Paradise Sky

They was all gathered down there around that big fire, and Madame’s other cow was on a spit that had both ends racked in forked limbs they had cut and set up as supports. I seen Win right off, and though it was a relief to see she was alive, my heart sank for her. She was completely naked, leaning against some rocks with her arms crossed over her breasts. She was trembling from the cold, being some distance from the fire. I felt a kind of quiet madness seep over me, and it was all I could do to control it.

One of the men was wearing Win’s yellow dress and one of Madame’s sun hats. He was prancing around the fire, playing the fool, and I could hear the men laughing. It went all over me like a splash of icy water. They was the biggest fools alive to do what they had done and not finish me off, and then to box themselves into that great hole in the rocks.

I counted the men. Seven. I thought about that. I had killed Weasel, and Golem had ridden off on his own, and then there had been Ruggert, who did the same. I had killed the man on watch. That was four out of the picture, and I remembered there had been twelve. That meant there was probably one either in the wagon, which was not far from the fire, or off in the bushes. Or maybe he had gone off on his own earlier. Then it come to me if one had gone off on his own it was the younger one among them, for he was missing. I counted the horses. Plus the animals they had taken from us, there was eight, not counting ours. Nope. He was still around.

It was then that I seen him come out of the wagon, sleepily putting on his hat. The men started in on him about something, but I had lost interest in them.

I glanced once more at Win, took in a deep breath, and moved down the hill and through the trees, trying to get down as fast as I could without making a sound.

When I come to Cullen, Bronco Bob, and the horses, I said, “They’re down there. So is Win, and she’s alive.”

“Thank God,” Cullen said.

“She’s in a tough way, though,” I said.

“What do we do?” Bronco Bob said.

“We’re going to kill them all.”

“I second that,” Cullen said.

“I don’t know,” Bronco Bob said.

“You are not obliged,” I said. “You have done me a great favor as it stands.”

“So you say your woman is there?” Bronco Bob said.

“I do. And one less man, on account of me cutting his throat.”

“Shit, I’m out of my element,” Bronco Bob said. “I’m just a good shot, not a killer.”

“I guess I joined another club some time back,” I said.

“I ain’t never lifted a weapon against nobody. I don’t even like to hunt.”

“They ain’t no different from targets,” I said. “Except they shoot back and bleed all over the place, and there’s that whole business about dying. Them or maybe you.”

“Bronco, it’s up to you, but we are going down there,” Cullen said.

Me and Cullen got in the saddle, and Bronco Bob, after a brief moment of hesitation, did as well. He pulled his Henry from its sheath. I had just put my Winchester away. I said, “It will be close work mostly, and a rifle might not be the thing. You choose your own weapon, though. Me, I’m starting with pistols.”

“Very well,” Bronco Bob said. He replaced the Henry and pushed back his coat to reveal his Remington pistols.

“I got a two-shoot shotgun and a pistol,” Cullen said. “That will do me.”

I pulled two of my pistols from the saddlebag—the Colt and the LeMat—and stuck them in Weasel’s coat pockets. “Way we got to do it is to come on the sneak until we get to that big rock, then we got to ride around it like we was ru

“Luck to us, then,” Cullen said.

“Luck ain’t got a goddamn thing to do with it,” I said.

We went slow, trying not to make noise, but as we neared our spot the horses’ hooves sounded loud on the rocks, so I took out at a run, and Satan plunged forward like he had a flaming brand tied to his tail.

I put the reins in my teeth, freeing my hands to draw my pistols from Weasel’s coat pockets. I dug my heels deep into Satan, and we made the turn at the rocks well ahead of Cullen and Bronco Bob. All of a sudden I was looking at the fire, men moving in front of it. I lifted my pistols and fired. One of those men went down, and the one in the yellow dress yelped and dropped to the ground, pulling his own piece out from under the dress and firing, missing me so bad he might as well have been trying to shoot a squirrel out of the trees on the hill.

I galloped past the fire and swung under Satan’s belly, hanging only by a heel. The others had drawn their pistols and was firing. They couldn’t hit me or Satan. We galloped right past them. It was like me and him was touched with some kind of strong Indian medicine that made bullets swerve, though I knew the truth of it was they was just lousy shots.

I swung back into the saddle, swiveled so I was backward on the horse, and shot at them, hit one right off and saw him go down as if a hole had opened up under him. Then I heard other shots. Cullen and Bronco Bob. I twisted back to the front of the saddle, wheeled Satan, and started back. I seen Win by the rock wall, then got my mind back on my business. Bronco Bob, yelling at the top of his lungs, the reins in his teeth, same as me, rode into the fray. He threw out his right hand, which was clutching one revolver, and laid the other across his legs so it pointed in the same direction, and shot that way. Two of them men went down like they was wet blankets that had slipped off the clothesline. One rolled into the fire, knocking over the cow on the spit. The flames grabbed at his hat and ate it, and then the fire swarmed around his body like ruffians.

Cullen was right behind Bronco Bob. He cut toward the fire, riding and firing his pistol fast as he could and not hitting a goddamn thing. The young one took off ru

More gunfire. Cullen’s horse was hit and went down, and Cullen was thrown from its back. He went rolling, bullets being fired at him all the while. By the time I rode around on that side, Cullen had scuttled up behind his dead horse and pulled the shotgun free, which was a good thing, because one of the gents was ru

Before I could help Cullen out, his double barrel roared, both barrels, and I seen pieces cut off that fellow fly along in the light of the fire, and he was dropped to the ground. It was then I seen Bronco Bob, who had made a wide turn, tumbled off his horse, and hit the ground. There was two of them left—the kid who had run off and the one in Win’s dress that I had wounded. He was on his knees, one hand clutching his groin. The yellow dress was stained with blood. He threw his gun on the ground, saying, “I have had enough.”

I rode around to him, clicked the baffle on the LeMat, and shot him in the face with the shotgun load. I just felt mean, and that’s all there was to it.

The ones Bob had shot was mostly dead. I dismounted, went over and kicked their pistols away from their hands, tucked mine in my belt, then checked on Win.

She fell into my arms. I pulled off the jacket I had taken from Weasel.Win put it on and buttoned it up. I grabbed a horse blanket stretched on the ground for a bedroll, and she wrapped it around her for a skirt.

“Win,” I said. “Are you all right?”

It was the kind of question you ask, but soon as I said it, I felt like an idiot.

“In a fashion, Nat,” she said. “In a fashion. Oh, God, everything is so close. The sky is falling, and the ground’s coming up.”