Boone's mouth hung, "you freed Grandpappy from the Yurks?"
"We did. And the Yurks have been brought to the jailhouse, though one escaped. The one they call Varko — Jostice's prisoner — I'll tell you about it on the way."
Grotknot pulled the cauldron from the hook and doused out the fire, and then they were off, to the front of the inn where an old wagon that smelt of fresh decay awaited them. Quincy and Olivica took the front while Boone and Grotknot piled in the rear. Boone felt his grandpappy's presence, lying in the bed of the wagons only moments prior.
I'll see him soon, he thought.
Quincy was one of the best wagoners Boone had ever witnessed; the boy had mapped the whole city in his head, whipping through the streets, aware of the times when each road was most congested and what festivities were going on and where.
Quincy spoke of the great duel at the ranch. How many deputies and yurks had fallen. The sound haunting hollars and oozing insides. And how the yurks had hung the cow meat inside the building, allowing them to rot and infest with flies. "We'll have a mess to clean when we get back," he told Olivica who appeared almost as sickly as she had when she first came to them.
And then, Boone felt his insides twist when he heard about Jostice's missing trigger and middle fingers, and how his grandpappy appeared like he been badly burned, skin black as char. Grotknot sighed, no longer interested in the mud weed he'd been smoking.
"What did they do to him?" Boone asked the Bork whose face wrinkled with worry. "Was it some form of alchemy?"
Grotknot looked to the weed pipe in hand. "I'm afraid I will not know until I see him with my own two eyes."
Quincy swore, looking back over his shoulder. "I missed the turn. Sorry, all. I've been riding for a day and I haven't had much sleep in the last few days." His eyelids did appear heavy, drooping across half his eyes.
Boone yelled from the rear, "pay attention, you fool! My grandpappy needs by his side … not stuck behind a crowd awaiting the tournament." And it was slow going from there on.
Quincy swore and shook his head, leading them down to the city square where crowds had gathered like animals to a feast, buying goods from the many stands that were built for the occasion: colorful fruit stands, shining weapon stands, games and toy stands, hardy meat stands, and vibrant flower stands. There were boys and girls, once beggars, now doing their parts to make little coin, running through the crowd in their garbs, handing out flyers for the event. "Buy your tickets at that stand over there before it's sold out!" They'd say, pointing to the stand closest to the gallows.
Then Boone caught a sharp voice that made his ears ring. One that raised above the ruckus of thrilled voices and tickled laughs. "Get your eye-enhancers here!" The man said, from a wagon filled with colorful bottles, decorative trinkets, and glimmering tools. He looked at the mans tall hat, long-tailed coat, swinging a cane like a bat. "Or get yourself some gut-remedy! Will allow you to eat and drink as much as you want without ever feeling ill." The cane banged on a glass bottle. There was no mistaken the suspicious grin and greed-filled eyes. "Richie! Richie Taylor is my name … and selling goods to you fine folks is my game—"
His eyes lifted above the crowd, locking onto Boone like a predator. Skin around his cheek and eye covered with black, speckled debris. The suspicious white glow vanished, replaced by a deep wrinkled frown.
Boone ducked, getting low in the wagon. Can't go anywhere without running into him … this day can't get any worse—
"Is that you Boone Rigger, hiding like a fox in a hole?" Came another voice from the wagon behind them. Boone lifted his head, and tilted his father's hat from over his eyes. "While lookie here, Pa. It is him."
Boone could never forget the harsh racket that came from Mason Horn's mouth. The boy glared, whipping his reins, and guiding a wagon filled with a pile of vibrant purple flowers that filled the air with a soft, smooth fragrance.
Grotknot tried to reach for Boone as he stood, raising a fist. "I thought you were out chasing bounties … not collecting posies for the festivals."
"Just doing my part to help the Mayor," He chuckled. "Not like that friend of yours, the big red-headed fellow, who's wanted for killing a deputy." Mason smirked, leaning forward, placing a hand to his cheek. "Psst! Where is he? If you tell me, Pa and I can turn him in, collect the reward, and give you piece for your part—"
"Like I'd tell you, worm!" Boone looked around the wagon bed for something to throw, nothing. He kicked the wagon hitch, placing his hand on the pair of pistols on his hip. "And if you were to pursue him, I'd make it my purpose to shoot you dead."
Grotknot grabbed at Boone's coat, "that's enough, Laddy … no need for trouble at a time like this."
Mitch's bushy, black brows sunk, and he clutched his rifle tightly. "I don't take threats to my boy lightly, Bork!"
Grotknot stood furiously, "these are boys, being boys … I'm sure you've said worse over the years."
Mitch nodded, "I have! And boy will become men … and those threats still remain, that at some point will be forgotten, forgiven, or forbode events to come." He cocked his rifle. "I've learned not take that chance."
Boone pointed a finger at the hill towards the east where the great High Noon Duelring sat, awaiting the crowds to fill her stands and gunslingers to quench her thirst for blood. "I have forbode the future … come meet us in the tournament and we can finish this for all eyes to witness."