Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4)

by Bernard Schaffer

  Toquame Keewassee rode into the camp by himself. His hair was washed and freshly braided. He put on his breastplate of hairpipe beads and long werja fangs. In his lap, the blanket his mother had sewn for him while she was still carrying him in her stomach. He reached behind the breastplate to feel the bone handle of his long knife. Its leather sheath was sewn into the back of the plate. He carried one of the wasichu's heavy rifles in one hand and he held it in the air when he stopped his destrier at the camp's entrance.

  Gentleman Jim stepped into the path and smiled up at him, "Well, well. Look who showed up, and all alone, I might add. Uninvited, I might also add, but what's company between old friends?"

  Keewassee lowered the new rifle at Jim's face and pulled the trigger. The digital screen flared red and the weapon whined and beeped in protest. Keewassee squinted at the bandit and said, "You did not even flinch. You knew it would not work. You gave me worthless weapons."

  "On the contrary. They're top of the line military weapons that are guaranteed to destroy anything you aim at, pardner. Long as you're aiming at the right thing, that is."

  "What do you mean the right thing?" Keewassee said.

  "I mean that if you want to take these big bad boom sticks into battle against all the other little brown people infesting this fine planet, you'll mop the floor with them every time." He held up his finger and pointed at himself, "But if you try to shoot it at a regular person such as myself or any of the other men here, it ain't worth diddly squat."

  The bandit looked at the Beothuk warrior and smiled broadly, showing off a wide mouthful of yellow stained teeth. "You didn't think we were gonna give you weapons to use against us, did you?"

  "It was not for you to decide how we used them!" Keewassee snarled.

  "Now, you better watch your tone with me, boy. I got twenty guns on you right now and let me assure you, all mine work just fine."

  Toquame Keewassee threw the useless rifle down on the ground. "You have betrayed me. Betrayed my people! This was to be their salvation! I gave you the women of our sacred tribes in exchange and you…you monster."

  Gentleman Jim winced at that and said, "Harsh words, my friend. Who told you to do all that? Wasn't me. You came to me asking if I wanted to buy a little squaw trim. I said sure. You asked me if I would give you weapons in exchange. I said of course. Not my fault if you weren't more specific about your intentions."

  Toquame Keewassee shook his head sadly and lowered himself form the destrier. He stroked its long snout and patted it on the side of the face. "Go," he whispered. The animal whinnied in protest, but he pushed it away so that it turned and he told it to keep going.

  "What you doing there, friend?" Jim said. "Listen, that rifle is perfectly fine so long as you use it correctly. It's worth a fortune. How about you pick it up and get on back to your little tribe?"

  The Beothuk looked down at the rifle and threw it to the ground, "I will never again touch the tools of the wasichu. They have no honor, because you have no honor."

  Jim raised his shotgun and cocked both hammers back, "Whatever you say, boy. Why don't you leave now before I change my mind and decide you can't."

  Keewassee reached up and touched the medicine bag dangling from his neck. Forgive me, he whispered. He reached under the breastplate for the knife and yanked it free, raising it high in the air as he raced toward the masked bandit.

  Jim pulled the trigger a split-second before the rest of his men opened fire. The Beothuk's body jerked uncontrollably as the volley of bullets punctured his chest and shoulders and legs and groin. Toquame Keewassee collapsed to his chest but kept his grip on his knife tight. He groaned as he slid forward, unable to move anything from the waist down. Blood spurted out of him in founts, leaving nothing but cold numbness behind. That was taking him over by the second, he thought. Soon, there will be nothing left. He lifted his head to see the grinning face of his enemy and raised the knife, showing him the edge of the blade, willing it to fly from his hand into the man's face. Praying it would happen, but nothing did.

  Gentleman Jim looked down at the itjin's blood-spattered face, checking him for signs of life. "You dead, buddy?" He bent down to Keewassee's still form and pried the weapon out of his hand. "All right, Bob, take a few men and get rid of the corpse. Make sure you burn him where we won't smell it."

  Jim was playing with the knife as he walked past Bob, and Bob said, "Looks fancy. Can I see it?"

  "Get your work done," Jim said, and kept walking.

  "You ready to go, old man?"

  "Almost," Father Charles said. He reached around his destrier's neck and started to unlock the heavy harness attaching it to the wagon. "Help me get the rest of this rig off him."

  "Why are we unrigging the cannon?" Jem said.

  "Because we ain't bringing it."

  Jem looked at him sideways, "What are you, nuts? This thing saved our hides. It's a goddamn weapon of mass destruction."

  "That's right," the preacher said. "And that's exactly why I'm getting rid of it." He fit his wrench back to the harness and started twisting. "I came to find my little girl, not turn living things into red goo."

  Jem pushed his hands away from the harness and said, "You came all this way to finish the job and now that we're almost done, you want to get rid of it? Didn't you see what it did to those boys you fired on?"

  "Yes, in fact I did, Jem," Father Charles said. "In fact, I can't stop seeing it. Power of God," he sniffed. "What the hell was I thinking?"

  "You were thinking that we were going up against impossible numbers and needed to even the odds. This thing saved our asses and it ain't finished yet."

  "Yes it is, Jem," the preacher said. He grabbed a handful of wires from the firing controls panel and yanked them free, sending sparks across the metal frame. "I'm gonna face Gentleman Jim man to man. One on one, like the Good Lord intended. That way, if I lose, I can go in front of my maker and say I relied on him and not some cursed space weapon."

  "If our enemy had his hands on this, you can bet he'd use it in a second. There won't be no questions about what God intends."

  "Then I guess that's what makes us different, Jem. Now stand back." The preacher dropped the metal harness to the ground and keyed in a sequence on panel alongside the machine and looked up. Purple and blue waves of energy cooked along the surface of the barrel, glowing until Jem had to shield his eyes.

  The cannon whined to a high-pitched whistle and then went silent except for the low drone of power draining. All of the electrical circuits were black. "That's it," Father Charles said. He stepped back and admired the humongous contraption. "It's finished. I been lugging this thing around for almost a year. Carrying it with me everywhere I went. It feels good to be free of it."

  "You certainly are one strange old man," Jem said. "You cut off your damn trigger fingers, then get it in your head to go wrangle up some outlaws. You drag a cannon all the way out into the desert and decide it ain't fair to use it. That what they teach you in church?"

  "Sometimes," the preacher shrugged.

  "Well then I'm glad my daddy never made us go. I'd have turned out as crazy as the rest of you."

  Father Charles patted Jem on the shoulder and said, "Someday you'll come around, Jem. Faith catches up with all of us in the end."

  The women were already assembled to travel in front of the dwelling. Lakhpia-Sha was trying to get them to line up along one side so he could count them, but no one would listen. Finally, he gave up and asked Hehewuti for help. She barked one command and the woman did as she said.

  "This is going to be a disaster," Thathanka-Ska said.

  "The most important things are food, water, and shelter," Haienwa'tha said. "You are going to spend every minute of your day finding them. Do not be afraid to listen to the women. They will help you."

  "I am not used to dealing with them," the boy complained.

  "They are just women. How hard can it be?" Haienwa'tha said with a sharp smile. "Do you know what Thasuka Witko alw
ays said about Agaidika? He said that she lets him think he's in charge, and he lets her do the same."

  Thathanka-Ska nodded slowly. "I understand. All right, I suppose we must get going. How long will it take you to catch up with us?"

  "A few days at most." He turned to his brother and took him by the shoulders, "But you must swear one thing to me. If it takes more than a few days, even if I do not return at all, you must get home. Do you understand?"

  "But you will join us," Thathanka-Ska said.

  It was time to stop treating him like a child, Haienwa'tha thought. "If I do not return, you will take these women back to our tribe. You will tell the elders of what took place here. And you will be a great Chief someday. Better than Hoka-Psice, better than Thasuka Witko, even."

  Thathanka-Ska pushed him back and said, "No! That is your fate. You were the one in the vision." The boy's voice broke as tears formed in his eyes. "After everything we've gone through? I won't listen to that."

  Haienwa'tha grabbed the boy's hands and held them to his chest, "Listen to me. If there is one thing I've learned from all this it's that visions are flexible things. Maybe going through the fire meant what I did, or maybe it meant you running through the lightning. Maybe it meant something that hasn't happened yet. I do not know, and I do not care. Chasing visions around is something I no longer have time for. In the end, I can only do what is right. That is what I am asking you to do as well. Only what is right."

  "I will try," Thathanka-Ska whispered.

  Haienwa'tha embraced the boy and said, "Go now, and do not look back."

  Jem waited for him at the end of the path, giving him the respect of not intruding on his goodbyes with the others. The young warrior kept his head down as he rode toward Jem, using his long dark hair to cover his face. "I reckon I ain't gonna call you Squawk no more," Jem said.

  He sniffled and said, "You gave me another name?"

  "I like Haienwa'tha better. Seems disrespectful to call you something else."

  "Would you prefer I call you Jem Clayton instead of El-Halcon?"

  "Absolutely not."

  Haienwa'tha shook his head in wonder but did not speak.

  "I know. Wasichu, right?" Jem said with a quick smile. "That's the thing about us. We're full of complications."

  Haienwa'tha pointed at the woman riding ahead of them and said, "I am surprised you let her come. She could have gone with the others."

  "There wasn't no letting her do it," Jem said. "She basically told me what was going to happen and she put it in a way that I couldn't bring myself to argue."

  "As you say. You are full of complications."

  "No, that ain't a wasichu thing, my friend. That's a regular man and woman thing. You'll learn all about that in the near future, I bet." He looked over at the Beothuk and said, "One thing's for certain, you're talking a lot more. Last time I saw you, you wouldn't do much more than grunt a few words I could understand."

  "I have been practicing," he said.

  "That's good. It shows, too," Jem said.

  Haienwa'tha frowned as he looked the group over. "There are so few of us. If Toquame Keewassee has joined with the man who covers his face we will all die quickly."

  "Maybe, maybe not," Jem said.

  "What makes you so sure?"

  Jem winked at him, "I been practicing too."

  When the blood trail dried up, they searched for hoof prints on the shifting desert floor. Jem stayed behind Haienwa'tha to let the boy cut sign. The tracks followed the stream where the boys had first met the Hopituh-Shi-nu-mu, taking it all the way out until the patches of tall green weeds appeared along the banks. Jem got down from his destrier to let his animal drink and he bent down to study the flow of the water. "I bet this bottoms out at the Wabash."

  "Does it come out this far?" Ichante said.

  "It might. I heard of an old miner's camp off the Wabash too." He looked up at Haienwa'tha, who nodded grimly. "If I'm right, it's probably only about four more miles away."

  No one moved. Father Charles cleared his throat, "If you all don't mind, I'd like to say a quick prayer before we go." Everyone shook their head and the preacher closed his eyes and said, "Heavenly father protect us in our righteous endeavor to rid this land of something evil. Make our hearts pure and our aim true. In your name we pray, amen." He looked around as everyone opened their eyes and said, "How was that? Wasn't too bad, Jem, now was it?"

  Jem clapped him in the shoulder on the shoulder and said, "You know, padre, I think you really put your finger on it."

  "I hope you got a plan to go along with all them jokes. Or were we just gonna waltz in there and start shooting?"

  "I got a plan," Jem said. He looked up at Ichante as she unloaded her guns and inspected them for debris by spinning the cylinders and pulling the trigger over and over. "But she ain't gonna like it even a little bit."

  "Whatever it is, I want to be right up front for it. I want to look in that man's eyes and ask him what he did with my little girl right before I kill him."

  Jem scratched his head, "Not to sound crazy or anything, but what good are you going to be in a gunfight? It's not like you can shoot."

  "Give me your shotgun and I'll be fine."

  Jem looked at him and frowned, "I don't think so, old man. By the time you get a shot off, we'll all be dead."

  "Wanna bet?"

  Jem folded his hands on his hips, "Bet what?"

  "I bet I can hit any targets you set up faster than you can snap your fingers ten times."

  "Any targets?"

  "That's right."

  "And what do I get if I win?"

  "I'll stay out of your way until I'm needed."

  Jem looked at Ichante who nodded slightly. "And what if you win?"

  "You have to let me stay up front."

  "In the shit?"

  "In the shit," Father Charles said. "And you have to go to church with me."

  "Forget it."

  "Just once. What are you saying no for if you're so convinced I'm gonna lose?"

  "Fine. Crazy old coot." Jem walked around looking for things to serve as targets. He found a few rusted cans and a discarded plate in the weeds and handed one each to Haienwa'tha and Ichante. "We'll use these." He walked toward the trees and set his can on the lowest branches. "Can you see that far, grandpa?"

  Father Charles shook the gun and said, "What's that, sonny? You want me to shoot it while you hold it?"

  Haienwa'tha put his can on the ground farther back from the tree, and Ichante stood holding hers. "I'm going to roll it across the ground," she said. She looked at the preacher and smiled, "I have faith in you."

  Jem pulled his shotgun out of his saddle and said, "This here's a Winchester pump-action. Once you pull the trigger, you gotta rack that slide back all the way and throw it out again. It's got eight shells inside it." He handed the gun to Father Charles, "Now everybody stand behind him before he starts shooting."

  The preacher held up the gun and said, "Since I can't use my trigger finger, I'm gonna have to use an alternate." He extended his middle finger in the air at Jem and said, "Guess I'll rely on this one."

  "Real nice, preacher man," Jem said. "In front of a lady and everything."

  Ichante smacked Jem on the arm, "How dare you call me that."

  "Say when, Sheriff," Father Charles said.

  "Go!"

  The preacher budged the butt of the shotgun's stock against his right hip for balance and hunched forward over the weapon, keeping it tight against his body as he fired the first round. The first can exploded as he racked the slide back and shot at the second one, sending it ten feet into the air.

  Ichante stepped forward and rolled her plate across the dirt, sending it past Father Charles' feet like a wheel. "How many snaps you up to, Jem?" he said over his shoulder.

  "I don't know."

  The preacher racked the gun back and forth and fired three more times, leaving dozens of small holes in the plate as it skipped and skidded along the flat
, dusty surface. Father Charles lowered the weapon and turned around with a triumphant smile, "I guess that means you and me are going to church, boy. Come on now, don't look so glum. It's a lot of fun. You get to sing hymns and join all your fellow worshippers in prayer. It only takes about four hours. Best of all, when you're dressed up in your Sunday best in a hundred and ten degree weather standing nut to butt with an hundred other folks inside a room no bigger than a shoebox you don't even mind the sweltering heat and flop sweat because it just makes you feel so good to be there."

  Jem tipped his hat back on his head and said, "Suddenly it don't feel like surviving the day is the best outcome anymore."

  Father Charles took a deep breath and started singing, "Prayer is the key for the bending knee, to open the morn's first hours. See the incense rise to the starry skies, like perfume from the flowers!"

  Chapter 21: Wabash River

  The other men wanted to do things to the dead itjin's body before they burned it but Bob said no. After that, they mostly stood around watching while Bob built the pyre, regardless of how many times he told them to, "Get to it." Finally, he finished assembling the bed of sticks and dried out branches and said, "Either you all drag him over here or I go get Jim."

  Each of them grabbed one of Toquame Keewassee's limbs and hurled him onto the pyre. Bob bent down to light a match when he felt water sprinkling his hand. He leapt back when he realized the rest of the men were pissing on the itjin. "Real funny!" Bob cried. "Real smart, too. We're trying to start a fire and you're all wetting him down."

  Bob swiped his hand in the dirt in disgust. He tossed the book of matches at the closest man and said, "Don't come back until he's cooking. That's an order!"

  They smirked as he walked away and he could make out one of them repeating his words in a high-pitched voice. Go on and let them underestimate, Bob thought. Been using it to your advantage all your life. They're a bunch of white trash and you're a bonafide outlaw.

  He hurried through the camp to get to the embankment. He saw Ruth through the tall river grass growing there. Still washing clothes, like she hadn't even made a dent in the pile of dirty shirts and under britches laying scattered on the beach. Bob walked past her without speaking to dunk his hands in the water and started scrubbing. The elbows of his sleeves were wet but he couldn't tell whether it was from the river or the other men, so he quickly lowered his suspenders and undid the buttons. It was probably piss. He pictured Ruth picking the shirt up out of the pile and saying, "Somebody been pissing on you, Bob?"