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Author's Note: Guess what! I have a new favorite movie! And what better way to idolize my new favorite movie than to combine it with the second greatest love of my life (second only to musicals and jazz of the 20's-40's)? My second greatest love behind dear Jane, naturally. =) Anyway, "Austen's Magnificent Seven" is based very much on the movie "The Magnificent Seven" which is based on "The Seven Samurai" by Kurosawa. It's a spin-off of a spin-off of a spin-off. =) I'd also just like to thank the director at the moment, John Sturges, for creating a brilliant movie! Anyway, just thought I'd explain two last things before I let you read the character descriptions and (naturally--I hope) the story: all the characters (minus George and Henry) are mid-story, right now. Also, there is a wee bit of minor foul language in this. It's nothing worse than a couple phrases--please make some allowance--they are cowboys. =) At no time are they ever vulgar about it, though--it's never said in a derogatory way! Still most definitely PG. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
Starring the heroes from: Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, and Northanger Abbey. Also co-Starring the hero of Emma.
Yul Brynner (Chris Adams) : Fitzwilliam Darcy
Actually inherited large cattle ranch in Wyoming, but absolutely hates staying in one place. He feels rather useless at the ranch since everyone runs it for him. The one woman who could ever induce him to stay in one spot has refused him most definitely. Therefore, he left his sister at the ranch and has for the past many months made quite a reputation for himself as a hired gun.
Steve McQueen (Vin) : Charles Bingley
His poker face is a smile! He and Darcy were boyhood friends, separated for some time, then reunited when they fought together in a few skirmishes. Bingley has infinite respect for Darcy's leadership and commanding presence, but really just wants to be a home-body type boy. Own his own ranch and such. His great love, he discovered, never really loved him, so he took off with Darcy when Darcy's lady-love refused him. They haven't always stuck together, but they keep running into each other in odd circumstances.
Charles Bronson (Bernardo O'Reilly): Colonel Jonathan Brandon
His mother was Mexican, his father British. His parents lived in a small Mexican town near the border in Texas, but his father died when he was too young to remember him. His mother stayed in the village, but also died when Jonathan was fourteen. His aunt and uncle took him in, and he grew to hate that little village by the border and everything that was related to it. He became a prominent Colonel in the Mexican War (1846-48). Jonathan left military immediately afterwards and has spent the last four years as a 'cowboy' all over the Wild West, defending those in need. He is currently pining after a woman much younger than himself, but has convinced himself that the situation is hopeless. The woman he is in love with is Willoughby's great love, so he and Willoughby are not the best of friends. Brandon being the calm person he is, though, keeps things peaceful between them when they meet.
Robert Vaughn (Lee): Edward Ferrars
Comes from noble family of plantation owners. Left home to become a missionary before asking Elinor to marry him, but that didn't exactly pan out, so he's been trying to make a living somehow, anyway he can, so that he'll be worthy of her. He's a great gunman, but is too morally strong to ever kill anyone. Has acquired a reputation of being a quick shot merely by rumors and has never actually killed anybody.
James Coburn (Britt) : Captain Frederick Wentworth
Seven years ago the love of his life broke off their engagement because he was merely a cowhand in Missouri. He was also in the Mexican War, though he never met Brandon. He learned much of military strategies and is the best marksmen around--better with a knife than with a gun--more than proficient at both. After the war, he ran away to the West and became a cowboy, doing odd jobs for those in need.
Brad Dexter (Harry Luck) : John Willoughby
A nice guy in general, but basically a money hungry ladies man. Great shot and bad reputation. He was denied the love of his life, and he foolishly married an heiress, who passed away after a year of marriage. He squandered the money and is now working as a cowboy. He has previously fought with Darcy in a few battles, and Darcy respects his talents.
Horst Buchholz (Chico) : Henry Tilney
A young, impetuous lad whose boyhood dream was to become a cowboy. He also grew up in a border town that he hated and ran away at the age of thirteen. He's got a hot head, but is a sure shot, and has good morals. He's still young and has a lot of growing up to do. Excessively stubborn to a fault on occasion, but has a great wit. The one thing he still could tolerate from his Mexican life, and is actually a connoisseur of, is their textiles.
Wise Old Man: George "Jorge" Knightly
Most cultured person in town. Very wise. A true gentleman farmer. Happily married for many years with many children. He doesn't agree with much of what the villagers do, but he is always respectful of them because he understands them. Very empathetic, very serene. Most respected man in the village and the closest thing they have to an official. He was at one time a very rich man, but stood by his village in hard times and lost everything. He has discovered that he is just as happy, if not more so, than when he had every luxury.
Place: the Wild West
Time: 1852, when things are beginning to 'settle down' a bit, becoming civilized, and the cowboys are getting restless
The bandits tore down the pathway and stormed into the village. It was time for the annual sacrifice. The town would give Calvera all the food they had recently harvested, and he in turn, would be kind enough to leave them enough food to live and be able to grow more food for the hungry Calvera and his men.
"Solterro! My little friend. How are you?" Calvera rudely snatched the water pitcher from the table.
"Will you have a drink?" the man offered grudgingly.
"I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see a village like this." Calvera sat at the table and began eating the citizen's fruit greedily. "Santos!" he beckoned his right hand man. "So much change and restlessness in the outside world. People no longer content with their station in life. Women's fashions? Shameless! Sit down," he ordered Solterro.
"Ha! Religion! You'd weep if you saw how true religion is now a thing of the past. Last month we were in San Juan. Rich town." Calvera played with his oily mustache. "Sit down!" he ordered again. "Rich town, much blessed by God, big church. Not like here--little church, the priest comes twice a year. Big one!" he popped another grape into his mouth. "You'd think we'd find gold candle sticks, the poor box overflowing. Do you know what we found? Brass candlesticks! Almost nothing in the poor box!"
"We took it anyway," Santos supplied.
"I know we took it anyway!" he shushed his leader. "I'm trying to show him how little religion some people now have."
"That I could see for myself," the peasant muttered.
He received a slap across each cheek for his impertinence.
"Don't see!" he pointed a grimy finger in the man's face. "What if you had to carry my load, eh? The need to provide food like a good father to fill the mouths of his hungry men. Guns! Ammunition! You know how much money that costs? Huh?" he slapped him again for good measure. "Huh?" he relaxed back into his chair. "No! The days of good hunting are over. Once there was horses, cattle, gold! Fruit from the trees! No more! Now I must hunt with a price on my head. The law at my heels!" he stood and replaced his hat, mopping his forehead. "I'll be back. Enough!"
"We get the rest when we come back!" he shouted as he mounted. "I love this village! I know you have your problems-- "
"Murderers!" a man broke from the crowd and ran towards Calvera with a club. Calvera didn't hesitate to shoot him. His wife ran to him, screaming.
"Stupid!" Calvera hissed atop his horse. "Stupid! We ought to have another discussion very soon. It's always a pleasure to hear the news of my good friend Solterro! Maybe when I come back, hmm? Adios!"
With that, the bandits were gone, to return again soon to steal the rest of the farmers' crop. The rest of the man's family ran into the street to mourn over him, and men took him away to be buried. The villagers that remained argued amongst themselves once more.
"If he steals our harvest again, we might as well cut our throats and be done with it!" one impassioned citizen shouted.
"Leave the valley. That's what we must do."
"Live somewhere else?"
"Take our homes with us? Our farms?"
"We could hide some food."
"From Calvera? He never steals all our food. He leaves us enough to go on with."
"That's something!"
"We could beg him to leave us a little more!"
"No, no! That would make him more angry! I don't think we should do anything!"
"We must do something!"
"Like Raphael? Talk sense!"
"We break our backs in the field and our bellies stay empty! We must do something!"
"We must do something."
"But what?"
"I don't know . . . . "
"We'll ask the old man. He'll know," a man referred to the white gentleman who had come to live in their village years and years ago and had become one of them. He was the wisest, the most knowledgeable, and the kindest man that any of them knew.
"What can we do, Jorge?"
"Fight," George Knightly said with determination. "You must fight. Fight!" he banged his old fist against the table.
"With shovels and bare hands against guns?" one of the three men asked helplessly.
"Buy guns!" George responded immediately.
"Buy?"
"Go to the border! Guns are plentiful there."
"But what are we going to use for money?"
George looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached into his pouch. His last prized possession, the only thing he had salvaged when they lost their original home and life style. His father's watch. "Sell that. Anything else you can collect."
"Even if we have the guns, we know how to plant and grow. We don't know how to kill."
"Then learn," George said sadly, "or die."
The three amigos from the small Mexican city were not the only foreign spectators as they rode in on horse back. One man dressed in black sitting on a fence; another man, a happy-go-lucky type, was standing on the back of a wagon; the last foreigner was a younger man with a mischievous gleam in his eye, wrapping a rope around his elbow and shoulder.
"Hey, I've been waitin' for you!" a fancily dressed man called to two others standing near an extremely too glamorous hearse.
"Ah, you did a wonderful job," the other commented, peeking through the glass window at the coffin.
"Well, I'm sorry friends, but there will be no funeral."
"What?!"
"Oh, the grave's dug, and the, uh, defunct heir is as ready as the embalmers'll make him, but . . . there'll be no funeral."
"What's the matter? Didn't I pay you enough?"
"It's not a question of money. For twenty dollars, I'd plant anybody with a hoop and a holler! But the funeral's off," the undertaker maintained.
"Now how do you like that? I want him buried and you want him buried and if he could sit up and talk, he'd second the motion. Now that's as unanimous as you can get!"
"Friend, you've behaved like a Brother and Christian, but you just don-- "
"Now, look! I'm not lookin' for any praise. I'm a travelin' salesmen--ladies corsets. And I'm walking down the street and a man drops dead right in front of me. For two hours people kept stepping over and around him without lifting a finger! I'm just doing what any decent man would."
"Come on, Harry, let's get on the stage-- " his friend urged him.
"No! Now wait a minute, this man has to be buried, and soon! He's not turning into any nosegay!"
"I know, I know! I would, if I could, but . . . there's an element in town that objects."
"Objects! To what?"
"Well, they say he isn't fit to buried there."
"In Boot Hill?? Why there's nothing up there but murderers, cutthroats, and derelict old bar flies, and if they ever felt exclusive, brother, they're past it now!"
"They happen to be white, friend. And Old Sam?" he sighed. "Old Sam was an Indian."
The fellow on the fence looked disgusted and the other in the wagon shook his head in disbelief. Not allowed in Boot Hill?
"Well, I'll be damned. I never knew you had to be anything but a corpse to get into Boot Hill! How long's this been going on?"
"Since the town got 'civilized.' Oh, it's none of my doing, boys. I don't like it. No, sir! I've always treated every man the same, just as another future customer."
"Well, in that case, get that hearse rolling!"
"But the driver's quit!"
"He's prejudiced too, huh?"
"Well, when it comes to a chance of gettin' his head blown off, he's downright bigoted!"
"Well, get somebody else!"
"There isn't anybody else who'll drive it! So, here!" the undertaker handed back the twenty dollars received for his services.
"Oh, Hell. If that's all that's holding things up, I'll drive the rig," a voice spoke up from behind. The tall, dark stranger dressed in black denim, chaps, shirt, hat, boots, and bandanna swung his legs over the fence he was sitting on and stepped towards the men. He climbed easily into the driver's seat and picked up the reigns.
A man of fairer complexion standing in a wagon bed turned to the man next to him. "Can I borrow that scatter gun?"
"You're more than welcome," he handed over his gun and a few shells and the blond man swung up next to the dark one.
"Hey! Now wait a minute, there! This hearse cost me eight hundred and forty dollars in Denver! It's the only one in the county! I'll be darned if I'm going to turn her over to strangers to be shot at!" the undertaker protested.
"I'll pay for the damages--I wanna see this!" the man who had loaned the other the gun reached into his hat and pulled out a band of dollars.
"Me too!" another followed suit and the undertaker made no more complaints.
"Never rode shot gun in a hearse before," the blond man said to his long time friend as he sat down and loaded the gun.
"Been long in town?" the other asked as he slapped the reigns and the hearse started moving slowly down the road.
"Nope."
"Where ya been?"
"Tombstone. You?" The blond man's eyes searched the crowd for possible threats as they calmly drove up the road.
"El Paso."
"See any action up there?"
"Uh-uh. Tombstone?"
"Same. People all settled down like."
"Same all over."
"Injin lovers!" a voice jeered from the sidewalk.
The blond man twisted round in his seat, ready to fire.
"Easy!" he restrained his friend. "He's just wind. We'll get there," the darker man assured him.
"It's not gettin' up there that bothers me. Stayin' up there that I mind."
The young man with a rope started to eagerly follow the hearse. Wowee! Some show!
They continued the ride for a few moments in silence when the young man trailing the rig was noticed. "Somebody behind us on the left." The man sitting shotgun aimed at the youth who held up his hands and shook his head vigorously with a big grin on his face.
The darker man glanced behind him at the young sprite. "I don't think so," he grinned.
A few more moments of riding in silence before a movement disturbed the driver. "Second story window . . . curtain moved."
"I'm not in a good position, let him stick his neck out-- "
A shot interrupted his sentence and he fired back. There was the sound of breaking glass and then silence.
"You afflicted?" the gunman turned to his friend.
"Nope. I got ventilated real good, though." He looked quizzically at his once long cigar that had been shot down to a stub.
"Hey boys, why don't you just turn around right now and save yourself a lot of trouble?" another man from the sidewalk offered his advice.
"That so," the blond man muttered.
"The reception committee's forming."
"Hold it! Hold it right there!" Two men standing in front of the cemetery gates held their arms out to restrain the hearse.
"Anything wrong?" asked the driver.
"Turn that rig around and get it down the hill," the other commanded, drawing his gun.
Two quick shots broke the air, and the two guards yelled in pain, holding their wounded arms. They reluctantly stepped aside to allow entrance.
"I need six men up here!" the dark haired man called. Six of the braver men hurried to help and they carried the coffin directly to the freshly dug grave.
"Yahoo!" yelled the young sprite that had accompanied the two brave men to the graveyard, throwing his hat in the air with glee.
"Boys, the drinks are on me!" the undertaker called from the bottom of the hill to the crowd that had assembled.
Cheers erupted and the two men made their way back down the hill, more relaxed than when they went up.
The two men climbed out of the hearse and were gathering their horses together when the man who had paid for the funeral ran up. "Hey! Hey, I'd like to buy you a drink. And your friend, too." He shoved a flask into the driver's hand, who shot his blond friend, who had already mounted, a look of amusement.
"Thanks," he took a swig.
"Where ya from?"
He gestured behind him.
"Oh, yeah. Where ya going?"
He pointed in front of him, lips still on the flask.
"Thanks for the free show!" his friend called from the stage.
"You're more than welcome," the tanned blond man replied.
"Boy, that was really something! You know, I won't forget that if I live to be a hundred!" the man holding up the coach exclaimed.
"Harry, the stage is leaving!" his friend called exasperatedly.
"All right, all right. Wait'll Flora hears about this! You know, she won't believe one word of it!" he told his new friends as he turned to leave.
"Harry, the stage! Come on!"
The stage departed and the two friends were left alone again.
"Where are ya headed?" the mounted one asked.
"I'm drifting south, more or less. You?"
He sighed and mopped his forehead with his bandanna. "Just drifting."
"Any action here?"
"Yeah, grocery clerk and bouncer in one of those bars across the street, if that's your taste." He knew his friend would rather clean stables than do that work. He wanted real action, just like him.
"Ugh," was his disgusted reply.
"Yeah. Well! See ya, Darcy!"
"G'bye, Bingley," William tipped his hat to his long time friend Charles, and poured the flask out onto the ground. Terrible stuff.
Three country bumpkins entered the small dormitory. "We think you're a man we can trust," one of them began as he doffed his sombrero.
What am I supposed to say to that? His face showed nothing. "Thank you very much."
"We wish you to help us."
"There's this man, Calvera-- " one interrupted the other. "A thief!"
"A murderer!"
"He and his men, they steal our food. And then they leave us to starve."
Darcy motioned for them to sit down.
"Not only that, but our women-- "
What am I getting myself into? "Now, wait just a minute. If you need protection, why don't you go to the law?"
"We did! Twice."
"But they can't station men in a small village for . . . who knows how long."
"So they left. And when they left, he came again. Calvera. And every year since. He will do so until he is stopped."
"Sorry," Darcy responded.
"We need help!"
"We must buy guns. We know nothing about them."
"Will you buy guns for us?"
"Guns are very expensive and hard to get. Why don't you hire men?"
"Men?"
"Gunmen. Nowadays all men own guns."
"Will you go? It will be a blessing if you came to help us."
"I'm sorry, I'm not in the blessing business."
"No, no. We offer more than that."
"We can feed you every day. And we have this-- " he fished out a pouch and began to open it.
"What's that?"
"We can sell this for gold. Everything we own. Everything of value in the village."
They're desperate. They'll do anything. Things must be going worse than I thought. "I've been offered a lot for my work . . . but never everything."
"Will it be enough? You see . . . if we could drive the bandits away, life would be very good in our village. But as it is? We ourselves could stand it a little longer. But the children . . . They cry because they are hungry."
"Do you understand what it means when you start something like this?"
"We'll fight, too! Everyone of us!"
"When Calvera comes, the church bell will ring the alarm."
"We'll fight with guns if we have them. If we don't . . . with shovels, axes, clubs, anything!"
I don't think so. "Once you begin, you've got to be prepared for killing and more killing. And then still more killing until the reason for it is gone."
"We understand."
"We've considered that."
So they're determined. "But does every man in the village feel the same?"
"Every man."
They're confidant, determined, and desperate. "I'll see what I can do for you."
"Gracias!" They all looked very relieved.
"Now, wait--I didn't say I'll go. I'll just pass the word around that you're looking for men."
"It won't be hard to find men here. Everyone wears a gun."
But they still have much to learn. "Sure. Same as they wear pants. That's expected. But good men? That's something else, again."
"How can you tell they are good?"
"There are ways," Darcy replied simply as he and his new comrades headed out the door.
Author's Note: Don't despair! You get to meet the rest of the heroes the next time I post.
Three quick knocks interrupted the conversation of the cowboy and his three employers. Darcy double-checked his gun, then called, "Come in."
The youth that had followed behind the wagon with such enthusiasm earlier that day strode in, a little to cocksure for Darcy's taste.
"The word is out you're looking for men."
"That's right. Men who are good with that," he gestured to the man's gun.
"I'm good with it."
"But?"
"Try me."
"I aim to. Step in closer."
The young man obeyed, cocking his head to the side jauntily.
"Now hold your hands like that," he held his hands up, palms facing each other, at shoulder width apart. "Now clap."
The young man grinned with uncertainty and gave a nonchalant clap.
"Faster!"
He clapped faster and Darcy noticed his countenance. Confused.
"As fast as you can!"
This time Darcy's revolver was between his hands as they came together to clap. The young man was mortified. I can't hire him. He can't handle defeat. Maybe this will teach him a lesson. He continued with the drill, anyway.
"Now you try it." Darcy clapped. Once. Twice. Nothing. The youth was shaking. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
"Very young . . . and very proud," one of the three commented.
"The graveyards all full of men who are very young . . . and very proud," Darcy sighed.
Five quick, sharp knocks came at the door and Darcy hid behind it with his gun ready, then motioned for the men to call in the visitor.
"Come in!"
The door swung open, but no one stepped in. Darcy peeked around the door, gun ready.
"No tricks now, Darce."
"Willoughby! It's good to see you again!" he instantly sheathed his weapon.
"Darce."
"What are you doing in this dump?"
"I heard you've got a contract open."
"Oh, not for a high-stepper like you!"
"A dollar bill always looks as big to me as a bed spread."
"Well, it's just eating money, Johnnie. Room and board. Six weeks gulling for some farmers."
"Ah, you old Cajun. You don't talk so good, but you always know what's going on!"
"Now, Johnnie."
Willoughby stepped further into the room and addressed the three men. "Excuse us." He pulled the door closed between them.
"All right. All bets on top. What's underneath?"
"Only what I told you."
"Gold? Cattle? Pay roll?"
"Only what I told you," Darcy insisted.
"Oh, sure, sure, never mind. Just tell me when you can." Johnnie winked and slapped Darcy's shoulder.
"Now, Johnnie. Please don't understand me so fast." He will not be happy if he comes, then finds out it really is only twenty dollars and some grub.
"I said 'never mind'! I'm in!" Willoughby strolled down to the end of the hall, then called over his shoulder, "Dirty dog!" I know he's got something up his sleeve! I'll be damned if I let him talk me out of some action and a pay roll!
A dealer called out the winning craps number as the tall, blond Bingley strode into the bar. In the corner of the room, watching the door, was Darcy and his three amigos. Bingley strolled over to the game table and removed his hat, pulling a wad of bills from the lining. He considered the pile, divided it in half, gave a shrug, then laid down the whole bundle on his lucky number twenty-two.
"Five!" the dealer called out.
Oh, well. Can't win 'em all, I guess. I should've only bet the bit of it after all, I s'pose. Oh, well. I'll rustle up a drink somehow.
Darcy noticed his friend's bad luck and called over a nearby waiter. "The cowpoke that just walked in wearing the stove pipe chaps--I'd like to buy him a drink."
"Yessir!"
"There's one! Look at the scars on his face!" one amigo referred to Bingley's weathered, happy face as the headwaiter walked away.
"The man for us is the one who gave him that face," another replied.
Darcy was impressed. "Hey! You learn fast." He nudged to comrade beside him.
The waiter approached Bingley. "Gent over there wants ta buy you a drink," he informed him.
Bingley broke into a grin at the sight of his friend's face. He nodded to the waiter and walked over directly.
"Charles."
"Howdy."
"Like to buy you a drink."
The man was waiting for the order. "Whiskey."
"Got anything lined up?" Darcy asked after a moment.
"Yeah," Charles grimaced. "Gonna take a job in a grocery store. Fella says I'm gonna make a crackerjack clerk. Crackerjack." Bingley didn't look quite happy. Being a grocer was degrading work for a cowpoke. Tied down to one spot with no action. He was already getting restless.
"If that's your taste," Darcy quoted.
That won a chuckle out of Charles. "I did hear of a job below the border shooing some flies away from a village, but I can't find out what it pays."
"Twenty dollars," Darcy grinned.
"A week?" Charles asked quickly. That's good money!
"Six weeks. The whole job," his friend replied steadily.
Shoot! "Aw, that's ridiculous . . . you heard of anything?"
Darcy smiled mischievously. "Yeah. Below the border. Shooing some flies away from a little village. Their village."
Whoops! "Pays twenty dollars," he gulped.
"Looking for men right now."
It'd be better than bagging food, but . . . twenty dollars? I've been paid that for a day of hard work! And I'm running into debt here, pretty quick. "Nah, wouldn't even pay for my bullets."
One of the three visitors spoke up. "Ours is a poor village. We understand. You could get much more in a grocery store, and it's good steady work."
Darcy tried his hardest to hide a smile. Perfect! He's in! They just played on his conscience.
Charles swallowed hard. Bagging groceries. "Oh . . . how many ya got?"
Darcy held up one finger, referring to Johnnie. Charles grimaced again, Bagging groceries. He shook his head smiling, I'm gonna regret this, and looked steadily into William's face as he wavered for a minute back to safety, then held up two fingers. Two. I'm really gonna regret this.
Charles and William dismounted as they approached the ramshackle cabin. Johnnie Willoughby swore this Colonel Brandon fellow was a good guy and a sure shot.
An old man came out of the hut, wiping his hands on a towel.
"I'm looking for a man named Brandon," Darcy said in answer to his questioning look.
"Don't know his name. There's a fella out back choppin' wood for his breakfast."
Darcy nodded and Charles followed him around back where they saw a man in his long john shirt and denim pants splitting wood like no other. One felled swoop for each foot and a half wide log. Pretty impressive, Darcy thought, I hope he's as good with a gun.
"Mornin'," Darcy greeted. "I've been talking to Johnnie Willoughby. He tells me you're broke."
What's it any of his concern? "Naw, I'm doing this because I'm an eccentric millionaire," he replied sarcastically.
"There's a job for six men, watching over a village south of the border."
Work! Action! Payroll! Keep the poker face. "How big's the opposition?" he asked as he wielded the ax over his head.
"Thirty guns," Fitzwilliam replied calmly.
He missed the log.
"I admire your notion of fair odds, Mister," he replied, looking back incredulously.
"Johnnie tells me you faced bigger odds in the Travis County War."
"Well, it paid me six hundred dollars for that one." He turned back to his wood chopping.
"He said you got that Selena thing cleared up in less than a month," Bingley recalled.
"Paid me eight hundred dollars for that one."
"You cost a lot."
"Yeah. That's right I cost a lot."
"The offer is twenty dollars."
Brandon did a double take and shook his head vehemently as he lifted the ax again. Twenty stinking dollars for six weeks of action? . . . . Action. Nah, stick around here chopping wood and wait for a better deal . . . . Then again, no offers have been floating around for the last few months. The West is being 'civilized.' Twenty dollars isn't much, but it is something . . . I guess . . . . Darcy and Bingley began walking away, but the ax stopped mid air and faltered.
"Twenty dollars? Right now that's a lot."
"Where can I reach you?"
"Right here."
"I still say he can't!"
"And I tell ya he can!"
"If he claims that, he's a liar."
"Hey! Not so loud, he might hear you."
"I don't care if he hears me or not. I got two months salary coming and I'll bet it all it ain't so."
"Well, you ain't bettin' with me."
"Me either!"
"Look, I'm telling you what he said, and I believe it."
"Well, one of us has a fat head!"
"You can get good odds on which."
"Haw haw haw!" an onlooker brayed.
"Fred! Fred, wake up!" No response from the lanky cowboy. "I'm talkin' to ya, look at me!"
The resting man silently tipped up the front of his hat and glared at the man indifferently.
"Sully told me what ya said and I say you're wrong, what do you say?"
His only response was the cowboy slipping the hat back over his eyes and settling back again to sleep.
"Haw, haw, haw!" the watcher howled again.
At this time, Bingley and Darcy rode into the station in search of Fred Wentworth and witnessed the exhibition.
"What's the matter, you afraid? Afraid to tell me I'm wrong?"
The only sound was the moo of cows in the background as the man nimbly sprung to his feet and set up for the 'practice duel' without a word. The arrogant one placed a cup on the fence post behind Fred and got ready to prove that Fred wasn't faster with a knife than a man with a gun.
"Call it!" the gunman shouted to a friend nearby.
The man eagerly drew out his weapon and fired into the sky. A dagger sunk its sharp blade into the telegraph pole right next to the gunman's head. Another shot was heard at the same instant, followed by a loud clink as the tin cup was knocked off the fence post.
"Well, you see I won!" the man said proudly and followed the knifeman as he walked away. "Well, how 'bout it?" he asked smugly. Wentworth stalked to the rain barrel and drank from the ladle. "Well?!" he's nonplused by the silence. "Sully, how 'bout it?"
"I don't know, it was mighty close, wasn't it, boys?"
"Close?! What do you mean 'close'?! Y'all got eyes, ya saw what happened! I won!" He received no support, so he turned back to Fred. "You tell 'em! I won, didn't I?" he demanded.
"You lost," Fred spoke for the first time, then settled back down for his slumber.
"You're a liar." No response. "I said you're a liar." Not a movement. "I said you're a coward and a liar!" Nothing. "Get up! Let's do it for real! Get up!" Fred refused to acknowledge his presence. "Get up, I said!" The sore loser fired three shots around Fred's legs, who wisely stayed put. "So help me, I'll let you have it right where you are."
Fred slowly erected himself again and prepared for a real duel.
"Call it," the challenger ordered Sully.
"I don't want nothing to do with this."
"Call it!"
"Drop it, Wallace! Forget it!" Sully moved to take away his friend's gun.
"Ah, get away from me!" Wallace shoved him aside.
"Call it." It was a respected order, coming from Wentworth. There was the sharp flick of a knife being opened.
Sully reluctantly withdrew his pistol once more and, after a moment's hesitation, fired it into the sky.
A second shot rang in the air, but not before a knife landed in the opposer's chest. The shot missed Wentworth completely and the man sank to the ground, dead.
Bingley and Darcy shared a look. He was the man for the job.
Fred retrieved his knife, and after wiping the blade, returned it to his pocket.
The two partners approached him.
"Fred," Darcy greeted, pulling his horse's reigns behind him.
"Will," he tipped his hat.
"Like to have a word with you."
During the day, Will Darcy had reconciled himself to going, with much help from Charles Bingley. They just weren't finding enough men in time, and needed everyone they had. The four men reconvened at the motel bar, where they met up with the three men from the small village.
"Did you have any luck?" the amigos eagerly awaited news of the latest development.
"Found a man who would have been perfect. Gun or knife. You couldn't want any better. He wasn't interested."
"Money? It wasn't enough?"
"He doesn't give a hoot about money."
"A man in this line of work who does not care about money?"
"Men in this line of work are not all alike. Some care about nothing but money. Others, for reasons of their own, care only about the danger. And the competition."
"If he's the best with a knife and a gun, with whom does he compete?"
"Himself," Darcy replied simply.
At that moment the door was viciously kicked open. The young man from the cemetery staggered in, mad drunk.
"You! I've been looking for you," he pointed his gun at Darcy.
Willoughby started to draw, but Bingley snapped his fingers and gestured for him to hold.
"Uh-oh! Now what have we got here?" Johnnie sneered, instead.
"Never mind!" the young man shouted. "He knows! Clap hands, he says! Clap your hands, and let's see how fast you are! Clap hands." He claps his hands in mockery. The youth is almost incoherent and overly emotional, gradually getting louder and louder until he's shouting again, "Man comes to him because he respects him. 'Cause he'd be proud to work with him. And he makes me look like . . . two cents with some . . . damn kids game!"
"Hey kid, that's enough of that!" Willoughby began to remove him from the room.
"You stay away from me, will ya?" the red headed young man insisted. He approached Darcy. "Come on, now. Let's see how fast you are! No games! No clapping hands, none of that stuff! Just draw. Come, on! Come on, draw!"
"Come, amigo-- " one of the three men from the border town intervened.
"You say 'amigo' to me?? You get out of my way, you dirt farmer!" He wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hands and pulled his gun on Darcy, again.
"You don't think I mean it, eh? You think I'm just talking, huh?" He shot around Will twice, then very quietly said, "Hey. Get up. Do you hear me? Get up and face me! Do you hear?" he screamed. He staggered backwards and toppled towards the bar for support, his gun slipping from his grasp and sliding towards the bartender, who laid a protective hand over it. "Hey," he whispered. "Gimme my gun, huh?" but as he reached with difficulty towards the gun, he fell back, unconscious.
"Sorry this happened, Franny," Will approached the bar. "Let him sleep it off. When he wakes up he can have his gun back." He tossed a coin onto the counter. "Give him a drink."
The door to the motel bar swung open once again as the men prepared to leave, and a tall lanky cowboy with a pack over his shoulder cautiously entered the room. "I changed my mind."
Darcy smiled and looked at Bingley as he held up all the fingers on his left hand. Five! They were almost there.
After a long ride to the next county with the posse, looking for a man that, as it happens, turned out to be dead--killed the day before. "I guess he wasn't the man for us after all," Darcy simply replied as he turned his horse around and galloped back to the border with eight men in tow. When they arrived, the men split off, and Darcy and Bingley went back to his motel to find a list of men Johnnie had scribbled down that might be willing.
"There's a man waiting in your room," the motel clerk informed Darcy as he took handed over the key. "Said he was a friend of yours." Will nodded in response and he and Bing shared a curious look.
Darcy cautiously opened the door to his room, hand on gun.
A well-dressed gunman was sitting on a chair, with his legs propped up on the table. He showed his hands, to prove he had no intention of killing either of them. "Remember me?" he asked Will.
"Yep." He felt uneasy. This man was known to have killed quite a few.
"Hear you need men to a job in Mexico."
"That's right."
"How long?"
"Four to six weeks."
"I'd like to do it. How much does the job pay?"
"I thought you were looking for the Jenson brothers."
"I found 'em." God, forgive me for my lies. I know they were already dead when I got there, and I never would've killed 'em anyway, but . . . this blasted reputation! "How much does the job pay?"
"Twenty. We leave tomorrow."
"I'll have the money before I leave, if that's possible. It'll just take care of my last two days rent."
"Twenty dollars? Must be livin' in style," Bingley gave a low whistle, but he knew very well why it took twenty dollars to pay his rent. He didn't like this guy.
"Yes," he replied bitterly. "I have the most stylish corner of the filthy storeroom out back. That and one plate of beans. Ten dollars a day."
"Yeah, things do get kinda tough when you're on the run." Bingley wouldn't know from experience, the comment was made with an edge to it.
"There's a dry wash south of town," he rose to his feet. "Pick me up there." The well-dressed gunman exited the room into the night air.
Darcy grinned at his best friend as he held up all but four fingers. Bingley was more cautious, he shook his hand from side to side. He didn't know about this last fellow.
"Edward Ferrars is a good gun . . . and we're not heading for a church social."
It was about fifteen minutes into the long ride to the border town before the men realized they were being clumsily followed.
"Darce?" Fred asked.
"Yeah."
"Any idea who it is?"
"Yeah, that kid from the saloon. Won't take 'no' for an answer."
"Doesn't show much sense, does he?" Bingley commented, laughing.
It was a long ride down to the border, during which much and little conversation ensued, during different times.
"Where ya'll from, 'ringinally?" Bingley asked during one of the long silences. "Me, up in th'Oregon Territory.
"Wyoming," Darcy replied for the benefit of the others, though Charles already knew, naturally.
"Texas," Colonel replied with a poker face.
"Born in Massachusetts, but lived mostly in Missouri," Fred Wentworth said with a scowl.
"Neeeew York," Johnnie crowed with a grin.
"Georgia," Ed Ferrars replied slowly, looking rather wistful.
"Well, why'd ya'll leave?"
"Probably same reason you left, Bing," Wentworth harshly replied.
Bingley grinned ruefully. "Then we are truly a sorry buncha saps, Wen. I left 'cause Janie didn't love me." He punched his friend's shoulder, "Darcy here, because his Lizzy Beth turned him down."
Darcy scowled at his partner. It's 'Elizabeth' to you, thick head. No one calls her Lizzy Beth but me!
Bingley continued, "So are you telling me that you all came out West to escape those damned infernal women?"
"Damn right," Johnnie replied, grinning at the Colonel.
"Uh-oh," Bingley chided, "What's this about?"
"Some men have no respect for a ladies feelings," the Colonel growled, glaring at Johnnie.
"Colonel and I here, fell for the same woman. But I married an heiress," he said with the smallest trace of remorse, "and Marianne didn't quite feel the same way about the Colonel."
"You married an heiress? What, you leave her at home years on end?"
"She died on the trip out West," Johnnie replied grimly.
"But you should be all set up money-wise, why are you out here doin' grunt work?" Ed Ferrars asked, suddenly into the conversation a bit more.
Johnnie shook his head. "Alice's money's alllll gone."
Ed shook his head.
"Well what about you? You got some old bag in the closet?" Johnnie wanted to know.
"If I told you, ya wouldn't believe me," he replied.
"Try us," he challenged.
"Sweet girl back in Georgia named El'nor. But I was engaged to a hag named Lucy. When my family found out, I was cut out of the inheritance. Lucy married my brother, leaving me to be with Elinor. But I didn't have any money, so I . . . . "
"Yeah?"
"SoIcameoutheretobeamissionary," he replied quickly.
Darcy's head jerked up; Bingley turned around to look at Ed and grin. Wentworth just stared, the Colonel's eyebrows shot up his forehead, and Johnnie crowed with laughter.
"S-So how'd you get into this line of work?" Bingley tried not to chuckle.
" . . . Long story."
"We've got plenty of time!" Johnnie reminded him.
"I said it was a long story," Edward insisted.
"What about you, Wen? You've been pretty silent."
"Goin' on eight years ago I was engaged to Anne, but her friend convinced her that I wasn't good enough because I was just a cowhand, so she broke it off. I went into the war, where I learned how to use a gun and a knife pretty good, then came out here."
"Ouch," was Johnnie's reply. "What a hag."
"Anne wasn't a hag," Fred replied quietly. "She just listened to others too much."
"So ride back there and sweep her off her feet," Bingley suggested.
"Right," he replied grimly. "She's probably married to a gov'ner with nine kids by now. 'Sides, I don't exactly see you running back to Wyoming back to your Janie."
"Janie's probably married by now. She was the most beautiful girl in the world. Like an angel."
"Lizzy was prettier."
"Thank God they didn't look like their mother."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Johnnie laughed. "You two fell for sisters?!"
Darcy nodded grimly, and Johnnie laughed harder.
"Hey, they're not the only ones," Ed growled. "The Colonel with Marianne. Me with Elinor. We've got quite a few little love triangles going."
"Hey! I didn't mean anything to Marianne? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm saying after you treat a woman like that, you have no right to even think about her."
"I had no choice in the matter, Brother."
"I'd rather not think about it. The Colonel at least courted her properly."
"You call what you did to Elinor courting?"
"At least I'm out here tryin' to be worthy of goin' back."'
"Ha! With your reputation? I'm sure it's reached that little family in Montana."
"I thought you said she was from Georgia," Fred interrupted.
"She was. When her father died, my sister and her husband, their half-brother, inherited. They had to move. I met Elinor when I was visiting my sister, before they had found a house."
"Ha! Tell them what your sister really did! Turned them out on their backsides! Practically forced them to leave! Made sure they didn't get a penny of their inheritance!"
"My sister and I are two very different people!"
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? And the way you treated El! Never telling her you were engaged! No, no! You let Lucy do that!"
"My intentions were honorable. You let Marianne make a fool out of herself. Convince herself you were really going to marry her, before you ran off with Alice!"
"I was going to marry her!"
"But then your aunt stepped in," the Colonel suddenly spoke. "Your aunt found out what you did."
"What did he do?" Edward asked curiously. He hadn't heard this part.
"Willoughby was indeed going to make a fresh start with Marianne. But his aunt found out about his past, first. Found out what he had done to my ward. Tell me, did your wife ever know about your two love affairs?"
"Our marriage was a marriage of convenience. We both knew it!"
"Alright! That's enough! Let's water the horses," Darcy interrupted. This sounds like something out of a women's magazine!
"How did you get a ward?" Edward wondered as he dismounted near the stream.
The Colonel sighed as he led his horse alongside Edward's. "When I was very young I fell in love with a girl named Eliza. But my parents shipped me off into the military, rather than have me marry her. When I came back, she had . . . fallen out of graces with society and had a child. She was on her deathbed. She asked me to take care of the child, which I did. I sent Emily to live with a family in the country. She's eighteen, now, but three years ago she was seduced by . . . that ruffian. When his aunt found out about the child, she cut him off without a penny, and Willoughby had many debts, so he married Alice."
Darcy swung back into the saddle. "Let's drop the subject of women. We all decided they were nothing but trouble and now we're here, right?"
"Right," the men chorused.
"Okay. So we're on a common ground. No more of this childish hounding. Get back in the saddle."
"I'm gonna get stiff neck keepin' track of him," Johnnie complained about the man following them.
"If you can't forget him, why don't you ride side saddle?" Fred suggested with a grin.
"Ah, well. He won't last much longer."
"That so?" Colonel asked.
"Ridin' out there in all that dust and heat. What a knuckle head," Bingley commented.
"Yep! Not smart like us!" Darcy said sarcastically with a grin.
"Yep," his friend laughed.
The men were gathered around the campfire a few hours later. Johnnie was still having problems ignoring the pesky boy.
"S'pose our friend over there's got anything to eat for himself?" Bingley asked.
"How 'bout I go over there and bring him some?" the Colonel offered.
"Nah, it isn't food he's hungry for," Darcy interceded.
"Then let me tie a can to his tail!" Johnnie whined. "Right now he's like an itch I can't scratch."
"Ah, leave him alone. It's a free country," Darcy maintained.
"And it's his," one of the villagers said woefully preoccupied with his own thoughts.
The next morning . . .
Okay, so trailing didn't work. Maybe this will!
He studied the fish in the stream, not moving a muscle. Then flash! his arm shot like an arrow through the water and snatched the fish. He dropped it, still flopping, on the shore with the other two.
Ten fish later . . .
"Well done, Henry my boy!" he said to himself. "Time for breakfast! They should be coming along this trail in a few minutes, now."
"You know, it's funny. Now that he's gone I kinda miss him," Willoughby commented as the rode along the path that should lead to a stream in a few minutes.
They were just coming up on the water when a bunch of fish tied to a branch in the path at eye level caught Darcy's attention. He pointed them out to his friends. That boy just doesn't give up.
They rode a little farther and as they came into the clearing, there was the boy, roasting a fish on a stick. He jumped at their entrance and grinned like a fool when he saw Darcy's smile.
Might as well. Will shook his head with a lopsided grin, then gestured for him to join them. The boy tossed on his hat, threw his fish back in the water, and dashed out the embers hurriedly as he jumped on his mount to follow the men.
It was shortly after a lunch of Henry Tilney's fish that the men arrived at the village. It was empty. The three men that had brought the heroes, distressed, jumped off their horses and ran down the street.
"Where is everybody?" one asked. "Where are they, Jorge?" he demanded of the one man he saw coming out of his door.
"Olga! Rosa! Emilio! Miguel! What kind of reception is this?"
"Come out!" his two companions joined in the shouting. "Come out!" They were obviously mortified at their city's lack of respect for the men that had come to save them.
"Come out and make them welcome before we die of shame!"
"Amigo, stop your shouting!" the old man called Jorge commanded.
The three men ran to Jorge and hissed, "Do they call this welcome? What are they thinking of?"
"Come in! You must be thirty!" the old man called to the cowpokes. He was tanned and weathered, but most definitely an American gentleman. Darcy couldn't help but wonder. "You must forgive them. They are farmers here. They are afraid of everyone and everything. They are afraid of rain, or no rain. They are afraid the summer may be too hot or too cold. The sows has no pigs, the farmer is afraid he may starve. The sow has too many pigs, the farmer is afraid she may starve!" he laughed.
"There's no need to apologize. We didn't expect flowers and speeches," Darcy put him at ease--the old man was a little jittery. It was the first time he had seen outsiders in over twenty years.
"Tomorrow is the anniversary of the founding of the village. They will be celebrating. Then you will see them in a better light."
Suddenly the church bell started ringing in it's tower. Men rushed, literally poured, into the street.
"Who sounded the alarm?" one cried. "Who sounded the alarm?!"
The bells stopped clanging, and a young man exited the church and swept off his hat in a gallant bow. One not of the village.
"Thank you, amigos, for coming out to greet us. Thank you for letting us see your beautiful faces! Thank you, thank you, you chickens! You come running out like chickens! We ride for days to get to this nothing in the middle of nowhere. We're ready to risk our lives to help you, and you? You hide from us! Hide! From us! Oh, but it's a different story when you're in danger. You might lose your precious crops! Then you flock to us, huh? Well. We're here, my compadres and I, and here we stay. And you? You prove to us that you're worth fighting for. Now get back to your houses!" No one moved. "Back to your work, go on! Go back! We'll tell you when to fight and how to fight. Now go back! Go back!"
The men shared smiles and shakes of the head, while Jorge tried not to laugh.
Bingley turned to Darcy, holding up all but three fingers.
Darcy laughed and nodded. "Now we're seven."
This certainly was the strangest town any of them had been in.
The celebration was in full swing. Ritual dances, magic tricks, music, good food, and fire displays. Everyone was having a good time. There was just one thing missing that the cowboys were all confused about. Bingley and the Colonel were discussing it as they sat together at an outdoor table, watching the party.
"You know, I've been to some towns where the girls aren't very pretty," Bingley commented. "In fact, I've been in some towns where they were downright ugly. But this is the first time I've ever been in a town where there were no girls at all."
"Same here."
"You know, if we're not careful, we could have quite a social life here."
"Ah, it's not so bad. I fell in with a fast crowd yesterday that hangs out near the fountain. They got to predicting the weather for today and didn't break up till twilight."
The two men laughed and sipped their drinks.
Nearby, less interested in the goings on than in the festivity, Fred sat whittling away on a wooden whistle. As he finished carving one of the finger holes, he put it to his lips and blew. Tweet! Tweet! A little girl, clinging to her father's hand, turned around to stare at him with sweet, wide, brown eyes.
She looks rather like Anne . . . The two locked eyes, and the little girl turned shyly away, peeking over her shoulder to see if he was still there every few seconds. Fred did a little birdcall on his whistle and she turned around again. He demonstrated how it worked for her, and she rewarded him with a huge smile. She's just like Anne. Fred held the whistle out to her, and she slowly took it, then turned around, bashful again. Oh, Anne. I miss you so much it hurts. It's been almost eight years. Do you even remember me?
He painfully stood up and walked away.
Henry was sitting in a low-slung tree across the way and eating an apple. I can't believe I came here. I wanted to work with Darcy, sure, but . . . gee whiz! To be back in a small hick town like this! I promised myself I'd never go back. Never! And here I am. At least this isn't home. He sighed. I thought I was through with people like this forever.
Away from the goings on were Johnnie, Ed, and the three original men who had sought them, keeping look out. They spied three individuals sneaking around the corral, and sent the three men to find Darcy. They quickly informed him of the situation, and he rounded up his men.
"Charlie, Fred, Brandon. Ed and Johnnie saw three of Calvera's men. They're by the horses."
"Let's go," Henry chomped at the bit.
"Get one alive," Darce ordered before they moved out.
"I'll show you where!" one of the village boys, who had been following his father around, offered Brandon.
The men silently spread out surrounding the corral, guns loaded and ready. Johnnie was the bait, Fred the backup. Henry had followed Fred, and was waiting around in case someone needed him. What he didn't see was one of Calvera's men sneaking up behind him. Henry crawled forward in the grass. The rustle caught Fred's attention. He whirled around, and there was Calvera's henchman, standing over Henry, ready to fire. His attention was divided between Henry and Wen now, and he hesitated. Fred didn't. The man fell to the ground dead, a bullet buried in his chest. Another of Calvera's men came into the open, and was no sooner seen than dead. The third jumped onto his horse and began riding like there was no tomorrow.
"I'm sorry Fred," Henry said, voice shaking. "I didn't mean to-- "
"Shut up," Fred ordered as he aimed for the horseman. He got a steady lock on the now distant figure on the horizon. He was about five hundred yards away and quickly growing smaller. Fred fired and a second later the rider fell off the horse.
"Holy . . . that was the greatest shot I've ever seen," Henry stammered.
"The worst!" Fred said angrily, putting away his gun. "I was aiming at the horse!"
Johnnie, meanwhile, was signaling to Colonel in the bell tower the news. The Colonel, in turn, relayed it to Darcy with hand signals.
The celebration had come to a stand still when the shots fired by Fred in the distance echoed to their ears. Darcy made the announcement.
"Three men were sent by Calvera to spy. It is almost certain they saw us." Three thumbs downs from Brandon. "But what they learned will be buried with them."
"Oh, no!" one of the townsmen cried. "If he comes now . . . "
"He'd never send men ahead if he were close enough to see for himself. So we have time to get ready, and something else--surprise. If he rides in with no idea of his reception, I can promise you we will teach him something about the price of corn."
Three men were gathered together behind one of the many new barricades that had been erected in anticipation of Calvera. They were under the guidance of Captain Wentworth and Colonel Brandon. "Aim . . . squeeze . . . cock . . . " Brandon was instructing them with his own gun.
Across the way, five other men were under the guidance of Bingley, Darcy, and Edward.
"Settle down," Bingley directed one. "Now you miss the first chance, you may not get a second."
"And get that butt tight in your shoulder. If you don't, two things will happen. One: you'll waste the bullet. Two: you'll break your arm," Darce ordered.
"Now, close your eye. Aim from here," Edward pointed at the scope, "to here," the barrel of the gun, "to the target."
"Fire," Darcy told them.
"At that rock?" an amigo asked.
"No, at that man you're going to kill." The men fired. "Bueno!"
"If only we had more guns! Think what we could do!"
"You'll get more guns," Darcy assured him.
"How?"
"Same way you got these. Calvera's men."
Another friend informed him, "The ones who spied on us brought them. Like three Kings bearing gifts."
"If Calvera does not come now, after all this . . . what a waste!" one of the villagers comments.
"Pretty foxy fellow, this Calvera, eh?" Willoughby asked as they continued digging one of the many new trenches.
"Senior, not a fox. A coyote!"
"How did he ever find out about the gold mine?" Willoughby asked.
"Gold mine? What gold mine, Senior?"
"You know. The one in the mountains." Are they not allowed to talk about it?
"In our mountains? We never had a gold mind around here."
Or did Darcy say it was silver? "Say, come to think of it, it was a silver mine. Whatever happened to it?"
"We have no silver mine, either."
"I mean in the old days."
"Not at any time. Where did you hear about this gold and silver?"
They don't know about it! . . . No need for them to, then! I'll just get the information from Darcy later on. "All right, come on, boys! Let's get this dug, huh?"
While the other seven men were preparing for Calvera, Henry had been assigned to the lookout post in the woods. He was at first resentful, resentful that they didn't think he was hardy enough to work or good enough to teach. But that feeling gradually turned into boredom. Deep boredom. Nothing to do . . . no one was coming today! The harvest wasn't in yet! Or so Calvera thought. But the men had brought in the harvest as fast as possible so that they were able to prepare for the attack. Henry laid down again and played with the piece of grass between his teeth.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Henry jumped to attention and whirled around. A cow. A stupid old cow! He sighed and the cow mooed as it gazed fondly at Henry with big, soft, brown eyes. "Toro," he muttered. Toro! Time to have some fun! He grinned at the cow as he lifted his hat and smashed it down on his head sideways. Bow to the left, throw kisses to the right, bow, kiss, bow . . . . He whipped off his vest and began waving it in front of the bull's face. "Toro!" he whispered. "Toro!" He waved it back and forth again. "Toro!" His only response was a moo and a jangle of its bell. "Toro," Tilney hung his vest over one horn, just to see what it would do. Nothing! Still nothing.
There was the crack of a twig behind him.
"Who's there?" he whirled around. He was just in time to see a figure in white wearing a straw-hat dart behind the nearest tree. The person began running away--far enough away already to have the advantage. Henry ran after for a moment, but then seemingly gave up. He had really gone back to get his horse. He rounded the spy off, his horse jumping out from the brush. Henry jumped from the saddle and grabbed the person's wrists.
"What the--!" Henry received a feminine slap across the face.
"You do anything to me and I'll kill you! I'll kill you if you do anything to me!" She slapped him again, her nail jabbing his eye.
"Ow! Wait a second, you almost poked my eye out!" he yelled as one hand instinctively flew to his eye.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she opened her mouth to bite him and he grabbed her other wrist again.
"You bite me and I'll bite you, so help me!" he retorted, bringing her hands closer to his mouth. "I've got a good mind to throw you in the water!"
"You merciless rouge! Get your hands off me!"
"Shut up!"
"Get off me!"
"Shut up!" She became silent, but didn't stop fighting. "Where are the others? Huh?"
"I'll never tell you!" she spat in his face.
Goddamn nuisance of a woman! They still don't trust us! Us! Farmers!
He picked her up and slung her over the horse on her stomach, then climbed into the saddle behind her. She no longer struggled, she had accepted her sorry fate. Sorry fate indeed! The fifteen-minute ride back to the village was, on her part, spent ruing his curious nature. But she just had to get a glimpse of these strange 'cowboys.' He was so handsome! So commandeering! So forceful! Such passion! Such strength! Oh, if only he were nice! But no, I fell across the evil one. What will he do to me? Oh, how did I ever get myself into this whole mess?!
Henry rode back to the village like a bat out of Hell, where the men were digging trenches.
"Look what I found!" he called as he reigned in front of the men. He pushed the girl off the saddle and she glared at him with contempt.
"Who is she?" Darcy demanded of one of the citizens.
"From of our village. Katarina."
"So that's where they were. They hid them!"
"Sure they hid them. But she won't tell where. They're afraid. She's afraid of me, you, him, all of us. Farmers!" he said with contempt. "Their families told them we'd rape them!"
"Well, we might," said Darcy. Then he addressed the crowd. "In my opinion, though, you might have given us the benefit of the doubt. But . . . just as you please."
"You know, as long as you were out there . . . why didn't you bring them all in?" Bingley asked eagerly.
"Aw, What for? Leave them out there. Let Calvera find them--he'll take good care of them."
"Bring them in. Show him the way," Darcy ordered Katarina.
"Ma'am." Bingley tipped his hat to the girl and helped her back onto the horse. This time sitting upright, and behind Henry.
"Come on, little angel!" he replied sarcastically, purposely making the horse jump to scare her. Katarina's arms flew around his waist to hang on for dear life.
Henry was slightly discomfited. His subconscious was telling him that having her arms around him wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. He brushed it off with annoyance. Does she have to hang on so gosh darn tight? Farmer's daughter.
"Gently, boy. Gently," Bingley murmured as he watched the display between the two 'enemies.'
That night the men sat down to a feast cooked by the women of the village.
"I can't tell you how wonderful it was for you Senioritas to cook this very nice dinner for us," Bingley flattered Katarina as she began serving from a very large bowl. He received a fleeting glare, which returned to the form of Henry Tilney instantly. Henry was busy with his drink and paid her no mind. She served him a generous scoop of the delicious food from the right, but he never glanced up. An even larger scoop splashed on his plate from behind him, and yet he paid her no heed. She moved to his left and gave him yet another helping, banging the wooden spoon on the clay plate noisily. Nothing! She gave up and moved on to Charles, still glaring at Henry with razor sharp eyes. She dished a little of the food onto his plate and moved on quickly to each of the other men, serving them about a third of what Henry received, then stormed back to the kitchen to grumble over the ungrateful cowman.
"How's the food?" Brandon asked as he came through the door a few minutes later.
"Great!" Bingley declared.
"Chicken enchiladas, Spanish rice . . . looks pretty good!"
"Yeah," sighed Willoughby, "these people really know how to cook! Dig in! There's tons of it."
"Do you know what these people, the villagers, have been eating ever since we got here? Tortillas and a few beans. That's all."
Bingley's fork froze mid-air, then went clattering down to the plate as he took the serving bowl from Katarina with a tip of the hat and proceeded outside.
"Gracias, Senior."
"De nada."
"Gracias, Senior."
"De nada."
"Gracias, Senior."
"De nada . . . Say! You don't happen to have an older grateful sister at home?" he pulled aside a young boy.
"No, Senior. Muchas gracias," he grinned.
"De nada," he sighed, and went back to work.
The previous lack of women had made him think of Jane. Beautiful Jane. He hadn't let himself think about her for quite some time. About a day and a half, actually. Before then, he had thought about her everyday, and before then, constantly. Now he was back in the 'constant' phase. I sure miss her. Say, maybe Darcy was wrong. Maybe she does love me . . . But Darcy's never wrong and he'd be even less likely to lie. Perhaps she could grow to love me? he sighed. But I wouldn't want her that way. She's so lovely and sweet and gentle and . . . good. There's no one else on earth like her. Not even in Mexico. And Katarina's already fallen for that upstart Tilney. I suppose I was too old for her anyway. Man pushing thirty should be settled down and happy with a wife to take care of him and a couple kids. Look at me. What have I got? A horse.
"One, two, three, four . . . One, two, three, four . . . One, two, three, four . . ."
The women here sure are pretty. No one will ever be as pretty as Jane, but these women, here! After not seeing any for so long . . . They sure look beautiful in a homespun sort of way! Bingley played with his handkerchief tied around his neck in rhythm to Darcy's chanted numbers, instructing the commoners on how to use guns, and grinning like a fool. He was supposed to be helping. Oh, well! He had a much pleasanter view, his way. Except he suddenly realized that he looked like a pansy. He snapped back to attention, blushing and clearing his throat, then began clapping to the numbers along with Darcy. "One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!"
Behind them, facing the opposite direction, Colonel Brandon and Captain Wentworth were practicing shooting.
"Squeeze," Jonathan instructed.
A missed shot.
"Miguel! Didn't I tell you to squeeze? Hmm? Just like when you're milking a goat, Miguel!"
"It's that I get excited."
"Well, don't get excited! Now, this time squeeze. Slowly, but squeeze. Squeeze."
Yet another wasted bullet.
"Squeeze!" Wentworth shouted, then regained his temper. "I'll tell you what. Don't shoot the gun. Take the gun like this," he wielded it over his shoulder, "and you use it like a club! Alright?"
"Bueno!" this he could do!
"There you go."
"Muchas gracias."
"Buenos Dios!" Jorge greeted Bingley, Darcy, and Tilney.
"Howdy!" Charles replied.
"Well! We've come to move you into the village," Will got right down to business.
"Move into the village? Me?"
"Everybody who lives outside. You and your wife, too."
"Oh, no," he laughed.
"We can't protect you if you stay out here."
"Man named Cervantes has made room for you in his home, " Bingley informed him as Jorge's wife stepped onto the porch with them.
"Cervantes? His conversation would bore me to death!" she exclaimed. Jorge smiled at her indulgently.
"Yeah, well, uh . . . Maybe somebody else, then huh?" Charles offered.
"They're all farmers! Farmers talk of nothing but fertilizer and women," she insisted good naturedly.
"I've never shared their enthusiasm for fertilizer," her husband explained. "And as for women . . . I have my Emma. That is enough. We are staying here."
"Yeah, well . . . What are you going to do when Calvera comes?" Tilney asked.
"At our age a little excitement is welcome. Besides, why would he kill us? Bullets cost money."
"All right. Have it your way, Jorge," Darcy laughed.
"Call me George. I haven't been called George by anybody but Emma for years!"
"Have it your way, George."
"You worry about yourself. Are you ready for him? What if he comes now, huh?"
Tilney grinned. "You remind me of that fella back home that fell off a ten story building."
"What about him?" George asked.
"Well, as he was falling, people on each floor kept hearing him say, 'So far, so good.'" He winked. "So far, so good!"
On the way back, the three men stopped at a look out that had a good view of the village and they could see the new additions as plainly as the church tower. They tried to anticipate Calvera's thoughts on the construction.
"What about that ditch?" Bingley worried.
"More water for the corn," Henry grinned.
"Awful lot of new walls . . ." Darcy mused.
"Civic improvements!" Bingley said optimistically.
"Hey, Darcy. How about that net, huh . . . ?" Tilney said more seriously.
"Well . . . if he's not looking for it . . . " Will replied jauntily. "If he rides in unsuspecting . . ."
"If, Brother. If!" Bingley reminded him seriously.
"Yeah," Darcy admitted, sobering.
"Yeah."
Calvera! Calvera is coming! It's time! The chain of signals began with each boy waving his hat to signal the next. Five boys total. One little boy waving his hat to Calvera's men as they rode through the pass had a double meaning.
Darcy noticed the signal first, and then the church bells started to clang. Everybody rushed into their homes or onto the street, according to the plan.
Darcy threw a glance to each of his men and they settled into their positions. Darcy standing in the dead center of town, Bingley twenty paces off to his right. Brandon on the roof, Willoughby by the stables, Wentworth next to one of the new 'walls', Edward near the corner of one of the buildings, and Henry as far back from the action as they could coax him--in a tree. They still had no real proof of his abilities.
Calvera reigned in a few yards in front of Darcy. He recognized this type of man. "I should have guessed. When my men didn't come back, I should've guessed. How many of you did they hire?"
"Enough," Will calmly responded.
"A new wall."
"There are lots of new walls. All around."
"They won't keep me out."
"They were built to keep you in," Darcy replied with a meaningful look.
"Do you hear that? We're trapped. All forty of us!" he gestured for him men to spread out. "By these three," he could see Darcy, Bingley, and Brandon. "Or is it four? They couldn't afford to hire more than that," he spotted Edward
"We come cheaper by the bunch," Willoughby spoke up.
"Five! Even five wouldn't give us too much trouble."
"There won't be any trouble," Darcy promised. "If you ride on."
"Ride on? I'm going into the hills for the winter. Where am I going to get food for my men?"
"Maybe you oughtta grow it!" Henry shouted from behind.
"Or maybe even work for it!" Wentworth growled from his perch.
"Seven! Somehow I don't think you've solved my problem."
"Solving your problems isn't our line," Darcy corrected Calvera.
"We deal in lead, friend," Charles moved to stand beside his friend.
"So do I. We're in the same business, huh?"
"Only as competitors," Bingley said solemnly.
"Why not as partners, huh? Suppose I offer you equal shares."
"Of what?" Darcy asked, having no intention of accepting. He wanted to see how desperate Calvera was.
"Everything. Down to the last grain."
"And the people of the village? What about them?" Henry shouted.
"I leave it to you. Can men of our profession worry about things like that? It may even be sacrilegious," there was a pause while he let that sink in. "If God did not want them sheered, he would not have made them sheep! What do you think?"
"Ride on," Will ordered.
"You hear that, Solterro?" he asked the indigent that he usually dealt with on these occasions. "You hear what he said? Ride on! To me! You tell him to ride on before I become angry. Him--and the others! Because if I leave here with empty hands, everyone in this village will answer to me! When I come back."
"You won't come back," Darcy said confidently.
"Why not?"
"You won't have any guns. Take them off right now and drop them."
Calvera's eyes grew wide and his face red. "Generosity! That was my first mistake! I leave these people a little extra and they hire these men to make trouble! It shows you--sooner or later, you must answer for every good deed!"
The first shot was fired by Calvera. Bingley jumped into an empty stable while Darcy dodged behind a new 'wall'. Brandon flattened himself on the roof, Willoughby used a house's door as a shield, and Wentworth guarded the outer-lying walls as the shooting commenced. Henry was running around like a chicken with his head cut off, moving from spot to spot to get the better advantage of a shot, but somehow managing to keep himself safe. Edward, if anyone had been looking for him, being less preoccupied with the fight going on, was no where to be seen.
Calvera's men were unprepared, and those who didn't fall, rode from the village like the wrath of Hell was on their heels. Bingley jumped onto a horse and tried to follow them, shooting his gun as his horse sped up; he felled one or two, but the men were too far off in the distance by then to be good targets.
Back in the village, everyone was creeping out from their homes, surveying the damage. None of their fighters were injured, and plenty of Calvera's men were lying dead on the streets. A true victory!
Darcy assigned men to gather up all the bodies and make a count. A good show. His men did well, and no one was hurt. He grinned at Wentworth as Fred took the unused shells out of his gun. Pretty good. Pretty damn good!
Edward heard the victory cry rise up, and slowly moved from his hiding place, making sure that no one saw him. Once the coast was clear he sighed a deep sigh, and put his unused gun back in its holster. I'm a coward. I just couldn't do it. We might have gotten more men if I had fought, but . . . I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't kill them. God would never forgive if I took a life here on Earth. I couldn't kill them. I should never have signed up for this job . . . . But I needed the money . . . .what I need is Elinor. Oh, El, I miss you so much. Do you know that I think about you night and day? You're in all of my thoughts. What if I had fought and been killed? To never see your face again? That would be Hell in itself.
From the moment of the big victory cry, everyone had been celebrating. There was music, dancing, food, and drinks all around--everyone was having a good time. Their troubles were over! Calvera was gone!
A group of villager men were drunk as could be and standing against the bar counter, boasting about who had been in the most danger.
"You were safe behind your rock by the net--I was out in the field face to face with them as they rode toward me! Ten of them, screaming like devils!"
"The last time you told it, it was only five!"
"He has them multiplying like rabbits!"
"Ten! Ten! What does it matter? We gave them a good kick in the behind!"
"And if they do it again, we'll tear them to pieces!"
"We'll bury them all! Calvera, too, huh?" They laughed and toasted and drank and laughed some more.
Henry was as light hearted as could be, standing on a table and doing the Mexican hat dance around his gallon hat. "Yahooooo!" he couldn't help but cry as he stomped around the hat, back and forth. This was the action he had always wanted to be a part of!
Though everyone inside was partying, they were still keeping an eye out for Calvera's men--Johnnie and two of the villagers were keeping guard at the entrance of the village.
"Any sign of 'em?"
"No," one replied.
"That is bad luck," the other grumbled.
"Can you imagine? I knew him when he was a mouse!" the first one laughed.
The original three men who had found Darcy and begged him to be their savior were seriously conversing in a corner.
"I was never so frightened in my life. My knees were like jelly."
"I would never have guessed it."
"Well, he'll leave us alone for now, and . . . "
"He will?"
"Of course! He'll go away to other villages. Other villages that don't sting the way we do!"
"Senior!" they pulled their hero aside and stood to make a toast. "Neighbors! I drink to our friends! They armed us . . . fought at our sides . . . and will forever live in our hearts!" As everyone began to shout "Here, here!" a bullet whizzed through the air and silence filled the room as it shattered the cup he was toasting with.