"Good show, Kate!" Clarence cheered.
The sounds of an intense scuffle met Clarence's ears, blows landing hard and furiously, followed by curses from both Kate and the man who fought with her, until finally he let out a roar of sheer agony, and someone collapsed to the ground.
"Kate?" Clarence felt around. "Kate, are you all right? Are you there?"
He heard a thirsty gulping sound beside him, followed by "Yeah, Clarence. I'm okay." She touched his cheek, and he took her hand. "Thanks for gettin' us to water."
Clarence grinned. "Oh yes, quite." He listened to the groaning man who didn't sound like he'd be moving again anytime soon. "What about this nasty fellow? Were you able to incapacitate him?"
"A kick to the groin makes all men equal." She splashed in the water and sighed with relief.
"Who is he?"
"Some gunfighter I had dealings with a while back. Him and this other fella got to quarreling over me, right there in my room, if you can believe. Almost killed each other…" she trailed off. "But that was a long time ago."
Clarence blinked. He was beginning to see the light—along with shadowy figures.
"Do you think a person can change, Clarence?"
Her direct question took him by surprise. "Uh-yes. I do." He thought for a moment. "Take me, for instance. I was never one to go on adventures, yet here I am!"
The gunslinger shifted in the dirt.
"Don't even think about it. See this gun?" Kate said. He cursed her, and she moved quickly, followed by the meaty thud of steel against his skull. "Stay down," she muttered as he stopped moving and lay still.
Clarence blinked his eyes again and again as the fog lifted until—
"Hurrah!" He jumped up and down and hugged Kate. "I can see!"
She hugged him back. "You look like a drowned rat," she laughed.
Clarence grinned—until his vision focused on a termite-infested sign posted beside the pond. The scrawled letters on it were almost indecipherable. Clarence could barely make them out, but when he'd done so, he gasped, unable to believe his eyes.
The sign read:
THIS HEER WATERZ FER MY HOSSES IFFIN YER REEDIN THIS YER GONNA GIT YERSELF SHOT
"Oh, my word..." Clarence gulped, not certain he'd read it correctly.
"What is it, Clarence?" Kate asked with a frown, turning to see what he was looking at. "Aw, pay that no mind. It's just there to scare people off. Hell, nobody's gonna ride clear out here in this heat and shoot us for drinkin' their water!"
A bullet punched through the sign, sending splinters into the air, and a rifle reported in the distance.
Chapter 36
Clarence screamed.
"Quick, get behind that rock!" Kate grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "Down!" She gave him a shove, and he landed on all fours next to the weathered boulder.
"I say," he commented. "I was right to be concerned, eh?"
As if he required any further confirmation, the shooter fired another shot and the bullet skidded across the rock, sending down a shower of dust.
Kate cursed, reaching around the boulder just long enough to pull the trigger of MacQuaid's six-gun. The shot was blind; she had no idea what she was aiming at. Regardless, it was obvious she'd missed her target when another bullet zinged overhead.
"My word. He's quite a bad shot," Clarence remarked.
"What?" She ventured a quick peek, then cringed as yet another bullet whizzed past.
"Well, if I were the one doing the shooting, we'd both either be wounded or maimed by now, as unfortunate as that would be."
She turned sharply to face him. "You can shoot?"
Undoubtedly, she recalled the incident in the hotel room when he'd tried to holster his gun. Needless to say, he could understand her doubting his ability level.
"Why yes," he nodded. "Quite well, actually. It's been said that we Edwards can fire a hunting rifle before we've been weaned, but I'm afraid that's a bit of an exaggeration."
"Here." She handed him the gunslinger's weapon. "You said you could shoot!" she countered his surprised expression.
"I can, but—"
"Then shoot!"
"Oh yes, quite." She crawled around him, and he assumed her position. Weighing the gun in his hand a moment, he mused, A handgun shouldn't be much different than a rifle. Uncle Cyrus always said I was good with the clay pigeons, after all. He checked the chambers; four rounds remained.
"Well?" Kate seemed impatient, widening her blue eyes at him as if to say, What's the hold up?
"Right." He gritted his teeth and breathed a quick prayer, then reached up over the boulder and fired. He was quickly answered by another rifle shot. Without hesitating, Clarence reached up and pulled the trigger twice more, ducking after each attempt. "Hmm." There came no reply from the rifle this time. "He must be reloading."
Acting on instinct before he had a chance to doubt himself, Clarence dashed out into the open with the gun raised. He caught sight of the shooter atop a low ridge in the distance and fired his last shot.
"Yikes!" The old fellow cringed as the bullet dashed the rock face behind him and sent a shower of pebbles onto his stooped shoulders.
"You there!" Clarence shouted, aiming the empty six-gun up at him. "Cease and desist!"
"Huh?"
"Drop your weapon!" Clarence took a step forward.
"You mean my rifle, boy?"
"Drop it, I say!"
"Drop it?" the old man repeated, aghast. "Well now, I couldn't go and do a thing like that. Why son, it might get scratched!"
Clarence nearly cursed with impatience.
"He's stallin' you, Englishter." Rising slowly to his knees, MacQuaid gestured toward the ridge.
"I say, stallin' me?" Clarence asked, unsure what the rogue meant.
"Yeah. Keepin' your attention on talkin' while he goes for another gun. Stallin' for time before he shoots you dead in your tracks."
Clarence nodded to show he partially understood. "If you don't put down your rifle," he called out to the shooter, "I shall be forced to fire on you again. And this time, I shan't miss!"
"Well, alright then," the old fellow grumbled with a shrug, carefully setting down the rifle atop a flat rock. "Since you put it that way, who am I to argue?"
"Come down here." Clarence swallowed. Perspiration trickled down his temples. The gun trembled slightly in his hand. Or perhaps it was his hand doing the trembling.
"Empty, ain't it?" MacQuaid said with a smile.
Clarence tried to ignore him.
"Down there?" the old man made certain.
"Now!" Clarence shouted.
"Alright, alright, keep your britches on, kid!"
"You've got some guts, boy." MacQuaid grimaced as he touched the back of his head. It oozed blood where Kate had struck him. He also had a bloody scarf tied around his arm. Had he been wounded?
Clarence kept the six-gun's barrel trained on the old man who skipped down the short hillside with ease.
"Now what, sonny? You plannin' to gun down an old geezer?" He was a slight fellow with long, wiry white hair and an overgrown beard that stuck out in all directions. "Young people these days and their shootin' irons. A real nuisance, that's what I say."
"You started shooting at us!" Clarence retorted. "We were merely defending ourselves."
"I've got that warning sign up. All you had to do was read it. That's assumin' you've been learned to read, I guess. Are you illegitimate?"
Clarence frowned. "Are you mad?"
"You bet I'm mad! What with you drinking up my hosses' water and all. You think everything's yours for the takin', do you? Of course I'm mad—mad as blazes at this damnable younger generation!"
Clarence blinked, surprised by his open admission of insanity.
"Silas Carter. Well, I should've known." Kate stood at Clarence's side with her arms crossed, eyeing the old man tolerantly.
"Howdy there, Kate!" Silas grinned, toothless, while his beady black eyes roved up and down her dishevele
d figure. "Haven't seen you in a coon's age! Heck, ain't seen near anybody 'round here for quite a spell!"
"Reckon you should head into town more often," she replied with a wink.
"Reckon I should, at that." He licked his chapped lips and winked back.
Clarence stepped in front of Kate and half-turned to keep an eye on the crazy shooter. "Who is this balmy fellow, Kate?"
"He's…himself, I reckon. A little loco, maybe. Used to live in town before they got tired of his antics. Last I heard, he was runnin' a horse ranch a few hours out." She smiled then and patted Clarence's arm. "If we're on his range, that means we're headin' the right way back!"
"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt your flirtin' with each other and such, but who's this feller?" Silas stared at the gunslinger who greeted the old-timer with an obscene gesture.
"Bert MacQuaid," Kate said, coming around Clarence's side to face the old man. "Remember him from town?"
"Ooooh yeah," Carter said with a grave nod. Giving his suspenders a pull and resting back on his heels, he said grimly, "Yup, I knowed 'im. I knowed 'im, and I buried 'im."
"Huh?" Clarence gaped. "But—" He felt Kate's hand on his arm, lowering the gun he pointed at the old fellow.
"He's a crazy ol' coot," she said quietly with a shrug. "Says some weird things now and again. They don't make a lick of sense."
Clarence nodded, eyeing the old fellow warily.
"Silas," Kate said as though she were speaking to a small child. She took a step toward him. "How'd you like to invite us over to your place for some grub?"
Silas looked surprised, but then he grinned warmly. "You like baked beans, Kate?"
"Sure do," she said with a smile. "Me and my friend here are just about starved."
"You like baked beans, sonny?" He stared up at Clarence.
"Uh—" He felt Kate nudge him. "Oh yes, quite. I simply adore them."
"Okay then." Silas frowned suddenly and looked around. "Say, where'd I put 'em?"
"At your place, Silas. Probably in your kitchen," Kate said.
"Right!" He turned around and started clambering up the hill toward his horse and rifle on the ridge. "Lemme just get my nag, and we'll be on our way," he grunted.
"Are you certain about this?" Clarence said to Kate.
"Of course." She faced him. "We need food an' water, and he could use the company."
"But you said he was mad!" he whispered.
"About what?"
"Insane!"
"Oh. Well, mostly when you get him excited or cross or somethin'. If you just stay on his good side and be careful how you talk to 'im, he's tame as a kitten."
Clarence remained skeptical.
"C'mon, Kate!" Silas called down. "Wanna ride with me? Please say yes!"
Kate waved up to him and stepped away from Clarence. "We'll keep an eye on 'im, just the same. How's that?"
"Well..." Clarence sighed. He supposed she knew best. "All right then."
She flashed him a brief smile and jogged up the hill toward Silas. Mounting up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his middle. He looked pleased as could be.
"C'mon, sonny! Time's a wastin'!" he called down to Clarence with a broad grin.
"What about him, Kate?" Clarence gestured at the gunslinger—a nasty fellow indeed, but it didn't seem right to abandon him there.
"Aw, go on," MacQuaid groaned, rubbing his head. "Take my horse and leave me to the Injuns and buzzards. Serves me right."
Clarence found himself quite taken aback. "I'll do no such thing!" Sticking the empty six-gun into his belt, he reached down his hand and said, "I'll take you with us on your horse—"
"You're too kind."
"Not at all!" he dismissed the suggestion. "I'm always willing to help my fellow man."
"Well, that's mighty fine." Once on his feet, the gunslinger drew back his arm like a piston and slammed his fist into Clarence's face.
"Clarence!" Kate's voice rang out as he staggered backward and collapsed, his nose a bloody mess.
"Poor boy," Silas said, clucking his tongue. "Oh well. More beans for us then!" He was about to spur his horse into a gallop, but Kate told him to wait and quickly dismounted, scurrying down the hillside. "Where you goin', Missy?"
MacQuaid stood over Clarence, his muscled frame covering him in shadow.
"Get up and fight!" He drew back his boot and kicked Clarence in the side. "I said get up!"
Clarence doubled over on the ground and clutched his stomach with a low moan.
"C'mon, kid!"
MacQuaid drew back his leg for another merciless kick, but that's when a shriek tore through the air behind him. He whirled around just in time to catch someone lunging straight for him.
"AAAWW!" MacQuaid screamed as sharp fingernails raked his face. He beat his fists against the attacker, but her nails only dug in deeper. "Get off! Get off!"
Kate did so, but not before she'd kicked him in the groin as hard as she could. She watched the gunslinger roar in agony and collapse to the ground from whence he'd risen. He wouldn't be getting up again for a while. Not this time.
"Clarence..." She wiped at the blood on his face. "It's just a busted nose, though I've gotta say it looks none too good. You got punched. Happens to everybody." She sounded like she was reassuring herself as much as him. "C'mon now, let's get you on your feet." She helped him up and led him toward MacQuaid's horse.
"We're going to steal his horse?" Memories of his last horse-borrowing experience returned to him, and he was not sure he wanted to re-live them.
"That's right," she grunted under his weight. "It's the least he could do. Right, Bert?" He didn't respond, and she grinned. "Thanks for lettin' us borrow your sorry mule!"
They came to MacQuaid's dark brown mare. Five carbines and four canteens were slung across its saddle. Clarence found that to be a bit excessive for one rider, but perhaps MacQuaid liked being prepared for anything. There wasn't time to ask about it. With Kate's help, Clarence managed to mount up.
"You want me to ride with you—or will you be all right on your own?" She handed him the reins.
Clarence glanced at Silas waiting amiably for them on the ridge, his shock of hair blowing in the hot breeze. It was difficult to forget the look on the old man's face when Kate had mounted up behind him.
"Ride with me, Kate," Clarence said without another thought.
With a nod, she leapt astride the horse and wrapped her arms around his waist—showing care not to squeeze the areas MacQuaid had bruised. The closeness of her body made Clarence forget just about everything else at the moment.
"Uh-where are we going?"
She chuckled and gave him a slight shove with her weight. "Just follow Silas, you goof."
"Oh yes, quite."
Chapter 37
Catherine.
The two halves of the silver heart pendants fit together perfectly. Guthrie held his own in one hand and the one from Miss Carson's drawer in the other. Hot tears welled up in his eyes as he read the complete inscription, crossing both halves:
Love is patient, love is kind…
He swallowed.
Kate.
There was no doubt left in his mind. Miss Carson was his daughter. There could be no other explanation for both the photograph and the necklace being in the same place. After waiting so long and expecting there to be so much farther to travel, it did not seem quite real for him to have finally found her. But she was right there in Santa Fe. He stood in her bedroom!
"I-I must see her," Guthrie gasped, moving quickly to the door and throwing it open. "Miss Carson!" he called. His voice boomed in the hallway. "Kate!" He waited for an answer. Receiving none, he descended the stairs, his heart thumping wildly.
What would he say to her? Hello, Miss Carson, I am your father. No—too direct. Miss Carson, is your given name Catherine Moore? No. Is this your necklace? Definitely not; it implied thievery.
"Hey, mister—over here!"
Jarred from his thoughts, Guthrie fo
und that he had walked himself out the front door. Percy stood across the street with the clerk from the Hotel Royale. At their feet sat a heap of supplies that Guthrie instantly recognized.
"Yes, Mr. Percy?" Guthrie approached them, blind to the wagons and men on horseback that passed him by.
"Uh—I-I've got me some work to do," the clerk said quickly at the sight of the Englishman and turned back to his hotel.
"Oh no you don't!" Percy grabbed the old clerk by his scraggly beard and tugged him back. "You're stayin' right here, Slick ol' boy."
Slick let out a yelp with a few curses tossed into the mix. "Lemme go!"
Guthrie mounted the plank sidewalk beside them as Percy said, "Caught this varmint tossin' out all your stuff, mister."
"I see." Guthrie no longer required the supplies, since there would be no trip to Virginia City after all, so they were of little import to him at the moment. "Have you seen—?"
"He only paid for two days!" Slick defended himself, grimacing as he tried to free his beard. "Time's up at sundown!"
"It ain't sundown yet, Slick," Percy said evenly.
"Close enough!"
"Excuse me," Guthrie said, "but would you happen to know where—?"
"Four in the afternoon?" Percy shouted. "Since when has that been sundown in any part of God's green earth? You know what, Slick? I think you're nothin' but a dishonest coyote. And a mighty mangy one at that!"
Slick glowered. "You don't smell like no bed o' roses yourself."
"At least I wear a clean shirt once a week!" Percy retorted.
"Please—" Guthrie said.
"Keep outta this, you stupid Englishter!" Slick snarled.
"Don't you talk to him that way! He's a foreigner and a gentleman, and most of all a friend of Kate's!"
Westward, Tally Ho! Page 13
