A few hours later, two figures, one mare and one rather large stallion, set out from the cottage of Troubleshoes Clyde, making for Appleloosa. The mare wore a shapeless frock of sorts, which might have once been a tablecloth. The parts of her that showed were colored a mottled sort of green, and her mane was combed as much over her eyes as possible, for there was no way to disguise their color.
Clyde had at first thought to slow his pace, to allow for her shorter legs. But she kept up with his long strides at an easy trot. He supposed a pony like her might take offense if he tried to make it easier for her.
“Sure they’ll be fooled?” Clyde knew it was a silly question, but conversation made a journey go faster.
“Easily,” Daring Do said. “They all have bad eyesight, from an unusual booby-trap they tripped a few years ago. And they won’t wear glasses, because then they would look like the ponies they picked on in school. I once fooled them by lowering my voice and making a beard out of mud and spruce needles.”
Clyde raised an eyebrow. “Yer kiddin’.”
She looked rather pleased with herself. “Nope. ‘Course, I’ll have to be careful anyway, since he might have recently hired more heavies.”
“Well,” Clyde said, “just do us both a good turn—don’t think about not bein’ seen. Think about us gettin’ back from town safe.”
“Buffalo Telegraph?” Daring looked at him with a hint of a smile.
“Just… as a personal favor, alright?”
“If it makes you feel better, okay.” Daring took a long breath through the nose and made to change the subject. “So. Let’s go over this one more time, just to be sure. I am Romaine Roma, here to visit my first cousin Clyde after years of familial estrangement. Our uncle Hoist Haversack has died recently, and I’m trying to get the family to make peace, because I’m planning a big reunion next year. Actually…” A sidelong glance. “What’s the reason for the estrangement, anyway? I know we planned to say it was private if it ever came up, but you never know.”
Clyde said nothing, but stared at the ground passing before him.
“Oh.” Daring frowned. “So, there really is estrangement?”
“Sorta.” Clyde spoke slowly, as if the subject were icy water into which he must wade. “Remember I said I used to have an embarrassin’ reputation? Well, I knew what my kin would think when talk found its way back to them, so I been avoidin’ ‘em for… well, never you mind how long.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Daring said. “Believe it or not, I can relate.”
“Oh?”
Daring took another, longer breath. “My Mom—she’s a florist, and that’s a job that attracts mild-mannered and delicate mares. She wanted me to be exactly like her.” At the word “exactly,” a bitter edge in her voice made itself apparent. “Instead, she got the biggest tomcolt in the history of Equestria, and probably the world. The only question for me was whether I wanted to go on adventures, or write about them. The compasses on my flanks clinched it, and… well, the rest is history.”
“And you spent a lot o’ time thinkin’ about doin’ both those things?” Clyde said.
“Well, of course.” Daring blinked at this question, then regarded Clyde coolly. “And I got to doing them both on my own, with lots of hard work and a little luck.”
“’Luck.’ Yes, I suppose that’s logical enough.” There was no sarcasm nor resignation in Clyde’s tone. He simply said it.
Daring obliquely studied his expression for a moment longer, before a little playful smile began to grow on her muzzle. “So, now that you’ve heard my story, let’s hear yours.”
She was cunning, this mare; with her having set the precedent, he was in no position to clam up. “Well… all right. Cousin Romaine would have to know about my past anyhow.” He made to address Daring eye-to-eye, but his gaze wandered to her chin, where it settled. “All right, here goes. It was a misunderstood cutie mark. I thought the upside-down horseshoe meant I would always be an unlucky klutz. But wouldn’t you know it, some ponies came along who had a special interest in that sort o’ magic. They showed me I could do what I always wanted—performin’ in rodeos—by takin’ pratfalls. Nowadays folk say I’m the biggest rodeo clown in Equestria, though I’m sure they’re just talkin’ about my frame.” He looked up and his gaze followed a little puff of white cloud, which was making good time across the sky. “That’s another thing I learned: When you know where you wanna go, you gotta let the current o’ life take you there. Ain’t no good tryin’ to swim against it.”
Daring gave a little half-smile. “Well, the ‘current of life’ sure hasn’t done me any favors lately.”
“No?”
“After I found the Human’s Hand, the first Equestrian town I got to was Dodge City. I was too worn out to keep flying, so I tried to take the train to Canterlot. But a rockslide damaged the bridge over Ghastly Gorge, and the train had to divert to Appleloosa. I thought I had lost Caballeron miles earlier, but that’s where he caught up to me.” She looked a little bashful. “And that’s why I’ve had to impose on a total stranger.”
“As I say, ain’t no trouble,” Clyde said. “Truth be told, I’m glad for a visit. I went so long without any friends, now I gotta learn how to make ‘em again. And it ain’t easy, ‘cause that little plot o’ land was all I could afford, and that only on agreement with the Crown that I would make productive use of it. So without meanin’ to, I might’ve been askin’ for somepony to drop in some time.”
Daring made an exaggeration of a glare. “So you’re saying, the Buffalo Telegraph did all that to me so I would end up here, just because you asked? If that’s true, I think you owe me an apology!”
Daring Do was certainly unusual, Clyde thought, for usually ponies sought an exit when the talk turned metaphysical. He shook his head. “That ain’t it. Nopony can do that much. More like, all that stuff was gonna happen anyway. But maybe, when you were escapin’ from Caballeron, you had a notion to zig instead o’ zaggin’, and that put you on my doorstep. Ain’t always easy to say how these things work.”
“And it’s impossible to disprove, of course.” Daring made a half-chuckle, but checked herself. “Though, I guess I shouldn’t make fun. I was a loner myself for a long time. But last year I met some ponies—from fans of my writing, if you can believe it—who helped me against Caballeron and, uh, his best customer. Point being, I guess there’s one thing we can agree on: you never stop learning.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Clyde said.
By now, the pair had cleared the forest and reached the outskirts of Appleloosa. Talk stopped as they glanced left and right for anypony who might be on the lookout for Daring Do. But there were only townsfolk going about their business, and the beginnings of the crowd gathering for the last day of the rodeo. The grounds for such were set up just south of town, and Daring followed Clyde to a small, nondescript tent at their edge.
“The performers’ change room,” Clyde said. “We get into our work duds in private, ‘cause it’s a symbolic transformation from our usual selves into our stage personas.”
“I’m no stranger to that,” Daring said.
“Guess you ain’t. Makes sense this ain’t your first time goin’ incognito.”
“That, and when I write, I’m A.K. Yearling. And you can bet I wasn’t born Daring Do.”
Clyde looked toward her, one brow raised. “What were you born as, if I may be so bold?”
“You may.” Daring smirked and flitted her gaze to one side. “But that’s something I never tell anypony. Anyway, I wish I could stay and watch your act, but I need to buy supplies, and I want to scout the town for information. You said your first act ends at one o’clock, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. Cousin Romaine will meet you back here then. Break a leg!”
Daring trotted off toward the main street, and Clyde ducked into the tent. When he emerged a few minutes later, he was no longer Troubleshoes Clyde, but Luggo the Clown, bedecked in all the trappings of any respectable member of his profession: whiteface, frizzy wig, red nose, gaudy trousers, loud bowtie, and outsize shoes.
He stopped short, for directly outside, the Sheriff stood waiting for him. Clyde had barely spoken to Silverstar since his acquittal as a serial vandal, but the Sheriff’s perpetually steely gaze was always enough to put him ill at ease. But this time, Silverstar held his black hat against his chest, showing that he wanted to speak to Clyde as a mere pony, rather than in his capacity as an enforcer of the law.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Clyde,” he said.
“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Clyde said, keeping his voice casual. “What can I do for ya?”
“Well, Mr. Clyde, it seems in a short time you’ve made quite a name for yourself in rodeos—across the nation, in fact.”
“That’s true. I have.”
“Well, a nephew of mine is an aspirin’ rodeo clown himself, and he’s takin’ quite an admiration for yer work.”
“Very flatterin’.”
“It so happens he’s a-comin’ to visit for a spell, and he heard you lived ‘round these parts. The telegraph office just told me he couldn’t make the early train, but he’ll be in time to catch the tail end of yer act, and, well, it would mean quite a lot to him to have the autograph o’ the great Luggo.”
“That’s all?” Clyde said, surprised.
“’Course. I mean, if’n you would be so kind.”
It occurred to Clyde that he might tell the Sheriff all the morning’s events, and gain the protection of the law. But no—at the first mention that a fictional character was real and had sought asylum at Clyde’s cottage, Silverstar would have him detained for his own protection, or at least reprimand him for trying to play a threadbare joke. So—“Would be my pleasure,” Clyde said.
“Thank you,” Silverstar said. “I’ll introduce you to him here, after yer first performance. Good luck out there.” He donned his hat again and excused himself.
* * *
But there was no chance for an autograph. As Clyde was walking back for his break between performances, “Cousin Romaine” darted from a gap between the portable outhouses and the performers’ tent, and despite her relative size, managed to hustle him into a hiding place behind an outbuilding.
Clyde made to ask what the trouble was, but she shushed him with an intense hissing, and looked all around, swiveling her eyes and ears. After a moment, apparently sure there were no spies about, she beckoned to him to lean down so she could whisper in his ear.
“He did bring new thugs. They recognized me. I think I lost them, but the town’s not safe. We have to get back!” With that, she turned and headed for the trail back to the cottage at a full gallop, tearing off her improvised frock as she went.
“H-hey!” Clyde tried to follow, but tripped on his shoes and nearly sprawled. He kicked them off and galloped after Daring. Her head start made her difficult to catch, and as the accoutrements of a clown were not meant for long-distance running, he left quite a conspicuous trail of them behind—first the nose, then the wig, the bowtie, and finally the trousers when their suspenders slipped from his shoulders. Sweat made his makeup run, and by the time he had drawn up abreast with Daring, he was a curious and rather alarming sight.
“Now what do we do?” he said, panting.
Daring, being only slightly puffed, had little trouble answering. “We take your wagon and cut across country! Cover our tracks! They won’t know where to look!”
Despite everything, Clyde managed to muster an annoyed snort. “What kind of mess have you gotten me into?”
“I’ll compensate you! I’m good for…”
She fell silent, and they both stopped short, for there was something before them that should not have been. The path curved around a thick outcropping of young trees and undergrowth extending from the forest, and rising above this from the opposite side was a column of black smoke. Clyde realized it before Daring did—it was coming from his cottage.
“Oh no…” Clyde charged forward, blind panic fueling such a burst of speed as he had never thought himself capable. He paid no heed to Daring’s shouted warning, and in an instant he had rounded the bend.
The scene before him was surreal in its enormity: The home he had built, where he had meant to live out his days in peace… flames pouring out and upward from the windows and door… a great hissing and crackling and roaring… and standing before it, the four stallions he had met that morning, along with two others—all kicking at the ground, braced for a fight.
It is not in the nature of a draft horse to lose its temper, but any creature that draws breath, no matter how peaceable, will fight when its home is invaded. For the first time in his life, Troubleshoes Clyde took leave of rational thought. Regardless of the numbers set against him, he let out a bellow of rage and flung himself upon the villains. With his considerable size, and the blotted remains of his makeup now resembling a savage’s war paint, he was a terrifying vision as he thundered toward them, closing the distance in the time-span of a single breath. He headed for the middle of the group, where three of the thugs stood close together. Despite their initial bravado, they flinched in fear and dodged to the sides as he reached them. But the one in the middle was not quite fast enough: The mass of a draft horse clipping him at a full gallop knocked him head over heels, and he lay dazed and winded. Had anyone present been in a state to take notice, they might have noted that it was almost comical how his sunglasses flew from his face and through the burning cottage’s front door, landing in the very fire he had helped set.
As this was happening, there came from the pathway behind Clyde the sound of a mare’s voice, first shouting, then yelping in surprise and pain. But in the heat of the moment, he did not hear.
He swerved hard left and again bore down on the first enemy he saw—a brown stallion in a red collar. This one, seemingly braver than the others, leaned forward and stomped with both forehooves, daring Clyde to approach. But before Clyde could answer, a lasso was thrown with expert aim from just outside his sight, and roped him about the neck, making him gag and nearly pulling him down. He looked to see a brawny stallion with red sideburns, the rope gripped in his teeth, planting his hooves and another tug. But Clyde was faster, lunging forward to seize the rope and giving a mighty heave upon it. With a grunt of pain, his enemy fell face-first to the ground.
With no time to get free of the rope, Clyde shook himself and again made for the brown stallion, intending to trample him. But no sooner had he reached kicking distance than something wound itself about his hind legs, sending him sprawling.
Struggling to regain his breath, he reached for the thing that had caught him up, and felt a tangle of nylon cords and round iron weights about his knees. Clyde was strong enough to break any normal hempen rope, but straining against these cords only made them dig painfully into his skin. There was a distinctive chiming sound—unicorn magic—and a second cord, glowing red, descended upon him and fastened his forelegs to his hinds.
Struggle though Clyde might, the battle was over. As his breath returned and his peripheral vision cleared, he saw an unfamiliar unicorn approaching him from the right—all dark reds upon darker reds, with one fake-looking glass eye that stared horribly, and one of flesh that met Clyde’s eyes and glared hatefully. In place of a saddlebag, this newcomer carried a naugahyde harness, from which hung more bolas like those he had used to restrain Clyde.
“I see you are well worth your fee, Mr. Gunsmoke.” This was the voice of Dr. Caballeron, who was now strutting into Clyde’s field of view.
“Caballeron, when I get my hooves on you…!” This was the voice of Daring. Clyde could not see her, but guessed she had been caught the same way he had.
Caballeron looked away from Clyde, in the direction of the path. “I should thank you, Ms. Do, for bringing the Human’s Hand out of the desert for me.” He held a little cloth bag up for all those present to see. “It’s already brought me good luck.” With a gravelly laugh, he gestured to his accomplices. “Put her in the wagon. Ahuizotol will pay more for her alive.”
“What about him?” The voice of Gunsmoke was low and mean.
“Bring him along too,” Caballeron said. “Ahuizotol’s vaunted ‘volcano god’ can never have enough sacrifices.”
Clyde slumped back against the ground. There was only one thing left that he could do. He took a long breath, cleared his mind, a reached out a plea from his mind and heart—Help me.
Above him, the column of smoke and ash reached into the infinite heavens.