by J. Birch
“And what would I do?” Charlie said. “Work on his ranch? I went to Bear Hunt to get away from ranching.”
“So go back to Bear Hunt.”
“No,” Charlie said. “Last night I prayed to the Lord for guidance, and you know what happened?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Jack shrugged. “Isn’t that what usually happens?”
Tapping his chest, Charlie said, “Not in here. I used to feel his presence.”
“So you’re not a rancher and you ain’t no preacher,” Jack said. “Keep the land, work the soil, and hire some hands.”
“I’m no farmer either,” Charlie said. He drained the rest of his coffee. “But you are. You could help me.”
“I can’t,” Jack said. “You know I can’t.”
“You have no place else to go.”
“There’s Lone Pine.”
“If you want land, it’s here.”
“We’re square, Charlie,” Jack said. “You saved my life so I got you home. Have you forgotten I’m a wanted man? If I stay here, I’m dead.”
“We could hide you.”
“I’ll not lay that kind of trouble on your shoulders.”
“A little late for that.”
Jack pushed back his chair. “I didn’t ask you to shoot Cole,” he said.
“What other choice did I have?” Charlie said.
“You could have let me die.”
“Why, do you want to die?”
Emily’s door opened. She emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was a mess from the pillow, her eyes puffed and red from crying. After giving an unconvincing “Good morning,” she grabbed her broom from the corner and stepped out onto the porch.
Watching her go, Charlie said, “She’s angry with me.”
Outside, Emily attacked the porch, sweeping with enough vigor to tear up the nails.
“You should apologize to her,” Jack said.
“I will.”
She swept past the window, grunting and sweating. Even angry, she was beautiful.
Jack’s imagination drifted a little. He saw himself waking up every morning at the ranch, smelling Emily’s cooking, watching the sunrise melt down her black hair, her smile better than a cup of coffee. He saw himself laughing with Charlie as they worked the land, their hands deep in the cool, damp earth—
Monster.
“I want to stay,” Jack said. “You and your sister are the first folks who’ve ever treated me proper. But I can’t.” He watched Emily reach the edge of the porch and stop. “And I shouldn’t,” he said. “In case I … you know.”
Charlie looked at him quizzically. “You what?”
I’ll hurt her. “In case I hurt her,” Jack said, forcing the words out. I’ll tear her apart. “In case I—”
Charlie reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Jack, you listen to me,” he said. “You listen real hard. A man shows his goodness not by what he says or thinks, but by what he does. I don’t know what you did in Gasher Creek; curses man, even you don’t know. But I’ve seen what you’ve done since then.” He paused. “I’m not sure who this raping, killing, Jack Devlin is, but he’s not sitting across this table from me. You hear?”
Jack nodded. “But what if I—”
“You hear me?” Charlie said, squeezing his wrist.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I hear you.”
“Good,” Charlie said, letting go. “Now, about us working the land, I—”
Emily burst into the house. “Come quick,” she said.
Charlie and Jack jumped up from their seats. Charlie retrieved the shotgun from above the mantle and followed Emily out onto the porch. As Jack stepped outside, he could see a posse of men on the wagon trail. A momentary surge of panic swept through him before he realized that all the men were wearing similar clothing, and there were far too many for a fugitive hunt. Six men turned into nine, then twelve, and then twenty.
“It’s the army,” Charlie said, lowering his gun. He stepped off the porch. Jack and Emily followed closely behind him.
What they saw first was the mounted cavalry: twelve men on chestnut colored horses taking the lead. Most were dressed in the familiar tunics and woolen trousers, although some wore buckskin coats. They all wore kepis. Revolvers sat on their hips, carbines off their right sides held by slings. Leading the cavalry was a blonde haired colonel wearing a large campaign hat, the brim pulled so low you could only see his nose and moustache. He rode a few yards ahead of the others, his back straight, his gloved hands keeping a loose grip on the reins like a man out for a Sunday trot. Behind the horses rolled a chuck wagon, followed by more cavalrymen. Behind them marched foot soldiers.
Jack took a step back. “Come on,” he hissed. “Let’s go back inside. The army don’t like it when you stare.” As he reached out to touch Charlie’s arm, he heard a baby crying.
“Oh God,” Emily said.
A Chewak woman hobbled behind a second chuck wagon. She clutched a small baby to her chest. She wore a tan colored buckskin dress and moccasins. Her braided hair was dusted yellow and red. Behind her followed a Chewak man in ripped buckskin trousers and no shirt. Dried blood covered his chest. He followed the woman closely and glanced nervously at the wailing child.
More Chewaks followed, flanked by soldiers. Most of them were old, or women. The old ones looked skinny and sick. The women clutched at their frightened children and tried to keep up. The few men that Jack could see had been battered and beaten. One looked as if he’d been dunked in blood.
“Our people,” Charlie whispered.
The blonde haired colonel raised a hand to them. “Good morning,” he said. Now that he was closer, Jack could see a face behind that enormous blonde moustache. He was handsome, with bright blue eyes and skin tanned by the sun. He raised his hat to Emily and smiled. His teeth were very white.
Charlie moved closer.
“Charlie,” Jack said. “What are you doing?”
“Getting a better look.”
“What, no—” Jack said, but then Emily followed. Jack sighed. He went along with them.
As the procession of Chewaks passed, a few looked curiously at Charlie and Emily. An old woman carrying a basket smiled sadly at them, her long white hair whipping in the wind.
“What’s happened to them?” Emily asked.
“Relocation,” Jack said.
“What does that mean?”
“The army took them off their land.”
“They can’t do that,” she said. “How can they do that?”
“It’s a sign,” Charlie said.
Both Emily and Jack looked at him. They both said, “What?”
Charlie kept watching the procession. “Last night, I prayed for God’s guidance. I needed a sign, and he’s sent one.” He turned to face them. “Don’t you see? My people need me. They need to hear the good word. God has forgiven my wickedness.”
“Okay, fine, good,” Jack said. “Glad to hear it. Now can we please go back to the house?”
“I need to speak with them,” Charlie said, handing the shotgun to Jack. “I’ve never spoken to my own people before.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Jack said. “You see them fellas with the guns?”
Charlie moved toward the procession, and it didn’t take long for one of the soldiers to react. A short, skinny private with messy brown hair and a face full of freckles said, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
There was not one hint of courtesy or kindness in his voice. Jack had seen his type at The Ram; young and arrogant, with a foul word for everyone. Aiming his carbine, the private said, “Don’t come no closer.”
Charlie raised his hands. “I only want to speak with them. As you can see, I’m unarmed.”
A sergeant hurried to the private’s side. His face was thick with stubble. Messy black hair stuck out from under his kepi. He aimed his gun.
Emily’s breath quickened.
“Only a few words,” Charlie said.
“With wh
o,” The private said, cocking an eye at him.
“The Chewak.”
The private spat. “Who?”
“The Chewak.”
“Why,” the sergeant said, “You looking to buy one of their women?”
“No,” Charlie said.
Seeing Emily, the sergeant said, “She for sale?”
“Of course not,” Charlie snapped.
“Oh shit,” Jack said.
The private cracked Charlie in the chest with the butt of his carbine. Charlie stepped back and wheezed, but didn’t fall.
“Do something,” Emily whispered to Jack.
“Like what?” Jack whispered back.
“Now you keep a civil tongue,” the private said. “No mixer talks to the sergeant like that.”
“It’s all right, Gary,” the sergeant said casually. “Let’s not make a ruckus for the Colonel.” He licked his lips. “You go on and talk to them, mix, but make it quick.”
Charlie rubbed his chest and coughed. “Thank you,” he said.
The soldiers stepped aside, but the private chuckled and muttered something to his sergeant. Jack didn’t like the look on his face. He looked eager.
Charlie approached an old man. He spoke in Chewak, but the old man simply shook his head and kept moving. Next, he tried a woman with deep scratches on her neck, but she didn’t even look at him. Last, he tried a tall, muscular man with a wound to the stomach. Charlie only managed a few words before the man shoved him. Charlie stumbled back and fell. The Chewak shouted at him and signaled with his hands.
The private squealed with delight. “Do it again, mixer, do it again!”
The procession stopped. At the front, the Colonel turned his horse to watch.
“Now you done it,” the sergeant said. “Colonel’s got our faces.”
The private’s smile vanished. “It was your idea,” he said.
Emily clutched Jack’s hand. “He needs to get out of there,” she said. “Now.”
“But—”
She squeezed. “Go!”
Jack shook the blood back into his fingers and moved toward the procession. He kept his eyes on Charlie and tried not to look at the soldiers or Indians. His heart felt as if it were cramming up his throat. He was going to vomit. He was going to faint. He was going to faint and then vomit. Almost there, he thought. Just concentrate on Charlie.
So he concentrated on Charlie, and was doing such a good job concentrating that he’d crossed more than half the distance before remembering the shotgun in his hand.
“Halt!” the sergeant shouted, raising his carbine. “Stop—stay put!”
Jack did his best put.
“Drop the gun!”
Jack laid the gun down and then lifted his hands. “I’m not coming to make a fuss,” he said. “I just need to—to—retrieve my Indian.”
The sergeant squinted at him. “He yours?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “He’s my odd jobs man.”
“This your ranch?”
“Yes.”
Lowering his gun, the sergeant said, “Well damn mister, you better come collect him or he’s liable to never hammer a nail again.”
When Jack reached Charlie, he was still staring up at the Chewak warrior, saying, “Chen eta Sewak, ne che!”
The warrior shook his head and looked away.
“Charlie,” Jack said, tugging on his shoulder. “Come on, we have to go.”
“I just wanted a few words,” Charlie said.
“Looks like they don’t want your words.”
“But they’re my people.”
“You got your own people,” Jack said. “Me and your sister.” He helped Charlie to his feet. “Come on.” Together, they headed back toward Emily.
“What did that fella say to you?” Jack asked.
Charlie seemed to struggle with the words. He said, “We are dead. Go be white.”
Jack looked back at the procession as it started moving again. “Maybe he’s on to something,” he said. “They’re headed to a reservation, but you’re walking on your own land.”
“But I’m not white,” Charlie said. “Half breed or not, I’m still a Chewak.”
“So be Charlie the Chewak,” Jack said. “Hell, that’s how I see you. Expecting you to scalp me and eat my bones any day now.”
Charlie smiled despite himself. “Or maybe I’m just a fool, thinking God sent this as a sign.”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe it is a sign.”
“How do you figure?”
“One of your people just told you to go be white. Well, you don’t have to be white, but you can live free and work your land. Maybe that’s what God wants you to do.”
“But I can’t work this land by myself.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Jack said. He looked at the corral, the house, the barn. Then he looked at Emily. Before he could stop the words, he said, “That’s why I’m staying.”
Charlie stopped. “You are? I mean—you will?”
“Until the farm is up and working, yes I will, Charlie.”
“You’ll stay!” Charlie exclaimed. Shaking Jack’s hand, he said, “This is wonderful news. You won’t be sorry. I’ll make you rich off this land, I promise.”
“I don’t need riches,” Jack said. “Maybe a horse when it’s time.”
“A dozen horses,” Charlie said, still pumping his hand. “A hundred! Come on, let’s go tell my sister. I reckon she’ll be thrilled.”
Up ahead, Emily waited for them, hands on her hips.
“You might want to apologize first,” Jack said. “A dozen apologies. Maybe a hundred.”
Charlie laughed and clapped him on the back. Then, stepping away from Jack, he bent over and lifted the shotgun out of the grass—
BANG!
Charlie’s forehead exploded, and he fell.
Emily screamed.
The procession scattered into madness and chaos. The Chewak women cried out. Two warriors ran and were shot down. An old man was cracked across the chin. Soldiers waved their carbines around wildly as their superiors barked orders. And in the middle of the fray, one private’s carbine smoked, the barrel still pointing at the spot where Charlie had stood.
Lowering it, he smiled.
The ground rumbled as the Colonel charged toward them. Closing the distance, he reined in his horse, shouting, “Just what in the God damned hell is going on here! Sergeant Bilkes, Private Owen, explain yourselves!”
“He shot him!” Emily screamed, cradling Charlie’s head in her lap. Blood spurted from the wound and soaked into her dress.
The Colonel dismounted, looking from Charlie to his soldiers. “Which one of you piss pots shot this Indian!”
Private Owen stood at attention. “I did sir.”
The Colonel snatched him by the tunic. “Explain yourself, private, before I blow your balls off.”
“He had a gun,” the private said.
“He aim it at you?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly sir, but—”
“God dammit,” the Colonel growled. He marched over to Charlie and nudged him with his boot. “Does this look like injun cloth? He wasn’t one of ours. He’s dressed like a white man.”
Private Owen smirked. “He’s still got a dirty face.”
The Colonel placed his fists on his hips. He said, “You slowed down my God damned line to shoot yourself a God damned farm hand? I oughta hang you.”
“Sorry sir.”
“Yeah, you’ll be sorry. If we don’t deliver these Indians to Fort Tig by Sunday, I’ll be knee deep in shit. And if I’m knee deep in shit, you’ll drown, you understand?”
“Yes sir!” Private Owen shouted. He stood stiff and still, but his eyes shivered.
“My apologies, sir,” the Colonel said to Jack. “I’ll bury your Indian, no charge.”
Jack watched the blood gush out of Charlie’s skull like a fountain. He watched the blood splash onto Emily’s apron. He watched her tears flow down her neck. He looked at the Colonel.
The Colonel waited for a response. Not getting one, he removed his hat and scratched his head. “Must all be inbred,” he muttered. Turning to the private, he said, “Owen, because of your negligence, you’ll bury it.”
The private opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his superior officer and he shut it again.
“Let’s move!” the Colonel ordered. He mounted his horse and returned to the head of the procession.
Private Owen swore and stomped his boot. “Of all the luck,” he said, marching over to Emily. “All right you bitch, move aside. I need that body.”
Emily stopped sobbing. She looked up at him. She cocked her head slowly, almost as if she hadn’t understood him.
And then she lunged.
In seconds, she had him on the ground, straddling him and ramming her fists into his face:
Right,
Left,
Right,
Left.
“Get this red bitch offa me!” howled Owen. He waved his hands in front of his face in a pathetic attempt to defend himself.
She clobbered both eyes.
She smashed his nose with an audible crunch.
“Hey, you!”
Jack tore his gaze from Emily. Sergeant Bilkes and a dozen other soldiers had their carbines aimed and ready to shoot. “I’ll not deny the girl’s anger,” Bilkes said. “But if she doesn’t stop, I will give the order to fire.”
Emily tore into Private Owen like a wildcat, slashing his face to ribbons. She wouldn’t stop. She’d peel him down to his skull.
Bracing himself, Jack swept his arms around her waist and tore her free from the private. He lifted her up, her arms flailing wildly, her hands curled into bloody claws. On the ground, Private Owen whimpered like a pup.
“I did what you want, now get off our land,” Jack shouted. “Go! I’ll bury my friend.”
Up ahead, the Colonel broke rank again and turned toward them. “What’s happening now?” he shouted. “If I have to come down there, someone’s getting shot!”
“They want to bury their Indian, sir!” Bilkes yelled.
“Then by God let them do it! Bury the others and let’s go go go!”
Emily struggled in Jack’s arms. “Let me go,” she said.
“No,” Jack said.
“Release me!” she demanded.
Jack twisted her away and dragged her back to the house. She dug her nails into his hands, but he managed to hold on. She tried to hook her toes under the edge of the porch but wasn’t strong enough. She clutched at the front door, so he hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain. With his last gasp of strength, he reached the bedroom and collapsed with her onto the bed.