The confusion was clearing up as Tom's body processed the alcohol. He
looked around. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His head throbbed and he
recalled the blackout. A heavy weight in his right hand drew his attention and he
looked down at a gun. That's when he noticed the blood on his sleeve. From
behind him, a feminine voice called his name and he remembered that someone
had hit him on the head—the woman.
She shone the light of the lantern on him. “I’m sorry Mister Stevens…but I
thought.”
Tom rubbed the top of his head where she’d used some hard, blunt object,
like a rock, to put an end to his celebration. The sounds from the crickets were
shouting between his ears. “Well it be seemin’ to me I’d be the one that’s needin’
protection from wild animals and savages and the likes of you.”
“I don’t need your protection, and I don’t need you drunk and acting peculiar.”
She offered her hand.
He refused it, stood, wobbled, took a misstep. She stuck out a stiff arm and
steadied him. Tom took the lantern and turned down the yellow flame. “You can
see more with less light.”
“I just turned it up to see if you were dead.”
“Dead. Thomas Leroy Stevens dead? That would surely be the day. Missy, I’
ve been bit by ever color, size, and shape of snake, chewed on by wolves and
other smaller unfriendly vermin, kicked, shot, wounded by the savage man’s
arrows, and now I’ve survived a surprise attack from a proper Christian woman.”
He bent over to pick up his Colt revolver and came back up dizzy. “Woo, now that’
s a combination I’ll avoid in the future, Irish Whiskey and bein’ clobbered by a
virtuous woman.”
“You’re still bleeding.”
“No, I’m not. You ain’t seen real bleedin’, Missy. I knows when it’s real bleedin’.”
“Then what’s dripping down your elbow, rose water?”
Tom held the lantern in the other hand and examined his elbow and then held
the light low to the ground. There were dark spots, the size of dollar gold pieces.
He swayed as he stood tall. “Well, I be scabbin’ over soon. So don’t you go
worrying about me. Seen my hat?”
“Who said I was worried.”
She didn’t look a bit worried. “Now, what would I’ve done if you’d sent poor
Tom to be in the presence of Saint Peter, before I’d had my rightful opportunity to
express my sincere apologies to the Lord Almighty, for all I’d done wrong? That
wouldn’t have been very Christian of you, Missy, in my opinion.”
“Then perhaps you should repent now, Mister Stevens,” she said, turned her
back on him, and stomped off, back to the dying embers of the camp fire.
Tom followed closely behind. “Say now, but what was I doing so far out in the
sagebrush with my pants still up?” He wondered if she had tried to kill him.
She stopped, turned, and looked at him along with a million stars that were
behind her. “Sir, you were chasing me.”
Her hands rested on her hips just above her new suede leather trousers, on
those bony hips. Not enough meat on her, Tom had thought, from when he’d first
laid eyes on her.
“Missy, if Thomas Leroy Stevens had be wanting to—“
“Shut up!” She dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. “Why
must men be so arrogant and stupid?” The crickets fell silent. “For three days
and nights you’ve talked non-stop. I am so frustrated, sick and tired, and ready to
puke up snakes if you don’t shut up!” She turned and the crickets resumed.
He looked to see if anyone else had witnessed the thrashing this proper
woman had given him, but he knew no one was within two days ride from them,
yet he felt like he’d just exposed his privates in public.
“Now, you look here, Missy.” It was too late; she hid behind her horse and
probably couldn’t hear him. She’d hurt him worse than the blow to his skull.
He saw his hat and turned it over. A scorpion fell out and landed on the toe of
his boot. He reached with the heel of his other boot to stomp it, but lost his
balance and fell backwards into a clump of brush.
The lantern fell to the ground and burst into flames. Tom scrambled, tossing
dirt on the blue and white flames. “Holy, tarnations!” His shirtsleeve had caught
on fire. He was waving it around like a surrender flag when Miss McKay came and
put her boot on his arm, pushed, and pinned it to the ground like a green
sapling. She kicked dirt on the fire with her other foot. He was glad that his beard
hadn’t caught fire as she might have put a boot to his neck.
“That were an accident purely and simply, Missy and I almost had that fire out
when you comes along and—“
“Do you know the meaning of delusional, Mister Stevens?”
He hesitated, ignoring his pain. “Sure do. I’ve been deluged with rain many
times.”
“I don’t believe this.”
She paused and put her hands on those bony hips again.
“How could my father pick you to be my escort? You’re an imbecile.” She
turned to walk away.
“I volunteered, Missy.”
She stopped.
“You’re daddy said in his letter that he’d be obliged to any man at Fort Hall
that would see his daughter safely to Fort Boise. He is payin’ a large ransom….”
She faced him and he sat up holding his arm.
“Why would he do that?”
“Well, Missy, I’ve said too much. Your daddy won’t like me tellin’ his business.
It’s man-to-man stuff.”
The light of the stars was enough to see the look on her face that told him
that she still had meat to pick off this bone.
“Man-to-man? Yes, my father left my mother and me to…to be with men out
west.”
“Well, Missy.”
“Stop calling me that. I hate that and I hate you and I hate my father.”
Tom was confused. She was the spittin’ image of her father and just as hot
headed. “Miss…you gots to be proud of your daddy, hear me now? Why there’s
men owing their lives to him.”
“See, that’s my point. He abandoned us eight years ago because I’m a
woman.”
“You’s livin’ mighty good there in Boston, nears I can figure. He says he be
sending the money but never once gots a thanks for it.”
She sat on the ground not more than two stretched out snakes away and
threw her head up in the stars like she was looking for the answers there. “Were
you born stupid or did you have to work at it?”
“Now, Missy, no call for that. I can see plain as if the sun was high up that your
daddy hurt you for leaving you and your momma, while he helps to tames this
country. He be helpin’ our nation grow. Besides, I hear’d he done built a fine
wood home for you and your momma at Fort Boise.” She brought her head down
and had that same look Mr. McKay gets when he’s dead determined to get
something done.
“My mother died two months ago. From a broken heart. He killed her and I’m
going to kill him.”
At that moment, she was the most frightful animal or savage he’d come
across. “Now, Missy, really sorry to learned this news ‘bouts your momma, but
this talk of killing your daddy…. This happens to folk on the Oregon Trail, seen it
lots. They gets scared mostly, then go talkin’ foolish stuff—”
“This is not foolish talk!”
She pulled a .45 caliber Derringer from her boot; he would have felt the same
if a mule had kicked him in the chest.
“I am going to kill him when I first see him.”
“Well, Missy—.”
“I told you to stop calling me that. That’s what my father calls….me.”
He grinned. He hoped that his daughter wouldn’t see through his ruse and
disguise and send him to see Saint Peter, before he had time to square things
with her and the Lord Almighty.
The End
The Lord Almighty
(2007) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
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