SHOWDOWN AT CREAGAN'S ROCK

by Norsebard

Contact: norsebarddk@gmail.com

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DISCLAIMERS:

This romanticized Western Action Drama belongs in the Uber category. All characters are created by me, though a few of them may remind you of someone.

All characters depicted, names used, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended nor should be inferred. Any resemblance of the characters portrayed to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

The registered trademarks mentioned in this story are © of their respective owners. No infringement of their rights is intended, and no profit is gained.

This story depicts loving relationships between consenting adult women. If such a story frightens you, you better click on the X in the top-right corner and find something else to read.

This story contains genre-typical profanity. Readers who are easily offended by bad language may wish to read something other than this story.

This story contains genre-typical violence and gunplay, some of which is directed at women. Readers who are disturbed by this type of depiction may wish to read something other than this story.

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NOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:

 

Written: February 4th - March 8th, 2016.

- Thank you very much for your help, Phineas Redux :)

As usual, I'd like to say a great, big THANK YOU to my mates at AUSXIP Talking Xena, especially to the gals and guys in Subtext Central. I really appreciate your support - Thanks, everybody! :D

Description: The Territory of Utah, 1878. A gang of outlaws led by Clay 'Rattler' Beechum has struck fear into the hearts of the citizens of Dry Gulch and the other small towns in the area. When the Beechum gang abducts a circuit judge to use him as a bargaining chip in a trade-off with Clay's jailed brother, the only townies willing to go into action to rescue the judge are Ellie Shepard and her sweetheart Precious Mahoney. Along with their homesteader gal pals 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough and Jezebel Behrle, they saddle up and ride out to show the bandits what wimmenfolk can do…

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CHAPTER 1

Located in the middle of nowhere in Locklin County, the territory of Utah, the town of Dry Gulch was as barren and windswept as the name gave allusions to. Despite the arid surroundings, the town had managed to grow from the original few settlers who had stopped there on their way to California to a proud population of some one hundred and ninety-six souls, old and young.

The sole reason for the town's existence was that it acted as a hub for the many stagecoach lines that crisscrossed the territory. Small, independent businesses blossomed as a result, and Dry Gulch prospered. The saloons outnumbered the churches on a factor of seven to two, but it wasn't a rat town at all. Among other things, Dry Gulch had a bank, a decent eatery, a family-driven hotel, a barber shop, a top-quality livery stable, a well-run law office and even a school house built not too far from Boot Hill.

As with many of the small towns in Locklin County, most of the crime-related problems Dry Gulch faced came from the Beechum gang who resided in a stronghold atop Creagan's Rock located in the nearby Longfield Hills. Clay 'Rattler' Beechum and his far younger half-brother Clarence had terrorized the population for years, though the situation was looking up: Sheriff Boone and his best deputies had managed to overpower and arrest Clarence following a drunken shooting incident at one of the town's saloons.

Now, the younger Beechum was to be taken to the next town over, Cactus Junction, to stand trial and no doubt face conviction. At the stroke of Noon on Thursday, May 16th, 1878, more than one hundred citizens of Dry Gulch were lined up on the main street through town to follow the thrilling event. They were all there, crowding the rutted dirt road between the law office and the Gambler's Den Saloon while speaking in hushed, but excited, tones among themselves.

Eyes shone with eager anticipation as the crowd of men and women of Dry Gulch kept a firm watch on the wooden sidewalk in front of the law office. A murmur rose from the assembled citizens when Sheriff Zachariah Boone's booming voice was heard from inside the office. Moments later, the town's two best deputies stepped out carrying shotguns to clear the sidewalk for the prisoner.

At the rear of the crowd, Precious Mahoney tried to get up on tip-toes to see better. A somewhat meager height of five-foot-two gave the strawberry-blonde with the intriguing green eyes a hard time seeing past the broad, well-dressed backs of the people in front of her, and it wasn't long before she gave up.

Since most of the town's population had just dropped what they held when the news filtered through that Clarence Beechum was to be shipped out, Precious was still wearing the dress she used for her work as a waitress at Dry Gulch's finest eatery, Papa Joe's . The puff-sleeved, full-length dress had held a pinkish-white hue once upon a time, but the harsh conditions had long since ground it into the same dusty-brown color that most other fabrics displayed.

"Oh, it's no use… rats," Precious mumbled. Rolling her eyes, she looked up at her tall friend standing next to her who seemed to have far more luck with watching the event unfold. "Hey you, up there… what's goin' on?"

At five-foot-eleven, Lysette Esther 'Ellie' Shepard had no problems keeping up-to-date with what went on at the law office. The tall woman - who was a vault guard at the bank and thus carried a shotgun over her arm - simply looked above the heads of the other people before she leaned down and offered Precious an update. "Well, they's about ta git Clarence outta the Sheriff's Office an' onto them hosses waitin' ovah yonder."

"I knew that already," Precious said, once more trying to look ahead, and once more giving up. "But what's happenin' right now?"

"Nothin'. They's just standin' there waitin' 's all."

Precious grunted and rolled her eyes. Chuckling, she went up to Ellie's side and hooked her hand inside the tall woman's free arm. Opposites had a knack for getting attracted, and Precious and Ellie were no different. One was a feisty and temperamental Californian who had traveled east in a hurry when she fell into problems with a wealthy suitor from San Francisco who didn't understand the word 'No,' and the other was a cowpoke from Texas who had simply drifted west-northwest until she had stopped in a small, dusty town in the Territory of Utah called Dry Gulch.

They soon discovered they shared a few preferences with regards to the delicious creature known as Woman, so they had hooked up and had moved in together to share the bills. The bills had been shared, as had the meals, the housecleaning, and ultimately the bed. It hadn't happened at once, but over the course of a few months, they had figured out that life without the other was a waste of time.

Ellie's physical presence and her stern look when she was in such a mood - she had the brightest-blue eyes in the entire county, and they could make a diamondback rattlesnake scoot off in a whimper - soon provided her with a job at the bank guarding the vault. It wasn't particularly interesting or exciting, but it earned her a steady paycheck that she used on the household and the occasional whisky at one of the saloons.

She wore brown, long-legged boots, brown canvas pants, a tan shirt over a white, button-up undershirt, a short, brown canvas jacket and a brownish-gray cowboy hat that was well-worn and sported several greasy stains. Her stern appearance was usually enough to fend off the advances of the gentlemen who saw the clear bottom of too many glasses of beer, but for the pesky few who had a hard time understanding the words 'back off or regret it, fella,' she wore a black leather gunbelt that carried a hunting knife and a Colt Peacemaker that sat low and dangerous on her long thigh.

Precious sighed and tried once more to stand up on tip-toes to get a clearer picture, but the crowd of excited townspeople in front of her made it impossible to see what was going on at the law office. "Well, I can hear them yappin', but that's all they seem to- wait, here they come!" she said and gave Ellie's arm a little squeeze.

"They sure is," Ellie said and watched Sheriff Boone and his two best deputies bring the bound and gagged Clarence Beechum out of the jail and onto the waiting horses. The young man - who was only in his late teens but whose list of crimes had already gone beyond the first page on his Wanted poster - tried to resist, but Sheriff Boone yanked him around long enough to make him understand he better not try anything stupid.

The townspeople cheered when the younger of the Beechums was manhandled over to the horses, but a stern look by the Sheriff made most of them pipe down. Zachariah Boone was a man in his prime - mid-forties - and was the proud owner of a thick, swooping mustache that ran from under his bulbous nose and across his cheeks to finally intercept his sideburns. His hair had turned salt-and-pepper in recent times, and he blamed the Beechums for giving him so much grief he had turned gray.

Like most of the townspeople, he wore a brown outfit from top to toe for practical reasons, save for a gray felt ten-gallon Stetson and his shiny tin star that sat proudly on a leather vest. His experienced eyes roamed across the crowd of onlookers before he shoved the reluctant Clarence the last bit of the way over to the horses.

"Hey, Sheriff, awfully nice of ya to gag the annoyin' li'l fella!" someone shouted from the crowd, soon followed by a cheer from the rest.

"Yeah, yeah," Zachariah Boone said and attached Clarence's chains to the saddle. He briefly locked eyes with the younger of the Beechums, but the young hoodlum could only give him a look of pure hatred in return. Once the chains were secure and tight, Sheriff Boone dusted off his hands and let his deputies do the hard work of getting Clarence up into the saddle with his hands tied.

"Ellie Shepard, remember I need to have a word with ya before we leave," the Sheriff said and pointed at Ellie who nodded in return.

Precious furrowed her brow and turned to her girlfriend. "What's that, now? Did you do somethin' you didn't tell me about?"

"Naw, I-"

"You did, didn't you?"

"Naw," Ellie said and gave Precious' cheek a little caress. "I wus gonna tell ya at some point or 'nother… which is now. Sheriff Boone asked me ta watch ovah the empty jail and maybe take care o' some business while he an' the fellas wus away. He figgered I woudden mind makin' a buck or two on top of what I make at the bank. And he wus right."

"Oh… oh, you're free to do that."

"Why, thank ya, darlin'," Ellie said while flashing a broad grin.

Precious chuckled and hooked her arm inside that of her girlfriend once more. She sighed in contentment and snuggled closer, but two seconds later, she jerked back and slapped her forehead. "The packed lunches! Oh Gosh darn it, I forgot the packed lunches! I promised the Sheriff I would make lunch for them! Quick, stall him until I can retrieve them. Please?"

"But of course, darlin'. Anythin' for you… ya know that."

While Precious zipped away from the rear of the crowd to hurry over to the eatery, Ellie's eyes followed the retreating form. A smile spread over her lips that made them lose all of their legendary sternness. She hadn't even dared to dream that a thirty-four-year-old spinster like her would develop such a deep connection with such a woman in such an isolated town - but she had. Now that she had experienced it, the only being she would allow to come between Precious and her was the Grim Reaper, and even then, she would fight tooth and nail to fend him off.

Ellie snapped back to the world around her when Sheriff Boone stomped closer while taking off his Stetson. "Ellie, do we still have a deal?" he said and wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his shirt. "You'll guard the jail and the law office while we're away. There's seventy-five cents a day in it for you, you know. Standard fee for a deputy."

"Aw, yer dern tootin', Sheriff. A deal's a deal. Put it there, pardner," Ellie said and put out her hand so Zachariah Boone could slap it.

Zachariah Boone put his hat back on before he slapped the palm of Ellie's hand. "Good," he said as he transferred an impressive wad of keys from his own vest pocket to Ellie's open hand. "Now… where's that charming Miss Mahoney gone off to? I saw her, but… now she ain't here."

"She'd plum forgotten them there packed lunches or some such she had promised ya, Sheriff," Ellie said and pointed in the direction of the eatery. "She took off like a scalded cat. Won't be long 'fore she's back an' in fine fettle."

Zachariah looked in the direction Ellie was pointing but was unable to see the petite Precious. Instead, he grunted and reached into another of his vest pockets to pull out a silver pocket watch that was connected to the fabric by a metal chain. Grunting again, he snapped the lid shut and stuffed the watch back into the pocket. "We really need to get going. We've brought plenty of firepower, but I won't feel safe until we get close to Cactus Junction. Sheriff Townsend will meet us some distance out with a detachment of deputies."

" 'Cos of Rattler Beechum, Sheriff?" Ellie said and pushed her greasy hat back from her eyes.

"Yeah. That son of a mule wants his kid brother back. We all know that Rattler 'll stop at nothing to achieve it."

"How long is y'all gonn' be away, Sheriff?"

"A week at the most. Aw, there's Miss Mahoney now. Finally. Excuse me, Ellie. Have a nice day," Sheriff Boone said and tipped his Stetson before he walked away from the tall woman.

"Aw, you too, Sheriff Boone. My day's gonn' be dandy," Ellie said and turned to look at her sweetheart who came running back up Main Street carrying three large packed lunches and a smaller wad for the prisoner. Precious' face was flushed and several strands of her strawberry-blond hair had flown loose from the barrette in the mad dash, but Ellie thought she had never looked lovelier.

"Sheriff!" Precious cried, waving her free hand in the air to catch the lawman's attention before he could ride off. She needn't have worried since the long-legged Zachariah Boone was quick to intercept her in the middle of the rutted Main Street. "Sheriff Boone, I humbly apologize for-"

"No time for apologies, Miss Mahoney," the Sheriff said as he helped Precious offload the heavy items. "Thank you. I'm sure they're delicious. We really need to get going."

"Of course, of course… always a pleasure to help you, Sheriff Boone," Precious said and wiped her hands on her apron.

Smiling briefly, the Sheriff tipped his Stetson before he spun around on the heel of his cowboy boot and stomped over to the horses and the waiting men. After stuffing the lunches into his steed's saddlebags, he mounted the large, bay gelding and signaled his deputies they should follow him with the prisoner.

The crowd of townspeople had dissipated somewhat when it became obvious no action would take place at the law office - like a breakout or a gunfight - but the remaining onlookers cheered Sheriff Boone and his small posse on as they rode off.

Sighing, Precious shuffled over to Ellie and once more hooked her arm inside that of her girlfriend. "I'll bet that's all the excitement we'll get this week," she said with a small chuckle.

Ellie grinned and pulled Precious closer to her. "I woudden put my life savin's on that there li'l bet, darlin'."

"You really think that Rattler Beechum will come ridin' in and-"

"Naw," Ellie said and shook her head. Two seconds later, she shrugged instead when she realized she had no clue what the feared desperado would do. "Or, he might. I dunno. But that wussen what I had in mind."

"Oh?"

"Naw. I wus thinkin' 'bout a little… whatsha'macallit… you an' me time, darlin'. It's been a while."

Precious chuckled and looked at the townspeople nearest them to see if anyone had listened in on their conversation. None had, so they set off down Main Street arm in arm. Strolling along the sidewalk in an unhurried fashion, they went past a few stores before Precious leaned against her girlfriend. "I know. I apologize. I've been so tired after my evenin' shifts at the eatery that I just haven't been in the mood for-"

"I wish ya woudden go 'round apologizin' fer everythin', darlin'. Especially not for sommin like this," Ellie said and swung their arms back and forth. "I ain't upset or nothin'… I just miss yer touch. Yer caresses. Yer kisses."

"We kiss every single day, Miss Ellie!"

Ellie chuckled and pulled them to a halt. She turned Precious around so she could put her hands on the shorter woman's shoulders. "We do, an' I go ta heaven each an' every time. But that ain't what I meant. I meant yer special kisses. Them there kisses that set me on fire, darlin'."

Precious blushed but kept gazing into her sweetheart's bright-blue eyes. "I miss that too," she said in a husky whisper. "Rats, I need to pull the late shift again tonight. I could've done with a little magic."

"All the more fer later. Mmmm?" When Precious didn't answer beyond a broad grin, Ellie leaned down and claimed the pinkish lips in a little kiss. "I'm done at the bank fer today. I better git over ta the law office an' have a look-see at what needs my attenshun. Betcha Sheriff Boone don't sweep them floors much."

"Wait… do you get a tin star to pin on your chest?" Precious said and gave the area in question a thorough inspection.

"He didden say nothin' 'bout that… but what he don't see won't cause him no sour burps. I heard he stores 'em in a li'l box in one of them desk drawers. Maybe I be wearin' a star if ya swing by later tanight after yer shift, Missy."

Precious looked left, then right, then left again before she pressed herself up against Ellie's taller body. "Maybe I've been a naughty girl, and the new deputy in town needs to frisk me for concealed weapons," she said with pure, bright mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Aw, that's one heck of a naughty girl, awright…"

"Sounds like a deal, sweetie," Precious said and delivered a saucy wink. Stepping back, she adjusted her pinkish dress to be presentable for her colleagues back at the eatery. With a flurry, she put out her hand. "Good day to you, Miss Ellie."

Ellie bowed like any gentleman would, male or otherwise, as she took Precious' hand and kissed the knuckles in such a gallant fashion the Vanderbilts would have approved. "An' a good day ta ya too, Miss Precious," she said and took off her greasy cowboy hat.

As Precious Mahoney walked away with a spring in her step, Ellie shuffled out onto the rutted, dusty Main Street that once again saw some riding traffic following the excited crowd at the Sheriff's departure. As a tired, old cowboy rode past her on a tired, old hag, Ellie's eyes were glued onto the wiggling rear end of her girlfriend as the strawberry-blonde skipped down the street and into the eatery where she worked. "Aw, sweet mercy… tanight can't come quick enough," she mumbled before she turned around and shuffled towards the law office.

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Deep in the heart of the barren, desolate prairie, under the big sky and among the countless tall cacti, low shrubbery and roaming tumbleweed, a wall of dust trailed a two-axled, closed carriage as it rumbled across the desert drawn by a two-in-hand.

A driver wearing a brown duster and a pale, wide-brimmed hat sat atop the buckboard while holding the reins for the two mares out front. They were behaving themselves and moving ahead at a good clip, so the carriage made good progress across the dusty, rutted trail. The driver needed to protect his nose and mouth from the dust, so he had a red bandanna tied around the lower part of his face.

Behind the driver, inside the elegant, black carriage that was equipped with a pair of cushioned benches facing each other, an elderly gentleman in his mid-sixties was leaning against the wall appearing to be asleep. Circuit Judge Jacob Roderick Halvorsen wore a somber, dark suit over a dark-gray, five-pocket vest and a white shirt that sported a starched collar and a black bolo tie. His balding head usually carried a derby hat, but the black headwear was resting on the seat next to him alongside his favorite hardwood cane. A black bag carrying his cape, his court paraphernalia and a small-caliber handgun was pushed in under the bench. To prove that he wasn't fully asleep but merely resting his eyes, he reached up now and then to scratch his white, full beard, or to wipe a few beads of sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.

His secretary Maudie Wilmerton occupied the seat opposite him. A full-bodied spinster in her mid-forties, Maudie wore a tan, seven-button dress and a pair of sensible shoes, and her graying hair was kept in a tight bun by a bronze barrette.

She took her job very seriously and thus kept a tight rein on Judge Halvorsen's itinerary and all his dealings with Sheriffs, US Marshals and assorted other men of the law in the vast number of small towns they frequented. Even now, in the stifling heat of the mid-day sun, she was busy sorting through a stack of papers they would need when they reached Cactus Junction later on in the afternoon or early evening.

"Miss Wilmerton," Judge Halvorsen said and sat up straight. He concealed a small yawn by pressing the back of his hand against his mouth in a gentlemanly fashion. "I would be most grateful if you would find the documents regarding Mr. Clarence Beechum and the rest of the accused."

Maudie Wilmerton smiled and reached for a stack of papers on the seat. At that very moment, the carriage bounced over an unseen obstacle which made everything inside it jump around, but Maudie reacted with the speed of a striking rattlesnake to keep the stacks in check. Unperturbed, she smiled at the elderly gentleman opposite her. "I already have, Sir. I have them right here."

"Oh… excellent. Please read them aloud to refresh my memory," Judge Halvorsen said and crossed his legs. He soon discovered it was too difficult to keep his balance with only one foot on the floor of the carriage, so he put both feet down and once again sat up straight.

Maudie wetted her lips and began from the top of the document. "Mr. Clarence Beechum the Third. Named after his father and grandfather. Began his criminal career at the tender age of three… he stole freshly baked loaves of bread from a bakery. Upon reaching adulthood at thirteen, he was welcomed into the family business and was soon wanted for an impressive list of crimes large and small. He has committed everything from intimidating witnesses to all-out murder. He shot dead a farmer at point blank range while the farmer's family was present. Apparently, he and his older brother Clay Beechum, also known as Rattler Beechum, proceeded to rape the widow and the older of the two daughters. The child was twelve at the time. They were left for dead but recovered from their terrible ordeal and gave testimony to a US Marshal."

"Wretched scum. Deserves the noose the lot of 'em," Judge Halvorsen mumbled into his beard.

The carriage drove on in silence for a short minute while the two passengers digested the information. "Very well," the Judge continued wearing an annoyed frown across his brow. "Please go on, Miss Wilmerton. I believe I'm to pass judgment on others as well?"

"You are indeed, Sir," Maudie said and moved to the next page. "A Mr. John Thomas… Thomas being his surname. The offending party was apprehended stealing a horse from a livery stables-"

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Half an hour on, Judge Halvorsen grew tired of watching the desolate landscape that hardly seemed to change as the carriage drove through the uneven, dusty terrain. The list of criminals and their heinous acts against the population of the Territory of Utah in general and the hardworking, God-fearing citizens of the many small towns in the area in particular had left him with a bad case of heartburn.

Unlike some of his colleagues, J.R. Halvorsen wasn't known as a hanging judge, but there were times when he wished he could simply curtail the lives of the vermin with a swift gesture like the Emperors of Rome he had studied as a young man before he had turned to law. He had no qualms admitting that some of the criminals were too evil and degenerate to let live.

The Beechum family fell into that category like it had been designed for them. They had committed so many vile acts against all and sundry that none of them would escape the gallows, no matter how eloquent their court-appointed defense counsels would be. Unlike the James gang, the Dalton brothers, William 'Billy the Kid' Bonney, or even the highwayman known only as Black Bart, no romanticized yarns had been spun about the Beechums in the ten-cent pulp magazines. They were short-tempered, aggressive thugs who would blow their own mothers to hell for a dime.

And now Clarence Beechum was in the custody of Zachariah Boone and his men. That Clay 'Rattler' Beechum would do whatever he could to get his kid brother back was out of the question. Clay would strike like the snake his nickname came from, of that J.R. Halvorsen was certain.

The elderly gentleman shifted on the uncomfortable bench seat and let out a sigh. The landscape beyond the windows hadn't changed a bit despite the carriage moving along at a steady pace. There wasn't much point in reading the time, but he nevertheless dug into one of the pockets of his vest to find his gold pocket watch. A quarter past eleven in the morning, or so the gold hands showed as they slowly traveled across the white face adorned by Roman numerals. The travelling party still had to endure several hours' worth of the arid conditions before they would reach civilization in the shape of Cactus Junction.

"Judge Halvorsen," Maudie Wilmerton said which made the judge sit up straight and turn his attention at his secretary, "what do you make of the witness reports that claimed that one of the bandits present at several of the Beechum holdups was a woman? And that she bore somewhat of a resemblance to Clarence and Clay Beechum?"

"Well… the reports also said the supposed woman was wearing men's clothing as if she was trying to hide her true gender. Frankly, Miss Wilmerton, I cannot see any woman voluntarily accompanying such a violent bunch. And into a stagecoach holdup, no less? Hardly. Beyond that, I'm sure that donning garments so unflattering to the female form would undoubtedly stir up a strong resentment, or indeed even repulsion, among the members of the weaker sex."

The judge grunted and turned back to the desolate landscape moving past outside the windows. After a short minute, he grunted again and studied his secretary's face. "Granted, I have encountered women wearing men's pants during my travels, but they were so far removed from their God-given femininity you would barely believe it, Miss Wilmerton. No, I say the witnesses were either terrified or simply drunk. They obviously saw the young, slender Clarence Beechum and mistook him for this mystery woman."

It was clear by the look on Maudie Wilmerton's face that she didn't share all her employer's views upon the preferences of the so-called weaker sex, but she kept it all on the inside. Nodding, she returned to leafing through the paperwork to stay on top of the things they were supposed to do once they reached Cactus Junction.

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A further half hour into their interminable journey, Maudie Wilmerton had grown weary of the lengthy, uncomfortable ride and had found a good spot on the bench seat opposite the judge where she could lie down and rest her tired being. The uneven terrain continued to shake her back and forth as the axles on the carriage struck hidden rocks, or fell into ruts that were deeper than those adjacent to them.

Judge Halvorsen's eyes began to slip shut as well despite the lack of his usual - and sorely missed - mid-day brandy. The tasty, caramel-colored liquor always soothed his throat and soul after lengthy deliberations in court, and helped him find the peace he was unable to discover using regular means.

Acting on their own accord, his eyes roamed across the dull landscape and the distant horizon to take in as much as they could in the hope they would have arrived in Cactus Junction by the time the judge woke up again.

He closed his eyes and got comfortable on the bench seat wearing a contented, little smile. A moment or two later, he opened his eyes again and scooted over to the window to verify what he had seen before. The dust that flew everywhere had coated the inside of the pane of glass, so he wiped it clean using a handkerchief.

The smile was instantly replaced by a frown between his eyebrows when another wall of desert dust rose up in the air some distance away to the south-west of their position. Though it would linger there for a while, he knew the dust would eventually settle and return to the desert floor. With this particular wall of dust, he was unable to see it settle because it seemed to come straight for the carriage.

Furrowing his brow, J.R. Halvorsen tried cleaning the pane again, but he gave up and reached behind him to move aside the little slit in the back wall that enabled him to communicate directly with the driver. "Oh… hello? Driver, can you hear me?"

Judge Halvorsen soon discovered it was a perilous task to open the slit. No sooner had he created an access to the outside before the desert dust billowed into the cabin and made him cough. "Driver?" he cried, holding the handkerchief to his nose and mouth.

"Yessir? I can hear ya," the driver said atop the buckboard. His voice was muffled by the red bandanna, but it was able to carry through the small slit in the wall.

"Good! Look to the south-west! Tell me what you see!"

The carriage slowed down only as long as it took the driver to check out the sky and the ground behind them and to the left. He let out a grunt when he caught wind of the wall of desert dust that seemed to come at them like one of the newfangled steam locomotives. "Riders," he said, leaning down towards the slit.

"How many?" J.R. Halvorsen said, moving back to the windows on that side of the carriage.

"Can't say from here, Sir. But more than one. Definitely more than one."

Halvorsen rubbed his face that had suddenly gained a flushed, ruddy complexion. He glanced at Maudie Wilmerton who appeared to be fast asleep on the other bench before he turned his attention back to the window. There was a possibility the ominous-looking cloud of dust in the middle distance had been created by someone benign - but there was a larger, and far stronger, risk it was created by Clay 'Rattler' Beechum and at least some of his gang of murderous cutthroats out on a killing spree to get even with the law.

He quickly moved back to the slit and pressed his face up against the gap in the wall. "Driver! Can you make the horses go faster?"

"Yessir, but not by much. I'll only wear 'em down if we go on for too long…"

"Let them taste your whip, man! None of us will be safe if it really is Rattler Beechum. Just do what I tell you!"

"Yessir," the driver said, followed by a string of frantic "Yah!" and the slapping of his reins.

While the carriage picked up speed and began to rumble even worse over the uneven terrain, Judge Halvorsen studied the cloud of kicked-up desert dust with a growing sense of worry etched onto his face.

The commotion had stirred Maudie Wilmerton awake, and the secretary gulped down a lump of fear as she stared out onto the arid desert that suddenly flew past the filthy windows. "Is it the Beechum gang?" she croaked, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I can't say, Miss Wilmerton," Judge Halvorsen said without taking his eyes off the cloud of dust in the distance. Even with the increased tempo, the cloud came ever closer. Licking his lips, he shot his secretary a nervous look. "It could be. It very well could be."

The comment only confirmed Maudie's fears, and she pressed her face against the filthy pane to see better. "Oh, sweet Lord… Jesus Christ, our savior, please reach out and save your humble servants…"

"I think we'd better put our faith in Messrs. Smith and Wesson," J.R. Halvorsen said and reached under the bench seat to get his black bag. Retrieving it, he fumbled with the brass latch for a few seconds before he was able to get it to open. The dark-gray thirty-two caliber revolver looked odd in the elderly gentleman's hand, but he wrapped his palm around the comfortable handle and let his index finger rest next to the trigger like he had been taught.

The cloud of dust chasing them only grew larger, so Judge Halvorsen shuffled back to the gap in the wall and pressed his face against it. "Driver! Go faster! Dammit, man, if you slow down, you'll send us straight to hell!"

"It ain't my doin', Sir… the horses are gettin' tired!" the driver cried back to offset the fact his voice was muffled by the bandanna.

"Damnation!" Halvorsen growled and hurried back to the window. He had barely looked out before their worst fears were confirmed: three riders appeared from the leading edge of the cloud, and there was no doubt they were bandits. All three were uglier than sin, and all three had long-barreled rifles trained on the carriage.

A split second later, the muzzles of the three weapons flashed indicating they were being fired. "Maudie! Get down!" Halvorsen cried and grabbed hold of his secretary's arm to yank her onto the floor of the carriage. They landed in an ungraceful heap that nearly knocked the Smith & Wesson out of his hand.

Even with Maudie howling out her fears into his ear, he didn't dare look up to see how close their pursuers had come. It turned out he didn't have to, as the bandits were close enough for the passengers to hear the reports of the firing Winchesters. The familiar cracking sound made the Judge and his secretary press themselves even harder down onto the dusty floor.

An unbridled scream from atop the buckboard was followed by a shadowy flash past the windows as the driver was shot and fell off the carriage. His arms flailed in panic as he sailed down towards the dusty ground, and the ghastly sight was enough to make Maudie Wilmerton scream even louder.

"Wretched murderers!" J.R. Halvorsen cried, but their situation grew worse in an instant when the riderless horses panicked and left the trail. The steeds turned sharp right which nearly sent the carriage over onto its side - it righted itself at the last moment, though the woodwork sent out plenty of creaking groans. The horses continued over the far rougher terrain next to the rutted trail, and it created such a wild ruckus inside the carriage that everything was thrown around.

Judge Halvorsen's hardwood cane bounced around dangerously and ended up bopping its owner over the head before it smashed one of the panes and disappeared into the desert followed by the shards it had created. The official papers that Maudie Wilmerton had collected so meticulously were distributed all over the carriage, and the two passengers slammed into each other several times during their wild ride.

Mercifully, the screw eye holding the steering rack in place soon gave up the unequal struggle with the forces of nature and broke off. The two horses were no longer restrained by their heavy load and bolted further into the desert, leaving the carriage to slow down and eventually come to a halt.

Peace had barely been restored when it was broken once more. The door was yanked open, and a bandit wearing a wide-brimmed Stetson and a bandolier carrying spare ammunition across a plaid shirt appeared in the doorway. The face of the surprisingly clean-shaven man cracked open in an evil grin as he cast an experienced eye on the two people down on the floor of the carriage.

Judge Halvorsen coughed and spluttered as he tried to get himself untangled from his secretary. He still held the revolver, but his hands were shaking too hard for it to be a valid threat against any outlaw worth his salt. Leaning back against the side of the bench seat, he stared at the vile bandit standing in the doorway. Ugly as sin, as he had expected. "Rattler Beechum," he croaked, causing Maudie Wilmerton to let out a deep gasp. "You wretched piece of scum…"

Clay 'Rattler' Beechum chuckled darkly and reached in to grab the Judge's revolver before any accidents would happen. "Judge Halvorsen… are you any better?"

"I beg you par-"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you've killed more men than I have," Rattler Beechum continued in a cultivated, educated voice that belied his gruff exterior. Scrunching up his face, he took a disdainful look at the full-bodied woman who was still grappling on the floor of the carriage.

"Everybody I've sent to the gallows had it coming, you vermin!"

"Mmmm. We'll have plenty of time to discuss that later," Rattler said and stepped aside. "Royce! Lee! Drag this sorry excuse for a man out into the sun. Let's see what he says to the offer I'm making."

Rattler's two companions dismounted their steeds and hurried over to the carriage. Like their boss, they were dressed in brown dungarees and plaid shirts, and they both wore bandoliers across their chests. The older Royce wore a battered, pale-gray Confederate Cavalry hat from the Civil War, but the younger Lee's fair locks were protected by a standard Stetson.

The two bandits didn't spare the elderly judge as they dragged him from the carriage and onto the dusty desert floor. Landing with a bone-rattling bump that drove all the air from his lungs, he needed a long moment to even regain the ability to speak.

"Judge Halvorsen," Rattler said and yanked the elderly man into a kneeling position, "you're now my esteemed prisoner. You and your chubby secretary here. We've prepared the presidential suite for you… we have something special in mind."

That was too much for Maudie Wilmerton whose eyes rolled back in her head. Groaning, she fell forward and thumped her face into the filthy floor of the carriage.

Rattler eyed her with disgust before he turned back to Judge Halvorsen. "You're the bargaining chip to get my brother out of jail. Sheriff Boone has him locked up in Dry Gulch. I'm sure he'll unlock the cell door himself once he learns of your capture."

"You degenerate vermin! I'll see you swing and sun-dry for this!" J.R. Halvorsen groaned, but that was all he had time to say before Royce drove the hard tip of a cowboy boot into the old man's ribs. Moaning in pain, the judge doubled over and crumpled onto the dusty ground.

*

*

CHAPTER 2

Clay 'Rattler' Beechum kept a close eye on the unconscious J.R. Halvorsen and the spooked Maudie Wilmerton as the small riding group ascended Longfield Hill en route to the Beechum gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock. The two prisoners were riding bareback on the horses used to pull the carriage - it hadn't taken long for the experienced horse wrangler Royce Biederman and his younger associate Lee Carlson to calm down the frightened animals and lure them into going with the others.

The well-camouflaged trail they were on would eventually lead them halfway around the small mountain and onto a wide plateau some six hundred feet above the floor of the desert. Climbing the trail was hard work under the relentless, mid-day sun - especially so since the rock surrounding them seemed to radiate the heat it absorbed from the burning ball of fire in the sky - and the clothes of all five members of the small unit sported large, damp stains.

The only sounds heard were the hooves clip-clopping on the hard surface, and the occasional clunking of rocks that were dislodged by the heavy animals. The leather tacks and saddles added their two bits to the conversation by squeaking in perfect rhythm with the swaying, but those sounds were so faint it took a trained ear to discern them from the rest.

Now and then, Rattler Beechum pulled on the reins belonging to the judge's horse to keep it on the straight and narrow. When Maudie let out a gasping sigh, Rattler spun around at once in his saddle and shot her a dark, dangerous glare that made the frightened woman turn so pale she nearly fainted again.

Up front, Royce Biederman noticed the commotion but didn't care much for the fate of the chubby secretary. Lee Carlson was a different story. Keeping up the rear of the small group, his mind had already painted several evocative pictures of how much fun a fellow like him could have with a fatted calf like Maudie - hours of fun was the answer to that question.

The riders went through the final bend in the trail and rode into an open courtyard. Greeting them were four, wooden barracks set in a horseshoe around the central courtyard. Held in every shade of brown and all showing varying degrees of decrepitude and decay, each of the barracks was close to forty yards long. The one nearest the center of the horseshoe appeared to be the original office building of the Creagan ranch as it was in a better shape than the rest. The stables were on the far left next to the crew quarters; further sleeping quarters were located on the far right.

The arrival of the group attracted plenty of attention, and a large number of unwashed, unshaven desperados swarmed out of the two crew barracks to greet their leader. Several hats were thrown into the air, and more than one of the bandits had already begun celebrating by having his whisky straight from the bottle.

Clay 'Rattler' Beechum took off his wide-brimmed Stetson and waved it in the air at his outlaw companions. Another cheer rose and a few shots were fired into the air as Judge Halvorsen and a terrified Maudie Wilmerton were yanked into the center of the group. "Come! Have a look!" Clay said and tugged on the reins controlling the judge's horse. "Judge Halvorsen decided to pay us a visit. Isn't that mighty nice of him?"

"Who'll get the woman?" someone shouted.

"I will," Clay Beechum said, and he did so in a voice that left no room for misunderstanding.

A disappointed murmur rippled through the crowd of bandits, but they knew better than to butt heads with the feared outlaw whose reputation for nasty killings had spread as far as the Pacific coast in the west, the Rio Grande down south and the Appalachians back east.

In the middle of all that, J.R. Halvorsen came to, emanating a long, pained groan as he woke up from the unwanted slumber. The elderly gentleman shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, but he couldn't do anything about the sharp pain that shot up from his abused ribs. "Oh, you miserable vermin," he croaked, looking at Rattler Beechum with what was supposed to be a dark glare.

The outlaw snorted at the insult and simply kicked the old man out of the saddle. Maudie cried out as Judge Halvorsen once more met the ground in a bone-rattling impact, but Beechum and the assorted gang of outlaws all laughed at the old man's expense.

A curtain fluttered aside in one of the windows in the main barracks, and Clay Beechum nodded and tipped his wide-brimmed Stetson at the shadowy figure who stood behind the pane of glass.

"You animals!" Maudie cried while she tried to wrestle her hands free of the rope the bandits had used to tie her to the makeshift harness. All her yanking did was to spook her horse, so she had to stop before the steed would run off with her all over again. She stared at the laughing bandits with equal measures fear and annoyance written all over her face. "How dare you treat an old man so disrespectfully! A circuit judge, even!"

Her angry outburst caused several other outlaws to come out of the sleeping quarters to see what was going on. The hardened criminals - all ugly as sin - were armed to the teeth with revolvers, rifles and hunting knives, and the frightening sight prompted an icy shower to trickle slowly down Maudie's back.

Wanting to speak to the secretary face-to-face, Clay Beechum nudged his horse's flanks which made it trundle around the other steeds. When he arrived, Maudie Wilmerton couldn't hold his glare. "You serve a purpose here, woman, but you're not above getting punished if your tongue gets too loose," the outlaw leader said in a voice cold enough to freeze hell over. "Don't outstay your welcome, is what I'm trying to say. You hear me?"

Maudie was too frightened to speak, so she could only nod.

"Good." Rattler Beechum nudged his horse again, and the large animal responded by trundling back to its original place. Once there, he eyed his female prisoner from top to toe. He preferred far less meat on the bones, but he knew that several of his men would have a field day with the chubby secretary - one of which was Lee Carlson. The young man's eyes were already devouring Maudie whole, but it was an unneeded distraction in the overall scheme of things. Lee's throbbing member would have to wait.

"Royce," Clay said as he moved away to dismount, "take the Judge to the stables. Lock him up rock-solid. If any of them escape, you'll taste my lead."

By now, Judge Halvorsen had come to fully despite experiencing two rough landings in a short amount of time. Though he tried, the old man was powerless to resist the far stronger Royce Biederman who grabbed hold of his arms, yanked him to his feet and forcibly dragged him over to the decrepit stables. A string of muted curses left the old man's mouth, but nobody cared.

After dismounting, Clay observed the two men for a brief moment before he grabbed the judge's black bag and proceeded to stroll over to Maudie Wilmerton's horse. He gave the secretary such a dark look she decided to make her own fumbling attempts at getting off the steed rather than wait for some of the bandits to give her a hand the hard way.

The frightened woman was unaccustomed to dismounting, so she nearly took a tumble when the horse moved just as she had one foot on the ground. Gasping, she grappled for something to hold onto, and found it in the shape of Clay's hand that wrapped itself around her upper arm in a vice-like grip.

Squeaking in fear, Maudie stumbled along towards the stables, and nearly tripped over her own feet several times. The outlaw leader didn't speak a word as he dragged the meek secretary over to the wooden barracks housing the stables, but he didn't have to to intimidate her. Maudie's eyes were as wide as saucers as she tried to keep a lid on the raging tempest of emotions and fears that blasted around inside her. If she lost her composure and began to freak out, she knew she would let herself become a thing for the ugly thugs to play with.

Royce had already opened the barn door, so Clay and Maudie walked straight in. A disgusting stench of horse manure and warm animals attacked Maudie's nostrils as she was shoved inside, and she scrunched up her face in horror.

The interior looked like any other stables built in the traditional style: an open space for the steeds closest to the barn door, and a closed-off area at the back for storing the equipment needed to maintain the horses. The roof was far lower at the back end of the stables since it was underneath the hayloft, and wooden support beams reached up to carry the load above. Spare horseshoes, halters, grimes and assorted other tools and tack were hanging on nails on the walls.

At present, nine horses occupied the open bays, but they didn't seem to care much about their visitors. Maudie slowed down as the stench assaulted her nose, but Clay Beechum shoved her in the back to force her to carry on.

The outlaw leader kept the secretary at arm's length so he wouldn't go down as well if she tripped in her dainty shoes. Together, they navigated the hazards on the hay-covered floor until they reached Royce who had already tied the judge to one of the support beams. J.R. Halvorsen had been sat on the filthy, wooden floor with a leg on either side of a beam. Clay checked the chains holding the old man in place before he gave Maudie another shove in the back so she would move over to the next beam.

While Clay watched, Royce Biederman forced Maudie Wilmerton to sit on the floor with her legs spread around the beam before he tied her up as well. The last thing he did was to give the sturdy chains a good yank to prove they were tight. The two thugs nodded at each other before Royce walked out of the stables to leave the prisoners at the mercy of his boss.

"Rattler Beechum," Judge Halvorsen said in a thick voice, "I swear by the Bible and the law of this great nation… I will see you hang for this! I'll walk you to the gallows myself! I'll even pull the lever so I can watch you squirm and wet yourself!"

Clay chuckled darkly as he threw down the black bag and knelt in front of the two prisoners. Maudie was too frightened to offer much resistance, but the judge was obviously a different matter. "I see. And your fancy title of circuit judge would justify the killing, would it?"

"It's what we do! We rid the earth of vermin like you, Beechum. And your degenerate brother!"

"Mmmm," Clay said and began to fiddle with his sidearm, a standard Peacemaker that sat close to his belt so it wouldn't interfere with his riding. "Like I said before… you've killed more men than I have. And yet, you're the law, and I'm the outlaw."

Instead of wasting breath trading barbs with Halvorsen, Clay tore open the black bag to see what it contained. Apart from a few court-related documents, he found a fountain pen and an inkwell wrapped in cloth to soak up any leakage, a pair of scissors and a small comb for grooming the judge's hair and beard, a tobacco pouch, and finally a high-quality pipe in fancy, polished rosewood. "Yeah…. this 'll do nicely," he said and took the pipe out of the bag.

"For what, you scum? Give me back my pipe!" the judge barked. When his words had no effect on the feared outlaw, he tried to kick out at Clay's legs that were just within reach.

Without speaking a word, Rattler Beechum jumped up and fired off a right hook that made a perfect impact on the old man's chin.

Judge Halvorsen's head spun around at the punch, and he let out a strangled gurgle as he fell backwards. The sturdy chains tying him to the support beam prevented him from falling fully onto his back, but his arms were stretched out painfully as he reeled from the shock.

Maudie Wilmerton drew a deep breath to let out a piercing scream, but the murderous look in Rattler Beechum's eyes cut off the scream before it could form on her vocal cords.

"Behave and you may get through this deal alive and in one piece. Struggle and you will not!" Beechum said, pointing an index finger at the judge and the secretary.

J.R. Halvorsen was too affected by the hard punch to respond to the threat, but Maudie nodded for all she was worth.

Beechum grunted and got to his feet. Dusting off his hands, he toyed with the expensive pipe before he stuck it down a breast pocket and spun around on his heel.

-*-*-*-

The crowd of bandits had dispersed from the courtyard once the fun and games were over, so Clay strode across the hard dirt headed for the central building without seeing anyone else. Unlike the crew quarters and the stables, the ranch house stood on small poles a few feet off the ground to stop vermin from crawling in, so he had to climb a three-step staircase to get to the front door.

After a brief knock, he stepped inside a narrow hallway where he took off his cowboy hat. The contrast to the other three buildings at the hideout couldn't be greater. Where the others were merely slapped together for utilitarian purposes, the original owners - later deceased through bullets fired by Clarence Beechum, Senior and 'Rattler' Beechum - had commissioned skilled craftsmen to build the ranch house according to strict blueprints, and it showed. The building resembled a home, or at least a home away from home.

The narrow hallway sported a red, woven carpet that covered the wooden floorboards, and several paintings graced the walls next to brass kerosene lamps. Three doors led off on the left and two further doors were on the right; all were closed save for the farthest one at the right-hand side of the hall.

Clay knew where he was going, so he stomped down the hallway and turned into the open door which led to an office. The shadowy figure who had stood at the window earlier on was still there.

Turning around, Clara Beechum locked eyes with her brother. She had the same dark-brown hair, the same brown eyes and even the same body type as her brothers, only set in a female frame that carried wider hips, more slender legs and a pair of round peaks that poked through the shirt.

Even the clothes she wore were similar: boots, a pair of dark dungarees that accentuated her shapely legs, and a plaid shirt over a white O-neck undershirt. She wore a leather belt, but it had no holster and thus could not carry a firearm.

As a blood relative to the rest of the Beechum clan, she shared every last one of their features, but they had somehow coagulated into shaping a stunning face that radiated beauty, cunning and coldness in equal measures. However, her beauty was deceptive and only skin-deep - underneath the thin layer of veneer, she shared her brothers' character traits, of which none were pleasant.

"Well? How is the dear circuit judge?" she said as she moved closer to her brother. Like Clay, she spoke in a cultivated, educated voice that proved she was far more than a country bumpkin outlaw.

Clay didn't answer at once - instead, he shuffled over to a chaise lounge in the corner of the office. Apart from the bottle-green piece of furniture, the office was equipped with several roll-front cabinets that lined two of the walls, a large, ungainly writing desk accompanied by a wooden armchair, and finally a round table upon which many a hand of poker had been played. A deck of cards had been thrown onto it in preparation for the next game, but neither of the Beechums had time for diversions in their present situation.

Sitting down, Clay took off his hat and ran his hands through his dusty hair. The gesture left a small pile of brownish material on the bottle-green fabric, but he couldn't care less. "He's got a big mouth. I had to shut it for him- yes, he's fine, before you ask."

"Mmmm. Who's the woman?"

"His secretary."

"Why didn't you kill her at the trail? Now we have another mouth to feed," Clara said and folded her arms across her chest. She came up to stand in front of her brother with her legs parted in an aggressive stance.

"From what I could tell, she runs the ship with regards to his paperwork. He's just a big-mouthed old man who needs help from a woman to know where he has to go," Clay said and plonked the wide-brimmed Stetson back onto his locks.

Clara remained silent for a brief moment before she let out a grunt and turned back to the desk. Crossing the floor without delay, she sat down behind the ungainly piece of furniture and began to shuffle around a few maps. "That wasn't part of my plan," she said after studying a map of the terrain between Longfield Hills and Dry Gulch. "It adds an element of unpredictability to the whole thing. Another element in the equation that needs to be figured out. But all right. It was admirable of you to spare her life. I would've blown her brains out right there, secretary or no secretary. Oh… or maybe you've got an itch behind your fly?"

Clay chuckled and locked eyes with his sister. "For that fat cow? No. Lee Carlson does, though."

"Once Clarence gets here, Lee can have her any old way he wants. And twice on Sundays," Clara said and performed a casual shrug. Chuckling to herself, she sat up straight and pulled out one of the drawers where she found a stack of writing paper and an old, well-worn pencil. "As long as it doesn't involve me, I couldn't care less. Oh, never mind that now. Did you get something personal from the judge like we agreed on?"

"I did," Clay said and got up from the chaise lounge. Walking over to the desk, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved the rosewood pipe. "He doesn't wear glasses and his pocket watch is a standard model, so I took his pipe. I'm thinking Sheriff Boone should be able to recognize it. They've worked together before."

Nodding, Clara arranged the top sheet of the stack of papers. Instead of using the exquisite - and stolen - fountain pen set that stood proudly on the desk, she put the pencil between the wrong fingers on her wrong hand to make the letters she was about to write look awkward and child-like. "Good. Put it on the desk… I'm going to write the letter now. Which of the men is the fastest on horseback?"

"Earl Donovan," Clay said and put his hands on his hips.

"Still?"

"Oh yeah."

"I'm impressed. Did he sober up?"

"Earl Donovan, sober?"

Clara briefly looked up at her brother before she broke out in a dark laugh. "Forget I asked. Get him. Once I'm done here, I'll wrap the letter and the pipe around a rock. It should make a nice, little calling card."

With Clay leaving to find the perpetually inebriated - but lightning fast - Earl Donovan, Clara put the pencil to the paper and began to write in clumsy, exaggerated letters. "Sherif Boon," she mumbled, making sure to add as many spelling mistakes as she could to give the impression it was written by an illiterate outlaw and not someone who had completed several semesters on a well-respected college back east. "We hav jutch Halvorsen. You hav my brotha. If you wan to see jutch Halvorsen alife agen, let my brotha go. Onse we have my brotha, the jutch will be set fri."

Letting out a satisfied grunt, Clara Beechum leaned back in the armchair to study her handiwork. It only needed a tiny, little thing to be perfect, so she put the pencil back between the wrong fingers and wrote their family name in the most clumsy way she could.

"They'll never tie me to this letter. Never. Not in a million years," she said under her breath as she took the pipe and the piece of paper she had just finished writing. A rock suitable for the task was in short supply, so she got up and moved over to the window to search for one. Opening it, she looked outside and soon found a specimen that would be perfect.

Instead of taking the long way out of the office, she displayed her cat-like agility by jumping out of the window. More than five feet below, she performed a perfect landing and soon grabbed the nicely-shaped rock she had seen. Getting back up posed no problem for her either: Employing all the skills she had acquired during her years as a cat burglar at the college, she grabbed the windowsill and swung herself up with plenty of strength and grace.

The letter and the polished rosewood pipe were soon wrapped around the rock where they were held in place by a piece of string. Just as the toothless, buckskin-clad Earl Donovan entered the office with his battered hat in his hands, Clara finished preparing the calling card by snapping the string with her teeth.

"Earl," she said and put down the rock on the table. Had it been anyone other than the drunkard, she would have thrown it at him - hard - just to see how he reacted, but she knew Earl Donovan's hands were always shaking so fiercely he couldn't catch a cold in an epidemic. "I want you to ride to Dry Gulch and deliver a message for us. This rock. Use it to bust one of the windows at the law office. Just throw it in and high-tail it out of there. Once you've done that, come back here and report everything you've seen. You hear me?"

Earl nodded so hard the tufts of long, greasy hair that reached down his front moved back and forth. Unshaven, unwashed, toothless and haggard, Earl Donovan was a mess of a man, but his understanding of how to make a horse perform miracles kept him safe as a member of the Beechum gang. Everybody knew, including Earl himself, that the moment he lost that ability, he would also lose his worth and subsequently his life.

"Good," Clara said and picked up the rock once more. Weighing it in her hand, she rose from the desk and put it down into Earl's filthy paw. When she was close enough, she pinned the older drunkard to the spot with an ice cold glare. "Don't foul this up, Earl. I don't need to tell you the consequences if you do."

Now Earl shook his head so hard his greasy hair swung left and right. Realizing that Clara Beechum had lost her interest in him, he spun around on his heel and hurried out of the office without ever speaking a word.

-*-*-*-

In Dry Gulch, the stale, scorching mid-day and afternoon heat had finally let up and had turned into a cooler late afternoon and a breezy early evening. An old gent was busy lighting the torches lining Main Street and a few of the connecting alleys by using a long metal rod with a burning wick. Once a torch was lit, he stuck the flaming rod back into a firebowl on the small cart he was dragging so it would be ready for the next one.

The cart's squeaking wheels could be heard up and down Main Street and signaled it was time to turn on the tallow candles inside the stores and homes as well. Everywhere, flickering, orange lights became visible in the windows or behind drawn curtains.

Ellie Shepard observed it all with a broad grin on her face from her spot down on Main Street. She took her new job seriously and had decided to head out on an evening patrol. Not that she would be authorized - or able - to do anything about troublemakers or vermin that would show up, but still, it was all part of the job. So was the tin star that sat proudly on her vest. She had found the cardboard box where Sheriff Zachariah Boone kept his spares and had appropriated one now she was a deputy. A third-string, temporary deputy, but nevertheless a Deputy Sheriff in Dry Gulch.

She had left the shotgun at the bank and had borrowed a Winchester carbine from the gun rack inside the Sheriff's office. The weapon felt nice and solid on her arm, as did her Peacemaker on her hip. Nodding a Good Evening to a pair of genteel folks out for an evening stroll, she stepped up onto the sidewalk and continued on her merry way at a casual speed.

The eatery where her precious Precious worked, Papa Joe's , soon appeared, but it didn't seem the strawberry-blonde was out front servicing the customers there for a late supper like she usually was. A frown developed on Ellie's forehead, but she sighed and moved away from the storefront windows. "Dag-nabbit… she wus gonn' get an eyeful o' my new star… it'll hafta be later. She's probably doin' them dishes out back or some such," Ellie mumbled as she continued on down the sidewalk.

The next store was the Gambler's Den saloon and its two, vast, decorated glass panes. Since it was a gambling haven, hundreds of card suit symbols had been painted onto the panes. They looked amazing in the right light, but it was equally amazing they hadn't been vandalized or smashed yet.

One was made up of mostly green colors, and the other was predominantly blue. The official explanation was that the owners of the Gambler's Den had wanted a bit of variety, but everybody knew it was because the travelling glass painter had been drunk off his horse when he did it.

Ellie chuckled as she remembered the old stories. The crisp tones of an upright piano wafted out into the street and caught her attention, so she came to a halt and peeked over the swinging doors. She wanted to see if she was needed, but it was a quiet evening so the piano player was only entertaining himself and two dancing girls.

The scantily-clad dancers were sitting on the edge of the Gambler's Den 's small stage while they waited for the first customers to appear. When the girls caught a glimpse of Dry Gulch's newest deputy in the doorway, they snickered and waved their feather boas in perfect unison before they both strutted their stuff by sticking their right leg straight up in the air. They weren't dubbed the Leggy Sisters for nothing, though they weren't sisters at all - the leggy part was spot on, however.

Chuckling, Ellie waved back before she shuffled on. She strolled past the butcher and the barber shop that had already closed for the evening before she reached the next saloon, The Watering Hole . Unlike the far classier Gambler's Den , The Watering Hole was a run-down establishment where the men who were down on their luck met for a shot or five of distilled rat piss. Not that Dry Gulch had that many destitutes, but there were seemingly enough for The Watering Hole to keep going. It was the kind of place that boarded up the windows and spread out fresh sawdust on the floor every single day. On most evenings, some fool would invariably end up bleeding, vomiting or wetting his pants which would all leave stains.

Ellie crinkled her nose at the foul stench of sweat and stale beer that greeted her around the swinging doors. She didn't want to spend too much time at The Watering Hole if she could help it, so she carried on down the sidewalk until she reached the land surveyor's office. J. William Craig's store was closed for the evening, as was Albert Mackay's Attorney At Law & Public Notary office that rented the other half of the same building.

The drugstore was still open, and Ellie nodded a Good Evening to a young, fancy Dan gentleman who left the store clutching a brown paper bag like it was of the utmost importance. The size and shape of the bag were in the correct proportions to contain a vial of laudanum or a similar type of recreational drug. The way his eyes zoomed onto the wooden floorboards when he saw Ellie's tin star on her chest offered another hint that his conscience wasn't as clean as his dandy clothes and gray derby hat.

Letting out a dark chuckle at the gentleman's haste to get away from her, Ellie moved on past Hannes Kupfer's Hardware Store & Tin Smithy as it said in an elegant scrawl on the large hoarding above the shop. Kupfer was a German immigrant whose surname literally meant 'copper.' He didn't speak English well so he always had a hard time communicating with his customers, but he was a skilled craftsman that could create wonders out of molten metal.

Everything seemed quiet in the growing darkness of the evening. Ellie only needed to make a few more stops before she could head back to the law office, so she crossed the rutted dirt road and strolled past the Apollo, the family-run hotel. The three-storey building dominated the skyline of Dry Gulch, even above the church, and it was located next to the Milligan Stage Company's ticket office and coach stop so the travelers wouldn't have to walk too far to find a place to spend the night.

Before Ellie would reach the next stores, she moved past a couple of open lots that Milligan had converted into pens for their spare horses. The pens were empty on the evening, so all their teams had to be out beating the trails.

The Gould Nugget was next, and she wetted her dry lips as she came up to stand at the swinging doors. Unusually for western saloons, and definitely unheard of in the Territory of Utah, the Gould Nugget was owned and operated by a woman. Ellie managed to lock eyes with Marion Gould who stood behind the long counter wiping down a glass like she always did. The two women grinned at each other before Marion held up an empty glass at Ellie.

The offer was too good to resist, and Ellie opened the swinging doors and stepped inside onto the Gould Nugget 's wooden floorboards. Marion Gould didn't employ any dancing girls, but she did have a stage for live entertainment that included an upright piano, an accordion and a nearly-full set of whisky jugs. The instruments were lying idle on the stage, no doubt waiting for the right moment.

A few card players - the regularly-dressed musicians and a fancy-dressed card sharp who had been handed a two-week suspension from the Gambler's Den - shared one of the eight round tables located opposite the long, high-quality bar counter, but they were too busy with their game to notice Ellie Shepard walking in.

Ellie turned toward the counter and put her right leg up on the lower of two metal rails. After leaning the Winchester carbine against the bar, she put her left elbow on the shiny counter and waited for Marion to come closer so she could let her in on her big surprise.

When she did, Ellie suddenly realized Marion was getting old. She didn't know the barkeep's actual age, but it was clear by the lines on her face and her throat that she had gone past her first bloom. It didn't stop her from being a knockout with her dusty-blond hair and bluish-gray eyes, but it was a strong sign that time waited for no one. On the night, she wore black pants, a white shirt, and a black bow tie to look her best for her customers.

"Good evenin', Ellie… whoa… whoa, wotcha got there?" Marion said and pointed at the spot on her own chest where the tin star adorned Ellie's vest. "When the hell did you become a deputy?! Lysette Esther Shepard, I'll be a drippin' motherchafer… what in Tarnation have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Aw, nothin'," Ellie said and casually buffed the star. "Jus' Sheriff Boone askin' me if I wus interested in mindin' the law office an' the jail fer a couple-a days while he and the boys wus outta town."

"You lucky devil. And you pinched a star when you got there?"

"Naw! It was just lyin' there all on its lonesome. So I thought-"

Marion grinned and leaned in toward Ellie to get a better look at the special kind of jewelry. "In other words, you pinched it. What can I get ya on this magical night, then… deperty?"

"Aw, ya know… the usual. Whisky."

While Marion poured golden liquid from the good bottle into a clean shot glass, she and Ellie locked eyes again. Both flashed the kind of knowing smile two former lovers would exchange when they met after the break-up had grown less raw. They had been too different to have any hope of building a future together, and they had been apart for longer now than they had been hooked up, but the memories lingered - especially of the dynamite sessions they had shared under the bedspread.

When Precious Mahoney had showed up in Dry Gulch, all hopes of getting Ellie back turned to dust for Marion. It was just one of those things; love beat lust, and Marion Gould had hardly any bad feelings towards the strawberry-blonde.

"Whisky… the good stuff," Marion said and put the full shot glass on the counter. She grinned as Ellie sipped from it to savor the rich taste instead of chugging it down like she always did with the cheap booze. "So… how are things goin' with that cute, li'l Precious Mahoney, Ellie?"

"Aw, can't complain. She, ah…" Ellie looked at the card players to see if they were listening in on the conversation. They weren't, but she still leaned her head closer to Marion. "She's added a whole new level to my life. It's uncanny, I tell ya. Spooky."

"No, it ain't. It's spelled l-o-v-e, Ellie," Marion said with a wistful grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Ellie chuckled and took another sip of the good whisky. "Mebbe it is… mebbe it ain't. Can't say. I swear, I don't be lyin' to ya, Marion, but it happened in the middel of a dang-blasted conversashun. Yessir, she wus talkin' and I wus listenin'… sorta… and then I just done got slapped across mah face. Not by Precious, but by the li'l love god with them there weird wings on his back, yeah? The li'l, pink fella with the bow 'n arrow 'n everythin'. I done got slapped an' that wus all she wrote."

Marion chuckled; the sound that came out wasn't overly enthusiastic. "And then ya-"

"An' then I moseyed over ta Precious and laid a wet'un on her that made her putty in mah hands," Ellie said with a shit-eating grin. "She ain't never not come 'round for me since! I think she kinda likes it when I lay a wet'un on her…"

Marion leaned her head back and laughed out loud. "Don't we all, deperty. Don't we all," she said, adding a nice, saucy wink to the declaration.

A blush spread over Ellie's face, and she didn't dare glance up at the older woman on the other side of the counter. To stay on safe ground, she sipped her whisky and found something really interesting to look at on the bar's shiny surface.

-*-*-*-

The law office beckoned, and Ellie made sure to drain every last drop of the good whisky out of the small shot glass - she even used her tongue to lick the edge which drew raised eyebrows by the patrons around her. The Gould Nugget had filled up while she had been enjoying her drink, and the band had shuffled over to the stage where they were playing a spirited version of Oh, Suzanna on piano, accordion and jugs.

It was clear the law wasn't needed - third-string deputy with a borrowed tin star or not - so Ellie said thanks to Marion Gould and shuffled out of the Gould Nugget . Standing on the sidewalk with the stamping of bootheels from the folks who had jumped up to dance echoing in her ears, she turned right and carried on to the law office.

Reaching the square building housing the Sheriff's office and the jail out back, she stopped with a jerk and stared at the small, grated window. The light she had put on the windowsill had been snuffed out. It hadn't been blown out by the wind when she had opened the door to make her evening patrol, she was sure of that, so someone had to have entered the law office and choked it. But why?

Ellie drew her Peacemaker as she reached out for the knob on the reinforced wooden door. Swinging it open, it responded by squeaking pitifully. She found herself holding her breath as she took a step onto the floorboards that creaked just as hard as the door had done. Everything was dark and quiet. The stump of the candle remained on the windowsill where she had put it, and she could smell a faint whiff of the smoke produced whenever a candle was snuffed out - meaning it hadn't been too long since the light had been extinguished.

Wearing the tin star on her vest suddenly didn't seem such a bright idea. By carrying that little, tin trinket, she had made herself a target for whichever desperado was waiting for her in the deep shadows of the small room. Stepping further into the Sheriff's office, she cocked her revolver which made an impossibly loud, metallic noise in the quiet room.

A gasp and movement directly in front of her made her come to a stop and aim at the shadow that had moved behind the desk. "This be an awful nice moment ta come out with ya hands up, pardner! I ain't gonn' say it twice! I got mah guhn trained on ya and-"

"No, no, no, don't shoot!" a female voice cried from beyond Sheriff Zachariah Boone's desk. "Oh good gosh almighty, this wasn't one of my best ideas…"

"Precious?!" Ellie croaked and released the hammer. When the familiar shape of Precious Mahoney came out of the deepest shadows with her hands in the air, Ellie holstered her Colt in a hurry. "Oh, fer ya mother's sake… dag-nabbin' sweet chuff 'n tackle, Precious… what in Tarnation wus ya thinkin' surprisin' me like that?!"

Precious closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around the taller woman's torso. "Gosh, I'm so sorry, Ellie… I didn't think at all. I just wanted to surprise you 's all. I just wanted to kiss and cuddle… you know… when- when you came back, I wanted to surprise you in the darkness, and… and-"

"Nice thinkin'… lousy execution, honey," Ellie said and leaned down to kiss Precious' hair. Her sweetheart wasn't wearing a bonnet so Ellie was able to muss the blond locks with her nose and mouth, one of her favorite pastimes. Despite Precious standing in reams of smoke from the sizzling bacon for most of the day, there was still a strong trace of her natural scent in her hair. Whenever Ellie's undies were in a pinch over something, she only needed to take a few breaths of her sweetheart's scent to calm down again - this was one of those situations. "Ya bein' so dang good ta me… I love it… but this wus too much of a good thing, yeah?"

"I know," Precious said and nodded hard into Ellie's chest.

"Wussentcha saposed to do a late shift tanight, anyhow? Why's ya here alreddy?"

"I traded with one of my friends."

"Oh…"

"I brought you some warm apple pie leftovers-"

"Whut?! Why didntcha say so at once, darlin'!" Ellie said and moved out at arm's length of her precious Precious. "I plum luv me some good, warm apple pie… 'speshully when I get ta share it with such a darlin' li'l missy such as yer good self. Well, come ahead on!"

"It's in the haybox in the jail…"

"I'll stoke a fire in the pot-bellied stove while ya bring it out here. Yeah? Love ya, Precious Mahoney."

Letting out an "Awwwwww," Precious blushed as she spun around and headed for the first of the row of cells where she had left the haybox.

Ellie fell into a somber state of mind when she realized what she had nearly done. It was bad enough that she had threatened Precious with her gun, but she had been seconds from pulling the trigger. An unpleasant shiver trickled down her back, and she had to rub her face thoroughly to get the nasty thoughts to go away.

The pot-bellied stove beckoned, and Ellie knelt in front of it to move the grated hatch aside. The residue from the last time it had been used wasn't good enough to be reignited even when stirred hard by the poker, so she reached over to the firewood basket and took the matches and a few good logs. Once the first embers were glowing, the rest of the process didn't take too long.

Precious came back at the same time and put a ceramic bowl wrapped in cloth on Sheriff Boone's desk. She had to sweep aside a few miscellaneous items to make room, but the apple pie was more important than Zachariah Boone's official stamps and a few Wanted posters. "Here it is. I also have two spoons," she said and produced a pair of metal eating utensils from a pocket in her apron.

The glowing orange light cast out of the pot-bellied shove gave the dark room some brightness, but it wasn't until Ellie used the next match to reignite the candle-stump on the windowsill that the light really came on.

Bringing the candle over to the desk, she put it down next to the bowl and allowed herself time to gaze at her sweetheart. Though Precious had worked at the eatery for most of the day, she still looked clean and fresh. "An' just plum gorgeous, darlin'," Ellie said and leaned down to complete the task Precious had intended to do with her little game of hide-and-seek in the darkness.

An inch before their lips would have touched, the peace was shattered by something smashing one of the grated windows. Shards flew everywhere, and a heavy object bounced off the far wall, then the wooden floor before it became still.

"Kill the candle! An' git outta sight!" Ellie barked, whipping out her Peacemaker. While Precious let out a shocked gasp but carried out the commands, Ellie slammed against the outer wall and peeked through the smashed window. The street seemed quiet, but she could hear a horse whinnying somewhere close.

Jumping over to the door, she yanked it open and moved to step into the doorway. An instant later, two shots from a Colt .45 rang out from across the street; the first bullet tore a big chunk out of the doorjamb not ten inches from Ellie's face, the second disappeared into the law office where it ricocheted off one of the metal bars encasing the cells at the back of the building. "Precious! Them dag-nabbin' skunks is firin' at us! Git down on the floor! And watch yerself!"

She didn't wait for an answer before jumping out onto the sidewalk and racing to her right to get behind one of the pillars that supported the porch. No further shots were fired at her, so she peeked around the pillar with her Peacemaker hard at work tracking the opposite side of Main Street.

As she was watching, a horse carrying a shadowy outline of a figure came out of the mouth of an alley. The horse whinnied before the rider tugged at the reins and set off at a fast pace. Turning around in the saddle, the rider fired at her again, but it went wide and didn't hit anything.

Ellie jumped into the middle of the rutted street and took a good aim at the fleeing horse and rider. Furrowing her brow, she decided against taking a pot-shot that could potentially injure or kill an innocent bystander. Several people had swarmed out of the saloons and were watching the drama unfold. It was too risky, and she holstered her Peacemaker with an annoyed grunt. "Blast that cussed buncha rotten critters… shootin' where wimmen an' children might be walkin'," she growled as she stomped back to the law office. "Busted in the middel o' swappin' spit with my darlin'. Why, I oughtta wring the browns outta them good-fer-nothin' skunks. Precious… are ya awright?"

"Yeah," Precious said and appeared from behind the desk. She was about to speak up again when her eyes fell on the object that had been thrown into the Sheriff's office. "Oh! Oh, look, Ellie… it's a rock… and it's got a note of some kind wrapped around it."

"Well, pick it up an' lessee what was so dang-blasted important they had ta bust one of them windas. Damnations, Sheriff Boone is gonn' be angrier than a trapped beaver when he sees that winda!"

Precious unwrapped the note and promptly dropped the rosewood pipe on the floor.

"I got the darn thing," Ellie said and bent down to retrieve the strange item. "Huh? A pipe? What the dung-blazes is that saposed ta mean?"

"Oh my Gosh, Ellie!" Precious said and looked up at her lover with wide, surprised eyes. "It's so chock-full of spellin' mistakes I can hardly read it… but… but listen to this… it'll knock you flat," Precious said and smoothed out the note proper so she could read it.

"Aw, I kinda love it when ya knock me flat, darlin'," Ellie said and pushed her cowboy hat back from her eyes.

Precious shot her one of Those Looks before she returned to the scribbled note. "Sheriff Boone. We have Judge Halvorsen. You have my brother. If you want to see Judge Halvorsen alive again, let my brother go. Once we have my brother, the judge will be set free. Beechum."

"Well, I'll be an Alabama tick," Ellie said and reached for the note. Skimming through it, she moved her lips as she read the poorly spelled words: 'Sheriff Boon. We hav jutch Halvorsen. You hav my brotha. If you wan to see jutch Halvorsen alife agen, let my brotha go. Onse we have my brotha, the jutch will be set fri. Beetshum.'

"Now what?" Precious said and wrung her hands. "The Sheriff is long gone… and so is the Beechum brother. Ellie, what in Tarnation are we gonna do?"

Ellie lowered the note and stared wide-eyed at her sweetheart. When Precious didn't offer any answers, she looked at the rosewood pipe, the note again, and once more at Precious' pretty face that had turned into a large question mark. "I ain't got no cussed clue, darlin'. Not one. Damnations, what a mess… I picked the wrong durn day ta be puttin' on that tin star!"

*

*

CHAPTER 3

A ride-by shooting wasn't an everyday occurrence in the quiet town of Dry Gulch, not even with the constant threat of the Beechum gang looming on the horizon, so the incident had stirred up plenty of interest among the citizens. For the second time within a twenty-four hour period, a heaving mass of people had lined up in front of the law office to gawk at the unfolding events - this time, the people were also there to see newly-appointed third-string deputy Lysette Esther Shepard and the profound mess she had been dumped in on the first day of her new job.

Excited murmurs rippled back and forth among the people who had shown up on Main Street. A few of them had already had one drink too many and thus spent their time engaged in drunken flirting with the eligible women present instead of concentrating on the bigger picture, but many others were dead-serious and focused.

Ellie stood on the sidewalk in front of the law office with her hands on her gunbelt while casting a steely gaze over the crowd of people. The people talked plenty, but nothing of what she heard would help her. Sighing inwardly, she wished Precious was there to guide her along and to help her string the words together, but her sweetheart was busy inside the law office wading through Sheriff Boone's files to find the Wanted posters for the members of the Beechum gang.

The awkwardly-written note had been passed around between some of the people standing in front of the law office, but they soon handed it back to Ellie who folded it and stuffed it down her rear pocket.

"Whatcha gonna do about it, deputy?" someone asked from the crowd.

"Lookie here, fellas," Ellie said and shoved her cowboy hat back from her eyes so she could wipe her damp brow, "Ta come clean, I ain't no deperty, see? I jus' borrowed that darn tin star from a darn cardboard box. Sheriff Boone asked me ta guard the jail while he an' the boys wus away, an' that's what I wus doin'. Ain't nothin' more to it than that!"

"But you're the law here now!"

"Ah ain't no dag-nabbin' law, son! Why dontcha listen ta what I'm sayin'? I'm a guard at the bank… y'all know that. I ain't got no aw-thority whatso-stinkin'-ever anywhere in the Terry-torry!"

"But does that mean the Beechum gang will come here and tear up Dry Gulch once they discover we can't return their brother?" a different, female, voice said from the crowd.

Now Ellie did sigh out loud. She tried to spot the face of the woman asking the question, but there were too many in front of her, and she had to give up. "Ya askin' me, lady? How the durn-blazes should I know? Lookie here, them Beechums is a pack o' cussed coyotes, we all know that, and there ain't no tellin' what them critters might do. That's the best answer I can give ya, honest!"

Judging by the murmurs that rippled through the crowd, Ellie's comments weren't what they had been wanting, or even expecting, to hear. The excited tones had turned worried, and a few of the spectators at the back began to drift away.

"Naw, we ain't goin' no further tanight so we might as well quit flappin' our gums," Ellie said and put her hands in the air like a preacher at a sermon. "Y'all be havin' a nice evenin' now. Git back ta the saloons or home ta ya wife an' li'l ones. I'll letcha know what's gonn' happen once I figger it out. Yeah?"

The crowd groaned in unison, but Ellie stood firm and didn't waver until the last of the concerned citizens had gone back to the saloons or wherever they had come from. Once she was alone, she let out a deep sigh and rubbed her face. "Precious… darlin'," she said as she stepped back into the law office and closed the battered door behind her, "please tell me ya've had a divine intervention so ya can gimme some clues as ta what the blazes I should do!"

Precious looked up from her work of wading through the Wanted posters. She had already gone through most of them and had extracted the appropriate posters into a smaller pile. "Can't say that I have, Ellie, but I did find the posters for the people known to ride with the Beechum gang. Twelve in total. Clay 'Rattler' Beechum is on top if you want to look at them."

Ellie groaned out loud and took off her hat entirely. The situation seemed to come down on her shoulders because she shuffled around the desk and bumped down on Sheriff Boone's swivel-chair. "Twelve. Huh. That makes it a baker's dozen with Clarence, that li'l rodent. Thirteen nasty, stinkin', good-fer-nothin' cutthroats," she said and put her greasy cowboy hat down on the table. "Thirteen. Ain't that just purr-fect fittin' them nasty skunks?"

"Yeah, I suppose…" Precious had a look on her face that said she didn't quite understand where Ellie was going with that. Shrugging, she took Clay's poster from the top of the pile. "Clay Beechum alone is worth five thousand dollars, dead or alive. That's a mighty fine sum of money, don't you think? A couple of gals could make it a long way on five thousand dollars."

"Aw, they sure could," Ellie said and swiveled the chair around a little before she pinned Precious to the spot with one of her patented steely gazes. "A couple-a gals could make it all the way to a couple-a shallow graves in the desert pumped full o' lead or beaten ta death. That's how far them gals wus gonna get for five thousand dollars."

Ellie's ominous words hung in the air, and Precious' pretty face drew back in a worried grimace. She looked down at the wanted poster before she dropped it like it had burned her fingers.

Biting her lips, she shuffled around the desk while she trailed her thumb on the edge of the wooden furniture. "But there must be somethin' we can do. We can't just leave Judge Halvorsen at the mercy of those outlaws…" she said, finally looking up at her sweetheart.

"Ya right, we can't," Ellie said and swiveled back. Apart from letting out a sigh, she fell quiet and stared at nothing in particular - or perhaps at the promise of a headstone in her immediate future - for nearly two full minutes. Then she turned back yet again and patted her thighs. "C'mere… siddown. I wanna feel ya."

Smiling, Precious sat down across Ellie's lap and snuggled up against her taller girlfriend. The swivel-chair creaked and groaned like it was about to give up the ghost, but it held up to the combined weight of the two women who took the opportunity to do plenty of soul-gazing into each other's eyes.

The moment was too good to miss - dramas or no dramas - so Precious leaned in and claimed Ellie's lips in a little, warm smooch. "I know you…" she whispered, "you're cookin' up a plan. Aren't you? I hope it's involvin' me."

"I am, yeah. An' naw, it don't."

"It doesn't?"

"Naw. 'Cos I'm cookin' up a plan involvin' a posse to go after them Beechums."

Precious' face was frozen in a gobsmacked expression as she pulled back an inch or two. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to see if Ellie was pulling her leg, but came to the conclusion that although the taller woman's hands were indeed on Precious' legs, no pulling took place. "You're serious… even after what you just told me? And after the speech you held out there where you said you didn't have any authority here?"

"Yeah," Ellie said and let out a deep sigh. Looking down, she eyed the tin star on her chest. "That li'l trinket there ain't worth two bits an' it don't weigh nothin' on my tit, but dang-bustin' it weighs on mah heart."

"Ellie… look…" Precious said and stepped off her lover's lap, "you're not a real deputy. You took that star from a damn cardboard box… and now you wanna form a posse and go after the Beechum gang? A bunch of stone cold killers?! Dammit, woman, have you lost your marbles?!"

"Darlin', ya said yaself we oughtta do sommin ta save the judge-"

"But not saddle up and ride, boldly ride to get 'im back our-own-damn-selves! Gosh Golly Almighty, Ellie… where's your head, woman?"

Ellie scrunched up her face and shot her lover a downcast look. Since she started working on a cattle ranch in Texas when she was nine years old, she had been a jack of all trades but a master of none. She had never known her real parents but had been raised in a string of orphanages and foster homes. She was semi-illiterate and fully innumerate because of a complete lack of schooling, she was shunned in most circles because of her habits and preferences, and her perpetual wanderlust had meant she had never had relationships beyond impersonal one-night stands with drunken, crude cowboys or adventurous women who were always ashamed of themselves afterwards.

The concept of pride in her own self had never been a part of her from the moment she was born, but it had found her when she rode into the nice, little town of Dry Gulch and hooked up with Marion Gould. It had blossomed when she met Precious Mahoney, a woman who saw the person behind the men's pants and the Peacemaker unlike just about every other soul Lysette Esther Shepard had encountered during her trek of randomly drifting north-west from Texas when the cowpoke jobs dried up there.

Now, she had a steady life in a friendly, little town, a steady job guarding the bank's vault, and a steady girlfriend in the shape of the gorgeous woman right in front of her watching her with clouded, green eyes. The foundation was there for a solid future, and it was high time she paid back all the support she had been given.

"I know exactly where mah head is," Ellie said and rose from the swivel-chair. When she put out her arms, Precious only hesitated for a second or two before she closed the distance between them and fell into the embrace. "And mah head an' heart is workin' tagether ta tell me this is where I'm gonna make a difference, sweetie. In a brief while, I be askin' around the saloons hopin' ta form a posse ta go after them there rotten Beechums. They's gotta be told they can't just abduct a Judge without payin' in blood. We have a town worth fightin' for… we have so many people worth fightin' for… so fightin' is jus' what we's gonn' hafta do."

Precious sighed and pressed her face against Ellie's throat. Extending her tongue, she ran a wet trail across the smooth skin. It made Ellie squirm and snicker, a sound she loved to hear. "Well… all right. I suppose I can't talk you out of it?"

"Naw."

"Damn. Then I want to come along."

"Now, wait jus' a dag-nabbin' minute there, Missy," Ellie said and moved back at once. Staring at the sincere face of her precious Precious, she knew the fiery blonde was deadly serious. This situation required a strong response, so she grabbed Precious' shoulders while she shook her head vehemently. "Aw hell no, Missy! This ain't gonn' be no dern picnic at the falls, ya hear? We's gonn' go up against vermin with Chesters and Colts. They's gonna be shootin' back at us, ya hear? Some of us may end up gettin' hurt, and I sure as stink on shit ain't acceptin' it's gonna be you!"

Precious growled from somewhere deep in her throat just to show she wouldn't be a pushover. "I'll bring up the rear! I'll provide the food and water…" When Ellie continued to shake her head, though far less than before, Precious narrowed her eyes and poked a hard index finger into her sweetheart's chest. "Lysette Esther Shepard, I'm tellin' you one thing, and I'm tellin' you right now… there's no way… and I stress no way you're leavin' me behind. No way. So either we both go, or we both stay here and let someone else take care of business with the Beechums."

"Aw, darlin'… betcha some o' them there fellas alreddy think we ain't up to the task 'cos we be wimmen. I ain't gonn' confirm their delusions an' chicken out now. I'm goin'."

"And that means I'm goin' too," Precious said and thumped her fist into her open palm. "C'mon, let's go down to the Gambler's Den and the Gould Nugget and find some people who'll-"

"But we never got ta dig inta the dang-blasted apple pie!"

Precious once again shot her sweetheart one of Those Looks, but it was tempered by the grin that couldn't stay off her lips. "I'll make you a fresh, whole pie once we get home… that's a promise."

"An' that's good enough fer me," Ellie said and snatched the opportunity to pull Precious in for a good-sized smooch.

---

Striding down the sidewalk that followed Main Street, Ellie Shepard was a sight to behold. The hard heels of her cowboy boots created the perfect soundtrack by thumping a rock-steady beat on the wooden planks as she made a beeline for the Gambler's Den .

The entire saloon stopped dead when Ellie moved through the swinging doors and came to a halt in the middle of the floor. The piano player quit punching the keys from one note to the next to gawk at the town's newest deputy, and the two dancing girls known as The Leggy Sisters squealed in delight and shook their stuff in appreciation.

The cute, sexy attention made a lop-sided grin grace Ellie's lips as she took a sliding step forward. She had certainly dressed up for the occasion. Her cowboy boots remained the same, but she had changed into a pair of dark-blue dungarees that came equipped with leather chaps and a brass belt buckle the size of Texas. She wore a tan, double-breasted shirt, and an almost brand new, pale-gray Stetson that she had won in a poker game down at the Gould Nugget . Her Colt Peacemaker hung low on her hip in a new, second-hand holster she had saved for a special occasion, and she carried a Winchester carbine over her arm.

Someone whistled a long, loud wolf call at her, but she didn't have time for any of that. She eyed the various patrons, card players and barflies, and came to the conclusion that she had something to work with. Nodding to herself, she put her hands in the air. "Ev'rybody! May I have yer attenshun, please. Awright, y'all know what gone down at the law office jus' now. Some of ya read the note but fer those who didden, them Beechums got Circuit Judge Halvorsen. They's gonn' kill him stone dead unless we bring back their oh-so-darlin' brother Clarence. Well, we can't do that 'cos the li'l rodent must be in Cactus Junction by now with Sheriff Boone and the boys."

The colorful assortment of patrons duly laughed at the descriptions, but Ellie put her hands in the air again to make them quiet down. "Therefore… we's gonn' form a posse ta go after-"

"Didn't you say before you couldn't go after him, deputy?" a male voice said from somewhere in the crowd.

"Yaw, but that wus then, fella."

"What's changed?"

"A lotta things. A lotta. Anyhows, we's goin' after him, that there nasty critter Clay Rattler Beechum, an' bring 'im down once an' fer all. Or at the very least free the judge an' get the sonovabitch who nearly took mah head off down at the law office. Who's with me? Lemme see ya hands, fellas."

Ellie's speech didn't garner the results she had hoped. Instead of seeing a sea of hands reaching for the sky, all she got was a bucketload of blank faces. One by one, the card players, the patrons and even the supposedly tough cowboys at the playing tables looked away so they didn't have to hold her stare.

The stare in question turned steely, and eventually deadly, when it dawned on her that none of the men were interested in volunteering for the posse. "What a buncha dickless wusses y'all is! What in Sam Hill is wrong with ya people? Befo', ya wanted me ta go after 'im… now Ah'm reddy fer it, y'all gonn' back out on us? Well, lemme tell ya sommin 'bout strength by numbers. If we come as one, them outlaws always crap their breeches an' high-tail it the farthin' outta there!"

It didn't work; nobody reacted. "Aaron Schwarz, ya big lug. How about it?" Ellie continued, eyeing a burly, bearded man at one of the playing tables. When the man clearly avoided holding her gaze by looking down at his hands, Ellie swallowed a curse and let her steely eyes sweep across the other tables. They came to a halt at an unshaven cowboy wearing tired, old ranch fatigues. "Toby Richards… I know fer a fact you is the best darn shootin' artist with a Sharps an' any other kinda firearm in all of Locklin County. It ain't gonn' get no better than shootin' at vermin, is it? No? For Saint Pete's sake, this is gettin' embarrassin', fellas."

Behind Ellie, the swinging doors opened and she turned around in the hope she could lure whomever it would be into coming with her. As it turned out, it was Precious Mahoney coming back from the eatery sporting a deep frown across her forehead. The body language didn't need interpreting, but Ellie had to ask just to know for sure. "So… any luck with them folks from the eatery?" she asked, cocking her head.

"No."

"Nothin' at all?"

"No."

Ellie scrunched up her face in annoyance and spun around to face the card players in the Gambler's Den . "Listen here an' listen good, fellas. Them Beechums an' their gang o' rotten outlaws an' despera-dahs ain't gonn' go away just because all y'all ignore 'em. Hell, if anythin', they's gonna get bolder from now on. If they done abductin' a Circuit Judge and is gettin' away with it, there ain't nothin' stoppin' 'em from targetin' every dang-blasted citizen of Dry Gulch. Or c'mere and shoot up the whole dang town jus' because."

The silence was deafening. In fact, it was so quiet in the Gambler's Den that it was possible to hear the crickets chirping somewhere in the middle distance towards the desert. Ellie sighed and was about to leave the saloon when a single cowboy in his early twenties put his hand in the air and rose from his seat. "Deputy… I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Will we get a slice of the reward money if we help take down the Beechum gang?"

Ellie chewed on her cheek. She had no idea what Sheriff Boone would say to that, but the Wanted posters all told a clear tale: combined, Clay 'Rattler' Beechum and his cronies were worth more than twelve thousand dollars, dead or alive. Since she couldn't say for sure, she would have to fib. "Yeah, ya will, fella. Them there Beechums an' their outlaw pals is worth a bunch o' greenery. Plenty enough ta sweeten yer life an' buy yer snookums a new corset."

The young cowboy nodded before he stuck out his jaw. "I'm volunteerin' for the posse."

"Now there's the fightin' spirit I wus talkin' about, man!" Ellie said and nodded at the man in the brown clothing. "An' fer the rest of ya fellas sittin' with ya dicks tucked in… this is ya last chance. Nobodda? Then ya can ruddy-well fuggetaboudit. Leave this ta the wimmen and this nice fella here. C'mon, Precious, we's bailin' this here chicken shed."

Precious tried to hide a smirk created by her sweetheart's colorful language, but it wasn't too successful. She noted with some satisfaction that a great deal of the men among the visitors of the saloon were blushing when the two women walked out of the establishment.

-*-*-*-

Further south in the Beechum gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock, Clara Beechum stood at the top step of the short flight of stairs outside the ranch house. Reaching behind her, she gathered her hair into a ponytail and added a barrette to keep it in place. With her hair done, she put on a black cowboy hat and ran her finger around the shade to make sure it was lined up perfectly.

The courtyard below her was dark save for a handful of bonfires that had been lit by groups of gang members who had wanted to warm their hands while they warmed their insides drinking cheap whisky. Reams of bawdy laughter rippled through the groups when someone told blue tales, and the sound was joined by cards slapping on the ground and bottles clanging together.

Though the environment was hazardous to anyone's health with the smoke from the fires, the harsh smell of the low-grade booze and the foul stench of the unwashed men, Clara strolled down the staircase and ventured out among the members of her gang.

Killers, cutthroats, thugs, bruisers, horse thieves, desperados, arsonists, extortionists, bank robbers, rapists. All branches of degeneration were represented among the unshaven bandits who sat around the bonfires. The Beechum gang didn't have a core group as such; instead, they attracted the attention of scum everywhere who thought they had something to bring to the gang. Some had, and they stayed for a while. Some hadn't, and they left before long or were used for target practice by the worst of the degenerates.

Others - the greedy with special skills - were lured in by flashing enough dollar bills to persuade them to join for a specific job. Those outlaws were high-maintenance and had to be kept satisfied with plenty of high-quality booze and fine, first-class prostitutes, or else they would up and leave before the jobs were completed.

Clara Beechum strolled around the camp with no fear of being accosted by the degenerates. Although a few were borderline insane, none were stupid, and they knew their lives would come to a quick, messy end if they tried anything with the dark-haired - and short-tempered - beauty.

The casual stroll in the semi-darkness around the orange, flickering bonfires couldn't hide the fact she was growing impatient. When she arrived at the bonfire her brother was sharing with Royce Biederman and Lee Carlson, she put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh.

"Sis," Clay 'Rattler' Beechum said and held up a half-empty bottle of cheap whisky. "Come, sit down. Take a load off. Share a few tales."

"Can't. Earl Donovan isn't back yet. He's been gone too long, that dirty old drunkard."

"Mmmm," Clay said and put the bottle to his mouth. He took several deep gulps before he wiped his lips and handed the whisky to Royce who sat at his right. Lee was next, and he couldn't keep his eyes off the stables as he drank from the bottle.

"Just think," the youngest of the bunch said in a gentle slur as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "in there, that nice piece of ass is sittin' with her legs spread wide open around that support beam. 'S gotta make her horny with such a rod there. Ya think she's dreamin' about rubbin' herself? I think she is. I think she's wishin' she could slide up against that smooth beam and grind those hips. Yeah, grind 'em back and forth. Rub it for me, baby."

As Lee Carlson spoke, his own hips rocked back and forth to illustrate his point. Grinning, he looked up at his companions who were quieter than usual. It didn't faze him; he took another deep gulp of the cheap whisky before he handed it back to Rattler to begin over.

Clara's face had grown darker and more disgusted for each word that came out of Lee's mouth. When he finished by rocking his hips, she was ready to slit his throat. She looked across the bonfire at her brother who appeared to think it was all right to talk like that.

There was no point in trying to get through to Lee Carlson whose youthful eyes observed everything in shades of sex, so Clara spun around on her heel and stomped away from the bonfire. Before she could make it back to the ranch house, one of the sentries guarding the narrow path up to the hideout came running into the courtyard waving his rifle and calling Clara's name.

"I'm here!" she said and hurried over to the approaching sentry. When she intercepted him, she put her hands on her hips and assumed a natural, aggressive stance. "All right. Talk to me."

The sentry - thirty-something, heavily-bearded Nelse Rawlings, a veteran bank robber from Southern California who took his job so seriously he never drank whisky while working - took off his dark-brown hat and slapped it against his chest to get the dust out. "Earl Donovan is on his way back, Miss Clara. He must be drunk off his ass. He's even got his horse walkin' funny, and they can hardly find their way up the trail."

"Son of a bitch," Clara said and pulled a fierce scowl in the direction of the mouth of the trail. "How far out is he?"

"A good fifteen, twenty minutes. Unless we go out there and get him. Then he can be here in five."

Clara scrunched up her face and let out a string of increasingly heated, mumbled curses that impressed even the experienced Nelse. "All right. Get him. Wait… first make sure nobody is following him. I wouldn't put it past Sheriff Boone to try to tail that brainless drunkard."

"We're on it," Nelse Rawlings said and hurried out of the courtyard to inform his colleagues guarding the trail.

---

Ten minutes later, the buckskin-clad Earl Donovan was on his hands and knees in the middle of the courtyard. It was clear by the stench of liquor that surrounded him that he was indeed drunk off his ass, as Nelse Rawlings had put it. Earl's eyes were swimming, and his usual pasty complexion had turned ruddy. His hunter's cap had always looked battered, but now it was torn in two places, and his greasy hair fell off his shoulders and nearly touched the ground where he had landed when he had been shoved.

"Earl Donovan, you worthless piece of trash," Clara Beechum hissed. She had no intention of touching the drunkard with her hands, so she put her boot under his stubbled chin and forced him to look up at her - not that it did much good with his watery eyes. "Tell me one thing before I throw you to the wolves… did you carry out the orders I gave you?"

Earl shook his head in a drunken fashion, but seemed to recall at the last moment that the gesture was typically used for negative replies. Instead, he did a series of small nods. "Y- yeah, yeah… yeah, I shure did. I shure did… I threw that rock through the winda… smashed it but good. Shere were no problemsh. None."

"Mmmm…"

"Exshcept…"

Clara narrowed her eyes and added even more pressure to the drunkard's chin. "Except?" she said in a quiet, dangerous voice.

The pressure pushed Earl's neck back into an unnatural angle, and he had to swallow several times to get his throat to produce words. "Shere wash one thing… some monkey-businessh or 'nother. The Sheriff didden come out. I wash figuring he would… but no. Only a tall drink o' water showed up. I took a couple-a potshots-"

"A what?"

"A woman… a big woman. Tall. Didden know her. Never sheen her before. She wore men'sh clothin'. Everyshing wash sho quiet… like I shaid, some monkeyin' or 'nother."

Clara yanked the tip of her boot off Earl's chin. As expected, the drunkard collapsed in a filthy heap on the ground when his support was removed. She had already lost interest in him and turned around to head back to the ranch house. "Rattler, we need to talk," she said over her shoulder.

---

Once inside the office, she took off her black cowboy hat and hung it from the backrest of the chair before she sat down at the desk. She had barely leaned back on the chair before her brother entered and sat down on the edge of the desk right in front of her. "Clay, do you buy Earl's rambling tale? That Sheriff Boone didn't come out, but that some tall woman did? A tall woman in men's clothing?"

"I don't know," Clay said and pushed his hat back so he could scratch his brow. "Earl's a drunkard, but I can't see why he would lie about something like that. Of course, he may never have reached Dry Gulch and decided to cook up a cockamamie story instead."

"No," Clara said and leaned to the side which made the swivel-chair creak. "I know the citizens better than you do. There is a tall woman living there… one who fits the description regarding the men's clothing. Lysette Shepard. Goes by Ellie. I've spoken to her a couple of times around town. She works in the bank's vault as a guard… what the hell would she be doing at the law office at that time of the day?"

"Maybe the good Sheriff is boning her?"

"Doubt it. She's a weird one. Lives with another woman."

"Mmmm. But she's still got a crack down there he can fill, doesn't she?"

Clara's lips curled into a fierce sneer at her brother's words. Leaning forward, she offered the older Beechum an accusing index finger that didn't need interpretation. "Clay, being exposed to that kind of wretched utterances from Lee Carlson is bad enough… hearing it from you makes me sick! Focus on the matter at hand, not on the-"

"All right, all right…" Clay said and threw his hands in the air.

"Make yourself useful… go over to the judge and tell him what's going on," Clara said and fell back against the swivel-chair's backrest. "Tell him if we don't get Clarence back before noon tomorrow, he will get it in the neck… and it'll be slow. Plant a seed of fear in him. And the secretary too. She's probably easier prey."

Clay nodded as he got up from the chaise lounge. The two Beechums gave each other a brief look before 'the Rattler' left the office to carry out the nasty task.

-*-*-*-

"Miss Wilmerton?" Judge J.R. Halvorsen whispered. He had a deep frown of worry etched onto his forehead; it had come from seeing his secretary slumped over and leaning her head against the support beam in what had to be an unpleasant position. "Miss Wilmerton? Maudie?" he tried again, whispering a little louder than the first time.

Their little corner of the world, the section of the stables that was protected by the hayloft above, was in an inhospitable state. The nine horses that occupied the far end of the stables would frequently raise their tails and deliver a load of hot, steaming manure, or spew out seemingly a gallon of foul-smelling urine.

The stench was mind-numbing, as was the dry dust from the hayloft above them, and the scores if not hundreds of flies that swarmed near the horse manure. Earlier, the heat had been suffocating and had caused the two prisoners to sweat profusely, but the advancing hours had meant the temperature had dropped a handful of degrees if not more, and a chill had crept up into their bones from the floorboards that were situated directly on the hard, cold ground.

"Miss Wilmerton? Oh, those wretched thugs… what they do to me is irrelevant, but harming an innocent woman is vile!" Halvorsen whispered, letting out a deep sigh when it didn't appear Maudie had heard him.

A groan escaped Maudie Wilmerton's throat as she tried to sit up straight. Shaking her head slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around the dark stables that was only lit by faint reflections of the bonfires out in the courtyard that came through cracks in the walls.

"Miss Wilmerton?" the judge tried again now that he could see Maudie moving around.

"Y- yes? Judge Halvorsen?"

"Oh, you may call me Jacob. There's no point in being formal in this situation. How are you feeling?"

Maudie sighed and tried to shuffle around. The sloshing that came from below made her break out in a strong blush and slam her eyes shut in embarrassment. "Not too well. I'm… I've never been so ashamed, Jacob. I had to relieve my bladder. I'm sitting in it."

"Don't you feel bad about that, Maudie. And don't blame yourself, blame those infernal monsters who keep us locked up. Oh, if only I could break these bonds somehow," Judge Halvorsen said and tried to yank at the sturdy chains that kept him tied to the support beam.

Not strong enough by far, the judge could hardly move the thick metal chains that had been put in place by Royce Biederman. The old man tried one, final time, but he gave up and let the chains fall to the filthy ground with a long, slow sigh.

The sigh had barely left his lips before the barn door was slid open and a shadowy figure stepped inside the stables. Scrunching up his face in anger, Judge Halvorsen let rip in a Stentorian voice: "When will you evil beings bring us some food and water?! My secretary and I are in dire need of nourishment! These conditions are intolerable!"

"Well, that's just too damn bad," Clay 'Rattler' Beechum drawled as he walked closer to their two prisoners. Arriving at the judge and the secretary, Clay crouched down to be at eye-level with them. At once, he crinkled his nose at the stench of fresh human waste that simmered in the air near the secretary, and he shot her a look of disgust that made the older woman blush hard and look away.

"Too bad?!" the judge cried, but his fire left him when he caught a glimpse of the cold, dangerous look in the outlaw's eyes. Deflating like a leaking balloon, J.R. Halvorsen's shoulders slumped and he aged several years in a heartbeat.

Snorting at the judge's rapid change of mind, Clay let his right hand play near the holster for his sidearm. "We've delivered the message now, old man. Sheriff Boone is probably preparing my brother's release as we speak."

"I doubt it…"

"So the Sheriff doesn't care about you, Judge?"

"Sheriff Boone is a man of the law, vermin! Your brother is an insane killer who deserves the noose just as much as you do," J.R. Halvorsen said and shuffled around uncomfortably. "No. I can't see the Sheriff letting your brother go. Not after the terrible business with the farmer you killed. Not after raping the widow and her daughter!"

"Oh, you weren't there. They were pleased with having a real, hard man between their legs for a change. We could tell by their groans, Clarence and I."

The judge gasped and stared daggers at the outlaw, but his looks had no effect on Clay 'Rattler' Beechum.

"So," Clay continued, "you're saying Sheriff Boone won't release my brother even if it kills you?"

The judge shuffled around again, and his cheeks gained another level of ruddiness. "There are other circuit judges who'll take my place," he said in a voice that wasn't as strong as he had hoped it would be.

"Pah. Save the bluster and forlorn bravado for the Gentleman's Club, Judge Halvorsen. I know the men of the law. The Sheriff will release my brother. You can be sure of that." Dusting off his hands, Clay 'Rattler' Beechum rose to his full height which gave him an opportunity to shoot Maudie Wilmerton another disdainful look for wetting herself.

"Beechum, how do you know Sheriff Boone isn't assembling a posse as we speak?" Judge Halvorsen said, once more trying to struggle against the heavy chains. "He may come with a small army and kill you all."

"A small army? From Dry Gulch? Pie in the sky, old man. We'll know at noon tomorrow. If my brother shows up, we'll release you and the oinker here. If he doesn't… it's the hangin' tree for both of you. Of course, your secretary here will get to meet the men first."

Maudie let out a strangled cry at the thinly veiled threat, and she stared with wide-open, deeply frightened eyes at the tall outlaw.

"You wretched devil! Scalawag! Son of a two-bit harlot!" Judge Halvorsen barked, but his angry outburst only made Clay Beechum lean his head back and laugh out loud.

"Luckily for you, old man, I know those words. Most of my men wouldn't. They'd just slit your throat to get even. Have a nice evening," Clay said and tipped his wide-brimmed Stetson before he left the two prisoners to mull over his words.

The outlaw had barely closed the barn door behind him before Maudie Wilmerton began to weep. She was powerless to stop the large tears that ran down her cheeks and eventually added several new stains to her seven-button dress that had long since ceased being tan. She sniffled hard several times, but couldn't do anything about that either. "Do… d- do you think… do you think… h- he was lying about letting us go if h- his brother gets here?" she whispered in a frail voice.

To stall before he had to give an answer that would only worsen the weeping secretary's mental state, J.R. Halvorsen sighed and tried to reach down to wipe his flushed face on his upper sleeve. It only worked to a certain extent, and he ended up with more filth on his forehead than he'd had before.

"Jacob? Please… I need to know…"

"He's lying, Maudie. I'm sorry. He'll never let us get out of here alive."

"Oh God, no…"

Halvorsen sighed and tried for the umpteenth time to do something, anything, about the chains holding him in place at the support beam. When it was no use, he gave up and let his arms fall into his lap. "I'm afraid so. We know who he is. The scoundrel has never tried to hide it… and that tells me he has never had any intentions of-"

Maudie broke down and cried even worse. Hard sobs racked her body that shook for each gasping cry that came from her throat. She tried to close her legs and roll up into a ball, but the support beam prevented her from moving much. Instead, she leaned forward and once again rested her forehead against the smooth timber as she continued to cry.

"Of course," Judge Halvorsen continued for his own benefit, "that sadist Clay Beechum may not actually proceed to hang us. He may release us to die a slow death in the desert. Alone. On foot. No water. Like the Forty Days In The Wilderness from the Holy Scriptures. Death will still find us, but perhaps… perhaps it would be less… painful. I honestly can't say."

Sighing, Jacob Roderick Halvorsen realized they had nearly reached the end of the line. Despite his earlier brash statement, he knew that Sheriff Boone would rather release Clarence Beechum than risk the murder of a circuit judge. The only problem with that approach was that Zachariah Boone was an honest man, and that Clay 'Rattler' Beechum was anything but.

Once the younger of the Beechums returned to the gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock, Clay would kill both his prisoners. Or throw them to the wolves and then kill them, in the case of Maudie Wilmerton. "Devils… devils, the lot of them…" Judge Halvorsen whispered, shaking his head in defeat.

*

*

CHAPTER 4

The first hints of the new dawn were still lurking just below the horizon when Ellie Shepard strolled down Dry Gulch's Main Street pulling the reins of two bay horses. She had rented them from Hansen's Livery Stable up at the far end of the street; Karl-Anker Hansen had had many choice words for her for waking him up at dark o'clock, but a quick flashing of the tin star had settled the deal.

Like her appearance at the Gambler's Den the night before, she was dressed in full prairie fatigues that included dungarees, chaps, a double-breasted shirt and her new cowboy hat. She had added a furlined vest that would come in handy in the first hours of the day before the sun would rise enough to warm up the landscape - and, as always, her Colt Peacemaker hung low on her right hip so she could defend herself from vermin of the two or four-legged kind.

Although her outfit hadn't been a success at the saloon in persuading the men to follow her into action, it had struck gold when she and her sweetheart had returned home to their apartment later on. Precious had found the dungarees and the chaps irresistible and had made up an adult game where she played a big city damsel visiting the rural counties for the first time, and Ellie was a tough country broad in leather chaps who had to show the virginal bird just what kind of fun real women could have with each other.

It had been a silly little thing to take their minds off the immediate future, but the love they had made had been life-affirming and real. Ellie smiled as she remembered the way Precious responded to every little touch, and the powerful currents that coursed through her own body when her strawberry-blonde sweetheart used her mouth in ways the designer had never envisioned.

Arriving at the alley that led down to the rear side of the building housing their apartment, Ellie tugged on the reins again and led the two horses off Main Street and into the shady gap between the two, wooden buildings. One of the horses stopped to whinny and throw her large head, but the experienced Ellie made a few comforting sounds that made the horse settle down and carry on.

Precious Mahoney waited for the team to return at the foot of a small staircase that led up to their apartment. She and Ellie had rented the small unit, which was located above a miscellaneous goods shop not too far from the Apollo Hotel, when they had discovered how much they had in common. It only had windows to the rear of the quiet alley, not to Main Street which suited them just fine. That way, they could have all the privacy they needed.

Getting up, she dusted off the seat of her pants, a pair of heavy-duty, brown dungarees that she typically used when they had to ride anywhere. She also wore black ankle boots, a white, long-sleeved o-neck undershirt with a regular-cut red shirt and a black, furlined vest on top of it, a blue, polka-dotted bandanna around her neck, and finally a pale-gray, second-hand Boss of the Plains hat that was a perfect fit although it was originally a hat designed for men.

Their personal riding gear - their saddles and a blanket for each horse among it - and two heavily-laden saddlebags remained on the wooden steps, but there was no reason to drag it around until the horses arrived. They had now, but the woman guiding them there was more important to Precious. A smile graced her features as she closed the distance between them and snuggled up close to her sweetheart. "Hey. I love you, you know."

Ellie chuckled and let go of the reins so she could push her hat back from her eyes. "An' another fine mornin' to ya, sweetie. Still luv ya all ovah," she said and leaned down to give the blonde yet another kiss.

"I'll say," Precious said saucily. Winking at her lover, she let the pink tip of her tongue come out into the world and trace the underside of her upper lip.

"Uh-huh? Ya complainin'?"

"Never. But I could use another kiss."

"Ask an' ye shall recei-" - Ellie didn't have time to provide further commentary before her sweetheart's lips were pressed against her own. The tongue that had been out to play earlier had never left, so the two, powerful muscles danced intimately for a little while.

Ellie grinned like a maniac as they separated but stayed close. "Hell yeah," she whispered, gazing into her lover's green eyes. The torch that had been lit in the rear of the alley to provide a modest light for them to work by created flickering patterns over the faces of the two women, but it didn't hide the sparks that flew between their eyes. They had it bad, and they loved it. "Anyhoo, darlin', these here awesome steeds is Thunder an' Lightnin'. A couple-a mares. Lightnin' is taller so she's mine. Among a whole buncha other things, old man Hansen said they's good-natured an' will do anythin' we ask of 'em."

"They look fine and strong," Precious said and ran her hand down the bay Thunder's flank. The large animal whinnied, but turned its head towards the human in a relaxed fashion that proved it had already accepted its new user. "Yeah. I hope Hansen didn't bleed you dry for them…?"

"I didden pay a bent dime for 'em, darlin'! I tole Hansen ta send the bill ta Sheriff Boone when he an' the boys came back from Cactus Junction!"

"Why, Lysette Esther Shepard… you rascal!"

"Yeah… an' dontcha jus' luv that about me. Huh?"

Precious' saucy grin returned, as did the pink tip of her tongue. It was high time for another smooch or two, so that's what they ended up doing.

They could have spent most of the pre-dawn hour writing a new chapter for the playbook of their little game from the previous evening, but they didn't have time for that. Separating from the big encounter, they stayed close enough to nibble at the other one's lips. "So… now, all we hafta do is ta wait fer that fancy cowpoke from the Gambler's Den who said he'd join us. He's late, an' I don't like it."

Grunting at the truth of her own comments, Ellie reached into one of the pockets of her furlined vest and pulled out a watch in a brass casing. She did have a chain for it, but preferred to use it on the loose so there would be less jingling when she needed to read the time out in the field.

"It'll be dawn soon," Precious whispered as she took the opportunity to nibble a little more on Ellie's succulent lips.

"Yeah. We can't wait too long fer that cowpuncher. He better show up or I'm gonn' teach 'im some manners next time I meet 'im.

---

Two minutes became five, then ten. For each time the hands on the clock went past the top of the minute, Ellie grew another shade of annoyed. Her lips had been reduced to gray lines in her face, and the small space behind the building didn't even need the torch to be lit up - Ellie's steely glare was more than enough to do the trick.

"Sonovabitch," she mumbled under her breath as she checked her pocket watch for the umpteenth time. Another few minutes had gone by since the last time she had checked it, and their time was running out hand over fist. "Dirty, rotten, low-down, good-fer-nothin' skunk… I knew he wus a wuss, that fella."

Sighing, she walked around in a slow circle to kill time, but that had stopped working five minutes ago. Kicking at a loose pebble, she mashed her almost brand new Stetson down onto her black locks and headed for Lightning. "Precious, we ain't gonn' wait no more fer that li'l dang-blasted pipsqueak. Cussed wimp. He prolly coudden git his diaper strings tied, that li'l baby. Mount up, darlin'… looks like when sommin needs ta be done, us wimmen need ta do it."

Precious chuckled out loud at her partner's oaths and exclamations as she moved over to Thunder and put her boot into the stirrup. At five-foot-two, it was a big task to mount any horse, and the robust mare proved difficult to climb up onto. "Hon, I need a hand gettin' my rear up in the saddle," she said and flashed Ellie an apologetic grin.

Ellie had already put her own boot into Lightning's stirrup, but she took it down at once to provide a push-me-up for Precious. Grinning at the intimate contact, she gave her girlfriend's rear a good shove which sent the petite woman up into the saddle in good order.

Thunder responded favorably by remaining stock still while Precious shuffled around on the saddle to find the best spot for her rear. "Why, thank ya, darlin'," she said in a voice that tried to imitate Ellie's characteristic Texan drawl.

"Aw, ya welcome, darlin'," Ellie said and swung herself up into Lightning's saddle with far greater ease. Once up there, she checked the spare ammo and the Winchester that she had stuck down a holster on the side of the saddle. She had brought a ten-inch hunting knife with a jagged edge in case of vermin, and a lasso strong enough to detain a bison was tied to the saddle horn. Her Colt Peacemaker had been taken apart and cleaned thoroughly, and every slot in her gunbelt was occupied by spare cartridges for the sidearm.

After reaching behind her to make sure the saddlebags with the provisions were secure, she tugged at Lightning's reins to turn the animal around. "If y'all be ready, darlin', we be goin'… les' hope we ain't gonna be goin' straight ta hell."

Precious grunted and turned Thunder around as well. "I could have lived without hearin' you say that…" she mumbled as she nudged the good-natured mare's flanks with the heels of her boots.

"Oh… darlin', didya remember ta pin the note we made onta the door of the law office?" Ellie said over her shoulder as they rode out of the alley.

"Yep. If there's any trouble while we're away, the good folks of Dry Gulch will know they need to go to the undertaker's or wait for Sheriff Boone to return."

Ellie turned around in the saddle and blew her sweetheart a little kiss. "Aw, I 'preciate it. Ya know, ya's really been good ta me this morn'."

"Last night too, eh?" Precious said and offered Ellie yet another saucy wink.

"O-yeah!"

---

Halfway down Main Street headed for the southern exit of the city, Ellie and Precious came across a familiar-looking junior who stumbled onto the rutted street when the two riders approached. It was clear the young cowboy had imbibed most of the night to boost his courage, but it had become too much somewhere after the third bottle of whisky.

"Is mah eyes deceivin' me, or ain't that the- hell yeah, it is," Ellie said and pulled Lightning to a halt in the middle of the street. The young cowboy was hardly able to stand up straight, and his clothes were all crooked and filthied from the night's excesses.

"Oh, my sweet Lord," Precious mumbled, rolling her eyes at the sight.

Lightning side-stepped away from the young cowboy almost like the mare wanted to escape the stench of liquor that emanated from him. Sitting tall in the saddle, Ellie stared at the drunken cowboy with disbelieving eyes at first, but it didn't take long before the glare turned deadly. "Jus' what in Sam Hill do ya think y'ave been doin'?" she hissed loud enough for the cowboy to take a stumbling step back. "You stupid-ass, cussed li'l fool! Gettin' drunk off ya hoss when ya goin' on a posse? When d'ya sapose ya gonn' get that monsta hangovah that's comin' to ya, ya dimwit? Who's ya workin' for? Who's ya foreman?"

The cowboy tried several times to get his lips to form words but choked on most of the attempts. He eventually succeeded, but when he spoke, his speech was so slurred he might as well not have bothered. "Josh… Jo- Josh…"

"Joshua Stevenson? From the Bar X ranch?"

The drunken cowboy nodded.

"Yeah, awright. I wish ya plenty o' luck if ya run inta 'im like that," Ellie said and sat up straight in the saddle. "Nice knowin' ya. Good luck findin' a new job, pipsqueak. C'mon, Precious… les' move out."

"Right behind you," Precious said and nudged Thunder's flanks. As she rode past the drunken cowboy, she shot him a green glare that didn't seem to have as much effect as her girlfriend's blue fire. Still, the young man took a stumbling step backwards that saw him end up on his rump.

-*-*-*-

The first hour out on the trail went by so fast it felt like ten minutes. Before Ellie and Precious knew it, the sun rose above the horizon and painted the big sky and the scattered, puffy clouds in bright blues and purples that eventually turned into reds.

Thunder, Lightning and the two riders continued along the dusty trail that would eventually connect with the Copperhead Trail, the main north-south line used by the Milligan Stage Company's four-in-hand stagecoaches and the heavy covered wagons hauling dry goods, canned foods and day laborers between the many small towns in the area.

It didn't take long before the big ball of fire loomed large at the eastern horizon promising another scorching day in the Territory of Utah. Underneath the brightening sky, the desert's fauna slowly came to life save for the coyotes that went to rest after spending the night hunting for jackrabbits and other unfortunate critters.

The dusty trail itself was safe, but diamondbacks and other types of rattlesnakes lurked just beyond the knolls that formed the edges of the rutted surface. The horses could sense their presence and didn't like it. The incessant rattling from the snakes' tails as the two riders went past colonies was even worse for the equines, and they reacted by picking up their speed unprompted.

Ellie and Precious rode on in silence. It wasn't a sign of discord between them; at home, hours on end could go by with nary a word spoken beyond 'thank you' and 'ya welcome, darlin', ' and they had even less need to yap while on the trail. The strength of their bond meant they didn't have to speak to feel a connection - being close was enough.

Riding half a horse's length in front of Precious to be able to see better, Ellie had both hands on the reins as she and Lightning traveled across the dusty, barren landscape. Now and then, she did a visual scan of the horizon to check for suspicious clouds of dust or columns of smoke, but none had been found - yet.

Her hand slipped down to the Peacemaker at regular intervals. Not only was it always prudent to be near your weapon when riding through the lawless land, she needed to check that the extra, little leather strap that held the gun in place down in the holster was still taut and unfrayed.

The two riders continued through the desolate, torrid landscape with few dramas and even less excitement. The sun had begun to heat up the air and the surrounding lands, but the coarse, suffocating dust that was kicked up by the horse's hooves formed the worst of their problems. Ellie and Precious had both moved their bandannas up to cover their mouths so they wouldn't inhale too much of the evil dust, but it was difficult to avoid since it got everywhere.

Like the tails and manes of their steeds, the long hair of the two women waved out behind them like a pair of swimming mermaids. Ellie had no problems keeping her almost new Stetson on her head - the chinstrap fit her like it was tailor-made - but Precious' larger Boss of the Plains continued to cause her grief. Her chinstrap was designed for the typically larger jaw of the male customer, and several times, she had to slam her hand down onto the crown so it wouldn't fly off and land God knows where.

Up ahead, the familiar shape of the northbound morning stagecoach from the Milligan Stage Company appeared on the horizon to prove where the main north-south trail was located in the vast desert. Pulled by a four-in-hand, the cumbersome vehicle rocked and rolled as it moved from right to left a short distance ahead of the two riders on the Copperhead Trail. The first stagecoach of the day was rarely full, but the amount of luggage up on the roof and the fact there was a shotgun rider on the buckboard next to the driver offered hints that someone important had chosen the first connection to get somewhere early.

Ellie and Precious reached the intersection between the smaller trail that led to Dry Gulch and the Copperhead Trail at the exact moment the stagecoach thundered past them, creaking, groaning, rocking and rolling, and going at a fair clip too. Using her right hand to show they weren't a threat, Ellie gave the shotgun rider a quick salute before she had to pull her bandanna up to cover her mouth, nose and eyes.

Nearly two full minutes went by before the evil dust had settled enough for her to lower the colorful cloth. Taking off her Stetson, she slapped it against her chest a couple of times to get the dust out before she mashed it back down onto her formerly black, now dusty-brown locks. "Y'awright, darlin'?" she said, nudging Lightning around so she could look at her partner.

Precious coughed a few times and mirrored Ellie by taking off her Boss of the Plains and slapping it against her thighs. "Just dandy. Those stagecoaches sure kick up some dust…"

"Aw, yeah," Ellie said and could barely stifle a snicker.

Precious gave her one of Those Looks though she knew perfectly well what the problem was. "Oh, spit it out. I have gunk all over, don't I?"

"Aw, ya may ha' got somma that there brown, sticky stuff on ya face there, li'l darlin'… but it ain't nothin' a li'l spittle an' elbow grease can't rub off."

Smirking, Precious ran her finger across her cheek to see for herself - sure enough, the finger was coated in the evil dust. "Haw, haw… don't think for a second that you escaped it, Ellie… you're just as filthy as I am."

"Aw, fer sure, fer sure… but it gives me one of them real nice, rugged, bad girl kinda looks, don't it? An' I do know fer a fact from las' night ya be likin' a rugged, bad girl kinda look on me. Ain't that right, darlin'?"

Precious shook her head and added yet another of Those Looks, but she was unable to hold it for long. Instead, she snickered out loud before she nudged Thunder's flanks and carried on southbound.

"I'm guessin' that's a yes," Ellie said as Precious rode past her. "Not that I didden know alreddy. You wus kinda vocal 'bout it las' night."

"Oh, shut up and let's ride!" Precious said over her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am! I heard that!" Ellie cried as she nudged Lightning's flanks.

-*-*-*-

The mood at the Beechum gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock up in the Longfield Hills was less cheery. The night had seen the same drunken rowdiness and commotion that every turn of darkness brought out, and several of the dead-drunk outlaws had never made it back to the sleeping quarters but had simply collapsed where they sat around the smoldering bonfires.

The cook had a couple of breakfast fires going, and reams of white steam from the coffee pots and pale-blue smoke from the frying, grease-dripping bacon and sausages drifted across the courtyard. Here and there, the hungover - or still drunk - desperados, bandits and outlaws came to and began turning over their lice and other personal guests to prepare for the new day.

Inside one of the rooms in the ranch house, Clara Beechum sat down on her bunk to tie her bootlaces. She had the left one all done up when someone knocked on the bedroom door. "Enter! Clay?" she said as she stuck her foot down the other black riding boot.

"That's right, sis," Clay 'Rattler' Beechum said as he entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Unlike most of the men, Clay had bathed at the dawn's earliest light and had changed into a new outfit: pale-brown work pants, a double-breasted shirt in a darker shade of brown, and a white bandanna around his neck. As always, he wore a wide-brimmed Stetson, but he had it hanging down his back on the chinstrap. "A lot of things are going to happen today. One way or the other."

"Yes," Clara said and tied up the laces on her right boot. Once she was done, she sighed and let her hands fall into her lap. She hadn't bathed, but she had combed her hair for the new day which had to be enough.

When no further comments came out of Clara, Clay walked deeper into the bedroom and cocked his head. "There's something on your mind. Are you doubting Sheriff Boone will release our little brother?"

"Somehow…" Clara began to say, but stopped. Scrunching up her face, she got up from the bunk and moved over to the large, wooden closet in the corner of the room. She took a short prairie jacket off a metal coat hanger and swept her arms down the sleeves. "Somehow I have an inkling Sheriff Boone doesn't know anything about it."

"What makes you say that? Earl Donovan told us-"

"Earl Donovan is a drunkard, and a pitiful one at that. I wouldn't put it past him to throw that note at the drugstore instead of the law office," Clara said as she moved over to a small mirror so she could put on her hat in good order. "No… it's that woman he was talking about. I've been racking my brain ever since hearing that. It simply has to be Lysette Shepard, but she doesn't have anything to do with Zachariah Boone or the prisoners. And don't give me that nonsense about the Sheriff boning her!"

"So…? I don't follow you."

"So what if Sheriff Boone isn't even in Dry Gulch? What if he's left town, possibly to transfer Clarence to Cactus Junction or even Sutter's Quarrel? And what if he trusted Lysette Shepard with guarding the jail while he was away? She's a rock-solid guard at the bank. Sounds like something Zachariah Boone would cook up."

Grunting, Clara put on her black cowboy hat and ran a finger around the shade to make sure it lined up according to the latest fashion for female outlaws. Satisfied that everything was picture-perfect, she turned around and locked eyes with her brother.

"I suppose that's a possibility," Clay said and scratched his neck. "But then what?"

"If we haven't heard anything from Clarence or Boone at mid-day, I'll change into my city dress and head to town. My alter ego Clara Birchwood is still an upstanding citizen. I'm a member of the Socialites Club, don't forget. I'll put an ear to the ground and try to figure out what's going on."

"Mmmm."

"All right?"

"We need to know, so that part I'm fine with," Clay said and put his hands on his hips, "but what should we do with the judge and his porker secretary in the meantime?"

"Nothing. Await my return. Or Clarence's return. Whichever comes first."

"And if Clarence doesn't come back?"

"Then we kill the judge and the chubby woman like we threatened to."

Clay drew a deep breath but let it out without adding his two cents' worth to his sister's plans. Although she had okayed it as a stray thought, his own idea of throwing the secretary to Lee Carlson and a few of his like-minded associates would go down like a weather vane in a storm around Clara, he knew that - so there was no reason to mention anything about it. "Well… all right."

"Good," Clara said and brushed past the taller of the Beechums. "Now, let's go out to the sentries. They'll be the first to know if anything happens."

---

Clara and 'Rattler' Beechum strolled away from the courtyard and onto the first part of the narrow trail that led down to the desert floor. Seventy yards or so into the trail, a motley collection of large rocks and small boulders offered the perfect vantage point for anyone who wanted to have a clear look at the vast desert to the north of Longfield Hills.

Nelse Rawlings, the heavily-bearded sentry who had warned Clara of Earl's impending return the night before, was still on duty, and he waved at his two bosses when they were close enough. " 'Morn, Rattler. 'Morn, Miss Clara. It's been quiet so far."

The 'Rattler' just grunted as he moved past Nelse on his way over to the vantage point, but Clara stopped and shook the younger man's gloved hand. "Good morning, Nelse. I hope everybody will be on their marks today. We don't want any surprises."

"We're ready, Miss Clara," Nelse said in a voice muffled by his impressive facial hair.

"There's no telling what Sheriff Boone may or may not do… he may come with a full posse, or he may simply have sent Clarence out on his own. Either way, we need to stay sharp and cover all possibilities."

"All right, Miss Clara. I'll make sure the guys stay sober. We have a couple of fellows out on an early morning fishing trip. They heard rumors of a payroll transport and wanted to see if it was true… they ought to be back soon. Other than those two, we're pretty much all here."

Nodding, Clara was already looking at the desert beyond the boulders they were standing at. There weren't any clouds of dust or columns of smoke from campfires anywhere, but the Sheriff was far too clever to reveal his hand by lighting a fire. An old prairie hound like Zachariah Boone would simply chew the coffee beans if he wanted an early morning pick-me-up. "Mmmm. Thanks, Nelse. Let's hunker down. It may end up a long wait."

---

The wait turned out shorter than Clara Beechum had predicted. Less than half an hour into the dreary routine of waiting for something that wasn't there yet and that nobody knew when would happen, a kerfuffle broke out back at the hideout.

It started as a shoving match between two hungover outlaws but soon evolved into a bare-knuckle boxing festival that saw more swings, roundabouts and kicked-up dust than the average amusement park. The other thugs chose sides and either cheered or jeered at the two fighters. Most of them just wanted to see a little mayhem, even at that time of the day, so they shouted for blood at every opportunity.

"Oh, what in Tarnation is going on back there?" Clara said and shuffled around on the boulder she used as a platform. Shielding her eyes, she zoomed in on the fighting men and their unwashed, unshaven cheerleaders who all had a bottle of whisky and a plate of bacon and beans in their hands. "Those dimwits can't be fighting now! We don't need any distractions!"

Clay got up from his own boulder and tightened his gunbelt. "Don't worry, Sis. I'll deal with it."

"We'll both deal with it," Clara said and jumped to her feet. Grumbling, she gave the horizon one, final look before she stomped back up the narrow trail to get to the courtyard. When she moved past Nelse Rawlings, she shot him a dark glare. "Nelse, if you see anything… anything at all that could be Clarence or the Sheriff, come to me or my brother and report it at once! You understand?"

"Yes, Miss Clara," Nelse said, nodding so hard his impressive facial hair bobbed up and down.

In the courtyard, the bare-knuckle fight had evolved yet again by the appearance of two six-inch hunting knives. Unfortunately, the aim of the fighters hadn't improved by the change of weapons. The lethal blades were swung wildly left to right and back again, but the fighters were too hungover and thus too sluggish to get close enough to do much damage to each other.

"Knock it off!" Clay 'Rattler' Beechum roared at the top of his lungs. The outlaws cheering and jeering listened and moved away, but the fighters were too busy to hear the command and thus continued fighting.

While her brother went for the two hungover men to sort out the mess, Clara reached out and grabbed hold of the nearest, soberest bandit she could find. "I demand to know what this is about! Why are they fighting?"

The bandit shook his head in the age-old sign of not knowing a darn thing, so Clara moved onto the next thug. "How about you?" she said harshly, sending the unfortunate man an Evil Eye.

The man, thirty-something Joseph 'Joe' Lane, jr. of Tennessee, was dressed as a regular cowboy, but he suffered from a discoloration of his facial skin which gave him a sinister, unnatural look. The raw danger lurking behind his steel-gray eyes was even worse and revealed that he was a cold, ruthless killer. "One fella said the other fella took his tobacco," the thug said calmly. "Don't know if it's true or not. Then they started fightin'."

"Thanks," Clara said and moved away from Joe Lane who gave her the creeps in a way most of the other outlaws didn't. A cold trickle ran down her spine as she turned her back to the man and hurried over to Clay.

Rattler Beechum reached boiling point the moment Clara arrived at his side. "Enough of this nonsense!" he roared and jumped into the fray. Kicking out with his boot, the very tip hit the wrist of the supposed thief which sent the hunting knife flying through the air and the man sprawling onto the ground.

The other man, the one whose tobacco had been taken, shouted in victory, but his roar was cut short when Clay picked up the dropped knife and let the steel do the talking. The sunlight glinted in the lethal blade as he performed two, ultra-quick, diagonal slashes that sent blood squirting onto the sand. It left the drunken fighter on his knees, disarmed and bleeding from several lacerations.

"I said knock it off," Clay growled at the two men. To make sure everybody got the message, he looked at the other thugs, outlaws and bandits who were busy watching the fight while drinking breakfast. "This is an important day. You can drink all you want, but you can damn well put off the fighting until tomorrow! You hear me?"

A chorus of affirmative grunts was heard from the assembled cutthroats and killers, most of whom wore the glistening grease from the sausages, the bacon and the beans down the front of their shirts or in their beards. They all had burning red eyes from excessive drinking and a lack of sleep, but they seemed to understand the message for once.

With the show over, the men shuffled away from Rattler Beechum and the others to go back to whatever they had been doing when the fight had broken out. Clara let out a sigh of relief and pushed her black cowboy hat back to wipe her damp brow.

"Clay," she said as she took her brother by the arm and led him away from the defeated, aching thugs. "I think it's high time we did a little housecleaning. Do we really need these degenerates… these drunken fools? All they do is cause commotion and distractions."

"That's true, sis," Clay said as he wiped the blood off the hunting knife's shining blade. "But we may need them if Sheriff Boone comes out here with a troop of deputies. We can't break camp yet."

"I wasn't planning to. I had in mind to kill them all," Clara said and looked out at the sea of unwashed humanity surrounding her. "Perhaps give them plenty of liquor and slit their throats when they're blacked-out."

Clay nodded. "That could work. We could spare a few of the most loyal. Royce. Lee. Joe. Nelse."

"Not Lee Carlson. No way."

"All right. But I'll leave it to you to slit his throat, then."

Clara pinned her brother to the spot with an ice cold glare that told a tale of wanting to do exactly that, and preferably soon. The Beechums nodded at each other before they walked back to the vantage point down the trail to keep an eye on the situation.

-*-*-*-

Out on the Copperhead Trail, Ellie Shepard grew more vigilant the closer they came to the Longfield Hills and Creagan's Rock. They were still several miles out, but she kept a firm eye on the horizon at all times so they wouldn't be jumped by the outlaws and end up in a wild mess before they even got to the Beechum gang's hideout.

When they reached an offshoot to the main north-south line, she pulled Lightning to a halt with a clear and resounding "Whoa! Whoa there, friend…"

The steady mare responded to the tugging on the reins by coming to a halt and letting out a whinny. Plenty of the evil, brown dust was kicked up all around them; a large cloud caught up with the riders, but it fell to the ground long before it could suffocate them.

Precious pulled to a halt next to her girlfriend and let Thunder roam around on her own for a few seconds to get the large animal to calm down. She scanned the horizon thoroughly but couldn't see anything beyond the regular items found in deserts, like cacti, rattlesnakes and the odd vulture circling over a carcass of some kind.

With the headwind gone, the heat of the day fell upon them like a wet blanket, and she wiped her sweaty brow at once. The furlined vest she had worn when they left Dry Gulch had been folded up and stowed away in the saddlebags, and large blotches of sweat had formed under her arms and along her neck.

"Why are we stopping here, Ellie? You need to pee again?" Precious said, nudging Thunder's flanks so she could look at her sweetheart without craning her neck.

"Naw. We's gonn' take a li'l detour here, darlin'. Down ta the Yarborough homestead. It's jus' ovah yonder, behind them there low hills ya see ovah there… a short mile up this here narrow trail," Ellie said, pointing first at the rolling hills in the middle distance, and then down at the ground at a trail that led off the larger one.

"I know where the Yarborough homestead is…" Precious said in a voice that didn't hold an overly enthusiastic tone. Sighing, she let her eyes sweep across the horizon one more time. In the far distance to the south, the beginning foothills of Longfield Hills had broken through the shimmering heat haze as bluish-green mirages. Creagan's Rock and the Beechum gang's stronghold were still several miles beyond that, but they were getting closer all the time.

"Yeah, 'cos," Ellie continued, unaware of Precious' darker mood, "I wus thinkin'… Ellie, I thought… we be a strong couple-a wimmen, but we ain't strong enough, or crazy enough, ta go up against a herd o' despera-dahs on our own. So, I reckon we need help. Them there fellas in Dry Gulch didden have enough balls ta stand up an' be counted, but ya know fer a fact that Sally an' her wife both got plenty."

Precious leaned her head back and groaned out loud. Taking off her Boss of the Plains, she wiped her forehead on her sleeve before she shot Ellie an exasperated look. "I like Jezebel, she's a nice woman… but Sally is nuts!"

"Nuts? Is we talkin' 'bout the same Sally Yarborough?" Ellie said and shot Precious a look of surprise. "Naw, Shotgun Sally is a fine, fine gal, awright, an' she'll be a hoot to have along. C'mon, darlin'… ya know we need the firepower."

"We need the firepower, yes, I agree… but we need Sally Yarborough less so. Oh, hell, I suppose I'll just have to suck it up for once," Precious said and plonked her Boss of the Plains back onto her strawberry-blond locks.

Ellie grinned at her sweetheart before she nudged Lightning's flanks and turned the horse toward the narrow, dusty trail that led off from the main north-south Copperhead Trail.

"Yah!" Precious cried, making Thunder follow Lightning and its dark-haired rider.

---

The narrower trail shared a lot of similarities to the main line - in fact, the landscape didn't change a bit until a gentle incline rose from the flat surroundings a short mile into the new, unexpected leg of their long trek. Ellie and Precious rode up the rolling, sandy hill atop Lightning and Thunder who seemed a little confused as to why they had stopped going south all of a sudden.

The surface of the dusty road began to grow more gravelly, but it was made by hand rather than a natural, geological process. The two horses weren't bothered by the gravel but moved ahead in a steady, unhurried trot that didn't stress them at all. As the two riders crested the rolling hills, a simple, pale-brown log cabin homestead appeared in the heat haze some distance ahead of them.

It may have been simple, but it had been hand-built with plenty of pride and a lot of heart. Only seventy-five feet long and thirty feet wide, it didn't fall into the group of largest or most impressive buildings in Locklin County, but it had all the amenities a pair of homesteaders would want, like a covered porch, a lush bedroom, an even lusher stately room, a regular sitting room with a fireplace, a kitchen with indoor water plumbing, a shower room with modern, leaded-pipe bathing facilities, and finally an outhouse connected to its own underground septic tank so nobody would ever again have to empty a waste bucket in a fierce easterly.

A collection of rocks drew the outline of a lot in front of the log cabin, and just across the dusty trail, a pen lined by a white picket fence held two horses eating hay from a trough. The steeds - an appaloosa stallion and a palomino mare - had no interest in the approaching riders beyond a few, brief neighs and whinnies at their brethren.

On the covered porch in front of the cabin - that was shielded from the sun's strong rays by what appeared to be a canvas sail - two figures sat at a round table drinking something from cups. They both got up in a hurry when Ellie and Precious crested the hill and rode down towards them.

One moved over to the wall of the log cabin to retrieve a long weapon. The figures briefly spoke to each other before the second of the two moved inside the house and closed the front door.

A warning blast from a double-barreled shotgun rang out and rolled through the area. The horses in the pen were spooked and tore around for a little while before the promise of the hay was more attractive than the perceived danger from the gun.

"That's as far as you be goin', strangers! This is private property and you be trespassin'!" the figure with the weapon roared at the top of her lungs. The shotgun was reloaded and cocked to be ready for blasting the visitors to hell if she had to.

Atop Thunder, Precious shook her head and grumbled out loud as she patted her steed's flanks to get her to settle down after the fright. "Nuts," she mumbled, but Ellie only smiled at her.

"Naw, she's jus' protectin' her land an' her family 's all," Ellie said in her regular voice before she drew a deep breath to respond to the warning. "Ahoy, Sally! This here be Ellie Shepard an' Precious Mahoney out fer a so-shall call!" she cried, waving her Stetson high in the air.

"Yee-haw, sunshine! Come 'n head down, girls!" Sally Yarborough cried back, lowering the shotgun and putting it under her arm.

Ellie waved her hat once more before she mashed it onto her black locks and nudged Lightning's flanks.

Behind her, Precious rolled her eyes several times, but nudged Thunder into action as well to bring up the rear. "From the frying pan into the fire," she mumbled.

"Whassat, darlin'?"

"I said, it'll be fun to see Jezebel again. We haven't spoken since before last Christmas."

"Right… 's what I reckoned ya said," Ellie said and winked at her sweetheart.

*

*

CHAPTER 5

It didn't take long for Ellie and Precious to ride down the gently sloped hill and onto the lined lot in front of the log cabin. The canvas sail above the covered porch greeted them by flapping gently in the dry, warm breeze as they dismounted to rest their weary backs and behinds.

While Ellie checked up on Thunder and Lightning to see if the two mares suffered from any issues that needed to be rectified, Precious took off her hat and brushed herself down to get rid of the worst dust. Once she was as clean as she could be under the circumstances, she shuffled over to the front door of the log cabin with the intention of knocking.

The door was opened before she could make it all the way there, and Jezebel Behrle came out onto the porch with her excited wife Sally Yarborough hot on her heels. Precious and Jezebel spoke at irregular intervals, typically when they met in the various stores in Dry Gulch, and Precious only had good things to say about the young woman - her relationship with Sally was a different story, however.

"Hello, Precious! So nice to see you," the twenty-six-year-old Jezebel Behrle said and promptly pulled Precious in for a hug. Since it wasn't Sunday, she was dressed for working at the homestead: brown ankle-boots, dark-brown, heavy-duty pants, a well-worn, grayish-brown shirt with short sleeves that revealed a brown o-neck undershirt, and finally a pair of sturdy work gloves stuck down her belt at the back.

"It's nice to see you too, Jezebel. It's been too long since we've spoken," Precious said while a genuine smile graced her lips. Though she and the taller homesteader shared few physical similarities - Jezebel Behrle had dark-brown hair and eyes a shade darker than the summer sky, and her skin had aged prematurely from working under the relentless sun since she had been a young girl - she felt a kinship with the sensitive woman.

Like herself, Jezebel had escaped from a life not worth living. In Precious' case, she had fled from a wealthy man who grew increasingly unpredictable and violence-prone when she refused to commit to marriage, and for Jezebel, she had barely made an escape from her deeply religious family with her life and sanity intact when they discovered she had other beliefs and preferences than simply allowing herself to be used as a breeding machine in the name of the almighty spirit in the sky.

"Well, you know where we live…" Jezebel said with a wink.

"I know. I'm truly sorry, Jezebel, it's just that- oh, well. You know."

Jezebel chuckled as she stepped aside to let her eager wife out to play with her like-minded playmate Ellie Shepard. "I know," she said out of the corner of her mouth as she watched the other two women interact.

Unlike her sensitive, low-key wife, the thirty-year-old 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough was brash, bold, loud and assertive. She had spring-green eyes and a mop of pale-blond hair with a few reddish strands, and her fair skin had been so abused by the sun in her years as an outdoors-woman that she had developed a permanent tan on her leathery skin.

Stomping ahead wearing her favorite buckskin outfit - high-waisted pants made of the finest hide that she had been involved in creating from shooting the deer with a bow and arrow to sticking the needle through the prepared skin, a clean, white shirt she had put on for the special occasion of being visited by a rare friend, and original, super-soft Native American moccasins on her feet - she grabbed hold of Ellie's hand and pumped it up and down like she was trying to get water from a dried-up well. "Hiya doin', ya tall oak! Aw, Ellie, ya look fa-buh-lous, you skinny devil, you! Come down here and lemme feel ya titties, baby."

The request wasn't as lewd as it sounded - it was merely an invitation for a hug - but Precious' face scrunched up into a mask of annoyance nonetheless. She cast a weary glance at Jezebel who grinned in return.

"Mi'ty nice ta meet ya'gin, Shotgun Sally," Ellie said as she leaned down to give her shorter friend an additional, good-sized crush that soon turned into a battle of physical strength.

"Aw yeah, ya big stick of dynamite," Sally continued, unaware that her straightforward style caused plenty of heartburn for one of her guests. "This good-lookin' woman here is my wife Jezebel Behrle. Don't let the name fool ya. She may be called Jezebel but she sure ain't no hussy!"

As 'Shotgun' Sally leaned her head back and let out an over-the-top, booming laugh at her own joke, Precious' face scrunched up even further. "Well, really!" she huffed and adjusted her Boss of the Plains. "We already know your beautiful wife, Sally. It's not like we're complete strangers."

Now it was Ellie's time to chuckle, and she moved over to her sweetheart to put a calming hand on her shoulder. "Simmer down, darlin'… she don't mean no bother talkin' like that," she said for Precious' ears only.

Precious shot Ellie a dark glare before she nodded and turned towards Jezebel instead. "Anyhow, it's really nice to see you again. I'm afraid this isn't just a coffee call. We're here to talk to you about an important subject."

"That sounds serious," Jezebel said and developed a frown between her brown eyebrows.

Ellie nodded. "Aw, Grim Reaper kinda serious, Jezebel. Rattler Beechum kinda serious. That mean coyote gone and done sommin so dang-blasted nasty us folks of Dry Gulch had ta do sommin about it. An' since the men wus sittin' on their dicks, us wimmen, Precious an' me, had ta step forward."

"An' do what, Ellie?" Sally said, suddenly a bit more restrained.

"Form a posse ta go after that mean ol' critter."

Sally and Jezebel looked at each other before they cast identical, puzzled glances at the two women visiting their homestead. "So… are they waitin' for y'all out at the Copperhead Trail, or what?" Sally said, scratching her neck under her pale-blond mop of hair.

"Naw, we be the posse. Me an' Precious here," Ellie said and pointed her thumb at her partner.

"Aw hell…" Sally said as she stared wide-eyed at the taller of her two guests. "Hot-dang. Yeah, that's kinda serious, all right. Jezebel, this requires the good 'shine. We need to have a long talk."

-*-*-*-

From the top of the roof to the thick, wooden poles that had been rammed five feet into the ground for stability, the log cabin was a rock-solid homestead hand-crafted by Sally Yarborough who had sacrificed everything for more than a year to build a castle for her and her beloved wife. Plenty of blood, sweat and tears had been invested in the sturdy logs that made up the cabin's outer walls, but it was all worth it when it was finally standing tall and proud.

Sally had carried Jezebel over the threshold on August 1st, 1874, and they had promptly christened the new bed in a most thorough fashion. Although they had been in a covert relationship for some time at that point, it wasn't until they were able to spend all day, every day together that their love truly blossomed. Now, they were inseparable.

They shared the work equally at the homestead save for anything that had to do with cooking. Sally could make a fine kettle of coffee, but that was about it, so Jezebel had full command over the kitchen - she liked to call herself the Empress of the fine China.

"Welcome to our humble abode!" Sally cried and shuffled into the cabin. Once inside a square living room that was equipped with a dinner table lined by four chairs, a wooden bench at a smaller table, two armchairs by the open fireplace and finally a low sideboard carrying a runner made in the finest crochet work, she spread out her arms with a broad grin on her face.

"Thank ya muchly, Sally," Ellie said and stepped inside. She took off her hat as the first thing she did, even before wiping down her boots on the mat.

"Your boots!" Precious said sharply, pointing down at the dusty prints Ellie had already left behind. Now that she had admonished her partner, she made double sure that her own boots were clean as a whistle before she stepped onto the loose, Native American rug beyond the front door.

Smirking, Ellie looked down at the dust she had dragged in on the soles of her boots. " 'Beg pardon, Miss Jezebel. I didden stop ta think about that there nice lookin' Injun rug. I be wipin' mah boots now…" she said and shuffled back to the door mat, leaving another set of dusty prints on the maroon rug.

Jezebel chuckled and gave Ellie a pat on the arm. "Think nothing of it, Ellie. My mother would have shot you dead where you stood, but I'm used to dust and dirt in the oddest of places."

"Yeah, huh?" Ellie said with a grin.

"Yeah. It comes with the clientele. Ain't that right, wife dearest?"

'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough grinned - she had to concede the point.

"With that out of the way," Jezebel continued and put a gentle hand on Precious' elbow, "why don't we split up so we won't get in each other's way? Precious and I will make a quick brunch while you two untidy bucks look for the 'shine and whatever else you can find."

"That certainly sounds like a plan, Jezebel," Precious said and offered her hostess a smile.

Sally took the opportunity of agreement across the board to slap Ellie's back so hard specks of the evil, brown dust flew up from her shirt. "Aw! Now you're shakin'! Don't worry if we ain't back in ten minutes or so. We ain't gonna neck or compare tittie sizes or nothin', honest… we're just gonna talk 'bout stuff that ain't for all y'all's sensitive ears and minds."

Precious found it difficult to come up with a suitable expression that would match Sally's stream of slightly inappropriate utterances - in fact, she couldn't even maintain a neutral expression - so instead of trying, she just locked eyes with her sweetheart and mentally projected a simple word: "Nuts."

While Ellie and 'Shotgun' Sally left the living room to go back outside, Jezebel led Precious into the kitchen so they could make brunch. The kitchen wasn't in a separate room, but was cordoned off from the main room by a simple curtain that ran on a metal rod.

The many, little curtain rings made jingling sounds as Jezebel pulled them to the side. Beyond the curtain, the kitchen presented itself nicely. It had a tiled floor made of smooth, burnt-orange bricks, a cast iron wood-burning stove with a smokestack that was swung into the main chimney rather than having a separate pipe through the roof, a cooking table used to prepare the food, and several glass-front cabinets above the table.

A further cabinet with a whole host of shelves was protected by another curtain at the far end of the small kitchen, but Precious knew it contained all their foodstuffs like dry goods, a few perishables, and their vinegar-filled jars with home-pickled fruit and vegetables.

Stepping into the kitchen area of the log cabin, Precious soon eyed the small, but highly formal letter that had been framed and hung over the cooking table. Written in the finest, old-fashioned Gothic lettering, it was the wedding certificate that made it public to the world that Sally Yarborough and Jezebel Behrle had married under the approving eyes of Our Lord and his earthly caretaker the Rev. Ernest T. Tomlinson. "Amazin'… just amazin', Jezebel. Oh, I never grow tired of lookin' at that weddin' certificate. I wish that Reverend Tomlinson still had a clear mind so he could write up a similar document for Ellie and me. Have you seen him lately? He's speakin' in tongues it seems…"

"Yes. Poor fellow. Of course… it's probably not legally binding, but… it's nice to have. No, it's more than nice… it's wonderful to have hanging on our wall," Jezebel said and opened one of the cabinets above the kitchen table to get a few plates and tumblers.

"I agree. I definitely agree…"

"On a more serious note… did you and Ellie really think you could go after Rattler Beechum on your own?"

Precious found a handkerchief in her pocket and wiped down her hands so she was ready to handle food if she had to. "Well… not really," she said and leaned her rear against the kitchen table. "We asked for help among the male population of Dry Gulch, but they weren't too interested in helpin' us."

"I'll bet. There aren't too many men out here who wants to work for a woman."

"There's that, and also that it's a pretty dangerous task," Precious said and let out a tired chuckle. "Everybody's threatened by the Beechum gang, but it doesn't seem to be enough for people to stand up and be counted. Anyway-"

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Precious," Jezebel said and put another gentle hand on Precious' elbow, "but what I don't understand is why you and Ellie are even involved? I mean… shouldn't Sheriff Boone have a role to play in all this?"

"He and two of his deputies are transportin' Clarence Beechum… the younger brother… north to Cactus Junction. Before they left, the Sheriff asked Ellie to watch over the empty jail."

"Ohhh… I see."

"Yeah. But trouble found us. Clarence Beechum is to stand trial in Cactus Junction… and the rest of the Beechum gang abducted the circuit judge who was to reside over his destiny," Precious said darkly.

Jezebel nodded and moved over to the cabinet behind the curtain. She took several jars and read the labels like she was trying to decide which to use. Settling for a small, gray one, she moved back to the table and reached into a drawer underneath it to get a large knife.

"And Ellie found a box of tin stars in the law office. She just had to pin one of them on her chest, and now she thinks she's a fully-fledged member of the Texas Rangers," Precious continued and let out another dark chuckle.

Jezebel chuckled out loud as well. "Oh, I know that type of woman. They sure can be difficult to live with, but the reward is so much greater than with your average Jane."

"I'll say," Precious said; a cheesy grin formed on her face as she remembered back to the pleasurable activity she and Ellie had engaged in the previous evening.

"I know that grin. Pray tell, girl!" Jezebel said and briefly stuck out her tongue.

Precious snickered and turned around so she could help Jezebel slice a few pieces of dried fruit. "Well… a lady shouldn't kiss and tell, but we had a fantastic time last night. Just for fun, we tried a little role playing, and we-"

---

Meanwhile out back, deep inside the utility shed 'Shotgun' Sally had attached to the far side of the log cabin when it became clear she had forgotten to add space for all her tools, she and Ellie were staring at a crate containing twelve glass jars that all had white, sealed covers made of cloth.

" 'Shine?" Ellie said, eyeing the many jars with a certain look of giddy expectation in her bright-blue eyes.

"Yep. The best kind. Triple distilled."

"Sounds mi'ty fine ta me… should we try one jus' ta taste if it's awright?"

"Oh, it's awright, awright… we should save some for the girls. But I guess one sip won't do us no harm."

"Naw," Ellie said and took the first of the twelve jars. Untying the piece of string that kept the cloth in place, she took a deep sniff but nearly dropped the whole thing when it gave her a strong kick up the nostrils. "Yep. That's the good stuff, awright," she croaked in a peculiar, high-pitched voice.

"Told ya it would be. Gimme. I'll show ya what to do." Sally stuck her hand into the crate and rummaged around for a while until she found a whisky glass that she pulled up. Grinning, she poured some of the clear moonshine into the shot glass and let it slosh around. "To your tongue, Ma'am. May it long be able to satisfy your darlin' Precious," she said and downed the triple distilled alcohol in a single gulp.

A few seconds later, her eyes crossed and she bared her teeth in a wild, unrestrained grimace. When the alcohol reached her stomach, she sort of jerked around a couple of times before she settled down again. "Home-made 'shine. The best," she croaked, wiping her lips on the back of her hand.

Ellie chuckled at the sight; she shook her head when Sally offered her the jar once more. "On second thoughts, mebbe we oughtta stay offa that there firewater until we got sommin ta celebrate? 'Cos I happen ta think that if we imbibe too much now, we ain't never gonn' find Longfield Hills much less Creagan's Rock… an' not ta menshun that dern-nabbin' stronghold o' theirs. We need all the wits about us we can get. Them Beechum critters is gonna shoot back, ya know."

'Shotgun' Sally grunted and looked at the jar of moonshine that had barely been touched. "I suppose yer right, Ellie," she said and wrapped the cloth and the string around the glass jar. "If we're all alive once we're done up there at Fort Beechum, y'all can come back here an' imbibe to ya heart's delight."

"Fair enough," Ellie said and thumped Sally's shoulder.

---

A short ten minutes later, Precious and Jezebel carried a tray of food and steaming hot coffee onto the covered porch. Ellie and 'Shotgun' Sally had already flung themselves at the wooden chairs and were lounging under the canvas sail.

"Ah, yes… a typical sight," Jezebel said as she put down the tray on a small, round table. "Some of us toil away in the kitchen, and some of you laze about on your asses."

Sally didn't make a move to do anything to counter that statement, but Ellie sat up straight and offered her partner an apologetic smile. "Ya caught us red-handed an' flat-cheeked, Jezebel… we's doin' nothin' but lazyin'."

"Oh, I didn't mean you, Ellie… you're our guest," Jezebel continued and sat down next to her wife who still didn't appear like she had bought a clue. Chuckling, she reached over to muss Sally's thigh.

Precious chuckled as well and sat down next to Ellie so they would all be close to the woman they loved. The tray carried a selection of cookies and dried fruit, and Precious took one of each before she leaned back in her chair. "We were just talkin' about you, hon."

"Yeah?" Ellie said and reached for a cookie of her own. "Anythin' speshul?"

"Oh, that's for me to know and you to worry about." That was all Precious had to say before she started munching on the delightful cookie.

A lop-sided grin spread over Ellie's face as she glanced over at Jezebel who was trying hard to keep a similar grin in check. She had an inkling what the hushed conversation might have been about, but the cookies looked great, so she settled on eating one without making any comments.

---

"But what I don't get," 'Shotgun' Sally said after having been briefed about the particulars of Sheriff Boone's request for Ellie to keep the jail while he was away, and Ellie and Precious' subsequent involvement in the shooting on Main Street, "is what yer actually plannin' on doing… the Beechums gotta have at least fifteen, maybe twenty outlaws up there on Creagan's Rock. Are ya just gonna walk in and demand they hand over the judge? That'll leave ya kinda perforated, ya know."

"Aw, we's already thought o' that, Sally," Ellie said and leaned forward, "but what we's planning ta do is ta sneak up there with our posse-"

"Of two… or maybe four," Sally interjected.

"Yeah. Sneak up there nice an' quiet, find out where they be hidin' that there judge fella, break him out… maybe waste one or two of them critters… sneak out under the cover o' the night or the earle of the morn'… an' return ta Dry Gulch."

Precious didn't have anything to add to that, so she gulped down a sip of coffee and observed Sally and Jezebel's reaction to the tale.

'Shotgun' Sally reacted first. "I can see where ya goin' with that, but… I don't know. Angel?"

Sighing, Jezebel put down her mug and leaned forward. "There's a bit more to this whole mess than that, Ellie. Clay Beechum is harassing us. Or his gang is, anyway. Whenever they need to go to Dry Gulch or Cactus Junction, they have to come by here. They kick down the picket fences and spook the horses so we have to roam across the open terrain to retrieve them. Some of our lot's marker poles have been pulled up and dragged away. They've thrown rocks, or taken potshots, at the cabin in the dead of night."

"Oh, no… those mean bastards," Precious said and reached over to Jezebel in a hurry so she could give the other woman's hands a little squeeze.

"Yes. And they've grown bolder recently. Sooner or later, they'll try to enter the cabin. And then what? It's high time something was done about them, but… what good could four women do?"

Sally grunted as she downed a large sip of her coffee.

Ellie and Precious looked at each other wearing similar, dark expressions. In town, they were better protected against the vermin; they had never really considered what it would be like to live far closer to the cutthroats. Now that they knew, it changed a whole lot of things, not the least for Lysette Esther Shepard whose entire demeanor changed into a far stronger devotion to her perceived duty.

"Plenty good if ya ask me, Jezebel," Ellie said and tapped her knuckles on the table. "We can use our noggins, we can shoot, we sure as stink on shit ain't no wusses or scaredy-kittens, an' we all got bigger balls than them there castrated fellas in Dry Gulch me an' Precious met las' night," she continued while her bright-blue eyes assumed her patented steely glare from hearing the news.

Precious nodded at the last part - she hadn't yet overcome the disappointment from the lack of response to her passionate plea at the eatery where she worked, Papa Joe's . The expressions on the men's faces told loud and clear tales of brave talkin', but cowardly walkin'.

"Aw, an' anotha thing," Ellie continued - she was just getting warmed up. "Those good-fer-nothin' vermin the Beechums gotta be stopped and stopped good. If the men ain't willin', the wimmenfolk gotta take charge an' stop them there coyotes so they won't be robbin', killin' an' rapin' no mo'. We's jus' gonn' hafta go there ta Creagan's Rock an' snatch that Mista judge man right out from undah their noses… an' then kill as many of them there dang-quackin' evil critters as we can. An' Rattler Beechum too if he ain't careful. I'll put a burnin' hot piece o' lead in that rattlesnake mahself. Then perhaps all us regular, hard-workin' gals can sleep tight at night instead o' worryin' 'bout bein' harassed or worse. I know I be right, but I like ta hear it from ya."

The uncharacteristic fire of the emotions that spewed from Ellie made Precious cast a worried glance at her sweetheart. Sally and Jezebel locked eyes and seemed to communicate silently. They sat like that for a brief moment before they both nodded and reached across the table to pull each other in for a strong hug. "Awright, Ellie, you've got yaself a real posse now," 'Shotgun' Sally said in a far lower key than her usual bluster.

"And I was in from the start," Precious added.

"Damn straight!" Ellie said and downed the rest of her coffee. "We's gonn' give them there Beechums hell. In fact, we's gonn' give 'em a good, ol' ass-whoopin' Texas style! Ain't that the best kind, darlin'?"

"I wouldn't know, sugar, I'm from California," Precious said, sporting a grin that wasn't quite as strong as the quip should have prompted. The joke garnered a few laughs around the table, but it was clear the threat of impending violence weighed heavily on everybody's mind - except perhaps Ellie who finally seemed to have found her calling.

A somber silence fell over the four women who all turned distant. Bravado aside, this wasn't going to be a cakewalk. They would go up against ten, perhaps fifteen, experienced gunhands who had no qualms about killing women. Clay 'Rattler' Beechum alone was a formidable foe, at least judging by his reputation and the details on his Wanted poster. There was a grave risk that one of them, or perhaps even all of them, would be wounded, killed or captured. The risks were astronomical, the rewards were meager at best - and yet, it was something they had to do for the greater good.

-*-*-*-

The rutted, dusty Main Street that ran the length of Dry Gulch looked like it always had when Clara Birchwood entered the town on her trusty steed Poppy, a docile maroon mare. She used a sidesaddle to maintain an image of a well-off, attractive lady out on a leisurely ride, and the practical but high-quality - and certainly fashionable - white-tan riding suit she wore seemed to underline that fact. A wide-brimmed, floppy lady's hat sat so low on her forehead that her eyes fell into the deep shadows under the rim. It suited her just fine.

Though she tried to remain out of the limelight, she earned plenty of respectful gazes and even the occasional lustful stare from all and sundry on her way down the street. Clara Birchwood was an upstanding citizen; one of the bigwigs in Dry Gulch. She was an honorary member of the Association of Christian Housewives, a full member of the Socialites Club and a passive participant of the Town Council - women couldn't vote so she couldn't be an active participant, but she was heard from time to time when the talk was on female or family issues.

From atop her proud Poppy, she nodded a polite Good Afternoon to an elderly gentleman out on a stroll. Riding along, she went past the Gambler's Den and a few of the other shops and stores. She hadn't seen Zachariah Boone or any of his deputies yet, and it puzzled her.

Several more Good Afternoons followed on her way down to the law office and the integrated jail. It had taken her nearly two and a half hours to ride from Creagan's Rock to Dry Gulch following the no-show of Sheriff Boone or Clarence before mid-day, so the hands of time were indeed showing a late afternoon.

Everything seemed quiet. The bartender at the Gambler's Den was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the saloon, and faint notes from an upright piano wafted out through the swinging doors as the player tried to learn a new tune before the first wave of excited guests arrived for the stage show later on.

Clara cocked her head as she approached the law office. Two men were working on fixing something that she was still too far away to identify. The older of the two had brought a work-donkey that carried supplies and spare window panes across its back supported by broad, leather bands. The ass brayed and shifted nervously when Clara brought her horse up behind the smaller animal, but she couldn't care less.

Up close, it wasn't difficult to recognize the work made by the two men. The sweating glazier and his apprentice were hard at work changing a pane in one of the windows protected by bars. At least Earl Donovan hadn't lied about that , Clara thought. Beyond that, a bullet hole was glaringly obvious in the splintered doorjamb.

A note was pinned to the door; she needed to read it, but she couldn't show too much interest with the glazier and his apprentice there. It was time to play a helpless female, so she drew a deep breath and loosened her wrists. "Oh… oh goodness gracious me, has something happened to that dear Mister Zachariah Boone?" she said in a dainty voice. Digging into a pocket of her riding suit, she found a pink handkerchief that she pressed to her lips like she was on the brink of weeping or fainting.

"Naw, Miss," the sweating glazier said as he wiped his glistening forehead, "Sheriff Boone just ain't in town. He left, oh, 'bout a day ago. He and a couple-a his men traveled to Cactus Junction with that young outlaw Beechum. Judge whatshisname is gonna perform a court of law… or whatever it's called."

Clara Birchwood - or Beechum - smiled for all she was worth at the sweating man though she was seething on the inside. Another part of Earl Donovan's cockamamie story had been confirmed, and it irked her. "Oh… I see. Please, good Sir, what does it say on that note? I can't read it from here."

The glazier looked at the note pinned to the door, but he was too far away to reach for it. Instead, he shoved his apprentice over to retrieve it. The young man gulped audibly as he picked the note off the door and gave it to the attractive woman high atop the fine horse.

"Thank you, young Sir," Clara said with a smile that always made the knees knock on the men she flashed it at. The apprentice was no exception, and he broke out in a goofy grin as he slinked back to his master.

The smile faded from Clara's face as she read from the small piece of paper: 'The law office has been temporarily closed. In case of an emergency, contact the undertaker or wait for Sheriff Boone to return from Cactus Junction. Acting Deputy Lysette Esther Shepard.'

With those closing words, the last part of Earl Donovan's story had been confirmed. The woman he had seen and taken a potshot at had been Ellie Shepard who was indeed a tall drink of water. Clara was about to crumple up the note in her gloved hand when she remembered she needed to keep up the act. "Thank you very much, young Sir. Have a good day, glazier," she said and reached down. When the apprentice took the note and re-applied it to the door, Clara backed her horse away from the law office and moved out into the center of the rutted Main Street.

She ought to be calling on the undertaker like it said in the note, but chances were the wizened, old man had no knowledge of when Sheriff Boone would return, or even where Deputy Shepard would be at. The best sources of information in any Western town were stagecoach drivers, bank tellers who were up to their eyeballs in gambling debts, and bartenders. With the Gould Nugget not far down the street, that seemed to be the best place to start.

Clara nudged Poppy's flanks which made the mare walk the short distance over to the saloon. Dismounting, she tied the reins to the boards and stepped up on the sidewalk. She made a big show out of taking off her riding gloves in exchange for a pair of lacy semi-gloves that matched the rest of the white-tan outfit.

Nodding a Good Afternoon to yet another respectable couple, she strolled into the Gould Nugget hoping it would provide the clues she needed. For a change, Marion Gould wasn't behind the counter wiping down a glass; instead, she was on her knees hammering away on a section of the wooden floor that seemed to have come loose.

Clara smirked and let the swinging doors come to a close behind her. She only knew Marion Gould on a vague, hearsay basis, but she knew enough about her habits and preferences to perhaps find something she could use to squeeze some information regarding Lysette Esther Shepard out of her.

"Ack! Such stifling heat today! I declare, I must have something cold to drink… perhaps a chilled cherry brandy!" she said in an overly dramatic voice. Turning her performance up to the top end of the scale, she slid over to the bar counter like a chaloupe in rough seas. Once there, she leaned against the edge and put the back of her hand across her forehead. "Ack! Barkeep… please… do you have a cherry brandy for this over-heated woman before she combusts?"

Down on the floor, Marion leaned back on her thighs and let out a slightly annoyed sigh at the histrionics displayed by her guest. A few seconds went by with no activity, but then she put down the hammer and the wooden nail she had tried to mash back into the floorboards, and got to her feet. "I do, but not chilled, Miss. You're Miss Clara Birchwood, aren't you?"

"Oh, I am… I am indeed. Oh, I am so pleased you remember me. It proves all the committee work I do for Dry Gulch has been recognized. Not chilled? Ack… but very well, barkeep. I'd like a glass of cherry brandy, please."

"The name's Marion Gould," the owner of the saloon said on her way behind the counter. It didn't take her long to reach up on a shelf next to the large mirror and find a bottle of cherry brandy. She needed to dust it off since the drink wasn't too popular among the whisky-drinking regulars, but the contents were fresh and hadn't turned murky or tart. A clean glass was quickly found, and the dark liquid was poured into it. "So… that'll be two bits."

"Two bits? Here you go," Clara Birchwood said and reached into her coat pocket to find a small purse. The coins were quickly found and distributed on the counter.

While Marion put the coins in the cash box, Clara leaned in towards the barkeep to make it appear she was about to share something really, really important. "Oh, Marion… have you heard about Ellie Shepard becoming a Deputy? Isn't that exciting? Oh, she must be the first female Deputy Sheriff in the entire Territory! Do you know if she had any business with moving that rascal Clarence Beechum to Cactus Junction?"

"She told me about gettin' the star, yeah. Excitin'? Well, I guess it's a little excitin'. And no, I have no clue."

"Oh… I can't find her. The law office is closed… but I need to speak with her."

Her duties as a bartender over for the time being, Marion went back to doing what she always did when she was behind the counter - wiping off a glass. She offered Clara Birchwood a casual look and a slightly raised eyebrow. "Well, I apologize in advance for sayin' so, Miss Clara, but you don't strike me as the type of woman Ellie would ordinarily be talkin' to."

"Oh, true, true… but it just so happens that I know an important author who has aired an interest in writing a few fictional tales about the tough women living on the wild frontier. They'll be pulp novels, yes, but think of the fascination it would stir in all the major cities. Ellie would be a shoe-in for the lead of such a line of stories, wouldn't you say?" Clara stopped there to let the expectations build. While she waited for the barkeep to ask the inevitable questions, she sipped the cherry brandy and pretended to like it.

Marion Gould eyed the upper-class visitor as she wiped off a few more glasses. Clara Birchwood was a knockout, no question about that, but Ellie was far too involved with Precious to go chasing after a random skirt just off the street. An important author? Pulp novels? There had to be more than met the eye , she thought.

The owner of the saloon was an experienced player in the art of bait-and-squeeze, so she offered her customer a broad shrug to show that she wouldn't rise to the trick. "Sorry, Miss Clara. Can't help you. I haven't seen Ellie since the last time she was in here for a whisky. Have you tried the law office?"

"Yes. It's closed. Like I told you," Clara growled with a pair of eyes that shot fire. She nearly blew her cover, and she ground her teeth as she counted to ten on the inside while she imagined how Marion Gould would look with a pair of jagged holes in her forehead and her brains splattered all over the mirror.

"Ah, so you did," Marion said and performed a slow nodding. "Beg' pardon, Miss Clara."

It took all of Clara's acting skills to down the vile cherry brandy and let out a disappointed groan. "Oh, but surely someone must know where I can find her? Oh goodness gracious me, this could really make her future. There would be a lot, and I mean a lot, of money waiting for her if only she would listen to my dear author friend. If I don't find her soon and tell her, it may be too late!"

"I've told you… I don't know where she is," Marion said and put down the glass she had been wiping when further customers entered the Gould Nugget . "Ah, good afternoon, Henry… the usual?" she said, moving over to a gentleman who came up to stand at the other end of the bar counter.

Grumbling severely, Clara left the half-empty glass on the counter before she moved back outside to her waiting Poppy. She began to caress the animal's head and muzzle to have something to do while she let her experienced eye roam across the goings-on on Main Street.

Ellie Shepard's whereabouts were an unknown, but the bartender's stonewalling had been too conspicuous. Something was afoot, Clara just didn't know what. Grunting, she stuck her riding boot into the stirrup - she had a date with an undertaker.

-*-*-*-

Several wasted hours later, a steaming hot, sweating and mean-spirited Clara Beechum stepped out of her white-tan riding dress and threw it into the closet back home in her bedroom atop Creagan's Rock. The floppy, wide-brimmed lady's hat followed with an angry flick of the wrist. To close that particular chapter, she slammed the closet door shut with such force it nearly flew open again.

Only dressed in her elegant cotton underwear, she sat down on her bed to cool off and to bury her face in her hands. A few, long minutes of rampant frustration followed before she let out a sigh and looked out of the window. Her hair was damp and she reeked of sweat, so she got off the bed and padded over to one of the chairs on bare feet.

There, she took a towel that she used to dry her hair and wipe her arms, legs and armpits. Growling, she jumped into her regular dungarees and plaid shirt and sat down on the bed to tie her bootlaces.

A knock on the door was followed by a: "Sis? It's Clay."

"Enter," Clara said as she made a bow tie and tucked the ends of the laces into the left bootleg. "I hope you brought some water!"

When Clay entered the bedroom, he promptly fanned his hand in front of his nose to try to find some fresh air in the cloud of sweat that rolled around the small chamber. "I didn't, but… phew! I should have. Bathing water!" he said, crinkling his nose in disgust.

"I'm in no mood for your nonsense, Clay. Fetch me something to drink."

"Later. What happened in Dry Gulch?"

"Nothing. Not a wretched thing. Except that I found out why Sheriff Boone or Clarence haven't shown up yet," Clara said and began working on the laces on her right boot.

"So? Why haven't they?"

"They're not there. They're both in Cactus Junction where they're waiting for Judge Halvorsen to show up. They never got the note, Clay. Earl Donovan didn't lie. He threw it into the law office, but they had already left." Sighing, Clara stopped working on her boot and leaned forward so she could rest her elbows on her knees.

"Well, I'll be a-"

"I spoke to several people. To Marion Gould who did nothing but offer me bent dimes… that bitch. I think we should use her to set an example sometime. I also spoke to the undertaker who didn't know a damn thing. Earl Donovan didn't lie about seeing a tall woman, either, Clay. Lysette Shepard. For some inexplicable reason, Sheriff Boone has made her a Deputy. And get this, she's nowhere to be found. Vanished without a trace."

"Told you he was boning her."

"Will you stop spewing that Goddamned mindless idiocy and listen to me for once!" Clara roared at the top of her lungs. The words were still rolling around the small chamber when she thumped her fist into the mattress. "She got the note… she knows we have the old fool, and she knows about this place. I'll bet you one hundred dollars she's gone off to form a posse."

"A woman leading a posse? Pah."

Clara's eyes flashed a full dose of fire at her brother, but as usual, it bounced right off him.

"Look, Sis," Clay said and crouched down in front of his sister, "I don't care if ol' Beelzebub himself comes at us with a posse. Nobody will get up here, and even if they do, they'll never leave."

Grunting, Clara ran her hands through her hair and collected her locks into a ponytail. Holding onto the tail with one hand, she used the other to point at the barrette she had left on the small table by the window. When Clay rose to give it to her, she clipped it on without further comments.

Nearly a full minute of dead silence went by before Clara let out a deep sigh and got to her feet. "I didn't expect Sheriff Boone to leave for the next town so soon. Nor that he would take our brother with him. It was a good plan, but it suffered from poor timing."

"Now what?"

"Clarence is locked up in Cactus Junction under the watchful eye of Boone and the local law dogs. We can't get to him. We have Judge Halvorsen… but they don't know that. And that Shepard woman is out there somewhere, perhaps leading a posse against us. Tarnation, this mess couldn't be more compounded if it tried."

"Well, you know what I say, Sis," Clay 'Rattler' Beechum said and walked over to the door. Putting a hand on the knob, he turned around and shot his sister a wide grin. "The best remedy for that is to get loaded on distilled rat piss. I'll be outside to do just that."

"Wait," Clara said and moved up behind her brother. "We're not done yet, Clay. First things first. We need to make Boone know what's at stake. That's the only way we can get our brother back. We also need to intimidate the judge even further. Find a noose and throw it over one of the rafters in the barn. That should give that old fool something to think about. Also, we need to double our sentries in case there really is a posse out there somewh-"

"No. We're not going to add to the sentries," Clay said in a voice that for once out-powered his sister's. "That'll only make us look like we're quaking in our boots over some unseen opponent. The Beechum gang fears no one, man or woman. If they come, they come. And we'll kill 'em."

"But-"

"Sis, I know you have strange ideas about what women can do, but do you honestly believe the Shepard woman can lead a posse up here? Up Creagan's Rock? Under fire, bravely commanding a group of men?"

"Yes, dammit!"

"I'm telling you she can't. And I'm telling you the men she's brought won't allow it. Counter that if you can. While you think of an answer, I'll chug down a crappy whisky or two. I'll be outside when you need me." Grunting a goodbye, the 'Rattler' clicked the bedroom door shut behind him.

Finding herself thoroughly ignored, Clara's eyes narrowed and her nostrils began to flare. Growling from somewhere deep in her throat, she clenched her fists and stalked around the small bedroom in circles until the fire bubbled over and made her kick out at the closet door.

The flimsy wood was torn clear off the lower hinge by the violent impact, and splinters flew everywhere. The door hung impotently from the upper hinge for a few seconds, but it soon gave up the ghost and fell to the floor with an agonizing creak and a loud thump. "Why couldn't it have been Clay's Goddamned head?!" Clara roared, once more kicking out at the defenseless piece of furniture.

*

*

CHAPTER 6

The much-debated Lysette Esther Shepard stood silently and contemplated the evening sky outside Sally and Jezebel's log cabin. The sun was setting and the horizon had already gobbled up a portion of the big ball of fire. Through the scattered clouds that dotted the sky, the sunset had been spectacular with an amazing array of colors reaching across the heavens.

At the opposite horizon, the full moon was just rising. The silvery disc in the sky would provide plenty of light for the band of four when they began to trek across the desert to get to Creagan's Rock and the Beechum gang's hideout. The stars and other shiny objects were out in force, and Venus in particular was a strong point of light not too far from the moon.

Ellie didn't usually smoke, but she did now; a wisp of gray rose from the glowing tip of the cheroot she had borrowed from 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough. The smoke and the nicotine filled her lungs with ease, but the boost of her confidence she had hoped it would provide was slower in finding her.

The sunset brought a return of the chill. Ellie had already donned her furlined vest to keep warm, though the cold sensation that trickled down her spine didn't all stem from the change in the temperature. As she thought of the dangers they were about to head into, she drew a deep whiff from the cheroot which made it glow stronger.

She had confidence in her abilities with her weapons, not to mention Sally's sublime bravery and skills with the shotgun, but they were still headed into a situation where the Grim Reaper could be lurking behind every boulder they went past. The threat was real, and it only took one, single lucky shot for either of the four to get badly wounded or even killed.

And even then, perhaps death would be the kindest exit. Clay 'Rattler' Beechum was a stone cold killer, a dangerous criminal who had command over a wild bunch of outlaws, killers, cutthroats and rapists who would all just love to get their dirty paws on the four women attacking them.

Even if the world's smallest posse did manage to break through the gang's defenses by force, or sneak through unseen, they would still have to find Judge Halvorsen and bring him back down somehow. Ellie didn't know him, but she knew that judges were always older and occasionally frail men. Often, circuit judges were former Sheriffs who'd had to retire from active duty from gunshot-related injuries like bum legs or stiff shoulders. Most likely, they wouldn't be able to carry Judge Halvorsen back down Creagan's Rock even aided by the early light of the new day.

The gloomy thoughts sent another chill creeping down her spine, and she drew the final whiff of her cheroot to counter it. It didn't work, but much more effective help was near in the shape of Precious Mahoney who shuffled up to the taller woman and slid a hand around her waist.

"Hey," Precious whispered so she wouldn't disturb the serene sunset.

" 'Evenin', darlin'," Ellie replied with the last of the gray smoke wafting out of her mouth. The cheroot was done, so she threw it onto the ground and crushed it with her boot.

"It was nice to get a couple of hours of sleep. I feel better now."

Ellie glanced down at her sweetheart who did indeed look much fresher. "Aw, I'll bet. Ya missed the sunset… it wus jus' awesome an' real beautiful-like. Ya woulda loved it."

"There'll be other sunsets."

"Mmmm."

A few moments went by where the only sounds came from the heartbeats of the two women. Precious smiled and pulled herself closer. "You're quiet," she said in a hushed voice, gazing up at her sweetheart's profile. "Are you thinkin' about tonight?"

"Yeah. An' tamorra mornin' as well."

"I must admit I'm scared, Ellie. Not numb-scared, but… worried-scared."

Ellie sighed and pulled Precious into a little squeeze. "I'd be lyin' through mah teeth if I said I wusn't scared, darlin'. I only been involved in sommin like this once before. Back in Texas. An' that didden go well."

"Ah… I don't need any details, thank you."

Ellie let out a dark chuckle. "I'm tryin' ta ferget 'em. Ya won't get nothin' outta me."

The cryptic answer made Precious scrunch up her face in a new bout of worry. A slight shiver ran over her body at the thought of what Ellie might have experienced in that botched event in Texas that would make it so raw she wouldn't talk about it even years later. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"Ya welcome. Is y'all done packin' them hosses?"

"Just about. We've stowed plenty of water. Warm blankets for the night. Dried fruit. Coffee. Beef jerky."

"Love me some jerky," Ellie said with a grin.

Precious chuckled back and squeezed herself closer to her partner. "Yeah? I never would have guessed." The smile faded from her face as she gazed out at the sunset where the horizon had claimed most of the orange disc. "We have plenty of firepower and munitions as well. Four handguns, three carbines or rifles, and two of Sally's favorite shotguns. A sawed-off one for close combat and a regular one for longer range. Get this, they're wrapped in cotton wool so they won't get scratched on the way."

"Sally sure do loves them there scatterguhns, huh? They's like her babies. Lissen, I know ya get the sour burps whenever she's around, but we ain't never gonn' get nowhere near them buncha nasty critters the Beechums without Sally there ta back us up."

"I know," Precious said with a quiet nod. "She hasn't been too bad this time. Yet. I'm just not good with that cheeky devil-may-care act she's always puttin' on."

"Aw, that there ain't no act, that's fer dern sure, darlin'. That's who she is right there, 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough, yessirree. People can be all-in or all-out with her, she don't care 'bout nothin' o' that."

Precious let out an exasperated sigh and leaned closer to Ellie. "How Jezebel can put up with it, I have no idea… Oh, good gosh I'm so glad you're far more low-key."

Ellie grinned and leaned down to steal a kiss from Precious' enticing lips. "Aw, yeah. Good thing I'm jus' the world's most easy-goin' li'l doll, ain't it? Y'all can bend me anyway ya want… jus' tickle me an' I'll be there."

The two women gazed into each other's eyes for a brief moment before they broke out in identical snickers. "I know, and I appreciate it," Precious said saucily.

"Mmmm. Where did Sally an' Jezebel go, anyhow? It's so awfully quiet out here they's gotta be up ta some kind o' mischief or 'nother…?"

"They needed a moment in private… they're at the other side of the cabin."

"Neckin'."

Precious leaned her head back and laughed out loud. "Probably."

"I wus wonderin'… I reckon we oughtta neck while we's got the chan-"

That was as far as Ellie had time to go before Precious had grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her down to be at eye-level. Their mouths met in a kiss that began slow and romantic, but that ended in a frenzied wrestling match meant to blow away the fears for the future that coursed through both women.

-*-*-*-

The time for their departure into the unknown had arrived, and the four women swung their legs over the backs of their steeds and got comfortable in the saddles. As always, Ellie had helped Precious get upstairs, so she was the last of the four to get ready.

Shuffling into position atop Lightning, Ellie gave her lasso which was still tied to the saddlehorn a thorough check. Her Winchester and the boxes of spare ammo were next, followed by her Colt Peacemaker sidearm that hadn't been fired since it had been cleaned. The rump-saddlebags behind her that carried her share of the supplies came last. Everything was present, accounted for and, most importantly, secure, so she leaned forward and patted the rock-solid Lightning's neck before she whispered a few soothing words into the mare's ears - the horse responded by whinnying.

"Awright, y'all… is ya reddy ta leave?" she said, turning around in the saddle.

"Naw!" Sally cried as she whipped off her coonskin hat and thrust it in the air. "I gotta peeeeee!"

The others laughed - Precious merely grunted - at the joke, but they soon settled down again and looked out at the dark trail that led to the main north-south Copperhead Trail a short mile further out.

The full moon did its best to illuminate the landscape, but Jezebel had brought a torch to help them load and mount the horses. Since it was no longer needed, she took it off the metal tripod she had placed it in and stuck it into the sand at the center of the three rods. The sand suffocated the flame with a hiss and a cloud of foul odor that rose from the extinguished tip.

Precious kept waiting for 'Shotgun' Sally to make an inappropriate joke about the stench, but none came. She even turned around to look for a reaction, but the courtyard was too dark to see anything. Shrugging, she turned back around. "I reckon we're ready, Ellie," she said and took a good hold of Thunder's reins.

"Les' move out, y'all," Ellie said and nudged Lightning's flanks.

One by one, the three other horses were nudged into following the lead mare. Sally Yarborough rode an appaloosa stallion by the name of Adonis, and Jezebel Behrle sat atop a proud palomino mare called Aphrodite, named after the ancient Greek Goddess of Love.

The four riders rode out of the courtyard and onto the first part of the sandy trail. As they reached the gently rolling hill that marked the outer edge of the homestead's claim, Jezebel and Sally turned around in their saddles and looked back at the log cabin they had shed blood, sweat and tears building. The fond, though perhaps somewhat worried, gaze was kept for a few seconds before they looked at each other and carried on.

At the end of the connecting trail, they all swung south onto the Copperhead Trail. The ride to the Beechum gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock deep in the Longfield Hills would usually only take three or so hours depending on the quality of the steed, but with the heavy loads the four horses had to carry, and the fact that the only light came from the full moon, the journey would most likely take longer than four hours.

While Precious had been sleeping, Ellie and 'Shotgun' Sally had been hard at work hammering out a plan. The basic idea was to attack at dawn to catch the outlaws snoozing. If the members of the posse were able to make it past the sentries without getting caught, they would continue to use stealth rather than brute force when it came to rescuing Judge Halvorsen.

If they were detected by the sentries or by a random bandit who just happened to cross paths with them, they were to use any force necessary to get in. They needed to kill as many desperados as they could while rescuing the judge so they wouldn't be involved in a running battle for the rest of the morning.

Ellie didn't need to think twice to know which of the two scenarios she would choose - with Precious along for the ride, she would greatly prefer to be able to sneak in undetected, grab the judge and some kind of transport, and then leave before the crooks even knew what had hit them. Unfortunately, reality was often a mean mistress.

There were plenty of hiding places in the Longfield Hills where the four avenging women could spend the night, or even the entire next day if they were outgunned, so being safe and protected from the gang's long, violent reach wouldn't pose a problem as such.

The biggest issue remained to get to Creagan's Rock undetected - if they were spotted, even by accident, the element of surprise would be lost. If the Beechum gang knew they were facing a heavily-armed posse, they would respond accordingly, and the odds would thus be stacked against Deputy Shepard and her group from the outset.

Up front, Ellie Shepard kept a vigilant eye on the Copperhead Trail ahead to scout for flashes of light that could indicate trouble. Lightning's leather tack and brass rings on the harness gave off quiet creaks and jingles as the good-natured mare moved along the dusty trail at a rock-steady cadence. Ellie knew the sounds traveled far in the dark hours, but she wasn't worried. Everything seemed quiet around them, and she even allowed herself room to loosen the grip on the reins.

---

Two hours into the steady journey, the sounds of creaking and jingling were joined by a new one: someone was letting out quiet humming but trying to do it under her breath so the others wouldn't notice too much.

Ellie strained her hearing to ascertain which of her three companions was humming, but before she could come to a conclusion, it was revealed to her when the person stopped humming to let out a deep sigh. The sigh was familiar, and Ellie broke out in a wistful smile. "Darlin'," she said quietly so she wouldn't alert the entire desert of their presence, "are ya feelin' that dag-nabbin' saddle blues already?"

"Yeah," Precious whispered back. "I'm not good with these long rides. You know that."

Ellie nodded into the darkness with the smile still gracing her features. She and Precious occasionally rode north to Cactus Junction or west to Sutter's Quarrel to see a visiting troubadour show or a town jamboree, but it was a tradition that they would barely get halfway there before the saddle blues would roll over Precious like an unstoppable patch of fog on an autumn evening. "Ya want a li'l break ta rest yer tired bee-hind or sommin?"

"Is it time for a break?"

"Uh, naw. Not fer another half-hour or so…"

"Then I'll wait."

"Darlin'…"

"I don't want preferential treatment, Ellie," Precious whispered with a little more heat behind the words. "Sally and Jezebel are doin' just fine. I don't want to be the crybaby of the posse."

"Aw, but darlin'-"

Atop Thunder, Precious shook her head vehemently. "End of discussion. Let me know when the half-hour is up. I'll be fine. Concentrate on where we're goin'!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Ellie said and returned to keeping a thorough track of their surroundings.

With the brief discussion over, Precious let out a sigh and slumped in her saddle. On one hand, she was glad nothing major had happened yet and that Thunder was such a steady, solid animal, but on the other, the uneventful ride had dulled her alertness to such a point she was on the brink of falling asleep.

The darkness that surrounded them didn't help. Though the ghostly light of the full moon was cast over the Copperhead Trail and the desert surrounding them, the shadows were so deep just off the edges of the sandy trail it was like looking at an endless sheet of midnight-black cloth.

Instead of going back to humming evergreens and the latest hits - she had exhausted her knowledge of songs written by the great American poet Stephen Collins Foster - she reached for her canteen to take a sip of water. The fresh, cool liquid felt so good going down her bone-dry gullet that she took another sip at once, only smaller. Screwing the cap back onto the canteen, she stuck it into the pocket where she had taken it.

Thunder's gentle rolling helped distribute the water inside her stomach; it was beginning to grow a little empty down there so she took one of her carefully packed rations and pulled out a slice of jerky.

Another sigh followed as she licked the dried meat to get the salt out first. As she bit off a corner and began to chew on it, she realized she was so mind-numbingly bored despite the dangerous situation they were heading for that she had no idea what had happened the past three minutes. Snapping out of the stupor, she glanced at Ellie to see where the more experienced woman was looking before she looked in the other direction to cover as much ground as possible.

-*-*-*-

The terrain began to change around the four riders. Low, rolling hills sprouted from the desert floor to mark the beginning of the Longfield Hills. Alluvial at first from being pushed aside by the massive forces that had shaped the entire region, the hills soon became solid rock that grew many feet into the air almost at once.

Going off in a westerly direction some four hundred yards beyond the early foothills relative to the Copperhead Trail, the Longfield Hills grew into boulders and connected rock formations that reached fifty, eighty, a hundred feet in the air. Another few miles beyond the hilly terrain, the impressive Sawtooth Ridge rose against the night-time sky - one of the peaks was Creagan's Rock, the final destination of their trek through the desert.

The hilly terrain offered hundreds, if not thousands, of little caves and other perfect hiding places for men, beasts and avenging women alike, so the posse wouldn't have a problem finding somewhere to spend the night while they waited for the first light of the new dawn. Indeed, the rocks they had reached were already on the tall side of fifty feet; they would provide easy shelter for their much-needed break.

Even Ellie's butt was growing numb by the time the thirty minutes were up, so she shuffled around in her saddle to look at her companions. Precious looked to be half-asleep; 'Shotgun' Sally was alert but looking bored, and Jezebel had indeed fallen asleep. Her head was lolling freely on her shoulders, but she managed to hold onto the reins.

Chuckling, Ellie tugged at Lightning's reins which made the mare slow down and come to a halt with a brief whinny. "Ev'rybody, ya lissenin'? This be a nice, li'l, secluded place ta take a break an' rest them achin' bones. An' not ta menshun ya numb butts, too."

"Oh, thank God," Precious mumbled and pulled Thunder to a halt. Sally let Adonis ride along for another dozen yards so she could get a better field of view scouting for vermin, but Jezebel atop Aphrodite carried on like nothing had happened.

It wasn't until Ellie grabbed hold of the reins and pulled the animal to a stop that the rider woke up and smacked her lips. "Why, Jezebel," Ellie said with a grin as she wrapped Aphrodite's reins around the saddle horn, "ya hafta stop dreamin' 'bout yer wifey now. It's time ta wake up an' smell the coffee. You wus fast asleep, dontchaknow."

"Oh," Jezebel said and looked around the dark, desolate landscape - it wasn't much to look at. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. "I must have fallen asleep. Thank you."

"Aw, ya welcome. Ya wus sleepin' fer sure," Ellie said with another grin. After making sure Jezebel was awake and alert, Ellie dismounted so she could stretch her back and shake her well-worn limbs to get the circulation going. It had been a long ride and even she felt the effects of the hard saddle, but she had done it so often she knew she would get over it before long. Precious would be a different story, however, so she shuffled over to her partner to make sure she was doing all right. "Darlin'? Ya still got all them body parts o' yers?"

"Just barely," Precious croaked. After the interminable ride, she hadn't dared dismount Thunder on her own because she didn't trust her knees and thigh muscles. With Ellie coming over to give her a hand, she finally had her boots on the ground once more - her legs were shaky, but held up. Sighing, she patted Thunder's flanks for a job well done before she turned around to grab hold of Ellie's arms. They looked at each other for a few seconds before the inevitable kiss came; it was a dusty affair, but it didn't matter.

"How's ya feelin'? Still got the saddle blues?" Ellie whispered for Precious' ears only.

"Not anymore. I'm a little cold, even with the furlined vest. It's chilly out here," Precious said, looking around the desolate spot they found themselves in. Beyond the vast rock they were bivouacking next to, the rolling hills continued for as long as the eye could see - which wasn't very long in the all-consuming darkness. The moon still tried to illuminate the ground, but the silvery, ghostly rays that caressed the monotonous landscape weren't strong enough to bring out any details.

"Yeah, it's chilly awright."

"And I'm worried," Precious continued, moving closer to Ellie. "And getting more worried the closer we get to Creagan's Rock."

"Darlin', is ya havin' second thoughts?"

Precious drew in a breath and held it for several seconds. Then she let it out as a sigh. "Yes," she whispered. "But it makes me feel yellow so I won't quite admit to it."

Ellie nodded and pulled her sweetheart in for a hug. "Ah won't allow nobodda ta call ya yella 'cos ya ain't… but I know what yer mean. I feel it in mah gut, too."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Lissen, we's gonn' be pretty safe here fer the time bein'. With them there rocks and boulders standin' tall between us an' them coyotes the Beechums, they ain't gonn' be able ta see us… we can even start a fire so we can git us some hot coffee."

"God, I could kill for some hot coffee…"

"Aw, that ain't gonn' be necessary, darlin'… we's don't even hafta chew them beans… we's got water an' everythin'!"

Precious chuckled and stood up on tired tip-toes to place another kiss on Ellie's dusty face. "Jezebel and I will tend to that while you and Sally make sure we're safe. I'm great at making firepits so we'll have that coffee brewing in no time flat… and maybe even toast some of that bread Jezebel has brought along."

"Great, darlin'. I can't wait."

---

Ten minutes later, Precious and Jezebel had a good fire going. Though they were protected by the large rock next to them that blocked the view from Creagan's Rock, the firepit was shielded to stop sparks and flashes from escaping up into the open air. It didn't have an impact on the coffee pot which was going well in the middle of the flames on a small, metal rack.

They couldn't do anything about the column of smoke that rose from the fire, but it was a quiet night so the gray fumes went straight up until they drifted east, away from the Beechum gang's stronghold.

Ellie, Precious and Jezebel sat on blankets on the ground around the fire while they unpacked their rations, but Ellie soon got to her feet and dusted off her rear. She was sucking on a stick of jerky, but she popped it out and pointed it at her companions like a lollypop. "I'm gonn' take ovah the lookout from Sally now. I'll be back in an hour or so… an' y'all better be savin' some coffee fer me when I git back or there be hell ta pay." The comment was accompanied by a chuckle to take the sting out of the words, but the meaning came across loud and clear.

"Yes, Ma'am," Precious said with a grin. Turning around, she watched Ellie shuffle into the night, but the contrast between the orange, flickering flames in front of her and the inky darkness surrounding Ellie meant the tall woman soon vanished out of sight. Chuckling, she returned to her rations and bit off a corner of a slice of jerky.

As soon as they were alone, Jezebel reached over and put a warm hand on Precious' knee. "You gals have a wonderful relationship. You're perfect for each other."

"I know. I've never had it better. Honestly." A wistful smile graced Precious' lips as she thought back to the many ups and downs her life had before she ventured east to Dry Gulch - before she met Lysette Esther Shepard. Of course, there were days where they argued or were upset with each other like in any relationship, but the good days outnumbered the less good on a factor of at least ten to one. Nodding thoughtfully, she took another bite of the jerky. "Yeah. Some days, I wish I had made the decision to leave San Francisco a lot sooner, but Ellie wouldn't have been here by then. We would have traveled past each other… and I would probably have moved further east. I would never have known what might have been."

"I'm sure a beautiful woman like you would have hooked up with someone eventually…"

"Gosh, thank you," Precious said while a blush tainted her cheeks red. "I may have, but it wouldn't have been the right thing for me. It just wouldn't."

Jezebel grinned and leaned over to muss Precious' knee again. "I know exactly what you mean. When I first clapped eyes on Sally coming out of the hardware store in the town we used to live in, I knew I had found my soulmate. I gazed at her, and she gazed back at me… and promptly made a lewd joke about the state of my dress."

"Yeah, that's 'Shotgun' Sally all right," Precious mumbled.

Jezebel hadn't noticed and carried on: "I had known her for all of five seconds, but that was when I knew we'd end up sharing everything. A life, a bed, eventually a house. A soul."

"That's so wonderful. Does it get any better than that?" Precious said and reached for the coffee pot that had sent out smoke signals for the past few seconds to indicate it was ready. The metal was scorching to the touch, so she had to wrap a piece of cloth around the handle to be able to take it off the fire.

"It doesn't," Jezebel said and held up her pewter mug while Precious poured the coffee. Nodding, she let Precious know she'd had enough. Steam poured off the surface of the dark-brown, highly bitter liquid, but it didn't stop Jezebel from attempting to taste it at once.

A shadowy figure that suddenly appeared at the edge of the field of orange light from the fire spooked Precious and Jezebel and made them jump, but it turned out to be Sally Yarborough strolling back from her first watch. Her Native American moccasins enabled her to walk without making but a single sound, but a mischievous laugh negated the gains made by her shoes.

"My ears are ringin'… I'll bet someone around this campfire is talkin' 'bout me, huh?" she said as she sat down cross-legged. Taking off her coonskin hat, she poured herself half a mug of the strong coffee and let it slosh around and around. It quickly lost her interest, and she gulped it down in one go. "Don't mind me, ladies… just keep on talkin' 'bout me. I lurve it when gorgeous gals talk about me. It makes my ears ring an' my ding-a-ling sing."

As always when Sally cracked a lewd joke, Precious' face scrunched up into a mask of annoyance - and as always, Sally didn't let it stop her.

"We better not repeat it," Jezebel said with a grin.

Sally grinned back and gave Precious yet another case of the sour burps when she flicked her tongue at her wife in a most provocative fashion - like they were back home and not sharing a campfire with a woman they only knew on a friendly basis. "It musta been something real nice, then. Awright, I can live with that. I know I'll tickle it outta you the next time we play hide the pontoon."

"Oh, for the love of Mary, mother of Christ!" Precious cried, slapping her hands over her eyes. "I don't wanna hear it! Sally, can you please find something else to talk about while I'm awake?!"

For once, Sally stopped talking to stare at the strawberry-blonde. The expression on her face told a tale of not having any clue whatsoever as to what had caused that outburst. She poured herself another small mug of coffee and took a casual sip before she let out a puzzled "Uh… I s'pose I could… hon, do you know what Precious is talkin' about?"

Jezebel nodded. "Yep."

Sally and Jezebel stared at each other for a few seconds before 'Shotgun' Sally shook her head and concentrated on her coffee.

---

Just under two hours later, Sally moved silently into the night to assume the watch from Ellie Shepard who had been on duty ever since the initial coffee break. Sally had a Smith & Wesson Model Three on her hip, a standard Winchester carbine over her arm, and her trusty, long-range shotgun - a long-barreled twelve-gauge - in a carrier strap over her shoulder.

In a saloon in Sutter's Quarrel, she had bought a genuine Union Army leather belt pack from a war veteran who had needed a dollar or two to pay his bar tab. Now, she had attached the near-indestructible leather container to her own belt so it could carry her jerky, her maps, her spare shotgun pellets and her monocular. She had no use for the latter three items at this time of night, but jerky was always welcome - thus, she bit off a corner and chewed on it as she climbed the rock they had chosen as their lookout point.

---

Atop the rock, Ellie Shepard sat on a small boulder that gave her a great view of the terrain below so she could keep it under strict surveillance. The rays from the full moon were fading, but she was still able to see parts of the desert close to them. So far, everything had been quiet save for a few howling coyotes that had prowled around in the darkness for the furry little animals that formed their diet.

When she heard someone chewing noisily, she chuckled and waved at 'Shotgun' Sally to come over.

Sally waved back and snuck silently across the bare rock. "This bein' the changin' of the guard… literally," she whispered as she crouched down next to Ellie.

"The girls sleepin'?"

"Like babies."

"Mmmm."

"Seen anythin'?"

"Naw. Which is jus' what we need for tanight."

Sally nodded and got a little more comfortable by moving into a cross-legged sitting position on the edge of the blanket Ellie had spread out on the bare rock. "We're the luckiest wimmen in the world, ain't we?" she said with a quiet chuckle as she took off her coonskin hat and started toying with the tail.

"How ya figger that, Sally?"

"Ya got Precious and I got Jezebel. Imagine us without 'em. Pitiful."

"Oh… yeah. Ain't gonn' get no arguin' outta me fer that one. Nosirree. We's a lucky pair of mules, awright," Ellie said and briefly locked eyes with her firebrand friend before she looked back out onto the desert beyond the rocks.

"Yeah. On another note… I've been thinkin'. Do ya know how Rattler Beechum looks just in case they try to pull a fast one on us tamorrow mornin'?"

"I ain't never met 'im in person, obvi'sly, but I done seen his Wanted poster down at the law office an' the bank. Ugly sonovabitch. A real snake, awright."

"I've never run across him… unless he was one of them vandals who tore up our lot's marker poles the other month."

Ellie's eyes rarely left the horizon though it was limited what she could actually see. The moon was sliding down the heavens which would soon spell the end of the natural light. Once the pale-glowing disc in the sky had gone beyond the jagged edge of the Sawtooth Ridge, she would have to rely on her ears to pick up movement beyond the rock they used for cover. It was possible, but not for the inexperienced. "Doubt it. I ain't seein' Rattler Beechum wastin' his time doin' petty stuff like that," she said after a little while.

"Nah," Sally said, shuffling around on the blanket. She began to look out into the inky darkness, but suddenly remembered something she had wanted to ask about for a while. "Ellie… there's a vermin out there who's goin' by the nickname o' Hawk Beechum… do you know if that's Clarence, the younger brother?"

"Whassat? Hawk Beechum? Ain't never heard that befo'."

"No? I wonder who the hell that is, then…" Sally said and scrunched up her face.

"It sure ain't Clarence, that dern-blasted rodent. He ain't got no nickname. I'm sure o' that 'cos I jus' read the li'l critter's Wanted poster the other night. Where d'ya hear it?"

"In a saloon in Cactus Junction. The barkeep was yappin'."

"Maybe it's grandpappy Beechum? The old fella who died some years ago? Ah, who cares," Ellie said and shook her head. "I plum can't keep up with them there Beechums… those rotten, good-fer-nothin' skunks. Hawk, Pelican or Albatross Beechum, I don't give a dag-nabbin' mule. We's jus' gonn' kill 'em all if they come at us."

Sally chuckled and reached over to thump Ellie's shoulder. "That's the fightin' spirit we need here, Ellie… g'wan, climb down to your li'l Precious… I reckon she's missin' ya somethin' fierce. She was mumblin' 'harder, harder' in her sleep when I went past her."

"Yeah?" Ellie said with a grin. A moment later, the grin was broken by a wide yawn that she didn't see any point in concealing. "I be doin' that in a li'l while."

"Naw, y'all be doin' that right this dag-nabbin' minute," Sally said in an accent that mimicked Ellie's broad, Texan drawl. "Come on, ya skinny devil… yer woman needs ya, and yer sittin' way the hell up here?"

"Aw, when ya say it like that… it's a dern good point, Sally," Ellie said and shuffled away from the edge of the rock where she had been sitting for the past two hours. When they had swapped position, she shot a final glance out at the horizon before she began the climb down to Precious.

-*-*-*-

Not too far from the posse's bivouac, a bead of sweat ran down Judge J.R. Halvorsen's ruddy face. Though it was chilly to the point of being cold inside the stables he shared with Maudie Wilmerton and five horses - four had been taken out on the nightly patrol, and the remaining steeds had all been given extra blankets to keep warm - he was flushed and sweaty from the way his heart thumped hard in his chest.

The agitation was brought on by a single, and simple, action by Clay 'Rattler' Beechum. Sometime during the evening, the outlaw had entered the stables with a noose that he had proceeded to nail to one of the stables' sturdy roof beams. When he was finished, he had crouched down in front of Judge Halvorsen and his secretary and told them that if Clarence Beechum hadn't been returned by the law dogs in either Dry Gulch or Cactus Junction by the dawn's earliest light, the judge and the secretary would both get it in the neck.

Maudie had fainted on the spot, but it'd had the opposite effect on Judge Halvorsen. Though they had finally been brought something to eat and drink - stale coffee, dry bread and a cold, fried sausage that had clearly been dragged through mud and dust at least a couple of times - he hadn't been able to touch any of it, nor get any sleep.

Now and then, Clay himself or one of his bandits would enter the stables to check up on the prisoners. The procedure was always the same: first, the thug would use the stock of his weapon to bang on some metal to give them a fright, then he would kick them awake if the banging hadn't worked. He would harass them physically and threaten them with all kinds of horrific torture; then he would urinate close to the prisoners to keep the environment intolerable, and then he would leave - until the whole, evil circus was repeated by the next thug.

J.R. Halvorsen sighed and leaned his ruddy head against the support beam he was tied to. His legs were throbbing, his back was aching, and he had developed a terrible crimp in his neck, but there wasn't any point in asking the bandits if he could be allowed to change positions. He had tried once and had received a violent kick across the shins for his bother.

A gentle snoring emanating from Maudie Wilmerton proved the poor secretary had finally found some rest. She too was still locked up in an uncomfortable position with her legs spread around the beam in a most vulgar fashion, but she had shuffled around long enough until she had been able to lie down sideways on the filthy floor.

Down at the other end of the stables, the sliding door creaked like it always did when a thug entered the barn to begin another round of the vicious game. Judge Halvorsen sighed as he tried to peek through the darkness that had rolled over the stables after the bonfires in the courtyard had all gone out; sure enough, a shadowy figure moved slowly and silently across the hay-covered floor. When the unknown man didn't bang on the usual piece of metal to frighten the two prisoners, the judge furrowed his brow.

The figure kept moving closer. J.R. Halvorsen was about to open his mouth to complain in vociferous terms about the intolerable intrusion when he caught a glimpse of a large blade in the bandit's hand. At least eight, possibly ten inches long, the knife glinted in the sparse light like a vessel of evil. This was different - and far, far worse - than the regular harassment, and Halvorsen's throat tied itself into a knot that could only produce strangled croaks. Looking at Maudie, he tried to touch her to stir her awake, but she had moved beyond of his reach.

"Hush, old man," the thug whispered, holding the blade to his lips. When he took another step forward, it was revealed he was a young, blond bandit wearing regular cowboy fatigues held in shades of gray and brown, and a traditional Stetson that had been pushed back from his forehead. "This got nothin' to do with you and everythin' to do with this fatted calf here. I've been waitin' for too long already. I ain't gonna wait no longer."

"You miserable piece of trash," Halvorsen croaked, but the blond bandit had no time for petty insults.

Lee Carlson closed the distance between himself and the sleeping Maudie Wilmerton. Kneeling down, an evil smile played on his lips as he lowered the long knife until it was hovering immediately above her thigh. He studied every last part of her sleeping form with eyes that glowed of the joys of expectation before he commenced his evil business by placing the cold steel on Maudie's bare thigh.

The sudden chill was enough to stir the mature woman awake, and she sat up with a jerk when she realized what was going on. Her eyes were wide with fear as she glanced down at the blade pressed against her thigh.

"Hello, sweetie," Lee whispered hoarsely as he moved even closer to his prey. He moved the blade upwards until it snagged on the lowest of the seven buttons holding Maudie's tan dress in place. The threads were soon severed by the sharp edge - then he moved further up. The second button didn't offer stronger resistance, nor did the third. "I've been wantin' you for a while now. I'll bet you've never had a man like me. I promise you'll enjoy it," Lee continued in a whiskey-laced voice that grew ever coarser as he cut the buttons off the dress one by one.

Maudie was too frightened to speak, but her chin started quivering and she looked at Judge Halvorsen for help. None could come, so she let out a strangled, terrified moan and tried to push the outlaw away from her. Gasping of fear, she put her hands on the man's narrow shoulders. She pushed and pushed again; trying to put up a frantic defense, she shoved him back with all her might while she tried to raise her shackled legs to knee him in the groin. Unfortunately, her efforts were doomed from the start against the far stronger and more agile opponent.

"No, don't struggle… don't struggle, sweetie. Don't struggle, it'll only make it less enjoyable for yourself," Lee said and pushed back. When Maudie kept up the frantic self-defense, his face instantly changed into a dark mask. Flipping the blade around, he rammed the hilt and thus his fist into Maudie's stomach the hardest he could.

Wheezing and gasping, the mature woman stopped her struggle and doubled over in pain. Falling down flat on her back, she let out a pained moan and tried a last-ditch effort with her legs to get him off her, but the shackles were too tight, and the vicious punch had drained her of her strength.

All pretenses of civility gone, Lee flipped the blade around again and cut the remaining buttons off Maudie's dress with a single, fluid swipe. Once the mature woman's underwear came into sight, he shoved the outer dress away and closed his fist around the underdress intending to rip it off her.

Judge Halvorsen finally regained enough control of his faculties to take a swing at the rapist, but the young thug was a couples of inches too far away for it to be effective. Halvorsen's hand only brushed the young man's shirt, and it wasn't enough to stop his evil business. "I'll see you in the gallows for this, you wretched bastard!" J.R. Halvorsen cried, trying another swing with the same result.

"Lee!" a man suddenly roared from down the other end of the stables. When Lee Carlson had no intention of stopping, the man took off in a fast run and was at the scene in an instant. A pair of strong hands reached down and grabbed hold of Lee's vest and belt to drag him off his victim.

The young thug kicked and screamed to get back to his nasty business, but Royce Biederman was too strong and simply flung the lightweight bandit into the far corner with the greatest ease in the world.

"Lee Carlson, ya knucklehead!" Royce growled, adjusting his Confederate Cavalry hat that had been knocked askew in the struggle. "Didntcha hear the Rattler tellin' ya the oinker shouldn't be harmed before Clarence or the Sheriff gets here?"

"I wasn't gonna harm her! I just wanted to play with her!" Lee said, still holding onto his blade. He shot his victim a final look before he flipped the knife around again and sheathed it with an angry grunt. "What's it to ya, anyhow? No way in hell you want that chubby cunt for yourself."

"That ain't got nothin' to do with it, Lee. You don't understand a damn thing, do ya? Get your sorry ass outta here before I kick you out… or better still, before I get the Rattler an' have him kick you out."

Lee Carlson growled from somewhere deep in his throat, but he relented and got to his feet. Picking up his hat that had been knocked off in the struggle, he shot an angry glare at his intended victim and her employer before he spun around on the heel of his cowboy boot and stomped out of the stables.

J.R. Halvorsen let out a sigh of relief, but he still shook his head at the state of the bottomless pit of evil he and Maudie Wilmerton found themselves in. "Thank you, good Sir. I won't forget it," he said to Royce. "My secretary here needs a blanket… would it be-"

"You keep your trap shut, ya old fool," Royce Biederman said in a voice that wasn't any less threatening than Lee's had been only moments earlier. "I saved that chubby piece of ass because the Rattler told me to. Once Clarence Beechum gets here, all bets are off. She'll be introduced to the men, and you'll get a nasty rope burn around yer neck." He pointed up at the noose to underline his words.

"But-"

"So shut up and enjoy the final few hours of your life!"

Judge J.R. Halvorsen stared wide-eyed at the outlaw whom he - mistakenly - had thought was friendlier than the rest of the scum. He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't get but a croak past his vocal cords that were all knotted up.

*

*

CHAPTER 7

Sighing, Clara Beechum swept the blanket aside and swung her bare legs out of her bunk. Sleep wouldn't come, no matter what she tried. The frustrations she felt over having her meticulously designed plan fail through no fault of her own were so strong they overpowered any sleep remedy. A brief look at her pocket watch proved it was a quarter past four in the morning.

It was far too early to rouse the cook, so breakfast would remain a distant dream for now. Undeterred, Clara stepped out of the bunk and padded over to the chair where she had put her clothes. Stepping into the dungarees and donning the plaid shirt didn't take too long, but the boots caused the usual delay when she had to tie the laces. Chuckling darkly, she glanced at the battered wardrobe where she kept the pointy ankle boots that went with her fancy city clothes - those boots were just about the only positive things connected to that outfit.

All done, she got up and put on a short prairie jacket and her black cowboy hat. With the shade lined up just right, she left her bedroom and subsequently the ranch house.

The courtyard was quiet at that time of night. Her breath was visible as she glanced around the bonfires where smoldering embers were all that was left of the once so proud flames. Here and there, drunken outlaws too intoxicated to even notice the chill were sleeping on the hard ground.

Snorting at their men's drunkenness, Clara stepped around a sleeping thug and shuffled towards the main trail off Creagan's Rock and down to the desert floor. The stables where the two prisoners were kept was dark and quiet, as were the two buildings used to house the crew. Everything seemed peaceful, so she carried on across the courtyard and over to the first of the sentries.

"Nelse Rawlings?" she said as she got close enough to recognize the sentry with the impressive facial hair. "What the blazes are you still up for, man? I would have thought your shift ended hours ago."

"It did, Miss Clara. Hank Walton relieved me a while ago now," the Californian said as he pushed his dusty, brown hat back from his forehead. "But I figured another pair of eyes couldn't hurt."

"It could if they were too tired to look down the hill," Clara said darkly on her way over to the ledge she and Clay had used as a lookout point the day before. Glancing up at the sky, she noticed the full moon was hovering just above the horizon. The stars were out in force now the ghostly light from the bright-white disc had faded, but they obviously weren't strong enough to illuminate any details on the ground.

"So… did you see anything suspicious during your shift?" she continued, sitting down on the rock.

"At midnight or so, Pancho and me both saw a faint, orange sheen a few miles out. We couldn't say exactly where it was, but maybe down in the foothills or on the other side of the Copperhead Trail. It lasted for twenty, thirty minutes, then it was gone."

Clara furrowed her brow and tried to peek through the bluish-black darkness. She had little success with the naked eye, so she reached for a monocular Nelse Rawlings had been using at his post. Extending it, she held it to her right eye and swept it across the terrain below. All she could see was black, so she closed the monocular again and put it where she had found it. "Obviously a campfire. But who set it? A posse or just someone needing a break in their travels?"

"Can't say, Miss Clara."

"Mmmm. When's the dawn patrol due out?"

"At six as always."

"I think we ought to change our plans today, Nelse. Get them to ride out at five forty-five. No, make that five thirty," Clara said and once more looked into the inky darkness with the naked eye. "It may be nothing, or it may be a posse led by Sheriff Boone himself or someone under his command… in any case, we need to know what caused the sheen. And the best way to do that is to catch them by surprise."

"Yes, Miss Clara. I'll kick 'em awake. Do you want me to lead the patrol myself?"

Clara Beechum shook her head as she got up from the cold rock she had been sitting on. "No, Nelse. You're too tired. Get some rest while you can. Who knows what the day will bring."

"Right… I have a bunch of fleas waiting for me in my bunk so I sure won't be alone anytime soon," Nelse Rawlings said and let out a rare chuckle. Nodding his employer a good night, the sentry turned around and began to shuffle back to the courtyard.

Clara chuckled as well and kept the bearded man company for part of the way. "What annoys me the most about this whole mess is that we missed Sheriff Boone in Dry Gulch. By now, he'll know that something's wrong, even without getting the note. Judge Halvorsen was supposed to have arrived in Cactus Junction the day before yesterday, and Zachariah Boone is no fool. He knows we're a constant threat to him. He knows we could very well have the judge… but he doesn't know why. He may send a large posse after us when all we wanted was Clarence. Tarnation."

"Couldn't you get Earl Donovan to race to Cactus Junction with a new note? Or is that just a stupid notion?" Nelse said, stepping over a sleeping bandit.

Clara cocked her head and looked at the bearded sentry. A new note wasn't a bad idea, if they could get the timing right. With their rotten luck, Earl Donovan would reach Cactus Junction an hour after Sheriff Boone had left with a regiment of Deputies and other heavily armed men carrying tin stars, but they would never find out if they didn't try. "Say," Clara said and put a hand on Nelse's arm to pull the sentry to a halt. "That's not a bad idea at all, Nelse. I had a similar one yesterday already, but my brother wouldn't listen… we need to write a new note and get the drunkard to deliver it. If Boone kills him, he's out of our hair. All right. Thank you. I'll remember that."

Nelse Rawlings grinned and puffed out his chest at the rare praise. "Aw, you're welcome, Miss Clara. Earl and me are sleeping in the same quarters, that one over there. I'll help you wake him up… it'll take more than one kick at this time of night."

"Let's get to it. We don't have a minute to waste," Clara said and stomped towards the crew quarters Nelse had pointed at.

-*-*-*-

Just over two miles out from the Beechum gang's stronghold, Ellie Shepard climbed down from the rocks after having spent the better part of an hour and a half perched on a boulder in the company of nothing but chirping crickets and howling coyotes. Her butt was sore and she had a gnawing hunger in her innards that demanded to be rectified at once - jerky only went so far, and she needed a bite of bread and a sip of water.

Yawning, she jumped the last two feet down onto the ground and tugged on the chinstrap to pull her almost new Stetson back up onto her dark locks. Mashing her hat in place, she pulled up her gunbelt and shuffled off towards their small camp. By the time she folded her legs up underneath her and sat down on the blanket by the firepit, Precious and Jezebel were just waking up.

Ellie smiled and got on her feet again to help her sweetheart untangle herself from the three blankets she had been wrapped in to stay warm. She knelt next to the sleepy Precious and tugged on one end, then the other until the woman inside broke free from the covers like a beautiful butterfly escaping from a cocoon - of course, this particular butterfly wore dungarees, a plaid shirt and a furlined vest.

"Mornin', darlin'," Ellie whispered and leaned down to place a kiss on Precious' lips.

Having been soundly kissed, the sleepee rolled over onto her back with a big, though tired grin on her face. " 'Mornin'. What time is it?"

"A li'l past five in the earle of the morn."

"Only half an hour earlier than usual, then… I can live with that," Precious mumbled and shuffled into a sitting position. Smacking her lips and wrapping her vest closer around her body to fight off a wave of chills, she glanced over at Jezebel who had a harder time of waking up. Chuckling, she turned back to her partner. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Naw," Ellie said and swung her butt around so she could sit proper. "Ain't got no time for sleepin'. Much too dangerous, too, with all them vermin roamin' the lands out here."

Dawn was only a short time away, and the light had become a curious mix of pale-gray and faint-blue. Above them, the skies grew ever brighter signaling it was soon time for the world's smallest posse to carry on into the unknown.

Precious yawned and ran her hands through her sleep-tousled hair. She wasn't used to sleeping fully clothed, and she had insisted on pulling off her boots before she dug in under the blankets. Grabbing the boots, she pulled them closer and readied her foot without much thought, but Ellie's hand flew over to take a firm grip around her wrist before she could proceed.

"Hold them twinkle-toes right there, Missy. Remember what I tol'ya," Ellie said sternly. "Give them boots a good shakin' first. Ya never know if a critter's usin' it fer a shelter. If one of them there King Spidahs or baby Diamondback rattlers done bites ya in the foot, y'all be dead within the hour. We ain't never gonn' make it back to no fancy doctor in time."

Precious gulped and looked down the black bootleg. Holding it away from her and giving it a thorough shake, she offered her partner an apologetic smile. Nothing fell out, so it was safe to put on. She repeated the shaking with the other boot, but that was empty too. "I'm sorry, Ellie… I forgot," she said and reached for her sweetheart.

Ellie smiled and caressed Precious' cheek. "Aw, ya know what I say… better be sorry than dead. Sorry ain't forever, but dead sure as stink on shit is."

"What the hell are you gals talking about? Stink on shit?" Jezebel Behrle said from her spot down on the ground. She finished the sentence with a loud, wide yawn before she began to unravel the four blankets she had wrapped around herself.

Precious chuckled and reached over to help her friend get extricated from the woven fabric that was reluctant to let her go. "Good mornin', Jezebel. Oh, it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

"Uh-huh? 'Mornin', y'all," Jezebel said and sat up. Thrusting her arms in the air, she shook and shimmied to get the sleepies out. At the end of her little gymnastics display, she stretched her back which made it snap, crackle and pop audibly. Half asleep and all bleary-eyed, it took her a few seconds to realize Ellie and Precious were shooting her horrified looks. "What? The sounds my back made? You try to own a homestead. Work, work, work, forty-eight hours a day."

"Ellie," Precious said, "please remind me to never talk about ownin' a homestead again."

"Aw, ya betcha, darlin'. Will do."

"You've talked about that?" Jezebel asked before she broke out in another yawn that she hid behind the back of her hand.

Precious offered her a half-shrug. "We have… sort of. Nothin' serious, just a few random conversations at supper. Right now, we're rentin' a two-room apartment above the miscellaneous goods store, and it can get a little cramped from time to time."

"Oh, I'll bet," Jezebel said and rubbed her face to get the last, stubborn sleepies to leave. "Hey, Ellie, can we make a kettle of coffee this morning?"

"Naw," Ellie said, shaking her head. "Can't. The smoke would give us away fer sure. Them there good-fer-nothin' coyotes the Beechums would be able ta see it from miles away and put two an' two tagether."

"Tarnation… but can we at least eat the bread we toasted last night?"

Ellie grinned and reached for the nearest pack of rations. "Aw, yer dern tootin' we can!" she said and pulled out a round bread that she proceeded to break into four equally large portions. "He'ya go, darlin'," she said and handed the first quarter to Precious. "Y'all get the biggest bite 'cos ya bein' the smallest o' the bunch, dontchaknow."

"Why thank you, darlin'," Precious said with a grin as she began to munch on the bread.

The three women grinned at each other as they ate, but the serene moment was ruined only three short minutes later when Sally Yarborough came storming back to the camp waving her shotgun and her coonskin hat in the air.

"Aw, damnations! Always when Ah'm eatin'!" Ellie growled as she gulped down the last few bites of the bread. She had barely swallowed them before she jumped to her feet and drew her six-gun. "Y'all better stay here until we know what's goin' on… both of ya," she said and took off to intercept Sally.

Precious nodded with a nervous grimace etched onto her face. The worry that had gnawed on her guts since they left Dry Gulch blossomed like a flower in bloom. Her appetite lost, she put down the bread she had been eating and dusted off her hands. Instead, she fiddled with the Colt she wore on a gunbelt. Although she and Ellie had done plenty of target practice, she didn't know if she could actually do anything with the firearm, not even if her life was under threat.

"Oh, sweet mercy, I don't like this," Jezebel mumbled. It was clear she needed to do something, so she moved away from the blankets and began to roll everything up into a messy wad that would take a lot of un-wadding later on.

"Jezebel, Ellie said we should stay…"

"I'm not leaving… I just have to… I just can't stay passive," Jezebel said with a worried smile.

At the same time, Ellie intercepted 'Shotgun' Sally and brought the buckskin-clad woman to a halt. "Whassup? Them Beechums comin' for us?"

"Can't say yet, but there's a rider movin' north double-fast out on the Copperhead Trail," Sally said and mashed her hat down onto her blond mop. "I can just about make him out in this crap light. He musta come from Creagan's Rock. He's gonna pass by us pretty Goddamned close."

"Alone?"

"So far, yeah."

"Les' get back upstairs so I can see fer mahself," Ellie said and ran back down to the sequence of little ledges that formed a natural staircase up to the lookout point.

Huffing and puffing from performing the climb in a record time, Ellie hunched over at once and ran over to the boulder they had been using for purposes of surveillance. She swung her Winchester carbine off her shoulder but left it leaning against the boulder. Sally had left her monocular at the rocks, and Ellie took it at once and extended it so she could sort the ups from the downs.

"Aw… hell… where is he, that rotten critt- oh, got 'im," she said, staring into the magnifying instrument. "Yeah, he's still alone, that skunk. Goin' hell-fer-leather, too. Northbound on the ol' Copperhead. Ain't gonn' be able ta see nothin' the way he's ridin' that hoss."

"Still comin' closer or movin' away?"

"Movin' away," Ellie said and lowered the monocular. She and Sally glanced at each other for a moment or two before Ellie turned towards the south, towards Sawtooth Ridge, and put the telescope back to her right eye. "Naw… ain't nobodda followin' him. Mighty peculiar if ya ask me."

"Maybe he stole somethin' from the camp and wanted to get the hell outta Dodge before he was caught?" Sally said with a shrug.

"Mebbe. Mebbe he's on a speshul assignment. Or mebbe he's a decoy ta force us inta makin' a rash decision," Ellie said and closed the monocular with a metallic clang. Furrowing her brow, she handed the instrument back to Sally. "Naw, we ain't gonn' fold our winnin' hand. If them there low-down, good-fer-nothin' skunks the Beechums wanna play Hamlet an' Ophelia, that's just fine by me. I say we's stickin' to our plan, an' our plan is ta pack up an' head out so we's at Creagan's Rock when the sun gonna break the horizon."

"I agree, Ellie. I'll bring the hosses around while you get the girls up to speed," Sally said and hurried over to the sequence of ledges to climb down.

Still upstairs, Ellie took a final look out onto the desert surrounding them. Despite the increasing light, the colors still blended together into a hodge-podge stew of gray that made it almost impossible to see anything of importance. They had done all they could at that site, so she stuffed Sally's monocular into her pocket, swung her Winchester over her shoulder, and made for the exit at the ledges.

Ellie had barely put her boots on the ground before Precious ran up to her and wrapped a pair of worried hands around her waist. Jezebel followed a few steps behind at first, but when she heard her wife's voice calming the horses beyond the rock, she took off to give her a hand. Precious offered her a nervous smile before she turned back to Ellie. "Do we have trouble in store? Do we need to pack up and run?"

"Naw, and naw. Me an' Sally saw a northbound rider goin' like a bat outta hell from Creagan's Rock out on the Copperhead Trail, but he ain't never done look this way but once. Ain't nobodda followin' 'im, neither. Mebbe he's a courier. Naw, we's stickin' ta our plan."

"Which is to leave in good order and approach Creagan's Rock-"

"At first light, yessirree."

A few more whinnies were heard, and soon Sally and Jezebel led Thunder, Lightning, Adonis and Aphrodite closer to the campsite. After the steeds had been distributed between the proper riders, Sally put the blanket and the sturdy saddle across Adonis' broad back and swung herself up top.

The appaloosa stallion was excited to get underway after spending the night in a dull place, and it was showing it by sidestepping and neighing its spotted head. "Awright y'all, I'll head off for a li'l roamin' recon. I'll be a couple-a hundred yards ahead of ya, sweepin' the desert for vermin."

"Aw, that ain't yer worst idea ever, Sally… that's a perdy dog-gone good idea, akchewly," Ellie said as she flung the blanket and the saddle up on Lightning's back. The good-natured mare was more docile than the stallion and didn't offer any problems. "Awright… we follow ya in a moment."

"See ya in a little while… or in hell! Yah!" Sally said, waving her coonskin hat in the air above her. Turning the appaloosa around, she got ready to ride out, but Precious stepped forward at once wearing a dark frown.

"Now you wait a cussed minute, Sally Yarborough! Can'tcha see your wife needs to hear a proper goodbye from ya?" she said strongly, nodding at Jezebel whose face told a tale of being more than a little apprehensive about the whole thing in general, and by her wife's recent decision in particular.

For once, 'Shotgun' Sally looked annoyed with Precious, but she relented and nudged Adonis over to Jezebel. The difference in height meant they couldn't kiss, but the married couple got in a little sideways muss 'n squeeze before Sally turned the horse around again and took off in a flurry of clip-clopping hooves and flailing manes.

Precious tracked the rider with her eyes while her lips moved in a constant stream of silent oaths and curses. Her bad mood didn't go away until she felt Ellie slide up behind her and give her a little squeeze. "You're a far better woman than she is," she whispered for Ellie's ears only.

"Naw. We's jus' different 's all. She loves Jezebel sommin fierce, lemme tell ya."

"Yeah? She's got a weird way of showin' it sometimes," Precious said and shook her head. With one crisis over, it was time to move onto the next one. Sighing, she turned around to face Ellie. "Hon, please help Jezebel up first… I'll give the saddle belt another tug while you do that."

"Will do, darlin'," Ellie said and ran over to Jezebel whose growing nervousness was making her fumble with the whole riding equipment.

-*-*-*-

Soon, the world's smallest posse rode through the desolate, barren landscape once more on their quest for justice. They were still a mile and a half out from Creagan's Rock and the Beechum gang's stronghold; since they had the horses going faster than earlier, a large cloud of dust was kicked up by the hooves. Hovering in the air behind them for several long seconds before it would eventually dissipate, it would give them away at once if someone happened to watch in their direction, but there wasn't anything they could do about that.

Tension and worry hung heavily in the air, and nobody spoke. 'Shotgun' Sally was out front sweeping the torrid wasteland like she had said she would be, but the three others rode together in a triangular box formation to cover all the defensive angles they could.

Ellie was at the back keeping track of everything that happened around them. She continually checked the horizon with a steely gaze to make sure they wouldn't be jumped; so far, the northbound rider had been the only human being they had seen since they had ventured into the desert the night before, but the closer they got to Creagan's Rock, the higher the risk became of running into bandits and outlaws - one of whom could be Clay 'Rattler' Beechum himself.

The increased tempo they were going at made her almost new Stetson blow back from her dark locks. The first few times it went astray, she clamped a hand down onto it to make it stay in place, but by the third time the wind caught underneath the shade and pulled it off her head, she had grown tired of saving it. Instead, she allowed it to fly back and be held by the chinstrap that grew tight around her throat.

Though she didn't really have time to, she glanced down at her chest where the tin star sat proud. It wasn't hers, but she had still polished it to within an inch of its life during one of the mind-numbingly dull sessions where she had sat atop the rock staring out into a pitch-black nothing.

Being part of a respected group of citizens, and giving something back to the people of Dry Gulch, meant far more to her than she had expected when she had found the cardboard box with the tin stars inside the law office. The Deputy Sheriff star was only supposed to be a shiny trinket that she put on her shirt for kicks, but when she noticed people were treating her with more respect, and even looking to her for guidance - well, apart from the men they were trying to persuade to come along - the importance of the so-called trinket came through loud and clear.

A chronic loner and a drifter who didn't even know why she carried the names she did, she had never collaborated with anyone on anything save for when she slaved her butt off at cattle ranches working as a day laborer cowpuncher with thirty or forty other sweaty, stinking cowboys. Even then, everybody kept to themselves after the hard labor was done.

Now, after experiencing true teamwork, not to mention being held in high esteem because of her temporary title, she hoped Sheriff Boone would overlook her nabbing a star and offer her a position in Dry Gulch law enforcement - she would be perfectly happy making coffee for everybody or sweeping the floors of the jail from dawn to dusk for an entire year if it meant she would be part of that exclusive community.

Sighing, she snapped out of her golden thoughts to sweep the horizon once more. Everything was still quiet, but only a split second on from thinking that, a shot rang out from somewhere ahead of the posse. Trouble had found them.

"Ellie!" Precious cried, turning around in the saddle.

"Ah'm on it! Stay calm an' stay tagether… an' watch yer asses!" Ellie cried back before she drove her heels into Lightning's flanks to make the large animal take off in a hurry. Blasting ahead at nearly full speed, Ellie put the reins between her teeth and grabbed her Winchester.

Every cowboy west of the Hudson River knew it was impossible to hit anything while galloping, but everyone still ducked because there was always a risk of a potshot connecting with the target. She slammed the Winchester to her shoulder and made a fast sweep to find herself a target; she did, six ugly brutes on horseback, but they were still too far out of range even for the carbine.

In the middle of a sandy, dusty nowhere, the two groups couldn't avoid seeing each other if they tried. The cloud of dust that followed every living creature was more than enough in and by itself, but on top of that, they were the only moving objects for miles in all directions.

Eighty yards out and closing fast, 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough came barreling back to the posse creating such a plume of dust she looked like a steamboat chugging along the Mississippi. She still had her Smith & Wesson handgun drawn, and she used it to fire over her shoulder at their opponents. "Ellie! Five or six fellas! Four hundred yards an' closin' fast!"

"I see 'em!" Ellie shouted as Sally blasted past her going in the other direction. As she slowed down and put her Winchester to her shoulder once more, she noted in her peripheral vision that Sally pulled Adonis to a halt and yanked the stallion around with more than one frantic "Yah!" and plenty of heels.

Soon, 'Shotgun' Sally was back at Ellie's side. At once, the buckskin-clad woman holstered her Smith & Wesson and drew the long-barreled shotgun. "Aw yeah, I got a couple-a sweet gifts for 'em… prime quality buckshot. I make the pellets myself!"

Ellie chuckled darkly as she searched for a target. "I'm sure ya do… aw, it ain't good fer our health ta stay in one place fer too long. We gotta outflank them there sons-a mules an' split 'em up. Draw 'em away from the girls!"

"Two fer each an' two down the center! Yah!" Sally cried and rammed her heels into Adonis' flanks. The appaloosa jumped into action and took off like a scalded cat to intercept the outlaws.

Ellie waited for a couple more seconds before she holstered the Winchester and took off at the opposite flank of where Sally was headed. Lightning seemed to sense the urgency, because the mare moved ahead at great speed. Up top, Ellie drew her Peacemaker and held it ready. The ride was bumpy, but to combat the unevenness, she used some of her old corralling techniques where she stood up in the stirrups and used her thighs as shock absorbers.

Ahead of Ellie Shepard, the group of bandits appeared to grow confused over the cavalry charge they were facing. Already riding in an unruly cluster, they lost track of each other's positions within the group and soon began bumping into the other steeds.

One horse in particular was squeezed so hard it stopped on a dime and bucked up on its hind legs. Not only did it throw its rider who landed on the ground with a violent bump and roll, as soon as the weight was off its back, it spun around and stormed off for home with its ears flat against its head.

"One down, five skunks ta go!" Ellie roared, racing towards the group of outlaws. Grabbing the reins with her teeth, she holstered the Colt, snatched the Winchester from its holster and put it against her shoulder. This time, she had plenty of targets to choose from and they were close enough to hit, so she aimed at one of the five remaining men and squeezed the trigger once, then worked the action and fired once more.

Both shots went wide as she had expected, but the firing made their opponents spread out in an almighty hurry so they wouldn't be such easy targets. She quickly loaded another round into the Winchester by working the lever action, but the outlaws had scattered too much in the meantime for her carbine to be effective.

---

Three bandits rode to intercept 'Shotgun' Sally; two came after Ellie, and the final one rode straight up the middle headed for Precious and Jezebel who heeled their horses to get away from the immediate danger.

When the outlaw finally closed the distance enough to come within the effective range of his revolver, he whipped it from its holster and fired off several rounds at both Precious and Jezebel.

The lead went wide and zinged past way above their heads, but it was a wake-up call of the unwelcome sort. Precious watched the approaching rider with a rising sense of panic. "Yah!" she cried, giving the good-natured Thunder a strong pair of heels.

The large animal jumped ahead and assumed a fast pace going around in a wide circle. Fighting the headwind and the uneven ride, Precious tried to take a hand off the reins so she could at least grab the handle of the revolver she had on her hip, but Thunder required her full attention - the handgun stayed where it was though she knew it was imperative she could defend herself.

At the same time, Jezebel had moved further away from the original spot she had shared with Precious. She already had her Smith & Wesson in her hand, but the rhythm - akin to rough seas - she experienced atop Aphrodite was so strong she couldn't get a bearing on any target, much less a moving one.

Precious furrowed her brow and slowed down sufficiently to finally draw her Colt. The object was cold, heavy and lethal to the touch; it wasn't the first time she had worn it on her hip, or even the first time she had fired it - Ellie had given her extensive target practice just outside of Dry Gulch after all - but it was the first time she needed to use it in such a confused, hectic environment.

Riding around at moderate pace with one hand on the reins, Precious stared every which way to see where the inevitable, bloody battle would commence. The rider who had charged her and Jezebel turned his horse around and came flying back the other direction; he fired again, and this time, it was close enough for her to hear the zinging as it shot through the air.

At the same time, a loud report from a shotgun was heard over the entire battlefield - Sally had engaged the outlaws up close and personal.

The potentially lethal danger of the situation caught up with Precious, and she gasped and spurred Thunder into action once more. The horse and rider rode fast through a wide arc to get away from the outlaw while gunfire could be heard from everywhere at once.

Reduced to five - the sixth man was only just getting up after his rough landing some distance back - the thugs scattered and sought out individual targets.

Soon, the stretch of the desert that had been forced into becoming a battleground was transformed into a witches' cauldron of evil, brown dust, thundering hooves, whinnying horses, reams of foul-smelling cordite, loud reports from the firearms and equally loud shouting from the participants.

The confusing blur of colors that tried to shine through the impenetrable wall of brown dust made it impossible to work out who and where the enemy was - thus, everybody had to ride in ever-widening circles to be able to see their opponents, but the expansion of the battlefield only worsened the problems with the visibility.

Gunfire echoed through the brown clouds, and hot lead zinged past ears, horses and other soft tissue. Ellie roared out her frustration through her bandanna as she tried once more to dive into the dust storm to find a target. Their objective was clear: they had to kill every last one of the attackers - if they left but one survivor, he would return to camp at once and alert the Beechums and the rest of their gang. The element of surprise had already taken a severe knock, but it would be far worse if the outlaws at the stronghold would have time to scramble all their reserves and actively join the battle.

A loud boom was heard just to Ellie's right, and she could almost smell the buckshot pellets as they stormed past her nose. "Dang-blasted! Sally, fer cryin' out loud… watch where ya pointin' that cussed scatterguhn! Ya got yerself the wrong damn target!" she roared into the dust as she yanked Lightning hard left to get out of any potential firing lines.

No apology came through the dust, but Ellie hadn't expected one. On the other side of the next wall of the evil brown stuff, she suddenly found herself face to face with an ugly brute in a tan duster. The outlaw carried a bandolier across his chest like most of the men riding with the Beechum gang, and he already held a revolver high and ready to fire.

In the split second that went by before Ellie squeezed the trigger of her Peacemaker, she noted the bandit had no teeth - why she had paused at such an insignificant detail, she had no idea, but she had. The Colt went off in her hand at the same time the outlaw fired his revolver. His shot went wide, but hers didn't.

The outlaw's clothes puffed out in the middle of his chest; a strong squirt of blood followed. The man's ugly face turned perplexed, and he was thrown backwards and off his horse too fast for any response.

Ellie nodded grimly and carried on through the evil, brown dust. One down.

---

After the unfortunate incident where 'Shotgun' Sally had mistaken Ellie Shepard for a bandit, she tried to be a little more circumspect in whom she pointed the close combat, sawed-off shotgun at, but it wasn't easy with the amount of blinding dust in the air.

Pulling her bandanna back up after delivering a strong dose of oaths and curses, she yanked Adonis around in the other direction and gave the appaloosa stallion a strong pair of heels. The horse responded with an excited whinny before it dove head-first into the massive clouds of dust and cordite. They stormed around the battlefield for a brief moment before she caught a glimpse of two outlaws seemingly working together to corner a member of the posse. The bandits left her field of view before she could see any details, but they were most decidedly up to no good.

"Yah!" Sally cried and turned Adonis around once more so it could re-enter the dust. It didn't take her long to catch up with the two thugs, but all she could see was the back of a brown duster or riding jacket similar to the one Jezebel wore. The person didn't carry any bandolier, but she hadn't had time to check if all six thugs did so when she first spotted them.

Hesitating out of fear of shooting her wife, Sally bared her teeth underneath her bandanna. She kept one hand on the reins and the other on the trigger of the sawed-off shotgun ready to blast the thug to hell, but she didn't get the chance as he and his associate both disappeared into the dust.

"Aw… aw, damnations!" she cried as she came out alone. Slamming her head left and right, she tried to pick up their trails, but the dust had reduced the visibility to zero which made it impossible. Growling, she and Adonis rode through a wide arc to find a new target or two.

She was in luck faster than she had hoped for. A man ducked out of the clouds of dust not ten feet away from her, and this time, there wasn't any doubt he was one of the desperados. Grabbing the sawed-off shotgun with both hands, Sally cocked the two hammers and pulled the trigger which made the powerful weapon fire both barrels at once in a loud, violent explosion.

The recoil made Adonis almost come to a standstill, but he soon recovered and carried on ahead. The thug on the other horse wasn't as lucky - his entire left side was peppered with red, blossoming roses. Swaying atop his steed, he only made it another few feet before he fell off the saddle, dead as a doornail.

Sally scrunched up her face as she cracked open the double-barreled shotgun. The spent casings were scorching hot to the touch, but she removed them by hand and inserted a pair of new ones at once to stay ready. Two down.

---

Jezebel and Precious had found each other through a miracle and were working together to stay clear of the worst of the gunfire while still defending themselves to the best of their abilities.

Precious had fired her Colt twice in the melee, but she had no idea if she had actually hit anything. On top of everything else that was thrown at her, she chanted "Four rounds left, four rounds left," to remember when she needed to reload the lethal weapon that she held in a death grip so she wouldn't drop it.

Atop Aphrodite, Jezebel rode up to the fourth member of the posse and leaned in towards her. "Precious! Are ya all right?"

"Four rounds- what?"

"Are ya all right?"

"No…"

"You're as tight as a vice! Ya need to loosen up! Loosen up and keep movin'!"

"I'll try… oh Sweet Mother of Christ, I'm so scared of gettin' hit I can hardly think straight…" Precious croaked as she nudged Thunder's flanks to heed her friend's request.

She rode back into the worst cloud of dust to be a lesser target, but that strategy almost proved fatal when she found herself staring down the barrel of a big, gray gun on the other side of a wall of dust that had been weaker than she had expected. Shrieking, she rammed her heels into Thunder's flanks and yanked the reins hard left to get the large animal to get out of the dangerous situation in an almighty hurry.

Behind Precious, the bandit aimed and fired once, then once more. Something tugged at her shirt as the second round screamed past her, but she didn't have time to investigate it.

---

Jezebel Behrle tracked the spooked woman for a few seconds before she had to move Aphrodite to get out of the firing line of an outlaw who came straight for her guns a-blazin'. Baring her teeth in a wild sneer, Jezebel fired off three rounds in quick succession before she made a ninety-degree right-hand turn to get away.

When no further shots followed her escape, she turned Aphrodite back around and looked for the thug chasing her. She found him dragged by his horse with his skull split wide open by an entry hole in his forehead. He had wrapped the reins tight around his left arm to be able to shoot better, but as he had fallen off the saddle, he had become stuck. Thus, his dead body bounced up and down; it was knocked about severely by the horse's flank and the coarse ground down below.

The gruesome sight was too much for Jezebel, and she turned away at once before she would get reacquainted with her sparse breakfast. Three down.

---

Ellie Shepard was running out of bandits to shoot at, so she tugged on Lightning's reins to get the strong animal to calm down. She held the Winchester at her shoulder searching for a target, but the cloud was still as thick as pea soup, and impossible to see through.

"Them dern-bustin' skunks… buncha worthless rattlesnakes… where in Sam Hill did they go? Aw, I can't wait here fer sommin when there's nothin' ta be found!" she said and nudged Lightning's sides again.

There was still plenty of gunfire all around her, but since most of the people involved in the gunfight used Colts, it was impossible to discern who was shooting at whom. She rode on, but only made it a few yards out when she heard a female voice crying out in a panic followed by the characteristic thudding sound of a horse taking a tumble. It wasn't Sally's throaty pipes, nor Jezebel's more dulcet tones - it could only be Precious.

"Tarnation!" Ellie cried and shoved the Winchester down into the side-holster to be able to have a two-hand grip on the reins. Staring left, right, front and back, she was unsure where to go, but a second, equally panicky cry convinced her to try moving off to her right.

Heeling Lightning, she turned the animal around and dove through the thickest portion of the evil, brown dust.

As she broke through the cloud, she came face to face with a scene that made her blood freeze over. Thunder was on the ground, scrabbling to get up. Precious had been thrown clear when the horse had stumbled - she looked to be fine, if dusty - but she was held in check by the outlaw who had been thrown himself when his horse had reared even before the exchange of hot lead began. Another thug came blasting up behind Precious on horseback. He held a carbine or a rifle to his shoulder and was clearly ready to blow her all to hell.

Ellie roared out loud and reached for the Winchester at once. Slamming it against her shoulder, she fired once, twice, three times at the man on the ground before he could pull the trigger on her sweetheart. The first shot went wide, the second got him in the chest, and the third blew his guts apart. He swayed like a reed caught in a storm for several seconds before the gut-wound sent the fires of hell through him. He crumpled to the ground and began writhing in the last pain he would ever experience. Four down.

The outlaw on horseback fired his Colt repeatedly at Precious and Ellie, but his aim was so far off he only hit the desert a great distance beyond the two women.

While Ellie chased him down on Lightning, Precious dove for her revolver that she had dropped when she had made an unwanted acquaintance with the sandy floor of the desert. The fall hadn't injured her as she had gone into a roll that had absorbed most of the shock, but it had rattled her frame pretty good and knocked the wind out of her.

The heavy metal safely in her hand, she spun toward the rider and fired three shots at him as fast as her thumb would cock the hammer. It was only when the firing pin landed on an empty chamber in what was supposed to be the fourth round that she realized she had made an error in her calculations - she had forgotten that for safety reasons, Ellie had instructed her to only load the revolver with five cartridges so the hammer could rest on an empty chamber while she traveled.

Gasping, she rolled to the side to get away from the hooves that barreled straight for her in a dizzying blur. As the horse blasted past, she looked up and noticed a long stream of bright red blood down the horse's flank. The rider lolled in the saddle, but held on by the skin of his teeth.

A split second later, a blast from a double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun at point blank range sent him flying out of the saddle and onto the hard ground like a rag doll someone had thrown away. Five down - only one to go.

Sally Yarborough rode up to Precious at the same time Ellie arrived from the other side. When Ellie jumped off Lightning to tend to her sweetheart, Sally spurred Adonis on and went on the hunt for the final outlaw.

Precious grew light-headed and sat down with a bump in the middle of the desert. A few little critters were spooked and sprinted away from the vast monster that had invaded their homes, but none used the opportunity to sting or bite the big, strawberry-blonde beast.

She stared at the smoking Colt in her hand like she couldn't believe it had been her firing it, nor that she had actually wounded a man. A part of her wanted to throw it away and never use a gun again for the rest of her life, but a different, stronger, part whispered in her ear that it was mighty proud of her instincts. The second voice won out, and she holstered the Colt with a big sigh.

Heavy boot-steps approaching her made her look up, but it was only Ellie running towards her with a look of pure horror etched onto her face. Any kind of movement caused aches and pains to shoot through Precious' body, so she decided to do as little as humanly possible beyond maintaining a steady breath. "I'm fine, Ellie… winded and achin', but fine," she croaked while she tracked her sweetheart stomping closer to her - that was all she had time for before Ellie had grabbed hold of her and had pulled her to her feet.

"Y'awright?! Y'awright, darlin'?" Ellie said and took her partner by the arms after throwing down the Boss of the Plains hat that she had found a short distance away. "Good golly, Precious… ya jus' can't do that ta me! Ah aged ten years in ten seconds right then an' there when I heard ya scream! Ya sure y'awright?"

Croaking, Precious buried her head in Ellie's chest. "I'm fine. Thunder tripped… did she injure herself?"

Ellie looked over at the bay mare that appeared none the worse for wear, apart from the dust that caked all over her sweaty flanks from the tumble. "Naw… don't see nothin' wrong with 'er. She needs a dern-blasted good cleanin', tho'."

"We all do," Precious said and looked down at herself. "Did we get 'em all?"

At the same time, Jezebel rode closer to check up on Precious, but Ellie flashed the homesteader a smile and a nod that made her ride off to verify that all their opponents were dead or at least dying.

"Naw, but we's got'cha covered, Jezebel an' me… dontcha fill ya perdy head with them kinds-a worries. Sally's chasin' down the final one of them there dirty, mean despera-dahs as we-"

A loud report that rolled over the stretch of desert proved that Sally Yarborough had indeed engaged the last of their opponents. A second, equally loud report followed a short time later before everything fell quiet. Six down, none to go. The dawn patrol had been dealt with in the old-fashioned style.

"Dontcha jus' luv that Shotgun Sally Yarborough?" Ellie continued with a wink.

Precious grimaced and drew her aching shoulders up into something approaching a shrug. Even the simple gesture sent out a cloud of dust that drifted through the air. "The jury's still out on that one… speakin' of judge and jury… I guess we've lost our element of surprise now."

Sobering, Ellie pulled back from her sweetheart to offer her a dark nod.

"Damnations," Precious mumbled as she began to pat herself down to get the worst dust off. When she made it to the part of her shirt that reached across her belly button, she found a hole that didn't look as if it had been torn open in the tumble she took. Three inches further right, another hole matched the first one exactly. "Buh…" she croaked, sticking her index fingers into the holes.

Ellie knew what had caused it before Precious did, and she bared her teeth in an ugly grimace as the horrible truth came a-knockin'. "Someone or sommin wus watchin' ovah ya on this earle morn', darlin'. Ya skin nicked under there?"

"No…" Precious whispered, looking up in a panic.

"Y'all jus' spent all yer luck in one go, darlin'. All yer nine lives. Gut-shots is killahs, an' prolly the worst way ta go… imagine stickin' a white hot poker inta ya guts and twistin' that son-of-a-mule 'round an' 'round an' 'round…"

All color drained from Precious' face, and she grabbed hold of Ellie's arms all over again to stop herself from taking another tumble onto the dusty desert floor. "Oh… I don't feel… so… good… now… I need to sit- sit down bef- before I drop," she croaked, already feeling her knees lose their strength.

Ellie smiled wistfully as she helped her partner down into a squat. It wasn't enough, and Precious bumped back down on her butt all over again while letting out a long groan. "Aw, yeah, looks like it," Ellie said and caressed Precious' dusty cheek. "Tell ya whatcha need… ya need a shotta good, strong whisky. And wouldya believe it, we's got sommin in mah saddlebags."

Before Ellie could get to the bottle containing the amber liquid, Sally rode up behind them and pulled Adonis into a screeching halt that kicked up another load of dust. "Got that son of a mule! Blew 'im off his hoss, then blew 'im off his perch!" she said triumphantly, putting her coonskin hat on the end of the pipes of her sawed-off, close combat shotgun and holding the unlikely companions high in the air. "Whaddahell? Did Precious eat some lead anyhow?" she continued when she noticed that one of the four members of the world's smallest posse was paler than a sheet and sitting on the ground.

"Naw. Stunned an' winded, Sally," Ellie said and looked up at the buckskin-wearing homesteader high atop the appaloosa stallion. The two experienced women shared several long, silent looks as they exchanged unspoken appreciations for a job well done.

Nodding, Sally mashed her coonskin hat down onto her mop of hair before she rode off to see to her wife.

"Sweetie," Precious croaked. The dust kicked up by Adonis leaving made her cough and shield her eyes. "Oh… ugh! Oh, I seem to recall you mentionin' something about whisky?"

Ellie leaned her head back and let out a laugh that was fueled by as much relief over her partner's apparent health as humor - solely on the good graces of Lady Luck, Precious had quite literally dodged a big one in the melee. "Aw, ya betcha, darlin'! One shot o' rat piss comin' right up… an' there's plenty 'nuff fer everyone!"

*

*

CHAPTER 8

Life at the Beechum gang's stronghold atop Creagan's Rock carried on like it always did at the dawn of a new day. The cook had found the bacon, the sausages and the baked beans from his storage, and he was filling a cooking pot with water for those of the outlaws who wanted their wieners cooked, not fried.

The hung-over - or still drunk - bandits began to stir around the bonfires in the courtyard and inside the sleeping quarters. Soon, whisky bottles were once more put to cracked lips, and strong oaths were delivered when various men discovered they had wet themselves in their comatose state.

There were more than a handful empty beds inside the two sleeping barracks, but none of the other thugs gave the vacancies much thought. The dawn patrol rode out every morning at the same time and returned a few hours later. Some days, they had been lucky enough to run into someone who was subsequently relieved of their values at gunpoint, while on other days, they returned empty-handed with a bigger fire in their gut for the next day's adventure - that they hadn't returned yet wasn't a big deal.

Inside her bedroom in the ranch house, Clara Beechum had gone back to bed fully dressed. She had been tossing and turning since talking to Nelse Rawlings and getting Earl Donovan on his way to Cactus Junction, but she had finally entered a state of light slumber where odd, vivid dreams flashed across her mind's eye.

Shouts and strong curses filtered into her dreams and turned them increasingly weird until she realized something was wrong in the real world. Groaning out loud, she sat up in bed and listened to the activity outside the closed window. Although the curtains were drawn, they were framed by an outline of pale, pre-dawn light which meant she had managed to get just over an hour's worth of sleep following Earl Donovan's departure.

Outside, several men were shouting loud oaths and curses. A bottle was thrown to the ground and smashed, and a horse let out a panicked whinny which prompted further cursing by the men. When the oaths grew wilder and more imaginative, Clara echoed a few of them before she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her gunbelt and her boots.

---

Stomping down the short flight of stairs to survey the situation, Clara was met by her brother who came hurrying over from the other sleeping barrack. The two Beechums stared at the commotion in the courtyard where at least eight drunken or hung-over bandits had circled a pair of spooked horses.

The drunken raving and the stench of alcohol, frying sausages and smoke from the cooking fire only made the horses' condition worse, and they stormed around the courtyard in unpredictable patterns with their ears flat to their large heads and their eyes rolling wildly.

The steeds were on the brink of all-out panic, so the highly experienced horse wrangler Royce Biederman swore every last four-letter word he knew as he put on his gloves and tightened his belt. Yanked from his sleep by a pair of smelly thugs, he hadn't even had time to tie his hair into a knot or put on his beloved Confederate Cavalry hat - thus, his untamed mane that reached halfway down his back swung left and right in the breeze as he tried to get the horses calmed down enough to get a rope around them.

Clara and Clay looked at each other with identical, worried expressions - a silent message that they shouldn't have bothered with the whole thing flew back and forth between them.

"I smell a decoy," Clay said, looking back at the stables where Judge Halvorsen and Maudie Wilmerton were still chained to the support beams. "We need to double the guard at the stables so we're not overrun. Perhaps the sentries too."

Clara nodded without taking her eyes off the two horses. An annoyed frown developed between her eyebrows from the fact that her brother had already had that option, but had chosen against it. "Oh, so now we need to double the guard and the sentries? I agree, but I could have sworn that I suggested that some time ago. What was your answer… ah, yes, it was 'no!' because you didn't want us to appear weak or some such tripe!"

"Sis-"

A bulging, throbbing vein on the side of Clara's neck was more than enough proof that she was on the brink of losing her temper with her brother. Spinning around, she nailed him to the spot with an angry, dark-brown glare and drew her lips back in a sneer. "Never mind that now! Get it done! I'll talk to the sentries."

As Clay ran the other way - cursing and swearing - to find a few of the most trustworthy men and carry out the plan, Clara made sure to stay well clear of Royce's hard work with the two panicked steeds. Instead, she went straight for Nelse Rawlings who was talking to another of the sentries.

"Nelse, Hank, what the blazes is going on here?" she growled as she stomped closer to the two men.

Hank Walton, who had assumed the watch after Nelse had gone to bed earlier in the morning, was an Arizonan in his late twenties who had joined the Beechum gang after he had convinced Clay 'Rattler' Beechum of his talents when it came to the application of dynamite on bank vault doors. Gangly and always rough around the edges, Hank's oafish features, shifty eyes and filthy, brown fatigues made him someone most of the other thugs steered clear of. "The dawn patrol ain't back yet, Miss Clara, but two of their hosses sure is. They blasted up the trail on their own a short while ago like the devil wus on their tails. We couldn't stop 'em and they goin' crazy now."

Clara scrunched up her face as she turned back to look at the two animals. They were both caked in dust and grime like they had been rolling in it. One of them looked unharmed and even carried a Winchester strapped into a side-holster, but the other was peppered with little, bleeding wounds similar to those made by buckshot at close range. Turning to face her companions, she pinned Hank to the spot with a dark glare that made the far taller man take a stumbling step backwards. "And you haven't heard or seen anything out there, Hank? Gunfire… shouting… clouds of dust? Anything?"

"Naw, Miss Clara, we ain't seen or heard nothin'. Not a peep," Hank said and shook his head vehemently. "But we can't look all 'round Creagan's Rock… Nelse knows that. There is a couple-a blind spots."

Nelse Rawlings nodded; Clara put her hands on her hips and let out a long, slow sigh. Her fingers began playing a frantic beat on her gunbelt as her face gained a distant expression. "All right. We have a posse out there somewhere. It's the only explanation. It's that wretched Shepard woman. She must have convinced the men to follow her."

"A woman leadin' a posse?" Hank said with a fair amount of good, ol' country boy disdain in his voice. "How? The only way any woman can lead a posse of men where I come from is by runnin' away nekkid an' the fellas be huntin' her down to grab some puss-"

"Keep talking, Hank," Clara said in a voice that had grown so cold it was on the wrong side of frosty. Though her eyes shot fire, a dangerous smile played on her lips. Further below, her hand rested on the hilt of her Colt with her intentions all too clear.

The sentry with the shifty eyes piped down instead and looked at Nelse who nodded once more. "Beg' pardon, Miss Clara," he mumbled, shuffling around on the spot.

Clara's hand didn't leave the Colt, but at least she relaxed her stance and drew a deep breath though her nose. "Nelse, you're in charge of the watch. Hank, go help Royce with the horses. Looks like he could use a hand."

"But, Miss Clara," Hank said and looked up in a panic. "I don't know jack 'bout them hosses… and them large animals scare me shitless! I can't even ride the damn things!"

"Well, it's about time you learned about equines, then. Oh, and watch the hooves. They can crush your balls if they kick you in the crotch. Now, Hank." The cold smile crept onto Clara's face once more, but it faded again when Hank slinked away to a fate worse than death.

While Royce Biederman continued to work on the two panicky horses, Clara shook her head in frustration. "Nelse, we've got trouble in store. Lysette Shepard is out there somewhere. How many men she has with her is impossible to predict, but we can't allow her posse to spring Judge Halvorsen free… we can't allow them to get up here, full stop."

"I understand, Miss Clara," Nelse said, scratching his impressive full beard. "I suppose we need to consider the dawn patrol dead?"

"Mmmm. Yes," Clara said, nodding somberly as she looked at the motley crew of drunken or hung-over outlaws she and her brother had left. She was reminded of the conversation she'd had with her brother where they talked about doing a little housecleaning. If the degenerates were killed in a fierce gun battle against a posse, would she mourn their deaths, or would she cheer over the prospects of getting rid of the unwashed fools? The answer was given from the start, and she let out a dark chuckle at the ease it had come to her. "Nelse, we need to go after the posse. I want you to round up a wild bunch. We need eight to ten men… fast aims and steady hands. Once you have them, bring them over to the ranch house and I'll explain the details. I may even offer a handsome reward."

"Sure thing, Miss Clara. I'll lead it myself-"

"No. I need you to remain here where it's safe," Clara said and began to walk back to the ranch house, leaving Nelse Rawlings to scratch his forehead.

-*-*-*-

It took Nelse less time to assemble a wild bunch than Clara had believed possible considering the pitiful state of the rowdy men in the camp. Barely fifteen minutes went by before the Californian tapped on the windowframe to the office that Clara and Clay had withdrawn to after the incident with the horses.

"We'll be there in a minute, Nelse," Clara said through the open window before she turned her attention back to the maps she was studying with her brother. Furrowing her brow, she tracked the main north-south Copperhead Trail with an index finger until it landed at a spot some twenty-five miles to the south, near a small, dusty settlement by the name of Sledtown. "There," she said, tapping on the map. "If everything falls to pieces here, we have a friend in Sledtown. Remember 'Handsome' Harry Livett?"

"The town boss? He's even more crooked than we are, Sis," Clay said while his right eyebrow crept up his forehead. "Worse, he's pulling the strings of dirty judges, Sheriffs… even a US Marshal from what I've heard. He'll sell us out in no time if the deal he gets is good enough."

"True. We'll have to stay on top of that… later. What Livett does provide is shelter. We won't have any problems finding a safe house for the judge in Sledtown. Also, the town is far outside Zachariah Boone's reach."

Clay stood up straight and shuffled around the table. Leaning forward, he put his hands on the maps and locked eyes with his sister. "But perhaps not for this mysterious Shepard woman you keep talking about, mmmm?"

"If Boone made her a Deputy Sheriff, she'll have to follow the law to the letter. Boone won't tolerate any renegade behavior," Clara said and shot her brother a surly look that made him chuckle.

"Let's see about her. I have the impression she's no regular Deputy Sheriff. Now, Sis… from reading between the lines, I'd say you're thinking about breaking camp after all?"

Sighing, Clara met her brother's eyes and narrowed her own. "Clay, what I'm doing here is drawing up contingency plans. The posse might be too strong for the men we send out to intercept them. We don't know their number, nor their skills. They were strong enough to eliminate the dawn patrol, and we don't have that many able-bodied men left. I'm saying there's a risk we may need to-"

"Run like rats?"

Clara's lips grew into two, thin lines in her face for several seconds before she relaxed her expression and returned to the maps. "Relocate so we can live to fight another day," she said, staring down at the map that showed Creagan's Rock and the terrain to the south of the Longfield Hills.

"Ah, yes. Of course."

"I don't have time for this nonsense, Clay," Clara growled as she snatched her black cowboy hat that had been hanging over the backrest of a chair. "You do whatever you wish to do. I'll be outside talking to Nelse Rawlings."

Stomping out of the ranch house, she walked out onto the top step of the short flight of stairs to survey the men Nelse had found. When she clapped eyes on the misfit brigade that had lined up, she nearly wanted to pull down her hat to protect her eyes.

With the best men killed on the defeated dawn patrol, all that remained of the Beechum gang were the halt, the lame and the blind - or in other words, the cripples, the drunkards and the dimwits. Nelse had found eight men like Clara had wished for, but their worth would be far less than what eight regular men would provide. One man wore a pair of stained long johns and nothing else apart from a gunbelt and plenty of fuzzy hair on his chest and gut. Another looked in-bred for several generations. A third man could hardly stand up straight, and a fourth already had fresh, whisky-induced vomit all over his shirt. The remaining four men looked to be in better shape, but that didn't say much.

Groaning under her breath at the pitiful selection of outlaws, Clara moved up to the edge of the stairs and stood akimbo. "Men! Listen up. We've fed you and kept you well-liquored. Now it's time for you to return those favors. Arm yourselves, take your horses and go out and engage the posse Sheriff Boone has sent after us. Take no prisoners. You hear me? Kill them all. No exception, no mercy. Just kill them all."

The eight men looked at each other with horror etched onto their faces. It was a suicide mission and they knew it.

"And," Clara continued, "for the man among you who brings me the head of the leader of the posse… a tall, dark-haired woman… the handsome sum of thirty silver dollars will be waiting to fill your coffer."

The promise of a cash bonus lifted the spirits of the not-so-wild bunch, and several of them broke out in rebel yells and loud cheers. When they realized Clara didn't have more to say, they turned around and stumbled over towards the stables to get their horses. A small scuffle broke out among them when they tried to enter barn as one, but it was quickly settled.

"I suppose that's another way of breaking camp, Sis," Clay 'Rattler' Beechum said as he walked out onto the top step of the staircase. "Those drunkard fools won't last two minutes in a gun battle. Once they're out of the picture, we'll only have the most loyal left."

"That's my idea," Clara said and moved down the staircase.

While the eight men swarmed around inside the stables to find themselves a horse they could use for the assignment, Clara stomped across the courtyard on a mission to find Royce Biederman and let him in on a different, and more private, part of her plan.

The horse wrangler had finally been able to calm down the spooked pair of horses, and he let them walk around in circles as they worked off their frantic energy. He waved Clara over to him when she was close enough so she could take the rope holding the easiest of the two steeds. "Miss Clara, wouldya mind walking this mare here? I got the one who was peppered with buckshot, but there's nothing wrong with the other one."

"All right," Clara said and took the rope handed to her. The mare had been liberated from the saddle and the blanket that had both been stored against the wall of the ranch house. The animal seemed quiet enough, but Clara kept up the walking regime to allow it to find its own rhythm after the scare. "There's something I want you to do for me, Royce. Quietly. Once those pitiful excuses for outlaws have left, I want you to ready the two-axled buggy we stole in that small town out east, and also the best horses of those we have left. We need at least… hmmm… six. Plus one to pull the buggy."

Royce nodded as he walked around in circles with the horse that had been wounded by Sally Yarborough's home-made buckshot. A few of the wounds had been dressed, but they had run out of bandages so they had left the rest to mend themselves. "Yes, Miss Clara. May I ask why?"

"We may need to leave in a hurry. My brother and I, and our most loyal associates. Yourself, of course. Nelse Rawlings. Possibly Joseph Lane. Earl Donovan if he returns in time. Of course, he'll ride his own horse. Perhaps a few others."

"Lee Carlson?"

"No," Clara said decisively.

With no further comments coming from Clara Beechum, Royce nodded grimly but kept silent - it wasn't his business who lived or died. As a former dragoon in the First Virginia Cavalry serving under the legendary General J.E.B. Stuart, he had lost many friends and acquaintances on the battlefields of the Civil War. The Grim Reaper harvesting souls at random all around him was something he was used to. As long as it wasn't his own, he didn't care.

-*-*-*-

Not too far from where Clara Beechum continued to walk around in circles with the horse she was trying to get calmed down, an interested spectator leaned back and rested his weary head against the support beam he was tied to. Judge J.R. Halvorsen let out a grunt at the fascinating development; it baffled him as he had never seen it coming.

The drunkards and assorted other ragged outlaws that had swarmed into the stables to get the horses hadn't even looked at the two prisoners, and Judge Halvorsen had taken full advantage of the three-ring circus by grabbing the opportunity - or rather, the support beam - with both hands to shuffle around on his abused rear so he could look in another direction. Earlier, he had been staring at the barn door which didn't provide any insight, but now, he could look through the cracks in the logs that made up the outer wall of the building housing the stables.

After the strenuous effort, he was reward by a fairly good view of the courtyard that was bathed in a far brighter light than the gloomy stables. From his new vantage point, he had observed a woman unbeknownst to him speak to a man he knew very well, Clay 'Rattler' Beechum. The similarities between the two were striking, indeed, he would go as far as to call it a strong family resemblance.

Nodding to himself, J.R. Halvorsen mumbled: "So there is a female Beechum… and she spoke in no uncertain terms to Clay Beechum… could she be the true ringleader? Fascinating. I wonder why the law doesn't know of her? Hmmm."

Down on the filthy floor of the stables, Maudie Wilmerton whimpered as she came to from a fitful slumber. Her torn dress hung loose around her body, and her underdress still bore the signs of Lee Carlson's fist grabbing a handful of the delicate fabric. Moaning out loud, she sat up and leaned against the support beam. She tried to close her bare legs, but she couldn't as they were still stuck on either side of the wooden beam.

"Maudie?" Judge Halvorsen said quietly. "How are you feeling? I'm truly sorry I couldn't come to your assistance when that… that… wretched fellow assaulted you last night. I hope you're not too poorly…"

Maudie sighed and turned to face the older man. She tried to smile, but nothing came to her pale lips. Her face had grown an unhealthy, pasty hue from the strain and stress they were under, and it appeared she could barely move a muscle from sheer fatigue. "Oh… I'm… I'm so dreadfully tired," she whispered hoarsely.

"You must be. Once again I apologize for even bringing you on this journey, Maudie… had I known we would be in such grave danger, I would have told the Sheriff of Chinbourne to escort us all the way to Cactus Junction. Alas, I had no idea the Beechums would go this far." Halvorsen sighed and looked down at his ruined suit. Like his secretary, he'd had to relieve himself during the night. It marked the first time he had wet himself since he had been a toddler in diapers, and it was a humiliating experience for the distinguished gentleman.

With the exhaustion, the gnawing hunger and the bone-dry throats that formed a heavy strain on both prisoners, the noose that hung from the rafters had lost its deterring effect. In fact, Judge Halvorsen swore he would take that very noose and tighten it around the neck of Clay 'Rattler' Beechum himself once the death sentence had been issued.

The thought led him back to the woman outside. The dark-haired Beechum was still walking the horse around in a circle, but even as the judge was watching, she stopped and handed the reins to the real wrangler. They spoke briefly before she went inside one of the other buildings.

Judge Halvorsen furrowed his brow again. "Maudie, there's been an interesting development… I do believe the law has been fooled for quite some time."

"I'm… I'm sorry, I can't deal with that now…" Maudie croaked. The fatigue once more rolled over her, and she moved back down on the filthy floor; this time, she kept looking at the older man next to her.

"Oh… no, of course not. But it appears there's a Beechum we haven't known about," J.R. Halvorsen said and shuffled around even further to be able to look at his secretary without straining his already crimped-up neck. "A woman whose features match Clay Beechums to such an extent they can really only be related by blood. It does put several things into perspective… hmmm."

Maudie Wilmerton wasn't in any condition to reply, but it didn't deter Judge Halvorsen from continuing: "Connected to the case built against Clarence Beechum, I have read several witness reports from various hold-ups that claimed that one of the disguised bandits was a figure of slight build and that the person had the behavior and mannerisms of a woman. The law always discarded those reports as foolish since a woman would surely not be able to perform such heinous crimes. Besides, we already knew of the slender Clarence, but… my Goodness, it appears those witnesses were right. If it's true, the female Beechum has been actively involved in hold-ups on trains, stagecoaches, mail deliveries… and she's always as cold-hearted and ruthless as the men she's with. Isn't it a frightening thought that a woman could behave in such a way? What's the world coming to…"

The brief flurry of excitement fizzled out of the old man when he realized it didn't really matter whether or not a woman had been involved in the robberies - and it certainly wouldn't help the situation he and Maudie Wilmerton were in. Sighing, he leaned his forehead against the support beam and continued to stare out onto the courtyard.

-*-*-*-

Ellie Shepard smacked her fist down onto her leather chaps and let out a grunt of raw frustration - the sun had just made its first peek over the horizon. High above the world's smallest posse, the bright, yellow rays of light gleamed across the hitherto bluish-gray sky and draped the whole thing in vivid colors.

They were late. They weren't where they should have been because of the prolonged gun battle against the patrol, and it irked Ellie. According to the plan she and 'Shotgun' Sally had hammered out, they were supposed to have been in place at the top of Creagan's Rock by the earliest light of the new day to take full advantage of the undoubtedly drunken horde of desperados, outlaws and bandits that were just waking up. Now, they had the most difficult stretch still to go, and they had to do it in broad daylight.

Grunting again, Ellie looked ahead at the Longfield Hills and the sandy incline that reached up to the foot of Creagan's Rock. The trail ran all the way to the top, and the lower part bore witness to scores if not hundreds of hoofprints proving that the Beechum gang rarely spared their horses.

Creagan's Rock was one of many jagged, irregular peaks that formed Sawtooth Ridge. Unlike most of the other peaks that surrounded it, it had been shaped by human hands into having a perfectly flat summit that made it a unsurpassed spot for a large homestead or a small ranch. Creagan's Rock was named after Barney Creagan who was responsible for the planning and development of the site in the late 1840s, and for his son Benjamin whose life ended at the hand of Clay 'Rattler' Beechum when the gang arrived to take control over the facilities.

Looking up the sandy trail, Ellie had very little time for a history lesson no matter how interesting it may have been. They were so close they could smell the bonfires - and even the cooking fires - from up top though the stronghold was no less than six hundred feet up from the base of the rock.

The four women were silent as a strong sense of nervousness ran among them. 'Shotgun' Sally didn't even crack any of her patented inappropriate jokes; instead, she cleaned the barrels of both her shotguns to make sure no specks of dust or dirt were blocking the pipes for the inevitable moment when she would need the weapons.

Though the horses moved around a little, nary a command was uttered to keep them calm. Sally's appaloosa stallion was losing his patience and began to sidestep and neigh in search for some action. She finally shushed him, but it was to no avail. "Ellie," she said quietly in case their voices would carry up the jagged sides of Creagan's Rock. "Me and Adonis ain't got nothin' to do here, so I think we'll venture some way up the trail. I'll be real careful so I won't get busted."

"Please," Jezebel said and reached out for her wife. When Sally nodded and smiled, the two women briefly held hands across Adonis and Aphrodite's broad backs.

Ellie let out an affirmative grunt. "Awright, Sally. But watch yer ass, ya hear? Them Beechums is likely ta have sentries posted. We's gonn' wait fer ya here. If ya smell trouble, high-tail it outta there like the Lord Almighty."

"Ya betcha, sweet thing," 'Shotgun' Sally said and nudged Adonis' flanks to get the appaloosa going up the lowest part of the sandy trail. After a few yards, she drew her sawed-off shotgun for close-combat engagements and carried it over her arm to be ready for anything.

Precious furrowed her brow in a huff at Sally's 'sweet thing' comment, but she kept quiet as she watched the buckskin-clad woman venture up the trail with plenty of skill and stealth. A short while later, she gave Thunder's flanks a gentle pair of heels to make the large animal trundle closer to Ellie's Lightning. She smiled nervously as she put an ice cold hand on Ellie's arm. "I don't know if you want me here for this one. I'm so spooked I doubt I'll be able to function if the lead starts flyin'."

Ellie smiled wistfully and took the cold hand between her own, far warmer paws for a gentle, little rub. "Aw, darlin'… ya be fine. Dontcha worry. I'm sorry I dragged ya way the hell out here. I shoulda-"

"You shoulda nothin', Ellie. It was my decision to come," Precious said and let out a deep sigh. "I don't know what I was thinkin'. I don't know if I was thinkin' in the first place. It's not what I expected. It's far more frightenin'. I'm not cut out for this… I'm a waitress, for cryin' out loud, not some gun-for-hire. Oh, gosh golly, I don't know what I was thinkin'…"

"Well, anyhows, I 'preciate ya bein' here 'cos I like ya bein' here. And, ya know, ya woulda been even worse mis'rable back home had I done left alone. Ya be fine, I promise," Ellie said and mussed the cold hand.

Precious sighed again and broke out into a faint smile, but the quiet moment was broken by the distant beating of many hooves. Furrowing her brow, she whipped off her Boss of the Plains to hear better. "Wait… is that Sally back already?"

Ellie spun around and stared up the long, sandy trail. It didn't take long before they could all see a cloud of dust forming and moving down the trail towards the base. "It sure is, an' she be havin' company! A whole lotta company! Them dag-nabbin', low-down, good-fer-nothin' cussed vermin! Quick! Quick, ev'body, turn them hosses around 'n hustle ta safety while we can!"

"Aw, hell!" Precious cried before she heeled Thunder and tugged at the reins. Her hat got in the way, so she mashed it down onto her strawberry-blond locks to be able to hold on with both hands.

The three women tore away from the foot of the sandy trail and forced their steeds into a fast ride around the base of Creagan's Rock. Once at the far side, Ellie pulled Lightning to a dust-flying halt and immediately whipped up her Colt Peacemaker to check that she had a full house at her disposal.

Seeing that, Precious pulled Thunder a stop as well, as did Jezebel atop Aphrodite. With a new bout of worry blossoming in her gut, Precious took out her own weapon but established to her great horror that she had forgotten to reload after the lengthy battle out in the desert. Groaning out loud, she was forced to rely on her ice cold, trembling fingers to pick out the five spent casings from her gun before she could find six new from her belt and insert them into the six-gun's rotating cylinder. She dropped two on the ground as her reluctant fingers kept fumbling with the relatively small brass cartridges, but she had plenty in reserve. When she was finally able to push the cylinder back into the revolver and cock the hammer, she let out a long sigh of relief.

Staring back at the spot where they had been only moments earlier, Jezebel bared her teeth in a worried grimace. Fortunately for her mental state, the uncertainty of her wife's fate was quelled almost at once when Sally came blasting around the corner atop Adonis going hell-for-leather.

'Shotgun' Sally was going so fast the tail on her coonskin hat was wagging behind her, and the soft fur hat was barely hanging onto her blond mop. She had the horse working so hard to get away she couldn't get it to stop in time, not even letting out a roaring "Whoooooooa, there fella!"

Moving nearly twenty yards beyond the rest of the posse, she was finally able to tame Adonis and yank him back the other way. The appaloosa responded at once and took off again at a similar speed.

This time, Sally brought it to a halt right on the mark in front of Ellie and the others. "We got trouble, gals! Eight skunks right up my duff! I rounded a corner and them critters were suddenly there 'bout sixty yards ahead o' me. They came blastin' down that hill like a Goddamned rockslide, cheerin' and whoopin' like they just won a war!"

"Rotten bastards!" Ellie cried and yanked Lightning around at once so they could get away in a hurry if they had to. "They gotta be followin' ya?"

"Dunno if they are. They were goin' pretty Goddamned fast… I dunno if they even saw me or not…"

"Well, we ain't gonn' risk it. Not with the girls here an' eight o' them there coyotes on our tails," Ellie said and holstered her Colt. "C'mon, we need ta move further 'round the rock… mebbe there's another way up or sommin… yah!"

While Ellie took off and Sally followed her, Precious and Jezebel stayed for a few seconds longer; just enough time for Precious to release the hammer and holster her revolver - and to shoot her friend a worried glance. The thunder of many hooves behind them gave them the impetus they needed to ride to safety, so they were soon following their partners' freshly-laid tracks around the base of Creagan's Rock.

---

"Lookie there!" Ellie cried, pointing at a smaller, but equally sandy, trail that had been carved into the far side of Creagan's Rock. Unlike the main trail on the opposite side of the peak, the one they had found didn't appear to have been man-made. It was steeper and the uneven nature of the sand suggested there were rocks hidden below the surface, but it was wide enough for the horses, at least to begin with. "Whoa! Whoa, ev'body! Les' try here… c'mon, nice an' slow now. Sally, ya go first… be ready fer anythin'. I'll help the girls bring up the rear."

Sally laughed out loud as she steered Adonis up onto the lowest part of the smaller trail. "Always knew you liked girls' rears, ya horny devil. Yah!"

"Sally! Really!" Precious huffed. "Do you honestly think this is the right time for-" - Her complaint was drowned out by the rumbling sound of many hooves from somewhere behind them. Instead of carrying on her moaning, she nudged Thunder's flanks and followed the appaloosa up the steep trail.

At the back, Ellie chuckled at her partner's high moral standards, but they would have to put it aside for discussion at a later date. Once she had made sure Precious and Jezebel atop Aphrodite were safely underway, she drew her Colt and turned around so she sat crooked in the saddle - that way, she could keep the trail behind them covered in case they were eyeballed by the outlaws.

For the time being, they were safe. The trail of dust kicked up by the bandits' horses was moving away from Creagan's Rock, but Ellie wasn't going to rejoice just yet. As the sound of the many hooves gradually grew more distant, she released the hammer of her Peacemaker and nudged Lightning into following the rest of the posse up the trail.

---

One hundred and fifty feet further up, the incline grew too steep for the horses, and even Adonis found the going too hard. The appaloosa shook his spotted head and let out a few tired whinnies to inform his rider that enough was enough. "Ellie, I think this is as far as we'll be goin' on horseback," Sally said over her shoulder. Leaning forward, she gave Adonis' neck a good rub-down to show her appreciation of his efforts.

"I hear ya. There still be room he' ta turn them hosses around, so we better stop while the goin's good," Ellie said from down at the back. "Awright… les' dismount. Pick up what ya can carry… guhns an' ammo first an' foremost. Leave the rest o' them supplies here. The water too. We's gonn' come back fer 'em later on, anyhow."

"Or we won't, anyhow," Sally said from up front.

"Naw, les' have a li'l faith goin' here, Sally," Ellie said as she jumped off Lightning. "It ain't gonn' be no better if y'all be fixin' ta quit alreddy. Now we's got the element o' surprise all over again. Ain't nobodda expectin' us ta come up from this side."

Jezebel dismounted her horse with ease, but Precious made a poor landing and ended up on her rump. Embarrassed, she dusted off the seat of her pants and stared down at the sand. She needn't have worried about the reaction of the others as she soon felt a strong arm sneaking around her waist and giving her a little squeeze. "Thanks, sweetie," she whispered for Ellie's ears only.

"Aw, ya welcome. I gone an' done that a hundred times or mo'. Mah butt is flatter than Kansas from all them hard landin's I've done. Ya packin'?"

"Yes," Precious said and patted her Colt, "it's fully loaded."

"Good. Jezebel, ya reddy too?"

Jezebel nodded as she spun and subsequently closed the cylinder of her Smith & Wesson.

"Awright. C'mon, les' move up this here speshul, li'l trail. Sally, ya better hold them there scatterguhns tight… we might hafta blow somebodda ta hell."

"Two in the pipes and all ready to fire, Ellie," Sally said and closed the sawed-off shotgun with a meaty, metallic clunk.

---

Through sheer luck, the steep, sandy trail did in fact lead to the summit of Creagan's Rock; to a distant corner of the courtyard at the Beechum gang's stronghold. Scattered shrubbery and a row of irregular, gray boulders created the perfect protection for the world's smallest posse as they crawled the last few feet across the sandy trail.

Climbing the steep trail had been harder going than they had expected. Warm and sweaty, they all sported dark stains under their arms and down their backs - it didn't help that the sun had cleared the rocks and was beating down on the courtyard. Though it was still early in the day, the bright rays had plenty of effect, and the sand and rock grew ever warmer under the bellies of the four women.

Ellie took off her bandanna to wipe her neck underneath her dark hair that had turned a grayish-brown from all the dust it had been exposed to. Once that part of her skin was moderately dry, she wiped her hands to keep her trigger-finger happy and content. Smirking, she brushed the dust out of her eyebrows and continued onwards.

Up front, Sally put an index finger to her lips to signal the others they should keep quiet. Then she waved them closer to her. Finding a good spot behind a boulder, she crouched down and readied her double-barreled shotgun.

Precious, Jezebel and Ellie crawled up next to her and peeked over the jagged edges of the rocks. Ellie needed a wider field of view, so she crawled beyond the boulders and went into position behind the shrubbery. Taking off her almost brand new - and now outrageously filthy - Stetson and removing her Winchester from her back so they wouldn't get in the way, she let her eyes roam across the courtyard to take in as many details as she could.

They had arrived not fifteen feet from a dilapidated building that appeared to be some kind of crew quarters. Further on to the left, a much flashier building had to be the main house of the former Creagan Ranch; next up came another dilapidated barracks that undoubtedly housed further crew quarters, and finally a one-and-a-half-storey barn with a large sliding door that hadn't been closed fully.

The courtyard was empty save for a burning bonfire, scattered piles of horse manure, shards from a broken bottle of whisky, and the smoldering remains of the cooking fire. A cast-iron pot was still suspended from a metal rack like the cook had had to do something else in a hurry - like running away to save his life.

Voices could be heard speaking from somewhere, but it was impossible to tell from which of the four buildings they originated. They seemed agitated or annoyed, but even that was hard to discern.

"There's nobody here. Now what?" Precious whispered into Ellie's ear.

Ellie rubbed her face to get the dust and sand off her skin. "I'll be gosh-darned if I know," she whispered back. "It's too durn quiet here, that's fer sure. I had expected them there critters ta be swarmin' all ovah the durn place…"

Sally slipped back from her boulder so she could crawl around Precious and up next to Ellie. Once she was in position, she pointed at the wooden barn. "Ya suppose the judge fella might be in the barn? It's worth a look, ain't it?"

"Yeah. Ya think ya can git over there without bein' caught?"

"Me an' Jezebel can do that just fine."

Ellie pulled back to look at Jezebel who nodded in return. "Awright, if ya find the ol' fella in there, come out ta the barn door and give us a sign o' some kind. We'll come over ta help. An' watch yer asses, ya hear? We be so close now, I don't want no accidents of the shootin' kind."

Jezebel smiled and reached over Precious to pat Sally's aforementioned body part. "We'll be safe, Ellie… don't worry about us. We do this all the time back home when we try to catch the horses sprung free by the Beechums."

When Jezebel moved her hand back, Precious took hold of it. "But the horses don't shoot back… please be careful, Jezebel. These people are ruthless killers."

"I know, Precious… we will. Sally?"

"I'll take the point," Sally said and began to crawl further to their left to follow the outside of the row of boulders as far as she could - Jezebel soon went after her, crawling along the sand and scattered rocks like she was part rattlesnake.

The air was thick with tension, and most of it emanated from Precious Mahoney. Sighing, she buried her face in her hands. The space between herself and her partner was suddenly far too wide, so she shuffled to her left until her entire being was glued to Ellie's right-hand side. The touch comforted her, but it obviously couldn't do anything about the dangerous situation they were in. "Ellie… are we goin' to get out of this mess alive?"

"Aw, yer dern tootin' we is, darlin'!" Ellie replied in faint whisper. "At least… I sure hope we is. Lookie he', I ain't done lovin' ya… not by a long shot. But… jus' in case the ol' Reaper does come a-tappin' on our shouldahs, shouldden we kiss now so we's reddy for the long journey to the sky?"

Precious let out a croak that conveyed a whole string of emotions - ranging from stark terror to merciful relief - before she shuffled even closer and met her partner's lips in a tender kiss. It seemed odd to be kissing behind a boulder and some shrubbery, but it wasn't even the first time they had done so.

They were still warm, dusty and sweaty from the climb and the strong sun, but the kiss was one of the sweetest they had ever shared. Ellie and Precious smiled wistfully at each other before they both sighed and returned to the real dramas surrounding them.

Pulling up her Winchester and working the lever action to be ready for anything, Ellie assumed the steely glare she always wore when the chips were down. "Awright, Ah got a plan… now we's gotta wait fer Sally an' Jezebel ta enter the barn ovah yonder. If they signal us that the judge man is in there, we move to 'em an' see how the ol' fella is doin'. Then we grab the ol' fella, move back he' an' head down that there trail we's used ta git up here."

"But what if he's too weak to be moved, Ellie?"

"Well… then we's got ourselves one more dag-nabbin' li'l problem there, darlin'."

Precious scrunched up her face and looked up at the ranch house. The voices filtered through more cleanly now, and it sounded like the people inside were arguing about something. She reached for her Colt, but her trembling fingers couldn't grab the hilt properly. Not wanting to cause a shooting accident, she shoved it back down the holster and let out a long sigh instead.

Ellie sighed as well. She kept one eye on the barn and the other on the ranch house. Shuffling around, she poked the Winchester through the shrubbery and aimed the front sight at the top of a short flight of stairs. If anyone ventured out onto the top step, it would be the last thing they did. "All we done ta do now is ta wait fer Shotgun Sally ta give us a signal. I sure hope it ain't gonn' take too dern long…"

*

*

CHAPTER 9

Like in most bold attempts at heroism, things went well for Sally and Jezebel until a certain point, and that point came when they ran out of cover and had to cross over the main trail off Barney and Benjamin Creagan's old ranch to get any further. To get to the barn, they had to clear nearly thirty feet of wide open terrain. That was dangerous enough in itself, but the matter was complicated further by the two sentries who were watching the trail not ten yards from the spot the two women had arrived at.

Both sentries looked down the trail rather than into the courtyard, but it didn't help much. They were no doubt expecting trouble to come from down in the desert rather than from behind their backs, but they were so close they would be able to spot any kind of movement Sally or Jezebel could make.

Realizing she and her wife were stuck, Sally crawled around and signaled a no-go to Ellie.

"Tarnation," Ellie growled, rubbing her sweaty brow where the dust was sticking in every little wrinkle and nook.

"I can't quite see over there… are they stuck?" Precious whispered into Ellie's ear.

"Aw, looks like it. They be boxed in like a possum's pecker ovah there. Damnations, jus' when things wus lookin' up fer us," Ellie said and looked up from staring down the Winchester's barrel. She tried to track the sandy path the other way around the courtyard to see if they would be able to circumvent the four buildings and arrive at the stables from the other side, but she couldn't see through the dilapidated barracks, so she didn't want to risk anything by assuming the path was clear, so to speak.

Suddenly, Precious grabbed hold of Ellie's arm which made her eyes snap back to the top step of the short flight of stairs. When nobody was there, she turned towards Precious to find out what was wrong.

"Look at Sally… what's she tryin' to do?" Precious whispered.

Ellie looked to her left and saw a buckskin-clad arm move up like Sally was testing something. "Ain't too sure, darlin'… mebbe she's tryin' ta-"

The words had barely left Ellie's mouth before Sally fired off a handful of pebbles and larger rocks aimed at the jagged boulders to the left of the two sentries. The chips and stones rattled like a minor hailstorm on their way down, and did exactly what they were supposed to by alerting the two sentries and sending them on a wild goose chase.

The moment the mouth of the trail was clear, Sally and Jezebel jumped up and sprinted across the thirty feet of wide open terrain. On the other side, they jumped into further patches of shrubbery that would provide cover while they inched closer to the stables.

"Aw, that Shotgun Sally! Ain't she a clever one? Hot-dang, she's sommin else, I tell ya!" Ellie said excitedly.

Precious' reaction was the opposite of excited - grunting, she scrunched up her face into a mask of annoyance. "Perhaps if you ask nicely, she'll marry you too… what's with the gushin' all of a sudden? Should I be jealous?"

"Huh?" Ellie said and shot her partner a puzzled look.

"Never mind. Are they safe over there?"

"Yeah… they's closin' in on that there slidin' door as I speak. Gettin' closer all the dang time. Aw yeah, Sally's peekin' past the door… c'mon, gi's a signal… a signal… is the old fella in there? C'mon, Sally, gi's a sig-"

That's all Ellie had time to say before her eyes caught a flash of color on the top step of the short flight of stairs at the ranch house. Drawing a deep breath, she took her Winchester and lined up the target in the front sights. It was a man in regular, dark-brown cowboy fatigues. He wore a battered, old Stetson that he pushed back from his forehead while Ellie kept a close eye on him; it revealed he suffered from a discoloration of his facial skin that gave him a sinister look.

Precious gasped and tried to dig herself deeper into the sandy ground, but it was to no avail.

"Fella, do yaself a great, big fat favor an' go back in… ya hear me? Go back in, ya vermin," Ellie whispered in a hoarse voice. The cowboy didn't listen. Instead of going back into the ranch house, he reached into a pocket in his vest and found a tobacco pouch. Rolling himself a cigarette, he put it in his mouth and lit up. As the cloud of gray smoke drifted past his steel-gray eyes, he looked up for the first time.

From the other side of the courtyard, Ellie could clearly see that the cowboy had spotted something at the stables that hadn't been there before. He began to go down the set of stairs but changed his mind and stayed where he was. Instead, he shielded his eyes which seemed to do the trick. A sudden, larger cloud of cigarette smoke left his mouth as he turned towards the ranch house while pointing at the barn where the other half of the posse was lurking.

"Oh, Sweet Mother of Christ, he's spotted Jezebel and Sally," Precious croaked, clenching her fists.

Ellie didn't reply. All she did was to observe the cowboy. When it became clear they had reached the end of the line when it came to the stealthy part of their plan, she squeezed the trigger.

At the exact same moment the cowboy opened his mouth to repeat his call to the people inside the ranch house, a red smear the size of a silver dollar appeared at the center of his already discolored forehead. Not only did it blow off his hat, most of the back of his head went with it.

"Oh… God…" Precious croaked as she witnessed the gruesome killing through the protective barrier of her fingers.

"God left these here premises the second them there coyotes the Beechums arrived, darlin'. I'm sorry. It had ta be done," Ellie said and worked the lever action to be ready for the inevitable gunfight. The smoking casing bounced off the boulder before it came to a rest on the sandy ground.

-*-*-*-

The bark from the carbine rolled around the courtyard like a clap of thunder. For a few seconds, everything was quiet save for the noise created by the dead body as it tumbled down the short flight of stairs.

Inside the ranch house, the outlaws all held their breaths. Clara Beechum released hers first, and she did so in a feral growl. "Goddammit! They're up here!" she cried, thumping her fist into the table where she, her brother and the few remaining, most loyal outlaws were gathered to look at the maps of the region to work out the best ways of getting down to Sledtown and the protection of 'Handsome' Harry Livett.

The shot and Clara's angry outburst sent the men into a frenzy. Everybody drew their sidearm and ducked down to present as small a target as possible. Several of them smashed the window panes with the barrels of their guns and returned fire though they had no idea what and where they should be shooting at.

"How the hell did they get past the sentries?!" Clay boomed, cocking the hammer of his Colt. Bending over, he hustled to the windows to look outside. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but the reams of cordite produced by everyone else firing at nothing obscured the far side of the courtyard.

Clara had no time to respond to her brother's question. Her face had turned the same color as a thunderstorm on a warm summer day, and she stomped over to the far side of the office to find an old Henry repeater rifle that she could use.

"Sis?" Clay tried again.

"I can't say. Maybe she knifed the sentries in the back. Who knows?"

" 'She'? Dammit, Sis, there you go again with that cockamamie theory of yours," Clay said and stomped his heel into the floorboards out of sheer frustration. "I'm telling you right now, that's Sheriff Boone and a posse out there, not some titty in heels and done-up hair."

Clara shook her head. When that wasn't enough, she bumped her forehead against the barrel of the Henry and shot her brother a fiery glare. "When will you learn, Clay? When Lysette Shepard is standing over your carcass with a smoking gun in her hand?"

"Pah."

"Enough of this nonsense!" Clara suddenly barked. "Get out there and finish them off! I want you to kill 'em all! Now!" The final word was delivered in such a stentorian roar dust nearly trickled down from the rafters.

The tough outlaws - Royce Biederman, Lee Carlson, Nelse Rawlings and Hank Walton - saw no option but to vacate the office and jump headlong into the gun battle. Royce and Lee smashed the remaining windows and jumped out that way; Nelse and Hank stormed down the corridor, down the stairs past the dead body of Joe Lane, and finally into the courtyard where they threw themselves down onto the hard ground.

"Didn't you hear me, Clay?" Clara said hoarsely. Although she held onto the Henry rifle, she made no move to actually fire it.

Clay 'Rattler' Beechum had remained in a crouch below the smashed windows, but he looked up and shot his sister a dark glare. "Have you lost your mind, sister dearest? Isn't that why we have an outlaw gang in the first place?"

"Get out there, you yellow-bellied excuse for a man!"

"No woman talks to me like that!" Clay roared, jumping up from his hiding place. When mere words weren't enough, he backhanded his sister across the chin; the impact spun her head around and made a line of blood trickle out of the corner of her mouth.

Growling, Clay stomped down the corridor to join the fight in the courtyard.

Clara's chin and cheekbone grew red almost at once, and her right ear was ringing from her brother's tough love. It wasn't the first time he had hit her, and if they survived the attack, it wouldn't be the last. Still, on the inside, her blood was boiling and she had a mind to leave them all behind rather than engage in the gun battle which would no doubt be bloody and violent.

As she stood there, listening to the cracking Colts and Winchesters and smelling the cordite that already drifted across the courtyard, she made up her mind - it was time to abandon ship and start over somewhere else. Throwing the Henry rifle onto the desk that carried the many maps, she stomped out of the office, across the hall and into her bedroom.

It didn't take her long to shed her cowboy clothes and jump into the high-quality, fashionable, white-tan riding suit. After donning her ankle boots, she fluffed her hair out of the ponytail and into a loose 'do that reached a short distance down her back. The wide-brimmed, floppy lady's hat came last and was put on according to the latest fashion pointers from San Francisco.

Now all she had to do was to get to a horse and hurry around the buildings to get to a secret passage, a steep trail that led off Creagan's Rock. She had found the trail by accident one day exploring the perimeter, but had kept it to herself as a good card up her sleeve - and this had all the hallmarks of being the final game at this particular stronghold.

-*-*-*-

"Hey, good news, darlin'! There ain't as many o' them there vermin as I thought they wus gonna be!" Ellie cried in a strained voice as she kept up a strict loading-and-firing regime at the outlaws.

Precious disagreed - she thought they were in plenty of trouble, but she couldn't get her knotted vocal cords untangled for long enough to actually speak. She kept her head well down behind the boulders and only came up for air when Ellie thrust the empty Winchester or one of the Colts in her hands.

The environment reeked to high heaven of cordite, her eardrums were frayed from the incessant cracking of various firearms, and she was in a constant state of stress and high panic of getting woodchips or rock-splinters in her eyes - or worse, being hit by one of the ricochets that bounced all over the place and sent sparks, dust and tiny fragments of rock flying through the air.

Ellie didn't care about any of that. She looked down the barrel of the Winchester and worked the lever action repeatedly until the carbine was empty. When the firing pin clicked on the empty chamber, she thrust it into Precious' waiting hands and snatched the two Colts instead. The handgun didn't have as much oomph across the courtyard as the carbine did, but it would have to do.

"H- h- h- how- how many are- are there?" Precious croaked as she tried to pick out the .44-40 ammunition from the cardboard boxes and insert the cartridges into the carbine.

"Not many, but Ah ain't counted 'em yet! Lemme see… two sentries ovah yonder, but they be pinned down by Sally and her scatterguhns… two vermin by the stairs, that makes four o' them critters. 'Nother two at the foot o' the house… that's six. An' one firin' from a winda. He's higher up so he's got a better aim, that no-good son of a mule!"

"Seven ruthless killers shooting at us…" Precious croaked. Suddenly, she let out a pained groan and waved her hand in the air.

"Darlin'?! Y'awright?"

"I'm f- fine, Ellie," Precious said and sucked on her index finger that had been nicked - not by a bullet or a ricochet, but by the brass lever underneath the Winchester that had snapped forward and scratched her skin.

Ellie's momentary lapse of concentration nearly proved fatal as the five men across the courtyard focused their fire on the shrubbery and the boulders the two women were hiding behind. A hailstorm of burning hot lead pitter-pattered against the outside of the boulders; a few went through the shrubbery, but they all went wide save for one that tore through Ellie's shirt dead-center in the perfect triangle between her arm, her armpit and the vital parts inside her body.

Gulping down a sour lump in her throat over the near miss, she returned fire with both Colts at once to give the outlaws something to think about. "Keep up that reloadin', darlin'! Ain't got too many bullets left in these here six-guhns!"

Precious stared wide-eyed at the torn, blackened shirt, but snapped out of it and returned to reloading the Winchester. She had barely inserted the final of the fifteen rounds before Ellie threw down one of the Colts and reached for the carbine. A loader's work was never done when under fire, and Precious set off at once ejecting the spent brass and inserting new cartridges into the hot Colt.

A hard, sudden boom followed by a wild, rattling scream from a male voice proved that Sally had finished off one of the sentries with her shotgun. A few seconds later, Ellie and Precious could clearly hear 'Shotgun' Sally whoop out loud at the victory.

The other sentry gave up the unequal struggle with the more heavily armed opponents and sprinted across the courtyard while he fired over his shoulder - he didn't notice until it was too late that he had entered the field of fire of Ellie's Winchester that tracked him.

The carbine barked and sent a hot piece of lead into the sentry's side; the bullet struck him dead-center and threw him onto the ground. He lost his gun in the fall, and soon his life.

"Nailed that critter," Ellie mumbled, working the lever action as she swung the Winchester around to find another target at the ranch house. Like every time she moved the brass lever, the spent, smoking casing flew from the carbine and landed on the sand. The impressive pile of brass assembled there revealed just how hard Ellie had been shooting at the outlaws. "Two down, five ta go… ya don't sapose they's gonn' give up without a real fight, do ya?"

Precious couldn't even reply verbally to that ridiculous comment. She just shook her head and concentrated on inserting the fresh rounds into the two Colts that Ellie had emptied. When she was done, she closed the cylinders and let them spin to see if they got stuck on a cartridge that hadn't gone in fully. The cylinders rolled freely and were thus ready to be fired once more.

The loss of the two sentries seemed to confuse the five men at the ranch house. From one moment to the next, they stopped firing but didn't proceed to regroup. A few of them started shouting something unintelligible to the others, and the answers that came back were as hard to understand as the original comments.

Down at the barn, Sally and Jezebel took full advantage of the lull in the fighting and the clouds of cordite that drifted across the courtyard to sprint away from the stables and across the wide open terrain. When they reached the narrow, sandy path behind the boulders, they flung themselves down onto their bellies and began to crawl back to Ellie and Precious.

"Haw! I got the first one!" Sally crowed the moment she slid up next to Ellie. "Of course, you got one too… later on."

Grunting, Ellie never took her eyes off the men at the ranch house. It was clear they were up to no good, but how it would manifest itself was anyone's guess. "I do ba-lieve ya be forgettin' the coyote I nailed at the stairs that done started this whole gum-quackin' mess!"

"Oh… that's right. Damn."

"Aw hell, this ain't no dang-blasted competi-shun… stay focused or they's a-gonn' getcha but good."

"Yeah, I'm focused awright."

"Wus ya able ta peek inside that barn there?"

"We peeked, but it was too damn dark to see anythin', and we didn't have the time to explore it. Couldn't hear no sounds, though. Nothin'."

"Tarnation…"

"An' then we were kinda tied up over there. Ain't that right, cutie-pie? Of course, my cutie-pie likes to be tied up, so…" Sally said over her shoulder.

Jezebel rolled her eyes and crawled further on so she could slip into place next to Precious. "I'm glad to see you're all right, my friend… you're bleeding a little. A ricochet?"

"No," Precious said and let out a dark chuckle. "The carbine bit me when I reloaded it."

Jezebel smiled and reached out to muss the younger woman's shoulders. "I can't tell you how often that's happened to me when I've helped reload my wife's guns out on the practice range. Happens at least once a week."

Smiling at her friend, Precious turned back to the men across the courtyard.

"I don't get it," Sally said, pushing her coonskin hat back to rub her sweaty brow. "What the hell are those skunks waitin' for?"

Ellie shook her head. "Ain't got no dern clue neither, Sally… they ain't even tryin' ta regroup. Mebbe they be waitin' fer them there other outlaws ta return, but… that sounds mi'ty odd ta me. They wus goin' so fast they be in Dry Gulch befo' they can even stop them hosses…"

At the foot of the short flight of stairs, a man with impressive facial hair and a gangly, oafish fellow had been sharing a spot, but it suddenly seemed they were spoken to from up in the ranch house. The man with the facial hair pulled back like he was preparing to get up; before he got up fully, he roared to the others who laid down a murderous cover fire.

"Watch yer asses!" Ellie cried as the firing was suddenly resumed. Burning hot lead from the guns across the courtyard hammered against the boulders and sent chips and ricochets all over. While her three companions ducked down to get out of the firing line, Ellie steeled her jaw and aimed the Winchester at the man with the facial hair who was about to run up the staircase.

Squeezing the trigger, she nailed him in the thigh not far from his crotch. A puff of dust led to a squirt of blood; the man lost his footing and was thrown back down onto the hard ground.

The small victory was enough for Sally and Jezebel to pop up and return fire. The distance was too great even for Sally's long-range shotgun, but she fanned her Smith & Wesson to throw six rounds at the men near the staircase and at the foot of the ranch house.

"Yeeeeee-haw! How ya like them apples, ya mean sons-a-bitches!" 'Shotgun' Sally cried, but her cheering was cut short by the lead that came back at her. Grinning like a maniac, she ducked down behind the boulder and reloaded her handgun.

While that was going on, Precious shook her head and let out a deep sigh of disbelief. It was soon followed by a muted "Nuts…"

Ellie noticed her partner's frustration, but only had time for a brief chuckle before she caught a glimpse of the second of the two men at the staircase making a move. This time, it was the gangly fellow who jumped up and hurried up the stairs. Two quick blasts from the Winchester left a trail of blood up the steps, but Ellie couldn't see if she had hit the gangly fellow, or if the blood came from the man with the impressive facial hair - whichever it had been, the threat from the outlaws at the staircase had been eliminated. "Yeah!" she roared, swinging her Winchester around to the three people firing at her from the ranch house. "We's doin' great, y'all! Keep firin' at them critters! Only three ta go now!"

The remaining three bandits returned fire to the best of their abilities, but it soon became clear they were outgunned and outclassed. The man using the window for protection moved his Colt inside and wasn't seen again; down below, at the base of the ranch house, the two men started a fierce argument.

Their words drifted across the courtyard, and Ellie raised a hand in the air to get her companions to cease firing so they could hear what was said - it soon became clear the men were arguing about running away. Grunting, Ellie moved herself a bit further up so her message would have a free passage to those intended to hear it. "Lissen up, ya pair-a despera-dahs ovah there! This here bein' Deputy Ellie Shepard of Dry Gulch! Ah'm willin' ta give ya one chance… one chance, ya hear? Ta come outta this bizness with yer lifes! Give yaself up now by comin' outta there with yer hands high in the air where Ah can see 'em! Ah'm waitin', but Ah ain't gonn' be waitin' ferever, ya hear?"

Ellie didn't have to wait long. Instead of surrendering, the two remaining men - who were Royce Biederman and Lee Carlson - resumed firing at the posse across the courtyard with their six-guns and rifles.

"Dumb-ass bastards," Ellie growled as she ducked down behind the boulders. "Awright, gals, give 'em hell!"

Working as one, Ellie, 'Shotgun' Sally and Jezebel popped up from behind the cover and fired off enough lead at the two men to cast a five-pound weight worthy of any well-stocked grocery store.

It was impossible to see which of the three women who hit Royce Biederman, but he was struck twice: once in the neck just below his ear that sent a spraying of blood out of the wound, and once at the top part of his left shoulder. He slumped forward and remained still.

Lee Carlson's right arm got one above the elbow, and he received another red rose on his right collar bone. Dropping his guns, he fell down and began to writhe in pain.

"Cease firin'! Cease fi- fer cryin' out loud, Sally, save ya ammo fer folks that ain't dead alreddy!" Ellie barked at 'Shotgun' Sally who found it all a little too amusing.

"Sorry," Sally said and let out a manic chuckle that made Precious let out another sigh of disbelief.

"What, ya think ya bein' Jane Blackie Durham or somebodda? Keep it undah lock an' key fer when we need it, girl!"

Sally chuckled even harder as she finished loading her Smith & Wesson.

"Now, git reddy ta run like the wind fer the ranch house on my command! Watch yaselves! That goes dubbel for ya, darlin'!"

"I'll be careful," Precious squeaked, shuffling around so she could move in a hurry if she had to.

The reams of cordite and the echoes of the rolling thunder created by the countless rounds slowly drifted away from the courtyard. Clenching her jaw, Ellie jumped up and went into a crouch. When they weren't fired upon, she sprinted away from the boulders toward the ranch house. "Hustle!" she cried, which prompted her companions to follow hot on her heels.

-*-*-*-

The gangly Hank Walton's eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets when he caught a glimpse of the gorgeous dame inside Clara Beechum's bedroom. For a few moments, he thought he had died and gone to heaven, but then he recognized the fire that brewed behind the dame's precious eyes. "Boss… whaddahell? This ain't Mardi Gras…"

"Shut up and grab my arm, Hank," Clara 'Birchwood' said and thrust out her right arm. "For once, you're allowed to do all those things to me I'll bet you've been fantasizing about… but I'm warning you, you hurt me for real and I'll castrate you with a dull knife!"

Hank gulped audibly but took the arm offered to him. He cradled it like a newborn pup, but it wasn't enough for the fine dame.

"Harder, you fool! It needs to look real. It needs to look like you're manhandling me across the courtyard. We need to go beyond the sleeping barracks so I can-"

"That ain't gonna work, Miss Clara…"

Clara spun around and pinned the gangly Hank to the spot with a hard glare. "And why not, if I may ask?" she hissed with the charm of a pit viper.

" 'Cos that's where them people firin' at us popped up!" Hank said while he waved his free arm in the general direction of the far side of the courtyard.

Stunned, Clara let out a sound that was a cross between a hiss and a growl. She stared wide-eyed onto the brown floorboards for several seconds before she drew a deep breath and looked up at her fake captor. "Yet another of my plans falls apart. Why not. All right… take me to the barn instead."

"Uh… to the barn?"

"Tell me, are you hard of hearing?!"

"No… but… why the barn?"

Sighing, Clara rolled her eyes and moved Hank's hand back onto her own arm to return to the act. "Forget it. You don't have enough brains to understand… now draw your six-gun and git!"

Hank shook his head, clearly mentally overwhelmed by the whole thing. "But those folks outside are shootin' at us, Miss Clara…"

"They'll stop when they see me. Will you get a move on!"

"Uh… awright," Hank said and grabbed hold of his boss' arm like he would a hostage in a bank robbery. Drawing his gun, he yanked her closer to him so she could act like a human shield.

"Excellent, Hank… you're a fast learner," Clara said as she and the outlaw hurried across the bedroom floor towards the corridor. Soon, they were down at the door that led to the short staircase. Kicking it open herself, Clara dragged Hank outside onto the landing though the gangly outlaw was reluctant to go back outside into the lead-storm.

The woodwork was coated in splattered brains left behind by Joe Lane, and the only man in the camp she considered a confidante, Nelse Rawlings, was at the foot of the steps writhing in pain and bleeding from a nasty wound in his thigh. To Nelse's left, an immobile Royce Biederman looked dead or at least severely wounded, but next to him was a bloody trail leading away behind the ranch house, indicating that someone had made it to safety.

Clara clenched her jaw and assumed a suitably terrified expression which wasn't hard to find - then she noticed the four, heavily armed women running across the courtyard.

Though she was steaming mad at the whole world by now, she couldn't hide a smirk at the sight of their four opponents. Clay, who had gone out at the other end of the ranch house to circle around and catch the posse from the rear, hadn't believed her when she had said the posse was led by Lysette Shepard, but the proof was right there in front of her: four tough, sharp-lookin' women was all it took to bring down a gang of some ill-repute that had terrorized the entire southern part of the Territory and the neighboring States for years.

"You there! Halt!" Hank roared behind his hostage. "Dontcha move a cussed finger or I swear I'll blow this li'l doll straight to hell!"

Ellie raised her hand in the air which made the four members of the posse come to a stop. The four tough women kept their weapons trained on the two people, but held their fire.

Clara didn't know two of the four women, but she could see that Precious Mahoney and Lysette Shepard had already recognized her as Clara Birchwood. It was time to act all girly. "Oh, God! Please don't kill me! Please don't kill me!" she cried in a hysterical voice. Under her breath, she continued: "You're doing fine, Hank… get over to the barn… now."

Hank nodded and began to stumble ahead across the courtyard. It wasn't easy to walk that close to someone and still keep the balance, and his large, clumsy feet stepped on Clara's dainty ankle boots several times on their way over to the stables.

"Y'awright, Clara? Ya name is Clara, ain't it?" Ellie Shepard said, but Clara pretended to be so terrified her only response was a faint nod and loud cry of put-upon raw panic.

Looking beyond the four women, she could see her brother sneaking up on them with a rifle. He was yet to be spotted, but his moment of silent stalking ended when one of the posse - carrying not one, but two shotguns - turned around at the wrong moment and cried out.

Then everything happened at once.

Clay roared out his frustrations and fired off several rounds at the women; the double-barreled shotgun replied to the call with a deafening boom that missed peppering the Rattler in buckshot by inches. It was easy to see it would end in blood and torment, so Clara pulled herself free of Hank's grip and ran the rest of the way over to the barn squealing like a little girl to keep the act going. When she reached the sliding door, she spun around and signaled that the big oaf should join the battle.

Hank just stood there with an even larger question mark than usual hanging over his head, but the lead that zinged past him from every direction convinced him to fire back. Aiming his six-gun, he fired several shots at the four women while he sprinted back to the ranch house where Clay was already waiting for him.

Shaking her head in disgust at the poor quality of outlaws she was forced to work with, Clara ducked into the stables and yanked the sliding door shut after her. Up at the other end of the barn, she could see Judge Halvorsen and the chubby secretary waiting for her. They had both ducked down to be safe from any stray bullets that could find their way through the gaps between the logs.

She began flailing her hands in the air in a sudden onslaught of hysteria as she ran through the length of the barn. Once she got to the two support beams that had been used as restraining bars for the two prisoners throughout the duration of their incarceration, she threw herself down onto her knees and grabbed hold of the judge's chains. "Oh! Oh, what a terrible ordeal for me! Oh my Sweet Lord, I've finally managed to escape my captors… they've held me prisoner for days! I have had neither food nor much to drink… and they've fed me old bread and stale water. Please, good Sir, please let me stay here with you…"

Judge J.R. Halvorsen stared wide-eyed at the woman in the white-tan riding dress. As a result of his exhaustion, it took him nearly a minute to recognize her; to realize that she wasn't someone the Beechums held prisoner, but a Beechum by blood. "I see, Miss…?" he said in a skeptical, though civil tone of voice.

"Birchwood! Miss Clara Birchwood! I'm an honorary member of the Association of Christian Housewives of Dry Gulch… and you are, Sir?"

"Circuit Judge Jacob Roderick Halvorsen, Miss Birchwood," the judge said and shuffled around on the hard floor so he could get a better view of the smart, young woman. When he saw her profile, all doubts were erased from his mind. She was a Beechum. Grunting, he pinned her to the spot with a hard glare from his burning, red eyes. "You might as well stop preten-"

A metal tool was suddenly shoved aside behind the two people. The unexpected clang made Clara and the judge jump and stare further into the semi-darkness. "Well, well, well… if it ain't the boss lady dressed like a real woman for a change," a man said in a pained voice down the other end of the barn.

Clara recognized the voice and spun around to face the intruder. "Lee," she said in a hoarse croak.

The blonde youngling Lee Carlson came stumbling into the barn with a face that had pain written all over it. He had blood-splatters up the side of his face, and even into his blond hair that had turned into a haystack after he had been shot. Further blood had seeped through his shirt in two spots on his right-hand side, at his upper arm and at the base of his collar bone. As a result of the wounds, his right arm hung limply down his side rendering him unable to take and use his sidearm.

He was hunched over to combat the fiery tendrils of pain that undoubtedly coursed through him, and the knuckles on his left hand were all white. Not just because of the pain, but from clenching the ten-inch hunting knife in his fist.

"I'll be a son of a bitch, boss lady… ya got tits!" Lee slurred as he stumbled closer to Clara and the two prisoners. Down on the filthy ground, Maudie Wilmerton whimpered and tried to close her legs. Lee didn't worthy her a look now he had far leaner meat to leer at. "Look at those nice, firm tits… aw, they so fine. Why ain'tcha never let us see ya tits, boss…?"

Clara bared her teeth in a feral sneer as she clenched her fists. She would have ruined her act had she brought a proper sidearm, so she hadn't; all she carried was a tiny Derringer in her coat pocket, but that wouldn't be able to stop the near-insane man at all. Lee Carlson had to die once and for all for messing up her plans, and the only one there who could do it was her. His knife was the answer. "It's the pain talking, Lee… you're not making any sense," she said, sliding closer to the wounded outlaw while never taking her eyes off the long blade carried by the youngling.

"Aw! I'm makin' plenty of sense. Come on, let me see your tits, boss lady… just once," Lee said as he shuffled closer to Clara and the two prisoners. He moved up the knife and held it flat across his gut like he had sussed out that Clara Beechum was going to try something devious. "I love tits. I'm a tits kinda guy… that's the first thing I always say to whores when I visit the cockchafers… show me your tits, baby. You wanna know what I say next?"

"No!" Clara growled.

Judge Halvorsen went a step further and spat on the floor close to Lee Carlson's boots. "You, Sir, are an uncouth, despicable rascal! Such outrageously vulgar talk in the presence of ladies is vile and uncivilized!"

"I say…" Lee said, ignoring the comments from the peanut gallery. His eyes flashing, he suddenly took a longer step forward so he was within striking distance, not just of Maudie Wilmerton, but of Clara Beechum as well. "I always say, I ain't gonna pay you 'cos I'm doin' ya a favor… I'm the best screw you'll ever have," he said in a cold, dangerous whisper.

He locked eyes with his boss for a split second before he closed the distance between them and moved up his arm, intending to press the knife against her throat. "Now get nekkid, bitch! I wanna see you on the floor with your cunt spread wide op-"

Before Lee Carlson could complete his vulgar statement, Clara grabbed his uninjured arm and twisted it around so hard his shoulder blade went out of joint with an audible crunch. Dropping the long knife, Lee screamed to high heavens begging for mercy, but mercy couldn't have been further from Clara Beechum's mind.

With her opponent disabled and screaming, she bent down and retrieved the knife. The blade was heavy but perfectly balanced in her hand, and she could see and feel that it had been made by a master blacksmith.

Smiling coldly, she grabbed a fistful of Lee's blond mane and yanked his head back. The path was open for the knife, and she sliced the edge across the soft throat from ear to ear before she let him go.

Lee Carlson fell down onto his knees at once. Both arms had suffered terrible injuries so he was unable to stop the blood that gushed from his slit throat. Gurgling, he fell face-first into the filthy hay.

Above him, Clara knelt down and buried the blade hilt-deep into his heart to make extra-sure he would be dead in seconds. When the body had stopped twitching, she got to her feet and dusted off her hands. "I hope you felt every last inch," she said to the dead body.

Maudie Wilmerton had long since fainted. Judge J.R. Halvorsen was speechless, but he could at least shake his head, so he did. "You… are… an… insane, stone cold killer… you just ended a man's life… and you're unaffected…" he croaked after a few seconds.

Clara sighed and stood akimbo. "He had it coming. Would you really view me differently if I was wailing and moaning… or perhaps crawling to Salt Lake City on my hands and knees in a quest for redemption or salvation? Hardly. Never mind Lee Carlson. He was a waste of space. Now you, Judge Halvorsen… you already had me figured out, didn't you?"

"Yes!" the old man spat. His face had grown ruddy from the horrors he had witnessed, but the color brought back some of his old fighting spirit. "I saw you earlier today… through the gaps in the wall. You were dressed in cowboy fatigues walking a spooked horse."

"Indeed. Amazing. Ah yes, defeated by a circuit judge. It had to happen sooner or later," Clara said and reached into her coat pocket. She produced the small Derringer and cocked the hammer at once. "Consider it your last great triumph. Since you know about me, I can't let you live. Nor her. I fear you shall die now, old man."

An expression of pure horror fell over Judge J.R. Halvorsen's face, and his round eyes never strayed from the black hole at the tip of the Derringer's muzzle.

-*-*-*-

Outside in the courtyard, the gun battle rolled back and forth. Hank Walton and Clay 'Rattler' Beechum had dug in near the foot of the stairs where Nelse Rawlings was already busy bleeding, and Ellie Shepard and Jezebel Behrle - who had moved closer to the barn - had them pinned down with a heavy cover fire to protect 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough who was sneaking up on the two men.

Reams of cordite drifted across the courtyard, and burning hot lead zinged back and forth. It soon became clear both parties had reached a stalemate as a result of their limited field of fire, and an eerie silence fell over the battlefield once the last echoes of the gunfire had faded away.

"Tarnation," Ellie grumbled, thrusting the empty Winchester into Precious' waiting hands for reloading. "We ain't doin' nothin' but shootin' at thin air he'… what a cussed mess. They be protected by that there staircase, and we be hidin' behind this here barn. We's gonn' end up sittin' here tamorra aftanoon if we ain't gonn' find some way ta lure them critters outta there."

Jezebel popped her head around the corner of the wooden building to make an assessment and to check up on the progress of her wife. "Where's Sally? Huh, she'll still got some ways to go…"

"Yeah," Ellie mumbled, looking at the buckskin-clad, coonskin-hat-wearing figure who crawled along the outer wall of the barn on her belly. Sally had insisted she wanted to get closer to have a little shotgun-action, but now her plan seemed mad at best, suicidal at worst. "Them two fellas ovah there is jus' about ta see her, I reckon. One of 'em is definitely Rattler Beechum… dunno who that other fella is. He's a big oaf, that's fer sure."

Working hard behind the two shooting women, Precious stocked the Winchester with the full load of .44-40 cartridges before she worked the lever action and tugged Ellie's pant leg. With all the practice she'd had, she was getting good and efficient at it, but she hoped it wasn't a skill she would need once she went back to waiting tables at the Papa Joe's eatery back home in Dry Gulch. "Ellie," she said, letting out a tired sigh. "It's ready to fire…"

"Thanks, darlin'," Ellie said and reached down without taking her eyes off her two opponents at the staircase. Like the outlaws at the foot of the house had done earlier, the Rattler and the other fellow seemed to argue pretty fiercely. "Jezebel, perhaps ya oughtta go inside this here barn and see how the ol' judge man is doin'…? An' that lady… whatshername… Birchwood. Clara Birchwood."

"It'll have to wait, Ellie… I ain't leaving before my wife is safely back… or we won this darn shooting contest."

Ellie grimaced at her thoughtlessness - had it been Precious out there, the world would have needed to hold a white-hot branding poker to her butt to force her into going anywhere. "Yeah… I'm sorry, Jezebel… I dunno what I wus thinkin'."

Jezebel nodded but suddenly noticed something odd across the courtyard. She could still see two figures hiding behind the staircase, but one seemed to be highly immobile all of a sudden. "Ellie… am I seeing things, or is there something fishy going on over there?"

"Fishy?" Ellie said and shielded her eyes to see better against the strong rays of the low, glaring sun. "Well, I ain't seein' nothin' different from… from befo'… hold yer hosses right there, pardner… hell yeah, I am. Them ain't the same two vermin they wus a minute ago… the Rattler is gone! And that there bearded fella we alreddy shot once has done crawled up the cussed staircase!"

"Like before where the Rattler tried to sneak up on us from behind… dammit!"

"That dang-blasted critter! They named him afta the right sorta snake, awright," Ellie said and pulled back in a hurry. She swept around the far corner of the barn to look behind the frayed, wooden building, but couldn't see anything untoward. The landscape consisted of dense shrubbery and irregular boulders that could easily hide a man, but there didn't appear to be anyone there at present. "Cussed vermin!" she growled and moved back to the corner that led to the courtyard.

"Darlin', quit loadin' that there Colt and arm yaself. The Rattler's on the loose again," Ellie continued as she reached down and gave Precious a hand up.

"Oh, Sweet Mother of Christ, won't he ever give up?" Precious said and let out a trembling sigh.

"Only when Ah'm squattin' ta take a piss on his grave, that no-good skunk… now, git inside the barn an' dig in, ya oughtta be safe in there. Awright?"

"All right," Precious said and stole a quick kiss while she had the chance. The sliding door wasn't heavy to pull though it what somewhat frayed, so she was able to step inside and secure everything with very little hassle at all.

The kiss was nice, and Ellie regretted at once they couldn't do it again. With Precious out of the way, she hustled back to the corner and drew a deep breath. "Sally!" she roared at the top of her lungs. Further down the side of the barn, the buckskin-clad figure turned around and waved to signal she could hear the Deputy. "Make yer move! Only one vermin left ovah there!"

Sally whooped and jumped up from her hiding place with her close combat, sawed-off shotgun ready to blast anything and anyone to hell with a double dose of homemade buckshot pellets. Under fire from the only healthy man at the staircase, she zig-zagged across the courtyard until she was within range. The hard, echoing boom from the shotgun was instantly followed by a gurgling scream.

At the staircase, Hank Walton rose to his full, gangly height and stumbled down the steps pressing his hands against his guts. Dozens of red roses were already blossoming through his well-worn fatigues. He took but a single, wobbling step onto the courtyard before he collapsed in an unruly heap and became stock-still.

"Hustle!" Ellie said over her shoulder as she stepped away from the barn. She took full advantage of her long legs and was able to storm across the courtyard in no time flat. The gangly, oafish fellow was dead, that didn't take a college degree to figure out - there were more guts next to him than inside him - but the other fellow, the bearded man, had still only taken that one hit in the thigh that Ellie had given him earlier in the battle.

Training the Winchester at the man's chest, Ellie came to a hard stop in front of the second-to-last survivor. "I be Deputy Lysette Esther Shepard of Dry Gulch, an' these here fine ladies is Jezebel Behrle an' Shotgun Sally Yarborough… ya alreddy seen what she can do with that there scatterguhn. Be a smart fella and surrender while ya still got all yer guts inside ya, unlike yer pardner there."

Holding his hands straight up in the air, Nelse Rawlings stared wide-eyed at the three bone-tough women standing above him. There wasn't any point in continuing a fight that had long since been lost, so he nodded so hard his impressive facial hair flew all over the place. "I give up… I give up, Deputy Shepard."

A broad grin spread over Ellie's face at the sound of her title being spoken by an outlaw she had defeated. "That dern sure be a mi'ty clever decision, fella. Where's that mean skunk, the Rattler?"

"He split."

"Yeah, huh? We got eyes, fella. Where he be off ta?"

"Dunno."

Ellie squinted this way and that in the hope of catching a glimpse of Clay 'Rattler' Beechum, but the last remaining outlaw was nowhere to be found - it was too quiet, and it made her skin crawl. "He ain't yella so he ain't gonn' split fer real. Sally, check out the barn. That son of a mule gotta be around he' somewhere."

"I'm on it, Ellie," Sally said and hustled away from the ranch house.

"Anyhows," Ellie said turned her attention back at the bearded man. "Ya packin'?"

"It's on the ground over there," Nelse said and pointed at a Colt Peacemaker that was half buried in dust and dirt.

"Awright. Jezebel, take his guhn an' store it. What's yer name, fella?"

"Nelse Rawlings."

"Well, Nelse… this bein' yer lucky day. We's gonn' let ya live. If ya behave. If ya ain't, we's gonn' kill ya stone dead like that other fella there. How's that sound?"

"Sounds fair enough, Deputy."

"Yer dern tootin' it does. Jezebel, stay here an' keep an' eye on this here despera-dah. Watch yer ass fer that Rattler fella. He's a mean piece of trash."

"Will do, Ellie," Jezebel said and cocked the hammer of her Smith & Wesson to make Nelse Rawlings understand she wouldn't mind at all to carry out the death sentence if the outlaw did anything stupid.

---

Heading back to the barn with her carbine in her hand, Ellie turned the corner at a fair clip, but found her progress severely halted when she bumped into a shadowy figure who was loitering at the sliding door. Their legs got entangled and both nearly went on their rears, but they managed to stay erect by flailing their arms and letting out oaths and curses. "Owch! Sally, fer cryin' out loud! Whatcha standin' there fo-"

Then she realized the person she had bumped into wasn't 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough at all, but someone far more sinister and even downright lethal. "Rattler Beechum," she said in a low, aggressive tone. Her eyes instantly gained her patented steely glare, but for once, she got as good as she gave from Clay Beechum's dark eyes.

"A woman?" the outlaw croaked hoarsely. "We were defeated by a woman?"

"Read 'em an' weep, ya skunk!" Ellie said and swung up her Winchester to nail the critter once and for all, but she underestimated the Rattler's ability to strike and lost the carbine when it was kicked from her hand and into the shrubbery. Her trigger finger was already inside the shield, and it received a painful twist when she lost her grip on the weapon.

A tendril of white pain shot into her wrist and up her arm, but she didn't have time to complain before Clay had jumped her. His superior weight forced her backwards for several paces until she stumbled over an unseen rock and took a hard tumble. The wind was knocked out of her by the heavy load resting on her gut and abdomen, but the situation grew far worse when she was elbowed across the chin and subsequently throttled by a strong pair of hands that were wrapped around her throat.

Her breath was cut off at once by the pair of thumbs that pressed down onto her windpipe, but although her heart was trying to hammer its way through her ribs, she wasn't about to roll over and die as easy as that. When she realized she had her hands free, she took full advantage of it by boxing the Rattler over the ears - once, then once more.

When the thug cried out in pain and released the grip ever so slightly, she punched him on the side of his neck directly at the bulging vein. It startled him even worse, and Ellie was able to press him off and away from her.

Rolling over onto her side, she let out a fierce grunt and jumped up on her knees. Clay fell off her, and she fired off a punch to his crotch that made him squeal like a piggy. The punch was followed by another in the gut, and finally one on the chin. "Quit fightin', ya dang-blasted moron! Ya ain't gonn' win this one!" she cried hoarsely while she fired off another punch into Clay's gut to keep things equal.

Unfortunately, Ellie once more underestimated the Rattler's manners and civil behavior. Instead of listening to the Deputy, he grabbed a handful of dirt and pebbles and flung the filthy load at her face.

Groaning, Ellie moved up her hands to shield her eyes, but her opponent used the moment of confusion to grab hold of her shirt and pull her down towards him while he moved himself up at a fast rate of knots. Their foreheads made a clonking impact somewhere in the middle, and Ellie let out a throaty cry and fell backwards onto her rear.

Clay jumped up at once and repaid the earlier favor by punching the Deputy hard in the lowest part of her gut. Breaking out in an evil grin, he wrapped his hands around the tall woman's throat all over again intending to throttle her to death. He added more and more pressure to the fragile tissue under his thumbs; when he heard the woman moaning, he got ready to add the final thrust.

He never had the time - from one moment to the next, a pitchfork met his upper back and made a million, bright-yellow stars explode in his vision. Wobbling badly, he took his hands off Ellie's throat and tried to sit up, but another, equally hard whack from the pitchfork came his way at once. A final impact against the back of his head sent him hurtling forward into a pitch black chasm.

"Ellie!" Precious cried and threw away the farming tool. Kneeling in a hurry, she began to shove the unconscious Rattler Beechum off her sweetheart, but she was unable to shift the heavy load by herself. "Sally! Sally, come quick! I need you! Now!" she roared over her shoulder.

Racing out of the barn, 'Shotgun' Sally quickly surveyed the situation before she ran over to the gang leader and grabbed hold of his wide leather belt. With a heave-ho, she shoved the unconscious man off Ellie and into the shrubbery. "Is she all right?" she said as she looked around for some rope to tie down the Rattler so he wouldn't cause more problems.

"Ellie, oh, please… come to!" Precious cried, giving her sweetheart's shoulders a good shaking.

"Wha-?! Darlin'? I got run ovah… mah head hurts," Ellie croaked, flailing her arms in the air to grab onto the person she knew was there. When she made contact with Precious' hands, she held onto them and allowed herself to be helped up into a sitting position. Cracking open an eyelid, she established that she was still alive, and that every last square inch of her forehead hurt like she had used it as a sledgehammer. "Owch… that mean ol' skunk… low-down, good-fer-nothin' nasty critter… tryin' ta bash in mah noggin…"

"But are you all right?" Precious said, squeezing Ellie's hands.

"Uh… I s'pose. Nothin' broken, I don't think… naw. I can breathe an' everythin' so that son of a mule didden gone and broke mah nose. I didden do nothin' wrong, darlin', I jus' kinda-"

"Became his punchin' bag," Precious said darkly. "Can you get up?"

"Dunno. Punchin' bag? Owch… don't let that get out, or my repewtashun is wrecked ferever back home in Dry Gulch… an' everywhere else fer that mattah…"

Precious let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes at the same time at her partner's priorities. "I won't. Your secret is safe with me, Deputy Shepard. Now come inside the barn… I'm afraid I've got bad news. We were too late. The judge is dead."

Ellie jerked to a halt halfway up and halfway down. Staring wide-eyed at her sweetheart, she thumped a heel into the filthy ground and let out a resounding "Damnations!"

*

*

CHAPTER 10

Ellie needed a supporting hand for the first few steps, but then her instincts took over and told her a Deputy Sheriff shouldn't require assistance to walk. On the other hand, a Deputy Sheriff should certainly have the arm of the prettiest girl in town, so she didn't mind at all when Precious clung to her like a burr the entire way down to the three people at the far end of the stables.

The environment was ripe to say the least, and everybody crinkled their noses as they walked the last few yards. "Hot-dang," Ellie mumbled as she slapped her almost brand new - but now somewhat battered - Stetson against her leather chaps before she mashed it down onto her black, dusty locks.

Judge Halvorsen hung passively from the sturdy chains keeping him tied up; he had a bleeding wound on his forehead, and his facial skin was pale and waxen. Maudie Wilmerton was lying stock-still on her side with an angry red mark on her chin like someone had clobbered her. The blood that had seeped from Lee Carlson's slit throat formed a pool that had caked in the filthy hay underneath his dead body, but the knife that stuck out from his back still glistened - and finally, Clara Birchwood leaned against one of the support beams weeping quietly into a girly, pink handkerchief.

"Well, I'll be a Texas Tornadah," Ellie mumbled as she tried to fathom the carnage that must have taken place in the stables. After swinging the Winchester over her shoulder, she pushed her hat back from her forehead that had already begun to flush red after the nasty headbutt. "What in Sam Hill done happened here? Miss Clara, ya be the only one here who ain't got a dag-nabbin' scratch on ya… wouldya mind tellin' us how the ol' judge fella there ended up gettin' his harp an' wings early? And who the durn-blazes is that lady down there?"

"Oh, Miss Lysette," Clara said while sobbing into her pink handkerchief, "it's such a tragic, tragic mess. I was held captive by the wretched Beechum gang for several days without much food or water… they abducted me when I traveled south on my way to Sutter's Quarrel!"

Ellie shook her head at that information, but regretted it at once as the flesh on her forehead felt like it was about to fall off. "Ya tellin' me the Beech- oh… owch… darn that critter… the Beechum skunks done spread their nasty li'l bizness way the hell out west to Sutter's Quarrel?"

"West? No, no," Miss Clara said, shaking her head, "I rode south to Sutter's Quarrel."

"Sutter's Quarrel ain't down south. It's way the hell out west," Ellie explained in a tone of voice she would use to tell a kid to quit stealing from the bakery. "Aw, never mind that now… what happened ta the judge and this woman he'?"

"Oh, it's so tragic, Deputy," Clara said and wrung her hands. "The dear old man was hit by a stray bullet that came in through the many gaps between the logs. Oh, it was the most horrific sight! He had just told me of his grandchildren and how he was looking forward to meeting them again. I swear, the dear old man never felt a thing. From one moment to the next, that frightful wound appeared on his brow. He fell back at once, dead."

Precious furrowed her brow and looked at the cracks between the wooden logs. They were big enough to allow a bullet to go through, but the bleeding wound on the judge's forehead certainly wasn't wide enough to have been made by a .44-40 Winchester or a .45 caliber round from a Colt Peacemaker - not that she was an expert, but she had seen plenty of gun-related suffering to know what kind of damage they would afflict on a human being. "Mmmm. Tragic. Do you know who the other lady is, Miss Clara?" she said and shuffled over to the prone woman.

"Oh, I do believe it's Miss Maudie Wilmerton… she was Judge Halvorsen's secretary. The poor thing. When I came in here after escaping my captor, that ugly brute right there," - Clara Birchwood pointed at Lee Carlson's body - "was attacking her, and forcing her to do unspeakable things. The shock and stress must have been too much for her."

"The shock clobbered her on the chin, did it?" Precious said and furrowed her brow.

Clara Birchwood briefly stared at the two women before she broke down in a howling sob and buried her face in the pink handkerchief. "I cannot say, Miss Precious! Please don't interrogate me! Oh, I'm so tired after the dreadful, dreadful experience!"

Moving back, Precious locked eyes with Ellie and sent her partner a silent message conveying how little patience she had with the rich, spoiled woman.

Ellie chuckled as a reply, but even that made her abused forehead ache so she stopped at once. "Well, awright… but who done an' mashed a toothpick inta that fella down there, then?" she said and pointed her thumb at the dead, blond outlaw. "Aw, ain't got the time nor the inclanashun ta be gettin' worried 'bout that now. Les' find some bolt-cutters or sommin so we can liberate them there nice folks from their shackles. Darlin'?"

"I'll look… maybe I'll find it where I found the pitchfork," Precious said on her way over to the many tools that covered the far wall underneath the hay loft.

"Aw! Aw, that wus you? I wus wonderin' how the durn blazes that Sally gal coulda busted a pitchfork across that mean skunk's head when she wus som'place else at the time!"

Clara fell quiet as she observed the two, very different women near her. She already had a hunch based on their behavior in town, but now it was confirmed by the familiar tone in which they spoke that they were on intimate terms; how 'intimate' was another chapter entirely. She only knew them peripherally from Dry Gulch, but she sensed that they shared everything they had. A cold, calculating smile crept onto her lips. Those people always wanted to keep their relationships hidden from the world's prying eyes. Perhaps she should exploit that tidbit of information to create some pressure in what was undoubtedly a conservative state. Perhaps she could even exploit it to gain inside knowledge of the workings at the law office. The possibilities were endless.

Precious grinned. "Yeah, that was me. Sally ain't the only tough dame around here, you know," she said and turned around to blow her partner a little kiss. "Are you sure you're fine?"

"Aw, I'm jus' peachy here, li'l darlin'. Now git. I'll entertain this here fine lady while ya be lookin'."

Commotion down at the back of the barn made everyone look, but it was only 'Shotgun' Sally dragging the unconscious Clay Beechum into the stables and dumping him onto the largest pile of hay she could find. He was safely tied up, but she added another layer of safety by taking another rope and tying his legs together as well. She completed the job by connecting the two ropes so all he would be capable of on his own would be to wet his pants. "Done…" she said and dusted off her hands. "Can't tell ya how long I've dreamt of doin' just that. Aw, this' the second best day o' my life so far. Y'all can make one guess as to which one the best day was."

Ellie chuckled and looked back at Clara Birchwood who seemed to follow everything closely with her intelligent, sharp eyes. She studied her for a little while; there was something nagging at the back of her mind regarding the fine, upstanding citizen of Dry Gulch, but she put it down to the stress she had been exposed to in the struggle - though it was weird Clara's face was clean as a whistle after she had been held captive for days. The judge and his secretary were both filthy, but perhaps that was a result of the environment in the stables.

"Speakin' of which," Sally continued, "would any of you nice gals happen to know where my wife is? It's been far, far too long since sizzlin' Jezebel and me swapped some spit… I really need to see if my tongue can still recognize my wife. Haw, Lordy, imagine if I hafta get to know her all over again…" - Sally stressed the 'all over' part and let out a saucy chuckle.

Precious returned carrying a pair of fence-cutters that she hoped would work on the sturdy chains as well. She only caught the last part of Sally's comment, but it was enough for her to scrunch up her face and mumble a muted "Well, really…"

"Jezebel is outside guardin' the bearded fella Ah clipped in the leg," Ellie said over her shoulder.

"Thanks, ya skinny devil! I be out there makin' sure my wifey remembers who she's married to!"

Precious slowed down to roll her eyes and let out a deep sigh, but she eventually made it the rest of the way over to the people who needed her help. Kneeling next to the prone Maudie Wilmerton, she slid the jaws of the fence-cutter tool around the chains and began pressing down on the long arms.

It took more pressure than she could provide on her own, and she needed the assistance of Ellie's strong arms to sever the first chain; the one that forced Maudie's legs to be wrapped around the support beam. Working together - and uttering plenty of grunts - they managed to get it snapped so it fell to the filthy floor with a clang. "Phew… thank you. That was tough… only three more to go," Precious said and wiped her damp brow.

The chain holding Maudie's arms pinned down was soon dealt with as well, and while Ellie removed the chains carefully so they wouldn't nick the prone woman's skin, Precious shuffled over to the dead judge to begin working on the next pair.

She had barely put the fence-cutter tool to the chain holding the old man's arms in place before the supposedly dead man let out a long, croaking groan and leaned further forward. Clara Birchwood, Ellie and Precious all froze in place and stared wide-eyed at the body that turned out to be quite a bit less dead than they had all believed.

Judge J.R. Halvorsen let out another long, pained groan as he leaned forward and grabbed hold of the support beam with both hands. The blood that seeped down from the lead-inflicted wound on his forehead ran into his eyebrow and further down into his lashes. He shook his head to get rid of it, but clearly regretted it at once as he let out another pitiful groan.

"What in Sam Hill is goin' on he'? Didden ya say he be dead, Miss Clara? That dern sure don't look dead ta me!" Ellie said in a low, dangerous voice. She pinned Clara Birchwood to the spot with a steely glare that made the dainty woman bury her face in her pink handkerchief. "An' that teeny-tiny li'l wound… ain't no way that was made by a Colt or a Chester."

"But… but… he was shot in the head! A bullet came through… came thr- how was I supposed to know he didn't die?!" Clara Birchwood cried and promptly broke out in an endless, wild, girly bout of sobbing.

Precious smiled at her partner's logic - she had been right when she had arrived at the same conclusion earlier. Snapping out of her fright that had marched across her back like an army of ants when the supposed corpse had moved, she patted down her pockets for a clean kerchief of some kind to wipe off the blood so it wouldn't get into the judge's eye and cause more problems. "Ellie, do you have a clean hankie? All mine are too dusty… we need to stop that bleeding."

"Naw, darlin'," Ellie said and tried all her pockets. She found a handkerchief, but it was unspeakably filthy from all the dust they had been exposed to out in the desert. Stuffing it back down the pocket it came from, she searched for her bandanna but couldn't find it anywhere. "Aw, I gone an' lost mah favorite bandanna! Aw, fer cryin' out loud!"

"I'll buy you a new one," Precious said and turned back to the old, bleeding man.

"Beechum… Beechum…" Judge Halvorsen croaked in a faint voice.

"What's that, Sir?" Precious said, but didn't get an answer. She hopped around to the old man's other side while pointing at the chains that still pinned him down around the support beam. "Ellie, cut him loose… we need to get him to lie down… maybe he can speak more clearly."

"Will do, darlin'," Ellie said and went to work with the fence-cutter tool. With a good, strong heave-ho, she cut through the chain holding the old man's hands.

The judge groaned and fell forward, but Precious saved him from bumping his head into the beam. "Good! Now his legs…" he said as she supported his upper body.

"Uh-huh! Ah'm doin' it… Ah think Ah'm doin' it… Ah'm saposed ta be doin' it…" Ellie said and tried again and again to get the tool's jaws to cut the metal. "Aw, good-gosh-darnit them chains is strong down there! Whaddahell is they made of?"

"Beechum… Beechum…" the judge croaked again. His lips moved further, but he couldn't get anything more across them.

Ellie's grunts grew louder and louder as she tried to get the fence-cutters to sever the sturdy chains. Finally, she had to spit in her hands and give it one, last heave-ho. When she snapped the metal, the chain went one way, the fence-cutter tool the other, and Ellie herself nearly went head-first into the support beam. She saved her forehead from further calamity, but bumped her shoulder instead. "Owch, mah shouldah! Oh, that gosh-darned, dang-cussed nasty ol' piece o'- I tole ya I go an' done it, darlin'… an' I done it."

While the two women were busy with the chains, Clara 'Birchwood' felt the noose hat was still suspended from the rafters tightening around her neck. She had no doubt the judge would reveal her true identity once he could speak better, so she snuck her hand into the pocket of her white-tan riding suit and wrapped her fingers around the Derringer. The small-caliber weapon had proved useless at penetrating the judge's skull, but a gut-shot at point blank range would still cause untold carnage to the soft tissue in there. She had three rounds left, and three opponents close by. If she could kill the women and the judge once and for all, she could get her hands on the sidearms and the Winchester and go on the hunt for the woman clad in buckskin.

Ellie and Precious worked together to liberate Judge Halvorsen's legs from the chains and then get the old man down onto his back. An unfortunate smell of urine clung to his dark pants, but it was excusable given the circumstances - still, it made them crinkle their noses.

Once he was flat on his back, J.R. Halvorsen opened his eyes and let out another croaking groan. "She's… she's… a… you… need… to… watch… her…" he said in a voice so frayed it was hard to decipher.

"Sir, I can't understand you," Precious said and turned her back to Clara Birchwood as she leaned her ear down towards the old man's mouth.

"She's a Beechum!" Judge Halvorsen suddenly said in a far clearer voice.

For the first three seconds after the shocking news had broken, the world stood still inside the stables. Precious' eyes flickered up and locked onto Ellie's face; Clara Beechum yanked her hand holding the Derringer out of her pocket and brought the small handgun closer to Precious' back directly at her heart; and Ellie bared her teeth in a feral sneer and flung the heavy fence-cutter tool at the female snake's arm and chest.

Another split second later, the tool struck the arm holding the Derringer with a loud clunk and made it jerk back. Roaring, Clara still pressed the trigger but the shot went wide and ricocheted off the rafters; Precious flew away from her precarious position and dove head-first into a pile of hay - and Ellie jumped up and charged Clara Beechum like a raging bull.

The two women were mismatched, and the taller and larger Ellie Shepard soon had the upper hand. With an ugly grimace that left no room for misunderstanding, she pressed the smaller Clara Beechum down onto the filthy floor with all her might.

The irate leader of the Beechum gang wasn't about to give up so easily and tried kicking, screaming, biting, scratching and clawing to get even with the woman on top of her. Though her right arm was pinned down, she had held onto the Derringer, and she squeezed the trigger repeatedly in the hope that at least one of the bullets would go up and blow out the brains of the heavy lug holding her down - but all she got out of it was to create an even bigger fire inside Ellie.

When the small weapon finally clicked, Ellie grabbed hold of the fancy white-tan riding suit and pulled the furious Clara Beechum towards her. Remembering the headbutt she had received from Clay, she made a fist and pulled her arm back to literally have the upper hand. "Ah ain't be hittin' no wimmen if Ah can help it! So quit this here tomfoolery an' surrender, ya cussed nitwit!"

"Never!" Clara said and prepared to spit in Ellie's face - she never had the chance as Ellie flung her fist forward and made a cracking impact directly on the chin of the last remaining outlaw. Clara Beechum's eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell limply onto the filthy, hay-covered floor.

"Nobodda but nobodda threatens mah sweetie-pie with a guhn an' gets away with it. Nobodda!" Ellie growled, stepping off the unconscious Clara. "Darlin', y'awright ovah there?"

"Just fine, Ellie," Precious said and dug her way out of the pile of hay she had invaded. She had straws sticking out of her hair and clothes in the oddest of angles, and she couldn't help but let out a nervous, and slightly screechy chuckle at the whole damn business.

The excitement hadn't done anything good for Ellie's growing headache from the headbutting incident, so she could only flash a dead-tired smile in return.

"Ellie?!" 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough cried as she barreled into the stables with her close-combat, sawed-off shotgun ready to fire. She spun around several times to see which critter had fired those shots she and Jezebel had heard while they had been necking out in the courtyard. "Talk to me! Precious? Are you awright? Who's blastin'?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, there, Sally!" Ellie cried back, holding her hands in the air. "Now's ya be playin' that there Jane Blackie Durham again, aintcha? Simmer down, girl, we's behavin' ourselves jus' fine in here… we jus' had a li'l rodent problem 's all."

"A rodent problem? You were shootin' at a rat?" Sally said and ran up to the far end of the barn.

"Naw! The rat wus shootin' at us!"

Sally didn't lower her shotgun until she reached the waiting people, but then she released the hammers and put it over her shoulder. Pulling her lips back in a puzzled expression, she stared at the less-than-dead judge and the suddenly out-cold Clara Birchwood. "Awright, would somebody mind explainin' this whole mess to me? 'Cos I'm beginning to think I ain't got a clue what's actually goin' on here…"

Precious chuckled and pointed at the old man on the floor. "Sally Yarborough, meet judge Jacob Roderick Halvorsen. He's still a little weak so he can't shake your hand."

"I'd be weak too if I just came back from the dead and all… nice to meet ya, Sir," Sally said and tipped her coonskin hat - the judge could only wave in return. "And… uh… go on?" she said, pointing her thumb at the clobbered Clara.

"Meet Clara Beechum," Precious said with a tired grin.

Sally let out a long whistle. "Clara Beechum, huh? Well, I'll be a donkey's fuzzy pecker." She ignored Precious' horrified grimace and turned towards Ellie instead. "Hey, Ellie, remember what I told ya back at the lookout point? That I had heard stories 'bout a Hawk Beechum? Betcha a night in the sack she's the Hawk."

"Well, really!" Precious said in a clear miff, but she was waved off by Ellie.

"Ah ain't gonn' take that bet, Sally. Ya be right, I'm sure. Hawks eat rattlers aftah all. An' this here li'l Hawk sure do got some claws on her. She done killed that outlaw there, I'll bet… then she gunned down the judge by shootin' 'im in the head, and punched the lights out of that poor woman ovah there. Then she put a Derringer ta my li'l darlin's back. All in all, I hadda clean her clock. She had it comin'."

"Haw, yeah… we agree on that. So now what?"

"Now we need ta find some rope an' hog-tie her as well. Got any rope left down there when ya done tied up the Rattler?"

"Naw, I used it all. Never mind, I'll find some more," Sally said and waded through the disturbed hay to find suitable rope somewhere in the stables.

"Sounds mi'ty fine, Sally," Ellie said and pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the headache from spreading even further. It didn't really work until Precious came over and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Darlin'… when we's get back home, we's gonn' have a feast fer two… yeah, it's gonn' be me, you, an' plenty-a hot water in the good ol' brass tub. An' we's gonn' soak fer an hour or mo'."

"Lookin' forward to it already," Precious said and stood up on tip-toes to steal a kiss from her sweetheart's lips while she had the chance. "But we're not there yet. First, we need to get off this damned Creagan's Rock and trek through the even more damned desert. And the other group of outlaws is still out there somewhere… they may return here to get new orders since they can't find us."

Ellie nodded and pulled Precious into a sideways squeeze. "Aw, ya don't hafta tell me, I alreddy know. Also, we gonn' need some kind o' transportashun for them nice folks ovah there… the judge man and the lady. I don't give a rat's ass 'bout them Beechums or the other outlaw… we can drag 'em behind our hosses fer all I care, but that old fella and the lady done deserved a softly sprung means o' travel."

Sally came back whistling a jaunty tune while swinging a coil of rope around her arm like she was practicing a lasso throw. "Found some," she said as she knelt down and grabbed hold of Clara's arms. Stopping at once, she looked back at Ellie and Precious with one of her patented saucy grins on her lips. "Y'all can neck some more now."

"Tell you what, sweetie," Precious said in a hurry as she reached up to steal another smooch from Ellie's kissable lips. "While Sally is occupied with tying up the Hawk, I'll look for some kind of wagon we could use. They had to ship supplies up here, and I can't see outlaws doing it by hand."

"Aw, darlin'! 's what I always say 'boutcha! Ya bein' the smartest, cleverest gal in this here relashunship!" Ellie said and broke out in a wide grin. Leaning in, she continued for Precious' ears only: "An' it also means ya don't hafta spend too much time 'round that Sally gal, huh?"

Precious winked back before she turned around on her heel and left the stables.

---

Although Precious had her Colt drawn and aimed ahead of her, she didn't feel safe as she crossed over the courtyard. Everything had turned quiet, but she could still feel the effects of the prolonged gun battle she had been involved in.

Every little shadow, every little metallic clang, and every odd smell made her skin crawl. The sweatband of her Boss of the Plains hat was damp from all the nervous energy rolling around inside her, and it felt like lead on her brow. Picking up her pace so she wouldn't be so exposed in the wide open courtyard, she quickly made her way to Jezebel who was still guarding Nelse Rawlings.

"What was all that shooting about, Precious?" Jezebel said once the strawberry-blonde was close enough to hear the question.

"Clara Birchwood's real last name wasn't Birchwood at all… it was Beechum. We found out about her and she didn't like it," Precious said and pushed her damp hat back from her eyes.

"I'll bet," Jezebel said and let out a chuckle. "Is she dead?"

"No, Ellie knocked her cold. You there… fella… I never got your name," Precious said to the bearded outlaw.

Nelse could barely find the enthusiasm to look up at the petite blonde; he eventually did find it, but it didn't make the surly expression leave his face. "Nelse Rawlings."

"Nelse. You wouldn't happen to know where we could find a wagon, would you?"

The Californian with the impressive facial hair narrowed his eyes and looked at the two women guarding him. Unlike the other two, the present pair were smaller and weaker, and looked to be easier to defeat should it come to a physical confrontation. The Smith and Wesson pointed at his gut would pose a problem, the Colt in the blonde's possession less so - it was too large for her, and her hand carried a slight tremble. Had he had two good legs, he would already have knocked them flat and made a run for it.

"I asked you a question, fella," Precious said in a darker tone.

"Frankly, I can't see why the hell I should help you."

"Are you from California? You sound Californian."

"Yeah. Triconda. In the valley."

Precious nodded. "I'm from San Francisco, but I know the valley. Nice place. I suppose you want to see it again?"

"I suppose…"

"If you help us now, we'll put in a good word with the judge. It may save you from the gallows. It may help you get back home one day."

The statement hung in the air waiting for an answer, but Nelse soon snorted and looked down at his bleeding wound. "There's a 'may' too many in there for my tastes, lady. Nice try. Go to hell."

Precious scrunched up her face and shot Jezebel a dark, disappointed look that was returned in kind. "You first… I hope," she said as she moved past the two people.

---

Despite the obstruction by the bearded outlaw, her search didn't take too long before it yielded good results. On a stretch of sand behind the ranch house, the six fast horses that Royce Biederman had prepared when the going had started to get tough for the Beechum gang were still tethered to a log, and a black, spit-polished, two-axled open carriage next to them was all ready to go with freshly-greased hubs and scrubbed spokes.

Precious had learned to be wary of strange horses, so she approached the equines with caution. Most of them were content with whinnying or neighing at the stranger's presence, but one stallion at the far end of the line already had his teeth out preparing to bite - she gave that horse a wide berth, but the others were docile enough. The horses were all equipped with saddles, but it wouldn't take too long to re-jig a few of them into wearing the yoke that was conveniently placed on the ground in front of the carriage.

Smiling at her success, Precious holstered her Colt and went up to one of the horses, a maroon mare not unlike Thunder she had used to ride in on. The mare was in good condition with a shiny fur and healthy-looking hooves and teeth. The eyes were clear, and the mane and tail weren't tousled or scabby. Precious put out her hand and caressed the side of the horse's head. "Oh, you're a beauty… what's your name, girl? Mmmm? Let me think of one…" - The mare whinnied right in the middle of the one-sided conversation - "Why? 'Cos I'm plannin' on keepin' you, that's why," she said with a grin.

The horses could be crossed off her list, as could the comfortable ride for Judge Halvorsen and his secretary, but it wouldn't be proper to transport Nelse Rawlings, the Hawk and Rattler Beechum in the same carriage - and she wouldn't accept dragging them after the horses like Ellie had suggested.

"Hmmm," she said and continued her search. Next stop, the area behind the wooden building housing the stables.

---

"Ah! If that's not the perfect ride for those cussed Beechums, I don't know what is!"

Precious smacked her hands together in glee when she almost stumbled over an old, decrepit covered wagon that had lost most of its canvas tarpaulin. Grass and weed almost as tall as she reached up between the floorboards, and two of the four wheels had been invaded by large cobwebs that were the homes of large King Spiders.

Though old, the yoke seemed to be in good working order, and the buckboard wasn't too bad, either, even if it did sag on the left side. A thick coil of leather reins was rolled up around the brake lever, but it remained to be seen if it was rotten or ready to use.

Precious grinned broadly as she zipped back to the barn to get Ellie - with her excellent discoveries, they could finally get started on the long, and no doubt strenuous, journey home.

---

Half an hour later, three sweaty, steaming hot women - Precious had volunteered to watch over the prisoners while Ellie, Jezebel and 'Shotgun' Sally worked on the vehicles and the horses - attached the covered wagon's yoke to two of the re-appropriated steeds. Strictly speaking, the wagon didn't weigh enough to justify having a two-in-hand to pull it, but the yoke was a side-by-side that would create a wrong load if pulled by a single horse.

Parking in front of the barn, Ellie jumped off the buckboard and wiped her sweaty brow. She winced when her abused forehead came into contact with her shirtsleeve, but one ailment wasn't much worse than the other. "Awright, ya vermin… get on ya feet," she said and took her Winchester out of the footwell. Working the lever action, she trained it on Clara and Clay who were still hog-tied, and on Nelse whose injury prevented him from running anywhere - his hands were tied behind his back for an added level of safety. "An' remembah, Ah gotcha in mah sights. Y'all can try ta run if ya want… but all y'all 'll get a callin' card in the back fer yer troubles. Ya hear? Now git."

While he was covered by Sally Yarborough's sawed-off shotgun as well, Clay 'Rattler' Beechum turned around and got onto his knees. He swayed for a few seconds before he put a boot on the ground and stood up in a forced hunched-over position. He stumbled over to the lowered tailgate of the wagon and put his rear on the dusty, frayed floorboards. Grunting again, he swung himself up there and shuffled into the center of the flatbed.

"Ain't that a nice Rattler," Ellie mocked, moving the carbine over to threaten Clara. "An' now you, li'l Miss Devious. Naw, don'tcha dare gimme that kinda face… it makes ya look all ratty-like… an' ya caused yer own downfall."

The fire hadn't fully gone out of Clara, and she spat on the ground and cursed Ellie's family four generations back as she fumbled and stumbled to her feet and onto the bed of the formerly covered wagon - Sally had torn down the tattered remains of the tarpaulin. Her mood didn't improve when one of her brother's boots nailed her in the back as she tried to find a better spot.

Watching the proceedings from afar, Precious scrunched up her face at the thought of how Nelse Rawlings would be able to get up there. Although he was an outlaw, he was the only one of the three who suffered from a bleeding wound. She cast a worried glance at Ellie who shook her head with plenty of confidence.

"An' now you there, Mista Fancy Beard."

"I can't move on my own!" Nelse growled. To underline his words, he didn't budge an inch from the spot he had been placed in down on the ground.

"Well, ain't that a cryin' shame. Awright, tell ya what we's a-gonna do," Ellie said and moved over to pick something up that had been thrown out of the barn when they emptied it. It turned out to be the noose that Clay had tied to the rafters earlier. "We's gonn' tie this here li'l piece o' rope 'round yer fat neck, an' the other end 'round that there li'l rear axle down ways… ya see it? Then we's gonn' drag ya sorry ass down that there rocky trail. Now, if yer still alive once we reach the desert… an' I ain't sayin' ya is, but if ya is, we's gonn' be friendly to ya and throw ya up on the bed so ya can mingle with them there mean skunks the Beechums."

"You're… you're crazy!" Nelse croaked in a hoarse voice.

"Crazy? Naw. Gettin' a li'l annoyed with yer good-fer-nothin' coyotes? Yer dern tootin' I am. Awright, ya heard me loud an' clear. Which is it gonn' be, son?"

Nelse glared at the other three women who all remained passive. Bitching and moaning under his breath, he stumbled to his feet and hobbled over to the wooden wagon. He tried valiantly to get up on the bed, but his rear wouldn't clear the edge of the wooden planks.

Rolling her eyes, Ellie relented and gave him a kick in the butt that sent him the rest of the way up. "Awright, y'all bein' comfitable up there? I hope ya is 'cos we ain't stoppin' until we reach that li'l town that goes by the name o' Dry Gulch. Giddyup, hosses!"

Precious chuckled as she crawled up on the buckboard. Taking the reins in her hands, she released the creaking brake lever and looked over her shoulder at her partner. When Ellie signaled that the load was ready to ship out, she slapped the reins which made the two horses take off at a slow pace.

Sally walked alongside the creaking wooden wagon for a while until they reached the first portion of the descent. She chuckled out loud at the way the three outlaws were bounced around even at such low speed. Once the wagon would reach the rocky trail proper, it would rumble around like a high-keeled steamboat caught in rough seas. Swinging her shotgun over her shoulder, she took off her coonskin hat and waved it at Precious. "See ya down in the valley, Precious! Let's hope our sweetie-pies can keep their hands offa each other until we git back to 'em! Yee-haw!"

Though Precious was busy with the reins, she had enough time to glance at Sally who was running away towards the smaller, steeper trail where she was supposed to retrieve their own horses. Chuckling, Precious let out a "Nuts…" before she slapped the reins again to make the two-in-hand pick up a little speed.

Back at the barn, Jezebel brought up the two-axled carriage which was being pulled by the maroon mare Precious had chosen for herself as spoils of war. Whoa'ing the docile steed, Jezebel put her boot on the brake lever to make the elegant vehicle come to a halt at the sliding door. Judge Halvorsen and Maudie Wilmerton were waiting inside, but they soon came out into the fresh air and bright light for the first time in far too long. The two people cheered at the blue sky before they climbed up into the carriage and flaked out on the plush bench seats.

Ellie came up to close the small half-door behind them. No words were necessary, so she kept quiet for a change. Fatigue and exhaustion were written all over the faces of the judge and the secretary, with a critical lack of food and drink a close second. The two people would be given both once the posse reached the desert floor and re-connected with Sally who would lead down their own supply-carrying horses.

There really wasn't any reason to stay at the former stronghold of the Beechum gang, so Ellie swung the Winchester over her shoulder and climbed up on the buckboard next to Jezebel. Death and despair ruled the roost at the former Creagan ranch now. The courtyard and the barn were littered with dead outlaws that needed a proper burial, but the world's smallest posse didn't have the time nor the inclination to do anything about it.

"Nobodda in their right mind would wanna stay up here now. The ghosts gonn' be howlin' tanight. They might as well tear down this whole, damn place," Ellie mumbled, looking around at the pools of blood that painted the courtyard red.

Grunting, she made herself comfortable on the wooden buckboard. "Awright, we's gotta long way ta go an' a short time ta get there. We dern sure don't wanna be here if them there nasty skunks we saw ridin' the other way come back. Les' move out, Jezebel. Get us up ta that there prison wagon so Ah can swap ovah to my precious li'l darlin'."

Nodding, Jezebel Behrle slapped the reins and let out a moderate "Yah!" to get the maroon mare and the shiny, black carriage underway.

*

*

CHAPTER 11

The descent turned out to be a hairy affair in the old, decrepit prison wagon. The two horses dragging the rumbling flatbed were used to racing down the trail, so while Precious held onto the reins with all her strength to whoa them, Ellie had to keep her boot on the brake lever the whole way down to stop them from taking off and possibly causing a wreck.

The metal brake shoes that ground against the raw hubs on the front axle had begun to stink before they had made it halfway down the six-hundred foot trail, and smoke signals of the unwelcome kind billowed out from both hubs just as Ellie and Precious could see the end of the long descent up ahead. "I gotta release them brakes and let the hosses run, darlin'," Ellie said after hanging over the edge of the buckboard to check out the condition of the vehicle's undercarriage. "We ain't gonn' have no hubs left if I hold 'em back fer much longer."

"All right," Precious said and braced herself for an even bumpier ride. Rolling her aching shoulders, she took an even tighter grip on the reins to be ready for anything.

"Here goes nothin'," Ellie said and slid her foot off the brake lever. The two, strong horses jumped forward when the restraint holding them back was taken away, and the decrepit, old wagon creaked and groaned as the pace picked up considerably.

The two women hung onto the buckboard, the seat and ultimately each other as the horses went into a much faster cadence than they had been able to enter before. The last two-hundred and fifty feet down onto the flatter surface at the foot of Creagan's Rock was a wild amusement park ride that fortunately didn't yield any negative effects on the vehicle or the people sitting in it.

Once the wagon got off the sandy trail and onto rockier terrain, Precious pulled the reins and whoa'ed the two steeds once more. Grunting under her breath, she moved her abused butt off the bench seat and shuffled around to find a softer spot - none was to be found.

"Yeah, we shoulda brought some cushions, huh?" Ellie said and nudged Precious' elbow. Taking her Winchester, she turned around and put her boot on the seat so she could keep the three outlaws covered. "How's y'all doin' back there? Still nice an' comfitable, I hope?"

"No, we're not!" Clay 'Rattler' Beechum barked.

"Aw, ain't that too damn bad. I jus' wanna protect mah gains so nothin' can happen ta ya before we can git back ta town. Who knows, we might-a even be collectin' some o' that there ree-ward money fer ya necks."

The Rattler and Clara both let out mocking laughs at Ellie's expense. She heard it, and didn't like it. Her face scrunched up into an annoyed mask, and she worked the lever action of her Winchester just to show the outlaws she was getting close to her limit.

"Now don't you go losing your temper, little lady," Clay said in a voice that dripped of smugness. Craning his neck, he looked up so he could get a better view of the grumpy Ellie. "I had the impression you were a Deputy Sheriff?"

"Aw yeah… well, sorta. I be wearin' a star an' everythin'. Why?"

"Well, perhaps you didn't read the fine print, little lady. Deputy Sheriffs can't collect any reward money. Your wages are paid by the town council, so…"

"I ain't paid no dang-blasted dime by nobodda suit-wearin' folks 'cept mah boss at the bank!"

"Well, in that case… you've been had," Clay said and broke out in another round of laughing. Soon, Clara joined him in a two-pronged attack on Ellie's good mood.

Ellie scrunched up her face and clenched the Winchester tight in her fists. "Ya Beechums… if ya wanna lose all yer teeth in one go, jus' keep on laughin'. Ya hear me? Jus' keep on laughin'…"

The two Beechums piped down, but the smug, patronizing expressions never left their faces.

Growling, Ellie jumped off the decrepit wagon but kept a firm grip on her carbine. She stomped around in a circle in the sand, and not even Precious' looks of support could calm her down.

Jezebel soon joined them on the flat surface below the steep trail, but she drove the shiny, black carriage some distance away from the prison wagon so the Beechums wouldn't cause the judge or his secretary any trouble. Taking off her hat, she cast a curious glance at the stomping Ellie and the sweating Precious but decided not to inquire about it.

It didn't take long for 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough to come riding around the base of Creagan's Rock on Adonis. She had a firm grip on Aphrodite, Thunder and Lightning's reins and pulled the three horses behind her in good order. "Yee-haw, all you awesomely sexeh gals! Lookie here what ol' Sally brought you!"

"Fih-nally," Ellie growled, stomping over to Lightning to get her saddle bags.

"Aw, that didn't take that long! Hey, whatcha mad at me for? What I do?" Sally said and swung her leg off Adonis. "Snookums, what she mad at me for?" she continued, shuffling over to her wife whose only reply was a shrug.

Ellie ignored the buckskin-clad woman and began digging into the saddlebags. She soon found her spare water canteen and a few leftovers of bread, and hurried over to the carriage so Judge Halvorsen and Maudie Wilmerton could have something decent to eat and drink. "Here ya go, Sir… Miss Wilmerton," she said and handed the items to the two, dead-tired people on the plush seats.

J.R. Halvorsen's eyes were still red, but his face had regained a lot of its natural ruddy complexion. His white hair and beard stood out clearly against the flushed skin as he leaned forward and took the food offered to him. "Thank you, Deputy Shepard… pay no attention to those Godless savages. I promise I'll put in a word for you when we reach Dry Gulch. For you and your… your… oh… your… girlfriend? Partner? Wife?"

"Aw, mah li'l Precious there ain't mah wife jus' yet, yer Honor. But thank you nonetheless," Ellie said with a grin as she pushed her somewhat battered Stetson back from her abused forehead.

The judge smiled back before he handed the bread to Maudie Wilmerton and took the first sip of clean water for several days.

"Ellie!" Precious suddenly cried behind the deputy, making the tall woman spin around and jog back to the prison wagon.

"Whassup, darlin'?" Ellie said as she put a hand on Precious' thigh. A moment later, she knew full well what was up. A large cloud of the evil dust was kicked up less than five hundred yards from the foot of the sandy trail, and the familiar sounds of a gun battle rolled through the impenetrable brown walls. "Aw… aw, hell!" she cried as sounds of guns blasting away, horses whinnying in panic, and men shouting oaths and orders at each other filtered through to them.

"The rest of the Beechum gang…" Precious said in a half-whisper.

"Aw, ya ain't bein' wrong there, darlin'."

"But who are they fightin'?"

"Can't say an' I ain't gonn' ask ta find out. Awright… we gotta… awright," Ellie said and mashed her hat down onto her black locks like it would help her come up with a battle plan. "We gotta hustle. Sally, mount up! Darlin', I wantcha ta keep drivin' them there vermin up on the flatbed. Don't spare 'em hosses, ya hear? Give the whole dern-blasted thing out there a wide berth. If ya find trubbel anyhows, or if trubbel finds ya, call fer me an' I'll… I'll try ta help. If I ain't comin', ya bettah off jumpin' clear an' let 'em ride straight ta hell. Ya hear me?"

Precious sighed deeply but slapped the reins nonetheless. "Yes, I understand. Yah! Yah!"

Ellie stepped back from the spoked front wheel at the last moment before the two, strong horses dragged the decrepit, old, creaking and groaning wooden wagon into action all over again. Soon, Precious drove the prison wagon further along the rocky terrain, but gave the battle a wide berth like Ellie had told her to.

Cursing and swearing under her breath, Ellie ran over to Lightning and jumped into the mare's saddle. After putting her Winchester into the holster on the side of the saddle, she drew her Colt and pulled the steed around searching for Sally who already ought to be atop her appaloosa stallion.

Perhaps predictably, 'Shotgun' Sally was at Jezebel's side, stealing a kiss. Ellie couldn't complain too much about that, so she waited for the two gals to finish up before she heeled Lightning's flanks to make her hurry over there. "Sally, looks like we get 'nother chance at dancin' with the Reaper. Jezebel, let that there hoss work fer her feed. Get behind Precious an' stay there until further notice. Ya hear?"

"I understand, Ellie," Jezebel said and slapped the reins. The docile mare shook her back and began pulling the two-axled carriage with nary a whinny. Jezebel's regular horse Aphrodite was tied to the rear of the carriage alongside Precious' Thunder, and the two equines followed willingly.

"Good. An' if ya don't hear nothin' from us, jus' keep on goin' back ta Dry Gulch! The nice folks there will take care o' ya an' yer two passengers!" Ellie cried, holding her hand to amplify her voice as the carriage moved away.

Jezebel waved her free arm as she took off, headed for the tracks laid down by the old prison wagon.

For once, 'Shotgun' Sally wore a dark, gloomy expression atop Adonis that seemed just as agitated as its rider. She looked after her retreating wife for as long as she could; eventually, the carriage was engulfed by the evil, brown dust. "Haw… two against eight vermin, Ellie? Not sure I like them odds."

Ellie pulled Lightning around so the mare was pointed in the right direction. "It ain't gonn' be that bad, Sally. They's gotta be fightin' someone alreddy. Even drunk off their asses, they couldden make that much racket by 'emselves. Les' join the battle an' find out. Yah!"

Ellie and Sally heeled their steeds and blasted into battle with their guns held high and the fierce headwind blowing their hair back. Thundering along, they rode straight through a wall of brown dust and entered the fray guns-ablazin'.

---

Wiser from the lessons learned in the earlier gun battle - in the near-disaster they had both been involved in - Ellie and Sally rode side by side through the massive clouds of brown stuff. They experienced gunfire, screams and whinnying horses all around them, but even after a minute of hard maneuvering, they hadn't spotted a single outlaw beyond a shadowy figure or two that had come and gone too fast to be shot at.

"What a dag-nabbin' pea soup!" Ellie cried, wiping the dust from her eyes. "Ah ain't never seen such dawg-awful dust befo'! It be like travelin' through the seventh layer o' hell!"

"And then some!" Sally cried, staying as close to Lightning's side as she dared out of worry they would drift apart. She kept her close-combat, sawed-off shotgun in a firing position, but so far, she hadn't seen anyone, or anything, for more than a split second at a time.

"Naw, we's gotta get our bee-hinds outta this cussed mess! Sally, follow me… we's gotta break through that here dust an' follow our girls befo' they git too far ahead!"

"Right with ya, Ellie. Oy! Watch out! Rider comin' straight for ya!"

Ellie had already heeled Lightning's flanks, but Sally's warning made her yank the reins hard right to steer clear of the incoming horseman. The rumps of the two horses bumped into each other and spooked the steeds into bolting.

Letting out an impressive barrage of curses, Ellie holstered her Colt and grabbed hold of Lightning's reins with both hands to get the otherwise calm mare to settle down after the fright. The animal threw her head, whinnied and side-stepped all over the place, but Ellie's skills in the saddle got the agitated animal to take a breather and once again listen to her rider's commands.

Once Lightning was settled, Ellie tugged the reins and nudged the mare's flanks to try to find Sally and the stranger on horseback who had both disappeared into the clouds of dust. A quick search yielded nothing, so she tugged the reins again and made Lightning move away from the worst of the dust and into the open.

Finally in the clear, Ellie proceeded to slap herself down - and cough her lungs up as a result of the missing bandanna - before she realized the sounds of fighting had died down. Coughing and spluttering, she drew her Colt and rode along the edge of the worst of the dust until she came into contact with a rider.

As the dust dissipated on the battlefield behind her, it was revealed that eight, stone-dead outlaws littered the sandy terrain. One of them only wore a pair of long johns that had been painted red from the blood that seeped out of the gruesome hole in his hairy chest.

When Ellie caught a glimpse of the man - in particular his bulbous nose and the swooping mustache that reached his sideburns - who sat atop a tall stallion coated in just as much dust as herself, she holstered her Colt and broke out in a wide grin. "Whaddahell… Sheriff Boone! Really nice ta see ya, Sheriff. Ya bein' a li'l late fer the fun an' games up there on Creagan's Rock, but y'all be havin' a partee down he' instead, huh? Ah sure is glad ta see ya come along fer the ride, dontchaknow."

"Hello, Miss Shepard… or should I say Deputy Shepard?" Zachariah Boone said and tapped his own chest where the tin star adorned Ellie's vest.

"Uh… yeah," Ellie said and looked down at the star. "Aw, I can 'splain the whole thing, Sheriff… jus' gimme half an hour or so…" Movement behind her made her squint and reach for her gun, but it turned out to be a host of dusty, young men. "Aw, an' ya brought a whole load-a deperties as well, huh?"

As the dust finally settled, seven young men broke through the brown clouds and gathered behind the Sheriff. 'Shotgun' Sally came at the tail end of the line on her appaloosa stallion; the colorful woman wore a highly miffed expression on her face, but Ellie couldn't figure out why until she noticed the law had taken both of Sally's shotguns from her.

"Aw, Sheriff, that gal there down ways gone and be one of the good guys… or gals. That there is Miss 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough an' she be ridin' with mah posse. I do balieve them there scatterguhns is hers."

Sheriff Boone turned around in the saddle to take a better look at Sally. "Well. All right," he said and waved the buckskin-clad woman closer to the group. Once she was close enough, he pointed at one of the Deputies who handed the two shotguns back to her. "Miss, in the future, you really need to be more careful who you point those weapons at."

"Y'all were covered by the same Goddamned dust… how was I saposed to know which was the skunks and which was the deperties," Sally mumbled as she stuffed her babies down into the two, specially-designed holsters.

"Anyhows, Sheriff," Ellie interjected, "I'm sure y'all be pleased ta hear we saved Judge Halvorsen an' his secretary. An' not only that, but we captured that mean, old snake Clay 'Rattler' Beechum an' his sister, Clara 'the Hawk' Beechum. Oh, an' 'nother bandit too. Ferget his name alreddy. Ain't that sommin? Perdy good goin' fer a four-wimmen posse, Ah reckon." Ellie finished off by flashing the Sheriff a dusty grin that reached from ear to ear.

The Sheriff's eyebrows went up, then down at the news. Turning around in the saddle, he looked at the small battlefield to find the aforementioned people. "Well… where are they, then?"

"Aw, they be safe in a nice li'l carriage an' an old piece o'… sommin. They be further up this here trail goin' ta Dry Gulch, Sheriff. We can still catch 'em unless we be standin' he' flappin' our gums for any length o' time."

Boone nodded and turned his horse around. The seven deputies followed his every command, even when he hadn't uttered any. "Wait… a four-woman posse? What's that supposed to mean, Miss Shepard?"

Ellie nudged her heels into Lightning's flanks and let the mare walk on at a fair, but unstressed pace. "Aw, 'sactly what Ah said. When we ain't got no response outta them there fellas back home in Dry Gulch… they wus sittin' on their dicks, the whole dern lot of 'em… we's jus' assembled a wild bunch posse consistin' o' mahself, 'Shotgun' Sally there, and our dear, dear girlfriends Precious Mahoney an' Jezebel Behrle. Worked a trick, it did too! We's got them coyotes by the balls without gettin' a scratch. Or much of a scratch, anyhows… mah noggin 's a little worse fer wear, but it ain't nothin' a little friendly touch won't cure."

The Sheriff and his deputies rode on in silence for a while before he leaned in towards Ellie. "Miss Shepard, when I offered you a job at the law office, I meant for you to watch over the empty jail… not go off on some crusade. And that star… did you take it from the cardboard box in my desk?"

"Uh… I sapose I did," Ellie said and began to fiddle with the dusty star. "Uh… am I in trubbel or sommin?"

"Well, technically, it's a crime to impersonate a Deputy Sheriff."

Ellie bared her teeth in a worried grimace. By the way the one-sided talk was going, she could kiss her dream of joining the Dry Gulch law enforcement goodbye; instead, it sounded like she had better prepare herself for meeting her new chums at the chain gang. "Aw… I didden know it was a crime… dern-blasted… I jus' wanted ta… ta… be part o'… aw, fugged-it."

Scrunching up her face, she nudged Lightning's flanks a little harder so they could catch up with Jezebel and Precious. The Judge had promised he would speak on her behalf, and it appeared she needed that a bit sooner than she had expected.

---

A short half hour later, the group of riders had caught up with the two vehicles and had brought them to a halt. While Sheriff Boone and Judge Halvorsen had gone a short distance away so their conversation would be out of earshot, all four members of the world's smallest posse stood shoulder by shoulder leaning against the two-axled carriage.

"Whatcha sapose they be talkin' about?" Ellie said and looked down at the empty spot on her vest where the star had been. When they had come to a stop, Sheriff Boone had insisted that he should take it from her. Deep down, she had wanted to stand her ground and fight the decision - after all, she had earned that little tin star the hard way - but she had relented since there wasn't any reason to make the Sheriff angry with her.

"I don't know," Precious said and gave her partner's hands a squeeze, "but the judge seems to be a man of his word. Please don't worry too much about it."

"Huh. Yeah, well…"

Sally snickered and leaned in to bump shoulders with Ellie from the other side. "Perhaps they're discussin' which correctional facility they wanna ship ya off to. I heard there's a real nice one down Arizona way called… what was it… haw, can't remember… it had a nice, colorful name… it's right there on the tip of my tongue… sweetie, ya remember?"

"No. I don't know what you're talking about," Jezebel said. Like Precious, she held onto her wife like she was afraid 'Shotgun' Sally would disappear if she didn't.

"Ya ain't helpin', gals," Ellie mumbled. "I didden know it was cussed e-lee-gal ta wear a star if ya ain't been appointed a deperty. I mean… aw. Had I known, I dern sure woulda put it back in the box once I had tried it on fer size."

"The Jerome Norris Correctional Institution for Wayward Women!" Sally said and let out a loud whoop.

"Sally!" Precious barked. "Put a sock in it! Can't you see my Ellie is raw an' hurtin'?!"

For once, Sally gained a look of shock at Precious' angry outburst, and she glanced around at the other two women to gauge their reactions. "Aw… but… I was just tryin' to be funny…"

"Well, it ain't funny worth a damn! So pipe down!" Precious growled, grabbing hold of Ellie's other hand as well.

A stunned silence rolled around the four women for a little while until Jezebel spoke what they all saw: "They're coming. The Sheriff looks miffed."

Sheriff Zachariah Boone did indeed wear a miffed expression as he and Judge J.R. Halvorsen strolled back to the two-axled carriage and the four women who used it as a backrest. At first, he just stood there, hands akimbo, without speaking a word, but he soon screwed a smile on his face and shuffled up to stand in front of Ellie.

The tall woman nearly withered under his hard glare, but the smile confused her. Perhaps he had already sent word ahead for her new chain gang fatigues? Stripes weren't her thing at all, but she suspected she wouldn't have much say in the matter.

Putting out his hand, Sheriff Boone smiled for all he was worth though it never quite reached his eyes. "Welcome to the team, Deputy Shepard. It'll be an honor to work with someone so smart, efficient and dedicated to the job."

"Huh? Aw! Aw, thank ya very muchly, there, Mista Sheriff Boone, Sir!" Ellie said and pumped Zachariah Boone's hand up and down like she expected water to sprout from his nose. "Haw, I swear I'll be the best dern tootin' Deputy Sheriff y'all ever seen or worked with. Yessirree, I ain't gonn' be causin' no trubbel for ya, Sir, no trubbel what-so-flippin'-evah, an' that's a promise y'all can take ta the bank!"

"Well, that's nice, Deputy."

Ellie made a little number out of patting her chest. While she did it, she winked at the judge who grinned back at her. "An' what about that nice li'l tin trinket that sat so well on mah tit, Mista Sheriff, Sir?"

Sheriff Boone sighed and looked down at Ellie's chest and the two, round peaks that strained through the shirt. "Well, unless your name is Whitley Foose, I fail to see how that particular star can belong to you."

"Uh… Whitley Foose? Who the durn blazes is Whitley Foose?" Ellie said and shook her head in a puzzled fashion. When one of the junior deputies heard his name called, he raised his hand and waved at her. She waved back out of sheer politeness. "Uh… I guess that friendly-lookin' fella ovah there is Whitley Foose. Ain't that sommin, Sheriff? I ain't never noticed it had somebodda's name on it… uh… I guess I can't use that star, then, but…"

"But I'll have a new one made for you when we get back home, Deputy Shepard," the Sheriff said and shook Ellie's hand again. This time, it was a more controlled affair, and he pulled it back at once. "I'll only need to know how you spell your last name. One P, two P's? E-r-d or A-r-d?"

"Aw, ya better not done askin' me how ta spell mah last name, there, Sheriff Boone, Sir. Y'all ha' bettah luck askin' them there hosses ovah yonder how they likes their feed… I ain't much of a spellah."

"I would never have guessed," Zachariah Boone said under his breath. "All right, we'll get that squared once we return to Dry Gulch. Mount up, everybody! It's high time we hit the road home!"

Hearing that, Sally threw her coonskin cap high in the air and let out a whoop loud enough to wake the dead. "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeee-haw! C'mon, Jezebel, we're goin' home so we can neck like we never necked before!"

-*-*-*-

Rolling into their home town a few minutes past noon, the heavily-armed wagon train attracted a lot of attention from the town's population. When the rumors spread the leaders of the Beechum gang had been captured and the rest of the outlaws killed, the citizens of Dry Gulch flocked out to the rutted Main Street to hurl plenty of abuse and a few rotten apples at the three people who were tied up on the back of the flatbed.

The Sheriff rode out front to take all the credit - it was an election year, after all - followed by one of the deputies who steered the two-axled carriage containing Judge Jacob Roderick Halvorsen and Maudie Wilmerton. More deputies followed before Ellie Shepard arrived atop the bench seat of the prison wagon.

Precious rode alongside her on Thunder wearing a broad grin that only grew wider when they went past the eatery where she worked. She waved at her colleagues who caused much amusement among the spectators when they all waved back using their red-and-white aprons. The owner of Papa Joe's never let a golden opportunity like that pass him by, and he had a sign out hawking whole or sliced apple pies at half price to mark the special day. The number of people near the eatery holding plates carrying steaming hot slices told a tale of plenty of coins jingling in the cash box.

Ellie received no less enthusiastic a welcome when she rolled past the Gambler's Den saloon. The dancing girls affectionately known as the Leggy Sisters came out onto the sidewalk in full costume - including feather boas - and performed a Can Can in her honor. The dance was the cause of much blushing among the upstanding citizens of Dry Gulch, but the Leggy Sisters didn't care, nor did Ellie. Whooping, she held her dusty Stetson high in the air and waved it at the two scantily-clad dancers.

'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough and Jezebel Behrle had exited stage right when the wagon train had reached the narrow offshoot to their homestead along the Copperhead Trail, but they had promised to come into town as soon as they had bathed and scrubbed each other in all the places that needed special attention.

Arriving at the family-run Apollo Hotel, the deputy driving the two-axled carriage pulled over to let the judge and the secretary off for some much earned rest in a soft bed.

The rest of the wagon train carried on down to the law office where they all stopped and dismounted. Once Ellie had pressed the brake lever forward into the locking position, she let go of the reins and let out a deep, slow sigh.

Fatigue was written all over her face, but her haggard expression softened when Precious came up to her and took her by the hand. They held each other tight for a little while before Precious nudged Thunder over to the side to be out of the way.

Chuckling, Ellie rose from the hard bench seat and jumped off the prison wagon. She grabbed her Winchester from the footwell and shuffled back to look up at the three outlaws. "This here gonn' be the end o' the road fer ya vermin. Y'all gonn' feel the noose burnin' around ya necks. Couldden-a happened ta a nicer buncha skunks 's what Ah say. Say hello ta ol' Lucifer when ya meet 'im."

Clay 'Rattler' Beechum still wore the same, hard glare he always had proving he hadn't yet given up the fight, but Clara had lost her hard edge and looked like a young, lost woman. Nelse Rawlings was somewhere in the middle, but no matter how much they repented their crimes, it wouldn't help them.

"Y'all better not come beggin' fer mercy 'cos ya won't get any. Not here, not now, not evah. Have a nice life," Ellie said and stepped back from the prison wagon as several deputies hopped up onto the flatbed to secure the prisoners and throw them into the jail cells.

"Deputy Shepard," one of the young men said as he grabbed hold of the Rattler's legs, "Sheriff Boone wishes to have a word with you in the law office as soon as possible."

Sighing again, Ellie pushed her Stetson back from her abused forehead. She was so tired she couldn't even crack a joke, and she certainly wasn't in a mood to hold any lengthy conversations with the Sheriff. "Yeah, huh? Y'all can tell 'im that 'as soon as possible' ain't gonn' be now. I'll swing by later taday, but it ain't gonn' be now. Ya hear?"

"Loud and clear, Deputy Shepard," the young man said as he and the others manhandled Clay 'Rattler' Beechum off the flatbed.

"That's a good deperty," Ellie said and turned her back to the whole darn mess. She soon caught up with Precious Mahoney, and the two women walked hand in hand over to the mouth of the alley that led to their apartment above the miscellaneous goods store.

Once at the bottom of the alley, Ellie stopped and leaned her weary being against the wooden post for the staircase. Sighing, she took off her hat which sent a whole load of dust flying into the air from her formerly black locks. "Darlin'… c'mere. Gi's a kiss. Not a biggie, jus' a li'l kiss."

Precious duly went a step up to be at eye level with her sweetheart. Smiling, she leaned in and claimed Ellie's lips in a nice, loving kiss that wasn't too little or too large - but just right. "Oh, sweetie… you look plum worn out…" she whispered when they separated.

"That's how I be feelin' too. Ah'm as tired as an entire old folks' home, darlin'…"

"I can't carry you up to the bathtub, you know."

"I know. Aw, what's a dame ta do? I can't walk another step further, an' I sure as stink on shit can't bathe or sleep down here…"

"Well," Precious said and began to unbutton her shirt which certainly caught Ellie's attention. Once the shirt was loose, she pulled it out of her pants and fiddled with her belt buckle like she was about to shed her britches as well. "I can't give you any advice as to what you should do… but I'm off to fill the tub. Oh, I badly need to have some hot water on my body… and I had hoped you could scrub my back…?"

Ellie stared at the bare, dusty skin that came to the light of day when Precious fluffed open her shirt. "Yeah, I do declare it's mi'ty temptin', awright… but y'all hafta go down ta the store an' drag them there buckets o' hot water upstairs all by yaself, darlin', 'cos I ain't got it in me no mo'."

"Deal," Precious said and offered Ellie a cheeky, little wink.

Licking her dry lips, Ellie nodded a couple of times before she turned around, took Precious' hand in her own and stomped up the staircase on perhaps the most important mission of the day - making sure her sweetie was well-scrubbed, well-pampered and well-loved.

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EPILOGUE

- Sheriff Zachariah Boone stayed in office for another two terms before he was defeated in the 1884 election race by an outsider brought into play by the town council when it became known Lysette Esther Shepard planned to run for office. Zachariah Boone retired from law enforcement and later moved to Wyoming to set up a fly-fishing business that did moderately well.

- Circuit Judge Jacob Roderick Halvorsen ended up marrying Maudie Wilmerton in Salt Lake City, and the happy couple spent most of their honeymoon in Dry Gulch among the women who had saved them. Judge Halvorsen was appointed to the United States Supreme Court late in life, but his deteriorating health meant he was only allowed a few years at the post. Upon his death, his widow traveled home to New Mexico where she became a schoolmarm and later the principal of an all-girls' college.

- Clay 'Rattler' Beechum and his younger brother, Clarence Beechum the Third didn't see out the week. In a public trial three days after being captured, they were found guilty as charged on multiple cases of murder, rape, robbery, abduction, extortion, arson and many other heinous crimes. They were sentenced to be hanged until dead - and Circuit Judge J.R. Halvorsen pulled the lever himself as he had said he would. The bodies of the brothers were put on display at the law office in open pine caskets so the citizens of Dry Gulch could verify they were truly dead.

- Clara 'Hawk' Beechum and Nelse Rawlings escaped together the night before their own trial. Where Nelse Rawlings was quickly brought back to justice and given thirty years of hard labor in a state penitentiary for actively taking part in countless crimes on his rides with the Beechum gang, Clara Beechum was never found. A few years later, Wanted posters began to appear from Seattle, Washington in the north-west to Miami, Florida in the south-east all describing a dark-haired woman of some beauty who used several different identities to lure in unsuspecting men of wealthy families, marry them and subsequently bleed them dry through lies and deception.

- 'Shotgun' Sally Yarborough and Jezebel Behrle continued to live in their log cabin homestead outside Dry Gulch until the entire area fell to waste in the early twentieth century as progress passed it by. Not content with telling tall tales in saloons about their glorious past riding with a wild bunch of women, Sally and Jezebel moved to Hollywood, Los Angeles in 1915 where they became involved in the production of the early, silent Westerns. Sally was always on set, giving the directors the low-down on how the real West had been, not to mention plenty of headaches when they didn't do as she said. Although their marriage wasn't recognized outside of their home region, Sally and Jezebel remained together until death did them part. They're both resting under a single headstone at the Oak Ridge Cemetery near Hollywood.

- Lysette Esther 'Ellie' Shepard and Precious Mahoney continued to live in Dry Gulch for a few years, but following Ellie's defeat - through dishonest means - in the 1884 race for becoming the town's next Sheriff, they packed their belongings into a covered wagon and left the region behind for a new start elsewhere.

They finally settled down in Red Creek, a medium-sized town in Colorado where, after some debate, Ellie Shepard accepted a temporary post as the town's chief law officer while the real Marshal recovered from a bout of pneumonia. Unfortunately, he never did, so the golden badge was Ellie's to keep. She wore it with pride and thus became one of the first female law officers of the Old West.

Precious' skills as a waitress and later as the owner of the Old Home Western Food eatery paved her way into the town's higher echelons, and she and her sweetheart were often invited to coffee-klatches and knitting bees, as well as various meetings organized by the Association of Christian Housewives. Somehow, Ellie was always busy when the latter tried to contact them.

The law office in Red Creek was integrated into the County Sheriff's Office in 1896 and then into the County Police five years later at the turn of the new century. Ellie didn't want to continue so she formally retired from law enforcement and spent most of her days helping Precious at the eatery, or sitting in her rocking chair on the porch back home. Content with life, she enjoyed her hard-earned retirement while sipping iced tea and reminiscing about the towns they had been through and the many people they had met.

Neither believed in the lofty promises of eternal bliss among the angelic choirs in the sky, so they both made sure to live life to the fullest while it was there. Thus, as an old, gray couple, they spent many lazy afternoons in calm, serene surroundings at their home where they continued what they had shared for so long - a strong, loving relationship that no one could tear asunder.

 

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THE END.

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