Where the Track Meets the Road

Chapter 1 Where the Track Meets the Road

The outskirts of Kidge were cut in half by the ballast. The rows of logs with twin rails atop paved west to east. The field had browned grass that went up to your knees, and the dandelions grew long. Their seeds were caught in the morning breeze. The hooves of the horse thudded against the dirt road, and Kane swayed on the saddle. “It goes all the way to Common,” he said staring at the iron beams.

Carly pulled the brim of his hat up over his eyes. “Why didn’t we take the train then?”

Kane spat by the road, “I hate to miss a sunrise.”

“If only at your expense.”

Auburn cut across the unlit sky in short streaks, and the yellow tip of the sun peaked out from the rim of the world. The dark clouds of a storm surging in the west showed the edge of its underbelly, and the lightning ran through the clouds like blue veins.

“Roads don’t run straight like a train,” Carly said. “You always get to someplace ugly or take a detour to no where, and end up close to hell.”

“Seeing as you’re so fond of them, next time we can take the train.”

“I think most people like trains,” Carly said.

“I had a bad experience.”

“What’s that?”

“In the war,” Kane said.

“No not that. Do you see that down yonder?”

Far away where the autumn lilacs littered the field by a serviceberry tree, and the harsh light of a campfire flickered. Three gray figures stood in the grass, watching. “Travelers looks like,” Kane said.

“We ought to go around.”

“What for, they might have coffee. Lord knows I can’t get started without it.”

“No,” Carly said. “I reckon they don’t.”

“I’d be surprised if they didn’t.”

Carly pulled on the reins, and his horse slowed.

“You’re lagging,” Kane said.

“Kane,” he said coming to a halt.

“You are lagging behind.”

“And what about Common?”

“We’re closer to Kidge than we are to Common,” Kane leaned over the side of his horse, and spat. “The old man has waited on me before.”

“For such an old friend you sure do treat him badly.”

“I’ve known him so long there is no other way to be.”

“Yep,” Carly nodded. “That’s a load of bullshit.”

Kane smiled, “you’re probably right.” He was aware the old man disliked the town, and Kane made certain they’d meet there. After a few drinks, Hoss was easier, and you could have a conversation. Otherwise he’d bicker, and go on about unfairness. That’s what remained of Hoss after Jane left, he argued with a fervor that was unrivaled, and he’d share his anger with that untamable scowl.

“I thought you said he hated the place.”

“He’ll be fine,” Kane said.

“Fine isn’t great, or even good, fine is just fine. It ain’t nothing to be.”

“That man is always unhappy. Fine just means he has his health. He’s fine and dandy.”

“Your definition of fine gives me thought. Will I be fine? Should we go around, and be fine?”

“You’re not worried now, are you?”

“No,” he said and his brow ticked.

“Good.” Kane searched the camp for the travelers. He could see the hazy smoke rising up from the campfire but the figures had left. “Hold on a minute.” He pulled on his reins, and the horse stopped. “Do you see them?”

A tuff of smoke came up from the grass, and the clap of a gunshot echoed. The bullet snapped a meter up the road raising dirt, and the dirt picked up in the wind.

The grayness of the figures form picked its head up from the tall grass. It stood up holding a rifle in its hand. It held up its arm, and shot again but into the sky. The crack thundered across the field, and the smoke burst from the tip. Then the figure dropped his arm, and stood for a while.

“What’s he doing?” Carly asked.

It shouted, and he couldn’t hear whatever it said. He thought maybe it was screaming. Two other silhouettes rose up next to him, and a fourth shadow came about. They ran—the shadows. Made their way to the hills in the west, where there was forest, and they could make good on their escape. Their feet kicked dust off the road, and the cloud blurred the running shadows until it was only dust in the distance.

Carly rode up beside Kane, and leaned forward. “Now if you ask me I’d tell you he didn’t miss.”

“I wasn’t,” Kane said.

“I’ll take it as a good omen. Shoot and run. Smart.”

“Smart or scared?”

“Sometimes they mean the same thing.”

“Maybe they left coffee on the fire.” He put his heels into the horse’s thighs, and she picked up in a trot.

“Don’t count on it,” Carly shouted.

The campfire was burning out. The wood in the flames were small sticks from the serviceberry tree. A green snake wrapped its body around a branch from the tree, and it slithered away when Kane neared. The strangers left with a pot of water over the fire, and things scattered in the campsite. He knelt into the grass, and picked up a small black glove from a nest of ragged clothes.

“Look at this,” Carly said.

He turned around, and saw the glint on the brass casing. “Point four-fifty one Whitworth. Could hit the wings off a fly at a thousand yards.”

“You seen it in action?”

“Weren’t a common rifle but,” Kane put the black glove in his inside pocket. “There was this Union General, Lytle. You might’ve heard of him.”

“I thought the war was over.”

“Well we killed Lincoln,” Kane tipped the edge of the pot with his boot, and peered inside. “Surely someone got to answer for that—fore any war can end.”

Carly chuckled, “should we wait?”

“On account of the sharpshooter you mean?”

“That’s what I meant.”

“I reckon we better be on our way but slow or they might spook again.”

The track drifted away from the main road, and Kane followed the road toward the forest at the periphery. They went slow, so as to not startle the strangers down the road, and an hour had passed by the time they reached the forest. The outline of the forest was clouded in a huge mist, and the pine tips stuck out from the smoky top. The white tuffs of the dandelion seeds danced around the forest, and rose up in smoke. Barrels of black clouds floated up from the trees, and the sky was blanketed in black. The heat from the fire started sweat under Kane’s arms, and dripping down his neck. Big oak branches gave, and tumbled down, getting the bushes at the base of the trees, and the ground inside was fire. It made a sound the fire like angry snakes hissing, and when the timber fell it cracked like a bone.

“Jesus,” Carly said. He rolled up tobacco, and pinched the folded tips. “Is there another way?”

“Go around,” Kane said.

Carly lit the cigarette with a match, and puffed smoke. He blew it to the side. “Maybe we should take the train?”

Kane looked over, “why would you start a fire?”

“Stop anyone followin.”

“Right, but we ain’t following them.”

“What’s your point?” Carly asked.

“Nothing,” Kane shook his head. “But I suppose they have something.”

“Like what?”

“Something like that could be only one thing—most times—but I get this feelin like it ain’t that. If I had money who’d know? Long as you ain’t waving it around, no one will see it. No one will follow.”

“So you don’t think its money.”

“No, I didn’t say that. I said there was a chance it ain’t.”

“What do you want to do?” Carly said raising his brow.

He held back a smile but he smirked still, and the boy saw.

Carly puffed on the cigarette, and the smoke blew up around him. “I should’ve stayed in Mexico.” He nodded his head, and flicked the cigarette away.

Kane led them off road, and the horses galloped along the edge of the forest until he found where the fire had stalled. Then he went further up, and went through from the north, close to where the road continued. The road in the woods was a messy strip of dead brown grass rustled flat. Behind him the smoke lingered, and the splintering trees cracked. Now and then the rancorous boom of the timber collapsing quickened his pace. He rode until he found the place in the woods where the birch emptied out evenly, and the light from morning cleared up the open spaces. There he could breathe easier, and his mind wasn’t on the fire.

Carly exhaled, “isn’t it you grow wiser with age, and not the other way around?”

Kane jumped down from the side of the horse, and pulled out his pistol. He looked back to see if Carly was following. The boy was behind him, holding the LeMat by his face. Kane went behind the Birch tree, and peeked out to see the small flame of a campfire, and a pan above it with coffee boiling black. A large man sat with his back to them, and across from him there was another man only with long hair that shined like oil.

Kane put his back to the tree, and pulled his hair from his face. “That sure looks like coffee from where I’m standing,” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t drink it.”

“Mind the horses,” Kane said as he pushed off from the bark, and stepped toward the men. The leaves crunched under his feet, and the men looked up. “Morning,” he said and he tipped his hat.

The larger of the two wrinkled his nose angrily. “Who are you?” He had flecks of brown on his cheek, and on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s not concern ourselves with trivial details. I’m the man with the gun.”

“What do you want?”

“Coffee sounds good,” Kane said.

“Well help yourself but that ain’t what you come for.”

“No,” Kane reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the black glove. He tossed it between them, and their eyes fixed on it.

The freckled one looked up at Kane. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Winter’s comin. I can already feel the frost in the air, it feels likes fingers clutching my throat,” he chuckled. “Can’t breathe.”

“You got my sympathy.”

Kane walked up to the log where no one was sitting, and he sat down hunching over. “Put it on,” Kane said.

“What?”

“Go on.”

“Why?”

“We could always go with the original plan,” Kane pulled the hammer back of the gun.

His cheeks were red, and you could see his breath. He looked at it, snatched the glove from the ground. He took off his glove, and pulled the other glove around his fingers but the glove couldn’t pass through them. His skin folded up tightly against the woven seams.

“Hand’s too big.” Kane sighed. He took of his hat, and placed it by his side. He nodded at the quieter one, “now you try.”

“Thirteen,” he mumbled, and he grabbed it. He put his hand in the glove, and it fit but his fingers were too long, and the end of his rosy palm stuck out.

“Fingers too long,” Kane twisted his lips in disappointment. “Where could my precious Cinderella be?” Kane licked his lips, there were deep lines edging into them. “You see that cup there?” The white glass was by next to the freckled one on the log. “Seeing how I’m currently incapacitated,” he said shaking the gun. “Would you be so kind to serve me?”

The freckled one grabbed the pan over the fire, and poured coffee into the cup.

“Just set it down next to me,” Kane said.

He got up, and placed it next to him.

“That’s nice.” He pulled the cup up to his lip, and took a sip.

“Thirteen,” the quiet one mumbled.

“What does that mean?” Kane asked.

The big one twisted in his seat. “A boy becomes a man at thirteen,” he said.

“I suppose it’s possible,” Kane said. “But even old men are boys still for the most part. Quite frankly I don’t know what a man is, maybe someone who keeps his word.”

“Ain’t a person alive who keeps their word.”

“Supposin that’s true, a rule would not be a rule without its exceptions. Don’t you think? That’d be like meeting a ginger in the woods that’s not guilty of a crime. I’m sure somewhere there ought to be an innocent ginger just going for a stroll, I just haven’t met him yet.”

“I haven’t committed no crime.”

“Acceptance is the first step toward absolution.”

“I got nothing to accept.”

Kane laughed dryly. “Where is the owner of that glove?”

“Who?”

“Judgin by the size of that glove she must be around fourteen.”

“Did you lose your daughter or something?”

“You were so in a rush when you scrambled from the trail when we saw you. You left your things everywhere, and you forgot more than you wanted. Didn’t think it’d mattered I suppose.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“I’m only gonna ask one more time, and then I won’t be askin no more. Where is she?”

“She went out earlier not alone, but with a friend.”

“Your buddy, the one who shoot us back on the road?”

“Yep, that was him.”

Kane nodded, “this friend of yours—call out to him.”

“Johnny!”

“Yeah!” A voice shouted from behind.

“Tell him to come out with the girl, where I can see him,” Kane said.

“Johnny!”

“Yeah, Tom?”

“Come over here! Bring the girl.”

“Okay.”

“So your name is Tom,” Kane said, and Tom said nothing. The leaves crunched behind, and Kane glanced toward the noise. He stepped out from behind a long swooping branch with orange leaves. The Whitworth rifle poked out, and a kid held it in his hands. Carly walked in front of him, both hands tucked in his coat, the Whitworth pointed at his back. He wore a long frown, and his eyebrow ticked as they reached them.

Kane stood up, “I don’t think we understand each other, Tom.”

“Look mister,” the kid said. “We don’t want trouble.”

“Should’ve of that before riding with this crew. What are you sixteen years old?”

“Now that girl ain’t your kin,” Tom said standing up from the log. “She’s of no business to you, so you best go on your way.”

“Have you ever killed someone before son?” Kane asked. “It’s not something that can be done lightly. I bet that rifle’s feelin pretty heavy in your hands. More like a burden than anything. Why don’t you set it down?”

The kid leaned on a birch tree. “I was eleven when I killed a man,” he said smiling. “My hand shook like mad, and I don’t believe I done it even afterward when it was in the paper. Say mister you look awful familiar.”

Tom pulled out his pistol from the front of his pants. “Drop that gun,” he said.

Kane grimaced, and he dropped the Colt. It hit the ground with a thud.

“Maybe we can trade it on the road,” Tom said picking it up from the ground. He handed it to Daniel, and Daniel buried it into his holster. “We’re gonna need your horses,” Tom said.

“What horses?”

The kid punched Kane in the jaw, and it clicked.

“We ain’t set to kill you mister,” the kid said. “I know’d where the horses are anyway. No need makin a big fuss.” He pulled up Kane to his knees, and lined up Carly beside him.

“Daniel get your shotgun. Keep it on em.”

Daniel pulled out the shotgun from behind his log. He pulled the hammer back, and aimed the short barrel at them. “Thirteen,” he said shaking the gun.

Their horses snorted when they came up from behind them. The kid pulled the horses from the reins. Tom grabbed the reins of the black horse. Is this one yours?” He asked mounting up on Kane’s horse. “Daniel fetch that girl, we’re leavin.”

“Thirteen,” he mumbled and took a step. He had a limp, and he hobbled his way through the white trees.

“Thirteen,” Tom said looking at Kane. “The pennies in his pocket. You can hear them jingle if you listen close.”

“Why do I give a damn?” Kane asked.

“He sold him for thirteen pennies. Left him at the orphanage but he kept the change, the Jew. Thirteen he says, because he was hungry, and poor. So he got himself the pennies, and he didn’t starve. Now he keeps thirteen pennies in his pockets, and goes around because it’s better than having no son. Thirteen,” Tom sniggered.

“I’d make that deal all over again,” the kid said. He put a foot in the stirrup, and climbed up on Carly’s mare. The Whitworth hung off his arms. The words Deliverance were inscribed into the wood. The kid noticed him watching, and he wagged his finger at Kane. “You’re Kane Darling…”

Kane spat by their feet.

“Sweet Jesus,” the kid said shaking his head, and he smiled.

“That can’t be Kane Darling,” Tom said. “Kane Darling got only one eye, a red eye they says.”

“The devil’s eye,” the kid said. “Hands’ll crush a skull, and when he gotcha he getcha death faster than the plague. You is just an old man.”

The horse snorted, and shook her head. Tom brushed her neck with his hand. “You best find your way back west or Johnny won’t miss the next time he sees you in his sights. That I promise you, Mr. Darling.”

“As long as we’re making promises,” Kane said. “The next time I see you I’ll be putting a bullet in your head.”

Tom chuckled, “help yourself to any coffee, although I imagine it’s gone gold.”

Daniel came back with the girl, he had her clutched by the arm. Her head was down, and long dark hair covered her face. She cried in a soft whisper. Daniel gave her a leg up the horse, and she sat with Tom.

She looked up, and her hair split around her nose. Kane saw her eyes hiding underneath, dark brown circles, bruised, and stretched, and carrying a crown of shame.

“Best of luck to you Mr. Darling. Don’t forget my promise.” With that Tom rode off in the slowest hurry. The kid followed behind, and Daniel hurried after them, going quick as he could with the gimp dragging his right foot. The change jingled in his pocket. He jumped up on the kid’s mare, and climbed on. Then they sped away. Kane stepped into the dust trail of the horses, and watched as they left his sight.

“What now?” Carly asked.

“That’s it.”

“Did you lose your train of fucking thought?”

“I haven’t,” Kane said.

“You gonna let the dude get away?”

“The dude is away.”

“We can get to Bullock station on foot, and take the train the rest of the way.”

Kane put his hands on his hips, and spat. “We could get to Bullock Station but if we head north the fire will meet us there. If we make east to cut around on foot, we might as well dig her a grave.”

“Are you hinting at a secret fucking plan?”

“Calm yourself,” Kane said. “What I’m saying is, too much of anything sounds less like a promise, and more like a truth but really it’s just a game of probability.”

“I don’t play odds,” Carly said.

“That is too fucking bad,” Kane said grinding his teeth. “We only play odds.” The timber fell somewhere behind him. The crackling of the fire played faintly in his ears.

“Do my ears hear right?” Carly asked.

“Nope, I hear it too,” Kane said. “Fire’s coming.”

“That sound ain’t fire.”

Kane felt a drop on his shoulder, and he looked up. The storm had come, and the raindrops hit his face. Thunder rolled across the sky, and it started to rain.