Moontrap - Don Berry (14 page)

"
They are not important, maybe, what you worry
about."

"That's just the hell of it, Mary. They ain'
important, an' I know it. But down here you got to worry about it
anyways. What people are going to say, what they're going to think.
Y' know, by christ, I got so bad there for a while that if somebody
said good morning I'd think, but what's he mean? "

Mary nodded silently.

"It's like a rip-tide down to the ocean. There's
a hundred little currents underneath you can't see, ever'body mad at
ever'body else, or jealous, or somethin'. It's too complicated for
me. I'm a simple man, I just try to get along, an' do what I'm
supposed t' do."

"It will get better," Mary said. "Is
hard to learn the new ways."

Monday sighed. "I expect," he said. "Webb
says I allus did learn hard." He drained the last of the coffee
and went to the door. As he opened it the sun streamed in yellow and
warm across the floor, and suddenly there was light and warmth
reflected all through the cabin.

"What do we live with the goddamn door shut
for?" he demanded angrily of no one in particular. Outside the
clarity and sharpness of the early summer morning were clean and
fresh.

"Like a bunch of goddamn animals hiding in a
cave," he muttered.

"Is a very beautiful morning," Mary said,
coming to stand at the door and feel the warmth of the sun on her
face.

"Nothin' to hide from," Monday said. Even
as he spoke a part of him stood off and realized he was working
himself up into anger because of what he had to do in Oregon City.
Even realizing, he was unable to control his rising temper. "In
a Shoshone lodge we'd of had the sun two hours ago. Act like we was
mired of it, or something." Angrily he grabbed the epishemore
and saddle from the rail and went off the porch to saddle the waiting
horse.

Mary stood with her eyes closed in the doorway,
letting the light breeze rustle in her hair and the sun bring warmth
to her skin. She thought of mountain mornings, when the sun brought
joy, and the red rising of it streamed into the camp circle and the
lodges glowed inside from its brilliance and the women chattered as
they went about their work, happy and free. She remembered it very
clearly, though it was a long time, now.

"
Is just the way they make houses here."
she said absently.

"
Bunch o' slaves, we are," Monday said,
throwing the saddle on.

"
You forgetting your breakfast," she said.

"I'll get it when I come back. I ain't hungry
right now."

Mary went back into the cabin, leaving the door open.
Monday tightened up the cinch and stood back, looking around. As his
glance crossed Webb's "camp" a couple of hundred yards away
he thought briefly he'd take the coon into Oregon City and show him
what civilized life was like. Suddenly he stopped, his eyes returning
to Webb's tiny fire.

Oh, no, he thought. It can't be.

He mounted the horse, keeping his eyes on the camp,
his depression and anger suddenly flooding away. It was so. Webb's
rifle leaned against his saddle on the ground, muzzle to the sky. For
a moment he couldn't see the old man; and finally spotted him, a good
twenty feet from the fire and from his gun. The old man was turned
away from Monday, squatted down in the bushes tending to his morning
duties.

Monday eased the horse into motion, slowly. Please,
God, he thought  anxiously, don't let him turn around. He kicked
the horse into a gallop. The newly turned soil at the field's edge
muffled the hoofbeats, and Monday had covered half the short distance
in brief seconds.

A sudden scream ripped from his throat, the yipping
war—cry of the Blackfeet. The old man came out of his squatting
position like a startled quail, seeming to dart straight up and
change direction in midair. He started to run, but his buckskin
breeches were down around his ankles and tripped him up. The dash
ended in a long, flat dive toward the gun, his angular body
stretching across the space like a bony cloud, hands outstretched and
clawed.

Yelling wildly, Monday leaned down off the side of
the saddle and thundered through the camp. Just as Webb plowed into
the ground a few feet away, Monday's hand closed around the upright
barrel of the gun and snatched it away. His yipping cry turned into a
howl of pure triumph, and he hauled back on the reins sharply, the
horse rearing high and pawing at the air.

He brought him down and turned back. He stood
straight in the stirrups, shaking the long rifle and yelling at the
old man. Webb was just unfolding himself from the ground. He stood
straight and began to yell back, shaking his fist helplessly, stark
naked except for his hat, which had somehow remained fast, and the
sad, limp pile of breeches around his feet.

Still raging, he grabbed up his pants with one hand
and snatched a burning fagot from the fire with the other. Waving the
torch he began to charge Monday, cursing as he came. He ran
awkwardly, clutching his breeches with one hand, but with amazing
speed. When he got near enough he heaved the flaming stick. It passed
just over Monday's head, frightening the horse. Monday howled again
and kicked his heels in. The horse jerked wildly and broke into a
gallop, straight down on the old man, who was now only a few yards
off, still coming fast.

Webb dove again, as the horse thundered by like an
avalanche, passing over the spot where he had been standing. Monday
reined up and doubled forward in the saddle, helpless with laughter.

"
Gimme my gun/" Webb was screaming, over
and over like a mad, hysterical bird. "Gimme my gun!"

"
Hey!" Monday hollered back. "Y' damn
iggerant dunghead!"

"I'll have y'r ass f'r breakfast!" Webb
shrieked at him.

Monday walked the horse slowly back, his belly
hurting from laughing. Webb darted for him, still holding his
breeches up with one hand. Monday lifted the rifle high over his head
and out of reach.

"Never get y'r gun back that way," he
cautioned. "Never, never. Be nice, now."

The old man stopped short, helpless and almost
inarticulate with rage. At last, snarling curses, he marched back to
his grounded saddle and tied up his breeches with a thong. Angrily he
grabbed his floppy hunting shirt and threw it on, belting it as
though he were cinching a stubborn horse.

Monday eased his horse over. The animal side-danced,
uncertain about the strange thin monster they approached. Monday
still held the gun high. "Y'ain't going t' shoot me if'n I give
this back, are y'?"

"
Ain't promisin" nothin'," Webb
snapped. "Give 'er back 'n' see."

"
Got to promise or you don't get 'er."
Monday told him calmly.

"
All right," Webb said angrily.

"
All right, what?" Monday asked.

"God damn y'r eyes! Don't y' trust me?" It
put the old man half in a rage again, not to be trusted.

"
Not an inch; you pulled that stuff before. Y'
got t' say it straight out."

"
Y' damn iggerant—"

"
Be nice, now," Monday warned him.

"A1l right. I ain't going to shoot y',"
Webb said quickly. "Now give it me!"

"Now that's real kind," Monday said. He
lowered the gun.

"Leastways not right this minute," Webb
muttered, snatching the rifle. Having it in his hands, he seemed to
reconsider, and Monday had  to remind him a promise was a
promise. Silently the old man finished his dressing while Monday
leaned forward on the saddle horn and watched.

"
You got into some bad habits, hoss. Leavin' y'r
gun out like that."

"Ain't going t' talk to no nigger that done
something like that,"

Webb said. "Takin' a man's gun—it ain't right.
It ain't now. "

"
Thought you was gone beaver f'r a minute there,
didn't you?"

"
Wagh!
"
Webb grinned faintly turning away so Monday couldn't see. "They's
more'n one nigger gone under with his pants down, 'n' thats truth."

"
Hell of a way to meet y'r Maker, " Monday
observed. "No dignity"

"
He made y'r ass too, y'iggerant dunghead. Y'
ain't going t' surprise Him none."

Monday leaned farther forward in the saddle. "Say,
coon," he said seriously, "tell me somethin'."

Webb muttered something that might have been assent,
pulling on a moccasin.

"Y' ullux use poison oak t' wipe y'r ass with,
or is it somethin' new you're tryin' out?"

Webb stopped short, the moccasin half on. He looked
up at Monday with an expression of utter horror growing on his face.
He gasped, and it was too much for Monday. He couldn't keep his face
straight, and started laughing again.

Muttering viciously, \Vebb turned his attention back
to the moccasin and jerked it on. "Y're some, y'are now. Y'
smart bastard."

Monday sat up straight in the saddle and took a deep
breath of the morning air. The sun was rising rapidly now and it was
hot on the back of his shoulders. The sky was pale blue and
cloudless, and the deep black-green of the firs stood out sharply. It
was too beautiful a day to
waste.

"Tell y' what, hoss," he said. "I got
some stuff t' do in Oregon City, but it c'n wait. What do y' say we
go take a swim down to the river? Them kind o' doin's shine with y'?"

Webb stood, flexing his shoulders under the buckskin
shirt and looking around at the countryside lying peaceful and green
in the warmth of the morning.

"Wouldn't hurt none, I expect. Ain't such a bad
day, f'r the kind o' day it is."

Monday grinned down at him.

Webb mounted up and the two turned back toward the
cabin and the trail that led down to the sandy beach at the point of
the river's turning.

"
By god, " Monday said, thinking about it.
"You looked like a bird, sure enough."

Webb muttered under his breath.

Monday leaned over and clapped the old man on the
shoulder. "Just like old times, hoss. Don't get y'r back up."

Webb's mouth twitched. "Was, now," he
admitted grudgingly.

Just the way it used to be, Monday thought. Been a
hell of a while since he'd had any real horseplay. Seemed like it was
getting grim around. He never seemed to have any plain fun any more,
that was the trouble.

"
Just like old times," he repeated softly.
 

Chapter Seven

1

Mary was bringing a chair out into the sun, and she
looked up in surprise when they passed the cabin. Monday hollered at
her that they were going for a swim first, and she smiled. The two
horses eased down the small rise by the house and made their way to
the bluff where Monday had sat the night before.

There they turned left to follow the bank down to the
sandy beach. Monday was beginning to feel good.

"Say, hoss," he said to Webb. "When'd
that animal o' yours die, anyways?"

"She ain't dead, this 'un," Webb said
contemptuously.

"
Sure can't tell it t' look at 'er." Monday
shook his head in wonderment. "Looks like wolf-meat sure
enough."

He glanced sideways at the old man and saw the
muscles in the lean jaw work as Webb clenched his teeth in anger.
They rode on a few yards in silence. Then Webb jerked harshly on the
reins, twisting his animal's head back with the suddenness of it.
Monday reined up too.

Webb looked at him silently for a moment, leaning
forward on the horn. Finally he spat on the ground between the two
animals.

"Dollar says you got shit f' r brains."

"Done and done," Monday said. He eased his
horse back even with Webb's, relaxing his grip on the reins to give
himself plenty of surplus.

He shrugged his shoulders, loosening his muscles
under the hunting shirt.

A red-tailed hawk swirled past overhead and
gracefully glided to a perch in a tree fifty yards ahead of them,
toward the beach. Webb pointed at the bird. "When she flies,"
he said.

They sat quietly watching the hawk. Monday held the
long ends of the reins out to the side, ready to whip. Webb sat
comfortably relaxed, only raising his hands a little from the saddle
horn. The hawk surveyed the field, watching for the scurry of some
small animal. Its head turned slowly, scanning with care. It raised
one wing, and Monday's breath stopped. The hawk tucked its head under
the wing, searching out an annoying mite. Monday relaxed.

He was beginning to think the damn bird was going to
build a nest in the tree. Suddenly and simultaneously the hawk's
talons released the branch and Webb shouted "Hya!."'
kicking his heels into the horse's flanks.

Monday's animal jerked, then bolted as he slapped the
reins to him.

Webb had taken the start in a furious explosion of
hoofs. Monday's horse took two jerky steps, then fell into pace and
thundered after. The hawk's slow glide faltered, and it veered off
startled as the two great animals charged past beneath.