Power in the Blood

by Greg Matthews

  “Walk me over there,” Fay said, pointing to the trees beyond the clearing.

  “All right,” Drew said, knowing the kind of reassurance she required. He took her hand and led her away from the cabin. Drew asked himself if he was using her, and could not decide; he would ask himself the same question afterward, with a mind less clouded by desire.

  Clay could no more take his eyes off Omie than she could look anywhere but at him. He had attempted several times to raise the topic of his visions and dreams down through the years, but was afraid to appear foolish in front of Fay Torrey and Bones. With both of them gone, he began again to try and comprehend what it was that linked him to this girl with the blue face. Omie herself had been unresponsive, in the manner of a confused child, when he broached any mention of himself and her, so this time he asked the mother outright. “Ma’am, I’ve met your daughter before, but only in my thoughts, if you see what I mean, never in the flesh, as they say. Ma’am, I don’t know what it means. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Mrs. Brannan?”

  “I do, and then again, Mr. Zeebub, I do not. Omie has said several times that she was pursued by, or found herself in close proximity to, an entity she referred to as ‘the tall man.’ His description matches your own, Mr. Zeebub. I do not presume to know why this should be.”

  Clay wanted to tell the woman, even the girl—who was much too young to hear, let alone understand, the things aching to spill from his lips—about his experiences: not only those relating to the appearance in his dreams of Omie, but the way in which she had assisted him in his search for the killer and maimer of the southwest territories known as Slade to the nation but known by Clay to be Wixson, the seeker after the soul, whom Clay believed to be Morgan Kindred, adoptive parent of his own lost brother, Drew Dugan. Clay wanted to discuss all this, but could not; it was too personal, too closely associated with Clay Dugan, and for the sake of Mr. Jones of Denver’s money, he was, to all intents and purposes, B. L. Zeebub, whose job it was to bring mother and daughter, but especially daughter, to Mr. Jones, for whatever reason that frail old man saw fit. So Clay Dugan held his tongue, even if it hurt him to do so.

  Even Omie was not without constraint. For most of the afternoon, and well into the evening, her head reverberated with the echo of her terror when first she’d seen the tall man who came to visit, and she could do nothing but cause pots and pans to clatter, and turn over and over in her thoughts the incredibility of seeing the tall man before her, an actual man of flesh and blood, with holes in his face, just as he had been in her dreams down through the years.

  Then, with the arrival of evening, and the disappearance of Bones and the new lady, Omie became calm and cogent. She looked inside the tall man’s head and saw there a desert, on the far side of which lay his true identity. His name was not Mr. Zeebub, which Omie knew already that nobody believed, but she could not see the real name either, so far away was it. Mr. Zeebub was a liar, but he was not a bad man, that much was clear to her, and he was fascinated by herself, Omie saw that also, so she was not inclined to confront him with his silly name, and perhaps put a pain inside his head, until such time as he saw fit to speak the truth and let them all know who he really was. Omie was prepared to wait. She was afraid still, yet every bit as interested in Zeebub as he appeared to be in her. She was a part of him, and he a part of Omie, for reasons neither of them could grasp.

  “Are you … a robber, Mr. Zeebub?”

  “Ma’am, I’ve turned my hand to many things, and have no legitimate profession that I’d choose to share with a lady like yourself.”

  “I’m a fugitive from the law also, and cannot sit in judgment. I ask about your past not from any moral presumption, Mr. Zeebub, but to find out, if I can, why it is that you and Omie are linked in so unusual a manner. There seems to be more at work here than coincidence, I do believe.”

  “Ma’am, I do myself, but I can’t give you any answers.”

  “Then it may be that we must simply wait for them to be revealed in due time, as dictated by … shall we call it fate, Mr. Zeebub?”

  “Good as any other name, ma’am.”

  He looked at Omie, who had not taken her eyes from him for more than a few seconds in the past several hours. “Can you tell us, little lady?”

  Omie did not shake her head, or nod, or blink an eye.

  “Guess not,” said Clay, disappointed, but at the same time relieved. He didn’t trust Omie not to blurt out something that would send Jones’s promised money scattering in the winds of whatever revelation came rushing from her mouth. Clay had to keep reminding himself about that money, or else allow his thoughts to be consumed by curiosity over the girl, which would lead nowhere. She could destroy him with a word, he was sure. Omie silent was a sight better than Omie talkative. The girl’s eyes were deep as mountain lakes, and just as dangerous. Clay felt himself balanced on epiphany’s cusp, fearful of tumbling down into familiar darkness.

  “Ma’am, why was it you got Bones out of jail?”

  “I thought he was Lodi. Fortunately he’s able to contact Lodi through some means or other. I expect he’ll be here soon.”

  “And what was the nature of your wanting to meet Lodi, ma’am, if it’s not outside of my business?”

  “I want him to perform a robbery for me, Mr. Zeebub.”

  “Train robbery?”

  “He seems to excel at such things, by all accounts.”

  “That he does, but I was wondering, ma’am, seeing as you’re Mrs. Brannan, and Mr. Brannan’s got plenty of what it takes, just why you’d need to be robbing a train.”

  “I’m no longer his wife, but in any case, robbery for profit’s sake is not my intention.”

  “Oh,” said Clay, and when Zoe said nothing more, he asked, “Well, what is your intention, ma’am?”

  “That is for Lodi to learn. Bones says you wish to join up with his partners, and if you do, I’m sure the details will be shared with you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No offense has been taken, I assure you. A man such as yourself, Mr. Zeebub, who has frequented my daughter’s dreams, could never pry. I feel … I almost feel that you have been a part of our lives for so long already. Do you have similar feelings at all?”

  “Ma’am, I do, and I just don’t know what to make of it.”

  Drew came back to the cabin first, and Fay slipped inside shortly after. Zoe went to her and suggested they begin preparing a meal from the ample supplies on hand, and Fay nodded without a word. Drew gave Clay the nod to come outside, and Clay did so. Drew led him to a nearby creek and pulled a jug from it. They passed it back and forth in the increasingly chilly gloom beneath the pines, then ventured out into the open again, to watch the sky and the softly glowing cabin windows.

  “See that shooting star?” Drew asked.

  “Missed it.”

  “They’re good luck.”

  “Well, that’s the story of my life.”

  Drew laughed. “Maybe your life’s about to change when Lodi gets back.”

  “What’s this robbery she wants him to do?”

  Drew hesitated, then went ahead and told him.

  Clay said, “We’ll need to see a few more shooting stars to bring that off.”

  “Could be Lodi’ll say no. He sticks his neck out to get what he wants, but never so far it’ll get chopped.”

  “He’ll need an extra man for it, is my bet.”

  “Most likely. Zeebub, I don’t know why exactly, but I trust you, so listen. One of the boys coming back with Lodi is called Nate Haggin, and he’s a low dog. He left me on foot down Cortez way when we were jumped, just rode on by when he could just as easy have picked me up. I’m going to have to call him out over it sometime or other, and I’d appreciate it if you’d back me up, if it comes to that. Nate’s got Lodi behind him, I’ll tell you that right now. Those two go way back, rode with Arch Powell when Powell was big news up in Montana.”

  “I know.”

/>   “I guess Fay told you about her old man being with the same bunch, and her ma being with Lodi now, or at least until Cortez. I expect he shucked her off fast after that.”

  “You don’t take women along in this line of work.”

  “Tell that to Mrs. Brannan.”

  “You tell her.”

  The jug went back and forth several more times before Drew asked, “Zeebub, what the hell was all that when we rode up today?”

  “Can’t explain it,” said Clay.

  “I know Omie’s a strange one. Why, she can make things move without laying a finger on them, and she can see inside your head, Zeebub, she really can.”

  “My head?”

  “Anyone’s head. It’s a gift, her ma says.”

  “I got a gift like that, I’d wrap it up and send it back.”

  Drew laughed easily. Clay could tell Bones liked him, and although he found it flattering, never having been truly liked by anyone before, he saw Bones as too trusting, too open-hearted to be an outlaw. He expected that any kind of a fight between Bones and Nate Haggin would result in Bones’s death. It was generally that way with good men; they didn’t have the meanness to kill when they needed to. He felt a paternal sense of concern growing in him, a sensation Clay had not experienced since the early years of his son’s life.

  The cabin door opened, and Fay stood silhouetted against the light. Clay felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing how completely she belonged to Bones.

  “Are you men out there doing nothing?” she called.

  “No,” Drew called back. “We’re drinking!”

  “Well, quit right now and come eat.”

  She slammed the door.

  “That’s a harsh woman sometimes, Zeebub, but I like her.”

  “Do you trust her?”

  “That’s a horse of a different color, as they say.”

  They set the jug down, handy for later, and went inside.

  Omie would not eat, but sat looking at Clay. Zoe could do nothing with her, and so stopped trying.

  “What’s wrong with your girl, Mrs. Brannan?” asked Fay.

  “Oh, nothing new. Set your mind free of it, Miss Torrey, Omie will only baffle you as she does me.”

  The men made suitable comments of appreciation over the meal, even if it was, in truth, not especially tasty, and retired outside to their jug again as speedily as they could.

  “Let them get their blanket set up,” said Drew. “It hangs across the room and gives them privacy. I always go outside anyway when Mrs. Brannan wants to get undressed behind it, just to keep her happy.”

  “That’s not a happy woman, Bones.”

  “Not till Lodi gets back, she isn’t.”

  “How about Omie? Is she happy? Can you tell, with all her strangeness?”

  “I’d call her happy, sure, till you came along, that is. I never did see her before like she is now. You’ve spooked her, Zeebub.”

  Clay wanted to discuss with Bones the mysterious dreams he and Omie had shared for so long, but could not. Even the jug would never crack his jaw to that extent. Bones, however, seemed eager to talk, and Clay assumed it was the company of females that made him want to spend time with another man. Bones talked of his boyhood in Galveston, living next door to a whorehouse, and his brief stint with the army. Clay was startled to learn how Bones lost his finger at the behest of Panther Stalking and Kills With a Smile.

  “The hell you say! Why, I intended hunting those two down one time for the glory of it.”

  “You never would’ve caught them, Zeebub, but they would’ve caught you sniffing around and had your balls in your mouth before you could blink. They were crazy in the head, those two, but they weren’t always that way.”

  “You knew them before?”

  “I surely did, that’s why they spared me.”

  He told Clay about the mission at San Bartolomeo, and the events there that took him eventually to Galveston.

  “That’s the wildest story I ever heard. Is all of this true, Bones?”

  “True as my name’s John Bones. Wait up there; it’s truer than that. My real name’s Dugan, but it got changed when I got adopted back when I was small; not changed to Bones—hell no. I picked that for myself at San Bartolomeo and kind of stuck with it, like it was a good luck charm, I guess. Care to tell me your real name? It sure as hell isn’t Zeebub, now is it. Zeebub, are you all right? Hey, Zeebub.”

  “What’s your first name?” Clay asked, his voice flat.

  “Andrew. They called me Drew, though. Listen, don’t tell Fay I’m not called Bones. I just know she’d be mad at me over it, you know how women always want you to share every little thing.”

  “What’s the name of the folks that adopted you?”

  “What for? I never called myself by their name after they died.”

  “The name,” said Clay, his voice almost a groan.

  “Kindred. Morgan and Sylvie. That was back in Illinois.”

  “This Kindred, was he dark-haired, with religion?”

  “He had God so deep inside him he walked funny. Religion’s what took us down to where Smart Crow found me. She died there, Sylvie did, and Kindred too.”

  “You saw him die?”

  “Well, the last time I laid eyes on him he was walking around the wagon and spouting from the Bible like a crazy man. How’d you guess he had religion?”

  “Pass me that jug, Drew boy, and let me tell you more about yourself, even further back than Illinois. The Kindreds got you off the orphan train, didn’t they, and you got on that train back in Albany, just down the road from Schenectady, you and Zoe and me.”

  “You? You were on that train? You’re joshing me.…”

  “I was there.…”

  “What’s your name, goddamn it, Zeebub? Maybe I can recall.…”

  “Did I change that much? Don’t you know me, Drew? Must be the way my face is nowadays, the scars and all.…”

  “Clay …?”

  “The same.”

  It was the noise outside that made Fay open the door. Dugan and Bones were rolling together beneath the trees nearby, fighting, it seemed. She knew it must have been Dugan who started it, not Bones.

  “What are they doing?” asked Zoe, hearing the commotion now that the door was open.

  “Fighting. Can you make him stop, Dugan … Zeebub, I mean? He’s the one started it I bet. He’ll listen to you.”

  Zoe thought Fay was addressing her when the name Dugan was uttered, and wondered how she knew her maiden name. She went outside with Fay beside her.

  “I don’t think they’re fighting.… They’re laughing!”

  “Oh, they’re blind drunk, the both of them.”

  “Best leave them alone. Men will be men.”

  “Boys, more like it.”

  They returned to the cabin. Omie had fallen asleep behind the blanket an hour before, still not herself, still silent. Zoe sat and looked at Fay. “How did you know my name was Dugan?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say it was. Your name’s Brannan.”

  “But it used to be Dugan. What made you say it, Miss Torrey?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Excuse me, Fay, but I’m sure I heard you. May I call you Fay? It seems silly to keep on being so formal, the situation here being what it is.…”

  “I didn’t say it. I didn’t say anything.”

  Zoe could tell Fay’s denials would only become more adamant if she persisted. Fay’s lie was obvious, yet Zoe could not understand why it was necessary. She tried to recall the context in which that one word had stood out so, and after a moment’s concentration, realized Fay had been referring to B. L. Zeebub.

  “So his name is Dugan,” said Zoe, “the same as mine once was. I don’t see why you felt you needed to hide it from me, Fay. I knew his name couldn’t possibly be as foolish as he’d have us believe.”

  “I didn’t say it was Dugan! I didn’t!”

  “Very well. I seem to have upset you, and I apologize.”r />
  “I just didn’t say it, that’s all. I’m not upset.”

  “No. Well, I believe I’ll ask those drunken men to share the joke with us women. Would you care to know what it is that makes them act like schoolboys?”

  “No.”

  Zoe stood up and went to the door, aware at every step that Fay’s eyes were following her. The sense of relief she felt when the door closed behind her was like stepping into cool shade after the heat of the noonday sun. She did not know why Fay should have taken a dislike to her so abruptly, nor why she should insist on holding to her lie. Perhaps B. L. Zeebub was drunk enough to enlighten her. The men had separated, and were lying with their backs against a tree, catching their breath. She could smell the liquor on them as she approached.

  “Mr. Zeebub, I wish to have a word with you if I may.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Mr. Zeebub, is your name Dugan, by any chance? I ask only because that happens to have been my maiden name.”

  Both men stared at her, then at each other. Zoe became irritated by the dumbfounded expressions on their faces, a look so broadly incredulous she could detect it by moonlight.

  “Well, Mr. Zeebub? May I expect a reply before sunup?”

  “No …,” said Clay, his voice like a sigh.

  “No?”

  “No, I mean …”

  “Zoe?” asked Drew. “Zoe?”

  “Are you Zoe?” Clay asked also.

  “Certainly. I didn’t tell you so?” she asked Drew.

  “No, no … you didn’t.”

  “Zoe Dugan …” Clay sighed.

  Zoe was startled to see tears dribbling down his ugly face. Liquor was disgusting stuff if it made grown men behave in so ridiculous a fashion.