Unbury Carol(36)

He didn’t see the wide-eyed man who now followed the mare, step for step, bumping into people on the boardwalk, knocking one man’s papers to the planks.

Is it him? Rinaldo thought. Is it possible he’s here?

It had been over a decade since he’d seen him. But a hero is always recognizable to those who adore him. Rinaldo saw the face from Abberstown hovering above the blood-red shirt Moxie wore.

Moxie continued, slow for the traffic of bodies, multicolored coaches parked in front of the saloons and hotels, and other riders, heading south, having already had their fun. The sounds of the townsfolk were soothing, the loneliness of the ride exposed therein, and Moxie allowed his mind to be carried by it, hidden inside, as the mare took his body through the revelry. He didn’t hear it, then, when the little man called to him from the dust rising from the hooves and boots in the road.

“James Moxie!”

The outlaw rode slowly through the gay streets. If anybody other than Rinaldo cared to study them, Moxie and the mare might look out of place after all…a tiny one-man cortège, gray and dusty brown, the farthest point of an unseen procession.

“James Moxie!”

Now Moxie did hear the excited voice but did not address the man who it belonged to. Griggsville was too easy a place to get stuck in.

“Mister Moxie! James Moxie!”

The outlaw felt tugging at his boot and he looked down, his eyes blazing. Rinaldo removed his hand fast.

The awe he felt was paralyzing. But he found motion with his mouth.

“My name is Rinaldo! I need to speak with you! It is very urgent we speak!”

“I’m only passing through,” Moxie said. And his voice was saloon doors creaking closed.

“You must! We must speak for a moment! I have news for you!”

Moxie kept his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s about you!” Rinaldo thought of Liliana, shooing him and his fancies away. “It’s about you and the men who are after you!”

“No men are after me.”

“Yes…yes they are! I delivered the telegram myself!”

Moxie, his idol, looked down at him again and stopped the mare. The Griggsville bustle went on, people passed, voices tangled in bliss.

“Tell me more, Rinaldo.”

Rinaldo breathed heavily. James Moxie had just spoken his name.

“Please,” Rinaldo said, his lungs burning. “Let’s not talk in the middle of the road.”

“I’ve no time to waste.”

“I won’t waste your time.”

Moxie, feeling the dirt road and flow of traffic continuing now without him, feeling the pinch of time lost, the clock that ticked beside a sleeping Carol, followed Rinaldo to the side of the road.

“I didn’t realize the message I was delivering,” Rinaldo said, speaking fast, wiping his forehead dry with a handkerchief from his pocket. “A bad man gave it to me.”

An old couple stepped to the side, avoiding the pair. Moxie, still upon his horse, asked, “What did the telegram say?”

Rinaldo swallowed.

“It said you were in Mackatoon. On your way to Harrows I believe. It said to Send the Cripple.”

Moxie looked back to the road, his eyes distant, considering.

Animated, Rinaldo continued, “The man who gave me the telegram, he was no good, James Moxie. You must believe me.”

The street felt too crowded for Moxie then. The sun too hot. Hotter than when he passed under the great wire letters. And within this sudden disorientation, Moxie understood that what the little man was telling him had much bigger implications than he knew.

If someone was tracking him, someone had hired the man to do so.

Who?

“Who gave you this telegram, Rinaldo?”

“A man named Mutton. He—”

“Where did it come from? What town? Harrows?”

The Griggsville heat came down hard. Sweat fell from the outlaw’s face. The brim of Moxie’s hat blocked the sun above, and in his silhouette Rinaldo saw two burning white eyes, teeth clenched.

He felt he must answer this question.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t know where the telegram came from.

“I’m sorry—”

Moxie was long quiet, then said, “Thank you for your help, Rinaldo.”

Rinaldo, relieved, slapped the mare on her side.

“You are welcome, James Moxie! Man of magic!”

Moxie, lost in the future, the past, and the present, too, responded quietly, “There was no magic, Rinaldo.”

Rinaldo did not hesitate to respond.

“Oh, that isn’t true. I saw it. I was there.”

“There was no magic.”

“I wish you could stay. You could take lodging with my family and me. You could show me how the Trick was done?”

“I thank you again, Rinaldo.”

Then he kicked the mare and guided her back into traffic.

Rinaldo, overwhelmed, watched him go.

“Be safe, Moxie!”

Then as Moxie fell from view, as he was too far for Rinaldo to reach, Rinaldo felt a sudden pang of terror.

“Oh, no! I didn’t tell him that the triggerman’s name is Smoke!”

He imagined Liliana again, wagging a finger. Maybe Moxie knew Smoke. Could spot him if he knew who was coming.