by Abigail Armani
Long years ago, in a time when the west was truly wild, yet the men who inhabited it were wilder still, there lived a man named Jesse King.
Guided by a plethora of stars and a soaring silver moon, he came upon the small homestead at the day's end as the shadows lengthened and deepened into immutable shades of grey. He heard her before he saw her, as the sound of the axe hewing wood echoed into the stillness of the encroaching night; and though she was but an eddying shadow in the gloom, her form was undeniably female.
Reigning in his horse, he paused to take stock. It was time to make camp for the night, but not here, though the chink of light from the open doorway and the fragrant aroma of supper simmering on the stove within was a sore temptation. His belly growled, for it was some time since he had eaten well. It was as he was about to move on that he heard the cry. It was a sudden cry that spoke of shock and pain, and the sounds that followed it were little whimpers and wails ... or were they? He cocked his head, listening. No, they were not. His lips twitched slightly at the corners as he recognised a string of cuss words, but then the woman who uttered them groaned and spoke aloud.
"Oh Lord, I'm bleeding to death!"
"Ma'am? Are you hurt?" He urged his horse closer.
"Who the hell are you?!" came the response.
"Just passin' by on my way to the staging post. I heard you cry out. Thought I'd best check all's well."
She moved like lightning, darting inside the dwelling from which she emerged seconds later - and Jesse found himself staring down the muzzle of a .357 Magnum.
"I asked you a question, cowboy, and you'd best hurry up and answer ... or else." A pair of green eyes glimmered, and a rosebud mouth pursed in a parody of a grimace.
"Or else...?" His eyebrow arched, but he remained calm and still in the saddle, not reaching for his gun.
"Or else I'll blow your head right off." She raised the barrel of the gun a little higher.
"Well that would be mighty unreasonable, seein' as how I only came over to help."
"So you were snoopin' around outside, huh? And no - I ain't hurt. Now get off my land or I ... Oh!"
She never finished her sentence, so taken aback was she by the river of blood now pouring from her left arm. "Oh darn it!" Her voice had a little catch to it, and her face paled. And that was the last thing she was aware of before coming to in the chair before the stove, inhaling something that smelled suspiciously like her late father's whiskey.
The stranger pressed the glass to her lips. "Drink."
She took a sip and snorted. It was Pa's whiskey. The good stuff too, and this mangy-looking cowboy was wasting it, trickling it down her chin.
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