Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6 (4 page)

Jem scrambled to wrap his arms around the man’s leg with his arm and clutched it to his chest, hollering, “Run, mama!
 
Run!”

Phillips cursed in disbelief and lifted his other foot over the boy’s head, about to stomp it with his heavy boot when the woman behind him shouted.
 
He saw the flicker of steel in the sunlight right before she cut him.
 

The small fishing knife dripped blood on the dirt as Phillips staggered back and grabbed his face with both hands.
 
She’d cut him right down the middle, opening him up from the top of his nose to his upper lip.
 
He gasped and cursed at her as she circled around, still holding the knife in her hand.
 
Betsy Clayton picked Jem off the ground and said, “Get your baby sister!”

Jem grimaced and wheezed as he limped over to Claire and picked her up.
 

Phillips looked down at his hands and saw fresh blood and roared, “You bitch!” He lumbered forward at her like an animal when the front door of the Halladay house burst open.
 

“The hell?” Katey Halladay shouted.
 
“Is that you, Betsy?”

Whiskey Pete Phillips pointed at Betsy and said, “I’m coming back for you.
 
I’m gonna do things to you and those kids you can’t believe.
 
I’m gonna make him watch it all.
 
I’m gonna make him help me do it.”

Katey Halladay hurried down the steps toward them, waving an iron cooking pot over her head and shouting, “Get the hell off my property!
 
Shoo!
 
Git!”

Phillips turned from them and sprinted, vanishing into the tall grass.
 
Jem handed his mother his bawling sister and collapsed to the ground.
 

***

“I checked his lungs.
 
It appears nothing internal was damaged, Sam.
 
He’ll be quite sore for a few weeks to come, I expect.”

“Nothing’s broken?”

“Not that I can surmise.
 
When he awakes, I’ll perform a more proper inspection.
 
I may ask you to hold the boy down, however, considering his tendency to bite.”

“I promise, no biting, Doc.
 
I’m going to check on him.”
 
Sam Clayton took off his hat as he entered the Halladay’s bedroom.

Jem looked up at his father and said, “Did you find him?”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Sam said.

“Who was he?”

Sam wiped his hand over his face and shook his head.
 
“Boy, you got some kind of sand inside of you, you know that?
 
That much is for certain.
 
How the hell did you…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he looked down at his son.
 
Something changed his mind about whatever he was about to say.
 
He cleared his throat, “I don’t know who he was yet.
 
Tom Masters is bringing over descriptions of every single person I’ve ever arrested.
 
Tilt Junger is heading up the posse to round up every vagrant in the settlement.”

“Where’s Claire?
 
She was burning up when I picked her up.”

“She’s fine,” Sam said.
 
He put his hand on the boy’s forehead and cleared the hair out of his face.
 
“Doc gave her some medicine and her fever’s gone.
 
It was just an ear infection, he said.
 
She’s all right.”

“All right.”
 
He laid back down and stared up at the ceiling.
 
“That’s good.
 
He said he was coming back,” Jem said.
 
“He said he was coming back for all of us and gonna make me watch him do things.”
  

“You better believe none of that is true,” Sam said.
 
“As sure as I’m standing here, that is never gonna happen.”

“It almost did,” Jem said.
 
“You weren’t here.”

Sam raised his voice, “You think I don’t know that?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jem said.
 
“I mean it almost happened because you weren’t here, but I was.
 
I figured it was up to me.
 
But Mama is the one who saved us.”

“Yeah, well.
 
She’s got sand inside of her too.”
 

***

Frank Miller jerked awake at first light.
 
He grumbled that he was going to be late and grabbed onto the headboard with both hands to pull himself upright.
 

Claire rolled over and lifted her head, squinting at him in the darkness.
 
“What’s wrong?”

“It’s almost dawn,” Frank said.
 
He grabbed the armrest of his wheelchair and dragged the thing sideways toward the bed, wheels squeaking against the wood floor.
 

Claire sighed and laid back down.
 
“He don’t need you out there every morning, you know.
 
He just rides past to check on things.”

Frank reached for the wheelchair and steadied himself on it, then swung himself off of the bed and into the seat.
 
He wheeled the chair backwards and aimed it at the door.
 
“Sheriff Sam died when I was eight years old, Claire.
 
Every morning I’d see him on Pioneer Way when I was walking to school and I’d wave to him and he'd wave back.”
 

“All right,” Claire sighed.
 
“Well, I’m up now, so you might as well put on some coffee after his majesty rides out.”

“Okay,” Frank said.
 
He pushed the wheelchair into the living room and unlocked the front door, easing himself down the ramp that led to the front porch.
 
In the distance, Frank could make out the figure of a rider coming to the front of the property.
 
The rider stopped and looked down at house and gave a quick wave.
 
Frank thrust his hand into the air and called out, “Careful today, Sheriff!”
 
The rider turned around and headed out of view.
 
Claire Miller was standing at the door behind him when Frank wheeled himself around, chuckling as he said, “There he goes.
 
A genuine law man.
 
Just like the good old days.”
 

Claire looked out at the field and grunted, “Listen to you.
 
What the hell makes you think the old days were any good?”

Chapter 3: The Original People of Seneca

Willard Davis peered through the shuttle’s portal window and said, “We’re almost down!
 
Quickly, children.
 
Into the circle.”

The dozen men and women unbuckled themselves from their seats and sat in the shuttle’s center and joined hands.
 
They smiled at one another.
 
Young and innocent Ruth Pettigrew’s eyes filled with tears.
 
“Thank you heavenly spirit for bringing us to this sacred place.
 
We ask for your blessing as we embark on our greatest endeavor in your name.”

“Amen,” the group said.

The shuttle landed abruptly, bouncing the group on the hard metal floor as great puffs of dust and smoke rose over the shuttle’s windows.
 
The captain’s cabin door opened and he looked at his passengers, “What the hell are you all doing out of your seats?”

Willard got to his feet and brushed himself off.
 
He thrust his hand at the captain and said, “Blessings upon you, brother.
 
May the Great Spirit always guide your journey.”

The captain eyed him warily and said, “I’ll pop the back hatch so you can get your things.”

Willard smiled gently at him and said, “We have no possessions, my friend.
 
We need only what we carry in our hearts.”

***

Willard stepped out of the shuttle and squinted in the harsh glare.
 
The sun directly over Tradesville was a huge fiery circle with thousands of extended arms that reached out to engulf them.
 
No,
he thought.
 
Not engulf.
 
Only embrace.
 
The Great Spirit is all.
 
He said a silent prayer, thanking the sun for its heat and light that allowed the crops to grow and feed the blessed children of Seneca.
 
The ones we seek
, he thought.
 
They never curse the heat.

He reached for Ruth’s hand and squeezed it.
 
She smiled at him.
 
“You did it,” she whispered.

“I did nothing, my child.
 
I am only the instrument the music is played through.”

They entered Tradesville’s main square, just a dirt lot surrounded by squat brick buildings advertising animal feed and farming implements.
 
People milled in and out of the buildings, hauling wheelbarrows of goods from one place to the next.
 
The men damped soaked handkerchiefs over their faces and the women ducked under awnings and umbrellas to escape the sun.
 
Willard watched a bag of rice fall out of a farmer’s handcart and reached forward to pick it up for him.
 
“Here you go, my friend.”

The farmer took the bag from him and threw it back on top of his cart.
 
“Thanks.”
 
He picked up his handles and continued on, but the group hurried after him.
 
“I ain’t got no money, so don’t ask.”

Willard smiled and said, “We are not looking for money.
 
We only want to ask you where we can find the native people of this planet.”

“The what?”

“Native people.
 
The ones you call Beothuk.”

The farmer stopped wheeling his cart and looked at the young man in confusion.
 
He frowned at Willard’s bleached blonde hair and the necklace of colored crystals around his neck.
 
“You ain’t from around here, is you?”

“No, my friend.
 
We travelled from far away to come here.”

“Why in the hell did you wanna do something like that?
 
To see the damn itjins?”

Willard’s smile wavered and he said, “I respect that you want to call them that, but I would rather you didn’t do so in front of me, my friend.”