Duster (9781310020889) (30 page)

He made a sound that was
like a giggle and said, "There'll be jus' some bruises on the
outside, kid. That's all. Jus' bruises. An' inside he'll leave a
few memories of hurt an' then you'll do what ole Ben sez 'cause you
won't want to hurt again. An' do you know what? Ole Ben won't ever
have to beat on you again 'cause you'll remember. You won't even
think about running away again 'cause when Ben sees that look come
into your eye he'll
just double up his
fist an' show you. An' do you know what'll happen then? That
sweat'll come back out on you an' your guts will churn up into
knots and you'll do whatever me an' ole Ben want you to—anything at
all, kid."

I kept watching Josiah. I couldn't help it,
but I could hear two horses coming up to us.

Let it be Mister Sam Silas
and Ike and Bill and the rest of the bunch coming to save
me
, I thought inside my mind. I knew it
wasn't them, of course. I knew who it really was, and my head and
eyes were drawn that way.

I saw Jesus first, his hands tied in front
of him and his face smeared with dried blood that had run from his
nose. Then I saw Ben—big and dirty and as tall and strong as a tree
standing over me.

"Hello, kid," he said, more pleased and
eager than mad.

Then, he had hold of my coat and was lifting
me right up off the ground and onto my own feet. His hands took
hold at either side of my chest and clamped hard on my clothes and
then the ground just floated out from under me as if I was staying
still and it was the ground that was moving. For a moment there,
for the second time in those few minutes, I was a little boy again.
First, it was Josiah wiping my face and then it was Ben, lifting me
up like Ma used to do when she'd set me up on the table to wash me
off—or to spank me.

Ben began then, and Josiah
had been right about one thing. In an odd sort of way it didn't
hurt hardly at all. More than pain, I was aware of the sound of
Ben's fists when they thunked into my flesh, and from someplace
over my right shoulder, I stood and watched and saw and felt the
jolts as each blow landed. For some reason, I could only feel it in
my head, which
wobbled back and forth when
the distant, detached body beneath it was rocked by the force of
the driving blows.

Somewhere in the middle of it, the me
that was watching from over my shoulder lost interest in it and
drifted off to somewhere else. Nothing could hurt me then, and I
was pleased.

I'VE LOST THE details of the next day. What
all we did and where all we went I just wouldn't know. I have an
occasional recollection of the morning, but those memories are like
a drawing in a picture book. They stand there by themselves with
nothing happening before them and nothing afterward. The funniest
thing is that there isn't any sound in the memories of that
time—none at all, though I usually have a real good memory for
anything I've heard, and can bring back a conversation word for
word a long time after.

Anyway, all I have from that morning are
these pictures. There's one of Jesus's face up real close to mine
with a worried look. There's another of Josiah with a pistol in one
hand and a bit of rag in the other. I guess he was cleaning it
after he got it dirty by shooting at me. Another is of rocks and
dirt and small plants hanging above my head. That must of been from
being carried across the back of a horse—probably the packhorse
since the steeldust was dead.

Mostly, though, that
morning was pain. It still wasn't sharp pain. In fact it was really
more of an ache that reached deep inside like cold will do on a
windy day. That was with me all the time. No sound at all, and
pictures that came and went, but the
ache
was always there. Way in the background, even when I was drifting
off to some other place, that constant, deep, terrible ache was
there.

By afternoon, I was starting to know a
little bit of what was going on around me. I could feel movement as
I was carried on the horse, and I had a vague idea that the motion
had stopped for a while some time before. That had to of been for
lunch.

Then the motion stopped again, and I could
feel somebody taking me down off the horse and dragging me
somewhere. I hadn't noticed how hot and bright the sun must of been
until it got cool and dark. That fact registered, and then I was
gone again. The next thing I knew, Jesus was talking to me.

"Hey, Duster. You awake now? No...don't go
trying to set up or talk. I see you're awake. Boy, have you been
out of it. You been moanin' and groanin' all day while they carted
you around. You sure make a whole lot of noise for somebody that's
passed out."

I opened my eyes and got quite a fright. I
couldn't see a thing. "Ish darg," I said, trying to sit up.

"Lay still." Jesus was holding me down.

"Bud ish darg."

"What? What'd you say?"

"Ish darg. I cand see nuthig."

"It's dark? Yeah, it's night out and you
ain't suppose to be able to see nothing. We're locked up in a
storehouse. Now, lay still like I told you."

"Aw ri'."

"That's better. Just lay still and
concentrate on feeling better. We're in a storeroom, like I told
you, and we couldn't get out of here even if you was feeling
perfect, so don't worry about it."

"Whad're we doin' here?" I felt like I had
missed an awful lot and wanted to get caught up on what was going
on. It seemed real important for me to know, even though I knew I
couldn't do anything about it anyway.

"There...you're talking
better already," Jesus said. "Right now we're at the ranch of them
fellows' boss. He ain't
here at the
moment—I heard somebody say he's over to San Antone for the
evenin'—but he'll be back tomorrow and I guess we'll find out then
what this is all about. Until then we'll just rest up and
wait."

"Hogay. You got any wadder?"

"There's a pail and cup over by the door.
Wait a minute and I'll get it."

I heard Jesus crawl away and fumble around
on the floor. While he was gone I eased up into a sitting position,
and I felt a lot better when I had.

Jesus came back and guided my hands around a
tin cup of water that went down tasting almighty welcome. As best I
could remember I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since the day
before.

I felt of my teeth to see they was all there
and not loose before I asked if there was any food.

"They didn't leave any but I could kick the
door and holler until somebody came to shut us up. They might bring
some food if I asked."

"Naw, id ain't thad impordand."

"Good. Josiah and Ben ain't been in a real
good mood today. They was put out about your horse being killed
'cause they was gonna each take one of our horses. Now they gotta
toss dice for my horse, and one of them won't get any." Jesus
paused for a minute. "Duster, I reckon they're planning on killing
us after we see this boss of theirs. They wouldn't of said that
about the horses if they were gonna let us go afterward."

I had to agree that it made sense. "Do you
thig...thing...do you think they'd really do it?"

"Yeah, I know they would. They was bragging
to me today about some Mexican they killed. I guess they thought
that'd make me help them or something."

"Hey, I thod we was going to Mehigo. We
ain't there already?"

"No, we're someplace not too far from San
Antone. We didn't have too far to come today. Shoot, we even got a
late start this morning. They...uh...for a while they thought maybe
you was going to die or something."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I knew better."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Naw...not too bad. They just thought Ben
might of busted you up inside maybe. But I knew if you'd been real
bad off you wouldn't of been cussing when they tried to wake you
up."

"I what?"

"You was cussing, I tell you."

I knew if I could of seen Jesus's face I'd
of seen him grinning at me.

"I never did such a thing," I told him.

"You sure did. You was mumbling and cussing
something fierce for a while there."

I couldn't hardly believe it and shook my
head, even though he couldn't see what I was doing. It wasn't that
I didn't know the words, for I did. Working around growed men—for
that matter just growing up in a country where liquor and gaming
were the ordinary way of things—I'd heard the words often enough.
It was just that my ma was set against cuss words. The worst hiding
I ever got from her was once when I was only eleven or twelve and
tried out a new word or two when I got kicked in the leg by a cow
that didn't want to be milked. As far as I could remember, that was
the first and only time I really cussed—out loud, anyway.

There I went again, thinking about home. It
made me feel lonesome and scared again, though I had forgot to for
a second or so.

"Jesus," I asked, "what do you think are our
chances of getting out of here?"

"Hey, you're talking real good again—did you
notice that?"

"What I noticed was that you didn't tell me
what I wanted to know. You seen this place we're locked up in, and
I ain't. Now, what're our chances of squeezing out somewheres? I'll
make it out if there's a way. You wouldn't have to worry about
dragging me or nothing."

"Shoot, Duster, if there was any way atall
I'd of drug you out before now. I've looked this place over an' the
only way we're gonna get out is through that door when they open it
in the morning."

"Okay." I thought on that some, but while I
didn't like to hear what he said, I had to believe Jesus. He'd had
a chance to look, and I hadn't. "You know, there's something I
still don't figure about all this. We been brought all this way.
We're locked up. You even think they might kill us. And I don't
even know why."

"I don't either—not for sure. But I do know
these fellows is gringo bandits. That was plain enough when I told
them I was a friend of Juan Estrada. Anybody that wasn't another
bandit either would of not knowed who I was talking about or they
would of hit me right then an' there for bein' another greaser
bandido. We know that much for sure."

"So what? We never seen any Texas bandits.
Not even when we was with Estrada down by Fort Ewell. I just don't
understand it."

"I tell you this much. If we got to be
aroun' bandidos I wish it was Senor Estrada an' his Mexicans
instead o' here with these fellows, eh?"

"Me too. They treated us like folks,
anyway."

We got quiet after that and settled down to
waiting. Me, I woke up a time or two during the night and got
myself some more water. I was sore moving around, but everything
seemed to work like it ought, so I figured Ben hadn't done me any
serious hurt.

Come morning, we was both
awake by the time you could see the chinks in the walls where there
was starting to be some light outside. Not long after that, we
could hear people moving
around outside,
and by the time we could see light under the door we were starting
to smell bacon and coffee. Those smells just about drove me wild,
getting my mouth to watering and reminding my belly I hadn't eat
for better than a day.

"You think they'll bring us some of that
breakfast?" I asked Jesus.

"Who knows." He shrugged. "It'd be sort of a
waste if they're fixing to kill us."

"I wisht you wouldn't say things like that.
It's about enough to ruin my appetite."

"Aw, there ain't nothing would keep you from
eating—not even that." He grinned at me, and I felt better after he
did. If Jesus could still joke at me things wasn't all bad.

"I said 'almost' enough."

"You didn't either," he told me.

"I surely did, an' don't you go denyin'
it."

"You never said any sech thing. What you
said was 'about', not 'almost.'"

"Well, they mean the same thing."

"They ain't the same, though. You went an'
said you'd said something, and that ain't what you said at all.
Duster, you went and lied to me. After all we been through together
... after me thinkin' we was friends. You go and lie to me. I just
cain't believe it."

I picked up a scrap of leather strap from
the floor and flung it at him.

"You sure are feeling frisky today," he said
and flung it back. I ducked it, but it hurt to move that quick, and
I guess I winced. "Not that good, though, huh?"

"Better'n yesterday, that's for
certain."

Jesus's face got all knotted up like it does
sometimes when he's thinking serious. "What is it you got on your
empty mind, former friend of mine?" I asked him.

"Can you run? Today I mean."

"If I got to, I can. For a little ways
anyhow. Why?"

"Well...I been thinking.
We're a little ways west from San Antone, an' there's some little
hills around here. That means
the Medina
River ain't far. If we got a chance to run for it, we might could
slip into the brush in the hills and lose them at the river if
there's water in it. Straight west from here is Castroville an' I
got kin there who'd let us borrow horses."

"It seems you got kin everywhere we go—not
that I'm complaining."

"Do you think you'd be up to trying it?"

"I'll try if you will. They cain't do much
more to me than they already done once. Not short of shooting me,
that is, an' if you're right they figure to do that anyway. We got
nothing to lose by trying."

"Hokay then, amigo. If I see a chance to run
I'll give a holler an' take off. That should draw their attention
long enough for you to get started."

I didn't know quite how to say it to him,
but I had to appreciate what Jesus was telling me there. I mean,
he'd seen them two fellows shooting at me when I tried to run from
them before and now he was offering to be shot at first so's I'd
have a better chance to make it, slowed up like I would probably
be. Anyhow, I didn't know how to tell him I was glad we was friends
so I punched him on the arm and went to get another drink of
water.