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Chapter 1- post932562.html
Chapter 2- topic89784.html
Chapter 3- topic90002.html
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Chapter 4
Vertigo clearly wasn’t waiting for anybody. He ran in. Everett gathered his wits and followed him. Their stuff was sitting on a shelf. Everett grabbed his gun, after squinting in the dark for it, and his small leather satchel, which his swung around his shoulder and sprinted out after Vertigo. There was a commotion behind them, running steps and voices. But he couldn’t turn back to see what was up. He ran with all his might. One thing he was confident of. His speed.
As they neared the stables, Vertigo pulled out a gun, and after yelling a “Yeehaw!”, let out a shot.
He had hit the lock of the stable door perfectly. A crack shot. Everett didn’t have time to marvel at his accuracy. They came into the dim stable. A solitary oil lamp sat in the corner, almost dead. Everett scooped it up and searched for TJ.
He found his horse in the back of the stable, looking surprised. The other horses were neighing and waking up. TJ wasn’t a scared horse. He was used to getting his saddle thrown on at the drop of a hat and riding out for his and Everett’s life. Which is what Everett did. He found his saddle and bags in the corner, threw everything on as fast as he could while still actually getting the horse ready and mounted in one motion of leg and arm and torso, body pumping with adrenaline.
Vertigo and his horse, a huge midnight beauty, were ahead. The outlaw had opted to climb on bare back with his things thrown over the horse’s neck, holding on for dear life. They rode out of the stable.
There were gun shots behind them. Everett bent low over TJ’s brown mane, holding on as he didn’t have enough time to getting the reigns fixed. Under him, hooves thundered. He felt the horse’s powerful body gallop, the way it moved. It was the only thing between him and certain death.
Vertigo whooped and hollered like an Indian, clearly used to riding bareback, his legs hugging the horses fit body tightly. His long, curly hair flew behind him, his hat pressed under his things to keep it from flying off.
“Off the road, kid!” he yelled, and turned his horse sharply to the left. There was a rocky area to the left, under the hills. Clearly, this is where he was headed. Everett had a look at the town as they turned. Lights were lighting up in town, and there were people in the streets. He could hear horses hooves and gunshots. Mayhem.
There would be a manhunt, he thought as they rode. Suddenly, he wondered what kind of crime Vertigo had actually committed. If it was bad enough, everyone west of the Mississippi would be looking for them. He made a mental note to ask Vertigo this. Carefully.
They rode on for a while. Could have been hours. Could have been minutes. It felt like a while, but Everett wasn’t counting the minutes. At some point, Everett reasoned, the horses would get tired. He just hoped Vertigo knew this too. They rode into a small valley between the rocks. It was pitch dark now, they were far from town.
“‘Round here!” Vertigo said sharply from ahead of him, and swung around a particularly large rock. Everett did the same, TJ slowing down to fit between the large rock and the hill. It was a tight squeeze, but the pair made it through.
He stopped his horse when he saw that Vertigo had stopped his own horse and jumped off. Everett slid off.
“Okay, kid.” Vertigo said, digging around in his saddle bags. “We’re lying low for the night. One of us takes watch, the other sleeps. We switch off every hour. Your gun’s loaded, right?”
“Yes.” Everett said, feeling the handle of the pistol in his holster. It was nice to have it there. Reassuring.
“If you hear ‘em, wake me up and we’re out of here, or we hide. Got it.”
“Uh, yeah,” Everett said, looking at the outlaw who was now loading his gun. He knew they couldn't risk a fire for the smoke or even a lantern for the light. He was awfully cold, he suddenly realized.
“You’re first watch.” Vertigo said, saddling his horse.
“Wait a second.” Everett said, holding up his palms. He was in the middle of fumbling with the clasps on the saddle.
It was hard to do in the dark. He turned to the outlaw. “I don’t know anything about you.”
“What’s there to know?” Vertigo asked, pulling out another cigarette and leaning his back on his horse.
“Well,” Everett frowned. “Who are you? Why are were you being hanged? Why are you helping me?”
“Hmmhm.”
Vertigo lit up and crossed his arms.
“Name’s Julian Vertigo. You know that. Or have ya forgot?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten.” Everett corrected stubbornly. “Why were you being hanged?”
“That’s my business.”
“I think I deserve to know.”
“Well, I think ya don’t. Close yer mouth, kid. You look like a trout.”
Everett frowned. He blew off steam by saddling his horse.
“Ever heard of the Black Hill Band?”
Everett nodded.
“Of course.” They were one of the baddest gangs out there. For the little Everett knew about gangs, he knew that the Black Hill Band was a mean group of outlaws.
Vertigo sighed and simultaneously exhaled a plume of smoke.
“Do you know anything about the Black Hill Band?”
“Not much.” Everett admitted.
“They’re named after the rocks out here. ‘Cuz their black at night. A natural black, no city lights. I run with them. Well, I run with a lot of people, they’re just one."
“Where are they?”
“Dunno. Probably somewhere, not caring what happens to me.”
Everett watched Vertigo’s horse’s tail twitch for a minute.
“Are they gonna come look for you?” he asked. He didn’t want to get involved in a gang like the Black Hill. They were bad, and more importantly, they didn’t care. Gangsters had no morals, that’s something everyone knew. Everett suddenly realized just how dangerous Vertigo people were.
“They’ll be a big bounty on your head.” he remarked.
“Damn right.” Vertigo said, exhaling smoke. He patted his horses nose. “This is Ace, by the way. Don’t try to get on him. He’ll buck you off faster than you can say “Fire in the hole”.”
Everett made a mental note to stay away from Vertigo’s horse.
“My horse is named TJ.”
“What’s that stand for? Texas Junction?”
“No.” Everett finished setting up the saddle. “Thomas Jefferson.”
Vertigo looked confused.
“Third president of these United States.”
“Right.” Vertigo shook his head like trying to figure out why anyone would name their horse after a president. “Like I said, you’ve got first watch.”
And he pulled out a bedroll and made camp right there against the stone. Everett stood there for a while, not sure what to do. A quiet snore came from Vertigo’s direction. Everett leaned up against the rough stone near them and slid down to a sitting position. Another hour of the waiting game. He realized he should be tired, but wasn’t.
When the hour finally came, however, he fell into a troubled sleep very soon. He was now an outlaw and a criminal, with a price on his head to boot, he thought right before he fell asleep. How would he get by now?
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