Blackjack

19

Virgil and I followed the rock-bottom wash for about a hundred yards, and then it curved back toward the road. We crossed the road out of sight of the way station. Then we made our way back toward the building. Once we had it in sight we cut back to the west, walked another couple hundred yards, and came up on the depot from the back side.

We split up and moved up on opposite sides of the living quarters. After a time of waiting, hearing nothing and not seeing movement, we crossed swiftly up to the back of the way station.

The back door was cracked open, and Virgil moved up to one side of the door and I positioned myself on the other side.

I pushed on the door with the barrel of my eight-gauge and it swung open. There were no shots fired. I took off my hat and moved it just past the doorjamb, soliciting fire, but again there was nothing, and within an instant I moved in and Virgil followed.

The interior was a simple storeroom with supplies for sale and a kitchen with a counter for eating and drinking.

Lying flat on his back in the center of the room was the man with the dark scraggly beard we’d heard about. It was obvious by his size and shape he was young, but how young exactly was hard to tell because his face was covered with blood. He was very much alive and it was clear to see the result of my single shot was at least for the moment not fatal, but the bullet had clipped off his nose. The combination of his missing nose and swollen jaw from where Mrs. Opelka removed two teeth made for a grotesque image.

He turned his head ever so slightly, looking blankly at Virgil and me, and then looked back up at the ceiling. Every labored breath he took made a bubble of blood where his nose used to be.

The rifle he killed Skinny Jack with was lying in front of the north window where he dropped it when I shot him. He made no effort to go for the rifle or the pistol he had on his hip.

I moved to him and removed the pistol from his hip and snugged it behind my belt.

“Where are the other two?” Virgil said.

He choked on his blood, then spit.

“Fuck them,” he said. “They... they left me here...”

His voice was muffled and muted from a swollen mouth and a missing nose. He turned his head a little and spit a large gob of blood across the floor, and when he did we could see the bullet not only took off his nose but took a hunk of flesh from his cheek as well.

“They... they... took my horse,” he said.

“Truitt and Bill got your nose shot off, too,” I said.

He looked at me wide-eyed as tears welled up.

“Fu... fuck them,” he said again, then moaned.

“Where are they?”

He didn’t answer. He lay motionless, staring at the ceiling.

“How about we help you,” I said. “Give you an ounce of satisfaction.”

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“Wh... what?” he said, then spit another stream of blood. “How the fuck are you gonna give me satisfaction?”

“By you telling us where they took off to,” I said. “That would have to give you some satisfaction.”

He raised his hand up to his face where his nose used to be. Then he shook his head from side to side and spoke through clenched teeth.

“Oh, God,” he said. “Fuck...”

“Yeah, you don’t look so good,” I said. “Don’t imagine you feel too good, either.”

“Seeing how they left you here to fend for yourself,” Virgil said. “And got your nose shot off and took your horse to boot, I think the quicker you let us know where Truitt and Bill went, the better things might go for you.”

“Fuck,” he said.

He looked at the ceiling and shook his head from side to side and mumbled as if he were having a conversation with himself.

“They...” he said.

“They what?” I said.

A bubble of blood swelled up as he exhaled, and then it popped. He gasped, choked on more blood, then coughed and spit. He tried to talk, but blood filled his mouth and he gagged. I pulled a chair from the counter and grabbed him with one hand by the collar and lifted him.

“Up,” I said.

He managed to rise. He leaned over and spit. I slid the chair under him and he sat. He lowered his head as if he were about to black out.

“I got little concern for you,” I said. “Where?”

He looked worse sitting up than he did lying down. In my time fighting the Comanche I’d seen plenty of people live with faces disfigured like this, missing lips and noses and ears and scalps. He lowered his chin to his chest.

“Do not pass out on us,” I said.

“Tell us what you know,” Virgil said.

He lifted his head a little.

“You’re... you’re Hitch... and Cole,” he said.