A rather young lad sat curled up on the side of the road. His back was against the front wall of a large theater and he held his knees to his chest. He stared into the clear night sky full of stars and with every breath, frost floated from his lungs and his whole body shivered. Passersby walked on as if they didn't notice the boy. He was nineteen at the time, but his frail condition could have fooled anyone into thinking he was a child.
The young man had no one and no place to go. His clothes were simple rags that barely fit and his shoes were made of woven sacks he stole from a bread stand; the bread kept in them was long ago consumed. The boy wanted to ration it out for himself, but his greed got the better of him—he couldn't help but scarf it all down at once. As the boy sat, teeth chattering and fingernails blue, people began trickling out of the theater. Single persons became couples which turned to crowds and masses pouring from the theater's doors.
The boy enjoyed the theater, or at least the outside of it. It was one of the only buildings in the city that kept its lights on past curfew. Who knew that the rapid expansion of new technologies would cause a regional power shortage? The lights made the boy feel warm and reminded him of the morning sun which he felt so lucky to see each dawn. The theater was also his best bet for finding sympathetic saps willing to throw a few pennies his way out of guilt. But as usual, the moviegoers went on their ways without paying much mind to the young man.
Most people tried to pretend that the boy wasn't there, but their swift glances were more than enough confirmation that they knew and that they chose to ignore a practical corpse. That night, however, the young man's life would change forever. All he could see was a vague figure—a man, he could tell—wearing a heavy coat and a wide-brimmed hat, all black. Something stuck out from his mouth: a toothpick the boy thought—or maybe a cigarette?—but either way, thin clouds blew from his grinning mouth when he exhaled.
"What's your name, son?" the man asked in a casual tone. His voice was almost a whisper, but still sounded as though it was the man's natural speech. The boy's gaze slowly moved from the stars to the shaded figure. He opened his mouth and his dry lips cracked after being still for so long.
"Arthur," the boy squeezed out.
"Do you have a last name?" the man asked.
"Ray," the boy complied. The man knelt down next to Arthur and commented on the beauty of the night sky without the crowding of artificial lights. The man draped his heavy coat around the young man and they sat on the side of the road for a few minutes. Eventually, an officer found the pair and informed them that it was passed curfew.
"My apologies," the man said standing. "I was enjoying the theater and got distracted by the beauty of the sky on my way out. Here's my ticket." The officer approved of the excuse and urged the man to hurry home.
"Right away, officer," the man said. He then turned to Arthur. "We best be getting home, son." Arthur stared at the man but didn't move or speak. "You do want to go home, don't you?" the man proposed. Arthur stood and followed the man back to a hotel where he agreed to be the man's adopted son. The man explained that he did not live in the city, so the next morning they journeyed south to a little town called Dry Creek. For several years, Arthur stayed with the kind theatergoer who took him in helping around the man's ranch and learning valuable skills that any man should know.
Eventually, however, the fantasy had to end. One day, the mysterious man vanished without a trace leaving Arthur once again all alone—though by that time, the man had given Arthur Ray a new name: Curtis Conrad. While investigating the ranch, Curtis found only a single note by the stable which stated that the lone horse left inside was a gift to Curtis. Opening the stable doors revealed a glistening silver stallion made entirely of metal. Even then, Curtis never learned the man's name.
***
Curtis awoke to find the sun's rays barely revealing themselves over the horizon. He slowly stood minding his bandaged bullet wound and began preparations for heading into town. Curtis yanked the drapes from his metallic steed before rewrapping it so the tears didn't interfere with the disguise. He rounded up his dinnerware and knapsack, then urinated on the smoldering remains of his campfire before kicking the pile of ash away with his boot.
Even though it was full of bullet holes, he flung his cloak over his shoulders and mounted his horse as the sun finally showed itself. Before riding off, he studied the wanted poster he kept in his pocket. A vague masculine figure wearing all black was pictured along with the name and bounty. "Wanted: DEAD or ALIVE" it read. Curtis sighed.
Where did you go? he thought.
Within the hour, Curtis arrived in a new town both in the sense that he had never visited the locale before, and that it was only recently established. The sign at the edge of the town's limits read "Welcome to Coyote Run" in bold, golden letters. Even early in the morning, the town was bustling with busybodies shopping, going to and from church, gambling, and day drinking.
Finally, Curtis thought. A crowded town to blend in with. He rode his horse at a steady pace through town keeping an eye out for authorities, and a grocery store. He was fairly certain that word would have traveled from Sunnyville to neighboring towns by then, but as long as he kept his hat low and didn't cause a scene, the larger population of Coyote Run should allow him to slip by unnoticed.
"Oof!" a voice cried out followed by a hard thud. Curtis's horse stopped as Curtis looked ahead to see who was blocking his path. A young girl—Curtis guessed ten to twelve years old—sat on her rear rubbing her lower back in front of the Outlaw. Curtis watched her play out the injury for a few seconds before saying "Gotta watch where your goin' little miss." He spurred his horse, but before it could trot away, the girl stood and blocked Curtis's path again.
"Wait a minute," she said with puffed cheeks and a stern expression. "You just hit me! Don'tcha think you should be compensatin' me somehow?" She rubbed her thumb against her fingers on one hand. Curtis chuckled.
"Yeah, right," he said. "I was a kid once, too, y'know. That ain't gonna work on me." He tried riding away once again, but for a third time, the girl blocked his way.
"Where do you think yer goin'?" she asked with a raised hand. Curtis's horse exhaled onto her palm. "Don't go thinkin' this is just some lazy cash grab I've got goin' on. I could charge you with a serious offense, ya know, should I decide to get the authorities involved. It is my institutional right." Curtis stared at her with slight irritation.
"Do kids your age normally know all these big words?" he teased. The girl stomped a foot and crossed her arms.
"I'm fourteen years of age," she asserted before tacking on, "Old man." Curtis's brow twitched.
"I'm not that old," Curtis retorted. "I just haven't slept in a real bed in days. So, if you'll excuse me, missy, I'd like to find a place offering mattresses and pillows for rent so I don't have to sleep on the sandy ground of the desert again tonight."
"Hey!" the girl shouted. "I'm not lettin' you go anywhere without payin' me reparations." Curtis sighed both at the proposition that this girl could stop him from doing anything and at the feeling that she was trying to show off her vocabulary.
"Listen," Curtis sighed again. "I don't have much coin to my name to begin with. I wouldn't be able to feed myself if I just gave away money to any brat on the street."
"Well, I'm not just any brat," the girl explained. "I'm homeless. So, you've gotta feel at least a little sorry for me." She gave her best attempt at puppy dog eyes.
"Ah, I see," Curtis said. He thought for a moment before asking, "What's your name, little girl?"
"Mabel," she answered.
"Well, Mabel," Curtis said. "Get lost." He spurred his horse once more and began heading toward the center of town. Mabel called out from behind him.
"Can't you at least spare me a dime for some bread?" she begged.
"You could make do with a few pennies," Curtis replied. "But not from this cowboy!" Mabel pouted for a moment before disappearing into the crowded streets. Curtis found himself surrounded by peoples of all kind and likely from all over the Valley Strip. Every way he turned he saw men, women, and children of all colors and ages wandering around with their own business and dressed in all manners of fashion including similar garbs to Curtis's.
I really do blend in here, Curtis thought relieved. Just in case, Curtis hopped off his horse and led it around by the reigns. He stopped by each store he came across picking out breakfast for himself before grabbing canned foods and nonperishable meals for later, as well as ammo for his two revolvers. Without much thought, Curtis spent several hours getting to know the town and what it had to offer. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to buy too much on the side of luxury with the sparce coin in his purse, but he had an idea. On the outskirts of the market zone, several saloons dotted the sides of the road. The saloons themselves weren't the target, though.
In every busy town, the space around a saloon is just as sleezy and crowded as the interior. Curtis strolled from bar to bar scoping out the crowds to find what he hoped would be an easy win. All kinds of games were played all around town from chess to dice, cards to horseshoes, all of them coming with a chance to win coin, assuming the player contributed to the pot, that is. Curtis had only four dimes to his name, but he was confident in his skills at street poker, and money wasn't the only thing he hoped to win.
Keeping an ear on the crowd gave Curtis some valuable information such as which individuals were betting possessions other than money for one reason or another. After spending over an hour hopping in and out of games, winning some and losing others, Curtis found his primary target.
"Tell you what," Curtis proposed. "I noticed you have a room key for that inn 'cross the way. Offer it up and I'll wager all the money you've lost plus some."
"You crazy?" the man asked baffled. "I wouldn't have a place to sleep tonight if I lost. And I wouldn't be able to pay for another room. Why can't you just buy one for yourself now?"
"I've got some financial goals I'm workin' toward," Curtis replied. "So how about all your money plus fifty percent?" The man sighed as the crowd urged him to go for broke. Curtis waited patiently for the man to agree and the next hand was dealt.
"What?" Curtis shouted after his opponent revealed a straight flush to his four-of-a-kind. The man seemed bewildered at his own luck on the final hand as the crowd cheered and pushed Curtis around playfully, but still quite roughly. Curtis's face sunk into his hands. He was back down to ten dimes; still some solid coin, but change compared to what he just had minutes ago. While Curtis sulked at his loss, a certain young girl scoped out the outer ring of the crowd.
Mabel walked barefoot—having left her shoes hidden behind some barrels in a nearby alley—and occasionally performed a convincing cough to gather the attention of those around her. She held out a dirty hand to anyone who glanced her way and said she was terribly sick to anyone foolishly curious enough to engage her. She received only good wishes from most, but an occasional sucker would shell out a penny or two for the seemingly desperate little girl. She was just about to move on to another crowd when the intensity of that particular gathering captured her attention.
Mabel pushed through the crowd to find Curtis at the center of it all, still in depression about his loss. His opponent cheered and danced with the crowd. Mabel grew furious thinking Curtis had lied about having little coin for himself earlier and believing him to just be another selfish gambler. She contemplated the idea of snatching Curtis's coin purse while he was pining his former riches, but before she made the decision to act, Curtis stood and approached the man who beat him.
"Hey," he said just loud enough for the man to hear him over the roaring spectators. "Let's go another round." The man laughed.
"Are you crazy?" he shouted. "I'd be an idiot for playing another round with you! I just got lucky on that last hand; you beat me senseless the entire game until the end!"
"So, your lack of sense should tell you to play another," Curtis pleaded. The man continued laughing. "Come on, I won't even ask for money. Wager the room key again; you have plenty to buy another if I win."
"You are crazy," the man stated. "You have enough for a room in that inn; it's not that fancy. If you're desperate enough to beg me, then your financial goals shouldn't matter as much as a night's sleep in a warm, cozy, dimly lit room on a soft, blanketed, and oh so comfortable bed."
Curtis's hat sat low over his face. He wasn't really that desperate, but he didn't want to spend his money at an inn, either. He exhaled slowly and drowned out the noise of the crowd around him. He kept his breathing steady and focused on the man in front of him.
"I'm out of here," the man said. "Good luck with your goals and whatever." As the man turned to break through the crowd, Curtis spoke in a calm tone, but loudly enough for the man to clearly hear his voice over the surrounding people.
"I implore you, sir," Curtis started. "Out of the spirit of the game, join me for one more round." The man stopped and slowly turned to meet Curtis's eyes.
"You aren't goin' to give this up, are ya?" the man asked. Curtis grinned. "Well, I must be feelin' mighty generous today. Fine," the man said. "You wager the rest of your coin, and I'll bet you this here room key." Curtis agreed and another hand was dealt. It wasn't a very flashy win, but a flush over a three-of-a-kind will do it. The man begrudgingly handed Curtis the key to his room at the inn, but wasn't too disappointed overall with his winnings. Curtis thanked him for his generosity, and they both parted from the crowd.
Curtis wasn't too excited about his win, but was willing to take what he could get. He was too exhausted from what he'd done in town already to gamble anymore, so he wandered away from the gamblers to explore Coyote Run a bit more. As he walked, he stopped to ask locals about the man on the wanted poster in his pocket, too, before settling in at the inn. He targeted that inn specifically due to its private stable pens so he could store his horse without having to worry about any curious stable workers handling it for him. It wasn't long into his exploration that Curtis was caught by a familiar voice shouting at him. He turned around and found Mabel glaring up at him using one hand to block the sun from her eyes.
"'Not much coin to my name,' huh?" she spat. "Stupid, greedy old man." She kicked Curtis's shin. He grunted in pain and clutched his leg. Mabel crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks again.
"Hey!" Curtis shouted. "You don't go around kickin' people, especially adults! Now get out of here; I'm not givin' you any damn coin. What I have is all I have, so leave me be."
"You're sure no philanthropist," Mabel said. "You do have a gambling problem, though." Curtis shook his head.
"No," he defended. "Just because I gamble doesn't mean I have a problem."
"It's a pretty unreliable way to make money. You could have paid for your own room, but your greed got the better of you. You just had to rob that man naked." Curtis's expression fell from frustration to annoyance.
"You listen here, little miss whatsyername—."
"My name is Mabel."
"Whatever; don't care. You're just a kid, so you don't understand too much about money yet. Plus, you're homeless, so you double don't know a thing about money or what adults choose to do with it."
"I'm much more intelligent that you think, mister."
"No. I think you think that you're more intelligent just because you know some big-kid-vocab words."
"I am a big kid; I'm fourteen!"
"Like I said, I don't care. Now if you'll excuse me," Curtis straightened himself after confirming that his leg was okay, "I have stuff to do, so take your dirty little feet and get 'em movin' the other way." Curtis turned and began walking toward the less crowded business and residential zones of Coyote Run, but Mabel didn't give up her pursuit.
"What kind of stuff?" she pried. "More 'adult' activities?"
"It's none of your business," Curtis responded. "Now go away." But Mabel followed. Curtis kept trying to zigzag his strut so his horse would always block Mabel's path to him, but her thin structure allowed her to nimbly cross under the horse's belly and stick right by Curtis's side. Curtis did his best to ignore the little girl while asking streetwalkers and business owners about the man on the wanted poster, but Mabel was becoming increasingly annoying. He found himself giving up after only twenty-or-so minutes of questioning and confronted Mabel in front of a bookstore.
"Just stop, okay?" Curtis shouted and threw his arms out. "You're pretty irritatin', but I'm even more stubborn. I'm not givin' you a single penny no matter how much you whine and beg. If you want better chances, go find a theater if this town even has one. That's where the rich folk hang out." Curtis worried little about who paid attention to a man yelling at a homeless little girl, but unbeknownst to both he and Mabel, a particular pair of eyes was watching their dispute unfold. "Now, scram before I treat you like the child you're behaving like and give you a proper spankin' before droppin' your ass in the dirt."
"Now that is no way to talk to a poor little girl," a voice called from across the street. Curtis turned from Mabel to see who decided to scold him and forgot all about his annoying follower upon catching site of Nathan "Sly" Bowman with one of his seven-shot revolvers already drawn. "'Bout time I caught up to you, Dawn."
Curtis clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his horse's reigns before the rest of his body tensed up. Before he could think, his body moved just as Sly fired a bullet at him. Curtis took cover behind his horse before looking around to find Mabel already gone, most likely having scurried away at the sight of a gun being pointed in their direction. The glass of the bookstore's front window shattered and frightened the patrons inside. Curtis poked his head out from behind his steed and called out to Sly.
"Are you crazy, Sly?" he yelled. "You could've hit anyone with that bullet! Didn't you notice a little girl standin' next to me?"
"Well, aren't you so high and mighty?" Sly replied still aiming his revolver toward Curtis. Residents of Coyote Run began fleeing the scene and calling for police.
I have to end this quick, Curtis thought. He commanded his horse to charge at Sly as a distraction. Sly stood strong just as before and resisted the urge to fire more bullets at the metal stallion.
"I'm not scared anymore," Sly shouted. "I don't know what that horse's deal is, but it won't get the better of me again!" Sly side-stepped out of the way as the horse sped past, but he didn't notice Curtis hot on its trail. Curtis tackled Sly to the ground and knocked the Ranger's head into the front porch of the building he was situated in front of. Sly recoiled in pain and released his gun. Curtis picked it up before Sly had the chance to recover and smacked him across the cheek with the butt of the revolver. Sly yelped and gave Curtis an opening to confiscate the second revolver on Sly's belt.
"I still don't really like these things," Curtis said as his horse circled back and stopped by his side. "But I'm taking the rest of your ammo." Curtis emptied the revolvers and stashed the bullets in the bundle on his horse. "I'm not gonna be your big break, Sly. Give up this chase." Curtis swung himself onto his horse's saddle and turned to flee just as more voices called to him.
"Stop right there!" the police commanded. "Off the horse, then don't you move!"
Damn, not good, Curtis thought. This is gonna be tough to get out of. Sly shakily helped himself to his feet with the support of the railing around the porch he was next to and raised his hands into the air.
"I'm a Ranger, officers," Sly replied to the police. "This man is an Outlaw. I'm trying to turn him in!"
The officers began their approach and replied, "We were told a well-dressed man fired a gun at a shady-looking figure. You're both under arrest!"
"What?" Sly exclaimed, obviously distraught that his plan failed. Curtis hesitated no longer and turned his horse away from the police. The police shouted as Curtis raced away from the scene and a whistle blew signaling for other officers to pursue him on horseback. Curtis had a head start, though, so he managed to briefly escape the police's watchful eyes, but anybody who saw Curtis could have easily given directions to the police, so he had to keep moving.
He weaved through town and tried to race through the busy crowds near the markets and saloons, but it wasn't enough. He needed to slink through the back alleys if he wanted to escape, but with the police's superior knowledge of Coyote Run's layout, they would surely catch him. Curtis made his way behind a few buildings before taking a second to think, but before he could consider his options very much, Mabel whispered to Curtis.
"What the hell is going on?" she squealed frantically. Curtis looked at her dumbfounded that she was still hanging around. "You're an Outlaw? Like, a real, on-the-run Outlaw?"
"Why are you still around?" Curtis asked in a harsh tone. "Don't you see you could get hurt bein' around me? I don't have time to waste here, I need to go."
"Wait," Mabel pleaded. "Take me with you." Curtis was again stunned.
"Why in the blazes would you—"
"I have no where to go!" Mabel cried. She stood for a moment and a single tear streamed down her face. "I've grown up on these streets almost entirely alone for my whole life. I've never known where I came from and the only reason I even made it this far was because of a couple generous folk who took care of me, but they're gone now, so I really do have nothing." Curtis sighed and looked Mabel in the eyes.
"Kid, look, I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for a sob story," he said in as comforting a tone as he could muster while also feeling like the police would find him at any second. "And I really can't be takin' care of ya while I'm on the run; it wouldn't be good for either of us." He turned away from the girl and was about to spur his horse, but Mabel called out one more time.
"You need to evade the police, right?" she asked. "I can help you navigate the alleys in town. I know them better than anyone. I've had my fair share of run-ins with authorities and they've never been able to keep up." Curtis pondered the thought for a moment and out of desperation, he swept Mabel onto the front of the saddle.
"Alrighty, then, missy," Curtis said. "Get me out of town, but I'm not taking you with me after that. Maybe I could pay for your dinner, though." Curtis whipped his horse's reigns and Mabel pointed out the best routes to evade the police. She suggested tighter corridors where horses normally had trouble navigating in order to slow the police's pursuit. Curtis assured her that his horse could handle anything, so they squeezed down narrow halls of alleys and leaped over fences separating properties.
"'Scuse us, sorry!" Curtis shouted as they almost trampled the few townsfolk walking the alleyways and Mabel continued to navigate. She pointed to an opening up ahead.
"That'll bring us to the main road just a few hundred yards from the edge of town," she explained. "Not too crowded of a street, either, and the police's search shouldn't be that wide yet."
"You really know your stuff," Curtis said impressed with Mabel's ability. A few moments later, the disguised steel steed burst from the alleys and raced along the main road out of town, and as the duo reached the last outer edge, Curtis slowed to a stop. He lifted Mabel off the horse and reached into his coin purse to pull out a dime.
"Listen," he said, "I know it's not much, but you could make that last a few days if you ration." He put his purse away and sighed. "I'm sorry I can't do more, but just keep surviving and maybe one day you'll catch a lucky break, I don't know." Curtis was about to spur his horse when Mabel grabbed his leg tightly.
"Please don't go without me," she whimpered. Curtis looked down at the girl and saw her face plastered with fear and desperation. "I don't want to be alone again," she said shakily. "You're the only person in a long time who's spoken more than a few passing phrases to me, even if it was mostly frustrated banter and insults. I'd rather be on the run than on the streets."
Curtis thought for more than a few moments before Mabel interrupted him like she was so good doing. "Besides," she added with a sniffle, "if you don't take me, I'll tip the police off to where you went." Curtis sighed, but couldn't help to grin just a tiny bit.
"You really are just a brat," he groaned and held a hand out toward Mabel. The girl smiled and grabbed the Outlaw's hand. Curtis hoisted Mabel onto the horse, this time on the rear of the saddle, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her head against his back, then Curtis whipped the reigns and rode off.
The two rode in silence for several hours until the sun began to set. Curtis found as cozy of a spot as he could and helped Mabel off his horse before dismounting himself. He rubbed his horse's neck and told it to take a break, then began making preparations for a campfire. Mabel gathered dried sticks from the brush while Curtis fumbled through his bundle for a tinderbox. Before long, the two of them sat opposite the fire as night consumed the desert. They talked here and there, but shared little information about themselves past what had already been found out that afternoon. Mabel did, however, ask what Curtis was doing in Coyote Run.
"I'm just looking for someone," Curtis answered. "I'm asking people in every town I pass through." He took a sip from his waterskin.
"Are you searching for them to kill them?" Mabel interrogated. Curtis choked on his water.
"No, no," he said. "I just have some questions."
"Must be some pretty important questions," Mabel mumbled. "You seem like the type to get into trouble wherever he goes."
"Well, I don't try. But, yeah, I've got a bit of a reputation."
"Nobody immediately recognized you though, so you can't be that wanted."
"I've got...a bounty."
"How much?" Curtis waited a minute before answering.
"I don't really want to talk about my status with you, no offense," he said. Mabel nodded. Curtis reached into his pocket and pulled out the room key he won and held it out in front of him. "Don't need this, I suppose," he sighed before tossing the key into the dark desert. As he stared out into the night, he caught sight of what looked like a shadowy figure meandering toward their camp. Curtis rose to his feet and told Mabel to get behind him. He hovered a hand over his waist underneath his cloak as the figure revealed himself by the firelight. Mabel's eyes widened as she peeked around Curtis's body.
"That's the guy who tried to shoot you today," she exclaimed. Sly stood a comfortable fifteen feet away from the campfire and looked at Curtis. Curtis drew his revolver and aimed it at Sly with his finger on the trigger.
"I guess being a Ranger gets you out of jail pretty quick, huh?" he joked. "Doesn't matter, though. Move and I shoot." Sly stood still and examined the camp; he also spotted Mabel hiding in the shadow of Curtis's cloak.
"I'm not here to try and fight anymore," Sly said softly. "Actually, I..."
Curtis breathed steadily and watched for any signs of a surprise attack. Sly didn't appear immediately ready to draw his pistols, but Curtis didn't take his eyes off Sly's hands. Mabel swallowed deeply from behind Curtis and held her breath. Sly sighed and looked Curtis in the eyes.
"I...want to join you."
To be continued...