Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny (27 page)

I snarl. I’d love to think the bunny is dead, but know better than to hope. Who’d have thought a prey critter, a female to boot, could pass muster? Tough. Single-minded. Almost predatory.

I’ve lost money, but that’s nothing compared to the respect I’ve had stolen. The law’ll be paying me more heed; who knows, maybe the sheriff can even make a few charges stick now?

I need time to think, make a plan. The world’s all turned around on me, and I need to reckon with the situation. Figure the safest place to do it is out here in the desert, where no one’d think to look. Even a lion can vanish out here in the wastes.

If my wife leaving is the loss of a precious possession, Morris’s betrayal is a tool rising to strike me of its own accord— so unexpected that the shock stings worse than the injury. Where did it all start to slip? How long had he been playing me like a fiddle? Likely I’ll never know. Never has anyone pulled the mane over my eyes like that before. At least not that I’ve known... How many times in my life have I been duped and never known? Perhaps even by my own kin, sending me out here to be rid of me?

What to do now? I’m not crawling back east to the family. I’ve still got my wits and I’ve still got my claws. Opportunity will come again, and I’ll pounce on it. That’s what Father would do.

I see something shiny on a rise. A black carriage— Mei Xiu. What in tarnation is a rich, beautiful tigress doing in my lonely patch of desert? I find my feet and start walking. My paws find every loose spot to slip in on the way. Every step makes me wish the bunny’s skull was crunching under my hind paws in place of gravel. Mei Xiu would understand. Come to think of it, she breezed into town just as this ore business started. Maybe she hasn’t deserted me.

Walking up the rise toward the silken form of a tigress, I feel ashamed for her to see me as I am. Filthy and powerless, her elegance mocks me. But as I look up at her, I see that feral glint in her eyes, measuring me as always, stripping me to the bone. She’ll understand. She’ll fix this. She’ll come along on a bunny hunt. One paw reaches behind me, feeling the silver gun I traded my entire life for. That bunny’s yet to see the last of me.

I am not sad to see his mine destroyed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The mind adapts to anything. Like the folding-paper of Japan, it can take any form and yet remain itself. Despite this, it is forever changed, however slightly, by each new fold. So too are we changed by our thoughts.

I watch through my field glasses. The lion walks up the hill. His fur hangs heavy with dust and grime. I slip the glasses back into their case, striped paws folding atop it as one would hold a purse. I pity Hayes. Not because he lost his fortune, but because he feels lost without it. Money is a tool, nothing more. Tools come and go, only useful insofar as they unearth knowledge. Knowledge alone cannot be taken. And though I came here to study the ore, the situation is not a complete loss, but Hayes can see it no other way. I pity his blindness, his lack of self-knowledge, that keeps him from all he could be.

I nod as the lion approaches. “Mister Hayes.”

“Madam.” His posture is proud, but his eyes don’t quite meet my own. I had never seen a lion before leaving the Homeland and finding one here was a rare bloom in this wasteland of prey. This is a harsh, brutish land and those who live here are equally so. It only makes sense that the noble cats would be rougher here, in a land where even the herbivores wield silver claws. Wild though he is, he can be tended.

I will have to keep him from unproductive indulgences, such as revenge. To hunt the constable bat would be injurious. To hunt the rabbit, deadly. The marmot alone concerns me, the one with the ore. He must be our prey, followed by his masters. Only then will I have the ore and the time to study it.

My tail stays in a dignified curl, low but never touching the ground. Wind curls around us. I am reminded of our hunts together, when I have shared his ravenous ferocity. Now, though, he is quiet of word and body. My lips curl in a smile, though not one rude enough to show teeth. Perhaps this scrap of paper might be folded again.

I am not sad to see his mine destroyed. With luck, it will be forgotten so I might return one day and study it without interference. That Hayes’ traitorous underlings escaped with the ore is more troubling. Few organizations would have the money and the knowledge to finance such a theft.

I climb into the carriage. Hayes follows. I signal my attendant, and we three ride over the parched, bitter ground.

The battle has been lost, but the war has not ended.

Might as well court the moon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wake to Six’s smell and an empty bed. I worry for a moment that she might have fallen to the floor, but when I sit up the room looms empty. My ears swivel around, but I hear only Harding’s soft snores from the next room. I jump out of bed and search the small house. Gone. Gone seems to be the state of being for hares these days.

Can’t say I’m overly surprised. I just wish she would’ve stayed another day or two. Just to wait for the ruckus to die down.

Morning light shines off something on the nightstand.

My badge.

Six’s pin.

And, under them, a note. I pick it up. The heavy paper holds her scent, like the bed, like my fur. I rub my paw pads over the surface of it for a moment, knowing that this will be the only communication I have with her for a long ways down the road. I swallow back my pride, knowing this must be twice as tough on her. This letter no doubt says as much. With tender care, I open it and read.

I took your pony.

-S.

I cuss. Loudly.

So loud the deputy comes stumbling in from the next room, bleary-eyed and drooly. “Sun in the sky! What’s all the racket, boss?”

Why’d it have to be my pony? “Nothing, Harding. Just bunny trouble.” I shake my head, then realize I’m standing around in my skivvies. I look around the little guest room, under the bed and behind the nightstand. “Deputy? You happen to see my pants anywhere?”

* * * * *

Months roll past. Never did find those pants, though I have some fine memories of where I know they are.

Half of Scoria Grove saw me hollering in a dress before a blacksmith fetched his hacksaw and freed me from that wagon. I recently sent him a fine bottle of bourbon for his trouble.

Doc testified to the city council that I was fit for duty, that mine gas could make a man do funny things. The jabs at me for being found in a dress continued unabated, but lost their venom, since I was generally believed not to be in a right state of mind. Besides, any bunny wily enough to survive attacking Hayes’ factory and blowing up his mine twice must be capable of doping a sheriff.

Hayes vanished after his gossipmonger wife left him, taking with her the bulk of his belongings. I hope she left him his pants. Rumors abound concerning where he fled, though it all rings of idle speculation, since most of the stories claim he wandered into the desert without water or provisions, never returning. If he’s still alive, I’ve not caught wind of his scheming. Nonetheless, I’ve seen and heard too much in the past months to let my guard down just yet. I’ve had Harding stash those papers we stole from his office, on the off chance the lion tries putting me to a quiet end.

I ought to tell myself that it’s just as well Six’s gone, just as well she’s never coming back. Not like I could ever court her, even if I was sure I loved her, which I’m not. She’s too different, too contrary. Might as well court the moon. It’s pretty, sure, but nothing you’ve got matters a whit to it, and nothing on Earth can buy you more than a night’s viewing. Besides, if her heart’s as wild as her spirit, she probably left my memory out in the sands on the way out of town. I ought to forget her too. But thoughts of her just keep creeping up like a crescent moon’s light.

Since she left, I can’t look at the jail cell the same. Or my bed. I sleep there once in a while, instead of on the rafter. Always, my dreams are of soft ears, nimble paws, and her warm, lingering scent...

I shake these thoughts off and keep to my paperwork. Ate up too much of my yearly budget buying a new pony. Now I can’t scrap together the funds to fix the office door. I sigh. Some other year, I guess. Gives me a headache. It’s well onto midnight now and I’m starting to feel it. Even bats have to sleep sometime. I get up. A good stretch of the wings and I’ll be ready for some shut-eye. Just a quick flight on the night air; even in November, the Arizona sky remains inviting to the wing.

I open the front door and glance up at the stars.

A paw grabs my shoulder.

I go for my gun, but feel it get snatched away by another nimble paw. In a moment of panic, I spin and dive at my accoster’s legs, causing a tall, wiry form to coming toppling down over me.

Hot breath sweeps over my face.

Soft ears sway against my cheeks.

“This ain’t exactly the sort of tumble ah was aiming for, sugar bat.”

I stammer. “Si—”

My thief puts a finger to my lips, handing me back the gun.

I take it, holster it, and stare. She leans down and kisses me. For an instant, I’m too stunned to do anything but enjoy it. The kiss ends and I look around. Good. Nobody saw me getting cozy with some tall bunny fella. Scrambling to my hind paws, I guide her into the building with a wing. She shuts the door, the scent of bunny, cigarettes, and gun oil thick in the air. My heart chugs like a speeding train. “Didn’t think to see you here again.”