Lil' Bit

“I told him, I says, ain’t no horse gonna get you far out here, boy, when you’re sloggin’ through three feet of powder. An’ he drags himself over to the rancher and gets himself a horse anyhow. If I thought he was gon’ bite it out there then, I’m certain he’s dead now.”

The old man drones, tongue loosened by the barley-water slop they serve out here. I think about the drunks often, how they managed to get here and survive all this time given their tendencies. Maybe they built forts like me, strained their backs like me, lugged whiskey for trade like me, and then grew old and gave up on work. I don’t want to work my whole life, but I sure as hell don’t want to end up a drunk with nothing to show for it except poor advice. 

“What kind of horse?” I ask with mild interest.

“Quarterbreed!” He snorts and wheezes a laugh, his last few teeth showing through his chapped lips. I offer an amused smile despite my cynicism.

“That right?”

He nods repeatedly, drinking from his cup and licking his lips unattractively to keep the beer in. Without many teeth as a barrier, his chin squishes up against his moustache and makes his face look short. He’s got this habit of rocking back and forth just a bit, a little shaky and a little off. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he says, before suddenly hacking a big cough. “I’ll tell you what, boy.”

“What’s that?”

“Play me a hand,” he says, slapping a deck of cards on the round wooden table. I huff a laugh, looking up at the saloon around us. Nobody’s paying attention.

“I ain’t got any money,” I say simply. 

He grumbles, already sliding the cards out of the box. “Bullshit. Go on, just a hand. I ain’t got money neither.”

“Well how do you expect to play a hand?” I ask with a grin, my knee knocking against the table when I bounce it. 

He thinks about that for a minute and frantically checks his pockets, even looking behind himself as if he’ll find a stack of cash there. He furrows his brow and shoots a glance at me, waiting a while before he speaks. 

“I got a dog,” he says at last.

I raise an eyebrow. “A dog?”

“That’s right,” he grumbles.

I purse my lips and pretend to mull it over for a while. With a sigh, I dig around for my purse and toss it on the table, a few silver dollars escaping the pouch and sliding out onto the wood. They catch the candlelight of the wagon-wheel chandelier above in a way I know the old drunk can’t resist. He cackles and starts to shuffle the cards. 

He flips his first card face-down, then deals mine, a king. I huff. “And this is just one hand?”

“That’s right,” he says, licking his lips as he deals his second card, the two of hearts. I raise my brows. 

The next card he deals to me is the ace of spades. I watch his face fall as he stares at it for a moment. He narrows his eyes and flips his first card, a queen.

“You can still push,” I say cockily. 

He scowls and draws one more card, a jack. He slams his fist on the table and shoves my purse back toward me. 

“So where’s this dog?” I smirk. 

***

Lil’ Bit is a misleading name for that beast. She prances behind my horse as we ride through the white Montana forest, the snow shrugging off her shaggy coat and massive back. I hear her panting the whole way, a habit which I thought would be annoying, but it’s a small comfort to know I’m not alone out here in the wilderness. The snow’s been picking up steadily but I haven’t found a place to rest yet. 

My hips move with the rocking of the horse–Beans–as we descend a small slope. Bit runs in front and tries to catch the bunnies burrowing in the white, scaring them off. I chuckle, watching her muscular body move. 

The old drunk failed to mention that dear old Lil’ Bit is a huge St. Bernard weighing in at one hundred and forty pounds. When he hobbled to his front door and called for her, the house creaked and shook as she bounded toward us. I’ve had her for a couple weeks now, and despite her intimidating size, she’s a sweet dog. Takes a lot to feed her, but a sweet dog anyway. 

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when Beans staggers in the snow. I furrow my brow, looking down at the ground, but no sooner than I lower my head the horse cries and bucks me off his back. I choke for a breath when I hit the ground, my lungs immediately tightening in a way that burns. I scramble across the snow, heaving myself away from the Beans’ frantic legs. But the snow is thick and my fists are numb, and he lands a crunching blow to my stomach. 

I wheeze, shaking as I pull myself away. I blink the spots out of my eyes and groan, curling up on myself while clutching my stomach. Bit runs over and licks my face, pacing around me, her tail swishing nervously. 

I lay in the wet snow for a long while. I can’t see the horse or where he’s gone. My clothes are soaked though–even my leather chaps are soggy. Frozen and numb, the cold makes me ache, but I can’t bring myself to move. The weather’s turning now, fat snowflakes falling faster, risking burying me alive under here. Faintly I hear Bit barking. 

Then something tugs my collar. I groan again, unable to fight. It heaves again, this time dragging my weak body a few inches across the snow. I don’t know how long the process repeats–I’m woozy and nearly asleep, waking only briefly when I’m jostled by the tugging. I don’t feel wet or numb anymore; I feel relaxed, my body seeming to warm up as my eyelids grow heavier. 

I next wake when my head slams into something hard. I hiss, watery eyes blinking open to be met with a sheet of brown fur in front of my face. Blearily, I raise my neck. 

“Bit..?” I mumble. 

She barks then shoves her nose against my cheek as if trying to wake me. I suck in a sharp breath and manage to prop myself up on my hands. I find that there’s a wall behind me to lean on and whine in gratitude, fully ready to kiss the structure to death if it weren’t for my partial ability to move. I stagger up, hobbling to the door, and try the knob.

I crash into the home once I find it unlocked. Drool froths at my lips from the effort it takes to shimmy myself down and raise a leg to kick the door shut, blocking the blizzard out. Bit starts to bark and I realize there are other people there.

“Oh, God!” a woman cries. I hear the clatter and tink of teacups as she jolts in surprise. “Who are you?!”

“I’m hurt,” I groan, no strength left to move my limbs. “Please. Got bucked by my horse. I need–my ribs are broken–”

“Christ,” she breathes, daring to kneel next to me. She’s in my line of sight now but I can’t make out her face–my eyes aren’t cooperating. “I-I have some supplies. Wait here.”

Thunking and rummaging comes from another corner of the house, then glass clinking, making me pray there’s laudanum in her kit. In my haze I see her return to me and roll me onto my back, but I don’t feel a thing. 

“Hey, hey, stay awake,” she breathes to me. 

“Mm…” I offer her little acknowledgement, eyelashes fluttering while she grips my chin. I feel warm and calm, like driftwood on a river. Slowly the sleep begins to creep in, all while she’s yelling and making a fuss of keeping me awake. 

***

“Ugh,” I gasp when I bolt upright, immediately cringing in pain. My belly is wrapped in linen and I smell like peppermint. I turn slowly, taking in the room and the little bed I’m sat in, the cosy bookshelves and dolls that sit on the windowsill. 

“You’re awake,” says a voice.

“Jesus,” I spit, whipping my head around. There’s a woman sat in a chair, embroidering. I assume it’s the same woman who helped me. “Did you–?”

“Yes. That’s peppermint oil for the bruises, don’t get it in your eye,” she says to me. 

I nod slowly, prodding at the bandages. “Thanks. Uh…sorry for breaking in to your house.” She shrugs me off, so I continue, “Where’s my dog?”

“Oh, she likes it by the fireplace,” says the woman.

I sit up a little better and peer through the doorframe to catch a glimpse of Bit, who’s lazing around the hearth with her belly up. I chuckle, feeling somehow satisfied. That little beast saved my life. 

“What’s her name?” asks the woman. 

“Lil’ Bit,” I respond softly. “Won her off a drunk before I got caught in the snow.”

I can’t help but marvel. How lucky did I get, running into that man in the saloon? How lucky was I that he insisted to play that hand of blackjack? If he hadn’t given up that dog, I’d be a ball of ice now. I guess old drunks do have some use, even just a lil' bit.