Tales of the Eerie Saloon:


Jessie Hanks -- Outlaw Queen

By Nicholas Varrick
As Told To Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson
© 2003

Street and Smith's _New York Weekly_ is proud to present the latest addition to the amazing legend of Eerie, Arizona.

 

Chapter 1 -- "Riders in the Night"

"One... Two... Three!" Jessie Hanks yelled, as she swung the saddle back and forth, then upward. This time, it worked. The heavy saddle went over the top of the tethered horse, settling unevenly on the blanket on its back. "Finally!" she said, tugging at the blanket to straighten it. She quickly reached down and buckled the cinches around the horse's trunk fore and aft, pulling them as tightly as she could. She stood back and puffed. Hell, it had taken her four tries to get the damned thing on the horse; she hadn't had so much trouble with a saddle since she was twelve.

The horse, a brown gelding that Jessie was starting to call "Useless", snorted, as the cinches tightened. Luckily he didn't move very much because the pen was too narrow.

She looked at her slender arms and spat. Jesse Hanks had been able to saddle a horse by himself since he was ten. Now, as Jessie Hanks, a girl of about eighteen, she'd had to work hard just to lift the forty-pound saddle off the shed wall and onto the horse. Damn and she hadn't even put the saddlebags on it yet.

Jessie decided to put the saddlebags on empty and load them afterwards, so she just tied them to the saddle. "C'mon, Useless," she said, as she picked up the oil lamp that she'd used for light. She opened the stall and used the bridal and reins to lead the horse back to Toby's cabin. She tied the reins to a post and went inside.

"Now I'm sorry you got your head bashed in," she said as she looked down at Toby Hess' body on the floor. I could have used some help with that saddle. I never thought you was good for anything more'n hard labor, you old bastard." She looked down at the body and shook her head. "With a rep like mine, they'll never believe it was self-defense. I'll hang for sure. Hell, they might just string me up and not even wait for a trial. I figure my only chance is to put as many miles as I can between me and that town."

Deciding she didn't like looking at him, she took the dusty canvas that lay against the wall and spread it over the corpse. "Anyhow, I'm sick and tired of being a damned slave at that Saloon."

"Much fun as it is talking to you, it ain't helping me get packed and get outta here. You'll smell as bad as you look, pretty soon, but that's the undertaker's problem." She looked around the cluttered, unkempt cabin. Most of what she wanted to take was already piled on the table. Now she sorted the goods into two heaps. The pistol -- and why the hell didn't the man have a holster for it, anyway? -- rifle, bullets for them both, a flint and steel fire starter kit, a small sharpening stone, can opener, hardtack, and some canned meat all went in one pile. A thick, wool blanket, a towel, Toby's other spare shirt and a union suit went into the other.

The union suit was too big for her, but she could always roll up sleeves and legs. If she rode up into the mountains that she'd heard were there to the north, she'd probably need the extra warmth. She was already planning to wear Toby's jacket, but that was as much to make her look bigger as it was for heat.

Jessie was already wearing Toby's shirt and a spare pair of his pants. He'd ripped her dress and camisole to shreds on his ill-fated try at rape. She'd reacted by kneeing him where it would hurt the worst. He'd fallen backwards in pain and hit his head on the stone fireplace. The blow was fatal to him, though the fireplace seemed to be mostly intact.

She had tied up her long, blonde hair in a bun and tucked under the man's tan plainsman hat. She'd used the hairpin she'd been wearing to pin it tighter for the ride ahead.

She picked up the pistol and was about to tuck in under her belt when she had a second thought and stuck it in a jacket pocket. She'd found a knife, too and she was already wearing it in a sheath clipped onto her belt.

The girl carried the items in each pile out to Useless and packed it in one of the saddlebags. She couldn't find a scabbard for the rifle, so it was tied to the left saddlebag; a small hatchet was in a scabbard attached to the right one. A second blanket, she rolled up and tied behind the saddle. She filled two canteens full of water and hung them down next to the hatchet.

She picked up the sock she'd found with money in it: two twenty dollar double eagles, a five dollar half eagle and three dollars in folding money buried in a trunk with the clothes. This Jessie shoved into an inside jacket pocket, sock and all.

"Thanks for the loan," she said with a smile, looking at Toby's corpse. "What's that? Keep it? Why thanks! Thanks for nothing, you horny bastard." She grimaced with a twist of a smile. "'Course, maybe I owe you. If you hadn't dragged me outta town tied up like a sheep for your own lecherous purposes, I wouldn't be able to get away now."

"Then again, if you hadn't up n' died, I might not need to run. My sentence is up in..." She counted days in her head. "...hell, in a week or so, but with you dead, I might not even be alive by then."

For a moment, she thought about torching the cabin, but it'd take a little time and it might bring company, company that she didn't want. "Best to put some distance b'tween this place and me," she said aloud. "No telling who might be around. Hell, it's even money that there'll soon be folks out here from Eerie looking for me and Laura. Last thing I need is t'run into Shamus or that damned sheriff."

The thought of Laura Meehan made her pause for a moment. If Toby took her, then Laura was probably with his idiot partner, Jake Steinmetz. Toby had told her once that Jake had a cabin a few miles away from his. 'Maybe I should try'n find her,' she thought.

"Why the hell waste the time?" she answered herself. "It ain't like she's kin; we ain't hardly even friends." She remembering the way Laura had palled around with Maggie and Bridget and mostly just sent dirty looks her way. "We only just rode together a few days before we come t'Eerie. Besides, I don't even know which way that other cabin is. Sorry, Laura, m'girl," she said with a shake of her head, but it's every man for himself. "Besides, they ain't gonna be looking t'hang you."

She locked the door to the cabin behind her, leaving the oil lamp still burning inside. "Let'm think somebody's there, so they waste time trying t'get in."

Jessie had learned to ride on her father's old plow horse when she was a boy, so now she had no trouble mounting Useless, as big as he was. Once in the saddle, she looked around once. She knew she was in the mountains somewhere north of town. She looked up and found the "Drinking Cup" in the night sky and followed the handle to the North Star. She planned on riding in that general direction for the rest of the night.

"Look out, World, cause Jessie Hanks is back," She yelled into the night, louder than she'd planned. The echoes coming back out of the darkness prickled her hair. Determined to make it deep into the rough before sunup, she whipped the reins, letting go with her right hand to slap Useless' rump. The horse reared and took off at full gallop.

Again Jessie had overestimated her own strength and the reins almost pulled out of her left hand. She clenched them hard enough to turn her knuckles white, while Useless galloped through the woods. She ducked this way and that, dodging branches and hoping she wouldn't fall -- or be knocked off his back. Useless didn't respond to Jessie's shouts of "Whoa!" any more than to any of the other words she yelled -- some of them much bluer.

All the while, the fugitive girl kept grabbing for the reins with her right hand. She finally caught it and pulled back as hard as she could. She braced herself in the stirrups, leaning back until it almost felt like she was lying down.

Useless slowed from a gallop to a trot and Jessie sat up. She thought she'd be able to control him well enough at this speed. She sighed with relief; then she looked down at her arms. She'd had to roll the sleeves of Toby's jacket over twice, so her hands -- her damnable weak, _pretty_, little hands wouldn't get lost in them. "I'll get my old body back, so help me I will," she said through gritted teeth, "and when I do..."

***

Almost an hour later, seven men rode up onto a low ridge near Toby Hess' cabin.

They split into two groups as they rode in towards the cabin. Clay Falk, Phineas "Finny" Pike and Angel Montiero rode around to come in from behind. Clay stopped by the small, sagging barn. Finny and Angel rode in closer, checking for any other way out besides the front door.

Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant, a tall, wiry-looking man with curly brown hair, rode in towards the front with Sam Braddock, Joe Kelton and Davy Kitchner. The men dismounted and walked towards the door.

Paul tried the cabin door, standing off to once side in case a shotgun blast came through it. Locked. He backed off a few feet and yelled: "Toby... Toby Hess, this is Paul Grant. We know you'n Jake took the women and we came to get them back. You open the door right now and come out with your hands up."

They waited a short while, but there was no answer. "You're making things even harder on yourself, Toby," Paul shouted.

"Aw, hell," Joe Kelton said. "Toby's too dumb to be playing games like this. I don't think he's even in there." He braced himself and kicked in the door. Then he saw the heap under the canvas. He went in and pulled it clear. "Hey, there _is_ somebody in here, but he looks hurt; hurt real bad." He backed away from the body.

"That's Toby," Paul Grant said. He knelt down beside the man and felt for a pulse. There was none. His long, thin fingers found the gash on the back of Toby's head and he saw the blood on the fireplace stone. "They must've fought. Not much bleeding; he must have hit his head and died fast."

"Hard to believe a little thing like Jessie could take out a man like Toby Hess," Clay Falk said, coming into the cabin.

Paul picked up the shreds of Jessie's clothes. "Maybe, but I think I know what they were fighting over. Some women get downright unreasonable about rape. If that's what this polecat was up to, then it was self-defense."

"Maybe," Sam Braddock said, "but I don't see her around anywhere to ask."

"Look for her," Paul told the others. "She might have crawled off hurt". He stood and looked around for any clues to what had happened, while Sam and Joe searched outside. "Davy," the Deputy asked the man behind him, "you said you knew where Jake Steinmetz' place is."

"Yeah, it's over..." He started to point.

"Don't tell me," Paul said. "You just head on over there and tell the sheriff about Toby here. Get him to bring over Jake's wagon, so we can take Toby's body back to town."

Davy nodded and ran out the door. Moments later Paul heard him ride off.

"Toby kept a horse out here," Clay yelled from outside. "It's gone now."

"Yeah, it looks like a bunch of supplies is missing, too," Paul said, glancing around the cabin.

"Maybe Jessie headed back to Eerie," Joe suggested.

"I don't think so," Paul said. "She wouldn't take supplies if she was only going back to town. Jessie is even wilder than her sister, Wilma -- or at least more reckless. She'd run if she could. I don't know how much of a start that little gal has on us or even what direction she took. I do know that we can't track her till sunup and that's still a few hours off yet." He sighed. "Odds are, she's gonna get clean away."

Joe scratched his head. "The dang fool. She only had a few weeks time left to serve and then she'd be free to go anywhere she wanted. What the hell is she thinking, a woman all alone out there in the wild?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess it just hasn't dawned on her that she's a woman now, she and has to play by new rules. Till she does, she's just a disaster waiting to happen."

"Whatever, the Sheriff ain't gonna like this," Sam said. "Not one bit."

***

"Hey, Paul, they's some cartridges here on the floor," Davy said, pointing under the table. The men had spent the last forty minutes searching the cabin and its grounds for any clues.

"I saw them," Paul said with a frown and picked one up. "We don't know what else Jessie may have, but we know she's got a rifle."

"Yeah, but what're you worried about?" Davy asked. That spell Shamus put on her won't let her use it on anybody."

"It wasn't supposed to let her escape from Eerie either, but she seems to have managed to get around that."

Paul didn't like the idea of a rifle in the hands of a woman with the brain of the outlaw Jesse Hanks, but until daylight there wasn't much he could do except wait and report to the Sheriff.

"Riders coming," Finny Pike yelled from the cabin door, "a whole bunch of them."

"It is the sheriff and the others," Angel Montiero said. "Davy is with them. They brought the wagon."

Six men rode up, Sheriff Dan Talbot in the lead. A seventh man, Arsenio Caulder, was driving what must have been Jake Steinmetz' wagon. Laura Meehan was sitting next to him, not looking too much the worse for wear. Jake, Toby's partner, sat in the back of the wagon, his hands and feet firmly tied. A second rope tied Jake to one of the side struts of the wagon.

"Hey, Paul," Dan said as his deputy came out of the cabin. "Hear you're having some problems."

"Yep, Toby's dead and there's no sign of Jessie anywhere."

"That's bad. If she's on the run, she'll get a long lead."

Paul nodded. "I figured we'd take Toby's body back to town and let the Doc have a look at it. I can get me some sleep and head back out here in the morning t'start out after our missing gal."

Dan thought for a minute. "Sounds like a plan to me. Make sure you got enough supplies, though; you may be on the trail for quite a spell."

"I hope not," Paul nodded, "but Jessie's been man-hunted before. She probably knows a trick or two."

"I expect that she does, but if any man can track down that stray, you can."

The two men went inside. Dan took a very good look at the blood on the fireplace and the wound on the back of Toby's head. "You're probably right that it was an accident. Right about the rape, too, I think; Toby always was a horny old bird. Trouble is, a man has died and it's murder till a judge and jury says it ain't."

"I know," Paul said. "Jessie probably knows that, too and that's another reason she's _not_ gonna want to be caught."

Davy Ketchum and Monk Dworkin, one of the men who'd come in with the Sheriff, picked up Toby's body and carried it out to the wagon.

"Oh, my Lord," Jake said, when he saw the body. "Th-that's Toby. You wasn't lying; he _is_ dead. That... bitch Jessie, she done killed my partner."

"He deserved it," Laura said, turning around on the wagon seat to glower at him. "Least ways, he did if he tried to do to her what you tried to do to me. Where'd you two get the idea you could just carry us off like sacks of flour?"

Jake looked almost surprised. "Laura, you mean really you don't like us? I-I thought..."

"I think he's beginning to get the idea," Arsenio said.

"Took him long enough," Laura said. "I knew they were a damned pain in the ass, pawing us at the saloon they way they did, but I always thought they were just too plain dumb to get themselves into any real trouble." She looked down at Toby's body and shook her head. "I guess I was wrong."

"You ain't mad at me; are you, Laura?" Jake asked plaintively.

"Jake," Laura spat, "I'm madder than hell at you, at the _both_ of you. I just don't think that Toby should have died for being stupid."

"However he died, the man deserves a little dignity," Marty Hernandez said. He had something -- a canvas, Laura saw -- under his arm. He used it to cover the body, bunching some of it under Toby's head and feet. It would stay in place the whole long ride back to town.

***

Jessie thought she heard the sound of rushing water ahead. She slowed Useless to a walk and kept alert. The full moon was still high enough to see by... some, but this was mountain country. The last thing she wanted was to ride off some damned cliff into a river.

Yes, there was a river and it was close. She found the edge of that cliff and looked down. It would've been a nasty fall, thirty feet or more down to the water. She could see the rapids just a bit upstream from where she was. Downstream, though, the river looked calm for as far as she could see. The question was how to get down to it?

She followed the gorge rim until she found place where a landslide had made a gentler trail, a rocky but scalable grade. She had to take her time; Useless was skittish walking over loose stone, but they finally made it to the river.

She sat still a moment, just looking across the water. It looked to be a few hundred feet wide with no trail she could see on the other side. Rapids meant shallows. She should have no trouble crossing.

"Just as well there's no trail over there, Useless," she whispered. "We can head into the middle and walk us a ways downstream -- make it that much harder for anybody t'track us." She flicked the reins and guided the horse into the river, past his fetlocks though never deeper than its knees.

She was out about fifty yards. Useless hadn't been too happy about going in, but he was more comfortable now. He lowered his head and began to drink. Jessie let him, using the time to take a drink herself from a canteen.

She'd knew that she'd left an almost full bottle of whiskey back at Toby's cabin. 'It would've been nice to have,' she thought, 'but riding cross-country to get away from a posse ain't the time to be getting liquored up.' She _had_ brought along all that money she'd found. 'Once I gets away, they'll be lots of time for old Toby t'buy me a drink.'

After a bit, Useless lifted his head out of the water and started walking towards the far shore. Jessie pulled at the reins. Useless turned away, then turned back. "No, you stupid nag," Jessie said firmly, "I want to stay in the river for now."

She turned the gelding a second time, pulling much harder -- for her -- on the reins. The horse seemed to understand. With a whinny that sounded like the equine equivalent of "Oh, what the hell, _you're_ the rider," Useless began walking slowly downstream.

Jessie rode on in midstream for almost an hour, going slowly, listening for the sounds that would warn of rapids or, worse, a waterfall, ahead. She also kept looking down to see how deep the water was getting. She'd have a harder time controlling Useless in deeper water.

The young woman had just come around a bend in the river when she started to hear a noise ahead. It got louder as she rode towards it, the churning rush of fast water. "Time t'get to shore," Jessie said and turned Useless towards the far riverbank.

As she got close, she saw trouble. The bank was a narrow ledge, only a few feet wide, at the base of a twenty-foot cliff.

"Damn," Jessie spat. She turned Useless upstream to find a place where she could ride out of the river.

She found it a few hundred yards upstream. There was a break in the cliff wall, an easy slope that led up to the top. Easy, except that it was overgrown with low brush. She had Useless move towards it slowly. He stepped on some of the plants and whinnied, shaking his head. "Move it, Useless. I isn't gonna spend the rest of the night looking for something you like better."

The bay took another step. This time, he found gravel. They inched their way forward; she certainly couldn't risk having him fall. The climb took much longer than she wanted and a lot of the brush was broken under Useless' hooves, but they made it to the top.

Jessie looked down at the path they'd taken from the river. It felt good to have done what she'd just done. "I sure ain't as strong as I used t'be, but I can ride as good as ever." She patted the side of her ornery mount. Maybe this would work out even better than she thought.

***

It was almost 5 AM by the time the men got back to Eerie. Most of them headed straight for their homes and beds. Shamus had promised each member of the posse a free drink when they got back, but most of them were too tired to enjoy it very much just then. Besides, the place was usually closed this time of night.

Arsenio pulled the wagon up in front of the Eerie Saloon. He jumped down and ran around to help Laura. "I can manage," she said irritably as she climbed down unaided.

"I know," Arsenio said. "I... I just thought that you might still be a little shaky from what happened to you." He'd had his hands raised to help her, but now he lowered them awkwardly to his sides.

"Yes, I... I guess I am." To his eyes, she seemed a bit flustered. She drew in a breath, as if to clear her head and walked into the Saloon. Arsenio shrugged, accepting that she had a lot of calming down to do. He untied his horse's reins from the wagon and then retied them to a hitching post before following her into the Saloon.

The Sheriff also drew his horse up by the Saloon. He tipped back his hat and said, "Paul, why don't you take Jake over t'the Jail. Put him in a cell, then put yourself to bed. You'll need all the sleep you can get, if you're going to ride back up to Toby's cabin and start off after Jessie today."

"You got it, Boss," Paul said, stifling a yawn. Paul slept at the jail. Amy Talbot, the Sheriff's wife, had rigged up a storeroom there as a spare bedroom for when her husband had to work late. Paul took it for himself when he became Dan's deputy. After the crowded bunkhouse at Slocum's ranch, the room seemed like the lap of luxury.

"Why I don't I go with him?" Blackie Easton asked. I can drive Toby's body over to the Doc's after Jake gets out." The Sheriff nodded. Blackie tied his horse to the wagon before climbing up into the seat. He picked up the reins and started off. Paul, still on his own horse, followed.

***

"Laura, Saints be praised, ye're back!" Molly O'Toole's voice rang through the room. The older woman hurried towards the door. "We were so worried. Are ye and..." She stopped and looked past Laura towards the door. "Where's Jessie then?"

Wilma Hanks had been sweeping by some of the tables. "Yeah," she asked, as she walked over. "Where my sister? She ain't hurt, is she?"

"We don't know if she is," Arsenio said. "We didn't find her."

"Then what the hell are you doing back here, Arsenio?" Wilma said. The shapely brunette waitress put her hands on her hips. "You figure you can just rescue Laura here and come on home without Jessie?"

"Wilma, that's not fair," Bridget Kelly said. The redheaded bar girl had also been sweeping. After the dance, Shamus had set the women to cleaning the Saloon. They preferred to keep busy anyway while they waited for news about Laura and Jessie.

"Maybe not, but I still got a right t'ask. She _is_ my sister."

The Sheriff walked in. "We didn't find her because..." He looked around. "Is the Doc here?"

"Oh, my Lord!" Wilma declared. "She _is_ hurt."

"I'm right here," Doc said from the corner behind Dan. He'd been waiting in case his services were needed. "What's the problem?"

Dan sighed. "Best way to say this is straight out. As far as we can tell, Toby Hess took Jessie to his cabin and tried to... well, he ripped her clothes off. We found them by his body."

"His body?" Molly asked.

"His body." Dan shifted to face the doctor and continued. "Doc, we brought it back. Blackie Easton's taking it over t'your office now. Take a look at it and see if you can tell just how he died. I'll tell Stu Gallagher and he can pick it up when you're done." Gallagher, everyone knew, was the town mortician.

"I'll head over there now, if I'm not needed here," Doc said.

"I sure don't need you," Laura said with an odd tone of defensiveness. Doc nodded, picked up his bag and hurried out.

"Then where's Jessie?" Wilma asked.

"We don't know," Dan replied. "She was gone when Paul and the others got to Toby's place. So was Toby's horse and some supplies."

"Why that shifty little bitch," Wilma said with a grin. "She actually figured a way outta this place."

"That's right," Dan said. "That makes her an escaped prisoner... _maybe_ a murderer. Paul's going out there in the morning to see if he can pick up her trail."

"No, he isn't." said Judge Humphreys, who had been standing by the door listening. His thinning gray hair was uncombed and his nightshirt was sticking out of his pants. "I want the whole posse here for Jake's trial on Monday." He looked at Shamus. "From the size of the crowd I anticipate, we'll need to hold it in here. Is that all right with you, Shamus?"

"Aye," Shamus said. "The wheels of justice are always welcome to be turning in me place."

"As are the drinkers who'll be in the crowd, no doubt. Thank you, Shamus," the Judge said. He turned back to the Sheriff. "Dan, I heard you all ride into town. I've already told some of the men; you can tell the rest."

Dan shook his head. "That trail of Jessie's going to get cold, while Paul sits here in town."

"I'm aware of that, but it can't be helped. Joe Kelton said that Paul was the first to get a good look at Toby's body. He may well be needed as a witness." He paused for a moment and looked directly at Wilma. "Perhaps Jessie's loving sister here can give Paul some advice on where Jessie may have gone."

"Why should I?" Wilma asked with a toss of her head.

"Because," Shamus said firmly, "I'll be asking -- no, let's call a spade a spade -- I'll be _ordering_ ye to help."

"Fine," Dan said. "I'll tell Paul the news -- good and bad -- in the morning and have him come over to talk to Wilma."

"She'll be here," Shamus said. "In the meantime, ye all might as well be getting to bed." He yawned. "There's still a lot of cleaning t'be done, and ye'll all do it better after a night's sleep." He looked at the clock. "Considering the hour, ye can all be sleeping in till... nine."

Bridget and Wilma started for the stairs. Molly went back to the kitchen to tell Maggie, while Shamus went to lock up the storeroom.

"I guess this is really goodnight then," Arsenio said. He looked around. He and Laura were the only ones still in the room.

"Uh... ummm... Goodnight then," Laura said.

Arsenio reached out and took her hand. "Laura..."

"What?" She stiffened visibly.

He held her hand for a moment and just looked at her. "I'm glad you weren't hurt, Laura, but I guess you already know that." Then, looking awkward again, he let go of her fingers and walked away.

Laura stood there and watched him leave. She felt... she didn't know what she _felt_. "Damn, that man!" she declared with a shake of her head and walked slowly up to her room.

***

"Whoa!" Jessie pulled at Useless' reins and the horse slowed to a walk. The sky had been getting light for the last quarter hour and she could see where the sun would be rising soon.

She was tired, too bone tired to go much further. "Damn this weak, woman's_ body," she muttered. "I don't know how Sarah Fuller could put up with it." The woods on the left of the trail looked fairly thick and she rode towards them. At the edge of the woods, she dismounted. She wrapped the reins around her wrist and led Useless into the trees.

Jesse Hanks had been sparking Sarah Fuller, the prettiest girl he'd ever seen and Shamus' potion had turned him into her exact double.

She walked about twenty yards in, circling behind a stand of ponderosa pines to screen her from the trail.

She used a bit of rope to rig a short picket line and fixed Useless' rein to it. There was grass and a bit of brush along the line. He'd have more than enough to eat. Jessie left him saddled... just in case.

She took off her jacket and hung it over the saddle horn. Then she got out the hatchet and used it to clear off all the branches on one side of a tree, from the ground to a height of about four feet. She worked slower than she'd have liked, so as not to work up a sweat.

Some of the branches she laid on the ground beneath where they'd been cut in a sort of crisscross pattern. She twisted others in with the branches that remained on either side of the cut.

Jessie put the jacket back on and wrapped the blanket around herself. It was long enough to cover her head and still reach down to drag on the ground. She sat down on the crisscross of branches. Counting both the blanket and the branches, there were a good six inches between her and the cold earth.

She leaned back against the tree. The makeshift shelter was crude, but she was out of the wind and hidden from the trail. She took the pistol out of the jacket pocket and laid it on her lap, but under the blanket.

She used the other hand to pull the blanket a bit tighter around her. Satisfied, she closed her eyes and was asleep almost at once.

***

Chapter 2 -- "Life on the Run"

The sun was just setting when Jessie woke up that next evening. She yawned, stretched and looked around. Useless was still on the picket line she'd rigged. "Damn well better be," she muttered. "Last thing I need is to be afoot out here with nothing more than this pistol."

She rolled up the blanket and set it back behind the saddle. She cleared a circle of ground a few feet from the tree and gathered the driest sticks she could find for a fire -- a _smokeless_ fire.

Once she got the fire going, she set up the coffeepot on a couple of rocks, one on each side of the fire and added water and ground coffee. While it cooked, she opened a can of tinned meat. She sliced up about half the meat and stuck the pieces on a sharpened stick over the fire to cook. She opened a can of beans, too, but she just set the open can by the fire to heat. Pots and pans were too much time and trouble to clean, so she hadn't brought any.

The coffee boiled about the time the meat was done. She poured in a bit of cool water from the canteen to settle the grounds, counted to sixty seconds, and poured herself a cup. She used a forked stick to get the can of beans away from the fire. They were only slightly burned. The meat was cooked through, the way she liked it.

Jessie sat down on the pile of branches she'd slept on and leaned back against the tree. "Beans and tinned meat." She made a sour face, as she said it. "It'll keep me going, all right, but it sure ain't much of a meal." She took a sip of coffee. It needed sugar, which she'd forgotten to pack.

She slid a piece of meat off the skewer, blowing on it, so it was cool enough to hold. She took a bite, chewing slowly. It was salty from the brine it had been canned in. She ate a forkful or two of beans from the can, now that they'd cooled. She shrugged. For food on the trail, it wasn't too bad. It just wasn't too good either.

"Damn!" she said. "I wonder what Maggie made for supper tonight."

She closed her eyes and thought about Maggie's cooking. She could almost see the dinner table back at the Saloon piled high with food and see everybody gathered around it, eating their fill. She could almost smell the meal. Her mouth began to water as she thought about her own favorite supper, that Mex style spicy meat stew Maggie made.

In her mind's eye, the image of Shamus was sitting at the head of the table, as always. He looked up from his food. "Ye really should be coming back here t'Eerie, Jessie, me girl," he said; it seemed like he was looking right at her. "And _ye_ know that, too, don't ye, Jessie?"

"Wha..."

"Ye should be here with us," Shamus said. "Ye belong..."

"The hell with _that_." Jessie opened her eyes and took a long drink of the coffee. It was strong and still a little _too_ hot, but she needed it like that just now.

"That damned potion! Shamus said that I couldn't leave, so now it's got me thinking about going hom... going back."

"Well, the hell with that... and the hell with you, Shamus O'Toole, if you think that I'll come back and let myself get hung. If I ever do go back, it's gonna be to get me the antidote to that potion of yours." She laughed. "And once I'm myself, my _real_ self, again, I'm gonna put a bullet right between them beady little eyes of yours." She pointed her finger towards the image of Shamus, as if it were the barrel of a pistol. "Pow!" she said with a laugh. "That'd teach you."

She took it as a given that her male self could handle anyone coming after him for the murder of Toby Hess. Her current, female self was a whole different matter, especially with that damned potion making her do whatever Shamus or the sheriff told her to do.

She sighed, sorry it wasn't real and took another bite of meat. She concentrated on the salty taste and tried _very_ hard not to think of Maggie's cooking... or of anything else about Eerie.

Jessie finally finished her meal and packed up her gear. The last of the coffee put out the fire. She tossed away the can from the beans. The tin of meat was resealed as best she could and stuck back in the saddlebag. Now that she'd opened it, the meat had to be finished the next night or it'd go bad on her. She hadn't eaten a couple of the cooked slices. They would do for food when she got hungry during the day.

That was later. Right now, she just wanted to ride. She untied Useless from the line and tucked away the rope. "Let's get moving, horse," she said as she climbed up onto his back. "The more space there is between me and that damned town, the better I'll like it."

***

Jessie looked off to the east. The sky was getting light, especially in the east, where it was a wash of purple and gold. "Sun'll be up soon," she said to herself. "Best to start looking for a place to camp in a little bit." It was her third night on the run and she figured that she'd put a good hundred miles between her and Eerie. "Trouble is, I don't know where I'm running _to_." There were no maps at Toby's house and she'd always let Wilma think about stuff like that.

Now, not having a plan bothered her. "Ride now, think about it while I'm having supper." Happy to have the start of a plan, at least, she rode on.

All at once, the path she was following through the trees opened up into a meadow, a few hundred yards of clearing in just about every direction. She instinctively thought about riding along the edge of the woods. She could duck into the trees in an instant if she had to.

But she wouldn't have to. She hadn't heard or seen any sign of anyone following her. She hadn't heard or seen any sign of _anyone_ doing _anything_for over a day. "What the hell," she said with a shrug of her shoulders and rode out into the open space.

The meadow was full of clumps of tall prairie grass with a scattering of white, blue and yellow flowers. In places, the grass almost came up to her saddle and she could smell the fragrances of the flowers she rode through. There was a sudden movement in the grass ahead and off to her left. Jessie slowed Useless to a walk and pulled the pistol out of her pocket.

She didn't think it was human. She'd seen tracks across the trail a few miles back, big tracks. Bear tracks. The grass wasn't high enough to hide an adult grizzly, but it could hide a cub.

The only thing really dangerous about a bear cub was its cry for help. That cry brought "momma" on the run, madder than hell and ready to use those six-inch claws of hers on whatever scared her baby. "_No_, _thank_ _you_," she whispered with a shudder.

Something ran out from one clump of grass heading towards the trees. Three -- no, make it four somethings. They were little and gray and... _rabbits_! Jessie tracked one for a moment with the gun sight, then fired. The rabbit jerked forwards and fell over dead.

Jessie rode over and quickly dismounted. She grabbed the rabbit and used a cord to tie it by its hind legs to the saddlebag. "Hello, supper," she said happily, as she climbed back onto Useless. "This'll beat the hell out of another night of tinned meat and beans."

***

Jessie took another bite of roast rabbit, washing it down with coffee. She'd found a ponderosa pine that must have been struck by lightening. Its trunk was shattered about four feet from the ground. She'd fixed it up for the night as a lean-to, cutting some branches and weaving them in among the others to make a fairly solid roof. After that, she'd built a fire near the lean-to and found some ripe pinecones. She cut out the piņon nuts, the pinecone's seeds, to flavor the meat.

"Not bad," she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, "not bad at all. I guess I learned me a thing or two helping Maggie, after all." She thought about Eerie again. The voice in her head, the one that that had been urging her to go back, wasn't as strong now. "Haven't had one of them visions in over a day. Guess Shamus' orders is fading."

She suddenly looked down at the half-eaten rabbit in her hands. "That order of Shamus' not to escape didn't stop me from getting away... and... and I shot me something today. Shot it and killed it _dead_. My hand didn't shake. I could squeeze the trigger sweet as you please. I... Ye-ah-hooo!" She stood up quickly and danced a jig around the small cooking fire.

"I can shoot. I can shoot. I can shoot... _rabbits_." She stopped her dance and sat back down, staring into the fire. "A rabbit ain't no people. I still don't know if I can kill me one of _them_, can shoot me a man." She sat back down and took another bite of meat.

She took another bite of rabbit. "I know I can hold a pistol." She stood again and drew the pistol, spun it around her finger and set back in her pocket in a single, smooth motion. "Suh-weeet!" The deadly skill was still there. "I can probably point it at a man, too. Hellfire, Wilma and Bridget done that back in Eerie, but... but can I squeeze the trigger 'n shoot a man -- maybe kill him?"

She sighed remembering what had happened to her sister and Bridget when they'd tried to escape the Saloon, threatening R.J. in the process. "Or do I wind up on the ground like they done, shaking so hard I can't even hold on t'the damned thing and not being able t'walk? That's something that I _gotta_ know and I gotta find it out on _my_ terms."

She took another, longer drink of coffee. "Well, I'll just have to go someplace and find that out."

Jessie spent the best part of an hour planning. From what she remembered hearing around the Saloon, there were towns to the west of where she probably was right now, a number of them along the road -- a _real_ road that ran between Prescott, the territorial capital and Phoenix. There was a stage line that used that road, too, used it for regular runs between the two towns and then on south and east to Tucson.

"I'll find me that road tomorrow night and see what sort of 'mischief' I can get myself into; see if I can shoot a man, too. _Then_ I'll hold up someplace for a day or two and make some _real_ plans."

She ate some more rabbit, washing it down with coffee until she was full. There was still enough of both left for breakfast. She put them back by the fire and watched, while the fire burnt itself down to coals inside the ring of stones she'd used to mark the fire pit.

Jessie lay down on the mattress of pine branches she'd rigged for herself under the fallen tree -- "mountain feathers", the old-timers called them -- and pulled the blanket over herself. She was still thinking about that "mischief" until she finally dozed off.

***

The Prescott to Phoenix road ran between low hills for most of the way along its route. It was really just an old Indian trail, widened by use to accommodate the occasional wagon. In some places, mud from the heavy, late summer rains had dried into ruts so deep that a driver could just lean back and let them steer the vehicle.

Jessie looked down at the road from near the top of a rise that stretched for a mile or so alongside it. She was well hidden behind an improvised "blind" of brush woven between two small trees. She'd spent almost two hours building it during the night and, as far as she could tell -- and she had checked after sun-up -- there was no way anyone could see her from the road. Not even if they knew where to look.

Useless was on a picket line in some trees just over the crest. If need be, she could get to him and be on her way in less time than it would take a man to climb from the road to where she was now.

She took a drink of water and wished, not for the first time, that it was the whiskey she'd left at Toby's cabin. "This is a damned waste of time," she said softly. "There ain't that many people on this road and the ones that do come by look like they ain't got anything worth taking."

She was looking to the north -- to the right from her point of view -- watching the first person to come by in almost an hour. A heavyset man with a scraggly beard, a prospector or a mountain man, maybe, was leading a gray mule past her. The pick and shovel tied to the side of the pack that the mule was carrying told her it was a prospector. She could see the man's jaw moving; he must have been talking to the mule they walked. 'Too long out in the wild,' she thought.

And not worth her time. "I found close to fifty dollars at Toby's. Most likely, I got more money on me than he has." She thought about just drawing her pistol and putting a bullet in his head. "It'd be as good a test as any, but..." She shook her head. "Naw, it... it just wouldn't be... sporting." She leaned back against the hill behind her to wait for something better.

Jessie's chance came a few hours later.

She was beginning to nod off from boredom and the afternoon heat, when she heard a noise, a rumbling far off in the distance. She leaned forward and squinted. "Wish t'hell, Toby'd had him a spyglass or something back at his place."

Then she saw it clearly, coming out of a cloud of its own dust as the road turned about a half-mile away, a stagecoach. She jumped up and began scrambling down the hill, crouching low to keep hidden. All the time she was studying the coach as it came closer.

There was a rider and a guard up front. The guard wasn't holding his rifle. It was probably under the seat, she guessed. Sloppy. There was almost no luggage on top, just a few boxes. When the road turned again, she could see that there wasn't any sort of a bulge in the rear boot either, where luggage and mail might be stored at the back of the coach. Her best guess was that the two men were alone on the coach. There was _something_ on it, though, and she was going to find out just what that something was. If it was valuable, she was going to keep it.

By the time she got to the side of the road, the coach was almost a hundred yards off. She stepped out onto the road and began waving her arms. "Stop the coach," she yelled, lowering her voice to a more masculine range. Her hat was pushed down over her head, partly covering her face.

The driver pulled at the reins. The horses slowed, stopping a few feet from Jessie, kicking up a cloud of dust around her.

"What you want, boy?" the driver called down from his seat. He was an older man, brown from years in the sun and wearing what looked like an old cavalry jacket. The guard, a chunky-looking man in a brown work shirt and a gray, fringed vest, just sat there, his arms crossed in amusement.

"Whatever you got up there that's valuable," Jessie said. She pulled the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at the pair. They didn't move.

The guard began to chuckle. "You think you gonna scare is with that there popgun, sonny?"

Jessie tried to fire. That bastard wouldn't be laughing at her after she put a slug into him. Instead, her arm shifted as she fired, so that she shot into the air. "Now!" she shouted, recovering quickly.

But the damage was done. The sudden movement and the recoil of the pistol had made her head jerk. Her hat had come loose as she ran down the hill. Now, it flew off and her hair tumbled down about her shoulders.

"A girl!" The guard sat up. "Well, I sure as hell ain't gonna give up no mail sack to no pretty little gal like you. I'd be a laughingstock, probably cost me m'job, too." He reached forward, under the seat. Jessie had guessed right. That was where he'd put his rifle.

Desperate, Jessie aimed for his chest and fired again. And again her hand shifted of its own will. The bullet hit the seat just inches from his hand. He pulled it back quickly. The driver raised his hands into the arm. The guard scowled and did the same.

'Shit,' Jessie thought. 'That's probably as good as I can do.' She cursed Shamus silently. Aloud she said, "Next time I won't aim for nuthin' you weren't born with. Now, _real_ slow, you take out that rifle you was going for and hold it up so I can see it." Her knees felt weak, but she was still standing

The guard muttered something under his breath. Very carefully, he reached down and lifted the rifle, a Winchester, out from under the seat. It was a beauty, but it took a different caliber shell than what Jessie was carrying.

"Toss it..." She pointed with her pistol towards the other side of the road. "...over there." The guard muttered again and threw the rifle to the ground.

Jessie pointed her pistol back at the driver. "He got anything else on him?"

"Don't say a word," the guard growled.

Jessie fired into the air, deliberately this time. "Tell me."

"He-he's got a derringer in a vest pocket -- please don't shoot me -- and... and a b-bowie knife in his right boot."

"Take 'em, mister, out and toss 'em by the rifle," Jessie told the guard. She pointed the pistol right at his head. The guard glared at her, but he did as she said.

'Thank the Lord,' Jessie thought. 'If that bastard decided to call my bluff, I'd have really been stuck. That damned spell of Shamus' would've laid me out on the ground the minute I tried t'do anything to him.'

She turned her attention to the other man. "Now you, driver, what're you carrying?"

The driver stood up slowly, his hands raised. "Just this, ma'am." He was wearing a gun belt. He reached down with his left arm and loosened it. Then he grabbed one end and tossed it in the same direction as the guard's weapons.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Now if you'd be so kind to show me that mail sack you mentioned. You... driver, you do it. I wouldn't want to be responsible for making your friend here lose his job for giving up a mail sack to 'no pretty little gal' like me." She was definitely enjoying this. "Not a big, brave man like him."

The driver reached back on the roof of the stage. He fiddled with something Jessie couldn't see. When he turned back, he was holding a pale gray bag about the size of a sack of flour. The words "U.S. Mail" were printed on it in big black letters. It looked full and he needed both hands to hold the thing.

"Fine," Jessie said. "You just toss that thing over here by me." She pointed to the ground in front of her with the pistol.

The man twisted his body and, with a loud grunt, tossed the sack into the air. It landed with a sizeable thud in the grass at the edge of the road about five feet from where Jessie was standing.

"All right," Jessie said firmly. "Now get outta here."

"Y-yes, ma'am," the driver said. He jerked at the reins and the team started off at nearly a full gallop. Jessie stood for a moment, laughing at the fright she'd put into the two men.

She picked up her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. Then she hurried over to examine her prize. The sack was heavy burlap interwoven with some sort of a metal mesh. She didn't think she'd be able to cut it. There was a lock sewn into the top, as well.

She didn't try to lift the thing after she'd seen the way the driver had struggled with it. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew how much weaker her woman's body was.

"The hell with it!" She held her pistol next to the lock and fired. The bullet tore through the mechanism and the sack popped open. She lifted it as best she could and dumped the contents on the ground just off the road.

"Letters!" She cursed thoroughly, even used a few Spanish words that she'd learned from Maggie. "What the hell am I supposed to do with letters? I'm too damned weak to carry 'em all away in the sack and I sure as hell can't sit _here_ going through 'em one at a time looking for cash."

And there had been nothing in the sack but letters. No, that wasn't quite true. She recognized a few things as legal documents, a will and a couple deeds that fell out of some envelop full of papers with the name of a lawyer printed on the side. There were a few newspapers and some broadsides, advertisements, promoting a new settlement up in the Oregon Territory, all of it just worthless so far as she was concerned.

Finally, down near the bottom of the pile, she found a small package all tied up with string. It was only about the size of a man's fist, but it was something that, at least, looked like it might be valuable.

"Well, that was pretty much of a waste," she said in disgust, holding up the package. "First, I can't shoot straight, then, all I get for my trouble is this, whatever the hell it is." She thought about just leaving it there, but there was a principle involved. When you robbed somebody, you took some of their stuff with you. She shoved the box down into the empty left pocket of her jacket. The pistol was in the right pocket.

There was a noise, way, way off in the distance. Jessie turned and looked down the road in that direction.

"Riders," she spat. Had the men on the stage sent them? No, they were coming from the north. The stage had been heading south. Still, she didn't need to be seen. There might be questions, questions that she'd just as soon not have to answer.

Jessie tossed the sack on top of the pile of letters. It would hold them down against the wind and dirt that the riders stirred up as they rode by, and its color would blend with the dirt of the road. They weren't very likely to see it as they passed.

"And they ain't gonna see me either." She turned and started back up the hill, crouching as before to hide herself in the brush as she climbed. When the riders -- it was three men -- when they came by, she froze in place, bent over to where she was almost flat on the ground. She was too high up, and they rode by as if they had never noticed her.

She watched them ride past, then waited until they reached a spot about a quarter mile further on where the road dipped. Once they were out of sight, she stood up and ran for the top of the hill. She reached it and disappeared into the trees on the other side.

Useless was waiting. He looked up from the grass he was eating as she quickly untied his rein from the picket line. She'd left him saddled, so she could quickly climb into him.

Jessie rode south along the far side of the hill from the road for about a mile. She rode up to the top of the hill and looked down the road in both directions. There was nobody in sight either way. She eased Useless down the hill and crossed the road.

She rode north on the hills on the other side for about two miles, then crossed back. She rode another two miles or so north, this time on the road, listening for other riders. There were none.

The sun was hanging low by now. She left the trail heading west. She was going to find a place to camp for the night, then, maybe, head south. She was getting tired. Her new body wasn't cut out for long runs on horseback or living off the land. If she were lucky, she'd find someplace she could hole up for a day or two to rest from the trail and try and think.

***

After Jessie had set up her camp and eaten the last of the roast rabbit from the night before, she unwrapped the package. The paper and string went straight into the fire.

"A damned necklace," she spat when she opened the box. It was pretty enough, a small cameo, blue with the silhouette in ivory or mother of pearl, on a silver chain. "Might be worth a few bucks, but I'd have a helluva time explaining how I got ahold of it." Just the same, she put it, box and all, back in her pocket.

There'd been a note inside the box. On a whim, she read it instead of just tossing it into the fire.

September 6, 1872

Dearest, Sweet Martha,

I hoped that this reached you in time for your birthday. I only wish that I could be there to give it to you myself.

Words can't express how much I miss you, my beloved wife and you are Always in my thoughts. The moment my work out here for Mr. Hall is done, I will be on the first stagecoach back to you.

Until then, know that I will always be

Your Loving Husband, Eugene

"Now ain't that sweet," Jessie said. "It's almost a shame that she ain't never gonna get that necklace... or the letter." She crumbled up the paper and tossed it into the fire. "Some men are just downright fools about their wives. Like Ole Shamus. He don't show it very much, but I'll bet that he'd do just about anything for..."

Jessie stopped as a nasty smile began to curl her pretty lips. She knew that she couldn't shoot anyone. "Close but no cigar," was how she thought of it, even if "close" meant "close enough to bluff somebody." She was beginning to get an idea, though, about how she could force that Irish bastard to _give_ her the antidote. She wanted some time to just sit and work it out so that Shamus couldn't use whatever control he might still have over her to stop her. She had a couple ideas about _that_ as well. Nasty ideas, the best kind.

***

Chapter 3 -- "Stuck In Eerie"

On Sundays, the schoolhouse in Eerie doubled as the town church. There was talk, now and then, of building a "real" church, but nothing much ever seemed to come of it. Both the members of the congregation and the parents knew that they shared a much nicer building than either group could afford on its own.

Judge Humphreys was a church elder. That guaranteed him a seat in the front during the service, so he could see -- and be seen -- by just about everyone. They were about halfway through that Sunday's service, when the Judge saw Paul Grant slip in.

Paul glared at the Judge. "You... me... talk." He gestured silently. "Now!"

"Later," the Judge answered, pointing to his watch.

Paul didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do without disrupting the service. He bared his teeth at the Judge and sat down. Someone handed him an opened hymnal and he began singing along with the others.

***

Being in the back of the room, Paul was able to get out of the building as soon as the services were over. He stood off to the side of the line as people left, watching for the Judge to come out.

The Judge was in the front. And he was an elder. Paul wasn't the only one who wanted to talk to him.

Yes, he would be at the monthly board meeting.

No, he didn't think the sermon had been too long.

Or too short.

Of course, he'd be glad to have dinner with Mr. Gilmore to talk about a donation; Thursday would be fine.

'Well,' the Judge thought to himself. 'That's what a politician does. His time and interest are his basic commodities.' He finally got out the door. It was a beautiful late summer morning. He took a deep breath of air to brace himself and walked over to where he saw Paul waiting.

Paul saw him coming and pushed himself away from the tree he'd been leaning against. "I want to talk to you, Judge."

There were still people milling around the schoolyard, including Rev. Yingling. "Shall we go around the side of the building, Paul?" The Judge gestured with his arm. "We're less likely to disturb anyone or to be disturbed ourselves."

"I don't care where we talk; just so we do." Paul walked quickly around the building, leaving the Judge to hurry after him.

"I expect that you want to know why I wouldn't allow you to go back out after Jessie." The Judge said before Paul could speak.

"Yeah, I --"

"Don't interrupt. First of all, it's standard procedure to keep the entire posse around for the trial when they bring a man in."

"But I wasn't --"

"I said, 'don't interrupt', Paul and _please_ let me continue. Secondly, you may not have been there when they caught Jake, but you _were_ at Toby's cabin. In fact, you were the one who first... examined his body."

"Joe saw him first. It was him that lifted up the blanket off Toby's body,"

"Yes, but you were the one who looked closely at the body. Joe just put the blanket back over him afterwards." He paused a beat. "Doc Upshaw's got the body now for an autopsy, that's the term for a medical examination to see how someone died. I'm convening an inquest tomorrow, right after Jake's trial, if I can -- Tuesday at the latest.

"Is it a kind of trial, too?" Paul's anger was mixed with curiosity now.

"No, we can't have a trial without Jessie, but I can listen to evidence. I can issue warrants, too, on probable cause. You can use one to get help, especially from the Army. And you can use it to claim Jessie if she's gotten herself arrested by somebody for something else. Unless she's in jail for something _really_ serious, a murder warrant would establish a prior claim."

"You know, Dan looked at Toby's body, too. Couldn't he --"

"You might as well stop arguing, Paul. I'm as muley-headed stubborn as you are and _I_ can back it up. Consider yourself _ordered_ to appear."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that if you aren't there for the inquest, you're in contempt of court and I can throw your sorry ass in jail. The Sheriff's, too, if he lets you go." The Judge put his hand on Paul's shoulder. "You're a good man, Paul. Please don't make me do that."

***

"Hi, R.J."

The barman looked up from the glass he was wiping. "Hey, Paul. You here on official business or can I get you something to drink?"

"A little of both," Paul said. "First off, give me a beer." He tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. R.J. nodded and filled the glass, handing it -- and the change -- to Paul. The deputy took a long drink and sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Damn, I needed that."

"What's the matter?" R.J. asked.

"The Judge says I can't go out after Jessie till tomorrow, at least. I found her trail -- I think -- when we were all at Toby's place last night. I just couldn't be sure in the dark. It'll be colder 'n ice by the time I can get back up there."

"Why won't he let you go out today?"

"He wants to hold some kind of a trial... an inquest and issue a warrant. It seems like so much --" He slammed a fist on the bar. "Dammit! I should've stayed at the cabin and started out from there in the morning, instead of coming back to town like I did."

"Wait a minute. Aren't you the guy who said he could track anything. You've been bending my ear with stories like that the whole time I've known you."

"Well now, I rode line for Mr. Charles Goodnight for almost three years, winter and summer up, in Colorado, doing nothing but tracking down strays from his herds. Jessie may be smarter than a lost steer, but the principles of following tracks are the same for the both of them."

"There's the overconfident man that I know." R.J. laughed. "Now you said you were here on business, too. What else can I do for you?"

"You can tell me where Wilma is. I want to talk to her about where Jessie might have gone."

"Sounds good to me. She's in the kitchen helping Maggie with lunch. Good luck, I don't think she'll be much help."

"Probably not, but it's worth a try." He finished his beer and headed back to the kitchen.

***

Maggie was chopping vegetables when Paul walked in. "Deputy, what brings you to my kitchen?"

"I came to talk to Wilma for a bit if you don't mind."

Maggie nodded and tilted her head as if pointing. "She is over there."

Paul looked in that direction. Wilma was at the sink watching dishes, her back to him. "Hello, Wilma," he said, walking towards her, "I come to have a little talk with you."

She turned now at the sound of her name. "Talk to me? What about?"

"Your sister," Paul said, bracing for trouble. "And where she might be heading right now."

"I'm busy. Come back later." She turned back to the sink and picked a dish out of the soapy water.

Paul walked over and stood beside her. "It's just a few easy questions. I'll even help you while we talk." He pulled a second dish out of the water.

"I can do it _myself_." Wilma grabbed for Paul's dish. "Gimme that."

Paul jerked it away from her. "Oh, c'mon, Wilma. Just a few questions. I'll help you and you'll help me."

"You think I'm gonna help you catch my sister, you're even dumber than I --"

"Oh, ye'll be helping, Wilma, lass. I'll be making sure of that." Paul and Wilma both turned. Shamus was standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and a serious look on his face.

"R.J. told me ye was in here, Paul," Shamus said walking over to the pair, "and I figured ye'd be needing a bit of me help."

Paul grinned and put the dish back into the water. "I think you just may be right, Shamus. Okay, give it a go." He grinned and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

"Damn both your souls to hell," Wilma said, glaring at them.

"We can be discussing the condition of our immortal souls later," Shamus said. "Right now, we got other matters of concern." He took Wilma's chin in his hand and turned her head, so she was looking directly at him. "Wilma," he said very firmly, "Paul's going to be asking ye some questions. I order that ye answer them truthfully and completely. Do ye understand?"

Wilma's eyes narrowed in anger. "Yes, I... I underst-stand."

"Your turn, Paul." Shamus said.

"Okay, Wilma, do you know where Jessie is headed?"

"No," Wilma said hesitantly, not wanting to answer. "N-Not for certain."

"Why not?"

"There's a lot of places she... could be going?"

"Try asking where she _thinks_ Jessie might be going?" Shamus suggested.

"Good idea, Wilma, where in Arizona do you think Jessie is headed?"

"I... I don't know." She was trying to fight Shamus' order. "We... she don't know Arizona too... good."

"You don't? What do you mean?"

"The first time we was ever in... this here territory was when we r-rode in to Eerie from New Mexico to g-get the Sheriff."

Paul jumped on what sounded like a solid hint. "So then you think she's heading back to New Mexico?"

"No... no, I don't."

"Why not? Why wouldn't she ride back to a place that she knows?"

"'Cause she ain't gonna want to admit what... happened to her. There's fellas in Santa Fe'd laugh their fool heads off to hear that Jesse Hanks got changed into a little bit of a gal. And there's a whole 'nuther bunch'd be looking to settle some old scores." She shivered at the last, just for a moment.

Paul nodded grimly. He could imagine the sort of scores... and how the men involved would want to settle things. "Then where do you think she would go?"

"M-Mexico, maybe... or California. Some place with a lot a people where she'd be harder to find."

"Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

Wilma's mouth curled into a wicked grin. "Oh, I got a _lotta_ things I'd _like_ to tell you, you son of a --"

"That'll be enough," Shamus said quickly. "Wilma, ye can be going back to the dishes now and I don't want ye to be saying another word till ye're done."

Wilma tried to answer, but couldn't. She nodded and did as she was told.

"Not too much more to go on," Paul said glumly. "I sure hope that _was_ her trail I found up at Toby's place."

"I'm sure ye'll be finding the trail," Shamus said, "and Jessie -- eventually. I just wonder about one thing, though."

"What's that, Shamus?"

"Me potion should still be working, still making her follow my orders. Only I told her she couldn't escape -- and she did, somehow. I'm wondering about me order not to be hurting people and if she's done figured out some way around that one, as well?"

"You think she has?"

"No, Jessie's a smart lass, sneaky, too. I don't think she can beat it -- not completely -- but she's like to be trying _something_, I've no doubt o' that."

"Probably," Paul said. "I just hope she doesn't hurt herself... or anyone else, of course."

Shamus' eyebrow went up. "Now just why would it be bothering ye so much if that pretty little lass went and got hurt?"

Paul saw the barman's face widen into a teasing grin. "Go to hell, you damned, crazy Irishman!"

***

"Judge," Milo Nash said, "we find Jake Steinmetz guilty of kidnapping and, umm, ah, of attempted... rape." He sat down quickly.

A few people cheered. "Buy that man a drink," somebody yelled.

"Buy them _all_ a drink," someone else yelled.

"Qui -- oh, the hell with it -- Shut up!" the Judge shouted over the crowd and pounding his gavel twice. "Jake, you've just been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Normally, your sentence would be ten years at the Territorial prison up in Prescott, but I'm going to give you a choice on whether or not you serve that time."

Jake smiled and pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Why, thanks, Judge. If it's all the same to you and these other folks, I'd just as soon not be in jail." He sighed in relief. "Can I go now?"

The Judge shook his head. "No, Jake, you can't 'go now.' Your other choice is to drink Shamus' potion and serve two months as a woman here at the Eerie Saloon. I'll give you till noon tomorrow to decide."

"I thought there weren't no more potion," Jake said, not liking either choice. "I heard it all got used up on the Hanks gang."

Shamus took a small bottle out of his shirt pocket. "It was, but I made up some more for ye, Jake." He put it on the table in front of the man.

Jake looked at the bottle. "You mean that there is the stuff that'll turn me into a girl if I drink it? It just don't seem possible."

"It is, me lad," Shamus said. "Wilma, Laura and the others is proof of that."

Wilma had been standing a few feet away from Shamus. Suddenly, she reached out and grabbed the bottle from the table.

"Wilma!" Shamus yelled. "No, ye don't want to be drinking that. A second dose of it will --"

"Damned right, I do." Wilma said. Before anyone could stop her, she opened the bottle and quickly drank the contents. "Now who gets the last laugh? In few minutes, I'll be Will Hanks again and not this damned saloon girl you turned me into. I..." She moaned softly and sank down into a chair, her eyes half closed. As the crowd closed in around her, the dazed expression on her face changed to an odd smile. Her face grew flushed and her breathing quickened.

After a few minutes, Wilma's eyes began to flutter and she seemed to be trying to stand. Dan grabbed for her as she tottered and began to fall back into the chair. He was still holding onto her a moment later, when she opened her eyes. "Are you all right, Wilma?"

"I-I am now," she said, her eyes narrowing. She grabbed him around the shoulders and kissed him _hard_ on the mouth. Dan jerked back, but Wilma held on and let him pull her to her feet. She continued kissing him. Her hand touched his groin and Dan pushed her away in embarrassed surprise.

She recognized him, now. "Hmmm, Sheriff," she purred. "You're a good kisser. Can we do it again?" She ignored the crowd around her and caressed herself, her hands lingering on her breasts and her thighs. Her eyes were half closed and she moaned softly as she swayed back and forth sensually.

It was quite a show. Paul felt his manhood stiffen and he suspected that he wasn't the only one affected. Yes, he could see a few of the other men in the crowd carefully trying to adjust their trousers.

"Well," he heard Shamus say, "now ye all know what taking the second dose of me potion does to a person."

"Court adjourned," the Judge yelled. "Sheriff, take Jake somewhere, so he can think about what he wants to do."

Dan nodded, glad to get away. "C'mon, Paul, duty calls." Jake was still standing next to Milt. Dan took him by the arm, saying, "Show's over, Jake." Jake wanted to stay and watch Wilma, but Dan and Paul led him back to his cell in the town jail.

Dan had no desire to go back to the Saloon. "Wilma's gone crazy and the last thing I need is for Amy to find out she kissed me."

"You don't mind if I go back over there, do you?" Paul asked. "I want to find out when the Judge is going to hold that inquest of his. He never did say."

"When you find out," Dan said, "let me know. I think he wants the both of us there. I just hope he doesn't hold it anywhere Wilma can find out."

"Good thing he doesn't want _her_ to be there."

"You got that right."

***

The Judge was still sitting at the table he'd used during the trial. Only now, he was having a shot of whiskey. "Hello, Paul," he said when he saw the man. "Come join me here."

Paul pulled out a chair and sat down. "Thanks, Judge. I wanted to --"

"That was the damnedest thing I ever saw," the Judge said. "I think it was even stranger than when Wilma and the others _became_ women."

"What do you mean?" Paul asked. "I know she was acting strange there, but that don't mean too much, does it?"

The Judge shook his head. "Paul, it was hard to accept what Shamus' potion does to a man, but -- well, we all grow up hearing fairy stories about magic potions and the like. I could understand that... sort of. But this second dose didn't change her body; it changed her mind into another person. If you can call the way she was acting human. She was more like... like an animal at rut, just begging to be mounted." He finished his whiskey and poured another.

Paul wasn't sure where the Judge was going with this. "So?"

"As a lawyer, I believe in the power of human reason. Man uses his intellect to create a system of laws to control our lesser instincts. After that second dose, Wilma didn't seem to have anything left _but_ lesser instincts. If Hiram Upshaw and some of the women hadn't taken her upstairs, I'm quite convinced that she'd have stripped naked and begged to be taken right here on the floor by every man in the place. The fact that it flew in the face of the law, let alone common decency, wouldn't have mattered one bit to her."

"So that's where she is." Paul looked towards the stairs. "You think Doc can handle her... I mean, keep her under... aw hell, you know what I mean."

The Judge smiled and poured Paul a drink. "Yes... to both questions. I know what you mean and I think that he can do it. He's quite the resourceful man -- and the moral one -- our Doctor Upshaw."

As if on cue, the Doc came down the stairs. His hair was mussed and his shirt half unbuttoned. He hurried over to the table where the Judge and Paul were sitting. "Excuse me, whoever this belongs to, but I think I need it more." He grabbed the drink the Judge had just poured and downed it in one gulp.

"Patient giving you trouble, Hiram?" the Judge asked.

The Doc smiled, his nerves calmed by the warm feeling of good whiskey in his belly. "Actually, I've never had a more cooperative patient. She not only undressed willingly, she started to undress me as well." He still had his bag in his hand. He put it on the table and patted it. "Fortunately, I had a little something to detour her with. One drink and she'll be sleeping for several hours."

"Then what?" Paul asked.

"Frankly," the Doc said, "I don't know. Heaven help us if she's going to be like that forever. We'll have to lock her away someplace just to protect her from herself."

The Judge frowned. "I don't like that. The idea was to give Wilma and the others a chance to reform, not to make them into... into whatever she's become."

Before anyone could say anything more, Molly hurried over and put a beer in front of the Doc. "Is she all right?" Molly asked him. "I mean, is she... healthy?"

"Too damned healthy," the Doc said taking a long drink of the beer. "I don't know what's to become of her in her current... condition."

Shamus joined them, standing next to Molly. "Ye don't need to be worrying about that, Doc. It's like a fever, it is. She'll be that way for a few days only."

"And then she'll go back to her old self?" the Doc asked. "Are you certain of that?"

"Aye, I told ye about Rita One Pony, the other person what took two doses of me potion. She stopped acting wild like that after three or four days, but she never went back to the way she was before."

"What do you mean, Shamus?" Now Paul was curious.

"She won't be acting so crazy," Shamus said, "but from now on, she'll be having a very strong... interest, ye might say, in men."

"That should be worth seeing," the Doc said. "I think I'll stay around for a while, if you don't mind. I'd like to be here when she wakes up from that 'Mickey Finn' I gave her."

"But what about the inquest?" Paul said. "We... we can't put it off. I've got to be getting back on the trail after Jessie."

The Judge took out his gold pocket watch. "So you do, Paul. Doctor, how long do you expect Miss Hanks to be asleep?"

The Doc shrugged. "I would think at least three hours." He looked at Shamus. "Unless something in that potion interferes one way or the other."

"I don't think it should," Shamus said. "I know that potion and I've had more than a slight acquaintance with 'Michael Finn' and his friends in me time tending bar."

"Fine," the Judge said. "Paul, go get the Sheriff. I'll hold the inquest here. I just need the pair of you and the Doc."

"There's not much privacy here," Molly said.

"Aye, Molly, me love," Shamus said. "A saloon ain't the best sort of place to hold something as private as an inquest, but I'm thinking that the Judge and Doc will both want to be here in case I'm wrong about the potion and Wilma wakes up early."

"Exactly," the Judge said. "Now, Shamus, would you or Molly please go and get a Bible? They'll need to be sworn in to testify." He thought a moment. "In fact, you'll have to be there as well, come to think of it. I may need to ask some questions about that potion of yours."

"Me potion, Judge? How d'you mean?"

"Don't worry, Shamus. I'll explain at the inquest."

***

Molly came down from her rooms a few minutes later with her Bible. The Judge took it and looked around. The Saloon was still full of people, talking about the trial and what had happened to Wilma. The men were particularly talking about how she'd acted and wondering if she would be like that from now on.

"Shamus," the Judge said, "is there someplace private around here we could borrow? I think it's far too busy out here to conduct the inquest."

"Me office is in the store room, Judge. It'll hold five, maybe six people. Would that be big enough for ye?"

"That'll be fine. Please lead the way."

Shamus headed for the storeroom. The Judge was immediately behind him, followed by Paul and Dan. Molly stood watching them for a moment, her hand pursing her chin. Her eyes narrowed and she started walking hurriedly after them.

She slid through the door, just as Dan was closing it behind him.

Shamus was at his desk, two boards placed atop two stacks of empty liquor boxes. "Just sit down on them boxes," Shamus said, pointing to more liquor boxes stacked low against the walls. "I'll be ready here in a minute." There were several open books on the desk. Shamus closed the books and stuffed them into the open drawer of a file cabinet near the desk.

"What's the matter, Shamus," Doc Upshaw said. "You afraid we'll see just how little you pay for that rotgut you sell us?"

Shamus smiled at him and closed the drawer. The men all heard the lock catch as it closed. "No, Doc, I didn't think ye wanted any of these others to be seeing how big the tab ye owed me was."

"Touché," the Doc said. He tapped his forehead as if saluting and sat down.

The Judge came over and sat behind the desk. As he did, Shamus pulled an old wooden chair out from a corner, dusted off its seat and put it next to the desk. Then he, too, found a seat on one of the boxes.

"I hereby declare this inquest into the death of Toby Hess to be in session," the Judge said. "You can all... well, you already are, seated." Then he saw Molly standing in the doorway. "Molly, you don't need to be here. This room is fairly small and we don't really need an audience. That was why I --"

"An _audience_," Molly said angrily, her hands at her hips. "An audience, is it?" This here's a trial -- or the next thing to it -- and somebody's got t'be here to speak Jessie's side of what happened... Seeing as she ain't here t'speak for herself."

The Judge scratched his head. "Point taken, Molly. In fact, now that I think of it, I may have a question or two for you, seeing as you were in charge of Jessie... and the others, of course. Thank you for volunteering to testify."

She hadn't expected to win so easily. "I didn't... did I? Volunteer, I mean. It's just that... well, someone needed to be here for Jessie. Wilma --"

"No!" Dan and Doc both said at once.

Molly laughed at the men's reaction. "I was going to say that, seeing as Wilma ain't quite... herself right now, I thought it was me duty to. After all, this here's America, ain't it. Everybody's got the right t'be heard."

"They do, Molly, they do, indeed and I bow to your eloquence on the matter." The Judge stood for a moment and half-bowed in her direction before sitting down. Molly giggled nervously and sat down next to Shamus.

"Very good, love," Shamus said, taking her hand in his. "I'm proud of ye."

"Let's get started," the Judge said. "Dan, would you do the honors as bailiff and swear in Paul." Both men rose and did as the Judge asked. "Sit here, Paul," the Judge gestured to the chair, "and tell me what happened when you and the others got to Toby's cabin."

"Joe kicked in the door -- he said Toby was too stupid to try anything. He was the first one in. He saw the tarp and lifted it up. He almost dropped it when he saw Toby's body and the blood."

"Blood?" the Judge asked.

"Yeah, Toby's face was white. It looked kinda waxy. There was blood in the floor under his head."

"What did you and Joe do then?"

"Joe, he didn't want anything to do with Toby. I knelt down and took Toby's wrist, tried to find a pulse. There wasn't one. I lifted his head, gentle as I could and felt for the wound. There was a soft spot where the blood was dripping out. I figured he was dead and set his head back down. As I was starting to get up, I seen the blood on the fireplace."

"Can you describe that?"

"Yes sir, Judge. The fireplace was made of piled up stone. There was one piece, not too high that stuck up -- or a point on it did. That point was three... four inches long easy and there was blood on it. There was a thin trail of blood, too. It started from that stone point, ran down the fireplace to the floor, then on along the floor to the pool that was under Toby's head."

"What did you do then?"

"I had Joe put that tarp back down over Toby -- respect for the dead, you know. I sent Davy Kitchner over to Jake's cabin to tell the Sheriff. The rest of us looked around outside for Jessie."

"And did you find her?"

"Nope. Some of her clothes were on the floor, ripped to shreds, but there was no sign of her anyplace."

"And that's all you found?"

"Well... I thought I found her trail. I'd have been out there now, looking --"

The Judge frowned. "I know very well why you're not out looking for her, Paul. You'll get an even later start if I have to jail you for contempt. Now, was there anything else?"

Paul sighed. "A horse was missing and so was some gear and supplies from the look of it. I don't know what all she took, except that she got Toby's rifle, maybe a pistol, too."

"You mentioned some clothes before. Could you tell what they were?"

"They... uhh, they were a woman's blouse and one of those... one of those things women... umm... women wear underneath..."

"A camisole is the word ye're looking for, Paul," Molly said. "It's like a shirt, Judge, one that we women wear under our blouses."

"Thank you, Molly," the Judge said, "but Paul is the only one who's supposed to be talking now."

Molly nodded and put her index finger to her lips.

"I think that's all for now, Paul," the Judge said. "Doc, you're next. Swear him in, Dan." Paul stood and walked back to the boxes, as the Doc stepped forward.

Dan swore the Doc in. "Hiram... excuse me, Doctor Upshaw, you did an examination of the victim's body. Would you please tell us what you did in that examination and what you found out?"

"Very well. I undressed the victim and did a quick physical exam in case there were any other injuries. At that point, I would estimate that he'd been dead about five hours, based on his condition. When Paul and the others found him, he was, maybe, two hours dead."

"What could you tell about his head?"

"I palpitated the wound -- examined it with my fingers. He hit -- or got hit -- by something hard. It didn't have a sharp edge, though. It cracked his skull in a large, circular hole and did a fair bit of damage to the underlying soft tissue. Death was probably instantaneous."

"Could you tell if Jessie had done it?"

"Not with any certainty, but if Toby was standing up, she'd have had to climb up on a chair. He was struck from above -- if he was standing -- and by something that would probably have been too big and too heavy for her to lift that high, let alone swing very hard."

"You said _if_ Toby were standing?"

"Well, if he were falling backwards, he could have hit his head against that rock in the fireplace. Joe Kelton took me out there yesterday. It's still got blood on it and its size and shape match the wound."

"Thank you, Doctor," the Judge said. "Molly, it seems we _do_ need you. Would you come up here, please and be sworn in."

"M...me, Judge?" Molly stood slowly, holding Shamus' hand tighter than ever.

"Certainly, you, Molly," the Judge said, wryly. "What's the matter, you were so brave just a bit ago?"

Molly stiffened and let go of Shamus' hand. She walked quickly to the chair and waited for Dan. After he swore her in, she looked hard at the Judge. "I'm still not sure what help I can be to ye, Judge, but just ask me them questions, whatever ones ye want."

The Judge started easy, with the clothes. "Aye," Molly said. "Laura brought 'em back. They was Jessie's blouse and her camisole; I recognized 'em soon as I saw 'em. Ripped right off her, they was, ripped to shreds and I don't think she's the one what did it. She... all of 'em, they take too good care of their clothes."

"What about if she were in a fight?"

"What about it? I seen men try stuff with her... oh, the good Lord only knows how many times. She couldn't do nothing until they touched her. Then, a kick to the shin or something. Once they was out of action, so was she; she couldn't keep fighting -- hit them while they was down. The potion took care of that."

"A kick..." The Judge thought for a moment. "Doc, stand up. You're still under oath. You said you gave Toby a full exam, not just his head. Was there any other... damage to him?"

The Doc thought for a moment. "There were signs of trauma to the geni... Your Honor, I do believe that there's evidence that somebody -- Jessie -- kicked Toby in the... umm... privates not long before his death."

The Judge tried to hide a smile. "You needn't go into the details, but I can certainly see how that would've made him fall over." He gestured with his hand. "You can sit down. You, too, I think, Molly."

"Yes, sir," Molly said. "Did I help?"

"You helped immensely." He looked around. "Does anyone have anything to add?" No one did. "Fine. I declare this proceeding to be over. Paul, I'll have something for you tomorrow morning."

Paul jumped to his feet. "Tomorrow! I want to get after her today. Your Honor, Judge, please..."

The Judge took his pocket watch out and checked the time. "Paul, it's almost 3. I have to think about exactly how I want to find and what I want to put on this warrant. By the time I'm done, it will be far too late for you to get started."

"But Jessie's getting further away every minute."

"Paul, I'm sorry about that; I truly am, but it will take me at least an hour to make my decision and write out the warrant. Even if you rode hard, you wouldn't get out to Toby's place until well after 6. How much could you do -- really? -- before it got dark?"

Paul shook his had and sighed deeply. "Damn it, Judge. I hate it when you're right. I'm not even sure that what I found _is_ Jessie's trail and even if it is, I'll need daylight t'follow it. I might as well stay in town tonight."

"Good man," the Judge said, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder. "After all, tonight may be your last chance to sleep in a real bed for who knows how long."

"You're probably right on that." He smiled wryly as he said it.

"Umm, Paul... No... Never mind."

"Say what you gotta say, Judge."

"I... ah... I hesitate to ask, but I'd appreciate it if you could be in court tomorrow as bailiff when Jake decides what he's going to do. With the size of the crowd I expect, I'll need you _and_ Dan to be there."

Paul shrugged and just said, "Why the hell not? You're the Judge."

Judge Humphreys laughed and slapped him on the back. "I knew we'd agree on something eventually. Just try and be a little more restrained than you were today -- firing your pistol like that to quiet the room. I don't think Shamus wants anymore bullet holes in his ceiling."

***

"Here's your drinks, boys." Wilma stood next to Davy Kitchner. As she leaned over to put his beer on the table, she made sure that her body, especially her breasts, pressed against him. Her voice was low and sweet and full of promise, her face flushed and she had a playful smile on her lips.

She did the same when she put down the drinks for the other two men at the table. "Now, if you boys want _anything_, anything at all, you just let be sure to me know."

Anything?" Blackie Eastman asked, leering at her.

"Mmmm," she said, almost purring. "Why just anything at all." Wilma was dressed, as always, in a long-sleeved blouse and a long, dark skirt. Only now, she had left the top three buttons of the blouse undone and she wasn't wearing a camisole underneath. As she turned and, especially, when she bent over, the men got a clear view of the tops of her breasts.

"I do believe I'll hold you to that." He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

"Blackie, you can hold me anyway you want." She twisted his curly hair around a finger. "But right now, I see Shamus calling me. We'll... _talk_ later." She spun free of his arm and headed towards the bar. Her walk had a sway to the hips that was a red flag drawing the eyes of every man in the room.

"Hoo-whee," Carl Osbourne said. "Talk about a woman changing her mind."

"Change for the better, if you ask me," Davy said. "Wilma was always easy on the eye, but she had too much of Will Hanks' mean streak left in her."

"She's a lot friendlier now," Carl said.

"You ain't half wrong there," Blackie said. "Since she took that second dose of potion she's been trying t'bed any man that even looks at her... And she's been making sure that every man in town _wanted_ t'look." He took a sip of beer. "And I mean to have me a _real_ good look. Yes, sir, real good."

***

Shamus pushed a tray of drinks across the bar to Wilma, a bottle of his best sipping whiskey, two glasses and a beer. "The whiskey's for the Doc and Mr. Gallagher over --"

"I don't want to take anything to the Doc," Wilma pouted and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh," Shamus said. "And why is that, if ye don't mind me asking."

"He's mean. He wouldn't... play with me yesterday and he give me something that made me go to sleep."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. "Oh, he did, did he? Judging from the way you been carrying on since then, ye should be thanking him for giving you a chance t'rest up for everything ye done since." He waited a moment for her to react. "Now get over there with them drinks to the Doc and Stu Gallagher. Then ye take that there beer over t'Paul Grant where he's sitting over in that corner table. And hurry it up. He wants to be talking to ye."

Wilma brightened. "Paul? He... he asked for me?"

"Aye, he did. Why?"

"I ain't played with him yet." She shivered and hugged herself in anticipation. "I do so _love_ an eager man." She picked up the tray and hurried off.

Shamus watched her walk over to the Doc's table, watched the other men watching her, too. It was a good thing that he'd given her a sealed bottle of whiskey. She was in such a hurry to get to Paul that it fell over when she hurriedly set it down. She dropped the tray in the table and grabbed for it, but the bottle almost rolled off before Stu Gallagher caught it.

In a way, Shamus almost felt sorry for her. Wilma was like a cowboy back from a long cattle drive, getting blind drunk trying to wash away two months of thirst and trail dust. He shrugged. "She'll be calming down in a few days."

He remembered what Rita One Pony had told him all those years ago -- after she'd made good on her promise of "one on the house."

***

Rita was lying in the bed, resting her head on his bare chest. "Straw... 'scuse me, you said t'call you Shamus, didn't you. Those first few days, I was like a starving woman. There I was, half tied up in my tent, not... not even sure if they was gonna let me live and I-I couldn't stop touching myself." She giggled. "Before Hunts Buffalo sent me away, I managed to screw both the guards he set on me. I screwed Two Hatchets, too, when he came to check on me. That's how he found out he could make me do whatever he wanted."

Shamus looked at her. "He... he did not make you --" He was so startled, he was speaking Cheyenne.

Rita smiled at her would-be defender. "Shamus, darlin', you better speak White. You need get back into the habit. Don't you worry none about Two Hatchets. He didn't make me do anything that I didn't _like_ doing."

"I'm sorry. I guess I still feel responsible for you being like that."

She leaned over and kissed him. "Don't be. That crazy hunger went away years ago. 'Course, that don't mean that I don't like having sex." She ran her hand down his chest, continuing on until her fingers wrapped around his erect penis. "Mmm, especially with a handsome young buck like you."

***

Shamus smiled, then put away the memory. 'I'm too old for such nonsense,' he thought to himself. 'Women like Rita are a fine thing, but having a true love like me Molly t'be with is a thousand times better.'

***

Wilma tiptoed over to Paul's table. His back was to the Doc and Gallagher, so he hadn't seen her. "Here's your beer, Paul." She leaned over and set it in front of him. Her breast lightly touched his back and, as she stood up, she blew gently in his ear. "I hear you wanted me." She giggled softly. "I like that in a man."

"Wilma, please, just sit down." Paul took a drink. Thus wasn't going to be easy. "I wanted to _talk_ to you. There's a big difference."

She sat down, pulling her chair close to his. "Sure, we can talk... first." She leaned over as if to kiss him.

"Wilma, _please_." He put his hand on her shoulder to keep her away. Part of him kept saying how stupid he was. She was throwing herself at him. But it was the potion that was making her act that way. It was like she was drunk. His Daddy always said that there were rules against taking advantage of a woman when she was drunk.

"All I want, _all_ I want," he said as firmly as he could, "is to ask some more questions about Jessie. Now will you cooperate?"

"Pooh," she said, her mouth shifting to a pout. "I always knew you liked her better than me. I seen you looking at her lots of times when you come in for a drink or just to have a look around." She sat upright. "Well, she ain't around no more and I can be _very_ cooperative." She reached out and ran her hand against his cheek. Her leg rubbed against his.

"Cooperate? You mean you'll talk more about where Jessie might've gone?"

"I guess, but there's _lots_ of better things to talk about." Her voice went low. "If we gotta talk at all."

"Let's start off talking about Jessie and where she might go."

"She might 'go to London to visit the Queen'," she said in the singsong voice of a young girl.

"How about if she went to Mexico?"

Wilma thought for a moment. "There's a town, Hermosillo, a day's ride south of the border. It's wide open. We met a man, Alejandro Vasquez, one time when he came up to Santa Fe. He was one of them that ran the place. She might go see him."

"Anywhere else? You said California before; any idea where?"

"All these dumb questions." She put her hand on his knee. "Can't we go someplace and have us some fun?"

"Maybe in a little while. Where in California?"

"Frisco. You can get anything, do anything there. She could hold up in a place like that for quite a while. Hell, there might even be somebody'd know about the potion or something like it. Maybe one of them Chi-nee fellahs; they got all sorts of crazy stuff."

Paul took a long drink, finishing his beer. "I'll keep both them places in mind." He stood up and pulled a silver dollar from his pants pocket. "Here you go, Wilma. Keep the change. I figure I owe you something for your help."

"Aww," Wilma whined, pouting prettily as she did. "You done promised me something a lot warmer than a four bit tip."

Paul pointed to the door. "Clay Falk just came in. Why don't you take my shortcomings up with him?"

Wilma smiled. "I may just do that. I like Clay. He's a _lot_ more fun than _you'll_ ever be." She stuck out her tongue at him as she put the coin in her apron pocket. That done she walked over to Clay. She looked back at Paul for an instant, then put her arms around Clay's neck and kissed him.

All Clay had planned on was a beer or two, but he was never one to miss taking advantage of an opportunity.

***

Dan Talbot knocked on the door to the converted jailhouse storeroom. "Paul, you in there?" Paul had been living there since he'd taken the job of deputy and Dan thought a man deserved privacy in his own place.

"Yeah, c'mon in." Paul called from inside. Dan opened the door walked in.

"I was just fixing up a bedroll," Paul said. "I should be ready to head out in a half hour or so."

"Dan looked at his watch. "You'd better be; it's already almost 1 PM."

"I know. You think I like it? The Judge wanted me there for Jake's sentencing."

"Hell, Paul, we _needed_ you there. Especially after he took Shamus' potion."

Paul had to smile. "Yeah, it was quite a show, him turning into Laura's twin like he done."

"Yeah and Laura's none to happy about that."

"Can't say I blame her, but she's a level-headed woman; she'll get over it, I expect." He took a breath, "Speaking of the Judge, do you know if he's finished with that damned warrant, yet?"

"He did. In fact, he gave it to me to bring over to you. He... umm... didn't want to bring it over himself."

"Didn't want to... Why that old hypocrite. If it wasn't for him and that damned piece of paper, I'd have been out after Jessie two days ago."

"I know and I wouldn't blame you if you were to take it and head straight out after her like you said."

"What d'you mean? Don't tell me _you_ want me to stay in town now? Does everybody in Eerie want Jessie to get away?"

"Hell, no. The... ah... thing is, we got another problem."

Paul gritted his teeth, bracing for the other shoe to drop. "Now, what?"

"You know that reporter, Varrick, that was around here a few weeks ago asking questions?" Paul nodded warily. "He came back just in time to see Wilma take her little drink yesterday."

Paul looked closely at Dan's expression. "Damn! He saw what happened to Jake today, too; didn't he?"

He did and, according to the Judge, he not only works for the _Tucson Citizen_, he's an errand boy for Governor McCormick, the owner of the paper."

"So now the Governor knows -- or will as soon as Varrick tells him."

"Maybe... maybe not. The Judge thinks we just _might_ be able to cut a deal with Mr. Varrick."

"So cut a deal. Why is that my problem?"

"Varrick's a reporter, but he wants to be a writer. Amy and me had him over for dinner last night and he was talking about writing me up as a hero for one of those dime novels."

"You gonna let him?"

"I don't know. The few of them I've read sound like it's all made up -- that none of the story really could've happened. Besides, Amy hated the idea. I think it really scared her."

"I still don't see what that has to do with me."

"Varrick was all set to write the story up and send it in by telegraph. The Judge stalled him; he got Varrick to agree to have dinner with him and a few other people to talk some sort of deal."

"And _I'm_ supposed to be one of those people?"

"The Judge wants to trade him versions of the stories about how we shot it out with the Hanks gang and how we rescued Laura for the story about the potion. You backed my play in the Saloon the day the Hanks' came to town, and you led half that rescue party."

"Yeah, but I went after Toby and Jessie, not Jake and Laura."

"And maybe the capture of Jessie can be a third story--"

"_If_ I ever get started out after her." Paul rolled his eyes in exaggerated anger as he spoke.

"_If_ we can get him to agree to it now." Dan took a breath. This was the worst of what he had to say. "_If_ you're there tonight while we're talking to him."

Paul grimaced. "And if I'm not -- and if you don't cut the deal -- you'll all be saying it's all be my fault."

"Who knows what anybody'll be saying. If word of Shamus' potion gets out, this place will have more grifters, bunko men and _politicians_..." he spat the last word, "...then a dog has fleas."

Paul sighed and sat down on his bed. "All right, put me down for the Judge's little dinner party. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think that there was _somebody_ up there..." he glanced skyward, "...trying to keep me here in town for some dumb reason."

"More likely in _that_ direction." Dan pointed downward and laughed. "But I almost think that you may be right."

Chapter 4 -- "Moving South"

Jessie found the cabin purely by chance.

The day after the robbery, she'd ridden off the trail just as it was getting light to look for a place to camp. There were dark clouds in the southwestern sky, the sign of a storm. "Probably a bad one, with my luck," she said to herself. "I'll need something better than I've been using to weather it out."

She was about a hundred yards into the trees when she saw something, a building, up ahead. Another time, she would have headed off, thankful not to have been seen. Instead, on a whim, she headed towards it. "Women's intuition," she whispered, smiling at the joke. There was no sign of life around the cabin, no light from the small window, no animals, no outbuildings. There was an odd bulge to the roof, as well, about a third of the way across, that made her curious.

It was a log cabin, about 10 by 15, with a thatched roof. The door was shut, but it was hanging by a single hinge. The window was broken and missing a shutter. Jessie climbed down off Useless, keeping her hand near the pocket with her pistol. "Hello, inside the house," she called. Better to be safe than sorry and getting gut-shot by some nervous homesteader afraid of Apaches would _definitely_ make her sorry. No one answered. She looked around. The grass by the cabin may have been cleared once, but it had been growing back for weeks, more like months, really. "Useless, I don't think there's anybody here, nobody human, anyway."

There were no signs of animals around the cabin, not large ones, at least. 'Hmm,' she thought, 'no bear or big cat could've got through that window, and I never heard of no animal closing a door behind them.' She looked in through the window. That bulge she'd seen in the roof was the top of a fallen rafter. The other end was stuck in the sod floor, dividing the cabin into two sections. When the rafter had fallen, it had taken a section of the roof with it, leaving a hole big enough that Jessie could have crawled in through it.

She pulled at the door. The hinge held. It creaked loudly, but the door opened. There was more than enough light to see inside by now. Jessie tied Useless' reins to the door handle and went in. The sod floor had grown several inches tall and there was a muddy puddle in the portion below the hole in the roof.

The place was empty. 'Ain't nobody lived here for a while,' she thought, 'and whoever they was they stripped it bare when they left.' All she saw were a few boards nailed to the wall to serve as shelves and a pallet, a raised platform made of logs, over in the far corner. There was a six-inch hole in the middle of the back wall about five feet above the floor, a thin rim of clay along the edge. "Stove," she said as she passed it; the clay had insulated the hot stove pipe as it passed through the cabin wall, preventing a fire. "Wish they'd left it." The ground in front of the hole was filled in with small rocks to keep the hot stove from setting the sod on fire.

The pallet was about six feet long by three wide. The logs were planed smooth and with a flat even top about a foot and a half above the sod. 'Base of a bed, most likely.' She touched the wood. It was dry with no sign of softness or rot. 'Be nice to sleep here under a real roof for a change.'

There was a sudden clap of thunder. Hail the size of buckshot began falling through the hole in the roof.

The thick storm clouds Jessie had seen off to the south were now overhead, filling the sky. "Damn rain got here quicker n' I'd expected," she said in surprise. She ran to the door. The rain was already falling in sheets and the sky overhead looked dark enough now that the storm would probably last for a while.

She untied Useless' reins and brought him into the cabin. For the moment, she tied the reins to the fallen rafter and then ran outside again. Yes! There was a woodpile stacked against the wall just along the side of the cabin by the door. It was uncovered and the top logs looked wet, but there were dry ones underneath. She made several quick trips, cursing her weak body and the falling hailstones the whole time. In the end, she was half-soaked, but there was a large pile of logs piled up near where that stove have been. The logs she'd brought in were all fairly dry, all cut and split to about the same length and thickness for use in the stove.

Jessie used her knife and her fingers to dig the stones out of the sod. She re-arranged them to make a safe fire pit. She used her fire starter kit and some sticks and grass from the sod to get a fire going and then carefully added a couple of logs. It took almost an hour, but she finally had a good fire. It was smoky, but the hole in the roof was drawing it off. The hail had stopped falling by now, but the rain was coming down in buckets. In the storm, no one was likely to notice any smoke.

She rigged a picket line between the rafter and a loose shelf. The sod floor had grown several inches of fresh grass and the puddle under the roof looked fairly clear. Useless wouldn't go hungry or thirsty. He'd be dry, too, since there was enough room for him between the space under the hole and the side wall.

She'd have liked to take off his saddle. She thought about it, but decided to leave it on. 'Too damn much trouble t'take it off _or_ t'get it back on.' She did loose the cinch straps a bit, so he'd be more comfortable.

Jessie set some water to boil and opened another tin of meat. It wasn't much, but it would be okay for now. The hardtack stretched it some, too. She ate her fill and watched the fire burn down to near coals, safe and easy to start up again later.

Feeling sleepy by this point, she unrolled the blankets on the pallet and folded her jacket into a pillow. She sat down on the wide pallet. The wood was hard, but no harder than the ground she'd sleep on too many times to count.

'Don't need my shoes on, though,' she thought. 'Be happy to get them off, too. They're starting to pinch.' She undid the laces and tried top pull one off. It wouldn't budge. Her foot was swollen and she had to pull hard to get it off her foot. 'Won't be easy getting it on, if that swelling don't go down.'

'But why would they swell...' she stopped and did some mental calculations. "Oh, damn," she cursed aloud. She gently touched her breast to see if what she feared was true. It was. Her breast felt very tender. She hadn't noticed the tenderness before, but now she was quite glad for the soft cotton padding inside her corset.

"My monthlies!" She spat the words. They'd snuck up on her while she had her mind on getting away from Eerie and then on the robbery. "What the hell am I going to do about them way out here?"

She yawned and lay back on one blanket and pulled the other over her. "I'll think about it after I got me some sleep."

***

Jessie took another sip of coffee and leaned back against the cabin wall. It was still raining -- for the third day, which was starting to bother her. "At least I got fresh water for coffee," she said to no one in particular.

She was sitting on the pallet, staring at her bare feet. Her monthlies had started a few hours after she'd rigged up the pouch she was wearing and her feet were still swollen enough to make wearing shoes uncomfortable. It didn't much matter on the sod floor of the cabin.

"So, Useless," she said, "where d'you think we should head once this rain stops?" Jessie had always laughed at prospectors and such who talked to their animals, but two days alone in the cabin had her doing the same thing. "Ain't as crazy as talking t'myself," she decided.

The horse snorted. She'd talked to it enough that it was beginning to recognize the sounds of the name she'd given it.

"Santa Fe," she answered herself. "Yeah, I guess I could go back there. I couldn't tell 'em who I am, though. I got me the better of more'n one fella back in New Mexico. They'd be just tickled t'find out I got turned into this." She gestured down the length of her body.

"I don't want to be no laughing stock, no, sir." Then she thought of some of the men that she'd dealt with and what she'd do if the situation was reversed. "_Damn_, I sure as hell don't want anything like that. Them bucks'd beat me all hollow now, maybe even kill me. Lord knows, I sure ain't in no shape to stand up to 'em in a fight."

"If fighting was what they wanted..." Her eyes went wide and she shivered at the thought. "Then, too, there's a whole lot worse a man can do to a gal than beat her up."

Jessie remembered how she'd flirted with the men back in Eerie. She'd managed to get them fighting so bad that it had almost wrecked the Saloon before Shamus and R.J. stopped it. She was more than attractive enough to be of interest to any of those men that she'd gotten the best of back in New Mexico. "No, they won't want to fight with me, but they surely would want to _wrestle_." She smiled at the play on words. "But that ain't gonna happen, is it, Useless?"

The horse snorted again at the sound of its name.

"You think I could fool 'em, so they wouldn't know it was me? Y'know, you're right. I probably could. I'm surely smarter than they are. Hell, Useless, _you're_ smarter than they are, smarter than the whole lot of 'em."

"I can act like a gal if I got to and I surely don't look like I... Aw, hell! I don't look like Jesse Hanks no more. I look just like Sarah Fuller, and she's probably still living right there in Santa Fe and singing in her daddy's Baptist Church every Sunday." Jessie chuckled, "Yeah, unless her daddy found out what she was doing the rest of the week."

She sat up and drank the last of the coffee. "Damn it, Useless, what the hell made you think I should go back to Santa Fe?" She threw the cup at her horse, as if in anger but deliberately missing. The cup landed at the far edge of the now larger puddle, a few feet away from the animal. "I'd never be able to explain how come I'm the spit 'n image of Sarah Fuller and if I ever _did_ run into Sarah, she'd know who I really was in five minutes."

She glared over at the horse, which just looked back innocently at her.

"So where does that leave me? Let's see... there's four points to the compass. I can't go east t'Sante Fe. North? Oh, yeah, sure. Go up there with all them Mormons. I hear they got that place running just they way they like it -- even if the rest of the United States don't. With my damned luck, I'd probably wind up getting picked to be some Mormon Johnny's third wife or something." She shook her head. "Nope, north's out, too."

"That leaves west or south. Let's see... west... west to California. There's a lot of people out there in San Francisco, even more up in gold country. A big crowd's easy to get lost in. I heard tell that there's still a lot of money out there waiting to get made." She looked down at her thin arms. "I ain't exactly up for mining gold, but I can find me something I can do, I think. Besides, heavy work like that is for people that ain't got the brains to figure out anything easier t'do."

"'Course, now, south... Mexico -- got to skirt around Eerie on the way -- but I figure I'm a good ways west of there already. Mexico don't sound too bad neither. I hear that there's a lot of money down there. I can speak the language... some of it anyways and I can learn more quick enough if I have to. May not even have to. There's a lot of fellas down there from the States, fellas that went down there for... health reasons. Yeah, say... that's right. That damn Sheriff comes after me, he don't got no power t'arrest me down there, not across the border he don't, nobody does as long as I keep my nose clean. And if something happens t'him down there... well, that's the risk a lawman takes."

Jessie leaned back again, stretching herself like a cat. "Yes, sir, Useless. This rain stops, you and me are heading down t'Mexico." She sat up again. "But right now, I need..." She looked around for her cup. "Oh, yeah, there it is, over by the water."

She stood up and walked over. The puddle was bigger and mud oozed between her toes. When she bent down to pick up the cup, her foot slid into the water. Rain poured down through the hole in the roof and onto her head. She pulled her head back and shook it to try and get some of the excess water off. "Well, I'll be damned. It's almost warm."

She stepped back, the cup still in her hand and watched the rain fall into the puddle on the floor. "It ain't hardly deep enough t'use like a tub and I don't want to sit down in the mud anyway. Mmm, surely be nice, though, to wash off some of this trail crud, even if I got t'put the same clothes back on after."

A bent nail stuck out of the wall a few feet from the pallet. Jessie ran a second trace line to it from the rafter. "Can't wash my clothes, Useless, but I can hang 'em up to air out."

She stepped over to the pallet and began to unbutton her shirt. "Be good if I could wash this shirt, but I got no soap. Ain't got nothing t'put on while it dries neither." She looked over at a pile of strips of cloth on the floor by the pallet, the remnants of Toby's other shirt and cut up for use in the pouch she'd improvised to deal with her monthlies. She picked one up. "Still, this'd make a nice wash rag."

She draped her shirt over the trace line, adding her corset a few moments later. "Should wash out m'drawers, though. I guess I'll have t'wear that pair of Toby's while mine dry." Her pants joined the pile.

She walked over to Useless and pulled Toby's rough, gray cotton drawers out of one of the saddlebags. "Better than nothing, but not by much." She walked back over and tossed them onto the pallet.

Jessie carefully untied her drawers and stepped out of them. She put them down on the pallet and took a breath. All she wore now was the improvised pouch. The strips of cloth were for inside it, since she didn't have the rolled bandaging she'd used at the Saloon.

"Moment of truth," she said with a gulp and untied the pouch. The strip inside was still clean, having only been put on an hour or so before. She used the cords to tie the pouch to the trace line, draping the strip over the line. She picked up her drawers and walked back to the puddle. The water looked clean. She put the drawers into the water and swirled them back and forth for a count of thirty. Then she carefully wrung them out and hung them on the first trace line, near the rafter and as far away from Useless as possible.

Naked now and feeling very vulnerable, she took a breath, closed her eyes, and stepped into the rain.

"Ahh," she said, her eyes still half closed. The rain was warm -- warm enough, anyway.

Jessie sighed and leaned her head back. She could feel the rivulets of rain running down her face, her arms, her... her breasts. She frowned and looked down. Her nipples were erect from the coolness of the water and _very_ sensitive. "The hell with that," she said.

She wadded up the cloth and began gently rubbing it along her right arm as if it were a soapy washcloth. Her skin was much more tender than when she had been a man. It warmed, tingling slightly from the rubbing.

Her breasts were next. She barely touched them, not wanting to "start" anything. Back in Eerie, she'd discovered the way her body could react to even a gentle rubbing. She did her left arm, then moved on down her body. First, she did her stomach, then her legs. When she bent down to scrub her lower legs, she could feel the pull of gravity on her unsupported breasts. It was an odd sensation, not unusual, just... odd in a pleasant sort of way.

"Only one thing left," she said as she straightened up. Jessie unfolded the cloth she'd been using and held it under the rain, turning it over after a while to rinse both sides. After she'd wrung most of the water out, she folded it back into a square.

She reached down warily and _very_ slowly and _very_ gently began to move it over the triangular patch of blonde hair between her legs. She was even more sensitive down there than she remembered from her baths in Eerie. The motion of the cloth against her felt nice, _real_ nice. She moaned softly and kept rubbing. Her right hand pressed a little harder, though and the back and forth motion grew less hesitant.

She was moaning louder now and her face was flushed. Jolts of pleasure raced from "down there" to every part of her body. Her nipples grew harder. She reached her left hand up to examine one and shivered as she touched it.

Slowly, as if not aware that she was doing it, she began to play with the nipple. Her hand kneaded her breast, even as her finger and thumb tweaked the nipple; all of it happening in a motion that matched the motion of the cloth against her nether mound.

"I-I sh-shouldn't... shouldn't be... doing this." Her voice was high, breathy. She wanted to stop, but her hands seemed to have minds of their own and kept moving. "St-stop," she shouted, almost pleading. Her right hand jerked and she dropped the cloth. "It's over; thank the --" No, it wasn't. Her bare fingers were rubbing against her now.

Two fingers slipped inside her, as if they had a mind of their own. She gasped and her eyes went wide. This was a penetration that she'd never imagined happening to her. Worst of all, it felt so... Her hand kept moving, the rubbing becoming an instinctive in-and-out motion. She couldn't stop herself, couldn't stop her hand. It was like a real bad itch. Scratch it and you feel better, but then it itches even more. Now, slowly, her hips began to move to the motion of her hand.

Her moaning grew louder still and higher in pitch, almost becoming screams. Her knees were getting weak. She knew that she should stop, but it just felt so damned good, like a shot of twenty-year old sipping whiskey after a month of rotgut. Something was building inside her, answering a need she hadn't known, hadn't wanted to admit knowing, before.

When she'd taken baths back in Eerie, Molly had let her and the others... play with themselves for a while, but she always was ready to pour a bucket of cold water down on them before things went too far. Jessie had been grateful for that... mostly. She'd never admit it -- not even to Wilma -- but the idea of letting those funny feelings overwhelm her scared the bejebers out of her.

There was no one to stop her now. Her curiosity -- and her hunger -- were both about to be satisfied. The feeling grew bigger, stronger, hotter, until... until it surged though her whole body.

She shrieked in delight. Both hands stopped moving as waves of pleasure flashed from her groin to every part of her. She staggered back out of the rain, not really in control of her body and half-fell against the cabin wall.

***

"Whoo-ee, so that's what it's like for a woman." Jessie was lying down on the pallet, wearing only Toby's drawers, the blanket wrapped around her for warmth. Her own drawers, rinsed in falling rainwater and wrung almost dry, were hanging from the second trace line. It had only been a few minutes since she'd... since what had happened to her, while she showered in the rain. She shivered, her body still warm from the afterglow of what happened.

"Old Mollie'd have a laugh to have seen me like that. It's a good thing she never let us go all the way. We'd never have done anything else. We'd've spent the whole damned day in them tubs."

She looked down and discovered that, as she was talking, she was starting to play with her nipple again. "Damn," she spat. "I'm doing it right now." She pulled her had out from under the blanket.

"Kind of wish she _was_ here. I got me one large pile of questions t'ask about how to handle this." She smiled at the unintentional pun.

"I'll be seeing her soon enough, though, I guess. That's the whole point of going down t'Mexico. Shouldn't be too hard to get the money I need. Men are cheap down there and I won't need me too much t'hire somebody to kidnap her."

"Yes, sir, Molly O'Toole. You was always trying t'do things for -- what'd you call us -- oh, yeah, 'yuir girls'. Well, now you're gonna do something _real_ nice for me. I'm gonna trade you back to Shamus for the antidote."

"He'll get you back all safe and sound as soon as I get m'pecker back. I-I... mmmm..." she looked down, frowned and pulled her hand out from inside the blanket again. This time, her hand had actually gotten inside her drawers and a finger had been twirling the curls down there at her groin.

"Mmm, that is _so_ nice," she said, her voice getting husky. "I wonder what..." She closed her eyes without knowing why and found herself picturing... "Blackie Eastman and Joe Ortleib, it was fun -- kinda -- flirting with you boys and getting you to start that big fight at Shamus' place. And that deputy -- what was his name? Paul! You was kind of shy, Paul, but I seen you looking and I just wonder what you were _thinking_ while you were looking."

Suddenly she was jolted out of her reverie. "What the Sam Hill am I thinking and -- tarnation! -- feeling?"

Jessie looked down. Her hand was still at her groin, the fingers had started to move inside. She pulled her hand away as if from a hot stove. "What I _really_ need right now is a _cold_ rain shower," she muttered.

She stood up and began to pace. She kept talking in the hopes of distracting herself from the way her body was feeling. "No, Molly, we can have us a nice talk about all sorts of 'girly' things. I'll make sure you're safe and sound. I wouldn't want Shamus t'think he traded for damaged goods." She paused a moment, remembering. "Besides, you _did_ always play straight with me -- with all of us. No matter what I might want to do to the sheriff or that husband of yours, it wouldn't -- hell, it wouldn't be right no how to hurt you."

***

The rain began to slow during Jessie's fourth afternoon in the cabin. When she woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the hole in the roof. She could hear birds singing in the trees outside. "Finally," she said. "Hope you're rested up, Useless. We'll leave here right after breakfast."

Something else had passed, as well. When Jessie checked her pouch, the strip of cloth inside was clean. "Damned good thing; I only got a couple left." She decided to leave the pouch on, "Just in case, but it'll come off when I stop for dinner tonight."

She realized that she'd made a mistake, as she was getting the fire going to make coffee. "Water!" She'd meant to refill the empty canteen with rainwater, but she'd never gotten around to it. "Storm's over now, Useless," she muttered, "and that puddle's gotten too dirty t'use."

Water from the second canteen went into the coffeepot. She had enough for a day or so, but she'd probably need two full canteens to get across the desert that stretched from southern Arizona down into Mexico. She'd need food, too. Most of what she'd taken from Toby's was already gone. She was breakfasting on the last of the meat in one of the three tins she still had.

"Maybe I'll run into some more rabbits," she said. "Find a river, too, maybe. More likely, I'll have to find people and buy -- or just take -- what I need. Going into a town'd be too risky, but there's bound to be a farm or two along the way. I'll look for 'em now, 'stead of trying to avoid them. Be nice t'talk with somebody other'n you, Useless."

After breakfast, Jessie used the empty meat tin to carry water from the puddle over and put out the fire. "Wouldn't be right t'risk this place burning down." She packed up the blankets, coffeepot and such back into the saddlebags. The tin joined a small pile of garbage in the far corner of the cabin.

Her feet were back to normal size, but it still felt a little odd to be wearing boots again after four days of going barefoot.

She led Useless outside and shut the door behind her. "No sense leaving the place so varmints can get in and wreck it more." She climbed onto the horse's back and looked up at the morning sky. "South is that way, Useless," she said, pointing and tugged on the reins to head the horse on that direction.

***

Jessie wiped her brow with her sleeve and took a drink of water. The canteen felt less than half full. All morning as she rode, the countryside had been getting drier. And hotter. She was moving down from the forested highlands of central Arizona into the southern desert valley that stretched down into Mexico. Her jacket was rolled up in a saddlebag and her sleeves were rolled almost to her elbows. The pistol she'd kept in a jacket pocket now was stuck in her belt.

She scanned the horizon ahead from east to west. "Useless, we ain't found a river, not even a little creek. I think it's time we started looking for some folks that got water." As she rode on, she kept looking for some sign of people. Some forty minutes later, she saw a thin trail of smoke rising off to the southwest. "There ya go," she said as she turned Useless and started riding in that direction.

***

"Mama, Mama, there's a rider coming."

Piety Tyler looked up from the cook fires at her daughter's call. "Is it your father or brothers, Hanna?" The men weren't due back for their noonday meal for a while yet. Piety was a tall, thin woman of 37, with short brown hair that was beginning to gray.

"No, ma'am. It ain't Gil or any of the others neither." Hanna Tyler was a 15-year old twin of her mother. She'd been watching for the men as often as she could sneak a look without her mother scolding.

Some of the neighbors were helping her father and brothers harvest the Tyler's wheat in return for help with their own crops. Hanna had a crush, her first, on one of them, Gil Parker, the 16-year old son of Amos Parker, whose own land was a few miles.

Hanna was wearing her most grown-up dress for the occasion, a pale blue one that showed her only just developing figure to its best advantage. Her brown hair, usually in pigtails, hung loose because Gil had once said that he admired a woman with long flowing hair.

***

"I do not approve of Hanna's throwing herself at that boy like that," Piety had complained to her husband that morning while Hanna was out collecting eggs from the few chickens they kept in a fenced-in coop next to the house.

Ephrem Tyler tried not to smile. "Now, Pie, wearing a nice dress is hardly being brazen. She's growing up and noticing boys and she's pretty enough that the boys are noticing back; just like her momma." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

Piety drew back. She didn't believe in public displays of emotion, although she was willing enough when she and Eph were alone in their bedroom. "Just the same, it is not proper. I'll be having a long talk with her while you men are out working."

"Don't be too hard on her," Ephrem had warned. "She's a good girl and I trust her. Besides, she'll have to get married eventually and Gil's a good boy. They'll make a fine couple in a few years. Besides, I seem to recall another young girl who liked to put on a pretty dress when she came over to my parents house back in Connecticut." He smiled at the memory.

"I have no idea who you might be talking about." But she smiled back, pleased that he remembered.

***

Piety looked at the rider coming down the low hill towards the farmhouse. He didn't seem to be anyone she recognized. This could mean trouble. "Hanna, go in the house and fetch your father's rifle." The girl ran into the nearby building and came back out moments later with the weapon. She handed it to her mother, who readied it for possible use.

All the settlers for miles around had been warned. There had been reports of raiders coming up from Mexico, sometimes working with Apaches, raiding isolated farms and carrying off whatever they could to sell in Mexico. Some of the stories had mentioned their taking captives who were also sold.

Jessie saw the girl run into the house and she saw what the girl came back out with. She held the reins in one hand and reached upward with the other. She took off her hat and held it in her upraised hand. Her long, blonde hair fell down her back. The message was a simple one, "I am a woman and I'm not looking for trouble."

She drew up about twenty feet from the woman with the rifle. "Howdy, I'm Jessie. Jessie Hanks." She smiled at the pair. "I was wondering if I could get some water... maybe some food." She kept her hands in plain sight but glanced down at one saddlebag. "I got money t'pay for it."

"What are you doing here and why are you dressed like that?" Piety had long resisted suggestions from her husband that she and Hanna wear pants for some of the heavy work they did. Hanna was just now starting to agree with Ephrem. Now this woman was here, giving new strength to his arguments.

Jessie stifled the urge to tell the woman that it was none of her damned business. She needed to be polite. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn't do to try to take anything by force. "Like I said, m'name's Jessie. I'm heading down t'Mexico on some, umm, family business." She paused a beat. "I ain't sure what you mean by how I'm dressed, ma'am."

"A decent woman wears a dress, not pants that show her limbs. She doesn't wear a shirt that flaunts her... her chest for all the world to see."

Jessie took a breath to calm herself. "Well, now, ma'am. I been riding a long ways and I got me a ways yet t'go. A pair of pants and a shirt is a lot easier t'manage than some long dress."

"Easy or not is not the point, young woman. It is not decent. My daughter --"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry if my clothes offend you. If you'll please let me have some water for my horse and let me fill my canteens, I'll try to be out of your life as soon as I can."

***

Piety hesitated. This woman in front of her was common, even vulgar and, no doubt, a bad influence for her Hanna. Still, there were certain rules of hospitality out here and the next source of water _was_ miles away. "Very well." She lowered the rifle and used it to point. "Use that pump over there."

"Thank you, ma'am." Jessie climbed down from her horse -- slowly, acutely aware that the woman was still suspicious, a priggish fussbudget, if she read her right. It would be best to get done here and move on quick. She led Useless over the pump and held his reins with one hand while she used the other to partly fill an attached trough. When the horse lowered his head and began to drink, she stopped and tied the reins to the pump.

Then Jessie took the two canteens from the saddle. She put one on the ground and lowered the other, top open, into the trough to fill it. "About that food, ma'am," she said hopefully. "I'll be glad to pay for anything you got t'spare."

"I'm not sure what we have to spare," Piety said, trying to decide what she wanted to offer. Perhaps this woman could help her with cooking for the men in return for having a meal with them. She took a close look at Jessie. Did this stranger even know how to cook?

When she looked, Piety noticed two things. The top two buttons of Jessie's shirt were opened and she didn't seem to be wearing anything underneath. "Is that shirt all you're wearing... above the waist, I mean?"

Jessie looked down. "What, oh, umm, no. I got my corset on under it. Do you want to see?" she asked sarcastically, her fingers going to her shirt.

"I most certainly do not." She saw her daughter listening intently. "Hanna, go in the house."

"But, Mama..." Hanna said. "Why do I gotta go inside?"

Piety needed a reason. "To put your father's rifle away." She held out the weapon. "And stay inside until I call you."

"Yes, Mama." The young girl took the rifle and disappeared into the unpainted wood and stone house.

"Now that she's gone," Piety said, "I will ask you to finish getting water and then to leave this property as quickly as possible."

"Ma'am," Jessie said, "what exactly is your problem?"

Piety felt the sting of the words, especially from one who was so young and -- she realized that she was jealous -- so pretty. She shifted her anger at herself for being jealous onto the cause. "I will not have some scarlet woman flaunting herself before my daughter."

"Me, a 'scarlet woman flaunting...' Well, if you ain't the most foolish --"

"How dare you! If my husband were here, he'd horsewhip you within an inch of your life. That's the only thing a woman like you understands."

"I think yer just trying to scare me, ma'am. Any man worthy of a lady like you ken't be the type to do violence to lone, helpless woman." Jessie had tried to say it in a way that the woman wouldn't know if she'd been insulted or not. The confused expression on Piety's face told Jessie that she'd hit her mark square. She realized for the first time just how much fun a woman could have by being catty. 'They must enjoy it,' she thought, 'or they wouldn't do so much of it.'

Just then Jessie saw a plume of dust billowing up from behind a grassy swell off to the east. "That must be your man coming back now," she said, pointing. "I don't figure he'll feel like horsewhipping me, ma'am. For some reason, I can't figure, I always hit it off better with husbands than I ever seem do w'their wives."

Piety's face flushed scarlet, but she looked to where Jessie was pointing. She saw four... no, five... six men riding towards them from the east. "But they were going to be doing the fields to the --" Her eyes suddenly grew wide and she ran to the house. "Hanna," she shouted, "Raiders. Get the rifle and be quick about it."

Off to the east, the riders began galloping towards the house. Jessie could see that they were all armed with rifles and they sure weren't dressed like a bunch of farmers.

Chapter 5 -- "On the Hunt"

Paul circled the clearing around Toby Hess' house a second time. Yes, he could account for every set of tracks but one. Just to be certain, he counted them off in his head.

Those wagon tracks coming in from the south, stopping, then moving out to the east, were Jake Steinmetz dropping off Toby and Jessie Hanks before he went on to his own cabin with Laura Meehan. That mass of hoof prints was the posse he himself had led to the cabin. Davy Kitchner made that lone set of hoof prints heading east when he rode to tell the others that Toby was dead. Finally, there was another group of horses riding in from the east, Davy and the rest of the posse and more wagon tracks, Arsenio Caulder with Jake tied up in the back of his own wagon.

That left a single set of tracks unaccounted for, Jessie escaping on horseback. She was heading off to the north, but there was no way of telling how long she'd keep going in that direction. "She might try zig-zagging," he said, "but that'd be real hard to do at night."

"Wilma said that she n'Jessie don't know the territory too well," he thought aloud. "She'll like keep going in one direction till she hits a road and then just flip a coin t'decide which way to go." Feeling a bit more confident, he mounted his own horse, a gray cowpony called Ash and rode north.

***

Paul slowed his horse almost as soon as he heard the sound of fast water ahead. "The Salt River," he said, talking to Ash out of the habit of years of riding herd. He nodded in thought. The river would have been Jessie's first big obstacle and he wondered how she had handled it. He wondered if he would be able to answer that very question or if he'd lost her trail already.

He found part of the answer at the edge of the cliff above the river. Jessie's trail turned downstream a few feet back from the steep cliff wall. He followed them to where she'd found the landslide and ridden down to the river. It looked easy enough -- until he looked across. There was no sign of a trail she could have followed out of the river on the other side, just more cliff.

He checked the ground carefully. The trail turned down towards the water only a foot from where he stood. There was no sign the she'd continued along the cliff. "Nope, she rode down there for sure." He climbed back onto Ash and urged the horse down to the water with the firm nudging of his heels,. There was a narrow shoreline, but no sign of any tracks. "She's a tricky little wildcat; she rode right into the stream bed."

He followed, riding across in a few minutes. The other shore was the same, narrow against the gorge wall and showing no tracks. He nodded his head again in admiration; she was taking her horse through the water, just like he'd guessed. "Smart girl, Jessie. You surely know how to make a lawman's job a hard one."

There was no way to track her in the water with the swift current rolling the sediment along in streams of silt and sand. He could barely make out the track that Ash was making in the river bottom behind them. Still, the gal couldn't play her little game for long; there were rapids just upstream that he could see as well as hear. Jessie was too smart to try to ride through them, especially at night. "Just have to head downstream and hope for the best, I guess."

He was lucky in one respect. The banks of the river were all the same for miles, a narrow shoreline flush up against the base of a steep cliff, ten or more feet high on either side of the river. "Not may places she _can_ get out of this, I'll just have to keep my eyes open and hope I don't miss it."

It was slow going. Paul looked back and forth to both sides as Ash moved along at a slow, ambling gait. More than once, he reined over and check out a possible slope that Jessie might have used, a low section of cliff or a gentler grade like the one he'd ridden down. He never found a sign of a trail and started to wonder whether he was chasing a fox and not a wildcat after all.

He even rode up away from the river to check a spot where the soil was too gravelly for anyone to have left a track. For good or ill, there was no sign of a trail at the top, where the soil turned sandy again. "If she'd ridden onto that, I'd have found something." He muttered under his breath and trotted Ash back down to the river.

Hearing rushing water ahead, he stopped and leaned forward to pat the side of his horse's neck. "Okay, Ash, m'boy. She _had_ to get out somewhere around here. Let's us see if we can find out where that was."

He rode the pony to the far side of the river, the more likely one. "Jessie'd want to keep putting as much distance between herself and Eerie as she could." As before, it was mostly narrow shore and steep cliff wall. He'd ridden about twenty yards when he saw a break in the wall just ahead, around a turn in the river. It was a gentler grade, mostly gravel and underbrush that would be difficult to climb, but it was possible if the rider went slow. When he came close to the spot, he saw that somebody had ridden up the grade and only a few days before. The underbrush had broken branches and was freshly trampled.

Even better, there was a print. Most smith's used six or eight nails in a shoe. Arsenio Caulder, the only blacksmith in Eerie, used seven, the number of letters in his first and last names. Arsenio said it was like signing his name in each shoe. This print had the marks of seven nails. "This has to be it."

Just to make sure, he rode ahead until the water began to get deeper and the current faster. He had to push Ash to cross the river, so he could check the other side. There was nothing else that looked even remotely as likely as the spot he'd found. He rode back across and slowly got Ash and himself up the grade.

Yes, there were tracks at the top. Judging from the insect trails across each track, they were the right age. He remounted Ash and, with a "Whoop!" followed what had to be Jessie's trail away from the river. "Nice t'know that I still remember how it's done."

***

Almost an hour later, the tracks left the open country and turned in towards a thicket of trees. "Guess she's started that zig-zagging now, Ash," Paul said. He followed the tracks into the trees. On the far side from the trail, he found the remnants of a fire pit, a small ring of stones with a pile of ashes and dead coals in its center. He climbed down and looked over the ground. Judging from the array of hoof prints, she'd tied her horse to a line of some sort about here. She hadn't bedded down on the ground, though. She trimmed the branches on one side of a tree and made herself a "windbreak chair" to sleep on. "Not bad, not bad at all." He found himself wondering if Jessie had gotten a good rest.

"She probably set this up for herself around dawn, figured to sleep by day and ride by night. That'd be about 6... 6:30. Doc figures she killed Toby around midnight. Figure maybe a half hour, maybe a little more, to saddle up and pack, that's five hours of riding more or less. I'd guess I rode about forty miles from Toby's cabin t'here." He smiled, as he did the arithmetic. "She's doing about eight miles an hour at best. Unless I get stuck having to check out false leads like I did in the river, Ash and I can do ten easy." He made a fist and shook his arm in victory. "I got her. She just don't know it yet."

It was a good way to end his first day. "Jessie worked so hard to make this cozy, little campsite; I might as well use it myself." It was after six, and the sun would be setting in an hour or so. He cleared out the fire pit and gathered wood for a new fire.

***

"Grizzly tracks... shit and a mother and cubs, no less." Paul stopped as soon as he saw the prints cutting across Jessie's. Bears were never good news, but this was the worst. Most of the time, grizzlies were shy around folks, but, if a mother ever thought a cub was in danger, you had three hundred pounds or more of angry tooth and claw to deal with.

He checked his pistols; both were loaded. So was the rifle slug in a saddle holster where he could reach it _real_ quick if he needed to. Satisfied, he flicked the reins. "Let's go slow here, Ash. No sense making trouble for ourselves by scaring the cubs."

He hoped he wouldn't have to fight that bear. He didn't like grizzlies. They were damned hard to kill, though his rifle would _probably_ do the job. It'd have to. A wounded bear was a walking deathtrap for him or anybody else who was unlucky enough to come anywhere near the thing.

The narrow trail he'd been following opened up into a broad meadow with high patches of buffalo grass scattered here and there. There were signs of berries in the droppings. He could see berry bushes up ahead. The bears were probably feeding somewhere here in this meadow.

Grizzlies were shy. Let them know you were coming and they'd likely head off in the other direction.

"You around here anywhere, Miz Grizzly," he said in a loud, steady, monotone. "It's such a nice day hereabouts. Why don't you and your cubs go your way and I'll go mine. There no sense for either of us t'spoil it for the other."

He kept talking as he rode, hoping to alert the animals in time for them to avoid him. At the same time, he kept looking around in every direction. They might not hear him or they might get curious.

Then, about forty yards ahead, a cub ambled out of a patch of tall grass. A second one followed a moment later. They seemed to be playing with one another, nipping, grabbing, almost wrestling. There was no hint that they knew he was anywhere about.

Paul stopped Ash at once. "Nice cubs you got there, Miz Bear." He kept talking, trying to alert the mother, so she'd take her cubs and leave.

His plan worked -- partly. She knew he was there, but she wasn't leaving. He heard a growl and saw a dark brown shape rise up from the grass about thirty yards away from him and maybe twenty yards from the cubs. Mama Bear was standing up for a look-see.

She stood about six feet tall, dark brown fur with a frosting of gray, a "silver-tipped" grizzly. She looked straight at him, sniffing the air. He was downwind, worst luck! She swung her head back and forth trying to catch what scent she could.

Ash was a cowpony, trained to walk backward as easily as forward, a useful talent during spring branding. Paul kept talking in that same monotone, trying to calm Mama, even while he signaled his horse to back up. Running away wouldn't work. A grizzly could match a racehorse for speed and they _liked_ to chase things. But if he just backed off...

The bear dropped to all fours and hissed at him. It growled once and charged. Paul stopped Ash and raised his rifle. He didn't want to kill her. It would have been a sure death sentence on those cubs. An old Shoshone medicine man had once told him that it was unlucky to kill a bear cub. Maybe it was, but he wasn't about to let her kill him to protect those cubs. If it was him or them, "goodbye, cubs."

Mama stopped about forty feet away from him. She growled a second time. She seemed to be waiting for him to react. Paul took the hint. "Thank you, Miz Bear. I do believe that we'll be going now." He kept talking as he started Ash walking backward again.

She wasn't convinced or maybe she just wanted to be sure that he was leaving. She snorted and charged a second time. Paul raised the rifle, sighting on her head. "Turn, damn you, turn. We don't neither of us want to do this." She was closing. He was going to count to three, just in case, then fire.

"Miz Bear" veered off at two. She ran off at an angle, not stopping until she was about forty feet away. She stood on her hind legs and growled. Then she tilted her head as if to say, "You still here?"

"Just leaving, ma'am," Paul said. He got Ash backing away again, if a little quicker this time. The bear stood watching until they were a good thirty yards apart. She dropped down. Then, just before she turned to walk back to her cubs, she made a "wiffling" noise that sounded an awful lot like a horselaugh.

"Same to you," Paul said. He couldn't help but chuckle, but he kept Ash moving. He saw the grizzlies amble off toward the west, so he turned Ash to the east as he made a wide circle heading across the meadow.

Just to make sure Mama knew where he was, he began singing "Oh, Suzanna" as he rode. He always did like that song, as especially since one night back in Eerie. Jessie had managed to get some men start a fight over her that almost wrecked Shamus' saloon. Shamus had punished her by having her strip down to her unmentionables and sing that same song standing on top of the bar. 'That's another reason for bring her back to Eerie,' he thought 'to see... to hear her singing like that again.'

***

Paul's knife dug a last curl in the bark of the log. He leaned forward and fed the wood into the blazing fire. The curls would help the fire catch easier, since the wood was wet. "Damn near everything's wet," he muttered.

It had started raining early in the morning, while he was making breakfast. First hailstones, big ones, then a hard, steady downpour that had made short work of what was left of his fire. He'd packed up his camp in a hurry, leaving the coffeepot for last, so he'd have something warm in his belly.

The rain quickly turned the ground to mud. Jessie's trail was gone. "She's pretty much traveled in a straight line," he decided, so he continued on in the direction she'd been going since the night she fled from Toby's cabin. With any luck, the rain would end soon. He'd have no trouble finding fresh prints in the new mud.

He was in luck -- almost all of it bad. The rain fell steadily the entire day. "Looks like one of them 'monsoons' some of Mr. Slocum's men was telling me about," he admitted to himself finally. The good luck, what little there was, was that he hadn't come to a river or a trail. Either of these could have given Jessie the chance to change direction, just as she'd done at the Salt River. Instead, she was probably still ahead of him.

Probably.

He realized that he'd be disappointed on some level if she proved too easy to catch. But, then again, he'd be real disappointed in himself if he didn't catch her in two or three days.

He thought about that again late in the afternoon when he stopped to set up his second night's camp. It was already getting dark under the heavy clouds. "I wonder if she's got something to keep the rain off? If not, she's gonna look like a drowned rat and be twice as miserable in them wet clothes. Hell, she might even _want_ to get caught, just to get dry." It was a nice thought and it lasted almost as long as it took to say it aloud.

Paul unpacked a tarp and set it up as a lean-to, its back to the wind and rain. He built his fire pit right at its edge, so the shelter would keep some of the rain off the fire. Even so, he knew that he'd have to build a hearty fire if it was going to keep burning all night.

He leaned back, resting himself against his saddle. "I'll keep going in this direction tomorrow," he decided, "and hope the rain stops. If it don't and I come to a road, I'll follow that a ways and see if I can find people that might've seen her."

He finished the cup of coffee that was on the blanket next to him. "Ain't much of a plan, but it's all I got." he admitted. He stretched out and rested his head on the seat of the saddle. He'd used it for a pillow more times than a dog had fleas. He put his hat down over his eyes and was asleep by the time he had let out one long, weary sigh.

***

The door to the stage depot opened, ringing a small brass bell on a wire just above it. There were about a half dozen men inside, waiting out the "monsoon" that had blown up from the Baja. When the bell sounded, a few turned toward the door to see a tall man that no one recognized wearing a brown hat and rain slicker. "Do I smell coffee," he said by way of a greeting.

"You do." The newcomer's glance shifted toward a short balding man who sat behind a counter with a sign above it saying 'Station Master'. "Have some n'warm up yer insides," the bald man added. He pointed to a large coffeepot resting on a stove in the corner of the room. There were cups and a bowl of sugar on a shelf next to it.

"Thanks." The other man nodded and walked straight to the pot. He filled a cup, drank some and sighed. "Damn, that feels good going down."

"'Spect it would in this rain," the man behind the counter said. "I'm Coleman Hoyle; m'friends call me Cole. I run this place for Wells Fargo."

"Paul... Paul Grant," the new man said. He took another sip of coffee, pausing to feel its warmth in his stomach. "I'm deputy sheriff over in Eerie, Arizona." He pulled back his slicker on one side just long enough to show Hoyle the badge on his shirt.

Cole scratched his head. "Don't think I ever heard of it."

You're not likely to have," Paul said. "It's a little place the other side of Phoenix. Stage only comes through once a week, almost never stops."

"Then what brings you over t'these parts?"

"I'm looking for somebody." He raised his voice, knowing that the men in the room were listening, even if they pretended that they weren't. "Her trail led on this direction -- at least it did before that damned rain..."

"_Her_ trail," somebody said, a chunky man in a brown work shirt. He sounded angry. "That wouldn't be a pretty, little gal with long, blonde hair and a big mouth, would it?"

"Sounds like her," Paul said with a nod. "Especially the part about the mouth. You see her?"

Another man laughed. "See her. She almost cost Devin there his job."

"Shut up, Sol," the chunky man -- Devin -- said. "Why you looking for her anyway, Mister?"

Paul sensed more than normal curiosity here. "A man died and she's the only witness."

"She probably did it," Devin said. "Is there a reward for her?"

"Sure is. The thanks of the good citizens of Eerie and the satisfaction of seeing justice done." Paul wanted directions, if he could get them, but he didn't need a lot of trigger-happy company trailing along with him.

Sol made a face. "Yeah, sure. That 'n fifty cents'll get me a beer."

"I don't care," Devin said. "I might just ride along with the man. Be nice to see a little justice fall on her head."

"The hell you will." Cole slammed his fist on the counter. "The company hired you t'ride guard on their stages. They'll be another one along soon as this rain stops and the roads ain't flooded no more. You was begging me not t'report you after what happened. You better by G-d be here when that stage comes through or you can just keep on riding, 'cause you won't be working for us no more."

Paul poured himself another cup of coffee and took a seat at the table Devin was sitting at. "What exactly did happen to put that burr on your saddle?"

"Story like that, a man needs something stronger than coffee t'tell it right." Devin looked at Cole.

"Fifty cents, same as always," Cole said.

Paul tossed Cole a silver dollar. "Give the man his drink. I'll just take mine later."

Cole leaned forward. There was the sound behind the counter of a key in a lock. A moment later, Cole brought out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He poured one drink before putting the bottle back. "Here, y'go, Devin."

Devin took the glass and downed it in one quick gulp. He closed his eyes and shuddered for a moment. "Ah, that there's the real stuff." He sat down opposite Paul and started talking.

"Three days ago, me me'n Noah Ward was bringing the stage down from Prescott t'Tucson. He was driving and I was guard. 'Bout what... six miles north of here, we see some kid walk out onto the road n'wave us down. I didn't want t'stop -- can't be too careful y'know --"

"Bull... shit!" someone yelled.

Devin spun around to see who had spoken, but he couldn't tell. "Anyways, ol' Noah was a trusting soul. He pulled up the reins and we stopped just a few feet away from the kid."

"And you're saying this kid was Je... was a woman," Paul asked.

"I am," Devin continued. "Y'tell the truth, we didn't know it right off. She was wearing a man's clothes n' had a hat pushed down on her head. She was talking in a deep voice, like a man, too."

"What happened next?" Paul said. It sounded like Jessie had gone back to her old, thieving ways...

"She pulled out a pistol and told us t'toss down whatever we was carrying that was valuable. Well, we said, 'No' of course and she fires that pistol into the air. The recoil must've caught her off-guard. It knocked off her hat and all that hair of hers come tumbling down. I figgered I could get a drop on her, so I reached under the seat for m'Winchester --"

"Which you should've been carrying on your lap," Cole interrupted.

"All right, Cole, all right. Which I should've been carrying on my lap. But I wasn't, okay? So when I reached down for it, she gets off a shot that couldn't have missed my hand by more'n three inches. I pull it back and she says the next shot is gonna do permanent damage. Ol' Noah, he starts blubbering just like a baby -- no damn help at all -- so I done like she says. Noah tosses down the mail sack we was carrying and we hightail it outta there."

"Without a fight," Cole added glumly.

"Shut up, Cole." Devon glared at the man. "She had the drop on me n'Noah. Hell, the man looked ready t'pee his pants. What was I supposed t'do?"

"What the company pays you t'do, Devin," Cole answered.

"The company pays me t'protect what its stages carry. It don't pay me to try and draw on a somebody that's already got a pistol aimed at my heart."

"Last time you told that story, you said she was aiming at your pecker," somebody yelled.

"Too small a target," someone else said.

"Maybe it was hiding under the seat with his Winchester," a third man said. The room erupted into laughter.

"Damn all you bastards t'hell!" Devin stood up and spun around, his pistol in his hand.

"Put that away," Paul said quietly. His own pistol was drawn and pointed directly at Devin. "I mean it."

Devin looked at Paul. He looked into Paul's eyes and trembled with rage. "They... they called me a coward -- n'worse. You heard them."

Paul nodded and looked at the other men in the room. "I heard them. Some men talk real big when it's somebody else in danger and not them." He took a breath, watching the chunky man's reactions. "But you can't shoot a man for talking stupid." He looked around the room. "No matter how much he might deserve it."

"We... we was just funning you, Devin," a man at another table said. He was an older man, bald but for a few tufts of gray hair at each ear.

"You were all just funning him?" Paul asked. The rest of the men nodded. "Then why don't you all apologize?"

"We do, Mister," the older man said. "We all do." There were murmurs of agreement from every other man in the room.

Devin brightened. "Then you all will help me go find that gal after this rain stops?" He sounded hopeful.

Paul felt ready to shoot Devin himself, when Cole chimed in. "No they won't, Devin. First off, I already told you that you're staying here t'wait for the next stage. Second, I won't stand for no lynch mob pretending t'act in the company's name."

"Lynch mob?" Devin said. "We... we was gonna bring her in so this man..." He pointed at Paul. "...so this man can arrest her for robbing the stage."

"Now wait a minute," Paul said.

"He can arrest her for whatever he come to arrest her for," Cole said, "but there's not point bringing her in for robbing the stage. The company ain't pressing charges."

"What are you saying, Cole?" somebody asked.

"If she got anything, we'd press charges," Cole said. "We can't have people thinking that they can just take them valuables that Wells Fargo has promised t'protect and deliver to their rightful destinations."

"So..." Devin asked.

"But she didn't get nothing," Cole said. "They found that mail sack right where Noah tossed it and, as far as anybody could tell, nothing got taken. We press charges, we got to tell people how some little bit of a gal scared two Wells Fargo men into giving her that sack. You think the company wants t'say something like that, you're crazy as that gal must be."

"So she gets off scott free?" Devin asked in amazement.

"No she doesn't," Paul said. "I'd lost her trail in this rain. Thanks t'you, I found it again. I just have to figure out which way she went after she... umm, ran into you and Noah."

"That's easy," Devin said. "She went t'Mexico." Most of the other men in the room made noises like they agreed.

"Why do you say that?" Paul asked.

"I been given it some thought in case I could get this _company man_ t'let me go after her." He looked at Cole, who just shrugged. To him, it was a compliment.

"Anyways," Devin continued. "She tried to rob the stage -- I'll be damned if I know why she didn't take that sack -- so she must figger that there's a posse chasing her. You don't have t'be too smart to know that the easiest way t'shake a posse is t'head south. Once you get across that border, ain't nobody gonna help them bring you back. Law don't say they has to. There's nothing that a posse _can_ do short of kidnapping you -- and then _they's_ the criminals."

He looked over at Paul who nodded. The man made sense. "Give him my drink," Paul said to Cole. He'd wait here till the rain stopped and head south after her. No need to get wet now that he was pretty sure he knew where Jessie was headed -- out of the frying pan and into the fire. The border was a bad place, with the meanest kind of owlhoots scuttling back and forth across it. It would be especially bad for any gal as pretty as Jessie Hanks.

***

Paul had been riding since early morning. It was past noon and the mud of the trail was already baked dry. For the last hour or more, he had watched the forest of the central ranges turn into the scrub grasslands of the Sonoran Desert. He stopped on a low rise to take a drink from his canteen and make certain that he was still heading south.

He was. That central peak on the small range of mountains far ahead of him was almost due south. It'd make a good landmark to aim for, probably for the rest of the day.

Then, off to the west and maybe a dozen miles away, he saw something else in the crisp, clear air. A thin column of black smoke was heading skyward. Fire, especially a prairie fire was one of the worst things a cowman like him could imagine. "Damn," he spat the word. "You'll just have to wait a bit longer, Jessie." He whipped Ash's reins and headed the horse towards the rising smoke.

***

As Paul rode in, he could see that it wasn't a grass fire, after all. It was worse. That was somebody's barn going up in smoke. 'Hope nobody was inside when it caught fire,' he thought to himself.

There were well over two dozen people already at work, when he reached the homestead. He tied his horse's reins to the wheel of someone's wagon. A bucket brigade was working off of one pump and water trough about twenty feet from the house. Buckets were filled and passed down the line to the last man, who threw the water on the fire. Then the empty basket was passed back for more water. There were enough buckets to keep the line very busy, but the fire was still gaining.

The man at the pump -- a boy of 16 from the look of him -- seemed to be tiring. "Why don't I spell you on that?" Paul asked. The boy looked at Paul for a minute and nodded. "Th-thanks, Mister." The two matched motions, then the lad stepped back. Paul grabbed the pump handle, never breaking rhythm.

The boy -- Paul found out later that his name was Amos Tyler -- ran off, then quickly returned carrying a rusted tin bucket. He filled it with water and stepped into the line working to save the barn. He passed the filled bucket on to a man closer to the fire, taking the man's emptied bucket in return.

***

It took two hours and more to get the fire under control.

The barn was almost a total loss, but the horses, thankfully, had been in the field along with a lot of the harvesting equipment.

A few of the people had already left. They had their own farms and families to worry about. Others were walking around, guessing at what it would take to repair the damage.

Paul was ready to leave, as well, but he wanted to speak to Ephrem Tyler, the owner of the place. A skinny fellow with the turned collar of a preacher was talking to Tyler, a barrel-chested man with curly brown hair.

"I been talking to the brethren, Ephrem," the preacher said. "They got to get their own crops in, but they's G-d fearing folk, the lot of them and they all want to help, Praise be. We'll all be back here two weeks from today, if that's all right with you?"

Tyler was barely listening. Mostly he was glancing around as if looking for something. "Two weeks, Brother Douglas, what do you mean?"

"Why for the barn raising." Brother Douglas smiled cheerfully. "They all want to do the Christian thing and come help you put up a new barn. Lord knows, you surely need one."

Paul studied the man. A lot of clergymen were just so much hot air. Some were even grifters with less religion than he had himself. This one was real. His suit was rumpled and wet from working in the bucket brigade. And his first act after the fire was to get a bunch of busy farmers to agree to spend a day helping their neighbor.

Paul suddenly was aware that Douglas was studying him just as hard. "I don't believe I know you, friend, you were a godsend on that pump. Can we count on you to help with Brother Tyler's new barn?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," Paul said. "I'm sort of on business." He looked down at his badge. "I just came over to help when I saw the smoke."

"And a great help you were. The Lord's own strong right hand was helping you on that pump."

Paul waved his arms back and forth, trying to work out the ache he felt. "I don't know about that. I'm just glad I could help."

Before he could say anything more. Amos, the boy from the pump, came running to his father. "Pa, pa, they ain't anywhere. Me n'Malachai looked all over."

Another boy, maybe a year older and the near twin of Amos, ran up. "It's true, pa. I was looking in the barn just... just in case..." He let the words fall off. "There weren't no sign of her in there."

"Praise the Lord for that," Douglas said.

"Amen, Brother," Paul said. "Who exactly is missing, though?"

"My-my wife," Tyler said nervously. "My daughter, too."

"Any chance they would have gone for help when the fire started?" Paul asked. He had a feeling this was trouble.

Tyler laughed. A sour sort of laugh. "You don't know my wife, Mister. She might've sent Hanna -- m' daughter -- off for help, but she'd have stayed and fought that fire. She's a stubborn woman, my... my Piety." His voice began to waiver and he looked scared.

"You boys find any sign of where she might've gone?" Paul asked them.

"No, sir," Malachai, the older one said. "Somebody's been in the house, though. They like t'tore it apart. And, pa, gramma's candlesticks and your rifle is missing, too."

"Your mama's gonna be fit to be tied; she loved them candlesticks," Tyler said, not quite thinking clearly. "You didn't find nothing?"

"I did, pa," Amos said. "Somebody I never heard of left his hat in the parlor."

"If he isn't here, how do you know his name?" Paul asked.

"'Cause it's writ inside the brim of his hat," Amos said, trying to remember. "Toby... Hess. Yeah, that was his name, Toby Hess."

Sure enough, somebody, Toby probably, had used a grease pencil to write his name inside the brim. It was a common joke in Eerie, the way he was always losing his hat. After he wrote his name inside, he'd get it back sooner or later, instead of having to buy a new one. Well, he didn't need it where he was now.

"Does that mean anything to you?" Brother Douglas asked.

"Yes, sir, it does," Paul answered. "Mr. Tyler, the business I'm on is tracking the only witness to the death of Toby Hess, the woman who may have done it. His hat is here because she wore it when she came this way."

"Is she dangerous?" Amos asked. "Is she gonna hurt my mama?"

"I don't think so," Paul said, trying hard to sound certain. "But for some reason, I think she took your mama and your sister with her when she left."

"Maybe it wasn't her choice," Tyler said. "There's been warnings that Commancheros, raiders from Mexico, been up north of the border. Nobody said they were anywhere near these parts, though. There was a lot of fresh tracks heading off in that direction..." He pointed to the south. "...when we rode in. We were too busy with the fire t'check them out."

"And you think they took your wife and daughter?" Paul didn't add, "and Jessie," but he suspected it was true.

"Sounds like it," Douglas said. "I hate to speak ill of any man, but them Commancheros aren't men, they're truly the spawn of hell. They ride up here after loot and..." he took a deep breath, "...and slaves, especially women. Take'm back below the border for sale. Come to think of it, I've heard stories of them raiding farms, carrying off all they can and setting the buildings on fire to distract anybody that might want to ride after them."

A few others had heard the conversation and drifted over. One of them was a stocky boy about Amos's age. "Commancheros have Hanna... and Mrs. Tyler, too? We... we gotta go after them."

"Take it easy, Gil," an adult version of the boy said. "We don't want to do anything hasty."

"Hasty, pa?" the boy said. "We know Hanna's missing and we got a sheriff right here to help us find her. What're we waiting for." Paul sighed. He could almost feel the group turning into a posse, an overly concerned, half-cocked posse that he couldn't avoid leading out after Jessie and the others no matter how much he tried. Not all the trouble ahead was going to come from the Commancheros.

Chapter 6 -- "With the Commancheros"

An odd group of riders made their way south through the cacti and shrub grass of the Sonora Desert. Six rough-looking men rode flank -- one in front, another at the rear and two on each side -- of a five horse pack train. A young girl was astride the first pack horse. A very pretty blonde and an older brunette rode the third and fourth horses.

The five pack horses were connected by a length of rope that went through a hitch in their bridles. The hands of the three females were tied at the wrists. The other end of each of their ropes was tied to the tree of the packsaddle of the horse they rode.

"I'll ask you again, Miss Hanks," the brunette said, "just what do you and your friends intend to do with my daughter and I?"

The blonde turned her head around to glare at the older woman. "For the umpteenth time, _Miz_ Tyler, they ain't my friends. If they was, you think they'd've tied me up with you and them other horses?"

Piety Tyler ignored the insult. "What they do with you is not my concern. What happens to my daughter and me is. What are they going to do with us?"

"Well, they sure ain't inviting us for tea. These here are Commancheros. They ride up from Mexico raiding for loot. They grab what they can and take it all home t'sell for whatever they can get."

"They're no better than common thieves. What a horrid way to earn one's living."

"Maybe so, but we ain't exactly in a position t'be judging them."

"You... you said that they sell whatever they can steal. What... what about... what do they do with the people like us that they... capture?"

"They sell them... us, too."

"But that... that's against the law. The Thirteenth Amendment --"

"Don't apply down in Mexico where we're going. Fact is, there's a ready market for people down there."

Jessie lowered her voice and cast a glance back at the teenager... Hanna? How much of this was she hearing?

"Yes," Piety said. "I suppose that you would know of such things."

"Ma'am, just because I knows about them things don't mean that I'm a part of 'em." She shook her head for emphasis. "I never did approve of white slavery, no how."

"White slavery! You... you don't mean..." She let the words trail off.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid I do. I mean _exactly_ that." She continued, unable to resist the urge getting a dig in. "Now, they may not get much for a dried up old busy-body like you." Jessie let the new insult sink in for a couple seconds. Lordy, it was fun to act catty. "But that daughter of yours'll bring top dollar, being young, pretty and... pure --"

"Unlike yourself." Piety had claws, too.

"Miz Tyler," Jessie said through gritted teeth, "In spite of what you may think of me, I ain't never been with a man in my whole, entire life." In her head, she added, 'and I never will be, especially after I get a hold of that potion and change back.'

Piety gave a snort of disbelief. "Never? I think not?"

There were chuckles to Jessie's left and right. The outriders all had heard her denial. From the way they talked at the Tyler ranch, she knew most of them had at least some English. They were all looking at her. A man on her left said something she couldn't quite make out to his companion and both men laughed. When he saw her looking at him, one man leered back at her and made a _very_ improper gesture.

'Damn,' Jessie thought. 'I probably just made things even worse. How the hell do I get out of this?'

***

The sun had begin to dip below some mountains far off to the west by the time the leader rider called a halt. They were near a small pond hemmed in by mesquite and suguaro cacti.

The rider who'd been leading the pack train shouted, in Spanish, "We camp here," and jumped from his horse. The other men reined in and dismounted. The lead rider untied the pack train rope from his saddle and knotted it to the trunk of a mesquite.

The man who had leered at Jessie walked over to the first horse and untied the end of the rope binding Hanna to the saddle. He left her wrists bound, though. He reached up, put his hands around the girl's waist and, with a sudden jerk, pulled her from the horse. Hanna screamed and the man said something in Spanish and laughed. Jessie caught part of it, a brag that he knew many ways to make a girl scream.

When the man set Hanna down, he insolently tweaked her breasts and her bottom. Hanna screamed again and pulled free. She ran a few feet then stumbled and fell to the ground. She curled herself into a ball as best she could and began to cry.

"How dare you do that to my daughter," Piety yelled. "You cowardly, heathen... bastards!"

Jessie smiled, a little surprised that Piety knew the word, let alone that she was willing to say it aloud. Jessie felt the same way, but she knew better than that farmwife how to talk to cutthroats. "Shush up, Miz Tyler. You'll only make it worse for all of us."

"And I suppose you have a better idea," Piety snapped. "Or are you actually looking forward to being molested?"

Before Jessie could answer, she felt a tugging at her own ropes and looked down. The same man who had freed Hanna was now working on the knot that held her to the saddle tree. When he finished, she felt his rough hands around her own waist. She braced herself for the jolt as he lifted her down in a single, quick motion.

As he set her boots to earth, he reached up and grasped her breast with a yellow-toothed smirk. Shamus' potion wouldn't let her attack anyone, but it would let her _respond_ to something like that. She planted her feet and swung at the man's head using her arms and the thick knot that bound her wrists as a club.

She hit. Hard. The man staggered back a few feet and stood there shaking his head to try and clear it. The other men laughed.

"Who's the head of this here outfit," Jessie yelled. She spoke English. It might be useful if they didn't know how much Spanish she understood.

At that moment, the man Jessie had hit cleared his head. He growled low in his throat and started towards her, an angry look in his eye.

"Hold!" someone yelled in Spanish. The man stopped walking, though he continued to glare at Jessie.

"I am, as you say, in charge, seņorita." Jessie turned in the direction of the voice. As she'd expected, it was the rider of the lead horse, a fine chestnut stallion. He was a tall man with silver running here and there through his dark hair. "Why do you ask and why have you embarrassed Felippe in this way?"

"I hit Felippe because he... touched what he had no right to touch." She took a breath. Lordy, let this work. "I ask because I'm making a challenge. I challenge for the right t'join up with you. I came down this way to meet up with people like you. Do you think I'd do that if I couldn't ride, shoot and fight as good as any man?"

The leader studied her closely. "Little one, you took Felippe -- who, I must admit, is not the smartest of men -- by surprise. Do not presume that one lucky blow entitles you to --"

"You afraid I'll embarrass him -- embarrass _you_ again?" She smiled to drive home the insult. The man seemed amused by what she had done. She wanted him amused -- or angry -- enough to agree to what she was asking.

"That is _muy_, is _very_ unlikely to happen. Why should I agree to such an unequal contest?"

"It should at least be fun to watch."

"Carida, there are things that are even more fun for a man and woman to do on a day that is so hot."

"You can have both kinds of fun." She stopped. Did she have the sand to finish what she was about to say? "If you agree, I'll... I'll bet my body. You play my game and if I lose, I'll play yours."

The man laughed deep in his throat. "Little one, your body is already mine to take whenever I or my men wish it."

"Yes," Jessie said, eyes flashing. "To _take_. But the taking won't be easy. I can promise you that. Now, if you take that bet and I lose, I'll... cooperate." She smiled, almost leered herself and her voice went low and breathy. "And it'll just be, oh, so much more _fun_, if I _cooperate_."

By now, someone had freed Piety and she was kneeling down beside Hanna, trying to comfort the girl as best she could, though her wrists were still tied. Even so, she heard Jessie's challenge and Jessie's offer. "I knew it," she spat. "For all your fine words, you're just a whore after all."

"Shut up," Jessie snapped back at her. This was the best, the only, thing she could think of that might give the three of them a chance and this self-righteous old biddy was making her wonder why she was bothering to do it.

The leader watched the exchange between the two women. There was a fire in the younger one. Perhaps he wouldn't sell her -- at least, not right away. "Very well," he said. "Who am I to go against Commanchero tradition and refuse such a request. You will fight Felippe."

"And if I win?" Jessie wanted him to say the words.

"If you win, you will take his place in my band and..." He looked hard at Felippe. "...and he will become my manservant."

"But if _I_ win," Felippe added, a menacing tone in his voice, "I will _take_ you. And you, little one, will _cooperate_, no?" He leered as he said it, happy to have the first chance at the gringo seņorita.

Jessie looked at him closely. He was short and thin, but wiry. He'd had no trouble lifting her off that horse. Strong, yes, but he had a temper, too. He'd have attacked her if Manolo hadn't stopped him. If he won, he'd get his pride back. And she'd have to have... she didn't even want to think about doing _that_ with him. She nodded in answer. This would work. It _had_ to. "Yes, I'll cooperate... _if_ you win."

"Jorge, tie them together," the leader said, "and get them knives." Jorge was a tall, copper-skinned man. He had no mustache or beard and wore his hair, like his Indian ancestors, straight down to his shoulders. He unbound Jessie's wrist, then retied one end of the rope firmly around her left wrist. He fastened the other end around Felippe's left wrist, leaving about ten feet of rope between the pair.

"This don't seem fair," Jessie said. "Him being bigger n'me."

The leader smiled, a cat playing with a mouse. "Little one, I agreed to the challenge, but when did I say that it would be a _fair_ fight?"

Someone handed Jessie a knife, a mean-looking toad sticker with a four-inch blade. She touched the edge; it was razor sharp. Felippe, she saw, had a similar knife. 'At least he took off his gun belt,' she thought.

The leader raised his right arm. "Remember, this is _not_ a fight to the death." He looked straight at Jessie. "Either of you can surrender at _any_ time by just saying the word."

"Surrender now, little one," Felippe said. "Why waste time when we can go on, right now, to the... cooperating." He laughed. "We already know who is going to win this."

"That's right," Jessie said, "and it ain't gonna be you, so let's get on with it." Her only chance was to make him mad. As long as he attacked, she could defend herself.

"Very well, then," the leader said. "It begins..." he took a breath, a long breath. "Now!" He shouted the word and quickly lowered his arm.

Jessie grabbed a loop of the rope and quickly cut though it with the knife. As she let the ends drop, she felt a hard tug on one of them. Felippe had tried to pull her to him, just as she guessed he would.

"She cut the rope," someone yelled. "She cannot do that."

Jessie grinned. "I never promised a fair fight neither." She braced herself, her feet slightly apart and made a "come n'get me" gesture with her hands. "Okay, Felippe. Let's see if you got the sand t'beat me."

Felippe charged her, knife held high.

Jessie waited. She looked as if she was going to grab for his arm. At the last second, she dodged to the left. He missed, but she caught him hard in the back with her fists as he ran by. He stumbled in surprise from the force of her blow and almost fell.

He regained his balance and circled her slowly, looking for an opening. He found one and charged again. Jessie tried to dodge, but he was ready. An arm shot around her waist and pulled her along with him.

She squirmed, trying to break free as he stopped. He raised the knife. "Now do you surrender, little one?"

"In a pig's eye," she yelled. She turned and jabbed her elbow hard into his stomach. He grunted in pain and threw her to the ground.

Jessie rose slowly to her hands and knees. She was tiring from the heat, panting for breath. She looked up, waiting for his next attack, so she could do something. "Damn potion," she muttered under her breath.

Felippe walked towards her, knife held high. She could react to that. She did by throwing a handful of sand into his eyes.

Felippe roared and began trying to wipe the sand away with his arm. He staggered towards her, though, swinging the knife wildly.

Jessie's leg shot out and kicked him in the kneecap. With a cry and a stumble, he fell face first to the ground. When he hit, the knife shot out of his hand, landing several feet away and out of his reach.

Jessie jumped onto him and pressed the point of her knife between a couple of his ribs. Then she just sat there, putting all her weight on the small of his back. "Get off me," he growled and tensed for a sudden move.

"You just stay right there, Felippe," Jessie said. You try t'roll over and I just may have t'stick you."

"You... you would not kill me."

Jessie heard real fear in his voice.

"Oh, nothing like that," Jessie said, spitting grit and the ends of her own disarryed hair out of her mouth. "But I just might cut off something so you wouldn't be up to... _cooperating_ no more." She waited to let her words sink in. "So, Felippe, do you feel... lucky?"

"No... no! I-I surrender."

"I thought you would." Jessie tossed the knife over towards Jorge and stood up, breathing in short, hard gasps. She felt every eye in the camp was on her and looked straight at the leader, trying to guess his reaction to her victory.

The man was sitting on a high rock under the shade of a mesquite, as if on a throne. He smiled at her and shrugged. "It seems that I have a new member in my band of Commancheros." He paused a moment. "And a new manservant, too."

There was a scream, Hanna's scream. "Look out! Behind you!"

Jessie turned. Felippe was on his feet and running toward her, his knife blade pointed directly at her stomach.

"Bitch!" he yelled. "Now we --"

Bamm! A shot range out.

Felippe staggered back a step. He looked down at a dark red stain growing on his shirt just about where his heart was. "Bitch," he repeated and, with a terribly sad look on his face, he crumpled to the ground.

Jessie didn't bother to check him. Felippe was already close enough to hell to smell the smoke. Instead, she turned instead and looked at the bandit leader. His pistol was still smoking in his hand. "There are rules on how we Commancheros treat one another, Felippe," he said to the dead man. "I wish that you had remembered them." He holstered his weapon and regarded the dirty-faced, wild-haired girl. "I am sorry that you had such a poor welcome to my band, seņorita." He spoke the word respectfully.

"I'm just thankful that you decided t'help me and not him," Jessie said.

"I had no choice," the leader said. "You won."

"That's probably the only 'fair' thing about that there fight."

The man laughed. "You are probably right." He stood up and extended his right hand towards Jessie. "I am Manolo Ortega."

"Jessie Hanks." She took Manolo's hand and shook it firmly. There was no point lying about her name.

"And now, Jessie Hanks. You will need a weapon of your own. Jorge, bring over Felippe's gun belt."

The other man brought over the gun belt. The holster held a Colt Dragoon. It was an old pistol, not a top of the line Rimfire, but it was a lot better than the mule-kicking, old pistol Jessie had taken from Toby.

Jessie buckled the belt around her hip. Felippe had been a thin man, but even so, she might have to carve a new notch to keep the thing from slipping down too far on her hips. She did manage to buckle it low, so it rode on her hips, the Colt in easy reach.

Manolo raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how to use such a weapon, Jessie Hanks?"

Jessie drew the Colt in a quick, fluid motion. She put three shots into a nearby cactus. They were grouped in a small triangle about where a man's heart would be. She spun the pistol twice around her finger before settling it smoothly back into the holster. "I've had a little experience."

Manolo smiled, his eyes wide. Several of the other men were pointing at Jessie or at the bullet holes on the cactus. "I am sure," Manolo said wryly, "that you will get the hang of it with some practice."

Jessie looked around. Most of the men were smiling. They were getting ready for supper and making camp for the night. No one seemed too concerned about Felippe's body getting cold there on the ground. Piety was frowning and holding Hanna so that the girl couldn't look in Jessie's direction.

No one had expected Felippe to pull that fool stunt and charge her. Jessie realized that if Hanna hadn't yelled, altering both her and Manolo,_she'd_ be the one lying in the dirt. Manolo still might have shot Felippe for showing such disrespect, but then again, it would have hardly mattered if she were dead herself.

***

The men went back to setting up camp for the night. Manolo ordered the Tyler women to cook supper for his men. When they refused, he said that it was the only way the women would get any food.

Jessie walked over to where Hanna sat, peeling potatoes. "I wanted t'thank you," she said.

Hanna looked up at her. "What for?"

"You might've just saved my life when you yelled."

The girl seemed surprised. "I... Momma doesn't like you, but I... I couldn't let that... that man..." She started to sniffle, her hand shaking so much that she dropped the peeler.

Jessie sat down next to her and handed back the peeler. "It's all right... Hanna, isn't that your name?"

"Y-yes, ma'am. It-it is. I just never seen a man die before." Hanna's eyes were full of tears. She bit her lip to keep from bawling.

"It's something you learn to get used to -- if you have to." Then she took another look at the girl, almost still a child. "But a nice, little gal like you shouldn't ever have to get use to things like that. For now, you got no need t'be thinking about it no more. Just think of him like a rattler that your dad shot."

She reached down, not knowing what else to do and gently stroked the trembling girl's hair. "I just came over t'say 'thanks' and t'see how you and your ma are getting on."

Hanna took a deep breath. She still looked ready to rabbit, to jump up and run away in fear. "We... we're okay, I-I guess. The men got us fixing their dinner. Momma's fit to be tied 'cause it's our _food_, what we was fixing for lunch, for Gil... and Pa and all the others that are helping him bring in the wheat harvest. They brought it along when they... when they t-took us prisoner."

Jessie smiled, glad that the subject had changed. This "Gil" must be somebody special to Hanna. Was she really old enough to have a beau, Jessie wondered. "Where is your momma anyways?"

"I am right here, Miss Hanks and I'll ask you to leave my daughter alone." Hanna sat up, moving away from Jessie at the sound of her mother's voice.

"I just came over t'see how she was and to thank her for her help before. You don't have to get all riled about it."

Piety frowned. "Whatever I may think of you, his attacking from behind like that was the act of a coward."

"Yes'm and thanks to Hanna here, he didn't bring it off like he wanted."

"Well, you've said your thanks. Now you can go back and... _cooperate_ with your friends, while we slave here to fix dinner."

Jessie sighed. This crabapple wasn't going to cut her any slack. She didn't want to go back over to Manolo and the other men because they might suggest she do just that. "If it's all the same to you, Miz Tyler. I'd just as soon stay here and help you and Hanna with the supper."

"Am I to suppose that you know how to cook?" Piety asked. "Cook well, I mean."

Jessie let the insult stand. She wanted to stay with these two and keep an eye on them. "Well, now, Miz Tyler, the last place I... lived, I used to help out a... friend of mine at the restaurant where she worked. She was the cook and she taught me a couple things about it."

"We'll just start you with something you know." Piety took the peeler from Hanna and handed it to Jessie. "After the way you handled that knife, let's see if you can use one of these." She took Hanna by the hand and pulled the girl to her feet. "Come, child. While Miss Hanks is struggling to peel the potatoes, we'll see how the meat and stew vegetables are doing."

Piety started to walk back towards the cook fire. Hanna mouthed a "Thank _you_" to Jessie and hurried after her mother.

***

Jessie sat on the ground near the cook fire, finishing her supper. 'Second night out,' she thought, 'and them Mex is starting to give the Tyler women the hungry eye. Manolo says leave 'em be, they'll be worth more wherever we're heading, but I ain't sure he can make it stick.'

Her train of thought was broken by the yells of a man running through the camp.

"Jefe, Jefe, look what I have found!" One of the Commancheros, a man lean as a grasshopper, came running in to where the other men were still eating supper. He was carrying a wooden box that Jessie recognized as part of the loot from the Tylers'.

"So what have you found, Luis?" Manolo asked. "And why were you looking?"

"Jefe, I-I was curious, that is all. So many things we have taken, I just wanted to look. I looked and I found..." he reached into the box and pulled out a bottle. "...this... this rum!" There was triumph in his voice.

"Rum." Manolo stood up. "Bring it here." The man, Luis, quickly walked over and handed the box and the bottle to his leader. Manolo held the box under one arm, while he examined the bottle. "Very good, Luis. It is rum, fine rum and I am glad to see that none of the bottles have been opened."

"Jefe... you-you do not think that I would..." He let the words fade.

Manolo put his arm on the other man's shoulder. "Of course, not, Luis. You are a good man."

"You put that back! Put it back right now!" Piety Tyler had just come with a pot of coffee for the men. She wasn't happy serving the bandits, but Manolo had made it very clear the first night that the only way she -- and Hanna -- would get to eat, was if they cooked and served the meal to his men first. One of his men watched, just to make sure that nothing _odd_ went into those meals, but it drove home the point that the pair were at the mercy of their captors.

But this was the last straw. "My father didn't sent that to me last Christmas, all the way from Massachusetts, for it to be drunk by the likes of you."

Jessie was sitting on the ground only a few feet from where Piety stood. "Shut up, woman," she hissed. "You're only making it worse." Piety looked daggers at Jessie ignored her warning.

Manolo laughed. "It would seem, seņora, that your father did just that." He put down the box and used his knife to pull the cork from the bottle. Then he took a long swig of the amber liquor. "Marvelous!" he yelled, wiping his lips. "Luis, you have found a treasure. And here is your reward." He handed Luis the bottle. "Drink! Drink! You deserve it."

Luis nervously took a drink and handed the bottle back to Manolo. From the smile on his face, Jessie could see that he would have liked to take more. 'That man's got the look of a whupped dog about him,' Jessie thought.

Manolo turned towards Piety. "Seņora, since you are so worried about this rum, perhaps you will join us in the drinking of it?" He laughed.

"I'd rather die... and I hope that you do." Piety scowled and walked away, her back ramrod stiff.

Manolo laughed. "At least, leave the coffee, seņora. Then you and your daughter may eat."

Jorge stepped in front of Piety. "What do you want, you heathen?" she asked, furious at being stopped. Jorge looked down at the coffeepot in her hand. Piety followed his eyes. "Here, take it," she spat and pushed it into his hand. "And I hope you all choke on it." Jorge nodded and stepped out of her way. The men laughed as she stormed back to the cook fire where Hanna sat waiting. Jessie just shook her head.

Jorge put the pot down on a flat rock near Manolo. No one seemed interested in coffee, though. Most were hurriedly finishing what they already had to make room in their cups for a share of the rum. They lined up in front of Manolo, who cheerfully filled each man's cup.

As he filled the last -- and took another swig himself, Manolo looked at Jessie. "And you, Carida, will you not join your Commanchero brothers in enjoying this fine rum?" When Jessie hesitated, he added. "You tell us that you can ride and shoot and fight like a man. Can it be that you can only drink like a _woman_?"

Jessie frowned, walked over and took the bottle from him. There was about enough left to fill her tin cup. It looked pretty good. The problem was that Jessie hadn't had a real drink since she changed. Her old self wouldn't have had much trouble with that much alcohol, but her new body? As she recalled, Sarah Fuller wasn't all that good at holding her liquor. That, she remembered with a smile, was one of the things Jesse Hanks had liked about her. Now that she was Sarah's twin, she probably couldn't handle the rum any better than Sarah could. It wasn't an idea she wanted to test.

"I'll take mine straight, thank you," she said. She lifted the bottle and drank a small bit. She kept hold of the bottle and pretended to finish it off. "That's about the best I've had in a long time," she said, wiping her mouth. She tossed the bottle high into the air and, in one quick motion, drew her Colt and fired. The bottle exploded in mid air. There was no way anyone could have told how much was left. And how little she'd actually drunk.

"Bueno, bueno," Manolo said with a laugh. "You _can_ drink like a man."

"Glad we got that settled," She said. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned and started to walk away. She could feel the warmth of the rum in her stomach and it worried her.

"Carida, wait," Manolo called after her. "There is still much more to drink."

"Why don't you and your men finish it, then," she said. "I figure that I had my share."

"Sit here with me, then, while I have some more." Manolo sat down on a rock, patting the space next to him.

Jessie forced a smile. "No, with a drink that good, a man don't need no distractions. You and the others enjoy it. I'm going over to talk to the women. Maybe they's other liquor hid in all that stuff of theirs." Jessie picked up the coffee pot and walked away slowly, trying not to look nervous. 'That trick of shooting the bottle won't work twice,' she thought.

"Come to gloat?" Piety asked by way of greeting. "Your friends are drinking all of my father's rum."

"And you're going to let them do it," Jessie said firmly. "The last thing you want to do is take a man's drink away -- even if it _is_ really yours. A few bottles is worth the price of them leaving you two alone tonight." She poured herself a cup of coffee and bolted it down to dilute the rum in her stomach.

"I-I suppose." Piety looked cross. "I hate to say it, but there may be some truth -- just a little, mind you -- but some in what you say."

"Damn straight," Jessie said, satisfied in the small victory.

***

Later that evening, Eduardo, a lean, muscular man, walked a bit unsteadily over to where Manolo was sitting. "Jefe, it is getting late and you have not yet said who was to keep the watch tonight."

Manolo stared a moment, as if trying to remember the man's name. "Eduardo, my good, good, good friend, why are you so nervous? We are only... only a two-hour ride from Mexico. N-No one knows where... where we are, do they?" The other man smiled and shook his head freely. "Then," Manolo added, "why do we even _need_ to post a guard?"

***

Something woke Jessie. It was still night. From the position of the stars, she guessed that it was, maybe, 3 AM. She looked around to see what had awakened her. The moon was almost full, bright enough to cast shadows and she could see clearly. No one was walking around, at least not that she could see. "A little rum and they get sloppy," she whispered to herself. "No look-outs."

She sat up and looked about fifteen feet away to where the Tylers had bedded down. "At least, they didn't try anything with the women." Miz Tyler, Piety, had reluctantly agreed to let her sleep near them instead of over by Manolo and his men. Piety thought she was doing Jessie an act of "Christian Charity", not realizing that, to repay Hanna, Jessie had taken on the role of bodyguard for the Tyler women.

Their blankets were still there. The two women weren't in them.

"Shit," Jessie swore in a whisper. She ran over to where the women had been, crouching low. The last thing she wanted was for anyone else to see her. There was no sign of either of them. Their shoes were missing, too. "Damn fool gals must've made a break for it. There'll be no stopping the Commancheros when they catch up with them."

The thought of what they might do to Piety didn't bother Jessie too much, but they'd do the same to Hanna. Hanna had saved her life. She remembered the scared child who'd grabbed her so tightly that first afternoon. "Can't let that happen to her," she whispered. "Damn, I'll have to find 'em and bring them both back before Manolo and the rest knows they're gone."

Still crouching, she ran back to her own bedroll. She put on her boots, checking them first, in case anything had crawled inside, then grabbed her gunbelt and pistol. Without wasting the time to put the belt on, she circled around to where the horses were. One of the packhorses was gone. They were riding double, good. That would slow them down and give her a chance. She found and untied Useless further down the picket line. He whinnied softly. She put her hand on his muzzle to quiet him and began to lead him away from the rest.

When they were far enough from the camp, Jessie buckled on the gunbelt and checked the Colt. It was loaded. She climbed on the back of the horse and galloped off to the north.

She just hoped that Piety knew how to read directions from the night sky.

***

"Mama, mama, somebody's coming."

Piety Tyler glanced back over her shoulder. Hanna was sitting behind her on the packsaddle, her arms tight around her mother's waist. Sure enough, a rider was riding up fast from the direction of the camp. For the first time, Piety wondered if this escape was a good idea.

The rider was closing. "Move, horse," she muttered softly, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "For the love of G-d, _please_, move."

"There's only one of them," Hanna whispered, "but he's still getting closer." She paused a half-beat. "Mama, I'm... I'm scared."

"It will be all right." Piety tried to sound confident. "They don't intend to harm us. The only thing that will happen is that we'll still be their prisoners when your... when your father finds us." To herself, she added, '_if_ he can find us. Please, Ephrem, please hurry.'

The rider was close now. There were no shouts, no threats. 'Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't one of them,' Piety thought.

"Miz Tyler, stop! Stop right now!" It was that horrid Hanks woman. Piety kept riding.

Jessie brought her horse up next to the one the Tylers were on. She reached out quickly and grabbed the reins away from Piety. "Whoa," she yelled, tugging at the reins. Hanna squeezed Piety's waist even tighter. The horse slowed and Jessie slowed hers as well.

"Well, Miss Hanks," Piety said, when the horses had stopped, "have you seen the error of your ways and decided to run away with us? Frankly, I thought you were quite happy with those men. That was why I didn't invite you along when we escaped their camp."

"If you had, I'd have asked you what I'm asking now, are you out of your mind, you fool woman?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you honestly think that the pair of you can get away from Manolo and his men, especially riding two to a horse?

"Why I --"

"You ain't thought it out, have you? If they don't know that you're... that we're -- damn it -- we're gone by now, they will pretty soon. And they'll come after us like bees out of a hive, just as fast and twice as mean."

"But what can they do -- except capture us again? They don't want to harm us. I thought that it was worth the risk."

No, you didn't, Miz Tyler. You didn't think at all. They ain't done anything to you 'cause they're planning to sell you and they get a better price for undamaged goods."

"Yes, there, you see, 'undamaged'. They won't hurt us."

"To their mind, they won't be hurting you; they'll just be breaking you in for you new owners, teaching you not to run away."

"Breaking -- breaking us in? You don't -- you can't mean --"

"I can and I do. When they get done, you and your daughter won't be so -- so pure no more."

"Mama, is -- is that t-true?" There was fear, deep and cold, in Hanna's voice.

"No, no, dear," Piety said. "She's just trying to -- trying to scare us into going back to her _friends_."

Jessie sighed. If there was any way, any chance, she could get away safe with Hanna and leave her mother to the fate she deserved, Jessie would have taken it, taken it gladly. But there wasn't.

"If my words don't scare you, maybe this will." She drew the Colt and pointed it at Piety. "Now turn around and head back."

"I knew you were a common -- woman," Piety sneered, "but I never thought that even you would sink so --"

"Just turn around and head back." She said it as firmly as possible, knowing that she couldn't physically force the woman because of Shamus' potion.

"Mama, we'd better do what she says." Hanna was confused. She'd begun to trust Jessie and now -- this.

"Damn straight," Jessie said. "I don't think I can sneak us all back into camp, but if I bring you back, I may, I just may, be able t'talk them out of doing anything to you."

"Yes, I can see that you're doing this for our own good." Piety's voice would have made ice.

"Mama, I -- I think she is -- maybe." Hanna sounded uncertain, but it was better than nothing.

"I don't care what you think, Miz Tyler. I just care that you start riding." She paused for emphasis. "Now!"

Piety said a few words that Hanna wasn't supposed to know and turned their horse back towards the Commanchero camp.

***

The women were about halfway back to camp when they saw the horsemen ahead of them. Jessie had been riding alongside Piety. "We better stop, Miz Tyler." She waited until Piety had reined a halt, then and only then, did she stop her own horse. "I know this'll be hard, Miz Tyler, but shut up and let me do the talking." She flicked the reins and rode in front of the other horse.

She took a breath and stopped. She was between the Commancheros and the two women. It wasn't a place that she'd have chosen to be.

Manolo raised a hand and the horsemen stopped. He rode forward alone until he was just a few feet from Jessie. "I see you brought them back. This is good."

"I thought you'd like it." She studied him closely. A lot depended on how well she could read this man. And how well he could read her. 'Wish I'd spent more time with Bridget learning a good poker face,' she thought.

"Si, you saved us the trouble of having to catch them. Now they are back, and we can punish them."

"I brought them back so you _wouldn't_ punish them."

Manolo laughed. "Not punish them. You are joking, no?"

"No, I ain't joking."

"THEY MUST BE PUNISHED!" Manolo growled. "How else can we teach them to respect us if we do not?"

"Just what did you have in mind for their punishment?"

"My men -- the young one is very pretty. Her mother..." he shrugged, "...for a woman of her age, she is not so bad either. You, of course --"

"Are not part of the deal." Jessie drew her Colt and aimed it straight at Manolo. "Unless --"

"There is an 'unless' where you _are_ part of the deal?" He sounded interested.

Jessie had spent most of her time in the saddle this night trying to come up with a way to keep the Tylers -- keep Hanna anyway -- from whatever the Commancheros had in mind. 'Out of the frying pan -' she thought, 'but it's the only damned way.'

She nodded. "There is. You say you're interested and I put this pistol down. No tricks, though. You saw what I can do with it."

Manolo nodded. "No tricks and I am _very_ interested."

Jessie lowered the Colt but didn't holster it. 'Yeah,' she thought. 'I can do spit with it. Your men could lead these two off, throw 'em to the ground, and have their way with them right in front of me. Thanks to Shamus' damned potion, I couldn't do nothing more'n put a bullet near them unless they attacked me.'

Well, she surely wasn't about to tell him _that_. "Here's the deal. You got them back. Being your prisoners and having to know what you got planned for 'em is punishment enough. If it ain't, knowing how easy they just got recaptured oughta be."

"Perhaps --"

"I say it is. In fact, I'll stand up for them. You turn them over t'me to watch. If they escape again, you can catch 'em same as I did this time. Then you can do whatever you want to them -- and t'me."

"To you?"

"Yep." It was bad enough she had to say this. She had to say it like she liked the idea. But the alternative was sitting on a rock and listening to Hanna find out what being a woman was _really_ about. No, she had to go through with it. "I take the risk; I take the punishment. And I'm sure you and your men can be real _creative_ about that."

Manolo laughed. "That is the best offer I have ever heard." He spat in his hand and leaned forward to offer it to Jessie. "Done!"

Jessie spat in her own hand and shook his. "Done!"

"Then let us get back to camp. There is still time for some sleep before dawn." He turned and rode back to his men.

Manolo must have explained Jessie's offer to them because she could hear their ribald laughter.

"All right, Miz Tyler, back to camp."

"That was the most vile, disgusting thing I ever heard," Piety said. "Bargaining for us like that. Offering those men your -- your body." With that, she started back to camp, too. She didn't say another word the rest of the way, but she didn't let Jessie get any closer to her and Hanna than she had to, either.

Jessie shook her head. "And I'm trying to save that woman?"

Chapter 7 -- "Rescues"

"D'ya think we can catch 'em, Mr. Grant?" At 16, Amos Tyler seemed more excited at the prospect of being in a posse than he was concerned about saving his mother and sister. "Before they get to Mexico, I mean."

"We should. They got a good head start," Paul said slowly, "thanks to that fire they started in your barn, but they've got pack horses and three women to slow them down." He hoped that it was true. Things would be a lot rougher if they had to follow the Commancheros into Mexico. Here in Arizona, he was deputy sheriff with a posse and a warrant for Jessie. Down there, they were just a bunch of angry gringos. The warrant was worthless paper and his badge would probably count against him.

"Hanna'd slow anybody down," Malachai Tyler said with a laugh. He'd fallen back on the old habit of teasing his sister to forget about what the posse was heading into.

Gil Parker clenched his fists. "Mal Tyler, how can you be saying that about Hanna when she's in danger?" He glared at Malachai and took a step forward as if to back up his words.

The older Tyler boy glared back. "'Cause she's my sister and I can say anything I want about her." He also took a step forward. "You gonna do something about it, Parker?"

An adult version of Gil, his father, Cyrus, stepped between the boys. "Stop it. Stop it right now. Gil, Malachai is Hanna's brother and I'm sure he's concerned about his mother and sister."

"All right, Pa." Gil reluctantly lowered his fists. "But he'd better not say anything about Hanna while we're on the trail after her."

"And where did you get the idea that you were coming along?" Cyrus Parker asked.

Gil looked shocked. "Because I... Hanna's in... Pa, I _gotta_ go."

"You do not. You're too young for such things."

"I'm as old as Amos -- _older_ by two months. Pa... _please_!"

"I said, 'No.' Piety Tyler is Amos' mother; Hanna is his sister. That gives him the right to go, if Ephrem wants. You, you're just the boy from the next farm. You've no right to go if I don't want you to."

"_Boy_! Pa, you don't understand." Gil looked to Paul. "Please, Mr. Grant, tell him I can go."

Paul read the young man's desperation, but... "I'm sorry, Gil, but I won't get between a man and his son."

Cyrus took that as support for his side. "Satisfied? And for your information, I understand plenty. I understand that you're going home and I mean _right now_." He stabbed his finger towards the ground for emphasis.

Gil stood for a moment, trembling, hurt and anger in his eyes. Then he lowered his head. "Yes, Pa," he said. He turned and very slowly began walking towards his horse.

"And tell your mother where I've gone," Cyrus yelled after him. Gil nodded without speaking and kept walking. He climbed up on his horse, a sorrel mare and rode off.

"Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Grant," Cyrus said. "Gil's a good boy, but, well, you know how it is. A boy can get carried away with the idea of something like being on a posse. He's just too young to see how things really are."

Paul nodded. "It's hard for a boy to become a man; harder sometimes than others." Then he added, "And lots of people don't always see things the way they are."

Parker missed the point completely. "Ah... yeah, I guess." He shrugged his confusion off. "Anyway, let's go find Eph Tyler and see how he's doing rounding up men for the posse."

They found Tyler with three other men. "Some of the folks had second thoughts."

"They got cold feet, damn no account sodbusters," an older man with a salt and pepper, walrus mustache said, his voice full of contempt.

"Anyway, these are the only ones that'd come with us," Tyler continued. "Them plus you two, Gil --"

"He's too young," Cyrus said. "I just sent him home."

"You sure he can't come?" Tyler asked. When he saw Parker's expression, he dropped the subject. "Then it's them, you two, m'boys and me."

"It ain't much," the mustached man said. "I'm Yancy Flynn, Deputy. Them bastards got here in mid-harvest. Some men won't risk even a day away for fear o'losing their crops."

"I'm not happy about it," Tyler said, "but I can't say as I blame 'em."

"We'll be more than enough," a thin, dark man said. "I'm Dobbs, Deputy, Fred Dobbs and I never yet met an American that wasn't the match for ten of them thievin' Mex."

"You ain't met that many Mex, then," the third man said. He was a tall, rough-hewn blonde, clean-shaven, but with a braided ponytail half way down his back. Paul's hand actually hurt from his handshake. "Sven Thorrenson, Deputy and don't you be worrying, Ephrem, we'll get your women back to you."

"Room for one more?" It was a thin man with sandy red hair and the scraggly beginnings of a beard. He barely looked older than Tyler's sons.

"You sure, Mick?" Tyler asked. "Paul Grant, this is Mick Walsh."

"I'm sure," Walsh answered. "Fact is, I'm a little mad you didn't ask me right off."

Tyler tried to smile. "I just figured that with that new baby of yours -- Mick's wife had a little girl just last week -- I figured that you wouldn't want to come and I didn't want to embarrass you by asking."

"Embarrassed! Hell, Eph, if it was my Kate and little Rosie them Commancheros had, you think I'd be embarrassed to ask you for help?"

"I guess not..."

"Damn right! That's why I gotta go, to make sure that them sons o'bitches don't ever come back for my womenfolk... or anybody else's."

"In that case, Mick, you're more than welcome."

"And I shall be going as well." It was Brother Douglas. "To give comfort to the afflicted and vanquish the ungodly."

"You still riding that mule, Brother Douglas?" Flynn asked.

"I am and my Bathsheeba is more than up to this task."

"I'm sure that she is," Paul said, scratching his head. "But a mule -- any mule -- is a lot slower than a horse, sir. More than anything else, we'll need speed if we're gonna catch them before they cross the border."

"But... but surely..." the man looked genuinely hurt.

"I'll tell you what, Brother Douglas," Paul said. "You give us a good blessing for this job we have to do. That way, we'll have us the best help that any man can ever have."

Douglas smiled. "Why, yes... yes, I can do that." He bowed his head. The others did the same, a few removing their hats as the preacher began to speak.

***

The posse rode at near gallop, only stopping ten minutes every hour to rest their horses. When they stopped the third time, somewhere around 9 o'clock, they decided to eat something. The dried meat and hard biscuits from Tyler's larder weren't fancy, but it would keep them going.

Fred Dobbs walked over to where Paul was walking, taking advantage of the break to stretch his legs. "Deputy, I think we're being followed."

"Why do you say that?" Paul asked.

"About ten minutes ago, I looked back and saw a rider, maybe a half mile behind, coming up over the top of a hill."

"So?"

"So, whoever he was, he was riding fast, like he was trying to catch up with us."

"Maybe he was just in a hurry. You ever think of that?"

"Then why ain't he passed us? You tell me that." Dobbs sounded mad at not being taken seriously.

"I don't know," Paul said, "but I'm going to find out." In a louder voice, he added. "Listen up, everybody. Fred thinks we got company coming."

Mal Tyler ran over to the men. "Who you think it is, Mr. Grant?"

"I think we'll know in a few minutes," Paul said. "If he doesn't know we've seen him. He will soon. We'll just see what he does when he figures that out."

"I say it's a damned Commanchero," Dobbs said. "Be just like them t'leave somebody behind as a lookout. I say we take him out." He had taken his Winchester down from its saddle holster.

"And what if it's one of your neighbors come to join the posse?" Paul asked.

Dobbs sneered. "If he's in so much of a hurry t'help, why didn't he come along with us when we left?"

"Some men left Eph's place a-fore we knew the women was missing," Sven Thorrenson said. "Maybe one of 'em heard what happened and decided t'help."

"We can ask him in a minute," Yancy Flynn said. He pointed off in the distance. By the light of the moon, the men could see a lone rider, a few hundred yards out and coming towards them.

The rider must have realized that he'd been seen. He slowed his horse, but kept coming in. "He must be a friend," Tyler said. "He's riding in like he doesn't want to make us nervous."

"Or he's doing it to distract us, while his friends sneak in and get the drop on us." He levered his rifle, loading a round into the chamber. "They try anything, he'll be the first one t'eat dirt."

The rider came closer. He raised one arm, showing that his hand was empty. He kept the other on the reins, but raised it, so that it was in plain sight. As he came in, the men heard him calling out, "Pa, Mr. Tyler, Mr. Grant, d-don't shoot. It's... it's me."

"Gil!" Cyrus Parker spat the name. "What the hell?" He glared at his son riding towards them, then at Dobbs, who had wanted to shoot him in cold blood.

"How was I supposed t'know it was your son?" Dobbs asked with a shrug.

"You weren't." Parker turned his full anger towards his son. "Gilbert Allan Parker, just what the hell are you doing here? I told you --"

Gil stopped a few feet away from the others and dismounted quickly. "You told me to go home and to tell Ma what happened," he said, taking a breath. "I done that. Then I got my pistol and came after you." He tried to smile. "You never told me to _stay_ home once I got there."

"Well, I'm telling you now. You get back on that horse, you go straight home and you stay there this time."

"N-no, sir. I-I'm not going."

"Are you sassing me, boy?"

"No, sir, I'm not, but the only way you're going to get me to leave is to take me home yourself -- by force."

"Let him stay, Cyrus," Eph Tyler said.

"What? What are you saying, Ephrem?" Parker seemed genuinely surprised.

"Seems to me that anybody who wants so much to come along on this has a right to be here." He looked at Gil closely. "You do want to be here, don't you, Gil?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Tyler. Hanna... and Mrs. Tyler need all the help they can get and I want to be there to give her... them what help I can."

"Then, I think you can come." He looked at Paul. "Don't you agree, Deputy?"

Paul tried to be noncommittal. "Seems t'me that we can always use another man on something like this. It'd be a real shame t'lose one we already got, because he had to take his son home."

"But he's..." Parker knew that he was outflanked. "Oh, all right, but let whatever happens be on _your_ head, Deputy and yours, too, Ephrem."

Paul just nodded. "Agreed," Tyler said. "And, Cyrus, when this is over, and we're all safe at home, I think Piety and Hanna and I will want you, Gil and your Elsie over for dinner."

"I thank you for the invite, Ephrem, " Parker said, looking confused, "but I don't see why you're making such a big deal out of it."

"Because -- and you'll see why soon enough, Cyrus -- something like what we all have to talk about _is_ a big deal." He looked at Gil. "Isn't that right... son?"

Gil looked surprised, then he grinned. "Yes, _yes_, sir. And... and thank you, sir. Thank you, very, very much."

***

"Aaah! Get away from me!" Piety's scream woke Jessie from a sound sleep. In an instant, she was sitting up, her Colt in her hand.

One of the Commancheros -- Eduardo, Jessie thought his name was -- was standing over Piety just a few feet away. "What the hell's going on here?" she demanded.

"He... he was tr-trying to have his way with me," Piety stammered, clutching her blanket around herself. Her eyes were wide with fear. Hanna was sitting up, too, hurriedly buttoning the top two buttons of her dress. She didn't look half as scared as her mother.

Jessie pointed the Colt at Eduardo. "That better not be true."

"ĄMaldito!" Eduardo growled in exasperation. "I was trying to wake her and the girl; that is all. Manolo wants them to have breakfast ready in half an hour. And he -- all of us -- want... _need_ for the coffee to be ready even sooner."

He leered at Jessie. "I would invite you to join me in something a bit more _exciting_ while we wait, but I find that I need coffee even more, alas." He groaned softly and stuck a finger in his ear, twisting it as if to pull out the echo of Piety's scream. "Especially after that screech of the seņora's. Every prairie dog within ten kilometers of the camp must have heard that."

"Serves you all right," Jessie said firmly. She saw Hanna nod in quick agreement. 'I knew I liked that young'n,' she thought to herself.

***

Paul squatted down lower behind the multiple trunks of a pipe organ cactus. He was near the edge of the Commanchero's camp now and they seemed to have no idea that he and the others were even close. 'Careless,' he thought, 'but at least Jessie and the other women are safe.'

The bandits were just sitting around enjoying their breakfast. From the snatches of conversation he could understand, it sounded to Paul like a few of them could use a little "hair of the dog." He smiled in spite of himself; that could make things that much easier.

He looked off to his left. Dobbs was a few feet away behind another pipe organ cactus; the damn plant grew all over the place around here. Dobbs spoke much better Spanish than Paul did and the man needed to be near him for what was coming.

Dobbs saw Paul looking at him. He pointed down to his rifle. The metal barrels were barely visible against the green-gray bark of the _hierro_, the ironwood tree. "Ready when you are, Deputy," he hissed. "Let's get us some Mex."

"Just wait for my signal," Paul whispered back, "and you better be _damned_ sure of your target." Dobbs was a little too eager for Paul's taste.

***

"Ahhh!" Luis smiled wanly. 'Nice to finally know that the breakfast will stay down,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe a little more of that coffee... just to make sure it will.'

He carefully stood up -- his head still hurt a bit -- and looked around. The young chica with the coffeepot, yes, there she was. He walked towards Hanna, his cup in his hand. 'A very pretty chica,' he thought. 'Pity Manolo won't let us... touch her out here on the trail, but she will bring a better price that way, if she is... pure.' He smiled at the thought. 'Still, I will not be the only one to use my share of her price to... visit her at whichever _burdel_, whichever cathouse is the fortunate one that buys her.'

***

A hand shot up above the branches of an octotilla tree. Paul saw a quick flash of red before the hand pulled back down.

"That was the signal," Dobbs said impatiently. "Can I shoot somebody now?"

"No, first we... I talk." He pulled his own pistol and yelled, "All right, you men, you're surrounded. I'll give you a count of ten t'drop your guns and raise your hands. One... two... three..."

"Like hell," a tall muscular man with graying hair -- he had to be the leader -- called out to his men. "Shoot them!" He pulled his pistol and fired towards the cactus Paul was standing behind.

"Hot damn!" Dobbs said eagerly. He fired at a tall man with long black hair who looked more Indian than Mexican. The man grabbed his side and fell to the ground.

***

"ATACEN! Attack!" Manolo shouted. "Get them, my brothers." He dove for cover, pulling out his pistol before he hit the ground. He rolled once and fired at where he thought the voice had come from.

***

"Shit," Luis muttered. He dropped his cup and ran the last few steps to Hanna. He stepped behind her, grabbing her at the waist. She felt his pistol in her side. "Do not move, chica. You and me is riding out of here."

Hanna screamed. She squirmed and twisted her body against him. Luis laughed. "Be patient, chica. There will be time for that once we have gotten away from these gringo friends of yours.

***

Piety had been standing near the cook fire watching Hanna. "What..." Men were screaming and bullets were suddenly flying all around her. Totally confused, she stood frozen mumbling to herself. "I... what... E-Ephrem..." She was beginning to cry, but she didn't move.

Jessie had thrown herself to the ground at the sound of the first shot. She looked up, being careful not to raise her head, just in time to see Piety take one confused step, then stop as a bullet hit the dirt inches from her foot. "Get down, you fool!" Jessie yelled.

Piety turned her head towards Jessie. "I... I don't..." She blinked her eyes and looked around, as if trying to see who had called her.

"Too damned scared to think straight." Jessie shook her head and took a breath. "And I must be crazier than she is." She leapt to her feet and ran straight at the petrified woman.

Piety barely saw Jessie coming. Jessie threw herself at the other woman, knocking the pair of them to the ground. As she fell, she felt a sting in her side. She landed on top of Piety. "Stay down, damn you," she spat through her teeth.

***

The rescuers kept firing at the bandits. A thin, mustached man rose to a crouch and tried to run for better cover. His body spasmed as bullets hit it. He took a last step and fell face down in the dirt.

***

Manolo watched the second man fall. "This is not the way it was supposed to go!" he growled, then fired furiously at a stand of barrel cactus that someone was using for cover.

***

Luis moved back another step towards the horse. "You make a fine shield, chica." He laughed again and raised his hand to quickly rub Hanna's breast. "For the luck, chica."

"Let her go, you bastard." Luis looked towards the sound. A figure had run out from behind a red sandstone boulder.

"A boy," he said. He shifted his arm to take a shot. His target looked barely old enough to grow a beard. "You came a long way to die, boy."

"Like hell, I did." Gil took a step and lunged at the man holding Hanna. He twisted his body and hit the man in his side, hit him the way Gil might hit a door he was trying to force open. The bandit's grip on Hanna gave way as Gil's momentum carried them both down into the dust together.

Gil scrambled to his feet. Just as quickly, the man was on his knees, groping for the pistol he had dropped from the impact when Gil plowed into him. Gil's hands closed into fists. He hit the man in the jaw with his right hand, then in the stomach with his left. The bandit staggered backwards and tumbled onto his back.

Gil jumped on the other man's stomach, taking pleasure in the "Wooph!" of air the other man let out from Gil's weight. "Don't... you... _ever_... touch... her... again." With every word, he hit the fallen man, just to make sure the varmint was paying attention.

***

"We are not blessed this day," Manolo said to himself. He crouched low behind the rocks he was using for cover and checked his pistols, three bullets in one and two in the other. He quickly reloaded both.

With a loud scream intended to startle his attackers, he leapt up and dashed toward the tethered horses. As he ran, he fired, first one pistol, then the other, at the noise and smoke made by the hidden posse. He heard the scream of one man. Yes! A blind shot had hit someone!

He was close now, less than ten meters from the horses. Suddenly, a barrel-chested man stepped out from among them. He had a shotgun in his hands, the barrel aimed directly at Manolo, his face full of hatred.

A second man -- no, a boy -- stepped out from behind a nearby tree. He only had a pistol, but it too was pointed at Manolo. The boy looked as angry as the man.

"Just give me a reason," the man said in a slow, gravelly rasp.

Manolo figured the odds. He might be able to get off a shot, maybe even two, before they fired but he would never stop them both. And they were both _eager_ to take his life. He tossed his pistols away and raised his hands. "Seņores, I... we surrender. We surrender." He said the last two words as a shout.

Eduardo was about twenty meters away. He heard Manolo's words, tossed his own pistol away and raised his hands. "Si, we surrender."

***

Gil was still hitting the now-unconscious man, his rage not letting him stop. He felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed. "I don't think he's got any fight left in him, son," his father said. "You might as well stop hitting him."

"Pa... I..." Gil shuddered. He slipped sideways off the other man. His arms felt like lead. "He... he was gonna hurt... Hanna, is... is she all right?" He realized what he had been doing. Hanna was probably as scared of him now as she'd been of that bastard that had used her as a shield.

Two arms circled his waist. Gil felt a head lay on his shoulder. "I'm fine," Hanna said, "wonderful. I never had a knight in shining armor before."

***

Paul looked at the battle scene.

The one that looked like an Indian was dead. Whatever else he was, Dobbs was a good shot. The one that was running had a bullet in his side and another in his leg. He was bleeding, but, with luck, he'd live to stand trial.

The bandit who'd taken Hanna as a shield was on the ground, unconscious. He had a face that looked like raw hamburger. The boy -- Gil -- was standing nearby. His arm was around the waist of the Tyler girl and he looked like he was daring any of the men, his father or hers, to say anything about it.

Paul didn't think Tyler minded and the boy's father was smiling at his son looking ready to explode with pride. "Smartest thing we could've done, bringing my Gil along. I don't know why anybody would have wanted to leave him behind."

Nobody seemed inclined to argue. Let the man enjoy himself.

The other two Mex were standing near the horses, their hands were tied behind their backs and they looked very unhappy. "Good reason, too," Paul thought out loud. "Arson, theft, _horse_theft, kidnapping. If they don't hang outright, they ain't going home for a long time."

***

"I believe you can let me up now," Piety said.

"Yes'm," Jessie replied. She hadn't wanted to let go of the woman until Piety had come to her senses. She pushed herself away and quickly got to her feet.

She offered Piety her arm and the other woman took it. When Jessie started to pull her to her feet, she suddenly felt such a sharp pain in her side that she had to let go of the Tyler woman.

Piety scrambled but kept her footing. "Why you..." she began angrily. Then her voice changed. "Oh, oh, my. You're hurt."

Jessie looked down to where the pain was coming from. Her shirt was torn, a ragged three- or four-inch long cut, about halfway down her side. She was bleeding slightly at the spot. "Bullet... must've grazed me when I --" She put her hand on the wound and pressed to stop the flow of blood.

Piety took a breath and brushed herself off. With a look of determination, she took off her apron and tore it in half, then tore one piece in half again. She ran and got some water from by the cook fire and dipped a piece of cloth in it. "This will... will h-have to do for now." She dabbed at the wound with the wet cloth. "I-I'm just glad it was... wasn't worse.

Jessie saw that Piety's hands were shaking. "I'm all right. You go look after your Hanna." The way the woman kept poking at her wound seemed to make it hurt even more.

"No, I..." Piety's voice trailed off, as she continued work on the wound. Once it was fairly clean, she folded another piece into a bandage and placed it carefully against Jessie's skin. She wrapped the long piece of apron around Jessie, tying it off to make a wrap that would hold the bandage in place.

"Yeeow!" Jessie winced as Piety pulled the knot tight.

Piety stopped and looked at her, then at the bandage on her side. "I'm sorry; I'm so... _very_ sorry. I'll loosen it." She worked the knot for a moment. "Is... is that better?"

"Yes, thank you, ma'am," Jessie muttered.

Piety nodded. "I'm not sure that I like or approve of you, Miss Hanks, but I do know that I'm... beholding to you. I'll attend to your wound properly when we get home to my farm. You're... you're welcome to stay there to recover, of course..."

Jessie shook her head. Nothing like taking a bullet for somebody to make them act more friendly. Or so she supposed; to tell the truth, she'd never done anything quite that foolish before.

Chapter 8 -- "Starting Home"

Jessie gingerly touched the bandage tied over her flesh wound. 'Ow,' she thought, flinching from the pain. 'It hurts, hurts like hell, but I can ride with it.' It was only a few hours to the safety of the Mexican border. 'I still got Toby's money. I can get this thing taken care of on the other side.'

She glanced around. Piety was talking to Hanna and that boy that had run in and saved her. They were standing together, their arms around each other's waists and Hanna was leaning her head on his shoulder. 'Now ain't that sweet,' Jessie thought. Then she realized _what_ she'd just thought. 'What the hell? I sound like some moonstruck gal. I _got_ to get out of here, get down to Mexico and see about changing back.'

She looked around a second time. The men mostly seemed to be pre-occupied with the Commancheros. Now where were the horses -- there they were, nobody was near them and...

"Miz Hanks I want to shake your hand." Jessie's thoughts were broken by a barrel-chested man, his hand stuck out in front of him. "I'm Ephrem Tyler, Miz Hanks. That was my wife you saved during the gunfight."

"Yeah, sure." This overly grateful sodbuster was the last thing she needed. "It was nothing."

"It most certainly was something." Tyler grabbed her hand and began working it like a pump handle. "Pie -- that's my wife, Piety -- she says you're coming back with us. The very least we can do is care for you till that wound is fully healed."

"I'm afraid the lady has a previous engagement," a voice said from behind her, a voice Jessie recognized.

It couldn't be, could it? She clenched her fists but refrained from turning toward the voice.

Tyler did turn though, nonplussed. "Deputy, I'm not sure that I understand."

Paul Grant stepped into Jessie's line of sight. "I have a warrant for Miss Hanks. The reason I'm out this way to find her and to bring her home."

Before Jessie could move, he grabbed her arm. She felt cold steel on her wrist and looked down. "Damn!" She spat the word. She was handcuffed and the other end of the thing was around the Deputy's own wrist.

"Why?" Ephrem asked indignantly. "What has she done?"

"We aren't sure," Paul answered. He couldn't very well lie, but Jessie was something of a hero to these folks. It didn't seem right to tell them the whole story. "You remember what I told you back at your farm. Jessie... she was the last one known to have seen a man named Toby Hess. We found him dead and she'd run away. I was sent after her."

"And you think she killed him?"

"We don't know." He looked over at Jessie. She was squirming, trying to twist out of the cuff, but she wasn't having much luck with it. "We know she ran and it looks like she wants to keep running. That's why I cuffed her."

Jessie stopped squirming and listened. 'Why isn't he telling them any more?' she wondered. 'It's like he's trying to protect me.' It felt odd to have a lawman do that, good in some funny sort of way, but still odd.

Tyler shook his head. "I don't think that a cold-blooded killer would risk her life for my wife like she done."

"To tell the truth, neither do I, Mr. Tyler," Paul said. "But it's not for me to decide. It's for a judge and jury back in Eerie."

Jessie groaned. All that time, everything she'd been through and she was going back -- back to... to hang, probably. It just wasn't fair. She pulled again at the handcuff.

"Pappa..." Hanna came running over. "...why is Jessie handcuffed like that? Gil... Pappa, tell that man --"

"That man is a deputy sheriff, Hanna," her father told her. "He says that she may have committed a murder in the town they come from."

"M-murder." The girl was stunned. "That... that isn't possible. She... she just couldn't."

"I'm not saying she did, Miss," Paul said. "All we know is that she was with a man -- Toby Hess -- when he died. I'm here to take her back so she can tell her side of it."

"And where, exactly, do you intend to take her back to?" Now Piety had walked over to join them. She didn't seem near as happy about the warrant and all as Jessie expected her to be.

"Eerie, ma'am," Paul said, sensing trouble. "It's a little town just south of the Superstition Mountains, a few hours' ride east of Phoenix."

"Phoenix," Piety raised an eyebrow. "That would put your Eerie almost a week's ride from here, wouldn't it?"

"I'd make it more like three or four days," Ephrem Tyler said, "but it is a goodly ways to ride."

Piety frowned and put her hands on her hips. "Sheriff... Deputy, this woman is wounded -- wounded on my account, too. I will _not_ allow her to make such a trip until I've had a chance to properly treat that wound and she's had at least a day of rest to recover from this ordeal."

Paul shook his head. He'd had a feeling that capturing Jessie would be trouble and it was, all right, _big_ trouble. Nobody would ever believe that a pretty little gal like that could be as bad as she really was. "I don't know ma'am. I'd really like to get started."

Ephrem tried to keep things in hand. "Why don't we humor my wife, Deputy... Paul. She can be a very stubborn woman when she wants to be and she _does_ have a point about the lady's wounds. Besides, by your own admission, you've been tracking her for some time. A night or two in a nice, soft, bed should be a welcome change from sleeping out on the range."

"Please, sir," Hanna said, her eyes wide. "She saved Mama and me both. We owe her that much."

"Besides, Hanna's brothers and me'll be there to help you keep watch." Gil was glad for the excuse to spend time with Hanna... at the Tylers' ranch. "That should be more'n enough to keep her from getting away. It ain't like Miz Hanks is some kind of desperado or anything." He smiled at his joke.

Paul rolled his eyes. 'If you only knew,' he thought. Still, he knew when he was licked. And, to be honest, he'd seen cuts and wounds less severe than Jessie's go bad during cattle drives. "All right," he said with a sigh, "but a day or two, no more."

***

Late in the afternoon, they followed a few bumblebees to a pool of water, maybe thirty feet across, that was watered by a flow of water from an outcropping of rock its the north end. The pool was surrounded by prickly pear and pipe organ cactus, as well as a variety of other plants.

"We'll camp here," Paul yelled to the group as he climbed down from Ash. Then he walked around to Useless to help Jessie down. Her hands were cuffed together. A line led from Useless to Ash. Paul had led the other horse like a pack animal. It seemed used to the treatment.

Jessie leaned back when he reached for her. "Why don't you just open these cuffs?" Jessie asked, "and I can get down by myself."

"I'm not sure that I can trust you overnight without handcuffs. I sure as hell am _not_ going to let you out of them while you're on a horse and I'm on foot."

He reached for her again. This time she didn't fight. In fact, she sort of slid off her horse and into his arms. He quickly put her down on her own feet

"Mmm, thank you, Deputy," Jessie said, her voice low and husky. "I'd never have suspected that you were such a gallant gentleman."

"Quit the game, Jessie. Whenever you put on that you're just a sweet young thing, I know you're up to something."

"Well, you can't blame me for trying. I surely don't want to have to spend the night in these things."

Hanna walked over. "You shouldn't have to. You're a hero for what all you did for Momma and me and you should be treated like one."

"She should, indeed," Piety added, as she joined the group. "Besides, I'm not sure that having to hold her arms like that is good for her wound."

Gil had walked over holding hands with Hanna. "Couldn't she maybe... promise that she won't escape, Mr. Grant? Wouldn't that be enough?"

Paul had to smile at the boy's naivete. "No, son, I don't think it would." Then he had the glimmer of an idea. "I wouldn't expect her to keep a promise like that to me. But... Jessie, c'mere."

Jessie lifted her head alertly. Damned right she wouldn't keep a promise to some lawman. If she could, she'd ride off laughing in his face for trusting her. Still... She wondered what he had in mind. "What do you want?" She stepped up abreast of him.

"Jessie Hanks, will you promise Hanna and her mother that you won't try to escape during the night, promise it to them with all of whatever you got for a heart?"

Jessie frowned across at the mother and daughter. A promise to them was no better than a promise to the deputy as far as she was concerned. But if it would help put the deputy's guard down... "Sure, I'll..." Jessie looked at Hanna. The girl was looking at her expectantly. That look of earnestness on the girl's face made Jessie uneasy.

She glanced over at Piety. They didn't get along, this farm wife and her, but Piety _had_ asked Paul to uncuff Jessie out of real concern. Jessie sighed through clenched teeth. She still didn't understand why she'd risked herself that way for Piety, but one dumb move deserved another. "I'll promise it, Deputy."

"Don't tell me; tell them," Paul said firmly.

"Yes, do," Piety said. "I'd like to take a quick look at your bandage before I start supper."

"All right, then," Jessie said. "Mrs. Tyler... Piety, I promise you and Hanna not t'try and escape the whole time we're camped here."

"Nope. Now that I think on it, I want more than that, Jessie," Paul said.

She looked up into the man's stern face with annoyance. "What! What more do you want?" she shot back.

"I want your promise to these ladies that you won't try to escape the whole way back to their farm... _and_, come to think of it, while you're _at_ their farm."

"That's a whole lot to be asking of me," Jessie said, scowling.

"You're asking me -- asking them -- to trust you to keep your word. That's a lot for you to ask, the way I see it. If those irons are no big deal to you, you can just keep wearing them."

Piety looked Jessie straight in the eye. "I have no doubt that she'll keep her word -- if she gives it."

"You... you'd trust me that far?" Jessie asked Piety in surprise. "For all you know, the deputy is right."

"I think that Hanna and I can trust a woman who risked her life to save mine." She said the words with great resolve.

Jessie stared at Piety, trying to understand the farmwoman. She seemed to be the kind of person who didn't do much by halves. The outlaw decided that whether she kept her word or not, she'd be better off in the short run if she gave it.

"All... all right, I promise. Piety, you and Hanna have my word on it. I won't try to get away the whole time we're on the way t'your farm and not while I'm there, neither."

There, she went and said it. The funny thing was that now that the words were said, she suddenly realized that she'd regret it if she made herself look like a liar in front of these damned earnest Tylers.

"Good," Piety said, crossing her arms in front of her with satisfaction. "And after I look at that bandage, Jessie, you can help us with supper. "

***

The squad of cavalry met Paul and the others about mid-day.

Their leader saw Paul's badge and rode over to him. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, making a sharp salute. "I am Lieutenant Jackson DeWitt. My men and I are out of Fort Yuma. Is there a Mr. Tyler in your party?"

The lieutenant was a tall, rather handsome man with a strong Southern accent. He had a boyish face that wasn't helped by the mass of blonde curls on his head. He did his best to fight the impression of extreme youth by sporting a thin mustache and goatee, both also blonde.

"He is," Paul said, then called out, "Ephrem, get over here. This man wants to talk to you."

"Yes, lieutenant," Tyler said. "What can I do for you?"

DeWitt saluted again. "Captain Pryce at Fort Yuma sends his compliments, sir. A preacher -- Brother Douglass, I think his name was -- sent word that you needed the Army's assistance with some Commancheros. My men and I are here to be that assistance."

'Brother Douglass,' Paul though with a smile. 'That man can't stop trying to help people.'

"You're a bit late," Tyler said. "A band of Commancheros did raid my farm -- carried off my wife and daughter, too. I thought the Army was supposed to guard the border and protect us settlers from such things."

DeWitt sighed. It was a complaint he heard far too often. "Sir, do you know how long the border is with Mexico? It runs some 2,000 miles from Texas out to California. To secure that, we'd have to post men every ten feet and for twenty-four hours a day. There are not enough able-bodied men in these entire United States -- let alone, in the Army -- to do something like that."

"I know; I know," Ephrem said, holding up a hand. "I'm still very upset about my women folk being captured like that."

"Understandable, sir and no insult taken. After all, we're here to help get them back."

Dobbs had joined them. "We already done that. Killed a couple of them Mex and took the rest prisoner."

"You can take them off our hands, though," Paul said. "Take them back to Fort Yuma to stand trial."

"Oughta just shoot 'em," Dobbs said.

"Not without a trial, sir." DeWitt said, wryly. "Every man's entitled to a trial... first."

Dobbs smiled. "I think we understand each other, lieutenant."

"I doubt it," DeWitt said, looking at the group. "In the meantime, Mr. Tyler, may I congratulate you on the rescue of your wife and daughters."

"Daughters?" Ephrem said. "Oh... no, lieutenant. The younger girl Hanna, _is_ my daughter, but the older one is Miss Jessie Hanks. Jessie happened to have stopped at our farm for water, just as the Commancheros came. They took her, too and it's a lucky thing they did."

"Lucky, sir?"

"Piety -- that's my wife -- was caught in the cross fire during the rescue. Miss Hanks risked her own life to push her out of the line of fire. In fact, she got wounded for her troubles."

Jessie heard her name and -- fearing the worst -- had ridden over. There was no way that Useless could outrun a squad of cavalry. She came into earshot in time to hear that sod buster, Tyler, telling the lieutenant what a hero she was. It gave her an idea for a little fun.

"Now, Mr. Tyler," Jessie said softly, using her own Texas accent for all it was worth, "Are you telling that story about me again? My goodness, lieutenant, I was so scared when that awful shooting started. Then I saw Miz Tyler. Well, I... I couldn't let her get hurt, could I? I never even felt myself stand up. I was just... just running towards her. Then we were down on the ground. It all just happened so _fast_." She paused and took a breath.

The lieutenant smiled, as his glance moved freely over Jessie's body. "I've seen men act just that same way in combat -- by gut... excuse me, by pure instinct. It doesn't make them or you, any less the heroine, Miss Hanks. Especially if, as Mr. Tyler said, you were wounded in the process."

Jessie smiled back. "A heroine? Me? Why it is just _so_ sweet of you to say so, lieutenant... lieutenant?"

"DeWitt, Miss Hanks, Jackson DeWitt at your service." He removed his hat just long enough to make a deep bow. "And you _are_ a heroine, Miss Hanks, and a wounded hero at that."

"You are the sweetest man... Jackson." She said his name softly. Then she twisted and stretched, pulling her shirt tight against her breasts. "Yes, a... a flesh wound... right here." She pointed to her side. "It was nothing really... ooh!" She winced, more for effect than from the twinge of pain twisting herself had caused.

"Perhaps you should accompany me back to the Fort, Miss Hanks. We have an excellent military surgeon, very skilled at treating all manner of wounds."

"Oh, please call me Jessie. I would love to go... Jackson, but I --"

"She can't go," Paul interrupted. "Stop fooling around, Jessie."

DeWitt stiffened. "I will thank you not to address the young lady in that tone, sir," the young officer replied coldly. "Where Miss Hanks can and cannot go are her own concerns, not yours."

"I'm afraid that you're wrong there," Paul said. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out the warrant, which he handed to DeWitt. "This makes it my business."

DeWitt unfolded the paper and reading, frowning more and more as he did so. "This says that Jessie... Miss Hanks is the key witness and the possible suspect in a capital murder case." He looked up at the deputy. "Surely, a charming and refined young lady like her could never be involved in such sordid goings on." He refolded the paper and handed it back to Paul.

"Whether she is or isn't is up to a jury back in Eerie to decide. She was the last one known to have seen Toby Hess. We found Toby dead and her long gone. I was sent out here to find her and bring her back."

"But surely --"

"Lieutenant DeWitt, that warrant is signed by a territorial judge and, it directs all authorities -- civilian _and_ military to assist me. I can let you see it again if you didn't read that far."

"I read it, sir. I just find it hard to believe that that this young lady could have committed an act of murder."

"After you get your prisoners to Fort Yuma -- and get them squared away -- you're welcome to ride on over to Eerie for the trial." It was the last thing Paul wanted. He just hoped that the command at Fort Yuma was as short-handed as DeWitt had suggested.

"Sadly, sir, I am not likely to be able to avail myself of your hospitality."

"Fortunes of war," Paul said, trying very hard not to smile, "but at least you get to offer your own hospitality to our other prisoners."

***

"I am very disappointed in you, Jessie... Miss Hanks," Piety said as she, Hanna and Jessie watched DeWitt and his men riding off with the three Commancheros.

"What do you mean?" Jessie asked. So it was back to Miss Hanks again.

"I saw -- and heard -- the way you threw yourself at that lieutenant, trying to get him to take you back to Fort Yuma with him. And after you promised Hanna and I not to try to escape. We put ourselves on the line for you and this is how you treat us."

"I..." Jessie suddenly felt her face flush. She remembered how much she had resented Piety calling her a scarlet woman for no good reason earlier. Now, she'd given Piety Tyler a reason to do just that, as well as making herself look like a liar.

"Oh, Mama," Hanna said with a laugh, "Don't you see what she was really doing?"

"I... no, Hanna, I don't. What _was_ she doing?" Piety and Jessie looked at Hanna curiously.

"I think Jessie likes Mr. Grant. He wasn't paying her any attention, except as a prisoner. She wanted to get him to notice her, so she flirted with that lieutenant to get him jealous."

Piety looked with surprise at her daughter, taken aback that one she still thought of as a child could have had such an insight. Then she regarded Jessie. "Is that true, Miss Hanks... Jessie? Is that what you were doing?"

"I... oh... ummm." Jessie found her face getting even warmer. It was a ridiculous idea, too stupid to even think about, but she didn't disagree. With the Tylers, it was better to be thought of as a calculating flirt than as a common tramp.

Wasn't it?

***

It was well after sunset when the group came to a rough east-west trail. "The Yuma-Ajo road," Tyler said. He took out his pocket watch, striking a match to read it. "Almost nine o'clock," he said. "We should be home by ten."

"This is where I leave you, Eprem," Mick Walsh said. "I know how much my Kate'll be worrying about me."

"Thanks for the help, Mick," Ephrem said, putting his watch away as the young man rode off.

"There's nobody waiting for me," Sven Thorrenson said with a wry smile, "I'm just a poor, old Norwegian bachelor, but I want to get home to my farm, too."

"Couldn't have done it without you, Sven," Ephrem said. Sven had shot the second of the Commancheros. The man had died on the trail and was buried under a crude cairn of rocks.

"Just doing what had to be done," he waved and turned his horse towards his own farm in the east.

"I left my wagon at your place," Dobbs said. "You mind if I sleep in your yard when we get there?"

"You're more than welcome," Tyler said. "I might even have some livery work for you." Dobbs was a traveling tinker and liveryman, earning his living making and repairing metal and leather goods for the scattered farms. The last member of the posse, Yancy Flynn, had gone to Fort Yuma with the soldiers. He'd taken a bullet square in the arm. Piety had stopped the bleeding and bandaged it, but he wanted to have the Fort's doctor deal with the thing.

***

"I guess this is good night," Gil Parker said, as he walked Hanna to the house. "I'm... I'm so glad that you weren't hurt... or nothing."

"I would have been," Hanna said, "if you hadn't been there."

"Glad I was." They were on the porch now, just outside the door.

"So am I, Gil." Hanna stood on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Before the surprised boy could react, she said. "Good night, Gil," and hurried inside. Gil stood there, smiling with amazement and gently touching the spot she had kissed.

"Come on, son, it's late," his father yelled. Then he chuckled and said, "We'll be by here again tomorrow. You can return her kiss then, but don't let her mother see you doing it."

"Yes, sir," Gil said, "yes, _sir_!" He ran for his horse. "The sooner home, the sooner back." He jumped onto the horse and father and son hurried off.

"Now as for you two," Piety said, looking at Paul and Jessie. "Amos, Malachai, pick a number from one to ten."

"Four," Amos yelled from where he was tying up the horses.

"Seven," Malachai said.

"It was five," Piety said. "Malachai, tonight you get to sleep on the settee downstairs, while Mr. Grant gets your bed. Hanna, Jessie will share your room. Jessie, I'll wait until morning before I tend your wound, if you don't mind."

"No, Miz... no, Piety. I'm kinda tired myself."

"Fine," Piety smiled. "But I don't want you girls stay up all night giggling and talking about boys."

"No, ma'am," Jessie said solemnly and when she said it, she thought she meant it, emphatically.

Chapter 9 -- "Proposals"

Sunday morning found Jessie settling herself into the tub full of hot water. "Oh, this is pure heaven," she sighed. She and Piety were alone in the cookhouse that doubled as the Tyler family bath.

"You take as long as you need," Piety said. "Hanna and I have already bathed and the men are all busy and won't wash up until tonight." She paused, not wanting to embarrass Jessie. "I had Amos bring in your saddle bags. I'm going to do some washing and I thought I'd do the clothes you were in. You... you don't seem to have anything else to wear."

"No, ma'am," Jessie said. "I... ah... I took off in kind of a hurry."

"So the deputy said. Do you want to talk about what happened? Maybe, tell your own side of the story."

"No... Piety, I think, maybe I should save it for the judge." Jessie still had trouble believing that the woman was trying to be her friend. It was harder yet to think about what had happened that night with Toby and to realize that...that she might just _hang_ for it.

'And for what,' she thought. 'I was just defending myself. Hell, that's _all_ that damned potion would let me do. They'd have probably all been happier if I'd let Toby do what he wanted. He'd surely have been a whole lot happier.' She shivered at the thought of being raped. 'Well, _that_ wasn't going to happen. All my life people been trying to push me around. And all my life I been fighting back. I wouldn't let it happen back in Toby's cabin and I ain't gonna let them railroad me for what I done that night.'

Piety saw the fear, fear of hanging and the anger, too, in Jessie's face and misunderstood. "He... he tried to... to do to you what you said those Commancheros wanted to do to all of us, didn't he? Oh, you poor, brave dear. I... I never realized... I... you wait here." She bustled out of the room. Jessie heard a door latch click.

Jessie leaned back and let the water soak out some of her fears. "I ain't gonna worry too much. I wasn't in a situation yet that I couldn't think or fight my way out of. Hell, if I get me that potion, I ain't even gonna be a girl no more." She thought for a bit. "Might be worth the risk of going back t'Eerie to get that second dose." She was beginning to have some ideas about that, too.

She picked up the bar of soap that Piety had put next to the tub. "In the meantime, I'll just scrub the top layer of trail dirt of this body." There was a washcloth with the soap. Jessie worked up a good lather and began washing on her left arm.

As she did, she thought about Paul and how to get the best of him. "It was fun yesterday, watching him square off with that Lieutenant DeWitt. Imagine them two big, strong men fighting over..." she let her voice go soft and husky, "...little, old me."

Without realizing it, Jessie moved the washcloth and began to slide it slowly across her breasts. She closed her eyes and pictured DeWitt. "That Lieutenant was kind of nice looking and... oh, my... how he went on when I started flirting with him." Her breathing grew more shallow. "He had him one of those pointy-tipped mustaches that... that Sarah Fuller tried t'get me to grow. What'd she call them? Ticklers... now why would..." Her eyes widened as Jessie realized why. She giggled softly. "Why, Sarah Fuller, you... you brazen hussy."

Jessie giggled again. Her other hand moved to her thigh, as she wondered what a "tickler" would feel like. She ran a fingernail along the entrance to her vagina and shivered at the sensation. "Oooh, Jackson," she moaned.

Jessie's hand began to knead her breast. Two fingers of the other hand slipped into her cleft. She felt a warmth growing down... there, warmth that had nothing to do with the water she was in. "Ooh... ooh!"

Them DeWitt's image began to shift. In seconds, the lieutenant's face was replaced by that of Paul Grant. He was smiling. "Ooh... oooh, Paul." She began to pretend that it was his hands touching her, making her feel so, so...

"What the Sam Hill..." Jessie said, sitting upright in the tub. She pulled her hands away from her body and shook her head, as if trying to shake the images out, like a wet dog shaking itself to get dry.

The air was cool against her bare, wet skin. In a short time, the arousal she had worked herself into was gone. "Whew, that was close. You watch yourself, Jessie, m'gal."

She sighed and leaned back. "I gotta get changed back and _quick_. It looks like the only way t'd do that is to risk hanging and going back to Eerie with that damned deputy." She picked up the washcloth from where it was floating in the soapy water. She lathered it and began to clean herself again. Only now, she was _very_ careful about where and how hard she scrubbed.

'You just be careful, Jessie Hanks,' she thought. 'Wilma'd give you hell if she ever caught you acting like some horny woman.'

***

Jessie was just stepping out of the washtub when there was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" she yelled, grabbing for her towel.

"It's only me, Jessie." Piety Tyler's voice came through the door. "Are you done with your bath yet?"

"Just got out," Jessie said as she wrapped the towel around her body. It was wide enough to cover her from her breast to a few inches above the knee.

There was a click as Piety unlocked the door. She slipped in quickly and shut it hard behind her. "I brought you some clothes. Your own things are still drying." She put a pile of clothing down on a worktable nearby. "Were those really a pair of men's drawers in your saddle bag?"

"I left Toby Hess' place in one big hurry. There wasn't time t'stop off for my clothes. I had to... borrow some of his."

Piety's eyes widened. "Then you... you did k-kill him." She began backing slowly towards the door. "I so wanted to believe..."

"Damn it, Piety, he ripped off my blouse and my camisole. I couldn't fight him off, so I kicked him right in the... right where it'd do the most good. He fell back and hit his head on a stone fireplace. _That's_ what killed him." She took a breath and watched for Piety's reaction.

Piety scowled. "I don't hold with the use of profanity, but I can certainly understand why you would use harsh language in this case. You have to tell Mr. Grant what happened at once. They can't... they mustn't punish a woman for defending herself." She actually sounded angry. "It just would not be right."

Jessie felt like hugging Piety. The woman actually believed her. But whatever I told Paul, he'd just tell me right back that I should save it for the judge. If I read that man right, he's a fool for doing his duty to the letter.

"Would you like me to come with you to Eerie? I could go along and testify about what you did, how you saved my life. That should count for something. Amos or Malachai could come along and help me drive the wagon back afterwards."

Damn! "I... ah... I don't think you... ah... need to do that, Piety." She took a breath, not sure what to say. 'No, Piety,' Jessie thought. 'You don't need to come. You surely don't need to find out who I _really_ am, who I used to be. I don't want you and Hanna t'think of me as some sort of freak or t'judge me by Jesse Hanks' reputation.' Finally, she said, "Paul saw what I done and I'd guess that he'll be up front about it at the trial."

"You really do trust that man, don't you?" Piety's eyes narrowed for a moment, then she smiled. "More and more, I think that Hanna was right. I think you just want to be alone on the trail with that deputy."

"Do not!" Jessie was surprised at how fast, how emphatically, she answered. "I... ah... let's see what you brought me t'wear. I can't go around in this towel forever."

She picked up a pair of ivory-colored cotton drawers. Little lace frills were sewn in horizontal bands along both legs and the tie strings at waist and knee were a matching lace. "These're real pretty," Jessie said, a little ruefully.

"Thank you. I added those frillies myself. After all those days in men's clothes, I thought you'd want to dress like a lady from the skin out."

Jessie had started to get used to wearing pants again and she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to dresses. 'Can't very well pretend I ain't a gal,' she thought. 'Besides, I'll go back t'pants for the trail.' She shrugged and said, "I don't know about the 'lady' part, but it'll be nice t'wear some new clothes."

She stepped into the drawers, pulling them up past her hips and tying the tie strings at her waist. The drawers were a bit long on her, going a bit past her knees, but the strings would manage that. She didn't tie them though, wanting to wait until she had her stockings on. Instead, she reached for the camisole.

"Don't," Piety said. "I want to check your wound first." She pointed to a chair at the end of the worktable. "Please sit down over there." Jessie walked over and sat in the chair. "Lean forward and put your arms down on the table, so they're not on my way."

Jessie did as asked. Piety's fingers worked the knots that held the dressing in place. Jessie felt it loosen as Piety unwrapped it. She flinched when Piety lifted the smaller bandage that was over the wound and touched it gently.

"I'm sorry," Piety said. "It seems to be healing well. The scab is solid. No sign of infection, thank the Lord. You may have a small scar there for the rest of your life, but I'd say that should be your only problem."

"When can I travel?"

"Oh, you can travel now. You got here, didn't you? I just wanted you to have a day or two of rest. I thought you'd earned it." She gingerly smoothed some sort of salve over the wound. Jessie felt a slight pain but didn't show it. The salve smelled of honey and spices, but it burned a little, too.

"That should help it heal." Piety put another small bandage over the wound, then wrapped the larger one around Jessie before tying it in place. "You can finish getting dressed now."

Jessie stood and reached for the camisole. It was also ivory, a match for the drawers. "You done all this needle work, Piety?"

"Yes, I learned to embroider lace from my grandmother, when I was a little girl. I do it in the odd moment -- especially in the summer, when there's light after dinner."

"And your husband don't mind you doing it with all the work there is to do around a farm?"

"Ephrem says that he gets the benefit of it when we..." Piety blushed. She suddenly seemed younger and much less stern.

Jessie chuckled. "Good for him -- and for you." She winked and slipped on the camisole. It was tight around her breasts, but she managed to get it buttoned. Thankfully, it was looser further down where the bandage was.

Piety's lips curled up in a shy smile. "Let's just keep _that_ between us, if you please." She glanced at a small pocket watch that was pinned to her apron. "I have to go now. The Parkers are coming over later and I've got a supper to start. Hanna is helping and you're welcome to join us when you're done."

She turned to leave then stopped and took something from an apron pocket. "I didn't see a comb or a brush or anything like that in your saddlebag. I thought you might want one, so you can borrow this." She put a hairbrush on the table next to the clothes.

"Th-thanks." Jessie looked cautiously at the hairbrush, a sudden, worrisome thought coming into her mind.

"You're welcome." Piety raised an eyebrow at Jessie's reaction, but she left without saying anything.

Jessie finished dressing as quickly as she could, stockings, petticoats and skirt. The entire time, she kept looking at the brush.

"Damn it! I got outta that town. I robbed a stage and won a knife fight. I ain't gonna let no hairbrush beat me." She slipped on her boots and started for the door.

As she did, she heard a voice, Shamus' voice, in her head. "Ye'll be sitting down every day and brushing yuir hair, thirty strokes on each side."

"I ain't doing it!" She all but screamed, "I ain't; I ain't." The voice wouldn't stop. She found herself walking over and picking up the brush. "Oh, the hell with it." She sat down on a bench and began to run the brush through her hair.

As she did, she began to recite. "I'm a girl. I'm a girl." She said it once for each brushstroke. When she had finished, she threw the brush against the wall as hard as she could. It fell among some tools, barely noticeable. "And you can stay there till I'm long gone out of here," she yelled at it.

She stood and walked towards that door. "I don't care what it takes, even going back to Eerie with Paul. I'm gonna get that potion from Shamus somehow, so I can change back to a man."

***

"So, Paul," Ephrem Tyler began, "Piety tells me that you're planning to head out tomorrow."

"Yep," Paul replied. "She just told me Jessie's wound was healing up nicely. One more day to recover and it shouldn't be no trouble on the ride home."

"I think he's just in a hurry to be along on the trail with that pretty piece of fluff." Fred Dobbs winked, then he nudged Tyler in the side with his elbow. The three men were standing in what was left of Tyler's barn. Ephrem wanted to know how much of his harnesses and other leatherwork Dobbs might be able to salvage.

"No," Paul said quickly. "I just want to get this over with, get Jessie back to Eerie, so we can settle the record on Toby Hess and how he died." Even as he spoke, Paul wasn't completely sure that was the only reason he was in such a blamed hurry.

"If you say so, Paul," Ephrem said, "but you must admit, she is a very fetching young woman."

"She can warm my blanket any time she wants to." Dobbs winked again.

Both men watched to see if the deputy would flare at the remark, but he didn't. "She's pretty enough," Paul said, "but I... I ain't interested."

"Then lie down, sir, 'cause you must be dead." Dobbs said with a laugh. "You sure don't look like no 'nancy boy' and any _real_ man'd be plenty interested in a sweet thing like that."

"Not if he knew her like I do," Paul said. "That woman's a wildcat."

"That sweet, little thing?" Dobbs said. "She ain't no wildcat, but she is _some_ kind of a pussy." He laughed again at the crude joke.

This time Paul stiffened, his hands curling automatically into fists. "Mr. Dobbs, you don't close that mouth of yours, I'm gonna..." He shook his head and sighed. He could hardly tell them the truth. "Look, you heard what Miz Tyler said about Jessie getting into a knife fight with one of those Commancheros."

"I heard," Dobbs said cautiously, "But I'm not sure that I believe any of it."

"I wouldn't either," Ephrem said, "if it'd been anybody besides my Piety that said it -- especially with Hanna backing up every word of it."

Dobbs shook his head. "Yeah, but her winning a knife fight against a man... and a Mex bandit, no less. Them folks give their babies knives t'teeth on."

"And that 'sweet thing' beat one of them," Paul said wryly. "And _that's_ who you're talking about my cozying up to on the way home. Me... I figure I'll have to watch my back the whole damned way, even if I hog tie her."

"You must admit, Paul," Ephrem said, "that it's hard to believe from just looking at Jessie."

"You don't know how true that is, Ephrem," Paul agreed. 'Sure,' he thought, 'tell them that she's really under a magic spell and she wasn't supposed to be able to fight at all.' From the way the other women tell it, Jessie got that man to attack her. The magic'd let her defend herself. 'And if she's smart enough to figure _that_ out, she's even more dangerous than I've thought up to now.'

Dobbs noticed the way Paul was staring off into thin air. "Maybe so," he said, chuckling again, "but you're still thinking about her."

"You want to know _what_ I'm thinking about her?" Paul asked.

Dobbs answered with a leer. "Yeah, I can just imagine."

"I would, too," Ephrem said, trying to calm things, "if you're really offering to tell, that is."

"I am," Paul said slowly. "I'm thinking that Jessie Hanks is like one of those mustangs you still see out in the wild ranges. They're pretty to look at, all right, but they're the very devil. You try to ride one of them, it'll turn on you first chance it gets. It'll buck and twist and jump till you fall off its back. _Then_, it'll stomp you into the ground; kill you and bury you both at once." He paused and looked at them, especially Dobbs. "That satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Dobbs? Ephrem?"

Both men nodded, not knowing what else to say or do. "Then I'll leave you to your inspection," Paul said. "Good luck, Ephrem." He walked off with a satisfied gait.

Paul was almost back to the house, when he remembered something. His own horse, Ash, was a mustang. 'Break a mustang to the saddle without breaking its spirit,' he thought, 'and there's no better partner a cowboy could have."

"Yeah," he said aloud, "but Jessie's not really like a mustang -- is she?"

***

"Well, you certainly cleaned up nice."

Jessie turned to look at Paul. She did a slow turn, arms away from her sides, to show off how she looked. She immediately felt like some kind of a fool for doing so. Why did it matter if he cared how she looked? "Thanks," she mumbled, suddenly feeling sour. "I... I... ah... just got washed. Piety changed my bandage, too."

"How's it doing... that flesh wound, I mean?" His eyes trailed slowly down her torso from her breasts to where the bandage was. Was it her imagination that they had lingered a moment on her... chest or that they kept going to consider the rest of her figure?

"I may have a scar, but it's coming along. Piety says I can... we can leave tomorrow."

"If she's sure... I don't want you to push yourself."

"I thought that you wanted to get me back as soon as possible." Back to hang, she let the thought slip out.

"I want to get back with a healthy prisoner, not have to stop along the way because that wound opened or went bad."

Jessie smiled mischievously. "If you can get me back at all."

"It's a shame I can't bring Miz Tyler along. You could promise her not to escape and I wouldn't have to worry."

"How'd you like me to make a promise like that t'you?"

"I don't know if I can be as trusting as the Tylers."

"You can, if it's important enough t'me to keep the deal."

"Wh-what do you mean, Jessie, 'important enough' to you?" Paul felt a knot in his throat.

"I mean... hell, I'm tired of being this, being a female. I want t'be _me_, the real, male me again."

"I don't know if that's possible. I... I suppose Shamus might know --"

"He knows, all right and I figured it out, too. That potion of his changes a person's sex. It changed us all into women and if I drink another dose, it'll change me back into a man."

Paul laughed, remembering that Wilma had said almost the same thing. "Oh, it'll change you, all right, but not back to a man."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"The second time you drink, you'll get... umm... a whole lot more... it'll make you... oh, hell, Jessie, trust me it won't change you back."

"Says you. I say otherwise. You got some proof, something more than your word to show me?"

"Not here... back in Eerie."

"Then show it to me there. I'll make a deal with you. You promise to get me a drink of that stuff of Shamus' once we're back there, I'll promise t'go to Eerie with you."

"You don't know what you're asking, Jessie. I feel like I'd be tricking you."

"I don't care what you feel like. I'm making an offer -- my word of honor not to try anything -- are you man enough to take me up on it?" She stuck out her hand towards him.

Paul shrugged his shoulders in disbelief. It would make the trip back a lot easier, but it didn't seem right. Still, she'd never believe him if her told her about Wilma. She'd just have to see for herself. "All right, you've got a deal. I can't commit Shamus to anything, but I'll talk to him and the Judge and tell them that they should give you the potion, _if_ you still want it by then." He shook her hand. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

***

A child's cry rang through the house.

"Oh, heavens," Elsie Parker said. "She's awake." Elsie, Gil's mother, was a tall woman with light brown hair just beginning to go to an early gray. At the moment, her hands were dripping with the flour and water mixture of the dumplings she was making. "Can somebody see to Phoebe?"

"Not me, I'm afraid," Piety said, her sleeves rolled up. She was cutting a chicken into sections and her hands were covered with blood and chicken skin. "Hanna, would you..." She looked around. "Now where is that girl?"

Jessie was peeling vegetables. "She went out to get some of that wood Gil was chopping for the stove." She stood up. "I'll go get her." No telling what else Hanna and Gil were doing out by the woodpile.

"Why bother, Jessie." Elsie said. "You just go in and see to Phoebe yourself."

"Me? But I..." Jessie felt a knot in her stomach. "I don't know what to do with a baby."

"Nonsense," Piety said. "What woman doesn't know how to quiet a baby? The good Lord gave every one of us woman the instincts to be a good mother, even one like you, Jessie, who hasn't had a lot of experience with children."

Jessie doubted that the 'good Lord' had had anything to do with the sort of woman that she was. On the other hand, if it was a matter of heathen gods and devils, well, that was another story.

"She's just over-tired," Elsie said. "She's a light sleeper and Cyrus and Gil woke her up when they came home last night. It was hours before I got her to go back to sleep." Elsie cried again. "Please, Jessie, just go. I'm sure that you'll do fine."

"Yes, ma'am," Jessie sighed resignedly. She walked slowly into the front parlor. Phoebe, a two-year old with a mass of dark blonde curls, was standing in a wooden playpen, holding a vertical slat of it in each hand and shaking them as she cried.

Jessie had to smile. "You don't like jails anymore that I do, do you, you little mite?"

Phoebe stopped crying at the sound of Jessie's voice. She looked up at Jessie and smiled back. Then she lifted her arms. "Phoebe... out."

Jessie leaned over the playpen and gently lifted the toddler. "I ain't quite sure how t'do this without fumbling you, so I better sit." She took a seat on the nearby settee.

"You smell good enough," Jessie said, "and you had your bottle right there, so what in Sam Hill are you crying about?"

Phoebe yawned and stretched. Then she smiled, her eyes half-closed and tugged at one ear. "Seepy."

"Seepy? Oh... _sleepy," Jessie said. At first, that confused Jessie. If Phoebe had wanted to sleep, she could have done that in the playpen. "You just want somebody to hold you while you go to sleep. Well, I... I guess I can do that." Rather than have her start bawling again, Jessie encouraged Phoebe to nestle down in her arms.

For a moment, Jessie just let her cradle there, but Phoebe soon became restless. Feeling she had to do something, Jessie gently rocked Phoebe. A snatch of memory, her own mother holding her close and singing a song, came back to her across the years. Jessie smiled at the memory and began to sing that old, barely remembered lullaby. "Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird."

It seemed to have the effect that Jessie was trying for. Phoebe's eyes slowly closed. She yawned and made a sort of quiet, mewing sound. After a few minutes, she was asleep, snoring softly. Jessie kept rocking her and singing, just to make sure that she was sleeping soundly.

Then Jessie became aware that there were other people looking in on her.

"I'll take her now," Elsie said, stepping forward. She carefully took Phoebe from Jessie's arms and placed her back on a blanket in the playpen.

"You have a lovely voice," Piety said from the doorway. Hanna was standing there just behind her.

"Sure does," a man, somewhere behind both of them, said. It was Paul, now standing so that she could see his face over Piety's head.

"How long you was standing there?" Jessie hissed, keeping her voice very low as not to wake Phoebe.

"Long enough," Paul said with a grin.

Jessie stood up and glared at him. "Paul Grant, you better just keep quiet about this."

"That's right," Paul said, stepping back, his hands held up in mock surrender. "You've got a reputation to protect. Besides, if I ever said that I saw Jessie Hanks singing a lullaby to a babe in arms, why, people'd think I was as crazy as a parrot eating stick candy."

***

Jessie was changing for bed. She stood, her arms raised, enjoying the cool feeling of the borrowed linen nightgown as it slid down onto her body.

The door sprang open as Hanna ran in. She pushed it closed behind her and ran over to Jessie. "I've got such wonderful news," she said as she hugged Jessie.

Jessie flinched just a little. Hanna was squeezing her a bit close to where the bandage was. She smiled and mussed Hanna's hair. "It must be 'wonderful' the way you're carrying on. What is it?"

"I'm getting married... Gil and me. Our folks worked it all out just now. We have to wait till June. They say we're too young and that is _so_ silly. We love each other. We'll wait, though. They're gonna give us a big, big wedding like I always dreamed of and that's gonna take time to do up right."

"Well, congratulations," Jessie said when Hanna stopped to take a breath. "I knew you two were gonna make a real match of it sooner or later."

"And now it _happened_. I... I feel like I'm gonna explode, I'm so happy. You're coming. You gotta come; you gotta. You... you can be my bridesmaid if you want. Letty -- that's Gil's little sister; she's five -- is gonna be flower girl. Say you will. Please, please, please."

Jessie laughed at the way Hanna was carrying on, but she felt herself getting caught up in the girl's excitement. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I think you gotta get ready for bed."

"Oh, I couldn't. I'm so... so happy. My head's too light to ever put it down." She suddenly yawned. "Or maybe not." She giggled and began to undress.

***

"I wish you didn't have to go, Jessie," Hanna said. "I'll miss you." The horses were saddled. Paul was going over a map with Ephrem one last time.

The girl was beaming. Already this morning, her mother had been buzzing with plans for putting together a nuptial party that would have people talking about it for months afterwards.

"You're gonna be too busy to miss anybody, getting ready for that wedding of yours, Hanna," Jessie said, with just a bit of a smile. "June's a lot closer than it looks by the calendar.

"And you'll be back for it, won't you? It wouldn't be... I really want you to be here. Please say you will."

"I don't know, Hanna." Jessie hesitated. 'With any kind of luck, I'll be my male self again,' she thought, 'and you wouldn't like ole Jesse Hanks at your wedding flirting with the ladies and scaring half the men.' She started. 'Damn, why do I keep badmouthing myself like that?' She reminded herself again how much she had liked being Jesse.

"Please, please say you'll be here. I... I'd love for you sing at my wedding. You have such a beautiful voice... like an angel's."

An angel's? When she'd been a man, folks had told Jesse Hanks that his singing sounded like a rusty gate in a blue norther. "I can't promise you anything, Hanna," Jessie admitted reluctantly." She turned and reached deep into one of Useless' saddlebags. "Just in case I _can't_ be there -- and I ain't saying I won't -- let me just give you a present now."

"You aren't going to come, are you?" She sounded almost ready to cry.

"No, no, Hanna. It's just that I don't know how the trial will come out. Call this... call this an engagement present." She found the cameo from the stage robbery, a small cameo, blue with the silhouette in ivory or mother of pearl, on a silver chain. She put it in the girl's hand.

"Oh, it's... it's lovely. I couldn't."

"Sure, you could, Hanna. I got it from... well, you never mind where I got it from. I just want you t'have it. Besides, ain't there something about old and blue that a bride's supposed t'have for luck?" She curled Hanna's fingers around the cameo.

"There is and the rest of it says, 'something borrowed.' That's what this is, as far as I'm concerned. And you're gonna have to come to my wedding, so I can give it back." She threw her arms around Jessie, hugging her fiercely.

Jessie hugged her back. It felt like she was saying goodbye to kinfolk, not somebody she'd met less than a week before. "We'll see," she said, letting go of Hanna. Then she turned and quickly mounted Useless. Paul was already on his horse, watching the two females say their farewells. When Jessie was in the saddle, he nodded to her and the pair rode off.

"You better be here for my wedding, Jessie Hanks," Hanna yelled, waving after them until they were out of sight.

Chapter 10 -- "The Long Way Home"

Jessie thought she heard Paul Grant's voice. "You say something?" she asked.

"Finally," Paul said from across the campfire. "I must've asked you five times what you were thinking about. You hardly touched your supper."

Jessie ate a forkful of the hot stew, a gift Piety Tyler had packed in a small tin container for the first might on the trail. "There; you happy now?"

"Just trying to make some conversation. We're going be on the trail together three -- four days, maybe more. We might as well be civil to each other."

"I don't see... oh, what the hell. If you really gotta know I was thinking about you... sorta."

Paul grinned. "About me? Why, Jessie, I'm flattered."

"Yeah, well, don't let your head be getting too big. I was just wondering why you didn't tell the Tylers or anybody about me. That I was an escaped prisoner, I mean, that I was dangerous." She took a breath. "That I killed Toby Hess -- which I didn't, even if everybody back in Eerie thinks I did. It was an accident. I kicked him in the... I kicked him and he _fell_ and hit his fool head."

"I don't think you killed him, Jessie. We... the Judge had an inquest -- you know what that is?"

"Sort of like a trial, ain't it?"

"Yep, only with nobody _on trial_, just a lot of questions being asked. I told the Judge what I saw, how Toby's body looked. Then the Doc talked about what killed him. Molly even --"

"Molly?"

"She was real worried about you, Jessie. She pushed her way into where we were holding the inquest, said somebody had to stand up for you if you weren't there to do it for yourself."

"What... what'd she say?" Jessie squirmed a little. Here she'd been planning to kidnap Molly and the woman had stood up for her in a court of law. It was downright embarrassing.

"She talked about those clothes of yours, the ones Toby ripped off you. Then she said how you and the other women couldn't start a fight, but you could defend yourself if anybody tried anything." He looked straight at her. "I guess you figured a way around that, when you were with the Commancheros."

Jessie ignored the last comment. "So all them talked about how I didn't kill Toby and the Judge still signs that damned warrant for my arrest."

"Jessie, it sounded like self-defense to us, but it doesn't matter what the Judge or me or anybody else thinks. It's not official till you say what happened in front of a jury and _they_ decide." Paul took a bite of stew. "For what it's worth, I don't think that they're gonna find against you."

"And they're gonna let me go, then?" she asked wryly.

"Well, there _is_ the little matter of you running away."

"So here we are back at my question, again. Why didn't you tell the Tylers I was escaped from jail?"

"I didn't want to scare them... to make you sound dangerous." He saw her eyebrows furrow. "Okay sound _more_ dangerous. Besides, I didn't have the heart to do it."

"And what the Sam Hill does that mean?"

"In case you didn't notice -- and I know you did -- the Tylers like you. Hellfire, if Hanna had her way, they'd _adopt_ you. And you -- deny it if you want, but it's true -- you like them, too, in your own way. I heard how you were talking to Hanna just as we were leaving."

Jessie shrugged. "Hanna saved my life, after all, back there on the trail, and Piety stood up t'you about my going straight back to Eerie. So..."

"So? So you think they'd have felt the same way after I told them you were on the run from jail? You think you'd ever have gotten the chance to get as close to them as you did?"

"I... I guess not." She looked down into her stew, not wanting to go eye to eye with him or to admit that he was probably right. "Thanks... Thanks, Paul."

"Now, if I've answered all your questions, can I ask you one?"

"What?" She stiffened suspiciously. It wasn't in her nature to answer questions if they could be avoided.

"People always said Jesse Hanks was crazy, loco mean, too. That's a good reputation for an outlaw to have. I want to know how much of that is true?"

"All of it." She forked her eyebrows and grinned wickedly at him. "Every last word of it."

"No, it isn't, Jessie. A crazy mean outlaw isn't going to do what you did for Piety and Hanna. She's not going to sit and rock a baby to sleep or to say goodbye to Hanna the way you did."

"I had my reasons for all that. And I don't need t'tell 'em t'you."

"Fine, then tell me something else. Why did Jesse Hanks act the way he did to get that reputation?"

"Why shouldn't he... I? People are all out t'get you if they can. Only way t'live is t'watch them like a hawk and t'make sure you get you get your bite in before they can get in theirs."

"The Tylers didn't want to take a bite out of you."

"Most people then. Been that way all my life."

"That ain't been my experience. Most people --"

"Will hang you out t'dry as soon as they get the chance. Let me tell you a story, Paul Grant, t'show you what I mean."

***

"I growed up on a little dirtwater farm in east Texas. The only thing ever t'come out of that soil was rocks. Pa tried and tried, but we was poorer than dirt. Pa had to take on odd jobs to keep us fed and clothed, such as it was.

"Mostly, he worked for Lem Stafford. Capt. Stafford, he had this big spread along Hangapple Creek; lotsa water, lotsa cattle, lotsa money. The Captain commanded my Pa's unit in during the War for Texas Independence. After the War, the new government gave him a whole valley's worth of land for his men. Only the Captain kept the best for hisself and men like Pa got the rocky leftovers.

"Some of the men just up and left. The ones like Pa that stayed had to go to Stafford t'borrow the money they needed t'make a go of it. Pa owed the Captain for tools and medicine and seed and such, owed enough that he had to work part of the year for the Captain t'pay it off. It was that or get throwed off our own farm any time the Captain wanted.

"One day -- I was 5, I think and Will was 9 -- Pa took us along on a job for Stafford, checking the pumps he used to get water outta the creek for his fields. Pa worked, while me and Will played outside. Pa whittled, whittled good. He'd just made us some toy soldiers and we was playing with them.

"Capt. Stafford had him a son, too, Forry. Forry was 12, a big, gangly boy what thought the sun shined outta his ass. The Captain, he thought so, too. Forry come riding along on this sorrel his daddy'd bought him and he seen us playing with them toys. Right off, he decided that he wanted 'em. He just jumped off that horse and says, "Gimme them; I wants 'em."

"Will and me didn't have much, so we wanted t'keep what we did have. "No, you can't have 'em," Will says.

"Well, he just squats down like Will and me ain't even there and starts picking up them toys. I run over t'stop him and he pushes me, pushes me hard. I stumbled back and fell into the creek. Forry justs laughs. "That'll teach you to keep things that belong to me."

"'The hell they do,' Will says. He runs over and slams into Forry, knocks him down on the ground. Then he starts beating on him.

"Forry don't do nothing for a minute. He just screams and tries t'block Will's fists with his arm. Then Will got in a lucky shot and cut Forry's lip. Forry tastes his own blood and just howls. Then he jumps up and swings at Will.

"He weren't much of a fighter, no how, but he was four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier. Now Will's bleeding, too, but he'd a-won. Then Pa comes running out of the pumphouse yelling for us t'stop.

"Will, he stops. Forry sees him standing there and gets in one quick, sneaky shot that knocks Will down.

"'What's going on here?' Pa says.

"I'd climbed out of the creek by then, sopping wet and ready t'haul into Forry myself. 'He tried to steal them soldiers you made,' I says.

"'Quiet,' Pa said firmly. 'I was talking to Mr. Stafford.' His voice -- it was like an old man's, so weak and empty. 'I'll talk to you two when we get home.'

"Forry straightened himself, brushed some dust off his shirt. 'I... I was riding by and I saw your sons. I... umm... I came over to say hello -- yeah, to be neighborly. They... they cursed and started... they started throwing these toys at me. I took it for a while. After all, they _are_ so much younger n' me. Then they pulled at my horse's reins. I had to stop that. I got off Brommel -- that was his horse -- and the little one tried to jump me. I threw him off and he fell into the creek. Then the other one started hitting me. I was just getting the upper hand when you came out.'

"Pa just nodded his head. 'They are a handful, Mr. Stafford. I'm... I'm sorry if they caused you any trouble. Sometimes, I don't know what t'do with 'em.'

"'I hear there's a good boys' home over in Houston. My father could put in a word if you'd like.' He said it friendly-like, but we all knew the threat inside them words.

"Pa shook his head. 'I don't know. Maybe they could apologize; make it up t'you somehow.' He saw Forry looking at the soldiers. 'Would... would you take them soldiers by way of their saying they's sorry?'

"'I... I don't know.' That snake just smiled at us. He knowed he'd won.

"'Please, just take 'em and call it even,' Pa said. "The boys need to be punished for starting the fight. You'll be doing me a favor.'

"'All right,' Forry said. Pa put them soldiers in the bag we carried them in and handed them to Forry sweet as you please. Forry tucked 'em in a saddlebag and rode off. I swear I could hear his horselaugh hanging in the air for an hour.

"Just before we left the pumphouse, I found one soldier that Pa'd missed in the tall grass. I stuck it in my pocket and didn't tell no one, not even Will.

"Pa explained things on the way home. Capt. Stafford had swore that he'd send the next boy that picked a fight with Forry t'the boys' home or t'jail. Pa hated t'act the way he done, but he had to t'protect us. He knew that the Captain'd send us away without a second's thought. Ma was dead by then, and we was all he had by way of family.

"Will told me that night that he hated Pa for being so weak. He wasn't never gonna be like that. He was gonna be big and mean and make the other folks scared of him. He brung it off for a while, then he beat up Forry in front of witnesses. Forry started the fight, but that didn't matter. They had him on the stage t'the home that very day.

"I didn't see no point in being like Pa neither after that. I cried a little to think that my Pa was such a coward. He just let them do that t'Will.

"About a week after Will went off t'the home, Forry got caught taking a jack knife from the store. Capt. Stafford said it was a mistake. He paid for the knife. Then, just for once, he whupped Forry right in front of everybody.

"There was a fire at the store that night. They caught it in time, so there wasn't no damage. They found the matches and turpentine that somebody used to start the fire, too. They found something else, a little wooden soldier, just like the ones Forry had, the ones he liked t'play with all the time. Forry said he didn't set that fire, but nobody'd been home with him t'give him a alibi.

"Well, he was Forry Stafford. Capt. Stafford paid for the damage -- just to be charitable, mind you and it was forgotten... mostly. Even if they wasn't sure, folk never treated Forry quite the same after that

"Everybody thought it must've been Forry, though. Nobody else had toy soldiers like him. Not even me. I sorta lost mine -- that one that nobody else knew about -- the night of the fire.

***

Jessie looked skyward. "It's gonna rain. I can feel it in the air." It was early afternoon. She and Paul had stopped to rest their horses for a few minutes after an hour of hard riding.

"It already is -- off to the north and west." Paul pointed. The sky, miles off in both directions, was already black with storm clouds. Below the clouds, the view was blurred by the gray curtain of falling rain.

"Hope it don't ruin the Tylers' harvest." Her eyes followed the line of clouds to the south. She couldn't tell if they reached as far as the Tyler farm.

"I don't think it will. Eph said that they had most of it in before Manolo and his men showed up. They were working on the last of it that very day. Cy Parker's letting them store what didn't burn up with the barn at his place.

"Gotta take care of your in-laws," Jessie said with a smile, remembering Hanna's joy at the prospect of marrying Gil. "Even if they ain't your in-laws yet." She looked up again. "You think that rain'll bother us?"

"We're a good distance from the worst of those clouds, but I think I'll pitch a shelter for us when we set up camp tonight."

***

Paul reined his horse when he heard the noise, an odd, low rumbling sound. Jessie rode over to him. "What's the matter?"

"You hear that?" he asked, looking around. They were in the midst of a wide ravine in the open prairie. There was nothing unusual, as far as he could see.

"Sounded a little like thunder. Maybe that storm is getting closer."

Paul looked up. The sky was dark, but no darker than it had been an hour before. "I'm not sure. It sounded nearer the -- Oh, Lord! Ride, Jessie, ride for the high ground." He started galloping for the bank of the ravine.

A wall of water was rushing down the ravine towards them. It was a flash flood, rain that came down so hard that the ground couldn't soak it up.

Jessie stared for an instant, then used her reins to whip Useless into a full gallop. Paul was ahead of her, the distance between them widening. 'Damn, that horse of his can run,' she thought.

She was starting up the steep bank when the water hit; a great, wet hand that tried to pick up her and Useless and carry them along with it. Useless whinnied and kicked, but managed to keep his footing as the water poured over them. Jessie felt him lurch forward and continue climbing up the bank.

As Useless pulled free, the water seemed to wrap itself around Jessie and pulled her from the saddle. She tried to hold onto the reins, but the force of the torrent wrenched them from her hands. She yelled Paul's name and disappeared into the rushing torrent.

Paul had reached the top and turned. He saw her. He spurred Ash and rode along the bank just above the water's edge. He saw Jessie resurface, saw her head bobbing up and down, her arms flailing at the flood with little effect.

Ash was at full gallop now. The horse actually pulled ahead of Jessie. Paul stood in his stirrups. "Hold on, Jessie," he yelled. He took a breath and jumped into the water.

He was swimming even before he came back to the surface. His strong arms cut through the floodwaters as he moved towards Jessie. He caught an arm and pulled her to him. "Grab on," he yelled.

Jessie didn't move. She wasn't even looking his way; it was like she though she all alone and had just given up.

"Damn!" Paul turned them both and began to push Jessie towards the bank. The water was cold. His arms were getting tired. He was fighting the current as much as he was fighting Jessie's dead weight.

"Be damned if I lose you now," he swore. He pushed and kicked until he felt his feet hit land. 'Finally,' he thought with no little relief. He braced himself and stood, still holding Jessie tightly. He put his hands under her arms and dragged her out of the water.

Once they were well above the floodline, he laid her down. She was breathing steady and there was no sign of any injury. Her eyes just didn't seem to focus on anything. "You're almost more damned trouble than you're worth." He sat down on the grass besides her. She still didn't seem to know that he was there.

He stood, then pulled her to her feet. He put one arm around her waist and held her hand with the other. She was unsteady, but she could walk. Slowly, the pair headed back to where Ash and Useless were now grazing.

A breeze came up and Paul shivered. It was getting colder. "Best to build a fire first." He sat Jessie down, leaning her against a juniper tree and walked over to Ash. He took off his shirt and pants and laid them across the saddle. Then he took his firemaking kit from a saddlebag.

Flint struck steel and threw off sparks into a piece of frayed flannel. Moments later, flames rose from the small pile of tinder that surrounded the flannel. Paul carefully added larger and larger pieces of wood. In a few minutes he had a comfortable fire. "Jessie," he called to her. "Come on over and get warm."

She didn't move. She was still slumped under that juniper where he'd left her. Her hands raised in front of her. She seemed to be talking, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Paul walked over. "Useless," she was saying. "W-w-worse th-than u-u-useless "

Her face was pale and she was shivering badly. Paul looked closer. Her teeth were chattering and, "Damn," he said, "her lips are turning blue."

Paul pulled her to her feet and walked her quickly to the fire. She still didn't know where she was and she kept repeating the word "Useless" over and over. Was she out of her head? Her condition reminded him of cases of heatstroke he'd seen riding trail. Was something like that for drowning? The problem was, heatstroke could kill sure as any bullet. Could this?

He pulled at her shirt buttons, ripping one off, but he did manage to get her shirt off. He undid her pants and let them slide partway down her legs. Then her sat her down and pulled off her boots. Her pants followed her boots almost as quickly. He just tossed them all out of the way. There'd be time to hang them up to dry later.

She didn't react to anything he did.

Paul tried very hard not to notice the way her wet camisole and drawers molded themselves to the supple curves of her body or the way her nipples, erect from the cold, could almost be seen through the wet fabric. So could that dark blonde patch that showed through her drawers at her crotch.

He grabbed at his bedroll until the blanket came free. He wrapped it around her and began to rub vigorously. He wanted to dry her off and to get her blood circulating, anything to fight the cold that was seeping down into her very core.

***

Jessie held onto the reins for all she was worth as the flood washed over her. "Ain't no water gonna get the best of me," she swore through gritted teeth. It was no use; she could feel the leather slipping away. Three fingers... two... one... a moment later the water pulled her free. She yelled for Paul as it dragged her under.

She managed to get back to the surface and started trying to swim to the bank. The current pulled at her like a living thing. The bank seemed to move farther away even as she swam.

The undertow pulled her down again. 'Jesse would have made it,' was her last thought before she sank. Jesse Hanks had mastered the tides of the Atlantic when he and Will had hid out in New Orleans. He would have had no trouble with this flood.

_She_ wasn't strong enough. 'This damn woman's body of mine is useless; it's gonna let me die.' The thought echoed in her head as she fought to get back to the surface. Her mind withdrew in panic as she began to believe the notion.

Someone -- she was too dazed to recognize Paul -- grabbed her arm. He twisted around and now he was pushing her towards shore. She should try to help, but with her weak, woman's body -- her arms felt like lead -- what could she do? She was barely aware that he pulled her out of the water and laid her out on the hard ground.

After that, she was cold, cold to the bone.

She was vaguely aware of Paul stripping her. She felt the blanket rubbing against her body. The cold, the terrible cold began to leave her, leave her arms, her back, her legs. She moaned and stretched as feeling returned, as blessed warmth seeped back into her.

And more than warmth. She felt hands moving across her breasts, her thighs. She trembled, ashamed somehow to be touched there, but so needing the warmth that came with being touched. Without thinking, she arched her back and spread her legs to help the touch reach her better.

The warmth she felt there was different... better. A tingly pleasure came with it, a childlike delight in being touched, in knowing the physical contact of another human being. The feelings grew more intense the more the hands touched her. She began to move her body to match the rhythms of the massage. A new thought came to her, that she wanted... she _needed_ to be touched.

A face suddenly loomed before her, only inches away. Some instinct she didn't know she had taken over. She moaned low in her throat and raised her head toward the face. Her arms rose, too. Lips touched...

***

Paul had been frantic. Jessie was shivering, turning blue, from the cold. He rubbed her all over with the blanket to warm her. That included the places where a gentleman didn't normally touch a lady, but getting her warm was more important than being polite.

Jessie suddenly moaned and threw her arms up and around his neck. Paul was too startled to react against being pulled towards her. And kissed.

Paul tried to push her off, but she was holding on for dear life.

Jessie felt his warm body press against hers. Slowly, she became aware again. Someone was holding her, kissing her. And she was kissing him... kissing Paul. Her eyes opened wide. "What the hell!"

With a gut reaction, she struck his face and pushed him back. She felt a chill as soon as she was away from the warmth of his body and looked down at herself. "My-my clothes --"

Paul rubbed his face where she'd struck him. He felt a little bit of wetness where her nail had dug in. "You were sopping wet," he quickly explained. "I-I was just trying to get you warm and dry."

Jessie wrapped the blanket tightly around her. "I know what you were trying."

She stood up, walked around to the other side of the fire and sat down again, huddling in close to the flames. She was still cold and her hair especially felt wet. More than that, her body still craved the sensations she'd felt. But all she could think of was what they had been doing when she woke up. Worse, she couldn't decide if she should be mad or... worried.

Eventually, she sagged to the ground AND fell asleep, the blanket still clenched tightly around her.

Paul pulled his hat down over his scowl and rested his head in the seat of his saddle. Why had he felt like he had to make an explanation about why he'd done what he'd done? Jessie Hanks was the one who had started all the kissing. If she didn't like it, she shouldn't do it. If that wildcat tried it again -- well, if the wildcat tried it again, maybe he'd just _let_ her. That would teach her. With that pleasant thought, Paul Grant, too, gave himself up to slumber.

***

The smell of coffee woke Jessie. She was still wrapped in the blanket, but there was a second blanket over it and her head was resting on a saddlebag.

Paul was on the other side of the fire fixing breakfast. He saw her sitting up. "Good morning," he said, with a smile. "Feeling better?"

"I-I guess so. I'm not cold, anyway. Where's my clothes?"

"Hanging up with mine, trying to dry." He pointed over to a rope stretched between two trees. Her shirt and pants, the only ones she had, damn it, were dangling down from it along with Paul's own clothes. Unlike her, he had spares. "We're not going to stay here all day. You can wear that dress Miz Tyler gave you and our other clothes can finish drying tonight."

Jessie didn't like the idea of wearing the dress on the trail, but she liked the idea of wearing wet clothing even less. "All right, but no looking while I get dressed." She checked the saddlebag she'd been using as a pillow and. Yes, her dress and... and -- surprise! -- an extra set of Piety's frillies that she hadn't known about were inside.

She picked up the saddlebag and the spare blanket and walked over to the trees, with the first blanket still wrapped around her. She draped both blankets over the rope where the clothes were drying.

There was a slight breeze and the drawers and camisole she had on were still damp. Jessie shivered. "Thank you, Piety, for something dry," she said, as she began to unbutton her camisole.

By the time she came out from behind the blankets, Paul had breakfast ready, biscuits and some sausage from another of Piety's food tins to go with the coffee. "Smells good," Jessie said.

"Thank you, my lady," Paul said, handing her a plate.

"My lady? Where the hell do get off calling me that?"

"Sorry... Jessie. After the flood last night and the way you're all gussied up right now, you just reminded me of one of them 'damsels in distress' from the dime novels."

"Well, if that isn't the dumbest..." She at down on and took a bite of food. "Not bad. You can cook for me any time... kind sir." She read dime novels, too. The women in those things were just things for the hero to rescue. 'Ain't a backbone in the whole lot of them,' she thought. 'He'd be sorry if i was really like that..."

An idea came to her. She smiled like a cat in a creamy. 'If he wants to talk to me like a dumb little thing, I'll give him more dumb-little-thing than he can stand. Maybe he'll show me some respect afterwards. Even if the idea don't work, it'll be fun getting him riled.' She started thinking of the girls she'd known and of all the things they did that used to send her up the wall when she was a man.

After that, breakfast tasted even better.

When she finished, Paul put out the fire and started packing up the food and cooking gear. "It's my kit," he said. "Why don't you go tend to the clothes?"

"Why, of course," she said, putting a lilt into her voice. 'Damned woman's work,' she added to herself. She walked over to the line. The clothes were still damp. Clothes never dried worth a damn at night. She took down one of the blankets and laid it on the ground to use as a workspace for folding the garments. She put her own clothes in the saddlebag but left Paul's piled on the blanket.

When she had finished, she walked over to untie the rope from the trees. The knot wouldn't budge; Paul had pulled it tight. 'Time t'start my plan,' she thought. Aloud, she whined, "Paauul, this knot is too _hard_. Help me."

"What's the matter, Jessie?" Paul had never heard her use that tone. If she was playing another game with him...

"The knot you tied; I can't get it undone." She sounded like she was about to cry. "_You'll_ have to do it."

He walked over and started prying apart the knot. It was tight, all right, but she'd given up awfully fast. "There you go."

"Oh, you're _so_ big and _strong_," she simpered, batting her eyelids.

Paul shook his head. 'What the hell is she playing at?' He picked up his clothes and blanket and walked over to where Ash was tethered to finish loading.

***

"What's the matter, Jessie?" Paul asked. He was up on Ash and ready to ride. Jessie had a foot in the stirrup, but she seemed to have trouble getting up on her horse.

"It's this silly dress." She put her foot back on the ground and lifted the front of her dress a few inches. "I... I don't know how to ride in a dress." She looked down as if embarrassed. "Can you help me... pretty please?"

"I suppose." Paul dismounted and walked over to her. "Put your foot back in the stirrup. That's it."

Jessie did, raising her skirt high and revealing her drawers and lower legs. "No peeking," she chided.

Paul took a step back, so he was just behind her. "Wouldn't dream of it." He put his hands around her waist. "Now, ready... set..." On "go!" he lifted her up onto the horse. 'Such a narrow little waist,' he thought, 'and light as a feather, too.'

She swung her leg over to the other side, then adjusted her dress for modesty. "Oh, thank you _so much_," Jessie gushed. "I just knew you could do it."

"My pleasure." He shook his head as he walked back to Ash. It was going to be a long day.

***

Paul had to help Jessie get down from Useless, when they stopped for the night. She insisted on setting up the line to dry their clothes, but she couldn't seem to tie strong enough knots. She whined about it to the point that he stopped working on the fire to help. It had gone out by the time he got back and he had to start over. By the time she stopped fussing with the clothes, he'd already started cooking their dinner. She just sat on the ground, smiled prettily -- he had to admit -- and watched him work.

"You are so gallant, sir," she said, when he handed her a plate of the stew he'd made. "And such a _wonderful_ cook."

"I thought you'd have learned a little about cooking yourself, working with Molly and Maggie for two months."

"It seems to all go over my head. I guess I'm just not very bright." She batted her eyes at him again before she started to eat.

Paul sat watching her all through the meal. She shoveled the stew in, just the same as every other meal. Then she caught him watching and slowed down, taking little, ladylike bites until she was finished. "Oh, me, oh, my," she said. "That was just _scrumptious_."

He sighed. 'I've had about enough of this nonsense,' he thought. He was sitting on a tree stump. He patted his lap and said, "Well, now, why don't you just come over here and show me how much you liked it."

Jessie stood and walked over, hips swaying. 'Damn, I knew this would be fun. Ain't no problem sitting on his lap and if he tries anything, I get to slap his face and he ain't likely t'do anything more'n apologize.'

As she went to sit down, Paul grabbed her arm and twisted her around. Jessie lost her balance and fell stomach-down across his lap. "What the..." She tried to stand and he pushed her back down.

"You've been asking for this all day, Jessie," Paul said. He began to spank her. "I've warned you before about playing these kind of games. If you're going to act like a child, I'll treat you like one."

An open-handed swat came down on Jessie's rump and it hurt more than a little thing like that should have. "You... cad!" she yelled. "Let me up."

"Are you going to start acting like an adult?" he demanded.

Jessie wasn't willing to back off. "Why, whatever to you mean, sir?" She squirmed, but he held her down with his other arm. On second thought, maybe she shouldn't be acting the way she had been. She'd gotten him sore. This was getting undignified. Being slung over his knee wasn't any way to make him respect her more. Then Paul began to smack her in earnest. "Let me up, you... you -- ow! -- you, bastard."

"Bastard! _That's_ the Jessie Hanks I know," Paul said, with a chuckle, but he kept spanking her.

Jessie's bottom hurt as the open-handed slaps rained down, but something else was happening.

The thrill of held and -- what? -- dominated? got stronger with each blow. She continued to yell and bounce around, but wasn't sure she wanted him to stop.

But he did. Then he helped her to her feet. "Now, that's what you get for acting like a fool child, Jessie. You start acting like a grown woman and I'll start treating you like one." Paul caught himself. Why hadn't he demanded that she start acting like a man? It surely would be easier to travel through this wild place with a man instead of a woman of any age.

She gave him an insincere smile and whispered "Bastard" through her teeth. Then she walked away and sat down -- gingerly -- on her blanket. Her bottom hurt like the very dickens, but she wasn't about to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her try to rub out the soreness. After a while, the soreness went away on its own. The other feelings went away, too, but, in the back of her mind, Jessie began to wonder what Paul meant when he talked about treating her like a "grown woman".

***

Paul's words echoed through Jessie's mind all the next day. "Treat you like a grown woman." She caught herself wondering just what that would be like.

"Treat you like a grown woman."

'Dammit,' she thought, 'I spend all this time trying t'prove that I ain't no woman and now I'm thinking about what it'd be like to be treated like one. I gotta be plumb loco.'

"Treat you like a grown woman."

She shook her head. 'Wilma'd never let me hear the end of it, if she caught me acting like some man-crazy gal.'

"Treat you like a grown woman."

'Besides, Paul said he'd get me that second dose of potion and a man like him would rather crawl naked over a patch of cactus than break his word. He'll talk the Judge and Shamus into giving me that potion, no matter what it takes; I'll be a man again in no time.'

"Treat you like a grown woman."

She sighed. 'All right, Jessie, if that's what you want to find out -- if you got the sand t'do it -- you better do it before it's too late.' She nodded her head firmly; the decision was made. She'd do something to satisfy her curiosity after supper that very night.

"Treat you like a grown woman."

***

Jessie took a swig of coffee and looked over at Paul. He was sitting on the ground studying the map Ephrem Tyler had given him. He glanced up and saw her watching him. "Near as I can figure, Jessie, we're about a half day's ride west of Eerie. We'll be there tomorrow afternoon."

Tomorrow. Jessie hadn't been sure that she wanted to go ahead with her plan, but... 'Now or never,' she thought. She took a deep breath and stood up. She reeled a little and felt her heart pounding in her chest. 'This is worse than robbing that stage and -- oh, Lordy, don't let him _ever_ find out about that.'

She walked slowly over to him. "You know, Paul, I was thinking..." She bit her lip nervously.

"About the trial? I told you --"

"N-no, about...about..."

Paul looked at her with increased interest. The way she held herself, the tone of her voice, made her seem somehow different from the outlaw full of bravado _or_ the simpering belle she liked to play at being. "About what, Jessie?"

Jessie braced her jaw and forced out exactly what she meant. "Why did you kiss me when I was half drowned?"

The lawman frowned. That wouldn't sound good in court. Also, it wasn't what had really happened. "I never took advantage of a woman in my life. For your information, Miss Hanks, it was you who did the grabbing and kissing."

Jessie frowned back at him. "I could hardly stand up. Are you saying that you couldn't fight me off?"

Paul looked away, pushed his hat back from his forehead and grinned. "Maybe you started it, but I didn't see any reason to get rough. It wasn't all that bad, really."

"Not bad? I'd have thought it would be pretty bad for you, since you wouldn't want it to get out that you kiss boys, after all."

He turned back to face her sternly. "Don't think you can blackmail me that way, Jessie. If you tell folks back home that you kissed me, they'd only slap me on the back and buy me a round. The truth is, I never knew you as a man, even if I was there, backing up Dan, when you and the others took that drink of potion. I only got to know you as the woman you are now."

"You're just talking."

"Would it make you mad if I said that I wasn't?"

She smiled a challenge. "When I tried acting like a woman, you got mad and... chided me."

"That wasn't what set me off."

"I think it was. And I can prove it."

He didn't like the gleam in her eye and steeled himself to be ready for anything. "How, by some more damned fool swishing and fluttering?"

Her smile changed but didn't fade. "I've got a much better way than that. It will prove what you really think I am. Just be sure to yell 'Uncle' when you can't take any more." Jessie sucked in a deep breath, every nerve in her body felt alive to danger, like she was about to step off an arroyo cliff. If this last challenge didn't put a ramrod up Paul Grant's spine, nothing would.

"I don't yell 'uncle' easy, gal," he replied, his eyes more suspicious than ever, but somehow brightened by anticipation.

She lifted her arms and placed them on his shoulders. He blinked once, but otherwise didn't move. She sat down on his lap; still no reaction. She slowly brought her face closer to his. When even that didn't cause him to recoil, she asked, "You still think I'm a gal?"

"You sure enough still look like a gal to me," he said. "If you're not a gal, it's up to you to prove it."

"We'll see what I can prove," Jessie declared, her lips NOW so close that Paul could feel her warm breath puff against the sensitive lining of his nose. He noticed, too, that her eyes were the color of bluebonnets.

"Any time you're ready," Paul teased, his voice sounding taunt and husky. 'If this is another put on,' he thought, 'she'll get herself a hotter spanking than the last one.'

"Are you ready for... this..." Jessie whispered, the hard pumping of her heart now pulsing in her ears. The last word hadn't faded into the air before her lips touched his. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. If he were going to push her away, he would do it now.

His body firmed up under her touch, but Jessie didn't sense his repulsion, far from it. In fact, she thought she felt a ripple of excitement course through the shoulders she held and through the thighs she sat upon. Encouraged, she took a grip that was more firm and drew herself in closer. Her breasts now pressed against his hard chest and her elbows came in to reinforce the hold of her hands. Still he didn't give back, so she increased the pressure of the kiss.

He didn't shave regularly on the trail and his beard felt strange against her face. Kissing a man was so different from kissing the soft face of a girl, something she'd done many times. Now she was experiencing something new. It was strange, but it was something she was determined to try.

Before she realized it, she was kissing Paul Grant as hard as Sarah Fuller had ever kissed Jesse Hanks. 'Hell,' she thought, 'if any man from Santa Fe saw us here, he'd think I _was_ Sarah Fuller with just another of her hundred beaus.'

But Jessie still didn't know what the man with her was thinking and feeling, and not knowing was driving her mad.

Suddenly she felt his body shift and she braced herself, afraid he was going to stand up and let her drop to the ground. That thought only lasted a second. He'd moved to put one hand behind her back and the other around her waist. He drew her to him and put so much force into the kiss that she could no longer breathe.

Eventually, they had to break the kiss or else suffocate. "Jessie," Paul panted, "what... why are you doing this?"

She glanced down, breathless also, not sure how to explain. "I... I was wondering what being treated like a grown woman felt like." But all she really felt at that moment was a pang of fear; how was he going to react to her saying something like that?

Paul let out a heavy sigh, smiled and shook his head. "You are the craziest... most loco..." Her heart sank. He hated her. "...woman I ever met."

She gave a short laugh. "If you're not just pretending, go ahead and treat me like one." She kissed him again, excited little pecks on his lips, his chin, his nose. He reached out and steadied her head in his hands. Then he drew her close and kissed her full on the mouth, more softly, but somehow more fully, than before.

Jessie, casting aside all restraint, moaned softly and threw her arms around him. Again, her breasts pushed up against his chest, this time with her nipples hard like two little thimbles. Her crotch tingled; it felt warm and just a little damp. Was this what Sarah Fuller and all those other women had felt when Jesse had kissed them? Was this what it felt like to be a woman with a man?

When they separated this time, Paul began unbuttoning her shirt. He really didn't think of her as a man, she realized or else he was a damned strange sort of man. She hesitated a moment, then began working on the buttons on his shirt. She'd never undressed another man before and her fingers fumbled in their eagerness. They finished at about the same time and each pulled the other's shirt open.

Paul hadn't worn anything under his shirt. Jessie fingers played over his broad chest, covered with curly, dark brown hair. She slid her fingers down from just below his collarbone almost to his stomach.

Paul twitched from the way she was tickling him, but he didn't take his fierce eyes off her the swell of her bosom. Jessie was wearing the camisole Piety had loaned her. It was ivory, with lacy frills that both hid and drew the eye to her breasts. Jessie was better endowed than Piety and the fabric was stretched tight. He could see her nipples poking out the lace, and he reached to touch them.

"Hey..." She jerked back at the touch of his fingers on her breasts. The sensation was much, much stronger than she expected.

"Sauce for the goose, Jessie," Paul said with a grin. He began to caress her fetching fullness through the lace and cotton. Jessie moaned and arched her back, pushing her breasts deeper into his hands. She leaned forward and kissed him again. And again. Why was she doing this, she wondered. Was she insane? If so, sanity wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

After a while, Paul gently began to unbutton her camisole and to fiddle with his finger around the buttons in her pants. Jessie suddenly pulled away and stood up. "No!"

"What? What's the matter, Jessie?"

"It's too much too soon. I can't go this fast. What will both of us think when I become a man again?"

"You don't have to worry about that," Paul said breathlessly as he rose and faced off with her. It looked like he was struggling with himself not to grab her and to crush all protests with strong arms and wild kisses.

"Yes, I do! We're gonna be in Eerie tomorrow and soon as you can after that, you're gonna get me that potion and I'm gonna be a man --"

"Jessie, about the potion..."

She glared. "You ain't gonna go back on your word, now are you? 'Cause if you are, then all bets are off." She looked around for her shirt. There it was, tangled up in a mesquite bush.

"No, Jessie," Paul said a little sadly. "If you still want the potion, I'll get some for you." There was no way he could explain what a second dose would really do; she'd never believe it. Now, more than ever, though, he felt that he was tricking her. She'd hate him for it and _that_ was something that he didn't even want to think about.

She smiled and put the shirt down. "Thank you. Anyway, if I'm gonna be a man again, I don't want to have to face anybody that I went... too far with as a gal. Do you under stand that?"

"I-I guess so." He picked up his own shirt regretfully.

Jessie smiled. "'Course, the fact that I don't want to go no further don't mean we can't keep on what we _been_ doing." She stepped in closer to him, put her hands on his solid hips, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again.

***

Jessie slowly became aware that she was sleeping on something other than a saddlebag. She opened her eyes. She was cuddled up against Paul. Her head was on his chest, his bare chest. He had his arm around her waist, his hand resting on her belly. She still wore her camisole and pants. As she realized this, her body began to feel strangely alive once again. She turned her head and lightly kissed his chest. The sun wasn't quite up yet. The air was cool, so she shifted the blanket to cover more of his bare flesh. She snuggled in a little closer and sighed softly.

"Treat you like a grown woman."

Now she had a better idea what that meant. Even though she was happy to be going back to Eerie, going back -- real soon -- to being a man, a part of her knew that she'd regret what she was giving up.

She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Chapter 11 -- "Homecoming"

Jessie reined in Useless just as they passed the crude wooden sign that read, "Eerie, Arizona -- Welcome, Friend."

"Paul," she said, "before... before we go any further, I gotta ask you something."

"Sure, Jess, what?" He reached over and touched her hand with his fingertips.

"Will you promise me that you won't... won't say anything -- or do anything about what we done... how we kissed and all that back on the trail." She bit her lower lip and slowly moved her hand away from his.

"Having second thoughts, Jess?"

"Yes... no... yes, dammit! I mean... I, well, I liked it good enough, but I'm... I'm gonna be a man again, soon enough. I-I don't want anyone should think that--"

He could see the mixed emotions in her face. "All right, Jess. I won't say -- or do -- anything unless you say otherwise." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't look at me like that -- you _might_ decide that you're better off the way you are." To himself, he added, 'after you find out that you _aren't_ changing back.' For maybe the hundredth time, he wished that he could tell Jess about what a second drink of the potion would _really_ do; tell her and get her to believe it. That last was the hard part.

"I don't know why I ever could think that, but, if that's the best promise I can get, I guess I'll have to take it." She frowned and flicked Useless' reins.

The trail into town widened into a street with buildings on both sides. The street itself was wide enough for a loaded wagon to turn around. It was a busy Friday afternoon. Paul waved to a couple of hands he knew from Slocum's ranch as they loaded supplies into a wagon at O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain. He thought he recognized some men from one of the other, smaller nearby ranches going into Ortega's grocery store.

"Hey, they caught Jessie," someone called. Paul and Jessie both turned. It was Ned Handy, just come out of the assay office as they rode past. Nobody had found that "Big Vein" in the mountains north of the town, but there were a lot of men like Ned up there looking for it.

Jessie frowned. Toby Hess had been one of those men. 'If he'd kept his mind on his claim and not on my tits, he'd still be up there looking,' she thought. 'And I wouldn't be looking t'be hung for it.'

She felt a knot in her stomach, every outlaw's fear of the noose. Bile rose in her throat. "The hell with this." She tried to turn Useless and ride out of town. Her hands wouldn't keep hold of the reins. Her arms shook and suddenly felt leaden. "Dammit! What's the matter with me?" She struggled, trying to move her arms.

Paul tried not to grin. "The same thing that kept Wilma from escaping when she got that gun."

"What're you talking..." Then realization hit her. "The potion, that damned potion!"

"I think so. Now that you're back in Eerie, it won't let you ride away any more than it'd let her run out of the Saloon."

Jessie made one more try, but her arms just dangled at her sides." She sighed and looked heavenward. "All right, all right. I won't try to leave town." As soon as she said it, she could feel her fingers moving again. She grabbed the reins. "You so much as smile and I'll..."

"No, you won't," Paul said, barely keeping a straight face. "The potion won't let you." He flicked his own horse's reins. "C'mon, now, smile, Jess. We'll be at the Saloon in a minute."

"The Saloon?" Yes, there it was just ahead of them. She followed Paul towards it. "I thought you was taking me t'jail." Not that jail was somewhere she _wanted_ to go.

"You are," Paul said, as he dismounted. "Don't you remember, Shamus's saloon is officially the Eerie, Arizona Special Offenders' Penitentiary -- or something like that?"

Jessie tried to smile. "Oh, yeah. The only jail in the West where they serve beer." She climbed down from Useless. "Well, let's go see the warden."

She walked into the building, Paul right behind her. 'Place ain't changed much,' she thought. 'Except... who's that?'

A slender, red-headed woman in an expensive-looking green dress was sitting at a nearby table. She was facing away from the door, moving a couple of playing cards between several rows of cards on the table. It was some kind of solitaire, Jessie guessed. Then the woman turned her head slightly and Jessie saw her face. "Bridget?"

Bridget Kelly looked up from what she called "Maverick Solitaire" when she heard her name. "Jessie? Jessie, well, I'll be damned!" She rose and walked quickly towards the pair. "Hey, Shamus," she yelled to no one in particular, "Molly, come see what the cat dragged in."

Paul pushed his hat back on his head and grinned. "I don't know as I like being called 'the cat', Bridget."

"More like bloodhound, if ye could track this one down," Shamus said with a chuckle, walking over. "Hello, Paul... Jessie."

Jessie tensed. "You must be getting soft, Shamus, if you'll let Bridget go around all gussied up like that."

"What Miz Kelly wears is her own concern, Jessie." Shamus said. "She don't work for me any more. She's in business for herself, don't ye know."

"For herself?" Jessie asked, not a little confused. "Doing what?"

"Poker, Jessie," Bridget said. "I pay Shamus for the right to run the game here,"

"Aye," Shamus said with a grin. "And making a good living at it, she is, even after what she pays me."

Molly came bustling over. "Who cares about how much Bridget pays ye. Stand back and let me get a look at Jessie." She gave Jessie a big hug, then stepped back and looked at her closely. "Ye don't seem t'be any the worse for wear for all that happened to ye. Ye'll have to be telling us all about it."

"No," Shamus said firmly. "The first thing she'll be doing is going upstairs and change into proper clothes. There's a pile of work waiting for ye, Jessie."

"No," another, familiar voice said. "This is what's waiting for her." A hand came out of nowhere and slapped Jessie's face very, very hard.

Jessie spun around to face her attacker, her hand on her stinging cheek. "Laura? What the hell did you just slap me for?"

The woman bared her teeth. "I ain't Laura. I'm her sister, Jane, but I used to be Jake Steinmetz, the partner of the man you _killed_. Well, they got you now, Jessie Hanks and you're gonna hang for what you done."

Jake Steinmetz? A lot _had_ happened since she'd been away. Then Jane's words sank in. _Hang_. It was what Jessie had feared the whole time and now, hearing someone else say the word made it sound that much more certain.

"Jane, ye'll be stopping that kind of talk right now and no hitting her either," Shamus ordered. "It's up to a jury to be deciding and they may not be seeing things yuir way." Jane was about to say something more, but Shamus' order stopped her. Instead she just glared at Jessie.

Then Shamus turned to Jessie. "As for ye, me girl. You go upstairs right now and change. Ye're me prisoner again and I'll have ye looking like a lady and not some saddle bum."

***

Jessie came down about twenty minutes later wearing a pale blue dress. She walked a bit oddly, trying to get used to the petticoat she hadn't worn in so long. There'd been a basin and pitcher of water in her room, as always, and she'd used it to wash off some of the trail dust. She'd brushed her hair, too, repeating, "I'm a girl" after each stroke, much to her disgust.

Molly met her at the foot of the stairs. "Ye look lovely, Jessie. Why don't ye go work at --"

Judge Humphreys interrupted. "I'm afraid she can't work here tonight, Molly."

"What do ye mean, Judge?" Molly asked. "Of course, she can work here."

"No," the Judge said, "she can't. She's an escaped prisoner and a possible murderer. She has to be in jail until a jury can hear her case."

"She is in jail," Shamus said. "It was ye, yuirself, that said me Saloon is a penitentiary and me and Molly was the jailers."

"Yes," the Judge said. "But an escaped prisoner, especially one with a possible murder sentence hanging over her head, needs to be in a place with a bit more security than this."

"No, she don't," Molly said. "The potion --"

"She already got around the potion once," the Judge said. "That's how she _became_ an escaped prisoner. I'm sorry, Molly... and you, too, Jessie, but I have to come down hard on this point."

"Bail," Shamus said. "What about bail?"

"She's a flight risk," the Judge said. "No bail -- or, if you insist, bail is set at $5,000. Can you pay that?"

"Ye know I can't, you lousy... Yuir Honor." Shamus had a sour look on his face.

The Judges motioned to Paul. "Deputy, please take this young lady over to the regular jail. Her trial will be at 10 tomorrow morning; here at the Saloon, if you don't mind, Shamus."

"I suppose I don't." Shamus said. He added something in Cheyenne.

"Good," the Judge said, tactfully ignoring the Cheyenne comment. "We can get this over with quickly."

"Let's go, Jess," Paul said gently. She looked to Shamus and Molly for help. Molly looked down, trying not to argue with the Judge for sending Jessie to jail. Shamus told her to go with him. Jane was standing near the door as they walked by. She couldn't say anything, but she grinned nastily at Jessie as she and Paul walked by. She held her head at an odd angle, her tongue dangling out and raised a fist up above it, all in imitation of a person being hung.

***

Jessie looked around the cell. She hated being in jail, being at the mercy of whomever locked her in. The cell was small, only six by eight -- she'd paced it off -- with no furnishings except the cot she was sitting on and the chamber pot stowed under it. There was a window, maybe a foot square, high in the back wall above the cot. She couldn't see out, but she could see the bars in the window.

"Now, ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

Jessie jumped to her feet. "Wilma! Wilma? What are you doing here dressed up like that?" Something else _had_ changed during her brief absence.

Wilma was wearing a tight, dark red dress that showed off every curve that she had downplayed before. The buttons at the throat were opened far enough down to give a view of the tops of her breasts, pushed up and emphasized by a tight corset. Where was her camisole? And her hair, it was done in some kind of sweep around to one side, so it hung far down over her shoulder. More than that, she had some kind of red coloring -- the same color as her dress -- painted on her lips and she was wearing enough perfume to make a hog pen smell sweet.

Wilma misunderstood the look Jessie was giving her. "Like it?" She turned slowly around, modeling the dress. "I just got it. I always judge a dress by how much the fellers want me to take it off. I don't get to wear my best ones very long at all." She giggled. Giggled? Jessie would sooner have expected the sun to rise in the west.

"Looks nice, I guess," Jessie said uncertainly. "Does Shamus make you wear clothes like that? What in Sam Hill has got into him?"

"Shamus? I don't work for him, Jessie, honey. I quit the day my sentence was up. I work for Lady Cerise over t'the--"

"Cathouse?! You're working at the..." Whatever she was doing over there, she sure didn't look like the cleaning lady. "Wilma, my Lord, what the hell happened to you?"

Wilma stiffened. "There is _nothing_ wrong in what I do. It makes a lot of men real happy and it's just _soo_ much fun. Half the men in this town are eating out of my... my hand - to put it politely. And what are you turning purple for, anyways? You never had anything bad t'say about whores before..."

Was Wilma actually calling herself a whore like it was something to be proud of? "I-I never had one for a sister before. Wilma, you... you _hated_ being a woman. What _happened_ to you?"

Wilma smiled, remembering. "I got smart." Then she shrugged and decided to explain. "I suppose most folks'll say that Shamus' potion had something to do with it. When I drank that second dose, it just changed my whole way of thinking." She paused before adding, "and, sister, I've been doing a whole lot of... thinking." She half-closed her eyes as she drew in a breath that made her bosoms look even bigger and gently began to caress her own cleavage.

"S-second dose, you drank a second dose?" Was she hearing what she thought she was hearing?

"I did. I thought it'd change me back to a man. It changed me..." she smiled and licked her crimson lips. "I almost raped the sheriff right then and there -- the Doc, too. I was crazy for anything in pants for about three days after that; couldn't keep my legs together no how." Another giggle. "No way I wanted to be a man again after that."

Jessie sank back onto the cot, her whole body trembling. 'And I almost did _that_ t'myself.'

Wilma shook her head, as if to make light of Jessie's woe. "When you get outa there--" she began.

"_If_ I get out!" Jessie almost shouted. "They're looking to hang me, Wilma." Wilma might be a whore, but she was still Jessie's big sister, the one she'd relied on for so long. 'If you really still are Wilma,' she added silently.

"Don't you worry about it, Jessie," her sister coaxed. "I'll take care of things. And _when_ you do get out, maybe you can get Shamus t'give you a drink of that potion, so you can come and work with me; just like old times. You'll look as pretty as a red heifer in a flowerbed once I get you gussied up in some of my French unmentionables."

"I'd sooner die," Jessie muttered under her breath.

"'Sooner die', eh? Jessie Hanks, I do believe that you're actually looking down at me. That's a fine howdy-do, coming from my own sister, especially when she's locked up for murder. All I can say is that you've got a lot to learn about living, my gal. I suppose it's up to me to keep you alive long enough to learn it. Well, there's nothing new about that. I been getting you outta scraps since you was small enough to ride grasshoppers, but you and me'll have some things to settle between us once that trial is over, Jessie Hanks."

"I'm not expecting on any help from anybody as crazy as popcorn on a hot skillet," Jessie snarled.

If I don't help you, who else will? You just think about that, _sister_." Wilma turned and stomped out of the room before Jessie could utter another word.

Jessie watched Wilma walk out, swaying her hips in a way that was an open invitation to any male, even as mad as she was. 'Oh, Lordy,' Jessie thought. 'That could've... that _would've_ been me, if I'd drunk that potion.' She looked around her cell. 'And the only reason I agreed to come back _was_ to drink it. How could I have been so dumb as t'let Paul bring me...'

A sudden, terrible thought came to her. 'He knew. He must've known what that potion would do t'me. He didn't say nothing. He just let me think it'd change me back. He was probably laughing at me the whole time. Even when we -- that slimy bastard! I bet he was thinking about how much fun he'd have with me after I drank it! And I thought -- shit, who cares _what_ I thought. I'll kill him, so help me; potion or no potion, I'll kill him for tricking me like that.'

***

Jessie was thinking about Paul -- thinking of now much fun it would be to see _him_ working with Wilma after drinking two doses of potion -- when she saw the Devil himself, Paul Grant, coming into the jail office. She stood up to her full almost five-foot height of offended dignity. "Come t'gloat," she said, walking over to the bars of the cell and clutching them in tight fists.

"Gloat?" Paul asked cautiously. She might have been a man a couple months back, he thought, but now Jessie Hanks was as unpredictable as any other woman.

"Damned right, gloat. You tricked me, you bastard. You knew what that potion would do t'me and you never said. You just smiled pretty and brought me back here. When were you gonna tell me, Paul? After I drunk it?"

"Hold on, Jessie. I never led you on. You agreed to come back here of your own free will."

"Yeah, 'cause I thought that the potion'd change me back. You knew it wouldn't and you never let on. You just brought me back t'drink it."

"Yes, I brought you back. _That's_ what I came out there to _do_, remember."

"But you didn't have to lie to me about it."

"I never lied to you, Jess."

"You never told me the truth."

"I tried. I just didn't have any proof. Would you have believed me without it?"

"Believed you? I..."

"You came to me at the Tylers' and said that you'd come back peaceful if I promised to get you a dose of the potion. Is that right?"

"You know it is. You should've said something then."

"Oh, right. I should've said, 'Thanks for the offer, Jess, but I should tell you that the potion won't change you back; it'll make you hornier than a hoot owl for men.' Would you have believed me -- especially without any proof?"

"I... No, I probably wouldn't. But you still should've... should've said it."

"If I could've thought of a way to make you believe it, I would have. Otherwise, I'd have sounded like a damned fool."

"And I'm supposed to believe that. You didn't _want_ to tell me. You got any other secrets you ain't telling?"

"Just one." He was mad now.

"Yeah, what? Or don't you want to tell anybody that secret either?"

"_You_ don't want me to tell it."

"Like hell. What secret would I be afraid of?"

"That you robbed a stage coach while you were out on the trail. You may not have gotten anything, but you _did_ commit robbery."

Jessie's heart sank. "You wouldn't... if that came out at my trial..."

"They'd throw away the key, wouldn't they?" He smiled. And hated himself for it.

Jessie sank back onto the cot. "No... please, don't say anything." If that crazy old coot of a judge didn't hang her, he might make her take another shot of the potion and farm her out to Lady Cerise.

"I haven't said anything so far, Jessie, but then I thought you deserved a second chance. Now, I'm not so sure. I guess we've _both_ got something to think about, don't we." He turned and walked out of the office.

***

"Hola, seņorita."

Jessie looked up to see a little boy, a Mexican, maybe six years old, staring at her through the bars of the cell. "Who the he... who're you?"

"Ernesto, seņorita, Ernesto Sanchez." He pointed to a small girl holding a rag doll. "This is Lupe." The girl made a face. "And her doll, Inez."

"Well, what do you want, Ernesto?"

"Nothing, seņorita. Mama brought me and Lupe -- she's my sister -- with her. She brought you some supper."

Something sounded familiar to Jessie. "Ernesto... Lupe... You're Maggie's kids, ain't you?"

"Si, they are mine," Maggie called out. Jessie walked over to the bars and looked around. Maggie was unpacking a small picnic basket over on the sheriff's desk. "They come to live with me about two weeks ago."

"I'll bet there's a story in that," Jessie said. What hadn't happened while she was on the run? Coming back to Eerie had been like falling into a new world, like in that "Alice in Wonderland" story the girls in New Orleans had talked about.

"There is a story, but first, you eat." Maggie walked into sight carrying a small tray. A plate with roast beef and boiled red potatoes sat on it. A second plate had a generous slice of apple pie. "Shamus and Molly sent it over." There was a space about six inches between the cell door and the floor and Maggie slid the tray through.

Jessie put the tray on the cot and turned to take the tall cup of coffee that Maggie handed her between the bars. "It smells good, Maggie. Thanks. Y'know, I thought about your cooking while I was on the trail."

"I am flattered. I must go now to cook for my restaurant. I am busy, but I wanted to bring the food over myself. I will be back in the morning with breakfast. We can talk more then."

"That'll be the only thing I have to look forward to tomorrow. I guess I better get used to getting my meals between bars. If I live t'get many more meals."

"Do not talk like that. You will be out... it will be over very soon."

"Not the best choice of words to a woman about to hang, Maggie."

"I... No, that will not happen. You will see." She looked around. "Ernesto, get the basket. We must get back to the restaurant. We can talk more in the morning. Goodbye, Jessie." She bustled out with the children, who waved at Jessie as they walked out.

***

A tall, slender man Jessie didn't recognize came over to the cell. "Excuse me, Miss Hanks..."

Jessie sat forward on the cot and scowled. She didn't like being visited by strangers as if she were a bear in a cage. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm Milt Quinlan, Miss Hanks. I... ah... defended Phil Trumbell when he... ah... shot at your sister." He pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Oddly enough, Miss Hanks, your sister, that is, has hired me to defend you tomorrow."

"Well, I'll be. I guess she meant it when she said she'd try to help. Okay, Mr. Quinlan, what've you got in mind."

"First off. Tell me what happened that night in Toby Hess' cabin. Tell me everything; don't skip on the tiniest detail. I'll decide if it's _important_ or not." He pulled up a chair as close to the cell as he could and took out a notebook and pen.

Jessie started with "...and these bags went over our heads." She didn't stop until she got to "...and he just laid there, not moving, blood coming out the back of his head."

"And what did you do then?"

"I... I ran. I didn't want t'go back to Eerie and, all of a sudden, it come to me that I didn't have to. The potion -- you know about how the potion works?" Quinlan nodded. "It wasn't stopping me from running 'cause I was already out of Eerie. I grabbed some of Toby's stuff -- took his clothes 'cause he ripped mine -- and... and... I took his horse..." She had a sudden, terrible thought. "Th-they ain't gonna try me as a horse thief, are they? That's a... a hanging offense, too." Murder _and_ horse stealing, Jessie felt sick. They really had her by the short and curlies.

Quinlan shook his head. "I don't think so. The Judge told me that he's trying you for involuntary manslaughter -- that means saying that you _accidentally_ killed Toby -- and flight to avoid prosecution for it. No one's mentioned adding anything else."

"But they... they could add horse thieving tomorrow, c-couldn't they?" Jane would be just the one to bring up the horse thieving, if she thought of it.

"They could, but it's not likely." He tried to change the subject. "How about you tell me what happened on the trail, anything that might be of interest to the jury."

"Anything?"

"Anything, good or bad -- though good is better. For instance, how did Paul Grant catch up with you?"

"We was -- these two farm women and me got caught by some Commancheros. They was on their way back t'Mexico with us. Paul showed up with a posse of farmers. There was a shoot-out. Paul and his side won. That's when he caught me."

"What were you doing during this shoot-out?"

"During the shoot-out, one of the women froze like a jackrabbit staring at a rattler. She was in a crossfire. I knocked her down to save her fool life, even took a bullet doing it."

"That's good -- not that you were wounded, of course, but that you saved that other woman's life. Did anyone see it happen?"

"Paul did, I think and even if he didn't, I got a scar t'prove it happened."

"If you don't mind, I'll ask Doc Upshaw to take a look at that scar." Jessie shrugged. "Now is there anything else that happened, anything that could be used for or against you tomorrow?"

'The stage,' Jessie thought. 'Can I tell him? Should I?'

Quinlan saw the fear on her face. "What is it, Jessie," he said. "I'm your lawyer; you have to trust me."

Jessie looked down. "I-I can't. It was trusting somebody else that got me into this mess. I can't trust somebody else t'get me out. I just can't."

"I wish you would reconsider, but I won't push." He closed the notepad and stood up. "Think about it. I'll see you again in the morning. Have a good night' sleep if you can."

***

"Jessie," Paul said as he came into the jail, "the Doc's here to see you."

"What's he need _you_ here for, Mr. Grant?"

The Doc walked in, along with a short woman that Jessie thought looked familiar. "I thought you might want some privacy for the examination Milt Quinlan asked me to give you, Jessie," Doc said. "Paul said that we could use the storeroom here. Mrs. Lonnigan here -- you may remember her from when you came to my office -- anyway, she's here to protect your modesty."

"I get to let you out of your cell, Jess -- Miz Hanks," Paul said. He took a set of keys out of the desk and walked over to Jessie's cell. "I stand guard while you're in with them. Then I put you _back_ in your cell. That satisfy your curiosity?"

The lock clicked and the door swung open. "This way, please." He took Jessie by the arm and led her over to a door in the corner of the office. He unlocked the storeroom door and held it while the three others went in. Then he closed it and sat down at the sheriff's desk.

***

"Where exactly is this scar you told Milt Quinlan about?" the Doc asked.

"Right here." Jessie pointed to a spot halfway down her right side. "I got a little too close to a bullet."

"Please remove your blouse and corset, then and unbutton or loosen your camisole, Jessie," Doc said. "If you'd like, I'll turn away."

Jessie started working at the buttons of her blouse. "Why bother, Doc? You've seen it all before." She took off her blouse and laid it on the bed... Paul's bed. Why did the thought of whose bed it was make her fingers tremble as she started to unhook her corset?

***

Paul heard the storeroom door open. He turned in his chair to see Doc and Mrs. Lonnigan come out. "We're leaving now," Doc said.

"Jessie will be out in a few minutes," Mrs. Lonnigan said. "She decided that she doesn't want to sleep in her petticoat and corset. She'll leave them in your room, if you don't mind. Miss Sanchez will be bringing over some fresh clothes for her when she brings breakfast."

Paul shrugged. "No problem. After all, where can she go?"

"That's just what _she's_ been wondering," Mrs. Lonnigan said, an odd smile on her face. "Have a good evening." She took the Doc's arm and the pair left the jail.

Paul waited about five minutes before he knocked on the storeroom door. "You decent, Jessie?"

"No," came her voice through the door, "but I'm dressed. C'mon in." She sounded sad.

Jessie was sitting on the edge of Paul's bed, her hands in her lap, when he entered. "You mind if we talk a bit before I go back to my cell?"

Paul leaned back against the cabinet he used as a dresser. "I guess not. What did you want to talk about?"

Jessie looked up at him. She was biting her lower lip. "You... you gonna tell them about that stage I robbed... I tried t'rob?"

He shook his head. "No. Wells Fargo doesn't want anybody to know their stage got stopped so easily."

"Easily! Well, I like that."

"Calm down, Jess. You stopped the stage, but you didn't get away with anything, did you? They're not happy, but making a fuss would be embarrassing. If they don't want anybody to know, why should I make trouble for them -- or you?"

"Thanks, I guess." No way was she going to tell him about the cameo she _had_ taken. Besides, Hanna had it now. "Anyway, it's one less thing to hang for."

"Jessie, you aren't going to hang. Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't know. Maybe 'cause I'm still gonna be tried for murder -- or something like it -- tomorrow or maybe it's just because you been so _honest_ about everything else."

"You're still mad about the potion, aren't you?"

"Yes... yes, I am. You shouldn't have lied about it."

"I didn't lie. I didn't say any more about it because I knew you wouldn't believe me."

She shook her head. "I probably wouldn't, not when I _knew_ that it would change me back. There's no denying I can be mule stubborn when I've a mind to."

"You sure can," he said with a smile, "but I think you're worth it. I can see why you'd think what you did about the potion, too, 'hair of the dog that bit you' and all that."

"Thanks. I guess I was the one who was lying, lying to myself. " She sighed. "But that hope's gone now. I'm gonna be... be like this forever. It's a hell of a price to pay for a little robbing and gunfighting. What kind of life can I live like this? I never knew a woman on her own who wasn't a school teacher or a whore and the one's practically as bad as the other. I'm not even good at poker, like Bridget. Maybe... maybe it'd be better to let them hang me."

"Don't talk like that. You got a lot to live for."

"Not that I can see." She sighed again and stood up. "You might as well take me back to my cell."

"Not that you can see, eh," Paul said. He took a step towards her. "I thought you were starting to see some of the advantages of being a woman."

She frowned up at him, then her expression turned wry. "Just what are you suggesting?" She asked.

He eased his arms around behind her. She blinked and looked unsure, but Paul was sure enough for both of them. He drew her in closer, so close that the length of their bodies touched. She gasped slightly in surprise or protest but didn't struggle. Encouraged, he moved his lips toward hers. Jessie's eyes flashed, as if she was going to be stubborn. Her lips had parted slightly, as if to begin a protest, but now they just hovered there as an invitation. It was an invitation Paul was more than ready to accept. Their mouths met an instant later and the kiss became a very intense one.

Too intense. It panicked Jessie and she reacted instinctively, putting her arms up to his chest to push him away. This time he wouldn't let himself be pushed away. He realized that she wasn't pushing very hard, so he eased up to let both of them draw fresh breaths for another go. Paul could tell he was affecting her from the tremors of excitement he felt course through her slim, soft body. Suddenly he wasn't just kissing her; she was kissing him back. Her arms moved up and around his neck as she moaned, half in woe and half in need

By the time they broke off, Jessie knew again that same warm glow she'd felt when they had kissed out on the trail. 'Mmm, maybe there _is_ something t'being a female,' she admitted.

'This is crazy,' she thought as she tried to understand all the sensations that Paul's embrace evoked. She dimly realized that if she were going to be a woman from now on, she wouldn't have to be ashamed about kissing a man. But what did it mean to be a woman? What would Sara Fuller have wanted to do at a moment like that?

She answered her own question and smiled remembering the nights she had spent as Jesse, with Sarah naked by his side. She gave a murmur of pleasure as Paul drew her in even tighter and she again offered her lips to him. Their hands roamed over each other's fully-clad body.

Jessie felt the warmth growing inside her, hottest in her breasts and her loins. Her nipples were pushing out against the cotton of her camisole, so hard that they almost hurt. Her groin felt almost hot; it was getting moist, too. When their lips parted, Jessie gathered enough breath to speak.

"Last time, we... we didn't have so much clothes on."

"Yeah, that was nice," Paul whispered hoarsely. His expression told her what he wanted, but he was leaving it up to her.

Jessie's nervous fingers began to unbutton Paul's shirt. She wasn't sure why she was doing this. It was like she needed to prove to herself that there was something good to being a woman. Some part of her needed to do this before she died.

Paul drew in a hard breath between his clenched teeth and began to work on the buttons on OF her blouse. In moments, the two garments were on the floor. Jessie looked down, not able to meet his eyes, her smile tight and uneasy, her cheeks flushed. The sight of Paul's bare chest was making her feel warmer than ever She liked the feeling and wanted it to grow even stronger.

Jessie moaned when Paul's fingers began to caress her breasts through the tight fabric of her camisole. The sensation excited her and she arched her back, deliberately pushing them into his hungrily grasping hands. Then she kissed him again, even harder than before, sending a message with every move of her body to encourage him to be bold.

One of his hands went to her hip and, in the next instant, he was fumbling at the buttons that cinched her skirt at her waist. She felt them give way, and she separated herself from him just enough to let the skirt slide down her legs to the floor. She stepped out of the gingham and kicked it away.

Jessie wanted to do the same to his pants, but hesitated, tensing. There only one thing a woman wanted when she undid a man's pants. Did she want that? What she knew was that she didn't want to hang without knowing something more about life. Just what was it about being with a man that gals like Sarah had liked so much?

'Treat you like a grown woman.' Paul's words rang in her head. He'd shown her some of what that meant already. She was going to be a 'grown woman' for however long -- or short -- the rest of her life would be. She _had_ to know what it _really_ meant and there was only one way to find out.

When they finally broke the kiss, she _was_ smiling shakily. "You remember how... on the trail... I wouldn't..."

"I remember." He looked down into her face keenly, trying not to scare her off by betraying too much hope and eagerness. "You-you said that you weren't ready to go that far."

She took his hand and, not realizing it, squeezed with all her strength. "Maybe I don't have so much time that I can be careful about it." Her trembling fingers reached for the buttons on Paul's pants.

'You're out of your mind,' Jessie told herself, but her hands didn't let go of Paul's trousers.

Once they were undone, she knelt to pull them down past his hips. There was a bulge -- it seemed big as a mountain to her -- in Paul's drawers. A chill ran down her spine at the sight of it, but she felt her inner heat growing into a consuming hunger, like a fire that couldn't wait to devour everything before it. She let go of his pants and stood up quickly. "You'll have t'take them the rest of the way off by yourself."

Paul seemed more concerned with what she was wearing than with his own clothes. He unbuttoned her camisole and lightly touched her bare breast, a tender, round globe that was everything that the fullness of her garments had promised. A finger played with her nipple, a hard little bud within a ringlet of pinkish brown. Jessie shuddered at the tickling, while Paul, still keeping his teasing finger on her areola, kissed her gently on the mouth. Then he bent his knees in order to work his way down her, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle love bites down to breasts already aching with arousal.

Jessie felt the energy building in her body. Her legs had gone weak. When Paul's lips touched her other nipple, she felt a surge of pleasure shoot through her entire body. She moaned and clawed at his back to keep from falling over.

Paul swept her up into his arms and carefully lowered her onto his bed. He managed to struggle out of his own boots and pants even while concentrating on the girl in his bunk. While Jessie's lay quivering, the blanket clutched in her small fists and her eyes closed, he managed to remove her buttoned shoes with their sharp heels. The blanket that Jessie was clenching so tensely had been loaned from Amy, the sheriff's wife,. He didn't want it ripped by what he hoped this was building to. Still, he kept asking himself, did Jessie Hanks, the outlaw, really want him and why did he want her so much?

Jessie looked up at him through half-closed eyes as he climbed onto the bed beside her. "F-fancy meeting you here," she said in way of a nervous joke. She rolled onto her side and kissed him. She squirmed closer, her bare breasts pushed up against him. His chest hair tickled her sensitive nipples.

"It gets even fancier," he said, the words coming out of his tight chest as a rumble. He put his arm about her and pulled her closer. His other arm slid down along her thigh. He just couldn't get enough of the feel of her.

She felt his maleness, warm through his drawers, pushing up against her body. "Does it now?" She asked, reaching down and sliding a fingernail against the cotton fabric that covered his hardness. The straining organ felt so strangely alive. She had touched her own member when she'd had one, but doing so never made her feel the whole-body craving she felt now. The contact sent prickles up her arm all the way up to her shoulder.

Her touch tickled. "You little... Well, I know how to give back what I get." Paul's fingers found and began to work on the ribbon that held her modest drawers to her waist. The knot came loose with a simple tug. "Lift your hips, please - if you're not afraid, that is." She arched her back at once, without any of the fear she felt translating itself into resistance. When her drawers passed her knees, she instinctively moved her legs to assist their departure.

When they were gathered at her ankles, she let Paul pluck them off and toss them away. Another tremble ran through her. Already she had learned that she liked being undressed by him. Now almost completely naked, she lay back on the bed, waiting, her heart beating like the wings of a wild thrush. Jessie knew all about what was about to happen, but she was still dazed by the idea that this time it was going to be done _to_ her and not _by_ her.

'You can still say no,' she thought. Should she? Even in her present state of mind, she knew that whatever her life was at the present moment, it was going to be a lot different from here on. This was all happening so fast. Should she stop it or let it happen? How could she ever think of herself as a man after this? If only Paul wasn't so aggressive - so unrelentingly male. She suddenly felt Paul rolling over to cover HER. He was using his knees and his elbows to take most of the weight, but was still pinning her to the bed. She felt trapped. 'Oh Lord,' she thought.

Paul saw the panic in her eyes. "Shhh," he whispered, as if to calm a skittish horse. He lowered himself down and kissed her gently on the forehead. "It's all right, Jess. There's nothing to be afraid of. If you want me as much as I want you, it's going to be good." He took her hands in his and kissed her again. Jessie felt safe, protected. Paul wasn't trapping her. He was holding her hand, helping her along a path she didn't know.

She felt his fingers between her thighs, probing her, encouraging her juices to come, preparing her for a rite of passage into true womanhood. He was doing to her what Jesse Hanks had done to many girls before this. But, Lord, did it always feel so good for the girl? Every nerve in her body seemed to sing out with novel sensations. His hand came away for a moment. She regretted its absence, but it was back again an instant later, escorting his maleness to the point of entry. If he had hesitated then, she might have lost her nerve, but before she could react, she felt him entering her. She gasped, almost shouted in panic, but refused to do so. Pleasant or unpleasant, she wanted to know what it would be like, what true womanhood would be like. Paul sensed the tumult inside his lover just then and took her hands in his to steady her.

With an effort, Jessie calmed slightly and then Paul kissed her again, hard. Hard, too, was the careful press of his lean hips that steadily advanced his greatness into her. She could feel him sliding ever deeper inside her. Jesse had sometimes wondered if putting a girl to use hurt her. What Paul was doing did hurt slightly, but behind the hurt was a pleasure beyond anything she'd ever experienced -- not even when she'd been Jesse living those few weeks in the New Orleans brothel and spending most of his days with the "ladies" of the House. If those girls were anything like her, if she had been anything like Paul, she couldn't have done any harm at all.

Paul had begun a back and forth motion and the friction he generated against her was driving her close to insanity. Jessie moaned and bucked. Her back arched like a bow; her arms were straight, clutching the coverlets, her every muscle tense. Suddenly her hands shifted and tightened around Paul's fingers. Her legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer and even deeper into her. If this was the only time she'd get to experience being a woman with a man, she wanted a memory that would still be with her when the flames of hell took her. Each wave of pleasure that coursed through her seemed to lead to another. Paul did not let himself go; he was holding himself back to make Jessie's pleasure last as long as possible. And she was grateful.

Then she heard Paul grunt. His body stiffened and she felt him release his essence into her. The warm surge set her off yet again.

The former vigor of his lovemaking swiftly yielded to quiescence as the surges deep inside her slowed and ceased. She still held him close. After a while, she felt him soften. He let go of her hands and carefully rolled away. He continued looking at her, almost as if he still couldn't quite believe that she was there with him. "You were wonderful, Jess," he murmured at last. She returned an uneasy but grateful, sated smile.

Wriggling closer once more, he kissed her shoulder and began to caress her gently, to calm and relax her. It was like the way you brushed a horse after a hard run to help it cool down. Jessie felt her passion cool until she lay besides him savoring the delightful afterglow. Their hands clenched and held tight. They kissed one last time before they both drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 12 -- "The Trial of Jessie Hanks"

"Jess, wake up."

Jessie blinked and opened her eyes. "Wha... it's still half dark." She realized that she was under a blanket. She was naked, her body right up close next to Paul and he was as naked as she. Her nipples tightened and she began to get that same warm feeling she'd had the night before. "You got some reason for waking me up so early?" Her voice sounded husky, eager, even to her own ears.

"I guess you've decided that there's something to being a woman after all."

"Mmm, let's just say that you made a hard... argument t'beat. If we could spend the rest of our lives in bed like this, maybe I wouldn't mind it so much." Her finger trailed down across his stomach towards his manhood.

He was playing with her nipple, now. "Sounds nice, but we'd better get out of bed before daybreak, unless you want everybody to know what we've been doing."

His words hit her like the cold water Molly used on her in the baths. "No, I wouldn't want that. I-I mean not after what I said to Wilma and all." Besides, she didn't want everybody at her trial looking at her and smirking.

"Then you best get some clothes on and get into that cell. The cat will be out of the bag if Maggie and her kids find you in here with me."

Jessie threw back the blanket and quickly scrambled out of bed. Paul watched her walking around the room, bending over to pick up clothes. The early morning light silhouetted her body. He felt himself stiffen at the sight.

She dressed slowly, turning to smile at him as she slid her drawers up over her hips and retied the ribbon that held them in place. As she buttoned her camisole, she looked down, her eyes half closed. 'She's posing for me,' Paul realized and propped himself up on one side to watch the show. 'Wonder if she knows that she's doing it. He decided that she did when he heard her moan softly as she adjusted her still sensitive breasts in her corset.

Paul was sorry now that they'd spent so much of the night asleep, sorrier still that living in this jail was like living in a fishbowl.

She was almost dressed by the time he stopped wallowing regret and sat up. "I don't want to be walking around naked, either," he said picking up his own drawers and stepping into them. It was what he normally slept in.

Jessie had enjoyed the warmth she'd felt flowing through her body as she teased him while she dressed. Now that she saw the results as he struggled to get his drawers over his erect manhood, she was sorry about the need to go back to her cell.

He walked her back to the cell holding her hand, both of them looking over their shoulders at the door, least someone step in too soon. She turned to face Paul as they reached the cell. "This ain't normally the way you say g'night to a gal, I hope."

"It ain't the way I say 'good morning' to her either. Here's the way I do both." he put his arms around her, pulling her close and then kissed her, deeply, needfully." Although startled by his swift assault on her mouth, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. How good it felt to have her breasts mashed against his firm, flat chest, to have their loins and thighs flush.

"Sweet dreams," she said in a breathy voice once they had broken off the kiss. She stroked his bristly cheek as she walked past him into the cell. He sighed as he closed the door behind her, making sure that the lock caught. The clang seemed to make everything final.

Jessie blew him a kiss and settled down onto the cot. 'Might as well try and get some sleep,' she thought as she watched him walk back to the storeroom.

***

Jessie woke up to the smell of coffee. She yawned and sat up. Maggie was setting up breakfast at the sheriff's desk. "Morning, Maggie."

"Good morning, sleepy head," Maggie said. "Paul let me in. He is getting dressed. He said I should let you out when the breakfast is ready." She walked over and unlocked the cell. "You can eat now and change later." She pointed to a pile of clothes atop a wooden filing cabinet against the office wall.

"Thanks, Maggie," Jessie said. "For the clothes and the breakfast." She took a long drink of coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way she liked it. She felt the warmth of it in her stomach.

"Is nothing. You should look nice when you go before the Judge." She refilled Jessie's coffee cup and handed it back to her. "Now come, sit and have some food." She put a plate with two biscuits and some small sausages on the desk near where Jessie was standing.

Jessie sat down and reached for a fork. She speared a sausage and took a bite. "So tell me, Maggie, how'd your kids get here?"

"Shamus was afraid that I would leave town after my jail time was over. The restaurant was making a lot of money and he did not wish that to stop. He and Ramon -- you remember Ramon deAguilar... from Silvermans' store?" Jessie nodded, remembering, too, how Ramon acted around Maggie. "They brought Ernesto and Lupe here, to Eerie. Then Shamus fixed it for me to buy a house for us to live in."

Jessie finished the sausage, washing it down with more coffee. "That's nice. You got your kids here with you and you got a place where you and Ramon can have a little private _fun_."

"Jessie! How can you say such a thing?" She quickly crossed herself. "Ramon and I are not married. I-I cannot be with him like that, especially not with my children living here. That... such a thing is not something a proper woman would do. I... excuse me, but I would be no better than your sister to have... unblessed relations with a man."

Jessie almost choked on the coffee. Was that true? Was she no better than her whore of a sister? Damn! She didn't take money for doing it, but did that make that much of a difference? How different were the two of them now, actually? She'd have to think about that. Aloud, she said, "Maggie, I'm sorry. I-I was just making a joke, teasing you. I guess I'm... I'm just a little jealous how things are working out so well for you."

Maggie nodded. "You are nervous about the trial." She refilled Jessie's coffee. "You will see. It will work out good for you, too."

"That's what I've told her." Paul walked out of the storeroom. He was tucking a clean shirt into a different pair of pants from what he had worn the day before. "How many times do we have to say it, before you believe it, Jess... Jessie?"

"I can't count that high," Jessie said. She broke the biscuit and used a piece to soak up some of the gravy from the sausages. "I'll believe it when I hear the Judge say it, I guess."

***

Milt Quinlan came by just as they were finishing breakfast. "I asked the Judge again this morning," he said, turning a chair around and sitting down. "All you're facing in court today is that charge of involuntary manslaughter I told you about and two counts of flight --"

"Flight?" Jessie asked, "What the hell is that?"

"Flight to avoid prosecution, it means running away so you won't get caught."

"I only ran away once."

"One count is because you were already serving time and you didn't come back to finish your sentence. The other is running away after killing... so you wouldn't get punished for Toby's death."

"They can do that, count one thing I done twice?" Jessie asked.

"Looks like it," Paul said, "but I still wouldn't worry about it, Jessie."

"Of course you wouldn't," Jessie said wryly. "You ain't the one on trial."

"You'll be fine, Jessie." Paul put his hand on hers. "You'll see."

Milt's brow furrowed when he noticed the gesture, but he quickly resumed a neutral expression. The two of them had been on the trail alone for a long time. With Laura married and Wilma a whore, nothing that Jessie did should surprise him. And, after all, from Paul's standpoint, there weren't all that many eligible women in this part of the West.

"Of course, she will," Milt said. "But now, Jessie, there was something that you were worried about telling me yesterday. Do you want to talk about it now? We can go in the storeroom, if you want to talk in private."

Jessie looked at Paul. "Is there anything else I need to tell Milt about?" Paul shook his head. "No, I guess there isn't," Jessie said, a smile of relief and gratitude and, maybe, something more on her face. "Thanks, anyway, Milt."

Milt observed this new byplay with even more interest. What exactly were those two agreeing to conceal? He didn't care, just so long as it didn't come out at the trial and spoil his defense.

"You're welcome, I suppose," the lawyer said belatedly as he stood up. "I see that you have some fresh clothes. You should change and be over at the Saloon as quickly as you can."

"I'll be there," Jessie said.

"I'll leave you in Paul's hands, then," Milt said with peculiar emphasis, as he headed out the jailhouse door. "See you at the Saloon."

***

Jane was waiting for Milt at the Saloon. "You still gonna do it? Still gonna defend that murderer?"

Milt sighed. "I told you I was, Jane. Wilma hired me as her lawyer and I intend to defend Jessie to the best of my ability."

"But she killed Toby," Jane whined. "She oughta hang for it. You got no business trying t'help her, especially since you're _my_ lawyer."

"Jane, I'm the lawyer for anyone who hires me. That's what I do."

"Then maybe _I_ don't want to be hiring you any more." She stormed away.

Milt shook his head as he watched her go. With those barflies chasing after her, Jane needed somebody to watch out for her. He was a bit perplexed to realize how much he enjoyed the job.

***

The Judge looked at his pocket watch, 10 AM. He nodded to Sheriff Dan Talbot.

"Oyay, oyay," Dan yelled over the Saloon noise, "the court of the Honorable Parnassas C. Humphreys is now in session... ah, G-d save this court and the... ah, United States of America."

The Judge pounded his gavel on the table he was using and the room quieted. "Be seated," he said. The crowd scrambled for what chairs there were.

The Judge continued. "The case today is the Territory of Arizona versus Jessie Hanks. The charges are involuntary manslaughter -- that means that Jessie, Miss Hanks, killed Toby Hess without meaning to -- and two counts of flight to escape prosecution. Before anybody asks, one count is for running away instead of coming back to finish her sentence here in the Saloon. The other is for running because of Toby being dead. You men on the jury understand all that?"

Twelve men, selected by lot as they came in to the Saloon, were seated at two nearby tables. Hans Euler was the one they had picked for their foreman. "I t'ink we do, Judge."

"Good," said the Judge. "Miss Hanks, how do you plead?"

Milt stood and motioned for Jessie to stand as well. "Milt Quinlan for the defense, Your Honor. We plead 'Not Guilty' to all charges."

"So noted," the Judge said. He motioned for them to sit down. "Call your first witness, counselor."

"Laura Meeham," Milt said. "Excuse me, Laura Caulder." Dan repeated the name.

"Laura _Caulder_," Jessie whispered. "What do you mean by that?"

"She and Arsenio just got married," Milt whispered back, "now, shush." He put a finger to Jessie's lips. By now, Laura had sworn in Laura and she was sitting in a chair next to the Judge's table.

"Before we start," Milt said, standing "I want to congratulate you and your husband on your marriage and wish you every happiness for your future together."

"Thank you," Laura said, smiling uneasily, "but Arsenio's not here. He's home --"

"Restin' up," somebody yelled. The crowd roared with laughter.

Laura blushed. "That... that's not so. He's trying to catch up on his business. He's a very hard worker."

"You'd be the one to know," another voice yelled. Jessie thought that it sounded like Wilma. Again, there was considerable laughter.

"That will be _enough_," the Judge said, pounding his gavel on the table. "Start asking your questions, Milt. The next person to interrupt you will be guilty of contempt of court." He furrowed his eyebrows. "Is that understood?"

The crowd stopped laughing. "Thank you, Your Honor," Milt said. "Mrs. Caulder, would you please describe the abduction of you and Miz Hanks on the night of Saturday, September 9?"

Laura told how she and Jessie had gone outside during a break in the dance for some fresh air. "We heard a funny noise in the alley and somebody said, 'Look at that.' When we went and looked, they threw sacks over our heads and tossed us in their wagon." She went on to tell what Jake had tried to do to her and, finally, she said, "Jake told me that Jessie was over at Toby's cabin."

"That's hearsay," the Judge interrupted. "That mean that Laura doesn't know if it's true or not. All she knows is that Jake said it to her. You men on the jury shouldn't take what she just said into account when you're deciding the facts of the case."

Milt shrugged. "Thank you, Your Honor. I think we're done, Laura. You can step down for now, but don't go home yet." Laura took a seat next to Bridget.

"Your Honor," Milt said, not liking what he had to do. "I call Jane Steinmetz as my next witness." Dan repeated Jane's name.

"I don't want to," Jane yelled from across the room. "I ain't saying anything to help Jessie."

"You're not helping anyone," the Judge said sternly. "You're telling the truth. Now get up here before I have the sheriff come and get you."

"Go up there," Shamus ordered. Jane growled under her breath, but she had to obey him.

After Jane was sworn in, Milt said, "I don't think I have to point out that Miss Steinmetz is a hostile witness; that means she doesn't like Jessie." He took a breath. "Now Jane, did you and Toby take Jessie to his cabin before you brought Laura to your own place?"

"Yeah," Jane said angrily. "We thought they liked us. That's why Toby and me took 'em. Even if she didn't like Toby, that's no reason t'kill him, like she done, Judge. You gotta make her pay for that."

After Jane stepped down, Milt called his client to the stand to testify in her own behalf.

Squirming nervously, Jessie told what happened with Toby. Milt showed the court her torn blouse and camisole for evidence. Then the Doc testified about what he found when he examined Toby's body. Cause of death was hitting that stone in the fireplace and, "yes," he said. "It looked like somebody had kneed or kicked Toby in the balls while he was still alive."

"Why'd you run?" Milt asked Jessie, after he put her back on the witness stand.

"Why? 'Cause I'm Jessie Hanks. Ain't nobody gonna listen to my side of it. They'd... they'd string me up with Toby's own rope."

"You don't have a very good opinion of the people of this town," the Judge said.

"They ain't got a very good one of me, Judge, even if maybe that's -is- my fault... just a little."

"Your Honor," Milt said after Jessie was done, "I'd like to introduce evidence of Miss Hanks' heroic behavior while she was on the... after she left Toby Hess' cabin. I call Paul Grant --"

"That's not pertinent to the crimes she's accused of," the Judge said. "Paul, you can testify to her character during the sentencing, if she's found guilty of anything."

The jury had no questions. The Judge sent them upstairs to deliberate in one of Shamus' rooms. They came back down after about twenty minutes. "How do you find?" the Judge asked.

Hans Euler stood up and opened a small folded sheet of paper. "We say that she manslaughtered Toby in self-defense, Judge. Any gal's got the right to try and stop a man what wants to rape her. She was right to run, too. We mighta done something like that if we was as scared as she was." He sat down nervously.

"What about the second count -- about not coming back to finish her sentence?"

Hans stood back up. "She was wrong there, Judge. You say she gotta work her for two months, that's what she gotta do."

"All right, Paul," the Judge said. "Jessie is guilty of one charge of flight. Say your mind before I pass sentence."

Paul walked over to the witness chair and Dan swore him in. He told what he'd seen. Then he added, "Your Honor, punishment is supposed to make a guilty person into somebody better. The Jesse Hanks that rode into Eerie two months ago would've never risked his life for somebody the way Jessie did in that gunfight near the border. She took a bullet for Piety Tyler -- the Doc saw the scar. I know that she did something wrong, not coming back, but she did something very right, too. I'm proud of... I think that should count. It should count a whole lot."

The Judge motioned for Jessie and Milt to stand. "Jessie Hanks, you've been found guilty of flight to avoid prosecution, a very serious offense. I could send you to the territorial penitentiary for up to five years. In keeping with precedent, I could, instead order you to drink another dose of Shamus' potion." Jessie moaned and started to sink into her chair until Milt caught her.

"But I agree with Paul," the Judge said. "Either you never were as bad as you acted around folks or else you have changed and very much for the better. You will finish the ten days of your original sentence and serve one additional month at the Eerie Special Penitentiary. Just don't act like a damned jackrabbit anymore, running off the way you did, no matter what the reason or next time your sentence will be a great deal harder." He looked around the room. "I thank the jury for its work. If there is no other business..." he pounded the gavel. "...court is now adjourned."

Jessie sat in her chair, smiling in relief. "That's... that's it? One month?"

"That's all, Jessie," Milt said, shaking her hand. "Congratulations. Oh and I suggest that you thank Paul for his strong testimony."

"You made it, Jessie," Paul said, walking over. "I told you it'd --"

Jessie interrupted Paul by throwing her arms around him and kissing him. She ended the kiss a moment later when she sensed Paul's embarrassed stiffness as the room broke into laughter and applause. "I'll thank you later," she said in a husky voice. Then she looked at the crowd of men gathering around her and winked at Paul. Relief made her feel playful. "Unless one of these fine gentlemen makes me a better offer."

The End??

 

since 01/10/04