"Not likely, but they will steal something if they can just to say they did it. They see it as a point of honor to be able to come and go without us knowing. Stealing something would just go to prove it."
Metzger motioned them back and nodded towards some approaching men. "Let's head back to camp. I'd best be tellin' everybody their scalps are still safe." Metzger left the scout and Josh to themselves.
"Mr. Delacroix, we've some fine peaches to liven up your supper. Hope you'll like 'em," Josh invited.
"Mighty fine, boy—and I'll bring something to the fire to liven yours."
The scout untied a sack from his saddle pack, reached in and with a glint in his eye, produced a rattlesnake as thick as his wrist and about five feet long. He held it by the head, pressing down so the fangs dripped yellow venom. It was hideous.
"Always happy to share with those that haven't any. Let's go eat."
"Oh, sir! I couldn't eat snake any more than I could eat crow," Josh squeaked.
"Can't blame you to that point, boy.” Delacroix was warming to his fun. “Crow meat cooks up a mite too strong for good eating, but a baked rattler is as sweet a plate as you'll find." He looked at the stricken young man and added, "Don't get smarmy there. After you eat bacon and hard biscuit for two months you'll be looking for snakes and such and a'licking your lips."
When they arrived back at the wagon Jubal was crouched at the fire tending some biscuits in the collapsible tin oven and had a bacon slab sizzling on a skewer over the low flame. Josh pulled up a crate, sat down, and casually turned the bacon spit.
"We saw some Pawnee Indians, Jubal ; on the run from a scalpin' party of Sioux."
"Everybody else see'd 'em too, Mr. Bonner. That's as close as I ever want to be to Indians if they cause as much carryin’ on as they did here. You'd a'thought a circus was passin' for all the ruckus," Jubal replied, winking.
Suddenly Jubal’s mouth fell to his chest, his eyes bugged out, and he fell on his backside. Silently working his mouth, he peered over Josh's shoulder. With feigned disinterest, Josh nonchalantly turned to look behind him.
Delacroix cut the snake's head off and tossed it near the fire. He planted one foot on the tail and had the snake stretched out like a washtub banjo. Beginning at the tail, he slit the snake along its length and proceeded to gut the carcass with a callused thumb.
Josh finally found his tongue. "That's a right big snake, mister. Is there more on the road ahead?"
"Been seeing 'em regular now for two days," Delacroix replied. "This one about threw himself at me so I couldn't refuse. But, oui, there are more. It's spring and they are out of their nests. We'll see many more than you will like. I wouldn't worry much, though. They will git quicker than they are likely to strike—and they always shake their hips first."
With that he picked up the rattle and shook it mischievously next to his face. The image of the slick gutted snake looping below the Frenchman’s creased face was eerie in the gloaming light. The scout set the carcass at the edge of the coals. Josh squinted shut his eyes for a second, hoping the disturbing vision would vanish.
Josh could see, short of convulsions, he was in for a taste of snake. He looked toward Jubal hopefully to see if he had any ideas. It appeared, for a black man, Jubal was a little green about the gills. His return glance didn't seem to hold any promise of escape and Josh reckoned there was little hope of avoiding the tracker's preparation. Picking up the dishes he handed them around.
"May as well have some sowbelly whilst we're waitin'," he said. Josh picked up the cup that had been catching the drippings of the sizzling slab bacon and mixed in some flour to make gravy. Jubal handed around biscuits from the tin oven and began slicing the meat.
"Don't get full bound. There will be plenty of serpent for everyone," Delacroix admonished as he accepted his plate.
Delacroix peered over the rim of his coffee cup at his dinner companions. While rattlesnake was not his favorite meal, the amusement it afforded him with the greenhorns could soon make it one. Those who had never traveled the Oregon Road departed with the impression they would eat fresh antelope and buffle throughout the journey. There were buffalo to be had, surely, but further west. The antelope, however had become skittish with so much activity, as had the birds. Only a skillful and patient hunter could bring in fresh game and then only from far afield of the road. Coffee, bacon, and hard bread were the fare for all until the buffalo herds were discovered.
The tracker, upon finishing his dish, set it down. “Dinner’s ready,” he said, lifting the carcass gently from the coals.
Jubal sensed the guide was having his fun at their expense. He knew Josh and he were going to eat snake tonight or the Frenchman would brook them no peace all the way to Oregon. Well, he could try it once but he wasn't about to take up any foreign habits.
"Mr. Del'croy, let's serve up that thing and be a'done with it. I want to turn in and dream 'bout sweet tater pie."
Delacroix replied, “Any preference for which end we start on?"
"The end without the poison will suit me," Josh piped up.
The scout drew his knife and sliced portions of the snake onto plates.
"It looks and smells better than I expected,” said Josh, “though I have no standard to rally to,"
He watched as Delacroix fingered loose a chunk, blew on it, and dropped it into his mouth.
"Don't let it cool too much, boys. It loses some of its flavor."
"Gingerly Josh slipped loose a morsel, lifted it to his mouth and cautiously took a bite. The texture was firm like channel catfish back home and the flavor was mild. Josh snuck a peek at Jubal and hoped his own face didn't look at all like what he saw.
"Welcome to the trail, mes amies," chuckled Delacroix between bites. The scout rose and strode away from the fireside licking at his fingers noisily. He would leave them so they could spit the meat out beyond his seeing.
"Damn him," Josh growled! "I ain't about to let that blasted Frenchy make me for a fool. I'm gonna eat at this snake until that trapper thinks we have it for Sunday supper twice a month."
"But, Mister Josh, the Frenchy ain't here to see us eat it," said Jubal meekly.
Josh grinned. "I'm glad you said 'us', Jubal. Let's split up this worm and have at'er."
"Mister Josh!"
"And don't be sickin' it up neither," Josh admonished. They began eating.
As they were collecting the dinnerware and finishing up with the coffee and the peach preserves, the scout returned and helped himself to a cold biscuit and some peaches. The fact the snake was mostly gone didn’t escape him. Josh was leaning back and wishing he had saved a bone to pick his teeth with. The trapper squatted at the fire and waved his cup at them, offhandedly.
"You are lucky, mes amies, Le Capitaine Metzger is posting extra guards tonight but is sparing you two. Perhaps you are too young and you are too dark, eh?" He pointed at each in turn.
"Probably he doesn't want any snakeeaters pokin' about his wagons," Josh snapped back.
Josh and Jubal rolled their gear out under the wagon. Each had a buffalo robe, bought in St. Joseph, for a ground cover. They pulled blankets up over themselves and balefully stared at their guide who was laying out his own worn robes.
Delacroix smiled to himself. He was beginning to like these two. The boy had sand and Jubal seemed an able and willing hand. They had taken the edge off his joke by finishing the snake but he had enjoyed himself. One had to make do for pleasantries while on the plains. The trapper banked the fire and began to uncoil a stiff rope around his bedding. The inquiry was only moments in coming.
It was Josh who asked, "Now why would a man make a rope circle around his bed, I wonder?"
"The snake, she hunts at night but she won't cross the rope because it smells of man," Delacroix explained seriously.
"Snakes be damned! You must think me a fool fer'em!" Josh snorted, turning his back to the fire and his tormentor.
"Durn French beaver skinner," he muttered to himself. He did, however,
plan to get up and grab a rope out of the wagon as soon as the camp grew quiet.
* *
Hope you enjoyed this introduction.
Available at Amazon for Kindle and other electronic devices
Bio
Edward Medina is a native New Yorker now living in Orlando, Florida by way of Atlanta, Georgia and London, England. He was raised by his mother and grandmother to believe that life is an adventure best lived to the fullest. To that end Edward has lived his life on the edge of creative possibility.
Over time, he has been a radio and voice over artist. He built a significant career as a producer, director and writer for both digital media and the New York Off and Off Off Broadway stages. He also had the honor and the privilege to work for the late great Jim Henson. He then went on to become a theme park designer. For fun, he became a steam train engineer and since childhood, a sometime magician. Although, at this point in his life the magic he creates is for the page.
Edward recently published his first novel in the Mathias Bootmaker and the Keepers of the Sandbox Trilogy: It Is Said, through Amazon Kindle. His gothic poem, Emperor’s Nocturne, was selected for inclusion in the horror anthology Enter At Your Own Risk. This collection of new writers and old masters is available in paperback and on Amazon Kindle.
In the near future Edward is looking forward to completing more of his epic fantasies, along with other tales and poems, of journeys and adventures, both light and dark.
In November 2011 he will be publishing A Murder Of Crows, the prolog to his 2012 release, X Pirates: Nightthorn's Revenge. This tale promises classic, bold, swashbuckling exploits but in a uniquely different setting. The prolog preview tells the origin legend of Benjamin Nightthorn, the feared, dreaded and deadly captain of the ghost ship Revenge.
Early in 2012 Edward will introduce the world to The Upiies of Isla Mona. This children’s book is the story of a very special little family living on a very special little island. This tale holds a warm place in Edward’s heart. The soul of the story is wrapped around his love for his grandmother and the wisdom she left him.
Preview:
Oracle Darke
No room is empty if your mind is full. One learns that as a prisoner of the Academy Darke. That’s all Mouse could think of as he sat in this very particular empty room.
A roaring fire in the fireplace kept it lit and uncomfortably warm. Mouse sat in a wooden chair that sat opposite a long, splendidly carved table. On that table was a large hour glass. The sand was sitting quite still in the upper chamber. It was waiting. Just like Mouse. It just sat there waiting. Just like Mouse sat.
This round room was well known. It was the public office of a very private man. It was situated at the base of the castle’s tallest tower and in the place that many people believed was the soul of the structure.
This is where he met with the People, his officials and dignitaries. It was below the family quarters where they lived their lives. Somewhere above was the playroom where the family was murdered. Somewhere above that was the secret laboratory of the man that brought illumination to his people.
The entrance to that secret place had been a matter of great debate amongst the people of the village. Since the visionary’s passing, it had been searched for but never found.
Then a new plan was formed.
Men scaled the tower from the outside. They intended to enter the tower through the crystal flame. The new glass panels, put in place after the great explosion, would not yield to torch, hammer or pick. A second attempt was planned.
Oracle Darke put a stop to that.
This room was known as the Dragon Mural Room and Mouse could see why. The entire space was wrapped in a mural that told the story of the Dragon Spark. The painting was covered with dust and soot but the vivid colors were pushing through the layers of grunge and time.
The mural began at the beginning of the story. The rock tower was there and at its base the People were depicted in the early times. Mouse remembered his mother and father telling him of the early times, before the dragon gave them the first spark.
The early people lived with the void all around them. There was no light of any kind. It was a terrible time. They lived in the forest. They lived in caves and mud huts. The early people were violent. They existed in small bands of tribes and hunting groups. They fought each other for what little they could get their hands on. They lived with a constant fear of attack.
When things were at their worst and the early people were close to extinction, a dragon came to them and brought them fire.
He was there in the mural, atop the rock tower. His enormous wings were fully open. In his talons he held a ball of fire. He held it above a pile of wood that had been gathered at the request of the beautiful beast. His name was Bookmarque.
He was given that name by his brothers and sisters because he was destined to hold a very special place in the story of the People.
Mouse remembered his parents telling him that many people didn’t believe in the Dragon Spark story anymore. They believed that the People discovered fire on their own. They believed that the People brought themselves out of the void. Mouse liked the story. He wasn’t sure if it was true or not. He believed that the truth was somewhere in the middle of both tellings.
Next to the tower and progressing around the room were images of the rebirth of the People. The spark was more than just the fire. Before the dragon came, the People did not speak. They made sounds. They sang. He taught them to draw those sounds. Bookmarque brought the People knowledge and imagination. He gave them the gifts of language and writing and mathematics.
The dragon taught these lessons atop the rock tower. When he finished providing his offerings he vanished. Never to be seen again. The People then learned to use their gifts in his absence.
They learned to hunt and harvest and store. They began to reason. They grew out of their separations and became one people. They began to create and design. Music and art flourished. Then they began to build. They built homes and gathering places. They didn’t stop until the village was formed.
It took several generations, and the People still lived with the void all around them, but they overcame it and launched themselves into the next phase of their evolution.
The depictions of the growth of the People ended at the base of another rock tower that was opposite the first. On it was the castle with its beacon ablaze. At its entrance stood Elias Darke. He was shown in his favorite attire, an all white suit of clothes with a thin black tie. A ball of light was floating between his outstretched hands.
Wrapping around the rest of the room and between the two towers was the endless black of the void. When Elias Darke sat at his table, he had the history of the People behind him, the two towers at each side and the intrigue of the void facing him.
A person sitting in this chair would see a man and his people. Elias would see endless possibilities.
This was an ingeniously designed round room.
Other than the mural, the table, the hourglass, the chair and Mouse, this room was vacant of any other sign of life. Except for the Fetcher, whose presence could be felt even though he couldn’t be seen.
Whether the Fetcher is alive or not has been a matter of great debate for quite some time in the Darke. That’s what the rather unique students of this very particular institution called it. The Darke.
The Fetcher, if he could be categorized, would be the Dean of Student Discipline here in the Darke. In truth he was many things and in many places all at once.
The alumni of this place feared him at first, and then learned to live in terror at the mere mention of his name. His arrival meant you thought of something, had an idea, or worse, you thought of someone you love and miss. A sentimental memory could make you a prisoner of one very quickly.
The still enrolled student body in the Darke feared him at first, and then learned to outsmart him. It wasn’t easy. It took a great deal of control and concentration. It cost them their freedom.
One of the Fetcher’s favorite punishments was to take an offending child and make them kneel in the corner of a pure dark room. Left alone in a room with no light, a person’s imagination begins to wander. The student would be given a sense of freedom. Then the Fetcher would fetch you back.
The freedom was snatched away and replaced with an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach.
It wasn’t the time in the corner that was hard, it was the time after. One would be sullen. One would cry. One would face it and walk away stronger. The student body in the Darke called this chastisement Fears Corner.
Mouse had been waiting forever staring at that desk and chair. He was practicing his control and concentration while he sat. He was waiting for the founder and head monster of this very particular institution. The creepy little man child that was born here. The twisted little mind that imagined a place with no imagination.
Mouse could now hear something ticking but there was nothing else in the room. He turned and looked. The Fetcher was standing behind him against the wall. The ticking stopped. Mouse looked away from him. The ticking started again. Mouse smirked. It’s always a game with the Fetcher.
The smirk fell away from his face as he remembered, it was always a game with the Fetcher but it was always a game with a purpose. He listened carefully to the ticking. It was fading. In its place Mouse could hear footsteps. Little footsteps from behind the wall next to where the Fetcher was standing.
A door opened in the mural wall. There was no one behind it. There was just the sound of footsteps, the tap of a cane and a cough. There was a pause, then a groan and a cough. The footsteps and the tapping began again and a shadow appeared on the wall of the doorway. The footsteps grew louder and the shadow grew larger.
But just for a moment.
The shadow began to shrink as Oracle Darke turned the corner. The footsteps stopped as he stood in the open doorway and glared at Mouse.
Mouse quickly turned away and faced forward. No student in the Darke had ever laid eyes on him. No student had ever spoken to him. No student except for his best friend, Connie.
CASINO SHUFFLE Page 24