Destiny's Cycle: Four, Page | 4

"Under the Tree..."

Heart-shaped, jagged-edged leaves the color of green apples stirred in the hot wind sounding like a distant running creek. The tree's thick, twisted limbs stretched out at odd angles, having grown battling the prairie wind. Luckily the leaves dense canopy created a black pool of shade that crept ever eastward.

From where he lay under the tree, watching the flickering movement of the leaves, Kid Curry heard the brush of fabric against fabric, and the trace of a smile flitted across Curry's face, knowing the watch had been checked and returned to its inside pocket. "So, what time is it… now?"

"Four, we've been here—"

"Six hours," Curry's blue eyes trailed to his best friend and on to the others sitting in the shade. "Told you we should have stayed 'till Sunday."

Hannibal Heyes' dimples dipped, and with a frown, he leaned closer, hissing, "didn't like how determined Billie Boy was to earn a name off you."

"I can handle myself."

"Yeah, but, what if he decided not to play by the rules."

Curry sat up, scootching closer to his partner, "there's rules to gunfighting?"

"Of course, there are."

"Stop looking at me that way. You full well know what I mean."

A low chuckle rolled from Curry, "Not sure I do. Why don't you explain 'em?"

Heyes' mouth settled into a flat line, and he was on his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a walk."

"Steer clear of that fireman; I didn't care for how he was watching you earlier."

Pulling his black hat down snug, Heyes nodded, but his eyes still slanted to the engine the trainmen were laboriously disassembling, and Curry could see downright curiosity in his pal's face.

"He was studying you like your name was on the tip of his tongue, and he couldn't quite catch hold of it."

Heyes' attention remained fixed.

"Don't go inviting trouble."

Finally, there was a slight nod, accompanied by an even slighter slump to the Heyes' shoulders.

The muscles that were tightening along Curry's spine eased, and plucking a strand of seed grass, he chewed it as he watched Heyes follow his shadow, stretching out long and black in front of him.

"Your friend oughta stay put and conserve his strength."

Curry turned to face the old-timer, who had spoken, "been telling him the same for years."

"How many walks, he planning to take?"

Curry shrugged, "He gets nervy when there's nothing to do."

"Had me a younger brother like that. Times were he would wear me out just watching him."

Curry nodded.

"William Barton," the man said, extending his arthritic, veined hand to Curry.

Shaking the man's hand, Curry responded, "James."

"That your family name?" Barton asked, his eyes, buried behind a nest of wrinkles, slanting to the Colt strapped to Curry's thigh, "Hoping your first name isn't Jesse."

A genuine rumbling laugh rolled from Curry, "No, its Thaddeus."

"Never heard of a Thaddeus James."

"That'd be because; I haven't done anything worth hearing."

"Well, you're still young."

"What do you mean?"

"A man should leave a mark on this world." William Barton answered, looking harder at Curry, "you got the look of a man who has sand." He waved a hand toward the western horizon, "Once you get out there, you'll make your mark."

"Suppose so." Curry, absently, twirled the strand of grass he had been chewing on, "course first, Union Pacific, over there, needs to get us all heading that way again."

"Patience, Thaddeus, I have seen these trains break down plenty of times."

"Oh, I got patience. It's him, I'm worried about." Curry said, nodding toward his partner standing stock still a fair distance away, and as he did, his blue eyes squinted. "Well, look at that." He chortled, climbing to his feet, for beyond Heyes, he could make out black smoke against the horizon, "appears to be another train coming."

All around him, the hot, hungry, frustrated passengers released mutterings of relief, climbing to their feet.

Looking down with a huge smile, Curry extended a hand to Barton.

"Fine, where I'm at." Barton nodded toward the stalled train. "It'll be a while yet. This new crew will join in with our crew first."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I used to work for them."

Curry swallowed hard, "you did."

"Yup, I was a survey man. You could say the mark I have left behind was laying the trail for these rails to follow."

"You don't say."

"Came out here when the Indians were still wild and the land untamed. Come back down here, Thaddeus, you're giving me a crick in my neck."

Grinning, Curry dropped into a squat, but took a look back at his partner, catching him just as he raised his hat in salute to the passing engine.

In response, the belching engine whistled, its high-pitched wail spreading out across the emptiness.

After two hours, even more of the stalled engine was spread along the rail bed.

Tired of sitting, of the clanking noise, of hearing how the West used to be from Barton, Heyes uncoiled from the ground and removing his hat, he ran a hand back through his hair, studying the collection of Union Pacific men dissecting the locomotive. "Hey, Mister Barton, what if they can't fix it?"

"They can't, or they would have already done so. Right now, they all are trying to decipher what needs to be brought out here to fix that old girl. Once that is done, they'll load us up…" He pointed toward the new train, "and reverse back to Wichita."

A snort exploded from Curry, "you don't say."

Heyes threw a look to Curry and pivoted on his heel.

"Must be time for another walk."

"Like I said, Mr. Barton, he gets nervy."

"Yup, like that brother of mine."

"If you were a survey man, what did he become?"

"Gerald, he got himself shot dead. Always poking his nose in where people did not want it. Told him that, too. Didn't do me, or him any good."

Curry's eyes shifted to his partner, standing with his hands on his hips, just outside of the work area of the Union Pacific crew.