Blood Lands

Had Peerly and Reese only ridden another three miles the night before, they would have arrived at the Wilder farm shortly after dark. But being too drunk to ride any farther, Reese pitched sidelong from his saddle and laid along the edge of the dusty trail until Peerly managed to circle back unsteadily and plop down beside him. It was there the two made their camp.

Peerly awakened from his drunken stupor the next morning before daylight, his fingers spider-walking around in the dirt and finally wrapping around the whiskey bottle that had rolled away from him in the night. He took a drink, gagged and coughed and held his hand to his chest until his insides settled. “God Almighty, I’ll never drink like that again,” he vowed to unseen forces.

Peerly stared back along the trail for a moment, something having caught his attention. He wasn’t sure what it was, a sound, a glimpse of something in the grainy dark light. Whatever it had been, it caused him to reach over and shake Reese by his boot. “Wake up, idiot,” he said in a harsh lowered voice.

“I don’t know,” Peerly said crossly, working his way up onto a knee and drawing his pistol from his holster. “But get your drunken ass up and let’s get out of here. I get the willies, waking up with somebody on my trail.”

“Damn, Nez,” Reese complained, “it could be anybody on the trail this time of morning. It doesn’t mean we’re being followed.”

“It doesn’t mean we’re not either!” Peerly insisted. “Now let’s ride!” As an enticement he held the bottle out to Reese and swished it around.

The two stood up, Peerly staring back with his gun in hand. They found the horses less than three yards away, grazing alongside the trail. Mounting quickly, they rode off along the trail and did not stop until they put over two miles behind themselves. When they did stop midtrail and look back, Reese asked, “Think it might be the army? They ain’t happy about us not disbanding as quick as they wanted us to.”

“Naw, it’s not the army,” said Peerly, still keeping his voice lowered. “They’re too busy disarming every sonsabitch along the Mississippi to care about us ole boys right now.”

“I’m starting to wonder if you seen or heard anything at all,” Reese said. “Whiskey makes things happen that don’t ordinarily happen.”

Before Peerly could respond on the matter, a series of six pistol shots resounded steadily in the silent morning air. “There, Delbert!” Peerly said sarcastically. “Was that real, or was that whiskey shooting a gun?”

“Yeah, that sounds like gun practice to me,” said Peerly, “and it’s coming from the colonel’s place, just over the rise.” He looked toward the sliver of sunlight on the eastern horizon, then turned his horse and gigged it forward. . . .

In her front yard, before walking forward and setting up six more targets, Julie opened the chamber of the big revolver—the devil’s gun—that Baines Meredith had given her, and let six smoking shell casings drop to the dirt. She replaced them with fresh loads, then closed the chamber, slipped the revolver into her tied-down holster and stooped and picked up the warm casings.

Her first six targets had stood to the west, the same direction they had been standing the past three days at this time of morning, a silvery background of darkness partially concealing them. She made the rough one-foot-square tin targets from the blackened remains of the barn roof. She’d nailed each of them to a stick and poked the stick into the ground, placing them at a different angle from the house each day, to make sure she always fired from varied positions.

Shooting was not something she ever wanted to take for granted, Baines had told her. She thought about his words as she walked forward, gathered the tin targets and carried them to the other side of the yard. Every shot had to be fired as if it were meant to save her life. Someday it would be, she told herself. She stuck the target sticks into the ground in a staggered row, with the glare of rising sunlight standing behind them. Then she turned and walked away twenty-five paces and stood with her back to the tin targets.

She knew when she turned there would be only a split second before that glare of sunlight began affecting her vision. In that narrow instant she had to clearly see all the targets as one as her gun came up and began selecting each target individually. To keep her reflexes sharp, this morning she would do something different. She would take out three of the targets, but fire another shot into the second and third one before they hit the ground.

She calmed herself, let her arms hang limp for a moment longer, before making a sudden move. She turned, and her gun came up cocked and aiming. From left to right she quickly hit the first target with one shot. The second target she hit twice, firing quickly, the second shot hitting only an inch from the first while the target flew backward and fell to the dirt. With the third target she did the same, firing two shots almost as one, seeing each bullet spin the target in a different direction, showing her beyond a doubt that she’d hit it with both shots.

In the stand of woods, Nez Peerly and Delbert Reese had just walked their horses up into a place where they could see Julie standing, facing the two remaining targets. They hadn’t seen the first three targets fly backward to the dirt. All they saw was Julie standing with the gun in hand, hanging at her side.

“Yeah.” Peerly grinned. “Practice is what she better be doing.” He nodded at the two targets still standing and chuckled. “Looks like out of all five shots the only thing she hit was the air and the dirt.”

“Not very damn good,” said Peerly. “Not very damn good at all. He’s going to jump all over me for not getting rid of her like I said I would.” He stared at Julie, watching in contemplation while she replaced the spent shell casings from her revolver. “Unless I can get rid of her once and for all before he gets back here.”

After her shooting practice, Julie spent the next hour fixing breakfast and a fresh pot of coffee for herself. When she’d finished eating, she cleaned and put the dishes away, poured another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. She drew the big revolver from her holster, dismantled it onto a soft cotton cloth and began cleaning it, one part at a time. She did not hear the soft boot steps creeping along the front porch until a creaking board caused her to snap her eyes up from the dismantled pistol and freeze, listening intently, realizing that for the first time since she’d arrived, she had failed to lock the front door.

Outside, a thumb reached across a gun hammer and cocked it slowly, quietly. From the table Julie heard another soft, creaking footstep on the porch. Her eyes went to the rifle she’d leaned near the fireplace. She began to make her move just as the door opened a crack, letting in a slanted ray of early-morning sunlight. She hurried. Could she do it? Could she make it in time? Her thoughts raced; so did her actions.

The door swung slowly, all the way open. “Whoa!” said Sheriff Daltry, both hands going up, gun and all, at the sight of the rifle swinging up in the woman’s hands, pointed at his chest from across the room.

“Yes, ma’am! I realize that!” said the sheriff, speaking quickly. “Please don’t shoot! I’m a lawman, doing my job! I followed two militiamen here. I saw animals in the corral! I knew the place was supposed to be abandoned!”

Julie did not breathe any easier. She kept the rifle to her shoulder and said, “Lower the pistol at arm’s length and let it fall to the floor.”

Daltry frowned but did as he was told, settling down with a deep breath. He raised his hands chest high again after the pistol made a thud on the floor planks. “There now, ma’am, see? I ain’t trying to cause you any trouble. Allow me to open my duster; I’ll show you my badge.”

Julie nodded calmly and kept her position, seeing the sheriff’s tin badge come into view on his chest as he slowly opened his faded riding duster. “If you be Miss Julie Wilder, Mrs. Constance Whirly at the boardinghouse told me everything that happened to you whilst I was gone on my rounds.”

“You’re Colbert Daltry,” said Julie. It was not a question; Constance had mentioned the sheriff by name while Julie stayed with her.

“I want you to know how sorry I was to hear about the colonel,” said Daltry, “and about having something like that happen in a town under my jurisdiction.” Even as he realized that this young woman had heard of him, he saw no gesture from her to allow him to lower his hands.

While he turned and ran the big bolt forward, Julie asked, “You said you’re trailing two militiamen?” As she spoke she nodded at the gun lying on the floor.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the sheriff. He stooped, picked up his pistol, then turned, closed and latched the door. “I followed their morning tracks to the tree line, after I heard shots coming from here.” He nodded in the direction of the sparse woodlands. “Don’t get spooked, ma’am, but those two murdering cowards were watching you this morning.”

“Oh, yes. It was Nez Peerly and Delbert Reese. Both rode under Ruddell Plantz.” He lowered his voice as if to keep their conversation between the two of them. “Miss Constance told me these are the ones who killed the colonel and did what they did to you. She described your horse . . . the same buckskin Peerly’s riding. I figure I’ll never make a charge stick on them for what they done to you and your pa, or the Shawlers. But maybe I can catch them for something else they do.”

Julie lowered the rifle the rest of the way. “Obliged for you trailing them, Sheriff. I know there’s nothing the law can do for me and my situation. I’m not expecting anything from you.”

“I know you’ve got no reason to think you’ll see justice done for the colonel or yourself. But if you write out a complaint against these men, I’ll stay on their tails from now on, until I get something on them, or die trying.”

“I’m not making a complaint, Sheriff,” Julie said in a calm tone. “I know you mean well . . . but after that complaint gets made, you’ll be riding off on your rounds again, and I’ll be here facing Plantz and his men all alone.” She offered a tired and tolerant smile. “Obliged, but I think I’d better leave things as they are. I’ll never know for sure who did what things were done here. I expect that’s just the Lord’s will.”

The sheriff gave her a questioning look, noting the pistol dismantled on the table. “Miss Julie, you ain’t out to take justice into your own hands, are you?”

“Yes, I am practicing,” said Julie. “But I can’t shoot anybody. Ask Constance what happened between me and Peerly in the livery barn.”

“That’s an unusual attitude, Miss Julie,” said the sheriff. “But I expect that’s the best way to look at it, all things considered.”

“This is how I want to leave things,” said Julie. She leaned the rifle against the table. “I still have some hot coffee here; may I tempt you with a cup?”