Well Traveled

by Margaret Mills

  “Do not think,” Jed cut him off, firm and hard-voiced. “Just—let me do this.”

  He shouldn’t, he knew, and if he’d had more of this pleasure with other guys, maybe he wouldn’t have. But he wanted what Jed was offering, wanted the desperate hands pulling at his clothes, the quick oiling of Jed’s passage and the tight heat that caught his prick and trapped it well and good when Jed settled down on his cock. He wanted the feel of flat chest and hard, tiny nipples under his palms, hard rhythm of their joining, and the barely there sounds of Jed’s pleasure. He damned sure wanted the weight of Jed’s cock in his hand.

  He was rewarded with a soft cry as Jed came, and it was that small sound as much as the ripples of muscles over his own shaft that took him over the edge.

  They lay like that for a long time, him still buried inside Jed and Jed crouched over him, his hair cool and thick and tickling as it trailed over Gideon’s shoulder. He’d slid his arms around Jed’s waist, holding him close, and he didn’t think before pulling Jed even closer. He wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. Jed didn’t cotton to sweet words, and only a fool or a kid would give up the next few days of this just to be stubborn. Instead, he turned his head and kissed the soft skin of Jed’s temple, and slid his hands down to that little ass, touching gently where their bodies were still joined.

  He kept his silence as Jed pulled himself together and drew away, then kept his hands to himself and put himself back together as business-like as he could. It was a relief, though, when after a minute or so, Jed leaned down and kissed him, a quick brush of lips that Gideon was sure had more to do with affection than rut. Lakota didn’t kiss, Jed had said. But they’d been doing plenty of kissing. He wondered if this was why they didn’t.

  THE next morning, Jed was as quiet as always, but he didn’t set the hard pace that he had the day before, which was good for Gideon and better for Star. Her head had been hanging low when they’d settled into camp last night, and he didn’t want her coming up lame when they had no time to let her rest. They climbed all day, following a well-rutted road that must’ve been heavily traveled back in the day before trains. As they crested the pass, they ran across the first traces of snow. Jed was willing to share body heat with him that night, right alongside the heat of desire.

  They shared blankets the next two nights, too, but Gideon never talked about it, not their coupling and not what he felt for Jed. Instead he fell into his habit of talking about unimportant things, and spent time staring up at the high mountain peaks to the north, so tall and jagged they made the recent days of climbing seem like nothing to complain about. He hadn’t realized just how spoiled he was until he’d crested that pass on foot. Trains made for pretty scenery and breathtaking views, and they did all the work for a man.

  The mountains were beautiful, heavy pine forests rich and green until they petered out at the tree lines, white caps of mountaintops pushing up to the sky, and wide valleys that Jed said native tribes had lived in since the Earth was born, before white folks had gone and pushed them out.

  Those stories made him wonder, in quiet moments, why Jed wasn’t an angrier man than he was.

  It was late in the day almost four days out of Carson City when they rounded a bend and landed right in the prettiest valley he thought he’d ever seen. The high mountains were behind them now, so the days felt longer. In the distance, Gideon could make out the smoke of a homestead, and the tilled earth of fields in the middle of the wild grasses they were crossing. They were flush with water and fresh meat from a brace of rabbits they’d caught the day before, and Jed led them on a path that would take them well away from the house and barn. But as they drew closer to it, Gideon got a sense that something wasn’t right.

  He started to say something, but Jed stopped, and his head lifted as he scented the wind. “Trouble,” he said softly, turning in a slow circle to look around.

  “What kind of trouble?” Gideon asked, touching his pistol.

  Jed was still searching the horizon but he, too, had reached for his rifle, pulling it from its ties on his pack. “We will see.” He slipped off his pack, looking to Gideon for permission before using the straps to tie it onto Star’s pommel.

  Gideon didn’t have to think twice about it. He followed Jed, kneeing Star into a trot when Jed started to run, fast and low. As they drew closer, Gideon realized what was wrong: the stillness of the place. The farm was big, covering acres, but there weren’t nobody in the fields, and no one in the yard as they approached the house. The smoke in the air had the acrid smell of tar in it, not the healthy cure of firewood. Jed waved him away, putting distance between them so that they made two targets instead of one. As they passed an old scrubby oak, Gideon dismounted and let go of Star’s reins, ground tying her beneath it to keep her away from any trouble.

  It didn’t occur to Gideon how well he and Jed knew each other until Jed tilted his head, silently ordering Gideon toward the barn while Jed pointed at his own chest and nodded toward the house. He still couldn’t see any people about, and that was just wrong, on a farm like this. As Gideon eased in the direction of the barn, he realized the rest of the wrongness: there were no animals. There should have been; the fences looked new and strong, and manure was scattered around the corral, cows and horses, or maybe mules. A place like this would have stock for work and food: horses or oxen to pull a plow, chickens and pigs and cows to feed a family. When he saw the posts and rails scattered on a length of trampled grass, he understood. Someone had run the animals off.

  Soon after, he saw the chicken coop, one section of it ripped apart. Dead birds lay scattered around, and a quick look told him that it wasn’t animals that had killed them but man, the only creature to use a gun.

  He eased up to one side of the barn door, listening for footsteps or voices. Past the silence, all he heard was the beating of his own heart as he peered slowly around one side of the open barn door and into the shadows of the building. Someone had ransacked it, too, scattering tools and boards over the packed earth floor, and hay bales were broken, the hay scattered wastefully about. Looked like it was supposed to be tinder, because a hole at one corner of the barn carried scorched wood, charred planks. Apparently, the fire hadn’t caught well, or the ones setting it had lost interest. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air inside, though, acrid and bitter and mixing with the copper tang of blood and death. This was what Jed had smelled, he thought, and it pained him to realize that his friend might know this smell well.

  Before he could step into the barn, he heard a shrill cry, a woman’s voice, ragged-edged and screaming, “Put it down right now!” He bolted toward her voice, carrying his Colt low, his finger ready on the trigger.

  He saw them as he rounded the corner of the barn and caught the path to the house. The woman stood on the porch, holding a rifle in trembling hands while two toddlers clung just as tightly to her skirts. A third child, an older boy, held a pistol but his hands weren’t trembling. The woman’s rifle was pointed toward the porch floor, but the boy was still aiming at Jed, even though Jed’s rifle lay carefully placed on the ground in front of him.

  Jed stood a good fifteen feet from the porch, and it was damned unlikely that boy could hit him with a pistol. Still, Gideon lowered his own gun and called out, “Hello the house!” He slowed as soon as the woman’s rifle came back up, glad when the boy’s aim shifted, too. “We don’t mean you no harm, ma’am,” he called. “We were just passing by, and my friend Jed thought somebody might be in need of help.”

  Jed didn’t look at him, his eyes intent on the boy. Of the mother and son, Gideon could tell that the boy was the bigger danger. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 or 12 years old at most. He needed both hands to hold the gun but he was doing it, the barrel straight and true, his grip tight on the butt. His eyes were flat and angry, not the eyes of a child, but the eyes of someone who’d seen too much too soon.

  Gideon swallowed, slowing even more as he approached. When he figured he was a little clo
ser to these folks than Jed was, he stopped altogether. “We were walking that old stage road,” he said, keeping his voice even. “You can see—my horse, Star, she’s over there,” he pointed over his shoulder without looking. “Jed, here, smelled the smoke from your barn, I reckon, and we thought you might be in need of some help—that’s all, I swear to you. We ain’t looking to cause you no more trouble, and if you don’t want our help, we’ll be on our way.”

  The woman drew a deep breath then looked away from Jed and toward Gideon. Her eyes were big and wide, greener than spring grass but puffy from crying. She had dark bruises on her cheeks and lips, and bruises and welts along the parts of her neck that he could see under the high-collared dress she was wearing. Her red hair was pulled back tight, so tight that he thought it might be pinching at her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. When she spoke, her voice was thin and raspy, like her throat was raw.

  “What are you doing out here?” she demanded. Her hands were still shaking harder now, as if talking was taking all her will.

  “Just passing through,” Gideon said. “On our way to San Francisco. I work in a traveling show—Bill Tourney’s Wild West,” he dropped in, hoping that maybe she’d seen it once, “and we’re on our way to meet back up with it. I was doing some work for a man out in Livingston, Montana, helping him train some horses—that’s what I do, train horses. I can get Star up here, let her show you some tricks if you want.”

  She drew another deep breath, and her eyes drifted off of him and past, looking to Star. “Him, too?” she asked, and Gideon knew she meant Jed.

  “He’s getting me there,” he said, glancing to his friend. Jed was still caught in the battle of wills with the boy, who had turned his attention and his gun barrel back Jed’s way as soon as his mama started talking to Gideon. Gideon didn’t think either one of them had moved, maybe not even breathed. “He’s no threat to you, ma’am, neither one of us is. We came to see if we could help, that’s all.”

  “He’s an Injun,” the boy said, his voice low and tight. “He’s worse than them that was here.”

  Gideon opened his mouth to say something, but Jed stopped him—not with a word or a glance, but with a sudden, fast move. In one second he was standing completely still, then in the next, he had dropped and thrown himself into a tuck-and-roll that brought him right up to the porch. He sprang out of the roll and came up under the boy’s arms as the kid fired a wild shot, knocking the pistol up. The shot was loud and jarring enough that the toddlers screamed, and the woman cried out. Unbalanced as he was by Jed’s shove, the gun’s recoil was all it took to land the kid hard on his ass, and the gun fell away and dropped with a loud thunk on the porch wood before it bounced off the edge of the porch and onto the dirt yard.

  For his part, Jed backed away, breathing fast but not hard. He glanced to the woman, then to Gideon, but he didn’t say anything.

  The boy stared at Jed, eyes as green as his mother’s holding shock and now some fear, too.

  Well, damn. Gideon swallowed, his insides tight and hard, but his voice was steady as he said, “See? We ain’t aiming to hurt no one.”

  The woman slowly lowered her rifle, but Gideon saw more resignation and fear than trust. “Take what you want,” she said, but it was more as a whisper. “Just leave me and my children alone, I’m begging you.”

  Jed spoke then, his voice as low and soothing as when he cared for Star. “We have food,” he said, ignoring her words and everything she might mean by them. “Rabbits. If you cook them, we will bury your dead.”

  The woman stared at him, then her lips started to tremble and tears leaked from her eyes. She gasped, once, then reached up and swiped at her face with the back of her hand. The boy pushed up to his feet and went to her, putting his arm around her waist. He barely came up to her shoulders, a young’un, but he did his best to act like a man. “We’d be obliged,” he said stiffly. He no more trusted Jed than his mama did, but he was making an effort.

  “We just want to help, ma’am.” Gideon said the words as kindly as he could and curbed the urge to step up and touch her. Instead, he looked to the small faces that peered at him from behind her, dirty and tear-streaked and just plain-out scared. Gideon gave them both a little smile, then he nodded and stepped back. He took several steps toward Star and away from the house before putting his fingers to his mouth and whistling one quick, sharp sound. Her head came up and her ears swiveled forward, then she broke into a slow trot toward him, Jed’s pack bouncing on the saddle.

  Jed also walked over, holding his rifle. His face was grim as he murmured, “Bodies in the back, probably the husband and someone who lived here. They have been dead for days.”

  Gideon nodded as he untied the rabbits. “All the livestock’s been run off, from the look of it,” he said quietly. “Chicken coop’s been torn apart and birds killed. Looks like they tried to burn down the barn.” He pulled the rabbits free and looked to meet Jed’s gaze. “Who did this?” he asked. “And why?”

  Jed shook his head. “There are wild animals in every form,” he said, his voice as quiet as his chants but harder than Gideon had ever heard it. “After we bury the dead, we should find out where they went, look for them.”

  “You think we can take them on?” he asked. “Just the two of us?” He looked around at the destruction then down at the ground where the grass was trampled. “Look at this mess, Jed. It took a whole lot more than two men to make it.”

  Jed shrugged, a spare movement, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned and started away. Gideon looked toward the house to find the woman calmer now and the rifle propped up against the wall near the door. She wiped at her face once more as he approached, but she tried to smile. Her son stood close by her, but now the two younger children were hiding behind him instead of their ma.

  “I’m Gideon Makepeace,” Gideon said, stopping at the stone step in front of the porch. “That’s my friend, Jed,” he nodded toward Jed’s retreating back. “We caught these yesterday—you cook up what you need for now and save the rest. We can hunt up more.”

  He didn’t offer her the end of the rope but lay the rabbits on the porch and turned to follow Jed.

  “I’m sorry for the way we welcomed you, Mister Makepeace,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “I’m Moira Hennessey.” Her breath caught again, but she didn’t start to cry.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said with a touch to the brim of his hat.

  Jed led him around the house to the bodies, which had been dragged away from the porch and laid in the shade of an apple tree. Bloodstains on the porch showed that was where both men had died of gunshot wounds.

  Gideon hadn’t had a lot of experience dealing with the dead, so he didn’t argue much with Jed’s suggestions, even though he did make Jed switch tools with him from time to time. They only had one shovel that they could find, and a pick with a broken handle. They dug graves under the shade of a clump of oak trees that were set back and away from the house. Jed would have moved them farther away, but Gideon explained that it might be good to have them near—not too near, not a constant reminder, but near enough to visit when the time came. It took them until dusk to dig deep enough to make Jed happy—well, not happy, really. Jed didn’t understand why anyone would want to rest under the ground, but he didn’t argue with Gideon about white ways. He did want the graves deep, though, so that animals wouldn’t dig them up.

  Moira’s oldest boy came out after a time. At first, he stood and watched, wary of Jed, maybe a little angry. But after a time, he picked up a broken board and started helping as he could, clearing dirt away and later, bringing them water from the well. When he felt brave enough, he told them that his name was George, after his pa, and pointed to the corpses not far away.

  Gideon sent him in before they moved the bodies, even though George wanted to stay.

  “You go check on your ma,” he said sternly. “We’ll let you know when it’s time for the proper burial.”

  George
looked at his father’s body, and his lips tightened, but he nodded and jogged back to the house.

  Jed seemed to know more than Gideon thought was right about burials, but Jed had never told those tales. Jed was ready to drop them into the holes, but Gideon caught his wrist and drew him to one side. “Need to talk to Mrs. Hennessey,” he said softly. “She may want to clean them up or something, maybe say a few words.”

  Jed nodded and said, “Cut their hair.” Gideon didn’t question it, not right now.

  He took a deep breath, dreading what he had to do, but before he got near the house, Mrs. Hennessey came out the back door. She had changed into a dark dress that looked like it had hardly ever been worn. Her hair was still pulled back tight, but Gideon could tell that she’d taken it down and brushed it out, and that she’d cleaned herself up. She brought with her a bowl of water and a cloth, and she nodded to Gideon, letting him take her by the elbow and help her over the uneven ground.

  It was one of the saddest, sweetest things Gideon thought he’d ever witnessed. The sun set behind her as she knelt beside her husband, carefully cleaning away the blood and dirt. She straightened his clothes and finger-combed his hair, and while she made no noise, every now and then, a ray of light would catch her as she turned and Gideon could see the sparkle of tears on her fine features. She took the same care with the second man, who George had said was his Uncle Tolen, and Gideon wondered if this was her brother or her husband’s. Either way, he was someone she cared about.

  Darkness was setting in when she finally stood and turned to them. “I thank you,” she said quietly, “and I’d ask you, please, to settle them now.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” Gideon agreed. “Would you have a lantern?”

  She did, which helped to speed the work along, but it was still well into night when they finished up. She stood with them the whole time, and George did, too, standing close to his mother and holding tightly to her hand. As they finished up, she said, “There’s stew on, if you’d care for it. You’re welcome to come in.”