Neal Barrett Jr. (7 page)

“I guess it is,” Howie said, and had to smile. “I’m sure grateful for what you done.–

“No, no, just glad the Lord put me there to help.”

“You going west or what?”

“California,” Jones said. “I’ve been gone too long from the promised land. It’ll be a pure blessing to return.”

Howie thought about that. He had driven a meat herd west, and fought clear up against the high Rockies. That was one hell of a trek, but it still wasn’t as far as California.

“You got some ride ahead,” Howie said. “Even on a horse it’s goin’ to take you quite a spell.”

The preacher looked puzzled, then laughed aloud. “Oh dear no, may the Lord spare me that. It’s a boat for me, Cory. I do
not
intend to sit this beast through the heat and awful dangers of the West.”

“You going on a
boat?
” Howie tried not to show his surprise.

“Out of Alabama Port,” Jones said. “About—what? A hundred and fifty miles straight west. Got boats leaving all the time.”

“Won’t that take a while?”

“For certain it will. But it beats horseback, I’ll say that. Ever been to Alabama Port, Cory?”

“I guess not.”

“It is something to see. It surely is.” Jones frowned and shook his head. “Sin’s on a rampage there, that’s a fact. They could use about two hundred preachers, and I doubt they got three.”

As far as Howie was concerned, the whole thing didn’t make a lot of sense. Geography was somewhat muddled in his head, but he recalled Mexico and a lot more than that was in the way. He thought about the boat he had rowed along the swampy coast and to the keys, and tried to picture Jones doing that all the way to California.

Howie followed Jones into the woods, helping carry all his packs. The trees marched down a steep slope, and the horse was there peacefully chewing grass.

Howie had kept the thought at the edge of his mind. It had been there since the two men had attacked him on the river, since Jones had showed up to save his hide. He was thankful for what Jones had done. It was clear the man meant him no harm—hell, he had saved his life, then fed him a fine meal, and you couldn’t ask a lot more than that. Still, the thought prayed on his mind, and even if Jones didn’t like it, Howie had to ask.

“I got to say this,” he said, before he could change his mind. “Maybe you’ll figure that I ain’t got the right. But I got to know, mister. You showing up like that, I mean—them fellows ridin’ down on me by the river, and you there right on hand to help … Howie felt his face color. Jones sat his horse, and his expression didn’t change. “Damn it all, it’s a peculiar thing to happen. You got to say it is.”

For a moment, the preacher’s eyes clouded. Then the slight touch of anger Howie saw turned to sorrow and regret.

“Son, have I transgressed upon you in any way? Have I now? Answer me that.”

“No, sir, you sure haven’t. I just—”

Jones held up a hand. “Walk along with me a ways,” he said gently, and slowly turned his mount down the draw.

Howie followed, more puzzled than ever now. The preacher hadn’t answered his question, but he had managed to make Howie feel ashamed. He figured he was in for a sermon. If he was, why he’d just have to sit still and listen. There wasn’t any way he could—

Howie stared. The trees ahead thinned, and opened into a small clearing. There was a high stand of grass and a patch of bright sun—and there were three more horses, beautiful mounts with strong backs and shiny flanks.

“God A’mighty!” Howie said aloud. He gazed at the fine beasts in wonder, then looked up at Jones.

“You never asked why those other two were there,” the preacher said solemnly. “Appears that you wondered about
me
and not them.” He nodded toward the mounts. “That’s what they were after, Cory. They weren’t looking for you. You just happened along and got in the way. That pair tailed me all the way from Tallahassee. ’Course, we were all on foot at the time. I knew they were there but I couldn’t shake ’em off. So I kept cutting back, trying to lose them before I picked up the mounts where I’d hid them.” Jones showed Howie a weary smile. “I know once they saw what I had, they’d track me till I had to smite ’em down. I surely didn’t want to do that.”

Howie looked at his hands. “I—reckon I owe you regrets.”

“Yes, sir. I expect that you do.”

“Well, you got it.” Howie hesitated, then looked at the horses again. “I don’t know why a man’d be real surprised he didn’t have every thief in the South on his trail. Mister, that’s a damn fool trick, leadin’ four horses around in bad times like these!”

“You might be right at that,” Jones said. “Yes sir, I expect you’ve got a point.” He studied Howie a long time, then suddenly smiled, as if he were greatly pleased with himself. “Cory, you bound and determined to go north? If you’re not, l’d be obliged if you’d ride along with me for a spell. Two guns are better than one, if you happen on sinners again. I can offer three good meals a day, and it wouldn’t take a lot of your time. Give you a chance to rest up that foot.”

Howie gazed at the preacher. “You want me around? After what I went and said?”

Jones waved him off. “A man’s entitled to his suspicions, Cory. Even if he turns out wrong. Like you said, these are hard times.”

Howie glanced at the fine-looking mounts. “I—guess I could put off my business. Isn’t nothing that won’t wait.” The idea of riding instead of walking sounded good. And maybe he owed Jones the help.

“Well, fine,” the preacher said. He tossed the rifle he had taken from one of the thieves to Howie. “I suggest you take the black mare. She’s fast, and isn’t near as dumb as the rest. Which isn’t saying much, I’ll grant you that. It’s clear to me the Lord intended horses for riding. He sure didn’t bother to give ’em brains.”

R
itcher Jones led them south, out of the heavily wooded country, to the flat coastal lands near the Gulf. At first, Howie didn’t feel this was a good idea; anyone who was near could spot them a mile away. Still, he could see what the preacher was thinking. You didn’t have to worry about the water, so there was only one direction to watch. And they could see someone approaching as quick as that someone could see them. You couldn’t say that about the woods—if trouble found you there, you had about half a second to face it, and maybe not that.

The riding was easy, and they made good time. Howie hadn’t seen this part of the coast before. Walking back from Mexico, he had traveled farther north after crossing the Big Muddy. He thought he likely knew the river that flowed into Alabama Port, but he didn’t tell Ritcher Jones that.

And that was a curious thing. When he left Tallahassee going south, he was gone a long time. Jones never asked him where he’d been. Maybe he didn’t think it was any of his concern, and Howie was grateful for that. On the other hand, the preacher was not at all reluctant to talk about himself. He explained how Lawrence sent the Brothers and Sisters of High Sequoia across the land, to gather in souls for the Lord. No easy task these days, Jones said. Still, there were true believers everywhere, and this is how the horses had come into his hands. One of the faithful who lived a few days north of Tallahassee had hidden his mounts from the army. He simply refused to give them up. If the army had found him out, they would have hung him on the spot. When the man knew he was dying, he gave the horses to Ritcher Jones. “To do with as the Lord sees fit,” as Jones said.

“I guess the Lord knows what He’s doing,” Jones said.

He sighed. “I surely don’t question that, though these poor beasts have near cost me my life.”

“I think I’d’ve let ’em go,” Howie said. “Take one and leave the rest of them behind.”

Jones seemed surprised at that. “Cory, you don’t shun God’s gifts. That’s a sin in itself.”

“Well, so its gettin’ yourself killed.”

“You have a point,” Jones admitted. “Yes, you surely do.” He squinted at the sun. “I would have taken leave of Tallahassee a lot sooner if I could. I assure you of that. But after the trouble there, the countryside was swarming with men. It would not have been the wise thing to do.”

“What kind of trouble’s that?”

Jones looked curiously at Howie. “Ah, well, of course. You couldn’t know. Happened just after you were gone. Terrible, terrible thing. They found a body buried in the woods. Throat cut from ear to ear. Anson Slade, the man’s name.” Jones nodded at Howie. “I believe you saw the man one night in the tavern, Cory. Of course you did. Asked me who he was, as a fact.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Howie said. He didn’t dare look at Jones. He found a burr in the horse’s mane, and busied himself with that.

“Uh, what happened to this—Slade?”

“Rebels, most likely,” Jones said. He flicked the reins of his mount. A flock of gulls took flight, screaming as if in mortal pain. “The same bunch that struck Silver Island, no doubt. I expect Mason will be most relieved he went to California, when he hears.”

“Who’s that?”

Jones looked surprised. “Why, Harriver Mason. You haven’t heard of him? He’s the man who ran Silver Island. Sent there by the President himself.—

Howie felt as if a hand had reached in and clutched his insides. “I—been fightin’ in the war,” he said, forcing out the words. “We don’t hear a whole lot.”

“Oh, well, certainly not. Jones shook his head. “Barely escaped with his life when the Rebels attacked. All those fine young boys and girls. What an awful thing. I met the man at some gathering. He’s quite well thought of in California.”

“And he’s out there now?” Howie asked.

“He was. Five, six months ago. Be a good idea if he stayed there, too, I’d suppose.”

Howie didn’t look at Ritcher Jones. He didn’t look at anything at all. He felt it start again, felt the rage begin to burn him inside; he knew, if he let it, it would rise up and take him, consume him then and there.

Carolee … Carolee!

Howie took a deep breath and let the anger subside. It didn’t go away. He didn’t want that. It smoldered there, quietly and under control.

“Cory, you all right?”

Howie knew Jones had been talking, but didn’t have the slightest idea what he’d said.

“I’m fine,” Howie said. “I’m fine as I can be.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
he riding was easy, and Howie and Ritcher Jones saw no one at all along the way. A summer storm followed their path down the coast, always staying just out to sea. The slate-blue clouds were swollen with rain, but not a drop reached the dry and thirsty land.

On the fifth day, late in the afternoon, small settlements began to appear along the Gulf, drab, makeshift towns of weathered wood and canvas haphazardly scattered along the beach. Men, women and children ventured out to gaze in wonder at the rare sight of horses. Jones picked up the pace, saying how it wasn’t right to tempt these poor souls to sin, especially with the night coming on.

Several miles farther, the preacher reined in and pointed at the fiat, brassy expanse of water ahead.

“That’s Alabama Port” he told Howie, “there on the other side. Sodom and Gomorrah all rolled into one is what it is. You want to keep an eye on your immortal soul, boy. These folks’ll skin it off your back ’fore you can blink.”

“Sin costs money as I recall,” Howie said. “I reckon I’ll be pretty safe.”

Jones gave him a sober look. “I wouldn’t jest about sin if I was you. That’s just what Satan likes to see—a man grinning in the face of damnation is a man about to fall.”

“Yes, sir, I reckon you’re right about that,” Howie said, certain this was the answer Ritcher Jones would like to hear.

The sun was low and directly in Howie’s eye, turning the water blood red. There was land over there, six or seven miles away; too far to see a town, and way too far to spot sin. Still, if Ritcher Jones said it was there, Howie didn’t doubt that it was so. The preacher had a nose for such things, and could sniff damnation a week away.

A
ferry made of logs took Howie and Jones across. The horses didn’t like the idea and kicked up a fuss. A man and his wife and two children were aboard. The children were young and hadn’t see a horse before, and screamed all the way. The parents gave Jones hateful looks until the preacher gave each of the youngsters a copper coin. The children would never get to spend it, but Howie figured Jones knew that, too.

Howie tried to hold the horses still as he watched the silty water move by. The man who ran the ferry said the water stayed brown fifty miles out to sea, but Howie didn’t much believe that. The bay was peppered with muddy islands; to the north, nearly out of sight, the river twisted through flat delta land. Great columns of man-made stone showed Howie where a bridge had spanned the river in the century before, or maybe some time before that. The columns were stained with rust, so the bridge that had been there was iron. He tried to imagine the enormous amount of metal that would take, and how the bridge must have looked when it was new.

The ferry had scarcely bumped against the shore before a crowd began to gather around the horses. Word had gone ahead somehow, or someone had spotted them coming across. Men shouted out numbers, stabbing their fingers in the air. Men in linen coats and fine boots, stout men in garments stained with grease, gaunt, hollow-eyed men who carried the sour smell of sweat.

Howie felt a quick sense of panic, smothered by the sudden crush of bodies all around him. For a moment, he was back in the choking pall of battle, men dying and horses screaming everywhere. He shook off the fear and struggled to hold the mounts.

The men parted abruptly as a wedge of Loyalist troopers shoved their way up to the front. An angry murmur swept through the crowd at the soldiers’ appearance.

“Come on, give the rest of us a chance,” a man shouted.

“Hell, an honest man can’t do no business without the army buttin’ in!”

“Gentlemen,
please!
” An officer with bright captain’s tabs held up his hands. He was a large, dark-bearded man with a barrel-thick chest and scarcely any neck at all.

“Now you know well as I do the army’s got to have mounts,” the captain said. “I can’t allow no open sale; that’s the law, and I didn’t make it.” He grinned and shook his head, as if to say that he was on their side, and didn’t want to do this at all. “Now you can believe this or not, but I didn’t start this goddam war we got, either.”