Ride the Man Down by Bill Brooks

Author:Bill Brooks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2017-10-18T18:20:14+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

They slept in blood. Several times during the night John Henry Cole awoke from dreams in which a man stood over him, his pistol aimed at Cole’s face, his laughter like the ripping of cloth as Cole watched his finger squeeze the trigger. Cole would awake, feel the pain in his leg, the cold wetness of blood in his boot, and remember the shooting. The darkness of the night was complete—no moon, a clouded sky blotting out even the stars. It was as if he had been dropped down a deep hole in the earth, and it was a fearful place to be.

Cole managed to shake the shroud of dread and bring himself fully awake. He rolled a shuck and smoked it. Only the rasping breathing of Jimmy Wild Bird told Cole that Jimmy was still alive. He wouldn’t be for long if Cole didn’t find some help. Cole knew the wound Jimmy had suffered to his elbow, if left untreated, would turn to gangrene and the poisoned blood would flow to his heart and that would be the end of him. Cole had seen it happen before—during the war, men with relatively minor wounds that turned their blood to poison and stilled their hearts.

The smoke brought a sort of peace and gave Cole a chance to rein in his thoughts. He remembered horses running, the stifled moans of the Indian, night descending, sleep. Something walked in the woods, a twig snapped, and Cole stiffened before realizing it wasn’t the footfall of a man but probably a raccoon or opossum and eased the hammer back down on his pistol. He took a deep draw on the shuck, then heard another sound, a long wailing like the cry of a panther and realized it was coming from the cabin and that it was human.

Cole moved to the side of the policeman and shook him awake, clamping his hand over Jimmy’s mouth as he did. “There’s someone still in the cabin,” he said. “Don’t talk but stay alert, if you can. I’m going down to take a look.”

Cole felt the fever of Jimmy’s flesh against his palm; the poison was already starting to gather itself in his blood. Cole’s leg was stiff and hurt like there was a wedge of cold steel driven into it, but he could walk well enough and he made his way to the cabin, sensing every step, feeling his way, holding his every breath.

He got close, saw the frame of greasy, yellow light in the window, and his heart quickened. The wailing sound that had caught his attention had stopped. The cabin was now as silent as the night. He saw the women through the window—one lying on the bed, the other sitting next to her, holding her hand. The cabin’s light played far enough out into the yard that Cole could see that the horses in the corral were gone. He saw the boots of a man, sticking out from behind a counter at the opposite end of the room, the toes pointing skyward.

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