I wanted to share this in the Western movie thread, but thought it was too wordy, so...fanfare please! First time in "print!" Part of a chapter from, "Prairie Child," a fictionalised autobiography, from my childhood, which illustrates the influence Westerns had on me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Main character, Kally, is out playing on the dirt hills behind her parents' house with her trusty dog, Tramp:
Here it came, the stagecoach to Dodge City, only it was way out in the desert, several days ride from Dodge, Miss Kitty, and Marshall Dillon. She could see the dust it kicked up; it was obviously moving fast. "Miss Lou" had lost her horse and luckily knew the route the stagecoach travelled, so she was all set to flag it down, she didn't care how fast they were going, nor if she had to lasso them to slow them down. She was going to get a ride on that coach.
As it drew near, she stood up, waving her hands and shouting, "Whoa up, there, boys!" She could see the driver had a tight grip on the reins and the horses were galloping full out. The man riding shotgun held his rifle ready with one hand while with the other he held on for dear life. They both saw her at the same time. The driver almost stood up in an effort to slow the team and apply the brake. It jostled back and forth, rocking all of the occupants inside and kicking up so much dust Lou could hardly see for the choking cloud.
"Why, Miss Lou, Ma'am, what in tarnation are you doing out here?" the driver hollered.
"I lost my horse when a rattlesnake spooked him. Need to hitch a ride to Dodge," she explained, coughing and holding a handkerchief to her face. "Miss Kitty's expecting me back, pronto."
"Well, you're welcome to climb on in. You'll have to hurry, though; we've got bandits on our tail." The shotgun rider jumped down and helped her up into the passenger car. As she settled her skirts and ran her hand through her hair in an effort to make it presentable, he climbed back up and they were off. The driver lashed out with a long whip, hollering at the horses. They reacted with a start. Getting their rhythm synced up, they stretched their necks out, moving with an effort, for they had already run a good distance and they hadn't been watered for several hours.
Miss Lou looked at her fellow passengers. The man in the corner opposite of her was obviously a drummer; probably ladies' wear from the looks of him, kind of a dandy looker with a bowler hat which would do him absolutely no good in the high desert sun. An older gentleman sat next to him, actually leaning away from him as much as possible, swaying in an easy rhythm with the coach; rancher, most likely, on his way back East, probably further than Dodge, she thought, maybe even New York City, though if it was big city he wanted, you'd think he'd of gone to San Francisco instead, it was so much closer. Well those were two she wasn't worried about; she didn't think they'd be any trouble. It was obvious they knew how to act in polite company. Even as the stagecoach tossed them back and forth in a jolting rocking motion, they'd both tipped their hats to her, the courtesy of a gentleman which she appreciated.
The fourth passenger sat on the same side as Miss Lou. She'd only glanced at him on her way in. Now, she turned ever so slightly in her seat. She didn't want to be too forward. She wanted to maintain her ladylike decorum. She may have been raised poor, but she had plenty of book learning and manners instilled in her by her momma and papa. Her eyes rested on him just briefly. He sat slouched against the window on his side, with a large cowboy hat pulled down low on his brow and a light coat over the usual saddle tramp outfit. He also had a six-shooter in a holster on his left hip. A southpaw she thought to herself. Miss Lou slid her hand into her reticule (Kally loved that word!) and closed her fingers around her small derringer. It wouldn't do much at a distance, but up close it would save her if need be. That she would use it if necessary was not in doubt. She'd been in enough close scrapes she knew she had a strong defensive streak in her. As she continued to look at the stranger, he caught her eye and gave her a slow smile. She quickly looked away but not before noticing the smile did not reach his piercing blue eyes.
Have to watch that one, she thought to herself. The older man across from her spoke up, "How'do, Ma'am. Name's Lucas Wilder, from the Bar Seventeen Ranch. Are you comfortable? Is there anything I can do to assist you?"
"Why, thank you, kindly," Miss Lou replied. "I just need a bit of a rest, though from the sounds of it I may not get much. If I may be so forward, are the bandits far behind?"
The dandy answered her in a rush of excitement, "Gosh, no, they've been right on our tail for the last five hours! We even had a shootout and he," he gestured to the man next to her, "was even wounded!"
Miss Lou quickly turned back to the handsome stranger. "I know a little doctoring, is there anything I can do?" she asked. He shook his head and turned away from her, his left hand tapping restlessly against his gun holster.
The rancher explained, "We bandaged him up, Ma'am. Not much else to be done until we get to Dodge City. Do you carry a gun, Miss? If so, you may want to keep it handy. We're likely to have more shooting before it's all done."
"I can handle a gun quite well, thank you. I'll not be a hindrance if something should happen," she assured them. She settled back in her seat and wearily sighed. She realized she was hot, dry and dusty. "Do you happen to have any water?" she asked. The rancher handed her a canteen. She took a small sip, then pulling a handkerchief from around her neck, she soaked it with a small amount of water. Putting the cork back in the canteen, she passed it back then sponged off her face and hands and placed the hanky back around her neck. The coolness of the evaporating water made her feel slightly better and the sip of fresh water, even as warm as it was, satisfied her thirst for the moment.
The drover spoke up, once more, "I've got some harder stuff than that if you've a mind to drink some, Miss," he reached across the aisle with a small flask in his hand.
"No, thank you," said Miss Lou. Her tone of voice let them all know she was done with the chitchat. They all went back to silent contemplation of their plight, the sound of the wheels and the driver and his partner settling into a pattern which lulled Miss Lou into a light sleep.
Suddenly the stagecoach lurched, waking Miss Lou and startling the other passengers. "What the..?" the stranger moaned. It was obvious he was in some pain and the jolt had increased it. The coach was off-balance, listing towards Miss Lou and the old rancher's side. They struggled to keep to their seats. As it bumped along a few more feet, they could hear the driver shouting at his assistant to put on the brakes. Miss Lou looked out her window and saw a wheel go bouncing off across the desert, unattached to the coach.
Finally, the coach came to a halt, the driver and company jumping down almost immediately. "Are you all right in there?" he shouted, struggling to open the off-side door. "We lost a wheel," he continued shouting at them. "C'mon out of there." He reached across and helped Miss Lou out from the cab. Because of the slant, she had to be careful; the steps were sloped and resting on the ground instead of even and above as usual. After her, came the other three, the two able men helping the wounded man down. The flap of his coat caught on the door and she could see a blood-soaked bandage across his chest before he closed it with his other hand. Too much damage like that and he won't make it back to Dodge, thought Miss Lou.
The shotgun rider was busy unhitching the horses as the driver led the passengers over to some big red rocks. "Miss Lou, you come over here, back here behind this boulder, now. We don't want you getting in any danger, now," he said in a rushed but kindly manner. "You men, get your guns loaded and ready. We don't have time to fix that wheel before them robbers come along, so we're gonna have to stand our ground."
They all followed him around the red rocks, finding hiding places with a good view of the road. By then the shotgun rider had the horses loose and brought them around, too. "Curly," the driver said, "Take this," he handed saddlebags at the younger man. "You head out on one of them, now. Get to Dodge as quick as you can and bring back help. We'll hold 'em off," the driver instructed. Curly jumped up on one of the big horses, looping the traces around its neck and hanging on. He gave it a kick and off they went in a cloud of dust. Ride like the wind, Miss Lou silently prayed. They didn't seem to have much in the way of ammunition, water, or food. They could be pinned down for hours and the robbers weren't the only unfriendly critters in the territory.
All this time, Kally had been moving along the hills of home pretending to be on the stagecoach, then ran behind some rocks where she was playing. Tramp dutifully followed, protecting his little girl turned dance hall girl from any dangers real or imaginary. She threw herself back into the play world.
Shots rang out, pinging the rocks and whistling just above their heads. A rise of dust had warned them of the approaching bandits, so they'd ducked down just in time. The bandits pulled their horses up short on the opposite side of the stagecoach, staking out their positions. Taking careful aim, the old rancher and the wounded man each took shots at them, hitting the canvas of the stagecoach and the dirt at the feet of one of the bandits. There were three robbers, though the third wasn't visible. The stagecoach driver was off to the side of them, looking for the third man. The bandits spewed a fuselage of fire back at the stranded travellers.
Miss Lou looked over at the drover. "Have you got a gun?" she shouted at him. He reached into his valise and with a trembling hand pulled out a revolver. "Is it loaded?" she asked. He nervously shook his head yes and handed it to her. She took up a position between the two others. Her aim was straight and true, just as her daddy had taught her. Just as one of the outlaws raised his head for a clear shot, she squeezed the trigger, catching him in his shooting arm. He was down for the count. One disabled, two more to go, she thought.
Just then, Tramp nudged Kally's hand. She had her toy cap-gun, a six-shooter with amber coloured handles in her hand aiming at imaginary robbers and setting off a cap each time. The pungent smell of black powder filled the air. "What is it, Tramp?" He looked up at her. Listening to the real world now, Kally heard her mom calling her. "Uh-oh! Time to head for home, boy!" She gathered her dress up around her knees and headed back to the house. She'd have to save the men on the stagecoach another day.