The Man and The Outlaw

Chapter Two

Six Months Later...

The sun beat down on Clara's back, sweat soaking through her shirt and running into her eyes, making them sting. Loren sat several feet away from her, his back propped against a tree and a pair of binoculars up to his face as they had been for the better part of an hour. They were situated at the top of a shallow hill amongst a small crop of walnut trees, perfectly placed so as to keep themselves hidden from view of anyone traveling the Montgomery Trail below and to keep a watchful eye on all who rode its path.
The Montgomery Trail was a known way of traveling between the towns that made up the area known as Crossing's Valley. It was traversed and documented well by all that lived within the county, favored for transportation as the few paved roads that ran through the area were not well maintained and hard on the hooves of good horses. Amongst the flow of regular folks, criminals also preferred the trail as the many hills, valleys, and forested areas made hiding when the need arose a might easier than anywhere else.
Clara had gotten word that The Outlaw Valdez was recently involved in a robbery on the east side of Spencer, a credit union taken for all it had held. Valdez, working alongside two other thieves, had been the lone escapee. The other two, caught several hours later, throwing away their spoils in a bar and drunkenly bragging about what they'd done, were taken into custody and held at the jail. Clara had spoken to the sheriff in Spencer, and he had agreed, for a fee, to allow her a chance to speak to the men that Valdez had enlisted for the crime. They'd been heading that way when they'd stopped for a short break, Loren choosing the spot so they weren't vulnerable to any outsiders they might come across, and Clara had spotted a black dot on the horizon.
As they watched, the black dot had grown steadily larger and more defined, taking the shape of a man on a horse. This was not at all bothersome as Clara knew the trail was travelled hard by many. Still, she insisted they watch and wait. Loren procured the binoculars and reclined himself to do as she had asked.
The man was close enough now that, looking down at him, Clara could see he rode a yellow horse (a horse some might also describe as "blonde"). She turned to Loren, still intent upon what he was viewing through the binos, and she picked up a pebble near her leg and tossed it at him. It knocked against his shoulder, and he jerked his head towards her, the binoculars dropping to his lap.
"What do you think?" she asked him in a whisper that barely cut the quiet.
Loren glanced back at the figure approaching, then turned again to Clara with a heavy breath. He seemed almost reluctant to admit what he said next.
"The horse has a feather branded on its back hip," he told her. Then, even more reluctantly, he added, "I guess we ought to investigate at least."
It was all the confirmation Clara needed. She got to her feet, keeping a crouch so as not to expose herself prematurely to the approaching rider.
"We'll leave the horses tied up here. Let's sneak down closer to the trail and wait for him to get into the trees, that way we can cut him off and he can't skirt us too easily," she explained. Loren nodded his agreement and they set off at a stealthy pace, both crouching low to avoid detection.
Clara's heart began to pound as they got into a position that suited their needs down near where the trail snaked through the trees. This could be the moment she'd waited six long months for. She put a hand to her chest to muffle the thump-thumps that seemed so loud they threatened to give away their position. If this rider was Valdez, they would need all the surprise they could get.
She could still see him approaching as they hid at ground level. The rider sat atop the yellow horse; its mane braided with eagle feathers that matched the brand seared in its flesh. It was a beautiful animal and one that was hard to forget. As Clara and Loren had come to learn, it was what many of the witnesses of Valdez's numerous crimes seemed to remember best.
The rider and his horse were thirty yards out, close enough that Clara could start to make out the man's features through the trees. He wore a black hat pulled low over his face, obscuring beneath it a pair of deep-set eyes and a sharp nose. He had a thick mustache and his face around it was covered in stubble. The collar of his jacket was turned up against the warm breeze of the day. Neither he nor his horse seemed to be aware that they were drawing nearer to the place where Clara and Loren remained concealed.
As the rider entered their cluster of trees, Clara pulled the pistol from her hip holster and checked that it was ready to fire if the need arose. She hoped it wouldn't, at least not right away. If she was to meet Valdez here, she wanted the time to confront him, to make him realize what he'd done. Beside her, Loren had produced his rifle and held it ready in his hands. Clara held three fingers up between them as the rider came within ten yards of where they stood. She dropped her fingers one at a time, each moment bringing Valdez closer and closer to them, and, as her hand closed into a fist once again, she and Loren stepped out into the middle of the trail with their guns drawn on the outlaw.
"Howdy partner," she greeted the startled man in a strong tone, her gun gripped firmly in front of her.
The rider, surprised but not overly shocked at their sudden appearance, tipped his hat back on his head with one hand and smirked at them, giving the air that he had known they were there all along and had pitied them enough to pretend he'd been crept up on. The weapons in his face seemed not to bother him at all. This close to him, Clara could see that she had been mistaken about his facial hair. The face she now saw was clean shaven, smooth. The hat on his head had cast a deceiving shadow.
"Did I do something wrong here?" he asked in a light, almost joking voice.
Clara ignored his question.
"Get off the horse," she ordered. Beside her, Loren cocked his rifle loudly.
"Alright then, take it easy," the rider grunted and dismounted gracefully. His own gun was strapped to his belt and Clara watched his hands closely for any move he might make towards it. There was something about this man that Clara did not trust. He seemed too comfortable, too sure of himself.
"Can you hear me?" Clara's hand went to the scarf around her neck absently, like a child's hand seeking a precious item in sleep for comfort. The rider furrowed his brow, confusion lighting his face for the first time.
"I got off the horse, didn't I?" he retorted, uncertainty paling his voice.
Clara nodded. "You seem to have listened just fine. Now, listen to this..."
She cleared her throat and began to speak then in a voice so clear, so smooth, that it didn't seem to actually come from her mouth but from some place deep inside her. Without seeing it, she knew Loren had plugged his ears. He was well versed in what she could do.
"Pull out any weapons you've got and drop them on the ground," she commanded in that mythical, faultless tone.
The rider's face slacked, his jaw hanging loosely as her words fell on his unprotected ears. Moving slowly, robotically, he began to pull his gun from his belt. Clara held her breath as his fingers enclosed around the butt of the weapon, knowing her abilities and still doubting them all the same, but she relaxed again when he dropped it in the dirt as though it meant absolutely nothing to him. It had worked. She had him.
After the gun was discarded, the rider withdrew a knife from one of his boots and let it fall to the dirt as well. Then, he stood up straight and stared ahead, as though awaiting further instructions. Clara smiled scornfully at this because he was, waiting for her voice to give him something else to do.
"Empty your saddlebags," she obliged, "I want to see some identification."
Once again, the rider did exactly as he was told. He began to pull clothing and equipment from his bags, cans of food, books and papers all dropped at his feet and blowing gently in the breeze. When he finally withdrew a brown leather wallet, he turned around and marched back to Clara, holding it out to her. She took it and opened it up, holstering her pistol as she no longer needed it to ensure the rider's obedience.
Inside the wallet, there were a few bills of paper money, a stick of chewing gum and a plastic ID card. On the card was a picture of the rider, looking slightly younger but altogether the same, and all his personal information. Reading the name printed on the card in her hand, Clara felt her heart sink to her stomach. She sighed, replaced the card back into the wallet and closed it. For good measure, she pulled a folded and tarnished Wanted poster from her back pocket and unfolded it, holding it up before her so she could examine it and the rider at the same time. Comparing the two, it was obvious that there was no match here. Valdez had green, sharp eyes, a narrower face and a darker complexion. This rider did not fit the picture.
"It's not him," she grumbled and felt Loren relax a little beside her.
The rider continued to dump all of his belongings onto the ground without noticing either of them and guilt overtook Clara. She felt her grip on the man weaken and his movements slowed, became jerkier as he started to come back to himself, her control starting to leave him.
"Sit down before you fall down," she instructed him because people tended to do that once the trance had left them.
Shamefully, she took Loren aside, keeping one eye on the rider who was now sitting in the dirt amongst his things, holding his head in his hands and swaying slightly. She handed Loren the wallet, feeling lousy and disappointed. They hadn't expected to catch Valdez on the trail, their hope had lay in the Spencer jail, but seeing the blonde horse had blossomed a fire, a vengeance in her that had clouded all else. She had known that the rider was Valdez, she had been sure.
"Walker Merrill? You mean..."
Clara nodded and her eyes were dragged back to where the man sat, still struggling to right himself and unaware of what had happened to him.
Walker Merrill, as she now knew his name to be, had been a bright spot on the newspapers a few weeks ago, amongst the many robberies and crimes taking place all over the county. He had stopped a runaway horse and wagon before it, and the three children inside, went careening over the edge of Baker's Bluff near the growing town of Brandle.
Walker Merrill, as the ID card had proven the rider to be, was as far from The Outlaw Valdez as one could possibly get, blonde horse or not.
***
He shook the trance better than anybody Clara had seen before.
"Story's over," she murmured to Walker as she and Loren began to pick up his things a replace them in their respective bags. The phrase, invented by her and her father to ease folks out of the transition more smoothly if ever the need for her to use her abilities arose, did little to help Walker, as she had already given up most of her control on him by the time the words had been uttered. He was still sitting in a stupor, holding his head as if to ward off an oncoming headache, but he hadn't thrown up (Clara had seen that before) or fainted (this happened most often). Instead, as she watched him with continuous glances, he seemed to compose himself and even began to try and get to his feet.
"Go slow," Clara warned him.
He looked up as though seeing her for the first time, his hands planted firmly on his knees, breathing hard.
"What...what happened?" he gasped. She saw him reach for the place on his belt where his gun had been before Clara had him remove it, but it now rested firmly in Loren's own belt along with the knife and, upon realizing it was gone, Walker jerked upright so fast that he swayed on his feet and Clara feared he would go out after all.
"Where's my gun?" he snapped, putting his hands out to keep his balance. He did not fall or pass out, but his eyes seemed to clear as he kept his feet.
"We'll give it back to you," she assured him. "Couldn't have you shooting us or, worse, yourself while you came around."
"What'd you do to me? I feel like I just woke up from some weird dream," Walker said. He took off his hat and fanned his face with it.
Clara had been dreading this question from the moment she realized who Walker really was. She felt heat rise in her face and the shame she had multiplied as she faced the confession before her. Walker set his pale blues upon her curiously. She wished he would look away. She wanted nothing more than to vanish from sight, unbearably aware that she had violated the free will of a perfectly innocent man. And all because of her burning eagerness to capture the outlaw. But was "capture" the right word? Was that all she wanted? Was there something more...
"I'm really sorry about this," she began tentatively, shoving every other thought from her brain. "This has just been a big misunderstanding."
"We thought you were The Outlaw Valdez," Loren cut in at her guilty hesitation.
The reaction from Walker was not as they expected it to be. There was no shock or anger on his face, no offended gasp or furious snarl. The curiosity he'd worn looking at Clara remained in full force on his visage.
"Who?" he asked.
Loren began to chuckle, seeing the whole show as a joke, but Clara elbowed him as she saw no laugh playing on Walker's own face. Loren fell silent and Clara narrowed her eyes at this stranger once again. She couldn't believe he was behaving honestly.
"You've never heard of The Outlaw Valdez?" she gaped at him.
"I've been doing work in Brandle, that new settlement to the East," he offered as explanation. "Ain't much out there yet and we don't always get the latest word about what's going on elsewhere. Must look like him or something, huh?"
"You're riding his horse," Loren pointed out, nodding his head towards the idling animal's back hip where the arrow brand showed darkly against the pale hair.
At this comment, Walker's face betrayed a realization of some past mistake that only just now dawned on him. He glanced at the animal he had ridden in on and shook his head, chuckling scornfully at himself.
"I knew the price for him was too good," he scowled. "He's mighty pretty though. I thought maybe it was just my lucky day."
"Well, the day's not over yet." Clara smiled and took Walker's gun from Loren and handed it back to him. As he replaced it in the holster on his belt, Clara held her hand out to him. He cocked one eyebrow at her.
"I heard about what you did at Baker's Bluff, and I'd like to shake your hand Mr. Merrill, if you don't mind. It's not every day that you meet a hero, not now anyway," she said.
He looked down at her hand and then back up to her face, a fleeting suspicion being chased out of his eyes as he broke out into a grin.
"What's your name first? I gotta know your name before I shake your hand," he told her.
She introduced herself and Loren and then he grasped her hand in his and they shook, moving from the realm of strangers to odd acquaintances with one swift motion. His hand was rough and calloused, expected from someone who had used them for heavy work and manual labor. They reminded her fleetingly of her father's hands and she released his grip a little hastily, immediately afterwards hoping he hadn't noticed and become offended. He gave no sign that he had, but she saw his eyes linger slightly on the scarf around her neck before he averted them to look at Loren and back to her face.
"So, you guys are what? Bounty hunters? There a reward on this Valdez guy?"
Loren looked to Clara who felt suddenly nervous. She hadn't thought about having to explain herself to anyone outside of law enforcement. She considered how much to divulge.
"You could call us that," she began, "but we're after justice, not money. Somebody needs to bring Valdez in and we're going to do it."
She felt self-conscious admitting this without any context. She expected Walker to laugh at her, a silly girl who thought she could do the one thing nobody else in the area could seem to pull off. A smile seemed to flicker at the corners of his mouth, but he didn't laugh. He didn't seem to think that her statement was silly or foolish. She wondered if maybe he thought she was brave and of this, she wanted to correct him. She was not brave, but desperate and angry.
"That must be a lot of help then," he finally said, nodding at the scarf around her neck, "being able to do what you did to me."
They had skirted around the issue of what she had done to him with their tangent about Valdez and now it startled her to have it brought so suddenly back to the forefront of conversation. Immediately, she felt her chest tighten and her palms start to sweat. He seemed to have realized what had happened as he came back to himself and now, he eyed her with subtle interest. Clara touched her scarf timidly and Loren stiffened at her side. Most people took issue with what she could do, what she was, especially after she'd just used it on them.
"What do they call it? Uh...speaker...s-...Silvertongue? Ain't that right?" He tipped his hat back again and she searched his face for any signs of anger, disgust or malice. She could detect none of these, just his eyes watching her eagerly.
Clara nodded, "That's right."
She began to tug at her scarf, her heart speeding up so that the thump-thumps echoed loudly in her ears. A familiar throb of anger had sparked inside her chest and her hands moved almost of their own accord, yanking the scarf open to reveal the grayish markings across her throat. The nice breeze against her skin went unnoticed by her as his eyes sought out the marks she'd carried since birth and she scoured his face for a reaction, preparing to fight or put him under her control once more if she had to.
These were the marks of a Silvertongue, or a Whisperer depending on where you were from. Every person born with the gift that Clara owned was marked by God so that even from the first cry, they were set apart, different. Even before they became old enough to speak and actually prove it for themselves, they could not hide what they were any more than someone else could hide the color of their hair or the shape of their eyes.
To her surprise and relief, Walker did not appear shocked by the marks or fearful of what they meant. He didn't even seem to mind that she had used her abilities to gain control of him.
"I didn't ask you to show them to me. You're only obligated to reveal them at the request of another," he finally said.
"I know the law," she replied firmly, rewrapping her scarf so as to conceal the marks once more. "People always ask, eventually. Sometimes it's better to beat them to the punch."
He smiled at that, an approving, almost admiring sort of smile, and she felt privileged to have witnessed it. Any doubts about what he thought of Silvertongues, of her kind of people, began to melt away. He didn't seem to mind at all what she could do or what she was. Clara decided that he might just be alright. Because of this, she felt even more guilt at having used her abilities to force him into submission.