The gunshot echoed across the prairie. I looked down at poor Whiskey as I slowly reloaded my Peacemaker. He was a good horse and his death was on me. Well, me and the damned rattlesnake that spooked him.
I was half asleep in the saddle and noticed the rattler at about the same time as Whiskey. The old boy reared and threw me, which was embarrassing enough for someone like me, but then to add insult to injury, he came down wrong and broke his leg. Shooting him was the only decent thing to do.
It was a shame too because even though Whiskey was a little long in the tooth and could be an ornery cuss at times, he was a decent mount. We'd only been together for a few months, but I'd miss him just the same. It wouldn't be easy or cheap to find another stallion as well trained.
I checked to make sure the hammer of my Colt .45 was on the one empty chamber before holstering it. Some men didn't like limiting themselves to five bullets. I preferred to make sure I didn't accidently shoot myself in the leg or foot. Go figure. Besides, if I needed more than five bullets I'd be using my Centennial instead. Speaking of which, I needed to make sure the rifle hadn't taken any damage from the fall.
I reached down and pulled the Winchester from its saddle holster. Thankfully, the barrel wasn't bent and there was nothing obvious wrong. I'd need to take it apart and make sure everything was in working order before I used it again, but the odds were good that it was fine.
First things first, I needed to gather my gear and make for the nearest homestead. Thankfully, I'd passed one a few miles back. I sure hoped the family there was friendly because the combination of my saddle and gear wasn't light. I could only carry them so far and I didn't want to leave anything behind because scavengers would come for Whiskey's carcass and I wasn't willing to take the risk that they'd leave the equipment I left behind untouched.
Burying the stallion wasn't an option. He was close to half a ton and I wouldn't be able to move him. Besides, the scavengers would just dig him up anyway.
It took some doing to remove the saddle. I guess I should have been happy Whiskey was a Morgan and not one of those draft horses they used to pull artillery or supplies.
"Still thinking like a soldier," I snorted to myself as I slowly worked the saddle free. I guess it made sense after so many years in uniform, but I swore that that part of my life was over. I'd fought in the War to Preserve the Union and the Indian Wars that came after. I was done fighting. It was time to enjoy the fruits of my labor, whatever that meant.
The trip to the homestead was worse than I expected. I had to be lugging eighty pounds between my saddle, guns and gear, and I was traveling light. The smart thing to do would have been to look around and create some sort of litter to carry everything. I could have then dragged it all behind me, but I'd convinced myself out of it when the idea first came to mind because of the amount of brush I'd have to navigate. I'd nearly changed my mind when I finally arrived.
The sun was on the horizon and close to setting, but it was still easy enough to make out the ranch. The main house was off to the left while the stable was to the right. Both looked to be in good repair. I thought to make my way to the house when I heard someone in the stable. I figured it might be best to wait for whoever it was to come out. I didn't want to spook anyone into doing something stupid.
I moved to the corral and placed my saddle and gear over one of the fence posts. I damn near groaned in relief as I rotated my arms and stretched my back. That's when the person in the stable came out into the corral leading a horse.
The sun was behind them so I couldn't make them out clearly, but the lines of the horse were definitely promising. I thought that the woman leading it was a small man at first because she was wearing pants and chaps, but her outline made the fact that she was female obvious. That's not to say that she was overly curvy. She wasn't, but there was just something about the way she moved that was all woman despite the men's clothes she was wearing.
She was so focused on the horse that she didn't notice me at first. I started to make my presence known, but hesitated when she started working with the horse. It quickly became obvious that the woman knew what she was doing.
I'm not sure what came over me, but the sight of her and the horse working together with the sun setting behind them got to me. It was somehow peaceful and comforting to an old soldier like me. That's why I became annoyed when I felt someone sneaking up behind me.
Whoever it was, was doing their best not to make a sound, but compared to some of the Rebs and Indians I'd faced, they were sorely lacking. I turned and drew my Peacemaker in one smooth motion. I wasn't a gunslinger or anything, but I'd had enough practice to surprise whoever was behind me.
I saw the rifle pointed in my direction and nearly pulled the trigger, but thankfully the person behind the gun squeaked in surprise and stepped back, making the barrel waver when they realized I was ready for them. Whoever it was, was either young or female, possibly both. That didn't mean I was going to ignore the old Henry rifle pointed at me.
"Name's Josiah Mosey," I said in as calm a tone as I could. The would-be bushwhacker looked to be a girl, and a might young one at that. I was guessing a teenager, somewhere around fourteen, maybe a bit older. Unlike the woman in the corral, she was wearing a long skirt. That didn't make the rifle in her hand any less dangerous. "My horse broke his leg out on the prairie and I had to put him down. I passed here earlier in the day and was hoping to either buy another horse or get a ride to the nearest town. I don't mean you or any of yours any harm."
"You look like a horse thief to me!" Her tone was downright hostile and her eyes flashed angrily despite my soothing words. She was a pretty little thing with blond hair and sky-blue eyes. I expect she couldn't see me any better than I could her friend in the corral because of the setting sun. Seeing a person is shadows tended to give most people a bad impression. I would have shifted to the side so she could get a better look at me, but I had the feeling that moving would be a mistake right about now.
I was pretty sure that the young woman couldn't hit the side of a barn with the way she was holding the rifle, but I couldn't take that chance. If she shot at me, I'd kill her. Plain and simple.
"Why don't we both put our weapons down and talk? I promise not to move until you and your friend behind me are satisfied that I'm not dangerous."
I'd heard the woman from the corral make her way forward from behind me. I also heard her drawing my Centennial from saddle holster. I sighed, not bothering to turn toward her. This situation was going from bad to worse.
"I wouldn't use that Winchester. My horse fell on it when he broke his leg and I haven't had a chance to fully check it out yet."
"You want me to shoot him Abigail?" The girl in front of me sounded game. I would have been more concerned if the weight of the Henry wasn't clearly starting to wear on her. The barrel kept dropping. There was a long silent pause.
"Clementine, put the rifle down before you get us both killed." The voice sounded surprisingly calm. It was a touch raspy, but very female. "Best case, with the way your aiming you'll hit him in the leg. That won't stop him from killing you. I might be able to shoot him first with this Centennial, but I don't think he's lying about his horse falling on it and I'd rather not take the chance of it blowing up in my face."
"But if he's a horse thief..."
"Clem, put it down." I couldn't tell the age of the woman behind me, but she was clearly the older of the two. I was guessing sister and not mother based on the conversation. "If he wanted to steal a horse then walking onto the ranch carrying a saddle just before sunset would be awfully stupid."
"But he looks dangerous!"
"He is dangerous," the woman behind me clarified. "And yet he hasn't shot you yet so that's saying something. He could have done it before I reached his rifle. He clearly knew what I was doing despite having his back to me."
The little blond in front of me still hesitated. I'd been forcing myself to be patient which was never one of my virtues. Of course, I'd gotten better over the years like most people, I guess, but it was wearing thin right about now.
"I would have waited until after midnight and snuck in while you were all asleep if I were a horse thief," I interjected. There were actually a lot of ways to go about stealing horses. I'd done a lot of them in my younger days down in the south, but that was war for you. We'd raid the southern towns and steal horses and provisions while the Rebs would do the same in the north.
"If you're not a horse thief why didn't you announce yourself?" Damn. It was a fair question and an embarrassing one to answer.
"I was about to, but got distracted." I hoped that was enough, but the teenager wasn't buying it. I sighed and added, "The young woman behind me is clearly very good with horses and the sun was just setting behind them. The sight of them moving together was impressive."
The blond hesitated a moment later before finally dropped the barrel of her rifle so it pointed toward the ground. She also shook her head and added with more than a touch of sarcasm. "Men! Always distracted by a pretty skirt, even when the woman isn't wearing one."
"Enough Clementine." Apparently, I wasn't the only one embarrassed by what the teenager was implying. I lowered my Peacemaker and shifted position so I could see both women. I have to admit, I was more than a little curious about Abigail.
The sun was dropping below the horizon quickly now and the woman was leaned forward and looking away from me as she put my Winchester back in its saddle holster. She was still difficult to make out so I stepped closer to get a better look.
The first and most noticeable thing about Abigail was the scar that ran from the corner of her eye down the length of her left cheek. It surprised me, but I took it in stride. I'd seen it's like before. It was obviously the result of a knife wound, and not a small one at that. I'd seen plenty of them through the years some a lot more gruesome that hers.
