Come See the Paradise
Chapter 10 – Edgar Allen Poe"Oh, no sir, I'm not goin' back up there."
"I'll go with you," Bret told him.
"Why, so somethin' strange can happen to you, too?"
"So we can figure out what's goin' on."
"I don't wanna go back out there tomorrow, Bret. I want to digest this first. I need a couple days."
"You don't wanna go out the day of the dance, do you?"
Bart gave that a minutes thought. "Well, no." He tried to reason with his brother then. "Let's wait until Saturday."
"Why put it off another two days?"
Bart hated it when Bret made sense. "Alright. That seems logical, I guess."
"Look, we don't hafta go play poker tonight. We can skip it, get up early and go out there. It's up to you."
Bart hesitated for a minute before making up his mind. "You go ahead and play. I just wanna lay down and think for a while. If that's okay with you."
"Sure," Bret nodded. "I can do that." He poured Bart another glass of wine. "Drink that. It'll do you good. I'm goin' over to the Palace. Catch ya later, Brother Bart."
"Alright, Brother Bret. Thanks." Bart picked up the glass and drank as Bret paid the bill and left for the saloon. He sat for a few minutes, finishing the wine before going back to their room. As he undressed for bed the day's events played over again in his head, and he still couldn't find any answers. He turned out the light and lay on the bed, in the dark, and kept trying to remember what happened when he 'blacked out,' but nothing came to him. Sooner than expected he closed his eyes and fell asleep, and the slumber was peaceful and soothing, unlike the last sleep he'd experienced.
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They rode out early, headed up to Lakota Pass, even though Bret hadn't been to bed yet. After a very productive night at the tables he wasn't in the least bit tired, and Bart was ready to go and see what happened today. They spent most of the journey with Bart silent and thoughtful and Bret bubbling over with the success of his poker playing. Things had certainly turned around for him since the stay in Denver.
Bart found the spot of yesterday's camp, and his book was just where he'd left it. Bret built a fire, Bart made a pot of coffee, and they settled in to see what transpired. They'd been on the mountain about an hour when Bart heard something in the bushes and assumed it to be Kimimela.
She didn't show herself and Bart finally called "Kimimela, come on out. This is my brother Bret." The rustling in the brush started again and soon the beautiful Lakota woman emerged from the undergrowth.
"Brother of Bart?" she asked shyly, staying almost ten feet away from them.
"Yes, ma'am. Brother of Bart. Would you like some coffee?"
"The hot black liquid you are so fond of?"
Bart nodded. "That's right, the black liquid we're so fond of."
She shook her head. "No, it is vile." She looked over at Bret. "You come up here too?"
Bret raised his hands. "Just to see what's goin' on."
"Spirits," she answered. "Very unhappy with the intru . . . . . intru . . . . .interruptions."
Bret watched her walk closer to Bart and sit cross-legged on the cold earth. "Don't you get cold without a fire?" he asked.
"Cold is acceptable. Are you going to break ground on the mountain?"
The older brother almost laughed at her directness. "No, Kimimela, I'm not." Bart was right, she was certainly beautiful.
"Are you always here, Kimimela?" Bart asked her.
"I live here," she replied. "This is my duty to the tribe." She turned to Bret. "You have no job either?"
"I have a profession," Bret answered her. "The same as my brother's."
"What is that?"
"We're poker players."
She curled her lips in disdain. "Men who cheat at card games."
"No, Kimimela," Bart interjected. "We don't cheat. We're honest gamblers."
"Gamblers cheat."
"That's like saying Indians kill in cold blood."
"But that is not true!" She took offense at the statement.
"Neither is what you said about gamblers."
She seemed to be pondering the concept that her belief about gamblers was wrong. "That may be true. You see things from a different side, make me see them from that side too. I was right. You are tókeka."
"Tókeka?" Bret asked.
"Different," Bart answered.
"Is that good or bad?" Bret wondered.
"Good. Not like others."
"How do you spend your time up here, Kimimela?"
"Many things. I stay busy." She stopped, listening for something the brothers couldn't yet hear. "Men coming. I go now. Good-bye, Mavericks." She bounded to her feet and was gone before either of them could say anything. Bart drew his gun and set it on his lap.
In just a few minutes three horses came over the ridge, two carrying riders and the third a pack animal. The men looked like miners, their clothes old and well-worn; their horses had seen better days. They passed by without saying anything, looking either half-asleep or half-drunk, and were soon out of sight, but Kimimela didn't return.
Bret picked up the book that Bart had left in his haste the previous day and took a good look at it. 'Tales by Edgar Allan Poe' was not something he'd ever seen Bart with before. "Reading something besides Dickens?"
"Yeah, Mary Clennon gave it to me. It's quite . . . . . . different."
"What's it about?" Bret asked.
"Stories of the supernatural . . . . . horror stories. Very creative writin'. Fascinatin' characters. Poe was an excellent writer but seems very disturbed."
Bret shook his head. "That doesn't sound like somethin' that would interest you."
"It's the way they're written. They're different, that's for sure." He took the book from Bret and walked over to the horses. "Maybe that's what spooked me yesterday." He put the book in his saddlebags. "Let's go back to town, Bret. You need to rest and I've got somethin' to do. Alright with you?"
Bret nodded, wondering if Bart had simply fallen asleep and his reading material influenced his dreams. "Sure. I could use a nap." He was already on his feet, emptying the rest of the coffee pot into the fire and making sure it was out. They both mounted and rode on down the trail, having gotten no more answers than they had before they started. Something odd was going on with Bart, but right now didn't seem like the time to pursue finding out what it was. After the dance, Bret told himself.