The Five Dollar Mail (Book 1: The Green & Book 2: Lynch's Boys)

22: Church Buttes

Cover painting by Angela Taratuta. Character sketch of Wash by Melissa Zayas. All graphics by yours truly. To see more of Melissa's work, check out her webfiction series, Three of Swords at http://threeofswords.melzayasart.com/

"And there they are." Saint stubbed out his quirly on the side of the coach and squinted towards the deepening purple of the horizon. The gigantic rock formations of the buttes rose like monstrous black shadows above the plain. "I can always tell when we are getting near Church Buttes."

Wash flexed his back tiredly and shifted the carbine across his knees to a more comfortable position. "Yeah?"

Saint gripped the reins with both hands. The temperature was dropping again since the sun had started going down and it made his bones ache. His overwhelming weariness made the chill feel much worse than it normally would have. "Yeah." he muttered. "About this point in the trip is when my ass really starts to hurt from sitting." He arched his back, stretching, a loud pop firing off along his aching spine.

"Well, lad." Wash admonished him gently. "It doesn't help you stayed up all night. You want me to take the reins?"

"Better not." Saint rolled his head back along his shoulders, feeling tendons and vertebrae grudgingly loosen . "Driver falls asleep, nothing much happens. Gun falls asleep, we get bushwhacked. And I'm fallin' asleep over here right now."

"Why didn't you get coffee at Ham's Fork? You gonna make it to the station?"

"I might make it if you keep talkin' to me. He perked up, reaching for the basket that Lily had given him that morning. "You know, we got biscuits left over."

"Deal me in." Wash quipped. "I dinna know you were holdin' out on me."

"I'd do anything for coffee right now." Saint fumbled around under the basket lid. "Even your coffee. I'd eat it with a spoon if I had to. But I ain't eating or drinking anything at Ham's, have you seen that place? Here ya go." He handed Wash a slightly squashed biscuit. He reached back into the basket and his fingers fell on something small and soft, wrapped up in a cloth. He frowned, puzzled, drawing the bundle out.

"Whacha got?"

"I don't know." Saint laid the parcel on one knee, curiosity making him forget how tired he was for a moment. He carefully steadied the wrapped object against the rocking of the coach and peeled away the clinging fabric. What the...

A small lump of uncooked cookie dough lay in the folds of muslin that had protected it. Lily. Saint stared at the shapeless mass and cocked his head. He felt his face break into a soft smile. Now thats...well, that's just sweet of her.

"What the hell is that mess?" Wash leaned over, squinting. "Is that...?"

"Cookie dough." Saint pulled the lump apart and offered half of it to Wash. "No, really, Wash, don't make a face. Try it."