
The prospector squinted against the bright sun. The road ahead looked empty, but the dust cloud ascending from beyond the next rise told a different story.
Riders. From the look of the dust, five or more.
His hands shaking due to both nerves and age, the old man hurriedly stuffed his glittering prize into his pocket. As he turned his attention back to the road ahead, a group of six men came galloping over the rise. The old gray shifted his weight with uneasiness, and Plugger continued his lengthy oration. As the riders approached and slowed to a stop, the old man could see that it was not six men after all. It was five men and a woman.
A rough-looking bunch too.
The lead rider was as hard-looking a man as the prospector had ever seen. The lines on his face betrayed a lifetime of anger, and the folds of his skin dove deep into those weathered grooves.
But his eyes.
Even from a moderate distance, it was evident. Those eyes were deadly. They spoke of a long-rotted soul, to which mercy and compassion had no value and never would. They were more reptilian than human, as cold-blooded as any creature that had ever lurked in the pocked depths of the Arizona desert. This was a man to be feared.
The girl was more of a puzzle. As the prospector slowed his wagon to a halt, he glanced in her direction.
She was quite beautiful. Probably mid-thirties, the old man guessed. She had a kind face, even though her stony expression was doing its best to deny the fact. Her soft-looking brown hair and graceful curves were out of place among the company she kept. She didn’t belong with this group—and yet somehow she did.
Plugger’s barking interrupted the old man’s thoughts. “Easy, Plugger,” he said. He tipped his battered hat toward the riders. “Howdy, there,” he offered, his tone bright with a cheerful nonchalance he did not feel.
The lead rider spoke with a voice as calm as still water. “We’d be obliged if you could point us toward the Sherman Creek Trail.”
The prospector exhaled a bit. Maybe he’d overreacted. These men were just passing through. A small band of honest cowboys heading out to Sherman Creek. Probably looking for work. Good for them. Decent work was hard to find, and if they were willing to ride that far out to make an honest day’s wages, well, then, he’d be happy to point them in the right direction.
“Well, sure, I can help you there,” he said.
He reached into the back of the wagon and retrieved a tattered map. He ignored the screaming protestations of his old bones as he pulled himself down off the seat and made his way over to the lead rider. With a crooked finger he indicated a snaky black line running through the center of the map. “You’re on the main road now, see? The main road goes all the way through Bullhead and then runs right into Sherman Creek Trail. But if you ask me, I’d say you’d probably get there quicker if you take Bilbee Pass. You’d be safer too. Less chance of bandits and such.”
“Bandits?” The rider looked curious. “Are there bandits in these parts?”
“Well, I only come upon ’em a few times in my years, but you never can rightly say. Bilbee Pass is your best bet. Get you there faster too.”
A smile spread across the rider’s face as he stared down at the old man. But there was no warmth in it at all. In fact, to the prospector it looked less like a smile and more like a wound sliced open by the blade of an invisible swordsman.
“Thank you,” the rider said, his gaze deadlocked with the milky, weary eyes of the prospector.
The old man stared back for a moment, then began backing away toward his wagon. “Oh, no trouble,” he said, with a quaver in his voice. “Happy to help out a friendly stranger.” The prospector prepared to pull himself up onto his wagon, when the rider spoke again.
“Oh, there’s one more thing you can do for us.”
The old man froze. It was a simple statement, presented calmly and courteously, nothing threatening in it at all. And yet the prospector was suddenly terrified for his life. He tried to keep the fear out of his voice as he answered. “What’s that?”
“You can hand over the gold.”
All pretense of civility had vanished from the rider’s demeanor. The outer skin had been shed, and the reptile was poised. But for what?
The prospector somehow managed to keep his wits about him and responded with deliberate conversational passivity. “Oh, I … I ain’t got no gold. I wish. Been prospectin’ all day, and that stream’s panned out. On my way back to town now.”
“You see, that’s just it,” said the rider. “You’re heading back to town in the middle of the day. Prospector only does that when he’s found gold to sell. Now give it to me.”
“I swear, I don’t have any gold. I’m headin’ into town early, cause—”
The rider drew his gun and pointed it directly at the old man’s head.
The prospector no longer troubled himself to hide his terror. He could feel a warm wetness spreading around his groin. He reached into his pocket for the nugget. “Oh, now, wait a minute. Y’know, I might have a little bit of gold—”
The rider shot him in the head.
The old prospector staggered back and slumped to the ground, dead.
Plugger barked wildly, then bounded over and sniffed at his master’s body with confusion.
The woman spoke for the first time, whirling angrily to face the lead rider.
“Clinch, goddammit, you didn’t have to do that!”
Clinch turned and flashed his open-wound smile. “I know I didn’t have to, sweetheart.”
“He would’ve given you the gold!”
“The point is, I had to ask him twice. I’m a busy man with a schedule.”
Her eyes narrowed with clear hatred. “You’re a son of a bitch is what you are.”
His smile vanished, and in the same instant his arm lashed out like a whip, striking her across the face with full force. She tumbled off her horse and landed hard in the dirt. Yet somehow, even as she wiped a trickle of blood from her lower lip, she managed to appear unscathed.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again,” Clinch commanded with a deadly tone. “A man’s wife will show him respect. Now, let me hear you try it again.”
The woman got to her feet and batted her lashes mockingly. “Oh, honey, you’re the best, I’m so happy to be with you, oh, my God, I love you, I’m, like, the luckiest girl ever in the history of girls.”
Before Clinch could strike her again, one of the other outlaws approached with the fallen prospector’s map. “Clinch, the old man was right. We’d lose half a day goin’ through Bullhead.”
Clinch briefly studied the routes. He then folded the map and addressed the group of outlaws. “All right. Ben, you, Enoch, and Jordy’ll ride with me. We’ll follow Bilbee Pass to Sherman Creek Trail. And make no mistake about the kinda heat we’re gonna draw after we take that stage. Every lawman in this territory’ll be out for us.” He turned to his wife, who had mounted her horse again. “And you—you’re staying outta harm’s way.” He indicated the weasel-faced, badly scarred man mounted next to him. “Lewis, you’ll ride east with Anna and hole up in this town right here.” He pointed to the map. “Old S
tump. We’ll let things cool down, and we’ll come for you in three weeks.”
Anna gave Clinch a loveless smile. “Thank you so much, sweetheart, for always thinking about my safety.”
He reciprocated with an even icier smile, kicked his mount, and was off. Within moments, the rest of the group was gone, and Anna remained alone save for ugly, rat-faced Lewis, a mangy dog, a tired gray horse, and the corpse of an innocent old man who had done nothing to deserve his fate.
Lewis glanced at the map and turned his horse east. “C’mon, Anna, let’s go.”
She began to follow him, then suddenly halted. She called out to the dog. “Plugger! Plugger, c’mon, boy!”
The dog looked up, seemingly unsure.
“C’mon, Plugger! C’mon!”
At last, thanks to the canine gift of short-term memory, Plugger came bounding after her.
They headed for Old Stump.
The days and nights rolled by, each one dissolving into the next, a chronological blur. Albert never left the house save to tend his sheep, and the tiny home’s supplies and stores were beginning to run low. His mother and father clucked and barked at him to make a trip into town for replenishments, but he barely heard them. Their voices seemed to be echoing down from the rim of a deep well at the bottom of which he huddled. The rational part of his brain knew that the constant cutting pain of a breakup was only a temporary thing, that it would get a little bit easier each day, each week, each month, until one day he’d wake up and find himself utterly baffled that he had ever let this bygone woman cripple him so completely.
But that part of his brain wasn’t in charge at the moment. For now he was a creature of emotion, and the suffering distorted his thinking. He lay on his bed staring up at the wooden beams on the ceiling. I can’t live without her. No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love her. And there’s no one else who will ever make me as happy as she does.
The early-afternoon sun was now lashing him across the face as it sliced through the edge of the burlap covering that hung from his window. Albert groaned in protest and turned over on his side, but he knew sleep would continue to elude him. He hadn’t slept all night, and he was exhausted, but his body refused to submit to unconsciousness.
He rose sluggishly and padded into the main room. His pajamas stank from days of wear, but changing clothes had become a weekly activity, not a daily one. His mother and father sat in their usual spots, engaged in their usual activities: Elsie sewing, George reading the Bible.
“Well, look who’s up at two in the afternoon,” George said.
Albert stopped and stared down at him. “You ever think about reading another book, Dad? I mean, at this point, don’t you pretty much know how that one ends?”
“I find new meaning in this book every day,” he snapped back. “Eat something. There’s still some sweet cream and pig ass on the table if you want it.”
Albert glared at the unappetizing spread. “No, thanks.”
“Well, you want something else? Make a run into town. This is all we got left.”
Albert ignored his father and shuffled toward the front door to make an outhouse trip. When he opened the squeaky, whining door, he was startled to find Edward, mid-knock. He almost rapped Albert in the nose.
“Oh, sorry, Al.”
“Edward. Hey.” Albert blinked like a mole in the bright sunlight.
“My God, you look terrible.” Edward frowned.
“Ahhh, there’s that confidence boost I need. How you doin’, buddy?”
“Can I come in?” asked Edward.
“Sure, sure,” Albert answered with a dead expression. “I know my parents are gonna be totally thrilled to see you. Guys, Edward’s here!”
George and Elsie nodded wordlessly.
“Look at them.” Albert smiled without amusement. “They just love company. We all do. You want some pig ass?”
Edward shifted uncomfortably and stepped inside. “Albert, I’m really worried about you. I haven’t seen you in town for a week and a half. All you do is stay home and sleep.”
“Well, I went out last Tuesday to pay off Charlie Blanche so he wouldn’t shoot me in the face.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Look, Edward, I feel like I need to be here with my parents,” Albert said, his voice dripping with the thick syrup of sarcasm. “They’re not gonna be around much longer, and I wanna give back all that love and affection I got growing up. Right, Dad?”
George broke wind.
“Look,” said Edward, trying to get the conversation back on track, “I know you’re taking this breakup hard, and I understand … but I think you’ve got to get out of your funk. I mean, Jesus, you haven’t even shorn your sheep in weeks.”
“I have too,” Albert shot back petulantly.
“Albert, there’s a sheep out there that looks like a giant ball of cotton with legs. You can’t even see its head—there’s only a nose sticking out. I just saw it walk into a wall. C’mon, why don’t you come into town with me, huh? We’ll get a late lunch.”
“Well, y’know, thank you for your concern, Edward, but if I leave the house and go into town, I might see her, and then I’m gonna get even more depressed.”
“Well, of course you’re gonna see her, she’s in town all the time,” Edward said.
Albert’s head snapped upward, and he suddenly looked alert for the first time in weeks. He began to speak much more rapidly. “Why, did you see her? How is she? Is she sad? Did she look sad? Has she lost a lot of weight? Did she gain weight? Is she fat now? That would help.”
“Yeah, I saw her; she seems fine,” Edward answered patiently. “Which is all the more reason for you to get back out there! Show her you’re fine too! I mean, things could be worse—”
“I’m not fine,” Albert interrupted. “And I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but you don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? You have no idea what it’s like. You’re going home every night and having sex with your girlfriend.”
“No, Ruth and I haven’t had sex,” Edward said matter-of-factly.
Albert stared at him for a beat, uncertain whether he’d heard correctly. “You … you’ve never had sex with Ruth?”
“No.”
“You’ve been seeing each other for a long time, though.”
“Six years. Yikes. Wow. Doesn’t seem like it.”
“Doesn’t she … have sex with like ten guys every day at the whorehouse?”
“On a slow day, yeah.”
Albert paused again. “But … you guys have never had sex.”
“No.” Edward shook his head. “Ruth says not until we’re married. She’s a Christian, and so am I, and we want to save ourselves for each other. Y’know, for our wedding night.”
Albert allowed himself to process this information. And then he patted his friend on the shoulder. “You’re right, Edward. Things could be a lot worse. I’ll try to meet some people.”
Albert stared at the jar of licorice. He remembered coming into the Old Stump General Store as a young boy and gazing with desire at the small but intoxicating array of three or four varieties of confections displayed on the countertop. He would ask his father for a peppermint stick or a piece of chocolate, desperately appealing to a paternally generous nature that never revealed itself. Instead, his father would say, “If you do ten hours’ worth of extra chores each week for the next month, I’ll buy you a peppermint stick.” Albert would nod vigorously and throw himself into the task for four or five days, at which point he would inevitably decide he was getting played for a jackass. No single piece of candy was worth that much effort. So he’d give up on the whole exercise and resign himself to longing gazes. His only salvation came once a year or so, when Mr. Crawford, the now-deceased owner of the store, would take pity and offer Albert a licorice stick. The taste was euphorically sweet, but it almost made the whole ordeal worse, because it showed him what he was missing.
Now, in the prime of adulthood, the candy tort
ured him in a different way. He had enough of his own money to buy a piece of peppermint or chocolate, but the desire was gone. What an ironic waste. Just another way 1882 sucks the meat. He settled for a piece of chewing gum.
He was about to walk out with his groceries when he noticed a very pretty girl standing by the cookware, examining a pot. Had he been clearheaded and unfettered by the pain of a broken heart, he would probably have felt the stirrings of arousal, but Louise’s power had snuffed out any possibility of that. Still, on a rational level, he was able to acknowledge her good looks. She had dark hair, flawless skin, and pretty brown eyes. It occurred to him that this was a perfect opportunity to take proactive control of his stagnant condition and begin the task of moving on from Louise—much as that thought made him sick to his stomach. Albert popped the chewing gum into his mouth, put on his coolest expression, took a deep breath, and walked over to the girl.
“Hi,” he said.
She looked up momentarily, smiled with a polite “hello,” then went back to inspecting her pot.
“I, uh … notice you’re looking at pots,” he said.
“Yeah, I am,” she said, once again giving him the polite smile.
“Store’s pretty great, huh?” He smiled back. “There’s gotta be like twelve different items in here. I mean, how do you pick, right? It’s like sensory overload.” His humorous, sarcastic observation would surely get a giggle out of her.
“Yeah,” she answered, offering up a less enthusiastic variant of her smile.
“Ran that eight-item store outta business. Right? That was pretty sad.”
Now the girl did not respond at all. Her full attention was on the cookware.
Albert shifted his approach. “You ever tried gum?” he asked, deliberately increasing the volume of his chewing.
“No,” she said, her eyes now fixed on a set of plates.
“It’s this new thing, pretty cool.” Albert smiled with faux confidence. “Just came out, been makin’ its way around the country. It’s like candy, but you don’t have to swallow.”
Seth MacFarlane's a Million Ways to Die in the West Page 4
