The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [59]
The cavalry had a remedy for the restless feeling. Four-day patrols. Four-day patrols that sometimes stretched to twenty and by it brought the ailment back with the remedy. For a saddle is a poor place for boredom, and twelve hours in it will bring the boredom back quicker than anything else, especially when the land is flat and vacant, silent but for a monotonous clop, blazing in its silence and carrying only dust and a sweat smell that clung sourly to you in the daytime and chilled you at night. Dave Fallis complained because nothing happened—because there was never any action. He was told he didn’t know how lucky he was. That he didn’t know what he was talking about because he was just a kid. And nothing made him madder. Damn a man who’s so ignorant he holds age against you!
Now he stood in the doorway and looked out across the clearing. He leaned against the doorjamb, hooking his thumbs in his belt, and let his body go loose. The sun was there in front of him over the trees, casting a soft spread of light on the dark hillsides in the distance. Now it was a sun that you could look at without squinting or pulling down your hat brim. A sun that would be gone in less than an hour.
He saw the girl appear and move toward the lean-to at the side of the hut. She walked slowly, listlessly.
Fallis left the doorway and idled along the front of the hut after she had passed and entered the shelter. And when he ducked his head slightly and entered the low-roofed shed, the girl was busy scooping venison stew from the pot and dishing it onto one of the tin plates.
SHE TURNED QUICKLY at the sound of his step and almost brushed him as she turned, stopping, her mouth slightly open, her face lower than his, but not a foot separating them.
He was grinning when she turned, but the smile left his face as she continued to stare up at him, her mouth still parted slightly and warm looking, complementing the delicately soft lines of nose and cheekbones. The bruise was not so noticeable now, in the shadows, but its presence gave her face a look of sadness, yet adding luster to the deep brown eyes that stared without blinking.
His hands came up to grip her shoulders, pulling gently as he lowered his face to hers. She yielded against the slight pressure of his hands, drawing closer, and he saw her eyes close as her face tilted back, but as he closed his eyes he felt her shoulders jerk suddenly from his grip and in front of his face now was the smooth blackness of her hair hanging straight about her shoulders.
“Why did you do that?” Her voice was low, and with her back to him, barely audible.
Fallis said, “I haven’t done anything yet,” and tried to make his voice sound light. The girl made no answer, but remained still, with her shoulder close to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you married to him?”
Her head shook from side to side in two short motions, but no sound came from her. He turned her gently, his hands again on her shoulders, and as she turned she lowered her head so he could not see her face. But he crooked a finger beneath her chin and raised it slowly to his. His hand moved from her slender chin to gently touch the bruised cheekbone.
“Why don’t you leave him?” He half-whispered the words.
For a moment she remained silent and lowered her eyes from his face. Finally she said, “I would have no place to go.” Her voice bore the hint of an accent.
“What’s worse than living with him and getting beat like an animal?”
“He is good to me—most of the time. He is tired and nervous and doesn’t know what he is doing. I remember him when he was younger and would visit my father. He smiled often then and was good to us.” Her words flowed faster now, as if she was anxious to speak, voluntarily lifting her face to look into his with a pleading in her