The Last Good Day, стр. 12

There was sheer terror in her eyes as B.W. moved toward her. “It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” He drew his knife and she screamed again.

“I’m just going to cut the ropes,” B.W. said again. He cut her loose from the beam and she fell to the ground. He untied her hands, slung the shotgun strap across his back, picked her up and carried her outside and sat her against a tree.

He kneeled down beside her. “It’s okay, we’re goin’ to take care of you.”

Tommy led the horses up to B.W.

“Hand me my canteen, major,” B.W. said and Rance retrieved the canteen and handed it to him. He held the canteen while the woman drank and put the cap back on when she had had enough.

“What’s your name?” B.W. asked.

“Camille Brookings,” she said. “They hung my husband and son. Been raping and torturing me. The boy mostly.”

The young one moaned. B.W. turned to look at him, gritted his teeth and handed the woman the canteen, then got up and walked over to the young one. He looked up at B.W., blood running out of his mouth, tried to speak but couldn’t. B.W. swung the shotgun from his back, cocked both hammers and pulled the triggers. The young one was nothing more now than a piece of bloody meat.

B.W. walked back to the woman, propped the shotgun against the tree and sat down beside her.

“He won’t hurt anyone else,” B.W. said and the woman began to cry.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Rance said. “He was gonna die.”

“Was for me,” B.W. said.

The woman cupped a hand, poured water in to it and wiped her face and dried it on her dress, then placed the canteen to her lips, gulped water down and handed it back to B.W.

“We found your kin, buried them,” B.W. said. “Name’s B.W. That’s the major and the boy is Tommy.”

“Thank you,” she said in a whisper. “They did horrible things to me.”

“We’ll get you to a doctor,” B.W. said.

Rance was standing behind B.W. “We’ll find a place for you to get well. We got food if you want it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Need to rest now.”

B.W. got to his feet, opened his saddle bags and took one of the stained gloves out, walked over to the bloody young one and slipped the glove on his hand, a perfect fit.

“Figured it was his,” he said.

“Blowing him apart was wrong,” Rance said.

“Don’t tell me what to think, major. Ma’am, there’s a big oak tree up on that little hill with a good shade where you can rest. Why don’t I carry you there so you won’t have to look at these varmints.”

“That would be good, B.W., if it’s not too much trouble,” she said.

“No trouble at all, ma’am. Tommy, follow me with the horses.”

“Go on up with B.W.,” Rance said to Tommy. “I’ll get the horses.”

B.W. picked up Camille and carried her up the hill and sat her down in the shade. He got his bedroll and brought it to her. “Take whatever time you need, ma’am.”

“I have been bleedin’ and it’s gettin’ worse, you know what I mean?”

“Yes ma’am. Is there anything we can do?”

“No,” she said and tore a strip of cloth from her ragged dress. “Leave me be while I tend to myself.”

“Wave if you need us,” B.W. said.

She nodded and motion for them to leave.

They walked up to the crest of the hill, sat down and watched the afternoon sun roll shadows across the side of a distant mountain.

“Is it woman trouble?” Tommy said.

“Yes,” B.W. said. “They hurt her bad.”

“Men did that to my mama,” Tommy said and a tear came to his eye.

“Sorry to hear that, boy,” B.W. said.

“We going to get her to a doctor?” Tommy asked.

“She’s not able to go right now,” B.W. said. “Needs to stop the blood first. I’ll check on her in a little bit.”

“We’re not very far from Milberg. They got a doctor there,” Rance said.

“We got to make a drag. She can’t sit a horse,” B.W. said. He stood up and looked down the hill. She wasn’t moving. He hurried down the hill, Rance and Tommy following, and saw her lying on her back, her dress soaked in blood. Her eyes were open but there was no movement in them. B.W. kneeled down beside her. “Mrs. Brookings,” he said. Nothing. He held his fingers against her neck for a pulse and dropped his head. “She’s dead,“ he said. “She knew she was dying. Tried to make it easy on us.”

B.W. took off his hat and sat down beside Camille. Rance and Tommy took off their hats and sat down beside B.W.

B.W. closed her eyes and held her hands. “We took too long to find you. I’m so sorry. Knew you was out here, should have gone lookin’ for you sooner.”

“You didn’t know for sure. Could have been chasing a ghost,” Rance said.

“I knew. Just didn’t do what my gut told me,” B.W. said.

They wrapped her in a bed roll, tied it with a rope. B.W. dug a grave in the shade of the tree. They covered the grave with rocks and B.W. carved ‘Camille Brookings died 17 April 1865’ on the tree.

“Think we should say something over her?” Rance asked.

“Yeah, say she was unlucky enough to be born the wrong color,” B.W. said.

“Won’t do her any good but Lincoln changed that,” Rance said.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” B.W. mounted his horse and rode away.

Rance watched B.W. ride down the hill and wondered how much of the killing of those three was for him.”

They left the dead rebels where they fell. Threw dirt on the campfire, commandeered a horse for Tommy, let the others loose and headed for Milberg. Rance figured the rebels probably sold Tommy’s horse. He knew they made the mistake of their life by not killing them when they stole their horse.

“We should have buried them,” Rance said. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Well go back and do it,” B.W. said,