Mitheral
"Growf!"
Backpost
Josie Smith rode astride her beautiful Andalusian friend, Anthracite in her best riding clothes, trailed by a pack mule that it was a miracle she hadn’t lost. She had ridden, hopped train rides, been eaten alive by every type of insect, nearly snake bit, almost captured by Mexican bandits and Indians. Her beautiful riding outfit was caked with dust. Even her kerchief was the same brown dusty color of the West. She looked around and spotted a young boy.
“Excuse me,” she tried to hide her accent but failed in her irritation. But the boy hardly noticed.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Is there an inn around here, someplace decent with proper accommodations for my destrier?” she asked. the boy simply looked at her blankly as though she had spoken a foreign language. She sighed and explained, “a flop house with a stable for my horse.”
“Oh. Why didna ya say so?” the boy asked puzzled. “Yeah ... yes ma’am. Down the street until you see the saloon. Hang a left. Just a few minutes and it’s there on yer right. Can’t miss it.”
“Oh thank you. Bless you! Is it always this dusty?” she asked still a bit peeved at just how much had accumulated on her.
The boy was about to answer, but an elderly gentleman nearby cackled and spit on the ground. “Shucks lady. This here’s a good day.”
She gave the elder man a scathing look, but decided against admonishing the boy for poor manners. “That’s good to know.” She huffed a little, her head drooping. “Come along Anthracite. Let’s get some trail dust off of us. Thank you kindly gentlemen.” And with that she urged her horse forward before she said something biting. She was tired and hungry and very much in need of a bath.
At least she soon discovered the boy hadn’t lied. Even so she had nearly lost everything to her mule panicking at the sounds of gunfire down the street. Fortunately the noise hadn’t been so close that the animal couldn’t be calmed down. And she was better on a horse than most women of high society. As tired as she was, she did not hold back on having Anthracite spoiled. Brown sugar and an apple, finest feed available. It was only the best for her friend. Finally satisfied she turned into the hotel.
She had changed her name yet again. This time she had adopted the common name of Smith. She wondered just how long she would be able to remain before trouble found her yet again.
++++++++++++
It had been a week since her arrival in town. Josie Smith had since begun to settle in and make plans to build a future here. She had started with the bank and Mayor, arranging for land just on the edge of town on which to build a school. The Mayor hadn’t seemed especially approving at first, but once Josie pointed out how progressive it would make the town look and that she was footing the bill, he came around and gave the project his blessing. She had specifically requested the least arable land available - with the exception that it would need to be a little elevated, not a place where rain waters might accumulate and drown the children.
The next stage had been to find a good builder. Not that had been the challenging part. She tried the church and ran into a brick wall. When she described her dilemma she saw what she had been afraid she would find in the preacher’s eyes. The man did NOT like an educated women, much less think a woman had any business teaching. But he didn’t come right out and say it. So she used her head.
The church, like half the buildings in town, had been built to burn to the ground fast. It had been hastily constructed on poor funding. The only buildings that were well built were the very inn she was staying in as well as the bank. Banks were always well built. And there was the Mayor’s home. So she asked the preacher when he was planning to build his new church as she’d like to speak with the builder - and she might be interested in making a small donation. That woke the man up. Money always did that.
It drained her funds a little more but she had the name of a good builder and the gratitude of the local church. A week later she had attended two ground breaking ceremonies - the new church and the future school. Josie couldn’t have been happier.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Josie found herself getting nothing but stares as she walked into the gunsmith’s shop. She found the term implausible as the man didn’t seem to actually make a gun, so the smith part of the word didn’t really apply. But he did sell and repair guns. And that was really all she needed. By old habit she straightened her back and walked with a pace that she had only used back in her boarding school days. And she regretted it the moment she did. It was as though every man in the room stopped breathing at once. It did have the advantage of the gunsmith turning away from the man he had been helping in mid sentence, much to his customer’s annoyance and mild amusement.
“What I help you with ma’am? Perhaps the lady is looking for something to protect herself with?” She had reached under the counter to produce a tiny gun that looked like anything fired from it might sting a little and no more.
Josie pointed a finger with her left hand at the other customer to her right.
The gunsmith required half a second to realize what she was pointing at. He looked startled and spoke hastily. “Sorry about that Bill.”
“Quite understandable,” Bill responded taking in a view of the lady and tipped his hat. “No hurry at all.” He gestured to Josie for the gunsmith to continue.
The gunsmith, a little surprised, nodded. Bill was having trouble deciding how he was going to pay for the gun he was looking at. But he turned his attention back to Josie. “Now then, this here gun might look tiny but...”
“It does look tiny. I might be afraid that the man staring down the barrel of that one - if he could spot it - might laugh. Or worse, I might just shoot him and make him very angry at me. I think I am looking for something with more than one shot and a great deal scarier. I like that one you were showing Bill here.” She did a doubletake and hastily added. “But only if you have more than just the one.”
The gunsmith looked a little leery but shrugged. “As a matter of fact I do...”
“What it that thingy sticking out the back?” She asked.
Both men smiled as did the other two men in the store. The gunsmith picked up the weapon and began his speech. “Please allow me to introduce you to the Paterson Colt, also known as the Number 5 Holster or Texas Paterson. You were asking about that … thingy … The older Colt Paterson had to be partially disassembled to reload. But some years back Mr Colt designed something called a loading lever. That would be that there thingy. Now the Paterson can hold up to 6 shots, but for general carry and walking around, you won’t want to load more than 5 rounds. Were you to drop the weapon fully loaded it might very well go off.
“Another thing: the older Patersons had to be cocked each time you fired. This new model does all that for you. It it the new gun the rangers swear by. They can even reload from horseback. It’s accurate up to about 50 paces standing, or about a third that while riding. So if you are looking to scare someone, this will sure do it.’
Josie smiled. “I’ll take one.” Then she looked over at Bill and down at the belt model he was wearing. It was an older model. But it looked as though it might have seen some use. Then she made a discrete observation of his hands. No rings. No wife. She wouldn’t be crossing any boundaries. “Bill, would I be wrong in guessing you know a thing or two about using one of these?”
“You would not be wrong ma’am.” Bill smiled slightly.
“Well then perhaps we could come to some arrangement. I would be in need of lessons. And I would gather you would understand more about the inner working of this fine piece of hardware than this man has had the time to fill my head with in this short time. Lessons … in exchange for that pistol you were looking at. I can pay for both now. And when the lessons are done, we can return and that one will become yours, bought and paid for.”
Bill was shocked. “Ma’am, that gun is worth a good deal more than that.” She looked at the gunsmith. “We will be needing a goodly amount of ammunition....”
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill escorted Josie back to where a dozen men had started on the construction of the new school. He had gathered a dozen tin cans and bottles for them to use as targets. Upon arrival he made her walk out with him to set up the targets - not because there was anything he thought needed explaining - but because he didn’t want to end up shot in the back by some lady who hadn’t the sense to know where to point a pistol. He had already seen her swaggering like this was some sort of game.
“Bill, how do you get yourself talked into these things?” he thought to himself. He carefully faced the cans so that a face on the can was pointed toward where they would be shooting from. Then he walked her back.
“Now then, we’ll just keep it simple at first. I’ll load it this first time with just one shot. Safety first. One step at a time.” Bill spoke gently. He was already regretting his decision to teach her when she reached out for the gun before he had her pointed in the right direction. He managed to yank it out of reach. “Look … THAT … way.” He spun her around a little harder than he intended and she fell backwards against him. He did his best to ignore the snickers from the men who were supposed to be working, but had stopped to watch the show.
He brought the Colt Paterson around in front of her and his arms around her. “Not tryin’ to be familiar ma’am, but this is the best way I know to show you how to stand and sight in. Now this pistol is going to have a mighty kick to it. But if you learn to do this right, you only have to shoot once. Now .. you line up the V groove with this here raised tip .. and squeeze gently … The shot should surprise you..”
KABLAM!
Josie had been hunching to aim and suddenly straightened to jump up and down in excitement as one can rocked a little. As she did so she slammed into Bill’s lower jaw. He bit his tongue as a result and cried out. Josie, alarmed at the sound and immediately sorry swung about - still pointing the pistol.
Instinctively Bill backed off and fell backwards trying not to get shot. Beyond him a dozen men all hit the dirt as the weapon swang in an arc at them.
“Jeezus Lady!” Bill roared. “Keep it pointed THAT way!”
“Oh sorry! It only had one bullet.” Josie apologized.
Bill huffed. “Okay, we need to make a few rules. Rule number one. A gun is always loaded. Rule number two. A gun is ALWAYS loaded. Yes, that rule gets repeated a few times. Rule number three. Never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot. It prevents misunderstandings.”
“Sorry Bill,” Josie repeated. “Can I shoot again?”
“Well, that is the general idea,” Bill pointed out. “Can’t learn by shooting just once.”
“Can I shoot twice?” she asked.
Bill growled hesitantly. “I don’t know …” She looked so sweet and innocent. “What does a school teacher need to know about shooting a gun for?
“Well, now if you were a young boy and knew your teacher was a sharpshooter, would you be more apt to listen?” Josie asked.
“Huh …” Bill grunted. “Okay … fine two, but just two. And keep squeezing that trigger until you don’t hear anymore bangs before you turn around to tell me how you did.”
“Yes Bill.”
++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill had soon worked up the courage to let the school teacher load up all but one chamber. She hadn’t shot him yet. Although he had had roared at her about not squeezing off all shots before swinging around twice after managing to hit two cans in a row. Truth was, she shot better than most men he knew.
Grinning from ear to ear and having now drawn an even bigger crowd, Josie let Bill help her load four shots. She came up a little too quick for Bill’s cautious nature. The man did NOT want to get shot.. She forcefully faced her shoulders toward the cans. “Okay... NOW point.” His voice was clearly agitated.
Josie tilted her head back to look up at Bill. “You know, I suspect that teaching isn’t exactly something you have the patience for. But you are doing very well - all things considered.” She winked and brought her head back to eye her targets. One at a time she picked four cans off in fairly rapid succession. Then she looked back up. “How am I doing?”
Bill’s jaw dropped. “Right pretty shooting. I am starting to wonder if you really needed lessons.”
Josie smiled. “Well, I never shot a gun like this. But … daddy used to let me shoot his dueling pistol when I was little. Mum didn’t exactly approve. She approved even less of me shooting skeet with a rifle. Nearly broke my shoulder doing that. Daddy got chewed out pretty bad. He got chewed out again when I asked if I could shoot again and he grinned. Mum didn’t like that either. It wasn’t considered ladylike. Now how about letting me try to load it?”
Bill hesitated. “Uhm … how about try it with a spent bullet first? That will let you practice without the chance of blowing a hole in your foot … or me.”
After several sessions of loading and shooting more cans in repeated succession - all total nearly 200 shots fired, Josie began to notice that her hand was getting rather sore. Bill, of course had expected this even sooner. He was impressed that she had lasted this long. She was considerably tougher than she looked. He took the pistol from her and asked if he could squeeze off a few shots. Josie warmed up instantly to the idea and grinned.
Bill loaded up all five cylinders, snapped the trigger down and threw down on a line of cans in rapid succession. Then he turned to Josie. “Shooting cans is one thing. Shooting a man is another. Shooting while being fired upon is even worse.”
“Have you? You know --” Josie asked quietly.
Bill looked Josie dead in the eyes and for a moment she saw death looking right through to her soul. “More than I care to discuss. It is not something of which I am proud of. Most of them were mere boys who had barely had the years to learn to shave, much less need to. But it was a case of me or them. And there is but one reason I came out of those alive.” Bill never said what the reason was, nor did Josie feel it was a good idea to ask.
Josie merely nodded. “Well, you’ve already earned your pistol. We can go over now or later. If you’d like to shoot a few more cans, you are more than welcome to do so here - while there are still no children. I can’t say as I would approve of the example we might set once children were here attending the school - and their parents might object. Although, it does give me an idea of a history lesson. Imagine how the battle at the Alamo would have gone back in ‘36 of Texas had had Patersons.”
Bill grinned and tipped his hat. “Indeed ma’am.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill was grinning from ear to ear - a little nervous - as Josie raked in another pot. The other men at the table were grumbling about too much damned beginner’s luck. Josie was taking them for everything they had. But she mollified them by thanking them for their contributions to the future of their children - which just earned her more dirty glares. finally a couple of the men stood up and pronounced that the future of their children as doctors, lawyers or well-to-do businessmen was well assured.
That was about when a new face entered the saloon. This one was a man who had city slicker written all over him. The cost of his clothing alone would have fed the families of half the men in the place for a month. And he was accompanied by a pair of very serious looking gunmen. At least the fool didn’t travel alone - one might have thought. This wasn’t exactly true. The gunmen had thought of this. They were detectives of the newly founded Pinkerton and Co, the predecessor to what would someday be known as the famous Pinkerton Agency. The city slicker was none other than Jonathan Whittemore, son and heir to a family fortune made in banking and investments.
Of course Josie hadn’t had the good sense not to keep her back to the front of the saloon. She had had Bill watching that for her. Bill saw the look of purpose on Jonathan’s face and stood to meet the man’s approach. One of the Pinkertons went to draw on Bill and found a Colt Paterson aimed at his face before he could even clear a weapon from its holster. Bill WAS fast. The second man had tried to react, but found Bill had a second weapon. That, too, found its aim. The gunmen slowly eased weapons back where they belonged and moved their hands away hoping to settle the matter peaceably. Dead detectives didn’t collect bounties.
Unfortunately Bill couldn’t cover three people. So when it came to Jonathan, Josie was on her own. She had her gun and he knew by now that she could damned well use it. But she hoped she’d avoid that.
“JOSEPHINE!” Jonathan roared. “Where’s my money?!” Mention of money did raise a few faces from their routines as Josie stiffened in her seat, turning pale. Jonathan repeated himself. “Where’s the damned necklace?!”
Bill’s voice was low and menacing. “Lay one hand on the lady mister, and …” As exasperating as the woman was, Josie had begun to grow on him even in the few hours he had known her. She was quite the handful.
Jonathan paid Bill no attention, blinded by indignant anger. He reached out and spun Josie around bodily.
“I SPENT IT!” Josie yelled back as she faced her accuser. “I never wanted it in the first place. But you are too damned thick to get that through your head. I said NO!”
“SPENT IT?! On what? Your precious school? You could have bought an estate for what that was worth.” Jonathan was red faced with anger.
“No,” Josie yelled back. “A HORSE!” Josie was fuming mad now.
Jonathan was thunderstruck and furious. “A … “ Then the perfect idea came to him. “I see. Well then I guess I’ll make back a little bit of my fortune in glue...” He loomed menacingly.
That was the final straw. Josie hauled off and slammed a fist right into Jonathan’s nose, sending blood spraying. In a roar of rage, Jonathan backhanded Josie over the table scattering her winnings everywhere.
Bill might have protected Josie but hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Pinkertons. Now he saw the doubt in their faces. Clearly Jonathan hadn’t been entirely honest with them. That gave Bill the edge he needed. His weapons went back in its holster as fast as it had come out and his fists came out. His first punch went at the Pinkerton man nearest him. That was deflected, but the second blow wasn’t.
Josie’s world was reeling. She had tried to order tea to drink at the saloon, but had been laughed at. So she had agreed to try something with alcohol. After trying a few different shot glasses with different beverages she had decided she liked the rum best. Of course, by then she had begun to feel the liquor affecting her senses. Now it impaired her judgement. In her anger and protectiveness of Anthracite, her pistol came out\ as she rolled off the table. And as she tried to stagger back to her feet it was pointing right at Jonathan’s face. She was furious. That stopped the fighting before it really got underway.
“Reach for the sky, Jonathan! Do it!” Josie screamed.
Now pale in the face of having his head blown off Jonathan did as he was told. Since when did Josephine carry a gun? The woman was no outlaw. His charges against her were trumped up. He’d have dropped them just as soon as she agreed to marry her. Too slowly he raised his hands.
“REACH!” Josie screamed even louder. That did it. As soon as Jonathan’s hands were fully raised she got to her feet and stepped forward. Her gun wasn’t even loaded. Bill hadn’t liked the idea of her shooting herself in the foot. Her voice became low and menacing. “You threatened my horse.”
With all her strength Josie brought a foot up between Jonathan Whittemore’s legs. Every man in the saloon felt a kneejerk reaction as Jonathan doubled over in pain. Then she flipped her pistol over in her hand and brought it down on the back of his head. Bill had already taken down the second Pinkerton detective. So she turned her back on all three and reached out to take her winnings - not all of it. She left half on the table and told the men to split it. She handed part to the barmaid for the mess.
Bill had his guns out again, covering the Pinkerton’s. “You had best make yourself scarce Ms Smith. I can keep an eye on them while you git.”
Josie nodded and turned to leave. Then she stopped, her senses reeling a little as she tried to remember something. Oh yes, her hat. It had been knocked off when she had been hit. Then she she started to leave she stopped once more by Bill, stood up on her tiptoes, grabbed him and pulled him down a little to kiss him on the cheek. Bill never once took his eyes off the Pinkertons. Josie whispered, “Maybe another time when you aren’t so distracted. Thank you Bill.”
“Git on out of here Josie.” Bill actually smiled ever so slightly.
“Yes Bill...” Josie favored him with a broad smile.
Josie Smith rode astride her beautiful Andalusian friend, Anthracite in her best riding clothes, trailed by a pack mule that it was a miracle she hadn’t lost. She had ridden, hopped train rides, been eaten alive by every type of insect, nearly snake bit, almost captured by Mexican bandits and Indians. Her beautiful riding outfit was caked with dust. Even her kerchief was the same brown dusty color of the West. She looked around and spotted a young boy.
“Excuse me,” she tried to hide her accent but failed in her irritation. But the boy hardly noticed.
“Yes ma’am?”
“Is there an inn around here, someplace decent with proper accommodations for my destrier?” she asked. the boy simply looked at her blankly as though she had spoken a foreign language. She sighed and explained, “a flop house with a stable for my horse.”
“Oh. Why didna ya say so?” the boy asked puzzled. “Yeah ... yes ma’am. Down the street until you see the saloon. Hang a left. Just a few minutes and it’s there on yer right. Can’t miss it.”
“Oh thank you. Bless you! Is it always this dusty?” she asked still a bit peeved at just how much had accumulated on her.
The boy was about to answer, but an elderly gentleman nearby cackled and spit on the ground. “Shucks lady. This here’s a good day.”
She gave the elder man a scathing look, but decided against admonishing the boy for poor manners. “That’s good to know.” She huffed a little, her head drooping. “Come along Anthracite. Let’s get some trail dust off of us. Thank you kindly gentlemen.” And with that she urged her horse forward before she said something biting. She was tired and hungry and very much in need of a bath.
At least she soon discovered the boy hadn’t lied. Even so she had nearly lost everything to her mule panicking at the sounds of gunfire down the street. Fortunately the noise hadn’t been so close that the animal couldn’t be calmed down. And she was better on a horse than most women of high society. As tired as she was, she did not hold back on having Anthracite spoiled. Brown sugar and an apple, finest feed available. It was only the best for her friend. Finally satisfied she turned into the hotel.
She had changed her name yet again. This time she had adopted the common name of Smith. She wondered just how long she would be able to remain before trouble found her yet again.
++++++++++++
It had been a week since her arrival in town. Josie Smith had since begun to settle in and make plans to build a future here. She had started with the bank and Mayor, arranging for land just on the edge of town on which to build a school. The Mayor hadn’t seemed especially approving at first, but once Josie pointed out how progressive it would make the town look and that she was footing the bill, he came around and gave the project his blessing. She had specifically requested the least arable land available - with the exception that it would need to be a little elevated, not a place where rain waters might accumulate and drown the children.
The next stage had been to find a good builder. Not that had been the challenging part. She tried the church and ran into a brick wall. When she described her dilemma she saw what she had been afraid she would find in the preacher’s eyes. The man did NOT like an educated women, much less think a woman had any business teaching. But he didn’t come right out and say it. So she used her head.
The church, like half the buildings in town, had been built to burn to the ground fast. It had been hastily constructed on poor funding. The only buildings that were well built were the very inn she was staying in as well as the bank. Banks were always well built. And there was the Mayor’s home. So she asked the preacher when he was planning to build his new church as she’d like to speak with the builder - and she might be interested in making a small donation. That woke the man up. Money always did that.
It drained her funds a little more but she had the name of a good builder and the gratitude of the local church. A week later she had attended two ground breaking ceremonies - the new church and the future school. Josie couldn’t have been happier.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Josie found herself getting nothing but stares as she walked into the gunsmith’s shop. She found the term implausible as the man didn’t seem to actually make a gun, so the smith part of the word didn’t really apply. But he did sell and repair guns. And that was really all she needed. By old habit she straightened her back and walked with a pace that she had only used back in her boarding school days. And she regretted it the moment she did. It was as though every man in the room stopped breathing at once. It did have the advantage of the gunsmith turning away from the man he had been helping in mid sentence, much to his customer’s annoyance and mild amusement.
“What I help you with ma’am? Perhaps the lady is looking for something to protect herself with?” She had reached under the counter to produce a tiny gun that looked like anything fired from it might sting a little and no more.
Josie pointed a finger with her left hand at the other customer to her right.
The gunsmith required half a second to realize what she was pointing at. He looked startled and spoke hastily. “Sorry about that Bill.”
“Quite understandable,” Bill responded taking in a view of the lady and tipped his hat. “No hurry at all.” He gestured to Josie for the gunsmith to continue.
The gunsmith, a little surprised, nodded. Bill was having trouble deciding how he was going to pay for the gun he was looking at. But he turned his attention back to Josie. “Now then, this here gun might look tiny but...”
“It does look tiny. I might be afraid that the man staring down the barrel of that one - if he could spot it - might laugh. Or worse, I might just shoot him and make him very angry at me. I think I am looking for something with more than one shot and a great deal scarier. I like that one you were showing Bill here.” She did a doubletake and hastily added. “But only if you have more than just the one.”
The gunsmith looked a little leery but shrugged. “As a matter of fact I do...”
“What it that thingy sticking out the back?” She asked.
Both men smiled as did the other two men in the store. The gunsmith picked up the weapon and began his speech. “Please allow me to introduce you to the Paterson Colt, also known as the Number 5 Holster or Texas Paterson. You were asking about that … thingy … The older Colt Paterson had to be partially disassembled to reload. But some years back Mr Colt designed something called a loading lever. That would be that there thingy. Now the Paterson can hold up to 6 shots, but for general carry and walking around, you won’t want to load more than 5 rounds. Were you to drop the weapon fully loaded it might very well go off.
“Another thing: the older Patersons had to be cocked each time you fired. This new model does all that for you. It it the new gun the rangers swear by. They can even reload from horseback. It’s accurate up to about 50 paces standing, or about a third that while riding. So if you are looking to scare someone, this will sure do it.’
Josie smiled. “I’ll take one.” Then she looked over at Bill and down at the belt model he was wearing. It was an older model. But it looked as though it might have seen some use. Then she made a discrete observation of his hands. No rings. No wife. She wouldn’t be crossing any boundaries. “Bill, would I be wrong in guessing you know a thing or two about using one of these?”
“You would not be wrong ma’am.” Bill smiled slightly.
“Well then perhaps we could come to some arrangement. I would be in need of lessons. And I would gather you would understand more about the inner working of this fine piece of hardware than this man has had the time to fill my head with in this short time. Lessons … in exchange for that pistol you were looking at. I can pay for both now. And when the lessons are done, we can return and that one will become yours, bought and paid for.”
Bill was shocked. “Ma’am, that gun is worth a good deal more than that.” She looked at the gunsmith. “We will be needing a goodly amount of ammunition....”
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill escorted Josie back to where a dozen men had started on the construction of the new school. He had gathered a dozen tin cans and bottles for them to use as targets. Upon arrival he made her walk out with him to set up the targets - not because there was anything he thought needed explaining - but because he didn’t want to end up shot in the back by some lady who hadn’t the sense to know where to point a pistol. He had already seen her swaggering like this was some sort of game.
“Bill, how do you get yourself talked into these things?” he thought to himself. He carefully faced the cans so that a face on the can was pointed toward where they would be shooting from. Then he walked her back.
“Now then, we’ll just keep it simple at first. I’ll load it this first time with just one shot. Safety first. One step at a time.” Bill spoke gently. He was already regretting his decision to teach her when she reached out for the gun before he had her pointed in the right direction. He managed to yank it out of reach. “Look … THAT … way.” He spun her around a little harder than he intended and she fell backwards against him. He did his best to ignore the snickers from the men who were supposed to be working, but had stopped to watch the show.
He brought the Colt Paterson around in front of her and his arms around her. “Not tryin’ to be familiar ma’am, but this is the best way I know to show you how to stand and sight in. Now this pistol is going to have a mighty kick to it. But if you learn to do this right, you only have to shoot once. Now .. you line up the V groove with this here raised tip .. and squeeze gently … The shot should surprise you..”
KABLAM!
Josie had been hunching to aim and suddenly straightened to jump up and down in excitement as one can rocked a little. As she did so she slammed into Bill’s lower jaw. He bit his tongue as a result and cried out. Josie, alarmed at the sound and immediately sorry swung about - still pointing the pistol.
Instinctively Bill backed off and fell backwards trying not to get shot. Beyond him a dozen men all hit the dirt as the weapon swang in an arc at them.
“Jeezus Lady!” Bill roared. “Keep it pointed THAT way!”
“Oh sorry! It only had one bullet.” Josie apologized.
Bill huffed. “Okay, we need to make a few rules. Rule number one. A gun is always loaded. Rule number two. A gun is ALWAYS loaded. Yes, that rule gets repeated a few times. Rule number three. Never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot. It prevents misunderstandings.”
“Sorry Bill,” Josie repeated. “Can I shoot again?”
“Well, that is the general idea,” Bill pointed out. “Can’t learn by shooting just once.”
“Can I shoot twice?” she asked.
Bill growled hesitantly. “I don’t know …” She looked so sweet and innocent. “What does a school teacher need to know about shooting a gun for?
“Well, now if you were a young boy and knew your teacher was a sharpshooter, would you be more apt to listen?” Josie asked.
“Huh …” Bill grunted. “Okay … fine two, but just two. And keep squeezing that trigger until you don’t hear anymore bangs before you turn around to tell me how you did.”
“Yes Bill.”
++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill had soon worked up the courage to let the school teacher load up all but one chamber. She hadn’t shot him yet. Although he had had roared at her about not squeezing off all shots before swinging around twice after managing to hit two cans in a row. Truth was, she shot better than most men he knew.
Grinning from ear to ear and having now drawn an even bigger crowd, Josie let Bill help her load four shots. She came up a little too quick for Bill’s cautious nature. The man did NOT want to get shot.. She forcefully faced her shoulders toward the cans. “Okay... NOW point.” His voice was clearly agitated.
Josie tilted her head back to look up at Bill. “You know, I suspect that teaching isn’t exactly something you have the patience for. But you are doing very well - all things considered.” She winked and brought her head back to eye her targets. One at a time she picked four cans off in fairly rapid succession. Then she looked back up. “How am I doing?”
Bill’s jaw dropped. “Right pretty shooting. I am starting to wonder if you really needed lessons.”
Josie smiled. “Well, I never shot a gun like this. But … daddy used to let me shoot his dueling pistol when I was little. Mum didn’t exactly approve. She approved even less of me shooting skeet with a rifle. Nearly broke my shoulder doing that. Daddy got chewed out pretty bad. He got chewed out again when I asked if I could shoot again and he grinned. Mum didn’t like that either. It wasn’t considered ladylike. Now how about letting me try to load it?”
Bill hesitated. “Uhm … how about try it with a spent bullet first? That will let you practice without the chance of blowing a hole in your foot … or me.”
After several sessions of loading and shooting more cans in repeated succession - all total nearly 200 shots fired, Josie began to notice that her hand was getting rather sore. Bill, of course had expected this even sooner. He was impressed that she had lasted this long. She was considerably tougher than she looked. He took the pistol from her and asked if he could squeeze off a few shots. Josie warmed up instantly to the idea and grinned.
Bill loaded up all five cylinders, snapped the trigger down and threw down on a line of cans in rapid succession. Then he turned to Josie. “Shooting cans is one thing. Shooting a man is another. Shooting while being fired upon is even worse.”
“Have you? You know --” Josie asked quietly.
Bill looked Josie dead in the eyes and for a moment she saw death looking right through to her soul. “More than I care to discuss. It is not something of which I am proud of. Most of them were mere boys who had barely had the years to learn to shave, much less need to. But it was a case of me or them. And there is but one reason I came out of those alive.” Bill never said what the reason was, nor did Josie feel it was a good idea to ask.
Josie merely nodded. “Well, you’ve already earned your pistol. We can go over now or later. If you’d like to shoot a few more cans, you are more than welcome to do so here - while there are still no children. I can’t say as I would approve of the example we might set once children were here attending the school - and their parents might object. Although, it does give me an idea of a history lesson. Imagine how the battle at the Alamo would have gone back in ‘36 of Texas had had Patersons.”
Bill grinned and tipped his hat. “Indeed ma’am.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Bill was grinning from ear to ear - a little nervous - as Josie raked in another pot. The other men at the table were grumbling about too much damned beginner’s luck. Josie was taking them for everything they had. But she mollified them by thanking them for their contributions to the future of their children - which just earned her more dirty glares. finally a couple of the men stood up and pronounced that the future of their children as doctors, lawyers or well-to-do businessmen was well assured.
That was about when a new face entered the saloon. This one was a man who had city slicker written all over him. The cost of his clothing alone would have fed the families of half the men in the place for a month. And he was accompanied by a pair of very serious looking gunmen. At least the fool didn’t travel alone - one might have thought. This wasn’t exactly true. The gunmen had thought of this. They were detectives of the newly founded Pinkerton and Co, the predecessor to what would someday be known as the famous Pinkerton Agency. The city slicker was none other than Jonathan Whittemore, son and heir to a family fortune made in banking and investments.
Of course Josie hadn’t had the good sense not to keep her back to the front of the saloon. She had had Bill watching that for her. Bill saw the look of purpose on Jonathan’s face and stood to meet the man’s approach. One of the Pinkertons went to draw on Bill and found a Colt Paterson aimed at his face before he could even clear a weapon from its holster. Bill WAS fast. The second man had tried to react, but found Bill had a second weapon. That, too, found its aim. The gunmen slowly eased weapons back where they belonged and moved their hands away hoping to settle the matter peaceably. Dead detectives didn’t collect bounties.
Unfortunately Bill couldn’t cover three people. So when it came to Jonathan, Josie was on her own. She had her gun and he knew by now that she could damned well use it. But she hoped she’d avoid that.
“JOSEPHINE!” Jonathan roared. “Where’s my money?!” Mention of money did raise a few faces from their routines as Josie stiffened in her seat, turning pale. Jonathan repeated himself. “Where’s the damned necklace?!”
Bill’s voice was low and menacing. “Lay one hand on the lady mister, and …” As exasperating as the woman was, Josie had begun to grow on him even in the few hours he had known her. She was quite the handful.
Jonathan paid Bill no attention, blinded by indignant anger. He reached out and spun Josie around bodily.
“I SPENT IT!” Josie yelled back as she faced her accuser. “I never wanted it in the first place. But you are too damned thick to get that through your head. I said NO!”
“SPENT IT?! On what? Your precious school? You could have bought an estate for what that was worth.” Jonathan was red faced with anger.
“No,” Josie yelled back. “A HORSE!” Josie was fuming mad now.
Jonathan was thunderstruck and furious. “A … “ Then the perfect idea came to him. “I see. Well then I guess I’ll make back a little bit of my fortune in glue...” He loomed menacingly.
That was the final straw. Josie hauled off and slammed a fist right into Jonathan’s nose, sending blood spraying. In a roar of rage, Jonathan backhanded Josie over the table scattering her winnings everywhere.
Bill might have protected Josie but hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Pinkertons. Now he saw the doubt in their faces. Clearly Jonathan hadn’t been entirely honest with them. That gave Bill the edge he needed. His weapons went back in its holster as fast as it had come out and his fists came out. His first punch went at the Pinkerton man nearest him. That was deflected, but the second blow wasn’t.
Josie’s world was reeling. She had tried to order tea to drink at the saloon, but had been laughed at. So she had agreed to try something with alcohol. After trying a few different shot glasses with different beverages she had decided she liked the rum best. Of course, by then she had begun to feel the liquor affecting her senses. Now it impaired her judgement. In her anger and protectiveness of Anthracite, her pistol came out\ as she rolled off the table. And as she tried to stagger back to her feet it was pointing right at Jonathan’s face. She was furious. That stopped the fighting before it really got underway.
“Reach for the sky, Jonathan! Do it!” Josie screamed.
Now pale in the face of having his head blown off Jonathan did as he was told. Since when did Josephine carry a gun? The woman was no outlaw. His charges against her were trumped up. He’d have dropped them just as soon as she agreed to marry her. Too slowly he raised his hands.
“REACH!” Josie screamed even louder. That did it. As soon as Jonathan’s hands were fully raised she got to her feet and stepped forward. Her gun wasn’t even loaded. Bill hadn’t liked the idea of her shooting herself in the foot. Her voice became low and menacing. “You threatened my horse.”
With all her strength Josie brought a foot up between Jonathan Whittemore’s legs. Every man in the saloon felt a kneejerk reaction as Jonathan doubled over in pain. Then she flipped her pistol over in her hand and brought it down on the back of his head. Bill had already taken down the second Pinkerton detective. So she turned her back on all three and reached out to take her winnings - not all of it. She left half on the table and told the men to split it. She handed part to the barmaid for the mess.
Bill had his guns out again, covering the Pinkerton’s. “You had best make yourself scarce Ms Smith. I can keep an eye on them while you git.”
Josie nodded and turned to leave. Then she stopped, her senses reeling a little as she tried to remember something. Oh yes, her hat. It had been knocked off when she had been hit. Then she she started to leave she stopped once more by Bill, stood up on her tiptoes, grabbed him and pulled him down a little to kiss him on the cheek. Bill never once took his eyes off the Pinkertons. Josie whispered, “Maybe another time when you aren’t so distracted. Thank you Bill.”
“Git on out of here Josie.” Bill actually smiled ever so slightly.
“Yes Bill...” Josie favored him with a broad smile.
Last edited by a moderator:
