“Jerry!” I cried, “I’m not a spy, you have to believe me! I
didn’t know—are the bandits on their way into town already?”
Jerry
banged on the cell bars. “See that? How would you know what the problem was if
you were really so innocent as you would like me to believe? You show up, out
of the blue, make up some tomfool story about being attacked in the bluffs. You
think you’re safe because I’ve taken you into my home, my wife gives you
dresses and food and a bed—then you slip!” He stopped and folded his arms,
glaring at me indignantly, “Talking with that Mexican stable hand, I heard from
Mrs. Barber that you let slip that the bandits were planning to attack today.
And now they’re here! So tell me,
Laura—if that’s really your name—since you seem to know so much about their
movements, what do they want? You? You’re one of them, aren’t you? You escaped,
you weren’t supposed to get away, now they’re going to shoot up the town unless
they get you back, is that it?”
My
heart pounded in my throat, and my brain felt like it was trying to fight its
way down to my gut. I sat down, dizzy and gasping for air. His words hit me
like punches. How did I know? Now
they’re here—All because of one careless
comment? Had it really been so careless? After all, I was living an adventure
brought on by trying to be more free with my writing—
My
writing. My writing! I thought about the
way I had been thinking more about this story as a work of fiction, as words on
a paper, than the other worlds. All those petitions to a mysterious writer, as
if I was in someone else’s story—what if I was really experiencing my own
story? What if the things I said had bearing on the events of the world I was
in?
I
blinked; Jerry was still standing outside the cell, a sheriff waiting for his
suspect to spill. What exactly was I ready to commit to? I could feed him a
story better than the one I fed Commander Gerald, but just how far could I go
with that?
“Sheriff!”
A gruff voice hollered, accompanied by whinnying horses and gunshots and rowdy
shouting, “Haul your scummy hide out here! Come out, come out wherever you
are!” More gunshots, and mean laughter.
Jerry
didn’t budge.
“Please,”
I said, coming toward the bars, “you have to go out there. It’s time to face
them once and for all, before they run everyone out of town.”
Jerry
turned on his heel and strode toward the door.
“Wait!”
I called, “You have to let me out!”
Immediately,
he turned around and began unlocking the door of the cell. “Why am I doing
this?” he asked me.
“I’ll
get the women and children safe, and I’ll send the men out to back you up,” I
told him. “You are going to take down the bandits together. No more sitting
back and waiting for something to happen. Now you’re going to make it happen.”
Jerry
blinked at me as I walked out of the cell, my gaze firmly fixed on him. I could
tell he was wondering if I was pulling his leg, or perhaps I was a lunatic
(after all, he did find me in a grey jumpsuit!) making up some crazy situation.
Finally,
he nodded, “All right.” He checked his pistol and grabbed a shotgun off the
rack in the wall and cocked it. “Let’s show those dirty buzzards that they
don’t mess with Phantom Gulch!”
I
grabbed a gun, figuring that having a gun, regardless of whether I knew how to
shoot it or not (I didn’t, but could I give myself the skill, as the writer?),
was better than having no weapon at all.
I
slipped out the door as Jerry confronted the bandits. I counted ten of them.
Very distinctly, I stated, “Ten bandits waited in the street; five waited on
the rooftops. Big Tom Gregory had called out his whole gang. All attention was
fixed on the lone figure coming toward them. Sheriff Jerry strode out with a purpose.”
Marco had said no one knew how many bandits there were. I just figured that I’d
put a number on them; not too big odds, but enough to warrant the whole town
turning out. I saw Jerry—who had been carefully measuring his steps
before—suddenly jerk up straight and take long strides to reach the middle of
the street. I stifled a giggle; had I done that?
The
first place I went was the saloon.
“Everybody
quiet!” I yelled above the din. Instantly, everyone froze so still you could
hear somebody swallow the swig of liquor he had in his mouth.
“Sheriff
Jerry is taking on the bandits,” I explained, “and he needs your help! Men, you
need to arm yourselves and get into position behind the sheriff. Women and
children, come with me! I’ll bring you somewhere safe from the fighting.”
“Fighting?”
one of the hussies upstairs yelled. “Who’s fighting?”
“There’s
no fighting yet,” I told her, “but there’s going to be! Everyone get ready now!”
“Where
do we go?” A barmaid asked, ready to go with me. I had a few more stops to make
first, so I said, “For now, you women take all the children you can find and
head for the nearest storm shelter.”
The
men milled about, strapping guns, checking ammo supplies, and cocking shotguns.
The women gathered close to me, eyes wide with fear.
“Storm
shelter?” one woman whimpered, “we don’t have anything like that around here!”
“What
about a cellar?” I suggested, “anyplace like a basement or cellar or anything
like that?”
“You
mean,” one woman forgot her fear in the face of indignation, “all of us
squished together, in one small room, just waiting for the bandits to find us?”
“Of
course not!” I tried to copy the easy movement of the men and cock the shotgun
I held in my hands. It would not move. I tried again, and almost dropped the
thing. The women were still watching me; a few frowned, trying to figure out
what I was doing with the gun. Frantic, I whispered, “Firmly, she cocked the
gun in one smooth motion.”
That
did the trick; I felt almost detached from my own hands as I watched them pull
the hammer back and cock the shotgun like a pro. I tried to keep the pride but
not the danger out of my expression and my voice as I stated, “I’ll be
protecting you, and all the men will be our front line of defense.”
One
of the men passing by on his way out of the saloon chuckled, “You talk like a
drill sergeant in battle, lady.”
I
turned to him, “And why not?” I countered, “After all, this is war!”
I
led the women out the back door, and we snuck around the perimeter of the town
to get to the house. We were just coming behind a large building when a hidden
door opened and a hand beckoned to me.
“Come
in! Come in quickly!”
Ingalls,
the kindly shopkeeper! He held the door for us and directed the flow of women
and children down to the cellar. I noticed that more were sneaking in the front
door, as well, ones who had not been in the saloon when I had made the
announcement.
I
glanced over at Ingalls, and he winked at me again. “When I heard that Sheriff
Jerry was going to make a stand, I knew that somehow you had a hand in it, so
when the men began coming out of the saloon, I sent Marco around to all the
houses to warn the men and gather their families.”
I
was so grateful I could have hugged him; no telling how long it would have
taken me to get everyone organized, or how long the conversation between Jerry
and the bandits would take to go south—which it undoubtedly would. Instead, I
restrained myself to a simple handshake. Ingalls grabbed his own rifle from
behind the counter and nodded toward the front.
“It
should come any time now,” he said somberly.
“Señor
Ingalls!” Marco called, coming to join us
armed with two pistols, and more strapped to his sides. “The women and children
are safe, señor,” he reported.
I
strained to listen to the voices outside. “Here it comes,” I murmured.
Out
in the street, Jerry and Big Tom were done negotiating.
“Throw
down your badge, Colson!” Big Tom
snarled, “You ain’t sheriff no more!”
“I
certainly am!” Jerry retorted, raising his shotgun, “and I say it’s high time
you get outta town!”
Big
Tom sneered at him, “You and what army?”
I
blinked; where had that comment come from? I didn’t know they used that sort of
language in this time period.
Jerry
merely glanced over his shoulder and nodded. A shot rang out, and struck the
ground right between the feet of Big Tom’s horse. The animal reared, and tossed
the heavy man into the dust. Instantly, the bandits jumped off their horses and
total chaos descended. One of the bandits shot toward where the first bullet had
come from, but before he could find out whether or not his shot took, another
rang out from across the street and caught him in the arm.
Everyone
dove for cover while watching carefully to be able to pick out the enemy. I
heard a scream as one bandit tumbled off the roof of the hotel, and another as
one of the men positioned on the balustrade of the barbershop took a hit.
The
bandits attacked, and the townsfolk defended. I sat and clutched my gun as
Ingalls let off the occasional shot when a bandit would get too close to the
store. Bandits were collapsing, but not dying or giving up as frequently as I
would have liked. I hated it every time a man fell, knowing that probably many
of them were husbands if not fathers. How would this end? I glanced to the
other corner of the store.
“Ingalls,”
I called back over my shoulder, “Where’s Marco?”
The
wiry Mexican had vanished. Was he going to be the one to betray us? The bandits
were deeply entrenched, not killing or wounding as much any more, but still
causing plenty of damage to the town, if not its people.
Just
when I thought the bandits were going to make a break for it, we heard a
thunderous crash nearby, and a herd of horses came galloping out of the
stables. One of them carried a rider who whooped and hollered and whistled the
mustangs into all kinds of frenzy. Marco!
Some
of the bandits were forced out of their hiding places as the wild horses
crashed through the barriers and provided ample diversion for the townsfolk to
get their wounded to safety and to move to better vantage points.
A
gun cracked, and Marco’s horse collapsed. I leaped to my feet. The last few
horses were just bucking their way toward the edge of town. I saw his crumpled
form lying in the dust.
Without
even thinking, I dropped the gun and ran out into the street for him. I heard
Ingalls call after me, “Laura, you fool! Get back here!” but I ignored him.
“Marco!”
I called, “Marco!”
He
lifted his head from the dirt as I approached. He was not wounded, only
battered and bruised, as evidenced by the labored movements. He coughed as I
bent over him.
“Are
they still shooting?” he asked me.
I
looked up; I had been so worried about Marco that I had forgotten the whole
thing about running into the line of fire. Now, as the realization dawned, I
was keenly aware of the feel of sharp stings on my back and side. It almost
felt like getting pegged with a paintball gun. I glanced around.
What
he said was true; they were still shooting, and real bullets whizzed at me—but
none of them pierced me! I ignored it, “Not really,” I lied to Marco, “Let’s
get you out of here.” He leaned on me as I stood with him, slinging one arm
around my shoulder while I supported him with my arm around his back.
“Laura!”
Suddenly, who should appear next to me but Sheriff Jerry himself! The shooting
increased, but he seemed as determined to ignore it as I was. “What the heck
are you doing? Get back into the building where it is safe!” He endeavored to
cover Marco and I.
“I
had to get Marco!” I protested. The stable-hand pulled away.
“Never
mind, señorita,” Marco said quickly, “I
can make it! You go with the Sheriff!” He did not wait for my response, but
stumbled his way toward the store. Sheriff Jerry led me toward his stakeout in
front of the bank. I ducked and tried not to trip over the voluminous skirts
and petticoat I wore. I felt Jerry’s hand at my back, pushing me toward the
door, then he yelled in my ear and I was alone. I stopped and turned.
“Jerry!”
“GO!”
he roared, doubled over with a gunshot wound in the side.
I
dove into the bank and watched as he crawled toward the protection of a water
trough. I knew that if I tried to help him, I would end up getting shot again.
Not only that, but I’d left my gun in the store. I was unarmed, helpless, and I
could see the bandits moving in to end the fight by killing the Sheriff. Big
Tom finally emerged from the barbershop across the street. He had his rifle at
the ready, and I knew it was all over. Shooting stopped as everyone watched
this final showdown with bated breath.
“I
said it would be a lost cause, didn’t I?” Gregory mocked him. Jerry was out of
my line of sight, but I could see the bandit leader standing over him, black
and menacing. “This little patch of mud isn’t worth the muck I’m gonna scrape
off my boots when I’m done with it!” He raised his pistol and pulled back the
hammer with malicious deliberation. “You’re mine, Jerry!”
Ka-chunk! “Oh no, he ain’t!”
A
new voice erupted down to Gregory’s right, on the same side of the street as
the bank. The big man glanced over to see who it was—and I saw the flicker of
astonishment in his face. Carefully, I peeked out the doorway.
Carol
Colson stood outside the door of the general store, shotgun at the ready—the
same shotgun I had dropped to save Marco. She peered down the barrel at Tom.
“You
stay away from my husband, you lily-livered son of a yellow-bellied polecat!”
She stepped toward him.
As
if seeing Carol Colson with a gun in her hands, handling it so capably, was not
shock enough for the townsfolk, everyone refrained from gasping until Tom
Gregory, terror of Phantom Gulch, stepped away from the wounded Sheriff!
“We’ve had about enough of your shenanigans, Tom!”
Carol chided him sternly, as if he was a misbehaving toddler, “Now you and
whatever men you have left better drop your guns or so help me I will blow you
to kingdom come!”
I
could see Tom’s eyes traveling over this daring little woman, wondering if she
would really have the gumption to pull the trigger. In answer, Carol swung the
barrel around and shot a window out of the hotel, right beside the head of one
of the bandits.
“Do
it now!” she ordered shrilly.
Tom
obeyed, and we all heard the clatter of falling guns as his men followed suit.
Carol
never budged an inch. “I want all the bandits down here in front of my gun,”
she called out. “As quick as you can!”
I
watched the whole scene, numb to the action as if I was viewing a movie. Who
knew that the nervous, mousy Carol Colson could have so much pluck in her? I
couldn’t breathe or move as all eight men lined up in front of the sheriff’s
wife. She glared at them.
“You’ve
had your fill of this town,” she said, “I’d like to think you’ve had your fill
of this world, but that’s not my decision to make. You have ten seconds to
clear out of this town and nobody better see the hide nor hair of you till the
day you die, or we’ll end you! Is that
clear?” The bandits stood in dumbstruck silence. Carol raised her voice and her
gun, “Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Tom rapped out, and his men murmured
assent.
“Good,”
Carol cocked the shotgun and began counting, “Ten…nine…eight…”
My
mind raced; something was wrong. There were eight—one was missing!
“…five…four…three…“
My
eyes raced to a movement at the hotel rooftop. I barely saw the tip of a
ten-gallon hat.
“Two!”
Gathering
my skirts in my hand, I lunged out the door.
“One!”
“Carol
look out!”
I didn’t make it to her as cleanly as I would have
liked; instead, I tripped on my hem and did a perfect face-plant in the dirt
right next to her in the same instant that two shots rang out. Holding my nose,
I looked up. The hat was gone, Carol’s gun pointed toward a fresh mark in the
trim of the roof. Big Tom held a small pistol in his hand, one he’d probably
had concealed, and it was aimed at Carol—but as he dropped to his knees, I
could see by the blood gushing from his side that he didn’t get the chance to
pull the trigger. The second shot was Jerry’s.
Marco
and Ingalls raced toward us. Ingalls prised the shotgun from the stiff,
frightened clutches of Mrs. Colson, while Marco supported me and very
considerately inquired after the state of my nose.
Carol
regained her mental faculties and immediately raced to her husband’s side.
“Jerry!”
she gasped as the tears streamed down her face, “Oh Jerry! I was so frightened!”
The
other bandits had slipped away; Phantom Gulch was free again. The doctor
scuttled out of his office and toward the wounded sheriff as Jerry consoled his
wife.
“Shh,
shh,” he whispered tenderly, “You were magnificent, Carol.” He stroked her hair
as she sobbed away the rush of adrenaline that left her trembling all over. “A
man couldn’t ask for a better wife than I have in you. This town owes itself to
you, my dear. You saved Phantom Gulch.”
“I
wouldn’t give two pins for the town if I
had lost you, Jerry!” Carol
declared staunchly.
I
stood at the edge of the crowd. A strange man in a dark hat stared at me with
piercing eyes in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I
tried to walk away calmly, but he followed me. Desperate, I broke into a run.
I
didn’t stop running till I got to the little red house. I dashed up the porch
and inside. I could hear the stamp of boots following me. They stopped, and I
thought I heard a single, careful creak on the porch step. My heart pounded wildly
as I snuck into the furthest corner of the house, Carol’s well-stocked larder.
I saw a row of barrels near the back of the room. I could see space between
them and the wall.
The
hinges of the front door creaked only slightly as the intruder stepped inside.
What would happen when he caught me? Would I be able to escape certain death,
as I had escaped being shot? I tried not to think about the different ways he
could kill me without bullets as I ducked behind the barrels. I desperately
curled up with my knees clenched against my ears, trying to silence my
breathing as much as possible. I heard the shuffling, slow step as the man
following me entered the larder and stood before the barrels.
“Hey
you!” he yelled, and I knew it was all up with me, “come out from behind those
barrels, there!”
The
floor swayed beneath me, and as I caught a deep breath and inhaled a whiff of
entirely new smells, I came fully to the realization that I must not be inside
a house any longer.
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