Stacy Henrie - Lady Outlaw

Jennie purchased her ticket and sat outside on a nearby bench to wait. With nothing to read or do, except think over her mostly horrible morning, her mind soon filled with recollections of home. She pretended she was already riding her horse Dandy down the familiar wagon-rutted trail toward the ranch, past the corral fences and empty bunkhouse. Past the faded red barn where fourteen-year-old Will would be shoveling hay to the other pair of horses. Up to the two-story frame house with its front porch where Grandma Jones would be sitting in her rocker, mending clothes—the smell of her freshly baked bread mingling with the scent of meadow grass.

The possibility of losing everything she’d worked for and held so dear made her chest tighten. “What am I going to do?” She stared at her hands as if the gnawed fingernails and cracked knuckles held some kind of answer.

The sound of footsteps approaching brought up Jennie’s chin. She watched as the stage driver made a thorough inspection of the coach before coming over to greet her.

“Afternoon, miss.” He nodded, and Jennie forced a smile as she stood. He placed her suitcase on the top rack of the stage. “I hear it’s just you and me today.”

“Not a bad thing,” she said, thinking of the crowded stagecoach she’d ridden in for two days before reaching Fillmore.

“Up you go then.” He held her elbow in a gentle grip and helped her inside.

Being the only passenger, Jennie had her pick of one of the three benches. She chose the one facing forward. She settled onto the lumpy, cracked leather next to the window and set her purse in her lap.

As the driver moved to close the small door, two gentlemen sprinted up to the stagecoach, each holding a piece of luggage. Jennie gathered they might be brothers with their matching dark hair, bushy eyebrows and brown suits.

“We got seats on this stage,” the older-looking one said. He held up two stubs of paper.

From the window Jennie watched the driver inspect their tickets before nodding.

“I can place your bags on top, gentlemen.”

The one with the tickets shook his head. “If it’s all the same to you, we’ll keep ’em with us.”

The driver shot him a puzzled look, but he didn’t insist they use the top rack. The men climbed into the stage and sat on the rear-facing seat. They squeezed their two bags in the narrow space beside their feet. Jennie noticed each man wore impeccable clothes, without a trace of dirt or signs of heavy wearing, and each carried a revolver in a holster beneath his jacket.

The younger and stockier brother eyed Jennie and grinned. “You traveling by yourself, little lady?”

Jennie responded with a simple nod as she slipped her hand into her purse and fingered the handle of the pistol. The young man likely didn’t mean anything by his flirtatious manner, but she wanted to be prepared if things turned sour.

“Don’t worry, miss,” he continued. “Should we run across any Injuns or bandits...” He held open his jacket and tapped the butt of his revolver with a fat thumb. “We’ll protect you.”

“Shut up, Horace.” The older brother drove an elbow into Horace’s side. “You’ll have to pardon my brother’s rambling. Learned it from our ma.”

With a scowl, Horace twisted in his seat to face his brother. “What you talking about, Clyde? We ain’t seen Ma for eight years, so how do know what she did and didn’t do? I told you, we oughta gone back home this winter, hole up before our next—”

“There he goes again.” Clyde clapped a hand over Horace’s mouth and smiled. “Can’t help himself.”

Jennie lifted her brows in amusement. The brothers’ rough manners and speech didn’t match their fancy clothes. What type of work did they do? Before she could ask, the stagecoach lurched forward. Jennie gripped the window ledge to keep from bouncing off her seat.

“Should’ve ridden those good horses we had, instead of takin’ the stage.” Horace righted himself and straightened his skewed hat.

“Here, have a drink,” Clyde said. He pulled a silver flask from his jacket and wiggled it in the air. Horace seized the container and guzzled before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

This ought to be interesting. Jennie began chewing on her thumbnail. They’ll either drink themselves into a stupor or get fresh. Given how her day had gone so far, she couldn’t trust that they’d choose the option she’d prefer. She didn’t feel like talking much—not after her long morning—but a little conversation might divert their attention from the alcohol.

“What exactly is your line of work, gentlemen?”

Horace chuckled again and glanced at Clyde. “I’d say we’re in—”

“The money-making business,” Clyde finished, a deadpan expression on his face.

Jennie waited for them to elaborate, but neither one did. Horace returned to his drinking, and Clyde stared out the window.

“Are you from around here?” she tried next.

Turning from the view, Clyde sized up Jennie as if trying to determine the reason for her questions. “Nope,” he said after a long moment. “We’re a ways from home.”

“What sort of money-making business brought you to Fillmore then?”

Horace smiled. “She’s a real talker, ain’t she, Clyde? Not shy or silent like a lot of other girls.”

“Give me that.” Clyde snatched the flask from Horace. “That’s enough talkin’.” He gave Horace a stern look and took a long swig. Lowering the silver container from his mouth, he frowned at Jennie. “If it’s all the same to you, miss, we’d prefer to do our drinking in peace and quiet.”

“Suit yourself,” Jennie muttered as she faced the window. Silence enveloped the inside of the stagecoach, except for the sound of the brothers passing the flask between them and gulping the liquor.

Jennie watched the sagebrush and distant hills moving past for a long time before she grew tired of the monotonous scenery. Leaning her head back against the seat, she shut her eyes. As rough as the ride could be, she preferred resting over watching two men become inebriated in front of her.

A headache began building at her temples and she tried to relax to keep it at bay. Thoughts of the bank president and her debt filled her head, but she chased them away with plans for what the ranch needed in preparation for colder weather.

A short time later, she heard loud whispering between Horace and Clyde. Curious, she pretended to still be sleeping and focused on their words.

“I told you wearing these fancy duds and takin’ the stage would work,” Clyde said in a slightly slurred voice.

“We sure showed ’em,” Horace said, his speech thicker with intoxication than his brother’s. “Slipped right past the sheriff. Bet he didn’t think we’d be walkin’ into town, all respectable.” He snorted in obvious delight.

“Two thousand dollars, Horace! Now we can buy us some horses and land—whatever we want.”

Horace murmured in agreement. “I’d like to go back to Wyoming soon and live by Ma, but I don’t think she’d like knowin’ we’re bandits.” He sighed heavily, then added in a brighter tone, “Maybe we could buy her somethin’ real nice, so she ain’t too mad. Whatdaya think she’d like?”

Jennie missed Clyde’s response as her mind raced. They’re the bandits I heard about in the store—the ones who stole the two thousand dollars.

Her first impulse was to jump out the door. She might not live through such a fall, but staying put could also mean death if the men realized what she’d overheard. That left her two choices: sit tight and pretend she hadn’t heard a thing or try to disarm the men herself and hand them over to the stage driver.

At the pricking of her conscience, Jennie chose to act. But not just yet. Better to hold off until they were at their weakest. Perhaps all the alcohol they’d been drinking would work out in her favor in the end. She waited until their whispering turned to snores and opened her eyes. Both bandits were passed out on their respective sides of the stagecoach, mouths hanging open, their relaxed jaws bouncing with the stage’s movement.