"Keep scratching, and I won't stitch you up again if they come loose."
I was bluffing, of course. Not that she'd know. She could stand to see a doc once we reach a town, but for the moment she's conscious, with a hand reaching into her oversized shirt. Her eyes regard me with unveiled suspicion, not that I blame her. Even as I sewed her up, my eyes couldn't help straying from their task somewhat.
Her eyes looked almost orange as they reflected the flames in front of her. The setting sun had given them a honeyed glow, but that was hours ago. As she took her hand out of her shirt, I noticed her tan. And the faint scar along her ring finger. I pulled another piece of dried meat from my pack to chew on, tossing her the rest.
"You need to keep your strength up."
She didn't disagree with me, demonstrating a hearty appetite in spite of our meager provisions. I lay back, tucking my satchel behind my head as a makeshift pillow and lowered my hat over my face.
"Thank you."
The first words she spoke to me since I fell off the train. Not looking up, I gave them a dismissive wave of my hand. It wasn't as though I could have done anything else.
I lifted the brim of my hat a bit higher, glaring at the vehicle as it blared past me. Those motorized buggies irked me more than anything else, and there were a lot of them in the city. Progress, they called it. Yet they seemed to have forgotten their manners along with it.
I nodded to the hotel clerk as I entered, taking the stairs up a few floors. When I turned the key to the room, I found a curious sight behind the door. The dress she wore was a deep blue. A bit worn around the hem, and faded all around. Her hair was pinned up under a matching bonnet, and seeing a strip of flesh from above her high collar of her jacket stirred me more than the glimpse I caught under her shirt those weeks before. Then she turned around, taking her eye away from the spyglass I had set up before I wired her.
"Are you going to change your mind?" I asked her.
She shook her head, and started to push past me. I grasped her arm, more roughly than I intended, but led her back to the window. Outside and across the street was the jailhouse. And through a barred window, hatless and looking a lot cleaner was the leader of that gang on the train. He peered out into the street a moment and went back to pacing in his cell, like a caged animal.
I could feel her tense, and stilled her with a finger pressed gently to her lips. Then I pulled a bundle that was leaning against the wall and drew out the rifle. It was a small caliber, the kind that won't make much noise compared to this bustling town. The sound of the shot would be lost in the city, and I had already set the scope earlier in the day. I told her as much, and laid it onto the bed next to us.
Without another word, I turned and took a few steps towards the door. And waited in the middle of the room. I could see her in a mirror, something she was oblivious to as she lifted the rifle, working the bolt to feed a new round into the chamber. She took her place a few steps back from the window and lifted the weapon, peering through the sight and into the cell across the street.
By the rise and fall of her shoulders, I could see her breath steady and unconsciously matched my own with hers. I stopped breathing when she did. At the first sob, I exhaled and turned around, placing a hand on her shoulder as she lowered the weapon. I took it from her, laying it aside as her hands came up to her face, collecting her tears. Her cry carried with it her frustration, despair, and sorrow. A sound that echoed in my bones, and one I won't soon forget. I gave her my handkerchief, glancing at the scar along her finger as she took it.
"It's enough to see him hang." I told her. I don't know if I believed it myself, but even if she didn't, it's best if it was.
When she pushed past me and ran through the door, I had some trouble deciding wether or not to follow. By the time I made up my mind, the world went white as the sun came in through my window.
