Marshal of Hel Dorado (30 page)

 
    
Sam could practically feel his gaze roving
over him, cool and assessing. He touched the rim of his hat, a polite salute
and paused a few steps from the fire.

 
    
“Marshal Kane. Quanto. Father. Marshal
Kane.” The sarcastic edge to Jimmy’s voice dulled with polite respect.

 
    
“Marshal Kane. Please. Sit.” The man was
definitely an Indian. The firelight played over flat, broad face with a
similarly aquiline nose to the one called Buck. He looked nothing like
Scarlett. In fact, he shared a resemblance with none of her brothers save the
one called Buck.

 
    
Sam tucked the fact away with the others
he’d gathered and joined Quanto at his fire, sitting down across the flames
from him.

 
    
“You can go back, Jimmy.” Quanto spared a
kind look that grew firmer when Jimmy lingered. “Now.”

 
    
The man huffed a sigh and fixed Sam with a
look that reminded him he still had Sam’s brothers. Sam bobbed his head once in
acknowledgement. He understood Jimmy.

 
    
Hell, under other circumstances, he might
even like him.

 
    
“You must forgive my sons, Marshal Kane.
They are not patient with visitors and even less so with those that come here
to court their sister.”

 
    
Whatever he’d been expecting the older man
to say, that wasn’t it, so he chose to ignore it for now. “Is she all right?”

 
    
“She is well, physically. But she is very
sad.”

 
    
Sam’s heart kicked against his ribs.

 
    
“Did you hurt my daughter while she was in
your care?”

 
    
“No.”

 
    
“And yet, you spanked her.”

 
    
Uncomfortable, Sam nodded. “She endangered
herself, unnecessarily.”

 
    
“My daughter is far from helpless, Marshal
Kane.” Quanto studied him, through the flames, and Sam had a feeling he was
looking far deeper than just his appearance.

 
    
“Your daughter is remarkable.”

 
    
The Indian nodded slowly. He reached into
the pocket of his vest and pulled out a large cigar, the rolled tobacco was
fat, heavy pressed and dark, even in the light of the fire. “All of my children
are remarkable, after a fashion.”

 
    
Sam leaned forward. “Do you mind if I ask
you a question?”

 
    
Quanto turned the cigar over in his hand,
studying it with the same attention he’d paid to Sam. “If you wish.”

 
    
“How is Scarlett your daughter? I see the
resemblance to Buck, but to none of the others, well to be fair, I didn’t get a
look at the cold guy.”

 
    
“Wyatt.” Quanto supplied the name easily,
his face wrinkling with a smile. “He is cold, but he loves his sister and his
brothers. He looks after them. You would be wise to remember that.”

 
    
He knew a threat when he heard one. Sam
nodded gravely. Waiting. The Indian would not be rushed, he took a burning
stick from the fire to light the cigar, puffing bluish smoke into the flames.
The pungent scents of sage and tobacco mingled in the air and Sam’s eyes
watered.

 
    
“While it is true that Buck is the son of
my body, they are all the children of my heart. Do you understand?”

 
    
She was adopted. It explained much and left
him with even more questions. Tendrils of the bluish smoke reached through the
flames, burning his eyes. “Yes,” he coughed. He waved a hand at the smoke, but
it seemed to cling to him, stubbornly and he frowned.

 
    
“Look into the flames, Marshal Kane.” Quanto’s
hypnotic voice commanded obedience and Sam squinted through a watery haze to
where the smoke danced amongst the flames.

 
    
“Dream with me.”

 
    
A dull roar pulsed through his ears. His
vision wavered, the blue smoke fogging the night air, blotting out the flames.
Between one heartbeat and the next, he found himself standing, gazing at his
body seated across from Quanto’s, staring into the fire.

 
    
“What the hell?”

 
    
A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked
around to find the cagey Indian grinning at him. “Peace, Marshal. We are safe
enough here and there are things that I would show you.”

 
    
Sam glanced from their bodies to the Indian
and back again. Sam lifted his hand and examined it, he could see the land
through it. His skin was transparent, ephemeral.

 
    
“Marshal?”

 
    
What the hell. With one last glance at his
body, Sam turned and followed the Indian.

 
    
“You know, maybe you should just call me
Sam.”

 
    
S
am
followed Quanto through the foggy landscape. The mountains fell away and they
were on a long stretch of prairie with only the stars sprawled across the night
sky for company.

 
    
Quanto walked with an easy rolling pace.
Sam stole a glance behind them, but saw only the prairie as though they’d
walked days, not just a few minutes.

 
    
A fire flickered in the distance, belching
great gouts of smoke into the moonlit sky.

 
    
“Something’s burning.”

 
    
“It’s the town of Hobart’s Bend near the
Red River.”

 
    
“Never heard of it.”

 
    
“That is because it burned many years ago.”
As if summoned by his curiosity, they were standing before the clapboard town’s
pyre. It wasn’t much to look at. A collection of ramshackle buildings sprawling
out from a central church.

 
    
“I was seventeen when the fever found this
group of missionaries. They came west from a place called Philadelphia. Most
spoke a language from across the ocean, but they were trying to escape the
battles with the English and the French. They were a peaceable lot and they
made treaties with many of the tribes that roamed the region, including my own.
We taught them to hunt and they shared their gardens. It was a fair
arrangement, a peaceable one.”

 
    
Sam nodded slowly as the roof to the church
collapsed inwards. “Who burned the town?”

 
    
“I did.” The simple words carried a deeper,
more profound sadness. “The fever swept through the town, felling nearly every
man, woman and child. All was well during one visit and when I returned six
nights later, it was a town of the dead.”

 
    
“Fever.” Sam breathed the word. It was the
fear of most towns. Fevers could decimate a population, killing whole families.

 
    
“Burying the dead is not our way, so I
burned them and their town. The smoke could be seen for days, a fitting tribute
to the kindness here.”

 
    
“You said nearly everyone.”

 
    
“You listen well, Sam.” Quanto gave him a
beatific look. “Yes, I found one survivor. I took him with me, cared for him
until he was fully recovered. And then I dreamed of another town, another
fever…”

 
    
“…they survived the fevers.” Sam exhaled,
his phantom heart, if his spirit even had one sped up. “Your children, they
survived the spirit fever.” Just naming it sent a chill up Sam's spine. Spirit
fever was knew no mercy, attacking white and Indian alike and left no
survivors.

 
    
None that he'd ever heard of, until now.

 
    
“Yes. I would dream of them and I would
follow the dream until I found them, sometimes, I was too late. If the journey
took too long or the obstacles were many, I would find the survivor had
perished to the elements. So many were too young, our Scarlett was just a babe
when I found her.”

 
    
His heart thudded with a sick feeling as
the land swirled before them, the smoke clearing to reveal another town, this
one camped shabbily around the steep walls of a Fort. He recognized the
bluecoats of the army uniforms standing atop the vestibules, white clothes
pressed over their face.

 
    
Fires burned in the town below.

 
    
“Watch.” Quanto instructed. Sam found
himself leaning forward, and the scene sped up to them, bringing them into the
edge of the town where a younger version of Quanto stood, his expression
remote. Before him was a lean man, in officer’s regalia, his face covered by a
similar white cloth as though hoping to stave off the stench of burning bodies
and a town turning to charcoal.

 
    
“If any of the children survive, I will
take them with me.” Quanto spoke in measured English, each word phrased as
though he had learned them.

 
    
“So I’ve been ordered.” The officer nodded.
“But I don’t see how any could survive this.

 
    
It felled the town in three days, taking
many of my men with it.”

 
    
“I understand. I will visit each house, I
will make a note of the dead and I will burn it when I am done. You must keep
your men away.” Done, the younger Quanto turned to walk away but the officer
took his arm.

 
    
“Wait. How can you walk in there? Aren’t
you afraid of the fever?”

 
    
The younger Quanto smiled, patting the
officer’s hand and removing its grip on his arm.

 
    
“Go Colonel Stanley, return to your men and
allow me to do my work.”

 
    
He did not answer the question, but the
Colonel didn’t have to be asked twice. He mounted his horse and rode up the
hill to the Fort. Sam watched him curiously for a moment and then followed the
younger Quanto into the decaying town. From house to house, he traveled,
checking every body. Some had been dead for days.

 
    
Gorge rose up in Sam’s throat at the sight
of one woman, vacant eyes hollow and missing. The rats had already found her.
Quanto worked tirelessly through the day and into the evening, he missed not a
single house until he came to a small clapboard with green shutters.

 
    
Where color bled away in the visions, this
color was bright, forceful and demanding.

 
    
Sam rushed alongside the young Quanto, an
ache of hope pressing against his ribs. Inside the door, a young man sat slumped
against the wall, death his only companion. A sheet was drawn up over him, as
though someone had tried to cover him.

 
    
Undeterred, Quanto pressed deeper into the
home, passed the scattering of dishes and spilled food. A cast iron pot sat
over the burnt out remains of a fire. It was as if a family sat down to sup and
then fell, one at a time. In the doorway between the rooms, an older woman lay
on her side, one hand curled against her cheek. It hurt Sam’s heart to imagine
her, just curling up on the floor to go to sleep and die.

 
    
Quanto checked her and then stepped over
her into the backroom. Two younger women, huddled together fell over as the
door pushed inwards. They’d passed, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding some
small measure of comfort. Or at least Sam hoped they had.

 
    
Across the room, a flash of red hair, so
vibrant and alive Sam tried to push his way past the younger Quanto, to reach
her. She lay on her side, her hand stretched up into a crib. The woman was
dead, but the flame-haired baby holding fast to her mother’s dead hand was
unmistakable.

 
    
She took one look at Quanto and emitted a
pathetic scream. Fat heavy teardrops rolled down a red face. Her squalls were
hoarse, as though she’d cried for hours.