Stampede

by Len Levinson

  Her voice hit an odd note. “Think I’d better turn in. S’cuse me.

  Stone looked up, and she was gone. He waited a few minutes, then rose and walked back to the campsite, leaving Old Ben lying on the grass, chewing contentedly, as dying wisps of smoke from the campfire floated through the air like incense. Stone washed his hands and face in the basin beside the chuck wagon, and heard a footfall behind him.

  “Tomorrow mornin’, Massa John,” Ephraim whispered.

  Stone turned and looked at the ex-slave. “I wouldn’t miss it for all the gold in California.”

  “You’d better sharpen your knife fo’ you go to bed, ’cause I already sharpened mine.”

  Ephraim stepped away, and Stone wiped his face with the community towel, which was gray with filth. He walked to his saddle, hung his hat on the pommel, sat, and pulled the Apache knife out of his boot. He ran his finger along the blade, and it was sharp as a razor.

  He sheathed the blade and stretched out on the ground, pulling the blanket over him. Tomorrow, at this time, the sun would set on a fresh grave, and he hoped it wouldn’t be his.

  Chapter Nine

  It was dawn, and the cowboys rolled out of their blankets as Ephraim led a steer into the encampment.

  “Needs fresh meat this mornin’.” he said.

  The cowboys looked at him curiously. Usually Ephraim butchered cattle on the far side of the chuck wagon, but evidently this morning he was going to do it in front of them.

  Ephraim turned the steer loose, and the animal looked around fearfully as Ephraim pulled his big butcher knife from the sheath on his belt. He cast a meaningful look at Stone, then came up behind the steer, wrapped his arm around the steer’s neck, pulled back the steer’s head, and slit his throat.

  Blood geysered into the air, and the steer’s legs buckled. The immense creature collapsed onto the ground, and Ephraim’s knife sliced the hide easily, leaving long trickling red lines. He butchered the steer with smooth clean strokes, pulled out the warm guts, and then carefully, almost surgically, removed the loin.

  He cut chunks of fat and threw them in the skillet, where they hissed and crackled over the flames. Then he lay the loin on his chopping board and cut several thick steaks as the fragrance of the beef fat permeated the campsite.

  Stone knew Ephraim was sending him a message, but he was sure he could put Ephraim away. Well, he was almost sure. He cursed the night he’d visited the Gypsy hag in San Antone, because her curse lurked like an assassin in his mind.

  “Come and git it!” Ephraim shouted, shaking his big black skillet full of steaks.

  The cowboys lined up, and Cassandra took her place at the front. She’d lost her appetite, watching Ephraim butcher the steer, but the aroma of the cooking meat brought it back, and Ephraim dropped a thick juicy steak on her plate. She lifted a few hot biscuits from the dutch oven and sat on the ground near her saddle.

  Stone stood behind Truscott in the line, and Truscott appraised him through slitted eyes. “You look like you can ride today, Johnny.”

  Ephraim’s voice came to them from the fire. “Needs another day to rest up.”

  “Seems fine to me,” Truscott said, appraising Stone’s broad shoulders.

  “Tomorrow,” Ephraim said.

  Truscott offered no argument. One more day wouldn’t make that much difference.

  The men ate quickly, washed their tin plates in the bucket, stacked them on the table, and walked toward the remuda. Stone reached into his saddlebags, pulled out his sharpening stone, and ran it over the blade of his Apache knife. He looked up at Ephraim, who washed the skillet.

  “After I kill you,” Ephraim said in a low voice, “I’ll bury you in the ground, but not too deep, because I want the bugs and coyotes to get some of you. I’ll tell the others you went off for a ride and never come back, and they’ll figger the injuns jumped you.”

  Stone didn’t say anything, because he intended to speak later with his knife. He sharpened the blade, and the scraping sound mingled with hoofbeats of horses as the cowboys and Cassandra rode toward the herd.

  Ephraim loaded his gear into the chuck wagon, and closed the back. Then he sauntered toward Stone and sat a few feet away.

  “You lookin’ a little nervous, Massa John.”

  Stone continued sharpening his blade. The cowboys receded into the distance, and in another ten minutes would be out of sight. Then the fight could begin.

  “Want to tell you somethin’,” Ephraim said. “Back in Beulah Land, your li'l Marie girl loved my black ass—you know that? She come to me in the fields at night, when dumb you was asleep in your bed, and we done all kinds of strange thangs, and let me tell you, she said to me onc’t she’d never been loved by a white boy the way she was loved by me.”

  Stone forced a laugh, but it came out strangled. “You want to rattle me, but I don’t rattle. I’ll cut your throat the way you cut that steer this morning.”

  “If you not rattled, Massa John, how come you talkin’ so funny?” Ephraim looked in the direction the cowboys had gone. “We best wait a few more minutes, to make sure none of ’em comes back. We don’t want to be interrupted, do we, Massa John?”

  “Take your last look at the world, because you’re a dead man.”

  “I should thank God, ’cause He’s given me you to kill.” Ephraim got on his knees, clasped his hands together, and prayed. A flock of singing birds flew overhead, and a wild dog barked in the distance. Ephraim rose to his feet and pulled his butcher knife out of its sheath. “I think we can git started now, Massa John.”

  Stone reached to his boot and pulled out his Apache knife, his old Confederate cavalry hat slanted over his eyes, while Ephraim was bareheaded, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. The sun rose in the sky behind them, and the cowboys were gone.

  Stone and Ephraim looked at each other, blades shining. Ephraim saw the symbol of everything he hated in the world, went into a knife fighter’s crouch, while Stone circled to his left. Both focused sharply on each other, and nothing else in the world mattered now. They looked for an opening, a nuance, the telltale sign that betrayed vulnerability, because you only make one mistake in a knife fight: your first, your last, and your only. Stone switched direction, and Ephraim followed him with his eyes, flicking his knife from side to side.

  “You runnin’ away from me, Massa John. You ain’t skeered of a poor nigra, is you?”

  “You’re always flapping your lips,” Stone replied. “Why don’t you shut up and fight?”

  Ephraim lunged at Stone, and Stone grabbed his knife wrist, while pushing his blade toward Ephraim’s belly, but Ephraim clamped his hand around Stone’s arm. They were locked together, straining against each other, their faces only inches apart. Stone could see the fury in Ephraim’s eyes, and for a moment felt the bear that’d mangled him.

  They dug their toes into the dirt and heaved against each other, each trying to press his knife home, but neither would budge. Suddenly Ephraim let go, and stepped to the side. Stone found himself pushing empty air, lost his balance, and fell forward. Ephraim dived forward for the kill, but Stone rolled when he hit the ground and was on his feet in an instant, his blade before him, and Ephraim halted three inches away from its sharpened tip.

  Stone circled to his left, holding the blade in front of him. He feinted, but Ephraim punched his blade forward, to cut Stone’s arm, and Stone pulled back in time; again no blood was drawn.

  Ephraim bent his legs and got lower, and Stone knew he was trying for a belly slash, so he hunkered down too, moving his knife from side to side. Ephraim feinted, and then leapt forward, flashing his knife toward Stone’s stomach, but Stone jumped backward, and Ephraim’s blade whistled through empty air, while Stone cut down and laid open flesh on Ephraim’s shoulder.

  An expression of rage came over Ephraim’s face as blood showed on his shirt. Stone could see it wasn’t a serious wound, but it was first blood, and if he could cut him once, he could cut him again. He switched
direction, circling to his right, and Ephraim jumped into his path, blocking his way.

  They stared at each other hatefully, then Stone moved to his left, but suddenly Ephraim charged and ripped. Stone raised his arm to protect himself, and Ephraim cut a deep gash on his Stone’s forearm, while Stone took a swipe at Ephraim’s chest, leaving a long red diagonal line.

  Stone felt as if a hot coal had been dropped onto his arm as he stepped back. Ephraim thought Stone was off balance, and rushed forward to stick his knife in, but Stone darted out of the way, and Ephraim found himself facing the open prairie.

  Ephraim shifted direction quickly, and Stone wore a cocky half-smile. Stone felt certain he could outmaneuver Ephraim, so he feinted to the left, feinted to the right, and then plunged his knife toward Ephraim’s heart.

  Ephraim’s hand snaked up and caught Stone’s wrist, while stabbing his knife toward Stone’s belly. Stone stopped Ephraim’s hand when it was only inches from his stomach, and they were locked together again, straining against each other, gazing into each other’s widened eyes, and smelling the coffee on each other’s breaths.

  Ephraim let up suddenly, hoping Stone would fall on his face, but this time Stone was ready, and cut a three-inch slice out of Ephraim’s cheek, while Ephraim slashed Stone’s ribs. Both men jumped back, surprised by their sudden wounds, then attacked again, knives flashing in the sunlight. Ephraim whacked a lump off Stone’s head, Stone slit Ephraim’s bicep, then they caught each other’s knife hands and were joined together again in the embrace of death.

  They pushed and tugged, but neither was able to achieve an advantage. Ephraim snaked his leg behind Stone and tried to trip him, but Stone bulled forward, and Ephraim lost his balance. He fell to the ground, and Stone landed on top of him, trying to ram his blade into Ephraim’s throat, but Ephraim managed to hold his hand back. They rolled across the campsite and came to a stop beside the glowing embers of the fire. Sweat poured from their faces as they grunted and tried to stick in their knives. Ephraim was on the bottom, and Stone on top, when Ephraim heaved like a bucking bronco, and Stone flew backward into the fire pit. He landed on his spine, felt the searing heat, and jumped to his feet as Ephraim rushed toward him, his knife zooming through the air.

  All Stone could do to save his life was raise his arm, and Ephraim’s blade cut through to the bone. Stone howled in pain and stepped back, while Ephraim rushed forward, back-slashing toward Stone’s throat.

  Stone ducked and plunged his knife toward Ephraim’s belly, but Ephraim’s free hand came down and clamped on Stone’s wrist, while his knife streaked toward Stone’s back. Stone sensed the danger and spun out at the last moment, and Ephraim nearly stabbed himself in the groin.

  Both men faced each other in front of the chuck wagon, and both bled from numerous wounds. Their bodies were soaked with sweat, and Stone had lost his hat during the scuffle. Bareheaded, his dark blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, Stone’s chest heaved from the exertion.

  Ephraim stood before him, face slick with perspiration, as the chuck wagon mules watched solemnly. Then Stone moved to the left, but before he could go three steps, Ephraim screamed and rushed toward him again, stabbing his knife with all his strength toward Stone’s heart. Stone dodged out of the way, and the knife rammed into the side of the chuck wagon.

  Ephraim pulled the knife, but it wouldn’t come loose, and Stone saw his opportunity. He raked his knife across Ephraim’s ribs, and Ephraim screamed as he jumped backward. Stone darted between Ephraim and Ephraim’s knife, and Ephraim was unarmed, while Stone still held his blade.

  A faint smile came over Stone’s face, and Ephraim knew he was in deep shit. Stone looked at the knife in his hand, then threw it away disdainfully.

  “I’d rather beat you with my fists,” he said.

  Now they were both unarmed, and raised their hands. Ephraim stepped forward, bobbed and weaved, and threw a left jab at Stone’s head, but Stone ducked beneath it and hammered Ephraim in the right kidney, left kidney, and then went upstairs as Ephraim lowered his guard, cracking Ephraim in the nose. Stone kept his fists in constant motion, and moved laterally as Ephraim shot another jab at his head. Stone’s head and Ephraim’s fist connected, Stone saw a white flash, and then Ephraim punched him in the midsection.

  Stone expelled air and doubled over, and Ephraim hit him with an uppercut that straightened him. Stone stumbled backward, fell against the chuck wagon, and Ephraim was all over him, throwing lefts and rights from a variety of angles. Stone ducked and dodged, avoiding most of the punches, but some got through, jolting him. He tried to slide away, but Ephraim kept him pinned against the chuck wagon, hammering him incessantly.

  Stone knew he had to launch an attack of his own, otherwise he’d be pummeled into unconsciousness. Ephraim’s fists flew so fast they were blurs, but he was overanxious, overextended, and off balance. Stone took one step to the side, simultaneously hurling his fist toward Ephraim’s solar plexus. The blow connected, Ephraim’s eyes popped out, and his mouth fell open. Stone threw an overhand right that landed on Ephraim’s ear, but Ephraim counterpunched Stone’s mouth.

  Stone’s teeth rattled, and he tasted blood on his tongue. Ephraim slammed him in the head three times, then leaned into Stone’s sudden sharp uppercut, and went sprawling backward. Stone leapt forward and grabbed Ephraim by the throat. Together they fell to the ground and rolled over, as Stone tried to throttle Ephraim, while Ephraim sought to thumb out Stone’s eyes.

  They punched, elbowed, kneed, and gouged, and Stone regretted throwing his knife away. Ephraim’s hand fell on a length of firewood like a club lying on the ground. He picked it up and bashed Stone’s head, and Stone saw stars, wobbled to the side, so Ephraim hit him again, opening a cut on Stone’s scalp. Stone dropped to the ground, and Ephraim raised the club in the air. Stone opened his eyes to see it streaking toward his nose, but at the last moment he rolled out. Ephraim leapt forward and smashed him over the head with the club anyway.

  Stone saw the white light, and remembered the Gypsy’s curse. He raised his arm in time to block another blow, and Ephraim wound up again. The club streaked toward Stone, and Stone caught it in both hands, kicking high with his right foot. The tip of his boot collided with Ephraim’s chin, and the impact lifted Ephraim six inches off the ground. Ephraim fell onto his back, and Stone rushed toward him, the club in his hand, to beat him to death. Stone raised the club, aimed it at Ephraim’s head, and brought it down with all his strength, but Ephraim scrambled out of the way, and the blow struck him on the buttocks.

  Ephraim rose to his feet, spun around, and saw Stone standing with the club in his right hand. The club whistled forward, and Ephraim inadvertently ducked into its path. It broke his nose and sent him flying through the air. He landed on his back, rolled over, and then dived to where he thought Stone’s legs would be.

  His aim was perfect, he wrapped his arms around Stone’s legs, and lurched hard. Stone was flung off his feet, landed in a crunch on his back. Ephraim punched him in the mouth, splitting his lower lip wide open, blood spurting out. Ephraim punched him again, but Stone caught his fist in midair, twisting. Ephraim fell to the side, and Stone dived on him, wrapping his fingers around Ephraim’s throat. He pressed his thumbs against Ephraim’s Adam’s apple, but Ephraim shot both hands through Stone’s arms, busting the grip. On their knees, they threw punches at each other, banging each other’s head and body. Ephraim saw an opening and delivered a short uppercut to the point of Stone’s chin, and Stone’s head snapped back. It wasn’t the strongest punch Ephraim had thrown, but the accumulation of blows put Stone down.

  Stone fell onto his back, his mind was cloudy, and he had to get up, but the ground was undulating beneath him like the deck of a ship at sea. He rolled over and opened his eyes to see a boot steaming toward his face. The boot became larger, blocked out the sun, and crashed into Stone’s nose. Stone fell onto his back, and wasn’t sure of who he was, but had to get up somehow.

  His legs wou
ldn’t work, and a sparrow sang in his ear. He heard a voice above him say: “This is the moment I’ve waited for all mah life, Massa John.”

  Seems a shame to kill the man I cured, Ephraim thought as he swung the club at Stone’s head, while Stone flashed on an image of Ephraim pissing on his grave. Stone willed himself into sharper focus, and deflected the blow to the side with his arm. Ephraim raised the club for another try, and Stone arose unsteadily to his feet.

  The club flew toward Stone’s head, and Stone blocked it with another swing of his arm, then dived on Ephraim, who tried to get out of the way at the last moment, but Stone caught his arm and whipped it around. Ephraim went flying through the air, bounced off the chuck wagon, and Stone was all over him immediately, hurling punches before Ephraim could get set. Ephraim managed to duck and block a few, but a straight left jab got through, connecting with Ephraim’s forehead and slamming him against the wall of the chuck wagon. Ephraim raised his arms and Stone pounded him in the kidney. Ephraim gasped, and Stone hit him in the same place on his other kidney, and then, when Ephraim lowered his elbows to protect that vital area, Stone punched him squarely in the mouth.

  Ephraim collapsed onto his hands and knees. Stone looked around for something to kill him with, saw the poker, and picked it up, raised it, and sent it crashing toward Ephraim’s head. Ephraim heard the whistle of iron, and something told him to dodge. He lurched to the side and the poker struck a rock on the ground, sparks flying through the air. Stone turned and prepared for another blow, when Ephraim spotted a rock the size of a fist on the ground. Swooping down, he snatched it in his hand and threw it at Stone’s head.

  Stone raised his arm to protect himself, and Ephraim tackled him, knocking him to the ground. What a waste of a beautiful day, Stone thought as he let go of the poker and tried to ram his thumbs into Ephraim’s eyes. Ephraim grabbed Stone’s wrists and bucked hard, causing Stone to lose his balance. Stone fell to the side, they broke apart; both scrambled to their feet.