Cheesman Chronicles

McAdam’s Ranch

Crack, bang, smash. Rifle fire striking bottles filled the air. Soon, another shot rang out, followed by a smash. Then another crack and bang. No shattering of glass. Another shot, smashing that final bottle into a million pieces.

Two out of three shots at fifty feet was still Bonnie’s personal best, and she cheered.

“I got them!” she said, excitedly jumping. “I got them!”

“Yes you did, dear,” Pa said, taking hold of her rifle and walking to the fence line. “You’re getting to be quite a shot, you know. Soon you’ll be just as good as your old man.”

“I’ll be better than you, Pa,” she said. “I’ll be better than the entire state! I’ll be Bonnie Deadeye: Hunter of Bad Guys. No-one can escape my gaze.”

The man laughed and shook his head. They began to pick up the broken pieces of glass. Bonnie made sure not to cut herself, at least for her father. Having worked on this ranch for nearly her whole twelve years of life, she’d developed some tough and calloused fingers. Yet her Pa would never see it that way. He’d always see her as the delicate flower he needed to take care of.

As they scraped the last remnants of shattered bottles, a voice called out from the house.

“You didn’t break my stuff again, did you?” A woman shouted, annoyed.

Bonnie and her Pa glanced at each other, grinning. Pa yelled back out

“Maybe, dear,” he replied. “But Bonnie needs the target practice. And you said you weren’t going to use them anyway.”

“I said I wasn’t going to use them for drinking. They’d be perfectly good for some storage. A plant or something. Be a nice project for Bonnie, not just blowing them up with that rifle of yours.”

“Ah, the kids got to learn some way,” he smiled.

“If you do it again, just let me know, okay? I’m sure I’ve got something of yours I’d like to get shot!”

The three family members laughed. They’d had this conversation before. Bonnie hoped they’d have these laughs for many years after. Those small breaks in work. Life on a ranch was a tough and grinding duty. Even at her age she was already spending full days tending the animals, harvesting the food, and patching up the holes that would inevitably appear in the buildings.

That last one had been happening more often, Bonnie noted. Pa couldn’t say way. Or wouldn’t. Bonnie thought that the holes were too precise to be from any animal. More like a drill. But if her father didn’t want them to worry, they shouldn’t.

All that work, yet they still had a wonderful time doing it. Knowing that they’d finish the day with a nice meal around the fireplace, sharing stories and planing for the days ahead.

There was the occasional challenge, of course. Having a Native father and a Black mother would create problems when selling their food. If someone didn’t want to buy it, they’d steal it. That, or shout them out of town.

They’d found a decent place a few miles from here. The trips were long, but the people were worth it. The McAdam’s name was becoming quite a special one to those folks. Bonnie was especially helpful in selling produce. A cute kid never hurt when making a deal.

Bonnie leapt up onto the patio, her Ma giving a quick rustle of her hair, before turning back to her husband. Off in the distance, she noticed a strange cloud of dust. She frowned.

“Honey?” she began. “There’s a storm coming.”

He turned and gazed to the far-off dust cloud. Leaves rustled in their trees, animals began to scamper. The dog they kept to ward of strays whimpered and hid in their house. Pa gripped his rifle close.

“Stay inside,” he instructed. “Keep Bonnie safe.”

Ma nodded and whisked their daughter inside. She followed through and into the living room, peering out through a window of the house. She saw the edges of the dust cloud, her Pa standing on the porch, slowly loading the gun with ammunition.

“Ma?” she asked quietly. “What’s going on? Why’s Pa not coming inside?”

“Just stay quiet, sweetie. Everything will be fine.”

Bonnie knew a lie when she heard one, but didn’t say anything. If her Ma told her to stay quiet, she should stay quiet. Especially if she wouldn’t say why.

Ma ushered her to another room. They passed the main living room, the kitchen, then the bedroom. Though a small house, they were thankful to have such separate accommodation. One place for one task. Much better than the houses her Ma grew up in.

“We’re just going to do a bit of ‘hide-and-seek’, okay sweetie?” Ma said, feigning a smile as they entered the back entrance room. “We’ll call out when this is all over. Don’t come out until we say so, okay? Do you understand, Bonnie?”

“Yes, Ma,” she said. “But why are we doing this? It just looks like a dust storm…”

“It’s not a dust storm,” was all her Ma said, before opening up a trap door.

Bonnie climbed inside, locked it from underneath, and heard the sound of a rug pulled over her. She frowned, wishing to have an idea as to what was going on. The underside of the house was fairly spacious, but no-one could see inside of it. She crawled as quietly as she could to the front of the house.

Rocks scrapped against her arms as she slowly dragged herself along the dirt. The underside had hardly been entered since the house was finished. A few tools, a few building supplies, and a whole lot of tiny rocks. Bonnie winced as she scurried through, using what little light she had to find the front.

As she made it up to the entrance, she could just make out the sound of horses. They pulled to a stop just by the entrance, their legs thick tree trunks to Bonnie. Three of them, she noticed. Three horses, each with a pair of boots on either side.

The three rides pulled themselves down from their stallions. Their boots and spurs clicked against the ground with each step. Bonnie could just about see their faces.

The one at the back was a lanky and timid man. Clearly the youngest, his pale face reminded her of a rats: wide eyes with a long pointing nose and ears, quickly darting around as if it could smell something was off. They glazed over the bottom floor, missing Bonnie.

The man in the middle was a larger man. His massive moustache touched each side of his face, red cheeks exhausted from the hours of riding. The clothes he wore clearly showed wealth. A tailored jacket was pressed and cleanly washed, his hat sat just right on his head. A pocket watch dangled next to his chest, sparkling lightly in the setting sun.

The head of the group terrified Bonnie the most. He was massive, at least six and a half feet tall. He had long slicked back hair, a crooked nose, and hands so huge Bonnie feared they could crush a rock with ease. He wore much less fancy clothing than his friend. The man didn’t have wealth, but he had resources.

Each of them carried a revolver on their belt. Their clean polish glistened as they made their way up the stairs.

“Mr McAdam’s,” the man at the front said. His voice was gravel, grating the ground as much as his boots. “What a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance once more.”

“Obadiah Stately,” her Pa said in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, not much, you see. Not much,” Obadiah said. “I just heard tell that there were some shots fired round these parts. Wanted to make sure that you weren’t in any trouble. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

The men behind him snickered. Obadiah took another step forward, leaning on the top step.

“See,” he continued, “If I hear that you were shooting something, I begin to worry. Because why would a respectable man such as yourself have any reason to fire that gun of yours?”

“I was teaching my daughter to shoot,” Pa said calmly.

“Really now?” the large and well-dressed man said. “Because I heard tell that you shot someone with that weapon. Quite a charge, Mr McAdam’s. Quite the charge indeed.”

“You know that I wouldn’t shoot anyone, Sheriff Locke,” Pa said. “I’m not that kind of a person. And neither is my family.”

“Well then, how do you explain the hole in my shirt here?”

The Sheriff lift his coat up. A large hole cut through the sleeve arm. Shot through. By a rifle much like her Pa’s. Locke grinned, clearly enjoying the look of confusion on her fathers face. He didn’t say anything, refusing to budge.

“I can’t say I understand how,” Pa said quietly. “But I don’t like what you’re implying, mister.”

“Is that a threat?” the third man demanded.

“No it isn’t, Pete,” Pa explained.

“I don’t know, Mr McAdam’s,” Obadiah shrugged. “It sounds like a threat to me. In fact, I am getting quite fearful for my life here.”

“You are on my legally purchased property, and I request that you leave,” Pa said, cocking the rifle. “This is your only warning.”

“He’s gonna shoot!” Pete yelled.

Before any of the others could react, Obadiah drew his revolver and shot a hole clean through Pa’s chest. The crack was deafening, briefly blowing out Bonnie’s ears. She held her hands to her head, gritting her teeth to stop any sound escaping her lips.

Muffled commotion of men above told Bonnie to remain quiet. One of the men kicked at the door, smashing it open. She heard the cry of her Ma as they threatened her.

“Where is the little one?” Obadiah demanded. “We won’t ask twice.”

“She… she ran away!” Ma creaked. “She’s long gone by now.”

“Don’t lie!” Sheriff Locke screamed. “We know she’s still here somewhere. Tell us where she is, and we will go easy on both of you.”

Bonnie waited patiently for Ma to respond. Quiet air drifted around, stifling her. The sound of blood dripping from her Pa into the floorboards kept her alert.

“Mrs. McAdam’s,” Obadiah asked calmly. “Is your daughter under the floorboards?”

She heard a gulp from her mother. Seconds stretched out for hours.

“Bonnie, run!” Ma called out. The gun that killed her Pa cracked, followed by a thud.

Bonnie didn’t wait. At the back of the house there was an opening for her to get out. She sprinted towards the door. An opening to freedom. To escape. To leaving her parents to die alone.

Gun fire whizzed around her, opening small holes in the floorboards. Like the ones that had appeared all over the farm. Light streamed in, though it only showed where the men were aiming. Not where to avoid them.

One shot cut her right arm. More of a scratch then anything, but it stung like Hell. Bonnie wiped it with her dry shirt, but only felt pain stab back. She winced, clutching it, and hopped the rest of the way to the door.

She ran into it with her elbow, breaking it off it’s hinges. A few shots whistled past her as she ran, but they were not as frequent. They must be reloading, she realised. Now is the only time to get away.

She ran. She ran hard. Harder than she imagined she ever could. In just a few seconds she was already past the first section of their ranch. She ran up and over the hill, into the forest. A tree! She could climb a tree! They wouldn’t be looking up to find her, right?

Bonnie climbed an oak. It was a dozen or so feet within the forest. Enough to not immediately see where she was. The darkening sky washed over, clouding her in a black shadow of leaves and branches. She held onto the trunk, taking in deep breaths. Her ears rang, her chest heaved. The run had exhausted her, but that wasn’t why she couldn’t remain still.

She glanced back out towards the ranch. An orange hue glowed over the hill. Crackling wood and ash washed through the air like flies. All that she had known. All that she had built.

Up in smoke.

Bonnie clung to the oak and cried. Who cares if the men came after her? Who cares if they found and shot her? They’d only shoot an image. She was hollow.

For hours she cried. No one came after her, to shoot and kill her. No one to support her. Each time she expected her parents comforting hands to reassure her everything would be fine. Each time, another round of tears would bucket from her eyes.

By midnight, the glow of the house began to wane. While Bonnie was far from ‘recovered’, she could hold herself together for long enough. Long enough to get down and find what happened to her parents. She had to see it. Otherwise, maybe it was different.

No. The house was a smouldering wreck. A place her parents had built up together, after having spent so much time labouring under a hot sun. While Ma was pregnant with her. Their forever home. Bonnie’s only home.

It was barely a foundation.

At the base of the stairs, two bodies were thrown out unceremoniously. Ma and Pa, lifeless and empty. Bonnie gripped their forms and cried, begging them to come back and help her. There wasn’t anything else they could do.

Until dawn, she stayed close to them, sleeping in their blood soaked arms. Those three men didn’t reappear. They didn’t do anything. No note of warning, no deed for her arrest. Just… disappeared. Physically, they were gone.

For Bonnie, they were just over the hill. Just behind the corner. Around that tree.

Once she recovered, she began to dig a hole. Tears had stopped now. They were all gone. Now, only a single minded determination took hold of her. One task at a time. First, to dig a grave, then to bury her parents, then to mark it. She would figure out the rest from there.

As she finished the hole, the sound of hooves echoed in the distance. Bonnie jumped into the grave. Had those men returned? Why didn’t she have a gun on her?

A single rider appeared. Bonnie frowned as she watched on. It was a boy, no older than herself. He dismounted his horse and inspected the site. If he was horrified or pleased, Bonnie couldn’t tell. It was too far away to make out his face.

While peering over the grave, her foot slipped. She yelped and tumbled down into her hole. Her back hit against the floor, new pain searing through her. The scar on her right arm, still not healed, burned as dirt clumped inside.

She winced, clutching her arm and cursing her foolishness.

“Hello?” the boy called out. His voice had a classic southern twang to it, young but excited.

Bonnie remained silent. Of course she would do this. Just as she was nearly done, some guy comes along and finds her out.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m not gonna hurt you. My boss heard about what happened to this place and wanted me to go check it out. Didn’t expect to hear someone else. You’re their kid, right?”

She frowned. If he was trying to lure her out, this would have been the way to do it. Tear at her emotions, build up trust. Let her know that someone was looking out for her. Perfectly devious.

But she couldn’t resist. She needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

She climbed out of her grave and looked back to him. He was about halfway between her and her parents. A white boy, she noticed. Kind eyes and a big mouth, though dressed like an adult. He had a revolver by his side, much to big for him to use skilfully. He smiled as she appeared.

“Well hey there!” he said. “I’m Callum. Callum Underhill. What’s your name, miss?”

Bonnie pulled herself out, dusted her clothes down, and looked back to Callum. She tilted her head.

“I’m Bonnie. Bonnie McAdams. Why are you here?”

“Well I said, didn’t I miss?” he smiled. “My boss sent me here. You’re folk were mighty respected in his town. When he heard that some men went after them last night, he wanted me to go take a gander. I’m… sorry about what happened.”

Bonnie looked at him coldly. She didn’t hate this boy. How could she? He didn’t do anything wrong. Yet all she could think about was if this kid and his so-called ‘boss’ wanted to help, they would have come earlier.

Callum frowned.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bonnie,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She looked him up and down.

“Help me bury my Ma and Pa. Then I’ll talk.”

Callum nodded and helped drag the bodies. Despite his size, he was quite strong. Even her Pa came along with ease. Bonnie stood to the side. She couldn’t do this. Not right now.

Once her parent’s had been laid to rest, and the dirt pilled over them, Bonnie could let out another tear. Silently, she grabbed a piece of wood, inscribed a few words to her parents, and planted it at the head of the grave.

It was official now. They were gone.

Callum stood beside her, watching as she finished. Bonnie sensed that he was trying to find the right words to say.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I just…” he began. “My boss, Isaiah, he kind of looks like your Pa. And our gang is always in need of a few more members.”

“A gang?”

“Yes, miss,” he said. “But don’t take it the wrong way. They’re kind people. Classic Robin Hood stuff. Stealin’ from rich folk, givin’ to poor folk. They can help take care of you.”

“Can they help me take out the men responsible for this?”

“Oh, I don’t know miss. Did you catch their names?”

Bonnie nodded, and listed out all she knew. Callum put a finger to his chin, humming.

“Well I must say I don’t recognise their names. But I’m sure Isaiah would help you with them. He’s like that. Helped me when my parent’s died of cholera.”

Bonnie looked back to her parent’s grave. She knelt down, swearing to avenge their lives with the men who took them. She got up, staring Callum in the eyes.

“Let me get my Pa’s rifle,” she said. “I’m coming with you.”

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To be continued…