Jan 20 - Lucky Thirteen

(Whoops, posted this in wrong place - good job someone is watching :))

Well Well Well…

Here we are at the start of another year ... This is the thirteenth year of the Bandanny Challenge.

(No, where did it all go??? Am I really THIS middle aged?? )

So, for January, please bend your fertile imaginations around the topic of;


'Lucky Thirteen'

Enjoy... and do play

I'm first out of the gate, and I made it with 2,996 words. Yay me!

In case anybody is wondering -- this is a one-off. This is not part of a longer piece, and I have no plans to expand it. I got too many other things I haven't finished!

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“Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

Wheat Carlson turned around to face his partner.

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying, sometimes I just don’t understand you.”

Carlson slowed his horse to let his diminutive partner catch up.

“What kind of tomfoolery are you talking now?”

Kyle Murtree straightened up in his saddle. Somehow it made him almost eye level with his taller companion.

“You still ain’t told me why we got all this or what we’re doing with it way out here in the middle of nowhere.” Murtree gestured to the mule whose reins he held. The animal was weighted down with packages and gear.

“Do you got to know everything?”

“I’m your partner. By rights I ought to know everything.”

Carlson snorted. His thick mustache quivered.

“You’ll know soon enough.” A new thought occurred to him. “Think of it like it’s a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”

Murtree considered. “No, don’t think I do.”

“You do so. You like birthday surprises. Remember how much fun we had in Durango on your birthday last year? The little man brightened. A brown-toothed smile crossed his dirty face.

“Yeah, sure do. That was some birthday surprise.” The smile faded. “It ain’t my birthday today. Or did you forget?”

“’Course not. How could I ever forget my partner’s birthday? I was just saying . . . “ his words trailed off.

“What?”

Carlson turned forward again. “Never you mind. Just be patient, alright? I got my reasons. Partners are supposed to trust each other. You ain’t saying you don’t trust me, are you?”

“Nope.” He sighed. “I just wish you’d tell me where we’re going with all this food and supplies.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

Murtree looked around at the desolate landscape. The land might’ve been fertile once, but no longer. The signs of drought were everywhere. Native grasses were baked brown. The few trees drooped under the weight of their dying leaves. The tumbleweeds that crossed the trail ahead kicked up dust.

“Can’t be any ‘there’ in this kind of country. I sure feel sorry for anyone trying to make a go of a ranch around here. They’d be bust by now, or close to.”

Carlson only grunted.

“Hold up a minute. I need a drink.”

Both horses stopped. Murtree took a long drink from his canteen.

“You want some?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

“Well, looky that.”

Carlson looked around. “Lookit what?”

“There’s a mile post with a sign on it.” He squinted. “What’s it say, Wheat?”

“It says, Welcome to the Lucky 13 Ranch.”

“Looks like more’n that. What else does it say?”

“It says, For Sale by owner.”

“Lucky 13? Must be some kind of joke, right?”

Wheat ignored the question. “Give me that canteen, will you? Or you expecting me to dry up like one of them tumbleweeds?”

“’Course not. We’s partners, ain’t we?”

“You got that right.” Carlson took a drink, then wiped his mouth with his hand. Passing the canteen back, he gave Murtree a hard look.

“You know, I said you didn’t have to come with me. I coulda done this errand all by my lonesome.”

“Uh-uh. Bad things happen when we split up. You need me to watch your back.”

Carlson gave his partner a rare warm smile. “I s’pose you’re right. And I do appreciate it, Kyle. I surely do.”

“Well, then. Let’s get going. I cain’t wait to see this surprise you got for me.”

Only about ten minutes later, the men crested a gentle hill and saw buildings and a corral below. They paused, hands crossed on their pommels, and took a good look at the place.

“Is that where we’re going, Wheat?”

“Yep. The Lucky 13 ranch.”

“I sure don’t see anything lucky about it. Them buildings look like the next strong wind might knock them down.”

“We’re bringing them some luck. C’mon.” Carlson gently urged his horse forward, and Murtree followed on the path that led to a small cabin. They were at the hitching post when the cabin’s front door slammed open and a young man came out and shouted at them.

“I don’t believe my eyes! I never thought I’d see you here again!”

Carlson jumped down from his horse and almost ran up to the young men. They pulled each other into a bear hug and pounded each other’s backs.

“How you doing, boy?”

The man pushed Carlson back. “I’m doing better, seeing’s as you’re here. I can’t believe it!” He looked over Carlson’s shoulder, where Kyle sat on his horse, observing the reunion.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This here’s my partner, Kyle. He’s helping me bring a few items for you and Martha.”

The man seemed to notice the mule for the first time. A series of expressions crossed his face, from surprise to gratitude to embarrassment.

“Did you bring that for us, Soren?” Carlson only grinned, like a proud papa. “You know I can’t accept that. Things bought with stolen money, money stolen from dirt farmers like us. . . “ He looked at the ground, unable to meet Carlson’s face.

“You got nothing to worry about, Eric. Them’s all from poker winnings. Kyle here, he was with me when I found me some miners who don’t know nothing about cards. Tell him, Kyle.”

“That’s right. Wheat cleaned out some miners when we was in Silverton. He played fair and square, and he took home the whole pot, and he didn’t spend any of it on the usual. It’s the God-honest truth.”

“Kyle, this here is Eric. Him and his wife Martha, they own this ranch. Where is Martha, anyway? She ain’t hiding from me, is she?”

“Not from you, just from strangers. Nobody comes out here. I sent her down to the root cellar to be safe, while I figured out who was visiting. I’ll go get her.” He went back into the cabin.

Kyle got down from his horse. “He seems like a right nice feller. How’d you meet up with him?”

“Just you wait a minute.” He tied his horse’s reins to the rail. Kyle did the same with his horse and the mule.

Eric returned, holding the hand of a thin young woman wearing a faded calico dress and a soiled apron.

“Martha, you remember my big brother Soren, don’t you?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. She did not smile.

“The brother from the Devil’s Hole Gang. Yes, I remember.”

Wheat and Kyle removed their hats.

“You’re looking fine, Martha. This here’s my partner, Kyle Murtree. Kyle, say hello to Mrs. Carlson.”

Kyle’s wide eyes went from Martha to Wheat to Eric and back to Martha again before he found his voice. “How do, Mrs. Carlson. I’m right pleased to meet you. Sorry I ain’t more presentable. Wheat didn’t tell me we was meeting a lady.”

A pleading look from Eric prompted Martha to remember her manners.

“It’s a pleasure, I’m sure. Won’t you two come in out of this hot sun?”

“Thankee, Martha, we sure will. It’s like a furnace out here.”

Inside the cabin, the three men sat down at a wooden table.

“I just made coffee,” she said. “I expect you’d like to wet your whistles.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Carlson,” Kyle said. “That’s right neighborly of you.”

Martha set out four coffee cups and poured the coffee. Kyle jumped up and pulled out a chair for her.

“No sugar,” she said, settling into the chair Kyle held for her. “We ran out a while back.” Wheat looked directly at Eric, who averted his eyes.

“You get used to black coffee,” Eric said. “We found out we didn’t really need sugar after all.” Wheat looked at his cup with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm before taking a reluctant sip. Kyle didn’t hesitate.

“That sure hits the spot, Mrs. Carlson. I cain’t imagine how you make plain old coffee taste so good.”

“What nice manners you have, Mr. Murtree,” she said. “Did your mother teach you?”

Kyle nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am, she shore did. We was a big family, and she said the only way we’d ever get along is being polite to each other.”

“Did you know, Eric comes from a big family, too – 13 children. And yes, before you ask, that’s how the ranch got its name.”

“I was wonderin’ about that.”

“Your mother would be proud of you, I think.”

“Yeah, he’s a real prince. So how are things, Eric?” Wheat asked. “Give me the truth. Don’t sugarcoat nothing.”

Eric sighed. “As you can see, Mr. Murtree, my family members weren’t taught to be polite like yours were. My big brother doesn’t like to beat around the bush.”

“Family got to be straight with each other, too,” Kyle said. “Who else can you trust with the truth?”

“I’d like to tell you everything’s fine,” Eric said, “but you can tell they aren’t just by looking around. We’re in our third year of drought.” He reached for Martha’s hand. “All the old-timers say it’s the worst they’ve ever seen. When we do get rain, we get a flash flood that washes away what’s left of the topsoil, and it’s back to drought.”

“How’re you making it then?”

“We’re not. How’s that for telling the truth to your family, Kyle? We’re not making it. We’re on slim rations, us and the horses. Only two of them left. We had to sell the sheep at a loss. No grazing around here anymore. Martha does wonders with what little we have, but I don’t know how much longer even she can keep making silk purses out of sow’s ears.”

“You don’t got to worry for now, at least. That mule’s loaded with supplies. It’s all for you.”

Martha and Eric both sat up straighter and opened their mouths to speak. Wheat held up one hand.

“Don’t you say nothing. You’re taking it all, and that’s the end of it. We’re family, and family got to watch out for family. You’d do the same for me, if you was in my place and I was in yours.”

“It’s too much, Soren. We can’t accept it. We can’t pay you back.”

“Who said anything about paying me back? Our mam always told me to take care of the little ones. She’d come back to haunt me if I didn’t help you out in lean times. Besides, this drought can’t last forever.”

Martha and Eric exchanged glances. “It doesn’t have to last forever,” he said. “We’re just about cleaned out. If we could sell . . . we’re about to be foreclosed by the bank.”

“We seen the for sale sign out yonder on the road,” Kyle said.

Eric nodded. “We’ll never get back what we spent to buy this place, but at least, we’d like to have some money so we could start again somewhere else. A fresh start. The way things are now, we’re stuck. We can’t sell, and we don’t have enough money to go.”

“Take a look around,” Martha said. “The shelves and the cupboards are empty. Not even sugar, as you’ve seen. We’ve sold everything we can sell, trying to pay the mortgage, and we’re still too far behind to ever catch up.”

“We’re gonna fill them shelves and cupboards for you,” Wheat said. “We brung plenty of supplies. What that mule’s carrying ought to get you through at least a couple more months. Ain’t that right, Kyle?”

“Wheat’s right – I mean, Soren’s right,” Kyle said. He ignored the look Wheat gave him. “We brung ever’thing anybody might need – we got flour and sugar and coffee and salt and all sorts of canned goods. Wheat bought a big salt ham that was hanging over at the butcher shop, and a whole lot more. We even got bolts of fabric. Them shelves and cupboards, they’re gonna be full up now.”

“And cash, too.” Wheat added. “I figured the bank was after you. There’s enough to catch you up, and then some.”

Martha burst into tears. Stunned, Wheat and Kyle sat still, shock on their faces. Eric got up to hug her, but she pushed him away and ran outside, still sobbing. Eric stood next to his chair, dismay written across his face.

“I better go after her,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess you better,” Wheat told him. Eric ran outside to follow Martha, slamming the door behind him. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. Finally, Kyle spoke.

“Soren?”

Wheat’s tanned face couldn’t disguise his blush. “Yeah.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“Swedish. Our folks come here from Sweden.” He pointed an insistent finger at Kyle. “Don’t you never tell no one that name.”

Kyle shrugged. “Makes no nevermind to me. You want some more coffee?”

“Damn it!” Wheat slammed his fist on the table so hard, the coffee cups shook. “No, I don’t want no more damn coffee!”

“Well, if you ain’t thirsty no more, how’s about we get that mule unpacked and settle the animals? They’s plumb wore out, same as us. We can get our bedrolls set up in the barn, too. And after that, we can get dinner started. Everything looks better on a full stomach, that’s what I say.”

Wheat released a deep sigh.

“Alright, Kyle. Alright.”

0000000

“That looks like a good spot.”

“Ain’t no good spot when you’re sleeping in a barn.”

Kyle lay his bedroll down on a layer of straw. “We done slept in a lot worse. Seems mighty fine to me. ‘Sides, it’s only for one night, right? We got to return that mule you rented back to the livery.”

“Right. Can’t have no one think we’s horse thieves.” Wheat lay his bedroll down across from Kyle’s. “Just make sure you don’t snore too much.”

“If I do, you’ll wake me up, same’s you always do.”

“Damn right I will.”

“Now that’s all done, all we got to do is rustle up supper.” As if in response, Wheat’s stomach growled loudly.

“You ever know me to turn down a meal?”

“No sirree bob.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” But Wheat didn’t move away. Instead, he walked over to where his horse stood quietly in the stall. The animal knickered gently as he approached and stood still while he stroked the velvety nose a few times, then put his face against the horse’s broad neck.

“Maybe I should go see about supper. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

Wheat didn’t move. “Maybe you should.”

As he walked out from the barn and along the corral, Kyle noticed the sun was setting. The western sky was brilliantly lit with streaks of red. He paused, resting his arms on the fence and enjoying the view. The heat of the day was fading. A light breeze blew pleasantly, and he heard birds singing in the trees. He looked up and saw a hawk gliding soundlessly above him. Footsteps crunched in the dirt off to his right, and he saw Martha walking from the cabin. She stood next to him, mimicking his stance, her arms resting on the fence.

“It’s a beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Sure is. I mind what my ma used to say. ‘Red sky at night, traveler’s delight.”

“And, ‘red sky in morning, traveler, take warning.’” She smiled at him. “My mother said the same thing.”

They stood quietly side by side, watching the sun’s slow descent. Kyle looked at her. Her attention seemed fixed on the horizon.

“Ma’m.” She didn’t react. “Ma’am, I’m awful sorry we upset you today. Wheat didn’t mean no harm. You feelin’ any better?”

She gripped her hands together tightly and looked at the ground.

“I know he meant well, but all he’s done – it’s like putting a bandage on a mortal wound.” She turned to look at him. “I think you understand, Mr. Murtree. All this does is prolong the agony. Eric was ready to walk away, but now he says we can stay here longer. Maybe even wait out the drought.” Suddenly, her eyes were glistening with tears. “He says Soren has given us a fresh start. But I just want to leave. I want a real fresh start, in a town, with other people around. Not stuck in this godforsaken lonesome place anymore all by ourselves.”

“I sure am sorry, ma’am. I know ol’ Wheat, he weren’t aiming to make things worse for y’all.”

She nodded.

“Have you ever thought about a fresh start for yourself, Mr. Murtree?”

He blinked. “Ma’am?”

“Give up your life of crime. Leave Devil’s Hole. You could become an honest man again, once you get away from the influence of certain bad men.” She looked at the sunset again. Only a few rays of light lit the ranch. The night clouds were moving in.

He looked thoughtful. “I know some pretty good bad men back at Devil’s Hole, Ma’am. They’s my friends. I think I’d miss them real bad if I didn’t see them no more. ‘Sides, there ain’t much else I’m good at. I cain’t hardly read or write good enough to work nowhere except maybe a cattle drive, and the railroads, they’re shipping cattle now. Won’t be no drives to work on afore long. Guess I’m stuck.”

“Are you.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “That makes two of us. I came out to tell you that dinner’s ready.” She went back to the cabin without a backwards glance. Her unhappiness seemed to linger in the air. Kyle’s shoulders drooped, and he rested his chin on his forearms. The sun sunk below the horizon. He raised his head and looked up at the sky. The first faint stars were twinkling.

He heard Wheat’s heavy footsteps.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Wheat asked, joining him at the fence. “You’re just standing there like a cigar store Indian.”

“I was looking at the stars. Ain’t they pretty? Makes you feel like ever’thing’s right in the world.”

Wheat shook his head. “You know what, Kyle? Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

Challenge: Luck Thirteen

Didn't think I was going to make it this month, kept pulling blanks until this morning.  Whew!

Destiny Cycle #21: Too Many Outlaws to a Cabin


“Eleven, twelve, thirteen-”

“What are you counting?”

“Pinecones. Thirteen—”

“On the ground or in the tree?”

“There’s thirty-two on the ground, thirteen-”

“Then in the tree,” came a chipper reply, followed by, “you getting anywhere near locking down your temper?”

“You interrupting isn’t helping.”

“What they do now?”

“What haven’t they done?”

“Well, I’m sure there is plenty they haven’t done.”

“Yeah? Name some.”

Silence stretched between the partners.

“Well?”

“You put me on the spot, I can’t think.”

“Go away,” Curry replied, raising his face to the tree, once more muttering numbers.

There came a clatter from above, and two pinecones plopped into the soft, brown nest of needles surrounding the tree.

“You already count that pair?”

“You come out here to rile me up further?” Curry snarled, not bothering to face his partner.

“Having heard you threatened,” there was a pause filled with a definite sarcastic snort, “to put anyone who followed you under the soil already alerted me you were riled.”

“Still, here you are.”

“Knew you wouldn’t put me under the soil.”

Blue eyes slowly lowered to Hannibal Heyes, casually standing with his thumbs tucked into his beltline, “you sure.”

“Out here, aren’t I.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Curry heaved out a chuffing sigh.

“Keep telling you to ignore them.”

“I can’t read the way you do.”

“Now, that isn’t true.” Heyes grinned, “I was there when you were taught how.”

“Heyes, I am not in the mood for you ‘bout now.”

The grin became a chuckle that earned Heyes a few well spat curse words, which only made him laugh louder. Taking a breath, he, at last, gasped, “I have a plan to rescue you.”

Shifting his weight to his heels, Curry raised his chin with a scowl.

Despite the gunfighter’s glare which, almost always, caused others to walk away, Heyes grinned heartily, saying, “been looking ‘round the Hole, and I’ve found enough supplies to build a comfy room in the back corner of the barn.”

“How big of a room?”

Rolling his lower lip through his teeth, Heyes answered, “10x10.”

“You planning on bunking there?”

A barking laugh erupted from Heyes, and he threw a quick look toward the Leader’s Cabin, “of course.”

“Then it isn’t going to work. ‘Cause after a few days, I would be ready to put you in the ground.” Jabbing a finger toward his and Heyes’ cabin, Curry shouted, “move them to the barn.”

Swallowing hard, Heyes’ mouth twisted to the side, and when he spoke, he looked a bit greenish, “can’t do that, I uhm...well, I can’t.”

“Oh, I know…” Curry rolled his eyes, “what makes you such a good leader is—”

“Stop!” Heyes shouted, “I already know it is foolish to let Kyle lead me on with such verbose praise.”

Curry’s nose wrinkled, “verbose is right.”

Heyes’ tongue flicked across his lower lip, and with a puckish toothy grin, he said, “You don’t know what verbose means, do you?”

Stepping up on Heyes, Curry jabbed an indignant, rigid finger in his pal’s chest. “You really thinking this is the time to be showing off.”

Heyes raised his eyebrows in response.

Curry jabbed him again, breathing into his face, “You want to show off, you figure out how to free us from living shoulder to shoulder with the entire gang.”

Above the turmoil rising from the leader’s cabin, the sharp thrum of a Jew’s Harp rang out, the twanging being somewhat recognizable as the ‘Rose of Alabama.’

“Damn it!” Curry barked, throwing his head back. “Lobo’s found that harp, again. I am not going back in there.”

Heyes studied the cabin, rubbing a palm along his jawline he muttered, “We could go to Lottie’s.”

“You want to try the passes this late in January?”

Releasing a chirking sound, Heyes shrugged, “shot down the barn idea, won’t go back inside, can’t have you killing off our gang. Doesn’t leave many choices.”

Curry stared loathingly at the cabin, for a long drawn out minute, before replying. “Fine, let’s try for Lottie’s.”

Heyes’ relaxed, full smile finally appeared, “Great! Let me tell the boys.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Kid, we can’t just ride off.”

“And why not?”

“That’d be like us abdicating our leadership.”

“Really? Abdicating?”

“It’s when-”

“I know what it means.”

“You do??”

The blue eyes narrowed.

“Go on and inform them. Just make sure they know, we two...” he jabbed Heyes in the chest hard enough to set him back a step, “...are going, and they are not.”

“But, they will want to.”

“Are you their leader or not?”

A deep frown darkened Heyes’ face, pitting his dimple into his cheek.

“Well?”

“I’ll inform ‘em.”

------ASJ-------ASJ-------ASJ--------ASJ---------ASJ----------ASJ---------

“Didn’t expect to see so many fresh sets of tracks leading into Lottie’s this time of day,” Curry said, squinting under the noon sun reflecting off the glistening, ice-crusted snow.

“Has to be the cold,” Heyes responded, hastening after his partner for the Chicken Ranch’s front door, “I’m frozen clear through.”

“’Bout the same,” Curry answered, knocking snow from his boots against Lottie's front steps, the hollow thumping sounding unusually loud on the snow-blanketed day.

Their stomping had worked as well as knocking for when they looked up, a tiny, flamboyantly attired, full-figured lady had opened the door and was holding onto it eyeing the pair of them.

“Hello,” Curry said, glancing to Heyes before asking, “Lottie not welcoming her guests in?”

“Busy day, quite a few guests already inside.”

“And, now two more,” Heyes answered, a little too brightly, shouldering past his partner. “Don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Tilting her head, which was topped with piles and piles of golden curls, to the side, the woman peered up into Heyes’ face. “No, we haven’t, I wouldn’t be forgettin’ such a smile as yours.” She held up her dainty hand, the heavy rings adorning it, making it look even smaller.  “I’m Jenny Black.”

Taking the offered hand, Heyes brushed his lips across the back of it, “Hannibal Heyes, Ma’am.” He tipped his head toward his partner, “and this here’s Kid Curry. Mind inviting us in before we’re to stove up to do so?”

Stepping back, Jenny opened the door wide, “Heard of you.” Once they were in, she shut the door, flicking its brass lock into place. “And, mighty fine to meet you both.”

They nodded, pulling gloves, and unbuttoning their coats while peering at the thick, burgundy jacquard curtains somewhat muffling the cheerful sounds emitting from Lottie’s drinking and gambling parlor.  

“Noticed some good horses in the barn,” Kid said, his blue eyes flicking toward Jenny. “Who all is here?”

“Fraid I’m not much help,” she answered, a smile flitting across her face. “I haven’t been here long enough to learn the local's names.”

“Yet, you knew us. . .” Heyes said, glancing warily to Curry, “. . . and Lottie’s allowing you to mind the door.”

A kitten purr of laughter rolled from Jenny, “Ain’t you the suspicious one. Sugah, everyone knows y’alls names and, Lottie and me, we been pals, or as she would say bonne amis, for an awful long while. So, don’t you be frettin’ so.”

Heyes’ nose wrinkled, but Curry’s broad, cheerful smile appeared. “Nevermind Heyes, he is a born skeptic. It’s good to meet you, Miz. Jenny,” and saying this, he offered her his hand to shake.

“Oh, goodness, that’s too formal.” Reaching up, she pulled Curry into a full embrace, kissing him. “You just call me, Jenny, and I deem we’ll be dandy pals, right quick.”

Grinning like one bringing rare news, Curry chuckled, “betting we will.”

Turning to Heyes, Jenny raised one sharp eyebrow, tilting a bright blue eye up at him.

Bending, he obligingly planted a peck on her rounded cheek.

With a shake of her head, that set her curls to bobbing, she playfully sighed, “suppose it is a start.”

“It is,” he answered, and loosening some, offered her, his arm, “shall we join the others?”

Grinning wickedly, she leaned in close, “only in all good things.”

A soft snort escaped Heyes, “I might have to concede to friendship quicker than I was planning, Jenny, I just may.” Pulling back the curtains, he escorted Jenny in with the entire room turning to see who they might be.

Just off-center, near a Faro game, stood a bald man in an iron black suit, his pale eyes widening as they fell on Heyes and in return Heyes’ dark eyes did the same on recognizing the man as Hue Milton, a known take ‘em in dead sort of bounty hunter.

Without hesitation, Milton twisted, reaching for his pistol.

As he did, the room spun around Heyes, everything slowing down. He could see Sam behind the bar shouting a warning, gamblers and sporting gals turning, leaning, diving from being caught between Milton and his obvious target. Wrapping his arms about Jenny, Heyes flung himself to the side, pulling her from harm’s way while hollering “Kid, straight ahead.”

However, Curry did not need the warning as he had already locked on Milton and was pulling his Colt. Which would be the technical description of what Curry did, because he no longer felt the actual motion, only the weight of the Colt as he flung it forward with fire bursting from its muzzle.

Hue Milton flew back, blood spraying from his gun shoulder, his own bullet showering down ceiling plaster above where Heyes had been standing.

When Milton hit the floor, a collective gasp was exhaled by the room. Except, the bounty hunter was not done, and rolling to his side, he scrambled to his knees, and using both hands, he brought his own Colt back to bear on Kid Curry.  “Name of the law, I aim to arrest you.”

“Not tonight, Milton,” Curry answered, “drop your piece.”

“You’ll shoot me through if I do.”

“Not my style, although it's known to be yours.”

Milton’s pistol wavered, blood pumping from his wound, staining his shirtfront a dark merlot.

“You’ve lost this round, Milton.”

The pistol hit the floor with a hard thud, and heaving out a rattling groan, Milton pushed himself up, using the Faro table to leverage himself to his feet.

Stepping forward, Lottie’s face was near as red as her hair, “Monsieur, it be well known, I non allow huntin’ in mon place. Not ever!”

Gripping tight of the table's leather padded edge, Milton turned an ugly face to Lottie. “I have no care for what a well-dressed whore has to say.” Shoving himself up, he jerked a pistol from behind his back, but even as he stretched out his arm for Curry, a belching roar overwhelmed all other sounds and folding in half Milton dropped to the floor like a bag of potatoes.

Placing a smoking sawed-off shotgun on the tabletop, the faro dealer drawled, “It is uncouth to address a lady in such a horrid manner.”

His words breathed life back into the room, its inhabitants cheering agreement.

Disentangling himself from Jenny’s voluminous green silk dress, Heyes rose up, bringing the gasping blonde with him as Curry holstered his firearm.

Putting her hands on her ample hips, Lottie squealed, “Par Dieu, Doc! Now, moi has to call for the Law instead of the docteur.”

Standing, the dealer smoothed an errant lock of hair away, his entire face alight with mischief. “I’d say all you truly require is the undertaker.”

“You fully well know, it do not work that way, Monsieur Holliday,” Lottie answered, jabbing a finger directly at the thin, wide-shouldered man. “What is it goin’ cost moi to have you removed from the skillet, yet again?”

Snagging Lottie’s hand, Holliday pulled it to his mouth, kissing her palm, “Come now, Darlin’, ain’t I been your good luck charm?”

She shook her head, “Chér, I'd say as lucky as number thirteen, oui, that be what I’d say.”

“Ah, Chérie, how cruel you can be.” He grinned, kissing her palm again, “still, I am positive we shall come upon something.”

Shaking her head, but smiling, Lottie shouted, “Sam, send Mikey for the undertaker, then Sheriff Mills.” Pulling her hand from Holliday, she turned to the room, releasing a vivacious smile and a bird song laugh, she called out, “rest of y’all best be for huntin’ y’alls hidey holes.”

The room became unbelievably noisy as its occupants set to clearing out while exclaiming over what had occurred.

Heyes turned open-mouthed and wide-eyed to Curry, the pair briefly reliving the frigid two-day ride that had brought them here.