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Copyright © 2004, S. Y. Affolee 5 Wilderness Guide A couple of people were still out on the streets. There was a black clothed minister heading calmly towards the grocery store. A couple of women in calico dresses hurried across the street towards their homes. A teenaged boy gawked at the travelers before sprinting into one of the buildings. That building had a sign that simply said Copper Run Inn. “So you’re a hired hand for farmers?” Ficket asked Prudence as they rode up towards the inn. “Sure, most of the time.” She didn’t want to bother explaining her real occupation. As they dismounted, the teenaged boy came back out of the inn and stammered that he would take the horses to the inn’s stable. He blushed when Prudence handed him the reigns but then yelped in alarm when Scamp padded toward the boy for an inquiring sniff. “Looks like you’ve earned an admirer,” remarked Dash. Prudence ignored him and concentrated on Ficket’s question again. “Farmers supply steady jobs.” There was a momentary scuffle between Biter and the boy, but with a warning word from Dash, the horse seemed to calm dawn but still snorted in annoyance as the boy led him away. “Most women out here on the border don’t do that kind of thing, do they?” asked Ficket. “No. I’m just better at doing farm stuff than domestic stuff.” “Don’t listen to her,” said Dash. “Pru’s good at the domestic stuff. She once embroidered a couple of handkerchiefs for my birthday.” “Oh yeah? You knitted a scarf for mine.” Dash opened his mouth. Then shut it. “Okay, Pru, you win.” Ficket looked confused. “You knit? Aren’t you a hired hand for farmers too?” “Ranchers, actually,” Dash replied. He led the way, pushing the door into the inn. The front room of the inn, a dinning room, was crowded with regulars playing cards and drinking. Women in sparkling dresses and too much makeup circulated and eyed the newcomers speculatively. It was a lot like the Division Corral except with more people and more smoke. Prudence was unfazed. She headed toward the counter to order dinner. Dash followed a few minutes later, after fending off the opportunistic advances of some women who realized who he was. “Where’s Ficket?” she asked. Dash took off his fedora, wiped his brow, and placed his hat back on his head before sitting down. “Over there,” he said pointing off to one corner where Ficket had approached a group of card players. “He’s trying to get more people to come on the trip, I guess.” “They don’t look very interested.” The girl working behind the counter handed Prudence a glass of water and told her that her meal would arrive in a few moments. She sipped, leaning against the counter when she noticed that Dash was momentarily distracted from giving his order to the waitress. “Colby, get back here! She’ll knock you out on your arse.” The sudden appearance of a grimy hand on her thigh startled her in mid sip. “So, darlin’, what’s a girl like you doin’ in this place in men’s clothes?” a raspy voice came next to her ear. “Itchin’ to find a man to get you out of them?” Prudence slowly put her glass down and turned around with her pistol gripped firmly in her hand. She nudged the pistol into place and looked at a foul smelling, bearded brute in the eye. His eyes widened and when he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbed crazily. “If you think you’re the right man to do that,” she said lowly, “You’d be sadly mistaken. Now go back to your hole before your doctor wonders why you’re missing some balls.” The man squeaked and stumbled backward. Prudence turned back around and tucked her pistol back into its holder. “I wonder if that right man even exists,” said Dash. She grinned. “There is no right man. Or a wrong man for that matter. Only smart men and stupid men. And as far as I’m concerned, there are way too many of the latter.” In the middle of their dinner, Ficket arrived with a huge man in tow. Dash and Prudence exchanged glances. They didn’t think that the short rotund man from the cities would be able to recruit anyone in copper Run except for sheer luck. The inhabitants of the last post at the edge knew better than anyone what the hazards of the Dustlands were. “I believe I’ll have a steak, medium rare,” Ficket told the girl working at the counter. He winked one of his beady eyes at her. “A cause for celebration, you know.” Scamp, who was sitting at Prudence’s feet, pricked up her ears at the word “steak,” but otherwise didn’t move. Instead, the puma wearily surveyed the big man that Ficket had brought with him. The waitress only shrugged and ambled back to the kitchen to place the order. “Dash, Prudence, meet our new member of the team,” said Ficket grinning as he took the empty stool next to Prudence. “This is William Altner. Altner, these two are…” “Dash Martin and Prudence Carrou.” Altner finished in a gravely voice. “I know who they are.” “Have we met before?” said Dash, confused. “Rumors,” Altner clarified. “Your names aren’t so common.” Prudence pursed her lips to examine the new addition to the group. He was definitely very tall, perhaps over seven feet, and he wore a non-descript brown coat over loose fitting cowboy clothes. He had a thick black beard and a full head of unruly hair. In one hand, he held a straw hat. Unlike most of the men at the inn, though, he had no visible holster for a gun. Instead, he had a scabbard. The sword was sheathed, but she could see that the hilt gleamed in an odd braided pattern. He was one of the wilderness guides. Ficket signed noisily. “Altner seems like an able-bodied man. It’s just too bad I couldn’t find any guides or trouvers.” Altner smiled slightly at the irony of that statement. “Oh, I don’t know, Ficket. I think you’d do well enough with this motley crew.” And briefly, Prudence silently cursed the reason that the three of them had to keep quiet about their true natures when most people already knew the truth. As if in answer to her musing, Dash said, “Cheer up Ficket. At least you got someone to come with you on your quest. It’s quite difficult to ferret out trouvers and guides, especially if there are, well, Others about.” “Others?” asked Ficket. “You mean they compete with each other?” “No.” Altner took the seat next to Ficket but did not order anything. “You probably know them as the Authority out east.” “Oh! I didn’t know they extended their hand this far west.” “They’re everywhere. Even in the Dustlands.” Altner contemplated the graining of the counter. “Their belief in God, people say, give them strength where courage fails ordinary men. But I’m not so sure it’s faith in some god than something else.” “What else?” asked Ficket. “This place isn’t the best place to discuss such things. But suffice to say, the Others would like dearly to get rid of guides and trouvers and their ilk. Their very existence undermines the Authority’s power.” “I don’t get it,” said the rotund man, perplexed. “How could that be? The wilderness guides and the trouvers are like any other person who’s trying to earn a living. They’re not committing blasphemy or protesting against the government.” Oh, if only you knew, Prudence sighed to herself.  |