Nicademus: The Wild Ones Read online

  Nicademus

  Published by The Divas Pen LLC

  Copyright 2013 Sienna Mynx

  Cover design by Reese Dante

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For more information on the author and her works, please see http://TheDivasPen.com

  Dedication

  To my wonderful beautiful nieces who always inspire me to reach deep and explore the boundless depths of my imagination. Auntie loves you!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1.

  Hot lead zipped past the outlaw’s head. The projectile landed its targeted strike. A single bullet ripped through his rawhide jacket and pierced his side. He could feel his skin singe as the bullet sliced through him while pain strangled the tortured cry of torment in his throat. The outlaw had to ride and ride hard if he was to survive Tyler Shepherd’s noose …

  Jeremiah Polk’s adrenaline was the only fuel he had left to burn. He galloped at a dangerous speed as he turned and fired back from his six-shooter until the gun was spent. Maybe he hit one of them. Maybe he didn’t. He couldn’t tell with the sun disappearing behind the mountains. Dusk and shadows deepened. Death awaited him in the valley. It didn’t matter. Jeremiah rode hard and he rode fast. Once he crossed into the forested plains, the path narrowed and the last of the daylight disappeared.

  I’m bleeding. I’m dying. I know it.

  Thoughts mixed with fear clouded his judgment. His mind kept repeating his fate as if it should convince him to reconsider his course. He’d rather the vultures pick his bones clean than give in to the bastards hunting him.

  He rode harder.

  He rode faster.

  The posse was close enough to be heard but far enough to be lost, which was what Jeremiah was counting on by choosing such rocky, uncharted terrain. If he crossed out of Arkansas into Oklahoma he could get lost in the gold mining towns near the foothills of the mountains.

  “Yah! Yah!” Jeremiah yelled.

  He kicked his heels harder, forcing the horse to pound grass and earth. He leaned in for the speed, as he wheezed through the torment splitting his side. Two lawmen and a banker were dead, but not that bastard Shepherd. He was sure their deaths would all be put on him. He was an innocent man. But who would believe him with bags of the bank’s gold strapped to his horse? Who would believe this was a ride for justice?

  It’s for you, Pa, Ma, Mary, and James. This is for you. Jeremiah grunted with clenched teeth as he galloped toward freedom.

  **

  Along a moonlit riverbank a horse stopped to lap at the cool water rippling over the rocky shore. On his back slumped the unconscious Jeremiah Polk.

  The horse paced the river then stopped under the pale moon, weary from their journey. Jeremiah slumped to the left and eventually dropped off the animal to his back. He released a groan of agony before pain and delirium drove him deeper into an unconscious state. His body had given in to dehydration and exhaustion several hours ago. What was left of him rolled into the overgrown bush to die.

  Sunrise -

  Annabelle wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. She gathered up the long hem of her skirt and tied it in a knot just above the knee. She waded into Buck Creek, careful of each step. The creek’s current flowed south out of the headwaters of the Kiamichi River. It provided the life force that helped the small town of Nicademus thrive. Prospectors, freed slaves, natives: many had found refuge and prosperity in Nicademus.

  Lifting the pail she stepped over the smooth rocks and into the river, stopping when the water reached her knees. Her bucket submerged. Naturally her gaze lifted when the sound of rustling leaves caught her ear. The emerald green sweet grass had grown pretty tall this year. Its slender blades swayed with the wind. She caught the flight of several birds lifting from the trees, and heard the distinct buzzing chirps of beetle-bugs and crickets in the meadow. No sign of danger. Still, a girl like her had to be cautious of bears and wolves, though. Last year Matilda was attacked and mauled not too far from her land.

  In order to be safe Annabelle kept her five-shot Colt Patterson revolver tucked in the front waistband of her long skirt. She had lifted the weapon off a dead ranger who while drunk fell into the creek and drowned. A dead man’s gun was said to be bad luck. Well it had proved the opposite for her. His bad luck was her good fortune.

  Annabelle submerged the bucket deeper in the rippling waves and listened for the rustling again. There was only the breeze combing through the trees and tickling the waves of the creek.

  It would be heaven to undress and slip under the greenish-blue waters for her morning swim, but Ms. Kitty would send for her soon. And there was another reason for caution. Nicademus was nestled between White Rock Mountain and Horsehead Mountain. The woodsy terrain out of Oklahoma led an open path straight into Arkansas. Outlaws and boomers had often stumbled on their town when lost. Ms. Kitty’s rule was that the girls never spent too much time down by the river alone, and they never bathed or swam in its waters without two or more to join. That meant trips to the river could only be done in pairs. Annabelle, however, didn’t always obey the rules.

  Bringing up the pail with both hands she trekked back out of the water, leaving thoughts of frivolity behind. It was then that a spark from something shiny caught her attention. Annabelle lowered her haul to avoid any spill. Her vision narrowed on where the bushes thickened. The sun had hit something that gleamed brighter than polished silver. There in the shade she recognized the buckle of a man’s boot.

  “Well I’ll be,” she said, drying her hands on the front of her dress. “What we got here?”

  Curious, Annabelle removed her Colt. It could be Dillon the town drunk, taking a rest under her tree. Or it could be a boomer who had fallen asleep after stopping to visit and fill his canteen at the creek. She held the gun pointed south as she stepped closer, then stopped halfway. It was a man’s boot, spurs and all, connected to a leg, and the leg was connected to a waist. A horse neighed in the thicket just a few hundred feet beyond, and Annabelle nearly fired a shot into the ground. It startled her so.

  The horse stepped out of the clearing and fixed its dark eyes on her. What a beautiful animal it was. Annabelle’s last horse had died only two months ago. She wanted this one, bad.

  Her attention returned to the stranger.

  Is he dead? she wondered.

  She circled the man to get a better look at him. He lay on his back with his head turned. His chest rose and fell only slightly thanks to his shallow breathing. He was definitely alive. Annabelle raised her gun when she noticed around his waist he had two irons holstered on his belt.

  Just what she needed, an unconscious white man in her creek. Last one she found brought the consequences of the marshals into their town. Damn near started another civil war until the doc said the fool had drank his belly full and drowned. She glanced around and wondered if there were more men.

 
“I oughta just leave him,” she stepped back voicing her thoughts to the wind.

  The cowboy moaned. His face turned again to give her a clearer view of him. Annabelle frowned. His face was covered in hair, a scraggly dirty blond beard that hung past his neck. He had a mustache so thick it covered his lips, and unruly eyebrows and hair. She could barely see him beneath the dirt, dried blood, and sunburnt face. His hat lay over to the left of him and even from a distance she knew he stank of life in the outdoors. He looked like he’d been on his own for quite some time.

  He looked dangerous.

  Annabelle sucked in her bottom lip. She thought on it hard and long. Finally it was decided. A cured white man sent on his way was easier to deal with than a dead one by the river.

  But how? Annabelle pondered it for another moment with her hands to her hips. She faced the grueling task of moving a man twice her weight and well over her height. The daunting task would be done all by her lonesome, and half a mile too.

  Then another thought popped into her head. The horse! She glanced back over at the animal. Untying the hem of her skirt she hurried after it. Clucking her tongue as Red Sun would do, she coaxed the animal to come her way. It did. The horse was a magnificent creature, healthy, with a shiny brown spotted coat. She grabbed the reins and rubbed the bridge of his nose, giving him a kiss of thanks for being so gentle.

  “Good baby … sweet baby.”

  Returning to the fallen stranger she and the horse stood over him. She let go of the reins and went to her knees in front of the man. “Can you hear me, mister?”

  He moaned and mumbled something unintelligible. Hesitant at first, but compelled by the way he sweated and breathed so hollowly, her heart was touched with pity. Annabelle’s first order of business was to take his guns. She did so immediately. She then reached down and let her fingers brush his face. He was burning with fever. She didn’t initially uncover the reason, but her eyes roamed over his body, hoping it wasn’t a sickness like cholera. An outbreak could kill every man, woman, and child in town. She wiped her hand on the front of her dress as fear seized her. The contagion could have leapt on her just from standing too close. She stood upright and the man moved, rolling a bit to his right. It was then that his vest parted in the front and revealed the blood stains on his side.

  “Oh? You been shot?” she said curiously. She fastened his gun belt around her waist. Now she had three guns.

  “Where you come from?” she asked, shaking her head in disgust.

  He groaned this time in response. “Well no time for talking about it, let’s get you up.” She took hold of his wrists and pulled. The man was heavy as iron. Annabelle blew a sigh up out of her mouth with her top lip tucked in.

  “Get up I say!” she pulled with all her might, digging the heels of her feet into the moist earth. “UP!” she grunted.

  Again the stranger groaned, but this time he found the strength to obey. He lifted. “Your choice, I can leave you here for the buzzards or you can help me,” she wheezed. She forced him to rise and stand. He did, but fell forward on her. Annabelle was nearly brought down to the ground. She put her back into it and held him upright. Working at Ms. Kitty’s, she had had to help Jacob several nights with disposing of a drunk out of one of the girls’ rooms. Ms. Kitty’s rule was you stay you pay. And she meant it. Once a customer’s pocket was empty, so was the Blue Moon’s hospitality. So yes, she could handle standing up a man twice her size. She put his arm around her shoulder to encourage him to help and then walked him stiffly to the stallion.

  “Can you hear me, mister?” she asked, and his head rolled. She thought somewhere in between he gave her a nod.

  “Good e’nuff, here’s the strap. Go on … get on up there,” she said. She tried to help him mount. He didn’t have the strength. But she didn’t give up easily. Leaning him into the horse she put his foot in the stirrup, and that’s when she got a real good look at the saddle: leather bound with iron bits, it was too fancy for this vagabond lifestyle. It had to be stolen.

  “Up!” She pushed at his rump. Surprisingly he went, but disappointingly fell over the saddle, hanging off the other side. Annabelle stepped back and frowned. “It’ll have ta do,” she shrugged. She found his hat and put it on his back. She grabbed the reins and led the horse to her water pail and fetched it. Shadows of circling vultures drew her eyes upward. She squinted at the dark winged creatures. “Looks like I saved you from breakfast,” she chuckled.

  The man didn’t make a sound.

  Annabelle walked the horse back to her cabin, through the tall sweet grass, stopping to pick a blade and chew on it. Anyone else in town would have let the buzzards pick his bones clean. But not Annabelle. She wasn’t like any of them. Her ma said her spirit had no place in this world. A woman born with her skin and strength of mind was destined for heartache, or to be broken under her husband’s boot heel.

  Not so, said her pa. He named her Annabelle, which meant sweet freedom, and that’s what she was. Free. Of course she had her share of problems like the rest of them. If it weren’t for Red Sun, raiders, outlaws, or nasty men from the Maki tribe that snuck into town out of White Rock Mountain would have taken her. But she wasn’t scared. She just knew she was destined for something great.

  Looking back at her stranger she wondered if the stories Red Sun told of white men like him were true. She had never met a white man, outside of the few who lived among them in town, that she trusted or liked. Never met a kind one, or even a civilized one. They were just mean as rabid dogs and full of hatred for her kind. Was he one of them? Possibly so, but that mattered none. He was hurt, and that meant she could practice on him. The thought of practicing on him made her smile.

  Annabelle led the horse to the back of the cabin. Built from logs she helped Red Sun chop herself, she was quite proud of it. The girls at Blue Moon were jealous of her. She was the only one who worked there who didn’t have to live there. Ms. Kitty said she was no whore even if she had to work with them. And she and Red Sun made sure she had her dream.

  “We’s here.” Annabelle announced. She carried the pail to the wash barrel and dumped fresh water in it. Typically she’d have to make at least six trips to get enough. But that wouldn’t be possible now. Her arms ached and so did her back. She was also late for her chores. For Ms. Kitty and the girls, she had dinner to prepare. There was a hen to cut and pluck, and plenty of cleaning and linen washing to do. Somehow she had to tend to her prisoner and get to work without being suspected.

  “Off with ya,” she said. She walked around to the horse. She pulled on the top of his pants and he slid down before he fell over unconscious. “Oh no’s you don’t.” She put his fallen hat on her head and took hold of his collar. She forced him to sit up, barely. He dropped back like the weight he was. This time he was gone, and it felt as if his fever had spiked a degree or two. She rolled her eyes heavenward and noticed something attached to the saddle. A satchel. A bank bag. Annabelle let the man drop, never taking her eyes off of the bag. She walked over to it and untied the knot, then opened it to uncover a treasure of gold nuggets inside. It was more gold than she’d ever seen or held in her life.

  Now she was in trouble.

  She should have left him where he lay. The law was sure to come and if she was caught with him and the gold. She’d be strung up faster than he would.

  “You runnin’ from the law and done brought your troubles to my land!” she kicked at his leg with an angry pout. Annabelle paced. She held the bag tight in her hand and paced. Chewing on her nail she stopped and looked down at him. “I oughta let Red Sun get ya, and shave yo head clean!” she grunted. Dropping next to the man on the ground she hung her head and cried. Her ma said being born free made her spoiled and thoughtless. Ms. Kitty said it made her brave. And Red Sun who didn’t speak English at all only thought to protect her from her wild ways. Well, this right here would prove them all right. She was in deep trouble now. All she wanted to do was practice on him. Play doctor. Get him on the men
d and send him on his way. Now this?

  She could go for Red Sun, but that would doom the stranger for sure. The only real option was to hide him until she knew what better to do. Reaching again she tried to pull him upright, to no avail.

  “Come on,” she grunted. The man didn’t move. That left her with no other choice. Tying the gold to the gunslinger belt fastened around her waist, and careful of where she tucked her Colt, she grabbed his hands and began to drag him. The more she dragged the more he groaned, obviously in pain. And then he woke with a throaty cough and wheeze.

  Annabelle stopped. She made little progress. “Let us try again. Heh? C’mon,” she said. She grabbed his arms and forced him to sit.

  The man blinked awake, looking around disoriented.

  “That’s right … it’s not far. I gots you,” Annabelle said.

  He sat up. He stood upright, nearly breaking her back in the process. She walked him around the cabin to the front steps and inside. Her place consisted of two rooms. The brick fireplace for cooking and warmth, and the table Red Sun made for her with chairs were dead center. To her left was a cot for company, which were usually the kids from town who loved to come and play at her station. She had a sheet hanging on a fishing line to conceal that guest sleeping area for privacy. If Red Sun got full of the bull after a fight with Ms. Kitty and chose to stay, he had a place to lay.

  So that’s where she dropped the stranger, thankful to be free of him.

  There was only one other room. She even had a door to it. It’s where she slept and dressed. She always kept fresh flowers and lavender from her garden in there to make the place smell like a lady’s boudoir, like the ones the girls kept above the saloon.

  Annabelle wiped her hand over her brow again and bemoaned her predicament. “You might as well be dead, you heavier than a corpse.”

  She unfastened the gun belt, and with the bag of gold in hand she went into her bedroom. Dropping to her knees she pulled up the floorboard. She stuck them both underneath and put the plywood back in its place.