Bad Company

Prologue

The fat crimson sun sank low on the horizon, casting gentler light than what roasted the Texas plain since early morning. Pockets of heat rose up in rippling waves, and out in the distance a dust devil wound about slowly, as if wearied by the day's smolder.

Standing in the shade of a splintered, faded barn, Amelia Louise Thorne paced back and forth. Snapping her red, sweat-damp bangs out of her blue eyes, she swatted at a fly that seemed intent on landing upon her bare shoulder.

"Go on, get!" She took a swing with her spindly arm, but hit only air. Amelia was wearing one of her father's old work shirts, which had developed so many holes it had been retired. As most of the damage done was on the sleeves, Amelia had solved the problem by cutting them off.

She was wearing a pair of her father's pants as well, belted tightly about her waist with a bit of twine. They were shapeless and baggy, practically swallowing her thin legs.

"Well, it's about damn time!" Amelia walked to the edge of the barn's shadow, holding her hand over her eyes to fight the late afternoon glare. A lone rider was coming over a slight rise, his horse moving at a careful walk. Squinting her eyes, she could just make out the furry burden in the rider's arms.

Amelia glanced inside the barn, her gaze darting about bales of hay and empty stalls, until they settled on a girl slightly younger than herself. She had the same scarlet mane, but her eyes were larger and deep green. The other girl didn't react, her eyes focused on a beam of sunlight that cut a red swath into the dusty interior.

"There she goes again," Amelia said with a sigh. "Damn it, Rosie, why can't you act right? Pa can't take care a you forever, and I sure as hell won't! You can't just 'go out' like you do and..."

Rosalinda jabbed a bit of straw into the air, slicing through the sunbeam in a methodical way. Amelia put her hands on her hips and tsked before heading out the door at a trot.

She dashed up to the rider, a middle aged man with shaggy graying hair and a bristly beard. In his arms he held a calf less than a day old, shivering with fright despite the heat.

"Pa!" Amelia came up to his side and put her hand on his stirrup. "What's with the calf?"

"Wolves got his mother," he said in a deep, somewhat garbled voice. A Cheyenne arrow had taken him in the mouth, and he'd lost part of his lips and tongue. His beard hid the scars fairly well, but did nothing to make him more intelligible. "Reckon we're gonna have to take care of 'em."

"You ain't gonna butcher em, are you Pa?" Amelia scrunched up her face at her father.

He scowled at her from his high perch. "Wearing pants again, I see. Emmy Lou, you're sixteen. It's high time you started acting like a proper lady so you can find yourself a husband."

"I don't want a husband," Amelia put her hands on her hips. "And even if I did, I couldn't get married."

"And why is that?" He pushed the brim of his leather hat up and sighed as sweat dripped into his eyes.

"On account of if I left, who would take care of you and Rosie?"

A smile spread beneath his beard. "Reckon we can take care of ourselves, Emmy Lou."

"Bullshit," Ameila snapped. Immediately, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Do have to wash out your mouth with soap again?" He glared at the calf in his hands. "Lucky for you, I'm busy. Get your sister and take her to the house."

"You ARE gonna butcher it," Amelia said. "Come on, Pa, let me-"

"Let you what, keep it?" He sneered. "Raise it, give it a name? Then what happens when it's time to send it off for slaughter? Got enough mouths to feed around here."

"Let me go riding with you and the boys," Amelia said eagerly. "I could earn my keep, help you take care of the herd! Maybe you could take me when you go after a bounty--"

"Hogwash!" Her father pulled up his gelding and carefully dismounted, nearly stumbling when his boots hit the ground. Glaring over the shivering calf, he practically spit out his words. "You wanna help me, help the ranch? Help your sister? Stop wearing pants and reading books and shooting rifles and acting like a man!"

Amelia blinked back tears. "That's not-"

"Shut up, or you'll taste the back of my hand!"

She gasped, but held her tongue.

"Now listen here...your sister, God bless her, she ain't never gonna land a husband. That means when I'm gone she'll have to go to this special school in New York, where they know how to take care of imbeciles like her."

"She ain't no imbecile daddy."

"Hush! You know I love her, but she is what she is! And you are what you are, a woman! You'll have a family, children and a husband to take care of. That means that when I'm gone you'll have to sell the ranch to pay for that fancy school. Hear?"

"Yeah, I hear ya Pa." Amelia's eyes blurred with tears. "I sure wish I'd been born with a dangler between my legs, cause then maybe you'd think I was worth more'n the piss it takes to fill a horse print!"

"Emmy Lou!" he shouted, but he was speaking to her back. Amelia ran toward the hills, hating her father and hating her sister and most of all hating herself...

Chapter 1

Emmy Lou

Scampering across the uneven terrain, the bound man strove for both speed and silence. The short chain binding his hands together before him made silence a sketchy prospect at best, and his fearful, frantic movements hindered rather than enabled his attempt to be swift.

Still, Emmy Lou was impressed. Squinting her eyes against the early morning light, she took aim with her Winchester rifle and squeezed the trigger. A sharp crack rang out over the scrub plain, echoing off the Medicine Bow range to the south. The man's dusty hat blew off of his head, sporting a new hole.

"Sweet Jesus Christ!" The man threw his arms up in the air and turned around. His gap toothed grin belied the flint in his dark eyed gaze. "I was just looking for a place to piss!"

"Uh huh, and I'm a Chinese coolie." Emmy reloaded her rifle and brought the butt to her shoulder. "You know, you ain't worth that much more alive than you are dead, Mitch. Maybe I oughta put some lead through your noggin, save myself some grief..."

"No! Wait!" He stumbled and landed hard on his rump. "I won't try to escape no more, I promise!"

"Knew I shoulda kept riding last night. Carbon's only twelve miles out." Emmy stopped aiming, resting her gun's barrel across her shoulder, which made Mitch collapse in relief. She turned toward the north, tucking a bit of her copper-gold hair behind her ear as the wind picked up. Chains rattled as Mitch shifted into a sitting position. She could feel his eyes running over her body, though it was largely hidden beneath her travel-stained leathers.

"You're purdy," He said, smiling his gap toothed grin.

"You ain't." Emmy's freckled nose wrinkled in disgust. "You got what my Pa called a summer mouth. Some 'er yer teeth are there, and some 'ernt!"

"You ride with Robert E. Lee for six months eating nothin' but maggoty bread and raw potatoes and see how good yer teeth look, girly!" Mitch spat in the dirt. "You're lucky you got the drop on me in Sweetwater, or I'd of shot that big iron out of your hand and showed you how a lady is supposed to act."

Mitch gestured toward the Colt Army Single Action revolver at her hip. The gun was a work of art, with engraved rose vines on the cylinder and barrel. The grip boasted white marble stocks, making it heavy but durable. Mitch had a knot on the back of his head thanks to a good wallop from it.

"I reckon it's a pretty nice piece," Emmy said, patting her side arm. "Better'n those refurbished models what had to be done up to take the cartridge rounds."

"I reckon you're a pretty nice piece," Mitch said, leering.

"I reckon you'd best-" Emmy paused, ears straining for sound. She snapped her gaze about, the Wyoming air clear and crisp on that Autumn morning.

Then she spotted the source. Three riders, coming her way at a gallop. Though it was too far to make out great details, they were clearly coming toward their camp.

"It's my friends come to rescue me!" Mitch got to his feet. "You'd better jump on that shaggy moose you call a horse and run missy!"

Emmy opened one side of her mouth and clucked her tongue. A short whinny and a pounding of hooves answered her summons. A heavy-boned stallion with a rich dark chestnut coat came trotting to her side. He had a white patch around one eye, marring his smooth coat, and each of his hooves was large and coated with a sheen of curly white hair.

"Easy," she said, taking his reigns in hand. The stirrup had been modified so she could reach her foot up and mount the great beast. Patting his mane, she coaxed the horse to turn about and face toward the riders.

They were nearly upon them now. From their dress, they had been living on the road for some time. Even her worn leather breeches looked posh compared to the hole-ridden, filthy garb they clothed themselves with.

"Whoa." One of the men reigned up about twenty paces from their position. He was a thick fellow of middle years, with a jagged scar on his neck. Both he and his younger companions were all armed with pistols, and she thought she saw the butt of a rifle on the older man's saddle.

"State your intentions, mister!" Emmy Lou still had the rifle in her hand, though it was just laying across her saddle at the moment. "This here man is a wanted criminal, and I'm acting under the auspices of the governor of-"

"Save it, missy." The man coughed and spat a dark stream between his toothless gums. "We know who he is. Mitchell O'Connel, wanted for cattle rustling and indecent acts with children."

Emmy glared at Mitch. "If I'd a known about the children stuff, I'd be hauling in a corpse."

"It wasn't like that!" Mitch pleaded with his manacled hands. "She said she was of age!"

"Stuff it." Emmy took her rifle off her lap, but kept the barrel pointed at the ground. She noted that the men all shifted positions in their saddles, making it easier to draw their own weapons. "I'm hauling him in to Carbon. Done deal."

"I don't think so." The man nodded towards the younger men. "My boys might be skinny, but they can shoot the eye out of a sparrow at a hundred yards. We're taking him in, and you're not gonna give us no trouble. Hear?"

"Mister, I don't know what this man done to you, but-"

"He ain't done nothing. I want the three hundred dollar reward on his head."

"Three hundred, huh?" Emmy whistled. "If I'd a known he was worth that much, I'd a brought in a few more bodies on this one. I'm willing to share the bounty with you, mister. I keep two hundred, you get one, seeing as how I hauled him damn near the whole way."

"Not a chance." The man pulled back his long coat, his empty hand moving toward his weapon.

Emmy didn't think, she just acted. Her rifle snapped up to her shoulder and she fired off a wild shot. It didn't hit any of her foes, but it did cause their horses to panic. While they fought to control their mounts, she rolled off of Goliath's back and landed on her booted feet. Smoothly, she drew a cavalry saber from behind her saddle, baring the naked blade. She gave his rump a slap and shouted, prompting him to charge into their ranks.

Her massive stallion bowled right into them, knocking the patriarch to the grass, his drawn pistol sent flying. Emmy drew and fired in one fluid motion. Her hands flashed as she sent a barrage downrange at the two younger men. One of them took a bullet in the throat. His eyes went wide, hands clasped around his torn and bleeding neck. His brother was only nicked on his thigh, and managed to return fire.

Emmy dropped to her belly, taking cover behind a rock. A few rounds ricocheted off her shield. She counted, smiling when she heard his hammer clicking harmlessly.

Rising to one knee, she braced both her forearms on the rock and took aim with two hands. It was her last chambered bullet, and it had to count...

Emmy put her round right between the man's eyes as he was trying to reload. That just left their father.

They spotted each other at the same time. He glanced at his weapon, lying in the shadow of a low bush ten feet from his outstretched hand. With a shout, he tore to his feet and dashed toward it.

Emmy knew she didn't have time to reload. Snatching up the saber from the dirt, she charged toward the man. Just when his hand was about to close on his pistol, her sword came chopping down. His arm was severed just past the wrist, both bones in his forearm snapping like kindling. He screamed, then vomited, then lay curled up in a ball cradling his maimed limb.

"Damn." Emmy reloaded her pistol and was about to put the poor sap out of his misery when she noticed that Mitch had taken flight. "DAMN!"

She clucked her tongue and her massive steed came trotting to her side. Once on horseback, she had little trouble catching up with the outlaw. Reaching down to her saddle, she undid a braided lariat and spun it in the cool morning air.

It was a perfect cast, the loop falling nicely over his shoulders and tightening around his waist. Could have been ugly, if she'd have gotten him around the neck...

Then it was a matter of winding a bit of length around her pommel and reigning in the big stallion. When Mitch came to the end of the rope he rebounded and sprawled on his back in the dirt.

After dragging Mitch back to the scene of the battle, Emmy looted the corpses. Each of the slain men had been penniless, and had lacked even hard tack or jerky for sustenance. They did have a tin of tobacco between them, and a leaf of French rolling papers. Emmy rolled herself a cigarette before divesting the corpses of their weapons, ammunition, and boots.

"Robbing the dead," Mitch said with a sneer. "You should be ashamed!"

"And here I was about to roll you one," she said with a chuckle. "Never mind, then."

Emmy gathered up the men's horses, which had wandered off while she was looting. They were skin and bones, hardly quality horseflesh but she figured she could get a few bucks off of the lot.

She started to put Mitch on one of the steeds, then shrugged her shoulders and decided he would walk. After all, it was only twelve miles to Carbon.