The train continued on, and from Rarity’s perspective, it seemed that the ride would take forever. She’d been moved to the livestock car, and the smell was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
She at least had the tobacco and rolled herself a smoke, careful not to drop any burning ash in the straw on the floor of the car. The collection of horses riding in the car all seemed puzzled by her.
Rarity slowly toured the train car, looking for the freshest air. After she and Frank and bought passage on the train, she had been tied like common livestock, but it was easy enough to get the knot loose.
Pausing to tap the ash off her cigarette through a slat in the wall of the car, Rarity spotted a horse she recognized. Walking closer, she saw that it belonged - or rather, had belonged - to Thomas Landy.
It seemed only natural to inspect the contents of the saddlebags. Rarity perused the items inside the one closest to her. There were a few things of interest, notably a shave kit.
Walking around the horse to get at the other saddlebag, Rarity spotted a fine-looking rifle in its saddle scabbard. She bent her head to get a closer look.
While Rarity was distracted, the horse took the presented opportunity to lean down and clamp his teeth on her mane.
“Eek! Why are you-!” Rarity struggled in an attempt to get free, but she had neither the will to tear her mane out nor the leverage to pull away. Remembering the razor in the shave kit, she fumbled for it. Bringing the sharp edge up, she reluctantly sliced off a piece of her mane, freeing herself.
The horse snorted and reached forward again, but Rarity moved away, stumbling slightly with the movement of the train. Grumbling, Rarity gave the horse an unpleasant look and blew a puff of smoke in his direction.
She took the small mirror from the shave kit. A few minutes’ work allowed her to fix her mane, evening it out. It was not the way she liked it, but then, it hadn’t been properly styled since she’d arrived here and been separated from her favorite shampoos.
Rarity stowed the shave kit in her own saddlebags as she felt the train begin to slow down. Looking out through the slats on the walls of the cars, she stared out at a reasonably sized town. Hopefully this was Roswell and she could disembark this dreadful livestock car.
The train came to rest and Rarity retied the rope around her neck to the grommet where she had originally been positioned. She could hear people moving around outside the livestock car. The door slid open and horse owners began claiming their steeds. Frank collected Rarity and led her out of the car.
She was easily the cleanest creature to emerge from the car, having obsessively stayed away from any source of dirt during the ride. Rarity’s bright coat, fancy saddle, and distinctive hat drew attention as she walked through the crowd of people waiting at the station. She couldn’t help but to strut a little. Frank rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.
They walked down the street, heading away from the station. Eager to see anyplace that wasn’t a hovel in the middle of the desert, Rarity kept her head moving, taking in the sights.
There was more civilization here, she saw. A few women were around, and some were even dressed rather nicely. The buildings were no taller than a story or two, but that still showed more wealth and building expertise than in the shacks assembled at coal and water stops.
Frank walked slowly, apparently still sore in his ribs. Rarity had already apologized for falling on him. At least it seemed that nothing was broken, cracked at worst.
Rarity had gone back to looking at the town. This was the best example she had seen so far of human living, and it gave her a better idea of the upper limits of what she could find on this planet. It didn’t seem that they had anything to outdo her own fashion, however.
She was so distracted with taking in the sights that she missed a pile of horse apples in the street and stepped in it squishily.
Frank saw the look on her face and threw an arm around her withers, steering the two of them over to the side of the street before Rarity could shriek in despair. She dragged her hooves in an attempt to scrape them clean, getting some dirt on her but preferring that to the alternative.
“Not sure what the big deal is,” Frank muttered as he watched her wiping off the worst of it. “So I take it there isn’t manure lying around all over the place where you’re from?”
“Certainly not!” Rarity hissed, keeping her voice low. “We have spells for that!”
Frank’s eyebrows went up, but she continued. “And even if we didn’t, where I come from we have running water and indoor commodes, thank you very much.”
“Huh, fancy,” Frank replied, putting the matter aside. Now that they were off the train and out of the crowds, he took a moment to look Rarity over. It was his habit, not trusting anyone else - especially not the railroad - to return his mount to him in pristine condition.
Rarity had grown accustomed to his inspections by now, but it still felt like she was receiving a checkup at the doctor’s office. While she appreciated his attention, it annoyed her that he was still treating her like a horse, as if she couldn’t just tell him if something was wrong with her. She swished her tail in annoyance.
Frank caught the gesture and glanced at her. He moved around to Rarity’s other side and his eyes fell on the rifle she had strapped to her saddle. “Where did this come from? Is this Landy’s rifle?”
“It is. I saw no reason to let it go to waste.”
Frank pulled the weapon out of its scabbard and held it for a moment, his fingers doing as much inspecting as his eyes. It was a fine rifle, he’d known that the first time he’d seen it. This was not a production-line piece, but rather something special. It was a shame that Landy had primarily used it for killing, but that didn’t change the fact of the quality craftsmanship.
Working the lever to lower the breech block, Frank had a look down the bore of the barrel and checked the stamping on the outside. He whistled. “A Sharps rifle chambered in .50-90 is practically a cannon you can carry! This rifle will kill anything that walks on land.”
Rarity looked at the weapon. “I don’t see a reloading mechanism.”
“There isn’t one; it’s single-shot. Of course, with the accuracy and power of a rifle like this, that isn’t a problem. Fellow I heard about named Billy Dixon killed an indian from almost a mile away with one of these things.”
“You’re welcome,” Rarity broke in.
“What?” asked Frank, looking up from the rifle.
“You seem to appreciate it more than I do,” she said, giving him a look. “But I got it for you since I noticed you admiring it back when we first encountered Mr. Landy.”
“Oh.” Frank paused. “Thanks.”
Rarity’s lip twitched but she didn’t call him out on his lack of gratitude. She may have been the Element of Generosity, but she thrived on praise like any soul. Frank did not seem particularly keen to hand it out for just anything, however.
They continued down the street, passing a barber shop. Rarity glanced at it and then took a look at Frank’s face. He hadn’t shaved since before they met, and apparently hadn’t done a good job of it then. That would have to change, she decided.
They passed the sheriff's office. A few wanted posters were on display, notably Billy the Kid. Rarity saw that he was credited with as many as twenty one murders, one for every year he’d been alive.
How horrible! What could lead someone to do that? she wondered. Granted, maybe the charges were embellished, but this Billy or any outlaw like him, what got them started?
Rarity looked again at Frank. He’d put five bullets in Clay Dixon in less time than it took to tell about it. Was something like that a cause for a life of crime? Or...could it be an effect? Frank had never told her about what he did before they met.
She considered it for a moment more and then quietly put that thought away. Frank may not have earned her unwavering trust, but he at least deserved the benefit of the doubt.
There was a two story building up ahead with a sign out front that indicated that it was a hotel. Rarity nudged Frank and gave him a smile.
“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind staying in an actual bed for the night, but what about you?” he asked. “I think there’s a livery barn out back.”
She gave him a look. “Just get a room with two beds. I’ll figure it out.”
Frank stared at her for a moment and then shrugged. Rarity indicated to him which saddle bag contained the money and after collecting some cash he went into the hotel.
A few minutes later he came back with a room key. “Got one on the ground floor, if that helps.”
“Does the window open?”
“Don't know; haven’t seen the room yet.” Frank grabbed his pack off the saddle. “Anyway, I’m going in.”
“And leave me here?”
“You said you’d figure it out. Is that supposed to mean something else?”
Rarity fumed for a bit, but was too proud to take back what she had said, at least not yet. Frank disappeared into the hotel and she stood for a moment, considering her options.
A slow walk around the building revealed no other doors. The windows did open, however, and Frank’s room was easy to find. He had helpfully slid up the sash before she got there.
It was not easy, however, to climb inside, especially with a saddle, but Rarity managed. She made it inside and stood for a moment to take in her surroundings. The room was very small and sparsely furnished. As advertised, there were indeed two beds. That was about it.
Frank had collected a bucket of water before settling in. There was a small bar of soap and a towel. The room contained no facilities, and Rarity wondered if that meant there was a restroom somewhere nearby or if it was all outside. She gritted her teeth. So uncivilized.
It was, however, better than spending another night outside. Rarity had a seat on one of the beds. It sagged under her weight and she frowned. Such a mattress would not provide very good support, although it had to be softer than sleeping on the ground.
Frank shut the curtains to block out a little of the setting sun. Rarity unbuckled her saddle and laid it down, poking through the saddlebags and taking inventory. Shave kit and razor, some money, cartridges for their various weapons, a small penknife, a few other miscellaneous items.
Frank cleaned a little trail dust from his face, using water but not soap. He dried off and headed for the door. “I’m going to go see if there’s anything interesting in town. It’s large enough that I bet there is.”
Rarity arched an eyebrow at him. “And what does that mean?”
Frank raised his hands. “Hey, I’ll take care of myself. It’s just that after roughing it for a couple of days, I feel like a little fun.”
Rarity kept up with her disapproving look.
“I might be able to find out if anyone’s seen Teal Jack,” Frank pointed out. “If he’s a womanizer, I’ll just have to find the right woman. If he’s a gambler, I might be able to find the right players. If he drank, the bartender might remember.”
“And I suppose you’ll have to partake in each of those as well?” Rarity questioned.
Frank shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”
“If you must. While I don’t think I can help with your efforts to drink and gamble, I might be able to help you with the women.” Rarity stood up and brought out the razor. “Come over here and hold still.”