15
Did Sarabell see the three women Rooster took from the wagon train? Yes, she did. But only briefly. She’d been lying on her blanket on the dirt floor of the cabin—
“Blanket?” Fargo interrupted. “You didn’t have a bed?”
“Luis wouldn’t let me. Said they were a waste of money.”
“What the hell did he sleep on?”
“Me.”
“I’m happy he’s dead,” Fargo said.
Sarabell went on. “I heard a whole lot of horses and got up and peeked out. Rooster and Tate and some of the others went into the saloon. The three girls were tied to a rope and were on the ground, worn to a frazzle. I heard a couple of them crying.” She bit her lower lip. “It reminded me of me when I was took. I felt real sorry for them.”
“You’re a good woman.”
Sarabell smiled. “I don’t know as I’m that but I did try to take them some water in a jug. That awful Tate feller came out and told me to scat or he’d gut me.” She bent to the grouse and the feathers.
It would make the plucking easier if she soaked the bird first but they didn’t have anything to soak it in so Fargo didn’t say anything. He put the coffee on and got his pemmican out and offered a piece to the boy.
“To tide him over.”
Billybob stared at it with the same blank emptiness he did everything else.
“Something wrong with him?” Fargo finally mustered the gumption to ask.
Sarabell let out a long breath. She had feathers on her arms and on her chest and in her hair and a few small ones were on her nose. “He’s been this way since the time Luis hit him with a stick.”
Deep inside of Fargo, something shattered. “Tell me,” he said.
She plucked some more before saying, “Billybob was about two, I think it was. He was always a fun baby. Smiled and laughed a lot. The only happiness I had in my life.” She wrenched hard on a handful of feathers. “Then one night Luis came home drunk. Billybob had a stomach upset and was crying and when he wouldn’t stop, Luis got hold of a big stick and beat him on the head.” She gazed at her son. “Ever since, he’s been thataway. He just stares. Doesn’t laugh or smile or say anything.”
“I’m sorry,” Fargo said.
“Makes two of us.”
There wasn’t a feather on the whole bird when Sarabell was done. She slid an old knife with a cracked handle and rust on the blade from her pack and cut the bird’s belly so most of the innards spilled out. As she cut she hummed.
“You must like cooking,” Fargo said.
“It’s not that.” She pried the slit wider. “I’m happy, is all. It’s been so long, I plumb forgot how good it feels.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you or your boy,” Fargo vowed.
Sarabell brushed at a bang and got gore on her forehead.
“That’s mighty sweet. But I know better. This life ain’t nothing like I thought it was before they took me.”
“It’s not all bad.”
“It ain’t all good, neither. Those that think it is have blinders on.” Sarabell held up the heart. “Lookee here. Do you want it or can I? I’ve always been partial to hearts. They’re right tasty.”
“It’s yours.”
“Dang. Me and my boy are free and we’re going to eat prairie chicken. Life doesn’t get no better than this.”
Sarabell roasted the grouse to a turn. She’d brought half a loaf of moldy bread from her cabin and a handful of scrawny potatoes. Fargo declined the bread but accepted slices of potato after she cooked them.
“Too bad we don’t have butter.”
“Luis didn’t much care for it,” Sarabell said. “I begged him for a cow but he’d always slap me and tell me to hush.”
Night spread its indigo mantle. As usual, coyotes were abroad. So was a fox that came close, drawn by the aroma of the meat. It stood there so long that finally Fargo threw a stone to drive it away.
Billybob had to be hand-fed. Each mouthful was a challenge. Sarabell coaxed him into opening wide and then spooned the food in before he closed it.
“Is this how you always feed him?”
“Have to,” Sarabell said. “He won’t eat a lick otherwise. Inside of a week he’d starve.”
“You care for him a lot.”
“That’s plain silly. He’s my son. Of course I do.” She hugged the boy and kissed his cheek. “He’s my treasure. Without him I’d have blown my brains out years ago.”
“You’re a good mother.”
“I do what comes natural.”
They sat and sipped hot black coffee while above them a shooting star cleaved the heavens.
“I thank you for this,” Sarabell said softly. “I could die in a minute and go content. I never thought I’d be my own woman again.”
“When we catch up to Rooster, hang back so he doesn’t know you’re with me.”
Sarabell reached over and placed her hand on his knee. “I wish you’d listen to me. You say the army is after him? Let the army deal with him, then.”
“I don’t know how far back they are,” Fargo said. Or even if they were still following him. For all of Colonel Crowley’s bluster about wanting revenge, Crowley might have turned around and gone back to the fort.
“It can’t all be on you,” Sarabell said, and hesitated. “I like you, mister. You’ve done me right and I don’t want you hurt.”
“I’m obliged.”
“But you’re going on anyway?”
“I have it to do.”
Sarabell sulked. Fargo tried to cheer her but she was a clam. She and the boy turned in early and he sat by the fire thinking about those who kidnapped and sold women and beat babies with sticks.