The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

85: Thicker

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Chapter artwork of  Jeff Bridges as Dev is made by me of found images. All graphics by me.

The boy was still not asleep.

Dev sighed softly, leaning back in the one armed rocking chair in the darkness. The rifle whispered dryly against his denim clad knee as it shifted against him like a sleeping dog.

Listening in the silent black shadow of the dank cabin, he could hear the barely perceptible rhythm of the boy's quiet breathing. Enough exhausted men and boys had slept off the grueling miles of their daily work here for him to be able to tell a sleeping one from one that wasn't.

The battered old chair creaked softly under his weight as he stretched out his legs. Better sleep while you can, boy. He thought. No telling what the next couple days will bring.

Santana had been plenty mad when Hungerford had left him here. He didn't know the whole story, but he knew the Green River boys were trying to hide this one for a while. And he knew it had something to do with Peltier.

And I told them that boy needed to keep his head down. And now he's in jail. Not a good time to be a 'breed in jail...hell...He thought ruefully. It's not a good time to be a 'breed stuck in a relay station out in the middle of damn nowhere, neither. He scratched his chin through the thick brambles of his beard. He was willing to risk sleep if it was just him alone, but not while the boy was here and sleeping. Or, at least, supposed to be sleeping. First sign of trouble he was putting the kid on the fastest horse and sending him running like hell.

"You alright, boy?" he said, his gruff voice rougher even than usual from weariness and the lack of conversation a night alone and awake brought.

"No," The boy whispered, his voice tight and hoarse.

Dev rocked gently in the chair. "You want to talk about it?"

The boy drew in a shaking breath. "No."

Dev nodded to himself, falling silent and waiting.

"If they kill him...if they hang him...I..." The words tumbled out of the boy's mouth as if they had been waiting impatiently for a chance to escape. "Dunno what I'll do. It'll be my fault. Bender had no right to make me come out here."

"Bender likely saved your life, boy."

"Well, if Storm dies because of me..." Santana swung his legs out of the bunk, sitting up. "Then I wish he hadn't!"

"Look here." Dev shifted in his seat, hearing the ancient wood groan. "Why don't you tell me why I'm hiding you from lawmen that might come around looking for you. What the hell did you do?"

The boy sighed again. "Storm got ambushed, beat up bad by the Yarls. He coulda died. We been havin' trouble with those same jackasses for some time. I... put a bunch of rattlesnakes in their privy."

Dev felt his wooly eyebrows shoot upwards over his forehead and an involuntary snort rattled through his nostrils. "And someone got bitten?"

"Yeah. Pinche cabrón deserved it, but then they thought Storm did it...an' they're tryin' him for attempted murder."

Yep. Hungerford was right, this was a 'great bloody, buggering cock up.'  He cleared his throat, making his tone neutral. "Does Peltier know you did it?"

"I dunno. Maybe."

"Best you lay low, then, boy. Your brothers know what they're doing."

"It should be me..."

"You ever see a hanging, boy?" Dev felt anger and impatience flare inside him. It annoyed him how young men were so cavalier about dying, like they knew what they were talking about. Like it wouldn't hurt...anyone. "Hell," he spat. "You don't know shit. Your balls ain't even dropped yet."

"I seen a few," Santana snapped, his voice shaking. Dev heard the familiar sound of a tobacco pouch snapping open, the soft rustle of paper being hastily rolled into a tube.

"Well, then you know why they aren't having you volunteer for it.."

Santana said nothing, getting to his socked feet and padding over to the fireplace and the banked coals within. He picked up a thin sliver of fatwood and carefully teased a glowing ember out of the pile of char. Leaning forward, he lit his quirly on the ember and then carefully pushed the sliver back among the others. He took a long drag on his smoke and sat down on the warm stone hearth.

"'S'cold in here." he said finally, pulling his coat around his thin shoulders.

"We don't want too much light in here right now." Dev grunted, sorry the boy didn't have any more padding on his bones than he did. He probably is cold, poor skinny little git. "You're supposed to be under the blanket asleep."

"Can't."

Dev crab-walked his chair closer to the fireplace. The heat wasn't much, but it was something. "How's Monahan?"

"Good. His arm's getting better."

Dev felt a relief at that, a gladness that almost surprised him. Digging that bullet out of the Irishman's arm had taken a toll on him. And the look of anguish on Bari's face had taken a bigger one. It had hit close to home. This is a rough life, and sentiment's got no place here, he chastised himself as unwelcome memories crowded into his thoughts. Nobody died that time, so all in all, it was a pretty good night. Certainly had worse. The scent of Santana's quirly burning in the darkness curled sweetly in his nostrils, wafting through his thoughts.

"Peltier's family to you. Ain't he." It wasn't a question. I know how this feels. Damn, Dev...you've been alone too long, you ruined old bastard. It's made you soft.

The boy's voice cracked, tinged with defensiveness. "I don't have any family."

"The hell you don't. Roll me one of them sumbitches, boy."

The pouched snapped open again in the darkness. "I didn't know you smoked," Santana mumbled, deftly rolling another quirly, lighting it, and handing it over.

"I don't." Dev slowly inhaled the scent of the tobacco. "Haven't in a long time." He stuck the quirly to his lip and took a puff. "You got more family than you think you do. You got brothers. The kind that fight by you and step between you and harm. That don't ever go away." Not ever. Not even... He took another pull off the quirly, letting the memory of scented smoke pull him back to another place. That's stronger than blood.

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