Author's Note: All properties are the rights of their respective owners, Dynamite Entertainment, Rockstar, etc.
Played the Guardians of the Galaxy game, and what a nice surprise that was. Fun to play, stellar writing and a killer soundtrack, very much so worth your time and money.
ian12091995: Good to hear.
It seems I'm just relying on the Dark Country albums for chapter titles, but they have such great atmosphere and fitting themes that I can't find a reason to look elsewhere, and this title is no exception. So with that said, settle in and enjoy.
She Devil of the Frontier
Chapter 7: Hang 'em High
Setting down the armful of planks she was carrying, Sonja wiped the sweat off her brow and watched the ranch hands work, rebuilding the barn that had been burned asunder a few days prior. With Walker and Sonja waiting for their newfound allies to send word of progress in their tasks, the pair had helped at the MacLaughlin Ranch, both with the rebuilding efforts and staying vigilant in case the responsible party returned. That thought caused her hand to drift towards her sword as Sonja's eyes sought any sign of trouble on the plains around the ranch.
A familiar voice prompted the Hyrkanian to turn around. "Miss Sonja, do you have a few minutes to spare?" asked MacLaughlin as she strode up.
Sonja could see the trials of the last few days had wrought their toll on the woman, but Caroline was shouldering her burdens ably, with her father helping where he could. Placing her hands on her hips, Sonja arched her back to take a deep breath and reply. "Aye, Caroline MacLaughlin. What do you require of me?"
"Oh, no, nothing, I don't need anything," clarified the rancher, "Quite the opposite, actually." Sonja made to speak, but was brought up short when Caroline raised her hand. "I know you said we didn't owe you… but you've been such a big help to Pa and I that I went ahead and got something for you. Come on," she beckoned, turning back towards the main farmhouse.
Following, the Hyrkanian ascended the steps and entered the, by Hyborian standards, lavish house, where MacLaughlin asked, "Would you care for a drink?" Sonja nodded, and Caroline made for the kitchen, returning with a pair of glasses and a large pitcher. "I know this isn't your favorite whiskey, but nothing helps with the thirst like this."
Taking the offered glass, Sonja was wary of the yellow tinted drink, giving it an exploratory sniff before seeing Caroline taking a drink of her own and following suit. There was a surprising tartness to the drink, paired with a pleasing sweetness, and Sonja eagerly downed the glass in one go. "A strange flavor, quite refreshing, I have never had a drink such as this," remarked Sonja as she set her glass down, "What is it?"
"It's what you make when life gives you lemons, Miss Sonja, called Lemonade." The Hyrkanian raised an eyebrow as she sat down, but did not object when Caroline poured her another glass. "Now that we're properly refreshed, let me show you what I got for you." Once more, MacLaughlin left the Hyrkanian alone, heading off to another room while Sonja enjoyed her drink, only this time, she returned with a paper wrapped parcel and set it down on the couch beside the Hyrkanian. "Go ahead, open it up," encouraged Caroline, a hopeful smile on her face, "They're for you, tell me what you think."
Curious, the swordswoman took the package in hand and quickly tore the paper away, revealing the fabric of its contents. Picking up the gift, Sonja watched it unfurl before her, a finely crafted dark grey skirt with a line of buttons down one side, all the way to the bottom of its long length. "Go on, try it," encouraged Caroline, Sonja able to see the expectation in the rancher's eyes.
Not having the heart to outright reject the woman, Sonja stood and fumbled with the buttons for a few moments before slipping the garment around her waist. Fidgeting at the restrictive clothing, Sonja nonetheless redid some of the buttons so that the skirt stayed in place, frowning as she bent down to pick up the next item in the parcel. Unfolding it, the Hyrkanian found it to be a white blouse not unlike the type which Caroline favored. Eying the garment warily, Sonja nonetheless unbuttoned the blouse and slipped her arms into the sleeves, lacking any grace as she felt the odd sensation of cotton on her usually uncovered skin. Finding herself fidgeting at the slight weight the clothes put on her, Sonja forced herself to focus on fastening the buttons of her blouse. "I… am not certain of this," admitted Sonja as her hands worked their way upwards along the line of buttons.
"Uhh… sure, the top is kinda tight, but you look splendid, Miss Sonja," responded MacLaughlin, who bore a look of trepidation. "Finish putting it on and then we can see what sort of adjustments are needed."
Biting her lip, Sonja wondered if she would even be able to do that as her hands approached the swell of her bosom, which strained against the fabric. Each successive button became a greater challenge to slip through its designated slot as Sonja was forced to exert more of her strength the higher she went. At long last, the Hyrkanian managed to fasten all of the buttons, her breasts feeling completely smothered by the cotton, and she relaxed. As soon as Sonja lowered her arms and relaxed her shoulders, the first button gave way and the blouse burst open to reveal her cleavage.
Unbothered by this, Sonja turned towards Caroline, but this simple motion was enough to coax two more buttons to give up their grip and go flying. "Scathach's tits," cursed Sonja as she stared down at her own.
"Hers didn't do that, Miss Sonja, yours did," chuckled Caroline with a shake of her head, "Looks like I got the size wrong… really wrong."
Sonja nodded in solemness and then sighed in exasperation as she looked at the ruined garment. "It may still be of some use," she consoled as she grabbed the two halves and pulled on them, shearing off more buttons until her breasts were free once more, covered only by the scalemail she always wore. Swinging her arms experimentally, Sonja sighed, "That is much better," she declared, no longer restrained by the fabric, "I can wield my sword as I currently am."
"That wasn't exactly the point of the outfit, Miss Sonja," drawled MacLaughlin as if she were stating the obvious. "What about the skirt?"
It only took a few experimental steps for Sonja to decide that she did not like the way the clothing restricted her movements, preventing her from taking the long strides to which she was accustomed. Seeking to similarly improve this situation as well, Sonja, with some considerable effort, bent down and grabbed two handfuls of fabric before pulling. Muscles straining, the Hyrkanian managed to rip the cotton and proceeded to tear the majority of the fabric away, leaving only enough to extend down over a small portion of her thighs before discarding the rest. "This is suitable, I can move freely now," proclaimed Sonja, mimicking the use of her sword to affirm that she could wield the weapon.
"Yes but… what if you… don't need to use your sword?" posed Caroline, crossing her arms as she leveled a rather unamused look at the Hyborian mercenary.
Recoiling at the woman's words, Sonja shivered at the mere notion that her blade would not be close at hand, where she might be unable to wield it at a moment's notice. "My sword is a part of me, as much as anything can be. Any clothing that prevents me from wielding it would make it as if I had removed my swordarm entirely," stated the Hyrborian, conviction backing every word.
MacLaughlin nodded slowly, "Very well then," she answered, carefully mulling each word. "I'll be sure to get you pants next time," muttered the rancher after letting out a heavy sigh. Sonja couldn't keep a small smirk from appearing on her face, finding the plight she had put the rancher in amusing, even if it was not intended. "Those won't be much better than your usual attire now, go ahead and give them back to me and I'll try to get you some clothes you'll actually wear."
Schooling her features, Sonja stripped off the remains of her gifted clothing, leaving her in her usual two-piece scale mail affair as she passed her gift back. "I have never been one for traditional dress, Caroline MacLaughlin, not in my land, nor in yours, it seems."
"And here I thought everyone dressed like you did," snarked MacLaughlin as she gathered up what was left of her gift to the Hyborian. Setting them on the seat, Caroline then went back to her original package and came up with the one thing Sonja had not tried on yet. "Well hopefully these won't get in the way that sword of yours," she quipped dryly, tossing over a brand new pair of tan gloves to replace those Sonja lost in the barn fire.
Quickly pulling them on, the She Devil flexed her hands, getting a feel for the fresh leather, but found them more than adequate. "These are excellent, Caroline MacLaughlin, thank you," said Sonja sincerely.
Caroline made to answer, but was brought up short by the sound of the door opening, prompting both women to turn and face Joshua Walker as he entered the house. "There you are Sonja," he said, removing his hat respectfully. "I apologize for the interruption, but I just got word from one of our friends."
Sonja perked up, "Which one?" she asked.
"Irish, he found what we're lookin' for," answered Walker, and Sonja couldn't keep the broad grin off her face.
The next morning, Sonja and Walker dismounted their horses at Worthington Springs, a small trading outpost northwest of Deming, to meet with the Irishman. Looking around, the Bounty Hunter saw that the Springs weren't brimming with buzz, yet the man they were there to meet was nowhere in sight. "That mangy mongrel had better not have misled us, or it will be the last time he makes such an error," murmured Sonja, causing Walker to smile in spite of himself.
Like most small outposts on the frontier, Worthington Springs had a watering hole, and that was what Walker focused on. "Or we aren't looking in exactly the right place," he drawled before striding onwards. By the time he reached the blanket that marked the entrance, Sonja was back at his side as they entered the quiet spot. Walker looked about the handful of people inside, none of them matching the arms dealer they were to meet. When Walker didn't see the man, he spoke loud enough so that everyone could hear him. "Has anyone seen an Irishman?"
There was a long pause as the pair found themselves examined by every eye in the small structure, and for a moment the Bounty Hunter feared that the silence would be their only answer. "Not today," replied the bartender, a portly old fella with only half a left arm. "But he was here last night, very excited," continued the old man, leaning against the bar with his good arm. "Here till I kicked him out, he was so drunk I ain't sure he made it very far."
The gunfighter's hand came to the brim of his hat, "Much obliged," replied Tombstone before he turned around. A pair of glowering eyes met his, and it was clear that Sonja was poised to go on the warpath. "You heard the man, he didn't go far," Walker told her with a quiet chuckle before she turned and went back outside.
It didn't take them very long before they a drunken mumble reached their ears. "That's… a mighty fine corset you got there… young lady," it said, and the pair of killers turned to look at each other, recognizing the voice's distinctive accent. Moving with greater pace, the pair approached the shack next door, Walker peering into a window when they heard the voice again. "Let… Uncle Irish… untie them strings…."
Rounding the corner, Walker saw the familiar form of Irish, eyes closed, slumped against a barrel, a half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Shaking his head at the sorry state of the man, Joshua took a step towards him and swung his leg, giving Irish a kick in the shins. The response was remarkable, the man springing to his feet as Walker recoiled back from the man's wildly swinging fists, one of which still clutched the bottle. "Where are you?" slurred the arms dealer as Sonja rounded the corner and Irish turned his drunken attempts towards her, to no avail. "Who do you want?"
When the Hyrkanian cocked a fist back and prepared the put the man's lights out, Walker stepped in and grabbed her arm while Irish teetered on unsteady feet, turning himself around to face away from the pair. "I, I see ya!" he said as Walker looked at the back of his head, "Get away from me!"
"Right here," barked Walker as Irish wheeled back around, his feet becoming steadier with each step. After a few more stuttering steps, Irish squared up to Walker, though he was still hunched over. Once the man had stopped swaying, mostly, Joshua asked him, "Where's that gun, Irish?"
"Aaah… Mr. Walker," managed Irish, Joshua able to smell the alcohol on his breath. "I found ye one. Say, did you bring that lovely lass of yours with ya'?" he asked as he brought a hand to his forehead and squinted in the face of the rising sun. A moment later, Irish opened his eyes as he noticed the imposing form of Sonja, "Ah, there ye are lassie, and here I was thinkin' I'd be stuck staring at his ugly mug."
"You will not, not today, not until we are through, we are in this together. You will join us in conquering Fort Cassidy," she enunciated lowly as a gloved hand was placed on the arms dealer's shoulder. "We are the ones who saved you from meeting your end, and to whom you owe your life, remember?" she asked, giving him a gentle shake that was enough to send him off balance and stumbling back into the shack.
Irish chuckled as he shook off the impact, "Not really," he admitted with a grin, "Happens tae me all the time."
Walker fixed the man with a stern glare and leaned in close. "You wouldn't want it to happen to you again, do you, Irish?"
"Errr… No, friends," mumbled Irish, trying to slip past them only for the imposing form of Sonja to stand in his way. When that failed, he tried to go around, only for him to bump into an unamused Walker. "I want tae buy you a drink!" he declared before taking a swig from the bottle. Turning to Sonja, he said, "I want tae tell you how much yous mean to me. How special ye is."
"And I wish to tell you, that if you do not produce a Gatling Gun within the hour, I will see to it that you wish you had been killed by your companions," stated Sonja, not bothering to hide her contempt.
Irish swallowed visibly but kept smiling, "It's the whiskey, lassie…" he protested before taking another drink. "It gives me the memory of a newborn babe. As innocent as can be."
Walker could see Sonja's ire growing, and so he snatched the bottle out of Irish's hand and took a drink. "It makes me impatient," intoned Tombstone before passing the bottle to the Hyrkanian woman.
Sonja downed the rest of the bottle in one go and hurled the empty container at Irish, the arms dealer ducking as it sailed over his head and smashed into the wall behind him, shattering. Through gritted teeth, Sonja said, "It makes me violently angry."
Seeing the anger in her eyes was genuine, Walker placed a hand on her arm, holding the swordswoman back as he stepped between them. "Shall we go look for that gun, sir?" suggested the Bounty Hunter, voice firm.
"Yes," agreed Irish with an enthusiastic nod. "Let's do that."
"What is our purpose here?" asked an irate Red Sonja as the trio came to a stop. Irish had led herself and Walker on a merry ride through the countryside and into the hills, where they had left the horses behind and ventured further from the trail on foot.
"I hear of a group of bandits that erm… found a Gatling Gun, while drinking around tae other day," explained Irish as he blundered through the brush, since his eyes were firmly fixed on Sonja, or rather her cleavage. "They got the gun stashed up in an old, abandoned mine called Gaptooth Breach."
"Sounds fishy to me, Irish," observed Walker in his low drawl. "I don't want to play no games. You and West Dickens are so crooked, you could swallow nails and shit corkscrews."
"Maybe if yous were more cordial with folks, they'd be more inclined to help you," retorted Irish.
"We saved your life, Irish," reminded Sonja, "In my land, your aid would be a matter of honor, but that is not something you possess, being less of a man and more of a rat."
"You ever want to see how much of a man I am lassie, I'd be happy tae show ya,'" shot back Irish right before they reached the top of one of the many hills. "Ah, here we are," he announced, waving Walker and Sonja forward as he hunched down. "Let's get a lie of the land," mused the arms dealer. Before them, Sonja saw, was a mining camp not unlike those in Hyboria, a mix of tents and simple wooden shacks, but with a miniature version of a 'railroad' snaking through the camp. Irish then pointed towards the towering rock face on the far side, "The entrance is plain to see, and there's the shaft for haulin' out the heavy ore. We, I mean, you two, can use that there lift to get yourselves and the gun tae the surface. I'd do it all meself, but the mines play havoc with me sinuses."
Sonja rolled her eyes, "Never before have I heard so much shit flow so freely from one mouth," she said.
"It's a gift, lassie," snarked the arms dealer, "I'll return with a borrowed flat wagon."
"We'll meet you at the mouth of the mine shaft," returned Walker, drawing one of his Schofield revolvers. "And Irish, I strongly advise you don't run off."
Sonja saw nothing more than the man's back as he scampered down the slope, and pushed all thoughts of the craven from her mind as she stepped forwards and slid down towards the mining camp. Making straight for the mine entrance, Sonja heard Walker at her back, but saw none of the bandits supposedly making camp there, at least not until the pair was just outside the mine entrance. "Look there," said Walker, drawing Sonja to turn around, "Fire pit, embers still burning."
Seeing that the man was correct, the Hyrkanian drew her own Colt revolver, easing the hammer back before crossing the threshold into the mine. The walls of this mine were braced by wooden beams and the narrow railroad track lay on the ground, all illuminated by the strange lanterns every few paces. Moving cautiously, Sonja paused when she reached a fork in the tunnels, eying them both warily, "Which way?" she whispered to her companion.
Tombstone examined both for a moment, "Left, it has light." Nodding, the Hyrkanian set off down that tunnel, one hand pressed against the rocky wall while the other held her pistol, Sonja pressed further into the mine, descending more with each step. Through turns and forks, she followed the same basic logic, chasing what little light was provided by the lanterns until she heard whispers carried through the corridors.
"Ouch, fuck, this thing's heavy," hissed someone, bringing Sonja to an abrupt halt before there was a string of heavy grunts. With greater caution, the She-Devil drew nearer with Walker at her back and saw shadows dancing across the wall, cast from lamps in the next room. There was a heavy impact of metal that rippled through the musky air followed by more muffled swearing, "This had better be some fucking gun Mike," groused one.
There was more grunting that covered the approaching pair, "Oh, yeah," replied a second, "Trust me, Bill, it is." There was another impact that reverberated through the mine, "Now we just gotta get it up top before the boys come back. Joe, get off your lazy backside and give us a hand."
Sensing her chance was at hand, Sonja rushed around the corner, only she tripped on the tracks in the tunnel and lost her footing. Stumbling to the ground, Sonja whipped her head over to see one of the bandit men stare at her with wide eyes. "It's the devil woman!" he shouted as Sonja raised her gun and fired a shot, sending all three bandits darting behind different crates and carts around the room.
Getting her feet back under her, Sonja made to stand when a flurry of shots came her way, the Hyrkanian ducked and rolled behind one of the handcarts on the tracks. Ears ringing from the next salvo pinging off the iron of the cart, Sonja pressed her shoulder against the cold metal and drove into it with her full strength, shoving it towards the bandits as they continued to fire at her fruitlessly. She was only yards away, but Sonja was trapped behind the push cart, not daring to expose herself. Looking back at the corridor, she saw a hint of slow, measured movement in the murky blackness before the dim light reflected off a silver Schofield, and a bright muzzle flash lit up the face of Walker looking over the sights.
Even if the cacophony of shots in the tight confines of the mine left her ears ringing, Sonja could pick up the sound of glass shattering right before the room brightened dramatically. The gunshots ceased, but were replaced by the frantic screams of men as Sonja stood and saw the trio of bandits scurrying about, arms flailing as fires spread over their clothes and the boxes where the remains of a lantern sat. Not giving the men a chance to smother the flames, Sonja took aim and fired, her shot finding its mark and sending its victim spinning to the ground.
Before she could bring her sights to bear on the remaining men, a pair of rapid gunshots rang out from behind her an she saw the remaining ruffians collapse and lay still. Sonja looked over her shoulder at Walker, who had broken his revolver open and was replacing the spent cartridges. "Let's see if Irish was just yankin' our chains or not," drawled Walker as the pair ambled forward, peering into the mine cart.
Peering in, Sonja couldn't help but smile, the topmost crate was open, revealing the multi-barreled, brass adorned weapon. It truly was an impressively massive thing, with enough bulk to give an air of immense power, but it was beautiful in a brutal sort of way, finely crafted and immaculately polished so that it was radiant under the lanternlight. "Magnificent," breathed the Hyrkanian, running her hand along the cool metal, "A weapon worthy of Crom."
"It ain't for Crom, my Red Rose," drawled Walker as he pulled the wooden lid on top of the gun, inscribed with letters that read 'FEDERAL GOVERNMENT ISSUE,' "It's for us." Sonja couldn't help but mimic the gunfighter's smile and join him behind the cart, "We gotta give this thing a push, on three. One, two, three," he grunted, and the pair of them shoved the cart into motion. Following signs for the 'Lift Shaft,' the Hyrkanian kept her pistol at hand, expecting something to leap from the murky shadows at any moment.
A beam of sunlight poured down from above, marking their destination ahead as they pushed the cart towards the wooden construction at the center of the room. Pulling to slow the cart, the pair managed to bring it to a halt just beside the strange device, "Hahaha, bugger me, I thought I'd be haulin' a pair of corpses up this lift! Load up and I'll engage the gears!" called Irish from the top of the shaft.
Ignoring him, and with considerable effort, the pair hauled both crates, containing both the gun and mount, onto the lift's platform. Sonja stiffened when she heard a horrible racket from above, followed shortly thereafter by an upwards lurch of the platform she was standing on that knocked her off her feet. It was a distinctly unnatural feeling to be hauled up by this contraption, and Sonja felt her stomach knot as she peered down to the dimly lit ground below. "Steady, steady there," encouraged Walker helped her back up just as the device came to a screeching halt.
Squinting against the painfully bright sun, Sonja saw the grinning visage of Irish waiting for them. Not wishing to look at the man at all, the Hyrkanian instead went for the Gatling Gun, aiding Walker in hauling it up and into another waiting pushcart. "Ah, there it is," remarked the foreign arms dealer, "What a beautiful weapon… god's own gun that is, ain't that the truth…."
Despite his admiration for the weapon, Irish seemed to be in no hurry to aid them in loading it. "I got us a borrowed flatbed down by the end of this here track," he said, pointing across the mining camp. Walker nodded as they hefted the last crate and shuffled towards the cart while Irish made to leave, but came to an abrupt halt. "Oh, and one other teeny little thing. I saw the rest of these fellas heading this way after I borrowed their wagon, you'll probably see them on the way down."
"What?" asked Sonja, rounding on the Irishman.
"I'd best get going if I'm going to slip past them," replied the alcoholic, skulking away, "But ya two should be able to handle the lot, no problem, me thinks."
Sonja quashed the desire to run down the man as he scampered away, instead going back to ensure the Gatling Gun was loaded. Seeing that it was, the Hyrkanian looked to Tombstone, "What shall we do?
"I'm thinkin," he grunted back, eyes scanning the horizon, looking that way, Sonja could see the silhouettes of a dozen horses approaching. "We ain't gonna make it out before they get here," he observed, rightly, "If only we'd brought our damn long guns." Sonja became more alert as she noted the man grow still, "Follow me," he called, moving with surprising swiftness towards a small shed. Throwing the door open, Sonja looked at the box Walker pointed to, "Grab that box there, Calamity Dame, hustle."
Scooping up the crate, Sonja saw that it was filled with the red stick of 'Dynamite,' what Walker called explosives. Taking care to be gentle, the Hyrkanian watched Walker grab a wooden device with a handle shaped like a 'T' protruding from the top and a spool of twine. "Come on," said the Bounty Hunter, moving swiftly towards a large group of boulders perched on the cliff edge, only he stopped short and set down the items he was carrying. "Spread out that dynamite under those rocks, now!"
Following his instructions, Sonja rushed forwards, setting the grate down and stuffing the red sticks into any open crevice she could see. While she worked, Walker arrived, busy unspooling whatever string he had and began connecting it to the sticks she had already placed. "What should I do with the rest?"
"Just leave it there… shit!" cursed Walker when a bullet ricocheted off the biggest boulder, causing both to duck down. The pair drew their pistols and returned fire on the bandits as they dismounted their horses at the base of the hill. Sonja fired a few shots but none found their mark before she felt a tug on her arm, "Follow me! Run!"
Walker tore off, but Sonja stayed a second longer, firing one more shot at the men as they started to come straight up the hillside at her. Another volley of shots whizzed by her head, and the Hyrkanian swallowed her pride and scampered away from the oncoming fight, breaking out into a full sprint in her mad rush to join Walker. The Bounty Hunter was crouched down beside a tree stump, hands on the handle of the wooden box he had set up. She joined him in peering over the stump, watching for the first sign of the bandits to appear. When the first one did, Sonja found herself pulled down low, "Cover your ears!" shouted Joshua before he lifted the handle and plunged it back down into the wooden box.
Sonja was thankful she had done as instructed and clamped her hands over her ears, because the blast of the dynamite was painful enough with them there. Poking her head up, the Hyrkanian saw the splinters of stone fall after being launched in all directions, and intermingled with them were the remains of the bandits that had reached the crest of the hill. The boulders, jostled loose by the explosion, tumbled down along with a vast quantity of earth and stone, crushing anything that stood before them.
"Come on, let's go," shouted Walker as he tugged Sonja up and they staggered towards the cart, but they did eventually reach it and pushed. Their combined efforts got it moving along the rails, and as it neared the slope of the hill, Joshua shouted, "Get in!"
Sonja, in stride alongside the cart, pulled herself up and clambered inside while Walker clung to the handle, his boots braced on the lower frame as he hung from the back, relying on momentum to carry them to the slope. As the drop drew nearer, Sonja's eyes were drawn towards the settling dust of the explosion and spotted a shape of a man emerging from it. Aiming her pistol, she pulled the trigger, only for the hammer to fall on an empty chamber. Cursing under her breath as she dropped the Colt in the cart, the Hyrkanian produced her scattergun and leveled the sawed-off weapon, firing it just as they tipped over the precipice of the descent.
Once moving downhill, the cart picked up speed as it entered the bend ahead, sending Sonja up against the side as she cranked her head around to see Walker struggling to hang on. Heart lurching up into her throat, the redhead threw herself at him, clambering over the Gatling Gun to do so, and snatched hold of his arm. "I've got you!" she shouted, adding her strength to his to keep him on the cart as it came around the descending turn and straightened out along the level ground at the base of the hill.
The cart only rolled to a stop beside a grinning Irish, who stood beside the pair's horses along with another two hitched to a flatwagon. "Was it you two who caused that blast? I coulda heard that a mile away, scared the piss outta me, it did," exclaimed the alcoholic. Sonja released Walker's hand, and the man fell to the ground, hat tumbling away as he let out a low groan. "A short wee ride now, and I'll have this executive peace maker delivered to old West Dickens," Irish promised after inspecting the contents of the cart and not lifting a finger to help the pair.
While the Bounty Hunter picked himself up and knocked the dust from his coat, Sonja clambered out of the cart and hauled up the first of the crates. "Just ensure it doesn't fall off on the way," drawled Walker before helping Sonja load the first of the crates.
The pair made swift work getting the second one into the wagon as well before Sonja turned to Irish. "If it fails to arrive, then there will be nowhere that is safe from our wrath, of that, I assure you," hissed the Hyrkanian. When she saw the man nod, Sonja went to retrieve her pistol and shotgun, both of which she had dropped in the mine cart, bent over the side, she could feel the man's eyes on her backside. "It will not arrive if you remain here," she intoned lowly as she collected her weapons.
"Can ye really blame a feller though? Being distracted by a view like that?" he asked. Sonja stood and reholstered her guns before crossing her arms, eyes narrowed into a hard stare at Irish. The man chuckled nervously, then backed up until he collided with the wagon and pulled himself up into the driver's position.
With a flick of the reins, he was off, riding down the trail out of the camp. Once he was out of earshot, she heard Walker say, "In all fairness, it is a lovely view."
Walker puffed on his Cigarillo as West Dickens demonstrated the modifications made to his stage coach behind the Deming stables. The old merchantman threw down the side panels of the wagon, and despite appearing the same, the wood folded down neatly on the outside of the coach and the canvas cover was tucked away, giving anyone inside a clear view in all directions. Nigel stood at the center, sweat pouring down his face from the exertion, and smiled at them, arms outstretched. Walker, unimpressed by the showmanship, was nonetheless interested in the wagon, and ambled up to get a closer look. "Satisfactory," he announced, running his hand along the folded panels and peering inside.
"Satis…" West Dickens began to fume, fists clenching before taking a deep breath. "It's still not yet complete sir. I need more money to have steel plate installed along the sides here, to protect the two of you while inside."
"Sell more of your 'Miracle Cures,' charlatan," suggested Sonja, voice riddled with contempt.
"I have, my dear," assured West Dickens, turning towards the Hyrkanian, "And your exploits have been a boon to me in that effort, it is known that you imbibe my tonic. People across the county wish to remake themselves in your image and I've sold nearly all I've brought. No, the sport of kings! Racing, my friend! The sport of kings." West Dickens clambered out of the stagecoach, face read by the time he made it to solid ground. "A noble activity, without reproach. Exactly the kind of activity where a lying, cheating, degenerate like myself can prosper."
"I do not think you understand what 'noble' means," deadpanned Sonja, her comment enough to make Walker chuckle around his tobacco.
"In any case," interjected West Dickens with a flourish, "I am merely a purveyor of exotic elixirs, my skills on horseback… leave something to be desired, shall we say." The old man wrang her hands nervously, "So I am left to turn to you two. Are either of you capable riders?"
"I'm pretty fair," drawled Walker, puffing on his cigarillo, "Sonja, though? She's pretty damn good. Really good, actually. You want a plant? She's the one."
"Splendid, splendid," remarked the merchant as he beamed at the redhead, "Would you be willing to help me, my dear, so that I may help you to conquer, if not the world, then at least Shane Simon?"
There was a pause as Sonja twitched and looked to Walker, who gave a single nod. "Very well," she agreed, even if she remained uncharacteristically stoic.
"Marvelous my dear, simply marvelous," replied West Dickens, smile widening, "The race takes place in a few days time, after that, I'll hire the men to fit armor plate to the wagon and mount that magnificent gun Irish provided. Though, there was one thing he mentioned…."
"And what was that?" pressed Sonja, leaning in as she spoke.
"A paucity of uh, ammunition," answered the charlatan, causing Walker's shoulders to slump. West Dickens spoke up before either Sonja or Walker could respond, "He said he was looking into it, and not to worry."
"Good. When he sends word we'll…" trailed off Walker as he saw an unexpected sight. "We'll handle that when it comes up. Good day, Mister West Dickens. Come on Sonja," he said before heading for the Marshal's office.
Leaving the merchant behind, Walker strode through the small town with purpose. "What has caught your eye, Joshua Walker?" asked the Hyrkanian as she came alongside.
Walker removed the tobacco from his mouth and flicked it ahead, making sure to stamp it out with his boot as he walked up the street. "I saw John MacLaughlin going in to see the Marshal, movin' like he had a purpose."
Sonja didn't answer, but Walker could see her expression harden, her fists balled as they made for the door. The Bounty Hunter could hear heated voices inside the office, but couldn't make out the exact words until he opened the door. "We'll ask them, don't worry," assured Marshal Cooper, hands up placatingly and it was plain to see why.
John MacLaughlin was pacing the floor like a bull testing the fence of a pen, and as soon as Walker entered, he found the man, and his anger turned on him. "Fuckin' hell, where is she Walker? You and your floozy do something with her?"
"Who?" asked the Bounty Hunter, not backing down as the broad-shouldered rancher went toe to toe with him.
"Who?" snapped MacLaughlin, "My daughter, you fucking scum! Where's Caroline?" demanded the rancher, turning his fury towards Sonja.
"We do not know," replied Sonja, the Hyrkanian not backing down from the MacLaughlin patriarch.
The man's glare intensified, and Walker spoke up, "The last time we saw her was two days ago, when we left after the fire. She rode to this town with us, but we kept on. Why?"
"Why?" parroted an indignant MacLaughlin. "Because she hasn't been seen since she left with you two!" John turned back to a now standing Marshal Cooper, "I don't think I can cope. If I lose another child…."
"Now John," cut off the Lawman, stepping out from behind his desk with hands raised placatingly, "Nobody's lost anything yet."
"Oh, Mister Marshal!" called a sing song voice from outside, but it was a tone that was far from pleasant to the ear. "Mr. Marshal… come out, come out wherever you are!"
Everyone inside the office tensed, hands slowly went for weapons as Cooper's eyes narrowed and the veteran lawman made for the door. "Who the hell is that?" he wondered as he pulled it open and stepped outside, the others following suit.
In front of the office was a rough looking man, faded and worn duster with fringes on the shoulders, bandolier draped across his chest and gunbelt around his waist. His face sported a crooked grin and beady eyes that peered at them from under the brim of his hat, but what Walker noticed above all else was that the man was sitting astride Caroline's horse. "Even better," remarked the stranger sadistically. "Good day, Mr. MacLaughlin."
Cooper ignored the verbal jab, "Get down from that horse boy, or I'll shoot," he barked, hand resting on his pistol.
The strange man merely laughed haughtily, "I wouldn't recommend that, mister. Not if John MacLaughlin wants his daughter back in one piece." Walker couldn't stop his hand from wrapping around the pearl grips of his Schofield, jaw clenched. "Hey, Mr. MacLaughlin, that's a nice girl you got there!"
"Get down from there!" snapped the rancher, shoving his way past Joshua and knocking his hand from the gun on his belt.
The bandit was undaunted, his smile broadening. "You know, part of me's got to thinking I should just marry her myself. Give 'er a baby and that."
"What do you want?" asked Cooper.
"That's better," replied the bandit, voice calming. He made to answer when Caroline's horse reared back and he had to fight to keep it under control. "Norman Deek. I want him set free. Then, you'll get your daughter back, mister."
Cooper shook his head, "We don't do deals with outlaws, boy."
"Yeah, you do!" retorted the bandit, "Let's not waste each other's time pretending otherwise. Whole government themselves ain't much more than a bunch o' crooks. This is the land of opportunity, mister! And I'm giving you the opportunity to get your daughter back before fifteen friends of mine take out all their anger and their loneliness on her."
Walker reached out to grab hold of John, holding the man back so he wouldn't throw his life away. "Where the hell is she?" he demanded.
"Where is she, boy?" parroted Cooper, the lawman similarly preventing the elder MacLaughlin from descending the steps.
"Bring Deek up to Tumbleweed in a couple hours. And don't get no funny ideas," he warned, lips curled into a sneer, "Or I will slit that whore's throat myself! Now you boys have a pleasant afternoon. Ya!" he shouted, and the horse bolted away before any of them had a chance to react.
Walker immediately turned his attention to MacLaughlin, the old man slouching and staggering towards a bench, deflating now that the bandit was out of sight. "What do we do?" asked the old rancher, voice hollow.
"We do as he says," answered Walker, "Us," he said, looking back to Sonja, fury glowing in her eyes, "And you and yours, Marshal." Tombstone then turned to John, "I'll get your daughter back, sir, I owe her that."
"Please do," he said, almost pleading as he took Walker's hand and griped it as if clinging to a lifeline.
"And if we should fail," spoke Sonja, her words a vow, "Then we shall send these vile cretins screaming into the deepest pits of hell on your behalf."
It had taken some time for Marshal Cooper to recall his deputies and explain the situation to them. Sonja had seen how the pair squirmed, but neither made any attempt to shirk their duties, and for that, the Hyrkanian's measure of them ticked upwards. Once the posse had armed themselves, the man that had been captured during the skirmish near Fort Cassidy was trussed up, dragged from his cell, and draped across the rump of Marshal Cooper's horse.
The ride out had taken every drop of self-control Sonja could muster to not put her mount into a full gallop, and it may have only been the fact that she did not know how to get to this town of 'Tumbleweed' that kept her with the men. Still, Sonja could not deny the fire that filled her belly, every fiber of her being demanding action to help the woman she called a friend, and if she failed, would administer retribution to all who bore any share of blame for the woman's fate.
That thought dragged Sonja's eyes to the bound form of the brigand bouncing on Cooper's horse. "What value does this pathetic whelp have to them?" asked the Hyrkanian.
"Norman Deek's Simon's right-hand man," answered Cooper. "In other words, a glorified errand boy."
"You wait, Marshal!" roared Deek, thrashing against his bindings, "I'll be back for you!"
"Simon doesn't have very high standards," Walker observed from atop his own horse.
"Fuck, you," spat Deek with what hatred the vile man could instill in the two words.
"Deek's the kinda man that's mean enough to be second-in-command but too cowardly and stupid to ever be a leader," explained the lawman.
The Bounty Hunter looked over his shoulder before he shouted back, "I'd advise against using that line near your deputies."
Sonja was uninterested in the esteem of the deputies bringing up the rear of the group, "For the sake of this man, and those like him, a finger had best not been laid upon Caroline MacLaughlin."
There was a solemn silence amongst the group before Joshua broke it, "This town we're headed to, what is it?"
"Tumbleweed? A lonely, godforsaken place," answered Cooper as the riders peeled away from the railroad track they had been following and ascended up a plateau. "Some people say it's haunted. It was quite a town, back in its day. Then they built the railroad to Deming and went clean past Tumbleweed. And that was that. Pretty soon, everybody up and left. Now it's just thieves, smugglers, and bandits… scum like Deek here." Sonja mulled over this explanation, knowing the sort of place this was, having delved into many dens of its like in Hyboria. Cooper then added, "Old-popular spot for lynchings, too."
His words caused Sonja to bristle, "That will not happen today," she declared as the group rode hard for Tumbleweed.
Crossing the ramshackle remains of a ruined wooden bridge, Walker could just make out the worn rooftops of a ghost town in the distance. "Woah up!" called Cooper, and the whole group brought their horses to a halt. Walker slid from his saddle and looked back to see Cooper shove Deek off his horse, the bandit crashing to the ground with a pained grunt and string of muffled curses. "Get up, Norman," growled the Marshal, yanking the bandit to his feet. "Listen up," he called as the group gathered together, "We'll exchange the prisoner for Caroline in the center of town. Keep your eyes open. I sincerely doubt these scum plan to play fair."
"Fair my ass," groused Norman, tugging on the rope around his wrists.
"What's fair for you Norm, after you tried to kill us, is for you to be our shield. Ain't that right, Norm?" asked Cooper, drawing one of his revolvers.
"It'd be my pleasure!" replied Deek sarcastically. With that, the Marshal gave him a shove to coax the outlaw to shuffle into the abandoned town. Walker turned and looked at Sonja, seeing the worry in her dimmed eyes and anger in her clenched jaw, but her eyes snapped to meet his gaze, and he gave her a silent nod, which she returned, and then joined the group in slowly following Deek into Tumbleweed.
Walker's eyes were drawn to the rooftops, the Bounty Hunter keen on anything that moved or looked amiss as his hand rested on the grip of his Schofield. The posse was fanned out behind Deek, the outlaw trudged forwards with half a dozen guns trained on his back and felt the need to mouth off. "Maybe she won't want to leave," mused Norman, causing every eye to swing towards the back of his head, "She's been fucked so good."
The Bounty Hunter scowled, but his jaw dropped when a red maned blur rushed to Norman's back, Sonja kicking him to the ground. Nobody moved to restrain her as she sneered at the fallen outlaw. "If you think it pleasurable for a woman to be impaled upon your sword," snarled the Hyrkanian as she yanked her own blade free, "Then allow me to introduce you to mine."
Laying on his back and staring up at the towering Hyrkanian, her sword pointed down at him, the bandit scampered back as fast as his bound hands would allow. "Boys!" Deek called, voice cracking as he continued to flop towards Tumbleweed, "Boys, come help me!"
At his cries, a trio of men, all armed, emerged from behind several buildings in Tumbleweed and strode towards the posse. Their appearance brought the entire group to a halt, Walker's eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the three men, checking if each face was one he'd seen on a wanted poster. Recognizing none, Tombstone's left hand clenched and listened to what the lackies had to say. "Keep your britches on Norman," said one, sounding far too confident to Walker's ear.
Slowly, the Bounty Hunter's hands crept towards the Schofield on his right hip, his eyes watching the hands of his newly appeared foes and when he saw none moving, he looked at their eyes. A standoff developed as the groups sized each other up, Tombstone getting a measure of the men across from him, preparing to draw down at the first hint of trouble. "What're you waiting for? Just untie me, fellas!" shouted Norman after a tense few moments, and he rolled onto his stomach and picked himself up, sitting on his haunches.
Walker didn't look at Deek, keeping his eyes on the trio of bandits standing down the street, they were far too relaxed for the standoff that had developed. The Bounty Hunter saw one's eyes dart to the church, specifically the rooftop. Lip quirking up, Walker's eyes flitted to the church too, before Cooper's rough voice cut to the chase. "Where's Caroline? You said this was an exchange."
"Well…" drawled one, Walker seeing hands inch towards holstered pistols, "You thought wrong." With those words, the Bounty Hunter tensed, hands hovering just above the Smith and Wesson on his right hip while his eyes watched the bandits. The same lacky shouted, "We don't make deals with the Law," and the bandit's hand went to pull his gun, with Walker pulling his just as fast. In the blink of an eye, the Schofield was drawn, only instead of firing from the hip, Walker fanned the hammer back on the way to raising the revolver to take aim and gun down the nearest bandit. Before Tombstone could draw a bead on the second, the lackey fired his own gun and hit, not a member of the posse, but Deek, killing the outlaw lieutenant. Walker squashed his shock as he saw a hint of movement in the corner of his eye and turned away to point his gun up at the church roof just as a bandit stood atop it. The Schofield barked, preceding the screams of the bandit as he crumpled down and tumbled to the ground.
A string of shots rang out from Tumbleweed, and Walker joined the posse in firing on the bandits that sprang out in ambush ahead of them. One jumped up and fell under Walker's gun, the Bounty Hunter looking over the sights to see the man stagger from his own bullet as well as Cooper's that arrived a moment later. More outlaws burst from the various buildings, firing at the posse before Joshua put the last of his bullets into the first ones to find themselves in his sights. Those who survived the initial exchange turned and ran deeper into the barren ruins of Tumbleweed.
"Get in there!" shouted Cooper, "Find Caroline!" Reloading his right and then drawing his left revolver, Walker and the others rushed into Tumbleweed as the surviving bandits appeared to challenge them. The Bounty Hunter moved towards the nearest building, seeking some refuge from the bullets, but when an outlaw emerged, firing a repeater wildly at the posse, Walker stopped, raised the gun in his left hand, and coolly sent a single round in reply that decisively put the man down.
Each shot fired caused plumes of acrid smoke to fill the main street of the ghost town, and Walker took advantage of the obscuration to press forwards, keeping his guns at the ready. He heard a bullet whizz by his head and bury itself in the building to his right, splinters peppering his thick duster as he turned and replied; his first shot went wide, but the second revolver came up and unleashed a follow up shot that did find its mark.
While thumbing the hammers back, preparing his next rounds, Walker saw a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye as a bandit rounded the next corner and raised a shotgun. Joshua tried to bring his guns to bear, but he would be too slow and the range was too short to expect the bandit to miss. His guns were not trained on the bandit, but Walker could see a familiar red blur thrust a gleaming sword into the bandit, Sonja cutting him down with the edge of her blade. "Appreciate it," drawled Walker as the pair ducked behind the next wall.
Sonja grinned, drawing her Colt with her right hand, while her left still held her bloody blade, pulled from the freshly slain bandit. Another group of men charged down a side street at them, and the pair raised all their guns, firing a deluge of lead into the men. Tombstone gritted his teeth and steadied his hands, taking care to aim each shot carefully until all were cut down and the lawmen across the boulevard darted forwards. Walker and Sonja both reloaded their guns before sprinting up the way to rejoin Cooper, spurred on by a loud, feminine scream around the corner of the upcoming intersection.
"Caroline! We're coming!" called Walker as the whole group charged through the intersection to see the last four bandits gathered around an archway, from which a rope was tied at one end, and the other looped around the neck of Caroline MacLaughlin. The bandit standing nearest to her kicked the stool she was standing on, and the rancher swung from the noose, thrashing against her binds as the gunmen fired on the posse.
Heart stopping, Walker aimed his right revolver high up on the rope and, ignoring the bullets that flew back at him, squeezed off a shot as soon as the rope disappeared behind the front post of his Schofield. Rushing behind a ruined wagon, Walker despaired when he saw Caroline still suspended by the rope, feet swinging. Lips drawn back in a furious snarl, Tombstone emerged and leveled both guns, and when the first remaining bandit exposed himself, the veteran bounty hunter swung one pistol around and fired, following up with a second shot to still the screaming, writhing man. The bandit's comrade sought retribution, but too was cut down by a pair of shots from the matching Schofields. When the last ones made to run, a volley of shots rang out from every gun, burying bullets in their backs as they fled from the sight of their treachery.
A sudden scream had the whole group turning back to Caroline as the damaged rope gave way and the woman crashed to the ground, sucking down heaving breaths as the whole posse rushed to her aid. Joshua, the closest, holstered one of his pistols in favor of his Bowie, using the fighting knife to saw through the rope that was knotted around her wrists, "Caroline?" he asked between her coughs, "Are you okay?"
She was a sorry sight to be sure, her clothes had been ripped, and she barely maintained her decency, her skin marred by cuts and bruises that had turned all manner of colors. "I… I'm better than I could've been," answered the blonde, coughing fiercely as Walker tore away the bindings and pulled her up onto unsteady feet. Leaning on him, she asked, "What the hell took you so long, you stupid man?"
Walker grimaced as he helped her take one tentative step forwards. "Well ma'am, I was off making plans for busting into Fort Cassidy."
After a few more paces, MacLaughlin's steps began to steady, and she was soon in the hands of the lawmen when she looked back at him with a sad look in her eye and said, "When you do, give them my regards."
Nodding, the Bounty Hunter opened his mouth to apply in the affirmative when Sonja cut him off. "What in Scathach's name are you doing here, Seth!?"
Closing Notes: Two more action-y bits here, and it was time for a bit of traditional old western showdown at the end. We're quickly approaching the attack on Fort Cassidy, and the next chapter will bring us closer still.
Stay Frosty, Misfit Delta out.