Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 1: Clara

There are events that we plan, scheme, devise and cook up.

They push and pull us through life. They break us and put us back together again, leaving gaping cracks.

Others are chance, serendipity or divine intervention. Like the trees that grow and the flowers that bloom, these things are etched into the landscape of time, of life.

I know what brought me to the lawless land of the West, but I don't know what brought us together.

For I never saw him coming.

The sand glittered like gold in the morning sun. Particles floated on the crisp breeze, swirling and falling back to earth in a serpentine pattern. The dance was silent and beautiful.

Despite the glaring sun, the air was cold. My breath left me with a visible puff. I pulled my neckerchief up to cover my nose. It smelled of horse and sweat, but it was warm and kept the dancing sand from filling my mouth.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tried not to yawn. My whole body felt stiff and cold.

I had rolled straight out of bed and onto Lady; the idea of a necessary payday was my main motivation for being awake before dawn.

I flexed my fingers against the leather reins, bringing some life and warmth back into them.

The desert stretched to the horizon, dotted with shrubs, cacti, mesquite trees, hills and valleys of red stone. The sounds of waking critters and the howling of coyotes could be heard for miles. It was indeed a beautiful place to watch the sunrise.

Not that anyone else was enjoying the view. They were all still half asleep, chewing their tobacco or playing in the dirt like children.

Men were simple creatures.

A cloud of dust rose in the distance with the faint sound of hoofbeats.

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and adjusted my hat, my fingers unconsciously fiddling with the locket around my neck as I watched the cloud of dust approach.

Below me, Lady shifted her position and snorted at the hard bushes. I gave her a little scratch that earned me a mane toss.

Next to me, Pete spat his tobacco into the golden sand. He grinned at me when I made a face.

A glimmer came from the hills above us. A signal.

"Alright ladies, into position now, nice and easy," I cooed. "I've got a hankering for my next payday."

The boys snickered.

They all began to move quietly. The only sounds were the thudding of horses' hooves against the sand and the puffing of cold breath.

I gave Lady a little nudge and she moved slowly and gracefully down the foothill towards the track.

Lady and I crossed and slid back up the second foothill to the top of the ridge overlooking the approaching stagecoach.

I leaned back in my saddle and took in the view from my position. With the sun warming my face, I slid my Winchester rifle from its holster.

I made sure it was loaded before I dismounted Lady, led her down the other side of the ridge and tied her to the bushes behind me. She happily accepted a handful of oats from me before I climbed back up to the bank.

Lying on my stomach, I propped my rifle against a large rock. The boys on the other side of the road were well hidden, if I hadn't known where they were I wouldn't have spotted them.

Except for Hank and Faraday, who took up their positions in the middle of the road, rifles in hand, saddles adjusted.

I turned to look at the road, the covered stage had appeared in the distance. It was just as big as the old man Crishom had told us. Four fine horses pulled it and an old man drove it, his clothes hanging from his frail frame. Along the sides of the coach, I saw several trunks full of bounty.