Comstock Cross Fire (22 page)

But the Paiutes believed him, and went wild over the tomahawk and the two scalps belonging to famous Plains Indian war chiefs. And when Joe promised to throw in a pistol along with their hostage, the deal was finally agreed on. After that, the Paiutes were grinning from ear to ear and there was no doubt that they thought Man Killer and his woman were now their good and true friends.

That night, Joe and Fiona dared to sleep for a few hours as they huddled close under the rocks. Their captive was snoring, and his elbow had been doctored by the Paiute medicine man, who pronounced that the young man's arm would fully mend.

“Do you think they'll betray and kill us after we leave these mountains and go down with them back into the desert?”

“No,” Joe said. “I don't. They want my 'hawk and those two scalps real bad. I also promised to give 'em five dollars, which they can use to buy plenty of whiskey at some trading post way the hell out on the Humboldt.”

“When you were unconscious with fever, they could easily have killed me, Joe.”

But Joe shook his head. “They could have done those things, but from your hard looks they decided you would not only fight, but you know how to use those two pistols, and that some of them would die. When you made it clear you wanted to swap their young man for safe passage, they felt that was a good and fair trade. And when they learned I was Man Killer, with the scalps of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, they would have given us all their Indian ponies in trade, but I only asked for one.”

“If you hadn't missed at the mustangs' water hole and you'd actually killed one or even both Indians, would we have been able to make a deal?”

“No,” Joe told her. “If I'd shot quicker and straighter and killed one or both at the water hole, we'd be dead by now.”

Fiona shook her head in wonder. “Sometimes, Joe, the Lord really does work in strange ways.”

“I don't know if he was workin' or not when I missed killing that pair, but I'll give ya the benefit of the doubt.”

“Your poor feet are looking a lot better.”

“I should never have put on a dead man's boots,” Joe told her. “I should have made myself a pair of moccasins like I usually wear.”

Fiona leaned her head back against Joe's shoulder and looked up at the night. The stream was a constant, comforting sound.

“I like it here in the Ruby Mountains where it's cool and green and where there's sweet, cold water. I wish we could stay here, Joe.”

“If you want, after we go to Virginia City and get our girl, we can come back here to live. These mountains aren't big like the Rockies or the Wasatch, but they're big enough for us to live in for the rest of our days without ever being crowded by white people.”

“Maybe that would be nice,” Fiona mused as she looked upward. “Maybe we should think seriously about that, Joe.”

“Fine by me,” he said. “But we got a lot of hard travelin' to do before we can get to Virginia City and back. And there's going to be some killin' along the way, Fiona.”

“Must there be?”

“I'm afraid so. I won't leave the Comstock Lode until the last Peabody man either shakes my hand and swears to me the blood feud is over between us . . . or I kill him and it's over. Either way, I won't have people comin' after me and you anymore for a Peabody bounty.”

“I understand.”

“I'm glad that you do,” Joe said, holding his wife close. “And if this Paiute wasn't here under the rock with us . . . well, I was thinkin' that maybe you and me could cozy up a little closer and . . .”

“Oh, Joe! You really are starting to feel better.”

“I am,” Joe admitted. “And I'm a-thinkin' that I'd like to have a taste of you before we go back out in the damned hot desert.”

“While we're cool and clean?”

“Yep. And before the salt and alkali gets into our creases again.”

Fiona listened to their captive snore for a few minutes, and then she pulled their blanket over them and one by one began to unbutton buttons.

“Oh, Joe!” she moaned a short time later. “You
are
feeling ever so much better!”

Joe grunted, and his long body convulsed with pleasure as he emptied his seed into his sweet wife.

22

THEY WERE LEAVING the Paiutes as friends, and Joe had even given the young warrior he'd shot in the arm a good, two-bladed pocketknife that he'd taken off the man who'd been killed by the sow grizzly bear.

“We may soon pass this way again,” Joe told the Paiutes in sign language and broken English. “In one moon, we will bring our daughter, Jessica, to show you.”

The old medicine man had prepared more poultices, and had shown Joe and Fiona how to take his medicines out of a pouch and then boil and apply them as hot as Joe could stand.

“I'll do 'er,” Joe promised. “Your strong medicine has probably saved my feet and our lives. I will forever be a friend of your Ruby Mountains Paiute clan.”

Joe and Fiona were ready to travel, and the Paiute pointed them toward the Humboldt River. And before leaving, the headman of the Paiutes gave Joe an eagle feather tied to a small but intricately carved red ceremonial stick and let him know that, if they were confronted by other Paiutes, they had only to show them this sign and Joe and Fiona would be protected and allowed to pass unharmed.

And so, on a cool, windy day, they said their final good-bye and Joe helped Fiona onto her new Indian pony. The mare was small, thin, and unshod like all Indian ponies and nothing much to look at, but Joe had been assured by the Paiutes that the pony was sound and safe for anyone to ride with only a blanket and a rope through its mouth. Joe had packed their little burro, and now he wrapped the burro's lead rope around his saddle horn and mounted the strawberry roan.

“I sure hate to leave these cool mountains,” Fiona said.

“Me, too,” Joe agreed. “But there's no choice.”

So off they rode down into the desert again, and the day grew warmer. There was no trail, but Joe Moss was a man accustomed to making his own trails, so they kept a straight line to where the Paiutes had pointed. According to the Paiutes, they should be able to reach the Humboldt River by nightfall.

“Fiona,” Joe said later that afternoon with the sun beating down on their heads, “how's that little Indian pony treating you?”

“I liked the strawberry roan you're riding a lot better, and a real saddle sure is nicer than this Indian blanket.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Joe said, grinning. “But the pony is just too small to carry me and a heavy saddle. And anyway, look way out yonder there and you'll see what appears to be a silver ribbon.”

“Is that the Humboldt River?”

“It is,” Joe told her.

“Is it a
real
river, Joe? I mean like the Arkansas or the Colorado?”

“Afraid not. The Humboldt runs year-round, but it's shallow and you have to watch for quicksand. There used to be trees linin' its banks for a hundred miles across this desert, but the pilgrims all cut 'em down for axles and firewood. Used to be some beaver there, too, but we trapped 'em all out.”

“What's left?”

“Just marshes and lots of birds that follow the river across this desert. Plenty of foxes and muskrats and frogs and such.”

“Did you say frogs?”

“Yep.”>

“I
love
frog legs.”

“Then you'll have 'em most every night,” Joe promised. “We might even get lucky enough to hook up with a wagon train. If we do, we'll just tag along to be fed in exchange for chores.”

“I would like the company of women,” Fiona said wistfully. “It's been a long time since I've been around them. But . . .”

Joe saw the dark clouds of worry pass across his wife's eyes. “But what? Speak out what's botherin' ya.”

Tears began to stream down Fiona's face. “Joe,” she said, riding closer, “you must know what Jedediah Charles and Ike did to me at that dugout.”

“Yeah, I know. But that's in the past and we won't ever talk about it again.”

“But I
have
to talk about it!” Fiona slipped off her Indian pony and fell to her knees, sobbing.

Joe jumped off the strawberry roan, ignoring the pain in his mending feet, and knelt by her side in the sand and sagebrush. “Fiona, you can't let things that happened to you in the past destroy your future.
Our future
. Just put it plain out of your mind.”

She looked up at him. “You're so strong, Joe. But I'm not you. I can't just put it out of my mind. It
preys
on my mind!”

Joe enclosed her in his strong arms. “Darlin', if I let some of the things that I've done to other men or they did to me prey on my mind, why, I'd most likely go mad. So when them bad thoughts come around, I just push 'em back and think of good things. Like that stream we camped beside in the Ruby Mountains, or maybe a big elk bull that I saw standin' on a mountaintop and buglin' to the world that he was the lord of all his timberland. Or a big fish jumpin' high in the fadin' sunlight, shiny as quicksilver. Or snow geese honkin' in the sky just joyous to be headin' south for the winter. Trees turning gold in autumn. Ice on a streambed and cold, clean air swelling in your lungs. You know, good things, and when I think of them, well, all the bad things in my mind just go away.”

Fiona nodded. “I'm not sure that I've seen all those beautiful things that you've just described and can use them.”

Joe winked. “Then think of our beautiful girl and how we might just have added another Moss to the family two nights ago. Do think of Jessica! She needs us both to be there for her to be strong of mind, body, and spirit. She ain't never had us both there for her, but soon she will.”

Joe swallowed hard. “Darlin', if you can't think of the things I described in nature, just think of our Jessica and your mind will come around to be right.”

“Joe, I will.”

“You started cryin' when you talked about meetin' and bein' around other women, so you musta been thinkin' that maybe you don't deserve to be with 'em given all the grief you've been handed in your life. Is that it?”

“It is.”

“Don't give 'er another thought, darlin'. You're ever' bit as good, decent, and strong as any woman, and none in this world has the right to look down on your pretty head. Not a single one!”

“But what if they learn about all the unspeakable outrages that were committed against my body?”

“They won't. The men that did that to you are dead, and I scalped 'em alive. Dead men don't tell no tales, and they're howlin' in Hell right now. What happened is done, just like seasons gone. You're startin' all over new with me and our girl. We got a fresh start as soon as we get her back from the Catholic nuns. A fresh start. I gave away my 'hawk, partly because I don't intend to do any more scalpin', and I'll only kill those who try to kill or harm us and our young'uns.”

“Do you really think we can get our daughter and live out our lives in peace and happiness? Do you, Joe?”

“I believe we can,” he said with conviction. “Soon as this business with Peabody is done. And there's Ransom Holt and Eli and that half-breed Johnny Redman out there somewhere that I may have yet to kill. But after those bloody sonofabitches, I think we'll find our lasting peace on this earth. I really do, Fiona.”

“I sure hope so,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “We've both seen so much of the bad in this world, so much blood and death and hurting, that I sometimes wonder where the good went and if it'll ever come back to bless our lives.”

“It went away when I was banned from that wagon train where I met you years ago. It happened exactly when they caught us together makin' love and drove me from their midst and then we got lost from one another for so long. But we came back together, Fiona. And this time we're not ever again goin' to be torn apart. Not ever!”

“I believe you, Joe.”

“Then let me hoist you back on that ugly Paiute pony and let's get to the river and I'll see if I can gig some bull-frogs. Frog legs is startin' to sound mighty tasty to me, woman.”

“You gig 'em and I'll fry 'em up fine for us, Joe!”

He helped her up on her pony, and then painfully climbed up into the saddle. Fiona was smiling again and that, as far as Joe was concerned, was all the sunshine he'd ever need in this mortal world.

 

From a high lookout on a mountaintop, the half-breed Johnny Redman saw the Moss pair ride out of the Ruby Mountains, and he turned to Ransom Holt. “Just like we figured.”

Holt nodded and smiled. “When you look at Joe and Fiona Moss, think of money. Lots and lots of money and all that it will buy. Land, women, liquor. Whatever is your pleasure. Why, breed, you can go back to your people and be the headman! You can buy as many squaws as you please and live like a tipi king!”

Holt thought that amusing, and laughed. But Johnny Redman saw no humor in those words, and deep in his heart he knew that the road to the Comstock Lode was going to be filled with bloodshed and treachery. It was only a matter of who killed who first.

“Tipi king?” Johnny asked. “That what you said?”

“Yeah,” Holt crowed. “That's what I said.”

Johnny Redman watched the Moss pair as they traveled along. He wondered where Fiona had gotten the little black Indian pony. Had the pair run into Paiutes and traded with them somewhere between here and Salt Lake City? Most likely they had, which told Redman that Joe Moss was a friend of the Paiutes. That was worth remembering.