West Kids - Frank and Chief Part One

Frank and the Chief were alone. They crouched off of Broadway, several miles deep into the Desert. They were trying to keep invisible, while staying near enough to a lone street lamp to see the patch Chief was hastily applying to his rear wheel's inner tube. Of course flats in the Desert were always in the rear. Broken spokes were always in the rear wheel, always on the drive side, and the bent derailleur, for those that had them, was always the rear one. It just figured that the most complicated problems were the ones that befell victims in the Desert.

Frank was keeping watch, but looking from the light into the dark made his vision short. He was frustrated with the tiny radius visible to him. He Signaled as much to Chief, but Chief didn't look up from his rear wheel. He was working intentionally, and quickly, his fingers prying the bead of the tire out like steel levers. A jar of rubber cement sat next to his ankle, and a single orange patch next to that. The last one. Chief preferred not to think about that. Either this one got them home or it didn't. If it didn't, well they would have to deal with that situation. But he hoped they wouldn't. A night in the Desert could be the end for a Cowboy.

Frank was edgy. His head swiveled left and right. He was clearly unsatisfied with the pair's position, which Chief knew was very exposed. Chief had wrestled with the decision to borrow light from the lamp, and finally decided the risk outweighed the danger of a misplaced patch. Frank might not have made the same call, but of course he deferred to Chief. It went without argument. Now the two sat without speaking, trying to blend completely into the dusty night. The need for silence was understood.

Chief had only been working for a minute when Frank made the sign. He plucked a spoke to alert Chief, who looked him in the eye to get the message. Frank's eyes looked left, and then the Chief's did too. He saw nothing, but that didn't mean nothing was there. He returned his gaze to Frank, looking for confirmation, but Frank was now looking right. Chief looked too, but again saw nothing. He was irritated with Frank. What had he seen? Was it a dog? A snake? Or something real. Frank's glance was moving all over now. His feet were shuffling and making noise with the effort it took him to try and see in all directions at once. Chief looked down and found the puncture, put his thumb down on it, and made the move back toward their rides. Good enough, he could finish in the dark. Frank followed, eyes still searching behind him. They reached the bikes and the darkness but Frank was still unsettled. It didn’t matter much that they were concealed now if they’d been spotted under the light.

Chief decided not to pay any more attention to Frank. He was clearly shook pretty bad, and Chief needed a mount he could ride if there really were Gremlins around. Now he couldn’t see the puncture, so he had to trust his finger’s placement when he painted on the cement, blew on it, and then the patch.

It took Chief less than a minute to have an inflated wheel back in the dropouts, but it was an eternity to Frank, who was still desperately scanning the horizon. Chief took up the lead, knowing Frank was a liability at this point. He’d seen rangers like Frank before, when their heads weren’t on straight. Frank probably didn’t even know which direction the Pond was in. What he needed Frank to do now, was ride fast and quiet. He’d have time to calm down back in the Pond.

The problem was, they were still twenty miles from the Pond. Chief set a quick pace, which was riskier than he would have liked to be, cause they were more likely to run into an ambush or a booby trap. It got their heart rates up though, and the energy it took to keep up seemed to direct Frank’s adrenaline and settle him down. They stayed on Broadway, another risky move as it made them visible and their route predictable, but this also was faster, and the asphalt was more likely clear of debris. It would be easier to spot glass and mesquite thorns too.

About ten miles from the Pond, Frank seemed almost normal. Half an hour of trouble-free riding, and two tired legs had settled him a little, helped along by fatigue from the pace they kept. Chief, however, was not relaxed. He was watching the Desert around them hard, and had good reason to expect a problem. Though he hadn’t shared the information with Frank, too concerned that he might still be shook, he’d noticed two other riders out on the trails, and they were definitely following them.

One rode a heavy department store mount, and Chief was positive that even with packs loaded with supplies, and tired legs, both he and Frank could win a race back to the Pond. But the second was on a little racing ten-speed, and while he would never beat a rested Chief in any distance, the current circumstances were different. Chief rode on without showing his tired state, and waited for the pursuers to make a move. They had been following for over three miles on parallel neighborhood roads, staying far enough behind that Frank didn’t notice.

Chief knew his own reputation in the Desert, and that his blue Titus was well known. Of course the two Gremlins were aware of who he was, and that was keeping them back for now. But the Gremlins had a powerful tool, one that Chief was supremely jealous of: a Talker. The Gremlin’s device allowed one person to talk into a box, and for another person miles away to hear it. They had only one pair as far as the Chief knew, so it was rare to see it used, but Chief was certain he’d seen the rider of the ten-speed speak into one of the talkers when they first began tailing the cowboys.