Hello loverly peoples! Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews! We soooo loved reading them and can't wait to hear what you have to say for this chapter.

We've both got stories nominated at the Sparkle Awards. Please go to our profiles for more details about voting. Thanks.

PAY CAREFUL ATTENTION TO THE DATELINE!

Disclaimer: Twilight Characters are not ours, but we can dream right?

The Marksman

Chapter Two – The Death of Ed Cullen

Phoenix, Arizona, May, 1874

Ed Cullen hated towns, especially up and comers like this one. Phoenix? That wasn't any kind of name for a town. He wasn't stupid. Ed had been educated back in Philadelphia before the war; he knew where the name came from. With a wry smile he had to admit that this town did look like it had just risen from the dust of the earth, but he couldn't see the symbolism of re-birth. It was just the same as any other old town, full of prospectors, con-men, gamblers, and thieves.

The name didn't matter though. It was a town, so it probably had a saloon, and that was what really mattered to him at this point; that and the fact that it lay along his current route to Carson City. It was as good a place as any to get a decent meal and a real bed for the night.

The streets were dusty and covered in horse manure, the buildings were slapped together faster than a Sunday sandwich, and the women looked as haggard as a three legged mule. It looked like the place had a respectable general store he thought as he passed a building with a sign proclaiming it to be 'Newton's Mercantile' on the left. Sure enough, thirty yards ahead on the right, the swinging doors of the 'Lucky Nugget Saloon' invited the saddle weary man inside. With the sun beating down and the day gettin' long, he needed somewhere to cool off and kick up his spurs.

That sweet refreshment he was so looking forward to curing his parched throat was just a few yards away, he thought as he walked his horse up to the post outside. He dismounted and checked his rifle scabbard out of habit before wrapping the reins around the post. He knocked his hat against his leg a few times to remove the dust of the road, then pulled off his neckerchief to mop his brow. He ran a hand through his hair, then replaced the hat and retied his kerchief.

Saloons were the same no matter the town, Ed thought as he entered the establishment and paused just inside the swinging doors. He surveyed the dimly lit interior with a practiced eye, sizing up the place before entering fully. Ed was nothing if not cautious. He had to be. Knowing what he was walking into was what had kept a man like Ed Cullen alive all these years. And he had noticed plenty of eyes checking over him this time 'round.

The Saloon wasn't exactly bustling on Monday afternoon, but still there were several patrons about. There were two fellas sitting at the third table on his left and three at the second table to the right. Two more were standing by the bar, along with a blond woman in a frilly red dress. All eyes turned to him as the clink of his spurs announced his presence, and it wasn't lost on Ed that most of the eyes went straight to his holster. He knew one look at that low-slung gun belt would tell anyone who cared what type of man was wearing it. He might as well have been carrying a wooden sign that read 'Gunslinger'.

The rather tall and slender bartender watched him as he moved to the bar, all the while wiping a glass with a spot-covered towel. He spoke up as soon as Ed stopped in front of him. "What's your poison, Stranger?" He asked with a gravely voice, not inviting, but not judging either. He was straight forward and Ed respected that in a man.

Removing his hat, placing it on the bar, and running his fingers through his hair, Ed took a breath and got ready to give his order. This was always the worst part in a new town. He gave him a dry look and replied, "Sasparilla."

"Sasparilla?" barked the barkeep in surprise. "Never heard of the stuff."

The coldness in the eyes that met his shut up any other comment the barkeep might have made. But it didn't silence the guffaw that came from the end of the bar.

"Why, Joe, Sasparilla is what they call sodie-pop." The speaker was not very tall but he looked scrappy and Ed was sure he had tried to start his share of fights; it was obvious to Ed this guy had something to prove. The little ones always did when they saw a gunslinger walk into the bar. He was making his way over as he spoke. Ed's eyes slowly left the bewildered Joe and moved to the approaching cowboy. "You know," he continued, "it's the drink of choice for Eastern city slickers and pansy-boys." The cowboy hooted with laughter and turned to glance at his friend and the girl. They were both still standing at the other end of the bar joining in the laughter.

Ed took a moment to sum up the loudmouth and noticed he was better dressed than the average cowboy; his clothes and boots weren't as dusty, his hat was expensive and sported a silver hatband. He also carried an obviously new side arm with a white, mother-of-pearl grip. He rested his hand on the butt of the gun and puffed out his chest. No, this wasn't your ordinary, working cowboy. He was entirely too clean with his baby-face and white-blond hair. This was some rich kid. Yes, kid! Ed could tell he was no more than eighteen or nineteen. Nowhere near to being a man, not in Ed's book. You had to experience life to become a man, and if this kid's soft hands were anything to go by, he hadn't experienced squat. Ed doubted that the gun had ever shot a bullet at anything other than a can.

No, there was no way this kid was a man. Had he been a man, he would have known better than to try and pick a fight with a man like Ed Cullen. He would have recognized the hard-as-steel look in the eyes now traveling over his face. The body language alone should have been enough to tell him you don't mess with this man. Instead, he walked up to a hardened gunslinger and insulted him. Phoenix had little to offer in the first place, and now it was just getting worse.

Stupid kid! Ed thought, as he looked at the boy standing in front of him. He was lucky Ed wasn't the type to fly off the handle. Ed was experienced enough to look over stupid remarks from some kid still wet behind the ears. So he just looked at him and said, "Can I help you, son?" the gravel in his voice adding credence to his image.

The low tone and cold eyes would have been enough for most people, but not for the loudmouth with something to prove, he supposed daddy's money wasn't enough. "Well, Stranger, we don't have any Sasparilla, but if you'd like, we might be able to rustle up some milk for you," he said slapping his knee, and proceeded to laugh even louder than before.

Ed just let him laugh, never changing his facial expression and keeping his eyes glued to the boy's face. Ed could sense the other patrons' tension, as they were men and understood that the boy was toying with a rattlesnake. There was complete silence save for the boy's laughter. When he finally quieted enough to notice, he was slightly taken aback to see the unchanged demeanor of his would-be victim. He coughed nervously as he took in the silence surrounding him. The atmosphere in the bar was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was obvious to the kid that this stranger didn't understand the power that money held in this town. And Ed could see that this boy had set himself on a path he was unwilling to veer off of.

The barkeep tried to lighten the moment a little and spoke up, "Mister, I think I may have some of that, what you say, Sasparilla, in the back. Just came in last week. I didn't recognize the name, but now that I think about it, I believe that was what it said on the crate. I'll go get you a bottle." He was nearly wheezing, as he had said his entire little speech without taking a breath.

"Much obliged," was Ed's low response as Joe hurried off to the back. His eyes had never left the boy and he now spoke to him directly, "That's okay son, looks like I won't be needing that milk after all."

The boy's friend seemed to have finally realized the danger of the situation and quickly tugged on the boy's sleeve and urged him, "Mike, let's go. He's not worth the time." He jerked his head in Ed's direction and Ed recognized that he was just trying to get his friend out of harms way and didn't take offense at the words. He'd rather just let the kid go and get on with his day in solitude.

Joe came out of the back carrying four brown, long-necked bottles. He placed one on the bar as he took in the scene before him. Mike looked over at him then down at the bottle, before looking back at Ed. He replied to his friend, "Yeah, let's get out of here. Nothing here but a washed-up gunslinger drinking sodie pop." And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out with his friend.

Ed watched him go before turning back to the bartender with a little snort. The kid was too stupid to know there wasn't any such thing as a 'washed-up gunslinger'. Gunslingers never lived long enough to be washed up.

The murmured whispers broke the silence as the bar patrons discussed among themselves what they had just witnessed.

"Thanks, Mister," Joe whispered low, as he opened the bottle of Sasparilla. "He's just a damn fool kid that's had life way too easy."

"Yeah, I noticed that," was the low reply.

"You in town long?" Joe asked, his tone implying he really hoped it wasn't an extended length of time. Seemed like that was the song Ed heard everywhere he went. No one wanted him around very long.

Ed gave a wry smile before turning up the bottle and drinking half the contents. He was usually around just long enough to solve a few less than desirable problems for people and then moving on, but he had no job in this town and no need to stay. Lowering the bottle Ed replied, "Just the night. I need supplies and a real bed."

Joe's relief was evident. "Well, the Gold Star Hotel is just down the street. It has the best sleeping beds in town. You can get a bath there too, if you feel so inclined. And Newton's," he jerked his head sideways, indicating the direction, "should have any supplies you need."

Ed noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over at the blond woman as she sauntered up to him. She halted beside him, leaning sideways against the bar and bending forward slightly to give him a good look at her ample bosom.

"I couldn't help hearing you say you're in town for the night," she spoke in a contrived sultry tone. "I wouldn't mind some company, since you don't seem to have any plans." She gave Ed a come-hither look that was as cheap as her over-rouged face.

He looked at her and actually thought about her proposal for a moment before dismissing it. He didn't really care for saloon girls, not that he hadn't partaken of a few in his life. But he really preferred one that didn't look quite so used and he personally had a thing for brunettes. The less he associated with this hellishly hot town the better.

Now deep down, Ed Cullen was a gentleman, and even though she was a saloon girl, he still spoke to her with respect.

"Sorry, ma'am. I've been in a saddle for a lotta days, and I really just want a place to sleep tonight." She gave him a huff and turned away, walking over to one of the occupied tables.

Without a second glance in her direction, Ed turned back to face the bar and turned up the bottle, emptying its contents completely this time. He removed a coin from his pocket and tossed it onto the bar.

The barkeep nodded and then spoke up. "Don't believe I caught your name."

"Don't believe I dropped it. Much obliged for your help," and with those words, Ed smoothed back his hair, replaced his hat, turned and slowly walked back out into the afternoon sunshine.

And that was why Ed Cullen hated towns. There was always some wise-crackin' kid trying to make a name for himself by taking on a gunslinger. It happened every time, and it got old fast! If he had killed every danged idiot itchin' to get himself kilt that had tried to call him out, the west would have a serious shortage of overly pampered smart-aleck kids.

He grabbed the reins and walked his horse the short distance to the Gold Star. The horse was probably just as saddle weary as Ed at this point, ready for a relaxing night and a bag of oats. Outside the hotel he removed his saddlebags, duster, and rifle scabbard before turning to the livery boy waiting outside for would-be hotel guests.

"See to my horse, kid. Name's Cullen, Ed Cullen," he said as he tossed the reins to the waiting lad.

"That'll be four bits, mister. In advance." Ed had to grin at the authority in the tone coming from a boy that couldn't be more than eleven or twelve years old. He tossed the coin and the boy caught it with practiced ease. Ed's lips quirked as it struck him that the kid had quick hands. "And here," he tossed an additional five-cent piece at the boy. "That's so you'll take extra good care of him. He's a good horse."

The boy caught the coin with a big smile and said, "Sure enough, Mister Cullen," and headed off toward the livery stable next door leading the horse like the territorial Governor had just dropped him off.

It was short work getting a room, a bath, and a meal arranged. He was also pleased that the hotel had a woman that did laundry service. Within a few minutes he was trudging up the stairs to his second floor accommodations. He entered the room and gazed at the bed longingly. He really wanted a good night's sleep, but more than that, he wanted to wash the dust and grime from his body. He took a seat on the straight-backed chair in the corner and waited for the bath water to arrive.

Sure enough, within thirty minutes a zinc tub had been delivered to his room and was being filled with buckets of steaming water by a couple of hotel employees. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ed stripped off his clothes, noticing every scar and mark, telltale signs of some hard living. He put the clothes outside the door to be picked up for washing, and then slowly sank into the steaming water. He relished the heat, letting it ease the stiffness from his muscles. After a few minutes, he ducked his head beneath the water, shaking it slightly to loosen the dust from his hair. When he resurfaced, he reached for the cake of soap that had been left with the cotton cloths for drying.

He lathered up his hair and beard, washing his face and neck at the same time. After rinsing them, he proceeded to wash the grit and sweat from the rest of his body. Once he had washed, he relaxed until the water became chilled before rising and drying. The water was just about mud when he got out, but he felt like a new man. He fished out some clean underclothes from his saddlebags before falling onto the bed to await his meal. The sun was still shining, but Ed was exhausted, and was nearly asleep when he heard the soft knock and then the doorknob rattle. He was on his feet with his gun drawn and pointed at the door before it even began its inward swing.

The two hotel employees stopped dead in their tracks as they looked down the barrel of the Ed's Colt .45. One was holding a meal tray and Ed could hear the silverware rattling as the boy's hands started shaking. He slowly lowered the gun, moving his thumb to release the hammer, and lowered it to his side. He gave a jerk of his head to indicate they could enter, and they nervously stepped into the room.

The boy carefully placed the tray on top of the dresser, then he and the other fellow each grabbed a handle on the tub and swiftly dragged it out the door. Ed closed the door after them, turning the key to lock it.

The simple meal of stew, bread and coffee filled his belly and brought on the satisfied lethargy that comes after a decent meal. Ed took a look out the window surveying the town, then made sure the shutters were closed tight. He fell back on the bed, and let his eyes drift closed once again.

First light poured through the slats on the shutters and streamed across his face rousing him from as dreamless and restful a sleep as he had had in weeks. He stretched, swung his legs out of bed and his gun twirled lazily around his index finger. He took a moment to breathe in that clean smell of freshly washed clothes and tried to lock it in his mind; who knew when he would get it again? He quickly donned his pants and shirt and packed the clean underclothes in his saddlebags. He secured his gun belt and after raking his hands through his hair a couple of times and scratching all around his beard, he settled his hat on his head and made his way downstairs.

Ed enjoyed a quick breakfast of biscuits and ham in the hotel dining room, settled his bill and walked outside. The same boy from yesterday was waiting by the front door and gave him a broad grin.

"You want I should go fetch yer horse, Mr. Cullen?" the boy asked.

"Sure, kid, thanks." Ed watched as the boy ran down to the stable, returning in a few minutes leading his horse.

Ed took the reins and handed the kid another five-cent piece, and got a "Gee thanks, Mr. Cullen," in return

With a wave of his hand, Ed turned his horse in the direction of the general store. There was no one else there at such an early hour and Ed was grateful for that. He quickly had the girl gather all the supplies he needed. After purchasing enough to last him until he got to Carson City, he tied the packs across his mount. His foot was in the stirrup, when he heard the sniveling, pathetic voice.

"Well, if it ain't Sasparilla?" he heard the laugh as he slowly lowered his foot to the ground and turned to face the boy called Mike. He was standing on the boardwalk about fifteen feet away. This kid didn't know enough to quit while he was ahead. And a man was only able to take so much before he had to stand up for himself.

Ed just looked at him for a moment, then repeated his words from the previous day, "Can I help you, son?"

Mike gave another forced chuckle and said, "Well now, Sasparilla, I don't think you're man enough to help anyone with anything."

Ed just looked at the boy, holding back a snort. The boy didn't really look like he wanted to die today, so Ed just said, "You may be right about that, son." He turned his head and spit on the ground, then turned back to look straight into the eyes of the now snickering Mike Newton. "Come to think of it, I reckon there's probably nothin' would help you."

The boys laughter was instantly quelled and his hand made a motion toward his gun.

Ed never blinked and said in his low, calm voice, "Do you really feel like dying today, son?"

Ed watched the boy's throat work as he battled his fear and his anger, and seeing the instant that reason entered the boy's head.

"Why don't you just turn around and go back up to the saloon and think about what you almost did. Don't you know you don't dance with the devil if you can't afford the price?"

Ed's eyes never left him, even after the boy had broken eye contact and slowly backed away. Ed watched him as he walked up the boardwalk toward the saloon and saw him enter before turning back to his horse.

He heard pounding footsteps and saw the livery kid running in his direction. "Hey, Mr. Cullen," the boy called when he got within ear shot, "hold up a minute."

Ed waited patiently until the boy halted. "Mr. Cullen, why didn't you just shoot that dang fool Mike Newton? He had it comin'. I saw the whole thang. He walks around this town like he's something, when everyone knows his Daddy has all the money and he's just a pampered mama's boy."

Ed gave a little grunt and answered, "Well, kid, you don't just shoot a man for being a dang fool or a mama's boy. You gotta have a good reason to kill a man."

"It'd be a good enough reason to kill Mike Newton!" the boy retorted.

Ed laughed outright at the boy's righteous indignation. "It's never a good enough reason to kill anybody."

The kid backed away as Ed turned once more to mount his horse. That's when he heard it. A practiced gunslinger learns to know the sound of a six-shooter sliding out of a holster. There was no mistaking the rasping sound made by metal sliding against leather.

Without missing a beat, Ed pivoted his body, pulled his gun, and fired.

The gun of the would-be back-shooter discharged, but the hand holding it was already sinking to the ground. The bullet missed its mark by a mile.

But Ed Cullen never missed. Mike Newton was dead before he hit the ground, his baby blue eyes wide with shock as the pretty white pistol dropped from his hand.

Town's people began pouring out of the surrounding buildings, drawn by the sound of gunfire. Dozens of eyes looked first at the now dead boy lying face down in the dust and then at the gunslinger standing still as stone.

A woman screamed and Ed saw the saloon girl run toward the fallen boy, pulling at his body until it lay face up. Her wails added to the growing sounds of muted whispers and low-toned questions, of voices now raised in anger and shouts of simmering outrage.

It was a fair fight. Well, not really so fair if you looked at it from Ed Cullen's point of view. He was almost shot in the back! But he knew that wouldn't matter much in a town like this. He wished he had just passed right on by and eaten cactus till he reached Carson City.

The Town Sheriff pushed his way through the crowd to investigate the shots. He looked from the dead body of Mike Newton to Ed and made his mind up fast. He jerked his head at a couple of men and they cautiously approached the gunslinger, while a few more men in the crowd drew their weapons.

"Unbuckle that gun belt, nice and slow," the Sheriff hollered at Ed, "and throw it on the ground."

Ed just stood and looked at the Sheriff, standing still as death.

"You heard me, mister, I said drop your gun belt!" The Sheriff was nearly shouting, and Ed could hear the touch of fear in his voice.

Ed knew he could easily draw his gun and shoot the three men standing in front of him before they would ever know the gun had left his holster. He could also have taken out the two back-ups before they could fire a shot. But he also knew that the street was now crowded with women and looky-loos and an innocent person might get hurt.

Yeah, Ed was one of those rarities of the breed: A gunfighter with a conscience.

"But Sheriff," the kid called out, shouting to be heard over the noise of the crowd, "Mike Newton drew first, it was self-defense!" The kid watched as Ed slowly unbuckled his belt and got so mad he actually stamped his foot. "That blasted pansy boy tried to shoot him in the back!"

The Sheriff paid no attention to the boy. Ed spoke up quietly as he lowered his gun belt to the ground. "The kid's right. You can see he tried to fire his gun at me."

"Save it for the judge! He'll be through here Thursday next." The Sheriff and the men seized hold of Ed, pulling him along with them in the direction of the Jail.

The kid came along, half running to keep up. "But I tell you, Sheriff! He was defending his-self! I saw it!"

The Sheriff still ignored the kid, but Ed looked at the boy and mouthed the words, "Take care of my horse."

The boy nodded and was soon swallowed up by the crowd pressing in to follow the captive man down the street.

After he closed the jail door, the Sheriff spoke as he led the quiet gunslinger to a cell, "You better be glad I brought you here! That crowd could soon get lynching on its mind." The Sheriff's harsh tone felt like more like a threat than a warning.

With a laugh, the Sheriff locked the cell door and Ed watched him deposit the ring of keys in the left drawer of his desk.

There was nothing for Ed to do now but wait. That was something he was good at.

He caught snippets of conversation in the office as the day wore on. It seemed that Mike Newton was the only son of the town's richest man, Michael Newton; of course that whelp had to be a Junior. It also quickly became clear to Ed that Newton Sr. owned the Sheriff. And from the sound of the conversation, pretty much owned the Circuit Judge too! No fair trials would happen here.

Seemed like a lot of things in this town weren't fair dealings, but nothing west of the Mississippi was.

The Sheriff said the judge would be in town Thursday next; it was now Tuesday, so that meant he had nine days to spend in this jail until the judge came to town to collect his bribe and hand Ed over to the lynching mob.

The sun was riding low in the sky when the Sheriff brought in Ed's supper. Ed recognized the stew and bread from the hotel, so at least they planned to feed him.

He ate and listened to the sounds of the town settling down for the night.

The Sheriff left the office an hour before dark, and was replaced by a young man, about twenty-five or so, sporting a shiny new deputy's badge. Ed could tell he was none too happy to have to pull guard duty over night. As Ed was the only prisoner, he surmised he was the only reason a guard was needed.

Well, Ed thought, if the deputy was upset about guarding someone, then he'd be happy to walk out the front door and relieve him of the tedious task.

But, figuring that wouldn't happen Ed settled down on the bunk to get some shut-eye and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

Ed was a light sleeper; he had to be in his profession. It was long after dark when he heard the faint "psst" coming from beyond the barred window. He instinctively reached for his gun before remembering that it was hanging in his gun belt on a hook by the sheriffs desk.

He stood up slowly and quietly walked to the window to look out. "Pssst" came the sound again, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Ed could just make out the outline of a child: The kid!

"Hey, you wanna get outta there?" the kid whispered.

Ed just looked at the kid for a moment then nodded.

"Okay, give me a minute to get rid of the deputy."

And with those words, the kid disappeared around the corner of the building.

Ten minutes later, Ed heard a commotion outside seconds before the kid burst into the outer office, yelling to beat forty.

"Deputy! Come quick! There's a fire down by the livery!" He was gesturing and begging the deputy to follow him as he led the way out the door. The surprised deputy followed without question.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened again and the kid reappeared.

He walked over to the desk like he owned the place and rummaged through the drawers until he came up with the prized key ring. God bless the overlooked scrappers in a town like this Ed thought.

There were only four cells, so it didn't take him long, only two tries, to find the right key. He opened the door and motioned for Ed to come out.

"A fire?" questioned Ed softly.

"Just a little one, in the shed behind the livery stable." He looked at Ed's quirked eyebrow and gave him a winning smile.

"Hold the door," he said, as he went to the bunk and bunched up the covers to look like someone was sleeping under them.

When he was finished he turned to Ed. "There, that'll buy you a little more time. And don't worry about the new tele-graph line." He kept talking as he went to the door and peeked his head out, looking both ways to check if the coast was clear. He motioned again for Ed to follow him. "I heard 'em talkin' 'bout how it wouldn't be finished for nigh on a month. You ortta be long gone by then."

Ed grabbed his gun belt from a hook on the wall and followed the boy. They held to the shadows, walking stealthily until they were on the edge of town. There, behind the last building, Ed's horse was saddled and ready to ride.

He looked back at the kid shaking his head a little. He sure was something.

"I don't know how to thank you, kid." I put my hand out to shake his skinny one.

"T'weren't nothin'," the kid said. "I did it gladly." He stared at Ed for a moment, before speaking again. "You're the fastest gun I ever saw! Ain't no way I was agonna let 'em hang ya! It was self-defense!"

Ed laughed at him a little, still amazed that a child his age could have just perpetrated a jail break!

He reached into his waist-pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. After mounting his horse, Ed tossed it to the boy. "Here, this is for your trouble."

"Shucks, Mr. Cullen, t'weren't no trouble, at all!" He looked down at the coin and grinned. "But I thank you anyways."

"And kid," Ed's voice was low, "Ed Cullen dies tonight, you understand?" The kid nodded.

"Good. You just keep that in mind. And if anybody ever asks, you never heard of me."

"I reckon," the boy answered, his voice filled with sadness. "I just hope, one day, I'm as fast with a gun as you are!"

"No, kid, you don't ever want to be as fast as me. You don't want to live with worry as your only friend and trouble as your middle name."

"I reckon," the kid answered again, hanging his head.

The gunfighter pulled on the reins and turned his horse north. Looking back he said, "By the way, kid, what's your name?"

The kid looked up and gave him a wide smile and replied, "Billy, Billy Bonney. Don't forget!"

"Nice to meet you, Billy Bonney," and with tip of his hat and a swift kick to the horse's flank, the gunfighter disappeared into the darkness of the night.

.

A/N:

Bel: Hey, Melly?

Mel: Yes, Belly?

Bel: How did you like that little twist I put at the end? Were you surprised?

Mel: You mean the thing about Billy the Kid? That was genius...

Bel: It was good, wasn't it. Do you think our readers will appreciate our hot, sexy gunslinger enough to review?

Mel: I think so. Our reviewers are awesome like that.

Bel: Let's reward 'em again with another teaser, whatcha say?

Mel: Yeah, because who doesn't love a sexy Westward?

Bel and Mel: * sigh *