Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

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librarian_7
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Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Usual disclaimers…I don’t own Josef. All the plot and the other characters, though, are mine.

Thanks as always to my beta, Lilly, for making my chapter better.



Dust

Chapter 3

Iris clutched at her companion’s arm. “Josef, what are we going to do?”

“First thing, we are going to stay calm,” he replied, putting one gloved hand over hers.

“But my jewelry,” she hissed.

“Can be replaced. As your life cannot. Now be quiet.”

Outside, Weston secured the reins of the team before dropping heavily off the driver’s box, carrying a padlocked metal case. Four men were emerging from the shelter of the felled tree, guns at the ready.

Slade turned around, throwing the strongbox into the dirt before him. “Which of you idiots fired that shot?” he demanded.

One of the men, a weedy looking, dust-grimed blond, spat a stream of tobacco juice into the nearest patch of sagebrush. “What the hell difference does it make?”

Slade took a running step forward, and the force of his fist connecting with the man’s face sent him flying backwards to land cursing. “Because I had it under control, and you could have killed me, Cassidy, you son of a bitch.” He shook the sting of the blow out of his hand.

Cassidy stood up slowly, one hand hovering close to the holster of his pistol. “You’ll pay for that, Weston,” he growled thickly, as he mopped at the blood welling from his split lip.

Another man, his once fair skin rough and permanently reddened from the sun, spoke then, his quiet authority cutting across the tension. “You boys can work that out later. We’ve got business to tend to, now. Cassidy, get up there and hold those horses.”

Weston backed away, but kept a wary eye out for Cassidy as he retrieved his rifle from the driver’s high seat. Roberts, the leader, was a snake at best, and the rest of his men were no better. Cassidy was still spitting blood as he sidled over to grab the reins of one of the lead horses close to the bit.

Roberts took off his hat and swiped a hand across his brow, cradling his rifle in one hand. “All right,” he called, “you folks come on out now. And keep your hands where we can see ‘em.”

Inside the stage, Josef laid a calming hand on the women on either side of him. “Be calm,” he advised them again. “We’ll be robbed, but they don’t want to kill anyone.”

One of the other men pulled a derringer out of the pocket of his coat. “I don’t intend to be robbed.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Josef snapped. “There are five of them—or more. That little toy will just get you dead. And possibly us as well.”

He rose and pushed by their knees to the door, and squinted out into the sunlit afternoon. The morning fog had long since burned away, and the sky was cloudless and unrelenting. This was going to be bad. He pushed the door open and vaulted lightly to the ground, hands carefully spread to his sides. He straightened slowly, whiskey brown eyes taking in the bandits, one by one.

Besides Weston and Cassidy, there were three. Two, nondescript, trail worn men, one old enough to sport grizzled gray whiskers, the other much younger, but with the dead flat gaze of a killer. He caught a whiff of burnt gunpowder from the younger one’s pistol, and knew that Cassidy had taken credit—and the punishment—for a kill this boy not yet out of his teens had surely made. But most of Josef’s attention was drawn by the one front and center, the leader, who stood casually cradling his rifle. Josef looked him up and down, ignoring the deceptively soft gut on the man, and noting the diamond hardness in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen eyes as cold as that, except from time to time, in his own mirror. He smiled pleasantly.

Roberts was taken aback at that smile. This man before him, dressed like some fancy pants gambler, in his black suit and gold-embroidered waistcoat over one of the whitest shirts the bandit had ever seen, should be afraid, or at least wary, of the man holding a gun on him. Instead, he was maintaining a small smile, his eyes watchful but fearless. Poker face, Roberts thought. Had to be. Either that or the man was a fool, and somehow that didn’t seem likely.

“You weren’t the only one in there,” Roberts growled.

“No, of course not.” Josef kept his voice light, amused, as he turned to offer an assisting hand to Mrs. Watkins.

Her eyes were enormous in the depths of her poke bonnet as she laid her hand in his, and he could discern a faint trembling in her fingers against his.

He caught her gaze with his. “Don’t worry, Sally,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine.”

She gave him a curt nod and tightened her grip as she stepped down, her skirts caught in her other hand.

Damn, but the sun was taking a toll already, he thought as he released her hand and shifted his attention. “Miss Beaumont, if you would care to join me.”

Iris appeared in the doorway, a vision in her lilac and mauve gown, her stance serene, her posture aristocratic. The high neck of her gown was clasped with a delicate cameo set in gold. Her hat was a sweet little pile of feathers and lace that hardly seemed substantial enough to hold the gauzy lavender veil that dipped over her eyes. It was an ensemble perfectly suited for a drive down the boulevards of Paris, or on a stroll in one of London’s quiet residential squares, but it, and she, were completely out of place on this frontier road, and everyone was instantly aware of the fact. Her gaze at the leader of the bandits was disdainful, although she favored Josef with a dazzling smile as she took his hand to steady her as she put a tiny cream kid high buttoned boot down to the ground.

“Ease down, pet,” Josef cautioned her in an undertone. “You aren’t going to charm these boys.”

Her smile didn’t waver, although her eyes glittered behind her veil. “I can sure try.”

Josef snorted. “God help them if they assume you’re unarmed,” he whispered drily.

As she took her place beside him, she reached up a dainty lilac-gloved hand to pat her golden hair. “Why thank you, Mr. Constantine. Ever the gentleman.”

Roberts stared at her, a speculative look in his eye, as the other two passengers alit. He had little use for any man who chose to have himself transported in closed wagon. By his lights, a man rode a horse for travelling. Or drove, if something needed hauling. Only women belonged in boxes.

When the passengers were all standing in a row beside the driverless stagecoach, Roberts surveyed them once more before turning his attention to more pressing business. The two women were no threat, although the fancy one, the one he’d immediately pegged in his mind as “the gambler’s whore,” might provide some entertainment, later. As for the men—the gambler likely had a knife in his boot and a derringer in some handy pocket. Men like that usually hid their weapons like the cowards they were. The other two—one had the look of a tradesman, a drummer, perhaps. No threat there. Scared rabbit.

The last one, Roberts studied a moment. Rough clothes and a hard, level look that met the bandit’s eyes without flinching. A failed farmer, perhaps, off to try his luck in the mining camps. Possibly a soldier, in his past. No visible weapons now, though, and no signs of much money, either. Still, such a man probably had a grubstake to set himself up. It wasn’t really what they’d come for, but a search of these bystanders night be worthwhile. Whatever they had would sweeten the pot, as it were.

“Boys,” Roberts said, “keep these good folks in line for me. Weston, drag that strongbox over here.” And he turned his back to pace a few steps away. When Weston had moved the strongbox, they both stared at the lock for a few moments.

“We’re gonna have to shoot that lock off,” Roberts commented.

“Yeah.” Weston sighed and shifted his rifle, intending to draw the Colt riding low on his hip.

Roberts shook his head. “You ain’t done this before. There’s a bit of a trick to it.” He pulled his own pistol, and fired two quick shots not at the lock itself, but at the hasp. Almost before the bullets had whined off into the sage, he’d holstered the gun and pulled a sizeable Bowie knife to finish prying the lock away from the box.

Once it was open, he did a quick search of the contents, shoving aside the currency—all well and good, but not his main object—and rifling through the papers. He swore under his breath.

“Dammit, it’s not here.” He ran through the papers again. “Dammit.”

Slade narrowed his eyes at the outlaw squatted by the open box. “What?” he asked. “What’s so damn valuable that was supposed to be there?”

Roberts looked up, eyes icy. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Weston.” He paused. “You’ve done what you were paid to do. Don’t make yourself a liability.”

Slade shrugged. “Just curious. Seemed like a lot of planning for an ordinary strongbox, is all.”

“Shut up,” Roberts growled. He stood and frowned down at the box. “Get that thing back on the stage. We’ll take the whole kit and caboodle back to the camp with us.”

“What about the passengers?”

Roberts shrugged. “What about them?”

“They can identify us.” Weston was uneasily aware that there was a simple solution for that, and he didn’t like it. Bad enough the driver had been killed. Struggling with the box, he shoved it back up onto the stage, sliding it into its customary spot beneath the driver’s seat. While he’d been busy with the strongbox, one of the outlaws had dragged the driver’s body into the brush, abandoning it just off the road, fodder for whatever animals chose to scavenge it. He thought it was not unlikely he might be in the same position later in the day.

“All right, Weston, quit standing there daydreaming and search these people. We wouldn’t want them to think their valuables weren’t important to us,” Roberts barked. He glared at the other two of his gang. “You men, keep your guard up.”

Slade took a deep breath, and looked down at Sally, his dark blue eyes troubled. “I don’t think this one has any valuables,” he said over his shoulder to Roberts. “She hasn’t got a bean to her name.”

The leader shoved Weston aside, and snatched at the reticule hanging from Sally’s wrist. “She’ll have some travelling money,” he snapped. He upended the little bag over his hand, giving a snort of disgust when he was rewarded with only a few soda crackers. He threw the reticule to the ground. Narrowing his eyes, he parted the edges of her short cloak with one hand, and took in the gentle swell of her belly, evident now even in her heavy skirts. He shook his head, with a nasty smile. “You shoulda stayed home,” he said. “But I know you’ll be smart enough to hand over your cash. Since you have someone else to protect.”

Sally couldn’t help herself. She glanced at Mr. Constantine, and found him watching her, and Roberts. He nodded. She put a hesitant hand to her neck, pulling at the narrow leather thong disappearing into her bodice. She was shaking when the heavy little pouch fell from her neckline, and her fingers trembled as she unknotted the slender cord.

Roberts took the tiny sack of coins, casually weighing it in his hand, listening to the clink of the metal with satisfaction. He shoved it in his pocket, and motioned Slade to search the gambler.

Weston was a little surprised to find no weapons on Constantine, beyond a small penknife. The tall man stood quietly as Slade went through his pockets, although the tension rolling off him was nearly palpable. Slade found a fat note case in an inner breast pocket of Josef’s coat, and tucked it away in his own vest. A gold watch and chain followed. The guard clicked open the watch cover, and found an ivory miniature of a woman within. Closing it, he looked into Josef’s face, and saw that the slight smile was fixed, the eyes wintry.

He had missed something. That was clear. He patted the man’s waistcoat, and felt a faint crackle of paper. Extracting that involved unbuttoning the vest, placing his hand between the embroidered fabric and Constantine’s shirt. Slade frowned. The feel of the flesh beneath the linen was oddly cool to the back of his hand. He dismissed it as his own nerves, and pulled the thin bundle of papers out.

Before Slade had a chance to even glance at the papers, Robert snatched them from his hand, falling back to study them eagerly. “Ah ha,” he said, “now this is interesting.”

Josef arched an eyebrow, expression almost invisible beneath the wide brim of his hat, but said nothing.

“Find what you came for?” Slade asked, not taking his eyes from Josef’s face. One of these days, curiosity was going to do him in, he knew. But it couldn’t be helped, it was his nature.

“Let’s just say, it may do as a substitute.” Roberts shuffled the papers, trying to make full sense of the contents. “Looks like you’re a rich man, Mr. Constantine.”

Josef shrugged. “More than some, less than others,” he replied.

Roberts advanced, putting his face scant inches away from Josef’s. “You are,” he said softly, “going to sign these letters of credit over to me, aren’t you?”

The response was a smile. “I don’t believe I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, the minute I sign, my life becomes useless to you. And I’m not quite done yet.” He paused. “And besides, unless those are signed by me in the presence of witnesses at a bank—a bank which already has a certified copy of my signature on file, I might add—they’re worthless.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roberts snarled. “These are money—good as money, anyhow.”

Slade thought he could see traces of something in Constantine’s eyes, that same quality that had caused him to back off the night before. Something darker and stronger than anything he’d run across in a life that had taken him into some pretty dark corners. But when the man spoke, his voice was light, amused.

“It’s almost worthwhile to tell you to go ahead and try it, see what happens,” Josef said. “Of course there is that little problem of not being around to witness the look on your face when they arrest you for attempted fraud.”

Josef thought he could sense the spike of adrenaline even before he could smell it. He’d known it since his earliest days as a vampire, that acrid stink humans seemed to generate whenever they were ready to flee, or to attack. He’d never heard a name for it, but he knew it. And he knew Roberts wasn’t about to turn tail.

He sighed inwardly, knowing this promised to be painful, knowing he was not in a position to reveal himself. Roberts couldn’t hurt him, unless he permitted it, but the women deserved better than death in the hot dust of this lonely road.

When the rifle butt swung down at the side of his face, he was ready for it, not fighting it, riding the pressure down to the ground. He moaned, clapping his hands to his head, pretending unconsciousness. He could tell, though, from the movement of the dry air, that Roberts was swinging back, preparing to take another strike at him. Josef knew he couldn’t let it hit, couldn’t be seen to survive a blow that would kill a human. He’d have to roll out of the way, have to move just enough to make it believable.

And then, things happened faster than he anticipated. As the rifle butt swung, Slade moved to intercept Roberts’ arm. “Don’t be a fool,” he cried. “We need him alive.” He grabbed—and missed.

At the same time, Iris, unable to bear watching Josef attacked, screamed and jumped forward to protect him, putting herself into the path of Roberts’ swing. Josef looked up just in time to see the rifle butt connect with her temple, and hear the sound of the horrible dull thud of the bone giving way. His eyes flashed to silver as she crumpled soundlessly to the ground, and he surged forward.

Sally shrank back against the wheel of the stagecoach, her view blocked by Slade’s tall figure. She couldn’t see the drummer pull the ridiculous little derringer from his coat pocket, hoping to take advantage of the distraction. She only heard the shot ring out as the younger of Roberts’ henchmen almost casually put a bullet through the foolish man’s chest. He fell, eyes lifeless before he hit the ground, and the blood rolled from the corner of his mouth to make a tarry black pool in the roadbed as it soaked into the dust.

She never knew what—if any—wrong move the other man made, but the boy giggled, and his gun barked again, and there was another dying man on the ground. Then he swiveled to train his sights onto Josef.

“Mr. Constantine, don’t!” she gasped. “They’ll kill you, too.”

Josef halted his movement with an effort. And turned to scoop the unconscious woman into his arms. He smoothed the silly little white veil back off her face, murmuring to her. He could hear her heart, still beating strongly, quickly, and took out a handkerchief to wipe away a trickle of strangely diluted blood that had seeped from her nose. He could see the depression at the side of her forehead, the bone pushed in like a cracked melon. Her eyes were mostly closed, but she seemed gone, somehow. As though her life were fading even as he held her. He bowed his head over her, torn between cursing her for throwing herself into danger unnecessarily, and cherishing her bravery. He was already mourning her loss.

He didn’t see Slade pull Roberts away, or listen to the hurried conference. He wasn’t aware of the outlaws dragging the bodies of the driver and the two dead passengers into the rocky brush off the road, barely concealing them from any passersby. They’d be found, right enough, if anyone was there to see, once the buzzards arrived, but for a few hours they’d be good as invisible.

It was only when Slade and the boy tried to take Iris from him, that he protested, refused to release her from his encircling arms. “You can’t just throw her aside like garbage,” he said. “She’s not dead.”

The boy shrugged. “She will be, soon enough. No use carrying dead weight.”

Josef looked up from her slack face. “I won’t leave her to die alone. I owe her that much.”

Slade looked at Roberts, who shrugged.

“Whatever,” the bandit leader said. “We’ve been sitting out in the open for too long, though. Let’s get this mess down the road.”

Slade nodded and gestured with the colt he’d drawn. “Back in the stage, Constantine. If you can lift her, you can bring her.”

Josef’s eyes were cold as he regarded the walking dead men around him. “I can lift her,” he said.

Sally stooped automatically to gather up the sweet, feathery little hat that had fallen from Iris’s head, and as she did so, she realized that the dead salesman’s derringer, still loaded, was lying in the dust where it had fallen when he died. It only took a small sweep of her skirts to hide her hands, as she snatched it up and concealed it in the folds of her dress, when she followed Mr. Constantine back into the dim recesses of the stage.

Link to Chapter 4
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cassysj
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by cassysj »

Poor Iris!!! It was an instinctual reaction. Josef's freshies always want to protect him. It's so sad though especially when Josef was concerned she'd do something foolish for jewelry.

Sally is a clever girl, I am enjoying her.
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by moonlight_vixen »

Exciting chapter! Poor Iris; I feel bad for her. But then again, Josef's freshies are nothing if not determined...

Taking the gun was a smart move for Sally. I can't wait to find out what happens next!
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by one.zebra »

Must be maddening for Josef to have to pretend...poor Iris, not what she signed on for I'm sure..
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by eris »

It's getting interesting now. (Though I'm surprised given what happened that J let Slade live long enough to take part in La Posada.) :grumble:
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Thanks for the comments...yes, Sally may be scared, but she's still on her toes!

And Slade, well, obviously he still has a part to play in this adventure.

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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by MoonShadow »

What a great chapter, but we still are headed for that cliff and I for one prefer not to head over it! The porcelain of Lola was a delightful touch by the way. Now, will Iris be the saving grace for Josef? She's not dead yet... what a bitter turn that would be for Josef. "He sighed inwardly, knowing this promised to be painful,"

I love reading your work Lucky, you pick such wonderful words to weave your tales.

Cassidy, huh... hard cold and eyes hmmmm....
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by mitzie »

Very exciting chapter! Poor Iris, truly loyal to Josef! :worship: Smart thinking Sally picked up the gun, I wonder if it will become useful??!!

I love this story and can't wait to see what happens next... :yahoo: :yahoo: :gasp: :slappy: :clapping: :clapping: :swords: :angel: :yahoo: :juggle: :devil: :clapping: :clapping: :seesaw: :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :evillaugh: :o :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :thud: :thud: :notworthy: :heart:

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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by allegrita »

Oh--definitely worth the wait. Wow! I don't think I inhaled the whole time. Poor Iris...well, I guess she redeemed herself in my eyes. And maybe, somehow, she'll be able to help Josef one more time before the end.

Eew, the diluted blood coming out of her nose made me a little squeamish... :puke:

I am beginning to really love Sally. I certainly hope her husband is worthy of her, because dang--that is one wonderful woman. :thumbs: Well... maybe after baby is born, she'll find someone better to care for than that husband...

And who is the guy with the dead eyes He's not a... nah... how could he survive on the prairie??

I'm loving this, Lucky. Thank you!
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by francis »

The plot thickens. So Slade is in league with the bandits. Hah. Should have thought that he wasn’t really cut out for hard work.

How wrong Roberts is about Josef, but his thoughts are showing that he watches his surroundings carefully. Why would a man drive in a coach – unless he is sun sensitive? Good reasoning here. But I love that Roberts nicknames Josef as „the gambler“, it’s condescending but also fitting.

And then they kill Iris. Whatever Josef planned to get out of this, now the bandits are walking dead. Sally on the other hand has a good head on her shoulders, grasping the gun.

What a cliffhanger. Now I can’t wait to see where this is going, and how Slade ends up a vampire (or does he become one later on – unrelated to this story) and if Iris will die (she's unsavable in human terms, and I doubt that he would turn her), and how Josef retrieves his watch, because we know he had Lola’s portrait back later.

Wow, what a chapter.
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by LadyAilith »

I love this story. It takes me back to my childhood when programs such as "Bat Masterson", "The Paladin", and "Maverick" were on the air. :)

Poor Iris. She just had to "save" Josef... She was a silly and vain creature. At least her ending was relatively quick.

I like Sally a lot! She's smart, resourceful, and clever. It will be interesting to see where this saga takes her and Josef.

Great chapter, Lucky! :clapping:
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by tucutecats »

Oh poor Iris, hope Joseph can turn her in time. I want him to kill them all,slowly. Poor dear has to be in the sun for so long.
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by RangerCM »

This is just so exciting! Loving every moment of it. Can't wait to see Josef jump into action here. Hoping it's not too late to save Iris, but I fear it is. :comfort:
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by Josefismysire »

He sighed inwardly, knowing this promised to be painful, knowing he was not in a position to reveal himself. Roberts couldn’t hurt him, unless he permitted it, but the women deserved better than death in the hot dust of this lonely road.
This is marvelous..so quintessentially Josef. Ever the gentlemen and protector of his girls. Perfectly written.

I'm just loving this story so much..as it unfolds on the page, it becomes so real to the imagination. And..Iris..bless her. My first thought was.."oh yeah, I'd do the same thing"..we freshies are loyal to the end.

Great chapter!! :clapping: :clapping:
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Re: Dust--Chapter 3, PG-13

Post by francis »

As to if Josef will turn Iris, I can't imagine he would. She's a good freshie, but no vamp material. Can you imagine her personality in an eternal body? I can't.
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