“So you think,” Ardiss wheezed as Lancaster shifted his weight violently to his right, toward the downhill side of the trail, “that you can just … waltz into my territory … insult me … and not answer for it?”
As Lancaster shifted his weight, he pulled Ardiss into a bear hug and flipped over, landing precariously on the downhill slope, but with the sheriff underneath him. “Hardly, waltzing, sir. Merely preoccupied.” He released Ardiss from the hug, pushing himself up with his left hand pressing into Ardiss’ chest. “It does seem to me, though,” he observed raising his right hand up for a punch, “that you’re making an awfully large show over noth--”
The rest of his thought was cut off by first a scream then an agonized sigh as Ardiss managed to get his mouth around Lancaster’s wrist and bite down, then jerk his leg straight into Lancaster’s crotch with a surge or renewed energy.
Lancaster rolled further down the hill, and Ardiss managed to pull himself onto all fours and scrambled after him, still coughing up mud and plant. A beetle flew from his mouth as he coughed.
The Irishman managed to pull himself up to his knees, red-faced and teary, hands gripping the earth as if to keep him from flying off into space. Ardiss rose to his feet as he neared him and held out his hand.
“Truce?”
Lancaster nodded. Ardiss leaned down to help the man up; Lancaster grabbed the sheriff’s outstretched hand and pulled back as hard as he could, flipping Ardiss over Lancaster’s shoulders and onto his back in the mud. The effort was too much for the Irishman, though, and he fell beside the sheriff with a thud.
The two men lay side by side exhausted. Ardiss, with a groan, rolled to his side facing his adversary, balled his fist, and tried unsuccessfully to knock Lancaster in the head. The punch landed inches away from its target with barely enough force to indent the mud. For his part, Lancaster tried to lift his own fist and barely raised it three inches before it fell with a dull thud back to the ground.
“I win,” Ardiss said through wheezing breaths.
“Like hell you do.” Lancaster coughed up mud and tried futilely to sit up. “I’m still up for another go.”
Ardiss had only enough energy left to roll his eyes in Lancaster’s direction. “A draw then?”
“Fair enough.” Lancaster managed on his second try to sit up, and he used his little finger to excavate mud from his inner ear. He looked down and his legs with a despondent sigh. “Ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers. Did you have to land in a puddle?”
“Think about that next time you disrespect someone on the trail.” Ardiss, too, managed to struggle up to a sitting position. After working something in the back of his mouth diligently with his tongue, he spit out what bore a striking resemblance to a bicuspid. “You owe me a tooth.”
“You owe me a new pair of trousers.”
“How about I give you a job instead?”
“Doing what?”
“Well, you’re discourteous, obnoxious, and you don’t fight fair. Sounds like a lawman to me, and I need a deputy.”
Lancaster considered this, nodding thoughtfully to himself. “Fair enough, boss. I’m your man.”
While Boris daydreamed, Gary Wayne had pulled ahead and begun scouting the horizon, looking, one presumed, for tell-tale signs of Lank’s passing. Boris’ reverie was interrupted when Gary Wayne suddenly pulled his horse to a stop forcing Boris’ mount to stop as well.
“Boris!” Gary Wayne was trying to both whisper and speak loudly enough for his companion to hear him. “Boris, look over there.” He pointed to the horizon ahead of them and to the right. Boris could see immediately what had caught his friend’s attention.
Wafting lazily up into the late morning sky was a thick cloud of black smoke. If he tried very hard, Boris could also just catch the scent of a wood-fire on the breeze coming from that direction.
Gary Wayne grinned at Boris with an uncomfortable gleam in his eye. “We got the murdering traitor now,” he said, “Dumbass sunuvabitch. We got him now.”
Chapter Three – Percy
I.
It was getting up to noon by the time Gramps had finished fixin’ me breakfast and threw that brush on the fire. I figured ordinarily, I should be getting Lippy up and moving him along, but my traveling plans hadn’t exactly worked out so good for me, and Gramps had said for me to sit tight, so I thought I’d give that a whirl. I reckoned when dead folks give advice, they probably got a reason for it. Besides, Lippy didn’t look like he was feeling all that up to doing much walking today. He was breathing kinda heavy, and his eyes was all wide and startled.
I felt kinda bad for him after I had had such a good breakfast. I had waited on Lippy like one hog waits on another. I wished I hadn’t set up all the bacon I stole from that cabin; Lippy looked about hungry enough now to eat jest about anything I put in front of him. I stood up to move over to him and kinda pet him up when I saw Lippy’s oat sack laying on its side next to the campfire. Looked like oats was spilling out of it just a little, but they was the biggest damn oats I ever seen. One of ’em looked like it would just fit in the palm of my hand.
I grabbed the bag and brung it over to Lippy. He looked at me sickly, his eyes rimmed with water and dripping. He tried to lift his head up, but it didn’t do no good. He could only ever get it a few inches off the ground before he had to lay it back down and try again.
“It’s okay, boy,” I told him squatting down on my haunches and hooking the bag behind his ears, “I’ll bring it to you instead.”
I swear Lippy smiled at me when I put the feedbag on him, and he seemed to feel better as soon as he took the first bite. I stayed right there while he ate, running my fingers through his short matted brown mane. He must have eaten nonstop for a good ten-fifteen minutes, but I couldn’t tell that he’d even made a dent in the bag. He seemed strong enough to stand by now, though, and so I raised up off my haunches and give him a good tug on his leader rope, and he come up spry, like a newborn foal, and licked me right in the face.
Well, let me tell you, mule slobber ain’t the kind of thing you want to let set on you none, so begun to look around for my blanket, spewing and spitting the whole way. When I saw it on the edge of the campsite all folded neatly and ready to throw over Lippy’s back, I made for it, but I never did get a chance to use it. As I was bent over to pick it up, I heard a loud click behind me, and a man I ain’t never heard before started yelling at me.
II.
“Drop it right there, you god-damned, sonuvabitching, wife-stealing, child-killing bastard!”
I didn’t have nothing to drop; the blanket was still on the ground, so I just stood still.
“I said drop it!”
Then I heard another voice behind me, this one was a bit deeper and a whole lot calmer. “Gary,” it said just like this was a conversation they’d done had three hundred times. “Simmer down.”
“Don’t tell me to simmer down,” the first voice whined, “You lose a brother and then tell me to simmer down. I ain’t simmering nothing!”
I was mighty afraid to move, but I figured if I was gonna get shot, I’d at least like to see who it was doing the shooting. I slowly turned my head so I could see behind me between my legs. Sure enough, there was two fellas behind me; one of them, the one with the gun drawn on me, had the reddest hair I had ever seen, and the other one was wearing a slouch hat that shaded most of his face; he just looked tired as all get-out, kinda leaning his weight all on one foot and sagging his shoulders.
Both of them wore stars on their blue shirts.
Well, I knowed then what this was all about.
“I can’t drop it,” I told them through my legs.
“Don’t give me that horse shit, asshole,” the redhead yelled. “Drop it now or I’ll fill you so full of lead, you’ll rattle when you walk.”
I couldn’t help it, I started crying a little, “Mister I can’t drop it. Honest, I can’t I done ate it all this morning. There ain’t none left to drop.”
&n
bsp; Redhead lowered his gun just a little, and Slouch Hat sighed loudly. “Put that thing up, Gary, before someone gets hurt,” Slouch that said. “This clearly ain’t our man.”
Redhead holstered his gun and said something under his breath what I couldn’t make out. Slouch hat looked at me.
“Stand up straight and turn around son,” he said, “I don’t fancy spending all afternoon conversing with your backside.”
I did as I was told and raised my hands to boot. “I’m sorry,” I whimpered, “I was just hungry, and it was there on the stove. Wasn’t nobody to ask, and Ma told me to take what I needed. I knowed it was wrong, but I ain’t had time to ask Jesus about it yet. Please don’t shoot me.”
Slouch Hat looked like he was trying not to cough or vomit; his hand went to his mouth, and I could hear him gagging a little, but his eyes looked like he kinda enjoyed it. Redhead hit him in the arm and looked at me.
“Boy,” he said irritably, “what the Sam Hell are you going on about? What did you eat?”
“I ate the bacon.”
Slouch Hat snorted and coughed again, then turned away toward his horse.
Redhead ran his fingers through his hair. “You ate the bacon?”
“Yessir.”
“What bacon?”
“The bacon I stole from the cabin.” Redhead looked like he was choking on something; his face got all red, and it seemed like he couldn’t breathe. By this time Slouch Hat had gotten himself under control, it looked like, and he came back over to where me and Redhead was talking.
“Gary Wayne,” he said, “Let me handle this.” He walked up to me and looked me right in the eye. Redhead turned his back on me and started examining the campsite. “We don’t care about that bacon, son. What we want to know is if you’ve seen anyone else out here the last few days.”
“Just my Gramps,” I said with a sniffle.
“Can we speak with him, then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Where is your grandfather?” Slouch hat started to look around the camp like Gramps might jump out from behind a tumbleweed or something.
“He’s been dead for about five years,” I explained as calmly as I could so as not to get Redhead all riled up again.
Wasn’t no good, though. When I said this, Redhead spun around from where he was poking through the smoldering fire coals with a stick. “Weeping Jesus on the cross!” he hollered. “C’mon, Boris, this ain’t getting us no damn where!”
Chapter Four – Gary Wayne & Boris
I.
This just damn typical, Gary Wayne thought as he poked through the red coals. Not a soul on this trail for days on end. No sign of Lancaster, and when we finally do find somebody, I’ll be burned if he’s not feeble minded. Bacon! Jesus wept!
He was only barely paying attention to Boris’ interrogation of the boy. He feared if he was too involved, he might be overly tempted to put a bullet in either the kid’s head or his own. Still, he had to admit that the kid clearly knew his way around a campfire. Gary Wayne could see that the fire had been prepared well: the ground cleared at least ten feet from the fire, and near perfect circle of rocks around the actual build to keep the fire from spreading.
Inside the circle, he could see that the boy had expertly built a fire for cooking. He could see the charred remains of two fairly thick logs set parallel to each other just far enough to support a skillet (Gary Wayne could even smell the bacon grease that had spattered onto the rocks and logs) and a coffee pot (Gary Wayne spied the coffee rings on the flattest of stones where the boy had apparently set his cup down to keep it warm as he went about his morning rituals). Maybe the boy wasn’t as feeble-minded as Gary Wayne thought at first.
“Where’s your grandfather?” he heard Boris ask the boy.
“He’s been dead about five years,” the boy said as calmly as saying he’d been reading and writing since he was six.
Or maybe not.
“Weeping Jesus on the cross!” Gary Wayne threw the stick he’d been using to poke through the fire coals into the fire pit, jumped up, and spun around in one fluid motion. “C’mon, Boris, this ain’t getting us no damn where!”
As he stomped toward Boris and the boy, Gary Wayne ran the fingers of both hands agitatedly through his hair. Lucky if it don’t come out in clumps, he thought, the way this day’s going.
“Now look here, Boris,” Gary Wayne stopped within two feet of his friend and set his feet firmly in a defensive stance. “We ain’t got all Dad-blessed day to interview idiot-children. Every minute we waste here is daylight gone and Lancaster farther away.”
Boris raised his hands placatingly. “I understand, Gary. Calm down before you give yourself a fit. I just want to ascertain that this boy didn’t see anybody else pass this way.”
“Anybody else besides his dead Pappy cooking breakfast, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“He wasn’t my Pappy; my pappy’s been dead…”
“You hush.” Gary Wayne made a closing motion with his fingers.
“It was his granddaddy, Gary” Boris explained.
I’m an island O’Sane in a sea of crazy. Gary Wayne let out a long and frustrated sigh and waved his right hand in the boy’s general direction emphasizing each word. “He spent the morning with his dead grandfather, Boris.” The boy in question looked from one to the other, slowly nodding his head. “He ain’t exactly the most reliable witness. He coulda seen eighteen Lancaster’s leading an Army brass band, and it wouldn’t amount to more than a fart in a whirlwind.”
“I promise I ain’t seen nobody else, Mister,” the boy interrupted, “just…”
“Can it, kid.” Gary Wayne motioned him away with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Boris, it ain’t like Lancaster is easy to miss out here. Even if this kid ain’t skull-fucking batshit, he’s done told you he ain’t seen nobody, and I’m fairly certain that nobody includes a ginger-haired Nancy in a pressed white suit. Now if you don’t mind…”
“Well, now,” the boy interjected, “I did see…”
Gary Wayne turned to face him with an icy glare. “Kid, I done told you twice now to hush. Don’t make me tell you a third time. Now, Boris if you don’t mind, I’d like to get a move on…”
“Yessir, But I did see,” Gary Wayne glared again, and the flustered young man finished his thought in one word: “I-seen-that-fella-you-all-is-talkin’-about.”
II.
Gary Wayne tried as best he could, but his voice absolutely failed to come. He just stood there staring gape-jawed.
Boris turned around like something had caught his attention and snickered a little. When he turned back, though, his face was all seriousness.
“You saw the man we’re looking for?” Boris spoke slowly and calmly pausing between each word to make sure the boy understood what he was asked.
“Yessir,” he replied. “The fella with the ginger hair and the white suit? I sure did.”
This was, once again, too much for Gary Wayne, who did finally find his voice. “You just told us you hadn’t seen nobody today!” he yelled.
“I said I’d seen my gramps!” the kid sounded defensive and hurt all at once.
“Besides him!”
Boris again tried to motion Gary Wayne to calm down, but he’d have none of it. “Goddammit, Boris, leave me be. This puke’s been hiding something, and I aim to find out what!”
“I ain’t lying, Mister!” the boy took a step towards Gary Wayne with such determination that the older man took a step back. “Now, I done some bad things the last few days, stealing bacon and such, but I ain’t no liar, and I won’t have nobody calling me one.”
Boris turned to the younger man, contemplated calming him down, then he saw his expression. Something about the boy’s face seemed familiar to Boris, but he couldn’t take the time now to figure it out. He turned back to Gary Wayne, who seemed locked in a battle of sheer will with the kid. With a shrug, Boris moved out of the line of fire and took a seat on a ro
ck, staring intently at the boy’s face.
“I told you I ain’t seen nobody this morning ‘cept for Gramps, and that’s the God’s honest truth. I seen your fella three, four days ago.”
“Where’d you see him then?” Gary Wayne’s voice tried its best to sound stern and authoritative, but the best it could manage was a doubtful whine.
“Out at my ma’s place. He come to see her a few mornings ago and left in the afternoon. I don’t know where he was headed.”
Gary Wayne stared at the boy as if he were judging his weight. From his seat on the rock, Boris cleared his throat. “Where’s your ma’s place, son?”
“Off that away I reckon.” Percy waved one arm absently behind him. “I don’t know,” He balled his fists, hit the air beside his legs and cried in frustration. “I been lost ever since I left. Ain’t seen nobody in all that time ‘cept for Gramps and you, and when you two leave, I reckon I’ll just wander all over until I die since I can’t seem to get nowhere but here.”
Gary Wayne simply stepped to the side and began studying the skyline in the direction the kid had indicated as if his mother’s homestead might be just beyond the horizon. Boris stood from his perch and walked over to the whimpering boy. He bent over and put his arm across the young man’s shoulders. “Where you trying to go, son?”
“Bretton.” He looked into Boris’ face and wiped one dust-covered fist across his eyes. It did little to improve his face, just smeared dirt into his tears and gave him a raccoon’s mask. “I want to ask Ardiss Drake and his men about my pa on account of my ma don’t like to talk about him. It just makes her sad.”
“I can understand that,” Boris reached into his hip pocket and removed a neatly folded red-and-black handkerchief. He handed it to the kid who smiled and began to rub as much of the trail of his face as he could. “Your dad was a good man, and your ma loved him very much. Shouldn’t nobody have to bury their husband that early and raise a young’un on their own.”
Guns of the Waste Land: Departure: Volumes 1-2 Page 4