Wolves by D. J. Molles Page B

“Yeah. You’re the guy.”
    Huxley tries to deny it again, but all he can manage is another shake of his head.
    The sentry doesn’t move. He doesn’t aggress, and he doesn’t retreat. “You know they came in after you, a woman, her and about seven other slavers. Shot ten good men. Coupla women and children. They lit a fire before they left and it burned half the damn town. Probably another dozen people died in that. I don’t know who else got out.”
    Huxley clenches his jaw. “That wasn’t my doing,” he says.
    The sentry doesn’t respond.
    Huxley’s arm begins to tire from holding the pistol up.
    After a long moment of silence, Huxley raises his chin a bit. “Boy …”
    Josie’s boy looks at Huxley. “Yessir?”
    â€œGet the man some water. Have your mother make up some food. I’ll pay for it.”
    The boy doesn’t wait to even respond or acknowledge. He is simply gone in a flash, his footsteps crunching rapidly through the dirt.
    Huxley slowly lowers his pistol. “No need for any violence between us.”
    Still the sentry does not respond, but he very slowly sticks the pistol back in his waistband. With his eyes still affixed on Huxley, he hitches his sweating horse outside the tavern and follows Huxley inside.
    Just inside the doorway, Rigo and Jay stand, watching and waiting. Rigo’s hand hovers over the holstered revolver at his side and Jay is holding the scattergun. Huxley can see the copper filament glowing hotly. Huxley motions with his head toward one of the tables and he takes a seat himself. The other two men follow suit.
    Still standing and staring at the three of them, the sentry is hesitant to join them. From the back of the tavern, they can hear the opening and closing of an old wooden door. Josie emerges, flustered and pasting her hair back behind her ears, her eyes still puffy from sleep. Her eyes flick worriedly to the men at the table but instantly look away, as if resting her gaze upon them for too long would bring swift punishment. She disappears into the kitchen and they can hear the clank of cookware. The boy emerges a moment later, scared, carrying a large glass jar full of water, the vestiges of an old label still clinging to it like the skin on a mummified corpse.
    He offers the jar of water to the sentry who takes it, staring at Josie’s boy the entire time with a hollow sort of gaze that reveals very little of what he is thinking. The sentry drinks from the jar, slowly, with restraint, and his eyes stay on the boy the whole time. The boy steps away, never turning his back on the men until he is almost to the bar, at which point he spins and scampers into the kitchen where his mother scolds him quietly.
    The sentry drinks until the water is gone. Huxley, Rigo, and Jay watch him in silence, just the sound of the water going down his throat. Then the sentry puts the jar down on the table and regards each of them in turn, his face still as blank as before. Then he sits.
    Everyone at the table relaxes a bit.
    Huxley keeps his hand near the butt of his revolver. “What’s your name?”
    The sentry stares at the empty jar. “Gordon.”
    â€œI’m sorry about your town, Gordon.” Huxley struggles for appropriate words. He lies. “We had no idea they would come back like that.”
    Gordon sniffs. “Well …” He trails off into silence.
    â€œDid anyone else make it out?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Gordon looks up and his eyes are sharp and hot. “Town’s probably burned to cinders now.”
    Josie emerges from the kitchen and she carries two metal trays, one with a few slabs of cold deer meat and one with dense biscuits made of lard and some coarsely milled grain. She sets the trays down and waits only until the boy has returned with a pitcher of water for all of them, and then the two of them hurry back into the kitchen.
    Gordon