Sorry for the slow updates, folks. Enjoy.
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She woke up with her face buried in something warm and solid. Something that smelled like horses, leather and gunpowder. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, it reminded her much of what her father had smelled like when he returned from the war. Feeling the cold wind rush over her exposed shoulder, she nestled closer to the warmth that radiated from this object. She would have preferred to stay in her comfortable slumber, but the men bustling about the camp were making too much noise for her to fall asleep again.
They were packing. It was time to leave. Like a regular bunch of cow herders waking up and starting their day, the cool brisk morning air smelled like fire and fresh coffee. Although her mind was a lot clearer than before, she had no idea of time or day, no idea how long she had slept. The harsh throb in her head had replaced itself with the dizzy after effects of the drug induced coma she was waking up from. She didn't feel much for opening her eyes either, her eyelids still felt as heavy as bricks, and the men would know she was awake, and would want her to get up and get moving. They were talking to eachother, allowing her to listen and get familiar with their voices. She would recognize Frank's voice over a thousand others, his timid way of speaking made her smile.
The subjects they handled weren't much different from the ones farmers would have. They concerned the weather, the coming winter. And she was once again reminded these men had no homes, no shelter to go to, meaning they had to be smart about which route they were going to take. South meant less chance of deadly blizzards, but they would go through Indian territory and snow never seemed to slow them down. North meant more settlements to rob and thus less chance of getting cut off from supplies, but the biting winds had killed men tougher than they. West meant mountains no one felt like climbing and East wasn't even up for discussion cause it meant returning to all sorts of crime scenes they were trying to get away from.
The warmth surrounding her was just too comfortable to give up. She stretched like a lazy cat and nuzzled into the warm object. She listened to the sound of clicking spurs coming her way. They halted not far from her cot.
"We gotta get movin', Butch."
She recognized the gruff voice, but she didn't know the man's name. She could have sworn she had heard that very same voice the day the gang brought Cavendish to the ranch.
"Ah yea? Ah don't even have to open my eyes to know there's still crap laying allover the place. Don't wake me until ye packed everything."
Butch's gritty voice was carried through the object she was laying close to like an echo through a well. And to her own horror she realized it was his back she was currently huddled up to. She waited until the sound of the spurs were at a sufficient distance before backing away slowly. Feeling her close presence leave, he rolled onto his back and stretched. His spine gave a concert of cracks that sounded rather painful. He had remained at her side, like he said. It wasn't his fault she had been drawn to him in her sleep. It was cold, and he was warm.
"Ah miss yer bed.." He complained, rubbing his eyes tiredly and letting out a loud yawn, much like the old dog her mother had always accused him of being.
She sat up slowly and rubbed her arms nervously, not really knowing what to say to make the situation less awkward. But she seemed to be the only one to be uncomfortable, for he was simply waking up after a long nap and seemed undisturbed.
"How's yer head?" He asked, as he gazed up at the tree tops. The sun was setting. A few stars were already visible due to the cold air. The atmosphere high up loaded with ice crystals, making the sky almost as clear as day. The moon would light their path.
"Better, thank you." Came her timid reply. She looked around the campsite. The men still busy packing and saddling their horses. "Are we going to travel through the night?"
"Safest way to travel if ye don't want to be followed. Why? You're scared of the dark?" he chuckled.
"No!" she answered immediately, annoyed he would think such a thing. Though he wasn't far from the truth. She wasn't so much scared of the dark itself, but more for the creatures that came alive at night. She watched him sit up slowly and look at her, up and down, observing her closely. His steel eyes made her uncomfortable. "You think the Rangers will be able to find us?" she asked.
"Oh yea, they're out there looking for ye. And I don't think ye want to be found. Ye think ye can ride?" he asked, scratching the back of his head tiredly.
"I don't have a horse.." she said carefully.
She hadn't ridden a horse in years. Father's horse had died not long after the man himself. It had been a miracle he had left for the war riding that old plough horse, and came back on it as well. But since it died of old age, no new horse had taken its place. There was no money for it.
Butch ceased his calculating stare and pointed at the horses tied to a rope hanging between two trees. "The grey mare next to that big black one.. that's yer horse."
She followed his gaze to the horse appointed to her. The small mare standing out among the group of bigger horses, especially the black one standing next to her, nuzzling her manes affectionately. The animals clearly knew eachother. She wanted to ask Butch where he had obtained this horse, and who her last owner had been, but the outlaw didn't wait for any further questions. He got to his feet stiffly, grunting as he did so, and dusted off his pants.
"Time to get up, miss Shark." He told her and bend down to pick up his gun belt, adjusting it tightly before extending his hand to her. "Come on.. on yer feet now."
After a moment of hesitation, she accepted his help and he pulled her to her feet rather forcefully. She swayed, a little dizzy still, and reached for him to steady herself. He took hold of her arms until she had regained her balance.
"Easy does it.." he instructed her.
He let her go, his hands hovering above her arms, ready to grab her should she take another tumble to the frozen ground. Like she was trying to walk on a tightrope, she tried to balance her weight on her still unwilling legs. When her mind finally seemed to remember how to stand, she relaxed and gave him a small smile in gratitude and reassurance. He didn't return the gesture. His gaze was fixed on her torn dress.
"It's goin' te get cold." He said calmly, fumbling with the fabric of her sleeve. "And this thing aint gonna keep ye warm."
"I'll be fine.." she said, pulling away from his grip and feeling herself shrink under his stare. The last thing she wanted was these outlaws to think she couldn't keep up, that she would get cold, and slow them down. He should know by now, she wasn't one to complain.
Butch gave out a dry chuckle, mildly impressed by her stubbornness. "Yea, I think you will be too."
She looked away from his almost unearthly blue eyes, remembering them from the dreams she'd had in the past few days. They would haunt her for a long time to come, no matter what would happen to her and her family.
"I need to find my mother.." She started. "I cannot just abandon her."
"No one is abandoning anyone." He confirmed, gazing at the surrounding forest. The trees like barriers around them. They felt like prison bars to those who were used to roam the desert. "But there is one thing you should know about me, miss shark." His voice darkened as he took a step closer to her, feeling her body stiffen in a fear she tried to suppress. "I'm not going to play yer hired gun. If you're going to ride with me, ye do as I say, or I will tie you to a sunfaced rock in the middle of the plains and let the vultures figure out what to do with you. Am I being understood here?"
She could have sworn her heart stopped beating when he leaned in close to her ear to whisper his threats. And she only resumed breathing when he pulled back to gaze at her with that old familiar coldness she had gotten so used to. "I never said I need your help." She said defiantly, her voice as hushed as his had been. "Fact is though.. You would have been dead if it wasn't for her."
He narrowed his eyes. "And you? Where would you be now if it wasn't for me? Hm? Face down in your own blood, with your dress over your head and the whole railroad agency getting a piece of you. If we're going to talk about who saved who's life.. ah know a fact or two myself. So don't give me any of that, or ye will regret it." He hissed, and turned away from her. She followed him in his long strides as he walked over to the horses, having difficulty keeping up with him.
"And what guarantees me I don't face the same kind of fate among your men?" She spoke to his back as he halted in front of the grey horse. He gave no reply, and rummaged through the mare's faded saddle bags, taking out a tattered gun belt with an evenly jaded looking revolver.
"This will." He said, wrapping the belt around her slim waist and pulling her closer forcefully. With a gasp, she stopped herself from collapsing against him by putting her hands against his chest as he pulled her in. He chuckled at her shocked reaction, but continued buckling the belt. "Aint nuthin quite as heartbreaking as a woman with a gun." He told her, giving her a sly grin. She pursed her lips in agitation. "Besides.." He continued, and frowned as he noticed the belt was too big for her. "There's nuthin more embarrassing than getting shot by yer own piece." He reached down to grab his knife, and punctured another hole in the belt. She stood as rigid as she possibly could while his hands were down by her stomach, her chest going up and down in a rapid tempo.
"Who's getting shot by his own piece?" she asked in a husky voice, her eyes widened in fear. He stopped what he was doing for a moment, and looked up at her.
"Ye told me ye could shoot." He said. She stared at him, her mouth agape. Was he asking her to shoot someone?
"Rabbits!" She said, exasperated. "I shoot rabbits!"
He tilted his head at her and took a step back to admire his work, the gun belt around her waist still loose, but atleast it wouldn't fall down anymore. "ye will shoot Evans when ye see him." He said calmly. "Ye got his gun."
She looked down at the weapon hanging at her side, her hand hovering above it like she expected it be glowing hot to the touch. "I.. I'm not going to shoot anyone! With any gun! Besides I.. I thought you killed him."
Taking a step closer to her, Butch reached out to take her gun out of its holster, opening the chamber while gazing into her eyes calmly. "He's not mine to kill." He said, taking out a few bullets from his own belt, loading her piece for her. "The injuns believe if ye kill an enemy with the weapon he used to harm ye.. ye absorb their strength." He shoved the revolver back into the holster at her side. "Pretend he's a very slow rabbit.." He said with a wicked grin.
She couldn't believe he expected her to end Evans' life just like that. No matter what the man had done to her, or had tried to do, pulling out a weapon and sending him to the next world was something she didn't look forward to.
"Frank! Help her get er horse ready. Skinny! Get her some coffee!" The gang leader instructed and left her side to bark his orders at his men and discuss the route with what seemed to be the oldest member of the group. The rest of the gang, although all busy packing, cleaning and loading their weapons, observed her quietly, and she eventually noticed their curious gazes. There they were again. The pack of dogs Butch had warned her about. Yet when she was left to defend herself from a man like Evans with the Rangers nowhere to be found, one of these dogs had saved her, and the rest had guarded her while she recovered from her injuries.
Frank came up to her while dusting off his pants, and obviously noticed her uneasiness under the stares of the criminals surrounding her, even though they all did their best to look busy. It seemed they had been instructed to keep the rudeness to a minimum, which left them with pretty much nothing to say.
"Is yer head still sore and all?" The young man asked, a little out of breath.
"Eh.." she tried to focus on his question instead of the menacing glares she was receiving right now. One man spat into the dry sand when he passed by, causing her to make a slightly disgusted face. "Not so much as before, I suppose." Most of the horses had already been saddled and were now waiting patiently for the moment of departure.
"Oh, that's real good. Ah knew when Butch showed up with that plant he'd help ye. He knows stuff like that." Frank said. He picked up the grey mare's saddle from the frozen ground. She had wanted to ask Frank if perhaps he knew where Butch had gained his knowledge of Indian medicine, but the young outlaw chattered on happily. "What ye gonna name her?" he asked, placing the saddle on the horse's back, causing the mare to shift her weight.
Snapped out of her thoughts, Eleanor looked at the horse. "I.. have no idea.. she doesn't have a name?"
Frank shook his head as he adjusted the girth tightly. "Ah don't think Evans named her. He wasn't nice te er at all." He spoke sadly, patting the horse's neck affectionately.
"I don't know what to name her.." she said softly. The images of her burning house returning in full force. Her grandfather's lifeless body, swaying back and forth in his old rocking chair. Her mother being carried away by the rangers, her screams that had pierced right through her daughter's heart. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched in silence as Frank continued putting on the mare's bridle. Something nudged her arm softly, and she turned to see the big black stallion nibbling on her sleeve curiously.
"That's Toussaint.." Frank chuckled. "Barret's horse."
The kind animal made her smile despite her sadness and she reached out to gently pat the stallion's muzzle. "Hello, Toussaint.."
"He's pretty, aint he? He knows it too. He's just tryin' te impress ye." Frank chuckled. "Alright, ah think she's all set." He handed her the mare's chipped and worn reins proudly.
A little hesitant, Eleanor accepted the now saddled horse. Her first possession that she hadn't come by the honest way. A stolen horse. No matter who the owner had been, or how he had treated the animal, stealing a horse usually meant you'd hang. Unless you faced a particularly forgiving sheriff, and those were hard to come by. But to the calm grey mare, it didn't seem to matter, and she almost seemed happy to be appointed to a new owner.
It took Frank's steady hand on the horse's headpiece to keep the mare from shifting around in agitation when Eleanor climbed into the saddle with a clumsiness that would have bothered the calmest of horses. But she knew she was surrounded by not only criminals, but also men that lived in the saddle and knew all about these animals. Anything she needed to learn about riding them, would be taught to her by tough but competent tutors.
The horse snorted in confusion at Eleanor's lightweight commands, and scratched the dirt with her front leg. "She don't feel you.." Frank laughed. "She thinks there's a fly on her back instead of a girl."
Eleanor laughed nervously, feeling awkward. "My father's horse wasn't this spirited.."
"You two just need to get used to eachother, that's all. Bobby threw me off twice a day when ah first got him. But that has all changed now.. he only does it about once a week er something." Frank explained cheerfully, causing Eleanor to become even more nervous. And with the unpleasant prospect of getting thrown off a couple of times before the mare would agree with her new rider, she tried to make herself comfortable in the worn out saddle.
At that moment, Skinny came over holding a steaming tin cup. "Yer coffee, miss." He said, holding it out to her.
"Thank you." She said, accepting the cup. The bearded young man, wearing a Bowler hat that had seen better days, beamed at her proudly. Then his expression suddenly changed, as if he forgot to tell her something "Oh, mind ye now, it's pretty.."
"Strong.." she finished his sentence with a smile. "Yes, I know. I'm familiar with it."
Sipping from her cup gratefully, she watched the rest of the gang climb into the saddle at Butch's command. They would be riding hard and fast to get some distance between them and the Rangers who had undoubtedly started their search for her and the criminals by now. The gang leader was the last one to mount his horse and trotted over to ride at her side. He chuckled at the sight before him. The nervous young woman, on the nervous old mare.
"well, ah'll be damned.. it's little miss shark atop her little paluxy." He laughed, making the rest of the gang snicker in amusement. Gazing at him in annoyance, Eleanor refrained from saying anything that might provoke further ridicule. She wouldn't give the outlaw any excuse to continue his taunting. Frank decided to step in and come to her defence.
"Evans' horse aint used te other people ridin' er, Butch. She aint goin' nowhere this way." He said and shut up the moment his leader gave him a sharp look.
"Is that so, now?" Butch spoke mockingly, leaning on the knob of his saddle as he gave her a wicked smile. "Ah was sure we only had room for one headstrong woman, but I suppose we're gonna have te make do with two of them." He laughed, the gang followed. "What kind of a rancher's daughter don't know how te ride?" He asked.
"Can't shoot.. can't ride.." Barret filled in.
"I do know how to ride!" she defended herself. "But the horse we had was very docile.. A plough horse."
Jesus, the large Mexican man with fingers decorated with an impressive set of rings, muttered something in Spanish and caused the oldest members of the group to burst out laughing. Only Skinny and Frank didn't seem to understand it, judging by the confused looks they gave eachother. She had no idea what he had said, but it appeared to be very amusing at her expense.
As rude as Butch's jokes could be, he wouldn't leave her struggling to get her horse into motion. It would only slow them down. Still chuckling at her offended expression, he reached over to take one of the reins and wound it around the knob of his saddle. "Ye hold on tight now.." He told her, and gave her a quick wink before urging his horse forwards into a fast gallop.
She had no idea where they were going, and she wasn't sure any of the gang members knew their destination either. They were following a man who seemed to know every tree, rock and shrub. He knew exactly where to go and how to get there, and he would share the information whenever he wanted to. They moved across the ever changing landscape in a whirlwind of fog coming from the horses and their masters. And although he never peered over his shoulder to see how she was doing, there was a strange sort of safety about being tugged along by Butch. The safest place to be, was in the middle of the lion's den afterall.
The moon was so bright she casted shadows, and Eleanor gazed up into the clear nightsky trying to figure out where they were heading. Using the stars as a compass, like Grandpa had taught her when she was a little girl. But the jostling of the horse beneath her prevented her from getting a good look at the stars' positions.
The group slowed down when they headed for a ridge. Convinced it would be too steep for the horses to climb down, she thought they would take a different route. But Butch seemed to know a narrow trail suitable for the animals. In a long row, they guided their horses down to the river, running calmly through the narrow canyon. A treacherous route to follow, if it would rain, the river would rise in rapid speed. Taking everything with her in her path. It was a path no Ranger got paid enough for to take, and that was probably the idea. In a slow walking pace, they followed the river until the sky had turned from a dark blue, to every shade of pink and orange you could think of.
Splotching through the water in a meek trot, Ray came to ride beside Butch. "Ye aint gonna convince me Reid don't know this trail." He grumbled, his eyes scanning the canyon's ridges, as if he expected the Rangers to peer down at them from any side.
"He knows it, he also knows better than to take it." Butch answered, never taking his gaze off the water road before him. "Besides he aint crossing no borders."
Eleanor looked up in alarm. "Borders? But what.. what about my mother?"
"She gonna hang for shooting a railroad man, missy!" Ray shot at her. In the blink of an eye, Butch had steered his horse in front of Ray's, causing the latter's mount to rear in agitation.
"Ye use that tongue of yers to talk to her again, I aint givin' it back.. understood?" The gang leader threatened. "Understood?!" His hollering voice echoed through the canyon.
"Fine!" Ray barked. "Ye might want to inform the rest of us if ye intend on playing gunslinger hero to this here rancher girl, Cavendish! See if they're so willing te follow ye through a damn canyon then!"
"Ah'll be willing!" Frank yelled from the back, causing Eleanor to smile despite the current situation.
Barret rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Frank, I swear to God, if you yell in my ear one more time.."
"Water don't keep tracks." Butch explained to the still unconvinced older member. "Ye think those Rangers are only interested in her?! There's a 1000 dollars on yer head that'll turn any Ranger into a bloodhound! Ye want to stay up on the ridge and get caught, Ray?!"
Nobody seemed to notice the rain drops that had started to come down from the sky, creating patterns in the calm river. The sky had turned a threatening shade of grey, the dark clouds covered the two edges of the canyon like a thick blanket. At last the sound of running water in the far distance became louder than the men's voices, rendering them quiet. The horses whinnied restlessly.
"Let's go!" Butch commanded, giving a sharp tug on Eleanor's horse's reins. The animals couldn't move any faster because of the rising water, and the men had great trouble to keep them from stopping altogether. Within minutes, the water rose to her heels.
"How well do ye swim, Miss Shark?!" Butch yelled at her over his shoulder with a grin, his hair in long wet strands around his face. The rain, now pouring out of the sky like there would be no tomorrow, had turned down the sides of his hat. Making them look like droopy dog ears.
She reached up to smooth her own soaked through hair out of her face, and clutched the collar of her dress to keep the droplets from running down her neck. "I don't know!" she called back.
"Don't worry, miss Hartley!" Frank's voice sounded like he was already under water. "Horses can swim!" As if that knowledge made everything alright, Eleanor found herself clinging to the mare's manes in panic. She looked up at the dark sky, raindrops hitting her eyes, causing her to squint as her eyes filled up. The rain numbed every other sound around them, only the fearful noises of the horses could be heard through the storm. She could have sworn she heard the yapping of coyotes, first left, then right, all around her. She saw them running alongside the cliff's edges, their eyes a bright yellow against the thick grey curtain of water. It felt like every God and Spirit out there was displeased with her choices, and she found herself praying to whoever was willing to listen. The horses lost their footing by the rising tide, and the helpless animals and their riders were dragged away by the strong current.
