Blood Page 10

  “And the boy?” Cornelius searched Max’s eyes. Nothing. “That’s what I thought. Goodbye Max, I wish you well.” He turned towards the west and headed off. Max watched him in disbelief.

  “You won’t survive all by yourself,” he called but Cornelius didn’t turn back. “I’ve done all the hunting and fishing. You’ll starve without me!”

  Max stood and watched his friend until he was absorbed by the night. He turned and looked at the camp. The fire was dying so he grabbed another log and laid it on top. He sat down as close as he could to the flames. He was getting cold. He laid down his gun and sword and rubbed his hands together. He stayed like that until the sun came up. Then he got up and looked at the bodies that surrounded him. He had no shovel so he couldn’t bury them. Instead, he lay them in a straight line, one beside the other. He had found some wildflowers and picked them. He placed them on Tommy’s chest and placed the boy’s hand over them to keep them from flying away. He left the camp and hiked about half an hour away. He wanted to wait for Cornelius. He knew his friend would be back.

  Three days later, Max gave up any hope that the Englishman would return. He packed up and headed south. What did he need with a pompous Englishman anyway? There must be someone out there that needed a strong pair of hands in their camp. Deep down he knew he would miss his friend who had become his brother and he wondered if he would ever see him again.

  Chapter 9

  It was the January before the last 360 that Max ran into Cornelius again. He and his horse, a beautiful black mare he had found while crossing Wyoming, had been making their way north when a blizzard put a stop to their travels. Max found himself at a little makeshift trading post that included a warm barn full of horses, some cows, a sheep, a few chickens and lots of hay, a small house where the owners and a couple of their friends lived, a drinking house stocked with bottles of alcohol, mostly whiskey and rum and a store that included food like fresh fruit and canned goods and supplies like shovels, rope and the occasional box of bullets. The store operated on the barter system; you brought in something you didn’t want anymore in exchange for something you could use. The drinking house was more of a bring your own booze establishment and everything was shared no matter what. Surprisingly, it seemed to work; the owners only had a handful of fights break out because somebody didn’t want to share their liquor. If you didn’t have any liquor in the first place, then there was always some kind of chore to do to work off your shot. There was no money in this world and everyone wanted to keep it that way.

  Max was happy he stumbled across the little hamlet and he exchanged some of his supplies for warmer boots and thick mittens but he really didn’t want to stay there. For one thing, he was curious about this part of the world and wanted to explore more of it and, secondly, he really didn’t want to be tempted by the drinking house. He was trying to change his ways and that meant keeping far away from alcohol. It had gotten him into too much trouble over the years. The sooner he got away from it, the better. The weather, however, was not cooperating. A blizzard had settled in and it looked like it wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  He didn’t mind travelling in the winter but he had never come this far north before. The snow wasn’t any deeper here than anywhere else he’d been but it was so much colder than he was used to and the wind was relentless and howled like a banshee. Every time he attempted to continue with his journey, he was literally blown back to the hamlet, frozen, his toes and fingers nearly succumbing to frostbite twice. His horse wasn’t doing much better either. The cold was making the mare’s breathing laboured. She needed to rest and store up on hay and Max found an old blanket in the barn to throw over her back in an attempt to keep her warm. He kept away from the drinking house and, instead, made a bed in the hay in the barn next to his horse to wait out the storm. The owners didn’t mind as long as he didn’t mind the smell of all the animals.

  Five days went by before the cold snap ended and the warm winds blew in from the mountains to the west. The temperatures seemed to climb the scales in minutes, going from several degrees below freezing to warm, balmy weather. You didn’t even need to wear a coat when you went outside. Max had never seen anything like it. Chinook was what the locals called it; a First Nation’s word for ‘snow-eater’ which is exactly what it did. The wind was so warm that the frozen landscape became dripping puddles in a matter of hours. It was nice to say goodbye to the blizzard but Max was not used to such drastic weather changes and found himself suffering a terrible headache from it.

  He took refuge in the barn once again but let his mare out in the little corral behind the barn to enjoy the warm weather. He traded a can opener, he had two of them, for a bottle of headache tablets labeled extra strength Tylenol. He swallowed three of them and found a dark corner to lie down and sleep. He stayed like that for three or four hours, until his headache was gone and he was ready to move on.

  He had a satchel that he carried his guns in, two pistols, one rifle and a revolver. It wasn’t much but it made him feel safe just knowing the weapons were there if he needed them. When he fell asleep a few hours ago the satchel was beside him, now, it was gone. He got up and started searching for it. It had to be there somewhere. Nobody even knew he had the satchel; he had been careful to hide it the first night he arrived at the trading post. It was never a good idea to show all your weapons when approaching any new situation but now, he couldn’t find it anywhere and anger was starting to rise in his gut. Someone must have stolen it but who would be so brave as to take it right from his side while he slept?

  He made his way out to the corral. At least he could get his horse and leave this place. Now that his possessions had been taken from him, he couldn’t trust these people anymore. He needed to leave as soon as possible. His horse was no longer in the corral. What the hell was going on? First, his guns and now, his horse? His anger was starting to boil inside.

  He started to make his way to the front of the barn when he spotted his horse through the open doors. There were three men across the way, all with horses of their own, trying to tie a lead from his horse to one of theirs. They were dressed in clothes that were dirty and falling apart. Their hair was greasy and tangled and their faces were sweaty, muddy and unshaven. Clearly, these men were not the trusting kind. They were the type of men who would steal or kill without reason. They had no moral compass to live by. Like the ‘Punks’, though, Max was not afraid of them.

  “Hey,” he shouted, “just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “’Scuze me?” said the one that looked to be the leader.

  “I asked what you’re doing?” Max approached them slowly. He didn’t have his guns but he still had a knife tucked into the back of his belt and a smaller one down the side of his boot. “That horse you have belongs to me.”

  “Is that so?” The man smiled and gestured for his men to stay back, which they did. “I was under the impression that it didn’t belong to anyone. She was just wandering around out in that field, no rider in sight and no bridal or anything.”

  “She was in the corral,” Max said through gritted teeth. With any man who relied on intimidation to get what he wanted, Max knew not to back down. “I was in the barn and let her out for some air. She’s been stuck in there for a few days to weather out the storm. I took her bridal and saddle off because she didn’t need it out there.”

  “I see,” said the man, scratching his head. “Then it looks like we need to do some negotiating.”

  “Negotiating?”

  “Why, yes,” he smiled at Max and the Scott fought back the urge to punch him. “You see; I like this horse. She looks like a real good horse. We could use a horse like her back home, but if you take her, well then, I have nothing. I came here and got nothing. My men wouldn’t like it if I returned with nothing. I am their leader, after all, and they expect great things from me. Do you see my dilemma?”

  “Yes, yes I do,” said Max. “But, you see, I don’t give a shit. This is your dilemma not mine. Give
me back my horse.”

  “Why, that’s not how you negotiate,” the man laughed. He signalled his men and they rushed at Max like trained dogs. “Let me teach you.”

  Max was ready for the attack; he was expecting it. Actually, he was surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. The man on the right got to him first so, he was the lucky one. Max waited until he was right up in his face and head butted him right between the eyes. The man fell to the ground, unconscious, blood pouring from his nose. The second man wasn’t so lucky, he would probably need some kind of medical attention because Max had time to retrieve his knife for this one. He slashed once and opened a gash across the inside of the man’s right arm from elbow to armpit as he tried to throw a punch. The man went down to his knees, staring at his wound in disbelief, blood streaming out.

  “Your dogs are weak,” Max smiled at the leader.

  “Christ! What the hell? You frickin’ asshole!” He was angry but he was also disappointed in his men and he could see that there was no use to try and win this fight. He needed this trading post; it was the closest one to his camp. The next closest store was up north in the ‘Northerners’ territory and he already had issues with that group. “Take the goddamned horse.” He ripped a piece of his shirt off and tied it around his man’s arm. “Get up and get that shithead up too. Lay him across his horse and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Good choice.” Max went to get his horse. As he was untying her, he noticed his satchel of guns sticking out of the saddle bag of the leader’s horse. That did it. He went over to the leader, who was now strapping shithead, still unconscious, to his horse. He came up from behind, pulled out his knife and laid it across the man’s throat. “I see my horse is not all you took. Tell your wounded friend to get my guns out of your bag and toss it over on the ground.”

  “Jesus Christ!” This man was good; disagreement would probably get him killed. “Do it!”

  “But...”

  “You heard him! Get the goddamned guns!” The man with the cut arm reached into the saddle bag, got the satchel and threw it on the ground.

  “Thank you,” Max put his knife back in his belt, untied his horse and retrieved his guns. “Nice negotiating with you boys. Hope to see you again sometime.” The other two men got on their horses and rode away, leaving Max standing there shaking his head and laughing to himself.

  “Max? Is that you?” Max cocked his head; it was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time. He turned around and saw Cornelius standing outside the tiny store.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” He wanted to be angry at the Englishman for walking away eight years ago but he wasn’t. All he could feel was relief and joy. Cornelius had very little survival skills and Max was almost positive that he would never make it on his own; it was one of the reasons he waited so long for him to come back. He could see now that he was wrong and he couldn’t be happier. “I think a ghost has appeared before me.”

  “Yeah, well, I suppose I could say the same,” said the Englishman as he walked over to Max and the two embraced as two long lost brothers would. “You know, I never thought I’d say this but, I’ve actually missed your wayward ways. Life is so boring without some excitement.”

  “Well, I am the life of the party,” Max laughed. “Once I’m gone, the party ends.”

  “But the hangover lasts a long time,” Cornelius smiled. “Tell me, how has life been? How many more boyfriends have you pissed off?”

  “A few,” Max answered. “But less and less as time goes on. You can only go through so many ladies before you start to question your real purpose in life.”

  “I wouldn’t know; I’m still searching for my perfect woman,” he said. “I thought I had her but she was taken from me before I got the chance to find out.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Max, feeling bad for his friend. “You’re a good man and you deserve a good woman.”

  “Thanks,” Cornelius said. It was rare for Max to give compliments out. Maybe he was changing and that would be a good thing. “I see you met Pig.”

  “Pig?” Max looked at him confused.

  “The gentleman you were just talking to?”

  “Ah, the horse and gun thief,” Max said. “Yes, we just met. Pig, eh? Is he a friend of yours?”

  “Oh, no,” said Cornelius, “on the contrary. Come, let’s get us a drink and I’ll tell you all about Pig.”

  “No, no,” said Max, “that’s okay. I don’t drink anymore. It’s beautiful out. Let’s go for a walk.” No more drinking; that was a new one. Maybe the pirate really was changing.

  Cornelius told him everything about Pig and his camp. He explained about the people who lived in the valley and how happy they were and how Pig had been terrorizing them for years. He also told him that it was Pig who took away the woman he was starting to fall in love with. He explained how Pig dragged her behind his horse because she wouldn’t give him the bag of m&ms she had brought back from the city when the 360 came. It was her favourite treat and she didn’t want a man like Pig to have any. Cornelius had found her in the field a day later, her hands still tied together with yellow rope. She was badly bruised, almost beyond recognition. She had several broken bones and, to Cornelius’ horror, there was no more heartbeat and no more breath that would escape her delicate mouth. Max was heartbroken for his friend and ready to kill the man that did it. Cornelius was touched by Max’s willingness to kill Pig but he had a better idea on how to get his revenge. That’s how the plan took form to infiltrate Pig and his men and get rid of them once and for all. He could do that and then be on his way, knowing that Cornelius was okay.

  “But, you could stay,” pleaded Cornelius. “Life is good there. The people are nice and let you live however you want. They don’t intrude and, yet, are there if you need them.”

  “That’s fine for you, but I can’t be confined to one place. You know that,” said Max. He would go and take care of Pig but, then, he would have to leave. There was no way he could be tied down to just one place. He had no idea how wrong he was. How could he know that Nicky would walk into his life and change him forever? How could he know that one woman could mean so much to him?

  From the first time he saw her, he was infatuated with her. He remembered seeing her on the ground wrestling with one of Pig’s men and actually breaking his arm. He had never met a woman like her before. She had spunk and was stronger than most men he knew. She didn’t seem to back down from anyone, even someone as intimidating as he knew he could be. She was brave enough to kill Butcher and smart enough get away with it. People seemed to like her; she fit in with Cornelius and his friends easily enough. And she was beautiful, more beautiful than any other woman he had met down here.

  Her brown hair was long and smooth and he loved the way the sun picked up the lighter shades in it. Her skin was soft and delicate and her eyes were a pale blue that he had trouble turning away from. She was small, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she was tough. That’s probably what he liked most about her. Her feistiness and quick temper was a challenge to him. Most women down here were scared of their own shadows, too afraid to do or say anything wrong. Oh, some were mouthy and liked to fight but rarely did you find those attributes in one so beautiful.

  He and Cornelius would meet every few days so he could report his progress with Pig. When the dam was blown and Pig was killed, they met once. It was when Cornelius and Marshal were trying to make their way back home. Marshal was busy doing something and Cornelius made an excuse to need the bathroom and made his way through the trees. Max met him there and the two exchanged information on what was happening. He was told of Madge’s death and their plan to attack the camp. It was important information but all Max wanted was information about Nicky.

  “Love stricken my boy?” Cornelius had teased.

  “No!” It was a quick answer, filled with anger. The last thing he wanted, was to let his friend know how much the girl drove him crazy.

  “Whoa!” Cornelius looked i
nto his friend’s eyes. “You like this girl, don’t you?”

  “What?” he stammered. “Of course not. She-she’s dangerous. Her quick temper could get all of us killed.”

  “Oh, I see,” the Englishman laughed, “you’re worried about her temper?”

  “Never mind,” Max turned to leave. He could feel his face burning red.

  He didn’t like what Cornelius was insinuating. He didn’t like Nicky that way. No woman had ever made him feel ‘love stricken’. That’s not to say he didn’t love women because he did. A lot of women had him feeling things; he just didn’t feel love or anything close to love. Nicky was not an exception to this rule; she couldn’t be.

  That changed the day the camp burned down and he kissed her. He had never felt such stirrings in his body from a kiss. Could he be stricken? No, he just hadn’t had a woman in a long time. That was a yearning he felt, nothing more. Then he watched Nicky trying desperately to put out the fire and when she collapsed under the guilt she felt for killing Butcher he remembered the things he had done. He saw the boy’s face from the ‘Punks’ flash in his memory. He had struggled with his own guilt over the years. He knew how she felt, it was a connection he had never had with anybody before. He held her then and he knew that he was, for the first time, in love with a woman. If only she could love him too.

  He tried over and over to win her heart but she denied him. She told him she needed time; time to figure things out. Time to deal with her guilt. Time to understand how she could even be interested in a man like him. After all, he was once a pirate and had a long list of ex-girlfriends. If time was what she wanted, then he would give it to her but it was becoming more and more difficult to be in the same room with her; to see her everyday. His heart was aching to hold her and kiss her one more time but she kept turning away from him. It was so damned frustrating. When the opportunity came to leave and scout the Blood Demons, he took it. It would get him away from her presence and give her time to realize that, yes, she did care for him. He felt her yearning when he kissed her. Besides, scouting the Blood Demons would be easy. Nobody else knew, not even Cornelius, that Howling Wolf was an old friend of his