Rawhide Chronicles: Red Rock

Red Rock
         The noon Secopasian sun burned overhead as he dug. Like most of the rest of Secopais, Red Canyon was nestled in the middle of a heat wave. It showed no sign of dissipating any time soon, and monsoon season was supposed to start in a week. With the increase in humidity coupled with the scorching heat – life would be hell.
         Especially for Clint Marshall.
         He jammed his shovel into the red dirt again, this time hitting wood. He threw the shovel on the ground and knelt, scooping out dirt with his hands. When he had uncovered the chest, he removed his gloves and sat against the near rock face. He took a brass key out of his vest pocket, and unlocked the chest. Inside, there was a plain burlap sack.
         It clinked as Clint removed it. He put it into his pack, then slung it onto his mule. The animal snorted. Clint closed and locked the empty chest, then buried it again.
         As he mounted the mule, there was a sudden rustle above him. His eyes shot to the top of the rock face.
         “Well, hello, mister Marshall! Ready for another job?”
         Atop the rock face stood ‘Rawhide’ Cáit Cadera. Her red hair was streaming out from behind her hat, blazing in the sunlight. She wore her characteristic Secopasian drape over her vest. She had her pistol pointed at him.
         “It’s too damned hot for another assignment, Cáit.”
         “I don’t think so, Clint. I just chased a man through the Das Maran. This might as well be a glacier to that valley of death. Besides, don’t you want your pay?”
         “Money isn’t everything, Cáit. It’s nothing more than – Do you have to point your gun at me?”
         She kept her aim.
         “Money isn’t everything? I do believe that's something I’ve never heard outta your mouth, Clint. Wasn’t money everything when you drew down on Alcade Marshall? Or did your daddy want you to shoot him?”
         Clint glared at her. She had no right dredging that up again!
         “That’s in the past, Cadera. I don’t want to participate in your vengeance crusade anymore.”
         Cáit’s sigh echoed over the rocks.
         “Do you really want to betray me, Clint? I know your secret, remember? I’m sure Alcade Lemmon would be very interested to know who killed his predecessor.”
         “You wouldn’t. I know your secret.”
         Cáit smirked. “Is that supposed to scare me, Clint? What I actually have done is nothing compared to what I’m being accused of on wanted posters everywhere. Your information would be no more than rain in a river.”
         Clint scratched his beard. “Even so, Cáit, a little rain can turn a river into a flood.”
         Cáit nodded slightly. “True enough.”
         There was a silence, and a short breeze blew through. Cáit involuntarily closed her eyes as dust flew in them. Clint took the chance to grab for his pistol. Cáit cocked hers even as he aimed at her. She glared at him.
         “Nice try, Clint.”
         She paused.
         “So it seems we’ve come to an impasse. What to do?”
         Clint glared at her. Cáit glared back. The sun grew dimmer as evening approached. The rocks surrounding them went crimson in the sunlight.
         Suddenly, Clint’s mule decided it was tired. It dropped to the ground, and Clint tumbled backwards. His pistol went off. The bullet streaked over Cáit’s shoulder as the echo resounded through the canyon. Cáit didn’t flinch, but kept her pistol and her green-eyed gaze on him.
         “I have the advantage, Clint. Either you take the job or I shoot you now. I don’t have any more time to waste on you. Decide!”
         He looked to her pistol, and then to her face. He sighed.
         “Where is it?”
         Cáit smiled.
         “East, near the Kel Varan border. In the town of Cearn. There’s a man there, named Cliff Townshenge. His cronies call him Piebald, or Skunkface, on account of his black and white beard. He runs the fixed gambling circuit in Cearn, and the surrounding area for 30 miles.”
         Clint took a deep breath.
         “And what do you want me to do?”
         “The same as always. Get my information, then kill him. When you’ve done that, come back here and get your pay. If you do well, I’ll give you an extra gold coin or two.”
         “And how do I get there? Do you have a map?”
         “Don’t need a map. Just follow the Salt until you get to Picacho Peak. Then turn northwest and follow-”
         She cut off as the sound of hoofsteps approached the canyon.
         “This way!” someone shouted.
         Cáit finished her directions quickly. “Follow the stagecoach route. It’ll take you directly there. Now, get outta here!”
         With that, she dashed away into the sunset.
         Clint stood his mule back up and got back on it. He rode out of the canyon.

         Cáit watched from her hiding place as Clint rode out of the canyon. Immediately afterwards, a patrol of Green soldiers rode by her, directly for the sound of Clint’s mule.
         She couldn’t allow him to be captured. He knew too much, and the military had hungry ears. She drew her pistol, drew down on Clint, and drew blood. Clint fell to the ground. His mule kept running. A few minutes later, the patrol found him.
         Cáit mounted her horse and flew north.

         Clint lay on the ground gasping for breath. Cáit had done this to him. Despite her promises of money, she had shot him. He was dying. But Cáit would pay. It would be the last thing he did. But she would pay. He looked up at the sound of horses, and saw a Greencoat patrol approaching him.
         “Help me,” he gurgled. “I know who killed Alcade Marshall!”

         A week later, as Cáit rode into Bannerpole in northern Secopais, a wanted poster of her caught her attention. The list of charges had grown. She went to look at what else she’d been accused of. She was shocked to read them
         Two more charges had been added to the list, but these overshadowed the rest.
         Two (2) counts of murder – Alcade Ken Marshall, and his son, Clint Marshall.
         It was no longer safe to be seen in large towns. She went to fetch her horse, and sped out of town. Clint had been right. A little rain can make a lot of river.