The wet grass was laid down like snake skin, green blades thatched along a foot beaten path that lay between two overgrown fields. The underside of the tall grass felt like a cat’s tongue on his fingers as he walked along it. The sun was moments away from rising, already lighting the sky but not yet a part of it. The fog and his breath were undivided. Dew and mud slapped and sucked on the soles of his boots. Blood rose through his left boot like a tide that would never go out. Red was pouring over his hip and down his trousers.
He had gotten a head start, but they were no more than a few hours from finding him now. There was a tree over towards the east side of the far field, looked like maybe a low spot. Could be water there.
A Texas Ash with white bark propped itself on the bank. The creek was deep enough to get a good handful of water up to his mouth a few times. His mustache still wet from the night air. He took his pack off from over his shoulder. Wincing and favoring his left, he tossed it under the Ash. A large leather pouch and a piece of stale bread spilled out on the cold dirt. He lifted the blood-soaked shirt and looked down to the wound. He had grabbed some white linens from a drying line back in town. It was pink now on the edges and darker red as it went inward under his rib. He pulled the soaking linens away from his body and saw himself opened up. V omit spilled from his mouth and into the creek. After a moment of recovery, he ripped the bandana from his neck and wiped his mouth.
It fell from his hand and drifted out of sight as he stared back up the field. Either he hadn’t got the jump on them that he thought he did, or the wound slowed him down considerably. Didn’t matter which now, they were close.
He hobbled back over to the tree and sat himself down under it, the brim of his hat folded up on the back of his head. He leaned over in pain and reached toward the leather pouch but brushed it aside and grabbed the small piece of bread. Hard and brittle. He gnawed on it over his heavy breathing, looking out over the creek until the bread fell from his red fingers.
Two men rode up on black horses. One tall, in a black hat. The other in a white hat. Coming up on him, they saw his legs sticking out from the far side of the tree like roots that had been dug out. They drew on him and dismounted slowly. As they made their way around the Ash, they holstered their pistols and tipped their hats up in relief once they saw him staring out into nothing. The black hat kicked his boot to make sure he wouldn’t move. He didn’t. He noticed the dirt had clotted in a long mound from the man’s left side down past his feet, leading toward the large leather pouch sitting in the shade of the tree. The white hat walked over to the creek and knelt down to wash his hands.
“Is that it?” he said.
The black hat bent down and grabbed the leather pouch and felt the weight of it as he tossed it in his hand.
“That’s it.”
The white hat spit.
"And that’s him?”
The black hat pulled the paper from his left breast pocket, unfolded it and took another look at it.
“That’s him.”
The white hat splashed his face and rubbed his neck as he stood, looking up at the sun.
“Well, you want the money or the man?”
The black hat felt the weight of the leather pouch again.
“I’ll take the man.”
The black hat tossed the leather pouch over to the white hat with force. The white hat was pleased with the heft that hit him.
“Fine by me, friend.”
The white hat mounted his horse and rode back down the path.
The black hat went over to the bed roll on the back of his horse and grabbed the hatchet tucked inside and walked toward the tree. He knocked the man’s hat off and took a vice grip on the man’s head and swung until it came loose from the rest of him.
After he washed off in the creek, he grabbed one end of the white linen that still hung around the man and pulled it, rolling the body out like unfurling a whip. He laid out four corners of the linen and folded it over twice. He placed the head in the center and tied up each corner to the middle. He carried it over to the horse and ran the strap of his bed roll through the knot in the linen. He knew he could make it back before midday if he gave it hell.