Dust--Chapter 9, PG-13

[librarian_7]

Usual disclaimers…I don’t own Josef. All the plot and the other characters, though, are mine.

Dust

Chapter 9


Sally shrank back into the deeper shadows when the door of her prison opened once more, but the figure looming in the opening was Slade Weston, a rifle in one hand, and something hanging from his other.

“Time for us to be going, Mrs. Watkins,” he said.

She breathed a sigh of relief and eased her hand away from the derringer in her righthand skirt pocket. “I’m ready,” she said.

“Not quite.” Weston handed her a pair of canteens connected by a long leather thong. “I thought you could hang these under your mantle. We’ll need them tomorrow.”

“If we get that far,” she replied, but took the burden from his hand and set about concealing them.

“Now, I thought you had all kinds of faith in Constantine,” Weston replied, and Sally could hear the grin in his voice.

“You’re a cheerful one,” she commented as she rearranged her cloak.

“Yeah, it’s a funny thing. But this feels like the right course. After a lot of wrong turns.”

Sally had no response to that, but she laid a hand on his arm, and said again, “I’m ready.”

As they walked out, Slade grabbed a shovel leaning against the adobe wall. “Carry this,” he said, passing it to her.

“A spade?”

“If anyone asks, we need an excuse to be out. Now, let’s go.”

Sally shouldered the heavy tool, and with a prod in the back from Slade’s rifle, set out in the direction of Iris Beaumont’s grave.

“You could at least try to look terrified,” he whispered to her.

“I’m too tired and nervous to feign terror,” she returned. “Will dejected work?”

His snort was her only answer. Trudging wasn’t difficult, however. Sally longed for a safe, comfortable place where she could rest. She’d been so excited to leave the dull farmhouse where she’d grown up, so thrilled to be setting out an adventure. Somehow, in the books, you never heard about the heat, or the cold, the dust, the sheer discomfort of so much of it. Travelling in her condition was bad enough, but the constant worry of the past two days was taking a toll. Maybe it was childish, but she just wanted to sit down and burst into tears. She blinked hard. No time, no place for that now. She tried to focus on putting one foot ahead of another, and keeping the canteens from clanking together.

As they walked, she saw figures moving about to either side, but in keeping with the appearance of hopelessness she was trying to project, she didn’t turn to look. When two men fell in step with Weston, however, it was impossible not to recognize the voices, or to ignore what they were saying.

“Where y’all going?” It was the younger one, McCarty, she thought. He couldn’t be much older than she was, chronologically, but somehow, when she looked in his eyes, she saw something much older looking out.

Slade felt the tension, the old familiar readiness for combat, ripple down his neck and shoulders. He’d been at ease with himself at last, and he’d allowed the sense of conviction to override the reality that he—and the girl—were a long way yet from being free of the dangers of this place. Hell, he wasn’t even sure Constantine would be there to meet them at the appointed spot.

What was this woman to Constantine, anyway, that he should take the slightest interest in her? Chances were, he’d seen an opportunity to get out, and was long since on a horse and over the horizon. Only a fool gambled on long odds, and from what he’d seen, Constantine was no fool.

From Slade’s other side, Cassidy spat a stream of tobacco juice and said, “Nice evening for a stroll.”

Slade poked Sally in the back with his rifle barrel, just enough to get her attention. “Hold up there, you,” he said, then looked from one to the other of the men flanking him. “What do you boys want?” he asked.

Cassidy shrugged. “We’d hate to miss the fun. And it looks like there might be something to see.”

“Not really. Just another dirty job to do.”

“Looks to me like one of you two isn’t going to be coming back,” McCarty commented, licking his thin lips. “Looks to me like you could have all kinds of fun with that.”

“Y’see,” Cassidy said, “biggest problem with this here camp is, ain’t no whores. And just ‘cause the Colonel don’t like having women around, the rest of us have to do without. Don’t mean we like it.”

McCarty shuffled his feet. “If you’re gonna kill her anyway, we might as well get a poke in first.”

Slade was disgusted. “She’s pregnant,” he said.

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, “and you’re planning to kill her. How does that make you any better? We’re just trying to be practical, here. Not waste a shot at a perfectly good pussy when we’ve got one.”

Slade was trying to think fast. As much as he wanted to tell these two to go to hell, he knew it would be exactly the wrong thing to say. He tried to look unconcerned, shrugging. “Come along if you want, then. Colonel didn’t say anything about how, only told me to dispose of the body properly. You know how they are about keeping a clean camp around here.”

McCarty nodded. “Yeah, it’s a load of bullshit, if you ask me. What are we, in some goddamned army?”

Slade lifted an eyebrow. “You weren’t in the war, were you?”

“Too young,” McCarty replied.

Cassidy added, “And too smart for that. Let the suckers fight it out for a cause.”

“Uh huh.” Weston didn’t stop to wonder why someone like Cassidy was here, now. It seemed pointless. “Well, if you’d ever had the dysentery, you’d know why a clean camp is important.”

Cassidy laughed, a sharp sound in the chilly air. “I heard the bloody flux killed more men than they lost at Shiloh.”

“You wouldn’t laugh if you’d seen it. And this bitch is going to dig her grave before anyone touches her. You hear me?”

McCarty hitched his pants up. “Well, now maybe she’ll dig faster if she’s got something to look forward to.”

Sally spun around, unable to keep silent any longer. “You lay a hand on me, and the only thing I’ll look forward to is both of us being dead.”

In response, he laughed and reached a groping hand out toward her. “Ah, you say that now, honey. But you’ll change your mind once I get that skirt thrown up over your head.”

Sally drilled her eyes into Weston’s face. He shook his head slightly. Not the time. Not the place. Again.

“You know, it’s always a pleasure to talk to you boys, but I’ve got to get this girl out of camp, and get a hole dug. And I don’t want to be all night about it.” He gestured to Sally with his gun. “Get moving.”

Sally looked venomous. “You’ll pay for this,” she spat out. “Sooner or later, you’ll pay.”

Slade kept his gaze on Sally as though he could stop any further outburst from her with the force of his eyes, and elbowed McCarty back without wasting a look on him. “Enough of this,” he said. “Let’s get on with it.”

Sally set her shoulders and turned, not waiting for Slade’s prompt to begin walking.

The grave Josef and Slade had dug the night before seemed even more desolate now. A lonely cairn atop a windswept hill was all that remained. Even the trampled grass was beginning to spring back up, erasing all marks of their presence. Sally hadn’t known the woman well, but from what she’d seen, Iris would not be pleased to be lying in such an unregarded spot. Perhaps the dead cared little for such things. She tried to remember that she was supposed to be acting as though Iris wouldn’t be alone here for long. Somehow, the idea of two lonely graves here didn’t bother her as much as the thought that Jim might never know what had happened to her.

She told herself, sternly, that she was being ridiculous. Mr. Constantine was coming for them, and she wasn’t going to end up under the sod of this hilltop. Or any other. Not for a long time to come. After all, she couldn’t be killed now. She had a baby to bear in the spring.

Behind her, she could hear the men, although no one was talking. The scrape of boots on the ground, the rustle of their movement through the dry grass, the creak of leather. The cold breeze didn’t make enough noise to drown out these ordinary sounds. She could even tell when Slade shifted his rifle to a more convenient carrying position as they climbed the last rise to the grave.

Sally wondered if he’d gotten any rest, during the day. Not that he deserved too much sympathy, she thought, but she—and Mr. Constantine—needed their only ally to be sharp. There was no other reason, she told herself, for her to care.

At the top of the hill, next to Iris’s grave, Sally halted, waiting to find out what would happen next. She cast around with her eyes as much as she could without being obvious, but saw no trace of Mr. Constantine. Although—there was a small stand of trees, not much taller than bushes, partway down the far side of the rise. Forty, maybe fifty yards away. Tall and dark enough to hide horses? Maybe. And was there some odd movement in the tall grass between the trees and the hilltop? It was hard to be sure. The moon was up, but there were some clouds wisping across the sky, and the light was variable.

She was thinking that there might be a need for a diversion, at some point, but for now, she stood, as though dully contemplating her presumed last home.

Slade turned her around with a deceptively rough hand, and gestured at the ground. “You can start digging,” he said. “Here.” But his right eye shivered a wink at her.

He saw her set her lips firmly, then pull back a corner of her mouth in a tight smile.

“Just start” he breathed to her. He shifted his gaze out over her shoulder. He was an old soldier; he’d seen the movement beyond them, too. “We’re almost ready.”

Sally screwed up her face and began to weep, noisily, cringing away from Weston. “Please,” she moaned. “Don’t kill me! My baby—“

McCarty and Cassidy drew closer, not wanting to miss anything. Weston raised his hand as if to cuff her into obedience. “Get that shovel moving and dig, bitch,” he said.

Sally wailed, and reversed the shovel off her shoulder. She’d gone so far as to put the blade almost to the ground when Josef appeared out of the grass behind Cassidy, and Weston, hearing Cassidy’s grunt and the scuffle of feet, closed on McCarty, grappling with him to keep him from his gun.

Josef was feeling good. He’d surprised and killed a sentry on his way around the camp, and decided he was concealed enough from view that he could risk pausing long enough to pull in a few deep draughts of the man’s blood before dispatching him and making sure there was a convenient knife wound in the guard’s throat to cover the marks of Josef’s fangs. Even if he’d been willing to reveal his nature to the humans on his side, however, he had no intention of biting Cassidy. There were plenty of other ways to kill a man.

Cassidy put up a harder fight than he’d have thought, though, twisting in Josef’s grasp like an enraged eel, the whipcord muscles writhing in his desperate attempt to struggle free. Josef was distracted for long seconds before he could get the right grip first to incapacitate his opponent, and then to snap his spine.

As he dropped the lifeless body to the sod, he realized the other fight was not going easily either. Weston had managed, grappling with McCarty, to prevent the smaller man from pulling the Colt revolver at his hip, but that hadn’t stopped McCarty from grabbing the knife at his belt and plunging the glittering length of it into Weston’s right side, the dark blood welling out even before the knife was withdrawn.

Josef, as quickly as he could move, found it interesting that in these situations time itself seemed to slow. He had no chance to intervene, but still appreciated the short, powerful arc as Sally brought the iron blade of the shovel crashing down on McCarty’s head.

He dropped like a sack of stones and Weston followed him to the ground. Even Sally went to her knees from the force of the blow, releasing the handle of the shovel to put both hands over her mouth. She got one good look at the caved-in skull of the man she’d killed, and felt a fierce joy sweep through her, right before she turned away and threw up.

“Time for that later, Mrs. Watkins.” Josef’s crisp tones snapped through her fog, as he’d intended. “You need to see to Mr. Weston.”

Sally turned wide eyes to him, then to Weston, who lay clutching his side, the blood staining his fingers.

“It’s not deep,” he said, his voice breathy and unconvincing. “I’ll be all right.”

Sally spat, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and scuttled over to his side. She could see that he was bleeding, the fluid black in the moonlight, but he wouldn’t move his hand enough for her to see the wound. She was dimly aware that Mr. Constantine was dragging McCarty’s body away to put him out of sight on the far side of the hill. He and Cassidy wouldn’t stay hidden long, but she supposed it was as good as they could do at the moment. She was more concerned with getting a bandage on Mr. Weston’s injury.

She felt around in the grass for McCarty’s knife, recoiling when her fingers found the blade first, sticky with blood, but she told herself it was no different than beef blood, or chicken, and she’d dealt with plenty of that, growing up a farm girl. Nonetheless, she wiped the blade on the grass before hauling up the edge of her long skirt to slice through the deep ruffle of her petticoat. She hated this—she’d spent hours setting every stitch of that petticoat. She hadn’t had much of a trousseau, but she’d come to married life with a few good garments, and this heavy cotton petticoat was one of them. She supposed, as the knife blade in her hand ripped through the tiny, tight stitches, that she could make another.

Folding a thick pad, she forced Weston’s hand away from his wound and slapped the fabric over it, then let him hold it in place while she wound another, far longer, strip around his belly to tie the compress in place. She was pleased to see the blood flow begin to cease. And it hadn’t been pumping in spurts, which was a good sign. Maybe he was right, and it wasn’t too deep.

“Rest here a moment, Mr. Weston,” she urged, looking around for Mr. Constantine. She’d barely had time to register puzzlement at his apparent disappearance, when he was standing in front of her, and she gasped. “Mr. Constantine, you startled me.”

“Indeed.” She couldn’t see the expression in his eyes as he continued. “Mr. Weston, are you going to be able to travel? It’s time we took our leave.”

Weston nodded. “I may—need a little help,” he said.

Josef smiled and crouched down to slide an arm under Weston’s shoulders. “Help steady him as I lift, Mrs. Watkins.”

Together, they got the injured man more or less on his feet, and supported him between them as they made their way down the slope to the tiny grove. Weston was quiet, but Josef could tell from the man’s thready pulse and labored breathing that he was in worse shape than he was admitting.

It took a serious effort on Josef’s part to hoist Weston into the saddle of the little bay mare, and Josef considered tying the wounded man in place. Perhaps later. When it became really necessary. He did keep the reins in his hand. Weston might be able to give directions, but he was obviously in no shape to ride, his face pallid and gray even in the moonlight.

As Josef mounted the chestnut, pulling Sally up to ride safe in his arms like a child, Weston, swaying in the saddle beside him, rasped out, “Constantine.”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you leave me behind? You’d travel faster.”

The irony of Josef’s smile was not lost on the wounded man. “Could be,” he said. “But, Mr. Weston, without you, we’d likely be moving fast in the wrong direction.”

[cassysj]

I'm so excited to be back home and in the Old West! I'm so glad Josef got something to eat. This is so exciting! I love Sally and Slade is definitely becoming on of my personal favorites. What a homecoming present!

[allegrita]

Man--I knew this was going to be a hell of a great chapter, and you haven't disappointed me, Lucky. How Sally resisted the urge to run screaming into the night is a mystery. What a gallant soul she is. And my heart just broke for her as she tore her petticoat up. In the grand scheme of things, a petticoat isn't half as big as her life, or any of the other horrors she had to contemplate...but still, it's a tie to normalcy. And it says a lot about Sally (and her faith in Josef) that she's thinking about the petticoat at a time like this. What a great touch.

Slade came through like a trooper here. I guess when he made the decision to throw in his lot with Josef and Sally, he really threw it, huh?! He acted exactly right, and he almost pulled it off. But eek--he's badly hurt. In the middle of the prairie. Things aren't looking very hopeful for poor Slade...

I'm glad Josef got a chance to grab a snack, and I love his line to Slade... he knows things aren't exactly going well right now. What's going to happen now?!

I'm on the edge of my seat, Lucky--and I can't wait for the next chapter.

[LadyAilith]

Something tells me that Slade is going to be a different man by the end of this journey...

I can totally understand how Sally felt when she needed to cut the strip off of her petticoat. Giving up even a little piece of normalcy is such a hard thing to do when faced with overwhelming odds.

I loved this chapter! They're finally on their way and Josef was able to grab a bit to eat. Yay! He's less likely to feel the need to possibly snack on Sally!
I'm really looking forward to more! Thanks so much Lucky!



LadyAilith

[eris]

Yay! Back home with a new chapter to read!

It didn't disappoint. Nice to see the tide turning, Lucky. Can't wait to see more

[redwinter101]

Another marvellous chapter, Lucky.

Is it wrong that I quite fancy being Sally? She's just such a wonderful character - a perfect mix of innocence and worldly practicality. Truly, a fantastic creation.

*joins alle on the edge of her seat*

Red

[moonlight_vixen]

It's definitely getting interesting now, isn't it? And thank goodness that Josef was able to get the chance to stop for a "bite!"

Slade has proven himself so far, and it will be interesting to see what happens next...

Great chapter Lucky!

[tucutecats]

thank you thank you, how wonderful to welcome us back home with a great new chapter..
Loved that our Joseph got a snack.

[MoonShadow]

unpacking the suitcase of new books,
Lucky,
There is absolutely nothing better than coming home to a new book! Oh, I know that most people take a good book to read on vacation, I personally never have found that to work very well...
But bringing home a new book makes for a wonderful souvenir... (even if it is a chapter)

I'm looking forward to reading about the new side of Slade.
looking about at all the neat well ordered shelves,

[francis]

I love your homecoming present, Lucky! Sally shows her true colors, practical and doing right even when deep within she mourns her petticoat and wants to just cry on someone's shoulder. Josef had a bite to eat, and they are on their way. I guess Slade is having a bad time and there might be a change in his future. Can't wait to read more.

[one.zebra]

Guess we all see a 'change' in Slade's future...

Sally's great! It's interesting to find Josef in situations w/o his current day comforts.

[Fishy]

Lucky,
A very interesting and atmospheric chapter - an exciting welcome home present. Your work is always a pleasure to read. Yes, it looks like Joseph has the big decision about Slade's future coming up very soon!!!!!!!!!!

The setting of your story, in this instance, also makes me very thankful for all the things that we in the 21st century can take for granted, too! Not least hot water and plumbing!
Fishy

[greenleaf9]

Oh Lucky, this is AWESOME!! I could just picture everything in my mind's eye...how I wish we could see this all on screen!

Sally, my admiration for her grows and grows with each chapter...what a brave woman! I adored the detail paid attention to her petticoats--it's the little details like that that really make her come to life.

And Josef appearing out of the grass...OMG! Just awesome!

[librarian_7]

I've been remiss about replying to all these wonderful comments. Thank you so much for reading!

This was one of those fight scenes I dread writing, for fear it won't come off believable. And I do see Sally, as a 19th century farm girl, someone who might be a bit naive, and not very worldly in some aspects, but very practical. Her part of the world was still frontier in many ways at that time, and I daresay she's grown up milking cows and killing chickens. Not an easy life.

Lucky

[Josefismysire]

Another brilliantly written chapter!! I agree..I would love to see this played out on a theatre screen..I'm not much for westerns, but wow!! I would pay good money to see this!!

Well done, Lucky!