“Sam, please calm down,” I tell him.
“Willie, that was so stupid. How can you be this stupid?” Sam looks angry and frantic, like someone turned him upside down and shook him.
“Hey, now,” Ben says, “take it easy.”
“Got it,” Curtis calls, and returns grasping a bottle of whatever rotgut Dollarhide had on him.
Sam doesn’t offer any thanks, he just grabs the bottle and opens it. “Brace yourself,” he orders.
“Wait—” But he doesn’t, and I cry out as the whiskey burns into my wounds. My arm is on fire; everywhere the liquid burrows into my skin is a stinging spot of pain.
“Son of a bitch, Sam!” My calmness evaporates, especially when he tries to do it again. I yank my arm away and he grabs it back. “Let go.”
“Will, I need to clean this.”
“Like hell you do.”
Ben grabs my other hand and holds it, and I look at him, shocked. Sam uses my distraction to pour more liquor on my arm, and I squeeze Ben’s hand as hard as I can.
“Damn it,” I say, gritting my teeth in pain. I keep my eyes locked on Ben, and he stares back and something stretches between us that I can’t name, something sharp and bright and blinding.
“Drink this,” Sam says, breaking my focus. He hands me the bottle and I frown at him. “I’m out of laudanum.”
I let go of Ben’s hand somewhat reluctantly and take a long drink. I have to fight not to spit it out; it burns going down almost as much as it did on my arm.
“How deep is it?” Curtis asks, bending over.
“She doesn’t need stitches,” Sam says, prodding at the wound gently. Now that the blood is rinsed off, I can see that the bite is a perfect circle of teeth marks.
“He let me go. I told you it wasn’t that bad. But this is.” I take another swig of the foul whiskey.
Sam starts to bandage my arm, rolling clean white bands around my bleeding and dirty skin. The spots of red bleed through, little blooms of color dyeing the cloth.
“Damn it, Will,” Sam says. “Why did you—” he stops, his jaw working, and Curtis squeezes his shoulder.
“Sam. It wasn’t stupid.” I keep my voice low, but I want to make sure he understands. “I had to. This was the only thing that made sense. Why risk losing you when we know I can beat it? I fought it off once. I’ll do it again.”
“You can’t promise that,” Ben says. He looks at me sternly, his eyebrows almost meeting.
I try a smile. “I just did. No more lies, Ben. You have to trust me.”
Ben sighs and takes the bottle from me.
“I thought you didn’t drink on the road.”
“I’m making an exception.”
“How many times are you gonna make me patch you up, Will?” Sam asks, tucking in the ends of the bandage. He’s still angry with me, but his bloody hands are steady.
“Don’t scold. Give that here, Ben,” I say, and take the bottle away from him. I crook a finger at Sam to hold out his hands and I pour enough whiskey over them to wash away the red. “You can’t be getting sick, too. I’m counting on you to get me through this again, Sam.”
He stares at his wet hands. “And what if I can’t? What then?”
“Then we deal with it. Right now all I care about is getting home.”
“I got something that’ll help with that,” Ben says, his eyes glittering as they alight on something beyond the road.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Curtis says, his voice awed. “Is that Dollarhide’s horse?”
I stand up to get a look, and sure enough, standing on her lonesome half a mile down the road is Dollarhide’s dun.
“She musta bolted when the ruckus started,” Ben says. “Good thing he didn’t turn shake when he was still on her back.”
“Lucky girl,” I say.
Curtis puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles a high note and the horse leaps forward. She walks hesitantly, shaking her head every few steps.
“Easy, girl,” Curtis calls, walking out to meet her. The horse stops and paws at the ground, and Curtis sidles up to her one small step at a time. He keeps his voice low and makes a grab for her reins. “It’s over now.”
He makes soft clucking noises at the horse, rubbing her nose like he’s already in love.
“Well, how about that,” Ben says. “Dollarhide was good for something after all.”
69.
The horse is badly spooked, and it takes Curtis some time to calm her down. Ben empties out Dollarhide’s saddlebags, keeping only more whiskey and some rope. I’m still working on the first bottle, and it’s making me feel giddy and loose. My forearm is almost completely numb; it’s an odd sensation, and I poke at the bandage before Sam slaps my hand away. He hovers around me like a cross mother hen, asking how I feel every few minutes. It would annoy me if I were sober, but as it is I just ignore him.
“What are you going to name her?” I ask Curtis.
He strokes her nose and the horse lips at his shirt, clearly smitten. “I was thinking Daisy has a nice ring to it.”
I shake my head ruefully. “Well, I reckon that name is suited to a horse.”
“Can you ride?”
“It’s been a while.” In truth I’ve only ridden once, and that was on a small donkey that McNab had behind the general store. I don’t want back in the litter, though, so I keep my mouth shut and figure I can blame any falls on the alcohol.
“Need a hand up?” Curtis offers.
I grab his hand, telling myself I don’t wish it were Ben’s. I know enough from watching others mount up to stick my left foot in the stirrup, but the horse looks impossibly tall and wide from this close. I get halfway into the saddle before I start sliding down and Curtis has to shove me back up. I end up lying sideways over the top of the horse and it takes a fair amount of readjusting to get myself properly seated.
“Just relax,” Curtis says. “Hold on to the horn there. She knows what to do, she’ll take care of you.”
“Are we all set?” Ben asks, taking a last look around. “Let’s hightail it outta here before something else goes wrong.”
Curtis loops the reins around one hand and the horse lurches forward, sending me swaying. I grab for the horn and right myself, but it doesn’t bode well for the ride. I bounce up and down in the saddle, feeling every jolt and bump; the horse can tell I’m not a good rider and snorts with irritation.
“I’m doing my best,” I whisper into her ear. “Just get me home and you never have to see me again.”
Maybe she can understand me, because we reach some kind of compromise; I find the right rhythm and stop bouncing, and she doesn’t dump me on my rear. We make much better time now that no one has to carry me, and the saddlebags lighten our loads considerably. Daisy—I make a face at her name—follows Curtis without hesitation, matching the pace he sets exactly.
“How you feeling, Will?” Sam asks.
“The same as I did the last time you asked. And the time before that.” I don’t mean to snap at him; the whiskey must be wearing off. I give and a sigh and muster up an apology. “Sorry, Sam. I know you mean well. I’ll tell you soon as anything changes.”
“You swear? ’Cause last time . . .” Sam shrugs and trails off.
“All right, I get it. I shoulda told you straight off I was sick. But honest, I didn’t even start feeling poorly till the next day. The only thing that hurt was my hand, and right now my arm is so numb I could put it through a wringer and I wouldn’t feel a thing.”
Sam narrows his eyes at me, and I sigh again, this time with exasperation.
“Sam-I-swear-I-will-tell-you-when-I-feel-something,” I rattle off. “Happy?”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, and he smiles. I haven’t seen him smile since I woke up, and a sudden rush of concern and affection floods me.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I tell him. “I’m sorry I keep putting you through all this madness.”
Sam gives a rough laugh. “I should be the one apologizing. I don’t
think I thanked you yet for saving me from Dollarhide.”
“Well, we’re even now. Seems only fair.” I look down at my bandage; I’m lucky he got my arm and not someplace more tender. I wonder how much worse it was for Micah, how much it hurt to feel those teeth rip into his neck. Thoughts like that will keep me up nights.
“Why do you think he let you go?”
I frown. “I don’t know. I would say he remembered something, but Dollarhide never showed me any kindness. Maybe he thinks I’m one of them. Maybe I smell like a shake now.”
The shakes in Silver, it was like they knew me. Like they could tell. I’m not a shake, but I’m not the same; I’m something in between.
“I guess that could be a good thing,” Sam says. “But you smell fine to me. I mean—well, we all could use a bath.”
“Gee, thanks, Sam.”
He smiles at me again. “You know Micah would be furious you let a shake eat up your arm.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m awful mad at him, too.”
70.
We’re almost home. I would hold my breath until we go through the gate if I could; every mile we pass safely seems to tempt fate. Part of me didn’t think I would really get home again. Maybe the desert decided it’s taken enough from me; it’s a different me that’s going home, anyway.
The closer we get to Glory, the closer the boys get to the horse; they huddle around me, Curtis in front, Ben in back and Sam flanking my side. From this height I feel like someone important, a queen surrounded by her guard. The thought makes me laugh to myself; it’s a sorry kind of queen with hand-me-down pants and knotty hair.
The numbness wears off after a couple hours, and now the skin of my arm is sore and hot. I don’t worry until the itching starts, and then I keep good on my promise and tell Sam.
“How long has it been itching?” he asks.
“It just started. I wouldn’t think much of it, but it happened like this last time, on my hand. It got all red and puffy and wouldn’t stop itching.”
Sam gives a jerky nod. “All right. Keep the bandage on and don’t scratch it.”
“What does it mean?” Ben asks him, but I already know what he’s going to say.
Sam pauses, then lets out a long breath. “It’s a sign that a wound’s infected.”
He glances at me and I shrug; it’s what I expected. I suppose I should act more concerned, but there’s no point. I’ll fight it off or I won’t, and either way I’ll do it on my own terms. I’ve used up all my capacity for grief and anger, I have nothing left to give. It’s easier this way, not to feel so much, to let it all drain away. This is what Ma meant, when she told me to be hard. It’s not about being strong, like I thought. It’s about giving up what makes you weak. The fever burned the fear out of me and the desert burned out the last of my softness. All that’s left is grit.
When the gate comes into view, it feels unreal. I’ve been imagining it for days and it looks too solid, too tall to be true. I fight the urge to whip the horse into a gallop, but the last mile stretches my nerves taut and sharp.
“Home, sweet home,” Sam says as we come up on the fence. I never thought those words about Glory, but I find myself agreeing with him.
“Who’s that?” calls the guard.
“Garrett,” Curtis calls back. “Open up, we got four coming in.”
After a moment, the gate begins its horrible screeching and slowly opens for us. My heart beats wildly, still convinced something will go wrong.
“Come on, then,” the guard says, and Curtis leads the way inside. I thought I recognized the guard’s voice, and sure enough Amos Porter is waiting for us.
I let out a breath as the gate closes, the sound sharp and final.
“When’d you get a horse?” Amos asks.
“It was Dollarhide’s,” Curtis answers. “He won’t be needing her anymore.”
Amos grunts, taking the news in stride, then his face breaks into a smile. “Well, I’ll be! Is that you, Willie?”
“Hey, Amos,” I smile back at him.
“Thank god you’re back. You know there’s hunters after you?”
“I know.”
Curtis halts the horse and I fling my leg over and slide down as best I can. My back and my rear ache from riding so long, and I wince when I hit the ground.
There’s a stilted moment when we all realize we’ve actually made it back. I glance at Ben and Curtis; this may be the last walk I take with them. It makes me strangely wistful.
“And I see you came home, too, Doc Junior,” Amos says to Sam. “Your pa’s been hounding me night and day. Next time you feel like taking a trip, you might oughta tell him.”
“Sorry, Amos,” Sam says.
“Where’s your friend, then?” Amos asks him. “Your brother, Willie, you hiding him?”
I brace myself. “He won’t be coming back.”
His smile fades slowly, the corners of his mouth dragging down. “I’m sorry for your loss, young’un.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, come on,” Curtis says, always taking the lead. “Can’t stop now.”
We take our time walking the small distance down the road. I breathe in the smell of Glory, the tang of wire from the fence and the yeasty scent of bread coming all the way from the Homestead. It stirs up memories, both good and painful. We walk toward the center of town, the street empty and the shops deserted, just like always. I find myself appreciating the quiet; I have to get my head in the right place before I walk into the saloon.
The silence is disrupted when we get closer to the Homestead; rowdy voices drift out, and someone is singing loudly and off-key. I take a deep breath and push the door open, ready to get this over with. One last task and then, like the song says, it’s home, sweet home.
71.
I didn’t expect anything to change, but it still feels odd that nothing is different in here; the tables, the spittoons, even Elsie behind the bar, everything is right where I left it. It’s like Glory stopped in place when I went away, waiting patient and lifeless until I returned and it could start moving again.
“Willie?” Elsie’s eyes widen when she sees me, and she runs out from behind the bar to take my face in her hands. “Sakes alive, you look like death warmed over. I expected you days ago, I was that worried. I told McAllister, I told him—”
“I’m fine, Elsie,” I tell her as she examines my face. “The Garretts took good care of me.”
“Thank you,” she says, looking at Ben and Curtis. “For bringing her home safe. She means a lot to me.”
“I’d never want to disappoint you, Miss Elsie,” Curtis says, taking his hat off.
“You,” Elsie says, pointing her finger at Sam. “You best get home, and quick. Your pa is fit to be tied.”
“I’m going soon, I promise,” Sam says, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Mm-hmm,” Elsie mutters, and takes me by the shoulder. “Let’s get some food in you, you look thin as a barber’s cat.”
“Some other time, Elsie,” I say. “I got things to do first.”
I scan the room, and it doesn’t take long to spot McAllister; he’s sitting at the Judge’s table. The sight of the two of them sets my teeth grinding, and I don’t even attempt to hide my disgust.
“Ready?” Sam asks quietly, and I nod.
I march over, my blood rising up with each step I take. They see me coming and McAllister looks shocked to see me alive and walking; the Judge looks like he always does, bored and inhuman. There are two other hunters sitting with them, but I take no notice of them.
“Miss Wilcox,” the Judge says, nodding to us as I approach the table. “Garretts. And Samuel Kincaid, is it? I believe your pa is looking for you.”
“So I hear,” Sam says.
“Didn’t expect to see you back,” McAllister says, schooling the surprise off his face and crossing his arms.
“I got held up,” I tell him. “But I’m here now, so you can go ahead and call off the bounty.”
>
He sniffs. “Not unless you got something for me.”
“Call off the bounty,” I say, my voice too loud.
McAllister starts to smile, and I reach into my pocket and slam down Micah’s pocket watch and the crumpled bills Pa gave me.
“My pa’s dead,” I say. “And that’s all that’s left of your money.”
He picks up the bills, smoothing them out on the table, while the Judge slowly flips the pocket watch over to reveal Pa’s initials.
“He’s dead,” I say again. “You want the rest of your money back, you can take it up with the devil himself.”
The Judge looks past me to Curtis.
“You saw this?” he asks.
“Yessir,” Curtis lies. “We did.”
Ben clears his throat. “What the girl says is true.”
McAllister balls the money into his fist and bangs it on the table, swearing harshly.
“Enough,” the Judge orders. “Call off the bounty, the man’s dead. Make your peace with it, McAllister.”
McAllister glares at me, his hand still clenching the money. “We’re square,” he spits out.
“We’re not square,” I tell him. “We’ll never be square, and don’t you forget it. If you ever step one foot on my land again, I’ll kill you. I don’t care what your friends do to me after, it’s enough to me that you’ll be dead.”
“You don’t scare me,” McAllister says with a laugh.
“Don’t matter. The brave die just as easily as the scared,” I tell him. I pick up Micah’s pocket watch from the table and tuck it away. “Either way, I’ll bury you.”
I turn my back on him and ignore the name he swears at me as I walk away. He can call me whatever he likes, but I meant what I said. He comes near me or mine again, I’ll be more than happy to kill him.
“Miss Wilcox,” the Judge calls after me. I steel myself and turn back to face him.
“Yessir?”
“My condolences on the loss of your father,” he says, his pale eyes roving over my face.
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
“You should get some rest. You don’t look . . . well.” He smiles thinly at me.
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