bornuntotrouble | Exodus in America

Jim steps off closely after him. He doesn't take too much of a look around. There were a thousand little towns like this one in his West. Doesn't look like this world's West is much different.

"Well that's helpful. You get his last name?" Jim snorts. "Bet it's 'Johnson' or something."

He shakes his head. "Well, shouldn't be too hard to find the saloon, at any rate."

"What're we lookin' t'get out of this 'Jake'?"

Kate squints toward the west, making a careful sweep with her eyes. She's got her things slung over her shoulder, gripped by her left hand so her right is free and hovering near her hip.

It's quiet. That's good. Makes it easier to keep an eye on people.

"No last name, no. He's supposed to guide us to the fort where Williamson's allegedly holed up," John says. "Reckon he won't say around for much longer'n that."

Jim's right - it's not too hard to find the saloon. It's the building to their eleven o'clock as they head out of the telegraph office - the one the drunk guy's stumbling out of right now. John brushes past him and steps inside, surveying the place.

"Though I'm led to believe he has a predilection for ladies of the night."

Which is about as useful as saying "he's probably bipedal" in these parts.

"Wish you'd told me he didn't," Jim says. "It'd narrow it down a bit more."

Kate eyes the room before switching her focus to the men beside her. She lets out an exaggerated sigh, pulling the kerchief free from her neck.

"For heaven's sake, don't you gentlemen strain yourselves. I'll smoke 'im out."

She hands John her bag for safekeeping, and struts over to the bar. Somewhere along the way the top two buttons of her blouse work themselves open; she slips a few carefully placed pins out of her hair, and it comes down around her shoulders in soft ringlets.

She turns her back to the bar, crooning to the keep for a brandy, and makes herself just as comfortable as could be.

Watch your back, Kate - you've attracted the attention of one red-faced dwarf of a cowboy. He waddles over to the bar, then plops himself next to Kate and eyes her up.

"So, ah...what's yer price?"

A brief glance will reveal he's unarmed - fat, dumb, happy, and harmless as can be. If Kate smells his breath...well, he's not drunk, but he's just a teensy bit unsober.

Oh, isn't he just a delicious cocktail of sexual appeal? Kate gives him a slow once-over, and bats her lashes.

"Well, hello there, Handsome. And who might you be?"

The man cocks an eyebrow - they're doing names 'round these parts now?

Guess they are.

"Ah'm Jake. 'n who might you be, miss?"

"I was hopin' you would say that."

She smiles, just as sweet as pumpkin pie.

"Y'can call me Etta, sugar. An' them gentlemen by the door are Butch 'n Sundance."

Kate's been doing some reading, looks like. She taps the end of his little round nose.

"Ain't you jus' cute as a button."

Jake blinks, confused. There are a lot of adjectives guys like to hear from a member of the opposite sex they're trying to woo - "cute" is not one of them. But before he can recover, John's at his side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his holster.

"Jake? John Marston. You're supposed to guide me 'n my friends here -" he nods to Jim and Kate "- to Fort Mercer."

Sorry to spoil your fun, Kate.

Darn. Jim was just about to work out which one of them was Butch and which one was Sundance.

He tips his hat. "Name's Jim. Thinking maybe you could start by leading us to the horses."

Kate smiles sweetly, and eases her Smith & Wesson Safety Hammerless out from god knows where.

Sorry, Jake.

"Guess we'll need a rain check, honey."

Jake, for his part, is looking just about as befuddled as a bearded dwarf of a cowboy can look - man's only got so much upstairs, after all. Then he finally gets a grasp on the situation.

"Ah, Mister Marston! Was waitin' fer you t' show up with the 4:50 from Blackwater. Guess the train musta been late." So help him, he actually sounds earnest.

"Horses're just outside," he says, hopping off the barstool and waddling outside, John following close behind. "Finest in Armadillo, if Ah do say so m'self. We'll mount up 'n get you 'n your friends t' Fort Mercer lickedy-split."

He waddles out to the street, and sure enough, there's four horses hitched to a post just outside the bar. Jake saddles up on the brown/white dwarf, and John opts for the chestnut-colored one.

"Reckon we might hafta wait for the train ta pass at this rate," Jake says. "Shouldn't be too much of a delay."

Jim saddles up on the blue roan.

"Should be fine. I'm sure the fort isn't going anywhere."

That leaves Kate with the pinto. She gives him a little time to nuzzle at her, as a way of exchanging hellos.

"We gonna get there before nightfall?"

She secures her things to the saddle, slinging her gun belt around her hips now that she's not quite so worried about drawing attention. She swings up into the saddle, fixing a black hat with hand-rolled brim and cavalry crease atop her head.

Grinning easily at the fellas.

"I reckon we oughta," Jake says. "Fort's only a couple miles away."

They end up waiting for the train after all as it rolls out of the station, smoke billowing from the engine car. Once it's passed, Jake spurs on his horse into the desert, and John follows suit.

"So it's Fort Mercer y'all wanna visit?" Jake asks.

"That's right," John replies.

"Ain't taken nobody up to the Fort in a long time. Strange place for a decent fella to visit, if you don't mind me sayin'."

"Who said I was a decent fella?"

"Anything a few humble sightseers like us should know about the fort?" Jim asks. "Flora? Fauna? Machine gun nests?"

Kate's keeping an eye on the horizon. Call it what you will, but she's had her fill of being snuck up on.

Every now and then she casts a wary eye on Jake, listening carefully to what he has to say.

Jake shakes his head at Jim's question. "Ain't been a Gatling gun near these parts in years. Y'all ain't gonna find much up there 'side from some coyotes, buzzards, 'n some folk that're 'bout as sociable as an ulcerated back tooth. Way I hear it, they's part of some gang that rode in 'n took the place over a whiles back." He eyes John. "Don't suppose that got anythin' t'do with y'all bein' here, do it?"

John shrugs. "Maybe."

Jake shrugs back. Time will tell.

The path runs its course through some scrub brush and, after coming parallel with more train tracks, winds its way up a canyon wall through several switchbacks.

"Not far now," Jake calls. "You'll see the fort once we're over this hill."

"Awfully conspicuous, isn't it?" Jim asks. "Usually they just go with a cave or something."

Jim squints into the distance as they cross the crest of the hill.

"Unless they're lookin' for a fight."

Looking or not, Kate's got a feeling they're about to find one.

"Wouldn't put it past 'em," Jake says as they crest the hill and Fort Mercer comes into view.

Jake slows his horse to a trot, then stops altogether, and John follows suit.

Jake tugs at the brim of his hat, then points to the fort. "This here is what's left of Fort Mercer. Ain't home but t' squatters 'n outlaws now."

John's expression is unreadable. "So I understand."

Jake shrugs. "This is where we part ways, friend. Y'all have yourselves a good time."

And, with that, he rides off into the distance, leaving John staring at the fort.

"Impressive," Jim says. "I mean, obviously it's seen better days, but you get about a dozen or so good men up on those walls and you could hold out for quite a while.

"So how're we going to approach this?"

Kate's sharp eyes are darting to every stone, every cactus.

"Someone wanna walk up an' knock on the door?"

She's only half teasing. The longer they wait out here, the greater the chances someone will give them a welcome they might not be so keen on.

"I'll do it," John says, his voice devoid of humor. "Find some cover and watch the walls. Stay quiet as you can. We don't want to spook him."

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