The Brave

"So you're sayin' I look so good that I could make you blind if you saw me naked?"

"I'm just saying," said Wind with an ever-so-subtle wink that made Sally swoon, "that's the legend."

"As far as last visions go, I'd take that." Jake finished his bourbon. "Hell of a story, Wind. The things I been learnin' at this place lately, lemme tell ya."

"To be honest, Jake," said Wind, "I'm surprised you can handle a woman with an education."

"Well, mostly I'm just afraid a' you."

"Fair enough."

"An' anyways, Sally knows I'm all talk. Right, Sally?"

Sally wasn't listening. Her eyes had suddenly become fixed forward, staring out the window at the posse hitching their horses to the post.

She thought she had more time.

"Sally, you alright now?" asked Jake.

Sally looked at Wind. "Keep your eyes forward and your hat down, no matter what. If he sees your skin you're gonna lose any drop you might have on 'im."

Wind followed Sally's lead. Jake turned his head to look, then quickly turned back. "Ah, shit," he muttered, and Sally quietly agreed.

Wind took a deep breath. A familiar chill, thought to be lost in the past few days of fascination and flirtation, made a swift return to her eyes. "He's here," she asked, "isn't he?"

Sally answered with a terse nod. She was supposed to have more goddamned time.

Sheriff Thompson Garrick was a tall man with silver hair and a stubbled, rugged face. He walked with his shoulders back and a confident, almost oblivious stride. His closest deputy walked in just behind him; William Goss happened to be Garrick's brother in law, but that clearly wasn't why he was hired—he was roughly as tall as a young tree, to the point where he had to bend to enter the saloon, and he was thick too, with massive limbs that could suffocate four men at once. At least, theoretically; the scowl on his face scared off most people who thought to cross him.

Goss broke off to say hello to a couple of friends—Richard Merrill, a squat, balding man, and Andrew Stone, handsome, always smiling. Charlie, meanwhile, was bringing up the rear; head down, walking slower than his group

Sally had moved to a different part of the bar when he closed in, like she had business there. She didn't know what Garrick would think she was doing, but she knew she could make it seem important.

"Miss Stilwell," drawled Garrick. "Tell you what, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes."

"I sure better be!" Sally brought her mind back to where it had been five minutes before and cranked up the cheer as high as she could. She even kissed him on the cheek. "Greetin' my favorite sheriff a whole three days early!"

"Was the damndest thing," said Garrick. "A couple of days' after we left, Sanchez demands we stop so he can take a piss. We escort him out. This rattler..." Garrick started laughing. "Slippery little bastard comes outta nowhere, bites him right in his dick!"

"How awful!"

"Goddamn hilarious considerin' his dick got him into this mess." Garrick finished laughing, shaking his head. "You didn't hear the screamin'. That filthy greaser squirmin' in the dirt, holdin' his shame, I'll tell you, he deserved nothin' less. Anyway, he wasn't goin' anywhere after that, so Nate went ahead to deliver whatever's left of him, and we decided to head back early."

"Hm." Sally held her smile despite the acid that churned in her stomach. "So, bottle of whiskey an' some stew?"

"We'll take the whiskey, but you can keep the stew for now. We'd rather unwind with a few hands of poker first. Gotta re-acclimate, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Sure do, Sheriff." Sally kept special reserve bottles under the bar for whenever Garrick made one of his weekly visits. He'd come in during an afternoon, take a bottle, and play poker with his buddies until he finished it. Today, Sally had to resist the sudden urge to charge him.

"Thank you, doll." Garrick flashed a smile, taking the bottle off the bar. "Tell you what, we picked up this stuff at a fair we stopped in on our way back, it's called 'Tabasco.' If you could bring some stew over in about a half an hour, I'm sure we'll work up an appetite by then. You could try some with us, right, Charlie?"

"Yeah, absolutely." Charlie was clearly not thinking about Tabasco.

"Well, we'll be over there if you need us. C'mon, son." Garrick smacked Charlie between his shoulders. The deputy looked back at Sally before following his boss.

She said, with her eyes, Get out of here.

He said back, No way in Hell, and followed Garrick to his table.

With that settled, Sally moved over to Jake. Any sense that he was off his ass was gone, looking like a soldier awaiting his orders. Sally didn't hesitate: "Jake, start clearin' this place out." She grabbed his arm for emphasis. "Do it quiet. If somebody's gonna put up a fuss, leave 'em be, but let's spare as many as we can from the shitstorm that's about to come down on this place."

"Yes ma'am." Jake was already out of his seat.

Sally looked over to Wind; she'd never seen The Brave so still, looking directly into her water.

Something wasn't right.

Sally crossed to her friend, her star-crossed love, with a sort of urgent caution. "Give Jake five minutes to get everyone else out," she told Wind, "then you can finally introduce yourself to our Sheriff."

"Whiskey," said Wind.

"Sure," said Sally, turning back to her shelf of liquor. She reached for her best whiskey...

...Whiskey?

Sally pushed past it and poured Wind a fresh glass. "On the house," the barmaid said.

Wind stopped staring at her water and started staring at the light amber liquor in her new glass.

"You okay?" Sally asked.

"Need a minute," said Wind.

But it was much more than that. In a sudden, sickening moment, Wind had remembered the horror on Sally's face after The Englishman's...George's death. She remembered how awful it felt to see her friend look at her like that, and she thought of all the other people on her list, the list she spent the last ten years crossing off in so many violent, even sadistic ways, hoping to stem the reservoir of anger that ran deep within her. How would Sally have reacted to them?

Thompson Garrick needed to pay for what he had done, and there was no law in this land or spirit in the skies that would make him pay. So should she just put a bullet in his head and finish it that way? Without fanfare? Sure, they'd gun her down or perhaps hang her, but what was the difference? She expected that to happen anyway.

While Wind quietly melted down at the bar, Sally saw Garrick look up and over at the squaw in his town's saloon, his gaze cocked. Of course Wind would be the first damn thing Merrill and Stone would blather about; he'd probably know about the bounty at this point, too. Hell.

"Wind," she said quietly. "Remember that drop I was talkin' about? You just lost it."

Wind nodded tersely and continued to do nothing. Charlie, meanwhile, said something to Sheriff Garrick, and after a few moments to sit with whatever those words were, he returned to his cards. Sally's guess was that Charlie told him that the squaw was coming to him, and that he'd have an advantage in numbers.

Except he wouldn't, because Merrill and Stone's gunfighting skills consisted of a whole lot of hot air, and Charlie was probably going to draw with Wind, not against her, God damn it, Charlie!

And still Wind did nothing. Jake had quietly, miraculously emptied out the bar, yet The Brave continued to gaze at her whiskey like it could spell out an answer. What was the question?

Sally thought back to the night before. The talk they had, it was about faith and guilt and regrets, and there was the poem...

The poem. She still didn't quite understand it, but there was a longing in how Wind recited it, a wish for something...and that was all she needed to understand.

Wind wrapped her hand around the whiskey glass.

Sally put her hand on top of Wind's, her fingers resting against the native's rope bracelet. Wind looked up, and her soul was held and warmed by the barmaid's kind gaze.

They stayed like that for a moment. Wind's hand was curiously smooth for such a skilled shot; some callouses, but nothing unpleasant or too rough. Sally wondered what it would feel like across the rest of her body, and she did her best to relish it, so she could imagine it long after she was gone.

Sally said, "What I want for you..." She shook her head and started again. "Of everythin' that could possibly happen here today, what I want is for you to walk out my door and never come back. To find peace. Move on with your life in some small way, like I thought was able to.

"But the truth is, I ain't moved on. I just settled. If the men who killed my husband ever walked into this place, I'd fill my hands and end 'em all, no pauses, no questions—and I ain't sayin' it's right. The Lord teaches us about an eye for an eye, I know how this works. But I cannot judge this, 'specially when what little I know seems so damn evil.

"So you do what you gotta do, Wind. I know what I hope you'll do, now so do you. But whatever happens, I'm gonna stand behind you. Ain't no place I feel more comfortable."

Wind considered those words for quite a while. She studied the white fingers gently probing the twine of her friend's last gift, and thought of just how insulting that should've been. It wasn't. Not just because she couldn't have known, because of everything else about her.

Because she said she loved doing right by people.

With her free hand, Wind reached out to steady the blonde barmaid's face so the native could lean in and lock lips with her.

Sally's shock lasted only for a moment. In the next, it felt as natural as breathing, and the feel of Wind's hand on her cheek inspired her to caress her love's cheek in turn. They savored the taste of each other, running their tongues across their lips, before opening their mouths to swipe each other's tongues for just a brief, beautiful moment.

And before Sally could say "Wow," Wind had left the bar and was walking toward the poker game.

VI. - Full Commitment

Garrick was holding a small cologne bottle full of red sauce with both hands, like he was showing his table a carving of the Baby Jesus. "Got to try some at Eden Ridge where a guy was showin' it off," he was explaining. "Hottest damn thing I ever had. Could even put a hair or two on your balls, Charlie."

The table laughed, and Charlie laughed along to keep the peace. Wind choked back some bile while Charlie acknowledged her approach toward the table.

They all turned. Just like Charlie had said, she came to them. Not a one looked happy about it.

Not that Wind cared. "Got room for one more?" she asked.

Merrill looked at her like she just took a squat over his bed. "Are you goddamned stupid?"

"Take it easy now, Richie," said Garrick, "what I heard, she ain't here to cause trouble." Garrick looked at Wind. "You play five card stud?"

Wind nodded. "I know a little." She pulled her poke out from her vest. "I've got a lot of money to lose, if that makes you more comfortable."

Garrick looked to his friends: Merrill had concerns. Stone had dollar signs in his eyes. Charlie didn't seem to care. Goss was just waiting for the other shoe.

"Pull up a chair, girl," said Garrick. "You got my attention."

Wind grabbed a chair from a nearby table and took her seat next to Charlie. "What's the ante?"

"Four bits," shrugged Garrick. "Nothing wild, we're all friends here, There's a bring-in of another four, though. You know what a 'bring-in' is?"

"I know what an ante is, don't I?" Wind pulled four bits from her poke and tossed them onto the table.

Charlie looked at Wind. What the hell are you doing?

Wind looked at Charlie. Not sure yet. Feeling it out.

Merrill dealt the cards, one round face down, the other face up. Wind's first face-up card was a 10; everyone else got Jacks or better. Wind glanced up at Merrill, who had a nasty glint in his eye.

Still, she knew the score. "Like I said." She reached into her poke and tossed another four bits into the pot.

"So my boys tell me you're pretty fast with those irons," said Garrick while the rest of the table placed their bets.

"I suppose," said Wind, checking her face-down card; a Jack.

"Suppose nothin'," said Garrick. "Anybody who can out-draw Blindside Bob's been touched by the finger of God in my book."

"Yeah, I keep hearing that," said Wind. "I suppose I should apologize for causing so much trouble while you were away, though."

"None necessary." Garrick grinned. "From what I been told, you were always provoked. Call." Garrick threw a few coins into the pot. "Now, I ain't the biggest fan of you timber niggers, but we believe in law and order here in Grant's Hope. Someone pulls on you, you got a right to defend yourself."

Merrill dealt the next round of cards, tossing Wind a Jack of diamonds. Merrill also happened to have the best hand with an Ace high over eight, so he opened up the next round of betting with four bits.

"I believe the term is 'prairie nigger' where I come from, Sheriff. Though I suppose 'timber nigger' has a nice ring to it." Wind raised six bits. "You know, people who use that kind of language would normally argue that 'law and order' doesn't apply to us."

"See, I'd say that you're the ones who argue that," said Garrick. "You know the story of Hannah Duston?"

"The one from nearly two hundred years ago? The woman who got captured by Abenaki warriors, killed women and children as she escaped?"

"They killed her child because she was slowing them down," said Garrick. "She wasn't even a week old and they smashed her head against a tree. A culture that would ransack a town and do that to a helpless child, well, they're a culture that doesn't get how things are supposed to work. It's a godless culture of animals; there are no 'women and children.' But you know that, dressin' up like us...not that a dress wouldn't suit you better."

The conversation carried over to Sally's ear as she continued (theoretically) tending bar. It was making her sick, mostly because she remembered when she used to feel a shade of that hatred. It was her friendship and casual romance with Charlie that set her straight, and she couldn't imagine how hard it was for him to not draw his pistol right then and there.

It was surprisingly easy, actually, because Wind was there, setting the tone. "So as long as I'm good enough to try and live in your world, you're good enough to show me how much better it is." There was a foreboding, menacing undercurrent to her words. "Awful kind of you, Sheriff."

"Look, it ain't personal," said Garrick, picking up the menace but missing the portent. "I know some who'd rather wipe you all out and be done with it, but that's not how I do things. Besides, I'm sure some of you are very nice people. Not your fault you don't understand."

"I suppose not."

"Seems like there's a lot of things you don't understand," said Stone, motioning to her cards.

All through their conversation, the round had continued to play out. Goss, Stone, and Charlie had folded, leaving Garrick with a fairly weaker two-pair of Kings and Fours over Merrill's Aces and Eights. Wind had Jacks and Tens; the third Jack that rested face down gave her a Full House, but that hand had a darker meaning to it.

"Hope I didn't deal you that Dead Man's Hand, squaw," said Merrill, cheeky bastard that he clearly was. "Jacks over tens tend to mean bad things in these parts."

Wind nodded. "You really are all friends here, huh?"

"Sure are," said Garrick. He took another look at his face-down card, then looked out at Merrill and Wind's hands one last time. "What the hell," said Garrick, throwing a dollar into the pot. "Full commitment."

The words rattled in Wind's brain like a hot metal rivet as Merrill threw in four bits of his own. "Full commitment, huh?" The way she said it seemed to unnerve even Goss. "Okay, sure," she said. She took off her rope bracelet and tossed it into the pot. "Full commitment," she repeated.

"The hell is that?" asked Stone.

"Pretty sure it ain't a goddamn raise," said Merrill.

"I was fourteen and I was with my best friend, Wicapiwakan—Sacred Star. We were making new clothes for ourselves, and she decides she wants to make me a bracelet. Just because. I make her one too, but it's because she's making me one, see, I never did anything without expecting something back because that's how I thought it was supposed to work. Sacred Star, she just took pleasure in doing good for others, even though she was the daughter of our chief and answered to no one. That was actually what she told me when we first started playing together: 'I like doing good things for people.' That's the kind of person she was."

The name "Sacred Star" rang loudly in Sally's head, recalling the poem Wind recited to her the night before. It occurred to her that Wind was speaking louder than she had been, and not just out of anger.

She put that out of her mind, however, once she saw Merrill's hand drift down to his holstered revolver.

"The next morning, I went out into the woods early to practice shooting with a bow and arrow I made myself. My father wanted me to be a medicine woman, follow in his footsteps. Not something women usually did, but, well, my circumstances were a little different. I was interested, but I also looked up to the hunters and warriors in my tribe, and I wanted to be like them, too. So without my family's knowledge, I woke up before them each morning to teach myself their ways. And that might have saved my life because when I got back, my home was just..." Wind snapped her fingers.

"Turns out some Dog Soldiers went ahead and ambushed a group of miners breaking up the Black Hills. The industrialists weren't happy, which meant the Army wasn't happy, and they ordered a nearby regiment to send a message through the nearest tribe. Now you have the goddamned nerve to tell me Hannah Duston's story? How about you tell me about being fourteen years old and seeing my family—my father, my mother, my eight-year-old brother—scalped, disemboweled, and hung from a tree? How about you tell me about somehow pushing that out of my mind so I could find my friend and run away with her as fast as I could, all the while tripping over the bodies of the people that raised me, that I looked up to?

"How about you tell me about finding that friend surrounded by blue coats, presented to the youngest of the group, being told it was time for him to become a man? How about that slow, horrible realization that there was nothing I could do except figure out whether to watch so she wouldn't be alone or run so I could save myself? Where the hell are those stories?"

In that moment, Sally knew that souls were real, because by God, she knew they could shatter. She barely managed to convince herself not to interrupt The Brave until it was clear they were ready to interrupt her.

"Yeah," she continued, after that moment of stunned silence, after a sick wave of realization overcame Garrick. "Yeah, why don't you tell me how I felt when that young man happened to turn my way. Actually, no, I'll tell you—I thought I was dead. Then I saw the look in his eyes, and I realized he didn't want to do it. He didn't want part of any of this. But the sergeant was telling him that he wouldn't tolerate boys in his unit: only men and casualties. Then the sergeant put a gun to the boy's head, and he whispered something in his ear.

"And you know what, I never tracked him down—he found me, by chance, years later. When his service was up he went west to try and start again, like I did. When I visited his home after, he said he couldn't have forgotten my face if he tried. He's the one that gave me the names of the people responsible. He's the only one I've ever forgiven for what he did, right before he decided that he couldn't forgive himself and swallowed a bullet in front of me. He's the one that told me what that sergeant told him that day. Would you like to know what he told him?