by Tim Marquitz
“Red Thunder and I will go down to the supply car,” Father Mathias announced. “If there's anything left unbroken, we'll bring it up.”
“I'll help,” Jasmine said.
Rachel included herself. “Me, too.”
Jasmine peered at her. “You should stay here and rest. You was out cold.”
“I’m okay.” The girl stood, then raised her brows. “See?” She seemed steady enough, and her face was determined, daring them to tell her different.
Nina could see Jasmine wanted to argue, but the fact was no matter how sorry or protective she was feeling for the white girl, no black woman—especially a woman of her ilk, free or not—told a white woman what to do; in spite of Rachel’s thirteen or some odd years, her days of child’s play were done and gone.
“All right,” Jasmine inclined her head. “Whatever you think’s best.”
“Shave tail’s getting some sass,” Mason said without looking over.
“What now?” Nina said, curling her lip. “You taking over blather-mouthin’ obligations since George cracked his nut?”
“Just making an observation.”
“Well, no one asked you.”
Mathias, Jasmine, Rachel, and Red Thunder hadn’t heard them evidently and made their way down the small hill toward the creek and the supply car.
“Let it be, Nina,” Pa said. “Not going to do any of us any good to get our dander up over mere words.”
“Better listen to your pa,” Mason said, then gave a contemptuous snort.
Nina chewed the inside of her lip, then knelt next to her father. Buck was sitting nearby on the grassy, rock-strewn incline, just leaning back on a flat rock and feeling the sun on his face.
“He’s just sounding off because he’s worried like the rest of us,” Pa said low so Mason didn’t hear. “Don’t play into it. You’re smarter than that.”
Nina nodded, then peered at Buck’s wounded leg. “How is it?”
The roughrider looked at her and his skin had a sickly pallor to it. He seemed a bit shaky, too. Even so, he shrugged. “I'm fine. Just aggravated it a bit, that's all.”
It looked like more than just aggravation to Nina, though—the man’s buckskins were bloody, and the stains looked mighty fresh. “You had it looked at since last night?”
Buck huffed beneath his mustache. “You're seein' the injury plain.” But when Nina's eyes wouldn't let him loose, his hard bravado melted. “If you're askin' whether someone looked at it in a doctorly way, that'd be no.”
“Take ‘em off then.”
He narrowed his eyes, sucked at his teeth a bit, and Nina knew he wished he had a right plug of baccy in there.
“You need to get them trousers off, Mister. Someone needs to take a look at that wound. If it gets infected...”
“She's right, Buck,” Pa said. “You let that go and you'll lose a lot more than your pride.”
“I ain’t a goldurned child. You think I don’t know about infection? I had three arrowheads burned out of my back in ’59, lost this finger in ’63 to a meanspirited sidewinder.” He held up a three-fingered left hand, which was the first time she’d noticed it. “I’ve had my fair share of festerment and venom, trust me.”
“Then you know why we should get you fixed up.” Nina stared at the man until Pa gave him a reassuring half-smile.
The roughrider groused and eyeballed her father. “What about that,” he said, motioning to Pa’s head wound.
“I’m seeing to it, too.” Nina’s gaze didn’t waver.
“She always like this?”
“Surly as the day is long,” Pa said.
Nina crossed her arms.
“Take ‘em off right here? Don't seem right.”
Manning walked up with a crate of supplies in hand. “What don’t seem right?”
“Your lady friend here wants me to drop my drawers.”
Manning looked at Nina, at Buck, then Pa, and seemed amused with Buck's timidity. “Afraid of showin' off Lil' Buck, are you?”
Nina chuckled at that as she took a blanket out of Manning’s crate, then stifled her amusement upon seeing Buck’s scowl.
The roughrider sighed and dropped the dark expression. “Look. It’s just…ain’t a soul seen my pecker since my dear departed Mary went on through the Pearly Gates ahead o’ me.”
They were quiet a second, then Pa patted Buck’s shoulder and nodded knowingly. “I’ll check him, Nina.” He looked up at James. “Any bandages or the like?”
Manning tossed him a bundle of torn cloth as Red Thunder and Mathias returned already, carrying a clay jug and an armful of whiskey bottles, respectively. “A lot to salvage amongst the mess down there; certainly enough to get us through a few nights,” the priest declared. He looked around. “Where is Mister Strobridge?”
“Still in the gun car,” Manning answered.
Nina put the blanket around Pa’s shoulders as he unrolled the bundle of bandages, mostly bedsheets torn into strips, though she recognized a few bits of ribbons from Jasmine’s torn skirt, too.
“Padre,” Mason called over from where he knelt next to George. He waved for one of the bottles.
“Of course.” Father Mathias lowered the bundle of clinking glass, took an amber bottle and walked it over.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
Mason pointed to the label. “That's Kentucky bourbon. That ain't for wounds. Give me some of that white-eye in the clear bottle there. Nasty Injun whiskey. Although…” He snatched the bourbon from the priest. “You can leave this here with me and Georgie.”
Mason twisted the top off and tossed some back while Mathias fetched the maize whiskey and handed it over. Mason set the bourbon down and poured a splash of the cheap stuff on a folded rag. He wiped the blood off George's forehead, mopping his hair to the side, and found the source of the wound, a nasty gash running from his crown to top of his forehead.
Some of the liquor ran down George's face and neck, and he sputtered. Mason shoved the tip of the bottle in his brother’s mouth and turned it up. Any normal man would have choked, but George took to it like a suckling lamb. Mason pulled the bottle away after five or six swigs, and George let some dribble from his bloody mouth and murmured himself back into a stupor.
Nina sighed at the whole display, then did the same for Pa, flushing his scalp with spirits and dabbing it as clean as she could. His wound didn’t seem near as bad as George’s, so she was glad for that. Once she’d cleaned him up, she said she was going to go help the girls “rustle through some stuff.”
“Careful,” Pa told her, working out some kinks in his neck.
Nina gave a half wave and started off toward the tilted luxury car. “Be over-careful!” he hollered, and she waved again.
The sun was painting the sky a baby blue as it rose, poking in and out amidst a canvas of long clouds fleeing east. The most towering crags of the Sierra Nevada range were behind them, and a steady breeze skirled down, causing the sage brush to shimmy on the rocky slopes. Nina reckoned the first thing she’d look for is something warm to replace—or at least cover—the crusty, torn plaid shirt she had on.
She descended toward the babbling creek, stepped over some snapped trees, and twisted rods of metal, as well as other scattered debris. The train car’s wheels had been torn off, the side panels ripped free, and the roof crunched in. It was plumb luck they hadn't been caught in that beat up tin can.
She could hear the women inside as she climbed up on the deck and went in. Jasmine and Rachel were rummaging through piles of stuff. The contents of the entire car were shook nearly to pieces. Jasmine stuffed something beneath her girdle, glancing at Nina.
“What do you have there, squirrelly girl?”
Jasmine sighed and pulled out a folded stack of bills. “Must have got shaken loose in the crash.”
Nina laughed. “Figures that bastard has money tucked away all over the place. I don't give a shit. Take it.”
Jasmine smiled and re-stuffed
the money under a breast, then went back to business.
They’d been organizing things, stacking canned goods and bundles of dried meats. Almost all of that was still in one piece, more or less. Stores of water and whiskey had been significantly reduced, but a few bottles had survived the crash. Nina opened one of the bottles of Kentucky whiskey and took a long draw before passing it to Jasmine. The black woman nodded and took a gulp, wiped her arm across her lips, and handed it back.
“That is top shelf right there,” she said.
Rachel came over. “I’d like some, if you don’t mind.”
Nina looked at her, tucked a few strands of Rachel's light brown hair behind her small ear and cupped her chin. “You think your ma—”
Rachel pulled away, her expression clearly offended by Nina's coddling. “Ma said there was nothing wrong with it on occasion.”
Nina still felt reluctant, so Rachel added, “I stole nips from Pappy’s stock all the time.”
“She's been through Hell.” Jasmine gave a weak smile.
Nina started to hand over the bottle, then pulled it back before Rachel took it from her. “Just one swallow, you hear?”
“Just one.” Rachel took the bottle, put it to her lips, and tilted it back. Twin rivers of liquor ran from the corners of her mouth and flowed down her chin. She took more than one swallow, grimacing when the burn hit her throat and belly. The girl went well past the agreed-to limit, but Nina hadn't the heart to take the bottle away from her. Rachel had been through Hell. Nina was more than acquainted, and the girl deserved a good whiskey numbing as much as anyone.
She finally handed the bottle back, smacked her lips, and exhaled an alcohol-scented, “Whooo!”
“You put a dent in it. Feel better?”
Rachel nodded and went back to rummaging.
Nina chuckled. “You probably won’t later.”
“Us ladies gotta stick together,” Jasmine said, pulling back a cover to reveal a mound of odds and ends. She picked up two undamaged lanterns and set them aside. “Like we always done. That's what my ma told me.”
“I'd agree with that, in general principle.”
“General principle? Girl, let me tell you something. Men are lying, thieving bastards. Each and every one of them.”
“Not my pa.”
“Oh, and not Mister Manning, either, right?” Jasmine sat back on her heels, arms thrown over her knees. “Let me tell you another little something, Ninataku, Fire Eater. When you lain with as many men as me, you get to know their itty bitty secrets. After a good tumble they feel like children all over again. Feelin' all free to discuss all manner of indiscretions and how they feel rightfully justified doing whatever they is doin’. Confessin' their sins, so to speak.” Jasmine shook her head and blew a shock of fluffy hair out of her face. “I respect the good priest, he’s a good man of God, but I reckon I heard more than your average preacher in a year's worth of Sundays. All men got somethin' deep and dark. Trust me on that account, sweetheart.”
Nina put her mouth to the side, dubious.
“And your Mister James Manning. Them good lookin' ones, they got the most secrets of all.”
Nina exchanged glares with Jasmine, eyes locked, lips turned to snarls, until they could take it no longer. They burst out laughing. Rachel looked at them like they had both lost their minds.
“Let's just agree on watchin' out for one another.” Nina raised the bottle in a toast.
“Amen,” said Jasmine.
“Amen,” Rachel echoed. “Now how about another sip?”
CHAPTER FIVE
SEVERAL SPENCER RIFLES AND SOME STANDARD-issue muskets were lined up against a broken bench seat. Red Thunder, who’d been checking through salvaged ammunition pouches and spreading ‘em out on the seat top, gazed up as Nina and her companions came back up the hill. She weren’t half as glum, to be honest, after ladies’ talk and liquor. Plus she’d managed to scrounge up a couple hanks of dried meat, some canned vittles, and a few woolen blankets, which she carried in hempen bags slung over both her shoulders.
She nodded to Red. The Indian returned the gesture, then went back to arranging bullets, obviously wanting no part of whatever the white men were animatedly discussing a few strides off in the direction of the gun car. She looked back, making sure Jasmine and Rachel followed behind. They were ladened with traveling bags filled with canteens, more canned food, some cups and utensils, and other odd bits.
She gazed ahead again and got the feeling she'd missed part of an important conversation. The men looked as if they were arguing. Nina stepped up and laid her sacks on the ground. “What now?” she asked, directing her question at James.
He tried to keep his voice controlled, but it had a hard edge. “I’m thinking that train of deaduns is bound for Reno. As such, I propose we should skip it and head elsewhere.”
Father Mathias held up a finger, shook his head politely. “And I disagree on that count.”
Nina looked at the priest and railroad boss as they stood paces apart, the strain and tension growing. Strobridge grunted and worked his jaw around while glaring at Mathias. “And as I said I've got people in Carson City.”
“I'm sure you do,” the priest replied. “But the Taiping Jing is in Reno, right where you left it. And that’s where we'll need to be going—Red Thunder, Buck, and myself, if no one else.”
Pa was standing nearby, arms crossed, wearily shaking his bandaged head. “Surely you don't expect us to go to Reno if Liao Xu’s train bore those deaduns into town?”
Mathias looked to the southern horizon. “It's God's will.”
“God’s will? God’s will! Pshaw!” Strobridge gave a sort of scraunchy snort. “Look! My people will protect us in Carson City.” He flung his hand at Manning. “I agree with Manning here. There ain’t no sense in going after what’s already lost.”
“Don't put words into my mouth, Strobridge. I didn't say anything about Carson City. I'm just suggesting we avoid Reno for obvious reasons. As to our destination, I make no insinuations.”
Strobridge propped his boot up on a piece of wreckage and waved his hand. “I don't give a shit what you insinuate, as long as it ain’t Reno.”
“Need to get my brother to a doctor afore we do anything else.” Mason Daggett stated as he sat by his brother. His Kentucky bourbon was already down to the dregs and he stopped from sopping the sweat from George’s brow. Mason’s eyes looked dangerous. “Fuck anyone who's got issue with that.”
“Let's think about this.” Pa made settling motions with his hands. “I can't agree to take my daughter into Reno until the true impact of that train chock-full of deaduns is known. Maybe we can find a place agreeable to everyone. Reno and Carson aren’t the only watering holes around here.”
Nina didn't speak up, but she knew her pa was wrong. She didn’t understand why, but she was linked to Father Mathias and Red Thunder in their quest to stop Liao Xu. Pa might not see it, but the need to follow the Black Robe and the Nez Perce warrior sang in her veins. She would get Pa to understand, but needed to pick the right moment to talk to him.
And she hoped beyond all hope that Manning would come with them. A few days ago she'd been more concerned with getting to safety, but between then and now—especially after this morning—she'd learned more about herself than she had in her entire life. She was bound to the People in spirit, and to her boha gande. What other things might she discover about herself if she continued on this path?
“What say we just stay here a spell?” Buck asked from where he laid on the embankment. “Someone’s bound to see our smoke signal.” He tossed his thumb at the wreck of the Magpie and the dark smoke that plumed from the destroyed engine’s boiler.
“Salvage team was in Truckee,” said Strobridge. “Ain’t a soul coming. They’re probably too occupied with looking for lunch, if you get me. All that smoke is doing is likely attracting more goddamn deaduns.”
Nina’s stomach dropped at the thought. She and the girls had been acting fool
ish without paying attention to their surrounds. The tall dry grass and scrub brush suddenly looked a fair bit more ominous. She took note that the same thought crossed Jasmine’s mind, the woman’s gaze suddenly combing the outskirts.
“So what are you suggesting we do, Lincoln?” Manning cut in.
“Well…I ain't as acquainted with the land south of Crystal Peak, but I do know we follow the river east for a spell, then due south along the edge of the foothills. Might take a couple days, but we should find a burg called Galena or somesuch. I’m thinking the hills will provide adequate cover, and we do this maybe it’ll give things in Reno time to hash out. Might be the officials there will get things under control, and that’ll give you,” he inclined his head to Mathias, “a safe way to get your talisman.” He turned his head to Strobridge. “And you can mosey on to Carson City once we reach Galena. Till then, I think best we keep one another’s hindquarters safe and stay on the lookout.”
Nina was surprised no one spoke out right away considering everyone’s mutual dislike for everyone else, then Mason Daggett spoke up, “Ain't nothin' we can do anyways. Not with my brother and the injured.” He sloshed his bottle in Buck’s direction. “Ain't got the strength to pig-a-back ya’ll limpers.”
“Nobody’s carrying Buck Patterson,” said Buck, sour-faced.
Nina was tempted to tell Mason they could just leave George behind, just like the Daggetts wanted to do to her pa early on, but she remembered her father’s words and kept her mouth clamped. No sense in stirring up more shit.
Red Thunder, quiet since the wreck, suddenly stood among them. For someone with thunder in their name he sure was one durned stealthy mover. “Father Mathias can help,” the Indian said.
The priest looked at him. “I think it wou—”
“There are some among the Black Robes who know the secrets of miracle healing,” Red Thunder continued. “The ones with enough faith.”
“Faith? What's that?” Strobridge laughed as he placed his hands on his hips. “You never told me you was a blessed healer. Why, you’re just brimmin’ with secrets, Thomas.”