Only Killers and Thieves(71)

Tommy sniffed and shrugged at him. “Might be that I am.”

“I believe you may be right. Tell me, what would he have made of all this? Our mission here, our plan?”

“He was against it. Against Sullivan. Against you.”

“Really? And if someone had killed you and Billy, and knowing now what you do about your father’s temperament, you don’t think he’d have done the same?”

Tommy didn’t answer. He couldn’t think what to say. Behind him, Kala was twisting her body away from Noone and knocking out Beau’s stride. Tommy eased him back, allowed Noone to move on. The inspector watched him over his shoulder until he had slid past the troopers and was out of his eyeline. Locke and Sullivan stared wantonly at Kala as Tommy went by. Then came Billy, asking, “What was all that? You wanting your turn?” and the same roving stares as the men. Smirking while he did it. Ogling her top to toe to tail.

Tommy fell in at the back of the line and gave Kala one of the lemon sweets. It felt like a grubby offering but she didn’t seem to mind; she snatched the lolly from him and he heard it clattering around her teeth. Would have usually raised a smile in him, but he was thinking about Father, about what Noone had said. Since Billy first voiced the idea of coming out here, doing this, Tommy had clung to the assumption that Father would have been against it, would have been turning in his grave to see them with these men, avenging him and Mother in this way. What if he was wrong about that? Between them this morning his two sons had put down one of those supposedly responsible, and were riding out here on Joseph’s trail—what was to say that if he was watching them now, Father wouldn’t actually have been proud?





25



As dusk fell, the crater fire burned on the horizon like a torch buried deep in the earth. A few miles away yet, a small and faltering glow, but all knew what they had found. They stood the horses in a line, watched the distant firelight, and caught the strains of chanting and the rhythmic clapping of wood on wood, and Tommy heard Kala moan in a way he had never heard a person moan before. A dull, heartfelt keening that echoed in her chest and seemed born of another world.

“You can muzzle her now, Tommy. There’s a good lad.”

Tommy looked at Noone wide-eyed.

“Either muzzle her yourself or one of this lot will.”

“What with?”

“I’ve got something that’ll gag her,” Locke said. Sullivan and Billy laughed.

Tommy surveyed himself up and down. All he had was his greenhide belt. His fingers went to the knot. He glanced at Kala and she flinched.

“Sorry, but they’re saying I have to—”

“Here,” Billy called, digging around in his pack. He tossed something that Tommy caught and dangled one-handed by its strap. A horse’s burlap feed bag, saliva-stained and crusted in dirt and dried grain.

“That’ll do you,” Sullivan chortled. “Get it on her snout.”

Kala eyed the feed bag warily. Tommy said, “It’ll be better if I do it. Please.”

Billy swung down from his horse. He grabbed Kala’s ankle and wrenched her from the saddle, caught her just before she hit the ground.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, dismounting. “Get off her!”

“Quiet, the pair of you,” Noone said. “Unless you want me to muzzle you too. Tommy—give your brother the bag.”

Billy’s arm was across Kala’s chest, his other hand outstretched. Tommy passed him the feed bag and he stuffed it into Kala’s mouth. She choked on the rough gunny cloth. Billy looped the strap over her head then tied it tight at the back. Her bound hands tugged at the loose sacking falling like a beard to her chest. She couldn’t loosen the gag. The straps dug into her skin. Billy slapped her on the behind and shoved her, and she fell against Tommy, sniveling. All he wanted was to hold her. To loosen the straps and tell her she’d be fine. But the others were watching to see what he’d do next, so he pushed her away and stared into her eyes. Trying to say all that couldn’t be said. She returned the stare coldly, breathing hard through her nose. Tommy swallowed and steered her back to their horse, stood there dumbly, no idea how to get her up. He hadn’t the strength to lift her, wouldn’t know where to put his hands. He looked along the line of men and Noone nodded for Jarrah to come. Jarrah dismounted and walked toward them and Noone told him, “Best keep her with you. The boy’s smitten, I fear. Some dissent in him yet.”

Jarrah dragged Kala back to his horse. She sat small and hunched between his legs, her face in her hands, the dirty burlap dangling from her chin. They moved on. Toward the burning west, the last lickings of the sunset and the halo of the fire melding like some holy sign, then north, to higher ground and a small range of hills, bubbling hummocks of red rock silhouetted against the dusk. Noone sent the troopers ahead to make camp, while the whites turned and rode in the direction of the crater fire, and the thump of the beat getting louder as they neared.

“What’s happening?” Tommy asked. “Aren’t we all going in?”

“In the morning,” Noone said. “Patience. We’ll hit them first light of dawn.”

A quarter mile from the crater they dismounted and Noone told Locke to gather the reins and mind the horses until they were back.

“The hell for?” Locke snapped. “One of them boys can do it.”