Jessie Hanks Outlaw Queen: The Cameo Murder (Part 1) free porn video

Street and Smith's _New_ _York_ _Weekly_ is proud to present the latest addition to the amazing legend of Eerie, Arizona. Jessie Hanks Outlaw Queen: The Cameo Murder By Nicholas Varrick As Told by Ellie Dauber and Christopher Leeson © 2016 Part 1: On the Trail to Trouble Chapter 1 -- "Prolog: September 1871" Tuesday, September 12, 1871 A chunky, sandy-haired man walked into the Prescott, Arizona Wells Fargo depot and looked around for the clerk. In his mid-thirties, Eugene Barlow was dressed in a brown woolen suit, with a budge in one of his pockets. He stepped over to the counter at the far end of the room and called out, "Hello, anybody here?" "Just me." A slender man in jeans and a starched white shirt came out of the back room. He was wiping his hands on a napkin that he quickly stuffed in his pants pocket. "I'm Gully Finch. I was in the back, having some supper. What can I do for you?" Barlow pulled a package about the size of a man's clenched fist from his jacket. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bluish-green string. "I want to send this back east to my wife in Atlanta. It's a birthday present for her." He set the parcel on the counter. "It'll take about ten days to get there. Will that be enough time?" "I think so. How much?" Finch put the package on a small brass scale. "Twenty-one ounces; that'll be a dollar and a half." He handed the other man a label, a white paper rectangle with a narrow yellow and black striped border. "Just fill this out, so we know who gets it and where you want it to go." Barlow tossed Finch a five dollar half-eagle. While the Wells Fargo man made change, Barlow wrote the information on the label. He finished just as the other man put his change down on the counter. "Okay," Finch said, taking the tag. He licked the gummed back of the label and pressed it down hard onto the top of the package. "This'll go out on the 8:35 stage to Tucson tomorrow morning. That should help get it t'your wife in time." The other man nodded and gathered up his change. "Thanks; I'll let you get back to your meal." He checked his pocket watch. "Hmmm; almost 6 PM." He said. "I'd better head back to the boarding house before Mrs. Rossini stops serving supper." He paused a beat before adding, "Good night, Mr. Finch." With that, he returned the watch to his pocket and walked briskly out of the depot. * * * * * Wednesday, September 13, 1871 The Prescott offices of Hall and Hall Investment Bankers took up most of the second floor of the Gurley Street office building. The clerks and bookkeepers worked at three rows of desks in a large open room, next to the Hall Brothers' private office. Gray steel file cabinets lined three walls broken up by large wall maps of portions of the Arizona, New Mexico, and Nevada Territories. A second, locked door in the north wall of the room led to the steel-lined room where the firm kept its most confidential financial and legal documents and records. Eugene Barlow set down his pen in the crease of the ledger he was working on. He leaned back and checked the large clock ticking away atop a row of file cabinets. '10:50,' he thought, 'time to go.' He stood up and began to put on his suit jacket. "And just where do you think you're going?" Supervising clerk Jonas Lee asked. Lee was a short, heavy-set man whose desk faced the dozen men he supervised. Aquilla "Quill" Jenson's desk was next to Barlow's. "Maybe Gene's off to meet with some young lady, to try to trade her virtue for that cameo he was showing everybody a couple of days ago." "What I do - or don't do - with the cameo is my concern, Quill," Barlow answered. "But I wouldn't say 'No', not right off, anyway, if some pretty young gal suggested such a trade." He chuckled, and then added, "Perhaps your sister might be..." "Hey, now." Quill jumped up, his hands curled into fists. "You can't say that about my sister." Lee glared at the pair. "We'll have no fighting here. You teased him, Jenson, and he got you back. You're even, so let it go." He paused for a moment. "And shake hands." "I will if he will." Gene Barlow offered his hand. The other man shook his head. "I want an apology first." "So do I," Lee replied. "The two of you have been going back and forth for days, and it's disrupting the whole damned office." Barlow pointed at Jenson. "He started it!" "And I'm finishing it," Lee told them both. "Now _shake_ _hands_." He waited, and when neither man moved, he added, "_Now!_" in an angry voice. Barlow grimaced, but he offered his hand. Jenson gave a low growl, but he took the hand and shook it. "Satisfied?" "I am," the supervisor answered. "Barely... and I hope that this is the end of it." He turned to Barlow. "You can go now, Eugene, but you never did say where you were off to." "Just some personal business; I'll be back by the end of lunch." Lee glanced up at the clock. "Fine; I'll see you at 12:30 then." "Thanks, boss." Barlow nodded at Lee and walked away. * * * * * Ignatz "Iggy" Kent ran down Prescott's Cortez Street, his feet pumping as fast as he could. After all, there was a whole two bits hanging on whether he or his kid brother, Silas, was the faster. So far, the eleven-year old Iggy was in the lead, but he could hear Silas catching up, his footsteps on the wooden sidewalk getting louder. The older boy made a quick turn and hurried down Union Street, a narrow alley in the business district. As he ran, he saw a man lying on the ground, blocking his way. "Dang," he spat. "By the time I go around this drunk, Silas'll - _Ho-oly_ _shit!_" He stopped in his track and stared at the man. Specifically, he stared at the red stains being made by the two bullet holes in his chest. * * * * * Jessie Hanks saw a stagecoach, coming out of a cloud of its own dust as the road curved sharply about a half-mile away. She scrambled down the hill, crouching low to keep hidden. All the time she was studying the coach as it came closer. There was a driver and a guard up front. The guard wasn't holding his rifle. Sloppy. There was almost no luggage on top, just a few boxes. When the road curved again, she could see that there wasn't any sort of a bulge in the rear boot either, where luggage and mail might be stored at the back of the coach. There wasn't likely to be much on that coach, but there was _something_ on it. She was going to find out just what that something was, and, if it was valuable, she was going to use it to pay her way in Mexico. By the time she reached the side of the road, the coach only about a hundred yards off. She stepped out and began waving her arms. "Stop the coach," she yelled, lowering her voice to a more masculine range. Her hat was pushed down over her head, partly covering her face. The driver pulled at the reins. The horses slowed, stopping a few feet from Jessie, kicking up a cloud of dust around her. "What you want, boy?" the driver called down. He was an older man, brown from years in the sun and wearing what looked like an old cavalry jacket. The guard, a chunky-looking man in a brown work shirt and a gray, fringed vest, just sat there, his arms crossed in amusement. "Whatever you got up there that's valuable." She pulled the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at the pair. They didn't move. The guard began to chuckle. "You think you gonna scare is with that there popgun, sonny?" Jessie tried to fire, but her arm shifted as she did, so that she shot into the air. "Now!" she shouted, recovering quickly. But the damage was done. The pistol's recoil had made her head jerk. Her hat flew off, and her long, blonde hair tumbled down about her shoulders. While the jacket she wore concealed her figure, her face was feminine, heart- shaped, with cornflower blue eyes and full, inviting lips. "A girl!" The guard sat up. "Well, I sure as hell ain't gonna give up no mail sack to no pretty little slip like you. " He reached forward, under the seat, probably for his rifle. Desperate, Jessie aimed for his chest and fired again. And again her hand shifted of its own will. The bullet hit the seat just inches from his hand. He pulled it back quickly. The driver raised his hands into the air. The guard scowled and did the same. Jessie silently cursed Shamus O'Toole. When he'd used his potion to transform her into a woman, he'd ordered that she couldn't hurt anyone, an order the potion was still enforcing. Aloud she said, "Next time I won't aim for nuthin' you weren't born with. Now, _real_ slow, you take out that rifle you was going for, and hold it up so I can see it." Her teeth were set, as she fought to keep her hand from shaking. This was turning into the worst stage robbery she had ever committed. The guard muttered something under his breath, as he carefully lifted the rifle, a Winchester, out from under the seat. "Toss it..." She pointed with her pistol towards the other side of the road. "...over there." The guard muttered again and threw the rifle to the ground. Jessie pointed her pistol back at the driver. "He got anything else on him?" "Don't say a word," the guard growled. Jessie fired into the air, deliberately this time. "Tell me." "He-he's got a derringer in a vest pocket -- please don't shoot me -- and... and a b-bowie knife in his right boot." The man's yellow streak was showing, and that gave Jessie confidence. "Take 'em, mister, out and toss 'em by the rifle," she told the guard, pointing her Colt right at his head. The guard glared at her, but he did as she said. She turned her attention to the other man. "Now you, driver, what're you carrying?" The driver stood up slowly, his hands raised. "Just this, ma'am." He was wearing a gun belt. He reached down with his left arm and loosened it. Then he grabbed one end and tossed it in the same direction as the guard's weapons. "Thank you, gentlemen. Now if you'd be so kind to show me that mail sack you mentioned. You... driver, you do it. I wouldn't want to be responsible for making your friend here lose his job for giving up a mail sack to 'no pretty little slip' like me." After a rough start, she was definitely enjoying this. "Not a big, _brave_ man like him." The driver reached back on the roof of the stage. He fiddled with something Jessie couldn't see. When he turned back, he was holding a pale gray bag about the size of a sack of flour. The words "U.S. Mail" were printed on it in big black letters. It looked full, and he needed both hands to hold the thing. "Fine," Jessie said. "You just toss that thing over here by me." She pointed to the ground in front of her with the pistol. The man twisted his body and, with a loud grunt, tossed the sack into the air. It landed with a sizeable thud in the grass at the edge of the road about five feet from where Jessie was standing. "All right," Jessie said firmly, stepping off the road. "Now get outta here." "Y-yes, ma'am," the driver said. He jerked at the reins and the team started off at nearly a full gallop. Jessie stood for a moment, laughing at the fright she'd put into the two men. She picked up her hat and tucked her hair back up under it. Then she hurried over to examine her prize. The sack was heavy burlap interwoven with some sort of a metal mesh with a lock sewn into the top, as well. She didn't try to lift the thing after she'd seen how the driver had struggled with it. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew how much weaker her woman's body was. From the look of the mesh, she likely couldn't cut it open. "The hell with it!" She held her pistol next to the lock and fired. The bullet tore through the mechanism, and the sack popped open. She lifted it as best she could and dumped the contents on the ground. "Letters!" She cursed thoroughly - in English _and_ Spanish. "What the hell am I supposed to do with letters? I'm can't very well carry 'em all away, and I sure as hell can't sit _here_ going through 'em looking for cash." And there had been nothing in the sack but letters. No, that wasn't quite true. She recognized a few things as legal documents, a will and a couple deeds that fell out of some envelop full of papers with the name of a lawyer printed on the side. There were a few newspapers and a bound stack of flyers advertising a new settlement up in the Oregon Territory, all of it just worthless so far as she was concerned. Finally, down near the bottom of the pile, she found a small package all tied up with string. It was only about the size of a man's fist, but it was something that, at least, looked like it might be valuable. "Well, that was pretty much of a waste," she said in disgust, holding up the package. "First, I can't shoot straight, then, all I get for my trouble is this, whatever the hell it is." She thought about just leaving it there, but there was a principle involved. When you robbed somebody, you took some of their stuff with you. It was the principle of the thing. She shoved the box down into the empty left pocket of her jacket. The pistol was in the right pocket. She was about to go hunting for the weapons that the driver and guard had left behind, when she heard a noise, way, way off in the distance. Jessie turned and looked down the road in that direction. "Riders," she spat. Had the men on the stage sent them? No, they were coming from the north. The stage was headed south. Still, she didn't need to be seen. There might be questions, questions that she'd just as soon not have to answer. "No time t'look for anything, dammit!" She ran into the brush and up the hill towards where her horse was hidden. * * * * * Jonas Lee dabbed at his forehead with a red polka-dot kerchief, as the deputy sheriff led him into the back room of the town mortuary. "I'm not sure about this. I-I really don't think I'll know this man - whoever he is." "That may be," the deputy said. "But he had a Hall and Hall business card in his pocket. In fact, that was all he had; no wallet, no engraved watch, or any other identification. No jewelry or other valuables neither, not even change in his pockets. We're pretty sure it was a robbery, but it'll help to know who the man was. Mr. Hall... Primo Hall, that is, said you knew the staff and clients best." Lee sighed. "I suppose I do. Where'd you find this body, anyway?" "A couple of boys found him on Union Street, between Cortez and Marina, that's only about three blocks from your office." "Maybe he is a client - or somebody from the office. Most of our people are at lunch now. I was about to leave myself when you..." "I know, sir, and I'm sorry. I hope the sight of him won't ruin your appetite." The chief clerk shook his head and made a sour face. "I'll be all right. I saw enough death up close during the War to last me a lifetime." "Amen t'that," the deputy replied. He glanced over to Phileas Moss, the mortician, who was standing next to the table where the corpse lay. It was covered with a dingy, graying sheet. "Ok, Phil, show the man what we got here." Moss carefully lifted the sheet, revealing from the dead man's head. "Oh, my good Lord," Lee gasped. "That's Gene Barlow." "You sure, Mr. Lee?" The chief clerk nodded grimly. "The man's desk faces mine. I've looked straight at him every day since he started working for us a couple o'months ago. I'm... I'm sure." He took a breath and wiped his forehead again as the mortician replaced the sheet. "Do you have any idea who might want to kill him?" The man shook his head. "No, it was probably a robbery like you said." He had a sudden thought. "In fact, that might help you. Gene bought a necklace, a blue cameo, a couple days ago - a birthday gift for his wife, I think. He was showing it to everybody in the office - and probably anybody else he knew. As far as I know, he had it with him this morning. You look for that cameo. Whoever has it, he had to take it from Gene, and he's probably your murderer." * * * * * Jessie Hanks took another sip of coffee and gathered Toby Hess's jacket around her. The tiny blonde had taken the jacket when she'd fled his cabin. Toby was dead; killed by accident when she'd fought his attempt to rape her. It was self-defense, but Jessie feared that she'd hang for it anyway. She'd been a notorious _male_ outlaw -- "Mad Dog" Jesse Hanks, they'd called him -- before Shamus O'Toole's potion had transformed her into her current form. All she'd done was kill a few good-for-nothings and brag about killing even more of them than she really had - and that she'd _enjoyed_ doing it. It was usually a good idea for an outlaw to have a deadly rep. "Even so, I never did time for anything I _had_ done," she told herself, "and I sure as hell don't wanna die for something I _didn't_ do. I had every right in the world t'keep that bastard from raping me, but folks're likely t'hang me anyways 'cause of who I was." The wind had shifted just after sunset, and, as the flames of her campfire danced in the cooling breeze, she was glad that she'd taken the jacket when she'd bolted. In the setting sun, she could see storm clouds beginning to gather to the south, and she gathered the jacket around her. "Oh, yeah," she muttered, feeling a weight in one pocket. "I almost forgot about that package, whatever it is." She took the parcel from her pocket. It was the sole piece of loot from her not very successful attempt at robbing a stage that very afternoon. Her knife quickly cut through the string and she threw both the string and the torn wrapper into the fire. 'Don't need to see who the thing's going to,' she told herself, 'cause they ain't never gonna get it.' She opened the box. There was a folded piece of paper inside, above a mass of cotton padding. Out of curiosity, she set it down beside her. Then she pushed away the fluffed cotton that had been under it. "A damned cameo and necklace!" The necklace itself was silver wire worked into a slender chain. The small cameo dangling from the chain looked like a ten dollar silver eagle coin. The disk was blue with the silhouette of a woman's head wearing a coronet and the year, 1868, done in ivory or mother of pearl. "Might be worth a few bucks," she said unhappily, "but I'd have a helluva time explaining how I got ahold of it." Still she _might_ find a use for it, and, with that chance in mind, she put the box and all back in her pocket. She was about to toss the paper into the fire, but, on a whim, she decided to read it. ' September 12, 1871 ' "Dearest, Sweet Martha," ' "I hope that this reached you in time for your birthday. ' I only wish that I could be there to give it to you myself." ' "Words can't express how much I miss you, my beloved wife, ' and you are always in my thoughts. The moment my work ' out here for Mr. Hall is done, I will be on the first stage- ' coach back to you." ' "Until then, know that I will always be ' Your Loving Husband, ' Eugene" "Now ain't that sweet," Jessie said, sarcastically. "It's almost a shame that she ain't never gonna get that necklace... or the letter." She crumbled up the paper and tossed it into the fire. "Some men are just downright fools about their wives. Like ole Shamus. He don't show it very much, but I'll bet that he'd do just about anything for _his_ wife, Molly." Jessie stopped as a wicked smile curled her pretty lips. "...for _his_ wife, Molly." She suddenly brightened with an idea, a way to force Shamus O'Toole to change her back into a man. She had a couple of other ideas, notions of what she'd do to Shamus after she was a man again; nasty ideas all of them, and, to her, those were the best kind. * * * * * Saturday, September 16, 1871 The door to the stage depot opened, ringing a small brass bell on a wire just above it. There were about a half dozen men inside, waiting out the "monsoon" rains that had blown up from the Baja. A few turned toward the door to see a tall man no one recognized, wearing a brown hat and rain slicker. "Do I smell coffee," he said by way of a greeting. "You do." A short balding man sat behind a counter with a sign above it saying "Station Master." "Have some n'warm up yer insides," the man added. He pointed to a large coffeepot resting on a stove in the corner of the room. There were cups and a bowl of sugar on a shelf next to it. "Thanks." The newcomer headed straight for the pot. He filled a cup, drank, and sighed. "Damn, that feels good." "'Spect it would in this rain," the man behind the counter said. "I'm Coleman Hoyle; m'friends call me Cole. I run this place for Wells Fargo." "Paul... Paul Grant," the new man said. He was a tall, wiry-looking man with chestnut-colored hair. He took another sip of coffee, pausing to feel its warmth in his stomach. "I'm deputy sheriff over in Eerie, Arizona." He pulled back his slicker on one side just long enough to show Hoyle the badge on his light brown leather vest. Cole scratched his head. "Don't think I ever heard of it." "You're not likely to have," Paul said. "It's a little place a few hours east of Phoenix. The stage only comes through twice a week, almost never stops." "Then what brings you over t'these parts?" "I'm looking for somebody." He raised his voice, knowing that the men in the room were listening, even if they pretended that they weren't. "Her trail led on this direction -- at least it did before that damned rain..." "_Her_ trail," somebody said, a chunky man in a brown work shirt. He sounded angry. "That wouldn't be a pretty, little gal with long, blonde hair and a big mouth, would it?" "Sounds like her," Paul said with a wry smile. "Especially the part about the mouth. You see her?" Another man laughed. "See her. She almost cost Devon there his job." "Shut up, Sol," the chunky man -- Devon -- said. "Why you looking for her anyway, Mister?" Paul sensed more than normal curiosity here. "A man died, and she's the only witness." "She probably did it," Devon said. "I had a bad run-in with her three days back." He gave Paul a nasty grin. "Say, is there a reward for her?" "Sure is. The thanks of the good citizens of Eerie and the satisfaction of seeing justice done." Paul wanted directions, if he could get them, but he didn't need a trigger-happy mob trailing after him. Sol made a face. "Yeah, sure; that 'n' two bits'll get me a beer." "I don't care," Devon said. "I might just ride along with the man. Be nice to see a little justice fall on her head." "The hell you will." Cole slammed his fist on the counter. "The company hired you t'ride guard on their stages. They'll be another one along soon as this rain stops, and the roads ain't flooded no more. You was begging me not t'report you after what happened. You better by G-d be here when that stage comes through, or you can just keep on riding, 'cause you won't be working for us no more." Paul poured himself another cup of coffee and took a seat at the table Devon was sitting at. "What exactly did happen to put that burr under your saddle?" "Story like that, a man needs something stronger than coffee t'tell it right." Devon looked expectantly at Cole. "Fifty cents a shot, same as always," Cole told him. Paul tossed Cole a silver dollar. "Give the man his drink. I'll just take mine later." Cole leaned forward. There was the sound behind the counter of a key in a lock. A moment later, Cole brought out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He poured one drink before putting the bottle back. "Here, y'go, Devon." Devon took the glass and downed it in one quick gulp. He closed his eyes and shuddered for a moment. "Ah, that there's the real stuff." He sat down opposite Paul and started talking. "Three days ago, me'n Noah Ward was bringing the stage down from Prescott t' Tucson. He was driving, and I was the guard..." Paul listened closely as the man related his version of the robbery. 'Sounds like something Jessie'd pull,' he thought. 'She's probably wearing Toby's old clothes. He tore her stuff up pretty good.' The station agent - Hoyle - was totally put out at the way Jessie had caught Devon and the driver off guard. To hear him tell it, Devon wasn't too happy about it, either. He was even less happy about the other men in the room were teasing him about what had happened. "Damn all you bastards t'hell!" Devon stood up and spun around, his pistol in his hand. "Put that away," Paul said quietly. His own pistol was drawn and pointed directly at Devon. "I mean it." Devon looked at Paul. He looked into Paul's eyes and trembled with rage. "They... they called me a coward -- n'worse. You heard them." Paul looked at the others in the room. "I heard them. Some men talk real big when it's somebody else in danger and not them. But you can't shoot a man for talking stupid." He glared at them and shook his head. "No matter how much he might deserve it." "We... we was just funning you, Devon," a man at another table said. He was an older man, bald but for a few tufts of gray hair at each ear. There were murmurs of agreement from every other man in the room, followed by a round of _very_ hasty apologies. Devon brightened. "Then you all will help me go find that gal after this rain stops?" He sounded hopeful. "No they won't, Devon," Hoyle answered in a stern voice. "First off, I already told you that you're staying here t'wait for the next stage. Second, I won't stand for no lynch mob pretending t'act in the company's name." "Lynch mob?" Devon pointed at Paul. "We... we was gonna bring her in so this here man can... arrest her for robbing the stage." "He can arrest her for whatever _he_ come to arrest her for," Cole said, "but there's no point bringing her in for robbing the stage. The company _ain't_ pressing charges." "What are you saying, Cole?" "If she got anything, we'd press charges," Cole looked uncomfortable with what he was saying. "We can't have people thinking that they can just take valuables that Wells Fargo has promised t'protect and t'deliver to their rightful destinations. " "She took nothing at all?" Paul asked. Cole shook his head. "They found that mail sack right where Noah tossed it, and, as far as anybody could tell, nothing got taken. We press charges, we got to tell people how some little bit of a gal scared two Wells Fargo men into giving her that sack. You think the company wants t'say something like that, you're crazy as that gal must be." Devon gritted his teeth. "So she gets off scot free?" "No she doesn't," Paul said. "I'd lost her trail in this rain. Thanks t'you, I found it again. I just have to figure out which way she went after she... umm, ran into you and Noah." "That's easy," the angry man said. "She went t'Mexico." Most of the other men in the room made noises like they agreed. "Why do you say that?" Paul asked. "I been giving it some thought in case I could get this _company_ _man_ t'let me go after her." He looked at Cole, who just shrugged. To him, it was a compliment. "Anyways," Devon continued. "She tried to rob the stage -- I'll be damned if I know why she didn't take that sack -- so she must figger that there's a posse chasing her." Paul put on his best poker face. 'Jessie's not the strongest of gals,' he reminded himself. 'Most likely, she couldn't lift that heavy bag, and I bet that _really_ pissed her off.' "You don't have t'be too smart to know that the easiest way t'shake a posse is t'head south," the other man continued. "Once you get across that border, ain't nobody gonna help them bring you back. Law don't say they has to. There's nothing that a posse _can_ do short of kidnapping you -- and then _they's_ the criminals." "Give him my drink," Paul said to Cole. He'd wait here till the rain stopped and head south after her. No need to get wet now that he was pretty sure he knew where Jessie was headed -- out of the frying pan and into the fire. The border was a bad place, with the meanest kind of owl hoots scuttling back and forth across it. It would be especially bad for any gal as pretty as Jessie Hanks. * * * * * Monday, September 25, 1871 Deputy Sheriff Paul Grant and his prisoner, Jessie Hanks, were ready to ride back to Eerie to stand trial for the murder of Toby Hess. Paul knew how Toby Hess had died, that it had probably been an accident, as she tried to defend herself, but a jury still had to settle the matter, to set her free on the grounds of self-defense. Their horses were saddled, and Paul was going over a map with Ephrem Tyler one last time. Jessie and Ephrem's daughter, Hanna, stood near the horses, saying their goodbyes. Jessie had saved Hanna and her mother from Commancheros, Mexican raiders, and she and the girl had become close friends. Hanna was tall for a girl of fifteen. Her butternut-colored cotton dress modestly displayed her slender, blossoming figure. Her brown hair hung down over her shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to go, Jessie," she said, her voice full of regret. "I'll miss you." "You're gonna be too busy to miss anybody, getting ready for that wedding of yours, Hanna," Jessie told her, with just a bit of a smile. "June's a lot closer than it looks by the calendar. " "And you'll be back for it, won't you? It wouldn't be... I... Gil and I -- we _really_ want you to be here. Please... oh, please say you will." Gil Parker was the girl's fianc?. They were to be married in the spring, a few weeks after her sixteenth birthday. "I don't know, Hanna." Jessie hesitated. She thought - wrongly, she would later discover -- that she knew how to be restored to her male self. 'You wouldn't like ole _male_ Jesse Hanks at your wedding, Hanna, flirting with the ladies and scaring the men half t'death.' The thought bothered her. 'Damn, why do I keep badmouthing myself like that? I liked being Jesse Hanks... didn't I?' Hanna wouldn't give up. "Please, please say you'll be here. I heard the way you sang to Gil's little sister. You have such a beautiful voice... like an angel's, and I... I'd love for you sing at my wedding." "I can't promise you anything, Hanna," Jessie admitted reluctantly. She was standing next to Useless, the horse she'd taken from Toby Hess's barn. She reached deep into one of her saddlebags. "Just in case I _can't_ be there -- and I ain't saying I won't -- let me just give you a present now." The girl's eyes glistened. "You aren't going to come, are you?" She sounded almost ready to cry. "No, no, Hanna. It's just that I don't know how my trial will come out. Call this..." She dug out the box with the blue cameo necklace, her sole gain from the stage robbery, from her saddlebag. "...Call it an _engagement_ present." She pressed it into Hanna's hand. The girl opened the box and examined the gift, carefully running her finger across the cream colored silhouette. "Oh, it's... it's lovely. I couldn't." "Sure, you could, Hanna. I got it from... well, you never mind where I got it from. I just want you t'have it. Besides, ain't there something about old and blue that a bride's supposed t'have for luck?" She curled Hanna's fingers around the cameo. Hanna refused to take the hint. "There is, and the rest of it says, 'something borrowed.' That's what this is, as far as _I'm_ concerned. And you're gonna _have_ _to_ come to my wedding, so I can give it back." She threw her arms around Jessie, hugging her fiercely. In spite of herself, Jessie hugged her back. It felt like she was saying goodbye to kinfolk, not to somebody she'd met less than a week before. "We'll see," she said, reluctantly letting go of Hanna. She turned and quickly mounted Useless. Paul already sat in the saddle of his cow pony, Ash, and he had to smile as he watched the two females say their farewells. Jessie was acting just as "girlie" as Hanna. If she stayed that way, the long ride back to Eerie might be a lot more... interesting. When Jessie was finally in the saddle, he nodded to her, and the pair rode off. "You better be here for my wedding, Jessie Hanks," Hanna yelled, waving after them until they were out of sight. "You'd just _better_ be here." * * * * * Chapter 2 -- "Heading to the Wedding" Monday, May 27, 1872 Paul Grant yanked at the leather cord, tightening the strap holding his bedroll tightly behind his saddle. "Done," he said, satisfied that it was secure. He glanced over at his lady love, Jessie Hanks, who was fixing her own rig on her horse, Useless. She seemed to be as far along in her preparations as he was. There was plenty to pack. It was a four- or five-day ride to the Tyler farm. Jessie was going to keep the promise that she'd made all those months ago to Hanna Tyler. She was going to sing at the girl's wedding. Paul was going... well, he was going because Jessie was going, and, no matter how good she was with a gun or a knife, a woman as beautiful as she was shouldn't be riding alone through open country. Or _sleeping_ alone those four or five nights. He spent a minute - time definitely _not_ wasted - looking at her strawberry blonde hair and full red lips before his eyes trailed down to her delightful curves so well displayed in a forest green dress that hugged her breasts and emphasized her narrow waist and wide hips. No, she certainly would _not_ be sleeping alone. "Glad t'see you two ain't gone yet," a cheery voice said, coming up behind them, scrambling his lecherous thoughts. Jessie turned to greet her older sister. "Hey, Wilma, you come over t'see me and Paul head out?" "I did," Wilma replied. She was taller than Jessie, a voluptuously curved, dark- haired product of O'Toole's potion. "In fact, I even brought you - you 'n' Paul - a going-away present." She tossed Jessie a small drawstring bag. Jessie caught the bag one-handed. "Thanks." She loosened the cord that held it closed and looked inside. "Wilma!" she hissed indignantly, as a blush spread across her face. "What's the matter?" Wilma asked innocently, stepping in close to her sister. "I figured that you'd pack yourself _some_ riding coats" she replied in a soft voice, almost a whisper. "I just wanted t'make sure that you had _enough_." The transformed woman worked in a local brothel, and sex was both a business _and_ a hobby for her. Teasing her younger sibling was a longtime habit that went all the way back to when they were boys growing up in Texas. Jessie quickly stashed the condoms in a saddlebag. "More'n enough, I'd say, but thanks." "Just trying t'take care of my little sister; Lord knows I want you to enjoy your... trip." The demimonde chuckled. "I'm sure you 'n' Paul'll put 'em to good use." "We will." Jessie gave her sister a nervous giggle. "And thanks again." Before Wilma could reply, Shamus and Molly O'Toole walked over. "Hello t'ye, Wilma," Shamus said cheerfully. "Jessie, I brought ye that bottle I promised, some fine Kentucky sipping whiskey t'be toasting the bride 'n' groom with." "Thanks, Shamus." Jessie took the brown glass bottle from him and stuffed it carefully in the same saddlebag that she'd just placed the condoms in. She arranged a pocket for it in the folded clothes already in the bag. "I just come out t'be saying goodbye," Molly told her. "The two of ye have a good trip and come back to us as soon as ye can." She leaned over and kissed Jessie on the cheek. Paul put his foot in a stirrup and rose up into the saddle of Ash, his cowpony. "You ready, Jess?" "Just about." She closed her saddlebag, putting the strap through the metal hitch that held it tight. She'd been practicing riding in a skirt, and she scrambled quickly onto Useless. "See y'all real soon," she called, as the pair started off. Molly waved. "Good bye, and... be careful." "Don't worry," Paul answered. "I'll take care of her." Wilma smiled. "Mmm, I'll just bet you will. Have fun, little sister." "We will." Jessie turned Useless to face west and rode down the street. Paul rode a short distance back, enjoying the view of her rump bouncing from her horse's movement for a time before he caught up with her. * * * * * Ivar "Chip" Woods glanced up at the jangle of the bell above the door of his general store. "And how can I help you today, Miss Tyler?" "Good morning, sir," Hanna Tyler said. "That sigh in your window says that you repair watches. Can you repair jewelry as well?" He shrugged and ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. "That depends on what sort of repairs are needed." "The clasp." She set her purse down on the counter and carefully took out a silver chain. A small, blue cameo dangled from the chain. "I can't get it opened, and it's too small to just slip over my head." He held out his hand. "May I see it?" "Of course." She handed it to him, and stood quietly, a nervous smile curling her lips, as she watched him examine the item. "I think I can fix it. How soon do you need it?" "As soon as possible." Her face reddened. "I want to wear it on Sunday. I-I'm getting married." "So I've heard, and congratulations." He thought for a moment. "Tell you what; I'll get right to it. You come back here, and it'll be done - polished, too, my wedding present to you." "Oh, thank you... thank you _so_ much." "My pleasure." He set the necklace down and watched her walk - skip almost - out of his shop. Then he opened the drawer where he kept his watch and jewelry repair kit. A folded up sheet of paper had been placed in there, next to the kit. He remembered what the paper was about, and he took it from the drawer and began to read. He frowned as his eyes moved from the paper to the necklace lying on his counter. * * * * * Paul Grant poured himself a cup of coffee, while he checked on the campfire. It was safe within the crude circle of rocks, and it was well on its way to becoming a mass of glowing coals that would last until morning. He turned to where Jessie Hanks was sitting, her back against a boulder. "You want some more coffee, Jess?" "Yeah... please." She smiled at him for a moment, and then returned to plucking at the strings of her guitar. Paul came over to where she sat. He carefully placed two steaming cups on the ground before sitting down beside her. "What're you working on?" "A new song for my act; I gotta add songs every now 'n' then - especially now that the folks got the Cactus Blossom's dancing t'distract 'em." "I don't think you have to worry about that, not as pretty as you... sing." He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. She smiled. "Speaking of distractions, I think you're trying one on me." "Who... me?" He asked in an innocent tone that was spoiled by the leer on his face. "Ain't nobody else around here; not that I really mind a little... distraction now 'n' again." She chuckled. "Things is sure a lot different than the last time we was on the trail." "Yeah, this time, I don't have t'put you over my knee to get you to behave how I want." Jessie put down her guitar. "And just how d'you want me t'behave?" She shifted slightly and kissed him gently on his lips. "Something like that?" "More like this." He took her head in his hands and leaned in until their lips met again. Jessie sighed and pressed herself against him. Her arm rose to encircle him. Finally, they broke the kiss. "One other thing that'll be different," she said, smiling shyly. "You ain't gonna have no problem getting me outta these clothes." As she spoke, she began unbuttoning her blouse. "Getting you out of your clothes isn't a problem," he replied, working on his own shirt. "It will be my pleasure." * * * * * Tuesday, May 28, 1872 The bell over the door to Woods' General Store jangled as Hanna Tyler walked in, followed closely by her mother. "Morning, Mr. Woods," Hanna greeted him. "Is my necklace ready?" She asked eagerly, almost running to the counter. "Well... umm, that is." Chip Woods glanced over to a young boy who was arranging cans on a shelf. "Marcus, would you run and tell the Sheriff that Hanna Tyler is here?" The boy nodded. "Sure, Dad; I'll be right back." He ran for the door. "May I ask why the Sheriff needs to know about my daughter's presence?" Piety asked stiffly. Woods looked nervous. "It ain't her; so much as that cameo she brought in. The... Uhh, the Sheriff can explain it better'n me." "Explain what? " Hanna said. "Why does he have to explain anything? Je --." She cut off her words as her mother gave her a stern look and shook her head. "We'll wait," she added with a sigh. Woods cocked a curious eyebrow, wondering what she'd been about to say. "In the meantime, why don't you ladies look around?" he suggested, trying to distract them. "See if there's anything you need... for your wedding or... whatever." * * * * * The two women were still looking at blouses, considering a last minute addition to Hanna's trousseau when Sheriff Whyte arrived. Elijah Whyte was a burly man in his forties, with curly, dark brown hair and a bushy mustache. "There they are, Sheriff." Marcus Woods pointed eagerly at the pair. "You gonna arrest 'em now?" "No, Marcus." Whyte tousled the boy's hair with his hand. "I just want to talk to them - for now, anyway." He walked over to the pair, while the boy hurried behind the counter and settled in to watch. "I _can_ talk to you, ladies, can't I?" "Yes, Sheriff," Piety replied. "What is all this about?" "That cameo your daughter has, Miz Tyler. It matches the description of one I got in this flyer from Prescott last fall." He took a folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Piety. "I gave a copy to Mr. Woods 'cause he's the only one in town who deals with jewelry." She opened the paper and read, holding it low enough so that Hanna could read it as well. "Murder!" the girl gasped. "You don't think I did it - do you?" "I don't think you - or your mama - had much of anything to do with this Barlow fellah's death, but that cameo of yours - or one just like it - belonged to Barlow." Piety glanced back down at the paper. "This says that Mr. Barlow was killed last fall. Surely they've found the one who did it by now." "Shirley's my wife, ma'am." The man smiled at his own joke, hoping to put the two women at ease. "And, no, they haven't found the killer yet. I got another telegram about a month ago. They've still got no leads, and they wanted folks to keep watching for that cameo." He took a breath, fixing his gaze at the girl. "Now... speaking of cameos, where did you get _yours_, Miss Hanna?" "Do-Do I _have_ to tell?" The girl asked nervously. Piety put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "I'm afraid that you do, dear." "I-I found - No! It was part of the loot that the Comman -" "Stop that, Hanna," Piety interrupted angrily. "It does you no good to be lying to Mr. Whyte; no good to you -- _or_ to Jessie." "Jesse? " The Sheriff raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Who _exactly_ is this Jesse, and what does he have to do with the cameo?" "He's a she," Hanna said, her face reddening with embarrassment. "I- I'm sorry about lying to you like that, Sheriff, but Jessie... uhh, she protected us when Mama and me was taken by those Commancheros. She kept 'em from... from doing... things to us, and... and then... when Gil and those others came to rescue us, Mama got caught in a cross fire. She might've been shot if Jessie hadn't knocked her down - and Jessie _did_ get wounded while she done it." The man frowned. "I can see why you'd want to protect her, Hanna, but you know it _was_ wrong to say those other things." "I-I do, and I'm sorry. I just _had_ to try." She looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. "She gave me the cameo. She said it was a sorta wedding present." "Do you know where she got it?" Piety spoke first. "Neither of us know anything about that, Sheriff. She gave it to Hanna just before she and her friend, Mr. Grant, left our farm last fall." "Do you know where she might be now?" The older woman nodded. "She - and Mr. Grant, I believe - live in a town called 'Eerie', somewhere east of Phoenix, but I do understand that they are both coming back to Dawson for Hanna's wedding this weekend." She didn't seem happy to be giving the Sheriff this information, but after the way she had scolded Hanna for lying, she felt that she had to tell him the truth. "Any idea when they'll be getting here?" Hanna shook her head. "Jessie just said they was coming. I think they figured to get here on Friday or Saturday." "You tell her that I want to talk to her. If she isn't in to see me before the wedding, I'll ride out with Brother Douglas when he heads out to marry you and Gil Parker and talk to her then. You understand?" Piety answered for both herself and Hanna. "Y-Yes, Sheriff," "In the meantime, though, I'll be holding onto the cameo." He picked up the piece of jewelry and jammed it into his pocket. Hanna's eyes went wide. "That's mine. Please... it's for my wedding." "And I'll make sure that you have it. I'll give it to your friend, Hanks, when she comes to see me." He frowned. "And if she _doesn't_ come in, I'll bring it back to you myself." Then, to himself, he added, 'unless I need it for evidence.' Before Hanna could say anything else, Piety put her hand on her daughter's arm. "Very well, Sheriff. Whatever happens, we _will_ expect to get the cameo back. I'm certain, though, that Jessie won't have anything useful to you." "Perhaps, but I won't know that until I talk to her. Till then, I'll let you ladies get on with your errands." He nodded and touched the rim of his hat with his index finger, as if saluting. "Good day." Without waiting for any response, Sheriff Whyte left the store. * * * * * Chip Woods positioned the rolled up rental tent in the back of the Tyler farm wagon. He moved his hands carefully. The canvas was heavy enough and the wooden poles wrapped inside it just added to the problem. "You sure you can manage this?" He asked. "It's heavy _and_ awkward." "My husband and sons should be able to unload and set up the tent by themselves well before the wedding," Piety answered. "If not, there will be others there to help." He stepped back onto the wooden sidewalk in front of his store. "In that case, you're ready to go. And again, congratulations and good luck, Hanna." "Thank you, Mr. Woods," the girl answered. She didn't sound nearly as happy as a bride should be just a few days before her wedding. Her mother flicked the reins, and the wagon moved out onto the street. "You seem upset, dear," Piety said. "Mama, did you have to make me tell Sheriff Whyte so much about Jessie? You _know_ that she couldn't have murdered anyone." "I know nothing of the sort. I saw Jessie win a knife fight against a man half-again her size, and I saw how well she could shoot a pistol. She's perfectly capable of killing a man if she had to." "Mother, how can you say that about Jessie?" "I said that Jessie _could_ kill someone, but I don't think that she did. A killer wouldn't have put herself between us and those evil men. She certainly wouldn't have risked her own life to save mine." "Then why did you say all those things?" "Because I feel that it's better to tell the truth than to have to worry about getting caught in whatever lie I could have said. And I'm _sure_ that Jessie can explain where she got that cameo." "What if she can't? What if the Sheriff doesn't believe her? What... What if her puts her in... in jail? It would be all _my_ fault. I-I wish I hadn't insisted she come to my wedding. If she gets arrested, I-I'll just die." Hanna sniffled, her eyes stinging as she held back her tears. Piety stopped the wagon. "Well, we can't have that." She put her arm around her daughter, trying to comfort the girl. "But I don't believe that Gil would want a tearful bride, either." "Can't we do anything?" "Perhaps we can warn her not to come - if she hasn't already left." Piety flicked the reins again. "Mr. Lawler's telegraphy office is just around the corner." * * * * * Tommy Carson stepped nervously through the swinging doors and into the Eerie Saloon. Eleven year old boys usually didn't go into such places. "T-Telegram for Miss Jessie Hanks," he called out. "Telegram f-for Miss J-Jessie Hanks." "She's outta town for a few days," Molly O'Toole said, walking over to the boy. "I'll just be taking it for her." The boy looked uncertain. "I-I don't know ma'am..." His voice trailed off. "It's all right, Tommy," Nancy Osbourne told the boy, joining Molly. "M-Miz Osbourne?" he asked. Tommy knew that his former teacher was working in the Saloon. His father, the town's chief telegrapher, had warned him not to speak to the so-called "fallen woman." Nancy nodded, trying to make her former student feel more comfortable. "One and the same. How are you doing with your spelling words?" "I'm getting better, I guess. Mrs. Stone, she's been quizzing me on the words, just like you done." "Like I _did_," she corrected him. "How are your other grades?" "I... Miz Osbourne, my PA told me that I ain't supposed t'talk to you." He sounded embarrassed as he said it. Nancy frowned; she had heard things like that too many times already. "I-I'm sorry, Tommy. I don't want to get you in trouble." "Why don't ye be giving me that thuir telegram?" Molly asked the boy sourly. "And ye can be getting the he - getting outta here?" The boy all but shoved the telegram into Molly's hands and hurried towards the door. At the last moment, he stopped and yelled back. "Goodbye, Miz Osbourne. I'm sorry, but please don't tell nobody that we talked." Then he was gone. "G-Goodbye, Tommy." Nancy whispered, her face furrowed in anger - and disappointment. Molly placed a reassuring hand on the younger woman's arm. "Are ye all right, Nancy? Do ye want t'be sitting down for a wee bit?" "No, I-I'm -- no, I'm _not_ fine, but I will be. Right now, I think some hard work'll do me more good than anything else I might do." Molly gave what she devoutly prayed was her best reassuring smile. "Hard work, is it? Well, _that_ we got plenty of." "Don't I know it? By the way, what's in that telegram for Jessie?" Nancy asked, hoping to change the subject. "If you don't mind my asking." "T'be telling the truth, I'm a wee bit curious about that meself. Well..." She tore open the envelope. "...thuir's only one way t'be finding out." She took out the folded paper, unfolded it, and began to read. ' "Miss Jessie Hanks ' ? Eerie Saloon ' Eerie, Arizona" ' "Jessie. Urgent reasons you not - repeat - not come to Hanna's ' wedding. Will explain later." ' "Love, Piety and Hanna Tyler." Molly's eyebrows furrowed. "Something's wrong; very, _very_ wrong." "You think Jessie's in trouble?" Nancy asked. The older woman nodded. "I do, and thuir's no earthly way t'be warning her about it. They're traveling cross-country, and I can't be asking a man t'ride hard after 'em, just 'cause I don't like the wording of this here telegram." She sadly shook her head. "Paul 'n' her are riding into an unholy mess of trouble, I'm thinking, and all we can be doing about it is t'be praying that it ain't half as bad as it sounds." * * * * * Thursday, May 30, 1872 "Shit!" Jessie spat. Paul glanced in the direction of her voice. He saw her reach for a large piece of wood, but then, in the same smooth motion, toss the branch some distance away from her. "What's the matter, Jess?" he asked. He'd been arranging rocks for a fire pit, while she gathered the wood for that fire. "Scorpion; there was a damned bark scorpion on that thing. I didn't see it till I was picking up the stick." "It didn't sting you, did it?" "Nope, I saw it in time and threw it away as quick as I could." He stood and walked over to where their horses were tethered and began searching through his saddlebags. "I guess we'd better both start wearing work gloves when we're setting up camp." There could easily have been a scorpion or three hiding the rocks he was arranging. "Those things have enough venom to kill." "I didn't know as they'd kill a grown man." She joined him and began rooting through her own saddlebags for gloves. "But their sting'd hurt like hell and make him awful sick, b'sides." He found his gloves and began pulling them on. "And we certainly don't want anything like that to happen. It'd ruin the whole trip." * * * * * Friday, May 31, 1872 "Mmm, that was _good _," Jessie said, snuggling even close to Paul under the blanket. They were both relaxed, enjoying the afterglow of early morning sex. Paul shifted so he could take in the beauty of her profile. "It surely was." "I gotta admit," Jessie said, rubbing her hand across his bare chest. "I do like these sleeping arrangements a whole lot more than anything I had the last time I was out in these parts." The Deputy shook his head. "Maybe you were being too selective back then." The girl grinned. "Yeah, I've lowered my standards considerably since those days." Paul smiled and gently stroked her cheek with a finger. He glanced up at the sun, now well above the horizon. "But we'd best get dressed and on our way. With a little luck we can make the Tyler farm by early afternoon." "Be really good t'see Hanna again - and Piety, too, I guess." Her lips curled in a mischievous smile. "Be nice t'sleep - or _not_ sleep -- with you in a real... soft... bed." "That it would, but I'm afraid it ain't gonna happen. The 'with me' part, I mean." When she looked puzzled, he continued. "The Tylers're respectable people; they're not about to let an unmarried man and woman share the same bed." "Dang it; you're right. It'll probably be like they done it last time. I'll wind up sleeping with Hanna, and you'll bunk in with one of her brothers." "Maybe not. Didn't Piety Tyler tell you in one of her letters that her father was coming west for the wedding? He'd be the one to get a bed in the boy's room. I'll most likely be out in their barn. Or what was left of their barn after that Commanchero raid." "I'll have t'sneak out 'n' visit you, to... see how you're doing now and again." "You know, if we were... married, you wouldn't have to sneak. We could even have a double ceremony with Hanna and Gil." He grinned. "You know Hanna'd love that." Jessie looked away, a frown on her face. "Marriage is too danged important t'be joking about, Paul." "Who says I was joking?" The grin came back, but then he saw the expression on her face. "Okay... I _was_ joking, but let's just say that the offer's there, if you ever want to take me up on it." She gave him a wan smile and put her hand on his. "Maybe. Like I was saying, I've lowered my standards." * * * * * Jessie and Paul rode down the low hill towards the Tyler farmhouse. "Looks like they got the barn rebuilt," Paul said. "I forgot how bad the Commancheros burned it." "Looks like that Brother Douglas made good on that barn building he was gonna get organized. I guess you'll have a place t'sleep, after all," Jessie teased. The same outdoor cooking area that had been set up for the people helping with last fall's harvest was now set up for the wedding guests. Not too far away, Paul and Jessie could see men putting up the poles for a large tent. When they were close enough, they recognized them as Hanna's father, Ephram Tyler, and her brothers, Amos and Malachai. Gil Parker, her fianc?, was also working on the tent. Hanna stood nearby with her mother, Piety, watching the men's efforts. "Mother, look!" Hanna pointed at the two riders. "It's Jessie... Jessie and her Mr. Grant." She ran towards the pair. Piety followed, moving slower, an odd expression on her face. Jessie quickly dismounted. "Hey, Hanna... Piety; how're you two doing.?" "All right... I guess," Hanna said nervously. "I... We was just hoping you wouldn't come." "Now why wouldn't you want Jessie and me to come, Hanna?" Paul asked, climbing off his cow pony, Ash. "You were the one who invited us in the first place." Piety reached the spot where the others were standing. "It would seem that you didn't get out telegram warning you not to come." "What telegram? There wasn't nothing when Paul 'n' I left on Monday." Hanna sighed. "We didn't send it till Tuesday. That's when we found out." "Found out what?" Jessie asked cautiously. Piety sighed and looked down towards the ground where Jessie and Paul were standing. "Found out that the Sheriff wants to talk to you about a murder." "I think he thinks you done it, Jessie," Hanna added grimly. * * * * * Chapter 3 - "Sheriff Trouble" Saturday, June 1, 1872 Ephrem Tyler cut another piece from his short stack of pancakes. "So, Jessie, when are you leaving for town?" "Right after breakfast," Paul answered for her. "I'm going along to keep her company... and _maybe_ I can help her straighten things out with Sheriff Whyte." Hanna sighed and shook her head. "Oh, Jessie, I'm so sorry I got you in so much trouble." "It wasn't your fault, Hanna. I got outta a lot worse spots - and don't you go asking me what they was." She winked at the girl. "I can get outta this one; especially with Paul t'help, him being a lawman himself." "Oh, I hope so," "And are you coming right back?" Piety asked. Jessie shrugged. "I guess. I don't know as there's much t'do in - what was it? - Dawson." A thought struck her. "You need me t'pick up anything?" "No, I just thought... there're some lovely stretches between here and town. Rather than you having to hurry back here for lunch, I thought I might fix you a picnic basket. You could find a nice place to stop - Ephrem has a good map of the area, if you'd like - and you could have a quiet, relaxed... meal off the trail somewhere." Piety's face flushed just a bit. "Somewhere... private." Jessie and Paul glanced at each other and smiled. "A... picnic sounds like a fine idea - if it's not too much trouble," Paul said. "Thanks, Mrs. Tyler." "I told you yesterday to please call me Piety, and it'll be no trouble at all. Why don't you go pack an extra blanket -- to sit on... or whatever?" * * * * * Paul maneuvered his mount, so that he was riding close - very, very close - to Jessie. "We're getting near to town, Jess; time to change clothes." "I suppose so," she replied reluctantly. They both dismounted and led their horses off the trail and over a low hill, tying their reins to the branches of an ironwood tree. "This is silly," Jessie said, as she took her green dress and her petticoat from a saddlebag. "Even Piety don't mind - not _too_ _much_, anyway - if I go 'round some of the time in pants." "It's not Piety Tyler we're worried about," Paul reminded her, "it's that sheriff. He's a lot more likely to give the benefit of the doubt to a lady in a dress than a female saddle tramp in a pair of jeans." "What d'you mean 'saddle tramp', Paul?" she asked indignantly, but then she sighed and added, "I suppose you're right, but that don't mean I gotta like it." Paul waited, keeping watch, until Jessie was in her petticoat. "We need to talk, Jess," he finally said. "Can't it wait till we get to town?" she asked. Her arms were in the dress, and she was letting it slide down onto her body. "I think it'd be better to talk out here, where there's nobody else around to listen." He took a breath. "Jess... where _did_ you get that cameo, anyway? I didn't want to ask at the Tylers', but I... I really need to know the truth _before_ we get to town - and go see that sheriff." She was silent for a short bit, gathering her thoughts, while she smoothed out the frock over the petticoat. When she finally spoke, her voice low and hesitant. "You... You remember how I-I... robbed that stage coach, back when I was... on the run?" "I do. That Wells Fargo agent told me that he wasn't going to do anything about it because..." His voice trailed off, as he realized what she was saying. "Jessie, you _did_ get something from that robbery, didn't you?" "Yep; I did." She sighed, fastening the buttons on her garment. "They didn't have no cargo, just a mailbag, 'n' when I managed t'get the damned thing open, it was pretty much all just letters." "And one package," he added. "And one package," she repeated in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "I grabbed it and ran off 'cause I saw some riders coming." "And is that _all_ you took?" She raised her right hand, palm forward, and used her left index finger to make an "X" over her heart. "That's all, I _swear_ it is. I opened it that night and found the cameo and necklace. I burnt the wrapping in my campfire. There was a note in the box, 'n' it went into the fire, too." "It's a good thing that it wasn't reported missing, or they would've come after you." "Yeah, only now Sheriff Whyte _is_ after me. I don't know if the cameo I stole - I _gave_ t'Hanna -- is the one they're looking for, but if it is..." Jessie's expression changed. "But they're looking for a murderer, not a stage robber. I just don't see how them two things work together." She sighed again. Paul gazed off into the distance. "I don't know either, but something tells me _we've_ got _big_ trouble." The blonde beside him was quiet for a moment. "Well," she finally said, "in my experience, the best way to head off trouble is to have a good lie ready." "Let's hope we can figure one out before we get to town." * * * * * Jessie and Paul rode up to the hitching post in front of a brown adobe building in the center of town. A wooden sign hung on the wall well above the door read, "Sheriff." A strongly built, curly haired man was leaning back in a chair on the wooden sidewalk in front of the office. He was carefully whittling a block of wood. "You folks looking for the Sheriff?" he asked. "We are," Paul answered. The man stood up. "Well, you just found him. I'm Sheriff Whyte. What can I do for you?" Paul glanced over at Jessie, who shook her head nervously. "Can we talk inside?" "In... In private," she added. The Sheriff shrugged, his mustache twitching slightly. "Don't see why not." He stood, waiting while the pair dismounted, tying the reins of their horses to the post. "Follow me." He turned and entered the building. Jessie stood as if she'd sprouted roots into the wooden sidewalk staring at the jailhouse door. "Don't be afraid, Jess," Paul told her. "I'm right here with you." "I sure hope you're right about this." She took a breath and walked in, with Paul following her. Once he was inside, he shut the door behind him. "Now, like I said, how can I help you?" Sheriff Elijah Whyte asked. As he spoke, took a seat behind his desk. A rifle and cleaning rag were on the desk right in front of him, but he pushed them aside. Hanna's cameo rested atop a pile of papers in a corner of his desk Jessie _almost_ managed a smile. "T'tell the truth, I'm here t'help you, Sheriff. I'm Jessie Hanks, and the Tylers said you wanted t'talk to me." "And I'm Paul Grant, sir. I'm a... a friend of Jessie's." The Sheriff looked at the pair, his eyes drawn to the deputy's badge pinned to Paul's shirt. "And a lawman, too, I see. Are you here as her friend, or is it... official?" "What do you mean, 'official', Sheriff?" Paul asked cautiously. "Official... helping me make the arrest." Whyte rose, pulling out his pistol. "Jessie Hanks,