by Mason, Zack
"Talbot did it, Ma'am. It was Jake Talbot who done it." The man droned the words as if he were a machine.
"Get out! Get away from here!" She screamed at the astonished man hysterically. "Leave us alone!" The man scampered off, happy to be released from his duty.
Once again her heart was rent in two. Had Jake done this as well? She stumbled forward and clenched her hands around the rail of the wagon as her knees buckled, staring at the destroyed human being.
What did it matter who did it? Someone else she loved was dead. Another one. Why did death come like this? In broken and horribly unmerciful intervals.
Sarah Logan wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders and tried to lead her back into the house, but she couldn't pry her hands from the wagon rail.
The sight of me as I rode into their camp must have been something to see. My clothes were dirty, I was dirty, I was barely hanging onto my horse. Dried, rust-colored blood stains covered my left sleeve and jean leg. I'm sure I must have looked paler than bleached bone. I'd lost enough blood to scare a ghost.
I lucked out, though I was starting to disbelieve in luck. Most of the warriors were not in camp when I arrived. Maybe they were out hunting, or raiding, or who knew what. I certainly wasn't in the mood or the position to care.
I was just happy they were gone, since that slightly increased my chances for survival. Though, the squaws could get downright mean when they wanted to be.
I couldn't focus on the layout of the camp. My simple goal was to make it to the chief's lodge. I saw it ahead of me through a haze. As much as I wanted to shake the fog from my mind, I couldn't. I just wanted to sleep something fierce.
My horse came to a stop, and mercifully so, but my leg and shoulder kept throbbing.
The chief, stood in front of me. He was a portly man. He motioned for me to dismount.
I did, but my leg collapsed under me. As I went to meet the ground, I plastered the biggest grin I could manage on my face to show I was harmless — though I think they figured it out for themselves when I passed out.
***
When I came to, I was looking into the deep blue eyes of an angel. Locks of golden hair cascaded down the sides of her face, framing it perfectly. In spite of my somewhat blurry vision, I could see her countenance was stunningly beautiful.
"Am I dead?" I croaked. Boy, was my throat dry.
She laughed in surprise at the question, her eyes lighting with levity. She didn't answer, but shook her head no.
I slowly moved my head from side to side, taking in my surroundings. My head was throbbing so hard I was afraid that if I moved too fast, my skull might split wide open.
I was inside a buffalo hide teepee. A fire blazed in the center to keep me warm, and somebody had bundled me up in hides like blankets.
I remembered now coming into the Apache village, half-dead. I guessed my risk had paid off since I was still alive, but then again, the day wasn’t over yet.
The "angel" was cradling my head in her lap, apparently caressing my hair as I slept. Now that I was awake, she abruptly stopped and got up to fetch some hot broth for me to drink. I supposed she was my nurse.
"Ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so, you sure don't look Indian. What are you doing with the Apaches?"
She smiled sweetly again. "Later," she whispered. That was the only word she spoke to me for the next three days, until the chief summoned me to his lodge. Her care was meticulous and constant, yet she remained silent.
She certainly acted like an Indian squaw, but the blonde hair was such a contradiction with her demeanor.
She’d look to me from time to time as if she knew me, but asking about it only produced more silent treatment.
The chief's lodge was a larger than my own quarters, but still just a glorified teepee. He sat cross-legged in the center of it. White tendrils of smoke swirled up from a pipe he held in two hands. Warriors flanked him on both sides.
He motioned for me sit in front of him. I kept my mouth sealed for a time to demonstrate I was not imprudent. Then, I complimented their band for their hospitality.
"I thank you, Chief, for having one of your squaws care for me. Your kindness toward strangers is great."
"Thought kill you,” he shrugged, “But, no honor kill man half-dead. Maybe meet again other day, then fight, kill with honor."
He chuckled deeply while saying this, but I failed to appreciate his dark sense of humor.
We sat in stillness for a while longer, and he passed me his pipe a couple of times. The smoke tasted sweet, but it didn’t seem to be any kind of opiate. I wished it had been. I would’ve enjoyed losing my troubles for a while.
I thought on all the enemies I had waiting for me back in Cottonwood. For the first time in my life I felt like quitting. In one single night, I’d been beaten and then shot, and Elizabeth had been killed.
Remembering that brought a new wave of emptiness and sorrow. Innocent, yet she had risked herself countless times to save me. She’d finally paid for it with her own blood, just as her brother had.
Ben and Jessica were both dead, I was sure. Probably murdered by the same man who’d shot Elizabeth. I’d never be able to find out who he was. They all just wanted me out of that valley. The people of Cottonwood liked the valley being run by the Big Three and didn’t want any strangers changing things. At least, that was the only conclusion I could come to.
Regardless, they were convinced I was a cattle thief, and I was sure the townsfolk were being told I’d murdered those men with the dynamite. At this point, I’d never be able to convince them of the truth.
“You think far away, Running Wolf.”
The chief’s raspy, broken English stirred me from my trance.
“Not hard see trouble follow. You face tell me this.”
“You guess right, Chief. You are a wise man.”
The chief studied me for another while before he spoke again.
“You run very long. Run forever if not stop. You spirit not ever rest.”
“What do you want me to do, stay here with your tribe for the rest of my life,” I answered with undisguised sarcasm. “Sorry,” I softened, “I’ve no reason to lose patience with you. Your people have been more than kind.”
“Man true self show when weak.”
I took his rebuke in silence. I deserved it.
“Great Spirit speak me of you, Running Wolf. In dream, I see wolf who run crazy, desperate in woods.” He pronounced ‘desperate’ with much difficulty.
“I ask, what can chase wolf? I think, must be bear, but bear not chase wolves. Great Spirit, He say, ‘No, it not bear, wolf run from self. He scared of woods.’
“Great Sprit tell me you come.”
“I’m not scared of anything, Chief, much less the woods. It was just a dream.”
“Running Wolf, you no afraid of tree, or many tree, but I think woods scare you. I see in eyes. Your eyes.”
“I have a lot of respect for you, Chief, but I’m too tired to speak in riddles. Can we talk plainly?”
“Great Spirit tell me give you message.”
I wasn’t sure if this was all hogwash or not, but I was willing to listen to anything at this point.
“He say you go west.”
“Go west? What is that supposed to mean? What’s out west? Wouldn’t that be more running for ‘Running Wolf’? I was actually thinking about heading back east. Going home.”
“Great Spirit say go west till see red table that stand in desert.”
“That’s it?”
The Apache chief would say nothing more. We sat a while longer until he excused himself to rest.
As the days passed, and I healed, his words sank deeper and deeper into my heart. The idea soon began to take root like a seed finding newly fertilized soil. Maybe the Great Spirit, as he put it, had spoken to him about me. If so, shouldn’t I obey?
What else did I have to do? Everything was lost back in Cottonwood as far as I was concerned. After almost two weeks, my s
houlder and leg seemed better, usable at least. They were still stiff, but they worked. I was lucky the bullet had passed clean through in both places, so I didn’t have any problems with infection.
I decided to follow the chief’s advice and told him so. I could tell he approved, though he didn’t say it. I said my goodbyes to everyone, but my golden “angel” pulled me aside to speak in private.
I’d come to appreciate her tender care and gentle touch, though she rarely spoke. At any other point in my life, I probably would have been smitten with such a beauty nursing me, but Elizabeth weighed heavily on my mind. I could think of nothing but her...and my guilt.
She took me by the arm and led me outside the group of Apaches waiting to see me off.
Wanting to thank her for all she’d done, I tipped my hat.
“Wouldn’t have made it without you, Ma’am. Don’t know how to thank you properly, don’t even know what to call you besides ‘angel’.”
“You’re welcome.” She blushed slightly at the compliment. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Is your name, by any chance, Talbot?”
Great. I couldn’t believe it. The long arm of the stories and rumors about me must have reached even as far as this Indian camp. Would I ever escape the stranglehold of events back in Cottonwood?
“Yes,” I admitted resignedly.
“My name is Jessica,” she stated flatly.
It took a minute for that to sink in, but when it did my mouth fell open in astonishment.
“Jessica...as in Jessica Talbot?”
“Yes, and you must be Jacob. Benjamin was my husband.”
I let out a whoop of joy at hearing that! I couldn’t believe my eyes or my ears.
“Well, Jessica, I’ve been searching high and low for you and Ben! Where in the world have you been? Where is he?”
Her eyes saddened with pain. She shook her head. “I don’t know. He just never came back one night. I wasn’t good enough to track him, so I never knew what happened. I’m sure they must have killed him.
“No one in town would help me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I wrote you. I guess you got my letter.”
“Yes, that’s why I came. Ma’am, I must respectfully say that you have no idea what I’ve been through trying to find you both and defend your names! What in the world are you doing here?”
“Ben and I had been getting mysterious threats, telling us to leave the ranch or else. After Ben disappeared, the threats got worse. They said if I didn’t leave too, I’d get what Ben got.
“Then, people started taking potshots at the cabin at night. Every time it happened, the next morning, I’d find they’d taken some cattle. Finally, there weren’t any more cattle to take. I tried to withdraw our money from the bank to go home back east, but Carlton Andrews said Ben had closed our accounts several weeks before and taken all our cash. He said Ben was leaving the area and thought I’d gone with him.
“I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t prove it. Sheriff O’Connor was no help, he didn’t seem to care. Finally, a group of men came to the cabin one night and started shooting everything up. They were drunk and causing a horrible ruckus. They meant to kill me or worse, but somehow, I managed to slip out with a horse.
“I didn’t have any money to travel, but I knew if I stayed in Cottonwood, they’d eventually kill me, so I just took off without having any idea where I was going. I knew I could never go back.
“After many miles, I came upon an Apache woman sitting on a rock. She was cradling a sick child in her lap. I knew something about home remedies and such, so I helped her nurse him to health. She was so thankful she brought me back to her camp, and when they heard my story they took me in.
“I had no family back east to help me, didn’t even know if you’d ever gotten my letter or not, so I just stayed hidden here with my new Indian family, hoping someday I might run into you and be able to tell you what happened.”
Till this moment, she’d been so quiet I’d only heard a single word out of her, but now, her words left me speechless. What this poor girl had been through.
“Those same people that chased you and Ben off your land, have done the same thing to me. I tried to stay and fight and build, in case I ever found either of you, but they won. There’s only so much one man can do.” Defeat saturated my voice.
I felt broken but didn’t know what else to say. I’d just admitted my failure to someone else. That made it all the more real.
“Jessica, if you want, I’ll go back with you, and we can try again. Or we can go to the governor, or to someone who cares.” I guess she saw the resignation in my eyes.
“No, Jacob,” she touched my hand, “You’ve done so much already. I don’t want to fight any more. I’m happy here. I just wanted to tell you what happened to your brother so you could be at peace. You’re free now.”
Her words held such finality. I could do nothing but nod in understanding and kiss her hand goodbye. I mounted and rode away from the rising sun. She’d said I was free.
I certainly didn’t feel it.
“Blood-stained brow, are you dying for nothing?
Flesh and blood, is it so elemental?”
Liquid
- Jars of Clay
Parched desert spread out flatly on all sides, flanked by distant mountainous shadows. I hadn't seen a town for miles, much less another dusty traveler. No trail guided me, I was simply chasing the sun.
And it was merciless. Sweat rolled down my back in rivulets. The oppressive heat made it difficult to even breathe.
I found the mesa. It was as if the vision from the chief’s mind had transported itself to mine. It was like a giant red table jutting out of the desert floor. It stood alone like a beacon calling a sojourner to a holy mountain.
Fifteen minutes later, I grasped the rust-colored ridge above my head and pulled myself over it, reaching the top of the bluff.
Something was different up here.
I kneeled in awe before the view which met my eyes. Up here, there was no heat. Instead, a strong, cool breeze constantly blew across the mesa’s rocky top. The desert, in all its afternoon beauty, was breath-taking.
I stood and stumbled a few steps toward the middle of the bluff. I found myself falling to my knees again, driven there by an unseen hand. The story of Moses and the burning bush sprang into my mind.
I knew the story just like everyone, heard it over and over again as a child. Hastily, I removed my boots and socks, baring my feet to the rocks and sand. For some reason, this felt like holy ground.
I felt God's presence up here like never before in my life. It seemed His Spirit was in the wind blowing across my face and surrounding me. The roar of it filled my ears. The caress of it hugged me.
It was a strange thing to be awed by God's magnificent creation laid out before me and at the same time feel Him so close. I closed my eyes and let myself be blown by the wind.
Silent prayers bubbled up from my heart, prayers I didn’t even know I had in me, and I was compelled to make them audible.
If I opened my eyes, would I see my Creator standing before me? Would He wear a loving smile? Or frown in disapproval?
My hardened heart cracked against my will, and I didn’t like what I saw there.
I knew God was here with me. He was silent, but His presence pierced my conscious, forcing my guilt and shame to the surface where I had to face it.
My throat constricted, and tears rolled from my eyes.
“Can I make it up to you, Lord?” I whispered.
I understood at last. You can run from men and hide from their eyes, but no man can hide his heart and soul from Almighty God.
His love felt strong and pure, but it was restrained. In my spirit, I perceived He withheld His love because of my guilt. I wanted to erase it, but I couldn’t go back and change the things I’d done. How much good would I have to do to overcome all the evil I’d wrought?
“God, help me!”
His wrath was strong and fierce,
boiling over in its fury, but this also was restrained. Like raging waters about to overrun a weakened dam was His wrath toward me. This vision panicked me more than even the thought of Him not loving me. What could I do?
Then, a new vision filled my mind. Another place, another desert, a desert ruled by a skull-shaped hill. An old city lay behind it, with buildings made of finely-hewn stone. On that barren hill stood a cross, and on it, the figure of a dying man. Blood ran down his arms and his legs, down the wood and into the ground below. I thought it had to be Jesus Christ.
Who else could it be? He was in pain, more pain than I.
He cried out suddenly and perished.
The image of His body was replaced by Joshua Miller falling through the trap door. I watched his neck break again.
He swayed in the wind and then that was replaced once more by Jesus on the cross, slumped in death. Blood flowed from a wound in His side.
Then, Christ disappeared and Josh Miller was swinging in the breeze again, the dirty rope creaking slowly. Creeeaaak, creeeaaak, creeeaaaak.
It wasn’t fair. What was a man supposed to do? I didn’t ask Miller to die in my place! Why would God blame me for that?
I would have died that day if Josh Miller hadn’t taken my place. Was God trying to show me the same thing was true about Jesus? Growing up, I’d always heard preachers talking about Jesus dying for our sins. Is this what they meant?
“If Jesus hadn’t died for my sins, I would have? Is that what you’re saying?” I cried to the sky.
Silence.
“That’s a heck of a way to teach an object lesson, God. Couldn’t you have done it without taking a man’s life?” I felt disgusted.
Josh Miller swung slowly in the wind again. The rhythmic groan of the rope was ominous, overwhelming, intolerable. It gnawed at me, tore at my mind like a wolverine digging furiously for its prey.
