Through Darkest America-Extended Version

by Neal Barrett Jr

  Aimie looked pained, then thoughtful. "Burt?" "What?"

  "It doesn't hurt . . . there, does it?"

  "Oh, Lord, Aimie!" Howie almost jumped out of his skin. Aimie worked skillfully at his trousers. He could feel her breath on his cheek, in quick little bursts like his own.

  "You just can't . . . get a girl all worked up . . . and then run off and . . . leave her, Burt . . .”

  "I didn't exactly . . . go on my own . . . Aimie . . . Aimie!"

  Lying back, she spread her skirts and pulled him to her. "God, you ain't no boy at all, Burt. Burt, honey, I can't wait no more!"

  In the dim starlight he could see the flash of creamy skin. His legs met the inside of her thighs, his hardness touched incredibly warm softness, and the whole world exploded in his loins.

  Aimie sat up and stared. "Oh, Burt, you didn't!" Howie swallowed and looked away. "I couldn't help it, Aimie, I just—"

  "You just nothin' is what!" she snapped, pushing him off. She turned from him briefly, then stood up smoothing her skirts. Howie helped her. His hand brushed against her breasts and she jerked away.

  "You done about all the playing you're going to for now," she said hotly. "Such as it was!"

  Howie's embarrassment turned to anger. "Listen. You didn't have to follow me up here, Aimie. Nobody asked you to. What'd you want to bother with me for, anyway? You got plenty of others to spread out for, the way I hear it!"

  He was sorry the minute he said it. He'd lost none of his desire for her at all. If anything, looking at her now, he wanted her more than ever.

  "Aimie. I didn't mean that."

  "It don't matter." She looked away, down the hill. "I 'spect it's true enough."

  "Aimie . . .”

  She looked back, faced him. "You want to know why I come after you, Burt? Truly? I wasn't lyin' about … what you done to me. I was all hot and ready and . . . I mean it, Burt, it ain't like that with me. Not a lot, anyway. Only it was with you, and …"

  "And what, Aimie?"

  She bit her lip. "And . . . I knew you hadn't had anyone before. I could tell that. And, Lordee, it was something knowin—"

  Howie hit her. He didn't want to, but a second before it happened he knew he couldn't stop. And then he was on her, tearing cloth and tossing it aside until she was naked under

  the sky. He gazed at the awful whiteness of her, loving and hating what he saw, holding her tight against the ground. She stared up at him, eyes wide with fright.

  "I ain't nobody's prize fool," he said harshly, "you hear?"

  "Burt!"

  He slapped her hard, then thrust into her savagely. She cried out and he stopped her with his' mouth. He let his hands sink into her breasts. Her nails raked at his eyes, clawed his back. He tore into her again and again.

  Aimie fought him. She bit at his mouth and flailed out with her legs. Her hands tore at his flesh. In a moment, though, he knew something strange and different was happening. Aimie still struggled against him, but it wasn't the same. She pulled the pain from him, drank it in thirstily. And when she was certain there was no more there, she triumphantly drew the last he had to give and he exploded in her again. She threw herself up to meet him and he watched in wonder as her mouth opened slackly in a low moan of pleasure.

  "Aimie. Aimie, I. I . . .”

  Her eyes opened and a smile creased the corners of her mouth. "Burt, if you start in tellin' me how sorry you are 'bout something or other, I'll . . . I'll . . . ." She stopped, and her expression made him laugh with her. He moved down to take her up in his arms and she came to meet him.

  He held her a long time, not saying anything. He didn't want to talk and spoil the wonder of what had happened there. It was something you just couldn't say right with words. Finally, he bent to kiss her and found her sleeping, a funny smile on her lips. Maybe she was thinking the same thing, he decided. Maybe…

  The sound rolled up through the valley and climbed the low hills, cutting the chill night air like a knife. Aimie sat up, frightened. Howie held her close. He felt suddenly tired and empty; visions of riding off on a stolen horse—maybe even with Aimie, now—vanished and fell away. Someone had blown a warhorn at the river, and every driver who heard it knew Lathan was finally on their heels.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The rider who stumbled late into camp and started the war- horn wailing killed his mount getting there, but the warning he brought was worth more than a good horse. The rumor was true Lathan was definitely on the move. A strong element—nobody knew just how strong—had broken out of Colorado, streaked boldly through government territory, and was now less than two-hundred miles away in Old Missouri. Nobody doubted that the big herd was their target.

  The news came as no surprise to anyone. Trouble had been expected all along, which was why the army was on its way across Arkansas Territory to meet them. The only real question was: who'd find them first?

  "Don't know any other way it could be," Pardo observed stoically. "Lathan's hungry, and there ain't hardly nothing he can do but try an' fill his belly."

  Everyone agreed that was so. But even if you knew for certain the river was high and flooding, you could always hope it wouldn't get there.

  When the drive began, most of the owners had said that no matter what happened, the herd would be kept together. There was, after all, strength in numbers. Pardo disagreed with this and had made him self heard since joining the drive. Why bunch up and make it easy for Lathan to get all the apples in one neat basket?

  "I ain't got no say in this maybe," he told them, "since I don't own anything and won't lose nothin' whether we make it or not. 'Cept maybe my hide, which ain't likely worth much. But it appears to me that it's a sight better to git something 'stead of nothing. Which is what you're fixing to do."

  Pardo's friend Jess argued violently against the idea. "What you're figuring on is exactly what Lathan wants us to do," he said. "Divide one strong force into three or four weak ones, strung out from here to nowhere. Hell, Lathan'd be herding us to the slaughterhouse same as if we was meat!"

  Jess fought until he was blue in the face, but nothing came of it. Pardo had done his homework well. Owners and drivers alike respected his judgment. And the truth was, most everyone said, the herd wasn't all that strong anyway—not against trained soldiers who'd all be mounted and carrying firearms and not worrying about fighting and keeping scared meat together at the same time. The only real chance they'd ever had was the one still open to them now. Don't get caught by Lathan in the first place. Nothing had changed that.

  At sunup the herd divided into three rough sections. One, loosely guarded, headed straight south, following the eastern bank of the Big River. The south was safe government territory and, though a long march would weaken it, the drivers could turn the herd back north and west as soon as the army made contact with the upper segments.

  The other two elements headed west across the river. One of these, led by Pardo, would go straight and fast for the army. The other, with a large part of the herd, would move along a southwesterly route not too far away, with minimum protection, and would join Pardo's group as soon as the army was sighted. This left Pardo with what amounted to a diversionary force: more guards and less meat. It was the section of the herd Lathan would have to hit first, the one with the most strength and the least to lose.

  With much to be done, and no sleep for any man on the drive, Howie had little time to think about his aches or bruises, or bemoan the loss of his chance to get away from Pardo. Even Aimie was briefly forgotten. Once, while the herd was moving toward the river, he caught a questioning look from Cory. But Cory didn't ask him what had happened and Howie was much relieved that he didn't.

  Near noon, he sat his mount with Pardo and Cory, watching the last of the herd cross the river. The job had taken most of the morning. The river was no more than waist high anywhere, but meat never did like the water. And this morning, the drivers were doing more harm than good, being in a hurry to get moving. Howie thought t
hat meat was sometimes smarter than people gave them credit for; he was sure the herd was spookier than usual because they smelled man-fear all around them.

  "Folks say it was some river once," Pardo commented. He leaned over his mount and spit on the ground. "Split the country right down the middle."

  Cory shook his head soberly. "Sure ain't much now," he drawled.

  Pardo looked at' im. "Well, now ain't then, is it? It was near the biggest there was anywhere once't. Only the War done something to it."

  "The War did."

  "That's what I said."

  "Must of been some War," Cory grinned. "I haven't heard much that ain't been blamed on it."

  Pardo pulled himself erect and looked holes through Cory. Then he jerked his mount around and left them in dust. Howie watched him go, keeping his face straight as could be. Pardo wasn't much for jokes, unless he was doing the joking.

  Urging his mount through sluggish brown water, he followed Cory across the river. The herd was over and there was no more use watching for stragglers. The only job now was splitting off the last of the sections that would take the southwesterly trail below them. The drivers knew their jobs and the herd was soon on its way.

  On the tail end of the drive were the followers they'd picked up along the trek. Most had decided to try the more treacherous route, figuring it was also likely the safest and quickest, if they met the army on time. Anyway, they argued, Lathan was after meat and wouldn't be looking to run down pot sellers and farmers with empty wagons.

  There were gamblers with their women in tow, loaded with trail packs and camp gear. Merchants and corn whiskey dealers pulled hastily loaded carts through the shallow water. They were all afoot; few had ever been close to a horse before. Mounts were for fighting men, or whoever could get and hold one of the rare animals for himself. Less than a quarter of the forty-odd drivers in Pardo's group were mounted. And not half of that number had guns. Howie decided he probably ought to feel like something special—even if his horse belonged to Pardo and his pistol couldn't hurt anyone.

  Before he splashed up on the far bank he turned and squinted back across. But if Aimie was there, he couldn't pick her out of the dust-covered followers.

  At noon, Pardo and Jess had an argument that came near to going past loud talking and hard looks. The land was flat and easy beyond the river and Jess wanted to speed up the herd some. Pardo said he could understand Jess and the others being anxious to get where they were going, but he didn't see any use getting there with three-thousand head of dead meat. Jess flared up and said it wasn't any of Pardo's meat in the first place—dead or otherwise. The end was they did speed up some—then slowed a little—so no one could tell much difference one way or the other.

  Howie heard some of it, bringing water bags up to Pardo, but he got hastily away as soon as he could.

  "What you think's going to happen?" he asked Cory later. "You figure Lathan'll git here or the army?"

  "No way of telling," Cory shrugged. He sat his mount chewing a stick he'd snapped off a scrub tree. "You can't never say about Lathan. He's fooled that old army before, though."

  "You didn't like soldiering much, did you?"

  Cory chuckled and grinned. "Guess you could say that."

  "What's it like?" Howie asked. "I mean, I know I wouldn't want to do it either. I don't care much for soldiers."

  Cory's face screwed up in a frown. "What it's like is sit- tin' around waiting to do nothing forever. Giffin' one place, and coming back to where you was. Going here and then marchin' there—and then sitting some more in the cold 'till your ass falls off. And then, all of a sudden like, some fool's throwin' lead at you or coming over the hill screamin' with a big blade flashing and you're wishing to shit you was back doin' nothin' again." Cory sighed and shook his head. "It's some wearin' on the mind and body, Burt."

  "Ain't as good as driving, huh?"

  Cory held him with one eye. "Lordee, boy!" He spit wood splinters and wiped his mouth. "Where'd you get the idea one piece of work's better'n another? Hell, it's all bad!"

  Howie laughed. "That what you going to do when we get to Badlands? Nothing?"

  "Not if I want to keep eating," he said sourly. He squinted hard at Howie. "You sure loaded up with questions today, ain't you?"

  Howie colored and looked at his hands. "I didn't mean nothin' by it. Just talking . .."

  Cory grunted to himself. "Well . . . What I figure on doing—after I sober up and get tired of women—is headin' south." He winked at Howie. "Might even go after War booty."

  Howie's eyes widened, then he decided Cory was playing with him.

  "No, I ain't kiddin' at all," Cory assured him. "There's still booty to be found from the War. Gold and silver and all kinds of metals. Specially copper an' stuff. People find it all the time. There was some fellers in Colorado, right before the war, found a whole building full of goodies. Rain hadn't got in or nothing. Know what was in there? Coils of copper. Looked just like rope, they say—big around as your arm. Hundreds of reels of it, all higher'n a man.

  The idea intrigued Howie. "What'd they do with it?"

  "Huh?" Cory turned on his mount and laUghed. "Why, they got rich as old kings, is what they did. Raised all kinds of hell. 'Till one figured he wanted what the other'n had too, and they blew a bunch of holes in each other. Right smart couple of fellers."

  Cory paused, gazing thoughtfully past the horizon. "'Course, you want to make a real find, now. What you want to do is stumble on a whole passle of guns. Lord, I'd rather find me a cache of new weapons than a barrel of gold!" He laughed. "So would everyone else. But there's still finds bein' made, an' it only takes one to make a man rich. And it'll be that way until we can make 'em the way they used to . . . and I don't see that comin' soon."

  Howie kept his silence a long minute. "Cory," he said finally, "I'd like to do that. I truly would."

  Cory started to answer, then caught his meaning. "You would, huh?"

  "I surely would."

  "Well, I don't imagine Pardo'd take much to you going off treasure hunting with me, now would he?"

  Howie didn't answer. He looked away from Cory and stared out over the herd. "You know Pardo very long?" he asked finally.

  "Not any longer than he's been on the drive. Knew of him,though."

  "You mean you heard things."

  "Well, sure. This and that."

  "What kind of things?"

  Cory looked at him curiously. "He's your pa, Burt. Reckon you know more 'bout him than I do."

  Howie looked straight ahead. Well, he'd done it now. If Cory took it into his head to tell Pardo he'd been asking questions …

  Cory suddenly seemed to make up his mind about something. He leaned over and gripped Howie's reins and turned him about.

  "Listen, boy," he said quickly, glancing at the head of the herd, "what I ought to do is keep shut, but I ain't got good sense and never have. Thing is, I was talking to Maye and she was talking to Aimie. What I'm saying is, you best take a care who you tell your business to." He looked hard at Howie. "Aimie says you told her Pardo ain't your pa."

  Howie felt his stomach drop. "She . . . did?"

  "Uhuh."

  "Well, maybe I said it. I don't recall."

  Cory ignored him. "If he ain't your pa, what is he, Burt?

  An' if he's not, I can't say I'm real surprised to hear it." "He's . . . just kind of someone I know, I guess." "You guess."

  "Cory . . .”

  "You mean, like a friend."

  Howie felt miserable. "Yeah, sort of. I mean . . .” Cory watched him, and he knew there wasn't anything at all he could say that wouldn't turn out wrong. For sure, he couldn't tell the truth. Cory might be about the only friend he had, but there were some things you didn't dare talk about to anyone, no matter how much you might want to.

  "Burt," Cory told him, guessing his thoughts, "I ain't sticking my nose in where it don't belong. You're right enough to keep to yourself. Only…" He hesitated a moment. "You got an
y trouble you need gettin' out of?"

  Howie looked at him and kept straight as he could. "Everything's fine, Cory. Honest it is."

  "Yeah, well that's good." It was plain Cory didn't believe him at all.

  "And I'm obliged. About what you said."

  Cory shrugged. "Well, that's what friends are for, ain't it?"

  Howie felt awful, then, about what he'd been thinking. Maybe it was wrong to try to keep everything to yourself. Maybe Cory was someone he could talk to. It was clear he didn't like Pardo. That was a start. And if he ever hoped to get away when the drive was over . . . . It was something worth thinking about, he decided. There was still plenty of time. But he knew he was already sure what he was going to do. It made him feel some better, but it would make the waiting harder, now.

  From the corner of his eyes, he caught sudden motion at the edge of the herd, and automatically started his mount forward. Cory put out an arm to stop him. Howie gave him a puzzled glance, then understood. Klu and Jigger had spotted the commotion too, and were cutting toward the trouble spot.

  It was a common enough problem. Several young bucks had edged a ripe mare into their pack, and the inevitable fight had started, spreading like ripples in a pond. In a few minutes, meat fifty feet off were brawling and grunting away without even knowing why.

  Jigger plainly knew little about handling stock, but he knew what he wanted done. Using his boots and his big mount to scatter bodies, he cleared a rough path for his companion. Howie knew Klu hadn't the slightest idea which creature had started the business and that he didn't much care. He rode straight into the bunch and right to his choice, like he'd been thinking about it all winter.

  The first crack of his big driver's whip dropped the meat to its knees. It tried to rise once, but Klu was good with his weapon. He slashed again and again, keeping his own rhythm, a high, whistling loop from left to right, right to left. Long red stripes patterned the buck's body. Its eyes rolled blankly to the sky; a mouth opened to cry out, but nothing came.