Desert Creatures by Kay Chronister

Author:Kay Chronister
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erewhon Books

The rusty scent of dried meat cooking woke us. Dawn was stretching pale and woolen across the Mojave, bleaching the Joshua trees and the junipers, the boulders and the sand, so that everything, including the earth, looked white.

“Thought you two would die of sleeping,” said Barabbas Knight, talking around a half-chewed hunk of meat. “Come on now, get something to eat.”

As she had the night before, the girl refused the meat he offered. I wondered if it was distrust of the men or distrust of the food itself that kept her from sating her hunger. I could not have refused the meat if it had been rancid. Barabbas glanced at the girl and, determining that any additional food rations would only be wasted on her, lifted another piece smoking from the spit to his own mouth. He said, chewing, “You won’t eat, Barebones sure will. Come get yourself something, Barebones.”

Barebones regarded Barabbas doubtfully, then the meat that had been intended for the girl, and slunk cautiously over to it like a feral animal. He let his eyes fall across the girl and then me, and then he returned to his horse, with whom he shared his extra portion. The animal lipped eagerly at the meat. At the girl’s look of disgust, Barabbas laughed. “That’s nothing next to the rest of what I’ve seen those animals do. You ever sit a desert horse, girl? Or for that matter, a regular one?”

I translated for her. “A mule,” she said haltingly. “When I was a child.”

“A mule will carry you, but a desert horse, my girl, they’ll take you somewhere. They don’t get tired. They spook at just about everything, but they’ll run forever. I think they got a bit of behemoth in ’em. I’ve heard road stories. Can’t imagine it’s pretty, the amorous union of regular old mustang stock and that walking sludge, but it does make for fine horses. Come on now. We’ll get you saddled up. Make better time if you’re not falling on your face.” He seemed to halfway exhaust himself with the stream of speech that flowed from his lips. He gave no indication of remembering the girl couldn’t understand him.

“He’s going to let us ride,” I said, when she looked questioningly at me.

The girl seemed pleased by this development, but she balked when Barabbas motioned to the saddle occupied by One-Eye, who gazed vacantly upon the desert with his remaining eyeball.

“I want my own horse,” she said.

Reluctantly, I translated, expecting what would come of such a demand.

“You see an extra horse here?” Barabbas said, motioning to the clump of horses beneath the mesquites. “Even if we had one, I wouldn’t trust you.”

The girl understood enough to grasp that she had been refused. “I don’t want to share,” she protested, her voice rising in pitch, getting tremulous. She seemed to find the prospect of riding with someone else not merely unpalatable but frightening.

“Look, now,” Barabbas said. “I’m not in the mood for a fight. You wanna share with Jeroboam? I’m sure Jeroboam would be happy to make a little space for you in his saddle.

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