by Tempe O'Kun
I fly hard, but I can’t catch a pony in the long haul. One chance. I dive.
My paws make contact with the body of the rider, knocking him over. I open my wings, softening my fall. I skid into the side of a house and draw my gun. The rider never falls. I look up just in time to see the scoundrel hauls himself back up, still clinging to the pommel of the saddle. Damn. Must’ve heard me dive.
I get up, dust off, and see about catching one of the ponies. Hell if I’m done with this fool yet.
The fireworks start.
* * * * *
Hours later, I’m tracking the trail on a borrowed pony. Harding would’ve been on this trail like a stink on a wet dog, but all the gunpowder mussed with his nose something terrible. Never could catch the scent of the fella who broke in. Poor hound can hardly walk straight when his sniffer’s shot, so I left him with Tanner Hayes to take a deposition like the lion wanted. I don’t envy the deputy: Hayes’ tail was already cracking like a whip when I departed.
My lantern bounces. I’ve never been too good with holding objects in my wing thumbs. Now that no one can see, however, I ride sidesaddle. This leaves my paws free to grab my gun, should I find the need.
Soon enough, I do.
I see faint light in the ridge ahead, down by Skull Creek. The creek runs fast, wide, and deep. The shore consists of stones white and round like bleached skulls. I slip off the pony, douse my lantern, and pick my way through the boulders and scrub brush. Now, either this thief is damned lucky or he heard my wings when I dove on him back in town. Either way, I’m doing my best not to make a sound. I make it to the larger stone nearest to him and just listen, waiting for my heartbeat to come off its roiling boil. The rumble of the rapids in the shallow valley beside us helps hide my footsteps. I keep an eye on my footing —failing light plays off the steep banks of the creek— as well as keeping my ears pricked for any nocturnal creatures drawn to the water.
I hear the sound of exerted breath, only one person, and something else too: digging. The clank of a shovel against stone, the sound of steel biting earth. Now’s my chance— he’ll be distracted.
I roll over the stone, draw my gun, and yell over the crash of the rapids. “Hands up!”
No sooner have the words left my muzzle than the head of that same shovel cracks me in the hind paw. My gun skitters across the sandy dirt, landing near the strongbox. In front of me, a hare grins. My thief.
I dive toward my gun, but the hare hurls the shovel my way. The handle strikes the tip of my right ear. I see a flicker of movement. He’s drawing iron. I forget my own gun and hurl myself at the bunny. He’s a head taller than me, but few folks have ever wrestled a fruit bat. We tussle. I grapple him with my paws while my wings sweep his own paws away from his holsters. With any luck, I can grab his gun.
Turns out I haven’t a sliver of luck. The holster has some trick to it, the kind that only draws a certain way.
The hare punches me in the ear. I scream.
Neither of us like that too much. Seems he can hear the pitches we bats scream at. Serves him right for hearing me coming.
I twist around and grab his paws with mine. This lands my crotch square center on his chest, but, if we cared much for propriety, we wouldn’t be in such a tussle.
I snatch his ear in my jaws and bite hard. Now it’s the bunny’s turn to holler.
“FAAAHHH!” His voice rings high from panic and pain, audible over the crash of the rapids. “Get off me, ya damn bat!”
I let go of his ear. The meaty taste of hare and the prickle of fur cling to my tongue. “Settle the hell down! This dance is over.” My right wing pulls the cuffs from my belt. I struggle to snap them into place. My thief is strong for a bunny. His fur is soft in my hind paws. He kicks at my back, but I’m far up enough that he can’t reach. He growls. Never heard a hare growl before.
With both paws and both wings, I manage to get one of the cuffs on before I hear it. We both do, since the hare freezes as well.
At least three guns cock back. I look around and see steel gleaming in the lantern light. Several dark forms surround us.
I straighten up, still sitting on the hare’s chest. “I am Sheriff Jordan Blake. Stand down, boys. I’ve got this matter handled.”
“Actually sheriff...” A new voice grinds like whetstone. “We’ve got this matter handled.” One of the figures steps into the light, leveling his rifle at me. He’s a lynx, and he’s not in a kind mood, judging by the set of his dagger-tip ears. “Get up. The both of you.”
The look on the lynx’s face is a spit’s distance away from being murder made flesh. He’s not on my side. These men are outlaws.
I stand, shuffling back from the bunny, then affirm the distance with a suspicious glance. He stares back, but I can see the unsteadiness in his eyes. Aw hell. He wasn’t banking on this either.
As we stand, I grab his other hand, but click the cuff on air. I pass it to him and step away. For all they saw, I finished cuffing him. The hare looks at me, surprised as a bear with a mouthful of bees. He says nothing, though that little puff of a tail twitches.
My eyes find my gun, but one of the outlaws, a boar, already picked it up. Beside me, the rapids roar.
There are at least three of them, likely another few in the shadows, if they’re smart. I play dumb. “You boys had best ease up. Wouldn’t do to accidentally kill a lawman.”
“Then you’d best shut yer hole, bat.” The lynx leers. “Otherwise, we might just have an accident.”
“Ya might as well drop the act, fellas.” The hare grins. “We all know you’re working for the lion Hayes.”
I turn to the bunny. “We do?!”
He winks. “Ya do now.”
The lynx snarls. “The hell makes you think we work for anybody?”
The hare straightens, edging closer to me, adjusting his unlocked cuffs behind his back. He grabs something from behind his belt. Idiot! He’s supposed to go for his guns! Instead, he just flips up one ear and stands all casual. “I heard your grindy ol’ voice yammerin’ on it back a’ that doggery ya call a bar, tufts. That’s how I knew to steal the money ‘fore you.”
“Enough a’ your wild notions, rabbit.” He raises the rifle. His buddies do the same. His finger slips over the trigger. “Now die.”
In a blur of motion, the hare throws a small bundle at the lynx, kicks off the side of a rock, and knocks me hard to the side. Gunshots ring into the night. The bundle explodes into a dusting of paper bills.
I hit the water.
Skull Creek runs right out of the mountains. It is cold. Deathly cold, and my wings do nothing but suck my heat out faster. The gunshots sound funny underwater. I’m occupied with trying to breathe. The bunny is clinging to me like the last shred of hope and his desperation is drowning me. The water’s quick. We crash against the rocks. I scream and swear, losing what little air I have. I’m certain I’m going to die. My mind offers nothing of real value, save the knowledge that at least I caught this idiot bunny. I then realize: he caught me.
A rock hits me in the head.
* * * * *
Dime novels get two things wrong about a crack to the head: you rarely get knocked out and you always, always wish you had. The world tumbles past me in blasts of pain, rolling water, and finally a strong paw hauling me out of the rapids. I cough and spit to clear the taste of blood from my mouth. I shake the water from my ears just in time to hear a gun being reloaded. I look up. My thief stands over me, out of paw’s reach, with a pistol trained on my chest.
“Hold it there, wings.” Water drips off his muzzle. He’s still shaking, and his ears are too heavy to rise. Those paws keep steady, however. “I’ve got dry rounds in this piece a’ iron, and I don’t got a mind for another wrestling match.”
I roll to my back, cough some more.
He pulls a thin rope from his belt. With the same easy motion I saw him throw that bundle of bills, he chucks the wet rope against my gut. “Tie that ‘round your wings, if you’d be so
kind.”
I oblige. Having a bat’s hind paws makes the task easier than it sounds. “I don’t suppose you pulled me out of the drink just to put lead in my chest.”
“I reckon neither of us can afford to go makin’ any more assumptions tonight.” He cocks the hammer back. The cuffs dangle from one paw.
I shiver and finish tying up. My breath comes in clouds in front of me.
After checking that I’m properly trussed, the hare tugs on the other end of the rope. “Come on. They’ll be trackin’ down the banks of the creek.”
I have an itch to ask just how well cats would fare at tracking us, but then I remember which of us has the guns. He leads me on a ways. We’re both stumbling, but manage to put some distance between ourselves and Skull Creek. The boulders run bigger on this part of the valley and there’s enough brush to give cover. His hips move kind of funny, but that could just be the gunbelt. After trekking through the night for a good ways, my mind starts to wander. I’m soaked through the fur and can barely keep one paw in front of the other. I bump right into my thief before I realize he’s stopped. The bunny swears under his breath, but holsters his gun, giving me an appraising glance. I am too cold to care. We fruit bats aren’t the most robust of folk and that dunk in a mountain creek wasn’t the best thing for my constitution. I sit down hard, nearly collapsing. The hare’s still eyeing me up. His ears look a touch soft, even wet. After a spell, he sits, bracing against one of the rocks. Paws still on iron, twitching at every breeze.
I do my best to look abiding.
“That was some quick thinking with the cuffs, lawbat.” He squeezes water from the fur of one ear, then the other. “’Course, would’ve been nice had they not got the drop on you in the first place...”
We share an unsteady smile.
Inside a half hour, the outlaws still haven’t shown up to kill us. We’re both shivering something fearsome. Eventually, I speak up. “Say, bunny...”
He jumps, ears trying to rise.
I keep talking, softer. The sound of my own voice had scared me a mite as well. “You never mentioned a name.”
“Don’t reckon I did, Sheriff Jordan Blake.” He puts a bite into each word.
“Care to?”
A pause. One paw twitches on the handle of his gun. “Six.”
“Six?”
“Six.”
“Hell of a name.”
“I’m a hell of a bunny.”
“Can’t argue there.” I laugh just a little. “So I figure fire’s a bad idea, as it’d lead to us being shot by those charming fellas.”
“Suppose I’d have to agree.” He gives me an approving look.
He sits about a yard from me, taking me apart with those big bunny eyes. No movements, except for the slightest twitching of the nose. He is testing me, feeling me out. Finally, he smiles under his drooped and quivering ears. “Tell me, Sheriff. Ya got any ideas about us not freezin’ to death?”
I clear my throat. There’s something to the way he’s looking me over... Something I can’t quite place a paw on... I feel a bit like the candied fruit in a window display at Christmas.
His eyes narrow just a touch, his lips curl a hint upward. “Well, we could see about getting a mite closer...”
I just stare at him. I have a notion, but it could be that rock did me some genuine damage and I just think I have a notion. I try to shrug, but am tied up. “I... Umm...”
He gets up, sets his guns down, and sidles up next to me. Something’s amiss here, and not just the fact that this fellow is getting a trifle too familiar. After a moment of quiet from both of us, he leans in against my shoulder. We’re side by side. His clothes are still wet, even if mine were starting to dry. For once, I’m thankful for my thinner fur. Small blessings, I guess. I start to relax, but he pulls on that rope again and nods to the guns. “You make a move for those pieces and you’ll be spending the night hogtied.”
“Wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
“See that you don’t.”
We sit that way for a long while. Nothing but the moon and the wind. After a while, he starts to ease up, though the paw holding my rope never relaxes. I lean back against the bunny. Really no time for propriety. The hare shifts, muzzle burying against my neck. I twitch at the cold of his nose pad. Then my own nose catches a hint of something. I’ve smelled this bunny before, of course, but now with most of the grime washed off, he smells softer, warmer, almost like...
I look down to see the hare studying my expression. Looks to be deciding between waiting this out, shooting me right here, or doing something else to me I’d not discuss in mixed company. I bank on it not being the second one and clear my throat. “You—You’re a...”
“...Yeah.” The hare speaks softly, though her voice still holds a grit of smoke, body still, eyes wide.
“Okay. No need for that look, bunny.” I take a breath. “I don’t exactly blame ya.”
No response. She sits with that perfect stillness only hares seem to possess.
“So, I’m guessing the reason Harding couldn’t track you is because... Well, he was expecting a...”
“Yeah.”
“And I can tell now because...”
“Don’t allow the most of men this close to me.”
I put on a theatrical voice. “Not alive, anyhow.”
She squeaks. Almost a laugh. Maybe she won’t shoot me.
She rolls close, laying between my legs.
I give her a questioning look.
She looks up, ears quivering. “Cold.”
I nod. “Fine by me. I wasn’t keen on freezing either, remember?”
She tugs the rope again, putting pressure on my wing bones. “Don’t get ideas.”
“I’m not! I’m just...adjusting to the facts, is all.”
We lie there, her floppy bunny ears all flopped over my shoulder. I try to relax, move to make the rock dig into my back a little less. She is shivering against me. I decide to keep her talking. “So exactly why were those men so bent on doing us in? Or do you just have that effect on folks?”
“They’re workin’ for that overgrown pussycat, Tanner Hayes.” A quick paw flips a pick from her boot and goes to work on the cuff still clamped on her wrist. She works it partway in, but it takes some doing before it clicks, on account of her shivering. “I suspect he meant for them to steal the cash so he could get his paws on the insurance.”
“But you double-crossed them.”
“The hell I did. Never met them ‘til just this evenin’.”
“So how’d you come to know their plan?”
She flips an ear up. It hits me in the muzzle with a wet smack. “How’d ya think?”
I rub my damp nose on my damp shoulder. “And you stole it first.”
“If they didn’t want me to, they coulda picked a room with thicker walls.”
“...Huh.”
“Yep.”
We sit for a moment. “And now they’re coming to kill us.”
“They’re comin’ to kill you, lawbat. They still need me.”
I look her in the eye; this bunny’s set a real burn to my wings. “The hell for?
She groans, hanging her head to the side and letting her ears dangle, sending a telegraph tingle up my spine. “To tell ‘em where the money is.”
“But you were burying the strongbox when I caught you.”
“That ah was.”
My ears tuck back against the night’s cold. I cogitate on the new events for a while. It took near to three hours for me to find her, and I was tracking. She could’ve outrun me just fine. So why was she only starting to dig when I found her? The answer hits me like a hoof to the head. “...That strongbox is empty. You already hid most of the money somewhere else.”
The hare gives a shivering laugh. “Hope for you yet, Sheriff.” She is holding me a fair bit closer than is strictly necessary for warmth. I can feel certain lady parts pressed against me in an altogether unladylike manner.
I direct my mind e
lsewhere and try to be a gentleman. “Won’t they look inside?”
“I fixed ‘em in apple pie order: locked it right back up. They’ll have to take it back to Hayes for the key. I’m sure that kitty’ll be pleased as punch to get back that box chock-full a’ nothin’.” Clearly freezing, she still sounds proud. “Even if they chase us, we got a good half hour’s start for the trail to go cold.”
“How’d you figure?”
“That’s how long it takes to pick up few dozen twenty-dollar bills in the dark.”
“They’ll stop to pick them up?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I straighten up. “I’d have gotten my man.”
“Well, ya sure did that!” She pulls the rope taut. Her paw shakes. “Play by Hoyle’s rules and ya lose at poker.”
My ears lift. “Hoyle never wrote a word on poker.”
“Bosh! I’ve seen those pretty little rulebooks he puts out.”
“They just use his name to sell it. He was dead a hundred years before anybody threw a chip in.”
“The hell’d you learn a thing like that? Wait, now...” She quirks an ear. Her gaze is steady. She’s not shivering. “You’re not local. You’ve got Old States schoolin’ written all over you.”
“Gotta come from somewhere.”
“Rich family?”
“Lawmen and lawyers.”
She flips an ear, scoffing. “Figures.”
I expect her to talk on it more, but that’s the sum of it. She lays her head back against my chest, paw still clenched on the rope. There’s nary a move from her, but I don’t figure for a minute she’s asleep. I can’t afford to fall asleep either, but sky’s a heck of a lot brighter when I finish resting my eyes.
Her guns shine in the first light of the morning. Pretty little things, now that I look at them. Matched set too; I wonder how she laid paw on such custom jobs.
The hare’s still not moving. I breathe deeper, steeling myself.
In one tight-sprung leap, I go for her guns.
