Stagecoach Ride

by Charles C. Cole

conclusion

“Tell me, Mr. Investigation Agent,” teased Weld, “is paranoia your sixth sense or just an ulcer burning a hole in your stomach?”

I shrugged. What else could I do? As for the mechanical masters of the journey, we could take a hint: we returned promptly. Rumor had it, even though they were in the sun, our metal sentinels had electric mini-fans cooling off their insides. Gaylord waited by the door, taking a sip from his pocket flask.

Weld was suddenly grumpy. “Lieutenant, where were you when I was drinking diluted fish pee from the stream?” He called up the droids: “Give me two seconds to disinfect my gullet, then we can be on our way.” He grabbed his flask from his dress jacket and took a quick swig. Gaylord climbed in. The droids were watching us.

“Do you think they know you pay their salary?” I whispered.

“I’m sure I’m just another faceless human with the manners of a drunken crocodile.”

“But if someone shoots at us, will they step in front of the bullet? Asking for a friend.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not in their programming,” said Weld.

We returned to our seats. Padre Rio had a white kerchief open with a lapful of small rocks, pinecones and acorns.

“Someone packed a picnic,” teased Weld. “I hope you know; we expect you to share.”

“It just seemed soothing,” said Rio, unapologetically, “like a child’s teddy bear during a thunderstorm.”

“Each to his own,” said Weld.

“I think it’s a lovely gesture,” said Miss Harmony. “The poetic opposite of the Ancient Mariner’s dead albatross, don’t you think?”

“Miss Fulton,” I gushed, “I do believe your education is showing.” She blushed. “How about you, Lt. Gaylord or Miss Doolittle, any good luck charms during tense situations?” They shook their heads.

WHAM! Our little wagon found its first pothole. I bit my tongue, though not seriously.

“Aren’t they supposed to have optical units ten times the power of human eyes?” groused Gaylord.

“And reflexes and hearing,” added Miss Doolittle. “At least that’s what the salesmen say. Then you read the fine print.”

“Now, now,” said Weld defensively. “And we were just becoming friends.”

“Friends of yours?” asked Gaylord, pointing to the folks on the roof.

“Friends of friends.”

With the sound of fingernails on chalkboard, Blue opened the skylight. “Apologies. We’re making exceptional time.”

“I’ll be happy to arrive in one piece,” joked Padre Rio.

“We may even get to the station in time for a late dinner. Will that suit you?”

“To a T,” I said, harkening back to a prior conversation.

Blue looked at me and said, “You’re an odd little human, aren’t you?” He closed the hatch.

“Hypothetically,” I whispered to Weld, though everyone could hear, “if you owned a business like this, you’d have spare coaches and spare droids, in case there was a problem.”

“Makes sense. Hypothetically,” said Weld. “Why do you ask?”

“I’d bet my grandfather’s antique pocket watch that is not the Blue we started with.”

“Only an odd little human would think that,” said Weld, then he quickly considered. “Assuming you’re correct, what do we do about it?”

“Can they be programmed for violence?” I asked, saying aloud what I was thinking.

“Not in my experience.”

“I hate to vandalize corporate property, but I say we dump them in the river and come back for them on the return trip.”

“Trouble?” said Miss Doolittle.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” said Weld.

“Why would you be okay with destroying company property?” asked Miss Harmony.

“Because I own the company,” said Weld, like it was a big reveal.

“Of course, you do,” said Gaylord. “That explains a lot.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Padre Rio.

“Just five of us,” I said. “They may leave a man of the cloth alone, if they know what’s good for them.”

“This have something to do with your court appearance?” asked Miss Harmony.

“Sharp as a tack. Very likely.” I suddenly felt selfish and guilty for putting these fine people in harm’s way. “If all they want is for me to miss my appearance, maybe we can offer a compromise. You toss me out as we go around a bend and...”

“I won’t do it,” said Miss Harmony.

“That’s like killing you ourselves. I couldn’t,” said Padre Rio. “I agree with Miss Harmony.”

“Lt. Gaylord and Miss Doolittle, we should probably hear from you,” I said.

“I just wish I’d brought my Bessy. She has an appetite for just this sort of thing.”

“Lt. Gaylord?”

“I always knew I’d die with a gun in my hand. It was just a matter of when. I’d rather go heroically. Much better than locking myself in a hotel room and blowing my brains out.”

“Gaylord, don’t say such things, even in jest,” said Miss Harmony.

“I wish it was jest.”

“But without weapons...” said Doolittle.

“First things first,” began Weld. “We find an excuse to stop and throw Red and Blue in the river. That’s why I pay insurance. Then, underneath your seats, the reason why we ride so low, I have a cache of Winchester rifles. I was going to sell them to Fort Higgins. Plenty to go around. Padre, you just keep your head down and keep praying. Don’t stop.”

Red and Blue, possibly version 2, never knew what hit them. Padre Rio screamed for a “bio break.” Weld and I climbed to the roof and hurled our friends into the nearby water. I wish I could tell you there were sparks, but they pulled themselves to their feet and just froze, with a look of disdain, without any comment.

The hardest decisions were the assignments. Weld, as the owner of the company, wanted to be on top. But he had the least experience. I drove the horses. With a choice of three Winchesters, Doolittle lay prone and had my back. The gallant former soldier Gaylord offered to provide cover for those below. Padre Rio and Miss Harmony made themselves into little balls on the floor.

At first, nothing happened. I was feeling foolish and like I’d cost Weld some expensive droids. In the momentary quiet, I said, “I’m sorry, Miss Doolittle. After all you’ve been through, I had no right to put a gun in your hand.”

“Nothing comes more natural.”

“But the accident? Retiring?”

“Unrelated. Skipper was mad at me for considering retirement. He called me his ‘Golden Cow.’ Imagine. He got drunk and did something that would be dangerous while sober. He died, but it wasn’t my doing.”

We came to the crest of a hill. Albuquerque was glittering in the middle of the desert, like all we had to do was roll down to her waiting, open arms. I foolishly thought, We’ve made it.

That’s when I felt a bee sting just below my left shoulder, only I knew it was no bee sting.

“Company,” said Miss Doolittle.

“Yep, they’ve announced themselves,” I said with an honest groan.

“You hit?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“They don’t know who they’re dealing with,” she said.

“Obviously,” I said. “So, tell ’em. Tell ’em, Miss Dead-to-rights Doolittle. Give them a taste of their own medicine.”

Those poor horses flew forward like they all had wings. Honestly, I think they saw Albuquerque and thought, “Almost done. Food and water just up ahead.”

Miss Doolittle was quiet. She let her Winchester do the talking. Now and again, we heard someone shooting from down below. We had a decorated officer in charge in the coach. Weld was operating on pride. Padre Rio, I was told later, had his eyes closed tight and was praying nonstop. Gaylord took one to the chest and slumped forward. Weld took some splinters to the eyes, but nothing critical.

And Miss Harmony Fulton, daughter of the Albuquerque sheriff, home for the summer following a year at some Boston-area college for girls, showed those marauders just what she did with her father-daughter bonding time: she went hunting, she shot on a range, she was the boy her father always wanted, only better.

I testified. Guy McCrory was convicted and hanged. We found Red and Blue, the first versions, in the woods just off the trail. Why and how they had been replaced remains a mystery. Red and Blue, the second versions, had not been tampered with; they just didn’t like people. When repaired, they became bailiffs in the Albuquerque courthouse. Defendants were scared, and Red and Blue liked that.

Weld made some improvements to his stagecoach, but he never rode in one again. Miss Dead-to-rights Doolittle started a trick-shot school for young women. Miss Harmony Fulton went back east to finish college and later became an English professor. For many years, Padre Rio ran a mission for indigent children. At the end, the people built an impressive statue to the legendary man in downtown Albuquerque.

As for me, life went on. Though I had a few close calls, I was usually on my own and had to fend for myself. The stagecoach ride from Sante Fe to Albuquerque, though far from comfortable travel, gave me a glimpse of what a makeshift team can accomplish when they put their minds to it.