Guthrie reminded him that if they had been other men, they would have complained to the management about their terrible accommodations. But they were not other men. They were Englishmen. They knew how to deal with hardship; and so, with stiff upper lips, they met the challenge of their substandard hotel room with great courage.
Until Clarence couldn't handle the creaking floor a moment longer and started sobbing quietly, curled up on his broken-down bed with his knees tucked under his chin.
Guthrie half-turned from where he sat at the corner table, making a list of some sort. "Take heart, Master Clarence. Our situation is not as dire as it may seem. We shall be able to trade our stolen belongings for the necessary items—"
"I'm sorry, Guthrie old boy." Clarence sniffed. "I know I'm being a big baby about all of this."
Guthrie rose and approached his young master's side. "What is it, sir?"
Clarence shook his head.
"Are you still afraid of that beast who threatened us on the train?"
Another shake of the head.
"Did you hurt yourself when you fainted earlier?" He narrowed his gaze at Clarence's head, searching for a bump or bruise.
"No," Clarence said.
"Then what is it, sir?"
"There are no bunk beds!"
"Oh. I see." With a slight nod, Guthrie returned to the table and his list.
"Aren't you going to console me, old boy? Can't you see I'm distraught?"
"Hmm?" Guthrie replied absently, his back to Clarence.
"I'm distraught!" Clarence shouted.
"Yes, sir, I can see that. But I must review the supplies we'll need for our journey. It seems that everything is going to work out for the best. The fellow who stole our luggage is going to outfit us for the trip, you see."
Clarence felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. "What trip?"
"To Virginia City, sir." Guthrie turned toward him and stated matter-of-factly, "There are no wagon trains or stagecoaches that dare take us at this time. The native peoples have banded together to drive the white settlers from their lands, and the results thus far have been catastrophic. Therefore, the only way to travel northwestward from here will be on horseback, sir."
"Oh." Clarence blinked. "But Virginia City—wouldn't that be in Virginia? Back the other direction?"
Guthrie almost smiled. "One would presume so, sir. But it is actually in the Nevada territory."
"Nevada." Clarence nodded as though he'd heard of it before—which he hadn't. Ever. "And how far would that be?"
Guthrie consulted his list. "A few hundred miles, more or less. We should be able to reach it in a week's time, depending on the activity of the natives, the elements, certain indigenous wild animals, and whether we have packed enough supplies, of course."
Clarence's knees turned to porridge for a moment. Hundreds of miles? Horseback? Natives?
"Look here, Guthrie, are you mad?" he demanded.
"Why no, sir, not to my knowledge."
"Then you must be senile. That has to be it."
"Uh-has to be what, sir?"
"Why you're acting so peculiar! You're senile, old boy!" Clarence jumped up on the groaning bed and pointed down at his confused butler. "This all seems perfectly logical to you, does it? You and I, English gentlemen by birth, traveling across the American wilderness for no apparent reason other than to reach this Virginia City that's not even in Virginia and visit your daughter—what daughter, may I ask? Why haven't I heard of any daughter before now? I thought we were on summer holiday, not on some hunt for a long-lost relative! Yet here we are in a disgusting hotel room in a horrible town and you want to ride horseback through the savage countryside over hundreds of miles and-and—" Clarence paused to release a hoarse scream and pull at his hair. "Either you're going mad or I am! I can't take any more of this—I want to go home!"
Guthrie stared at his young master. Silence held the room once the creaking of the bed springs subsided.
"I see it all now," Guthrie said quietly. "What a fool I've been, expecting you to read my mind, or just about. I should have known you are the sort of lad who must know where he is headed before he takes a step forward. You are very much like your father in that way, sir, if I may say so: everything had to be in order ahead of time for him to feel in his element." He nodded gravely. "I have had this journey planned out from the start, but I should have shared these plans with you. I did not wish to burden you, I suppose, and so I've kept you in the dark instead."
With a heaviness to his shoulders, Guthrie sat down beside his master. "Clarence," he began, resting a strong, wrinkled hand on the young man's tousled head as he'd done from time to time since Clarence was a boy. "I should like to tell you a story, sir. About a young man...a very long time ago." The old butler set his jaw. "About me."
Chapter 15
Time passed unnoticed as Guthrie told Clarence things about himself which should be kept in confidence between a man and his butler: trials and triumphs, loves, quarrels, and the difficult lessons learned along the way. A man like Guthrie does not often open himself up to others, and all his life, Clarence had never known such things about his beloved butler. It was an honor now to hear about Guthrie's life, and Clarence cherished every moment of the telling.
"So you've never even seen your daughter before?" Clarence asked after Guthrie had concluded.
"No, sir. She was born twenty years ago, but I have not been able to travel abroad until now."
"And you're certain she's in this Virginia City?"
"As certain as I can be, sir. Last year, I acquired the services of a certain man—Jack O'Connell, whom you met briefly in Boston. The customs official who stopped you."
Clarence nodded with recollection.
"Jack was able to locate her. The description fit so perfectly—the appearance of her mother at her age—and the given name was correct, her mother's maiden name." Guthrie paused. "I know it must be her."
"But what if you're wrong, old boy?" Clarence tried to say it kindly. "I would hate to see you set yourself up for a terrible disappointment."
"I shall have to find that out for myself, sir." Guthrie remained resolute. "I must go to Virginia City. I will know her when I see her. Of that I am certain."
Clarence nodded mutely. All that Guthrie had told him now cast a new light on this journey. No longer did it seem a rash flight of fancy. Now it seemed noble—well-planned and chivalric. And Clarence liked it very much.
"This Buckeye chap seems to be a reasonable fellow, old boy?"
Clarence watched the townsfolk go about their business, casting curious glances at the Englishmen as he and Guthrie headed down the street to the mercantile store. The plan was to obtain the supplies they needed, pile them all in their hotel room, and then visit the café for tea—assuming these Americans knew how to serve a proper tea.
"Well, sir, it seems that Miss Carson has quite an influence on him."
"Quite." Clarence could not help but recall his own recent encounter with the woman. "But do you think he'll simply hand over all that we require?"
"Yes, sir, in exchange for what he stole from us. I believe we've struck a fair deal with the man."
Guthrie pushed open the heavy door with a long creak and stepped inside. The smell of pine dust and musty merchandise met his nostrils, and he winced slightly. Clarence, on the other hand, started to sneeze uncontrollably, whirling around on his feet and knocking into furry items on display. Guthrie grabbed after his young master and tried to keep him from breaking anything, but Clarence kept flailing in an allergic fit until his butler opened the door and shoved him outside.
Clarence's allergies settled almost as soon as he'd gone stumbling across the plank sidewalk. "I say, old boy! Why ever did you shove me?"
"You might have broken something of value, sir," Guthrie said with an apologetic shrug.
"Listen, old chap. Anything of value in there most likely belongs to us!"
Guthrie almost smiled. "True enough,
sir."
"I'll wait out here until you have cowboy boots or some such for me to try on. Lovely day," he mused, hands in his pockets as he surveyed the soaring blue sky. Not a cloud in sight.
For the next half hour or so, Guthrie went over Buckeye's shelves with the stocky storekeeper close at his elbow.
"This here is what you need, stranger! And don't forget this!"
The right supplies, the right clothes, the right saddles, the right food, and the right weapons. Everything seemed foreign to Guthrie—particularly the saddles—but he put a brave face on the matter and decided he could get used to anything, even the dried food they were to bring on their journey. Jerky, Buckeye called it.
"Well, guess that about does it, stranger." Buckeye leaned on the pile of goods he was giving away. "You've got enough here to last you clear to Virginia City!" He threw back his head in a fit of uproarious laughter at his own joke. For of course, no one in his right mind would make such a journey with the current hostilities from the natives.
"That is where we are headed," Guthrie said, turning on his heel and heading for the door.
"Huh?"
But Guthrie was already gone.
Chapter 16
Buckeye watched out the front window as the two Englishmen staggered bow-legged under the weight of provisions they carried to the hotel. Then he turned away with a hard look in his eyes.
"Burly!" he shouted.
A thick curtain covering the doorway to the back room rustled. Out stepped the brawny tobacco-chewing (and spitting) fellow from the train who had given Clarence such a difficult time. No longer did he wear the blue uniform of the railway and matching hat. Now he stood decked out like a gunfighter: low-brimmed leather hat, leather vest, denim shirt, trousers and snakeskin boots. Buckled low around his hips in a casual way were two ivory-handled Colts. His lumpy face remained unshaven, and he chewed on a wad of tobacco that deformed his left cheek. A wild gleam shone from his bloodshot eyes.
Buckeye gestured out the window. "Them the ones?"
Burly nodded. "That old codger, Buck—he's mine."
"Yeah, well I've got a gripe with 'em, too, so how 'bout we don't get hoggish."
"Who you callin' a hog?" Burly lunged forward.
"Cool down!" Buckeye stayed the man's advance with a hand on his chest. "We're in this together. Remember that."
Grumbling, the big man nodded and dipped his chin to spit onto the floor.
The floor? Buckeye glanced at the spittoon in the corner of the shop but decided to let the matter lie. Best not to sweat the small stuff. There were bigger bears to skin.
"Alright now. Here's the plan." He squared his thick shoulders. "We wait 'til they go to the café for some chow. Then we head on over to the hotel and tell Slick they stole all that junk in their room from me, see? Then we bust into the café and gun 'em down like thievin' skunks! How's that sound?"
Burly chuckled malevolently. "We'll see how the old geezer stands up to a load of lead."
"And after he's gone, Kate will have only me!" Buckeye grinned.
"Sure she will," Burly snickered.
"You sayin' I ain't good enough for her?" Buckeye's hand dropped to the Bowie knife at his belt. "Go on, you lousy oaf. Draw!"
Burly eyed the sheathed blade and shook his head. He kept his hands clear of his Colts, knowing Buckeye Daniels was the fastest draw with a knife the West had ever seen. At lightning speed, he could trim off a body's ear or plant the gleaming blade clean between the eyes with equal accuracy. "No way, Buck. You ain't gettin' me to go for my guns. Not against you."
"Then you're a coward," Buckeye spat. "And I don't want no coward involved in no ingenious plans of mine!"
"'Knock it off, Buck. Thought you said we was in this together. I know them Englishters have gotten under our skin with their fancy duds and hoity-toity talk. But it ain't worth it to mess up such a valuable friendship as we've got." Burly held out his meaty paw and attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace. "Shake?"
Buckeye glared up at his big cohort for a long while before coming to his senses. "Alright, Burly," he said with a grin. "Forget what I said. I wasn't thinkin'. I just get that way sometimes."
"Guess we both can be a little hot-headed." Burly squeezed his cohort's hand in a crushing grip. "C'mon, I'll buy you a whiskey over at Percy's. We can sit by the front window, inconspicuous-like, and keep a lookout for those idiot Englishters."
"I like the way you think, ol' buddy!" Buckeye smacked his lips.
Arms around each other's shoulders, they left the mercantile and headed across the dusty street to Percy's saloon, all the while whistling "Dixie."
Chapter 17
"Ho-ho!" Back in their hotel room, Clarence whooped at the sight of Guthrie in his new western attire. "Ride them, cowboy!"
"Hmm." Obviously uncomfortable, the old butler tugged at the grey trousers. "I am accustomed to a more tailored fit, sir."
"Well, I reckon you'll just have to get used to it, partner." Clarence grinned.
"Uh-how's that, sir?"
"A little American lingo for you there."
"Quite." Guthrie turned around, looking himself over with a quizzical frown. "It may take some getting used to, but I believe I may grow to like this bold new appearance." He tugged at the brown leather vest and brushed a wrinkle from the long-sleeved cotton shirt.
Already in his own new set of duds, Clarence eyed his butler with amusement. "Put on your hat, old chap."
With a short nod, Guthrie picked up the Stetson and set it atop his bald dome. It fit perfectly, unlike the rest of his clothing. "Well?"
Clarence shook his head. "Absolutely marvelous! You look like a true cowboy—though you are missing something."
"Sir?"
"The gun belt."
Guthrie's gaze froze over. "I would rather not carry a firearm, Master Clarence. It may appear that I'm looking for trouble."
"Nonsense, old boy." Clarence gestured at the holstered gun buckled around his own waist. "It simply shows that you are willing to deal with any trouble that may come your way." He lowered his voice. "We are dealing with uncivilized people here, after all."
Guthrie regarded Clarence's weapon with grave concern. "Do you know how to use that, sir?"
Clarence laughed at the absurd question. "I'm an Edwards, old boy! We're hunting fox before we've been weaned!"
"Of course." The butler rested his hand on the coiled belt lying on his bed. The polished wooden handle protruded from its holster. Guthrie slipped his fingers around it and drew the cold steel barrel into view. He lifted it to eye level, and his finger curled around the trigger. His serious grey eyes never left the weapon as he said, "A device of death, Master Clarence. It should be treated as such. Respect it, sir—as you would a grave."
The words sent a chill snaking down Clarence's spine. He watched as Guthrie holstered the gun and left it on the bed.
"Have a look, sir," he beckoned from the corner table where sunlight shone through the filthy window. "I'd like to show you the course we will be taking."
Having overcome his phobia concerning the creaky floor, Clarence stomped confidently across the room with his thumbs in his gun belt, a swagger to his step, and a jingle from his new set of spurs. Stretched out across the table lay an oilskin map of the United States and its territories, which Guthrie had acquired from the mercantile store. Boundaries were delineated in red, rivers in blue, and mountain ranges in shades of green, depending on their elevation.
"Santa Fe, sir." Guthrie pointed and waited for Clarence's eyes to follow his finger. "From here, we shall travel southwestward along the Rio Grande until we reach Albuquerque. Then, we'll turn northwestward across the Rio Grande, along the Rio Puerco River—"
"I say," Clarence observed. "There are quite a lot of rio's, eh?"
"Yes, sir. Spanish for river, I believe." Guthrie retraced his finger-steps. "Northwestward along the Rio Puerco, and then up across the continental divide—"
"What's this
continental divide, old boy?" Clarence asked excitedly, thinking it sounded ominous, like some sort of chasm splitting America right down the middle.
Guthrie turned from the map and did his best to remain patient with his young master. "It is an imaginary line, sir, drawn to separate eastward-flowing and westward-flowing rivers." Guthrie moved on with his finger. "Northwestward across the Colorado Plateau, which lies between Navajo and Zuni Indian territory—"
"Which ones are the nasty savages who scalp and torture unsuspecting travelers such as ourselves?"
Guthrie paused. They had yet to leave New Mexico on the map. "I do not know, sir. But neither is a tribe I should like to have an argument with." That seemed to satisfy Clarence for the moment, so Guthrie continued. "Up along the Chaco River, over the Carrizo Mountains, then along the San Juan River to the Colorado—"
"Is there some reason we'll be spending so much time near rivers? I plan to be on horseback, old boy, not in a boat!"
Guthrie rubbed at his eyes. "It is safer, sir. And we'll have access to fresh water."
Clarence nodded. "Good thinking. I do tend to get thirsty when I'm out in the sun."
"From there, we head northwestward to Cedar City, where we'll find lodging and rest, acquire fresh horses, renew our supplies, and plan our course onward." Folding the map, he slipped it into his vest and turned to his master. "There you have it, sir. The first half of our journey."
Clarence nodded, imagining what sorts of adventures lay in store for them. "Can't believe I was foolish enough to think this little sojourn in America hadn't been well-planned!"
"Forgive me for not informing you soon—"
"Think nothing of it, old boy," Clarence replied lightheartedly. "All is forgiven!"
"Thank you, sir," Guthrie said with a slight bow, somber as ever.
"So, when do we begin?"
"The day after tomorrow, sir. We have already paid for this room, and we'll use the time here for additional planning and needed rest."
Westward, Tally Ho! Page 5
