Destiny's Cycle: Three, Page | 5

"Tomorrow"

"Didn't hear you come in last night."

"That was my intent, figured you needed the rest. Um, Heyes…"

With his straight razor hovering near his jawline, Heyes peered at Curry in the mirror's reflection.

"It's tomorrow, you want to talk?"

The rasp of the razor, removing the dark stubble, was louder than Heyes' grunted reply.

"All right, well, how about you tell me over breakfast?"

No answer.

"Most days, I can't get you to pipe down, but ever since you spooked that boy, yesterday, you haven't strung more then a couple words together."

"And, you're complaining?"

Kid Curry paused from buckling on his holster, "Don't feel natural is all." A smile erupted from Hannibal Heyes, large and real enough, that Kid thought, 'maybe, he's coming back to himself.'

Stepping from the Hotel, Curry squinted at the bright morning light. The angle of the sun, telling him they had slept later than he thought.

"You want to grab some food?"

The corners of Curry's mouth curled up.

Heyes shook his head, "why do I even ask?"

"Let's go find that German place," Curry said, looking first left and then right, trying to recall where they had been told it was. "You figure the food is as good as those guys were sayin'?"

"Why?" Heyes asked, taking the lead. "Do you actually taste what you shovel down?"

"Funny, Heyes." Curry snarled, following his pal east along Chicago Avenue. "You recall where they said it was?"

"Other side of the river, and we have to pay a toll to cross the bridge."

Curry's mouth twisted to the side and hurrying his step, he grumped, "it better be good then."

"From all reports, it is, and it's said to have fruit danishes."

"What's that?"

"Rolls that are sweet and delicious, according to the drunk peddler, who kept bending all our ears at the poker table, rather than just playing," Heyes replied, coming to an abrupt halt.

Curry peered about him, at the muddy alley and on to where the boardwalk restarted on the other side.

Then frowning enough, his lips pursed out, Heyes altered his course out, fussily stepping into the street to ally's standing water, which he suspected was not water at all.

Following him, but hearing a racket behind them, Curry threw a look over his shoulder. Spotting a team of horses charging their way, his eyes bulged, and without hesitation, he leapt back onto the walk, dragging his partner after him.

"Damn it, but, you have got to break off snatching hold of me like-"Heyes' squalled, his words trailing off as his eyes focused beyond Curry's shoulder.

"If you—"

"Would you look at that!?" Heyes exclaimed, forcibly turning Curry to face the street.

Curry's mouth popped open. "I never seen anything like it."

Quickly giving up on trying to count how many saloon girls were crammed in the wagons that were barreling by, Heyes leaned into his pal, asking in a low voice, "You think their running 'em out of town?"

Half under his breath, Curry replied, "Lord, I hope not." Then, with a grin, he peeked to his partner, who wore a smile that had completely taken over his face. "They can't be. Let's see what's happening."

Nodding in agreement, they hopped back into the street, joining the crowd of cowboys trotting after the wagons.

As the toll bridge loomed up before the wagons, the drivers veered their teams south along the banks of the Arkansas River, and before they were hardly stopped, saloon girls were leaping to the muddy ground. The whole passel of them laughing as if they knew the best joke in the West while flinging their clothing, piece by piece, into the wagon boxes, to a rising chorus of hooted cheers.

Curry's blue eyes widened, darting from one bare body to another, "Uhm, Heyes, am I seein', what I think, I'm seein'?"

"If you're seeing ladies stripping to their skin…" Heyes elbowed Curry, his dimples creasing deeply into his face, "Then we're seeing the same thing."

As they stood goggling, a man wearing a blue plaid jacket strolled close, "You want to place a bet, Sonny?"

Tearing his gaze from the naked women, Heyes yipped, "a bet?"

"Yep! Anything you like… who'll finish first, last, most out of breath, most covered in mud… you think it up, and I'm sure others will join you on the bet."

"We just arrived in Wichita yesterday. What is going on?"

"Why, by golly, it be the Running of the Doves. See, once they has plucked off all their feathers, the Doves will line up, and when the signal be gave, the race will begin. The finish line be the front porch of Rowdy Joe's place. Now, you wanna bet or not?"

"Think I'll pass," Heyes answered.

"What about him?"

Heyes nudged his partner.

"Uh, hum… what?" Curry squeaked, his eyes never moving from the giggling, jiggling women.

"Don't think his minds on betting, thanks anyway."

With a loud chortle, the man popped Heyes on the shoulder, calling, "maybe, next race," as he moved on.

Startled, Heyes blurted, "next race!?"

But the man was rushed away by the jostling crowd.

"Heyes, wouldn't you think this was all, well…"

"Unlawful?!"

"Yeah."

"Always herd mining towns and cow towns don't always follow de rigueur Victorian etiquette."

"What?"

"Never mind." Heyes pointed to how the men were creating a corridor, "figure we best choose a side of the street."

As they elbowed themselves a place, a bull of a man with flaming red hair and a smartly curled handlebar mustache wearing an expensive, garish suit stepped into the open corridor, holding up his hands. "Top o' the mornin' to y'all. Now, if'n ya happen to be new to our Peerless Princess of the Plains, I'm Rowdy Joe Lowe, proprietor of the biggest damn saloon in Delano, and I gotta say, I'm damn glad to see y'all out here. Furthermore, I suspect y'all are damn glad you're here, too. However, I still want to thank y'all fro coming out for the Running of the Doves. Weather permitting, our Doves have been racin' along Chicago Avenue, since the spring of '72." He pointed east across the river, "much to the peevish annoyance, of all those uppity bastards, who got their nose up in the air, over there."

A long-legged glided over, draping her arm about Joe's rounded shoulders, her bare body curving and bulging in all the right places as she settled against him.

"Now boys, this little filly here is Amazin' Grace, and she is our most frequent winner, hope y'all bet accordingly."

With a teasing, laughing smile, Amazin' Grace spun in a circle, and Joe popped her plump backside, "best get to the line, toots."

She let go a bawdy giggle and dashed to the starting line, shoving a smaller brunette out of the way.

After a bit of shoving, and screeching from the women, Joe called, "Y'all Doves ready?"

A chorus of squeals and yahoos rose up from both the doves and cowboys alike.

Jumping up on one of the wagons, Rowdy Joe raised a nickel-plated Colt, high above his head, and pulled the trigger.

The women took off in a bouncing, shoving, shrieking rush of flesh.

The cowboys trotting alongside, urging them on; until only Heyes, Curry, and a handful of other dumbstruck, new arrivals to Wichita, were left behind with their mouths hanging open.

Exhaling so hard his lips flapped, Heyes said, "Well, hell, I believe, I can say, I've seen the elephant."

"That you have, Sonny." The blue vested gambler chuckled, "that you have, so you gonna bet on the next race."

"When does the next one begin?"

"Ain't you the eager one." The man slapped Heyes on the back, "Didn't ya hear, Joe? Doves only run on Sundays."

Curry looked around the man to his partner, "We're not still leaving, are we?"