Red Sky in Morning (20 page)

Macken slumped over silently in his saddle, tendrils of neck flesh ribboning his shirt as the sound of the shot smacked the air and Faller’s horse collapsed upon itself throwing its rider to the ground. The sharpness of sudden pain in his ankle as Faller heard a second gunshot and he went down onto his face, crawled forward into the warm redoubt of the horse. He studied the slope of the valley until he saw the shape indistinct of a shooter on the hill. Macken’s black gelding was still standing but had panicked and was dragging its dead rider about, the man dangling from the saddle and Faller saw his face which gazed blankly upside-down at the sky and he turned and took hold of a rock and lobbed it over the fallen horse. Two bullets shot a skim of dust into the air and he drew his gun and returned two shots for cover. He jumped to his feet and ran to Macken’s horse, unsaddled the body which fell dully to the ground and he mounted the animal and heeled it with his spurs into a gallop and fled.

F
ALLER BECAME AT ONE
with the beast. He rode with gritted teeth and his neck down low and his knees tucked tight till he could ride the horse no faster. Whirling dervishes of dust were hoofed up by the horse signing against the land the trajectory of his exit and he fled in the direction he had been traveling, to his left a clustered shade of bigtooth aspen and he veered hard into its grasp. The horse fluid and powerful beneath him and the ground was gnarled and dry. Currents white-hot of pain in the horse’s every thundering jolt and he felt the wound wet against his boot and kicked the animal with his other leg.

The woodland cleared and beneath him he saw a dell and he rode down into the depression. Slats of sunlight through the trees and he crossed to where the ground began to rise. He continued upwards through snarling scrub, the horse panting as he nosed it at a canter and when he reached near the peak he pulled to a halt. He dismounted and tied the horse to a branch and he bent to examine the wound. The boot clinging wet to his leg and the fabric above it stewed with blood. He took the bowie knife from his belt and he sat on a rock and he took off the boot and cut at the trousers. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and he mopped the blood and then he examined the injury. The back of his calf sported a dark hole weeping, the bullet having tunneled abreast the bone to exit on the other side where the flesh hung ornate like the petals of an exotic flower.

He stood up and went to the horse and took a water bottle from Macken’s saddlebag and he unscrewed the cap and slugged a long drink. Whiskey. He clenched his teeth and streamed the alcohol onto both sides of the wounded leg keeping watch on the valley below. He shucked out of his jacket and took off his waistcoat and shirt till he stood in his vest and he cut the sleeve off the shirt with the knife. He folded it and rolled it and tied it around his ankle tight and he stood up. Birds conversing in the trees and the panting lungs of the horse pneumatic and he sniffed the air deep through his nose. He surveyed the valley. A slab of shadow across the lower parts of it and then golden light where the sun warmed the trees. He saw movement and squinted his eyes and threading through the foliage he saw the blur of three men following.

He sleeved the remaining arm of the shirt and put on his waistcoat and jacket and he went to Macken’s horse and pulled the breechloader from the scabbard. He checked the rifle and saw it was unloaded and he put it back in its housing. He untied the horse from the tree and guided it further up the hill to a spot twenty yards east where a rock flattened out like the infant born of some ancient butte and he tied the horse and took the breechloader and sat on the edge of the rock. He took the trigger guard and twisted it away from him and he had in his hand a ball which he put into the barrel. He poured powder behind it and closed the breech and scooped the remaining powder into the pan. He took notice of the wind and lay down on the rock and positioned his body with his elbow. He licked his finger and put it into the air and slowly closed an eye. The men were traveling below at speed and he tracked the gun sizing up the trajectory of the first rider through the trees and he waited till his breath settled and he waited for a clearing and he fired. A bird startled beneath him and flustered into the air while below the men sliced three ways but the front man he saw was still riding. Pain pulsing in Faller’s leg and he chomped down on his teeth.

H
E RODE SWIFT THROUGHOUT
the day ignoring his hunger and he kept the pace steady despite the needs of the horse he could sense was tiring beneath him. He drove the animal head-high through fields that snapped with breaking corn, across columned waves of tobacco crop that parted like the sea bright green and he made sure to leave a track he would then double back on and skirt another way. He kept as far as he could from habitation, the land hushed but for the windings of the wind and the steady thunder of the horse’s hoofs. He traveled under cover of towering red cedar that stood indifferent to his enterprise and stopped on a rocky bluff and took watch upon the terrain till a half-hour passed and then an hour and he decided he had lost them and he readied to leave when he saw they were still coming.

Evening loitered then draped itself upon the sky. He met a river roaring wide and allowed the horse to drink. The water turbid and thrashing and he knew it was treacherous and he rode upstream till he met a spot less urgent where he reckoned upon a crossing. He tied his hat around his neck and everything else to the horse and the creature balked when he nosed it towards the river. The bank dived and the horse plunged neck-deep into the spangled rush, its teeth bared to the sky, and he felt the water gang upon his legs, slowly worked the horse towards the bank. It beckoned from some thirty feet and they were near halfway across when the horse faltered then fell down some invisible gully and its head was sucked underwater. He lost his grip and slipped, broke the fulvous surface of the water and went under and came back up out of it to find the horse rolling sideways, the animal pitching deeper, and he spat frigid water out of his mouth and sucked a deep breath and went down into the dim drink. Impossible to see so he felt about and put his hand on the horse’s back leg that was moving and he came back up, the water white-headed rushing towards him and his head stinging and he took another breath, went under again, found the other back leg and it was moving thickly and then the horse half kicked him, a dull blow to the side of his chest and the wind went out of him and he rose to take air again, gulped it in and then back under, breasted the water around the flank of the flailing horse, put a hand on its front leg, the limb adrift and useless and he figured it was broken and he came to the surface raw from the cold, the dark shape of the horse disappearing and he turned to swim for the bank, and before he reached it he trod water to look behind him and he saw the animal come up to the surface one last time, its eyes a black piercing and lips curled over its gums mute screaming.

D
OWN THE VALLEY
the sun began to slide sending the dark duplicates of shadows to work alongside them, shapes that swung and hurled, contorting like ragged trees and blooming like the product of an eerie spring, an army it made of them but useless upon the land. He swung the pick and in his periphery he saw the back of Doyle and he dropped his tool and went after him, the man walking with his fists balled down the back of the scree dragging his foot behind. He called out and caught up with him and tapped the man on the shoulder and Doyle turned around with the demeanor of a man who was bothered. Coyle wiped the dust from his face with his sleeve and made a streak of dirt over his eyes and Doyle looked at him impatiently.

I’m leaving so I am, said Coyle.

So.

I need paying.

Doyle shrugged. I don’t know nothing about paying nobody.

He turned around and began to walk away and Coyle stepped after him and stopped him.

Well I need paying so I do for the past few days.

Doyle eyed him cold. I ain’t got no orders and I ain’t got nothing to give you.

The blacksmith appeared behind Doyle and interrupted their conversation with a question of his own and Doyle turned to him and sighed and began pointing. Coyle watched them talk, looked at the dimming rim of the valley and the distance beyond and he saw the blacksmith nodding slowly with forge hammer in hand. The man turned with huge shoulders and Doyle made his leave till Coyle called out after him again.

Where’s Duffy so I can speak to him?

He’ll be back later.

As the evening completed the shadows of the men merged with the earth. They went below into the valley and Coyle went in search of Duffy but he was not to be found. They cooked their food over the firepits and they drank whiskey and they watched the nuns and gave them hungry looks and took weary to their tents, each man burdened now with the weight of fear as the sickness had increased all around them. Twenty men sick and seven of their number buried, no wooden caskets for the dead nor any solemn sermon as no man wanted to get involved and the blacksmith was left to do the digging. They lay in the beds, the fires outside a dying dance on the canvas of their tents, and they listened to the occasional spit of wood as the fire fell into dust.

Maurice came into the tent and lay down and after a minute he got up again and went out and when he came back to the door again he spoke.

That’s it boys. I ain’t hanging about.

One of the men told him to go and fuck himself then and he said he wasn’t hanging about with yous fucking lot either and he asked for someone to send him out his belongings. His plate came out at arm’s reach towards him and he took it and stuffed it down the back of his pants. I’m gonna take my chances and go and walk towards Philly, he said. Two shites and yous know where to stick the shovel.

The men laughed and told him he was crazy and he laughed too and said surely it was the other way round.

Coyle could not sleep and he listened to the men begin to talk and question Maurice’s meaning, bother and uncertainty in their voices.

Maybe he’s right, said a voice.

Naw, said another. He was outside getting sick and shitting. He should be lying down so he should.

Well I didn’t come here to die, said another.

Well what are you gonna do about it?

I’m gonna follow him so I am.

Off you go then. We’ll follow you.

I don’t know the way.

Me neither.

I thought you wanted to go.

Aye but I want to know where I’m going first.

I’m quittin tomorrow so I am. I don’t care about that Duffy so I don’t.

I’ll leave in the morning too.

That Duffy took us here. Why can’t he take us away again?

That no good son of a bitch.

I’m going with ye but I’ll not leave without my money. I didn’t come here to work to be broke.

Aye we’ll get our monies first.

A
WARY MOON AND ITS GLOSS
thin and he came upon a road and followed, a track leading darkly away from it, and he turned and followed till he came upon a farm. He tipped his hat politely to the man who answered the door warily and he told him he was lost and had an injury.

They took him in, the name’s Aitken Clay, the man said offering his hand, his voice deep and familiar, and this here’s my family—my wife Martha and these here are my children Mark, Matthew and little Martha minor and they’re near ready for bed.

Two fair and freckled boys looked at Faller shyly and a little girl in pigtails and ribbons stared up at him and beamed.

Faller smiled thinly. I came to this area to do some hunting and in the forest somebody, I don’t know who, or why, well, they shot at me, he said. Naturally I fell off my horse and the animal bolted taking all my things and this is all I have.

Martha shook her hair-bunned head and looked at him with her eyes sympathetic and blazing. What kind a fool would shoot at a man like that? she said, and her husband beside her nodded.

He looked towards Faller. Somebody not looking at what he was shooting at I’d say. We’ll get you attended to mister, he said. What did you say yer name was?

John Faller.

Well Mr. Faller I’m trying to figure out. Where did this happen?

About ten miles west I do believe. I have been uncertain of my bearings all day since it happened. And now I would be obliged if you would let me fix my wound and then eat some food if you will permit me.

Martha nodded to his leg. Is that there where you were hurt?

She went out back and returned with a basin and pitcher and she put them down in front of him. She went away again and came back with some clean cloth and she bent down to help him take off his boot. He pulled his leg away from her.

I can tend to it myself thank you, he said.

He stood and took a lamp and limped out to the back step. He took off his coat and slipped the gun out of his belt and put it under the coat beside him. The steps of a child behind him and he knew he was being watched and then little Martha sat down alongside. He spoke without looking at her.

Is there a fire lighting inside, Martha minor? he asked.

Yes, said the girl.

Ask your father then to bring me a hot poker.

Why?

Be a good girl.

He moved his coat closer to his body and the girl stood up and ran inside. He sat and listened to the cicadas call the night and then he heard the wooden boards remark when Aitken appeared on the porch behind him. Little Martha minor says you want yourself a hot poker. Is that so’s to fix your leg?

Yes. Would you mind bringing it to me? And perhaps some alcohol if you have some.

The man paused as if to say something and he turned on his heel and went inside and came back out with the metal glowing. Faller turned around and seized the iron and held it before him and with his other hand he pinched the wound. Aitken leaned over to see, saw him fold the skin and begin to sear it, steam serpent rising from skin and he flinched at the sight. Faller continued oblivious until the other side was wealed. Aitken went inside and he came back out with a glass of whiskey and he passed it to him and he had one for himself and slugged it. All I got, he said.