by Greg Dragon
Little Bear led Charity to the edge of the platform. She gasped as she looked out over the barn. There must have been nearly thirty of the creatures. The barn had once been home to their numerous horses, but all she could see now were occasional bones among the crowd. “Are there more in the other barns?” she asked as she surveyed the crowd below. They were all staring up at her. It didn’t make her nervous as she would have expected. It made her excited.
“No. They have been barricaded for the moment, to protect the animals.”
She turned to him. “Why?”
“To prolong the food supply. We will stay here for awhile to regroup and plan. We will need to eat during that time.”
Charity nodded. “I see.”
Little Bear smiled at her. “Give me your hand.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Trust me,” he said.
She took his offered hand and he held it up. The shuffling and moans from below stopped. “Heed my words,” he bellowed to the masses below. “Today dawns a new era. Behold, your new queen!”
And just like that, Charity’s hope for her future renewed and her new life began.
Chapter 13
Connor McClane’s shoulders drooped with relief as he pushed open the swinging doors to the saloon. It had been a long, stressful day full of robbery accusations, street brawls, and dead horses. On days like these, he almost wished he had forsaken a life in the west and gone east after the death of his bride-to-be. The only things that kept him in Lonesome Ridge were the convincing pleas of his older sister.
“Evenin’, sheriff.” Neil Avery inclined his head as Connor settled onto his typical seat at the bar. It was like a second home to him and he reveled in its comfort. A glass half full of amber liquid waited for him and he knocked it back in one quick gulp. Avery had it filled again before it even hit the wood. “Rough day, Connor?”
McClane grunted. “The worst.” He threw back the next shot and closed his eyes as it burned its way down his throat. He should have been a bartender, he thought. All day access to free booze and free women.
“Ah, it ain’t all bad,” Avery was saying. “You’ve had harder days, sheriff. Like with your sister, and Lydia.”
Connor’s nostrils flared. Leave it to Neil to make a bad day worse. The sheriff was convinced that the man did it just so Connor would drink more. Not like he didn’t drink enough as it was already. He was pretty sure he could have bought the saloon by now. “Yeah, I have.” He tapped the empty glass on the bar. “You’re slow today.”
The bartender flashed him a grin and poured another shot into the glass. “Been busy.”
“So I figured. My jail is filled with drunkards who decided to mess up my streets earlier today. Thanks for that.”
Avery winked at him as he filled another patron’s glass. “My pleasure. Wouldn’t want ya to be out of a job, now would I?”
Connor grunted again and wrapped his hands around his drink. He was half a bottle in when Avery leaned against the bar in front of him. “The Gaines boys were in the other day.”
The sheriff raised an eyebrow at the bartender in warning before purposefully ignoring him and focusing on his favorite pastime. Neil wasn’t deterred. “It was just Jeremiah and Jasper. Jed wasn’t with them. Pro’lly out causin’ all sorts o’ trouble, that one. Jedidiah always was a right devil. His mama couldn’t keep him in check, no matter how hard she tried. He was the death o’ her, I’m sure of it.”
Connor clenched his teeth together so tightly they creaked. His hands shook as he gripped the glass. The liquid inside splashed onto his fingers and he forced himself to relax. It would do no good to cut himself on a broken glass.
“Di’n he kill yer woman all them years ago?” Old Man Richards plopped himself down on the stool next to Connor. A vile stench wafted over the area, so strong it made the sheriff nearly gag.
“You have an aversion to water, Richards?” Connor parried the question with one of his own.
The old man tossed the sheriff a look as dirty as he was before raising his arm to sniff under it. Connor immediately regretted asking the question. The smell intensified to the point of nearly being intolerable.
“What you talkin’ ‘bout? I smell dandy.” Richards snatched the bottle from the bartender’s hand and took a swig. “Them Gaines boys, though. Them boys’ll stink the right stink outta ye. That Jer... Jerma... Jermamiah. At’s ‘is name. Jermamiah. The ugly’n. Course’n ‘e’s better’n ‘at kid. Whatsisname. The little one. Jester? Jister?”
“Jasper.” Connor beckoned to Avery and the bartender pulled another bottle from a shelf underneath. The liquid was slightly darker in color and Connor’s mouth watered just looking at it.
“Yeah, Jaster. Lil’ know-it-all, anyway. Thinkin’ ‘e’s better’n me, better’n ever’ne. Stupid kid.” Richards made a swipe for the new bottle, but Connor jerked it out of reach before his grubby fingers could even brush the glass. “Aww, dun’ be like that, sher’f. ‘At’s th’ good stuff. Share ‘n share alike, they say. Be a good fella and pours us a little here, sher’f.” He shoved his empty glass toward Connor and grinned a toothless grin.
McClane sighed as he poured a sip into the glass. “How long have you been in here?”
“Uh...” The old man scratched his head in thought. Dirt drifted from his scalp onto his shoulder. “Dunno. Couple hours, I reckon. Not long.”
He listed to the side as he pulled his glass back to him. The dirt toppled off his shoulder onto Connor’s jacket. The sheriff shook it off as his nose curled involuntarily and he scooted to the far side of his stool.
“Neil, he’s done. No more.”
Avery tipped his nonexistent hat and pulled the nearly empty bottle away from the old man, along with his completely empty glass.
“Aww, c’mon, sher’f. ‘At ain’t fair! I’m jus’ try’n’ t’ ’ave a little fun, s’all.” He leaned off his stool and rested his arm on the sheriff’s shoulder, putting his mouth dangerously close to Connor’s ear. “You un’erstand, doncha?. Fellas like you ‘n me, we’re the same, ya see? We both... life’s shit on us but good, sher’f. I got me a no good woman who ain’t worth no good. An’ you, you ain’t got no woman ‘t’all. ‘At no good Jedi... Jebi... ‘At no good Gaines boy, he done take her from ya, jus’ like the other’n took my damn dog. Them boys, they no good. Not worth a damn bit o’ good, I tells ya.”
The door to the saloon opened and the young deputy walked in. Connor breathed a sigh of relief. He wished he hadn’t when he got a lungful of the old man’s stench.
“Amos,” he called as he raised a hand.
The young man trotted over. “Yeah, sheriff?”
“Why don’t you escort Mr. Richards here back to the jailhouse? Tuck him up all nice and cozy in the empty cell and let him get some rest.”
The man rolled off the sheriff’s arm and almost off the back of the bar stool. “Aww, but sher’f, we was havin’ such a good talk. We was bondin’ an’ all ‘at.”
“Come on, Mr. Richards,” Amos said as he tucked his arm underneath the old man’s. He had to turn his head away and coughed a couple times as he pulled him from the stool. “Let’s get you rested up.”
Connor watched as Amos led the old man from the bar and the doors closed behind them. Then he turned back to his bottle. Just you and me now, he thought as he wrapped his hands around it. This was the good stuff, not the typical cheap swill he drank. He needed something strong after that conversation. Images played through his head, memories that weren’t real, nightmares that had haunted him for so many years.
Lydia Prince was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He loved her from the moment he laid eyes on her, and she quickly became his world. When he was promoted to deputy, he’d spent every last penny he had to buy her the nicest engagement ring he could afford. He was just nineteen, still young and stupid, and he had his entire life planned out ahead of him. Sheriff Anders was getting on in years and soon he would retire. Connor would become sheriff and together he and Lyd
ia would raise a beautiful, happy family. Six kids. Three boys, three girls, just like she wanted. They would grow old gracefully and he would pass on the star and spend the rest of his days rocking on the front porch with his gorgeous wife, watching his grandkids race around the yard.
The bottle moved from his hands. “Avery’s special whiskey? Uh oh.” Connor’s head rolled to the side to glare at the intruder. Cora grinned at him. “Bad day, little brother?”
He shrugged as he took in her appearance. Emerald dress that fell off the shoulders, way too much paint on her face. He blinked at her and his eyelids felt heavy. His eyes trailed to the bottle she held in her hand. It was nearly gone. Only a few sips were left in the bottom.
“Hey,” he complained as he reached for it. “ ‘At’s mine. You drank too much.” His lips were fat and his tongue stuck in his mouth as he spoke.
Cora’s laugh held no humor as she pulled the bottle further out of his reach. He propped himself against the bar and tried to grab it from her. His hands felt like lead. She swatted his arm playfully. “That was all you, dear boy.”
He tried to protest as she put the bottle to her lips and drank down what was left, but his teeth collided with his tongue and he couldn’t get the words out. His finger wiggled in a feeble attempt to scold her.
She grinned at him, but her eyes didn’t twinkle like they usually did. “Oops, sorry. All gone.” She was mad, and he knew it. She slid the bottle to the bartender and fixed the man with a glare that Connor was sure he wasn’t supposed to see. Avery took the bottle and avoided Cora’s gaze like it was a viper’s bite. He scooted as far down the bar as he could and busied himself with wiping a spot that was already clean. “Come on,” Cora said to her brother. “Let’s get you home.”
The world didn’t want to stay upright as Connor let Cora lead him out into the night. It took them three times as long as it should have to get to the jailhouse and Cora’s beautiful shoes were scuffed with marks from Connor’s boots, but they made it one piece. She took off his coat and gun belt and hung them by the door as he lay on the stairs and waited for her to finish. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to help him home, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Next, she pulled his hat off his head. He didn’t have the energy to hold his head up and his skull banged into the stairs behind him.
He groaned and rubbed the quickly growing lump behind his ear. “Ow,” he moaned as she pulled him into a standing position. She hefted him up and they stumbled up the stairs. Snores could be heard from the closed door on the right. “Amos is such a good boy,” Connor muttered as the door tried to turn sideways.
“Yes, he is.” Cora turned him around so he was facing the open door to his bedroom. She half dragged him across the floor and dropped him unceremoniously onto the bed. He was snoring before she had his boots off.
***
Hours later, Connor snorted and jerked awake. The dream he had every night pulled him from a deep sleep and ruined any chance he had at going back there. It was always the same.
A cloud of dust billowed up from the trail that curved around the hill. Connor stood up and the grin plastered on his face grew bigger. Lydia was coming home. She had been gone for over a month visiting her dying grandfather in a town far away. Now he was gone and she was coming home. To him, to Connor.
The stage coach came into view. The top was laden with trunks and bags. Two men sat in front, one driving, one carrying a loaded shotgun. Connor looked around. Where was his horse? He was sure it had been right there. He shrugged and started down the hill on foot. He was halfway to the trail when several horses broke from the trees on the other side of the road.
Connor reached for his gun, but all he found was empty air. He stopped and stared at his waist. His belt was gone. He glanced back up the hill, but didn’t see it anywhere. It had just disappeared.
A shot echoed off the hills behind him. He turned back toward the stage coach in time to see the man holding the shotgun tumble from the seat. He landed on the ground in front of the wheel and it ran him over as he screamed. The driver pulled the horses to a stop and the attackers surrounded the stage coach. Connor tried to shout at the men. He tried to run toward them, to draw their attention, to make them stop, but he was rooted in place. His feet were chunks of immovable stone and his throat was sealed shut. He waved his arms, but no one paid any attention to him.
He watched as the passengers were pulled from inside the stage coach. Lydia, her mother, and her father stood in a line beside the stage coach. Her father’s change purse was taken from him, as was her mother’s jewelry. The trunks were dropped to the ground and searched for valuables. Then one of the men stepped up to Lydia. He put his hands on her and pulled her to him. She resisted. She beat against him with her fists. The man backhanded her. She fell to the ground and he kicked her in the ribs.
Connor screamed, but the scream was inside his head. No sound left his mouth.
The man kicked her again and again until she was spitting up blood. Her mother and father were screaming. Connor could hear their cries from where he stood. But they weren’t moving, either. They couldn’t stop the man. He turned and looked up at the hill behind him, at Connor.
Jed Gaines grinned as their eyes met. It was a vicious, evil grin, full of sick joy and hate. Connor had seen that grin before, when they were boys. They were playing down by the river and found an injured doe. She had a broken leg and couldn’t walk. Connor pulled his knife and was going to put her out of her misery, but Jed stopped him. He wanted to play with her. He had that same grin then. Connor could only watch for a few minutes before he had to leave. He left Jed there by the river with the doe. He heard her cries halfway back to town.
And now Lydia was the doe. She was lying broken on the ground and her cries ripped through Connor’s head. Jed waved at him and pulled his gun. He pointed it at Lydia. Connor clenched his teeth and waited for what was to come, what always came. But instead, Jed’s gun slipped from his hand and drool dribbled from his mouth. He didn’t shoot the girl like he always had in previous dreams. This time, he snarled and turned on her. His teeth sank into the soft flesh at her throat even as his companions threw themselves at her parents. Blood sprayed into the air in thick columns.
“No!” Connor shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavy. He sank back onto the pillow and sighed. “Shit,” he said as he ran a hand through his sopping wet hair.
With a groan, he rolled to a seated position and rested his head in his hands. It had been years since he had had a solid night’s sleep, and that wasn’t all because Amos was snoring like a steam engine in the room across the hall. The dream was always the same, ever since he heard rumors that Jed Gaines and his brothers were involved in the attack on the stage coach that killed Lydia and her parents. But this time...
Connor grunted and shoved himself to his feet. “No more drinking before bed,” he grumbled as he reached for his boots.
Cora had left his pants on, but she had removed his outer shirt for him. He grabbed it off the hook by the door and buttoned it as he clomped down the stairs. He left his coat where it was hanging on the hook but popped his hat on his head. Last but not least, he grabbed his belt and hooked it around his waist. He only felt whole with his gun by his side and his hat on his head.
He walked around back and relieved himself before he trudged inside. Instead of going back upstairs, he opened the door to the jailhouse and lit the lantern on his desk. He had some paperwork he still had to do from the brawl earlier, some legal mumbo-jumbo that was required back east on one of the men, so he kicked back in his chair at his desk and picked up the letter he had been working on. He stared at the page, but the words blurred into black squiggles. He put in a valiant effort, but his mind was still reeling from the dream. He tossed the paper back on the desk.
“Balls,” he mumbled as he stood up. He walked out onto the porch. The torches up and down the street were lit, but it was late enough at night that everyone was in bed. Loud
snores echoed from across the street and down two houses. Robert Zane, the butcher, was the noisiest man Connor had ever known. He was loud and boisterous, his laugh could be heard across town, and he was an even louder drunk. The man had spent more than one night in the jailhouse and Connor received complaints on a weekly basis from citizens who wanted his snoring to stop. But besides all that, Robert was a good man that Connor would trust with his life. He treated his wife and kids well and he was always willing to lend a hand whenever anyone needed it. He gave deep discounts to the poorer residents in town, often earning a rebuke and complaint from the richer folk.
Connor’s lips twitched into a brief smile as he stepped down onto the street. He walked up the street a ways, checking that his town was safe and sound, then he turned around and wandered back the other way. Not a thing moved. A few dogs lay on porches guarding their domain, but they were used to his late night ramblings and most didn’t even open an eye to look at him. For a good half hour, Connor leaned against the post by the jailhouse. He listened to the night noises and chewed his lip as thoughts ran through his head.
A snort drew his attention. He glanced up. A horse was barely visible in the black on the edge of how far he could see. He pushed himself from the post and walked back inside to get his jacket. He slipped it on and tightened his belt. He drew his pistols and double-checked that they were loaded. Then he went out onto the porch to see what was going on.
Chapter 14
“We can’t stay here.” Charity paced in front of the cold fireplace. She was alone in the living room with Little Bear and Walton. It annoyed her to have to speak through a translator, but Little Bear’s English was very minimal and she had no clue what language he even spoke. She had no interest in learning, either.
“What would you have us do? We cannot just attack towns like rogue bandits on the run.”
