The Kid sat atop the stage as it bumped along the rutted road, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on his shoulders. He had already shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket, tucking it behind him with the heap of luggage. His horse trotted along after the stage, her reins tied to the back. The driver, Deke Stone, was a wiry man in his seventies with white whiskers that seemed to sprout randomly from portions of his chin, and a few from his ears for good measure. Even though it wasn't the most luxurious of conveyances, Kid was enjoying the ride and the view of the rolling foothills dotted with pine and aspen, the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and the blue, blue sky overhead. The air was crisp, but the sun was warm and at least for now it seemed that all was right with the world. He could forget all about amnesty and posses for a little while and just enjoy being alive on this beautiful late summer morning. Neither he nor the driver were especially talkative, but there was an ease between them. Miss Grady was safe inside the coach under the supervision of Mrs. Batenhorst. This was gonna be an easy 500 bucks, Kid thought. He smiled to himself, remembering how the exuberant young lady had asked to sit on top with the driver. He could picture her perched up here, wind streaming through her hair, looking around eagerly at the ruggedly beautiful scenery with those alluring hazel eyes. He couldn't help feel a little sorry that society's dictates prevented her from doing the things he, as a man, took for granted.
Curry was jolted from his train of thought quite literally when the coach lurched over a particularly deep rut.
"Sorry, son. Rough road ahead," apologized Stone.
The coach was traveling on a downhill incline, the road deeply rutted by erosion. Deke pulled steadily on the wooden handbrake, slowing the team of four horses as they picked their way along, the coach jostling back and forth sideways. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Curry's attention. He looked down to his right and met the same hazel eyes he'd just been thinking about. Amanda Grady's head and shoulders were sticking out of the window. "What's going on?" she called over the noise of pounding hoofs. One hand held her hat firmly in place, a few loose curls whipping around her face.
"Miss Grady! Get back in here this instant!" Mrs. Batenhorst's muffled voice was heard from within the vehicle.
"Just a bumpy road, Ma'am!" shouted Curry. "Nothin' to worry about." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Best get back inside, though," he advised.
Amanda grinned at him and disappeared from view.
The coach had now reached the bottom of the hill and was proceeding up the next incline. Deke let up on the brakes and urged the horses onward. Their speed increased along with the roughness of the ride.
Amanda's head popped out again. "Mrs. Batenhorst has requested that you kindly slow down!" she hollered.
Deke ignored her. Curry grinned and winked.
Just then one wheel of the stage coach hit a rock – hard – so hard that Deke and the Kid were fully airborne for a moment. Curry slammed down onto the seat, his whole body jarred from the landing. Deke wasn't so lucky. Before he knew what was happening, Deke had plunged off the coach to lie tangled in the traces between the last pair of horses, taking the reins with him. "Damn it!" yelled the Kid, grabbing for the reins. Just when his fingers were about to close over them, they crested the top of the hill and careered into another deep rut and Curry was thrown off-balance. He grabbed hold of the seat back and the reins fell further out of reach. Deke looked up at Curry with panic in his eyes. He clawed at one of the horses, trying to grasp a handful of mane. This action apparently spooked the already agitated animal, whose whinny sounded like a shriek.
Meanwhile, Amanda had fallen back into the coach on impact, landing on top of the salesman, who either instinctively or opportunistically wrapped his arms around the girl and held on tight. "Oof! Let me go!" she cried, squirming out of his reach and clambering back to the window. The coach was flying along pell-mell, clearly out of control. When she emerged from the coach window again and looked up at the driver's bench, no one was there. Both the driver and Mr. Jones must have been thrown off, she thought in a panic. Somone had to get out there and stop the horses! As she tried to pull herself farther out the opening, a mighty swerve slammed her back onto the floor. She caught her breath and looked up at the other passengers. Mrs. Batenhorst was clutching her son, eyes squeezed shut, reciting what sounded like prayers. Mr. Batenhorst was clutching right back, his face frozen in fear. Mr. Trent remained calm but concerned, holding his wide-eyed grandson tightly, reassuring him that everything would be okay. Mr. Nielsen was pressed against the corner of the box seat, looking stunned. It was up to her, she thought determinedly, and began to climb out of the window once again. But this time she saw Mr. Jones. Somehow he had released his own horse from the rear of the stage and was riding it, racing alongside them as they barreled along. She clung to the edge of the window and watched tensely as he overtook the lead horse, then leaned from his saddle and grabbed hold of its bridle with one hand, hollering "Whoa!" The horses didn't stop right away, but they began to slow. The bumping and swaying diminished gradually, until the stagecoach at last came to a halt. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, Mr. Stone's head popped up from between the last pair of horses. He looked shaken, but was yelling jubilantly, "Ya did it! Ya did it! That was sure some fancy ridin', young fella!"
Jones dismounted without letting go of the lead horse's bridle. He was breathing heavily and stroking the animal's neck. He didn't let go until he was sure they were staying put.
"You alright?" he asked the driver.
"I am now," Deke chortled. "Still stuck, though. Come over here and land me a hand, son."
"That was quite a ride, Sir," said Curry as he assisted the old man. "Hope the passengers are okay." He glance over to meet Amanda's eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised in a question. "Everyone okay in there?" She smiled one of those dazzling smiles and answered, "A bit shaken up, but all in one piece, thanks to you!"
"Speak for yourself, young lady," came the disembodied voice of Mrs. Batenhorst. "And get back in here this instant!"
By now the Kid had untangled the driver. He was a bit bruised but no worse for wear. Spryly he pulled open the stage coach door and addressed the passengers, "Everyone okay in there?" When he had been assured all was well, he delivered welcome news. "We're just two miles from the station, folks. We'll stop and have a meal, letcha recover from that rough ride."
