Savage

by Richard Laymon

  “Have at it.”

  “Trevor! I’m gonna wet!”

  So I quit. Jesse spent a while giggling and gasping underneath me, but she finally settled down.

  By and by, she said, “It’s downright mean, tickling a body.”

  “Meaner than slapping?”

  “I didn’t hurt you.”

  “I didn’t hurt you, either.”

  “You dang near split my gut.”

  “Shall we call it even, then?”

  “Give me a kiss.”

  Well, that suited me. So I lowered my mouth to hers, fixing to kiss her real sweet, and she gave my lip a nip.

  “Ow! Bloody hell!”

  “Now, we’re even.”

  “Bloody hell! You bit me!”

  “Ain’t the first time.”

  I licked my lower lip and tasted blood. “You made me bleed!”

  Smiling, she nodded. “Don’t fret about it none. I ain’t got the rabies. Not as I know about, leastwise. Did I ever tell you about that feller down El Paso way that…?”

  “You told me.”

  “Let me kiss your hurt and make it better.”

  “And give you another go at chewing on me?”

  “I said we’re even. Don’t you trust me?”

  “You’ve got some mighty peculiar ways about you, Jesse.”

  “That may be. But we’re pardners, ain’t we? You can’t trust your pardner, who can you trust.”

  “Do you promise not to bite?”

  “Word of honor.”

  So I eased my face down toward hers, not quite knowing what to expect. What she did, she slipped out her tongue and licked the blood off my lip. Then she raised her head off the ground and kissed me, just as soft and gentle as you please.

  Pretty soon after that, I rolled off her. We lay on our sides, holding each other.

  I felt ever so peaceful and contented. But it didn’t last. Before long, I took to feeling all hollow and achy inside. This was to be our last night on the trail. Tomorrow, we’d be riding into Tombstone. No matter what else might happen, it would mean the end of our times together in the wilderness. Our times alone, just her and me.

  It would all be over.

  Things would be different, starting tomorrow, and I didn’t want that at all.

  I might never again find myself stretched out on the ground by a campfire, holding Jesse in my arms.

  It gave me the fantods, thinking about such things.

  And it didn’t make a lick of sense, really. We’d still be together in Tombstone. But I couldn’t shake it out of my head that our fine times together were just about over.

  I squeezed Jesse tighter, and she did the same to me.

  “It’ll be all right,” I whispered.

  “Glad you think so.”

  “Still fretting about Sarah?”

  “It ain’t only just her.”

  “Whittle?”

  “I just don’t want to lose you,” she said. “I’ve got me some bad feelings about tomorrow.”

  “We don’t need to go in straight away,” I said, and suddenly felt like whooping with joy.” We won’t go in at all! We’ll head on somewhere else. Perhaps we’ll have a go at Tucson.”

  Jesse’s fingers curled into my back. “I don’t know,” she murmured, but I could tell she liked the notion. “What about Sarah? What about Whittle?”

  “They aren’t likely there, anyhow.” Even as I said that, I realized I didn’t quite believe it. I was lying to myself, lying to Jesse. They might be in Tombstone. And I realized then that Sarah and Whittle were the two reasons I wanted no truck with that town. The only reasons, when it came smack to the truth. “I want nothing to do with either of them,” I said. “I want nothing to do with anyone except you, actually.”

  “Oh, Trevor,” she murmured, and brushed her cheek against mine. “You can’t just let on they don’t exist. I can’t either. We’ve gotta face ‘em. Might as well be tomorrow, if that’s what’s meant to be.”

  “If it’s meant to be, then there’s no call to go rushing after them.”

  “It don’t seem right.”

  “Do you want to go into Tombstone tomorrow?”

  I felt her head shake.

  “It’s settled, then.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything for a while after that, and I thought she might be asleep. But then she raised her face off me and brushed her lips against my mouth and whispered, “I sure do love you, Trevor Wellington Bentley.”

  “Not as much as I love you, Jesse Sue Longley.”

  “That so?”

  “That’s so.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t sell me to the German.”

  Then she kissed me again and pretty soon I rolled so she was stretched out on top of me, the way we’d taken to sleeping every night since the flood. We lay still, not saying anything more. All my bad feelings had gone away, dragged off by my decision to stay shut of Tombstone. I heard the fire crackling and popping, heard a coyote howl off in the distance, heard Jesse’s breathing close to my ear. Before you know it, I was asleep.

  In the morning, we had us one more discussion about Tombstone. Jesse wondered if we ought to go on in just long enough to outfit ourselves with another horse, some equipment and supplies. I allowed as how such things would make our trip a sight easier. We’d only need to spend an hour or two in town, then we could be on the trail again.

  We agreed to do it.

  Jesse mounted on General, me walking, we made our way around the rise and headed for Tombstone. Going straight toward where we’d decided to avoid.

  Even though neither of us wanted to go there.

  We’ll only be in town for a bit, I told myself. Even if Sarah is there, seemed likely we wouldn’t run into her. And Whittle, he’d probably hightailed the night he killed the Clemons women.

  In my head, though, it worked out otherwise.

  In my head, we no sooner started down the main street of town than Sarah popped out of a doorway and her eyes lit on me. All surprised and joyful, she called out my name and ran to me and threw her arms around me. Wept and lavished kisses on my face as Jesse looked on. So then I had to shove her off me and say something like, “Stop it, Sarah. Please. I’m afraid another woman has…” Just what would I say? If she was there, it meant she hadn’t given up on me. It meant she still wanted me for herself. Whatever I might say or do, short of giving up Jesse (not a chance of that), was bound to give her loads of pain. I wanted no part of such a scene.

  Nor did I want a showdown with Whittle. Not in the streets of Tombstone, not with Jesse nearby where he might get ahold of her. Much as I told myself he was long gone, I knew there was a chance he might be there. Maybe he’d found himself a job, or maybe he was living high and mighty off the loot he’d stolen from the True D. Light.

  My common sense told me he wouldn’t be there. For that matter, he might not even have been the bloke who murdered the Clemons women. Sarah wouldn’t be there either.

  That’s what my common sense said.

  But my stomach told me different.

  We were on the trail leading into Tombstone for near a mile when I finally said, “Hold up, there, Jesse.”

  She halted General and turned her head toward me.

  “This isn’t at all where I want to go,” I said.

  “I ain’t looking forward to it much, myself.”

  “So then, why are we doing it?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. Then her face lit up with a big smile. “How many days to Tucson, you reckon?”

  “Long as it takes.”

  She turned General around.

  We put our backs to Tombstone.

  I quickened my pace to catch up, and felt like I was leaving all the grief of the world behind me. I felt so chipper that I actually ran for a while, and left Jesse behind until she put her boots to General and trotted up beside me.

  “Don’t go and wear yourself out,” she said.

  “It’s a grand morning! Smashing!”r />
  It sure is peculiar how things work out. If we’d gone on into Tombstone that day, we would’ve missed Barney Dire. We might’ve avoided Whittle altogether.

  Instead, by turning away from town, we started down a path that would lead us straight into Whittle’s lair.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Apache Sam

  “Hello the fire!” came the voice out of the darkness.

  I’d shot us a jackrabbit that afternoon, so we hadn’t needed to gnaw on mule jerky for our supper. We’d just finished eating it when the man called out.

  It startled us both considerable.

  I snatched out my Colt. Jesse put a hand on my knee to settle me down.

  “Tell him to come on in,” she whispered.

  “Step along into the light where we can see you,” I called. “Don’t let me see any iron in your hands.”

  “If you’re fixing to plug me, I’ll just go on my way and leave you be. I ain’t looking for no trouble.”

  Jesse called, “You’re welcome to come in and set.”

  “Thank you kindly, miss.”

  With that, Barney Dire led his horse into the glow of the firelight. He held his reins in one hand. He held the other hand up, open to show it was empty. That one was short two fingers, the ring finger and pinkie.

  “I seen your light,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

  “Long as you behave,” Jesse told him.

  “I most generally do,” he said. “I ain’t the violent sort, Lord knows—though I run up against it now and again, much as I hate such doings.” He tied his reins to a tall cactus over near General, then sauntered closer.

  Though he had a voice that made him sound like quite a large fellow, he was so pint-sized that he appeared half-lost inside his duds. Everything he wore looked too big for him. The brim of his hat was as wide as his shoulders. The bandanna hanging around his neck looked the size of a tablecloth. His vest hung down so low it draped the butt of his six-gun. His chaps flapped about his legs like a couple of sails.

  Even his thick, dark mustache looked like it belonged on the face of a man twice his size.

  He was all creaking leather and jingling spurs as he stepped to the other side of the fire and sat down.

  With a sigh, he said, “Much obliged. Name’s Dire. Barney Dire.” He touched the brim of his hat.

  “I’m Trevor,” I said. “This is Jesse.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, folks.”

  He had a rather calm, friendly manner about him. His eyes, shiny in the firelight, had a bit of humor or mischief that put me in mind of Jesse. Though it seemed smart to remain cautious, I went on ahead and holstered my Colt.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t any food to offer you,” I said. “We just now finished eating all we had.”

  “Less you’ve got a hankering for some mule jerky,” Jesse told him.

  Barney laughed and shook his head. “Nope, reckon I’ll pass on the offer. Much obliged, anyhow. Just figured to set awhile and jaw with you folks. My old horse, Joey, ain’t much for conversation.”

  “It can get lonely, traveling alone,” I said.

  “Well, there’s worse things than lonely. I’d a sight rather run on my own than get saddled with a sourpuss. Or with a gal, if you’ll beg my pardon, Miss Jesse.”

  I gave Jesse a glance, and saw she was smiling. “What’s your problem with gals?” she asked.

  “Why, they’re generally a sorry lot. All the time bossing and whining. Not as I’m saying you’re any such nuisance.” He tipped a wink at me.

  “Jesse’s quite all right, actually,” I said.

  She laughed.

  “First thing you know, they’re after you to settle down. Don’t want you having no fun, seems as how they look at things. Why, they raise a fit if you have yourself a drink or a chaw, and they treat your friends ornery. If they could, I reckon they’d lock you up and never let you out, ‘cept when it suited them, and that’d only just be to work chores.”

  “I say,” said I, “you do have a rather low opinion of them.”

  “Been married to two of the critters. They was both fine gals till we got us hitched. First thing you know, they up and changed on me. Seems like they was both of ‘em cut out to be penitentiary guards.”

  Jesse laughed.

  “Not as I’m saying you’re any such,” Barney told her.

  “Thanks kindly.”

  “You gonna hitch up with Trevor here?” he asked.

  “Why, I don’t reckon he’s likely to ask, now that you’ve filled his ear with such manure.”

  That got Barney to chuckling softly. “Well, you’re both mighty young yet. Not more than children by much. There ain’t no call to rush into such a tricky game as marriage. How’d you two throw in together, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Jesse had a go at stealing my horse.”

  She blurted, “Tell the whole world, why don’t you!”

  “Well, you didn’t get it, did you?”

  “Only just because I took it easy on you.”

  “I got the drop on you!”

  “I kept my knife to myself.”

  “Settle down, folks,” Barney said. “Lord alive, I didn’t aim to start up a war between you. We don’t want no bloodshed here.”

  “He started it,” Jesse said.

  “I did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “This is what comes,” Barney broke in, “of poking my nose into matters that don’t concern me. I’m right sorry I asked. Somebody oughta cut it off for me so’s I’ll stop sticking it where it don’t belong. Already missing enough parts, though.” He held up his hand to show us which parts he meant. “Got ‘em shot clean off in Phoenix back in eighty-four. Minding my own business, too. Just having myself a beer when a couple of hotheads down the other end of the bar took to throwing lead and a stray slug found me. Took off both my fingers clean as a whistle.”

  “I had it figured,” Jesse said, “that one of your wives took a knife to you.”

  “Ain’t how it happened. Not that you’re far off the track, though. My first wife, she took after me with a knife every time I came home with a snootful. Got me some scars to show for it, but she never got off a piece of me. Not for lack of trying. I’m small, but quick.” He held what was left of his hand close to the fire and studied it. “Nope, it wasn’t Aggie carried off my fingers. Just a dang bullet.”

  “Does it cause you much trouble, being without them?” I asked.

  “Oh, I get by. They don’t amount to much. Knew a feller got his thumb shot off. Caused him a sight of bother, as he was in the midst of gunplay when it happened. Couldn’t cock his six-gun, what with his thumb on the ground. He went to drag back the hammer with his teeth, but never got to finish. The same rascal that shot his thumb off plugged him full of holes while he still had the hammer in his chops.” Barney wiggled his own thumb. “You’re better off losing just about any old part than your thumb. I’d a sight rather lose a couple fingers. Comes right down to it, a feller can get by minus an ear or an eye better than a thumb.”

  “I bit off a feller’s ear, once,” Jesse said.

  I looked at her, surprised.

  “Well, I did.”

  “You never told me.”

  “There’s a heap I’ve never told you.” Leaning forward, elbows on knees, she grinned across at Barney. “It was a sidewinder name of Hank Dappy.” That name sounded vaguely familiar. I judged it might be one of those she’d reeled off the time she was telling me about all the rascals who’d had a go at her. “He jumped me—fixing to have some high times on account of me being a girl, you know. Well, I bit his ear clean off. You should’ve just seen him, how he cried and carried on. Well, he chased after me. Went raving as how he’d take his ear back and stick it up my you-know-what.”

  I didn’t know what, exactly, but didn’t speak out.

  “I allowed as how that was likely to pain me some, so I didn’t aim to let him get his
ear back. He was just about to catch me, so I turned around and plonked that stinky old ear of his into my mouth and ate it whole.”

  “Jesse!” I blurted.

  “Well, I did.”

  Barney gazed across the fire at her. He looked purely astonished. “Ain’t you the spitfire!” he said. “My Lord!”

  “And did you swallow it?” I asked.

  “Why, sure. Dappy, he was so flummoxed he stopped dead in his tracks. Reckon he figured I was a crazy woman, so he took to his heels and that was the last I ever seen of his mangy hide.”

  Barney, grinning under his mammoth mustache, shook a finger in my direction. “You’d best watch yourself with this one, young feller. She’ll be having pieces of you.”

  Not to be outdone, I spoke up and said, “I once cut off a bloke’s nose, myself.”

  “Why, you pair of rascals are meant for each other. Did you gobble it up?”

  I shook my head.

  “She’s got you beat, then. Won by a nose.”

  We all spent some time laughing over that. Barney rocked back and forth some, holding his knees. After we’d settled down, he said, “Now how came you to cut off the nose of this feller?”

  “He was trying to kill me, actually. And I him. I was rather hoping to give him a fatal wound, you see, but his nose intercepted my knife.”

  “Took it clean off, did you?”

  “Indeed. It fell to the street.”

  “Should’ve eaten it,” Jesse said, and gave my ribs a knock with her elbow.

  “I was rather too busy trying to save my skin.”

  “I once saw me an Apache squaw that’d lost her nose,” Barney said. “Sure didn’t help her looks none. Which is why they done it to her. Any time as you see yourself a squaw that’s had her nose sliced off, you know she got herself caught fooling with a feller that weren’t her husband. Lets everybody see what brand of woman she is. It’s plain as the nose off her face.” Barney chuckled softly and shook his head.

  “It seems a trifle extreme,” I said.

  “That’s Apaches for you. They’re the downright extremest sons a bitches that ever walked the dirt. And they ain’t particular who they butcher. I’ve seen such things as give me the night sweats.”

  “Sure glad we ain’t gotta worry about ‘em,” Jesse said.