THE FOUR BULLETS

Copyright (c) 2019 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

THE FOUR BULLETS

By R. Peterson

The Gypsy wagon moved slowly, pulled by just one draft horse. Parley had spent most of the morning skinning the dead one, and stretching the horse’s hide over a hardwood frame. He salvaged what meat he could and left the rest to a pack of coyotes who had scrutinized him while he worked. Dried meat from any animal could be eaten if necessary, and it would be used to lure wolves away, as a last resort. The horse jerky hung in strips, from rope tied to the sides of the wagon, drawing thousands of insects as it dried in the sun. The coarse black pepper, and rock salt the meat was soaked in, kept all but the most daring of flies from actually landing on it.

The family all trudged through the mud alongside the creaking wagon, except for Jesska. Parley had insisted that the old woman ride in the wagon and all her belligerent arguing in Italian hadn’t changed his mind.

The pouring rain during the night slowly turned to a steady light drizzle. The roar of the river was heard, before the water was seen. The heavy torrent had swollen the banks, and misting whitecaps broke over rocks which had been bare the day before. Jesska stuck her head from the wagon. “Aspettare fino a quando la pioggia si ferma. You’re not going to try to cross here are you? That water looks too deep!”

“It will be hard to get across with only one horse pulling, even without the deep water,” Parley said. “We need to look for a place where we can float the wagon and use the current to sweep us to the far bank.”

“Sta' attento, watch out that you don’t get us all drowned,” Jesska warned.

Lakasera and Redonici helped the old woman climb out of the wagon. Redonici held a shawl over Jesska’s head like an umbrella as Lakasera lead her toward the shelter of some Cottonwood trees. “We don’t want you wet old mother, you’ll catch a cold and die.”

            “Sciocchezze,” Jesska said. “I’ll die when I have a real roof over my head,” she pointed a crooked finger toward the gypsy wagon, “not in that impolver which shakes like the back of a cow.”

Parley unhitched the horse from the wagon and tied it to deadfall under the Cottonwoods. He removed a coil of rope from a box on the wagons side and handed one end to Melania.

“Don’t let go,” he said. “If I fall, have your cousins’ help pull me back.” He waded into the cold stream. The rushing water rose to his chest. He stepped on slippery rocks and almost fell before he reached the far bank. “Less work for Lakasera,” he yelled back. “My clothes have already been washed.”

Parley used his knife to peal the bark from a Cottonwood that stood far enough from the shore to allow the wagon to climb the bank. Then he looped the rope around the make-shift pulley and made the return trip reeling out the line as he came.

“We’ll use the horse to help pull,” he said. “The river will sweep our boat down-stream but no farther than the slack we give it.” He attached one end of the rope to the house-wagon and fastened the other end around the old draft horse. Melania helped her cousins unload most of the contents from the inside of the wagon, in case something happened and the wagon-turned-boat didn’t make it across. They watched as Parley led the horse away from the river, and the wagon rolled into the fast moving water. The wheels turned slowly in the muddy stream bed but near the center the water level began to rise above the axels and the wagon began to float. The current picked up the house on wheels and swept it down stream. The force of the flowing water gave it momentum, and it moved across the river in a wide arc.

            Suddenly there was a loud whump as the wagon hit an object submerged just under the surface and tilted violently on its side. Water sprayed into the air, from the wooden floor and the enormous suction from the fast moving river parted the water showing the Gypsy wagon stuck against a massive stone. Parley whipped the poor draft animal furiously to try to get more tension on the rope. The overworked animal tried to try to pull the craft past the rock, but it was stuck fast. Hardwood splinters, from the ornamental carvings on the wagon, fluttered into the air as the force of the current pushed the old wagon against the rock and began to break it apart.

            Parley paused for a moment and stared at their home on wheels. He removed a large knife from his belt and cut the rope. Jesska and the girls all cried as the wagon slowly pivoted against the rock then twisted, became free and was swept downstream.

Parley hurdled across the river trying to grab the rope which snaked through the brambles on the far bank like an enraged snake running from fire. “Bring the horse,” he shouted, “If I can catch the rope we’ll need him to pull it back.”

As Parley raced down the bank leaping deadfall and staying just one jump behind the whipping rope, a roaring sound began to drown out his shouts. There was a waterfall just up ahead, and the wagon was moving faster. “Hurry Melania,” he cried, “Ride the horse into the water at the edge of the bank; It’s the only way we will be able to catch it in time.” Melania heard the fear in her older brother’s voice and she was on the back of the old horse almost instantly whipping him with the cut end of the rope. She was air-born and holding on for dear life as the horse sprang from the bank and galloped downstream spraying water from its flying hooves.

Jesska watched, as the floating wagon with her children chasing it, disappeared around a bend in the river. She sat down slowly on a fallen log clutching a card in her withered hand.

Redonici ran to the old woman fearing she had had a stroke from the excitement. “Old Mother,” she said. “The wagon may be gone, but we have our lives, it’s the work of the devil I say.”

Jesska slowly pushed her niece’s hands away from her shoulder and she peered down at the faded piece of paper in her hand for a long moment. A tiny smile formed on her wrinkled lips and she slowly raised her eyes upward toward Redonici’s concerned face. “It is Ombre,” she whispered, “a thing that must happen.” She began to mutter slowly as if in a trance. Her eyes clouded over and they were suddenly full of milky cataracts. “A stranger we must encounter and he comes this way. His life we must lay out for him with our magic. It is a thing already done, but still the hand of fate tempts us, to go a different path.” She stood up and pushed away the two women who hovered over her like mother hens.  “Avere fretta! We must make haste,” she began to scamper down the bank; “already our home is secure.”

The river become three times as wide and only two feet deep as it approached the waterfall. The rapidly flowing water had washed all the soil and sand away from the riverbed, leaving only marble bedrock which refused to be eroded quickly.

Parley had the loose end of the rope tied to the horse. Melania rode on the back of the straining animal coaxing it to pull while her brother pushed from behind. They two younger women removed their shoes and splashed into the stream to help their cousin.

Lakasera moved slowly and sure-footed with her legs spread in a wide stance while Redonici tried to run through the water. The latter fell tumbling over in the raging water as the fast moving current caught her skirts and swept her along like sails. Parley jumped from behind the wagon when he heard her cry out and saw her fall.  He bounded through the water leaping from exposed rocks and grabbed her by her ankles just before she was swept over the falls.

It wasn’t until he pulled her to her feet and she wrapped her trembling arms around him that they looked over the brink where the water was flowing. They stood gaping, their mouths open, frozen in astonishment. The entire river plunged into a giant hole in the solid rock, forming a deep canyon where far below them the water churned and swirled around, before disappearing into a hidden chasm. “I thought I’d seen everything, but never a whole river that disappears.” Parley marveled.

“People around here call it Magician’s Canyon,” a man’s voice called out.

Parley and Redonici turned and watched as a tall cowboy wearing a grey Stetson hat rode a spirited Palomino mare splashing through the water, causing sprays of rainbows to form around the horses prancing hoofs. “Easy there Comanche,” he said as he reined the horse in. He nodded his head to Parley, then lifted his hat, and bowed his head to Redonici. His shaggy straw blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes made her stumble backward as he smiled at her. “Pleased to meet you,” Parley said, without looking at him. Then he grabbed his cousin by the waist and led her away from the roaring waters.

“My name is Thomas Lang, but my friends mostly call me Tom. I can’t say what my enemies call me, least ways not in front of a lady.” The cowboy said.

Redonici blushed, and wrapped thin arms around herself covering her wet dress which clung to her vivacious body. Parley was having a hard time leading his cousin. She was suddenly limp in his arms. “I need to get my cousin to the shore,” he said. “She fell and almost went into that, what did you call it magicians ..?”

“Magician’s Canyon,” Tom said. “The Indians and most of the settlers around here, think that it’s magic, disappearing the way it does.” He glanced at the cascading water as he dismounted his horse. “I’d have to agree with them, we never have figured out where all that water goes, maybe down into hell.” He grinned. “I hear it’s hot down there, and them devils would be wanting a drink.” He took Redonici by the arm and helped her stagger through the water toward the far bank.

“I must look a sight,” Redonici said as she brushed her dark wet hair away from her face.

“Ma’am you look real good, when I’m used to staring at Comanche.” He pointed to the horse that followed behind without being led. The mare named Comanche bowed her head, and then playfully nudged the cowboy in the back lifting him off his feet. “Now don’t be that way, Tom laughed. “You know I love you too.”

“Too?” Redonici cooed, as she looked at the cowboy with the cute grin. She was batting her lashes over her big brown eyes.

It was almost dark before they had the wagon pulled to the far shore, but the rain had stopped.  Thomas Lang helped the Gypsy family repair a broken wheel on the wagon. The bright red sunset was reflected on the surface of the river, as flocks of swallows swooped low over the water catching insects.   Jesska insisted that the cowboy stay for the evening meal. “We have no extra money to repay you for your kindness,” she said. “We have already lost one horse, and the medicine we sell in the towns was consumed by a band of sick Indians.” Thomas smiled and held his hands up. “I don’t expect to be paid for doing what’s right,” he said, “and I have met lots of tribes with the sickness you speak of.”

“There must be something we can do for you,” Lakasera said as she sashayed toward the cowboy. She was oblivious to the angry looks that her sister Redonici flashed at her.

Thomas Lang shifted his eyes away from her and looked around the camp. Household goods lay piled about the brightly painted wagon. “I don’t believe I have ever had that there done to me.” He pointed toward the bright yellow letters on the side of the wagon that advertised “Fortunes Told”.

            “You don’t know what you’re missing!” Lakasera stomped away angry. She turned back toward the grinning cowboy, her eyes furious. “…And you need a bath,” she scolded. “You smell like a cow.”

            Jesska looked at the sign on the wagon then at Tom, “If that is your wish, then you will not be turned away.” She stood up and began to amble toward the wagon. She gestured toward a pile of boards stacked nearby. “Hurry, bring the table and the tessuto rosso. We must not keep our handsome customer waiting.”

Melania hurried to help her mother prepare for the fortune telling.

            It was dark when Thomas Lang climbed into the wagon. A small round table covered with a red cloth was set between two low cabinets that served as benches. Candles burned from numerous nooks inside the room giving the place a cathedral effect. Melania sat in a darkened corner watching her mother put aged cards back into a carved wooden box. The cowboy sat down. “Don’t you have one of them crystal balls?” he asked as he looked around the room. “I’ve always wanted to see one, up close.”

Jesska closed her eyes and was still for a few seconds, when her eyes opened they were bright and shining. “You live by the gun Mr. Lang, and that is what will speak of your future.” She gestured toward the pistol attached to his side. “Can I see it? …please.”

Tom pulled the Colt from its holster and carefully handed it to the old woman. “Careful, it’s loaded,” he said.

“I know it is Mr. Lang, but not for long,” she used the spring loaded rod on the right side to remove each bullet from the revolving chamber, dropping them purposefully onto the table. When she had finished, four bullets lay on the red cloth in haphazard fashion. One bullet stood upright on its casing, she picked it up and held it toward the light of a candle. “This bullet will save your life,” she said. The cowboy smiled and looked around the room, expecting laughter. There was only silence. Melania sat in the corner, her wide eyes watching her mother. Tom remembered his manners and stared down at the table. His smile slowly faded. Jesska picked up a second cartridge that lay with its rounded end lying across another shell. She smiled at the cowboy as she sat the bullet on a small shelf next to the other. “This bullet will bring you love.”

Melania was staring at the cowboy now, grinning. He grinned back at the tiny girl.

Jesska picked up the shell the previous one had been laying on. She also held it up to the candle light and slowly rotated it in her fingers.

“This bullet will bring great riches,” she said. Thomas Lang nodded his head as if he expected her to say that. It was a common thing fortune tellers said, or so he had heard. Jesska reached her hand out for the fourth bullet but her fingers began to tremble before she touched it. She pulled her hand back as if the shell had just turned into a snake. Tom rose from his seat, sure from the fear in the old woman’s eyes, that a spider must have crawled across the table to scare her. The table was bare except for the bullet and the red cloth.

            “What is it?” he asked. The old woman had pulled her hand all the way back and sat trembling.

Jesska slowly reached her old withered hand out toward the last shell as if afraid to touch it.

She slid the bullet back toward her but did not lift it, turning it over on the table looking carefully at it sides. Her face showed a ghastly white in the light from the candles.

“You have been very kind to me and to my family Mr. Lang and I repay your kindness with treachery. I should have persuaded you to take pleasure with Lakasera she would have been forgotten in a day or two and your life would have been your own.”

            “That’s all right,” Tom said. “I have been with a woman before, but I’ve never had my fortune told, it was my choice.” He smiled at Jesska and her daughter but neither one smiled back.

“You don’t understand,” Jesska said as she slowly lifted the shell and held it toward the candle light. “This bullet will cause your death.”

            Jesska was sad. She could barely look at the man who had helped them, as he saddled his horse in the early morning light. Melania walked up to the cowboy and gently rubbed her hand against the horses head.

“My mother feels as if she has only brought misfortune on you. That she has betrayed you with bad Ombre after you have been so kind and helped us.” Comanche muzzled into her hands looking for the sugar she smelled. She found it. Tom pulled the saddle cinch tight on the horse then waited for the mare to relax her inflated stomach, and then he pulled it tighter.

            “Your mother need not fret about it,” Tom said. “You folks have been plenty kind to me, and besides … I don’t really believe in that magic stuff anyway. He took his gun from its holster and spun the cylinder he had re-loaded with the fortune telling bullets. What if I was to just toss all these bullets into the Cottonmouth, I’ve got more. Who would that one bad bullet kill then?” He smiled. “Not me.”

            “I don’t know all about magic,” Melania told him, “but I know that Ombre is powerful and it will always follow you.”

Jesska ambled over to the cowboy as he made ready to leave.

            “My daughter is right,” she said, “Ombre will find a way. You can’t stop the magic from happening, but you can make it wait for you. Do not throw the bullet away. Keep your enemies close to you.”

            “Thank you madam,” Tom said as he swung up into his saddle. “You folks have been real kind to me.” He looked at Jesska and tipped his hat to her. “And I’ll remember what you told me, I will do my best not to let that dang old bullet get me.” He laughed. “So long,” he said. Then he gave his horse a slap with his rein to re-cross the wide part of the river. Comanche didn’t move where he directed her, instead she pranced sideways as if she were afraid to go in the water.

            “Is that horse broken?” Parley asked as he watched the cowboy having trouble.

            “Not really,” Tom said. “I like a horse that can think for its self, doubles your odds of staying alive.” While he was trying to get his horse to move into the water he happened to look toward the waterfall. A lonely figure stood in the water at the edge of the chasm looking down into the canyon where the river disappeared.

            “Do you know who that is?” Tom asked as he dismounted.

            “I believe it’s one of the Indians who were in our camp two nights ago,” Parley said shielding his eyes from the sun. “He was old, and the others ignored him.” The sound of high pitched singing floated across the water. Melania walked to the edge of the water and peered in the direction the others were looking. “It’s Bear-Who-Walks-in-Water,” she said. “I met him by the stream. I thought he was dead.”

            “I think he soon will be,” Tom said. “That’s a Shoshone death chant he’s singing.”

            “Why is he out in the river?” Melania started to walk into the water.

            “I think he figures on jumping into Magician’s Canyon,” The cowboy reached out and pulled the young girl back.

“I don’t want him to die, he was my friend.” Melania began to cry. “Can you stop him? Can you bring him back?”

“I could rope him and drag him to shore, but he would hate me for it,” Tom said. “He would still die, and likely would have no honor waiting for him if I did. It’s best to let him choose his own path.” They listened for a minute to the chanting. It was growing louder. “Indians believe that the world is a living thing, a spirit god,” Tom told Melania as he put his arm around her shoulder. “The canyon that swallows the river is the god’s mouth. They believe there is great magic in these things and in all these lands here a bout. There are places in this country where hot water sprays up from the ground even in winter. Hell I think it’s magic myself, and I’ve been to school. It is an honor for Bear-Who-Walks-in-Water, to die being eaten by the world.”

Melania stared at the lonesome figure that stood at the edge of the waterfall. She remembered his trick with the glass bottle and the spoon. Suddenly the old Indian’s chant stopped. “I’ll never forget … there is magic in all things.” she whispered. A memory of dark blood clinging to his lower lip flashed across her mind.

The old Indian paused for just an instant. Melania watched him bend down and lay an object on top of an enormous exposed rock, but he was too far away for her to see what it was. Time seemed to stand still. Melania looked at the sky. She thought she could see sparrows frozen in midflight. Then the old man leaned forward, and he disappeared into the mist.

            “I’ll be damned,” Thomas Lang marveled as he looked at the empty space where the Indian had stood only moments before. “Now I’ve seen everything, he was swallowed by the world.” He took his hand off from Melania’s shoulder and pointed toward the roaring water. “Ain’t that something?”

TO BE CONTINUED ….