Every day has its end. Every train, its final station. For the natives of Highland, they knew when it was time to stop. Life in the town had fallen into a familiar pattern: as the sun continued its hurried descent from the sky, what little activity continued onwards began to find their conclusion. Shops closed. Doors shut. The frantic movement from business to home could not be obfuscated by a certain Mr. James' cheerful whistle, and his wife struggled to keep pace with his long stride in spite of the tight grip on her arm.
Things had yet to end near the stables.
The punch glanced and skittered off Wicks' granite-like skin like a rubber ball springing from a brick wall. The flesh moved minutely; with a hard sniff, Wicks' face appeared once again untouched. Though he had indeed cajoled the man into action, something like disappointment lay on his face.
"Shoulda shot me." He chuckled darkly, the light in his eyes temporary. "Man, you shoulda shot me."
He raised a large, life-ending fist-
"HOLD IT!"
The sheriff's voice boomed towards them with sudden urgency. As the calvary rushed upon them in a clattering of hooves and shouts, a taut smile graced Wicks' face. He lowered his arm; as Sheriff Cotting and his unnamed associate scaled the fence quickly, the black man, with feigned demureness, stepped aside and let the other two step in.
It appeared there was another townsperson to rival Wicks in size. The white man who came to lean lazily against the fence was both tall and wide, stocky in a sense of unmeasured strength barely concealed by his buttoned vest, long black pants, and dark overcoat. But where Wicks' features stayed twisted into a constant scowl, the other's face displayed a bland neutralness entirely disproportionate to the tension hanging in the air. The sheriff was made small standing between the two of them, but he was certainly the most dangerous: in his hand was raised a long and silver pistol, and its point aimed straight for Jorge's heart.
The old man appeared incensed.
"To think I let you into my town," He said through gritted teeth. "And you've got a warrant after ya. A
warrant. If it weren't for the wanted sheet on my desk, I might've put you up in the Inn too."
He spat off to the side.
"Samuel!"
"Sure thing."
Detaching himself from the fence, Samuel approached Jorge with a slow gait. A pair of silver handcuffs hung loosely from his fingers.
As he forcibly placed the Mexican's hands through the slots, he spoke, his voice deep and languid.
"Wicks, why didn't you shoot him?"
Wick's eyes cut to Cotting, but he said nothing. Samuel tracked the movement, and he gave a knowing nod of the head, returning his eyes down to Jorge's hands. With a satisfying
clink, the cuffs locked up around the man's wrists, and Samuel winked at Jorge.
"You ought to feel lucky, boy. Between him and Angel, Wicks here's one of the fastest draws in Highland. Ain't never seen nothing like it."
The soft
tuh that came out of Mr. Wicks's lips was like the snorting of a horse. Chuckling at the man's ignorant dismissal, Samuel grabbed his prisoner roughly by the arm, and Wicks grabbed the other.
"C'mon. Let's get you squared away in a cell. You've got a nice, hot meal waiting for you…"
Along the way, a Mr. Marcus Taylor was collected as well. For all his eagerness to help, the young man had appeared stricken by Father Mac's line of questioning.
"Well, Father, maybe...maybe a pack of wolves or a, uh, a cougar-" He swiped the hat from his head, and long brown locks were pushed back and away from his sweating forehead. "Father, look, I-"
A shrill whistle beckoned him to the sheriff's side. Glancing frantically from the group of men to the priest then back, the young man swallowed, backing away slowly.
"I'll get you a new horse tomorrow, Father. I swear on my mother's grave. Just…I'll see after the horse. Better get on home, alright?"
With that, he turned and hurried away, catching up to the trio of men and the prisoner in their hold.
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At the Saloon, the send-off for Henrietta was just as dismissive, if not far more abrasive. The young woman had earned an appreciative nod from Ms. Whitacur. A small smile graced the old saloon owner's face.
"Heh. Guess you're not as addled in the head as I thought. Clever girl."
Her hands sought out the legs of a bar stool, and she dragged it towards her, sitting upon it in a slow manner fitting to her age. She took her sweet time speaking again.
"Yeah, that was him." Gnarled fingers reached for the last bottle of liquor left on the countertop. Pouring herself a drink, she glanced sideways at Henrietta. The other question the girl had asked still hung in the air. Ms. Whitacur appeared to mull over it a bit, and she took a sip from her drink.
"Come back for work tomorrow," the old woman finally grunted, setting her glass down. "Put the damn mop down; I'll finish up."
Should Henrietta object, she would find the woman entirely obstinate. There was little choice left but to go to the Inn, where both the promise of meals and a good rest awaited her…
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With every newcomer - save the unfortunate Jorge - comfortably situated at the Inn, the meal was laid out in a humble fashion. Despite its bland appearance, the stew served was surprisingly delicious. Eliza proved to be an attentive hostess.
All attempts to give payment to her were vehemently rebuffed. The girl talked so fast that even native English speakers might have had trouble understanding her, but at length the general gist of her words became clear: the mayor had opted to cover their first night there. He was apparently a very generous man.
Apparently, Eliza mocked in a bullying way mastered by adolescents.
When their meals were finished, each customer was taken to their private rooms. Much like David's room, the furnishings were simple, yet adequate. In Moses' room in particular, he would find a note and a key laying upon his bed. The paper smelled faintly of coal, and the writing upon it was cryptic and jagged:
KEEPSAKE FOR THE KEEPER
There was nothing left to read on it.
Outside, the day waned. Night blanketed the streets of Highland in a thick darkness. Perhaps the last to be seen on the out and about was Sheriff Cotting. He was still at his post at the Highland's jail when Eliza came running with two wrapped meals: one for Jorge, and one for her Pa, as she so excitedly called Cotting upon laying eyes on him. Together, father and daughter made their way down the streets, and at long last, Highland fell into a deep and restful silence.
So ended the newcomer's first day in Highland.
@Red Thunder @Hamlowe @Applo @Doctor Jax @Mobley Eats
