So they headed east. Their journey was delayed two days when a tire blew on the sand-shuttle they had commissioned; apparently the newly-bankrupted people of Dankin were so desperate to find a way to make some double-dollars that they left town without properly inspecting the vehicle.
"Ma'am," said Milly, calmly.
Meryl felt a restraining hand on her shoulder and tried to unclench her fists. The driver was kneeling in the deep sand, stroking his chin as he looked down at the flat tire, and Meryl stood only a foot behind him, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around his thick neck.
It took a day and a half for them to bring a spare tire from town on Thomas-back.
Meryl thought she might grind her teeth down to nothing, but Milly patted her on the head and stroked her short hair, which always helped to calm her. By the time they arrived in Felnarl, Meryl was pleased to be rid of the driver and carried her own bags without giving him a tip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Milly pull some double-dollars out of her pocket and pay the man, thanking him.
Thank goodness for that girl.
When they walked into the town's only saloon, both women dropped their bags near the door. Meryl was still so irritable that she didn't pay much attention to the saloon's other patrons. When Milly was suddenly so close on her heels that Meryl actually tripped, she finally took a proper look around the room, finally noticing all eyes fixed hungrily on them.
Wonderful.
"Whiskey," Meryl demanded of the barkeep. "Leave the bottle."
"Ma'am!" Milly chided. Whiskey already in hand, the heavily-muscled man behind the bar glanced from Meryl to Milly. The younger woman shook her head sharply and the man shrugged, putting away the bottle and returning to his work cleaning out dirty glasses.
Grimacing, Meryl began to order something else when Milly squeaked loudly, jumping nearly a foot in the air. Meryl turned around and saw a man standing behind the younger woman, his hand still outstretched from where he'd goosed her. He was grinning lop-sidedly, clearly drunk.
"Ma'am!" squeaked Milly, facing Meryl. "He—"
"Hands off," Meryl told him, moving to stand in front of Milly. The drunkard's eyes seemed asymmetrically bloodshot, and his 5:00 shadow was unflattering. He was frowning now, and took a staggering step even closer. "Watch it," she warned again.
From behind her there was a loud crack! and a gasp. Milly's sling had broken (again) and her stun-gun dropped to the floor, falling forward onto the nearest table. The table top snapped clean off from the weight of the stun-gun and slammed up under the chin of the drunkard.
He let out a choking noise and fell backwards.
"Oh no!" gasped Milly. "I'm so sorry!" She made a move forward to help the man, but two others behind him stood up, snarling. The young woman hesitated and one of the others, a man with dark hair and glasses, stooped to check on his friend. The third man, scarred and menacing, advanced on Milly.
"It was an accident!" she said, desperately. She glanced sideways at Meryl.
"We don't want any trouble," said Meryl, flatly. The man Milly had inadvertently attacked was back on his feet, covering his mouth. Meryl could see blood dripping down between his fingers, either from splitting his lip or biting his tongue when the table had slammed up under his chin. All three men faced them now, and each had drawn a gun.
Though none had yet actually pointed a weapon at her or Milly, Meryl knew where this was heading. She glanced sideways. Milly's stun-gun still lay on the ground where it had fallen, and she could see the younger woman iching toward it.
"Stop there!" cried the scarred man, aiming his gun squarely at Milly's chest.
Meryl's own hand was slowly, so slowly, moving behind her back. Her fingertips had barely brushed the enameled grip of one of her derringers when the same man swung his gun to point at her instead.
"Don't you move, either!" he ordered. "Hands where I can see them!"
"Ma'am," whispered Milly, as they both held their hands open at shoulder-height.
"It's alright, Milly," Meryl told her, glad to hear that Milly's voice was steady; she wasn't frightened, she was waiting for orders. Good girl.
Meryl was sizing up the situation in her head. Alone, it wouldn't be a problem for her. She was small enough and fast enough that she could dispatch all three men within moments, with only one derringer in each hand. But she was hesitant to act, unwilling to risk any of them getting a lucky shot off and hitting Milly. The younger woman was a much larger target, and capable as she was, at present she was completely unarmed.
Before Meryl could come to any conclusion, the unmistakable noise of a pump-action shotgun sounded loudly, directly behind her ear. Meryl heard her own surprised gasp echoed by Milly's and the two women spun around in an instant.
The massive barkeep was standing only a foot behind them, his grease-stained apron thrown over one shoulder as he held an equally massive shotgun above their heads, glowering down at the three armed men.
Meryl turned to the men again and saw six wide eyes staring up the double barrel.
"Get out of my bar," growled the barkeep, his voice a deep rumble that practically shook the wooden beams of the building. Dust fell from the rafters.
It was all the encouragement they needed. The men fled, half-strangled screams escaping them as the doors swung back and forth behind them. The barkeep lowered the shotgun and spat on the floor. Meryl didn't think this was a particularly fitting gesture, seeing as how he would just need to clean it up again later, but still. She appreciated it.
"Thank you," said Meryl, though it grated on her nerves slightly. All things considered, it had been an expedient end to the matter, but she didn't want the man to think they couldn't take care of themselves. "But we didn't mean to turn out your customers."
"My pleasure," he said, smiling. "I'd prefer your caliber of clientele any day." He bent down and lifted Milly's stun-gun from the floor with ease, offering it to her, saying, "Miss."
"Thank you," said Milly, going pink. Meryl barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. The girl was undeniably lovely, beautiful even, but she seemed so unaware of it that she became incredibly flustered every time any man so much as tipped his hat to her.
And she had more than her fair share of hat-tipping, in Meryl's opinion...
Now Meryl tried to restrain herself from scowling. So what if men overlooked her (literally) with Milly around? She didn't need any distractions from an important job which required frequent traveling and no real time for relationships.
Meryl realized the barkeep was speaking to her again.
"I'm sorry," she said. "What did you say?"
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," he repeated, tucking the giant shotgun back under the shelf behind the bar. "I have a couple rooms upstairs, if you need a place."
"No, thank you, we need to keep moving." Meryl rubbed her forehead. Then she put both elbows on the bar and said, "Look, we heard Vash the Stampede was headed this direction." The barkeep looked at the two of them in alarm.
"Don't tell me you pretty things are looking for that $$60 billion bounty?"
Again, at the word "pretty," Milly blushed.
"No, no," Meryl said, waving this thought away with one hand. "We're here on business."
"Business," said the man, mulling it over as he pulled a corn-cob pipe from a pocket on his apron.
Meryl explained their situation as he lit the pipe.
"Has he been here?" she asked. "Anything you can remember would be helpful."
The barkeep puffed on his pipe. "I'm afraid you just missed him," he said. "They say he left at dawn."
"Damn it!" hissed Meryl, already frustrated and now almost livid. She buried one hand in her hair, making the short strands stick up between her fingers. Milly reached out to stroke her hair and Meryl slumped to let her chin rest on the faintly sticky wood surface of the bar, taking deep breaths through her nose.
"Can you at least tell us what he looks like?" Milly asked.
"He's a giant," said the barkeep. "Big weapon. Mohawk."
"The mohawk's new," Meryl muttered, not even bothering to write it down.
"You two be careful, though," he added. "They say he's the worst kind of womanizer out there."
"Oh my!" said Milly, looking worried.
Without warning, there was a sound like a huge clap of thunder. Meryl accidentally bit her tongue as the whole building shook and the bar beneath her chin seemed to jump up several iches. Beneath them the ground continued to quake and the bottles of alcohol behind the bar rattled and clanked together, threatening to fall from their shelves. The barkeep looked around, dumbstruck.
"What the—" He caught the bottle of whiskey before it fell.
Just as suddenly, the quake stopped.
Her tongue stinging, Meryl raced outside. Both Milly and the barkeep followed, and all three stared up at the bluff overlooking Felnarl. A huge dust cloud had erupted and now the sand was starting to settle, falling down on the small town. Milly and Meryl shared a glance.
"I have a few lending Thomas around the back," said the barkeep, as though reading their minds. "You're welcome to them."
"We have to hurry," said Meryl, turning to face him. "How much—"
"For you, no charge," he called over his shoulder. "Just bring them back safely."
"Milly," Meryl began, but the younger woman was already returning from retrieving their bags in the saloon.
"Here, Ma'am!" called Milly. She tossed Meryl's bags to her as the barkeep came around the building with two Thomas in tow. Meryl staggered as her bags caught her in the chest, marveling that the younger woman could lift everything so easily. They both loaded up the Thomas in a hurry, doing only a cursory check that the saddles straps were securely fastened before each mounted.
Milly practically stepped over the creature and sat down, or so it felt to Meryl, who had long since mustered the upper body strength necessary to pull herself up from where she could only barely reach the saddle horn from the ground. Meryl took a moment to catch her breath before pulling tightly on the reigns, urging the Thomas forward at a full gallop.