Wanted

The small radio on the breakfast table blurted various news of weather and politics. “Temperatures show no sign of cooling in this extended heatwave following the double rainstorms,” the newscaster announced. Curtis closed the faucet’s valve with a twist of the knob and firmly tapped his soaked razor against the sink’s edge. He rubbed his hand against his freshly shaven cheeks and chin, then greeted his mustache with a pair of fine clippers. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. A new look for a new chapter of adventure, though it wasn’t due to fashion, a desire for change, nor a sense of renewal.

Curtis combed back his greasy hair, then rubbed his right shoulder to ease the pain from the motion. Stepping out into the main room of the rented living space, he sat at the breakfast table and sipped dark coffee. “In other news,” the radio buzzed on the table, “Armani Anderson’s trial finally has a date set. The former doyenne led the ranger group called the Band of Lovers, headquartered out of Yellowtusk where the rangers worked from Anderson’s government branch outpost. So far, the charges made public for which Anderson will be tried include kidnapping, use of excessive force on a minor, reckless abandon, unlawful use of firearms in residential vicinity, involuntary manslaughter for the death of ranger Payton Serrano, nicknamed ‘the Hunter.’”

Curtis leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the wall as he took another sip of black coffee. After a few minutes, his attention was drawn to the closed blinds over the window next to the table. He set down his mug and parted the blinds to peer through. He found the muffled chatter outside and hefty footsteps were nothing to worry about, but he could never be too sure. A moment later, Sly came through the front door carrying a few paper grocery bags in his left hand; he wore a splint on his right wrist and did minimal work with that hand. The ex-ranger panted and huffed as sweat dripped from him as if he had just gone swimming. He placed the bags on the floor by the table and sat down. Curtis still stood by the window but no longer looked outside.

Sly breathed heavily and removed his hat to wipe bis face with his rolled-up sleeve. “The sun is no joke, I’ll tell you, Dawn,” Sly said between breaths. Sly hadn’t changed his look too much since the battle in Yellowtusk: a simple new hairstyle without cutting it and a fresh wardrobe were all he changed, though public eye certainly didn’t distinguish him as much as it did a longtime outlaw like Curtis. A light beard also covered his chin from not shaving for a while. He turned the dial on the radio to lower the volume so he could talk. “The market was like a ghost town today. I mean, you’d have thought a shootout was happening with how far back people were tucked into their stalls and how empty the streets were. Even in the shade, those sellers must be dying out there all day. Luckily with no crowd, we got what we needed pretty quick and got the hell out of the heat.”

Sly picked up the grocery bags and brought them to the small kitchen, placed them on the counter, and grabbed a glass for water which he poured from the tap. Curtis noted the limp Sly had been walking with since being shot in his left foot by Orator’s heavy-duty pistol. It hadn’t gotten much better like the doctor in Tangate said it would. He thought back to his time in the hospital in Proudkeep and about whatever concoction the doctor there had given Curtis after their bout with Zapper. Curtis wandered to the counter and looked through the groceries, noting a few things that Sly and Mabel obviously bought on a whim instead of only what they needed. “Where’s Mabel?” Curtis asked.

As if summoned, Mabel labored through the door carrying a hefty crate. The label read “camping supply kit,” and the box itself was almost as big as the girl. She slammed the crate on the floor and laid atop it, sweating profusely as her chest rose and sank great degrees from her breathing. She also sported brand new clothing and a shorter hairstyle that brought her lochs far above her shoulders. “Thanks for carrying that, Mabel,” Sly said.

The girl waved a hand before she could speak and Sly gestured to a glass of water he had poured for her. Mabel stumbled over and chugged the glass before she spoke between breaths. “Heavin’ that gargantuan box through town in this heat was like trudgin’ through a conflagration.” Even still, Curtis thought, she made sure to use as diverse a vocabulary as she could. It was still a mystery to him where she learned the words from. Curtis walked to the front door where the crate sat and closed the door, then looked at the supply kit.

“Maybe buying that first was a mistake. That’s on me,” Sly said.

“How much did everything cost?” Curtis asked.

“Let me see,” Sly said and opened a small journal he pulled from his back pocket. He scoffed at the total price. “This stuff was only 127 dimes; we have plenty left.”

“How much exactly?” Curtis prodded.

“In change: one silver, 16 dimes, and nine pennies. We could stay here another couple days if we wanted.” Curtis sighed and examined the crate more. “You really still doubt my responsibility with money.” Sly said.

“This is gonna take up a lot o’ room in the carriage, and be a real pain to unload every night.”

“We don’t have to take out the whole box every time. It comes with a tent, a couple knapsacks so Mabel and I can finally have some, a couple mess kits and some pots and pans. I figured you could use some new ones. Also has a new tinderbox and a lighter.”

Curtis nodded, satisfied with the purchase. “Well then, I suppose it’s ‘bout time we pack things up here. And as long as we’re leavin’, I might make the rounds with this and see if anyone know anything.’” Curtis unfolded the wanted poster of Midnight onto the table.

“You sure you want t’ draw such attention to yerself?” Mabel asked. “Wasn’t the point o’ keepin’ you in the room most of the time so that nobody would recognize ya?”

“People’s memories are bad,” Curtis said. “Unless someone’s holdin’ my wanted poster for comparison, they likely won’t recognize me.” Sly nodded in agreement while unpacking the groceries. Mabel was skeptical but didn’t say anything else. Everything had been fine since they returned to Tangate a couple weeks prior after their battle in Yellowtusk, so it would probably be okay still. Despite the locals knowing well that Curtis and Sly were outlaws the first time they rode into town, nobody batted an eye at them now. Sly finished putting up the groceries and Mabel helped him move the camping crate to one side of the main room, then the ex-ranger bid farewell for the time being.

“I’ll be taking a nap in my room if you all need me,” Sly announced in the door frame. “A hot morning of shopping has me exhausted.” The tall man shut the door behind him, leaving Mabel and Curtis alone in their shared room.

Mabel stretched and said, “I need a bath,” before disappearing into the single bedroom Curtis had given to her while he slept on the couch in the main room. A minute later, she emerged from the bedroom with a towel around her body and walked across the floor to the single bathroom in their rented space. The town of Tangate, though quaint, had many modern conveniences thanks to its proximity to the Ridge.

Most visitors to the Valley Strip coming down from the Ridge use the town as a pitstop before heading into the valley proper, so the inns and motels incorporated much fancier technology than most of the rest of the Valley Strip, though not as modern as the technology as the Ridge itself or the Big City and surrounding towns. Of course, the ruins surrounding Tangate also attracted many visitors looking to study them and research the history of the Valley Strip before the war when the town was apparently much larger. Some electric lighting and plentiful running water were among the niceties in Tangate, but nothing too fancy like refrigeration or electric cooling systems for the homes and inns. Each room in the complex Curtis and the gang were staying in came with a radio, as well, which Curtis turned back up to listen to before he left to probe the public for any information about Midnight. The news about Armani’s trial had already concluded, so Curtis switched the radio off.

“I won’t be long,” Curtis shouted to Mabel who was still in the bathroom before he walked into the scorching day. He stepped onto the balcony that served as the main floor for the second story of the complex. He took in the heat for a moment, then adjusted his hat to fit a little more loosely on his head. He was without his signature poncho and instead wore loose pants and a simple, light shirt, under which he concealed a single revolver tucked in his waistband. A little more stylish than Curtis was used to, but it worked to disguise him even further. He wrapped a scarf around his neck both for fashion and as a quick cover if he needed to hide his face for any reason. From the balcony, he could see Firefly and his horse at the stable connected to the complex. Several other horses occupied the stalls next to them. Curtis’s horse was wrapped in fresh cloth that Sly bought when they first arrived at Tangate.

People normally didn’t bother to question why Curtis’s horse was always wrapped in something like a cloak, but Sly thought it best to change the appearance at least slightly like they did to themselves just to keep anyone paying attention off their trail. The cloth was much more decorative and looked like something with a purpose other than hiding what’s underneath. Sly suggested using the excuse of being a travelling artist if anyone asked, hence the more stylish clothing he wore to endorse the guise. Curtis hopped down the stairs to the ground floor and made his way across the street. Despite his belief that most people wouldn’t recognize him, he still wanted to gain distance from his current hideout before drawing any attention to himself. Better than safe than sorry was the best play under the circumstances.

Despite being shunned away two weeks prior, today the residents of Tangate greeted Curtis with smiles and soft hellos. They didn’t know who he was, of course, but that didn’t bother him. He could feel from the bottom of his boots to the top of his hat that his days of relative anonymity in the public eye were numbered. Not quite two years ago he was a stranger to all, but in the time since, he had become a known face to the Government, to rangers, then average law enforcement, and now even some civilians before he changed his look. Sly was in the same boat now because of him; already known by the Government and other rangers, but soon deputies, sheriffs, and passersby would begin to recognize him. Worst of all, Mabel would start to draw the same attention. Thanks to Armani Anderson’s efforts, Mabel had gained recognition by the Government and most likely several other rangers, too; the doyens were almost guaranteed.

Luckily, the news never got a good description of Mabel to provide a portrait and nobody south of Dry Creek had a camera, especially not one to set up in the middle of a shootout in the dead center of Yellowtusk. Eventually, Curtis knew, if they all stuck together and continued along their current path, they would all be highly recognized and highly sought after criminals unable to show their faces anywhere. Curtis stopped on the side of the dusty road and looked at the wanted poster in his hands. How’d ya do it? he thought. Become so infamous, yet nobody seems to know yer face? He sighed and continued walking. There was one person who supposedly knew his face, though. He thought about the name Midnight used while in a relationship with Armani which the latter revealed to be Chester Gaines. Nothing was immediately remarkable about that name; he hadn’t heard it before. In fact, Midnight never gave a name for Curtis to call him at all. The young outlaw-to-be always referred to the black-clad man as ‘sir,’ or ‘old man’ once they became more acquainted with each other.

There was no way Chester Gaines was Midnight’s real name, Curtis thought. Even if he truly loved Armani, he wouldn’t have revealed his real name so early on. But there was still the fact that Armani knew his face, but the Government apparently didn’t, given how little detail is provided on the wanted posters. Curtis wondered if their relationship would come to light during Armani’s trial. If so, the search for Midnight would likely become a top priority for the Government. Not good. Curtis shook the thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He tried his best to disturb the general public as little as possible, so he only asked about Midnight to every few people he passed. Unsurprisingly, nobody had heard any news about the mysterious cowboy, even if they had heard of him before. Curtis stepped up to another stranger on the side of the road and asked about the sketch on the poster.

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” the finely dressed gentlemen grumbled in a gravelly voice. It wasn’t until the man said “Sorry,” that Curtis recognized his bushy mustache and balding head, and he could see in the man’s eyes that he recognized Curtis at the same time after a minute of standing face-to-face. “Wait,” the man said. “Have I see you ‘round here before?”

“Doubt it,” Curtis said. “Just passin’ through…” He let the last word trail off. A gentle breeze passed over them and the balding man widened his eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Curtis cut him off. “Don’tchu say a word,” the outlaw said quietly and gripped his revolver through his shirt so the barkeep from Sunnyville could see he was armed. “Let’s not make anythin’ of this. You know well what I’m capable of.” Other street goers walked past, ignorant of the situation unfolding between the two men. The bartender gave no sign that he was going to try and get anyone’s attention. “I suggest we each turn around an’ walk away without lookin’ back,” Curtis said. The bartender’s eyes darted around but he kept his head forward.

“Where’s that horse o’ yers?” the bartender asked.

After a moment to collect his thoughts, Curtis replied, “Not here.”

The barkeep chuckled. “Y’know, I’ve thought a lot about that day you came through Sunnyville. I thought I was seein’ things when that silver stallion reared up an’ flashed its metallic hide from under its cover, but as the town got to talkin’, I realized I wasn’t crazy. We weren’t crazy.” Curtis kept his eyes on the bartender without taking his hand off his pistol. “That ranger—whatever his name was—he told everyone to calm down and that he would go deal with you. Guess he failed at that. We tried talkin’ to the few others that passed through town about what we saw of yer horse, but no one believed us. Soon, Sunnyville became known as a town of crazy people.” He paused, then continued. “And that, it soon became. People went mad over yer horse and when no one else outside o’ town reported seein’ it anywhere you had apparently been, the locals o’ Sunnyville started to believe they really were crazy again.

“But I know what I saw. There’s somethin’ special about yer horse that you don’t want anyone knowin’. The truth’ll come out eventually. You can’t run forever, and whatever yer plans are won’t work out. They never do fer yer type.” Curtis stood strong in the staring match, but he could feel an ache in his muscles. His stomach plunged from the barkeep’s words. He wasn’t sure what to do then: turn and run or try to intimidate the bartender into keeping his mouth shut? He hadn’t much time to consider his options when the bartender reached a hand toward someone walking by and pleaded quietly for their help. Curtis turned his attention to the new person and reached for them, as well, but before Curtis touched the stranger’s other arm, the stranger placed their free hand on the bartender’s shoulder. The stranger was a tall man with skinny legs and a bulky torso. His arms were rather skinny, as well, and he had a tall head with thin, slicked back hair.

Dark rings swooped under the stranger’s sunken eyes and a discomforting smile stretched from ear to ear and revealed tiny, yellow teeth. He looked at the bartender who became terrified at the sight of the stranger now that he had a better look at him. Curtis simply watched as the stranger’s thin fingers squeezed the bartender’s shoulder and he whispered something to the bartender. Then, the bartender’s expression went blank and his grip on the stranger’s arm loosened. The bartender fell forward and when he leaned against the stranger, the stranger caught him and held him in place as if the two had just bumped into each other. “Pardon, sir,” the stranger said in a straight tone and an accent not unlike that of the Ridge, but much more tired sounding. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” The stranger’s voice sounded as though he was too exhausted to speak clearly or loudly.

The bartender shrugged him off and walked down the road with no acknowledgement of Curtis. Curtis turned to call the bartender, but the stranger interrupted. “No need to worry,” the tired voice said. “He won’t remember speaking with you just now. Or ever.” Curtis slowly turned to face the stranger again, keeping his hand on the grip of his gun through his shirt. The stranger gave him the same creepy look he had given the bartender before doing whatever it was he did to the man just then. Curtis felt his muscles tensing up and noticed his feet aching as he shifted his weight in determination of whether to flee or stand his ground. He didn’t think much about it before the man spoke again which somewhat calmed his nerves, but only temporarily.

“That was a close one, hm?” the stranger said and flashed another toothy smile. “You know, as that man was saying, you made quite the impression in Sunnyville. You were outpacing the rumors for a while, but they’ve certainly caught up with you by now.”

“Rumors, huh?” Curtis spat out after swallowing the lump in his throat. “So, you’ve heard ‘em, too? What that barkeep was talkin’ about?”

The stranger nodded. “I know about your horse and your spell. Vaguely, anyway. The reports Armani Anderson filed about your Compulsion have spread, though the general public knows very little about spells, much less who possesses which particular power or what that power is exactly.”

“But you know about spells, and me obviously.”

The stranger nodded again. “And speaking of Armani Anderson, word has spread about what exactly happened in Yellowtusk that night and who was involved. Eyewitness testimonies have begun placing certain unnamed individuals at the scene of the incident, so it’s a good thing you and your crew have changed your looks.”

He knows about Sly, and Mabel, too? Curtis thought.

“Though, even with a shave, that bartender still recognized you. I would suspect anyone else who you’ve met face-to-face may also remember you after a short time looking at you again. I suggest you be careful is all, more so than you have been. Especially when asking people about him.”

The stranger pointed to the wanted poster crumpled in Curtis’s free hand. Curtis exhaled and loosened his grip on the paper, then raised it a bit and spoke quieter. “You know about ‘im?” The stranger smiled without teeth and nodded slightly. Curtis stepped forward and pushed the stranger away from the street. With one hand, he firmly clutched the man by his collar and with the other, he withdrew his gun from his waistband but kept it concealed under his shirt. “What is it, then? Tell me what you know,’ he commanded under his breath.

The stranger looked around the street, but nobody was around to hear their whispers or be concerned with how close the two had gotten with a quick shuffle of feet. Still holding his endless smile, the stranger whispered, “I know you were once in his care, and I know you’ve been looking for him since he disappeared from his ranch in Dry Creek almost two years ago. I know about his connection to Armani Anderson, and I know you worry that the Government will find him first and kill him, if he isn’t dead already. What information you don’t already have that I can share is limited, but I assure you that he is a man of great power and will, and he is most certainly very much alive.” The stranger took a step away from Curtis and spoke at a regular volume—as regular a volume as he could muster, anyway. “I cannot say much more at this time but know that our paths will cross again very soon. We’ll be able to tell you all we know of Midnight then.”

“We?” Curtis asked as he unclenched the man and took a step back. The stranger then touched Curtis’s shoulder and disappeared in a blink. Curtis looked around and saw no sign of the harrowing figure. He tried to think of how the man could have gotten away in a flash and concluded that it had to be with aid from a spell, but he wasn’t sure what kind. It felt as though he had just forgotten the last half-minute when the man walked away. Curtis stood and thought for a few minutes but couldn’t think of how to find the stranger again. Tangate was small, but well populated and only got busier as the evening approached, so bumping into the stranger again by chance seemed unlikely as more bodies filled the streets. He also saw no value in asking around about Midnight any more seeing that nobody had any info from the people he’d already asked and doing so had nearly exposed him. He returned to the complex he temporarily called home and spent the evening organizing his belongings to be packed into their cart to leave the next morning.

***

Curtis awoke peacefully in his bed—the same bed he had been sleeping in every night for over a year. He felt well rested after a long day of training his newly developed spell, the one he had been born with but didn’t know about until Midnight had shown him how to use it. He lied in bed until the sun’s early morning rays shown through the curtains of his bedroom window. To his surprise, Midnight—simply “Sir” to him—didn’t enter his room demanding him to get ready for another day of training. Instead, he heard a faint call and a gentle knock at the door.

“Arthur?” Midnight said. “You awake?” The raspy voice was all too familiar to the young man as both a symbol of comfort and of tiresome work. He had never heard Midnight raise his voice to a proper yell while giving a command or out of anger, but he could tell when the older gentleman didn’t want to repeat himself. Arthur waited to answer, contemplating the idea of feigning sleep, but decided against the ruse.

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

“Come downstairs when you’re dressed. I have something for you, but don’t rush.”

That was new. Arthur got breaks from training one day on the weekend, but it was the middle of the week and there wasn’t anything major to tend to on the ranch that day. What was special about today that he needn’t rush out of bed? Arthur went slow, but not too slow. Within a half hour, he was downstairs in the morning room with his guardian. Midnight sat in his reclining chair that seemed so rarely used. A fancy box was set on the drink table in the middle of the room. Arthur was familiar with the house and the ranch by now, but certain things still felt unfamiliar from time to time. Midnight hardly ever lounged around in the morning room unless he had guests, which itself was rare. Today was strange, indeed. The older man leaned back and pointed at the box. “Open it,” he told the younger man.

Arthur knelt next to the table and unhooked the gold-colored latches on the front of the dark wood box. He opened it slowly, then swung the top open once he glimpsed its contents. Two polished revolvers rested snugly in blue felt cloth. “It’s a dangerous world,” Midnight told him. “I want you to be able t’ defend yerself when I’m not around anymore.” Arthur stared at the brilliant silver steel carved with intricate designs. Midnight leaned forward and stood from the recliner, then knelt next to Arthur. He rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and spoke. “I’ve set the mold for you to be the man you always dreamt of while living on the streets; now it’s up to you to fit that mold and expand out of it,” Midnight said as he stood. “That’s also why I don’t want you to carry your past with you. I’ve gone by many names in my life to try and distance myself from my past. From now on, you will have a new name. Curtis Conrad.”

***

The revolvers sat on top of a dresser in the main room of the rented space Curtis and Mabel were staying in. Curtis took a deep breath as he looked around the room after waking up. He faced the door when he heard a knock. A minute later, Sly came around to the window with the sun beating behind him and tapped on the glass to get the dozing Curtis’s attention. After a cup of coffee, Curtis was ready for conversation. By then, Mabel had come out of the bedroom and sat at the table with Curtis while Sly cooked breakfast. Sly’s cooking skills weren’t quite as exceptional as the Wall’s, but the food was much better than the rations the three of them had eaten for most of the week they had been travelling before fighting the Band of Lovers. Once the group had eaten and the usual morning chat died down, Curtis spoke of his dream.

“It was my first birthday with Midnight,” the outlaw said. “It wasn’t exactly a year since he adopted me, but he said he realized we didn’t celebrate the anniversary and I had told him I forgot the actual date o’ my birth, so he picked a new day. He never cared much for such occasions; we never celebrated his birthday, but I certainly appreciated that he acknowledged one for me. It’d been a while since I was gifted anythin’.”

“Are all your dreams about real events in your life?” Sly asked. “You’ve never told us about a dream that didn’t relate to your past or to Midnight.”

Curtis shrugged. “I can’t tell you the last time I had a dream that wasn’t just a memory from my younger years. About my time with Midnight.”

“I don’t have a lot o’ dreams, either,” Mabel said. “But they’re usually nonsensical, and I forget them quickly.”

“I’ve had some really weird ones,” Sly said and raised his eyebrows. “Mabel was in a circus in one of them.” Curtis and Mabel looked at Sly, both confused and unamused in their own ways. “One time, I dreamt that Payton and I were married with kids, and another time Armani was my adopted mother. That one got freaky fast and—”

“Sly,” Mabel groaned. Curtis had tuned out the stories and was examining the once beautiful revolvers that now rested next to him on the table, the polish not so brilliant and the carvings chipped and not as defined. He had also forgotten about the date etched onto the base of the grip marking the day Curtis received his first pistols, February 2. “That’s also the day I was named Curtis Conrad.”

“Hm?” Mabel mumbled.

“Oh yeah,” Sly said. “I remember you mentioned that while we camped out north of here the night Mabel was kidnapped.

“You had a different name before?” Mabel asked. Curtis nodded.

“Arthur Ray. That’s what my parents named me, though I don’t remember them much.”

Mabel chuckled slightly as if to say “Me, too.” Sly could sense a somber silence coming on and broke the tension before the backstories started pouring out.

“It’s been a couple years since I properly celebrated a birthday, but I still remember the day. May 31.” He rested his chin in one hand. “Got a big fat demotion for my last one, but if it wasn’t for that, I probably wouldn’t have met you guys. So, I guess I’m thankful for that.” Curtis raised an eyebrow to that, and Mabel gave a slight nod. Sly looked at the girl. “What about you?”

Mabel sighed and leaned to one side. “I don’t remember my birthday. The last one I celebrated was before I left Thorntree. I just know it was in the late summer.”

“Well, shoot,” Sly said. “I wish this all came up sooner. We could’ve picked a new day for you, too, while we were hanging around here.” Mabel nodded again, somewhat wishing they had done so.

“Not a good time, now, unfortunately,” Curtis said and stood. “We need to start packing and get on the road as soon as possible. We’ve been ‘ere too long.” So, the crew did just that and within the hour, their cart—which they had since replaced the hood on—was packed and Sly was closing out their tab at the complex’s management office. Curtis and Mabel retrieved the horses and hooked Curtis’s horse up to the carriage and a few minutes later, they were on their way. The complex the three had stayed in for their time in Tangate was close to the edge of town, so they wouldn’t have to go far to call themselves home free and out of sight of anyone who could recognize them, at least until they reached the next town. Yellowtusk was the next closest city on their way north, but with all the attention that place was getting with Armani’s trial and potential witnesses who would recognize the group just for being two wandering men with a young girl, the group decided to skip the Band of Lovers’s former territory and head straight for Rich River.

That would mean a few days of camping, but that was nothing new for the three travelers. Though, of course, having spent half a month sleeping on cushioned furniture and eating freshly prepared food, it was going to be a harsh transition for the first few nights on the road. The crew was rather quiet on their way out of town despite being chatty all morning. Perhaps it was the idea of facing daily perils again for who knows how much longer while they searched for Midnight, Curtis had thought. The odd encounter with the stranger also weighed on his mind. He hadn’t mentioned it to Sly and Mabel. He just wanted to leave Tangate so the chances of them being recognized from staying in one place too long wouldn’t grow. They were almost in the open desert, Curtis thought, and only a couple more minutes of riding down the main road and they would once again be on their own.

Curtis sat in the front of the wagon to steer his horse while Mabel rode in the back. Sly directed Firefly a little closer to the carriage to say something to Curtis, but his thoughts blanked when a loud noise echoed down the road. The three of them immediately recognized it as a gunshot. Curtis and Sly both froze momentarily while they assessed whether the shot was at them, but they soon located the source of the shot and found themselves in the clear for now. Mabel scrambled to the front of the carriage and poked her head through the opening in the hood.

“What is it?” she asked, then also saw the commotion up ahead. Three figures stood near the edge of town, each a few yards away from the other two. One was a tall, tanned, muscular woman sporting a sleeveless shirt that ended above her waist and tight pants. The second who, appeared to be with the strong woman, was a pale man with basic clothing—a tunic and sturdy pants with boots and a pinched-front hat.

The third person faced the other two with a six-shooter drawn. His olive skin and dark hair was rather unique in the Valley Strip, and the scarring over the left side of his face made him instantly recognizable.

“That’s Martin Talley,” Sly said. “Also known as ‘Steel.’” Sly pulled out the bounty pamphlet and flipped through the pages. “Here. His bounty’s worth one gold!”

“We sure could use that cash right about now,” Curtis said.

“But who are those two?” Mabel asked.

The crew looked ahead at the three figures in the distance. Steel was starting to panic over something and fired off two more rounds at the strongwoman, but the woman didn’t react. Steel stumbled back and kept his gun aimed at her. The woman stepped forward and laughed, flexing her muscles. The bullets had hit her skin but didn’t penetrate. She changed poses and continued to flex as Steel shrieked and took aim at the other person standing with the strongwoman. He pulled the trigger of his pistol two more times, but the strongwoman moved in front of the pale man and blocked the bullets with her back, flexing of course. Her tight shirt allowed full visibility of well-defined lats and trapezii.

“Better stop wastin’ yer shots,” the muscular lady said and straightened out. “By my count…”

“He only has one left,” Mabel said to her companions who nodded.

“What the hell are you?” Steel yelled. “Stay away from me!” He fell back and landed in the hard dirt, gun still pointed at the strongwoman. She laughed again and wandered around to Steel’s right side. He followed her with his revolver the whole way. She never got too close, but Steel’s shivering and her obvious confidence in her bullet-deflecting pectorals told her that she could have, if she desired. Instead, she only watched as the once revered outlaw quivered in his boots and shakily rose to his feet again. “You—you monster! Keep away or, or…”

“Or…?” the woman taunted.

Steel wiped sweat from his brow and turned to run. He made it only a few yards before he stopped dead in his tracks and froze in a half-running stance. “Woah!” the pale man said. “Almost had it there, Talley. A couple inches farther and I wouldn’t’ve caught ya.” The pale man stood with his arm outstretched, but not holding onto Steel. His hand was spread open, and he strained his body like he was reaching out to grab someone who had fallen over a ledge, yet he made no contact with the targeted outlaw. Even so, Steel stood paralyzed somehow.

“The hell is this?” Steel yelled.

“Come on now, Steely,” the woman said. “Someone like you’s gotta know the world’s changin’ quick.”

“You may have been a real top dog a year or two ago,” the pale man added, “but nowadays, if you don’t have a spell, you’re just an easy target.”

“Oh, I get it,” Steel said. “You’re a couple o’ those freaks with weird powers. Yeah, a lot more of ya’s been croppin’ up as of late. I dunno what the Government’s puttin’ in the water, but it’s messin’ everyone up!”

“It ain’t the water, tough guy,” the woman said as she approached Steel and took his gun, then slapped a pair of shackles onto his wrist. Despite Steel’s paralysis, the woman was able to manipulate his arms freely to position his wrists appropriately for the cuffs.

“Keep conspiring,” the pale man said. “Maybe you’ll figure out the secret.” He relaxed and stood straight once the strongwoman had Steel in her custody, then Steel was able to move normally (other than being bound and held by the strongwoman).

“I evoke my right to a duel against my arrester!” Steel shouted.

“Brother, you’re an outlaw,” the pale man said.

“And we’re not arrestin’ you,” the strongwoman added. “You’re our captive.”

“Did they say somethin’ about spells?” Curtis asked. “I couldn’t hear ‘em clearly.”

“I think so,” Sly answered. “That must be it. No other explanation for what we just saw.”

“Are they rangers?” Mabel asked.

Sly shook his head. “No way; not with those outfits. No arm bands, either. And most rangers don’t have spells.”

After a minute of silence, Mabel spoke again. “So, what do we do?”

“Probably best we just ignore ‘em this time,” Curtis said. “I don’t wanna get into trouble just as we’re tryin’ to get outta here. Let’s keep movin’ before any rangers do show up.”

Sly agreed and the three of them continued down the road out of town. As they passed the other trio on the other side of the road, Mabel peaked out the back of the carriage’s hood to take another look at the pale man and strongwoman. As the strongwoman led Steel away in restraints, the pale man turned and looked directly at Mabel with a serious expression. The girl gasped and ducked into the hood. When she peaked again through a tiny opening she made, the two spellcasters and the outlaw were too far down the road to study much, so she made her way to the front of the cart and called Sly.

“Will yer name be on the bounty pamphlet if we get a new one?”

“Soon,” Sly said. “They update them at the start of each month. If there are any major updates, though, like a huge increase in bounty or an abnormal number of new entries, or on the very rare occasion someone is bumped up to maverick status, then they’ll update it in the middle of the month. But wanted posters are made as soon as a bounty is placed on someone’s head.”

Mabel nodded and sat back under the hood of the wagon. They had only been on the road a few minutes and the heat was already getting to them, but Curtis and Sly pressed on under the scorching sun and entered the wild desert for the first time in over two weeks. A shared mix of feelings washed over the three travelers: dread to be casting themselves out of civilization once more and into the dangerous wilderness, but also relief that they had managed to evade trouble for so long. Curiosity also swept over them as they wondered who and what they would encounter on the next stretch of their journey to find Midnight. If he had started to doubt himself before the stranger from yesterday told him confidently that Midnight was alive, Curtis now felt excited that his hopes of answering questions about his past weren’t totally squashed.

Click here for a map of the journey so far.

The sun beat down on the trio hotter and brighter than ever. The three of them stayed silent for most of the early afternoon; Sly focused solely on the desert ahead, listening to the soft panting of his steed while Curtis honed in on the creaking of the wagon wheels and the quiet jostling of their equipment in the back—anything they could do to keep from zoning out in the heat. Mabel sprawled out on one of the benches under the hood and fanned herself with Sly’s and Curtis’s wanted posters. They were still far enough south that defined roads between towns were nonexistent since regular travel was inconsistent and the desert winds erased all evidence of traffic outside of a mile from civilization.

It would take the group most of the day to reach Yellowtusk, but since they had decided to avoid that city this time around, it would be more like two whole days until they reached another town. The addition of a blistering heatwave made their movement slower and required more breaks for Firefly, so it could be closer to three days until they reached Rich River. They had the supplies for the journey, but it would still be an unpleasant one. Curtis had also made it clear to his band that he didn’t want to get into any trouble in the desert anytime soon, so if they saw another outlaw, they ought to do their best to avoid them. “I’d rather find a seat at a poker table than deal with guns and spells right now,” he said.

Sly agreed, but also made the point that they shouldn’t waste any good opportunities to make a quick buck. If they passed by an easy target, perhaps a low-threat criminal without a spell worth at least a few als, then they should take the chance and ring them in on their way. Curtis hadn’t agreed to that idea, but he didn’t protest either. Mabel was always ready to scrap, but then again, she was rarely the one doing the fighting. She liked the excitement, but also understood the danger it put her and her friends in each time bullets started flying. After a brief break for Firefly to drink and for everyone to eat some of the perishable food they’d brought, the crew continued across the dry landscape littered with brittle shrubs, the horizon blemished by jagged mountains and shifting dunes.

As they rode, Sly thought about his past working under Lester Langley, and when he could possibly admit his wrongdoings to Mabel. Before leaving, while Mabel was retrieving the horses from the stable at the motel, Sly had brought up the subject to Curtis and asked for his opinion on timing and what to say.

“Tell ‘er whenever you’re ready,” Curtis told him. “At the same time, try not to make her hate ya. Lead in by sayin’ how much you regret it and that you were just doin’ yer job, oblivious to the greater harm it was causin’ the lower class.” Curtis was right, Sly thought, at least in part, but he still didn’t know how to bring up the subject without it being too sudden. Then again, doing so could make it apparent just how much the guilt has been weighing on him and that he was desperate to get it off his chest and move on. Curtis wouldn’t be much help for this one. He had to do it himself and he had to trust that the bond he had formed with Mabel over the past few weeks was strong enough that her trust in him would remain uncompromised.

Several more hours went by with the crew trudging through the desert, the horses’ hooves kicking up dusty clouds as they trod. The sun was on its rapid descent but still far from the horizon; it was maybe three hours from sunset when Yellowtusk’s silhouette finally appeared on the southern horizon. They were about halfway to Rich River and making good pace, but they would need to stop again soon for Firefly’s sake—and frankly their own—then would likely have to set up camp before continuing in the morning. In the daytime during the heatwave, moving for a whole nine or ten hours would be too much for any person or animal. The trio started to keep an eye out for a spot with at least a small outcropping of rocks which would provide some shade for Firefly at the end of the day, and so they could set up camp and get an early start in the morning, perhaps before the sun had fully risen.

Upon spotting an appropriately rocky hill, Curtis couldn’t help to feel a tad wary of anything in the middle of the desert that could serve as cover for a long-ranged foe, but he forced himself to calm down. Then, as if to confirm his fears directly, the group heard the echo of a gunshot. Curtis and Sly flinched and Mabel raised her head, unsure if what she heard was what she thought. She looked through the front of the hood and noticed Curtis’s reaction, so she scrambled up front but didn’t expose her head at the front of the wagon. Curtis and Sly looked at one another and confirmed that neither of them was injured. All three of them looked around to determine the source of the sound. Curtis’s focus was primarily on the rocky hill, but he couldn’t make out anything or anyone that appeared to pose a threat to them. Still, they couldn’t see Payton Serrano at the tor between Coyote Run and Onyxlanding, so Curtis wasn’t convinced they were safe just yet.

Naturally, the group didn’t want to stay exposed in the open desert, so Sly voted that they head to the rocky hill despite their experience that doing so was a bad idea. Curtis agreed only because they had no other cover and hadn’t yet identified the source of the gunshot. A second shot echoed from somewhere in the desert. Again, no bullet seemed to strike anywhere near the group, but they didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the desert who would be interested in a couple of weary outlaws.

Sly and Curtis directed their horses toward the rocky hill where they prayed that they wouldn’t be confronted with another enemy with a rifle, but as they approached the jagged formation, they found it was not a haven after all. The threat in front of them wasn’t a person, but animals. Before they stepped foot off the searing sands, a pack of snarling wolves appeared from the sharp shadows of the rocks. Their multi-shaded coats were puffed up for intimidation, their hair standing straight up on their backs like porcupines; their teeth were borne and dripping with menacing saliva.

The gang halted their progress and remained some distance away from the rocky hill so the wolves couldn’t surround them by surprise. In the week of travel before facing off with the Band of Lovers, animals hadn’t been a threat to the group, mainly because the desert farther south isn’t able to sustain larger forms of life. And as far as Curtis was concerned, humans were the only threat to face in the Southern Slick. So, to say the trio was shocked to see something other than a human trying to do them harm was a bit of a relief, but not something to rejoice at. Still, someone was nearby firing a weapon and whether it was at them was something they didn’t want to find out.

“Does Firefly have the energy t’ outpace these dogs?” Curtis asked his partner.

“I think so, but only for a little while. How far into the desert do you think they’ll chase us?”

“Not sure. My steed is fast but haulin’ this wagon around’ll slow it down drastically.”

The wolves barked and cautiously inched closer to their prey; nine of them had appeared on the hill and it proved difficult to keep an eye on all of them. Curtis looked back at Mabel who was watching the wolves intently. She swallowed nervously as sweat dripped down the side of her face from anxiety and exhaustion.

“We might be able to drop some food behind us to slow some of them down,” Curtis said. “Then we can try to pick off the rest that keep up the chase.” He reached for one of his revolvers.

“Are you sure that’ll work?” Mabel asked.

“No,” Curtis admitted. “The other choice is we ditch the wagon and try to outpace ‘em, then hopefully circle back for our stuff once they tire out. The question remains if they’ll tire before Firefly.”

Sly looked at Curtis in anticipation of his choice. The wolves hadn’t begun their full assault just yet, but with how close they were getting and the volume of their growls increasing, it surely wouldn’t be long before they pounced. As if to hasten the decision, another gunshot sounded from somewhere closer than before, and this time Curtis and Sly could see a burst of sand by Curtis’s horse’s hooves from the bullet barely missing the outlaws. This shooter wasn’t as talented as the Hunter but still had the range to be dangerous. Curtis turned back to Mabel and commanded her to hop onto his horse, then he and Sly began their retreat. As predicted, the wolves immediately chased after them, quickly gaining on the cart and on Firefly who Sly was directing to keep pace with the wagon.

Curtis frantically loosened the harness connecting his horse to the wagon while trying to maintain control of the cart in the unstable terrain of sand and stones. He held his hat with one hand and unhooked the final latch of the harness with the other, then prepared to leap from the front of the cart to his horse. Immediately after the harness fell away from the horse, the wagon began to slow and started to veer off course. Curtis inhaled deeply through his mouth, then exhaled the same way, then took another breath and held it. He focused on the saddle that Mabel already occupied half of and thought for not a second longer. He jumped and the wagon slowed to a stop soon after, bumping along the uneven ground. Sly commanded Firefly to speed up and took note that most of the wolves stopped to investigate the wagon, perhaps catering to the scent of provisions from within.

Curtis wrapped his arms around the backside of his horse and scrambled to bring himself onto the saddle. Mabel did her best to help lift the man up and onto the horse’s back, but the harsh motion of the horse’s canter made it next to impossible to hoist the outlaw up. Curtis lost what little grip he had and tumbled off the back of his horse. He felt a harsh impact first from his horse’s hind legs kicking him in the chest in their powerful motion, then another when he hit the ground with his shoulder—the same shoulder that still hurt from Payton’s rifle bullet. After Curtis stopped rolling along the ground, he looked up to see that any wolves that had continued the chase after the wagon was released had now also stopped. He thought this odd, but relieving. Sly circled back on Firefly and had his revolver ready to fire if any of the wolves tried to approach Curtis. Steering Firefly was somewhat difficult with his hand in a splint, but he fought through the pain.

Unfortunately for Curtis, it wasn’t long before a couple of wolves took notice of the fallen outlaw and decided they did want to pursue him further as they broke into a full run, snarling and barking even more than before. Curtis, too, drew one of his guns and prepared to fire at the wolves, but Sly beat him to it. The bullet whizzed through the air, then created a small burst of sand behind the leading wolf. Curtis fired off two rounds, both of which he swore had pierced the beasts’ hides, but neither of the wolves reacted to any pain and Curtis saw his bullets hit the sand, too. Luckily, that was enough to deter the wolves and send them back to their pack as Sly arrived to pick up Curtis.

“Damn, did we really miss those shots?” Sly asked. “This sun must really be getting to us.”

Curtis stood slowly and looked at where their bullets had landed in the sand. He was sure that his shots made contact with the wolves, and Sly’s too for that matter. He was more than sure. He knew extreme heat could play tricks on one’s eyes, but the wolves were close enough to him that he had no doubt about it. The bullets had passed through the wolves, not around them. He whistled for his horse to return to him and told Sly what he saw.

“I don’t think those’re normal wolves,” he said. “I’m also startin’ to think the gunshots we heard earlier might’ve been a trick.”

“What do you mean?” Sly said while watching the wolves who were standing around the wagon, but none of them tried to jumped inside. A few of them watched the group, but no others approached.

“I mean I don’t think the shots were real. We never actually saw any bullets fly at us.”

“But we saw the impact of the third in the sand.”

“Did we?”

Sly was puzzled by Curtis’s proposition, but after some thought, it started to make sense. “So, you think…?”

Curtis nodded.

A moment later, Mabel arrived still on the back of Curtis’s horse. Curtis hopped on with a groan from the pain in his shoulder, then spurred his horse on. Sly followed on Firefly.

“What’re we doin’?” Mabel asked as the trio charged straight at the wolves which stood their ground and barked ferociously. “Curtis?”

“Trust me, Mabel,” Curtis shouted. “They’re an illusion. It’s gotta be a spell!”

Mabel was confused but held on tight to the saddle as Curtis got ready to leap again as they neared their wagon. Once they were almost on top of the pack, Curtis threw himself from his horse and rolled in the sand, this time intentionally and avoiding his bad shoulder. He slid right into one of the wolves, but instead of toppling into it, he passed right through the animal. He recovered from his roll and fired the rest of his shots from the one revolver. Each of the bullets was aimed squarely at the wolves’ chests, yet none of them bled and the bullets only impacted the ground behind them. The wolves gave hardly any reaction, but soon turned to flee back toward the rocky hill they originated from. The trio was left unharmed and with their wagon still untouched.

Mabel stared in awe and Sly grinned widely. The horses circled back to the wagon and their riders dismounted. After further inspection, they confirmed that the wolves hadn’t touched the wagon, not that they could’ve. Mabel was still baffled by the stunt and wandered over to Curtis with her mouth agape.

“But how’d ya know they were ghosts?” the girl asked.

Curtis chuckled. “Not ghosts, I don’t think.”

“I thought it was just a trick from fatigue, like a hallucination” Sly added. “I assumed we’d just missed our shots.”

“It’s a trick all right,” Curtis replied. “But I think there’s more to this than a simple mirage and undead dogs.”

“You say that like undead dogs is simple,” Mabel mumbled.

Curtis chuckled again. “What I mean is, I think there’s a person behind it. Likely someone tryin’ to rob us by makin’ us ditch our gear and scram.” He hooked the harness up to his horse again and mounted his steed. Mabel climbed into the wagon and Sly hopped back onto Firefly; he had switched his favored side to mount the horse ever since his foot was damaged by Orator.

“Let’s see what we’re really up against,” Sly said. Curtis gave him a tired look. “Come on, whoever is behind this can’t be a major threat. You said it yourself, their bullets probably aren’t even real. And that hill looks like a nice place to stay for the night.” Looking around, no other shaded area presented itself in the vacant desert.

“Fine,” Curtis groaned, “but if I get shot because o’ you, I’m ditchin’ y’all and you’re buyin’ my rations for the next week!”

The three of them made their way back toward the rocky hills. By the time they arrived again, the wolves had disappeared either by dismissal of the spell or by ducking in the shadows like before—though Curtis suspected that their entrance had also been part of the illusion.

“Keep an eye out, Sly,” Curtis said once they dismounted their horses just off the rocks. “Fake wolves don’t mean fake bullets.” Sly nodded.

“I don’t like that hypothesis,” Mabel said.

Curtis stepped forward once again to begin navigating the rocky hillside but was quickly halted by the sound of a gunshot and a burst of sand at his feet. He placed his foot back on the sand and looked at the ground where the bullet had hit. There was no impact crater.

“Another warning shot,” Sly said.

“Or their aim is abysmal,” Mabel said from the wagon.

“I doubt it,” Curtis said and bent down to examine the bullet in the sand. He combed the grains with a couple fingers but found nothing hidden beneath the sand. Just to be sure, he scooped handfuls of sand around the area and still found no bullet. Sly saw the results, as well, and mounted his steed once again.

“I’ll go around, and we can work toward the middle to weed this guy out,” Sly said, withdrawing one of his seven-shooters with his good hand. “We’ll see how he fairs against real lead.”

As Sly rode off around the hill, Curtis stood and examined the rocks for a minute. There were no obvious signs of a shooter anywhere—again, not too surprising given their experience in this sort of situation, but Curtis knew this foe would be nothing like Payton Serrano. This was a game of wits, not firepower. He turned to face the wagon and pulled out one of his own revolvers, then tossed the gun to Mabel. She caught it with a confused expression.

“I don’t think the enemy is all that dangerous in reality,” Curtis said, “but I want you t’ be safe just the same. I used all the bullets in that one, but we have more in the back somewhere.” He gestured to the wagon Mabel was still sitting in. “Stay here and watch for anythin’ suspicious. I’ll go slightly around and work toward the middle to meet Sly.”

Mabel nodded, still wearing an unsure look on her face. Curtis grinned, then began walking around the rocks in the opposite direction Sly went. I trust you, his grin had said, and Mabel couldn’t help but grin, too.

Curtis walked for a couple minutes before stopping to examine the hill again, gazing upward at some of the higher peaks of stone jutting out from the landscape and casting long shadows. There was something else off about the whole situation, but he couldn’t tell what. He continued walking a bit farther. By now, Sly was on the far side of the outcropping, so Curtis couldn’t see him, but he guessed that if he and Sly both climbed toward the central spire of orange stone, and with Mabel watching the area they started at, there shouldn’t be anywhere for the shooter to hide.

This hill wasn’t as jagged as the tor where they had first encountered the Hunter. There were no overhangs under which to hide and no major dips between rocks to be completely covered by. The shooter was exposed somewhere; they just had to force them out so at least one of them could see them. Then another gunshot interrupted the outlaw’s thoughts with another burst of sand, and again, no crater. Curtis stepped forward and held his arms out wide.

“Come on! Do it fer real!” He shouted. I really hope ya don’t, though, he thought.

The sun, now lower in the sky, still shined blindingly white and bleached the sky around it. Curtis decided to make his way toward the shadow cast by the central spire before beginning the climb. Meanwhile, Mabel held her position back at the wagon with Curtis’s horse. The metallic steed stayed quiet and almost completely still. Sometimes Mabel would forget its presence when they were actively riding and be frightened when she remembered it was there. The way the beast—or machine—made no idle noises and behaved like a statue when not in use was eerie, but Mable knew it harbored no ill will toward its owner or his companions. She hopped down from the back of the wagon and paced around the edge of the rocks for a few minutes, occasionally stopping to examine the decorated revolver she firmly held.

It was heavy, which she expected now after holding the one she found whilst captive inside the Cummings Residence, but she noted the extra bit of weight from the bullets which she had restocked to six, not that she intended to use all of them, or any. The thought of firing the thing even at nothing frightened her, much less doing so while aiming at a living being, especially a human. She loosened her grip on the weapon and kept her fingers far from the trigger or hammer. Curtis may have trusted her to carry a weapon after she had expressed desire for the idea before, but now that she was given the responsibility, was it what she really wanted? She began to understand the burden Sly and Curtis carried every day.

Another gunshot startled her. Her whole body jolted, and her arms went up in fright. She accidentally tossed the revolver onto the rocks, then clenched her fists. “It’s not real,” she said aloud to herself, somewhat frustrated. She looked down at where there should have been a dip in the sand and noticed no bullet even after kicking some of the sand around with her boot. She sighed, a bit relieved, then stood and looked at the rocks after realizing she had accidentally dropped her weapon. She scolded herself quietly for being so careless, then shifted her weight and sighed when the gun wasn’t sitting on the rocks as she’d expected. She took a step onto the rocks to look closer—perhaps it had slipped into a small crevice, she thought—then gasped.

Sly stood at the edge of the rocky hill on the far side of the cart. He, too, examined the hill before making any move onto the rocks to work his way toward the middle. Firefly snorted and groaned under the heat of the early evening sun. The glow of the yellowing sky made his chestnut color appear more golden. As Sly watched for any sign of the shooter, he heard a quiet shift in the sand beside him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a small refox looking up at him. Its large ears and dark, beady eyes made it even more adorable when it cocked its head to the side out of curiosity. Sly gave an adoring frown and an audible “Aww.” He wanted to pet the creature but came to a swift realization.

“You’re not real, are you? Just a distraction so the spellcaster can sneak away.” The ex-ranger turned away from the creature to watch the rocky hillside and waved his hand at the illusion, but instead of his hand passing through the fox, he felt its soft fur tickle the fingers of his wounded hand. When touched, the fox pounced and clawed at Sly’s arm and shoulder. Sly jumped up and started to swat at the animal with his gun, but the now aggressive fox held on, tearing at his sleeve, then began to climb toward his face before leaping over his head and landing on his other arm. The fox bit down on his left forearm and summoned a scream from deep in the outlaw’s lungs.

Curtis heard the scream and ran toward its source. As he passed under the shadow cast by the highest point on the rocks, what seemed so strange to him before finally jumped out at him.

Sly flailed about, trying to shake the fox from his arm. Much to his displeasure, he grabbed the back of the fox’s neck with his injured hand—that pain was nothing compared to the foxes scratching and biting—and pulled the animal away from himself, then tossed it onto the rocky hill where, instead of landing on the rocks and skittering away, it appeared to fall right through the rocks and vanished.

Curtis minded the sun as he passed through the long shadow and noticed that, somehow, the sunlight shone on his face as if unimpeded by the outcropping. Curtis blocked the rays with his hand, then turned and traced the length of the shadow with his eyes. It was hard to tell before, but he now noticed that the length of the shadow didn’t align with the height of the sun; it was shorter than it should have been at that time of day and didn’t appear to be getting longer as the sun approached the reddening horizon. He found a small stone buried in the sand and tossed it toward the hill. Similarly, Mabel observed that her feet, which she would have expected to step firmly onto the rocky hillside, instead disappeared under the image of rocks and still felt like they were stepping in sand. Sly slowly approached the rocks and reached a hand for the rough terrain only to find that his hand passed right through the hill and touched hot sand.

When the stone Curtis tossed went through the rocks instead of bouncing off them, his suspicions were confirmed. He chuckled and wiped sweat from his face, then strode toward the rocks and walked through the illusion. Once inside, the sun still beat down on the cowboy, but most of the rocky outcropping was invisible from the inside, though he could still see the fake shadow on the ground outside of the illusion. A small rocky formation stuck out from the sand near the middle of where the large illusion sat. Curtis could see Sly and Mabel a few dozen yards away so the three of them formed a fairly even triangle around the smaller rocky spire, and from that central point, a strange man began sprinting away. Sly called out and Curtis swiftly aimed his revolver and fired. The shot was straight and true and pierced the lower half of the man’s right leg. He collapsed in the sand and wailed in pain while gripping his bleeding leg.

Sly, Curtis, and Mabel ran to the man who continued his screeching and moaning. His clothes were dusty and wrinkled, and his scraggly beard stored grains of sand blown in the wind. He was skinny and his lighter skin was burnt from lost of time under the sun. The bullet had exited the man’s leg without hitting bone, leaving him with some very bloody pants, but certainly not a fatal wound. He squirmed on the ground and raised his bloodied hand when the outlaws approached.

“Wait!” he pleaded. His valley twang was much thicker than Curtis’s and Mabel’s. “Please, don’t kill me. I’on’t even have a gun!”

The trio of travelers looked down at the man almost in pity, but more so discomforted seeing a man who looked to be in his forties acting so pathetically.

“Cowardly, indeed,” Mabel said.

“Quit yer whinin’” Curtis said and tapped the man’s boot with his own. “That shot won’t kill ya. We’d still get yer bounty if it did, though.” Sly nodded and unfolded the bounty pamphlet.

“Y’all know ‘im?” Mabel asked.

“Oscar Robinson,” Curtis said. “Also known as ‘Mirage.’”

“He uses a spell of the same name to create visual and auditory illusions; pretty convincing ones at that,” Sly said. “And unless there’s been any changes, his bounty is four-point-five G’s.” Sly whistled at the number.

Mabel’s jaw fell open and Curtis hummed a short tune. “Guess where we’re takin’ you,” the latter said.

Sly hoisted the injured outlaw from the ground and bound his wrists in shackles behind the back. “We’ll wrap that leg up nice and tight, so you don’t get too white in the face,” Sly said.

They also tied Mirage’s ankles together with rope so he would have a very hard time running away if he chose to do so.

“Mabel, you watch ‘im in the back,” Curtis said. “He ain’t gon’ do nothin’.” Mabel held tight revolver Curtis had given her for now and kept it aimed at Mirage, though she certainly didn’t intend to shoot him. The captive decided against testing Mabel’s reflexes and sat quietly in the back of the wagon. The illusion of the rocky hill was gone now, and the group was disappointed to find that the small outcropping hidden underneath was the only real source of shade as far as they could see excluding Yellowtusk. But that would take too long to get to tonight and was obviously undesirable. The gang was exhausted, and the sun finally touched the horizon, so they decided to set up camp and use the tent for what little shade it provided, then wake up early before the sun came up to beat the heat.

Sly fed Firefly and gave him water, then helped Curtis set up the tent while Mabel prepared the rest of their perishable food. By now, she’d returned the revolver to Curtis. Curtis then constructed a small fire as the cool night air settled over the desert. On the group’s first night back in the field, they enjoyed silence and respite from the sun. Mirage scooted over to the fire next to Sly.

“Think I could git a bite t’ eat?” he said. “I been out ‘ere a couple days and my water ran out this mornin’. I’m pretty hungry.”

“You can have a couple sips of water, but that’s it,” Sly said and lifted his canteen to Mirage’s lips. The shackled outlaw gratefully gulped down the water, then laid back in the sand to sleep.

***

After dinner, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel cleaned up their mess kits and retrieved their knapsacks from the wagon, then approached the tent.

“Who gets to sleep in there?” Curtis asked.

“It fits two comfortably,” Sly said, “so we may just have to cycle out, and the third person sleeps outside.” Curtis sighed at that. “Or they could sleep on one of the cart’s benches. At least the sun won’t cook you in the morning, then.”

“Well, that won’t matter this time. I’ll sleep out here tonight. That way I can keep an eye on Mirage, too.”

“No, you and Mabel can have the tent. I know she trusts you more, anyway.” Even saying so in a humorous tone, Sly felt a sting in the admission, especially since he wanted to tell Mabel about his former work with Lester Langley—no, he needed to tell her—and he feared her response. “I’ll take first watch of Mirage.”

The three of them settled back at the fire for a bit more relaxation under the stars before sleeping and Sly took the moment of peace to confront his past.

“Can I ask you guys something?” the ex-ranger asked. Curtis looked up from the fire and Mabel nodded with an affirmative hum. “We trust each other, right?”

“Well, we’ve only known each other for less than a month now,” Curtis started, then with a look from Sly, he added “but, we’ve been through a lot together already, and such events have a way of bringin’ people closer together, so… I’d say it’s obvious that I trust y’all with my life.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Mabel said. “But only you can speak for yerself, Sly. Do you trust us?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Sly said with a quick nod. “I just—”

Mabel raised an eyebrow and tried to meet Sly’s eyes which were focused toward the ground. Curtis sensed what was coming.

“We trust you, Sly,” he said. “You’ve done enough to show us that y’aren’t gonna betray us or return to yer old ways.”

Sly looked at Curtis, then to Mabel. “Old ways…” he mumbled. After a minute of silence, he continued. “We talked about birthdays before. This isn’t quite the same, but I remember, as a graduation gift for completing my ranger training, my parents sent me a whole crate of equipment from the Ridge. It had everything: durable clothing, new boots and hats, a saddle and bridle for whenever I got a horse, various other field supplies like rope, pots, tinder, a nice map, even a guide to the Valley Strip’s flora and fauna.”

“Good folks you ‘ave,” Curtis said.

Sly nodded. “They supported me during and after my studies and were there for me anytime I needed to call home for emotional support, or financial. And when times got tough, when the Government had me questioning my morals, my parents backed me up. My mom gave me confidence in the powers I swore to serve, and my dad gave me confidence in myself to know what’s right, but there are times when I look back on some of the things I did for the Government, and I think that both of them had too much faith. I did some awful things as a ranger, and I don’t feel like I can forgive myself if I don’t come clean with it to you two.”

Mabel and Curtis looked at Sly’s face and gave him their undivided attention, doing their best to show that they would stick by him no matter what he said. Then, it poured out. He detailed everything that he felt was a wrongdoing during his time as a ranger. He revealed the identities of the four people he had killed during his career, all in self-defense, and the moments leading up to the deaths. Even though he was pardoned, he felt immense guilt. He even mentioned small incidents like any time he used his authority to get a discount in a store that didn’t normally offer ranger discounts. He admitted to some petty crimes he committed during his ten months in Sunnyville and apologized to the stars for the fear he instilled in that sheriff.

“And listen, I don’t necessarily think this all affects who I am today,” he said. “I’ve learned from my mistakes and changed as a person. Heck, the most drastic change has occurred over the last three weeks I’ve spent with you two. If I was still stationed over in Sunnyville, I don’t think I’d have had nearly as dramatic a reformation as I have.” Sly glanced at Mabel. His two friends were both very attentive during his rant, but Mabel was especially engaged. In her own mind, she had to make extra sure that Sly believed her when she said she trusted him given his earlier comment about her trust specifically. Sly eyed the fire again and took slow breaths before continuing. “I just want you guys to know that I would never intentionally do anything to harm you. Ever. But I couldn’t have said that even just a year ago. Dawn,” he said, looking at Curtis. “You know why I was in Sunnyville in the first place.” Curtis nodded. Sly looked at Mabel. “But do you?”

“It was part of a demotion, right?” she answered. “I always wondered about the infraction, but never wanted t’ ask.”

Sly took another breath. “It’s because the official I operated under before then was convicted of various crimes a year prior; crimes that the rangers working for him helped him commit whether they knew it or not, though it was hard to argue that they didn’t. I was included in that bunch, and I did some heinous things that I haven’t touched on yet. Among those things is an operation that involved going to the towns immediately south of the Big City, namely Dry Creek”—he had to force the other name out—“and Thorntree, and ‘dealing’ with the lower income populations as part of a major tax reform that said official was frontrunning.”

Mabel’s expression began to wane. Her attentiveness became somewhat distracted as thoughts tumbled around in her brain. Her neutral, even potentially comforting expression turned into a concentrated look complete with furrowed brows and a slight frown.

“My supervisor’s name,” Sly continued, “was Lester Langely.”

A dreadful silence fell over the camp upon the name being said like all the air had been sucked away, preventing any sound from traveling between the campers, except the fire remained and its erratic crackling is what brought Mabel back to her senses.

“You…” she said, then was cut off by the lump in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She stood and tried again. “So, you were—” Her breathing was very labored and her eyes didn’t stay focused on any one place.

“Mabel,” Curtis said. She looked at him like he was threatening to kill her.

“Let me be clear,” Sly said, “I’d been aggressive with some folks, sure, but I never killed anybody on that kind of job, though I’ve certainly heard stories of rangers who did. I don’t think those guys got off with only demotions.”

Mabel turned and looked at Sly, this time her expression very grim and her attention once again fully paid. Sly froze and wasn’t sure what else to say, and Mabel didn’t wait for him.

“You worked fer him?” she said in a shaky voice. “You worked fer the man who killed my family? And you never thought to tell me about that?”

“I was afraid of how you’d react.”

“Oh, right, because you helped accomplish the goals of the man who took away everythin’ I ever had; robbed me and my family of our peace. He prevented me from gettin’ a proper education, prevented me from havin’ a future where I could be somebody and be happy with the ones I loved!”

“Mabel, I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to say something for a long time, but—”

“Liar!” She yelled. Sly parted his lips to speak again, but Mabel put up a hand. “Don’t say anythin’ else. I don’t wanna hear anythin’ else.” She faced the ground with fists clenched, but no tears fell. Her eyes were red with betrayal, not sorrow. “You knew who I was from the moment we met, didn’t you? Yeah, I bet ya did.” She bit her lower lip, then inhaled and looked up again. “And I bet when I expressed my pain to you back in Onyxlandin’, you were afraid you’d be exposed. That’swhy you walked outta my room when ya did.”

“Now wait just a minute, Mabel,” Curtis called from across the fire. Sly’s eyes were angled down, and he sat silently. Curtis continued, “I can attest to Sly’s feelin’s here. He told me after the Band o’ Lovers kidnapped ya that it was weighin’ on his mind. He thought fer a long time about when and how to tell ya.”

Mabel listened, but she didn’t look at the mustached outlaw.

“Sorry, but ya can’t go ‘round callin’ somebody a liar just because he didn’t tell ya about his past right away. We’ve all been keepin’ secrets. Hell, you told me you didn’t know where you were from when we first met, so don’t start actin’ like you have any power to say who’s a liar and who’s a truther.”

Mabel remained silent and looked up at the stars, her eyes glossy with tears welling up.

“I know yer pain,” Curtis said. “I lost my family, too, and when I thought I’d been brought into another, he up and left me.” He chuckled. “What d’ya think I’m doin’ out here? Sly hasn’t even worked fer Langley fer almost two years.”

Mabel swallowed, then squatted so her rear almost touched the sand and buried her face in her arms. A faint sniffling came from the girl. Her friends stayed quiet. After a few minutes, she stood and faced Sly for a brief moment, her face swollen and red. Sly tried his apology again.

“I’m really sorry, Mabel, I—”

“No,” she interrupted and wiped her eyes. “No more sorrys. I just…” As her words trailed off, she began walking away from the fire and into the blackened desert.

Sly began to stand, but stopped when Curtis called his name, shaking his head.

“She’ll be okay,” Curtis said.

Sly sat back down, defeated. After several minutes of silence, after Mabel disappeared into the night, Sly spoke. “We should look for her.”

Curtis yawned and raised his hand. “She’s a smart girl; can take care of ‘erself. Besides, we don’t know where she went, but we’ll be here when she comes back. You sure you don’t want the tent tonight?”

Sly shook his head. “I want to wait for Mabel anyway. You go ahead.”

Curtis tipped his hat and crawled into the tent with his knapsack. Sly waited by the smoldering fire, his only companion the sleeping and bound Mirage. By the time he went to wake Curtis for a change in watch shift, Mabel had yet to return, and by morning, there was still no sign of her.

Click here for a map of the journey so far.

Sly awoke in the tent, having slept in it since no one else occupied it while Curtis was on watch duty. He was half-removed from his knapsack which was a balled-up mess of fabric from his movements throughout the night. The interior of the tent was still pitch dark. He was unsure for how long he had slept. It had taken him awhile to fall asleep with his thoughts stuck on Mabel. He sighed and brushed his hair with his hand to smooth out the wild licks that manifested from his twisted sleeping positions.

He pulled on his boots and buckled his belt and sluggishly crawled out of the tent. The first thing he noticed was Mabel’s absence. The small fire near the tent crackled and send flickering shadows along the dunes after Curtis obviously resupplied its fuel of dried shrubs and knotted sticks. Mirage still slumbered on his back by the fire and Curtis lie on the opposite side of the flames; he sat up when he saw Sly approaching.

“What time is it?” Sly asked in a gravelly voice, then cleared his throat.

“I reckon ‘bout an hour before sunrise,” Curtis said after examining the horizon.

Sly looked around then thought just maybe there was a chance that Mabel was asleep in the wagon.

“She hasn’t come back yet,” Curtis said as if to shut down the hopeful idea.

The outlaws waited in silence until the top of the sun pushed its early rays over the horizon at which point Curtis began preparations to continue the journey through the desert. He and Sly packed up the tent, scooped sand to smolder the ashy fire, and readied the horses for work. Curtis kicked Mirage’s boot to wake him up and hoisted him to his feet. Mirage limped horribly, playing up his injury, but Curtis and Sly didn’t care. They made him climb into the back of the wagon again while Curtis sat up front and Sly followed beside them on Firefly, like usual, but this time, one of their passengers was missing from the early routine.

“Don’t try anythin’ just because I’m not lookin’ at ya,” Curtis said to Mirage who seemed content with sitting still in the back to avoid further injury.

By the time the band started to move, the sun was fully exposed and its rays lit up the desert sands while the heat rapidly consumed the air even in the early hours of the day. Curtis and Sly looked around and didn’t see anything resembling a person wandering the desert within a three-mile radius.

“I say we head straight that way,” Curtis said pointing the direction they came, toward Tangate, “and see if we can spot ‘er or get a response to our calls.”

“You don’t think she’d have gone straight to Yellowtusk?” Sly asked.

Curtis frowned and slowly shook his head. “Not unless she remembered where it is. No way she could see it in the dark last night. Besides, she knows we shouldn’t go there, and I doubt she’d want to risk it again, ‘specially if she knows we’ll come lookin’ for ‘er.” Sly nodded and Curtis continued. “After going a few miles straight, we’ll make a big circle counterclockwise and cover as much ground as we can in the day without killin’ ourselves in the heat.”

As he talked, Curtis traced the path along he horizon with one arm. Then, he looked back at Sly and said “Worst case scenario, we can head into Yellowtusk tonight, find a place to stash our stuff, and look ‘round the city if we have to. But we gotta be careful; that place is hot right now.”

“Well yeah, we’re in a heatwave,” Mirage said from the wagon.

“Shut up,” Curtis said in a calm but stern tone without looking at their captive. “Anythin’ else to add, Sly?”

Sly shook his head and the duo was on their way in the direction of Tangate. After some minutes of walking, Sly approached the front of the wagon on Firefly.

“Dawn,” he said. “That’s not…how I thought it would go.”

Curtis shrugged. “Hard to predict how that girl will react to anythin’. She’s young and probably never learned to control her emotions very well. Best thing we could’a done was let her figure it out herself, which we did. Now, we go find ‘er and I’m sure everythin’ll be okay.”

“I hope so. I just don’t want her to be in trouble now because I made her want to leave.”

“Like I said, she’s a smart girl. No way she’d let herself git got by the desert. ‘A preposterous idea’ is what she’d say, or somethin’ like that.”

Sly gave a light chuckle and grinned at that, trying to have faith that everything would be okay. Every ten-or-so-minutes as they rode, Sly and Curtis called Mabel’s name into the barren landscape of sand and sticks. With nothing obstructing their surroundings, the calls echoed far into the desert, but they didn’t get a response. The only movement they spotted among the dunes was the occasional rabbit dashing from a dried bush into a burrow nearby, or a hesitant rattlesnake shaking its tail from under a small boulder. Mirage had no interest in trying to fool Curtis and Sly with his illusions unless it gave him a chance to escape. Out here in the open desert, it was hard to conjure something convincing without much preparation, and it would need to be something incredibly threatening for him to convince his captors to unbind him, so he continued to sit quietly in the wagon, conserving his energy in case a better opportunity to make a break arose.

After an hour of slow travel back east and no responses to their calls, Curtis and Sly turned northward to circle back for the next few hours, taking the occasional break to drink and fan themselves off under the shade of the hood. The mid-day sun was near its peak in brightness and intensity, making all travelers—man and animal—weary and parched. Sly took every opportunity he could to shade Firefly from the sun, but it was a difficult task in the middle of the desert with hardly any shade to be found. He and Curtis were both reddening throughout the morning and knew they would be facing terrible burns by the end of the day, but that wasn’t what Sly was worried about. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the night before since he awoke that morning. Different outcomes spun around in his mind; if he had said this or done that, then maybe they wouldn’t be searching for Mabel right now.

The conversation by the fire replayed in his head over and over, but no matter what he thought he could’ve changed, he came back to reality and knew it was too late. He and Curtis didn’t speak about the night before and Sly wasn’t sure if Curtis felt the same way he did about the outcome. He felt alone. The vast ocean of sand around them brought him no comfort or relaxation like it had before their conversation in the evening. The scorching heat piercing through the weak breeze made his head pound and his skin boil which helped keep his head mind empty of thought but didn’t dissolve the nausea and dizziness he felt from thinking of what could be happening to Mabel in the time she was away. Luckily, whether Curtis felt the same stress and worry as Sly did, he was still there to support his companion and search for their missing friend.

“Sly,” Curtis called, snapping Sly from his trance. “Keep it together. Mopin’ and worryin’ so much ain’t gonna help. Keep yer head up. That’s the only way you’ll spot ‘er.” Curtis shook his canteen of water and took a sip, and Sly sipped from his own.

“So, who is this girl to y’all?” Mirage asked. “You ‘er dads er somethin’?”

“What? No,” Curtis said.

“She’s our friend,” Sly added.

“Why d’you care?” Curtis asked.

“A lil’ girl hangin’ out wit a couple o’ older fellas like yous?” Mirage said. “Kinda weird.”

“Not as old as you, at least,” Sly retorted.

“We’re just travellin’ together,” Curtis said. “Nothin’ more to it. Better to have a group than to fly solo, wouldn’t you say?”

Mirage groaned. “Yeah, I guess I can’t argue.” He adjusted his wrists as much as he could in the shackles and rubbed his ankles together. “Y’know the bounty y’all’re wantin’ t’ claim is bull. I ain’t worth that much.”

“You’re worth whatever the Government says y’are,” Curtis said.

“It’s a bloated number.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Cause o’ that spell o’ yers. But it means more money in our pockets fer not much work.”

Mirage sat up more on the bench and looked up front at Curtis’s back. “Y’all know a thing er two ‘bout spells? Y’all rangers? I’s wonderin’ how ya caught on to my trick so fast.”

“Not rangers,” Curtis replied. “Just been ‘round is all.”

“Yeah,” Sly added and approached the back of the wagon on Firefly. “Speaking of which, I appreciate you not trying to trick us by making an illusion of Mabel’s voice in response to our calls or anything like that.”

Mirage waved his hand. “It’s too hard t’ mimic people unless I’ve spent a ton o’ time wit ‘em.”

Sly nodded.

“So what other limitations are there to yer spell?” Curtis asked. “We’ve run into a few other spellcasters on our lil’ adventure and I’ve been curious about their abilities. Most o’ the time they’re tryna kill us, though, so talkin’ ain’t a big focus.”

“Yeah, more an’ more people been turnin’ up wit spells lately it seems,” Mirage said. “Least it feels like it. Maybe people just didn’t use ‘em so openly before.”

“Why the increase, do you think?” Sly asked.

Mirage shrugged. “Changin’ tides. I think more people just have ‘em in general, though. Where they’re gettin’ ‘em, I’on’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘gettin’ them?’” Curtis asked.

“Y’know, acquirin’ them.” Mirage drew out the third word for extra emphasis, like he wasn’t used to using such vocabulary. “Not sure how others did it. I didn’t ask fer mine.”

“You weren’t born with yers?” Curtis asked, looking over his shoulder while clicking his reins.

“Nah.”

“You used to work fer the Government?”

“Nope.”

“The only time I’ve ever heard of anyone getting a spell artificially is when a ranger ranks up to be a doyen,” Sly said. “I’ve never really questioned how it works. Mystics or something.”

“Well, the Gov’ment ain’t give me mine,” Mirage said.

“Who did?” Curtis asked.

“Can’t say. It’s all fuzzy in my mind. I’s just a petty thief before, then these couple o’ folks walked up, all dressed in dark coats, an’ said they could make me stronger and better at stealin’. Don’t really ‘member much after dat. They was gone an’ I had ma powers.”

Curtis took the pause in conversation to think, then asked “How d’you know you didn’t always have yer spell and whoever those cloaked fellas were didn’t just help you awaken its powers?”

Mirage squinted and examined his captors. “Y’all sure you’re not rangers er somebodies else import’nt? Y’seem to know more ‘bout spells than the average person.”

“Comes with experience,” Curtis said, wiping the sweat from his brow and still facing the expansive desert ahead.

Mirage continued to look at Curtis and Sly with an inquisitive eye. Sly looked away from Mirage and directed Firefly to ride alongside the wagon again. A few minutes later, Firefly brought Sly back up front of the wagon so the latter could speak with Curtis again.

“I have an idea,” Sly said.

“How good of one?”

“I think it’s good.”

“Does it have to do with findin’ Mabel? ‘Cause that’s what I’d like to focus on right now.”

“Me, too. This has to do with what happens after.”

“Then it can wait ‘til after.”

“But I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Sly said in a quieter tone as if it was a secret to be kept from Mirage, too. “We should celebrate Mabel’s birthday. Pick a day like Midnight did for you and get her a gift.”

“We don’t have the funds fer a gift.”

“But we’re about to cash in 4,500 dimes.”

Curtis rolled his eyes. “I’m tellin’ you, Sly, Mabel will’ve fergiven you by the time we find ‘er. You’ve done plenty more good fer her than bad and she’ll realize that. You don’t have to do anythin’ else.”

“This isn’t just about my guilt. I think we should do it just to let her be happy for a little while. Don’t you think she deserves a nice celebration?”

“We don’t exactly git a lot o’ down time on the road.”

“We’ll find time. Come on, we’ve been taking her around the valley all this time, making her face dangers she never would’ve had to worry about if she stayed in Coyote Run. I just want to show her that we care.”

Curtis sighed. “Fine, we’ll talk about it. But we need to focus on findin’ ‘er first. Won’t be any celebration if we don’t git ‘er back.”

Sly smiled. “It won’t need to be anything big. I think if we spend just a small piece of what we get for turning in Mirage, we can afford something nice for her. Or heck, we’ll just take stuff from anybody we beat up along the way.” He peaked inside the wagon’s hood at Mirage who stared back with a focused gaze. Sly turned back to Curtis. “I don’t like the way he’s been staring at us.”

Curtis glanced over his shoulder, then turned back and shrugged at Sly.

“Hey!” the outlaw in the wagon yelled as he worked his way to the front of the wagon just behind the driver’s bench. “I swear I seen y’all before.”

“That doesn’t seem likely,” Sly said with a nervous chuckle.

Curtis kept looking forward.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure,” Mirage said. “I found these.” With both hands still bound, he held up Curtis’s and Sly’s wanted posters they kept in the wagon.

“Give me those!” Sly demanded and reached for the parchments, but Mirage pulled his hand back and out of reach of Sly’s arm while riding Firefly.

“Nathan ‘Sly’ Bowman,” Mirage read. “Wanted alive. Reward: 9 als. Psh.” He slid the parchment behind the second in his hands and read aloud again. “Curtis ‘Dawn’ Conrad. Wanted dead or alive. Reward: 12 G’s!” He leaned over the back of the driver’s bench with his arms in the seat next to Curtis. “The hell’d you do? Wait a minute, says ‘ere ‘This individual possesses a power known as Compulsionwhich allows ‘im to force others into duels against their will; do not approach without proper trainin’.’ Well, I’ll be. You got a spell, too, buddy?”

“What of it?” Curtis asked.

“Now I know why yous was pryin’ so much an’ how you found me out so quick. I’m tellin’ ya, just a year ago two spellcasters wouldn’t’a bumped into each other by chance hardly ever, but now it feels like every other day yer hearin’ about an outlaw causin’ trouble with a spell no one’s heard of before. Really makes ya wonder why we all choose to use ‘em fer bad…”

“Since leaving Sunnyville, I’ve definitely noticed more people with spells than I had before,” Sly said. “Of course, being in Sunnyville, I hardly saw anybodythat wasn’t from there, much less someone with a spell. How common were they in the Southern Slick, Dawn?”

“I saw my fair share o’ spells down there. Lots o’ outlaws whose bounties shot up ‘cause they had a spell fled to the Southern Slick, but they weren’t advertisin’ it like the outlaws we’ve faced up here.”

“Hm, Compulsion…” Mirage examined Curtis’s wanted poster. “Now wait just another minute. I remember hearin’ somethin’ ‘bout a crazy shootout in Yellowtusk and that huge fire. That’s why the one lady doyenne’s in real big trouble, right?”

Curtis sighed and shook his head.

Mirage continued, “The news was sayin’ that a couple outlaws were involved, an’ there was somethin’ to do wit a lil’ girl, an’ dat one o’ the outlaws might’a had a spell o’ some kind. But they didn’t know what ‘cause the Band o’ Lovers were bein’ awfully quiet on the subject. And yous was talkin’ ‘bout not wantin’ to go to Yellowtusk.” He took a long breath in, then exhaled and continued speaking. “That was you two a couple weeks go takin’ on the Band o’ Lovers all by yerselves!”

“Did ya have to work it out aloud for us?” Curtis asked.

“Ha! Hot damn! You guys’re all over the news with that trial goin’ on. You’s in bigtrouble! Could’a done a better job changin’ up yer look, though. ‘S that why you’s out here in the desert? You’re only gettin’ closer to the epicenter o’ ranger activity toward the Big City. I’d be headin’ south if I’s was you.”

“I’m ‘bout done with yer mouth runnin’. ‘Side, we got other plans,” Curtis said.

“And we can’t go anywhere until we find Mabel,” Sly added.

“That girl doe’n’t have a spell too, does she?” Mirage asked. “I’on’t see a wanted poster fer her.”

“Told ya; we’re just travelin’ together,” Curtis said. “So how ‘bout we all just be quiet so Sly and I can focus on the task at hand.”

Sly didn’t protest and Mirage knew to shut up as it was obvious that Curtis’s didn’t want to discuss spells any longer and they weren’t going to share details about the attack in Yellowtusk.

***

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Curtis and Sly circled westward through the desert. When they weren’t calling Mabel’s name and listening as the echoes faded across the dunes, the only sounds that entered their ears were the creaking of the wagon’s wheels, Firefly’s labored breathing and the crunching of sand under his hooves, and the light wind blowing grains from the landscape up into the wanderers’ faces. Sly’s faith waned again. There was a good chance they had already passed by Mabel without realizing it.

Maybe she was just behind the dune they’d passed a few miles back and she was lying there unconscious from the heat. Maybe she was being held captive by some bandits who covered her mouth so she couldn’t respond to their calls. Sly’s mind filled explored all the worst scenarios, but he tried to remain calm. He tried to stay focused and tell himself that everything would be okay. He knew Curtis cared, too, but somehow his companion remained totally focused and didn’t seem to worry at all. In fact, he seemed almost annoyed that they had to spend so much time looking for Mabel, but that’s just how he was. Always reluctant.

Before they knew it, the sun finished its climb to the middle of the sky and was on its speedy fall back to the horizon to begin the cycle anew. By the early evening, the group had circled around a few miles west of where they started and stopped for another break.

“I’ll be honest,” Curtis said when he sat in the shade cast by the wagon. Sly gave up his spot in the shade for Firefly and was pacing around, kicking up dust with each step. “I thought we’d’ve found ‘er by now. But I’m bettin’ now—”

“She must be in Yellowtusk,” Sly said to finish the sentence.

“That’s my hope, anyway.”

“She must be. You said yourself, she’s smart. I bet she remembered which direction Yellowtusk was and made it most of the way in the dark, then corrected course when she could see and made it there before breakfast.” Sly spoke in a higher tone, like someone giving a pep talk. “Yeah, that must be it. We’re just wasting out here.”

Curtis sighed and took a sip from his canteen, then after wiping his mouth with this sleeve said,  “I don’t like the idea of goin’ back there so soon.”

“We’ll keep a low profile,” Sly said. “Won’t talk to anybody unless we’re sure they know anything about Mabel and we’ll stay out of sight of law enforcement. Just like we did before.”

“'Cept we won’t have any rainfall to help mask ourselves this time.”

Sly nodded.

Mirage’s head appeared from the back of the wagon and looked over at the other men outside. “What’s takin’ so long? We aren’t lost, are we?”

“Do you think we’re lost?” Sly asked him.

“You don’t spend much time wanderin’, do ya?” Curtis asked.

Mirage looked around and frowned. “I couldn’t tell ya which way was up out here. I can find m’way from town to town, but all this circlin’s made me all confused.”

“You learn to keep track o’ yerself,” Curtis said. “So, no, we ain’t lost. In fact, we know where we’re headed next and fer you, that means closer to bein’ tossed behind bars.”

“And that means closer to riches for us,” Sly added with a large grin.

With that, they were on their way southeast toward Yellowtusk. Within the hour the city came into view on the horizon and before the next hour passed, they were just outside the city limits.

“Y’all best lemme go now,” Mirage said. “Else I’mma start yelpin’ soon as we get into town.” Curtis looked back at the frail man and rolled his eyes, then before Mirage could turn to look at Sly behind the cart, a fist came from that way and knocked Mirage out cold. Sly shook his hand after the punch and chuckled to himself.

There was still another hour or so before sunset, and Curtis and Sly contemplated waiting for nightfall to help hide themselves but instead opted to waste no time and head right into town. They wrapped more rope around Mirage’s waist and tied the other end tightly around the base of one of the benches inside the wagon several times to ensure he couldn’t escape if he came. They also tied some rope around his mouth so he couldn’t yell for help. Then, the cart was stashed in an alley beside a couple shops, and they closed the hood to keep the contents hidden from view. This way, anybody walking past would assume it to be full of empty bread crates if anything. They decided to walk alongside their horses and guide them through the backstreets rather than riding them.

Their search took place almost entirely through the side streets and back alleys of the city to avoid running into anyone who might recognize them. Whenever they did notice a deputy patrolling nearby, they were careful to obscure their faces and move away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It was an inefficient method to say the least, but it was all they could manage to not be caught in the open by any deputies or rangers. They also figured that Mabel would want to avoid the main road, too, so if they were going to find her, it would be in the tighter quarters between buildings.

They kept their interactions with the public minimal, only asking someone every hundred yards or so if they’d seen a young girl wandering around by herself. Most people were no help, but some showed sympathy when Sly claimed it was his daughter who got separated from him at the main square. Still, they received no clues about where Mabel could be and Yellowtusk was not a small city by any means. By the time they reached the middle of town, the sun had sunken halfway below the horizon and it wouldn’t be long before the dark of night would engulf the city. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially since it would make it easier for Sly and Curtis to hide their identities, but it would also make it harder spot to Mabel.

A day of walking a big semi-circle in the desert during the heatwave had exhausted them, and they knew they wouldn’t be able to sleep particularly soundly at an inn, not to mention that they would have to keep an eye on Mirage through the night until they could turn him in for his bounty in the morning. The duo concluded their search at the center of town near the plot that contained the now destroyed branch outpost formerly inhabited by the Band of Lovers. For as much as they wanted to avoid going anywhere near the scene of their battle, Sly couldn’t resist his curiosity, so he weaved through back streets toward the building like they had the last time they were there.

Curtis was also curious and followed Sly despite repeating over and over as they walked that it was a bad idea. Just as they expected, the branch outpost building was almost completely destroyed in the fire. Luckily, the rain and fire control prevented the inferno from spreading across the streets to the neighboring apartment buildings, but the outpost was only left as a skeleton of stone and scorched wood. The grass immediately around the structure was burnt, as well, but most of the yard was protected by the rain. However, Curtis and Sly noticed that the garden around the edges of the property had withered and died.

Armani’s red roses, which she had meticulously nursed so they could survive in the Valley Strip, were now wilted and blackened by the hot sun and lack of care. Nobody walking past stopped to admire the beauty of the garden like they had done just half a month prior, and Curtis and Sly certainly didn’t intend on getting any closer to examine the scene further, so they moved on and headed back to their wagon.

“Damn, he’s still out?” Curtis asked when they checked on Mirage. “You always been that strong, Sly?”

Sly grinned and shrugged playfully, gratified by the compliment from his earlier one-punch knockout. They strapped Curtis’s horse to the cart and took the long way around to the suburban western half of Yellowtusk. In the darkness of night, they hid the wagon in another alley nearby and carried Mirage as they scoped out the area. They found a darkened property without fencing and noticed a shed nearby. The shed had no lock and was almost entirely empty inside, which made them confident enough that no one would be checking on it at least until the sun was up. Like they had before, they took turns watching Mirage while the other slept.

When Mirage did finally awaken in the middle of the night, Curtis greeted him with the barrel of a revolver pointed straight at him. The cowardly outlaw gave no complaint aside from a grumble muffled by the rope still in his mouth. Another night passed, and again Sly was devastated when Mabel wasn’t there when he awoke.

“It’s okay,” Curtis assured him in the morning. “We still have lots o’ the city to explore. As long as we’re careful, we can keep searchin’ for as long as it takes.”

Sly nodded but said nothing.

“Just gotta deal with this one,” Curtis said, pointing to Mirage with his thumb.

“Wha?” Mirage mumbled.

Sly walked over and clenched his fist. “Sorry,” he said and wound back.

“Nn, waiy!” Mirage tried to plead before being knocked out again.

Sly agreed to take Mirage to the deputy station to claim his bounty; he wouldn’t have to make up too big a lie about why a lowly traveler would try to take on an outlaw whose poster marked them as having a spell and being extra dangerous. Curtis waited on a nearby side street with the horses while Sly slung the unconscious Mirage over his shoulder and moseyed into the deputy station.

While waiting, Curtis got to appreciate the beauty of Yellowtusk unlike before. It was true that the closer a town was to the Big City, the nicer and safer it seemed. Obviously, having been host to a doyenne’s outpost meant there were usually many rangers in town, so crime wasn’t of much concern, but the atmosphere in general was much lighter than elsewhere farther south in the Valley Strip. Vegetation decorated the sides of roads and facades of buildings. Windows and porches were clean of sand and debris, and children ran about freely without worry. In the middle of the city, several parks provided plenty of space for residents to relax, play games, and take walks in their free time. And it always seemed like the people of Yellowtusk had free time.

There was never an hour in the day when people weren’t walking the streets, shopping, and conversing with friends and strangers alike. The heavy ranger presence also helped the nightlife flourish, and even with the Band of Lovers presumably completely absent, the city was still full of mirth. The city’s joyful atmosphere was even reflected in the deputy station. Sly walked in with his hat low, but his head high. He wanted to appear excited to be claiming a bounty—which he was—but also needed to keep his identity hidden. He was sure that even low-level law enforcement would recognize him in Yellowtusk of all places.

He approached the claims counter with the shackled and unconscious outlaw and laid him down on a bench against the wall a few feet away. He tipped his hat to the agent behind the counter and stated his intention. The agent flipped through some files and pulled out a few pieces of parchment regarding Oscar Robinson.

“Quite the catch,” she said, looking up at the tall man standing before her.

“Yep, kinda lucky,” Sly said, mimicking the common drawl of the Valley Strip to further his ruse. Bumped into ‘im on my way here and luckily realized he wasn’t much of a threat.”

The tanned, curly haired agent nodded and began counting out the reward in gold/silver alloy pieces after Sly verified that Mirage was still alive, though it wouldn’t have affected the reward if he wasn’t. She whispered the amount to Sly which matched what was on the bounty pamphlet.

“Would ya like it in coin, pay slip, or deposited?” she asked.

“Coin, please," Sly whispered back and grinned. He was used to the process having done it dozens of times in his career, but it felt foreign to him now having not done it very formerly since turning in Bad Mouth over two weeks ago. Plus, he needed to avoid giving away his identity, so it felt incredibly mischievous. The agent nodded and slid the coins into a small leather sack with a receipt and handed the bag to Sly. She then called another officer over to help take Mirage away.

Outside, Curtis leaned against the side of a building and held the horses’ reins. He hummed to himself and faced toward the ground so no one could easily see his face, but he looked around from time to time just to make sure no one was looking curiously at his horse, or at him. He raised his head to do so again and spotted a man across the street who looked away just as Curtis met his eyes. Curtis looked him up and down. He was facing to the side so Curtis only saw half his body, but he didn’t spot an arm band to indicate that he was a ranger, and his bleached poncho and shining, white ten-gallon hat made it obvious that he wasn’t a deputy sheriff. He wore no badge, either. Still, Curtis definitely caught him staring his way, and that was something to be wary of.

After a few minutes, the man glanced at Curtis again and upon seeing that Curtis was still watching, he adjusted his belt and walked up the street without looking back. Curtis stood straight and looked at the deputy station. He couldn’t see Sly through the window but hoped the transaction would finish soon so they could get on their way. If someone had already recognized Curtis, they wouldn’t have much time to snoop around for Mabel before needing to retreat into the desert.

Sly stood patiently and glanced around the station, but quickly made himself focus on the agent behind the counter, worrying that looking around so much would seem suspicious somehow. With one last look around, however, he spotted what he dreaded when he stepped foot in the station: his own wanted poster on the far wall. The agent glanced at Sly while she worked, then put her hands down and faced him again.

“Have I seen you before?”

“No.” Sly gulped down the shakiness he could feel in his voice the moment he spoke. “I mean, I don’t think so. It’s been at least two w—years since I’ve visited Yellowtusk. I also never came in here last time, or ever.”

The agent smirked and shrugged one shoulder as she turned back to her work. “I swear y’look familiar, which is sayin’ somethin’ ‘cause we don’t get a lot o’ extra tall slices o’ cake ‘round here too often.”

“Is that so?” Sly chuckled nervously.

“Where ya from?”

Sly watched the people around him. No one else seemed interested in him, but the agent’s work had slowed while she was distracted by the conversation. The subject was undesirable, and he needed to return to Curtis soon.

***

Ten minutes had passed since Sly walked into the deputy station and about five since Curtis watched the man across the street disappear into the crowds of passersby. Curtis kept his hat low and nervously fingered the ropes in his hand. He stretched his neck from side to side and yawned widely from only getting half a night’s sleep, then readjusting his grip on the horses’ reins and took a step toward the main road to switch positions but felt something tighten around his back foot. Looking down, a length of brown, braided cord was wrapped around his ankle.

Curtis glanced over his shoulder, but before he could see where the cord led, his foot was yanked out from him, sending him to the ground and onto his bad shoulder. He dropped the horses’ reins and let out a pained moan, clutching his shoulder. As the dust settled around him, he followed the cord from his ankle to someone standing at the other end of the side street wearing a shiny, white ten-gallon hat. A couple passing by stopped in their tracks and backed off onto another road. The man held the stock of the whip in one hand and grabbed part of the thong with his other, then yanked the cord to pull Curtis closer. The outlaw slid along the ground, dirtying the back of his poncho along the way and unable to stand in the motion.

“Look what the ranger dragged in,” the man said, his accent suggesting that he was from the Ridge like Sly and Armani.

So, he was a ranger, Curtis thought. Looking now, he found the reason why he didn’t spot the armband before; it was wrapped around the man’s belt on the side Curtis couldn’t see earlier.

“Hoo wee, could it be?” the ranger said. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re a pretty big fish, aren’t you? At least that’s what your profile would suggest, but that spell of yours is driving up the price big time, huh?”

“Who the hell’re you?” Curtis asked from the ground while trying to loosen the whip’s fall from his ankle.

“Remy Reeves at your service.” He bowed slightly. “But you can call me ‘Whiplash.’”

“I see,” Curtis groaned. “Well, Whiplash, today ain’t gon’ be yer day.”

Curtis reached for one of his revolvers, but Whiplash flicked his hand and sent a wave through the whip which flipped Curtis onto his front and released the hold on his ankle. He managed to pull his gun from its holster, but Whiplash cracked the whip at Curtis’s hand, cutting his fingers and making him drop the pistol before the ranger knotted the thong around it and yanked it away.

“No siree,” Whiplash teased.

Curtis withdrew his other revolver, but Whiplash grabbed his wrist with the whip and pulled the outlaw toward him again, then snatched the gun from him while the whip’s fall cut off the circulation in Curtis’s hand.

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t want to cause a racket using a firearm, would you?” Whiplash asked. “You’d only be drawing more attention to yourself.” The ranger unhooked a pair of shackles from his belt and slapped one cuff onto Curtis’s wrist. “I’m curious to find out more about this ‘Compulsion’ of yours, but I’m not trying to learn from experience, so we’re just going to take you right over to that deputy station and—”

Curtis threw a left hook with his whipped hand, but the movement was slow.

“Woah!” Whiplash cried, then yanked the whip and forced Curtis’s fist away. He pulled the shackles to draw Curtis’s other hand closer and slammed his forehead into Curtis’s chin. He then twisted the outlaw’s arms around so his back was toward him and wrapped the thong of his whip around Curtis’s neck. A few wandering eyes stopped to watch the scuffle unfold. Whiplash smiled as best he could under the strain of the grapple and waved the passersby off. “Nothing to see here; go about your business,” he said.

Curtis held the whip with his hands, trying to loosen the grip around his neck, but Whiplash still held the shackles, too, which severely limited Curtis’s use of his right hand. He kicked his feet in the dirt until he found enough footing to push back. He forced Whiplash into a narrow alley and they both stumbled over some old beer barrels. Curtis was released from the grapple and scrambled to his feet. Whiplash had already stood and readied his whip for another attack, but the tip of the cord slapped one of the walls of the alley when thwapped, and the thong fell limply to the ground.

Curtis took the opportunity and tackled Whiplash back to the ground, sending the clean hat off the ranger’s head. The two of them wrestled for a moment, tossing dirt and sand all around and slamming one another into empty crates and bags of grain. Curtis got behind Whiplash during the struggle and grabbed the empty shackle with his free hand and wrapped the chain around Whiplash’s neck.

“How d’you like it, huh?” he said.

***

Meanwhile, Sly did his best to dodge questions about himself that the agent asked while finishing the paperwork. Finally, she ended their conversation by sliding a fine slip of paper across the counter to Sly.

“Sign here, please,” she said and filed the sheet away after Sly quickly obliged. “Thank you, and be safe out there, cowboy,” the agent said with a wink. Sly tipped his hat, collected the bag of coins and retrieved his cuffs from Mirage before the second officer dragged him away.

***

In the alley, Whiplash’s feet flailed around trying to push off anything to slam Curtis into the wall, or kick against the ground to try and force himself up and out of Curtis’s grasp. Curtis maneuvered his own feet around Whiplash’s legs and pinned them down. Whiplash held a section of his whip’s thong in his hands and threw it back behind Curtis’s head, then pulled forward to slam Curtis’s nose into the top of his skull. Curtis heard an appalling crunch when his face collided with the top of Whiplash’s head and did his best to ignore the pain as the scent of blood flooded his nostrils. Whiplash performed the same motion, but Curtis resisted, straining his neck muscles. When his second attempt failed, Whiplash jerked his head to the side and bit Curtis’s shackled hand.

Curtis tightened his hold on Whiplash’s neck and after another excruciating minute, Whiplash’s own hold around Curtis’s head and his bite loosened and the brawl was over. Curtis exhaled and released all the air in his lungs, then took deep breaths and let his head and shoulders fall back onto the bags of grain. Drowsiness swept over him. He blinked slowly and saw a million stars in the sky, then blinked again and the blue sky was back. A few seconds later, he heard a voice nearby.

“Dawn?” Sly said quietly. “What are you doing back there?” Curtis lifted his head as Sly approached and noticed Whiplash lying unconscious atop Curtis’s lower body. “Hey, I graduated with that guy,” Sly said as if he was meeting an old friend after a long time apart.

“Oh, yeah?” Curtis sighed.

“Yeah. He was held back a grade. Wasn’t the best shooter.”

“Luckily fer me.” Curtis let his head fall back again.

“Gosh, we better get you cleaned up.” Sly reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief which he wetted using some water from his canteen, then handed it to Curtis.

“We can’t stay here much longer,” Curtis said, his voice muffled by the soaked rag he used to wipe the blood from his nose.

Sly nodded, coming to terms with the fact that they likely wouldn’t get much of a chance to look for Mabel much longer as they made their way out of the city. He looked at Whiplash lying against one wall of the alley and bent down.

“You think Mabel would like a whip?” he asked.

Curtis did his best to brush the dirt from the back of his shirt while still holding the handkerchief to his face and furrowed his brows at the question. “What?”

“As a birthday present,” Sly said and pulled the whip from Whiplash’s hands. He rolled it up and hooked it to his belt. “How’s it look?”

“Let’s get outta here,” Curtis groaned and made his way back toward the side street. After ensuring that no one else was watching them, Curtis and Sly took their horses and walked to the suburbs where they left their cart. They were pleased to find that no one had meddled with their belongings again—another sign of how pleasant a city Yellowtusk truly was. Curtis took the driver’s seat like usual and Sly rode alongside the wagon on Firefly. The two of them were quiet on their way out of the city. By now, the weight of Mabel’s absence dragged them both down. They entered the open desert with the sun just reaching the middle of the sky, unsure of Mabel’s whereabouts and unsure of where they were heading next.

Click here for a map of the journey so far. 

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 knewshe 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 quitea 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 wholelife, 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’ttry 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 factthat 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 everyperson 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 sobad 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 wheneveryou 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.

Click here for a map of the journey so far.

After once again leaving Yellowtusk in the dark of night, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel traveled as far as they could before drowsiness demanded they stop, at which point they set up camp too exhausted to build fire and spent another night in the desert. In the morning, Curtis had to wake Mabel because she couldn’t tell it was sunrise from inside the tent. The trio packed up their belongings and made haste in the direction opposite the morning sun—a routine they were very much used to and did without much thought or chit chat. Mabel applied her moisturizing balm, then they were on their way. They decided to head straight west toward the Twin River E. to refill on water, then follow it upstream to reach Rich River.

After several hours of relatively quiet travel, they spotted Rich River in the distance. Only another hour and they would arrive in the city known for producing most of the gold used as currency in the Valley Strip. While Onyxlanding had established gold mines, its primary export was precious gems and eventually, both sources of income ran dry and left the city as merely a shadow of its former, glorious self. Some of the miners backed by unions relocated to Rich River at much less expense than those without support from businesses or organizations. Rich River was established 92 years ago at the very end of the war after soldiers deconstructing a temporary outpost discovered gold chips in the river.

Soon enough, a mining town was erected, and the Government hired several companies to take charge of operations there. Unlike Onyxlanding, while Rich River also relied almost entirely on the mines as the basis for its economy, the society that developed over time was much more independent and diverse. Miners are far from the majority in town, and many residents go their entire lives without visiting the mines or seeing them in person. Given that the main river is about an hour’s walk outside town, the city has truly grown to be more than a community of miners and business owners. Still, the population has its fair share of wealthy tycoons and expensive properties in their own district of the city.

The day was as hot as usual, but somehow the air felt less oppressive. Since Mabel returned, a new sense of adventure fell over the trio and they each felt that they all had a better understanding of their purpose in traveling together. There would always be secrets among them, as was the nature of living a nomadic life in the Valley Strip, but they trusted each other on a deeper level than before, and optimism for the future ran high. There was nothing between them to hold them back from cooperating with and depending on each other as much as close friends and family would. That said, the group still disagreed on how much they were willing to share with each other and how much they were willing to listen, along with which secrets to reveal.

Sly spent the morning talking about his family on the Ridge and detailed his relationship with each of them thoroughly, from the love and affection he shared with his parents—though he noted that he hadn’t spoken with them since officially becoming an outlaw—to his sibling rivalries. He talked in excess about his strange uncles on his father’s side and the estranged women they all married. He liked his cousins, he was sure to mention, but family gatherings were always strange because of the differing opinions about rangers and the Government.

“What’s a family without some political drama?” he joked.

Curtis tuned most of the chatter out and forced Mabel to be the one to engage in the conversation for them both. The conversation was halted, however, when Sly caught a whiff of something foul in the air.

“Oh!” he shouted in the middle of a tangent about the time his mother’s sister almost killed his father with a soup bowl and an unrelated ladle she always carried on her person. “We’re closer than I thought.”

Sly and Mabel pinched their noses and Curtis raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that smell?” Mabel asked, trying not to gag. She emerged slightly from the wagon’s cover but made sure not to expose her sensitive skin to direct sunlight per Archie’s instructions.

“Sulfur,” Sly answered. “It wafts up from the mines and gets carried with the river downstream.”

Curtis sniffed as hard as he could, then exhaled a frustrated sigh. “I can’t smell fer crap,” he said.

“How’d ya break yer nose anyway?” Mabel asked, still covering her nose.

“I got into a fight with a ranger in Yellowtusk,” Curtis said pinching the bridge of his nose then tugging it lightly hoping to fix its crooked alignment, followed by his wincing in pain. “Was called ‘Whiplash.’ A real piece o’ work, but still no match fer me, of course.” Curtis pridefully grinned.

“I’d hate to see what he looked like after the fight,” Mabel said with a giggle. “Did you fight ‘im, too, Sly?”

“Nope, I was busy getting this,” Sly said and tossed the pouch with Mirage’s reward.

“Careful with that,” Curtis said as Mabel caught the sack and opened it to view the 45 als inside. Her eyes sparkled and her jaw dropped and she looked at Sly.

“Four-point-five gold, as promised,” he said with a wide smile.

“Keep that hidden in the wagon, will ya?” Curtis said. “Definitely shouldn’t have any of us carryin’ that around.

Mabel stored the pouch in a locked safety box the crew found among the treasures stolen by the Duster Brothers; an uncommon design that required a combination rather than a key to open it. Like most of their travel, the last half hour of the journey to Rich River went by relatively quickly and in silence. They saw the mines in the distance farther east by the main river, but streams flowed nearer to the city and provided fresh water for residents in place of the dank water drawn from wells. The sulfur smell was less noticeable now that they weren’t downstream from the mines, or perhaps they had just gotten used to the scent.

Rich River was bustling in the late afternoon when the trio arrived, like most of the larger cities they had passed through so far. But Rich River immediately set itself apart visually with vividly colored buildings and rooftops, decorative banners, and advertisements for businesses of all kinds were plastered on every corner heading into town. The presence of modern business was evident, and it was obvious to anyone familiar with contemporary technology or otherwise that the Big City influenced the layout and atmosphere of Rich River. Rich River marked the true divide between the far south and the more modernized central region of the Valley Strip.

“First order o’ business,” Curtis said, bouncing on his steed as they rode into town, “Is to find a nice board for the horses and storage for the wagon. We can worry ‘bout an inn later.”

“Does that mean we plan to stay here a while?” Mabel asked, somewhat excited at the idea of settling down again.

“For a night at least,” Curtis said. “I don’t wanna rush in n’ out of every town we pass through. Besides, this is another town Armani said Midnight stamped a letter from, so I’d like to ask around a bit.”

Curtis unfolded a note from his shirt pocket that listed six cities around Yellowtusk that Midnight supposedly stamped letters from in the first six years after leaving Armani behind. The first two, Tangate and Onyxlanding, were crossed out. The remaining cities were, in order, Rich River, Thorntree, Far Reach, and finally Dry Creek. Curtis still doubted that Midnight stayed in any one place for a whole year, and the order in which he stamped the letters supported the idea that he bounced around the map in no particular pattern, likely an effort to throw off anyone trying to track him. It worked on us, Curtis thought. Asking about Midnight in cities closer to the Big City was risky, he knew, but he had to take that risk if it meant finding any clues about Midnight’s current whereabouts.

The group did as planned and boarded the horses and stored the wagon in a gated yard nearby to a large inn. The prices, they noticed, increased as they headed north, as well, but Sly and Mabel shrugged off the cost having recently acquired a hefty paycheck. Curtis was never comfortable with the amount of money they had. He knew how easy it was to waste money feeling like an unlimited supply was at one’s disposal, or to possibly lose if overwhelmed by bandits. But with the burden of their horses and wagon lifted for the evening, Curtis set off to ask the locals about Midnight. Mabel and Sly decided to join this time, stating that they had nothing better to do for now, and because Curtis urged them not to waste money which cut out the possibility for another shopping spree.

Mabel and Sly each trailed Curtis separately at a comfortable distance to not draw attention to themselves or appear recognizable as a group to anyone keeping an eye on wanted posters and news broadcasts. Curtis kept his hat low and used his scarf to obscure his face enough to distinguish him from a distance. Like in Tangate, Curtis’s strategy was to ask only a few people on any given street to avoid leaving an obvious trail of witnesses when word inevitably came out that he had been in town. He went through his usual rounds of questioning starting with “Have ya seen this man?” and “Do ya know who this is?”

To his pleasant surprise, several people this time around did recognize Midnight, or at least had heard the name. Nobody stated they knew what he looked like or had any information on where or when he was last spotted, but the fact that at least a few folk knew the name was promising. He stopped street goers more frequently and pressed further in his questioning, and received satisfying results, especially from the older crowds. Several individuals knew that Midnight was a fearsome outlaw who had been missing for several years and many were familiar with his ties to Irving Craig. The name Chester Gaines meant nothing to most people, but some recalled a news story or two about rumors of a short relationship Armani Anderson once had some years ago with someone of that name. Typical political drama was the common consensus.

Most people had nothing new to add on top of what Curtis already knew, but one thing was consistent among almost everyone’s reason for remembering Midnight in the first place. The news of Irving Craig’s death was big, but with such little known about the killer, Midnight’s presence in the public eye was unexciting and short-lived. However, almost everyone Curtis spoke with remembered a brief period when rumors circulated around Rich River that Midnight was hiding in town. Dozens of calls came in to the deputy station from people claiming to have information regarding the outlaw’s identity or even having known Midnight directly. Some calls came from individuals claiming to actually be Midnight, but further investigation into such calls led authorities nowhere.

Just as well, these stories led Curtis no closer to discovering Midnight’s present day location, but his hope was reignited with evidence that Midnight wasn’t completely forgotten by the public already. That, and his encounter with the strange, smiling man in Tangate, had him eager to gather as much information as possible as quickly as possible. Still, it was a risky conversation topic. On more than one occasion someone began probing Curtis about why he wanted to know so much about Midnight or if he was related in some way, or whether he was a lawman, but Curtis backed out of such conversations before the interrogations could be taken deeper. It was obvious that even among those who remembered Midnight, he was not someone often spoken about in casual conversation, especially with a stranger on the street.

Likely, people knew more than they led on, but with all the recent news and commotion surrounding outlaws in the valley as a whole, casually talking about them certainly increased tension between the average people and aroused suspicion in those more familiar with the subject. And just like in Tangate, Curtis pushed his luck too far.

“Where’d you first hear the name?” A stranger asked after Curtis questioned them for a couple minutes just before sunset. “Ya don’t hear about him a lot unless there’s a reason fer it.”

The middle-aged local looked Curtis in the eye when he spoke and didn’t let him escape the conversation through the usual body language to display that he had somewhere else to be. The man grabbed Curtis’s arm when Curtis tried to walk away, and he pressed further.

“Midnight’s one o’ the most feared outlaws in history and’s only made a name fer ‘imself in the last decade. Not everyone achieves such notoriety so suddenly, though not everyone’s taken down a doyen by themselves either. With the questions you been askin’, I suspect somethin’ more personal goin’ on here. Am I right?”

Curtis tugged his arm, but the man wouldn’t release his grip. Curtis looked him in the eyes and tried to come up with some excuse, but his mind went blank; it was hard to think in the moment. Why did this man care so much? Curtis felt the grip on his arm tighten even more, nearing a painful level, but before any more words were spoken, Mabel called out.

“Dad!” She ran over to Curtis and shook her head. “Ya can’t just bother people on the street so much, ‘specially when they’re just tryna head home after work.”

The other man’s attention switched to Mabel and his expression eased ever-so-slightly. His grip remained strong on Curtis’s arm, but slowly loosened as Mabel talked.

“I’m real sorry, mister,” Mabel said to the man. “My dad’s obsessed with outlaws, ‘specially the big ones. He loves researchin’ mavericks in his free time. Don’t mind him none. He means no harm.”

The man slowly released Curtis’s arm, but still wore a stern expression on his face as he glanced at Curtis again.

“It’s the only hobby my mother really lets ‘im get into; mostly free an’ all. Just have to pay overdue fees at the library when he can’t put the books down.” Mabel chuckled and nudged Curtis with her elbow as he played along. “And it keeps ‘im sane when we travel so much. So, real sorry again if he was botherin’ ya.”

The man cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “Well, that’s alright I s’pose. Just be careful when interrogatin’ people ‘bout someone who lives in everyone’s nightmares. People’ll get the wrong idea.”

“Certainly will, thank you,” Mabel said and began to push Curtis up the street.

“Y’know, I heard, too, that Midnight’s actually multiple people. That’s how ‘e took down a doyen and why nobody can agree on what ‘e looks like!”

“Quite interestin’. Anyway, we better git goin’, dad, c’mon,” Mabel urged as she directed Curtis who continued to listen to the man spouting conspiracies as they parted ways. “You have a good evenin’, sir!” Once they were sufficiently distanced from the busy street, Sly caught up to them and joined in as Mabel and Curtis discussed what had just occurred.

“Okay, you really gotta be careful from now on,” Mabel pleaded. “You were just sayin’ how you’d like to stay in town for at least a little while, but you’re already drawin’ attention to yerself with yer overt questionin’ about Midnight.”

“And my efforts have proven fruitful here, for once,” Curtis said. “I know it’s risky, but that’s the whole reason I’m wandering ‘round this damned valley in the first place.”

“I hear you, Dawn,” Sly said, “But maybe save it for the end of the stay like you did in Tangate, so we can get out of here if there’s trouble. And maybe be a bit more discreet in your questioning. Go to a bar and strike up a conversation with someone, make it come up more naturally.

“That takes too long,” Curtis said. “Besides, that guy seemed to know a lot more than anyone else I’ve talked to ‘til now.” He gestured down the road.

“He also seemed a lil’ wonky in the head,” Mabel said.

“Ain’t we all,” Curtis sighed.

“Here’s a thought,” Mabel said. “How ‘bout I go ‘round and ask people ‘bout Midnight instead? Y’know, put me to work a lil’ more?”

Curtis squinted as he considered the idea.

“It’d be less conspicuous since I’m so young,” Mabel continued, “And I got real good at pesterin’ people fer whatever I wanted back in Coyote Run. We’ll just keep runnin’ with the obsessed father thing and it’ll be a perfect excuse fer yer insistence on the topic.”

After another moment of thought, Curtis said, “That ain’t a bad idea.”

“I’d even call it a good one,” Mabel mumbled.

Sly crossed his arms and nodded in agreement.

“Well, why not?” Curtis said. “We can give it a shot.”

Mabel smirked and clenched her fists in excitement. She took the wanted poster from Curtis and rolled it up, then tucked it into her back pocket. Curtis yawned and looked at the rapidly darkening sky.

“Maybe you ought to go with obsessive grandpa,” Sly joked. “It’s hardly sunset, Dawn. Quit yawnin’.”

Curtis waved a hand and grunted at Sly. “We spent all day in the sun, Sly. How’re you not tired?”

“Well, we spent all day in the sun,” Sly said. “This one hid under the tarp all day.” He pointed to Mabel with his thumb.

“Hey, I need to avoid the sun fer a few days,” Mabel defended. “The nice man I met in Yellowtusk would hate me if my burns got worse.”

“We’re plenty burnt, too,” Sly retorted.

“Not like he’d ever know,” Curtis added.

“Yeah, but I want these blisters t’ go away. My skin still hurts when I move too much.”

“Do ya think people’ll really believe I’m yer dad?” Curtis asked. “I ain’t thatmuch older than ya.”

“Well, the stress o’ living yer life’s definitely left its mark,” Mabel teased.

“The hell’s that mean?” Curtis said with furrowed brows.

“Not everyone can be so youthful in age, Dawn,” Sly added, combing his fingers through his hair.

“And yer no-fun-attitude is definitely akin to a cranky parent,” Mabel giggled.

“Well, not everyone’s gone through prolonged malnutrition to keep ‘em lookin’ disproportionately young,” Curtis said. “How’s that fer big words?”

Sly muffled a laugh with his hand and Mabel’s jaw dropped. She smacked Curtis’s arm but couldn’t help but let out a shocked chuckle at the sudden attack on her figure. Curtis grinned and began to apologize but cut himself off at sighting a familiar stranger across the street.

The skinny-legged, bulky-bodied man from Tangate stared at Curtis from the opposite side of the busy road. His sunken eyes were unblinking, and that familiar, yellow-toothed smile split his face in two. He raised a skeletal arm and kept the other by his side and gestured for Curtis to follow as he turned and disappeared into a nearby alley engulfed by the shadow of sunset. There was no bob to his walk as if he glided across the ground without moving his feet. It was a brief interaction and before Sly and Mabel were finished acknowledging the joke Curtis had just made, Curtis stormed across the street.

“What’s wrong?” Sly asked but received no response.

“Hey!” Mabel called before she and Sly followed, dodging people, horses, and carts through the bustling street.

***

Sitting and watching, a man—around Curtis’s age—with bulky goggles looked over his shoulder from a café nearby. Under the tinted lenses, different slides of glass flipped up and down to magnify the man’s vision, aided by digital refinement. The interior screen of the goggles placed markers over the faces of Curtis, Sly, and Mabel and tracked them as they broke away from the main road and disappeared into an alley. The man lifted the goggles, which left behind red marks around his eyes, and scratched his chin. The band around his arm announced his occupation.

***

Curtis raced around corners and down long stretches of alley always seemingly one step behind the creepy man who claimed to know so much about Midnight. Sly and Mabel could barely keep up, but eventually Curtis stopped and seemed to wait for his friends at a T-crossing between two alleys. Across from the alley the trio came from was a green wooden door that appeared to serve as the rear entrance to an inn or a tavern nestled between two other establishments that shared its walls. The door and the walls of the building were maintained, but the windows of the lowest floor were dark and boarded up. Mabel was out of breath once she and Sly caught up and she struggled to resist scratching at her irritated skin. Sly asked what Curtis suddenly needed to run after, or from.

“I fergot to mention this back in Tangate,” Curtis said. “While askin’ people ‘bout Midnight, I bumped into the owner of the bar in Sunnyville. We didn’t recognize each other at first, but he remembered me before I realized who he was.”

“I remember that guy,” Sly said. “His place was the only joint in town with a liquor license.”

“Well, the situation was ‘bout to turn sour, but then another guy showed up. Real strange lookin’ fella, but he…”

“What?” Sly probed.

“I think he made the bartender ferget who I was or that we’d ever met,” Curtis said, then paused before continuing. “That what it seemed like anyway. And after, he started tellin’ me that he knew a lot o’ stuff about Midnight. Most of what he said to me I already knew, but he did mention Midnight’s relationship with Armani which I don’t think is public yet. Then, he told me that Midnight was ‘very much alive.’”

“The hell’s that mean?” Mabel whispered, looking at the door which Curtis had also been staring at since she and Sly caught up to him.

“Not sure,” Curtis said. “I had kinda begun to doubt that I’d ever find Midnight if he was even still alive, but then that guy said that as if he knew I had doubts and wanted to encourage me to keep searchin’. I dunno who he was, but I saw him across the street from us at the main road. He waved like he wanted me to follow, then slinked into these alleys. I didn’t expect him to be so fast, but even runnin’ full speed, I was just barely catchin; glimpses of ‘im around each corner. I saw ‘im go in there.”

Curtis pointed to the door and Sly joined in the gazing.

“Okay,” Sly said. “So, let’s go in and see what’s up.”

“That doesn’t sound like you thought that through,” Mabel said.

“Last time we did that we wound up in a fire fight which ended with a burnt down buildin’ and a dismantled government organization,” Curtis said.

“Well, not the whole organization,” Sly defended. “Only a fifth of the highest order of law enforcement.”

Mabel rolled her eyes and Curtis began to draw out a plan for entry when a feminine voice called to them from the door. When they turned to look at who was speaking, all they saw was a pair of vermillion lips that was seemingly attached to the door as if the door itself was talking. The lips were obviously flesh, but they hadn’t seen a hole where someone could stick their mouth through.

“Y’all can just let yerselves in,” the mouth said. “We wanted ya to come, so no need to work out an elaborate break in.”

“What the—” Curtis began before Sly rolled up his sleeves and smiled.

“Now I need to know what’s going on in there,” Sly said and marched over to the door.

“Wait a second, Sly!” Curtis yelled. When Sly didn’t stop, Curtis followed and said, “Mabel, wait here.”

Mabel sighed and slouched a bit, then straightened up and furrowed her brows. “No,” she said to herself and walked after Curtis and Sly.

Sly opened the door which creaked loudly the entire way as it twisted on its hinges. The interior of the room was well-lit by lanterns and a single hanging bulb in the center of the ceiling. Sly could see that black curtains were hung over the windows held in place by the boards so no one could see in from outside. Dust flitted through the air and the only proper furniture inside was a foldable table with two folding chairs, as well as an old, faded couch on one wall. A wooden dresser with its drawers removed was next to the sofa and was covered in a thick layer of dust. An old radiator was under one of the windows. Several empty boxes and barrels were also strewn about the room. Even with the clutter, the room’s size made it feel empty.

A staircase on the far side of the room led up to a closed hatch. The single room made up the entirety of the lowest floor of this building and appeared to act as a basement. The room was far from unoccupied despite being decorated like it had been abandoned for years. Five individuals were inside the room before Sly, Curtis, and Mabel entered. There was a mixture of attire among them making it difficult to discern just who they were or why they could have wanted Curtis and the others to come to them. Two people sat in the folding chairs at the table; one was a tired looking woman about Sly’s age wearing a long denim dress with a blouse. The other one was the smiling man who had a neutral expression when the trio entered.

When he wasn’t smiling, his cheeks bulged as if he was holding something in his mouth. Curtis hadn’t paid much attention before, but he noticed now that the smiling man wore a black suit with a white shirt and a bolo tie decorated with an opal. Lying on the sofa was the strongwoman they had seen arresting Steel in Tangate. The pale man that had been with her sat on the stairs in the back of the room. Leaning on the wall to Sly’s left was a man in formal clothing including dark pants and a matching vest over a plaid shirt and a bowtie. A derby hat rested on his dark, combed hair, and a thick mustache covered his upper lip. Everyone in the room looked at Sly, Curtis, and Mabel when they entered, but none of them appeared hostile. A couple of them even grinned, and of course the normally smiling man now put on a happy face.

“Well, here y’are,” said the mustachioed man as he pushed off the wall with his shoulders. His accent was that of someone from the Valley, but lighter—almost academic—in its inflection. “Curtis ‘Dawn’ Conrad, Nathan ‘Sly’ Bowman, and Mabel Greene. So nice to officially meet you all.”

He greeted each of them with a handshake and kissed Mabel’s knuckles. Curtis looked around the room with a skeptical eye while Sly’s expression glowed with excitement. Mabel giggled when the man’s mustache tickled the back of her hand.

The man released Mabel’s hand and looked at the three of them together, then adjusted his bowtie and said, “We all know you three, but allow me to introduce all of us.” He gestured to the smiling man who waved and wiggled his needle-like fingers. “Dawn, I believe you’ve met Emery Tanner.” He passed his hand by the tired woman at the table. “That’s Rowan White.” Moving his attention to the sofa, he continued. “That’s Mina Key, and our friend over on the stairs is James Knox” He faced the trio again and glanced behind them as the door shut.

“That right there is Virginia Holt,” he said and rubbed his mustache. When Curtis, Sly, and Mabel turned around, they saw the back of a woman who was pressing her face against the door. She pushed on the door with her hands and yanked her head away from it with a POP! As suspected, no hole was there for her to push her mouth through. She wore leather pants with suspenders and a pink blouse. She turned around and rubbed her mouth, which had a light red ring around it, then smiled and looked at the group. Sly, who was already elated with the introductions, was electrified further by seeing the woman behind the wacky invitation to come inside.

Virginia made her way into the middle of the room as Curtis, Sly, and Mabel turned their attention back to the man giving the introductions.

“I, myself,” he said, “Am Henry Holliday. Together,” he spread his arms, “We’re Minutes ‘til Midnight.”

A brief silence fell over the room, then Sly spoke up with a shimmer in his eyes.

“That’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard,” he said.

Henry smirked and gave a slight shrug with his arms still spread.

“So, are you guys, like, a gang?” Mabel asked excitedly. 

“That may be the simplest way to phrase it,” Henry answered. “But don’t get us wrong, we ain’t oulaws.”

Curtis stepped forward to address Henry and his group and adjusted his hat. He kept one hand on his belt near his revolver like he was ready to draw at a moment’s notice, but Henry showed no signs of aggression and his crew all sat calmly in the background. But if Curtis had learned one thing from his time in the Southern Slick, it was that groups like this were always trouble and that one should never let his guard down when the strangers around him outnumbered familiar faces and had yet to showcase their abilities.

“So, who are ya,” Curtis asked sternly, grappling Henry eyes with his own, “And why’re ya so interested in Midnight?”

Henry, having finally lowered his arms, grinned and rubbed his mustache again, then said, “Of course. Let’s git right to the reason why we’re all here. I’ll let my partners decide how much they wanna share, but I’ll say you weren’t the only orphaned child Midnight took on as a protégé, and y’aren’t the only one who Midnight left a lastin’ impression on. Like you, we all just got questions regardin’ our pasts and hope that Midnight can clear up some things.”

“I guess it’s not surprising that so many people have been affected by Midnight in one way or another,” Sly said. “What’s impressive is that you all found each other and decided to band together to find him.”

“Fate seems to work like that sometimes,” Henry said. “I choose to believe that’s how we spotted Curtis, too.” He turned to the room, then motioned for James Knox to step forward. “Why don’tcha go first,” he said.

James stood and approached Curtis, Sly, and Mabel. He shook each of their hands starting with Curtis and said, “James Knox; call me ‘Trapper.’ I’ll spare ya the sob story, but when I was nine, some Government goons took me away from ma family; we were real poor, so nobody seemed to notice. I spent seven years in some facility with a bunch o’ other kids. They experimented on us sayin’ they was gon’ train us to be rangers. Good ones. A new breed, they said. That was a fat lie. They wanted to know more about Spells. Those of us that survived the treatment ended up gettin’ spells just like the Government was hopin’. I’ont remember the specifics o’ ma trainin’, but I do remember that the people in charge wouldn’t shut up ‘bout Midnight.

“I got out three years ago and went back home, but ma family was gone. So, now I’m lookin’ fer Midnight which led me to this group ‘bout a year ago. I’on’t know how Midnight was involved, but if he’s the reason I got taken from ma home and why ma family’s gone, then I’ont have a choice other than make ‘im pay. When I find ‘im, I’ll have questions fer sure. What happens then depends on what ‘e says, but either way, I need answers.”

Again, silence. Curtis cleared his throat and looked at Trapper.

“So, you got a spell, huh?” he said. “And you wanna kill Midnight? Already, I can say we disagree on some things, so if this meetin’ was about a partnership, we’re gonna have to work on some things. ‘Sides, I don’t like bein’ part of a group. What I got already’s enough.” Curtis looked around the room.

Henry stepped forward again. “Let me just clarify that we acknowledge Midnight’s impression on all o’ us, good er bad. We ain’t together to encourage or discourage each other’s plans, so we won’t stop Trapper from exactin’ revenge if that’s what ‘e desires, but he’s agreed to let us all get what we need from ‘im before that. Course, none of us are necessarily above killin’ when we don’t see any other choice. But we ain’t all got grudges against the man.”

Curtis looked at Henry inquisitively and awaited further detail, but none came.

“You’re pretty young,” Mabel said to Trapper who nodded his head to the side. “Me, too, I guess.”

“You’ll find we vary quite a bit in age and background,” Henry said. He turned and gestured to his group to signal someone else to go next, but Curtis interrupted.

“Before ya go on,” he said, “Lemme ask a question fer the room. I’mma venture a guess that y’each ‘ave a spell, am I right?”

The members of Minutes ‘til Midnight looked around at each other before Henry answered, saying, “We do.”

Curtis nodded, then continued.

“I heard somethin’ interestin’ ‘bout spells recently,” he said. “So, if ya don’t mind, could each o’ ya go over exactly how ya got yer spells?” Silence. “Don’t all go at one,” Curtis said sarcastically after another rounds of looks from the group.

The strongwoman lifted herself from the couch which creaked under her weight and walked over to Curtis, Sly, and Mabel with heavy footsteps. She shook their hands with an incredibly strong grip, then crossed her arms before speaking. Curtis winced when she squeezed his hand and Sly nearly fell to his knees. She didn’t grip Mabel’s hand quite as hard, but Mabel still took note of the woman’s calloused mitts.

“Name’s Mina; call me ‘Mercy’ if ya want. My past ain’t too important. I don’t mind tellin’ ya that I was born with my spell, which I understand is pretty rare. We call it ‘Thick Skin.’ whenever I flex,” she said and struck a pose that showed off her pectorals, “The skin ‘round the muscles becomes resistant to physical damage. Go ‘head an’ feel.”

Curtis nodded, but Mabel was the only one to take up the offer and poked Mina’s breast, then pulled her hand away in shock.

“Like a rock!” Mabel exclaimed.

Mina chuckled and struck another pose, flexing her biceps and thigh muscles, both of which Mabel felt and was equally impressed with.

“Anyway,” Mina said. “My family was scared that the Government would want t’ take me away if anyone found out; sure ‘nough word spread and a few weeks later, people came lookin’ fer me. My dad took me and my sisters far away from there and we laid low fer a couple years. When news spread of Irving Craig’s death, the name Midnight was all over the papers and eventually we heard rumors o’ the Government huntin’ ‘im not just fer the murder, but because he might’a had a spell. It piqued my interest, but I wasn’t actively searchin’ fer ‘im ‘til I grouped up with this crew. It was just Doc an’ Virginia back then,” she said with a nod toward Henry. Was maybe five years ago. Weren’t called Minutes ‘til Midnight yet.”

One Mina finished, Curtis and Sly took their attention elsewhere and found Virginia Holt stepping up to introduce herself.

“Guess I’ll go next since my name was tossed around. I’m Virginia Holt, no alias. I don’t like ‘em. My spell’s called Spyware; lets me transmit parts o’ my body through solid objects, like ya saw with my mouth in the door there.” She giggled at the idea of how it must look to others. “I can put my eyes through a wall, stick my nose into the next room, heck I could wave my hand around to the patrons upstairs if I wanted. But I can only do a little bit at a time, so I can’t put my whole body through. But it does let me do this, too.”

Virginia looked directly at Curtis’s face and blinked her eyes twice quickly. The sound of a motorized camera shutter came from her, then she moved over to Sly and did the same thing. She moved to Mabel who was still admiring Mina’s ability and blinked another photo. She then turned back to Curtis and Sly and explained, “I can take photographs with my eyes. I can’t print ‘em, but I’ll never ferget whatever I take a picture of.”

Virginia gestured to Emery, the smiling man. He stood and walked over to the group for a proper introduction. The motion was smooth like when he ran through the alleys, but he clearly took steps that produced gentle taps in his dress shoes. The smiling man shook each member of the trio’s hand. Mabel was hesitant to grab his bony hand but did so reluctantly.

“I am called Smiley.” He chuckled. “You’ve caught a glimpse of my spell already,” he said, primarily addressing Curtis. “It’s called ‘Amnesia.’ It allows me to create gaps in people’s memories. I can do so in chunks or target an entire subject such as when I made the bartender from Sunnyville forget who you were entirely. I can also prevent new memories from forming for a very brief period. My interest in Midnight stems from my love for learning about spells. I would like to learn more about how Midnight’s spell functions. I believe it must be how he’s remained hidden for so long.”

Curtis nodded and remained silent as he took mental notes of who was and who wasn’t sharing details about their past or how they got their spells. It was obvious that Minutes ‘til Midnight didn’t all trust Curtis and his companions, and rightfully so. Sly looked around eagerly for the next member to be introduced. Outside, the sun was already below the horizon and the daytime heat was fading. Mabel yawned and tried not to fidget or scratch her dry skin. Her clothes were starting to irritate her skin after walking around all day, plus the burst of running made her skin feel like it was on fire. She kept the container of ointment in her pocket, but there was no other room she could go into to apply it.

Smiley turned around and looked at the other person seated at the table. The tired woman in the denim dress leaned back in her folding chair and was beginning to doze only to jerk herself awake when her head fell forward, though she didn’t remain awake for long before she began to doze again. Trapper walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder. He shook her gently and said, “Rowan, hey. Think ya can stay awake just a minute longer t’ introduce yerself?”

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her eyes. The folding chair groaned as she stood. She paused to stabilize herself, then she slapped her face a couple times with both hands. She widened her eyes for a moment, then yawned and wandered over to the trio. She loosely shook their hands, yawned again, and said, “Name’s Rowan, A.K.A. ‘Killjoy.’ I was actually at the Ranger Academy fer a while, but it wasn’t fer me, so I quit.” Rowan yawned again and started to lean backward, but Curtis stepped forward to catch her forearm while Smiley rested a hand on her back. Rowan sniffled and stabilized herself again, then apologized for being so tired.

“Why don’tcha take a nap,” Henry said making his way back over to the trio. Smiley and Mina walked Rowan over to the sofa and Henry stepped back in front of Curtis and Sly. “Since we’re all sharin’, I’ll let ya know she has ability to nullify another spellcaster’s power. We call it ‘Counterspell.’ To tell ya the truth, she was usin’ it on ya this whole time, Dawn. That’s why she’s so tired.”

Curtis and Sly were both shocked at the news of Rowan blocking Curtis’s spell.

“Sorry to do so,” Henry continued. “We just needed to make sure you didn’t try nothin’, mainly on the way here. We didn’t wantcha trappin’ Smiley ‘fore he led ya back to us, so we had Rowan stay just ahead of ‘im to keep you within range.

“I didn’t notice,” Curtis admitted quietly.

“Terrifying,” Sly said. “You couldn’t tell she was affecting you. Talk about powerful.”

“Makes ‘er tired, though,” Henry said.

“I know the feelin’,” Curtis said.

“She joined us shortly after Mina came ‘long. Really doe’n’t care much fer Midnight, but by the time we found ‘er, she didn’t ‘ave much goin’ fer herself. We thought ‘er spell would be useful and luckily, she agreed to tag along. We’re glad t’ have ‘er.”

“So that just leaves you now,” Sly said. “The apparent leader of the team.”

“Yes sir,” Henry replied, “Though I wouldn’t say I’m the leader. We all make decisions as a group here; everyone’s an equal voice. But I was one of the foundin’ members along with Ms. Holt. And fer the record, I ain’t a doctor despite what Mina called me earlier. It’s just a nickname derived from my spell. In fact, you’ve also witnessed the results of my power already, Dawn.”

Henry raised his hand to Curtis’s face and a soft glow radiated from his palm. Curtis closed his eyes and stood still and after a moment, Doc lowered his hand and smirked.

“How’s that?” he asked. “Can ya smell now?”

Curtis sniffed and scrunched his nose. His sense of smell was restored to what it had been before Whiplash broke his nose. Sly and Mabel marveled at the ability, noting that Curtis’s nose was no longer crooked, as well. Curtis touched his nose.

“You healed the break?” Curtis asked.

Henry nodded. “I can heal just about any physical damage to the human body, but the worse the wound, the more time an’ energy it takes. And I also have to do it within a couple days o’ the wound or it won’t heal all the way. Otherwise, there ain’t much limit on what I can heal.”

“Wait,” Curtis said after a moment of thought. “You were in Proudkeep the day Zapper robbed the bank, weren’t you? You must’a visited me in the hospital and healed the hole she put in my chest.”

Henry nodded.

“Oh,” Sly sighed. “And here we thought that doctor had some miracle drug.”

“That explains why he looked so confused at your swift recovery,” Mabel added.

“So, you’ve been plannin’ this meeting fer a long time,” Curtis said.

“Sure have,” Henry said. “Was hopin’ to make it happen sooner, in fact, but once Lady Love took an interest in ya, we knew it’d be difficult to get ya alone without anyone stalkin’ and findin’ us. As I mentioned, we ain’t recognized outlaws and we’d like to keep it that way, so we needed to be extra careful when plannin’ this out. None of us want a bounty.”

“That must make living nomadically a lot easier,” Sly said. “You can earn money bagging bad guys without worrying about getting bagged yourself.”

“Right. Whenever we do commit a lil’ crime, we keep it small scale and avoid doin’ so anywhere someone could see. On the rare occasion we’ve had a witness or two, Smiley was able to make ‘em ferget and we were on our way.”

“We’ve tried to stay low, too,” Curtis said. “It’s been harder since goin’ against Armani’s crew in Yellowtusk.”

“Oh, I know. I saw it all,” Doc said.

“You saw? Like, you were there?”

Henry nodded. “Wanted to help, but we didn’t want to expose ourselves. Did what we could, though. Helped Sly outta a sticky situation with the Hunter.”

Sly raised his eyebrows. “That was you?” he asked.

“Sure was,” Henry answered. “Well, not me specifically. Mercy’s the one who went up an’ took ‘er out.”

Sly turned and looked at Mina who was doing pushups by the table. “She killed Payton,” he said quietly.

“We did what we thought was necessary to help y’all win,” Henry said.

Curtis and Mabel eyed Sly, then Curtis said, “We appreciate the help you’ve provided, but I still wonder why.”

“Simple. You’re another person with a significant connection t’ Midnight. Someway, somehow, our paths have crisscrossed, so I thought we could help each other.”

“That’s another thing. What’s your connection t’ Midnight?”

Doc smiled and wrapped an arm around Curtis’s shoulders to lead him over to the table.

“When I said you weren’t the only orphan Midnight adopted,” Doc said, “I was referrin’ to myself.

***

Outside, the young man with goggles watched the bottom floor of the tavern. He couldn’t see inside with the dark curtains and boards blocking the windows, but he could hear muffled chatter. He kept to the shadows and waited, eyes locked on the door.

Click here for a map of the journey so far.

The night was especially dark over Rich River. The moon was absent from the sky leaving only distant stars sparkling but providing little light for those on the ground. The young man with goggles leaned on the exterior wall of a building near the room in which Curtis, Sly, and Mabel were meeting with Minutes ‘til Midnight. He was tired but refused to let himself rest until Curtis and the others exited the room.

Inside, Doc and Curtis sat at the table while Mabel and Sly walked over to the stairs where Mina was now doing sit ups and Trapper watched from the steps. Smiley and Virginia sat on the floor by the couch and talked quietly while Rowan slept. Mina lifted Mabel with one hand and did a few arm raises with Mabel’s weight. Sly watched Mina unsure of how to feel about the murder of Payton Serrano. Payton had tried to kill Curtis and him on multiple occasions, but he and Curtis agreed that killing was to be avoided at all costs except for their lives. Especially after the incident with Dynamite, the thought of taking a life left both men feeling dreadful despite each of their past experiences in doing so.

“I, too, was takin’ in by the big bad man in black, but he wasn’t called Midnight then,” Doc explained to Curtis. “He was an outlaw, but I didn’t know it yet. He had a different alias, and his bounty was nothin’ compared to what it is now. With mine and Virginia’s knowledge combined, we’ve been able to patch up lots o’ holes in Midnight’s identity an’ figure out where—and who—he is now, details o’ which we’ll share in due time. I know you want to know now, but let’s keep things simple. We’ve shared a lot o’ stuff with ya already an’ we barely know each other, so let’s talk a bit more casually fer a minute.”

Meanwhile, Sly kept quiet around the others. Mabel seemed to be getting along just fine with Mina, and with the rest of the group by extension, but Sly’s excitement died down after learning how Payton died so suddenly.

“So, you used t’ be a ranger, right?” Trapper asked and distracted Sly from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Sly said. “For about seven years. Only been an outlaw for a few weeks.

“Bein’ an outlaw sounds stressful. Hope t’ never get a bounty on ma head.”

“Hey, you never told us about your spell. Mind sharing? I saw you use it on Steel in Tangate but couldn’t quite tell what was going on.”

Trapper leaned back and took a breath, then sighed and said, “I can paralyze people if I touch their shadow with ma own. In Steel’s case, I just had to lean an’ reach my arm out an’ that was enough to connect our shadows, but sometimes I need’a be a bit more creative; extend ma shadow somehow. I’m also free t’ move around while I have someone trapped, but I need’a be careful not to move so much that ma shadow disconnects from theirs. I can paralyze multiple people at once, too, but it’s usually hard to get them into range at the same time.”

“Man,” Sly said and dropped his shoulders. “Now I wish I had a spell. They sound so useful, not to mention super cool.”

“They definitely are,” Trapper teased.

Sly tried to open up a bit more to Minutes ‘til Midnight and enjoy the fact that any spellcasters besides Curtis weren’t trying to kill them. Still, he knew, like Curtis, that letting his guard down could be fatal. He always kept a hand in his right pocket near his revolver. Before anyone knew it, time slipped by, and the late hours of evening crept up on the party.

“I understand a life on the run doesn’t entail much recreational down time, ‘specially when you’re as recognized as y’are,” Doc said. “But what do ya do fer fun? Gamble?”

“A bit,” Curtis said. “I got into readin’ while stayin’ at Midnight’s ranch—mainly fiction. He had tons o’ books. I never got through ‘em all in the four years I spent with ‘im.”

Doc chuckled. “He was always a collector. Books, various knickknacks, paintin’s o’ fish.”

“Must’ve taken those down ‘fore takin’ me in,” Curtis said with a laugh. “Never saw a fish in that house.”

“Armani liked fish a lot.”

Curtis nodded. “He never mentioned her. Makes sense, but I wonder if he still thought about ‘er even after so long.”

Doc nodded, too.

“Hey,” Curtis said and leaned forward. “Armani told me, after the whole battle an’ burnin’ ‘er outpost down,” he explained while waving a hand as if it was just a passing detail, “That Midnight used the name Chester Gaines while they were datin’. That ring a bell to ya?”

“I’ve heard it,” Doc said, nodding again. “Wasn’t the same name I knew ‘im as, and different from when Virginia knew ‘im, too. He’s under a new name everywhere ‘e goes, it seems, so it’s hard to know which ones hold any meaning or are of any help in findin’ ‘im now. As far as I know, Chester Gaines didn’t make any big splashes.”

A loud CRASH came from the floor above followed by several shocked groans and some laughter. Curtis watched the single bulb hanging over the table and listened to the people upstairs moving furniture and talking loudly, though it was impossible to make out what they were saying.

“The patrons upstairs,” Doc said, quoting Virginia from earlier. “This is a pretty popular bar in town. The road is up a slope and meets the entrance a floor above us, so this is considered the basement. We chose t’ meet here because the hatch is boarded up and nobody would hear us chattin’ over the ruckus up there.” Doc yawned and pulled up his sleeve to glance at his wristwatch—a luxury rarely seen in the southern half of the Mesa Frontier—then said, “Gettin’ late. We should talk more soon.”

Curtis sighed, appreciate that he learned something new about Midnight for once, but disappointed that it wasn’t much. Still, Minutes ‘til Midnight had plenty of secrets he was confident would be revealed if he stuck with them. He tapped his foot under the table in anticipation of further discussion. Mabel approached the table and took Doc’s attention away.

“‘Scuse me,” she said nervously. “Mr. Holliday, could I ask ya fer somethin’?”

“And what’s that, lil’ Greene?”

“You said yer spell lets ya heal people. I’s hopin’ you could help me.” Mabel rolled up her sleeves and revealed the peeling, pink skin on her arms.

“Oh my, that looks dreadful!”

“It hurts a lot.”

“Here, sit down. Just yer arms?”

“Everywhere,” Mabel groaned and sat in Doc’s chair while he knelt beside and raised his hands in preparation.

“Goodness. How’d ya git so burnt?”

“I don’t wanna git into it,” Mabel said and glanced at Curtis.

Sly spoke with the rest of Minutes ‘til Midnight once they grouped back together to prepare to turn in for the evening. They sat in a circle on the dusty floor.

“I don’t expect much explanation, but most of you got your spells after birth, right?” Sly asked the group. Rowan White was still asleep on the couch, but the rest of the party nodded their heads. “I didn’t know that was possible if you aren’t a doyen. I guess it makes sense for you since it was the start of the Mystic Program,” he said to Trapper. “But I didn’t think anyone else had the means to give powers to someone else.”

“I think it’s only popped up recently,” Virginia said.

“A former ranger would know best,” Smiley said, “Doesn’t the number of spellcasters seem much higher than just a few years ago?”

“Yeah, but I just figured any outlaws using spells were just now figuring out how to use them after being born with them,” Sly said. “But recent acquisition probably does a better job at explaining the increase. Though, we’ve only encountered one spellcaster in the last few weeks, excluding Armani and Curtis. You all know Harley Reynold, right? She goes by Zapper.”

The group nodded and Virginia said, “We arrived in Proudkeep not long after she escaped from the bank. Luckily we found y’all at the hospital er Curtis might not’ve made it through the night.”

“I’ll have to thank Doc for that again. But anyway, when we ran into her in Proudkeep, her bounty was still only 11 als. No doubt it’s increased since then, but that tells me she didn’t have a spell for long before robbing that bank. Maybe that was even the first time she used it in public.”

“Fitting that ‘er spell matched the tools she already worked with,” Mina added.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Sly said and stared at Mina for a moment, then looked at the rest of the group. “I’ve never thought about it, but do you think there’s some level of control over what kind of spell someone gets, whether by their choice or the Mystic’s? Or whoever’s giving them to outlaws.”

“That does not seem out of the realm of possibility,” Smiley said with a grin.

“Quite likely,” Virginia said. “But I’ll say that when I got mine, I didn’t choose my ability.”

Smiley and Trapper nodded slowly to agree about their own spells.

Sly shifted in place on the floor. “I also wonder if the people giving away all these spells are connected. They must be, right? Or maybe it’s even the same few people wandering around.”

The group agreed with nods and affirmative hums all around.

Back at the table, Mabel now lay on top with her shirt laying on top of her torso so her arms could be fully exposed, and her pant legs rolled up as high as they could be without constricting her thighs. Her shoulder and legs were less severe than her arms thanks to some protection by her clothing, but the prolonged subjection to the sun’s intense rays was too much for even covered skin to endure. Doc’s spell did work, however, and was showing great promise in healing Mabel’s skin. He took a brief break and wiped his forehead. As he had mentioned, using his spell so much to try and cure Mabel’s harsh burns on all her limbs wore him out.

“Where y’all stayin’ tonight?” he asked.

“There looked a nice place next to where we boarded out horses,” Curtis said. “An’ speakin’ o’ which, I wanted to ask ya ‘bout mine. I’m guessin’ you know ‘bout it?”

“Yes sir,” Doc said.

“It was left in one o’ Midnight’s barns after he left the ranch. A note said it was fer me, but I wasn’t sure where it came from. I’d never seen it the whole time I lived there.”

“Well, don’t think I can provide answers there. I wanted to ask you ‘bout it.”

“So, nothing like it ever came up when you were with Midnight?”

Doc shook his head. “Never seen any technology like it. Seems similar to some o’ the body enhancements that’ve been croppin’ up, though. Like Bad Mouth’s arm, or that Band o’ Lovers member, with the hands.”

“Right. Not sure the connection.”

“You sure Midnight left it for ya?”

“Yeah, I—” Curtis thought for a moment. Now that he thought about it, Midnight didn’t sign the note left near the barn and he wasn’t entirely sure it was in Midnight’s handwriting. “Yeah, pretty sure…”

Doc shrugged. “More questions we’ll have to ask once we find ‘im.”

Half an hour later, Mabel’s skin was back to a healthy tan and Doc looked about ready to pass out if he stood for too much longer. Mabel thanked Doc several times and he insisted that it was his pleasure and certainly not a bother. Minutes ‘til Midnight bid Curtis, Sly, and Mabel farewell and the groups parted ways, each going opposite directions into Rich River to find a resting place for the night. The ranger with goggles watched from one of the alleys nearby but didn’t pursue anyone who exited the bar’s basement door. He simply viewed each of the nine wanderers through his digitalized magnification in silence, then tailed Curtis’s group to their lodging of choice.

Once it seemed that the trio were in for the night, the ranger left the area and made a call with one of the many phone booths scattered through Rich River, yet another element of the city’s technological modernity along with the electric streetlights and few but brightly illuminated billboards along the central road through the oldtown.

***

The next morning, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel were up early as usual, though the sun was already a few dozen degrees over the horizon by the time they made their way down to their hotel’s dining hall for breakfast. They rented separate rooms like always, still to Curtis’s displeasure with how much money even a single room cost farther north in the Mesa Frontier. Pleasantly, the public still didn’t know of Curtis and Sly so openly to recognize them in every context, and the nicer establishments of Rich River—compared to the inns and hostels they had stayed in farther south—didn’t host images of criminals in their halls, so the group was able to eat in peace.

***

By the early afternoon, the unpaved roads were packed with horse-drawn wagons and foot traffic. Even on a working day, the streets were never empty as the population of the old town all had somewhere to be all the time. Curtis wanted to meet with Minutes ‘til Midnight again but was unsure of how to find them since Doc never shared where they would be staying.

Guess I oughta go ‘round town again an’ hope they find me, Curtis thought. “You helpin’ me ask around ‘bout Midnight today?” he asked Mabel to which she agreed.

“If you’ll be wandering around the city anyway,” Sly said, “We should head uptown and check out the more modern style this place has to offer. We’ll only see more and more upgraded technology as we head toward the Big City, but Rich River has a nice mixture of old and new. We can check out the grand library, the Metal Money Museum, and the racetrack. Have you ever seen horse racing, Mabel?”

“My dad talked about it once er twice, but could never afford to take us,” Mabel said.

“I’m not sure if there are any races today, but we might see some riders practicing. Dawn?”

Curtis shrugged, saying, “Sounds good t’ me. Wouldn’t hurt askin’ around a different part o’ town.”

While the old town incorporated phone booths, electric streetlights, light-up billboards, radios, heated water, and plenty of other electric and gas-powered appliances compared to farther south in the valley, Rich River’s new town—being home to the business tycoons who profited from the mines—boasted almost all the appliances and technology the Big City itself had to offer. Refrigeration, air conditioning, theaters showing talkies, several major breweries that supplied the Mesa Frontier with beers and ales, and various factories supplying the equipment needed to construct and operate the mines.

Sly stuck close while Curtis and Mabel meandered through the streets of the uptown districts; Mabel found it difficult to focus on the task at hand with so much around to distract her. Radios blaring music, advertisements flashing bright lights, and the overall merriment of the public was so fresh and exciting for her. Thorntree was now considered a very wealthy and modern city, but when Mabel lived there, it was one of the poorest cities despite being only a day’s walk from the Big City. Even with what little advancement that existed in Thorntree while she lived there, there was no reason for the daughter of a poor man to visit the higher districts.

Mabel took in all that she could but didn’t totally lose sight of the job she was asked to do. Most of the information Mabel and Curtis gathered was consistent with what Curtis had heard the day before without many new details, but with more and more people sharing the same information, more of it was proven accurate—at least, as far as the people of Rich River were sure of. The clearest image of Midnight Curtis had obtained yet since leaving the Ranch in Dry Creek was taking shape. Curtis expected that the perception of Midnight would vary from place to place. and he certainly expected Midnight to have changed in the year-and-a-half since Curtis last saw him, so knowing exactly what the general population of a city knew and how they felt about Midnight was incredibly vital in finding the mysterious outlaw.

As the trio traversed the hectic uptown streets and vibrant alley ways, they stopped to enjoy the many attractions in Rich River. Just like Sly said, the central library hosted a vast collection of histories and literature. Mabel scampered down the aisles of towering shelves, disappearing amongst the thousands of books for almost an hour before she met Curtis and Sly back at the entrance to continue through the city.

“Please, let’s come back ‘ere another day,” Mabel begged. “I’ve never seen so many books. I wanna read ‘em all!”

Curtis and Sly agreed, but Curtis was eager to return to their primary task. At the racetrack, several jockeys rode laps around the large, dirt track while spectators observed from the surrounding stands. While no race was being conducted, visitors could sit, have picnics, and play games in the infield. A couple jockeys walked their horses around the outside of the track and let visitors pet and brush them which Mabel dragged Curtis and Sly along to do. At one of the many breweries, Curtis and Sly drank a jug’s worth of free samples.

The Museum of Photography recounted the invention of the camera funded by the money generated from Rich River’s mines, as well as many of the first photos ever taken. Even the modern architecture in the wealthy sectors of the city was a sight rarely seen farther south. Mabel admired the tall, stone—and even some metal—buildings that rose half a dozen stories up. The bank’s marbles exterior mimicked the inspiration of the bank in Onyxlanding but on a much grander scale. When the group found themselves at the Metal Money Museum, it was already nearing supper time.

“If you’re curious about how the Valley Strip’s coins are made and the history of their value, this is the place to be,” Sly said.

“Let’s check it out,” Mabel said with a shrug.

“Y’all go ahead,” Curtis said. “I think I’ve had enough sight seein’ fer today. I’ll hang ‘round here, so find me when ya get out.”

Sly and Mabel nodded, then the two of them walked through the museum’s entrance. Curtis walked up and down the street and looked at the various shops and restaurants available nearby. There was much more variety than anywhere they had visited so far, but that was also to be expected as they headed toward the Big City. A half hour had barely passed when Curtis circled back to the museum and he hadn’t seen Sly and Mabel exit, so he made his way around the side of the building and stood in the narrow street between the museum and the building next door. He lowered his head and sighed. With his hat blocking his vision of his surroundings, Curtis saw only a couple black spheres about the size of cherries roll toward his feet, bumping along the uneven road.

He stared at the marble-like balls wondering what they were and where they came from, but before he looked up to see who must have rolled them toward him, two yellow, five-pointed throwing stars stuck into the ground through the black balls causing the balls to burst and release clouds of thick, purple smoke. Curtis recoiled, covering his face with his scarf, but the smoke still reached his eyes which began to water and stung when he opened them.

Down the road, the ranger with goggles observed the commotion from a telephone booth. Some passersby near the alley beside the museum hurried away, recognizing the cause of the shroud.

“I sent a local ranger after Dawn,” the ranger with goggles said into the phone. “I’ll observe from a distance; try an’ catch a glimpse o’ Dawn’s spell in action.”

“Good work, Truth,” Angel Eyes said from the other side of the connection. “Report what you witness after the fight. I have no doubt that, even alone, Dawn will be victorious.”

“Yes sir,” Truth said. “I’ll keep you on the line. I doubt this’ll take long.” He continued watching from inside the glass box.

It was difficult for Curtis to breathe, too. He stumbled to one wall of the alley and rested his hand against the warm bricks.

The hell? he thought. Gotta git to the street, or inside the museum.

Curtis opened his eyes slowly and found his vision totally obscured by the purple haze all around him. He took a step along the wall, then saw two more throwing stars collide with the bricks ahead of his hand and deflect off the hard surface. Curtis turned and noticed a vague shape move through the smoke and disappear. He readied one of his revolvers in one hand while holding his scarf over his nose and mouth with the other. He peered through the tears and smoke as best he could and listened for any footsteps indicating the attacker’s approach. He heard the faintest steps to his left and turned to aim his gun.

A foot with small, soft, black shoes kicked Curtis’s hand upward, then swiftly twisted and kicked Curtis in the chest, slamming his back to the wall. Before Curtis could recover, the rest of the figure’s body emerged from the smoke and slammed into Curtis. The attacker, who was dressed in dark clothing, folded Curtis over their shoulder and slammed Curtis to the ground before disappearing back into the smoke. Curtis groaned on the ground and rolled onto his back, then saw a shadow moving through the smoke above. Curtis rolled to his right as the dark-clothed figure landed on the ground where Curtis had been and stabbed the ground with a foot-long blade.

The metal tip made a sharp sound against the hard ground of the alley, but the attacker wasted no time and threw two more stars as Curtis stood. One star sliced past Curtis’s right arm, tearing his sleeve, and cutting deep into his bicep. The other hit its mark and penetrated Curtis’s right shoulder. Curtis grunted and felt the wound with his free hand. The star stuck out from his chest and blood dripped from its exposed points. He was given no time to think before the attacker dashed in his direction. Curtis fired a shot but missed as his target leapt into the air with incredible grace, flipping high above Curtis and landing behind him. The attacker swept his leg at Curtis’s feet and tripped the outlaw, bringing him back to the ground.

Curtis was quick to react as he fell and fired another round at the dark figure through the fading smoke which staggered his attacker’s motion for a moment. Curtis’s body hit the ground and he saw the agile man leap and push off the wall with one foot and strike from above once again. Curtis crossed his arms over his face and blocked the kick, after which the attacker jumped back, then lunged forward again at Curtis. The speed of his attacks was something Curtis hadn’t seen before. People in the Valley Strip rarely practiced martial arts of any kind, much less to this degree, and he was getting worn out from trying to keep up. He raised his revolver to fire another shot, but the short blade revealed itself through the smoke and sliced across his hand, disarming him, and the attacker landed atop Curtis.

Anybody walking along the street had vacated the scene by now and when the smoke finally cleared from the alley, Truth looked through his magnifying goggles to see the two men locked in a pin. Curtis lay on his back with the dark-clothed ranger standing over him. The digital interior of the goggles placed markers over both their faces and identified the local ranger as Demura Akio. Demura had one foot stepping on Curtis’s left wrist and one on Curtis’s chest. The tip of his foot pressed down on the star in Curtis’s chest, pushing it deeper. Curtis had managed to draw his second revolver, but not before being pinned. Demura pointed his own black revolver at Curtis now and held his sword backward with the blade pointed away from himself, but at the ready to strike if Curtis tried to escape.

Truth stood in the phone booth, impressed. “Damn,” he said. “We might want to look into this Akio guy. I didn’t see most of it but looks like he’s got Dawn beat right now.”

“Just keep watching,” Angel Eyes commanded. “You’ll be impressed by this outlaw’s cunning.”

Curtis lay on the ground trying to think of his next move. He could see his attacker clearly now that the smoke was gone. The ranger wore round, black footwear made from cloth and silky, black pants that flowed loosely around his legs. A black vest held his similarly loose, black blouse on his torso, and a dark scarf covered the lower half of his face. He wore a black, wide-brimmed hat. A ranger band was around one arm. This ranger from Rich River was far more skilled in close-ranged martial combat than Curtis and had managed to evade two shots already. The sharp star in his chest Curtis him agonizing pain, but he spoke through the torment to buy time.

“Why’re you dressed like some vigilante character from the theater?” he groaned.

The ranger chuckled under his scarf. “I am the best ranger in Rich River,” he said in a gravelly half-whisper. “They call me the Shadow Mamba.”

“Oh, gosh, y’even talk like a drama anti-hero.”

Demura pressed his foot down on Curtis’s chest more, embedding the star deeper. Curtis groaned louder. It was hard to think through the pain in his wrist and chest, not to mention the headache creeping in from inhaling the smoke even through his scarf.

“Still got jokes, huh?” Demura said. “Just try to get out of this one. You aren’t so tough. You’ll be an easy 12 G’s.”

Then, Demura looked over his shoulder toward the entrance to the alley. Sly stood with both his seven-shot revolvers drawn.

“Hold it there, Shadow Mama,” Sly said.

“It’s Shadow Mamba,” Demura said.

“Eck, why do you sound like that?”

“I recognize those seven-shooters. You’re Nathan Bowman. This must be my lucky day.”

“I beg to differ,” Sly said with a smirk. “Now, Dawn!”

Demura looked back at Curtis who looked up with a confused, panicked expression. Demura then heard rushed footsteps behind him and stepped to the side as Sly struck with one of his revolvers. Demura grabbed Sly’s arm and threw him over Curtis, then hopped backward and away from the two outlaws. In Demura’s escape, Curtis grabbed his ankle and tripped the ranger, but Demura quickly recovered and slinked out of Curtis’s range like a snake. He dropped two more smoke balls from his sleeve and threw them on the ground, causing another smoky plume to consume the front of the alley. Curtis fired two shots into the smoke but missed. After the smoke cleared, he saw his bullets embedded in the museum’s stone wall and Demura was gone. Curtis stood and retrieved his other pistol.

“Well,” Sly said. “You’re welcome for coming to the resc—UH.”

Demura appeared from behind Sly and kicked him into Curtis, knocking them both back, then threw two more stars. Sly screamed as both stars pierced his back. Curtis leaned from in front of Sly and fired several more shots at Demura, but the agile ranger leapt and dodged to avoid the bullets with the fluency of water rushing down a stream. His movements were almost silent. Curtis ran out of ammo in one revolver and switched to the other. With another leap, Demura tried to get on the other side of the outlaws, but Curtis watched the movement and fired a bullet ahead of Demura. The bullet pierced the ranger’s thigh and Demura was forced to land off-course and in an awkward position—but he still landed.

Demura stayed low to the ground and looked up to find Curtis’s revolver pointed at him. By then, Sly had recovered and also aimed his guns at Demura. Demura raised himself slowly and stood straight despite his injured leg.

“I give you credit for the speed of some of your reactions,” Demura said to Curtis.

“I’ve gotten good at readin’ people,” Curtis replied.

“Victory was surely mine until Nathan Bowman arrived. A minor setback at most, but you two are still no match for me.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Sly said. “We all know you can’t take both of us, and I don’t see you leaping around with that injured leg.”

“Maybe the foes of your past would’ve surrendered under such circumstances,” Demura said, “But I’ve faced much stronger threats than both of you. I will not give up so easily!”

“Funny,” Curtis said. “That’s usually my line but it don’t matter. Why don’t we just calm down and settle this fair an’ square. Care fer a proper duel?”

Demura’s brows furrowed under his black hat. “A duel?”

Got ‘im, Curtis thought. Thought I’d be rusty, but I’m getting’ better at catchin’ people in my sp—

“Dawn, watch out!” Sly shouted.

Curtis blinked and Demura was mere inches from his face with his blade drawn and poised to impale Curtis’s chest. Demura jumped forward and thrust the blade forth, then stopped in the air. Curtis had hardly moved an inch to avoid the strike but was untouched. He and Sly glanced behind Demura—who now fell to the ground—and saw a man with casual clothing and pale skin pointing a cane in their direction. The man wore a mask, but Curtis and Sly recognized him as Trapper from Minutes ‘til Midnight and took note of where the cane’s shadow connected to Demura’s. Even while in the air, Demura was caught when Trapper used the length of the cane to extend his shadow and reach Demura before the blade stabbed through Curtis’s lung or heart. Demura lay on the ground in a lunging pose, unable to move.

“What is this?” Demura said, squirming slightly in his best effort to stand.

Trapper was careful to keep his shadow in contact with Demura’s as he approached Curtis and Sly and greeted them.

“Close one,” he said. “Good thing I was passin’ by when I was.”

“Trapper,’” Sly said. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Curtis said. He was about to thank Trapper, as well, then looked over Trapper’s shoulder and saw Smiley standing behind him.

Smiley smiled and waved and walked over to the group. He also wore a mask, but he was unmistakable to Curtis and Sly. He walked over and nodded to them both, then was about to kneel to Demura, but Sly winded back his boot and kicked Demura’s face to knock the ranger out. Trapper chuckled.

“I was going to block his memories for a moment so we could escape,” Smiley said in his exhausted tone. “But I suppose that also works.”

Curtis shrugged and Sly grinned widely.

“So, was it really coincidence that you ran into us?” Curtis asked skeptically.

“Well, as much coincidence as our last meeting,” Trapper admitted with a guilty smirk.

“Perhaps we should vacate this area and speak elsewhere,” Smiley said.

Curtis and Sly agreed and followed Trapper and Smiley out from the alley where they found Mabel leaning against the museum’s cold, stone wall. She joined the group without saying a word and they all disappeared down another side street. Truth watched the group walk from the phone booth until they escaped his vision around a corner. He tried using his goggles to identify the two masked men but failed to verify who they were behind their disguises.

“I don’t like to prove ya wrong, boss,” Trapper said over the phone. “But it definitely seemed that Dawn would’a lost to Akio if Sly and two other guys didn’t show up.”

“Two others?” Angel Eyes inquired.

“Couldn’t make out who ‘cause they were wearin’ masks, but it looked like one of ‘em had a spell, too. Akio just froze mid-air and fell over. Couldn’t move it seemed.

Angel Eyes was silent over the phone.

Curtis, Sly, Mabel, Trapper, and Smiley wound down various side streets and alleys to deter any followers as best they could. Mabel sulked the whole way.

“What’s wrong?” Curtis asked her.

“Just annoyed,” she said. “It’s nothin’.”

“Annoyed ‘bout what?”

Mabel sighed. “When we heard the gunshots, Sly and I rushed outside and Sly told me to wait ‘round the corner so he could go investigate. Of course, once he knew you were in trouble, I had to stay behind cover. I felt so useless the whole time. I was worried—I mean, I had confidence that y’all would win, but doin’ nothin’ makes me anxious. If somethin’ happens to you two while I’m just sittin’ around, I dunno how I’d live with myself.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothin’,” Curtis said after a moment. When Mabel didn’t react to the light joke, Curtis continued. “Look, I know ya hate it. Sly an’ I’re just worried ‘bout you, too. We don’t want’cha gettin’ hurt so bad. You know we can take care o’ ourselves.”

Mabel looked at the ground as she walked. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “I just feel useless. I can’t fight, I don’t ‘ave my own weapons, I don’t ‘ave a spell, so what good am I?”

Curtis frowned and noticed Sly watching Mabel, too. Neither of them was sure how to comfort her. Then, Trapper spoke.

“Speakin’ o’ which, why didn’t ya use yer spell, Dawn?”

Curtis frowned more. “I did,” he said. “I thought I had ‘im, but it didn’t work. Rusty, I guess.”

Trapper nodded.

“Perhaps,” Smiley said. “Or it could be that he was ready for it. Your newer posters mention your spell so it’s likely that the Shadow Mamba had researched it and knew a little about how it works. Awareness makes your spell less effective, or even negates it, correct?”

Curtis waited a moment before answering, then confirmed Smiley’s statement.

“I thought so,” Smiley said. “My spell works similarly. It’s a downside to spells that manipulate a person’s thoughts or behavior.”

“That’s why ma spell is so great!” Trapped said and thrust his cane upward.

“Yes,” Smiley said. “But you are still limited in how you can act while using it.”

Trapper shrugged.

“So, what’s with the masks?” Sly asked.

“Doc got ‘em fer us at a costume store,” Trapper said flaring his stylish cane again.

“To hide our identities,” Smiley explained. “If not for having them, we likely wouldn’t have intervened in your fight with the Shadow Mamba since he could’ve seen our faces.”

“Oh, right,” Sly said. “Still avoiding getting yourselves into trouble, huh.”

Trapper and Smiley both nodded. After a bit more navigation through the city’s winding corridors, Smily and Trapper led Curtis, Sly, and Mabel back to the building they stayed in the night before with the horse stable nearby.

“Figured you might wanna go pack up,” Trapper said. “If that ranger ain’t awake already, he’s probably been found an’ it won’t be long ‘til more people come after y’all.”

“Good point,” Curtis groaned.

“So much fer stayin’ in one place fer more than a day,” Mabel said.

Sly stretched and wrapped his arms over each of their shoulders. “It’s not our style anyway,” he joked.

After confirming that Curtis, Sly, and Mabel were headed west across the river toward Bullwater, Trapper and Smiley said the rest of Minutes ‘til Midnight would meet them outside of town to make the journey together. Curtis and Sly paid the bill at their inn and retrieved their wagon and horses from the stable. On the way out. The guard out front of the stable eyed Curtis and frowned. Curtis didn’t stay to find out why, but he assumed the guard might have recognized him, or maybe he had looked under Esprit’s cloak and seen her metal hide. Both cases likely would’ve raised more alarm, but Curtis rushed by and waved a thank you, getting out of there as quicky as he could.

About an hour after separating from Trapper and Smiley, the trio spotted Minutes ‘til Midnight at the edge of town. With them were a pair of mules hooked up to a large stagecoach designed to hold four people comfortably. Mina and Trapper rode on the mules while the rest of the group filed into the cab. To make it less obvious that they were together, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel left Rich River ahead of the other group who followed along the road at a comfortable distance until they reached the open, pathless desert where the two groups merged. Curtis wanted to discuss Midnight and each member of the gang’s spells again, but he knew Minutes ‘til Midnight didn’t trust him and Sly just yet, so he forced his thoughts elsewhere during their journey.

By now, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel were used to the intense sun beating down on them during the heatwave and it appeared that Minutes ‘til Midnight were well prepared, too. Curtis could see through the windows of their cart that they had plenty of rations and water. Not to mention, Minutes ‘til Midnight was still a potential threat to their small band—as well as to Midnight—with Trapper’s desire to hunt Midnight and Mina’s obvious strength, among the other interests and abilities the group possessed. Sly was still visibly bothered by the knowledge that Mina was the one who killed Payton and, even though it was certainly a vital key to their victory against the Band of Lovers, Curtis didn’t like it either. Doc had said that Minutes ‘til Midnight was unopposed to killing if presented with no other choice which was the same philosophy that Curtis operated under, but Curtis and Sly treated it more like a last resort after the last resort. They would almost rather die than kill. Almost.  The weight of taking another life was too heavy for them and they both wanted to leave murder in their pasts.

Minutes ‘til Midnight was yet unpredictable. As far as Curtis was concerned, they could turn around and kill the three of them in their sleep or overpower them at any moment. It was best if he treated the relationship as a temporary partnership, which is what it was really. Curtis saw no reason to stay with Minutes ‘til Midnight once they found their target, and chances were that the feeling was mutual. There was even a chance that Curtis and Sly would end up fighting Minutes ‘til Midnight if Trapper decided to go through with his revenge. Curtis wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted from Midnight. He just wanted answers. For now, he desired Midnight alive. Although he hadn’t seen him for nearly two years since, Midnight had been a father to him for almost half a decade. He wouldn’t sit by if someone meant to do Midnight harm. Not for now, anyway.

The trip to Bullwater was uneventful. When the shadows of dusk spread out over the desert and the sun’s scorching rays once again faded and allowed the air to cool for the brief night, the groups remained together to set up camp. Minutes ‘til Midnight unfolded two large, three-person tents and various campfire supplies, making Curtis, Sly, and Mabel a bit jealous. The larger tents were also much nicer than the trio’s with curtains held in place by buttons that could be opened to reveal netted windows. In any case, the nine wanderers fed their steeds and prepared for sleep. Before turning in the for night, Doc approached Curtis and asked about Esprit again.

“I don’t know much,” Curtis reiterated. “Like I said, it’s as much a mystery to me as anyone else.”

Doc nodded. “I guess it doesn’t need to eat or drink, then?”

Curtis shook his head. “Doesn’t tire, neither.”

“That must be useful fer travel.”

Curtis confirmed with a nod, then asked, “You weren’t all born with yer spells, right? So how’d ya git yers?”

“Hmph, you first. We’ve shared more about us than you have ‘bout yerself.”

“Fair. I was born with mine ‘s far as I can tell. Though I didn’t know ‘bout it ‘til Midnight showed me how t’ use it.”

“Really? Well, I guess yers might be harder to use on accident. Not so easy to stumble upon naturally. That makes me wonder, though. How did Midnight know ‘bout it?”

Curtis was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe he has a way of detectin’ ‘em. Trapper said the people who took ‘im away from ‘is family mentioned Midnight a bunch. Maybe ‘e does have a connection to spells in general that nobody else has.”

“We’ll just have to ask ‘im ourselves.”

With that, Doc retreated to the tent he was sharing with Smiley and Trapper, avoiding the topic of his own spell or those of his companions. “We’ll talk about my crew once we make it to Bullwater,” he said.

The next morning, everyone was packed and ready to move before the sun was up and by lunch time, they arrived at Bullwater. Doc and Virginia had ridden the mules that morning while Mina and Trapper rode in the stagecoach. Bullwater was settled as a fishing town, but like most towns closer to the Big City, it had developed into something much larger and more diverse than when it had been established. Contemporary technologies were integrated into the local society and allowed more businesses besides the harvesting and exportation of seafood to thrive. Bullwater was built around the river rather than alongside it, so long bridges stretched across the center of the city to join the two halves. Dozens of docks and boathouses lined the river in the north where the fishing businesses were located. Mountains towered to the near west and created a divide between Bullwater and the edge of the valley.

The group stopped at the edge of town and Doc walked over to Curtis and Sly who were still on their horses.

“We’ll hang ‘round y’all fer a bit if that’s alright,” he said. “But if trouble starts brewin’, I hope you’ll understand when we vacate the scene.”

“What about the masks?” Curtis asked. “Ain’t those supposed to let ya act up without bein’ identified?”

“We have ‘em, yes. We’d like to sneak off then come back if anythin’, but avoidin’ conflict in the open is what we aim for. And we ain’t gonna help y’all fight rangers all the time. We’ve done well to keep ourselves outta the public eye and we ain’t gonna git roped in as outlaws just yet.”

Curtis and Sly nodded and followed Minutes ‘til Midnight’s cart into town. Curtis and Sly kept their hats low to not draw attention to themselves, but not far from the main road into town, Truth watched from a side street. He eyed the group which he noted was much larger now, so he kept his distance like before. Unbeknownst to the group and Truth, another stalker kept a watchful eye on the wandering group. This stranger kept far from the main road and twisted his curly mustache fiendishly with his finger and thumb.

Curtis, Doc, and the rest of the group stopped by a small streetside restaurant for a quick meal before heading into the proper city for a bit of sightseeing. They scoped out the options for inns and stables, opting of course for the places that asked the fewest questions and left the tending to the horses’ owners.

“Hey, the circus is in town,” Sly said and pointed to a poster nailed to a fence along the road. “Want to check it out?”

Curtis shrugged.

“Sounds like fun,” Mabel said. “I’ve never been.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” Sly shouted. “They have a show tonight. Let’s do it!”

“Been a while since I’ve gone,” Doc said. “Why not?”

Sly took the poster and read more of the details as the group walked. “Curly’s Crazy Carnival Circus” it read and listed various events and stunts like tight-rope walking, diving into a bucket, lion taming, fire spitting, sword swallowing, flaming juggling, and more. Sly was so entranced by the wondrous poster that he nearly walked Firefly off a ledge when the group stopped at the river running through the middle of town. He looked up from the advertisement and was as stunned as the rest of the group at the sight under the iron bridges.

The water level of the river was low—shockingly low. The riverbed was nearly exposed with how little water flowed south. The vegetation along the riverbank was noticeably dry and brittle and a few boats were even stranded in the middle of the river. Independent fishermen on the bridges and riverbank cast lines that sank right to the bottom of the shallow stream.

“The hell happened?” Virginia asked.

“I wonder if it’s like this all the way past Coyote Run,” Mabel said looking out from the hooded wagon towed by Esprit.

“Sure is,” a stranger leaning against the rails of a nearby bridge said. “An’ all the way north to the tip o’ the mountain range.”

“How long’s it been dried up/?” Curtis asked the stranger.

“Since the start o’ the heatwave earlier this month. Strangest part is the river’s now goin’ ‘round the other side o’ the mountains somehow, past Far Reach. Just happened one day and no one knows how.”

“Far Reach?” Curtis whispered. He looked at the list of cities Armani gave him. Bullwater wasn’t on the list, but Far Reach was. Can’t be coincidence, he thought.

Click here for a map of the journey so far.

Curtis, Doc, and the rest of their combined group walked along the road above the riverbank and looked at the sorry state of the river. Fish barely had enough room to swim and had even been stranded in some places where the riverbed was higher than the new water level. As they saw before, boats were also stuck in the middle of the river, abandoned by their beleaguered passengers.

They saw a group of men struggling immensely to tug a pontoon with ropes they had tied to one side. The merriment in the rest of the town ceased once one reached the river and a sense of dread overcame all who witnessed the despairing sight. Upstream by the fish farms and factories, watermills halted with water idling below their paddles. Billows of smoke rose like columns holding up the sky as factories relied more on other fuel for powering the city. A few children at the edge of the low river still managed to find joy in playing in the shallow water.

“Almost like the redirection o’ the river was instantaneous,” Mabel said.

“The fisherman back there said the river’s running by Far Reach now,” Sly said looking at his map. “It’s a couple days trek over the mountains, but maybe we could go and find out what happened.”

The group had an idea about what happened, but if they were right, it would be unlike anything they had ever encountered. If someone had used a spell to move the river, what else were they powerful enough to do?

“Why don’t we mull it over fer the night an’ decide what to do in the mornin’?” Doc suggested. “I think there’s been enough action fer today.” He looked at Curtis, Sly, and Trapper.

The group agreed and spent the afternoon riding their carts around town and checking out various shops and restaurants. On the western side of the river, the air was filled with the scents of various seasonings and fish. Curtis thought again about what Doc had said the night before about Midnight collecting paintings of fish. Midnight apparently trashed the paintings before Curtis entered the picture, likely to disconnect himself from Armani, and Curtis couldn’t help noticing that Midnight went all around the northern half of the Mesa Frontier but never stamped a letter from Bullwater.

It was unlikely that Midnight went from one town to another on the list in the provided order without stopping in other locations in between. Maybe it was just coincidence that he never stayed in Bullwater long enough to send a letter, or perhaps Midnight avoided it intentionally. Armani hadn’t mentioned any particular fondness for the city, but she didn’t recount every detail of her relationship with Midnight, so maybe she didn’t see it as relevant. If Midnight did avoid Bullwater on purpose, was it just because it was connected in some way to Armani, or was there something more? Virginia snapped her fingers in front of Curtis’s face to break him out of his contemplative trance.

“Hey, you gettin’ hungry again yet?” she asked.

“Hungry?” Curtis questioned and looked at the sun only to realize that the afternoon had already passed, and evening was setting with the sun. “Hadn’t noticed how late it was. Not really hungry, no.”

“I could use a bite t’ eat,” Trapper said from the stagecoach’s window.

Mina, Rowan, and Smiley all agreed from inside. Mabel said she also wasn’t hungry yet and suggested that Curtis and she sleuth around about Midnight, but not too much. She also suggested that she could find out more about the river with her urchin skills, and Curtis agreed. The rest of the group made their way toward one of the many restaurants overlooking the river and Sly glanced at Curtis as they parted ways. Curtis gave Sly a warning look saying to be careful alone with Minutes ‘til Midnight. Sly nodded. He was also to look after Esprit in Curtis’s absence, which he accepted responsibility for.

Just before the group split, Doc said that he could wait to eat and would instead join Curtis and Mabel to ask around about Midnight.

“You sure?” Curtis asked. “We tend to draw a little more attention t’ourselves than we mean whenever we do this.”

“That’s precisely why I’m comin’,” Doc said. “To show ya how to sleuth inconspicuously.”

Curtis shrugged. “Don’t git upset if you’re roped into any trouble Mabel an’ I bring just fer bein’ us.”

Mabel knelt and picked up some dirt from the ground, then rubbed it on her cheeks. She unbuttoned her shirt and handed it to Curtis, revealing the sleeveless top from the Esprit Rose on which she also smeared some dirt. She rubbed dirt all over her arms—thankful for Doc’s healing the night before—as well as on her pants. Lastly, she took off her shoes and socks and stomped around on the road. Once sufficiently unclean in appearance, she smiled at Curtis and Doc.

“I figured I could learn more by doin’ what I used to do in Coyote Run,” Mabel said. “People tend t’ be more generous—with money an’ conversation—to a girl without a home.”

“Well, alright,” Doc said with a smirk. “Looks like this girl knows how to sleuth on ‘er own,” he said and lightly elbowed Curtis.

“Now I can’t be the obsessed dad,” Curtis said. “What do Ido?”

“Learn to be inconspicuous,” Mabel said and ran off down the road to do what she did best.

***

The sun was down by the time the group was totally back together. Luckily, Sly hadn’t been abducted by the rest of the Minute ‘til Midnight and was able to enjoy their company over dinner. Mabel, with her hands and feet even dirtier than before and her clothes looking rough like she may have gotten into a tussle, found Curtis and Doc. The three shared information they gathered throughout the early evening before joining the rest of the band.

“We heard lots o’ disconnected rumors,” Curtis said. “Nothin’ too crazy, and nothin’ we could really verify, but we also didn’t pry anybody too much per this guy’s procedure.” He pointed his thumb at Doc.

“But at least we didn’t draw attention t’ ourselves, right?” Doc defended. “We went to a few bars and such, grabbed a couple drinks which I ain’t even expectin’ to be paid back for mind ya, and chatted up the locals. Naturally wove Midnight into the conversation, y’know?”

“That’s what Sly suggested,” Mabel said.

“But we hardly got squat,” Curtis retorted.

“It may be a less consistent method that what you like to do,” Doc said, “But it is a safer one.”

Curtis rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, then looked at Mabel to hear what she had learned.

“Sorta the same fer me,” she said. “Lots o’ lil’ things but nothin’ tangible. I did hear somethin’ interestin’ ‘bout someone killin’ the founder o’ one o’ the big fishin’ companies round ‘ere, but nobody could say who it was ‘cause they were never caught. That was, like, eleven years ago. Doesn’t really sound like Midnight t’me, though.”

“Why d’ya say that?” Doc asked.

“Because Midnight’d already left Armani in Yellowtusk by then and was sendin’ his secret letters to ‘er. I doubt he’d be doin’ anythin’ too crazy in that time if ‘e really wanted ‘er to meet ‘im somewhere after six years. Comin’ off the heels o’ killin’ Irving Craig just a couple years earlier, it sounds like he avoided makin’ much more noise after that so he could remain in hidin’, but it’s still impressive how long he’s evaded capture with how highly he’s wanted.”

Doc looked at Curtis with raised eyebrows. “This girl’s got smarts,” he said.

Curtis only nodded.

“Oh, and I got this,” Mabel said and pulled out two silver coins and a few dimes and pennies from her pockets.

“Well, lookie there,” Doc said and lightly gripped Mabel’s shoulder in praise.

Doc chuckled and began walking toward a predetermined meeting spot he agreed to with the rest of Minutes ‘til Midnight. Curtis and Mabel assumed Sly would still be with Doc’s group and followed. Mabel held the money out for Curtis to take, but he declined.

“You hold onto it,” Curtis said. “It’s yours.”

Mabel smiled.

As the two of them followed behind Doc, Mabel tried to drag a little farther behind and whispered to Curtis for him to do the same.

“Psst,” she whispered. She looked at Doc as she spoke to Curtis. “You trust ‘im yet?” she asked quietly.

“Not entirely,” Curtis answered in a low tone. “But I don’t think they wanna hurt us. I just don’t agree with what he and his group want to do when they find Midnight.”

“Trapper, specifically?”

“Yeah, him definitely. But I also git a feelin’ that they’ll all wanna exploit Midnight somehow. Use his powers for their devices, maybe black mail ‘im and threaten to turn ‘im in if he doesn’t help ‘em.”

“You think they could? I mean, Midnight sounds pretty strong.” Mabel looked up at Curtis.

“I believe ‘e is, but with a group like theirs, Minutes ‘til Midnight is certainly a force to reckon with.” Curtis scratched his chin which had grown some stubble since he shaved his beard before leaving Tangate.

“Well, if we’re there to help ‘im, I’m sure Minutes ‘til Midnight couldn’t do too much to ‘im.”

“Mhm…”

There was a pause in their conversation, then Mabel continued.

“Do you think he trusts us?” she asked.

“Yeah. More so than when we first met ‘em anyway. I’m hopin’ to git ‘im to talk more ‘bout his group’s spells. I’ll try to squeeze some details outta him after the circus show.”

And speaking of, when Doc, Curtis, and Mabel found the rest of the group, Sly was waving the poster for Curly’s Crazy Carnival Circus above his head. The horses, mules, cart, and stagecoach had already been stored for the evening in a typical self-storage stable and lot.

“Where were you guys?” Sly yelled. “Come on or we’ll miss the start!”

In the shade of an alley, the same stalker from when the group arrived eyed the group and twisted his mustache nefariously.

***

The circus tent was set up in the middle of a large, green park on the south side of Bullwater. Long lines stretched from each of its four entrances and a muffled symphony of marimba, accordion, and various horns echoed from inside. The park around the tent was dark, but the soft glow of warm light from inside trickled into the grassy space giving the whole area a magical ambience. The nighttime atmosphere of Bullwater as a whole was reminiscent of the Big City with bright billboards and streetlights keeping the streets lit. Shops remained open well after dark thanks to mostly electrical lights illuminating their interiors as people wandered through the city alone unlike in the cities to the east with bustling nightlives.

After twenty minutes of waiting for the crowded line slowly to bring the group to one entrance where a ticket booth and gate blocked the fabric arch, everyone filed into the tent after purchasing their tickets. Each ticket was only 15 dimes, but Doc insisted on covering the cost for Curtis, Sly, and Mabel, along with his own group. Curtis certainly wouldn’t object and Sly and Mabel thanked Doc for his generosity. Inside were a half-dozen rows of benches around the tent’s whole circumference, about half of which were already full. A circle of nets from the ground to the roof enclosed a floorless ring in the center of the tent. In the middle of the grassy ring was a circular pedestal and various other props placed around in the grass that seemed to form some sort of basic obstacle course.

Five musicians—all with fine and fancy mustaches—in the ring were the source of the silly music heard from outside. Each of them bobbed and danced while they played. A few ropes hung from the ceiling, some of which were paired and held bars between two as one would find in a gymnasium. The warm light inside the tent came from tall torches stuck into the ground around the stands and oil lanterns hanging on the wooden supports.  A large electric spotlight was in the middle of the ceiling above the grass and was currently off, but its use was imminent given the worker sitting in the rafters awaiting their signal to draw the crowd’s attention to wherever the light may shine.

The group of travelers found the nearest section that could seat all nine of them and planted themselves firmly on the benches, soon to be smushed shoulder-to-shoulder by the sheer volume of attendees. Once the tent’s stands were full, the openings in the tent were drawn shut and the musicians stopped playing and exited the tent. The audience talked restlessly and shifted in their hard, wooden seats for only a few minutes before all the torches and oil lanterns inside the tent suddenly extinguished. Then, the spotlight above the grassy ring shone a single column of blinding, white light upon a lone character standing on the pedestal.

He wore a striped top hat that matched his long-tailed coat. His dark pants clung tightly to his legs and his polished shoes reflected the light from above onto anyone he pointed his toe at. He wore a vest under the coat with sparkly gold buttons and white gloves on his hands. One hand held a stiff, black staff while the other toyed with his particularly curly mustache which revealed his identity.

“Welcome one and all,” the man said in a voice that projected throughout the tent without aid from a microphone, “My name is Curly and this is my Crazy Carnival Circus!”

The torches around the stands then reignited seemingly on their own and dimly lit the interior of the tent while the spotlight continued to draw focus.

“Allow me to introduce my wonderful gang of performers,” Curly shouted.

From one of the entrances, the five musicians from before walked in playing at full volume a cheerful and exciting melody as opposed to their ambient seating music from earlier. They marched in line all dancing as they played just like before. The leader wore a small set of marimba keys with a strap around his neck. The three following him held a cornet, a baritone, and a tuba respectively while the last in line played the accordion. A moment later, several other performers—also with an assortment of mustaches—entered in extravagant manners showcasing some of their skills and tricks and Curly introduced them all in order like Santa calling out reindeer names.

“There’s Kinky and Crinkly,” he announced as a woman and man in leotards swung from the ceiling on the trapeze and flipped through the air beside each other before catching bars on the opposite sides as they started and swung back up to the supports.

“Wavy and Frizzy!” Curly shouted as a woman led a lion without a leash around the grassy circle and another on a unicycle rode past juggling colorful batons. “Corkscrew leads Wriggle and Wiggle, Topsy and Turvy!” as the spotlight flashed over the five musicians.

“We have Twirly and Furly,” he yelled and a man in loose shorts and a sleeveless shirt ran and sprang through the air flipping and diving, landing gracefully. Another man holding a small torch blew upward into the flame causing it to burst forth above the onlookers in a great inferno.

“And of course, I’m Curly!” Curly finished as the music flooded the audience’s ears and all the performers displayed samples of the show to follow. “You’re in for a spectacular set of spectacles tonight, folks. Our lovely volunteers will be going around with snacks and beverages, so just sit back and enjoy the show!”

And enjoy the audience did. As the advertisement promised, a wide variety of performances spanned an hour-and-a-half with cheers and laughs had throughout. Kinky and Crinkly in their leotards performed aerial dances and acrobatics that kept the audience’s eyes glued to the ceiling and hoping that the performers wouldn’t fall. Of course, the professionals that the entire cast were, the show went off without a hitch. All the while, Corkscrew and the rest of the band played high-energy music to match the performer’s amazing tricks and stunts. Between each performance, some members of Curly’s Crazy Carnival Crew who weren’t preparing for the next act would dress in colorful clown outfits and do tricks or gags to keep the crowd engaged before moving on to the next stage of the show.

Wavy burst into the tent being chased by a lion only for she and the lion to both rush through the obstacle course set up on the grass and finish with a playful dance between the two. Many locals of Bullwater (and the whole of the Valley Strip for that matter) had never seen a lion in person and were stunned just to see the beast there, even more so to see it behaving so orderly and playfully. Mabel was included in those infatuated by Wavy’s act and with the whole show. Sly kept watching for her excited reaction anytime a feat was performed and was sure to point out her thrill to Curtis, too. Sly was still thinking of Mabel’s birthday and wanted to do something truly special. The circus was fun, but he wanted to do more for her.

Frizzy was next with a variety of objects to juggle, some more dangerous than others. Twirly leapt and twisted and flipped and kicked in magnificent feats of gymnastics and dance, then finished by diving from a high platform into a barrel of water, coming out unscathed to the bewilderment of the audience. Curly wheeled out a decorated crate about half the size of a person and opened the front of it to reveal Wavy twisted up inside. She rolled out and showed off her incredible flexibility and contorting expertise. Furly arrived with a rack of swords of all shapes and sizes that he inserted down his gullet, as well as candles and torches with which to perform the same act.

At the end of the show, the whole cast ran around the grass showing off snippets of their acts like they had at the beginning and Curly ran through their names one more time. Then, the 12 performers lined up and bowed while the lion got up on a raised stage and let out an incredible roar.

“Thank you everybody!” Curly yelled and somehow managed to be heard over the cheers and applause. “Bullwater is truly an amazing place and has such wonderful people. We wish we could stay forever, but the show must be shared with the world! We will see you next time and will have even more amazing twists and tricks for you. Good night!”

With an abundance of audible praise from the stands, the performers filed out from the tent and the oil lanterns sparked to light seemingly on their own as the torches had at the start of the show. Once the crowds flowed out of the tent, Curtis, Doc, and the others met in the park laughing and retelling jokes and pantomiming some of the visual gags from the clown segments.

As things quieted down, Curtis walked over to Doc and said, “You said we’d talk.”

Doc smirked with a firm nod.

Mabel yawned and Sly patted her back. “Fun, right?” he asked.

“Yeah!” she yelled excitedly. “That was amazing. Never seen anythin’ like it. Those two flippin’ ‘round in the air at the start, an’ the lion! I never seen a lion before. And the guy that ate the swords. Woah!”

Sly chuckled and Mabel yawned again.

“Well, I’m going to run a quick errand,” Sly said. “Why don’t you and Curtis…” Sly looked around and spotted Curtis and Doc walking off from the group. The rest of Minutes ‘til Midnight talked about heading to a bar and staying out a bit longer, but Sly didn’t trust to send Mabel with them. “Why don’t I take you back to the inn? I got us rooms already.”

Mabel agreed with a nod.

***

Curtis and Doc walked along one of the many bridges connecting the eastern and western halves of town. By now any fishermen desperately trying to catch what few swimmers were left in the river had gone home for the night. The normal rush of the river was absent, leaving the unlit bridges to be silent except for Curtis and Doc’s footsteps along the wooden boarding.

“What d’ya wanna know?” Doc asked.

“How much’re ya willin’ to share?” Curtis returned.

Doc chuckled. “We’ll see where things go.”

Curtis was silent for a few steps, then said, “I’m most curious ‘bout everyone’s spell. I ran into another outlaw the other day. He had a spell, too, an’ mentioned that he wasn’t born with it. ‘Til then I thought the only people who got spells after birth were doyens through the Mystic Program. So, I’d like t’know how y’all acquired yours.”

Doc nodded and let Curtis continue.

“Let’s start with Trapper. He’d mentioned that he was kidnapped and was given a spell by the Government in the early stages of the Mystic Program.”

“That’s right,” Doc said. “Poor kid was livin’ in a decrepit shack without steady income or clean water. Was taken to some facility north o’ the Big City, so ‘e says. None o’ the kids there had spells ‘til the Government gave ‘em bindings—that’s what they call the stuff used to artificially produce a spell. It sounds like the people runnin’ the place didn’t really know what they were doin’ at the time and tried a bunch o’ different bindings. Lots o’ kids died, but not Trapper. So, they tried the same kind o’ binding on other kids and found that it worked sometimes, but still not always. He said they’d go to the kids in the night and dust some sort o’ glowin’ powder over their faces so they’d inhale it in their sleep.”

Curtis thought about the process. It didn’t sit right with him. Not that he didn’t believe it, but it sounded all too familiar.

“If the kids survived,” Doc continued, “The kids would ‘ave spells and the Government could train them to use ‘em. I guess one night someone fergot t’ lock a door er somethin’ and the kids that could run made a break for it. Not many escaped, it sounds like, and they knew they couldn’t stay together. I think most of ‘em got caught again, but Trapper got away.”

Curtis’s brow furrowed and he found himself getting distracted by his own thoughts. He began to piece together certain details from his own past that didn’t quite make sense given the new information. He questioned the truth about much of his time with Midnight.

“What about Mercy?” Curtis asked, kicking the dirt and staring at the ground as they made it to the other side of the bridge and turned to walk down a quiet street.

“She was born with it, like she said. Grew up in a decent house over in Thorntree. Bein’ big fer her age, she always helped people out ‘round her neighborhood liftin’ heavy stuff, reachin’ high shelves, chasin’ coyotes outta the fields. Says she got ‘er foot caught in a claw trap when she was ten. She noticed the trap’s teeth didn’t go very deep and freed ‘erself pretty easily with only a few scrapes to show fer it.”

Curtis nodded. “Virginia?” he asked.

“She and I got our spells at the same time. Six years ago, just after we joined up, we ran into a strange person. Never saw their face. They wore a dark robe all the time and we only met ‘em at night. They said they could give us powers to help in our goals, which I guess was true, but we didn’t know what they meant at first. When we saw ‘em again the night after, they took each o’ our hands and said some magic words, them bam, we had spells and they told us how to use ‘em.”

“That’s it? Just gave ‘em to ya?”

“Well, we had t’ pay. I won’t go into those details, but it wa’n’t cheap.”

“But what kind o’ binding did they give ya?”

“None that I could tell. No powder, nothin’.”

Curtis thought for a moment but didn’t let himself get too distracted again. He would have plenty of time to think later that night. He needed to use Doc’s current generosity and openness to find out as much as he could.

“Tell me ‘bout Smiley,” Curtis said.

“He can only remove memories, not create nor insert them,” Doc explained. “He has t’ touch someone t’ do it. As far as we know, he can only prevent new memories from forming fer ‘bout 30 seconds, but he’s practiced to increase that time. Could only do it fer 20 when we met ‘im.”

“How’d he git it?”

Doc shook his head. “Not sure. Doesn’t think he was born with it, though.”

“Killjoy?”

“Same. Isn’t sure. Just realized she could do it one day. Like I said, makes ‘er tired. An’ if she does it on multiple people, she hardly lasts a few minutes.”

Curtis tilted his head toward Doc with raised eyebrows. “Impressive that she can do it on more than one person at a time.”

“She’s practiced a lot with it,” Doc said, nodding in approval.

“Just one person left.”

Doc chuckled again. “Yep. Well, I told ya how I got my spell. You know just about everythin’ there is t’ know about it. Not too much flare with mine. Just like any other, usin’ mine too much tuckers me out.”

“That so…?”

Curtis and Doc walked in silence for a few minutes and decided to head back to the other side of town. On their way back around toward the bridges, they spotted a large statue at the center of a fountain with a memorial plaque printed on one side of the fountain’s base. “Shiloh Roth” was the name on the plaque. Doc and Curtis observed the fountain for a minute.

“Oh yeah,” Doc said after reading the plaque. “This is the guy Mabel heard about earlier. The one shot by some mysterious gunman.”

“You recognize ‘im? Curtis asked.

Yeah, didn’t occur t’ me before. He founded Roth Co., the biggest fish farm here in Bullwater. They export all over the valley.” He laughed a bit and continued, “He and Armani Anderson didn’t like each other very much. He wa’n’t alone when ‘e died though. You know Lester Langley, right?”

Curtis nodded. “Bit of a sore subject fer my group.”

“Oh, well, he was there when Shiloh was shot. Lester was a major benefactor of Shiloh’s business, so they traveled together a lot. Right here in Bullwater, Shiloh got smoked. Chances are the killer wanted Lester, too.”

“Wouldn’t that’ve been nice.”

Doc gripped Curtis’s shoulder, then patted him lightly and began walking. Curtis followed not too far behind.

“Anythin’ else you’d like t’ know? ‘Bout my company, I mean.” Doc asked.

“There is. You’ve said a lot already.” Curtis looked at Doc with a more serious expression. “What d’you want in return?”

Doc grinned. “I’m glad you know that information ain’t free.”

Curtis smiled briefly.

Doc stopped walking and faced Curtis. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me everythin’ there is to know ‘bout yer spell and just how the hell a worth-gold outlaw, a ranger, and a seemingly normal lil’ girl ended up together.”

“That all?” Curtis asked, lightly chuckling. The advantage of knowing the ins and outs of Curtis’s spell was obvious, especially since Curtis now knew everything about the spells of Minutes ‘til Midnight’s members; but why did Doc care about how he met Sly and Mabel?

“That is all,” Doc assured him. “Fer now.”

***

Curtis awoke on the couch in Sly’s hotel room, having slept there rather than getting his own bed or another whole room to save money. Mabel had begged for her own room and the boys didn’t want to object, so they let her have one. Curtis was relieved that nothing had happened in the night while he slept. He was still on edge with Minutes ‘til Midnight’s presence, but he also knew they weren’t staying in the same building, so that was a comfort. He lied on the couch for a few minutes thinking about his conversation with Doc the night before. He was so exhausted from traveling, the circus, and staying up to walk that when he arrived at Sly’s hotel room, he slouched on the couch and immediately fell asleep.

He was honest with Doc. He didn’t try to play any tricks or lie about his spell, and he didn’t see any reason to lie about how his small band had formed. Doc’s explanations about his group’s spells felt genuine and Curtis didn’t want to risk bad blood if he was dishonest and Doc found out. Still, there was an uneasiness Curtis felt when with Minutes ‘til Midnight. His experiences told him not to be so trusting of strangers he had just met. Still, he went against that instinct when Sly asked to travel with him, and Mabel was obviously no threat when she tagged along. Maybe it was because Minutes ‘til Midnight was a larger group, and they were an organized team.

The fact that all six of them had a spell certainly contributed to Curtis’s mistrust. Regardless of how he felt, he knew Minutes ‘til Midnight would be vital in finding Midnight. They knew so much and there was still a lot Curtis knew they hadn’t shared.

In due time, he thought, per the words Doc and Virginia said whenever Curtis got greedy with his questions.

Curtis rolled onto his side and looked at the blinded window across the room. Sunlight streamed in from a small corner that the window’s drapes weren’t covering. He also thought about the river. The cause of the disturbance had to be a spellcaster—and a powerful one. That fisherman on the bridge said the river redirected around the mountains to Far Reach. He had to go there. Midnight had been there and maybe they were getting closer to discovering his whereabouts with the frequency of spellcasters increasing. But he dreaded the idea of fighting yet another outlaw with unknown abilities. Perhaps Minutes ‘til Midnight would help if it meant getting info on Midnight, he thought. On the contrary.

“We’re gonna stay in town another day or so,” Doc said later that morning when Curtis brought up the idea of venturing over the mountains. “Tomorrow morning, we were thinkin’ of headin’ up the river to go ‘round the mountains to Thorntree.”

“And skip Far Reach altogether?” Curtis asked. “Don’tcha think there could be major clues ‘bout Midnight in Far Reach?”

“Possibly, but there’re also likely hints in Thorntree. Besides, hikin’ through the mountains with our mules and stagecoach would be hassle enough, not to mention whatever outlaw’s hidin’ in Far Reach. Someone powerful enough to move an entire river.”

Curtis leaned back in his chair. The large group convened at a diner in the late morning to discuss plans moving forward. A few tables were pushed together so all nine people could sit together with Curtis and Doc sitting across from one another. They spoke quietly to mask their conversation under the rest of the delightful morning chatter at the diner and along the street. Even with the river nearly dried up, most businesses in Bullwater were relatively unaffected, so the daily traffic during the week wasn’t much lighter than when the river was flowing full.

“Say, Dawn,” Virginia pitched in from Doc’s right. “If you’re wantin’ to head over the mountains, you guy’s’ll need to pack a bunch o’ supplies fer the trip. It’s a tough one.” She took a bite of her food, swallowed, and dabbed her mouth with a napkin before continuing. “We’ll do what we wanna do while you take the day to prepare.” She looked at Doc as if for approval. “We could travel with ya fer a day, then split off and head northeast to meet back with the river and head around the rest o’ the way.”

Doc contemplated the idea and eventually agreed. “The mountains are dangerous,” he said, “But I guess if we’re all together, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Sly leaned over from next to Curtis and said, “She’s right. We’ll want to make extra sure we’re ready before heading out. Lots of bandits and wild animals roam the mountains and I just know that we’re going to run into trouble. I feel it in my bones.” Sly shivered and wiggled his toes in his boots.

The more Sly and Doc talked about the mountains, the less Curtis wanted to go through them, but he had to make it to Far Reach. His gut told him he needed to investigate the town and not just to discover the reason the river moved.

“You’re welcome to come with us to Thorntree, of course,” Doc suggested knowing Curtis wouldn’t accept.

“We’ll git there eventually,” Curtis said. “But not yet.”

Mabel was quiet at the idea of returning to her place of birth. She never thought it possible that she would ever find herself there again, but as the crew zig-zagged north, she realized it was an inevitability. After everyone finished their breakfast, Curtis and Sly made a checklist of supplies for the trip through the mountains which mostly consisted of extra rations and water. They also bought extra fire building supplies and food for Firefly. Sly opted to purchase a cloak for Firefly to protect him from the sun like the one Curtis used for Esprit. They also spent a hefty sum on a portable canopy as an extra provider of shade while they camped.

Their last day in Bullwater went by quickly and before they knew it, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel were heading back to their hotel to rest up before leaving for Far Reach with Minutes ‘til Midnight early the next morning. Truth had not forgotten his mission. He watched Curtis and his companions all day and night while in Bullwater as they prepared to move on to the next town.

“I could get ‘em while they sleep,” he said into a payphone.

“Have patience,” Angel Eyes said from the other end. “Just keep an eye on them. If they head through the mountains, trail them and wait to see if their group shrinks again. You wouldn’t be able to take on Dawn and Sly if those other six strangers aided them.”

Truth stared through the glass box at the front doors of the hotel Curtis was staying in. He was eager to make the arrest, but knew his leader was correct. He could see the faces of the members of Minutes ‘til Midnight, but still found no results when scanning them with his goggles.

“Doesn’t look like they’re registered outlaws,” Truth said.

“We could change that. I’m sending Promise to assist you,” Angel Eyes continued. “He’ll meet you at Far Reach. The two of you should easily be able to take down Dawn and Sly assuming the others aren’t around. They seem hesitant to involve themselves in conflict with law enforcement, so they may not be an issue after all.”

***

Another peaceful night passed in Bullwater. For once, Curtis and the others avoided conflict in a town for more than a day. In the morning, Curtis, Sly, and Mabel gathered their belongings from the hotel and bid farewell to the only city thus far that had been solely kind to them on their journey. Like from Rich River, Minutes ‘til Midnight hung back and let Curtis and the others leave town ahead of them. Truth took note of this and waited some time before trailing them, as well, only to nearly meet Minutes ‘til Midnight when they finally departed. Truth paced farther behind them and when Minutes ‘til Midnight finally merged with Curtis’s group, he could watch all the wanderers together and more easily track the group through the mountains.

He would ideally get ahead of them by waiting longer to set up camp and rising earlier in the morning, but for now, he would do his best to stalk the larger group while remaining out of sight. And he wasn’t the only one stalking them, at least while they were still in Bullwater. Like the night before, a mustachioed mystery man peaked from around corners at Curtis and the others throughout the day but didn’t appear to follow them when they left town. It was a long journey as Doc and Virginia had said and not an easy one. Not only were there bandits and wild animals to worry about, but the heat wave made rationing water even more important, not to mention that the group had to store food and water for their animals. Nevertheless, the trip went smoothly on their first day through the mountains.

Curtis, Sly, and Mabel talked with the members of Minutes ‘til Midnight more freely now having spent a couple days with them, especially Doc and Virginia. Mabel even rode in the stagecoach with Doc, Virginia, Smiley, and Killjoy as Trapper and Mina rode the mules under the sun. The mules’ heavy breathing emphasized their efforts in navigating the uneven mountain path. Firefly gave similar emphasis, but Esprit remained silent and smooth in her ride. The wheels on the stagecoach and cart wobbled on their axels and threatened to come loose if they bumped over too large of a stone or rattled over a crack or dip in the ground. By now, everyone in the group had almost become accustomed to the new high temperatures that had been persisting for weeks on end, but that didn’t mean they were any more resistant to the branding rays from above.

Mabel especially kept to the shade after having blistered and flaked most of her skin off in the open desert. Inside the stagecoach, Mabel squeezed between Doc and Virginia and chatted with the four other occupants about various books and journals. They talked about the circus performances from a couple nights prior, and the members of Minutes ‘til Midnight talked of plays and talkies they had seen recently, none of which Mabel had ever seen of course. Curtis and Sly shared light, friendly conversation with Trapper and Mina as they rode, but with the heat and difficult terrain ahead of them, they four mostly concentrated on the path ahead.

Sly rode close to Curtis and nodded his head toward the stagecoach. Blue curtains were drawn over its window, but the thin fabric allowed Sly and Curtis to see inside.

“Seems like she’s gotten totally comfortable with our new companions,” Sly said quietly so Trapper and Mina wouldn’t hear.

Curtis nodded and eyed the stagecoach’s window.

“So, I was thinking, for Mabel’s birthday…” Sly continued. “She’ll like the whip I took from Whiplash, which by the way she hasn’t seen yet, but I also went and got something else for her in Bullwater.”

Curtis watched as Sly retrieved a large but thin booklet from one of the pouches hanging from Firefly’s saddle. He struggled for a moment, trying to keep steady on his steed while also twisting his torso to reach the bag. He handed the booklet to Curtis.

“The Complete Works of Worbus Timbly?” Curtis read the booklet’s title aloud.

“Yeah,” Sly said with a big smile. “He’s a pretty influential playwright from a few hundred years ago. Came from the Ridge to be a traveling performer and playwright in the Valley Strip before the war. I thought, since we don’t usually have the time or funds to take Mabel to see plays or anything like that, she might like to read the screenplays.”

“Playscripts…”

“What?”

“They’re called Playscripts,” Curtis said, then fell silent.

Sly watched his fellow outlaw’s gaze as it drifted back to the uphill path before them. He seemed to be minding the road ahead, but his focus was elsewhere.

“What’s up?” Sly asked. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

Curtis stayed quiet for a moment, then said “Sorry. Been lost in my thoughts again lately.”

“About Midnight?”

Curtis nodded. “Things’re changin’. I’m not sure if I really know who took care o’ me all those years anymore. Somethin’ just don’t feel right ‘bout the whole thing.”

“Yeah, definitely. I’m sure the info Minutes ‘til Midnight can provide—and what they’ve told us already—has reshaped how you think about Midnight. It just makes him more mysterious to me. I figured we’ve been after some old fart who’s spending his days laying low and trying notto be found, but the longer we travel, the more it seems like we’re still after the same man who killed Silver Tongue and the guy who ditched Lady Love. Surely, he’s changed in all that time, right?”

Curtis said nothing and kept looking ahead at the rocky path. After several minutes of silence, Curtis picked the booklet up from where he had set it down on the bench next to him and reached his arm out to give it back to Sly.

“I’m familiar with Timbly’s work,” Curtis said. “I used to watch and read lots o’ plays back in the day. He’s definitely a star in the industry. Mabel’ll love readin’ his stuff.”

Sly smirked and replaced the booklet into the bag. He chuckled, saying, “Don’t expect me to say it’s from both of us. You have to get her something, too!”

Curtis huffed and smirked.

Despite the rough terrain and hostile weather, the group made good time and was already a third of the way to Far Reach when the sun kissed the horizon. Sticking to the main path certainly minimized the chances of being ambushed by bandits, but it didn’t make travel completely safe. The group counted themselves lucky that they hadn’t encountered any hostile forces so far and they prayed that the rest of their journey through the mountains would be just as peaceful. The size of their group likely deterred any potential animal predators from confronting them, but now that it was dark, they were sure to collectively post two people per shift to watch their surroundings. As before, the men and women of Minutes ‘til Midnight divided into their two tents. Mabel slept in the tent her group purchased while Sly and Curtis agreed to share the shade of the canopy they bought in Bullwater.

And as was their routine, the group ate a quick breakfast of rations before swiftly packing up their gear and getting back on the road.

“We’ll stick ‘round fer just a bit longer,” Doc said in the morning before the group moved on. “There’s a slope coming up that sorta serves as another route back down toward the river. That’s where we’ll split and be on our way to Thorntree.”

With that, the nine travelers continued on their second day away from Bullwater. Another hot day. Another long stretch of dry, deserted mountainscape with arid plants and a cloudless sky. As much as Curtis didn’t like traveling through the desert because of how hostile it had been to him over the past 19 months, there was always some serenity to be found in the quiet adventure between fights and general ruckus of being an outlaw near populated areas. Still, in the silence of the mountains, he couldn’t avoid becoming lost in his own thoughts once again. The glowing powder Doc described as being the proto-binding that gave Trapper his powers stuck out in his mind. Was the powder just used to awaken a preexisting power within someone like Midnight had done with Curtis, or was Curtis wrong about the powder’s effects and it was actually a device to forcibly produce a spell within whoever inhales it?

Curtis didn’t want to dwell on the subject, but he couldn’t help it. With Minutes ‘til Midnight, his quest felt closer to an end than ever, and he was sure that soon enough, he’d be reunited with Midnight and be able to ask him any questions he wanted. He just had to get to Midnight before Trapper could fire an entire cylinder into the old outlaw’s chest. Curtis watched the road ahead as he thought, but his flow of deep thinking was broken by a sudden impact to the right side of his face. Like he was punched by a professional fighter, Curtis toppled over in his seat and slammed his head on the side of the bench. He released Esprit’s reins and grabbed his head, groaning in pain. Then, a similar impact caused Trapper to nearly fall off the mule he was piloting. Esprit was undeterred by the disruption, but Trapper’s mule wailed in fright and began tripping over its own hooves, causing Mina’s mule to also act awry.

Sly tugged Firefly’s reins to keep him calm and Mina did her best to keep the stagecoach on a straight course. Mabel pressed her face against the stagecoach’s window to try and see what was going on while Doc yelled for Mina and Trapper to stop the coach. When Curtis sat back up, his head throbbed and his vision was skewed, but he could see several—at least he thought it was several—people coming from over the ridge to the right. A man on a horse that wasn’t Sly pulled up on his right, too, and threw a punch. Curtis almost didn’t react in time until he noticed that the punch could actually reach him because the man’s arm stretched outward like an elastic band, extending far past his sleeve.

Curtis ducked and the man withdrew his arm back to a normal length, then threw another stretchy punch, but grabbed Esprit’s reins this time instead. When his arm retreated, he yanked the rope and forced Esprit to turn abruptly, toppling the hooded wagon instantly and throwing Curtis from the bench. Doc opened the window on his side of the stagecoach and demanded they stop again.

“You wanna stop?” Trapper yelled from up front after recovering on his mule and managing to not wreck the stagecoach.

“We can’t outrun these guys on this path,” Doc said.

To their left, more bandits appeared over the ridge and a woman on a horse charged down. She wore a sleeveless shirt and very short pants. When she reeled her arm back for a punch, her arm coiled around itself like a spring and launched her fist with incredible speed before snapping back to her shoulder. She grabbed Trapper’s collar with her surprising attack and pulled him from the mule, tossing him to the ground leaving Mina to halt the coach.

“Stay in here, Mabel,” Virginia said, pushing Mabel’s head below the windows.

Before the stagecoach came to a stop, Doc opened the left door of the stagecoach and leapt out with his revolver drawn. He immediately fired a shot at one of the bandits coming down the ridge on foot and struck his leg. The bandit tumbled down the rocky ledge, but there were five more coming down after him. Meanwhile, half-a-dozen more bandits came down from the right, following the stretchy man. Two bandits raced to Curtis who was still recovering from the cart toppling and hoisted him up by his arms. A third bandit punched his face, then the two holding Curtis dragged him away from the path.

Sly directed Firefly over to the bandits dragging Curtis and kicked one of them from high on his steed. Curtis took a deep breath and broke free from the kicked bandit’s grip and tackled the other bandit over. The third bandit with them fired a couple shots at Sly but missed and was met with retaliation from Sly with two bullets through the leg. The thunder of gunshots echoed far through the mountain range. Doc dove behind rocky cover as the five bandits coming down the ridge opened fire. As a bandit ran past the stagecoach, Virginia reached her arm through the coach’s wooden paneling and grabbed the bandit’s scarf, then slammed the bandit’s face into the window when she retracted her arm back inside the cabin.

The bandit collapsed, unconscious, and Virginia opened the door and stepped out. She took aim at another bandit’s back, but her wrist was grabbed by the springy woman’s hand from several yards away. When the coiled arm snapped back toward the woman, Virginia was swept off her feet and flung through the air, releasing her gun and slamming her back against the rocks. Curtis wrestled with the two bandits who were dragging him and knocked them both out before retreating to the toppled cart. Sly road around the crowd and met Smiley and Killjoy between the cart and stagecoach where they were both preparing their pistols.

“Okay, Smiley” Killjoy said, “Those two obviously have spells. So, who are they?

“Levi and Levy Wilder,” Smiley said. “Or Gummy and Slinky, respectively. They go by The Twisted Twins and Co.”

“Another pair of twins?” Sly chimed in. “I heard something about them in Bullwater. There were all sorts of warnings about bandits in the mountains and these guys were named on the list.”

“Things were goin’ so smoothly yesterday,” Killyjoy groaned.

“Are you going to do anything, or just let them keep stretching all around?” Smiley mocked.

“Shut up,” Killjoy retorted. “At least my spell’s useful in a fight.”

Meanwhile, Mina dismounted her mule and flexed her back as two bandits shot at her to no avail. She struck various poses as she charged the two now fearful bandits and grabbed both their heads, then slammed them together, knocking both out. Doc leaned from his cover and fired a couple rounds at Slinky, but she leapt from her horse and caught herself using her springy arms. She ran toward Doc’s cover and jumped, bent low to the ground upon landing, and Doc could see her legs now coiling around to launch her upward. She rose high into the air, momentarily blocking the sun from Doc’s view, and landed behind the stone Doc used for cover.

A lightning-fast right hook squarely struck Doc’s nose, followed by a left hook, then two thunderous blows to the chest. Doc couldn’t keep up, but he held out his revolver to shoot as soon as he had an opening. When Slinky threw another punch, he grabbed her wrist and pulled, then aimed his revolver. Just before he shot, she retracted her arm and pulled Doc to her, throwing off his aim when he fired. Slinky pushed Doc away again and lifted her legs for a fast kick, but now Mina was there and grabbed Slinky’s ankle. Mina hoisted Slinky over her head and slammed her down, the coiled leg sending Slinky ten yards away. Slinky rolled on the ground for a moment, then snapped her leg back toward her body. Mina let go so she wouldn’t be dragged over to the outlaw.

“Go help Virginia!” Mina told Doc. “I’ll take care o’ her.”

Mina looked at Slinky who stood and readied her own revolver.

“I don’t need a gun fer you,” Mina said and pumped her fists, flexing all the while.

Smiley and Killjoy bickered for a moment longer while hiding behind the stagecoach when a bandit rounded the corner and took aim at Smiley. Before the bandit pulled the trigger, she froze.

“No ma’am,” Trapper said from the front of the stagecoach, using its shadow to reach the bandit with his spell.

Smiley raised his own revolver and shot the bandit’s hand to release her gun, then shot both her legs. Trapper released the bandit who fell to the ground writhing in pain.

“Oh, sorry,” Smiley said to the bandit who continued to yell and moan.

Killjoy peeked around the stagecoach and saw Slinky winding up a punch. She focused on the outlaw. Slinky threw her punch, but stumbled forward when her arm didn’t extend. Her arm was normal again and she couldn’t coil it up. She tried twisting her legs but was unable to use her ability. She looked up at Mina who was stomping toward her.

“Oh, you’re done for,” Mina said, putting her fist against the palm of her other hand.

Curtis sat up under the hood of their toppled wagon. He leaned out to fire a shot at a passing bandit, injuring the bandit’s arm and when he whipped around to fire back, Curtis shot his knee and brought him to the ground. He tried to count the remaining enemies, but it was difficult with all the commotion. Two…three…? Plus, the Twisted Twins. He looked out one end of the hood and saw Esprit lying on the ground, still strapped to the wagon. She wasn’t panicked of course, but she lay in an awkward position. Curtis dove out from the hood and rolled next to Esprit to use as cover.

“Sorry, girl,” he said and rubbed her belly through her drapes.

A bullet whizzed past Curtis’s head and he ducked down. He quickly glanced over Esprit’s breathing, groaning metallic body and saw the male twin, Gummy, riding around and firing shots. Curtis ducked back below Esprit’s covered hide as two more bullets clanged off her side, tearing the fabric but not revealing her silver coat very much.

“Yer horse got armor er somethin’?” Gummy shouted, noting the sound and lack of penetration into Esprit’s stomach, and sprung from his horse. As he walked over to Curtis’s hiding spot, Curtis threw his arm over Esprit and blindly fired a shot at Gummy. Gummy flung his torso to the side, his whole upper body bending unnaturally and stretching out of the way of the bullet. His legs twisted around to meet his torso in a normal position, then he thrusted himself upward. His feet remained firmly planted on the ground, but his upper body rose into the air as his legs stretched and gave him a better view of Curtis below. He flipped the revolver in his hand and took downward aim, but then he felt something catch one of his legs. He swayed a bit and looked down to see Sly on Firefly stretching his left leg away.

Gummy smirked and threw his right leg on the far side of Firefly, then slingshot himself onto the horse’s back behind Sly. Sly looked over his shoulder at Gummy with a nervous smile. He glanced at the limp, rubbery leg under his arm and let go of it.

“Bad idea, dude,” Gummy said and wrapped his elastic arms several times around Sly’s torso, trapping Sly’s arms, too, and loosing the grip on Firefly’s reins. Gummy flung Sly over his head and behind Firefly and released his coiled grip. Sly tumbled through dust on the ground and Gummy dismounted Firefly who slowed to a stop. He stretched his legs and towered over the scene, then took long steps over the stagecoach and wagon. He looked and saw Slinky struggling to defend herself against Mina’s unarmed assault.

“Why no springs, sis?” Gummy yelled.

“I can’t!” Slinky replied, dodging Mina’s punches as best she could. “They just won’t stretch!”

She fired two rounds at Mina who blocked them with a flex. Slinky put on a frightened expression.

“You didn’t think you were the only ones with powers here, did ya?” Mina said.

Gummy rushed downward and wrapped his entire body around Mina who was almost strong enough to break free, but Gummy held tight and brought the strongwoman to the ground. Slinky sighed in relief but wasn’t relaxed for long. The remaining bandits circled around to attack, but Smiley and Trapper defended Doc from afar as he helped Virginia recover. Curtis freed Esprit from the wagon’s straps and rode her over to Sly. Sly took Curtis’s hand and slung onto Esprit’s back. The two of them raced toward the still powerless Slinky. Sly jumped from Esprit’s back and tackled Slinky to the ground. Curtis circled back with Esprit and halted her in front of the now grappled Slinky with Sly holding her in place.

Meanwhile, Gummy twisted and squirmed as Mina tried to pull his rubbery body off her, but he kept trapping her arms and legs close to her body. He wrapped his arm around her eyes and nose and restricted her movement entirely, then separated his other arm from the constriction and reached for Mina’s revolver at her hip. A rope then wrapped around Gummy’s wrist and was pulled to tighten the lasso. Trapper held the other end and used his spell to freeze Gummy in place, then Killjoy stepped forward to add Gummy in her spell’s radius. Gummy remained still but untwisted and released Mina from his tangle. Mina gasped for breath and stretched her limbs.

The rest of the bandits gathered themselves and helped those who had been injured too much to stand on their own. All the bandits were still alive, but many of their wounds bled profusely and their bruised faces and limbs showed that they were ready to retreat. Slinky and Gummy looked around at their gang, then at each other and gave tense looks. Curtis stood in front of Slinky who tried to twist and turn in Sly’s arms but couldn’t thanks to Killjoy.

“Yer fight’s already lost,” Curtis started. “Y’ain’t gonna win this one, an’ we ain’t much fer givin’ up.”

Click here for a map of the journey so far.