In the Rogue Blood (21 page)

“That’s the fella Marcus bought the horse from, right enough,” one of the gamblers said. “Just last week over at Dean’s Livery. Seen him myself. Bearded and outsized, he was, and rode a black like the boy says.” Another man nodded in verification.

“I was gonna leave him the saddle,” Edward said, “but since he come for me with a gun I reckon he owes me proper satisfaction. I figure the saddle and this here pistol about makes us even. Tell him if he wants to discuss it he can find me in New Orleans. Tell him ask around for Bill Turner.”

He walked the mare backward so as not to turn his back to them and then reined the horse about and put heels to her flanks and lit out down the street and into the night.

Horsed and pistoled he felt reprieved. He struck the main road and let the Janey horse have her head till he could no longer see the lights of the town behind him. The waxing half-moon was near its meridian and high over his shoulder and they rode through its ghostly light hard on the heels of their own shadow. He thought then to get off the main road and turned the mare into the high grass and brush and shortly came onto a weedy wagon trace that ran north and south and he rode south for another two hours before at last halting at a cottonwood copse cut through by a swift shallow creek. He loosened the cinch on the mare and let her blow and patted her and whispered to her what a good horse she was. He checked the wallets and found some bundled strips of jerked beef, a rolled clean shirt and a pair of socks, a box of matches, a sheathed Green River knife which he slipped into his boottop. He took the lariat off the saddle and put the horse on a long tether to a tree and let her drink. He got down on his belly on the bank and ducked his head in the chill water and gasped with pleasure. He pulled off his malodorous boots and soaked his feet a while and then put the boots back on. He made no fire and sat leaning against a tree and ate some of the jerky and drank from the whiskey bottle and listened hard but heard only the soft cropping of the mare and a solitary frog croaking in the creek. He’d never tasted better jerky and the whiskey warmed him wonderfully. He laid out his bed under the tree and slept with the pistol in hand. Sometime in the night he was startled
awake by the mare’s warm breath on his face and he stroked her muzzle and told her she had nothing to fret about.

In the morning light he saw that the pepperbox was a six-barreled .36 caliber Darling and the only uncharged barrel was the one Marcus Loom had fired as he’d fallen. He wanted to shoot the piece for the feel of it but without powder and shot for reloading he decided not to waste a round. He refilled the canteen at the creek and tightened the saddle on the mare and tied down the bedroll behind the cantle and then mounted and hupped the horse southward.

Near noon he came upon a small ranch where the foreman invited him to join him and the hands to dinner. He ate his fill of beefsteak and beans and offered to work the afternoon in exchange for the meal but the foreman wouldn’t hear of it. He informed Edward that San Antonio de Bexar lay three days south on the Camino Real. The ride was a little longer, the foreman added, if a man preferred to follow the side trails. But he did not ask why Edward had been traveling off the main road nor did he even ask his name.

He rode the day without seeing another soul until the trees flamed in the evening sun and rang riotous with roosting birds and he spied a campfire in an oak grove just ahead. A chill wind rustled the trees. A pair of oxen grazed on a grassy rise and a covered wagon stood under a high wide oak. A woman worked at a smoking pot hung over the fire and a tall man in black came forward and raised a hand in greeting and Edward hallooed him. The man called out, “Come rest a spell, brother, and take some supper with us.”

The man introduced himself as the Reverend Leonard Richardson, founder of the Church of the Blood of Jesus. He bade Edward to set by the fire and take a cup of tea while his wife finished preparing the supper. Edward loosened the cinch on the mare and dropped the reins and let her graze where she stood. The reverend poured tea from a kettle. The woman was thin and angular. Her back was to them as she ladled from the pot into three bowls.

“Smells mighty good,” Edward said.

“Turtle stew,” the reverend said. “She makes it real fine.”

Now the woman turned with a bowl in each hand and in the dim light of the fire Edward thought that she was wearing a mask. But when she came closer to hand him a bowl he saw that she wore a sort of bridle fashioned of thin metal straps tight around her head and fitted with an iron bit that pulled hard into her mouth between her teeth and held the
tongue fast. The corners of her mouth had blackened against the chafing bit. The whole thing was fastened with a small lock behind her neck. Her eyes were red and wet in the firelight. After serving them she sat apart and fed herself by spooning broth carefully into her mouth and then tipping her head far back to let it run down her throat in the manner of a drinking bird.

Edward turned to the preacher and saw the man smiling at him as he ate. “Never seen one a them before, eh?” the reverend said, nodding toward the woman. “Called a brank. Scold’s bridle. Come by it a few months ago in Galveston. From a German fella who’d got it from his daddy back in the old country. Fella’s wife had just recent died with the cholera and he was sworn not to marry again and so he didn’t have need of it no more. Said it to be a right common means in the old days for punishin a scold. Course now”—he paused to give the woman a hard look—”it’ll do just as well for ary woman don’t know to keep a proper tongue in her head.” He spooned up the last of his stew and whistled to attract the woman’s attention and beckoned her. She set down her supper bowl and hastened to replenish his. As she handed the refilled bowl to the preacher she looked at Edward with her pained wet eyes and he gestured that he wanted nothing more and she went back to the other side of the fire and resumed her awkward feeding.

“They got the serpent’s tongue, boy,” Richardson said, nodding toward his wife. “I mean ever one of them. Had it since the Garden. ‘The serpent beguiled me and I did eat.’ That’s was Eve’s side of the matter. Tryin to pass the blame, sayin the devil made her to do it and she couldnt resist him noway. ‘The serpent beguiled me and I did eat.’ And what’s the first thing she done after? Why, turned right around and beguiled old Adam into eatin of the forbidden fruit too.

“He aint nary fool, the Devil. He always known which is the weaker spirit and which the weaker flesh. Knowed the way to get at Adam was through the woman. Knowed he could seduce her and she’d do the deed for him and pull down Adam to perdition right along with her and that’s exactly what she done. Eve is the bitch mother of all of man’s misfortunes, and ever woman since is got the same treacherous bitch blood as her. She damned ever one a us to a life of toil and sweat and fruitless effort. Made us to do disloyal to the Lord and turned His loving face from us and they been doin evil with they tongue ever since. When they aint scoldin or complainin, they tellin lies or gossip or speakin some other
kind of evil meanness.” He paused to spit off to the side and glare at the woman who did not look their way.

“‘All wickedness is but little to the wickedness of a woman,”’ the preacher declaimed. “Ecclesiasticus, twenty-five, nineteen. Mark me, boy, if ye pay heed to the words of a woman ye be lettin the serpent’s tongue lick in you ear. The Good Lord put His faith in us and we broke that faith because of a woman and we been breakin the faith with Him and with our brothermen ever since. Ours not to question His ways, but if He’d seen fit to put a brank on that bitch Eve just as quick as he was done shapin her from Old Adam’s rib we’d all be the better for it, you mark me. We’d right now be sippin the milk of Paradise at Old Adam’s elbow and laughin for no damn reason a-tall except we didn’t have a worry in the damn world.”

He accepted the reverend’s invitation to bed down in his camp for the night and rolled himself in his blanket beside the fire to keep warm against the encroaching cold. The reverend climbed into the covered wagon to sleep but the woman stayed outside and settled herself on the other side of the fire. Edward watched her through the yellow cast of wavering flames for a time and then turned over to put his back to her.

But he could not sleep. He could not rid himself of the vision of the brank in her mouth, the red pain in her eyes. He told himself it was none of his concern, that for all he knew the woman had it coming. Maybe she’d deserved to have her tongue cut out and the preacher had shown mercy by putting the brank on her instead. But still he saw her red eyes and ruined mouth. And he remembered now the damned Dutchman who’d bloodied his own daughter’s mouth and run him off at gunpoint.

After an hour he got up and put on his boots and rolled his blanket. He saw the woman watching him, her eyes shining in the ruby glow of the low fire. The mare whickered softly as he saddled her. The half-moon was high overhead and bright white through the trees rustling in the cold wind and swirling their shadows on the ground. When he was ready to ride he went to the woman and she sat up quickly with the blanket drawn close about her and her eyes on him were red and frightened. He drew his bootknife and whispered, “Ye aint got to wear that goddamned thing.” But as he made to cut it free of her face she whimpered and tried to ward away his hand.

“What the devil, woman!” he hissed. “I aint gone hurt ye. I’m tryin to help ye, dammit.”

The woman shook her head like a dog shaking off water and her refusal
enraged him the more. “Ye stupid damn woman!” She tried to scrabble away from him but he grabbed her by the hair and held her fast as he deftly slipped the knife under one of the metal straps behind her head and twisted the blade to get the keen edge on the strap and as he did so the top edge of the knifeblade dug into her scalp. She began shrilling through her teeth and struggling to get free of him and Edward could feel that the bit was digging into her mouth even harder now and the knife could not sever the metal. He cursed and she screeched louder and suddenly the Reverend Richardson’s voice came from the wagon: “What in thunder are you
doing
to her?”

“
Damn
you!” Edward shouted, and shoved away the woman as the reverend clambered down from the wagon with a long rifle in his hand.

He ran to the mare and swung himself to the saddle and dug his heels into her and she bolted for the road just as the rifle cracked and the ball hissed past his shoulder. He heard the woman wailing as though lamenting the newly dead.

He cursed himself as he rode under the white moon.

Fool! It’s all you can do to look out for yourself in this world. Damn the fools around ye. They got to watch out for theirselfe
.

Fool!

An hour later he came to a willow grove hard by a creek and there reined up and put down for the rest of the night without a fire. He dreamt again of a barren waste laid red as blood in the setting sun. And again saw Daddyjack, this time squatting before a shadowed figure, doing something to it, grunting with effort and muttering curses. And now Daddyjack stood and backed away from the other figure and turned and looked at Edward with his one becrazed eye. And now Edward saw that the other figure was his mother, sitting on the ground with her hands in her lap and a breast exposed and its nipple a hard twist of scarred flesh. She had a brank strapped around her head. The bit cut deep in her mouth and blood ran down her chin. She looked at Edward with eyes like burning oil and showed a horrible red smile through the brank. And her laughter rang like a madhouse bell.

He woke gasping and sopped with sweat in the cold night air.

The pinewoods fell behind and the sky widened and the country opened up and assumed a gentle roll. He rode through bunch grass and along
bottoms lined with hardwoods, passed through pecan groves and stands of oak. In time he came upon the first rocky outcroppings and cedar brakes at the edge of the hill country and saw farther to the west a low line of whiterock palisades shaped like wide steps leading to the high plains. There appeared now among the hardwoods scatterings of mesquite and occasional clumps of prickly pear. The west wind carried the scent of cedar and the sunsets seemed a deeper and brighter red, as if painted in fresher blood. The clouds were quicker to shape themselves and to change direction, to dissolve to pale wisps. A hard hailstorm drove him to cover in an oak grove and frighted the Janey mare.

He arrived at Bexar on a February morning bright with sunlight. He rode up over a grassy rise and there the town was. A clangor of bells carried faintly on the cool air and among the mission steeples stood a church dome shaped like a vision from an Arabian tale. The whitewashed buildings shone in the sun. Cottonwoods lined the banks of the river winding through town, their leaves shimmering in each huff of breeze. He spied the flag of the United States waving gently in the wind and beside it the Lone Star banner of the state of Texas. He hupped the mare down the rise and onto a loose sand road and headed in.

Despite the Stars and Stripes the place seemed a foreign estate. The public squares clamored with Spanish and the music of hurdy-gurdy and guitarron and castanets. The people were dark and toothy and dressed in white cotton. The air was piquant with cooking spices and the droppings of stock. Lavishly saddled stallions carried mustached horsemen glowering under sombreros of enormous brim, bedecked in black jackets and tight pants seamed with silver conchos, their spurs huge and spike-roweled. The wide main plaza was abustle with rattling wagons and clunking oxcarts and bunches of clattering longhorns being driven to the butcheries by vaqueros hardly more than children. Burros laden with all manner of commodities. Coaches packed with passengers and heaps of topside luggage. Mangy curs everywhere. Beggars blind or maimed. Strolling vendors with trays strapped round their necks. On the wide steps of a municipal building women in black rebozos sat on blankets arrayed with foodstuffs and confectioneries, religious gewgaws, medicinal compounds of sundry sorts. Scribes at their tables with inkpots and sandbowls penned letters of declaration in behalf of illiterate lovesick clients. Garrison soldiers lounged on benches and ogled the passing girls behind the dueñas’ backs. Men of business came and went from the courthouse. The high walls round the plaza were topped with shards of colored glass.

He watered the mare at a plaza well and then walked the horse down a narrow sidestreet that took him past stalls and shops where harness-makers and tinkers and seamstresses and cobblers of boots worked busily at their trades. He came upon a small plaza clustered with cafes and cantinas. He hitched the mare and went into an eatery and had a platter of roast kid in a chile sauce so potent he was obliged to mop steadily at his nose and eyes with his napkin as he ate. He was exhaling chile fumes when he came out but still had some coins in his pocket and so went next door into a cantina for a drink.

The barroom was dim and cool and had a high beamed ceiling and a polished clay floor. The floor gleamed in the slant of light from the entranceway. A half-dozen men stood grouped at the far end of the bar, all of them intent on something on the counter. Most of them looked Mexican and the talk was fast loud Spanish. But two were Americans speaking pidgin Spanish and using broad sign language. Both looked but a few years older than Edward. Their clothes were filthy with grease and dried blood. They wore slouch hats and each carried a brace of caplocks on his belt and a bowie on his hip and a knife in each boot-top.

Suddenly the talk subsided and the men drew closer about the bar and for a moment no one moved. Then abruptly one of the Mexicans jerked back from the bar and the other men shouted in chorus and some laughed and the man who’d flinched cursed loudly and spat on the floor. Now Edward saw that on the bartop was a large jar of clear glass containing a coiled rattlesnake.

A grinning Mexican in a rancher’s coat and leg chaps collected money off the counter. He dropped the specie into his poke and bobbed the bag in his palm to test its heft and looked pleased with himself. He glanced about at the others and said, “Pues, quién más?”

Edward bellied up to the bar and rapped hard on the counter to catch the Mexican barkeeper’s attention over the loud talk and laughter. The man came over and said, “Qué tomeis?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t talk but American. Give me a drink. Whiskey.”

“Wickskey,” the barkeep said with a nod. He poured a drink and picked out a dime from the coins Edward laid on the counter. Edward tossed off the drink and blew out a breath and felt his eyes fill. The stuff was vile but its hot rush down his gullet and warm burst in his belly were pure pleasure. He pushed the other dime across the counter and the barkeep
refilled his glass and then went back down the bar to rejoin the others.

The two Americans were conferring with each other and then one loudly said, “Goddamnit, I’m gonna try er again! I know I can beat er!” He was short and broad, cleanshaved and drunk.

The other American was bearded and his sparse mustache was gapped under his nose by a bare pink harelip. His speech was thick and gluey. “Shit, Easton, you done lost five dollars to the sumbitch already. You aint gone have penny one left you keep on with that snake.”

The Easton one waved him off and turned to the rancher. He nodded at the jar and jabbed himself in the chest with his finger and said, “Yo. Me. Again.” The rancher grinned and rubbed his thumb over the first two fingers of his hand. The Easton fellow dug out a silver dollar and slapped it on the bartop and the rancher put his own dollar on top of it. Now the other Mexicans began jabbering excitedly and placing their own bets.

The American set himself directly in front of the glass jar like a man readying to jump into icy water. He took several deep breaths as the others gathered close about on either side of him. Edward leaned over the bar for a better look. He saw that the jar lid had holes in it and the glass was too thick for the rattler to break. The snake was drawn up into a tight coil, its thin black tongue flickering, its tail tip up and chattering in a blur. Now the Easton one laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles and then dried his palms on his thighs. “Qué esperas, hombre?” the rancher said and gestured impatiently.

The American put a finger to the jar and the snake struck at it and he jerked his finger away. Everybody laughed and shouted and bets were paid off. The rancher gathered his winnings off the bar and added them to his poke.

“I done
tole
you!” the harelip said to the muttering Easton fellow. “Didn’t I
tell
you?”

Edward tossed off the rest of his drink and picked up his half-dime and walked over to the group and said to the rancher, “
I
can keep my finger on that glass.” He held up the silver half-dime.

The rancher looked at him and at the half-dime and then grinned at the others and said, “Mira éste con su monedita. Qué gran apuesta, eh?” and everyone laughed.

He felt a rush of anger and turned to the two Americans. “What’s so damn funny?”

“They aint too awful impressed with the size a your bet,” the Easton fellow said.

Edward glared around at them all and pulled out the pepperbox and laid it on the bar. “I’ll bet that.”

The rancher picked up the pistol and examined it. “Mira pues,” he said, looking amused. “Y cuanto vale esta cosa tan buena pa nada?”

Edward looked at the Americans. “How much he got to put up against the pistol?” the harelip said.

“Hell, I don’t care.” He looked at the rancher and held up a finger. “A dollar.”

“Un dollar,” the rancher said. He set the pistol on the bar and laid a silver dollar beside it.

Nobody bet on Edward’s success. He set himself before the jar. The rattler coiled up tight. He knew it was impossible for the snake to hit him through the glass, impossible, and he put his finger to the jar.

The rattler struck and he yanked his hand away before he knew he’d done it. The Mexicans roared with laughter. The rancher grinned and slipped the pepperbox into a side pocket of his coat.

He was furious at himself and called for another try and this time lost his saddle. Then tried again and lost his horse. The Mexicans were tearful with laughter. The rancher slid a half-dollar across to him and made a drinking gesture with his thumb and little finger jutting from his fist. He was a good winner who would not leave a man without drinking money.

Edward sat at a table against the wall and drank in sullen anger while the Easton fellow lost yet another dollar against the snake and then another pair of Mexicans came in and wanted to try their hand at the game too. The Americans brought their drinks over and sat with him. The harelip introduced himself as Dick Foote and said the other was Easton Burchard. He told Edward not to fault himself too hard about drawing his hand away. “Aint a man here been able to keep from pullin back when that snake hits,” the harelip said. “Couldn’t do it myself. Don’t believe it can be done.”

“Just like a Mexican to think up a game nobody can win at,” Easton Burchard said.

Dick the harelip said they were from just north of the Red River and were headed for Corpus Christi to join the Texas volunteers. “They sayin we gonna go to war with Mexico for damn sure and General Taylor’s gonna be needin ever man he can get. We heard tell they’s a bunch a rangers waitin on the Nueces right now and we aim to join it, by God.
They sayin Old Rough and Ready be movin south real soon.”

“I’m pretty damn rough and ready my ownself, by Jesus,” Burchard said.

“They say Mexico’s just fulla gold for the takin,” the harelip said in his glutinous voice. “Say they’s rich people’s houses and churches just full of sacks of gold and gold crosses and drinkin cups and the like. Damn near everything you caint eat’s made of gold down there. And like they say, to the victor go the spoils.”

“Aint no question we got the spoils comin too,” Burchard said, glowering drunkenly. “We aint near forgot what them beaneaters did but ten years ago right out there at the Alamo. Nor what they done in Goliad. Half-breed bastards. Me and Dick weren’t but stripling boys back then and couldnt do nothin but cuss about it when we heard, but we sure’s hell can do something about it now.”

“We aint forgettin neither what they done to them Texian boys a coupla three years ago just the other side of the Rio Grande there at Mier,” Dick the harelip said. Edward had heard about that business. A filibustering bunch of Texians had been captured at Mier by the Mexicans and each of the 176 prisoners was made to draw a bean from a clay jar holding all white beans but for seventeen black ones. The men who drew the black beans were blindfolded and stood against a wall and shot dead.

“Only some Mexican son of a bitch would think up a thing like drawin for them black beans,” Burchard said. He drained off his drink and fixed his angry stare on the Mexicans gathered about the rattlesnake on the bar. “Damn half-breeds act like they still in Mexico, like this aint been Texas for ten damn years. If they aint gonna learn to talk American and start actin American they best get they asses down to Mexico where they belong. Greaser bastards. All the time talkin Mexican and laughin and actin polite and showin they teeth and they just as soon cut you throat as shake you hand. Winnin all you damn money from you with a goddamn sidewinder in a jar.”

“I caint hardly wait to get down there and start killin the sonofabitches and gettin me some of that gold,” Dick the harelip said.

Easton Burchard suddenly thumped the table with his fist and his face brightened. “Shitfire, I know how to beat that game!”

“No, goddamnit, not again,” the harelip said as Burchard stood up. “We aint got but a coupla dollars left, bud.”

“It just come to me how to do it,” Burchard said. “You watch.”

He went up to the bar and conveyed to the rancher that he wanted
another try. The rancher smiled and shrugged and made the money gesture with his fingers. Burchard put his dollar on the bar and the rancher covered it. The other Mexicans were grinning wide and nudging each other.

“I don’t even want to see it,” the harelip said and kept his back to the bar. The crowd at the counter blocked Edward’s view but he did not leave his chair either.

Suddenly the talk fell off and he knew Easton Burchard was set and ready. Then there was a chorus of shouts and Burchard let a loud whoop and the bartender yelled something and then everybody at the bar was yelling at once.

“La apuesta no vale!” the rancher said angrily to Easton Burchard. He pointed at the bartender and said, “Éste te vió con los ojos cerrados, cabrón!”

“Oh shit,” Dick the harelip said, turning around in his chair to look upon the commotion.

The bartender was nodding and jabbering at all the others and gesturing at Easton Burchard. “No vale!” said another Mexican. “No vale!”

“No valley, my ass,” Easton Burchard said. “I don’t care the sonofabitch saw me close my eyes. Didn’t nobody say it was a rule against it. Only thing matters is I kept my hand on the glass and that means I won and that’s my two dollars there.”

He reached for the money but the rancher shoved him back and Easton Burchard said “God damn you!” and pulled both caplocks from his belt and discharged one squarely into the rancher’s chest.

The rancher fell back against the bar and his legs gave way and he grabbed wildly at the counter to try to keep his feet and his arm knocked the jar off the bartop. It crashed on the floor and the rattler lunged from the broken glass and struck one of the men just below the knee. The man shrieked and kicked wildly at the snake and fell hard as the others all yipped and jumped away from the sidewinding snake and a man fixed eyes of horror on it as it slithered past his boots and he fired at it and shot himself in the toes in the same instant that Easton Burchard shot a Mexican not two feet from him and the man’s brains flew from his head in a crimson streak. Edward dove to the floor as the harelip fired from one knee and a Mexican clutched at his face with both hands and fell. Several guns blasted at once and Easton Burchard yelped and dropped down beside the rancher who was struggling to pull the pepperbox from his jacket pocket. Burchard elbowed him in the face and took the weapon
from him as the harelip fired his second pistol and put a ball through a Mexican’s neck and Burchard cried out again and cocked and fired the pepperbox twice in fast order and a Mexican crashed against a table and crumpled to the floor. The last of the Mexicans dashed out the back door and the shooting was done.