Her hoof beats broke into the soil and kicked it up, dying grass and low bushes breaking and shattering under her heavy gallop. I gripped the saddle tighter with my thighs and pulled on the reins somewhat to slow her as Charlie and Pa did the same. She stepped into a stop and I adjusted my grip, pained intricate red lines over my palm and around my wrist from where I held too tightly. The sparsely populated town stood in front of us, the basic construction of it dusted over and giving the appearance of a place with age. Pa glanced over at me before encouraging his horse forward and I followed, her hoof beats now trampling on now loosened dust that spun around her in a bare mist. No one seemed to mind or bother at the sight of us, their gazes directed into their mundane tasks with no thought otherwise. A young woman swept on a porch, her long brown skirt catching around her and Pa watched her with an intent stare, fixated and captured.
Charlie glanced behind him with caution, his hands perfectly balanced on his hips before grabbing a jacket off the back of a chair and delicately swinging it around his shoulders, the owner half slumped in the chair none the wiser. I licked my fingers and ran them along my brow, wiping away the sweat and dirt gathered there and tucking my loosened hair back beneath my hat. I pulled at the cuffs of my jacket to better cover my hands and adjusted my belt to hide the gun that pa insisted I have strapped to my waist, the feel of it pained as it shifted from it's almost permanent station at my hip.
"Just follow my lead," Charlie advised, clearing his throat and pulling his borrowed jacket around him, the fit too loose and unsettling around his frame. I didn't say anything, only pulled my hat lower around my eyes so that it shaded everything in pale gray. A man in deep blue clothes stood at the entrance, his moustache neatly trimmed and every detail of him standing out so significantly against the grit and dirt around him. He barely glanced at us as Charlie walked to the entrance, his arms loosely hanging at his sides. Inside two men sat, one with his feet casually folded on top of the desk, a bottle between them with its glass dirtied and cloudy. I downcast my eyes, pulling at the sleeves of my jacket and holding them close around my folded fingers.
"Can I help you?" The man with his legs on the desk asked, his words contradicted with the nonchalance of his voice and boredom of his posture.
"I think maybe … a coach headed for here got itself held up in the canyon about 10 miles back," he said, a simplicity to his words almost rid of the malice and arrogance that otherwise always accompanied them.
"God damn it," the man from the door in frustration remarked, marching in with his dime store shoes professionally shifting over the boards.
"…By Mr. Ben Wade himself," Charlie finished, adding on the extra detail for finesse.
"How did you know it was Wade?" The man from the desk demanded, his legs now settled onto the floorboards and concern etched into the lines and deep set wrinkles of his face.
"It's been him the past 21 times, Marshal," the blue suited man pointed out with exasperation, his fingers dutifully working on loading his gun.
"I saw a Mexican sharpshooter and an Apache," Charlie continued, the tiny explanation behind his words to back up his claim.
"God damn it, Jesus Christ," The man by the desk said, righting himself to his feet and moving over to presumably where his gun was hanging.
"And I've been told …," Charlie began, shifting his stance so the jacket hung more loosely around him.
"Did you see the Hand of God?" One of the man asked, loading his rifle and barely glancing over at Charlie.
"What's that?" I asked, feigning ignorance when I could in the back of my mind feel the memory of pa letting me hold it in my hands, run my fingers over the raised gold cross and hear him explain how it worked.
"His pistol," the man explained, barely taking in the fact that I had been the one to ask.
"Why the hell didn't you do something?" The man in the blue suit asked with irritation, pulling at the edges of his jacket. Charlie looked over at him in feigned disbelief at the question.
"They had a lot of weapons, mister," he said simply and slowly, drawing at the explanation so that he would understand. "And they were shootin' bullets." The man in the blue suit stared back at him with barely disguised contempt.
"Besides …," Charlie continued a smirk present in his voice despite the fact that it was void from his lips. "I had the missus to think of." I felt him glance down at me and a heat rolled through my entire body until every part of me uncomfortably burned with it.
"Let's go, we're wasting time," one of the man said, tired with the conversation and headed out the door, rifle ready and loaded in his hands. The man in the blue suit continued to glare at Charlie, his explanation winning no favors from him and followed, the cut of the sun moving over him as he stepped outside. I turned and went after, Charlie close behind as he walked uneasily, his step a poke of fun at the men so easily swayed in the direction he pointed.
"Where you from, anyway?" The man who had stood by the desk asked, walking around his horse and trailing his fingers over its flank. Charlie looked over, the movement stunted and slow, the shadows breaking in through his dirtied stubble and lining it bronze.
"Tom Conrad bought a thousand head in Mexico. Hired us to bring them in," he explained simply, the shaded light etching into the sides of his face and making it appear gaunt.
"And the Missus?" The same man asked, nodding down towards me, remembering that I still stood there. Charlie himself glanced down, the expression on his face unreadable as I kept my gaze directed down towards the disturbed dust, multiple foot and hoof prints marring it's surface.
"Something's gotta keep me warm at night," he responded, the malice and arrogance he lived and breathed cracking and peeling through my skin with discomfort and a deep rooted hatred that I didn't fully understand.
"Let's go. Come on, boys," one of them said and hoof beats echoed in the dust and air with their encouragements and I raised my eyes to see their flanks fading into the dying grass. Charlie chuckled somewhat and pulled himself off the post and sauntered over to the chair where he borrowed the jacket, unbuttoning it carefully and swinging it off his arm. I stepped down onto the dirt next to the boardwalk, the shift in texture under my shoes puffing up the dust and walked over to where Pa was stepping. The careful decoration and fine details of his jacket stood out and yet blended in with the air and scenery around him, his eyes looking over to see me approach.
"You did good," he half congratulated, eyes shifting and fixating on the various members of the outfit moving from their hiding spots.
"I didn't do nothing," I replied, slipping my fingers loose from the cuff of my jacket, rough red lines across them from where I gripped the fabric too tightly.
"That's why you did good," He replied, stepping up onto the new boardwalk and his shoes resounding on the boards. I swallowed a bitterness on my tongue not caused by the thirst and the heat and stepped up onto the boards myself, the sound of my steps blending into my ears with an irritation. Pa pushed open the saloon doors, his hands briefly lingering on the decorated wood before letting them drop. I stepped behind the swing of them and into the cooled shade of the bar. Sickly, yellow wallpaper plastered the walls with the occasional bare lamp or detailed frame decorating it with the presumption of elegance. A dusted stove stood proud in the corner, a yellowing curtain hanging just behind that. The woman from earlier sweeping walked between the disorganized tables and chairs, glasses clinking in the box she held and her eyes downcast. Pa pulled off his hat and laid it carefully on the bar before sweeping his fingers through his hair.
"Ma'am? Some whiskey for my friends," he politely asked, leaning against the edge of the bar and his eyes following her every move with a darkened lust. She stared back with care before setting down the box and pulling out the glasses inside and lining them up along the bar. She turned and grabbed a whiskey bottle off the wall and started to pour, her eyes trained on her actions as Pa's eyes were trained on her movements.
"And a water for my daughter," he added on, barely glancing over at me to acknowledge that I was still there. I leaned my elbows against the bar and pulled off my hat, sweat tangled through my hair and making it stand around my head in a softened halo. She made no indication of hearing but moved behind to the curtained back and pulled out a jug and metal cup. I swallowed the lump in my throat and dug my fingers into the stitches of my hat as she turned to face me and slid the cup over, the sound of its metal grating against the wood.
"Don't drink it to fast or you'll be sick," Pa warned, his eyes once again glued into every miniscule movement that the woman made. I bit my tongue and tasted sickly metallic and raised the cup to my lips and took a sip. The water ran clear and cool down my throat, ridding the bitterness and raw sensation on my tongue and clearing through the film that seemed to curdle through my head. I pulled it gently away from my lips, small droplets beading on my cracked lips.
"Thank you," I said quietly, the metal rim still hovering on my tongue.
"You're welcome," she replied just as quietly, her eyes still lowered as she poured Pa a shot.
"Here's to the four we lost in battle," Charlie stated, no more than a hint of sincerity in his voice. Everyone grabbed their shot and raised it half in the air, their cracked and dirtied hands closed around the almost clean glasses half full. "And here's to the boss, who …had to say goodbye to Tommy Darden today. And that's too bad." He finished with an almost smile on his lips, his eyes still solemn with presumed sadness and solemnity.
"He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life," Pa began, righting himself and staring down the outfit with a pious note in his voice betrayed by every other detail about him. "He that opens his lips too wide shall bring on his own destruction."
"Proverbs 13:3," I said quietly, every word Pa spoke imprinted into my mind and on my tongue so that I could repeat them in perfect unison as him.
"Good girl," Pa acknowledged, glancing back at me before back to the outfit. "Tommy was weak. Tommy was stupid. Tommy is dead." He spoke his word harshly, with a threat to each one and a taunt that anyone question him.
"I'd drink to that," Charlie said simply and downed his shot and set it back onto the bar with a clink. I turned to my own cup and took another sip, the cool bite of it diminished somewhat.
"Sutherland. Jorgenson. Campos. Jackson. Kinter," Charlie listed off, footsteps sounding on the floor as he each man went forward to collect his due. Pa turned back to the bar, again taking in the young woman with darkened eyes. I finished the water and set the cup back onto the bar and wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, tasting the dust crushed into the fabric.
"Marshal's only half stupid," Charlie pointed out, returning to lean against the bar, the swinging doors closing as the outfit stepped back out into the harshened sun. "He's gonna be back soon." Pa didn't say anything, his attention gone, cut and focused on the elegantly loose strands of hair around the woman's neck.
"They're going across the border," he continued. "I won't be far. I'll wait for you." He paused, his words hanging frozen in the air with no acknowledgment to claim them.
"All right, Charlie," Pa finally said, irritation edged in his voice at the disruption. Charlie nodded, recognizing this and pushed himself away from the bar and out the door, the doors swinging on their hinges that squeaked with rust and age. Pa grunted somewhat and fully stood, reaching into the front of his vest and pulling out a thick wad of dollar bills.
"Why don't you go across to the general store and pick up something to eat," Pa said, his head bowed as he counted out the bills, wrinkled between his fingers and held out several to me. I reached out for them and folded them in half, the paper collapsing over my forefinger.
"Nothing too sweet," he pointed out and I looked up at him, his face solemn and for the moment his eyes clear of lust and replaced with a look that was clean of any particular thought or emotion but an edge of affection that he always only showed the barest brunt of.
"Yes, Pa," I said, biting back the resentment that forever hovered on my tongue. I glanced over at the woman, her eyes on the stained glasses in her hands and her hair curled delicately over her neck. The next few steps that were going to take place seemed to move like ghosts through the room, brushing against my mind with a sickening realization. I looked back at Pa who silently nodded and I grabbed my hat and placed it onto my head and pushed it down so that it fit more comfortably. The strands of my hair flattened around it, the occasional strand tangled over my ears and I walked to the patch of sunlight visible through the door. I pushed on it and it creaked and swung closed as I stepped down the steps and the brilliant sunlight blinded me, the dust kicked up and turned to diamonds in the light.
Rose munched on the broken shards of carrot from my palm, her lips wetly moving across my skin and causing the hairs to stand up on my arm. I ran my fingers along the side of her face, the softness under my fingernails and over the grooves on my palm. Her lips closed over my now empty palm, searching for any remaining pieces and I dropped it, wiping the dampness of it on my pants. I leaned my forehead against hers and pressed my lips between her eyes, resting there as her head nuzzled still at my empty palm. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, the scent of her heavy in my nostrils and swimming through my memory. A breathe of hot air rustled through my hair, draping it over my face and along my neck with a shiver. Thick strands of black hair over crystallized blue eyes fell into place in my memory, the lines sharp and intense against a contrast over everything else too dull and faded. I tightened my fingers into the harness, a harsh sensation in my chest that ripped through my body, a yearning and a want that overcame every other basic instinct and desire that I knew. Footsteps shifted in the dirt, the clink of metal in rhythm of the steps and I opened my eyes, my vision blurred by the hair of Rose's forehead. I pulled it away; fingers still twisted in the harness and looked over to see Charlie standing against a post, his gaze directed down at me with tiny movements in his eyes that followed every one of mine. I swallowed and untangled my fingers, instead running them through her mane and behind her ears, holding onto the sensation of something concrete when all I could feel was his eyes.
"I got you a carrot," he said and I looked over, a thick carrot with peeling skin in his palm outstretched towards me.
"Already got her one," I said simply, her nose nuzzled into my jacket and her lips catching at the fabric. I ran my fingers down the lines of her face, waiting for him to leave. He chuckled somewhat, the sound clipped and unnatural.
"One more won't kill her," he said, his head tilted and a breeze curling through his hair and reweaving them into a new disheveled fashion. I looked over at the carrot still outstretched and reached for it, my fingers grazing over the rough leather of his gloves. The roughness of the carrot left tiny orange shavings in my palm and I held it out to Rose, my fingers carefully spread out as Pa taught me. She clamped her lips around it, crunching noisily and adding a distraction to the thoughts in my mind, the ashen ones that blew through almost unnoticed and the sharpen ones that cut clear through impossible to be denied.
"She's a good horse," Charlie said, suddenly next to me and the scent and feel of him surrounding me in a blur, his hand stroking down Rose's flank.
"Ya she is," I responded, her tongue gathering the last few flakes of carrot and wetly coating my hand. I wiped it on my jacket, dirtying it and pressed a kiss onto her nose. The feel was damp and I walked around to the post and stepped up onto it, the roughened wood chipping into my palms. I turned carefully and settled on top of it, wiping the wetness off my face and gripping the other side of the post and bracing my feet on it. Charlie continued to pat Rose before he turned and leaned against the post next to me, running his fingers along one another and staring down at them like there was some fascination to the movement. I lifted my head to stare down the end of the road, the streaks of green catching through the dead earth and blending almost into the dyed blue sky.
"You're growing into quite a fine woman," he said, looking up from his hands and dropping them to his sides. I dug my fingers into the crumbled wood, my heart beat beginning to pick up and race in my chest, imprinting it's touch against my ribs.
"Thank you," I answered, no other words coming to mind, nothing to say or do to escape from the situation. Nowhere to go but running into the bar where Pa was presumably still with the woman, to interrupt him and either face his anger or a worse consequence that broke through me with the ghost of a memory to justify my fear in it.
"There's no need to thank me, it's the truth," he said with a slight laugh and shifted closer against the post, the feel of his leg pressing against my thigh. It imprinted itself with care and I stared down at the dirt, dead tufts of grass flattened and broken across it.
"You're becoming a very beautiful woman, Sarah," he said and he reached over and dusted his finger down the side of my face, along my jaw and done my neck. Panic thrust itself into my throat, a sickness spawned from emotions I couldn't quite name breaking under my skin. His shadow shifted as he leaned over, the individual strands of weaved bronze and gold visible over his lips …
"Weren't you going to the border to lead off the Marshal?" I asked slivers of wood under my fingernails and breaking into splinters, the taste of his breath almost on my lips. He froze in sudden realization of the thought, his eyes downcast and tracing over the line of my jaw and eyes. I slid my hand off the barked post and to my gun, sketching out the basic details of it. His eyes lowered further to it, my finger set on the trigger with a tremble sparked from an uncertain origin.