By Susannah, written for Jane

Jane breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the door of her dorm room as it closed behind her. She glanced at the calendar on the wall above her computer. Another one down, just 62 more to go, she thought wearily. She crossed to her desk and shrugged out of her heavy backpack before flopping onto her bed, exhausted.

Outside the wind was picking up, causing the tree nearby to scratch against the balcony railing with irritating regularity. Jane looked out the window to see dark clouds massing on the horizon, occasionally brightened by a flash of lightning. It figures, she thought. The rotten weather matched her mood exactly.

Jane closed her eyes, trying to block out the coming storm and the massive amount of work awaiting her. But instead the three papers, two tests, and research project loomed in her mind like the approaching storm clouds. She groaned and opened her eyes, and found herself staring at the picture of the Young Riders that served as wallpaper on her computer.

Jane smiled in spite of herself. "You know boys," she said aloud, "I would rather be on a runaway stage in hostile territory, headed for a cliff, with a gang of robbers on my tail and a storm coming, than do my homework."

She could never clearly remember what happened next. Perhaps she dozed off, for a sudden deafening clap of thunder caused her to sit up with a jolt and bang her head hard against something solid. Her first thought was to curse her own stupidity for hitting her head on her roommate’s bunk again, and her second was that the thunder was so loud it shook the building. But then she realized that was impossible, for both bunk and building had disappeared.

She was sitting in the cramped interior of a stagecoach, and what she had thought was the building shaking around her was actually the rumbling of the stage as it traveled over uneven ground at a much higher speed than usual. Jane blinked and pinched herself. I’m dreaming, she thought, but that thought was gone as soon as it formed, as well as the reasoning behind it. Just then shouting in the distance could be heard over the galloping of the horses and the rumbling of the stage. Jane reached out to pull back the window drapes, and as she did so part of her noticed with a shock the ruffled sleeve that covered her arm. But another part of her immediately dismissed that shock and the questions that came with it. What else should she be wearing but that blouse? After all, it was one of her favorites, and it matched her long skirt and tailored vest perfectly.

Jane stuck her head out the window to look behind the stage, and almost immediately ducked back inside. That brief look had been enough to explain the situation, which for some reason she was not finding surprising. Several riders were rapidly gaining on the stage, all of them well armed and dangerous-looking. The riders wore bandanas over their faces, and the storm clouds looming on the horizon behind them only added to their ominous appearance. Jane felt her pulse quickening with excitement, yet she was not afraid.

A shot rang out then, and the stage driver cursed aloud. "Get ready, Ben!" he yelled at the man riding shotgun. "They’re almost in range!"

Jane heard the slap of the reins against the horses’ rumps, followed by another shot, this one from above and in front of her. She held her breath, wishing there were something she could do to help. More shots followed, but apparently neither the robbers nor Ben could find their mark. Unfortunately this did not last long.

A hoarse cry told Jane that Ben had been shot, and she knew what she must do. Without stopping to consider the recklessness of her plan she threw open the door of the stage and swung herself out onto the side. Fortunately the door provided a temporary shield from the robbers’ guns, but there was still the danger of slipping off the stage or getting her skirt caught in the wheel. Jane forced herself to ignore those thoughts and concentrated only on inching sideways toward the front of the stage. The process seemed to take forever, during which time she had ample opportunity to thank the brilliant individual who had designed the stage with ornamental ridges at top and bottom.

At last Jane reached the front and managed to scramble her way onto the seat. In reality it had taken her less than a minute to reach her goal, but she was glad to rest her aching fingers for a moment. Her respite was short-lived, however, for a bullet whizzing past her ear reminded her of the presence of the robbers. Ben had taken some of them down after all, but the remaining three were closing in fast.

To her dismay Jane saw that the driver had also been hit during her precarious move. He was slumped over in the seat, the reins dangling from lifeless fingers. The frightened horses still plunged ahead blindly, but there was no time to worry about them yet. Jane turned her attention to Ben’s abandoned shotgun, taking care to keep her head down while she reloaded. Again, part of her wondered how she knew what to do, and again another part answered, I learned how to shoot almost as soon as I learned how to ride.

Buck Cross was returning from a run when he heard shots in the distance. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than a hot meal and his bunk, but he quickly kicked his horse into a gallop. They came over a rise to see a stagecoach hurtling across the plains at a dangerous speed, with three masked riders close behind. The stage had long ago left the trail, and the rough terrain forced the person in the driver’s seat—Buck did not take the time to be surprised that it was a girl—to hold on with both hands to avoid being pitched over the side. Buck paused only long enough to decide the best course of action before racing down the hill. As he approached he saw the girl abandon her grip on the seat and raise a shotgun, taking out the closest rider with a shot through the chest.

Jane watched the robber topple from the saddle with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. She started to duck back under cover when another shot rang out, sending the second robber sprawling in the dust. Out of the corner of her eye she saw another rider approaching fast from the northeast. The last remaining robber saw him too, and his momentary distraction was all Jane needed to put a shot through his middle. She breathed a sigh of relief, only to see that the mysterious rider was frantically trying to get her attention.

I forgot about the cliff! She thought suddenly, and just as suddenly wondered where that thought had come from. Her mind seemed to be playing tricks on her, and at the moment she was not even sure that the sun still rose in the east. Yet she turned around to face the direction the rider was indicating, and sure enough the horses were headed directly toward a jagged gully.

Jane made a frantic grab for the reins, pulling with all her strength. But the panicked horses were at a dead run, and there was no way she could stop them in time. By now the other rider had almost succeeded in pulling up alongside the stage, and it was clear what he intended to do.

"You’ll have to jump onto my horse!" he shouted, reaching a hand out towards her.

"I know!" Jane had already begun to maneuver to towards the edge of the seat.

The rider was now close enough that his saddlebags flapped against the side of the stage. "Jump!" He grabbed her hand, and Jane half-fell, half-jumped onto the horse behind him.

She clung to him tightly as they veered away from the doomed stage and he pulled his tired chestnut mount to a stop in the shelter of some trees. They watched in horrified silence while stage, horses, and all plummeted over the edge of the gully. Jane felt her throat close with emotion at the thought of the poor horses, innocent victims of someone’s greed. She herself had barely been lucky enough to avoid the same awful fate.

Her rescuer turned to look at her then, and she saw a similar regret in his dark eyes. "Are you alright, miss?" His low voice was full of concern.

Jane nodded and attempted a smile. "Yes, thanks to you."

He smiled back and slid gracefully from the saddle before turning to help her dismount. She found herself grateful for his steadying arm, for her legs seemed unsure of her weight and threatened to buckle beneath her. They sat down on an overturned tree and he offered her a drink from his canteen.

Jane discovered that she was parched, a fact which had escaped her notice during the previous excitement. "Thank you," she said gratefully when she had finished.

"You’re welcome." He smiled at her again, and Jane had the distinct impression that she had seen him somewhere before, though she could not think where. And with his dark coloring and exotic, not to mention very attractive, features, he was not someone she would have been likely to forget. "Can you tell me what happened?" His question started her out of her reverie.

Jane found that the whole story came quite easily. "We were ambushed by six riders. The driver veered off the trail to try and lose them, but it didn’t work. Ben—the man riding shotgun—was killed, so I tried to take his place. By the time I got up there the driver was dead too. I guess you know the rest."

He nodded. "It sounds like you had a run-in with the Patterson gang. They’ve been holdin’ up stages in this territory for a while now."

"Not anymore," said Jane softly, for the first time feeling a touch of pride for what she had done.

"No, not anymore," he agreed, looking at her with admiration. "That was a pretty brave thing you did, you know."

Jane had to laugh at that, thinking how different his opinion would be if he knew what had been going through her mind during that whole desperate situation. "I think you mean foolhardy," she said. "To be honest I had no idea what I was doing. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along when you did."

He laughed. "Well then, I’m glad I did, though something tells me you would’ve figured something out."

"I don’t know about that," said Jane doubtfully. "But how did you happen to come along, anyway?"

"I was on my way back to the station in Sweetwater," he said, and at her questioning look continued. "I’m a rider for the Pony Express. My name’s Buck Cross."

I knew that, thought Jane dimly, and again wondered how she knew. She smiled warmly. "I’m Jane. And I must say, it’s been very nice meeting you."

"Likewise." He grinned, and she discovered that she was very glad to be sitting down already.

Just then the rumble of thunder reminded them of the approaching storm and the relative danger of their situation. Buck stood up and held out a hand to help Jane to her feet.

"We’d better get moving. I think we can make it to Sweetwater before the storm hits, and I can tell the marshal what happened to the stage." He paused to look at her again, his eyes twinkling. "And I’m pretty sure he’ll want to talk to you."

She took that as a compliment, and blushed. "Alright. Let’s go before it starts raining. I think I’ve had about all the excitement I can take for one day."

Buck chuckled. "Me, too."

He vaulted into the saddle and reached down to help pull her up behind him. Jane wrapped her arms around him and let her head rest against his back. His suede jacket was soft against her cheek, and she breathed in his pleasant smell of leather and some unidentifiable herb that she guessed was in the medicine pouch around his neck.

Jane smiled as Buck placed one strong hand over hers where they clasped at his waist, and they started off. Careful, Jane, she warned herself, you know where those thoughts are going. But she had a feeling it was already too late, and she realized she didn’t care.

The two riders galloped towards the west, their silhouettes merging against the setting sun.

The End (or the beginning?) ; )