Jumping with fright, Violet retracted her hand and spun around.
Logan stood before her, arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “Wolfsbane is poisonous.”
“I didn’t know.” She raised a hand to her mother’s broach. Stroking it helped soothe her jittery state. Did he see me bathing? If he had, Violet couldn’t decide whether to be embarrassed or excited. Ultimately, she opted for excited.
“Well, now you do. Check with me before you touch anything else out here.”
Violet bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I will. Thank you.”
She followed him back to the camp. With a scientist’s trained eye, she studied every detail of his smooth, steady gait. Out here in the wild frontier, he seemed to be in his natural element.
Back at camp, Logan squatted before the saddlebags. He began withdrawing revolvers and ammunition. Violet took up a position beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He shook his head. “I’m gonna do some target practice, is all.”
Violet nodded. “Excellent idea! I’ll bring Arthur so he can watch and learn your techniques.”
Logan scowled. “Hell, no. That thing ain’t my apprentice.”
Violet waved a dismissive hand as she walked around the fire to join their mechanical companion. “It won’t be a problem, I promise. You’ll never even notice he’s there.”
“Like hell I won’t. Does it ever stop staring?”
“Logan, surliness does not become you. Besides, Arthur’s a quick learner.” Violet reached around the automaton’s neck. Moments later, the hum of his internal components reverberated about the granite walls. The orbs glowed brightly within the dim enclosure, as if a measure of its enthusiasm. “Follow me, Arthur. We’re going to watch Logan during his target practice.”
When she turned around to lead the way, Logan blocked her path. She bumped into him, necessitating a hand against his broad chest to steady herself. This close, his body heat created a maelstrom redolent of leather, dirt, and musk. Violet inhaled discretely before speaking. “Stop, Arthur.” She lowered her hand and looked up at Logan. “What’s wrong?”
“You have to ask? I said I don’t want company.”
Violet tsked . “We’re not coming to keep you company. We’re coming to learn.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak.
She raised a hand. “Arthur and I should be a help, not a hindrance, when we confront the Iron Scorpion. Please, Logan. Let us learn from you.”
“I said no.”
Whatever is the matter with him? Violet stayed silent in order to contemplate her next move in this dizzying game of chess. Impertinent insects buzzed around them as if investigating her delayed response had become their top priority.
Then she recalled what he’d suffered at the hands of the Iron Scorpion: the massacre of his family; the subsequent years of lonely, hard living in the untamed West. Isolation of that magnitude was a very hard habit to break, indeed.
She softened her voice. “You’ve been alone a long time, haven’t you?” she said, feeling an intense wave of sympathy for the man. “Far too long.”
Logan sighed. “Let me give you a piece of advice. You keep asking questions like that, and someday you’ll end up with an answer you don’t want.” Abruptly, he pivoted on a heel and began heading out of the camp site. “Watch if you must,” he called out. “But stay out of my way, and no talking.” He raised his voice. “In case I didn’t make myself clear, Miss Whitcomb, that means you.”
* * * *
Despite Logan’s evasive answer when Violet had questioned him about his knowledge of the camp site, the evidence spoke the truth–an elaborate structure of targets indicated Logan’s familiarity with the area. Of course he’d have resources stashed away in secret places–any good Pinkerton agent would. Violet marveled at his foresight.
Sitting on a rock about one hundred feet away, she studied the structure. It stood in sharp contrast against the panoramic view of flat lands and deep blue sky. She estimated it was about seven feet high and twice that wide. Wooden stakes of assorted sizes fused in helter-skelter fashion with rusty iron rods and gears. The assembly looked like a wagon that had been ripped apart and hastily reassembled into a spindly web of targets.
From her current position, she could only make an educated guess, but it seemed to operate under the power of a rudimentary pulley and lever system. She also detected a smattering of clockwork devices. Woefully primitive compared to her state-of-the-art system at home. Yet once Logan started the contraption using a rough-hewn wind-up key, the glitter of its painted targets shifting around at various speeds mesmerized her instantly.
Logan approached his shooting mark. Violet’s breath caught in her throat. His energetic stride had her spellbound. A restlessness in her hips and thighs made it challenging to sit still. To calm herself, she checked on Arthur. As expected, the automaton remained rooted in place, a healthy distance from Logan’s position as ordered. Its lidless gaze was fixed firmly ahead.
She turned her attention back to Logan. He assumed a relaxed stance, arms poised above his holsters. Her gaze traced the outline of his back. Her hands ached to do the same thing. The fantasy ended when shots rang out, thunderous to her ears. Violet held a hand to her pounding chest. Logan’s movements had been such a blur she’d barely even seen him draw.
A series of pings indicated how many targets he’d hit. She had difficulty suppressing her desire to clap. It seemed she had chosen her ally very wisely.
As the minutes passed, Violet saw that Logan had a distinct routine. Load. Shoot. Tinker with revolver. Reload. Adjust targets. Restart targets. Flex hands. Occasionally, he would spin his gun. When it happened a third time, she noticed a strange movement on her right. Fearing it might be an Iron Scorpion minion mounting a sneak attack, she rose to her knees for a better look.
She glanced around, but spotted nothing out of the ordinary. Her gaze came to rest on Arthur. She peered at him harder. There it was again–he was the cause. The automaton’s hands were moving. His mechanical fingers clicked lightly against each other, a ghostly echo of… Violet swiveled her head left, and the revelation made her gasp. Arthur was mimicking Logan’s hands!
Logan drew his gun for the next shot. Subsequently, the automaton did the same, but even faster. The only difference being that her mechanical man was wielding a phantom gun.
Violet grinned. He’s learning! If only her father were here to witness the change. But would he approve?
An idea sprang to life. She leaped from her rock. “Stay here, Arthur.” Violet lifted her skirts and bolted for the camp site.
“Where are you going?” Logan called, his tone laced with irritation.
She skidded around a chunk of granite. “Back in a moment!”
Blood pounded in her ears from heady fervor as she reached the saddlebags. She groped furiously within them to locate the items she wanted. Arms full, she headed back to the firing range as quickly as her feet would carry her.
Logan holstered his revolver when he saw her approaching. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll see. It’s the most amazing development!” Rushing up to Arthur, she attached the holster she had brought to his waist. Next, she slid a pair of leather gloves onto his hands. To ensure freedom of sight and movement, she adjusted his hat and poncho. Then she held up a Colt before Arthur’s unblinking gaze and proceeded to instruct him in the art of firing a revolver.
All the while, Logan stood about a dozen paces away, arms crossed, his expression turning sour faster than a ripe lemon. When she paused to take a breath, he interjected, “Answer my question, damn it! What in hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Logan, it’s beyond my father’s expectations.”
“What is?”
Violet placed the Colt into Arthur’s holster before turning around to answer. “Arthur’s progress. He was imitating you shooting the gun, like a mime. This is what he did.” She made the moti
on of drawing a gun and shooting it. “This is a momentous milestone because usually we provide a verbal list of highly detailed instructions when introducing a new task.” Smiling shyly, she added, “It’s also the first time he’s ever learned a skill from someone other than Papa or me. It’s like…” She searched for the right words. “I believe he sees you as a father figure.”
Another of Logan’s interminable pauses followed. Slowly, his eyes shifted to Arthur and then back to her face. Then, “You want I should give him a medal or somethin’?”
“No, I want him to shoot at a target!”
Logan shook his head. “Waste of ammunition.”
“Far from it! Arthur could prove to be an invaluable ally in our battle against the Iron Scorpion.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said, jabbing a long finger toward the automaton. “If the Scorpion gets his hands on this thing, no one would be safe. That’s all this country needs, an army of abominations spreading mayhem and destruction from coast to coast.”
Violet crossed her arms and glared. “I strongly resent your implication that Arthur is an abomination.”
“Then what is he? Put a gun in his hand, and all I see is a sophisticated weapon.”
Her voice rose in indignation. “How dare you make such an unwarranted accusation! Arthur would never harm innocent people!”
Logan tipped his hat back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “How can you be so sure? He grow a conscience just now?”
“I–my father would never let that happen. Arthur’s programming is highly specific, not to mention restricted.”
“But dear old Papa isn’t around to control him, is he?” Logan nodded toward the automaton in question, who stood as still as a woolgathering maiden. “And now he’s learning something new. I wouldn’t exactly call that restricted. Seems itchy to get its hands on a gun, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s because I instructed him to learn about them! Funny how a…a professional like you is preaching about restraint regarding ammunition. It’s a perfectly valid form of defense in your line of work.”
“Lady, do you even know what you’re talking about?”
Violet eyed him sharply. “If you’re so concerned about his conscience, why don’t you teach him one?” She punctuated her question by poking a finger against Logan’s chest. His broad, very firm chest. Her finger lingered there, absorbing his warmth far longer than was appropriate.
With a growl, he snatched her hand and pushed her backward until she stood against a large boulder. Now she was trapped between its hard surface and Logan’s lean, hard body. His eyes flashed. Perhaps she had pushed him too far.
Violet flinched, but soon became aware of how he felt pressed so powerfully against her. She was panting, too, but not from fear. When his gaze dipped to her mouth, her eyes widened in sharp anticipation.
Logan released her with an apologetic expression. “Hell, Violet, I’m not gonna hurt you. But, woman, the way you argue is enough to drive a buffalo herd over a cliff.”
Violet stood and smoothed her dress, keenly regretting the misunderstanding that had passed between them. “It’s only because I’m so very anxious about my father.”
“Mm. Wonder what happens when you get angry.”
“We don’t have time for speculation.” She returned to Arthur and placed a hand upon the automaton’s shoulder. She looked pointedly at Logan. “I’d rather you trained him, but I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
Logan shot her a measured stare. “Why are you so interested in guns, anyway?”
Violet was so gratified by his interest that her answer spilled forth unchecked. “For the release. My father’s projects involve strenuous work. Building the steam gun helps me relax.”
Logan’s stare turned into one of intense curiosity. “That’s quite a hobby.”
Her skin grew warm under the force of his attention. “Yes, and what of it?”
He took a few steps closer, slowly this time. “You realize, don’t you, that there are…other ways of finding release. One in particular comes highly recommended. A time-honored tradition, you might say.”
Violet averted her gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Logan’s voice turned deeper. “I think you do.”
Violet shook her head. “Never mind the…release. It’s…the thrill of it. Arthur’s formation was incredible, but the work involved in his production demanded years of tedious calculations and tests. I needed some kind of adventure in my life.” She glanced toward the sprawling plain on her right, captivated by its unbridled beauty. Flashes of stories she’d read in The Lady’s Fireside Collection burned in her memory. Had they influenced her more than she realized? Turning back, she noticed Logan staring at her. She frowned. “Why are you grinning?”
“Nothing.” He turned serious. “But whatever you heard about guns or gun fighting is wrong. They’re nothing like what you think. Nothing at all.”
“All the more reason you should teach Arthur. Use this opportunity to temper his power with a true sense of justice.”
Logan sighed and glanced away. He peered to the north for a long, long time. In the process, a haunted look darkened his eyes. Violet wondered if a verbal prompt was in order. However, he flicked his gaze back to her and nodded. “Fine. But I ain’t callin’ him by your pet name.”
Violet expelled the breath she’d been holding. “I understand.”
Logan sauntered up to the ever-attentive Arthur. He plucked the automaton’s Colt from its holster and brandished the revolver before its face. “Listen up, fella. This here isn’t just a gun. It’s an extension of your soul. Or whatever passes for one in that tin body of yours. Now I’m going to show you how to shoot it.” He issued Violet a brief, stern glance. “Properly, that is.”
Nodding, Violet stepped back. She returned to her boulder and sat down to watch.
After providing Arthur with a set of instructions, Logan set the target mechanism into motion. Some spun slowly; others flipped back and forth. Upon his return, he gave Arthur the Colt. The automaton accepted it without hesitation.
“I’ll go easy on you, this being your first time and all.” For some inexplicable reason, Logan was staring at Violet.
Turning back to Arthur, he pointed to the target mechanism. “Now, I want you to shoot at that square orange one in the center. Take your time.” Logan retreated to a safe distance within Arthur’s view, assumed a wide stance, and crossed his arms. He nodded at the automaton. “Shoot.”
With a low whirr , Arthur inserted the Colt into his holster. He set his legs apart the way Logan had instructed. Violet watched, fascinated by how eerily Arthur mimicked his tutor. Yet new, subtle behaviors began emerging. The automaton flicked back the right edge of his poncho to speed access to his holster. Then, smooth as silk, he poised his metallic hand above the butt of the revolver.
For a brief, shudder-inducing moment, Violet contemplated the sheer amount of power contained in the artificial man. She wondered how much Arthur truly understood regarding the task before him. Then she wondered what Papa would think of his invention’s transformation–and knew with a sinking feeling that he would never have approved.
A series of sharp, explosive cracks rent the air. Violet covered her ears, more from surprise than fear. What’s happening?
Arthur was firing in rapid succession. Not only had he successfully hit the orange target, but he was also hitting all of the others with one-hundred percent accuracy.
Violet’s jaw grew slack. Faster than she could say algorithm , Arthur reloaded and continued firing. Ping-ping-ping –the bullets engaged the targets in a vigorous dance until the second round expired.
Eventually, the receding echo of gunfire faded. Arthur slid the smoking Colt back into the holster. His poncho settled in to its former position with a brief flutter. At once, he grew completely still. The act implied that nothing miraculous had just occurred.
Over the loud beating of her heart, Violet sensed
an unusual change in the locale. The wind had died. Birds had ceased their chirping. Even the insects seemed momentarily stunned into silence. She didn’t know what to make of the recent spectacle, either–except, perhaps, an adventure beyond her wildest dreams.
Logan strode forward. He stopped a few feet shy of the automaton. Eyes narrowed against the bright sun, he scrutinized the mechanical man with relentless intensity. “Well.” He pushed up his hat. Stroked his chin. He exchanged a brief glance with a bemused Violet before regarding Arthur once more. Cleared his throat. Only then did he speak. “I tell you what–that was a good start.”
Violet erupted with laughter. Logan stoked it further with the exasperated look he shot her.
He turned back to Arthur. “But practice makes perfect.” He started walking toward the target array. “Here, let me set up another round.”
Violet gazed admiringly at Logan’s retreating figure. We make a very fine team , indeed. Then her expression darkened. Would the three of them be enough?
Her father remained in grave danger, and time was running out.
Chapter 4
In Which Our Heroes’ Alliance Is Sorely Tested
Violet and her companions headed north, directly toward the lair of the Iron Scorpion.
The horses’ hooves forged a determined path through miles upon miles of wild grassland. Violet cast a wary eye at the ominous-looking clouds roiling above them. Even more dismaying, a flock of crows seemed to take a personal interest in tracking her progress. Were these unofficial escorts that confident about a grisly outcome?
To avoid her morbid thoughts, she fixed her gaze upon Logan, who led the way. Arthur rode behind her. Violet still hadn’t recovered from the shock of the automaton’s advancement. Upon preparing to depart the camp, the automaton had amazed her by mounting its horse with ease. Even for humans, that kind of skill required days of practice. Stranger still, the mare responded to him like they’d known each other for years. Arthur now rode independently, as fluent in equine relations as the most accomplished jockey. Violet had smiled like a proud new parent, but her joy failed to dispel Logan’s taciturn attitude toward the new development.
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 8