Once Upon a Time in Lawndale

Author's Note: This story is largely based on the movie C'era una volta il West (in English, Once Upon a Time in the West), Directed by Sergio Leone, and written by Dario Argento, Bernardo Bertolucci, and Sergio Leone. Though the identity of the Red-Haired Woman should be fairly obvious, the name is omitted in the same way Harmonica was never identified in the movie. Ryan Mickelson is my avatar, and I figured he deserved a bit of abuse.

Disclaimer: The characters of Daria and the story of Once Upon a Time in the West belong to their respective rights holders, neither of whom are me. I am not profiting through this story in any monetary or legal sense. I write my stories for nothing and my fics for free.

Chapter One

Timothy O"Neill was in charge of a lonely train depot in the middle of the Texas wastelands, and he"d tell you he did a darn good job of it because of his positive attitude. (Granted, he might be the only one who"d use those words.) On this day, he wasn"t expecting too much trouble. A train would come through in 15 minutes, one which usually just delivered mail and maybe a passenger or two, and he"d take in the mail and watch for potential customers for later trains. Some days, the only person he"d see all day would be the cleaning woman, a Native who rarely spoke with him, despite (or possibly because of) his attempts to "build team unity" and "establish a better manager/employee bond".

He realized, however, that that today would be different when the door to the station house creaked open. A tall man with short blonde hair stood there. His name, Jamie, was unknown to most, a fact he strove to correct in the near future. His black hat and yellow duster were almost as eye-catching as the sawed-off Winchester rifle in his belt holster. Two other doors opened, with two similarly attired men revealed in their doorway. One man with black hair, named Joey, and one with light brown hair, named Jeffy, spread out their dusters to reveal the pistols they carried in their holsters. They walked inside the station house, and though the woman tried to leave, Jamie stopped her. Timothy was not worried about the guns – after all, everyone had those scary things around these parts – but didn"t like these men inside when they should be outside. "Um, excuse me, but if you wish to purchase tickets, you"ll have to..." Joey looked him dead in the eye. "Um, have to go around to the front of...oh, well I guess it"ll be all right." He retreated behind his desk, as Jeffy fussed over the bird in a cage, which promptly bit his finger as he tried to pet it, causing him to yell in pain.

Timothy turned to Joey, who was right across the desk from him now. "Three of you, right?" Joey didn"t move a muscle, but continued to stare at him coolly. Timothy took what he thought was the hint, and handed the man three tickets. He took them, and held them up, looking at them curiously. Timothy smiled. "That"ll be seven dollars..." Joey let go of the tickets, letting them fly away in the breeze. "And, um, and fifty cents..." The man grabbed Timothy by his neck and dragged him into a nearby locker, locking him inside. At the same time, the cleaning woman ran away, muttering things that, although nobody in earshot could understand them, were crystal clear from her inflection.

The three men took up positions around the platform to await the train"s arrival. Jeffy went to the left, checking for anyone who may be hiding. All he found was a stray dog that mistook his leg for a tree. Jamie went to the right, wrapped his duster around his horse's saddle, and waited under a water mill that he soon discovered had sprung a slow leak. He had taken off his hat to fan his face when the first drop fell on his head. He was upset, but then got the idea to replace his hat on his head. However, he put it on upside down under the leak to catch the water.

Joey, the default leader of the group, relaxed on a bench. The heat he could stand, but the telegraph machine that started transmitting once he sat down was a different matter. Seeking to silence it, he pulled a wire out of it. He relaxed, but it started up again, as he had apparently pulled the wrong wire. He then pulled all the wires out, waited a moment, heard nothing, then nodded at it in triumph before resuming his rest. However, soon a persistent fly started to annoy him. It landed on his face, which was full of stubble and sweat, and kept coming back. He tried blowing and shaking it off. He waved his hand, and it flew to a wall. He decided to pull out his gun, and watched the fly until it finally rested on the wall, near his hand. He moved calmly, and then trapped the fly in the gun barrel. Unfortunately, the fly had been over his hand as the gun came down, and Joey cried out as the barrel slammed into his hand. Still, the fly was trapped.

The sound of a train came from off to the left, and the men walked into position. Jamie took off his hat, still balanced upside down, and drank the water that had gathered. Unfortunately, the water had mixed with the hair, dead skin, and other grime that had accumulated in the hat, and he promptly spit it out. Joey took his hand off the gun barrel and let the fly escape, cursing it for what happened to his hand.

The train arrived at the station, and the three men were ready. When a door slid open, all went for their guns, but only a porter dropping off mail was seen. This was not the man they were after, so they left their guns in their holsters. The door closed, and after a minute, the train started leaving. The men gathered in the center of the platform and got ready to leave. However, as the last train cars passed by, all three men heard a harmonica playing over the train"s noise and turned back around.

On the other side of the track, a woman with long strawberry-blonde hair stood, playing an old beat-up harmonica. Her simple blouse and vest and utilitarian pants stood in defiance to the beautifully made-up face that accompanied them. She held a bundle in her right hand even as she played the harmonica with her left. She stopped playing, and let the harmonica hang from the tether around her neck. "Hi boys! It's great to meet you here, but, um, you're obviously not the girl I was supposed to meet." Her voice was enthusiastic, but seemed artificially so.

Joey smiled. "Um, yeah; she sent us."

The woman looked over at the horses stabled near the station house and smirked. "Gee, that's soooo nice of her. Did you remember to bring a horse for me?"

Joey turned to look, as if he didn"t know there were only three horses. "Oops, um, actually, it looks like we"re one short." All three men laughed, though Jamie wasn't exactly sure why he was laughing.

The woman shook her head slowly, grinning as she rolled her eyes. "I guess you weren't hired for your math skills. I see two too many."

Joey and Jeffy lost the smiles on their faces upon hearing that remark. So did Jamie, though he took a few seconds longer to figure out what she meant. All three got ready to draw their weapons.

Jeffy reached for his pistol, which led to all four drawing their weapons. However, as the lady"s pistol was hidden atop her bundle, all she had to do was grab it and drop the bundle, which she"d been practicing all trip. The extra second was enough for her to shoot all three before any of them had the chance to shoot. Joey and Jeffy dropped immediately, but the shot on Jamie had been made in haste, and he still had enough time to raise his rifle and fire, hitting the woman's torso, before he dropped at the same time she did. Time passed, and nobody moved.

Slowly, after a few seconds had passed, the woman opened her eyes and sat up. She took stock of the situation. All three guys now lay on the ground, motionless. She looked at the new hole in her left shoulder. Her shoulder stung, and her arm wouldn't be moving much on its own for a while, but she would live. She buttoned up her vest so that her arm could be held in place. Finally, she stared at the bullet hole. "Dammit, I just bought this blouse, too."

Chapter Two

Amanda Lane looked down the sight of her shotgun. Her targets were in sight, so she pulled the trigger. Hearing the sound of the report, the targets flew up and out of the tall grass, except for the one hit. Amanda raised her sights and fired a second shot, which found its target. The second pheasant dropped to the ground.

Amanda"s 8-year old daughter, Jane, ran up to the fallen bird. Picking it up by its feet, she raised the bird up and called out, "Hey mom, look!"

Amanda smiled at her daughter. "That"s enough for now. It's getting late, come on home." These two pheasants would be plenty for the four of them after the celebration was over.

Jane walked back, and spied a couple more pheasants in the brush. She smiled, crept up to them, and jumped to startle them. As they flew up, she pretended to shoot at them, making boisterous gun noises with her mouth. "Bang, bang, boom and stuff! Pew-pew!"

Amanda frowned. "Jane!" The girl turned around, looked at her mother, grabbed the other bird, and ran towards home. Amanda didn"t like shooting animals, unless it was necessary to survive. The last few years on the farm had made it necessary, but that was all to change in the weeks to come.

Jane ran up to her brother at the table outside the house. He was supposed to be slicing a loaf of bread for the meal to come, but was actually sleeping, standing up, with the loaf and a knife in his hand. "Trent, look!" she said, showing her brother the pheasants.

The 13-year old boy woke up, looked at his sister and smiled, before continuing slicing. Jane, noticing her brother"s apparent disinterest, grabbed a bit of food from the table. Trent, suddenly interested, grumbled, "Hey," causing Jane to drop the food.

Just then, the cicadas that had been chirping loudly all around them stopped suddenly. All three stopped what they were doing and looked around. Nobody seemed to be coming, even though the cicadas remained silent. After about 15 seconds that seemed to stretch into hours, the cicadas resumed their song, to the relief of Amanda. "Jane, what are you doing? Go inside quick and get washed." Jane rushed to do so.

Trent called after Jane. "And don't touch the apple pie or the roast."

Amanda turned to Trent. "I suppose Wind"s already left for the station."

Trent thought for a moment. "I thought there was something I was supposed to remind him about."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Dammit Wind, hurry up!"

A young man"s voice from inside the house yelled, "Coming Mom!"

Amanda turned to her youngest son and half-snapped at him. "Fatten those slices, Trent. We're having a party, aren't we?"

Trent looked at the slices he"d made so far, which were about a half-inch thick. "But these are the same slices as usual."

Amanda looked at Trent again, then at the slices, and sighed. "Yes, as usual." She walked over to Trent and put her arm around his shoulders. "I"m sorry Trent, but soon you'll be able to cut those slices as thick as a door if you want. I'll be able to get you that new guitar you've been asking for. None of us will have to work any more."

Trent smiled at his mother, half skeptical, but the other half really wanting to believe her. "We're going to be rich, Mom?"

Amanda thought about her plan, and about what could happen to ruin the whole thing. She also thought about how happy it would make her once she saw it through. "Who knows? Our fates are cast to the wind." Hearing herself, she turned to the house, and towards the boy who still hadn't left. "Wind!"

Wind Lane ran out and started running for their horse-drawn wagon. Amanda saw this and stopped him. "Wait a moment. Look at the dust on those boots. Clean them." Wind started running back into the house, remembered the cleaning towel in his coat pocket, and rushed over to a bench to wipe off his shoes. Amanda sighed. "The train will come in, and nobody will be there to meet your father."

Wind looked up at Amanda. "My father died six years ago."

Amanda scowled at Wind, then looked up into the air, thoughtful. "Hmm, I thought your father ran off to be in the traveling medicine show."

Trent corrected her. "That was Janey"s and my father. Vincent was Wind's father."

Amanda looked sad. "That's right. He was so convinced that Popocatepetl's eruption would stay still long enough to develop a photograph."

Wind started crying. "And now he's gone, just like Katie!"

Trent rolled his eyes. "You only went out with her for a month last year, and you've been crying ever since. Move on, man."

Amanda looked to her oldest surviving child. "Wind, if you hold a butterfly tightly in your hand, it will die. You have to..."

Trent interrupted. "That"s what you said about Penny. Maybe holding her tighter would have kept her from that band of Mexican Bandits."

Amanda stopped the fight before it escalated any further. "Wind, go now. If you wait, you'll be late."

Wind wiped off his tears with his boot towel and ran to the wagon. He stopped as he got to it and turned towards his mother. "Wait a minute, Mom; how am I going to recognize him?"

Amanda smiled. "Oh, you can't make any mistake, Wind. He's young, tall, strong, and he's a gentleman..." She trailed off as she pulled out a letter from the man. "'For traveling, I'll be wearing my black dress shirt and the same...straw hat I was wearing when we met..." She trailed off, remembering that day.

Her two children in earshot went back to their duties, not wanting to think about what happened that day. Amanda noticed how uncomfortable her two sons were, and said, "Um, I'm going to get some fresh water from the well."

Trent sang as he worked. "Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling." He hummed the bits he had forgotten as Amanda started to draw up the water bucket. "The summer's gone, and all the roses fall..."

Trent had stopped singing because the cicadas stopped singing again. He looked up and around; as did Amanda who had just raised a pail of water. A flock of pheasants bolted and flew up, and Trent smiled and watched them fly away.

A shotgun blast was heard, and Amanda looked to the sky, but no birds fell. That's odd, thought Amanda, usually the people hunting on our land can hit one on their first shot. Then she looked over at her son Trent, who staggered, then fell to the ground.

Amanda realized where that shot had landed, and cried out, "TRENT!"

Amanda ran to her fallen son, but was shot before she could make it halfway. She continued running, not being incapacitated by the first shot, but was dropped with the second.

Wind saw the commotion, and tried to get off of the wagon he had just mounted, but was hit and knocked clean off the wagon, dead.

Amanda crawled over to her chair, where her pistol hung on its belt, but just as she reached it, one more bullet ended her struggle.

Jane ran down from the kitchen, carrying the bottle of sarsaparilla she had been drinking from. As she reached the porch, she saw her mother and Trent lying on the ground by the table she had left them at. She turned to the wagon, and Wind was lying there, too. None of them were moving, and Jane started to feel very scared. She couldn't cry, couldn't run, couldn't do anything but look at the carnage in front of her.

From out of the brush, a group of bandits walked slowly towards the house. All five of them, three women and two men, wore different-colored dusters: the men in yellow, the women in brown. The brown-haired, blue-eyed woman in the middle walked up to the girl. Her flowing locks of auburn hair were restrained only by the brown hat on her head and the fur-lined collar of her matching duster. The brunette chewed on cedar gum and smiled at the little girl in front of her.

One of the men at her side said, "What are we going to do with this one, Stacy?"

The smile ran off the brunette's face, as she rolled her eyes and spit to the side of her, towards (and probably at) the man who spoke. "Well, genius, now that you've called me by name..." She slowly took out her pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at Jane, as the smile returned to her face.

Jane stood there, looking into Stacy's blue eyes, knowing she couldn't get away, and thought, dammit, I knew I should have taken some of that pie, just as Stacy pulled the trigger.

Chapter Three

Tom Sloane stepped off the train that had taken him to Flagstone. True to his letter, he wore his black dress shirt and a small straw hat, along with tan pants. He smiled in anticipation, as he had been looking forward to meeting with his bride since the day she left New Orleans, one month ago.

Tom looked around for the escort he had been expecting. Amanda had said that if she wasn"t there, one of her kids would be. Nobody matching Wind"s description was anywhere to be seen. As a matter of fact, within a couple minutes, the only people around the train were a few older men, a group of migrant workers, and the railroad staff. Discouraged, but figuring they were just late, he went to the nearby office and hired a coach to take him to his destination.

After they had rode out, the driver, an older man who looked quite tense, turned to his passenger. "Where did you say you wanted to go?"

Without turning, Tom said, "Lawndale." The driver grunted, signaling that he was not aware of such a place, so Tom turned to the man and said, "Amanda Lane"s farm."

The driver turned back to his horses. "LANE? Sure, sure; that stubborn GYPSY woman tilling SAND for YEARS out there. LAWNDALE? HA! Only a LOONY like LANE would call that hunk of desert LAWNDALE! WHERE does she expect the lawns to GROW, on the ROOFTOP?" The driver continued to laugh as he barreled on through a group of railroad workers, looking to extend the railroad on to the west coast. Tom thought, maybe this trip wasn"t worth it after all.

A bit later, the wagon came to a stop at a trading post in seemingly the middle of nowhere. Tom was confused. "Why are we stopping? I told you I needed to get to the Lane farm as quickly as possible!"

The driver scowled at his passenger. "Oh, I"m SORRY, sir. I didn"t realize you wanted me to DIE of THIRST before we got there! Doesn"t the TRAIN stop?"

Tom said nothing, so as not to anger the man any further. After he was certain that the man had gotten inside, and realizing that time in the shade was better than time out in the sun, he climbed out of the wagon and walked into the building.

The store was sparsely populated with a variety of people, each off on their own business. In one corner a woman with dark hair and heavy eye makeup was washing off her legs from a long, dusty trail ride. A man in the corner was slowly drinking his way into oblivion. Behind the counter, a strong-looking woman with short brown hair was busy attending to her customers, with a weak, henpecked male assistant trying to help her and stay out of the way as much as possible. The woman brought a large bottle to the counter in front of the driver, and took away an empty, similar-looking bottle next to it. She then walked down to the counter where Tom had stopped. "What do you want, you MAN?"

Tom, who was startled at hearing his gender spoken with such derision, said, "Um, I would like some water, please."

The woman smirked. "Water, eh? Well that word"s poison around these parts since the great flood."

Tom snorted. "You mean you never bathe?"

The woman frowned. "Of course we bathe!"

"Well, then I want to use the same facilities you do."

"Fine; we just happen to have a full tub in the back, and you"re lucky! Only three women used it today."

Tom smirked at that. "Used it one at a time, or all together?

For that the woman slapped him in the face. Tom, expecting it, didn"t flinch, but tipped his hat after it landed. The woman smiled at the man before her. "I can tell you"re accustomed to fine living. I bet you come from one of those big Eastern cities."

Tom shrugged. "New Orleans."

The woman seemed to get excited at that. "New Orleans?"

"You"ve been there?"

"No, but that"s where that lying, cheating ex-husband of mine said he ran off to, leaving me here at this dump. How am I...?"

The woman trailed off as a sound of horses coming up to the building filled the room. Soon a horse whinnying joined the cacophony, followed by a series of gunshots. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, including the woman washing her leg, known as Andrea, who dropped her soap into the basin below as the gunshots rang out.

To the front door came a woman with long brown hair. Her clothes, which at one point had looked quite stylish, were now dusty and partly torn. Her appearance was haggard, as she had just outrun and outshot a posse trying to take her in. She walked over to the counter near where Tom was standing and asked for a bottle of some sort of alcohol. As she drank from the bottle, it became obvious that her wrists were still handcuffed together.

From the far corner of the room, a harmonica rang out, catching the attention of the woman. It was too dark to see in that corner, so the woman in handcuffs walked over to a lamp on a chain and swung it over towards the corner, illuminating the red-haired woman playing the harmonica. The brunette walked over to the redhead and put her hand on the harmonica player"s gun, which was sitting on the counter upon which she was sitting. She pushed the gun to the other end of the counter and said, "Like, do you only know how to play, or do you know how to...shoot?" and pushed the gun across the counter, stopping at the redhead"s feet. "You know how to blow music from that? Pick it up." She stopped playing her harmonica, grabbed the gun, and held it upside down, but so that the barrel pointed away from herself.

The redhead continued to play, and the brunette started walking back towards her. As she did, Andrea started reaching for her pistol. Just as she was about to reach her gun, the brunette turned, and pointed her gun at Andrea, saying "You!" This caused her to slowly move her hand back away from her gun. "You don"t know how to play." She walked over to the redhead, and picked up her gun, putting her own gun back into its holster. She then walked over to the woman in black and smiled. "Try this one," she said, pointing her gun at the woman and using her other hand to pull the woman to her feet. Andrea hesitated, her eyes darting between the brunette"s face, the gun in her holster, and the gun in her hand. "Come on, take it already," goaded the brunette. Slowly, Andrea reached for the gun in the holster, and pulled it out. As she did, the brunette spread out her arms, so that the chain was taut and vertical. Andrea cocked the hammer of the pistol, and her eyes darted from the man, the two guns, and her target.

Finally, she fired, and the bullet broke the chain before burying itself harmlessly in some wood. The brunette smiled, took the gun back, and said. "About damn time."

Outside the building, a clatter of hooves brought the brunette to attention. In walked five men wearing yellow dusters and hats. The men saw the brunette, and first stopped, then smiled as she put away her guns. As two watched the door, the other three walked up to the brunette. The middle one spoke. "Sandi, we thought we'd never make it!"

Sandi smiled at her men. "That's all right. You're just in time..." Her lip curled into a sneer as she turned back to her alcohol. "...to bury my freaking escort. If I'd waited for you losers I'd be in jail by now." She took a look Tom, who had been at the bar a few feet down from her bottle. Not bad. A bit dopey, but he looks like he's got some money at least.

As Sandi put on the duster the men had brought, getting ready to leave. The redhead walked over. "Um, hellooooo?" The men and Sandi turned around. The redhead smiled, walked over to Sandi's bottle, poured herself a cup, and said. "The gun, remember?"

Sandi smirked, and handed the woman's gun to one of her men to give back. The man crossed over to the woman, who took the gun, but then grabbed the man's duster and examined the cloth. Sandi's smirk grew. "Interested in high fashion, Harmonica?"

The redhead smiled. "You might say it's a calling. These are really nice dusters, Sandi, as long as you can accessorize them properly."

Sandi snorted. "Like, what do you mean?"

"Well, a short time ago, I saw three of these dusters waiting for a train. Of course, inside those dusters were three cute guys."

"Well, of course."

The redhead sipped her drink. "But then inside those guys were three bullets. Such a fashion don"t."

The smirk on Sandi's face disappeared at that moment, to reappear later. "Heh, that's, like, a nice story, and some junk, but there are two big problems with that. Number one: nobody dares to wear those dusters except Sandi's men, and number two: Sandi's men don't get killed. Does that surprise you?"

The redhead got a bemused smirk on her face. "Yes." She set down her cup, then flashed a bigger smile. "You must be such a good leader, Sandi. I mean, you know fashion, you know music, and you can count; all the way up to two."

Sandi let out a forced chuckle, then took out her gun and spun the chamber. "All the way up to six if I have to. And maybe faster than you." She emphasized her point by tracing the bullet hole on the redhead's blouse with her gun barrel. The redhead returned to playing, while Sandi laughed. "Yeah, play Harmonica. Play so you can't bulls***. Only, if I were you, I'd watch those false notes."

As Sandi turned around to leave again, Harmonica played a purposeful off-key note, which stopped them in their tracks. "Oh, do you mean like that?" She returned to her playing.

Sandi said only, "Um, yeah," and left with her group.

The commotion over with, the woman behind the bar continued to talk with Tom. "Twenty-two years I spent washing his clothes, cooking his meals, slaughtering his damn pigs so that he could drive cattle up to Kansas, and what thanks do I get? A set of divorce papers, this damn tavern, and a good swift kick to my rear end. Then last year he has the bright idea that I'd like to join him in New Orleans so I could replay the same imprisonment he's forced onto me in a new location? I said..."

Tom could tell that it would be a while before he got his bath, assuming he escaped with his life. Forget the trip; maybe being born wasn't worth it.

Chapter Four

As Tom Sloane's wagon approached the Lane Farmstead, he surveyed the scene before him. Just like he had envisioned, several tables of food had been lain out, and what looked to him to be about fifty people gathered around the far tables wearing their Sunday best.

However, as the wagon approached, Tom could sense that something was awry. The mood of the gathered crowd was one of solemnity and gravity, not the gaiety of a wedding. Men took off their hats as he passed, and the women eyed him warily.

Only when he reached the tables did he realize what had caused the mood. There lay Amanda Lane, the woman he had met in New Orleans a month ago, along with two sons and a daughter, whom Tom remembered Amanda describing. All four were laying motionless, and though their wounds had been well cleaned, it was easy to discern the bullet holes in their bodies. Tom descended the wagon on his own, though another man moved to help him down, and looked over all four bodies. It was all he could do to keep his composure, especially when he came to little Jane's body.

As he moved his hand over the little girl's body, he said, "It's Jane."

An older woman near Jane's body said, "Yes. Dear God. On the day..." She paused to gather herself before continuing. "On the very day of your wedding. Now she'll forever be a Lane."

Tom, his voice dead, responded, "She's already a Sloane."

The woman looked around in shock. "What? But we all...we thought..."

Tom nodded. "I know. She wanted it to be a surprise today, but Amanda Lane and I were married...a month ago...in New Orleans." With that, he finally lost his composure and gave into the tears welling in his eyes.

---

The six pallbearers lowered Amanda Lane's coffin into the freshly dug grave, and dropped the ropes, which they had used to lower it, into the grave with it. The priest read from his bible, but Tom couldn't hear a word of it. When the holy man stopped talking, he threw a handful of dirt onto the coffin, as was customary to symbolize "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

As the service came to a conclusion, a man rode up on horseback from the farmhouse. He dismounted and handed a piece of fabric to Nicholas Campbell, the local blacksmith who'd been leading the proceedings, saying, "I found this collar on a nail by the door."

Nick took the collar and turned to Tom. "You have no way of knowing this, but this is as good as a signature."

Ryan Mickelson, a rotund man who ran the local laundry, took one look at the collar and sneered. "Sandi's entourage."

Tom looked first at Ryan, then back to Nick. "But why?"

Nick, who looked ready to exact justice, replied, "Don't worry, Mr. Sloane. We'll make her tell us before we hang her. Let's get moving!" With that, he led the majority of the men and women gathered out of the area, on the trail of the woman they believed responsible.

The driver of Tom's coach, who'd been hanging back to show respect for both the fallen family and the widowed man he'd driven, walked up to Tom and said, "Come on, let's go back to Flagstone."

Tom shook his head slowly. "No, Anthony; you go back."

Anthony was insistent. "Be REAsonable, Mr. Sloane. You don't want to stay out HERE alone."

Tom looked out over the property that, by law, now belonged to him. "Why not? This is my home now."

---

Tom feverishly ransacked every room in the house. Finding nothing in the kitchen, parlor, or the other bedrooms, he had saved his own bedroom for last. He found Amanda's wedding dress, still hanging in the closet. He found the corsage she was going to wear to the ceremony. He found plenty of handmade costume jewelry and pictures of likely relatives.

However, as he spread out across the bed he planned to share with his now-buried wife, the one thing he didn't find was his second most important reason to come to the Lane farm. Almost no money, he thought. No gold. No oil. Not even blackmail on a major lawman. All there is here is this piece of land. Why did Amanda think we were going to be rich?

Chapter Five

Ryan crept down the stairs at his laundry as quietly as possible (though far from silently) to try to keep from waking the migrants and other workers who lived in the basement. However, as he peaked around the door with his lantern, he was startled to see a hand grab for the lantern. He was even more surprised to see the woman to whom the hand was attached.

Having that knowledge, however, he was less surprised when that woman snuffed the lantern and pushed him back against the steps in one move.

The redheaded woman picked up the lantern, hung it on a nearby hook, and relit it. By this point, the workers were all awake, watching the goings-on out of a combination of fear and curiosity. The woman took no interest in the workers; her intentions settled on the man behind the door.

As the woman opened the door, she saw Ryan, still lying on the stairs. He started to get up, and the woman took little care in helping him to his feet. "Hi there, Ryan," she said as she grabbed his necktie, using it to lead him into the room.

Ryan allowed himself to be led a few steps then stopped. The woman noticed, turned around, and pulled the man towards her by the tie. She then threw him around (granted, this wasn"t the strongest man she"d dealt with) into a bucket of water, which spilled all over him. She then threw him into a laundry press, and threaded his tie through the rollers. She cranked the rollers, and soon Ryan could feel the tie constricting around his neck.

As Ryan fought for breath, the woman sweetly said, "You know, Ryan, I'm kinda mad at you."

Ryan, barely able to talk, replied, "I hadn"t noticed."

The woman cranked again. "Stacy wasn't there. She sent three of her hunks."

Ryan, trying to escape the situation with his life, decided that since lying got him into the situation, only lying would get him out. "I don't know anything about that, I swear! I only arranged the meeting, the way you wanted it. I don't know why she wasn't there. I swear..."

The woman smiled. "Silly boy, I know why she wasn't there. She was at the Lane's."

Ryan attempted to shake his head, and realized this was not prudent or, indeed, likely in his current position. "That's not true! Sandi did that job. Everyone knows that. We've got proof!"

The woman shook her head. "That was always a Stacy trademark: faking evidence; trying to look as innocent as possible." She cranked the press as hard as she could.

Ryan was starting to feel light-headed, and knew he was running out of oxygen. "Look, I don't know anything! I swear! I only arranged the meeting..."

The woman, not necessarily trusting the man, but knowing he wouldn't say anything else, cranked the press back the other way, loosening Ryan from his precarious position. If you won"t tell me to my face, I"ll have to find another way.

---

At the Lane house, just before bedtime, Tom Sloane was putting away some clothing when he found a box containing a number of model houses. These are pretty good. She really had a knack for these things. One building he picked up had a little curved hanging sign reading "Station". The attention to detail made the model quite lifelike. Maybe this was her plan to get rich. I guess I've had women tell me worse plans for striking it rich. He walked over to the dresser, where pictures of Amanda and her children, including two with her first husband, sat. At least you"ll all be together, wherever you are.

Suddenly, he heard a harmonica playing outside his window. Tom blew out the lantern and grabbed a nearby shotgun. He opened the window and looked out onto the blackness of night. The sound was coming from just beyond the house. He called out, "Who's there?"

In response, the harmonica playing ceased, and a match, about ten feet before him, sparked to life. Tom fired his gun over where he assumed the figure's head would be, and the match dropped to the ground. It did not ease Tom's mind when he heard the harmonica start playing again.

Chapter Six

The morning came all too soon for Tom, and he walked over to the window he had been at last night. There were no signs of life, other than the sound of a rooster crowing. He walked over to a nearby mirror and looked himself in the face. So this is it. A nice family to settle down with, killed before I come here. A promised fortune, which turned out to be nothing more than wishes and hopes. The life I always wanted, and it's all a lie. Well, that's what I get for trusting a Gypsy.

He licked his fingers to wipe away some dirt on his face, and pulled out a comb to straighten his bangs. Deeming himself presentable, he walked over to the front door and grabbed his traveling case. Well, at least I can't say I never left New Orleans. He opened the door, and immediately dropped his case.

Before him stood Sandi Griffin and her entourage. Sandi's scowl never left her face as Tom stepped backwards, allowing Sandi to walk inside and close the door. "Like, did you make coffee?" asked Sandi. Tom made no motion to respond, only stood firm as he took in the bandit before him. Seeing a response was not forthcoming, Sandi continued, "Make some."

Sandi walked into the room and set her duster down on a table. "Didn't sleep a wink last night. A group of the most unfashionable losers in black rode herd on me all night. I didn"t think you could make black look ugly until I saw them. Well, maybe leaving them out in the desert will improve their common sense as well as their fashion sense. With any luck they should be back in a few days." Tom didn't respond. He just tried to set up the fire, which was never his strong point. Sandi saw this and walked over to him. "Oh for crying out loud, I'll get the fire. You just make the coffee."

As Tom walked over to the coffee pot, Sandi continued. "They want to hang me, those losers. Morons, all of them. I mean, sure; I'll kill anything, but never a freaking kid. It'd be like killing a kitten or something. Yeah, there are a lot of people that want to kill Sandi Griffin."

Tom walked over to the utensil drawer for a spoon and, upon opening it, saw a butcher's knife. He contemplated using it on the woman before him. Sandi Griffin! That's who they said killed Amanda and the kids! One little distraction... "You see," continued Sandi, "I'm not the bitch that people say I am. Of course, if someone were to try to kill me, that could fire me up. And a fired-up Sandi Griffin..." Sandi blew on the fire before her, and the flames grew from the added oxygen. "That's not a nice thing to see, especially for a guy." Tom realized that Sandi was aware of his idea. He also realized that it would only bring the rest of the entourage inside. Hell, maybe she'll let me live if I just play along. He shut the drawer, and Sandi walked over to him. "But then, you're too smart to make her mad."

Sandi walked away as Tom saw to the coffee. "So, this is where I was supposed to do all that killing yesterday? Hmmph. Doesn't seem like this place is worth a s***. Now, if someone goes dressing up like me, trying to hang this on my neck, it does not please me in the least, but I can understand it. After all, who wouldn't want to look like me? The part I can't seem to find is the why."

Tom glared daggers at Sandi. "Neither can I."

Sandi then realized the state of the house, and why it had looked like a tornado had come through it. "Well it looks like I'm not the only one looking for the why. Maybe there's a whole bunch of whys. You know the ones: round, yellow, and when you rap them on a stone, they make that dinging sound."

Tom, catching the drift, turned back to Sandi, who had grabbed a leftover plate of food, and said, "Maybe, but I sure didn't find them."

Sandi took that at face value. Either he's telling the truth, or he's smart enough to know how to lie. "By the way, have you heard anything about a chick going around playing a harmonica?" Tom dropped the lid onto the kettle where the coffee was brewing after hearing the word "harmonica". Seeing recognition, Sandi continued. "She's pretty hard to forget. When she should talk, she plays, and when she better play, she talks. You know, when you've killed four, it's pretty easy to make it five."

Tom turned quickly to Sandi. "Sure," he said with a sneer, "you're an expert."

Sandi set her plate down forcefully. "Um, guy, or whatever, I don't think you've been hearing what I'm trying to tell you."

Tom scowled and grabbed the coffee as he walked over to Sandi. "I'm pretty sure I have. I'm here alone in the hands of a bandit who smelled money, and if you want to, you could lay me over the table and amuse yourself. Hell, call in your friends outside. Well, no man's ever died from that. When you're done with me, all I'll need is a tub of boiling water, and I'll be right back to what I was before, with another lousy stinking memory!" He put the coffee down onto the table forcefully.

Sandi saw that Tom was way off regarding her intentions. Geez, all these guys think about is sex, sex, sex. "Are you at least any good at making coffee?"

---

"Not bad," said Tiffany Blum-Deckler from behind her desk in her private car. "But, um, did you have to kill all of them? I only wanted you to scare them."

Stacy, seated across the desk, shrugged. "People scare pretty easy when they're dying."

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Well, what good did killing them do? Now this Tom Sloane guy comes to town, and turns out to be Mr. Amanda Lane." Tiffany struggled to get up to her feet.

Stacy nodded. "Well, I didn't expect that, but that happens in business. This is something we didn't plan on, nothing more."

Tiffany got onto her crutches and hobbled over past Stacy. "I don't really have time for surprises. You know that, Stacy. Before I got on this train, I saw my face in the Atlantic Ocean..." She paused at a painting of waves on the ocean. She then turned it around and gazed into the mirror on the other side, seemingly forgetting everything else around her.

Stacy rolled her eyes. "And before your eyes rot you want to see the Pacific. I know. I mean, I was there too, remember? You hired me to 'remove small obstacles from the track.'" Stacy pulled the cord to signify the train could depart. "Well, there were a few..." Stacy paused while the train started and the horn bellowed. "But we've come a long way anyway, and pretty damn fast too."

Tiffany shook her head as she lowered a series of rails from the ceiling, which she could use for support much more safely than her crutches while the train was moving. "Even Tubercol...Tubilica...Tubercon...Even Pott's Disease travels fast."

Stacy smiled, and sat down in Tiffany's chair behind her desk. "Oh, don't play the sick woman with me. I knew you when you just had that cute little limp. You got a few guys playing that one out. Now, watching that dry rot creep up a little more each day..."

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. "Stacy, ewwwww"

Stacy stifled a laugh. "Well, a normal person would have swallowed a bottle of pills, but you? You just got a little more hasty. Otherwise, you're still the same girl I met back in Baltimore."

Tiffany, climbing across the now-lowered bars like monkey bars on a playground, countered with, "Maybe, but you"re really different. You used to take care of certain things personally. Now, you're keeping in the background. Pretty soon you'll be giving orders."

Stacy smiled as she picked up the glass of brandy she had just poured. "That's because now I don't want to leave you alone too much. You're going to need someone to stand by you more and more each day. You know, like a friend."

Tiffany knew what Stacy meant. "Or like a partner? How does it feel sitting behind that desk, Stacy?"

Stacy traced her finger along the trim of the desk. "It's just like holding a gun, only much more powerful." She set down her now-empty glass and stood once Tiffany had made her way back to sit in her chair. "I mean, being here with you, I'm starting to think big too. This Lane business is giving me ideas."

Tiffany watched Stacy walk back to her original chair and shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Stacy. I mean, you're trying your best, but you'll never succeed in becoming like me."

Stacy snickered at that. "And why is that?" She turned her back to Tiffany to gather her belongings.

Tiffany continued, "Because there are many things you'll never understand." Tiffany opened a drawer, and the sound made Stacy instinctively whirl around and draw her pistol. Tiffany merely smiled and slowly pulled out a stack of money. "Especially this. There are lots of different weapons, and the only one that can stop that is this." She put the stack away as the train siren blew and the train came to a halt. A group of Stacy's riders rode up to the train as it stopped. "Now, back to our little problem."

Stacy smiled as he looked out over his men. "My weapons may seem simple to you, Tiff, but they can still shoot holes big enough for our little problems. Pretty soon, Tom Sloane-Lane or whatever won't be a problem for us."

---

Tom paced around the main room of the house he now owned. "You wake up one morning and say, 'Hey, World! I know you, and from now on, there are no more surprises.' Then you meet a woman like this. Clear blue eyes, beautiful hands, and she wants to marry you. That doesn't happen often. She says she's rich too, which never hurts. So you say, 'To hell with New Orleans. Let's go out to the country. I wouldn't mind raising her kids, even give her a few more if she wants. Take care of the house, make an honest living, whatever.'" Tom drained the last of his cup of coffee. "Well, God rest your soul Amanda Lane, even if He has a hell of a time pulling you out of the devil's grip."

Sandi took her last sip of coffee, then turned around a photograph of Amanda Lane to look at. Not bad. Could have given me a run for my money if she were born twenty years later. "Still, I can't believe she didn't leave money around here someplace."

Tom shook his head. "Well, if you find any, you're welcome to it. Tom Sloane-Lane goes back to civilization today: minus a wife, and plus a great future." Tom's emphasis on great lent a certain sarcasm to the comment.

Sandi, struck by the situation, said, "You deserve better," as she stood up, grabbed her hat and duster, and walked to the door.

Tom stopped her by saying, "The last woman to tell me that is buried out there."

Sandi stopped with the door open. "You know, Tom; you remind me of my father: the biggest man-whore in Alameda, and the nicest guy you'd ever meet. My mother was the meanest woman I've ever seen, but for however long she was with him – for an hour or a month – she must have been a happy woman." She smiled, then closed the door and walked to her horse.

Chapter Seven

Tom watched Sandi and her entourage leave, and then grabbed his bag and walked out to the stable. He put his bag onto the wagon and prepared to mount it. He stopped himself when he heard a familiar sound.

Tom turned in the direction of the harmonica playing, and saw a woman in the loft on the other side of the stable, her identity obscured by shadow. The woman walked over to him, and he noticed her long red hair. Tom, paralyzed by fear, asked, "What do you want?"

The woman smiled. "Sandi's right, you know. Once you've killed four, it's easy to make it five." The woman crossed over to Tom, who made for the wagon. The woman stopped him by grabbing his arm and saying, "Oh come on; this is no time to leave." Tom backed away, scared for his life, and the woman followed him. She grabbed his shirt and ripped it open, exposing his firm chest. He kept backing away until he backed into a workbench and fell back onto it. He tried to scramble up but the woman held him down. She moved to pin his arms. Twice he wriggled out of her grasp, and twice she pushed him down onto the bench roughly. Finally, after making sure Tom wasn't concealing anything in his shirt other than his body, she let him up and told him, "Get me some water."

Tom complied, going over towards a storage tank in the corner. God, get me coffee, get me water, got anything to eat? At least in New Orleans I could tell the women what to get every now and then.

The woman let him get to the end of her reach, but then pulled him back. "Not there, silly: from the well. I like my water fresh." Tom, not sure what the woman was driving at but not really one to argue, nodded and led him out to the well.

---

On the high ground outside the Lane farm, a man and a woman were making out; well, as much as they could from atop their horses. The blonde woman saw the red-haired woman and the man they had been looking for exit the stable. She broke the kiss to say, "Kevvy, I think that"s the guy we"re supposed to kill."

Kevvy, as the blonde had called him, turned around and saw the pair approach the well. "Aww man! And I was about to get to second base!"

The blonde put her hands on her hips. "Kevin, there"ll be plenty of time for that after our job is done. Besides, like we could get to second base on these horses."

Kevin looked confused. "But Brittany, babe, what about last Wednesday?"

Brittany was infuriated. "On Wednesday, Sandi had me out harassing some farmers alone. Where were you on Wednesday?"

Kevin, realizing he had been caught, scrambled. "Um, we really should get going after them, before they escape and stuff."

Brittany fumed. "Oooooh! Fine, but after this, you"ll have some explaining to do!" They both raised their shotguns and started riding down the hill.

---

The red-haired woman grabbed the dipper cup from the well and filled it with the fresh water. She raised it to her lips, watching the riders approach, and said, "When you hear a strange sound, I recommend you drop to the ground."

Tom, confused as he had been since he got to the farm, said, "A sound? Like what?"

At that moment, the sound of the hammer of a rifle being pulled back could be heard. The woman dropped the cup she had drunk from into the well. "Like that."

Tom dove for the ground. The woman picked up her hat, which had been laying on the edge of the well, and grabbed the gun she had hidden underneath. She fired twice, each time dropping one of the approaching riders to the ground.

---

Across the way, Sandi un-cocked her rifle and smirked. "She not only plays, she can shoot, too."

---

At the town laundry, Ryan surveyed his employees. Most of the immigrants he hired were glumly, but efficiently, working away, washing the clothes that earned everybody's salary. Well, my salary. I could cover their wages only being open once a week.

Ryan was surprised to see the Lane widower enter his shop, especially the work area marked employees only, but was always happy to meet a new customer. "Good morning Mr. Lane, or Sloane, or whatever you're going by now."

Tom coldly nodded, saying only, "Good morning," before walking past him.

Ryan followed. "Maybe you don't remember me, but I was there yesterday when..."

Tom cut him off without turning to face him. "I remember very well."

Ryan stopped. "Ah. Well, is there anything I can do for you?"

Tom finally turned to him. "Yes. See Stacy, and tell her I know everything." He walked to the door.

Ryan's eyes went wide as he followed Tom. "Why does everybody hassle me about this chick Stacy? I've never met her! I just want to be left alone in peace! Is that so much to ask?"

Tom turned around. "Tell Stacy I want to negotiate with her, personally!" He slammed the door behind him, leaving Ryan standing with his mouth wide open.

Tom walked across the street and to the nearby saloon, where he nodded towards his accomplice, who watched Ryan leave for the train station with a smile.

Chapter Eight

Tiffany appraised the man who stood before her. Hmm, he's not cute, he's not much of a brain if he came here, and he's way too fat to be a hired gun. I guess he must have money. Otherwise, he wouldn't be Stacy's, would he? "Um, I thought I told you not to come here. Whatever you're doing with Stacy, I don't want it coming back to here."

Ryan stumbled for words. "Um, Yes, Ms. Blum-Deckler; I know. But you see, when that woman said that she knew everything, I figured the important thing was to come over here and tell you about it."

Stacy, thumbing through a book to make herself look busy, replied, "And you didn't think it might be a trick?"

Ryan, eager to show his boss he knew what he was doing, answered, "Of course, but you know how careful I am, Stacy. Nobody could have followed me here. That's the first thing I learned working for you: to listen unseen, and to watch unheard."

Stacy, looking out the window, noticed a shadow on the ground, giving away the position of an uninvited passenger on the roof of the car. Apparently I didn't teach you well enough. Tiffany's response, "You should learn to live as if you didn't exist," made Stacy think, Oh, that can be arranged.

Ryan turned to his boss. "Stacy, you've known me for a long time, since high school. I even helped you with your arithmetic homework. You know you can trust me."

Stacy walked over to the man who had betrayed his position, accidentally or otherwise, to a potential enemy and shook her head. "Ryan..." She appraised his apparel. The brown pants and tweed shirt were fashion don'ts enough, but his choice of accessories disappointed her most. "How can I trust a man who wears both a belt and suspenders? He can't even trust his own pants!"

Ryan shrugged. "I just clean clothes; I don"t try to set trends like you do. The last time I picked out an outfit on my own, I almost got shot, remember?"

Stacy walked over to a pull cord and pulled it. "It's a good thing I didn't hire you as a fashion consultant. I may have to have a new set of clothes picked out for you later." A nice suit for your coffin. "Right now, we need to get going."

The train started up, startling the red-haired passenger on the roof. She braced herself for the coming ride, and while she hoped she hadn't been spotted, she knew she'd get what she wanted one way or another.

---

The red-haired woman felt the train coming to a stop after a few minutes. The area where it stopped was a rather nondescript piece of desert. In fact, the only real landmark of note was the approaching group of riders on horseback.

Seeing these riders, she knew her best bet was to get off the train as quickly as possible, hoping they wouldn't see her. However, as she reached the bottom of the ladder, she found a gun in her face. Behind the gun was another face; one the redhead remembered from her youth. "I'm sorry ma"am, but this is the end of the line."

The redhead stared into Stacy's eyes. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Stacy calmly reached for the red-haired woman's gun, removed it, and threw it to one of the riders who'd made it to the train. "Let's get her inside, boys." Stacy walked back inside, went over to the near main door and opened it, allowing the riders to accompany the redhead inside. "Tie her up," commanded Stacy. "And not spread-eagle this time!" Stupid guys, Stacy thought, as the riders tied the woman to a support post. She turned her attention to her other male associate. "So, what you were saying about nobody following you?"

Ryan backed up away from Stacy. "I...but she didn't follow me! Nobody followed me! She must have been here before I got here!"

Stacy shook her head as she walked towards Ryan. "So this is how you try to gain my trust?"

Ryan held up his hands, as he backed up to the far door, which had been swung open. "You've gotta believe me! It"ll never happen again, I swear!"

Stacy shook her head. You"re right about that. "Get out."

Ryan shook his head. "No, please, no..."

Stacy grabbed a rail above her, swung her body forward, yelled, "Get out!" and kicked Ryan square in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards out of the car and onto the dirt outside.

Ryan slowly sat back up, his back creaking as he got his upper body vertical. Looking towards the train, he saw there was another trespasser riding below the car. The freeloader gestured for Ryan to keep quiet. There's my chance! If I can point her out, she might not kill me! He stood up quickly. "Stacy, wait..."

His words were cut off by the sound of Stacy's gun. Her first shot tore through his right suspender, as well as his pectoral muscle. The second shot did the same with his left suspender and pec. The final shot went right through his cheap belt buckle and into his gut, and this bullet finally brought Ryan to the ground for good.

As Stacy twirled her gun and set it into its holster, the freeloader below the train car shook her head and whispered, "Like, I told you to keep quiet, loser."

Stacy walked back over to his posse and the red-haired woman. She noticed two glaring absences. "Where are Kevin and Brittany? Did they take care of that guy?"

The nearest man shook his head. "Someone took care of them. We found them out by the Lane place, stone dead. The guy was gone."

The redhead, who"d been watching the goings-on dispassionately, spoke up. "Gee Stacy, people sure seem to die quickly around you; first the three guys, then those two."

Stacy looked over the woman before her, taking off her hat. "So you're the one who's always making appointments."

The redhead nodded. "And you're the one that never keeps them."

Stacy wasn't sure to make of the strong-willed woman before her. "What do you want, and who are you, anyway?"

The redhead smiled. "Lynn Cullen."

Stacy knew the name, and also knew that it didn't match the face before her. "Lynn Cullen's been dead a long time."

The redhead shrugged. "Danielle Todds."

Stacy looked at the woman skeptically. "What's your name? Danielle's dead too."

The redhead continued smiling. "You ought to know better than anyone, Stacy. You killed them, after all."

Stacy slapped the woman before her in the face three times quickly, and the woman just stood there, unmoved by the sudden violence. "What's your name? Who are you?"

Tiffany saw Stacy drawing back to punch the woman. "Stacy! Remember? That guy? We're losing time."

Stacy calmed down and grabbed her duster. "All right, this time I'll take care of him myself."

The redhead's smile never left, even through the slaps. "Yeah, I've been told you really know how to take care of a guy."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Keep her warm for me, guys. If she gives you any trouble, hit her, but not in the mouth. She'll have to talk, and plenty." She walked off the train and onto her horse, and took aside one of the three associates that would be staying behind. "Meet me at the Navajo Cliff. By the way, I want you to keep an eye on that cripple on the train at all times, understand?"

The man nodded. "Sure Stacy." The man climbed onto the train, closing the door behind him, while Stacy and her men went their separate ways to their missions.

---

The red-haired woman sighed as she lay back against the pole she was tied to. Damn, Stacy's grown up well. She"s practically a rival for my looks. It might be harder than I thought breaking her hold on these three guys, assuming they wake up, of course. She then saw a familiar sight out of the far window. Then again, maybe I won't have to.

Outside the window just behind one of the guards sleeping in a chair, Sandi had lowered herself to the point where just her head and arms were visible in the window. Since the redhead was the only one who'd noticed her, she carefully smiled at the redhead and tapped on the window. The sleeping guard woke up, and looked around, seeing nothing. Tiffany too had heard it, but thought nothing of it. Sandi tapped again, and the man spun his chair around. By the time he saw the woman out the window, it was too late.

The bullet broke through the glass and entered the man"s face. The other two guards sprung up and got into position as Sandi raised herself back onto the roof of the train. The two guards opened the window and looked out, but couldn't see anyone. Then again, they had expected to see someone riding by lucky to get a shot on the other man.

They didn't see Sandi walk in the far doorway, but a smiling redhead did. Tiffany did too, and she swiveled her chair around for a shield. At that moment, the two men saw Sandi, but Sandi's draw ensured that one of the men wouldn't have the chance to fire back. The other man took cover behind a chair and started returning fire. Sandi, not being in an advantageous position, darted for the lavatory to her right, put one boot on the windowsill, one on the pullcord for the water closet, and hoisted herself back onto the roof. And they said all that time in the bathroom wouldn't pay off.

The lone guard remaining saw that Sandi had scaled to the roof, but could hear the woman walking on the roof of the car. He followed the sound, gun drawn, to the other end of the car, and back to the end with the lavatory. At the last window, he saw the woman's boot come down, seemingly looking for a windowsill for support. The guard smiled as he crept up to the boot. He stepped right in front of it to get a good shot on the woman, and was fatally surprised when a bullet tore through the boot's toe and entered his eye socket.

Sandi pulled up her boot and retrieved her gun from inside of it. At least these weren't this season"s boots. She pulled on the boot and made her way back to the lavatory, the flush from the water closet (having again used the pull cord as a foothold) announcing her presence.

The redhead looked at Sandi and smiled. "Like, do you only know how to shoot, or do you know how to cut, too?" She turned away and made an effort to display her tied hands behind her back.

Sandi rolled her eyes, produced her jackknife, and started cutting the ropes binding the redhead's arms and legs. At the same time, Tiffany tried to make a quiet escape: something that proved next to impossible to do on crutches. Sandi saw her trying to leave. "Um, excuse me, Little Miss Choo-Choo, or whatever? Would you please turn around so we can look at you, or something?" Tiffany turned around, and Sandi smiled. "Hmph, I guess I don't really need to kill you now or anything. I mean, if I ever need to find you, I can just follow these rails right up to your hideout, bitch."

The redhead interjected, "There's another bitch, and not that I would tell you what to do, but she's getting further away every minute." With that she pulled the brake cord to bring their train ride to a sudden stop.

---

Michael Mackenzie, son of a freed slave who had moved west to own the biggest lumber yard in the area, looked over the mass of goods he'd just finished delivering to the Lane Farmstead when Tom Sloane arrived. "There it is, sir; exactly what your wife ordered from us. Since she paid cash on the barrelhead, I figure it all belongs to you now. Oak planks, beech, pine – all first-grade lumber – then there's beams and foundation pilings, ten kegs of nails, 20 barrels of tar, and all these tools." He gestured to each pile as he mentioned them.

Tom shrugged as he looked over the piles of wood and supplies. "Maybe she wanted to enlarge the farmhouse or something."

Anthony DeMartino, Tom's driver from earlier and one of the men who had helped deliver the goods, didn't believe that. "Enlarge the FARMHOUSE? I'd bet she could build at least EIGHT of them with all this stuff."

Michael continued. "One more thing, sir. She also told me to make this." He picked up a large wooden sign off of a pile of wood. It was unfinished, but the rectangular frame encircled a curved portion that reminded Michael of a rainbow. "The trouble is, she never got around to telling me what she wanted printed on it. If you happen to know, I'd be happy to finish it off."

Tom looked at the sign. I've seen this sign before. Oh yes, it was on that model of the... His thoughts trailed off as he made the connection between the models, the lumber, and the stories Amanda Lane had told him about her impending wealth. At that moment, Tom knew only one word would fit on that sign. "Station."

Michael heard Tom say the word, but while he was certain he heard it correctly, a part of him realized the implications if he'd heard what he thought he heard. "How's that again?"

Tom couldn't help but smile in triumph. "I said, print Station!"

Chapter Nine

Tom rifled through the drawer in which the models had been kept. It's got to be in here somewhere. I've found the bank, the stable, the blacksmith, the saloon, the nail salon; they're all here except for the...

He looked up, and that thought process ceased as he saw the station model he'd been looking for suspended in front of his face. Holding the model in place was a hand, and attached to that hand was the arm that led to the body of Stacy Rowe. She smiled as she saw the look of fear in Tom's eyes. "Looking for this?"

---

Tiffany and Stacy met up at the Navajo Cliff, where they had arranged to meet after Stacy had finished her job. Tiffany was upset with Stacy, knowing that while Stacy hadn't killed Amanda Lane's heir, he hadn't exactly negotiated a peaceful agreement. Plus, the disease that made her legs merely decorative hadn"t been kind to her in recent days. "Um, Stacy? I'm getting tired of these unnecessary killings. I just want to make a deal and pay what the land is worth. Trying to take the land is taking too much time."

Stacy popped in a new piece of cedar gum, the acquisition of which was part of the reason she wanted to meet at the Navajo Cliffs. She smirked at her boss. "Tiffany, you may have the clothes to go out in public in style, but you just look silly out here. You look like a turtle out of its shell."

Tiffany thought about the comment, and her reaction was, "Turtles are pretty; kind of weird though."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Oh Tiffany. You're just a poor cripple talking big so nobody notices how scared you are, aren"t you?" She took a swig out of a clay jug.

Tiffany frowned at that comment. "I'm here to make a deal, Stacy. I don't exactly have the time to compete with you."

Stacy finished her drink and stopped herself from laughing at the comment. "Compete? How exactly did you expect to compete with me? You can't even stand up on your own." To prove it, she kicked out the crutch that had been supporting Tiffany"s meager weight. Without the support, Tiffany fell down, not even able to hold onto the other crutch.

Tiffany tried to prop herself up on her arms, to ensure at least her face wasn't in the dirt. "Do you feel better now? Are you done?"

Stacy shook her head, not to answer, but out of pity for the wretch she saw before her. "I could squash you like a wormy apple right now."

Tiffany grimaced at that. "Ewwwww, worms! It's not like you'll do it anyway. It's not to your advat...your advent...it doesn"t help you."

Stacy considered that, and concluded she was right. "Who knows how far those legs could have gone in working condition?" She called out to her men back at the train. "Help her back onto the train, and keep an eye on her." She went to put her jug back where it belonged, and continued talking to Tiffany. "Oh, by the way Tiff, don't worry about the land. If you want to buy it, I"ll make sure to let you make an offer. I'm sure you won't mind dealing with a new owner."

---

Sandi picked up a spare railroad tie she'd found out near the Lane Farm. Her gloved hand moved away the loose sand that covered a set of railroad tracks and tapped both the rail and the wood to make sure it was real.

One of her posse called out to her from amongst the piles of wood in front of the farm house. "Hey Sandi, there's a square staked out here. It says 'Water Tank'."

Another man stood up and yelled, "Over here too, only it says 'Post Office'."

A woman called out, "This one says 'Corral'."

Another woman yelled, "This one's 'Church'."

Stacy yelled out, "All right, I get it already, jeez! What the hell is all of this?"

The red-haired woman amongst the piles made her presence known. "Oh Sandi, I thought you'd figured that out by now. It's a station, and all around it a town; Amanda Lane's town."

Sandi laughed out loud. "Out here? Was she crazy or what?"

The redhead shrugged. "Yeah, but in a special kind of way. She was a gypsy looking to settle down. Pretty rare thing, but when it happens, watch out. She knew the railroad would be going west of Flagstone one of these days, so she looked all over and found this hunk of desert." She drove in a stake with a hammer from the stack of tools. "Nobody wanted it. Can't really be surprised; it's not very fashionable. But she bought it anyway." She walked off paces to measure distance to the next stake position. "Then she started saving her money and she waited for the last few years."

Sandi didn't really get it. "Waited for what, exactly?"

The redhead hammered in the second stake. "For the railroad to reach this point."

Sandi shook her head. "Well, how exactly would she know the train would come through here? I mean, it's not like a secluded mountain pass or anything."

The red-haired woman continued her work, as if nobody else were there. "Well, steam engines can't really work without water, and the only water for fifty miles west of Flagstone is right here under our feet."

Sandi understood. "Ah, so our dead friend was no dummy after all. She was about to sell this property for its weight in gold; maybe more."

The other woman walked off another side to be staked off. "Oh Sandi, you don't sell the dream of a lifetime. Amanda wanted this station, and she got the rights to build it."

Sandi thought it was making a little too much sense right now. "So, um, how exactly do you know all this? Are you like some kind of telepathic brain or something?"

The redhead drove in the last corner stake. "I saw the document. It's all there; seals, signatures, totally legal. It"s one of the benefits of having a mother who was a lawyer. In fact, that led me to find the one part that might be a problem. In very tiny print, like almost as tiny as those cute little pores of yours, there was a clause stating that Amanda Lane and her heirs lose all rights to the station if it's not built before the railroad reaches here."

Sandi nodded as she grabbed rope to tie to the stakes. "Makes sense. Speaking of railroads, I notice that the..." She forced one of her posse to take their foot off of the stake it had been resting on. "The rail gang's already behind those hills, so they'll be here pretty quick."

The woman nodded grimly. "Yeah, I noticed them too."

Sandi walked over to the harmonica player. "Listen, um, Harmonica, or whatever? With a town built on a railroad, you could make a fortune; hundreds of thousands of dollars. Maybe even more than that; maybe thousands of thousands."

The redhead smiled. "They call them millions."

Sandi considered that. "Hmm, I like that. Millions; it has a nice ring to it. You know, I always figured I could make a deal with a smart gentleman. All I'd have to do is..." She stopped as she noticed her posse standing around doing nothing. "Hey, do I pay you to stand around and do nothing?"

One of the men shook his head swiftly. "Um, no ma"am, but what do you want us to do?"

Sandi flipped her hair back. "What do you think I want you to do? Build a Station! And Robert, stop calling me ma"am!"

The man who"d spoken before bowed his head. "Yes, ma"am."

Sandi turned back to the redhead. "I figure it won't look like much, but it'll be the first thing he sees when he gets back."

The smile left the redhead's face. "You mean, if he gets back."

---

Tom looked deep into the eyes of Stacy Rowe. It wasn't that he wanted to look into the eyes of the woman he knew had killed his family. It wasn't that he felt compelled to look out of respect, fear, or hatred.

It was because, while she had him pinned to her bed, there really wasn't anywhere else to look.

Stacy undid the buttons on Tom's shirt. He helped her as she shimmied it off of his torso. Stacy started kissing Tom along his chest. Her mouth made her way up his neck to his lips, and they shared a deep, satisfying (to Stacy, anyway) kiss. Stacy raised her head above Tom, letting her hands roam around his body as he did the same to hers. By this point, Tom had disassociated his mind from what he was doing, as he had many times before. It was a bit harder to pretend that the woman on top of him was just another nobody when she spoke to him. "I think..." Tom ran his hands along her sides, trying to throw her off. It didn't last long. "I think I'm going to be a little bit sorry killing you. You like being alive, don't you? I can see you also like to have a woman's hands all over you, even if they belong to the woman who killed your wife."

Tom pulled Stacy's head down to meet his lips. He didn't want to hear about his late wife, and Stacy reminded him with every breath she took.

Stacy finally broke the kiss. "You're..." She stopped to gather herself. "You're a little..." She felt the front of his pants. "Well, a big tramp, aren't you? Is there anything you won't do to save your hide?"

Tom's face became as blank as he could muster. "Nothing, Stacy."

Stacy moved to undo the fly on his trousers, and as she slid them off, Tom rolled over onto his back. Stacy was pleased with what she saw. "Now I think I understand why they miss you so much back in New Orleans. You know, the telegraph is a cool little invention."

She then made noises approximating the long and short signals from a telegraph while tapping the code out on Tom's back. She stopped after a bit. "Tom? Tom Sloane? Why all the customers back at the most elegant all-male whorehouse on Bourbon Street have been weeping ever since he left!" Stacy ran her fingers through Tom's hair. "I gotta ask, did Amanda Lane know?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Yeah, I bet she did. She's just the type to marry a man-whore." She gently led his head to face hers. "Hey, now that's an idea. I could marry you, and then the land becomes mine automatically. Who knows; maybe you'd be a perfect husband."

Stacy lay on her back, and Tom held his nearly naked body next to her almost fully clothed body. Stacy continued, "Ah, but then I'm no good as a wife. I mean, can you see me slaving over a hot stove with a bunch of rugrats crawling around? Forget it. I guess we'll have to think of another solution. Something simpler. Something quicker."

Tom, fearing that she meant death, decided that now was the time to act, and kissed her passionately on the lips. Stacy hadn't meant that at all, but she was in no mood to argue.

Chapter Ten

Angela Li, the town sheriff, sat at the main table in Flagstone's Town Hall. It was customary for the sheriff to act as the auctioneer for any property auction. She couldn't help but think it was a shame she would be unable to bid on the large piece of property being offered. Still, from the whispers coming through town, and from the group of rough-looking bandits who"d made their presence at the auction known, she had a feeling bidding on the land would be nothing but trouble.

"As sheriff of this county," began Sheriff Li, "I've been asked to preside over the sale by auction of all property belonging to Mr. Tom Sloane-Lane, here present. This parcel of land includes 320 acres and it's free of all encumbrances, liens and mortgages. This property and all it contains, lock, stock and barrel, will be turned over to the lucky purchaser at the time of sale. All the contents therein are listed by number on the inventory sheets – oh, blah blah blah, I'm sure you've seen them floating around. Let's get to the money for me, that is, for Mr. Sloane-Lane. I declare the auction open!" She banged her gavel to mark the beginning of the auction. "All right, now who will give the first bid for the glory of Fllllagstone County?"

Sheriff Li was surprised that the only sound that followed her announcement were the scattered murmurs between the assembled well-to-do townsfolk. The likely bandits remained silent. "Excuse me, I said who's going to make the first bid for this excellent property?"

A woman with bright red hair wearing an ankh necklace raised a hand. "Two hundred dollars!"

As Sheriff Li announced the high bid of $200, one of the female riders, a brunette with a very small nose walked over to the scarlet-haired townswoman and whispered into her ear. "That stinking piece of land isn't worth it you wanna-be goth." To emphasize her point, she put her hand on the girl's face and pushed against her nose, cutting off her breathing for a moment.

Sheriff Li, not noticing the assault, continued. "Come on people; the livestock alone is worth twice that much! All right, who's going to say three hundred dollars?"

A girl with dishwater-blonde hair was smoking a pipe, and decided to make her move. However, as she raised the hand holding the match she had just lit her pipe with, a rider with long blonde hair grabbed that hand and used it to light her own pipe. When the rider put her hand on the other woman's shoulder, she knew this, in fact, was not a good place to make any move.

Sheriff Li, oblivious to what was going on around her, continued talking up the land. "What's wrong with you people? I realize I'm not offering California, but $200 is a damn shame for a piece of land like that!" She realized she wasn't getting anywhere and turned to the man on her left. "Well, nobody's going to bid it up. Are you sure you don't want to set a minimum price? I wish I were wrong, but you're looking at selling this land for a plate of beans. Of course, that would mean I, that is, the county would end up with 10% of a plate of beans, so if you'd like to set the price higher..."

Tom shook his head. He knew this was all part of the plot, and he had to play his part. "All I want is to sell."

---

Tiffany looked out the window of her train car. Until recently it had been her mobile palace, allowing her to get virtually anywhere she needed. Now, however, it had turned into the most luxurious prison on wheels. Out her window, she saw nothing but desert, mountains, and the few patches of grass that sprung up around the stream nearby.

She walked over to what she really wanted to see, herself. She gazed into her mirror, but still didn't really feel happy. Before today, she saw herself as the queen of the railroads; the top boss for anyone that mattered to her. Now she knew that it was all a show. She knew that Stacy had stolen her position out from under her, and she was left impotent. What was worse, she felt death coming a little faster every day. As unfashionable as it was to have the Tuberculosis she had, the fact that it was killing her was slightly worse.

She turned the mirror over, and on its back was the painting of waves on the sea she had picked up back east. She always loved the water. It was so calm and peaceful, even when the sea was crashing all around. If the water was slow enough, well, then she could see herself, just like in the mirror. She had heard the water on the West Coast was that peaceful. That's why they called it the Pacific. She knew she had to get there, if it was the last thing she did.

She turned around when she heard what sounded like one of the boys guarding her talking about her. It turned out they were just playing cards to pass the time. The stakes were small, but then Stacy never really had to pay the boys much to get her way. Seizing on an idea, she walked over to their table, which happened to be her desk, and asked, "Um, can I play a hand?"

The man sitting in Tiffany's chair looked at Tiffany for a moment, shrugged, and put down a couple bills. "I bet fifteen." One by one, the other men folded their hands, allowing him to take the pot. He smiled and looked back up at the woman he was told to keep prisoner, knowing she was bound to have the stakes to play, but not necessarily the smarts to win. "Sure, sit down!"

Tiffany maneuvered into the chair they offered her. When the man in her normal chair started shuffling the cards, she asked, "Um, can I deal?"

The man eyed her warily, disbelieving that she knew how to play poker, never mind deal, but decided to hand her the deck. "Sure, why not?" He was surprised when she put the deck onto the table without shuffling, but not as surprised as he was when she took out a stack of $100 bills and shuffled them instead. She dealt them out, five to each man, while the men sat in awe of the stack of money placed before each of them. The same man who handed her the cards now checked the bills before him and asked, "So, um, how do you play this game, Ms. Blum-Deckler?"

Tiffany smiled. "It's really easy. As long as you use your head, you never lose."

---

One of the riders raised his hand, smiled, and said, "Five hundred dollars."

As the county clerk took down the bid, Sheriff Li realized what was going on. "Hmm. Five hundred dollars." The rider nodded. "Are there any other bids?" asked Sheriff Li.

The rider, cocky for being the one to place the bid, said, "I don't think so."

Sheriff Li couldn't argue with that statement, and turned to Tom. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to knock down on that bid, Mr. Sloane-Lane." All Tom could do was nod. Sheriff Li turned back to the rest of the room. "Five hundred once. Five hundred dollars twice. Five hundred dollars..."

"Five thousand dollars," said a female voice from the back of the room.

Everyone turned to see who had just bid. Townsfolk murmured amongst themselves. Riders, fearing their easy job had just gone south, tried to figure out who they might have to kill next. Sheriff Li looked to find the source of the voice. Tom, too, looked for the speaker; not because he didn't know who spoke, but because he did know.

A red-haired woman walked down the stairs and stopped at the landing halfway down. Her face betrayed no emotion, even though she felt a rush from making such a grand entrance.

Sheriff Li, whose face was lit up in expectation, asked, "Did you say five thoooousand dollars?"

The redhead shrugged nonchalantly. "It's on its way." With that she pulled out her pistol and aimed it upstairs.

From the top of the stairs walked Sandi, dragging her feet with a scowl on her face. This brought continued rumblings from the crowd. The redhead continued. "Now, if I remember correctly, this woman's reward is five thousand dollars, right?"

Sandi turned to her captor. "Judas was satisfied with four thousand, nine hundred, and seventy dollars less."

The red-haired woman looked confused. "Sandi, they didn"t have dollars in those days."

Sandi stopped on one of the stairs. "But bitches, yeah."

---

At Tiffany's train car, one of her former captors mounted one of the remaining horses tied up outside the train, untied it, and rode it into town.

---

As Sandi was being led by Sheriff Li and a handful of other lawmen, she stopped. "Um, excuse me? I believe the jail is back that way."

Sheriff Li smiled. "That's absolutely correct, Sandi. You, however, are going to the railroad station. I'm sending you to Yuma, Sandi." Sandi's face fell. "You see, they've got a brand new jail there; the kind I plan to build around here. They've got more walls, more bars, and even more guards! Now don't be glum Ms. Griffin; I'm sure you'll come to like it – in twenty years. You'll see."

With that, Sheriff Li left Sandi in the capable hands of two of her deputies. They walked Sandi over to the train. On the way, two young men saw Sandi walk by.

The blond-haired man said to the other, "Hey Butthead; it's Sandi. Heh heh. I think she's getting on the train rather than going to that jail we were supposed to break her out of."

The brown-haired man saw. "Shut up, Beavis. I see where she"s going. I think they're trying to, um, railroad her or something."

Beavis smiled. "Oh, heh heh. So, um, I was thinking we should, like, get on the train with her. I mean, it looks like she needs help, and maybe she'll let us touch her thingies if we save her."

Butthead laughed. "Huh-huh, yeah. She might even let us score."

Beavis was excited by this prospect. "Whoa, seriously? That would rule!"

Butthead smiled. "Yeah, we're going to score."

Beavis turned to the cashier's window. "Um, I think you should give us two tickets to the next station, so that we can make sure that, um, you don't get shot by us and stuff."

Butthead slapped the back of Beavis's head, causing him to scream in pain. "Shut up, dumbass. Uh, we're here to make sure the train stays on the tracks, and, uh, the guy from the last station said, uh, just go onto the train, but the buttmunch on the platform said we needed to get a new ticket."

The man, who up until now hadn't been paying much attention, said, "Well, I guess that's all right. I don't want to see what happened last week. A bull got onto the tracks as the train was a-comin' and darn near wrecked 'em."

Beavis chuckled. "Heh heh, you said 'rectum'."

Chapter Eleven

Tom held up his glass and toasted the red-haired woman. "Well, here's to you. Congratulations." He swallowed the contents of his glass. "You got yourself a good deal."

The red-haired woman smiled when she realized what Tom had meant. "Oh, that auction thing. Forget it. Investing in land is so Pre-War of Northern Aggression."

Tom stood up and walked over to the bottle on the bar in the saloon both stood in. "You don't look like the defender of poor, defenseless widowers." He filled his glass from the bottle. "But then again, I don't look like a poor, defenseless widower." He swallowed half the contents of the glass, and made a face known to all who have drunk cheap whiskey.

The redhead smiled. "Sandi's right: you're a remarkable guy."

Tom turned to her, downed the glass, and frowned. "And you're a remarkable gal, but you've got something on your mind."

The redhead smiled. "It sounds like you've got something on your mind."

Tom waggled his eyebrows before saying, "Hot water. Specifically a bathtub full of it."

Tom turned around and froze when he saw the entrance to the saloon, specifically who was standing there. The red-haired woman noticed this, turned around, and found herself gazing directly on the woman for whom she had searched for years.

Tom said, "I think I had better fill that bathtub right about now," before crossing the saloon to the stairs leading to living quarters.

Stacy walked in, looking angrier than she would if someone told her that her clothes had gone out of fashion last month. She sat down at a table near the doors of the saloon and asked, "Who are you?"

The redhead walked over towards Stacy. "Forbes Carlyle. Renee Andrews."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Come on; more dead women?"

The redhead smiled slyly. "Well, they were alive before they met you."

Stacy decided to get down to business. "Look, you paid $5,000 for something that belongs to me." She pulled out a bundle of cash. "Five thousand dollars..." she set it on the table and pulled out a large silver coin, "plus one." She flipped the coin onto the table. "I mean, you've got the right to make a profit, after all."

The red-haired woman would have been insulted by the offer, had she not expected something of equal insult to be offered. After all, the first time the two had met had resulted in a very unfair forced trade; one that could never be taken back.

Stacy pulled out a piece of cedar gum and started chewing. "You know, if I were you, I wouldn't take too long deciding. You've gotten yourself into something much bigger than you are, and I'm offering the chance to get out easy. Not that I would tell you what to do, of course, but I"d say you"d better take it."

The redhead was resting on the saloon doors, watching the people outside. "You're beginning to sound like a real businesswoman, Stacy. I guess being with that Ms. Blum-Deckler has done a lot of good." She saw out of the corner of her eye a woman with a rifle, leaning against a building. "I see you've learned some new methods." She then saw a man on a horse riding up, gaining the attention of not only that woman, but the woman on the balcony above her, and the two men where the horseman had stopped. "But then, you haven't given up on the old ones either."

Stacy was losing her patience. "Pick any method you like; just make the deal."

The smile fell from the redhead's face. "Which deal, Stacy?" Stacy turned to look at the redhead, who was still looking out at the town. "We had more than one deal on the table."

Stacy, not certain what other deal or deals she meant, but not looking for any issues if she could avoid them, said, "Well, I guess we could just put them all together into one package and settle all of them right now. How does that sound?"

The redhead shook her head. "Easy, Stacy. You should really learn not to push things. I mean, taking it easy is probably the first thing a businesswoman should do, right?" She watched as the gunwoman on the balcony jumped down to meet up with the rest of the group gathered around the horseman. The redhead then turned and walked over to Stacy's table. "Something tells me Ms. Blum-Deckler could teach you even more than she has already." She took a small glass of whiskey sitting on Frank's table and drained it, not wincing from the taste. "Hey bartender, how much do I owe you for this?"

The man wiping off one of the tables answered, "One dollar."

To that, the red-haired woman took the silver dollar on the table, made a show of dropping it into the glass, and finally set the glass down and walked over to the stairs, leaving the stack of bills on the table. Stacy, not really surprised that the Blum-Deckler way hadn't worked, gathered her money and headed outside the saloon. She looked to the places she expected to see her men and women, only to see those positions empty. Well, this isn't good.

---

The red-haired woman walked to the hall window on the second floor, but saw that it not only didn't open, but didn't give the view she needed. She needed to get into the next room over, but the door was locked. Knowing she didn't have much time, she kicked open the door.

Tom nearly jumped out of his bathtub when the door opened, revealing the redhead. He wasn't sure what was going to happen. On the one hand, she didn't look like she was going to go after him, and she had stopped momentarily when she noticed he was there. On the other hand, he didn't know what she was after. He reached for his backscrubber, but so did she, and she handed it to him. What he certainly didn't expect was for her to throw open the sash on the window behind him.

She looked out the open window, and saw Stacy under the overhang of the watchmaker's shop. Just beyond the shop was her horse, but getting on the horse would expose her to anyone who might have a clear shot at her. Stacy looked somewhat skittish; she was keeping together very well for most people, but she was not at all pleased that her entourage had deserted her. She worried that they may have found someone else to follow; someone who wanted her dead.

The red-haired woman scanned the buildings around her for anyone who might be aiming for Stacy. Finally, she saw it: the barrel of a rifle sticking out of a small hole in a cloth sign advertising the local theater.

Stacy finally decided she couldn't just wait there forever, and started to walk over to her horse.

Tom said, "It's funny. I could swear I was about to hear that strange sound again."

The redhead smiled. "You will, right now." With that, she fired several pistol shots at the sign.

Stacy heard the shots and pulled back against the wall of the watchmaker's shop, looking up at the woman who had fired. She heard a tearing sound, and turned to the source in time to see a woman from her entourage fall through the sign and onto the ground. I don't understand it. She just saved my life. Why?

Stacy didn't have time to think about it now. She walked towards her horse, and one of her former associates walked out, aiming his gun at her. Stacy shot him with ease, as did she the other man who jumped out with his gun drawn at her. Stacy relaxed a bit, but knew there was another woman she came to town with.

The redhead climbed out onto the balcony from a side window. As Stacy came back to the other side of the building, she saw the redhead and drew her gun at her, only putting it away when she saw that the redhead's hands were both on the railing. From her vantage point, the red-haired woman saw the last woman, a blonde, jumping onto the roof of the next shop over, finally coming to the top of the watchmaker's store. She hid behind the large picture of a pocket watch at the peak of the building and got her rifle in position.

The redhead called out to Stacy, "Gee Stacy, time sure flies when you're having fun. I mean, it's already past noon."

Stacy took a second to determine what she meant, remembered the watch painted above her, and turned around. Just as the blonde brought her head over the roof to aim, Stacy pulled her trigger, sending the blonde tumbling down the roof and through an overhang over a porch on the next building over.

Stacy looked over at the red-haired woman, but not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, she nodded, walked over to her horse, mounted it, and rode off.

Tom watched the last bit of action from the window, wrapped in a towel. When the redhead came back in, he said, "But...but they were her entourage."

She nodded. "That they were."

Tom continued. "And they tried to kill her!"

The woman shrugged. "I guess they found someone who pays better."

Tom then got mad. "And you! You saved her life!"

The woman stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. "I didn't let them kill her, and that's not the same thing."

Tom nodded, still angry, trying to figure out the woman's words. "Sure, it's not the same thing."

The woman looked deeply into the man's eyes. "Come on; get dressed. It's time to go home."

---

As Stacy approached Tiffany"s train, the first thing she noticed were the dead bodies lying on the ground around it. The second thing she noticed was that some of them were hers, and some of them weren"t.

Stacy checked the engine, the passenger car, and Tiffany"s car, the only cars on the train, and found all of her men and women dead, as well as half a dozen others. Some of them she recognized, but even if she hadn"t, the yellow dusters were a dead giveaway as to who had been there before her. Taking in all the dead bodies, she had expected to see two others. The woman responsible for the dusters might have escaped, but the other woman wouldn"t have gotten far.

Stacy looked behind the train and saw something that made her smile. Tiffany Blum-Deckler was face down in the dirt, crawling for a small pond of water. Stacy couldn"t tell whether Tiffany had been shot, but she was showing signs of dehydration, and her tuberculosis practically paralyzed her below the waist. Tiffany used the strength she had left to turn towards Stacy, who drew her gun. Tiffany"s arm holding her up collapsed, and she fell into the dirt. She resumed crawling over to the pond, inch by inch. Stacy, realizing that she wouldn"t have to do anything to Tiffany, put away her gun and walked back to the train to prepare for her return trip.

Tiffany continued her crawl. I may not make it to the Pacific, but I"ll make it to this water. She gave one last push, and her eyes were finally over the pond. She smiled weakly. There. Even dying I still look so pretty. She collapsed, and her final breath escaped into the dust just inches before the water.

Chapter Twelve

Sandi rode slowly back into the partially-built town, passing the men and women working on the railroad as she went. On her way in, she saw a familiar, red-haired figure, leaning on a post and whittling a piece of wood. She stopped and nodded her recognition, as did the woman Sandi knew only as "Harmonica". Sandi started to say something, thought better of it, and continued on her way.

She rode until she got to Tom's house. She entered and shut the door seconds before Tom had shut the door he entered from. Tom jumped, then sighed and smiled when he figured out who had entered. "Like, did you make coffee?" Sandi asked.

"This time I did," Tom replied, and went to pour Sandi a cup.

Sandi took it and sipped. "Good," Sandi said, almost hesitantly. "My mother used to make coffee this way. Hot and strong enough to wake the dead." Sandi poured a basin of cold water while Tom went to the window, seeing the red-haired woman.

Tom asked, "Sandi, what's she waiting for out there? What's she doing?"

Sandi splashed the cold water onto her face. "She's whittling on a piece of wood; don"t ask me why. I've got a feeling when she stops whittling, something's gonna happen."

---

At that moment, Stacy came riding in from the east. Harmonica threw down her wood and knife as she approached.

"Surprised to see me here?" Stacy asked.

"Nah, I knew you'd come." the red-haired woman replied as Sandi dismounted.

"You know, Tiffany once told me I could never be like her. Now I understand why," Stacy said, coming within a few feet of Harmonica. "I mean, it wouldn't have bothered her knowing you were out there somewhere, alive."

"So you found out you're not a businesswoman after all?"

"Nah; just a woman."

"An ancient race. Other Tiffany's will be along, and they'll kill it off."

"That"s kind of a weird way to put it, but it doesn"t matter. Nothing matters now; not the land, not the money, not the guy. I came to see you, because I know that now you'll tell me what you're after."

Harmonica got up. "Of course, but only at the point of dying."

Stacy nodded. "I know."

---

Tom walked up behind Sandi. "I heated some water for you, and I also found the makeup in your pack."

"Uh, put it there please," Sandi said, as she pointed to a nearby table and took off her riding gloves. "So that I can watch the railroad move up while I clean up." Sandi looked out at the scene unfolding before her. "Like, if I was you, I'd go down there and give those girls a drink. You can't imagine how happy it makes a woman, and some of the guys I guess, to see a guy like you; just to look at him. And, you know, if one of them should grab your tush, just pretend it's nothing. They've earned it." Tom looked sideways at Sandi as she said the last bit, while Sandi began to apply her makeup.

---

Harmonica and Stacy moved a respectful distance apart. They stared each other down, and Stacy let her duster fall to the ground, giving her freedom of movement when the time came. Harmonica watched her with a leg up on a stump as Stacy found her place. Harmonica then walked towards Stacy until they were about ten feet apart, and pushed back her duster so that it was behind her holster. The smile on Harmonica's face had melted into a steely glare. She remembered back to the first day they had met, on distinctly unfriendly terms.

---

On that day, Stacy had walked up and taken a harmonica out of her pocket before pushing it into a 12-year-old red-haired girl's mouth, saying "Keep your loving sister happy." The girl had been standing, with her arms tied behind her back. Standing on her shoulders was her older sister, a slightly shorter girl with auburn hair and large glasses. Her arms were also tied behind her back and a noose wrapped around her neck. The noose was tied to an archway, one too broad to use as leverage. While Stacy and her three goons watched, the girl"s strength started to fade. The older sister screamed, "You bastard!" at Stacy, then looked down at her sister. "Sis, this isn"t your fault; it"s mine as much as it is hers. Never forget that I love you, Qui-"

Her last word was cut off, as that girl had finally collapsed from the weight, allowing Daria to hang. Stacy and her goons took off, leaving the girl with the harmonica, her sister's body still swaying in the breeze above her.

---

Almost as one, Harmonica and Stacy drew their guns to fire. Even though Stacy had started moving an instant earlier, Harmonica's gun fired first. The bullet hit Stacy in the chest, making her miss the red-haired woman. The impact spun Stacy around 180 degrees.

---

Inside the farmhouse, Tom gasped from the window. The noise had made Sandi mess up her lipstick and she grimaced when she saw that she would have to reapply it. Oh well, at least I wasn"t putting on mascara.

---

Stacy attempted to put her gun away, missing the holster and dropping the gun. She staggered and finally fell. Harmonica walked up to her fallen adversary.

Stacy gasped, "Who are you?"

To answer, the woman grabbed her harmonica, yanked it off the band that kept it around her neck, and placed it into Stacy's mouth. Realization flooded into Stacy's head, and just as quickly, life left her as she collapsed into the dirt.

---

Tom walked over to Sandi, who'd finished making up her face. "Hey, you're sort of a cute lady."

Sandi looked into Tom's eyes. "But I'm not the right lady." Tom's eyes darted away in the direction of the gunfight and the red-haired woman. "And she definitely isn"t," finished Sandi.

Tom smiled. "Maybe not, but I"ve made worse decisions in dating." Tom put away the basin.

Sandi followed after. "Like, you don't understand, Tom. People like that have something inside; something to do with death or something. Now that she"s taken care of that other woman, she'll come in that door, pick up her stuff and say ciao." Sandi looked out the window and sighed. "I guess it would be nice to see this town grow."

Just then, the red-haired woman walked up to the front door and entered. Tom smiled to see her, as did Sandi. However, when Tom saw her stone face, his smile left his face. Harmonica picked up her bag and said "Well, I guess I"ve got to go now." Tom frowned and silently cursed Sandi for being right. The woman looked out the door at the men and women working on the railroad. "It's going to be a really pretty town, Lawndale."

Tom responded "I hope you'll come back someday." Both of them gazed deeply into each others eyes.

The redhead looked out the door again and said, "Maybe someday," before leaving.

Behind Tom, Sandi spoke up. "Yeah, I got to freaking go too." Sandi walked over to Tom, who was still gazing after the red-haired woman, and grabbed his right butt cheek, getting his attention. "Like I said, pretend it's nothing." She let him go and left, while stared after both women as they left.

Sandi and the redhead rode out past the workers and down into a small valley. Harmonica kept going, but Sandi got off her horse and knelt down groaning. The redhead noticed Sandi's actions and turned back to her, dismounting as she arrived.

Sandi was clutching her abdomen. "Sorry Harmonica, I got to stay here."

The redhead knelt by Sandi as she trembled, and examined her bullet wound. "Ewwwww! Who did this to you, Sandi?"

Sandi chuckled once and grimaced. "I ran into Little Miss Choo-Choo. I didn't count on that half-woman from the train. I guess she got scared. Ahhh." She winced in pain. "You know, Harmonica; when they do you in, pray it's someone who knows where to freaking shoot. This is worse than wearing a canary tube top with indigo culottes." She spasmed and groaned. "Go away, leave me alone! I don't want you to see me die. It"s so unfashionable."

The red-haired woman thought it over, and then walked back to her horse about 15 feet away. Sandi groaned, grimaced, and breathed her last before collapsing on the ground. The redhead slowly turned around and looked at her fallen compatriot. She picked up Sandi"s body to put it on her horse. As she did, she heard the sound of an incoming train engine, coming up near the partially-built town of Lawndale.

Tom came out to give the workers refreshment from their labors. Soon the railroad would be complete, and this part of the west would be tamed. The town of Lawndale would become one of the main hubs of the railroad in this part of Texas. A prosperous city would grow as settlers started streaming in. The future was bright for Lawndale. Today, however, was just another day: a day to work, a day to plan, a day to live, and, for some, a day to die.

The End