Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me, nor does Cat Ballou. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Can't Let a Lady Shoot Alone

Chapter 1: Strange Places, Familiar Faces

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"Town doesn't quite live up to its name," muttered Heyes.

The slender man nudged his bay forward past the sign Pleasantville pop. 182. The sound of hooves on dusty, hard, dry earth was drowned out by the workmen hammering on a scaffold in the center of town. Aside from the new construction, the town was like many others Heyes had passed through over the years. He rode past a white painted church, several houses, and a general store. The former outlaw slowed as Heyes neared the center of town. A stern faced Sheriff frowned at Heyes, but then stepped inside the jailhouse and shut the door behind. The wary man released the breath he'd been holding and continued walking his horse forward. The gelding carried him past the saloon and the hotel. Heyes skirted a painter's ladder in front of the law offices of Hackleby and Hackleby before moving on to the livery.

"You here fer the hangin'?" greeted a round man in a sweat stained shirt. Bright green suspenders held up his striped trousers. "You the first one from outta town to come. Reckon most folks is waiting until tomorrow."

Heyes reached a hand upwards and pushed back the brim of his black hat. The stableman reached to take the reins. Wisps of white hair straggled upwards from behind the older man's ears in an attempt to meet over the bald pate. The bay whickered at the strange touch.

"No, I didn't know there was a hanging planned," replied Heyes.

He leaned forward, crossed his arms over the pommel of the saddle and smiled affably. If Heyes had known there was going to be a hanging, he certainly wouldn't have told his partner to meet him here. But then again, well… Kid couldn't have gotten here first, and he couldn't have gotten in that kind of trouble… and, a thousand worries flashed through his mind in the time it took to answer the stableman. Heyes swallowed. Best get it over with.

"Who are they hanging?" Heyes hoped his voice sounded nonchalant. "What did he do?"

The gap toothed stableman chuckled.

"Not a him, a her."

Heyes smiled in relief. Jailbreak plans receded to the back of his mind as the slender man dismounted. Sharp eyes noted the man on the ladder in front of the law offices. The painter began to brush over the letter A.

"A her?"

"Yep. Pretty little Miss Gigi from over at the saloon, done shot and killed a feller." The stableman rambled on. "Claimed it was self-defense, but nobody believed her."

Heyes placed his hands against his hips and arched backwards, stretching his aching back. The painter proceeded to brush over the letter N.

"Really? Why didn't anyone believe her?" asked Heyes as he straightened up.

"A fancy girl turning down a paying client?" snorted the stableman.

Heyes' brown eyes narrowed at the snide remark. The painter finished brushing over the letter D and climbed down the ladder.

"She said the gun went off by accident when she tried to leave," the stableman continued.

The painter moved the ladder directly beneath the second Hackleby name and started upwards. It didn't take a genius to figure out the dead man's last name. Heyes gestured towards the sign as the painter began to brush over the letter H.

"Who defended the woman?"

"Tweren't nobody for the defense," shrugged the stableman. "Young Hackleby got the jury to convict in less than ten minutes."

"Young Hackleby prosecuted the woman for the murder of the other Hackleby?"

Heyes couldn't keep his voice from rising in incredulity. The stableman nodded.

"Yep, like I said tweren't nobody for the defense."

"Isn't a person supposed to have a lawyer for a fair trial?"

"Not if she kills the only other lawyer in town," snapped the stableman. "We's law abiding folks in Pleasantville, we didn't lynch her. Gave her a trial and she's gonna get a coffin after the hanging. Free of charge."

Heyes' jaw clamped shut. He tried to tell himself that Gigi wasn't his problem. For all he knew, she had murdered the older Attorney Hackleby. All Heyes needed to do was wait here for Kid and then ride out of town. He took a deep breath. The stableman tugged the reins. The gelding pulled back with a sharp whinny, shaking his head, long lengths of mane flying back and forth, frightened eyes wide.

"Settle down there!" demanded the stableman.

Heyes took the reins from the stableman. He stepped in closer and began to murmur soothing sounds to his horse, stroking the bay's muzzle. At the sound of the familiar voice, the frightened animal began to calm down.

"He gets skittish in strange places," dissembled Heyes.

"You should warn a body!" huffed the crotchety stableman.

Heyes raised an eyebrow at the older man's sharp words. He continued to gentle his horse.

"Why don't I settle him into a stall?" suggested Heyes. "That way you don't have to…"

"Even if you brush down your own horse, price is still four bits," interrupted the stableman.

"Of course," smiled Heyes not taking his eyes off the bay. He'd just as soon brush down his own horse and make sure the animal was taken care of properly. "Just tell me which stall to use and where the oats are."

"Oats is extry."

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"There now," soothed Heyes. "That ought to do you for the evening."

The bay whickered an agreement as Heyes stepped out of the fourth stall on the left. He brushed his hands against his vest, wiping stray horse hairs from his clothing as he made his way to the front of the stable. A soft thud sounded from the loft. Heyes looked up. An almost familiar face peered down from the loft. Flat on her stomach, hands clutched the edge of the flooring and a rifle barrel extended over the side of the loft.

"Heyes?"

A long blonde braid slipped over the edge and dangled down below the loft floor. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties, if that. Beside her, another head peered over the edge. The curly haired blond youth frowned at Heyes. The young man reached a proprietary hand out to pull the braid back up over the woman's shoulder.

"Bridget and I heard you and Kid were granted a posthumous amnesty a couple of years ago," continued the soft voice. Her chin quivered. "We thought you and Kid were both dead."

"Beth? Beth Jordan?"

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