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DISCLAIMER: This fan fiction was inspired by the film "The Quick and The Dead", story and characters wholly and completely owned by others. No offense or infringement is intended.
The Sun rose over the small graveyard casting shadows of crosses over the dry cracked earth. The few gravestones were grouped in families, some telling the tale of diphtheria, childbirth, or babies who had caught measles or flu. Weeds didn’t grow in the driving heat of the sun but the graves testified to the presence of loved ones, they were tended, the blowing dirt and tumbleweeds were cleared and the gravestones rid of the red and brown alkali dust, a few even had a small cactus or a still green tumbleweed plant on them. Aside from the lack of grass or flowers it could be a small town graveyard anywhere. But there was one marked difference. On the steeper slope of the hill and set slightly apart, twenty or better graves had accumulated in the once sparsely populated area. This was the town’s Boot Hill. A few of the graves were old enough to have been reclaimed by the dry cracked earth only a cross and a slight rise showed were they were, but for the most part the graves were much newer ranging from slowly indenting and drying to so new they lay humped and alien to the landscape. No families would tend these graves and while many bore no name, or date of their birth, they all had the same rough hewn wooden cross, carrying a benediction of their passing, and a fleeting hope of salvation.
The bodies had started to collect during a quick draw contest, and had continued on through the next 6 months as men of questionable motives tried to fill the place left vacant by Herad, the former “owner” and local gunman. The wannabes could be found in the middle generation graves, where the earth had already started to sink back into its hard dry state. No new Herad replacements had shown up in a month or so, but the graves kept filling as gunfighters looking for a reputation, had started coming to town seeking the man who must have killed Herad, and Red Ferenge, and Little Johnny O’Brien, and his brother Brett to name a few. By ridding the town of Herad and his aborted replacements, word had traveled that there was a new Marshall, a man to be reckoned with, an ex-preacher with one name Cort. So one by one the young and stupid, the old and desperate, and the dangerous and mean had started filtering through. Most getting no further then a quick stop on the main street of the rebuilding town before joining their cross shadowed brothers, a few slipping out of town to live another day, and spread further the word of the man they spoke of in quiet whispers, a man with sad eyes, a quiet voice and a deadly way of keeping the peace. But instead of convincing others not to try their hand, the spreading word just refueled the Exodus to the dry, partially functioning town, and Boot Hill’s population was growing faster than the families who lived in the town below.
Cort sat on the porch of what had once been a gun shop. It was one of the few surviving buildings of the original town. In the aftermath of the quick draw contest and after the departure of Ellen, Cort had taken refuge there. His first instinct had been to drop the badge into a barrel with the guns from the shop and bury the whole thing. But something about the look in Ellen’s eyes as she threw him the badge kept him from doing it. He had ended up going out in the street to help bury the dead, tend the wounded, and try to help salvage what was left of the town. Luckily a large number of bills from the blown up saloon had found there way out of the explosion, and an amazing amount of gold had been found in the wreckage of Herad’s Victorian. Six months later he wore the badge and carried the long barreled Smith and Wesson Scofield 45 the kid had said was the best handgun ever made, so far it had not failed him. At first he had been forced to carry not only the Scofield, but also it’s shorter barreled brother an Army 44, along with a two shot derringer in his vest. He had left the big Eagle-But Peacemaker in the case; its extremely long barrel might come in handy some day, but was a bit awkward to wear around town. After ridding the town of two nasties he had put the badge on his shirt hoping it would help him justify his return to killing, it didn’t, but the children playing in the street, and the women who brought him dinner did, somehow he felt that God had not abandoned him, and that he was doing what was necessary. His soul was probably lost, but maybe he could still protect the young and the old. He only had one regret that Ellen had ridden out into the desert to die. He tried very hard not to think of her beautiful honey colored hair spread on the sand in some desolate place, he tried even harder to forget what her mouth and her hands and her body had felt like pressed on his. Sometimes he dreamed of Ellen, and woke up excited and happy, only to remember and have the excitement turn to jittery despair as consciousness reminded him of her fate. He never saw the looks the younger woman in town threw his way, he was a preacher at heart, a killer by circumstance, and had only been attached to a woman once, and she was dead. That was that. He stilled prayed, but never for his own salvation anymore, no point in wasting God’s time. He concentrated on the children who had died at his school, and the children who lived and played in the streets of his town. And quite often he prayed that Ellen had found some peace, and no longer was haunted by the devils she had faced in life.
Ellen stared at the ceiling of the cabin, and decided she had memorized every splinter of the wood beams, every knothole, every mark tar drippings had left, and every inch of it never changing day or night. But she was alive, and actually had started getting stronger everyday. The Doctor had followed her and found her bleeding and cold by her stumbled horse, for the next 2 weeks he didn't think she would survive but slowly she had improved, and then the infection had set in and the Doctor, again thought she would die. But six months later she was finally almost back to normal. But now she had to figure out what was normal. She had killed men, lived out a horrible revenge, and had found a man she thought might help her survive without the fear. She had made the Doctor promise not to let anyone know she was alive, it had occurred to her that for the first time in her life she could make choices that didn’t involve the past, her Father, or anger. What she did now might be the beginning of a new life, or a sad continuation of the old. She knew how easy it would be to put back on her riding clothes, strap on her gun and ride out to where ever. Habit was a hard thing to break. She just didn’t think she wanted to live like that again. The town was rebuilding and although things had been rocky, somehow it was becoming a decent place to live. Ellen knew why, Cort. At first Doc had refused to tell her anything about the town, but as she got better he started telling her little things. Finally she confronted him and asked if the town was actually doing OK. He hesitated but finally told the story that he felt was the most important; it was the tale of the first Herad wannabe. A story about Cort and a gunman named Red Ferenge.
Red Ferenge had ridden in to town expecting to see not much of value left; he was surprised to see stacks of lumber and the people busily building. He wandered on down the street checking the wagon on the corner loaded with nails and wire and foodstuffs, he smiled to himself, this could be the place to set up his new base of operation. He rode slowly through town stopping at a tent that said, Whiskey. He had a couple and tried to pump the man behind the bar about the rebuilding, he was not very forthcoming; in fact he was very closed mouthed, unlike most barkeeps. Red got more interested; there was money to be had, and no evidence of any one in control.
Cort had seen Red ride in from his vantage point high on the new hotel’s framework; he was stripped to the waist from the heat, his gun hanging from the post by his feet. Red had paid no attention to the men hammering nails; he had been more interested in the lumber stacked in front of the Hotel. He moved like so many men Cort had known in the old days wary, wolfish, and overly casual. He also wore his gun in a way that announced his ability and willingness to draw it quickly and often. Cort had swung down from the beam dropping the 8 feet to the floor landing like a big tawny cat flat footed and graceful. He pulled on his white shirt, he had found 3 of these shirts with double rows of buttons and a strange way of closing the top button under the collar, they were the only white shirts in his size, and he had grown to like their versatility, he could drop the one side in a fold over the other when it was warm, and could button it back up with the double layer of cloth across his chest when it was cooler at night. He had always had a problem with shoulders in shirts being too snug and these had a fullness that seemed tailored to him. He strapped on the long barreled Scofield that had become his constant companion and moved behind the building following in the direction the man had gone. He figured the man would have to be watched, cause he would either leave, or get in trouble soon; there would be no middle ground. He hated the weight of the gun, but somehow didn’t trust a cross or a bible would have much of an effect on the big man with the red hair. He had hoped the town would be left in peace, but had pulled the long barreled gun from the glass case and put it on. He’d known in his heart of hearts that the trouble was not over, but had just been driven back for a time. As he rounded the corner he saw the man going into the Whiskey tent. It looked more and more like time had run out. He unconsciously loosened the gun in his holster and checked the exact direction the sun was shining from. He then leaned against a pole left from the now dead telegram and waited. After a few minutes he debated going into the tent, but knew if he did all chance of the man leaving peacefully would be over, he would recognize in Cort, what Cort and seen in him and react to it. So in the end he just leaned and waited. Anyone seeing him would think he was taking a break and relaxing, but Cort was only relaxed on the outside he was gently vibrating pulling in constant information from everywhere, the little boy who had just passed with a bag of lunch for his Father, the two little girls playing dolls in the dust across the street from the tent, the young daughter of the new shopkeeper who was going back to the store carrying a basket of bread she had baked. He heard the horses tied in front of the tent their muffled snuffles and the stamp of a hoof to remove a pesky group of flies. He smelled the burning wood from the cook tent and the lye the Chin family used to wash clothes. Slightly squinted his eyes looked like blue electric reflected in deep green pools their focus never leaving the only ways in or out of the tent. What people saw was a big man leaning casually against a pole on a warm day, hair and skin the same sandy color as the ground, a clean white shirt and a glint of chain from which hung a small gold cross. But in truth he was more like a mountain lion waiting on a rock, watching over his territory than a man lounging in the sun. If he was noticed it was not because of anything unusual he was doing but simply because a man like him was always noticed; there was something about the way the air vibrated when they entered a room, or their voice carried over a crowd even when spoken at normal volume, they stood apart. The ones who did pass him nodded and kept going, they all had grown accustomed to him, but he kept to himself, rarely speaking, only seeming to be happy or willing to smile when surrounded by the children who all seemed drawn to him.
Mary Cates had just brought bread from home to her Father’s store, but had to return to help her mother make biscuits for the cook shed. She hurried along passing the hotel wishing she could turn and go the long way home thus avoiding the whiskey tent, she wrinkled her nose in disgust she didn’t like the way it smelled of whiskey and stale beer and tobacco. And sometimes a man would come out of there and be sick in the street, or fall down. But at 15 she was a grown woman, so she squared her shoulders raised her chin and hurried on down the street. She hiked her blue gingham dress up over her bootlaces and pushed her waist length blond hair back from her face, she was ready for anything. She thought.
Red came out of the tent just in time to see a very pretty blond girl walking down the street, he decided then and there that what he needed in his new home was a pretty young thing to warm his bed; after all in this town of sheep who the hell would stop him. He laughed to himself and stepped out in front of the fast moving Mary. He grabbed her shoulders, and breathing whiskey fumes in her face said, “Well aren’t you the prettiest little thing. Let’s you and I go back inside for a drink.”
Cort had started moving the minute he saw the tent flap raise he just knew that fate would choose the moment of Mary’s passing, for the man to leave the tent. He came up behind and to the right of the man to draw his attention and his balance away from Mary. He said softly, “Mary you get on home now.”
Red turned toward the voice momentarily letting go of Mary, before he could regain possession she had run down the street blond hair flying. Red watched her go and then turned back to Cort. He didn’t say anything for a moment and then said, “Oh that’s how it is?” He looked Cort up and down, “This is your town?” Cort just looked at him stepping down two steps to the left, the sun now at his back.
“No”. Cort said.
Red looked at him for a minute sizing him up, he looked tough to Red, but not tough enough. He decided to hell with it, he would just draw, kill him and then go on about his business. He started to but stopped when his heart exploded. Cort had shot him before he had cleared his holster. His surprise would never leave his face; he would be buried with the amazed grimace he wore at that moment.
When people heard the shot they came running from everywhere, no shots had been heard in several weeks, not since the death of Herad. The first people to the area saw Cort standing with his gun in his right hand and his cross-gripped in his left. They could hear only a little of what he was saying. “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . he finished the psalm and without looking at anyone walked away.
Cort returned to his little room at the gun shop he laid on the bed trying to decide what to do; he had killed again, and would continue to do so if he stayed here. He had a choice; he could leave go off by himself put down the gun forever, or stay and protect the town. His brain was in a quandary his thoughts going round and round and round. He heard someone knock on the door. He went to answer it half expecting a group of citizens asking him to leave. He pulled open the door to see Mary and an older woman he recognized as her mother. Mary held out her hand to him a bright aqua scarf in it.
“This is for you” she said and ran back down the steps.
Cort looked down at the fine woven scarf and then back up at Mary’s mother. She smiled, “Mary said it was the same color as your eyes, when you told her to go home, thank-god she has fixated on that. Thank-you for what you did”.
Cort smiled and nodded, “You are welcome.”
Margaret was struck by the change in his face when he smiled it was like a light traveled from his lips to his eyes. She wasn’t surprised suddenly that her daughter had talked more about the odd color of the big man’s eyes, than she had about the man who had grabbed her.
Margaret thanked him again and left him dinner and a loaf of bread. After that night one of the woman always showed up with dinner for him. The women had decided he was an important part of the town, something the men had already figured out.
Doc finished the story by telling her Cort had taken care of the entire bad element in the town, and wore her Father’s badge while he did it.
Ellen had thought a lot about Cort after that, he was such a strange combination of honorable, violent, stubborn, and sad. She had gone to him in a moment of fear and need, and he had filled her need, and agreed to help her do the one thing she was most afraid of, kill Herad. She had not expected to feel anything for him, or anyone else for that matter, but somehow he had made her care what happened to him, and actually want to see him again. Ellen had grown up hating, and had no idea what to do with the opposite. The closest she could come to admitting she had feelings was to be concerned about Cort surviving. The story Doc had told her gave her comfort, and scared her at the same time. What if a group of men came to town, Cort might not be able to handle all of them alone. Ellen wasn’t ready to face it, but she was getting ready to go back to town. She was also getting ready to see Cort.
Hiram Stetler had been spoiling for fights and killing other young stupid men spoiling for fights for 3 years. He had ridden away from his parent’s dusty homestead in the panhandle to try his hand at cattle driving. Half way through the drive he had argued with and killed the ramrod, leaving the drive under the cover of darkness on one of the horses from the remuda, and with 20 dollars in gold dust stolen from the cook. A tall dark haired young man with an engaging if cold smile, he was driven by a marked lack of conscience, and a need for money and fame. He had drifted from town to town growing in drawing speed and meanness. Now he only lacked one thing, a big kill. Too kill someone others had tried and failed to kill, a reputation building death that would put Hiram on the map. Word of the little town with the growing death count reached him at a saloon in Sonora. He decided right then and there to go there and permanently take care of the ex-preacher with the quick hands. He left Sonora with a couple of men he had met in the saloon, they had all had similar thoughts about this fellow Cort; and were going to the same place and had decided to ride together. They agreed they would split up after passing the infrequent but deadly war parties, the lack of water, and the constant danger of injury with no one to ask for help, and no company but the waiting buzzards, and the rattling snakes. After 10 days of riding with John Tanner and Tom Higgins, Hiram had decided that having a couple of younger slower men to back him was not such a bad thing. They were both intelligent enough not to cross him, and stupid enough to trust him. All in all they were perfect pawns or diversions if so needed.
Margaret stood in the window of the store, idly folding flat fold yardage lamenting that most of it wasn’t the quality of the cottons they had brought from Georgia, somehow the cottons woven in the south were softer and more plush than the northern varieties, she wondered if it was the heat in the south that made the difference. She watched the street, occasionally seeing someone she knew, after 3 months here she still had not managed to meet everyone. Cort walked into her view, moving slowly down the wooden sidewalk, he stopped at the large black horse tied at the front of the barbers. It was a horse she had seen him ride before. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the scarf Mary had given him, he carefully tied it around his neck smoothing it down with his hands. Margaret smiled, it was funny how men didn’t seem to notice the things in life they would enjoy owning, but when given something that pleased them they enjoyed it as much as a woman would. Whenever Cort rode out anywhere he tied the scarf around his throat to use as a mask against dust, and she had seen him carefully shake the dust out of it and fold it smoothing the edges down before stowing it away in the inside pocket of his coat. She wondered if he had been given many things, she thought not. Margaret suspected a bad childhood, and a troubled youth. It was rumored he had once been an outlaw, and men claimed he was as fast as Billy the Kid with a gun. But to Margaret he always looked a bit like a sad boy who had never quite belonged anywhere. He had never frightened her from the very beginning, and she had convinced the other woman he was all right. Many of the young women watched him, even her daughter was a bit enamored, but Cort never seemed to notice the stares, it was as if he were oblivious to it all. Margaret smiled to herself; she had to admit he was not hard on the eyes, a fine figure of a man. He saw her in the window and lifted his hand in greeting. Margaret waved back; he looked directly at her as he rode by. Yes he was a fine looking man, and Mary was right his eyes exactly matched that scarf.
Cort rode out to the edge of town; he often took a look in the surrounding areas watching for signs of Indians or outlaws. He had hopes of keeping the young guns out of town, he was always afraid one of the children would be hurt. He had twice met someone out here and convinced them not to come to town. One of them never left the spot under the tree where he drew his gun and his last breath, the other had not liked his chances after looking into the eyes of the town's marshal. He swore to God later that he had seen his death reflected in that steady gaze.
Ellen had actually started taking walks and riding short distances and no longer minded the small room with the memorized ceilings, she was so tired after a couple of hours up she was happy to stare at the familiar patterns and drift. She rode up the rise behind the cabin and noticed a dust cloud coming toward the hill. She dismounted and watched, she was in no condition to run away from or fight anyone; so keeping a low profile was her best bet. She saw the big black horse, and then who was riding it. Even at 100 yards she knew who it was immediately. Something about the hair catching the sun, and the width of the shoulders. She stepped out from behind the tree, and then dodged back. Her heart was pounding in a strange way, and she just wasn't ready for this new, free clean Cort. He seemed larger and deadlier somehow. She watched him until he was out of sight and returned to the cabin, exhausted and haunted. She had no idea why Cort brought back those days so vividly, but it was almost as though she could smell the burning buildings, hear the gunfire, and feel the rage and the pain. But more vivid than any of those overwhelming images, was a small room in the now gone saloon. Cort leaning on a wall talking about God and then gently kissing her and touching her with those big hands. She drifted off to sleep hearing his voice "Listen for the click".
Cort stopped his horse a couple of times in the narrow valley, he couldn't see anyone, and he had heard nothing out of the ordinary, but he could swear someone was watching him. He looked for shadows, or sun reflecting off metal, nothing, still as he exited the valley he still had a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, he glanced back once more but still saw nothing. He shook his head and started back to town. Nothing was moving in this heat and dust, he hadn't even seen a coyote or a snake (human or otherwise). He shivered in the heat momentarily as the goose bumps on his arms disappeared; he shook his head, and wondered at how wrong his instincts could be at times.
Doc sat in the small cabin, he had hidden Ellen for over 6 months successfully by simply telling the town folk he was living outside of town to get away from the memories of the violence, and the people he had been unable to save. So far no one suspected anything and the couple of people who had come to ask for medical assistance had been in a hurry and not inclined to enter his home. Now Doc was almost sorry no one knew Ellen was alive. I would be easier for her to make a decision about staying or going if she had to deal with people knowing of her survival. He also had a suspicion that Cort would be inclined to continue taking care of the town if Ellen were there. Ellen didn't know that she had talked a good bit during her delirium, and that the Doctor was aware of her connection to Cort. She had started repeatedly saying "Look out, listen for the click". Then she had started yelling, "Cort", and finally when she was really sick she had simply breathed his name and stroked her pillow. Doc wasn't sure what the significance of all this was, but it was obvious that Cort meant something to Ellen. Doc decided she had had enough time to think things through; he was going to nudge her in the direction of town and maybe Cort. He’d have to think about how to do this. Maybe he would talk to Margaret at the store she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.
Hiram was feeling really good; he had convinced both men that they should stay together. He felt that having the two of them along could be the edge he needed. Plus if they survived and saw him kill Cort, they would spread the word faster than the town folks. Hiram could feel a new notoriety starting; he was finally going to get the attention he so richly deserved. He was two days away from destiny. The thought excited him; he was always ready for a good killing.
Mary watched Cort ride back in and smiled to herself, she liked it when he wore the scarf, and even though he was really old, maybe 30 she still liked to look at him. And when he was around, he made her feel safe. She turned back to work still smiling; something about the somber sandy haired Marshall just made her smile.
Cort didn’t feel like smiling, he had been greeted with a now typical sight as he rode by the Whiskey tent, everyday lately he had seen Margaret’s husband Ben in the tent during the day, already half drunk. He didn’t like what was developing here, Ben was going to get himself in trouble, and Mary and Margaret deserved better than that. Margaret was already managing the store most of the time, although she pretended her husband had just stepped out on business. Cort decided to try and keep an eye on Ben for a while, and see if he could figure a way to remove Ben from the booze and the gambling in the tent. The southern gentleman had no idea of the kind of things that could happen to him if he wasn’t careful. Cort would really hate having to help bury him.
Ben didn’t see the Marshall ride by; he also didn’t see the man across from him drop an ace down his sleeve into his right hand either. He was a man who had been raised on honor. He would not suspect anyone of that sort of trickery, and had lost a good deal of money recently for that reason. Margaret had no idea that he had lost a couple of hundred dollars of the re-stock money, he would just have to win it back before she found out. Ben pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face and hands with it. He would have to concentrate, and play the game of poker he had learned from his Father he had never had this sort of bad luck. He stopped drinking and attempted to concentrate on each card played and discarded. He began to suspect something was wrong when he was sure two aces of diamonds had been played in the same hand. Accusing some one of a dishonorable act however was a dueling offence, so he continued on pretending to sip his drink and watching. Four hands later he was sure.
Cort tied up his horse and walked back to the saloon, he thought he would have a beer and check out the clientele of the saloon, he had heard that a gambler had come to town the week before, but had had no complaints about him so had just left well enough alone. Now with Ben in there all the time he wondered. He came in through the drop canvas at the back of the tent and stayed toward the end of the bar close enough to observe the poker game, but not close enough for anyone to take much notice of him. Ben didn’t seem drunk, and was fairly intently playing poker. He looked like he knew the game, and was not as drunk as Cort had feared.
Ben for the third hand in 10 noticed an incident of cheating, he was absolutely positive, and contemplated what he should do. The man sitting to his right was a cowboy who had come to town on his way home from a cattle drive, he had been drinking and losing for about 3 days. He all of a sudden stood up and stomped around the table to the side of the black-coated gambler.
“Your luck is too damn good, I think you are cheating”. He grabbed the card shark by the arm coming away with a fake cuff, and two aces. The gambler lifted his right arm and a derringer appeared in it. He aimed and shot in the direction of the cowboy. Dying for his trouble, but not before shooting Ben in the chest with both barrels of his two shot derringer. The cowboy stood there helplessly looking at the gun that he had never shot at anything but rattlesnakes and coyotes, and the man laying on the floor with the pool of red spreading over his white shirt. He didn’t see Ben fall but absentmindedly put his gun away, “Mister, you’re not dead are you?” When the gambler didn’t answer the cowboy looked at the big man across the table, he was bending down to the floor all the cowboy saw was a badge disappearing below the edge of the table. He looked around and contemplated running, but he had never been in trouble and didn’t want to start that life now, he suddenly just wanted to go home. The man with the badge stood up and looked at him. “I saw what happened, you didn’t have a lot of choice.” He turned toward the bartender, “Go to the General Store and get the woman who works in there she is an older blonde named Margaret, if a young girl is in there ask her where Margaret is. Tell her her husband has been hurt.” The bartender started out the door, Cort turned back and said “and find out where the Doc is.”
Ben was bleeding but not like Cort had seen dying men bleed, just a steady flow, not a fast spreading puddle or a spurt. He was a little at a loss, until he remembered a priest he had known long ago and how he had pressed down on a wound with a cloth to slow the bleeding. He pulled a bar towel off the top of the beer keg and folded it into a pad, he pressed down hard almost glad to here Ben moan, dead men didn’t make noise, dying men often didn’t either. He looked at Ben and was surprised to see his eyes open and his gaze clear. Maybe Ben would make it, if the Doc got here in time. Margaret came flying in the door and ran straight to Ben. “Cort?” She said looking at the bloody cloth on her husband’s upper chest. Cort shook his head, “I am trying to stop the bleeding, but we need Doc.” Margaret eyes never left her husband. “He’s out at his place he said he had something he had to do this afternoon.” Cort took her hand and pressed it down on the cloth. “You stay here I will get Doc”.
Cort ran out the front of the saloon noticing the big palomino that was the pride of Jesus Desoto tied in front of the half built hotel. He ran to the horse, hollering in the door why he was taking him and spun him quickly to the north. The horse was fast and long legged, and Cort had him in a run by the time he cleared town. He figured in the afternoon heat he could run him for about ½ mile and then breathe him at a slow canter and then sprint again. In the long run even with the slow downs he could make the cabin as fast as was possible. He was worried about Ben, but couldn’t help feeling a certain excitement in the ride on this powerful fast horse. The horse surprised him he had hardly broken a sweat at the ½ mile mark and Cort ended up going almost ¾ of a mile before slowing down. The big horse seemed to like to run and fought being slowed down. Cort was impressed; Desoto always claimed his horse descended from horses brought by the conquistadors, the best in Spain. Now Cort believed him. He gave the big animal his head and the horse took off like a shot ground eating strides lengthening out to a full run. Cort leaned forward and let him go.
He rounded the top of the hill above the valley he had ridden through earlier and found the cabin Margaret gave him directions to quickly on the his way out the door. He tied up the slightly winded horse patting him on the neck in thanks and ran up the porch, just as lifted his hand to knock the door opened and Cort found himself face to face with a ghost. He stepped back and just stood there for a second. Ellen’s eyes never left his face. “Cort”. Cort shook his head as if breaking a trance. “I need Doc”. Ellen disappeared back in the house. Doc came to the door. “Cort I should have t. .” Cort interrupted him “Not now Ben’s been shot, and I think it is bad”. Doc grabbed his bag by the door and ran for the barn. Moments later he joined Cort and they headed back for town. They were moving too fast for conversation which both of them found a relief, the Doctor cause he didn’t know what to say, and Cort cause he was just too shocked by Ellen’s appearance to make sense of it or his rush of feelings yet. The Doctor’s horse was no match for the big palomino who still seemed to have endless energy, but they made good time back to town. Ben was alive when they entered the tent, and alive an hour later when the bullets were removed. Cort went back to the gun shop he now called home, he tried not to think about Ellen, but in trying kept thinking and remembering more and more.
Ellen watched Cort and Doc ride out, she had forgotten how Cort moved, but she thought she had remembered that voice, but she realizes she hadn’t, not really. He had only said 3 words on the porch, but it was enough, her memory had fallen short she just hadn’t remembered the timber or the velvet smoothness of it. She shivered slightly, why did she care about something so stupid as how some man sounded when he talked. She had used men to get what she needed, most of them had been forgotten or dead and forgotten.
But even as she shrugged it off, she knew she really hadn’t used Cort, he had been too sad, and too alone, and as it turned out far too dangerous. She thoughtfully watched the dust cloud as they rode down the valley on the other side of the hill. She turned toward her bed and the clothes hanging on hooks in the corner.
Cort pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept in the cupboard behind the still full gun case. He rarely drank more than a beer, but on occasion had a drink of whisky. Tonight he had a feeling one drink was just going to be the beginning. He felt like he was celebrating, and mourning at the same time. Ellen was alive, but had kept it a secret. What did that mean? He shook his head, to hell with it, and had another shot of the slowly emptying bottle. Three shots and 25 minutes later Cort corked the bottle put it away and shook his head hard to clear it, that didn’t help so he walked to the corner, peeled off his shirt, and deliberately stuck his head in a bucket of water, he left it in the cool bucket until his lungs were screaming for oxygen. He stood up shaking the water from his collar length hair. He went looking for his fresh shirt, and was pulling it on when he heard the knock at the door. His hand dropped to his gun, finding it dry and still there, he walked to the door. He opened the door and seeing who it was just walked back into the room leaving it open. He heard the door shut and turned, he pushed his still wet hair out of his eyes and half smiled. “Ellen, you sure look good dead”. She was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a split riding skirt of the softest velvet and a white shirt buttoned all the way up to her chin. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and a brown hat completed the picture. Cort just stared she looked very beautiful, but nothing like the woman who had strode down a street dressed in black leather and guns. He felt uncomfortable all of a sudden; he had been with this woman, but not This Woman. His Ellen belonged to a violent time; she was dusty and passionate, and dangerous. This Ellen was a woman who needed to be cherished and taken care of, a woman who deserved much more than Cort would ever be. He dropped his eyes and buttoned his shirt. Ellen crossed the room quietly and stood in front of him when he didn’t look back at her she reached out and gently pushed his hair back out of his eyes. His eyes flashed in memory and although Ellen had still not spoken he found her in his arms, kissing like the night they had spent together was last night. Ellen noticed a nice difference right away, Cort’s hands were free, and while he had managed to use them to good advantage while chained this was much better. It was also exciting to not be so in control of the situation, the power had shifted this time to the much stronger Cort. Ellen decided she like both ways and smiling to herself thinking chaining Cort herself might be just as much fun. For now she was going to enjoy the strong hands that ran up the length of her arms to cradle her face. She reached up and started unbuttoning the couple buttons he had just done up. She remembered how warm and soft his skin was and ran her hands around his waist under his shirt. She leaned on up against him her breasts pressing on the hard plane of his chest. The long sleeves of her shirt, and the camisole under it frustrated her. She felt his hands at the high collar of her blouse and was amazed at how rapidly he managed the tiny buttons in the row down the front of her shirt. He had his head down looking at the tiny pearl buttons; Ellen took the opportunity to bite the ear that peaked out from under the soft thick hair. And rain kisses up his jaw line to his check bones. She marveled at how smooth and rough, and soft and pleasantly bristly his face was, so much more interesting than her bland same all over. Cort managed to open the 30 or so buttons down the front of her blouse only to discover another garment with more tiny little buttons, he growled in frustration and dipping his head gently bit one of her hard nipples dampening the silk, and making her groan, he straightened turning his face to catch her lips running his tongue across her bottom lip. She ran her hands up his chest enjoying his reaction to her touch. She had never bothered to spend much time on preliminaries, when she had wanted a man she just made herself available and did the act. It was very different with Cort she didn’t want to rush, exploring was so much fun. He ran his hand up to cup her breasts running his thumb over the still hardening nipples. Ellen gasped the feeling of his thumbs running over the dry nipple and the damp one was almost more than she could take. Exploring was fun but she suddenly wanted something more. She was getting very ready for Cort to make love to her, very ready. She reached down and stroked him through his jeans, and was happy to find he was as ready as she was. This time she didn’t want to have sex standing up she want to feel his weight, and his strength. Cort started unbuttoning her camisole, and after a couple of buttons Ellen moved her hands under his and finished the job. When his mouth closed on first one and then the other of her nipples she thought for a minute she would pass out. She was picked up and deposited on a bed, and her shoes and undergarments discarded and a naked warm muscled body crowded hers on the narrow bed. She soon felt much less crowded as his lips and his hand explored her until she thought she would scream. She finally ran her hands down his back gently pulling him up toward where she needed him to be. He obliged by kissing up her stomach, across her breasts and when he reached her lips he entered her in one strong hard stroke. She watched his eyes as the excitement grew and grew she liked the way he looked back and never left her, it was a first for her, and she kind of thought for him as well. They were communicating on so many levels she felt like for a minute they were one person instead of two. It scared the hell out of her, but at the same time she loved it. She realized the only word she’d spoken was his name over and over.
Doc was unaware that Ellen wasn’t at home he planned on staying in town with Ben over night, so far he looked good, but the first 24 hours often brought death from infection or shock. So far, it looked good. Ben had been lucky the one bullet had grazed a rib and deflected over to the fleshy part of his upper abdomen, the other had been more serious but had missed the lung and had grazed but not broken his collarbone. Margaret and Mary were both hovering around, and the Doctor was quite sure that Ben would be taken care of, so he crossed to his little office next to the barber shop. He glanced down toward Cort’s place and was surprised to see Ellen’s raw-boned sorrel gelding tied to the rail in front of Cort’s house. Doc shook his head; he didn’t know how well Cort would take her deception. Maybe they would work it out. He just hoped she wouldn’t return to the cabin, crawl back into her black mourning leather and ride away. He had become very fond of the grown version of his friend’s daughter. He had seen what she had become, but he still thought of her as the little girl he had put on a stagecoach years ago to go to her Aunt’s house.
Hiram woke up first and actually collected wood and started a fire; he wanted the two younger men to feel like he was their equal. No need to exert his dominance until necessary, lulling the two of them into a sense of security was a kind of insurance plan. He might have to get rid of them later and if they didn’t suspect anything he would be in a better position to eliminate them without any suspicion. He added coffee to the pot and smiled at his own intelligence. By nightfall he would see his target and by sometime the next day eliminate it.
Ellen woke up and for a moment wondered where she was, but only for a moment a shower of memories from the night before came back to her. She heard soft breathing behind her and felt a heavy arm around her waist. It felt amazingly good to wake up all wrapped up in Cort’s arms. She could not recall a time she had gone to bed sober with a partner and woke up the same way. When she did wake up with a man her initial response was to get up and leave, usually never to return. Now her only notion was to snuggle closer and go back to sleep, smiling to herself she recalled just how little time they had spent sleeping. She rolled over slowly and was rewarded by being pulled closer her head cradled on a broad shoulder, lips brushing her forehead as she drifted back to sleep. Waking up with Cort was almost as good as sleeping with him.
Ben was better by morning, and Doc figured he would probably make it; he walked outside and was surprised to see the battered cart and shelves of the blind tinker who had left right after the town had blown up. He was in front of the hotel, just like the old days standing in his dark glasses and a new black bowler hat. Doc crossed over and before he could say hello the young man turned toward his footsteps and said. “Hi Doc”. Doc reached out to shake the extended hand. “Good to see you Sam, what brings you back?” “I heard tell the town was coming back. I also hear that Cort stayed”. Doc nodded and then remembering said “Yep”. John leaned toward Doc “I think I better talk to Cort, there is a group of men headed this way. I couldn’t see how many but I think at least 3. I was traveling with Pancho and he was asleep we were down in a ravine. I heard these horses close by and lay listening I caught pieces of conversation but all I could pick out for sure was Cort’s name and something about gunplay. We left well before dawn, and I could still hear the horses up the ravine from us.” Doc took hold of his arm and led him down the street toward the gun shop home of Cort.
Cort woke up and watched Ellen sleep for a while. He was happy, something he was not used to. He slid very quietly out of the bed hoping to let her sleep for a bit longer. He crossed to the kitchen area and started coffee. She had never said anything, and he had decided not to ask. She was here, and that was more than he could have ever hoped for. Ellen was alive, and for at least last night in his life and bed. Lucky blessed man that he was.
Cort heard voices outside and pulled on a shirt, quickly going out on the porch before someone knocked and woke up Ellen. He didn’t really want anyone to know she was there, he didn’t know why but it was private their world, not to be shared.
He spotted Sam the blind boy who had helped save his life, and Doc. He tried to ignore Ellen’s horse tied in front of his house, and he noticed that Doc was studiously not looking at the horse either. “Sam, he said quietly how are you doing”. Sam and he walked over to the edge of the porch and sat down in the sun. Sam told him what he knew, and Cort listened carefully asking a question now and again about how long it was they had left the ravine, and what direction they had come from. Cort thanked him and then turned to Doc. “I am going to go out there, I think you know what to do”, he said nodding toward the house. “Let them know I had to leave for a day on business, but not where I went or why. OK?” Doc nodded and shook his head. Ellen was not going to like this, one bit.
Cort went back in the house. He needed to get some weapons and said a little prayer that Ellen would sleep through him leaving. More than anything in the world he wanted Ellen safe. He took one last look at her sleeping peacefully and left pulling the door quietly shut.
Doc settled down on the porch and waited, he knew Ellen was inside, and that she would eventually come out looking for Cort. He hoped eventually would be a long time, and that maybe Cort would get back before then. Ellen would have questions, and she had a way of weaseling things out of him he didn’t want to tell her.
Hiram had decided that one of them should ride into town and check out the town, and very carefully had made sure he was the one to do it. The other two thought he was doing them a favor by going, the long hot ride and all. He started toward town and in the 3 hour ride somewhere crossed paths with Cort. The two men fated to meet passed each other going in opposite directions. Cort toward the men in the ravine; Hiram to the town. Cort saw the smoke from a fire in the approximate area that John had described, he was amazed at how close John had come, he was blind but certainly had his other senses working overtime. Cort was headed down a hill when his horse startled a rattlesnake sunning itself that coiled to strike before Cort even saw it. His horse reared and slid in shale and sand on the steep hillside falling sideways and sliding down the hill. Cort tried to kick loose and jump but didn’t quite make it, he was thrown clear only to start sliding down the same hill as his horse. A tree stopped him, hitting his head and his right shoulder. Cort didn’t see his horse hit the bottom of the hill and stand shaking and blowing hard with the whites of his eyes showing, he was unconscious under the tree, his right shoulder in a strange position, and a bloody cut on his temple. The horse at the bottom of the hill was tangled in the reins one of them holding up his front right foot. He slowly walked in circles as the rein tightened and sent him there, he wasn’t getting anywhere fast, and finally stopped confused and scared. When Cort regained consciousness the horse was still standing about 20 feet down the hill tangled up in his bridle and not moving. Cort rolled over slowly and reached down to check for his gun. He almost passed out again from the pain in his shoulder. He reached across with his left hand happy to find the long barreled firearm hadn’t been lost on the hill. He took his bandana and tied it around his head, to keep the blood out of his eyes; a hard move one handed and he struggled awkwardly using his left hand and the tree to get it tied securely. Just tying the knot made him dizzy and he lay back against the tree. But he knew he had to get down the hill and on that horse or he might as well shoot himself, no one would find him here. He contemplated trying to get to the men on the other side of the ridge, but instinct told him no, try for town. 30 minutes later he had crept and rested and crept and rested down the remainder of the hill, talking soothingly to the big black horse. The horse pricked his ears toward Cort and had calmed considerably by the time he reached the bottom of the hill. It took Cort another 15 minutes to manage mounting the horse and was so dizzy for a few minutes he thought he would fall back off. His vision finally cleared and he headed the horse back toward town. His shoulder still hurt, but as long as he didn’t move it at all he could stand the pain, the dizziness seemed to be getting better too, although he felt blood from his head soaking through the scarf and dripping down the side of his face.
Ellen woke up and looked around the room no Cort, she saw how high the sun was and smiled he would be out hammering nails or prowling around watching the street, or playing with a herd of children. She knew these things cause Doc had told her how one by one the children had come up to Cort and talked to him at first running away, but always coming back until you saw a child talking or laughing with Cort all over town. He seemed to draw them out from everywhere. Doc said he hadn’t known Cort could smile, but he did with the children. Ellen stretched, she could tell by the sun it was almost noon.
Doc had gone about his business but kept an eye out for Cort’s return or Ellen waking up. Finally he saw Ellen on the porch, she looked right and left and finally walked across the street stopping in front of the general store, and then glancing in the barbershop. She continued on asking the blond boy on the corner something. Doc crossed the street and headed for Ellen, she was obviously looking for Cort, and Doc knew she wouldn’t quit until she found him or found out he had left town.
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