by Gary Jonas
“Not too much of that now,” Orela said.
“You sound like Nancy.” Gemma’s voice was beginning to slur. Whatever was in the bottle was stronger than bourbon. Orela tested the water in the pot, then took it off the fire. She sat Gemma back in a chair and put her feet in the warm water. Gemma closed her eyes, murmured something about stew and started snoring. Orela took the bottle out of her hand before it slipped to the floor and hid it in Gemma’s pocket.
She smiled at Jack. “Laudanum, a whore’s best friend. Don’t tell Nancy she’s got it.”
“Why, will Nancy drink it?”
“No, she’ll take it away and toss it in the snow. But we’re gonna need it. Those toes have gotta go. Surprised she’s not fevered yet.” Orela looked at Jack’s shirt and frowned. Now are you really sure you don’t want me lookin’ at that?”
“Positive.”
“’Cause I don’t charge for nursin’, just for whorin’.” Quick as that, Orela’s smile was back.
Jack tipped his hat, then took it off. “So what’s your story?” Jack asked. “How did you...?”
“Become a whore? Just born to it, I guess.” Orela stood up and walked around the cabin, examining traps and running her fingers across soft fox pelts. “I tease Gemma there ‘bout being a redhead; might as well be a redhead myself. I started by serving drinks, bartending some. Moved on to dancin’ like so many gals do. Then I did a little extra for a little extra money. Helped that I was drunk a lot. Trimpy got to me before a madam did. So I gave him a share for protection. Found that he was the one I needed protectin’ from the most. By then, I was stuck.”
Orela found a box of matches and lit a lantern on a little table next to the bed. There wasn’t much to the cabin, just a table, two rough chairs and a stool, a narrow wooden bed frame with a thin mattress covered by a quilt and several pelts, various traps, tools and more pelts lining the walls, along with a string of dried and smoked fish. A couple of cabinets and some wooden bins full of beans and flour rounded out the decor. It was sparse, but it was tidy. Orela tossed the matchbox to Jack so he could light a lantern on the table. He kept the light low; no telling how gaunt and pale he looked since he hadn’t eaten. He was actually lucky he’d been shot; he’d have something of an excuse for his appearance. Orela was lovely by lamplight, and so was Jade, though now Jack could see that the skin around girl’s left eye was greenish from an old bruise. Gemma was pretty too. However, her loud snoring detracted from her charm.
Orela scooped some dried beans into a bowl, then sat down on the bed. “So what’s your story, Jack?” she asked. She picked through the beans and pulled out a little stone, tossed it into the fire.
“My story? Well, not much to it. I’m just a gambler between games, making his way through the world.”
“No wife?” Orela didn’t look up from the bowl.
“I’m a widower.”
“I’m sorry.”
the fist curls then relaxes and pales as the blood drains from it while my wife stands in the corner watching us
“So am I.”
Nancy opened the cabin door. She was covered in snow, and the storm raged on behind her. “Lend a hand, will ya?” She tossed a saddlebag into the cabin. Jack, Orela and Jade carried in the rest of the gear, Jack careful to keep his hat low and bandanna high. Orela scooped clean snow into the bowl of beans.
“Any sign of the miners?” Jack asked.
Nancy stamped the snow off her boots and propped three rifles next to door. “No chance’a finding ‘em now that the snow’s hit.” She shook her head. “But even before that, no tracks, not a goddamned thing. Even the dead ones are gone. They all vanished like ghosts, though their bullets was real enough, I can see by your shoulder.” She lowered her voice. “There is one thing though.” Under her scars, Nancy’s face looked as pale as Jack’s as she leaned in closer to him. “There’s a root cellar dug into the hill behind the cabin. Somethin’ you aughta see in there.”
“Come on over by the fire, Nancy, before you freeze your toes off, too.” Orela poured the bowl of snow and beans along with a dried fish into a small pot, and hung it up to boil. She threw some more logs onto the fire.
Nancy looked into the pot of water warming Gemma’s feet. “Whew, that’s bad.” She kicked at the chair, jostling Gemma, who only mumbled and snored louder. “Lemee guess. Laudanum.”
“It’s a mercy she had it, Nancy.”
“It’s a mercy she didn’t drink all of it before now. Well, might as well take advantage. Let’s get her on the bed.” Nancy hooked her hands under Gemma’s armpits. “Jack, you take the rotten end.”
“Which end is that again?”
“Just get ‘er up and over there.” Jack’s attempt at humor fell flat with the good time gal.
They laid Gemma on the bed, and Nancy chose a knife from the wall. “We got any bourbon in here, Orela?”
“Yup. Got half a bottle of it right here. I don’t think our host will take a shine to us if we use up his drink while he’s out.”
Nancy closed her eyes. “If he aint here now, he aint comin’ back.” She opened them again and looked at Jack, mouthed the words ‘root cellar.’ Jack nodded. Nancy poured the bourbon over the knife and splashed more onto Gemma’s left foot. “Them two littlest toes are gonna have to go. We’ll see about the rest later. Same with the other foot.”
Orela put her arm around Jade’s shoulders. “Come on Jade, you and me are gonna stand over here by the fire.”
“No you’re not. I’m gonna need you to hold her down, minute I start cuttin’. ”
“Have you ever done this before, Nancy?”
“No, Marshal I have not. You gonna tell me you have?”
“During the war I saw enough amputations to know that you’ve got to leave a flap of skin to cover the wound.”
Nancy nodded her head. “Fine. Get me my sewing kit from the bag over there. Grab that cloth off the table there, too.” Jack picked up the extra makeshift bandages off the table and rummaged through one of Nancy’s saddlebags until he came up with a small box full of needles and thread. Nancy poured some bourbon into a tin cup, threaded a needle and dropped it into the cup to soak. She poured more bourbon over the bandages. “Hold her good. I’m gonna cut now.”
Nancy drew a skinning knife across Gemma’s foot. Jack watched blood rise up and run over her skin. It was all he could do not to lean down and lick it off her toes, gangrene or not. The first cuts only made Gemma squirm and whimper. Her feet were too numb and she was too far under the influence of the laudanum to put up a fight. Then Nancy picked up a bigger knife and started in on her toes. Gemma’s eyes flew open and she screamed. Her howls married the storm’s outside.
“Hold her still!” Nancy yelled. Jack gripped Gemma’s leg while Orela tried to comfort her. Jack’s method was far more successful. Nancy finished sawing and pulled the extra skin together over the stump where Gemma’s toes had been. She grabbed the needle and thread and roughly sewed skin to skin. Then she wrapped the foot in a bourbon-soaked bandage and moved on to Gemma’s other leg. Gemma kicked and cursed and spat at Nancy. Jade and Orela couldn’t hold her arms down, and she tore at her.
“Let’s trade, Orela,” Jack said. He needed to get away from Gemma’s feet and the open, inviting wounds. Facing her feet, Orela straddled Gemma, holding down her thighs while Jade helped with her calves. Jack gripped Gemma’s shoulders. She spat in his face, and he let her saliva drip down his cheek. He looked deep into her eyes and willed her to be still, coaxing her with words. Slowly, Gemma relaxed as she fell under his trance.
“That’s good, Jack. Keep talkin’ to her.” Nancy worked on Gemma’s other foot.
Jack gazed into Gemma’s eyes. It would be so easy to take her, he thought. Who is she but a foul-tempered whore? Who would miss her except her pimp, and only for the money she brought in? She’ll probably die of infection over the next few days anyway. It would be a mercy killing, really. Gemma’s eyes brightened with fear as she sensed
the change in Jack. He stared deeper into her eyes until they dulled again, then bent down and pressed his mouth against her warm throat. He felt her life pulse against his lips. He’d be slaying the wrong woman, though Jack had the feeling the Preacher wouldn’t care so long as the right woman, Nancy, was eventually delivered to him. But that wouldn’t happen after this. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. Open her throat, drink her sweet blood, escape into the storm. Jack parted his lips, pressed his fangs against Gemma’s skin. After all, she wasn’t exactly innocent. She wasn’t like....
a soft gasp, a whimper, and his wife watched them the whole time without showing remorse
Guilt brought Jack back to himself. He lifted his head and looked at Gemma’s face. Sweat plastered a curl of red hair to her forehead, and he brushed it away.
***
By the time Nancy was done, Gemma had passed out again from a mixture of pain, exhaustion and another shot of laudanum administered by Orela. Nancy wiped sweat from her brow and looked at Jack. Her gunmetal-grey eyes seemed to shine with a light of their own before she looked down at the quilt covering Gemma. Her words came out hard and reluctant. “Thanks for the assistance, Jack.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Orela and Jade laid their bedrolls out in front of the fire. Jack decided to lay his out on the floor between the bed and the two women. If the storm let up the next day, he’d have some shelter there from any early-morning light. Nancy put another pot of water on to heat beside the simmering beans. She found a cake of lye soap and the ladies took turns washing up. Jade remained dressed, only splashing water on her hands and face. Orela helped her wash her hair and brush it out. Jack posted himself at the window with a rifle, ostensibly keeping watch. He glanced from time to time at Orela and Nancy, who were not shy about stripping down to bathe. Orela was all curves and dimples, while Nancy was lean and muscular. The scars didn’t end at her face; they marked her arms and back and legs as well. Nancy’s body was as different from Orela’s as prairie from mountains. A couple of times, Jack caught Orela glancing back at him with the tiniest of grins. He smiled to himself. I may be dead, but I’m still a man.
Orela and Jade had a quick bite of fish and beans from the pot, before tucking themselves into their bedrolls. Both fell asleep almost instantly. Jade Silk Doll’s hair fell soft as her name across her face. Nancy swept it back off her cheek and smiled down at the girl before realizing Jack was watching her. The smile disappeared, a mirage evaporating in the desert. Jack expected her to strike out at him, and by the hard look in her eyes, the thought seemed to cross her mind, too. But then her eyes softened instead.
“What are you lookin’ at? I was a mama once.” She gave Jade one last look, then scooped up two bowls of beans and brought them over to Jack. All cleaned up, Nancy’s hair hung golden halfway down her back. The rest of her was still ugly as an old boot.
“Ever wish you didn’t have those scars?” he asked her.
“Ever wish you didn’t have that pecker?” Nancy handed him a bowl and sat down on the stool.
“What happened to your face? Some pimp?”
“What do you care? It’s my face.” She shoveled a spoonful of fish into her mouth. “I been in some disagreements.”
“Just wondering. A woman of your profession, scars are bad for business.”
“Former profession. I had a clear complexion once, I had tits and an ass. I was plump as you please. And I could dance, oh I could dance. Still can, I wager. But the desert has this way of scouring off everything you don’t need. I am clean, and done with foolishness.”
“That where you’re headed, the desert?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“I think it is now.” Jack stirred a spoon in the beans and fish and pretended to take a bite. “You need more of my help than just holding a woman down during an amputation.”
“You quieted her real good, I’ll give you that.” Nancy took another bite and studied Jack’s face. “There’s something about you Marshal that don’t quite add up. I been watchin’ you as close as you just watched us. You’re movin’ easy for a man’s been shot. And I hit you real good last night, and you aint even got the hint of a bruise.”
“I’m thick-skinned.”
“That so? This mornin’ when we got to the cabin your ‘thick skin’ was sunburnt. Now you’re pale as moonlight.” She reached out to touch Jack’s face and he leaned back.
“I don’t like to be touched.”
“Me neither, but I think you and I got different reasons for that.” Nancy stood up. “Quit pretendin’ to eat and come out here with me.”
She threw on her coat and a bandolier over it, then grabbed her Winchester while Jack did the same. He pulled up his bandana before going outside. Nancy had to shove her shoulder against the door to open it against a drift. The storm threw walls of snow at them. Jack realized that even though it was about midday, he didn’t have to worry about the sun anytime soon. They waded through the snow around the cabin. Jack made note of the horses, including Roulette, corralled and sheltering in a shed against the back. It was a tight fit, but the horses didn’t mind huddling against each other in the cold. Chances were, the trapper kept an old mule or donkey stabled back there. There was no sign of one now. Jack and Nancy pushed through snow to where the ground rose sharply up, about thirty feet behind the cabin. Nancy hunted around in the drifts until she found what she wanted – a loop of rope. She pulled back on it and opened the door to a root cellar. “Go on and look,” she shouted over the howling wind. Jack peered inside. There was enough light to show him shelves lined with crocks and jars and whole gourds, sacks of potatoes and carrots and turnips, deer carcasses hanging from the ceiling.
Hanging with them was the trapper himself. Upside down, frozen, and Jack noted with deepening dread, completely drained of blood.
Jack stepped inside to get a closer look. The trapper appeared to be about Jack’s age. His feet were tied together by a leather belt. The brass buckle was from a Union soldier’s uniform. Like Jack, the fellow probably came west after the war, seeking peace and solitude. He’d certainly found it here in the high Sierras, at least up until a few days ago, a week at most. His neck suffered the insult of two deep punctures. There was no blood on the floor or on his clothes. His neck had been washed clean. Or possibly licked. But it didn’t make sense. If the Preacher did this, that made him a vampire. He wouldn’t need Jack to turn the good time gal.
Maybe he’d been drained another way. Maybe the trapper was a message to Jack – no blood for you until the deed is done.
“You ever seen anything like this before, Marshal?”
“No ma’am, nothing quite like it.” I usually don’t hang my victims up like a side of beef after I’ve fed, if that’s what you mean.
“Man was alive and well when Lily and I passed through a few months ago.”
“He hasn’t been in here that long.”
“Yup. That’s what worries me. Reckon we should bury him?”
“Impossible. Ground’s too hard.”
Nancy tossed her head. “I know that. I meant in the snow. It don’t seem right to just leave him hangin’ in there.”
“No, you’re right. It doesn’t. We should at least take him down.”
He held the trapper’s body while Nancy worked at the belt looped and tied around a hook in one of the rafters. They laid his body down on the dirt floor and Nancy fitted him into two burlap sacks, one over his head, one over his feet, meeting in the middle. They carried him outside and threw snow over him. When they were done, Nancy bowed her head.
“Sweet Mother of Mercy, take this man into your lovin’ embrace as you would your own dear son. In Jesus’ name, amen.” She looked back up at Jack. “You wanna add some words?”
“I’m not a praying man.”
That narrow-eyed stare came back. “Suit yourself then. Let’s get the hell outta this cold. I do hate snow.” The wind blasted harder, as if to push them back into the cellar.
“And I do believe this snow hates me right back.”
***
Back at the cabin, Nancy refused to sleep. To emphasize her point, she brewed up a pot of tar-black coffee. “I can keep watch good as you. ‘Sides, I don’t have the heart to sleep after what we just done in the root cellar.” She settled in next to the window, a rifle within her reach. “Death like that bothers me.”
“This from a woman I just saw shoot down half a dozen men like they were nothing more than scarecrows.”
“That’s different. They begged for it. Men who beg for it, I got to let them have what they want.”
“Old work philosophy?”
Nancy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jack, you know, you don’t have to be so mean. You act like...hell, you act like most the men I’ve known.”
“Then I apologize. I can’t imagine you’ve known many gentlemen.”
Nancy stared down into her cup of coffee. “No, not many, startin’ with my daddy. I was born in Texas, but daddy got the itch for gold around ‘49 and brought mama and me further west when I was just a little thing. Mama was good to me right up til she died. Daddy wasn’t. Same old song you know, you hear it in all the dance halls after the pokes go home to their wives. Daddy wasn’t good to me, but some other man was. So good to me in fact that he made me his kate, then told me he needed money. We was gonna be rich and get married and move back east, and I’d wear pretty dresses and raise babies and we’d go everywhere in a big black carriage, and he’d be well-respected, the gentleman I always wanted. All I had to do was help him make a little of that money, the only way I knew how. Problem was, he told that to all his kates. Time I found out I had sisters-in-law – that’s just what we called each other, none of us was really married to him – I was so mad and so hurt. But by then I was in the life. Couldn’t get out.”
“And then you had his baby?”
Nancy’s head shot up. She looked more tired than any woman had a right to be. “I had somebody’s baby. All I know’s for sure, he was my baby.”
