Deadman''s Crossing

  “Damn,” said the man in the high water pants, finally lowering his leg. “That there was my brother.”

  “Do you have other brothers and sisters?” the Reverend asked.

  The man watched his brother roll about on the floor. He looked at the Reverend. “What?”

  “You heard me.” The Reverend was looking around as he spoke, in case anyone wanted to test him.

  “He’s my only kin.”

  “Now,” said the Reverend, “you are an only child, and an orphan. Or soon will be.”

  “Damn,” High Water Pants said.

  “Have we finished our business?” the Reverend asked.

  “For now,” said High Water Pants. He went to his brother and bent down and pulled his blood-covered hands away from the wound, gave it a look. “That ain’t good,” he said.

  “I’ve done been kilt,” his brother said. “Oh, God. It hurts awful.” He rolled around on the floor some more.

  High Water Pants sighed. He went over to the wall, took hold of a two-by-four that was nailed there, but had warped enough for him to pinch it with his hands. He tore it loose of its nails. There was a screech of lumber as it came free, revealing a gap in the wall. He walked back to his brother.

  “Now close your eyes, Zender.”

  “Oh, shit,” Zender said, and closed his eyes.

  It took three whacks with the two-by-four before Zender stopped moving. High Water Pants tossed the board aside, looked at the Reverend.

  “You would have done better to have cut his throat with his own knife,” the Reverend said.

  “I ain’t done with you,” the man said.

  The Reverend said, “You think you will have designs on me later?”

  “Don’t turn your back.”

  “Well, if it has to be that way.”

  The Reverend, who had replaced his revolver, pulled it again and shot the man in the chest. He hit the floor, blood squirting, wheezing.

  “Do not announce your intentions,” the Reverend said. “I am a man who takes them to heart.”

  The Reverend looked around the room. Everyone was up from their cots now. Some of the men and women were dressed, some were not. One man was holding his johnson in a protective way.

  “Anyone like to pick up the board and finish him?” the Reverend said.

  No one moved.

  The Reverend looked at the bartender behind the plank. “Do you have any more complaints? Some that you would like to respond to in person? You have caused me to frighten my horse.”

  The man shook his head.

  The Reverend looked back at the crowd. They had merely thought they had seen everything. Now they knew they had. The Reverend went over and got his horse, which had bolted, knocking over a man on a cot. He led the animal back to the plank. He reached the reins across the plank to the man behind it. “Hold him for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the man, and took hold of the reins.

  “All right then,” the Reverend said. He walked over to the wounded man and put his revolver in its holster. He leaned over and picked up the bloody two-by-four. He spoke to the man on the floor. “I believe a bullet saved is a bullet you might need. And besides, good sir, wasn’t this your preferred method?”

  The wounded man looked up and bubbled more blood out of his mouth. It spilled down his neck and onto the floor.

  The Reverend lifted the board high above his head, and with a fine use of hips and knees, gave the board a swing, catching the miner alongside the jaw. There was a sound like someone had sat on a china plate, and then the Reverend repositioned himself for another swing. This time the sound was really loud.

  The Reverend dropped the board. “First one did it. Second was insurance. Now, I want everyone to understand that I am not a man to be trifled with. Is that understood?”

  It seemed to be. There were nods from the clientele. The man holding his johnson let it go.

  The Reverend went back to the plank, said, “Do you have food?”

  “Ain’t much,” the bartender said. “Beans.”

  “How much?”

  “Five dollars.”

  “For a plate of beans?”

  “That is the going price.”

  “I am in the mood to negotiate that price,” the Reverend said. “I will offer you fifty cents. How does that sound?”

  The man looked into the hard gray eyes of the Reverend, said, “Fair.”

  “Good. Give me the reins back to my horse. Get me a plate of beans. And how much for the grain for the horse?”

  “What price would you want?” the man behind the plank said.

  “Well,” said the Reverend, “I think a dollar would be fair. And if you do not mind, could you see to watering him, and I would sure hate it if anything happened to him, anyone took him away from you. That would make me sad as old Job.”

  “I’ll care for him.”

  “Like you were his mother and he was a colt at your tit.”

  “Yes, sir. Just like that.”

  The Reverend had his beans and a drink, left his horse in care of the man behind the plank. Before he left out, the horse let loose with some turds that splattered to the floor and sent an acrid odor across the room. It wasn’t any worse than the messes the men and women had made during the night, it was just bigger and fresher.

  “Clean that up or let it lie,” the Reverend said to the bartender. “I leave that decision to you.”

  The Reverend went outside. The air was a little better out there. He looked up the hill, at the maw of the mine, which was like a mouth in the rocks. As he stood there, he heard someone coming up behind him. When he turned, the .36 Navy was in his fist.

  “Whoa,” said a fat woman in a plaid shirt and big baggy pants with an old Colt revolver stuck in her belt. “Don’t put no hole in me. I got all the holes I need. And one of them, except for the peeing part, don’t give me nothing but trouble. Ever miner up here is looking to put a piece of himself in it, no matter I’m big as a hog and twice as ornery. But at least I got my looks.”

  “Do not blaspheme the body God gave you.”

  “I think he was in a humorous mood day I got this.”

  “He is a gamesman,” the Reverend said.

  “You got to watch yourself, mister. I was in the saloon. Seen what you did.”

  “I did not see you.”

  “I was smart enough to stay on my cot under my blankets. Soon as I seen you, I knew you was the genuine ring-tailed tooter. Them fellas in there, some of them was friends of them fat boys, and some of them would just like to take your guns and hat, and maybe after they’ve poked their wicks in your asshole for awhile, they might kill you. Thing is, they’re gonna be after you.”

  “Let them come.”

  “Not saying you ain’t a Jim Dandy, just saying they are a lot of them, and you are you, and that you is one.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Them two you killed. They was cousins of mine.”

  The Reverend’s face turned stony. “I cannot apologize. They would have killed me.”

  “They would have. You can count on that. And I ain’t missin’ them. I’m talkin’ to you sincere. I didn’t like them at all. They used to fuck me when I was little. Me, the dog, goats, horses, cows, mama, hell, for all I know, my old man. You name it. What I’m telling you, though it’s hard to believe, is they had friends, and they’re meaner than a nest of rattlesnakes tied together. They’ll be wantin’ to avenge.”

  “That could be a problem, as I am here about different business.”

  “You don’t look like a miner.”

  “I am not.”

  “You look like a preacher.”

  “I am.”

  “You don’t act like one.”

  “That is because most preachers do not know what religion is about. Once you know it is about being under the thumb of the all mighty and that he is about as forgiving and kind as an angry badger, then you know the right way to act. I do not expect mercy from
those who give none, and therefore I give them none. I give it to those who need it.”

  “Didn’t that Jesus fellow forgive?” she said.

  “He did. I do not. I also seek out the evils of this world.”

  “There’s plenty of that here.”

  “Yes, but there are other evils. From beyond and below. From places that cannot be seen.”

  “No shit.” The fat woman lifted her hand toward the mine shaft, pointed. “There’s something up there. Or so they say. I don’t know that for no fact.”

  “Why do you stay here?”

  “I was cooking for a living. And then the meat and turnips and such started to run out, and anyone can cook beans, and they didn’t need me no more, except for fuckin’, and I ain’t that high on it as a trade. So I was about to move on.”

  “A good idea, I would think.”

  “I even thought about mining myself,” she said. “I think it’s just ghost stories going around, and there ain’t nothin’ in that mine but silver. Figure that story got started so they can go up there and work nights. I went up there one night myself, heard movement down there in the mine, and there was movement in the bushes all around that place. I thought I was being watched, so I got on out of there. If I had a partner, someone good with a gun and not afraid, someone to watch my back, I’d go in that mine, see I could work it some. There’s been nasty murders up there. And there’s a lot of folks come up missing. Person alone ain’t got no chance.”

  “How nasty a murder?”

  “Nasty enough. Heads torn off, or chopped off. Reckon they got a dog done that.”

  “Well, lady,” the Reverend said. “There is something in the mine, all right, but it is not miners. Least not the sort you are thinking.”

  “You gonna go look, then?”

  “I am.”

  “I would like to be in on that, Reverend. I could be of help. I don’t think there’s anything up there but a few farts chippin’ away while everyone down here hides from what they say are little people. That’s just foolery. It’s miners scaring people away from all that silver, and they got a dog. That’s the way I figure. It’s just a dirty trick, Reverend.”

  “Maybe,” the Reverend said.

  “Listen, you ain’t got no place to stay, I got a good’n. It’s the only thing I got here worth a damn. It’s a hideaway. I got some beans I stole, and some beaver meat that’s gone a little green, but cooks up all right. I ain’t expectin’ nothing from you but company. I’ll watch your back, and you watch mine, and we’ll see we can’t check out some silver up there.”

  “Well, lady, you have a deal,” he said, extending his hand.

  “I’m no lady, but deal it is,” she said, shaking his hand.

  Later, when his horse was fed, they rode double up a winding road and into the dark pines. Jebidiah thought maybe he was being foolish, trusting the fat woman, but then again, he was going that way anyhow. He had it in his plans to see into that mine, see what it was lurking there.

  “With all that is happening,” he said, “why do people stay?”

  “Some don’t. Lot of folks left. Them that stay are hoping things will change, that they can get enough balls to go up there and dig for that silver. Some talk that line of shit every day, but come nightfall, they hole up like rabbits. Others that are making more money off the miners than off the mines, and the rest, well, they’re maybe like me, just too dumb and stupid to go anywhere. And some of them, I figure, are the ones doin’ the killing, scaring people so they can work the mine at night.”

  “Do you have a drink at your abode?”

  “If no one has broke in and took it. Old Butch is up there, and they’d have to shoot him to get it.”

  “Butch?”

  “My dog. He’s meaner than a wolf with a stick up his ass. But he’ll do anything I say except give me a back rub.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “My mama, bless her soul, right after I was born, and before she run off, called me Flower, and it’s been Flower ever since. I don’t grudge her none for leaving. Papa, my whole nest of brothers, they ain’t nothin’ but the shit on the bottom of the world’s shoe. They was only a notch better than my cousins you killed.”

  The horse had to work to carry his weight and Flower’s, which was considerable. The place they arrived at was behind some trees, and was positioned on a narrow trail so that it was hard to know there was an opening there, hard to see the big hole in the rock from which hung a blanket, fastened around some rocks at the top with a rope, pegged to the ground with wooden pegs. A dog was barking. The dog sounded big enough to eat a steer.

  When the Reverend stopped his horse, Flower dropped off, said, “You better stay here until I see Butch, calm him down. I been gone awhile, so he’s kind of wound up. I got to baby him some. I’ll call out to you when I got him ready. Sometimes I have to jerk him off to put him in the right frame of mind.”

  “Say you do.”

  “Yeah, he likes that,” Flower said.

  “Be sure that deed is finished before you call,” the Reverend said.

  After Flower slipped behind the blanket the dog stopped barking. A full minute passed before she called out, “Come on up.”

  The Reverend tied his horse to a scrub brush, walked up and behind the blanket, his hand on the butt of his Navy. It was pretty big in there and the place smelled worse than Flower. There was her aroma and the odor of old cooked meals and the stench of the dog, a big black monster with a face that bore many scars. One of his ears had been half chewed off by something. The dog’s dark eyes settled on the Reverend like gun barrels.

  “Nice doggie,” the Reverend said.

  “Oh, there’s nothing nice about him. Except with me. He’s nice to me. He can bite a pick handle in half easy as you and me can chew up a chunk of bread. He can run fast too. Hell, he ain’t nothing but muscle.”

  “I see that.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve calmed him down, and he knows I’m letting you in.”

  “Did you have to...you know....”

  “Oh. No. He was in a pretty good mood. You can pet him.”

  “I don’t want to pet him.”

  Flower grinned wide enough that the Reverend could see that her back teeth were dark as coal. Those were going to hurt her some day.

  “Thing I ought to do is curry my horse,” the Reverend said. “I hate leaving him out and unattended.”

  “When I had a horse, I built a corral and a little shed with a good roof on it. It’s still standin’, so you can put him there. It’s around the edge of the rocks just outside my digs.”

  That night, Flower cooked some meat on the fire and the smoke grew thick inside the cave, so thick, Flower pulled the blanket back and let it out. What she cooked was the beaver meat and warmed-up beans. There was a little spring ran through the cave, so all that needed to be done was add water to the pot and cook it down.

  The beans weren’t bad. The meat was reasonably fresh and only pocked with a few worms.

  Flower chopped some wood and slammed the axe into a log she dragged up, and sat down on another. The Reverend took a small worn Bible with a silver cross on it from his pocket and placed it on his knee.

  “That there give you comfort?” she asked.

  “No. It was twisted in my pocket. I do not find a book of murder, incest, rape, and animal slaughter all that comforting. But I believe it owns me and it owns us all.”

  “Ain’t there a Jesus part that isn’t so nasty?”

  “He got put on a cross. That is nasty. And the rest of the time he needed a better attitude and a big stick. He got pushed around a lot.”

  “You ain’t much for redemption, are you?”

  “Of the fire and sword variety, yes. I believe that is what god is about. The Old Testament. He does not do things because they are right, he does things because he can.”

  “That ain’t somethin’ I’d want to believe.”

  “It is not a matter of wanting.”


  The Reverend picked up the Bible and held it. He lifted it up, said, “It is a book of power. That is what matters.”

  He put the book away in his coat pocket, turned to watch the fire crackle and pop.

  “We can get some lanterns and go up to the mine, you want,” Flower said.

  “Whose mine is it?”

  “The Wood Silver Company, Incorporated. Miners are supposed to be workin’ on a percentage, but since ain’t no one around to keep numbers and pounds, whoever is up there workin’ is making a straight across the board profit. The Wood Company is getting’a fuckin’. I say we have a bit of the devil’s pee, and go up there to look around.”

  “The devil’s pee?”

  “Whisky. And you want to knock you off a piece before we go up there, I’m willing.”

  “That will not be necessary.”

  “Is it because I’m fat and ugly?”

  This was actually part of the reason, but the Reverend said, “No. I just don’t mix business with pleasure, and besides, you are a lady, and mixing our parts for the purpose of mixing them is not the way of my world.”

  “Say it ain’t,” Flower said. “It’s the way of miners. They are mixin’ sonofabitches, that’s what I’ll tell you. I was just offerin’ you some ’cause we’re friendly and I was being polite.”

  “I know, Flower, and I appreciate the offer. I will cherish it.”

  They rode up into the higher range, toward the mine. The Reverend and Flower were well armed. Him with his Navy and Henry and Bowie knife, she with a double barrel shotgun and the old Colt revolver stuck in her belt. When they got near the mouth of the mine, they dismounted. Flower had provided lanterns filled with coal oil. They took a lantern for each off the straps on their saddlebags and started up the rise, the Reverend leading his horse. They didn’t light the lanterns because there was enough moon to see by.

  “I know you feel there is nothing but miners of the human sort,” the Reverend said, “but I want to prepare you that I know it to be something different. I have met them on the trail.”

  “Them?”

  “Kobolds.”

  “Who balds?” she said.

  “Kobolds.”