Vultures' Moon Page 8

  “She’s the one with the money,” Jed added. That clinched it. The young man nodded.

  “Call her down,” he said. “Long time since I seen me a blonde.”

  “I better fetch her,” Jed began to retrace his steps. “Don’t you move or I’ll blast the wheels of your wagon before they can spin all the way around.”

  “But -” The young man sat down, defeated. Dang; he should have accepted the gunslinger’s pistols when offered. He watched the stranger ascend the slope in easy strides and his dismay grew when he saw him coming back with a woman in his arms. An unconscious woman. A drunk, probably. Dang it! He considered just whipping his poor nag and taking his chances.

  But those pistols were blasters.

  The young man knew he wouldn’t get far and dang it, dang it, and dang it again! He was in more than enough trouble already.

  As the couple drew closer, he could see the woman was not drunk. The ghastly lack of colour in her face and - hey! The sweat pouring out of her darkened her hair; she didn’t look blonde at all!

  “What’s the matter with her?” he managed to squeak out. He was standing on the driving seat again and levelling his rifle at the gunslinger’s chest.

  “She’s sick,” said Jed, redundantly although there was a hint of warning in his tone: Don’t question me, boy. “I’ll put her in back and I’ll ride up front with you.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “T’ain’t nothing for you to worry about. Maybe you can give her something to ease her symptoms.”

  “Whut?”

  Jed nodded towards the advertisements.

  The young man gawped at them as if seeing them for the first time.

  “Why, sure, sure! You get her settled and I’ll fetch her a bottle of the ole aqua vita!”

  “No,” Jed snapped. “You tell me what it looks like and I’ll fetch it for her. You stay out here.”

  The young man thought about arguing but just as quickly thought against it. He sat on the driving board and looked at his horse’s implacable backside while the strange and demanding man settled the sick woman in the back of the wagon.

  “She ain’t contagious, is she?” he asked when the gunslinger emerged.

  Jed answered this with a taut little smile.

  “You mentioned a bottle of something,” he prompted.

  “Um, yeah Should be a case of them. Hell, there’s dozens of cases of them. Look for the brown glass with the cork stoppers. Them’s the ones... I think.”

  “You think? You ain’t sure?”

  “Well, without me going back there and looking for myself...”

  “Be my guest.”

  The young man opened his mouth but closed it again. And remained where he was.

  He listened to the gunslinger rattling around in the back of the wagon. The creak of wood as the crates yielded up their lids. The chink of glass.

  “Brown glass, you say?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s the fellow.”

  There was the unmistakable sound of a cork being pulled and then, after a few seconds, the spluttering and coughing of the woman. She did not sound at all well. The young man groaned. I’m a magnet for trouble, he pitied himself. Soon as I ride away from it, dang me if some more don’t flag me down for a lift!

  ***

  Jed made sure Belle was as comfortable as possible then joined the young man out front. They were making steady progress across the plain but Jed would have liked to have made better. Judging from the state of the nag though and taking into account the additional weight of two more people, it wasn’t likely they’d be picking up speed.

  “The name’s Jed,” Jed offered a hand. The young man took one hand off the reins, wiped it on his thigh and then shook Jed’s.

  “Willoughby,” he introduced himself. “Tristan Willoughby.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful there, Tristan Willoughby. Mind if I just bite off the Tris?”

  “I prefer Willoughby, if you don’t mind,” the young man cleared his throat.

  “I cain’t imagine why,” Jed chuckled. “The gal in the back goes by the name of Belle. Only she ain’t in no fit state to answer to anything much at the moment.”

  “What ails her, ah, Jed?” Willoughby kept his eyes on the road ahead, trying to sound casual.

  “Like I say, t’ain’t nothing to concern you. As long as we’re careful. I’m afraid Miss Belle done got her a case of the dark dust.”

  “The dark d- ?”

  “I don’t know what you might call it, but around Tarnation folks call it the dark dust. Evil stuff, it is. Almost like it thinks for itself. It’ll eat a whole homestead down to nothing in a matter of hours.”

  Willoughby nodded a man-of-the-world nod.

  “Ah, where I’m from we call that the Blight. With a capital B.” He cast a concerned look at the wagon behind them. “And Miss Belle...?”

  “Breathed some of it in, I reckon. Just the tiniest amount but enough to make her sick.”

  “Mister, I don’t think you should be riding to where there’s going to be folks if’n she’s bringing the dark dust along with her.”

  “I ain’t got another option. But with your medicines and elixirs and linctuses and whatnot, I’m sure we can keep on top of this thing until we can get her to a hospice or something in Wheelhub.”

  “Hmm.” Willoughby cast another worried look at the covered wagon.

  They rode along for a mile or so in silence.

  “What’s your story, kid?” Jed had picked up on the younger man’s anxiousness. “You heading towards somewhere or away from?”

  Willoughby thought about it.

  “Both, I guess. But, if I might say so, you don’t look like a man who talks much about his past, so I hope you don’t mind if I prefer not to go into all that right now.”

  He set his jaw and focused on the horse’s behind.

  “So there’s an ‘all that’ is there?” Jed chuckled.

  Willoughby did not reply.

  Gradually the path beneath their wheels became a little wider and more pronounced. The regular shapes of man-made constructions loomed into view, a cluster of buildings: a coach house, a saloon, a stable, and a telegraph office, huddled together for mutual protection against the elements on this vast expanse of open prairie.

  “Pull in at the stable,” Jed advised. “Then allow me to buy you dinner.”

  Willoughby jerked his thumb at the back of the wagon.

  “What about...?”

  “Well,” Jed scratched his chin stubble, “Considering how your horse didn’t keel over, I reckon she ain’t contagious any more. But we’ll keep her apart from other folk, just to err on the side of caution. I’ll bring her some vittles out, some water for washing.”

  Willoughby held up his hands, happy to surrender all the caring for the woman to someone else. Hell, they hadn’t even been introduced.

  ***

  Jed and Willoughby got themselves on the outside of some franks and beans. They ate in silence but there was enough noise in the saloon to render conversation difficult anyhow. Folk were settling in for the night, whooping it up before resuming their various journeys the following morning.

  “You seem nervous,” Jed pronounced, picking his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

  “D- do I?” Willoughby blushed.

  “You don’t like being around folks,” Jed diagnosed. “In fact, you’re downright as jittery as a June bug on a hot griddle.”

  “A - am I?” The younger man wiped his palms on his thighs. “I’m just tired is all. Been a long journey.”

  Jed nodded slowly.

  “From where?”

  For a second it looked as though the boy was going to tell him but then he cla
mmed up again, stopping his mouth with the lip of his beer bottle.

  “Not your wagon, is it, kid?”

  “Ah -“ Willoughby took another swig.

  “It’s okay,” Jed offered a smile. “T’ain’t none of my business. You got us here and I’m grateful for that. I reckon me and the lady’ll find someone to give us a ride into the city. The bill here is all paid. Go in peace, friend.”

  He stood up and held out his hand. Willoughby frowned at it for a few seconds and then seized it in both of his, a drowning man clutching at rescue.

  “Please,” he implored, “Please, Mister; take me with you!”

  Jed met the boy’s wide and pleading eyes and nodded.

  “The name’s Jed,” he reminded him.

  ***

  Jed climbed into the back of the wagon to find Belle sitting up, wide awake and waiting. He offered her a covered plate of apple pie and a jug of hot coffee. She smiled her thanks but set the vittles aside.

  “Where in Hell are we? What happened to me?”

  Jed crouched so their eyes were level. He explained about the dark dust and showed her one of the empty elixir bottles he’d poured down her throat.

  “That explains why my mouth tastes of paint stripper. Kill or cure me - was that the idea?”

  Jed smirked.

  “Makes no difference to me either way.”

  Belle’s eyes widened, scandalised by this insult. But she caught the twinkle in his eye and repaid it with one of her own.

  “Mighty fine bedside manner you got there, I must say!” She folded her arms in mock annoyance.

  “I reckon you must still be delirious if you think you’re in a bed.” He picked another bottle - a full one - from a nearby crate. “Must be time for another dose.”

  “No, no!” Belle snatched up the apple pie. “I’ll eat my vittles like a good girl.” She tucked in. Jed watched her devour the plateful with gusto.

  “Healthy appetite’s a good sign,” he observed. He poured some of the coffee into a tin cup. She warmed her fingers around it, inhaling its cosy aroma.

  “Whose rig is this?” she glanced around and picked up a rudimentary false leg with a boot on.

  “That I cannot say,” Jed admitted. “Turns out our driver and your saviour are not the much-lauded Doctor Swallow after all.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just some kid. On the lam for reasons he won’t divulge. I cain’t say I blame him. He wants to come with us all the way to Wheelhub.”

  “Well, they’re his wheels...”

  Jed made a face.

  “I was hoping we’d find us something a little more...uh...”

  “A little more fitting to your image?” Belle laughed and there was no hint of cough in it. She laughed again when she saw how he couldn’t meet her eye. “I do believe you’re blushing!”

  “Am not,” Jed protested. He stood up.

  “You really are.”

  “And I think your vision’s impaired from all the paint stripper. Get some rest; I’ll kip under the wagon so you’ve no need to worry about strangers and what-not. Goodnight to you, ma’m.”

  He touched the brim of his hat and left before she could issue any further ridicule. Belle finished her coffee. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to share the remainder of their journey with a third party, but then again, that third party had a horse and a covered wagon. Belle doubted they’d find anyone better equipped and as keen to take them.

  Besides, it was kind of amusing to see the hard man gunslinger out of his comfort zone.

  Gillyflower Gulch!

  Jed found the young man wrapping himself around a hearty breakfast. The gunslinger pulled out a stool and perched on it, watching Willoughby tucking into beans and grits.

  “We’d be obliged, Miss Belle and me, if you would kindly drive us to Wheelhub. We will pay you for your trouble.”

  Willoughby made a dismissive, magnanimous gesture. He took a gulp of coffee and smacked his lips in appreciation.

  “We can talk about that further up the road,” he said. Jed could detect a look of relief in the young man’s eyes. He shook the somewhat greasy hand Willoughby held out over the table.

  “We’re keen to get started,” Jed surreptitiously wiped his palm on his thigh. He bought a pot of coffee and some warm bread rolls and took them out to Belle. Willoughby watched him go, stifling a belch with his napkin. He realised quite a few of the other patrons were looking at him. “Excuse me,” he said but they continued to regard him.

  He put a handful of coins on the table and hurried out of there, feeling as though every eyeball in the place was watching him go. As soon as he was outdoors, he sped to the stable, holding onto his hat.

  “You must be Willoughby.” A pretty blonde woman greeted him from his own dashboard. He doffed his hat and confirmed that he was but his pleasantries were rushed and interrupted by anxious glances over his shoulder. “Somebody after you?”

  “I- I- I sure as Hell hope not.” Willoughby climbed up beside her. He reddened and said he sure as Hell was sorry he said Hell. Shoot; he’d said it again.

  Belle laughed and Willoughby was instantly enchanted. He had never heard such music.

  Jed’s face appeared behind them in a gap between the canvas awnings.

  “Friends of yours?” he nodded towards the doorway. Willoughby, the spell broken, tore his eyes away from Belle’s beauty and was dismayed to see a small crowd of people from the saloon blocking their egress.

  “I was afraid of this,” Willoughby groaned. He sat down heavily. Jed and Belle exchanged looks.

  “Trouble?” Belle asked, not fussy about which man might answer.

  “Not so far.” It was Jed who replied. No one in the crowd had uttered a word in greeting or in anger. In fact, they looked an altogether sheepish bunch, but Jed stayed out of sight, just in case this unprepossessing mob turned ugly.

  After an awkward couple of minutes’ silence, a man stepped forwards, holding his hat in his hands, and his head bent low. He gave the horse a wide berth, shuffling towards the side of the wagon. Eventually, he raised a quivering finger to the painted pictures.

  “The thing is, Doc,” the man muttered so that the rest of the group couldn’t hear. “I got this terrible rash...”

  Belle suppressed a giggle. Willoughby expressed a sigh.

  “I was wondering if you had some kind of a lineament you could prescribe...”

  “Ah,” said Willoughby.

  A hand appeared from under the awning and poked him with a bottle. Willoughby snatched it from Jed with a grateful gasp. He presented the bottle to the man with a flourish.

  “This miraculous liquid is the answer you seek!” he announced. The man looked panicked, lest the others overhear the nature of his complaint. “Dab it on the affected area first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. You should be clear in a fortnight.”

  The man accepted the bottle and whisked it away into his clothing before anyone could get a clear view of it. He offered Willoughby a somewhat grubby banknote and withdrew only to be replaced by a woman who was complaining about feeling tired all the time. Again, the hand of Jed produced a bottle, which Willoughby passed on with a theatrical gesture. Belle accepted the payment.

  Gradually they worked their way through the crowd until only those with the really embarrassing complaints remained. They were reluctant to step forward until Belle withdrew into the wagon and even then they wouldn’t even talk about their ailments until the stable door was closed.

  An hour or so later, everyone had gone away happy - or at least with a bottle of elixir of one colour or another, and a banknote or two lighter - and Belle was excitedly counting the takings. Jed was keen to get moving. Willoughby was a mass of embarrassment and apology.

  “I’m awful
sorry about that.” He had a rather pained expression and was shaking as if he’d just run a race. Belle fanned him with a spread of banknotes.

  “I quite enjoyed it,” she laughed. “Is this what you do then? Cure folks’s ills?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say cure exactly...” Willoughby muttered.

  “What then?”

  Willoughby looked into her large blue eyes.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Miss Belle,” he said sadly. “All I will say’s I cain’t come back this way again.”

  This remark baffled Belle but before she could ask the nervous fellow to explain himself, Jed was leading the horse from the stable and out into the yard.

  A couple of minutes later they were on the road, leaving the staging post behind. Willoughby climbed into the back of the wagon, claiming he needed to lie down, blaming his discomfort on his big breakfast. Jed drove and Belle rode up front with him. No one spoke until the buildings and the people with their wide-ranging afflictions had receded far beyond both ear and eyeshot.

  “Nice kid,” Belle broached the subject.

  Jed’s grunted response was noncommittal.

  “What’s his story, do you think?” Then she laughed. “Look who I’m asking! You don’t even know your own story, do you?”

  Jed didn’t even grunt.

  “People seem to go for this stuff,” she gestured at the wagon in general but she meant the bottles. “Sure made us a good few bucks. Did the trick with me in any case.”

  Jed allowed one of his shoulders to twitch in a shrug. His gaze was fixed on the road ahead of the horse. After a few minutes, he spoke.

  “Water might have done the same. You just needed flushing out. Get rid of the dark dust.”

  “Hmm.”

  They continued in silence and another mile or two rolled under their wheels. But it was a friendly rather than an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of Willoughby’s snoring coming from the back. Belle closed her eyes and sat back, leaning against the awning, enjoying the sunlight on her face.

  Both snoring within and sunbathing without were curtailed when Jed brought the wagon to an unannounced halt with a sharp pull on the reins. From inside the wagon came the sound of Willoughby banging into something followed by a cry of pain and a cuss word.