The last few stragglers of the mob were finally making their way through the French doors of Red's private chambers. Homer, having eventually gotten past the violent crowd, was now standing just outside the doors, his pistol in one hand while the other continually waved people by him and down the stairs to the saloon. The owner herself was reclined on her chaise lounge, idly twirling a braid around her index finger as she let her gaze drift over the printed words on the pages of the book in her hands. It was a mystery; on a normal evening, it would have been enough to keep her mind occupied while the hours drifted by, and to block out the noise emanating from the saloon downstairs. Yet tonight, her eyes were continuously drawn to the chunk of silver on her table, where the masked Ranger had dropped it.
Folding down the corner of the page, she set down the book on the lounge beside her as she rose to her feet, taking a moment to gain her balance on the ivory leg, the anger as familiar as an old friend when she thought of him. Her first step was unsteady; the second, her boot hit the floor with more confidence. Red hobbled to the table in her slow, uneven gait, feeling Homer watching her with concern even as he directed the last drunken man out of her chambers. The silver seemed to beckon her. She stood in front of the table and stared at the chunk of precious metal, yet didn't reach out to touch it.
"Dat's de last of dem," Homer informed her, not moving from his position by the doors. "You wants me to stay?"
Red forced a smile and lifted her head to face her aide. "No, thank you, Homer." His doubtful expression didn't change. "I'll be fine." After a moment, he nodded, then turned and left, closing the doors quietly behind him. She listened to his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he made his way back to his post at the front door of the saloon. It comforted her, knowing he would be out there. Maybe I should get him a bigger gun, she thought, looking down at the silver. An image of the Ranger dropping it in a panic flashed through her mind. What had the Indian said? "Rock cursed." Red shuddered.
She stretched out a hand, her fingers almost close enough to touch the rock, but then snatched it back again. Her cheeks flushed as she realized how foolish she was acting. "It's just a rock," she muttered, putting forth her hand once more. This time, she allowed her fingers to close around the metal, and then she waited.
A minute passed. Two. When nothing happened, Red forced a laugh, tossing the silver chunk up into the air and catching it again. She'd been daft to believe in the Indian's words. Briefly holding it in her palm, she cast the metal a derisive glance and let it fall to the table again, where it landed with a thunk. The slight echo was lost amid the sudden burst of noise from downstairs. For a moment Red froze, wondering if the Ranger and the Indian were back, but then she heard a feminine voice, shouting at someone who responded in a lower baritone. Red sighed, making her way around the table and to the doors of her chambers. Without looking back she slipped out into the hallway, hobbling toward the balcony, where Homer would be waiting.
