Benjamin takes out a pack of cards with frayed edges, and starts to shuffle for a game of faro. I watch for a bit, not in the mood to play. I’m not a fan of card games, even if the boys aren’t betting real money; it’s just a way to pass the time. Curtis calls banker and deals, then burns off the first card. He’s placing the banker’s card when a loud horselaugh catches my attention from across the room. My eyes find Dollarhide immediately; his back is to me but there’s no mistaking that dingy hair.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I ask, my fists tightening on instinct.
The Garretts crane their heads around to see who I’m glaring at.
“He who?” Micah nudges me, not following my gaze.
“Dollarhide,” Ben answers for me. “I thought that was his horse.”
“How in blazes did Dollarhide get a horse?” Micah asks.
“Stole one, I reckon,” Curtis says. “You stay away from him, all of you.”
“I intend to,” I tell him, crossing my arms.
“Why?” Sam asks. “I mean, I know he’s a bad sort and all, but lots of hunters are. Again, no offense.”
“He’s in deep to the Judge,” Curtis says. “Gambling debts up to his eyes, and he’s getting desperate.”
“He was making noise a while back about Delgado fleecing him out of a job. Wouldn’t shut up till some fellers made him. That was before he came after you.” Ben nods at me.
“What?” Micah’s eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me that, Will. When? What happened?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Dollarhide thought Pa gave me some of the money and tried to take it off me.”
“Of course,” Micah says, his lip curling up. “Leave it to Pa to pile on more troubles.”
“That ain’t fair,” I tell him, but my heart isn’t in it. I gave up on Pa a long time ago.
“It won’t be long afore he follows your pa’s example,” Curtis interrupts, putting an end to our squabble. “The Judge ain’t a patient man, and I hear Dollarhide owes two months in tithes.”
“What tithes?” Sam asks. “I thought hunters didn’t have to pay dues.”
“No, but ten percent of everything we make goes to the Judge. Some goes to keep the patrols busy and these stations stocked, and the rest goes in his pockets.”
Micah gives a low whistle, and I scowl. How much money does one man need? The rest of us barely scrape by, and the Judge still has his hand out.
“Is that why y’all are so affordable?” I ask.
Curtis shrugs. “Well, that and we’re still green. But I don’t like giving that man any more than I have to.”
I nod in agreement, and glance at Dollarhide. Maybe he feels my eyes on him, because he looks right at me. I duck my head down, staring at my half-full plate. When I risk another look, he’s making his way out of the mess hall.
“If he’s smart, he’ll get out of Glory,” Ben says, watching Dollarhide leave. “Somewhere the Judge can’t send hunters to collect.”
“If he were smart, he wouldn’t owe in the first place. Judge has long arms,” Curtis says. “There’s not many places he can’t reach. His boys are everywhere from Savage to Rath City, and those boys are loyal. I know McAllister’s after your pa, but I’d rather have a posse on my tail than owe one red cent to the Judge. All right, make your bets.”
The boys use colored rocks instead of chips. A few fellows wander over to watch the game, introducing themselves as hunters from Plainview. They seem plenty nice, and one of them gives me a sidelong glance, but Ben and Curtis aren’t enough to change my opinion of hunters entirely.
I watch the boys play without paying attention, my full belly making me sleepy and warm. Micah looks happy, laughing at Curtis’s jokes and talking easily with Sam. At home he’s so withdrawn, always sealing himself away. Is it my fault he’s like that? Or maybe Micah feels it, too, the heaviness that lives in our house, the air thick with regret.
Breaking glass and shouts erupt from the corner, and I leap to my feet a second after the Garretts, pushing Micah behind me. Everyone is drawing guns but I can’t see what’s happening.
“Get back,” someone yells. “Get away from him.”
A space clears as everyone backs away from a man lying on his side on the floor. At first I think he’s been shot, but then I see him moving, convulsing in rapid and jerky spasms. His body contorts and as he rolls onto his back I see his face, twitching and distorted with pain.
“Oh no,” Micah says softly, his eyes wide.
Sam takes a hesitant step forward, but Curtis puts a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Doc,” he says. “Best not get too close.”
It’s the first rule we have drilled into us: Any sign of sickness and it’s already too late. Sympathy will only get you killed. Lewis and Reyes run past us, shoving their way through the crowd. They stop well clear of the man, watching him jump like hot oil in a pan.
“Who came with him?” Lewis asks, his voice hard.
Two other hunters come forward, looking guilty and afraid.
“He only said he had a headache,” one of them mumbles. “He weren’t acting right, but we thought he was drunk.”
“Tha’s no excuse,” Reyes says, glaring. “You know the rules.”
The hunter nods rapidly and cocks his gun.
“Not here, you idiot,” Lewis yells at him. “Take him outside the gate.”
The hunters hesitate, not wanting to touch their friend.
“Do it now,” Lewis says, “and we’ll let you leave here alive. You might even make it to morning, if you’re lucky.”
They reach down and grab the man by his arms and start to drag him. He’s making wet choking sounds, his eyes rolling in his head. He doesn’t fight them; I don’t think he’s even in there anymore. The rest of the hunters move back, making a wide path out of the mess hall, and everyone is silent until they pass through.
“Anyone else tries to bring the sickness here, you get a night outside with your bullets for company,” Lewis says loudly. “That understood?”
A murmur of assent ripples through the hunters.
“Then good evening.”
“Well.” Curtis sits down heavily, running a hand over his face. “Where were we?”
The boys settle back into place and the game resumes, somewhat subdued.
“He musta known he was sick,” Micah says after a moment.
“It comes on fast,” Sam says. “He mighta thought he had more time.”
“He was wrong, then,” Ben says.
My eyes start to blur as I look at the cards and I rub a hand over my face.
“Listen, boys, I’m dragged out. I’m going to lay down before I fall down.”
Benjamin makes to stand up, but I motion him back.
“Finish the game. I think I can manage to walk a few steps on my own. Y’all come when you’re ready.”
“’Night, Willie,” they call after me and I wave to them half-heartedly.
I know it’s coming, but I still flinch when I hear the single gunshot.
29.
I trudge back along the path, the evening sky a dingy blue-gray, like a dog that rolled in dirt. There’s a slice of moon tonight, pale in comparison to the swarm of the stars. A lantern hangs from the entrance of someone’s tent, lighting the way in the dusk. I see the outline of a man standing stooped, a cloud of smoke around his head. I’m halfway to my tent before I make out his features, and then he moves up to meet me.
“Well, lookie here. I never expected ter see you out this way.” His voice is harsh, tobacco smoke and rusty nails.
I groan to myself; I should’ve known he would be waiting after he saw me.
“Damn it, Dollarhide, I’m too tired for this.”
Dollarhide drops his rolled cigarette and crushes it with his boot heel. The lantern illuminates his wrinkled face, and I can see a dark bruise across his cheek.
“That right? Had a long day, sweetheart?” I can smel
l whiskey on his breath, but he’s steady on his feet this time. This could get ugly quickly; he’s unarmed, but so am I, and I’m no match for him sober. I look behind me for help, but the hall is too far away for anyone to see us in the encroaching dark.
“Lookin’ fer your boy to save you?”
“What do you want, Dollarhide? I don’t have any money.”
“And I say yer a liar,” he says, pointing to my chest. “Give it to me now and you can go on your way.”
I stare at him, confused, until I realize he’s pointing at the drawstring pouch around my neck. I start to laugh, and his face hardens.
“Take it,” I say, pulling the string over my head and tossing him the bag. “It’s all yours.”
Dollarhide catches the pouch in one hand, tearing at the strings to open it. He shakes out the contents into a waiting palm, holding them under the lamplight.
“What is this?” he says angrily, throwing the cartridges into the dirt. “Where you hidin’ it?”
“I told you I got nothing.”
“Do I look stupid to you?”
I hesitate a moment too long, and Dollarhide’s face twists in anger. I have time to think damn, and then his fist connects with my nose. The pain comes a second after the impact, like fire racing along hot wires in my face. My eyes immediately tear up, and I blink rapidly to try and clear my vision.
“Dollarhide, you son of a bitch,” I say thickly. Warm wetness runs down my lips, and my hand comes back red when I wipe it away. “That tears it.” If he broke my nose, I’ll break his neck; my patience is worn that thin.
“Give it to me,” he says, his voice too close.
My sight is blurry and I’m too slow to move entirely out of the way as he comes at me again. The blow glances off my side instead of hitting my stomach, but my legs are tired and my right knee buckles. I end up on one knee in the dirt, with Dollarhide’s fingers pulling at my pockets, searching for something I don’t have. The sleeve of my shirt rips, and I’ve had enough of this. I shove Dollarhide’s legs, using my weight to topple him. Surprised, his back hits the ground with a loud smack, and while he lies stunned I jump on his chest, digging in my knees. I aim carefully, then punch him directly on his bruised cheek, and this time I get to use my good arm.
Dollarhide yelps and I hit him again, and again, until the blood dripping down from my nose mixes with his. I think I have him beat, but then there’s a roar from behind me and I jump up to see a man running toward me. I only barely recognize him as one of Dollarhide’s men, the boys he drinks and gambles with. I set my feet and make a fist, but before he reaches me someone grabs him from behind, knocking him to the ground.
“Just a few steps on your own, huh?” Ben asks, and I have to grin at him. A moment later Micah and two other men are running toward us with a yell, and now it’s a proper brawl.
Dollarhide scrambles to his feet, and I turn to face him. He pants, his hands braced on his knees.
“Are we done here?” I ask him.
As an answer, he rushes at me, trying to mow me over. He catches me around the waist and I punch at his back, digging my boot heels into the dirt.
A gunshot rings out, deafening and sharp.
“Have y’all lost your damn minds?” Curtis yells.
Dollarhide drops me and I leave off hitting him. Ben freezes in motion, his arm tight around someone’s neck, and Micah picks himself up off the ground.
“Ben, let him go,” Curtis orders. “Everyone, go about your business. And nobody says nothing about this, got it? Unless you want us all put outside.”
Dollarhide straightens up, looking at me with pure hate.
“Come on, Dollarhide,” one of the men calls to him. “It ain’t worth it.”
He starts to back away, but I can’t keep my mouth from running.
“You come at me again and I’ll kill you,” I call after him.
“You just try—” Dollarhide yells back, but his friends shut him up and pull him back.
“You keep the hell away from us,” Curtis says, his voice steely. “And we won’t have a problem. Understood?”
Dollarhide’s friends nod, and he goes quietly after that; his face is a bloody mess and he’s holding his side awkwardly. Sure, maybe I don’t look so nice, either, but he’s got eighty pounds on me and I gave as good as I got. Not a bad fight after all.
“Willie,” Curtis says insistently, and I realize he’s been calling my name.
“What?”
“You all right?”
The pain will start to set in now that the fight is over, but I’m still riding high, jittery and scared. “I’ll live.”
I survey the damage to the others; Ben has a busted lip and what’s bound to be an impressive black eye, but Micah looks unscathed.
“You all right, Micah?” I ask him.
“Fine,” he says, looking almost disappointed.
“What the hell were you thinking, Ben?” Curtis asks, his mouth tight like he’s holding in his teeth.
“Dollarhide started it.”
“I don’t care who started it; if the guards had caught you they’d throw us all out.”
“We’re supposed to be protecting her, aren’t we?” Ben points at me angrily. “Should I just let him keep pounding on her?”
“He wasn’t pounding on me,” I protest.
“Everyone, just—quiet.” Curtis sighs and rubs his eyes. When he lowers his hands, he looks more composed. “Willie, I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Ain’t your fault Dollarhide’s a thieving scoundrel. I told him I didn’t have nothing.”
“Let’s get inside,” Sam says, trying to steer me into our tent. “Will’s face don’t look so good.”
“Aw, come on, I’m right here,” I say, but I let Sam guide me back to our tent. We pass a few small groups on the way, and I guess from the stares we look pretty banged up. My nose is still dripping, and when I lick my lips I get a mouthful of blood.
In the tent, I sit down heavily on my cot while Sam lights the lantern and hands it to Micah.
“Hold this,” he says, and Micah shines the light on my face. Sam bends down slightly, staring at my eyes. I squint at the brightness, but Sam shakes his head.
“Keep your eyes open,” he says. His voice sounds different: calm, reassuring. He sounds just like his father when he’s with patients. “Do you know where you are?”
“What? We’re in the tent.”
“Do you know your name?”
“Aw, Sam—” I start to object.
“Just answer the question.”
I glare at him, but Sam stares back evenly. I don’t know when he grew a backbone, but it must’ve been sometime in the last two days.
“Do what he tells you,” Micah says, and it’s the insistence in his voice that gets to me.
“Daisy Wilcox,” I say, as quietly as I can mutter it. I jut out my chin, daring anyone to laugh, but the boys stay silent.
“What day is it?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I’m trying to see if you bruised your brain.”
“I didn’t hit my head, Sam, so back off.”
Instead, he gets even closer and places his fingers on either side of my nose.
“Ow,” I say, and slap his hand away. “That hurts.”
“Stop being a baby,” he tells me, and I’m so surprised that he would scold me that I let him touch my nose again.
“It’s not broken,” he says, standing back up.
“Are you sure?”
“’Course I am.” He pats me on the shoulder awkwardly, and just like that, he switches back into the Sam I know.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“What about you?” he asks Micah.
“I reckon just a bruise where I fell,” Micah says, scowling. “I only got in one good punch before I got knocked over.”
“You sure? I better go check on Dollarhide and the others.”
“What?” I’m sure I misheard
him.
“Why?” Ben asks.
“Sam,” Micah says angrily. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’m a doctor,” Sam says, like that explains anything at all. “Or, almost one. I don’t get to pick who I help.”
“He’s the one who started it,” Micah tells him while Sam gets his bag from his own bed. “He attacked my sister.”
“I know. But Willie’s gonna be fine, and I think he’s got a cracked rib.”
“Good,” Micah says, harshly. “I hope it hurts.”
“Pinch your nose and lean forward until the bleeding stops,” Sam tells me, and then he’s off.
Curtis sighs while I hold my nose and tilt my head down.
“I better go after him,” he says. “Dollarhide won’t take kindly to being poked at.”
“Serves him right,” Micah says. “Maybe when he gets a black eye for his troubles, the good doctor will come to his senses.”
The anger is coming off of Micah in waves. I’m touched, that he would care so much.
“Thanks,” I say to him quietly, and I hold out my free hand to him. “For coming to help. It was good of you.”
Micah shakes his head unhappily. “Why you always gotta go looking for trouble, Willie?”
“I don’t go looking for it. Trouble just finds me, is all.” I give Micah a reassuring smile. “Go with Curtis. Tell Sam you’re sorry for hassling him.”
“I’m not sorry,” Micah says.
“Yes you are. Go on now.”
I’m shook up from the fight some, my ears still ringing, and I welcome the silence when they leave. I slowly release my nose and wait for a moment, but I think it’s done bleeding.
“Here,” Ben says, startling me; I forgot he was here. He holds out a yellowed handkerchief folded into a fat square, eyeing my ripped shirt with a frown. I’m upset about it, too; I only brought the one extra.
“You’re not gonna start fussing at me, are you?” I ask him.
“Not me,” he says. “Take it.”
“Thanks.” I shake the cloth out and wipe my face with it, scrubbing my wet cheeks. Ben makes a strangled noise and I stop to look at him. “What?”
“Nothing, just—you’re gettin blood all over,” he says, his expression pained.
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