Nothing to Lose

Chapter One

Rolling over ground that had felt the pound of horses so often it wouldn't shirk at a foursome's mass approach, the stagecoach wheels somehow had the ability to find every hole to bounce into, rock to skip over, and rut to churn through. There were seats on the inside of that particular coach, and every other that the Great Central and Overland Mail owned, that had carried enough people in its middle that needed to keep a kerchief in hand, to blot the sweat, fan a breeze against reddened cheeks, or to stifle the sourest stomach from turning one step further into its queasiest. Even if the passengers could avoid the ills and deemed the journey one of pleasure, the highest percentage of participants would agree that those seats were not made for comfort. However, the hardest seat of all on the rattling contraption was on top, but there, instead of a novice who would cringe at every turn, sat the most experienced men of the trade. The driver and shotgun man.

Slim adjusted his position, along with his hat, but never letting the rifle loosen in his grip as the corner turned had brought a particularly rough patch of roadway to traverse. Recent water sliding downhill in a robust, autumn rainstorm had overflowed its normal boundary lines, washing too many pebbles onto the path along with taking some of the hardened dirt away, leaving bumps that would add bruises to an already seasoned backside. It might have been the natural thing to rub a new ache, but not when Slim's instincts were already tuned to something even more important, protecting the coach and its single occupant. It wasn't often that he took the position of shotgun rider, but when opportunity arose, such as now, Slim carried the same amount of skill as those men that held the rifle over the roadway every day. He had been in Cheyenne for a meeting with the stage line manager, but when the Laramie bound stage was ready to leave and the man set to ride alongside the driver was lying in jail with a hangover, Slim became the obvious choice to take over. There were easier ways to get home, but Slim wasn't the type of man that only chose the uncomplicated routes in life, and he climbed into the seat next to Lester Dunn without a single step of hesitation.

The road beginning to smooth out, the corners being switched for a straighter stretch, Slim spread a smile across his face and met a similar expression from the driver, swapping the unspoken truth that they had made it through the worst, even if there were several miles still to come. If it would only last an hour at best, comfort could be added to the descriptive list of their journey westward, but no matter how calming the ride would become, there was never a time to relax for a shotgun man. This fact was about to be thoroughly proven.

Slim's trained eye could spot potential troublemaking places as soon as it came into focus. Clattering over a bridge that spanned a gushing stream that in the hottest part of summertime would be one of those markers considering the bed underneath would be dry, his gaze turned down to view the bubbles of water as they rolled over the top. The current threat, minimum, but there was another less than fifty yards away. A boulder off to the left side of the roadway could hide just about any type of menace, from sidewinders to brutes, or anything that could carry a weapon, whether it would come in fang or bullet form. The man stepping into the open with a rifle ready to be fired had the bullets, but there was also a strong possibility that he had the teeth to match.

"Whoa!" Lester's command was elongated, connected to an even longer grunt to finish as the horses were pulled to a stop, the lead animal voicing the displeasure at the sudden jerk of the reins when their hooves became stilled, but when they were no longer running, Slim began to stand.

"Don't try it, Mister," the shout had strength flowing through its entire course. "Lose the rifle and raise them high."

Slim didn't flinch, the gun held tight in his grip, but the angle wasn't placed in the right way to give him, Lester or the lone passenger in the coach any aid. Heat beginning to rise in his chest, he wasn't about to fold under pressure, and Slim's hands started to move, not to toss the rifle as he had been instructed, but ready to defend with a single pulling of a trigger, but it wasn't his gun that fired. With a wince that flashed across Slim's face and made his hand jerk backward, the rifle fell to the ground as the bullet slid over his knuckles and down to his wrist. In one quick action, his defense was gone.

"I don't like to repeat myself." The man sneered, his eyes narrowing at Slim, using his left hand to clamp over the right where the blood had sprung to the surface. "Unless you want another, you best be obliging. Toss your side arms and then get down."

"The hairs on my neck are all raised," Lester spoke low behind Slim's ear after their pistols slapped the dirt, but then the weapons became in motion again when the outlaw tossed both guns far into the brush away from the road. "That only happens when faced with real trouble. That's a bad hombre. Watch yourself."

"I won't make any promises." Slim's lowest tone sounded just as intimidating as the man that held the gun on him as the driver's feet made contact with the ground, with Slim close behind him.

"No whispering," he snapped, the rifle shifting positions with the duo as they were no longer high above him, but the point was still close to the chest. "If you're going to talk, do it so I can listen."

"I'll remember that," Slim said chillingly, but the look he received was given even colder, and Slim avoided the glare by pulling the bandana loose from around his neck to tie around the scratch across his hand.

"You inside," his bark lessened only slightly when his eyes bore into the feminine face that peeked around the window. "Get out."

"Better do as he says, Ma'am," Slim said, briefly catching the frightened eyes of the sixty-year-old as her shaking hand worked the handle of the door, but it was either sticking again or her fear couldn't get it to function. It didn't matter the cause, for the delay only made the incense grow stronger.

"I said get out!" A black glove that snugly fit over the hand reached out and jerked the door wide open and the woman nearly fell down the steps, making Slim reach forward to catch her fall, but something else would grab him first.

The rifle swung, the butt catching Slim in the stomach, the sound as it crashed was a burst of air and a sickening thud that came in unison, swelling heat all the way up to his temples. For a moment he remained stunned, his eyes seeing only the ground below him, expecting to be struck again to topple the remaining distance to meet the earth, but there wasn't a second dose of retaliation. Moving his hand slightly across his middle toward his side, Slim added firm pressure underneath his palm, the pain rippling around in a hard circle near his belly button, but there didn't seem to be anything worse that would have been defined as being broken. It hurt to take a breath, short or deep, but Slim still found a measure of relief. The only shed blood remained at his hand, and it would continue to drip, for in his position, he could see that his bandana had floated to the ground, leaving a ball of red to mingle with the brown of the dirt.

"No heroics, understand?" The rush out of his lips was close to a wheeze as he repositioned the weapon, the point wagging to prompt Slim to become upright even if the pain wanted to keep him bent. "I could do worse."

"I won't argue that." Slim rose to his height, his eyes although narrowed, were keenly attached to his newest, unnamed enemy, and the darts that he tossed with it seared into flesh that needed more than just an invisible glare to penetrate.

"Good. Now that we're becoming obedient, let's go all the way." The gaze that had been reserved for Slim slipped back to the woman, her fright still evident by her quaking legs that made the bottom of her skirt tremble over the dirty road. "Ma'am. On the ground, face first."

"Oh, mercy," she quivered through her lips as a set of fingers raised up to pat them. "My knees might not make it down there."

"Try," he said, his face widening into a smile as the woman lowered with a groan, holding her skirt away from her frame to not stick a foot on her hem as she bent one knee to the earth, the second having difficulty, but it completed its follow. With a whimper that reached outward to shift two men's anger to full capacity, the rest of her body attempted the drop, but there was too much shaking of her limbs to comply.

"Have you no scruples?" The fury could no longer stay in check and Lester paced two long strides toward the woman, his hand already stretching forward to offer assistance, but it would never reach her.

There was no warning, not even a batting of an eye, just the sound of the rifle exploding at the pull of the trigger, dropping Lester flat as a scream in horror brought the woman's body to the desired location, burying her head in her arms to weep. The smoke still curling around the victim, the barrel moved to focus on Slim, daring him to jump, but while his feet remained stilled, Slim's eyes could still rove. His mouth set into a hard line, Slim watched the expanding circle of red on Lester's upper arm and then he switched to find the swimming gaze of the driver, not far from going under. It was the outlaw that received his stoniest glare, but it couldn't be seen when he was leaning toward the stagecoach door.

"Just the one passenger," he muttered and then reached for the woman's purse, giving it a frowning glance before tossing the penniless clutch alongside of the woman. "One poor, old woman."

"Looks like you've gone to a lot of trouble for nothing," Slim said, his voice walking along the hardest lines. "My pockets don't have much either. And it won't take much searching to see that there's no strongbox on this run."

"I'm not here to rob you," he said with a shake of his head and a snaky smirk on his lips, "but if there would've been something to take, I wouldn't have been opposed to snagging it."

"Then what do you want?"

"I need a ride." Sliding his eyes to the driver, the outlaw leaned forward and gripped the wound just above the bullet hole, spurting another rush of color onto his sleeve and making Lester one step closer to passing out. "Too bad you had to be such a mule-head."

"You should've thought about that before you pulled the trigger," Slim said, knowing that as the words were coming out of his mouth that he was putting himself at risk to push the outlaw into giving him the same treatment.

"I still have you." His eyes bore into Slim's, the blue so cold they could have been colorless, made entirely out of ice. "And since I don't want too much company, you'll do just fine. I'm sure the stage line taught you how to slap the reins before ramming a gun into your hands."

"Sure," Slim replied with a single word answer only, keeping his true connection with the Overland Company stuck in silence, and turning his eyes upon Lester, they gave a mutual nod that it would stay that way. There wasn't anything to gain in revealing that his service with the line went far deeper than holding a gun, and it might give him a slight advantage, because Slim's fight wasn't just one of duty, but being personal.

"Get back on top," he commanded, the barrel end of the rifle prodding into Slim's belly, but Slim's arm wasn't ready to reach for a boost upward just yet, even if the weapon was about to do more than just poke him.

"You're not going to leave the woman here like this." Slim directed his comment to the outlaw, but his eyes were on the woman, still softly crying from her position on the ground.

"It's better than leaving her here dead," he responded with a noise that was too close to a laugh, but then the delivery changed to a firmer foundation. "Get on board."

It was done with reluctance, but Slim complied, his backside lowering to the seat and the outlaw followed, taking the position next to him, the rifle in such an angle if Slim shifted even a fraction to his left, the barrel would press into his flesh. Leaning forward to secure the reins in his clasp, Slim lowered his eyes to the man's hip, knowing that the gun butt sticking out of the holster was within reach. He would have to be crazy to make the attempt, and although his character didn't normally hinge on such a descriptive, the thought was there. If he took that route, which Slim wasn't ready yet to dismiss the possibility, it couldn't be done here. Not when his threat could still be switched from Slim's skin to one that was more fragile, for one thing Slim did promise himself, he wasn't going to let the man hurt anyone else, no matter the cost.

"Where to?" Slim kept his voice steady, but even the outlaw wouldn't be able to miss the beat of force that curled at the end of his question mark.

"Turn the coach back toward Cheyenne, but before you get any ideas, no, we're not heading there. The first cut off is where we'll be bound, and then some. Do it in a hurry, too."

"You plan on running these horses into the ground?" Slim asked, giving his head a nod toward the animals.

"No, but that doesn't mean I won't drop you onto it if you keep acting smart," he answered with a point to the dirt before adjusting the finger to tap at the road ahead of them. "Get going."

Slim's lips formed an encouraging note to the team before giving them a slap that was their instruction to go. With their legs in motion, the wheels began to spin and the road became a blur, and when Slim knew enough had passed to put them out of sight of the abandoned driver and passenger, he switched his eyes behind him to view the vacant road. All he could do was hope that Lester and the woman could reach a place of refuge before dark, but his thoughts were about to be drastically changed.

"Before we get too far, you need to know what you're up against, just in case you've got something up your sleeve," he said, waiting for Slim's eyes to flick in his direction before continuing. "That display back there was nothing. I spared the woman only because she's a woman. And the driver, even wounded she can lean on him, but that doesn't make me no saint. I've got nothing to lose, Mister. I may need you now, but I'll go all the way if I have to. You see, I ran my horse to death in flight, but I've got to go farther, a lot farther and you're going to help get me there. I just finished raiding a relay station outside of Laramie, and I didn't leave a single survivor."