"You've been had, Lady! That man you say you was talking to is a con-man, a safe-cracker, and a low-down, dirty thief! Heck, he's one of the most dangerous outlaws in the West - with a price on his head to match. That there was none other than Hannibal Heyes hisself!"
"Oh, I'm sure you're mistaken, sir," the petite woman answered politely, her genteel inflections marking her as not only very much a lady, but a lady from "back east." She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her fair complexion from the merciless Arizona sun, and as she answered the man, she peered from beneath its shade, her large brown eyes wide and guileless.
"Why, both he and his friend were two of the most polite, well-mannered gentlemen I've ever had the pleasure to meet. They went out of their way to help us. You see, our wagon was stuck! In the mud! And one of the wheels was broken clean off! I don't know what we would have done if they hadn't have happened by. They fixed up our wagon good as new and asked for nothing in return."
She paused, remembering, then corrected herself,
"Well, the other one, Mr. Jones, he did most of the fixing. And Mr. Smith, well, he did most of the talking - but such nice young men. We offered them some money for their trouble, but they wouldn't accept it. We insisted they at least stay to share our noon dinner."
One of the two younger women, both in their early 20's, maybe 10 years or so the junior of the first, impatiently pushed back a few errant golden strands escaping from her sun bonnet as she interrupted eagerly,
"They were both real nice. They said please and thank you and yes ma'am and no ma'am and they made sure we were okay before they left. And then they just tipped their hats and jumped up onto their horses and off they rode."
The large, beefy man who had introduced himself as Jake Martin laughed harshly and turned to spit into the dirt near his feet.
"Ha. No offense, ladies, but I reckon, bein' from back East and all, ya ain't had much experience meetin' desperate outlaws. Them men that fixed your wagon was Hannibal Heyes, the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang, and his partner Kid Curry, the notorious gunslinger and stone-cold killer."
The third young woman, the dark–haired one, said nothing. She eyed the four mounted men suspiciously and clenched the heavy old pistol in her hand a little tighter, hidden as it was among the folds of her voluminous gingham skirts. It had been her daddy's pistol, from back in the War. She'd found it, along with his old uniform and a few bullets, tucked away in the attic when they'd packed up the house back in St. Louis. She'd loaded it and practiced shooting it before the three women had started their journey into the west. She had no delusions about being a great shot, but she figured at this close range she'd manage to do some damage if these rough-looking characters
made any moves beyond merely questioning them about the two men who had come to their rescue earlier that day. Unlike the first two strangers, who had been respectful and well-mannered, these men had a hard, mean look about them. They didn't even try to hide their frank appraisal of the three women, their eyes rudely roving up and down the trim female figures seated three abreast atop the wagon, occasionally sharing an appreciative, leering glance with one another. Despite their scrutiny, none of the men noticed she was holding the gun, unlike Mr. Jones. ..
ooooo
It had been hot in the midday sun as the young man labored to repair the errant wagon wheel, the one with the sandy blond curls, the one named Jones. He had paused to remove his leather vest and dark blue shirt and toss them aside, rolling up the sleeves of his Henley undershirt before getting back to the task at hand. The hard muscles in his broad back and shoulders were clearly visible through the thin, sweat-soaked fabric. Katy purposely stood where she could keep a close eye on both him and his loquacious partner, who, after helping his friend heave the wagon clear of the sucking mud it had been mired in, was now talking animatedly with their Aunt Elizabeth, offering lengthy advice about the best route into Silver Springs along with helpful tips on what three women traveling alone should do to stay safe on the trail.
The duo seemed personable enough, but Katy was not a naturally trusting soul. And after all, this wasn't Missouri. This was the Wild, Wild West! Where just about every man they'd seen since they'd passed through Wichita was sporting a big six-shooter strapped to his hip. This was the place where her own beloved father had died and her dear Uncle James had disappeared without a trace. That was the reason why the three women had sold everything they owned to buy the wagon and supplies and come all this way - and they'd best not forget it. That and the fact that there was nothing left for them back in Missouri… Katy narrowed her eyes unconsciously as she watched their rescuers. There could be more to these friendly-seeming men than meets the eye, she thought suspiciously. They might be simply lulling the women into a false sense of confidence with their chivalrous behavior. ..
As she glared at the stranger working on the wagon wheel, her little sister Lilly sidled up to her and whispered in her ear with a girlish giggle,
"Hey, Katy, if we're lucky, maybe he'll take off that undershirt, too!"
He just couldn't have heard, not at that distance, could he have? But Katy could have sworn she glimpsed one corner of the young man's mouth twitch skyward - just a tiny bit, just for a second.
Soon Mr. Jones was spinning the wheel experimentally, making a few fine adjustments. Finally satisfied, he lowered the wagon off the makeshift jack and pronounced,
"There. That should hold ya."
He straightened up to his full height and mopped the sweat from his forehead with his bandanna. Lilly was at his side in an instant, proffering the canteen of water with a schoolgirl's simpering smile on her lips. Jones nodded his appreciation for the water, then took a long, grateful pull. As he lowered the canteen, he wiped his face again with the bandanna, thanked Lilly gallantly, then turned one blue eye in Katy's direction, the other squinting against the bright sun.
"Ya know, ma'am," he drawled, "My partner here and I would never harm innocent womenfolk such as yourself. You really don't have to hang on to that hog's leg so tight."
Katy was startled and genuinely confused.
"H-hog's Leg..?"
"The gun, ma'am," he explained, nodding slightly towards her side.
"The one in your right hand there. You don't need to worry about us doin' anything you'd have to shoot us for. But if it makes you feel better, you just go right on clutchin' it. No offense taken."
As she stared back dumbly, Mr. Jones's face remained expressionless but his blue eyes were dancing. He began to whistle cheerfully as he busied himself picking up the various tools scattered about on the ground, returning them to the wooden box in the back of the wagon where he'd found them.
Aunt Elizabeth's fair complexion blazed scarlet and in her sternest school-marm voice she began to scold her elder niece,
"Katy Rose. How could you even - "
But whatever she had been going to say was cut off by Mr. Smith, who was chuckling right out loud, his handsome face wreathed in a dimpled grin.
"Oh, Mrs. Sterling, my partner's right. We're not the least bit offended! In fact, your niece is a real smart gal not to go blindly trusting a couple of strangers that happen along the trail. They might not all be as kind-hearted and law-abiding as us."
As Mr. Smith was talking, Mr. Jones had paused to take another long drink from the canteen. He must have swallowed the wrong way, because he started coughing and choking until his friend strode over and pounded him on the back a couple times. Kind of hard, too, Katy couldn't help noticing. The two men exchanged a look that was hard to decipher and that's when Auntie Elizabeth insisted they stay and eat dinner with them and that Katy Rose had better put up that gun and help her sister Lilly Anne scare up something for our good Samaritans to eat and wouldn't their guests like to go down to the creek and freshen up some before dinner?
ooooo
But that was a few hours and plenty of miles ago. Now Katy was listening to these four disreputable-looking men who had clattered up to the wagon and rudely pulled it to a halt, claiming that the taciturn, soft-spoken fellow with the mop of ash-blond curls and eyes as blue as a prairie sky was a dangerous, fast-drawing outlaw and cold-blooded murderer. And that other one, the slim one with the kind brown eyes, rakish grin, and shock of unruly dark hair, was the devilishly clever leader of a ruthless gang of highwaymen.
Finally she spoke up,
"So I suppose you four are lawmen, charged with capturing those two alleged outlaws? Why don't I see any of you wearing badges?"
"Lawmen!" Martin scoffed. "The Law is useless agin these kind of scum. We're Bounty Hunters and proud of it. We're gonna catch them outlaws and see that they face justice for their crimes."
The others joined in with various grunts and "yep"s and other none-too-articulate indications of agreement.
"Yes. And collect a rather substantial reward for your trouble," she answered icily.
Martin apparently missed the sarcasm and grinned widely, revealing surprisingly straight, white teeth, marred only by the dark gap where one was missing on the bottom toward the back left and the one gold front incisor on top.
"You're darn tootin', pretty lady."
Lilly was adamant in her refusal to think badly of their saviors and insisted stubbornly,
"Well, I for one, cannot believe for a single minute that those two are outlaws."
"Well, Miss, if you're right about them, then they got nothing to worry about when we catch up with 'em. So, iffen you could just be so kind as to point out which direction they was headed, we'll be ridin' out."
Three slender, feminine arms shot up instantly, each one pointing in a different direction.
"Why thank you kindly, ladies. You've just told us everything we need to know," the leader's voice dripped with insincere courtesy. He tipped his hat as he reined his mount around, signaled to his men, and dug in his spurs. All four galloped off in the lone direction not pointed out, amid a chorus of "Yeehaw"s along with much whooping and hollering. Raucous laughter mingled with the sound of thundering hoofbeats trailing behind the horsemen and gradually fading into silence as the unsavory group disappeared in a cloud of dust.