Karen Mercury

by Manifested Destiny [How the West Was Done 4]

  Jeremiah folded his arms. “Oh, that’s completely predictable. Look. The smoke monster that no one else can seem to see is following that sorceress out the door.”

  * * * *

  Foster noted that the smoke demon followed them out the door of the Baptist church, but once in the open air, it dissipated. He knew he could not just haul off and let Orianna have it. He had to stuff down his inclination to yell blue murder at her, as she could use Abe as a pawn if he irked her. He could dust off his rusty lawyer skills to deal diplomatically with her.

  “Listen, Orianna,” he said. She looked petulantly at him, her lower lip stuck out. “I’ve received some communication from San Francisco to the effect that it’s Arthur Firestone who has given you the boot, not the other way around.”

  Fire nearly blazed from Orianna’s eyes. “What bastard handed you that pack of lies? It is my decision to reconcile with you, as you are my true love!”

  “That doesn’t matter. The fact remains that you really have no other place to go, so I think we can take the possibility of me going to San Francisco off the table. You know I intend to start my law practice again here in Laramie. And further, I’m in love with Miss Hudson. You can stop pretending you’re in love with me and not my gold claim.”

  “What gold claim?”

  “The one I wrote you about, on French Creek in the Black Hills.”

  Wind was picking up. Earlier, Foster had seen black cloud masses ascending above the horizon just as the sun set. This wasn’t a good sign for their rodeo tomorrow, and of course he’d wondered briefly if Orianna had a hand in it. Was her ire capable of altering the weather?

  Now Orianna grabbed his lapels and said sincerely, “I have no designs on any of your gold, Foster. I only wish for a loving home where I can raise Abe along with the father he so pines for.”

  “And I wish for the same. I guarantee you, Orianna, if you bring Abe out here, I will provide a good home for him. It’s just the husband part I can’t provide you with. Our love was a long time ago, and it was evidently very flawed, or you wouldn’t have gone west to seek a future with Firestone.”

  Orianna shook him by the lapels. “And I admit that was a huge mistake, Foster! I was blinded by Arthur’s riches.”

  “I made a good income here in Laramie.”

  “Yes, but I was an immature parasite, with images of even more money in my dreams, Foster.”

  “Look. You must take the train to San Francisco, get Abe, and bring him back here. I can’t escort you to any more soirees. Tabitha and my partner Worth are my life now. You must allow some of these other fine upstanding Laramie men to court you.”

  Foster tried not to look around. At the moment, the fine upstanding examples of Laramie men were intent on knocking a bunghole into a new beer cask using a picket someone had torn off a fence and the sole of a boot as a hammer.

  Foster added, “Of course, I’d have to approve of who you choose. That Craig Marsten fellow you danced with at the Fowlers is very upright.”

  A different sort of smile eased onto Orianna’s face now, and she released Foster’s lapels. “Of course, Foster. I must move on with my life, too. I’m sure you will provide Abe with a fine home.” She hugged her fur cape about her as though in preparation to leave. “I will take the train back to get Abe as soon as the rodeo is over.”

  “Good,” said Foster cheerfully. But inside he didn’t feel such certainty. Why the insistence on leaving after the rodeo?

  Orianna did turn now but said casually over her shoulder, “After all, you have the Philosopher’s Stone.”

  Wait. “What Philosopher’s Stone?”

  Orianna stopped in midstep and turned toward Foster. “That rock that manifested at the séance. It ensures that your gold claim alone is free from the Indian hex. That your gold will be the finest and the richest claim. That you are held blameless for claiming the land from the Indians. No harm will come from your claim as it will to the thousands of others who will try and take gold from the Black Hills.”

  “I thought you didn’t know I had a claim.”

  She smiled mysteriously. “Orianna Anderson didn’t know. But her higher powers did and led her back to you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You couldn’t hit a bull’s ass with a handful of banjos.”

  Worth saw the twinkle in Montreal Jed’s eye, but he agreed with the puppeteer. “I told you. I’m a photographer, not a damned vaquero. That’s why I’m not participating in the hoop-and-pole game or any of that cow wrangling.”

  “I’m participating, and I’m just a damned marshal,” said Neil Tempest.

  Jeremiah said, “A marshal who owns his own cattle ranch.”

  True, Neil Tempest had brought some vaqueros down from his Serendipity Ranch, but Remington Rudy was the star of the rodeo. Rudy was too handsome by far to be anything other than an oil painting, swaggering around in the fanciest leggings Worth had ever seen. In fact, it turned out his leggings had been sewn by a berdache friend of Caleb’s, and the rainbow-hued porcupine quillwork was something to behold. Although Rudy claimed to be a physician now and no longer a circus trick rider, this partner of Alameda and Derrick Spiro had already zipped about Boswell’s ranch doing somersaults and handstands on the rump of his horse.

  They were now preparing for the rope-throwing and “cutting” of cattle—and Foster had already impressed Tabitha by riding a wild mustang for eight seconds—but Rudy didn’t want to muss his fancy leggings with that dirty work. Instead, he would participate in the hoop-and-pole competition, having been Tabitha’s trainer.

  “You going to play the hoop game?” Worth casually asked Foster. Worth hid a smile. After the drubbing Foster had received at his paramour’s hand the last time they’d tried this trick, he was surprised that Foster said, “Sure. Why not? This wind’s picking up, and I can use it to my advantage. My scout training has to come in handy in some regards.”

  Sure enough, it had looked stormy all day, but thankfully by noon not a drop of rain had fallen. Ominous clouds so thick they looked like a muddied river conglomerated overhead. The wind seemed blocked by this muddy wall, and not one blade of long prairie grass had stirred. But as Foster spoke, a nearby stand of grass rippled with a new wind, and lightning fractured the black mass above.

  Jeremiah’s eyes flickered. “Should you be racing about with enormous spears in your hands when there’s lightning on the prairie?”

  Remington Rudy opened his mouth to answer, but Mr. Hudson was stumbling up. A Johnny-come-lately to the rodeo, Worth already knew that Simon fancied himself something of an athlete. He’d been over by the vaqueros practicing rope-throwing, but the only thing he’d succeeded in lassoing was a vaquero’s sombrero. Everyone backed slowly away from him as he twirled his reata.

  “Remington Rudy!” called out Simon Hudson. “Look at me! I’m a vaquero.”

  “Mr. Hudson,” ventured Senator Derrick Spiro, “will you join in the hoop contest?”

  “Oh my, no,” said Simon. “I’m not such a great caballero on my horse.”

  “Amen to that,” said Jeremiah. “Gravity is a heartless bitch. And those whirling dust clouds toward Cheyenne will be even more heartless unless we get this show on the road.”

  Worth had the impression that all of his sons-in-law enjoyed Simon, now that they had learned how to handle him. Worth—and even Foster—had not been officially introduced to Mr. Hudson yet, and Worth was eager to make a good impression.

  So now he put a hand lightly on the older man’s shoulder and said, “You can come over here, keep score with us.”

  “You’re rolling the hoops, Worth,” said Jeremiah as the players walked to where their horses were picketed. “You can’t be keeping score.”

  “I’m rolling the hoops,” said a big buffalo named Smack. Worth believed he was an explosives expert for the railroad. “I’ve rolled them for Remington Rudy many times. How often have you rolled them?”

  “The more the merrier,” said Simon. �
��You can both roll hoops.”

  “That’s not really true,” said Montreal Jed. “More does not equal merry. If there were two hundred people all rolling hoops at once, would that be merry? No, it would not. It would be a stampede.”

  This appeared to confuse Smack. “All right, you Lollipop Kid,” he said belligerently. “That’s enough from you. Senator Spiro, tell him. I’ve rolled for Rudy a hundred times. Besides,” he said confidentially, “if I roll for Rudy, he’s more likely to win.”

  Derrick Spiro had to appear tactful at this, of course. “Take turns to make it more impartial, Smack.”

  “Impartial my ass,” Smack growled. He grabbed a nearby hoop, the smallest size that they used for manual practice while not on horseback. Taking a length of reata, he swiftly fashioned a sort of necklace with it, so the ten-inch hoop hung over his considerable belly. “Hey, Rudy!” he bellowed through a cupped hand, pointing at his gut. “I’m the hoop roller!”

  “Fine,” said Worth calmly. “Makes me no difference. Hey, Mr. Hudson.” He wanted Simon Hudson to notice him—and, of course, to approve of him. “Have you seen Caleb Poindexter today? Reason I ask. I know he’s a great healer, and I’ve been having some gout problems.”

  Simon’s face lit up, and he drank from an empty horn of beer that had been sticking out of his waistcoat. “Caleb has recommended a poultice of yucca for my gout! I tell you, that man is a visionary of the highest order.”

  “I agree completely,” Worth said warmly. Naturally, he had heard Tabitha say that her father believed in Caleb’s abilities. Otherwise, he never would have brought up the name of the seer who seemed to divide citizens’ opinions hotly. “We held a séance with him, and he levitated nearly to the ceiling. Half a dozen witnesses were present that can attest to the same thing.”

  “That Caleb!” Simon chuckled fondly, as though Caleb had merely slipped on a banana peel. “Always up to something interesting. I haven’t seen him yet today, but I imagine he’s around somewhere. He’s acquainted with just about everyone in town, although some doubt his abilities. I say that floating on air is more believable than walking on water. He’s probably here, disguised as a cow.”

  “Or as one of those poor calves they’re roping,” said Jeremiah. He pulled his greatcoat closer around him, looking up at the darkening sky. “This is not a good scenario to employ the hoop game, and this is the game Ezra made sure we included in the rodeo. Look, Foster just completely missed that one hoop Smack rolled. Now it’s Rudy’s turn.”

  Indeed, the wind had picked up such speed that Foster’s spear had missed the hoop by about three feet, and Rudy didn’t fare much better. He only hit one of the outer “wolf” rings that didn’t count for as many points as the inner heart. The crowd of about two hundred spectators was clearly rooting for Rudy, and some started to berate Smack for being a bad hoop roller.

  “You’re just as slow as a crippled turtle, Smack!” one citizen bawled.

  “I’ll show you, Hopkins!” Smack hollered back. “Your family tree is only a shrub!”

  “You roll, Worth,” Jeremiah urged. “You can roll straighter than that big husky, and Tabitha’s up next.”

  “That’s my daughter!” Simon toasted Tabitha with his empty horn and sipped from it again.

  Senator Spiro indicated that Smack should step aside and let Worth roll, although Smack bumped Worth bodily with his gut on his way out of the playing field. “Jackass,” Smack snarled.

  “Lunkhead,” Worth replied.

  One sight gave Worth the creeps, though. Just as Tabitha’s pony galloped onto the field and Worth could roll the hoop with the wooden paddle, he caught a glimpse of Orianna.

  She huddled in an enormous bear’s fur at the far end of the crowd, where she could hardly have had a good view of the riders. But it was her, all right. Foster had told Worth last night that he had told her the jig was up, and she had agreed to return to San Francisco to retrieve his son, so everything had apparently been on an even keel. Now, she held opera glasses up to her face, but Worth had to let the hoop roll free and avoid the prairie dog mounds that often tripped up horses.

  He thought he’d done a pretty good job, and Tabitha looked in fine form as she hurled the spear. Her shimmering blonde hair flew undone from her coiffure, and her tight bodice showed off her figure beautifully. Worth could practically feel the jealous rays emanating from the remote figure that was Orianna, and then Tabitha’s spear did an extremely peculiar thing.

  Not only did it miss the rolling hoop utterly, it veered in its course. It wasn’t just the wind that had by now picked up to nearly hurricane force. Whirlwinds of dust whipped up the flaps of vaquero’s tents like surging waves, but that couldn’t have accounted for how far off course Tabitha’s spear was hurled. The sharpened pole took what looked like a right angle in its trajectory, coming straight for Worth!

  He had only a fraction of a second to think. In fact, his body had to run before he thought. He ran to the left, toward the audience, scurrying like a frantic spider, hunched over, arms covering his head. He only stopped and turned when he was certain he was out of the spear’s path, and an even stranger sight greeted him.

  Smack, waddling into the field for his next turn at hoop-rolling with the small hoop bouncing across his gut, quite literally made a giant target. Still, it was impossible how Tabitha’s spear again zigzagged and made a beeline for Smack. Tabitha and Foster had now trotted over to where Worth stood, hands at sides, dumbfounded. The pole pierced Smack’s gut—making a perfect heart’s coup for the most possible points—and he toppled over.

  This injury would probably not have been lethal. The stick was not terribly sharp, and from the way it bobbed after sticking him, it had only entered his gut about two inches.

  It was what happened after Smack fell that was confounding. When Smack hit the ground, he exploded. It was not a matter of having eaten too many beans. This man exploded, as though he’d swallowed a stick of dynamite. Pieces of his blue shirt and shiny bright innards and limbs rained down for maybe twenty feet in all directions. Most people ran away from the scene, but Foster and Worth, experienced backwoodsmen, ran toward it.

  “How can a spear cause a fellow to explode?” Foster asked as they sprinted.

  “It can’t,” said Worth. “And did you see that impossible path it took?”

  “Impossible,” Foster agreed.

  There was not much scene to see. Smack’s legs were still mostly in one piece where he’d fallen, but the spear had been blown to kingdom come, along with the rest of Smack’s considerable body. There was no need to get too close, and they were backing away when Tabitha’s voice came from behind them.

  “That’s impossible! Obviously I threw the spear at the hoop Worth had rolled. Did you see how many turns it took on its way to Smack’s belly?”

  The crowd now roared something unintelligible. Jeremiah, Simon, and Derrick, standing closer with their scorecards, pointed and screamed something like “look out!”

  Worth turned to see Orianna about to hurl a spear from a running position. Since the three were gathered in a close knot, it was difficult to tell who her target was. “Scatter!” Foster advised, and they did, like fireworks spraying in all directions.

  Foster would not be her logical target. Worth had just been her target five minutes ago, but that was probably only to make Tabitha look bad, as Tabitha had hurled the spear. Perhaps she was angry that her trick with Tabitha’s pole hadn’t worked. Well, not as she had intended, anyway. Orianna probably cared less that Smack had exploded.

  Perhaps because of her fashionable, narrow gown, or the fact that she wouldn’t let her bear fur coat go—and maybe due to her heeled slippers—Orianna’s throw wasn’t terribly accurate. It seemed to have been meant for Tabitha, but Tabitha easily skittered and ducked out of its pathway, and now it sailed into a little herd of calves that vaqueros were roping for branding. It jerked and made a few turns in its path, as though searching for a secondary target.

&nb
sp; Well, there was nothing to be done about that, and Worth breathed a sigh of relief as Neil Tempest jogged to slap some bracelets on Orianna. But apparently Jeremiah thought he could help the calves.

  “Nooooooo…” he moaned, audible above the wind that now howled through fence posts, tent posts, and spectators’ legs. He ran like the wind, maybe assisted by it being at his back, his arms out straight as though feeling for an invisible wall. His Stetson was knocked off his head, blowing about like a dandelion seed, and Jeremiah headed right for the knot of calves, diving on in.

  Worth and his friends, and Rudy, Derrick, and Simon, among others, jogged over to find Jeremiah wrestling a calf, just like the professional vaqueros did! He pinned it with his lightweight body and with his free hand grappled for a reata a helpful vaquero threw to him. In a flash he had tied the calf’s hooves immobile, cheered on by the vaqueros. Perhaps his past circus experience had assisted him in this rope-tying, and now Jeremiah sat up straight and smiled with relief.

  Worth walked off a bit and found the spear lying harmlessly. From the trajectory, he saw that it could have easily speared the calf. Although the spears controlled by Orianna did have a way of veering off course, if this one’s course had stayed true, it would have pierced the poor calf.

  The vaqueros and spectators cheered Jeremiah. Some caballeros took Jeremiah on their shoulders and paraded him about while he called to Worth, “Look! I saved the calf! I saved the calf!”

  Worth waved back. “That you did!”

  He supposed this was the end of the rodeo, but there were many loose ends, so to speak. Questions that needed answering.

  “Was that the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?” Tabitha asked.

  “Yes!” agreed Foster. “I had no idea Jeremiah was capable of anything like that.”

  Tabitha slapped Foster with the back of her hand. “No, silly. I mean the spears, the poles. I’m presuming others witnessed the same thing. I mean, Neil is arresting Orianna and not me, I suppose for the murder of Smack, but…”