The Serpent and the Elephant, Part 1
Liam Sullivan had seen Emma Watson wander away toward a private area of rocks and trees, no doubt looking for a place to take care of some business. It was just easier that way than emptying and cleaning chamber pots during the end of the long and tiring day. When she hadn't returned after fifteen or twenty minutes, he fell away from the train and headed back on foot to see if she was all right.
Liam entered the alcove of rocks and listened. Then he called out her name.
An insolent shout came from behind him. "Don't move, you fairy-tale believin' fool!" He recognized Howard Gibbons's raspy voice.
Gibbons planted his knee in the small of Liam's back and shoved the man flat against the rocky ground. The air was knocked out of his lungs by the impact, and a raw scrape on his cheek burned hotly as his face was ground into the earth. Liam battled for breath against the crushing weight of Howard's body pinning him down.
"Don't hurt him." Emma's voice came from a direction behind and a couple of feet above where Liam lay. She sounded frightened but unhurt. He saw her sitting on the ground, her knees raised under her chin. Strips of cloth torn from her dress bound her wrists and ankles. Dirt and twigs matted her hair, and her face showed red welts where Gibbons had slapped her.
Pinpoints of colored light were forming on Liam's retinas when Gibbons finished searching him for a weapon and released his hold.
"Get up," Gibbons ordered.
With a soft groan of relief, Liam rolled over onto his back and sucked in a lungful of air. When the dancing spots had faded away, he made a weak attempt to sit up and discovered that his ribs were painfully bruised.
Gibbons trained an army issued Colt revolver on him with his right hand and yanked him up with his left. Then he tore open the front of Liam's shirt.
Liam protested but Gibbons's pistol kept most of his complaints under his breath.
"Take it off," Gibbons ordered. He studied Liam with a sullen look as the man undressed. Then he commanded Liam to tear the shirt into strips. "Put that long piece between your teeth and tie it tight to the back of your head."
Liam hesitated and looked at the pistol pointed at his face.
"Be quick about it," Gibbons barked.
As soon as Liam had tied the gag to his head, Gibbons pushed him back against an aspen tree. He tucked the cumbersome pistol down the front of his pants and tied off the ends of the gag so that Liam's head was securely fastened to the tree.
"Tell us one of your stories now," Gibbons laughed. He wrenched Liam's left hand around the tree and began fastening one of the remaining strips of shirt to Liam's wrist. Liam struggled until Gibbons retrieved the pistol and placed its long barrel against Liam's right temple. The Irish man looked sadly at Emma while his arms were fastened around the tree.
Gibbons laughed again before going to Emma and yanking her to her feet. He undid the restraints from her wrists and while drawing the revolver and waving it at her, ordered her to untie her ankles.
While she sat again to free herself, Gibbons's face screwed up into a frightening scowl. His eyes rolled up inside his head and his left shoulder began to twitch. He unleashed a barrage of profanity, then settled and aimed his gun at her.
"Hurry up," he barked.
Emma had been so shocked by what she had seen that the thought of trying to escape never entered her mind. The man standing over her was either seriously sick or possessed by the Devil himself.
She hurried the ties and Gibbons led her away through the clearing, taking her in the opposite direction of the wagon train.
Liam struggled with the ties around his wrists but they held him tight.
The August sun was angled above the trees. A hot wind blew from the southeast--the direction Gibbons had gone. It wouldn't be too difficult to track him, if only he could free himself. But with his head tightly fastened to the tree, working the ties around his wrists was extremely difficult.
While he struggled to free his hands, he chewed at the strips of cloth in his mouth. Wet from his saliva, threads of cotton frayed and broke away and collected in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He fought the gagging reflexes in his throat and worked out a system of chewing and swallowing the fibers. He felt the bond loosen, so he pushed his head forward until the gag broke and he could push if from his mouth.
He rested a moment, caught his breath, and began calling for help. He didn't know how far the train had moved on, but he was certain if he yelled his baritone voice loud enough, someone would hear him.
Howard Gibbons knew where he was going. Anyone with the thoughts he had churning in his mind wasn't going to Heaven. But if there was one thing of which he was intent on, it was that he was going to make Emma Watson's journey to the eventual Great Beyond an unforgettable one.
Heaven was made for people like her: the ones who never suffer.
She sat on a rock nearby. Her clothes were ripped and dirty from when he had bound her at the grove. Her face was filthy from his sweaty hands where he had slapped her to take the fight out of her. Her hair hung in stringy ringlets from the damp and soiled bonnet, but the mountain heat hadn't diminished her beauty. Although the fear on her face that had excited him in the beginning was almost gone, Gibbons stared anyhow with an insatiable lust.
A flame burned in his heart to see her afraid. Women were meant to be silent and not sass men. He always made sure of it.
A fire roared in the pit of his stomach from the whiskey he had been drinking most of the morning. The laudanum hadn't helped lessen his desire for alcohol, and now he was drinking both; the combination helped dull the pain in his head, a terrible pain that sometimes made him like an animal. He hadn't meant to rape that Indian girl, but the serpent inside his brain had overwhelmed him while he was taking her some furs. She was Cheyenne, a girl he had met a year ago. She was sweet on him and he on her, but she was nearing her wedding consummation and the serpent hadn't wanted to see that happen.
Now there were men sworn to take away his life. But he would have his moment with Emma before that ever happened. He knew of a place where he could be a husband and father and take pleasure in life the way it should have been before the army ruined him.
But first, he had to get her over the peaks and to the caves. Once there, they could hide safely. There was plenty of water and some food from the last time he was there. There was also a stash of opium pills, enough to take away the pain and help him to relax. And then he and Emma would wait for their pursuers to give up searching for them before he would take her to the abandoned cabin and--
A slicing blade of agony in his head severed his thoughts. The episodes were increasing daily. He knew he needed doctoring, but what good was an asylum? Perhaps he was better off dead.
He looked at Emma while he suffered the pain. He had wanted her to love him, but she had refused. She was beautiful, much too beautiful for someone as bug-eyed and bandy-legged as he. She was one of those upright females that were too good for him, and suddenly he hated her. Miss Virtuous, with a husband almost as upright as she. He hated them both; they knew no drug addiction or alcoholism. Would putting a bullet through her brain help shake her husband and steer the young man to take to the bottle? He wondered.
No. She was his way out. He had to remember that.
He looked at her eyes. That's when he saw that she pitied him.
He couldn't take it anymore. He fought the desire to kill her as he prepared to slap her again. Then he stopped and grinned. He knew what he wanted more than to hear her whimper. He wanted her to fear for her life again. He wanted to hear her beg.
He swung his gun up and aimed it at her. "Get ready to meet your maker."
With a small shrug of her slim shoulders, she said evenly, "My peace has already been made."
He stared at her in disbelief. "You call that beggin'?"
"Begging is pointless and I won't do it. Besides, if you shoot me, someone will hear the shot and know where you are."
His disbelief turned to disappointment. He had slapped the fight out of her; she was useless. With a sudden roar of fury, he threw himself at her and grabbed her by the back of her head. He yanked down hard, and the angle in which he pulled her skull made her mouth open involuntarily. He shoved the barrel of the gun into her mouth, angling it so that the bullet would be certain to blow her brain through the top of her skull.
"I said beg," he repeated.
She closed her eyes, her breathing slowed, and her entire body went limp.
For a moment he thought she'd passed out, but then he realized that she was actually prepared to die. You couldn't threaten someone who wasn't afraid to die.
With a curse he yanked the barrel from her mouth and threw her to the ground like a sack. Then he perched himself on the rock that she had occupied moments before and stared down at her, waiting for her to open her eyes.
After some seconds, she did. She lay there, staring up at him.
"You wonder why I haven't killed you yet?" he growled.
She lowered her gaze and remained silent.
Gibbons studied her. "You're a foolish child."
She shrugged.
He wanted to slap her again--beat her--and put her in her place. Except, he wasn't sure where that place was anymore.
With no warning, pain screamed inside his head and he wanted to scream with it. He needed to let it out. But not in front of her. Instead, he fought the emotion with barely a change in the deep frown on his face.
"Someday someone's gonna kill me," he said. He sounded defeated. "An eye for an eye."
"I see in your eyes someone who really doesn't mean to hurt anyone," Emma said. "I see an angry young man who's hurt and confused--and living with a lot of pain." She licked her parched lips and looked up at him. The pity had returned in her eyes.
The rage overwhelmed him. He leaped at her and yanked her rudely to her feet.
He led her through the rock, pulling at her and causing her to stumble. He jerked her up and over boulders until they were over the mountain. Then he nearly pushed her down the other side as he made her walk ahead of him.
Billy had been skirting his chores and staying away from the men. There was a lot of arguing among them and he didn't want to be around it, so he had been lagging behind when he heard Liam calling for help.
"Gibbons has Emma," Liam said. When his hands were freed he added, "I gotta tell Daniel."
They ran to the wagons, Billy in front.
"Daniel and Flint are lookin' for you, Liam," someone called out. It was Fannie Fazenbaker bringing up the rear of the wagons. "They's up ahead on horses getting' ready to ride out. Seems Emma's come up a missin'."
"Mister Gibbons has her," Billy shouted.
Liam waved at Fannie and ran harder toward the front of the train.
"Come on, Liam," Billy shouted. "Hurry."
"I be a hurryin'," he panted. "Go on. Go tell Daniel. I'll be there soon enough if the good Lord is willin'."
Billy raced off and spotted Flint and Daniel riding away.
"Wait," he called, "you're going the wrong way." He kicked up his speed until he was running as fast as he could go, but it wasn't enough to close the gap.
"No," he cried and felt a pain grab his side below his left rib. He stumbled and fell into the grass, spooking a covey of quail into the air.
Flint turned in his saddle to investigate the commotion and halted his horse. Daniel did the same.
"They's be nice eatin'," Flint said. "I wonder what spooked 'em?"
Billy popped up, clutching his side and began to run toward them.
"Wait," he called through his tears.
"That boy has taken a real likin' to ya, Dan," Flint said while shaking his head.
"To Emma, too."
Flint raised his right arm. "Go back, boy. Ya ain't a comin'."
"Wait," Billy gasped.
Flint shook his head and started off again. Daniel was about to do the same when he heard Billy shout Emma's name.
"I ... know ... which way ... Emma went," Billy gasped as he ran to Daniel. "Howard ... Gibbons ... has her." He fell a few yards from Daniel and wept.
Daniel dismounted and ran to him, lifting him into his arms. Billy hugged the man, then pointed a sweaty hand away from the wagons. "They went ... that way," he sobbed.
Go back to our Table of Contents