Charles West - Lawless Prairie

“Well, good mornin’, missy,” Zach Clayton muttered as he watched the young lady guide her horse along the river trace. Waiting until she had created a sizable lead, he then descended the low bank, stepped up in the saddle, and, matching Joanna’s pace, started out after her.

Before he saw her, Rowdy alerted him that someone was coming. He moved up through the willows until he could see the trail that wound along the bank. With his rifle raised and ready to fire, he waited until the rider appeared. It was Joanna riding one of his Indian ponies, the little mare that she had adopted for her own. His heart quickened as he lowered his rifle and ran to meet her.

She urged her horse into the shallow water and crossed over to the little island where he stood, ready to catch her in his arms as she stepped down. Their embrace was long and passionate, and would not have ended so suddenly but for the voice behind them.

“I hope I ain’t interruptin’,” Clayton said.

Clint cast Joanna aside and reached for his rifle on the ground only to confront Clayton sitting on his horse, his own rifle trained on him. “Now, see, there you go again,” Clayton said. “Every time I see you, you’re pointin’ that rifle at me, and I’ve already got mine aimed right about your gut. So why don’t you just lay that weapon back down where it was and we’ll talk?”

“I can’t do it, Clayton,” Clint replied emphatically. “I got railroaded the last time I listened to you, and I ain’t goin’ back to that prison. I reckon you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

“No, Clint!” Joanna begged. “He’ll kill you!”

“Better listen to her, Clint. You ain’t no killer. Besides, I didn’t come here to talk to you. I rode all the way over here to talk to this young lady.” He smiled at Joanna. “Good mornin’ to you, ma’am. I came to bring you some bad news. There was two men shot dead over in Coulson last week, both fugitives from the Wyoming Territorial Prison. I got their names right here on a death certificate—Clell Ballenger and Clint Conner. I recollect you had some interest in Conner. I’m sorry to have to bring you the news of his untimely death, but I thought you’d wanna know.”

He put the papers back inside his coat pocket and slipped his rifle back in the saddle sling. “I guess I’ll be goin’ now. I’ve got a long ride back to Cheyenne.” He smiled at Clint. “You young folks carry on with what you were doin’ . . . Mr. Allen.”

He turned his horse and climbed up the bank, and then he was gone.

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First Printing, February 2009

Copyright © Charles G. West, 2009

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