Street and Smith's _New York Weekly_ is proud to present the latest addition to the amazing legend of Eerie, Arizona.

  

Jessie Hanks -- Outlaw Queen

by Nicholas Varrick

As Told To Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2003

 

Chapter 1 -- "Riders in the Night"

"One... Two... Three!" Jessie Hanks yelled, as she swung the saddle back and forth, then upward. This time, it worked. The heavy saddle went over the top of the tethered horse, settling unevenly on the blanket on its back. "Finally!" she said, tugging at the blanket to straighten it. She quickly reached down and buckled the cinches around the horse's trunk fore and aft, pulling them as tightly as she could. She stood back and puffed. Hell, it had taken her four tries to get the damned thing on the horse; she hadn't had so much trouble with a saddle since she was twelve.

The horse, a brown gelding that Jessie was starting to call "Useless", snorted, as the cinches tightened. Luckily he didn't move very much because the pen was too narrow.

She looked at her slender arms and spat. Jesse Hanks had been able to saddle a horse by himself since he was ten. Now, as Jessie Hanks, a girl of about eighteen, she'd had to work hard just to lift the forty-pound saddle off the shed wall and onto the horse. Damn, and she hadn't even put the saddlebags on it yet.

Jessie decided to put the saddlebags on empty and load them afterwards, so she just tied them to the saddle. "C'mon, Useless," she said, as she picked up the oil lamp that she'd used for light. She opened the stall and used the bridal and reins to lead the horse back to Toby's cabin. She tied the reins to a post and went inside.

"Now I'm sorry you got your head bashed in," she said as she looked down at Toby Hess' body on the floor. I could have used some help with that saddle. I never thought you was good for anything more'n hard labor, you old bastard." She looked down at the body and shook her head. "With a rep like mine, they'll never believe it was self-defense. I'll hang for sure. Hell, they might just string me up and not even wait for a trial. I figure my only chance is to put as many miles as I can between me and that town."

Deciding she didn't like looking at him, she took the dusty canvas that lay against the wall and spread it over the corpse. "Anyhow, I'm sick and tire of being a damned slave at that Saloon."

"Much fun as it is talking to you, it ain't helping me get packed and get outta here. You'll smell as bad as you look, pretty soon, but that's the undertaker's problem." She looked around the cluttered, unkempt cabin. Most of what she wanted to take was already piled on the table. Now she sorted the goods into two heaps. The pistol -- and why the hell didn't the man have a holster for it, anyway? -- rifle, bullets for them both, a flint and steel fire starter kit, a small sharpening stone, can opener, hardtack, and some canned meat all went in one pile. A thick, wool blanket, a towel, Toby's other spare shirt, and a union suit went into the other.

The union suit was too big for her, but she could always roll up sleeves and legs. If she rode up into the mountains that she'd heard were there to the north, she'd probably need the extra warmth. She was already planning to wear Toby's jacket, but that was as much to make her look bigger as it was for heat.

Jessie was already wearing Toby's shirt and a spare pair of his pants. He'd ripped her dress and camisole to shreds on his ill-fated try at rape. She'd reacted by kneeing him where it would hurt the worst. He'd fallen backwards in pain and hit his head on the stone fireplace. The blow was fatal to him, though the fireplace seemed to be mostly intact.

She had tied up her long, blonde hair in a bun and tucked under the man's tan plainsman hat. She'd used the hairpin she'd been wearing to pin it tighter for the ride ahead.

She picked up the pistol and was about to tuck in under her belt when she had a second thought and stuck it in a jacket pocket. She'd found a knife, too, and she was already wearing it in a sheath clipped onto her belt.

The girl carried the items in each pile out to Useless and packed it in one of the saddlebags. She couldn't find a scabbard for the rifle, so it was tied to the left saddlebag; a small hatchet was in a scabbard attached to the right one. A second blanket, she rolled up and tied behind the saddle. She filled two canteens full of water and hung them down next to the hatchet.

She picked up the sock she'd found with money in it: two twenty dollar double eagles, a five dollar half eagle, and three dollars in folding money buried in a trunk with the clothes. This Jessie shoved into an inside jacket pocket, sock and all.

"Thanks for the loan," she said with a smile, looking at Toby's corpse. "What's that? Keep it? Why thanks! Thanks for nothing, you horny bastard." She grimaced with a twist of a smile. "'Course, maybe I owe you. If you hadn't dragged me outta town tied up like a sheep for your own lecherous purposes, I wouldn't be able to get away now."

"Then again, if you hadn't up n'died, I might not need to run. My sentence is up in..." She counted days in her head. "...hell, in a week or so, but with you dead, I might not even be alive by then."

For a moment, she thought about torching the cabin, but it'd take a little time and it might bring company, company that she didn't want. "Best to put some distance b'tween this place and me," she said aloud. "No telling who might be around. Hell, it's even money that there'll soon be folks out here from Eerie looking for me and Laura. Last thing I need is t'run into Shamus or that damned sheriff."

The thought of Laura Meehan made her pause for a moment. If Toby took her, then Laura was probably with his idiot partner, Jake Steinmetz. Toby had told her once that Jake had a cabin a few miles away from his. 'Maybe I should try'n find her,' she thought.

"Why the hell waste the time?" she answered herself. "It ain't like she's kin; we ain't hardly even friends." She remembering the way Laura had palled around with Maggie and Bridget, and mostly just sent dirty looks her way. "We only just rode together a few days before we come t'Eerie. Besides, I don't even know which way that other cabin is. Sorry, Laura, m'girl," she said with a shake of her head, but it's every man for himself. Besides, they ain't gonna be looking t'hang you."

She locked the door to the cabin behind her, leaving the oil lamp still burning inside. "Let'm think somebody's there, so they waste time trying t'get in."

Jessie had learned to ride on her father's old plow horse when she was a boy, so now she had no trouble mounting Useless, as big as he was. Once in the saddle, she looked around once. She knew she was in the mountains somewhere north of town. She looked up and found the "Drinking Cup" in the night sky and followed the handle to the North Star. She planned on riding in that general direction for the rest of the night.

"Look out, World, cause Jessie Hanks is back," She yelled into the night, louder than she'd planned. The echoes coming back out of the darkness prickled her hair. Determined to make it deep into the rough before sunup, she whipped the reins, letting go with her right hand to slap Useless' rump. The horse reared and took off at full gallop.

Again Jessie had overestimated her own strength, and the reins almost pulled out of her left hand. She clenched them hard enough to turn her knuckles white, while Useless galloped through the woods. She ducked this way and that, dodging branches and hoping she wouldn't fall -- or be knocked off his back. Useless didn't respond to Jessie's shouts of "Whoa!" any more than to any of the other words she yelled -- some of them much bluer.

All the while, the fugitive girl kept grabbing for the reins with her right hand. She finally caught it and pulled back as hard as she could. She braced herself in the stirrups, leaning back until it almost felt like she was lying down.

Useless slowed from a gallop to a trot, and Jessie sat up. She thought she'd be able to control him well enough at this speed. She sighed with relief; then she looked down at her arms. She'd had to roll the sleeves of Toby's jacket over twice, so her hands -- her damnable weak, _pretty_, little hands wouldn't get lost in them. "I'll get my old body back, so help me I will," she said through gritted teeth, "and when I do..."

* * * * *

Almost an hour later, seven men rode up onto a low ridge near Toby Hess' cabin.

They split into two groups as they rode in towards the cabin. Clay Falk, Phineas "Finny" Pike, and Angel Montiero rode around to come in from behind. Clay stopped by the small, sagging barn. Finny and Angel rode in closer, checking for any other way out besides the front door.

Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant, a tall, wiry-looking man with curly brown hair, rode in towards the front with Sam Braddock, Joe Kelton, and Davy Kitchner. The men dismounted and walked towards the door.

Paul tried the cabin door, standing off to once side in case a shotgun blast came through it. Locked. He backed off a few feet and yelled: "Toby... Toby Hess, this is Paul Grant. We know you'n Jake took the women, and we came to get them back. You open the door right now and come out with your hands up."

They waited a short while, but there was no answer. "You're making things even harder on yourself, Toby," Paul shouted.

"Aw, hell," Joe Kelton said. "Toby's too dumb to be playing games like this. I don't think he's even in there." He braced himself and kicked in the door. Then he saw the heap under the canvas. He went in and pulled it clear. "Hey, there _is_ somebody in here, but he looks hurt; hurt real bad." He backed away from the body.

"That's Toby," Paul Grant said. He knelt down beside the man and felt for a pulse. There was none. His long, thin fingers found the gash on the back of Toby's head, and he saw the blood on the fireplace stone. "They must've fought. Not much bleeding; he must have hit his head and died fast."

"Hard to believe a little thing like Jessie could take out a man like Toby Hess," Clay Falk said, coming into the cabin.

Paul picked up the shreds of Jessie's clothes. "Maybe, but I think I know what they were fighting over. "Some women get downright unreasonable about rape. If that's what this polecat was up to, then it was self-defense."

"Maybe," Sam Braddock said, "but I don't see her around anywhere to ask."

"Look for her," Paul told the others. "She might have crawled off hurt". He stood and looked around for any clues to what had happened, while Sam and Joe searched outside. "Davy," the Deputy asked the man behind him, "you said you knew where Jake Steinmetz' place is."

"Yeah, it's over..." He started to point.

"Don't tell me," Paul said. "You just head on over there and tell the sheriff about Toby here. Get him to bring over Jake's wagon, so we can take Toby's body back to town."

Davy nodded and ran out the door. Moments later Paul heard him ride off.

"Toby kept a horse out here," Clay yelled from outside. "It's gone now."

"Yeah, it looks like a bunch of supplies is missing, too," Paul said, glancing around the cabin.

"Maybe Jessie headed back to Eerie," Joe suggested.

"I don't think so," Paul said. "She wouldn't take supplies if she was only going back to town. Jessie is even wilder than her sister, Wilma -- or at least more reckless. She'd run if she could. I don't know how much of a start that little gal has on us, or even what direction she took. I do know that we can't track her till sunup, and that's still a few hours off yet." He sighed. "Odds are, she's gonna get clean away."

Joe scratched his head. "The dang fool. She only had a few weeks time left to serve, and then she'd be free to go anywhere she wanted. What the hell is she thinking, a woman all alone out there in the wild?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess it just hasn't dawned on her that she's a woman now, she and has to play by new rules. Till she does, she's just a disaster waiting to happen."

"Whatever, the Sheriff ain't gonna like this," Sam said. "Not one bit."

* * * * *

"Hey, Paul, they's some cartridges here on the floor," Davy said, pointing under the table. The men had spent the last forty minutes searching the cabin and its grounds for any clues.

"I saw them," Paul said with a frown and picked one up. "We don't know what else Jessie may have, but we know she's got a rifle."

"Yeah, but what're you worried about?" Davy asked. That spell Shamus put on her won't let her use it on anybody."

"It wasn't supposed to let her escape from Eerie either, but she seems to have managed to get around that."

Paul didn't like the idea of a rifle in the hands of a woman with the brain of the outlaw Jesse Hanks, but until daylight there wasn't much he could do except wait and report to the Sheriff.

"Riders coming," Finny Pike yelled from the cabin door, "a whole bunch of them."

"It is the sheriff and the others," Angel Montiero said. "Davy is with them. They brought the wagon."

Six men rode up, Sheriff Dan Talbot in the lead. A seventh man, Arsenio Caulder, was driving what must have been Jake Steinmetz' wagon. Laura Meehan was sitting next to him, not looking too much the worse for wear. Jake, Toby's partner, sat in the back of the wagon, his hands and feet firmly tied. A second rope tied Jake to one of the side struts of the wagon.

"Hey, Paul," Dan said as his deputy came out of the cabin. Hear you're having some problems."

"Yep, Toby's dead, and there's no sign of Jessie anywhere."

"That's bad. If she's on the run, she'll get a long lead."

Paul nodded. "I figured we'd take Toby's body back to town and let the Doc have a look at it. I can get me some sleep and head back out here in the morning t'start out after our missing gal."

Dan thought for a minute. "Sounds like a plan to me. Make sure you got enough supplies, though; you may be on the trail for quite a spell."

"I hope not," Paul nodded, but Jessie's been man-hunted before. She probably knows a trick or two."

"I expect that she does, but if any man can track down that stray, you can."

The two men went inside. Dan took a very good look at the blood on the fireplace and the wound on the back of Toby's head. "You're probably right that it was an accident. Right about the rape, too, I think; Toby always was a horny old bird. Trouble is, a man has died and it's murder till a judge and jury says it ain't."

"I know," Paul said. "Jessie probably knows that, too, and that's another reason she's _not_ gonna want to be caught."

Davy Ketchum and Monk Dworkin, one of the men who'd come in with the Sheriff, picked up Toby's body and carried it out to the wagon.

"Oh, my Lord," Jake said, when he saw the body. "Th-that's Toby. You wasn't lying; he _is_ dead. That... bitch Jessie, she done killed my partner."

"He deserved it," Laura said, turning around on the wagon seat to glower at him. "Least ways, he did if he tried to do to her what you tried to do to me. Where'd you two get the idea you could just carry us off like sacks of flour?"

Jake looked almost surprised. "Laura, you mean really you don't like us? I-I thought..."

"I think he's beginning to get the idea," Arsenio said.

"Took him long enough," Laura said. "I knew they were a damned pain in the ass, pawing us at the saloon they way they did, but I always thought they were just too plain dumb to get themselves into any real trouble." She looked down at Toby's body and shook her head. "I guess I was wrong."

"You ain't mad at me; are you, Laura?" Jake asked plaintively.

"Jake," Laura spat, "I'm madder than hell at you, at the _both_ of you. I just don't think that Toby should have died for being stupid."

"However he died, the man deserves a little dignity," Marty Hernandez said. He had something -- a canvas, Laura saw -- under his arm. He used it to cover the body, bunching some of it under Toby's head and feet. It would stay in place the whole long ride back to town.

* * * * *

Jessie thought she heard the sound of rushing water ahead. She slowed Useless to a walk and kept alert. The full moon was still high enough to see by... some, but this was mountain country. The last thing she wanted was to ride off some damned cliff into a river.

Yes, there was a river, and it was close. She found the edge of that cliff and looked down. It would've been a nasty fall, thirty feet or more down to the water. She could see the rapids just a bit upstream from where she was. Downstream, though, the river looked calm for as far as she could see. The question was how to get down to it?

She followed the gorge rim until she found place where a landslide had made a gentler trail, a rocky but scalable grade. She had to take her time; Useless was skittish walking over loose stone, but they finally made it to the river.

She sat still a moment, just looking across the water. It looked to be a few hundred feet wide with no trail she could see on the other side. Rapids meant shallows. She should have no trouble crossing.

"Just as well there's no trail over there, Useless," she whispered. We can we can head into the middle and walk us a ways downstream -- make it that much harder for anybody t'track us." She flicked the reins and guided the horse into the river, past his fetlocks though never deeper than its knees.

She was out about fifty yards. Useless hadn't been too happy about going in, but he was more comfortable now. He lowered his head and began to drink. Jessie let him, using the time to take a drink herself from a canteen.

She'd knew that she'd left an almost full bottle of whiskey back at Toby's cabin. 'It would've been nice to have,' she thought, 'but riding cross-country to get away from a posse ain't the time to be getting liquored up. She _had_ brought along all that money she'd found. "Once I gets away, they'll be lots of time for old Toby t'buy me a drink.'

After a bit, Useless lifted his head out of the water and started walking towards the far shore. Jessie pulled at the reins. Useless turned away, then turned back. "No, you stupid nag," Jessie said firmly, "I want to stay in the river for now."

She turned the gelding a second time, pulling much harder -- for her -- on the reins. The horse seemed to understand. With a whinny that sounded like the equine equivalent of "Oh, what the hell, _you're_ the rider," Useless began walking slowly downstream.

Jessie rode on in midstream for almost an hour, going slowly, listening for the sounds that would warn of rapids or, worse, a waterfall, ahead. She also kept looking down to see how deep the water was getting. She'd have a harder time controlling Useless in deeper water.

The young woman had just come around a bend in the river when she started to hear a noise ahead. It got louder as she rode towards it, the churning rush of fast water. "Time t'get to shore," Jessie said and turned Useless towards the far riverbank.

As she got close, she saw trouble. The bank was a narrow ledge, only a few feet wide, at the base of a twenty-foot cliff.

"Damn," Jessie spat. She turned Useless upstream to find a place where she could ride out of the river.

She found it a few hundred yards upstream. There was a break in the cliff wall, an easy slope that led up to the top. Easy, except that it was overgrown with low brush. She had Useless move towards it slowly. He stepped on some of the plants and whinnied, shaking his head. "Move it, Useless. I isn't gonna spend the rest of the night looking for something you like better."

The bay took another step. This time, he found gravel. They inched their way forward; she certainly couldn't risk having him fall. The climb took much longer than she wanted, and a lot of the brush was broken under Useless' hooves, but they made it to the top.

Jessie looked down at the path they'd taken from the river. It felt good to have done what she'd just done. "I sure ain't as strong as I used t'be, but I can ride as good as ever." She patted the side of her onery mount. Maybe this would work out even better than she thought.

* * * * *

It was almost 5 AM by the time the men got back to Eerie. Most of them headed straight for their homes and beds. Shamus had promised each member of the posse a free drink when they got back, but most of them were too tired to enjoy it very much just then. Besides, the place was usually closed this time of night.

Arsenio pulled the wagon up in front of the Eerie Saloon. He jumped down and ran around to help Laura. "I can manage," she said irritably as she climbed down unaided.

"I know," Arsenio said. "I... I just thought that you might still be a little shaky from what happened to you." He'd had his hands raised to help her, but now he lowered them awkwardly to his sides.

"Yes, I... I guess I am." To his eyes, she seemed a bit flustered. She drew in a breath, as if to clear her head, and walked into the Saloon. Arsenio shrugged, accepting that she had a lot of calming down to do. He untied his horse's reins from the wagon, and then retied them to a hitching post before following her into the Saloon.

The Sheriff also drew his horse up by the Saloon. He tipped back his hat and said, "Paul, why don't you take Jake over t'the Jail. Put him in a cell, then put yourself to bed. You'll need all the sleep you can get, if you're going to ride back up to Toby's cabin and start off after Jessie today."

"You got it, Boss," Paul said, stifling a yawn. Paul slept at the jail. Amy Talbot, the Sheriff's wife, had rigged up a storeroom there as a spare bedroom for when her husband had to work late. Paul took it for himself when he became Dan's deputy. After the crowded bunkhouse at Slocum's ranch, the room seemed like the lap of luxury.

"Why I don't I go with him?" Blackie Easton asked. I can drive Toby's body over to the Doc's after Jake gets out." The Sheriff nodded. Blackie tied his horse to the wagon before climbing up into the seat. He picked up the reins and started off. Paul, still on his own horse, followed.

* * * * *

"Laura, Saints be praised, ye're back!" Molly O'Toole's voice rang through the room. The older woman hurried towards the door. "We were so worried. Are ye and..." She stopped and looked past Laura towards the door. "Where's Jessie then?"

Wilma Hanks had been sweeping by some of the tables. "Yeah," she asked, as she walked over. "Where my sister? She ain't hurt, is she?"

"We don't know if she is," Arsenio said. "We didn't find her."

"Then what the hell are you doing back here, Arsenio?" Wilma said. The shapely brunette waitress put her hands on her hips. "You figure you can just rescue Laura here and come on home without Jessie?"

"Wilma, that's not fair," Bridget Kelly said. The redheaded bar girl had also been sweeping. After the dance, Shamus had set the women to cleaning the Saloon. They preferred to keep busy anyway while they waited for news about Laura and Jessie.

"Maybe not, but I still got a right t'ask. She _is_ my sister."

The Sheriff walked in. "We didn't find her because..." He looked around. "Is the Doc here?"

"Oh, my Lord!" Wilma declared. "She _is_ hurt."

"I'm right here," Doc said from the corner behind Dan. He'd been waiting in case his services were needed. "What's the problem?"

Dan sighed. "Best way to say this is straight out. As far as we can tell, Toby Hess took Jessie to his cabin and tried to... well, he ripped her clothes off. We found them by his body."

"His body?" Molly asked.

"His body." Dan shifted to face the doctor and continued. "Doc, we brought it back. Blackie Easton's taking it over t'your office now. Take a look at it, and see if you can tell just how he died. I'll tell Stu Gallagher, and he can pick it up when you're done." Gallagher, everyone knew, was the town mortician.

"I'll head over there now, if I'm not needed here," Doc said.

"I sure don't need you," Laura said with an odd tone of defensiveness. Doc nodded, picked up his bag and hurried out.

"Then where's Jessie?" Wilma asked.

"We don't know," Dan replied. "She was gone when Paul and the others got to Toby's place. So was Toby's horse and some supplies."

"Why that shifty little bitch," Wilma said with a grin. "She actually figured a way outta this place."

"That's right," Dan said. "That makes her an escaped prisoner... _maybe_ a murderer. Paul's going out there in the morning to see if he can pick up her trail."

"No, he isn't." said Judge Humphreys, who had been standing by the door listening. His thinning gray hair was uncombed and his nightshirt was sticking out of his pants. "I want the whole posse here for Jake's trial on Monday." He looked at Shamus. "From the size of the crowd I anticipate, we'll need to hold it in here. Is that all right with you, Shamus?"

"Aye," Shamus said. "The wheels of justice are always welcome to be turning in me place."

"As are the drinkers who'll be in the crowd, no doubt. Thank you, Shamus," the Judge said. He turned back to the Sheriff. "Dan, I heard you all ride into town. I've already told some of the men; you can tell the rest."

Dan shook his head. "That trail of Jessie's going to get cold, while Paul sits here in town."

"I'm aware of that, but it can't be helped. Joe Kelton said that Paul was the first to get a good look at Toby's body. He may well be needed as a witness." He paused for a moment and looked directly at Wilma. "Perhaps Jessie's loving sister here can give Paul some advice on where Jessie may have gone."

"Why should I?" Wilma asked with a toss of her head.

"Because," Shamus said firmly, "I'll be asking -- no, let's call a spade a spade -- I'll be _ordering_ ye to help."

"Fine," Dan said. "I'll tell Paul the news -- good and bad -- in the morning and have him come over to talk to Wilma."

"She'll be here," Shamus said. "In the meantime, ye all might as well be getting to bed." He yawned. "There's still a lot of cleaning t'be done, and ye'll all do it better after a night's sleep." He looked at the clock. "Considering the hour, ye can all be sleeping in till... nine."

Bridget and Wilma started for the stairs. Molly went back to the kitchen to tell Maggie, while Shamus went to lock up the storeroom.

"I guess this is really goodnight then," Arsenio said. He looked around. He and Laura were the only ones still in the room.

"Uh... ummm... Goodnight then," Laura said.

Arsenio reached out and took her hand. "Laura..."

"What?" She stiffened visibly.

He held her hand for a moment and just looked at her. "I'm glad you weren't hurt, Laura, but I guess you already know that." Then, looking awkward again, he let go of her fingers and walked away.

Laura stood there and watched him leave. She felt... she didn't know what she _felt_. "Damn, that man!" she declared with a shake of her head and walked slowly up to her room.

* * * * *

"Whoa!" Jessie pulled at Useless' reins, and the horse slowed to a walk. The sky had been getting light for the last quarter hour, and she could see where the sun would be rising soon.

She was tired, too bone tired to go much further. "Damn this weak, _woman's_ body," she muttered. "I don't know how Sarah Fuller could put up with it." The woods on the left of the trail looked fairly thick, and she rode towards them. At the edge of the woods, she dismounted. She wrapped the reins around her wrist and led Useless into the trees.

Jesse Hanks had been sparking Sarah Fuller, the prettiest girl he'd ever seen, and Shamus' potion had turned him into her exact double.

She walked about twenty yards in, circling behind a stand of ponderosa pines to screen her from the trail.

She used a bit of rope to rig a short picket line and fixed Useless' rein to it. There was grass and a bit of brush along the line. He'd have more than enough to eat. Jessie left him saddled... just in case.

She took off her jacket and hung it over the saddle horn. Then she got out the hatchet and used it to clear off all the branches on one side of a tree, from the ground to a height of about four feet. She worked slower than she'd have liked, so as not to work up a sweat.

Some of the branches she laid on the ground beneath where they'd been cut in a sort of crisscross pattern. She twisted others in with the branches that remained on either side of the cut.

Jessie put the jacket back on and wrapped the blanket around herself. It was long enough to cover her head and still reach down to drag on the ground. She sat down on the crisscross of branches. Counting both the blanket and the branches, there were a good six inches between her and the cold earth.

She leaned back against the tree. The makeshift shelter was crude, but she was out of the wind and hidden from the trail. She took the pistol out of the jacket pocket and laid it on her lap, but under the blanket.

She used the other hand to pull the blanket a bit tighter around her. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and was asleep almost at once.

* * * *

 

Chapter 2 -- "Life on the Run"

The sun was just setting when Jessie woke up that next evening. She yawned, stretched, and looked around. Useless was still on the picket line she'd rigged. "Damn well better be," she muttered. "Last thing I need is to be afoot out here with nothing more than this pistol."

She rolled up the blanket and set it back behind the saddle. She cleared a circle of ground a few feet from the tree and gathered the driest sticks she could find for a fire -- a _smokeless_ fire.

Once she got the fire going, she set up the coffeepot on a couple of rocks, one on each side of the fire, and added water and ground coffee. While it cooked, she opened a can of tinned meat. She sliced up about half the meat and stuck the pieces on a sharpened stick over the fire to cook. She opened a can of beans, too, but she just set the open can by the fire to heat. Pots and pans were too much time and trouble to clean, so she hadn't brought any.

The coffee boiled about the time the meat was done. She poured in a bit of cool water from the canteen to settle the grounds, counted to sixty seconds, and poured herself a cup. She used a forked stick to get the can of beans away from the fire. They were only slightly burned. The meat was cooked through, the way she liked it.

Jessie sat down on the pile of branches she'd slept on and leaned back against the tree. "Beans and tinned meat." She made a sour face, as she said it. "It'll keep me going, all right, but it sure ain't much of a meal." She took a sip of coffee. It needed sugar, which she'd forgotten to pack.

She slid a piece of meat off the skewer, blowing on it, so it was cool enough to hold. She took a bite, chewing slowly. It was salty from the brine it had been canned in. She ate a forkful or two of beans from the can, now that they'd cooled. She shrugged. For food on the trail, it wasn't too bad. It just wasn't too good either.

"Damn!" she said. "I wonder what Maggie made for supper tonight."

She closed her eyes and thought about Maggie's cooking. She could almost see the dinner table back at the Saloon piled high with food, and see everybody gathered around it, eating their fill. She could almost smell the meal. Her mouth began to water as she thought about her own favorite supper, that Mex style spicy meat stew Maggie made.

In her mind's eye, the image of Shamus was sitting at the head of the table, as always. He looked up from his food. "Ye really should be coming back here t'Eerie, Jessie, me girl," he said; it seemed like he was looking right at her. "And _ye_ know that, too, don't ye, Jessie?"

"Wha..."

"Ye should be here with us," Shamus said. "Ye belong..."

"The hell with _that_." Jessie opened her eyes and took a long drink of the coffee. It was strong and still a little _too_ hot, but she needed it like that just now.

"That damned potion! Shamus said that I couldn't leave, so now it's got me thinking about going hom... going back."

"Well, the hell with that... and the hell with you, Shamus O'Toole, if you think that I'll come back and let myself get hung. If I ever do go back, it's gonna be to get me the antidote to that potion of yours." She laughed. "And once I'm myself, my _real_ self, again, I'm gonna put a bullet right between them beady little eyes of yours." She pointed her finger towards the image of Shamus, as if it were the barrel of a pistol. "Pow!" she said with a laugh. "That'd teach you."

She took it as a given that her male self could handle anyone coming after him for the murder of Toby Hess. Her current, female self was a whole different matter, especially with that damned potion making her do whatever shamus or the sheriff told her to do.

She sighed, sorry it wasn't real, and took another bite of meat. She concentrated on the salty taste and tried _very_ hard not to think of Maggie's cooking... or of anything else about Eerie.

Jessie finally finished her meal and packed up her gear. The last of the coffee put out the fire. She tossed away the can from the beans. The tin of meat was resealed as best she could and stuck back in the saddlebag. Now that she'd opened it, the meat had to be finished the next night or it'd go bad on her. She hadn't eaten a couple of the cooked slices. They would do for food when she got hungry during the day.

That was later. Right now, she just wanted to ride. She untied Useless from the line and tucked away the rope. "Let's get moving, horse," she said as she climbed up onto his back. "The more space there is between me and that damned town, the better I'll like it."

* * * * *

Jessie looked off to the east. The sky was getting light, especially in the east, where it was a wash of purple and gold. "Sun'll be up soon," she said to herself. "Best to start looking for a place to camp in a little bit." It was her third night on the run, and she figured that she'd put a good hundred miles between her and Eerie. "Trouble is, I don't know where I'm running _to_." There were no maps at Toby's house, and she'd always let Wilma think about stuff like that.

Now, not having a plan bothered her. "Ride now, think about it while I'm having supper." Happy to have the start of a plan, at least, she rode on.

All at once, the path she was following through the trees opened up into a meadow, a few hundred yards of clearing in just about every direction. She instinctively thought about riding along the edge of the woods. She could duck into the trees in an instant if she had to.

But she wouldn't have to. She hadn't heard or seen any sign of anyone following her. She hadn't heard or seen any sign of _anyone_ doing _anything_for over a day. "What the hell," she said with a shrug of her shoulders and rode out into the open space.

The meadow was full of clumps of tall prairie grass with a scattering of white, blue, and yellow flowers. In places, the grass almost came up to her saddle, and she could smell the fragrances of the flowers she rode through. There was a sudden movement in the grass ahead and off to her left. Jessie slowed Useless to a walk and pulled the pistol out of her pocket.

She didn't think it was human. She'd seen tracks across the trail a few miles back, big tracks. Bear tracks. The grass wasn't high enough to hide an adult grizzly, but it could hide a cub.

The only thing really dangerous about a bear cub was its cry for help. That cry brought "momma" on the run, madder than hell, and ready to use those six-inch claws of hers on whatever scared her baby. "_No_, _thank_ _you_," she whispered with a shudder.

Something ran out from one clump of grass heading towards the trees. Three -- no, make it four somethings. They were little and gray and... _rabbits_! Jessie tracked one for a moment with the gun sight, then fired. The rabbit jerked forwards and fell over dead.

Jessie rode over and quickly dismounted. She grabbed the rabbit and used a cord to tie it by its hind legs to the saddlebag. "Hello, supper," she said happily, as she climbed back onto Useless. "This'll beat the hell out of another night of tinned meat and beans."

* * * * *

Jessie took another bite of roast rabbit, washing it down with coffee. She'd found a ponderosa pine that must have been struck by lightening. Its trunk was shattered about four feet from the ground. She'd fixed it up for the night as a lean-to, cutting some branches and weaving them in among the others to make a fairly solid roof. After that, she'd built a fire near the lean-to and found some ripe pinecones. She cut out the piñon nuts, the pinecone's seeds, to flavor the meat.

"Not bad," she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, "not bad at all. I guess I learned me a thing or two helping Maggie, after all." She thought about Eerie again. The voice in her head, the one that that had been urging her to go back, wasn't as strong now. "Haven't had one of them visions in over a day. Guess Shamus' orders is fading."

She suddenly looked down at the half-eaten rabbit in her hands. "That order of Shamus' not to escape didn't stop me from getting away... and... and I shot me something today. Shot it and killed it _dead_. My hand didn't shake. I could squeeze the trigger sweet as you please. I... Ye-ah-hooo!" She stood up quickly and danced a jig around the small cooking fire.

"I can shoot. I can shoot. I can shoot... _rabbits_." She stopped her dance and sat back down, staring into the fire. "A rabbit ain't no people. I still don't know if I can kill me one of _them_, can shoot me a man." She sat back down and took another bite of meat.

She took another bite of rabbit. "I know I can hold a pistol." She stood again and drew the pistol, spun it around her finger and set back in her pocket in a single, smooth motion. "Suh-weeet!" The deadly skill was still there. "I can probably point it at a man, too. Hellfire, Wilma and Bridget done that back in Eerie, but... but can I squeeze the trigger 'n shoot a man -- maybe kill him?"

She sighed remembering what had happened to her sister and Bridget when they'd tried to escape the Saloon, threatening R.J. in the process. "Or do I wind up on the ground like they done, shaking so hard I can't even hold on t'the damned thing and not being able t'walk? That's something that I _gotta_ know, and I gotta find it out on _my_ terms."

She took another, longer drink of coffee. "Well, I'll just have to go someplace and find that out."

Jessie spent the best part of an hour planning. From what she remembered hearing around the Saloon, there were towns to the west of where she probably was right now, a number of them along the road -- a _real_ road that ran between Prescott, the territorial capital, and Phoenix. There was a stage line that used that road, too, used it for regular runs between the two towns and then on south and east to Tucson.

"I'll find me that road tomorrow night and see what sort of 'mischief' I can get myself into; see if I can shoot a man, too. _Then_ I'll hold up someplace for a day or two and make some _real_ plans."

She ate some more rabbit, washing it down with coffee until she was full. There was still enough of both left for breakfast. She put them back by the fire and watched, while the fire burnt itself down to coals inside the ring of stones she'd used to mark the fire pit.

Jessie lay down on the mattress of pine branches she'd rigged for herself under the fallen tree -- "mountain feathers", the old-timers called them -- and pulled the blanket over herself. She was still thinking about that "mischief" until she finally dozed off.

* * * * *

The Prescott to Phoenix road ran between low hills for most of the way along its route. It was really just an old Indian trail, widened by use to accommodate the occasional wagon. In some places, mud from the heavy, late summer rains had dried into ruts so deep that a driver could just lean back and let them steer the vehicle.

Jessie looked down at the road from near the top of a rise that stretched for a mile or so alongside it. She was well hidden behind an improvised "blind" of brush woven between two small trees. She'd spent almost two hours building it during the night, and, as far as she could tell -- and she had checked after sun-up -- there was no way anyone could see her from the road. Not even if they knew where to look.

Useless was on a picket line in some trees just over the crest. If need be, she could get to him and be on her way in less time than it would take a man to climb from the road to where she was now.

She took a drink of water and wished, not for the first time, that it was the whiskey she'd left at Toby's cabin. "This is a damned waste of time," she said softly. "There ain't that many people on this road, and the ones that do come by look like they ain't got anything worth taking."

She was looking to the north -- to the right from her point of view -- watching the first person to come by in almost an hour. A heavyset man with a scraggly beard, a prospector or a mountain man, maybe, was leading a gray mule past her. The pick and shovel tied to the side of the pack that the mule was carrying told her it was a prospector. She could see the man's jaw moving; he must have been talking to the mule they walked. 'Too long out in the wild,' she thought.

And not worth her time. "I found close to fifty dollars at Toby's. Most likely, I got more money on me than he has." She thought about just drawing her pistol and putting a bullet in his head. "It'd be as good a test as any, but..." She shook her head. "Naw, it... it just wouldn't be... sporting." She leaned back against the hill behind her to wait for something better.

Jessie's chance came a few hours later.

She was beginning to nod off from boredom and the afternoon heat, when she heard a noise, a rumbling far off in the distance. She leaned forward and squinted. "Wish t'hell, Toby'd had him a spyglass or something back at his place."

Then she saw it clearly, coming out of a cloud of its own dust as the road turned about a half-mile away, a stagecoach. She jumped up and began scrambling down the hill, crouching low to keep hidden. All the time she was studying the coach as it came closer.

There was a rider and a guard up front. The guard wasn't holding his rifle. It was probably under the seat, she guessed. Sloppy. There was almost no luggage on top, just a few boxes. When the road turned again, she could see that there wasn't any sort of a bulge in the rear boot either, where luggage and mail might be stored at the back of the coach. Her best guess was that the two men were alone on the coach. There was _something_ on it, though, and she was going to find out just what that something was. If it was valuable, she was going to keep it.

By the time she got to the side of the road, the coach was almost a hundred yards off. She stepped out onto the road and began waving her arms. "Stop the coach," she yelled, lowering her voice to a more masculine range. Her hat was pushed down over her head, partly covering her face.

The driver pulled at the reins. The horses slowed, stopping a few feet from Jessie, kicking up a cloud of dust around her.

"What you want, boy?" the driver called down from his seat. He was an older man, brown from years in the sun and wearing what looked like an old cavalry jacket. The guard, a chunky-looking man in a brown work shirt and a gray, fringed vest, just sat there, his arms crossed in amusement.

"Whatever you got up there that's valuable," Jessie said. She pulled the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at the pair. They didn't move.

The guard began to chuckle. "You think you gonna scare is with that there popgun, sonny?"

Jessie tried to fire. That bastard wouldn't be laughing at her after she put a slug into him. Instead, her arm shifted as she fired, so that she shot into the air. "Now!" she shouted, recovering quickly.

But the damage was done. The sudden movement and the recoil of the pistol had made her head jerk. Her hat had come loose as she ran down the hill. Now, it flew off, and her hair tumbled down about her shoulders.

"A girl!" The guard sat up. "Well, I sure as hell ain't gonna give up no mail sack to no pretty little gal like you. I'd be a laughingstock, probably cost me m'job, too." He reached forward, under the seat. Jessie had guessed right. That was where he'd put his rifle.

Desperate, Jessie aimed for his chest and fired again. And again her hand shifted of its own will. The bullet hit the seat just inches from his hand. He pulled it back quickly. The driver raised his hands into the arm. The guard scowled and did the same.

'Shit,' Jessie thought. 'That's probably as good as I can do.' She cursed Shamus silently. Aloud she said, "Next time I won't aim for nuthin' you weren't born with. Now, _real_ slow, you take out that rifle you was going for, and hold it up so I can see it." Her knees felt weak, but she was still standing

The guard muttered something under his breath. Very carefully, he reached down and lifted the rifle, a Winchester, out from under the seat. It was a beauty, but it took a different caliber shell than what Jessie was carrying.

"Toss it..." She pointed with her pistol towards the other side of the road. "...over there." The guard muttered again and threw the rifle to the ground.

Jessie pointed her pistol back at the driver. "He got anything else on him?"

"Don't say a word," the guard growled.

Jessie fired into the air, deliberately this time. "Tell me."

"He-he's got a derringer in a vest pocket -- please don't shoot me -- and... and a b-bowie knife in his right boot."

"Take 'em, mister, out and toss 'em by the rifle," Jessie told the guard. She pointed the pistol right at his head. The guard glared at her, but he did as she said.

'Thank the Lord,' Jessie thought. 'If that bastard decided to call my bluff, I'd have really been stuck. That damned spell of Shamus' would've laid me out on the ground the minute I tried t'do anything to him.'

She turned her attention to the other man. "Now you, driver, what're you carrying?"

The driver stood up slowly, his hands raised. "Just this, ma'am." He was wearing a gun belt. He reached down with his left arm and loosened it. Then he grabbed one end and tossed it in the same direction as the guard's weapons.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now if you'd be so kind to show me that mail sack you mentioned. You... driver, you do it. I wouldn't want to be responsible for making your friend here lose his job for giving up a mail sack to 'no pretty little gal' like me." She was definitely enjoying this. "Not a big, brave man like him."

The driver reached back on the roof of the stage. He fiddled with something Jessie couldn't see. When he turned back, he was holding a pale gray bag about the size of a sack of flour. The words "U.S. Mail" were printed on it in big black letters. It looked full, and he needed both hands to hold the thing.

"Fine," Jessie said. "You just toss that thing over here by me." She pointed to the ground in front of her with the pistol.

The man twisted his body and, with a loud grunt, tossed the sack into the air. It landed with a sizeable thud in the grass at the edge of the road about five feet from where Jessie was standing.

"All right," Jessie said firmly. "Now get outta here."

"Y-yes, ma'am," the driver said. He jerked at the reins and the team started off at nearly a full gallop. Jessie stood for a moment, laughing at the fright she'd put into the two men.

She picked up her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. Then she hurried over to examine her prize. The sack was heavy burlap interwoven with some sort of a metal mesh. She didn't think she'd be able to cut it. There was a lock sewn into the top, as well.

She didn't try to lift the thing after she'd seen the way the driver had struggled with it. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew how much weaker her woman's body was.

"The hell with it!" She held her pistol next to the lock and fired. The bullet tore through the mechanism, and the sack popped open. She lifted it as best she could and dumped the contents on the ground just off the road.

"Letters!" She cursed thoroughly, even used a few Spanish words that she'd learned from Maggie. "What the hell am I supposed to do with letters? I'm too damned weak to carry 'em all away in the sack, and I sure as hell can't sit _here_ going through 'em one at a time looking for cash."

And there had been nothing in the sack but letters. No, that wasn't quite true. She recognized a few things as legal documents, a will and a couple deeds that fell out of some envelop full of papers with the name of a lawyer printed on the side. There were a few newspapers and some broadsides, advertisements, promoting a new settlement up in the Oregon Territory, all of it just worthless so far as she was concerned.

Finally, down near the bottom of the pile, she found a small package all tied up with string. It was only about the size of a man's fist, but it was something that, at least, looked like it might be valuable.

"Well, that was pretty much of a waste," she said in disgust, holding up the package. "First, I can't shoot straight, then, all I get for my trouble is this, whatever the hell it is." She thought about just leaving it there, but there was a principle involved. When you robbed somebody, you took some of their stuff with you. She shoved the box down into the empty left pocket of her jacket. The pistol was in the right pocket.

There was a noise, way, way off in the distance. Jessie turned and looked down the road in that direction.

"Riders," she spat. Had the men on the stage sent them? No, they were coming from the north. The stage had been heading south. Still, she didn't need to be seen. There might be questions, questions that she'd just as soon not have to answer.

Jessie tossed the sack on top of the pile of letters. It would hold them down against the wind and dirt that the riders stirred up as they rode by, and its color would blend with the dirt of the road. They weren't very likely to see it as they passed.

"And they ain't gonna see me either." She turned and started back up the hill, crouching as before to hide herself in the brush as she climbed. When the riders -- it was three men -- when they came by, she froze in place, bent over to where she was almost flat on the ground. She was too high up, and they rode by as if they had never noticed her.

She watched them ride past, then waited until they reached a spot about a quarter mile further on where the road dipped. Once they were out of sight, she stood up and ran for the top of the hill. She reached it and disappeared into the trees on the other side.

Useless was waiting. He looked up from the grass he was eating as she quickly untied his rein from the picket line. She'd left him saddled, so she could quickly climb into him.

Jessie rode south along the far side of the hill from the road for about a mile. She rode up to the top of the hill and looked down the road in both directions. There was nobody in sight either way. She eased Useless down the hill and crossed the road.

She rode north on the hills on the other side for about two miles, then crossed back. She rode another two miles or so north, this time on the road, listening for other riders. There were none.

The sun was hanging low by now. She left the trail heading west. She was going to find a place to camp for the night, then, maybe, head south. She was getting tired. Her new body wasn't cut out for long runs on horseback or living off the land. If she were lucky, she'd find someplace she could hole up for a day or two to rest from the trail and try and think.

* * * * *

After Jessie had set up her camp and eaten the last of the roast rabbit from the night before, she unwrapped the package. The paper and string went straight into the fire.

"A damned necklace," she spat when she opened the box. It was pretty enough, a small cameo, blue with the silhouette in ivory or mother of pearl, on a silver chain. "Might be worth a few bucks, but I'd have a helluva time explaining how I got ahold of it." Just the same, she put it, box and all, back in her pocket.

There'd been a note inside the box. On a whim, she read it instead of just tossing it into the fire.

September 6, 1872

"Dearest, Sweet Martha,

I hoped that this reached you in time for your birthday. I only wish that I could be there to give it to you myself.

Words can't express how much I miss you, my beloved wife, and you are always in my thoughts. The moment my work out here for Mr. Hall is done, I will be on the first stagecoach back to you.

Until then, know that I will always be

Your Loving Husband,

Eugene"

"Now ain't that sweet," Jessie said. "It's almost a shame that she ain't never gonna get that necklace... or the letter." She crumbled up the paper and tossed it into the fire. "Some men are just downright fools about their wives. Like Ole Shamus. He don't show it very much, but I'll bet that he'd do just about anything for..."

Jessie stopped as a nasty smile began to curl her pretty lips. She knew that she couldn't shoot anyone. "Close but no cigar," was how she thought of it, even if "close" meant "close enough to bluff somebody." She was beginning to get an idea, though, about how she could force that Irish bastard to _give_ her the antidote. She wanted some time to just sit and work it out so that Shamus couldn't use whatever control he might still have over her to stop her. She had a couple ideas about _that_ as well. Nasty ideas, the best kind.

* * * * *

 

Chapter 3 -- "Stuck In Eerie"

On Sundays, the schoolhouse in Eerie doubled as the town church. There was talk, now and then, of building a "real" church, but nothing much ever seemed to come of it. Both the members of the congregation and the parents knew that they shared a much nicer building than either group could afford on its own.

Judge Humphreys was a church elder. That guaranteed him a seat in the front during the service, so he could see -- and be seen -- by just about everyone. They were about halfway through that Sunday's service, when the Judge saw Paul Grant slip in.

Paul glared at the Judge. "You... me... talk." He gestured silently. "Now!"

"Later," the Judge answered, pointing to his watch.

Paul didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the service. He bared his teeth at the Judge and sat down. Someone handed him an opened hymnal, and he began singing along with the others.

* * * * *

Being in the back of the room, Paul was able to get out of the building as soon as the services were over. He stood off to the side of the line as people left, watching for the Judge to come out.

The Judge was in the front. And he was an elder. Paul wasn't the only one who wanted to talk to him.

Yes, he would be at the monthly board meeting.

No, he didn't think the sermon had been too long.

Or too short.

Of course, he'd be glad to have dinner with Mr. Gilmore to talk about a donation; Thursday would be fine.

'Well,' the Judge thought to himself. 'That's what a politician does. His time and interest are his basic commodities.' He finally got out the door. It was a beautiful late summer morning. He took a deep breath of air to brace himself and walked over to where he saw Paul waiting.

Paul saw him coming and pushed himself away from the tree he'd been leaning against. "I want to talk to you, Judge."

There were still people milling around the schoolyard, including Rev. Yingling. "Shall we go around the side of the building, Paul?" The Judge gestured with his arm. "We're less likely to disturb anyone or to be disturbed ourselves."

"I don't care where we talk; just so we do." Paul walked quickly around the building, leaving the Judge to hurry after him.

"I expect that you want to know why I wouldn't allow you to go back out after Jessie." The Judge said before Paul could speak.

"Yeah, I --"

"Don't interrupt. First of all, it's standard procedure to keep the entire posse around for the trial when they bring a man in."

"But I wasn't --"

"I said, 'don't interrupt', Paul, and _please_ let me continue. Secondly, you may not have been there when they caught Jake, but you _were_ at Toby's cabin. In fact, you were the one who first... examined his body."

"Joe saw him first. It was him that lifted up the blanket off Toby's body, "

"Yes, but you were the one who looked closely at the body. Joe just put the blanket back over him afterwards." He paused a beat. "Doc Upshaw's got the body now for an autopsy, that's the term for a medical examination to see how someone died. I'm convening an inquest tomorrow, right after Jake's trial, if I can -- Tuesday at the latest.

"Is it a kind of trial, too?" Paul's anger was mixed with curiosity now.

"No, we can't have a trial without Jessie, but I can listen to evidence. I can issue warrants, too, on probable cause. You can use one to get help, especially from the Army. And you can use it to claim Jessie if she's gotten herself arrested by somebody for something else. Unless she's in jail for something _really_ serious, a murder warrant would establish a prior claim."

"You know, Dan looked at Toby's body, too. Couldn't he --"

"You might as well stop arguing, Paul. I'm as muley-headed stubborn as you are, and _I_ can back it up. Consider yourself _ordered_ to appear."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that if you aren't there for the inquest, you're in contempt of court and I can throw your sorry ass in jail. The Sheriff's, too, if he lets you go." The Judge put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "You're a good man, Paul. Please don't make me do that."

* * * * *

"Hi, R.J."

The barman looked up from the glass he was wiping. "Hey, Paul. You here on official business, or can I get you something to drink?"

"A little of both," Paul said. "First off, give me a beer." He tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. R.J. nodded and filled the glass, handing it -- and the change -- to Paul. The deputy took a long drink and sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Damn, I needed that."

"What's the matter?" R.J. asked.

"The Judge says I can't go out after Jessie till tomorrow, at least. I found her trail -- I think -- when we were all at Toby's place last night. I just couldn't be sure in the dark. It'll be colder 'n ice by the time I can get back up there."

"Why won't he let you go out today?"

"He wants to hold some kind of a trial... an inquest and issue a warrant. It seems like so much --" He slammed a fist on the bar. "Dammit! I should've stayed at the cabin and started out from there in the morning, instead of coming back to town like I did."

"Wait a minute. Aren't you the guy who said he could track anything. You've been bending my ear with stories like that the whole time I've known you."

"Well now, I rode line for Mr. Charles Goodnight for almost three years, winter and summer up, in Colorado, doing nothing but tracking down strays from his herds. Jessie may be smarter than a lost steer, but the principles of following tracks are the same for the both of them."

"There's the overconfident man that I know." R.J. laughed. "Now you said you were here on business, too. What else can I do for you?"

"You can tell me where Wilma is. I want to talk to her about where Jessie might have gone."

"Sounds good to me. She's in the kitchen helping Maggie with lunch. Good luck, I don't think she'll be much help."

"Probably not, but it's worth a try." He finished his beer and headed back to the kitchen.

* * * * *

Maggie was chopping vegetables when Paul walked in. "Deputy, what brings you to my kitchen?"

"I came to talk to Wilma for a bit if you don't mind."

Maggie nodded and tilted her head as if pointing. "She is over there."

Paul looked in that direction. Wilma was at the sink watching dishes, her back to him. "Hello, Wilma," he said, walking towards her, "I come to have a little talk with you."

She turned now at the sound of her name. "Talk to me? What about?"

"Your sister," Paul said, bracing for trouble. "And where she might be heading right now."

"I'm busy. Come back later." She turned back to the sink and picked a dish out of the soapy water.

Paul walked over and stood beside her. "It's just a few easy questions. I'll even help you while we talk. He pulled a second dish out of the water.

"I can do it _myself_." Wilma grabbed for Paul's dish. "Gimme that."

Paul jerked it away from her. "Oh, c'mon, Wilma. Just a few questions. I'll help you, and you'll help me."

"You think I'm gonna help you catch my sister, you're even dumber than I --"

"Oh, ye'll be helping, Wilma, lass. I'll be making sure of that." Paul and Wilma both turned. Shamus was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and a serious look on his face.

"R.J. told me ye was in here, Paul," Shamus said walking over to the pair, "and I figured ye'd be needing a bit of me help."

Paul grinned and put the dish back into the water. "I think you just may be right, Shamus. Okay, give it a go." He grinned and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"Damn both your souls to hell," Wilma said, glaring at them.

"We can be discussing the condition of our immortal souls later," Shamus said. "Right now, we got other matters of concern." He took Wilma's chin in his hand and turned her head, so she was looking directly at him. "Wilma," he said very firmly, "Paul's going to be asking ye some questions. I order that ye answer them truthfully and completely. Do ye understand?"

Wilma's eyes narrowed in anger. "Yes, I... I underst-stand."

"Your turn, Paul" Shamus said.

"Okay, Wilma, do you know where Jessie is headed?"

"No," Wilma said hesitantly, not wanting to answer. "N-Not for certain."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot of places she... could be going?"

"Try asking where she _thinks_ Jessie might be going?" Shamus suggested.

"Good idea, Wilma, where in Arizona do you think Jessie is headed?"

"I... I don't know." She was trying to fight Shamus' order. "We... she don't know Arizona too... good."

"You don't? What do you mean?"

"The first time we was ever in... this here territory was when we r-rode in to Eerie from New Mexico to g-get the Sheriff."

Paul jumped on what sounded like a solid hint. "So then you think she's heading back to New Mexico?"

"No... no, I don't."

"Why not? Why wouldn't she ride back to a place that she knows?"

"'Cause she ain't gonna want to admit what... happened to her. There's fellas in Santa Fe'd laugh their fool heads off to hear that Jesse Hanks got changed into a little bit of a gal. And there's a whole 'nuther bunch'd be looking to settle some old scores." She shivered at the last, just for a moment.

Paul nodded grimly. He could imagine the sort of scores... and how the men involved would want to settle things. "Then where do you think she would go?"

"M-Mexico, maybe... or California. Some place with a lot a people where she'd be harder to find."

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Wilma's mouth curled into a wicked grin. "Oh, I got a _lotta_ things I'd _like_ to tell you, you son of a --"

"That'll be enough," Shamus said quickly. "Wilma, ye can be going back to the dishes now, and I don't want ye to be saying another word till ye're done."

Wilma tried to answer, but couldn't. She nodded and did as she was told.

"Not too much more to go on," Paul said glumly. "I sure hope that _was_ her trail I found up at Toby's place."

"I'm sure ye'll be finding the trail," Shamus said, "and Jessie -- eventually. I just wonder about one thing, though."

"What's that, Shamus?"

"Me potion should still be working, still making her follow my orders. Only I told her she couldn't escape -- and she did, somehow. I'm wondering about me order not to be hurting people, and if she's done figured out some way around that one, as well?"

"You think she has?"

"No, Jessie's a smart lass, sneaky, too. I don't think she can beat it -- not completely -- but she's like to be trying _something_, I've no doubt o' that."

"Probably," Paul said. "I just hope she doesn't hurt herself... or anyone else, of course."

Shamus' eyebrow went up. "Now just why would it be bothering ye so much if that pretty little lass went and got hurt?"

Paul saw the barman's face widen into a teasing grin. "Go to hell, you damned, crazy Irishman!"

* * * * *

"Judge," Milo Nash said, "we find Jake Steinmetz guilty of kidnapping and, umm, ah, of attempted...rape." He sat down quickly.

A few people cheered. "Buy that man a drink," somebody yelled.

"Buy them _all_ a drink," someone else yelled.

"Qui -- oh, the hell with it -- Shut up!" the Judge shouted over the crowd and pounding his gavel twice. "Jake, you've just been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Normally, your sentence would be ten years at the Territorial prison up in Prescott, but I'm going to give you a choice on whether or not you serve that time."

Jake smiled and pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Why, thanks, Judge. If it's all the same to you and these other folks, I'd just as soon not be in jail." He sighed in relief. "Can I go now?"

The Judge shook his head. "No, Jake, you can't 'go now.' Your other choice is to drink Shamus' potion and serve two months as a woman here at the Eerie Saloon. I'll give you till noon tomorrow to decide."

"I thought there weren't no more potion," Jake said, not liking either choice. "I heard it all got used up on the Hanks gang."

Shamus took a small bottle out of his shirt pocket. "It was, but I made up some more for ye, Jake." He put it on the table in front of the man.

Jake looked at the bottle. "You mean that there is the stuff that'll turn me into a girl if I drink it? It just don't seem possible."

"It is, me lad," Shamus said. "Wilma, Laura, and the others is proof of that."

Wilma had been standing a few feet away from Shamus. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed the bottle from the table.

"Wilma!" Shamus yelled. "No, ye don't want to be drinking that. A second dose of it will --"

"Damned right, I do." Wilma said. Before anyone could stop her, she opened the bottle and quickly drank the contents. "Now who gets the last laugh? In few minutes, I'll be Will Hanks again, and not this damned saloon girl you turned me into. I..." She moaned softly and sank down into a chair, her eyes half closed. As the crowd closed in around her, the dazed expression on her face changed to an odd smile. Her face grew flushed, and her breathing quickened.

After a few minutes, Wilma's eyes began to flutter, and she seemed to be trying to stand. Dan grabbed for her as she tottered and began to fall back into the chair. He was still holding onto her a moment later, when she opened her eyes. "Are you all right, Wilma?"

"I-I am now," she said, her eyes narrowing. She grabbed him around the shoulders and kissed him _hard_ on the mouth. Dan jerked back, but Wilma held on and let him pull her to her feet. She continued kissing him. Her hand touched his groin, and Dan pushed her away in embarrassed surprise.

She recognized him, now. "Hmmm, Sheriff," she purred. "You're a good kisser. Can we do it again?" She ignored the crowd around her and caressed herself, her hands lingering on her breasts and her thighs. Her eyes were half closed, and she moaned softly as she swayed back and forth sensually.

It was quite a show. Paul felt his manhood stiffen, and he suspected that he wasn't the only one affected. Yes, he could see a few of the other men in the crowd carefully trying to adjust their trousers.

"Well," he heard Shamus say, "now ye all know what taking the second dose of me potion does to a person."

"Court adjourned," the Judge yelled. "Sheriff, take Jake somewhere, so he can think about what he wants to do."

Dan nodded, glad to get away. "C'mon, Paul, duty calls." Jake was still standing next to Milt. Dan took him by the arm, saying "Show's over, Jake." Jake wanted to stay and watch Wilma, but Dan and Paul led him back to his cell in the town jail.

Dan had no desire to go back to the Saloon. "Wilma's gone crazy, and the last thing I need is for Amy to find out she kissed me."

"You don't mind if I go back over there, do you?" Paul asked. I want to find out when the Judge is going to hold that inquest of his. He never did say."

"When you find out," Dan said, "let me know. I think he wants the both of us there. I just hope he doesn't hold it anywhere Wilma can find out."

"Good thing he doesn't want _her_ to be there."

"You got that right."

* * * * *

The Judge was still sitting at the table he'd used during the trial. Only now, he was having a shot of whiskey. "Hello, Paul," he said when he saw the man. "Come join me here."

Paul pulled out a chair and sat down. "Thanks, Judge. I wanted to --"

"That was the damnedest thing I ever saw," the Judge said. "I think it was even stranger than when Wilma and the others _became_ women."

"What do you mean?" Paul asked. "I know she was acting strange there, but that don't mean too much, does it?"

The Judge shook his head. "Paul, it was hard to accept what Shamus' potion does to a man, but -- well, we all grow up hearing fairy stories about magic potions and the like. I could understand that... sort of. But this second dose didn't change her body; it changed her mind into another person. If you can call the way she was acting human. She was more like... like an animal at rut, just begging to be mounted." He finished his whiskey and poured another.

Paul wasn't sure where the Judge was going with this. "So?"

"As a lawyer, I believe in the power of human reason. Man uses his intellect to create a system of laws to control our lesser instincts. After that second dose, Wilma didn't seem to have anything left _but_ lesser instincts. If Hiram Upshaw and some of the women hadn't taken her upstairs, I'm quite convinced that she'd have stripped naked and begged to be taken right here on the floor by every man in the place. The fact that it flew in the face of the law, let alone common decency, wouldn't have mattered one bit to her."

"So that's where she is." Paul looked towards the stairs. "You think Doc can handle her... I mean, keep her under... aw hell, you know what I mean."

The Judge smiled and poured Paul a drink. "Yes... to both questions. I know what you mean, and I think that he can do it. He's quite the resourceful man -- and the moral one -- our Doctor Upshaw."

As if on cue, the Doc came down the stairs. His hair was mussed, and his shirt half unbuttoned. He hurried over to the table where the Judge and Paul were sitting. "Excuse me, whoever this belongs to, but I think I need it more." He grabbed the drink the Judge had just poured and downed it in one gulp.

"Patient giving you trouble, Hiram?" the Judge asked.

The Doc smiled, his nerves calmed by the warm feeling of good whiskey in his belly. "Actually, I've never had a more cooperative patient. She not only undressed willingly, she started to undress me as well." He still had his bag in his hand. He put it on the table and patted it. "Fortunately, I had a little something to detour her with. One drink, and she'll be sleeping for several hours."

"Then what?" Paul asked.

"Frankly," the Doc said, "I don't know. Heaven help us if she's going to be like that forever. We'll have to lock her away someplace just to protect her from herself."

The Judge frowned. "I don't like that. The idea was to give Wilma and the others a chance to reform, not to make them into... into whatever she's become."

Before anyone could say anything more, Molly hurried over and put a beer in front of the Doc. "Is she all right?" Molly asked him. "I mean, is she... healthy?"

"Too damned healthy," the Doc said taking a long drink of the beer. "I don't know what's to become of her in her current... condition."

Shamus joined them, standing next to Molly. "Ye don't need to be worrying about that, Doc. It's like a fever, it is. She'll be that way for a few days only."

"And then she'll go back to her old self?" the Doc asked. "Are you certain of that?"

"Aye, I told ye about Rita One Pony, the other person what took two doses of me potion. She stopped acting wild like that after three or four days, but she never went back to the way she was before."

"What do you mean, Shamus?" Now Paul was curious.

"She won't be acting so crazy," Shamus said, "but from now on, she'll be having a very strong... interest, ye might say, in men."

"That should be worth seeing," the Doc said. "I think I'll stay around for a while, if you don't mind. I'd like to be here when she wakes up from that 'Mickey Finn' I gave her."

"But what about the inquest?" Paul said. "We... we can't put it off. I've got to be getting back on the trail after Jessie."

The Judge took out his gold pocket watch. "So you do, Paul. Doctor, how long do you expect Miss Hanks to be asleep?"

The Doc shrugged. "I would think at least three hours." He looked at Shamus. "Unless something in that potion interferes one way or the other."

"I don't think it should," Shamus said. "I know that potion, and I've had more than a slight acquaintance with 'Michael Finn' and his friends in me time tending bar."

"Fine," the Judge said. "Paul, go get the Sheriff. I'll hold the inquest here. I just need the pair of you and the Doc."

"There's not much privacy here," Molly said.

"Aye, Molly, me love," Shamus said. "A saloon ain't the best sort of place to hold something as private as an inquest, but I'm thinking that the Judge and Doc will both want to be here in case I'm wrong about the potion, and Wilma wakes up early."

"Exactly," the Judge said. "Now, Shamus, would you or Molly please go and get a Bible? They'll need to be sworn in to testify." He thought a moment. "In fact, you'll have to be there as well, come to think of it. I may need to ask some questions about that potion of yours."

"Me potion, Judge? How d'you mean?"

"Don't worry, Shamus. I'll explain at the inquest."

* * * * *

Molly came down from her rooms a few minutes later with her Bible. The Judge took it and looked around. The Saloon was still full of people, talking about the trial and what had happened to Wilma. The men were particularly talking about how she'd acted and wondering if she would be like that from now on.

"Shamus," the Judge said, "is there someplace private around here we could borrow? I think it's far too busy out here to conduct the inquest."

"Me office is in the store room, Judge. It'll hold five, maybe six people. Would that be big enough for ye?"

"That'll be fine. Please lead the way."

Shamus headed for the storeroom. The Judge was immediately behind him, followed by Paul and Dan. Molly stood watching them for a moment, her hand pursing her chin. Her eyes narrowed and she started walking hurriedly after them.

She slid through the door, just as Dan was closing it behind him.

Shamus was at his desk, two boards placed atop two stacks of empty liquor boxes. "Just sit down on them boxes," Shamus said, pointing to more liquor boxes stacked low against the walls. "I'll be ready here in a minute." There were several open books on the desk. Shamus closed the books and stuffed them into the open drawer of a file cabinet near the desk.

"What's the matter, Shamus," Doc Upshaw said. "You afraid we'll see just how little you pay for that rotgut you sell us?"

Shamus smiled at him and closed the drawer. The men all heard the lock catch as it closed. "No, Doc, I didn't think ye wanted any of these others to be seeing how big the tab ye owed me was."

"Touché," the Doc said. He tapped his forehead as if saluting and sat down.

The Judge came over and sat behind the desk. As he did, Shamus pulled an old wooden chair out from a corner, dusted off its seat, and put it next to the desk. Then he, too, found a seat on one of the boxes.

"I hereby declare this inquest into the death of Toby Hess to be in session," the Judge said. "You can all... well, you already are, seated." Then he saw Molly standing in the doorway. "Molly, you don't need to be here. This room is fairly small, and we don't really need an audience. That was why I --"

"An _audience_," Molly said angrily, her hands at her hips. "An audience, is it?" This here's a trial -- or the next thing to it -- and somebody's got t'be here to speak Jessie's side of what happened... Seeing as she ain't here t'speak for herself."

The Judge scratched his head. "Point taken, Molly. In fact, now that I think of it, I may have a question or two for you, seeing as you were in charge of Jessie... and the others, of course. Thank you for volunteering to testify."

She hadn't expected to win so easily. "I didn't... did I? Volunteer, I mean. It's just that... well, someone needed to be here for Jessie. Wilma --"

"No!" Dan and Doc both said at once.

Molly laughed at the men's reaction. "I was going to say that, seeing as Wilma ain't quite... herself right now, I thought it was me duty to. After all, this here's America, ain't it. Everybody's got the right t'be heard."

"They do, Molly, they do, indeed, and I bow to your eloquence on the matter." The Judge stood for a moment and half-bowed in her direction before sitting down. Molly giggled nervously and sat down next to Shamus.

"Very good, love," Shamus said, taking her hand in his. "I'm proud of ye."

"Let's get started," the Judge said. "Dan, would you do the honors as bailiff and swear in Paul." Both men rose and did as the Judge asked. "Sit here, Paul," the Judge gestured to the chair, "and tell me what happened when you and the others got to Toby's cabin."

"Joe kicked in the door -- he said Toby was too stupid to try anything. He was the first one in. He saw the tarp and lifted it up. He almost dropped it when he saw Toby's body and the blood."

"Blood?" the Judge asked.

"Yeah, Toby' face was white. It looked kinda waxy. There was blood in the floor under his head."

"What did you and Joe do then?"

"Joe, he didn't want anything to do with Toby. I knelt down and took Toby's wrist, tried to find a pulse. There wasn't one. I lifted his head, gentle as I could, and felt for the wound. There was a soft spot where the blood was dripping out. I figured he was dead and set his head back down. As I was starting to get up, I seen the blood on the fireplace."

"Can you describe that?"

"Yessir, Judge. The fireplace was made of piled up stone. There was one piece, not too high that stuck up -- or a point on it did. That point was three... four inches long easy, and there was blood on it. There was a thin trail of blood, too. It started from that stone point, ran down the fireplace to the floor, then on along the floor to the pool that was under Toby's head."

"What did you do then?"

"I had Joe put that tarp back down over Toby -- respect for the dead, you know. I sent Davy Kitchner over to Jake's cabin to tell the Sheriff. The rest of us looked around outside for Jessie."

"And did you find her?"

"Nope. Some of her clothes were on the floor, ripped to shreds, but there was no sign of her anyplace."

"And that's all you found?"

"Well... I thought I found her trail. I'd have been out there now, looking --"

The Judge frowned. "I know very well why you're not out looking for her, Paul. You'll get an even later start if I have to jail you for contempt. Now, was there anything else?"

Paul sighed. "A horse was missing, and so was some gear and supplies from the look of it. I don't know what all she took, except that she got Toby's rifle, maybe a pistol, too."

"You mentioned some clothes before. Could you tell what they were?"

"They... uhh, they were a woman' blouse and one of those... one of those things women... umm... women wear underneath..."

"A camisole is the word ye're looking for, Paul," Molly said. "It's like a shirt, Judge, one that we women wear under our blouses."

"Thank you, Molly," the Judge said, "but Paul is the only one who's supposed to be talking now."

Molly nodded and put her index finger to her lips.

"I think that's all for now, Paul," the Judge said. "Doc, you're next. Swear him in, Dan." Paul stood and walked back to the boxes, as the Doc stepped forward.

Dan swore the Doc in. "Hiram... excuse me, Doctor Upshaw, you did an examination of the victim's body. Would you please tell us what you did in that examination and what you found out."

"Very well. I undressed the victim and did a quick physical exam in case there were any other injuries. At that point, I would estimate that he'd been dead about five hours, based on his condition. When Paul and the others found him, he was, maybe, two hours dead."

"What could you tell about his head?"

"I palpitated the wound -- examined it with my fingers. He hit -- or got hit -- by something hard. It didn't have a sharp edge, though. It cracked his skull in a large, circular hole and did a fair bit of damage to the underlying soft tissue. Death was probably instantaneous."

"Could you tell if Jessie had done it?"

"Not with any certainty, but if Toby was standing up, she'd have had to climb up on a chair. He was struck from above -- if he was standing -- and by something that would probably have been too big and too heavy for her to lift that high, let alone swing very hard."

"You said _if_ Toby were standing?"

"Well, if he were falling backwards, he could have hit his head against that rock in the fireplace. Joe Kelton took me out there yesterday. It's still got blood on it, and its size and shape match the wound."

"Thank you, Doctor," the Judge said. "Molly, it seems we _do_ need you. Would you come up here, please and be sworn in."

"M...me, Judge?" Molly stood slowly, holding Shamus' hand tighter than ever.

"Certainly, you, Molly," the Judge said, wryly. "What's the matter, you were so brave just a bit ago?"

Molly stiffened and let go of Shamus' hand. She walked quickly to the chair and waited for Dan. After he swore her in, she looked hard at the Judge. "I'm still not sure what help I can be to ye, Judge, but just ask me them questions, whatever ones ye want."

The Judge started easy, with the clothes. "Aye," Molly said. "Laura brought 'em back. They was Jessie's blouse and her camisole; I recognized 'em soon as I saw 'em. Ripped right off her, they was, ripped to shreds, and I don't think she's the one what did it. She... all of 'em, they take too good care of their clothes."

"What about if she were in a fight?"

"What about it? I seen men try stuff with her... oh, the good Lord only knows how many times. She couldn't do nothing until they touched her. Then, a kick to the shin or something. Once they was out of action, so was she; she couldn't keep fighting -- hit them while they was down. The potion took care of that."

"A kick..." The Judge thought for a moment. "Doc, stand up. You're still under oath. You said you gave Toby a full exam, not just his head. Was there any other... damage to him?"

The Doc thought for a moment. "There were signs of trauma to the geni... Your Honor, I do believe that there's evidence that somebody -- Jessie -- kicked Toby in the... umm... privates not long before his death."

The Judge tried to hide a smile. "You needn't go into the details, but I can certainly see how that would've made him fall over." He gestured with his hand. "You can sit down. You, too, I think, Molly."

"Yes, sir," Molly said. "Did I help?"

"You helped immensely." He looked around. "Does anyone have anything to add?" No one did. "Fine. I declare this proceeding to be over. Paul, I'll have something for you tomorrow morning."

Paul jumped to his feet. "Tomorrow! I want to get after her today. Your Honor, Judge, please..."

The Judge took his pocket watch out and checked the time. "Paul, it's almost 3. I have to think about exactly how I want to find, and what I want to put on this warrant. By the time I'm done, it will be far too late for you to get started."

"But Jessie's getting further away every minute."

"Paul, I'm sorry about that; I truly am, but it will take me at least an hour to make my decision and write out the warrant. Even if you rode hard, you wouldn't get out to Toby's place until well after 6. How much could you do -- really? -- before it got dark?"

Paul shook his had and sighed deeply. 'Damn it, Judge. I hate it when you're right. I'm not even sure that what I found _is_ Jessie's trail, and even if it is, I'll need daylight t'follow it. I might as well stay in town tonight."

"Good man," the Judge said, putting a hand on Paul's shouler. "After all, tonight may be your last chance to sleep in a real bed for who knows how long."

"You're probably right on that." He smiled wryly as he said it.

"Umm, Paul... No... Never mind."

"Say what you gotta say, Judge."

"I... ah... I hesitate to ask, but I'd appreciate it if you could be in court tomorrow as bailiff when Jake decides what he's going to do. With the size of the crowd I expect, I'll need you _and_ Dan to be there."

Paul shrugged and just said, "Why the hell not? You're the Judge."

Judge Humphreys laughed and slapped him on the back. "I knew we'd agree on something eventually. Just try and be a little more restrained than you were today -- firing your pistol like that to quiet the room. I don't think Shamus wants anymore bullet holes in his ceiling."

* * * * *

"Here's your drinks, boys." Wilma stood next to Davy Kitchner. As she leaned over to put his beer on the table, she made sure that her body, especially her breasts, pressed against him. Her voice was low and sweet and full of promise, her face flushed, and she had a playful smile on her lips.

She did the same when she put down the drinks for the other two men at the table. "Now, if you boys want _anything_, anything at all, you just let be sure to me know."

Anything?" Blackie Eastman asked, leering at her.

"Mmmm," she said, almost purring. "Why just anything at all." Wilma was dressed, as always, in a long-sleeved blouse and a long, dark skirt. Only now, she had left the top three buttons of the blouse undone, and she wasn't wearing a camisole underneath. As she turned and, especially, when she bent over, the men got a clear view of the tops of her breasts.

"I do believe I'll hold you to that." He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Blackie, you can hold me anyway you want." She twisted his curly hair around a finger. "But right now, I see Shamus calling me. We'll... _talk_ later." She spun free of his arm and headed towards the bar. Her walk had a sway to the hips that was a red flag drawing the eyes of every man in the room.

"Hoo-whee," Carl Osbourne said. "Talk about a woman changing her mind."

"Change for the better, if you ask me," Davy said. "Wilma was always easy on the eye, but she had too much of Will Hanks' mean streak left in her."

"She's a lot friendlier now," Carl said.

"You ain't half wrong there," Blackie said. "Since she took that second dose of potion she's been trying t'bed any man that even looks at her... And she's been making sure that every man in town _wanted_ t'look." He took a sip of beer. "And I mean to have me a _real_ good look. Yes, sir, real good."

* * * * *

Shamus pushed a tray of drinks across the bar to Wilma, a bottle of his best sipping whiskey, two glasses, and a beer. "The whiskey's for the Doc and Mr. Gallagher over --"

"I don't want to take anything to the Doc," Wilma pouted and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh," Shamus said. "And why is that, if ye don't mind me asking."

"He's mean. He wouldn't... play with me yesterday, and he give me something that made me go to sleep."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. "Oh, he did, did he? Judging from the way you been carrying on since then, ye should be thanking him for giving you a chance t'rest up for everything ye done since." He waited a moment for her to react. "Now get over there with them drinks to the Doc and Stu Gallagher. Then ye take that there beer over t'Paul Grant where he's sitting over in that corner table. And hurry it up. He wants to be talking to ye."

Wilma brightened. "Paul? He... he asked for me?"

"Aye, he did. Why?"

"I ain't played with him yet." She shivered and hugged herself in anticipation. "I do so _love_ an eager man." She picked up the tray and hurried off.

Shamus watched her walk over to the Doc's table, watched the other men watching her, too. It was a good thing that he'd given her a sealed bottle of whiskey. She was in such a hurry to get to Paul that it fell over when she hurriedly set it down. She dropped the tray in the table and grabbed for it, but the bottle almost rolled off before Stu Gallagher caught it.

In a way, Shamus almost felt sorry for her. Wilma was like a cowboy back from a long cattle drive, getting blind drunk trying to wash away two months of thirst and trail dust. He shrugged. "She'll be calming down in a few days."

He remembered what Rita One Pony had told him all those years ago -- after she'd made good on her promise of "one on the house."

* * * * *

Rita was lying in the bed, resting her head on his bare chest. "Straw... 'scuse me, you said t'call you Shamus, didn't you. Those first few days, I was like a starving woman. There I was, half tied up in my tent, not... not even sure if they was gonna let me live, and I-I couldn't stop touching myself." She giggled. "Before Hunts Buffalo sent me away, I managed to screw both the guards he set on me. I screwed Two Hatchets, too, when he came to check on me. That's how he found out he could make me do whatever he wanted."

Shamus looked at her. "He... he did not make you --" He was so startled, he was speaking Cheyenne.

Rita smiled at her would-be defender. "Shamus, darlin', you better speak White. You need get back into the habit. Don't you worry none about Two Hatchets. He didn't make me do anything that I didn't _like_ doing."

"I'm sorry. I guess I still feel responsible for you being like that."

She leaned over and kissed him. "Don't be. That crazy hunger went away years ago. 'Course, that don't mean that I don't like having sex." She ran her hand down his chest, continuing on until her fingers wrapped around his erect penis. "Mmm, especially with a handsome young buck like you."

* * * * *

Shamus smiled, then put away the memory. 'I'm too old for such nonsense,' he thought to himself. 'Women like Rita are a fine thing, but having a true love like me Molly t'be with is a thousand times better.'

* * * * *

Wilma tiptoed over to Paul's table. His back was to the Doc and Gallagher, so he hadn't seen her. "Here's your beer, Paul." She leaned over and set it in front of him. Her breast lightly touched his back, and, as she stood up, she blew gently in his ear. "I hear you wanted me." She giggled softly. "I like that in a man."

"Wilma, please, just sit down." Paul took a drink. Thus wasn't going to be easy. "I wanted to _talk_ to you. There's a big difference."

She sat down, pulling her chair close to his. "Sure, we can talk... first." She leaned over as if to kiss him.

"Wilma, _please_." He put his hand on her shoulder to keep her away. Part of him kept saying how stupid he was. She was throwing herself at him. But it was the potion that was making her act that way. It was like she was drunk. His Daddy always said that there were rules against taking advantage of a woman when she was drunk.

"All I want, _all_ I want," he said as firmly as he could, "is to ask some more questions about Jessie. Now will you cooperate?"

"Pooh," she said, her mouth shifting to a pout. "I always knew you liked her better than me. I seen you looking at her lots of times when you come in for a drink or just to have a look around." She sat upright. "Well, she ain't around no more, and I can be _very_ cooperative." She reached out and ran her hand against his cheek. Her leg rubbed against his.

"Cooperate? You mean you'll talk more about where Jessie might've gone?"

"I guess, but there's _lots_ of better things to talk about." Her voice went low. "If we gotta talk at all."

"Let's start off talking about Jessie and where she might go."

 

"She might 'go to London to visit the Queen'," she said in the singsong voice of a young girl.

"How about if she went to Mexico?"

Wilma thought for a moment. "There's a town, Hermosillo, a day's ride south of the border. It's wide open. We met a man, Alejandro Vasquez, one time when he came up to Santa Fe. He was one of them that ran the place. She might go see him."

"Anywhere else? You said California before; any idea where?"

"All these dumb questions." She put her hand on his knee. "Can't we go someplace and have us some fun?"

"Maybe in a little while. Where in California?"

"Frisco. You can get anything, do anything there. She could hold up in a place like that for quite a while. Hell, there might even be somebody'd know about the potion or something like it. Maybe one of them Chi-nee fellahs; they got all sorts of crazy stuff."

Paul took a long drink, finishing his beer. "I'll keep both them places in mind." He stood up and pulled a silver dollar from his pants pocket. "Here you go, Wilma. Keep the change. I figure I owe you something for your help."

"Aww," Wilma whined, pouting prettily as she did. "You done promised me something a lot warmer than a four bit tip."

Paul pointed to the door. "Clay Falk just came in. Why don't you take my shortcomings up with him?"

Wilma smiled. "I may just do that. I like Clay. He's a _lot_ more fun than _you'll_ ever be." She stuck out her tongue at him as she put the coin in her apron pocket. That done she walked over to Clay. She looked back at Paul for an instant, then put her arms around Clay's neck, and kissed him.

All Clay had planned on was a beer or two, but he was never one to miss taking advantage of an opportunity.

* * * * *

Dan Talbot knocked on the door to the converted jailhouse storeroom. "Paul, you in there?" Paul had been living there since he'd taken the job of deputy, and Dan thought a man deserved privacy in his own place.

"Yeah, c'mon in." Paul called from inside. Dan opened the door walked in.

"I was just fixing up a bedroll," Paul said. "I should be ready to head out in a half hour or so."

"Dan looked at his watch. "You'd better be; it's already almost 1 PM."

"I know. You think I like it? The Judge wanted me there for Jake's sentencing."

"Hell, Paul, we _needed_ you there. Especially after he took Shamus' potion."

Paul had to smile. "Yeah, it was quite a show, him turning into Laura's twin like he done."

"Yeah, and Laura's none to happy about that."

"Can't say I blame her, but she's a level-headed woman; she'll get over it, I expect." He took a breath, "Speaking of the Judge, do you know if he's finished with that damned warrant, yet?"

"He did. In fact, he gave it to me to bring over to you. He... umm... didn't want to bring it over himself."

"Didn't want to... Why that old hypocrite. If it wasn't for him and that damned piece of paper, I'd have been out after Jessie two days ago."

"I know, and I wouldn't blame you if you were to take it and head straight out after her like you said."

"What d'you mean? Don't tell me _you_ want me to stay in town now? Does everybody in Eerie want Jessie to get away?"

"Hell, no. The... ah... thing is, we got another problem."

Paul gritted his teeth, bracing for the other shoe to drop. "Now, what?"

"You know that reporter, Varrick, that was around here a few weeks ago asking questions?" Paul nodded warily. "He came back just in time to see Wilma take her little drink yesterday."

Paul looked closely at Dan's expression. "Damn! He saw what happened to Jake today, too; didn't he?"

He did, and, according to the Judge, he not only works for the _Tucson Citizen_, he's an errand boy for Governor McCormick, the owner of the paper."

"So now the Governor knows -- or will as soon as Varrick tells him."

"Maybe... maybe not. The Judge thinks we just _might_ be able to cut a deal with Mr. Varrick."

"So cut a deal. Why is that my problem."

"Varrick's a reporter, but he wants to be a writer. Amy and me had him over for dinner last night, and he was talking about writing me up as a hero for one of those dime novels."

"You gonna let him?"

"I don't know. The few of them I've read sound like it's all made up -- that none of the story really could've happened. Besides, Amy hated the idea. I think it really scared her."

"I still don't see what that has to do with me."

"Varrick was all set to write the story up and send it in by telegraph. The Judge stalled him; he got Varrick to agree to have dinner with him and a few other people to talk some sort of deal."

"And _I'm_ supposed to be one of those people?"

"The Judge wants to trade him versions of the stories about how we shot it out with the Hanks gang and how we rescued Laura for the story about the potion. You backed my play in the Saloon the day the Hanks' came to town, and you led half that rescue party."

"Yeah, but I went after Toby and Jessie, not Jake and Laura."

"And maybe the capture of Jessie can be a third story--"

"_If_ I ever get started out after her." Paul rolled his eyes in exaggerated anger as he spoke.

"_If_ we can get him to agree to it now." Dan took a breath. This was the worst of what he had to say. "_If_ you're there tonight while we're talking to him."

Paul grimaced. "And if I'm not -- and if you don't cut the deal -- you'll all be saying it's all be my fault."

"Who knows what anybody'll be saying. If word of Shamus' potion gets out, this place will have more grifters, bunko men, and _politicians_..." he spat the last word, "...then a dog has fleas."

Paul sighed and sat down on his bed. "All right, put me down for the Judge's little dinner party. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that there was _somebody_ up there..." he glanced skyward, "...trying to keep me here in town for some dumb reason."

"More likely in _that_ direction." Dan pointed downward and laughed. "But I almost think that you may be right."

* * * * *

  

  

  

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