Vengeance Road (6 page)

The mishap outside Walnut Grove flashes—losing Libby, getting hunted for a bounty that don't even apply to me. I spend one blasted night alone and barely get through it. There's easily another three before Phoenix.

“Fine,” I says, stifling my pride. “We can ride together, but only if you shut pan.”

“It's like we ain't doing him a favor,” Will complains.

Jesse just smiles and squints at the cattle dog. “What do you think, Mutt? Can we keep quiet?”

The dog yaps and runs ahead to lead.

I knew Abe's would be nothing but trouble.

Jesse keeps us on a southern-bound and well-traveled road that leads to Vulture Mine, then beyond.

We pass a few miners on horseback, reporting to or leaving work. We never see the mine entrance, but we do see the hanging tree. It's a massive mesquite, with branches so heavy, they's started to grow back toward the ground for a place to rest. There's an empty rope still swinging from one of the higher limbs, like the tree's proud of its work and wants to remind everyone of it.

Once we pass south of the mine, the land starts to mellow, flattening out like it's been steamrolled. Ridges and rock forms vanish. Trees get scarcer and smaller. Soon I can see for what feels like forever, the Hassayampa plains spreading before me like a blanket. The sun beats down on my Stetson. I feel a bead of sweat drip between my breasts, and soon I'm fixating on it—wanting to tear off my flannel and wrap and go swim in the river. Not that there's likely anything left to swim in. It must be underground now.

Will spits dip at Mutt, trying to hit him, while Jesse checks our course with his compass. After peering at the land ahead through his binoculars, he gives us a nod.

“All clear.”

There ain't dust puffing up anywhere round us, and I coulda told him the same just by using my naked eye, but I bite my tongue. The less talking, the better. I don't want 'em getting the idea I like 'em dogging me.

“So when are you gonna tell me?” Jesse says, riding 'longside me on Rebel. That's his horse's name. Will's is named Rio. Mutt used to be called Bailey, but he only responds to Mutt, so that's what he gets. I know alls this 'cus Jesse's told me even though I ain't asked. Heck, he ain't stopped talking since we left Wickenburg.

“Tell you what?” I says.

“Why Rose and his men hanged yer pa?”

“No idea.”

“I think yer lying.”

“I think yer nosy.”

“It's just—what's the Rose Riders got to do up in Prescott, hunting down one lone farmer? That don't sound like their typical job. 'Less of course yer pa was moving treasure boxes you ain't telling us 'bout.”

I says nothing.

“You know, I lost my ma in a bad way. Not to a gang of outlaws but to a band of Indians. It were ages ago, and it hurt for a long, long while. Still does on occasion. But the hurt fades with time. You always feel it, but it becomes a duller sting, 'stead of sharp. Course, that's assuming you don't ride the road of vengeance. You got good intentions, Nate, but that path's like rubbing salt in the wound. Yer cut'll never scab over.”

God almighty, it's like I'm sitting in the Sunday pews.

“Nate,” he says, real serious when I don't respond. “Sometimes you gotta let the people you love go.”

“Yeah, 'cus yer so good at that,” Will mumbles.

“I mean it, Nate,” Jesse says, ignoring his brother.

I glance over and find Jesse's giving me this real concerned look, like I'm a jackrabbit headed for a snare. His hat paints a line of shadow 'cross his eyes. Sure, sometimes you gotta let things go, but other times you can't till you set things right. And I know darn well it ain't worth arguing with a preacher. The only truths they believe are their own words.

So I just frown and carry on.

“You always this chatty?” Jesse says.

“Why should I bother talking? Yer jawing enough for the both of us.”

I kick my heels into Silver and trot on ahead. Behind me, Will's laughing.

“Shut it, Will,” Jesse says.

“Nah, I think that's what he wants
you
to do.”

We ride on, Jesse now soured enough that the only thing coming outta his mouth is exhales. I listen to the wind in the brush and the scratch of tumbleweeds and dirt crunching beneath Silver's shoes.

Finally, peace.

We quit riding
with an hour of sunlight remaining.

Jesse makes a big to-do 'bout picking a good camp and finally settles on a spot where we got a pair of shrubs and a bit of rock for shelter. It won't stop anyone from spotting us, though, so we'll take turns keeping watch throughout the night. “Just in case,” Jesse says.

The Apache tend to stick to the mountains, and the Rose Riders are well ahead of us. I wager anyone else out is doing exactly what we're doing right now—making camp—but I don't carp. I'm tired and hungry and dripping sweat down my back. I'm as eager as any to call it a day. Plus, the sooner the boys eat, the sooner they'll close their eyes for the night, giving me a chance to relieve myself in private. A complication I didn't consider when deciding to pose as a boy. Then again, I never figured I'd be riding with real ones.

Jesse swipes a can of milk from my saddlebags and whips up some biscuits, baking 'em over our fire. They come out tough and plain and half charred, but we shovel 'em down 'longside some jerky and bacon while the horses graze nearby. I won't never admit it, but it's sorta nice to not be completely alone. When we're full, and after the sky paints us a mighty fine sunset, we tie the horses up to the shrubs and roll out our beds. My bladder's 'bout ready to burst, but there ain't much but flat plains surrounding us, nowhere I can sneak off to without looking suspicious.

“You riding to Tucson with us?” Will asks. “Or you peeling off early to track down men you ain't fit to hunt?”

“Phoenix area,” I says. “That's where we split.”

“Phoenix?” Jesse says from 'cross camp. He's sitting on his bedroll, a small notebook propped 'gainst his knee. “There's nothing there but a bunch of crazed homesteaders trying to create an oasis in the middle of the desert.”

“That's where he's going—Rose and his boys,” I says.

“How you know that?”

“I just do.”

“We can't help you without details, Nate,” Jesse says, and goes back to writing. Or maybe drawing. His pencil is making shapes too long and flowing to be just words.

“When did I ever say I wanted help?”

He shrugs and snaps the notebook closed, then settles into his bedroll and tips his hat low to cover his eyes.

“Jesse ain't fixing to pester you,” Will says. “He frets over everybody; thinks it's his job. Plus, he's still crotchety 'cus I beat him at poker the other night. Hell, I always beat him. I'm good at counting cards,” he explains, eyes sparkling. “You shoulda seen the brawl when he found out I'd been chiseling him all these years. I had one heckofa black eye. And yet he keeps playing with me.” Will extends me his packet of tobacco, and I shake my head at the offering.

“I don't dip.”

“Sure you do.” Will jiggles the packet. “It's easy. You got teeth and a tongue, don't ya?”

“So does yer brother, but he don't seem keen on the habit.”

“Jesse says it tastes bad and will make yer teeth rot.”

I think back on the store clerk in Wickenburg. “I agree with Jesse.”

“For once,” Will says.

“Guess there's a first for everything.”

“See, some of us are trying to sleep,” Jesse says from his roll.

Will spits at a rock bordering the fire and hits it with dead-on accuracy. “You girls go on and get yer beauty rest, then. I'll take first watch.”

Guess I'm gonna have to hold my business awhile longer.

Silver's anxious to move come dawn. I wake to her yanking on her reins and pounding a hoof into the dry earth, real stubborn-like.

“All right, all right,” I says, stumbling over to her. “We're going.”

The boys ain't stirring yet, and I relieve myself before waking 'em. I'm gonna get myself caught in a corner, I just know it. Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to hold a canteen's worth of water until my turn at watch tonight.

After a quick breakfast of more bacon, we break down camp and load the horses up. I cinch Silver's saddle and she gives me her usual nicker.

“We cutting east today?” I says. “Been off course too long.”

“We ain't off course,” Jesse says. “We're running parallel to the Hassayampa. That means—”

“I know what parallel means.”

“Don't have to jump down my throat 'bout it.” Jesse raises his hands like I pulled my pistol. “I didn't think they had a proper school up in Prescott.”

“They got one proper enough.”

What I don't mention is that the Prescott school weren't built till I were twelve, and at that point I'd already learned anything worth knowing. Pa taught me to read and write. He were the son of a schoolteacher in Charlotte before coming west. Even had a soft spot for poetry and used to make me read aloud from this small volume when I were younger. I never quite understood the purpose. Poetry don't make yer crops grow better or keep Apache from raiding yer land. It's just a bunch of flowery words that could mean any number of things depending on yer interpretation. I think it's a heck of a lot less trouble to just say what you mean.

“Why's you so anxious to get back to the river, anyways?” Jesse says.

“Water. For the horses. For a bath.”

“Right you are on that last point, Nate,” Will says. “I think you smell worse than me and Jesse put together.”

“I been traveling longer!” I feel my cheeks growing hot and slip my hat on, hoping it'll hide my face. “You two don't exactly smell like roses neither.”

Jesse gives Rebel a flank-side patting and climbs into the saddle. “The Hassayampa's long underground at this point, but I got something better than a river.”

“Better?” I says.

“Don't tell him, Jesse,” Will says. “A surprise like that'll shine after a long day of travel. Though I reckon it could be dry,” he adds, mouth curling into a frown. “There ain't been rain in ages.”

“Take it you's stopped here before?” I says.

He nods. “My favorite place between here and Tucson. Just you wait.”

By midday there's a wind picking up, but it ain't doing nothing to battle the heat. We cross the Hassayampa beds at high noon, the sun beating down on us angry. The plains here are open and endless, sloping low only where the dry creek bed cuts south. Somewhere under all that dust, the river carves the same course. Due east, a small mountain range appears on the horizon, dark purple in the hazy heat.

Jesse's on edge, which ain't doing much but making Rebel anxious and Silver flighty by default. I urge her ahead, not wanting to stay too close. I don't know what's got Jesse wound so tight. Way to the north there's a small cropping of dust—a stagecoach or freighting wagon—but their dust's getting smaller, so they ain't heading our way. Otherwise, there ain't a soul to be seen and the land's flat enough that we'd be able to spot someone coming.