The four travelers were contentedly finishing up their meal, scraping their tin plates for the last bits of the juicy steaks and creamy potato salad that Mrs. O'Brien had packed for their first night out, supplemented by fresh tomatoes from her kitchen garden and canned peaches from her well-stocked root cellar.
"It's such a lovely evening. Let's take a little stroll along the stream," suggested Miranda to Trudie.
The petite blonde woman was instantly on her feet, brushing crumbs from her skirt.
Curry, who a moment before had appeared as though he was settling in for a postprandial nap, sat up quickly, suddenly alert. "I better go along – make sure they're safe," he said to Heyes as he rose to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back. Heyes, who had begun stacking up the dirty plates, looked up at him.
"Yes, Thaddeus, you better leave me to do all the washing up. After all, I was the one that did the cooking, too."
Curry grinned. "I'll do it tomorrow night. We'll take turns," he promised, hastening after the two women as they disappeared hand-in-hand down the path through the cottonwoods fringing the stream. "Besides," he called back, "all you had to do was warm up those steaks. Mrs. O'Brien took care of the rest."
Heyes chuckled to himself at his partner's predictable chivalry and began cleaning the plates and utensils.
Several minutes later, he was cheerfully whistling a jaunty tune as he scraped out the large frying pan. Suddenly a blood-curdling shriek pierced the air, followed by three pistol shots in quick succession. Heyes was flying down the path before the third shot finished its report, his Schofield in his right hand, the frying pan still clutched, unheeded, in his left.
It must have been only a few minutes until he reached the trio, but it seemed to him as if he would never get there. He emerged into a clearing with a scattering of large, flat rocks to find the Kid and Miranda crouching over something on the ground, both still holding their pistols. Trudie cowered close by, her face white as a sheet.
"Everything alright?" he panted, skidding to a stop. "I heard shots."
The Kid caught Heyes's eye as he straightened up and holstered his Colt, clearly broadcasting that everything was under control. Heyes breathed a sigh of relief as his partner held up a very large, very dead rattlesnake by the tail end. The Kid's glance flicked down to the frying pan still clutched in his partner's hand. His blue eyes twinkled with mild amusement as he pronounced, "This fella was takin' advantage of the heat soaked up by these nice flat rocks. Guess the gals surprised him."
"I think m-m-more like he s-s-surprised us," stammered Trudie, looking as if she might burst into tears.
The Kid tossed the serpentine corpse onto the ground and stepped closer to her, arms gallantly open, no doubt ready to comfort the distressed young woman. Heyes suppressed a snicker when said distressed young woman ignored his outstretched arms and instead fell straight into the embrace of Miranda.
"Oh, Randi! You killed it! Thank God!" she sobbed in relief.
Heyes shot a questioning look at his partner, who merely shrugged.
"You shot the rattler, Miss Brent?" Heyes inquired.
"It coulda been either one of us," the Kid quickly answered.
Miranda, one arm still wrapped around her young friend, smiled ruefully and said, "That's awful generous of you to say so, Mr. Jones, but we both know you killed it. My first shot missed entirely."
"Yeah, but you hit it on the second one," the Kid answered, toeing the scaly heap.
"By that time, it was already dead." she rejoined. " I reckon it was dead before I even got my first shot off."
"Well, if I hadn't a come along, you woulda killed it in plenty of time before it coulda done any damage to Miss Trudie here. You're real fast, Miss Brent," he added, with a tone of admiration.
"For a girl, right?" Miranda said sarcastically, mistrustful of the compliment.
"No, ma'am," Kid stated with sincerity. "For anyone! I ain't seen too many men could beat you."
"She can outdraw all the hands and both our Pas, too," piped up Trudie proudly, scrubbing the remaining tears from her cheeks.
"But you, Mr. Jones," said Miranda in awe, "you're amazing. You plugged that snake between its eyes before I'd even cleared leather. And like you said, I'm no slouch. Why, I bet you might could even beat Kid Curry himself."
"Oh, no, I'm afraid that would be impossible," offered Kid Curry, quite truthfully.
"Now you're just being modest," said Miranda. "How'd ya get to be so fast?"
"Practice," said the Kid. "I could give you a few pointers..."
"Really?" asked Miranda eagerly.
"Maybe in the morn – " Heyes began to suggest, but before he could finish his sentence, Miranda was asking, "Right now?"
"Sure," answered Curry. "No time like the present. Let's go set up some targets."
Trudie and Heyes shared a glance, and it seemed to Heyes that they were thinking the exact same thing: "My partner and that gun of his/hers. Sheesh."
As the Kid and Miranda moved off to look for something to shoot at, the other two strolled back to the campsite, skirting the unfortunate reptile. Heyes finished putting the dishes and pans away, then rummaged through his saddle bags for his book, hoping to take advantage of the waning sunlight. As he settled down on his bedroll, Trudie emerged from the wagon, a book of her own in her hand. She glanced shyly at the dark-haired man, then sat down on Curry's bedroll adjacent to his.
"I see you like to read, too, Mr. Smith," she ventured.
"Yes, I do. Thaddeus is always complaining I've got my nose in a book all the time."
"Randi says the same thing about me. I suppose it's what I'm most looking forward to about going to school. I'll get to read so many books and discuss them with my professors." She paused, frowning. "Daddy says it's not ladylike to read so much."
"Nonsense," said Heyes. "I find a woman who reads very attractive." Oops. He cursed himself mentally. Am I flirting with her? "What are you reading, Miss Sutton?" he asked quickly, hoping his comment hadn't been misinterpreted.
"Far from the Madding Crowd," she replied, holding up the book for him to see. "And please call me Trudie."
"Only if you call me Joshua," he said, leaning over to get a closer look at the author. "Oh, I enjoy Thomas Hardy, but I haven't read that one yet."
"I simply adore the main character, Bathsheba," gushed Trudie. "She's a very independent woman. I'll loan it to you when I'm done. What have you got?"
"Jules Verne," Heyes answered, turning the book so she could see the cover. "Around the World in Eighty Days."
"Oh, that's a great one, and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea was wonderful as well. Who's your favorite author, Joshua?"
"Hmmm. That's a hard one. If pressed, I suppose I would pick Mark Twain."
"I love Twain. He can turn a phrase with the best of them. He's my favorite American author, but my all-time favorite writer would have to be William Shakespeare. Even though Randi says he's an old fuddy-duddy."
"Talk about turning a phrase," laughed Heyes, then he launched into one of his favorite passages: "Words, words, words."
Trudie immediately supplied the next line, affecting a gooey Shakespearean accent: "What is the matter, my lord?"
"Between who?" answered Heyes, right on cue, adding just a hint of a British clip into his voice.
"I mean, the matter that you read, my lord," she quoted, then began giggling mirthfully, no longer able to sustain her pseudo-serious manner.
"Wait a minute!" Heyes suddenly said. "Hamlet! – you weren't named after….?
"No!" Trudie said emphatically. "I doubt my mother ever read Shakespeare, and if she did, I am sure she wouldn't have named me for Hamlet's horrible, selfish mother! I'm named for my grandmother."
"Is that why you like being called Trudie?" asked Heyes.
"That, and my full name just sounds so - so, old and grumpy," laughed Trudie. "Randi says it should be a crime to call me Gertrude!"
As they continued to chat amiably, Heyes could hear the rapid fire of Colt 45s in the distance. He smiled to himself in disbelief. Here was the Kid, off doing target practice with the tall, strong, self-assured brunette - decidedly not a helpless damsel-in-distress and exactly the opposite of the kind of girl the Kid usually fell for. In fact, much more Heyes's type, if he indeed had a type. And here was he, Hannibal Heyes, with the pretty, petite, blonde, extremely feminine Trudie – Kid's usual "type" – discussing Shakespeare, no less! And sheesh, neither one of us should be acting like this, he scolded himself. If any women were ever off limits, these two were by far the farthest off! Better have a talk with the Kid when he gets back, he told himself firmly. This was going to be a long trip and they couldn't afford to get too chummy.
