Calamity Jane

Chapter One

Of all the outlaws in the west, you'd think there might be some sort of guide to robbing or gunslinging.

"Benny, I don't think this is a good idea. We shouldn't be going into any towns this soon," Dennison muttered, pulling his hat low over his face, as if the wide brim could hide his nerves.

"Yeah, Ben. I'm still kinda nervous," Charles added, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes scanned the horizon.

Bennet growled, "It was two states away, and we've been riding for weeks. We can't be paranoid forever." His tone left no room for argument, but neither Dennison nor Charles seemed convinced.

Dennison sighed, his grip tightening on the reins as they passed the weathered sign that marked their entrance into Asten, Wyoming. It was a town that could hardly claim more than a population of fifty, a small dot on the map in Albany County. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, glancing over at Bennet. They had been on the run for over two weeks now, escaping from a botched bank robbery in Kansas. The money they had stolen—just over $4,000—was stuffed in every available nook and cranny: bags, boots, even the lining of their coats. No matter how tightly they clenched their jaws and rode with straight backs, the fear of being caught lingered like a shadow over their shoulders.

"Can't help but feel like we're being watched," Charles murmured, his hands shaking slightly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The long ride had been brutal, and the horses were showing signs of exhaustion. The once-flat plains had given way to the rolling, rocky hills of Wyoming, making the final leg of their journey more grueling than expected.

"You boys stay out here," Bennet said, his voice softening only slightly as he dismounted his horse and tied it to the hitching post outside the town's lone saloon. "I'll see if they have any vacancies."

Dennison and Charles exchanged a look, both too tired to argue. Bennet always took charge; it was in his nature. Ever since the three of them had joined forces, he had naturally assumed the role of the leader. Dennison and Charles had learned to accept it—most of the time, it worked in their favor.

They watched as Bennet disappeared through the saloon doors. The building was a faded relic of better days, the wood creaking with every gust of wind. The paint had long since peeled away, leaving the structure with a gray, weathered look. The horses fidgeted restlessly behind them, their hooves clacking against the dirt-packed road.

"I'm tellin' you, Dennis, this ain't gonna work," Charles whispered, leaning in closer. "We've pushed our luck."

"Keep your voice down," Dennison hissed. "We'll be fine. Bennet knows what he's doing. We just need to lie low for a few days, then we'll figure out our next move."

They waited in tense silence until Bennet reappeared, his usual air of confidence intact. "Got us two rooms," he said, tossing the keys to Dennison. "Charlie, take the horses to the livery. Dennis, help me unload the saddlebags."

They followed his orders without complaint, though the tension between them remained. The streets of Asten were eerily quiet, save for the occasional clink of glasses from inside the saloon and the faint sound of a piano playing off-key. It was a town that seemed almost forgotten by time, the kind of place where folks kept to themselves and strangers were met with cautious glances.

Once inside their room, the three outlaws wasted no time emptying the saddlebags and laying the stolen money out on the bed. The bills, crumpled and worn from weeks of travel, formed a small pile that seemed almost insignificant in the dim light of the saloon's oil lamps.

"Well," Bennet said, running a hand through his disheveled hair, "we did it. First haul and already sittin' on over $4,000."

Charles let out a low whistle, his face lighting up for the first time since they had left Kansas. "What're we gonna do with it first?"