John "Twinky" Evens sat easily on his horse, resting on a rise overlooking the town of Deadshot, Arizona. A slight breeze whistled through John's sparse mousy hair as he took stock of the settlement. Twinky was in the market for a ranch and had heard good arable land was available in the area. Right then, he was looking for evidence of necessary support businesses.
He didn't want to settle there only to find he had to travel for days to get a haircut, a roll of barbed wire, or a pedicure. A hotel might mean enough people passing through to warrant buying into a business. Likewise, a rail-line with an attendant corral would make it easy to ship cattle and bring in large amounts of supplies. Bars meant people to hire and water-towers meant plenty of water for bubble-baths. Since most male cow-towns didn't usually have enough churchgoers to make a living for a preacher, a church would signify a female population. A railroad, Twinky thought, would be simply super.
He also wanted a town large enough to rate a mayor and a dedicated lawman. Not a part-time sheriff and full-time farmer, as in many such communities.
No. Twinky knew that good land and hard work weren't the only criteria for a successful business. You also needed the right location and infrastructure.
Twinky didn't worry overmuch about criminals, figuring he was -- arguably -- one of the fastest draws and probably best shots in the entire country. Weak-appearing Twinky Evens had grown up in a family of trick shots, making their living by putting on shooting demonstrations. Twinky had been using firearms since he was large enough to heft one in his little hands. He'd cut his teeth on a rifle cartridge rather than a rattle.
His favorite trick, as a small boy, had been to stand with his back to the arena, a holstered revolver almost dragging on the ground. The barker would quietly call attention to him as Twinky stood, nonchalantly looking back at the audience.
The boy's father would then ride, whooping, across the other end of a cleared area, a cigar in his mouth. At the sound, Twinky would spin, draw and, aiming with both hands, snap-shoot the cigar in half. The act always brought a spate of cheering and, happily for his father, Twinky never missed. It wasn't a bad act for a four-year-old kid.
When his parents died suddenly in a railroad accident, Twinky inherited the business and a fortune and was left to his own devices. The twenty-year-old had always wanted to come out west. His time in wild west shows -- not to mention reading dime novels -- had instilled a deep love for the supposed lifestyle and cowboys. Especially those handsome cowboys. At night, he fantasized sex with the big rugged sweaty creatures -- envisioning his tight butt waving in the air.
Disappointed, Twinky saw that no railroad was visible, though one might be in the works. He'd have to check with friends in that business back East. He saw a building that might be a hotel. There were three bars, one of which seemed to have a store built into one side. Only two buggies visible in the town's one dirt-street didn't look promising when it came to females.
Well, Twinky figured, at least he might be able to sleep in a bed for a change. Nudging the horse with his knees, he started down the slope. Coming in from downwind, Twinky closed his eyes to enjoy a soft breeze, letting the mount guide him by the odor of horse manure.
***
Jesse felt sorry for the town citizens. Them being forced to struggle with all that afternoon heat, unforgiving sun beating down on them. It was at least twenty, thirty, degrees cooler in the locked earthen shed. She didn't know who had built the thing. It had been in that settlement much longer that she had. The tiny building was made of a layer of sun-baked bricks, then a couple of feet of earth piled on top and around the structure. It was covered over by grass and sod, now mostly brown from unrelenting sunlight. Normally it had been built to keep beer cool for one of the bars.
For her, it now served as a makeshift jail. Jesse was to be hung the next day.
Like the sun, the townspeople were also unforgiving. So she had killed the b*****d, so f*****g what? Jesse thought. The a*****e had been trying to rob Jesse -- after having sex with her, of course. While he'd thought her asleep, she'd caught him going through her things and knifed him in the back.
As the farmer who acted as her lawyer had told her, "If'n you did it in the front, you'd be okay. We don't like no backstabin' round these parts."
Since in the morrow they would take her out to hang, being one of the town's coolest residents was little consolation.
Jesse figured a lot of her problems were because of rejecting the few available single men in the town. If they paid, they got what they wanted -- otherwise, no sale.
A handsome young lady, Jesse happened to be one of a pair of town w****s, servicing townsfolk and travelers alike. But nothing for f*****g free, was her philosophy. Now, of course there was that lovely female clerk at the store. Jesse would be glad to handle her for free. Given a choice, she preferred women.
Jesse perked up. She could hear someone fumbling with a padlock on the outside of the heavy wooden door of the hut. The window, although not barred, was only five inches across and the opening three feet thick. No way out that way.
She turned as the heavy door swung back. It was the appointed jailer, a big goofy gofer and sweeper that worked for one of the saloon owners. That of her former boss.
Same as the other young men in that town, Elmer had wanted to court Miss Jesse. Unlike many others, he'd never had enough money for her services. With no sheriff in town, it was his duty to bring her meals and empty her s**t bucket.
They weren't all that worried about her escaping. After all, where could she go if she did get out? The town had nothing but empty prairie for thirty miles in any direction and it was common knowledge that she had never ridden a horse in her life, much preferring the more ladylike carriages. Another deterrent was being naked as a church mouse, making it impossible for her to hide while strolling or running on the dirt street.
"Looks like you gotta wait till tamara' night, Jes." Elmer brought her a meal in a tin plate. At least he had covered it with a cloth, keeping out dust from the street and flies from the kitchen. "They hast'a get a new rope. I knows at ain't gonna make ya' mad a'tall."
He set the plate down on a small table and laid a spoon next to it. "Dig in, gal. Jeez, ma'am, it cool in 'ere. Guess I'll bother ya' while ya’ eats?"
"Shut the damn door, Elmer. You'll let the heat in," Jesse joked with him, sitting down on a broken chair that came with the cell.
"Ain't suppos'ta, Miss Jesse."
"Then get your sorry a*s outside until I'm done, hear?"
"Guess it won' hurt none." He swung the door shut with a thud.
The light was dim, twilight outside the window, as she ate. Seeing Elmer fidgeting as he watched her eat a meal of jackrabbit 'innerds stew, she entertained herself by slowly sucking on the spoon with every bite, watching him get worked up. At one point, she dropped a piece of meat onto her naked lap and took a long, long time fishing it up with two fingers, rubbing herself as she did.
Watching her pop it into her mouth with a smile, Elmer just about fell off the edge of the feather mattressed cot where he was sitting.
Which gave Jesse an idea. When finished, she sat back, smiling directly at him, causing the goofus to avert his eyes. She noticed he didn't stand up immediately to take the plate, like he had been doing in the past. He continued sitting, legs crossed with both hands in his lap. Seeing staring eyes and sweating brow, Jesse figured she had him aroused enough.
After making a point of slowly brushing and picking bread crumbs off an ample chest, Jesse rose from her chair to sit beside poor embarrassed Elmer.
Putting one hand on his shoulder, she nuzzled his cheek, seeing it redden at her touch.
"Sorry I never gave you any, Elmer. I would've eventually but now it's too late. I know you gotta go back to the bar, and they hang me tomorrow."
"Mebbe' ... mebbe' I could stay a little while, Miss Jes?" he stuttered. "Mr. Campbell is done gone ta' get'ta load'a beer -- an'a new rope. He won't be back till ta'mmara some time." Elmer looked away. "Mr. Campbell says he don' wanna miss a seein' you hangin' there."
The man she had knifed had been a close relative of the bar owner.
"So then, how about a quickie, Elmer honey?"
"I like 'at, Miss Jes. Deed, I like 'at."
"Well, then you hurry and get undressed." She clasped him tightly, feeling a rock-hard object in his lap. She knew it wouldn't be a gun. Nobody in town would trust Elmer with a firearm. "What's that thing, honey?" she asked, pulling on it through the cloth.
"Oh, that jus' a lock, fer' 'at door." He pulled a large heavy padlock out of his pocket and showed Jesse, who took it and put in on the table.
Looking over, she saw Elmer struggling with his clothing. The pants came off first, then he attempted to pull a heavy hemp-cloth shirt over his head. Buttons being scarce, the front had simply been sewn together as they had fallen off.
"Let me help you, honey," Jesse pulled the shirt over his head, both his arms raised high. While the top of his head still showed, she grabbed the heavy padlock and struck him smartly on top of the hairy dome.
Elmer tried to yell, voice muffled by the shirt and thick building. Meanwhile Jesse, now committed, kept hitting until the man slumped, unconscious.
Jesse fell on top of him and the bed, breathing hard from exertion and fear. Forcing herself up, she dressed in Elmer's pants and shoes. At least Elmer had small feet, she thought. Getting the shirt off was the hardest part, but she really needed it, bloody or not.
She hoped he would live but certainly couldn't call any help for him. She had to hurry. It was dark by the time she left the jail hut, locking the door behind herself.
The escapee had to get to her room at the bar where she had money hidden behind a loose board in the closet. Then she'd force herself to try to ride one of those nasty riding creatures. She sure as hell couldn't walk far or fast.
If she were lucky, the townspeople wouldn't find Elmer until morning, giving her time to at least get a head start. Jesse didn't think her chances were good, but certainly better than waiting for that damned rope to arrive.
***
It was late afternoon when Twinky rode into town, the sun setting behind him. First a drink, he figured. A man gets thirsty on the trail. He was hardly an imposing figure as he stepped down from his horse and fumbled in a saddlebag for his wallet.
Once dismounted, Twinky's brow was level with the top of his saddle. Short, thin, and prematurely balding, he also retrieved a pair of reading glasses in case he would need them. His far vision was perfect, it was just hard to read small print up close. The only thing impressive about Twinky was a fancy homemade gunbelt, complete with two heavy handguns, pearled handles glinting in the fading sunlight.
The bar was typical, at least from his limited experience on the trail. It was a large room, small tables scattered at random, gaming setups for pool and poker in the rear.
The bar itself consisted of wooden beer barrels with long planks lying across them. There was a heavy cabinet behind it to contain bottles of liquor and whiskey. The beer would be homemade and either made on site or hauled in from a nearby brewery. Ice would be nonexistent in that area. It was doubtful if there were any cold springs. Or many wells, for that matter, so he could expect the drink to be warm, possibly stored in an underground room or sod hut.
"Gimme a pitcher of milk, if you got it," Twinky instructed the bartender. "If not, no problem. Beer is okay too."
The barkeep looked at him curiously, trying to remember if there was any milk around. He sure as hell didn't have any himself. Shrugging he filled a large cracked mug with beer.
"Ain't got no milk, mister."
Twinky downed half the mug in one long drink.
"Good stuff. You got time to answer a few questions, sir?" he asked the bartender, who looked around the almost empty room.
"Guess so," the man answered, dubiously. He was better at listening to problems than giving answers.
"First things first. Are there any hotels around here? Somewhere I can sleep inside?"
"Nope. Only hotel went out of business. Owner packed up an left one day. If you want, you can sleep there, a lot'a travelers do, but no furniture or beds and dirty as hell. Maybe still better than the bare ground ... if the roaches don't carry you off." The bartender laughed at his own joke. Twinky dutifully joined in.
"Don't suppose anyplace to get a bath, either?" Twinky asked, not daring to ask about a pedicure or bubble bath.
"Well, come ta' think'a it. We got a spare room, bed yet, you can rent just for tonight. A bargirl used to have it, but she sure don't need it none no more.
"Not really anyplace to take a bath. We got us a stove in the back. Guess you can heat a pot a water, if you haul it yourself from the well. We only got three wells in town, all pretty small."
The barkeep looked a little embarrassed. "Just ain't no one here but me tonight. Usually three of us, but the boss is out buying beer and the girl in jail -- fixin' to be hanged tomorrow. I just ain't got time a'tall for fixin' no bathwater."
Remembering something, he grimaced, "And we got a dimwit to clean up. He's taking a long time with that prisoner and I can't even go look for the idiot."
"I'll take the room. I haven't slept inside for weeks." Twinky paid for the drinks and room.
"Don't need no key. Only three rooms upstairs and you can have the middle one."
Twinky took his horse out back to settle it in for the night. There wasn't any stable either, but plenty of sun-browned grass. There were tether ropes, so it wouldn't wander off. After that, since he was already back there, he used the outhouse then carried his personals up to his room. The saddle and bags would probably be all right on a shelf against the back of the building.
The room itself wasn't too bad and the bed and mattress fairly new. Tired, Twinky enjoyed a cool cross-breeze if he left the door open. He could always shut it if the night became too cold for him. The lone closet was filled with womens’ clothing. No matter, since he wasn't planning on unpacking.
Still mostly dressed, Twinky stayed up for awhile, reading a dime novel about the west. Finally, it being too dark to read, he put the book down, turned off an oil lamp and dozed off.
***
Dressed in Elmer's clothing, Jesse hurried around back of the saloon. She was in luck. There were not only three horses back there, tethered to ropes and grazing peacefully, but also a nasty-looking farm buggy.
With a good deal of difficulty -- and a lot of soft cursing -- she hitched two of the largest ones to the wagon and, throwing the one saddle and a couple of saddle-bags she saw into the buggy, tied the third horse to the back. It never hurt to have an extra animal and, already sentenced to die, why not add horse theft as well as escape?
Then she pulled the entire combination up close alongside the back of the building. Being tall for a woman, by standing on the back of the seat she could reach the second-floor windowsill to her former room.
Jesse, silently as possible, hoisted herself up to and through the window, noticing a man sleeping on her bed. Damn, but it didn't take Campbell long to rent it out, she thought. Trying to stay quiet, Jesse knelt and reached into the closet, feeling for a certain loose board. Finding her cash, she jammed it into a pocket of Elmer's pants and started to back out of the closet -- only to find something hard pushing into her back.
"What the hell you doing?" A man's voice questioned. "Turn around slowly, with your hands clasped over your head."
Deflated, Jesse turned, expecting the worst. After all, the best would only be a hanging the next day -- hardly worth being saved just for that. Dim light from a lamp in the corridor showed her a small man with two large guns in hand. The man that had been on the bed.
"You done got me." Jesse sighed, shaking slightly. Well, she had taken her chance, she figured. Not her fault it didn't work out.
"Oh, only a woman." His guns spun in nimble hands, like she had seen in a wild west show once, and back to their holsters.
Real westerners never did that. In fact, Jesse had once known a kid in Boston that could do it, but he'd been her age, about five or ten at the time. Come to think of it, he was just a little guy too. She tried to make out the man's face but the light from the bar downstairs was too dim and he was standing with his back to it.
"Come to steal that killer's clothing, uh?" the man continued. "Well, don't mean nothing to me, just hurry up about it. I'd like to get some sleep." He went back to the bed and lay down again, watching her. The light from the hall was shining full on his face.
It couldn't be, Jesse thought, no way, but he did look familiar? The bend of his nose, shape of his ears.
"Uh, your name wouldn't be John, would it? John Evens?" Jesse asked, nervously. Damn, she hoped it was. Her childhood friend had been a marksman, a trick shooter. She watched him look up, seemingly studying her own face. At least he hadn't denied it yet.
"Jesse?" he asked, rising again. "Jesse Mendelson? What are you doing here?"
She stepped closer, breathing hard, and knelt down beside the bed, grabbing his hand.
"Look, John. I ain't got time to explain but we gotta get out of here, right now. This very minute," she almost begged. "Please, trust me. Come on. Out the window."
He sat still, staring at her. It was all so sudden and mysterious.
"Well, I'm going, whether you'll help me or not," she told him.
Jesse heard a commotion downstairs. It might be only a bar fight, but she wasn't staying to find out -- or to explain anything.
"Bye, John. Nice to see you again."
Out the window she went. Twinky could hear her thud onto the wagon-bed outside, yelping as she landed. He made his decision.
"Wait!" he called out the window, then looked back at the light in the hallway before swinging his leg over the edge of the bed. "Wait," he repeated, looking down at Jesse rising to jump onto the seat of the wagon.
"Then hurry up, damn it."
She grabbed the reins and barely waited until he dropped in before snapping them against looming horse rumps.
Twinky, on his knees, held onto the back of the slat-seat as they raced across the prairie. Something hit him on the leg. He looked back to see his own saddle and bags bouncing around in the back with him. His horse was following, tied to the back of the wagon. When they settled down to a trot, he reached back and checked his back pocket. Good, he had his wallet and guns.
Luckily, he had fallen asleep while reading, still wearing both clothing and gun-belt. All Twinky had lost were his boots, hat, and book. Somehow, even without knowing the circumstances, Twinky didn't figure he better go back for them.
***
A dull-green Straight Sill Rockaway carriage halted around the last bend of a dirt road, actually more a mud trail through a patch of scraggly trees. The town of Asawipe Kansas lay at the bottom of a small slope ahead of them.
Twinky had purchased the fancy two-seater as a disguise. Any posse would be looking for either two people on horses, three horses and a farm wagon, or maybe on local railroads.
Since he had plenty of money, why not travel in style? Besides, the back seat was enclosed and large enough to carry newly-purchased clothing and other supplies.
The two former childhood friends had decided to travel together. Both being homosexual, there was no sexual friction and, he figured, it did look better for a prospective businessman to have a wife. With nowhere else to go except to her own hanging, Jesse played along.
Asawipe wasn't a whole lot larger than Deadshot, but Twinky did notice it contained railroad tracks and a small station. He drove the carriage up to a building advertised in hand-painted letters as the "Shad tree Hatel."
"You go on and get us settled in, Jesse," he said as he helped his companion down. "I'm gonna look around a bit. It might be a good place to stay, least for awhile."
Looking somewhat incongruous in a three-piece suit and flashy gun-belt, Twinky headed for the nearest drinking establishment.
He figured it was the best way to check out a town. He could have looked for the mayor or other official but, once finding he had money for investment, they would only give him a sales pitch. A few of the more common residents, however, would verbalize a real report on the town and its prospects. The drunker, the better.
End of the first of three parts. IF REQUESTED The next will be posted later.
Charlie, hvysmker
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