The Devil's Paintbox Read Free Page B

get a fishhook out of you,” she said. “There's a trick to it.” She paused, looked down in serious thought. “Well, I
will
tell you, because sometime you might need to know when I'm not around.”
    “I know how to get a fishhook out,” Jackson said. “Don't need any doctoring.” What he needed was to get back to town and ease this damn mess in a drink of whiskey.“Here's what I got,” he said, rushing the offer before he had a chance to get his sense back. “Timber company outside of Seattle will pay me one hundred dollars for every man I bring in.” He looked the skinny boy over again and hoped he wasn't going to regret this. “Once there, you're bound to work it off. It's hard work. Rough living. Plus cost of your passage owed to me. That's another hundred dollars. Each. It takes most men a year to work it off and you got her to keep, so figure two.”
    “I can work too,” Maddy said.
    “No decent women in the camps or anywhere nearby. Men do the cooking, and there's Chinamen for the laundry.” He looked her over more closely. “How old are you?”
    “Fourteen. Nearly.”
    “Thirteen, eh? Old enough by the time we get there. There's a mighty lack of women up there, so men'll marry the ugly ones. Fatten up some and learn to keep your mouth shut and someone'll take you. Maybe even pay off your passage.” He turned back to Aiden. “You understand my deal?”
    “Yes.” Aiden burned with the insult to his sister but worked to keep his temper. “You'll take us to Seattle. I'll work off our passage. Might take two years.”
    “Lot of people don't make it. There's a hundred ways to die on this journey.”
    “Well,” Aiden said, “I do appreciate some novelty.”
    Jackson almost smiled. “All right,” he said. “You've lived hard enough so far; you might do for something yet. If you want to come, I'll take you. But if one of you dies, the other still owes me their keep, got that?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I ain't a charity-type man. But I'm fair. I'll figure it out to the day” Jackson went on somberly. “You die halfway for instance, it's only fifty dollars. But you will owe it—whoever's left. The hundred dollars is for your food and travel only. Anything extra you need, clothes, boots and such, I'll put on your account.”
    He looked at their bare feet.
    “You got any boots?”
    “I do,” Aiden said. “And I'll buy her some, on my account.”
    “All right, then.” Jefferson J. Jackson was starting to respect this proud kid. “Let's get moving. Bring them books along. I ain't read nothing new for a while, and I'm partial to Shakespeare.”

he town had an official name, Sweetwater, but no one ever used it, few even remembered it and the water had never been sweet anyway. The prairie soil out here was alkaline, and even the springs and deep wells had a bitter taste. Most of the homesteaders had simply called it “town” or “The Wood,” after the grove of precious cottonwood trees that grew around the spring.
    It never had been much of a town, with only a dozen buildings, but now it was grim and crumbling. Last time Aiden had come, soon after the fire in November, the last shopkeeper was packing up to leave. Outside the empty dry-goods store had been a box of ribbon scraps and bits of lace with a note that said
Free. Sorry. Good luck.
    They heard fiddle music as they approached.
    “They're having a party,” Jackson said. “We've been ten days traveling since we started in Independence. Good grass and water here, so we're taking a day to graze the cattle, shore up the wagons and lighten the loads. Folks always start out with too much. And had a cripple-legged calf born yesterday, so might as well cook that up while it's still fresh and plenty of wood around for a fire.” The rich aroma of the roasting meat made Aiden feel slightly insane.
    It was late afternoon, and the sun cast deep golden shadows across the ground. As they got closer, they could see the swirl of dresses as people