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filemyclaimDixie is utterly calm as the chilled steel of the gun is jammed into her shoulderblade. If she panics now, Brisco will end up shredded in two. Well, if she wanted a boyfriend who came in pieces she’d have fallen in love with a mannequin.
He makes it out alive. She never doubted he would. Whatever magic the man bears – enough to set her still in mid-stride – stops him from being marched off to the gallows and she an uncertain fate in San Francisco.
“Are you all right?” she asks, dusting his shoulder.
“Fine, fine. Get Comet!”
She whistles, but the horse doesn’t come. “I believe I’ve trod into your domain,” she says wryly.
When he whistles, Comet gallops up, holding her mare’s reins between his teeth. “Look,” she says, prying the thongs of leather from between his teeth, “they took care of each other.”
“Well, wouldya look at that,” Brisco says, mounting up.
“He learned well from his master,” Dixie noted wryly, saddling up beside him.
“You’ve never needed me to save you, Dix – just to give you a kick in the britches when you ride off the trail.”
“I think I’m good at keeping on course.” She flicks the reins lightly. “Where are we going, Brisco?”
“As far from here as we can get. YAH!” he shouts, kicking Comet into a heavy canter. “Come on, Dix!”
She clicks her tongue, urging her mare onward. They’ll have to make tracks as quickly as they can if they want to beat Bowler and Smiles.
***
The coin's still warm in her hand as she sits down beside the campfire hours later. Bowler knows his way around a sack of dried beans, and her two admirers are playing the low parts of Carmen for him to sing to. She'll find out later that he used to sing in a choir with his mamma and understand why his bass is so resonant.
She feels Brisco instead of seeing him, her eyes focused on the campfire they've made. "Heroine of the revolution?"
"You were there - though I suppose I could have been more heroic."
"I told you you're as good as gold." He holds out his palm. "Let me touch it?"
"I suppose so. Haven't said no to you touching me lately, have I?"
He flushes, and before she knows it they start talking - actually talking for once - about what they want out of this relationship. The conclusion is the same now as it was then - she wants to settle down. He's afraid he's his own father. The patterns will repeat; they're too stubborn to change them now.
Somehow, they end up making out on the seat of a buckboard like a couple of teenagers courting. Now she doesn't need to think of anything but the smell of his skin and the way his arms hold her tight. She seizes the moment and runs.
***
The Los Scados hasn't changed since the last time she saw it - when she was a foolish eighteen year old running into Doc's arms. The sisters all know her name, even in disguise; and once more, they don't castigate her as she strips off the vestments they so treasure.
"Myra," the mother superior says intently as her fellow sisters bind Smiles' hands, "be careful with the crowd you've chosen..."
"Well, I don't quite think I chose them," she says, folding the wimple away with respect.
Something flashes in the woman's eyes as she takes the clothing from Dixie's outstretched hand. They're watching Brisco and Bowler accept a small pack of jerky and beans from the kitchen. "You like the short one, don't you?" the mother superior whispers softly.
Dixie smiles. "We suit each other, I suppose."
"Good," she grins right back. "After what happened with that McCoy fellow..."
"Don't worry about him," Dixie replies. "He's long gone."
This lady - who drew her so gently into womanhood and had accepted her in spite of her inability to become one with the order - kissed her forehead. "God be with you, Myra."
"And with you too, sister," she replies softly. One more hug, one more touch upon her cheek.
And they're off again.
He makes it out alive. She never doubted he would. Whatever magic the man bears – enough to set her still in mid-stride – stops him from being marched off to the gallows and she an uncertain fate in San Francisco.
“Are you all right?” she asks, dusting his shoulder.
“Fine, fine. Get Comet!”
She whistles, but the horse doesn’t come. “I believe I’ve trod into your domain,” she says wryly.
When he whistles, Comet gallops up, holding her mare’s reins between his teeth. “Look,” she says, prying the thongs of leather from between his teeth, “they took care of each other.”
“Well, wouldya look at that,” Brisco says, mounting up.
“He learned well from his master,” Dixie noted wryly, saddling up beside him.
“You’ve never needed me to save you, Dix – just to give you a kick in the britches when you ride off the trail.”
“I think I’m good at keeping on course.” She flicks the reins lightly. “Where are we going, Brisco?”
“As far from here as we can get. YAH!” he shouts, kicking Comet into a heavy canter. “Come on, Dix!”
She clicks her tongue, urging her mare onward. They’ll have to make tracks as quickly as they can if they want to beat Bowler and Smiles.
***
The coin's still warm in her hand as she sits down beside the campfire hours later. Bowler knows his way around a sack of dried beans, and her two admirers are playing the low parts of Carmen for him to sing to. She'll find out later that he used to sing in a choir with his mamma and understand why his bass is so resonant.
She feels Brisco instead of seeing him, her eyes focused on the campfire they've made. "Heroine of the revolution?"
"You were there - though I suppose I could have been more heroic."
"I told you you're as good as gold." He holds out his palm. "Let me touch it?"
"I suppose so. Haven't said no to you touching me lately, have I?"
He flushes, and before she knows it they start talking - actually talking for once - about what they want out of this relationship. The conclusion is the same now as it was then - she wants to settle down. He's afraid he's his own father. The patterns will repeat; they're too stubborn to change them now.
Somehow, they end up making out on the seat of a buckboard like a couple of teenagers courting. Now she doesn't need to think of anything but the smell of his skin and the way his arms hold her tight. She seizes the moment and runs.
***
The Los Scados hasn't changed since the last time she saw it - when she was a foolish eighteen year old running into Doc's arms. The sisters all know her name, even in disguise; and once more, they don't castigate her as she strips off the vestments they so treasure.
"Myra," the mother superior says intently as her fellow sisters bind Smiles' hands, "be careful with the crowd you've chosen..."
"Well, I don't quite think I chose them," she says, folding the wimple away with respect.
Something flashes in the woman's eyes as she takes the clothing from Dixie's outstretched hand. They're watching Brisco and Bowler accept a small pack of jerky and beans from the kitchen. "You like the short one, don't you?" the mother superior whispers softly.
Dixie smiles. "We suit each other, I suppose."
"Good," she grins right back. "After what happened with that McCoy fellow..."
"Don't worry about him," Dixie replies. "He's long gone."
This lady - who drew her so gently into womanhood and had accepted her in spite of her inability to become one with the order - kissed her forehead. "God be with you, Myra."
"And with you too, sister," she replies softly. One more hug, one more touch upon her cheek.
And they're off again.
