The red silk turban on her head moves hypnotically as the old gypsy woman's brown eyes close, revealing the abundance of cornflower blue eyeshadow on her lid. I'm trying to conceal a giggle as I watch her mouth move in weird incantations from the corner of the one eye I have open. The lights flicker, once, twice. I try pulling my hand out of hers as convulsions begin shaking her body, but her grip has tightened like a hawk soaring the mountaintops with a prized morsel for her hungry babes on mine. I watch as her eyes dramatically roll up, then down, and to each side, her giant false eyelashes fluttering and coughing. The corners of my lips rise against my will as I further contain my mirth. The crystal ball between us fills with smoke, and a thin fog gathers around the table, as if on cue. The room darkens, the air becomes still, and the single candle on the table lights up spontaneously. The only sound in the room is the giggle that comes from the pit of my belly that I can no longer contain.
I'm still giggling as I drop the $20 bill in the makeshift bag beside the door of her wagon. The asking price was only $5, but I enjoyed the theatrics, so I tipped her more. I open the door, and immediately stop giggling. There is dirt where there was pavement before. I catch sight of a tumbleweed just within my peripheral vision. I smell horse flesh and burnt gunpowder in the wind. I close my eyes, turn back into the wagon, and shut the door. This can't be right. Where's the sidewalk and the sky scrapers, Central Park? my harried thoughts tell me. I open my eyes again, and she's looking at me, her wrinkled face bearing a knowing look at my caustic disbelief. I close my eyes again and open the door, hoping to find myself back in the city that was out there when I came in, back in 2010 New York City, not lost somewhere in 1880's Wild West.
The dirt is still there, and the smells confirm it. I feel a force at my back as I am nudged out the door.
I'm still giggling as I drop the $20 bill in the makeshift bag beside the door of her wagon. The asking price was only $5, but I enjoyed the theatrics, so I tipped her more. I open the door, and immediately stop giggling. There is dirt where there was pavement before. I catch sight of a tumbleweed just within my peripheral vision. I smell horse flesh and burnt gunpowder in the wind. I close my eyes, turn back into the wagon, and shut the door. This can't be right. Where's the sidewalk and the sky scrapers, Central Park? my harried thoughts tell me. I open my eyes again, and she's looking at me, her wrinkled face bearing a knowing look at my caustic disbelief. I close my eyes again and open the door, hoping to find myself back in the city that was out there when I came in, back in 2010 New York City, not lost somewhere in 1880's Wild West.
The dirt is still there, and the smells confirm it. I feel a force at my back as I am nudged out the door.
"You have 24 hours," cryptic tidings vocalize.
"24 hours for what?" I ask her, but as I turn to look at her, I find the door shut and locked. With nothing else to do, I take a look at my surroundings.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see dark auburn tendrils on my shoulder. A head check confirms that my usual flat-ironed straight hair is flowing loosely, the soft curls reaching out to caress the wind. I take a step forward and almost stumble. The skirts and petticoats that surround me are heavier than I anticipated, and the iron grip of the bustier under my bodice takes my breath away. A second glance behind me reveals a covered wagon, and it is apparent that I have just arrived.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
The accent on the voice is thick and followed by the sound of tobacco stuffed saliva zinging against the fence post he's leaning on. His black hair is unkempt, his teeth a mixed shade of yellowish brown, his hat resting on his nape. He carries two guns on either hip, and the silver spurs on his boot heels catch the sun in a blinding flash of light. Another man, as equally unkempt, emerges from the bushes just beyond the wagon and takes hold of the horses reins. My heart begins racing as he reaches out and I try to keep out of his clutches.
"What's a fine looking lady like yourself doing in this rundown, hell shot desert town?" I feel his fingers touch my hair just before he grabs a handful of it and pulls, making me his captive. "Take a look in the wagon, anything worth keepin', grab it, then cut the reins. We'll make us a nice poker pot off'n those hosses, and maybe off'n Red here, too."
His oily hands tighten their hold on my hair as he places his other hand around my waist, running his hand along my breast as he does. He produces a rope from somewhere and binds my wrists behind me, threatening violence if I don't comply.
"Hey, Hoss. Cap'n Kane might be ahunkerin' for somethin' what like that. You best not soil her afore he gits his say. Have you horsewhipped an' leave ya fer dead if'n you did. You know'st it too." My wanna-be defender reminds him. My eyes widen in fright despite the cool air I am trying to keep about me.
"Hey, Hoss. Cap'n Kane might be ahunkerin' for somethin' what like that. You best not soil her afore he gits his say. Have you horsewhipped an' leave ya fer dead if'n you did. You know'st it too." My wanna-be defender reminds him. My eyes widen in fright despite the cool air I am trying to keep about me.
"Aww, shut up, ijit, and tend to the hosses already. What Kane don't know, Kane ain't gon' find out. Who's gon' tell him? You?" He laughs then whips me back by my hair. He sticks his tongue in my ear, laughs again and says, "You, Red?" as he proceeds to slide his slimy tongue up my cheek and laugh some more. My face wrinkles in disgust, and he feels every inch of my boot heel as I stomp on his toes, and pull further away. He raises his hand to me and grabs my elbow roughly, pulling me back against him.
The contents of the covered wagon are scattered around the wheels, and finding nothing of interest, they push me forward. The town looms just ahead, but they turn away from it, leading me further out into the barren, dusty canvas ahead. The journey was a short one, as Cap'n Kane, the most unscrupulous of villians the Wild West had known, had bunkered down in the hills just beyond the town. The man called Hoss roughly pushes me forward, and I nearly fall. Cap'n Kane reaches out and catches me.
He's got a mischievous baby face surrounded by a mop of curly brown hair and dimpled smile that could continue for miles. I could feel myself swooning as I gazed into his icy blue eyes; eyes that were filled with hatred so thick you could fry bacon in it. Those eyes had haunted me for years, through the worn pages of a journal, handed down by my grandmother when she passed on. Now, here they are before me, stirring my restless soul and filling my loins with an ache I had never experienced before. I knew at that moment, no matter how dastardly he was, that I would follow him to the ends of the earth.
"I bring you a present. This 'ere's Red, and her hosses. I found 'er wandering around outside Temperance all by her lonesome. Not a nice place fer ladies to be, a'tall."
"I bring you a present. This 'ere's Red, and her hosses. I found 'er wandering around outside Temperance all by her lonesome. Not a nice place fer ladies to be, a'tall."
Hoss spits again, this time his zinger landing near my toes. Kane removes his hat and offers a sweeping bow to me, a smirk playing along the edges of his plump lips.
"A present indeed, Hoss. Why don't you and One Eyed Jack tend to them horses and leave me and the pretty lady alone for a bit?"
At his command, Hoss takes off, pulling his companion, and the horses with him. Kane takes a moment to look me over, whistling all the while. He turns me like a music box dancer pirouetting to "Send in the Clowns", only stopping me when we are face to face again.
"You look like my sister, with red hair instead of brown." He sounds disappointed.
"You look like my sister, with red hair instead of brown." He sounds disappointed.
"I'm not your sister."
"Good thing. I'm not much on brotherly relations. Can ya cook?"
I nod in affirmation. I'm no chef, but I know my way around a kitchen. A campsite can't be much different.
"Good. There might be some use a' you after all. And smellin' you is a tad bit better than smellin' those brutes, that's for guaranteed fact. I ain't got much use for ladies in this line a' business, 'tis all. They always get in the way, and that's how a man finds hisself dead, gone, and forgotten."
"I hardly doubt you could ever be forgotten, Cap'n. Your legacy is far and wide, and will live on forever. Trust me."
"I trust no one, least of all a woman. We cain't stay here much longer. I've already seen John Law snoopin' around; won't be long before he and his posse find us."
"We best get moving then," I answer.
I already knew this tale. Cap'n Kane tangles with the Temperance sheriff, who puts him in jail where some other rival puts a bullet between his blue eyes. I had 23 hours, and if I had any say in it, today would not be the day he died, despite what history said.
My horses are added to the rest, and saddled down with gear. Kane ties my wrists again, despite my insistence that I would not flee, and drops me on the front of his saddle. We manage to put a little distance between us and the town when a shot is heard and the party comes to an abrupt stop.
My horses are added to the rest, and saddled down with gear. Kane ties my wrists again, despite my insistence that I would not flee, and drops me on the front of his saddle. We manage to put a little distance between us and the town when a shot is heard and the party comes to an abrupt stop.
"Down! Now!!" Kane orders, sliding me off the saddle as he pulls out his pistol. "You know how to use a gun, Red?"
"I do. You have to cut me loose first, though. I can't handle one with my hands tied behind my back." It's apparent that Kane isn't happy about this, but he doesn't have a whole lot of time for decision making as a bullet flies just past his head. He cuts me loose and hands me his other pistol.
"It ain't gon' look good for you to get caught with us, not that I'm intendin' on gettin' caught, but that's gon' be your best friend right now. Just don't shoot me." He pushes me behind a rock and hunkers down beside me, preparing to shoot it out with our unseen enemies.
"Saw Coyote Curtis' band runnin' through here t'other day. Think this be them, Cap'n?" Hoss inquires.
"Possible. Them or Sheriff Lucas. Either way, it's them or us. Coyote'd be an easier gamble." More gunfire rings out and this time we can see where it's coming from.
"Coyote Curtis alright, unless Lucas has taken to hirin' criminals. That be Kid Parker, Curtis's right hand. Come on, boys. Let's git 'em."
The sounds of a gunfight are heard all around. I am helpless as Kane takes back his pistol to fight. I watch from the safety of solid stone as they advance on their offenders. Several heartbeats later, Kane emerges from the canyon, followed by most of his crew. I see Hoss, wounded, being supported by One Eyed Jack.
"Kid and Curtis got away, but you sure did put a hurtin on him, Hoss, old man," Kane clapped his shoulder. He turned toward me, amazement on his face. "You still here? I'd a thought you be runnin' for the hills by now." He looks me over in more detail. "You got one of them fancy frilly things under that skirt?" When I nod, he says, "Take it off. Rip it in strips, then wrap 'em up." He points to Hoss and One Eyed Jack, whom I notice is bleeding from his leg.
It doesn't take me long to do that, though I am worried about Hoss's wound. He's been hit in his belly, and even the gang's resident "doctor" can't find the bullet. Honestly, I really don't care much whether Hoss stays dead or alive. I'm only there for Cap'n Kane, and keeping him alive is my only mission today. I leave the men with a canteen of fresh water and look for Kane. I find him in a small grove of trees, his shirt off. I gasp at the sight of his bare abdomen, his rippled stomach, his ripped arms. He truly is a beautiful vision, a bad boy through and through, but fiercely loyal to those who are loyal to him. Once I get over the shock of his physique, I notice the wound on his shoulder. It is then that I notice that he shudders, and his fingers are covered in blood. I run to him.
"You're hurt. Let me help you," I pulled at the bottom of my skirt, cursing myself for leaving the strips at the campsite, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Kid and Curtis got away, but you sure did put a hurtin on him, Hoss, old man," Kane clapped his shoulder. He turned toward me, amazement on his face. "You still here? I'd a thought you be runnin' for the hills by now." He looks me over in more detail. "You got one of them fancy frilly things under that skirt?" When I nod, he says, "Take it off. Rip it in strips, then wrap 'em up." He points to Hoss and One Eyed Jack, whom I notice is bleeding from his leg.
It doesn't take me long to do that, though I am worried about Hoss's wound. He's been hit in his belly, and even the gang's resident "doctor" can't find the bullet. Honestly, I really don't care much whether Hoss stays dead or alive. I'm only there for Cap'n Kane, and keeping him alive is my only mission today. I leave the men with a canteen of fresh water and look for Kane. I find him in a small grove of trees, his shirt off. I gasp at the sight of his bare abdomen, his rippled stomach, his ripped arms. He truly is a beautiful vision, a bad boy through and through, but fiercely loyal to those who are loyal to him. Once I get over the shock of his physique, I notice the wound on his shoulder. It is then that I notice that he shudders, and his fingers are covered in blood. I run to him.
"You're hurt. Let me help you," I pulled at the bottom of my skirt, cursing myself for leaving the strips at the campsite, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'm fine. This little thing ain't nothin'. Gettin' the bullet out's the hardest part. I don't need no woman fussin' over me." With that, he pulls the bullet free and tosses it to me. "Here's a souvenir for you. Not many woman can lay claim to that."
"What makes you think I want your souvenir?"
"You din't run away when you had the chance." His eyes meet mine, and I'm not sure what I see in them. It's as if he has never known the love of a woman before, yet I know that can't be true. Everything I have ever read about him showed he was a playboy, never wanting for a woman. Still, I can't deny the lost look in his eyes. Perhaps it is love that he is lacking, after all.
"Should I?"
"Yes. You should be runnin' towards Temperance yellin' to Sheriff Lucas about me 'n my boys lootin' and stealin' your horses and your integrity."
"My integrity hasn't been touched, and those aren't my horses," I state. "I can't think of any other place I'd rather be then right here, right now."
"So, you'd rather be here with me shot up, then somewhere else and me whole, eh?" His eyes danced in amusement. "I can think of several places I'd rather be then right here with my kid sister."
"I'm not your sister."
He let out a long, deep sigh. "Last time I saw Cat, she was 8 years old, brown pigtails, freckles all over her face. Just as mean as an 8 year old can be. That was nigh on ten years ago, at least. I heard that she is all grown up and married herself a John Law these days. As much as I'd love to see her, I can't say as her husband be too happy to see the likes a' me."
He turns his eyes away from mine, tending to his wound again. He winces as the whiskey hits the torn and bloodied skin, but allows me to wrap it up. Against my better judgment, I take advantage of the close proximity and run my hands over his chest and down his arms. I press in and plant a kiss on his cheek, surprised at the smoothness of it. He pushes me away, not unkindly.
"Ain't got time for none a' that, now. We best get on the move before Coyote gets his second wind. The man can't stand nobody to best him, and I just did. Me thinks we better our odds in Temperance. Even Coyote won't try nothin' there."
My heart grows heavy as the day winds down. I know that I don't have much longer to spend with Kane. The dreams of my childhood don't hold a candle to this experience, and I found myself loving him completely, totally, utterly. I give him as much of my love as I can, short of crossing that line of no return. I fight sleep, knowing when I awake, this will all be gone, but it overtakes me anyway.
My heart grows heavy as the day winds down. I know that I don't have much longer to spend with Kane. The dreams of my childhood don't hold a candle to this experience, and I found myself loving him completely, totally, utterly. I give him as much of my love as I can, short of crossing that line of no return. I fight sleep, knowing when I awake, this will all be gone, but it overtakes me anyway.
*********************************
I wake up to the sun shining through my studio window, the Empire State Building stabbing the cerulean horizon. I roll over to get out of bed, and something hard bites into my ribs. I reach down and pick it up. My hand opens and I find the bullet, worn, still with blood stains. I close my hand around it and touch my heart. I fumble through my nightstand, searching for the journal. I bring it out, open it to the last page which contains a newspaper clipping:
""Captain" Kane William Shaw died yesterday, October 26, 1902. He was shot dead in his sleep. He is survived by his wife, Amanda "Red" Shaw, and their 3 children. It is rumored that he was shot by Billy "Kid" Parker, the sole survivor of the old Coyote Clan."
My smile widens. I knew Kane, my beloved childhood hero, that great-great-great-great uncle I never knew, had to die someday, but this sure beats a bullet between his eyes locked in a jail cell, never knowing true love, in the Wild, Wild West.
My smile widens. I knew Kane, my beloved childhood hero, that great-great-great-great uncle I never knew, had to die someday, but this sure beats a bullet between his eyes locked in a jail cell, never knowing true love, in the Wild, Wild West.
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