The Company of Strangers
Jantallian
6
A couple of miles up-river and some time later, a little rowing boat nudged into an outcropping of rocks and grated to a halt. The occupants were less harmonious than the co-operation required to power the craft actually suggested. There had, for instance, been some considerable dispute between them about rowing it in the first place.
"Y' didn't think we were goin' to swim far against that current, did y'?" Jess had panted as he heaved himself into it. Chantal had found herself grasped by both arms and lifted bodily after him.
"I can get in by myself, Gamberro!" she hissed irritably.
"Ok, when we've got time, I'll push you overboard an' y' can demonstrate! Right now, we need to shut up and work out how to row."
"You didn't even ask if I could swim, never mind row!"
"Figured you'd have the sense to tell me if you couldn't." His eyes gleamed momentarily in the moonlight and Chantal could have sworn that, despite the bruises, bleeding, partial asphyxiation and immersion in cold water, he was enjoying himself. "Let's see if we can get this thing goin' – it'll sure beat swimmin'."
"You mean you've never rowed before?" When Jess confessed that the most he had done was to paddle a canoe, it had taken some minutes of furious whispering for her first to give vent to her opinion and then to explain to him how to row a boat. Once this was settled, they managed reasonably successfully with an oar each, probably because they had to conserve their breath for the effort instead to exchanging muttered insults and imprecations.
Now the boat was safely beached a reasonable distance from their enemies. Chantal scrambled out on to the rocks and found, to her surprise, they were warm.
"Hot springs," Jess explained. "The pools warm the rocks all the time. Spread this out and get it dry." He tossed the bundle of clothing at her and turned back to give the boat a push into mid-stream.
"Nom de Dieu! What are you doing?" Chantal demanded.
"If they find the boat gone, they'll expect us to go downstream – it's quicker and easier," Jess pointed out. "I'm just encouragin' them to look that way, not up here."
"You're just making sure we have to walk!" Chantal complained bitterly.
"Maybe. But not until it's full daylight," she was told. "And now's not the time for countin' the stars, either! Go an' find a nice, hot bathin' pool and warm up." He must have seen her expression, because one eyebrow quirked in amusement, as he added, "I'll stay and watch – the river."
"Why, you -!" Chantal flew at him, but with rather less than her usual vigour, in an attack which Jess easily fended off. "If I didn't know better," she continued crossly, "I'd think you arranged this on purpose!"
"I did in a way - made it m' business to know the country round here," he told her matter-of-factly. "Now get a move on, PT. Y'ain't the only one whose teeth are chatterin'!"
It was already dawn and, after a blissful immersion in one of the hot pools, Chantal returned to find Jess stretched out on a warm, sloping boulder, soaking up the first rays of sunlight. All the same, he was not asleep but on watch, and simply handed over the responsibility for their safety to her as he disappeared in search of a pool of his own.
Chantal retrieved the boot-knife, with which Jess had cut off the remains of his rope-bonds, and set about making short work of her elaborate party dress: the result was calf-length, practical and decent, if decidedly ragged and minus a great deal of superfluous material. She grinned ruefully to herself as she pulled on this still damp garment, remembering her careful dressing in the hotel in Denver which seemed so very long ago; if anything was going to impress Jess, it certainly wasn't going to be her wardrobe.
His own attire wasn't much better when he returned, since the state of his shirt was in no way improved by recent activities. He simply rolled it up and stuck it under his head as a pillow, because, by daylight, they had found a better hollow in the rocks, concealed from any traffic on the river and much safer as a resting place. Boulders certainly didn't make a comfortable mattress for anyone, but Chantal just wadded up the remains of her dress and followed Jess's example. It was not long before they were both sleeping peacefully in the glow of the hot springs and the warmth of the increasing sunlight.
Exhaustion could only outweigh the discomfort of the rocks for so long. It was the first time ever Chantal had slept outside on the ground and she woke feeling stiff and bruised, but surprisingly refreshed. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly. Her companion was curled up on his side, looking as if he might jump into action at any moment, despite apparently being deeply asleep; his right hand was resting lightly on the handle of the knife. Chantal could see blood still seeping from the cut under his hair and he was going to have a fine set of bruises and scrapes covering him more or less from head to foot.
As she was considering what could be done about this, Jess woke up with a suddenness which suggested he had never been asleep at all. He sat up, stretched and regarded the rope-burns on his wrists with disfavour: "Sure could do with some o' that comfrey mixture right now!"
"You mean you don't carry a saucepan around with you? Qué lástima!" She reached for the remnant of her cotton underskirt and, tearing off a strip, bandaged his head-wound without further comment.
"Gracias!" he murmured absently as he pulled on the crumpled remains of his shirt.
"De nada." Chantal was watching him carefully. "Are you -?"
"I'm fine!"
"Oh." She thought some more and decided that Jess's definition of 'fine' could not possibly be the one which other English speakers normally employed. She tried another couple of languages, just to be sure: "Parfait? Bueno?"
"Si!" He seemed to be engaged in working something out, because it was a few seconds before he reconnected with their conversation. Then he waved a hand at the surroundings and added with a grin: "Como el hotel!"
"The baths are good," Chantal pointed out, "but I guess the restaurant is closed!"
"Don't remind me – I'm starvin'!"
"Nothing like a brisk walk before breakfast!" Actually there was nothing Chantal disliked more and she could see by his face Jess felt the same. All he said, however, was "Give me that corset."
"Have you got a thing about -?"
"I'm waitin'!" Patience clearly was not his forte at this time in the morning, especially after a trying night. Chantal handed it over silently and watched, fascinated, as he proceeded to extract the whalebone and shape it into a small curve with his knife. When he had two pieces, he bent each one into a little horseshoe-shape and wrapped it tightly in strips cut from the remains of her dress. These he inserted into the heel of each of his boots and pushed further material down into the toes. Then he looked up at her and Chantal could have sworn, for the first time ever, he looked slightly apologetic. It wasn't long before she knew why.
"You'd better put some socks on." He picked up his own from the rock where they had been drying.
Chantal regarded them with the critical eye of one who has been taught needlework by an expert. After an appreciable pause, she said firmly: "Those are not socks. They are a darning disaster!"
"Ain't askin' you to darn them."
"That is just as well. I do not – repeat not – darn socks!" Somehow this seemed enormously important to establish.
"Just put them on, will y'!" He seized her foot unexpectedly and ran a hand across the soft skin of her sole. "And the boots. You need some kind o' protection and this is the best I can do."
"What about you?" Chantal's voice was muffled by bending over to pull on the footwear as she complied, for once, without protest.
"Went barefoot often enough as a kid," he told her briefly. "Ain't got soft yet."
Given the way they were both shod, their progress was necessarily slow. It was not long, however, before Chantal realised they were walking back towards the Turner mansion, parallel to the river, but some way inland of it. She stopped and demanded "Why are we going back?"
"Apart from the fact that Armand might still be there? Because my horse, my hat an' my gun also happen to be there and I ain't leavin' without them."
They trudged on some more. Chantal had registered already that the two men were on first name terms and presently asked curiously: "Why were you there, rescuing my father, anyway?"
"Leaving aside that he is your father, y' mean?" Jess halted and looked down at her, his expression inscrutable and business-like. "We knew there was an extortion racket goin' on – top businessmen and their families threatened and forced to pay up, some of them on a regular basis. None of them ever saw who was doin' the threatenin'- they were all kept locked up and blindfolded, like Armand. Jim Dark's been after Turner for months an' Turner was gettin' real edgy, enough maybe to take him out. We had to get someone inside the operation, but Jim's too well known as a law-man. That's what I was doin'."
"But you killed him!"
"I very carefully did not kill him! The bullet went through the edge of his vest, under the arm he lifted out of the way. In a public street we couldn't use blanks – it needed to be for real. So did the reason - hence June Dark!" A grimace twisted his face for a moment, before he added: "Took us a hell of a lotta practice to get it right."
"You didn't kill him …" Chantal's voice sounded as though a sob might be trying to break through if she would let it.
Jess looked at her thoughtfully, then he took hold of her chin and made her raise her eyes to his. His expression was still entirely business-like. "But I could've done. Ain't never killed anyone who didn't draw on me first. Or anyone in less than a fair fight. But yeah – I have killed people." He drew in a deep breath, steeling himself to give the absolute truth, and added: "Used to do it for a livin'. But not anymore."
"What made you stop?"
"Findin' out there were people who'd care if I died …"
Chantal recalled the hard wood of the window sill digging into her arms, the taut silence of the emptied street, the hot wind carrying the smell of gun-smoke, a woman huddled over a fallen body. "Yes," she said, in tones as matter-of-fact as his own.
It was a few minutes before they started walking again. After a while, Jess said, with the determined air of one laying out the terms of a treaty: "Once y' gotta rep, y' can't shake it. Ain't no good standin' there claimin' to be retired. I still practise t' keep fast. And sooner or later, I ain't gonna be fast enough. You understand, Tal?"
Chantal nodded. "Or you might fall off a cliff or get caught in a stampede or be struck by lightning or go down with a fever or break your neck falling off a horse or be run over by a stagecoach or –"
"Whoa!" Jess implored laughingly, "You're makin' me feel ill."
"Or you could just live to a sober, respectable old age."
"Sober is kind of borin'…"
"De verdad? Very well, Temerario, a wildly exciting old age that will cause your cautious, upright grandchildren to gasp with horror!"
One eyebrow was raised quizzically. "You don't figure on the kids bein' sober and respectable?"
Chantal just looked at him and laughed outright.
# # # # #
By mid-morning, all the parties concerned in the previous evening's events were feeling varying degrees of consternation.
It was not until after a leisurely breakfast that Emory Turner remembered Jess Harper had been entrusted with the key to the prisoner's room. His first action was to yell to his men and demand that someone search Harper – and, as an afterthought, cut him down and bring him back into the dining room.
His men felt considerable misgivings when they found nothing but two frayed ropes where the gun-slinger had been tied up.
"You mean you didn't set a guard?" Emory demanded angrily.
"But we never do, boss! Y'know no-one's ever got away from there. They couldn't."
"Harper did!" Emory paused in deep thought.
Rick wandered into the room, yawning. Turner glared at his son as if it were his fault and snapped, "Harper's escaped!"
Rick's eyes widened. "Impossible! Nobody escapes from there."
"So you all say," his father retorted, favouring the men before him with a furious glare. "Harper seems to have managed it. Someone explain to me how!"
"The ropes were cut, Mr Turner."
"He couldn't have done that himself." Emory turned on Rick again. "Where's the girl?"
"I don't know. I didn't spend the night with her!"
"More fool you! Because it looks like someone else did!"
"You don't know it was her. She might just be sleeping in."
She wasn't.
"And where's that damn Dark woman?"
But June had quietly driven off just before sunrise.
# # # # #
June was a little disconcerted to find the prisoner already under the seat of her buggy. She knew Jess planned to release him during the night, but had not expected him to be hidden for so long. The conditions were no doubt uncomfortable, yet she dare not risk him being seen and was determined he would stay put until they got safely back to Denver.
Unfortunately Armand Picard was accustomed to making his own decisions. He was not at all clear what had happened during the night but he had no intention of leaving until he was sure that his daughter was safely out of Turner's clutches. He was perfectly confident Jess would move heaven and earth to achieve this and that the pair of them would no doubt turn up sooner or later, probably wrangling or even fighting. Nonetheless, he intended to do everything in his own power to make sure of this outcome. No sooner had they got out of view of the Turner residence than he unfolded himself from his cramped position, took over the reins and drove like a madman for the nearest piece of woodland.
# # # # #
Jim Dark was totally disconcerted to see the buggy heading straight for his hiding place. Surely June had more sense? They worked as a team and June knew her part in the plan. What had happened to change the details? And who on earth was that driving her?
# # # # #
Jess looked momentarily disconcerted as Chantal demanded: "What about June Dark?"
"What about her?" He rapidly assumed his most totally innocent expression, but he was pretty sure it was not cutting any ice with Chantal.
They were sitting side by side on a convenient tree-trunk. Chantal had finally admitted she could walk no further in her improvised footgear without acquiring serious blisters. Jess had responded by summoning Traveller.
This he did by cupping his hands and whistling a low but piecing, wavering note which sounded curiously like a bird's cry. After he had repeated this several times, he had indicated the log as a good resting place, saying as they sat down: "The wind's in the right direction and we should be close enough for the sound to carry. Just hope they ain't tied him or put him back in the stable. Might take a bit longer if they have." After which he proceeded to teach her how to call his horse in this surreptitious way and also the piercing whistle he used in emergencies when he needed Traveller in a hurry.
When this latest lesson had been successfully completed, Chantal decided to use the hiatus in their walk to get to the bottom of what had happened in Denver. Jess decided he had seriously underestimated her capacity for determined interrogation.
"Not only did you stay the night with her –"
"In a chair, I told y'!"
"And you let the entire town think you were –"
"It was necessary, I told y'!"
"In public! From a hotel balcony!"
"It wouldn't have damn well worked in private, would it?" Jess retorted, sounding harassed, as well he might.
"You also hit her!" Chantal pointed out indignantly.
Jess looked as if he might repeat the performance then and there if she continued to castigate him about something he had been so reluctant to be part of in the first place. "Escúchame! I did nothin' of the sort! There's plenty of methods of makin' it look that way, that's all."
"And you kicked her husband when he was dead!"
Jess gave a growl of exasperation. "Do you listen to a thing I'm tellin' you? It was a set-up. The whole thing was staged. He's a good friend an' I don't go round killin' my friends." A momentary shadow of recollection dimmed the brightness of his eyes. "Not my real friends, anyway … An' if all of us get out of this alive, I'll introduce you to Jim myself!"
"And is his wife a friend?" Chantal demanded.
"I can't stand the woman!" Jess replied with utterly frank, although perhaps somewhat exaggerated, sincerity. "It's Slim who's sweet on her, not me. An' it's all his fault for bustin' his ankle so's I had to take his place."
"He couldn't have pulled off that shot," Chantal told him confidently. Jess looked dumbfounded, as if he had not realised she was any judge of gun-skill. "So you don't get out of it as easily as you think, mi amigo inteligente."
"PT, will you give over before I do somethin' drastic to you!" A distinct gleam came into Jess's eyes as he decided attack was the best form of defence: "And you still haven't explained why the hell y' got mixed up with Rick Turner and caused all this trouble in the first place?"
"Because you were with that woman, that's why! I wrote you, but then I couldn't get the note to you. You didn't know I was there!"
"Don't be stupid! You were in the hotel lobby. D'y' think I could be so close to you and not know?" Both eyebrows had shot up incredulously, almost disappearing into the tangled forelock below the bandage, and he sounded astounded that she could imagine any such a thing. "But I had to go through with the plan. An' I had no idea you were gonna get mixed up in it. Next time, don't go harin' off with some stranger! Just stand up and shout, wave your arms or something, when y' need my help - it'll make things a lot simpler."
It is doubtful whether this last statement was either logical or true, but at that moment there was a sound of hoof-beats and Traveller appeared through the bushes, trailing a broken halter. In no time at all, they were riding back to the place they had taken so much trouble to escape from.
Translations:
Gamberro Thug
Qué lástima. What a pity.
Como el hotel. Like the hotel.
De verdad? Really?
Temerario. Reckless one.
Escúchame. (Will you) listen to me. (Probably the most frequent thing Jess says to Chantal!)
Mi amigo inteligente My clever friend.