One shoulder lodged against my sleeping quarters’ rough-cut doorframe, I gazed in the same general direction as Boz and the dog. Didn’t need much in the way of heavenly illumination from a brain-frying sun to know exactly what lay out there in the receding darkness.
Swear ’fore Jesus, the entire earth appeared to spool away from the edge of the house’s front veranda to the farthest reaches of the known, and unknown, world. A seemingly endless sea of hilly, reddish-brown, man-killing sand and dirt marched from our crude, leased home’s front stoop to the Tinaja, Woods Hollow, and Glass Mountains, some hundred and twenty miles west and beyond.
In my personal estimation, the land, while bleak in ways hard to describe, was beautiful beyond any other place I’d ever seen. And mostly unoccupied. Few other people, if any, lived for miles around. Our nearest neighbor, as I knew of anyway, had a spread about twelve miles to the south and east, over near the Del Rio road
“Yeah,” I muttered, then fished makings from atop the chest of drawers just inside the bedroom door and set to rolling myself a smoke. “Yeah. I heard the shooting, Boz. Woke me from a right nice nap. Well, ’bout as good a one as I can hope to get these days, anyhow.”
“Uh-huh. Me, too.”
“Must’ve spent the entire time I did manage to doze a bit dreamin’ ’bout some of the times we’ve had in the past. Good and bad.” I stoked the roughly wrapped ciga-reet to life and took a single, lung-filling puff. Smoke cloud from the burned tobacco rolled out with my words. “Come to wakeful consciousness thinking for sure we’d just run ole Jasper Pike to ground. Hadn’t so much as entertained a single thought about that murderous brigand in at least two years. He came back to me in a dream. You remember Jasper, Boz?”
An unintelligible, guttural grumble came from my friend’s general direction. Unable to distinguish for certain whether the wordless response originated with the man or the dog, I flicked ash from the end of the hand-rolled with a little finger and continued with my unsolicited, meandering musings.
“Don’t see how you could forget a gob of dung like Pike. Evil bastard murdered a boatload of innocent folks before we finally pulled him down. Always took a certain amount of pride in the fact that we’re the ones what brought him to book.”
Boz scratched a spot on his back by twisting from side to side against the porch prop. “Hell, yes, I remember Jasper,” he grunted and continued his bearish exercise. “Cussed hard to forget a belly-slinkin’ snake like that ’un. His kind of gutless bastard makes a Christian body wonder why God bothers to stack piles of human manure that high.”
I let a crude chuckle escape despite efforts to the contrary.
“Tell you true, Lucius, older I get, amazes me as how shit can somehow pull on boots, then get itself upright and walk around on two legs just like us regular humans.”
“He was a bad one, all right, Boz. No doubt ’bout that.”
“Aw, hell, bad don’t come nowheres close to describing that human gob of fanged evil. As I remember the man, and I use the term
“There you go. Even killed his kids. Was a bloody mess we found.”
“If memory of the event still serves, he bolted from that god-awful scene, then went on a murderin’ rip the likes of which hadn’t ever been witnessed in this part of Tejas. Leastways, not since back in them days when the Co-manche used to slaughter hell and yonder out of every living thing in their path on those yearly raids of theirs down Mexico way.”
“Ole Pike put a bunch of folks in the ground, and that’s for damned sure.”
“Uh-huh. In my humble opinion, that’s a far patch of rock-strewn road worse than bad. As a consequence, by God, Jasper Pike ain’t exactly the kind of bastard I’m given to forgetting about.”
I thumped the still-smoldering butt of my smoke into the air and watched as the sparks arched and went to ground like a Fourth of July whizbang. “Figured you’d remember the sorry stink sprayer, Boz. Got to admit, it’s most gratifying now for me to cherish the recollection of how God gave the pair of us the distinct privilege of killing the hell out of his sorry self.”
Boz grimaced and rubbed his leg again. “Mostly you, as I recollect. You peppered his worthless, murderin’ ass pretty good, Lucius. Put a bunch of bullets in his sorry hide. Think maybe I only drilled one good ’un in him.”
“Well, I ain’t so sure ’bout that.”
“Uh-huh. Be that as it may, personally think I could find somethin’ better to occupy my nightly dreams, if you want to know the truth of the thing, pard. You know, women like that there hot-blooded Josephina Martinez. God as my witness, done got to where I think ’bout that gal a lot when it comes on nighttime.”
“Jesus, Boz. Think you’ve taken to spending way too much time
“Well, you can
Boz abruptly stopped in mid-thought. For a second, struck me as how he bore a striking resemblance to the dog, when he tilted his head to one side. Seemed pretty certain to me he just might cock a leg up and scratch one ear with his foot—the one attached to his undamaged leg.
“Damn, there it goes again,” he said. “Sounds most like pistols to me. Maybe half a dozen of ’em. What you think ’bout it, Lucius?”
Ran the fingers of one hand through my sweat-dampened hair again, then twirled one sagging end of my moustache around a nervous finger. Right certain I appeared lost in deep thought.
Slid the same finger into my mouth, then held it out into the barely moving air. “Not so much as a light breeze out here right now, Boz. World’s as still as a sack of flour sitting in an old maid’s pantry. Least kind of sound can travel a long way on a morning like this. I’m guessing as much as five miles or so north along the river. Maybe more, maybe less.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds about right to me.”
“Seems as how the blasting just about has to be goin’ on over around that pocket of ground right on the edge of Turkey Mesa. Green spot next to the river. You know the one I’m talking about.”
“Yep. That’s how I figured it, too. Place where Three Mile Creek seeps down to the river—when there’s enough water to do anything by way of seeping that is. Passin’ itinerants have always liked that particular location. Yep. All that blastin’s gotta be somewhere close to that ’ere shade-givin’ stand of cottonwoods and good grass, I’d wager.”
“Yeah. Heard tell as how some of them old forty-niners laid over in that spot on their way to the West Coast back during the gold rush days. Can’t say as I blame them much. Fine site for tired folks to take their ease. Rest up on the difficult way to wherever they might be headed. Location has pretty much everything going for it—shade, grass, water. Nice, real nice.”
Those words had barely passed my lips when another round of faint popping echoed down the river, ricocheted off the surface of the glass-still water, and, without welcome, bounced onto the doorstep right at our feet. The rapid burst of gunfire tickled the edges of our pricked ears. A tingling sensation crawled up my spine like a Mexican scorpion on the prowl for something it could sting to death.
I squinted and said, “Who you reckon would be doin’ that much shootin’ this time of the mornin’, Boz? Sun’s only just now gettin’ up good. Got nothin’ more’n a fingernail-sized sliver of moon for real light right now. Could barely see my hand in front of my own face not more’n ten minutes ago.”
I took a single step out onto the rough-and-ready veranda and cast a squint-eyed gaze along that part of the shimmering river I could see. “Be full light soon enough, I guess. Another half an hour, forty-five minutes maybe.”
“Uh-huh,” Boz grunted. “Still and all, ain’t much of a time for folks to be out huntin’. Lest them as are doing all that shooting have a pack of dogs along to scare up some game. Doubt that.”
“How so?”
“ ’Cause if’n they had dogs, bet ole Bear, here, would be barking and hopping around like he was on fire. Tell you what, whoever them noisy boys are, they’ve gotta be damned site better shots than either one of us—if they can hunt in the dark, that is.”
