I had been traveling with Dusty for 6 years and though we had drifted here and there, we only caught the vaguest whispers of Sumter and his gang of misfits. Nothing hard enough to trail. Vengeance still burned in me. Make no mistake about that. But I had accepted my duty as an apprentice Ranger. I had grown into the boots you might say. I had grown up. Unfortunately, I'm short. On my best day I think I'm 5'8". And worse, I didn't get handsome, I grew... pretty. I had developed somewhat androgynous features, slim straight lines and high cheekbones. My hair stayed black as midnight and I never fooled with cutting it.
We had met some Indian fellas and I'd taken a shine to the way some of their warriors wore their long braids. I didn't put the feathers in it like they did or split the braid instead I wore one long one down my back. To put it mildly Wild Bill Hicock, I aint. But... my style of dress and my looks caught Dusty in a funny way. As we rode together toward Little Rock, that old dandy looked at me and said, "You know, Dodger, if you unbraided your hair and put on a pretty dress you would make a lovely woman."
I scoffed. "I hope your girt strap breaks you old ponce." I told him. "Least I don't look like a catalouge advertisement for pomade. You use enough of the stuff to preserve a moose."
He chuckled, curling the tip of mustache. "Well, I suppose that is true. But might I ask if you will be modelling summer bonnets in the same catalouge?"
"I'm gonna cut that gert strap myself, old man. You just keep on." I jabbed back. He just chuckled again and I smiled to myself. Our ribbing was cut short though by the sound of thundering hoofbeats. They were off in the distance and I could hear the racket of bouncing carriage wheels. "Trouble!" I barked at Dusty and heeled Rosie into a gallop.
Red road dust flew from the old mare's hooves as we ran full tilt toward the sound. A woman's scream for help was almost overpowered by the clap of a gunshot. Shotgun, most likely, by the hollow thump. Then I heard their horses. Five at the least, not counting the four panicked animals pulling the transport. "Dusty! Five! Maybe more!"
He was hot on Rosie's heels and I heard him pull the Henry and lever a round into the gun. Dusty always preferred the rifle to his pistols when fighting from horseback. Horse, being the well trained animal he was, took his cues from just the tiniest pressure from Dusty's knees. It allowed the old lawman to free both of his hands for his rifle. I, naturally, pulled my short gun. Rosie wasn't a warhorse. We topped the next ridge like we were about to fire on Fort Sumter. Looking down at the scene we were riding toward, even a town drunk couldn't have mistaken what was happening.
Six men on horseback were trying to rob a stage. The driver had already been done for, poor fella. Shot through the lungs, his head lolled sideways and he bounced around on the seat but his hand still clung onto the reins. Gotta hand it to him, he was a trooper. Determined to keep his schedule. Even in death.
There was at least somebody with some guts in the carriage, along with the screaming women. There were three voices that I could hear now, guess the other two were buried by the gunfire. Then there was a fourth woman but she wasn't screaming she was bellowing in a rage. She had a scattergun stuck through one of the curtained windows and was doin her best to give those riders hell. But carriages are not meant to hie off out through unbroken country, and it was bouncing around somethin awful. And she wasn't all that experienced, couldn't have been. She kept pulling the triggers heavy, letting both barrels burp out at once. And she kept missing... with a scattergun.
The bandits cottoned on to her lack of skill and began to ride behind the cart, shouting and firing into the air, jovially driving the horses toward a thick cactus patch which ran down a steep slope. The horses would pull up short or stumble on the squishy innards of the cacti. Either way lead to a mess. I gave Rosie a kick, trying to get the mare to gain some more speed and the old girl found she still had some in the barrel. When I got in shouting distance I hollered, "Stop! U.S. Marshals! Drop your guns! Show me your hands!"
I might have had better luck yelling at the horses. Two of the men yelled about us to their boss and then pulled up short and wheeled around, charging at me and Dusty. I raised my piece just as Dusty blew the farthest man from us, one who was trying to grab the reins of the coach, plumb out of his saddle. I rode forward and thumbed back my hammer, raising my gun. I drew a bead and the thump of my pistol knocked the closest man, one of the two who'd changed direction, into his eternal reward.
His companion fired at me and missed. Well if you could call damn near blowing my ear off a "miss". The ball ripped the outside skin off my ear as it zipped past me. My return shot didn't clip anything. He died with a hole in his forehead, courtesy of the fine folks at Colt Firearms Company. By then the three fellas that remained had realized there was real iron at their backs. They broke away from the wagon and tried to high-tail it out of there. Well, before they could Ms. Coach gun shot one of them in the back. One of the other fellas did his best to get out of there but no luck. Dusty shot the man's horse. It screamed and fell, pinning it's unlucky rider underneath it. I took aim and fired, trying to get the last one but he was beyond the range of pistol. I saw the ball fall short. Dusty fired but missed. Then the joker went down a hill and was out of sight. We let him go.
Even though the shooting had stopped, our work wasn't done yet. I continued to race forward, standing in my stirrups. Rosie despite her age and weight closed on the panicking wagon. About the time I went to pass the coach though, that woman fired that damned shotgun again. "Git outta here, ya varmint!" She shouted at me in a voice like a wood rasp. "Go on! Git!" She pulled the gun back in and I heard the breech open.
"Hold up, lady! I'm with the Marshals! Don't shoot!" Again, I might as well have asked the horses if they'd care to pass the time with a pipe. She locked the breech and that gun came out again. I heard the hammers fall back and reined Rosie hard. The woman pulled and fired, dust and rocks kicking up around Rosie's feet. I growled in frustration and kicked Rosie back into a gallop and gained a little more ground on the wagon, managing to get up to the window. I shouted into the cabin. "Dad nabbit, you old crow! I'm tryin ta help! Your coach is gonna run straight into that slide bramble you don't stop shootin!" Once again that barrel disappeared and reappeared. Only this time, she was nearly touching Rosie's flank with it. I acted on instinct. Wasn't really that much thought into it. Hell, my hands seemed to take on a life of their own. I turned and drew on my blood. Nobody was gonna shoot my horse.
I released the reins and spun in the saddle, the world seemingly moving in slow motion. About a third of it's normal speed. I drew my second pistol, aimed at the barrel of the scattergun and opened fire. Eight shots, as fast as my thumbs and fingers could pull them off. The gun was ripped from the woman's grasp, and was dropped under the wagon wheel. Before it hit the ground, I saw that its barrel was a twisted ruin of blackened steel. The screaming from inside intensified and in my heightened state of awareness it was like somebody scrapin a fork on a ceramic plate as hard as they could.
I let go of my power and spurred Rosie again, dropping my guns back into their holsters. The old rasp inside was cursing my name and some of the things she said... well a lady ought not to speak like that. The kinda talk was more fit for drunken sailors or thorny ranchhands. I got even with the bench just as Dusty flew past us, Horse's mane and tail nearly flat against the force of their mad dash. As he pulled in front of the wagon the team slowed just enough. I pulled my feet into Rosie's saddle and leapt hard at the driver's seat. Without using my gifts I'm still a pretty fair jumper. I landed square with one knee in the floorboards and my hands firmly on the bench rail. I looked between my legs and blew out a sigh of relief.
I thanked God that I landed the way I did. If I had gone another inch forward or lower I *could* model ladies bonnets. I hauled myself up into the seat and snatched the reins from the dead driver's grip. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he groaned and his hands moved ever so slightly to try to take the reins back. The bastard was still alive! I snatched back on the reins. I had to get this coach stopped. I overdid it and the leather snapped in my hands, leaving me with nothing more than four pieces rawhide. "Dusty!" I shouted, "Little help here!" I crawled out of the seat and back across the top of the carriage. I looked down at the mechanics of it. Something solid I could grab... there! I spotted it. A piece of metal, part of the frame that wrapped around the axle. I didn't know how sturdy it was but it was the best option I had. I drew on my curse and leapt to the ground, clinging to that iron drawbar with all the strength I could muster. I reached for the powers of the Enenra for about the fourth time in my life and... nothing. That well of shadow no longer slunk through my veins. Well. Shit. My boots dug into the dirt and I took another tact. I burned into myself, forcing my heart to pump its poison into my arms, my legs, my hands. I tried to pull the wagon to a stop with nothing more than a good grip and good boots.
Now, on a good day I could bend a wrought iron bar with just my finger and thumbs. On a good day I could huck a rock that matched my weight nearly a hundred yards. On a good day I could let Rosie ride on my shoulders while I did all the running. But that was on a good day and while freshly fed. The day I decided to try and haul this stupid carriage to a stop, I hadn't had a good feed in almost a week I had been getting by on bottled stuff or animals. On top of that I had nearly had my ear blown clean off, so I was regenerating that and I had already burned quite a bit of what little reserve I had to save my horse. I couldn't stop this wagon. I could feel the heat as my boots dug into the earth. The earth took exception to this and kept trying to break my knees or throw me flat on my face.
I couldn't stop the wagon, but I did slow it down. Slowed it down long enough for me to see a swirling fog roll underneath the cart and for the horses to slow themselves to a stop. We had maybe another 20 yards to where that cactus patch ran down a hillside.
Dusty dismounted Horse and walked up to the carriage, and he looked as if there hadn't even been a gunfight. His bowler perfectly straight, his suit unblemished and not a hair out of place. Before he opened the door he looked at me, laying with my back on the ground, my legs half wedged in dirt, my hat missing and my poncho a wadded mess around my neck... he looked at me and said, "Why, Dodger, you seem to have gotten your boots a bit smudged, old boy." He gave me his cheeriest grin and snatched open the carriage door before I could reply. Then I got to see karma in action. A flurry of petticoats and shawl fell on Dusty, hissing and spitting like an angry bobcat. Dusty staggered back, "What in tarnation! Unhand me, woman! I am a US Marshal!"He staggered about flapping his arm at this black and purple clad woman who was clinging to him like a tick.
It was ol' wood rasp of course. She looked exactly like she had sounded. She had to be comin up on 85, she had a big ol' nose that curved down to a point like a beak. Her old eyes were rheumy and her skin was old spotty leather. If I hadn't been laughin so hard I might have been worried she was a Hag. Anyway this old granny had a hatpin and was givin Dusty the business gougin him as best she could, while keepin her deathgrip around his neck. "Git on, thief! I'll gouge your eyes out! Ain't nobody ever got the best of Gertrude Merriweather!"
While Dusty wrestled with his new friend, I pulled myself from the dirt, adjusted my clothes, picked up my hat and checked to make sure my eyepatch was in place. I stepped to the door and knocked. There were panicked whispers and snatches of conversation from inside. "Ladies, I'm Dodger Williams, deputy US Marshal and..." I cut off as I remembered the driver. I dashed around and pulled the man out of his seat, easing him to the ground. He was breathing but only just.
"A marshal? Really?" One of the ladies asked from inside.
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be right there!" I said as I pulled the man's head onto my lap. I shouted for Dusty. "Quit yer courtin and get over here! I got a man hurt!"
There was a growl and a sudden squeal of feminine pain from Gertrude as Dusty flung her away from him and rushed over to me. "Confounded woman." he groused as he came to kneel beside me. "What do you know Dodger?"
I tore open the man's shirt. Two tiny wounds on his right side told me the story of what happened. "Bad graze from a scatter-rifle. Bad luck that he was hit at all." I looked up at him and Dusty shook his head.
"If we had gotten here earlier when yon harriers had first assailed this coach we may have done something but now..." the old Ranger swept his hat from his head. I started to argue but Dusty shook his head again, stopping me. "He will drown in that wound, he will probably last another five or six hours then he will pass. We were too late for him." He looked at me. "He doesn't have to suffer Dodger..." With that he stood and turned back to deal with the women. The idea always horrified me.
I looked down at the old driver and wondered who he might have been. He wasn't all that old, though he was in his graying years. Probably somebody's grandpap and here I was about to turn him into part of my lunch. "Sorry old timer, I'll try to make sure ya get home alright." I let my fangs break free and gave the man his last embrace. As soon as his blood touched my tongue I sat up and spat, gagging for breath.
My throat had slammed shut and I found myself choking. I tried to scream for Dusty but nothing came out except a faint strangled gargle. I could breathe but just barely. I tried to draw on my blood in an attempt to fight whatever toxin was raging through me but as soon as I tapped into that well of power, it slammed me away again and my whole body was racked by a spasm. The drag on my throat worsened and I could feel the blood drying in my veins, rotting away. In my flailing I did something and my gun fired, the shot raking a huge gash down my leg. I heard women screaming.
I was lucky the gun misfired, or I would probably be dead. Dusty tumbled around the corner pistol in hand. One look and he put the whole situation together. "Damn the luck..." he rushed over to me and pulled the knife from his belt. With it, he slashed his wrist and pressed the wound against my lips. The pain ceased but the thirst consumed me. I grabbed his arm and drank deeply, almost animal in my need for new blood. This was the first time in all the years we spent together, that I had tasted Dusty's blood. Boy oh boy! You wanna talk about sweet? Even in my animal state I could taste the richness of it. Good Lord! It was like somebody had taken sugar, coated it in molasses , blended it with cake batter, poured that concoction over candy then thinned it back to a liquid. After a moment or two I had to cut myself off.
"Chirst in the Chapel!" I croaked, accepting Dusty's help in getting to my feet. "There is enough sugar in your blood to gag moose!" I told him and spat. The wad that hit the ground was not red, but a bright cheery blob of blue. "Alright... that's weird."
Dusty humphed. "Thank you, Dusty, you saved my life. What a wonderful teacher." He said in an overblown Texas accent, then in his regular voice he continued "oh it is no trouble at all, my boy. I can't very well let my apprentice choke to death for drinking dead man's blood."
I was confused. "Dead man's blood? But he was alive..." I looked over and sure enough, the old driver had passed on. "Huh... must of kicked it right before I tried to..." I cut myself off with a gag. One of the women had come around the corner. "Help him." I finished weakly. "Howdy, ma'am. You alright?"
She nodded. "Did you say Mr. Trevor was killed?" I nodded and she broke into tears. "He was such a nice man. Didn't do anything or ask anything... just tried to help..." I heard that all the women had tumped the water buckets. Except old rasp, who was still half convinced we were just another pair of bandits. She kept those beady eyes on us and her hatpin ready to stab at a moments notice. We comforted the women the best we could. When they finally got calm, the woman that had been telling us about the coachman asked "What will we do now? I don't know how to drive a carriage."
I looked at Dusty. He nodded. I turned back to the women. "Well, first I gotta fix the reins and water your mounts. But after that I guess I could drive you to town. We're only a few days out of Little Rock. Hell, we was headed over yonder anyway."
They began to bounce excitedly, chattering over each other about how good it would be to be traveling with Marshals. After that we cleaned up the mess. I fixed the reins, and we set off. We hitched our horses to the back of the wagon and we set off. We didn't get far that first day, their horses were pretty lathered and I didn't want to push em too hard. Once light began to fade, I pulled off the main road and we went about setting up camp. The ladies didn't know how to set up their tents so Dusty and I agreed that we would give them a hand.
That night we got a fire goin and let the horses rest near a creek, drinking their fill from the clear water. I sat on an old log next to to the fire and pulled out my ocarina. I don't know where the hell Dusty got it but I liked the little wind instrument. As I sat playing, mostly just makin noise with it to pass the time, one of the women came and sat beside me. She was the youngest of the lot. She wasn't much older than me, about 20 or 22. She was pretty in a normal sort of way. Sort of a common kind of pretty. She had brown hair with a slight curl and pretty brown eyes and a cute little smile that was genuine despite the fact that it didn't show her teeth.
"Hello there." She said and she smiled at me.
"Howdy." I replied, giving my stupid boyish grin. "Everything alright, ma'am?"
She flushed a bit and smoothed her her traveling dress. "Oh, it's a fine evening." She cleared her throat and offered me her hand. "We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Deirdre. Deirdre Merriweather."
I swept my hat off my head and took her hand giving it a polite kiss. "Dodger, ma'am. It's a pleasure to know ya, Deirdre. If you don't mind my sayin miss, you look lovely in the firelight." When I realized what I had done and said I quickly turned my eyes back to the fire. "Sorry if that seems untoward." Why had I kissed her hand?! Why had I said that?! That was so damned forward! You didn't just do things like that! It wasn't proper! She didn't seem to mind, though. Hell, she actually giggled a bit.
"Oh, I don't mind. A lady likes to hear things like that from time to time." She scooted a little closer on the fallen log. "What is that thing?" she asked, nodding her head toward my little pipe. I lifted the little wooden instrument up and turned it about , letting the pretty native patterns dance in the light of the flickering flames.
"It's called an ocarina. Indians use 'em in their music. Playing on it helps to pass the time out here. You'd go stark raving mad otherwise." I held it out to her. "Would you like to try it?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no. I don't want to break it. It seems so fragile."
I shrugged. "It's tougher than it looks. Those folk build things pretty sturdy."
"Tougher than it looks." She said pensively, staring up at the stars. "So it's like you then."
I laughed. "What do you mean?"
"Your face." She said, looking at me. She reached out and touched my cheek. I almost recoiled out of instinct but I relaxed. "You have such delicate features," she said then she ran her thumb up my cheek. Just under my patch. "But your eye tells a story of your strength. How did it happen?"
I shrugged like it wasn't anything. "Oooh... lost it in a gunfight. 13 to 1 but I bested 'em. Just cost me an eye in the doing." I grinned at her, betraying the obvious lie. She cocked her eyebrow at me and gave me an *oh really* sort of smirk. I sighed and looked up. Looking up at that sky... it was a wonder. Diamond chips caught on a black blanket. "Happened when I was a kid. Just one of those accidents happens. I barely remember it."
"I'm sorry..." She said. And her face said really meant it. She seemed sad for me.
"Oh, hey, it ain't nothin. And it's not out or anything just unsightly so I keep it covered." I looked away from her. "I really don't like to think about it" I said honestly. I hated that eye. Looking at it I just saw Sumter Allen in my face.
"Oh, gosh. I'm sorry... I didn't mean to pry. I'm just nosy by nature." She said, turning scarlet. "I didn't mean to upset you."
I flapped my hand, dismissing it and turning back to her with a reassuring smile. "Oh, it's ok. You didn't know." I said honestly. "Now, can I play something for you, milady?" I asked shaking my ocarina.
She clapped. "Oh, of course! Please!"
"What do you want to hear?" I asked and raised the pipe to my lips.
"Play me something about you." She said a shy and mischievous grin playing across her face. Looking at her, she really was pretty.
"There aren't any songs about me." I told her returning her smile.
"Then make one up for me." She told me. She scooted closer and she laid her hand on my thigh.
I cleared my throat and could feel myself trying to blush... though my heart didn't actually throw enough blood to color my cheeks. I cleared my throat again. "Ok... The Ballad of Dodger Williams."
"And Dusty Holmes, of course." Dusty chimed in, taking a seat on a rock across from us at the fire. He had his violin in his hand and readied his bow. The other ladies sat around and were watching me intently. I was scared stiff, all those eyes on me. I had been through a dozen shootouts, countless fistfights and even a couple of knife fights and I had been a pretty calm customer. But being watched while playing my ocarina? That had me quaking in my boots. Dusty ran a quick little ditty over his violin, checking to make sure it was in tune. "You lead boy, once I get it I will join in. It's just any other night around the campfire."
"Ok... but where do I start?" I asked, looking at my instrument.
"Oh, just think of yourself and play." He told me, shrugging like it wasn't anything at all. Myself, huh? I could do that.
"The ballad of the Marshals" I said and exhaled. Then I began to play. Don't ask me why but the tune I played was quiet and slow, a series of long held notes that flowed from one to the next in a somber melody. I thought of my father, and of the gunfight in Coldwater. I breathed it all into the wood of my ocarina and the little sad song flowed out into the night sky of Arkansas.
Soon Dusty joined in and the harmony he played was oddly joyous but somehow fitting. A happy backdrop to a somber lead. It made sense. Tragedy and triumph in one piece of impromptu music. Then I thought about the wild runs across the countryside, racing Rosie against Horse. Some of the interesting people we met. An old Comanche fellow who taught me a few words, a Chinaman with a wonderful talent for climbing silk ropes, magicians.
My pipe suddenly soared into a flourishing wave and Dusty in counterpoint dropped into a somber melody. Nothing summed up a Ranger's life more than that piece of flute and fiddle work. I don't think it was any good. I still don't. It was rough, some of it was disjointed and didn't flow well. There were a couple pauses where I had to think of where to go with it next. Then I stopped abruptly and took my ocarina from my lips. Dusty let out one last note and cut off too. The ladies looked stunned for a second then clapped. Even ole rasp.
Deirdre looked at me. "That was lovely! But why did you just cut it off like that?" She asked. "I wanted to hear it end."
I shrugged. "I don't rightly know. Felt kinda like I was tellin mine and Dusty's story. And the story ain't over yet." I told her and gave her my silly grin again. "I got a long trail left to ride."
"Well, I liked it." She told me flatly. "It was really pretty."
"Ah, hell." I said scratching the back of my head, embarrased. "I was just kinda makin noise."
"I don't think so at all." She said. Then she touched my leg again. "Well, I'm off to bed. I'll see you in the morning." With that she stood, dusted herself off and headed for her tent. She turned back. "Good night, Dodger." She told me and ducked inside the tent.
"Good night, Ms. Deirdre." I called back. Once the other women had gone to bed, ole rasp actually apologized. It had a sound like she was dragging ten penny nails from her throat. The sound of a woman who was used to being right, having to admit a mistake. Anyway, after the ladies had gone to their tent I set about cleaning my guns and getting things ready to go in the morning.
Dusty tinked on his violin and when I turned to look at him he pointed at me with the bow. "Dodger." He said plainly his eyes screwed up in irritation. "If you don't entertain that young lady, you are a stupid fool."
I looked at him, "And just what in hell does that mean? I played a silly song for her. Isn't that entertaining her?" I walked over and sat beside him, sharpening my knife.
Dusty humphed at me. "You are so thick you could give that log a run for its money." He jabbed me in the side with his bow. "She fancies you and you would be a dunce if you did not take this opportunity to enjoy her company."
"Don't poke me. Ya old goat." I said and rubbed my ribs. "I did. She is a lovely lady and I enjoyed talking to her."
Dusty sighed and then shook his head with a smile. "Ah to be young and ignorant again. I imagine she will move if you don't." With that he went back to tinking away, not really playing but making lovely noise.
The next two days Dusty insisted on riding Horse rather than on the bench seat. Deirdre took up his empty post. We fell into a long talk, she and I. I showed her how to control the team and she told me all about herself. She was moving to Chicago. She wanted to be a singer and dancer out there. She was originally from somewhere in the Carolinas. She loved music in all its forms from old gospel to new modern music involving banjos and washboards. She talked about art and the big cities.
She asked me about marshalling and I told her about my travels. She was shocked when I told her I killed my first man at twelve. I do NOT know why I told her that. But Deirdre was easy to talk to. She listened and actually cared about what I had to say. I felt something for Deirdre and I was utterly ashamed of myself. How could I even think of tainting someone like her? I wasn't even human. I was a Creature. A dhampir monstrosity who had to feast on the living and here I was talking to this woman like I was just some normal thing. It was shameful.
But I couldn't stop. It was like I was drinking from her. I could taste, actually taste, the coppery taste of her excitement when I talked about the fistfights. The strangely sweet tang of her dismay when I told her about my being shot or punched. It was the oddest thing. From sunup to sundown we frittered away the hours on the road and we talked well into the night. It went on like this for four days.
Then one night, on the fourth day of our time together, after everyone had gone to bed for about an hour, I was getting ready to get some shut-eye myself when I heard the rustle of feet. I don't remember drawing my gun but I had whirled and was aiming it at a very spooked-looking Deirdre. She squeaked and placed a hand on her chest, the picture of a woman who has had a sudden fright. I quickly reholstered my pistol and moved hair out of my face, embarrased "Oh, sorry about that Ms. Deirdre, you startled me."
She exhaled and laughed nervously. "Oh, well, you got even with me on that score." She said. "I barely saw you move and then your gun was just... there." She exhaled again. She stepped toward me and motioned toward my little rock I had been using as a chair. She looked around at my little camp setup and then looked at me, curiosity in her face. "We are nearly a hundred yards from the others... why do you sleep way out here?"
I shrugged and pulled my boots off. "Eh, Dusty's snoring keeps me awake all night. That man could suck the doors off a saloon." I had taken off my poncho and I threw it inside the tent. "And now, no offense meant Ms. Deirdre, but ole rasp might as well be a lumber mill."
She gave me an exasperated smile and sat next to me. "I'll have you know, that my Grandma Gerty barely snores at all." She was close enough that I felr her shudder in the cold night air. Without thought, I pulled my poncho back out and draped it around her. I kicked around at the embers until a small flame peaked out of my mostly dead fire. "Thank you very much. It's very sweet." She smiled at me then her face went sort of... hell I don't know the right word. Kind of a forlorn sympathy. "Dodger, are you sick?"
I had been about to take my last sip of coffee and I stopped with the cup halfway to my lips. "What? No." I drank the last of it and set the cup down on the ground. I looked at her, curious. "Why would you think that?"
"Dodger, don't lie to me." She said. Ber face was stern but caring in the moonlight. "I may not look it, but I'm actually pretty observant. I see all the things that you do and that the Marshal does for you."
I was getting shaken. What had she seen? "What do you mean, Deirdre? What things?"
She took my hand. "I see you taking medicine when you think nobody is looking. I see the way you hide from the light. You have a headache almost all the time, like the sun hurts your eyes. If we don't stop often enough for you to get some shade, your skin gets red and it itches you something fierce." As she spoke her hands moved up my arms, she touched the skin at the back of my hands. She lay her hand on my cheek. "And some nights... some nights I hear you crying in your sleep. And your face was all covered with blood when you came out of your tent." Tell me the truth, Dodger. What is wrong with you?"
I pulled her hand away and looked into the tiny light of my campfire. She must have been watching the night I had my nightmare. What could I tell her? What lie could I give that would satisfy her, and be close enough to the truth that I wouldn't be eaten alive by guilt?
I opened my mouth to tell her that I had a disease, a disease which affected the blood. It was what took my eye. There was no cure. What came out instead was, "I'm a monster, Deirdre. A fiend. A thing that has been cursed to live until I get revenge on the man who killed my father." I regretted it the moment it fell out of my mouth. Why?! You damned arrogant fool! Keep the Facade! Mortals have no right to the knowledge of the seperate world! You idiot cowpuncher!
Her reaction was not what I expected. She looked at me angrily, "Damn you, Dodger. Be serious! I have..." she hesitated. "Come to care about you, and I don't feel like being mocked. If you cade for me at all, tell me the truth!" Then she slapped me... she slapped me! "And I know you feel something too, so don't treat me like an idiot!"
I was utterly bumfuzzled! I had been punched, shot and stabbed but it seemed that her angry slap had done more damage than any of those wounds. Not because it actually hurt me, no Deirdre couldn't hurt me if she wanted to. It hurt because she thought I was mocking her. "I ain't funnin woman! I'm telling the truth! I'm a blood drinking crazy monster! You can't be with me! I'm dangerous! Don't you understand?!"
She growled in frustration and stood to leave. "Fine! Don't tell me, cad! I only wanted to help! But if you can't be honest with me..."
I jumped to my feet. "I have been comoletely honest with you! I ain't never told anybody about this cause I ain't supposed to!" I told her. She turned to leave. "Don't go..." I pleaded.
She turned back to me. Her eyes were misty. "Why Dodger? Why lie? Why try to drive me away with something so ridiculous? If you don't want me, just say so and have done with it."
"I swear before God and all the saints, Deirdre. I am telling you the gospel truth." I said, looking into those deep brown eyes. "Please believe me."
"You want me to believe this stupid lie?" She asked and her eyes were hard. "Then prove it."
I stood quiet a moment. What did I do? I sighed. I didn't have a choice. "Please don't run away. I'm still the same person." I reached up and took off my eyepatch. "Please." I opened my eye. The red baleful thing looked deeply into hers and she gasped covering her mouth then she got huffy again.
"So you have a weird eye. That doesn't prove anything." She said, still not convinced. I opened my mouth and let her see my fangs grow from my canines. I looked at her and then down. "And funny teeth..." she said, but I could hear the tremble in her voice and could sense the bittersweet flavor of fear.
I looked around to make sure nobody was watching. The others were asleep and so I poured what little I had into my legs and jumped as high as I could. It was forty feet or better. When I landed there was something in the air. It was delicious and I hated it. It was her sheer terror. She stared at me in horror. The truth of me had settled in. I turned away. "Please, keep my secret Deirdre. My life is in your hands." I grabbed my kit and ducked inside the tent. I couldn't look at her face and I heard her run away. I lay down. I told her the truth and now she was gone from me. Damn, I was hungry and now I was depressed. What a brilliant way to sleep.
I nearly jumped out of my skin the next morning when the flap of my tent opened. There, in the opening against the backdrop of a morning that hadn't yet seen the sun, stood Deirdre. I snatched my blanket up covering my bare chest. "Howdy." I said lamely.
"Good morning." She said and held her hand out to me. "The marshal wants to get moving. I... volunteered to come wake you."
"Oh, alright then." I reached for my pants and tried to put them on under the blankets. The stupid things kept fighting me. I looked up at her bashfully. "I'll be right out." I told her, scratching my head. "I'm kinda in my altogether right now."
"Sorry!" She said turning a bright shade of red. She disappeared from the tent flap so fast I thought she was a ghost. I put my clothes on, buckled my gunbelts, slid my patch over my eye and stepped out of the tent. She was waiting for me. I didn't really know what to say. So I stood there, just worrying the brim of my hat with my thumb. A minute dragged on for an eternity. I could taste her determination and something else. A neutral emotion it didn't have a taste, 'cept maybe lettuce. I went to open my mouth to say something, anything to fill the awkward silence. She beat me to the draw. "Don't say anything until I'm done talkin, ok? I might not have the gumption to start again." She said looking up at me. I didn't know for sure if the don't talk thing had started. So as not to chance it I nodded. Her next statement nearly knocked me down. "I am in love with you, Deputy Marshal Dodger Williams. I don't care what you are. I only care about who you are. I know that things can't really work between us. I'm going to go to Chicago and settle down." She gave me a small smile that widened into a sunny grin. "You are going to turn your horse and ride off twirling your guns into the sunset and become some sort of legendary lawman." Her grin faded and her face became almost pleading. "You scared me last night and I ran away. But I couldn't sleep and I realized that I was being a stupid child. You have amazing gifts. You saved me. You haven't hurt me and I know you never would . I know that you would also give your life to protect a stranger. So please forgive me for being such a fool last night." Her eyes looked at me sad and hopeful at the same time. In answer I put my arms around her waist and brought her lips to mine. It was clumsy and a little awkward but I think she liked it. Which is kind of the goal for a first kiss.