Christy Tunstall laid the newspaper aside and sighed. The paper slid from the table where it lay and landed with a small thump on the wooden floor. The article that caused Christy's sigh landed face up and when she glanced at it, she didn't even need to read the headline to know what it said. She already had the entire article memorized, although admittedly it was just a couple of paragraphs.

"Notorious Gunfighter Shot to Death in Saloon" read the headline.

"Jimmy", she sighed again. "Legendary Marshall 'Wild Bill' James Butler Hickok was shot to death while playing cards in a saloon in the Dakota territories. Apprehended shortly after the shooting was local town worker, Jack McCall, who admitted to shooting Hickok, but declined to give a reason. Hickok, who earned his legendary nickname in…."

Christy stopped reading. She didn't need to know how "Wild Bill" Hickok had earned his nickname because she had heard the story from the infamous man himself. If fate hadn't worked in funny ways, she might have been there to witness his death firsthand. It was sad that someone who had once meant everything in the world to her had drifted away until she felt she hardly knew him at all.

Had she ever really known James Butler Hickok? Yes, she thought she had, if only for a brief moment in time. She could still remember the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, the way he would duck his head when he revealed the tender side he tried so hard to hide. That tender side was the part of him Christy had loved best because it would have been so easy for it to have died in him. Jimmy's reputation caused him much heartache. He had to be careful of everybody because he never knew if someone was a friend or an enemy.

"A man sends someone to kill me, I make it my problem.", his voice rang in her head.

"Oh, Jimmy", she thought, "I guess you won't have anymore problems now."

Christy sat back down in her wooden rocking chair. Almost without noticing, she began to rock and with each squeak of the rocker, she let her mind slip further and further into the past. A single tear slid down her slightly wrinkled cheek as she thought of a young man with brown eyes and a penchant for trouble and a young girl with then smooth cheeks and a heart aching with love….

For many years Christy Tunstall had felt like a lost soul. As far back as she could remember, she had belonged to no one but herself. Even back in Virginia, during her happier times, she had always understood that she didn't belong, nor was she really wanted. It was true that her Aunt Martha had loved her, and Christy was as close to her cousins as any brothers and sisters, but Uncle Thomas never let Christy forget that she was a freeloader, completely dependent upon his generosity for her care. Of course, Uncle Thomas' generosity didn't reach very far.

Then Christy had met Charles Tunstall and Harry Turner. Finally, she had not one, but two people who needed her and cared for her. Charles Tunstall was a bachelor with no use for a wife. Instead of matrimony, he chose to take in orphans and numerous strays to help him with his various chores. Christy herself had come to stay on the farm four years earlier. Charles Tunstall had found her standing outside a store. She had been looking in a window debating on trying to steal a couple of canned goods that beckoned her from inside. Christy's money, which hadn't been much to start with, had dwindled to nothing two days before.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you.", said a voice from behind her.

Christy turned and looked at the gentleman with annoyance. "Well, you ain't me."

"There could be an easier way, you know." He insisted.

"Yes, I suppose if I walked in there and asked, someone would just give me something to eat?", she rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, I would.", the man obviously wasn't going to give up. "In addition, I would be willing to provide room and board in exchange for your labor."

Christy started walking away. "No thanks, I ain't that kind of girl."

"Am not." He stated.

She stopped, "What?"

"I am not that kind of girl."

The man was really beginning to irritate her. "So now you're giving me lessons in English?"

The man let out a chuckle. "Well, if you need them…. Now, if you will let me explain, I'm not proposing anything improper, I assure you. I run a small farm outside of town and I am a bachelor. I've hired several young gentlemen to help me with the manual labor, but I would like to enlist the assistance of a young woman to help with the cooking. My talents with the skillet are, shall we say, limited? In exchange for your help, I will provide a roof over your head and a reasonable wage until you can provide other means for yourself."

"And how do you know I need anyplace to stay?" She eyed him suspiciously.

The man glanced at her ragged clothing. "My guess is, if you had a place to go, you wouldn't need to steal from local storekeepers."

She couldn't think of anyway to respond, so she kept silent.

The man offered his hand. "Charles Tunstall. Do we have an agreement?"

Christy reluctantly shook his hand. "My name's Christy. As long as you understand, I'm free to go when I want to, I'm looking for someone, and don't plan to stick around long."

"Agreed." The man led her to his wagon, and Christy's plan not to stick around long turned into four years. She grew to love the old man in a fatherly way, and when he suggested she take his name and become his daughter, she didn't fight it much.

Christy had been living under Charles' care for three years when Harry showed up. "Blackjack" Harry Turner was busy earning his nickname in the town's only saloon, when two cardsharps by the name of Brooks and Dixon arrived. Within minutes, they sat down to play cards with Harry, accused him of cheating, and were about to shoot him when Charles Tunstall happened by. Charles cleverly managed to divert the attention of the two men and led Harry to safety. Soon after, Harry Turner joined the small family on the farm.

With his curly black hair and laughing brown eyes, Harry instantly captured Christy's attention. It didn't take her long to figure out she wasn't the only one smitten with Harry. All the girls in town giggled and blushed whenever he walked by. Christy quickly gave up. She knew she didn't have a chance with Harry with so much competition.

For almost a year, life proceeded quietly. Christy and Harry were hesitant with each other at first, but soon enough their shyness gave way, and they became the best of friends. Out for a ride one day, Harry leaned across her horse and planted a swift but firm kiss on Christy's lips. She was so surprised she didn't have time to stop him, not that she would have.

"What was that for?", she asked, her eyes wide.

"Just wanted to see if you'd let me." Harry's grin was quick and sure.

"Well, I wouldn't", she paused, "if you were to try it again."

Harry's grin became wider and he accepted the challenge. Once again he firmly kissed Christy's mouth, but this time he wasn't so quick about it. "I reckon you're a liar, Miss Tunstall."

Christy could feel herself blushing. Not wanting Harry to see how breathless he had left her, she quickly urged her horse into a gallop. "That's all right, I can still outride you any day."

Harry whooped with laughter and chased after her. They raced all the way back to the farm. Christy, who still held the lead, suddenly pulled her horse to a stop. Harry was about to ask her why she had stopped when he noticed the plumes of black smoke rising from the main farmhouse. Christy looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Without another word, they galloped the remaining distance. In the front yard, Harry jumped down from his horse without bothering to tie him and ran inside. Christy quickly followed.

"Charles!" Harry frantically called, running from room to room.

Christy felt she couldn't move. She stood inside the door, choking from the thick, black smoke. "Harry! Charles!"

Suddenly, Harry came running past her with Charles slung over his shoulder. "Christy, come help me, he's hurt!"

Christy dropped to her knees in the grass where Harry had laid Charles. "Is he--?", she didn't dare finish her question.

In response to her question, Charles began coughing and struggling to breathe. "Charles?", she asked weakly.

He grasped her outstretched hand. "My dearest Christy."

Harry gently touched the old man's shoulder. "What happened, Charles?"

"The boys went into town…" Charles broke off as he began coughing again. He struggled to speak. "Brooks….Dixon."

Harry stared. "Brooks and Dixon? You mean them two lying, cheating bandits that accused me of cheating in cards? That was over a year ago…."

Charles managed a weak smile. " I guess they don't forgive and forget. They finally figured out you were here and came looking for you. I wouldn't tell them where you were…" his voice trailed off.

"This is my fault, then. I knew I should have finished 'em when I had the chance" Harry's eyes began to tear up.

"Shhh", Charles said weakly. "It doesn't matter…."

"Charles?" Christy whispered. "Charles?"

And so on a cold December day, Christy, Harry, and the other band of misfits Charles Tunstall had taken in over the years, stood somberly by as the preacher spoke and Charles' coffin was lowered into the ground.

"I'm going to look for the bandits that did this to Charles." Harry stated as he strapped on his gun belt. It was right after the funeral and without the gentle guidance from their father figure the ragged group looked lost. What should they do now?

"Harry, no!" Christy exclaimed. "What good would that do? Charles is dead, and if you go looking for them, you will be, too."

Harry's brown eyes flashed. "I won't let them get away with this! Someone has to avenge Charles' death, and that someone is me!"

"And what about me?" Christy asked softly. "What about us?"

Harry looked away. "I'm sorry. I'll come for you when I'm finished."

Christy heard nothing from Harry for nearly three weeks. She moved into the small bunkhouse, since the fire had heavily damaged the main house. She had been trying to hold Charles' little farm together, but she was all alone. All the boys who had lived at the farm had drifted off without Charles around. Late one night, she extinguished the lantern and slowly made her way to bed. She heard a knock at the door and stiffened. Who would knock on the door at this time of night? It didn't take long for word to spread that she was a woman tending a farm alone, so trouble could be expected.

She grabbed Charles' rifle from its place beside her bed and cautiously tiptoed back to the front door. She tried looking out the small window to the left of the door, but saw nothing but darkness.

"Who's there?" She called, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"It's me, open up!" The voice answered.

Christy threw open the door. "Harry?!"

Indeed, there stood Harry Turner, although at first she didn't recognize him. His clothes were torn and dirty. There was a small cut beneath his eye and his arm was bandaged and in a sling. Mostly what she noticed though was the overpowering smell of alcohol on him. Harry was drunk.

"Harry, what happened?" she asked, quietly.

He didn't answer; instead he pushed past her into the house.

Christy hesitantly followed him. "Are you hurt bad?"

Harry sank into a chair in the kitchen and rested his head against his hand. Christy leaned the gun in a corner, she wasn't sure what to say. What had happened? Harry appeared as if he might cry. Just as she thought it, Harry did begin to cry. Big racking sobs shook his body.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Christy approached him and laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

He slapped her hand away with his good arm and looked at her mournfully.

She stared at him. "You did it, didn't you? You killed those two men who killed Charles?"

Harry was silent, he just continued to look at her. "Was it worth it?" She asked.

Harry ducked his head, when he spoke, it was in a whisper. "I ain't never killed nobody before, Christy."

Christy was silent, waiting for him to go on.

"They deserved to die." His voice began to crack. "Oh, God…"

"Harry…" Christy tried to approach him again.

"Get away from me!" He cried. "I shouldn't have come here! I can't be with you, Christy, find someone else!"

Harry ran past her and out the door. Christy stared out the door into the black night where he disappeared. "Harry!" She cried.

Christy waited three months, but she didn't hear from Harry again. The little bit of money Charles had saved was rapidly diminishing, and so were her options. She felt smothered in the small bunkhouse, choked with memories of Charles and Harry and happier times. Just when she thought she had found a little bit of happiness, it all came crashing down around her.

Chapter Two