Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience)

by Noordeloos, Chantal

  “I was wondering when you’d give me grief for that.” Coyote tugged on her derby, a frequent, subconscious habit. A smile curled around her lips. “It was pretty funny though, you have to admit.”

  “Very irresponsible, Coyote. You knew that bounty hunter was a human and knew nothing of Outlanders, let alone how to deal with the different types. In fact, I believe it is safe to say the man has never even heard of a rip.” Caesar ran his fingers across his eyes, rubbing the sand from his lashes. “He did not know his foe and could have been injured in his attempt to capture the Plzovar.” He glanced at her, his face placid but his dark eyes burning.

  “The Plzovar was no real threat with me around. I wasn’t going to let it bite the poor man.” Coyote fumbled with the breast pocket of her shirt and produced a fat, brown cigar. She rolled it between her fingers and sniffed, letting a contented smile grace her face.

  “He could have injured someone with his shots.” Caesar’s voice was soft, but his words stung.

  “Fine, it was irresponsible. I shan’t do it again, even if the guy was a beef-headed coot who needed to be taught a lesson.” She put the cigar in her mouth and lit it, blowing the smoke in rings.

  “You have a strong urge to teach any man who reminds you of being a female a lesson.” Caesar rubbed the neck of his horse and didn’t look at her as he spoke.

  “I don’t mind being reminded that I’m a woman,” Coyote said, her voice terse. “In fact . . . I quite like being a woman.” She took another long toke from her cigar. “It’s when they treat me as inferior that I get a little . . . sensitive.”

  Caesar sat up straight and shook his head. “This is the way of the world, Coyote. Everyone is assigned a place by society, and those within that society will accept these places as a form of truth. You cannot decide your place does not suit you without having to face the consequences of judgment.”

  “So you are saying it’s my job to deal with their ignorance?” Coyote let her breath escape between her teeth, and a hint of anger rose in her stomach.

  “I am saying that your actions will get reactions.” Caesar steered his horse into the small town, and Coyote followed. She looked around at the dirty wooden buildings, and an instant dislike for the place overcame her. Perhaps her foul mood did not aid her judgment.

  “What’s this place called then?” she said, steering away from her conversation with Caesar, though she still felt unsatisfied. “The Rat’s Behind?”

  “I believe its name is Opossum’s Hole.” Caesar’s face didn’t betray any mirth, but Coyote laughed.

  “I wasn’t that far off then, was I?” She stirred her horse in the direction of the music she heard. “If that isn’t a saloon, I’ll eat my hat.” The thought of a stiff drink did her good, and her bad mood lifted enough for her to smile again.

  Minutes later, they dismounted in front of the most miserable looking saloon Coyote had ever come across. One of the swinging doors hung loose on its hinges, and a dirty sign with a badly painted opossum on it told them this was the Opossum’s Hole.

  “I can only imagine what they mean by Opossum’s Hole.” She turned to Caesar. “Don’t opossum live in trees?”

  Caesar nodded and Coyote shrugged. She eyed the painting on the sign with some suspicion, muttering something about it being the ugliest opossum she had ever seen, and how she was sure to get nightmares. She was determined to hate the place, and when she stepped inside the saloon, she had a suspicion she would get a reason soon enough.

  The saloon went quiet as they entered. The twenty or so patrons that sat slumped into their wooden seats, their eyes bleary with what Coyote suspected was an overabundance of alcohol, all turned and stared at them. There wasn’t a smile on anyone’s lips, and Coyote rolled her eyes.

  “I can tell this is the welcoming sort of saloon,” she whispered at Caesar, who moved slowly and deliberately as if trying to disappear into the shadows. Caesar had the gift of remaining unnoticed if he wanted to, but in this saloon, her partner stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Coyote walked toward the bar, where a tall, skinny man with unhealthy, pale skin was pouring drinks. A toothpick dangled between his horsey teeth, and his narrow, wrinkled face betrayed no kindness. He squinted at her through one open eye and leaned forward.

  “What do you want?” The statement dripped with hostility, and Coyote knew he wasn’t taking her drink order, but she feigned ignorance.

  “I’ll have a whiskey, and my partner will have a beer.” She pushed her derby up and gave the sour-faced man her most ingratiating smile. The man sneered at her, pushing the toothpick deeper in his mouth. His yellow teeth became visible under the dry lips, and he wiggled the pick between his molars.

  “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” The man leaned even closer to her. Coyote wrinkled her nose at the smell of old sweat and tobacco.

  “You seem to be a bit slow in understanding the situation,” she answered, struggling to keep her tone amicable. “I’m ordering drinks for my partner and myself.”

  The man shook his head and plucked a sign from the other side of the bar. He placed it in front of her. A leering grin made his sallow face appear even more unattractive. The sign was painted with thick black letters in handwriting so challenging to read it took Coyote a few seconds to realize what it said.

  No collered aloud

  Her first reaction was to laugh; she pointed at the wooden placard and said: “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

  “It means, Missy . . . I don’t serve no niggers.” His teeth clenched on the toothpick and he hissed the words.

  Coyote felt hot blood spread from her ears to her cheeks. It took a lot to anger her to the point where she got aggressive, but her self-control was slipping. She hated that word. Her hand slid toward the pistol that hung heavy on her side. A cool hand touched her arm before she could draw, and she turned to look at Caesar’s calm face.

  “Let us go, Coyote. We are not welcome here.” His voice was soft and kind. Coyote wanted to pull away and turn on the barman. She wanted to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget, to humiliate him in front of his patrons. It wouldn’t be difficult; her tongue was sharp, and as far as she knew, there was not a soul in Indiana that was a faster draw. And yet the dark pleading eyes of the man she considered her brother changed her mind. Her hand, reaching for her weapon, froze in mid air.

  “Please?” Caesar’s hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled gently, urging her to come away. “Let us leave.”

  Coyote shot a look at the barman, who wiggled his toothpick at her. He opened his mouth partially to say something, but something in Coyote’s face, or the way she stood, must have made him reconsider, and he snapped his jaw shut. A voice inside her whispered that she could at least shoot at the sign, blow a few holes in it before they left, but Coyote knew Caesar would be disappointed if she did. This is his fight. I can’t make this about my own pride.

  The hinges of the swinging bat doors squeaked as they walked outside. Coyote’s firm step reflected the frustration she felt. Her heart pounded fast, and she cursed softly under her breath when she walked up to her black stallion, Shenanigans. The longing for a drink was even stronger now, but she wouldn’t be drinking in this sorry excuse of a town. Without another word, she mounted Shenanigans and spurred the large Gelderlander on to a trot. She didn’t speak again until the town was nothing more than tiny lights in the distance.

  “How can you stand it?” She turned to Caesar, who was riding beside her. “How can you stand these idiots? Why wouldn’t you just let me put that stupid man in his place?”

  “Because he was in his place, Coyote.” Caesar sighed and shook his head. “Your actions would not have changed his view of the world. He would have not started serving my kind if you hurt him.”

  “Men like that need to be taught a lesson.” She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring.

  “It is not up to us to punish people for their beliefs, Coyote.”
Caesar pulled his brown mare closer to Coyote’s black mount.

  “Why aren’t you angry about this?” She slapped her own thigh.

  “Will my anger change things?” The calm of his voice infuriated her.

  “Doing nothing won’t change things either, Caesar.” Her tone was more accusatory than she meant it to be, but frustration was her master.

  Caesar leaned forward and grabbed her rein, forcing the two horses to come to a stop.

  He turned to her in earnest. “Coyote, it’s not about doing nothing. It’s about finding the right thing to do. You are a passionate person, and sometimes your anger leads you . . . ” He shot her a half smile. “My way is different.”

  “Your way is frustrating.” Coyote blew a stray lock from her cheek.

  “These men . . . ” Caesar sought for the words, “in that saloon, they have been raised with a certain view of the world. It is a rather destructive view, but not one that can be solved by violence. The only thing that can change our current situation is education.” He patted his horse’s neck and smiled.

  “I know a way to school these men.” Coyote pulled her derby to the back of her head and wiggled her eyebrows.

  “You know that is not what I meant.” His voice was stern, but there was a smile on his face. “Vengeance will not change the path we are on. It will only provoke retaliation, and my people are still outnumbered. Many of us are angry and live in hatred, while others live in fear.” Caesar spurred his horse back into a slow step, and Coyote followed his lead.

  “If we want to change this, the first thing we must do is change ourselves.” He patted his chest. “If we want to teach the white men about our worth, we must first find it within ourselves, not in the opinions that others hold of us.”

  “But wouldn’t anger strengthen your resolve?” Coyote bit her lip, still battling her own emotions.

  “When we seek to achieve equality, anger will only blind us and stray us from our goal.” Caesar’s eyes were dreamy when he spoke, as if he were looking into a future that Coyote couldn’t see. “We must use wisdom and wit to our advantage. If we return ignorance with intolerance of our own, we will only create a war we cannot win.”

  “I still don’t see how your tolerance will change this situation.”

  “The point is that we must learn our own value, stay strong within our own beliefs, and rely on our own rights. We must build and treasure our culture. Only then can we show our true spirits, and through education, not violence, we can teach them our equality. It is not about how others see us, but how we see ourselves.”

  “I hate it when you make sense,” Coyote muttered. “You’re a better person than I am.” She stuck out her tongue to him and tilted the derby over her brow.

  “I do not think your impulsive character puts a value on you as a person, Coyote. My more moderate temperament does not make me a better person.” A large bird flew overhead and Caesar watched it, lost in thought for a moment. “Your impulsiveness serves you well at times, and it is not always a bad thing to respond brashly. It has saved our lives on many occasions.”

  “Well, there is that, I guess.” She laughed. “That twitchy trigger finger of mine isn’t all bad.” She spurred her horse on to walk faster, eager to find a suitable place to rest for the night. There was little chance they would make it to the next town in time, and Coyote suspected they would end up sleeping under the stars.

  She sighed. “If only we had the power to change the world, right?” Her fingers sought a cigar in her pocket, but to her dismay, she realized she had smoked the last one.

  “We do, Coyote. A single person absolutely has the power to change the world. We are like the pebbles that make ripples in the water. If thrown with great force, the pebbles can have quite the impact.” Caesar adjusted his Stetson. “It’s a matter of patience to find out if the ripples will turn into waves.”

  Coyote nodded and stared at the sky. The stars were bright, which meant it would probably be a dry night. It wouldn’t be too bad to sleep outside, she decided, and a smile appeared on her face. As usual, Caesar had calmed her temper.

  OLD MAN ROBERTS

  The sun peeked above the tree lines, washing the land in a soft grey hue. Coyote stirred, pulling the bedroll up in an attempt to block out the brightening light. She groaned softly and her eyes fluttered open. It took her a few moments to shake the feeling her dream—already forgotten—had given her. It must have been a nightmare, because she felt frazzled and a little grumpy. With a sigh, she pushed herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Caesar sat by the fire, stirring something in a metal pot. The strong scent of coffee tickled her senses.

  “Good morning, Coyote. I shall have coffee ready for you in a few minutes.” He never looked up at her, but there was a comfortable familiarity about the situation. Sleeping in a real bed was more comfortable, but Coyote realized she enjoyed sleeping under the stars with her brother in arms.

  “Caesar, have I ever told you you’re a prince?” She smiled and pulled the string from the end of her pigtails. “Because if I haven’t . . . you’re a prince.” Her hands ran through the messy braids, untangling the long hair. Fellow bounty hunters had remarked on her heavy golden locks, that they had to be a nuisance for her line of work, but Coyote never experienced them as such. She’d had long hair for as long as she could remember, and the braids were a part of her. They never got in her way, though she knew well enough that, should she ever get in a close combat situation, the braids would be a disadvantage. Of course, if it came down to close quarters fighting, she’d be at a disadvantage anyway. She wasn’t weak, but she had no exceptional strength or fighting skills. It bothered her, but she had to admit that, physically, she’d be outmatched by most men. Nature was cruel that way. The only thing Coyote could do was make sure that no one ever got near enough for a physical confrontation. So far, her gun skills had not let her down.

  Coyote wasn’t the type of woman who worried about foes who would one day defeat her. When that day happened, she would deal with it or die. Fear would make her less sharp, she believed, and she preferred her optimistic view on life.

  Caesar passed her a steaming mug, and she put her lips to the rim, inhaling the strong scent. The coffee was bitter and strong, but it wakened her senses.

  “Thanks,” she said between sips. Caesar nodded. For a few minutes, they both savored their coffee in silence, while Caesar checked on a tin of beans he had lodged between the coals.

  “We should be at Old Man Roberts’ place by late afternoon if we pack up within the hour,” she muttered, yawning, and tapped the last few drops of coffee from her mug. “We’re going to return his weapon to him.” She stretched her limbs, stood up, and walked to her horse.

  “Good morning, Shenanigans,” she whispered as she rubbed the stallion’s neck, nuzzling him. With deft fingers, she flung the saddle across his back. A quick rummaging around in the saddlebags produced the weapon she had used to shoot her bounty the day before. Coyote admired the Outlander weapon and ran her hand across the sleek chrome barrel. “It’s a shame I have to give this little beauty back.” Her tongue ran across her lips, moistening them, as she inhaled the scent of the metal. “It’s a rare piece, and it did its job so well.”

  “You should be glad that you had the opportunity to borrow this. Finding Outlander weapons is proving more difficult these days.” Caesar kicked dirt over their fire, killing the flames.

  “It really is. That makes it even harder to give them back.” Coyote kissed the barrel and placed the weapon back in her bag. She wrinkled her nose and bit her lip. “I have to admit I hate going to Old Man Roberts, though.”

  Still busy burying the remains of the campfire in sand, Caesar didn’t respond. Coyote sighed and tied the bedrolls in tight bundles. She fastened them to either side of Shenanigans. With strong fingers, she tickled the horse’s long neck, and he bobbed his head in response. Coyote smiled. Like her, the horse was eager to get moving.

  Fifteen minutes la
ter, they were on their way.

  Birds, hidden in between the lush foliage, sang a chorus of shrill notes as Coyote and Caesar rode up. Old Man Roberts’ wooden house lay well hidden between the bushes and trees, only its roof visible from a distance. Coyote dismounted Shenanigans some length from the old man’s dwelling, and Caesar followed her lead. He tied his mount, a sweet-natured brown mare called Opal, to a low hanging tree branch. Coyote didn’t bother to tie Shenanigans down; the horse wouldn’t abandon her for anything. She inhaled deeply, letting the fresh air into her mouth through her clenched teeth, feeling the cold rush on her tongue.

  “Let’s do this.”

  From one of the saddlebags, she pulled a lilac dress. With a soft curse, she took off her bowler hat and her coat, and pulled the dress over her head. It wasn’t modern dress, or pretty, and it was at least two sizes too big, but it would have to do.

  “Where did you get that?” Caesar eyed her with a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched as Coyote held out the hem of the dress, lowering herself in a clumsy curtsy.

  “Does it meet your approval, kind sir?” she asked in her most dainty voice.

  “No, it is a hideous dress and far too large on you.” There was a laugh in Caesar’s voice as he spoke.

  “I got it from Miss Pond,” she said, referring to her silver-haired landlady. “One of her guests left it behind. I don’t think she was too keen on me wearing it, though.” Coyote put her derby back on. “She offered to buy me a proper dress, but I told her I was perfectly capable of buying a dress, should I need to. In fact, I do actually own dresses, but I needed one I could slip over my travelling gear that didn’t have complicated corsets and hoop skirts. This one only needs to fulfill its purpose for a short while.” Coyote shrugged. Lily Pond’s exasperated face was burned into her mind’s eye. The landlady had actually tisked when she tried on the dress for the first time.