Queen of the Cowboys

Drinking with the Devil

Panic started to take hold of Buchanan. While he had been expecting to find Burnshire eventually, he thought it would be on his terms and he would be in a better position to enact his plan.

Wresting control of his mind, emotions, and body, Buchanan took a deep breath and tried to relax, hoping the calm façade would work. He was about to speak when Jess returned from the back room, dropping the glasses she was holding and letting out an air-splitting scream.

"Shut it!" Burnshire said, slinging another gun from her holster and aiming it at Jess's face. The scream abruptly stopped as if Jess had been shot dead. She turned back to Buchanan. "Now, first round's on you."

Buchanan turned back to the counter and Burnshire took the seat that Ford previously occupied as Jess got a hold of two new glasses and started pouring. The silence between the trio was almost palpable, broken only by the sound of glass sliding on wood. After delivering their drinks, Jess stayed standing behind the counter, frozen in fear and unsure if she would be allowed to leave.

How could he have let down his guard like that? Buchanan knew he was close on Burnshire's tail and the information he learned from the townsfolk of Lanore Hills made it obvious that their home was bound to be the cowboy's next target. It made sense that Burnshire, or maybe some of her posse, would scope out the place beforehand to figure out what they would be up against. How she knew he was asking after her was beyond him. She must have eyes and ears everywhere.

"It's hard, you know," Burnshire finally broke the silence, "being the most sought after woman in the country." She downed her drink in one gulp. "The men can get awfully possessive out here. But I'm a big girl, I know how to handle myself if anyone gets any big ideas." The threat was clear.

"Yes, ma'am" Buchanan said. Buchanan clasped his hands together under the table to stop them from shaking, leaving his glass untouched and starting to sweat on the counter. "I was hoping to find you."

Her eyes narrowed. Not removing her gun from his side, Burnshire took his drink and threw it back, too. "Well, then," she said, "isn't this your lucky day. What do you want? I would stick to the truth if I were you. You don't want to know what I do to liars." She dug the gun deeper into his side as if he needed reminding of the vulnerability of his position.

He would need to be convincing.

"I've heard reports of you," he started. "Of your strength and beauty and brutality. I've been following you in the papers. The things you do, they're magnificent." She cocked the gun. Tone it down, Buchanan thought to himself.

"It's just...I don't think people understand why you do what you do and—"

"And you think you understand?" Burnshire cut in. "Tell me, what do you understand about why I do what I do? Not exactly actions that God smiles upon." She waved at the glasses in front of her and Jess took the cue, refilling them without a word. At least with one hand holding a gun at his side and one used for drinking, Burnshire wasn't holding a gun at the barmaid anymore. She seemed relieved, if still tense.

"I didn't claim to, ma'am," Buchanan said after a pause. He could feel his throat start to close up; it was getting harder to breathe. "But I noticed something in all those reports about you. The people you string up or deal your justice to are usually law officials. Not the miners and their gold, and not even the bank tellers. I think that's for a reason." He hoped this observation wasn't too far from the truth. He had considered this possibility before but was never able to fully justify it. Yet, it was the only thing he could think to say under the pressure of imminent death.

And it worked. The barrel of the gun was removed from his side, and back into Burnshire's holster.

"You still haven't explained why you were looking for me," Burnshire said. Buchanan guessed that was the closest he was going to get to her admitting he was right. Even though Burnshire was facing forward, he still felt the scrutiny of her gaze, hidden somewhere under her cowboy hat and mane of hair. He didn't normally go for redheads, but duty called.

He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves enough to hide the lie that would be sure to show on his face. His leg started bouncing. "I admire your work. I admire you. And, if you'll have me, I'd like to join your gang. I've heard stories of the number of men at your command before, but I was hoping you would have room for one more."

When she didn't immediately respond, Buchanan started on his refilled glass. Deep breaths could only go so far in calming one's nerves, and it gave him something to do with hishands.  Burnshire mirrored his movements, downing her third drink before turning to face him head-on.

Now that he saw Burnshire face to face, she really was quite beautiful. Her eyes were dark, hard, and smart, her face an unreadable mask. The freckles he noticed earlier extended from her heart-shaped face to her neck, disappearing below her collar. Unlike Ford's cleaned-up look, it was clear that Burnshire spent a lot of time on her horse, traveling the plains. Mud caked her boots and dirt covered the rest of her clothes. Buchanan might just be able to enjoy this self-assigned mission, besides the obvious rewards at the end of it.

Finally, she spoke. "All right. But you have to prove that yourself first. The gang runs on loyalty, I can't have any traitors under my nose." With that, she pulled a gun out of her holster and placed it on the bar counter. It made a hollow thunk in the silence, three pairs of eyes glued to the shiny metal.

"Lanore Hills is my next target, as I'm sure you guessed if you've really been keeping track of my work. You're going to kill the mayor so we can take the town without bloodshed." Buchanan thought to point out that killing the mayor would require spilling blood, but he valued his life too much to say anything. "My camp is set up about two miles north of here. Once you finish the job, ride out there and we'll take the town."

She laid out the plan so matter-of-factly that Buchanan almost believed it would work. The only issue was that it relied on him murdering a man in cold blood when he'd never killed before. Sure, deer and squirrels and critters like that, but not a person. Even his plan to get the reward money for Burnshire didn't require murder, just wooing her into a jail cell.

Realizing he'd been silent for too long, with both Jess's and Burnshire's eyes on him, he set his jaw and nodded his head. "I won't let you down, ma'am." He reached for the gun, but Burnshire stopped him when he gripped the handle.

"See to it that you don't," she said. Before she could pull her hand away, Buchanan grabbed it, pulling it up to his mouth and gently kissing her fingers.

"I'll see you by nightfall with the news," he said. He stood up and put the gun in the waistband of his pants as his holster was already holding his own gun. Buchanan about reached the door, floorboards creaking, when Burnshire spoke again.

"I never did catch your name, stranger," she said. She had turned fully around in her seat, facing him while leaning back on the counter. The light outside lit up her hair, making it look as if her head was on fire. It also caught on several rings on her fingers that he didn't notice before. With a sinking feeling, Buchanan knew they were the wedding bands of the men she'd killed.

Tipping his hat he said, "Buchanan Oliver Thompson, ma'am."

She nodded once and turned back to the bar. "Another one," she told Jess.

"Yes, ma'am," Jess said.