She smiled thinly and sat down opposite her husband. Jeremiah took the high seat opposite Malone.
An unnatural silence settled over the table. Any slight creak or groan caused both rancher and wife to look tensely at walls or windows before resuming their meal. There eventually came a time when Malone could stand it no longer.
“Now, you folks tell me to shut my food hole if you want to, but I’m afflicted with a confusion I got to vent. Friend Esau, you told me what a fine place you had here, and havin’ seen some of it, I don’t find any reason to dispute. So maybe you’ll sympathize with an ignorant bumpkin who sits here delightin’ in your wife’s fine cooking while wonderin’ why you’re in such an all-fired rush to leave.”
Esau Weaver glanced at his wife, who said nothing. He started to resume eating, then paused as though considering whether to speak. Clearly it burned within him to share this matter with someone else.
“Spirits, Mr. Malone.” The rancher broke a chunk of bread from the round loaf in the middle of the table. “Ghosts. Devils. Indian devils.”
“They come upon us in the middle of the night, Mr. Malone.” Sarah Weaver had her hands on the table, the fingers twisting and twining. “Horrible sounds they make. They terrify Jeremiah. They terrify me.”
“Got no heads.” Weaver was chewing his bread unenthusiastically, but he needed something to do with his mouth and hands. “Thought it was just raiders at first, till I got a look at ’em during a full moon. No heads at all. That don’t keep ’em from howling and yelling and tearing up the place. They want us off this land, and by God, they’re going to have their way. I can’t take any more of this, and neither can the woman.” Love filled his eyes as he gazed across the table at his wife; love and despair. “White men or Indians I’d fight, but not things without heads.”
“Esau went into town and spoke with one of the pacified Comanche medicine men,” Sarah Weaver murmured. “He told Esau that this part of the country along the river was sacred to the tribe. But he couldn’t say how much. He did say there could be spirits here.”
“There are spirits all over this country,” Malone said. “Some places don’t matter so much to ’em. Others do.” He sat back in his chair and it creaked alarmingly. “But you were told straight, I think. This lands reeks of medicine, old medicine. But not,” he added, his face twisting in puzzlement, “this place right here.”
“You know about such things, do you, Mr. Malone?” Esau’s tone was sardonic.
“A mite. I sensed the medicine when I was ridin’ in. But not where we’re sittin’. If there’s spirits about, I wouldn’t see them choosin’ this place for a frolic. Upstream or down, maybe, but not right here. Besides which, it ain’t like spirits to drive off cattle and tear up vegetables. If they’re real and they wanted you off, they’d be a sight more direct in their intentions.”
“They’re real enough, Mr. Malone,” Sarah Weaver said. “If you don’t believe us, stay and see for yourself, if you dare.”
“Well, now, ma’am, I jest might do that. Been a while since I seen a gen-u-wine spirit. Oh, and that Comanche medicine man you talked to? He might’ve been right or he might’ve been wrong, but one thing’s sure: he weren’t pacified. You don’t pacify the Comanche. They jest got plumb tuckered out.” He glanced at his host.
“Now, you say these here no-heads keep y’all awake a-yellin’ and a-hollerin’. Do they sound somethin’ like this?” Somewhere behind that bear thicket of a beard, lips parted as Malone began to chant.
Jeremiah’s jaw dropped as he stared in awe, while his parents sat stock-still, listening. Night, not due for hours, seemed to encroach on the little cabin, and a breeze probed curiously where moments earlier the air had been as still as a bad man’s eulogy.
“That about right?” Malone finally inquired.
Esau shook himself back to alertness. “Something like that but deeper, long syllables.”
Malone tried again. “Closer?”
Sarah Weaver found herself nodding unwillingly. “That’s it, Mr. Malone. That’s it exactly.”
“lnterestin’. First chant was Comanche. Second was Shoshone. Now, the Comanche and the Shoshone are related, but there ain’t no love lost between the tribes and there ain’t no Shoshone in these parts. Too far east, too far south. Makes no sense.”
“Neither do headless devils, Mr. Malone.”
The mountain man nodded somberly at the rancher’s wife. “That’s a truth fine as frog hair, ma’am. The devils I know always keep their heads about them, if not their wits. A head’s something man or spirit tends to get used to and downright lonely without.
“You said they’re about to run you off this land, but all they’ve done is make your lives more miserable than North Texas weather?”
“Maybe you’re not afraid of devils, Mr. Malone, but I have a family to protect. I’ll take no chances with something I do not understand.”
“I comprehend your position, Esau. You’re a good man in a bad spot. Now, a fool like myself loves to take chances with what he don’t understand. Mrs. Weaver, I will take you up on your offer to stay and see for myself. But I don’t fancy doin’ so all by my lonesome. You’ve stuck it out this long. Could you see your way clear to stickin’ around one more night? If my suspicions are wrong, I’ll be the first to up an’ confess my sins.”
“Another night?” Sarah Weaver’s exhaustion showed in her tone and expression. “I don’t know. What would be the good in it?”
“Might not be any good in it, ma’am.” Malone didn’t mince words with her. “Might be only understanding, and that ain’t always to the good. But I’ve got a hunch it ain’t your place the spirits hereabouts are concerned with.”
Esau Weaver leaned forward. “Then you do believe there are spirits here?”
“Didn’t I say that? This is old Comanche land. Lot o’ coups counted here, lot of warriors’ bones interred along this river. What I said was I don’t see why they’d bear you folks any malice. You ain’t even turnin’ the soil.”
“Why should you want to help us? You said you were just passing through.”
“That’s my life, Esau. Passin’ through. The time to stop’s when good people like yourselves are havin’ trouble. It’s what we do in the passin’ that’s remembered.” He beamed at Sarah Weaver, and despite her exhaustion, she surprised herself by blushing. “Notwithstandin’ that I owe you fer the best meal I’ve had since leavin’ New Orleans.”
Weaver was wrestling with himself. His mind had been made up for days. He would not go so far as to allow himself to hope, but this towering stranger was so damned sure of things.
He glanced one last time at his wife, who acquiesced with her eyes. Then he turned back to Malone. “You mind sleepin’ in the barn with the horses?”
“Not if the horses don’t object. Uh, you got any mares in heat?”
Weaver made a face. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“Don’t want t’ cause a ruckus.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. “Worthless may not look like much, but he’s able to do more than trot when his back’s up.”
“I’ll find you some blankets, Mr. Malone.” Sarah Weaver started to rise from the table.
“Now, never you mind me, missus. I’ve got my own blanket. Buffalo robe’s good enough fer me. Warmer than homespun and strong enough to keep the mosquitoes away.”
“Thick pile, is it?” Weaver inquired.
“Not especial. But it ain’t been washed in a bit, and the smell’s strong enough to mask my own.”
Jeremiah gazed wide-eyed at the mountain man. “What if the headless spirits come for you, Mr. Malone? What if they come for you in the barn when you’re asleep and all alone?”
That huge wrinkled face bent close. The boy could smell the plains and the mountains, the sea and suggestions of far-off places. For just an instant those black eyes seemed to shine with a light of their own, and Jeremiah Weaver was sure he could see unnameable things reflected within them.