by Stan Himes
Yet she could not, would not, despair. She was alive and, so far at least, wasn’t ruined for Parker. Hope of escape remained.
Sally and I exchanged glances as we pulled off Clean Through’s shirt to get to his bleeding shoulder. What we saw were scars from six old bullet wounds. I couldn’t resist propping him up enough to look at his back. There was a clear exit wound in his shoulder and six other similar wounds, each scarred over.
“Now I know how you got your name,” I said, settling him back down.
“Time I retired,” he grimaced as Sally worked to stem the bleeding. “Runnin’ out of safe places to get shot.”
Any hint that Mary had ever had an indecisive moment in her life was gone. As she unlatched the last strap from the mule and wagon, she barked out orders with a no-nonsense voice that commanded attention.
“Sally, you tend to Clean Through and Ernestine. Laurie, Prudence, take rifles and start walking until you find some horses. Ruth, stand guard. Anyone who ain’t female rides up, you blast him.”
Then she hopped on the mule and rode off in Katie’s direction without another word. She didn’t have to tell us her orders for herself. They couldn’t be much plainer. Save Katie and Pearl or die trying.
This is it, Katie thought as Brute rode in behind a group of small red cedars and reined his horse to a stop. Escape now or be ruined. Yet Brute wasn’t concentrating on her except for keeping her in his grasp as he got down from the horse. He was looking back the way they came, using the trees for cover. Keeping Katie seized under his left arm, he pulled his rifle from the saddle holster with his right hand and held it high by the barrel. Now Katie could hear the fast-approaching clops of a galloping horse… closer… closer… wham! Brute slammed the rifle smack into Pearl’s chest, knocking her back enough that her feet pulled free of the stirrups. Her balance was gone and she toppled sideways off the horse as it raced on.
“Pearl!” Katie shouted, surprising herself that her first thought was to wonder how many times the poor woman had been hit on this trip before swiftly moving on to concern over her friend. Then she admired Pearl’s bravery and spirit as she rose up, dusted herself off, wiped blood from her lips and faced Brute.
“I’ll have your gun,” the big man said. “And when I finish with her, I’ll have you.”
“I ain’t armed.”
Brute sneered. “Poor excuse for a rescue. Stupid women.”
Moments later, Brute had Katie and Pearl positioned one on each side of his horse with ropes around their necks and the ropes tied to his saddle. He had Pearl’s hands tied and was tying Katie’s hands when Sean rode up.
Sean gazed from Katie to Pearl with a slight grin. “Looks like you got your hands full.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Bet you will.” He pointed ahead in the direction the herd was moving. “We’ll take ’em another couple hours, then bed down.”
“I’ll catch up.” Brute cupped Katie’s chin and made her look into his face. “Somethin’ I gotta do first.”
Sean gave Katie and Pearl a deeper look. “You could bring ’em along. Some of the boys might enjoy a —”
“Mine.” Brute held a steady glare at Sean.
Sean’s hand was near his gun. He measured the distance between them, noting that Brute’s gunhand was free. Not worth the risk. Sometimes brains are no match for muscle and speed. He held out a placating hand.
“Sure. Sure, Brute. It’s fun you’ll be havin’ and you’ve earned it. We’ll be seein’ you later.” He tipped his hat. “Ladies.” Then with a jerk of his reins, Sean rode off.
Brute pointed to a group of evergreens up the trail with a grassy area beside them. He climbed onto his miracle horse that seemed impervious to his weight. “Start walkin’. And you know what’ll happen if you do more than walk.” He tugged on the ropes, tightening the loops around their necks.
Their heads down, lifeless, defeated, Katie and Pearl shuffled forward.
Though he had enjoyed his wagon ride out to see the remaining herd, a dark mood had washed over Jonas. As he walked to exercise the ride from his leg and hip the uneasiness he felt had taken him in a different direction. Without realizing it, he had wandered behind the barn near a patch of dirt. The patch had once been a mound, but had settled over the past few months. The grave encouraged a small, wistful smile, for it was the resting place of Sparky the Amazing Hound. At least that’s what Katie had called the old mutt. Sparky had excelled at keeping foxes from the henhouse, but in the early spring he had come out on the wrong end of a fight with a cougar. Katie had been inconsolable and it was only when Mary suggested a burial and service that the sobs subsided. He had never heard of burying a dog, let alone saying words over one. But he went along and when he saw the peace that Mary’s “long rest Sparky, our fine friend” brought to Katie, he knew the time spent digging was worth every minute.
It was an unusual cemetery for a ranch. Most folks had kin planted in the ground, often lost babies. Certainly not dogs. But it was just him, Mary and Katie. After Katie had been delivered, Doc Galen said that birthing her had messed up something inside Mary. There would be no more children. No sons. Maybe it cost them the joy of a big family or maybe it saved them the heartbreak of more graves. There was no way of knowing. But it made Katie all the more precious and Jonas all the more protective of her—and he was unable to protect her now. “Damn leg,” he muttered to no one. He began to limp back to the house, hoping Katie and Mary were well.
Living on hope makes a man feel inadequate. He cursed his leg again.
A quiet, gloomy calm, framed by a watchful wariness, had descended upon Sally. For the moment, the riders were gone, Prudence and I were out looking for horses, and Ruth was scanning the countryside in search of someone to shoot. To keep her mind from dwelling on Katie, Pearl and Mary, Sally concentrated on caring for Clean Through and Ernestine.
The late-afternoon sun cast deep shadows from the trees across the back of the wagon where Clean Through rested. Sally had finished re-dressing Ernestine’s wounds—she had been grazed in the thigh and arm as well as hit in the hand—and was again washing the front side of Clean Through’s wound.
“Gonna need stitches?” Ernestine asked.
“Don’t believe you will,” Sally replied, not voicing her thoughts that Clean Through did indeed need sewing up and her sewing things were in her saddlebag on the side now crushed underneath a dead, heavy horse way out in the field. “Biggest thing will be holding off infection, so you keep that hand clean and let me know if it changes color or hurts more than it does already.” She smiled at Clean Through. “Guess it’ll take more than a bullet to bring you down, huh?”
Clean Through smiled back. “My late wife, God rest her, said bullets pass through me because I’m not a man of substance. Proved her right again.”
Sally gave him a pat on his good shoulder and looked up. She was unable to resist an impulse to gaze at the trail ahead. They were hip-deep in trouble in just about every way, but there was no way her mind could stay away from thoughts of Katie, Pearl and Mary for long.
Mary had a gun, but so did that big monster of a man. Even more, he had a big lead on her.
We had had occasional squabbles on our journey, but all in all we were linked together through one purpose and rode with one mind. The purpose and the mindset remained, but for the first time we were separated physically, less able to draw strength from each other. And though not entirely divided from our prospects, there was a definite distance between our reality and our dreams.
Hope, like the trail dust on the horizon ahead, was fading.
PART SIX
RETRIBUTION
Chapter 22
The small, secluded, grassy area would have been a pleasant picnic spot under other circumstances, but to Katie it was a green graveyard. She thought her heart stopped—even hoped for it a little—when Brute kept his hungry eyes on her as he tied his horse to a small tree. Escape seemed all but impossible with her hands tied an
d a noose around her neck. Her only comfort was Pearl standing beside her, and even then she felt guilty about being glad Pearl was there. She should be wishing Pearl was free, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to die alone.
Brute stood before her. Loomed over her. His foul breath watering her eyes more than fear ever could. “Woman gets a man’s mind on her, then runs away…” he glowered, “Woman like that needs punished.”
“She ain’t no woman, just a girl!”
Brute backhanded Pearl across the face, stinging her, extending the cut on her lip. But it was Katie who couldn’t hold back tears as Brute reached for the rope around her neck and held it taut. He bent down, leveling his eyes with hers, and spoke with a clear, direct, ominous tone that chilled Katie’s very core.
“Now in that soft grass over there, you’re gonna get a chance to make up for treatin’ me so unkind. For havin’ eyes that tease.” His hairy lips brushed Katie’s ear. “Do me right, you might live. Do me wrong, I’ll kill you for sure. Then I’ll kill her. Then I’ll go back and kill your friends.”
Katie, tears dripping from her cheeks, nodded agreement with a whimper.
“Take me first,” said Pearl.
Brute raised his hand to smack her again, but stopped when she kept speaking.
“You can do anything you want,” she continued with practiced allure in her voice. “Man like you needs an experienced woman. Take the edge off.”
Brute looked Pearl’s body up and down. The dirty clothes, swollen lip and long history of sadness couldn’t hide her beauty. That she appeared to desire him as well added to her appeal.
“Warm-up might be nice at that. Get the fire stoked…” He curled his lip at Katie. “Before the main course.”
“No, Pearl, no!” screamed Katie.
Brute shoved her to the ground. “Shut your sorry mouth.” He unhooked the neck rope from the saddle and tied it to the tree. “Stay put. I don’t aim to tell you twice.”
As Brute turned, Pearl fell to her knees beside Katie and put her tied hands in Katie’s lap as she moved in for a hug. “It’ll all be fine,” she said aloud for Brute to hear. Then she pushed Katie’s hands down to her boots, connecting them with the shaft of a knife. “Run,” she whispered as she saw understanding in Katie’s eyes.
Brute yanked Pearl to her feet. “Stop your jabberin’!” He shoved her ahead to the grassy area, smiling as she fell onto her back. With a leer, he lumbered toward her. “Let’s get them clothes off.” Seconds later Katie heard fabric tearing. She cupped the knife in her tied hands, rose, and began to saw at the rope tied to the tree.
I suppose one must rank God giving his only begotten son as the biggest sacrifice in history, but you’d be hard pressed to convince me that what Pearl did that day was any less inspiring. Just her bravery alone in chasing after Katie with no gun, no plan, just guts… it moves me even now to think on it. But to buy time for Katie’s escape by offering herself to that wretched man and his violent, woman-hating ways, risking harm and death to save Katie from the ruination that Pearl had known at such an early age, protecting her like a sister, losing all hope for a better life in order to ensure that Katie’s hope still had a chance, and to still have the cleverness and presence of mind to give Katie a knife—that she could have used to free herself while Katie was victimized—well, it shames me to know that I could not have done the same.
Sacrifice.
I ask you, could there be a nobler act?
With the last thread of the rope cut through, Katie worked to loosen the noose around her neck and free herself from its choking bind. Her hands were still tied, but there was no time to cut those ropes now. From the moment Pearl had slipped her the knife, Katie knew what she would, what she must, do. The sounds of slaps and Pearl’s groans and more ripping cloth and what must have been a snapping bone had only fueled Katie’s conviction.
Brute’s big horse had watched her, soundless, while she cut the rope, probably hoping she’d free him as well. It’s what Pearl wanted. Take Brute’s horse, take Pearl’s horse and run, leaving Pearl behind to her fate with Brute.
Like hell.
With her roped hands, Katie grasped the hilt of the knife so that the blade was positioned for a downward strike, then she started running, building up her speed to gain the added thrust she felt would be needed for a deep stab into Brute’s thick hide. She saw him move to climb on top of Pearl, now quiet and motionless, and locked her eyes on the coarse hairs poking through the soiled shirt he kept on, marking the place between his shoulder blades. She would aim her thrust there in hopes that a piece of the knife would strike the man’s heart.
“Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!” She rivaled Ernestine for volume as she slammed herself and the knife onto Brute’s back. She knew that her added weight would intensify Pearl’s misery, but also knew it was essential to drive the knife.
The blade seared into Brute and he screamed in agony, blood spraying from his mouth onto Pearl’s face. He bucked, throwing Katie off his back like a child’s toy chucked from a bronco, then lifted himself to his knees, an unkillable demon rising from the grave. He tried to extend his arms around for the knife, but it was out of his reach. Groaning with effort, he stood, kicking off the pants around his ankles, naked from the waist down, the tails of his shirt not covering nearly enough.
Katie watched in paralyzed fascination as the big man arched his back as if hoping through sheer force to send the knife flying out like he’d sent Katie flying. But the knife remained. Blood seeped from the wound, not pouring as Katie wished. More blood trickled from his mouth. That he was weakened was clear, but that he was still formidable was just as clear.
He staggered a menacing step toward Katie, snapping her out of her inaction. She snatched up a broken limb, the only weapon in sight, wishing her hands were untied so she could swing it with more force. Though it was blunt, she held it out in front of her like a spear, taking comfort in having something between her and Brute. He managed another step forward, his face contorting between rage and pain. She still had an outlet to run, but didn’t dare leave Pearl. She thrust the stick at him.
“Stay away from me!”
“Ain’t killed me yet,” he strained, lumbering toward her, his sheer weight giving his wounded body momentum. Blood continued to ooze from both his mouth and back, and he continued to fight through his weakness. He swatted at the stick. Katie pulled it back, then poked him hard in the chest with it, reeling him back for only a second.
Pearl’s entire body felt crushed and her head swam with pain and confusion. Blinking, she could make out Katie trying to hold off the man with no more than a stick. She had no strength to moan as she rose to her elbows. As filthy as the man was, the red-gray sky of early evening and the already-rising moon offered plenty of light, and as the man’s naked backside registered in Pearl’s mind her head cleared enough for an idea to form. She didn’t dare turn her head too fast for fear of passing out, but a slow turn revealed her new goal: Brute’s gun belt. Panting, drawing upon strength she didn’t know she had, she struggled and stretched until her fingers touched worn leather. She pulled the gun belt closer and reached for the pistol.
Gunshot!
From where?
Katie saw a new circle of blood expanding on Brute’s shirt, saw more spill from his mouth. He hovered in front of her, swaying, struggling to hold his balance, the fury on his face replaced by stunned, empty eyes. Katie glanced at Pearl, saw her holding the gun belt with the pistol still holstered. Brute wavered, and she pushed the stick against him to keep him from falling on her.
Another gunshot rang out and Brute staggered again as a bullet pierced his side. This time Katie could track the direction of the reverberating sound and saw a wondrous sight. Pearl squinted and her eyes absorbed the beautiful sight as well.
Mary!
Not too late this time!
With a last gasp of strength, Brute, blood pouring from his torso in red streaks down his naked legs, grabbed the stick and t
ried to jerk Katie toward him. Sometimes the simplest move is the best, and Katie performed one—she let go of the stick. The momentum of his movement forced Brute backward, his bloody legs unable to check his fall. With a whomp that likely sent prairie dogs scurrying for new homes, he collapsed in a filthy red heap, the knife pushed fully into his chest.
More gunshots rang out, one after the other, six total. Pearl, using the last of her strength in cathartic revenge, had emptied the chamber into Brute. He had been a hard man to kill, but she made sure it was done. The blood flow lessened. Whether from the knife or the bullets or the combination or just plain dumbfoundedness at his fate no one can truly say, but all that matters is that his heart had finally stopped.
Pearl fell back unconscious. Katie rushed to her and cradled her head. Mary rode in and slid from the mule to cradle Katie. For some time, no words were spoken. None were needed.
There were also no tears.
We were done with tears.
Chapter 23
All right, when I say that we were done with tears, I believe I am correct in principle. When Prudence and I came across my horse grazing, I cried. Not so much because of that particular horse, since I rode a different one just about every day and hadn’t become attached to any specific one, but because that horse had my saddle and attached to my saddle were my saddlebags and inside my saddlebags were all the notes and thoughts I had written during the drive. I hadn’t had time to think of them before, but the sudden sight of them made my eyes well up. I didn’t need further proof that writing had become important to me, but I had it anyway. The watery eyes turned to outright tears when I opened the saddlebags to see that all was intact.