//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: Dead-Eye Darling // by totallynotabrony //------------------------------// At first light, Rarity and Frank went through what was becoming their morning ritual. After rubbing down and saddling up, Frank climbed into the saddle and they got ready to go. Of course, it might have helped if one of them had bothered to check the nearby area for indians. There were perhaps a dozen men on horses arranged in a loose circle around their campsite. The riders were decidedly more rugged than most of the people Rarity had seen so far, with darker skin and longer hair. Several were shirtless. Most had decorated their faces with paint. Frank whispered something that was probably a swear as the imposing circle of people drew closer. Rarity felt his body tense as he looked around, trying to keep eyes on the whole group. Rarity had no idea what he was worried about, but realized that maybe she should. What she didn’t know could kill her, and she decided that perhaps she would follow Frank’s lead on this one. Ever the perfectionist, Rarity quickly ran through her plan of action in case she needed it. The shiny guns were holstered on either side of the saddle horn and she could quickly access them. Rarity hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but being prepared never hurt anypony. Well, not the one who was prepared, anyway. The circle of riders had stopped close enough to speak comfortably. Frank decided he was looking at a group of Comanche or maybe Apache. One of them who had more jewelry than the others spoke. “That is a very pretty little pony you have.” Well, that was nice of him. Rarity almost batted her eyes in appreciation before realizing that it would not be as glamourous since her makeup and false lashes had come off. Also, it might blow her cover. “What are you doing out here?” It was not uncommon for at least a few of them to speak English. Frank replied, “We’re just passing through, headed southwest.” That comment did not seem to go over well, but not in the way he expected. Questioning looks were traded around the circle. The one who had spoken glanced in the direction Frank had indicated. “Well then.” None of them had yet made any untoward moves, and Frank grew slightly more bold. “What’s the news? Is there something wrong?” “Strange things.” They didn’t elaborate further, just turned their horses and began to leave. The leader paused. “Oh, and cowboy? Don’t call you and your pony ‘we.’ It makes you sound crazy.” Frank and Rarity stood there quietly as the group rode away. When they were well out of earshot, she asked, “Indians?” “Yes.” “They aren’t nearly as bad as you made them out to be.” “I’m a little more worried about what had them spooked. They know this land; they see things. And if they called something strange, you’d better believe it.” “You seem to have a great respect for a group of people you don’t get along with,” Rarity observed. With an annoyed tone, Frank asked, “Can we talk about something else?” “Well, what else is there? And isn’t the warning of ‘strange things’ rather noteworthy? You said so yourself.” “We can’t exactly talk about something we don’t know the first thing about,” he reminded her. “Fine, we’ll look for clues,” Rarity huffed. “You can ask around the next town we come to.” She started to walk. “I think there’s another coal stop a few miles away,” Frank said. The morning passed slowly, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Despite what had happened, Rarity noticed that Frank seemed a little less standoffish this day. His change in attitude was welcome, although she hadn’t detected exactly what might have caused it. Perhaps that was why their encounter earlier had gone so smoothly - he was just generally in a good mood. Rarity mentally shrugged. Whatever it was, she preferred it to struggling against him. As the sun rose, it revealed that the land was starting to turn more sandy, gradually fading into a more pure form of desert. Rarity groaned inwardly at the revelation but knew that she would not have many problems except having to eat more cactus. She did worry a bit about Frank. Up ahead, there was a glint of sunlight on steel tracks. Rarity traced the rails with her eyes, spotting a few small, rough structures huddled together in the distance. She sighed. It was going to be another one of those settlements. The two of them arrived in town just as the noon sun was peaking. Frank found them some shade beneath the water tank that served the railroad. “I think I’ll go over to the saloon and ask around about Teal Jack’s gang,” he decided. Frank turned to walk across the street but a nicker from Rarity make him turn. “May I have a smoke?” she asked quietly enough that only he could hear. Thinking it was good to keep her pleased, Frank set Rarity up with a cigarette and her fancy holder. Rarity didn’t like him doing things for her. She was perfectly capable of rolling her own tobacco papers. However, Rarity had to admit that in public she had to accept Frank’s help. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Crossing the street, Frank glanced at the horses lined up at the saloon’s hitching rail. Starting into the saloon, he stopped and looked again. The scabbard on one saddle held a very distinctive rifle. He looked at it for a long moment. In the shade, Rarity saw Frank look up from his inspection of someone’s saddle. His brow was creased with concern. She was not stupid, and had already learned to pay attention to the little things. Perhaps, she thought, they had run into another member of the gang. Frank pushed through the saloon door and moved along to the bar. While it would have been effective to stand at the front of the room and look at who was there, it would have also opened him up to the same kind of scrutiny. He sat at the end of the bar and dropped one of the coins Rarity had taken from Clay Dixon’s gear. “Rye.” The bartender picked up the coin and replaced it with whiskey. Figuring the money had also bought him some conversation, Frank asked, “What’s new in town?” “If you could call it a town,” the man replied good naturedly. He checked his pocket watch. “The train is due here shortly, if you’re getting on.” Frank shook his head and the bartender moved away. Turning his gaze as if to follow the movement, Frank glanced down the length of the bar and spotted Thomas Landy sitting there. Landy was a big man who moved with slow, careful motions. There was a half-empty glass on the bar in front of him and a thin book in his hands. He was perhaps the quietest of Teal Jack’s gang, and had also killed more men than any other. Frank only knew him because he recognized Landy’s face from the robbery. The rifle in the scabbard outside was more distinctive than the man himself. Together, Landy and his weapon had killed sixteen men, if the wanted posters were to be believed. Finishing his whiskey, Frank went out the door. Passing Landy’s horse again, Frank took another look at the rifle. It was a Sharps, with target sights, double set triggers, and a long, heavy barrel. Landy did not carve notches in the stock, although that would have been fitting his murderous image. Stories of such macabre decoration were usually embellished, however, and would have been a dead giveaway that someone was a killer. Frank returned to Rarity, noting that her cigarette had only half turned to ash. Quietly, he told her what he knew. Landy was apparently not as much for partying as Clay Dixon. He did not drink as much. It would probably be more difficult to get him alone to pull the same stunt they had on Dixon. There was a slight upside. Landy could not bring his rifle to bear in close quarters, and only carried one nondescript pistol on his hip. But, Rarity thought, it begged the question. Did they need to talk to this dangerous man? Could they not ask someone else where the gang had gone? Frank, however, seemed determined. He began to lay out in his mind the way to go about apprehending Landy. The man was more careful than Clay Dixon and probably smarter. He was also quite a bit larger, so while they wanted to get him in close quarters to dissuade the use of his rifle, too close would also be a problem. Rarity nudged Frank and he followed her gaze across the street where Landy was coming out of the saloon. He got on his horse and turned to leave town. Frank gritted his teeth. He didn’t have a plan yet, and now there was no more time to form one. He mounted up and Rarity turned to follow Landy. She glanced back at Frank, looking concerned. They left town. Rarity and Frank kept about fifty yards behind Landy. Frank let his gaze drift, in case the outlaw checked his backtrail and got suspicious that someone was staring at him. Sure enough, Landy looked back before too many minutes had passed. He seemed surprised at the hat-wearing pony behind him, only looking at Frank a few seconds later. Rarity kept walking along, pretending to be just a regular pony. Landy didn’t look back again, and Frank breathed easier. Up ahead, the trail dipped and weaved, and in the distance there was a dust cloud slowly drawing closer. Perhaps it was a wagon or a few horses riding together. Rarity was trotting now to keep up. They maintained the separation to Landy’s horse, perhaps slipping to a bit more than fifty yards away. Up ahead, a one-horse wagon crewed by two men resolved itself out of the dust. As it got closer, Landy lifted a hand in greeting and the men returned it. He vanished into the dust cloud behind the wagon. Rarity felt Frank shift slightly and heard a piece of cloth flutter out. She held her breath and squinted as they passed into the dust cloud. Visibility was temporarily cut to just a few feet, but as the cloud settled they came out the other side. Landy was nowhere to be seen. Frank took his handkerchief from his face where he’d used it to block the dust and looked around wildly. Rarity turned and they spotted Landy back up the trail. He’d used the cloud to move to the side and let them ride right past. Landy shot them a look and then took off back towards town at a gallop. His pistol came out, and as he drew even with the wagon he fired a shot into the horse’s side. The animal reared up in pain and fear, tipping the wagon and spilling the two men out. A moment of shock passed. Frank didn’t need to tell Rarity to get moving, although he didn’t know if she could keep up with a full sized horse. Far on the horizon, he saw a plume of black smoke that marked the approach of the train. They had been set up. Landy was going to get aboard and had lured them out of town with the intent of losing them. Rarity galloped back towards town, but as they passed the wrecked wagon Frank piled off. Rarity slid to a halt. “What are you doing?” she demanded, not bothering to stay covert. “Aren’t we going to go after him?” “We ain’t going to catch him,” Frank retorted. “He planned this whole thing.” Frank turned to the dying horse. It lay on its side, bleeding heavily and breathing hard. The wagon was smashed, and both passengers were pinned beneath what remained. “We should go while we still can!” Rarity insisted. Frank ignored her, crouching to get his hands under the edge of the wagon. He strained, but wasn’t able to lift it. Shifting his position, Frank tried again but made no progress. “Rarity, help me with this.” “But aren’t we-” Frank gave her a look that would kill a rattlesnake. Rarity closed her mouth and hurried over. There were faint pleas for assistance coming from under the wagon, and Rarity reprimanded herself. Callously abandoning those in need of help was not how the Element of Generosity should act. Finding a coil of rope in the wreckage, Frank tied it to an axle. Rarity thought about using magic to lift the wagon, but while she had fine control and the ability to manipulate several objects simultaneously, raw power had never been her forte. Taking the end of the rope, Frank wrapped it a few turns around the saddle horn. So that’s what it’s for, Rarity had time to note. She backed off until the rope was tight and then threw her weight against it. It was a bit of a struggle, but she managed to lift the wagon enough for the trapped men to crawl out. They were shaken up and understandably unhappy. “Are you able to walk to town?” Frank asked, unwinding the rope. “I reckon,” replied one. He looked around forlornly. “Thanks, I guess.” Frank got in the saddle and Rarity started back towards town. In the distance, a faint whistle cut through the air. The train had arrived. “We aren’t going to get there before it leaves,” Frank muttered. “How much time to we have?” Rarity asked. “A few minutes, maybe.” She measured the distance with her eyes. He was right, they probably wouldn’t make it. “But we have to try.” Frank pulled his hat low and gripped the saddle. “Let’s go.”