Coyote: The Outlander (with FREE second screen experience) (18 page)

“Sam Savage, that bastard,” Coyote cursed. “Him and that crazy Oriental woman.” She moved as to throw the pistol away, but Caesar stopped her, pointing at the tree.

It wasn’t very clear for the first few seconds, but there was a smell of decaying bodies in the warm sun. Another moment, and a black stain spread along the bark of the tree. It started from the point where she had hit her mark, and every inch of it rapidly turned black. It looked as if something were digesting the tree before their eyes, breaking it down into tiny particles. The whole thing disappeared in about two minutes, leaving nothing but a strange, mushy substance that both Coyote and Caesar were to afraid to touch. It was difficult to get away from the smell. Coyote uttered a sound of disgust, and Caesar’s dark eyes were round as teacups.

“That is one hell of a particle beam gun,” Coyote said, mimicking the accent of the Chinese woman. Caesar shuddered.

After the test with the tree, Coyote refused to keep the particle beam pistol at her hip.

ANGEL CAMP

Angel Camp was not the sleepy little town Coyote and Caesar had visited five years earlier. Buildings had sprung up everywhere, and they were not the same wooden shacks as in most small towns. These were proper houses.

Every corner of Angel Camp smelled of urban living, machinery, and money. All around, life buzzed and shifted; it breathed. Merchants peddled their wares in the streets, a paperboy shouted the latest news, and a group of children followed an uppity-looking schoolmarm. There was movement everywhere.

A large, expensive-looking saloon sporting the name “The Golden Hound” welcomed patrons with open doors and pleasant tunes. Next to the saloon stood a large, beautifully maintained building, which was obviously a brothel. Painted in golden letters above the door stood the name “Sassy Sally’s,” and young ladies in skimpy outfits on the balcony greeted passers-by with waves and blown kisses.

Across from the saloon stood the Lucky Chances casino, another hotspot in Angel Camp. Lucky Chances was no more than a gambling bar five years ago, but here it was, as big and as fancy a building as anyone could hope for.

It wasn’t the large, primped-up buildings that made this town smell rich, but the technology. Horseless carriages could be spotted everywhere on the streets, driven by reckless drivers who watched the world speed by through their thick goggles.

There were steam-powered bicycles that wobbled through the crowds. Big signs, adorned with glass bulbs that lit up at night, advertised the names of different shops and establishments.

The people dressed in the latest fashions, more colorful than either Coyote or Caesar were used to. Even the men dressed in red, bright green, and purple from the heels of their boots to the tops of their tall hats, which were as unique as the rest of their outfits. The hats of the ladies and the gentlemen sported brass goggles, cogs, and gears, as if technology were a fashion statement.

Coyote felt dusty and old fashioned as she maneuvered around the streets of Angel Camp. She nearly fell off her horse when a man with a metal contraption strapped to his back actually flew past her. For Coyote and Caesar, the noises of hissing engines, clanking metal, and honking horns became a sensory overload after the silence they’d enjoyed on the road. Her breath caught in her throat, and her face was stern in the effort to hide the marvel she felt. Even Caesar looked around in amazement, his mouth agape. They were used to technology, but not in this quantity.

“We should find a hotel first,” Coyote said in a futile attempt to sound aloof, “get settled.” She could not keep her eyes off all the bustling in the streets. It was difficult to concentrate on her own words. Her mind was far away and her voice distant. Caesar nodded, but Coyote barely noticed.

The Silver Swan was one of three hotels in Angel Camp. A large, swan-shaped sign creaked on its hinges over the door, waving back and forth in the light breeze that swept through the town.

“These folks sure like their animals,” Coyote quipped. “They’ve got a hound, and a swan too.” She tried to sound like one of the locals, putting on a terrible accent that sounded more Texan than Hoosier.

The hotel made her a little uncomfortable. It was very narrow and everything about the décor was dainty. It was a feminine establishment, and Coyote sensed her stark contrast against the porcelain flowerpots and the frilly white curtains with little bluebells. The hotel was everything a woman ought to be, elegant and humble, which made it everything Coyote was not.

Caesar undid the saddlebags, and Coyote decided the best course of action would be to go on ahead and get them some rooms. She wondered how people would respond to the color of Caesar’s skin and dreaded a potential confrontation. It was best if she kept a low profile for now, but that wasn’t easy being a famous female bounty hunter who travelled with a black companion. People talked.

Inside, the moderate establishment appeared to be clean and very neat, which was all Coyote could hope for. The lobby had been freshly scrubbed and smelled of lemon and lye. A stern-looking woman with a plain, long face and eyes that drooped slightly in the corners welcomed her from behind a counter. Her hands ran down the light blue dress with vertical white stripes that looked matronly and out of date but pristine. Strawberry-blond hair, done up in a neat but modest style, framed her face. There were no gadgets adorning her rosy locks, nothing modern or fancy. Everything about her said “old-fashioned lady.”

Other than the sign outside, nothing moved or made noises in the quiet hotel lobby. The silence was a somber contrast to the rambunctious life outdoors.

The lady behind the counter shot Coyote a disapproving look. Coyote rolled her eyes, as this was nothing new. Most women who considered themselves ladies disapproved of… well, everything about her. Her lifestyle and manner of dress were not exactly respected by most people.

“We would like two rooms, if you would be so kind, please,” Coyote said, putting on an angelic face and her most proper English accent. Her heart-shaped lips spread in a darling smile, one of her greatest weapons, and her eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. It worked. The woman’s face changed, and she reciprocated Coyote’s warm smile with one of her own more modest ones.

“You are from the old country?” the woman asked. Her accent was thick. She pronounced every word slowly and properly, yet Coyote detected a slight hint of Cockney well-hidden under the carefully studied accent.

“Yes, my parents were from the old country. Well, my mother was half New Yorker,” she said. “We moved here when I was eight, but my father never let me forget the accent.” Coyote winked at the woman, and they shared a little laugh as if they understood a joke that no one else could. The woman beamed with pleasure, folding her hands to her chest. Then her eyes widened and her smile froze as Caesar walked through the door. Coyote felt her own shoulders tense. This was the moment she’d been dreading.

“Caesar,” Coyote said, hoping she could convince the pristine British lady to lay aside her judgment, “I see you have tended to our horses. I was just inquiring after two rooms with this fine lady.”

Right on cue, Caesar took off his hat and nodded his head with the greatest respect toward the woman. “Ma’am,” he said, his face a picture of solemn humility.

Coyote saw the woman relax. Her shoulders lowered a little bit, and her pale hand stopped clutching the fabric of her blue and white striped dress.

“Yes,” the woman answered, still a little perturbed. “I am afraid we only have one proper guest room left.” Her eyes darted toward Coyote, and her expression softened. “But I do have a room in which my handyman sleeps. There is a spare bed in there.”

Coyote knew she was lying. There were plenty of rooms, just no room for a black man. She was about to tell the woman they were not interested when another guest walked up.

“I would like to check out,” the man said. He spoke fast, and was obviously in a rush. “I know I’m leaving three days early, Madame, but I’ve been called away unexpectedly.” The woman nodded and proceeded to make a note in her ledger. The gentleman handed her his key and left.

The proprietor stared at the key, and Coyote looked at her with eagle eyes, trying not to show her amusement. There was a room that was clearly available, and no one else could have a claim on it because its previous occupant left three days early. Either the woman had to admit she did not want to give the room to a black man—which would be very unladylike of her—or she would have to give the room to Caesar. There was a brief moment of silent tension as Coyote watched the woman decide.

“How convenient for your, ehm, companion,” the woman said with a false smile. The twitch around her eye betrayed her nerve and discomfort. “I seem to have a room free,” she said. “Only for three days though,” she quickly added.

Coyote snapped the key from her hand and shot her an equally false smile. “Three days would suit us fine, thank you.”

The woman nodded and started to write their names in the large ledger behind the counter. The quill pen made a soft scratching sound as she wrote. Coyote was once again aware of the silence in the hotel. While the woman scribbled, Coyote reached for her boots, and because she disappeared out of the woman’s view, the lady bent over the counter to see.

With a hard yank, she managed to pull off her right boot under the watchful eye of the Silver Swan’s matron. She stood up and tipped the boot over on the counter, and a few bills spilled out. A small stream of sand and little rocks followed the clattering coins and crispy notes. The lady took the money between her fingertips and wiped the sand off the counter with a look of disdain, but without complaint.

“The only way a thief can take my money is if I am dead.” Coyote flashed another most charming smile, showing all her pearly white top teeth. She cared little for what the woman thought of her; in fact, she delighted in making the landlady feel uncomfortable. The lady had treated Caesar with disrespect, and that was not something Coyote took with kindness.

The woman returned Coyote’s smile with a weak one of her own. She grabbed another large, brass key and handed it over.

“Rooms two and four,” she said, waving them away with her petite hand.

Coyote’s room was sober, a little austere, but it suited her needs. It was small, with a narrow, hard bed, and had the same freshly-scrubbed scent as the lobby. The sheets were clean but felt a little rough to the touch, and they were stretched tightly across the hard mattresses. There was a chair and a table with a basin to wash.

Coyote threw her stuff onto the bed and sat down. It was crucial that whatever she was going to do, she needed do it fast. She did not know how long it would take for word to get around about her arrival. It was important to have the element of surprise as far as that was possible.

She pulled a little brown parcel held together by red string from her bag. Upon unwrapping it, the parcel revealed a very feminine dress, lavender with a pattern of little white roses. A subdued sigh escaped her lips as she undressed. She peeled off the comfortable, dusty, stained clothing, washed her dirty skin, and slipped into the constricting garment.

Her tired fingers pulled apart the strands of hair that were woven together in the two long braids. The hair felt thick and heavy, and stray hairs slid under her fingernails as she worked it. Some time passed before she managed to brush out all the dirt and tangles, but when she was done, her long golden locks shone like soft silk. With deft hands and the aid of a comb and a mirror, she managed to tame her long strands and create a modern hairstyle suitable for a young woman in town. A glance in the mirror, and she felt content. It was difficult to recognize the person who looked back at her from the reflection, and Coyote realized that most men would find her a desirable woman. At least they would when she was dressed like this, as a proper female. The fabric of her dress rustled as she moved, sounding like a gentle wind that swept over a quiet prairie.

With a soft tread, consumed by the new role she was playing, she walked to room number four, Caesar’s room, and knocked on the door.

“Why, sir, would you be so kind as to let a young lady in?” she asked with a Southern accent.

Caesar opened the door and looked surprised. Seeing her dressed as a woman made the corners of Caesar’s dark lips curl up in amusement, and he pushed the door further open, allowing her to step inside. His room was similar to hers, though not as clean. There was still some evidence of the previous occupant, and Coyote could tell that the sheets had not been changed. Caesar wouldn’t mind, though. A bed was a blessing after sleeping on the hard ground for so long.

“Let’s see what we can find out about our friend, Mr. Westwood, shall we?” Coyote gave Caesar a small curtsy, walked through his small hotel room, then looked out the window onto the busy street.

“That is a clever disguise, much better than the dress you wore for Old Man Roberts,” Caesar marveled, and Coyote bobbed her head at him.

“Right now, it’s more functional for me to look like a proper lady.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I told you I did actually own a dress.”