ebulon sat in front of the window with his eyes closed, imagining a wooden bench stretching across an empty desert. Lost and bewildered men sat on either side of him, not knowing who or what they were waiting for, or running away from.
He didn't look up when the Sheriff opened the door.
"Tell me what to do with you?" the Sheriff asked. "People say you ain't worth the trouble, and that I should hand you over. Others say I should keep you around. You ask me, it would be easier to shoot vou."
"Your choice," Zebulon said.
"Not hardly," the Sheriff said. "They'd tar and feather me if I plugged you. And they'd be right. You saved the town and put us on the map. Last week Greasy Springs meant nothin' but cheap whiskey and worse grub. Now people come all the way from Hangtown and Mariposa to see that painting over the bar. Now we got entertainment — fiddlers, mouth organs, and accordion players. Shanty queens and floozies. Yesterday a woman came all the way from New Orleans. She sings like she's plugged into God's choir. We're big time, Mister Shook."
The Sheriff lit up a cigar, blowing a fat smoke ring towards the ceiling. "The other day another pilgrim come in, wantin' to buy the painting. Said he wants to haul it to San Francisco, the bar and everything on it, ship it to London and hang it in the biggest dance hall in the Western world. Of course, I didn't go for it."
He unrolled a newspaper. "Here's what they're saying about you in the state capital":
"Two weeks ago, rage, violence, and fear swept through the state capital when a band of desperate prisoners escaped from a prison ship anchored on the Sacramento River. The breakout was initiated by Zebulon Shook, the outlaw whose exploits have become so well known throughout the Far West. Shook was serving a twenty-year sentence for manslaughter. At the time of his escape, several other charges of bank robbery, horse theft, and murder were pending against him in Texas and Colorado.
"According to eyewitnesses, the breakout was the result of a simmering resentment that Shook harbored towards the prison's Warden, Major Ashton Bigelow A revered public figure who had just announced his intentions of running for governor, Warden Bigelow served in the army under Colonel John Prescott in the recent war with Mexico. A native of Boston, Warden Bigelow is a graduate of Harvard Divinity School.
"In the middle of the prison's evening roll call, Shook produced a revolver and stormed the officer's deck, seeking to kill Warden Bigelow. Unable to overpower Bigelow, who had barricaded himself inside his cabin, Shook jumped into the river and swam to shore, where several accomplices were waiting for him. In the chaos that followed, several other inmates overpowered the remaining guards, killing three and wounding four. Other prisoners managed to commandeer the ship's lifeboats and were last seen rowing down the river. Eight other prisoners, half of whom were females, made their way to the shore only to be captured the next day by troops sent out from the army garrison in Sacramento.
"Zebulon Shook, aided by his small band of desperadoes, looted and burned the Bigelow's house, killing the Warden's wife and son before riding off.
"Now that this dangerous outlaw is once more on the loose, citizens have one more reason to lock their doors at night. Local militia groups have joined the Warden in a concentrated effort to track down Zebulon Shook and bring him to justice."
The Sheriff folded up the newspaper. "I been tellin' folks that you've gone to Colorady or Texas, but one of these days some likkered-up fool will spill the beans. Then the law will ride in and string you up. You ask me, you're better off on the run."
The Sheriff paused at the door. "I never knowed a man as famous as you, and I hope I never will again."
hat night, Zebulon heard a song drift up from the saloon:
I he next morning he woke to find Delilah beside him, rubbing rose petals over his wounded heart.
Her fingers trailed across his stomach. Then lower.
"Where's Hatchet?" he asked.
"Waiting for us."
"Forget about Hatchet. We'll head to Mexico. Or north. It don't matter where."
She eased herself on top of him, straddling his waist and biting her lower lip as she felt him rise inside her. He closed his eyes. "You never sang about grace, and I didn't see you inside that hacienda, and you didn't head off the Warden so that I could ride free, and I never saw you before."
"That's true." She leaned down and kissed his throat, and ears, and eyes. "It was all a dream."
She arched her neck and maneuvered her hips over his, then leaned over and pressed her hands on both sides of his heart. Not moving, she joined her breathing to his until he calmed down, enough to let her guide him gently to another edge of himself, and then slowly reel him back again, a sensation that he had never experienced before. In the past he had always been the guide, the one who marked the trail, the one that was always in control, who came and went as he chose.
"Are we dreaming each other?" she asked.
"No." He thrust into her so violently that she screamed. "Now?"
"No," she whispered, guiding him back.
"Now?"
"Yes," she moaned. "Now."
Later that night, as they lay side by side, her voice was so distant that he had to hold her in his arms in order to hear her:
"A long time ago, in a faraway land, there was a girl who spent all her days playing by the side of a big muddy river. The girl had been born with special powers and knew how to speak to all the life forms that lived on the river, including fish, frogs, snakes, and insects, as well as several mischievous water spirits who considered themselves very special and in control of everything that went on.
"One day, the girl made fun of the water spirits, telling them that she knew more about the river than they did and that they weren't doing a very good job of handling the floods and the greedy fishermen that were making the river a dangerous place. She advised them that if they knew what was good for them, they should consult her, as she possessed a special gift. The water spirits, most of whom were old and cranky, became angry with the girl's vanity and decided to teach her a lesson by placing a curse on her.
"The curse made the girl so afraid that for three years she was unable to leave her bed. One night in the middle of a thunderstorm, an old dwarf appeared in the village and told the girl's mother and father that she had been imprisoned in the shadowy realm that existed between life and death. To break the spell, the old man told the girl to stand by the river every night and pray for the water spirits to guide her back to life. Several months later, after listening to the girl's wild and hysterical songs, the river spirits finally agreed to lift the curse, but only if she accepted three conditions: that she never forget that she was an ordinary human being who could never understand the mysteries of nature; that she leave the village, the river, and her family behind; and that she never spend more than a few days in any one place. When the girl began to weep at her terrible fate, the river spirits took pity on her and told her that one day, after many adventures, she would meet a man in a strange and violent land who had also been imprisoned by a curse. If they had compassion for each other, they would have a chance to be released from their in-between worlds — even if it meant that one of them would die so that the other might live, and that a child would spring from her loins."
ater that morning, roused by a commotion of hooves and (shouts, they stood together at the window, looking down at the Warden who sat on his horse in front of the saloon, along with Stebbins and a ragged platoon of mounted soldiers and prison guards.