Cheesman Chronicles

Pete’s Saloon

Crack, bang, ting. A pan hanging from a branch reverberated as precise rifle hit it dead-on. Bonnie grinned and shot the other three pans. Each just as directly, each as quickly, each as deadly. An impressed whistle sounded out behind her as she finished up.

She turned, holstered her rifle, and smiled.

“How’s that, Cal?” she asked.

“Not bad, Bon,” he replied. “When you gonna teach me to shoot like that?”

“When you’re older and more responsible.”

“Hey, I’m still older than you.”

“Yes, but us women mature faster than you men.”

“I can be mature!”

“Sure you can.”

Callum laughed, shaking his head. He pat her shoulder like an older brother and sighed.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get these pans down before Ol’ Wiley knows what we did with them.”

Bonnie nodded with a pleased grin. They headed over to the low tree branch, cut the strings, washed the pans in the river, and walked back to camp. She eyed the pans, knocking them with her fist. Still hard as ever. Other than a bit of a dent, you couldn’t tell they’d been shot. Nothing that couldn’t be explained away as travel damage.

The two climbed a hill, then through dense trees. They ducked and weaved through the bushes, around animal nesting spots, and over the muddy tracks. Elena would always go on about how having clean boots was the most important part of a wardrobe, even if they were on the run at all times.

As they made it to the top, they briefly basked in the view around them. Far away mountains kept their space tight like a bowl. Forests dotted the landscape like brushes of paint. A river flowed down below, lifting white noise up and providing fertile hunting ground for their next meal.

Speaking of next meal…

“Oi, you kids!” a voice called out. “Where’d ya take me pans!”

Bonnie and Callum glanced up towards the sound of the voice. Old Wiley was glaring at them angrily. Her eyes were pit black, her mouth twisted in a snarl. Her long matted hair draped down her shoulder, filled with grease and muck. Callum gave an awkward chuckle.

“Sorry, Wiley,” Callum replied. “Seems like they got lost on the trip up here. Found them and gave them a nice clean by the river.”

He waggled the pans in front of her like they were treats. Old Wiley grumbled something and snatched them from his grasp. She inspected them closely, muttering to herself.

“You weren’t shooting them again, were you?” she asked.

“Shooting them?” Bonnie asked. “Now why would you imply such a thing! Like Callum said, we just found them down the track.”

Old Wiley shook her head and went right back to her tent, preparing her stove for their mid-day meal. Bonnie and Callum glanced at each other and snickered. They got away once more.

They headed down to the campfire. It was unlit, filled with ash from the last night. But the logs were set out and it was the best place to sit and relax in the entire site. A few sing-a-longs, a few dances, a few tall tales.

Some of Bonnie’s best nights were spent listening to Jeremiah telling her about the times he ran from a crooked sheriff. Each one would have crazier details than the last. One where he nearly fell of the side of a moving train, one where he shot the mans hat off. One time he claimed to have jumped across a heard of alligators to get away.

By the campfire sat Isaiah, their leader. He’d been cutting away at some wood with his hunting knife, making a strange sculpture. It didn’t remind Bonnie of anything her Pa used to craft. Too vague. Too abstract.

It was the first time he’d been out, too. For the past few days he’d taken to staying in his tent. Orders came from Elana, telling them to hunt and gather for food. Not a peep from him. Ever since they passed the last town.

He glanced up as they sat, giving a thoughtful smile before turning back to his work. After seven years of travel, Bonnie picked up the shadow cross over his face. She frowned.

“Isaiah?” she asked.

He continued to cut his wood. He wasn’t ignoring her, Bonnie knew. The words he spoke were carefully chosen. As leader of their group, he was aware of the importance of avoiding things to dishearten his gang. So if that were the case, something must have been very wrong.

He sighed and set down his sculpture.

“Word came in from a town two days over,” he began. “Had a bunch of run ins with a new drunk. He has no known home, no place of residence. Some say he lives in the hills, like us. He’ll come in when the sun begins to set, pay for a round of drinks, start some fistfights, then leave. Folk aren’t sure of where he gets the money from. But they do know one thing…”

He glanced up.

“His name is Pete.”

Bonnie stared at him, face blank and quiet. Inside, her heart raced. Palms sweat. Legs quacked as feeling escaped them. Memories of that horrible night resurfaced. Faster than fire.

So that’s why Isaiah had been inside. To avoid this.

He pulled out a piece of paper, straightening it for her. It was the poster of a wanted man. She recognised him instantly. Though his face was saggier and hair longer, it was the one who helped kill her parents all those years ago. That same rat face and eyes.

Callum was amazed, looking back to his friend.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he asked excitedly. “The one who killed your–”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It’s him.”

“I remember when you first came to us, Bonnie,” Isaiah said, folding up the page. “Shivering and scared, yet courageous and determined. You said that as long as you were a part of this gang, you had full reign over what happened to the men who wronged you. And I promise to keep my word on this. So now that you have the chance, are you going to take it?”

She stared at the spot where the poster just was. Parts of her mind flickered back to that night once again. Pete had hardly been the worst one there. More of a lackey than anything. But he had been the one who called the shot on her Pa. The one who feared that ‘He’s gonna shoot!’

It was hardly a question.

“Of course.”

“Alright!” Callum said. “I’ll help fight him with you. You may need a bit of–”

“No, Callum,” Isaiah said. “This is her mission. For her alone. It’s just the one man, she can take him. Am I right, Bonnie?”

Bonnie looked back up to him. In the light, as he stared down, she saw her Pa. In all these years, she could hardly separate the two. It wasn’t just their faces. They had the same eyes. The same smile. The same warm feeling of comfort and home.

She nodded, and stood up.

“Thank you, Isaiah,” she said. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“I feel the same way,” he smiled, meeting her stance.

He was still a bit taller than her. Not by much. Not enough that they couldn’t easily meet eye level. But enough. She smiled and took his hand in a tight shake.

“I’ll start packing.”

He gave his blessing and sent her on her way. For an hour, her and Callum collected all she would need. Sleeping bags, a tent, rations for her and her horse. And of course, firearms and ammunition. Along with her comforting revolver, she packed her fathers rifle.

She’d kept it immaculately clean. Despite it’s age it still shined like new. When fired the smoke was clear, the kick was consistent, and with Bonnie’s aim as deadly as plague.

Callum eventually convinced her to at least bring him, though not be a protector. More, to avoid trouble in towns. She didn’t like the necessity of it, but it was the right call. A dark-skinned woman killing a white man may not win her many favours in this part of the country.

By mid-day they were on their way. The rest of the gang waved them off, giving a few items to keep them going. They trotted for two days across vast plains, grasslands stretching out as far as the eye could see. A few mesa’s, a few towns, even a new rail-way popped up along the way. A reminder that the land became slowly but surely more European than American. Less like her Pa’s home.

She rode silently, listening to Callum go on some tale or another. Usually making up something from around them. A weird tree, a strange road, a dry skeleton of a bison. Something to pass the time. She smiled and nodded along, glad to have his voice to distract her thoughts.

Finally, they made it to ‘Springvale’. Population of fifty, according to the sign outside. They stopped their horses and inspected it, admiring it’s paintwork.

“You sure ‘bout this?” Callum asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” he shrugged. “I’ll find us a place to rest. Somewhere to get ready for ‘im to show up.”

She nodded and they trotted in. The high sun cast a few distinct shadows on the dozen people out and about. A few glanced at them, curious of the new-comers. They hitched up at a hotel, Callum paid for a nights stay, and they went to their rooms. She sat down by the desk and pulled out her weapons, inspecting them. Still clean as ever.

Callum took station by the window, glancing outside to the slowly moving street. There wasn’t much around. A post office, a general store, a doctors, a saloon, and sheriffs lodge. Standard new town out in the mid west. It was quaint, quiet, and boring.

For a few hours they stayed inside, swapping positions and sharing theories. What if Pete didn’t show up? What if it wasn’t actually him? Would they head back to the gang? Settle down here for a bit longer to rest themselves and the horses?

None of the questions would be answered. An hour before sunset, Bonnie felt an itch on her right arm. The scar cut through her as if it were freshly shot.

“He’s here,” she said quietly.

“You sure?” Callum asked.

“I know it.”

Before he could say anything else, Bonnie holstered her revolver and opened their door. She passed down the outside of the hotel and down the stairs. She adjusted her hat and marched towards the saloon.

The doors swung, revealing her classic cowboy silhouette. Her braided hair hung to one side as she scanned the tavern. There were a dozen so people inside. A few locals, a couple women. Someone played the piano in the corner. A man shouted out that she wasn’t allowed here, but she paid no attention to them.

There, by the bar, was the man hunched over a dirty, broken shot glass.

And he looked like shit. His face was destroyed from drink. Hair fell out of place like it was cut by an amateur barber. Fingers curled unnaturally, arthritis and some kind of plague mixed together to create stumped claws. Dirty clothes draped over a thin frame like it were hung up by a tree.

But his eyes. For as bloodshot as they’d become, were the same she saw as a kid.

She headed up to the bar and sat to his left, inspecting closely. He didn’t notice as she tapped the bar and got her own shot. The bartender gave her a strange look, but supplied. She paid and stared into her glass, unsure of what to say next.

He glanced over to her and smiled.

“Hey there, love,” he said, baring his teeth hungrily. “Come here often?”

“Actually, this is my first time,” she said.

“Well, I may be a bit old, but I’m sure I can show you around these parts,” he began. “For a price, of course.”

“How much are you willing to pay, Pete?”

At the mention of his name, he paused, looking over her closely. Did he know this woman? Had they met before?

“How do you know my name?” he frowned.

“Because I remember you. We met many years ago. And you took something very dear to me.”

She stretched her arm, showing off the long scar. He stared, the pieces all jumbled together from years of drinking. Ten seconds. Then twenty. Finally, as the piano finished it’s tune, his eyes widened.

“You!”

He reached for his revolver, but his drunken fingers couldn’t grab hold of it. With how fast he whirled around he fell off his stool and onto the ground. A groan escaped his lips as he curled up in pain. Even with how numb drink made him, he could still feel pain.

With all the anger that Bonnie had towards him, she couldn’t help but feel sad. Was this really what he had become? A complete loser? How could he be the one to have given the order to kill her Pa?

She dismounted her chair and looked him over.

“Get up,” she ordered.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” Pete said. “It’s what you want, right?”

“Of course I want to kill you, idiot. But it needs to be honourable.”

He stared up to her, frowning like an idiot. Was he really this dense? Or had he become so slow from alcohol? And why did he drink so much, anyway?

“A standoff?” he asked. Bonnie nodded, and he sighed. “Alright then. But outside. I’m sure the patrons wouldn’t want any blood splattered over the door.”

She accepted the proposal and they walked back out onto the street. The evening redness set over the town, highlighting it in a dull orange hue. They stood on the dirt road, dry from heat and drought. A few passerby’s stopped to watch the dark cowgirl stand out in the middle of the street, with a drunken man stumbling his way to the other side.

Bonnie noticed Callum stand to one side, watching on. He wasn’t afraid for her. They both knew she was the best shot in their entire gang. No, he was afraid of what would come next.

On another side stood a sheriff. A man who looked like her, he watched with interest as a woman he didn’t recognise take on a man he’d grown tired of seeing inside his jail. He rested a hand on his hip and leaned against a beam, waiting for the resolution.

Bonnie and Pete stood facing each other. Hands hovered over each of their revolvers, daring the other to go next. She peered right into his eyes, watching for the subtle signs of movement. The tells she picked up in games of poker, the flinched of lawmen she’d killed. All little sways that hinted at what would come next.

Pete, on the other hand, didn’t seem to focused. Bonnie first put it to him being drunk, but something was different. He sobered up. Was staring at her as he had her Pa. All those years ago. This time, there wasn’t that anger or fear or wrath. It was just… blank.

Had he accepted this? Would he just let it go?

Pete went for his gun.

Bonnie followed.

He shot first, missing wildly.

She hit him dead in the eyes.

His face folded and flew out the other side. Legs gave way. Arms slackened. His gun dropped to his side as he collapsed to the dirt road. The sheriff, satisfied that it was over, stepped down and inspected the corpse. He gave a small kick, then looked back to her.

“You know, I could arrest you for this,” he said.

“He had a bounty, right?” she asked. “I’m simply fulfilling it.”

He grinned, a knowing look that there was more to it, but she wouldn’t indulge him further.

“I’m sure. Take care, miss.”

He tipped his hat and went on his way, calling out to a boy to get the undertaker.

She frowned to the corpse. It had seemed almost too easy. Not only was Pete acting strangely, he didn’t even try to defend himself. He pulled the first shot, revoking his honour. Yet his aim was entirely off.

It’s strange, now she thought about it. She imagined that when he died, she’d feel something. That one of the men who took her life from her would make up for it. Yet… nothing. As the initial high of the kill faded, he was now just another corpse she created. A body pilled up to the side. A bounty hunted. Nothing special about him.

Callum whistled beside her as he looked to the man.

“Boy, Bon, you sure showed him. He hardly got a good shot on you. Must have been intimidated, I say.”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Something about that was wrong. His shot was too far away for him to have been trying. I think…”

She frowned. Callum mirrored.

“Think what?”

“I think he tried to miss,” she decided. “That he couldn’t take seeing me anymore. When he realised who I was, he was shocked. Like he’d seen a ghost. Do you think that he saw me coming for him as a way to pay for what he did? Do you think, in the end, he felt remorse?”

“I don’t know,” Callum shrugged. “Do you think it even matters though?”

“I guess not,” she said.

“Feel’s good though, right?” he asked. “To see him like this?”

“I guess. Though it doesn’t bring them back.”

“True, but now he’s paid for his crime.”

Bonnie looked up to him and smiled. There was a kind of sick truth to what he said. And if Pete had been truly tortured by his actions to her all those years ago, then maybe for him this was an easy way out. A way to get some rest.

She wondered if it would help her rest, too.

As she was about to turn away, Bonnie noticed something slip out of Pete’s pocket. Bright white paper, with a strange glint to it. She twisted her brown and knelt down. Taking out the paper, she saw that it was an invitation to celebrate Sheriff Jonah Locke’s retirement on his river-side estate.

Sheriff Locke. The man who approved the killing of her parents.