TITLE: Aces High
AUTHOR: Katy Lawler
E-MAIL: olawler@aol.com
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The Young Riders don't belong to the author, but to 
MGM/UA Television, Ed Spielman and Josh Kane. No copyright infringement intended.

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Aces High
By Katy Lawler

Jimmy stretched his arms over his head and leaned back in the chair. The
hotel room was comfortable enough, but months of making due with hard ground
had prejudiced him against four walls. He sighed and slipped off his
gunbelt, hanging it on the bedpost by the pillow. He plumped up the
sorry-looking mass of feathers once, then climbed onto the lumpy mattress
and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. He was not surprised when sleep
refused to come.

He folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He had a
pretty damn good idea why he was still so awake. The reason was about five
and a half feet tall, had very sharp gray eyes, a warm smile, and was
sleeping in the adjacent room. That was too close for him.

He hadn't known at first that Margaret Cohen was a woman, but he had thought
when she sought him out that she was another foolish young buck out to
challenge him. Not to challenge him, but to challenge "Wild Bill" Hickok. He
could never make them understand that he was James Butler Hickok. That "Wild
Bill" only existed in their minds, that they made him into "Wild Bill."

He stopped himself from going any further down that track. That kind of mind
set was likely to get him killed, if he let the guilt overrun him. It had
once, but he vowed that it would never, ever happen again.

Rolling over onto his left side, Jimmy stared at the wall which separated
him from Margaret. He shook his head. She'd come, not to challenge him, but,
she said, to learn from him. He'd chased her away, horrified, when he
learned that she wasn't a man, but she was a persistent wench, and he
couldn't seem to persuade her that he was dangerous, especially to women.
She turned out to be dangerous too, for within a fortnight's time he had
fallen for her eyes, her laugh, and her low, expressive voice.

Love was nothing new to him. He'd fallen in and out of love ever since he
could look a pretty girl in the eye. And now he was head over heels for a
defiant girl who wasn't particularly pretty but certainly wasn't about to
let anyone forget her. And he'd only known her -- his lips moved silently as
he counted back the days. A month?

At first he'd told her no, women didn't learn to be gunfighters. She had
grimly hung on, determined to prove him wrong. His suggestion that she
continue her masquerade as a boy had at first startled then delighted her
with the newfound freedom she enjoyed. As she had said to Jimmy, "Men are
selfish to keep this from the women who care for them -- and about them."

He switched sides, absently gnawing on one of his knuckles, his brow creased
in thought. She was going to die quickly out there. She was too much of a
do-gooder, a ministering angel to those in need. She had to learn -- and fast
- how unforgiving this land and its people were.

He yawned and burrowed further under the covers. She'd find out soon enough,
he supposed. He just hoped the lesson wouldn't kill her.

                                    *****

Morning saw them on horseback, riding away from the dawn. Margaret leaned
over the neck of her bay horse and said, "I hope we never end up there
again." Jimmy looked at her with his brows drawn together over the bridge of
his nose. He pushed his black hat back and let the breeze run through his
hair. "Nasty place."

"No worse than any other," he said shortly. She shot him a surprised look,
and he was instantly contrite for his curtness, but he didn't know how to
express his apology, so he was silent. She accepted his silence as easily as
she had her unconventional role. He wondered, some times, if she hadn't
expected him to take advantage of her. Maybe she'd known he was a gentleman,
but how she had known, Jimmy had no idea, and probably never would.

They rode on in silence for some time. The land was the same, monotonous
desert. It never changed. "Have you heard any news from the East about the
War?" asked Margaret abruptly.

Jimmy shaded his eyes with one hand and took a sip from his canteen. "No.
Not since before you decided to tag along."

She grinned at him, unashamed of her forwardness. "I know. I just thought
I'd ask. Did your friends go into the army?"

"Some," he answered evenly. "You're full of questions today."

"Only because I don't think you like to answer 'em," she replied. "I ask
anyway. Doesn't hurt. You need to talk more."

"I talk plenty," he retorted, nettled. He glanced over at her. Her face was
serious but her eyes were brimful of laughter. Deciding to abandon the field
to preserve his dignity, Jimmy kicked his horse's sides and sent the beast
into a mile-eating canter.

They set up their bedrolls early in the evening at the base of a small
cliff. Margaret prowled the area with her gun and proudly brought back a
pair of jackrabbits. Jimmy took them without a word of thanks. "We have
rations, you know," he said.

She seemed unperturbed. "You're always finding fault, Jimmy," she noted.
"And I like rabbit meat. Do you want one or not?"

He sighed. "I'll take one. Thanks," he added ungraciously.

"You're welcome," she replied, and they fell again into an easy quiet.

It wasn't until just after he got the fire going that they both heard the
distinctive snap of a twig. Both reached for their guns, Jimmy's elegant,
ivory-handled six-shooters and Margaret's more functional weapons. They rose
quietly to their feet, eyes and ears and all senses warily open.

"Hickok!" bellowed a voice. "Wild Bill! I'm coming for you!"

Jimmy swore under his breath. Not again, please not again, he prayed
silently. I can't take another death on my head. My conscience is heavy
enough as it is, Lord. Can't you make them leave me alone?

"Jimmy?" said Margaret softly, touching his arm. "You're going to have to
answer him, you know. He knows who you are. If you aren't careful he'll
shoot you in the back."

"I know," Jimmy growled. "Stay here." He pushed his way through a low line
of bushes and came face to face with a young man, just about his own age.
The stranger pulled up his gun swiftly and cocked the hammer.

"Wild Bill Hickok?" he said.

Jimmy shrugged. "My name is James Butler Hickok," he answered.

"Then you're the one I've been looking for," said the stranger calmly. "Back
up. We're going to have a duel, Mr. Hickok."

Jimmy sighed and backed up a few paces. "Suit yourself, stranger," he said,
affecting nonchalance. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that
Margaret, with her usual disregard for his orders, had come after him and
was standing off to the side with her arms folded over her chest, watching
with narrowed eyes.

The stranger lowered his gun, putting on the safety, and shoved it back into
the holster. He flexed his fingers meaningfully over the handles, squinting
across the distance between them. Jimmy waited, his eyes watching the other
man's eyes. That would tell him when the stranger was about to draw, more
than watching hands -

Like a striking snake, the stranger's hand went for his gun. Jimmy pulled
out his own shooter and the two shots rang out almost simultaneously. He
stood still for a moment before he felt a dull ache spreading from his
shoulder. As his knees buckled and he toppled gracefully to the ground, he
realized that he had been shot.

Margaret ran up, her handkerchief and knife already out. She pillowed his
head on her lap and tore his shirt open to expose the bullet wound.
"Stupid," she said shortly, biting her lip.

"You're pale," he said wonderingly, touching her face.

"You're the one who's pale, Jimmy," she told him with a smile. The stranger,
miraculously untouched, came up, his eyes wide with amazement. He tried to
speak several times but could not. Margaret shook her head as she dug the
bullet out. "Stupid, stupid," she said again. "You shouldn't have tempted
fate by not hitting him, Jimmy. He could have killed you."

"Not hitting him?" echoed Jimmy blearily.

She shook her head with a light frown of concentration. "What made you think
you could delope like that?"

"I didn't delope, Margaret," he said, struggling to sit up. He stared at the
stranger, his brow beaded with sweat. "I didn't hit you."

"No," agreed the stranger.

Jimmy laughed with relief. "God." He turned to Margaret. "I'm safe. I'm
finally safe." He turned back to the stranger. "Would you like to be Wild
Bill Hickok?" he demanded.

He received a startled blink in reply. "What?"

"I'm not a gunfighter, lad," said Jimmy impatiently. "I don't want to kill
people. But they search me out. Like you did. Always wanting to have the
glory of killing Wild Bill Hickok."

The stranger was slowly working it out. "You mean -- I get to be Wild Bill?
What'll happen to you?"

In spite of the wound, Jimmy shrugged, and sent pain lancing down his arm.
"That's not important," he said. "I'll be just another nonentity."

The new Wild Bill Hickok just shook his head. "I'll do it, mister," he said.
"Not because you ask me to. Because I want the glory." He said this almost
defiantly, expecting scorn or amusement.

"Take it," said Jimmy, waving one hand. "It's yours." A thought occurred to
him, and he pulled his ivory handled guns out of their holsters. He touched
them one last time, then tossed them over to Wild Bill. "Take these, too.
They'll make you famous. Now get out of here so that I can die in peace."

Margaret frowned at him as Wild Bill, pleased with his success and the
acquisition of such fine weapons, abandoned the two of them. "You're not
going to die, Jimmy, not while I can help it," she said sternly. "You've
just lost a little blood. It wasn't deep and it didn't hit anything vital."

"Too bad," said Jimmy with a wicked grin.

She frowned at him again, and he saw in this gesture a sincere concern for
his well being. He was touched. He knew he loved her -- and he wondered just
how deep her regard for him was. "Let's get you up off the ground," she said
gruffly, helping him to stand. She paused. "I never thought you'd give up
those guns."

"I had to," he answered. "They're too well known."

"Well then, If you aren't Wild Bill Hickok anymore, who are you?" she asked.

He tipped his hat. "James Butler, at your service, ma'am," he told her. He
looked at her appraisingly. "Now I'm just an honest man, trying to make an
honest living," he added. "And like every honest man, I think I'll need an
honest wife."

She blinked at him, and a slow smile spread shyly across her face. "Well, I
don't know of any honest women out here," she drawled. "But I'm sure at the
next town I could arrange for you to meet at least one."

He grinned at her raffishly, and hugged her with his uninjured arm.
"Margaret Cohen, what would I do without you?" he asked rhetorically.

She smiled back at him. "I hope you never find out, James Butler," she
replied.

The End