Redemption's Blood

by Chris G R Webb

  The dwarf steps forward. “Good morning gentleman. I would love to claim a reward for such a person, yet, we’ve seen hide nor hair of such fitting your description.”

  The dwarf walks over to a, yet to be packed, trunk, he delves in. Daniel's men twitch to their pistols. Daniels stays their hands as the dwarf plucks out a whiskey bottle.

  “I’m Louis, an I’d like to offer you a whiskey, or maybe food to help you on your travels.”

  Daniels measures the moment.

  He decides to throw more chips into the pot.

  Daniels dismounts, his men follow suit.

  "Very kind of you to offer, Louis, much obliged." Daniels walks to Louis; his gait is of a soldier, a tinge of threat behind each stride. "The open plains can be a place of hostility… …Dangerous even, just to warn you.” Daniels pauses for effect. “This Mister Hills is a known and wanted murderer.” He leans down to Louis, imposing his presence on him. “Mind if we look around? For your safety of course.”

  There’s a sense of unease.

  Louis composes himself, he cannot oppose the four armed men, but he can shuffle the deck. He's jovial.

  “By all means, but please hurry, we have to entertain soon.”

  Daniels looks to his men, a touch confused. He turns to Louis.

  “Out in the middle of nowhere?”

  “That’s how the Comancheros like it. You can wait here if you wish. I’m sure they won’t mind. Hey, maybe you guys will have something in common?”

  At the word Comancheros, the Pinkertons look to each other.

  Comancheros cut their trade with the tribes of the high plains; they consist mainly of Mexican bandits, who are known for their ruthlessness and savagery. But Daniels isn't quite buying the bluff. He glances to his men who stay where they are for the moment.

  Louis ups the stake.

  “As you’re probably aware, the Comanchero trail starts from my cousin’s farm, south of Johnston City, down to the Savage lands. We are the folk who trade betwixt the natives and the bandits. What better than business, song, and entertainment."

  Daniels chews on it.

  He makes a choice.

  He signals to his men as he strides back to the horses, they’re going to ride off. Daniels is suspicious of being duped, yet he can’t take the risk.

  “We’ll no doubt cross paths again… I'll make sure of that." There's no implication here; it's an out and out threat.

  The tension in the camp eases as the unwanted visitors mount their horses ready to leave. Joseph Joseph relaxes, Little Sparrow lowers her shotgun, Louis sits down, and Lynn gently fans herself. The potential confrontation is easing into a soon to be memory.

  Just as the moment is about to expire its last, it takes a sharp intake of breath, as if smacked into awareness.

  Mazy pokes her head out from the back of the Wagon.

  “Pappa, how long do you want me to wait?"

  There's a sickening ripple among Louis and his friends. Mazy looks to the visitors, Daniels draws his pistol, and so do the Pinkertons.

  Daniels dismounts.

  “I’ve gunned down enough Comancheros to know; you don't bring a pretty little girl along to meet them."

  The Pinkertons have their guns trained on the caravan. Daniels strides over to Louis.

  “If you lied about this, what else you been lying about?”

  Louis stands, he’s quiet, defiant, he’s not scared.

  Daniels swings the back of his hand, stepping into a heavy Smack - Louis falls, his lip cut. Little Sparrow motions to move her shotgun, Louis signals for her to stay calm.

  Mazy screams.

  The hot tub had cooled, yet Jensen felt he could get the last dregs of warmth from the water, before having to face the toothy chill of the wind that’ll bite his flesh.

  His eyes are closed, his thoughts are with the wind, the trees, the brook.

  Mazy screams.

  Jensen’s eyes snap open, the transition from peace to the bearer of violence takes place in the opening of his lids. Peace never settled too well with this grizzled veteran, maybe because he knows that before the peace comes, or when it ends, blood is always spilled.

  Daniels has Louis by the scruff of his neck, his men are dismounted and have their pistols aimed at Joseph Joseph, Lynn, and Little Sparrow.

  Joseph Joseph growls in discontent; he moves forward.

  Curly shoves a pistol in his face.

  “Your muscles ain’t gonna stop a slug in the face.”

  Louis calls out “Everybody keep calm. We’ll work this out.”

  “Little men, shouldn’t make big threats.” Daniels is stewing he fell for Louis’ bluff.

  “Leave us alone.” Lynn chimes in.

  “Shut up you freak.” Lester waves his gun at Lynn.

  "Sparrow, drop your shotgun." Louis is trying to drag them back from the edge of conflict. Sparrow throws her shotgun down.

  Daniels and Louis stare at each other.

  Daniels holsters his pistol; his men follow suit. Daniels shouts out, to ensure everybody understands what he says and what he means.

  “You’re failing in grasping my intent. People die out here. So, I'll ask again, did you happen to pick anyone up on the way?"

  Daniels locks a granite gaze with Louis. Louis gently smiles.

  “No, no, haven’t you heard? The open prairie is far too dangerous a place, for something like that."

  Daniels boils from stewing to furious.

  “Grab the girl.” Lester makes his way to Mazy, who leaps out the back of the wagon.

  “Who’s the little man now?” Louis goads Daniels.

  Mazy runs from view behind a wagon; the Pinkerton is in hot pursuit.

  “I’m not going to hurt you kid” He reassures her.

  Lester too charges round the back of the wagon, round its corner.

  He skids to a stop.

  Thoughts and possibilities cascade through his consciousness, and he freezes in the process.

  Mazy has wrapped herself around a leg of a man wearing red long-johns, with holsters around his waist. The man is dripping wet as if dunked in a river. Yet there's something about him; maybe it's his clenched jaw, his blazing eyes. It could be how this man seems to have the Pinkerton’s number.

  Then that moment’s gone, Lester makes his move, he reaches for his pistol, his hand reaches his grip, the pistol jolts but doesn’t leave its holster.

  Jensen, a man of few words, speaks volumes with his fist.

  Jensen’s in motion, his hand clenched into a thick mass of bone, crashes into the Pinkerton’s face.

  His nose shatters, cheek cracks, eye welts in a bloodshot mess.

  He’s out cold, as he stumbles back and bounces off the ground.

  Daniels sees Lester flung from the back of the wagon, and crash into the turf.

  There’s a beat of heated anticipation, that’s broken by Jensen striding into view; red long johns still drip from wetness.

  Jensen strides past the Pinkerton’s motionless body.

  Daniels and Jensen look at each other.

  Daniels had always thought the Colonel would call on Daniels to ‘encourage’ Jensen to vacate his homestead. He always imagined he would have Jensen Hills at the end of his barrel, but never like this.

  Daniels glances to Jensen's guns, which are still holstered. Daniels' eyes are nailed to Jensen; he shouts out to the caravan.

  “You folks here have been harbouring a fugitive. A man of ill repute, a vile murderer.”

  Jensen stands still, his fingers flex to kneed any tension in his hands.

  His friends from the Carnival slowly glide back to safer positions.

  The Pinkerton, Hopkins’ whispered words tumble out of his parched lips.

  “Is he the Johnson City Butcher?”

  If all eyes weren’t fixed on Jensen, they are now.

  Mazy from underneath a wagon watches on, she mutters under her breath.

  “Careful Bear.”

  Louis g
azes at Jensen, in amazement - Is it true? Could this old fool be the legendary Butcher?

  The Pinkertons snap looks to each other; Daniels is fixed on Jensen.

  Curly pipes up, unsure, as if talking to a ghost.

  “I thought ya died. Heard ya gone to live in the mountains.”

  Louis, never missing an opportunity to spin a yarn, embellishes.

  “I heard that the Cherokee called him Blood Hand, killer of white men.”

  Curly continues. “Is it true Butcher, did you slaughter your own wife?”

  Jensen feels the eyes bore into him; he can't afford to feel uncomfortable, he knows what happens next, it’ll be quick, bloody, brutal.

  Louis adds to the tension and lays it on thick.

  "I heard the devil himself came back to claim the Butcher but set him free to become the harvester of souls."

  The Pinkertons’ momentary curiosity, becomes engulfed by fear.

  Daniels snaps in anger.

  “Stow it. We’re taking you in Hills. However you want it, it is up to you.” Jensen is quiet. Daniels is impatient.

  “Well?”

  Jensen’s gaze drifts across the two Pinkertons, then Daniels and their tired looking horses; they're rankled, fatigued. Jensen supposes they've been riding continuously to get around the Savage Lands to here. Time becomes thick; breaths become laden with anticipation.

  Jensen is clear.

  “Your pistols… they don’t shoot all by their lonesome.”

  Like the unfolding of creation, all things happen simultaneously. Louis, Joseph Joseph and Lynn dive for cover, while Little Sparrow dives for her shotgun.

  Iron strokes leather, as pistols are drawn, snapping into position.

  Mazy watches aghast from behind the wheel of a wagon, it's difficult for her to say who pulled their pistol first. Daniels gets off the first round -BANG- Daniel’s slug, bores into the wood of the wagon.

  Jensen’s bullets rent the air. BLAM-BLAM-BLAM.

  Thump - A slug pervades flesh and punctures a belly.

  Crack - The sharp smack of bones splintering.

  Pom - A neck erupts in crimson.

  Daniels has dropped his pistol, his right shoulder a mess of shrapnel bone, pulverised arteries, and searing severed nerves.

  He crumples to his knees, next to a prone Hopkins, with neck gushing a river of red.

  Curly staggers, BANG - he shoots the earth.

  BANG - and again.

  He falls dead.

  Jensen’s hand lightly squeezes the grip of his Colt, its barrel exhaling a tendril of the black powder’s blue smoke. Mazy watches on in a mix of awe and restless anxiety, she thought she knew her Bear.

  She would hear the whispers of today resonate throughout the West, until legend became more than the man, as it often does. Historians would regal on the Butcher gunning down half a dozen Pinkertons, then slaughter the families in the caravan they were protecting. No one would ask the whys, or the who's; they would just accept that The Johnson City Butcher took to killing as other folks took to breathing.

  Louis stands up from behind cover, Joseph Joseph, and Lynn follows suit.

  Jensen slowly walks toward the quick and slow to death.

  Jensen strides lowers his pistol and BLAM - shoots the Hopkins in the back.

  He walks down Daniels as he is crawling for his pistol.

  Jensen and Little Sparrow nod to each other, they understand death and what must come next.

  Jensen presses his pistol into the back of Daniel’s head, who stops the futility of trying to grab his gun. He turns to look up to The Butcher, past the gaping aperture of his Colt.

  Daniels is defiant.

  “Go on shoot. Show these people what a monster you really are. Shoot me.”

  Daniels directs a warning to the others.

  “You’ll be next, you’re next, to be slaughtered at the hands of the Butcher." Daniels, a brew of anger, fear and despair, matches Jensen’s stare. “It doesn’t end here Hills, Dunston is coming for you, and he won’t stop till he has your scalp.”

  “When you get to Hell.” Jensen thumbs the hammer of his Colt, in an audible clunk. “Tell ‘em more’s coming.”

  BLAM.

  Jensen calmly walks, as if he were feeling the grass press against the flesh of his feet. He strides to each Pinkerton in turn.

  BLAM - Louis and Lynne twitch with the thunder clap of gunfire.

  BLAM - and again.

  Jensen has ensured that Daniels and the Pinkertons are dead. He steps to the brim of the camp and stares off into the horizon, it’s peaceful, void of violence and eternally out of reach. He knows the Colonel is in pursuit and also knows that the odyssey of vengeance is a journey that must be travelled alone.

  Mazy steps out from a wagon, she has no words to share. She has yet to translate the well of emotions that this moment holds.

  Jensen looks to Mazy, she senses a touch of shame in him, as if there’s a part of him that he kept hidden, repressed. He tries to smile at her, yet it seems unfitting in these moments.

  Jensen turns his back on Mazy and the caravan and walks off.

  36

  JENSEN HAS REMAINED SILENT.

  His calm, quiet exterior occasionally submits to his inner turmoil.

  He’s dressed, prepared his horse and is in the midst of packing.

  Louis arrives, he doesn’t need to look to know who it is. As Jensen packs, Louis silently watches on.

  Jensen wrangles with emotions.

  “It’s not safe for you, or anyone, me being here.” He turns to face Louis. “It never was.”

  “Well, I beg to differ.”

  Jensen slides his guns into his satchel, he buckles it and is ready and takes his roan’s reins. As he walks through the camp, Joseph Joseph is shovelling turf; he's already buried one body, the two mortified corpses await their turn. Lynn and Little Sparrow watch on. They’re leaving Louis to the negotiations.

  Louis tries to engage Jensen. “So you’re just going to up and leave?”

  Mazy strolls from behind a wagon, she's brushing her teeth. She sees Jensen walking his roan out of camp; it takes a moment for her to puzzle together the pieces.

  She charges over.

  Jensen mounts his horse. Louis takes another shot.

  “Well if you’re leaving it’s because you want to, no one else. Remember that.” Jensen pauses for a second.

  “Where are you going Bear?” Mazy stomps onto the scene. Jensen doesn't look back. "Get down off your horse and talk to me." Mazy picks up a small stone; she flings it with the ferocity it pings off Jensen's back.

  He's motionless; she's waiting for a response, Louis gently rubs her shoulder.

  “Ain’t you heard it’s rude to stare.” Says Jensen, never looking back.

  “Nope.” Mazy places her hands on her hips.

  Jensen turns to Mazy. “Well it is, so they say.”

  “They?”

  “They, them, that lot.”

  “You don’t know who they are, do you?”

  “But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

  “You don’t have to do that alone.” Mazy is heartfelt. Little Sparrow arrives, she says one solemn word.

  “Stay.”

  “See, Bear. And she don’t even like you.” Blurts Mazy.

  "I can't; more may be coming."

  “You see, that’s the problem.” Louis uses logic. “If more come and you’re not here, who’s going to help protect us? … Not me. Sparrow can handle a gun. But.”

  Jensen glances out towards the horizon; he feels a pull of destiny beckoning. He refuses to look back.

  “Sorry.” He rides off hard.

  Mazy calls out. “Bear.”

  While Louis holds her back, he tries to reassure her.

  “It’s okay Angel.”

  Mazy is frustrated, “How is it okay?”

  Mazy breaks loose and sprints after Jensen passaging into the gaping distance, it's hopeless.

  Jensen isn'
t riding hard, the pull of destiny is matched by the weight of guilt settled in his gut. Louis’ words rattle through his mind, they ignite feelings and bring in to light other thoughts. William suffered because of Jensen, a boy, his friend loses his life because he wasn’t there. Jensen’s mind tunnels to his destination, he knows the Colonel and that native from the shadow realm, are there waiting for him. What if they stumbled upon the caravan, what would the Colonel and the savage make of his new friends, of Mazy?

  Mazy has stopped running; she's stood still, her rib cage riding the expansion of her lungs punchy breaths. The long grass gentle strokes her legs.

  Mazy watches the silhouette of Jensen, shrink the further he travels. She understood, how people come and go, that was the way of the carnival, the only life she knew. Yet this story for her seemed to finish without an ending.

  They weren't quite done.

  Mazy holds onto the image of the lone rider on the horizon, that memory becomes tied to emotions, disappointment, anger, some she cannot express.

  Then Jensen's silhouette on the lip of her world...

  Stops…

  Waits…

  He circles his roan…

  Jensen starts to ride back.

  “Pa, Pa, he’s coming back.” Shouts Mazy.

  Louis and Little Sparrow make their way from their wagons; they had accepted Jensen's decision. They glance at each other.

  Jensen closes in.

  They stand in silence as he approaches, his horse slows. He dismounts a child’s stone throw away. He takes the reins of his roan and guides her back to the wagons. He stops as he walks past the three of them waiting. Jensen searches for an explanation, as his eyes skim across theirs.

  “I’ve done, questionable things in my time. Now my past is riding up to me, to you. I don’t want you to be part of it.”

  Louis interjects "Well, unfortunately, it's too late for that. But… Perhaps we can also be part of the future."

  Jensen turns and in his guilt he manages a smile.

  "I ain't gonna let any wrong doings happen to you. I owe you." Jensen glances at Little Sparrow. "Even if some don't like me." It's said with humour as he walks his roan into camp. The unease has been lifted, for now.