Prospero's Book - A Western
bloody jack went for his gun.
breed went for his knife.
breed had a gun. the knife was just better. it was a good knife. he kept it clean and sharp. it was a good bowie knife. not so great for stabbing. but good for cutting.
and breed used it to cut.
he closed the gap and before bloody jack had his gun even part way out he cut him deep across bloody jack’s big gut. a good clean fast cut. bloody jack let go of his gun and tried to use both hands to keep his innards from falling out.
his face told the story breed wanted to see.
pain.
fear.
jack knowing he was going to die hard and ugly.
why the knife was better.
breed looked into bloody jack’s eyes so he could see all the pain and all the fear and the knowing that he was going to die and cut again bringing the knife back across bloody jack’s upper chest where the artery was close to the surface. the good sharp knife cut through bloody jack’s shirt and deep into the chest.
now bloody jack was real bloody.
jack dropped back against the bar.
his eyes pleaded with breed.
you killt me jack said. what’d i do to you.
now bloody jack was real bloody.
thames. battle of thames. breed said, the way he always said it. you were there. you were one of the men who killed him.
bloody jack’s eyes searched for the memory and breed could see when jack knew.
i wasn’t the only one bloody jack said. there was so many of us i can’t even....
i killed some of them already. and i’ll kill the rest of them too. every single one of them.
bloody jack sank to the floor. he was dying fast.
he was just another injun. bloody jack whispered. just another injun that we killt.
breed watched jack die. he cleaned his knife on jack’s coat and watched the man die.
he looked around the room. no one moved. not yet.
soon they would gain their senses and come after breed.
time to move.
it wouldn’t matter that bloody jack had gone for his gun first. bloody jack was a white man and breed was not.
time to move. time to get out.
breed’s good horse, akoshá:tens, was waiting. akoshá:tens could fly like no white man’s horse could do.
breed turned and walked quickly out of the saloon, leaving bloody jack’s bloody body in a heap on the filthy floor. as he went through the swinging doors the others began to stir and come out of their stupor.
he killt bloody jack. somebody said. that half breed killt bloody jack.
breed walked through the doors. mounting that good horse, akoshá:tens.
and rode away.
on to the next one.
always on to the next one.
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you dress funny for a injun. will caldwell said. last time i saw a injun dressed like that i killt him.
breed didn’t answer. he just stood at the bar.
don’t care how you dress, the bartender said, we don’t serve indians or half breeds here.
breed just stood. and waited.
you ain’t listening half breed, will caldwell said. man wants you outta here. i want you outta here. you get.
breed just stood.
and waited.
caldwell put his hand on the gun in his belt and took another step towards breed.
last chance half breed, caldwell said. you walk out of here now or get carried out.
breed just stood and waited.
caldwell pulled on his gun.
breed went for his knife.
he was faster than caldwell.
lightning fast.
and he covered the ground between them before caldwell’s gun cleared leather. breed was that fast. he always got there first, even with a knife against a gun.
breed’s knife flashed and caldwell’s throat gaped open red and raw. blood from the artery sprayed everywhere, but not on breed. he had already stepped to the side ready to cut again if Caldwell made a move. but caldwell’s hand just went slack on his ground and he fell back against the bar.
you killt him. the bartender said. you killt will.
and the bartender went for the shotgun underneath the bar.
they always kept a shotgun under the bar.
breed flashed forward and his good sharp knife stabbed into the reaching hand. pulled up the knife still attached to the bartender’s hand and shoved it point down into the wood of the bar.
will caldwell sagged down in front of the bar, the blood already slowing down, most of it pooling on the dirt floor. will caldwell sat down in the dirt and the blood.
i don’t want to kill you. breed said to the bartender. i got no need to kill you.
the bartender reached with his other hand.
breed pulled the knife out and bashed the bartender in the temple with the hilt. knocked him out cold. he was an asshole but he wasn’t on breed’s list.
the bartender fell behind the bar like a big bag of sagging lard.
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breed in the desert.
his people weren’t desert people.
mezcalero apache following him from a ridge.
4 mezcalero warriors.
breed stopped his good horse, akoshá:tens. it was akoshá:tens they were probably after.
breed didn’t want to kill any apache. reminded him of his own people. smaller but every inch of them hard knots of fighting. he pulled his rifle out. his henry repeating rifle. he turned to face the warriors and held the rifle up in the air.
he didn’t speak their tongue but he knew their language.
their language was war.
he was hoping that their language of war also included the practical.
that as good a horse as akoshá:tens was he wasn’t worth dying for.
the apache sat on their horses very still.
they did not speak to each other. they just sat still and considered breed’s gesture. they considered breed’s dress. almost like a navajo, with the turban and the ankle high moccasins. nothing like a white man.
breed dismounted with henry rifle still held high and then placed the rifle on a nearby rock. then he mounted akoshá:tens again. he would get another rifle. he still had his knife and his colt revolver.
the apache sat unmoving.
a rifle lasted longer than a horse.
breed turned akoshá:tens and looked up at the warriors.
they sat perfectly still. even their horses did not move.
breed set akoshá:tens into a slow trot. he did not look back. sat high in the saddle ready for whatever might come but never looking back.
______________________________________________________________________________
the comanchero sat across the fire. watching.
you are not from any tribe i know. the comanchero said to breed. where do you come from.
the north. breed said. my people call themselves the kanien'keha:ka. we’re called the mohawk by others. it means man eater. i come from a place my father called kaniatarowanenneh.
what are you called.
my mother named me prospero.
that is not an indian name. that does not even sound like a white man’s name.
it’s from a play. my mother wanted me to be very civilized.
ha. the comanchero said.
mostly i am called breed.
breed. half breed. i am called that by my people too. and by my enemies.
am i to be your enemy. breed had heard the comanchero cocking back the hammer on his rifle though it had been done slowly and almost completely silent.
the comanchero looked hard at breed.
breed looked into the comanchero’s eyes across the fire.
why have you come south to this place.
i’m hunting white men. white men who helped kill my grandfather.
the comanchero did not move or reply. he watched breed.
some of them are already dead. some of them i killed. some died of other things. i have a list of names. i keep the list in a book.
was your grandfather a great man.
he was the greatest of men. his name was tecumseh.
i know that name.
he died trying to free all the tribes from the white man’s grasp.
all the tribes.
yes.
did he die bravely.
yes. he did not surrender. he died as a warrior.
the comanchero considered this. the rifle remained where it was.
breed remained ready.
you are just a boy. the comanchero said. i do not need to kill a boy who kills white men. and he eased the hammer back down.
i have rabbit and pheasant if you are hungry. breed said as he relaxed just a little.
the comanchero grinned. a broken toothed broken nosed grin that did nothing to make him seem more friendly or in any way less dangerous.
i do like me a good fire cooked pheasant. he said.
they sat.
breed rotated the bird and the rabbit, always keeping his awareness on the comanchero, who had never given his name and had not put down the rifle.
it was going to be long watchful night.
just a question if they’d both choose to let each other make it through. if they both managed to make it to the morning light.
it was going to be a long and watchful night.
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