mark sessnatz
Tribune
Scary times, everyone. For a little escape, let's saddle up and ride on back to the Old West, for a rollicking adventure with the feisty gunslinger Lyla LaCroix, as a scuffle with an old enemy turns nasty. YeeeeeHaw! 
* * *
The scorching desert sun glinted off the barrel of my gun as my gang and I halted our broncos, surrounding the girl. She’d drawn her piece as well and aimed it steady at the bridge of my nose, but I smiled.
“Five against one, Miss LaCroix,” I called across the twenty yards of dust that separated us. “You’re good, but you ain’t that good!”
Lyla LaCroix tossed back her copper-orange hair and fixed me in her bright green gaze. Her finger stayed steady on the trigger.
“Three years since I last tangled with your mangy ass, Pig Barton,” she called back. “You ain’t got a clue how good I am.” My men snickered at her remark. So much for loyalty. I forcefully swallowed my temper. There’d be time enough for that later. This was business.
“All I know,” I told her, “is that you’re worth a thousand dollars alive to the US Marshals, and I intend to claim it. This here, Miss LaCroix, is what you might call a citizen’s arrest.” A flicker of surprise twitched her cute little button nose. God Almighty. All this time and I was still obsessed.
“Since when are you workin’ with the Feds, Piggy?” the girl sneered. “They got more’n enough reason to haul you in!”
I sat proudly upright on my mount.
“You been outta the loop, Lyla. The winds are changin’. There’s more money in catchin’ crooks than in bein’ one these days. The boys and I,” I gestured to my four colleagues. “We gone straight ‘round about a year ago now.”
“You’re a bunch of lowlife traitors and snitches,” Lyla spat.
“Auxiliary law enforcement,” I corrected. “Now, you gonna come quietly?” I knew the answer of course.
Lyla flushed at my condescension. Without pausing to say anything, she lowered her six-shooter a span and popped a round into the dirt at my horse’s feet. It was a warning shot, but the noise and the shockwave startled the beast, sending him rearing backward and myself almost flying. I tugged the reins and yelled, which settled him down, but I still lost my hat in the commotion. My chest tightened, and my hand shook with rage as I recovered my aim.
“That your final answer?” I demanded.
“I don’t need to answer to you,” she snapped back. She still had a temper as fiery as her hair. It was one of the things that drove me wild about her. Soon, I’d finally get to break her spirit.
Brave but foolish, she readied her mustang to make her getaway. Quickly, I signaled to Boris behind her on the right, and without missing a beat, he fired, the shot catching her on the side of the leg. She cried out in shock and pain and her aim faltered. It was a glancing blow, probably would leave little more than a scrape but it did what her shot couldn’t. Her horse went wild, reared up in a frenzy and bolted for the hills, tossing Lyla like a rag-doll onto the hard-baked ground.
“Hyahh!” I roared, snapping my reins. The five of us galloped inwards, closing the circle, trapping our comely quarry. She scrambled to her feet, and tried to fix us in her sights, but she was winded and disoriented, and the dust was in her eyes. She fired two more ineffectual shots into the sky before Tiny Tim rode up behind her and coshed her hard between the shoulder blades with the butt of his Smith and Wesson. She grunted as the wind was knocked out of her and fell to her knees in a daze, her gun slipping out of her hand. Before she could recover, Tim and Boris rushed in and grabbed her. The bulky Boris pinned her arms behind her while Tim took a length of rope and began binding her wrists.
I halted and jumped down out of my saddle. I took a moment to brush off my black suit and to retrieve my hat from the dirt a few yards away. I had dreamed of this moment for years, and I wanted to make sure I looked picture-perfect. I swaggered over and squatted down to face Lyla straight-on, relishing the fearsome glint in her green eyes and the animal snarl that contorted her upper lip. I reached down and picked her gun up from the dirt. It was as sturdy and glamorous as its owner, polished silver, with a mother-of-pearl handgrip. I opened the chamber and dumped the ammo onto the ground, then tucked the pistol into my coat pocket.
“I want you to know,” I said in a low voice, speaking only to the girl, “that this isn’t just business for me.”
I licked my thumb and rubbed it on her soft cheek, smearing the coating of dirt away from her freckled skin.
“I take a personal satisfaction in being the one to bring you in.”
Lyla’s nostrils flared, then she suddenly lunged forward and, like a frightened dog, bit down into my hand. I cursed sharply and recoiled.
“Burn in hell, you fat swine,” she hissed at me.
I leaned back in and retaliated with a full-force backhand across her face. I. Would. Not. Be. Humiliated.
Tiny Tim tugged on the ropes, reining her in.
“Looks like she needs a lil’ breakin in, huh, Piggy?” he chuckled.
“I do think you may be right,” I said. I grabbed Lyla by the chin and forced her still-smarting face up to look at mine.
“You’re gonna live to regret that, Miss LaCroix. If you live at all.”
I straightened up, turned on my heel, and strode back to re-mount my horse, gesturing to the boys to do the same. Tim, hauled Lyla forcefully to her feet and tied his end of the rope securely to the saddle-horn.
“Back to town, boss?” asked Boris.
“Not just yet,” I said. “We’ve got a score to settle with our old friend here.”
With me leading the way, we began our ride toward civilization. Still on her feet, half-walking, half-dragged behind Tiny Tim, the infamous outlaw Lyla LaCroix brought up the rear.
TBC
* * *
The scorching desert sun glinted off the barrel of my gun as my gang and I halted our broncos, surrounding the girl. She’d drawn her piece as well and aimed it steady at the bridge of my nose, but I smiled.
“Five against one, Miss LaCroix,” I called across the twenty yards of dust that separated us. “You’re good, but you ain’t that good!”
Lyla LaCroix tossed back her copper-orange hair and fixed me in her bright green gaze. Her finger stayed steady on the trigger.
“Three years since I last tangled with your mangy ass, Pig Barton,” she called back. “You ain’t got a clue how good I am.” My men snickered at her remark. So much for loyalty. I forcefully swallowed my temper. There’d be time enough for that later. This was business.
“All I know,” I told her, “is that you’re worth a thousand dollars alive to the US Marshals, and I intend to claim it. This here, Miss LaCroix, is what you might call a citizen’s arrest.” A flicker of surprise twitched her cute little button nose. God Almighty. All this time and I was still obsessed.
“Since when are you workin’ with the Feds, Piggy?” the girl sneered. “They got more’n enough reason to haul you in!”
I sat proudly upright on my mount.
“You been outta the loop, Lyla. The winds are changin’. There’s more money in catchin’ crooks than in bein’ one these days. The boys and I,” I gestured to my four colleagues. “We gone straight ‘round about a year ago now.”
“You’re a bunch of lowlife traitors and snitches,” Lyla spat.
“Auxiliary law enforcement,” I corrected. “Now, you gonna come quietly?” I knew the answer of course.
Lyla flushed at my condescension. Without pausing to say anything, she lowered her six-shooter a span and popped a round into the dirt at my horse’s feet. It was a warning shot, but the noise and the shockwave startled the beast, sending him rearing backward and myself almost flying. I tugged the reins and yelled, which settled him down, but I still lost my hat in the commotion. My chest tightened, and my hand shook with rage as I recovered my aim.
“That your final answer?” I demanded.
“I don’t need to answer to you,” she snapped back. She still had a temper as fiery as her hair. It was one of the things that drove me wild about her. Soon, I’d finally get to break her spirit.
Brave but foolish, she readied her mustang to make her getaway. Quickly, I signaled to Boris behind her on the right, and without missing a beat, he fired, the shot catching her on the side of the leg. She cried out in shock and pain and her aim faltered. It was a glancing blow, probably would leave little more than a scrape but it did what her shot couldn’t. Her horse went wild, reared up in a frenzy and bolted for the hills, tossing Lyla like a rag-doll onto the hard-baked ground.
“Hyahh!” I roared, snapping my reins. The five of us galloped inwards, closing the circle, trapping our comely quarry. She scrambled to her feet, and tried to fix us in her sights, but she was winded and disoriented, and the dust was in her eyes. She fired two more ineffectual shots into the sky before Tiny Tim rode up behind her and coshed her hard between the shoulder blades with the butt of his Smith and Wesson. She grunted as the wind was knocked out of her and fell to her knees in a daze, her gun slipping out of her hand. Before she could recover, Tim and Boris rushed in and grabbed her. The bulky Boris pinned her arms behind her while Tim took a length of rope and began binding her wrists.
I halted and jumped down out of my saddle. I took a moment to brush off my black suit and to retrieve my hat from the dirt a few yards away. I had dreamed of this moment for years, and I wanted to make sure I looked picture-perfect. I swaggered over and squatted down to face Lyla straight-on, relishing the fearsome glint in her green eyes and the animal snarl that contorted her upper lip. I reached down and picked her gun up from the dirt. It was as sturdy and glamorous as its owner, polished silver, with a mother-of-pearl handgrip. I opened the chamber and dumped the ammo onto the ground, then tucked the pistol into my coat pocket.
“I want you to know,” I said in a low voice, speaking only to the girl, “that this isn’t just business for me.”
I licked my thumb and rubbed it on her soft cheek, smearing the coating of dirt away from her freckled skin.
“I take a personal satisfaction in being the one to bring you in.”
Lyla’s nostrils flared, then she suddenly lunged forward and, like a frightened dog, bit down into my hand. I cursed sharply and recoiled.
“Burn in hell, you fat swine,” she hissed at me.
I leaned back in and retaliated with a full-force backhand across her face. I. Would. Not. Be. Humiliated.
Tiny Tim tugged on the ropes, reining her in.
“Looks like she needs a lil’ breakin in, huh, Piggy?” he chuckled.
“I do think you may be right,” I said. I grabbed Lyla by the chin and forced her still-smarting face up to look at mine.
“You’re gonna live to regret that, Miss LaCroix. If you live at all.”
I straightened up, turned on my heel, and strode back to re-mount my horse, gesturing to the boys to do the same. Tim, hauled Lyla forcefully to her feet and tied his end of the rope securely to the saddle-horn.
“Back to town, boss?” asked Boris.
“Not just yet,” I said. “We’ve got a score to settle with our old friend here.”
With me leading the way, we began our ride toward civilization. Still on her feet, half-walking, half-dragged behind Tiny Tim, the infamous outlaw Lyla LaCroix brought up the rear.
TBC
