Bo Jun Caine walked slowly, her head tipped down to cut the glare of the mid-day sun. Her pace was set to accomodate the limping of the dun mare she led on loose reins. The horse, and the woman, seemed both to be only moving portions of the arid region's soil, due to their natural coloration--and their accumulation of sweat-caked travel dirt.
The road promised a town ahead, judging from the amount of tracks and the depth of the ruts. Hopefully, one that wouldn't eject her on first sight. Or, at least, not until she'd managed to earn enough to refill the saddlebags that hung limply on the mare's flanks. Food, she could scrounge, water, she could find.... but horse shoes and ammunition, Caine had no way of creating on her own. And, despite her fear-- the only way she could continue her quest would be to encounter strangers, ask them questions. With a slight shiver, Bo Jun lowered her head once more, and trudged onward.
When the pair did enter the town, they found it almost deserted. The hitching posts were lined with saddled horses, and tied teams, but only a bony hound dog trotted up the wooden sidewalk, his tongue lolling. There were voices, though-- Voices that swelled in a confused, emotional babble of sound, and then quelled after a percussive rapping over-rode them.
Bo Jun headed further into town, closer to the sounds. It was soon obvious where everyone was. It appeared the entire population of the place was crowded around the entrance of one of the businesses. The crowd spilled out into the street, and though the would turn and whisper to each other, the mob was almost silent, straining to hear what was going on. Cautious, but curious as the rest, Bo Jun dropped a rein, ground-tying Shujean. Moving as silently as if she were stalking game, the young Chinese woman slipped between buildings, to the narrow back alley. Squatting, she pressed close to the weathered ding, out of sight of anyone in the crowd around the front.
Her brows knit, as she concentrated on the English words... Slowly, she realized what she was listening to was a trial. A murder trial-- and the defendant was apparently a woman! Intrigued, Caine slid to sit on her haunches. Her stomach roiled as she caught snatches of the accused's testimony... and a man's agonized confessions. An old, sad, common story, with an ending that wasn't common-- but was commonly longed for. She inwardly cheered the girl's execution of her tormentor. And hoped, that for the deceased, her father's tales of Hell were true.
When the crowd outside heard the verdict, their gabble of English overwhelmed her ability to decipher it, until two men stopped right in front of the alley where she'd taken refuge.
"Can't say as I think that breed bitch and her dog is model citizens, but sounds like Lancer got what was comin' to him," one snorted, then stuffed his jaw with a plug of tobacco.
"Yeah... we oughta pin a medal on that little squaw, for riddin' the world of a real piece of pig shit!" his burly companion snorted, and spit into the dimness of the alley-- almost onto Bo Jun's boot-toes.
"I'm ready for a long cool one-- how 'bout you?"
"More 'n ready-- but I oughta get back over to the livery. Folks will be headin' out, t' get home 'fore dark."
"You're a dutiful man, Tiny," the first laughed. "I'll bend an elbow for ya!"
"You do that, Jed!" the misnamed Tiny chuckled, and slapped his companion on the back before turning to go.
Bo Jun slipped out of the dim alley, and followed him. Catching up to his long strides, she called, "Sir... ?"
He turned. "Afternoon, Miss... "
"Good afternoon, Sir. Would you please point out the livery stable?"
"Glad to, Miss... in fact, I'm headin' that way. I run it." He wiped his huge hand on his shirt-belly, then offered it to her. "Name's Abraham, but ever' body calls me Tiny."
Her hand was engulfed, but thankfully, not crushed. "I am Bo Jun Caine. My mare threw a shoe, a few miles out of town. It ripped a chunk of hoof away, so she is quite lame. I need to bed her down, and see to finding a blacksmith."
Tiny nodded slowly, after working his way through her thick accent. "I'll make sure she's set right," he promised, as he released her hand.
Bo Jun smiled slightly, and gave him a nod that was almost a bow. Stepping aside, she backtracked and retrieved the weary Shujean.
After seeing that her mount (and best friend) was fetlock deep in clean straw, eagerly grinding away at a manger of grain and sweet hay, Bo Jun headed back out into the setting sunlight, to find the saloon. Tiny had told her she wouldn't be ejected due to gender or race-- she hoped he was right.
Pushing open the batwing doors, she entered into the establishment. Once more a saloon, rather than a courtroom, the room was packed with the people that had been kept out on the street during the legal proceedings. The atmosphere reeked with warm humanity, yeasty beer, liquor and tobacco. She made her way to the bar, unremarked upon. Propping a foot on the brass rail, Bo Jun leaned against the worn, polished wood. She lifted her sweat-damp hat, and let it drop to dangle from the throat-cord.
As soon as she caught the eye of the woman tending the bar, Bo Jun smiled and ordered a beer.
When the thick glass mug was set in front of her, Bo Jun tilted her head conversationally. "Is there usually this much excitement around here?"