Delivering Virtue

by Brian Kindall

  “I will do as you ask, Virtue. I respect your decision, one way or another. You can go down there right now, with no more kerfuffle, and take your place in their grand scheme. I am sure you will be treated like a queen.” I rubbed my neck, and nervously scratched at my buckskin collar. “I will just ride away.” I turned and looked over my shoulder toward the northern horizon line.

  “But,” I said. “I want you to know, if you need my help… if you want me to take you out of here… I swear to you that I will use every bit of my strength and cunning to deliver you to safety.” I bobbed my head, and held my fist over my chest. “You have my word.”

  The girl still refrained from looking my way.

  I could not guess what she was thinking.

  I watched her face in profile. Impassive. Perfect. Almost like a statue.

  I had never been so thirsty.

  I knew things were happening down below. It did not matter to me right then just what they were up to. I could not take my eyes from Virtue. I understood that this might well be the last image of her I would ever have in my possession, and I wanted to linger over it for as long as possible.

  A chill breeze swept over the ridge.

  From somewhere, even in that stark landscape, a lark trilled musically, almost hauntingly, from out of the distance.

  I took that as my signal and was about to turn and go, when Virtue did something I was not expecting. She reached over and, without looking at me, she took hold of my hand, lacing her fingers in my own.

  My heart flopped like a fish.

  We stood like that for a long moment. Just me and her.

  And then Virtue turned to me, gazing into my face with her damp blue eyes.

  “All right, Rain,” she said at last. “Take me away from here.”

  PART THREE

  FLIGHT

  TRUMPETS BLARED AND SOMEONE fired off a canon as we mounted our horses and sped away. It was a most impressive display of animosity, shaking me to my bones, and I felt it all directed toward me individually. For I had stolen their angel. A most egregious and unpardonable sin. One that I felt sure would lead to a torturous Old Testament rebuke if we were ever caught up.

  We rode north at a full gallop.

  Ours was the advantage of a half-mile head start at the top of a hill; theirs was the advantage of many men and fresh horses. As for conviction – that motivator so nebulous and powerful in such cases of righteous determination – we were both parties about the same. They were driven by the justification of the Restructured Truth; we were propelled by our revulsion to the same.

  In a questionable move, not necessarily prudent, I decided not to take one of the available guns. A rifle might have been a handy card to have in the gamble we were now undertaking, but it was the principle of such an act that caused me to abandon my good sense. I figured that in the end, I would want it to be as I had agreed back in Independence. That is how I would prefer the story to be retold. Perhaps I was already preparing for my impending martyrdom. It was admittedly a bit late in the journey to be so admirable, but it turns out that even the lowliest beast can rise to scruples when pressed. And maybe, just maybe, some god might look down on me and see this decision as noble, therefore providing us with safe passage. I could only hope. It was, I suppose, a matter of faith.

  Brownie, Puck, and Genevieve seemed to understand quite clearly our predicament. They ran fast and hard. I noticed a slight limp in Puck’s stride, but he muscled onward and did not let it slow him down.

  The plain was wide and barren north of the City of Rocks. The hills flattened out and the expanse stretched before us for miles. Peering back over my shoulder, I could see the faint cloud of dust rising from the pack of Jack Mormons hounding our trail. I figured there was about twenty of them. Like us, they were running at top speed. For the first hour, the distance between our two groups seemed to be staying about the same. But as the afternoon progressed, I sensed that the intervening space was diminishing. Our horses were doing their best. They were greatly lathered and heaving with labored breaths. One could feel their determination. Still, I figured we had but one desperate chance to pull ahead. And even then I could not make a guarantee.

  On and on we dashed.

  *****

  I had been in this part of the world before, during one of my previous deliveries, and I was hoping now that my memory was correct in regards to its topography. I spied what I believed to be the butte I was looking for, and we angled toward it. We were drawing close to our moment of truth.

  One could see a cleft in the landscape up ahead. I knew this to be the Snake River – a wide and powerful band of churning hydrology. My hope was that we would come to the river’s edge at a fording place that was right at that teetering point between possible and not. My hope was that we could cross over and survive, but that the place at which we did so would be too intimidating for our chasers to take the risk. I was counting on my memory not to let me down.

  “Well,” I said, as we came to the river. “At least it is not so wide as I recalled.”

  We paused on the waterway’s high bank.

  It was true that the river was narrower here, but it seemed that that very narrowness was what made it such a formidable piece of turbulence. A large volume of water was being constricted into a too narrow channel, and this resulted in a most tumultuous and rollicking width of whitewater. Tall waves raised up and collapsed beneath their own frothy weight. The noise of it was incredible. It did not appear passable.

  I peered downstream and up. I glanced back behind. The evening was coming on, the light was growing dim, but I could see that the riders were close now. Not more than a quarter mile away. I quick figured up how much lead we would require to work our way downriver to a better crossing. But the bank was thick with willows and runneled terrain and I knew that this would cost us too many precious minutes. They would surely be on us in no time.

  “Virtue,” I hollered. “It is not too late. You can go to them if you want. They will not blame you for our attempted escape.” I looked at the water. “I can take my own chances.”

  She looked at me for only the slimmest part of a second, just enough to convey all the insult and incredulity she felt at my suggestion. Then, in a snap, she kicked Genevieve in the ribs, urging the mare to leap into the mighty Snake River.

  What could I do but follow?

  THE RIVER WAS MORBIDLY cold and it squeezed me like a fist as I sank down into its watery clutches.

  We will now drown, I calmly assured myself.

  There seemed no way around it.

  I saw a flash of Virtue’s blond head in front of me. She was there, and then she was not. The waves between us rose and fell away and then rose up again.

  I slid from Brownie’s back on the downstream side and held onto the saddle horn, swinging and bouncing along his flank while trying to keep myself away from his frantically churning legs. I spied Puck a ways upstream. The trunks on his sawbuck seemed to buoy him up. A wild and determined look shined in his wide open eye.

  I went under the water, a roar in my ears.

  And then I was up.

  Back and forth.

  Instinct told me when to hold my breath, but after a while of up and down in the rapids, my timing was thrown off and I gulped a big swallow of water. Right then I went back down under. There was no way to spit out, and there was no way to take a breath. It was a most panicky sensation, ultimately resulting in an inhalation of water into my chest. When my head finally did bob to the surface, I puked up out of my lungs, swallowed a short breath, and became submerged once again. My grip slipped from the saddle and I was free floating in the river, unattached to Brownie. Somehow, even in the throes of it, I knew that all hope was lost if I did not keep hold of my horse. I could never swim out of this raging cataract of my own. I groped wildly in the spume toward Brownie. But nothing.

  Nothing.

  All is done, I thought. It is finished.

  Then my fingers happened into the lo
ng hairs of Brownie’s tail. I pulled myself toward my horse’s rear end, taking hold of his tail in both hands, rolling onto my back, dragging along behind as he kicked through the torrent toward the far bank. I concentrated on opportunities to breathe.

  After a time, the ride became almost peaceful. The river itself was no less wild, the waves no less large and cold and threatening, but a complacency overwhelmed me. Time seemed to go away. Nothing at all seemed to matter. I could hold onto Brownie, or just as soon not. It did not seem of much importance one way or the other. What would be so bad about letting oneself go? It was only death. People do it every day. A short struggle, and then it would be finished. Oblivion would be mine. That did not sound so bad.

  But then I recalled my promise to Virtue.

  There was still a chance that she was not dead.

  I held on, doing my best to stay alive.

  At last, I felt my heels and buttocks banging along the rocks. The water grew shallow. Brownie heaved his body out of the river, dragging me to where I dropped into a sand-bottomed eddy. I lay there, stunned, choking, floating on my back and looking up into the sky.

  I was surprised to be gazing at the moon.

  It floated in the rosy evening light.

  So lovely!

  “Virtue!” I coughed. “Virtue!”

  *****

  I sloshed and staggered until I found my feet. My legs were not obeying my requests, and I fell twice before I could take command of my body. I knelt on the shore, spewing greenish water onto my knees, taking stock.

  Brownie was there in front of me. He was accounted for.

  I gazed upstream. Puck was only just now crawling out onto dry ground. He limped up into some willows and turned to look our way.

  I turned and glanced along the downstream bank. Virtue was there, half bent over, wringing the water from her dress. She appeared to be in one piece.

  I stood and waved to the girl. “Ha!” I called.

  She looked at me and waved a hand.

  A ways further down the shore, I could see Genevieve standing near a naked poplar tree. Her head was going up and down, and it occurred to me that her reins were tangled in the brush. I moved to go help her out.

  “Go to Puck and Brownie,” I told Virtue, as I passed. “I will fetch Genevieve.”

  The rocks were slippery and I was battered from my swim. I stumbled my way to the mare. She stood waiting. She had given up freeing herself on her own, and was waiting for my assistance. I leaned with a hand against the trunk of the poplar. Crunchy leaves littered the ground. Genevieve’s reins were all wrapped around a snarl of driftwood that had lodged into the tree’s exposed roots.

  “Hold on, girl,” I soothed. “Whoa. Be still.”

  I placed my hand on her neck, stroking it reassuringly, and then I squatted down, endeavoring to loosen the knot of leather straps.

  “You have a genuine mare’s nest here,” I joked, trying to calm her nerves.

  She was breathing hard, her head held low, her eyes glazed with weariness.

  The wet leather had synched up tightly with her struggles and I had quite a time getting them to come apart. My hands were still shaking from the rush of adrenaline that had swept through my body during our swim. I seemed to be cursed with ten thumbs. Finally, the reins were free and I stood next to the horse.

  “There we are,” I said. “Let us go.” I then turned to lead her back to the others.

  To my great surprise, the poplar trunk exploded near my head, large chunks of bark spraying along my cheek. I winced and nearly fell. Then, even over the roar of the river, I heard the small pop of a rifle shot. I glared across the river. We had been washed downstream about a half mile from where we started, and our pursuers had finally worked their way down so that they were even to us. They were strung out along the far shore. I could just make out their ghostly shapes working along in the evening light.

  One of them was on his knee, a rifle aimed my way. It took me a moment to comprehend the consequences of his posture. I suppose I was still somewhat dazed from my swim. I realized that I was far from Virtue. They would not take a chance at hurting her, but the distance between us at the moment was so great that there was no danger of that happening.

  A puff of smoke bloomed from the man’s rifle barrel.

  He jerked with the repercussion.

  And then of a sudden, Genevieve screamed.

  Followed directly by the sound of the shot.

  The reins jerked out of my hand and the mare’s hindquarters dropped to the ground. At once I saw where the bullet had torn through the top of her back, just behind her saddle, severing her spine. Blood and bone chips rained out over the leaves. She staggered, pulling herself forward a few steps with her front legs, but then she pitched over into the river.

  It was most horrific to witness.

  I bent forward, my hands helplessly reaching toward her.

  Her legs were thrashing madly in the shallows, but this only served to move her into the deeper water. At last she was caught in the swifter current. Her head raised far up out of the waves, and then she submerged for good into the black churning water.

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open, stunned.

  Until another bullet exploded in the rocks at my feet.

  *****

  I lurched up the bank, scrambling on my hands and knees into the willows.

  Yet another bullet tore through the branches past my ear – thwiiiit!

  Then many bullets zipped through the willows all around me. It seemed a small army was trying to fill me up with holes. I heard the shots over the roar of the river – Pam! Pam-pam! Pam!

  I wiggled like a snake on my belly, squirming over a rise in the embankment and then back down into a shallow dish of earth on the other side. The bullets kept coming, thunking into the sand and rocks in the berm. This shallow channel formed a ditch-like trough and I crawled upstream within its protection. Although the shots continued, I sensed no more bullets were hitting anywhere near me, and I figured they had not seen me make my move and were still shooting at the place I had been. I wondered what Virtue and the horses were up to.

  It was foolish to risk showing myself, but I felt a need to see what our enemies were doing. I carefully lifted my head from behind a bunch of grass, just enough to peek through a crack in the willow stalks.

  Some of the men were standing knee deep in the river, their horses beside them. They seemed to be testing the waters. The waves rose up menacingly between our side and theirs. If anything, this was a worse place to cross than where we had entered the river ourselves.

  “Good!”

  The men were hollering to one another, gesturing with their arms, trying to come up with a plan of action. Their shouts sometimes rose up like bird chirps over the rumble of the river. The light was going fast now, and they were but silhouettes. None of them were willing to dare cross the river at this particular point. Some of them were gathering on the high bank. They conferred, and then headed downriver, searching, I assumed, for a gentler ford.

  I heard Brownie and Puck’s hoof beats somewhere through the brush inland from the river. Then they stopped.

  “Rain!” It was Virtue calling. “Rain, are you there?”

  “Here!” I called. “Stay there! I will come to you.”

  Squatting down and bent over, I scampered through the willows and small trees. Soon there was enough brush between me and the river so that I was out of sight of the riflemen. I stood in a narrow clearing. Virtue and the horses stepped out of the trees.

  “Are we all of a piece?” I asked.

  Virtue nodded, and then looked past me into the willows.

  “Genevieve is gone,” I said. “I am sorry. She is shot.”

  All three of my companions were dispirited by this news.

  I looked back over my shoulder in the direction of the river. “She was a good friend,” I consoled. I turned back to Virtue. “But now we must go.”

  I quickly knelt in the sand
at Puck’s feet and inspected his fetlock. It was swollen to twice its normal size, and tender to the touch. I cursed internally, but did not let him know my anguish. I stood and stroked his neck. “It is all right, boy. You will be fine.”

  I climbed onto Brownie, and then turned to Virtue. “We must double up,” I said, and reached a hand down to the girl.

  She took hold of my arm and then, with a lift and hop, she swung up onto Brownie’s back so that she was astride the saddle behind me. She wrapped her arms around my middle.

  “Okeydoke?” I asked.

  She gave me a squeeze.

  THE MOST DEVOUT HOURS of my life were those spent riding through the primordial blue moonlight with Virtue. We could have been on the moon itself, so otherworldly was that sterile landscape, so preternatural was that velvety night.

  Brownie slid into a rhythmic canter, steady and pressing, pressing forward. The gentle rocking of his body lulled me into a trance-like state. We felt to be fairly floating over the earth. Virtue’s cheek rested on my shoulder. She held herself tight against me. The air was raw and cold, our clothes still damp from our swim, but a warmth pervaded my being. In spite of our calamitous circumstances, a contentment inundated my soul. Quite inexplicably, I found myself happier than I had ever been.

  But then came the dawn.

  It was somewhat like being yanked from out a pleasant dream.