Young Writers Society

Mingan sighed as he stepped out onto the porch of the gunshop. Now only carrying his tomahawk and knife, he didn't look any less imposing. The Apache in him was enough to make sure that a lot of people gave him a wide berth. He wasn't likely to run into trouble this early in the day. The movement of the people in the street was enough to make his head spin. It was almost chaotic.

Spying the general store he shrugged his shoulders before heading across the street with his mare. Marching up the steps, leaving the mare at the trough, he entered the store just as a woman carrying a sack of flour came out.

It hadn't changed since he had last been in there, and that was years ago. He gave the woman behind the counter a small nod as he closed the door. He wasn't sure if she knew who he was or if she would throw him out for being indian. He began walking along the walls and through the aisles grabbing a sack of coffee beans, a whet stone for his father, and a length of rope for some repair at the home. Setting everything on the counter he looked to the woman with a small smile.

She regarded him with a certain level of distrust. Her eyes gave it away, especially when they flicked down to the tomahawk in his belt. It was likely the color of his skin as well as the clothing she wore. It was something that he was used to. "A few penny candies of you don't mind ma'am," he said gently. "My father is crazy for the things." He looked at the herbal tea and gave a small tilt of his head as he heard the woman total up his purchase.

"There is a large blackberry bush about half a mile west of here," he said gently. "A lot of people have been asking me to go collect them for some soothing tea. Helps with sleep. I'm sure it would do well if you sold some here in the store." He was trying to seem lease imposing, but it didn't seem to help matters with her.

Eleanora

The injun man mentioned herbal tea for sleep and I eyed him suspiciously. Did he know? Did he know about Benjamin? My gaze traveled from his dark hair to his skin, to his startlingly bright blue eyes. Then to his buckskins.

"Sir, are you implying that myself, or any of my customers have any sordid affairs to lose sleep over?"

He looked startled, "No ma'am, I was simply trying to offer your store a product that will benefit your customers and earn me a little extra money. I didn't mean to offend, maybe I should leave, the man who worked here previously made it clear he didn't want me in here, and I don't want to put you in a bad position." He turbed for the door.

Benjamin. The memory rang clearly in my mind.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" he spat, and I turned around, startled. He was surely speaking to me.

Except this time, he wasn't. I hadn't heard him come in, the man with dark ponytail and dark skin, but bright blue eyes. He didn't have the typical flat injun nose, but it was pointed like a white man's. His jaw wasn't round, but it was sharp and jutted out like a white man's. But his coloring was Indian. In Benjamin's eyes, he was a mutt, no better than a dog. In my eyes, he was a strange man with a weapon and a race I knew nothing about. I wasn't sure if I hated him or feared him.

"I'm just trying to find a place to trade my furs and buy some goods," the man said. Oftentimes general stores traded things like that. "I mean no harm."

"You are not welcome in this store, you are not welcome in this town. I won't let you near my wife, to rape and scalp her as you savages please. Get out!" Benjamin grabbed my wrist and I dropped the egg I was holding, crying out as it fell to the floor and broke apart.

The Indian man looked at Benjamin's tightening grip and clenched his jaw before backing out of the store, an apologetic look in his eye.

Benjamin had ended up breaking my wrist over that egg. Trips to the town doctor happened for me on a monthly basis, everybody knew it but nobody said a word. I was Benjamin's property, his slave to force into bed and pregnancy as he pleased. But I bore no children.

I rubbed my wrist at the memory before quietly speaking.

"That man was my husband," I said quietly, clutching my wrist to my chest. The indian man looked at me quietly, and I knew he remembered too.

"Was?" he asked, quietly.

"He was murdered," I choked on the word, "in the bandit attack last week."

"I'm..." he was about to tell me he was sorry for my loss, but he knew. He knew my life had been hell.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," he said instead.

This man was kind. How ironic that the same crime Benjamin had accused this man of was the same crime he committed over and over again. Benjamin had raped me, not the man standing in front of me. Benjamin had been savage, not the indian with the bright blue eyes. And in a way, allowing him in the store was a rebellious thing to do, an act of defiance against the memory of my late husband.

"Don't apologize," I said, "Not in this store, not to me, not ever again. The civil war taught me one thing, we are all people. You are welcome in this store anytime you'd like, please don't hesitate to come in. And," I said, "as for that tea, I'll pay you 50 cents for a pound and we'll see how it sells?"

"75 cents?" he countered.

"Can't do 75 cents," I said, "But, I will throw in a jar of my finest peach preserves."

"I believe we have ourselves a deal," he said. "I'm Mingan."

"I'm Eleanora," I replied.

"It's been a pleasure," he said, before walking out of the store and into the hot desert sun."

Beau

"We can do this two ways Brown. Either, my boys and I put bullets into you and your lackeys. Or you can hand over those Winchesters, which belong to the Silver J rightfully." I said calmly, my pistol aimed directly at the man's forehead. He glared at me angrily as the sun beat down on us. I smiled at him, as the rest of my boys pulled out their weapons, and aimed them all at him. A sweat broke out on him. And not one that the heat was causing.

He nodded as his men approached. Just a couple big men for moving packages. They carried a large crate between them. I nodded at Jep, who got off his horse cautiously, his hand near his gun. He opened the crate cautiously, and nodded." All here boss!" He said. He turned to get back in his horse. I noticed something in the corner of my eye. My hand went Tony gun as my voice called out to Jep.

I was too late. When the dust cleared, Jep was face down in the dirt, and his assailant was collapsed against the train, blood everywhere. I had my gun out, aimed directly at Brown's face." That was a bad idea Brown." I said, cocking my gun.

"That's not a good idea Beau."
I turned to see the new sheriff, Jake Harmon, pointing his rifle at me, with his deputy about to piss himself. I smiled at the sheriff." Well well well. The law decides to show their face." His face didn't change, neither did the angle of his rifle. Smiling to myself, I placed my pistol in its holster. His rifle didn't lower.

"Get the rifles boys." I said, not breaking eyes with the sheriff. I respected him. The old sheriff would've stayed inside the entire time. A corrupt coward, and I never liked him. When my sister was finally in the wagon, I turned to a pale Jebediah Brown." We aren't finished Brown. Not by a long shot. Just you wait. The Jacksons take care of their own." I pulled my horse around, leading everyone towards the outskirts of town.

"We'll get em boys, don't worry." I said. I gave Ash a nod, her face was pale, staring at Jep's cold body in the back of the wagon." Let's get a move on." I called.

I must call it a surprise, when we ran into Elias, on his way to town. I rode up to him." One of Brown's men got Jep." I said. His face paled a bit, and took a look into the wagon, than reached for his rifle. I stopped him with a look. "Not yet. We need to let pa know. Than we'll go back in full force." I clicked my tongue, leaving Elias to ponder his thoughts as our little caravan moved forward. Pa and I had some talking to do.

Elias

I wasn't unused to death. We've lost people before. Trampled, bandits or Natives. Snake bites. But for some odd reason, Jep's death was different. Perhaps it was because I've known him the longest. Or he was a reminder of days past.

Shaking my head, I lowered my hat, as I made my way into town. I had finished with the paint and a few other horses, so I decided to go into town just for the evening. Catch up on local events. Although what was going to happen in the next few days involving the Silver J would consume much of the conversation.

I entered the town, noticing the stares. After what had gone down an hour ago, no doubt they thought I was here to exact vengeance of some sort. Even the sheriff, who simply stared at me as I rode down Main Street.

I pulled my gray to a stop in front of one of the general stores in Jade. This one was run by the Crawfords. Or at least the wife. I had heard someone mention the husband had died recently. I didn't know the specifics though. I got off my horse, hitching her to the post outside. My spurs clinked as I stepped onto the wooden steps to the store.

A small bell tinkled as I entered. I took my hat off politely as I wiped the dust from my face. When I opened my eyes again, I was face to face with one of the most breathtaking women I had ever met. I was at a loss for words. I cleared my throat." Hello ma'am. Do you know where I can find the storekeeper?" I asked politely.

I noticed a little nervous twitch to her hands as she straitened her dress." That would be me sir. I'm Ms. Crawford." I almost hit myself in the head for my stupidity." My apologies ma'am. I didn't know. I'm sorry about your loss." Something flashed in her eyes when I said that. She cleared her throat.

"No, mistakes are made. Now, how may I help you. Mister...?" She trailed off in question. I smiled." Jackson. Elias Jackson." Her eyes lit up at the recognition of the name. Her smile trembled a bit." Well, if you follow me Mr. Jackson, we can get you sorted and on your way."

I had worked with horses most of my life. And Ms. Crawford seemed as skittish as a colt. But that wasn't my place to question her. I followed her to the register and I handed her my list. She raised an eyebrow at it. "Some things for your wife Mr. Jackson?"

I chuckled at that." No. I'm not a married man. It's actually for my sister. I know she was running out of these... Womanly materials, and I was coming to town anyways. So I thought I'd pick it up for her."

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise." Oh. Well, that's very gentlemanly of you to do so."
She cleared her throat, her eyes flashing to the door in short bursts, as if being in my presence was tiresome for her.

"Anyways, just wait here, and I'll get the things you need in just a jiffy." She left the counter to begin gathering my purchases. I fiddled with the butt of my pistol as I waited. Once she had everything in a neat package, and was adding up the cost, I spoke up." Any chance that you're going to the celebration tonight? At the bar? I hear the owners daughter came home, and they're throwing a little get together. They've invited the owners and merchants in the town. I was just curious if you're going."

Her hand froze from writing, but quickly resumed, but not fast enough for me to not notice the pause. She smiled faintly." I don't believe I will." I cocked my head.

"Why ever not?"

She glanced up at me. She wetted her lips with her tongue." Well, this is a bandit town, and I like to avoid going out at night as much as possible. And with all the men in town. I don't feel safe that much."

Before I had thought about it, I blurted out my response." Well if you'd like, I could escort you too and from the event. Wouldn't be a problem at all for me." My jaws snapped shut. What was I thinking?! This woman had recently lost her husband, and here I was, trying to get her to go out in public with myself. Her eyes locked with mine, and I tried not to let the despair my heart was feeling show out through my eyes. She opened her mouth to respond.

@Gravity

Eleanora

"Well if you like, I could just escort you to and from the event. Wouldn't be a problem at all for me."

I wrung my hands nervously before clutching the cotton material of my green dress.

"Mr. Jackson, that's very kind of you but..." He looked so hopeful. Ben was... gone. I couldn't possibly go out. How did I know I could trust this man?

His face fell a little and he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. That's when I noticed the gun holster. We were alone in my store. If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have done so. The tavern was just next door. The Jacksons were one of the most well known families in Jade, they were pure.

"That's very kind of you but I need a moment to take off my apron and wash my face first," I finished, giving him a small smile.

"Of course, I'll just wait out here."

I went back behind the counter and took the money out of the register, counting it out before taking it back to my living quarters and locking it in the safe.

I took off my apron and splashed some cool water on my face, wiping off the dust and grime that was inevitable after living in this town. I then took off my dress and hung it up before putting on something a little nicer, dark blue with white flowers and white lace trim. Lace was very expensive, it had been a gift from my parents. I placed a few stray hairs in place before walking back into the shop.

"Ready?" he asked. He smiled as he examined my dress. Unlike other men, he wasn't looking at me like he wanted to rip the dress off me, he was simply admiring it.

"I'm ready," I said, exhaling as he offered me his arm. This took my by surprise. Ben had never offered me his arm. We never really courted the way you're supposed to, he was never my sweetheart. It was just understood I would marry him. Don't think about Ben, you'll lose your nerve.

I rested my hand politely on his elbow and we stepped out, pausing so I could lock the door.

That's when I heard the gunshots.

I gasped, my chest feeling tight. Mr. Jackson immediately looked into the street, squinting in the dusk. His pistol was out of his holster in seconds and he was aiming in front of us. More shots were fired, there were shouts in the distance.

I clutched at my chest, I couldn't breathe. I kept gasping for breath, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, unable to make the air stay in my lungs. I kept seeing Ben, his face.

He rested peacefully in bed as I huddled in the corner, grasping my nightdress. My arms were sore from where he'd grabbed me. I held the fabric around me, as if I could ignore what he had just done.

My blood was dripping slowly from between my legs to the seat of my nightdress, my skin scratched and bruised from where he'd held me down, screaming at me that I would have his baby whether I liked it or not.

Eventually, I heard shots, and then shouting. He began to stir. I groped around for the rifle, the one he kept standing in the corner. When the warm metal touched my fingertips, I grabbed for it. It fell over with a dull thud.

He was beginning to sit up then and I frantically picked up the gun, standing as I aimed it at him, my aching arms barely able to support the heavy weapon. The men made it look so easy, I never thought it would weigh this much.

"Eleanora?" he asked, staggering out of bed.

"Don't come near me," I squeaked, my finger on the trigger.

"What're you doin'?"

"Don't come any closer," I said, a little more firmly.

"Come now, Elle. Come back to bed."

"A-a-after w-w-what you did b-b-before?" I stammered

"You and I both know that was just a bit of fun. We're going to have a baby..."

"You raped me," I whispered.

"YOU ARE MY WIFE," he roared, "GIVE ME THE DAMN GUN, ELEANORA."

He lunged for me and I shut my eyes tight, squeezing the trigger.

The momentum threw me against the wall as I fired one, two, three shots. The trigger just clicked after that.

I brandished the gun in front of me, tears blurring my vision before I finally found the strength to move, to clear my eyes. He was laying on the floor, blood pooling out over the wooden boards and spattered on the walls.

"B-b-ben?" it seeped into my nightdress, the metallic smell reaching my nostrils. He didn't respond.

"No, no," I muttered, clutching my head. My fingertips were wet, I'd been crying. They were wet from my tears. I pulled my hands away from my head, surprised, as I watched the salt water drip down my palms.

"Ms. Crawford? We need to go."

He took my wrists which made me sob more, I couldn't forget his touch, Ben's.

"Stop touching me, please," I gasped, doubling over.

"We need to go, the bandits..." He looked around and flung the cellar doors open,

"Get down here, now." The sounds of shouting grew closer as I stumbled down the cellar steps, landing on the dirt floor on my backside.

He shut the doors, putting the latch in place. The only light in the room was the tiny crack coming from between the doors.

"Ms. Crawford," he looked at me with pity, "What's wrong?"

"Ben." I whispered.

"Your husband... he died in a bandit attack, right?" I let out a little hiccup, trying to breathe. But I didn't answer him.

"Ms. Crawf-"

"Eleanora," I interrupted, "Ella. I dont want my husband's name."

"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked. I'd stumbled down the stairs before, I didn't think he noticed.

"I'm fine," I whispered.

"You're obviously not fine, Ella, I don't know what's going on but I can't help if you don't tell me."

"I can't." I'd murdered my own husband. How could he ever understand that?

There was a long pause, the only sounds in the cellar were a few scuttling rats and our breathing. Finally, he spoke.

"I think they're gone now, can you stand?"

I nodded, before realizing he couldn't see me. "Yes," I told him.

I stood up and he helped me up the steep cellar stairs and into the night.

He walked me to the door of the general store and unlocked it for me, I couldn't get the key in the lock, my hands were shaking.

"I hope you're not upset with me," he said.

"Why on Earth would I be upset with you?"

"Well, your dress is ruined. You had a... breakdown, when I promised to protect you."

"My dress isn't ruined, I can wash it. And you can't keep me safe," my breath hitched, "No one can."

"In that case, I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

"Why?" I asked.

"The parcel you put together for my sister is gone. I dropped it outside and the bandits must have taken it," he gave a small smile, "And of course, Jade is a small town. There's only one general store."

"Then I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Mr. Jackson."

"Please, call me Elias."

"Goodbye, Elias," I whispered, and he left, shutting the door behind him.

Mingan
Just meandering around town, Mingan did a little window shopping. Looking at different items that people had on display. No point in wearing his mare out with the travel back and forth. As the train came to a stop, the men began unloading the train. A large crate with the word 'WINCHESTER' on the side. By the looks of the men they didn't seem like they owned what it was that they were unloading.

That was before the other group came up. The Jacksons. He remembered them. A family that fought for the South during the war. He personally didn't care which side fought for which. It wasn't his war. There seemed to be a disagreement over the crate before the leader, Elias...I think, drew a gun and pointed it at the lead of the other group.

The disagreement was over immediately and it seemed that the Jacksons would take the crate. They were honest people. Hard working. That is what his father always said....then there was a shot fired. Mingan's hand immediately went for his tomahawk and he waited. The Sherriff was already on the scene and already dealing with the issue.

The Jacksons left without a fuss and rode right passed him. Mingan tilted his head in the traditional white man's greetings before he made his way to the gun shop. The Sun was on it's final path and his rifle should have been ready by then.

Stepping into the shop he gave a smile to the shop owner. "Evening ma'am. How is it coming?" he asked.

"It came along beautifully," Carrie said. "It was a delight to work on." She immediately brought it forward for his inspection, which he did thoroughly. Testing the lever and drop block as well as the sound of the firing pin. "I have to say that it was still in good shape. You take very good care of your guns."

"Just the one gun, ma'am," Mingan corrected. "Never needed anything else."

"I would say so with a supposed twelve hundred yard shot."

"We will settle that another time." Mingan chuckled as he set a bullet into the barrel and slung it on his shoulder. "Thank you for you work. Keep whatever was left over."

Carrie nodded and the both of them jumped with they heard the first shot. Mingan's eyes narrowed as he rushed to the door. "Another attack? Already?" He muttered to himself. The bandits were everywhere. Shooting in the air and even at a few people. "I'm sorry if any damage comes to your store!" he called back to Carrie as he pulled his rifle from his shoulder and took aim.

He squeezed the trigger and the rifle went off like a canon. The rider he was aiming at was thrown from his horse and fell to the ground. Pulling out the cartridge and loading another bullet in a blink of an eye he was already taking aim on a bandit chasing a couple and fired. The man dropped from his horse, who proceeded to drag the corpse out of town in a dusty trail. He took cover behind some barrels as he was shot at and loaded another round.

He popped up from behind the barrels and saw the bandits were already on their way out of town with a few items the had snatched. Mingan's heart was thundering in his chest from the fight before he hurried down to check his mare. Thankfully she was unharmed.

Carrie Tyler

The work on the strange man's gun went by quickly, too quickly really for Carrie's liking. It's not often one gets the change to work on a piece of history. She kept reminding herself. Unfortunately, time seems to pass more quickly when having fun, and all too soon the man was walking back through the double swinging doors of her gun shop.

Carrie looked up, surprised at the creaking of the rusty hinges. With a glimpse out the dusty windows, she realized how true the old saying really was. The sun was just barely clinging to the horizon, shooting tendrils of red and orange light across the sky.

"Evening ma'am. How's it coming?" Mingan asks.

"It came along beautifully." The young woman replied, with a hint of disappointment in her voice. She brings the rifle up from under her counter, unwrapping the gun from its linen covering and laying it before him.

"It was a delight to work on." The man picked up his rifle then, sighting it and checking the action before nodding in appreciation. She continues.

"I have to say that it was still in good shape. You take very good care of your guns, I hardly had to do much of anything."

He looked up. "Just the one gun, ma'am, never needed anything else."

Carrie grinned at that and tilted her head. "I would say so with a supposed twelve-hundred yard shot."

The man offers a low chuckle and loads a round, slinging the piece over his shoulder and waving off her hand, already reaching for his change. "We will settle that another time. Thank you for your work. Keep whatever was left over."

Every little bit counts. She smiled and nodded at the man again. "Another time, then."

Suddenly, a shot rang out from the streets outside, causing both Carrie and Mingan to jump in surprise. The man said something under his breath that Carrie could not identify before running to the door, pausing only to call over his shoulder. "I'm sorry if any damage comes to your store!" Then he was gone, out the door with rifle in hand.

People were visible through the windows now, running back and forth, and by the sound of things, a full fledged firefight was underway. The young woman took a moment to compose herself before reaching under the counter and pulling out a customer's 12 gauge shotgun, breaking the barrel over her knee and loading two shells in a hurry. With that, Carrie headed outside to be promptly faced with a man wearing a black bandana across his face.

*BOOM*

Before the shock could register in his eyes, and certainly before his hand went for the pistol at his hip, the shotgun rocked in Carrie's grip. The man fell to his knees, clutching at the gaping hole in his chest before burying his masked face in the dusty ground. Carrie blinked at the body and suppressed the urge to vomit before firing another shot into the air after the now-retreating bandits.

Dropping the shotgun into the dirt beside her, despite knowing that she'd have to clean it out again later, she put her hands over her mouth, staring wide-eyed at the dead outlaw.

Oh my lord, what did I just do... Carrie of course was familiar with the concept of death, given her line of work, but had never actually pulled the trigger with another person at the receiving end of her gun's barrel.

Slowly sinking to her knees beside the man, she turned him over and closed his eyes, pulling the bandana off his face in the process. As she did so, she held back a sob when she saw that the man was probably only 18 or 19. As a tear slid down her face, she placed the man's dusty hat over his features.

Footsteps crunched in the dusty gravel behind her, and she drew a deep breath, wiping her eyes. She started to turn until her eyes locked on the dead bandit's gun, half drawn from his old leather holster. Remington New model... .44 caliber... She absentmindedly played her fingers across the pistol she wore on her own hip, her father's gun from the war. She clumsily pulled the man's gun belt off, slinging it over her shoulder and holding the twin pistol in both hands as she faced the man standing beside her.

Mingan looked at the pistol in her hands before almost grunting, then stooping to grab the shotgun laying in the dust. He gestured back towards the shop. "I imagine you're going to be getting a bit more business in the near future."

With the bandits run out of town and his mare checked for wounds he headed back to the gunsmith. She was knelt down beside the body of a man. A boy really. The shot of the scatter gun painting the front of his clothing crimson as he lay there, eyes closed, in the dirt.

He approached the woman to help her up and saw that she wiped away her tears before he could see them. She clumsily undid the belt around the bandit's waist and picked up the pistol in both hands as she stared at it. It was a match to the one firmly resting on her hip.

He could tell that she was distraught. She had never shot anyone before. It was easy to tell. Mingan had had too much of it in his opinion, but that was just how the world worked.

Mingan picked up the discarded shotgun and helped her back toward the gun shop. "I imagine you're going to be getting a bit more business in the near future," he said trying to get her mind off of what happened and onto something she was comfortable with.

"I...I kill him," she said, almost as a whisper. "I...I've never..."

"I know," he cut her off.

"How?"

"You're shaking and I can see the shock in your eyes. It's not a pretty thing. Never is. Quick draws give an artists spin on it that I don't much care for." He eased her into a chair and set the shotgun, gently, on the counter. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but it will be okay. You'll get passed this."

"How many have you killed?" she asked quietly. Her eyes brimming with tears as she seemed to be looking for some hope that she would be okay.

"As many as tried to kill me," Mingan responded as he looked to her. He reached around his neck and pulled out a small necklace. At the end of it was a dream catcher about an inch tall. "The apache believe that good dreams always come straight to the heart, while bad dreams worm their way to it." He took the pistol from her hand and set it on the seat beside her. "With this, bad dreams are caught within the webbing while good dreams go through the center. I don't need it right now. How about you hold onto it for me."

He placed the leather cord and dream catcher into her hands and closed them. He gave her a small smile before he stood up. "I think you need time to rest. You should close up shop. I will likely be staying in town overnight with the attack."

Not by choice most likely, he thought. Apache always get blamed for these things.

"I'll check on you tomorrow before I head home."

With a small nod he headed out the door. He let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. Truth was there wasn't anything else he could do. Getting his mare he began walking toward the saloon for the social, as welcome or unwelcome as he might be there.

The place itself was about half full when he stepped through the doors, and like he had been announced by trumpets, everyone's eyes turned and bore into him.

Maybe I should just leave, he thought.