Destiny's Cycle: Sixteen, Page | 9

"Tin"

The empty buckboard banged along the mountain road, and below in the bowl-shaped valley, the sun-baked roofs of the town glowed white in the afternoon sun. Ahead of the wagon, Heyes and Curry's geldings plodded along, their puffing, breaths, creating misty clouds for them to pass through.

"You going to remind them?"

Curry peeked over, his face flat.

"Why not?"

"Figure that's a leader's job."

"Thought you said you were a leader, too."

"Nope, I've decided I only want to be head of security. Of course, sadly, that also includes…" Curry grinned, "keeping you out of trouble?"

"I don't need you keeping me out of trouble."

"Is that you freeing me from watching your back?" Curry asked, covering his mouth to cough, but it still sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, "Damn, if that won't make my life simpler."

This time it was Heyes, who looked over with a firm hard expression.

Without another word, Curry turned his horse back toward the wagon. However, just because he didn't speak, did not mean he was silent, for his laughter was overpoweringly loud.

Kicking his broad-chested gelding forward, and meeting Curry half-way, Wheat snarled, "You and him," he nodded toward Heyes, "pokin' at me again."

"Never met a man felt the world was so out to get him."

Wheat Carlson's weathered face twisted, "most times. . ." he nodded again toward Heyes, ". . . it's just him I feel that way 'bouts."

"Well, settle yourself; it was him I was poking at."

Pulling at the muffler about his neck, Wheat sifted for answers, when he was saved from replying, by Kyle hollering, "We get into Tin, you mind if'n Wheat, and I wet our whistles?"

"Actually, Kyle, I do mind."

The outlaw's shoulders hunched, making him look even smaller, where he sat alone on the wagon's seat.

"Supplies are to be loaded, before all else."

"Suppose so."

"No, supposing about it." Curry replied, "It's the whole reason we ride to Tin."

Keeping his eyes on the team's shifting traces, Kyle whined, "but, we is goin' get us a drink before we leave, ain't we?"

"It's what I have in mind."

Looking over, Wheat asked, "What about querulous, up there?"

Curry did not bother defending his partner. He knew as well as anyone, Heyes had been about as disgruntled as a boy forced to work the farm when there was a social in town.

Kyle asked, "You come on back, to ride with us, 'cause we'll chat with you."

Shifting in his saddle, Curry wiggled his cold toes, "Oh, I don't mind riding with him, when he's feeling proddy." He grinned, "He talks less, makes for a nice change. Nope, I came back here to remind the pair of you to not be shoving your weight around in town."

Kyle scratched up under his hat, "Aw, Kid, Heyes done gave us that scoldin'."

"And?"

"We heard 'em." Wheat snarled, his chest puffing up, "What he do? Send you back here to hold our hands like lil' babies."

A sly, stern look appeared on Curry's face and turning in his saddle, he laid it straight on Wheat. "No, I came back wanting to assure myself, the pair of you were listening."

"Well, we was," Wheat huffed.

"Good to know."

Tin's class of citizens varied from brawny, over-worked miners to resplendently, attired townsfolk none of which bothered to turn their eyes to the four Devil's Hole members traveling down the main thoroughfare.

At a storefront, whose glass plate window had 'Apothecary' painted across it, Curry turned in beside Heyes, who was already dismounted. However, when the wagon rolled by, Heyes turned a glare on Wheat, that had the intensity of a caged dog desiring to bite anyone who dared to get near.

Making as if he had not seen the look, Wheat shifted his gaze away, but the rigidness of his jaw declared otherwise.

"How long before you let up on him?"

Throwing his reins about the hitching post, Heyes tied them off.

"|You ought to let up," Curry said, tying his horse, "before I wind up having to pull you off one another."

"It all still rankles my hide."

"Don't know why, wasn't anyone, but he and Betsy, who got to see all your hide."

Anger creased Heyes dimples into his face.

"Oh, yeah, and that green-eyed gal. What's her name…Suzanne, who you stole laundry from."

Heyes turned on Curry with a look that would make most men back up and sit down.

Only thing Curry did was chuff out a snorted cackle and slap his partner on the shoulder, "You haven't been able to intimidate me since….Oh, hell, I can't even remember when. Probably since before I started shaving."

"That is a fib your telling yourself."

"Oh, I think that's the other way around." Curry answered, scanning the town, "folk here seem about as pleasant as always, never understand why you insist us traveling all the way here."

"I like Tin it is well-stocked, and its people don't ask questions, because they don't care to get to know you any."

On exiting the apothecary shop, Heyes tucked the wrapped bundle, which amounted to their doctoring needs for illness and wounds in his saddlebag. Then in perfect synch, they swung into their saddles, trotting to catch up with Wheat and Kyle, who were, already, loading supplies under the watchful eye of the Mercantile owner perched on the edge of his loading dock.

Tossing his reins to Curry, Heyes stepped off his saddle onto the dock, "Afternoon, Mr. Ruckers."

At his name, the merchant turned, one thumb tucked behind the neck string of his apron, the other loosely holding a scattergun. "There you are. Had no intention of taking my eye off 'em." He motioned toward Wheat and Kyle in their scruffy, comfortable attire, "that is until you showed up with greenbacks, Heyes."

Heyes' dark eyes locked on the sawed-off shotgun, "you ever known us, not to settle our accounts."

Ruckers scratched at his thick middle, "You, I trust. Them I have not ever seen with coins to rub together."

"Be that as it may," Heyes' gloved hand, pointed at the shotgun, his expression not to be misunderstood by even the dimmest man.

Ruckers' eyes widened, and climbing to his feet, he retreated into the dark mouth of his store, gulping, "I weren't actually aiming it."

Following the man in, Heyes dug a folded paper from his vest pocket, "need to add to the order….crate of whiskey, couple bags of candy, pair of size eight boots, ten yards of cured leather that stuff of the right thickness for repairing tack, box of cigars." He looked up, his eyes straying to the glass display cabinet, "pound of Durham tobacco, block of chaw… what's that made of?"

Ruckers looked to where Heyes was pointing in the display cabinet, "Uh, Stone."

This time Heyes flinty, hard eyes actually made Ruckers jump when they shot his way.

"T'weren't being factious," Ruckers whined, tugging one of his long, walrus sideburns. "Stone is all I know. A man came in and traded it for a grubstake."

Stepping closer to the case, Heyes squatted, peering through the glass. "How much?"

With the mention of money, Ruckers' natural arrogance returned, "Let it go for a pair of gold eagles."

"Seems awful steep."

"Man said he brought it all the way from Italia."

Heyes' tongue slid across his lower lip. "It got a box?"

"It does." Ruckers smiled, "almost as purty as the set."

Standing, Heyes scanned the shelves, "Them Montgomery fruit cakes?"

Ruckers chuckled, "recognize how she straps empty pie tins together for her cakes, do you?"

"Give me a dozen."

Ruckers shook his head, "dozen would, nearly, clean me out. She really loaded 'em with popskull, this time, they've been selling better than hotcakes."

Heyes shook his head, "Give me a dozen, you old thief, and don't be boosting my cost none because of demand." The dimpled smile, finally, appearing, '… and put that chess set in its box, I'll take it, too."

"Kind of going to miss it."

The smile grew, "But, you'll enjoy my forty dollars."

"That I will."

Once the wagon tarp was strapped down snug, Heyes handed each of his men a cigar and turning to Ruckers, stated, "We'll pick the wagon up in a bit, so, you and your scattergun keep an eye on it."

Ruckers' upper lip wrinkled into a belligerent sneer, "Why in God's nightgown would I do that?"

"Because, if you, I'll put to bed, how you were…" Heyes' grin twisted, becoming a hellish mockery of affability, "holding that scattergun over my men earlier. I figure, if I keep considering on it, there is a high possibility, I am going to install you with a limp that will permanently remind you what an all-fired, foolish notion that was."

Batting his eyes like an owl in a hail storm, Ruckers backed away, "I'd be pleased to watch over it for you, Mr. Heyes."

"Thought you might feel that way."

As their boots clumped on down the wooden walk, Curry leaned in close, whispering, "Your mouth is going to set you up in a situation, you can't step out of one day. You know that, don't you?"

Blowing trails of cigar smoke through his teeth, Heyes grinned over at his partner, "that's what I got you for."

"So, you're not releasing me from watching your back ?"

With a wink, Heyes took another pull on his cigar.

"Heyes, what were in that fancy box?" Kyle asked, clamping his cigar in the corner of his mouth. "Durn thing weighed 'bout as much as the dynamite box."

At the mention of the explosives, Curry rounded, "you packed that snug and sound."

From behind his flaming match, Kyle absently, questioned, "The box or the dynamite?"

The other three stopped to stare at him.

"Oh, the dynamite." Kyle chirped, tossing the burnt match away. "Course, I did. What about the fancy box?"

Back on the move, Heyes replied, "It's a chess set, all the way from Italia."

"Where's that in New York?"

"Keep tellin' you, Kyle," Wheat grumped, "everything fancy does not come from New York."

"Sure seems, too."

Warmly, Wheat replied, "Only to you. See, Italia is across the ocean."

"Oh, like Montreal," Kyle replied with a beaming smile, snagging the saloon door handle and pulling it open for his pals who were laboring to restrain laughing at him.

Taking a quick look at the room, Heyes said, "Go find a place to light, I'll get drinks." Turning from the ornately carved bar, he spied his pals in the corner with Curry positioned so he could see the entire saloon. Pushing away from the bar, Heyes strolled over, eyeing the various games of chance; but never once stepping between the front door and Curry's view of it.

Wheat scowled up from his spot at the table, "Thought you were getting the drinks?"

Dropping into a chair, Heyes saw Curry's head tilt his way, the slightest bit.

"Gal's going to bring them to us," Heyes responded, pulling out a deck of cards.

"No time for that." Curry responded, nodding toward Kyle, "tell him."

"Were a red sky this morning. And, while y'all was at the druggist, a flock of black necks flew over as low, as low can be."

Heyes smirked, "That whole red sky is an old wives' tale."

"Yeah, but geese flying low aren't." Curry returned so matter-of-factly, it was clear the discussion was over before it began.

Dropping the cards back in his pocket, Heyes knew without looking the barmaid was headed their way by the way Curry straightened in his seat. Leaning closer to him, Heyes unveiled the exact grin, he knew nettled his pal, and said, "No time for that, either."

Except, his words did little to dampen the smile Curry was aiming at the barmaid.

With a giggle, she leaned in, placing a half glass of whiskey before Curry, leaving behind the sweet aroma of summer flowers. Adjusting her tray's balance, she set down two more whiskeys and a beer mug before Wheat.

When she did, Wheat's blue eyes flew wide, his head rearing back at the apple slices swirling languidly in the pinkish liquid that filled the mug to the brim, a brim which was well covered in something white; and behind him, he could hear other saloon patrons laughter along with fanciful, discouraging taunts.

The barmaid, giggled, again placing her now empty hand on her hip, "Lefty, calls it, a bustle warmer."

Kyle leaned in close, "Wonder, what makes it pink?"

Wheat's eyes flicked to Heyes, who was grinning like a pup with a ham hock. "Ordered it special for you."

"Bet you did."

"Most welcome."

Frowning until the ends of his mustache nearly touched, Wheat tentatively poked at the white crusted rim. The granules stuck to his finger, his eyes narrowed, he sniffed at it, and then his tongue darted out, taking a taste.

Laughter erupted from the others.

"It's sugar."

Wiping at the corner of his eye, Heyes gasped, "What? You think it was cyanide?"

"All things considered."

Sucking on his grin, Heyes lifted his tumbler and before taking a drink, said, "Smarter than I thought."

A deep, grooved line appeared between Wheat's brows.

Before it could go any further, Kyle tapped him on the forearm, offering his own short drink, "If'n you don't want it…?"

"Nope, Heyes here, ordered it special for me." Picking up the mug, Wheat kept his eyes locked on their leader and took a big gulp. Surfacing, he smacked his lips, "Actually, Heyes…." he took another drink, "it's pretty damn good, thanks."

Before the others were done, Curry having downed his fairly quickly, pushed back from the table, "All right, get moving, winter's coming."

Nodding Kyle stood, stealing an apple slice from the little pile Wheat was munching his way through.

"You two get the rig," Curry told Kyle, pointing at the still seated, Heyes, "we'll pay, and catch up."

Ambling toward the door of the steadily filling room, Wheat popped the last bit of apple in his mouth, and watching him, Kyle said, "Wish Heyes had ordered me such a grand drink, I think he likes you more."

Wheat's full smile emerged, crinkling up his face, "trust me, Kyle, it's the opposite of like that he feels for me."

When the door shut on the pair, Heyes pushed back, swallowing the last of his drink, and placing the glass on the table upside down, he fell in pace behind his partner.

"Heyes, I'm hoping we beat the snow, don't care for traveling in snow," Curry said, removing his gloves from his holster belt and pulling them on. "Even more, I know you hate it. You're lucky, I didn't tell those two the main reason we're leaving town so fast…" Curry's smile spread, "was so I didn't have to listen to you grouse and whine all the way back to the Hole." Not getting the reply he expected, Curry glanced back to laugh at the dark look pinning his back. Except there was none; for Heyes had veered off and was bellied up to the craps table.

Changing direction, Curry exhaled heavily, and as Heyes raised his hand to roll, he felt a glove wrap about his fist.

"Only plan to roll once, Kid."

"It is never just one."

"I already laid my money down."

The stickman nodded, pointing to the ten dollars covering the 'pays double twelve.'

The bridge of Curry's nose wrinkled, "Once."

Heyes beamed and blowing on the dice, he threw them.

The dice spun through the air, hitting the table, bouncing, tumbling until they crashed to a stop against the wall.

"Three." The stickman called raking in the dice and Heyes' ten dollars.

Heyes immediately held out his hand for the dice, digging into his vest pocket.

"Nope, we're done," Curry said, touching his hat brim to the pretty gal, who was the game's boxman, and spinning Heyes toward the door. "I will pay. You catch up with the others."

Tucking his hands in his coat pockets, Heyes scuffed from the building, and watching him, it was all Curry could do to hold in his laughter.

Minutes later, after sadly removing himself, from the hands of the sweet summer smelling barmaid, he had found out was named Renny. Curry made his way out onto the boardwalk, wishing they really did have more time to spend in town and also, why all saloon gal's names seemed to end in y. Noticing how much darker it was, he studied the low hanging gray clouds, thinking, 'Hope we beat the snow.'

That was when a string of roared curses reached him, turning Curry saw down a bit, in the middle of the street, a good rumble occurring. Moreover, he recognized the line of cursing and the voices behind it. Leaping into the street, he took off at a run.

Pushing through the circled up crowd, Curry had to jump over a pair of men laid out in the dirt, with his gray bowler partially flattened beneath him. Then with the speed which made him a legend, Curry lifted his pistol, drawling, "Reckon that'll be enough of that."

Truth was, it was not his appearance or his words, so much as the distinct sound of his Colt readying to fire that interrupted the battle, with most of its participants looking warily Curry's way.

"Well, Howdy, Kid, it sure be good to see ya."

Nodding a reply to Kyle, who was shaking free of the man he had been exchanging blows with, Curry said low and calm, "Heyes, you best be letting up on that one before you brain 'em."

Grudgingly, Heyes rolled back, and standing, kicked the wide-chested man in the leg, making him squall.

The pair of tuffs, who had been holding Wheat, fell back with their hands up, when Curry turned their direction, while the man who had been using Wheat for a punching bag sidestepped further from Curry.

Having been released, Wheat tottered for the briefest second, then fell to one knee, spitting out mouthfuls of blood. Latching hold of his hand, Heyes hauled him to his feet, "You're a little old to be starting street fights."

Rearing back, Wheat's big hand, rolled into a hard fist, and taking three quick steps, he struck the bushy eyebrowed man who had been slugging him. The man's head snapped back, his hat hitting the dirt moments before he did. "Well, Heyes, let me tell you, I'm certainly too old to be losing."

Placing his hands on his hips, Heyes demanded, "How did this get started anyways?"

"Ain't letting no coyotes mock me," Wheat snarled, retrieving his hat from the ground. "Even when you set them up with the ammo." He hitched a thumb toward the saloon.

Getting right in the older man's face, Heyes snarled, "If you would cease bulldogging me, and recall you're part of my gang, the one that I lead, then you wouldn't ever be on your lonesome."

"What the hell, I wasn't alone," Wheat snapped, "me and Kyle were doing just fine."

Heyes rolled his eyes, "Well, maybe Kyle was."

Wheat's nose bunched up, pulling his upper lip into a snarl.

"Them four were beating you like an old rug when I jumped in."

"I was fixing knock 'em off."

Stepping between the pair of them, Curry held his Colt where each could see it, and in a half-amused voice, said, "Am I going to have to use this to keep you two apart."

They both attempted to maintain their defiant anger when, in a whoosh, it all slipped away, and they were snorting with laughter.

Shaking his head, Curry holstered the pistol, "good..then, how about we all hightail it before the law shows up."