“Piss off.”
“I know you. You’ll get drunk and then you’ll start flapping your jaw, and the next thing you know we’re in prison. Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble until this is all done with.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” John threw the last bit of dirt into the hole. Paul took the shovels and walked toward the mouth of the cave. John followed, gathering the torches as he exited. Just another couple months. A couple months of laying low and taking on odd jobs here and there. And then he’d be heading home to Nebraska. The end justified the means.
#
Tall flames licked the wood of the stage, tossing burning embers into the night sky. Paul and John sat on a rock at the edge of the inferno, watching the bodies of the three stage employees slowly succumb to the fire. There was a loud crash as the top of the stage collapsed and the smoldering corpses plunged into the heart of the fire. John leaned back and spit out a bone he had been sucking on.
Paul dropped a cut of meat onto the head of his shovel and lowered it over the fire. The meat sizzled at once, the fat collecting in the back of the shovel’s head.
“Going back for seconds, eh?” John said.
Paul lifted the shovel, flipped the meat, and put it back on the log. “Hate to let anything go to waste.” Paul reached down and gingerly poked the cooking meat with a finger. Just a couple more minutes. “I can’t wait to take a bath.”
“There’s gotta be a town around here somewhere.”
“I fucking hope so. I’m tired of this damn desert.” Paul removed the shovel from the burning log and jabbed an old fork into the smoking meat. He took a careful bite, afraid of burning his tongue.
One of the horses pawed at the ground. John looked back, saw all four horses were still tied up, and returned his gaze to the burning stagecoach, which was now an unrecognizable mound of broken wood and leather and bodies. With each passing hour John was regretting their actions more and more. His guilt felt like it was on the verge of tearing itself out of his chest. Occasionally a wave of panic would sweep through his body, and in those moments he knew they were going to get caught and hung and he would never see Nebraska again. “That was a hell of a thing we did today.”
“Yep.”
“I still can’t believe I shot three men in cold blood.”
“You did what had to be done.”
“I’m not so sure. We could’ve forgotten the whole thing and headed up to San Francisco.”
“And do what? Work our asses off like the Old Man our whole lives and then die so damn poor no one will bury you?” Paul looked away from his brother. “Screw that.”
“Pa did the best he could.”
Paul stared into the fire. His face felt hot. “I’m not saying he didn’t. What I’m saying is that you’re given your lot in life and that’s what you’re stuck with--there’s no two ways about it. You’re born poor, you stay poor. Unless you’ve done something like we’ve done. Shit, anybody back in Gage County would’ve done the same damn thing if they got the chance.”
“I just never thought it would come to this, is all.”
“There’s no sense getting worked up about it now. What’s done is done.”
“I just want to get home and put all this behind me. Get the farm back.”
“What we did today is going to make that a reality in a few months. That seems like a fair trade, wouldn’t you say? They take something from us, we take something from them. Now we’re square again.”
“I suppose.”
“There ain’t no supposing, damn it. Those assholes you killed wouldn’t have given you a damn drink of water even if you were dyin’ of thirst. You saw how those bankers back home treated Pa, acting like he was a criminal. He was a hardworking man who just had a run of bad luck, and look what happened. Fuck them. They deserved to die.”
John stared into the fire. The bankers back home had treated their father very poorly. In fact, one them had even called him a thief because he had tried to stay on the land after the bank had sent a notice that they had thirty days to vacate. But as hard as he tried, John still couldn’t completely agree with his brother. He had always believed that killing was wrong, no matter the reason. “I’ll just be glad when we get back home.”
“I know you’re feeling bad about this, John. But this was a good thing we did today. It’ll change our lives. Remember how we had to hunt squirrel for food when we were back home? How we had to choke down worm-ridden rabbit in the summer?”
“You know I do. That’s how I learned to shoot.”
“When you start feeling bad, I want you to remember how it was for us. How we went for three days without eating because there wasn’t any food. How we drank that piss water from the creek outside of town because we couldn’t afford to buy a new rope for our well. You think about those things and decide if that’s how you want your kids to live.”
“Those were some tough times.”
“Damn right they were. And I don’t know about you, but I’d do anything to keep from livin’ like that again.”
John stared into the fire and watched the stage burn. There was some truth in what Paul was saying, though he still couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it. But it was too late now; he’d just have to learn to live with what he had done.
#
The punch sent Paul flying to the floor of the barn. He hit the straw-covered floor hard and pain tore through his back. Paul lifted his head and looked at his father, who was just a dark shape in the barn’s gloom.
“You just never learn, do you?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. Your mother died because of you. It’s your fault I’m alone.”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Tears streamed down Paul’s face.
His father walked over and kicked Paul in the side, knocking all the air out of him. Paul gasped for breath and tried to roll away, but his father’s hand grabbed him and pulled him up.
“Look at me,” his father said.
Paul turned his head and looked at him. His father’s breath smelled of cheap whiskey and his eyes were bloodshot.
“It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t been born she’d still be here. You’re a worthless piece of shit and one day I’m going to kill you. You understand me?”
Paul nodded.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yessir.”
There was another blow and the world went black.
Paul sat up, wide awake. He looked around for a moment, not quite sure that the dream was over. John lay a few feet away, sound asleep. Paul looked at his brother before he lay back down. John didn’t know what their father had done to Paul, how he had blamed him for the loss of their mother, who had died shortly after giving birth to Paul.
And he sure as hell didn’t know what Paul had done to their father. John still thought the old man had hung himself. And that was how it would stay.
Paul closed his eyes. He still hadn’t figured out how to tell John that he wasn’t going back to Nebraska with him. Once they dug up the money, he was heading back to California, probably to San Francisco. He’d never set foot in Nebraska again.
#
Three hours before dawn the burning stage finally died down to a glowing pile of coals, and all that remained of the corpses was a single smoking rib cage and half of a skull. Both John and Paul slept on the ground, the sound of their snoring floating in the cool early morning air. A full moon hung in the sky, casting an eerie, pale glow over the bluff and the desert valley below.
One of the horses stirred awake and scrounged around for food; the dry earth gave up nothing. The horse walked away from the cactus it was tied to, still sniffing at the ground. With a tug, the horse freed itself and wandered over to a dry cluster of grass. After consuming the dead grass, the horse raised its head, looked around, and walked away from the camp.
Thirty feet away, partially hidden by an old landslide, the horse found a
trail. It sniffed the ground again, raised its head, and walked up the trail. At the top of the bluff, the trail spilled out into a small plateau. The ground was worn smooth, and broken poles, decorated with faded feathers and animal hides, jutted out of the ground like broken ribs. The horse found a small bush, stripped it of its leaves, and continued toward the center of the ceremonial ground.
In the center of the plateau was a circle, its lines partially worn away by the wind and the rain. The circle held several human skeletons, the remains half in, half out of the dry and cracked earth. A blood-stained pole rose up from the middle of the circle, a single faded feather tied to the top. Bits of cloth jutted out of the ground. The horse stepped into the circle, sniffed again, and began to paw feverishly at the dead earth.
#
John was taking a piss when he noticed his horse was missing. He put himself away and wiped the sleep from his dirty face. Dammit, this was all they needed.
John walked over to Paul and gently kicked him. “Get up. My horse is gone.”
Paul lay there a moment, struggling to open his eyes. His face hurt like a son of a bitch and the right side of his jaw was numb. When he sat up, jarring pain shot through the entirety of his body. He felt lightheaded for a moment and closed his eyes until the sensation passed.
“You okay?” John asked.
“Yeah, just sore as hell.” Paul looked at the charred rib cage half-buried under ash and again wished he could have killed the bald man slowly, painfully. Too bad he was already dead when they threw him onto the fire. Hearing that asshole scream as the flames consumed him would have been music to Paul’s ears. Paul struggled to his feet. “We just lose the one?”
“Yeah.”
Paul spit and forced his muscles to work. “He couldn’t have gone far.”
The brothers searched the immediate area for a few minutes before John discovered the trail leading up to the top of the bluff. He took a few steps and saw the imprint of a horse’s hoof in the dry earth. He looked up and saw his horse standing at the top of the hill “Up here,” he said to Paul without looking back.
Paul watched his brother climb up to the horse. John walked over to the animal, slapped it on its haunches, and said something that Paul couldn’t hear. John grabbed the horse by the reins, started to turn it back toward the path, and stopped in his tracks. A second later John released the horse and vanished.
“Get up here,” John yelled, his voice echoing down the bluff. Paul looked at the incline and thought about how much the climb was going to hurt. Every joint in his body resonated with pain and all Paul could think about was lying back down and sleeping. Even the hard ground seemed more inviting than the climb in front of him.
“Paul!” John’s voice sounded like a shotgun blast. Paul took a deep breath and began to climb up the small trail.
By the time he reached the top of the hill, Paul’s breath was coming out in large irregular bursts. He bent over for a moment and fought off a wave of nausea. “Check this out,” he heard John say, his brother’s voice distant and muddled. Paul stood and looked toward John.
John stood in the middle of the ceremonial grounds, just outside the perimeter of the center circle. Paul looked around the plateau, at the decorated poles jutting from the ground, at the skulls scattered across the ground. He glanced at John’s horse; the animal was standing still, its head hung low. Its hooves were covered with a fine white powder. Paul turned away from the horse and walked over to his brother.
“Look at this,” John said, pointing toward the center circle. Smooth round stones sat just outside the faded white circle, and larger stones were placed at specific intervals in the ring’s interior, connected by faded white lines. Half-buried skeletons jutted out of the ground in the circle. A fresh hole had been dug in one section of the circle, revealing a host of buried human bones. Paul bent for a closer look; all the bones were covered with teeth marks.
“This is fucking weird,” Paul said. He picked up one of the bones and dry white dust sprinkled across his hand. The bone had been gnawed on, and in one spot had been chewed almost all the way through. Paul tossed the bone back into the hole and wiped his hands on the side of his pants.
“What do you think this place is?” John said.
“No idea. It kind of looks like a burial ground, but there aren’t any plots or bodies. And burial grounds don’t have gnawed bones and skulls scattered around.” Paul looked around the hole and noticed a piece of cloth dangling out of the ground. He pulled the faded cloth free of the earth and turned it over in his hand. A faded patch of the American flag was sewn to the piece of cloth. “This looks like a piece of an army uniform.”
“Let’s get out of here.” John walked over to his horse and led it down the hill.
Paul stood and followed his brother.
CHAPTER FOUR
It took the brothers several hours to pick their way out of the desert, but eventually the dry and lifeless land was replaced by darker earth and scrub brush. A few trees, their size stunted by the heat, dotted the landscape. The two horses from the stage walked behind John and Paul, secured with ropes.
John’s horse shuddered; flecks of spittle dropping from its mouth.
“That horse okay?” Paul said.
“He’s fine. The heat’s just beating on ‘em a bit.”
The trail led up a small hill, and at the crest of the hill sat a small and weathered sign, which read JACKSON. An arrow pointed the way. John and Paul paused at the sign, and Paul looked forward, at the blurry horizon. He couldn’t see the town because of the heat and the dust, but could make out several clusters of trees and a winding stream about seven, eight miles away. More than likely that’s where Jackson was situated. A farm was visible halfway between the hill and the trees.
“Ever heard of Jackson?” John said.
“Nope. Think it’s safe?”
“Well, if we don’t know them, they don’t us, right?”
Paul fought off the urge to belittle his brother’s logic. It was too damn hot to raise a stink about something that trivial. “I think it’s a safe bet. Besides, they might not even have a lawman.”
“With all the damn Indians running around? Shit, the fucking army is probably holed up around here somewhere.”
“So what’s it going to be?”
John kicked his horse and started down the hill. “Ain’t got anywhere else to go.”
At the bottom of the hill the trail widened, and John and Paul spread out a bit. John’s horse coughed up a wad of phlegm and white foam. Paul looked at the horse, then at his brother. That horse was sick, there was no doubt about it. He wondered what was wrong with it; heat stroke would have already killed it by now. Paul had been around horses his entire life and had never seen anything like this. The horse would probably be dead within a few days.
They slowed as they approached the farm. A two-story house sat just off the road, and two barns, one large, one small, were behind the house. A stable was situated on the side of the large barn, and two men were working on a wagon, replacing one of its wheels. Three women sat on the porch, fanning themselves, two trees providing a bit of shade. The grass around the farm was scorched brown. The farm had a worn-down but clean look to it; the people who lived there might be poor, but they had their pride. As the brothers reached the farm, one of the women waved.
“Look at this,” John said. “I think we may have just found the local entertainment.”
“Good. I still got a lot of aggression to work out.” Paul thought of the bald man and wished again that he could’ve tortured him to death. Ah well--a whore would have to do.
They turned off the road and headed up the drive to the farm. As they approached, one of the women, a Mexican in her early forties, got up and entered the house, the old screen door banging shut behind her. The other two women continued fanning themselves. Paul and John brought their horses to a stop a few feet from the porch.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Paul said with a tip of his hat. One
of the women was blonde, the other brunette, and both wore tight dresses, their breasts forced up by corsets. Paul guessed that they were both in their early thirties, and both were pretty in an uncivilized way. The blonde smiled.
“My, my. You two look like death warmed over.”
“I imagine that we do,” Paul said.
“What happened to your face, sweetheart?” the blonde said.
“Trying to break a horse. Threw me and then kicked me a few times for good measure.” Paul fought off the urge to run a hand over his battered face. The pain had diminished during the day, and some of the swelling had already gone down, but he was certain he still looked like shit.
“Well, come on in,” the blonde said. “We’ll get you boys fed and see to it that you get a bath and other necessaries.” Both women stood. “I’m Darlene and this is Samantha.”
“I’m Paul and this is my brother John.”
John tipped his hat. “Ladies.”
“Pleasure to meet you fellows. Go ahead and leave your horses here,” Darlene said. “We’ll make sure they’re attended to.”
John and Paul climbed off their horses and removed their saddlebags.
“You take it easy, you hear?” John whispered to his brother.
“You going on with that again?”
“If we throw around a lot of money they’ll get suspicious. Look how we’re dressed. We gotta play this right.”
“I know what I’m doing.” Paul threw his saddlebag over his shoulder and walked into the house, his brother a few feet behind him.
The interior of the house was sparse but immaculately clean. The living room featured a worn chair and sofa and two tables with oil lamps; a staircase that led up to the second floor was situated on the right side of the room. Several faded but clean rugs were positioned in the heavily trafficked areas of the room. Paul thought about dusting his boots off before he entered but then thought better of it. They were guests here; the women could clean up the damn mess.
The living room fed into a large dining room, which led to a kitchen. The Mexican woman was in the kitchen, frying ham and chunks of potatoes. Paul and John walked over to the small table that sat in the corner of the kitchen, dropped their saddlebags, and sat down.
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