The Beautiful Dead

5

When morning came the wind had gone. Sunlight from the mountain peaks shone through the windows in bright beams, small particles of dust floating in the air which smelled of death. The bodies they had been forced to keep inside to avert their prize being torn apart by wild dogs had already begun to decompose. Trying to lash them to the horses proved difficult, as they were stiff and solid as though stricken with frost and aggravatingly hard to maneuver. It took a good portion of the morning getting them outside and through the snow--which had thickened to near three feet overnight--to the horses, straddled over, and tied. When they were done, Richard and Pete went inside to drink coffee and eat their breakfast. Their fingers and feet tingled painfully as they came out of their numb state.
   He moved to the front door and stood in the threshold sipping from the steaming cup. He realized suddenly the vast isolation around them. From where he stood there was nothing but an endless, wavy sheet of white. The only thing around to witness the passing days out here were the trees standing silent and tall, defiant against the bleak terrain.
   He took out his pipe. He had to remove his gloves to pack it with tobacco, exposing them to the freezing air just long enough to sting, then lit a match and smoked. He could hear Pete moving around inside the cottage, and from time to time he would turn around to look, but he never saw any actions to credit his suspicions. He was beginning to wonder if he had truly, in fact, seen Pete unsettlingly sitting in the dim light watching him or if it had been but a dream.
   After they ate and gathered any supplies they might need for the journey, they set off. They traveled with four horses, one for both of them and two to carry the bounties, a palomino and a brown and white painted saddlebred the newly dead had ridden there. The two extra horses would undoubtedly slow them, and cost a great amount of excess supplies, but there was little choice, one horse can't carry three men. Richard wondered whether they would have enough stocks to make it back, if the need came they might have to shoot one of the horses. The thought did cross his mind, though, that just one rider could rather easily accomplish the journey, and again his suspicion returned. Perhaps that was Pete's plan, to kill him once they were on the trail then take his supplies. The idea gnawed at the back of his mind, finding a place and resting in his subconscious. He tried to push it out and forget it, but every so often it would return.
   It was an uneventful journey for two days. It snowed little, but the ground had not thawed enough for the older snow to melt, so it merely thickened. They had not come across any other travelers, though they did witness a rabbit hopping across the snow. They attempted to shoot it with one of the rifles, but it missed and the creature scurried away. That was a day ago and there was still far to go.
   They stopped to make a campfire for the night. They gathered branches from the pines nearby, broke off the small limbs and used what was left to form a base over the snow. They started it slowly, delicately, careful not to overwhelm it, then gradually fed it larger sprigs and limbs until it was a steady blaze, crackling and hot. Night was falling fast. They tied the horses to the trees and wrapped blankets over them to keep the frost at bay. The bodies would be alright to endure the weather, the cold might even preserve them, it certainly helped keep the stench mild.
   The two men huddled close to the fire opposite each other, knees tucked in to their chests, hands extended toward the flames with palms facing forward. It wasn't long before it was completely dark, and all they could see were the partial illuminations of each other's features. There were no stars to see that night, nor the moon hidden behind a veil of clouds, the sky was essentially void, endless and beautiful. The trees around them, few in number but distinguishable in the darkness, looked like people stalking about, every so often emerging from their hiding place and making the men look up in anticipation.
   Richard looked at Pete curiously, "You ain't said much. Haven't figured you for a quiet sort."
   Pete lowered his head and spoked the fire with a stick, sending a cascade of sparks into the sky. "S'pose not."
"Got somethin' on your mind?" Richard asked. He pulled out his pipe and waited for Pete to respond. He had it fully packed and lit before Pete finally answered, "I guess you could say that."
Richard blew smoke and stared hard at Pete. They sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the crackle of the fire in the vast silence, watching the smoke rise speckled with embers into the dark sky and their own breath cloud up and rise with it. Pete thought he might have heard a wolf howl somewhere in the distance, but it could have been just a trick of the wind.   
   "You gon' say what you're thinking so hard fer?" Richard asked, blowing smoke through his nose. Pete sighed and put down his spoke.
   "It's been two months since we started out on this hunt. I thought it would be an adventure, that I might be able to go back home as one of those heroes I told you about, have my own story. Now, sitting out here in this frozen nothing I keep thinking about how horrible it all is and how much I want to be home now in front of a fire with Ma and Pa and Jesabelle trying to forget I ever came here."
   "That's a pretty thought, ain't it, being with family."
"It'd be a might prettier if I wasn't here."
"I bet it would. But that's all it is, kid, a thought. This snow, the dark, the wind in your ears and the aching in your bones, that's real, that's all we have right now. Just consider yourself lucky we ain't the ones slung over some horse's ass like them fellers over there."
"You sure have a way with people, don't you, Dick?" Pete smarted.
"You don't get to be a man like me by being charming," Richard said.
"I ain't so sure I'd ever want to be a man like you."
Smoke floated in front of Richard's face.
"That's a good thing, kid."
   After a lull in the conversation Pete looked back at Richard and asked, "Were you always such a callous bastard?"
   "No," he answered coolly.
   "Really, I can't hardly imagine it."
   "Well, a woman can change a lot in a man."
   "A woman? You been married, Dick?"
   "I was."
   "What woman could've ever fell for a hateful coot like you?"
   "A poor, foolish one, unfortunately. What about you, kid, got a woman back home?"
   "I ain't married, but I got a woman to get back to."
   "She a whore? Young boys like you's always falling fer the whores."
   "No. She ain't. She runs a shop with her paw, sells dry goods and the like," Pete answered quickly, sounding insulted.
   "Sounds like a genuine lady."
   "She is, and she'd be the purtiest thing you ever saw if you laid eyes on her."
   "Aren't they always..."
Richard took a few puffs from the pipe, Pete mulled over the thought of being back home. After a while, Pete looked back up at Richard and asked, "Your wife, what was her name?"
   "Delilah."
   "That's a purty name."
   "It surely is. Was a beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
   A haziness came over Richard's eyes that Pete hadn't seen before, and in fact nobody who'd ever ridden with the man had seen before, as though he was lost in the dense forest of his memories and could see Delilah's face once again before him. Watching his gaze, Pete felt his heart yearning along with Richard's for the love he had once had and lost with Delilah.
   "What happened to her?"
   Richard came suddenly out of his state and looked at the boy with mournful eyes that said it better to be left alone and untold.
   Again came the solemn howl carried on the wind. This time close enough both men could hear it. That lonesome, hair-raising sound was enough to make the men silent, their ears tuned to every sound coming from the darkness around them. Both hoped the feeble light of the fire would be enough to keep the wolves at bay should their glowing eyes appear amidst the black.
"Best keep that fire goin'," Richard said.
It was a long, cold night, the kind that seems endless, and all the while Richard sat across from the fire watching Pete. Even after Pete had long ago fallen asleep Richard sat awake, smoking and drinking and trying to forget about the man in his dreams. He pondered his suspicions of Pete, wondered if maybe a lifetime of violence and betrayals had made him paranoid. He didn't want to hurt the boy, he could barely imagine himself doing it, in spite of his best efforts he liked him and it was this fact that made him all the more fearful. Vainly, he tried to drown his thoughts in whiskey and fall asleep, but even when he wanted to sleep the dream-man wouldn't let him, Richard would feel his cold fingers reaching for him and the stench of him in his nose and his heart would pound so hard he would jolt awake in a sweat. So he lied awake while the snow fell slowly and gradually on him, watching the clouds gather in the distance, his mind deep in the past.