Nobody's Story

The man in the tan long coat and matching flat hat stumbled towards the cluster of buildings he had been traveling to. When he'd first seen it, he thought it was some thirst-induced hallucination. Being aimless in the first place, he had walked to the town. Now that he was there, he saw how small it was. There couldn't have been more than thirty buildings in the entire town, and as he walked through the street, he couldn't have seen more than half that. The first building he'd walked by that was right next to the dirty sign that read "Welcome" from the perspective of someone entering town, and "Adios amigo" on the back was a large building that read MAYOR on a sign at the very top. The man would've called it the largest building in town, but another building-one on the other side, right behind a big well-gave it a sure run for it's money. That one simply said GUNS, and the man made a note to go there soon. First, however, he needed a drink. He stood in the middle of town and scanned for the building marked SALOON and when he did, he made a beeline. He stepped inside and was slightly surprised by the amount of people there. Many wore farmer's clothes, and were probably locals, and others wore guns, just like the traveler. Drifters? Bounty hunters? A gang? He didn't know, and he didn't worry. He didn't plan on staying in this town long. He took a seat at the bar, two seats away from another man with a gun as big as the traveler's Colt .45 and waved over the bartender.

The traveler finished his drink and the bartender asked if he needed anything else. The traveler nodded. “You got a bank? Somewhere that sells gold?” The bartender nodded. “Yes, yes. If the traveling wagon is here, you can sell it there but you can make far more by taking it to the bank.” The wanderer nodded and put a small gold coin on the table and stood up. He had a massive sum of gold in the pockets of his long coat, and he was ready to cash in. After the fight he’d gone through to find it and then a walk through the desert, he felt he earned it. He swung open the doors of the bar and almost walked right into a small, blonde woman.

The wanderer put his hands on his belt and leaned against the doorway. He had wanted to get his gold to the bank as soon as possible, but he supposed it wouldn’t be polite to simply walk away from the woman he’d almost knocked down. He adjusted his hat so it revealed his blue eyes, giving him what he hoped was a much less menacing approach despite the permanent almost-squint from his constant being outside in the blazing sun with the bright ball of flames reflecting off the desert sand.
“Well, I’d like to say it’s the call of adventure in faraway lands, Miz Stanton, but it would be much more to the point if I just said money. Gold, specifically.” He hadn’t spoken in days, weeks probably, and his voice was quiet but strong. His accent wasn’t quite placable because of the man’s rasp, and the man himself wouldn’t remember if he didn’t know better.
“If you’d seen me before, there’s a good chance you would’ve recognized me just now, so I guess this is hello.”

San Miguel should have been a one horse town but the usually rift raft of bandits and thieves kept it in constant supply of the equine kind. Of course, that was not why Miss Elizabeth Culpeper and her band of merry men found themselves in the Saloon of that very town. No, the party came with an agenda. Some may call it noble but most . . . no doubt would think it down right criminal.

Yet, as Miss Elizabeth Culpeper put it so eloquently to her men, "Is it really thieving if you're thieving from a thief?" Naturally, no body could argue with that. That was how the folks of James River Farm found themselves chuckling along with the rest of the patrons of the Saloon as an out of place Miss almost found her face flattened by wood.

Miss Ellie Culpeper and some of her most trusted and loyal servants and farmhands soon turned back into their circle at the corner of the bar. All with whiskey in hand. A little courage before the almost impossible feet.

"Now, listen up boys." Ellie began in hushed tones. "The news is, there's a train coming in hot here in about thirty minutes or so. All that stinky fingered loot and dollars sitting there in that crooked bank across the way is being taken to an even bigger crooked back all the way to Washington. Now you all know what to do don't you?"

The four men nodded in unison. Concentration and the gravity of the situation upon their features as they listened carefully to the woman dressed as a man. Her corset hidden under her coat and those long legs covered in unlady like pants that could barely be seen beneath boots that came past knee high. She dirtied up good for a woman of fine breeding.

"Ya'll know why we need to do this-" She stopped and breathed in quickly. "Ya'll know I'd never ask any of you to risk your li-"

"Miss Ellie." Interrupted a tall obsidian farmhand. His voice gentle, in stark contrast to his fierce appearance. "I know we'd all do anythin, just anythin for ol' Mr Culpeper."

"That's right there girly." Added Bo Bedford leaning his sturdy frame back against the dirty bar; who did odd jobs on the farm for as long as Ellie could remember. He had scruffy blonde hair with an even scruffier beard that was turning ever so slightly silver these days and the man would never be caught short without a toothpick between his teeth. "I couldn't have said it better than Atticus here myself."

"I agree." Pipped up Sawyer, a young man in his twenties with golden blonde hair that framed his face, who also worked hard on the farm. No one knew much about Sawyer, only that he came to steal a cow about five years ago, Lord only knew why or what for but found himself working on the farm after Mr Culpeper caught him and spoke to him and never left. Sawyer didn't say much. He was as secretive as he was handsome and that was abundantly.

George, another black servant of the household nodded again heartily.

"Good men." Ellie smiled with renewed reassurance. She knew she could count on these men with their lives and her own, nevertheless, it was good to hear it. "Now, as soon as we leave this bar we're all strangers. We go our separate ways. However, as soon as that train rolls in . . ." The whiskey in her glass sloshed as she moved her hand like a train coming into station. "We all get on as fast. And as inconspicuously as we can. Real casual like. Old Billy's got horses waitin' on us in Bunkie, ready for us as soon as we disembark. Now, I don't need to go over what happens there on the train or after we get to Bunkie do I?"

The men shook their heads and Ellie breathed in deeply tipping her hat at them and they did the same in return. "Well boys, it's gonna be one hell of a ride." To which they all clinked glasses and downed the hard whiskey. A crocked grin on each of their face.

They were ready.

The woman the traveler had been talking to seemed uncomfortable when he’d told her he’d been in town for gold. He could see she was contemplating who he was. He tried his hand at a grin.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m selling, not taking. Picked up a tidy sum of gold from a... friend and hiked here. Figured farther I went, more valuable the gold’d be. Plan on using some of it to stay at the inn, get some supplies, then maybe a train ticket. That or I’ll just follow the railroad.” Suddenly the traveler frowned.
“Say, why’d you be a target just for asking my business?”

The traveler winced slightly when the schoolteacher asked if he had a family. He decided to ignore it, and pondered the previous question. He supposed he didn’t really know where he planned to go. He could go West to California, he’d heard there was a lot of opportunities there. On second thought, there were probably also a lot of Indian tribes, and he’d learned not to mess with the Natives. He figured he’d try and give the lady a vague answer that would still satisfy her.
“Well Miz Stanton, I guess I don’t have much of a plan. I’ll probably be staying here a week or so, and then I’ll most likely hit the road again. I figure the gold I picked up should be enough for food and board and, if I’m lucky, a horse. Maybe even some rounds to protect myself. I’m sure I’ll find some boom town or gold mine and before you know it I’ll be at another town making profit. That’s usually the plan.”

The traveler grinned again.
“I’ll be sure to stop by, Miz Stanton. Hope we meet again, ma’am,” he said as he adjusted his hat back over his eyes. He walked away from the saloon and looked around for the bank. He caught the large sign and walked to the building. At the bank he was able to sell his gold for exactly as much as he hoped, and then immediately deposited all of it for the time being with the exception of a fistful of dollars, enough to pay his first night at the inn, maybe get a mule, and buy some rounds for his .45, depending on the price. Off to the side, he heard two citizens talking about the Railroad that was coming into town. It was a big locomotive, and it was a spectacle for such a small town. The traveler apologized to the two for butting in and asked where such a train’s station could be found. He followed their directions until he got to the stop.
The stop was the size of a very small ranch, with a platform next to the tracks and inside was a ticket vendor, chairs, and presumably restrooms. The traveler stood at the platform, marveling at technological advancements these days. He wasn’t going to board the train, but wanted to see it arrive and maybe ask the conductor a thing or two about steam powered machines. Suddenly, a big blonde man with a silver streak in his unkempt beard pushed by the traveler, not bothering to excuse himself but rather quickly walked into the station. The traveler leaned against the outside wall of the station and wondered what that man could possibly be in such a rush for.

The heels of Vivian's black shoes clicked against the steps as she walked downstairs, mentally preparing herself for another long, grueling day of work. She had many responsibilities to tend to within the saloon - waiting on customers, bussing tables, and, when it got later in the day, dancing for entertainment. It had taken her a long time to learn how to dance well, but she'd eventually managed. After almost ten years working in the saloon, she liked to consider herself quite good at her job.

As she rounded the corner into the main area of the saloon, she was relieved to see that it wasn't too terribly busy. There was a pair of men who'd just come down the stairs ahead of her, a small group in a corner with drinks already served, and a man engaged in conversation with the local schoolteacher. Vivian didn't know the woman's name - they were around the same age, so she'd obviously never taught Vivian as a child. Had they gone to school together? Vivian couldn't be sure. Generally, the only people whose names she took care to learn were the male regulars who tipped well. Anyone else, even people who came in all the time, was just another face to her.

Vivian strolled over to the counter, glancing around again. There didn't seem to be anybody who needed their flagon topped up just yet, so she had some time to stand around and look pretty until someone called her over for service.

A loud whistle blew, and the traveler looked and saw the massive locomotive coming from the distance. When the train slowed to a stop, many people flocked to get on and off the engine. One of the people to come out was the conductor, a stout man ringing a bell.
“Everybody on, next stop’s Rose Creek!” He shouted, waving the bell around. He came up to the traveler.
“You sir, you have a ticket” He asked. “Come to take a ride on the best railroad north of the border? South of the border, if that’s where were going sometimes!”
The traveler was amused by the man’s enthusiasm. “No, sorry sir. Just showed up here, actually. Pretty nice train isn’t it?”
He said. The man smiled.
“Why yes! They’ve been working on this train for years, yes they have! College graduates, too! You’ll never find a better, faster, stupider train!” The traveler could tell the conductor wouldn’t be stopping any time soon, and slowly slipped away as the man was caught up with himself. He needed to look around the town some more. He knew. He’d go to the big building marked GUNS.

The gun house was huge. It seemed more like one of the majors he’d been to with a hundred slaves working on the plantation. He stepped inside the building, and he saw he was only on one floor. He was surrounded by guns and ammo, and to his right was a staircase leading to the second floor where a man stood at with a rifle. The traveler sidled up to the counter where a man stood behind.
“What’re ya buyin’, stranga?” The man asked, grinning with a cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Well, I need bullets for a Colt .45. I got a few already, so I think three rounds should do fine.” He responded. The seller cackled.
“Three rounds, eh? Eighteen bullets? I’d value that at, let’s see... I’d say seventy five dollars is a fair deal, yeah?” The traveler raised his eyebrows. “What kind of price is that?” He demanded.
“A fair one,” the seller said, sidddnly sounding much angrier. “You got a problem, you can shove it.” The traveler’s hand started to go to his side when he heard a loud click. He looked up and saw the man on the top of the stairs pointing his rifle at the traveler’s head. The seller grinned.
“Now, you were buying something?”
The traveler nodded slowly and put seventy five dollars on the table, and the seller put the rounds on the table. He grinned again, and the traveler took the cigar out of the seller’s mouth and stuck it in his own, then put the rounds in his pocket. As he left the building, he heard the clerk say “We’re not going to let him get away with that!” and five seconds after he was on the street, a gun cracked and a bullet hit the ground next to his feet. He spun around and drew his gun, then fired his own Colt at the doorway. He missed, and the man with the rifle cocked the gun for another shot. The traveler sprinted to the well not far from the building and dived behind it, dropping the man’s cigar as more gunshots whizzed by him. He sat there for a minute as a rifle hit the sand around him. When the shots subsided, he heard the seller yell “And don’t come back, you sunna gun!” And a loud door slam. The traveler sat there for a second. That was close. Too close. At least now he knew why that Stanton woman had seemed so afraid.