“What was it then? If you were no longer scared?” Zeke’s voice seemed tired.
“After a while,” he said, “after you’ve walked through the fields littered with dead men, you start to envy them. At least they get to rest. At least their war is over.”
“But you lived.” remarked Helen, “So your war is over too, right?”
“Yeah.” was all Zeke said. Sympathy now swelled in Helen’s heart. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge him.
“You’ve seen many dead men, haven’t you?” she asked after a few minutes.
“Yeah.” Helen had learned not to expect more than that in response.
They rode on into the afternoon without speaking. Helen listened to the wind in the trees and the sound of the birds. She wondered what Zeke might be thinking about but didn’t dare ask him. Every so often he would slow down and examine something on the ground. She didn’t bother to ask what. After a while, hunger began to rumble her stomach. Zeke showed no signs of stopping. In an ordinary situation, she would’ve simply kept quiet, but it had been quite a long time since she’d had a proper meal. She hoped Zeke would be the one to broach the subject, however, he seemed a thousand miles away. After a long while, Helen’s head began to ache.
“Zeke?” her tongue felt thick.
“Yeah?”
“Do we have anything left to eat?”
“No.” he answered simply. Helen didn’t know what his silence meant. Were they just going to starve now?
“So, what are we…”
“We’ll eat when we stop.” he didn’t wait for her to finish. She could sense that he was concentrating and thought it best to leave him be. He seemed to keep his horse moving at a brisk pace. Maybe they were getting closer, she thought but did not ask.
Instead, she kept herself occupied with the landscape, so different from what she had always known. It was strange to think that any life existed out here. The trees were so much smaller and the grass scarcer. At length, they came to a space with a better view of the land. The ground, which had been dimpled with small hills and stippled with trees flattened out in small pass between two steep cliffs. Zeke slowed his horse to a stop. For a while, nothing happened.
“Be quiet and still.” whispered Zeke into Helen’s ear. His breath had tickled her, but his tone froze her and she did not move. Where they in danger? Her eyes scanned the landscape. The grass was about knee high and she could see nothing on the ground. Up above, nothing seemed to be watching them from the cliffs, though she couldn’t be sure. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept thinking some movement had been detected. When she turned her head in whichever direction it had been, there was nothing there. She noticed that Zeke was holding a gun in his hand. Helen recognized it as the pistol he had taken from the dead man. It was much smaller than the Colts in his holsters.
After what seemed to her like ages, Zeke slowly raised his arms and trained the gun on something she could not see. She tried to follow his aim and thought she could detect some small thing moving through the grass. With no haste and without moving the rest of the gun, Zeke thumbed the hammer back. Helen shrank back against his chest and scrunched her face in anticipation of the shot.
BANG!
It finally came and had the odd effect of relaxing her, breaking as it did the tension that had been building.
“What was it?” she asked.
“Supper.” answered Zeke, giving his horse a gentle tap to urge him forward.
“Does gunfire not startle your horse? He seems remarkably calm.”
“He’s heard plenty of gunshots. It’s nothing new.” They rode about forty yards to a spot in the grass red with blood. Helen gasped
“A bunny?” she cried, “You shot a bunny?” The answer was pretty obvious. There, on the ground, was a plump rabbit, dead from a single shot. “Why?”
“I told you.” said Zeke, dismounting, “Supper.” Helen watched from the horse as Zeke picked up the dead thing by its hind legs and examined it.
“That’s disgusting.” chided Helen, “I cannot eat such a gentle creature.”
“That’s fine.” replied Zeke, “More eating for me.” He unsheathed his large knife. Helen was horrified.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Well, I have to clean it.”
“Here?” she whimpered, “Now?” Zeke looked around.
“Where else would you have me do it?”
“I can’t watch this.” she said with her hand over her mouth.
“So don’t.” offered Zeke, plunging his blade into the belly before Helen could avert her eyes. Vomit convulsed her stomach. Zeke chuckled. “Where do you think beef jerky comes from?”
“That’s different.” she said, holding her stomach, “I don’t have to watch it being made.” Though she was thoroughly ill, Helen found herself curious enough that she tried watching Zeke prepare the meat. For a moment, she thought she would prevail. Most of the blood was gone and he seemed to be making only small, strategic cuts now. She had won, or so she thought. After a few more cuts, Zeke grabbed a hunk of fur and with a quick, clean jerk he had skinned the animal. Helen felt the color flee from her cheeks.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground and Zeke was lightly slapping her face.
“Wake up.” she heard him saying. Slowly her eyes focused on his. “There you are.” He said.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.” Zeke was examining her intensely. Their faces were very close to one another.
“What are you doing?” asked Helen hesitantly.
“Trying to see if you’re okay.”
“Well?”
“You’ll live.” was the prognosis. Helen tried to sit up. “No.” said Zeke, “Stay still. You’re not going to want to see this anyhow.” Helen obeyed and laid herself back on the ground. Even the sound of the preparations made her sick to her stomach. After a while, Zeke stood over her.
“I’m gonna go fetch firewood.” he told her, “I won’t be long.” There was a tenderness to his voice that she had not heard before. Perhaps the sight of her weakened and vulnerable had softened his hard edge.
Helen stared up at the clouds until she got bored. Gathering her strength, she sat up and waited for the lightness in her head to dissipate. She felt better. Eventually, she managed to stand and made her way to the small camp Zeke had prepared.
She forced herself to face the creature. It looked as though it had been turned inside out. How could people eat this, she thought to herself. It seems so barbaric. True, she had eaten meat her whole life, but she had never truly considered the source before. Now all she could think about was the muscle tissue and blood. Nausea crept in again, but she pushed it away. Zeke found her kneeling, staring at the rabbit.
“Feeling better?” he smiled. Helen could not tell if he was sincere or mocking her, so she ignored his question.
“Did you find anything else that I might eat?” He removed a small twig from the bundle of firewood he was carrying and held it out for her.
“Here you go.” he said, the tenderness having vanished, replaced now by a smirking grin.
“You find this frightfully funny, don’t you?”
“Yep.” he said, preparing the fire.
“Well it’s not.” she informed him. He seemed to be in a jovial mood. “Do you always draw such pleasure from the suffering of a lady, or is there some other reason for your mirth?” Confusion wrinkled Zeke’s brow.
“What?” she would have to simplify the question.
“Why are you so happy suddenly?”
“Oh.” Zeke lit the fire, “We’re getting close. We’ll probably catch up to them tomorrow. Then I can go home.”
“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” The smile fled from his eyes.
“Yeah.” he said, staring into the flames. Helen wanted him to keep talking. She liked the crinkles on his face when he smiled.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, trying to change the subjec
t.
“Shoot.”
“What?”
“Yes.” clarified Zeke, “Ask away.”
“How could you see that rabbit to shoot it?”
“Good eyesight I reckon.”
“I have good eyesight, too,” answered Helen, “but it was almost completely hidden in the grass.”
“Almost ain’t completely, is it?”
“Beg your pardon.”
“It wasn’t completely hidden. I could see it moving.”
“But how did you know where to shoot?”
“Sometimes shooting takes more than eyesight. More than knowing. You line up your shot, fix your sights, but that’s just the start. Your target might move. The wind might change. You have to reach out and almost feel. Feel where the shot should go. Feel what the target is fixing to do.”
“Sounds very intuitive.” Zeke considered this.
“I reckon so.” he said, placing the carcass over the fire.
“How does it work?”
“What do you mean?”
“How does one fire a gun?” Zeke stood up.
“Come here.” he said, “I’ll show you.” Helen was excited.
“I’ve never held a gun.” she said. Zeke put the belt pistol in her hands.
“Can’t say that no more.” he told her. She felt the heft of it. Although it was much smaller than Zeke’s weapons, it still felt heavy and the small size fit her hand perfectly. Zeke took a small pinecone and a stick to make a target about fifteen feet away. He drove the stick into the ground and placed the pinecone on top. Standing behind Helen, he instructed her, introducing her to a new and deadly art.
“Take the gun in your right hand and hold it like this.” Zeke drew his own weapon to demonstrate. Helen was a natural.
“Like this?” she said, perfectly mimicking Zeke’s stance.
“Good.” he said, “Now line up your sights. Put the front one between the other two so that they’re even across top.” Helen closed one eye and concentrated.
“Now what?”
“Squeeze the trigger slowly.” Helen’s finger found the curve of the trigger and very deliberately pulled back.
Click.
“Nothing happened.” she observed, disappointed.
“It ain’t loaded.” he told her, “See this?” He pointed it at the ground. Through the holes in the cylinder, she could see the dirt. “That means it ain’t loaded. Take this.” He placed a small cartridge in her hand and showed her how to open the cylinder. She placed it in the chamber. “Now it’s loaded.” He put his hand on hers and closed the chambers. Their eyes locked for a moment. Helen looked up at Zeke expectantly. He was her teacher and she wanted to learn. Zeke cleared his throat and stepped away. “All right. You’re ready. Shoot the pinecone.” Helen felt powerful. She aimed her weapon carefully. The weight of the gun caused her hand to waver ever so slightly. As it did so, the target slipped in and out of her view.
“It’s really difficult to keep it steady.” she remarked.
“You’ll learn control later. For now, just concentrate on aiming.”
Helen went back to her sights. Slowly squeezed the trigger. The pop of the round going off dented her hearing, but the pinecone jumped and fell to the ground.
“I hit it!” she exclaimed, beaming with pride.
“Very good.” said Zeke.
“Can I try it with your gun now?” Zeke laughed.
“No.” Helen was offended. She was clearly a master gunfighter.
“Why not?” she demanded to know. Zeke plunked the heavy weapon in her hand. She felt as though her shoulder would be torn from its socket. “Good Lord! How heavy is this?”
“About four pounds.” Zeke took it back from her, “And the kick is liable to knock the fire out of you.”
“Why do you carry that? Why not something more manageable like this one?”
“That’s a .22.” he sneered.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s half the size of my guns. Now that’s good for shooting something like a rabbit, because if you shoot it with one of mine, there would be nothing left to eat, but if you try to shoot a man with it, a man my size, all you’re likely to do is piss him off.” Helen looked down at the gun in her hand, which now seemed so small.
“Yours aren’t that big.” she mumbled defensively.
“You’re just jealous.” replied Zeke and went back to roasting his rabbit. Helen sat down on the ground and watched him intently. It made Zeke somewhat uncomfortable, but he said nothing, rather pretending he didn’t notice. Helen’s eyes followed every move of his rough, strong hands at he turned the meat, cut it, examined it. He seems so capable of anything, she thought. So unlike the men she knew who were as likely as not to fall to pieces when a little rain came their way. Zeke, she mused, could weather any storm. Here they were, in the middle of the wilderness, and he could still provide for her. She smiled without noticing it, but Zeke did.
“Could I try a piece?” asked Helen after a while.
“Sure.” said Zeke as he cut her a small portion. She took it in her hands and tried not to think of the animal. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. The roasted smell of it made her stomach rumble and her mouth water. Gingerly, she took a bite. Her first reaction was to want to spit it out, but she wanted Zeke to think she was strong, so she kept chewing.
“Not bad.” she said after taking a few more small nibbles. Zeke chuckled and tore into his portion. Roasted rabbit was one of his favorites. Helen found that her hunger was sufficient to drive the thought of the bunny completely out of her mind and she ate heartily, feeling very proud of herself.
When night arrived, it came quickly and was very clear. Without a blanket of clouds above, the heat of the day dissipated and the temperature dropped. This didn’t seem to bother Zeke as he settled in for the night, but Helen’s small frame was shivering. She sat hugging her knees and looking across the fire. Zeke was lying on his back with his hat covering his eyes. She looked at her thin blanket, then back at him.
“Zeke?” she said in the small voice that she used when she wanted something from her father.
“Yeah?” he said without moving his hat.
“It’s really cold.”
“Yeah.” he repeated. Helen was hoping for more of a response, but he didn’t seemed to have read between her lines.
“Zeke,” she said again, “can I sleep with you?” He removed his hat and looked at her letting his quizzical expression do the talking. Helen felt embarrassed but not as much a she felt frozen. “It’s really cold.” She repeated, this time with a practiced pout. He pretended consternation, but opened his blanket. Helen bounded up and practically dove in beside him. He felt like a warm, glowing furnace and she snuggled as close to him as she could. Zeke wrapped the blankets around them.
“That’s much better.” sighed Helen. He put his arm around her and she reciprocated by nuzzling his neck with her forehead. “Your whiskers tickle.” she said softly.
“Sorry.” he replied, swallowing hard.
“No.” she said quickly, “I like it.” Zeke did not remember ever being this close to a woman. That is not to say he was a virgin, but physical congress with a prostitute could not be compared to this. Her entire body was pressed against his. He could feel everything. The rising and falling of her chest with each breath, each delicate breath that skittered across his throat as she exhaled, each individual hair that moved in the slight breeze and brushed his face. Everything. He felt such exhilaration, then it all came to a stop. Helen was married. She was someone else’s wife. This realization turned his thoughts black. She was only lying next to him because she was cold. Nothing more. He pushed these other fanciful ideas from his mind and tried to sleep. Tomorrow, with any luck, he would be on his way home.
Home was the last thing on Helen’s mind. She hadn’t even realized how far it had been from her thoughts. She had learned more about herself and the world in one week out here than in all the years she had spen
t at home. It wasn’t that she detested home, but out here there was danger. Excitement. There were tests here and she had gone too long unchallenged. If people could see her now, they would hardly recognize her, dressed in such clothes, her hair wild and uncombed. She was even able to fire a gun! The thought thrilled her and she wondered what adventure tomorrow might bring.
After a while, Zeke began to snore. At first it was gentle and rhythmic but it soon grew louder and more ragged.
“Zeke?” Helen gently shook him to no avail. She redoubled her efforts. “Zeke?” she said again, moving him more aggressively. Zeke awoke with a start, bleary-eyed and grumpy.
“What?” he grumbled.
“You’re snoring.”
“So?”
“Can’t you stop?” her question took him by surprise. Was she earnestly asking him stop?
“Can I stop?” he wasn’t even certain he had heard her correctly.
“Yes.” she said without jest, “Can you?”
“No. I can’t.” he snapped, “What do you do when your husband snores?”
“I don’t know.” she answered, “We sleep in separate rooms.”
“What kind of maid,” he wanted to know, “owns a house with that many rooms?”
“Um,” stammered Helen, ”I mean, he’s quite often away, and I sleep at my lady’s house.” Zeke was too tired to question her further.
“Look,” he said, “you are very welcome to your own blanket.”
“No.” she replied demurely, “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” He did not know what to think about this girl, but tried not to think too much as he drifted off to slumber. Helen felt very silly and resolved to be more careful in the future.
The rest of the night passed without incident and when Helen woke, Zeke was already up and packing away the camp.
“We need to move quick.” he said when he realized she was awake and watching him.
They got underway and ate cold rabbit on the trail. Zeke seemed far removed from the situation and Helen did not wish to disturb him. Something about his manner made him seem colder to her. Briefly she entertained the notion of asking him what might be weighing so heavily on his mind, but she thought better of it. He was focused on his goal, she decided. Best to leave him to it.
Hell for Leather Page 5
