Pariah

by J. R. Roberts

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Now let us do our duty or we’ll toss you out of this house with the rest of the trash.”

  With that, the deputy turned and marched out of the kitchen. Once he was gone, Clint stooped down next to the cupboard where he’d seen the flicker of movement. He opened the door a crack and found Lylah huddled all the way against the back. The bottom half of the cupboard was one large space and had enough shadows to hide the slender young lady almost completely even with the door open.

  “Where’s Madeline?” Clint whispered.

  Having heard the question enough times already, Lylah waved toward the back door.

  “We’ll go?”

  Once again, Lylah proved to be familiar with the words that were in the letter and she nodded eagerly while climbing out. She made it as far as the cupboard door before glancing nervously toward the dining room.

  “I can hear them stomping upstairs,” Clint sighed. “Let’s find Maddy before they do.”

  As soon as they were outside, Lylah headed for Eclipse.

  “Wait,” Clint said as he grabbed her arm. “We have to ride?” Seeing that she didn’t understand, he asked, “Where?”

  Lylah pointed to Eclipse and started speaking in whatever language she knew. All she needed was her hands, however, as she pointed Eclipse and then waved toward the edge of town.

  “Far away?” Clint asked.

  She kept waving, as if motioning toward a train that was fading into a memory as it sped along the tracks.

  “Damn.” Pointing to the back of the house, Clint said, “Wait. Hide.”

  She nodded and found a spot to crouch between the house and a wood pile.

  The deputies rummaged through the second floor for a bit before stomping down the stairs. As they headed toward the front door, they found Clint waiting for them in the dining room. While he was more than happy to see them go, he wanted to keep up the banter he’d already started. “Find anything while searching through her knickers?” he asked.

  “No,” the older deputy replied. “We’ll bring back the sheriff to have a word with you.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay and chat?”

  “Yeah.”

  The deputies slammed the front door behind them and Clint slipped out through the back.

  EIGHTEEN

  Plenty of questions raced through Clint’s mind as he rode Eclipse toward the edge of town.

  Was Maddy all right?

  Did anything happen when she and Lylah were separated?

  How far away was Maddy?

  Was anyone after Lylah?

  Did anyone see her slip into Maddy’s house?

  The more he thought about those questions, the more questions sprang into Clint’s mind. Unfortunately, the one person who could answer them at the moment could understand less than a dozen words of English.

  Clint rode down the streets quickly enough to get away, but not fast enough to make it look like he was running away from a bank robbery. He didn’t see Sheriff Bailey or recognize any of the deputies, but that didn’t mean the law was oblivious to what he was doing. Rather than stop and try to talk to Lylah, he decided to worry about the situation with the law first and foremost.

  Keeping his head down and his eyes facing forward, Clint flicked his reins to get Eclipse moving a bit faster. The streets were widening by now and would soon turn into trails or simply end. The street Clint was on happened to be one of the former, and he waited until open country was in front of him before touching his heels to Eclipse’s sides. The Darley Arabian responded right away and went from a trot to a gallop.

  Lylah wrapped her arms around Clint’s midsection and held on tightly. She pressed her face against his shoulder as the wind whipped around both her and Clint. Her long hair tickled Clint’s cheek, putting the scent of wildflowers into his nose. He wondered if that scent was from a bottle or if it was her own, but kept that question to himself, along with the others.

  Before going too far, Clint pulled back on the reins and steered Eclipse sharply away from the trail. He came to a stop, but Lylah kept moving up and down as if she were still being bounced by a running horse.

  She stretched her arm out so Clint could see her pointing at the trail ahead. As she did, she spoke in a hurried bunch of words that he didn’t understand in the slightest. He would have had to be deaf to be ignorant of the fact that she was scolding him for stopping and was insisting that they keep moving.

  “I know, I know,” he said while waving over his shoulder.

  She didn’t like that at all and slapped his hand away.

  In an odd sort of way, Clint liked that. It was a reaction he would have expected from anyone with a little fire in their belly, and it was something he could understand. “I’m just checking to see if anyone’s following us,” he said, despite the fact that there was no reason to believe she understood him.

  “Was anyone following you?” he asked. Turning to look at her, he said, “Was . . . anyone . . . following . . . ?”

  The moment he could see her face, Clint knew what she was thinking. For the most part, the narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, and curled corner of her mouth said she thought he was an idiot for once again expecting her to comprehend his language just because he slowed it down. Clint was embarrassed to admit he agreed with her.

  “Sorry,” he told her. “Force of habit, I guess.” After that, he twisted in his saddle and turned Eclipse in a slow circle so he could survey his surroundings on all sides. It didn’t take long before Lylah caught on and began studying the terrain herself.

  When he felt a tap on his shoulder, Clint looked back and saw her pointing toward a rider in the distance. She rattled off a few more words, and when he didn’t react, she repeated the gibberish in a slower, more deliberate tone.

  Clint rolled his eyes and reached into his saddlebag. “Let me have a look,” he grumbled. The spyglass he carried did a good enough job in magnifying the image of the other rider, but didn’t do much to make up for the darkness of the hour. “I don’t think we need to worry about that one,” Clint said. When he glanced back to see the unchanged expression on Lylah’s face, he waved at the distant rider dismissively and put his spyglass away.

  Lylah didn’t relax all the way, but she seemed to get Clint’s meaning.

  “Now, which way do we go to meet—” Stopping himself in mid-sentence, Clint asked, “Madeline. Where?”

  Lylah pointed to the trail she wanted him to take. Of course, it wasn’t the trail he’d picked on his own. At least their predicament allowed Clint to grumble all he wanted without fear of offending Lylah. Judging by the muttering coming from behind him, she was doing the same.

  NINETEEN

  They rode well past the time when Clint would normally stop for the night. After he’d gotten onto the proper trail, Lylah settled in behind him and rested her head upon his shoulder. The shadows were thick after nightfall, but the half-moon was bright enough to cast a pale glow upon the terrain. Since they were covering a flat expanse of rocky trail, Clint was confident enough to put some more distance between himself and Sheriff Bailey.

  When the trail took on some more twists and turns, Clint pulled back on the reins and stood up in his stirrups. Lylah must have dozed off, because she jumped a bit at the sudden awkward movement of her headrest.

  “We should stop for the night,” he said to himself more than her. Rather than try to explain, Clint steered for a good spot to make camp. Lylah accepted the hand he offered, climbed down from the saddle, and stepped back so Clint could do the same.

  From there they went through the motions of putting together a fire and laying out Clint’s bedroll without a word passing between them. They actually got done quicker than Clint had expected, since they simply did what needed to be done rather than waste time talking it over.

  Clint warmed up some beans and served them with a side of jerked buffalo. It wasn’t the best supper, but neither of them was about to complain. “So,” he said while d
igging his letter from Maddy out of his pocket, “can you read this?”

  Lylah set her tin plate down and took the letter. Holding it closer to the firelight, she let out a troubled breath and concentrated upon the words. Every so often she nodded, but mostly she fretted and shook her head.

  “What can you read?” Clint asked. He found that he got more results by speaking just a bit slower, but accenting his words with more facial expression than he would normally use in a conversation. He stopped short of playacting, which at least conveyed the general idea or emotion of what he was saying.

  The frustration on her face was plain to see and was only intensified when she tried to answer Clint’s question. Although it looked as if she wanted to throw the letter into the fire, she handed it back while sighing and shaking her head some more.

  Clint pointed to Maddy’s signature until he saw that Lylah understood. From there, he pointed in the general direction they’d been riding. “How much farther?” he asked. “How far?”

  Lylah looked back and forth and then said, “Tomorrow.”

  Surprised by the sound of her voice, Clint pointed to Maddy’s name again and asked, “Tomorrow?”

  She nodded.

  “Well then, I suppose that’s what I wanted to know.”

  Lylah seemed to be growing accustomed to Clint rambling on without expecting an answer, because she idly prodded the fire with a stick.

  “Thanks.”

  Clint glanced around as if the word had actually been a bird call or some other trick that had been played upon his ears. When he looked over at Lylah, he found her looking directly at him. The firelight softened her features and gave her skin a vaguely golden hue. Now that the wind wasn’t tossing her hair in every direction, it hung on either side of her face like a thick curtain of black velvet.

  Once she had his undivided attention, she looked straight into his eyes and said, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The smile that came to her face was tired, but showed that she understood what he’d just told her.

  Clint took the opportunity to press his luck by asking, “Where are you from?” When he saw the confusion upon her face, he pointed to her and asked, “Where?”

  Lylah was even more confused once the question sank in. Looking down at the ground and back up at Clint. “Where . . . is Lylah?”

  Seeing where this was headed, Clint shook his head and waved the question off as if he was erasing it from a chalkboard. He picked up his own tin plate, scooped up some beans, and shoveled them into his mouth.

  “Tombstone,” she said.

  “What?”

  Lylah waved in the same direction Clint had waved earlier, which was also the direction they’d been riding. “Tombstone.”

  “We’re going to Tombstone?” Not expecting an answer, Clint looked in the direction that was the subject of all that waving and nodded. “I suppose we are. Come to think of it, we should get there tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” she confirmed.

  They finished their supper with a surprising amount of talking. Although they each took turns speaking in their own language, neither one seemed to catch more than a few words from the other. Every so often, Clint would see a glimmer of recognition when he said something to her. He had more success when he approached the conversation using words that anyone might pick up if they spent time around a bunch of folks who all spoke English.

  After listening to her as best as he could, Clint swore he heard a few words that sounded vaguely familiar. They could have been bits and pieces he might have picked up while spending time with Chinese or Japanese folks, but they still weren’t quite the same. Her language was choppier and somehow more forceful than those other two. It was a piss-poor way to describe it, but it was the best Clint could do after such a long day.

  Finally, he stretched out upon the ground and said, “Good night, Lylah.”

  The fire crackled and a few coyotes howled in the distance. Soon, those noises were joined by the scrape of knees upon the rocky ground. Clint felt a tug upon his shirt. When he turned toward her, she pulled him toward the bedroll that he’d left for her. She crawled around, lay on one half of the bedroll, and motioned for him to come closer.

  Clint approached the bedroll and lay down beside her. The firelight brushed over her face just enough for him to see her weary, beautiful smile. “Good night, Clint,” she said.

  No waving required.

  TWENTY

  Now that they both knew where they were headed, Clint and Lylah covered a hell of a lot more ground. That was certainly due to Eclipse’s natural speed, but it was also because Clint could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Riding for any distance to get to a specific place always seemed better than simply riding without knowing when he could stop. Lylah seemed to prefer it that way, too, since she held on to him and was content to pass the day without so much as one worried gesture to distract him.

  They arrived in Tombstone before the sun could dip too close to the western horizon. Clint knew a few shortcuts that got them there a bit quicker than if they’d stuck to the main trail. Also, that allowed him to gain high ground every so often and get a look at the trail he’d left behind. If anyone was following them, they were real good at their job because he didn’t pick out one reason to be worried about a tail. Lylah, on the other hand, wasn’t so happy to see the Tombstone city limits.

  Just to be certain, Clint looked back at her and asked, “Here? Madeline is here?”

  Lylah nodded and pointed toward the bustling town as if afraid it might catch her doing so. Grudgingly, she whispered a few words to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection.

  At first, Clint thought she was saying something in her own language. Lylah’s accent was thick enough to make the few English words she knew a bit difficult to understand. In the short amount of time he’d spent with her, Clint had gotten fairly good at sifting through her accent to find whatever words he could make any sense of. After mulling over the words a few times in his head, Clint asked, “Did you say Hop Town?”

  “Hop Town. Yes.”

  While Clint had been to Tombstone plenty of times, he rarely had occasion to visit the Chinese settlement known to locals as Hop Town. He might have strolled through that area on his way to somewhere else or to see about getting some good food, but most of his business was conducted in Tombstone’s saloons or with any number of friends who might be in town while he was there. Having already paid his respects the last time he was in town, Clint avoided his usual haunts and rode down Third Street.

  Keeping his head down as he passed Fremont and Allen streets, Clint felt like he was ducking the law or on the run from somebody. The simple fact of the matter was that he didn’t know what to expect when dealing with Madeline’s situation. He didn’t even know what her situation was, but he did know she wasn’t too popular with a few lawmen. While he doubted that she had many enemies outside of her own town, Clint didn’t want to risk complicating things at this stage of the game.

  Then there were all the possibilities that came along with Lylah. Clint had only just started talking to her on a basic level, which meant there was a whole lot of information that was left to his imagination. For all he knew, she was in some sort of trouble. Perhaps she’d been taken under Maddy’s wing after running afoul of the law. Maybe that was why she didn’t seem too keen on being in Tombstone now.

  Perhaps, perhaps, and perhaps some more. The longer Clint thought about all the different ifs and maybes, the more his head ached. It was just easier to keep his hat pulled down, keep his head hung low, and stay out of everyone’s notice. In a town like Tombstone, there was never any shortage of distractions.

  The closer Clint got to Toughnut Street, the tighter Lylah’s arms cinched in around him. When he finally got close enough to see the signs on the buildings change from English to Chinese, he had to fight to draw a breath.

  “Easy,” he said while patting the little hands that were locked
across his stomach. “Where to now?”

  Lylah leaned over to get a look at something, but didn’t let go of Clint. When she pointed to a stretch of storefronts on the right side of the street, she nearly fell from the saddle and took Clint right along with her. “Madeline . . . in there,” she said.

  Hearing Lylah form a mostly complete sentence made Clint wonder if she’d been pretending to understand less than she truly did. “Madeline’s in there?” he asked, while pointing to a place that looked like a butcher shop.

  She shook her head and pointed repeatedly at the store next to the butcher. “Madeline in there!”

  “All right, all right. I understand.” Lowering his voice, Clint took her hand and eased it down. “No need to tell everyone why we’re here.”

  Lylah looked at him with a mix of confusion and anxiousness on her face. Clint answered that by touching the side of his finger to his lips. That gesture proved to stretch across more than one language, since she nodded and quieted down.

  After riding over to the butcher shop, Clint and Lylah dismounted so he could tie the stallion to the closest hitching post. He tipped his hat to a few locals, who barely acknowledged him with a nod. The people who passed him on the street didn’t seem rude, but they were all Chinese. Because of that, they were probably accustomed to much ruder greetings from visitors.

  Clint spotted a white man in a rumpled suit staggering from the door of the storefront that Lylah had indicated. Judging by the man’s stagger and the cloudiness in his eyes, he was either under the influence of something or had gotten a knock to the head while he was inside. Whichever it was didn’t strike Clint as very promising. Looking down at Lylah, he asked, “You sure about this? Madeline is in there?”

  She nodded vehemently, pointed at the storefront, and kept her mouth shut.

  Clint and Lylah walked past the butcher shop and to the door of the store beside it. There was a large window next to the front door, but it was covered by a thick, dark red curtain. The scent of opium hung in the air and trickled out from under the door. When Clint opened that door, he was nearly dropped by a larger dose of the smoke that washed directly over his face.