The pace kept up for the rest of the day. Frank made a point to watch the back trail, but never saw any pursuit. They didn’t want to underestimate Clay Dixon, but it looked like he wasn’t following.
The two of them continued west by southwest. Frank didn’t think the trail had taken them into New Mexico territory quite yet, but didn’t know where the line was, exactly. Regardless, they pushed on.
Rarity had not spent all day trotting in a very long time. She had gone on quests with her friends before, and so knew a few things about pacing. Ironically enough, Frank probably weighed less than much of the luggage she usually brought on cross country ventures.
They made camp that evening and at Rarity’s insistence Frank gathered materials for a fire. There was no wood to be found, but he managed to find something to burn.
Rarity stared at what Frank had piled together. “What are those?”
“Buffalo chips.”
Rarity frowned, but then her eyes widened in realization followed promptly by a nose wrinkle of disgust. “Oh.”
She looked around, attempting to change the subject. “I don’t see any buffalo around.”
“There aren’t many in these parts, really.” Frank sat back on his heels and hunted for the matches. “A lot of them died out in the last few years.”
“What did they die from?”
“Bullets.”
Rarity gave Frank a hard look. He glanced at her. “What? You asked.”
The fire began to grow, and along with it came a terrible smell of burning manure. Rarity gagged. “Put it out, put it out!”
Frank tossed a few handfuls of dirt on the flames. As the heat and light died away, the two of them sat there in the darkness.
Rarity glanced skyward, seeing that the moon still hadn’t risen. “Hmm. I wonder what’s keeping Princess Luna.”
“Who?” asked Frank.
“She is the co-ruler of Equestria and the keeper of the moon,” Rarity explained.
Frank shrugged. An idea occurred to Rarity. She asked, “Who raises and lowers the moon and sun here?”
A long moment passed. Frank’s expression was unreadable in the darkness. He replied, “Nobody.”
Rarity considered his statement. “I suppose that explains why they’re so unpredictable. Really, just letting your heavenly bodies run themselves. I suppose the weather is free to do whatever it wishes as well. Do you really trust nature that much?”
“Not like we have a choice.”
“I feel for you humans, I really do.” Rarity sighed. She tipped her head back to look at the stars. Without the moon’s brightness, the small pinpricks of light were not outshone and the entire sky was decorated. Rarity had almost never been out in the wilds, away from town lights and any other distractions. Seeing the beautiful stars made up for the lack of a comforting fire.
Rarity watched Frank’s head move, looking from one point in the sky to another. She asked, “Are you looking for constellations?”
“Navigating,” he replied. “The sun tells us our direction during the day. The stars do the same at night. You compare them to landmarks to establish a line of bearing.”
“Is that method really so accurate?” Rarity asked, not concealing the skepticism in her voice. “With the wild stars and whatnot.”
Frank moved his shoulders in the darkness. “Left to their own devices, everything moves in a predictable way and has been doing that forever. Some folks say the Earth is a few thousand years old. Some say it’s a lot older, a million years or even a...whatever comes after a million.”
“You sound very well read,” Rarity offered.
“I hear things,” Frank glanced away from the stars. “Not many books out here.”
“What was your schooling like?” Rarity asked. She pressed further. “What did you do before you came here?”
“Not really important,” Frank muttered, barely audible. “The way I figure, you judge someone based on what they put in front of you. People change. Second chances aren’t taken lightly. I never asked about your past.”
That was enough to keep Rarity quiet for several seconds. The way Frank spoke, this sounded like another of his Code of the West guidelines.
Still pondering that, Rarity lay down to sleep. Somehow, Frank had already dozed off. She tried to get comfortable on the ground. It was not a feather bed by any means, but Rarity felt the effects of being on the trail all day, and decided that she’d much rather be sore while sleeping than awake.
They were up again by daybreak. Frank gave Rarity another light massage while rubbing her down and checking for any injuries. She could have reported wounds herself, but appreciated that he seemed to care.
Frank helped Rarity with the saddle. He checked the attached holsters. Rarity slid the pair of shiny pistols out and inspected them for a moment. “These look like a different design than your gun. Are you familiar with it?”
“I know my way around them.” Frank took one and opened the loading gate, working the ejector rod to push a cartridge out of the cylinder. Rarity observed the process and repeated it with the other pistol.
She reinserted the cartridge and closed the loading gate. “Well, now that I’m familiar with basic operation, I think that I should practice.”
The long barrels on the custom Colts made the aiming easier. Rarity held both guns in front of her and pulled back the hammers. There was nothing for targets except scraggly brush with stems no wider than Frank’s fingers. Rarity focused on one a few yards away, lining up her shot.
She hit it with the first bullet. Encouraged, Rarity tried for another farther away. She kept going, extending her range with every shot. The twelfth bullet snapped off a bush almost fifty yards away.
To conceal his surprise at the display of accuracy, Frank offered a box of ammunition taken from Dixon’s supplies. Rarity began to reload, her magic more deft than hands could hope to be. Both pistols had their chambers filled in a matter of seconds.
“Make sure you take care of them,” Frank reminded her, raising his voice to compensate for the ringing in his ears from the firing. “You can pull a knotted string through the barrel to clear it. I’m sure you don’t want them to get dirty.”
“I should think not,” Rarity agreed. Having nothing else to use, she polished the guns on the cleanest part of her coat.
Rarity’s hearing was not too affected by the shooting. Expecting the sound, it had been a simple matter to lay her ears back and take some of the sting out of it. She was again struck by how mankind did not seem nearly so robust as ponykind.
The two of them set off for another day’s ride. Frank had been in this part of the country before and knew a good stopover point for that evening. Working with his landmarks, he subtly altered their course.
“Tell me a little more about this country,” Rarity said, breaking the silence.
Frank looked around. “There’s some ranching. They raise cattle, mostly. Some people mine for minerals - there’s silver west of here in the mountains. I heard that survey companies are beginning to look for oil in west Texas.”
Rarity continued to walk. She asked, “That covers the land. What about the people?”
“Most of us have come from somewhere else. Even only a decade or two ago, there was nothing out here. Now there are businesses and railroads and towns, with more being built all the time.”
Rarity thought about asking where Frank had come from, but decided that wasn’t where the conversation was going. Based on his earlier statements about asking personal questions, he might not appreciate it, either. Instead, she said, “I suppose with the low population, that also means the government is spread thinly.”
“I reckon,” said Frank. “Occasionally you’ll see some soldiers out here fighting indians, but generally the only law is a sheriff or marshall in the bigger towns.”
Considering that for a moment, Rarity asked, “What are indians?”
“Savages.”
Rarity came to a sudden halt. She looked back at Frank. “Pardon me?”
“They aren’t civilized,” he clarified.
“But are they human?”
Frank appeared to struggle with the answer for a moment. “I suppose so.”
Rarity started walking again. “The next indian we meet, I want you to be courteous.”
“You ain’t my mother,” Frank retorted.
“I know that it can be hard to get along with those you don’t really understand, but that’s no excuse to make generalizations about whole groups.” Rarity nodded to herself. “Now, I have no idea what an indian looks like, so you’ll have to indicate them when they appear. But don’t point, that’s impolite.”
Frank did not reply.
The day continued slowly on, the sun rising overhead and then swinging towards the western horizon. The flat, treeless land offered uninterrupted views of the sky. All that space seemed to make the sun move with agonizing slowness.
In the evening, a glimmer of silver appeared and grew into a long narrow lake as they approached. The heat mirages made it seem more substantial than it was. A ring of dry lakebed surrounded a pitiful amount of water. It was still a fine oasis to stop for the night.
Frank remembered the place was called Ranger Lake. There was an old story about a battle in the area. This night was quiet, however.
He inspected the animal tracks around the water, noting their species, both aggressive and benign. Pleasingly, there didn’t seem to be any cougar prints.
Frank and Rarity both had a drink and settled in for the night. The seasonal water had given rise to more substantial plants around the lake, and there was enough to burn for a fire.
Rarity stretched, today more accustomed to the soreness of traveling. She wandered near the campsite, finding a growth of prickly pear cactus. Rarity had never eaten such a thing before, but they looked juicier and slightly more appetizing than the scrub brush. Picking a few of the flat pads, she carried them back to the fire and set about pulling off the large spines.
Frank watched her. “Don’t forget to char them.”
Rarity looked up. “Why is that?”
“The skin has other needles on it that are smaller and practically invisible. Easiest way to get rid of them is burn them off.”
After de-needling the cactus pads, Rarity crisped the skin for a few seconds in the flames. The moisture inside kept them from burning.
Rarity’s first bite was tentative. The flavor and texture was strange and, practically raw as the prickly pear was, not very pleasant. It was better than eating scrub, however.
Frank lay back, preparing for another night’s sleep. The nighttime bugs were beginning to buzz around. The wind stirred. A few birds called.
Actually encountering songbirds out here was a bit unusual, but probably not at a source of water like the lake. His instincts were tuned to listen for sounds that could indicate danger. That could be as direct as the click of a gun’s hammer, or something more subtle like the sudden disappearance of the birds. Many things could kill you, but there were at least as many warnings beforehand.
Frank didn’t think Rarity was attuned to such indications. During the day, her head seldom drifted from their path to take in a wider area. She had focus, but perhaps wasn’t seeing the whole picture.
The more he thought about it, however, Frank realized that maybe he was wrong. The size and positioning of her eyes were different than a person. Her hearing was better, too. She probably observed more than he did.
He shifted slightly, frowning. Rarity was a lot more capable than he was. Frank might need her more than she needed him. The trick was keeping her from figuring that out.
He looked up at the stars for a few minutes before closing his eyes.