Strange Dominion

by Lyons, Amanda M.

  Jake and Johnny looked back and forth, from her to the sound that was coming closer. They both realized, finally, that it was the same tongue she spoke. These were injuns coming for them. They had finally been seen and they were coming to scalp them before slittin’ their necks, if not worse. Both had heard tale of the torture the injuns could inflict on the white man should he interfere in their lands. They both swallowed hard and turned to face their attackers.

  “If ya gonna die, then die brave, boy. We fixin’ ta have a good old tug a war wit’ them injuns. Good knowin ya, boy. Try keepin’ ya hair on.”

  “Sure will, Johnny. You too! I’m fixin ta take a few injuns wit’ me.”

  They both took the stance to fight, hand ta hand, with only their knives to fight wit’. Weren’t gonna go easy. No, sir! They were fixin’ ta go down fightin’ wit’ everything in ‘em!

  Their faces turned white as a sheet as they seen the ghosts of many warrior come toward them with tomahawks raised high, screeching like wild banshees. They stopped dead in their tracks when they seen her step in front of the white men, holding her hands out straight from her sides as if to shield the white men from the warriors.

  “How in tarnation we suppose to fight ghost injuns, Johnny?”

  “Darned if I know how ta do it, but by cracky, I’ll try and do ‘em in ifin’ I can.”

  “Same here, Johnny. Same here!”

  The leader Injun studied her for a while before speaking.

  “Little Fawn. Why do you stand between us? What are they to you that my daughter shields them? They have disturbed our rest and taken the gold that is ours. Still they seek more gold, even so much as to take our treasure for our journey to our Great White Father. The great hunting ground where all great warriors go. Why are you protecting them from our anger? Our justice. Speak to me, Little Fawn! Tell me!”

  “He is the love of my heart, father. I do not wish to disrespect you, but I cannot let you kill him. He is mine. I have chosen him as my mate.”

  “Chosen him? You are dead and he lives. How then is this so?”

  “Tall Bear forsook me when I returned to him. All my people did. They ran from me screaming. This one is not afraid. He takes me and we please each other. I cannot let you harm him.”

  “He is no warrior! Hiding behind his woman. He is yellow with fear!”

  “He is brave. You see how he stands before you. He does not hide! He does not cower! He is ready to fight you all. I am here to speak with you. They do not understand our tongue. They do not understand our ways. Only I speak for them. They search for gold, true. I know his heart. If he knew, he would not take it.”

  “You trust this man? So much you stand before me with defiance?”

  “I do.”

  A brave stepped forward from the rest. He stood there looking at Little Fawn, never changing the expression on his face. It was Standing Bear.

  “I am as you now. Come with me. I am of your people. He is not! Come, Little Fawn. Be with me now! You are Cherokee! Not a white woman!”

  “No, Tall Bear. You turned your back on me many years ago. I no longer want you. I loved you once. You rejected me.”

  “Obey me now, Little Fawn!”

  “Obey you? If I were your wife, I would obey. You rejected me, Tall Bear. Now I reject you!”

  “I have given four horses to your father for you. You are mine!”

  “I died in the water. Then you wanted me no more. It is done.”

  “I say when it is done!”

  “Enough! Your horses were returned. She is no longer yours.”

  Tall Bear looked at her father, then Little Fawn. He knew the chief had spoken and there was no more to say. It was done. He stepped back into the group of other braves. There was nothing more he could do.

  Little Fawn’s father stood there, studying her. She had never spoken up against his will before, stood there with no fear. She stood like a warrior for what she believed in. It did his heart proud that she had such strength. Then he looked at the two white men on either side of her. They had still done wrong. Disturbed their sleep and was robbing them of their treasure. This could not be allowed. Something must be done.

  As he studied them, they were studyin him as well as the rest of the braves. What did they want? What had they done to ghost injuns?

  Johnny glanced at Little Fawn. So this was what he was staring at the wall fer, smiling like a fool. She had been comin’ him to him at night when he was sleepin’. He could see they were stuck on each other. She was ready to fight fer him. They must love each other very much. He looked at Jake. That boy was all right, ready to fight ghost injuns alongside him and his ghost squaw. Wasn’t sure why the chief was stopping for her… well, maybe… Family, maybe? Who was that ugly coyote of a brave who stepped out between them to talk to this female one in front of us? Dad burn it. Too many questions I may never live to figure out. Dog gone it! Piss or get off the pot, Injuns. I’m tired of messin’ wit ya.

  Jake, on the other hand, was hoping like crazy when he got kilt he could still be wit’ this here woman. Livin’ or dyin’. Didn’t matter ta him, not like being with the love of his life. He looked at her with deep love fer her.

  The chief caught how he looked when he looked at his daughter. He was surprised to see a white man have any love for the red man. Then he looked deep within her eyes. There was no denying she also showed deep love for him even though her eyes never the chief’s eyes. At last, he spoke.

  “These white men, who you care for, they must return what they have taken, then go, never to enter here again. They must never disturb our rest for any reason. The white man holds much greed in his heart. If they do this, then I will let them live. Refuse, and they will die a painful death. I have spoken!”

  “How do I make them understand to do this, Father? I do not know how to speak their tongue.”

  “You have found a way to make this one love you, and you him. There is an understanding between you. Use it!”

  Little Fawn turned toward Jake, placin’ her hands around his neck, kissin’ him. That surprised Jake a lot. Especially when them dang injuns were standin’ there wantin’ ta part his hair. He tried to keep an eye on them, but couldn’t resist how she kissed. He was totally hers, right there and then. She continued to kiss him for a few minutes before pullin’ away. Then she pointed at the chief, then back at his scalp while shaking her head, then held out her hand to him palm up, to let him know to give her the gold. Jake was confused with what she was doin’. Johnny, on the other hand, watched what she was signaling when she did it for the second time.

  “Ya dang fool, she is usin’ sign language ta talk ta ya. Them kisses was telling you she loves you.”

  “I know that, old man, What’s the rest mean?”

  ‘Best I can figure, she says he won’t scalp you if you give her something. She is wantin’ the gold, dog gone it. What fer? We found the darn blasted stuff. Don’t know why they want it. Well, unless…. It’s theirs. Hmmm. Must be more gold here in this cave. Makes ya think don’t it?’

  ‘Don’t go getting’ us in more hot water, old man. Give her the gold. Not worth our lives.”

  Seeing that they were talking amongst themselves, Little Fawn thought she had gotten through to them. However, when the chief saw the sudden smile on the old man’s face his face hardened. What was this white man thinking? As the chief stiffened his body, all the braves grew restless, preparing for the attack. Things didn’t look too good if things didn’t change.

  Little Fawn turned to look at her father, smiling at what she had achieved. It quickly faded when she saw his face. She knew that look. It was not a good sign. She saw he was looking at the old man. What had he done to bring such distrust? She looked at Johnny with a look of anger. He had better not get her love hurt.

  Johnny dropped his smile and looked toward Little Fawn, then toward the chief. Dang burn it, they know what I’m a thinkin’. Ain’t right ta do that. Ain’t natural. Dog gone it.

  He
reached into his pocket to get the gold. As he did, the Chief and braves took a step toward him with weapons raised once again.

  Jake raised his hand to tell them to wait. They halted, but still stayed ready to attack.

  “Now hold on, fellers! I’m just fixin’ to get yur gold out of my pocket. Give me a chance, will ya?”

  He slowly pulled his hand out of his left pocket, holdin’ it toward the chief. In it was the three pieces of gold they had found. Jake waited for the chief to take it. Instead, Little Fawn took it out of his hand, givin’ it to her father. The chief slowly looked down, while keeping his eyes on Johnny. He did not trust him. He showed he was not worthy to the chief. When he looked down he saw the three pieces of gold. He nodded to his daughter.

  “Now, will they go away and not disturb us again?”

  “Yes, I will see to that. I promise, Father.”

  “This time, I will accept, next time I will kill them without hesitation. Remember my words, Little Fawn. The old one is planning something. Make sure he does not disturb us. The gold is ours, as well as all that is buried with us.”

  I will, father. You have my word.”

  She turned and pointed toward the entrance of the cave. Jake understood and headed that way with old Johnny followin’ behind. Little Fawn came followin’ after then, makin’ sure they did what they were told. They walked all the way back to the cabin in the dark. When they got to the cabin, both were so tired they both quickly laid down to go to sleep. Little Fawn lay down beside Jake, waitin’ for him to rest, and then get up the next morning. She kept an eye on both of them.

  Old Johnny lived only a couple years after that. He died still lookin’ for gold. Jake and Little Fawn went with him to hunt for it. He never did find any more gold, but he seemed content trying. When Johnny passed he was buried near the cabin where he haunted all the area around it, but stayed out of the cabin, givin’ Jake and Little Fawn their privacy. When Jake died, they both went to the cave and were accepted into the tribe of spirits where they remain still.

  The Crossing At Bony Ford

  Christine Morgan

  “It ain’t the drop, but the stop,” Momma always liked to say.

  When, that was, Corey would make that quote about how a body could get used to anything, even hangin’, if he did it long enough.

  I loved them both, and it pained me awful when they died. Funny how those same sayings came back to me now without being much of a comfort.

  Not the drop, but the stop.

  Get used to anything, even hangin’.

  I heard their words in my head over and over as I sat on a thin bunk with a thinner blanket all that was between my rump and its flat mattress. Where who knew how many others had set before me, iron bars between them and the rest of the world, the wide free world with all its promises … how many names had been scratched on the back brick wall with its one tiny window … also iron-barred, that window, and so high up I needed to stand on the bunk and still strain myself up on my tiptoes to peer out.

  Peering out only showed me what I most did not want to see.

  The jail here in Joshua Flats was built at the end of what passed for a town, just at the edge of where the land stopped, or started, being flat … depending on what way a person was headed.

  To one way, there lay a stretch of sand and scrub dotted with tumbleweeds and the weird, many-armed, shaggy, spike-bristling trees that gave the town its name … the desert rolling away under the heat-shimmer toward the golden grasslands of Antelope Valley. I’d heard how, in the spring, wild poppies would just fair to cover the ground, a bright orange forever of them rippling in the breeze.

  To the other way there rose up the Tehachapis, so named for the hard climb they were said to be. The Army’d had a fort up in the mountains, abandoned now. There were mines as well, though not so much for gold and silver. Mostly for something called borax, cottontail, or cottonball or such the like.

  The view from this one tiny window, though, showed me nothing but the way I’d be going, and it was neither toward the grasslands or the mountains. It was toward a low hill topped with a wind-gnarled oak.

  Another of Momma and Corey’s exchanges came to mind at the sight of it.

  “All’s any town needs,” Momma would say, “is a church for the saints and a saloon for the sinners.”

  “And a gallows-tree t’ keep them all honest,” Corey inevitably added.

  A gallows-tree, that’s what it was. On a scraggly hilltop where crosses and headstones leaned every which way, making a rough graveyard ringed by a crooked picket fence.

  That’s where I was headed. Travis Baines, not even twenty years old, bound for the noose.

  Why, they’d even built up a plank platform and scaffold by that there tree, under the stoutest branch. That’s where they would rig the rope. I could see from here how previous ones had rubbed a pale rut in the bark.

  I let go the bars and sat myself back down, wishing I hadn’t taken that further look. Made my neck hurt just to contemplate … the coarse choking burn, the snap if I was lucky and the slow strangling kick-dance if I wasn’t.

  Did I deserve to die that way?

  I didn’t reckon so, but, here I was.

  I’d been drunk, I’d been stupid, and I’d killed a man.

  I was sober now, but the rest hadn’t much changed. Could argue as to how I was still stupid … and a man was still dead, there’d be no arguing on that point. They’d gone and buried him up on that very hill; I’d watched them do it. And they’d dug another hole in the dirt at the same time, a hole they’d fill once I’d finished twitching.

  And that would be the end of me.

  Come high noon tomorrow.

  Or, rather, high noon today … because somehow I had gone and whiled away the whole night. Couldn’t recall sleeping, but at some point I must’ve because I woke with a miserable crick in my spine. Just what I needed for my last day on earth.

  The patch of sky through the tiny window had a peculiar tinge to it, a hazy sort of rusty green. Twister weather, the homesteaders might’ve said. Or maybe smoke from a brushfire, or blowing dust … mattered none to me. Soon enough now, a deputy’d bring me a tin plate with whatever it was they fed the condemned for their final breakfast. Eggs and bacon? Biscuits and gravy? Cornbread and beans? Vile black coffee strong enough to knock the shoes of a horse?

  I found the prospect of breakfast mattered none to me either. Had no appetite to speak of. I turned myself this way and that, hoping to work the crick from my spine, and then my jaw about hit my boottops when I realized the cell door’s lock was askew. Not busted, but askew, enough so that it hadn’t caught properly. A little jiggle there and it might well pop loose …

  What was in my head? Jailbreak? Escape? Run like a coward yellow-bellied dog?

  “Beats hangin’,” I heard Corey say.

  Not in my mind, that was. I heard him clear as anything, my brother’s whiskey voice, like he was standing right behind me.

  When I looked, though, accourse, the cell was empty.

  Whether I’d really heard him or not, the advice was as good.

  “Better a live dog than a dead wolf,” Momma said, for once in full agreement with Corey.

  Unless it was a trick of some kind. A trap. They’d fixed the lock that way on purpose to test if I’d face my fate like a man or not. If I tried sneaking out, they could be waiting there to catch me, and then …

  Well, and then what? What would they do? Shoot me?

  I went to the cell door. I gave it a jiggle. It made a pained squeal and I held my breath, sure that a deputy would poke his face in and demand to know what I was up to. But none did. I jiggled the latch again and it did pop loose. The hinges creaked slow as I eased the door open, holding it careful so it didn’t swing back and slam with a clang.

  The jail house was silent. I crept out like the lightest-footed mouse there ever was, expecting harsh shouts with each step. But nobody stopped me. Nobody snoozed at the desk. I got clear acr
oss and out, into that hazy rust-green morning light to find Joshua Flats as quiet and peaceful as could be.

  Now I was out and not sure what to do next. I’d had a horse, Corey’s horse, a dun-brown beast he’d named Muddy, but Muddy was stabled in the livery and I knew I was pushing what luck I had far enough already. I’d do better to get myself out of town on foot.

  That was my plan, right enough, but something … morbid curiosity, I suppose they’d call it … drew me on up the hill at the edge of town first. Why I felt compelled to go any closer to that gallows-tree, I had no idea. Or maybe it was the hole I wanted to look at, the hole that would’ve been my grave. What I might do, I had no idea there either … dance on it and laugh? Piss into it?

  Nothing stirred in the town, not so much as a cat or a cock. I clambered over the picket fence into the graveyard. Only then did I figure out it wasn’t the hole meant for me that had drawn me here … it was the hole meant for the man I’d killed. I didn’t even know his name. I had put a bullet in him, the blood had poured out like someone sprung the bung out of a barrel, and he had died gasping on the board-walk out in front of the Joshua Flats general store.

  All because I had been drunk and stupid, and he’d had the bad luck to come out of the store right then with his parcels, bump me, and send me staggering into the street, where I stepped square in a fresh cow pat. He’d been about to speak when I plugged him. Maybe about to apologize, for all I knew, and offer to buy me a drink to make amends.

  I hesitated at the end of the dirt mound. They’d stuck a wooden cross there, but no name was on it. Another traveler like me? Passing through? A miner, a ranch-hand?

  Seemed I’d never know after all.

  My gaze drifted as if on its own to the tree, bare branches hooked and bent, clawing at the hazy sky. I rubbed my throat. I swallowed. I swiveled my head side to side and felt that crick in my spine give an awful twang.