Skin Game

by Tonia Brown

  “Yeah,” Stretch said. “You two keep it up. This is the best thing I’ve heard since I was chucked over the line.”

  “I’ll wager it’s the best thing you’ve heard in your life.”

  “True enough.”

  The pair shared a laugh.

  “I think I am done for now,” Mab said between the men’s laughter. “Sam can keep it up if she wants.”

  “She does not,” I said. “I’m afraid I am all tuckered out.”

  Dermot placed the fiddle back in its case. He stood, slow and painfully, arching his back like a scraggly cat. “That makes two of us. Sleep sounds like a good idea. The ladies can have the bed. Sir, you may have the floor.”

  “I shall accept,” Stretch said. He stretched out his long legs beside of the bed and pushed his rolled up coat under his head. Dixie curled up on Stretch’s chest and he wrapped one thin arm around her.

  “Where will you sleep?” I said.

  From the trunk where he was returning his fiddle, Dermot nodded to his chair across the room.

  “Dermot,” Mab said. “Don’t be silly. You’re too old to sleep in that rat’s nest.”

  “Nonsense,” Dermot said. He closed the trunk and shuffled toward the overstuffed chair. “Even if you weren’t here I’d be sleeping in it. I don’t get rest like I used to lying down. Makes me cough and sputter. Sitting up is the best thing. Get the lights, will you?” He collapsed into his chair without another word.

  Mab motioned to the bed against the wall. “Guess we are bunk buddies. You want the inside or outside?”

  “Either,” I said.

  I for one was pleased to see a bed again after sleeping on the ground the last few days. As I stripped out of my outer clothes, leaving my thin undershirt and long underwear for modesty, my hand brushed against my surgical wound. A wound I had all but forgotten about in the last few days of excitement. I pulled my shirt up a bit and my pants down enough to take a peek. The thing had almost healed, leaving behind a pink scar that snaked across my belly.

  “What happened?” Mab said, staring at my stomach.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I was sick. The doc had to take some stuff to make me better.”

  Mab sat beside of me. “Doc Bowden?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If there’s one man in the Badlands you want cutting on you, he’s the one. Looks like he did a pretty good job.”

  I rubbed at the scar a bit before I pulled my shirt back down again. “It’s healed a lot faster than I thought it would.”

  “How long ago was it?”

  “Last week.”

  Mab started at that. “Last week? I ain’t never heard someone healing like that in a—”

  “You two gonna sleep?” Dermot said from his chair. “Or ya gonna yap all night? Because you can do that outside.”

  Mab wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at me. I grinned as I crawled into Dermot’s small bed and pressed myself against the wall, trying to give Mab as much room as possible. She put out the lanterns then clambered in beside of me and settled down.

  “I feel I should warn you,” Mab said in the sudden quiet of the darkened room. “I’m a snuggler. So don’t be surprised if you wake up with your face in my bosom.”

  I gasped, until I heard Mab chuckle. She had quite a silly streak for a woman of her profession. I bade her goodnight, rolled toward the wall and fell asleep to the steady rhythm of Dermot’s snoring. I am not certain how long I slept, or how late it was when I awoke to furious whispering.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Mab said from across the room. “But, well, I can’t take her with me.”

  “You want me to keep an eye on her?” Dermot said.

  “Yes,” Mab said in an exhalation of relief. “You know I would never ask this of you if I could help it.”

  “I know. Don’t worry yourself about it. Go back to bed and get some sleep.”

  “She’s too obvious to travel with. Too recognizable. I am afraid I am going to get her killed if I take her along.”

  “I said I would watch her. Now quit fussing about it.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  My guts tightened as her betrayal swept over me. How could she just pass me off like that after I bared my soul to her? We were supposed to go after Dillon. We as in all of us. I considered saying something, anything, yet knew it would be pointless.

  “I’ll be back for her,” Mab said.

  “I’m counting on it,” Dermot said. “She’ll eat me out of house and home before you return.”

  “She will not,” Mab said. This was followed by the sound of her shuffling back to the bed.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to keep the first tears from slipping through.

  “She will too,” Dermot whispered. “Damn thing eats like a horse.”

  “What do you expect?” Mab whispered. “She is a horse.”

  My eyes shot open at that. A horse? Lilly. Mab was asking Dermot to take care of Lilly, not me. All at once I felt about the biggest fool in the world. I was also glad I hadn’t opened my mouth to protest. Mr. Theo was right, silence was golden after all.

  Mab slipped back into the bed beside of me and I pretended my best to be fast asleep. She curled up beside of me, back against my right shoulder, and gave a long, heavy sigh.

  “Mab?” Stretch whispered from the floor beside of us.

  “Yeah?” Mab said softly.

  “You’re doing the right thing. Dermot will take good care of Lilly.”

  “Course I will,” Dermot said.

  “I know,” Mab said. She sighed again, quieter this time.

  My heart went out to her. It must’ve been terribly hard to leave her longtime friend behind on this journey. The room soon filled with Dermot’s slow and steady snore. I laid there for a few minutes, in the darkness of the cabin, wondering if sleep would come to me again.

  “Mab?” Stretch whispered again.

  “Yeah?” Mab said.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back.”

  Mab considered this, then said, “Me too, hon. Me too.”

  I fell asleep shortly after that.

  * * *

  I woke the next morning to a loud banging. The backdoor to the cabin stood open letting in the early morning light and that sharp noise. I had waken to much worse in the Badlands, such as the sounds of prowling undead, yet this was right up there with the rudest of awakenings. I rolled over in the bed, knocking Dixie to the floor. She gave a frustrated yelp.

  “Sorry girl,” I said.

  Dixie yipped at me once, then flounced out of the door. Beyond the opening I could hear Stretch’s voice greeting her. Other sounds came to me then. Laughing and joking and that constant hammering of metal on metal. While I appreciated the extra sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder what drama I had missed out on. These three were better than an opening night play! I quickly pulled on my clothes and rushed to the door to join the others.

  Remembering the front yard full of explosives, I paused in the doorway.

  The backyard of the cabin was penned in by a tall, wooden fence. It stood at least seven feet, if not more, and started at one corner of the cabin, ran a good number of yards down the gentle sloping yard, cut across, then returned again to the other corner of the cabin. This barrier hemmed in a small barn and a covered area containing a huge and impressive anvil.

  Dermot stood at this anvil, banging away on a blade. Mab sat to one side, chatting over the steady rhythm of his hammering. I couldn’t hear her from where I stood, and I don’t know if Dermot heard her either. He nodded occasionally, which seemed to satisfy her conversational needs. Stretch stooped over Dixie, scratching the dog between the ears. He looked up from the mutt and winked at me as he stood.

  “Look who is finally awake,” he said.

>   I crossed my arms in a fake pout. “I’d have slept longer if you weren’t making so much noise.”

  Stretch laughed, easy and free, crossing the yard toward me.

  “What’s got you in such a good mood?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Stretch said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Just a nice day I suppose.”

  “He’s glad to be getting on our way,” Mab said from her perch beside of Dermot.

  “When are we leaving?” I said.

  “As soon as Dermot is done with our blades,” she said. “He had to do a bit more work on yours than just sharpen it.”

  “It was in bad shape,” Dermot said.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He cut me a look that suggested he wanted to lecture me. Instead of a lecture, he plunged my knife into a bucket of water, sending a hissing sizzle into the air. “She’s your blade. Do what you want with her. Just keep in mind, a good knife is like a good woman. If you want her ready for action at a moment’s notice, then you treat her with respect and always handle her gently.”

  I nodded just as my belly growled in response.

  “Hungry?” Mab said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Breakfast is over there,” Mab said, pointing to the fire beside of Dermot. “If there’s any left.”

  A boiling pot of porridge sat astride the flames, with a single empty bowl sitting on the ground beside of it. Waiting for me, no doubt. I grabbed and filled the bowl, eating what was left of the porridge while Dermot finished up our blades. It was fascinating to watch him work. His usually unsteady hands seemed to find a calm peacefulness when holding a hammer. All of his seventy plus years melted away with each powerful strike of the tool against the blade. Dermot might’ve been pushing eighty, but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of those blows. Once I was done eating, Mab set me to packing as much as I could into one of three roomy rucksacks. Since we were leaving the horse behind, the three of us needed to consolidate our loads for the long trip.

  “Are you gonna at least tell me where you’re headed?” Dermot said.

  Mab huffed.

  This felt like the tail end of a long argument. How much extra had they let me sleep?

  “Iron Station,” Stretch said.

  Mab flared her nostrils at him, in a how dare you gesture.

  “What?” Stretch said. “He asked.”

  “I did,” Dermot said. He returned to sharpening the blade in his hands as he casually added, “Don’t see what good going there will do.”

  “That right there,” Mab said. She shoved things into her bag without care or caution, growing madder with each angry shove. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to talk to you about this. You only want to know what I’m going to do so you can pick it apart. You’re always picking apart my plans. As if you’ve ever hunted a man a day in your life.”

  “I ain’t pickin’,” Dermot said. “I’m just sayin’ Iron Station is a wasted trip when the man you’re after is in Truth.”

  Mab stopped packing and eyed the man. “Truth? Why in God’s name would he be in Truth?”

  Dermot slid his rasp across the blade a few times in silence.

  “Tell me,” Mab demanded.

  Dermot didn’t look up. He didn’t answer either.

  Mab sighed overdramatically. “Fine. Please tell me what you know, oh great and all-knowing Dermot.”

  The man gave a grunt, yet I saw a small smile creep over his face. “No need to be so rude.”

  Mab raised her arms and hollered in frustration. “It’s like dealing with a child.”

  “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”

  Stretch snickered and Mab shot him another look.

  “If you ask me,” I said, “you’re both acting like children.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Mab snapped. She tossed her handful of hardtack to the ground and stalked off toward the barn. Not to the house, to the barn.

  It was then I understood her anger. She was fussy about having to leave her horse behind. Of course she was. Lilly was her close friend and traveling companion. This frustration boiled over into her and Dermot’s usual bickering, making their traditional arguing seem blown wildly out of proportion.

  “You’re gonna wanna know…” Dermot started.

  This halted Mab in her stalking tracks. She tossed a cautious look over her shoulder.

  “Last crew come through here,” he said, “picked up a fairly good sized shipment, yes they did.” He held up the blade and stared down the spine, from hilt to point. Dermot raised his eyes to Mab. “Said they was headed to Truth to meet up with their boss. Something big was happening there. Some kind of Syndicate business bringing in men from all over the Badlands.”

  Mab had turned around by then, her anger fading. “What would be happening in Truth?”

  “Not sure.” Dermot scratched his chin in thought. “Though, it were mighty interesting that the last things he had me forge were chains.”

  “Chains,” Mab echoed.

  “About twenty yards of ‘em. And manacles. Not just the clapping kind either. They had me make some of those flat backed sets that you can screw into a post. Or maybe a wall.”

  Manacles and chains. No doubt these things were designed with my mentor in mind. I pictured him hanging from some dank, cold dungeon deep in a rev filled mine, like those horrible cells in Newton.

  “That’s settled then,” Mab said. “We go to Truth.”

  “What is Truth?” I said.

  “A pig farm northeast of here,” Stretch said.

  “I didn’t know there was a pig farm out here.”

  “That’s because it’s usually the last place anyone wants to go,” Mab said. “It’s small. Smells bad. Belongs to Dillon.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah,” Stretch said. “I ain’t never been. I just heard tale of it.”

  “It sounds awful,” I’ve said.

  “That’s the tale I’ve heard.”

  “Are you sure that’s where he is?” Mab said.

  Dermot shrugged. “I’m not expert in chasing down menfolk, but I’d say that much hardware ain’t just for looking at. If Dillon isn’t there, then you’ll at least find the man you’re after.”

  “Men,” Mab said.

  “Really?” Dermot raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

  Mab opened her mouth, then closed it with an audible click. “No. The less you know the better we all are.”

  “Took the words out of my mouth, hon.” Dermot handed me my blade, then Stretch his. “They weren’t the only ones headed to Truth either. Seen a lot of folks passing through here on their way. Gonna be some shindig.”

  “Wait up now,” Stretch said. “I think I did hear something about that. Some kind of contest or something. Right?”

  “Something like that,” Dermot said.

  “A contest?” Mab said. “That’s just about the stupid thing I have ever heard.”

  Stretch snapped and pointed at her. “I remember now. Wrestling revs. That was it.”

  “What?” Mab and I said together.

  “That’s what Gerry said,” Stretch said. “He was gonna head on up there after we dropped our loot at Wooten. Said Dillon was holding some kind of big get together for all his men and Gerry wanted in on it. He had been trying to get in with that Syndicate for years, and I guess he thought his would be—”

  “Wrestling revenants?” I said over him. “Certainly Dillon isn’t that stupid?”

  “He makes revs out of perfectly healthy men,” Mab said. “Do you really need to ask that?”

  “You’ll have to get a move on,” Dermot said. “I hear this little dance is happening in less than a week.”

  “Truth is at least a four day trip,” Stretch said. “And that’s
if we run.”

  Mab clapped her hands at us. “Come on, then. Let’s get running. Truth won’t come to us.”

  The next hour saw us packing our meager supplies and getting ready to leave. I hadn’t known the man for long, but I sort of missed Dermot already. He was a character and a half, as Mr. Theo would say. It wasn’t often you found kindness so far over the line. Though I tried not to attribute traits to him that didn’t exist. He was just a crotchety old blacksmith with a soft spot for a good singing voice. Nothing more.

  After all, there were no heroes in the Badlands.

  Stretch and I said our farewells. Dermot gave me a healthy hug, and held his hand out to Stretch. They shook, amicably, exchanging far more pleasantries than when we arrived the day before. Stretch escorted me down the narrow path at the front of the cabin, and there we waited a good half hour maybe longer. I didn’t ask what took Mab so long, and Stretch didn’t explain. He didn’t need too. Mab had some hard goodbyes to say. She had a right to take as long as she needed. Twenty or so minutes into our wait, impatience steered me toward idle conversation. That and curiosity started to eat away at me, and now was a good a time as any to find some things out about my traveling companions.

  “How long have you known her?” I said.

  He grinned, gap toothed and wondrous. “Let’s see…couple of years now, I reckon.”

  “When did you first meet?”

  “Well now, let me think.”

  I doubted he had to think about it. I suspected he knew the answer right off the top of his head. Still, he crossed his arms and looked off into the distance, as if searching the past for his answer.

  “I think it was the fall of ’78,” he said. “She was on the trail of her first bounty, Butch Rainer. I helped her catch him.” He leaned down to me to add, “She didn’t thank me.”

  I giggled. “I don’t think she is the thanking type.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Did you see a lot of her over the years?”

  Stretch eyed me. “What’s got you so curious?”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Just wondering.”

  “I saw quite a bit of her.” He paused as he considered this, then verbally backed up. “Not like I was following her or nothing. Our paths just always seem to cross.”