Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Dynamite Entertainment, Rockstar, etc.
I've read the first volume of David Drake's excellent series, Hammer's Slammers, recommended.
ian12091995: Glad you enjoyed it.
Lilspooky221: Appreciate the kind words. As for Sonja's attire, I have kept it the classic bikini look, and I will tend to maintain it unless a specific story beat requires her to change it. Walker went through his entire time in Hyboria with his duster and hat after all. Also, come on, I mean, who'd be crazy enough to take Sonja out of her iconic bikini? Who do you think I am, Gail Simone?
Please don't take my attempts to be funny the wrong way, it's a fair question. Like I said, I just want to keep it unless there's a reason.
Alright, one more character to introduce, so let's get rolling.
She-Devil of the Frontier
Chapter 6: The Burnin'
"Calamity Dame, we need to talk," intoned Walker lowly, setting down the two plates of breakfast on the table in their usual rented room. After returning with Marshal Cooper the day prior, Sonja was not acting like her usual self, not partaking in any whiskey or banter in the saloon, barely speaking a word to anyone. Even now, after a night's sleep in which nor a word or touch was exchanged between them, Joshua awoke to find the Hyrkanian tending to her weapons with almost malicious intent, ignoring him as he tried to coax her down to breakfast. Even after he had brought it up to their room and set the plate of sausage and eggs before her, Sonja didn't so much as glance anywhere but the sword she was sharpening.
The Bounty Hunter thought he knew what was nagging her, so after swallowing the first of his food, Walker said, "Sonja, I understand why you're angry about what happened…."
In the blink of an eye, Sonja had her blade up, the edge poised at Walker's neck as she glared at him with a raging inferno in her emerald eyes. "Do not dare to presume my state after your showing!" she hissed. Lips twisted into a snarl, Sonja spoke lowly, "Have you no honor at all? Do no men in this land have a sense of righteousness? That you would let the perpetrators of the heinous acts we saw slip from our grasp?"
Walker held her gaze, not backing down but staying calm despite seeing the gleam of sunlight off the blade in the corner of his eye. "Those bandits…."
"I speak not of that mere rabble!" snapped the Hyrkanian, suddenly bolting to her feet and beginning to pace about the room, sword trembling in one hand as the other rand through her red mane. "Yesterday, after leaving that farm, for a reason I do not know, I could sense the presence of Kulan Gath," she revealed.
Walker blinked, "Here? You're certain?" he asked, unbelieving.
Sonja nodded, "Aye. I would swear it by Scathach, his vile touch was on all of the actions of those bandits, acting at his direction. That farm, what they did to the men and… and to the women, it is what they did to my family. I would recognize the pattern anywhere, the brutality. They stole nothing of value and acted without regard to life. These are tactics of Kulan Gath and his followers with which I am well acquainted. But it was as we rode towards the Fort that he seemed close at hand, I am certain that he resides within its walls."
Listening to every word, Walker remained silent, recalling his last encounter with the Hyborian sorcerer, his men, and the creatures he had summoned. His lips pressed together as he thought on their strategy and realized that it was lacking. Even if a strategy was devised to get the group snuck within the walls of the Fort, it still might be enough to take on everything that could be waiting for them. "That changes things," stated Walker.
"What is changing, is that every day that we dawdle, the fiend has time to bolster his defenses and solidify his position. We cannot afford to delay!" protested the Hyrkanian hotly.
Walker worked his jaw and sighed deeply, "Sonja… he might've been here for years already. He's had all the time he'd need to get ready for us."
"How can you know such a thing?" pressed the Swordswoman.
"Because when I was taken to Hyboria, it was 1879, and that was four years ago," revealed Walker slowly, eyeing Sonja to gauge any reaction she might've had to his words. Sonja, similarly, scrutinized him, her face stern for a moment, but her features soon softened. "I dunno if Gath has been here for that time but…."
"It is what that man would do," agreed Sonja lowly, the fury having faded from her voice. Her eyes turned downward, Walker saw, and she wandered aimlessly about the room, sheathing her sword before finally returning to the sofa where she had been earlier. When she sat back down, Walker noted, she was not tense and rigid as she had been prior, instead sinking lazily into the seat. "The wretched man slips through my grasp, denies the retribution that is rightfully mine, and now unleashes his wickedness on your world, because of my failure," lamented the Hyrkanian. Her chin dropped, but most incredible was the barely visible bit of moisture that rolled down her cheek.
The Bounty Hunter sat in a stunned silence at seeing Sonja falter. Hesitating just a moment, he carefully made his way to the couch where he sat beside Sonja. To his surprise, the Hyrkanian immediately leaned into him, pressing close and burying her face into his shoulder. Walker could feel the shakes wracking her body, but Sonja held back what emotions she could as he lay a hand on her bare back and rubbed her softly. "Kulan Gath isn't the only evil in this world, Sonja," he allayed gently.
The woman's suppressed shaking jarred Walker to his soul. He reached the other hand up to stroke the side of her head while the first continued its slow circles on her back. Taking a deep breath, the Bounty Hunter worked his jaw before he spoke. "Back when I'd first struck out on my own, I went south, down to Mexico," he took another deep breath as the memories crept back to the forefront of his mind. "I was a gun for hire, I wasn't the only one, wasn't even the only American. After a few months, I'd brought in some bandits, defended the odd village, gathered a bit of a reputation. That's probably why she sought me out."
His heel was tapping a furious pace on the floorboards, matched only by the one his fingers were drumming on Sonja's back. Shaking his head and trying to gather his wits, Walker opened his mouth to resume his tale, but found that his voice was unwilling to cooperate. Reaching down, he withdrew a cigarillo and match, lighting up the tobacco and taking a drag to find the harsh flavor still soothing enough to his nerves. "Her name was Sister Sara, she was a Nun."
"A nun?" questioned Sonja, her voice hoarse.
"Like a priestess, probably, a junior priestess," answered Walker, seeing understanding on the Hyrkanian's face before he continued. "She was a young, pretty, innocent thing," he recalled as his mind drifted back in time, "She asked my help. She was to deliver money to a small mining village, so they could buy bread, but had to go through bandit country. I was to protect her." Taking another drag and letting out a puff of smoke, Walker forced himself to continue. "Things went alright, we followed the trail, I had to fight off some bandits but they weren't anything I couldn't handle. We arrived at that village and they really were dirt poor, but received us with open arms, treated us very well, even if Sister Sara wasn't one for a party." Even with the cigarillo, Joshua's hand was balled into a tight fist in his lap, a fact he only realized when Sonja's hand wrapped around it.
Taking a breath, Walker allowed her fingers to interlace with his before he resumed his tale. "I went to bed that night thinking I'd done a bit of good, made the world a better place," he said with an ironic snort, "That lasted until I woke up to a ruckus, and a scream. I grabbed my gunbelt and went to investigate, thought it was a bandit raid or the like and… I wish it was." Pulling Sonja close, Walker ground out the last part of the story. "I found that the men of the village wanted more than the money we'd brought them, they'd pulled Sister Sara from her bed and were beating her, raping her. The state she was in…" choked Joshua, faltering as the image of that fateful night felt as real as it had in the moment. Banishing it in the hope that he would never see it again, Walker took a deep breath and finished his tale. "Then one of those… fuckers," he spat, "He turned around and asked me if I wanted a turn with her. I shot him first," said Tombstone coldly, "Then I shot the rest of them. Every man who'd laid a finger on her, and then all the men who tried to stop me. I couldn't even say how many that was when all was said and done, but there wasn't much life left in that village, not Sister Sara either, she succumbed to her wounds. She asked me to pray with her as she passed. That was the last time I'd prayed until… until we found Lyreen."
There was a moment of shared silence, and Walker stared off, unable to meet Sonja's eyes and let her see the shame that he undoubtedly had in his own. Instead, Joshua felt the barest touch of her lips on his face, enough to pull him from his trance. It was enough to bring him back to why he had reopened that old wound. "You didn't bring evil to this world Sonja, far from it," he said, "And that anger you got, use it, focus it where it needs to go. Don't let it consume you because… because I don't wanna lose you."
That was hard for the Bounty Hunter to admit, and he closed his eyes, hoping that he hadn't mis stepped when it came to the woman beside him. He could feel her shift, and when he turned to look at her, Joshua found her pulling his arms around her, "You besting me in fair combat resulted in you laying with me, but it was your qualities as a man that resulted in you finding a place in my heart, Joshua Walker. What has happened and what you have told me, these things have not altered that place you hold."
Walker couldn't keep the relieved smile off his face, "Good, I'm… I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to lose my Red Rose like that," he admitted, becoming slightly flustered.
After a moment of content silence, Walker tried to stand, only for Sonja's strong arms to keep him on the couch, close to her. "Not yet, I wish to stay close to you for some time," she admitted quietly. Not one to deny her, Joshua pulled her close and they stayed that way as the sun came up out the window.
With food in her belly and the worries plaguing her mind assuaged by the companionship of the man a step behind her coming out of the saloon, Sonja basked in the New Mexico sun and the familiar heat on her skin. Yet her eyes roamed over the bustle of Deming's main street, wondering if any of the myriad passersby served as eyes for Kulan Gath. Walker might've been of the mind that they were safe, since Marshal Cooper would be wary of any sign of trouble with Norman Deek in his care, but that didn't prevent Sonja's hand from staying near to her sword and pistol.
"Ready to get outta dodge?" asked the Bounty Hunter as he came alongside the Hyrkanian, pulling his hat low over his eyes, shielding his face from the sun.
It had been agreed that they would make for the MacLaughlin ranch, hoping to evade the eyes of Shane Simon's gang, and take some time to regroup and plan while their newfound allies continued their work. "Aye," returned Sonja simply, turning up the street and heading towards the stables when she spied a familiar stagecoach parked in an alleyway, and she couldn't suppress the groan that bubbled out of her throat.
"Ah, Ms. Sonja, Mr. Walker! How nice to see you again!" exclaimed West Dickens, the suited charlatan spreading his arms out wide as he smiled broadly at them. "How are you both?"
Sonja merely glared in reply, her arms crossed, and so it was Walker who answered the merchantman. "We're fine," were the terse words that left the Bounty Hunter's mouth, "We ran into your friend, Seth." The utterance of the man's name twisted Sonja's lips into an unabashed scowl.
West Dickens' smile became more forced and the gleam in his eye vanished completely, "Ah yes, Seth of the Dead, interesting fellow. You don't meet many men these days with the moral fortitude to cut straight to the chase like that, do you?"
"Thankfully not, Nigel West Dickens," ground out Sonja both unable and unwilling to mitigate the bite of her tone. "You are a deplorable man, but Seth is outright despicable."
"Yes, well, contemporary society is incredibly harsh on professional exhumers, but, did you know, that in ancient Egypt, it was an art form valued more highly that literature?" asked the charlatan, hands gesturing excitedly. The man's hands then folded together, "I believe Seth comes from that school of thought."
"I believe he's deeply disturbed," drawled Walker, and the smile on West Dickens face vanished completely. "I can see why you two get along."
"I see the good in everybody, Joshua, it's a flaw of mine," answered the merchant with a flourish. "I have a soft spot for life's flotsam and jetsam."
The Hyrkanian rolled her eyes, "A connection with them, more like," taunted Sonja.
Walker then followed up her assertions, his drawl thick with mirth. "You and Seth have much in common. You both rob people for one, but at least he waits until they're dead, mind you."
A wry chuckle emanated from the girthy man, "Ah my dear, nobody is more critical of drinkers than a drunk who's mended his ways."
Despite the heat of the sun overhead, Sonja could feel a chill coming off Walker, the man's eyes narrowed as he glared at West Dickens. "Of what do you speak?" asked Sonja, caution coloring her inquiry.
The smile that formed on the charlatan's face set Sonja's teeth on edge, "Come on now, my dear, surely you know of your companion? Of his name? Joshua… Walker." The way he said the man's name caused Sonja to look at the Bounty Hunter, and find that his gaze was an icy warning that West Dickens failed to heed. "That is a well known name my dear, and not one for which people bear much love. It's not due to the actions of Tombstone here, oh no, but still, it is odd for you to take the moral high ground now…."
"Don't talk about things you do not understand," intoned Walker, stepping forward so that he loomed over the shorter salesman. "I am my own man, I make my own choices. My choice to rescue you, and aid you," growled the Bounty Hunter, accusatory finger jamming into the merchant's waistcoat. "A man who sells lies and deceit to unwitting people, a man who, if he won't help me, I won't think twice about putting a bullet through his skull and feeding him to the vultures myself!" The threat was delivered lowly, while Walker pressed West Dickens into the alley.
Chuckling nervously, the charlatan slipped around Walker and sought refuge beside Sonja, "You see, Mr. Walker, you have the exterior of a violent man but the soul of an angel, and that is what I think I cherish most about you," he said with a nervous chuckle, hands wringing furiously. Sonja saw Walker relent, eyes open and face relax. West Dickens then turned to her, his conniving grin etched into his jowls. "Just as you, my dear, have the fighting spirit of a devil but a beauty worthy of the divine."
His words placated the pair of them, and Sonja favored the man with a small smile, even if Walker's lips were pressed tightly together. "That's what I thought," hummed the Bounty Hunter, "Have you given any more thought to our plan?"
"Ah yes, your plan, dear boy, your plan. I am the mere help and not, mercifully, the arbiter of wisdom," returned West Dickens, and Sonja could see Walker's lip draw back ever so slightly. "The Trojan horse cannot run before it can walk, if you forgive the metaphor. I have just spoken to an old friend of mine, goes by the name of Irish. He is willing to help us procure some grand and overwhelming firepower. I've known him to be able to procure almost anything; just advise him on what armaments you deem necessary and I'm certain he'll provide."
Sonja wondered what sorts of weapons might be even more marvelous than the ones she already had, but what her mind focused on above that was the oddity of the man's name. "Irish?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Yes, he's an interesting kind of fellow," admitted the merchantman, the emphasis he put on the word made Sonja wary that this man was like Seth. Thankfully, that was not to be the case. "He should be about town on some bacchanalian revel or such…."
"Marvelous," drawled Walker with a shake of his head, "An alcoholic arms dealer."
Sonja saw West Dickens' arms, and grin, widen. "What could be better?"
Instead of answering, Walker merely brushed past the man and back out onto the main street, Sonja followed as the pair retraced their steps to the saloon. The Hyrkanian hung back as Walker inquired about the man they sought, but he was not to be found, nor was he at the general store, telegraph office, or any of the other establishments they visited. When the pair finally gave up the hunt, the sun was high overhead, beating down on them as they made their way to the stable that housed their horses.
As they approached, Sonja's keen ear detected the shouts of a man through the wooden walls of the structure, though the words were indistinguishable, they had an accent to them that the Hyrkanian had never heard before. Walker came to an abrupt halt and listened for a moment, "We found him," announced the Bounty Hunter before moving to the ajar door with purposeful strides.
Curious how Walker had made such a determination, the Hyrkanian followed him into the shade of the barn, where she could clearly hear the muffled struggles of a man thrashing in water. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the light, Sonja saw the man in question, or at least his back, soaked shirt sticking to his skin and with an equally damp head of thick, mangy black hair. He was held down by two fellows, one stocky and the other lean, their hands pressed to his shoulders and head, holding it under the water of a trough against the wall of the stable.
Abruptly, the stocky man pulled up the head of the man he held in his grasp and spoke to him in a strange accent. "Yes boyo, you messed up properly this time, didn't you? You little paddy bastard, you thieving mick cunt…."
"You got it all wrong, Welsh," protested the soaked man, holding a waving hand up. "All wrong, it was French, I promise!" he said, gesturing to the slender man, "He said he was gonna rip you off, and now he's ripping me off!" he exclaimed before he was thrust back into the trough.
"Just keep on talking there, Irish!" goaded the slender man in yet another strange accent. "In about fifteen seconds your whole world's gonna turn black."
So this was the 'Irish' they were after, Sonja realized as she watched him struggle against his two attackers. Not content to watch the murder of a man who could be useful to them, Sonja looked to Walker to intervene when the Bounty Hunter spoke, "What's up boys?" he asked.
The reaction from the lanky and stocky men was instant, both spun around, surprise showing on their faces, but the stocky man had produced a small knife and held it up while his free hand pointed shakily at Walker. "Fuck off boyo! This don't concern you."
Sonja could not get a better look at the man, his patchy beard and untamed mustache, and the wide brimmed, round topped hat he wore. The knife in his hands was similar to the small dagger Sonja carried, and the Hyrkanian had her eyes focused on it, only briefly flicking over to the other man. This man was thin and pasty, with more neatly trimmed facial hair than his companion, and while his hands were empty, Sonja did not the filled pistol holster sitting on his hip. Tensing, the Hyrkanian readied herself for action, should any be had, though a glance at Walker revealed that he was relaxed, but his duster was drawn back to reveal his two Schofields as he answered, tone cool. "When a man with a sing song voice tells me to fuck off, it always concerns me, boyo."
"Look here," implored the pasty fellow, 'French,' as he pointed at the man in the trough, "This paddy bastard stole our money, tried to steal our horses. Law is clear on the matter."
"I never stole nothing sir, not in all me life!" protested Irish, gasping for breath as water dripped down his bushy, coal black beard. "That French cunt," he said, pointing at the thin man before his finger swung to the stocky fellow, "He's playing with the Welshman's tiny and ineffective mind."
"Hush your mouth!" snarled French, whirling around to Irish, fist raised.
Sonja took a step forward, "Your horses have not been taken," she observed, lending what authority she could to her voice. "Nobody needs die this day. Take your horses and be on your way."
A pair of wide, leering eyes swung to Sonja, "Who do you think you are, lassie?" asked Welsh, pointing his knife at the Hyrkanian. "The bloody cavalry?"
Sonja sneered, but before she could retort, Walker took a step forward, hand resting close to his pistol. "Your voice is really starting to get on my nerves, boyo," bit Walker.
"And you're getting on my nerves!" snapped the man with the knife as he coiled.
French likewise readied himself for a fight, right hand drifting down to his belt, gaunt face contorted into a snarl, "Yeah!"
Time seemed to slow as talk turned to action, and the first to act was Welsh, who pulled the knife back and lunged forwards. At the same moment, French went for his gun, but Sonja saw a flash of action from Walker as his own pistol was drawn and leveled before the antagonists gun was free of its scabbard. At the same moment the thunderous report of Walker's revolver reached her ears, Sonja had her sword out and her eyes focused on Welsh as he lunged at Walker, knife thrusting outwards.
Walker, seeing the threat, shuffled back out of reach of Welsh, just beyond the reach of his extended knife arm, the arm which Sonja brought her sword down on and severed in one stroke. Welsh screamed as he held his bloody stump, but Walker, gun still aimed at French, fired twice more, fanning the hammer as his bullets struck true and sent the man toppling back into the water trough with a splash. Sonja sprang towards the crippled Welsh, grabbing the man by the suspenders he wore and driving the tip of her blade through his gut and up into his chest, blood trickling down her steel as she twisted the sword until she felt her victim go limp. With a harsh yank, Sonja coaxed her blade free and pushed the man to the barn floor, wiping his blood off with the man's own shirt before she sheathed her steel.
Walker similarly holstered his revolver and approached the sitting form of Irish, saying, "Nigel West Dickens said you could help us procure some iron. And since we just saved your life…."
"Oh I can't thank ye two enough for taking care of those two degenerates," sputtered Irish, furiously trying to shake the water from his hair. He stilled, propping himself up against the trough where French lay dead, and continued, "Untrustworthy, poor in personal hygiene, lacking in the finer qualities of a gentleman."
Sonja watched as Walker extended a hand and hauled the still damp Irish to his feet, only for the man to stumble straight into the Hyrkanian, his face resting against her cleavage. With a none too gentle shove, Sonja sent the man staggering back into a wooden beam, matching his leer with a glare of her own.
Before she could strike him again, and she very much wanted to, Walker put himself between the two, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. "Our guns," he growled, looming over the arms dealer.
"Of course, of course, I'd be happy to help ya sir, and your very lovely ladyfriend as well," returned Irish, grinning at Walker while Sonja could see his eyes drifting towards her. "What would you like?"
"I want a Gatling Gun," answered Walker, enunciation clear.
Irish sputtered, "You want a what?"
"A Gatling Gun," repeated Tombstone, the words measured and precise. Irish this time only stared up, mouth agape, at the Bounty Hunter. "You procure one for me, and I won't finish what those fellas started," he threatened, tilting his chin towards the two sprawled out bodies. "Good to see we understand each other." With that, Walker relinquished his hold on the man and turned to Sonja, "I'll speak with the Marshal about these men. When I get back, we can set off."
Nodding, the Hyrkanian watched him go before realizing that she was left waiting in the stable with the leering Irish. "This is turnin' into a helluva day," remarked the arms dealer as he ambled towards the She-Devil. "What's you name?"
Gritting her teeth, the Swordswoman decided that it would be futile to ignore him and hope the man went away. "Sonja," she answered.
"Stroke o' luck you and that fella came along, I thought I'd drunk me last breakfast there for a second." Sonja raised an eyebrow but his meaning was clear to her, since he was now close enough that the Hyrkanian could smell the alcohol on his breath. Only to be saved by a guardian angel. A beautiful, redheaded, Irish, guardian angel."
"I'm not Irish," corrected Sonja.
"Ye not? You have that look about you, like a good Irish lass, at least, how a good Irish lass looks in me dreams," insisted the alcoholic.
Sonja rolled her eyes, and did not answer the man, instead preferring to ask a question of her own. "Who were those two fine specimens of humanity?"
"They was me only friends in the world. And boy am I glad to see them bastards dead," answered Irish, a bit glib for Sonja's taste. "We all met on the boat over a few years back, we did. Thick as thieves ever since, and that right there was the problem."
Sonja raised an eyebrow, "If you arrived to America by boat, where do you hail from?"
"Err… Ireland," replied Irish, and the Hyrkanian blinked. "Ya know, Europe? I'da thought you'd come from there too, lassie. Though I don't think I've ever heard your accent before. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely accent, just like the rest of ye' are."
Sonja did not deign to dignify the advances with a response. "Is it the norm for the people of Europe to drown one another?"
"Never trust a Welshman, me pa always told me, and he got his throat slit so… he should know," said the European matter of factly. Sonja's jaw dropped slightly as he continued. "The kind of fellas who'll steal an acorn from a blind sow and then kick her for squealin' afterwards!" exclaimed Irish, waving his hands about in vivid motions. "And that French bastard…."
"Didn't sound very French," remarked Walker as he approached, and Sonja couldn't help but feel relieved. "You ready to get going?" asked the Bounty Hunter, and the Hyrkanian nodded eagerly in response. Before they left, Sonja watched Tombstone eye Irish, eyes narrow, "Remember Irish, you owe a Gatling Gun."
The arms dealer was indignant, "Listen fella, I didn't ask for ya's help back there. I don't owe you nuthin."
"I'll decide what you do and don't owe me," growled Walker, thumb pointed at his chest.
"I've had enough of your overly aggressive manner, fella," retorted Irish, puffing himself up to the taller gunfighter. "You don't know who you're dealing with here."
"I have met enough yellow-bellied drunkards with delusions of grandeur to know exactly who you are," hissed Sonja, "And you are the least impressive of them all."
"Now lassie…" began Irish, only for Walker to grab him by the shoulder and ram him up against the wooden wall of the barn, the blow hard enough to knock the breath from the smaller man's lungs.
"You don't know who you're dealing with," drawled Walker, voice deadly calm. "She's Red Sonja," he began, pointing towards the Hyrkanian before his finger went to his own chest, "I'm Walker, Joshua Walker."
Even from five paces, Sonja could see the emotions on Irish's face change, eyes widening and jaw slackening until his mouth gaped. After a moment of quiet, Irish began to laugh, a faint, nervous laugh, "Tombstone?" he asked, and Walker nodded once. "Well why didn't you say so fella? I'd be happy to help ya' out. You want a Gatling Gun? That'll be a tricky one, but I should be able to scrounge something up. Give me a few days to poke around and see what I find."
Walker relinquished his hold on the man and took a step back before giving the man a tip of his hat, "Much obliged."
"And what is so special about this 'Gatling Gun' you desire?" asked Red Sonja as she ran the brush through the coat of her mount, each stroke made with delicacy and care. While many might've thought of the She Devil with a Sword as being most at home in battle, swords crossed with her foe, that was not the case. Like all Hyrkanians, Sonja was a rider, and it was time spent with her horse that offered her a cherished reprieve from the rigors of life, be they love or war.
But that did not mean that war was far from her mind.
Looking away from her Kentucky Saddler, Sonja watched Walker let out a puff of smoke from his cigarillo, "Let me tell ya a story. During the Indian Wars in Texas, there was a wagon train heading to resupply a fort in Kiowa territory. There were fifty men with a dozen wagons loaded with supplies, and they were attacked by a big band of Indians, they say about 500. Story goes that the soldiers arranged their wagons in a circle, like this," indicated Walker as he drew the formation in the dirt. "They were backed into a corner, there was a river here and hard, rocky terrain on this side, so with no choice, they had to stand and fight."
Sonja peered at the simple depiction of the battle, "A well planned ambush, with such numbers, the Indians would merely need to sweep in from this side and overwhelm the soldiers."
"Should've," agreed Walker before shaking his head, "But they didn't. This side here, it was all good flat planes for a few hundred yards out to the hills the Redskins were waitin' behind. While they charged, the soldiers had time to get the Gatling Gun set up and meet the Indians." Walker looked up from his drawing and met Sonja's eyes, "Story goes, those poor Indian sonsofbitches never got within fifty yards of 'em."
The Hyrkanian's brushstrokes came to an abrupt halt as the words sank in, and she stood in silent stupor, at least until a snort from her horse got Sonja back to tending to the animal, but with only one thought on her mind. "What manner of weapon could do such a thing?"
Withdrawing one of his revolvers, the Bounty Hunter came alongside her and held the weapon where she could see it. "It's sorta like a wheel gun, Calamity Dame. It's got a bunch of barrels and chambers that rotate, like a revolver cylinder, only instead of working the hammer to rotate it around, you got a big crank out to the side," he explained, mimicking with his hands.
"It is a large weapon then?" asked the Hyrkanian, trying to visualize the contraption.
"Massive," corrected Walker, "You need to mount it on a carriage and tow it with horses. There's no way anyone, not even you, could lug this thing around on their lonesome, much less wield it." Sonja nodded, she had heard of and seen a great manner of 'War Machine' commissioned by the kings of Hyboria to ensure victory over their enemies, but none seemed as impressive as this American marvel. "Like fanning the hammer on a revolver, you work that crank to spin the barrels, and when a barrel is in the proper spot, it shoots."
"But then you must reload," surmised Sonja, as was the case with any sort of ballista or firearm, no matter how large.
When the Hyrkanian saw her companion shake his head, her eyes widened. "That's the real slick bit about it. The gun reloads itself. If a barrel ain't firin,' then it's sending out the spent cartridge or loading a fresh one so that when it's back in the firing position, it's shooting again."
Silently pondering this, Sonja continued to work her way down the length of her horse with the brush. "It will fire without pause then?" she asked, getting a confirming nod back from Tombstone. "For how long?"
A shrug answered her at first, "As long as you can crank and feed the beast, it'll keep spttin' out lead. Chews through about two or three hundred rounds a minute, so we'll need lots o' ammunition for it too."
While Walker was nonchalant, Sonja was stunned, struggling to fathom such a weapon, or that anything not of the gods could possess as much power as the Bounty Hunter claimed this Gatling Gun did. "We must have one," she declared, resolute. "If Irish can deliver one, then I would spare his life… probably," she amended.
Thinking of, nevermind mentioning, the pathetic excuse for a man the pair had saved the prior day sent Sonja's lips into a pursed sneer, which in turn drew a bemused chuckle from Walker. "Good to see you mellowing out a bit," he drawled with a grin.
Having reached the back of her horse and finished her brushing, Sonja couldn't help but smirk as she decided to have some fun with her lover. After a quick look about the stable to confirm that they were alone, she turned to the man and sauntered towards him as she had seen so many trollops and courtesans do before. The look on his face caused her grin to widen, "That may be true," she admitted, arching her back, "But I think of myself as a wild woman, and there are many places where I prefer to remain untamed."
She was now upon him, their faces mere inches apart as she rested her hands on the man's shoulders and felt his grab a firm hold of her hips. Sonja licked her lips as her eyes looked over the man's handsome face and felt his eyes on her, the sensation exhilarating. Before she broke down and closed the last narrow gap, Sonja spied a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye.
Stepping back, just out of arms reach of the man, Sonja turned to the stable entrance to see a distraught Caroline MacLaughlin appear. "Excuse me, have either of you two seen my father anywhere?" she asked, her voice tinged with an unmistakable hint of fear.
Any trace of mirth departed Sonja immediately, and she looked towards a grimacing Walker as he shook his head. "We have not," replied the Hyrkanian.
"He went out this morning to ride the land and…" began the rancher, gradually becoming more frantic, "And he was supposed to be back hours ago. I don't know." Bringing a hand to her forehead, MacLaughlin turned away and looked out over the ranch. "The ranch hands have been out looking, but so far, they've found nothing."
At once, Sonja was at Caroline's side, a reassuring hand on the distraught woman's shoulder. "Come on, we shall join the search," beckoned the Hyrkanian with all the resoluteness she could bring to bear. Managing a nod, Caroline turned and strode off with Walker in tow to gather their horses. Alone, Sonja placed her saddle back on her animal companion, taking an extra second to ensure her Remington was stowed, in case the MacLaughlin patriarch had gotten himself into more trouble than expected.
Pulling herself up and swinging her leg over the saddle, Sonja guided the horse out to meet the others, happy to see that Walker, like her, had readied himself for combat. Caroline was putting on a brave face, but the Hyrkanian could see the worry that clouded her gaze. "Thank you both. I'm sure it's nothing, but I worry about the old fool." The trio set out onto the trails that circled the property, and Sonja kept a keen eye out for any sign of John MacLaughlin, or any sign of trouble.
"I still have a bad feeling about this. It's not like him to be away for so long," fretted Caroline as the trio rode through the property,
"Don't worry," assured Walker, the Bounty Hunter's eyes glued to the land, peering through the swaying grass grazed on by the ranch livestock. "We'll find him."
Even with those words, it was evident that the ranchwoman was not beyond worrying for her kin. "He's not as young as he used to be, what if he's hurt himself?"
Sonja understood the woman's concern but did not share it. "Your father is built like a strong oak, Caroline MacLaughlin," said the Hyrkanian. "A mere still breeze will not uproot him."
"You're probably right," conceded the rancher, but her tone did not agree with her words. "But I can't help worrying. He's all I've got."
Memories came back to Sonja of her own long departed father, and with them came further recollections of her mother and brother. "Have you no brothers or sisters, Caroline McLaughlin?"
"I had six brothers," she answered quickly before turning morose once more. "But five of them died, either from sickness or foolish choices."
"And the other one?" inquired Walker.
"He left for the East and never came back," answered the rancher solemnly. "Must be getting on for ten years now. He's a high-and-mighty banker in New York, according to his last letter," explained Caroline, tone mocking and derisive.
"That is not as it should be. His place is here, aiding your father and yourself with your farm," declared Sonja. For the Hyrkanian, it was unfathomable that a sole surviving son would not take up the family farm, or if he did go off in pursuit of fortune, he would send aid to his family in their times of need.
But it seemed that these Americans did not share in such values. "I don't want his help," snapped Caroline, heated. "He can live his life any way he wants. But when I see those city fellas comin' in on the railway all dressed up like a sore toe, I fear a little for his soul," confided MacLaughlin. At once, the Hyrkanian thought of West Dickens, the old swindler with a sharp suit and sharper tongue, and Sonja understood Caroline's distress. "He switched his saddle for a tie, and that's fine. I've just never met a man in a tie that I could trust."
It was a sentiment with which Sonja agreed wholeheartedly.
After passing the pastures, the trio came to a small wood, and Sonja was thankful for the shade and the reprieve it offered from the harsh sunlight. An afeared cry from Caroline caught Sonja's attention, "Look! I think I see someone!"
MacLaughlin veered off the path and wove through the trees, Walker and Sonja hastily pursuing as the Hyrkanian could just make out what might've been a horse's form through the obstruction of the wood. Drawing nearer, Sonja could see that it was indeed a horse, and not too far was the crouching form of the elder MacLaughlin. When the trio came to a stop, Sonja could see John MacLaughlin reach out to close the eyes of one of his ranch hands, who lay dead on the ground. "Daddy! What happened?" cried Caroline.
The old man stood, a grim air about him as he faced all three of them. "Nothing nice. Rustlers, I guess," he said, looking over the pair of dead men and their horses. "Maybe the Bollard Twins, that bunch." Sonja's hand fell to her sword, and she saw that Walker had already produced one of his polished Schofield revolvers. John MacLaughlin was focused squarely on his daughter, pointing at her, "Now you head back to the ranch right now and fetch the wagon."
"Yes sir," returned Caroline sharply.
"You two," said the patriarch, his thick finger swinging to point at the pair of fighters, "Watch after her."
"We shall do so, John MacLaughlin," affirmed Sonja as Walker answered with a nod. At once, the trio wheeled their animals around and retraced their steps back to the path.
Once there, the group picked up speed, moving swiftly back to the ranch. "I've got a bad feeling about this," confided Caroline once they were out of earshot of her father. "Who could've done something like that?"
"Your father seemed to know," drawled Walker, "Don't you worry about that, just focus on getting that wagon."
Sonja could see that the Bounty Hunter wished to distract Caroline from the grim scene they had just departed from, but it was not to be. "Those damn rustlers! I've got a good mind to head over to Pike's Basin myself."
"I do not believe that is a wise course of action," offered Sonja, seeking to cool Caroline's rising temper.
"And you're no better!" snapped MacLaughlin, rounding on the Hyrkanian. "How many men have you killed?"
"Do you truly wish to know?" returned the swordswoman.
"It's disgusting," spat the American woman.
With a flick of the reins, Sonja spurred her horse forward until she was alongside MacLaughlin, fixing the rancher with a firm look. "You have not met the men whom I have slain."
Walker then neared, riding on Caroline's other flank, but the woman's face was still tense with outrage. "I hear the way you talk about it, what glory is there in killing? You both are killers for the hire, and there is no glory in that," she hissed.
"We all have a code," intoned Walker, voice firm and even, "Only some of us don't realize it."
MacLaughlin snorted in derision at Tombstone's statement. "The killer with a code? How wonderfully romantic!" she proclaimed sardonically. "What a wonderful pair you are. The honorable Bounty Hunter and noble She-Devil!" Caroline shook her head with a huff, "There's nothing more depressing than one who's found a way to think bad into good."
The bite in her words was enough to cause Sonja to ponder them in silence, but Walker spoke instead. "There ain't much thinking about it, Miss MacLaughlin. Bad's bad, and killin' bad? It isn't a bad thing."
Sonja could see that Caroline made to reply, but there was something else entirely that caught her eye: A plume of black smoke rising from the direction of the ranch. The Hyrkanian extended a finger and cried, "Look!"
The others whipped their heads around to see the smoke. "Oh my god! The barn's on fire!" screamed Caroline, now distraught for an entirely different reason. With that declaration, the woman put the spurs to her horse, and the animal broke into a full gallop, kicking up dust as it tore off back to the ranch.
With a quick look to Walker, Sonja leaned forward and flicked the reins of her horse just as Walker put the spurs to his, and they both clung on as they were carried after Caroline as fast as their animals could carry them. They were mere yards behind MacLaughlin as they crested the last hill before the ranch, but the sight that greeted them was a rude awakening for the Hyrkanian.
Caroline was right, the barn was on fire, but it was the extent that shocked Sonja, flames were rapidly consuming the grand structure on three sides and had even spread to the nearby water tower despite the efforts of the many men gathered around the barn. Not slowing their furious pace, the trio soon arrived at the inferno and leapt from their horses.
Sonja felt the heat wash over her exposed skin but pressed closer, seeing men toss buckets of water onto the flames as others tried feebly to break down the doors, only for the stubborn wood to refuse. A panicked whiny from the horses still inside the barn explained why the hands were so desperate to get inside. Caroline turned to face the pair, "Try to get in through the loft! Quickly!" she urged before trying to organize the efforts of her men.
Recalling a ladder on the side of the barn, Sonja sprinted towards it only to find that her memory was not sound. The ladder was a part of the water tower that was currently aflame, the ladder along with it. But it was Walker, who had shucked off his long coat, that acted first, and rushed to a few crates that were stacked up, using them to clamber atop the awning that extended from the barn. Rushing to follow, Sonja ignored the heat that grew stronger with each step and the soot that scratched at her eyes and nose as she ascended along the same path. Once there however, she saw no way to advance further up the barn, and when the smoke became to great and Sonja turned away, she saw the water tower, and an idea took root.
While there were flames eating away at the tower, they were all near the base and on the ladder, the upper decks of the tower were free and clear of fire, at least for the moment. Once more, those platforms would allow her to jump to the barn itself.
Grabbing Walker by the arm, she turned the Bounty Hunter around and pointed at the water tower, "Can you lift me?" she asked, barely getting the words out before she coughed on the smoke.
Joshua nodded before pulling up the cloth he kept around his neck, covering his nose and mouth before he crouched down and cupped his hands beneath the edge of the water tower platform. Lining herself up, Sonja raised her leg and gently placed her boot on Walker's hands, "On three," he grunted. The Hyrkanian replied with a nod and steadied herself, "One… two… three!" grunted Walker as he hauled Sonja aloft, but she knew he didn't have the strength to hold her up for long as she reached out and grabbed hold with an iron grip.
Muscles straining, Sonja pulled herself up, throwing a leg up and groaning as she hauled herself on to the platform. After a few shallow breaths, the Hyrkanian turned herself around, still laying on her belly, and reached down towards Walker. He leapt up and grabbed hold of her offered hand, and even with her goddess given strength, Sonja struggled to hoist him up, her lungs burning with every breath she took, but the Hyrkanian did not falter. Once the man was up high enough, Joshua grabbed hold of the platform and added his own strength to the effort, and he was soon on the same level.
After a moment to collect themselves, the duo were on their feet and moved to the edge closest to the barn. "Erlik's hell!" cursed Sonja, seeing that the window for the barn loft that was nearest to them was shuttered. Looking about, the Hyrkanian spied an open shutter, but she could not reach it with a mere jump, but there was a beam above it that ran along the length of the barn. "Stand back," she growled, and Walker shuffled away to give her what little space was available on the platform. Bending her knees and tensing, Sonja exploded forwards, taking two long, powerful strides before she leapt to the barn, grabbing hold of the beam and dangling over the inferno below.
Sweat pouring down her brow from the heat, the Hyrkanian shimmied towards the open window, lining herself up before she started swinging her feet. Building up as much momentum as she dared with her tentative grip, Sonja kicked her legs back one final time and swung forward, letting go and flinging herself towards the open window. For a brief moment, it looked like she would cleanly make the leap, only for her shins to slam into the wood and spoil her effort, sending her tumbling across the floor of the loft.
The heat was searing and the smoke choking as Sonja blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes and summoned the strength to get push herself onto her hands and knees and shuffle towards the shuttered window. Turning around and laying on her back, Sonja raised her boot and unleashed a powerful kick, the deadbolt shuddering under her effort, but holding. Undeterred, the Hyrkanian gave the wood another, and then another as it strained, until on the fourth attempt, where the bit of metal was ripped from the wood and the shudders swung open.
Rolling clear, Sonja had to wait for only a moment until the form of Walker tumbled in, only slightly less graceful than the Hyrkanians own leap. "We need… to get… down!" grunted Joshua, choking on the smoke thick in the air.
Sonja was pulled to her feet and steered to the stairs down to the second level, and then they jumped down to the ground. Turning towards the main door, Sonja staggered towards it, flames on all sides as the animals trapped in their stables thrashed wildly against the confines. Arriving at the main door, Sonja saw the reason for its toughness, a pitchfork had been jammed through the handles, obstructing their opening. Grabbing hold, Sonja coaxed it loose with a yank and hurled it across the ground, shoving the doors open and hit by a relieving blast of fresh air.
Staggering out into the sun, Sonja heard Caroline shout, "They got the doors open!" before seeing the rancher woman approach through bleary eyes. But when met with the outpouring smoke, MacLaughlin faltered, hacking and stumbling to her knees. Other hands rushed in, braving the heat and soot while Sonja gulped down what fresh air she could into her burning lungs before plunging back into the growing inferno.
The men quickly grabbed the bridles of the trapped horses and led them out the open doors to safety while Sonja staggered to the back, past the growing flames to the last horse in the barn. Its pen was already ringed by flames, the gate smoldering from the heat. Ignoring the danger, Sonja grasped the red hot wood, ignoring the pain as her leather gloves were seared while she got a good hold. Doggedly throwing the gate open, the swordswoman tossed her ruined gloves aside and approached the horse still in its pen, but the frightened animal reared back and kicked at the Hyrkanian, who sluggishly dodged and fell in a cough. "Come on Sonja!" called Walker as he led another horse out.
Sonja doggedly got back up, extending a hand and placing it against the horse's flailing muzzle, giving it a calming stroke. "All will be well," she assured, but the gods conspired against her as the fire finally took its toll. With an ear grating crash, part of the upper floor collapsed, burning beams blocking the only exit. Realizing she would not be able to clamber over the obstruction, Sonja did the only thing she could, and climbed up the fence of the pen. "Come closer, we will leave together," beckoned the Hyrkanian, and the natural rider lifted her leg and straddled the bare back of the stallion, grabbing it by the mane. "Hiya!" she shouted as she gave it a firm smack on the rump, rousing the frightened animal to action.
Barely hanging on as the animal bolted, Sonja guided the horse with her quickly depleting strength, steering it towards the blocked door and holding it on this course. Closing her eyes as the burning barricade neared, Sonja could only feel the animal beneath her leap up, jumping over the flames and out of the barn.
Once it came down, Sonja opened her eyes to be blinded by the bright sun, even through the cloud of smoke that filled the air overhead. While the others continued their efforts to contain the blaze, Sonja guided the horse to a corral filled with its fellows, where she slid off and staggered to the stable where she had earlier attended to her own horse. With the walls blocking the smoke and the roof offering a reprieve from the heat, Sonja's legs faltered, and she slumped down, back to the wall.
Exhaustion rapidly overtook her, and she was left in the hazy lull between sleep and wakefulness when Walker arrived, and she felt a waterskin be pressed to her lips. Drinking greedily, the Hyrkanian felt some of her strength restored, and that only improved when she reached up and directed the water to her soot covered skin, washing away the filth. "You okay, Calamity Dame?" asked Walker, his drawl even raspier than normal. Not strong enough to speak, Sonja answered him with a nod. "Good, good, I… I can't lose you, Sonja," he admitted, placing a hand on hers.
"You… won't," she croaked back before downing the last of the water.
"I know," acknowledged Walker before looking back at the burning barn, a deep frown on his dirtied features. "That fire spread awful quick, and it seemed to be everywhere," he observed, voice distant.
"The door was locked… that was no… accident," rasped Sonja despite the protests of her burning throat. When she saw Walker look at her, Sonja could see he understood the same thing she did about the barn fire, it was no mere accident, no accidental spark or errant flame could cause that. This was a deliberate act, possibly by the same men who had slain the ranch hands.
Before the pair could ponder that, the shadow of Caroline MacLaughlin loomed over them, "There you two are," she said, an exhausted, forced smile on her face. "I wanted to thank you, for what you did. You… well you two saved the ranch when you didn't have to. I won't forget that. Sincerely, thank you."
Looking at Walker, Sonja was surprised to see an odd, somber look in his eyes, "We did all we could, Miss MacLaughlin," he answered. "I'm sorry about all the damage," he said distantly, but Sonja raised an eyebrow. There was weight to his words, they were no simple platitude.
"The foul men who did this," began Sonja, drawing Caroline's gaze back to her, "They will not stop with this."
MacLaughlin's face betrayed her shock, but after a moment, the rancher opened her mouth, but offered no argument, only nodding instead. "Yeah, well," she managed, morose, "My father fought Indians, I scarcely think we are going to be frightened by some white trash."
"White trash can be pretty frightening," intoned Walker, words weighted.
"Well they don't frighten me," declared Caroline, and the two fighters nodded. "Listen, both of you. My family… owes you a great debt…."
Walker held up a hand, silencing her, "You have enough debt. We didn't do that for money, we did it because we all have a code, and we were following ours."
MacLaughlin flinched, as if Tombstone's words were a rebuke, but she managed a solemn nod. "Thank you," she whispered before turning away.
Sonja wanted to ask what he meant, but when she opened her mouth, all she could manage was a yawn. "Come on Sonja," said Walker as he grabbed her by an arm and pulled her to her feet, letting her lean on him, "Let's get some rest."
With that, Sonja was led towards their guesthouse with one arm around her companion's shoulders. They reached the cabin and staggered inside, Walker closing the door behind them and drew the curtains so it was as dark as it could be within its walls. Silently, the pair stripped their dirty clothes and collapsed into bed, inexplicably drawn to be in each others arms. "Joshua?" rasped Sonja, "What did you mean, just then?"
There was a moment of silence before he answered, "I owe 'em a lot more than that," was what he said, and sleep claimed Sonja before she could ponder that response.
Closing Notes: And with that, we've met the last of the supporting cast. Hopefully you all gotta kick outta old Irish, we'll be seeing more of him again pretty soon.
Until then, Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.