Basque Moon

by Julie Weston

  Pearl sat with the other tourists around the fireplace, a metal plate in her lap. Her face changed from a gaunt paleness to one with color, as if a paintbrush dipped in pink had washed over her. “Nellie!” The plate clattered to the ground as she stood to greet Nell, wrapping her in a bear hug and whispering, “I thought they’d gotten you.” Out loud, she laughed. “I thought you’d fallen in. Where you been?”

  “I took a walk up the trail a ways. When I saw this animal, I thought the bear cub had returned, looking for its mother.” She glowered at one of the hands who tended the fire. “But it was Moonshine. I worried he’d run away forever last night when the mountain lion scared our horse.” She knelt down to her dog and hugged him. “But here he is. He must have followed our scent to find our camp! Smart dog,” she crooned.

  The expression on the other woman’s face was halfway between relief at Nellie showing up and exasperation about the dog. Pearl knew Moonie had been with the sheriff. Once the two of them were alone, Nell would have to tell her something approximating the truth. To forestall that moment and give herself time to think, she said, “I smell breakfast. Can a visitor get a bite to eat? I’m starving!”

  The same two men who had brought coffee the night before showed up with a plate heaped with fried potatoes, sausage patties, muffins, gravy, and two eggs. “Oh my. I haven’t eaten this much in a week!”

  Luke showed up as well. “I don’t allow dogs in camp. The horses get nervous and dogs scare away the animals the campers come to see.”

  And shoot, Nellie thought, but didn’t say. “This one is well behaved and I’ll keep him by my side.” She dug in to her food and turned toward the two gentlemen. “You’re so kind!” she said, echoing Pearl from the night before.

  Pearl and Nellie let the touring women talk them into staying with the group, at least for the day and another night. They hiked together around the lake, then walked up to the higher lake, Washington Lake, accompanied by Moonshine who stayed by Nellie’s side as if stuck there. Some of the men headed out with guns intent on bagging another bear. Nellie wished them bad luck. The day was warm and the scenery beautiful. Except for chatter from time to time, Nellie enjoyed the sounds of scolding squirrels and ravens calling to each other. One of them changed its call to a metallic “krr-poing” sound. Perhaps he was courting. The rock cirque around Washington Lake was largely talus, a stark contrast to the trees beyond Fourth of July Lake. Nearly every sound elicited a faint echo, as if in an amphitheater.

  More than anything, Nellie wanted to bathe in the lake. She proposed that she and Pearl remain behind when the others began to ready themselves to return to camp, embellishing Pearl’s story from the night before by adding a day of wandering and little food and no water except a creek, which was being fished in by a bear, so they’d avoided it. The women tittered and warned them to return before dark. They would guard the trail ahead so no men would venture upon them while they were in the water.

  Once they were alone, Pearl confronted Nellie about the dog and the sheriff. Nellie told her about the meeting in the woods and that the sheriff had left the area, returning to the Basin. Both of them stripped and tiptoed into the icy water. Neither stayed in long, although Nellie noticed Pearl watched her satchel as closely as Nell watched her camera pack. Moonshine waded into the water with them and then lay down by the pack. Nellie would have liked to wash her clothes too, but had not brought any soap. Nevertheless, after hesitating a few minutes, she grabbed her pants, shirt, and underthings and swished them through the water. Even getting off the dust and surface dirt and blood from scratches would make her feel cleaner.

  “Now you have to wait for them to dry,” Pearl pointed out. She stood on a rock on the shore, her skin rosy from the chilly dip.

  “Yes, but we’re not going anywhere anyway.” Nellie brought her clothes out of the water, wrung them, and spread them to dry on the hot rocks around the lake. Naked, she felt vulnerable and wondered if Pearl felt the same way. If she did, it wasn’t apparent. Pearl waded back into the shallows and stepped from one smooth rock to the next. Nell gathered herself together on a large flat rock and decided now was as good a time as any.

  “Pearl, who killed Domingo?” It was a stark question, and Pearl seemed not to have heard it. She leaned over and inspected a piece of white rock, quartz perhaps. Just as Nell thought she’d ask again, Pearl stood and faced her, looking as if she had just stepped out of a French Impressionist’s painting, one Nell had seen at the Chicago Art Institute.

  “I did.” Her face crumpled. “I didn’t mean to. They put a rope around Domingo and pulled him through the rocks and sage. Just because they thought I’d—” She turned away and back again. “I didn’t. I just danced because he played music on his flute.” She blushed. “I screamed. They stopped. Then Wolfman let loose that wolf dog, just like on you. I reached into the camp and got the Winchester and shot it in the air. I thought that would stop the dog. But it didn’t. It tore into Domingo. I shot again, but I didn’t hit the dog. I hit Domingo!” Her voice ended in a wail.

  Nell didn’t know what to think. Was this another act? “Who pulled him with a rope?”

  Pearl squatted and dragged her hand through the water. “The Boss. Wolfman and Dick were with him. Dick started it all, saying I shouldn’t have been at the sheep camp, and that I’d been fooling around with the sheepherder. Then the Boss said they’d have a little fun with the maggot-herder. He was a pain anyway. I went along because I thought I could stop them.”

  “Who was the Boss?”

  Pearl stood and skipped a flat rock across the still surface of the lake. Both of them counted the skips: ten before it sank. She stepped over to her pile of clothes and dressed herself.

  “I’m taking a walk.” Subject closed.

  Would Nell ever get any more information from Pearl? Nellie remembered her own scrape between two dogs at Smiley Creek. She shuddered to think someone would have fired a gun then. And the wolfdog when it charged her at the moonshine camp. Was it really Pearl who killed it then or Dick who cradled the gun? Domingo’s clothes had been torn and his body scraped. She had photos—maybe.

  Nell found a grassy place a few steps away from the shore, carried her pack to it, and laid down with her head against her camera. “Here, Moonshine. Keep me warm.” The dog curled up next to Nellie, who closed her eyes and felt her skin gradually warm. Her brief shivering slowed and ended. In spite of all the questions she had about Pearl’s confession, drowsiness overtook her.

  A low rumbling from Moonshine awoke Nellie. “What is it?” she whispered, frantically groping around for her clothes. “Pearl.” No answer. Nellie rolled to her knees and glanced around, seeing her clothes with relief, and no person. Quickly, she donned her shirt and pants, still slightly damp along the seams. Moonie stood facing the trail from the other lake, the hair on his neck straight up, the rumble almost too low to hear, but continuous, more like a cat’s purr than a threatening dog sound. Nellie’s own hackles rose. She grabbed her camera pack and Pearl’s satchel, which still lay by the shore, and moved toward several large rocks, hoping to hide herself before whatever her dog growled at appeared along the path.

  A boulder as tall as Nellie rested near one of the trees and she hurried toward it for cover. Just as she reached the rock, Moonie’s growl turned to both barking and snarling. A man leaped up onto the top from behind it, a movement so rapid Nellie could hardly stop herself in her own haste. He prepared to jump down on Nellie, his body hunched in its buckskin, the fringes still dancing from the movement, his hands grasping and his face a rotten-toothed menacing grimace. Wolfman Pitts. “Now there ain’t no one to save you. I’ll murder that dog of yours soon as look at ’em.” He pulled a knife from a strap near his boot. “And you, too. Comin’ along to ruin me.”

  “Heel,” Nellie ordered and Moonshine moved back to her leg, growling low and crouched as well. “The outfitters will get you, Mr. Pitts. They’re just down the way. Leave me alone.” Her voice quavered and
her knees felt like water. She took a step backward, still clutching her camera pack and the satchel. The gun. Was it still there? “And I didn’t ruin you. I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you mean?” While she talked, she slipped one hand into the satchel, groping blindly, found a metal tube and pulled on it, then realized it was the flashlight.

  “A knife’s quiet. It slices without a sound. No outfitters gonna hear me, just your screams, and that’ll be too late.” He crouched even lower and Nellie could tell from his eyes that he intended to do what he said. “That skunk of a sheriff’ll find my still, but he won’t never find you. The varmints’ll take care of that.”

  “He doesn’t want your still. He wants the murderer—th . . . the man who killed Domingo.” She gripped the flashlight hard. “I have a gun. I’ll shoot you just like your dog was shot.”

  The man’s red-rimmed eyes widened and he snarled like a coyote and threw himself toward Nellie. She dodged to the side away from his knife, but his other arm caught her as he landed and whirled her to him, the camera pack caught between them, but protecting her from the knife hand that slashed a tear in the pack. She ducked her head and rammed it up against his chin and stomped on his foot. Still, his arm squeezed like a vise, even as he almost fell backward. Moonshine attacked the man’s head, his teeth bared. A bloody rip appeared along one cheek. By then, Nellie had the flashlight out of the pack. She beat along the upper arm holding the knife and was sure she broke it, but he continued to slash, finally slashing her upraised forearm. Even as she dropped the flashlight, the sunlight off the blade almost blinded her. She pushed against the man with all her strength and knew this was the same person who had stolen her from the roadhouse. Never had she felt so helpless against such iron strength. Then Moonshine gripped the man’s shoulder above the knife arm. His teeth sank into the buckskin, sank deeper, and the dog shook his head, bracing his feet on the man’s back. Wolfman Pitts screamed, released the knife, and let Nellie go. She stumbled backward and fell sideways, her head striking a rock, although not hard enough to knock her out.

  The wolf-man dove to the ground, rolling over, and Moonshine released his grip. The man scrambled to his feet, again in a crouch, like a mountain lion’s. His hands curled and he swiped toward the dog, but Moonie was quicker. He leaped once again, this time at the throat of his enemy, his snarl deadly and loud, his muzzle bared, his teeth sharp. Pitts dodged just enough so that the dog only grazed his throat, but the man fell, grabbing onto Moonshine as he went down. Over and over they rolled, crunching against rock, dust flying. Blood splattered, landing on stone and leaves.

  Nellie crawled to her hands and knees, trying to clear her head. Dizziness swarmed her eyes, her ears. The knife. If she could find the knife, she could kill Wolfman Pitts. She scrambled toward the large boulder and hurriedly searched the ground with her hands and her eyes. There it was, a red stain on the tip of the blade. She scooped it up and gripped it in her right hand. With her left, she grabbed the flashlight, still a good weapon, and scuttled toward the raging man-dog rowl. As at Smiley Creek, she couldn’t get at one of the pair without risking hurting the other, Moonie. Just like Pearl.

  As she circled, the twisting, snarling man-and-beast clump came to rest against another boulder. The man grasped the dog with both hands and lifted him in the air. Nellie dashed around to the side and shoved the knife into Wolfman Pitts’s left shoulder. She felt it meet gristle and bone. Sickened, she shoved harder. He screamed and tossed the dog ten feet to land on its back in a loud whumpf. Moonie lay still.

  “Now you ain’t got no help, bitch-woman.” The man panted. Blood poured down one side of his face. He reached around to his back, clutched the knife handle, and, with a sharp yank, pulled it out, tossing it into bushes alongside the rock. “I’ll get you with my bare hands. Watch you strangle, your tongue turn purple, your eyes bulge.”

  Nellie didn’t wait. She clambered to her feet and began to run, leaving her pack and her dog. The trail was trampled and dry so that she could move fast. Her pursuer might be strong, but he was hurt and losing blood. He had to weaken. It was less than a mile to the camp. “Help!” she called, knowing her voice carried no farther than the next bend. “Luke! Pearl!” She tried to make her voice deeper, but she needed every breath to keep placing one foot in front of the other without stumbling.

  A gunshot barked from behind her and echoed off the rocky cirque. “Oh, no.” Nellie fell to her knees. He shot Moonshine! She hung her head a moment, then realized if the man had a gun, he would have used it sooner, wouldn’t he? She stood and turned in the path, waiting for the monster who followed her. Only a forest quiet greeted her. No pounding, no snarling, no rocks cracking against each other. No birds or squirrels either. One slow step at a time, Nellie retraced her steps, wondering if she were walking into gruesome death.

  At the lake, Moonie stood next to the leather-clad figure lying along the shore. Nellie moved cautiously forward. Wolfman Pitts didn’t move. Was it a trick? Moonshine wouldn’t stand still if Pitts were alive, she reasoned, so she approached in a circular fashion, finding a gun along the edge of her path as she crept up behind the man’s head. She picked it up and she, too, stood over the man. A bleeding hole in his temple told her all she needed to know. She resisted the strong desire to shoot, to place another hole beside the one already there.

  The water lapped quietly, barely moving. Her hand trembled. Her mouth filled with saliva. Think! The gun in her hand was Pearl’s, Nellie was certain. When Moonshine was the target of the gun, Nellie had a good look at it. This was the same kind. Where was Pearl? Even as she looked around, she realized that this young woman had saved her once again. So much for the sheriff’s theory that Pearl intended to “do her in.”

  Thumps along the trail made her heart beat faster. She prepared to run again. Were the rest of the moonshiners coming now, intent on finishing what Pitts started? No time. Nellie raised the gun with both hands and aimed it toward the path, her finger on the trigger. Moonshine braced himself against her, his growl reactivated. They had faced down one enemy together. Perhaps they could do it again, this time with a real weapon on their side.

  The noise became a horse trotting rapidly and then the animal itself with Luke in the saddle. He reined in as soon as he saw Nellie pointing the gun at him. “The women heard a scream. I heard a gunshot. Are you all right?” He jumped down and walked slowly toward her. “Are you aiming that at me?”

  Nellie was wary of any man after what she’d just been through. Luke didn’t seem dangerous, so she lowered the gun, but not all the way. “It depends. Who’s with you?” Her voice sounded tinny to her own ears. Another horseman appeared, this one riding bareback. Hank, the man who brought up the Model T. The man who did errands. He reined up, too, but remained on his horse, staying back in the shade of the trees. When he turned and looked behind him, Nellie realized she knew him, or rather, had photographed him. He had been sitting at the bar in the saloon and had shaded his face when she readied her camera for the long row of cowboys drinking.

  Only then did Luke see the prone man behind Nellie. “Who is that? What happened here?” He stepped toward Nellie. “You’re bleeding,” he said, gesturing toward her arm with the slashed sleeve, her left arm. “Miss Burns, let me help you.” Moonshine crouched, ready to spring on the outfitter.

  “It’s all right, Moonshine.” She lowered the gun the rest of the way and turned back toward Wolfman Pitts, deciding in that moment what to do.

  “I shot him,” she said.

  CHAPTER 13

  Luke and Nellie stood over the body. The face in death still menaced and his eyes stared, a blind gelatinous leer at the world. To Nell, he looked as murderous as when he was alive and she stepped back. A life gone, and she couldn’t feel anything but a release of fear. She understood now that she could kill a man. Before Luke could say anything or Nell could sort out why she said she’d murdered Pitts, a long Halloooooo sounded from halfway around the lake. “Nellieeeeee. A
re you all right?” There was no mistaking Pearl’s voice. Nellie looked at the gun in her hand and back up the lake. If Pearl didn’t shoot Pitts, then who did?

  “Pearl!” she called. “Come back!” She faced away from the grotesque body and turned toward the lake, as serene as if nothing had happened along its rocky strand, her mind filled with waves of words trying to work them into an explanation. “We took a bath in the lake after the other ladies left. Pearl went off exploring. I washed out my things and fell asleep, waiting for them to dry.” Nell gestured toward the figure that was now moving toward them, her progress slow and uneven because of talus running from the cirque down into the water itself. “I got dressed and then Moonshine began to growl. This . . . this man—” Nellie decided not to identify him “—came out of the woods and attacked me. Moonshine tried to rescue me.” Her voice broke and she knelt down and hugged her dog, murmuring as she ran one hand along his neck and his back to see if she could find any cuts. The other hand still held the gun. The weight of it was beginning to feel comfortable, as if it did indeed belong to her.

  “So you shot him in self-defense,” Luke said. “Where’d you get that gun?” He reached for it, but Nellie held onto it. She wasn’t giving it up to anyone.

  “We carried it. For protection.”

  By then, Pearl was narrowing the gap and Nellie ran forward, her own breath coming in short gasps as if she, rather than her companion, had been clambering over rocks and whitewashed logs. “He attacked me. I shot him. While you were gone.”

  Pearl grasped Nellie by the shoulders. “Are you all right? I heard a scream, that dog barking and snarling. . . .” She let her words drift, then reached for the gun, just as Luke had done. Nellie twisted out of the other woman’s grasp, which hadn’t been all that gentle, and said, “He tried to kill me and Moonshine both. He came out of the woods and threatened to . . . he had a knife . . . I tried to. . . .” Calm down, Nellie told herself. She had already explained what happened, and by her own false admission warned Pearl. More words might make the story change. Until the two of them were alone, she couldn’t talk about exactly what happened. She had been certain Pearl had fired the gun, but now Nell’s lie became the story.