Gunslinger AU Pt 4
Sep. 8th, 2021 11:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saxophonic[dj khaled voice] another one
[Click here for previous chapter].
Unrated etc, 4.9k etc, no beta etc.
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From their secluded campsite halfway up the mountainside, Caesar pours himself a cup of percolated coffee and takes in the rare view. Rising through the sky behind him, the morning sun hasn’t yet burned away patches of mountain fog, extending like long cloudy white fingers clinging to the higher altitudes. The big valley spreads out before him, rolling hills retaining small pockets of mist that lend an eerie quality to the scene. Yellowish smudges of old grass dot the landscape. The patches of old grass grow smaller with each passing day, and there shouldn't be too many more sunrises before the dirt roads carved into the earth stand out against rolling fields of fresh greenery.
Movement catches Caesar’s eye as he ashes his cigarette. Someone has taken an early start; or perhaps they’ve traveled through the night, a dangerous prospect for a solitary prairie schooner and the single horse which pulls the coach along. A herd of deer graze peacefully several yards away from the road until the wagon comes too close. They startle in a wave and race toward Caesar’s mountain beneath birds’ shifting shadows as they swoop and call to one another overhead.
Lifting his tin cup, Caesar blows cool air across his coffee before taking a sip. It’s bracing, hot from the campfire and bitter on his tongue, made just like he likes it.
Behind him, he recognizes the familiar sound of Joseph stirring in his tent. Fabric whispers against itself as Joseph shuffles out of his bedroll and into his boots. Caesar doesn’t turn away from the valley, choosing to listen to the tinny sound of coffee being poured into an empty cup and the snap of wood cracking in the fire. Footsteps come to a stop beside him. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He glances at Joseph from the corner of his eye. “Careful, it’s fresh.”
“Ah!” Joseph jerks in pain. Coffee splashes over the rim of his cup to the ground. “Hot!”
Caesar lets out a resigned sigh and finishes his cigarette, then drops the butt beside his boots and stamps it out with a twist of his heel. Turning back to look at the horizon, he blows cool air across his cup. “I tried to warn you.” He slurps his coffee to make a point.
Instead, Joseph mumbles incoherent excuses in a scratchy, half-asleep tone, and inhales deeply.
“Yeah. It’s nice this morning.” Caesar breathes in, too, and they stand on the mountainside in silence. When Joseph manages to take a drink of coffee without spilling or burning his tongue, Caesar continues, “There’s deer in the area, courtesy of that wagon over there, you see it?”
“Mm.”
“I think we should try to catch one. Eat something besides dried beef today.”
“Well if you’re tired of dried beef, here’s also salted beef in the supplies we got from the Pillar Men,” Joseph says. Caesar wrinkles his nose and takes another sip of his coffee to wash the taste from his thoughts. Those provisions are some of the toughest and most over-salted foods he’s eaten in a long time. Joseph laughs at him. “That’s what I figured.”
Caesar drains his cup and wipes his lips with his knuckles. “Why eat salted meat when we can cook our own fresh? It’s a question that answers itself. Let’s go.”
“What’s the rush? I just woke up.” Joseph swirls the coffee in his mug. “This area’s got plenty of little leaves for those deer to eat, and plenty of cover at the base of this mountain to keep them from wandering too far.”
“I’m sure we aren’t the only ones on this mountain with an interest in venison.”
Joseph frowns. “You mean other people?”
“I mean wolves.” Caesar folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “Maybe a bear.”
“Well, I haven’t heard any wolves this past week.”
“You don’t have to hear the pack howling to know that they like to eat deer. I don’t hear you protesting about bears, though.” Caesar turns to put his cup away. “Are you volunteering as bait?”
Laughing, Joseph says, “Hey now, I thought we were hunting deer! Isn’t that what you want? There’s way too much meat on a bear for us to eat, and we’re not close enough to a butcher to sell it before it goes bad. Even a deer is pushing it.” He has a point, but Caesar would sooner give away his own horse than tell Joseph that. “And c’mon now, you wouldn’t really use me as wolf bait. Bear bait. Whichever. Right, Caesar?”
Caesar picks up the percolator and pours the last remnants of their morning coffee in Joseph’s cup.
“Right?”
Remaining silent, he turns away from Joseph to hide a grin.
“Caesar!”
“Might as well get breakfast on,” Caesar says. He drops to one knee beside their supplies and rifles around until he finds the strips of dried beef and a hunk of cheese with a resigned sigh. “Can’t hunt on an empty stomach, can we?”
Joseph appears at Caesar’s side, sipping his coffee and squinting. “You have got to work on your jokes. They should make people laugh.”
Raising an eyebrow, Caesar asks, “Who said I was joking?”
“Stop it.”
Caesar chuckles to himself and stays low as he watches their horses graze nearby. They spent days running from the Pillar Men hideout. The restful week on this mountain has done them some good. All of them.
After choking down breakfast, they pack up enough of their campsite to keep things from disappearing. Anything valuable enough to kill for they store in their saddlebags. Joseph moves without Caesar prompting him, the tasks long known to them both. When their paths cross as they both try to secure the remaining food, Caesar hands the last bit of cheese to Joseph, who accepts it with a murmur of thanks. Though he misses the organized chaos of a bigger camp from time to time, the habits they developed serve them just as well among two.
He wishes Joseph wouldn’t whistle so much, though. A better whistler than he is a singer, by a wide margin. If it’s one or the other, Caesar would still prefer silence, but it doesn’t stop Caesar from humming under his breath when Joseph lugs most of their food away from the camp to hide it far from their bedrolls.
With the sun climbing overhead, they set out down the mountain to find the deer Caesar spotted earlier. Neither of them would call themselves expert trackers. Joseph, maybe, but only if he thought he could use it to impress some mark out of their money at a saloon. They’re good enough to pick up the trail without getting too lost, and Caesar spots the first tracks.
“There,” Caesar says, pointing. He guides his horse carefully around the tracks before coming to a stop. “I’d guess the herd would have been here recently.”
Joseph leans over in his saddle to get a better look. “I think you’re right. Deer shit here.” He resettles on Tilly. “Reminds me of when we bagged our first deer. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t deer shit then,” Caesar says. “You stepped flat-footed in bear scat and your screaming scared all the game away for miles. I thought your mother was going to leave us in the woods after that.” He snorts. “It would have served you right.”
“You would have been left in those woods, too! And if my memory serves me right, we still managed to bring back a seven point buck. So you can shut up with that revisionist history; I don’t wanna hear it.”
“How about me? I’m tired of hearing you.” Caesar turns Sunflower to follow the tracks. Joseph pulls up to ride beside him. “And I’m damn sure your mother was the one who shot it.”
Joseph flaps a gloved hand. “No, no. I remember shooting it.”
“Ha! You revise history more than I do.”
“We were there,” Joseph argues. “That’s what counts.”
Holding a hand up, Caesar shushes him. “Be quiet before you scare off all the game again. How do you manage to catch anything without me around to stop your yammering?”
Joseph snorts. “I don’t have anyone to argue with when I’m alone. Oh, look at that.” He points and Caesar follows his line of sight. “Is that fur?”
“Looks like it. Let’s go on foot from here,” Caesar says, but they’re both already dismounting and pulling their weapons off their horses. “Try not to scream if you step in shit this time. Actually, try not to step in it at all.”
“Har, har. That one was almost funny.”
After a quick check for wind direction, they follow the turn in the tracks. The silence between them doesn’t last long.
“Must be some herd, judging by the prints.” Joseph whistles. “Goddamn.”
Leaves rustle in the otherwise still afternoon. “Joseph,” Caesar whispers.
“Yeah?”
Caesar holds up a finger to his lips, and Joseph’s eyes linger on his face even after he points through the trees. About sixty yards away, a young buck scampers deeper into the woods. The herd can’t be too far ahead.
They make up the lost ground in companionable silence. Coming upon the herd and sneaking within striking distance, Caesar makes a quick count of the deer in range: ten in all, three bucks. The wind shifts direction as it picks up, and Caesar holds his breath as he hopes it won’t put them upwind of the herd. When it doesn’t, he exhales and fits his bow into his hand.
Picking out the jittery buck from earlier, Caesar nocks an arrow and aims about one third of the way up the deer’s body. He draws the string before he remembers to glance at Joseph. Usually, they squabble like two dogs over a bone as they race each other to the kill. But today, for some reason, Joseph hasn’t moved for his own weapon. He remains crouched in the brush like he’d gone still watching Caesar track the herd and select a target. Releasing tension from the bowstring without loosing the arrow, Caesar asks Joseph a silent question with a tilt of his head toward the deer and a raised eyebrow. Joseph answers with a quick shrug and small shake of his head.
Odd, but Caesar isn’t in a position to argue. He turns his focus back to the herd. The buck has moved out of his shooting lane, and Caesar exhales. There isn’t much he can do but wait for another opening. The deer move quietly as they tear flower buds and gnaw leaves from branches and bushes. He still feels Joseph’s eyes on him, two points tickling his nerves, so he focuses on his breathing instead.
Another deer looks promising, a young doe showing interest in a flowering shrub several feet away from its current location. Moving like something out of a trapper’s dream, the doe clears the last bit of brush and offers Caesar a near-perfect broadside shot, as close to the ideal for a clear mark as Caesar’s seen since they struck out on their own. Time slows as Caesar breathes in, aligning his sight with the tender spot several inches behind the front leg crease, and shoots. He hits his mark without spooking the animal, though the rest of the herd flees the area as soon as the doe falls to the forest floor.
Joseph stands and grins at him. “You’re really good at that, you know.” He tromps through the underbrush without a care for the racket he makes simply by existing. Caesar finds himself feeling less inclined to lecture him about it, now that they’ve caught a deer, and blames it on the rush of a clean kill.
“Of course I am,” Caesar says. “Don’t sound so surprised. We learned from the best.”
Before they start in on the deer, Joseph whistles their horses over. Caesar works on the field dressing while Joseph keeps an eye out for anyone or anything that might challenge them for the deer.
He’s nearly finished when the horses jump, spooked, before Joseph raises the alarm. “Caesar,” Joseph calls, pitch trailing upward in the slightest hint of fear. “We’ve got company.” The tell-tale click of a lever-action Winchester. Whatever it is, it’s something big. Caesar looks up.
Wolves, three of them that Caesar can see, stalk closer. They must have been nearby to be lured so quickly by the scent of a slain deer, and damn hungry, too, if they’re trying to steal a kill off humans.
“Do you believe me now?” Caesar says, wiping his knife clean before sliding it back into its sheath.
Joseph fires into the trees, sending them back. “Not the time!” The wolves regroup and charge forward in a coordinated attack.
Caesar draws his six-shooter and fans the hammer as fast as he can, shooting rapid fire at the foremost wolf. He sends a full revolution of bullets flying toward one wolf's head. It whimpers as it falls forward mid-leap. Caesar scrambles to push bullets from the ammunition belt around his hips into his palm. He reloads as Joseph sends a cartridge into another wolf.
Snorting catches Caesar’s attention again. He turns in time to see Tilly bolt and Sunflower buck, striking his hooves out behind him to fend off a fourth wolf. With a yell, he unloads his gun into the side of the predator. “More behind us! Behind us!” He scans the area for more wolves and for Tilly.
Joseph fires another round to finish off the first trio and spins around on his heel, ejecting the spent shell with the lever. “I see them.”
Another shot by Joseph buys Caesar enough time to reload his revolver and aim it at the last wolf charging for the deer. The forest goes quiet and still. The other wolves must have survived by taking off in search of an easier meal. His heart pounds in his chest from the fear and adrenaline rushing through his body. He lets his shooting arm fall to his side and he pants. “I think that was all of them,” Caesar says.
“Me too.” Joseph sounds as out of breath as Caesar does, but otherwise no worse for wear. “Wolves trying to steal our kill? I would have figured a bear for that.”
Caesar casts a dark look his way. “Don’t you start. Speak of the devil and the horns sprout.” Joseph guffaws in that irritating way like Caesar said something funny. “Call your horse. We’ll take the pelt, and all the meat we can carry, but let’s leave the rest of this here.” He points at the dressed deer with his gun. “I don’t want to tempt anything else to invite itself to our camp.”
Frowning, Joseph ejects the used cartridge from his Winchester rifle. “She spooked so bad, I don’t know if she’ll come back here. But, I’ll try.” Joseph whistles one-handed, pauses to listen for the sound of a horse returning through the woods, then tries again.
By the time Caesar finishes packing what they can take, Tilly still hasn’t returned, no matter how many times Joseph has whistled for her. “Damn, how far off do you think she ran?” Caesar asks as he rolls the pelt and stores it behind his saddle.
“Dunno. Maybe she hasn’t calmed enough to come back here.” Joseph sighs. “She can’t be too far. Do you remember which way she went?”
Caesar steps into the stirrup and swings a leg over his horse in one smooth motion. “Yeah, or close enough.” He tosses his head in a silent prompt for Joseph to ride double. “But just this once.” Joseph grins and hands Caesar his gun to store in the saddle. While he vaults himself over the back of Sunflower to sit on the loin coupling, Caesar pats the neck of his gelding. “I’m sorry, boy. It’s only for a little while, I promise.” Sunflower whickers, shifting his weight, but allows the second rider to mount.
Once he’s up, Joseph scoots along the back of the horse, doing his best to not kick at the horse’s flanks. Caesar sits firmly in the saddle and holds Sunflower in position while Joseph moves. Joseph shifts his legs forward until his knees touch the back of Caesar’s thighs. Caesar stiffens in surprise when Joseph slides his hands around Caesar’s waist. He leans forward, his chest pressing against the full breadth of Caesar’s back, warm and solid and far too close for comfort. “Ready?” asks Joseph, his voice like the pleasant rasp of whiskey on a late winter night.
“You don’t want to hold the saddle’s cantle instead?” Caesar’s throat feels dry. He swallows ineffectually and wishes he could grab his flask for a quick swig. This business with the wolves must have rattled him more than he realized. And they’ve been hunting for the better part of the day; it seems fair to assume there’s a bit of dehydration at play here. Nothing more.
“I thought this might be…better.” Joseph’s breath tickles the back of Caesar’s neck. “Easier on the horse.”
“Is that so?” Caesar mutters. Joseph hums. Finding the noise too distracting to bear for very long, Caesar prompts Sunflower to walk with a click of his tongue. “Let’s get this over with. You stink to high heaven.”
An amused snort. Then, “You’re no field of roses yourself.”
They cut across the side of the mountain. “Shut up or I’ll make you walk the whole way.” Blessedly, Joseph does fall quiet except for short whistles and pleading calls for Tilly. Together, they comb over about a mile of the mountain before something big heads their way. On instinct, Casar pulls his sidearm.
“Put that away!” Joseph protests. “What if it’s my horse?”
Caesar guides Sunflower in a circle until he’s certain of the direction of the noise. “Could be another attack.”
Joseph grumbles in his ear. “Gonna shoot my horse, and then what? We’ll be shit outta luck.”
“Be quiet. Whatever it is, it’s coming through there,” Caesar says
Through the brush comes Tilly, tossing her head as she trots toward them. “There’s my girl!” Joseph says. Caesar brings his horse to a stop so Joseph can slide off easily and reunite with his mount. “It’s okay, now. You’re alright.”
Once they get themselves situated, each man on his own horse, Caesar slips Sunflower a treat. They ride back to camp to rest their horses, take turns bathing in a bracing mountain stream nearby, and kick back around the campfire with their bellies full of well-cooked venison while the sun tucks itself under the horizon. The rest of their meat they slice thin and set up by the campfire, using its smoke to protect the jerky as it cooks and dries.
With a contented sigh, Caesar settles down to finish the day much like he started it, lighting up while he takes in the view from camp, though this time he’s seated on the suitable log that he and Joseph appropriated from the woods sometime between rubbing down their horses and washing up briskly.
“We should have found this log sooner,” Joseph says, seated beside him. “We have got to get a set of folding stools again.” He pats himself down, comes up empty, and extends a begging hand to Caesar with a pout.
Waving him off with his non-smoking hand, Caesar says, “You have your own pack somewhere, don’t you?”
But Joseph leans over and plucks the cigarette from between his fingers with a grin. “Yeah, maybe. But that’s over there, buried in my mess of things.”
“So you’ll make that my problem?”
Joseph ignores him and lifts the cigarette. “This is right here.” He takes a deep drag before offering it back. Caesar snatches it from his grasp with a scowl. “Besides,” Joseph exhales smoke through his nose. “You have more than enough of those to share with me.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to.” Caesar clears his throat. “I know how you get whenever anyone takes something of yours.”
Gesturing at himself with one hand, Joseph bows his head. “I am a paragon of decency.”
Caesar laughs. “Oh yeah? I bet you don’t even know what ‘paragon’ means.”
“Well, me. I’m a perfect example.”
“Uh huh.” He ashes his cigarette before inhaling. “The only thing you’re a perfect example of is a con man. Conned me right out of my last smoke.”
“I gave it back, didn’t I? Jesus, so sensitive.” They take up a comfortable silence by the yellow-orange light of the fire, and after Caesar takes another drag of the cigarette, he offers it to Joseph, who accepts it. “What do you think about a few more days of lying low out here? It’s a nice spot.”
Caesar shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m anxious to sell what we stole and move on.” He watches the flames dance around the logs, and listens to the wood pop from the lick of heat. “All you took from that camp was the supplies, right? I don’t remember you mentioning if there was anything else worth stealing in that wagon besides the liquor.”
“Want me to open a bottle?” Joseph asks, looking up from the cigarette pinched between two fingers. “I think they had some rum in there, if you were looking for a change.” He takes a drag, and Caesar watches the cherry burn through more of the roll-up.
Shaking his head, Caesar says, “Nah, that’s okay.”
“I’ll do it anyway. Not much else going on tonight,” Joseph says. He returns the cigarette to Caesar on his way to his bags.
Raising his eyebrows, he watches Joseph’s retreating form until he bends over at the waist, then Caesar turns his face back to the fire. The strips of venison look ready to be turned over, but another half-hour without moving won’t change much over the course of its night-long cook time. Within the circle of stones, thick logs glow orange around their edges, while the smaller kindling glows bright, especially in the heart of the blaze. Caesar watches it, clearing his mind as he breathes. He stubs out his cigarette and flicks it beyond the fire as an owl calls out in the woods somewhere.
Joseph makes a noise of surprise. “In the shitshow after the cabin, I can’t believe I forgot about this.”
Caesar drags his attention back to Joseph, who has since dropped to one knee as he turns out one of his bags. “Like what?”
“Some kinda necklace.” Joseph stands, gripping the neck of a rum bottle in one hand, and something folded in cloth with the other. “Looked real rare and expensive. Thought we could sell it for a nice cut of cash. Here. Which do you want first?”
Pointing at the rum, Caesar smiles when Joseph opens it for him. “Thanks.” He sniffs the opening to make sure it really is rum. Sloshing down a swig, Caesar asks, “Now what’s so special about this necklace, anyway?”
Settling back on the log, Joseph unfolds the cloth. Caesar’s eyes go wide as an enormous stone catches the firelight like it possesses its own embers, burning dark red beneath a crystal shell. “Well, goddamn.” He nearly drops the bottle before exchanging it for the necklace.
“Yeah, I probably looked just like that when I pulled it from that coach,” Joseph says, pointing with the hand wrapped around the bottleneck. The rum gurgles when he angles his head back to take a long pull.
The necklace surprises him with its weight, the smoothness of the stone, and the six additional perfectly cut emeralds in its gold setting. It’s easily the most expensive thing he’s ever held, and he has no idea how much money they’ll get for this. Enough to get them out of this life, easy. They could take the money and run with two anonymous train tickets anywhere they want to go, never wanting for food or shelter or company. He could start a family. Spend day in and day out on honest living. Grow old, meet grandchildren. Die peacefully.
Tracing his thumb over the necklace, he laughs to himself, a bit bitterly. There’s no getting out of this life, not alive anyhow. But with this, they should make enough for a decent attempt. Hell, between the two of them, they’re both so stubborn that it might work if they want it bad enough.
Caesar hands it back. “You think we can fence it?”
Mouth full of rum, Joseph coolly shrugs one shoulder and tilts his hands as if to say, ‘Why not?’ He takes his act one step further and scoffs, but the alcohol dribbles down his chin. Caesar doubles over, laughing and covering his face with one hand.
“What!” Joseph protests, voice hoarse from the alcohol. “Stop pretending you’ve never done that before.”
Looking up, the wet spots on Joseph’s shirt left behind by the accidental deluge nearly send Caesar into another laughing fit. Instead, Caesar snatches the rum from grasp and says, “At least I’m already drunk when I make a fool of myself. With you, it happens stone cold sober.” He fits the bottle to his lips.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Joseph grumbles to himself as he returns the necklace to one hiding spot or another in his bags. “Fine. Be an asshole. See if I share the cash with you.”
Caesar lets his eyes linger, this time, swallowing the spiced rum and letting the burn ground him. “You know you will.”
“You don’t know that!” Joseph shoves his things back into his bags after the necklace, haphazard. “Maybe I won’t this time.”
“Sure, sure.” Caesar takes another drink as he turns back to the fire. He sets the rum down on the ground, unsheathes his knife, and flips their venison to help it become jerky faster. His hand obeys him, but more sluggish than Caesar would like. Must be drinking too much, too fast.
Joseph’s back in his seat once Caesar finishes tending to the venison, drinking rum with a journal perched over one thigh. Caesar knows better than to ask Joseph about it. He’d always get brushed off with some excuse or another about how there’s nothing more than notes Joseph wants to remember, and resumes his post on the other end of the log.
Exhaling the tension he carries in his shoulders, Caesar loosens the knotted bandana around his throat before removing it entirely. This close to the fire, he doesn’t need the extra layers. The contrast between the night breeze and the warmth of the campfire feels good on his neck and chest. He watches the trail of smoke from the fire as it grows wider as it dissipates into the sky. Caesar keeps his head tilted back, the rum in his body making him feel like he’s about to pitch over backwards at any moment, but it’s worth it to watch the stars spin so distantly.
Even with the moon waxing, he can still pick out constellations that Lisa Lisa showed him when he was a boy playing at being a man, and angry at the world for leaving him out in the cold. High overhead, he picks out…what did Lisa Lisa call it? Ursa Major. Big Mama Bear. It always did suit her. He smiles and watches for a long while as the Milky Way twists its way through the star-littered sky.
Though, it sure makes a man dizzy to sit back and take in all that…space. A quarter—or was it a third, now?—a bottle of rum notwithstanding. He slides to the ground with a contented sigh so he can use the log as a backrest. Joseph makes a small noise of protest.
“Hm?” Caesar looks at him. “What is it?”
“Oh,” Joseph says, eyes sliding away. One hand holds the journal open to a page on his lap, the other poised with a pencil. “Nothing. I, uh, I moved a little. Messed up what I was doing, that’s all.”
With a frown, Caesar watches Joseph, taking in the way the fire makes his face glow. The shadows thrown by his features reframe him into someone else. Someone less abrasive, someone more mysterious. Like the strong cut of his jaw means something besides the fact he can take a punch and get back up. Inviting, almost.
Joseph’s thick eyebrows knit together as he works in his journal, and the flames pull their changing act again like a con man hitting the same saloon. The fire must be playing tricks on his eyes, taking advantage of the late hour and the liquor in him like a swindler. But that wasn’t quite right. A swindler knows how to take a mediocre product and sell it well: either swaddled in darkness and passed off as some great secret or over-polished and shown in the sun to let the sparkle distract the eye. Everything in life has its price, given the right buyer and the right motivations. But despite all Joseph’s flaws, and Caesar could usually think of many, the label of mediocre didn’t sit well tonight. That was the thing that felt wrong.
Washing down that train of thought, he resettles against the log. Caesar turns his head skyward, eyes drawn back to Ursa Major and her cub. As he waits for the jerky to finish, Caesar finds himself considering what things he’s come to value, and how many of them need no polish or sunlight to convince him of their worth, no false promises to make them seem more precious than they already are.
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[Click here for next chapter].
[Click here for previous chapter].
Unrated etc, 4.9k etc, no beta etc.
###
From their secluded campsite halfway up the mountainside, Caesar pours himself a cup of percolated coffee and takes in the rare view. Rising through the sky behind him, the morning sun hasn’t yet burned away patches of mountain fog, extending like long cloudy white fingers clinging to the higher altitudes. The big valley spreads out before him, rolling hills retaining small pockets of mist that lend an eerie quality to the scene. Yellowish smudges of old grass dot the landscape. The patches of old grass grow smaller with each passing day, and there shouldn't be too many more sunrises before the dirt roads carved into the earth stand out against rolling fields of fresh greenery.
Movement catches Caesar’s eye as he ashes his cigarette. Someone has taken an early start; or perhaps they’ve traveled through the night, a dangerous prospect for a solitary prairie schooner and the single horse which pulls the coach along. A herd of deer graze peacefully several yards away from the road until the wagon comes too close. They startle in a wave and race toward Caesar’s mountain beneath birds’ shifting shadows as they swoop and call to one another overhead.
Lifting his tin cup, Caesar blows cool air across his coffee before taking a sip. It’s bracing, hot from the campfire and bitter on his tongue, made just like he likes it.
Behind him, he recognizes the familiar sound of Joseph stirring in his tent. Fabric whispers against itself as Joseph shuffles out of his bedroll and into his boots. Caesar doesn’t turn away from the valley, choosing to listen to the tinny sound of coffee being poured into an empty cup and the snap of wood cracking in the fire. Footsteps come to a stop beside him. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He glances at Joseph from the corner of his eye. “Careful, it’s fresh.”
“Ah!” Joseph jerks in pain. Coffee splashes over the rim of his cup to the ground. “Hot!”
Caesar lets out a resigned sigh and finishes his cigarette, then drops the butt beside his boots and stamps it out with a twist of his heel. Turning back to look at the horizon, he blows cool air across his cup. “I tried to warn you.” He slurps his coffee to make a point.
Instead, Joseph mumbles incoherent excuses in a scratchy, half-asleep tone, and inhales deeply.
“Yeah. It’s nice this morning.” Caesar breathes in, too, and they stand on the mountainside in silence. When Joseph manages to take a drink of coffee without spilling or burning his tongue, Caesar continues, “There’s deer in the area, courtesy of that wagon over there, you see it?”
“Mm.”
“I think we should try to catch one. Eat something besides dried beef today.”
“Well if you’re tired of dried beef, here’s also salted beef in the supplies we got from the Pillar Men,” Joseph says. Caesar wrinkles his nose and takes another sip of his coffee to wash the taste from his thoughts. Those provisions are some of the toughest and most over-salted foods he’s eaten in a long time. Joseph laughs at him. “That’s what I figured.”
Caesar drains his cup and wipes his lips with his knuckles. “Why eat salted meat when we can cook our own fresh? It’s a question that answers itself. Let’s go.”
“What’s the rush? I just woke up.” Joseph swirls the coffee in his mug. “This area’s got plenty of little leaves for those deer to eat, and plenty of cover at the base of this mountain to keep them from wandering too far.”
“I’m sure we aren’t the only ones on this mountain with an interest in venison.”
Joseph frowns. “You mean other people?”
“I mean wolves.” Caesar folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “Maybe a bear.”
“Well, I haven’t heard any wolves this past week.”
“You don’t have to hear the pack howling to know that they like to eat deer. I don’t hear you protesting about bears, though.” Caesar turns to put his cup away. “Are you volunteering as bait?”
Laughing, Joseph says, “Hey now, I thought we were hunting deer! Isn’t that what you want? There’s way too much meat on a bear for us to eat, and we’re not close enough to a butcher to sell it before it goes bad. Even a deer is pushing it.” He has a point, but Caesar would sooner give away his own horse than tell Joseph that. “And c’mon now, you wouldn’t really use me as wolf bait. Bear bait. Whichever. Right, Caesar?”
Caesar picks up the percolator and pours the last remnants of their morning coffee in Joseph’s cup.
“Right?”
Remaining silent, he turns away from Joseph to hide a grin.
“Caesar!”
“Might as well get breakfast on,” Caesar says. He drops to one knee beside their supplies and rifles around until he finds the strips of dried beef and a hunk of cheese with a resigned sigh. “Can’t hunt on an empty stomach, can we?”
Joseph appears at Caesar’s side, sipping his coffee and squinting. “You have got to work on your jokes. They should make people laugh.”
Raising an eyebrow, Caesar asks, “Who said I was joking?”
“Stop it.”
Caesar chuckles to himself and stays low as he watches their horses graze nearby. They spent days running from the Pillar Men hideout. The restful week on this mountain has done them some good. All of them.
After choking down breakfast, they pack up enough of their campsite to keep things from disappearing. Anything valuable enough to kill for they store in their saddlebags. Joseph moves without Caesar prompting him, the tasks long known to them both. When their paths cross as they both try to secure the remaining food, Caesar hands the last bit of cheese to Joseph, who accepts it with a murmur of thanks. Though he misses the organized chaos of a bigger camp from time to time, the habits they developed serve them just as well among two.
He wishes Joseph wouldn’t whistle so much, though. A better whistler than he is a singer, by a wide margin. If it’s one or the other, Caesar would still prefer silence, but it doesn’t stop Caesar from humming under his breath when Joseph lugs most of their food away from the camp to hide it far from their bedrolls.
With the sun climbing overhead, they set out down the mountain to find the deer Caesar spotted earlier. Neither of them would call themselves expert trackers. Joseph, maybe, but only if he thought he could use it to impress some mark out of their money at a saloon. They’re good enough to pick up the trail without getting too lost, and Caesar spots the first tracks.
“There,” Caesar says, pointing. He guides his horse carefully around the tracks before coming to a stop. “I’d guess the herd would have been here recently.”
Joseph leans over in his saddle to get a better look. “I think you’re right. Deer shit here.” He resettles on Tilly. “Reminds me of when we bagged our first deer. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t deer shit then,” Caesar says. “You stepped flat-footed in bear scat and your screaming scared all the game away for miles. I thought your mother was going to leave us in the woods after that.” He snorts. “It would have served you right.”
“You would have been left in those woods, too! And if my memory serves me right, we still managed to bring back a seven point buck. So you can shut up with that revisionist history; I don’t wanna hear it.”
“How about me? I’m tired of hearing you.” Caesar turns Sunflower to follow the tracks. Joseph pulls up to ride beside him. “And I’m damn sure your mother was the one who shot it.”
Joseph flaps a gloved hand. “No, no. I remember shooting it.”
“Ha! You revise history more than I do.”
“We were there,” Joseph argues. “That’s what counts.”
Holding a hand up, Caesar shushes him. “Be quiet before you scare off all the game again. How do you manage to catch anything without me around to stop your yammering?”
Joseph snorts. “I don’t have anyone to argue with when I’m alone. Oh, look at that.” He points and Caesar follows his line of sight. “Is that fur?”
“Looks like it. Let’s go on foot from here,” Caesar says, but they’re both already dismounting and pulling their weapons off their horses. “Try not to scream if you step in shit this time. Actually, try not to step in it at all.”
“Har, har. That one was almost funny.”
After a quick check for wind direction, they follow the turn in the tracks. The silence between them doesn’t last long.
“Must be some herd, judging by the prints.” Joseph whistles. “Goddamn.”
Leaves rustle in the otherwise still afternoon. “Joseph,” Caesar whispers.
“Yeah?”
Caesar holds up a finger to his lips, and Joseph’s eyes linger on his face even after he points through the trees. About sixty yards away, a young buck scampers deeper into the woods. The herd can’t be too far ahead.
They make up the lost ground in companionable silence. Coming upon the herd and sneaking within striking distance, Caesar makes a quick count of the deer in range: ten in all, three bucks. The wind shifts direction as it picks up, and Caesar holds his breath as he hopes it won’t put them upwind of the herd. When it doesn’t, he exhales and fits his bow into his hand.
Picking out the jittery buck from earlier, Caesar nocks an arrow and aims about one third of the way up the deer’s body. He draws the string before he remembers to glance at Joseph. Usually, they squabble like two dogs over a bone as they race each other to the kill. But today, for some reason, Joseph hasn’t moved for his own weapon. He remains crouched in the brush like he’d gone still watching Caesar track the herd and select a target. Releasing tension from the bowstring without loosing the arrow, Caesar asks Joseph a silent question with a tilt of his head toward the deer and a raised eyebrow. Joseph answers with a quick shrug and small shake of his head.
Odd, but Caesar isn’t in a position to argue. He turns his focus back to the herd. The buck has moved out of his shooting lane, and Caesar exhales. There isn’t much he can do but wait for another opening. The deer move quietly as they tear flower buds and gnaw leaves from branches and bushes. He still feels Joseph’s eyes on him, two points tickling his nerves, so he focuses on his breathing instead.
Another deer looks promising, a young doe showing interest in a flowering shrub several feet away from its current location. Moving like something out of a trapper’s dream, the doe clears the last bit of brush and offers Caesar a near-perfect broadside shot, as close to the ideal for a clear mark as Caesar’s seen since they struck out on their own. Time slows as Caesar breathes in, aligning his sight with the tender spot several inches behind the front leg crease, and shoots. He hits his mark without spooking the animal, though the rest of the herd flees the area as soon as the doe falls to the forest floor.
Joseph stands and grins at him. “You’re really good at that, you know.” He tromps through the underbrush without a care for the racket he makes simply by existing. Caesar finds himself feeling less inclined to lecture him about it, now that they’ve caught a deer, and blames it on the rush of a clean kill.
“Of course I am,” Caesar says. “Don’t sound so surprised. We learned from the best.”
Before they start in on the deer, Joseph whistles their horses over. Caesar works on the field dressing while Joseph keeps an eye out for anyone or anything that might challenge them for the deer.
He’s nearly finished when the horses jump, spooked, before Joseph raises the alarm. “Caesar,” Joseph calls, pitch trailing upward in the slightest hint of fear. “We’ve got company.” The tell-tale click of a lever-action Winchester. Whatever it is, it’s something big. Caesar looks up.
Wolves, three of them that Caesar can see, stalk closer. They must have been nearby to be lured so quickly by the scent of a slain deer, and damn hungry, too, if they’re trying to steal a kill off humans.
“Do you believe me now?” Caesar says, wiping his knife clean before sliding it back into its sheath.
Joseph fires into the trees, sending them back. “Not the time!” The wolves regroup and charge forward in a coordinated attack.
Caesar draws his six-shooter and fans the hammer as fast as he can, shooting rapid fire at the foremost wolf. He sends a full revolution of bullets flying toward one wolf's head. It whimpers as it falls forward mid-leap. Caesar scrambles to push bullets from the ammunition belt around his hips into his palm. He reloads as Joseph sends a cartridge into another wolf.
Snorting catches Caesar’s attention again. He turns in time to see Tilly bolt and Sunflower buck, striking his hooves out behind him to fend off a fourth wolf. With a yell, he unloads his gun into the side of the predator. “More behind us! Behind us!” He scans the area for more wolves and for Tilly.
Joseph fires another round to finish off the first trio and spins around on his heel, ejecting the spent shell with the lever. “I see them.”
Another shot by Joseph buys Caesar enough time to reload his revolver and aim it at the last wolf charging for the deer. The forest goes quiet and still. The other wolves must have survived by taking off in search of an easier meal. His heart pounds in his chest from the fear and adrenaline rushing through his body. He lets his shooting arm fall to his side and he pants. “I think that was all of them,” Caesar says.
“Me too.” Joseph sounds as out of breath as Caesar does, but otherwise no worse for wear. “Wolves trying to steal our kill? I would have figured a bear for that.”
Caesar casts a dark look his way. “Don’t you start. Speak of the devil and the horns sprout.” Joseph guffaws in that irritating way like Caesar said something funny. “Call your horse. We’ll take the pelt, and all the meat we can carry, but let’s leave the rest of this here.” He points at the dressed deer with his gun. “I don’t want to tempt anything else to invite itself to our camp.”
Frowning, Joseph ejects the used cartridge from his Winchester rifle. “She spooked so bad, I don’t know if she’ll come back here. But, I’ll try.” Joseph whistles one-handed, pauses to listen for the sound of a horse returning through the woods, then tries again.
By the time Caesar finishes packing what they can take, Tilly still hasn’t returned, no matter how many times Joseph has whistled for her. “Damn, how far off do you think she ran?” Caesar asks as he rolls the pelt and stores it behind his saddle.
“Dunno. Maybe she hasn’t calmed enough to come back here.” Joseph sighs. “She can’t be too far. Do you remember which way she went?”
Caesar steps into the stirrup and swings a leg over his horse in one smooth motion. “Yeah, or close enough.” He tosses his head in a silent prompt for Joseph to ride double. “But just this once.” Joseph grins and hands Caesar his gun to store in the saddle. While he vaults himself over the back of Sunflower to sit on the loin coupling, Caesar pats the neck of his gelding. “I’m sorry, boy. It’s only for a little while, I promise.” Sunflower whickers, shifting his weight, but allows the second rider to mount.
Once he’s up, Joseph scoots along the back of the horse, doing his best to not kick at the horse’s flanks. Caesar sits firmly in the saddle and holds Sunflower in position while Joseph moves. Joseph shifts his legs forward until his knees touch the back of Caesar’s thighs. Caesar stiffens in surprise when Joseph slides his hands around Caesar’s waist. He leans forward, his chest pressing against the full breadth of Caesar’s back, warm and solid and far too close for comfort. “Ready?” asks Joseph, his voice like the pleasant rasp of whiskey on a late winter night.
“You don’t want to hold the saddle’s cantle instead?” Caesar’s throat feels dry. He swallows ineffectually and wishes he could grab his flask for a quick swig. This business with the wolves must have rattled him more than he realized. And they’ve been hunting for the better part of the day; it seems fair to assume there’s a bit of dehydration at play here. Nothing more.
“I thought this might be…better.” Joseph’s breath tickles the back of Caesar’s neck. “Easier on the horse.”
“Is that so?” Caesar mutters. Joseph hums. Finding the noise too distracting to bear for very long, Caesar prompts Sunflower to walk with a click of his tongue. “Let’s get this over with. You stink to high heaven.”
An amused snort. Then, “You’re no field of roses yourself.”
They cut across the side of the mountain. “Shut up or I’ll make you walk the whole way.” Blessedly, Joseph does fall quiet except for short whistles and pleading calls for Tilly. Together, they comb over about a mile of the mountain before something big heads their way. On instinct, Casar pulls his sidearm.
“Put that away!” Joseph protests. “What if it’s my horse?”
Caesar guides Sunflower in a circle until he’s certain of the direction of the noise. “Could be another attack.”
Joseph grumbles in his ear. “Gonna shoot my horse, and then what? We’ll be shit outta luck.”
“Be quiet. Whatever it is, it’s coming through there,” Caesar says
Through the brush comes Tilly, tossing her head as she trots toward them. “There’s my girl!” Joseph says. Caesar brings his horse to a stop so Joseph can slide off easily and reunite with his mount. “It’s okay, now. You’re alright.”
Once they get themselves situated, each man on his own horse, Caesar slips Sunflower a treat. They ride back to camp to rest their horses, take turns bathing in a bracing mountain stream nearby, and kick back around the campfire with their bellies full of well-cooked venison while the sun tucks itself under the horizon. The rest of their meat they slice thin and set up by the campfire, using its smoke to protect the jerky as it cooks and dries.
With a contented sigh, Caesar settles down to finish the day much like he started it, lighting up while he takes in the view from camp, though this time he’s seated on the suitable log that he and Joseph appropriated from the woods sometime between rubbing down their horses and washing up briskly.
“We should have found this log sooner,” Joseph says, seated beside him. “We have got to get a set of folding stools again.” He pats himself down, comes up empty, and extends a begging hand to Caesar with a pout.
Waving him off with his non-smoking hand, Caesar says, “You have your own pack somewhere, don’t you?”
But Joseph leans over and plucks the cigarette from between his fingers with a grin. “Yeah, maybe. But that’s over there, buried in my mess of things.”
“So you’ll make that my problem?”
Joseph ignores him and lifts the cigarette. “This is right here.” He takes a deep drag before offering it back. Caesar snatches it from his grasp with a scowl. “Besides,” Joseph exhales smoke through his nose. “You have more than enough of those to share with me.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to.” Caesar clears his throat. “I know how you get whenever anyone takes something of yours.”
Gesturing at himself with one hand, Joseph bows his head. “I am a paragon of decency.”
Caesar laughs. “Oh yeah? I bet you don’t even know what ‘paragon’ means.”
“Well, me. I’m a perfect example.”
“Uh huh.” He ashes his cigarette before inhaling. “The only thing you’re a perfect example of is a con man. Conned me right out of my last smoke.”
“I gave it back, didn’t I? Jesus, so sensitive.” They take up a comfortable silence by the yellow-orange light of the fire, and after Caesar takes another drag of the cigarette, he offers it to Joseph, who accepts it. “What do you think about a few more days of lying low out here? It’s a nice spot.”
Caesar shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m anxious to sell what we stole and move on.” He watches the flames dance around the logs, and listens to the wood pop from the lick of heat. “All you took from that camp was the supplies, right? I don’t remember you mentioning if there was anything else worth stealing in that wagon besides the liquor.”
“Want me to open a bottle?” Joseph asks, looking up from the cigarette pinched between two fingers. “I think they had some rum in there, if you were looking for a change.” He takes a drag, and Caesar watches the cherry burn through more of the roll-up.
Shaking his head, Caesar says, “Nah, that’s okay.”
“I’ll do it anyway. Not much else going on tonight,” Joseph says. He returns the cigarette to Caesar on his way to his bags.
Raising his eyebrows, he watches Joseph’s retreating form until he bends over at the waist, then Caesar turns his face back to the fire. The strips of venison look ready to be turned over, but another half-hour without moving won’t change much over the course of its night-long cook time. Within the circle of stones, thick logs glow orange around their edges, while the smaller kindling glows bright, especially in the heart of the blaze. Caesar watches it, clearing his mind as he breathes. He stubs out his cigarette and flicks it beyond the fire as an owl calls out in the woods somewhere.
Joseph makes a noise of surprise. “In the shitshow after the cabin, I can’t believe I forgot about this.”
Caesar drags his attention back to Joseph, who has since dropped to one knee as he turns out one of his bags. “Like what?”
“Some kinda necklace.” Joseph stands, gripping the neck of a rum bottle in one hand, and something folded in cloth with the other. “Looked real rare and expensive. Thought we could sell it for a nice cut of cash. Here. Which do you want first?”
Pointing at the rum, Caesar smiles when Joseph opens it for him. “Thanks.” He sniffs the opening to make sure it really is rum. Sloshing down a swig, Caesar asks, “Now what’s so special about this necklace, anyway?”
Settling back on the log, Joseph unfolds the cloth. Caesar’s eyes go wide as an enormous stone catches the firelight like it possesses its own embers, burning dark red beneath a crystal shell. “Well, goddamn.” He nearly drops the bottle before exchanging it for the necklace.
“Yeah, I probably looked just like that when I pulled it from that coach,” Joseph says, pointing with the hand wrapped around the bottleneck. The rum gurgles when he angles his head back to take a long pull.
The necklace surprises him with its weight, the smoothness of the stone, and the six additional perfectly cut emeralds in its gold setting. It’s easily the most expensive thing he’s ever held, and he has no idea how much money they’ll get for this. Enough to get them out of this life, easy. They could take the money and run with two anonymous train tickets anywhere they want to go, never wanting for food or shelter or company. He could start a family. Spend day in and day out on honest living. Grow old, meet grandchildren. Die peacefully.
Tracing his thumb over the necklace, he laughs to himself, a bit bitterly. There’s no getting out of this life, not alive anyhow. But with this, they should make enough for a decent attempt. Hell, between the two of them, they’re both so stubborn that it might work if they want it bad enough.
Caesar hands it back. “You think we can fence it?”
Mouth full of rum, Joseph coolly shrugs one shoulder and tilts his hands as if to say, ‘Why not?’ He takes his act one step further and scoffs, but the alcohol dribbles down his chin. Caesar doubles over, laughing and covering his face with one hand.
“What!” Joseph protests, voice hoarse from the alcohol. “Stop pretending you’ve never done that before.”
Looking up, the wet spots on Joseph’s shirt left behind by the accidental deluge nearly send Caesar into another laughing fit. Instead, Caesar snatches the rum from grasp and says, “At least I’m already drunk when I make a fool of myself. With you, it happens stone cold sober.” He fits the bottle to his lips.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Joseph grumbles to himself as he returns the necklace to one hiding spot or another in his bags. “Fine. Be an asshole. See if I share the cash with you.”
Caesar lets his eyes linger, this time, swallowing the spiced rum and letting the burn ground him. “You know you will.”
“You don’t know that!” Joseph shoves his things back into his bags after the necklace, haphazard. “Maybe I won’t this time.”
“Sure, sure.” Caesar takes another drink as he turns back to the fire. He sets the rum down on the ground, unsheathes his knife, and flips their venison to help it become jerky faster. His hand obeys him, but more sluggish than Caesar would like. Must be drinking too much, too fast.
Joseph’s back in his seat once Caesar finishes tending to the venison, drinking rum with a journal perched over one thigh. Caesar knows better than to ask Joseph about it. He’d always get brushed off with some excuse or another about how there’s nothing more than notes Joseph wants to remember, and resumes his post on the other end of the log.
Exhaling the tension he carries in his shoulders, Caesar loosens the knotted bandana around his throat before removing it entirely. This close to the fire, he doesn’t need the extra layers. The contrast between the night breeze and the warmth of the campfire feels good on his neck and chest. He watches the trail of smoke from the fire as it grows wider as it dissipates into the sky. Caesar keeps his head tilted back, the rum in his body making him feel like he’s about to pitch over backwards at any moment, but it’s worth it to watch the stars spin so distantly.
Even with the moon waxing, he can still pick out constellations that Lisa Lisa showed him when he was a boy playing at being a man, and angry at the world for leaving him out in the cold. High overhead, he picks out…what did Lisa Lisa call it? Ursa Major. Big Mama Bear. It always did suit her. He smiles and watches for a long while as the Milky Way twists its way through the star-littered sky.
Though, it sure makes a man dizzy to sit back and take in all that…space. A quarter—or was it a third, now?—a bottle of rum notwithstanding. He slides to the ground with a contented sigh so he can use the log as a backrest. Joseph makes a small noise of protest.
“Hm?” Caesar looks at him. “What is it?”
“Oh,” Joseph says, eyes sliding away. One hand holds the journal open to a page on his lap, the other poised with a pencil. “Nothing. I, uh, I moved a little. Messed up what I was doing, that’s all.”
With a frown, Caesar watches Joseph, taking in the way the fire makes his face glow. The shadows thrown by his features reframe him into someone else. Someone less abrasive, someone more mysterious. Like the strong cut of his jaw means something besides the fact he can take a punch and get back up. Inviting, almost.
Joseph’s thick eyebrows knit together as he works in his journal, and the flames pull their changing act again like a con man hitting the same saloon. The fire must be playing tricks on his eyes, taking advantage of the late hour and the liquor in him like a swindler. But that wasn’t quite right. A swindler knows how to take a mediocre product and sell it well: either swaddled in darkness and passed off as some great secret or over-polished and shown in the sun to let the sparkle distract the eye. Everything in life has its price, given the right buyer and the right motivations. But despite all Joseph’s flaws, and Caesar could usually think of many, the label of mediocre didn’t sit well tonight. That was the thing that felt wrong.
Washing down that train of thought, he resettles against the log. Caesar turns his head skyward, eyes drawn back to Ursa Major and her cub. As he waits for the jerky to finish, Caesar finds himself considering what things he’s come to value, and how many of them need no polish or sunlight to convince him of their worth, no false promises to make them seem more precious than they already are.
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