"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
"You want those shackles off?" he said finally, his voice steady but low. "Then you come here, close enough that I don’t have to risk slowing us down. No sudden moves. We clear?"
"Yes" Zenobia blurted as she geed her horse up level with Duncan's. This was no time for modesty, and she hooked up her skirts abruptly, displaying a good deal of her thick black stockinged legs and frothy white petticoats so he could gain access to her well turned ankles and their ponderous iron shackles.
As Zenobia moves closer, he reached down with the key. Unlocking the leg shackles slowly, then making sure that they did not drop. He wrapped them once around the the horn of his saddle.
"I think it gives you one less thing to complain about," Duncan replied. He reached into his saddlebag, pulling out his spare revolver. He held it toward her, grip-first.
She reached for it eagerly, but then he pulled it back.
"Before you take it. I’m giving you a choice," Duncan said, his gaze meeting hers. "You can shoot if you have to, but you’ll do it under my lead. No wasting bullets. And no aiming at me, got it?"
"As if" Even under the circumstances, she couldn't help but give him a slight, grim smile as she snatched the weapon from him and tippedit forward slightly to see if it actually had bullets in the chamber. It did. Five of course, cowboy style.
Pulling his reins tighter and glancing toward the trail ahead. "Just remember—if it comes to a fight, I’ll get us through. Trust me on that."
"I trust you a whole lot more now I've got this!" she replied, just as a shot cracked from somewhere and she felt the whole world give way as her horse stumbled, and she was deposited precipitously onto the dusty hard earth. She rolled in the dirt but somehow managed to keep hold of the gun!
Suddenly there were Indians riding toward them from the rear. although the shot had come from some scrubby bushes to their front.
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan’s horse danced nervously beneath him as the shot rang out, but his grip on the reins was firm. Rifle was already up, as his sharp eyes locked on the trail ahead as Zenobia hit the ground.
“Zenobia! Stay down, and keep hold of that gun!” he barked, his voice as sharp as the crack of a whip.
Duncan turned his head just enough to glance at the riders charging from behind. “Damn it,” he muttered, calculating the angles. “They’re closing in.”
Another shot whizzed past from the bushes ahead. Duncan spun his rifle toward the scrub and fired a single, precise shot. The sound echoed, and a startled cry came from the bushes as one of the ambushers slumped forward, his rifle clattering to the ground.
“That’s one less problem,” Duncan growled, his voice icy.
He twisted in the saddle, firing a warning shot toward the riders to slow their advance. “Be ready to use that revolver and watch my back. I’ll keep the rest of them busy!”
Duncan spurred his horse forward a few paces, keeping himself between Zenobia and the attackers. His rifle up and ready to shoot, his focus split but unshakable. “You want to try me next?” he called toward the remaining ambushers, his tone daring and defiant.
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
“Zenobia! Stay down, and keep hold of that gun!” he barked, his voice as sharp as the crack of a whip.
The young woman was winded and scared, but the man's firm voice gave her some comfort. He sounded like he knew what to do in a perilous situation like this. But there was more to it than that: she realised with a shudder that she craved this man's approval.
"I've got it!" she yelled, wanting to look at him but unable to draw her eyes from the approaching savages.
He twisted in the saddle, firing a warning shot toward the riders to slow their advance. “Be ready to use that revolver and watch my back. I’ll keep the rest of them busy!”
"I will!" she shouted. She stared at the revolver dumbly for the longest second: this was the first time she had even held a gun since she had killed her father, let alone fired one. For a moment she lived again in yesterday, but then the thought of what the young braves would do to her if they captured her alive brought her swiftly back to the present.
Duncan spurred his horse forward a few paces, keeping himself between Zenobia and the attackers. His rifle up and ready to shoot, his focus split but unshakable. “You want to try me next?” he called toward the remaining ambushers, his tone daring and defiant.
Zenobia, cocked the gun and waited for her moment; she remembered again the gun she had snatched from that cowboy's holster, how it had failed to fire the first time because the first chamber was always empty to prevent accidents. She pushed the chamber around with her thumb: this time, the first shot would tell.
The braves were working around Kerrigan, the first one she could get a bead on, she fired at. Not at the man, of course: six sooters were inaccurate at anything other than close range, cowboys only really carried them to frighten cattle during a stampede, they were great for firing into the air with. She aimed for the horse.
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
The sharp crack of Zenobia's shot rang out, and Duncan caught the commotion as the horse bucked and reared, throwing its rider to the ground, breaking his neck. A quick glance confirmed her aim had been true, and he barked a sharp, approving shout without turning his attention from the ambushers.
"Smart shooting, Zenobia! Keep at it!"
One of the braves darted his horse forward emboldened by the distraction. Duncan's rifle snapped up, his movements calm and precise. He squeezed the trigger, and the sharp retort of the shot filled the air. The man slumped then slipped off his horse to the ground.
Duncan didn't linger on the result. He shifted his aim immediately, scanning for the next threat while raising his voice. "Zenobia, keep them guessing! Aim for the horses. We don't need to win this outright, just make it too costly for them to stay!"
His tone was sharp, commanding, but with a thread of trust woven in. He didn't look back at her, knowing she'd rise to the moment. Instead, he spurred his horse again, shifting position to keep the attackers off balance. "Let's finish this!"
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
"Smart shooting, Zenobia! Keep at it!"
It wasn't smart, it was lucky, but still: his words of encouragement gave her heart. She pulled herself up off the ground. Ow, she'd apparently cracked a rib when she's fallen from her horse: she noted it and then forgot it for now, as she watched Duncan coolly dispatch another redskin.
"Zenobia, keep them guessing! Aim for the horses. We don't need to win this outright, just make it too costly for them to stay!"
"Yes!" she shouted back, even at the time thinking that it was an overly terse answer, even for her. She mechanically worked out the numbers: she had three rounds left plus one to kill herself, if she had to. She wasn't a good shot. To make those three bullets count she needed to be closer to the attacking Indians. Kerrigan's voice sounded again and it prompted her to start moving.
"Let's finish this!"
"Yes!" she repeated and started walking, it was so steadily and purposefully done that she looked like some odd somnambulist, treading slowly, dreamily even, toward the nearest Indian she could see, with the heavy firearm held up ready to fire. The brave rose to the occasion, wheeling his sprightly pinto and charging down on the young woman: not firing his own gun, but aiming rather to club her with it and count coup. He swiftly flew toward her, closer to the figure in funereal black, she walked nearer to him, the naked savage, his beautiful copper skin flashing in the sunlight, so full of animal life. Their eyes locked. Now. Her eyes instinctively closed. She squeezed the trigger, her rib hurt, the pistol cracked.
He was dead on the grass when she opened her eyes, his horse gone, she looked at him longingly as she walked on past him, stumbling a little in a doghole.
She couldn't see where she'd shot him, but he was staring at the sky. She would see him there soon, she knew. Maybe he would tell her.
Ha! 'Happy Hunting Ground' indeed.
Walking on.
Next target.
Two bullets left.
@[Jhwulfven]
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan spurred his horse forward, his jaw clenched and eyes hard as flint. He turned tos see Zenobia's haunting determination. Though the job wasn't done, and he knew it. The last brave had spotted her now, taking this chance to try and take her.
The brave's fierce war cry splitting the air as he wheeled his horse towards Zenobia. Duncan tipped his hat back, his revolver steady in his grip. "You could have rode away.," he muttered, his voice low but brimming with resolve.
The brave charged, his club held high, horse kicking up dust in its wild sprint. Duncan noticed that Zenobia hadn't noticed yet. His horse shifted beneath him, but Duncan’s hand stayed firm on the reins. "Easy now," he whispered to the animal. "Steady." As the brave drew closer to Zenobia.
The brave closed the distance in a heartbeat, his face a mask of fury. Duncan's breath slowed, the world narrowing to just him, the brave, and the space between them.
Duncan squeezed the trigger, the revolver cracked, and the brave jerked in the saddle, his club falling from his grasp. He slumped sideways, tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust. The pinto whinnied and galloped off into the distance.
Duncan reined in his horse, turning it sharply and trotting toward Zenobia, "It's done," Duncan said, his voice low but firm. He swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the ground with a thud. "They're gone, Zenobia. No more killing." he said, his tone softening. "For now at least."
Javia
"Go ahead and hang me, it was worth it!"
Duncan squeezed the trigger, the revolver cracked, and the brave jerked in the saddle, his club falling from his grasp. He slumped sideways, tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust. The pinto whinnied and galloped off into the distance.
Zenobia instinctively span at the crack of Kerrigan's gun, her own revolver held high, and realised that she was pointing it straight at him.
She lowered it.
But in that second, did it occur to her that she could shoot him dead and escape? Did it occur to him that she might?
Duncan reined in his horse, turning it sharply and trotting toward Zenobia, "It's done," Duncan said, his voice low but firm. He swung down from the saddle, boots hitting the ground with a thud. "They're gone, Zenobia. No more killing." he said, his tone softening. "For now at least."
"I'd better give you your gun back" she said, handing it toward him, butt forward. She looked about at the fallen Indians.
"You saved us." she said, plainly.
+++
Three days later, on a crisp Monday morning, they stood looking down on Kalispell, journey's end. The evening before, a Sunday, her last day on the trail, and her last in the relative freedom of Kerrigan's custody, she had asked him to pray with her. Whether it had meant anything to him, or to her for that matter, seemed to matter not: it was just her last chance to do so outside of a condemned cell.
She shifted uneasily on her horse.
"Duncan... had you better put my shackles back on? I don't want you to get in trouble... you know, to be spoken of as careless with a dangerous criminal" she said, apparently in all seriousness.
Notably, it was Duncan now, not Mister Kerrigan.
"Justice doesn’t always wait for the law to catch up."
Duncan dismounted slowly, boots crunching against the dirt of the road, and walked toward her with a deliberate calm. He pulled the handcuffs from his saddlebag, their metallic clink breaking the morning stillness. Standing by her side, he looked up at her, his face serious but not unkind.
"All right, Zenobia," he said quietly, his voice steady. "If it eases your mind, I’ll put them on. But only the cuffs—and not because I think you need them. You’ve proven yourself a hundred times over on this trail. This is for appearances, not for me."
He reached for her hands, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he clasped the cuffs around her wrists. As he did the cold iron seemed out of place against her skin, a stark reminder of the weight waiting for her in Kalispell. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing hers as he looked up, his voice soft.
"These don’t change how I see you, Zenobia. You’ve got more strength and grace in you than most folks I’ve ever met. Don’t let this place or anyone in it make you forget that."
Duncan stepped back, mounting his horse again. With a nod, he gestured toward the town below, its rooftops gleaming in the crisp morning light.
"Let’s get this done. We’ll head straight to the jail—Marshal Guyer or Deputy Wentworth should be waiting. You’ll walk in there the same way you’ve ridden all this way—with dignity."
He gave her one last, lingering look, then turned his horse toward Kalispell, the weight of the moment pressing heavy between them.
Javia, Flip, JulieS
That's a nice ending for our little trip, I think. I'll start a new thread for the arrival at the Sheriff's office.