by David Orange
The Peaceful Life of Jessica Patchett
by David Orange
The afternoon sun scorched the rounded outcrops of the Black Hills. The tedium of fence repair had settled into a peaceful rhythm. Ranch labor was a small price to pay for starting a quiet life far away from the blazing gunfights of Gomorra, California.
“Stop! Jessica Patchett, in the name of the Law, raise your hands.”
Startled, she half-turned and saw a tall, dark man in a duster striding through the corral’s wooden gate. An encircled star glinted in the harsh sunlight and he gripped a pistol. A stocky man clambered over the fence.
“Since when is homesteading a crime?” she asked.
“I am United States Marshal Bass Reeves and this is Deputy Stan Fredericks of Deadwood, South Dakota. Again, the Law commands your surrender.”
* * *
High above the corral, the sun stopped and rendered impartial judgement. For Bass, time always slowed during a gunfight. Yet he had never seen such a quicksilver smooth draw in a man, let alone from the tall, rawboned woman drawwing a .44 caliber Colt Peacemaker. Something appeared awry as Bass realized that the woman gazed not only at him and Stan, but also towards his left of the corral. The Peacemaker roared, belching flame, followed by a lizard flying off its perch atop strewn fence rails. Bass realized that the bullet had not hit the lizard. Barking, aim just under the target to stun, he thought. Before Bass could bring his pistol to bear, the Peacemaker fired again, cleaving the lizard’s head while the rest of the body whirled like an autogyro’s blade. The woman then trained her gun upon Bass. With two bullets apiece left for him and Stan, Bass knew that shooting Jessica would be at best, pyrrhic.
Bass knew that Deadwood was a place where even the smallest actions could lead to conflict. The woman could have shot them both, but he had seen enough to realize that she carried a Taint. Shooting the lizard and not the men was the part of an inner struggle to cleanse whatever past blighted her Soul.
“You have killed, but you are not a killer,” he said.
The woman pointed her gun downward, but remained impassive.
“No matter your past, you either stand with Law, or you oppose it.”
“The Law has never served me well,” replied Jessica.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Deputy Fredericks draw his pistol. As the gun cleared, she fired, a bullet shattering the wooden butt. Fredericks yowled in pain as splinters pierced his hand, his gun spinning to the ground.
Peacemaker still leveled, Jessica addressed the deputy. “One more chance than you deserve. You will not get a second one.”
Jessica realized that Marshal Reeves differed from the thuggish Fredericks, hiding cowardice behind a metal badge. Reeves’ eyes, in contrast, exuded a weariness that had seen more than their share of injustice in a harsh world.
She looked Reeves square in the eye. “I never have, and never will serve the Law. But I will not oppose or stand against you. For now.”
“Then I will not arrest you. For now,” replied the Marshal. “Have a peaceful life, Jessica Patchett.”
“For now,” said Jessica.
Bass gave a slight nod. “For now.” He motioned for Deputy Fredericks to follow him out of the corral.