To the Rescue

Jackson moved fast.

The heavy door swung shut behind her. The bell jangled.

Her boots stomped on the dusty boardwalk.

The boy, Jesse, scrambled after her.

-Which way? Jackson asked.

Jesse pointed a trembling finger toward the edge of town. Toward the abandoned livery.

-They dragged ‘im in there, Miss Jackson, he said. Saw ‘em myself.

She broke into a run.

She skidded to a halt outside the gaping doorway. She pressed her back against the wall.

-Stay here, she hissed to Jesse.

A low groan echoed from a back stall. Three figures were hunched over a crumpled form.

Moonlight glinted off brass knuckles. The largest one. Hank Newcombe.

Jackson stepped into the light. She cocked both hammers.

Tiny wriggled on the ground. His face was a mess. One eye was swollen shut.

-Jackson? he groaned.

Hank turned. He wiped bloody knuckles on his pants. He grinned.

-Well lookee here, Hank said. The sheriff’s little whore came to—

The shotgun roared.

The blast filled the livery. Hank’s right knee exploded in a spray of blood and fabric.

He screamed like an animal and collapsed into the hay.

Jackson pumped the shotgun. The spent shell clattered on the floorboards.

-The next one takes your head off, she said. Now get the hell out of here.

The other two froze. They backed away and whimpered toward the rear door.

Jackson dropped to her knees beside Tiny. Her hands trembled.

-Damn fool, she whispered. Told you you’d get yourself shot.

-They ain’t use no guns, ma’am, Tiny grunted. He spit blood.

She scanned his body. Beaten like a dusty rug.

She ripped a strip from her skirt. She pressed the clean cotton against his brow.

-Stupid, brave bastard, she said.

-Just stupid ma’am, Tiny said. I reckon I had it coming.

-Reckon you did, she said. But that don’t mean I let ‘em finish the job.

She shifted closer.

-Mike’s the law, she said. I’m somethin’ else. Can you stand?

-If you tell me to, I got the strength.

She hauled him up. He was heavy but he could walk.

-You said something ‘bout a stable a fella could pass out in? Tiny asked.

-My stable’s full of horses that mind their manners better than you, she said.

She adjusted her grip.

-There’s a storeroom in back of the saloon. Got a cot. And a lock. You can stay there ‘til you heal.

-Spitting out blood makes it look worse than it is, Tiny muttered.

-You’re not gonna be spittin’ blood on my clean floor, Jackson declared.

They made it to the saloon.

-How ‘bout a shot of whiskey?

-Whiskey’s the last thing you need with a head wound, she said.

She brought him to the storeroom. She eased him onto the narrow cot.

She uncorked a dark bottle. It smelled clean. Carbolic acid.

-This’ll sting like hellfire.

-Don’t life sting all the way through? Tiny asked. Slap it on.

She dabbed the rag on his split brow.

The burn was savage. Tiny gritted his teeth.

-Breathe through it, she murmured. Ain’t nobody here to impress but me.

She finished. She tied off the bandage.

Tiny looked up at her.

-I’ve no way to pay for this, he said. Your sheriff squeeze gonna throw me in a cell?

Jackson laughed.

-Mike ain’t my squeeze, he’s my husband, she said. And he don’t need to know a damn thing.

She looked him in the eye.

-Consider it an advance. You’re gonna earn your keep swamping out my bar once you’re back on your feet.

-Nothing in life ain’t free, Tiny said.

-Everything’s got a price, she agreed. But sometimes the bill don’t come due right away.

She turned to leave.

-Rest, Tiny. We’ll settle accounts later.

The door clicked shut.

Jackson stood in the hallway. She wiped her hands on her skirt.

She thought of Mike. She thought of the Newcombe boys.

The balance of things was getting mighty uneasy.