[This chapter was uploaded two weeks early to my website: ajmstories.com!]
Voices cried out as if a whole crowd of angry people were yelling at her.
"Vile child!" a woman said. "Get out, you dirty vermin!" another yelled. "Never come back here!" a masculine voice called. "Stay on the streets where you belong!"
Mabel's skinny arms were covered in bumps and bruises from people hitting her in retaliation for stealing from their market stalls. Her frail legs were sore from carrying her 75-pound body through the dusty streets of Onyxlanding. The extra small clothing she stole was baggy on her skeletal frame. Even when she ran and hid in the alleys with the rats—which she often tried and failed to catch and eat—the scowls of everyday people were branded in her mind and their abusive speech rang in her ears.
"You useless child!" "Nobody wants you around!" "Go bother someone else!" "No wonder your parents shut you out!"
Mabel jolted awake and sat up in the sand. Darkness engulfed the desert around her, but a faint glow was growing steadily on the eastern horizon. She took deep breaths and thought about the nightmare. She closed her eyes and brought her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly. The early morning air felt cool despite the heatwave in the daytime; it was a comfortable temperature, but Mabel felt cold. She shivered on the ground and hid her eyes under the brim of her hat. The events of the night prior replayed in her mind—the conversation about trust, Sly's confession, her reaction.
Her reaction...
After walking for some time, the sun was fully revealed but still very low in the sky. Its scorching rays returned after a night's break and were quick to overtake the senses even in the early part of the day. In every direction Mabel looked, sand and sparse shrubbery consumed her perception. The pale sky blended into the distant landscape. Not a cloud was in sight. She was honest with herself from the moment she stood up that morning: she was lost. She had no food or water, and no idea which way she had come from, or which way could lead her back to her camp or the nearby Yellowtusk. She had no idea how far she had walked in the night before dropping to her hands and knees and crying herself to sleep. Yellowtusk may not have even been nearby anymore.
She scolded herself for being so hasty in her decision to ditch the boys last night. Why did she insist on walking until she could no longer see the light of the fire? Why didn't she remain calm like in every other stressful situation she went through?
Lester Langley. He was why. He had made her flee her family once before, and now, indirectly, he had made her do it again. But why? The single-worded question took a thousand forms in her mind. Why did he have such control over her after so long? Why couldn't she hear his name without freezing up and returning to the state of mind she held as a seven-year-old being chased through the desert until the bottoms of her feet were worn to the bone and her heartbeat was visible through her protruding ribcage? Why did she care who worked for him if they didn't directly take part in the destruction of her home life? Why did she care so much when Sly was only trying to admit his wrongdoings and make amends with someone affected by the orders of a man powerful enough to erase the existence of anyone who disobeyed him?
She paused her wandering, shifting focus onto herself.
How could she have been so consumed by emotion to blindly walk into the blackened desert without food, water, or a method to find her way back when she got lost? Her thoughts came to her only as questions, but there were no answers to be found in the landscape of her mind, nor in the landscape of dust around her. The dunes were quiet and left her with only her own thoughts to fill the silence. Her shadow was her only companion out here and even that seemed to be fading under the harsh sunlight. The heat made her sway like a blade of grass influenced by the wind, but as she stood motionless, no breeze passed over her.
She knew she couldn't survive for long under these conditions. She needed shade and water at the very least; her stomach was calm for now, but hunger would find her soon. She hoped that her friends would find her soon, too, but something in her mind made her doubt. Her feet moved again, kicking sand as they shuffled over and between the dunes, and she hoped the urgency of her situation would keep her mind from wandering into the depths, but she couldn't think of anything else.
Why would Curtis and Sly search for her? Of course, they had gone after her when she was kidnapped by the Band of Lovers, but they justly desired revenge for the trouble caused to them by the rangers. They likely would've gone to Armani's outpost anyway to prevent more members from trailing them even if Mabel hadn't been kidnapped, even if Mabel wasn't around to be kidnapped.
What value did she bring to the group? She didn't fight, she required the group to spend more money on shelter and food, Curtis seemed endlessly perturbed by her snarky comments and repeated use of vocabulary that may not always be appropriate for the situation. Curtis hadn't even wanted Mabel to follow him out of Coyote Run to begin with, and now she was being more of a nuisance all because Sly apologized for doing the job he was hired and possibly threatened to do. What incentive was there for her travel partners to seek her out in the dry wasteland of dead plants and bones? It was a difficult journey across the desert with the heatwave as it was, but now they had to wander off course to find someone they'd known for less than a month.
She hadn't meant the things she said to Sly after his confession, though at the time she thought she did. She had completely changed in that moment; her emotions turned her into another person. Before meeting Curtis, she was spiteful at the world for taking away her right to happiness, but she didn't blame the individuals around her. She exploited the kindness of others to survive and went against what her parents and teachers had taught her was right because the generosity of the public wasn't always enough to provide her with the bare necessities.
Perhaps that was her initial intent when she begged Curtis to bring her into the desert with him. Maybe she just wanted to use him as an escape from her position as a street urchin, at least for a little while until they reached a new town. She wasn't sure now. In the time she'd spent with Curtis and Sly, she grew to consider them as friends, almost family. She wasn't quite comfortable enough to call them brothers or fathers, but she cared deeply for them and didn't want anything to happen to them. Though, maybe that was just out of fear of losing her means to survive in a manner other than as a beggar in the streets. She contemplated her reasoning for everything.
Was her desire for adventure and love for Curtis perhaps out of a selfish desire to free herself from poverty? Sure, they didn't live in luxury while on the move, but they always had enough food and at least some shelter without the risk of being chased off anyone's property. Granted, there were other challenges that came with traveling with an outlaw, but she supposed that any excitement that brought was better than the boring routine of begging and thievery she succumbed to for half of her life. The realization of just how long she had lived without a safety net also weighed on her mind. She had grown accustomed to her life of self-sufficiency after seven years alone, but now after only three weeks of kinship, she couldn't imagine going back to that.
She was afraid to admit it—and perhaps she hadn't known the truth until now—but walking by her lonesome across the vast ocean of sand and dirt without a clear destination revealed to her the obvious motivations for her actions until this point: personal gain and self-preservation. Could she fault herself for wanting to improve her situation? Surely that was a natural motivator for all living things. Surely every animal and person acted toward the goal of not only surviving but thriving in their environment and cutting out anything that encouraged deterioration or complacency.
Mabel breathed and shook the internal tangent from her thoughts; for now, at least. She needed to focus on her immediate survival. She had wandered across the sand for half a day already; her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, her skin was sunburnt, and her body was tired and hot. Her steps were the only thing in her focus now. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. Her eyes focused on the impressions of each foot in the sand and the associated ripples they produced. Imprints that moments later would be covered by hot winds blowing fresh sand over her tracks, erasing any evidence she even existed.
She had to catch her breath after every couple of steps. It was a mystery to her how anything survived in the desert; most things didn't. When the sun finally began its decline from its peak in the sky, Mabel stopped for a breath. The air burned her lungs. She knelt but didn't dare let her knees or rear touch the sand for fear of not being able to stand again if she did.
She closed her eyes in an effort to produce a meditative state for temporary relief. Her breathing was slow and controlled. She resisted the urge to wipe her forehead, knowing her sweat wouldn't replenish forever. The hair under her hat must've been soaked and frizzy, she thought. Her shirt was certainly drenched, and her pants clung tightly to her legs. Break over. She opened her eyes and stood, and her surroundings went black as exhaustion overcame her.
***
When Mabel awoke, the sun had been replaced by a half-moon and the blue hue of the sky had grown incredible dark. The stars above swirled like fireflies performing a dance. The throbbing headache remained and pounded her skull even harder when she sat up. When she blinked, she could feel dryness pulling at her skin and making a dead layer flake off. She swallowed, but no saliva moistened her throat. The air was cool now, but she couldn't see in the dark. Still, she knew that if she fell asleep again, she may never wake up. She forced herself to her feet and marched on through the night with no sense of direction and a ravenous stomach growling along the way.
As the hours passed uncounted, so did the night pass and left Mabel wondering where the time went. By the time the sun revealed its frightening visage, Mabel had forgotten how long ago she abandoned her camp or that she had fainted the afternoon before. It wasn't until she heard the yapping of distant vultures that she realized she had done so once again. The sun was about halfway to its peak. Blisters blemished the back of her scarlet neck, calves, and hands. The vultures refused to cease their circling even after she again compelled herself to move. They knew what she refused to accept. Again, she stopped.
She had no idea how long she had been walking since waking again, nor how many times she had truly fallen unconscious, perhaps even walking while asleep. Was she even still alive or was this whole excursion an elaborate illusion produced by her dying brain? Maybe Mirage was messing with her. More questions, but still no answers. She felt herself slipping away from consciousness again, but before she succumbed to dehydration for good, she spotted something on the horizon: a silhouette. The figure wasn't of a person, but a structure. Multiple structures, in fact. And as she used the last of her strength to focus on the wavy image, she realized what it was.
"Yellowtusk!" is what she wanted to scream but knew no sound would escape the arid tunnel of her esophagus. But she saw it. She knew she saw it. And she had to reach it. She pushed forward, driving her heels into the sand and limping onward at a snail's pace. The outline of the city disappeared and reappeared from view, threatening to be merely a true mirage, but she pressed on. It was the only thing she could do to keep herself upright. Another unknown amount of time passed, but eventually she could see the city clearly ahead. The journey toward Yellowtusk was mostly a blur and Mabel hadn't even realized how close she had gotten but was relieved to have finally arrived.
She swore that most of the way had been walked with her eyes closed, but she dared not close her eyes now lest the whole scene disappear when she opened them again. Luckily, the scene was proven real enough for her when she heard voices calling out and she witnessed several people running toward her from the edge of town. She smiled and her lips cracked apart. She stopped to wait for the residents of Yellowtusk to meet her, but again she felt numbness all over and didn't realize she was falling until she hit her head on the ground. The last thing she saw was the bright sun sitting brightly in the middle of the sky, then blackness once again.
***
Mabel's eyes fluttered slowly open, and she stared at a wooden ceiling. Her fingertips caressed the silky sheets of the bed she was on as she turned her head to one side. The room she was in was mostly empty, the main features being the bed and a small dresser to her right. The dresser was next to the door and a mirror rested on the floor beside it, leaning against the dresser so its reflective face was hidden. The simple door was made of pale wood which matched the dresser and the bedframe. The walls were some sort of light, smooth stone and the floor was tiled with intricately carved wooden panels. Heavy curtains hung on the wall and presumably covered a window. She wondered how she got there for a moment before her memories returned. She remembered the camp, the conversation, the time spent lost in the desert, and her eventual fortune in finding Yellowtusk.
Her clothes had been replaced by a loose, sleeveless shirt and baggy shorts that ended halfway above her knees. She lay atop the bed sheets and noticed a balmy sheen over the tops of her arms, legs, and anywhere else blistered by the sun. She was reasonably certain that she was in Yellowtusk, but still wasn't sure where exactly. She wondered how much time had passed since she last fainted and where her stuff was. Whose bed was she in, and when was the last time she'd had a drink of water? Whose clothes was she wearing, and who had undressed her!? She still felt immense hunger and she was very thirsty, but her tongue was moistened.
When she raised her arm, she felt the tautness of her red skin, so she lie still for a while longer while she tried to prepare for whatever came next now that she was seemingly rescued from the brink of death. Who would go out of their way to help a young girl they didn't know? She couldn't imagine the state she must have been in when the people of Yellowtusk brought her the rest of the way to town. Surely, she looked homeless. Who would want to bring her into their home, put her in their clothes, and lie her in one of their beds? They also must have given her water and applied ointment to her burned skin.
She forced herself to stop asking so many questions in her mind. The past couple days had been full of questions but provided no answers. She wanted rest. She allowed herself to sit still and closed her eyes only to open them again when she heard the door crack open. A young, tan woman checked on her and disappeared back behind the door upon noticing that Mabel was awake. A minute later, heavy footsteps approached the door and Mabel noticed a large shadow blocking the light seeping underneath from the hall. The door opened and in marched a tall, muscular man with dark, messy hair and narrow eyes. His skin was almost the color of honey, and his brown hair touched his shoulders.
He wore loose, frilly pants, the legs of which were hiked up to just below his knees, and the design of which was astonishing. Every color of the rainbow was represented in waves and patches all over the gold-trimmed pants, and the belt holding them to his thin waste was a long strip of silky ribbon. His vest exposed his curly-haired chest and washboard abs and was also decorated with waves and patches of every color and gold trim. A golden headband held the crazy lochs out of his face but allowed the hair to flow freely otherwise. Even his simple two-strap sandals were bedazzled with gems that Mabel could only assume were real. His body was adorned with countless pieces of jewelry.
I must've perished in the desert sand, Mabel thought. No way this guy is real.
Bracelets and arm bands ran up to his elbows with jingling charms; anklets and leg bands were similarly crowded up to where his pants were rolled. Each finger except his left ring finger was circled by at least one band, each of which was different from those around it. Hoops and studs shined on his ears and Mabel noticed the single stud over his right nostril and the small loop through his left brow. Various chains, beaded strings, and pendants hung around his neck and jingled with each step. There were also two silver studs below his belly button. His fingernails sheened with brilliantly colored polish that matched his outfit.
Two women followed behind the man. They wore silky tops that exposed their midsections and shoulders. A golden necklace clung closely to each of their necks and had a single pearl. Though their tops were sleeveless, decorated pieces of fabric ran from their elbows to their hands. Golden bands held the half-sleeves in place, but the portion at their hands came to a point and was held together by a loop wrapped around their middle fingers. Their pants were similar to the man's but were only one color that was consistent throughout their outfits, but one of the women's outfits was pink while the others was a deep blue. Their sandals were also similar to the man's but excluded the gems, and they each wore their hair up in a voluminous ponytail with a small, golden ring.
When the man spoke, Mabel also saw a silver bead on his tongue.
"Oh, thank goodness you're awake," he said. His voice was deep and boomed in the tiny room. "I was worried sick that we had found you too late. Or rather, that you found us too late."
Mabel continued to lie still and watched the man's exaggerated gestures as he spoke and emphasized words wherever he could. All his jewelry clacked and chimed with each movement. She also noted his accent; one from the Ridge despite his tanned skin.
"How are you feeling?" he asked and leaned over the bed.
Mabel opened her mouth slowly and spoke, worried that nothing would come out, but her voice was clear if not a little dry.
"Thirsty."
The man straightened out and snapped a finger at one of the attendants with him. The pink-uniformed woman stood in attention.
"You heard the lady. Water; need it ten seconds ago!"
The woman in the pink outfit rushed from the room. The man peered out the door with an inquisitive look and placed his hands on his hips. Mabel clung to the word "lady" for a moment. She couldn't think of a time when anyone had referred to her as such.
"Where am I?" she asked softly.
The man turned to her and opened his arms wide.
"Oh my, where are my manners? Welcome to the Esprit Rose! My name is Archie Prince, owner of this fine establishment. I hope our humble accommodations here are to your liking."
Mabel nodded, then the lady in the pink outfit returned with a tall glass of water. She handed it to Archie who held it out toward Mabel.
"Perhaps you'd like to sit up?" he asked. "If you think you'll be comfortable."
Mabel nodded again and sat up in the bed with assistance from the attendant in blue who retrieved a few pillows from underneath the bed to prop Mabel up. Archie held the glass until Mabel had it firmly in her grasp; she took long gulps. Archie snapped and the woman in pink fetched another glass before Mabel finished the first. Mabel chugged the second and was brought a third, but she only took a few sips of that one.
"I'm sure you're famished," Archie said. "We couldn't feed you while you slept, but we have food prepared already for when you think you can eat."
"I'm ready now," Mabel said, and with that and a couple more snaps from Archie, a platter was brought to the room with an assortment of foods including fruits and vegetables, chicken and pork, bread, potatoes, corn, and a few different drinks for Mabel to choose from. She consumed the food without prejudice, leaving only the cob from the corn and some excess fat from the meat. Archie watched with a wide grin and was about to summon another platter, but Mabel waved a hand while drinking the third glass of water.
"Say, what is your name, young lady?" Archie asked and handed the platter to one of the attendants.
"Ma—" Mabel cut herself off for just a moment before continuing. "Mary." She wasn't sure if lying was necessary and initially felt guilty given their hospitality; but given her current location, she was sure that if anyone was going to recognize her, it would be someone from Yellowtusk.
"So nice to meet you, Mary. Do you think you can walk?"
Mabel nodded. Archie held her hands as she twisted her hips and planted her bare feet on the ground. The balm coating her skin was still moist and when she stood, she could feel that it was spread all over the front of her body and around her waist as the loose tank top stuck to her. Her skin didn't feel as tight as before, but she was still rather uncomfortable when moving around.
"Careful, now," Archie said quietly. Once Mabel was standing, she took her hands away from his and made sure she could hold herself up. "I'm sure you're still in quite a lot of pain. Most of your skin was burned red, and you were completely dehydrated when you arrived. Don't push yourself, but I'd love to show you around."
Mabel agreed and slowly followed Archie from her room. They entered the hall and turned left down the single corridor which had 11 other doors and a staircase at the back end. Mabel followed Archie toward an open door on the opposite end of the hall that led outside. The wooden tiling continued into the hall. Chandeliers lit the hallway and paintings decorated the walls between doors which Archie mentioned were other rooms like Mabel's. The paintings primarily consisted of realistic landscapes and detailed imagery of local plants and animals, but several stunning portraits were mixed in, as well. Mabel recognized many of the subjects as members of the Band of Lovers, including Armani Anderson.
Mabel was curious about the connection but didn't have to ask as Archie was quick to bring it up.
"You may or may not know the people pictured in the portraits, but I'm sure you'll recognize her," he said, stopping and looking at a portrait of Armani. Mabel worried that Archie knew she was connected to the attack on the branch outpost. Did her alias make a difference? Her worries were put to rest, however, once Archi explained further.
"The great, intelligent, talented, and absolutely gorgeous Armani Anderson! Without her, this place wouldn't exist. Her generosity lets us stay open and help those in need here in Yellowtusk." Archie continued down the hall and pointed out two half-bathrooms to the left. "The primary purpose of the Esprit Rose is to serve as a shelter for those without a proper home here in the city."
Archie and Mabel exited the hall to a small outdoor square. Mabel saw now that the hall her room was a part of was two stories tall and presumably had the same layout on top as the bottom floor with a staircase leading from the front of the second floor down to the square. To the left, another entrance led to the identical halls next door, and to the right were five more. The outdoor square extended far from the halls and was laid out to serve as a common patio space with a few dozen cushioned chairs and benches, tables, a couple small charcoal grills, a small bar space for ice-cold drinks, and a station for handwashing and hang-dying clothing.
The bar was tended by a woman wearing a lime-green uniform and the washing section was hosted by two attendants, one with a yellow uniform and one with a cyan uniform. A few guests sat on the patio, enjoying the shade. Mabel could see the sun low in the sky.
A roof covered the entire patio, and Archie also pointed out a station with about a dozen shower stalls which was managed by a yellow-clad attendant. It was apparent that Archie was very proud of the business he ran, but his tone now and slightly-less-exaggerated gestures when he spoke suggested that all wasn't exactly right at the Esprit Rose.
"You see, Mary, this whole thing was started in collaboration with Armani Anderson, and the Band of Lovers remain as our top sponsor, but otherwise our primary source of funds comes from donations. Those funds go toward maintaining the property and providing the necessities for our residents. We're able to mitigate some of the expenses with the hotel portion of the business, but it's not nearly enough to take care of everyone who comes to us in need."
Archie gestured across the way. A large fountain with a boar statue sat between the shelter's patio and another two-story building that, while fancier, was much smaller and looked to only hold half as many visitors as the shelter. Mabel could see several other women running around outside the other building in different colored uniforms—yellow, sky blue, magenta, purple.
"I just don't know if we'll be able to keep this up for much longer," Archie sighed.
"Because Armani's on trial?" Mabel asked.
"I knew you looked like a smart girl, Mary." Archie directed her over to the bar and requested refreshments before taking a seat on a nearby sofa. Mabel sat in a chair opposite a small table in front of the sofa and sipped her iced drink. "Some crazy ish went down a couple weeks ago right here in Yellowtusk. I don't think it was her fault, but Armani was right at the center of it. Now she and her whole crew are catching heat for it. The thing is, Armani's one of the sweetest, most generous rangers around—heck, one of the greatest people I've ever known."
Mabel's only interaction with the doyenne certainly didn't convince her of that, but of course she kept that to herself.
"Point is, if Armani is proven guilty of whatever honky the city is accusing her of, that would be a major hit to our resources. Not to mention a terrible blemish in the reputation of a good friend."
Mabel eyed Archie trying to estimate his age, then asked "How d'ya know Ms. Armani? Y'all grow up together or somethin'?"
"No, but we're both from the same area up on the Ridge—a little town called Beltham." Mabel had heard the name but wasn't familiar with the geography above the valley. "We met maybe eight years ago while she was up there visiting family. She'd been a doyenne for a while already. I'd grown up in Beltham my whole life, but went to a different school, so I never really ran into her until our whole neighborhood attended a huge bash. We both strived to help people, albeit in different ways, but we saw potential in a partnership. So, soon after, I packed my bags and moved down here to start the Esprit Rose, and the rest is history."
"So, you two got real close, huh?"
"You betcha! Nothing lovey dovey if that's what you're thinking, but she's one of my best friends, for sure! I love her to death."
"Even with all the bad I'm sure she's done?" Mabel mumbled.
"What's that, Mary?" Archie leaned forward in his seat.
"Nothing, sorry," Mabel said and cowered into her drink.
Archie sighed and gave a slight frown. "Listen, I don't know what kind of beef you have with Armani, or maybe just with rangers in general. I know some people have real strong feelings one way or the other, but I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that Armani always, no matter what, has the greater good and the interests of others in mind. Doesn't matter what she's doing. She can get a little nuts if she's passionate, but I only see that as a strength."
Mabel was silent for a moment, then placed her glass on the table and met Archie's eyes with a serious expression.
"I...don't have any...specific examples," Mabel said. "But I don't think any ranger's completely innocent. I mean that, just the nature of their job, there's times when the actions they take—whether at their own discretion or under the orders o' someone else—really hurt people." The last three words came out slowly.
Archie could tell that she didn't mean to antagonize Armani or other rangers. Mabel's tone was more somber than angry.
Mabel continued. "I just...think that..."
Archie placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded. "I know where you're coming from. I won't try to convince you that every ranger is a saint, but I can't paint Armani Anderson in anything other than a magnificent light. With how long she's been in the game, I know for a fact that she's had to do things no ordinary person would even consider no matter if you paid them a million dimes. I may be biased, but it takes real strength to go against your own morals to serve something greater than yourself. There are definitely rangers that I don't like, but the fact that all of them can carry the burden of upholding justice, even if it means getting dirty like the crooks they fight against, I think that makes them great above all else."
Mabel looked at the ice in her drink. One cube shifted when the one underneath it melted and created a tiny cascade of miniature glaciers cracking in the glass.
"Now, don't mistake me for some government suck-up," Archie said and leaned back in his seat. "There's plenty I don't like about the Government, and I can guarantee every ranger has some grievances, too, but at the end of the day someone has to do the hard work to keep the people safe."
"But how does strippin' people of their freedoms and of their homes keep 'em safe? What greater good does that serve?"
Archie sighed again. "I can't make excuses for everything. What you've been through in your life is terrible, I can tell. I think your problem is that you're generalizing. Did every ranger participate in the stripping of freedoms? For those who did, what could they have possibly been told to make them do so? Aren't the ones who didn't just as guilty for not stepping in to prevent it? Inversely, aren't the ones who did just as innocent for staying in line and following orders? If you ask me, I say it depends. It's not just black and white.
"Everyone at the Esprit Rose wants to help the disfranchised, and unless we know for a fact that there's a reason to turn our backs on someone, then we'll treat them just the same as everyone else and give them what they need to make better of themselves. Consider the circumstances for every choice that every person makes. You'll never find an innocent person when you do, but you'll come to accept that guilt and innocence are just opposite sides of one big cycle in the struggle to do the right thing."
Several minutes passed before the conversation continued. By now, the sun had reached the horizon and was close to disappearing for the evening.
"Well, Mary, not that I think you need it, but you're welcome to stay here for as long as you'd like. The clothes you came here with tell me you're not so bad off, but the condition you were in when you stumbled into town told me you didn't have anywhere close to call home."
"Thank you," Mabel said. "I don't think I'll stay long. I'm actually lookin' for my friends."
Archie inhaled and scrunched his nose, saying, "I hate to say it, but if they were with you in the desert before you got here, I'm not too sure how they'll be faring if you do find them."
Mabel hesitated, then explained, "They were better off than I was. I was the only one dumb enough t'wander into the desert totally unprepared. I'm sure they're doin' just fine. I just hope they thought of comin' here. I'm actually not too sure how far our camp was from here."
Archie nodded. "If you say so. You're not a prisoner here. Head out whenever you want. I recommend avoiding the sun as much as possible, and I'll get you a case of the ointment we put on your skin. The blisters aren't too bad, so they should heal up in a few days if you keep your skin moisturized and out of direct sunlight."
Mabel nodded. "And, my clothes?"
"Ah, yes." Archie snapped a finger and instructed an attendant to fetch Mabel's belongings. After a change of outfit and careful application of more balm, Mabel pocketed the small, round container of moisturizer she was given and made her way toward Yellowtusk proper. Archie gave her a parting smile and a booming farewell. Mabel hadn't paid attention before, but she noticed now that the Esprit Rose was toward the outskirts of town on the residential side, somewhat near the suburban district where the Cummings Residence was located.
She was tempted to walk by and try to find the house just to see if anyone was home but knew that was a risky endeavor. And she had other priorities to focus on. She had no way of knowing if Curtis and Sly were in town or if they had been there at all. Chances were slim, she thought, considering how adamant they were about avoiding Yellowtusk given recent events, but she had to try. She hoped luck would be on her side and with how late it was, maybe she could catch them as they headed back into the desert to make camp since they wouldn't want to stay at an inn in the city.
Mabel circled the edge of town as quickly as she could. She, too, observed just how peaceful Yellowtusk truly was even in the evening. Plenty of residents still walked the streets and children played in alleys like it was their own backyards. No scowls met her eyes, and she didn't hear any insults spoken under the breath of passersby. Granted, she was much better dressed than she had been in Coyote Run, and she wasn't actively pestering street goers for money, but it was still refreshing given everything that had been on her mind recently. Almost an hour passed with no sign of her friends, and she was about ready to give up for the night, but then she heard a familiar groan as she passed a thin side street.
"I can't believe you dropped Mirage's reward," Curtis complained. "I was the one rollin' around over here. Now we're at an even greater risk with Whiplash knowin' we stopped by."
Mabel backtracked and peered down the road and found Curtis and Sly walking with the horses and wagon. "Curtis! Sly!" she called. The two outlaws whipped around at hearing her voice. Curtis's nose was deeply bruised and looked a bit crooked.
"Mabel!" Sly called back. Mabel ran to her friends, skipping at the last few steps.
Sly's expression went from incredible joy to sorrow and regret while Mabel made her way over, but he didn't get a chance to speak before she stood straight and looked at him.
"I'm sorry," she said to Sly and Curtis's surprise.
"What?" Sly asked.
"Pretty sure Sly wanted to be the first to apologize," Curtis said.
"Why?" Sly asked. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. I'm the one who owes you a thousand apologies for the harm my past actions caused you and others."
Mabel shook her head. "I've had a lot o' time to do nothin' but think. If the last three weeks have done anythin', Sly, they've shown me that you're not the man ya once were. You've always had my best interests in mind since we met an' I was the one usin' yer past as a catalyst to vent my feelin's fer someone you were also afraid of."
Sly and Mabel stood in silence for a moment, then Curtis interrupted the moment.
"Great, so are y'all made up now? I'm glad you're safe, Mabel, but can we git goin'?"
Mabel hugged Sly who blushed and patted her back in return. Then, she boarded the wagon and Curtis took his horse's reins from the driver's bench. Sly mounted Firely to ride alongside them and the trio departed for the open desert under the waxing crescent. Mabel yawned despite having slept most of the day, but she made her way to the front of the wagon to speak with Curtis.
"I have another suggestion for what to name yer horse," she said.
"Is it somethin' ridiculous?" he joked.
Mabel giggled, then said, "I think it's a real good name. How 'bout Esprit?"
Curtis thought about it for a few minutes, then nodded. "Sure, why not? I like the sound o' that. Never heard anythin' like it. What's that one mean?"
"Somethin' like vivacious."
"Hmph, doesn't help when you define a word using another word I don't know the meanin' of."
Mabel giggled again. "Lively, high spirited."
Curtis tilted his head and gave a curious expression.
"Not that yer horse is super lively," Mabel said. "But there's definitely somethin' goin' on in there that makes me think of it as a free spirit. There're a ton o' secrets incased in that metal hide of hers."
"Hers? So, you're decidin' it's sex, too?"
"Sure. We haven't determined otherwise," Mabel shrugged.
"Yeah, mister 'I know how to tell,'" Sly teased.
"Alright, alright," Curtis said. "I don't even know if it's a livin' creature. It's just a big hunk o' metal for all I know."
The horse shook its head and huffed in response. A low, hollow grunt came from within its metallic belly.
"I think that says enough," Mabel said.
Before long, Yellowtusk was out of sight and the crew made camp. Mabel was given the tent to herself that night while Curtis and Sly traded shifts to ensure they weren't followed from the city.
***
A dozen deputies stood in the front room of the deputy's office. Some tended to their usual duties while others were gathered for another purpose. A man with fair skin and buzzed blond hair stood in the middle of the room. He held a file folder with several papers poking out in disarray. His decorative, light-colored poncho and matching garb marked him as a ranger along with the arm band around his right bicep, but he was no ordinary ranger.
Anyone with knowledge of the hierarchy of the rangers—which most residents of Yellowtusk did—recognized him instantly as Dewey "Angel Eyes" Vinson, a doyen. Yellowtusk's sheriff approached Angel Eyes; his eyes were directed toward the floor. Dewey's eyes were closed, but he still looked up from the file in his hands when the sheriff addressed him.
"Well, this is everyone who was here when Sly supposedly came through," the sheriff said and cleared his throat. "It's a lil' embarrassin' that no one recognized 'im, I'll admit. We could'a saved ya the trouble."
"That's quite all right," Dewey said in a soft voice, but one that carried throughout the room and conveyed his superiority. "I wouldn't have wanted you to have risked anyone's safety. These two are...difficult to say the least."
The sheriff nodded. "So, you think these're the guys who were here on July 10th and caused the shootout at the Band o' Lovers' HQ?" Angel eyes didn't answer and had already turned back to the file. The sheriff watched him for a moment; the doyen looked at the papers, but still kept his eyes closed. "Say, can ya tell us a bit more about what's goin' on with Ms. Anderson? We'd really like to know that she'll be okay."
"I can't speak on it at this time," Angel Eyes said. "You'll just have to wait for the trial like everyone else."
The sheriff frowned and put his hands on his belt. He pointed to a woman across the room in one of the waiting chairs against the wall and said, "That's the one who spoke with Nathan Bowman. One of our local rangers says he got into a fight with Curtis Conrad, too, but failed to detain 'im." The sheriff turned and gestured toward Whiplash who sat in another chair against a different wall. "Feel free t' ask 'em anythin' you'd like."
"Thank you, sheriff," Angel Eyes said. "I won't be too long."
Angel Eyes continued to look down at the file, eyes closed, and furrowed his brow. From underneath the top piece of paper, he pulled the bank slip that finalized the claim of Mirage's bounty. On it was Sly's signature.
To be continued...
[The next chapter is uploaded (two weeks early) to my website: ajmstories.com!]