Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  "I am. I guess you are the Paris Fallon I've heard of."

  "Well, now that we've got that clear, why don't you boys get on outta my town?" suggested Tell.

  Calhoun hadn't expected the marshal to side with Fallon, and he didn't like being shamed in front of a woman.

  "You have thirty seconds to get outta this town," Fallon ordered.

  "Or what? Or you'll shoot me where I stand?” asked Calhoun as he hooted.

  Fallon, eyes like fathomless pools of emptiness, spoke in his low voice, "I damn sure might, but I will give you your chance to draw.”

  "Miss Masterson,” Tell said, "please leave the street." He knew that Paris was out for blood and had been for weeks.

  Calhoun motioned the other man to come with him. "I'm leaving. You, even you Fallon, won't shoot a man in his back."

  Frannie never really saw what happened although she replayed the scene in her mind later. Calhoun had backed down, and to her, it seemed to be over, so she prepared to tell Paris how she felt. Before she could utter a word, Calhoun stopped walking. His hand twitched.

  "Calhoun," Paris called out in a warning tone.

  It happened fast. Calhoun and his friend separated, turned, and positioned themselves with their legs spread slightly.

  Paris pushed Frannie hard to one side.

  Calhoun's draw was quick, but his Colt hadn't cleared its holster before Paris had drawn his twin pistols and easily killed the man. The second man drew as well, but Tell Starr dropped him with a shotgun blast before he could fire at Paris. The blast sent the man reeling.

  Paris and Tell walked over to the men who lay in the street. Tell kicked at one with a dusty boot. “That one is as dead as dirt."

  “Good shootin'," Paris commended his friend Tell.

  Tell used his boot this time to turn Calhoun over; the man cried out, “Help me, please. Get me a doctor." People were crowded around.

  "Gut shot," Tell Starr said as he shook his head, "ain't gonna help to get a doctor."

  "Don't let me die like this,” he begged, "I’m hurtin' awful bad." Then, Calhoun spit up blood.

  "Don't seem humane," Tell muttered but didn't express much sympathy.

  "Don't let me die,” the man was screaming now.

  Without a word, Fallon drew one gun and put a bullet through the man's head.

  Frannie cried out in horror as she put her hands to her face.

  “Ain't sufferin’now.”

  “That was horrible; you murdered that man.” Frannie practically yelled in Paris'face.”

  “It had to be done.”

  “It was murder.”

  “That son of a bitch was with the man who killed your cousin, Ed." He didn't excuse his language. “He rode with Wagner and those who killed Ed. Right now, he's wanted by a man who wants to kill him for rapin' his wife." He was blunt. "I was collecting a bounty, that’s all."

  She was shaking. "I don't like the killing, all the blood."

  “I don't like to have to explain myself to you. I don't kill without a reason. Just now, I put a bullet in that man's head, and it was mercy ‘cause he was gut-shot."

  "I'd like to go home.

  "Miss Masterson, this is what Doc does, too,Paris.” said cruelly.

  With a stiff back, she wheeled around and walked to her buggy. "I'll go alone."

  "No, you must be escorted.”

  "I can take care of myself."

  Paris smiled without humor. “Yes, I am sure you would charm a man to death."

  "I don't find you amusing."

  “I don't guess you do,” he admitted.

  “I don't want you at my father's ranch anymore."

  “Well, that's fine by me, but I made a promise to Doc that I can't break. I have to watch out for you.

  She gritted her teeth. "I will explain to him that I told you not to come to the ranch.”

  "I know that, but Doc asked me to do this.”

  She stood there, fuming, so angry that she could hardly stand it and said, “He is better than you."

  "Yes, ma'am, I guess he is. But there is plenty of blood on his hands, too."

  Lightning fast, her hand whipped around. The slap made a bright red hand print on Paris' cheek. She didn't care who he was. "You are not fit to be his friend."

  "No, ma'am,”he told her quietly, no expression on his face. He gingerly touched his cheek, "but I am, and he asked me to do this."

  She stared at him for a second, hating the tears that welled up in her eyes. "He is different," she told him defiantly.

  "You believe that...greatly believe in him. God knows he needs that."

  She sullenly allowed Tell to help her into the buggy but refused to let Paris touch her.

  Tell muttered to Paris, "Like a nest o' hornets."

  "Remind me when Doc gets back...."

  "Yeh?"

  "To knock the shit outta him."

  Tell laughed. ”I will remind you to do that, I will.''

  "Be obliged.” He got into the carriage.

  During the next week at the ranch, she didn't speak to Paris except for when she had to. She refused to read books aloud and kept her face averted. What was worse was that Paris didn't mind that she didn't speak to him.

  But eventually, Frannie's good nature returned, and she began to talk again, mostly about Doc. She refused to center on his bad points but glorified his best qualities. She held Doc in a glowing image. Gradually and grudgingly, Paris had to admit he knew part of what Doc saw in her. She saw the southern gentleman in Doc, the man who embodied the Old South and genteel lifestyle.

  However, a gentleman, Paris would never be.

  He got to know Frannie better, actually listened to her, and found that he did like Frannie. She defended what she believed in and was gentle hearted but strong willed. It was a precarious friendship, not very stable, but more than a mere truce.

  Even a few times, they laughed together and went places together. They took long horseback rides, and she told him of her childhood. He began to comment more often. Perhaps it was guilt over what he had done in front of her or what he had said to her, or maybe it was the fire in her that he had witnessed, but he began to try to get along with her.

  Paris didn't race with her and wasn't very interested in the pretty pool of water that she had shown to Doc. Games and aesthetics were wasted upon him. Frannie tried to figure out what she could show him on the ranch because she had made a game of trying to find something to amuse Paris.

  She decided on something and opened her mouth to tell him when her mount, a nervous little filly named Sunny, suddenly reared.

  Frannie was in front of Paris and his big paint, Bic, and she struggled to keep in the saddle as Sunny bucked and danced wildly around a ground rattler. The snake lunged at the horse, and Sunny bolted with a squeal. Frannie's stirrups flapped uselessly as Frannie struggled to get her boots back into them. She fought a rising fear.

  Paris reined his horse after her as Sunny raced off the trails, galloping madly through the trees and over the rough ground. Thin, leaf-tipped branches slapped against both of them; Frannie put her face down to avoid the pain.

  Paris rode hard; Bic was the fastest horse he'd ever seen anywhere, but he couldn't get close to Sunny. Suddenly, Sunny burst from the trees, and a large branch ripped the reins from Frannie's hands. Instinctively, she lunged for the reins and felt her balance slip precariously. From far away, she seemed to be hearing Paris calling to her. Just a little farther.

  She reached. And slid. The ground rushed towards her as she slid. She went over, and then, there was no ground at all as Frannie and Sunny plunged over a bluff.

  Frannie screamed in primal fear and then in acute pain and shock as her body slammed onto a sharp rock ledge. She just lay there somewhat surprised to be alive but not daring to move. She had always hated this bluff and tried to avoid it.

  She was quiet, but she heard a terrible screaming. Sunny.

  "Oh good, Lord, Frannie?" It was the first time he had used he
r first name.

  She opened her eyes to see Paris fifteen feet above her, peering down with concern all over his face. For some reason, she found a giggle rising. He looked so worried.

  But Sunny's screaming hurt her so badly that she covered her ears with her hands. “God, please let the noise stop,” she prayed aloud. Tears squeezed from beneath her lashes.

  Tiny pebbles rained down on her as Paris shifted around. Frannie heard a sharp gunshot. She then removed her hands from her ears.

  “She's outta her misery,” he called, “are you hurt?”

  “I don't know." She was fascinated that he had alleviated her mental anguish from hearing the screams of the horse before asking about her physical issues. What an odd man he was.

  "Be careful and check."

  The ledge was about ten feet long and maybe half that wide, and the earth crumbled as she got to her feet. She could see Sunny far below. Frannie took inventory: her back was already getting sore and felt bruised, and she thought her wrist was hurt but not broken. She yelled her findings back to Paris.”

  "Be still. That ledge isn't secure."

  "It's crumbling."

  "Hold on," he said as he disappeared for a few minutes, which went by like hours. "Frannie, I've got my rope tied up here. If I make a sling, can you pull yourself up?"

  "I don't think so. I'm not that strong, and besides, my wrist is hurt."

  "Maybe I can pull you up." He didn't know if that would work, either. He looked down at Sunny. "I'm not sure what is best,” he admitted his uncertainty.

  "I'd rather stay here than try to get up there and fall; I'm afraid," she called, noting that his face was etched with concern.

  He yelled back, "I'm coming down. Get against the bluff, and don't look up. Cover your head and face." Suddenly pebbles began to fall on her.

  She kept her eyes shut and her arms over her face as dirt poured down. In a way, she waited for the ledge to crumble beneath her feet and for her to fall down there beside the dead horse; only it hadn't died immediately.

  He came down hand over hand, it was easy for him, but it wouldn't be for her. Paris had to leap back as the edge disappeared under his feet. His heart hammered with the close call. "You okay, Frannie?"

  "Yeh," she said as she breathed hard. But her eyes were feral-looking.

  "We're gonna go back up."

  She shook her head in disbelief. "I'm afraid."

  “I'm gonna get you outta this."

  "I don't know if I can." Frannie looked back down at Sunny, shivered, and said, "Paris, I'm really afraid." She had never called him anything except Mr. Fallon.

  He could see that she was so scared and shocked, and he decided she wasn't going to try to go back up; they weren't in a secure enough area for him to physically force her. "Frannie," he said as he looked directly into her eyes, "do you trust me to get you out of this mess? I have to have your trust."

  For some reason, she did trust him; he was the kind of man who could do anything. "Yes, I trust you," she whispered.

  "Put your arms around my neck, hold on real tight,and keep your eyes closed. I'll do all the work.”

  His voice was so calm and confident, but she asked, “What are you going to do?"

  “I'm going to pull us up. All you have to do is hold on to me.”

  “If you lose your grip and we fall, the ledge won't hold us, will it? We'll fall."

  “It might hold if we fall.” He didn't sound as if he believed his own words.

  "If it doesn't hold?"

  "We might still be okay. Besides, I ain't gonna lose my grip. I can pull us up, hand over hand."

  "I don't want to lie down there screaming like Sunny," Frannie told him, "with no one to put me out of my misery."

  He tenderly raised her chin to look into her eyes. "Trust me.” He made her a promise. Rarely had anyone ever depended on him, besides his riding buddies, but they depended on his aim.

  With a deep breath, Frannie stepped into his arms, wrapped her arms around his strong neck, crushing herself against him. She was uncomfortably aware of his hard body against her and was ashamed that she took notice of it. He smelled of leather and whiskey and of his horse and clean sweat.

  He concentrated on pulling them up, but he was also aware of the way she felt against him, soft and vulnerable. Hot. Cursing himself silently, he started his climb. Paris was muscled up, but he was pulling another one hundred pounds up with him. His arms burned with strain, but then he was there, awkwardly pulling them oth over the edge.

  For a second, both of them lay on their backs, staring at the sky.

  "I was so afraid," Frannie told him.

  "That feeling you had in your stomach? That is what I feel every time I have to draw," he said suddenly, "the excitement, the fear,.”

  "I couldn't do it then," Frannie admitted.

  "No one should have to.”

  She turned to look at him. "Will you always do it...gunfight?"

  "I guess. Life made me this way, so maybe there is a reason for it."

  "You never have talked to me this much."

  He smiled a little and said, "I ain't educated like Doc, and I ain't real smart like Tell is. I feel kinda dumb around people like you...like you want to laugh at me."

  "I've never laughed, and Doc doesn't laugh at you. Besides, I think you're very intelligent.”

  He grunted a reply, "Thank you."

  She sighed and replied, "Thank you, too."

  "What?"

  She lay back and replied, "For rescuing me."

  "I couldn't face Doc if I let you get killed.”

  "That's why you saved me? That's it? Because you're afraid of John?" Angrily, she stood up. Her bones ached when she did.

  Paris got to his feet. "I ain't afraid of him; he's my friend. And that ain't why I saved you. I had to...." He looked at her closely, and they both turned away uncomfortably. He was scared that he had almost kissed her and that she might have kissed him back. She was the reason Doc, his best friend, wanted to live, and Paris would die before he ruined that.

  "We'd better get back in case you're really injured." He helped her onto his horse Bic. She rode in front of Paris, aware, like he was, that their bodies were close. He helped her dismount: his hands on her waist, drawing her down almost against him where she was forced to look up.

  He didn't know why he wanted to kiss her. But he did. Maybe he wanted to know just a little of what Doc found.

  He felt a wave of desire wash over him, and he almost kissed her, again; this time he was positive she would have kissed back. He was about to say something before the kiss, to maybe lessen the meaning and save him when a voice interrupted.

  "Frannie, don't you look beautiful but a real mess. Darling, what has happened to you?” Doc drawled from the porch.

  Quinn and her brothers Ford and Kit stood flanking Doc Holliday.

  “Paris, it's John.” She turned and rushed over, holding her ribs to give him a chaste hug.

  “Are you injured?”

  “Yes. A rattler scared my horse.”

  Paris greeted them and told a subdued version of what they had been through. Frannie was bothered that he had down played his heroism. Doc went white as he heard about the ledge crumbling. In his mind, he saw Frannie falling and breaking on the rocks and screaming. Paris would have had to put her down as he did the horse. He shivered. Doc thanked Paris sincerely.

  Over dinner, Doc told them about going to Dallas where they had worked to get things straightened out. They finally had to threaten to call in Tell, Paris, Bat Masterson, Luke Short, and the Earp brothers. Marren backed down, afraid to face that kind of force.

  As for Patrick, he had had enough trouble that he couldn't come back to Texas for a while. Marren had backed off but might go after Patrick again.

  Doc and Kit had heard about Paris’s killing Parker Calhoun and were sorry they had missed it. Quinn thanked Paris for avenging his nephew's death.

  “The bounty was good on him,” Paris said
, “and Tell told him to get out of town. Tell needs to check the bounties closer.”

  “You were paid for killing that man?” Frannie asked. She wasn't condemning as she had in the past, only curious.

  “Bounties vary. I make most of my money collecting them 'cause I ain’t the card shark Doc is.” Paris and Doc laughed. “Some are to bring an outlaw in, and some are dead or alive, and it don't matter none. Mainly the law wants the bad ones off the street, and men like me, we do it. And it pays.”

  After a while, the men rode into town for a card game that promised to be a good one. Doc stayed at the ranch with Frannie.

  Alone, Frannie told Doc that Paris really had saved her life, and he nodded, "I knew he would take care of you."

  "I think we get along a little better now," she admitted, "but he was hard to get to know.”

  “I want you and Paris to like each other.” He took her hand and said, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, John, so much.” Her second's attraction to Paris had been only appreciation. She loved this man, she thought. Her face felt hot with guilt and shame.

  "I don't think I like leaving you.”

  He kissed her.

  He wanted and loved her so much that it was hard for him to control his desires, but he pulled away. "Frannie, for me to remain a gentleman, I'm afraid that I must stop. I can't control myself much longer, and I fear for your virtue. There is only one solution."

  "What is that?" Her face was warm.

  "I believe I shall have to ask your father for your hand in marriage." He paused and explained, "Tomorrow night is the ball at Edgar Smith's home. I have wrangled an invitation. I'd like to speak to your father there if that is acceptable to you.

  Would you want to marry me, Frannie?"

  "I will," she said softly. She faintly thought of Bible studies and sermons, remembering that it was better to marry than to burn. Paris Fallon would make her burn, she knew. And because she knew that, her face only flamed redder. Doc thought she was blushing with happiness, and she was happy; she was also just a little confused.

  He pulled her to her feet. "I love you, Frannie. He crushed her mouth with his own, and she was dizzy with desire.

  "John...." But he kissed her, and her whisper was cut off. She wasn't sure what she might say.