The Widow

Chapter 7

My physical wounds close up.
The scars are pink and fresh.
There is still a gaping hole in my heart.
It is black and dark and hungry.

We set up camp at the top of a dry riverbank. The night sky is velvety black and covered with stars. We have a decent view in every direction.

It isn't a question as to whether or not we keep watch for the night - it's who gets the first shift. I volunteer. I sleep lightly until he nudges my shoulder.

The normal chirps and rustling noises of the nocturnal creatures is muted, as though they are aware of our interloper and waiting to see what happens. Kip sleeps like the dead. I feed the fire and clean my guns. I am comforted by their familiar heft and the small pile of bullets beside my thigh. When I finish cleaning my guns and sharpening my knives, I whittle away at a lock of wood that is intended to look like a desert bird but actually looks more like a deformed fish. I keep my hands busy to keep the paranoia at bay. Otherwise innocent night noises become terrible monsters lurking in the darkness. No one wants to waste bullets on mice and cacti. I am careful to not become too engrossed in my activities, one ear out for human sounds. When I run out of activities, I get out a deck of cards and shuffle them quietly, the weight of the upcoming poker tournament resting at the back of my mind.

When the soft, purple light of dawn encroaches on the horizon, I breathe a sigh of relief. I did not want to fight off an attacker in the dark. I kick Kip's boot and his soft snores continue.

"Kip!" I kick him again, harder.

He jumps up, knife drawn, "Wha's - who!" His land on me. He drops his hand holding the knife and scratches the back of his neck with the other. "Oh, right." He sheaths the knife. "Well, looks like we didn't get killt in our sleep. Ready to get goin'?"

Kip seems eager to get going and we are back on our horses before the sun rises. The sensation of being watched is noticeably absent. I am not quite sure if that is alarming or reassuring.

At noon, we find a rare patch of mud, which we dig up to reveal a small puddle of groundwater. The horses drink deep and we dig the hole more to fill our canteens and splash our faces. The water brings a small smile to my face and I feel rejuvenated. I wash Horse's legs, which are scabbed over and healing nicely.

Kip watches, quiet for once. I can sense the question that he's barely keeping behind his pursed lips.

"I wouldn't tell you even if you asked," I say, when he opens his mouth. His clamps it shut and breaks into a grin. "Keep your secrets, missy. It's best that way, I s'pose. You know who else keeps secrets is that Hank Camden feller. Met him once, you know." He's figured out that I have some kind of interest in Camden and thinks he'll have more of an audience of he talks about him. We set off again and Kip spins a tale about chewing the fat with Camden after a shootout in Sioux Falls.

The landscape around us changes as the mesquite grows thicker and greener around us. The terrain gains movement  and a dark red color. The rock formations seem like half-finished sculptures. Some of them resemble familiar shapes of animals or inanimate objects.

My heart nearly stops when I spot the four figures on horseback silhouetted in the sun up ahead. One moment, the rocks met the sky, and the next, they were there, watching us approach.

"Are these your friends?" I ask Kip.

His mouth forms a grin line, and he looks at me with hope and trepidation. He forces out a chuckle. "Well, I wouldn't call them friends, really. More like acquaintances. We played poker a few times back in Jackson."

The closer we get, the longer Kip is silent. The gang trot their horses forward to meet us and rein back in a few feet away. I size them up and decide that I don't care if I have to find the tournament on my own - Kip's friends are out of my league.

The leader is a big man - tall and wide. Greasy black hair and a thick beard encircle his leathery face. His eyes are cold with malice and his smile makes my skin prickle. His comrades are equally friendly. The man on the far right flicks his toothpick and leans forward casually, like a cat toying with its prey. I like him the least. I can tell they've been riding for a while - they are all covered in red dust and their faces are shaggy.

"Well, well, well, Kipper! Looks like you done forgot about us 'fore you left Jackson. You might recollect we had a deal." The leader rasps. "And you picked up a new friend to boot. You're always finding new friends, Kipper. You seem to tire of your old ones pretty quick. Either that or they tire of you. You never do know when to shut up."

"We aren't friends," I say before Kip can respond.

The leader's eyes rake over me and stop on my face.

"Well aren't you right pretty. Kipper, your friend here looks like she got fucked by a bear. 'Z that right?"

"We aren't friends."

Kip licks his lips. "Zed, look, I was going to pay you. I've got your money, only it's tied up right now. I can get it to you in a week. I swear." He looks at me and the trepidation on his face has blossomed into full-fledged fear. He begs me with his eyes. I have no idea what he expects me to do. If he thought I'd fight off these goons because he chatted with me in a bar, he's dead wrong. Besides, there's four of them and two of us, and I plan on living long enough to complete my mission. I'm not taking on any side projects, especially ones that I'd likely lose.

Zed leans over the neck of his horse and spits a black wad of tobacco on the ground between us, and presumably symbolically spitting on Kip's answer. He straightens and then studies Kip for a moment. Kip knows he's in deep trouble now.

"Tied up, you say." Yep. Deep trouble. "Well, Kip, if you ain't got my money on hand, you ain't much good to me now are you?" The three men move to better surround us. "And you might say that the only way you are much good to me is if I let you go so that you can get my money. Only problem is that then I got you runnin' around free as a bird sayin' you didn't have to pay Zed Turner. When that happens, other folks who ain't paid Zed Turner think they can do the same thing. And I bet you can figger out how that turns out for me. I don't get paid, see? By nobody."

It's looking harder and harder to extricate myself from Kip's trouble. My hand has been resting on my thigh, my fingers itching to squeeze Henry's trigger and hopefully kill at least one or two of them before I make a run for it. I've got Horse's legs to keep in mind. Now that the men are spread out, my chances of killing two of them go down significantly.

Zed continues his eloquent monologue. "So, Kip, I already come to the conclusion I'm gonna kill you. I just haven't made up my mind yet on what to do about your friend here."

His smile carves a sick hole in my gut. It's now or never.