Western Omelette

A Haunting Past

Alicia stood in front of the hotel, a tiny parasol resting on her shoulder and her luggage at her feet. She saw Hoke exit the saloon and walk woodenly up the street toward the Sheriff's office. Stepping down onto the street, she called after him, receiving no reaction, which stirred her ire.

Gathering her dress, she began a determined march after him, calling his name every few steps, the anger growing over his apparent obliviousness.

Hoke had just entered the office and was about to speak with the sheriff when the door flew open again, and Alicia stomped in, red-faced.

"Mister Easterly! I do not take well to being so blatantly ignored." He looked at her frowning, mouth open. "You were to make arrangements for me on the next stage, and nothing has been done. I demand an explanation."

"Uh, did you folks have business with me, 'cause--" The sheriff stood from his desk, hands in the air.

"My business is with him!" Alicia pointed her parasol dangerously close to Hoke's stomach.

"Hoke?" The sheriff tried.

Something nudged his mind, and he snapped back from the thoughts the gunman's name had prompted.

". . . Uhh, yeah. Listen, Alicia, something came up and- and- that's why I'm here. I meant to get your ticket, I did, but--"

"Just why are you here, Hoke?" The sheriff came around and stood between the pair.

"Montgomery's hired a gun to get the land."

"You sure. That's a pretty bold move."

"Excuse me, I want to know what's happening with my--"

"It's Theo Houseman." Hoke said, ignoring Alicia's words.

"Houseman!" The sheriff sloped back to the desk, leaning on his knuckles.

"Could we please leave this Houseman person to the side for a moment until my transport has been secured?" The parasol jabbed the floor with emphasis.

The sheriff turned and stared at her a moment with mixed feelings, then calmed himself and took her by the arm, leading her to the door.

"Ma'am, you wait by the hotel and I will personally see that you are on the next stage. Right now, Hoke and I have some serious matters to discuss."

"Serious! Are mine trifling then?" Alicia countered, failing to prevent her exit and dismissal.

"Feisty, ain't she," he said closing the door.

"It's mostly my fault, but that's another story. Houseman is the one I want to talk about."

Both men sat, the sheriff at his desk, and Hoke on a chair at the side.

"What's Pinkerton say?"

"I haven't spoken to them yet. He isn't on their want list. That's why I'm here."

"I only have old notices from Wildhook. He ain't been this far north as far as I know."

"But he's still wanted, right?" The hesitation told Hoke all he would need to know. "Can you at least speak to Montgomery? Maybe convince him he's breakin' the law."

"He ain't yet." The sheriff avoided his eyes.

Hoke considered the man for a moment, then stood and headed for the door.

"Don't do nuthin' foolish I need to arrest you for, Hoke. You don't want to be makin' trouble."

"I ain't yet." The door slammed behind him.

****

Alicia lifted her chin and looked away from her perch on the bench as he approached, slowing to compose his words properly.

"I have your ticket," he said holding out the piece of paper and waiting.

She turned and looked at him, from the ground up, intimating her disappointment, then accepted the ticket.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Alicia. I got some bad news and my attention was elsewhere."

"That Houseman man?" Her voice softened, watching his expression.

He nodded, sitting beside her without asking.

Her head tilted in silent question, and he sighed, closing his eyes.

"'Member I told you about Montgomery wanting my land?

"Yes. Is that what this is about?"

"He's hired a gunman to get that done."

Alicia sat silently, feeling foolishly selfish in light of his described situation. Eventually she looked over to see him sitting with his head back against the wall, eyes closed.

"What about your people, the Pinktertons?"

"Busy guarding railroads and battling labour unions. I'm the lone representative out here at the moment. And no, they won't send anyone else until somethin' actually happens."

"That's terrible. How can they just leave you alone here like that?"

He tipped his head forward and smiled wanly. "My land, my fight."

"What did the sheriff say?"

He grunted a chuckle. "In so many words? Your land, your fight."

"That's just not right. He should be--"

"Alicia," Hoke took her hand, "you need to be on that stage and not be thinking about all this anymore. It was a huge mistake I made with Harold, and now is the time to fix it. Go home and have the life you deserve."

His voice was soft and sad, and she swallowed hard, unable to respond through the confusion of thoughts. What was it about this man that made her furious and at the same time worried – and protective? He and Harold had tricked her into coming here as bait in a trap for her relative outlaw, and now when she has called a stop to it, she is uncertain about leaving.

The truth was, she didn't even have to be there. They could have just said she was there . . . or maybe this Tom Horn was a little too smart. The sudden shock of the stage arriving brought her to her feet. What did she think she could do? He needed someone . . . or did she?

"Here we go Miss Simpson."

The formal address focused her attention, and she saw that he had loaded her bags and was holding the stage door. Was this it? Was she leaving for real? She cast about for something to make sense, but there was too much to unscramble, and automatically she took his hand and climbed into the coach.

"Have a safe trip, Alicia. Maybe you could write when you get home. Say hello to Harold and explain what happened about me having to attend to something else."

The driver yelled, and the stage rocked forward, Hoke's face vanishing as it left. She parsed his words, realizing he was taking the blame for ending the plan to capture her uncle, instead of putting it on her.

The stage gained speed as it left town, and she suddenly became aware of two other passengers she had failed to notice. The small elderly woman smiled kindly and looked out the window. The man plumped his lips and touched the brim of his hat, the serious frown discouraged any attempt at conversation. Not that she wanted any. Her thoughts were on Hoke, and his trouble.