The air was so dry. The kind of dry that makes water seem like the most heavenly creation on Earth. So dry that you get used to constant chapped lips and a burning throat. So dry that after a while you forget how miserable the heat is. The dust, the hot breeze, the stifling air became the way life always was. Rosanna looked up at the cloudless sky and squinted, feeling the layer of constant dirt on her face crinkle. She used to hate the sun and the way it burned down relentlessly, but now she almost welcomed it, a heat she could always count on. She swatted away the flies and patted her horse, "C'mon Bunny. Slowly now. No one should notice us, ok?"
Piano music drifted softly out of every window. The town was mostly saloons. People were bustling in and out, some leaving after a full day of gambling – drunk and disheveled. Some were nicely dressed, just entering for a night of drinking and card play. A few horses and carts rolled down the dusty road, some leaving, and some entering. Bonita Way was an odd town. She examined the streets up and down and couldn't decide if it was big or small, sophisticated or bound to be a ghost town. Her unsure thoughts scared her, not knowing if she'd be rejected and punished here. Rosanna covered her face with her black bandana, and tilted her hat down lower. Her boots were way too big for her feet. It made her thankful for her horse that she trusted to never let her fall face first in the dirt. Her heavy, itchy, brown and green poncho would have made anyone else sick with discomfort, but she was so grateful for it. It covered anything womanly about her. But it was still uncomfortable.
Tombstone seemed so strange to her, it wasn't like anything she was used to. The orphan homes where she had spent hours and hours sewing and braiding other girls' hair seemed like a distant dream you start to forget in the morning. Seeing all the women walking down the streets in their dresses and curled hair made her almost wish she had stayed at the home, and lived a normal life. She took a last drink from her canteen and shivered as it brushed across the huge scar on her lips. The right side of her mouth and chin was covered in thick, scarred skin. Thinking about it made her feel even less womanly, and more unsure and hopeless. She tried to push her insecurities out of her mind and looked around for someone that could give her honest direction to Santa Fe.
She rode down the street with her head low, but from the corner of her eye she could see four tall men wearing black. They were also eyeing her, cautiously and suspiciously, wondering who the stranger was. She rode past them as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.
After riding a couple hours into the mountains, she found a very small creek with trees and a small clearing to make camp for the night. Rosanna was relieved to finally be able to take her hat, bandana, and heavy poncho off. She knelt by the river and watched her face off. The water was so cool and calming that she started to feel sleepy. Her horse whinnied impatiently in the background. She went to her and grabbed 2 apples from the satchel on the saddle. "Alright Bunny, here ya go." Bunny snarfed the apple down. She took the horse's face in her hands and pulled it close to hers. "You and I, we're all alone. Ya know that?" Bunny shrugged her face out of Rosanna's hands and neighed. She started a fire and made camp. The night was still and warm as she fell asleep to the sound of the creek.
Rosanna woke up with the sun, got dressed and rode back to Tombstone. She decided she was going to stop at the nicest saloon she could find, and ask for directions. It was so early that when she rode into town people were still finishing up a full night of gambling, and stumbling out of the saloons. She took her bandana off, but kept her hat low, covering most of her face, except her scarred lips. The door slowly opened to "The Oriental" and she stepped inside, the morning sun shining behind her. She could feel people watching her. She walked to the bar and sat down. Over her right shoulder she glanced at the same four men in black playing Faro. They seemed to almost be glaring at her, watching her every move as they chewed on their cigars. Over her other shoulder she saw a fight break out between a few men and she listened them curse at each other.
"Um…what can I get for you, stranger?"
The bartender was addressing her. What was she thinking? She had a woman's voice, she couldn't say anything. Her mind raced with panic and no words came out of her mouth. Without looking up she shrugged her shoulders.
"Just…. anything is ok?" he asked nervously.
Rosanna nodded, and the bartender poured her a drink. She turned the glass around and around on the bar, thinking about how she was going to ask for directions to get to Santa Fe. Feeling scared and foolish she looked around the saloon full of men. Who was going to help her? She figured the four men in black must be the sheriffs or marshals of the town, but she didn't want to get in trouble for dressing like a man. "Could they do that?" she thought. "What's this drink?...Oh well."
She took a drink from it and felt the liquor burn down her throat and coughed. She decided she better leave and find a general store to ask directions in. Putting some money down on the bar she abruptly stood up and turned on her heel to leave, but was hit hard in the left shoulder by the two men who were now fist fighting. It was a sudden, accidental hit that sent her falling on her back. Her hat flew off her head, letting her hair loose. Light brown waves cascaded down her back as she fell backwards in a terrible, unfortunate, split-second.
The fighting men gaped at her, jaws dropped, one of them in mid-punch. To her horror most people in the saloon were also staring at her. Almost frozen, she slowly got up from the floor. Somehow she was able to stand up. Rosanna turned and sat awkwardly back down on her bar-stool. She set her hat on the table and prayed people would stop watching her. She looked up at the bar tender who was also staring, not noticing the glass of liquor he was pouring was overflowing.
"This time could you make me something a little stronger?" She asked.
The bartender jumped out of his daze and nodded his head. She sighed heavily and hung her head with her elbows on the table. Slowly, the music started coming back, and she started to breathe again. People started talking and going back to their gambling. All except the four men in black. They kept staring at her, now in shock. The bartender came back with her drink, and cleared his throat.
"I know a lot of people in this town, and you certainly aren't from around here. Where are you from, sweetheart?"
"Um, nowhere," She answered. It came out harsher than she meant it to.
"If you're looking to settle down in this town, I could definitely find you a job here. I own the place. Can you sing?"
"Can't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it," she said, trying to smile.
He smiled back underneath his grey mustache. "Are you going to stay here in Tombstone?"
She paused, "I'm actually trying to find my way to –"
"A loner, huh?"
Rosanna's question was suddenly cut off by a gruff voice, followed by heavy footsteps. The bartender turned and left, avoiding conflict. "No, come back! Where are you going?" she thought. A large man sat on the stool beside her. She could smell alcohol as she turned to look at him. He was grinning at her.
"Name's Curly Bill," he tipped his hat. "Never seen anything like you before."
"Mysterious."
A new voice cut in and came from her other side, and a new man with dark hair sat beside her. Rosanna's eyes darted to her left and right, trying to deal with the new threat, heart beating, wishing she could get out and find her horse.
"Johnny Ringo," he introduced himself, "What're you drinkin' dollface?"
"Applejuice." She replied. Cold and uninviting.
"Fiesty." Curly Bill chuckled under his breath.
"Do you have a name?" Johnny asked.
"No." Rosanna slammed her cup down on the table and stood up, ready to run. But suddenly there weren't two men, but a group of seven or eight men, entrapping her in a circle. Johnny Ringo laughed out loud.
"Why are ya in such a hurry, brown eyes?" He said as he reached out to touch her chin.
Rosanna pulled out her pistol from underneath her poncho, rested the barrel in the middle of Johnny's forehead, and set the hammer down all in one fluid motion. The smile on Johnny's face melted off, but his green eyes stared straight into hers.
"Say one more word and these brown eyes will be the last thing you'll ever see."