Westward, Tally Ho! Page 11

  The doctor looked confused. "I was unaware that livestock were involved."

  Guthrie almost smiled at that.

  Chapter 30

  For endless miles, it seemed, Clarence and Kate desperately clung to their bare-backed ponies as they thundered across the barren terrain. An experienced rider though he was, Clarence had some difficulty staying astride his slippery mount; often wrapping his arms around its neck and swinging alongside its flank, he struggled to keep from falling off. Kate, on the other hand, fared better. She had ridden bareback before, she said, and she was very good at it.

  Once they agreed no one was in close pursuit, they drew on the hackamore reins and slowed their ponies to a plodding trot.

  "There now." Kate gave her mount a pat on the neck. "Good girl."

  Clarence looked back over his shoulder to make certain no one was approaching. He heaved a deep breath and immediately felt weak all over. "I suppose it will take them some time to retrieve their horses," he remarked. He smiled, proud of himself.

  "That was a good idea." Kate nodded, her gaze set ahead. The hot, dry breeze whisked her disheveled hair across her bare shoulders, covered in dust. "More than likely just delayed the inevitable, but at least we've got some room to breathe now."

  Clarence looked ahead, squinting his eyes under the broiling sun. "Where would you say we are?"

  "Don't know." Her voice was flat.

  Clarence turned toward her, his lips parting without sound. Surely she jested! But the serious look on her face changed his mind in an instant. "You're saying we're…lost?"

  The pony rocked her gently as she faced him. Her blue eyes shone bright as they met his. "Yup. That's about the shape of things."

  Clarence found himself speechless. He looked at the desolation that surrounded them, and he tried to swallow the dry lump in his throat. Already in a foreign land, he was now lost in the middle of nowhere, riding a stolen horse with a woman beside him he barely knew, and with an entire tribe of savages that could top the rise behind them at any moment and come charging down in hot pursuit. It was like one of his worst nightmares—the one where a whole gang of bogeymen chased him into a dark alley, intending to steal his teeth and his liver.

  "Wait now, you cannot mean we're actually lost." He chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it. "We're only a little lost, mostly lost—yes? I mean, you know this area—this is your home, after all, and I'm only visiting. Of course you know where we are and how to get back to town—"

  "No, Clarence," she said with an apologetic frown. "I really don't."

  "You don't? Really?" His voice cracked, and his eyes stung as tears gathered. He clenched his teeth together and blinked until the moisture evaporated. More than anything, he wanted to dismount and curl up into a fetal position, but he forced himself to be strong. Stiff upper lip, he told himself.

  An uneasy silence settled on them, broken only by the monotonous clopping of the ponies' hooves and an occasional snort from one of them—the ponies, that is. Kate stared at the back of her mount's head as she rode, deep in thought, until she cleared her throat and spoke.

  "Out of the two of us, you're right. I shouldn't've been the one to get us lost. But I've never really gotten out of town much, and after gettin' kidnapped by Buck and captured by those Indians, the truth is...there's no tellin' where we could've ended up."

  She glanced over at Clarence without him noticing, then returned her gaze to her pony. For some reason, she felt protective of this boy. He seemed so naïve and vulnerable, young for his age in many ways. Maybe because he was from so far away. Boys became men fast out here in the West, and so did girls—they became women. She'd seen so much in her life, and he so little, by all appearances.

  Once again, she found herself caring about what happened to a man. What did he and his butler have in common that made her feel this way about them? Was it just their English accents? It had to be more than that.

  She cleared her throat again, and Clarence turned toward her.

  "The sun looks to be dippin' down that way," she said, meeting his eyes briefly. She pointed upward and off to the right. "So that would have to be west, right?"

  "Oh yes, of course!" Clarence said brightly. "The sun rises in the east, and it sets in the west—at least it does so back home in Hampshire. I had no idea it did the same here!"

  Kate had to force herself not to laugh, but involuntarily the corners of her lips turned upward. "Well, yeah, Clarence, it does. So now we've got one direction to go by, at least."

  "Quite!" Clarence seemed excited now. He halted his pony and pointed straight ahead. "So this direction we're heading would be south." He swung his pony around and pointed the opposite way. "There's north, and east. Oh, hurrah!" he cried, obviously relieved. "We're not lost, after all, Kate!"

  "You sure?" she asked with a quizzical frown.

  "Quite so." He grinned, cheeks cracking the dust and grime that caked them. "I've learned a few things in school, after all!" He laughed heartily, but Kate didn't get the humor. "No matter, an inside joke, you might say," he explained. "Now then, for us to know in which direction the town lies, we must know which way Buckeye took you last night during your kidnapping. It was north, I believe, was it not?"

  "Yeah, I think so. But so what? He didn't just ride in a straight line, right into those Indians' camp, y'know? And besides, they could've taken us anywhere after that."

  "Hmm." Clarence strummed his chin in thought. "Yes, the thought had crossed my mind. But at least if we continue traveling south, we shall most likely find the railroad tracks. Then all we'll have to do is follow them westward, and voila! The town!"

  Kate eyed him for a moment. The boy's logic wasn't entirely sound, but the last thing she wanted to do was dash his spirits. Nodding slowly, she met his gaze and held it. "Okay, Clarence. Sounds good to me."

  He seemed to appreciate her affirmation. "Alright, then. Let's be off!"

  With light kicks to their ponies' flanks, they broke into a gallop across a flat stretch of terrain as the sun continued its steady slide toward the west.

  Chapter 31

  "Unbelievable." Dr. Grant shook his head in awe as he concluded the examination. "I cannot believe how well you've withstood this physical trauma. It's incredible!" He stared at Guthrie for a moment. "I mean, for a man of your age—and not a single broken bone!"

  Guthrie nodded humbly. "I do endeavor to take care of myself, Doctor. And I believe God must have had a reason to keep me whole—not to be presumptuous, of course," he added.

  The doctor's head kept shaking. "Just look at yourself, Mr. Guthrie! I bet you'd put most of the men in this town to shame." He gestured at the Englishman's bare torso, slim and muscular.

  "I reckon so!" Percy remarked, grinning like a chipmunk again. He gave Guthrie a friendly slap on the shoulder that made the Englishman wince. "So, Doc, is he gonna be okay?"

  "Yes. Mind those abrasions, keep them clean, and get plenty of rest. Your muscles will be sore for a while. These pills—" He fished a small bottle out of his bag. "—should help with the aches and pains. Take two a day, and send Percy if you experience any problems."

  "That's right, and I'll fetch 'im like the devil was after me!" Percy chuckled to himself.

  Guthrie lay back on the pillows and turned the bottle of white pills over before his eyes. "How much do I owe you, Doctor?"

  Dr. Grant clicked his bag shut and waved away the question. "Not a thing. I should pay you for what you've given me."

  Guthrie wrinkled his brow quizzically.

  "Hope for humanity, sir," Grant explained. "That a man of your age could be so physically fit—it's remarkable. Perhaps in the future, every man will be as healthy as you are." With a short bow, he turned to leave.

  "Thank you, Doctor," Guthrie replied, not knowing what else to say.

  Grant smiled, standing in the doorway. "I won't be surprised to find an article about you in a medical journal someday. I believe you've reached a level of health and fitness the lik
es of Charles Darwin could only dream of. It's evolutionary, when you come right down to it. The fittest will survive!" With a nod, he was gone.

  "Darwin," Guthrie repeated with amusement. He listened to the doctor's footsteps retreat down the staircase.

  Percy cleared his throat, catching Guthrie's attention. "Iffin you need anything, my saloon's right next door. Just send one of Kate's girls over, and I'll come runnin'!"

  Guthrie nodded with gratitude, and the short saloon owner quietly shut the door behind him. Relieved knowing that he had not suffered any serious injuries, Guthrie could now look forward to being fit to travel in a few days' time. Until then, he needed to rest.

  Involuntarily, his hand came to grasp the silver pendant he wore around his neck in the shape of a half-heart. On it was part of an inscription. The other part—the other half—had been given to his bride, long ago. He'd slipped the delicate silver chain around her neck and promised that their love would never end. She was so beautiful, so full of mercy and grace, and she'd loved him beyond measure. Despite the appearance of the pendant split down the middle, he'd given her his whole heart.

  Guthrie gritted his teeth and sat up in bed, releasing the pendant as if it had been the source of those painful memories from his past. He stared at the ceiling until the images faded from his mind.

  Setting the bottle of pills down on the lace-covered nightstand, he swung his legs out from under the covers and let them hang over the side of the bed. A bit dizzy, he decided not to stand for a while yet. He hoped Miss Carson would not come into the room at that moment and see him in nothing but his shorts. His Western attire waited for him, draped over a chair across the room. As soon as he was back on his feet, he would get dressed.

  He wondered what his young master was up to. Former master, in actuality, but Guthrie would never think of him in that way. Recalling how Clarence had been so distraught, he wanted to put the lad at ease. Everything was all right, and soon they would embark on their journey to Nevada, as planned.

  Most likely, he is still fast asleep, he mused, noting the time on the dresser-top clock: two in the afternoon. All the excitement as of late has probably tired him. A little rest is just what he needs.

  Chapter 32

  Clarence could feel the dry air parching his throat and sucking the moisture from his eyes under the sun's relentless heat. With no sign of life (besides the occasional horn toad), the terrain stretched out endlessly before them without altering its appearance. The prairie grasses had long since been traded for desert wilderness. Here every rock and boulder and knoll and cactus looked the same as the last.

  Gasping, drenched with sweat and bleary-eyed, he and Kate rode ever onward, both of them seemingly in a trance. Every patch of skin that had been bared in the heat now lay sunburned. Their ponies, reduced to a staggering trot, carried them ever south, but it was doubtful they would make it much farther without water. Undoubtedly the natives were hot on their trail by now, but neither Clarence nor Kate could muster enough energy to care.

  "We need...water," Clarence choked out, his throat grainy.

  Kate didn't respond. She seemed to be concentrating on remaining astride her pony and staying conscious. She hadn't said much for the past hour or so, and Clarence assumed she was either conserving energy or she was too thirsty to speak. Either way, it surprised him when she finally broke the silence.

  "I want to say—" She swallowed with a pained grimace. "I'm sorry for comin' onto you the way I did when we first met. I…didn't know what a fine young man you are."

  Clarence turned to face her. "Thank you," he managed, attempting a smile. "But why tell me this now?"

  She shrugged weakly. "If them Indians get to us before we find water, we could die out here." Again she tried to swallow, apparently to no avail. "And I just wanted you...to know."

  He blinked, stirred by her words. Maybe it was the heat getting to him, but he confessed, "I'm glad you told me—it pleases me to know." He nodded, smiling broadly at her. "I've never had much luck with girls, I'm afraid. If ever I dared to make my interest known...they would never have me."

  "Why?"

  "Oh..." He tried to sound indifferent, the words thick in his mouth. "Too dull, they'd say. A gentleman with prospects...of little interest." He sniffed and stared straight ahead.

  Kate was quiet for a moment. "They're fools, Clarence. I'd have you." Before he could respond, she caught herself and said, "I mean, if I was younger of course and if I wasn't…what I am." She dropped her gaze. "Never mind. The heat's gettin' to me. Forget I said anything."

  Their ponies had slowed to a halt, now side by side. Clarence sat upright and reached over to touch her shoulder, resting his hand on her scarlet skin. She was hesitant to meet his gaze, but when she did, he smiled at her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  "Shall we be friends, Kate?"

  She didn't seem to know what to say. Or maybe it was the heat, affecting her reaction time. She stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

  "Yes, Clarence," she said at length, touching his hand. "I'd sure like that."

  "Palefaces go southeast," the brave observed, kneeling down for a closer view of the tracks.

  Behind him, astride their retrieved ponies, the other Zuni braves and their chief waited, each with red and black paint smeared across his cheeks and a loaded Winchester rifle in his grip. Leaving the elders and the rest of the tribe to break camp and head back to the home place, this band of courageous warriors had ridden out into the desert for over an hour. Beneath the blistering sun, with the hot, dry breeze baking the dust onto their skin, they rode mile after mile. Where their chief led, these braves followed, whether it be to glory or death. They were willing to give their lives for their fearless leader.

  And it appeared they might have to do so. They had ridden their ponies hard, almost to the point of expiration, having wanted to make up for the lead the pale-faced pair had on them, and now the fastest they could get them to move was a brisk trot. Their chief was out for revenge, and he was not to be trifled with. No one had yet dared to bring up the condition of the frothing, gasping ponies.

  "Southeast?" Big Chief Thunderclap boomed. "They must be smarter than they look. They're headed back to their village!"

  "If they return, we will not be able to—"

  "I gave you no permission to speak, Stubbed Toe!" The chief turned sharply on the prince. "You keep your mouth shut until I tell you otherwise!" Big Chief Thunderclap gave his sulking son a withering look before facing the barren stretch of land that lay before them. "We will catch those two pale-faced devils if it is the last thing we do—"

  "It very well could be," Stubbed Toe muttered, rubbing the neck of his worn-out pony.

  Thunderclap heard his son's quiet remark. For a moment, it seemed that he would let it pass, as he often did. Some comments were better left ignored, after all. But then he turned. His brawny arm shot out, slamming a ham-sized fist into the prince's broad chest and toppling him over backward. With a short cry of surprise, Stubbed Toe dropped headfirst from his pony and hit the ground hard, stubbing more than just his toe.

  "Let that be a lesson to you!" The chief waved a thick finger down at his shamed son as the youth slowly rose to his feet.

  "Yes, Father." Stubbed Toe sullenly leapt astride his pony and stared ahead with a stone-cold gaze, avoiding the smirking looks from the other braves.

  Thunderclap belched. "Where was I? Oh, right: —if it is the last thing we do." He cleared his throat. "They must lead us to Buckeye Daniels, for we have a bone to pick with him. And if it so happens that Buckeye Daniels is in their village—" He turned toward his son. "We'll sneak in under cloak of darkness and NAB THE SUCKER!"

  Startled by their chief's sudden roar and wild-eyed grimace, the braves jerked to attention and grunted their approval.

  "We will not give up! No matter what hardships we may face. We will catch those palefaces!" Thunderclap threw up his arms, and the braves cheered, each in his
own way. "We will find Buckeye Daniels." Another cheer. "He is ours. His scalp is ours!" They went wild, and the chief grinned broadly, patting with sudden reverence the X of the Confederate flag that crossed his massive chest and belly. "Let us not forget the chilling words of the immortal Robert E. Lee, and I quote—" He faced the heavens as he proclaimed, "I have not yet begun to fight!"

  Awed by their chief's knowledge of paleface history, the braves looked on in muted wonder. All except Stubbed Toe, who turned aside and coughed something into his fist that ended with John Paul Jones.

  "AAAAIIIEEEEE!!"

  With that bloodcurdling shriek, Big Chief Thunderclap kicked the flanks of his tired pony and led his high-spirited braves onward in pursuit of their quarry.

  "It's Thunderclap, alright. I'd know that get-up anywhere."

  The lynch mob from Santa Fe, as they were collectively known, had drawn rein at the edge of a bluff and now sat mounted, side by side. Before them stretched the barren wilderness, bounded by hills on all sides and baked by the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. The featureless terrain went on for miles in all directions, broken only by knolls and dry gulches here and there. No sign of water. It was rumored that this area would soon be getting the name "The Badlands" on official maps; but, then again, that was only a rumor. Apparently, other parts of the country were in contention for the moniker.

  "They're headin' this way, towards town." MacQuaid held his field glasses to his eyes and gazed north at the cloud of dust they'd spotted earlier.

  "Towards town, you say?" the leader with the fresh rope gruffly ascertained. "How many of 'em?"

  MacQuaid whistled with appreciation, peering intently through the glasses. "I'd say close to three dozen."

  "Armed?"

  MacQuaid cursed and grinned. "To the teeth."