‘Then your friends die one by one until you do.’
After surviving a series of traumatic events, Maggie O’Bannen is at last starting to heal and the scars of the past are fading. Not to mention that things with her close friend Doc John Simpkins could be about to get interesting. However, the depiction of her exploits in a series of dime novels mean her reputation reaches far and wide and when a couple of down on their luck gunmen believe what they read, they hatch a plan to make Maggie their quarry in a deadly hunt.
A bungled bank robbery, a kidnapping and the arrival of an old friend bearing bad news are only the beginning as Maggie is drawn into a fight for her life. Armed with a short temper, outlaw Frank O’Bannen’s Schofield and the resolve to use both, she refuses to let anyone stand in her way.
Outnumbered and outgunned, she might be. What her enemies don’t realize, is that her biggest weakness is also her greatest strength and when there’s nowhere to run, they’ll be the ones looking for a place to hide.
One
Brownsville, Montana Territory
The split doors of the Lucky Spur saloon creaked lazily in the afternoon breeze. Inside, the hollow-eyed barkeep ran a hand through his oiled black hair then leaned on his elbows to squint out into the dust-swirled street. Mel Sprinter, the local newspaperman, carried his warm beer to a table near the door. The saloon’s only other customers glanced at the sweating, ink-stained newsman, immediately dismissing him.
‘I’m bored with this pissant town,’ Lee Andrews said, flicking his cigarette butt towards the spittoon at the end of the bar. It fell short, immediately scorching the dry boards where it landed.
His saddle partner, Red McGraw, had been fondling his Colt .45. Now he spun the cylinder, attuning his ear to enjoy the sound before sliding it into the holster at his hip. ‘What do you suggest? We ain’t even got enough money to buy back the nags we rode in on.’
Andrews grunted sulkily and pulled a fresh smoke from his shirt pocket. ‘And no chance of making any in this shithole.’
A chair scraped over dry boards as the newsman turned towards them. He wiped a handkerchief across his damp brow and smiled affably. ‘I hear the Talbot place is hiring.’
Andrews’ bright blue gaze skewered him. ‘Do we look like cowhands to you, boy?’
Sprinter made a reasonable living from words but now he was at a loss. Since arriving in town a few weeks earlier, the two southerners had earned a reputation as men not to be trifled with. The baby-faced one, Lee Andrews, had shot a man over a hand of cards. His partner, named for his fiery red hair, was more of a brawler and had already spent a couple of days in jail for disturbing the peace. As McGraw dropped his boots from the table to the floor, Sprinter shrugged and turned his attention back to the dime novel he had been reading.
Andrews laughed and winked as he cuffed McGraw on the arm. ‘I asked you a question, fat man.’
Sprinter froze. Between his pudgy hands, the pages of the dime novel rustled.
‘Well?’ Andrews prodded.
McGraw’s scarred hand shot forward.
Sprinter moved with surprising speed but when he threw himself clear, the chair tangled around his legs to thwart his escape. He raised his arms. Cowering like a frightened child. Waiting. Expecting the worst.
McGraw chuckled and snatched up the dime novel. ‘Easy there, big feller. I only want to see what you’re reading.’
Andrews held up his hand in the imitation of a gun. ‘Bang,’ he whispered, pretending to fire off a shot.
Sprinter flinched.
‘Leave him be, Lee,’ McGraw said, flicking through the pages.
Andrews mouthed boo at the quaking man then leaned in close to see what was holding his partner’s attention. ‘What does it say, Red?’ he asked, never having learned to read.
‘It’s another one of them stories about that woman, Maggie O’Bannen.’
‘Ain’t she the one that killed that son of a bitch Bull Braddock?’
McGraw chuckled. ‘Yeah, if you can believe what you read. Personally, I think it’s all horse shit, made up by some feller that never even set foot west of the Mississippi.’ He turned his gaze on Sprinter who lumbered to his feet, breathing hard. ‘What do you think newspaperman? Do you reckon it’s true?’
Sprinter dabbed the sodden handkerchief against his face. ‘I…I…I erm…’
‘Sit down and finish your beer,’ McGraw said with surprising cordiality. ‘In fact, let’s all have another. Carter, another round,’ he shouted to the barkeep, indicating the three of them. ‘This feller’s paying.’
The barkeep didn’t question it and Sprinter didn’t argue as he dropped into his seat and drained his first glass.
‘So what do you reckon, Mr Newspaperman?’ Andrews asked. ‘Do you reckon there’s a she-devil out there?’
Sprinter sucked in a long breath and cleared his throat. ‘Well, while these stories tend to be sensationalised, I think there’s a grain of truth in this one.’
‘Says here, she’s a force to be reckoned with,’ McGraw said. ‘According to this, she’s killed at least six men and one woman.’
‘I heard it was four men,’ Sprinter offered before he could stop himself. ‘But she had help,’ he added.
McGraw traced his finger over a line of text. ‘A doctor, a gunslinger and a green kid according to this.’
‘So, she ain’t all that tough then,’ Andrews opined. ‘If she is real, I’d brace her.’
‘You’d kill a woman?’ Sprinter asked.
‘If she wants to act like a man, why not? Maybe then they’d write a story about me.’ He grinned. ‘Hell, I’d be famous, like Billy the Kid.’
Sprinter frowned but had the sense not to comment.
McGraw placed the dime novel down and picked up the beer the barkeep had just placed. As he stared at the novel’s cover, he had a faraway look in his eyes.
‘I know that look. You’re planning something,’ Andrews said, his excitement building with each word. ‘What? Tell me.’
‘I was just thinking, I bet you’re not the only one who’d like to kill the bitch.’
‘So?’ Andrews urged.
‘I think there’s money to be made if we play it right.’
‘How so?’ Sprinter asked, his newsman’s curiosity getting the better of him.
McGraw ignored him and turned towards Andrews, leaning in and lowering his voice. ‘Do you remember back before the war, when we were kids, how old Finn Barlow used to organise those hunts?’
‘You mean when he used to set one of his slaves free, give ’em a head start then let his friends chase ’em until one of them killed the bastard?’
McGraw nodded. He missed the old days, when slaves and women knew their places. Back then, his daddy had been chief overseer on Barlow’s cotton plantation, a man to be respected and feared. McGraw remembered his daddy had made a lot of money out of those weekends.
‘What does that have to do with me killing Maggie O’Bannen?’ Andrews asked.
‘Don’t you see? It’d be just like the old days, only she’d be the quarry and we’d be the ones organising the hunt. Anyone wanting a piece of the action would have to come through us. We charge a fee to enter, offer a prize for the man that takes her down. Meanwhile, we control the betting, which is where we make our money.’ He shrugged, leaving Andrews to fill in the gaps.
With his keenly tuned ear picking up every sordid detail, Sprinter recoiled from the suggestion.
‘Do you reckon you could organise something like that?’ Andrews asked. ‘What about the law?’
Red sneered. ‘We know a lot of people and the marshal only comes to town twice a week. This place is perfect. Who’d stop us?’
‘But I said I wanted to kill her,’ Andrews whined.
McGraw grinned. ‘You’re pretty slick with a gun. Are you afraid of a little bit of competition?’
‘I ain’t afraid.’ Andrews puffed out his chest. ‘Hell, after it’s over, I’ll probably be more famous than Billy the Kid. There’s only one problem; we don’t have the O’Bannen woman.’
McGraw smiled wryly and turned to Sprinter. ‘It doesn’t say where she was headed when she left the last place. Have you heard anything about that?’
‘N-nothing. Like you say, it’s probably all horse shit anyway.’ Sprinter pushed away from the table and stood up, eager to leave. ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some copy I need to edit.’
The split doors banged a couple of times after he barged through them and hurried past the window.
‘What the hell lit his fuse?’ Andrews asked no-one in particular.
The barkeep chuckled and poured another three beers. ‘He’s probably heading out to the Talbot place.’
The two gunslingers ignored the remark and huddled together to formulate a plan.
‘First we need to find out where Maggie O’Bannen is. She shouldn’t be hard to track down but if she is then we send out a few wires inviting interested parties to the hunt and offering a bounty to the man who brings her in alive.’
‘So, we’re busted before we even start.’ Andrews flung himself back in his chair and flicked his cigarette at the spittoon. Again, he missed. ‘Shit! You said that there novel doesn’t say where she went, and we ain’t got enough money between us for another beer let alone a dozen wires. It’s a stupid idea.’
McGraw scowled but let the slight go unpunished.
‘Maybe I can help you gentlemen,’ the barkeep offered, setting down two glasses and taking a sup from a third.
McGraw looked him over then picked up the free drink. ‘We’re listening.’
‘Well, I said, Sprinter was probably headed out to the Talbot place.’
He waited for a reaction. When all he got were blank looks, he picked up the dime novel and flicked through until he found what he was looking for. He turned it towards the gunmen and pointed to a single page. Still no reaction from either man.
‘It says doctor, gunslinger, kid.’
‘So?’
‘What if I told you two of them characters are out at the Talbot place right now?’
‘Noooo,’ McGraw said disbelievingly.
‘Straight up. That newspaperman wasn’t saying much now but he’s a mine of information when you get him liquored up.’
‘Are you trying to tell us…what are you trying to tell us?’ McGraw asked.
The barkeep chuckled. ‘What I’m saying is, you cut me in on the action and I’ll stand you the money you need to send those wires and say, another five hundred to cover the bounty if she doesn’t make it here on her own.’
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