THE LETTER
by Goldie
The little white bird without tail feathers seemed to increase in size as it flew toward them, swooping and gliding with the wind, appearing to have no will of its own. They watched cautiously as it rose gracefully to great heights and then suddenly dove almost to the earth before lunging at them.
Their horses balked at the strange behavior of the little white bird, echoing the concerns of the riders.
"That thing loco?"
"Maybe it's got rabies. Look out, Kid! It's headed back!"
Kid Curry reined his horse quickly to the side, a movement with which his mount was in complete accord. The little white bird made a sudden turn in the wind and instead headed directly for Hannibal Heyes. Heyes anticipated the move and deflected needlessly. The little white bird swooped suddenly upward in an updraft.
There was indeed quite a breeze – a warm wind with a hint of foreboding. The heat may have been at least partially responsible for the recent angry exchanges between Heyes and the Kid. This anger was only temporarily displaced by their fascination with the bird. It was quick, as fast as the wind. Heyes took a moment to glance at the Kid, but in the short time his head was turned, the little white bird thrust unexpectedly to earth and smacked him right in the face.
"Ha!" The Kid smirked.
On instinct, Heyes grabbed his enemy. "This isn't a bird! It's just a piece of paper – a letter!" he said, relieved he hadn't been attacked but disappointed at the find. They reined to a stop.
"Where's the envelope?"
Heyes lowered the letter and looked at his partner with contempt. "What exactly is it that makes you think I have that information, Kid?"
Kid Curry bristled. "You know everything! Or do you just tell people that?"
"I know a damn sight more than you about some things. I'll remind you again that we're out here in the middle of nowhere because of you! It's the last time I trust you to choose which direction we head. We're going to starve to death if we don't reach a town soon."
"And just how would we pay for our supper, even if a saloon did show up, Mr. Poker Face? Losing all our money to a tenderfoot!? And you tell me not to draw to an inside straight!"
Heyes had no satisfactory answer. He examined the letter instead. "The ink's runny and the paper's wrinkled. Probably got rained on. Doesn't look like it's been blowing around out here all that long, though. Don't remember any rain lately, neither."
"Maybe it got wet some other way."
"It's dated. May 15. That's two months ago." Heyes started reading. "'My dearest darling' . . ."
"Hey! Watch your mouth!"
Heyes looked up and smirked. "Just readin', darlin'." He started again. "'My dearest darling' . . ."
"Wait a minute, Heyes, maybe we shouldn't be reading other people's mail."
"Normally I'd agree with you, Kid, but today you're not agreeable. Besides, I figure anyone or anything that hits me in the face deserves my full attention." He turned the letter over and noted the large amount of intricate handwriting, punctuated by occasional blank lines. "Since there's no envelope, we don't know who it's for." He smiled wickedly. "Maybe it's supposed to be for us. After all, it dropped out of the sky. Might be a direct message from God!"
"If that's the case, then it's probably for me. God would never think of you as a dear darling!"
"Or maybe it came from the Other Place, in which case it's probably for you!"
Kid Curry bristled again. "Just read it!"
"'My dearest darling. . . The time that we spend apart weighs heavily on my heart. Each day, each hour, each minute . . .'"
"Ooh, this is good."
" ' . . . each minute is in. . .' inter? Inter – mine? 'inter-mine-bley long." Heyes looked questioningly at the Kid. "Wonder what 'inter-mine-bley' means?"
The Kid shrugged. "Sounds French."
"You're probably right. Must've been some French lady who sent this." Heyes returned to the letter. "' . . . inter-mine-bley long. Thoughts of you enter my head every instant of the day and these thoughts are barely able to sustain me as I remember that you have abandoned me. Perhaps "abandoned" is too strong a word. The very imp . . . imp . . . imp-lee-cay-shun . . .'"
"More French."
"Huh! ' . . . imp-lee-cay-shun that you have acted in any way other than completely honorably toward me . . . "
"Uh-oh. Sounds like her man had some basic ideas!" The Kid snickered.
Heyes grinned as he let his imagination run wild. "' . . . honorably toward me is a thought that I can neither comprehend nor accept. Mrs. Kierney, Melissa, and Theo have attempted to console me at your inexplicable absence, but – alas! – I am inconsolable! Each day, each evening, each night – the tears cascade from my eyes as the drops of a waterfall rush to their untimely end . . .'" Heyes looked up. "'The drops of a waterfall rush to their untimely end?!' A little heavy-handed, I think! Now we know how this letter got wet!"
The Kid was confused. "A waterfall?"
Heyes gave his partner an exasperated look. "Tears, Kid! Tears! Some brute obviously took advantage of his French sweetie and ran off. Naturally she's upset. Let's look further here. 'My hand shakes as I write, and the hour is late. It is time to attempt once again to escape this miserable lonely existence by entering the shroud of slumber. Good night, my love. May the clarity of your conscience serve you as mine serves me.'" Heyes stopped reading.
"That's it?"
"No, there's more. She must have forgotten about writing in the letter for a while. The next part is dated three days later."
"Well, forget about the rest of it. I want to get going." The Kid gently kicked his horse into action.
"Yeah, you're right, Kid. We had better get to the next town before we die of old age." Heyes was sarcastic but pocketed the letter that had looked like a bird and followed his partner's lead.
They rode in silence for a while, collars turned up and hats pushed down against the unrelenting hot wind. Each was lost in his own thoughts, angry thoughts of dissatisfaction against each other. Occasionally one or the other began a sentence, but the sentence was never finished as interest in communication waned.
After a few more miles had been covered, Heyes decided to pursue the content of the letter rather than think about his grudge. He pulled the letter out of his pocket and began to silently read it. From the corner of his vision he could see his partner watching him with suppressed interest. He felt a smug satisfaction.
Finally, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"You know, Heyes, you can be really infuriating sometimes! What does the letter say?!"
Heyes looked up in mock surprise. "Huh? Oh, the letter? This?" He held it out in front of him, apparently forgetting the speed with which his friend, the gunfighter, could move. In a second, the letter was in the hands of Kid Curry. "Yes. This!" The Kid waved the letter a couple of times, then situated it where he could peruse the prize himself.
"Let's see . . . 'abandoned me . . . drops of a waterfall . . . conscience serve . . .' Oh, here it is. 'conscience serve you as mine serves me. May 18. Darling, Three more days have passed without word from you. Not knowing your whereabouts is difficult for me, as you can well imagine. How shall I go on without you? How could you have left me? Are you as unhappy as I? Are you even still alive? So many questions. Mrs. Kierney, Theo, and Melissa have spent countless hours with me, each in his or her own way only slightly consoling. Melissa in particular has repeatedly offered a soothing shoulder on which to place my weary head. She is, as you know, a treasured friend. May 25 . . .' Oh, there's a break here. Looks like about a week . . ."
"May 18 to May 25? Yeah, I'd say that's about a week."
The Kid ignored his partner. "'May 25. Today I have come to a painful realization. It occurred to me, not for the first time, that I no longer find your unexplained absence tolerable. Mrs. Kierney, you see, has finally confessed that you discussed your intentions with her before you left. San Francisco, California, you told her. The dream that we had discussed together, you and I . . .'"
"Uh, oh. French sweetie's left behind. The lure of the big modern city!" Heyes smirked.
"Don't interrupt me! Where was I? Oh, yeah . . . 'discussed together, you and I, you have cast aside as debris.' Deb-riss?"
"Dee-bree. Another French word. Means left-over. Like the bath water you get after I'm clean." Heyes grinned wickedly.
More ignoring. "'It is in-com-pre . . . in-com-pre-hen . . .'"
Heyes rolled his eyes. "Incomprehensible."
"What you said. ' . . . that you could have so completely substituted our happiness for a dream, or perhaps even just a whim, of your own. The deep talks we have shared, the images that have floated in our heads of each other, the hours we have spent in each other's arms – these have all fallen by the roadside for an adventure you have undertaken alone. A life without me! Mrs. Kierney disclosed your wish to depart with no warning. Coward! How could you have forgotten all we have meant to each other . . . '"
"'Coward?' Big talk for a woman."
"There's more . . ."
But at that moment, they heard what seemed to be gunshots. Both reined their horses to a halt, making no sound and listening intently to confirm what they had heard. The Kid discontinued his reading of the letter, shoving it haphazardly into his shirt front with one hand while simultaneously drawing his gun with the other. Heyes instantly drew his gun as well. For a length of time they sat quite still, unmoving in their uncertainty. They heard no other sound than the incessant wind itself, whistling through their clothes and gear and around their heads. Their keen eyes surveyed the surrounding landscape, taking in each shrub and rock, calculating the possibility that an enemy was near. All animosity between them was forgotten as they worked as a team to protect each other. One studied the south and west, the other the north and east. They knew that there was little place to hide if a foe was nearby. Each also knew that he would kill to protect the other. After a few quiet minutes, they felt free to relax slightly.
"Gauge?"
"Couldn't tell."
"How far away?"
"Couple miles, at least. How many did you count?"
"Three, I think."
"That's what I thought, too."
It was finally safe to venture a look at each other. The Kid nodded his head in the direction they had been heading, the place where the shots had come from. Heyes shrugged. They kicked their horses into a canter, travelling directly toward the sound of the gunshots.
Up to that point, there had been no notable signs of life. But after a couple of miles, they both began having the eerie feeling that something odd was going to happen. Their prediction turned out to be correct. As they slowly approached, an unmoving stagecoach gradually came into their field of vision. This raised an understandable alarm in them. Both Heyes and the Kid pointed their weapons in its direction and approached cautiously, looking around and seeing no other movement except a riderless saddled horse grazing off in the distance.
Years of partnership allowed a simple glance at each other to be sufficient for an understanding of their next move. They split up, Heyes moving to the left as they continued to approach and the Kid moving to the right. As they neared the stagecoach, they began to hear the low sounds of people talking. Voices of at least two men, mingled with the softer speech of a woman, were detectable. The woman might have been softly sobbing. Instantly, the inherent chivalrous nature of both Heyes and the Kid threatened to overtake their guarded approach. The outlaws were still on the near side of the coach, and the voices were coming from the far side. No people had as yet come in to their field of vision.
They were very near the coach and continuing to advance cautiously. A few utterances were becoming clear.
"Please," sobbed the woman.
The voice of a man could be heard in response, but his words were not clear to the outlaws. The voice of another man, somewhat louder, also responded. "There's U.S. mail on this here coach, and you got no right . . ."
They were finally flanking the stagecoach. In another step, they would be seen. They stole a clandestine look. The scene was what they expected. A well-tanned older man, likely the coach driver, was sitting on the ground. Near him but out of reach lay his rifle. A young woman in traveling clothes sat near him. Her face, as expected, was streaked with tears. Another man was standing, his gun aimed at the coach driver. He had pale skin and was dressed in a tenderfoot style.
Guns drawn and with nothing but a quick confirming glance at each other, they uniformly advanced from behind the coach, noting the surprise on the faces of all the passengers.
"Drop it!" Heyes ordered the armed man. The man seemed confused at first, then changed his aim from the driver to Heyes. Kid Curry, as always, did not hesitate. Allowing for no chance of injury to Heyes, he pulled the trigger and the gun flew out of the man's hand. The man cried out in surprise, looking from his own hand to the Kid to the gun on the ground. The Kid's aim had been deadly accurate, and the man had barely been scratched whereas his gun had obviously been damaged.
"Leave it!" yelled Heyes. As the man turned to look at him, Heyes noticed that there were tears on his face as well as the woman's. Mildly disturbed at this finding, Heyes hesitated a moment.
The Kid took over. "All right now, what's your name and what's the problem?" While the Kid kept his gun pointed at the tenderfoot, Heyes retrieved the coach driver's rifle and handed it to him. Heyes then helped the lady to her feet. She had obviously been frightened and he felt very chivalrous, but when he attempted to console her with a small hug, she slapped his face!
Feeling his face turn red (from more than one cause), Heyes was mortified. How dare she treat him that way!
"How dare you!" she cried.
"How dare you!" cried the tenderfoot.
Nonplused, Heyes and Curry looked at each other. "All right, what's going on here?" asked the Kid in an attempt to restore order.
The stagecoach driver was only too happy to talk. "This here fella," he said, indicating the tenderfoot with his rifle, "come up on the coach outta nowhere and shot at me! He says he wants to talk to this here woman." Rifle again, this time at the woman. "She's one of my passengers! And there's the US Mail on this here coach! I can't be stoppin' her just because this here tenderfoot thinks I should!" Now that there was a rifle in his hand, the stagecoach driver felt more courageous. He apparently also felt wordy. "I got a route! I got a deadline! I can't just be stoppin' her for every . . ."
"All right, all right, I get it," said Kid Curry. Directing his question to the tenderfoot, the Kid asked, "Who are you and what's your beef with this lady?" The Kid had been paying attention to the driver and hadn't noticed that the lady had moved closer to the tenderfoot.
"My name is Julius Bentsen," said the man with a hint of a British accent. "I hail from New York City. I have traveled a very long way in pursuit of this beautiful lady." The "beautiful lady" had continued inching her way closer to the tenderfoot, and he now turned toward her. She smiled appreciatively at him and he returned the smile. She pulled a lacy handkerchief from her bodice and used it to wipe at his now-dried tears. Julius the tenderfoot ran the back of his hand along her hair and face and she gratefully held his face in her white-gloved hand. They embraced tenderly.
Completely confused, the Kid watched this scene and then turned to his partner for guidance.
But Heyes was amused, not confused. "Uh, Thaddeus . . ." said Heyes. "I think I know what's going on here."
"That don't give him no right to go stoppin' no coach that's got the US Mail on . . ." interrupted the driver.
"Driver!" said Heyes. "There's no injury here, right? There's no harm done, right? I think you and your passengers can continue on your route. You won't be late by much."
The driver looked skeptical.
"Am I right?" asked Heyes convincingly.
The driver clearly wanted to spout off some more but his pressing timeframe got the better of him. "All right, lady, get back on board. We're movin' on." He climbed back up into the driver's seat and waited.
But the lady, safely nestled in tenderfoot gunman Julius Bentsen's arms, showed no sign of ever wanting to leave that particular position. "No," she said to the driver. "I will stay with Julius. He has undergone great hardship to find me. I am convinced now that he loves me." She smiled again at the tenderfoot.
"Ma'am," said the stagecoach driver imploringly. "This here tenderfoot ain't got but one horse. And he pulled a gun on me. You get back on board!"
"Driver," said Hannibal Heyes. "You're travelling northwest. Would this lady be able to make connections to San Francisco at the next stop?" Heyes noticed that both Julius and the lady turned to him gratefully. The Kid looked at him as if he was crazy.
"Yeah, I guess she can."
"You can take Mr. Bentsen, too, right, driver?"
The driver scratched his head. "Well, I don't know about that . . ."
"He's disarmed. In more ways than one. He won't give you any more trouble. Thaddeus, tie Mr. Bentsen's horse to the back of the coach."
The Kid did as he was bid, never weakening in his belief that his partner had lost his marbles.
"Driver?"
"Well, all right. Don't make no more trouble. And hurry up! I got a time schedule to keep. And I got the US Mail on board . . ."
While the driver continued ranting, Heyes walked over to the stagecoach and opened the door. "Folks," he said to the two passengers inside, "make room for one more. You're going to have Romeo and Juliet travelling with you!" He held out his hand for the lady, who gratefully accepted it. Heyes helped her step inside the coach. Julius shook Heyes's hand, said "Thank you! So much!" and stepped in also.
"Oh! Wait a minute!" said Heyes. "Thaddeus, can I have the letter, please?"
"What?" asked the Kid, by now thoroughly confused.
"The letter? The one you stuffed in your jacket?"
Without understanding, the Kid slowly pulled the little white bird/letter from his jacket and handed it to Heyes.
But before Heyes could grab it, a gust of wind came along and snatched it from the Kid's hand. Up it blew, up, up, spiraling in the high winds, with everyone on the ground and in the coach watching it. The letter followed the warm gusting wind, first swooping, then rising, then gliding, until it eventually flew out of sight. Everyone waited for a minute, but it did not return.
Heyes sheepishly turned to the tenderfoot and shrugged.
"Was that letter I think it was?" he asked Heyes.
"Yep. Sorry. But I don't think it matters any more, does it?"
The tenderfoot and his woman looked into each other's eyes dreamily. He put his arm around her and they kissed. The coach driver snapped the reins with a loud "H'yeah!" and the horses' temporary rest was over. As the coach pulled away, the tenderfoot looked out the window and called back to Heyes, "No, it doesn't matter at all." Then he turned back to his lovely lady. Heyes watched them dreamily.
Heyes and the Kid watched the coach disappear from view, then the Kid said, "Would you like to explain to me what just happened here? And, by the way, the last time you had a stupid look like that on your face was in third grade when Gracie Bischoff kissed you and ran away."
Heyes snapped out of it and laughed. He slapped the Kid on the back. "Ah, Kid, isn't love grand?"
"Well, I guess it is for those two, anyhow. Why didn't they just travel together? Why'd he have to stop the coach at gunpoint? Kinda dumb, don't you think?"
"Oh, Kid, he didn't have any choice. She needed to know how serious he was about her."
"Now how exactly do you know that?"
"Me? You know it, too!"
The Kid exhaled in exasperation. "Heyes . . .!"
"The letter, Kid!"
"What letter? The white bird-letter?"
"Of course!"
"What?!"
"Kid, who do you think wrote it?!"
"That lady?"
Now it was Heyes's turn to be exasperated. "Of course not! Julius wrote it!"
"Julius!? That tenderfoot? He couldn't have! That letter was written by a French woman!"
"No, it wasn't. We were wrong about that, Kid. Don't forget – we never got the chance to see the signature. He was in love with her and I guess he never really told her. So she just ran away so he'd follow her to prove his love."
"So how come we ended up with the letter?"
"I suppose he took it out to show her and the wind snatched it away from him like it did with me."
The Kid thought about that for a moment and then laughed. "You know, Heyes, I think you're right. It all makes sense now. Actually, it's kinda nice. Gracious of him. I'm glad she wasn't mad."
"Oh, she wouldn't be mad. I think he knew that. He was gallant and she was his lady." Heyes got misty-eyed. "Must be nice to be in love."
The Kid looked at his partner and laughed. "There's that look again. Should we try to find Gracie Bischoff?"
Heyes laughed too and slapped his friend on the back. "I'm sorry, Kid, for being so proddy today!"
"Yeah, me too, Heyes. I was grumbly, too. What do you say we follow that coach until we reach the next town? A good restaurant meal and a good cigar and a few beers tonight? Maybe some cards – no inside straights."
"Sounds great, partner."
Heyes and Curry mounted their horses and kicked into a canter, both thrilled they had mended their superficial quarrel.
A few miles up the road, the little white bird without tail feathers continued its flying at the whim of the breezes, which were finally calming down. Two men on horseback watched it, fascinated.
"That thing loco?"
"Maybe it's got rabies. Look out! It's headed back!"
The bird rose and swooped and finally – with one last thrust – dove straight to earth, hitting one of the men square in the face!
"Ha ha! Smart bird! It got you, Wheat!"
"Shut up, Kyle!"
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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