Part 24 (1/2)

I began to object, but his face told me I should let it drop.

”We'd better round up the horses,” Calder said. ”We'll find them in the low ground, down by the creek.”

We found the horses. Calder suggested we make camp, because it was full night and we didn't want to be stumbling around in the dark. I agreed, but was uneasy about sleeping near the open cellar, where the cabin had been. We walked the horses onto the plain, a few hundred yards to the west, then staked the horses and shook out our bedrolls.

”No fire tonight,” Calder said.

We stripped off our wet clothes and placed them out to dry, and we used our blankets as robes. I was disappointed that Calder, who had turned his back like a gentleman, did not once try to sneak a look before the blanket was around my shoulders. I did not really know why I was disappointed, because I had expected nothing to happen between us. Calder was not the type of man I had ever been attracted to. He seemed to care little for things like literature and art, and I found his history of vigilantism barbaric.

Our supper was some stale corn bread and wiry beef jerky Calder took from his saddlebag. As we ate, we made the sort of idle conversation expected in such situations.

”Wish we had a can of peaches,” Calder said. ”And a tin of sardines.”

”Wouldn't mind the peaches,” I said. ”But not with sardines.”

”I like oysters, too.”

I made a gagging sound.

”Oysters and beer,” he said. ”Now, that's a meal.”

I made a louder gagging sound.

”That's a mess on the floor about an hour after,” I said.

”Well, what's your favorite?” he asked. ”If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

”This is what men talk about on the trail?” I asked.

”Yeah,” Calder said. ”Food, beer . . . women.”

”In that order?”

”Depends on how long a man has been on the trail,” Calder said. ”So come now, what's your favorite meal?”

”Brisket,” I said. ”For dessert, pecan pie.”

Then I realized we would soon be facing something quite grave, and I grew weary of the expected.

”Tell me about your wife.”

”Why?”

”Because this might be the last chance you have to talk about her.”

”This is not a chat I am comfortable having.”

”Because I'm a woman?”

”That's part of it.”

”Then pretend I'm your boon companion, Orion Wylde. We have come through h.e.l.l and high winds today and find ourselves hunkered down for the night on a dark plain beneath the Milky Way. Tomorrow we will face mortal danger, yet again. So tell me, as you would your best pal on the trail. What is your best memory of your wife?”

He gave a wistful smile.

”If somebody had asked me that question when she was still alive, I would have imagined that it would have been the marital relations I remembered best,” Calder said. ”I do, of course, but that's not my favorite memory of Sarah. As the years have pa.s.sed since she was killed, the memory that comes back to me, again and again, is something that I hardly noticed at the time. It was in the spring, and the boy had not yet turned one, when we were still on the ranch in Presidio County. Satisfied at the end of a long day of work, I was sitting in the shade of a cottonwood tree, with Johnnie on a blanket nearby. Sarah brought me a cup of water. She handed it to me and sat down on the blanket with the boy, touched my knee, and then she smiled-and the whole world seemed right.”

He shook his head.

”I've never felt anything was right since,” he said. ”We were on the trail to Kansas a month later-and found ourselves in the middle of the Red River War.”

”What happened?”

”At Sharp's Creek, in the Texas Panhandle, we came upon Quanah Parker and his band of about three hundred Indians,” Calder said. ”They spotted us, of course. It's hard to hide a wagon loaded with household goods. There was a wagon train in front of us, and they made a run for Adobe Walls, an outpost of buffalo hunters, just north of the Canadian. The train made it. We broke an axle. That was on June seventh.”

He rubbed his eyes.

”While Parker a.s.saulted the Walls, a raiding party of Comanche found us and our broken wagon. There were about five of them, on a low ridge maybe three hundred yards away, watching us. We were going to ride away, to leave them the wagon and everything else, because that's what they wanted-they needed food. I had just boosted Sarah up into the saddle of one horse and handed her the boy, then turned to mount the other horse, when I heard Sarah make a pitiful sound. She pitched backward from the saddle before I heard the thunder of the rifle. It was an old fifty-caliber ball. Do you know how big that is? Half an inch in diameter. Bigger around than your thumb.”

Calder took a breath.

”The bullet had pa.s.sed through both her and the boy. They were dead before they hit the ground.”

”Oh, G.o.d,” I said.

”What G.o.d?” Calder asked. ”There was no G.o.d, at least not on Sharp's Creek that day.”

”What did you do?”

”Before or after I tracked down and killed three of the war party?” Calder smiled. ”That's how I became a bounty hunter. I discovered I have a talent for tracking down and killing people. The three Comanche were dead by nightfall. Then it was dark, and I went back and dug graves for Sarah and the boy, and built a big fire, using parts from the wagon. I kept guard over the bodies to keep the wolves away. Then at dawn I buried them, burned what was left of the wagon and the truck inside, and rode away.”

”That's horrific.”

”I went to Adobe Walls, where the hunters had driven away Parker with their buffalo rifles, because of their longer range. They packed up and headed home to Dodge City, and I went with them.”

”How far are we from-”

”Those graves along Sharp's Creek?” Calder asked. ”Sixty or seventy miles, I reckon. You know, it's funny. The Comanche believe that the dead travel the road to the west. I reckon they're right.”

He paused.

”I've never told anybody that story,” he said. ”At least not all of it.”

”Do you feel better?”

”No,” he said. ”There were still two Comanche that got away. Now it's your turn. No holding back. Pretend I'm one of your woman friends and we've just finished low tea or whatever it is that women do before they get down to hen talk. Tell me what you miss most about your lost man.”