Gonna Cut You Down

Chapters

A Tale Yet Not Told in Full
Lands Yet Trodden by Cattle
The Town of Broadbrook
A Preacher's Sermon

A Tale Yet Not Told in Full

In the small town of Lord's Junction, a village that only existed because of the crossing of two railroad tracks, one going north and south, the other going east and west, there was a woman, a young woman that sit quietly in a cell of the sheriff's small, but unusually clean office. The office only had two cells and the other one was empty, save for some flies that flew through the barred windows. Their buzzing was so loud compared to the only other noise: the floating of the dust. The place was so quiet that it was as if Death himself as present, which to the woman, would not be a surprise. She was expecting him and his merciless hands of bones.

The woman could only stare at the floor, not caring to lift her eyes to anything, not even the ever-watching setting sun that tried to peek through between the bars of her cell's window. The world could have gone black as pitch for all she cared. Her hands were tight together, rubbing the grease on her fingers that she had gained from a rifle that had not been properly cleaned for years. She shifted her shoulders that were hidden under a slightly ripped light blue dress that she had made herself. Her legs dangled and were not long enough to reach the floor from the stiff bed she sat on.

One of her thin legs ached like the devil. A flying bullet and ripped through the side of the calf. She deserved it and she knew it too. Under the ripped skirt was bandages that the sheriff had so politely put on her wound. A trail of bloodstains coated the dress, ruining its blue color with an ugly dark red.

Death was on her hands. All she could do was wonder if she actually regretted her actions or that the feat of taking another's life was worth it. The dead man whose blood drained through the streets of the small town was a stranger in these parts. Not a soul knew him; not a soul cared about him. She cared though, as he was no stranger to her. It was hard for her to decide whether to be proud or to be disappointed.

A disturbance woke her from her heavy thoughts. The sheriff, a stout man with a friendly demeanor, had entered the office. His thick grey beard laid on his chest, covering the silver badge that made him an authority. Like her, he possessed no smile, no trace of humor or happiness. She watched him as he put his rotting brown hat on his cluttered desk. His solemn eyes glanced at the pictures and sketches of wanted criminals that roamed the badlands, or at least, used to roam it. Destructive liars, abusive gamblers, ruthless ramblers, seductive backbiters, and a vigilante that was familiar to the woman who sat in the cell.

The sheriff walked over to her cell, his belly jiggled with weight, making his shirt's buttons bulge a little bit. His red, welcoming cheeks could not cover his apparent sadness. He placed one monstrous arm of staunch muscle and flapping fat upon the wall next to the cell's iron door. The other hand absently scratched his balding head. There was not a harmful bone in his large body and the woman knew this.

He cleared his throat from some food he had been snacking on. With a stroke of his wide beard, he cast his gaze to her feet, unwilling to look in her stone-cold eyes. They were not always so cold, but after years of trouble, the woman knew no other expression. It was like this that he spoke, breaking the silence by such a large margin that it almost hurt the ears of both him and her.

"I...I don't get many murderers that look like ya, Miss," he began, continuing to look downward.

The woman did not speak, making him even more nervous. He swallowed loudly, but he did not move away. He willingly braved through her chilling stare.

"Miss, I jus' don't get it. What makes a lady like ya put all your bullets into a man walking from a bar?" he asked.

She kept her dead eyes on him. "I don't know where to start. All I can say is that God ordered it."

He was perplexed by her response. "Miss, if this is revenge, ya could have told me or someone else. Ya don't need to trouble yaself like this. I can't let you free or even dismiss the murder charges against ya. That man was on no wanted list. That man had no records of violence here. To anyone here, ya killed an innocent man in cold blood."

"He was not innocent. He was not innocent," she told him with a bit more energy. "That man was a blight on my very life."

"Ya don't have the right to wield justice like that," he shook his head. "It ain't right. A woman like ya has a lot to live for. I mean, ya could be my daughter's age. She's married and with a fine man that I am proud to call 'son.' Don't ya have family?"

For the first time, the woman chuckled. A smile revealing healthy teeth was on her red lips. It was not a laugh of enjoyment, but of finding humor in the darkest of places. Her chuckling lasted for ten or more seconds before she simply frowned, shaking her head slowly.

"I have no family. I don't even have friends. This was all I lived for and now my life's quest is done."

"Oh, don't be like that," he stammered, clearly upset about her words. "Everyone's got friends of some kind, even some they jus' haven't met yet. I jus' can't get you, Miss. What in this wide world would turn ya into this?"

"Oh, I've wondered that myself," the woman shrugged. "Several things, several things, I've concluded. I think I have narrowed it down, however, but to explain it will take all night."

"Well, I've got the time," the sheriff huffed.

"Then I might as well recall it all. Perhaps it will do me some good. Well, there was a woman in my life that I cared so much for. Yes, she was a guiding force. I had an honor to see her grow. There was no woman in the badlands quite like her. She was a skilled fighter, a tireless adventurer, and a courageous individual. She and I went through a lot of hardships, but through every tragedy we grew stronger. I never understood how she, or even I, did it. This woman was everything to me. Her name's Jack..."

~*~

Lands Yet Trodden by Cattle

Smoke rose to a cloudless orange sky. Of course, where there was smoke, there was fire. A group of tents burned with bright flames that rivaled the glowing sun that bathed the dry land with its blinding wrath. It was a hot day, but that was a given in the West. It was blistering hot every day, cold every night. The heat was so strong that day that the flames, of which some reached over eight feet in height, did not add anymore hotness to the surrounding air. What hotness could the humble fires bring that the raging sun could not? It was not a challenge to the sun. The sun saw all and burned all equally.

Beside the flaming tents was a tree. Yes, a tree, a simple one. It was anything but impressive, but how it tried to shade the ground beneath it, trying to shield some critters from the ever-watching sun was admiring. It was the only tree within site of the camp. It was most likely the reason there were tents there in the first place. Besides water, trees were a traveler's favorite.

The light breeze shifted the sand around a pair of snakeskin boots. At the pointed toe of the left boot was an extinguished cigarette, a feeble puff of smoke still left it, telling that it had just been dropped to the ground. With that final iota of smoke, it was done, its relieving flame was dead forever, much like the residents of the tents, who now laid down their faces in the dust, waiting for some living soul to give them a proper burial.

The boot took a step forward, removing the sand with the movement. The boots were custom made, but were of a style that was long out of season. They were old, very old. It was the shape of boots that could only be worn by folk with thin, womanly feet. Upon the fronts of the boots were carvings of apples in the leather. Tucked in the boots were loose blue jeans, ragged and torn. Bloodstains from past encounters dotted the jeans, never taken out in any cleaning. They were once a dark blue, like the fancy jeans, but with age they were the same color as the dust and dirt.

A brown leather belt was sagging over the waist of the onlooker. It had two holsters. Both were filled with six-shot revolvers that never shined in the sun. The rest of the belt was lined with bullets meant to feed the two metallic beasts that defined the day and age. Over the waist lay a homemade orange plaid shirt. Even being plaid, it lacked color. The faded orange had seen troubling sights like the one before it. It had seen it too many times. The shirt was slightly hidden by a light leather vest that was common to the folks of the badlands.

The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing weathered freckled forearms. The arms ended in thin black leather gloves which undoubtedly covered heavily calloused hands. They were the quickest hands one could ever find in such a wasteland. They were hands forged in blood and brass, trained to be the deadliest force one could ever happen upon west of the green valleys. The hands knew nothing of talent, but contained the experience of a hundred fighters.

Upon the wide shoulders was a scarred neck. Upon the scared neck was the head of a young blonde woman. Thick freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. Her cracked lips were turned in a serious frown that was their natural position. Emerald eyes inspected the burning tents, reflecting the fires in her irises. Not a speck of makeup or anything of female fashion was present. Her face was natural. The only powder and rouge was the dust and grime from a long ride.

On her blonde hair was a Stetson hat. It was not her hat, but her father's. On the left side of the hat was crack that ran for about two inches. No accident had left the scar there, no horse bite. It was the result of a flying bullet that had missed the wearer. Some could consider it a sign of luck at such a fortunate miss, but the second shot was not to be found on the hat. That second shot was deadly and it was that second shot that gave the woman her hat.

The woman squinted as the wind picked up, whisking the dirt and chaff into the dry air. Her arms were crossed around her stomach; her posture was leaning to one side. She moved her lips, releasing a cloud of smoke that had been sucked in from the cigarette that was now under her boot. The wind took the smoke and spread it out so fast that one could think it never had left her mouth at all.

There were three tents in front of her, each one crumbling in flames. The occupants of the tents were sprawled around, each resting in their own blood and dirt. Some were shot, some were stabbed, but each one resoundingly deceased. The woman did not look at their bodies with mourning, but with disappointment. Bodies were common this far from the cities. At one time, the woman would have been terrified to see such a massacre, but after years of living out in the badlands, all that she could muster was a tired sigh.

A stick was broke behind her. The woman instantly took notice of the disturbance and glanced behind her. The sound was caused by a girl much younger than her. The girl possessed vibrant red hair that was tied with a small bow in the back. She did not realize the sound she had made and hesitantly approached the woman who now looked at with her disapproving eyes.

"I told ya to stay with the horses," she told the young girl with a slow shake of her head.

"Sorry, Sis. I jus' wanted to make sure ya was alright," the young sister responded with a nervous swallow.

"Well, I'm fine. Ya didn't need to check up on me," the woman returned her gaze to the camp.

"I guess we got here too late?" the girl gulped when she arrived to the side of her sister.

"Ya got that right," the woman cracked her neck. "All of 'em are more dead than a starved bull."

The girl took a step back as the wind had turned and the flames now faced at them. She was a young girl, but she held several similarities to her sister. Her hands were just as calloused, her face was just as scarred and she even had the same freckles. The main difference was their clothes. With her being a young girl, it was of the fashion to wear a dress. It was a red dress that matched her hair. It was not that she liked wearing the dress, but instead that it was the only dress she owned.

"Who ya think did it, Jack?" she asked. "Do ya think it was the Midnight Rider?"

Jack shook her head. "Ya need to stop thinking he did every killing out in this country."

"Well, he killed Ma and Pa-"

The woman silenced her sister with a glare that only she could produced. The Midnight Rider was a mysterious criminal of the West. No one knew his real name nor his true appearance. All they did know were the crimes he committed, as they all were similar and happened only at midnight. He was a lone murderer, much unlike the other criminals who operated in bandit gangs. The woman and her sister had been looking for him ever since the night Jack had gotten her hat.

"Abby, if ya gonna be here, ya might as well help me," Jack suggested.

The woman called Jack walked through the camp, looking for any signs that could help them. The first thing she noticed was the horse tracks that ran away from the scene of the crime. The horses that these men rode were all missing, presumably captured by the attackers, which meant that whoever did this was not alone. The Midnight Rider, in all his mysterious ways, would have left the horses as he did not need them. He didn't trade; he didn't talk to other bandits. He was a phantom of the badlands. No, this had been done by a different wicked individual.

"These tracks lead to the town of Broadbrook," Jack said and pointed northward. "I'd reckon that's where these killers were heading."

"Now why would they want that?" Abby questioned.

"I don't know. Broadbrook is jus' a minin' town, nothing special. There's only one way to find out, Sis."

"We shouldn't go up there if the bandits are over there," Abby warned. "They killed these six men like it was nothing! There could be twenty or thirty of 'em!"

Jack ignored her sister and continued to search the camp. There was not much else. She did not expect something grand to pop up since these perished men were but surveyors, inspecting the land for future ranchers. Not one had a fighting bone in their bodies, so it was not a surprise they fell to an ambush so easily.

She did find something of interest. Her eyes caught the end of some small wooden object. So she went to her knee and uncovered the rest of the object from the wind-blown dust. It was a small wooden cross, a token item that religious men would carry on their person. It was a common item enough, but it meant something to Jack. Her hand took hold of it and she lifted it off the ground.

The wind blew louder at that moment. Jack's blonde hair whipped around and she had to place a hand on her beloved hat to keep it on her head. Her eyes did not leave the cross. It was so simple a shape, a child could carve it with a knife in just an hour. The wind was now blowing so hard that it was whistling by her. It seemed like it was calling out to her.

"You...tell that...long-tongue liar..." it said to her.

That was all she could make out of the wind's message. She knew what it meant and solemnly placed the cross in her pocket. Abby watched her older sister with some confusion. She did not hear the wind's whispers. In all actuality, her hair was only slightly moving in an extremely calm breeze. It was like the wind had never roared in the first place.

"Get the horses ready," Jack instructed as she pulled out a cigarette from her pocket.

"Are we leavin' already?" Abby whined.

"Yeah," the sister nodded as she lit a match and brought it to the cigarette in her mouth. "We're headin' to Broadbrook. Right. Now. We got somethin' to do there."

~*~

The Town of Broadbrook

The mining town of Broadbrook was a night's ride through the badlands. The two sisters set up camp only when Abby felt like she couldn't ride any longer. Jack allowed only three hours of rest for her little sister before she forced her to continue on the journey. She told her sister many times about how they need to reach the town as fast as possible. Abby was a tough girl, and did not complain often.

A rooster crowed on a wooden fence when Jack and her sister rode into the small town. It was a simple western town with only the necessary buildings and nothing else. It had a tavern, a hotel, a doctor, a general store, a sheriff, and a good looking white church. The homes of the residence were a bit farther away from the town, being close to the copper tunnels that kept the town running.

Jack dismounted her horse and hitched the stallion to a post in front of the tavern. With one boot still in a stirrup, she adjusted her hat and inspected the town around her. Since it was early morning, most of the people were in mines. The place did not seem dead, but it was not lively either. Not a soul was on the porches that overlooked the dirt road, but the distant sounds of people talking or laughing could be heard.

Abby was about to follow, but Jack held a halting hand to stop her. "I'll be headin' in the tavern. Ain't no place for one of your age. Jus' keep the horses fresh."

"Ya gonna leave me out here when there could be trou-"

"Quiet!" Jack harshly whispered. "We don't know nothin' yet. We only came here cause it would be logical of them bandits to find rest here. There could be folk that needs God's smitin' and there could not be. We need to be ready, but don't ya start spreading panic. I'll be right out." Jack the pointed at a water trough. "Looky there. Take Hester and Little Queen over there to get some water."

Abby still seemed annoyed at her sister's orders, but hopped off to take the horses over for a drink. Jack patted her obedient sister's head with approval before turning to the swinging doors of the tavern. Her spurs were loud with movement as the tavern's ghostly demeanor did nothing to interrupt the quiet of the town.

She entered the tavern to see only three or four patrons inside. Only two sat at the same table, the others were in the far corners, unwilling to socialize. It was not an old tavern, but it was a simple one. It possessed a bar, a piano, and tables, but that was it. Unlike some of the taverns in Heavenshire or Appleloosa had stages for its showgirls or traveling entertainers. This tavern was as bare bones as they got, not even having a hundred types of beverages on the shelves behind the bar. It was no surprise hardly any patrons were there, as in some towns, even the morning hours has a crowd.

One patron took Jack's notice instantly. It was a young woman with a pale, unblemished face, holding an opened leather-bound book in her white-gloved hands. She wore a purple dress with pink and black accessories. A small, pink hat with decorative white flowers rested on her head with her purple and light green curls beneath it. She had no dust or grime on her, which in a mining town, was strange. No drink was in her possession and her only purpose seemed to be reading her little black book. She alone was the most vibrant thing in the tavern full of gray, dark brown, and rusty orange.

The bartender was speaking with a showgirl, who was obviously off-duty with the morning hours. They spoke as partners and not lovers. Jack overheard them talking about a new building that may come up in the town. The woman was eager for it, the bartender was worried the town was growing too fast.

"Ya got a stranger, David," the showgirl pointed at Jack, "better get to it."

"Of course," he nodded and slowly made his way to the bar.

The bartender was a tall, lanky man with spotless white hair that did nothing to match his younger age. There was nothing off about him at all. He was not clean like the sitting woman as his face had black spots on it, probably from soot. His apron used to be white, but was now a disgusting pale yellow. However, his light blue eyes were friendly enough, so Jack didn't mind.

"Heya, miss," he smiled. "What brings you to humble Broadbrook? There ain't much beyond us."

Jack's eyes shifted around casually before answering. "Nothin' much, partner. I do have my reasons though."

"Ah, if it's rest you need, we have a great hotel. It's certainly the be-"

Jack interrupted him with a quick whisper. "Have ya seen any strange folk around here?"

He blinked in confusion. "Not really. Actually, none at all. We don't get many people this far west except the ranchers and they don't even stay here but move on to Queensburg."

"Ya telling me ya don't get any strangers?" Jack was surprised. "Then who is that women in pink? She don't look like she belongs here."

"Miss Garner?" the bartender chuckled. "Why, she's our new preacher. I'm sure ya saw the chapel out there. I mean, it's hard to miss."

Jack looked back at her. The woman was still reading from her supposedly holy book. Her legs, in a rather not-lady-like manner, were propped up on the chair in front of her, showing her black heeled boots that hardly had a speck of dust on them. She seemed to wear nothing that was made on the badlands. Even the showgirls appeared more country than she did.

"A preacher? She don't look like one. I ain't seen a preacher that could rival the city women in fashion alone," Jack grunted. "I remember my town of Appleloosa. Our Preacher, Brother Arnold, was already wearin' black and smelled like the Hell he preached against. She looks like she jus' got off a train from the capital!"

"Well, that's just how she is," the bartender shrugged. "Miss Garner is one to look fine while preaching. It's her style and none of us care to point it out. She's the daughter of a businessman in Heavenshire. She wanted to move west and she did, but she's got no skill as a woman. Tell her to sew and she'll look at you with a blank face. Tell her to bake and she'll make you a pie that the flies won't dare touch. What she got is the money she brought from her family and her reading. She's the best reader and writer in the badlands, I tell you. Her brain and wit is more than all of Broadbrook combined. So just cause she doesn't look the part doesn't mean she isn't the part, ma'am."

Jack was about to argue once more, but she was interrupted. Her attentive ears heard the leather-bound book shut. The sound of the boots meeting the cold wooden floor followed. The woman was up and she was walking right over to the bar.

"I apologize if I intrude," Miss Garner said in a sweet voice that could make the hardest heart melt. "I heard my name uttered."

"Oh Miss Garner," the bartender noted with respect. "We have a new guest in our town. Miss...erm..."

"Ya can jus' call me Jack," Jack reached a hand out to the preacher.

Miss Garner hesitated upon seeing Jack's filthy palm. It was not polite to offer a hand to a lady, especially in the eastern cities. It was easy to tell women from the badlands with woman from the east, as the badland women would shake a hand, no matter how filthy or lumpy it was. Garner's reaction just proved to Jack that she was quite new to badland culture. After the moment of hesitation, she did take the hand and offered a weak shake that didn't move Jack's hand at all.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jack," Miss Garner smiled, showing perfectly white teeth, "Welcome, welcome to our little town. I'm the preacher, hehe, that's what I contribute to this fine little society."

"So I've heard," Jack smiled back.

"Miss Jack here was wondering if any strangers roam these parts," the bartender said to the preacher.

"No one has ever been through here since I arrived four months ago," Miss Garner told Jack with sincerity. "Well, no one that has ever been here twice. We've seen the wandering rancher family go by here on their way to Queensburg."

It was the same tale that the bartender had told her. Perhaps the bandits did not go to Broadbrook? Jack was trying to piece it together. Six surveyors dead just hours south of the town and the horse tracks led northward. There was nothing but wasteland between the camp and here. Any sensible bandit wouldn't take on more horses than he had men and stay out in the countryside. No, a smart bandit would sell the horses. There was something wrong going on and Jack could not figure out what it was.

Jack then shrugged and smiled at the two of them. "Well then, I guess my sister and I will stay a few days in town. She's not one for long journeys, so a hotel night or two would do her good."

"That sounds fantastic," Miss Garner beamed. "The hotel is just across the street,. It's owned by a lovely young woman named Sarah Bradshaw. She'll take care of you. She bakes a great batch of muffins too."

"Well then, why am I wastin' time here?" Jack faked the laugh and walked through the doors.

When she got outside, Abby was right there, leaning on a porch pole. At the instant she saw her older sister, she rolled her eyes. It was not hard to annoy the girl and Jack knew this well.

"Well, ya said ya was gonna be out right away..." Abby started.

Jack blocked her words from her ears. She looked at Abby, pretending to be giving her full attention, but in reality, her ears focused on other things. Miss Garner and the bartender were now speaking to each other in hushed tones. The two undoubtedly thought that Jack couldn't hear them whisper, but they didn't know who they were dealing with.

"David," Miss Garner spoke with less kindness than before, "a woman of her kind just walking into here at this hour is rare and suspicious. She's a gunslinger, I can tell you that."

David quickly replied. "What do you want me to do? We ought to welcome anybody. I aim to do that to the best of my ability, Miss Garner."

"And that's fine," Miss Garner returned with a huff, "however, there must be a limit somewhere."

David planted his hands on the bar. "I aim to be welcoming."

"Fine then!" Miss Garner growled. "I'll see you in the chapel."

Miss Garner then walked out of the doors as well. Her heels paused on the dusty planks and she took a step back to look at David once more. This time however, her rosy red lips were back in an exceptionally friendly smile. "And Mr. Dickson, please put some real clothes on your showgirls. They don't need to be flaunting their bodies this early in the morning." She then finally carried on and walked down the street as if Jack and Abby were not there.

"Wow, she's a pretty woman," Abby remarked as the both of them watched her walk towards the chapel.

"Too pretty for a place like this," Jack grunted. "Come along, Abby, ya better get used to seeing this town, ya gonna be livin' in it for a few days."

"Well, I ain't gonna complain," Abby chuckled. "It's about time we've had some rest. We were almost outta bean too! We need to head to the store to resupply."

Jack popped another cigarette in her mouth. Damn it, this is the last one. At the request of her little sister, she tossed a pair of silver dollars her way. "Go on then," she said, "spend it wisely. Every cent spent is a cent lost."

Jack never enjoyed spending money, as she and her sister had no way of making it back. With Ma, Pa, and their old Granny Smith six feet under the worthless dirt, they had not earn a cent since. When they could easily spend money was back when they had a family and a orchard. The only true orchard in the badlands. That was so long ago, Jack forgot how it felt to walk among the apple trees they grew. Ever since she had begun on quest to find that rotten Midnight Rider, family and hope was so distant that it seemed that it was never there in the first place.

The sun now watched her with its growing intensity. It was mid-morning, which always felt like the burning noon in the badlands. Jack took her cigarette out, letting out the smoke she had kept in her cheeks. Her eyes went over to the chapel once more. It was a simple white chapel that would always be roaring with praise on a Sunday morning. By now, Miss Garner had reached the door of the place and walked in without looking back. What a woman to be seen out in these badlands.

"I think I oughtta attend one of her sermons," Jack said aloud.

~*~

A Preacher's Sermon

Jack waited in the hotel for someone to notice her. It was not that she hadn't asked for a room, but it appeared the owners were anything but ready to accommodate her. She stood there, annoyed. Her hands were on her hanging belt, rattling any time she decided to shift her weight impatiently. If she had to guess, she reckoned she was waiting for almost half an hour.

"I apologize for makin' you wait," a woman said when she returned to Jack.

The plump short woman with bonnet over her purple hair was the one that Miss Garner had called "Sarah Bradshaw." Mrs. Bradshaw was not much older than Jack, but the stress of being a housewife and hotel maid had aged her at a higher rate. Just like any of the other Broadbrook folk, she was covered in dust and grime from just being outside.

"Ain't not a problem, ma'am," Jack smiled. "I am certainly not in any rush."

"It's just that we don't often have actual guests here," Mrs. Bradshaw explained sheepishly. "My husban' an' I usually just give out breakfast or supper to the mining men."

Jack simply shrugged, understanding the circumstances of the hotel's inefficient manners. Because she said nothing, Mrs. Bradshaw gave a weak smile, unsure of what to do next.

"I'll uh, show you to your room," the woman said.

Abby then walked through the door. Seeing her big sister follow the thick woman up the stairs, she scurried over to catch up. She almost fumbled over as she was carrying some of the supplies she had purchased from the store. Jack looked back at and smiled.

"Ya got the supplies, thank the Lord," Jack said. "Now hand me a cigarette."

"Didn't get any," Abby looked down as she knew what was going to happen next.

"Then what kind of sister are ya?" Jack frowned in disappointment.

Mrs. Bradshaw led them through a dark, tight corridor to their room. The hotel room was as expected, a bed, a table, and nothing else. It was most likely the only room Mrs. Bradshaw or her hiding husband had cleaned and was most likely the reason Jack had waited so long. Even if it had been clean, it was hard to tell. Cobwebs were in every corner of the room and a half-inch layer of dust coated the floor. One could easily see the shoe prints that disturbed the resting dirt.

"Well, I've seen worse," Abby remarked with a shrug. "Lots worse."

"Quiet!" Jack hissed at her.

Mrs. Bradshaw tried to ignore the little girl's rude comment. Her hesitant smile stayed fixed on her round face. Jack was certain she had taken offense by Abby's remark, but the plump woman said nothing before she slowly walked away from them, leaving them to their new little room. As soon as the woman was out of range, Jack angrily took her little sister by the shoulder and led her inside the room, closing the door behind them.

"Abigail Barbara!" Jack growled, using her sister's full name. "We actually get a place to stay for the first time in two weeks and ya complain?"

Abby folded her little arms. "I'm sorry, but ya gotta admit, this hotel is as active as a dead longhorn. Jack, the store I went to was no different. Some clumsy bloke was behind the counter and all his supplies were gone except what I got. Here, I got five cents still from what ya gave me."

She handed her big sister a nickel. Jack took it with a raised brow. The town did not seem that bad in her eyes. This was a mining town that only existed for the nearby stream that gave the town its name and the mine that will eventually run out of metal. Perhaps it was only so dead because of the miners being down underground? Jack was a skeptic, a true skeptic of most people, but she refused to make conclusions so quickly.

"We gonna have to wait 'til the evenin' to see how true this town really is. I still wonder about Miss Garner. Ya get some sleep if ya can. We traveled long and hard last night. It'll be good for ya to rest without the fear of desert wolves gettin' ya pretty little hide."

Jack, with a warm smile on her dry lips, rubbed her hand roughly through the giggling girl's crimson hair. She then stretched, putting her arms over her head and leaning backwards. Her body needed rest as well. Riding a horse across the badlands was a tiring endeavor. Since they had been without a proper bed for half a month, her bones told her to sleep, her muscles told her to sit still, but her mind was the true force behind her tireless attitude. When she wanted to move, there was nothing that would prevent her from doing so.

Leaving her sister in the room, she walked down the steps to see Mrs. Bradshaw taking care of some clothes out behind the building. The blonde woman put on her stetson hat and with her hands on her belt's buckle, she made her way through the backdoor and approached the working hostess.

"Need somethin' Miss Jack?" Mrs. Bradshaw asked when she saw the woman.

"Not something ya can do with ya hands, Mrs. Bradshaw," Jack said with her eyes squinted under the sun. "I've been askin' some of the folk in the tavern 'bout this, so I'd like ya input too. Have ya seen any strangers with more horses than men goin' round here?"

Mrs. Bradshaw raised a brow at the strange question. "Why, not any of the sort. We don't get many folk around here anyway. The last person to come and stay was our dear preacher, Miss Sabrina Garner."

"About Miss Garner, how is her...uh...sermons?" Jack asked and reached in her pocket for a cigarette, only to remember that she had none to smoke.

"Why she is the best preacher I've ever heard," Mrs. Bradshaw suddenly beamed as if she was speaking of her proud daughter. "We were a mighty depressed lot before she arrived from Heavenshire. She is so nice and caring. She helped our Sundays become rejuvenating."

"How so?"

"Well, beyond her sermons of hope and bliss, she's been so nice to everyone here. Old withered men have finally smiled again and the slumped women move with purpose. Hell, even Mr. Dickson's showgirls put effort in their performances now. I'll say, if it wasn't for Miss Garner, we'd move on from Broadbrook. There was nothin' here but sadness."

"Is Miss Garner gonna preach any time before Sunday morning?"

"Why yes! It's Friday, ain't it? Well, she loves to do a little night sermon for anyone who'd be willing to show up, which is mos' of us. We'd love ya to join us. Perhaps you'd like it so much, you'd be willing to make ya residence here. We could use a strong wrangler woman like you. Most women in the badlands would die before stepping into some blue jeans, but you seemed to have passed that a long while ago."

Jack chuckled at Mrs. Bradshaw's last statement. "Well, most likely not. My sis an' I aren't ones to hang around a town for too long. We jus' go 'bout our business. Nothin' more."

Mrs. Bradshaw gave Jack a long look right then. Her smile was still there, but it seemed like it was not supposed to be there. Jack was a bit unnerved by it all. It wasn't right. Not at all. Jack, not knowing what else to do, tipped her hat at the hostess before returning to the safety of the hotel. She glanced back to see if the woman still watched her. She did.

"Huh, sometimes I jus' don't get people..." she grunted.

~*~

When evening came, Jack brought Abby to the front of the chapel, where the humble residents were walking in in single file, as the doors were only wide enough for one average person or two small people. It seemed the whole town was there, including David Dickson, who was flanked by two women. Jack assumed the two were his showgirls, but they dared not wear their tavern attire to the town's holiest place.

Jack leaned on a fence post with Abby sitting playfully on the wooden fence itself. Jack wanted to see every person that entered the chapel. She wanted to make sure she spotted every face under the setting sun. Of course, Miss Garner was already inside long before the line started, thus Jack did not see her. However, she saw everyone else she had seen all day, including Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw and Pat Franklin, a overly friendly miner that she had met a couple of hours ago. Beside his curly head was Nightingale Grimes, a white-haired woman that worked in the mines with the men. Jack though she was a boy when she first saw her, but the shape of the torso and the way she moved proved that she was just a hard labor woman.

"What ya think, Abby?" Jack softly asked her sister without looking at her.

Abby stroked her chin. "I dunno. I'm sure it'll be a good sermon. I think Miss Garner knows what she's doing."

"Yup, that's what I'm afraid of as well," Jack huffed. "Come alon', we should get inside."

Jack helped her little sister down from the fence and they walked together to the chapel's entrance. The last of the people waiting in line had entered and were now taking their seats on the hard pews. The chapel was lit by kerosene lamps that were between the several plain windows. It was a nice chapel, clean and sturdy, but Jack, who was used to being in a holy structure, still was unnerved.

Miss Garner was on a platform at the other end, smiling and waving at each person who joined to listen to her little sermon. She was looking as beautiful as ever, her hair was no longer under a hat, as she was in a chapel, and it was neatly done in a bun that allowed the colors of her hair to swirl about nicely. Her bright, cheerful eyes met everyone there, including Jack and Abby.

"I see our guests have joined us," she waved at them. "I am honored."

The heads of the Broadbrook people turned to see them. Abby was a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attention of the miners and hid behind her sister, who said nothing as she simply took her stetson off. She gave a small, insignificant smile before taking a seat in the pew nearest the door.

"Well," Miss Garner began, "I have a bit to speak about tonight. I have been noticing some peculiar behavior among the miners. Now, I am not going to name all names, but I shall name one. This person has disappointed me as what I preached about last week, he has openly and perhaps even purposely, done the opposite. Now, what I always tell you good folk of Broadbrook is to be kind and considerate to one another, so if someone does the opposite, is that a good thing?"

The chapel's audience all calmly shook their heads in response, making Miss Garner smile. Jack was instantly put on edge by the people. She had been in churches where the preacher would rile up the crowd and receives either boos or cheers, but here, they acted almost half-awake. She had never been in such a calm environment with so many people present.

"Yes, that's what I thought," Garner's cheerful voice hinted malevolent intent.

She took a step off the platform, her hands behind her back and her chin slightly raised. The crowd shifted their ways towards her, but seemed hesitant to actually turn their heads. Down the middle aisle she went, looking directly at every person she passed. Every single Broadbrook resident knew when her purple eyes were upon them, reacting with startled twitches as if a stranger prodded their backs with a hot spike.

She had walked by most of the rows before planting her shoes in the dusty wooden floor. Without moving the rest of her body, her neck turned her head directly to her left and her eyes went directly to one particular man, who refused to return the look. She stood there, as if waiting for him to make a move, which he did not.

"Mr. Franklin..." she spoke softly almost like a question.

The man in question did not answer.

"Mr. Franklin," she spoke a little louder.

Pat Franklin finally glanced her way. His eyes met hers and what courage he had left was gone. She brought one finger up, coaxing him from his seat as if he was a little boy. The action was not threatening in the slightest, but to the people of the chapel, it seemed the equivalent of the devil taking your soul right from your still corpse. A collective gasp that only could be heard if one was paying attention, floating softly across the wooden pews.

"Please rise, Mr. Franklin. You are only delaying the service," Garner pleaded politely.

Franklin stood up, his sweaty hat being wrung in his calloused hands. The two people between him and the preacher brought their legs close, trying to be as small as possible to allow the man to escape from the confines of pew row. Without daring to look up, he shifted down the pew sideways until he was in the middle aisle, right in front of the now beaming Miss Garner.

"Come along, Mr. Franklin, right to the front if you will," she told the man.

She and Franklin went up the aisle to the front. By this time, Jack had sat upright in her pew seat, watching intently at the unfolding events. Her little sister huddled close to her. Abby's heart was beating loud enough for Jack to feel every thump. Jack gave a short glance at her sister, seeing if she was alright, and then silently gazed back at the preacher and her reluctant companion.

"Mr. Franklin has something to tell us," Miss Garner spoke as if he was about to be congratulated. "Don't you?"

Franklin swallowed. The people of the chapel gazed at him with soulless interest, as if they were merely trained to watch movement. Their eyes followed Miss Garner's right hand as she placed it almost lovingly on Franklin's shoulder. When she made contact with him, he shuddered in fear.

"I-I" he stuttered. "I may have-"

"May have what, Mr. Franklin? Please, the people need to hear. Speak a bit louder," Miss Garner encouraged.

He ran a hand through his blue hair, the other hand still clutching his hat tightly. "I may have said something along the lines that we should head out from Broadbrook. At least...At least some of us."

"Ah, so the truth comes out," Miss Garner sighed. "You see, good people of Broadbrook, this man's misguided ideas can lead to unwanted strife within this lovely town. He thinks we can simply leave this town. He dares to think that other people in the other towns will accept him. Well, like I tell you all every Sunday, this is not the case."

"What the Hell is wrong with what he said?" Jack asked herself under her breath.

"Because of Mr. Franklin's dangerous thoughts," Miss Garner continued, "I feel it necessary, oh so necessary, to remind you that you can't leave Broadbrook." She walked up to her podium and left Franklin standing where he was. "You all know of the mission we have before us. We are here in Broadbrook to do more than just simple mining, we are here to start a community of equality and righteousness. Our mission is to make Broadbrook the starting point of a new era of love and peace in the badlands," she paused, using the silence to emphasize her point. "However, we can only do this if we all are on the same, exact page. Ever since I got here, we've been training to become a haven for wanderers and a home to the lost. It's been mighty successful so far and we will not slow down now. Not at all."

Jack expected some sort of applause from the crowd, but Garner did not even receive a hint of acknowledgement. They simply listened and stared like statues. Jack now sunk back in her seat, unwilling to give the preacher too much of her attention.

"Jack," Abby whispered in her ear, "can we go? This is gettin' mighty uncomfortable, ya know?"

"Not yet," Jack answered. "I feel like this sermon is pretty darn important to list'n to."

Miss Garner kept speaking to the silent chapel. "I must challenge you, all of you, to keep strong in our commitment. Broadbrook's success relies on it. You are not allowed to leave here. You are not allowed to think that you are more special than the person sitting next to you. We are all the same in equality under the Lord."

"This don't sound like how they preached back in Appleloosa," Abby gulped and her arms clutched around her sister's wrist.

"Any thought of inequality can lead to conflict within Broadbrook. We all know this. That is why I, your humble preacher, must stand up here tonight and reinstate order and discipline. Mr. Franklin has done wrong in Broadbrook today. We as a community cannot simple ignore his wrongdoing. So I, with your help, will escort Mr. Franklin into the mines. For his transgression, he must be sent away to be in the mines all night," Miss Garner acted as if the action was almost unbearable for her.

"Oh please, Miss Garner!" Franklin begged. "Not the mines! There's beasts down there at night! They'll kill me!"

The man began to cry in his anguish. As he fell to his knees before her, Miss Garner lovingly placed her hand on his shoulder, almost seeming merciful. Her face full of pain and regret. The acting seemed genuine, but Jack rubbed her chin with skepticism.

"Mr. Franklin, I am sorry for what we are about to do, but this is equality. To simply have you escape discipline through begging would be unfair to those who have spent their nights in the mines for similar thought crimes. You must go through this. We'll pray for your redemption and perhaps survival," she told him with the softness of an angel.

Two men walked up from their seats and took Franklin roughly by the arms. The preacher kept her eyes shut and her hands in a praying position for the entire time until Franklin was completely dragged out of the chapel and supposedly to the dark mines.

Jack and Abby's eyes followed the poor man as he was dragged passed them. Once he had passed, Jack had seen enough. An audible groan left from the bottom of her throat. Without looking at her little sister, she spoke in a low whisper that Abby had a hard time hearing.

"She ain't a preacher," Jack said. "She's a tyrant."

Miss Garner kept speaking on, and the crowd kept listening. Jack stood up and adjusted her belt of rounds. She gestured for Abby to get up as well. As the two sisters began to leave the chapel, Garner's voice stopped and the sound of heads turning could be heard from all around.

"Miss Jack," Miss Garner called out sweetly. "Is there a problem?"

"No, Ma'am," Jack forced a smile back her way. "We're just deciding to retire early this night. I hope it ain't some 'thought crime' to do so? I would never ever wish to violate the moral laws of this here town."

"I do not appreciate the tone of your voice, Miss Jack," Garner finally frowned, "but do as you will. You have the privilege of being our guest in Broadbrook. To expect you to conform to our ways so quickly would be illogical," she chuckled at the last line as if it was a playful joke.

"Yeah..." Jack muttered and led Abby out of the chapel.

They walked in silence until they reached the front of the hotel. When Jack felt that no one was watching, she went on one knee to be eye level with her sister. Abby was still quite disturbed by what she had just witnessed, but being in her sister's presence was relieving.

"Now don't let what ya just saw bother ya, Abby," Jack reassured her. "I think I'm startin' to feel why we are here. I don't think it's some mighty coincidence we found some dead bodies just a night's ride from here. Garner ain't a preacher I feel."

"Jack, I know what ya suggestin'!" Abby harshly whispered as she clutched her red braid of hair. "These are crazy folk, but I don't see 'em as killers! Why would they kill anyone?"

"The Franklin man just said monsters reside in the mines," Jack mentioned.

"Yeah, I may be young, but even I know a long-tale when I see one. That sounds like the folk stories we'd hear in Appleloosa. What makes ya think any of his whinin' was real? What proof do we have that Garner is some sort of liar or killer?"

At this, Jack looked away, thinking about how to answer the important question. "Well, I guess it ain't right to come to conclusions without a proper investigation. We still got the hotel room 'til Sunday, so how 'bout we spend tomorrow to see what this town really is about?"

"Guess we could," Abby shrugged. "I just hope ya won't cause trouble."

Jack chuckled. "Me? Naw, I won't cause trouble."

"Promise?" Abby looked hopeful.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," Jack laughed. "Now let's get to bed and plan out tomorrow."

~*~