A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events

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  Many nights later, the travelling party (which was actually accompanied by many other travelling groups, all in a similar line, but some distance away from each other) stopped and set up a campfire. There, Floyd, Harriet, Hank, Jim, Grant and his Indian counterparts all sat and worked at what was carved of the questionable cow.

  “It seems a tad bit foolish to be eating of a cow that was likely sick, don’t you think, Jim?” Floyd asked. Of course, this didn’t stop him from eating away, or anyone else.

  Jim shrugged. “Well, we could have a dead cow, or we could kill the cow before it’s too sick. These cow sicknesses, Floyd, they ain’t the same as our sicknesses. This stuff doesn’t make us sick the same. Better to eat the thing then for it to die off. It wasn’t going to get any better and the land isn’t going to become any more accommodating.”

  Floyd nodded, agreeing somewhat with the rationale of the man. Jim was a greater expert with the cattle than Floyd was, however it was impossible for Floyd to not consider some of his own education in medicine. It made some sense that the dangers weren’t applicable, and fire, under most circumstances, was a purifier. He’d made sure his and Hattie’s food was well done. The rest of the meat would be dried to be maintained.

  Harriet watched the Indian men sitting beside Grant, who was also enjoying a hearty meal. She noticed the two men were simply staring into the fire, without a meal of their own. It brought Hattie to question Grant.

  “Why aren’t they eating, Mr. Vickers? Aren’t they hungry? They need to eat, too, don’t they?” Harriet asked, nodding in the direction of the two men. In that moment, she observed them, too. They both had a sun-touched, brown skin, one of the two seeming a bit more exposed to the sun than the other, for the roughness of the texture of his skin, which could be seen with the illumination of the fire. Both of them wore long, black hair beyond their shoulders, which was unnatural of men in Hattie’s culture, one even with braids, which were absolutely reserved for girls and women. They dressed similarly to Grant and Jim, with leathers and American-style clothing; nothing like the tales of the savage Indians in tribes throughout the continent. The way they were dressed, in fact, was one of the things that was most settling about the two being a part of the group. It only slightly outweighed their near-absolute silence, which might have been because of their lack of understanding for the English language.

  Grant looked over to his counterparts. “Their tribe isn’t the meat-eating sort. A lot of superstition around the eating of meat with them. What I understand is that they believe that if you eat the meat of a creature, its strengths become your strengths. The same, its weaknesses become your weaknesses. Their tribe eats meat in certain ceremonies and rituals, but not commonly. They’re very selective. They never eat cattle, either.” Grant said, wrapping up his tale with a bite into the steak.

  Harriet watched Mr. Vickers as he bit into the tough meat of the cow, watching the juices spray out the side of his mouth, each spackle illuminated with glowing fire like spring dew on the morning grass. The sounds of Vickers chewing seemed to resonate until the crushing and tenderizing of the chewed meat sounded like a train heading Harriet’s way. She only snapped out of the intense moment when Floyd poked at her arm.

  “Harriet?” He asked.

  Harriet blinked her eyes a times before recognizing her husband through the fading glaze. “I-I’m sorry, Floyd. T-That’s an interestin’ story, Mr. Vickers. I didn’t know such beliefs existed in these native tribes. An unusual practice.”

  Grant shrugged. “Is it? The Holy Bible is full of ritualistic practices and warnings about profane foods. Of course, not many people follow those rules. We happen to like a little bit of profanity, us people.”

  Harriet smirked, though the men in the party laughed; all except the two Indian fellows, who now kept an eye on Harriet. Harriet herself no longer had much of an appetite for the meat and decided she would call it a night.

  The men spent the evening talking, some of them drinking and sharing stories before they head off to sleep themselves. The night was a peaceful one until a strange sound stirred Harriet from her slumber.