Right on cue, Caesar took off his hat and nodded his head with the greatest respect toward the woman. “Ma’am,” he said, his face a picture of solemn humility.
Coyote saw the woman relax. Her shoulders lowered a little bit, and her pale hand stopped clutching the fabric of her blue and white striped dress.
“Yes,” the woman answered, still a little perturbed. “I am afraid we only have one proper guest room left.” Her eyes darted toward Coyote, and her expression softened. “But I do have a room in which my handyman sleeps. There is a spare bed in there.”
Coyote knew she was lying. There were plenty of rooms, just no room for a black man. She was about to tell the woman they were not interested when another guest walked up.
“I would like to check out,” the man said. He spoke fast, and was obviously in a rush. “I know I’m leaving three days early, Madame, but I’ve been called away unexpectedly.” The woman nodded and proceeded to make a note in her ledger. The gentleman handed her his key and left.
The proprietor stared at the key, and Coyote looked at her with eagle eyes, trying not to show her amusement. There was a room that was clearly available, and no one else could have a claim on it because its previous occupant left three days early. Either the woman had to admit she did not want to give the room to a black man—which would be very unladylike of her—or she would have to give the room to Caesar. There was a brief moment of silent tension as Coyote watched the woman decide.
“How convenient for your, ehm, companion,” the woman said with a false smile. The twitch around her eye betrayed her nerve and discomfort. “I seem to have a room free,” she said. “Only for three days though,” she quickly added.
Coyote snapped the key from her hand and shot her an equally false smile. “Three days would suit us fine, thank you.”
The woman nodded and started to write their names in the large ledger behind the counter. The quill pen made a soft scratching sound as she wrote. Coyote was once again aware of the silence in the hotel. While the woman scribbled, Coyote reached for her boots, and because she disappeared out of the woman’s view, the lady bent over the counter to see.
With a hard yank, she managed to pull off her right boot under the watchful eye of the Silver Swan’s matron. She stood up and tipped the boot over on the counter, and a few bills spilled out. A small stream of sand and little rocks followed the clattering coins and crispy notes. The lady took the money between her fingertips and wiped the sand off the counter with a look of disdain, but without complaint.
“The only way a thief can take my money is if I am dead.” Coyote flashed another most charming smile, showing all her pearly white top teeth. She cared little for what the woman thought of her; in fact, she delighted in making the landlady feel uncomfortable. The lady had treated Caesar with disrespect, and that was not something Coyote took with kindness.
The woman returned Coyote’s smile with a weak one of her own. She grabbed another large, brass key and handed it over.
“Rooms two and four,” she said, waving them away with her petite hand.
Coyote’s room was sober, a little austere, but it suited her needs. It was small, with a narrow, hard bed, and had the same freshly-scrubbed scent as the lobby. The sheets were clean but felt a little rough to the touch, and they were stretched tightly across the hard mattresses. There was a chair and a table with a basin to wash.
Coyote threw her stuff onto the bed and sat down. It was crucial that whatever she was going to do, she needed do it fast. She did not know how long it would take for word to get around about her arrival. It was important to have the element of surprise as far as that was possible.
She pulled a little brown parcel held together by red string from her bag. Upon unwrapping it, the parcel revealed a very feminine dress, lavender with a pattern of little white roses. A subdued sigh escaped her lips as she undressed. She peeled off the comfortable, dusty, stained clothing, washed her dirty skin, and slipped into the constricting garment.
Her tired fingers pulled apart the strands of hair that were woven together in the two long braids. The hair felt thick and heavy, and stray hairs slid under her fingernails as she worked it. Some time passed before she managed to brush out all the dirt and tangles, but when she was done, her long golden locks shone like soft silk. With deft hands and the aid of a comb and a mirror, she managed to tame her long strands and create a modern hairstyle suitable for a young woman in town. A glance in the mirror, and she felt content. It was difficult to recognize the person who looked back at her from the reflection, and Coyote realized that most men would find her a desirable woman. At least they would when she was dressed like this, as a proper female. The fabric of her dress rustled as she moved, sounding like a gentle wind that swept over a quiet prairie.
With a soft tread, consumed by the new role she was playing, she walked to room number four, Caesar’s room, and knocked on the door.
“Why, sir, would you be so kind as to let a young lady in?” she asked with a Southern accent.
Caesar opened the door and looked surprised. Seeing her dressed as a woman made the corners of Caesar’s dark lips curl up in amusement, and he pushed the door further open, allowing her to step inside. His room was similar to hers, though not as clean. There was still some evidence of the previous occupant, and Coyote could tell that the sheets had not been changed. Caesar wouldn’t mind, though. A bed was a blessing after sleeping on the hard ground for so long.
“Let’s see what we can find out about our friend, Mr. Westwood, shall we?” Coyote gave Caesar a small curtsy, walked through his small hotel room, then looked out the window onto the busy street.
“That is a clever disguise, much better than the dress you wore for Old Man Roberts,” Caesar marveled, and Coyote bobbed her head at him.
“Right now, it’s more functional for me to look like a proper lady.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I told you I did actually own a dress.”
“I could give you away with my presence,” he said.
There was a pause and a nod. They often parted ways when they investigated their bounty. “We’ll go separately and meet back here tonight,” she said.
Caesar nodded and tipped his hat to her. She moved to do the same but came up empty, reminded of the costume she was wearing. The fabric wrapped itself around her dainty and somewhat painful boots, and Coyote made her rather clumsy way outside to the bustling streets of Angel Camp.
ANNIE
“Look at your dress.” The woman’s voice was shrill and filled with desperation. “That’s the only good dress we have, Phoebe Ann. What am I going to do with you?”
Coyote, who was struggling to adjust the laces of her boots and give her feet some room, looked up as a nearby woman chided a pretty girl of around eight or nine years old in a mud-covered white dress. A tall gentleman holding a shotgun stood next to the girl, his free hand wrapped around the girl’s upper arm. Coyote grinned at the spectacle. She’d had a productive day and found out some interesting information about Westwood thanks to the ladies of this town, so her mood was pretty good.
“Found her in the woods, Ma’am.” He sniffed nervously. “Dangerous place for a little girl.”
“Thank you, sir.” The mother fluttered her eyelashes at the man. She was a handsome woman, but she looked stricken with fatigue. Two more children stood next to her, both glaring at the little girl in exasperation. She squatted next to the dirty child and tried to clean the mud off her dress with a handkerchief, muttering furiously under her breath as she did so.
“You keep an eye on that one.” The man patted his large shotgun. “Next time, she might not run into a stranger as kindly as I am.”
“I will.” The mother grabbed the child and pulled her closer.
“I just wanted to catch the metal puppy,” the girl said softly, her pale cheeks flushing. “He could walk and bark and . . . ” She stared at the stain her mother was working on furiously. “But I fell,” she finished meekly.
“I should have never left Ohio,” her mother complained. “All I asked for was a little help from you children. Your father might get some work in this town.”
“He’s not my father,” the girl muttered. “My father’s in heaven.”
The woman sighed and grabbed the girl’s shoulder. “He’s your father now, Phoebe Ann.”
“Annie, don’t be troublesome,” a girl about three years older scolded. “You listen to Ma.” The dirty girl, Annie, stuck out her tongue, and Coyote hid a smile behind her hand. There was fire in the girl’s eyes, one she recognized from her own younger days. She had been scolded plenty of times for dirty dresses in her youth. She glanced at the girl and caught something in her peripheral vision. When she looked toward the movement, she saw a broad man in an unusual black suit. He had a bald head and a long, red beard. Around his wrist, he wore a curious brass and leather bracelet that had some sort of dial on it. The man glanced around him then turned the dial. In the blink of an eye, his outfit changed to a pair of jeans, a white shirt, and a long, brown coat. A Stetson adorned his previously bare head.
Outlander, Coyote thought. Why change your clothing now, unless you just got out of a rip? She looked around to see if she could find any evidence of a rip, but nothing indicated that any had appeared in the last few minutes. Where did you come from?
She was about to follow him when screams interrupted Coyote’s train of thought, and she turned to find the reason behind them. The people fled in all directions as a large metal contraption came lumbering down the street. From the looks of it, it was a carriage, but this one was made of metal rather than wood. The two creatures that pulled it were not from this world, Coyote recognized instantly. They didn’t even resemble horses; instead, they looked more like a cross between a giant bull and a bear. The coach swung from side to side as they ran down the street at a breakneck speed, metal crashing through barrels, carts, and even porches. Nothing that got in its way was safe. Coyote realized with a sinking feeling that the monstrosity was heading straight for the mother and her three children. She sprang into action immediately, running toward the huddled family.
“Move,” Coyote screamed. The dress she wore tied itself around her ankles and restrained her movements. It was like trying to run with bandages around her legs, and she feared she wouldn’t make it in time.
Coyote leapt forward, just as the rampaging carriage reached its potential victims. She snatched the young girl with the dirty dress out of the way. Something else moved near her, but Coyote was too busy trying to roll out of the way of the metal contraption to see what it was. The legs of the Outlander mounts made the ground shake and she narrowly escaped the gigantic wheels.
When she looked up, the carriage had passed, still running amok in the street. The man who had returned the little girl to her mother had been hit by one of the wheels, and he was crawling away awkwardly, his shotgun abandoned on the ground.
“Someone needs to stop that carriage or people will die,” a deep Scottish voice spoke.
Coyote raised her head, her eyes searching for the man who had spoken, and she saw the stranger with the Stetson and the red beard. He was holding the two older children in his arms, and the mother was hanging from his back.
“How do we stop it?”
He stared at her, seemed to search for something in her face for a second, and then smiled. Does he know me? Coyote wondered. Does every weirdo out there know me?
“You can shoot, can’t you?” He winked at her. He shooed the two children to the side and checked to see if the mother was okay. She clutched onto her offspring, crying. The woman’s once-neat hair was a now mess.
“I can.” Coyote drew herself up and helped the girl to her feet. “But that carriage is long gone.”
“I can get it back, bring it in this direction,” he said. “What I can do is limited, though, and we’ll only get a few seconds once I do.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Shoot those two beasts, lassie.” His grey-green eyes met hers, a mischievous twinkle in them. “Shoot them right between the eyes.”
“Those things weren’t from this world—” Coyote started, but the man held up his hand.
“They aren’t resistant to bullets.”
“Are you an Outlander hunter?” Coyote wondered if she should know the man.
“Of a sort.” His smile made his heavy beard quiver. “Are you ready? We need to hurry before the carriage is too far away.” He looked around to check if the mother and her children had gotten out of the way.
Coyote nodded, pulling her only weapon—a Remington Derringer—from her cleavage. It was the smallest gun she owned, with only two shots, and it felt light and awkward in her hand. She missed the solidity of her colts. The man took something that looked like a sheriff’s star from his pocket and flung it into the distance. The star whirred and whizzed, leaving a long trail of yellow light. It moved with incredible speed and headed down the road after the coach.
“Keep your eyes fixed on there.” The man pointed his finger toward the wall of one of the buildings.
That’s the spot where I saw him before, she thought.
“We have only seconds.” He spoke between clenched teeth.
The words hadn’t left his mouth before a strange, dull light illuminated the wood of the building. It reminded Coyote of the rip she had seen before, only this was different… less obvious somehow. She wondered if she would have seen it had the man not pointed it out. Her gaze kept slipping from it, as if something didn’t want her to look.
Without warning, the two Outlander beasts, followed by the metal carriage, burst from the light, like a dark, cancerous spot. Coyote was unprepared for a millisecond, horrified as the large beasts ran towards her. Then she shot—the little weapon had such a kickback, she almost lost her balance—hitting the first beast right between the eyes. The bullet hit its mark, but the beast kept moving. She cursed herself for having just this one tiny gun handy. If she shot the beast again, her shots would be spent and she’d be unarmed. Coyote realized she had no choice and hoped she could at least slow the carriage down if she shot one of the mounts. She fired again, and this time the animal fell heavily to the ground. The second creature was still charging, dragging his fellow mount with him. To her dismay, Coyote saw that the carriage was not slowing. The weapon in her hand was now useless; she hadn’t packed for battle. If she didn’t intervene, the creature and carriage would crush the red-bearded man, who didn’t appear armed at all. This was the stupidest plan I’ve ever had.
“Run,” she screamed at the stranger, but her words were cut off by a shot. The second creature froze in its tracks, a large gaping wound between its eyes, the coach slamming into it from behind while it fell to the ground. The coach tipped over, crushing the dead Outlander mount underneath. Silence ruled the streets, and Coyote turned to see who’d fired the shot.
In the middle of the street stood the little girl, her hands wrapped around a shotgun that Coyote recognized. Her pale face looked calm, and her large eyes were wide.
“Good shot, kid.” She walked over to the little girl and pried the shotgun from her fingers.
“My uncle taught me how to shoot,” the girl said, her words slow and soft and her eyes fixed on the two monstrous beasts. “He takes me hunting.”
“You did great.”
“You sure did, or I would have been as flat as a pancake,” the Scottish man said. “I did not think this through. Counted too much on that little gun of yours.” He nodded toward Coyote’s weapon.
“I usually come more prepared for battle.” She held up the little gun, feeling a bit defensive. “But I didn’t realize I was going to be in a battle today. This was the only thing I could fit in this darn dress.”
“Well, thank God for this little crack shot.” The man winked at the little girl and ran his large hand across her head. “What’s your name kiddo?”
“Phoebe Ann Mosey, sir.” The girl lowered her eyes humbly. The man s
lapped his belly and roared with loud mirth.
“I should have known,” he chuckled. “Annie Oakley.” He chucked her on the chin. “Keep practicing, kiddo. You’re going to be famous one day. Now go find your mother. I’m sure she’s worried sick about you.” The girl nodded and ran off. Coyote stared after her, liking the girl already.
“So, now we know the girl’s name, I still don’t know yours, stranger.” Coyote patted the dirt from her skirts. “Or, for that matter, how you have so many Outlander contraptions while you seem to be an ordinary human.”
“You have a keen eye, lady,” the man said. “My name is McLeod, Jim McLeod.” He tipped his Stetson at her. “If you don’t mind, I would rather clean up this mess first. It’s bad enough that carriage appeared in the middle of a crowded street. I don’t want people to have too good a look at it.”
“Is anyone in the carriage?” Coyote peered at the metal construction. It had shutters covering the windows, making it impossible to peer inside.
“Doesn’t matter; it needs to go back.”
“You can do that?”
“In a way.” He frowned and looked uncomfortable. Coyote thought of the rip near Sunshine’s house and wondered if this guy knew more about that.
“What are you, Jim McLeod?” Coyote touched the rim of her bonnet, missing the feel of her derby. “You are a human right? Or are you an Outlander after all?”
“I am, Miss.” He tugged his beard. “One hundred percent human.” He held up his wrists, and pulled back his sleeve, revealing the leather and brass contraption she had seen him dial before. He spun a little wheel and muttered a series of numbers into a flat brass plate that had little holes in it.
“Yet you created some sort of rip, and you seemed to know that little girl.”
Jim threw his head back and laughed. “You ask a lot of questions. Not everything that comes from the rips is an Outlander. Some things travel through worlds, others travel through time.”
Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) Page 14
