by Keli Gwyn
Miles excused himself, went into his shop, and emerged with his holster creating a bulge beneath his frock coat. The two men headed west on Main, stopped at a large field cleared of trees, and tromped through the bunchgrass.
“C’mon, Mama.” Tildy raced after them.
Elenora strolled down the rutted road, careful not to stir up dust. Her lavender skirt bore enough of it all ready. Although not practical, the light color kept her cooler than her darker dresses. The last thing she needed was to swoon and end up in Miles’s arms again. To do so would only serve to fuel a fire that mustn’t be allowed to spread. A clear head was what she needed. That and a splash of cold water.
The citizens of El Dorado gathered at the south end of the field. Two sets of uprights had been stuck in the ground at the north end, each pair supporting a crosspiece as high as her top button. Miles and the sheriff set five tin cans on each target at one-foot intervals. The setup reminded her of the range at Will and Pearl’s place, where she’d spent many an evening practicing.
Apparently satisfied, Miles and Sheriff Henderson strode toward the boisterous crowd. The excitement in the air was palpable.
Miles stood by her side in his waistcoat, his frock coat discarded, with one hand resting on the handle of his revolver. Sheriff Henderson faced the gathering.
“Ladies and gentleman, it’s my privilege to once again oversee the shooting match that has always been the highpoint of El Dorado Day. For the benefit of those new to town, I’ll go over the rules.” He smiled at Elenora and continued.
“Each man will get one practice round of five shots. For the actual competition there will be three cans and three shots. Anyone blasting all three cans off the board will be considered a winner and get a gold ribbon. Miles is the only one who’s earned one every year. We’ll see if he can keep up his winning streak. And now that we got the formalities out of the way, who are the first contenders?”
Tommy and Timmy stepped forward, and Miles muttered to Elenora. “What do they think they’re doing? They’re just boys.”
She spoke in a heated whisper. “Those young men have every right to compete. They’ve proven themselves repeatedly, and yet you persist in thinking ill of them. They didn’t start that fire, and I intend to prove it.”
He refused to believe the Talbot twins were responsible, reliable, and hardworking. Miles would owe them an apology when she discovered the real culprit.
Sheriff Henderson allowed them to compete. The crack of Tommy’s revolver signaled the start of the match. When the brothers had completed their practice rounds, they reloaded while Paul Dupree and his brother dashed to the targets to set up cans for the final round. Timmy got one, Tommy two. Not a bad showing, considering how old their guns were and the fact that the sheriff had them stand fifty feet from their targets.
Two-by-two the men competed. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, so thick Elenora could almost taste it. When the last duo fired their final shots, only two men had earned a gold ribbon. From what the sheriff said, Miles would be the third. Having seen him shoot, she agreed. He was a true marksman.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for.” Sheriff Henderson had never been as animated. “The question on everyone’s mind is, ‘Will Miles Rutledge earn his fifteenth gold ribbon in a row?’ Come on up, Miles.”
Miles approached the mark in front of the target on the left, took out his revolver, and put on a show for the crowd, pretending to polish the wooden handle on his crisp white shirtsleeve, blowing on the end of the barrel, and exercising the fingers of his right hand. His ready smile was firmly in place. Clearly he was enjoying himself.
“Sheriff, wait!”
Elenora turned to see who’d spoken, surprised to find the blacksmith pushing his way to the front, the large man with his dark brown hair and full beard reminding her of a grizzly. Despite his size, he’d proven to be a gentle giant. Surely he wasn’t going to take issue with the sheriff.
“What’s on your mind, Tiny?”
“I had me an idea. We seen lotsa men take aim today, and only two got all the cans. There’s one here who’s proven to be an excellent shot but hasn’t taken a turn. I’m thinking we oughtta let her.”
“Her?” Miles practically shouted the word. “Oh no! I’m not competing with a woman. I have my pride.”
He certainly did. And he and his pride deserved to be challenged.
Tiny continued. “Mrs. Watkins done shot a scrawny little rattler in only three tries. I reckon she could take out some cans. What do ya say, Sheriff?”
“I…This is…highly unusual. What do the rest of you think?”
Mr. Olds stepped forward. “Miles competes with her every day. Why should today be any different? I say give her a chance.”
A number of other men took turns voicing their support.
“Mrs. Watkins!” Timmy raced toward her. “Tommy’s got your gun.”
“He does?”
“You’re gonna shoot, aren’t ya?”
“She is.” Miles approached her and whispered, “I’m sorry, Ellie. I hope you can forgive me for putting my foot in my mouth again.”
He’d be sorry all right, because she’d do her utmost to hit every one of those cans. She’d have to stand twice as far away as she did at the Duprees’ place, but she would have five practice shots to make adjustments in her aim. “Yes, Timmy, I’m going to shoot.”
Tommy arrived with the walnut case containing her revolver tucked under his arm. “Here you are, Mrs. Watkins. You can do this. Just take your time, and you’ll do swell.”
Miles chuckled. “What do you have in there? Your cute little derringer?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s a Smith & Wesson, Model Number Two Army, .32 caliber, with a six-inch barrel.”
His stunned silence was her reward. Tommy opened the box, and she removed her revolver. It’s blued finish and varnished rosewood grips never ceased to impress her.
“Would you look at that?”
She couldn’t identify the speaker, but the admiration of the men in the crowd was evident from the number of compliments about her gun being aimed her way. Their approval boosted her confidence, which had wilted rapidly when she realized the expectations placed on her. Hopefully she’d not disappoint the many who’d touted her ability.
Sheriff Henderson removed his hat, mopped his brow, and replaced his Stetson. “You two ready?”
Miles strode to the mark in front of his target. She sauntered to hers, doing her best to appear unruffled, although she feared her breakfast might reappear. She forced herself to ignore the wave of nausea. If she concentrated on the task at hand, she ought to be able to still the turbulence.
“Rutledge,” a male voice called, “you gonna force a woman to stand as far away as you? Give her ten feet, why don’t you?”
Several echoed the suggestion, and Miles motioned her forward. She was about to protest, when she caught Will’s eye, and he inclined his head toward the target. He was right. It wouldn’t do to disgrace Miles in front of the town. Should she hit all the cans, he could console himself with the fact that he’d given her an advantage. She stepped off the ten feet, stopped, and turned toward him.
“Ladies first.”
Great. She had to take her practice shots in front of everyone before he took his. There would be no chance to study his form as she’d done before. Nothing like pressure. Oh well. She could do it.
Taking careful aim, she fired and missed. The shot had gone below the can, so she’d have to raise the end of the barrel next time.
Focus, Elenora. Don’t think about anything but your next shot.
Blocking out the murmuring behind her, she listened for birdsong, leaves rustling, anything reminiscent of her quiet evenings spent on the back field of the Dupree farm. A hawk squawked. That wasn’t exactly what she was after, but it would have to do.
She hit two of the five cans with her remaining four shots. Not impressive, but sh
e’d gotten the feel of things on her last one. She was as ready as could be under the circumstances.
Miles took his practice shots, hitting a can with each one. He lifted one side of his mouth in a half smile and joined her at the stump where they’d left their ammunition.
Now to reload and prepare for the showdown. She tipped up the barrel of her revolver, removed the cylinder, and loaded it with five bullets from her box of fifty. He watched in stunned silence.
Everything in her ached to smirk, but she fought the almost overwhelming urge, speaking in her best customer voice instead. “Convenient, isn’t it? When Sheriff Henderson explained the process involved in loading his Colt and told me about this gun, I knew it would be just the thing. I don’t get black powder on my fingers, and since the cartridges are uniform, my accuracy is quite good.”
“I’d heard there was a metal cartridge model available, but I’ve never seen one before. That’s not exactly the type of gun I’d expect a woman to be packing.”
“I’ve never done things quite the way you expect, have I, Miles? Why should I start now?” She grinned.
Moments later she stood on her mark, extended her arm, and brought it down slowly. She pulled back the hammer, rested her left hand beneath her right just as he’d taught her, and adjusted her aim until she was certain she’d hit her target. Holding her breath, she put her finger on the trigger, squeezed it slowly, and squealed when she sent a can sailing. One down. Two to go.
Miles took his first shot. With seeming ease he hit his target. Both made their second shots as well.
She returned to her mark ready for the final shot, eyed the lone can atop the crosspiece, and got into position. Her hand trembled, and she lowered her weapon to her side. Now was no time to falter.
Despite the size of the crowd, she heard not a sound. The townspeople seemed to be holding a collective breath. She released hers, held her arm parallel to the ground, rested her right hand on her left, pulled back the hammer, inhaled, and—
“Wait, Mrs. Watkins! Wait!”
Chapter 26
What were those boys up to now? Miles clenched his teeth to keep from uttering words that would dig a deeper hole. If he said anything else against the twins, he’d be so far in he’d have to clutch the sides to heave himself out. Ellie believed they were innocent, and now was not the time to challenge her.
She lowered her revolver. “What is it?”
“We’ve got an idea.” Tommy ran toward the target with his brother right behind.
They reached the lone can perched on the crosspiece in front of Ellie. Tommy rummaged in his jacket and produced the small section of rope he always carried. Timmy slipped a hand in his pocket, pulled out the loop of string he was never without, and yanked so hard it snapped in two. They huddled together, their backs to the crowd.
What did they think they were doing? And why didn’t Hank put a stop to their shenanigans? They were distracting Ellie.
“Mrs. Watkins,” Tommy called, “you can do it. Just aim for this.” He held up the can with his rope coiled around it. He lifted up the end, to which they’d tied what looked to be an arrowhead. Yes. That must be it. Tildy had said Timmy had several.
“Would you look at that?” Tiny guffawed. “They done made a rattlesnake.”
Laughter rang out. Ellie grinned at the two miscreants as though she couldn’t be more pleased with them. Tommy set the can on the crosspiece, and the two rejoined the others watching the match.
Hank tromped to the boys, his spurs jangling. “I had half a mind to call you back, gentlemen, but now that I see what you were up to, I can’t help but think you had a fine idea.”
Gentlemen? A fine idea? It sounded like Hank’s opinion of the twins had changed. Had he been listening to Ellie?
She beckoned to the sheriff, and he joined her. After a brief conversation Hank addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Watkins believes it’s only fair for her to take her final shot from the fifty-foot line like we men do. I said that wasn’t necessary, but she insists, so she’ll be standing at the same mark as Miles.”
Several people shouted their approval of her action. Apparently the townspeople wanted to see her show him up. If he were to miss his shot and she made hers without the benefit of her earlier advantage, he’d never hear the end of it.
Why did Ellie feel the need to best him in every arena? First it was business, then music, and now shooting. His life had been moving along just fine until the day she came into town and turned things upside down. She was downright exasperating. And stubborn. And she was leaving.
He felt as though someone had rammed the handle of his revolver into his gut. She couldn’t leave. Ellie belonged here with him. He wanted her in his shop—and in his arms.
Hank waited until the noise died down before speaking. “Please be quiet so she can concentrate.”
Ellie got into position and did everything Miles had taught her with an ease that came only from hours of practice. She pulled back the hammer and took aim, lifting the end of her barrel to compensate for the added distance, just as she’d done earlier.
She squeezed the trigger. The can flew into the air, along with two pieces of rope and shards from the shattered arrowhead.
“Well I never!”
“Look at that!”
“You did it, Mama!”
Shouts such as those abounded, and hats flew into the air. Miles hadn’t seen such commotion since the monumental day in May the year before when news reached town that the Union Pacific and Central Pacific locomotives had met at Promontory Summit in Utah Territory.
Ellie lowered her revolver and cast him a sidelong glance, but no joy shone in her eyes. She didn’t even turn around to acknowledge the adulation of the crowd but merely swept a hand toward his target.
Hank quieted everyone and told Miles to take his last shot. He fired, the report of his revolver ripping the air, and sent the tin can bouncing over the ground. The clanging ceased.
Silence followed, as thick and suffocating as the smoke from the explosion. Ellie approached him, her hand extended. He took it in his and gave it a firm shake, and only then did the assembly applaud.
“Congratulations, Miles. Your reputation is intact. I know you don’t think I should have been allowed to participate, but one day I hope you’ll realize women are as capable as men in many areas.”
He might have won the match and maintained his record, but never in his life had a victory felt as hollow. Even though he’d tried hard to prove to Ellie that he’d changed, his pride had been his downfall. She’d accept Grayson’s offer for sure now.
Elenora left the sheriff’s office the following Monday and hustled across the street. The door to the mercantile stood open, with Miles the only person inside. She entered and marched to the case housing his display of smoking tobacco, pipes, and cigars.
“Morning, Ellie. Shooting with the men wasn’t enough for you? You’re not thinking of taking up pipe smoking now, are you?”
Although Miles’s voice held a hint of laughter, she was in no mood for his teasing. “Do you sell cigars in tins?”
“Tins? No. The government just allowed cigars to be sold in them. Mine are still in wooden boxes. But you, of all people, would know that, so why are you asking?”
“After church yesterday I went for a walk out by the Blackstones’ place and made an interesting discovery. I scoured the neighboring field for evidence of a campsite near the charred area where the remains of the cigar were found.”
“So?”
How she’d looked forward to setting him straight. “I spotted an empty cigar tin and three stubs beside a campfire ring. No one in town has the tins for sale yet, so it had to come from somewhere else. Since Tommy and Timmy haven’t been away from El Dorado in months, there’s no way the cigars could have been theirs. I showed Sheriff Henderson what I found, and he says the fire must have been started by someone passing through, a vagrant perhaps.”
The s
moker was no vagrant. The description Sheriff Henderson had been given of the man who’d been seen in the area matched that of the outlaw who’d attempted to rob the stagecoach. He had long blond hair—like Tommy and Timmy—and he favored cigars. He’d pulled one from his pocket when she’d dangled her foot out the coach door.
Although she’d shared her suspicions with the sheriff, she wasn’t about to tell Miles. He hadn’t believed her when she told him she’d seen the outlaw’s big black horse at Deadman Creek. Besides, from what Sheriff Henderson said, it sounded like the horrid man had moved on. A skinny, blond-haired man had robbed a grocer down in Fiddletown the week before.
Miles traced a knothole in the top of the display case. “They couldn’t have started it then. I was wrong.”
Elenora stared at him dumbstruck. Had Miles just admitted the Talbot twins were innocent?
“I was every bit the boor on Saturday that I’ve worked hard to prove I’m not. I believed the allegations against the Talbot twins and treated them accordingly.” He lifted his firm chin and met her gaze. “But worse than that, I allowed my pride to get in the way during the shooting match, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you that night when I dropped by, but I’d, um, caught you at a bad time.”
He certainly had. When she’d answered the knock on her back door, she’d opened it a scant three inches, unwilling to let anyone see her with her hair loose. But there he’d stood with her bouquet in his hands, and she’d had to open the door to take the vase from him. “I didn’t mean to be so short with you. It’s just that I was preparing to…” How could she explain herself without total disregard of propriety? Bathing was an intimate matter, one a lady didn’t discuss with a gentleman.
“To do battle with the dust of the day?”
“Why, yes. That’s it.” For once he’d shown more tact than she knew he possessed. Apparently there was hope for him yet.
“I know I shouldn’t say it, but you looked beautiful with your hair flowing over your shoulders. Standing with the lamp-light behind you like it was, you looked like an angel.”
