Mississippi

by J. B. Richard

  What the old man said made sense. Mississippi would never forgive himself if something happened to her and he could’ve prevented it. Worrying about Curry throwing a rope around her neck would be an almighty big distraction while he was trying to hunt Clint. Mississippi found himself outflanked on all sides. There wasn’t a good way to go about this cagey business with Clint and keep Jessa from harm.

  He kicked the door open. “Let’s go.”

  He led the way along the mountainside. Neither of them spoke, though he cursed under his breath. Her damn mule was slower than all get-out. It’d take them a month of Sundays to get to the train station. Why hadn’t Pike brought her a horse? He guessed no one would miss the sight of an ugly old mule. The gelding, a fine-figured animal built for stamina and speed, was pleasing to any eye that knew good horseflesh. The fact that it was missing from the livery would be noticed. He supposed two above-board horses would raise quite a suspicion. Curry might then block any pass out of the Blacklog mountain range.

  By noon, they’d skirted wide around her cabin and followed a winding deer path. At this pace, it would take them two days at least to get out of the area that Clint was circling. Crags of brush formed a broken hedge wall between the thickly populated trees along the trail, which helped to hide sight of them from below. They were high up, just below the rim, where the air was thin. It was doubtful that the posse was watching from down there. Mississippi had stopped a few times, cut a pine branch where it wouldn’t be noticed, and brushed away their tracks. Mostly, they stayed on hard soil where it would be hard for anyone looking to find any sign of them.

  They rode down off the rim into a gully where there was a shallow creek. They watered Peppy and the sorry-looking critter Jessa was riding. Green in color and refusing to touch anything to her lips, she sat a minute in the shade before they mounted and pushed on. Two, three miles later, Bean’s feet were dragging, making wide hoof scrapes in the dirt that a blind man could follow, and a few times, Mississippi had to put a stick to him to get the cantankerous beast moving, which made Jessa sit up straight and curse. That mule was a damn sight more trouble than he’d figured.

  Mississippi had hoped to have more miles behind them than they’d traveled so far. They’d started out just after daybreak, and the slowness of her mule might add another day. What had him sweating was they needed to get through Devil’s Cauldron as quick as they could before their tracks were discovered. That particular patch of ground was shaped like a deep fishbowl, so if caught there, it wouldn’t be an easy place to escape.

  Nigh to suppertime, Bean plunked down on his bony rear and would not get up. Apparently, it was quitting time. That stubborn jackass had a mind of his own.

  Jessa had plopped off onto the ground, then rolled to her feet. She smoothed her skirt. “Suppose I could use a little rest too.”

  Mississippi led them, walking the animals into a rocky area where most wouldn’t think of risking a horse breaking its leg. It was a tall boulder they took shelter behind. Wide too, a span of ten, twelve feet. Plenty of room to hide the animals and themselves. He made a small fire while Jessa curled up on a horse blanket. Part of their supplies included a partial loaf of bread. He fetched that, the makings for coffee, and a piece of dried beef out of his shirt pocket and had a meal. After he ate, he crept with his rifle up into the rocks and watched the trails while Jessa got some much-needed rest.

  An hour later, she woke, nibbled some bread, and then they mounted up. The sun was headed south when they passed where the two trappers had been gruesomely done in by the Apache. Someone had come along and covered them. Two mounds of dirt, knee high, lay the length of a man like two giant feet at the bottom of one round, thick leg of a big old maple. Sad really. In no time at all, weeds and the creeping ivy would blanket those graves until they were hidden. The deaths of those men likely would be forgotten.

  If Mississippi dozed for even a minute, and with the day catching up to him, the same thing could happen to them. It made him want to quicken their pace, but he couldn’t push Jessa to move faster than she was able and she looked very tired slumped in the saddle. Every now and then, he had noticed that her eyes drifted shut. He turned the gelding, and they slowly descended into the cauldron.

  Soon, the moon would be up. Near the basin, the area was too dangerous and quickly becoming too dark to go on. Picketing the horse and mule on a small find of grass, Mississippi and Jessa made camp back under the trees. Their fire was only as big as needed to cook. They ate, then outed the flames. She slept awhile. Then he slept for a few hours while she kept watch. Around two, he took over, walking softly from camp where he found a spot that he could see her and watch into the basin and, with a slight turn of his head, up on the rim. His eyes traveled over their surroundings, and his ears listened carefully for any noise that a man might make.

  It was nearing dawn, and the sky above the treetops was dappled with gray. Down in the basin at the floor where the timbers were almighty deep below the sea level, it was still black as midnight. Angry voices, not Indian, carried up through the hillside on the wind. Shadows cast by the trees covered their faces.

  Mississippi crouched deeper into the brush, recognizing the frustrated men as they rode closer, within fifty yards. Rascal was complaining. They’d searched that area before. No money. Clint, silent, stared furiously straight ahead down the trail, looking meaner than ever. Jay brought up the rear and snapped at Rascal to shut up.

  Mississippi didn’t breathe as they passed by. His gun was aimed and he was ready, but some unfamiliar feeling twisted him up inside. He glanced over his shoulder. Jessa was there, sleeping not twenty feet away, and that damn mule of hers wasn’t going to outrun a snail. That wasn’t what frustrated him. When would he ever again have a chance to pick off all three of them at once like this? He had never shot an unsuspecting man out of the saddle and wouldn’t start now. Though, it was mighty temping, and his old self probably would have given in. He’d proclaimed to be a changed man, and he was. It was as Pike said. Time to start putting his family first. His priority was to see Jessa and the baby somewhere safe. Then he could deal with Clint.

  Clint and the others disappeared into the black of Devil’s Cauldron among the trees. It was time to move. He woke Jessa, and within minutes, they headed toward the rim to find another trail to bypass riding through the basin where he knew trouble was waiting. He hadn’t said anything to Jessa, didn’t want to stress her, but once they were in the basin, he had planned on digging up the other half of the money, toting it with them to Burnt Cabins, then figuring out some way of returning it without getting his neck stretched. Otherwise, he would have avoided this place altogether and taken the long way around with her and the baby. But the other route was much steeper and rockier, and he wasn’t sure Bean could manage it. If he had to, he’d put her on his horse and then lead the mounts walking. It would definitely be slow going, but he doubted anyone would think to hunt for them along the much rougher path. And without any load, it might save her stupid mule.

  It didn’t take long before they were halted by a rocky incline that dropped a hundred feet onto jagged rocks. They backtracked and found all other possible routes impassible. There looked to be but one way in and out of Devil’s Cauldron, and that was the original trail Mississippi had followed Clint on all those weeks ago, where he was now.

  “Clint and the boys will be waiting for us. Be a miracle if we slip through without a fight.” Mississippi wouldn’t withhold anything. Jessa should know exactly what they were about to come up against. This was life or death, and he hated that she was involved, which was mostly his fault.

  She stiffly nodded, then sniffled and touched a hand to her belly. Maybe she was silently praying for their child to be safe, or maybe she was wishing, the same as he was, to be anywhere but there.

  “I can’t take ya back to Piketown.” She’d be arrested, and he’d get hanged. “If there was any other option, I’d jump at it.”

  She devilishly grinned th
rough her tears. “And I’d tell ya how high.”

  Lordy, she was sassy, but he loved it. Inwardly, he grinned, his face showing no amusement because they were in serious trouble and he didn’t want to give her any other impression than that. This wasn’t the time for silliness. “Making it to Burnt Cabins, to the train platform, is the only way out of this trouble for you.” And it didn’t look like that would happen.

  “For me? Don’t you mean for us? I ain’t gettin’ on that train without ya.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  “Woman, you’ll do as I say.”

  She huffed in protest, her arms tightening. “I’m staying with you.”

  “The hell you are. I’ll toss you on that train if I have to.” He was serious. The problem was so was she. They glared at one another. Their first couple fight. All of a sudden, her feistiness wasn’t so cute. He was rather irritated. “Go make good on that deed I gave ya. I still have friends in Port Gibson. They’ll give ya help if ya need it.”

  “I won’t need help if you come along,” she snipped. “Besides, we ain’t married, so I don’t have to listen to you.”

  She hadn’t had a problem doing as he’d said until right now when he was trying his damnedest to make her see that leaving on the train was the only smart thing to do. He madly shook his head, but really, he wanted to give her a good hard shake. Maybe with it, she’d get some sense. Instead, he had a better idea, one that didn’t involve him taking ahold of her, which he wouldn’t do anyway. Mississippi reached into one side of his saddlebags and fished around. He came up with a piece of rawhide strap. He pulled his knife and cut it into two lengths, one of them longer than the other.

  “Give me your wrist.”

  She stared at him for a minute, then held out an arm. He tied it around her dainty wrist. “Someday, we’ll make it official, but for now, just say… I do.”

  A big smile spread across her face. “I do.”

  “Here.” He handed her the longer piece to tie around his wrist, then held his hand there until she was done making the knot. “I do,” he said. They kissed. He didn’t like spoiling the moment, but they needed to be moving along for their own safety. “Now that I’m your husband, I say you’re gittin’ on that train.”

  She didn’t argue this time. “If you honestly want me to go, I will.” Her eyes became glassy, and she lost the smile that had brightened her face just a moment ago.

  He did and didn’t want her to go. “I need to know the two of you are safe.” It would make what he had to do much easier. Even if Clint did kill Mississippi, he didn’t know about the deed. It was the one thing he had never shared with anyone in the gang. Clint did know the name of the town where Mississippi had grown up, but he would have no reason to think to look for Jessa there.

  They rode on in silence, and every now and then, Mississippi touched at the leather bracelet and grinned. It might be short-lived, but it was a dream come true. He needed to get his head out of the clouds and focus. There was a fight waiting for them somewhere ahead.

  When they entered the basin, Mississippi slowed the gelding’s pace. Peppy was holding up fine, and it was now midday. Bean was panting like a dog, and his head hung low. That mule was about done in. Mississippi listened to the sounds of nature all around them, regarding them carefully for any warning of trouble. Knock, knock, knocking, a woodpecker pounded a tree. Cicada hummed, sounding like an army of thousands. Curiously, a weasel sat up on its hind quarters, blinked once at them, then darted down a nearby hole. There was no sign of Clint and the boys, other than horse tracks, and those were hours old. That didn’t mean they weren’t inside the cauldron somewhere.

  Mississippi’s gelding stepped across a seeping spring. The ground was mushy, and the hoofs of both animals sank. Out of nowhere, a shot rang out, rattling the mountains. Dammit. They’d been sighted. Bean faltered at the exact same instant. His knobby knees dipped low, and the bullet split the branches above Jessa’s head, showering her in particles of bark and leaves.

  Mississippi wheeled his horse, grabbed her reins, and hightailed it along the same path from which they’d just come. A rifle boomed somewhere to his left, and a cold piece of lead nipped the back of his neck. He jerked the gelding’s reins sharply, swinging them in another direction, and kept Bean fast-stepping it with Jessa holding on tight, both fists twisted in Bean’s mane. The gelding worked hard, scrambling over rocky ground to climb the mountainside at a run, but the animal was held back by the stumbling mule. Jessa screamed as the sound of a slug zinged past Mississippi’s ear. Feet in the air, she flipped over Bean’s rump and thudded to the ground. Crying and holding to her bloody shoulder, she withered.

  Mississippi swung up his rifle and squeezed the trigger in the direction that last shot had come from. “Git up!”

  Clint and the boys were up along the rim and had them trapped in the middle, covered on each side. Not a place to be stuck without horses. If that were the case, the three above would quickly close in. Their best chance was to run straight through the weak part of the offensive, which was Rascal, who once missed a lazy grazing buffalo at a wide-open fifty yards. Unfortunately, Mississippi hadn’t caught a glimpse of anyone and could ride right into Clint or Jay.

  Jessa staggered to her feet. Bean was too tall for her to mount without something to step up onto. Mississippi yanked her onto the saddle behind him just as a bullet ripped his sleeve, and he nearly dropped her. Son of a bitch, his arm burned. Bean reared while Mississippi’s horse pranced nervously. Boom. Pain stabbed Mississippi’s leg above the knee. It felt like a fire poker was thrust into his flesh as the sizzle of the hot lead streaked up through his body, doubling him over, gripping the bleeding hole. Gunfire rang out. Jessa jerked in the saddle at her waist and began to fall.

  He grabbed for her but missed. She whacked the ground near Bean’s feet.

  “Get into the brush!” he screamed at her.

  This was her chance to get out of the line of fire. He shot toward the rim, giving her an extra second or two to move. She snatched Bean’s reins off the ground, and, pulling him, she scrambled into the nearest thicket. Clint and the others would now have to come down off the top into the basin if they wanted a clear shot at Jessa.

  “Give us the money.” Clint’s voice echoed down into the basin, the hissing tone sounding deadly. He would kill them anyway. That money was the only reason they weren’t dead just then.

  “Come on down. I’ll tell ya where it’s at!” Mississippi had no idea where that other fifty thousand was. Jessa had told him it was in the basin, but the exact spot was unknown to him. He’d figured on just having her show him, so it was the one subject he and Jessa hadn’t talked about. But Clint didn’t know that.

  Mississippi needed to get them to come down off the rim onto level ground with him, up close where he wasn’t such an easy target. Facing his Colt was much different than shooting at him from a hundred yards.

  Rifle fire echoed from the peak behind him, and he expected to get it in the back. Except that peak was higher up, a thousand feet at least, from where Clint’s, Jay’s, and Rascal’s shots had first sounded. None of them could have made it to that elevated spot so quick. Who was up there?

  Another shot boomed from up on the peak. Out of the bushes came a yelp. Jay Simpson had been hit. Gunfire from the three who were spread out along the rim swung in that direction. A crucial distraction. But who? The only ones to know about them and this mess that would be looking in this exact spot would be Curry and his men. But there was only one man firing from up there.

  While the rifle battle between those up top thundered overhead, Mississippi jerked Peppy toward the thicket where Jessa was hiding, and he sent up a quick prayer that she and the baby would stay safe. Bean’s big hoofprints caught his eye. They’d be easy to follow and probably were back yonder on the trail too, although Mississippi had tried to cover all sign of their direction. There wasn’t time for that here. They just needed to get out. That was probably how Curr
y or whoever was up on the peak had found them. He might have followed them in or just been lucky enough to cross their path, since they’d all been circling the same area for the past few weeks. Either way, Curry wouldn’t want everyone dead if there was a chance of recovering his town’s money.

  Mississippi’s gelding burst through the brush, and he found Jessa bleeding badly and crying miserably, though she’d somehow managed to crawl onto Bean’s back and was ready. Mississippi grabbed Bean’s reins. There was no way he would chance that mule going at his own pace, though the animal seemed just as eager as any of them to flee and stepped with vigor to keep up with Peppy. Mississippi got them deeper into the trees while Clint must have been thinking things over. Someone appeared to be on their side, someone with a good aim. No more shots were fired. Could be that the two feuding parties up on top were on the move, either hunting each other or, possibly, they were all now coming after him and Jessa.

  The brush was thick in some spots, in other areas, the evergreens full. These were the places he kept them, weaving a zigzag path in hopes of concealing their direction. Jessa had her teeth sunk into her lip. One slipped cry or a tiny moan would give them away, and they were still being hunted. Clint had to be drooling with the anticipation of capturing them and finally getting that money. If that unknown someone up there was Curry, he was likely tingling with the same sensation.

  Mississippi’s leg thumped and began to stiffen. Blood dotted the ground. Was it his or Jessa’s? Either way, it was an easy trail to follow, the same as Bean’s hoofprints. Jessa was slumped over Bean’s shoulder. Her head bobbed, and there were tears on her cheeks. Her old mule was panting for the umpteenth time today. He was played out.

  They were easy prey.

  Sun glinted off a slab of rim rock ahead of them. As if the gelding knew right where they were headed, he went straight. A good horse was worth every dollar, and if a man skimped, then he couldn’t complain because he’d gotten what he paid for. It was Jay Simpson’s downfall. He had rather spend his money on cheap women and even cheaper whiskey.