Hhm...hhm...hhm...agh...
"Blam it all, Sundance, git up an' take care o the kid. I'm trynna get sum shuteye here. I got a right to at least that, don' I?"
"Pack it, Carver."
The gang had not been asleep two hours before the girl woke up in a fever dream. She had tears silently running down her face which shone an unhealthy pale in the moonlight. Her wound had started to bleed again. Blood mixing with tears. On their way to water the Earth. Sundance got up from where he had been lying on his jacket and shuffled over. Kneeling next to the girl.
"What's wrong? Does your cut hurt?"
"Yes, it hurts real bad."
Sundance put a hand to the girl's iron-hot forehead.
"Oh, shitcake. She's got fever. The damn cut's not healed right. Holy hell."
He scoops the girl into his arms and hugs her tightly, resting his chin on her head, and striking a match, holding it near her face so he can see the wound better. It had a nasty film of yellow on the top and greenish-white creeping in at the edges.
"Bill. Bill! Damnit! Butch, get that mule over here. She's got fever. Real bad. Bill has the stuff."
Bob was still snoring as heavily as an ox. Butch pulled himself up from his bedroll and groggily staggered over to Bill.
"Bill, Sundance needs ya. Bring the alcohol. BILL. Damnit, Bill, the one blasted useful thing you got in that jacket of yours and ya's nappin' through..."
Snoorrrr...HOOF-ahhhhhgghhhhhh...BloRP
Bill's stomach was dented several inches by the tip of Butch's steel-capped boot.
"Now...wha? Pieceashit! Who in Dad's name? Holy hell...*urp*"
Bill unceremoniously threw up the dried ham slice he had eaten for dinner.
"This had better be DAMN GOOD for ya to be kickin' me around like a pieceadogshit at this hour."
"Close yer flap hole Bill. This is worth it. The kid's got an all horn's and rattle's sick in her wound."
"Oh...OH. Sure I got the stuff for that."
Bill scrambled up and pulled a bottle of some of the finest whiskey in the west out of his pocket.
"Picked this beaut up on the train. Was hopin' to enjoy it when we got to Wyoming, but I guess...oh hell. Guess this sonofagun's got other plans."
Bill picked his way across the bodies of the gang— sitting up, and blearily staring around the now-busy camp.
"Lemmie have a look-see... oh DAD ABOVE! This girl's got moren' a little sick in her, she's...Sundance...this looks quite near as bad as a bite from the slitherin' devil himself. Ohshitohshitohshit."
"Damnit Bill quit airin' yer lungs and take care of the damn thing!"
"Shut yer squealin 'fore I give you one to match! I'm workin' on it. Okay. Sundance, hold her. HOLD HER. Carver, git 'er feet. Good. Hold 'em."
Bill took the girl's head in his hand, took out a knife, and ran it smoothly along the wound, cutting the top layer of skin off and letting the blood flow freely. He threw the infected skin into the bushes as he pulled the cork stopper out of the bottle between two grimy sets of teeth and poured a quarter of the glass-toothed liquid on her wound.
The girl would have screamed. Screamed her lungs out, except Charlie, now fully awake, lept over and put one grimy hand over her mouth and held her jaw tightly. Her face soaked fully with tears, dirt, blood, and whiskey, she bit down on Charlie's one good hand. Hard enough to draw pinpricks of blood from it. Charlie grimaces and nearly cries out.
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
Saddle Dust
Tarihi KurguCasey Long is an outlaw with a storied past and troubles finding her at every turn. When she is shot in a saloon during what some townsfolk describe as a random attack, Casey remembers some very important details from her childhood which ultimately...
