by David Orange
“The Clantons and their allies are either dead or scattered. They are not the only
ones. The Earp brothers are all dead as well. Gunned down by a stranger as evil as
he is powerful.” Xiong “Wendy” Cheng paused as she surveyed the townspeople
assembled in the town square of Tombstone, Arizona. She staggered as the full
weight of the past day finally sunk in. Bracing herself on the awning’s support, she
took a deep breath and leaned on her shotgun to steady herself. Thus composed, she
resumed her address. “Danger still lurks within Tombstone. The Earps’ legacy of
unwavering commitment to the rule of Law remains, uniting us good citizens of
Tombstone with common purpose.”
“And who is going to lead this sorry lot? You, little Missy?” A lanky, disheveled man
staggered forward. “What about justice for my friend Indian Charlie? What you think
the Earps finished is only the beginning!”
Wendy held her gaze steady as she looked the speaker over. His clothes were
rumpled, but otherwise unsoiled and lacking the holes and patches of a working
ranch hand. She tilted her head ever so slightly to her left and saw exactly what she
expected. The top of a fringed red sash protruded from the man’s back right pocket.
“Cowboy,” thought Wendy. As she continued to size the man up, the memory of a
heavyset lawman intruded into her thoughts.
Deputy John Templeton, a brute of a man whose loutish arrogance fueled Gomorra’s
tensions into hate-filled warfare between the Black Jacks and the Law Dogs. Both
were bullies, Wendy realized, but ultimately cowards. Both hid behind a fearsome
symbol – a tin star for Templeton, and now a crimson sash for the Cowboy. A
cacophony of voices brought Wendy back to present day Arizona Territory.
“You tell ‘er Pete,” someone called out.
“Yeah Spence! Show her who still bosses this town,” another shouted.
The crowd, sensing imminent gunplay, parted to either side.
Thus emboldened, Pete Spence took another step towards Wendy.
She shifted her weight a little as her shotgun roared, sending pellets flying near
Pete’s left leg. The Cowboy flinched as he dodged aside. Wendy’s follow up shot
similarly pock-marked the ground to the Cowboy’s right. He yelped as one of the
pellets ricocheted upward, grazing his leg. Off balance, he sprawled forward.
She watched as one leg at a time, Spence lurched back to his feet. The Cowboy still
had more to say. “You think you’re a brave lass, hiding behind that tin star, do you?”
Her gaze never wavered. “This badge is a debt that is only repaid in flesh, blood, and
spirit.” She shuddered as she recalled a bony hand plucking a similar badge from her
dear friend Lucy’s still chest. “When it comes time, I will pay that debt. But you are
not the one who will cash it in.”
“Yeah, lil’ Missy? What happens when you don’t have shells in that piece o’ yours?
You gotta reload you know.”
“My name is Wendy Cheng. MISS Cheng to you.” Wendy blasted another pair of shots
between the Cowboy’s legs. Holding out her palm she revealed two more shells,
which she calmly inserted into the gun’s chambers.
Wendy leveled the shotgun at Spence’s gut. “Drag yourself out of town, Cowboy.” A
contemptuous sneer accented the last word.
Wendy had a foreboding, however, that this encounter would not end well. It never
did. Bullies always had to have the last word.
“Well, Missy Wendy, as you wish.” Spence chuckled at his attempt at wordplay. The
assembled crowd parted with nervous whispers as the Cowboy sauntered off.
Except Wendy noticed that Spence’s hand never wavered above a pearl handled
revolver perched in a low-slung leather holster.
She waited…
And there it was.
The telltale move for the gun.
It was a simple reach, nowhere near the blazing fast draws she had witnessed back
in Gomorra’s bloodstained town square. Then again, bullies never cared about being
fast, relying instead on fear and intimidation to do the dirty work for them.
“I’ve fired four shots at him and he still stands. He probably thinks I’m too scared to
kill,” she thought.
Both barrels belched and flamed, but this time the pellets shredded the Cowboy
where he stood.
The weary townspeople knew the drill. Two men stepped forward and picked up the
still bleeding corpse, tossing it into a nearby buckboard. Another man stepped out of
the crowd and mounted the driver’s seat. With a flick of the reins and a ‘gee-haw,’ he
started the wagon down the path towards boot hill. The rest of the assembled
townsfolk reformed a semi-circle around Wendy.
“A stranger as evil as he is powerful.”
Looking back around the town square, Wendy remembered where she was and why
she was addressing Tombstone’s citizenry in the first place. “That dead Cowboy and
his ilk, they are the face of evil. But the true darkness that threatens Tombstone still
surrounds us.” She pointed with her shotgun towards the receding wagon. “He was
right. This is just the beginning of a dangerous time.”
Her gaze swept across the crowded town square. “But know this and know it well.
I’ve spent too long hiding and longing to return to a town that was no longer mine.
Now I’ve found my home. I no longer look west or east with the longing of an exile.
Instead, I look to you, my fellow townsfolk and citizens. They say that Tombstone is
too tough to die. Well I say to you, that Tombstone is strong enough to live!”