Authors: Ed Gorman
Wolf Moon (14 page)
And then the lid was lifted.
This time my heart didn't start pounding. It stopped.
I sank as far down into the garbage as I could go and watched as a plump white hand dangled over the rim of the barrel.
One of the men was dropping his cigar in here.
"What a goddamn smell," he said. "All that produce."
"Had a little girl in South Dakota who smelled just like it." The other man laughed.
The lid was still off. The man's hand was still dangling, his cigar butt looking like a red-eyed snake.
And then he tossed it.
The lighted end of the butt struck me right in the forehead.
The pain was instant and considerable. I gritted my teeth. I made fists. I wanted to curse. But no way I could indulge myself.
The lid closed.
Hawkins returned. "Nobody there."
"Gee, what a surprise."
"Well, he coulda been there," Hawkins said.
"Yeah, and so coulda Jesus H. Christ himself."
"C'mon," said the third man. "Let's get moving. I'd like to find that sonofabitch myself. Show him that without that fancy blue uniform to protect him, he ain't jack shit."
I waited five minutes, during which time I had a pretty crazy thought. What if they actually knew I was in the barrel and had just snuck away a few feet and waited while I climbed out?
I would climb out of the barrel and they would open fire and I'd be dead. A nice, legal execution, something to talk about in saloons and taverns for the next twenty years.
I slid the lid open.
I reached up and grabbed the rim of the deep barrel.
Above me I saw the cold starry sky.
I pushed myself up, tatters of garbage clinging to me, and started to climb out of the barrel.
So far, so good, but I knew that my biggest problem was ahead of me.
How was I going to escape a town filled with torch-bearing posse members?
I scrambled from the barrel and immediately hid myself in the shadows again.
What was I going to do now?
And then I saw the buggy, the shiny black buggy, and without any thought at all I started running toward it.
27
The Hollister woman wasn't expecting me.
I ran from the mouth of the alley straight at her surrey, my toe landing on the vehicle's metal step while I dove down beside her feet.
She started to scream, but all I had to say was one thing. "If you don't help me, Mrs. Hollister, I'll tell your husband about you and Reeves."
She'd been all set to cry out, her mouth forming an O, but at mention of Reeves the scream died in her throat.
"I want to go out Orely Road, and fast," I said.
She seemed confused, as if she hadn't quite recovered from the shock of seeing me jump into her surrey. But then intelligence returned to her eyes and she gathered the reins tighter, made a wide turn with horse and surrey, and started us on our way out of town. The animal was running at a good steady clip.
I kept watching her face to see if she was trying to signal the men who were running past, sounding excited as hayseeds at a county fair.
The ride, with me all curled up at her feet, was bumpy. Every time we hit a rut, she kicked me in my rib with the pointed toe of her high-button shoe. I could smell horseshit and axle grease. I wanted Gillian and Annie in my arms.
The flickering street lamps fell away after a time, as did the sound of running feet slapping the hard dirt road. Even the high, charged shouts of the eager posse.
After a while I raised myself up enough to look out at the rutted road. Moonlight showed a narrow stage road with ice shining in the potholes, and all around an autumnal mountainous land touched with glowing frost. Bears would be sleeping deep in winter caves by now, and kids would be asking for extra blankets.
I swung up from the floor and sat down next to her. "H-How did you know about R-Reeves?" she said, and when she stuttered, I felt ashamed of myself. I had no right to judge this woman the way I had.
"Forget I said anything. I'm not fit to pass judgment on you, Mrs. Hollister."
We didn't say anything for a time. The only sound was the crack of hooves against icy road.
I sat and watched the frozen night go by, the jet silhouettes of mountains against the darker jet of the sky, the hoarfrost quarter moon, the silver-blue underbellies of clouds…
"Y-You d-don't know what my h-husband's l-like when he d-drinks."
She sounded miserable and I had to stop her. "I shouldn't have said that, Mrs. Hollister. Really. I don't have any right to judge you."
She started shaking her head from side to side, reliving an old grief. "I'm a s-sinful w-woman, M-Mr. Chase. I'm a h-harlot."
We fell into silence again.
Then, "I t-told him t-today that I d-don't p-plan on s-seeing him a-anymore."
I reached over and touched her shoulder. "You should have respect for yourself, Mrs. Hollister. You could do a lot better than Reeves, believe me."
And Gillian could do a lot better than me.
She didn't say anything the rest of the way.
When the road turned westward, I took the reins from her and brought the horse to a halt.
"I hope things go right for you, Mrs. Hollister. You seem like a decent woman."
She smiled and leaned over. I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead she just touched my cheek with long fingers. Tenderly.
I jumped down and started walking to the edge of the hill, from which I could look down into the valley and see our house.
What I saw was the old farm wagon that Gillian kept in back. It was loaded down with clothes and furnishings. Gillian and Annie sat up on the seat. They'd hitched up the horse and were just now pulling out of the yard.
The sickness was getting worse all the time, but I ran anyway, ran faster than I ever had in my life.
"Gillian!" I cried into the night. "Gillian!"
28
By the time I got near the wagon, it had climbed the hill and was just starting down the road.
As I came close, out of breath, my legs threatening to crumple at any moment, I heard the clang of pots and pans as the wagon bounced along the road.
I fell.
I was twenty feet at most from the wagon, and I went straight down, my toe having stumbled over a pothole.
I stayed on my hands and knees for two or three minutes, like a dog trying to regain his strength. The vast night was starry and cold; the clang of pots and pans faded in the distance; and all I could smell was the hot sweat of my sickness.
After a time I got to my feet. But I promptly sank back down. Too weak.
I stayed down till I lost sight of the wagon in the moonlight far ahead. It had rounded a curve and was now behind a screen of jack pines. By this time the clank of kitchen implements was almost endearing, like a memory of Annie's smile.
All of a sudden I was having trouble swallowing, taking saliva down in gulps. Part of the sickness, I knew.
I started off walking and slowly began running. I had to catch the wagon. Had to.
***
By the time I caught up with them, the fever was so bad I was partially blind, a darkness falling across my vision every minute or so.
This time Annie heard me. She stood up in the wagon and turned around and saw me.
The last thing I heard, just before I pitched forward in the sandy road, was Annie's scream.
Darkness.
***
Squeak of wagon; clop of horse on hard-packed road; faint scent of perfume in the bed of the wagon.
Gillian.
"You're going to see that doctor in the morning, and I'm going to personally take you."
"I can't see anything."
"You just rest."
"My eyes-"
"Rest."
"Where are we?"
"Annie's taking us back home. She convinced me to give you another chance."
"Gillian-"
"And you're going to turn that money over and you're going to face whatever punishment you've got coming, and then we're going to be a real family for the first time in our lives."
She leaned down. All I could smell in the darkness was her soft sweet scent. She kissed me on the forehead, a mother's kiss.
"Sleep, now. We'll be home soon."
And so the old farm wagon tossed and squeaked down the road, the horse plodding but true, Annie talking to him most of the time, imitating the way adults talked to their wagon horses.
After a time the darkness was gone and I could see the stars again, and I wondered what it would be like to live on one of them, so far away from human grief. But they probably had their own griefs, the people on those stars, ones just as bad as ours.
29
She got me out of my sweat-soaked clothes and put on water for hot tea. She put me in bed and had Annie come in and stand over me while she gathered up more blankets. By now the chills were pretty bad.
"Mommy said that in a little while things will be all right again and you won't be in trouble anymore."
The bedroom was lit by moonlight, and Annie, one half of her face silver, the other half shadow, looked like a painting.
"That's right, honey."
"She said some men would probably come after you. Chief Hollister, she said. Doesn't he like you anymore?"
Gillian was back with more blankets. Annie helped her spread them over me.
Annie started talking again. I held her small hand in mine and tried to say something in return but I didn't have the strength. My throat was raw, my head hurt, every bone in my body ached, and I was having a hard time making sense of words.
I slept.
At first I thought it was part of a dream, the way the horses thundered toward me from the distant hill. I often had dreams where I was being pursued by fierce men on fiercer horses.
But then I heard Gillian saying, "They're coming down the hill, Chase. The posse."
Instinct took over. In moments I was out of bed, grabbing dry clothes and a jacket and throwing them on, picking up my.45 and a fancy bone-handled bowie knife I'd bought on a lark before going to prison.
Gillian watched me. "I thought maybe you'd turn yourself in, instead of running away."
As I buttoned the fleece-lined jacket, I said, "I don't want them to take me into town tonight, Gillian. Not with everybody worked up the way they are. I've seen two lynchings in my life and they were both real scary."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to get the money and then wait till the posse leaves."
"But they'll find you."
"Not where I'm going to hide."
The horses were closer, closer.
She came into my arms and we held each other. And then I took off, moving quickly to the back door. In moments I was out in the cold night again.
I peeked around the corner of the cabin and saw them-
Six horses coming down the dark November wind- Six riders on the hill, three bearing torches with flames that crackled and flapped like pennants in the wind, and three with carbines already drawn from leather scabbards.
Ready to make the descent, encircle the cabin, and drag me out to meet their justice.
30
The wind was raw as I dropped to my knees up there where the deserted well lay. A dark cloud passed across the moon, and for a brief time all color was blanched from the land, and the rocks and plains and mountains did not seem to be of earth at all, but some strange land from my prison nightmares.
I jerked the lid from the well and plunged my hand down into the chilly darkness below. All I could feel was the cold, empty blackness of the grave.
They would be coming up here looking for me, the posse would. There was only one place I could hide.
I wound the top of the rope tight around one of the large rocks at the mouth of the well. I tugged it several times, making sure that it was strong enough to hold me. The rock must have weighed two hundred pounds. It would be fine. But the rope was frayed…
I didn't have any choice.
I grabbed the rope end, climbed up over the rocks around the opening of the well and started my descent, feeding myself rope as I went.
Dirt and small rocks from the sides of the well fell to the water below, making a hollow splashing sound when they hit.
If I fell, nobody would ever find me. I'd hit my head or drown or Id be trapped down there and freeze to death.
I kept on moving down, inch by inch. I kept thinking of sad Gillian there at the last moment… wanting only the one thing I couldn't give her… wanting to be safe from my hatred of Reeves.
There was a sour smell just as I got so low that darkness took me entirely. Gases…
Far up above me I saw a portion of the well opening and a piece of cold midnight sky.
I was tightening my grip on the rope when another wave of blindness overwhelmed me. All I could do was hold on and hope it would pass.
And it was there, blind, suspended halfway down a well, that I whispered the word to myself, the word I'd been avoiding the past few days…
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