Chasing Down the Moon by Carla Baku

Author:Carla Baku [Baku, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Look Ma No Hands Publishing
Published: 2015-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

“You look like hell, Tupper.” Joe Reilly shook his head with a low whistle. “Guess your old man found you. Y’oughta mash that nose back onto the middle of your face before it settles off to the side there.”

Byron said nothing. His entire head was a throbbing woe, and he wished the old whore’s son would tell him what he wanted done first so Byron could get to it. He’d had nothing but scratch sleep all night; when he wasn’t choking on the dribble down the back of his throat, he tried to find a way to rest so the spines of hay weren’t jabbing him. Sometime in the deepest reaches he had finally dozed off, only to be brought bolt upright by some brazen critter running crosswise over his legs; he had thrashed out with a roar, thinking rat, and only got himself settled again by clinging to the idea that it was only the barn cat on his nightly rounds.

The horses had alerted him to Reilly’s arrival, a soft whinny and thud as they moved in their stalls, anticipating a feed. Byron scuttered behind a stack of bales. After the big livery doors were pulled open, he waited until Reilly went into the small side office and then scrambled down the ladder. In the alley, he picked as much chaff off himself as he could, and gingerly washed his outraged face in a rain barrel. As the surface of the water settled, he got his first look at what Garland had done with his fists. The thought occurred to him again that it was a smaller price to pay than he had feared; retribution was done and he was still standing.

“A’right then,” Joe Reilly said. “You can start by feeding the beasties, then muck ‘em. Food and shit, food and shit. That’s a horse. Joe Kenton will be after that bay mare before noon, so after she’s fed, put the curry comb to her. I’ll take care of her hooves, though. All you need is a little kick to the face to knock that nose the rest of the way off your gob.” He handed Byron a bucket of grooming tools. “That one’s the curry comb, he said, pointing. “Go easy around her belly—she’s ticklish.” Hobbling away, he said, “Next time you want to doss down in the loft, let me know. I’ll throw you a blanket.”

Byron stared stupidly after him, thinking how a blanket last night might have guarded him from stiff bedding and small, night-roaming animals. Perhaps he’d ask for a few more nights —and a blanket— before he finished work. He set aside the bucket with the curry comb and brush, and slit open a sack of oats that slumped in one corner. One thing was sure: no matter what kind of deals old man Reilly tried to foist on him today, he would insist on the wages due him this afternoon. He planned on buying a decent meal, and when it was dark he would go to Salyer’s and get Pearl out of there.

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