Hell for Leather

The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground and Zeke was lightly slapping her face.

“Wake up.” she heard him saying. Slowly her eyes focused on his. “There you are.” He said.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.” Zeke was examining her intensely. Their faces were very close to one another.

“What are you doing?” asked Helen hesitantly.

“Trying to see if you’re okay.”

“Well?”

“You’ll live.” was the prognosis. Helen tried to sit up. “No.” said Zeke, “Stay still. You’re not going to want to see this anyhow.” Helen obeyed and laid herself back on the ground. Even the sound of the preparations made her sick to her stomach. After a while, Zeke stood over her.

“I’m gonna go fetch firewood.” he told her, “I won’t be long.” There was a tenderness to his voice that she had not heard before. Perhaps the sight of her weakened and vulnerable had softened his hard edge.

Helen stared up at the clouds until she got bored. Gathering her strength, she sat up and waited for the lightness in her head to dissipate. She felt better. Eventually, she managed to stand and made her way to the small camp Zeke had prepared.

She forced herself to face the creature. It looked as though it had been turned inside out. How could people eat this, she thought to herself. It seems so barbaric. True, she had eaten meat her whole life, but she had never truly considered the source before. Now all she could think about was the muscle tissue and blood. Nausea crept in again, but she pushed it away. Zeke found her kneeling, staring at the rabbit.

“Feeling better?” he smiled. Helen could not tell if he was sincere or mocking her, so she ignored his question.

“Did you find anything else that I might eat?” He removed a small twig from the bundle of firewood he was carrying and held it out for her.

“Here you go.” he said, the tenderness having vanished, replaced now by a smirking grin.

“You find this frightfully funny, don’t you?”

“Yep.” he said, preparing the fire.

“Well it’s not.” she informed him. He seemed to be in a jovial mood. “Do you always draw such pleasure from the suffering of a lady, or is there some other reason for your mirth?” Confusion wrinkled Zeke’s brow.

“What?” she would have to simplify the question.

“Why are you so happy suddenly?”

“Oh.” Zeke lit the fire, “We’re getting close. We’ll probably catch up to them tomorrow. Then I can go home.”

“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” The smile fled from his eyes.

“Yeah.” he said, staring into the flames. Helen wanted him to keep talking. She liked the crinkles on his face when he smiled.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, trying to change the subject.

“Shoot.”

“What?”

“Yes.” clarified Zeke, “Ask away.”

“How could you see that rabbit to shoot it?”

“Good eyesight I reckon.”

“I have good eyesight, too,” answered Helen, “but it was almost completely hidden in the grass.”

“Almost ain’t completely, is it?”

“Beg your pardon.”

“It wasn’t completely hidden. I could see it moving.”

“But how did you know where to shoot?”

“Sometimes shooting takes more than eyesight. More than knowing. You line up your shot, fix your sights, but that’s just the start. Your target might move. The wind might change. You have to reach out and almost feel. Feel where the shot should go. Feel what the target is fixing to do.”

“Sounds very intuitive.” Zeke considered this.

“I reckon so.” he said, placing the carcass over the fire.

“How does it work?”

“What do you mean?”

“How does one fire a gun?” Zeke stood up.

“Come here.” he said, “I’ll show you.” Helen was excited.

“I’ve never held a gun.” she said. Zeke put the belt pistol in her hands.

“Can’t say that no more.” he told her. She felt the heft of it. Although it was much smaller than Zeke’s weapons, it still felt heavy and the small size fit her hand perfectly. Zeke took a small pinecone and a stick to make a target about fifteen feet away. He drove the stick into the ground and placed the pinecone on top. Standing behind Helen, he instructed her, introducing her to a new and deadly art.

“Take the gun in your right hand and hold it like this.” Zeke drew his own weapon to demonstrate. Helen was a natural.

“Like this?” she said, perfectly mimicking Zeke’s stance.

“Good.” he said, “Now line up your sights. Put the front one between the other two so that they’re even across top.” Helen closed one eye and concentrated.

“Now what?”

“Squeeze the trigger slowly.” Helen’s finger found the curve of the trigger and very deliberately pulled back.

Click.

“Nothing happened.” she observed, disappointed.

“It ain’t loaded.” he told her, “See this?” He pointed it at the ground. Through the holes in the cylinder, she could see the dirt. “That means it ain’t loaded. Take this.” He placed a small cartridge in her hand and showed her how to open the cylinder. She placed it in the chamber. “Now it’s loaded.” He put his hand on hers and closed the chambers. Their eyes locked for a moment. Helen looked up at Zeke expectantly. He was her teacher and she wanted to learn. Zeke cleared his throat and stepped away. “All right. You’re ready. Shoot the pinecone.” Helen felt powerful. She aimed her weapon carefully. The weight of the gun caused her hand to waver ever so slightly. As it did so, the target slipped in and out of her view.

“It’s really difficult to keep it steady.” she remarked.

“You’ll learn control later. For now, just concentrate on aiming.”

Helen went back to her sights. Slowly squeezed the trigger. The pop of the round going off dented her hearing, but the pinecone jumped and fell to the ground.

“I hit it!” she exclaimed, beaming with pride.

“Very good.” said Zeke.

“Can I try it with your gun now?” Zeke laughed.

“No.” Helen was offended. She was clearly a master gunfighter.

“Why not?” she demanded to know. Zeke plunked the heavy weapon in her hand. She felt as though her shoulder would be torn from its socket. “Good Lord! How heavy is this?”

“About four pounds.” Zeke took it back from her, “And the kick is liable to knock the fire out of you.”

“Why do you carry that? Why not something more manageable like this one?”

“That’s a .22.” he sneered.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s half the size of my guns. Now that’s good for shooting something like a rabbit, because if you shoot it with one of mine, there would be nothing left to eat, but if you try to shoot a man with it, a man my size, all you’re likely to do is piss him off.” Helen looked down at the gun in her hand, which now seemed so small.

“Yours aren’t that big.” she mumbled defensively.

“You’re just jealous.” replied Zeke and went back to roasting his rabbit. Helen sat down on the ground and watched him intently. It made Zeke somewhat uncomfortable, but he said nothing, rather pretending he didn’t notice. Helen’s eyes followed every move of his rough, strong hands at he turned the meat, cut it, examined it. He seems so capable of anything, she thought. So unlike the men she knew who were as likely as not to fall to pieces when a little rain came their way. Zeke, she mused, could weather any storm. Here they were, in the middle of the wilderness, and he could still provide for her. She smiled without noticing it, but Zeke did.

“Could I try a piece?” asked Helen after a while.

“Sure.” said Zeke as he cut her a small portion. She took it in her hands and tried not to think of the animal. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. The roasted smell of it made her stomach rumble and her mouth water. Gingerly, she took a bite. Her first reaction was to want to spit it out, but she wanted Zeke to think she was strong, so she kept chewing.

“Not bad.” she said after taking a few more small nibbles. Zeke chuckled and tore into his portion. Roasted rabbit was one of his favorites. Helen found that her hunger was sufficient to drive the thought of the bunny completely out of her mind and she ate heartily, feeling very proud of herself.

When night arrived, it came quickly and was very clear. Without a blanket of clouds above, the heat of the day dissipated and the temperature dropped. This didn’t seem to bother Zeke as he settled in for the night, but Helen’s small frame was shivering. She sat hugging her knees and looking across the fire. Zeke was lying on his back with his hat covering his eyes. She looked at her thin blanket, then back at him.

“Zeke?” she said in the small voice that she used when she wanted something from her father.

“Yeah?” he said without moving his hat.

“It’s really cold.”

“Yeah.” he repeated. Helen was hoping for more of a response, but he didn’t seemed to have read between her lines.

“Zeke,” she said again, “can I sleep with you?” He removed his hat and looked at her letting his quizzical expression do the talking. Helen felt embarrassed but not as much a she felt frozen. “It’s really cold.” She repeated, this time with a practiced pout. He pretended consternation, but opened his blanket. Helen bounded up and practically dove in beside him. He felt like a warm, glowing furnace and she snuggled as close to him as she could. Zeke wrapped the blankets around them.

“That’s much better.” sighed Helen. He put his arm around her and she reciprocated by nuzzling his neck with her forehead. “Your whiskers tickle.” she said softly.

“Sorry.” he replied, swallowing hard.

“No.” she said quickly, “I like it.” Zeke did not remember ever being this close to a woman. That is not to say he was a virgin, but physical congress with a prostitute could not be compared to this. Her entire body was pressed against his. He could feel everything. The rising and falling of her chest with each breath, each delicate breath that skittered across his throat as she exhaled, each individual hair that moved in the slight breeze and brushed his face. Everything. He felt such exhilaration, then it all came to a stop. Helen was married. She was someone else’s wife. This realization turned his thoughts black. She was only lying next to him because she was cold. Nothing more. He pushed these other fanciful ideas from his mind and tried to sleep. Tomorrow, with any luck, he would be on his way home.

Home was the last thing on Helen’s mind. She hadn’t even realized how far it had been from her thoughts. She had learned more about herself and the world in one week out here than in all the years she had spent at home. It wasn’t that she detested home, but out here there was danger. Excitement. There were tests here and she had gone too long unchallenged. If people could see her now, they would hardly recognize her, dressed in such clothes, her hair wild and uncombed. She was even able to fire a gun! The thought thrilled her and she wondered what adventure tomorrow might bring.

After a while, Zeke began to snore. At first it was gentle and rhythmic but it soon grew louder and more ragged.

“Zeke?” Helen gently shook him to no avail. She redoubled her efforts. “Zeke?” she said again, moving him more aggressively. Zeke awoke with a start, bleary-eyed and grumpy.

“What?” he grumbled.

“You’re snoring.”

“So?”

“Can’t you stop?” her question took him by surprise. Was she earnestly asking him stop?

“Can I stop?” he wasn’t even certain he had heard her correctly.

“Yes.” she said without jest, “Can you?”

“No. I can’t.” he snapped, “What do you do when your husband snores?”

“I don’t know.” she answered, “We sleep in separate rooms.”

“What kind of maid,” he wanted to know, “owns a house with that many rooms?”

“Um,” stammered Helen, ”I mean, he’s quite often away, and I sleep at my lady’s house.” Zeke was too tired to question her further.

“Look,” he said, “you are very welcome to your own blanket.”

“No.” she replied demurely, “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” He did not know what to think about this girl, but tried not to think too much as he drifted off to slumber. Helen felt very silly and resolved to be more careful in the future.

The rest of the night passed without incident and when Helen woke, Zeke was already up and packing away the camp.

“We need to move quick.” he said when he realized she was awake and watching him.

They got underway and ate cold rabbit on the trail. Zeke seemed far removed from the situation and Helen did not wish to disturb him. Something about his manner made him seem colder to her. Briefly she entertained the notion of asking him what might be weighing so heavily on his mind, but she thought better of it. He was focused on his goal, she decided. Best to leave him to it.

He was driving his horse faster than he had been and something occurred to Helen.

“What’s your horse’s name?” she asked.

“He doesn’t have a name.” Zeke answered brusquely. Helen thought this a bit odd.

“No name?”

“That’s right.” Helen considered this in silence for a few minutes until she could no longer bear it.

“Why doesn’t he have a name?” she finally asked. Zeke did not bother to answer immediately and growing impatient, Helen repeated herself, “Why doesn’t your horse have a name?”

“Because,” answered Zeke curtly, “he ain’t gonna come when you call him. He ain’t a dog. What’s the point of giving him a name he’ll just ignore?”

“That seems very utilitarian.”

“What’s that mean?” Helen thought about it.

“It means devoid of romanticism.”

“Who said I’m romantic?”

“That’s not at all what it means.”

“In fact,” Zeke was getting angrier, “I don’t think it’s very romantic for a married woman to be sleeping with a stranger.” The coldness that Helen had been sensing in Zeke all morning now came out into the light. She was somewhat stunned by the hint of acrimony in his voice. Naturally, she felt defensive.

“That’s different.” she said.

“How’s that?” Helen couldn’t say right off, but she wasn’t about to just concede the point.

“This is a very dangerous situation. It requires extreme measures.”

“So sleeping next to me is an extreme measure?”

“Why are you so angry?” Helen was genuinely surprised by his tone. She wanted to calm him, but she didn’t even understand the reason for his ire.

“I get angry any time I feel I’m being used.”

“I beg your pardon?” Zeke pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted so he could look Helen in the eye.

“You used me to get out of here. You used me for food, now you crawl into my bed so you can use me for warmth.” Helen hopped down and stood facing him.

“You didn’t exactly put up a fight.” she said defiantly. Zeke didn’t know what to do.

“Maybe you should just walk home.” he snapped. Helen narrowed her eyes.

“Give me back my boots and I will.” Zeke stomped to his horse and removed her boots from the pouch. He then stomped back over to her and threw them with all his might. They sailed through the air and landed somewhere in the knee-high grass.

“There.” he said, “Happy trails.” Helen folded her arms.

“You’re acting like a child.” she informed him. Zeke got back onto his horse and made to leave. “I don’t believe you’re going to leave me here.” Zeke turned around.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because,” said Helen, “that’s not what a gentleman does, and you are a gentleman.” Zeke looked away for a moment. Helen continued, “I don’t know why you’re so angry, but whatever I did, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Zeke made no reply. “Now I’m going to find my boots, and then we can be on our way. Deal?” Again, Zeke was silent. “I’ll take your silence as assent.” said Helen and then she marched off in search of her beloved boots.

Why is he being such an ass, she thought to herself as she scoured the ground for the boots. It was difficult to see anything on the ground as the grass was tall and thick. Lost in her recriminations, she did not notice the soft rattling sound that was coming from somewhere close, and when she saw her boots lying on the ground, she dashed over to them and the rattling grew louder. She bent down to pick up them up and a loud hiss came from her right.

Mechanically, she turned her head and there, a scant four feet from her was a full-grown rattlesnake, poised to strike. Her heart stopped and her blood froze. Fear paralyzed her muscles and stifled her voice.