Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (83 page)

 
          
 
At that moment a small band of whitetailed
deer broke from a thatch of brush. They dashed away in zigzags, white tails
flagged high. "I'm trying to decide if I believe you."

 
          
 
"I don't give a damn if'n ye do or
not."

 
          
 
"I guess I do. You told me all this when
you were delirious."

 
          
 
"Ye mean raving? When I's fevered?"

 
          
 
"Yes."

 
          
 
Travis worked his jaws, squinting into the
distance of his mind. "Reckon I remember." A pause, then he gave
Richard a slit-eyed look. "So, why not Willow and ye?"

 
          
 
"Dear God, Travis! I couldn't take her to
Boston. She's a savage. She eats with her fingers! She's . . . she's an
Indian*"

 
          
 
"That's it, ain't it?"

 
          
 
"No, that's not it. I made a promise,
that's why. A promise to myself and Laura."

 
          
 
"Who the hell's Laura?"

 
          
 
"A woman ... the one I want to
marry."

 
          
 
"A rich Boston lady?"

 
          
 
"What if she is?"

 
          
 
"Wal, she ain't hyar, for one thing. But
Willow is. And don't give me no shit about yer not in love with her,
neither."

 
          
 
Richard's desperation goaded him. "She's
been married, Travis. Another man's wife. How could I marry a widow? It's not
proper. Don't you understand?"

 
          
 
Travis nodded, face suddenly expressionless.
"She ain't a virgin."

 
          
 
"That's right!"

 
          
 
"Packrat took her, too."

 
          
 
Richard lost his train of thought.
"What?"

 
          
 
Travis continued to give him that cold stare.
"Why'n hell did she hate him so much? Come on, coon. She's a slave to that
Pawnee kid fer nigh on three months. What in hell do ye think? He lay in his
robes each night choking his chicken? She's been used. And that just makes it
worse, don't it? A pure man like ye, a plumb dainty Yankee Doodle, wouldn't
dare stick hisself where some other coon pumped his come, would he?"

 
          
 
"It's not that! I tell you I—"

 
          
 
"
Ain't it?" Travis barked harshly. "Yer a stinking hypocrite,
Dick. A damn liar! Fer all yer fancy talk about life and justice and morality,
yer nothing more than a Doodle Dandy, as stuffed full of shit as the rest of
'em. Ye makes me sick. And sure as hell, ye ain't worth Willow's spit."

 
          
 
The tone in Travis's voice was too much.
"Get off that damn horse!"

 
          
 
Travis kicked a leg over and dropped lightly
to his feet.

 
          
 
Richard leapt from the mare, facing the
hunter. "You don't ever use that tone of voice with me again, you
hear?"

 
          
 
"Yer a two-faced, double-tongued
hypocrite, Dick. And Willow—and maybe this Laura, fer all I know—deserves more
than a crawling worm like ye."

 
          
 
The rage broke loose. Richard struck, whipping
a balled fist at Travis's head. The hunter blocked it, and jabbed at Richard.
Knuckles glanced off Richard's cheek, but he was already kicking out, letting
loose of the Hawken to gouge those angry blue eyes.

 
          
 
He never got his grip; a knee jacked into his
crotch. The force of it lifted him into the air. He was doubled up with agony
by the time he slammed the ground. For long moments he could only writhe in the
grass, tears leaking from his eyes and breath stuck halfway down his throat.

 
          
 
Travis stood over him, fists knotted, a
soul-deep sadness in his eyes.

 
          
 
Richard managed to gasp a breath. The cool air
only relieved the paralysis of his sick stomach. He vomited weakly, then lay in
limp misery.

 
          
 
"Sorry, Dick." Travis bent down.
"Tarnal Hell, coon, I figgered ye's ready ter kill me."

 
          
 
"I was," Richard squeaked.
"Damn, Travis, what did you do that for?"

 
          
 
"Stopped ye cold, didn't I?"

 
          
 
Richard rolled onto his back, hands probing
his genitals, feeling for blood or. . . well, who knew what.

 
          
 
"
Reckon yer gonna be a mite tender fer a couple of days. Is yer sack
swelling full of blood?"

           
 
"No."

 
          
 
"Wal, that's a relief. I'd hate ter
doctor ye. I seen fellers hit hard down there and the sack fills up with blood.
Sometimes the only thing ye can do is take a knifepoint, or a steel awl, and
drain it out. Sort of like popping a big tick."

 
          
 
"Please, God, no!
"
Richard probed again, then dragged a sleeve
across his tear-blurred eyes.

 
          
 
Travis walked over to catch up the horses and
tied them off while Richard stifled grunts of pain, wiped his mouth, and rocked
tenderly.

 
          
 
When Travis returned, he offered a thin tin
flask from his possibles. "Hyar, coon. Reckon a sip'll cure ye."

 
          
 
Richard took the tin in trembling fingers,
lifted it, and almost threw up again at the sticky pungent odor. Seeing
Travis's scowl, he took a taste, gulped it down, and tried to keep his eyes
from crossing.

 
          
 
"What in the name of God is this?"

 
          
 
"Castoreum, coon. It'll fix yer cojones
and pizzle if'n they's mashed."

 
          
 
"Where on earth do you get something that
tastes that vile?"

 
          
 
"Off'n a beaver's balls, pilgrim."

 
          
 
Richard suffered a heaving of his gut, but
kept it down through sheer force of will. God alone knew, the stuff was bad
enough the first time; the second might kill him.

 
          
 
Travis offered a hand and pulled Richard to
his feet. Step by wobbly step they made their way across the knee-deep grass to
a gnarly old cottonwood. There, beneath the spreading branches, Travis helped
Richard to settle, then dropped down so they both sat with backs to the thick
bark.

 
          
 
Butterflies fluttered across the grass, the
sound of grasshoppers and bees filling the air with life. In the branches
above, robins and a grosbeak fluttered to nests hidden in the deltoid leaves. A
fox squirrel leapt nimbly from branch to branch, pausing crosswise to stare
down at them with uneasy black eyes.

 
          
 
"Set ye off, didn't I?"

 
          
 
"You did," Richard said wearily.

 
          
 
"Good, 'cause yer being plumb stupid.
Now, what's this shit about marrying a virgin?"

 
          
 
To kill the cloying aftertaste of castoreum,
Richard pulled a grass stem from its sheath and chewed the sweet pith before
saying, "Laura Templeton is my best friend's sister. She's just seventeen
and the most beautiful woman in the world."

 
          
 
"Yer promised? Arrangements made?"

 
          
 
"Well, no, not exactly. She said she'd
wait for me. That I could pay court to her when I got back from Saint
Louis."

 
          
 
"An what if ye go home ter Boston and find
she didn't wait? Hell, ye'll be nigh to two years gone, Dick. Reckon she'll
wait that long?"

 
          
 
"I don't know."

 
          
 
"Wal, I don't figger this'll come as a
surprise, but yer not the same Doodle lad that left Boston. Ye've become a man,
and a heap different one than she knew. Even if'n ye went back, do ye reckon
ye'll see her the same way? Folks change, grow, turn into something different.

 
          
 
"Meantime, what about Willow? I seen that
look in yer eyes. Ye got a hard case, coon. Why in hell cain't ye love her when
she's loving ye back?"

 
          
 
"I made a promise to myself, to Laura,
that I would keep myself for her." At the skeptical look in Travis's eye,
he added, "It's just the way I am. In this sullied world, is it so
terrible to keep yourself for your true love?"

 
          
 
"
And this Laura, she's yer true love? Yer sure of that?"

 
          
 
"I am. And it's about my children,
Travis. About who their mother is. What sort of person. It's . . . Oh, God, I'm
not sure I really understand, but, I tell you, it's important."

 
          
 
"Why?"

 
          
 
"Because it is, that's why. I don't want
my child growing up the way I . . ."

 
          
 
"Goon."

 
          
 
Richard's heart had begun to hammer, and he
closed his eyes, shaking his head.

 
          
 
"Is it about yer mother?" Travis
asked gently.

 
          
 
Richard wiped his face and sighed. "She
was a wonderful lady, Travis. From the finest Boston family. She died giving
birth—to me. I never knew her. And all those years, my father would leave, late
at night. It was only when I was older that I found out he had a
mistress."

 
          
 
"
Ain't nothing wrong with that."

 
          
 
"I guess not,
"
Richard lied.

 
          
 
"
Ye guess not. Shit, tell me straight, boy, why did it bother ye that yer
father let hisself be a man every now and then?"

 
          
 
Richard's jaw tensed. Dear God, why?
"
Because ..."

 
          
 
"
Ah, he wasn't being loyal to the dead, huh?" An eyebrow raised,
rearranging the scars on Travis's face.
"
And ye don't think
Willow
had a covenant with her husband? Or is it that he's an Injun?"

 
          
 
Richard twirled the grass stem between his
fingers.
"
I don't
know."