scurlock | oom: heyser, texas

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oom: heyser, texas

The following Sunday's church service in Heyser went along in a manner that was relatively similar to the week prior - the parishioners gawked, the pastor gave Samuel looks before (and after) the sermon, Katherine glared at anyone and everyone who dared to stare and the boys sat side-by-side in that pew not giving a damn.

(Jay still wanted to hurt Crocker's boys, but since they'd stayed away from the Barlow property, he didn't have the same urges as he'd had the week before.)

He hadn't really been paying attention to the date, even though that was one of the reasons he'd headed to Green Lake instead of heading further west out of Wichita. He'd been so wrapped up in the week's worth of work he hadn't been keeping track. With his shoulder still healing, he kept to chores that weren't all that labor intensive.

Katherine seemed to keep closer to the house, too.

After the service broke up, the boys milled outside before they all headed into town. Samuel needed supplies, and the rest of them split up. Someone to fetch the post, another to check the stores, Jay wanted more cigarettes (even though he'd been smoking less than he had in years, the last few weeks). It was a quiet Sunday morning.

For the time being, anyway.

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There was a small crowd around the entrance to the apothecary, which wasn't exactly a common sight. Not even for a Sunday. People were murmuring and pushing one another -- obviously something was going on.

Eventually, Tom comes bursting out from among the crowd, a newspaper in one hand while his other holds onto his hat. His eyes are huge as he searches out the first familiar face he can find.

"Holy shit! Pat Garrett's killed Billy the Kid!"

Jay hears the words.

Pat Garrett's killed Billy the Kid

And he's already moving towards Tom, and he nods at the paper. "Let me see that." It's a request, and he manages to keep the shake out of his voice. It's not long before the other boys are gathering around.

They're close enough to the wagon to draw the attention of Samuel and Katherine, just leaving the general store together. They come closer, inquiring as to what's going on.

His eyes skim the paper once Tom hands it over, and he folds it slightly to read the page - front page, with an illustration, hell the Kid made it above the fold for Christ's sake - before he starts reading out loud.

"Lincoln County. Sources report that notorious outlaw William H. Bonney, also know as Billy the Kid, was shot and killed by the Sheriff Patrick Garrett on the night of July 14th, 1881. It has been confirmed that Bonney was killed by a gunshot wound to the back, while witnesses advise that the outlaw was cornered in the the residence of a Mr. Pete Maxwell,"

I know Pete.

"And that only one shot was fired to send the Kid to his grave."

Katherine starts and straightens at the names, pulling slightly from her father's arm so she can see the paper.

She fixes her gaze on the illustration as Jay continues to read.

"One shot...means the Kid didn't see him."

He continues reading.

"Bonney was interred at the cemetery in Old Fort Sumner, an audience of locals, with Sheriff Garrett attending. Also present were the other who had relentlessly worked alongside the lawman to track down the other members of the Kid's gang and bring them to Justice..."

Jay shakes his head slightly.

"That ain't justice... he shot him in the back! Only a coward could--"

"Katie."

Katherine purses her lips together, lowering her gaze from the paper.

The rest of the boys cluck and whistle, shaking their heads and muttering in disbelief.

"One shot... the famous gunslinger, damn near untouchable, took down with one shot."

Samuel clears his throat quietly, as a warning against any further cussing.

"Says he's rumored to be writin' a book..." Jay scoffs in disgust and shakes his head again.

Let the dead rest, you tail-turnin' son of a bitch.

He taps the paper. "You know Garrett used to ride with the Kid? They was like pals. That ain't justice, turnin' on your friends like that, for money." He passes it off to another one of the men, whatever hand is reaching for it. "Then to go writin' 'bout killin' him?"

S'bullshit, that's what it is.

"That right?"

"No shh--kidding?"

Katherine blinks up at him with wide, blue eyes, inquisitive and sincere.

"Did you know Garrett, too?"

Jay glances up at her, grey-green eyes locking onto clear blue ones.

"We wasn't pals," he says simply, and he shakes his head, glancing back at the newspaper. "Didn't meet him personally but..."

He lets out a slightly chagrined laugh, shaking his head, hand going to the back of his neck. "I gotta...thing for them five cent books and the dime novels they've been writin' 'bout him for years. They ain't all truth but...there's some in there, if y'can find the good ones."

Her eyes, if it be at all possible, grow wider with his words.

(That might be a quiet groan from her father in the background.)

"Really?" she enthuses, voice bright. "How do you know what's a good one?"

Samuel's hand comes down on his daughter's shoulder. "I think it's about time we started heading back. Boys!"

He whistles sharp to get everyone's attention.

"Well, y'gotta..."

He trails off when Samuel whistles, and he glances sidelong at Katherine when her father turns his head.

Later.

It wins him a soft blush, and a broad grin, before she tips her head down.

At length, Samuel manages to get his hands wrangled together. Once they're all back on the wagon, heading out of town, conversation about the famous outlaw and his infamous end continues between the boys.

Unsurprisingly, quite a number of their questions end up directed at Jay.

Jay climbs up into the wagon first, and settles in near the front.

(This is so Katherine will be within earshot of at least his parts of the conversation, but he'll never admit that to a soul.)

It's really no surprise that the questions fly at him. He answers as best he can, without giving too many personal details away...but everyone knows that the Kid's the best shot in the west and there was no way in heck that he'd go down if Garrett had given him a fair shake...

No one suspects other than just what Jay has told them. He met the kid in a bar once, back before he was famous. But, given a traveling man like Jay is, and just the thought of him being in the Kid's presence, is enough to stoke their curiosity.

"It's a terrible shame when another man is cut down," comes Samuel Barlow's rich, smooth voice. It immediately cuts through the din, and respectfully every other voice goes silent.

"Especially a young man, barely old enough to lift a pipe."

That's all he really has to say on the matter.

The rest of the ride back to the estate goes along quietly.

"He was only twenty-one," Jay comments, before he shakes his head. "Shame."

Garrett, you goddamn cowardly bastard.

But he keeps quiet for the rest of the ride back to the estate, settled there in the wagon, watching the passing landscape while his thoughts wander.

Once back on the farm, the boys all split up for what remains of their chores. Though, given the lively conversation between Tom, Joe, and John (who still has the newspaper), chores aren't really on their minds.

Jim and the boss head out after a while, to take a ride through the property and do some hunting.

Miss Katherine eventually finds herself in a peach tree, reading one of those paperback serials. She is still wearing her skirts, but the crooked branches are low enough to the ground that it looks almost like she's using the tree as a hammock.

He takes care of the rest of his chores in short order (there really isn't all that much to do) and it's when he's grabbing a drink of water that he spots her over in that tree, curled up with what looks to be a book.

Jay ignores the smile that curls at his lips and masks it with another drink of water, before he pulls his hat off and combs his hair back slightly, with damp fingers. As he walks over, he reaches for his notebook, and tucks the pencil behind his ear, taking notes as he walks.

He can totally check on the peach crop.

She doesn't notice him at first. She has always been a very focused reader -- especially when it's something she is invested in. But, eventually, birds shift and flap away with the approaching sounds of sand crunching under boots, and it stirs her from her fantasy world.

Blue eyes smile at him briefly, though her face stays neutral. Because she's still totally reading that book, of course.

"Which one's that?"

He stands near a nearby tree and inspects a leaf, then ducks his head slightly to peer through the branches, looking at the fruit hanging on the branches.

She gets a slight glance to the side, but his focus is on that tree, of course.

Of course.

The barest glimmer of that smile finally reaches her lips (which she purses together shyly), and she lifts the book slightly so he can see the cover.

Calamity Jane: Terror of the Wild West.

Her blue eyes search him out for approval.

He turns a little towards her to read the cover of the book, then lets out a low, approving whistle.

"That's an awful good one," he replies, with a sharp, concise nod of his head as he moves closer to the tree, reaching up to study the fruit on a branch near him. "She's a character, s'for sure."

She finally smiles in earnest.

"You think?" she smirks, turning back to the page. "'When four desperadoes, attracted by the glow of her cigar, leaped at her from ambush, she rode them down, amid "howls of pain and rage, and curses too vile to repeat here," and galloped away unharmed, whooping like a Comanche'."

She giggles a little, leaning her head back against the branch.

"I like her."

He tips his head back slightly, pushing his hat up on his brow with a fingertip, before he reaches for that pencil behind his ear and flips his notebook open.

"Ain't too many female heroines you git these days, most stories are 'bout the menfolk," he admits, glancing around the tree to 'count' the ripened fruit, and see how many still need a bit of time. "I gotta whole collection of 'em, all sorts."

"So you were tellin' me," she grins, closing her book (after folding a corner, to keep her place).

She swings her legs down, sitting upright with her arms curled around the branches for support, and regards him with keen interest.

"All's you were sayin' about Mr. Billy the Kid... was it true?" she asks.

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