Devils Unto Dust(36)

Dollarhide yelps and I hit him again, and again, until the blood dripping down from my nose mixes with his. I think I have him beat, but then there’s a roar from behind me and I jump up to see a man running toward me. I only barely recognize him as one of Dollarhide’s men, the boys he drinks and gambles with. I set my feet and make a fist, but before he reaches me someone grabs him from behind, knocking him to the ground.

“Just a few steps on your own, huh?” Ben asks, and I have to grin at him. A moment later Micah and two other men are running toward us with a yell, and now it’s a proper brawl.

Dollarhide scrambles to his feet, and I turn to face him. He pants, his hands braced on his knees.

“Are we done here?” I ask him.

As an answer, he rushes at me, trying to mow me over. He catches me around the waist and I punch at his back, digging my boot heels into the dirt.

A gunshot rings out, deafening and sharp.

“Have y’all lost your damn minds?” Curtis yells.

Dollarhide drops me and I leave off hitting him. Ben freezes in motion, his arm tight around someone’s neck, and Micah picks himself up off the ground.

“Ben, let him go,” Curtis orders. “Everyone, go about your business. And nobody says nothing about this, got it? Unless you want us all put outside.”

Dollarhide straightens up, looking at me with pure hate.

“Come on, Dollarhide,” one of the men calls to him. “It ain’t worth it.”

He starts to back away, but I can’t keep my mouth from running.

“You come at me again and I’ll kill you,” I call after him.

“You just try—” Dollarhide yells back, but his friends shut him up and pull him back.

“You keep the hell away from us,” Curtis says, his voice steely. “And we won’t have a problem. Understood?”

Dollarhide’s friends nod, and he goes quietly after that; his face is a bloody mess and he’s holding his side awkwardly. Sure, maybe I don’t look so nice, either, but he’s got eighty pounds on me and I gave as good as I got. Not a bad fight after all.

“Willie,” Curtis says insistently, and I realize he’s been calling my name.

“What?”

“You all right?”

The pain will start to set in now that the fight is over, but I’m still riding high, jittery and scared. “I’ll live.”

I survey the damage to the others; Ben has a busted lip and what’s bound to be an impressive black eye, but Micah looks unscathed.

“You all right, Micah?” I ask him.

“Fine,” he says, looking almost disappointed.

“What the hell were you thinking, Ben?” Curtis asks, his mouth tight like he’s holding in his teeth.

“Dollarhide started it.”

“I don’t care who started it; if the guards had caught you they’d throw us all out.”

“We’re supposed to be protecting her, aren’t we?” Ben points at me angrily. “Should I just let him keep pounding on her?”

“He wasn’t pounding on me,” I protest.

“Everyone, just—quiet.” Curtis sighs and rubs his eyes. When he lowers his hands, he looks more composed. “Willie, I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Ain’t your fault Dollarhide’s a thieving scoundrel. I told him I didn’t have nothing.”

“Let’s get inside,” Sam says, trying to steer me into our tent. “Will’s face don’t look so good.”

“Aw, come on, I’m right here,” I say, but I let Sam guide me back to our tent. We pass a few small groups on the way, and I guess from the stares we look pretty banged up. My nose is still dripping, and when I lick my lips I get a mouthful of blood.

In the tent, I sit down heavily on my cot while Sam lights the lantern and hands it to Micah.

“Hold this,” he says, and Micah shines the light on my face. Sam bends down slightly, staring at my eyes. I squint at the brightness, but Sam shakes his head.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says. His voice sounds different: calm, reassuring. He sounds just like his father when he’s with patients. “Do you know where you are?”

“What? We’re in the tent.”

“Do you know your name?”

“Aw, Sam—” I start to object.

“Just answer the question.”

I glare at him, but Sam stares back evenly. I don’t know when he grew a backbone, but it must’ve been sometime in the last two days.

“Do what he tells you,” Micah says, and it’s the insistence in his voice that gets to me.

“Daisy Wilcox,” I say, as quietly as I can mutter it. I jut out my chin, daring anyone to laugh, but the boys stay silent.

“What day is it?”

“Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I’m trying to see if you bruised your brain.”

“I didn’t hit my head, Sam, so back off.”

Instead, he gets even closer and places his fingers on either side of my nose.

“Ow,” I say, and slap his hand away. “That hurts.”

“Stop being a baby,” he tells me, and I’m so surprised that he would scold me that I let him touch my nose again.