Edge: Killer's Breed

Douglas flung himself between her legs, emptied his loins and made way for Scott while Bell took over the guard duty on Hedges. Finally, his cruel eyes glazed by the liquor, his lower jaw hung loose and low, Forrest stumbled over to the bed and stood, swaying as he glared down at the abused body and blank face.

"Look at me, girl," he demanded as he fumbled to loosen his uniform. "I like my women to look at me so they can see what they're getting."

The dull eyes continued to stare at the ceiling as the lips moved in their silent plea. Forrest lashed out. A hand, slapping her hard across the cheek, rocking her head to one side. She whimpered, but remained impassive.

"Damn you, look at me!" Forrest bellowed, raising his hand for another blow.

"She can't," Hedges said softly, as he suddenly realized the reason for the girl's apparent narcosis. "The kid's blind."

Forrest swung around angrily to face Hedges, bringing up his fists as if he intended to rush across the room and lash out at him.

"Blind. Jesus!" Hedges felt the pressure relieved from his hip as Seward muttered the words and lowered his gun.

Scott turned to face the wall and emptied his stomach of the neat whiskey he had drunk downstairs.

"Bastard!" Bell exclaimed.

Hedges took, a step forward, away from Bell's gun, his blue eyes boring into Forrest's face. The power of the accusation forced back the big man's rage like a  physical force ramming into a tangible energy.

He dropped his gaze. "How'd I know?"

Hedges turned away and went to the smashed window, to look out across the sweet-smelling porchway with the dead man on it, over the body of the equally dead trooper and into the green distance. He stood there for several moments, breathing deeply of the clean air, ridding his lungs of the putrescence of gunsmoke, whiskey, vomit and sex. Then a movement caught his attention and he focused on the group of huts to one side of the yard. Two Negroes stood there, a man and a woman, both in middle years.

"It's over," he called down to them. "There's a girl here needs your help." The slaves looked at each other, exchanged a few words and then advanced slowly across the yard. Hedges turned from the window and saw that each man was concentrating on the simple process of straightening his clothing. None would meet his gaze. He crossed to retrieve his arms and then went to the side of the bed. The girl had released her grip on the covers and had placed her hands over her bloodied loins; otherwise she had remained the same. Her dress was in tatters so Hedges went to the window again, ripped down one of the drape curtains and spread it over her nakedness.

Then he left the room and without a word the men shuffled out in his wake. The Negro couple were in the hallway below, the woman crying softly, the man holding his hat in front of his body as they looked into the room containing the two dead whites.

"They was good people, sir," the man said softly. "Mister Lincoln, he might be right about some slaves, but these was good people. We didn't want no freedom, sir."

"No way of telling the good from the bad," Hedges answered and glanced at Forrest. "Not even when they wear a uniform."

"How'd we know?" Forrest, demanded, his tone harder now, as he shared the responsibility for what had happened. "She didn't say anything."

"Right," Seward attested. "She could have said. She wasn't dumb."

"No, just proud," Hedges said softly as he watched the Negro couple start up the stairway. "We're the dumb ones." He went out then, and the others followed him, to round up their scattered horses.

*****

GRACE harnessed the big gray to the buggy while her mother gazed with concern at the low cloud and tried to decide if the brightness in the south was a sign of the sun breaking through or a new storm brewing.

"If it starts to look bad, you turn back, you hear," she said at length.

"It's not going to rain any more, mother," Grace answered. "I'm sure of it. I'll be back with the sheriff before you even know it."

"That means you intend to drive fast," the elder woman came back quickly. "You be careful, child. No telling what the rain's done to the trail. Easy enough for a horse to break a leg or a buggy to crack a wheel at the best of times. This is no country to be stranded in."

Grace sighed as she tightened the final strap and patted the horse on the nose. "Nor to be, alone with a murderer," she countered. "Certainly I'm going to hurry, but I won't be reckless." Her boots made sucking sounds as they came free of the yard mud and she  climbed up into the buggy. "You have to be careful, too."