The Man and The Outlaw

Chapter Four

They rode into Spencer after midday, stopping at a ranch on the outskirts of town so Walker could trade his blonde horse for something more inconspicuous. The rancher, recognizing the mark, was reluctant at first but Walker talked him into it without hardly breaking a sweat.
"It's for the best," Clara told him as they rode away, and she caught him looking over his shoulder at the animal in its new paddock with real remorse on his face. "We're not the only ones looking for Valdez and it'd just be embarrassing to let you get jumped twice."
She meant it as a joke, but Walker was too distracted to laugh, his eyes still tracing the horse's movements as it cantered about, exploring its unfamiliar surroundings. The eagle feathers in its mane fluttered gracefully in the wind.
"It's just a shame. He's such a beautiful animal," he murmured to himself, seeming genuinely regretful to let the steed go.

They rode on through the heart of Spencer, keeping their heads down and trying their best to stay out of everyone else's way. The last thing they needed was attention but, Clara's scarf seemed to draw all eyes regardless of how low she sat in her saddle or how closely Loren and Walker rode on either side of her. Nobody stopped them or shouted insults at her, something she halfway expected every time she was in a crowded place like this, but they all seemed to be watching. Even those who pretended that they weren't snuck glances out of the corners of their eyes when they thought she wouldn't see them. The Sheriff's Station sat at the end of the main street, and she was grateful when they finally reached it.
The sheriff was waiting for them as they rode up and dismounted before him. He was a portly man with cheeks too large to conceal beneath the shaggy beard that covered them. His shirt was stained and bleached from years of being worn in the sun and the hat on his head sat crooked. There was a half empty bottle near his feet.
He watched them as they approached, his eyes never lingering too long away from Clara and the scarf she wore. There was a sourness in those eyes, deep-seated loathing for what Clara did not know. Perhaps the man had carried it so long that he'd come to feel it for everything around him. He took out a plug of tobacco and bit off the end of it, situating it in his lip with his tongue. Walker tensed beside Clara. He didn't like the look of this guy any more than she did.
"Howdy Sheriff," Clara greeted the man with a forced smile.
He narrowed his eyes at her as the trio climbed the first step to the station. "You the one called t'other day?"
Clara nodded. "Yes sir, that'd be me. I hope our arrangement's still set."
The sheriff licked his lips and adjusted himself in his seat, his arm drifting subtly towards the gun on his belt. He was staring full on at Clara's scarf now and she felt Loren step over closer to her.
"Din't say you was one of them whisperin' devils when we spoke. Reckon that ought be somethin' one mentions 'fore makin' any deals," he growled.
Clara felt the beginnings of anger start in her gut. This was starting to sound like their deal would not be what they had decided upon. She told herself to give the man a chance to prove himself a liar first before she accused him.
"I didn't see how my personal life had any bearing on what we're here to do. Still don't, as a matter of fact," she said.
He smirked and spat a glob of brown juice at their feet, mere inches away from Walker's boots. Walker glared at it disgustedly and did the same to the man, his own hand hanging lithely by his holstered gun. Clara prayed he wouldn't do anything rash. This was the only lead they had to go on.
"'Fraid the deal, as it stands, ain't gonna be an option, missy. You see, I don' take kindly to the likes of you. You want to talk to them boys, yer gonna have to pay 250..."
"That's more than double what we talked about!" Clara snapped.
"... for each person who wants to go in."
Clara fumed and the sheriff crossed his arms over his considerable belly and grinned at her. "Consider it a tax on account of yer dishonesty, you silvertongue witch."
Clara clenched her fists and sighed.  "Now, why'd you have to go and say that, huh?"
"Clara..." Loren's warning voice sounded beside her as he gave a quick glance back at the town behind them and the people milling about, many still keeping a wary tab on them. Clara could pay her friend no mind as she opened her mouth to speak.
"Now, you listen to me fat man," she began, dropping her voice into its magical register.
"What'd you call..."
The sheriff's protests died away before he could complete them as Clara's voice filled his ears and he slumped back in his chair.
"We had a deal, Sheriff. I'm going to pay you the price we discussed, the fair price, and my friends and I are going into your jail to speak to those boys you've got holed up. While we're gone, you're going to realize just how tired you are and take yourself a little nap. Believe me, you've earned it."
As the words left her mouth, the sheriff's head began to droop until his chin rested gently on his chest. Clara cleared her throat, pulled a small money purse from her coat pocket and placed it beside the half empty bottle at the slumbering man's feet. Then, she turned to the two men behind her and smiled.
"Right this way," she said and waved a hand at the station door.
"What'd you give him the money for?" Walker asked her as they entered the station, leaving the now snoring sheriff alone outside. "You could've had him forget the whole thing. I would've, just for him being a no good cheat."
Clara shrugged easily. "I wasn't looking for any handout or any kind of revenge. I just wanted him to hold to his word, that's all."
Walker gave her an appraising look, a smirk clinging to his lips as he shook his head and began to laugh. She waited for him to say something, but he just kept on walking past her into the station without another word.
The station was small and unkempt. The two ancient desks at the front were stacked with papers and the waste baskets beneath them were piled with trash. There was no sign of any other employees or deputies present, though a jacket that was slung over one of the chairs behind the desk had no chance of fitting the sheriff outside and gave the impression that someone else did in fact work there. Four barred cells sat along the back wall; the two middle ones were empty. The two on either end held huddled shapes, one of which stirred as Clara, Walker, and Loren approached.
The figure in the cell at the far end was lying facedown on a cot, appearing to be deep in sleep. The one in the cell closest to them was sitting against the back of the cell, staring at them with wild eyes. His nose and upper lip were caked with dried blood that had stained the front of his shirt and Clara wondered if the sheriff had done it to him, or if he'd done it to himself. The word she'd gotten about these boys, Donnie and David Warren they were called, was that the younger one was a little out of his gourd, a bit warped in the mind. Clara assumed this to be the bloody one and knew that the sleeping one was who she needed to focus on.
"Wake up Davey!" The closest one suddenly shouted in a shrill, cackling voice. Loren stared hard at the boy in the cell as they passed.
"Davey! He's come back!" Donnie screamed hysterically as the trio neared his cell and moved past him.
David began to stir at the sound of his brother's urgent voice. As Clara neared his cell, she watched him roll over onto his back, kick his feet over the side of the cot, and sit up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He paid no attention to the people approaching his cage and so Clara cleared her throat and spoke up.
"Who's come back David? What's he talking about?" she asked casually. David scoffed and ran a hand through his greasy brown hair.
"My brother's got too many screws loose," he sneered, "says things he don't mean. Been thinking every man to stroll in and out of here is that lousy Valdez come to kill him. He got himself whupped this mornin' because he wouldn't stop spookin' at the deputy. If I could get my hands on him, I'd kill him myself, just to shut him up."
Clara could tell he meant it too. His eyes were two black rocks set in his face, sucking in light but reflecting nothing. She wondered if there was a soul down there somewhere deep or if there was nothing at all but empty space. A chill ran up her spine as they held each other's gazes and for a moment she forgot what she'd come in there for. Then, her thoughts came back to her, and she set her jaw sharply.
"Guess you got no warm feelings for Valdez then, huh? Seeing how you're in here and he ain't," she pointed out deliberately.
Impossibly, David Warren's eyes darkened, and he spat in the corner of the cell viciously, getting to his feet and stalking towards where Clara stood near the bars. She forced herself not to take a step back, though every fiber in her was telling her to do just that. She wasn't close enough for him to reach her, she didn't think anyway, but David stopped just short of the bars regardless.
"If I ever see that coward again, I'll string him up and gut him like a pig," he snarled.
Clara swallowed hard and reached instinctively, comfortingly for her scarf.
"Here's hoping you never get the chance to," Walker cut in beside her. "We're looking to catch him."
David gave a wry chuckle and three cells down, his brother broke into a fit of snickers himself. They all turned their heads to look, the atmosphere unsettled. Donnie was smearing the dried blood about his face and gnashing his teeth at something unseen in the corner of his cell.
"You'll never find him. Guy's a ghost, he just vanishes. Unless he wants to be caught, you'll never so much as sniff him," David said.
"People don't just vanish," Clara retorted. "Is there anything you can tell us about him? Did he say anything about what he planned to do after the Spencer job was finished?"
David leered at her.
"We weren't friends lady. We met in a bar, knocked over a credit union together, and went our separate ways. He told me where to be and when to be there and that was it. I didn't even realize he was The Outlaw until after he was gone. Those wanted posters leave plenty to the imagination, you see. Outside of the job, I know as much about him as you seem to."
Clara studied his face, measuring how much of what he said was actually true. She rubbed the scarf between her fingers and considered taking a crack at him while he was under the trance. It wouldn't sit right in her mind, and she let her hand fall to her side. David watched this with a slight interest.
Walker sidled closer to the cell and withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. David licked his lips enviously and cut his eyes at Walker. Slowly, Walker withdrew a cigarette from the pack and held it out to the man in the cell. David grinned and reached for it, but just as his fingers were to close on it, Walker jerked it away and held it just out of his reach.
"You don't remember anything else? Anything at all?" Walker questioned, waggling the cigarette loosely in his fingers.
David Warren scowled at the trick but set his jaw and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He began to pace the cell in front of them, racking his brains for something that might earn him a free man's reward. Clara watched his face for any signs of deception.
"He...he said he was dying once, right before the job." David nodded his head with increasing vigor. "I don't think he meant to say it, maybe he got nervous, that'll loosen the tongue alright. He didn't act sick or nothing, but I don't think he was joking when he said it either. I figured it was just something he said, something to make him seem even more dangerous, more off his rocker."
Clara wasn't sure at first what to make of this. A dying outlaw was definitely more dangerous, like an animal caught in a trap, but it could also make him predictable. Dying people placed much more weight on their decisions, had motivations that the confidently living did not.
"But he never said where he was going?" she asked as Walker handed over the cigarette and lit it through the bars. David puffed on it greedily and shook his head.
"Where do you go when your Wanted poster is plastered on every open surface from here to the Wild River and any blowhard with a shotgun wants to take you out?" He smirked at the three of them.
It was a good question and Clara was wondering the same thing. She chose to ignore the pointed remark David had thrown in at the end. An idea was forming in her mind, one she reminded herself to address a little bit later when they were in a more private setting. For now, she was tired of the crook in the cell and the sunlight through a window on the far wall had grown suddenly dark. Outside, thunder rumbled like a train moving through a tunnel. Down the row, Donnie whimpered like a child.
"Thanks for your help, Dave," Clara told the boy behind the bars. David turned his head and cocked an eyebrow at her, unfamiliar with voluntary politeness from someone on the outside. He tipped his smoldering cigarette at her in return and Clara put her back to him to leave.
"It'll be a shame when they start puttin' your kind of folks in here with the likes of me," he called to her, and she froze. "There's a difference 'tween choosin' to be an outlaw and bein' forced into it."
Clara looked back at him, fearlessly locking gazes again with those dark, beadlike eyes. She wanted to make him understand when she told him. She wanted to make sure he didn't miss anything about what she said next.
"Nobody forces me to be anything I don't want to be," she said sternly. David Warren gave a slight nod of his head, the look on his face almost mirroring that approving look Walker gave her from time to time. It was like when two unfamiliar ships passed each other, each respecting the other's path and allowing the space for them to go on, even as they were wary the other might attack at any moment. Clara turned again to leave, ignoring the looks both Walker and Loren gave her as she did so. Behind her, as she pushed the station door open once again, she heard Donnie's screeching howl in salutation.
"Headed home already Valdez, before you even finish the job?"
Rain was starting to patter on the roof and the darkness outside, added with the ominous sort of call from Donnie Warren, had Clara on her guard as she pushed her way out into the cooler air, Loren and Walker close behind her. The sheriff was right where she had left him, still snoring contentedly with his arms over his enormous belly. She could feel a tiny itching in the back of her brain where she'd shoved the controlling feeling of holding him while she had her discussion with the Warren brothers. Now, she brought it back to the front of her mind.
She waited until they were all mounted on their horses and ready to ride away before releasing her grip on the man. He began to stir immediately, snorting and shaking as he came to.
"Story's over Sheriff," Clara called to him from atop her horse and waited just long enough for his eyes to clear and register what she had done to him. Then, quick as a whip, she rode out at a gallop, hearing the hoofbeats of her friends right behind her.
"Thanks for all your help!" she called over her shoulder as the station was obscured with the dust they left before it.