The alternate title to this chapter would have been Enter the Daphne, a play on Bruce Lee's Enter the Dragon, but it sounded vaguely inappropriate =)

Thanks everyone for your votes of confidence, the inspiration has returned, and even if the story still meanders, at least I feel it's going somewhere now. Courtney, Karen, Spev- I owe you big time.

# # # #

"Mr. Callahan, I'm telling you! That boy is a liability!" Mr. Brookhaven was in a fit of high dudgeon, his chest puffed out, his jowly cheeks red. In his hand he was holding a velvet drawstring bag. As he shook it, the contents inside rattled and tinkled.

"Well, you sure changed your tune, Mr. Brookhaven," the big wagonmaster remarked with pursed lips. "Yesterday you were full of praise for Dusty. You even promised him an extra five cents a month, if I recall rightly."

"Yes! Well," Mr. Brookhaven blustered, "that was before I discovered that not only did he smash my wife's beloved tea set, he also broke my antique shaving mirror, which I only discovered a moment ago as I prepared to go about my morning rituals!"

The first one being to pull your head out of your behind, thought Mr. Callahan. "Your wife's beloved tea set? As I remember, you were more than happy to see the last of it."

"Dearest Daphne, however, is still in a state of depression. But that's not the point! My antique shaving mirror cost my co-investor ten dollars, so not only is a precious piece of history gone forever, a man will now never get his money back!" Mr. Brookhaven looked heavenward at that last remark, as though begging for forgiveness from God.

"Couldn't you just...give him his money back?" Mr. Callahan said, knowing he was making an observation that would have the old banker spluttering.

He was right.

"Give him his money back?" Mr. Brookhaven went puce. "Give him...? My dear Mr. Callahan, know you nothing of good business practice? A hundred years hence, that mirror would have been worth at least double what it was worth now. He would have gotten his money back then, with an option to reinvest. Good Lord. Do you think money is something you just give away?"

"Well, seems to me that if you borrow it from someone in the first place..." Mr. Callahan sighed heavily. He had work to do, and Mr. Brookhaven was standing in his way like a little peacock, waving the velvet bag in front of his face. Then he realised what the banker had just said. "Wait. A hundred years? Mr. Brookhaven, I doubt either you or your friend are going to be around in a hundred years."

"Precisely," the wily old critter smirked, his beady eyes lighting up behind his spectacles.

Mr. Callahan resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. "So, the point you're trying to make is?"

"The point, my good man, is that if Dusty had been paying more attention, my wife's tea set and my shaving mirror would still be in one piece. Or, in the tea set's case, twelve pieces, but all unbroken. He pays no attention to anything he's told!"

"Hey, now wait a minute. If you're insulting my little pal," Mr. Callahan began.

"I'm not insulting Dusty. I'm merely pointing out his complete lack of awareness of anything that goes on around him, and now that he's infatuated with dear Betsy, he's just getting worse! I'm not paying him to...to...canoodle around the back of the wagon all day. I expect him to do some work!"

How about if you did some work once in a while, you old coot, thought Mr. Callahan irritably, although the indignant banker did have a point about the infatuation. Dusty was distracted enough at the best of times, but now that he was mooning around all day with that soppy grin on his face it was becoming even harder to get through to him. "So what are you suggesting?" the big wagonmaster asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Well," Mr. Brookhaven said importantly, "I've had a discourse with my dear wife and we've both agreed that Daphne will commence chaperoning duties as from today. No longer will Dusty and Betsy be allowed to...to...interact in anything less than a platonic manner, at least during working hours."

Mr. Callahan's eyebrows raised so high they disappeared under his hat. "You sayin' they can do it at night? Ain't that worse?"

"I'm saying, Mr. Callahan, that during the hours of work, which my company is paying for, Dusty must work. Not...not...fumble around in a romantic fashion with that dear girl Elizabeth."

Mr. Callahan was slightly worried about the amount of times Mr. Brookhaven kept mentioning Dusty and Betsy's romantic trysts. He himself had certainly witnessed a kiss here and there, which could be a little annoying if you were just trying to go about your business, but Brookhaven was suggesting the two young people had been acting like animals in season. However, Daphne Brookhaven was a delightful, charming woman and it would probably do Dusty some good to have his mind refocused on the reason why he was here in the first place.

"All right, Mr. Brookhaven, I don't see how it can do any harm to have your wife start lookin' out for Betsy. On one condition." The wagonmaster raised an index finger. "You don't take away that extra five cents a month you promised my little pal."

Mr. Brookhaven scowled slightly. Then he sighed and acquiesced. "All right, sir. It's a deal. But only if I see a marked improvement in Dusty's performance. Otherwise, the dear boy may end up finding he owes me."

# # # #

Dusty was shaving. It wasn't something he did every morning, in fact it was something he would rather have avoided altogether. With him was Lulu, who knew the mess her friend got into when he shaved and had decided to accompany him in case he required immediate medical attention. She had even thought to bring along some basic first aid equipment- a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages.

Andy had nailed a basic, wooden framed mirror to a tree and provided a small wooden table upon which stood a bowl of warm water fresh from the kettle. Dusty was staring forlornly at his foam covered face while he splashed the razor blade around in the water. "I don't even know where to start," he complained with a sigh.

"Start somewhere it ain't gonna hurt," Lulu grinned. "After all, they say the first cut is the deepest."

"That ain't helping, Lulu," the young scout muttered. He raised the sharpened blade to his cheek. Then he closed his eyes.

"I wouldn't do that," the showgirl said drily.

"I don't like the sight of blood," Dusty replied. He faced the mirror even though his eyes were shut. Gripping the razor firmly, he tensed and raked the blade right the way down his cheek, drawing blood straight away. "Ow!" he cried, as the small red bead grew fat and dark and began sliding down his face.

"Dusty!" Lulu said in despair. "Here, lemme get that." She mopped at the blood with the corner of an old handkerchief. "No wonder they call 'em cut throat razors."

"It hurts," Dusty whined.

"Good thing Betsy ain't here to see you behavin' like a big ol' baby." Lulu added antiseptic to the handkerchief and applied it gently. "There. It's just a teeny tiny scratch. But you gotta be more careful. And keep your eyes open!"

Dusty frowned, faced the mirror again. He scowled at his own reflection. "Now stay still," he warned it. He drew the blade down his cheek again. His hand shook slightly but there was no blood this time and he visibly relaxed. He rinsed the blade and shook water everywhere. "Why do I gotta shave anyway," he asked, of no-one in particular. "I could grow one of those big old mountain guy beards, like that old fellow we met in St. Louis."

"That 'old fellow' was only twenty nine," Lulu remarked. "Those beards don't suit nobody. Who'd want to kiss anybody with one o' those? I know I wouldn't, and I sure don't think Betsy would, either."

"Still, it'd make me look adventurous," Dusty said, recklessly scraping the blade past his ear.

"It'd make you look like a diseased raccoon."

Dusty yelped again.

"You didn't even cut yourself," Lulu frowned.

"I nearly did."

Lulu shook her head. Her towering curls bobbed and bounced. "Here, give me that razor, Dusty. It takes a woman to do a man's job." She took the razor from his trembling fingers and stepped in front of him. "Don't worry. I shaved my daddy's face once when he was blind drunk with his head goin' this way an' that, and I didn't draw a single bead o' blood. Just stand still." With that, the showgirl firmly grasped Dusty's head in one hand and raised the gleaming razor blade to the left side of his face.

Twenty long minutes later, Lulu had finished shaving Dusty and was washing his face free of all traces of foam. His cheeks glowed pink and smooth, stubble-free and unblemished, save for the cut he'd given himself at the start. He stared at her in gratitude while she wiped around his nose. "You're lucky you got me and Betsy to look after you," she said affectionately, almost getting the urge to kiss him herself, he looked so delighted.

"You can say that again," Dusty agreed. When Lulu was done, he admired his clean shaven reflection in the mirror. "Guess I do look better without a beard," he mused, stroking his chin.

"All you need now is a haircut," Lulu smiled, tugging at the lengthening hanks around his ears.

# # # #

When they got back to camp, Mr. Callahan was waiting. He looked a little nervous.

"Dusty, I got some bad news, little pal," he said morosely, putting his hands on Dusty's shoulders. "It seems Mrs. Brookhaven's tea set wasn't the only thing that got broke yesterday." He proceeded to tell a puzzled Dusty and a perturbed Lulu all about Mr. Brookhaven's antique shaving mirror.

"But Mr. Callahan, there's a shaving mirror right on that tree over there," Dusty protested. "We've just been using it, ain't that right, Lulu?"

"That's right, Dusty," Lulu placed her hands squarely on her hips. "Won't do no harm for Mr. B to shave with the rest of the mortals for once."

"That ain't the point," Mr. Callahan sighed. He went on to explain that Mr. Brookhaven's money obsession had made the incident a lot worse than it actually was, but he was embarrassed about mentioning the chaperoning and started hedging around the issue. It was just then that both Dusty and Lulu heard enthusiastic female voices and peered past Mr. Callahan's bear-like shoulders to see Daphne Brookhaven walking arm-in-arm with Betsy across the camp site to the Brookhaven's stagecoach.

Lulu raised her eyebrows at Mr. Callahan, who looked flustered.

"That's the other thing," he confessed.

# # # #

Dusty was bored out of his mind. He hadn't seen Betsy all morning. She had disappeared with Mrs. Brookhaven even before breakfast, and when Lulu had offered to find out what was going on, she came back and reported that Daphne Brookhaven had decided that she and Betsy were going to have a 'Ladies Day' together. Guess I don't fit into that category, the showgirl had harrumphed, before grabbing herself a cup of strong coffee and plonking herself down on a log.

Now Dusty was himself sitting on a log, having been given the task of polishing the Brookhavens' silverware. Mr. Callahan had been highly annoyed at first, saying that polishing silverware was hardly a priority on a working wagon train. But Mr. Brookhaven had persisted until Callahan threw up his hands and let the old banker get on with it.

Mark my words, Mr. Callahan had said quietly to Andy once they were out of earshot, if that money-lovin' jackal keeps this up longer'n two days, I don't care about his company ownin' this wagon train, I'll tie him up and gag him and he can ride on top of his own stagecoach all the way from here to California.

Polishing silverware was easy enough, Dusty decided. On a list of backbreaking tasks it probably rated quite low compared to wagon wheel repairing. It was just incredibly, incredibly boring. And messy. It was great the first couple of times when he got a spoon so shiny he could see his face in it, and he spent a further ten minutes entertaining himself with trying to figure out why his face was upside down in one side of the spoon when it was right way up in the other. But a loud throat clearing noise from Mr. Brookhaven and an unsubtle tapping of his fob watch brought Dusty out of his pleasant reverie and forced him to get on with his task.

"I don't know why anyone has to have this much silver," he muttered, rubbing at a tarnished candlestick. "What are you gonna do with it out here? Impress the rattlesnakes? Boy. Even the Indians won't want it once they realise they gotta spend all day cleanin' it."

"I don't intend parting with my precious silver to any old Indians," Mr. Brookhaven said haughtily.

"Yeah, well, some o' them old Indians don't wait to be asked," Dusty grumbled, his head bent low over the candlestick.

"Don't be belligerent, my boy."

Dusty scowled. His mood wasn't improved when he heard ladylike laughter coming from across the clearing. "What are they doing now?" he asked, lifting his head and peering at Mr. Brookhaven from under his hat.

"Needlework of some sort, I believe," came the slightly disinterested reply.

"Gee. Sounds almost as boring as silver polishing."

"Dusty, please. I gave you a job to do- I'd appreciate it if you just got on and did it."

"How come you get to give me jobs now anyway?" the young scout demanded.

"Because you broke my antique shaving mirror. Which means seven years bad luck, by the way." Mr. Brookhaven smiled sweetly. "For you that is, dear boy."

Mr. Callahan and Lulu were watching from across the camp site.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but poor Dusty," the showgirl muttered, twirling a long blonde curl around her fingers.

"Well," said Mr. Callahan, "I had to appease Brookhaven somewhat over his shaving mirror, and I did promise I'd go along with the chaperone idea. But Dusty don't deserve to be humiliated, I agree."

"I sure know where I'd like to shove that candlestick," Lulu frowned. "Although there's probably a ton of other stuff already up there."

Mr. Callahan guffawed at the showgirl's colourful insinuation. "I think you hit the nail on the head there, Lu," he grinned broadly. "Thing is, my little pal don't take too kindly to bein' ordered around by anyone but me. This could get pretty interesting."

The candlestick gleamed. Despite his boredom, Dusty had to admit he'd done a pretty good job. "How's that, Mr. Brookhaven?" he said proudly, holding up the candlestick and turning it around so that it caught the light and sparkled brightly.

"Very good, Dusty," Mr. Brookhaven agreed. "You see? 'Less haste, more speed.'"

Dusty placed the candlestick carefully back into its box. Then he beamed up at the old banker. "Can I take a break please, Mr. Brookhaven?" he asked politely.

"A break? Whatever for?"

"Oh, well, you know. I don't want to have to spell it out," Dusty smiled innocently.

Mr. Brookhaven sighed heftily. "Oh, all right then. But be quick. Time is money!"

"Thank you, sir." Dusty sprang to his feet and made a run for it across the clearing.

Mr. Callahan and Lulu were almost knocked over like ninepins as Dusty came haring across the camp site towards them, one hand clamped onto his hat and his legs pistoning wildly.

"Dusty, Dusty! What are you doing?" Mr. Callahan asked, holding onto his little pal while Dusty carried on desperately trying to move forward.

"I'm running away," Dusty told him in between gasps, his feet kicking up clouds of dirt.

"No, you are not," Mr. Callahan said decisively. He waited patiently until Dusty got breathless and stopped running on the spot. Then he let go. "No-one runs away from my wagon train."

"But it's not your wagon train, it's Mr. Brookhaven's wagon train!" Dusty said, throwing his hands in the air. "And I don't like working for him!"

"Oh, Dusty. It's only for a coupla days," Lulu tried to console him.

"You do it then!" Dusty retorted. "You'd probably like it better anyway."

Lulu was outraged. "I would not!" she spluttered.

Callahan held both hands up, palms facing outwards. "Now, calm down, both of you. I am not letting total anarchy rule in my camp. Dusty, it's only for a couple of days. Let the man get over that damned broken mirror..."

"He said it was seven years bad luck!" Dusty cried. "For me!"

"He did, did he? Well, that was below the belt. What I'm sayin' is, leave it to me, little pal. I will get you out of this."

Dusty seemed appeased. He tugged nervously at the chinstrap of his hat. "What about Betsy?" he asked. "Why won't they let me see her?"

Lulu laughed despite herself. "Dusty, honey, they ain't holdin' her prisoner. You can go over and see her anytime you want. 'Fact, I'll chaperone you over there myself."

Mr. Callahan raised his eyes skyward. "For once, would everyone please work with me rather than against me?" he sighed.

"Mr. Callahan, if you get me out of working for Mr. Brookhaven, I'll work with you for the rest of your life," said Dusty, pulling off one boot and pouring a river of dirt back onto the ground.

Mr. Callahan laughed and patted Dusty's cheek. "There's no need to resort to threats, little pal," he chuckled.

# # # #

Later on, after polishing a mountain of silverware, Dusty and Lulu went looking for Daphne Brookhaven and Betsy.

"I got that stuff all over my hands," Dusty was complaining. "My fingers have gone black and my nails have gone green. Look." He thrust his hands right in Lulu's face, causing her to nearly trip over her own feet.

"Dusty, you better not let Betsy hear you whinin'," the showgirl retorted with a grimace, pushing his hands away. "That's if we ever find 'em. Where've they gotten to?"

"Over there," Dusty said, pointing. "I can see 'em through the trees." With that, he went bounding off like a jackrabbit, leaving Lulu to follow behind at her own leisurely pace. After all, Lulu McQueen didn't rush for anyone unless it was an emergency.

Dusty burst out into a small clearing, startling both Betsy and Mrs. Brookhaven. The former was very pleased to see him, the latter slightly less so.

"Dusty!" cried Betsy, beaming from ear to ear. "Look what we found! Wild berries!"

"Wild berries? Oh, boy! Wild berries!" Dusty ran over to the clump of bushes they were standing beside. There were small round fruits about the size of blueberries covering every branch. He gazed longingly at them all, wondering which to eat first.

"We were going to take them back to Andy to determine whether they were safe enough to eat," continued Betsy as Lulu arrived. "Just to make sure they're edible, and not..." she stopped as they all turned round to see Dusty stuffing great handfuls of the juicy looking fruits into his mouth.

"...poisonous," Betsy finished.

Dusty stopped chewing, his blue eyes flitting nervously from showgirl to schoolteacher to banker's wife, who all stared back with varying degrees of resignation and dismay. "P-p-p...poi...?" he mumbled, then promptly leaned over and began spitting huge gobs of chewed up fruit onto the ground, hacking and coughing and spluttering until Mrs. Brookhaven went pale and had to start fanning herself. "You didn't tell me they were poisonous! They taste just like blueberries!"

"We don't know if they are poisonous! They probably are blueberries," Betsy explained, patting his back and handing him a handkerchief, trying to make him feel better. "You're not starting to feel sick, are you?"

"He might not be, but I am," said Mrs. Brookhaven in a delicate voice. "What is he doing here, anyway? This was meant to be a day for Betsy and me to enjoy the finer things in life."

"Yeah, well, he just wanted to come say hello," said Lulu. "Don't worry, Mrs. B. I'm chaperonin' him."

Betsy straightened, turning to face her showgirl friend. "What do you mean, you're chaperoning him?"

"I'm makin' sure he don't get into no trouble. Know what I mean?" Lulu grinned, shaking her feather.

"No, I don't know what you mean," said Betsy. "Dusty, what's going on?"

"Well," said Dusty, whose lips and tongue had gone purple with juice from the unknown fruit, "Mr. Callahan said that Mr. Brookhaven said that I can't see you on my own in daylight hours, so I have to be chaperoned. Lulu's my chaperone."

"Just like Mrs. Brookhaven is your chaperone," Lulu smiled at her schoolteacher friend.

"My chaperone?" Betsy said. She turned to Mrs. Brookhaven. "You didn't say anything about being a chaperone, Mrs. Brookhaven!"

"Didn't I?" Mrs. Brookhaven said, perfectly innocently. "I'm sure I must have mentioned it."

"No, you didn't. Well, I have to say, I feel a little insulted!"

"Now, Betsy dear, we were having such a lovely day," Mrs. Brookhaven said, placatingly. "Why don't we all just join in and have fun together? Let's start by taking this fruit back to Andy and determining whether it's edible. And if it is, we can make a great big blueberry pie. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Oh, wow, that's a great idea, Mrs. Brookhaven!" Dusty said enthusiastically. "Here, we can put the berries in this!" He pulled his hat off and turned it upside down, immediately setting about the task of filling it with the ripe, juicy berries.

Happy that at least someone was deriving pleasure from her suggestion, Mrs. Brookhaven joined Dusty and began helping him heap berries into his hat. "That's the spirit, Dusty! Just imagine it, a great big warm slice of delicious blueberry pie."

"Mrs. Brookhaven, you're makin' my mouth water," Dusty said, pulling berry after berry off each stalk. "And I don't feel sick neither, so these must be real blueberries!"

Meanwhile, Lulu and Betsy stood by, watching the two of them laughing and giggling and filling Dusty's hat with berries.

"Looks to me like we all just switched chaperones," Lulu remarked drily.

# # # #

Back at the camp site, Mr. Callahan was having a mild disagreement with Mr. Brookhaven. "Now, I don't mind him working for you, Mr. Brookhaven, as long as it's a reasonable request. Something that benefits the wagon train as a whole, not just yourself. Now, I reckon polishing your silver most definitely falls into that second category. Do you see what I'm sayin'?"

Mr. Brookhaven pursed his fleshy lips. "Life isn't all about mending wagon wheels, Mr. Callahan," he said stubbornly.

"On the contrary," said Andy, who was with Mr. Callahan for moral support. "On a trip like this, life is all about mending wagon wheels."

"Thank you, Andrew," said Mr. Callahan.

"Oh all right," Mr. Brookhaven conceded. "But we all know Dusty's hopeless at any kind of manual labour. Isn't it safer to have him sitting quietly out of harm's way?"

Mr. Callahan thought about this for a couple of seconds, imagining the peace and quiet of working without Dusty's constant clumsiness ruining everything. Then he remembered that Dusty was his friend, and he reverted to being indignant. "Now, wait a minute! I won't have you speak about Dusty that way," he said gruffly. "Even if it is partly true. He's my little sidekick. I like havin' him around. We're a team. Callahan and Dusty. Like bacon and eggs, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti and meatballs. Dusty's the meatball," he joked to Andy as an aside.

"But what about paying me back for breaking my mirror?" the wily old banker persisted.

"Surely getting you to California as quickly and as efficiently as possible is more than payback enough?" Mr. Callahan said, as diplomatically as he could.

"Hmmm." Mr. Brookhaven stroked his chin. He wanted to make sure that Mr. Callahan and Andy could see that he was having to give this some serious thought. The gravity of the moment, though, was spoiled by the loud sounds of the other members of the wagon train returning through the trees.

Daphne Brookhaven's loud, joyful laughter was the first thing the three men heard, followed by a strange, booming voice that, as it got nearer, turned out to be Dusty doing a very loose impersonation of Mr. Brookhaven. "Polish that bowl, my dear boy," Dusty was saying, "I want to be able to see my face in its bottom!"

Daphne Brookhaven laughed again, and didn't stop even when they got to where her husband was standing, open-mouthed. "Oh, Carter! I'm having the most wonderful time! I'm so glad you suggested chaperoning these delightful young people. Show them what we've brought, Dusty."

Dusty grinned and held up his hat full of berries. "We need to know if we can eat 'em," he said, still in Mr. Brookhaven's voice. "Because we got them for nothing."

Mr. Brookhaven's face started going red. "Is he making fun of me?"

"Oh, do loosen up, Carter," Mrs. Brookhaven said, swatting her husband's arm with her fan. "It's just a bit of affectionate teasing. Besides, if it turns out we found blueberries, we intend to make a big delicious blueberry pie!"

"So what do you reckon?" said Dusty in his own voice now. "Me and Mrs. Brookhaven think they're blueberries, but the girls want 'em tested."

"'The girls'?" Lulu whispered to Betsy.

"Looks like you did your own testing, little pal," Mr. Callahan said, indicating Dusty's lips which were still dyed slightly purple.

"Oh, yeah," Dusty admitted shyly. "I guess I was a little hasty. 'Less haste, more speed', ain't that so, Mr. Brookhaven?"

"He's pushing his luck now," said Mr. Brookhaven, about as threateningly as a sponge.

Andy plucked a berry out of Dusty's hat and held it up. "Well, it sure looks like a blueberry."

"How are we gonna know?" said Mr. Callahan.

Andy turned the tiny fruit around and peered at it from all angles. Then he popped it into his mouth, chewed it and swallowed. After another moment of stunned silence where everyone stared at him as he pulled faces and frowned, he finally declared, "yep, it's a blueberry."

"Blueberries! Hooray!" Dusty yelled and threw his hat up into the air, raining blueberries down on everyone's heads.

# # # #

That evening, they feasted on the hot blueberry pie which Betsy and Daphne Brookhaven made, assisted now and again by Dusty and Lulu. The pastry was a little chewy due to the quality of the flour and the lack of all necessary ingredients, but no-one minded in the least. They all proclaimed it the most delicious thing they'd ever tasted.

The only thing Mr. Brookhaven found to complain about were the seating arrangements. His dear wife Daphne was sitting over on the log with the 'young people', squeezed in between Betsy and Dusty, laughing gaily at something Dusty was saying. In fact, it seemed that every time the boy opened his mouth he said the most hilarious thing Daphne had ever heard.

"I'm not sure I approve of this chaperoning business after all," the old banker muttered to Mr. Callahan, who was sitting nearby.

"Why, Mr. Brookhaven, wasn't it your idea in the first place to have your wife escort dear Betsy?" The big wagonmaster tried hard to hide the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, Betsy," Mr. Brookhaven pouted. "Not Dusty! She's hardly left the boy's side since this afternoon!"

"Looks like she's takin' her job seriously, Mr. Brookhaven. Thought that's what you liked."

Mr. Brookhaven continued to stare dolefully at his wife laughing at all of Dusty's jokes and bad impressions. "Please don't force me to eat my words, Mr. Callahan," he murmured.

Mr. Callahan scooped up a huge forkful of fruit and pastry and waved it in the air, inhaling its heavenly sweet aroma. "Ahhhhh," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like the taste of humble pie."

With that, the big wagonmaster piled the food into his mouth and chewed happily, grinning at the morose look on Mr. Brookhaven's face.