Dust looked out to the east. Fifty soldiers hadn’t been enough to protect a Senator’s daughter so it must have gotten worse. Much worse.
Dust adjusted his hat and then blew air out through his lips. He’d put off meeting the Naismith kid as long as he could. It was time to begin what might be one long, sore trial of a mission. So he ambled over to the stables, a great wooden hut made from whole logs hammered into the dusty ground. The roof was made of slate and the strong smells of horse shit and sweat radiated from it. The culprits poked their heads out and greeted him with excited whinnies. Dust petted them as he passed. Animals liked Dust for some reason.
The kid was sat on a horse when he stepped inside, one that looked too fine to have ever been ridden in anger. Jacky hadn’t been exaggerating; she was almost bouncing in her saddle and played nervously with a bullet to assuage her impatience.
From what he understood, Eleanor Naismith was one weird child. She was maybe twenty but everyone at the Solution still called her a kid. After all, only a child would pursue a ludicrous fascination for the Badlands and anything relating to the Triangle. It was rumoured that William B. Naismith only supported the Solution as heavily as he did because of his only child’s sick fetishisation of the Dixie Problem.
“Ah, Dust, I’ve been expecting you,” she said, putting the bullet into her jeans pocket. Her voice was posh, Harvard posh. She sounded almost British.
She had longish blonde hair that someone plaited for her and a severe, wealthy face, one which likely never failed to let someone know what she thought of them. Even in jeans and a shirt, with a rifle slung over her back, she was no warrior; she looked like she should be holding a Bible and reading it out to young ‘uns. Not like someone he’d want with him on a mission.
Not that he had a thing against women; Dust had met Indian and Mexican women who could gut a man before he could even pull his pistol from his holster. He liked that kind of woman, wished he could have one along this mission. But he couldn’t. He had the Naismith kid.
“Morning,” Dust said.
She frowned at so simple a greeting and haughtily asked. “I trust you’ve been made aware of our mission?”
Dust walked over to stable nine. To Horse, his horse. A black stallion who loved him deeply, Horse was one of only a few possessions he’d been allowed to keep when he’d ‘volunteered’ to work with the Solution. It didn’t have an imaginative name but Dust apparently hadn’t felt particularly imaginative at the time.
“Yep,” he said, giving Horse a friendly pat on the head.
Horse shook his head and clopped happily. Dick had told him to take out a Solution mare but Dust knew he’d be better served by Horse. Besides, a Solution mare could tolerate the creatures of the Badlands but Horse would break their legs.
“Good. I happen to know Penelope so I think we should proceed with caution.” The Naismith kid breathed in deeply. “And you should hurry; I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”
Dust didn’t particularly want to see anything happen to Penelope either. Two responses, one sarcastic and one angry, vied to be said. But she was probably just worried for her friend so he settled for “I wouldn’t proceed with anything other than caution, Miss Naismith.”
“Please, call me Eleanor.”
“Sure, Eleanor.”
But he’d continue thinking of her as the Naismith kid. Especially whilst she treated him like a servant.
Dust led Horse from his stable and gave him the once over, made sure he was as fit as the day he’d been left here. Four legs, good muscles and a coat of hair you could sleep on; he was fine. Dust set up his saddle and loaded Horse up with supplies; enough water and food for a couple weeks of traveling. Hopefully they wouldn’t need it all.
When everything was secured, Dust climbed onto Horse and settled into the saddle. It would take a couple of hours to feel like home again but he knew it would eventually; you don’t wear a saddle down to fit you just right if you don’t love being on horseback.
