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Buck was at Jed Buckmaster’s place talking about how one
of the races of Squaattoos were invading the Earth; how his posse got
ambushed and instantly killed and of the falling out between him and Graax.
Episode 42
While we were still loaded for bear from all that drinking,
dizzy as birds who'd eaten some funny berries, Jed got his tack together so
he could ride into town.
Elizabeth helped him pack. "This sounds
dangerous."
"We're men, ain't we?" I slurred, clopping Jed on
the back. "We're made for danger. Danger is our name; are our
names."
My buddy's wife smiled at me demurely. "I don't like
to see you go."
"I don't want to go neither," I interjected.
"I don't want to get my dang head blown off."
"You do what you need to do," she said to Jed,
ignoring me.
"Thank you kindly, dear," Jed said, hugging her
from behind as she stuffed his saddlebag. "I'd be scared for all of us
too if I wasn't so well preserved."
"I might need to get preserved myself, hearing you
men," she said, giggling nervously.
"You know where I keep it," Jed said.
"You should even give it to the kids," I
suggested, laughing. "Feed it to the chickens, too! Them Pxelepiti'll
want your chickens!"
Jed looked at me sternly before breaking into a smile and
taking my shoulders into his hands, "You're finally feeling good about
all this, aren't you old buddy?"
"Yes, I am. Thanks old buddy-pal o' mine," I
said, patting my stomach.
"Your attitude is showing quite an improvement."
"I should have started drinking much sooner! Too bad
it really doesn't make thinking about the Pxelepiti all go away. But now I
just don't care!"
"There'll be time for thinking about them later,"
Jed said.
"I'm surprised you ain't got the heaves yet,"
Elizabeth said.
I patted my stomach, said: "This is made of pure cast
iron, like a big old boiler."
That glib comment was too daring to say aloud. It tempted
fate to render deleterious results upon my guts.
And so they lurched.
"Excuse me," I said, urping and running into the
kitchen to heave into their scrap bucket. The whole Buckmaster clan watched,
laughing.
Wave after wave of nausea came over me. I spewed again and
again for what seemed like an eternity. As I stared down into the obscured
tin bottom of the bucket, the thought occurred to me that I now knew why
Indians drank so much. What else was there to do when your world and land
was being stolen away from you?
My stomach settled down after finally finished heaving. I
slept until five o'clock the next morning first in the parlor, then the
boys' bedroom. I woke up with a needling, insistent headache reminding me
why I don't often drink much. I forced myself to eat a big breakfast of
biscuits, jerky and eggs because it tasted good. I also took a few cups of
strong coffee for good measure in order to sober up.
At seven, we set out. It was going to be some day, one I
predicted would end with me dead after sundown.
On the ride, I didn't speak but a few words to Jed. There
wasn't much I wanted to say. I spent the time taking in everything as
accurately as I could, checking for the details I might have missed: a
roadrunner here; yucca there; the blue mountains in the distance; the orange
sunrise.
When Jed came west from Virginia, he was peach-fuzz-faced,
just learning to use a razor. Now I appreciated the grizzled rancher he'd
become years later. I wondered what he'd be like in twenty years. I wondered
what I, too, what I would've looked like in twenty years. Edith, Caleb and
Becky too. After I was dead, I had no idea if I would see things in the same
way, or even if anyone is allowed to see things in Hell. That's where I was
going.
"I need to tell everyone what happened," I said
to Jed. "There's not going to be a newspaper without Atwell."
"How you going to get the word out?" Jed asked.
"I need a triangle or something. I'll call them like
they was coming to dinner."
"You should have told me back at the ranch. I could
have gotten you a cowbell," Jed said. "That'd work."
I hadn't though about it, but I still wanted a triangle. I
had my reasons. "I'll just buy a big old triangle when I get to
town," I said.
Whitby MacMillian had one in stock and showed me right to
it. Though money was going to be scarce for Edith and the kids with me gone,
the triangle would serve as a fine remembrance as to what a fool I had been.
Every time Edith used it to call Caleb and Becky to dinner, it would remind
them how much better off they were without me. Then they wouldn't feel bad
about my demise.
I plunked my coins down and walked out of the store. Jed
began haggling over flour, rice, beans, salt and other victuals.
"War or no war, a body's got to eat. Might as well
make a few procurements before prices run up," he said.
Whitby kept asking him what he wanted so much of everything
for, but Jed wasn't tipping his hand. I had no worries about Edith and the
kids. Jed might make himself rich by speculating. If not, his family would
be well supplied for several years if they could keep the bugs out of the
victuals. He'd take care of Edith and the kids out of gratitude and for old
times' sake, I figured.
While Jed wrangled, I rode the pinto through the streets
clanging the triangle like a cook on a cattle drive, calling out like a New
England town crier: "Meeting! Public Meeting! Five p.m.!
Metropolitan!" Though I hadn't made arrangements to host a meeting there,
I figured they wouldn't mind the extra business. Crowds buy food and drinks.
"What's all this about?" people asked.
"Come to the meeting and find out," I answered, not
wanting to tell the story of the massacre more than once. I wasn't in any
hurry to get started and embarrass myself by starting to sob like a little
girl.
One man asked me where Skinner Alexander was. "Heard he
was with you."
"I can't talk about that right now," I said.
"He dead?"
"You'll find out at the meeting tonight. Hope you
come," I said smiling mysteriously, quickly riding away.
Upon returning to MacMillian's, I found Jed still hard at
work, bargaining away the afternoon.
Whitby was still trying to find out what Jed and I were
planning. "What do you want with all this stuff?"
"I'm tired of having to come into town all the time for
provisions," Jed lied.
"Seems like you're trying to buy an awful lot for just
your family. What is your friend the sheriff going to talk about?"
"Come to the meeting tonight at the Metropolitan, Whitby,"
I said, stepping up.
"There going to be war?" Whitby guessed.
I shrugged. Jed's deal probably hinged on me saying
"no,” but I wasn't going to lie. If I was going to meet the Maker soon,
I wanted to do it with as clean a conscience as possible - even if Whitby felt
inclined to raise his prices tenfold and even if I was going to Hell anyway.
"You come to the Metro. You'll find out." I didn't
like standing there with either of them right then. I walked to the door.
"I'm going home," I said, describing to Jed how to find the place.
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