The Dusty Trail Between Twin Mountains

By Allquall

Chapter One: Bitter Arrival

She watched the tumbleweed bounce alongside of the coach till it rolled into a nearby ditch and disappeared from view. Her eyes then moved to the long line of the horizon as the vast blue sky met the scorched earth of the Dakota Territory. She wondered if the temperature outside of stagecoach would be any cooler than where she sat currently. She wiped the sweat from her brow with her red bandana for what seemed to be the millionth time as the bumpy coach creaked and jerked as it rambled along the parched countryside.

“Just another god-forsaken job in another god-forsaken town,” she grunted as she pulled the wide brim of her hat down below her eyes.

She crossed her arms and tried to sleep in the midst of the jostling surroundings. She had done the same thing on many roads before. This was just another town in the middle of the Dakota Territory that needed the law served with a woman’s touch. She knew what would happen. As soon as the town started to behave, the Union would send a man to replace her as the permanent sheriff. Of course, she wouldn't get any thanks, not even a “good job” on the way out, just some swine with a bushy beard and an ego the size of the Lonestar Republic would slap her ass as she rode out of town.

The townsfolk usually never saw her as a real sheriff either, but they at least respected her. Granted, she had to put a few of them under six feet of dirt to get it, but it still counted as respect. The replacement sheriff never got to taste the fear she could instill into people with a mere look and a casual brush against the revolver strapped to her hip.

She didn’t even have good nickname like the others. Wild Bill, Billy the Kid.… The names and the faces of the great gunfighters danced in her sleepy head. Her mouth, the only part of her face not obscured by her lowered hat, curved into an agitated sneer as she tried to place her nickname alongside of the great ones. It sounded so stupid when people pissed their pants in front of her while mumbling it. It just didn’t seem right. If only she had shot the two-bit bank robber sooner. He would never have tagged her with such a ridiculous nickname if she had blown his face off a minute before.

“Ma’am?”

She flicked her hat up above her eyes and glared at the coachman who was looking inside the compartment through a door in the roof of the coach.

“What?” she growled.

“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you was trying to sleep,” the terrified man stammered.

“I’m up now,” she folded her arms again and placed her boots on the seat opposite of her, “What do you want, Garrett?”

“I just done wanted you to know that you can see the town of Twin Mountains from here.”

“Thank ya kindly, Garrett, but I reckon that I’ll be seein’ more than I want to see of Twin Mountains in a few hours.”

Garrett laughed as he closed the panel and whipped the horses into a full gallop. His passenger ever so slowly leaned to look out the window of the bouncing, speeding coach.

‘I want my horse,’ she thought but knew that she had to wait till she saw the needs of the town and its resources before she could requisition a horse from the government.

As discrete as she could be, she looked out of the window and onto the landscape outside. She could see a large mountain on the other side from her vantage point on another mountain. She then looked down into the valley and saw a tiny outline of a main street lined with shops.

“Twin Mountains, eh,” she said to herself.

She lowered the wide brim of her hat again and crossed her legs as she fell asleep to the sound of the rocking stagecoach.

“Whoa, boys!”

She awoke to Garrett’s command and to the abrupt stop that threw her hat against the wall of the passenger compartment.

“Dammit, Garrett!” she yelled as she picked up her hat from the floor.

The coachman jumped off of the top of the coach and opened the door for her. She stepped out into the blazing heat of the day and surveyed the land around her. Her toes wiggled in her boots as they struggled to get rid of the “pins and needles” feeling after hours of being asleep. Garrett untied her small luggage trunk from the top rack and tossed it to her side.

“Do…do you need me to carry it, ma’am?”

“Nah, I’ve got it, Garrett,” she said while extending her arm through the sleeve of her long gray riding coat, “Go home. I’m much obliged for the safe journey.”

“Anything for you and the banner of blue,” he smirked while snapping the reins of the horses.

She watched the stagecoach ride away till the dust and grime settled.

“Good man,” she said to herself. It was a compliment she handed out rarely and never within earshot.

She picked up her small trunk and walked lazily in the direction of the town a few hundred yards in front of her. The main street lacked the normal signs of life that other towns had. There were a few people bumbling about, but nothing like the bustling streets she had guarded before. Ghost towns were more alive than this. Her boots rhythmically clomped against the dusty street as she tried to find the sheriff’s office.

“What’s yer business in Twin Mountains, stranger?” asked a menacing voice from the shadows of a large porch.

“My own at the moment,” she answered coolly.

She turned to face the voice and saw the tell-tale sign of swinging saloon doors. She then looked above the porch to see the large, aged wooden placard nailed onto the building.

“The Spica,” she read aloud, “funny name for a saloon.”

“Sure is,” said a woman stepping out of the shadows, “but I’d like something to compare it to. Y'know, to be sure it's weird. What’s your name, stranger?”

She smiled as she sized up her opponent on the porch. She was tall and dressed as a rider. She was beautiful in her own way, but her eyes carried the mark of one who has seen death many times. They were the eyes of a killer.

“My name is Stranger,” she told the killer with a calm smile, “Now, tell me, where’s the sheriff’s office?”

The woman jumped off of the porch and walked over to Stranger. Short wisps of black hair flew out from under her hat when her boots hit the ground along with the clang of her spurs.

“Two buildings down,” the killer said while walking toward Stranger, “but ‘tain’t got nobody in there. Town deputy does what they can, but we ain’t got no sheriff in these parts. We ain’t got no need for a sheriff in this here town.”

She stood eye to eye with the Stranger who answered, “I reckon someone has to hold up the law 'round here.”

The killer drew back her long coat with her right hand and exposed the pearl handle of her revolver.

“Ain’t got no law to hold up here, Stranger,” she said licking her lips while her hand slowly gripped the handle of her gun.

“You do now,” rasped the Stranger, “I am the law.”

The killer tried to draw her gun only to feel the knuckles of the Stranger crash into her jaw. The gun dropped from her hand at the impact, and she staggered back while wiping the blood from her swelling lip.

“Bastard!” the killer cried as she cocked her arm back for a hand-to-hand fight.

The Stranger easily ducked the killers desperate punches, and she swung her travel trunk around causing it to crash into the killer’s chest. The woman fell as the wind was knocked out of her.

The killer heaved as she tried to suck air into her lungs while the Stranger looked down on her. She slowly drew back the lapels of her gray coat giving the coughing killer a good look at the two holsters hanging from her hips. The black-haired woman gagged out another cough in terror as her eyes traveled up from the holsters to the outline of two very large breasts under the plaid button-up shirt and the silver star pinned just above the right one.

“Who are you?” the pale killer gargled.

“The saying goes that I’m as mean as a coyote and as strong as an ox. Take that for what it’s worth.”

The Stranger then walked past the battered killer on the ground till she disappeared into the door two buildings down. The killer rolled onto her stomach and rose up on all fours while watching her blood drip from her mouth onto the sandy ground below. She breathed in deeply a few more times before shifting her weight to her legs. She then limped inside the saloon and crashed on a chair in the backroom.

Another woman sat in the backroom counting the gaming chips and placing money inside a safe. She was clothed in a red velvet dress, and her light brown hair was pulled back and braided. Her face was marked with pride and cunning even though it was skillfully covered in make-up.

The killer rested her head on the other table in exhaustion, while the woman with red lipstick continued to count the till.

“I take it that you met the new sheriff, Kaname,” she finally said and handed the other woman a shot of whiskey.

The killer groaned an affirmative and loosely wrapped her fingers around the shot glass.

“And?” the woman in lipstick said.

“Good news and bad news,” the killer whispered.

She sat up slowly and winced as she downed the shot.

“Good news first,” replied the lady in red.

“Good news is that we won’t have any trouble keeping the saloon open,” wheezed the killer, “This one has a reputation for liking her liquor cold and her women hot.”

“Her?”

“That’s the bad news…”

“I don’t see how that’s bad news,” sniffed the lady, “A weak sheriff is even better than no sheriff. We can manipulate-“

The killer interrupted the lady by shaking her head side to side, “Not goin’ to work on this one. She’s as mean as a coyote and as strong as an ox.“

“You don’t mean-“ gasped the lady in horror.

“Yep,” nodded the killer, “Shizuma Hanazono is our new sheriff.”

“Curse our luck!” roared the lady as she hurled a lamp against the wall.

The killer ducked and covered her head as glass and bits of metal flew ricocheted throughout the room.

“Careful, Momomi!” the killer shouted.

The lady slumped into the counting chair with her brow furrowed in anger, “Of all the times! We were poised to rule this dump of a town. And now this, our new sheriff is fucking 'Silverlocks'.”