by Liliana Hart
“Hank, I don’t know what in the Sam Hill you’re talking about,” James said. “You’re talking crazy. I think you better lay back down until Doc can get here.”
Hank had had enough of this prank. Maybe the guys rushed down to San Antonio when they heard he was in the hospital, but it was time to get some facts and fresh air, preferably the latter first.
Hank’s vision was blurred, and he’d had enough concussions in his lifetime to know he had a doozy. Flies buzzed around his head, and he swiped at them with his clean hand.
“Someone tell me what’s going on,” he said, anger making his voice louder than normal. Something he instantly regretted.
“You took a hard blow to the head,” James said. “You’ve been out cold for some time.”
“The cork hit me,” he insisted.
“Bessie got a good lick in,” James said. “You know how ornery she can be. Mean as the devil.”
“Is Bessie a cork?” he asked, confused
James stared at him for a few seconds, clearly unsure how to proceed. “Bessie’s a horse, ya daft man. You ride one every day.”
Hank felt like his brains were scrambled eggs. “You mean I ride a HOG every day,” he said, thinking of his motorcycle.
James roared with laughter, sending spikes of pain through Hank’s head. “If that don’t beat all. You’d be the talk of the town riding through on a pig.”
“Not a pig,” Hank growled. “A HOG. A Harley Davidson motorcycle. My HOG.”
“Boss, you ain’t got no hog. Jed Blue is the only pig man in these parts. You’re crazy as a loon.”
Hank decided it best to change the direction of the conversation. They weren’t getting anywhere, and he still didn’t have a clue what was going on.
“Where am I?”
“You’re on Main Street,” James said, speaking slowly. “In the livery stable. You’ve been here a million times.”
How in the world had he gone from proposing marriage to Agatha to laying in horse manure in a time that was clearly meant to look like the old west? Maybe it was all a horrible dream. Or maybe everyone had gotten together to play an elaborate prank on him.
“When did y’all get to San Antonio?” Hank asked.
“When you sent for us,” James said.
“And when was that?”
“About two years ago. You sent me a telegram and asked me to come work for you.”
“A telegram?” Hank’s voice trembled.
“Yep,” James beamed with pride.
“Is this a dream?”
“Seems like a nightmare, boss, but who knows, you might enjoy laying in the middle of all this manure. I’d prefer to get up if it’s all the same to you.”
Hank hesitated, but knew he needed to ask a very important question. “What day is it?”
“February fourteenth.”
“And the year?” he asked.
“Eighteen seventy-four.”
Hank collapsed back onto the dusty ground, his head swimming and his breath coming in short gasps.
“Hey, Marshal Davidson. You okay?” asked an unfamiliar voice.
Had he passed out? He didn’t have time to think before his head was dunked under water. He sputtered and tried to breathe, and he was dunked once more.
“He’s comin’ around,” James said. “Looks mad as a hornet.”
Whoever’d had him by the scruff of the neck let go, and Hank went face first into the trough. He came up gasping, his head still throbbing, and hair dripping in his face. He rinsed his hands off while he was down there, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He finally pushed himself up and scanned the faces around him, familiar, but unfamiliar.
“Welcome back,” said the old man. His bi-focal specs rested at the very tip of a slender, red nose, and Hank could only guess this was the Doc. “You all right, son?”
“No, I don’t think I am,” Hank said. His left eye was finally starting to open, and he looked at his surroundings. His mind couldn’t reconcile what his eyes saw, but he was a trained investigator who dealt in fact. The facts, as he could process them, were that nothing made sense.
He was wearing a denim shirt and a brown leather vest, and his pants were also denim, but were cut differently than anything he’d seen before. His boots were dusty, and he wore spurs. He ran his hand over the leather of his vest, and he rested his fingers on the silver star pinned there. He was a marshal.
“When did I become a marshal?” He asked.
The men all looked at each other, but it was Springer who answered. “You was hired as marshal about two years ago. That’s when you sent them telegrams for me and James to come and help you straighten out this lawless town.”
Hank’s mind began to clear, and he tried to stitch together the facts as he knew them. He knew that on Valentine’s Day he’d taken a blow to the head from a champagne bottle’s cork while proposing to Agatha. He knew he’d woken up in the year 1874 and though the players were the same, things were very different.
He clearly had some type of head trauma, and panicking would only make things worse. The logical thing to do was to play out the scenario until his brain could catch up with reality.
“I’m fine,” Hank said. “Just a little addled.”
The men nodded and Springer held out a well-crafted leather gun belt that held two pistols and a cartridge belt filled with bullets that crossed over his chest. “You might want this, Boss.”
“Right,” Hank said, strapping on the belt with shaking hands.
There was a sudden commotion from behind and what sounded like a thundering herd heading in their direction. The ground shook, and dust exploded with every stamp of hooves. Hank stared in wide-eyed surprise. It looked so real.
“Take cover,” James yelled.
Wood exploded off the hitching post and several shards struck Hank in the neck and face. The smell of blood and the warmth as it trickled down his cheek and the scruff of his beard shot him into action.
He dropped to the ground and rolled behind the trough for cover, pulling his weapon from the holster as if it were second nature. Bullets were flying everywhere, and self-preservation mode kicked in and he returned fire. The Colt .44 packed a punch.
“Someone get Doc inside,” Hank yelled, thinking the old man was a sitting duck.
“Got ‘em,” Springer yelled.
“I’m taking the high ground,” James called out. “I’ll cover you.”
The bandits stopped at the end of Main Street. Hank didn’t see if any of them were thrown from their steeds, but he doubted that they were expecting such an immediate response to their charge.
“Who are they?” Hank asked.
“That’s the Copper Cove Boys,” Springer whispered.
Hank froze. Even in an alternate reality the Copper Cove Boys haunted him.
“I don’t see Dillon McIrish,” Hank said, speaking of the gang’s leader.
“Ranger Coil is transporting McIrish to the military outpost around Austin for safekeeping until his trial.”
Another round of gunfire erupted, but the gang had split up so they could surround their targets. Hank realized that he was the target. He was a marshal after all. He heard the sound of a rifle firing overhead as James laid down cover for them to return fire.
Hank ripped two shots back in the direction of where the bullets were coming. He fired more into the sky than at anyone. He wasn’t sure where there were innocent bystanders. They were in the middle of town after all.
“James,” Hank said.
“Yeah, boss?”
“On the count of three I want you to lay down cover fire to the south and east. We need to get somewhere with better protection. We’ll end up trapped here if we stay.”
“Okay, but we got bad news,” James said.
“Worse than being surrounded by a band of outlaws?” Hank asked.
“Dillon McIrish is leading the pack.”
Hank’s heart stopped in his chest. “Yeah, that is worse.”
The Sharps Buffalo Rifle ripped a round that screamed straight down Main Street. The echo reverberated off the saloon, the jail, the bank, and the church, but the most damage was done to whatever or whomever the .50 caliber bullet made contact with.
“Enough,” Agatha Harley shouted, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Y’all get out of this town right now.”
The long-range rifle had been a gift, and she’d found she had a talent for shooting. She reached into her pants pocket for another bullet and slipped the round into the chamber. Her hope was that the warning shot would’ve been enough to run them off, but in the event they’d come for a real battle, she was ready. Besides, that was her man pinned down behind the water trough.
Her fury got the better of her and she didn’t bother taking cover. Agatha almost dared the Copper Cove Boys to take aim at her. Sure, she was the only woman in town crazy enough to wear denims, but there was no mistaking her for one of the boys.
Agatha had moved down to San Antonio a few years earlier to work for the paper as an investigative reporter. She’d found that as a woman, people wouldn’t mind what they said in front of her, thinking her brain was full of fluff, but she had a reputation as determined, like a dog gnawing a bone, and she wouldn’t rest until she had the whole story.
And the Copper Cove Boys were news. They’d been terrorizing the area, so businesses and families alike were afraid of what each day might hold. It had been her that had exposed each member of the gang, hoping the news would spread from town to town and someone might take a lucky shot at them. It had painted a target on her back, but she didn’t care. The people who moved here deserved to live their lives in peace.
“One day I’m going to have enough of you, Agatha Harley,” Dillon McIrish yelled. His words echoed down the deserted street.
What was he doing back in town? Coil was supposed to be escorting him to Austin for trial.
Agatha aimed in the direction of McIrish’s voice, and she braced herself as she pulled the trigger. Her vision blurred with the concussion of the primer striking. It created a deafening sound as another monster size projectile hurled down Main Street and in the direction where she assumed McIrish would be.
Agatha watched with satisfaction as dust plumed into the air and their horses took off out of town. She dropped to one knee and quickly worked to prep the weapon for another round if needed. She’d run into these bad guys before and didn’t trust any of them. It wouldn’t have been a surprise had they tried to circle back behind her.
She waited several minutes before she shouldered the rifle and sprinted toward the livery.
“Hank,” Agatha called out. “Hank, you okay?”
She noticed James climbing down from atop the barn. He had an intense grin as he started heading their way too. Agatha’s heart pounded once she neared their hiding place and didn’t see anyone moving.
“Hank?”
“Over here, Aggie,” Hank said. “We had to get Doc out of the line of fire.”
She and James hurried into the stable. Hank and Springer had Doc Sutherland propped up on a few bails of hay.
“Doc,” she said, worry in her voice. “What happened?”
Hank caught her in a hug, and she noticed the goose egg on his forehead, but he seemed to be fine.
“What happened to Doc?” she asked. “Was he shot?”
“I’m okay,” Doc said, gasping for air. “These boys carried me when I fell trying to escape the gunfight. I’m too old for this stuff.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry about me. It’s Ranger Coil we should be worried about.”
“You’re right,” James said. “Coil would never let a man escape unless he was unable to stop him.”
That was a sobering thought and she shook her head. “No,” she said. “I won’t believe Coil is dead. We need to find him.”
Hank’s face looked grim.
“We need to get Doc home,” James said. “Before his wife hears what happened. She’ll be worried sick. Springer and I will take him.”
“Good idea,” Hank said. He reached down and grabbed his Stetson off the dusty floor and slapped it against his thigh. Then he walked right out of the back of the livery, leaving Agatha behind.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said, running after him. She called his name, and he stopped but didn’t turn back to face her. He stared out at the wide open space, his hand resting comfortably on his pistol.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“You gotta stop calling me that in public,” he said.
She just grinned. “You and I both know you love it. Tell me what’s going on.”
“If Coil is dead, it’s my fault,” Hank said. “I had a chance to put McIrish behind bars before I left Philadelphia to come south. He’d killed two people in a bank robbery, but politics changed my investigation and he got away.”
“That isn’t your fault,” she assured him. “That’s on those folks back east. And if we’re using your logic, then I’m responsible too. I’m the one who started writing those newspaper articles about him terrorizing the county. It’s thanks to the circulation that things have escalated.”
“I guess we got a duty to Coil,” Hank said, reaching for her hand and pulled her close. “We either have to rescue him or avenge him.”
Agatha looked deep into Hank’s hard brown eyes. The man had seen so much in his career as a top-notch lawman. She saw determination and loyalty that would stop at nothing to save him. It was all of those things that had attracted her to Hank when he first arrived in town. But it was the tenderness of his heart that led her to love him.
“I’m with you, no matter what,” Agatha said. “I should’ve aimed higher with old Annie,” she said, patting her rifle.
Her newspaper business had done well since the Copper Cove Boys’ reign of terror. People were as fascinated by them as they were terrified. Some accused her of profiteering off their crimes, but she and Hank both knew that was a load of bull. The only chance of drawing attention to the gang in the isolated west was to get the attention of fat cat lawmakers in the east. In a way, Agatha knew that it was her paper that had turned the law onto them, but she’d also immortalized them as infamous bandits in a lawless Wild West.
“Aggie, that rifle is going to get you into a mess of trouble,” Hank said.
She shrugged. “I don’t care. Those boys tried burning down my print shop after McIrish was arrested by the Texas Rangers. I shot the torch right out of one of the bandit’s hands before he could set it ablaze.”
Hank rolled his eyes. “I know, Aggie. I was right there with you.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, grinning. “You did good too.”
Hank squeezed her hand. “Can I ask you something? It might sound crazy.”
“Sure, baby.”
“Are we engaged to be married?”
“You must’ve taken a lick to that rock-hard head of yours,” she said. “No, we aren’t engaged.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking confused and embarrassed.
She decided she might as well tell him the truth. “Honestly, I’ve got no idea what you’ve been waiting for.”
Maybe she should ask him to marry her. Folks in San Antonio thought she was half crazy anyway. She wore trousers, lived alone, and mostly did what, and went where, she wanted. Her independence was fierce, but it had never bothered Hank.
“Actually,” he said. “I really thought we’d gotten engaged, but I guess Bessie did more damage when she kicked me in the head than I thought.”
“So that’s what happened?” she asked, looking at the knot.
“Yeah, among other things.”
“Since we’re on the topic of marriage,” she said, steamrolling ahead. “Whaddaya say we do this?”
“Are you proposing to me?” Hank asked, his face going pale.
“Yes,” she blurted out. “Yes I am.”
“Well, that’s a sure surprise,” he said. He was just opening his mouth to answer when they
were interrupted.
“Marshal,” yelled Deputy James. “Marshal, come quick. It’s Ranger Coil.”
Agatha spun around to see James approaching full speed on his palomino horse. Her knees weakened in fear, as he jerked the reins to a hard stop.
“What’s the news on Coil?” Hank pressed.
“His horse turned up at his ranch,” James explained. “His wife knew something was wrong, so she rode into town on it to get help.”
“Shelly’s at the jail?” Agatha asked. “Is anyone with her?”
“Yes, ma’am. We were halfway to getting Doc home when we intercepted her, so we all came back to town.”
“Is she alright?” Hank asked.
“It don’t look good, boss. I’m not sure if Shelly noticed or not, but the side of Coil’s horse saddle is covered in blood. It looks fresh.”
“If it’s still fresh,” she said, “Then maybe it means he was recently wounded, so there’s a chance of finding him alive.”
“Good point,” Hank said with a nod. “Let’s head over to the jail and have a closer look.”
“Marshal, I’d be glad to give y’all my Bessie to ride back, and I’ll walk to the jail,” James offered.
Hank stumbled back a step. “I’ve had enough contact with old Bessie for the moment.” He rubbed the baseball-sized lump on his forehead and his eyes began to water again at the memory of that old horse kicking him in the head.
“Fair enough,” James said. “But maybe Miss Agatha wants to ride.”
“I wish I had my Jeep to take me back to the jail,” Agatha said, thinking of the long trip.
“What did you say?” Hank asked
“You know,” she said, confused. “Jeep. My horse.” Hank must’ve really been addled to not remember Jeep.
“Right,” he said.
Agatha thanked James but waved him on, deciding it was better to hitch up a wagon. It was then she remembered Hank hadn’t answered her about the marriage proposal.
Chapter Four
Hank stashed his rifle before jumping out of the wagon to wrap the leather strap from the horse’s reigns around the hitching post. He offered a hand to Agatha, but she waved him off and hopped over the side.