A horse and a
Colt
by khaleesian
NC-17
The town surprised him. The last white person he had spoken to before he rode north had tried to make him understand that he was headed off into a bizarre form of suicide. Certain death in the wild blue yonder. He would be killed in sundry gory ways and his bones would bleach under the uncivilized Western sun. They only had half a railroad already. Anything farther north was Indian and trapper territory, and might as well have been the moon
But he’d spent a week in the plains, another in the forested pass and another week following a river so full of chalky silt that it looked like milk. Another week in the high country, feeling the rolling hills turning back into mountains under his horse’s hooves. And following another runnel of fresh water had brought him here, back to civilization. Or a town at least. Smoke at least.
A cluster of homes, maybe fifty in all, were scattered over the gentle hill like freckles across a child’s face. The main street was set perpendicular to a stream, punctuated by several two- story buildings and a few with false fronts. Three twists of road, almost towpaths, curved off from it. A hitching post and trough edged the end of the street nearest him.
He dismounted and stomped his feet, trying to shake out that odd, numb feeling that followed a full day in the saddle. He tied Rabbit to the post and pumped a good foot of water into the trough for her. She paused a moment to look at him gratefully before she lowered her dusty head to slurp at the well water. He dipped out a handful for himself and splashed two more handfuls over his face. He turned slowly, scrubbing at his face with his neckcloth, and surveyed the short street.
It was quiet in the noontime sun, but there were people moving around. A swaying sign announced a general store. An official-looking house rose up behind it and what was unmistakably a saloon hulked behind that. He shrugged and looked down at himself, noting that his clothes were muted with dust.
A cluster of women was crossing the street, quietly clucking, like caged doves. He lowered his head and tried to watch unobtrusively as he strode slowly toward them. He’d thought for a moment that they were Indian women, got up to look respectable in skirts and corsets but a longer look made him wonder. They had the same high cheekbones and exotic cast to their features as the native women he’d seen, but their skin was paler and their eyes were almond-shaped. Then it came to him: Celestials.
He’d read a few pulp stories
about the
Brian was just opening his mouth and lifting his hat to greet them when he noticed that the ladies weren’t alone. They were flanked by a tall, handsome man who was looking straight at Brian, obviously not pleased. Another shorter man was regarding Brian with eyes as bright and hard as buttons. As the crowd of women moved up the two steps into the store, the shorter man lounged back and hawked a gob of spit right between Brian’s boots. Then both he and the tall man followed the women inside.
In the space of a moment, Brian’s excitement turned to anger. He felt pretty sure that that particular gesture wasn’t meant to be friendly. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he had leaped up to the first step of the store and was reaching for the swinging door. Before he touched the wood, a hand shot out and grabbed his elbow.
“You’re about to make a mistake.” The voice was friendly, but firm. The hand on Brian’s arm was also friendly, but with a hint of strength in the grip. Brian whirled angrily and got another surprise.
The man who regarded him had a round, affable face with a tiny moustache and beard that made his lips look like he was just about to smile. At that moment, he did smile and the gleam of white teeth in his dark face made him handsome. Brian had seen many dust-coated faces like that over the past year. Usually on the wrong side of his bayonet. But this Mexican didn’t seem to bear him any ill will. He smiled again at Brian’s bemusement.
“Tran’s not a good enemy to make on your first day in town,” the Mexican continued.
“Tran?” Brian wanted to be polite, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.
The Mexican inclined his head at the shop. “John Tran and his bevy of beauties. And his cousin who never talks. New folks who get on their bad side don’t get to stay long. And they don’t always get to choose the way they leave town, either.”
For some reason, even though the
Brian couldn’t say anything to that. Somehow, he couldn’t help but like this fellow with his bandolero, brown hat and easy smile.
“I’m sorry, Mr.?” Brian asked. “I didn’t catch your name.”
The Mexican grinned and extended his hand. “Mr.? Hell, don’t bother. I can’t pronounce it. Call me Hector.”
Hector turned off down the street and beckoned Brian along. “Come on, you can buy me a drink and I can tell you what’s what around here.”
“Thought advice was free,” Brian joked and caught a flash of appreciation from Hector’s shadowed eyes.
“Advice is free,” Hector sighed. “But good whiskey isn’t.”
Hector led him up the main drag, indicating points of interest with a nod or a jut of his chin. “There’s Morgan’s boarding house, she’s a widow, nice, if you can afford it. There’s the Golden Blossom, our friend Tran’s place. Again, very nice, if you can afford it and keep your nose clean. I never drink there.” Hector winked.
“Sometimes you sleep there?” Brian said, trying to be witty. He felt gratified when his new friend grinned.
“There’s the school for the miners’ kids. Simpson’s feed and dry goods. That’s the old church. We don’t have a preacher anymore. You preach?”
“Uh, no.” Brian shook his head. “Never.”
“Shame,” Hector said seriously. Then they both laughed.
Hector turned around and pointed back down the hill. “See the edge of that lot? There’s the sawmill. Beyond that, the slaughterhouse.” He turned back around. “Up here’s the smithy and Mia’s.”
“Who’s Mia?”
“Why don’t you come inside and find out?”
It seemed an eminently sensible suggestion on the face of it, but Brian paused on the narrow landing of the nondescript clapboard building nonetheless. Things were happening so fast all of a sudden. He hadn’t seen any humans for over a month and now suddenly, he was in a bustling village, being hit up for a drink. It was a lot to digest after all these days of empty land and endless sky.
He ducked inside and the light cut out abruptly. The room was full of the smell of wood, all the pine boards slowly drying and filling the air with their distinctive smell. Wood mixed with whiskey, in a pleasant counterpoint. It was very clean and seemed to be larger inside than it seemed on the outside. There was a rough-hewn bar with bottles on one end, the side closest to the windows. The other side of the bar held dried goods and other essentials. A couple of tables were dotted around the windows. Only one of them was occupied by an older, bearded man who appeared to be asleep.
“Mia?” Hector called gently.
Brian shifted his weight as the woman who appeared from the dark side of the bar came into view. Her dark hair was glossy, looped up around her delicate ears. Her face was perfectly oval and seemed to glow in the dim light. Finding someone this refined and feminine in this dusty, redneck town after all his war-like pursuits, made Brian feel far too large for his skin. As an afterthought, he pulled his hat off and tipped it onto the bar, next to Hector’s.
“Good morning, Hector,” She smiled at both of them, but didn’t extend her hand. Hector introduced Brian and she acknowledged him with a grave nod. “What will you boys have?”
“The usual, Miss Mia,” Hector shoved himself up onto a stool.
She turned to Brian expectantly, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Hector grinned.
Mia tilted her head and said, “You look hungry.”
Brian ducked his head a little. It had been so long since he’d felt the pleasurable warmth of womanly concern that he didn’t really know what to do. “Yes ma’am, I could eat.”
“What’ve you got that’s good, Mia?” Hector rubbed his hands together.
She held up one small restraining
hand in the doorway to the kitchen. “
Hector glanced at him and Brian nodded. “That’ll do for me fine.”
****
With a snoot of eye-watering whiskey and a full meal under his belt, Brian felt almost ten feet tall. Mia was not only beautiful, but indulgent, so he and Hector had already managed to drink most of Brian’s meager money away.
Brian never knew what made him look out the door at that moment. He’d been joking and laughing with Hector, then the shadows shifted as someone walked past the windows. He’d looked over and then the world shifted too.
The man was like an engraving of a statue in a book. Brian had never seen anyone living looking like that before. He’d shaved his head down to the scalp, like an Indian brave and he was shirtless. Heavy features of no easily-discernible race. Sweat sparkled off his temples, his shoulders. He glowed golden, in the sunlight as he kicked lightly at the door of the building opposite, loaded with armfuls of what looked like pig iron. It was a lot to carry. Brian watched the outline of muscle swell and bunch across his back, hypnotically.
Brian realized that he’d been staring for an uncomfortably long time. He snapped his eyes forward and groped for the bottle to refill Hector’s glass. The man came back outside to prop the door open. He filled the doorframe easily.
“Who’s the big half-breed?” Brian nodded at the window, casually.
Hector turned to look and then looked back at Brian askance. “Don’t mean to tell you your business, but I would kinda be leery about throwing words like ‘half-breed’ around.”
Brian felt stung for a moment, then demurred with a shrug, “So tell me his name and then I won’t have to.”
“That’s Dom.” Hector pointed outside. “That’s his smith. This is his bar.” Hector pointed at Mia’s back. “That is his sister.”
Brian took a deep drink. “Man’s got a lot of things.”
Hector shook his head and
shrugged. “He’s earned ‘em.”
To be continued...