Stacy Henrie - Lady Outlaw

“Go sit by your brother,” Jennie ordered in an even tone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clyde’s face blanch, then turn scarlet.

“You idiot.” Clyde whopped Horace on the side of the head as he scrambled onto their seat. “Looks to me like she already knows how to use a gun. What’d you tell her while I was asleep?”

Horace blinked in obvious confusion. “I...uh...told her about home. I didn’t say nothin’ about us robbing the stage, honest, Clyde.”

Clyde lifted his hand to strike his brother again, but Jennie pointed the gun in his direction. “Leave him alone. He didn’t say anything. I learned all I needed to know from your drunken whispers earlier.”

“Whatya goin’ do with us now?” Horace asked, frowning.

Instead of answering, Jennie pointed the pistol at the floor and fired a bullet between the men’s boots. Both of them yelped and jumped aside. “That’s a warning,” she explained. “I shoot even better at long-range, so I wouldn’t suggest making a dash for it. You’d likely break every bone in your body if you tried to jump anyway.”

The stagecoach came to an abrupt stop, as Jennie had hoped, and the driver soon appeared beside the door. He had a shotgun in his hand and a look of pure annoyance on his weathered face.

Throwing open the door, he glared at Horace and Clyde. “What do you mean firing a gun while we’re moving? You’ll scare the horses, or the lady here.” He glanced over at Jennie, and seeing her pistol, his eyes widened.

“Forgive me. That shot was meant to alert you.” Jennie smiled apologetically. “I overheard these men talking. I believe they’re the bandits who robbed that stage yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The driver scratched at his head beneath his hat, his gaze flitting from Jennie to the brothers and back again. “And the money?”

Swallowing the twinge of guilt that rose inside her, Jennie pointed her gun at the bag by Horace. “I believe it’s in there.”

The driver leaned into the stage and proceeded to grab the black bag, but Clyde snatched the other side of the handle and refused to let go. “You can’t have it,” he argued. “We worked and planned for months to get this cash.”

“Let go, young man, or you’ll be eatin’ bullets.” The stage driver trained the shotgun on Clyde. The two locked gazes before Clyde finally released his grip on the bag. The driver passed his shotgun to Jennie. “Hold this on ’em for a minute, miss, while I grab me some rope.”

Jennie nodded and took the shotgun in hand. Shifting the pistol in Clyde’s direction, she pointed the driver’s gun at the sullen-looking Horace.

As soon as the driver disappeared from view, Clyde glowered at her. “You won’t get away with this, missy,” he hissed. “If you think I’m going to rot in jail and lose two thousand dollars ’cause some female has a hankering to be brave, you don’t know me.”

“Perhaps you ought to have considered that possibility before you robbed the stage,” Jennie said, edging her pistol closer to him.

The stage driver returned and tied the men’s hands and feet together. With Jennie holding both guns on them, neither one made an attempt to struggle.

“You might want to ride up with me, miss,” the driver said when he’d finished.

“I believe I will.” She handed him back his gun, but kept hers in her grip. The driver climbed out, and after gathering her purse, Jennie hurried to follow.

“We’re goin’ to find you,” Clyde shouted as she descended the steps. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done this. Horace and I will—”

The stage driver slammed the door against Clyde’s protests and led Jennie by the elbow to the front of the stage. “Don’t pay him no mind, miss. You’ve done a brave thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He helped her up onto the seat. “Afraid we’ll have to turn back though, so we can turn those two rascals over to the law in Fillmore.”

Jennie nodded in agreement as she tucked her pistol into her bag alongside the cash.

The stage driver joined her on the seat and gathered the reins. He turned the stagecoach around, heading north again. Jennie did her best to ignore Clyde’s occasional shouts from below. She concentrated instead on the thrill she felt as she imagined marching into the bank tomorrow and slapping the five hundred dollars on Mr. Dixon’s desk. Let him wonder how she came up with it so fast. At least the ranch would be safe from his greedy hands, for now.

Chapter Two

Seven months later

Caleb let his horse Saul pick its own way along the faint trail through the sagebrush while he sat in the saddle, finishing his cold supper of dry bread and jerky. He didn’t have time to stop to eat if he was going to find lodging and a warm meal in Beaver by sundown.

He brushed the bits of bread from his chaps, and almost of its own accord, his hand rose to pat the pouch hidden beneath his shirt. Three hundred dollars sat inside—three hundred dollars his parents couldn’t complain hadn’t been earned through honest labor. Not that any amount of honest work would reconcile them to the fact that he wasn’t coming home to the Salt Lake Valley. They hadn’t liked it when he’d left, and they certainly hadn’t been pleased when he’d become a bounty hunter. But the real divide had come when he’d stopped bounty hunting...and still refused to come home.

Didn’t they understand how hard it was for him to think of returning to the place where he’d hoped to build a life with Liza? He’d settle down soon, but it would be someplace new—somewhere he could have a fresh start. And with God’s help, he’d be ready for that soon. One more job, maybe two, and Caleb would have enough money to outfit his own freight business.

“We’ll come back,” he murmured to Saul as he gazed from beneath his hat at the juniper-covered hills and the distant mountain peaks. He’d come to love this rugged country. “Next time, though, it’ll be with a wagon full of goods and a strong pair of horses.” Saul’s ears flicked back and the horse gave a long whinny. Caleb chuckled. “My apologies. But you wouldn’t want to pull a loaded wag—”

The sound of a large animal crashing through the underbrush silenced Caleb’s words. Reining Saul in, he twisted in the saddle, trying to discern which direction the noise came from. He gripped the butt of one of the revolvers in his holster. Neither gun was loaded, but Caleb figured whoever was headed his way wouldn’t know that.

A moment later, a horse and rider burst from the trees a dozen yards up the trail. “Look out,” a female voice yelled as the pair raced toward Caleb.

A woman? Out here? Caleb released his grip on the gun and wordlessly jerked his horse out of the way.

“You should leave,” the woman added, thundering past him. Her dress flapped in the wind, revealing men’s trousers under the skirt. Long red hair spilled out from beneath her cowboy hat.

Caleb peered after the retreating figure. Where would she be going in such a rush and why would she tell him to leave? Shaking his head in bewilderment, he faced forward again. Only this time he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of several horses riding hard in his direction. Someone was coming down the trail after the woman.

Out of instinct, Caleb scanned the area for a place of defense against those coming his way. To his right, on a small rise above the trail, a patch of trees provided both cover and a lookout position. He wouldn’t take action—not yet, anyway. This wasn’t his fight. He didn’t know the circumstances and he didn’t want to run the risk of being killed, or worse, having to kill a man—again. Still, from the sounds of it, there were several men coming after that woman. He’d stay out of the conflict for now, but if they appeared ready to hurt her, he’d be on hand to intervene.