1st Chapter of "The River Runs Red" by Munro Bruce!

THE RIVER RUNS RED
By Munro Bruce


Chapter I – The Spawning
1855 (Hills of Red Valley)
Brant Homestead




 Garrett came out the barn door, his head hanging, and Austin looked over at him while he was playing in the dirt.

 Garrett shuffled his feet along way to the house, and Ma popped into the front door opening, and leaned up against the door jam, drying a pot from mornin' breakfast.

 She glanced at Garrett as he approached, and then looked over to Austin, and shewn him a huge smile, bright as the morning sun that had just broken the crest of the hill behind home.

 Garrett brushed by Ma abruptly, as he walked into the house.  Ma didn't seem a bit phased by his attitude.  Guess there's things I just won't understand 'til I gets my first kid.

 Morning chores were winding down, and mom rang the bell for mornin' prayer.  I put away the strop, and left cut up parts of the pig hangin' to bleed out, and washed the knife in the bucket, and put it back on the wall of the shed.  Sure couldn't wait for prayer.  My favorite part of each day...when Pa would sit down and read real nice from the books in that bible he's always readin'. 

 I run from the barn, picked Austin out of the dirt, and dusted him off good.  I gave him a rub on the head, and we headed, hand in hand, into the kitchen.  Austin prolly don' understan' everythin' Pa says yet, but he sure gets a big smile, just listening to Pa's voice.... I do too!

Ma was sitting in her chair, with her eyes closed already praying over her Bible.

 Garrett, the oldest of us 3 kids, was standing in the bedroom door, wheedling a piece of wood into some kind of fashionable item.  He was quite good at that stuff.  

 Pa came in the front door, sat down and said to Garrett, “Sit down boy”.

 Garrett slowly came over to his chair next to Pa, and slumped into his chair.  Somethin' was really on his mind this morning.  I don't know what, but it sure got him upset.

 Pa reached for the bible, and was leafin' through it, til he stopped cold.  He looked over the page, and put down the book on the table.  He folded his hands, and put his head down, so to pray to God, she said with a bit of southern twang.

 “Mighty God....Please forgive this home, and those of us within its walls, and bring the blessing of Jesus Christ upon each of us for our sins. Some sins worse than others....”, he paused and Garrett shimmied in his chair.  “Please teach us to listen to your word we will hear this good morning, and learn all you have to shew us.  Thank you for your bountifulness you provide to this family, and may your judgment day come upon us all soon! In the good Christ's name....Amen”.  We all mumbled our Amen's around the table.
 Pa picked up the great book, and started reading, “Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions; According to you loving kindness remember me, for your goodness' sake, O Lord”.....Pa, continued reading on, and Ma quietly got up and prepared breakfast while we all listened. Pa's rich golden voice would soar through the cabin, and no one would bat an eye.  Garrett, on the other hand, were sittin' with his head down today.  Maybe he was prayin' to the Lord today....


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 Sheriff Oakley locked up the cell, and pocketed the key in his pants pocket.
 
 “Maybe a night in here will ease your drunken pain soldier...”, he said.

 An unshaven, dirt-covered, foul-smelling man dressed in soldier's garb from the North, drunkenly meandered to the bench hanging off the wall by old rusty chains.  He walked with a gimp, due to the ball he took just below his right knee in the war 6 years ago.  He lay himself on the wooden bench, curled up in a tight ball, and was snoring within minutes.

 The Sheriff sat in his chair with a leg up on the desk, gripping firmly onto a bottle of Buffalo Trace Whiskey.  Sitting in his lap, against the edge of the desk was his weekly copy of Harper's Weekly – A Journal of Civilization.  Oakley enjoyed catching up on the big city ordeals, even if it was a week behind, after taking its ride west on the newly established Transcontinental Railroad.  Sheriff Oakley knew that soon, town would be seeing an influx of men whom finished working on the railroad a couple weeks ago.  Once they reached town, things would be getting a little uppity with power struggles and the such.

 The door creaked open slowly, and tall, slender, but muscular black man, wearing a black cowboy hat, black button down with a black vest and pants, waltzed in with his Springfield in hand, swinging along by his left leg.  He picked up the barrel, as the Sheriff continued to read his Harper's Weekly, not paying any mind, and the man pointed it right between the eyes of the Sheriff.

 The Sheriff heard a loud click, and raised his eyebrow, as he looked up slowly at the man with the cocked rifle only about 2 feet in front of his desk.

 “I suppose I should be worried at this point”, asked the Sheriff.

 “Well, let's see...You gots a paper on your lap, and I gots a rifle aiming down at the bridge of your nose...you tell me”, mumbled the man with the rifle, chewing on a piece of tumbleweed.

 “Now that is a predicament.  But...I suppose if I were to pull this here trigger on my lap under my paper, that may or may not be there, you wouldn't mind losing them precious jewels?”

 They both stared at each other.  Their pupils widened.  An itchy trigger finger could end it abruptly.  With the intense night heat and humidity causing each of them to drip sweat, a loud snore came out from the cell next to them.

 The black man let out a huge hollering laugh, and said, “What the hell you got in their tonight Sheriff?  What the hell is he doing still wearing them Yankee clothes out here in this desert like atmosphere?”

 The Sheriff tossed his paper on the desk, showing he had no gun in his lap.

 “Well Jackson, when a man wanders into my jail, with a gun, skunked to all hell, I feel obliged to give him a place to stay for the night.  You drunk?”

 “Well, hell, not yet! Not until I take off this stinking badge.”  Jackson reached inside his vest and took off a deputies badge, and slammed it down on the desk.  “Did I scared ya at all?”

 “Not sure I know what that word...scared...even means Grant.  Anyway, I suppose with Jake coming in for the night shift, we can knock back a couple together here.  You earned it with that fight you cleared up in front of the bank earlier today.”

 “Those two younguns?  Hee hee....they were hardly any trouble at all.  Just throwing a few punches, after a few drinks was all.  Forgot what town they were in, I guess.  'But, I'll tell ya what's gonna be trouble....”

 “Yeah, yeah, I know. They'll all start arriving over the next few days.  How many you think we'll get? Besides the hometown boys?” Asked the Sheriff.

 “Sir, you got me. Could be 20, could be 50. That's why I'm scared.”  A sudden ruffle of clothing made them both jump, as the soldier in the cell flipped sides, scratched his head, and fell back to sleep.  “We gonna need more deputies sir.  Don't forget all them land contracts available along the train-line.  If there's more of them that want land, than available, I think It might get ugly 'round here.”

 “Ugly won't be the word for it Jackson.  Men are going to die, and I've been having nightmares about it for weeks now.  Jake thinks I'm too worried.  He never was the worrying type.”  The Sheriff, looked down at the bottle of whiskey, grabbed it, and handed it to Grant.  “Take a damn swig you worry wart!”  He patted Jackson on the back, and stepped over to check the lock on the cell, so that the man could find his way out in the morning when he woke up...in case Jake had fallen asleep, or was out on his morning walk.  Sheriff Jack Oakley didn't want to deal with a crazy man in the morning.

 “Well, have a couple more, and let my brother in on the soldier....Night Jackson,” said Sheriff Oakley.

 “Good night Sheriff.”

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 “Heath row!  This is our time. It's coming soon.  I'm hearing some talk 'bout town.  We gotta make known, we the only place in town for girls and drinks!  No competition!  You MUST speak with Town son, before they all hit! We gotta be ready mate!”  A thick Irish Brogue rolled off the tongue of Colin Leary.  Colin was the keeper, you might say, of the saloon and bodega. Baker's Spirits and Bed, was owned by Heath row Baker, a cur of an Englishman, who likes his liquor hard, and his fights harder.  Together Leary and Baker are the most cunning team of Red Valley.  They rule with wit, charm, brutality, and money! As long as they took care of everyone they needed to, business flowed surreptitiously.  
 
 “Colin, I am aware of the onslaught.  I am preparing.  You will be paid handsomely for new roles I will require of you, ole man....There is a man you will meet in a couple days.  You will be working with him as well.  Just keep that eagle eye on him, and watch your back.  Don't interfere with his doings.”

 Pauline entered the back room abruptly.  Her lipstick ran a circle around her lips, and filled them to the fullest.  Her freckles, uncovered, upon her cheek, lit up like the stars at night, and her smile shone brighter than the sun on a hundred degree day.  Red hair cascaded over her shoulders, and down her back, until it lay supply upon her round buttocks.  She was dressed in the finest of dresses west of the Mississippi.  Her emerald green eyes matched the coloring of the jewels upon her dress, and she flashed every sense of astuteness, pride, and witchery into one package, with every move of her lips, as she spoke with a pace only known to the quick talkers of big cities.

 “Business is picking up already Heath, we will need to hire more girls.  I will need to take the train east and do some shopping for the finest we can afford.  Possibly, I may obtain a new dress, shoes and hat!”  She pecked Heath row on the cheek, and just as abruptly as she entered, she disappeared.

 “Well, she certainly knows what she wants!”

 Heath row and Colin raised an eyebrow at each other.

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 “OH TY! OH BABY! THAT'S IT!! GET IT HONEY!”, Heather moaned, as Ty slid in and out of her slowly.  He kissed her passionately, then gave one last hard thrust, and moved his hips round and round, until Heather shuddered, let out a little squeak, arched her back, and rode him a little longer, until they both collapsed on the bed.  “Gosh darn it Ty.  Why you gotta come in her and do that to me, while you know I gotta work, and get through a day...Damn, you turn me on baby!”

 “I'm telling ya honey, with all these railroad guys coming back, this towns gonna be hopping in more than one way, and Sheriff Oakley's gonna have to pay us better.  I'll be able to take care of ya, and you won't need to do this no more.  We can have that home and kid we talked about.”

 “Baby, I don't know.  You said that when the road came through.  Nothing happened.  Here I still am giving it to other guys....I mean, it's not terrible and all that, but it sure does get boring after a while, and it hurts sometimes.  I mean, Ty, you know I love you baby!  I just need to see it to believe it.  Talking' 'bout it ain't don' nothing' for me anymore. I'm over the dream. I need the reality baby!”

 “I know honey....I know.”  Ty drops his chin to his chest, as he buckles his holster around his thin waist.  He throws back his long blonde hair, looks up at Heather with his big baby brown's, and says, “It's coming this time! Our dream is coming!” 

 Ty sprung a quick, passionate, and wet kiss with Heather, then flew out the door, faster than an arrow chasing an apple.

 Heather sighed, and began to redress for her next client of the day.