On nights like this the plains were cool and dry. The heat of the day was still baked into the red earth but there was a brisk wind blowing dust into the eyes of Lee Shannon as he rode out of Clarke's Point. He pulled his hat low.
Lee was called "Mercy" in town. His reputation was spotless; upstanding both in his moral compass and notoriously rigid posture. Folks in Clarke's Point admired his dedication as Sheriff, a position he had held for nearly a decade by his thirty fourth summer. A handsome, angular man with dark hair already beginning to grey on his temples and mustache, it was not unusual for the young women in town to giggle and sigh when he rode past, or for their designing mothers to invite Mercy over for a hot meal.
The rumor was that Mercy had not one infraction to his name, which, in those parts, was rare even for a lawman. Never so much as picked up a nickel in the street that wasn't his own as long as he lived. He was a quick shot but never fired at an unarmed man nor got caught in the heat of the moment felling the accused without fair trial. When a posse of hotheads from the nearest settlement finally raided the Coyote rustler's hideout in South Pass, it was out of reverence for the sheriff that the gang was arrested rather than shot on sight. And it was due to his reputation that Sheriff Lee Shannon was entrusted with protecting the only witness.
The safe-house was a two room cabin several miles from Clark's Point, where a couple of Coyotes had been posted as lookouts with a mute woman to cook their meals. The latter was his charge. He had been advised to be gentle with her, that she had been terrified in the raid. They supposed she might know a thing or two about the gang, and, mute though she may be, if she could write more than her name they had good reason to off her before the trial. And so the sheriff rode out at dusk to play his part in serving justice.
Lee arrived shortly after the cool night fell. He knocked gently on the door and, when there was no answer, pushed it slowly open. The room inside was small but still sparse--a table with several wooden chairs about it, a leather bound trunk which gaped open and empty, and a cot by the blazing fireplace. Bundles of dried plants hung from the walls. A colony of tin mugs on the table shuddered precariously when he pulled the door closed.
"Miss Elvira?"
There was a soft shuffling from the second room and by the glow of the fire he saw his charge. Her long black hair was dripping and she was wrapped in a large wool blanket. She had been bathing. This was probably the first time in a long time that she had been alone, he realized, and not in the company of men. Criminals at that. The sheriff politely averted his eyes.
"Miss Elvira?"
She nodded, doe eyed and blushing.
"Ah. Excuse me, Miss Elvira. I seem to have caught you at an...inopportune moment. Please, take your time." Lee removed his hat, as he was accustomed to doing around ladies. "Name's Lee Shannon, by the way, I'm the Sheriff over in Clarke's Point. Most people around there call me Mercy, but Lee is just fine if you like."
The woman said nothing. She turned and sat on a little stool by the fire. One small hand emerged from the folds of her blanket and selected a small log to throw on the blaze. Lee examined her with piqued curiousity. She had fine features, high arched brows and a sloping, aristocratic nose. Her skin was golden brown and flawless.
"Well. Do you mind if I wash up right quick? I'm afraid I've been riding all day, what with all the arrests, and it was a hot one."
Elvira looked back at him blankly, and gestured to the doorway.
"I must apologize, Miss Elvira, I'm having a spot of trouble understanding," the sheriff admitted. "I'm going to wash up for just a minute."
He entered the adjoining room, taken up mostly by a large bed. In one corner was a round wooden washtub still giving off steam. He splashed some warm water on his face and, removing his vest and starched linen, rinsed the dust and sweat off his arms. He wondered how he would communicate with Elvira. They would be spending quite a lot of time together in the coming week. It had not escaped his notice that she was a beautiful woman practically naked in the next room, but he was far too respectable a man to let that compromise the task at hand. He adjusted the crotch of his trousers, then donned his shirt and vest and returned to the warmth of the fire.
Elvira was still huddled by the flames despite the heat, the blanket having slipped down around her shoulders. She fed a few crumpled pieces of paper in from a basket next to the logs.
"That's quite the blaze. Don't look like you need any more kindling there."
She looked up at him through thick, dark lashes and nodded, then returned to tossing wads of paper. Lee approached her hesitantly and squatted by the cot. Gently but firmly he clasped her forearm. Elvira let his hand linger for a moment before standing and turning from the fire.
He sighed. This was not going to be easy. He began to gather up the crumpled paper.
"Where'd you get all this anyway?" Lee asked, as much to himself as to the woman behind him. He unfurled a scrap of paper and held it up to the light. Blank. How strange to be burning unused paper when there's a healthy pile of firewood sitting next to it. Hell, they were practically in the middle of nowhere and paper was a valuable commodity. Lee squinted and held the scrap a little closer to the fire -- if he wasn't mistaken, writing was beginning to appear.
"Would you look at that," he murmured, "I'll be damned. It's invisible ink." He stood and turned. "I'll need to take these bits..."
But Elvira was not, as he had expected, sitting at the little table with her eyes downcast. She was looking straight at him down the barrel of a rifle.
He cleared his throat. "I see." He held up the clandestine note. "You knew about this, I presume?"
"I did." The sound of her voice was a bigger shock than the gun.
"And you're not a mute. I'm guessin' you're not as innocent as the boys in the posse made you out to be."
She smiled humorlessly. "I'm afraid the boys in the posse weren't quite as keen as yourself, Mister Shannon." Her voice was low and clear with the charming lilt of a slight Southern accent. "I must ask you to drop your weapon now."
The Sheriff glanced at the revolver strapped to his waist, then back at the fireplace. At a range this close she was sure to hit him dead on if he attempted to draw, and he didn't dare try anything that might excite her trigger finger. He reluctantly unbuckled his gun belt and lowered it gingerly to the floor.
"Kick it here, Sheriff."
He sent the belt skidding across the floor. "Lee, please."
"Alright, Lee," she continued, and he could swear he saw the ghost of a smirk flicker across her face, "now your shirt."
Lee raised his eyebrows. "You want my shirt, Miss?"
"Must be sure you're not holding out on me."
He shook his head and began to remove his vest, eyes locked on hers.
"Trousers too."
"Is that really necessary?" He protested.
She gestured with the gun. "Trousers, Sheriff."
When all was said and done, Lee stood barefoot in his cotton long johns and undershirt among a pile of his own clothes. His boots rested neatly to one side.
"That all, Miss, or will you be wantin' my underwear, too?"
There was that faint smirk again. "That's quite alright, Sheriff. Into the trunk there."
He did as he was told and backed away cautiously. Elvira retrieved his revolver and tossed it onto the pile of clothing in the trunk. To Lee's surprise, she stowed the rifle as well before shutting the heavy lid and clicking the rusty looking padlock closed.
When she saw the confused expression on his face she let out a soft laugh. "It's going to be a long night. Did you really think I was going to leave my rifle around for you to overpower me and land on the other side of the trigger?"
"What makes you so sure I won't overpower you now?"
"I've heard of you, Sheriff. I know why they call you Mercy. And I don't think you'd hit a woman. Especially one who's unarmed."
He nodded slowly, knowing and resenting that she was right.
"Then that's settled." She began to drag two chairs across the room to the hearth. "Now I figure we've got a good seven hours until the sun rises. When that happens, three Coyotes will be in from the South with a horse for me and I'll be out of your hair. Chalk it up to a kidnapping. We both know I could have knocked you out cold just now, but I reckon you're better company awake and a girl could do with some civilized company now and then."
She looked back at him expectantly, features lit by a halo of firelight, and patted the chair. Lee stared at her. It was hard to identify exactly what he was feeling, but he was pretty sure the phrase would be "impressed as hell."
The woman cocked her head. "If you're thinking of running, know that I'll have that lock open in ten seconds flat. And I'm a hell of a shot."
"I believe that." He seemed to be out of options, so he made his way to the chair and sat. "If you'd like to change, I can give you some privacy."
"Clever, but I'm not letting you out of my sight."
He chuckled, still in disbelief. "So. What is it you'd like to talk about, Miss Elvira? That is still your name, no?"
"It is."
