The Long and the short of it

For the first three days all Little Jack could remember was pain. Then voices began to work their way into her consciousness, that and the hazy memory of bullets slamming into her body. On what she eventually learnt was the fourth day after the gunfight the voices finally clarified into one she recognised - Doc Morrison.

With what seemed a tremendous effort she opened hazy green eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. How come I ain't dead?

"So you've decided to rejoin us?" It was the Doc's voice again and then his familiar face appeared above hers. "Though I'm not sure whether that is good news."

His face moved out of her view again before reappearing to lift her aching head so that she could drink something that tasted sickly sweet then some fresh water that tasted like nectar. Then laudanum induced sleep claimed her again.

The third time she woke the pain was clearer but so was her mind. What the hell happened? Did Burnett win, or Teaster? She needed to know, her life probably depended on it. Looking around she could see anyone else in the small, clean, simply furnished room and she tried to move - only to find her right wrist was firmly manacled to the bedstead. Collapsing the small distance back onto the bed, she gave a wry grin that held no humour. Well, I guess that answers that question. Now the pain, even the small movement she'd managed had caused, kicked in and despite her best efforts not to, her pa's words 'men don't cry' echoing in her mind, she let out a half-groan half whimper of pain. Then a different pain swept over her. Pa! Despite his words, she now felt the tears rolling silently down her cheeks to be replaced by burning anger. "Teaster!" she muttered through parched lips. He killed my pa - he hadn't hurt him or his daughter but still the bastard killed Pa. The sound of footsteps brought her attention to the door and she watched the Doc appear in the doorway, pausing as he saw his patient was awake. Jack now noticed that the doctor had his arm in a sling and she frowned in ever increasing puzzlement. "Wh.." Her mouth felt like something small and furry had crawled in and died and she drank the proffered water greedily. Then she turned confused green eyes to meet the doctor's. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why spend time and effort patching me up when they're most likely to string me up anyway?" Seeing the puzzled frown, she continued, "Teaster won didn't he?" At the answering nod, she continued flatly, "Well then, after what we've done, I've done, I ain't going to be given a slap on the wrist and a stern telling off am I?"

"I heal people, Jack, that's what I do. What happens to them afterwards is none of my business." The doctor's voices was calm and neutral, no sign in it that he had any doubt or regrets.

"Why didn't you just let me die?" Jack could feel the anger rising now. "Why the hell didn't you let me die with Pa?"

"I've asked the same question myself." Another familiar voice from behind the Doc as Sheriff Parker entered the room. "Undertaker was all ready to box you when he noticed you were still breathin' - just. We were all for just letting you die there an' then, but the Doc wouldn't have any of it." The older man looked hard at the small, muscular woman as she lay swathed in bandages and chained to the bed. She'd been such a bonny baby, he thought sadly, but her mother's death bringing the baby into the world had changed her Pa. Without the boys he'd always wanted, Jackknife Jack had brought his daughter up as the son he would never have, giving her his name. Unable to cope with his grief he'd also turned to drink and Jack, now universally known as Little Jack, had been brought up amongst Burnett's hired men, alternatively having to cope with her Pa's maudlin self-destructive nature when drunk and demanding pride in his 'boy' when sober. As a result, the bonny baby had grown into five foot four's worth of violent, slightly crazed killer who earned her place amongst Burnett's hired thugs the hard way. "Now we have to deal with you, one way of the other."

"Thanks a lot, Doc," she growled in anger and fear, letting her head drop back onto the pillow with eyes screwed shut.

For two more days, she slept most of the time, eating the food given to her but not tasting it. On the third day, frustration and fear had finally boiled over and she threw the plate at the Doc. "Go the hell away, you son-of-a-bitch, why didn't you just let me die!"

He stared at her for a moment then knelt down to pick up the shards of plate and remains of the food as best he could with one good arm then silently left the room leaving a by turns angry and scared Little Jack.

Several hours later, having finally calmed down, Jack was now trying to determine the state of both injuries and restraint. She managed to struggle painfully into a sitting position, grimacing at the pain from stomach and chest and hampered by her manacled wrist. "Goddamned thing!" A few increasing angry and ultimately futile tugs at the chain anchoring her to the bed did nothing other that cause further pain. Finally accepting that brute strength wasn't going to work, she then tried to see if the cuff could be slipped off, hoping that manacles made for a man might be just too big for her smaller wrist. After several minutes and with a now raw and bleeding wrist she gave up with a groan of frustration. Leaning back against the bedstead she tried to get her beating heart to calm down. Ain't no way out for you, Jack boy, face it, you're dead - your body just ain't realised it yet. Sighing, she let her head roll to one side - only to stare in surprise at the tall, half-breed woman standing in the doorway looking at her with a strange mix of anger and confusion. Seeing the cause of all her troubles just standing there, she growled, "What the hell are you starin' at?" Then, anger flaring, demanded, "Why couldn't you have stayed away, none of this woulda happened if you hadn't shown your face in town." She was ashamed to feel tears welling in her eyes again and turned her face away to stare at the wall.

"Why did you help them beat me, rape me?" Violet asked, surprising Jack by the calmness of her voice, "You, another woman?" Whilst she was being abused in Burnett's office she'd become aware of the silently staring presence by her side. It had been only the long hair that had led to the eventual, shocked realisation that it was a woman.

"No, I'm not!" Angrily, she ran her free hand through her now strangely short hair in what was fast becoming a familiar gesture. Even after three days, she felt oddly light-headed without the long, mid-back length tresses that had been her only obviously female trait. After her furious demand to know why, the Doc had explained they'd cut it when she'd been fighting the fever that had nearly finished what the bullets had started, sweat mixed with the encrusted blood and dust from the street having made it an unmanageable matted mess.

"Don't be stupid, of course you're a woman!" Violet snapped back automatically but confused by the response.

Hearing the disbelief in the woman's voice, Jack turned to glare at her. "I'm Jackknife's son, his only son, got it!"

"If you say so." Frustrated by the nonsensical response, it nevertheless tied in with what she'd been told. She'd asked Doctor Morrison about the strange woman she'd been nursing, confused by the male clothes and attitude. Nor did she understand the way the peculiar creature had stood up with the remains of the decimated gang, obviously considered by both sides as an equal in death as well as life. The doctor had tried to account for the town's singular attitude towards the woman who was treated as a man, but his attempted explanation had just prompted more, as yet unasked, questions.

Moving towards the door, her hand was on the door-handle when she hesitated. Subduing the unwanted stirrings of anger, she turned back to look calmly at the still glaring patient. "I'm sorry 'bout your Pa, he didn't do anything to hurt me," the unspoken 'unlike you' hung heavy before she finished, "He didn't deserve to die."

Almost incoherent with fury, Jack forgot about the restraint on her arm and tried to get out of the bed and towards the daughter of the man who'd killed her Pa yet spouted such platitudes. She felt a twinge of pleasure at the flash of fear she saw in the brown eyes before she was jerked back to lie in suddenly resurrected pain, an unwanted groan passing her lips as she curled up into an agonised ball.

Violet had flinched back automatically at the sudden attempt to attack her. About to pull the door open and leave she heard the muffled, pain filled moan. Turning back once more, she saw the strange woman now curled up as much as the chain allowed, groaning ever so slightly at the agony the recklessly stupid movement had obviously caused. Despite everything she'd suffered Violet could not bear to see another creature in such distress, not even one of Victor Burnett's roughs. Moving warily to the side of the bed she reached out a gentle hand to touch the shuddering shoulder, noting how it flinched at the contact and then tensed as if expecting a blow. "Let me look at those wounds, see if you've opened them again."

In too much pain, physical and emotional, to resist or even argue, Jack rolled carefully onto her back and stared fixedly at the ceiling. As the young woman removed the blood spotted dressings, the rough suddenly realised that other than the bandages she was buck-naked in the bed. "Don't I get any clothes?" she complained, suddenly shy. She wasn't used to seeing her own body let alone having other people seeing it. Then her lack of clothing was forgotten as her eyes were inexorably drawn to the bullet holes in her body. Staring in disbelief at the evidence of exactly what had happened a bare week ago, the memories now came flooding back.

They lined up across the street, Bobcat to her left, the Boss and the Cap'n to her right. Intent only on getting revenge for her pa's death, she stared fixedly at Harmon Teaster, the momentary surprise at how old the man looked soon passing. Initially it looked like they would have it easy, just Teaster and his Indian friend against the four of them, and then more appeared from all sides and behind. They were caught in an ambush but Jack no longer cared about her own life, she just wanted the mountain man dead. Teaster and Burnett fired first and together and then the street erupted with gunfire. Jack managed to get off a number of rounds from her carbine, taking down at least one of the ambushers but unable to get a clear shot at Teaster, before she was hit low on her right side. The shot came from behind, exiting out through her vest and knocking her forward, down onto one knee. In surprise, she touched a hand already covered with her Pa's dried blood to the hole, feeling the warm wetness. Bringing her hand away, she stared at the glistening redness in confusion, wondering for a second why there was no pain. Then, no longer wondering, she scrambled to her feet and snapped off a few more shots, noting with satisfaction as another ambusher fell. All of a sudden, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bobcat go down spitting blood with a bullet through his neck. Her stunned glance at his still twitching body gave someone a clean shot and she was hit again. This time it came from the front, entering to the left and slightly higher than the first and knocking her backwards. It was as if the first shot had cocked the hammer on the impending pain, the second pulling the trigger. Crying out at the sudden explosion of agony in her stomach, she was unable to check the backwards stumble and fell heavily to the ground.

Lying on her back in the dust, groaning occasionally as the pain ebbed and flowed, she once again became aware of the crump of shotguns and crack of revolvers. Using her growing rage to fight back against the pain and encroaching darkness, she struggled to get back into the fight. Trying to push up off the ground, she was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled roughly to her feet. The first relieved thought that someone was helping her was abruptly shattered when she was swung round to stand between her false saviour and the guns of the blacksmith and his two sons. Realising what he was doing, she struggled ineffectively against the hand twisted firmly into the material of shirt and vest behind her neck, the increasingly tight cotton and wool across her throat beginning to throttle her. A sudden flash of light and an ear splitting crack next to her face stunned her in momentary immobility. Recovering from the shock and becoming increasingly desperate, the attempt to elbow her captor in the gut only succeeded in getting her a pistol-whipping that prompted momentary stars. An angry voice growled mere inches from her ear. "Stop that, boy, or I'll finish you myself."

Shaking off the disorientation, and now almost beside herself with a heady combination of fear and fury she snarled at the man behind her, "Lemme go, you yellow-bellied, treacherous, son-of-a-bitch," receiving only a teeth rattling, pain inducing shake in return. Sagging slightly in the unrelenting grip, she belatedly remembered the Colt Navy still holstered at her waist. Trying to unfasten the strap that had kept the revolver in place, she found her fingers strangely uncooperative. As she struggled to release it, another two shots were fired over her shoulder leaving her ears ringing and painful. Having finally released the strap she'd just pulled the colt free of its holster when a third slug tore into the lower right side of her ribcage. Revolver dropping from now nerveless fingers, her legs began to buckle. Pain flared through her torso as she was jerked upright once more. "Stand up, you little bastard," the furious voice cursed in her ear and all she felt now was despair. Then the last bullet slammed into her upper chest and her already wobbly legs finally gave way. No longer able to hold up his now barely conscious human shield, her captor let her fall to the ground. Landing in a crumpled, bullet riddled heap, she just had time to mentally damn Victor Burnett to all the torments of hell before the darkness finally overwhelmed her.

In awe she whispered, "How the hell'd I survive those?"

"How the hell indeed," Violet agreed, bitterness creeping into her voice. "Doctor Morrison says that somehow the ones in your gut didn't hit anything dangerous which was pretty miraculous in itself - even more so was that the two to your chest also missed your lungs, well nearly. This one," she touched the one to the right elucidating a harsh intake of breath, "grazed your lung but not bad enough to kill you."

"That's why I can't get my breath properly?" Jack blinked back the sudden stab of pain as she sought fully to understand the state of her injuries.

"Uh-huh!" Wounds checked and dressings replaced, Violet gave a grim smile, "Well you didn't start them bleeding again so you should be okay, for the moment at least."

"What happened to the rest, the Boss, Bobcat, the Cap'n?" There was a flatness to Little Jack's voice that suggested she had a good idea as to the answer already and, at least on one case, didn't really care. Despite this, she needed to know exactly how bad a fix she was in. If the gang had indeed been destroyed then there'd be only the one small glimmer of hope left.

"Dead." There was a slight hitch to Violet's voice as she remembered the others that had died destroying Victor Burnett's control over the town and one gentle soul in particular.

A sneer twisted Little Jack's lips as she remembered the one man who'd been noticeably absent from his father's side. "Bet that little weasel Will is livin' it up on his Pa's money now. Hid away, I 'spect, whilst the Boss was?" The slap came out of nowhere, snapping her face sideways. Tasting blood in her mouth, she touched the inside of her lip with the side of her tongue feeling the cut there. Slowly, she turned back to meet the furious brown eyes glaring at her, a wetness in them that spoke of burgeoning tears. "Had a soft spot for Willy boy did ya?" She grinned evilly, glad that the young do-gooder she'd so detested had apparently shared his father's fate. "I take it the little son-of-a-bitch is as dead as his Pa?"

For a moment, Jack thought Violet was going to slap her again, anger mixing with grief on the beautiful, strong-boned face. Instead, disgust plain in her voice, she hissed, "You are sick!" Taking a step back, she turned hurriedly towards the door then paused in the open doorway as she remembered the earlier, unexpectedly vulnerable look on the hard face. Not looking back but unable to prevent her generous nature empathising with the rough's discomfort at being naked, she commented emotionlessly. "I'll see if you can have some clothes." Then she was gone.

***

Violet stood outside the slightly seedy looking shack on the edge of town that had been home to Jackknife Jack and his only child. She still wasn't sure why she'd even offered to fetch the strange woman some clothes, she'd even gone so far as to persuade the Sheriff that it couldn't do any harm to give her some underclothes to at least make her decent. The door was slightly ajar and she pushed it tentatively open. Inside were just two rooms, the one she had entered reeking of days old food and cold ash. To her surprise, she saw a body on the small truckle bed in the corner, arms clutched around a blue plaid blanket coat. Moving closer she saw that the dark-haired woman was asleep and she now recognised her as the saloon girl she'd seen with Victor Burnett. Now, however, she was no longer the smartly dressed creature of nine days ago, the lovely deep-red dress was dishevelled and grubby and it looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Moving closer Violet must have made a noise as the young woman's almond shaped eyes shot open to stare in fear at the intruder.

"You!"

Quickly the woman scrambled up, still clutching the coat in her arms. A tear stained, pale face stared at the intruder. "What do you want?" Then a strangled sob and she buried her head into the coat.

Confused by what she was seeing Violet stammered, "I came to get some clothes." She was surprised now to see anger in the other woman's face.

"Come to steal their things now have you? Not happy with getting them both killed are you? Well you are not having this, it is all I have of her, it even smells of her." She burst into tears again, collapsing back to sit hunched on the edge of the bed.

Comprehension was beginning to dawn, although it also brought more confusion along it its wake. The coat was Little Jack's; Violet recognised it now as the one the rough had been wearing in Burnett's office. "She isn't dead." She saw the look of hope on the face that she now realised was mirroring her own emotions at Will's death. Then the face fell.

"That is cruel, Violet Teaster, making me hope like that."

"No, it is true, I swear it." She held out a calming hand. "What is your name?"

"Linn," the saloon girl snuffled.

"Find some of her underclothes then come with me." Violet saw the look of fear on the young woman's face now, suddenly realising that she hadn't seen her since the shooting. She must've been here all that time, poor girl. "It okay, Linn, no-one's after you."

Linn gave the half-Cherokee woman a searching stare, trying to work out the truth of the words, then she returned to her earlier statement. "Jack is alive?"

"Yes," she didn't voice the continuation of the sentence but she thought it, though for how much longer I really wouldn't like to say.

***

Jack was startled into wakefulness as she found arms suddenly wrapped around her and a tear-filled voice whispering her name.

"Oh God, Jack, you are really alive. I thought you were dead," and the clutching figure dissolved into tears that were a mixture of remembered grief and newfound hope.

"Linn?" Feeling the small weight press against her wounds, Little Jack let out an involuntary groan of pain.

"Oh God, I am sorry, my love." Linn lifted away from the bandaged body in dismay at the pain she had unthinkingly caused. She glanced at Violet as she stood at the door, confusion written all over her face. "Can you leave us alone, please?"

"I don't know." Then she saw the pleading in the dark eyes and she nodded. "I can't see why not." She left the room, closing the door behind her.

With the door closed, Jack raised her free hand and brought Linn's head down to give her a tender kiss that would have amazed all those that had only ever seen Jack the rough, not Jack the lover. Running her hand gently down the side of her lover's tear stained face, she wondered once more at the exotic beauty there. "I hoped you'd survived, honey, but I daren't ask in case?"

"It is okay, Jack, I understand." She ran her hand through the roughly shorn blonde hair, sniffing slightly from the after effects of the now stopped tears. "Your lovely hair. Why did they cut it?"

Jack smiled. "It'll grow back." This was the real reason she'd let her hair grow long, because Linn loved it like that.

The dark-haired woman lay down against her lover of ten years, snuggling into her favourite position, or as close as she could without causing further pain, just glad to be able to hold the warm, strong form, breaking at last the horrifying memory of the bloodstained, apparently lifeless body being dragged towards the undertakers.

Standing by Madame Birdie's side in the doorway of the blown out remains of the saloon she watched in growing horror as the gunfight progressed. What had looked like an easy fight with the four remaining members of Burnett's gang up against two soon changed into overwhelming odds against the four as men appeared from all sides. Her heart lurched as Jack fell to one knee but then relief flooded her as she rose one more, still fighting. Then Jack stopped to stare at Bobcat's fallen body and Linn watched in frozen horror as Sheriff Parker calmly took a shot. The scream of pain as the rough had fallen over made Linn cry out in shock and fear. Instinctively she tried to move towards her fallen lover only to find the Madame holding her back. Then Victor had hauled his own man to her feet and used her as a shield. Linn could barely believe the cold-blooded, cowardly way he used one of his own to take the bullets meant for him. Even as Jack struggled to escape Burnett's grip, Linn fought to escape her own restraints and run to the rough's aid. Now held tightly in Judd the barman's arms she sobbed her heart out as Jack was shot twice more before finally being dropped to the ground. Even when the bullets had stopped flying and the gang were all dead she still fought to be allowed to go to the unmoving body. Eventually Madame Birdie's calm words cut through her anguished grief. "Linn, child, you need to get away, hide. Teaster's killed women before. There's a chance he may come gunning for you as he did Victor's Ma." Angry at being told to run when Jack was lying there in her own blood, she replied haltingly through the sobs, "I need to go to her; I cannot just leave her like that." Again the calm voice came, "Would Little Jack want you to get yourself killed for her, Linn? You know she wouldn't want that, don't you?" Nodding, eyes almost blind with tears and mind numb with what she'd just witnessed, she watched for a moment more as two men grabbed Little Jack's limp arms and started to drag her away. "Make sure she is buried proper, Birdie." Breaking from the now loosened grip, she ran back through the saloon, her unthinking feet taking her to the old shack and Jack's cold bed where grief and despair had robbed her of all desires. There she had existed, barely eating or drinking, her only comfort the familiar coat until, of all people, Teaster's daughter had brought her the un-hoped for news..

Why didn't Birdie tell me she was still alive, Linn thought suddenly angry, she must have known where I would have gone? Unable to come up with an answer to that particular puzzle for the moment, she instead revelled in her lover's warm and vital presence. Catlike she rubbed her cheek against the bare shoulder, careful this time not to aggravate the wound some inches below Jack's left collarbone. Then, gently wrapping an arm around the strong waist, she closed her eyes with a happy sigh and let the overwhelming sense of relief bear her happily into peaceful, nightmare-free sleep.

Jack moved her left arm around Linn's back, ignoring the twinge of pain as she pulled her closer. Laying there, feeling the gentle reassuring brush of warmth breath over bare skin, her mind went back to when she'd agreed to let her hair grow. It had been her twenty-first birthday and, after a somewhat confusing and drunken explanation as to the birds and bees, especially confusing as her pa's drunken mind truly did think Jack was really his son, she'd been taken to the Silver Dollar to celebrate her coming of age. Madame Birdie had been gentle with the confused Little Jack. Even though her reputation for violence was growing, the Madame had seemed to see a gentleness in the young woman that she didn't recognise herself. Linn had been new to the Dollar, only eighteen but already experienced in the trade. That night she'd introduced Jack to the pleasures of lust that, over the following weeks and months, had gradually deepened into love. After that first evening, Linn had been running her hands though the boyishly cut blonde hair when she'd muttered, "I love your hair, it is such a wonderful colour, like ripe corn or the summer sun." She planted a kiss on the top of the rough's head and wistfully added, "It is a pity you will not grow it long."

"For you I will, if you want me to?" The offer had been impulsive but sincere; Jack had felt an unexpected need to do something for the beautiful young half-Chinese woman.

Linn had paused for a moment, she'd later explained that it was the first time any of her 'clients' had offered to do anything for her, then had nodded, "I would love it."

So Little Jack had let her hair grow, causing much amusement amongst her fellow roughs until one of the other girls at the Dollar had come up behind where she sat at the table, playing poker with the other men. Running her hands through the by then shoulder length hair, she'd commented, "They're just jealous, sweetie, 'cause they can't make the women scream like you can." Looking at the stunned men, she continued to caress Little Jack's head, causing a small moan to emerge from deep in the rough's chest. Turning to the staring men, the saloon girl had continued, "Ain't you guys ever heard of Samson?" At the blank look she'd continued, "Strong guy in the good book, all his strength was in his hair - no hair, no strength. Our little un's like that only it ain't strength that the long hair gives her." Jack had been half listening to the outrageous claims coming from the saloon girl's lips, half aroused by the attention to her head and neck. Then an insistent hand had tugged on the long hair, pulling her head back so that Suzie could lean over to give a long and passionate kiss that had aroused not only Jack but, from the uncomfortable shuffling and slight groans coming from the men sitting around the table, most of her audience as well. Fighting her own libido down, she'd given a lazy, knowing smile and then had calmly returned to studying her hand. Nothing further had been said but never had Little Jack been teased about her hair again.

For ten years, they had shared their love, even though Linn had stayed at the Dollar and Jack had continued to pay for her time there in what had become a matter of honour. She'd never had any doubt that the saloon girl loved her and that, one day, would have saved enough money to leave the life for good. Even when Linn had caught Victor's eye and had become 'his' they'd still hoped to carry on the relationship but they'd misjudged the strength of Burnett's possessive nature. Little Jack had no inkling of this when she'd been summoned to his office. She was just turning back from shutting the door behind her as instructed when she'd been grabbed by the collar of her coat and pushed hard into the door behind her, the impact rattling her teeth and half stunning her.

"Boss?" Confusion and fear warred with anger and pain.

Cold metal had pressed into the soft skin under her chin as Burnett's face had come close to her own. Victor Burnett was only a short man, not much taller than Jack herself, but his body was compact and viciously strong and the knuckles of his free hand were pushing her hard and painfully against the door as the pressure under her chin lifted her onto tiptoes. Now eye-to-eye Jack suddenly understood real fear as she gazed into the mad eyes opposite her.

"You leave Linn alone, boy," he snarled. "It's only 'cause you're Jackknife's kid you ain't already dead."

She stared in disbelief at her boss then had began to say, "But, Boss, I ?" she'd not been able to finish the sentence as Burnett suddenly stepped back and viciously backhanded his competition, knocking the smaller figure to the floor.

Shaking her head to clear it, Jack pushed herself up and wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of a hand. Turning on to her side she stared up at the looming figure, anger and defiance flashing in green eyes, only to double up in pain as a boot landed in her gut.

Sneering, Burnett stared down at the retching figure. "One warning, boy, that's all you get. I catch you near her again and you are dead - but only after you've seen her killed first."

A slight gasp from the corner of the office now caught the rough's attention and she looked in horror to where Linn stood, unnoticed up until that point, tears in her eyes and fear on her face. Scrambling painfully to her feet, she had nodded her understanding and unable to meet her lover's eyes had left the office overwhelmed by shock and shame.

It had taken weeks of gentle insistence before Jack could even be persuaded to speak to Linn, not through fear for her own life, but for her lover's. Eventually, Linn's gentle persistence had won though and, despite the dire threats, they had managed to steal the odd moment together, making the most of the few times when Victor was out of town and Jackknife had been too drunk to notice what was going on in his own house. A small, triumphant smile touched her lips - now Victor was dead and Linn would be hers again. The sound of the door opening brought Jack back to the present and she stared in open hatred at the Sheriff, tightening her grip around the soundly sleeping Linn.

Sheriff Parker for his own part was surprised at the fierce protectiveness he saw in the green eyes alongside the familiar anger and hate. It was a side of Little Jack he'd never have guessed was possible, and it made him wonder once more how she might have turned out if her mother hadn't died. It made him gentler in what he now did. "I'm sorry, Jack, but she need's to go, I can't leave her with a prisoner.

A prisoner! Reality came crashing down on Little Jack, and she instinctively pulled against the manacle, feeling her anger growing at every second but not wanting to alarm the still sleeping Linn. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gently shook the sleeping shoulder, "Wake up, love, you need to go."

Mumbling, Linn's eyes opened and she placed a kiss on the bare skin above the bandages, reassuring herself that it wasn't some strange dream, that Jack was really there and alive.

"We have an audience, Linn," Jack couldn't help a trace of amusement entering her voice as she saw an uncomfortable look creep over the Sheriff's weathered and lined face.

Catching the amusement, Linn gave a small grin herself and got up from the bed to turn to the watcher. Holding up the clothes she'd brought, she asked, "Can I at least get her into these?" At the answering nod, she helped her lover into the flannel drawers but came to a halt when the manacled hand prevented the undershirt. She looked at the Sheriff who thought for a moment then shouted out of the room. "Doc, come in here a moment" When the doctor entered Parker drew one of his pair of .45s and passed it to Morrison. "Watch her while I undo that manacle." Taking the key from his vest pocket, he moved around to the far side of the bed, making sure to keep Little Jack between him and his backup. Swiftly he unlocked the manacle and stood back, drawing the second .45 as he did.

Jack looked in amusement at the two revolvers pointing at her. "Am I really that dangerous, Sheriff?" She briefly massaged the released wrist then let Linn help her on with shirt.

"Dangerous I wouldn't like to say, but crazy you certainly are."

With a faint grin, she acknowledged the epithet, "So I've been told." Then, at the impatient gesture with the revolver, she placed her wrist back in the manacle and snapped it shut. "Happy?"

He gave a brief nod then holstered his pistol before collecting the other from the doctor. "Thanks, Doc," As the doctor left, he gestured to Linn, "C'mon, young woman, I must ask you to leave the prisoner now."

Taking a quick, parting kiss, she whispered, "See you later, sweetheart." Then she followed the Sheriff out, heart lightened at the knowledge that Jack was alive and mind racing as she tried to work out a way to free her.

***

For the next week, Little Jack remained confined in the small room and chained to the bed. The Doc was surprised by how well his reluctant patient was recovering from the gunshot wounds but then she'd always been a good healer. What she hadn't revealed, however, was quite how well she was actually recovering, biding her time in the hope that she could somehow escape what seemed to be her certain fate. The only bright spot in the week had been Sheriff Parker's unexpected decision to let Linn visit her on occasions. Although they'd never been left truly alone, as they had that first day, just being able to be together helped her to keep down the building despair.

Now it was nearly two weeks since she'd been shot and, alone in the room, she was working though the exercises she'd started doing when no one was watching, building up her strength and keeping her mind off her situation at the same time. The twinges from the healing muscles had just become enough to make her think of stopping when she heard an unfamiliar voice in the next room. Listening intently, she just caught the end of his sentence.

"?to the court house, is she well enough for the trip?"

The Doc had answered cautiously. "I would prefer a little longer, Marshall, but if needs be then, yes, she's well enough to ride now."

Jack could feel panic rising in her chest. They've sent a Marshall to fetch me? This really ain't good, ain't good at all. She turned to the hated manacle and putting both hands on the chain once more, and to the same lack of effect, pulled. Frustration and anger building along with the panic, she braced her legs against the iron frame and pulled again, snapping the chain taught in a hopeless attempt to break the links and no longer worried about making a noise. Increasing out of control, she lost her balance and swung on the arc of the chain to go shoulder first into the wall. Goddamned sons-of-bitches! Now wild with panic and fear, Jack shoulder charged the wall as if she could somehow break through and into freedom. Then she turned back to the bed, pulling the chain and the attached bed along the floor as she made her increasingly frantic way towards the window. She didn't see the door open hurriedly as the noise alerted her captors to what she was doing. They stared in bewilderment as Little Jack, swearing and cursing, continued in futile rage to try and break the chain, the wall, and then finally herself. In her panicked mind there was now only one thought, she would not let them hang her - she'd seen too many lynchings to want to go that way, kicking and fighting for life, face blue and tongue bulging until the final humiliation as control over bladder and bowels was lost and then, finally, death. No longer thinking she threw herself headfirst against the wall, to fall stunned and weeping into a small hunched up ball in the furthest corner of the room.

***

Sheriff Parker had never thought he would feel sorry for one of Burnett's gang but now, watching Little Jack being helped to dress, he felt a twinge of sympathy. After the manic outburst, the prisoner had apparently retreated from the reality that had so overwhelmed her and into the safety of her own head. Not even Linn had been able to get a response, much to her obvious distress.

The Marshall, a compact dark-haired man in his forties with hard grey eyes that gave the impression that nothing would shock him, seemed completely unaffected by it all. His only reaction to the prisoner's behaviour being the offhand comment, "Ain't the first time I've seen hardened killers weepin' like babies, nor will it be the last." After confirming with the doctor that the frenzied attempts had done nothing to hamper his charges ability to travel, the Marshall had instructed her to get dressed in the odd selection of clothes they'd found. Her own clothes, bar the boots, had been all but destroyed in the gunfight or by their removal from her unconscious body. So she was now given her few spare items, a second vest and shirt, with the pants and coat being garnered from the 'spares' that had collected at the Undertaker's shop.

When there had been no response to the order, Linn had offered to get it done. Sheriff Parker had been happy to give the young woman her last chance to be with the rough, now fully aware of, if not understanding, the love the two shared. Even this close proximity, the whispered endearments and tender gestures had no effect on the blank faced Little Jack. It was only after her hands had been tied behind her back and she was being led tamely towards the waiting horse that she'd snapped out of the trance to speak just the one pleading word.

"Linn?"

Apparently unaware of the hands that hoisted her roughly into the saddle, Jack looked around searching for just the one face. A gentle touch on her leg brought her eyes down. "Linn." Quickly, before the Sheriff could move the saloon girl out of the way, she bent down to snatch a final, brief kiss. "Love you."

"Love you too," Linn just managed to reply before being ushered, not un-gently, out of the way. she watched as the Marshall mounted his own horse and began to lead his prisoner away, then shrugged out of the hold and rushed away, back towards the shack she'd taken over as her own.

The Sheriff watched her sadly, not realising that the sudden haste was not as the result of grief but because she needed to move fast in order to change into more practical riding clothes and then put her plan into action.

***

Sitting easily in the saddle, Jack's eyes were searching the sides of the trail as the Marshal led them through the burnished, flame coloured woods and up into the mountains. Even with hands tied behind her back, she should've had no problems staying on the mare's back - she'd been riding nearly as long as she'd been able to walk. However, the extra stress that her stomach muscles had to bear was not helping the still healing wounds and, after a couple of hours, a faint sheen of sweat had appeared on her brow despite the autumnal coolness of the air. They would have to give me the clumsiest goddamn horse this side of the mountain, she cursed as yet another stumble caused another flash of pain. She was beginning to flag now, bending forward to try and relieve the pain. Another stumble and this time a faint groan slipped past her lips. Leaning forward across her horse's neck as it ambled to a halt, she was vaguely aware of the Marshall speaking, sounding more annoyed than worried.

"What you doing?"

"Hurtin'!" she growled back then forced herself up. She saw the Marshall give a little frown of concern and risked asking, "Can't you tie my hands 'round the front. The holes in my gut ain't coping well like this." For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to do it then he'd given a faint nod and moved closer. Horses side by side and head to tail, Jack felt the rope around her wrists being loosened. Just as they were about to be freed she was warned, "Try anything and I'll shoot you down like the cur you are, understand?"

Nodding her understanding, Jack did as was told. She was in too much pain even to consider escaping at that particular moment. With hands now tied in front of her, she could hold the pommel of the saddle - using that to help keep her seat, thus taking some of the strain off her stomach and slowly the pain receded to a bearable ache.

Able once more to concentrate on the trail she began to wonder what Linn had planned. She'd seen a look in those beautiful dark eyes that had said she was up to something, and if she was going to try to free Jack it would be in this area. The trail they'd been following took the easy, meandering way up the mountain to the pass but, by taking a more direct route, Linn could have overtaken them. Jack had no doubt Linn was capable of the feat, she was a fine horsewoman and before Burnett had muddied the waters they'd often rode in the hills together.

Looking along the trail, she could see the sharp turn where the trail jigged around a rock fall. This was the place she would choose for an ambush and she readied herself to act if required. The Marshall seemed oblivious to the danger and Jack realised that he'd not even considered that someone would try to free her, that was why he'd been happy to take her solo - after all the entire Burnett gang had been wiped out, who was there who would help her now?

The ambush, when it did indeed come, was so swift that it even surprised Jack and she'd been expecting it. The Sheriff had been passing under the small stunted tree that had rooted just on the edge of the fall. As he'd ducked slightly something had swung from the tree and knocked him sideways out of the saddle to land with a bone-jarring thud on the rocks. Almost before he'd hit the ground Linn had appeared from the side of the trail and had hit him hard on the head with some sort of club. As the Marshall had slumped to the ground, Jack was already slipping out of the saddle and moving to take the pistol from his holster. Holding it two-handedly with still bound hands, she pulled back the hammer then pointed it down at the Marshall's head. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"No!" Linn's voice startled her and she looked up. "No, Jack, please. Not like that."

"If we leave him alive he'll follow us." Cold, killer's eyes returned to stare at the still un-conscious Marshall.

"Tie him up, leave him here." Linn suggested, trying to persuade Jack away from the action she was so obviously contemplating.

The rough shook her head, not moving her gaze. "That would just be a slower death, Linn. You know how rarely people come this way."

"He will be missed, they will come looking for him." Linn was getting scared now; although she knew what Jack was she'd never really witnessed the true strength of her lover's violent side.

"And then they'll come looking for us." She growled, beginning to feel her anger building at Linn's defence of the Marshall.

"Please, Jack."

She looked into the pleading eyes then let out a sigh, releasing the anger with the breath. "Anything for you, love." Gently releasing the hammer, she lowered it back down then offered her bound hands.

Jack was just buckling the Marshall's gun-belt around her waist when she heard a faint groan from the ground. Looking down, she met the Marshall's confused grey eyes and drew the pistol to once more point in his face, seeing in it the fear of death. "Don't worry, Marshall, I ain't goin' to kill you." Seeing that Linn now had him covered with a rifle, she re-holstered the pistol and, taking up the rope just removed from her own wrists, soon had him securely bound.

As they mounted and prepared to move out, Jack glanced down at the glowering Marshall. Her gut told her that leaving him alive was a mistake, and her hand began moving automatically to the Colt Sheriff at her waist.

"Go on then, shoot me, you little bastard," it looked like he'd got his courage back, "there are plenty more where I came from and they won't stop till they get you."

"Come on, sweetheart, let us get out of here."

Linn's voice cut through the growing desire to grant the lawman his request. Dropping her hand to rest lightly on her thigh, Jack gave the Marshall a sudden conspiratorial wink. "Can't deny her anything you know." An unexpected grin followed. "Women, eh? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." Then she turned her horse's head to follow Linn up the trail and to freedom leaving a confused Marshall watching the two women leave, bemusement at the parting comment joined with plain relief at still being alive - the Burnett gang's reputation hadn't given him much expectation of the latter. As they disappeared out of sight, he struggled to his feet and began making his stumbling way back down the slope towards Maggie Valley already working on how he could recapture his prisoner - Marshall Morgan Duckett had never failed to deliver a felon before and he was damned if Little Jack was going to be the first.

***

Dusk was well on its way into full dark before Jack allowed them to halt for the night. The trail had crossed a small creek and, having followed it for a short while, they'd come across a clearing that would do for a camp but was far enough off the way to be unnoticed. It hadn't taken long before Linn had a small fire going and Jack had seen to the horses, taking extra care in checking their feet - the trail was rocky and the last thing they needed was one of them to go lame because of an overlooked stone. Happy all three were fine and that there was enough grass for their needs, she'd returned to the fire where the saloon girl had a kettle bubbling over the fire and a coffee pot standing on one of the stones surrounding it.

"Looks like you've got everything under control?" She felt a sudden swelling of pride at what Linn had done for her, was still doing for her.

With a smile and a faint nod, Linn leant over to give the contents of the kettle another stir.

The rough drew in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the cooking. "Smells good."

"Just some rabbit stew." Despite the off hand reply, a small smile showed the younger woman's pleasure at the compliment.

Nodding towards the packs, Jack asked, "How much you got in way of supplies?"

Linn sat back onto the log she'd pulled across to use as a makeshift seat. "Enough for a week I think - assuming you are as good with that thing as you say you are?"

"This?" Jack raised the Winchester she'd been overjoyed at finding in a scabbard on the Marshall's saddle. "Well it ain't my old one," that was no doubt with one of the men that had so comprehensibly put the Burnett gang out of business, "still it ain't bad." Then she'd given a cocky, self-confident grin "Oh, and I am good, damned good, so don't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout that."

A small roll of the eyes at the brash bravado, "Good, because if you are not we are going to go hungry a lot quicker, and we both know much how that grouchy grizzly you call your stomach would like that."

Smiling faintly at the gentle teasing, Jack felt a momentary uneasiness and glanced around into the growing darkness, "I'm just goin' to have a quick scout around whilst there is still a bit of light, make sure there ain't anything out there we need to know about."

"Before you do," Linn rose from the fire and crossed to her pack, "I have something for you." After a few moments she straightened - in her hands were the blue plaid coat and a beloved but distinctly worse-for-wear black hat.

The rough gave a grin of pure joy and swiftly stripping off the ragged jacket she'd been given had soon donned her own cleaner and much warmer one. Taking the hat in one hand, she drew Linn in for a brief kiss of thanks. Heart unexpectedly lightened by the familiar, comfortable clothing, she rammed the hat firmly on and disappeared into the surrounding trees.

***

Marshal Duckett could not believe his ears. He'd stumbled into town, footsore and exhausted, not long before dusk and had immediately headed for the Sheriff's office to form a posse to go after the escaped prisoner and her accomplice. He'd expected there to be no problems in finding volunteers to go after one of the gang that had terrorised the town for so long but instead he'd found uncomfortable silence and shifting eyes.

"Well, Marshall," the blacksmith had explained, the bandages from his injuries still plainly visible, "it ain't really our problem anymore. Burnett's dead, the gang's destroyed. All we want to do now is get our lives back to normal." There had been nods and noises of agreement from the assembled throng backing up their unofficial spokesman's words.

He'd turned to look at the old mountain man that had been the primary mover in the town's new freedom. "What 'bout you, Harmon, surely you want to see justice done?"

The old man had stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Justice has been done, Marshall, at least as I see it. What happened to my pa an' Violet has been answered for."

Angry now the Marshall had retorted, "But that woman was one of the one's that hurt your daughter, she ain't answered for it."

A long silence as the mountain man had considered his reply. "Marshall, by all that is right that woman shoulda died with the rest of 'em, ain't I right?"

There had been some more noises of agreement and the Marshall had nodded, not understanding the line of reasoning. "The doctor did say that it was nigh on miraculous that she survived, yes."

"Well then, if'n the Lord didn't feel it right to take her, when by all rights she shoulda been headin' for the fires of Hell, then what am I t' go contrary to his wishes." Seeing the Marshall's angry face he added angrily, "Marshall, I've had my justice an' am I satisfied with it. As to your justice, where was it for all those years Maggie Valley was being drained white by Burnett an' his cronies, eh, answer me that?"

With a sad shake of his head, the Marshall had given up at that point. Instead of the expected large posse he had come away from the meeting with one deputy and two volunteers, both claiming personal reasons for wanting Little Jack brought to justice - though he had little doubt that what they were really after was her death.

***

Jack sat on the log, carbine across her knees, and stared into the glowing embers of the dying fire. What t' do next? She still found it hard to believe that she was actually free, that Linn had rescued her. However, the elation of rescue was beginning to be replaced by fear of the unknown. She'd lived in Maggie Valley all her life, only having left the place twice in her entire thirty-one years on this earth. Already they were passing through land she knew only vaguely and it was making her uneasy. No goin' back though, Jack boy, only way's forward now. A faint noise drew her eyes to the bedroll and she watched, with a tenderness that would have surprised most of those that claimed to know her, as Linn settled herself further down under the blankets. I don't deserve her, Jack thought wistfully, she's given up everything for me, a hired gun with no trade but killin', no family or friends. She shoulda stayed in the Valley; Madame Birdie woulda seen her right. Another faint, complaining noise from Linn as she tried to find a comfortable spot on the ground then settled once more into peaceful sleep, the exertions of the day's events clearly outweighing any discomfort from the hard ground.

Blinking sleep weighted eyes, Jack could feel her own exhaustion pulling her down. The long ride, made worse by the lingering effects of her injuries, had been harder than expected and then, after the stew had been eaten, the lovers had had some catching up to do. A broad smile slowly crept across Jack's face as she remembered their first lovemaking in what must have been over a month. It had been gentle and reassuring rather than rampant and mind-blowing. Which was probably a damn good thing, she considered, as there had still been a number of painful moments when tender wounds had been accidentally leant upon. Still, she hadn't begrudged the pain; the pleasure had more than made up for it. Yawning, feeling her jaw stretch and then crack, she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the growing stiffness. Another look at the tempting bedroll then a shake of the head - she wasn't going to get any sleep, her mind was too alert to every small noise from the darkness around her, and she didn't want her restlessness to wake Linn. There was only one consolation in that she at least knew what was causing this nervousness; it wasn't fear of the dark or wild animals, instead it was the fear of being recaptured and what would almost certainly follow. Struggling to repress the feeling that had become foremost in her mind over the last few weeks, she cursed herself again for letting the Marshall live; she had a bad feeling that he wasn't the sort to give up as easily as Linn clearly expected.

***

It had been nearly a week since her escape. In that time they had avoided any contact with the small communities and odd, isolated cabins they had come across. Thankfully there had been no sign of pursuit and Jack was beginning to hope that the Marshall had either not even tried or had given up on re-capturing his escaped prisoner. Now, however, they were running short on supplies, despite Jack's now proven skill at bringing down game with the Winchester. This wasn't the only reason that the rough had for entering the small town they were now watching from a suitable vantage point. She glanced sideways at the dark haired woman by her side and winced guiltily at how tired she was looking. Although there had been no word of complaint, Jack had come to realise that her lover was finding life on the trail hard. It wasn't through lack of willingness or even knowledge, it was just that she'd didn't have the physical endurance and it was now showing in her every movement. A faint wry smile lifted the corner of Jack's mouth - she hadn't been immune to the effects either, even if she was loathe to admit it. Although her life as one of Burnett's hired guns had been physically tough, she had never had to spend so long living rough and, right now, the thought of a large tub of hot water and a soft bed was outweighing any remaining caution.

"Wait, Jack." Linn caught the sleeve of her jacket as she moved down towards the town.

"Why? We're miles away from Maggie Valley, no one knows us here." Jack's surprise at her reluctance to enter the small town was plain.

Linn looked thoughtfully at the rough, wondering how to put into word the concerns she had. In Maggie Valley, the people had accepted Little Jack as Little Jack. For some reason her father's insistence that Jack was his son had transmuted itself to the others of the town until they had all came to treat her as if she was indeed a man. There had been occasional problems when newcomers had come into the small town, making comments about a women running around in men's clothes and wearing a gun, but they had either ended up swiftly dead or persuaded that Jack was exactly who she claimed to be. Linn knew the hired Yankee gun, Captain Ketner, had initially been withering sceptical of Little Jack's presence in the gang, even suggesting that she wasn't there because of her skill with a gun but because of her skill in bed. Fortunately for him only Burnett and Linn had been party to these comments so he'd survived the mistake with only a black eye and a sore gut and never had he questioned her presence again. Here, however, would be a completely different kettle of fish and she really didn't want to have to flee the town within moments of arriving because of some offhand comment thrown at the easily angered rough.

"Linn?" The dark haired woman's silence was confusing Jack, "What's the matter?"

"You trust me, Jack?" Linn asked hesitantly.

"With my life."

For a moment, Linn blinked in surprise, amazed at the complete sincerity in the dirty face, then she explained. "This won't be like Maggie Valley, Jack," now confusion appeared on the rough's face, "They will not understand about you being your pa's son, they will only see a woman in men's clothes," as the rough opened her mouth to argue she placed a gentle hand over it. "So we need to make sure they see a man in men's clothes, not a woman."

They moved to a small stand of trees where they wouldn't be overseen. She could see confusion on Jack's face but she hadn't yet questioned Linn's final comment. After rummaging around in her saddlebag she found what she was looking for and turned triumphantly to Jack and pointed at a suitable rock. "Sit down."

Obeying, the rough looked in some trepidation at the small pair of scissors, "What you going to do?"

She moved behind Jack and gently ran her hand though the raggedly cut blonde hair that was just short of shoulder length. "Cut your hair." She had just lifted her scissors when a hand grabbed her wrist.

"But I thought you liked it long?" Linn couldn't help a small smile at the surprised hurt in her lover's voice.

"I do, sweetheart, but if you do not want to wear a dress." the immediate and vehement shake of the head brought a chuckle from the impromptu barber, "then we need to make you look more like a man and the first step is cutting your hair properly."

Some time later she stood back to admire her handiwork. Jack's hair was now shorter and neatly trimmed and she'd adjusted the now worse for wear bandages until the already small breasts were effectively flattened, the familiar overlarge blue plaid coat also helping to disguise any remaining femininity in the small but muscular body. There was just one more thing. "It is an interesting thing, sweetheart, but people will notice what is missing before what is there that should not be."

"Whaddaya mean?" Jack gave a confused frown then looked down at herself. "What am I missing?"

Unable to stop herself, Linn put hands akimbo and stared pointedly at the flies of the grubby, faded black pants.

"Oh, yeah, that!" A sly grin came over the rough's face, "You ain't complained before, love.

"Such cockiness for one without one," she murmured under her breath, hearing the amused snort as she considered how to overcome the shortcoming. "Of course, socks!"

"Socks?"

A brief search through the saddlebag that held the Marshall's spare clothing and she'd found what she was looking for. After a few moments remodelling the bundle of knitted wool she advanced on a still perplexed rough, a sexy grin on her lips, "Drop those pants, boy."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack quickly unbuckled her gun-belt then began to undo the buttons on the fly and soon the slightly overlarge pants were down round her ankles and a rakish grin was on her face. "Like what you see?"

With an amused shake of her head, Linn undid the drawstring of the flannel drawers and slipped the bundle down the front leaving a length of sock peeking above the waistband. Then she retied the string, catching up part of the sock in the knot and examined her handiwork. "Hmm, not quite right," and she began to adjust the strange bulge until it looked more natural; so engrossed was she with her adjusting that she didn't notice the effect her ministrations were having on Jack until a faint moan rumbled in the rough's chest followed by a frustrated complaint. "Damn, Linn, you carry on like that we ain't goin' to get into that town until much, much later."

Looking up into aroused green eyes, she gave a wicked grin, "Well Little Jack certainly is not little any more, that is for sure." Moving away she commanded, "Pull them up then, big man, let us see how you look."

Once redressed, Jack stared down at the foreign bulge in her pants, "That is so weird." she tentatively touched her socky 'manhood', "So damn weird."

"That is not polite, Jack," the saloon girl sniggered, "Not when ladies are present.

"Funny," Jack looked around then grinned back at Linn, "Can't see any ladies 'round here."

After a mock glare which had just provoked another cocky, and now there was no other word for it, grin, Linn gave her handiwork one last look over. "That is better." She moved closer, swaying her hips seductively as she purred, "You make quite a handsome man, Shorty."

"Shorty!" The rough growled, not amused by the comment on her height - she'd called men out for less.

Linn stopped the complaint with her lips, not unsurprised when Jack, after an infinitesimal pause, returned it enthusiastically. Breaking the kiss she gazed into the now lust filled green. "Is that a gun in your pocket, big boy, or are you just pleased to see me," then a hand snaked down to squeeze the lump in question.

"Oh damn, Linn, you are too much," Jack burst into sudden laughter at the incongruity of what was going on, "C'mon lets get into that town before I take you here and now."

"My, my, aren't we forceful," Linn teased but she collected her horse and swung, slightly stiffly, into the saddle. She grinned as Jack did the same only to stop poised over the saddle before cautiously lowering the last few inches. "It won't fall off, sweetheart."

Jack threw back a grin, "I damn well hope not, that would be really difficult to explain."

As they made their way down into the town, Linn gave her final instructions. "When you speak do not forget to pitch it low and quiet. It might sound a bit threatening but it is the best way to disguise your voice." At the nod of understanding she continued, "And do not forget we are married, Mr and Mrs Jackson, okay?"

"Okay," Jack responded distractedly, still worrying about the socks down the front of her pants.

"Otherwise just be your usual aggravating, swaggering self and you will fit in fine."

That had brought a twitch of a smile and then a sickly sweet, "Yes, dear."

***

"I ain't goin' to be beaten by a damn girl who barely reaches my shoulder", Marshall Duckett growled to himself as he studied the remains of yet another small camp. The fire had been well damped down and the enclosing stones scattered but the ashes from the previous night's fire were still visible, dancing in the gentle breeze. A cleared and flattened area of grass showed where the two women must have slept and Copperhead had found the buried remains of a rabbit that must have provided their evening meal. It had been a stroke of good fortune that he'd been able to employ the Cherokee as a tracker before leaving Maggie Valley - his previous employer no longer requiring his services. He'd followed the fugitives' trail without much problem and after the first two days had explained, with his characteristically economic use of words, that it did not appear that the two women were aware that they were being actively followed. Glancing at this watch, Duckett saw that it was just after midday - they had been gaining gradually on the pair and now, after a week, he reckoned they had caught up a half day on the fugitive and her accomplice.

"C'mon, Marshall, she's gotten clean away by now." Cole Sorrell complained wearily. The enthusiasm to see justice done that had prompted his volunteering had soon drained away with the tedium and discomfort of the trail and all he wanted now was to get back to the comforts of his house and young wife.

Turning back from his study of the campsite he studied the remainder of his posse as they sat, still mounted on the edge of the small clearing. What did I do to deserve this lot? No longer worried about loosing the fugitives trail, he was instead becoming concerned about loosing his posse. Copperhead was being paid for his time, and for the deputy it was part of the job, even if he was so new to his badge that he still occasionally looked at it with bemused surprise as if he wasn't quite sure why he was wearing it. However, the other two were beginning openly to question the continued chase. "No, she's only, what, less than half a day ahead?" He looked questioningly at the almost perpetually silent tracker, getting a brief nod of confirmation.

The two volunteers exchanged disgruntled looks then Pete Whitman responded, "You've been sayin' that for the last few days, Marshall, yet we don't appear to be gettin' any closer."

"Yeah," Cole added, "she ain't goin' to cause the Valley any more trouble so why not just let her go?"

"I ain't doing this just for Maggie Valley, Cole. What if she finds some other gang, some other little town to terrorise?" He paused, reining in his growing annoyance at the small town, backwoods mindset that could not see past their own immediate problem. "Just give it time, boys. Don't you want to get her?" He looked at the first - a calm, quiet young man who the Marshall nevertheless reckoned would hold his own when push came to shove. "Cole, don't you want justice for your brother-in-law?" He'd noticed a guilty flicker in the young man's eyes before the defeated nod,

"Okay, Marshall, I'll stick with you for the moment."

Then he turned to the second man, older and as likely to be a hindrance as a help but he couldn't risk losing him as Cole would most likely follow. "What 'bout you, Pete, she put that bullet through your leg, don't she need to pay for that?"

A grim look appeared on the older man's face as he was reminded of the limp the little bitch had given him, and the renewed desire for vengeance burned away his doubts, for the moment at least. "Yeah, you're right, Marshall, lead on."

They'd continued along the trail for the rest of the day, the tracker a silent presence a few yards ahead of the others. It was nearly dusk when Copperhead reined his horse in and waited for the Marshall to join him. "Looks like they're heading for the town." He nodded down into the nearest valley where a flicker of light could be seen through the growing darkness.

Duckett frowned; so far, the two women had avoided any contact with other people - why were they changing their routine now? Must be running low on supplies, he considered, and we could do with picking up some more as well, and if they were indeed heading for the town? "Could be our lucks about to turn, boys." There hadn't been enough time to get wanted posters printed, yet alone distributed but that wasn't his only Ace in the hole. I hope those telegrams I sent out will have done their job. If this small town had a telegraph office then the Sheriff should have received the instructions that should two young women travelling together, one blonde and the other part-Chinese, enter the town they were to be detained and the Marshall's office informed immediately.

***

As they'd ridden along the small main street Linn had been astounded, even a little alarmed by the change in her lover's demeanour. Her posture had stiffened, the green eyes turning cold and an almost perceptible aura of violence had formed around her. The saloon girl had never really noticed it before - surrounded by all the other roughs it hadn't been so obvious - but in this peaceful little town it was unmistakable and Jack had slipped back into it as easily as the plaid coat, long honed habits making her intimidating even at five four.

They'd got a room at the Black Dog Hotel without any trouble. Linn had seen a questioning look in the owner's eyes but she thought it was more a natural curiosity than suspicion. They did after all make an unusual couple, With her Chinese features, Linn was well aware she'd be noticeable whereever she went and Jack, even disguised, with her apparent youth and small stature didn't help things. At least the attitude was keeping most people at bay.

After checking out the small but thankfully clean room, the lock on the door and the surrounding corridor, noting the external stairs leading to the back of the hotel, Jack had finally relaxed a little.

"So, Mrs Jackson," the blue green eyes twinkled as she bounced experimentally on the edge of the double bed, "whaddaya want to do now?" Stopping the bouncing, she waggled her eyebrows. "After all it is the first day of our married life."

"Much as I am tempted, Mr Jackson, I have some supplies to purchase." She couldn't help but smile at the hang-dog look that appeared on Jack's face. "Go play some of that damn poker of yours, sweetheart, just do not beat up any poor unsuspecting local or you will not be getting that honeymoon night."

"Yes, ma'am." Responded a much happier Jack as Linn left the room to get what they needed. After checking the room once more, Jack locked the room and sauntered down into the reception area. Pausing as she noticed the sign behind the owners head, she decided to arrange a little surprise for Linn when she returned from her shopping expedition getting their supplies.

Leaving the owner, who'd introduced himself as Joe Warrington, to carry out her instructions she continued out into the street. She'd spotted the saloon as they'd ridden in and made her way over, eyes automatically taking in the layout of buildings and streets as she did. Pushing the batwings open, she entered a room that was not so different from the Silver Dollar, perhaps a little smaller and slightly scruffier but Jack felt instantly comfortable. Glancing around she saw half a dozen pairs of eyes swivel briefly in her direction but she saw only curiosity, no sign of threat. Moving towards the bar, she stopped suddenly as she caught her own reflection in the long mirror. It was the first time she'd seen herself with the new short hair and it was like looking at a stranger. Moving the last few steps, she leant against the bar and gruffly ordered a whisky. As the barman poured the drink, she removed the battered black hat and placed it on the bar. Running a hand through the flattened, greasy blonde hair, watching the unfamiliar reflection mirror the action, a faint grin twitched the corner of Jack's mouth. Damn, but I look like some boy barely old enough to drink! I'm surprised he didn't refuse to serve me.

Clay, like any good barman, was adept at summing up his customers even before they'd ordered their first drink. Before moving to this little burg, he'd worked in bigger and rougher saloons and prided himself in having seen pretty much all types of men. When the short figure had appeared in the doorway his initial thought had been that it was some kid after his first taste of liquor, but the holstered gun, worn for a cross-draw, and the bullish walk seemed to contrast the apparent youth. Any doubt he'd had about this being some innocent young kid had soon be dispelled when he'd met the hard eyes - there was a coldness to them that said this one was not to be messed with and a weariness that made Clay think that the stranger had seen more cruelty than his youth suggested was possible. The young man's sudden preoccupation with his own reflection made him more human and the faint grin fitted the boyish features better than the earlier hardness. Still, it didn't go completely and he swiftly reappraised his initial opinion. Hired gun I reckon; best be careful with this one. "New in town?" The question was easy, conversational; the sort of thing a barman was expected to ask. He already knew the answer of course, knew that the man's name was Jackson and that he and his wife had taken a room at the Dog. It didn't take long for the arrival of new faces to be known in the small and gossip starved town. He kept the thought that he looked barely old enough to be married to himself; he hadn't fifty years in this job without knowing when not to stir up a hornets nest.

Nodding her answer, Jack downed the shot. "Just passin' through." She pushed the glass forward and the barman filled it again. Taking the glass she turned to study the other customers. "Much in the way of poker 'round here?"

"Usually a game or two, no big stakes, more a bit of fun. Come in later and you should be able to get a game if you want."

"I reckon I will, thanks." Glancing out of a window, she spotted Linn. Tossing back the second shot and leaving the money on the bar, she replaced her hat and left the saloon, crossing the street to meet her.

"Here, ma'am, let me take some of those from you." She took the now refilled provision bags and slung them over her shoulder, glad to feel only the slightest of twinges from the healing wounds.

"Why thank you, kind sir," Linn grinned, then placed a peck on Jack's cheek.

There was a wolf whistle from the other side of the street, "Hey, short stuff, that woman of yours available by the hour?"

Linn just managed to grab Jack's hand before the revolver was out of her holster. The rough shook off the restraining arm but, to Linn's relief, replaced the gun before striding angrily towards the man who'd made the comments - a lanky, dirty looking creature leaning up against the wall of the livery stable where they'd left their horses.

"Whaddaya say you worthless piece of shit?" Jack snarled, only keeping her hand off the short-barrelled colt with an extreme effort of will.

"Oh, the little man all riled up?" He sneered, looking down at the small figure apparently oblivious to the seething anger. "I'm sooo scared." He looked over her shoulder then whispered conspiratorially. "C'mon, boy, ain't seen a celestial woman that weren't a whore." He leered, exposing unhealthy brown teeth, "So how much?"

Without a hint of warning, Jack lashed out. First, her fist made contact with the man's gut, and then a knee smashed up into the descending face. As the man collapsed to the ground, she grabbed a handful of the greasy dark hair and pulled the man's now bloody face up. "You fixin' to get a trip to the bone-yard are ya?" At the slight, scared shake of the head, she tugged the hair hard once more, "Talk 'bout my wife like that again, you son-of-a-bitch, and I will gun you down like a mad dog, understand?" Another nod and she pushed the man away hard, wiping her hand on her pants in an attempt to get rid of the unpleasant feel of the dirty greasy hair. She glared down at the man as he lay in the dust moaning slightly and holding his broken and bloody nose, fighting back the urge to kick him into the middle of next week.

"What's goin' on here?" A quiet but authoritative voice asked from the boardwalk.

Jack looked up, immediately seeing the star pinned to the man's frock coat. Moving up to study the Sheriff's face, she saw a man in his fifties whose calm brown eyes were appraising her even as she did the same to him.

"Cal up to his old tricks again?" The lawman's voice was calm and even. Sensing the anger in the small figure before him and seeing a coldness in the eyes he was treading warily. Cal was nothing but trouble and probably deserved the effective and speedy beating he'd just received. The Sheriff had seen how quickly the tall man had been reduced to a groaning heap - the casual effectiveness in the way the smaller figure had acted suggesting he was well used to delivering such punishment. The Sheriff knew well-enough that he couldn't let such a newcomer think there was no law in this town but neither did he want things to escalate.

"If you mean insulting a man's wife then yes he has, Sheriff." A humourless, feral smile appeared on the rough's face. "I was just learnin' him some manners."

The anger in the gruff voice was unmistakable, and the Sheriff glanced at the young Chinese woman who'd now snapped out of her shocked immobility and was moving towards them, correctly identifying her as the wife in question.

"Is that so?" Brown eyes briefly flicked down to where the stranger's right hand now rested on the buckle of his gun-belt, bare inches from the handle of the revolver.

"Jack?" The stranger glanced towards the approaching figure. "You okay?"

"Fine, Linn, just having a talk with the Sheriff here, all friendly like."

The Sheriff did not miss the calming hand that was laid on the stranger's shoulder or the way the cold eyes warmed just a little in the woman's presence.

"Well, young man, I think he's learnt his lesson. I'll make sure he keeps out of your way for the rest of your stay." He tipped his hat to the young woman, "Ma'am."

A brief nod from the young man then a scowl at Cal who had now struggled into a sitting position, before he finally turned to his wife, a sudden grin appearing out of nowhere. "C'mon, I've a surprise for you back at the hotel."

***

Jack dragged the bemused Linn back into the hotel, the adrenaline from the brief fight making her feel almost giddy. After depositing the provisions and her hat in their room, she grabbed Linn's saddlebag and rushed back down the stairs. Getting a nod from Joe in response to her questioning look, she took Linn's hand and led her down a short corridor and through the door at the end. The hotel's owner had done her proud - along with the large tub from which the steam could still be seen rising there were a number of clean towels draped over a clothes horse in front of the small stove on which more water was heating. There was something else, something she hadn't asked for, a scent of lavender - it looked like Joe had a romantic streak as well as a love of a good soak. The latter, as he'd explained, being the reason for a dedicated bathing room in such a small hotel..

"Bath-time, love." Jack grinned as she shut and locked the door, suddenly finding arms wrapped around her from behind and insistent lips on the back of her neck. Gently peeling the hands from around her waist, Jack turned. "Much as I love that, Linn, your bath is getting cold."

"Spoil sport!" Linn mock pouted, then turned to examine the tub. "Hmm," she trailed her hand through the water, "big enough for two little ones I think?"

"My thought's exactly," Jack grinned wickedly. This was going to be worth the money she'd laid out. After all, I should be able to win most of it back tonight, if the Lady's on my side. Then she realised Linn was unlocking the door. "What are you doin'?"

"You surely do not think I am letting you get back into those stinking things after you are all spruced up do you?" Then she was out the door.

"But these are all I?" Linn was out of the door before the sentence was completed, "?have." An amused frown appeared on her face. "Damn, what is she up to?"

It didn't take long before Linn returned with a brown paper parcel. "My surprise for you." She tossed the parcel to the still amused rough.

After a puzzled glance at her lover, she ripped open the paper finding flannel drawers and undershirt, socks, a green checked fatigue shirt and dark-brown jeans-cloth pants. "You shouldn't have, Linn, I have the Marshal's spares."

"They are far too big, love; I do not think I could keep a straight face seeing you trying to wear them. As for those," she indicated the clothes Jack was currently wearing, "I think they could ride that horse of yours all by themselves."

"Just 'cause I didn't come away with half a wardrobe." In a matter of moments, the amusement had gone to be replaced by an annoyed scowl.

Linn was well used to the lightening mood shifts; unsettling to those that didn't know her, they'd in part led to the rough's reputation for being slightly crazy. She also caught the insecurity behind the sullen comment, realising with a sudden flash of insight that the rough's masculine pride was finding being beholden to another, particularly a woman, difficult. "Well, right now I want to be out of my wardrobe and into that tub." When there was no reaction to the light, teasing words she hesitated, considering how to deal with the sudden brooding mood, preferably before the water got too cold. She is probably worried that she is not doing enough, that I do not need her.

Taking the new clothes from unresisting hands, she laid them over the clotheshorse. Turning back, she studied the silent woman who was now scowling at the tiled floor as is it had personally insulted her. Moving closer, she ran a gentle hand down the side of the rough's face, tracing the clenched muscles in the jaw. "I love you so much, Jack, do you know that? My heart has been yours ever since you offered to grow your hair for me." The fingers moved down her neck to the open vee of the shirt. "What is mine is yours, what is yours is mine, is not that the way it should be?" Gently tracing the prominent collarbones with the tips of her fingers, she then took the downcast chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted it up until she could look into the still scowling face. "You are all I want." Finally the scowl relaxed, being replaced by an uncertain frown. Dropping her hand, she began slowly to unbutton the shirt and couldn't help adding, "You do realise that we are wasting that bath you so thoughtfully provided?"

All four buttons undone she pulled the shirt tails out of the grubby pants, running her hands over the firm stomach, tracing the edge of the bandages then dipping down under the waist of pants and drawers until the gun-belt prevented further exploration. Troubled by the lack of response and feeling her own frustration building she pushed the dark blue vest off unresisting shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Next she pushed the shirts up until the arms stopped any further progress. Looking deep into the green eyes below still furrowed brows, she was encouraged by the small flicker of desire. There was no resistance as she urged the arms up and pulled the shirts over the blonde head leaving the rough's upper body clad only in bandages. She wrinkled her nose at the smell emanating from the cotton strips. "Those need a good wash as well," she muttered under her breath before moving teasing hands over the bound breasts, smiling at the faint moan it caused. Meeting Jack's eyes once more, she was relieved to see the green being swallowed up by the dilating pupils; the control the rough's stubborn pride had been struggling to hold finally breaking under the gentle assault. Got you now, sweetheart! "You are my heart, my soul, my love." Taking a calloused hand, she pressed it against her heart. "I love you, Jack, and I need you, now and for ever," she paused allowing a come-hither smile to appear, "but especially now." She watched in relief as a lazy, knowing grin formed on her lover's face as the guilty feeling that she was somehow failing Linn also succumbed to the loving words.

"For you, my heart, anything."

***

Jack had to admit that wearing clean new clothes was a nice change. They were a little too big, the way she liked, but then Linn knew that. Anyway, getting men's clothes small enough to fit her properly wasn't easy so it was a good thing she preferred them loose. She buttoned up the dark-blue vest - it hadn't been washed but had been given a good brush and had spruced up well as had the battered black hat - pulled on the blue plaid coat, picked up her hat and opened the door. Turning, she paused at the sight of the sleeping Linn, a fond smile appearing on her face. The ex-saloon girl had already been exhausted when they'd arrived and the bath-time shenanigans had all but finished her off.

A grin that would have outdone the cat who got the cream lit up Jack's face. She still couldn't quite believe the inventive ways of making love they'd come up with in and around the large enamelled tub. They'd eventually managed to get the bath they both needed, though most of the water had ended up on the floor rather than in the tub. When the hot water had eventually ran out, pruney and exhausted, they'd finally but reluctantly decided to stop - after all they did both need to be able to ride on the morrow. Noticing Joe's amused glance as she'd escorted the dark-haired woman up to their room, and the slight, disbelieving shake of the head, she'd given her usual lazy knowing grin and then winked, causing the man to chuckle out loud before returning to his work. Returning to the room, Linn had yawned, announced she was going to lie down for a moment 'just to rest her eyes' and had been asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Unlike Linn, Jack's brain wouldn't slow down and her body was buzzing. Now she needed something to scratch another type of itch. There should be some sort of action over at the saloon by now and she needed two things at this precise moment - cards and whisky. Pausing for a moment Jack considered waking her lover - it couldn't be comfortable sleeping in the fashionable dark red gown that had replaced the split skirt, blouse and jacket worn on the trail. Eventually, deciding that the sleep was more important, she whispered a parting, "See you later, honey," before shutting and locking the door behind her.

Swiftly crossing the now dark street, Jack re-entered the saloon and crossed to the bar, pleased to see that the barman had the whisky bottle ready in his hand.

"Same again?"

A brief nod then, whilst the drink was being poured, she studied the room. There were a good number of customers, more than she would have expected for such a small town. "Busy tonight?"

"Yeah, a wagon-train's camped on the edge of the town. Say they're heading towards Ghost Town." He glanced at his customer, "You know the place? Used to be called Maggie Valley years back."

"Heard of it," Jack agreed cautiously.

"Well apparently they've had word that the burg's back to normal; that the gang that'd been running the place was wiped out by some old mountain man." He gave a small cynical smile, "Someone's obviously decided that now there ain't going to be any protection to pay it's safe to go back, maybe even lucrative."

Thankfully, he'd returned to watching the rest of the room as he talked and didn't notice the way Jack's hand tightened around the whisky glass or the angry flare in the green eyes. Don't take long for the damn vultures to start circling. Taking a mouthful of the fiery liquid she waited for the anger to subside before agreeing, "Is that so. And he got the whole gang?"

"Yeah. At least that's what they," he nodded to the raucous group of bullwhackers in one corner of the room, "are saying."

So, dead am I? she thought wryly. If only that were what everyone were thinking. Reckon the Marshal musta put the word out 'bout me gettin' loose by now, wonder why it ain't got here yet? Her musings were broken by the barman's voice once more.

"If you still want a game then try the table in the corner. As I said it's nothing spectacular but they sure like their cards and I reckon they'd welcome someone new."

Nodding her thanks, she moved across the room to the table in question. There were four men around the table, all holding their cards in a casually knowledgeable manner. Two of them must have been in their sixties with weather-beaten, leathery faces that spoke of years spent out in the open. Of the others, one looked like a clerk, neat sack suit, neat hair, neat hands and the last was barely out of his teens, looking even younger than Jack appeared to be. It was an odd gathering but all four were obviously comfortable in each other's presence.

One of the older men looked up on her approach, giving a toothless grin. "I reckon you'll be Jackson. Clay said you might be interested in a hand or two."

"Right in both cases," she agreed, "call me Jack."

The clerk sniggered, "Jack Jackson, so original," only to quickly held up an apologetic hand as the newcomer's stare made him suddenly uneasy. "No offence meant, Mr Jackson."

"Ignore him, Jack," the first man drawled, "someone with a name like Alphonse can't complain about anyone else's."

The newly identified Alphonse gave a glare at the speaker, but there was no real anger in it and Jack realised this was a well-honed exchange. The clerk looked back at Jack, "Just call me Al. Pull up a chair, Mr Jackson." As Jack did just this, he explained their particular rules. "I assume Clay mentioned that we are hardly high spenders. We play triple draw, maximum pot five dollars."

"Fine by me," she gave a small grin, "Alphonse." Five dollars was, after all, nearly half a weeks wage for a farm labourer. As one of Burnett's hired guns she hadn't earned much more than that - though the fringe benefits had more than made up for it. Hardly small stakes after all.

After being introduced to the rest of the table, the serious business of the evening had started. Jack was pleasantly surprised by the standard of play and, despite the relatively small pots, found herself thoroughly enjoying the game. There was none of the knife-edge tension that had surrounded the games at the Dollar, no wondering when the first fight would erupt and, although the other players were serious, it was clear they were there for the playing as much as the winning. Contrary to her expectations the conservatively dressed Al was the riskiest player and was currently down on the game, a situation she'd gathered from the gentle ribbing was not that uncommon - in contrast, the youngest player, Stevie, was the most cautious of the four and was slowly building up a steady profit. The older men were canny but predictable and were both down on the game but not by too much. Jack, for her part, was switching her play style each hand and was now marginally up on the night.

Curly, the nearly bald older man, growled in irritation, his so far implacable poker face cracking. "Damn, boy, are you doing that deliberately?"

"What?" Jack asked innocently.

"Deliberate," he shook his head, "gotta be deliberate. No-one can play so plum contrary by accident. I fold."

That just left Al and Jack for the last round, each exchanging one card. Al opened with fifty cents. After a moments consideration Jack raised another fifty. She could almost see the clerk's indecision over whether to raise again or call.

"I see you," and he added another fifty cents to his bet.

"So, whaddaya got then, Alphonse?"

Wincing slightly at the obdurate use of his full name, Al laid his five diamonds on the table. "Flush!" A faint smile appearing, he challenged, "So what you got then, Jackson?"

Frowning, Jack glanced at her hand then back at her now triumphantly grinning opponent. Gotcha. Frown changing into a smirk she laid down her four deuces. "Four of a kind." Enjoying the annoyed look on Al's face she swept the grand sum of three dollars and ten cents off the table and finished her whisky before pouring another from the bottle she'd got from Clay. She frowned in surprise - a bottle that was now half-empty. Damn me, where'd that go?

***

Splitting the last length of the cotton strip, Linn tied the end of the bandage around Jack's wrist and tidily tucked away the loose ends. She looked up into the now clean face. "That was a brave thing to do, sweetheart, saving them like that."

"Goddamned stupid more like," Jack growled as she flexed her bandage-covered hand.

"They are calling you a hero, you know, for what you did."

That brought a brief, sarcastic snort of laughter from the rough, "Me? A hero? Well that certainly is a first." She knocked back another shot of whisky, the additional alcohol helping to deaden the pain in her hand. She was also hoping it would help her sleep without the nightmare that had brought her kicking and screaming awake, clutching the phantom rope at her neck every night since leaving Maggie Valley.

Linn gently disengaged the fingers from around the glass, concerned as to how much of the spirit the rough had apparently already consumed. "Come on, sweetheart, let us get some sleep."

Jack gave a nod and followed her under the sheets and, suddenly in need of comfort, snuggled up against her lover's side, pillowing her head between the soft breasts, arm wrapped around the small waist. They lay like that for a while, Linn absentmindedly twirling her fingers in the golden hair just below her chin, as exhaustion began to outweigh the adrenaline rush of the night's adventure. She was on the edge of sleep when a barely audible question was mumbled into her chest.

"They really think I'm a hero?

"Yes, love," she kissed the blonde head, noting the faint tang of smoke that still clung to the newly washed hair still slightly damp from the second bath of the day. "Now get some sleep, we have an early start in the morning remember."

A nod then a mumbled, "'member," then Jack was asleep and that night the nightmare did not return.

***

Entering the small town, the Marshall noted the burnt out house on the outskirts of the town that would have explained the light they had seen the night before from their campsite. Fortunately for the wood built town it looked like the fire had been limited to just the one building. Hope whoever lived there got out okay, he thought briefly then turned his mind to finding the local Sheriff.

The town's jail wasn't hard to find but when he spoke to the Sheriff his hopes where dashed by the news that the town had yet to get a telegraph office and he'd not received the information the Marshall had been relying on.

"Ain't seen two women, Marshall, but there was a Chinee looking woman here yesterday, came in with her husband." The Sheriff moved towards a coffee pot brewing on the small stove. "Want one?"

The Marshall shook his head before continuing, suspicious over the presence of a Chinese woman in the town being any sort of coincidence. "Blonde, was he, this husband, 'bout five four?"

The Sheriff gave a startled look, "Yeah." Pouring a coffee he added, "Must admit I thought he was going to be trouble despite being barely more than a boy by the look of him; there was an aura of violence around him that spelt trouble and that look in his eyes that says 'killer' - you know what I mean?"

Nodding, the Marshall agreed. "Yeah, I know." The Sheriff's next comments surprised him.

"Looks like I was wrong though, the Johnson kids would probably be dead now if it weren't for him." Seeing the blank look on the Marshall's face he continued, "You saw the burnt out place on the way in? That was the Johnson's; Matt and his two kids lived there - his wife died some years back. It caught late last night whilst the kids were asleep and Matt was at the saloon. Luckily, young Jackson was passing and saw it was on fire. The kids musta woken up 'cause he heard their screams and got them out just as the place went up big time then raised the alarm. Saved the kids and a good part of the town with his actions I reckon, and got his hand burnt bad in the process." The Sheriff shrugged, "Still reckon he was a bit of a wrong un' but he obviously ain't all bad and the town certainly reckon he was a real hero last night."

"They still here, the hero and his wife?" Could be a coincidence I suppose, can't see her doin' anything like that - start a fire, yes, help rescue some stranger's kid, hell no!

"Dunno," another shrug, "They were staying at the Dog, Joe'll know."

***

Jack work with a start, blinking in the bright light streaming through the window. Damn! Eyes widened as she realised that the light was far too bright, suggesting the morning was well underway. Damn, damn! She shook Linn gently, "C'mon, sweetheart, wake up." As the sleeper opened her eyes Jack was already pulling on her pants, "C'mon, we need to get out of here."

"What is the rush?" The still half-asleep woman blinked sleepily then stretched, enjoying the feel of soft bed rather than hard ground under her.

Jack paused, she didn't have a logical answer but something was telling her to get out of town as quick as possible. "I? I dunno, but I just feel we need to go."

"Why?" Linn voiced the idea that she'd been considering last night. "Why not stay here, Jack, perhaps find some work. After last night we would be welcome enough, I think." She watched as the rough paused, new shirt in hand. Sensing a weakening, she continued, "Come on, love, we cannot keep riding for ever, we need to decide what we are going to do. Here is as good a place to start over is it not?"

Shaking her head, the rough pulled the shirt on, wrinkling her nose at the smell of smoke that permeated it. Now pulling on her boots, she continued to try and explain what she was feeling. "I? it just don't feel right, Linn." She tapped her stomach with a bandaged hand, "somethin' here is telling me to skedaddle out of here, an' sharpish."

Not quite able to keep her annoyance out of her voice at the way her suggestion had been so completely overridden, she responded shortly, "If you say so."

Jack didn't catch the tone and just nodded. Now fully dressed, she buckled on the gun belt, growling in frustration as she was hampered by her bandaged hand. Then, grabbing her carbine and coat, she moved towards the door. "I'll get the horses and meet you out front."

Linn stared at the back of the door as it was shut firmly behind the hurrying figure, a tension in her jaw the only sign of the anger she was feeling. Then she let out a sigh and started to get dressed before getting their meagre belongings packed away.

The feeling of apprehension was growing stronger by the moment yet she could see no reason for it. The owner of the Dog had greeted her with an open smile and, when she had tried to pay, had given a grin as he said, "It's on the house, Mr Jackson, after what you did last night." Momentarily flat footed by the generosity, she stuttered a brief thanks and then headed out of the hotel and towards the livery stables. She'd moved along a few buildings and was just about to cross the street when she saw familiar figures coming out of the jail. She quickly ducked back into the gap between two buildings and watched the men move towards the Dog. Hell and damnation, that goddamned blasted Marshall! She recognised the other men as well; all four had been involved in the gunfight that had left her bleeding out her life on the dusty street less than a month previously. Her mind whirled as she tried to work out how to get out of this mess as she automatically brought the carbine up to point at the lawman's chest. If I take 'em out, I'll be free an' clear. Burnt and bandaged right hand effectively unusable, at least for pulling a trigger, she nevertheless held the carbine left-handed with practised ease. You were right, Pa, it was worth the effort! He'd always insisted, much to her arrogant annoyance, that she practice with left as well as right. His insistence meant that she was a better shot left-handed than many were using their right. A momentary pang of grief clutched her heart, followed by guilt at the fact that she'd barely though about her dead father since his murder. I'm sorry, Pa, and she suddenly wished that Teaster had been one of the men to follow her. About to pull the trigger, she saw the group stop. Hesitating, she watched in puzzled surprise as the other men went off in the direction of the saloon leaving only the Marshall heading towards the Black Dog Hotel. Dropping her aim, she moved around the back of the buildings heading for the back of the hotel and the stairs she'd spotted the night before - perhaps she didn't have to get them all after all, just the Marshall.

Quickly running up the back-stairs the rough stopped at the top, trying to quieten her breathing as she heard footsteps coming up the internal stairs. Unable to see what was going on, she listened to the feet getting closer then stop. There was a knock on a door and the Marshall's voice, "Mrs Jackson?"

Carefully she opened the door into the corridor and moved carefully to where the Marshall stood patiently at the door of their room, his back to her.

"Mrs Jackson?" He knocked on the door once more then moved his hand towards the handle. Just as his hand touched it, he paused for a fraction then span swiftly around, hand going for his revolver only to stop dead as he registered the carbine pointing into his face.

"Stop right there, Marshall, one move an' you're a dead man." Moving closer she cautiously let go of the carbine with her right hand and removed his revolver then, retreating a step, she glanced at the brand new peacemaker. "Nice shootin' iron, Marshall, better than your old one," tucking it into her belt she gave a mischievous grin, "nice of you to donate 'em to me so friendly like." Now raising her voice, she spoke towards the door, "Open up, love, we have a guest." She saw the door open and Linn's relieved face peer out. "Inside, Marshall." She emphasised the order with a gesture of the Winchester.

***

What the hell do I do now? Jack punched the wall in frustration, her momentary good humour having disappeared at the realisation she had a live Marshal on her hands. Another punch and she felt the smart of grazed knuckles, welcoming the slight pain as she cursed herself for not following her gut instinct. You're goin' to get your damned fool self killed dilly-dallying like this, just kill him! Despite the brave thoughts, she knew she couldn't, not now, not with her lover's presence stopping her better than a bullet through the brain. She spun around to glare accusingly at him. "Why the hell couldn't you leave us alone, you son-of-bitch!"

"Hand yourself in, Jack, you'll get a fair trial, I promise you that." He urged, sensing in Linn a gentling presence that was apparently staying the rough's trigger finger and he hoped might also help him sway Little Jack into giving herself up.

"Yeah, and then a fair hanging!" The response was immediate and sneering.

The Marshall was silent. Such a result was unlikely, the state didn't like hanging women but, with what she was accused of, it was definitely a possibility.

"Not denying it I see, Marshall?" The sneer was now tinged with a touch of fatalistic despair that he instinctively picked up on.

"Giving yourself up would help get you a more lenient sentence." He glanced at the half-Chinese woman where she sat unhappily on the edge of the bed, seeing fear in the dark, almond shaped eyes - not fear for herself, he realised in surprise, but the fear of loosing Jack.

A vigorous shake of the head, "I ain't rottin' in some prison neither, Marshall, I'd rather die first."

Seeing the pain in the exotic eyes at the rough's declaration, he suddenly wondered if the feeling was mutual. "What about her?" he nodded towards the silent witness to the conversation, only realising his mistake as the green eyes flashed with sudden anger seconds before the butt of the Winchester hit him in the stomach. Bending double, at least as far as arms bound to the chair allowed him, he retched, gasping for breath. Still trying to get his breath back, he heard the snarled words.

"Don't you dare threaten her, you bastard, or I will kill you!"

Well that answers that question! Giving up on the attempts at persuasion and having got enough breath back, he wheezed, "Ain't you going to do that anyway." He looked up and was surprised to see indecision on the rough's face and he pressed on, sensing a momentary weakening. "Ain't that what you do, Jack, hurt people, kill them?"

The indecision remained for a moment more before it was replaced with a cold look, the one this town's Sheriff had instinctively picked up on, the face of a killer.

"Yeah, Marshall, that's what I do alright. Now Linn here," she glanced towards the still silent witness, "she reckons I should try and settle down somewhere, get a real job, but what she don't know, what you do know, is that is ain't that easy. Each killing just makes the next easier an' now I don't reckon I can stop it, not really." A faint gasp from the corner made then both glance towards the ex-prostitutes shocked face.

"You do not mean that, Jack." The tone was pleading, almost desperate.

"Sorry, honey, but I am who I am, warts an' all, you need to know that." She turned to face the Marshall but her words were still for her lover, "If you want to go I don't blame you. Get out, find another life, don't stick with me I ain't no good."

"That is not true." Linn sounded angry now, surprising both of them

"If you say so." Jack replied quietly, still staring hard at the problem she had to deal with.

The Marshall was watching the outlaw's face, trying to gauge what she was going to do even as he surreptitiously tried to loosen the ropes tying him to the chair. He had to admit that he was beginning to revise his opinion of this strange woman. It was plain that she was a killer, she'd admitted that herself, and there was definitely a crazy streak in there but it looked like there was more to her that he had thought. Nevertheless, he had a job to do and do it he would. Still?

"Why'd you help those kids?" He noticed the surprise in Jack's face. "The Sheriff told me, said you were quite the hero. Now that really don't sound like the Little Jack I've heard about. So why'd you do it?"

Suddenly flustered, Jack muttered, "I dunno." Automatically she clenched her still painful bandaged hand, "It was stupid, damn stupid." A faint crease formed between her brows as she considered what had happened the previous evening.

She'd excused herself from the game, suddenly feeling the effects of the best part of a bottle she'd downed. Needing to get some fresh air, clear her head, she left the saloon and walked in no particular direction until the smell of burning caught her attention. Soon finding the house, seeing the flames flickering inside, her first instinct was to raise the alarm and then leave. Then she heard panicked screams from inside the house and acted without thought, barging down the door and fighting through the smoke and flames, guided only by the voices. She found their room and automatically reached for the door handle only to gasp in pain as the heated metal burned her hand. Resorting to her shoulder once more, she barged open the door, finding the children inside. Breaking the rooms only window, she bundled them both out and then ran to the saloon to raise the alarm before collapsing, coughing fit to burst from the smoke she'd inhaled. She was surprised at the praise she received for her actions, the slaps on the back and drinks, it was a new experience to see friendly looks on the faces of the type of people that had previously either ignored her completely or, when they thought she wasn't looking, had glared in open hostility.

Coming to her decision, Jack asked, "Everything packed, Linn?"

"Yes." A slight pause, "What are you going to do?"

"This," and so fast that neither Linn nor the Marshall saw it coming she hit him hard in the forehead with the butt of the carbine, knocking him out cold.

"C'mon, Linn, before I change my mind and kill the son-of-a-bitch after all."

***

They were heading up into the mountains now, off the trail completely and Jack was doing her damnedest to throw what would no doubt be the soon following Marshall. She'd never had to do this sort of thing before but she had been on the other side of a chase and had some idea of what to do. They were currently splashing down a small river, hoping that any follower would assume they would go up river as their general direction had been up the mountain. Finding a rocky bank, she urged her horse up, hearing Linn along with the third horse she was leading follow, then began heading along the contours of the mountain. Another stream, another random direction change, she now had no idea where she was going or what was in front of them, but she reckoned that if she had no idea then the Marshall wouldn't be able to find any pattern to follow.

This carried on for another two days, with the two women riding until it was too dark to continue and starting again as soon as the light was back. They were now well into the afternoon of the third day and Linn was getting seriously worried about Jack. She glanced at her once more, not liking the way the rough was swaying in the saddle. When they'd woken that morning she'd noticed the warmth coming from her lover's body but Jack had shook off her concerned questions. However, whatever it was that was wrong seemed to be getting worse. In addition to the unnatural warmth, Linn had not failed to notice how the stubbornly stoic woman was increasingly favouring her burnt hand. It didn't take a genius to work out what was happening but it looked like the rough wasn't going to let her do anything until it was too late. "Jack, wait, please."

Jack just heard the plea and pulled weakly on the reins, her horse ambling to a halt. The world seemed to be spinning round her and she couldn't stop the shivering, So damn cold.

"Jack, we need to stop."

Mumbling through the fever, she argued, "No, need to move, keep going."

"This will kill you, Jack, if I cannot treat you properly." There was no response but she still seemed to be conscious, just. Reaching down, Linn took the slack rein and started on her search for somewhere suitable to treat her.

Perfect! Linn looked at the small, partly tumbled down cabin they'd stumbled upon. There was a small creek running nearby and plenty of fallen wood for a fire. Leaving Jack slumped on her horse, violently shivering and delirious, she entered the cabin. There was still some furniture in the one room, old but sturdy and still useable. It also appeared to be more weather proof than the initial impression suggested. Swiftly she checked the chimney then, happy it was clear, lit a fire in the stone fireplace. Pulling the old, filthy bedding off the one small bed she threw it out of the door, stopping as she realised Jack was no longer on her horse. Suddenly fearful, she saw the crumpled figure on the ground on the far side of where the horse stood, idly cropping the grass. God, no, she rushed over, thankful to see hazy green eyes moving to meet her own.

"So cold!"

"Yes, love, I know." Leaving Jack for the moment, she gathered up all their blankets and quickly arranged them on the bed. Then she went back to the still shivering figure and half carried, half helped her into the cabin and onto the bed. Next, she collected some water from the creek in the kettle and put it on to boil then retrieved her small store of medicines from her saddlebag. Only now did she turn to examine Jack's hand; peeling off the stained and dirty bandages, she winced at the inflammation and the puss seeping out of the burst blisters covering the inside of thumb, first two fingers and part of the palm. The only positive sign was that there was no sign of the gangrene she'd feared. Dear Lord, Jack, why did you not say something? Carefully, flinching at every groan of pain from her semi-conscious patient, she cleaned it with some of the cooling boiled water then daubed it with some of her precious supply of tincture of iodine, though it was probably too late for the antiseptic to do much good. Finally, she daubed the salve of turpentine, sweet oil and beeswax over the uninfected parts of the burn and wrapped it in a clean bandage. Now she turned to the job of getting the fever down. Touching Jack's forehead, she was shocked at the heat radiating from her and she swiftly removed the outer clothing from the delirious woman and started trying to cool her down.

Four hours later and Linn was exhausted but nothing she was doing was helping. Still Jack's fever raged and seemed to be getting worse - the rough was burning up and Linn wasn't sure how much longer the already exhausted body could last. If only there was a tub, I could try a cold bath. Then she remembered the creek, Of course! "Come on, love." She hauled the barely conscious woman out of the bed and guided her down to the creek. There was mumbled complaint as Jack was lowered into the cold water, then she just lay still and, for a moment, Linn wondered if the sudden cold had been too much for the already stressed body. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard a mumbled, but distinctly aggrieved, "Damned freezin'," and Jack tried to struggle out of the icy bath.

"No, stay there, it is good for you." With gentle but firm hands, she stopped the attempt to get up - the lack of effort it took only adding to her concerns.

She made the feverish woman stay in the stream until the flushed skin started to get a distinctly bluish tinge, then dragged her out and back into the house were she was stripped naked, rubbed dry and finally settled on the bed once more. Over the following hours, Linn continued to sponge down the still sweating and feverish Jack but the creek bath seemed to have done the trick and in the early hours of the morning the fever broke. Both women then fell into exhausted sleep, Linn with her arms wrapped around Jack, blonde head pillowed protectively against her chest.

***

There seemed to be no sense to the trail the outlaw had been taking, the Marshall realised in frustration. They had already wasted half a day following what turned out to be a false trail and had had to double back for another half until Copperhead had picked it up again.

As they had ridden, he had surprised himself by asking the other men what they knew of Little Jack. He'd explained off his curiosity as an attempt to try and get some inkling of what she might do but, if he admitted it, it was mostly because he wanted to understand why the strange woman had become what she was. Cole and Pete had been understandably negative in their summing up of the rough's character, damning her as bad through and through. The deputy, on the other hand, had given a surprisingly thoughtful appraisal of the woman's character.

"I don't reckon she ever had much choice in the matter, Marshall. Her Pa'd been a Burnett man almost all his life and then with his wife dieing and bringing up the girl as a boy, expecting her to be a chip off the old block, she'd had to be violent and ruthless to survive - perhaps even more so than the rest of the men." He gave a brief shrug before finishing, "Still, she did what she did and that can't be excused, whatever her upbringing."

"That little whore seems willing to stick by her side, she seems nice enough as her sort go, why's that d' you reckon?" He knew that prostitutes could be as hard and ruthless as any outlaw; there was little room for kindness in their lives but he felt the rough's accomplice had somehow retained her humanity despite her profession. Indeed, he'd the feeling that her calming influence was the only reason he wasn't already pushing up daisies in Boot Hill.

The deputy gave a wry smile, "Had quite a reputation with the ladies of the night, did Little Jack, I think that annoyed some of the men more than anything else. They also seemed genuinely to like her, and she certainly didn't like it when they were mistreated. I'm pretty sure that was what caused her to kill old man Morris. He was a bastard with the girls, none of them liked going with him but he paid his money so they had little choice and Burnet didn't seem too bothered about what the old bastard got up too as long as he didn't do any permanent damage. Seems he went too far with Linn one night and Little Jack went plum crazy, followed him home and shot him down on his own doorstep." He shook his head thoughtfully, "I wasn't nice, Marshall. She didn't kill him right off and she was good enough to have done that easily if she'd wanted. Instead, she emptied her revolver into him, the first five slugs hurting but not killing, toying with the poor bastard until she put the last between his eyes as he lay on the ground." He gave a humourless chuckle, "Burnett wasn't too pleased about a regular customer being killed like that, at least not without his say so. To show just how unhappy he was, he ordered the rest of the gang to beat the shit out of her the very next day whilst the girls watched - he wanted them all to understand just what would happen to any unauthorised protection." He shook his head sadly at the memory of the savagery he'd witnessed then with a small shrug to cast off the melancholy thoughts he finished his tale. "Still, he can't have been too upset otherwise she'd have ended up just as dead as old Morris."

"And the Sheriff did nothing about any of this?" The Marshall was truly shocked, both at the casual brutality he'd just heard described, disturbing even in this hard country, and at the fact that nothing was apparently done about it.

"He was scared, Marshall, we were all scared. We didn't want to go the same way, especially not for an old buzzard like Morris." He glanced at the listener, guilty brown eyes meeting the Marshall's uncomprehending grey ones. "That's the way it was, Marshall. I just pray to God I'm never such a coward again."

Eyes returning to the trail, Marshall Duckett found he was experiencing an unusual feeling, even after the violence he'd just heard described, something he'd never felt before - the faintest hint of empathy for his quarry. Won't stop me bringing her back though, she has to pay for what she's done.

***

"Are you crazy, Linn?" Jack glared in open disbelief then struggled up into a sitting position, still weak from the effects of the fever. "We can't stay here."

"Lie down, sweetheart, you need to rest." Linn urged, wishing she'd not voiced the suggestion until the rough had recovered more. She'd spend most of the day making the small room move liveable whilst Jack had slept. Now she was exhausted once more, worry over her lover's health draining her energy more effectively than the trail ever had and the thought of an argument with the stubborn rough was almost too much to contemplate.

Ignoring the advice, the rough swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, only to abruptly sit back down as the world started spinning. "Damn!" When she felt gentle hands pushing her to lie back down she went with them. "Hell, but I feel like shit!"

"Not surprising - why did you not tell me about your hand?" There was a mixture of annoyance and hurt in her voice as she wearily contemplated whether she wanted to hit or hug her infuriatingly mule-headed patient.

"Didn't want to worry you," Jack mumbled awkwardly.

"Did not!?" Linn couldn't finish the sentence, finding her anger rising at the idiocy of the comment. "Damn you, Jack you scared me half to death." Now she felt the tears coming, "I already thought I had lost you once, and yesterday I thought it was going to happen again, for real this time." She sat down on the edge of the bed as all the stress, emotional and physical, of the last few weeks caught up with her and started sobbing uncontrollably. Through the tears she felt a gentle hand on her back, and Jack's soothing voice. "It's okay, honey, I'm going to be fine thanks to you."

Turning, she caught Jack in a fierce grip, head pressed against her lover's chest. After a surprised pause, she felt strong arms encircling her comfortingly.

"Hey, it's okay," Jack was feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of Linn's emotion and was desperately trying to calm her down, "It's okay, honey." She muttered soothing endearments, gently rubbing the heaving back until she felt the sobs start to lessen and the fierce grip relaxed. Noticing how the breathing had calmed and deepened the rough realised the younger woman had cried herself to sleep. Stroking the dark hair as she continued to hold the woman she loved, she stared at the rough ceiling as her mind worked more objectively through what her lover had suggested. Winter would be coming soon; they couldn't keep running through that and hope to survive. If she backtracked a bit and made a good job of hiding their route up to the cabin then perhaps the Marshall would give up in the fear of being caught by the snows himself. Don't really have the supplies to last a whole winter here though, not as it stands. Perhaps there is a town somewhere within riding distance. Frowning, the faint memory of accidentally coming across a small town, little more than a trading post really, the day before flashed into her head, but that could have been her feverish mind playing tricks on her. Peering down at the sleeping face, seeing the signs of worry and fatigue on it she decided, there and then, that that was what she would do. No more running, Jack boy, we stay here and make the best of it we can. If the Marshall does find us then he'll pay a heavy prize for my hide.

***

Linn was woken by the dawn light streaming through the small window, only to find herself alone in the small bed, the blankets drawn up under her chin and tucked in around her. "Jack?" Glancing around she could see no sign of the rough. How long have I been asleep? She threw back the covers and headed to the doorway. "Jack!" she called, inexplicably worried by her absence. A sudden felling of panic surged through her as she noticed that two of the horses were missing. I've driven her away; she thought in despair, I shouldn't have been so angry with her. She rushed back into the cabin to get her own coat then stopped as she noticed the scrap of paper on the rough table. Snatching it up, she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the roughly scrawled, 'Back soon, J." Still not one for the big explanations I see. Heart comforted by the note, Linn started back on the job of clearing out and arranging the small cabin, making it both more weather proof and more comfortable. Somehow, she had the feeling they would be staying here for a while after all.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon, as she was just draping some of the old blankets, now washed and in a slightly better state of cleanliness over some bushes that she heard the muffled sound of hooves approaching. Hoping it was Jack but not stupid enough to assume it, she returned to the cabin. Taking the carbine the rough had left propped by the door, she settled at the small, glassless window to watch the visitor's arrival. It didn't take long before she caught a glimpse of blue plaid and then Jack's familiar figure came into view, a distinctly pleased look on her tired and still pale face. Rushing outside as the rider lifted her leg over the horse's neck and slid out of the saddle, she caught the surprised rough in a tight hug the moment she touched the ground, stopping the suddenly wobbly legs from giving out altogether. "I thought you had left me!"

"Didn't you see the note?" Jack asked guiltily, "I did leave you a note."

"Yes I did, sweetheart, but not until after I saw the horses had gone."

"I'm sorry," a brief reassuring kiss then the rough continued, "I thought about what you said. You were right - this would be a good place to stop, so I went down to that town we saw yesterday, with my socks," she gave a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows causing a small laugh from her audience, "and brought us enough supplies to last us the winter. Didn't see any sign of the Marshall anywhere so fingers crossed we've lost the annoyingly persistent son-of-a-bitch." She paused looking somewhat guilty, "I had to use your money for the supplies, I didn't?"

"Hush, love, I have already said what is mine is yours." She gave a snigger, then pressed close to whisper seductively into Jack's ear, "A good part of the money was yours originally anyway, stud, you did take up quite a lot of my time after all."

After a more demanding kiss, Jack reluctantly broke the contact. "Sorry to be a damper, honey, but we have things to get sorted before we can have some fun." She placed a small kiss on Linn's forehead as the dark-haired woman pouted cutely, "An' that doesn't work on me, you know I'm immune to your feminine wiles."

A sly grin appeared on the saloon girl's face, "Is that a challenge, lover?"

No reply from the rough, just the familiar lazy, knowing grin and then a change of subject. "C'mon, lets get these supplies inside then I need to go back and get the trail covered properly."

***

"Damn the little bastard to hell and back!" The Marshall glared at the tracker who just shrugged.

"Sorry, Marshall, but I've lost them."

"She's here, somewhere, I feel it." The Marshall muttered, furious at the fact that she appeared to have slipped his grasp when they'd been so close. He glared into the surrounding woods, looking for a sign of the fugitive through the stark bones of trees now nearly stripped of the reds and golds of autumn. She is out there, still he looked, willing his eyes to see something there, I know it!

"Marshall?"

The deputy's concerned voice brought him back and now, seeing the tired and dubious looks on the other faces, he gave a sigh. "Okay, the snows will be coming soon anyway, perhaps that will do my job for me." He turned back to the Cherokee. "Is there a town in the area, we'll need more supplies before setting back."

A nod and Copperhead was moving, the defeated and disheartened posse trailing behind. They'd not gone more that half a mile when the faint crack of shot echoed around the mountainside. The Cherokee tipped his head slightly. "Rifle, probably a Winchester."

"It's her! It's gotta be." He turned to still dubious faces, "C'mon, men, one last day, if we don't find anything then we go, deal?"

After an exchange of weary glances, the deputy shrugged, "Okay, one more day."

Turning to the Cherokee, he asked, "Did you get a direction?"

Another nod and Copperhead started leading them up into the mountains once more.

After three hours, the tracker stopped suddenly and slid off his horse. After a moment's examination he looked back at the Sheriff, "Some one covered their trail here." Remounting he led them with growing certainty through the woods. It wasn't long before the Marshall caught a faint smell of wood smoke. Silently calling the group to a halt, he indicated that the rest of the group should stay behind and gestured Copperhead to lead the way on foot.

Damn but this is a good spot to hide away, I doubt we'd ever have found it without that shot. They were crouched in the nearly leafless bushes some distance from the tumbledown cabin, only the faint trail of smoke coming out of the chimney showed that it was occupied. He'd already glimpsed the Chinese woman briefly but he hadn't yet seen Little Jack and he needed to know she was there before doing anything, the prostitute wasn't who he was after even if she had helped a felon escape. It wasn't long before he saw his quarry come from behind the cabin carrying an armful of fallen wood. Looking at the Cherokee, he nodded back towards where the rest of the posse was waiting. As he followed the carefully moving tracker, Marshall Duckett let a grin appear in his face - this time he would have the jump on the outlaw and not the other way around.

Jack was jumpy and beginning to seriously regret taking down the small buck she'd come across earlier but the opportunity to get some fresh meat was not to be sniffed at and there would be plenty left to be smoked for the winter as well. Still she worried whether the shot would attract any unwanted attention, specifically the attention of one mule-headed Marshall.

She'd dropped the latest load of wood under the small, drunkenly askew lean-to. Still not completely recovered from the effect of the fever, she stopped to take a breather only to be overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of being watched. After examining the surrounding woods and seeing nothing out of place, she finally dismissed it as an overactive imagination. Feeling warm now, despite the bite in the air, she removed the plaid coat. Hanging it from the corner of the lean-to, she returned to the task of collecting enough wood to last the winter - a task that would keep her busy for weeks yet, especially with a dodgy hand.

Creeping through the undergrowth the Marshall looked around for the rest of his men. He was glad to see they were keeping themselves well in cover; it was only because he knew that they were there that he was able to identify the tiny movement of branch and bush and faint scrunch of dried leaves as their stealthy movement. He'd given them all strict instructions not to fire unless he did or they were fired on, however he wasn't sure Pete in particular would follow his order - the walk up through the woods had provided him with an apt reminder of the reason he was here, his damaged leg making the short journey painful.

He was still trying to decide whether to take the outlaw down straight away or try to take her alive when she reappeared with another load of wood. As she walked towards the lean-to, he noticed that she was wearing her peacemaker - my damned peacemaker and my damned gun-belt, he silently reminded himself - and the first option became suddenly more attractive. Still he was loathe to shoot her down just like that, especially when she had let him live twice, even if their last encounter had given him a king-size headache for days afterward. Stop it, Morgan, she's a goddamned outlaw for Christ's sake. You gave her a chance to give herself up and she refused it. If she'd rather die than go to jail then it ain't your problem. He raised his rifle, taking careful aim. Letting out his breath slowly, he pulled the trigger - the crack of the shot sounding unnaturally loud in the silence of the small clearing. Hell and damnation! Just as he'd pulled the trigger, Jack had stumbled as another shot had rung out. Glancing across he saw the faint trace of gun smoke that indicated that Pete had fired first. Stupid son-of-a-bitch! Glancing back to the cabin he saw Jack scramble into the cabin as the clearing erupted with gunfire.

Jack slammed the door shut, dropping the securing bar across it as a hail of bullets followed her, some of then exploding through the door in a shower of splinters, all missing their intended target. Grabbing the carbine, she made her way to a crack in the log walls just below and to the right of the small window that gave a good view of the front of the cabin. Scanning the undergrowth, she could see no indication of where the shots had come from. Any lingering gun-smoke had already been dispersed by the cold breeze that had been ever present over the last few days, heralding winter's imminent arrival. Still looking intently for her attackers she nearly jumped out of her skin when something touched her shoulder. Spinning around she saw Linn crouched beside her, looking in concern at her arm.

"You are hurt."

Glancing down, she saw the growing bloodstain creeping across the printed cotton. She'd felt the punch of the bullet as it passed though but it didn't seem to be hurting yet. "Yeah, can you do something 'bout it whilst I keep on eye on what going on out there."

A nod of understanding from Linn.

"And keep low."

A small annoyed look that said she'd worked that out already then the younger woman scooted across to get some cotton rags. Jack returned to her scrutiny of the surroundings, only peripherally aware of the sound of material being ripped then her sleeve being slit to allow access to the bullet holes. Her attention was abruptly recaptured as cloth was pressed against the wounds. She hissed through her teeth at the pain prompting a brief apology from Linn as she wrapped a strip of cloth ripped from the Marshall's spare shirt around the wounded bicep to hold the makeshift dressings in place.

"Little Jack, I know you're in there. Throw out your guns and come out with your hands up and you won't be harmed."

"You know that ain't happening, Marshall." She threw back the defiant reply even whilst trying to work out where the shout had come from, reckoning it was somewhere to the left. The voice had been instantly recognisable, even if she hadn't been half expecting to hear it. Knew I shoulda killed him when I had the chance. She frowned, concentrating on a specific patch of the undergrowth. A small smile twitched her lips, I see you. Fixing the position in her mind she popped up into the window and snapped off a shot before ducking back down as her shot was answered by four more. Hmm, should be five of 'em out there, someone's biding their time or is up to something. More shots hammered into the cabin walls, most of them being stopped by the thick logs but one found a gap and whistled through to hit the wall on the far side. Turning to look at her lover she ordered urgently, "Tip the table over, get behind it and stay down." She saw her about to argue and pleaded, "Please, Linn, I need to know you are as safe as possible, just do it."

Nodding, feeling the fear at loosing her love begin to rise once more in her throat, Linn did as she was told; lying down such that she could see what Jack was doing, how she was doing. I cannot loose you again, I will not. She watched in puzzlement as the rough took a single round and placed it in her vest pocket - she'd plenty of ammunition to hand, having brought more in the town, what was she doing with that single one? Now Linn noticed how the boxes had been stashed ready to hand by the window and she suddenly realised that somehow, for whatever reason, she'd been half expecting this to happen. "Jack?" she saw determined yet strangely resigned eyes look into her own and she suddenly realised what that single bullet was for. Her suspicion was confirmed when Jack asked, hesitantly, "Will you promise me one thing?"

Silently she shook her head, feeling tears begin to prick her eyelids, not wanting to hear what she now realised was her lover's last wish.

"Please, Linn," there was a desperate pleading in the rough's voice now, "please, promise me you won't let 'em take me alive, please!"

Tear filled dark brown eyes meet pleading green for a tense emotion filled moment then, feeling as if her heart would break at any second, Linn nodded, catching the relieved, grateful look before Jack returned her attention to what was going on outside, almost immediately taking another shot out of the window.

Jack grinned wryly at the movement and faint groan she could see from over to the right. It looked like that last shot had hit home. Perhaps I won't be needing that last bullet after all.

The Marshall looked in concern at where the deputy had been hiding and from where the faint groan had just come. Risking the communication he shouted, "Nate, you okay? Nate?"

A faint voice replied, "Still alive, she got me in the shoulder though."

"Can you still shoot?"

"I... I think so."

"Good man, do what you can." Then he returned to his study of the cabin. She must have a peephole somewhere; those shots are too damn accurate for her not to have. He studied the area around and below the small window. He had one small consolation, Pete's untimely and bungled shot had at least hit Jack in the right arm - he'd seen the bullet exit, punching out through the sleeve accompanied by a slight but visible spray of blood. With a bit of luck blood loss will do our job for us. He glanced in the direction of the deputy. Unfortunately she isn't the only one that could happen to.

Another faint flicker of movement from the bushes had provoked another snapped shot, this time in Pete's direction, provoking a curse but, on checking, it was only of surprise, not pain.

"Still with us, Nate?"

"Yeah."

The Marshall frowned, the deputy's voice was strained and it sounded like he was getting weaker. Damn you, Jack.

Linn glanced across to where Jack was intently watching through the peephole. She was worried by how pale the rough was looking and how much blood now stained the makeshift bandage. Jack took another snap shot provoking the usual answering fusillade. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a bullet hitting flesh made Linn's heart leap but the rough showed no sign of being hit. A slight movement behind where the rough crouched caught her eye and she saw the carcass of the buck swinging slightly, a second bullet hole in its hide. She looked at the swinging body and the bowl placed under it to collect the blood before she finished butchering it. As she watched another drip fall into the bowl an idea began to form in her mind, a risky and dangerous idea but this needed to end soon, one way or another.

The Marshall now thought he'd worked out where the peephole was, there was a patch of darkness just below and to the left of the window. Raising his rifle once more, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.

"Shit!" Jack shot back fast as a shower of splinters exploded around her peephole. That was either a incredibly lucky shot of someone's got damn good eyes. She popped up to take another random shot then ducked back down, this time well away from the peephole, There was the usual fusillade against the window but shortly after another single shot and this time the bullet came straight through the hole and into the back wall. Damn, that woulda gone clean through my head. She was moving along the wall, looking for another peephole when her vision started to blur and she had to pause for a moment before it cleared enough to continue. Looks like it ain't goin' to much longer 'fore I black out. She glanced back at Linn, "Promise?"

There was a faint, unhappy nod then Linn asked, "You trust me, Jack?"

Frowning, the rough responded, "With my life." Then she returned to the immediate task at hand - trying to find a suitable peephole to replace the one that had been compromised. As she readied herself to take another random shot, she was vaguely aware of some movement behind her, then as she stood to fire there was a sudden pain in the back of her head and then blackness.

After the fusillade of shots that had answered the outlaw's brief appearance at the window, he heard Pete's jubilant shout. "We got her, Marshall!"

"Wait!" he ordered but then he saw Pete stand, surprised when the expected bullet didn't take him down. "Get back down, you stupid bastard!" He saw the angry look but Pete reluctantly obeyed the command. After a few moments, he heard a grief stricken wail from inside the cabin. Damn, the fool may actually have been right. Cautiously he rose from his cover, eyes fixed on the window but still seeing nothing. Gesturing to the others, he moved towards the cabin. Noticing that the deputy hadn't appeared he instructed the tracker to check up on him whilst he, Cole and Pete headed for the cabin.

Although the door had apparently been barred, the wood was slightly rotten and it didn't take long before they broke it down. The sound of weeping was louder now, and cautiously moving into the room, he soon saw the source.

Jack was lying on her back, the front of her shirt a mass of blood. He could just make out a small hole in the material just below the third button. Musta got her right in the heart, he considered, at least it was a quick death. The ex-prostitute was rocking the body backwards and forwards, cradling the outlaw's upper body in her arms, head cradled in the crook of her arm.

"You bastards, why could you not just leave us be," she screamed at the men arrayed just inside the doorway then buried her face into the blonde hair, crooning, "It is okay, sweetheart, you are safe now, they cannot hurt you anymore."

The Marshal started as a shot rang around the room, causing the outlaw's left leg to jerk once before lying still once more. He glanced in shocked disbelief at Pete.

"Just checkin' she ain't playin' possum, Marshall," he grinned maliciously.

Patience finally giving out, Duckett snapped, "Get out, go back and wait for the horses before I put a bullet in your other leg!"

There was a flare of annoyance in the dirty green eyes and he flicked a look towards Cole obviously expecting support but it appeared that the young man was as unhappy with what he'd just done as the Marshall. "Well I've got my revenge, that's all I wanted." He gave the bloodstained body a last sneering look then turned and limped out of the cabin.

Ignoring Pete's triumphant exit the Marshall stared thoughtfully at the fast spreading darker patch on the dark-brown pants. He frowned slightly then glanced to where a deer's carcass hung from a hook, a bloodstained but nearly empty bowl beneath it. Turning to Cole, he instructed, "Well, we got her in the end. I'll finish up here, you go and make sure that Nate gets back to his horse okay and that Pete doesn't do something else stupid." A brief nod followed by a surprisingly sympathetic glance in the direction of the distraught ex-saloon girl then Cole left, leaving the Marshall alone in the cabin with the grieving woman and the bloodstained body she was still holding.

"Linn, isn't it?" He kept his voice gentle and even.

A brief nod as she continued to cradle Little Jack to her chest, sobbing gently.

"It's not something many people realise but corpses don't bleed very much." Now he saw something like fear flicker across the tear stained face as the sobs suddenly stopped and dark eyes glanced from the growing bloodstain up to meet his. He was surprised by what he saw in them - fear, despair, anger and above all love. How does a killer earn such loyalty, such devoted love. A small movement caught his eye and he noticed her hand moving toward the handle of a revolver peeping out from under the folds of her skirt. "No need for that, Linn." He gave a wry smile. "Well, I best get back to town, report that I got my man. It was unfortunate but not unexpected that she couldn't be taken alive." He tipped his hat, "Sorry for your loss, Ma'am. Little Jack was a formidable opponent and not, I think, as bad at heart as her actions would suggest." Then he turned and left, hearing the faint sob of relief as he left the cabin and led his posse back down to the nearest town where Nate could get his shoulder treated and he could report the death of the outlaw known as Little Jack.

*** Epilogue ***

It was nearly a year later before Marshall Morgan Duckett passed through the small mountain town again. The surrounding trees once more clad in the golds and reds of autumn. He hadn't planned on the visit but sudden curiosity drew him inexorably up into the mountains.

It wasn't difficult to find the cabin this time, the path more travelled and no longer concealed. Riding into the clearing, he noted that it had been expanded considerably. Now there was a small vegetable patch, a pen in which a number of pigs were enthusiastically grubbing up the ground, and a milk cow tethered to a stake and idly cropping the grass. On the edge of the woods was a small, newly built stock shed. The cabin itself still gave the impression of being slightly tumbledown but there was new chinking between the logs, fresh turf patches on the roof, a solid looking door and even glass in the small window.

Pulling his horse to a halt, he dismounted and tied her to the new hitching post. "Anyone home?"

"Hello, Marshall," Linn appeared in the doorway, her voice guarded. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure."

"Just passing through, purely a social call I assure you, to see how Mr and Mrs Jackson are fairing." He gave a brief smile, "I like to keep up with old friends." He caught the brief shake of the head aimed over his shoulder and he turned to see a familiar blonde-haired figure lower the Winchester pointing at his back and limp painfully towards them.

"Damn, Jack!" He exclaimed in unabashed astonishment. "The doc said you were a good healer but I never expected you to walk again after that dumb-ass put a slug in your knee."

"Yeah, well, I certainly ain't able to dance a jig anymore but I get by." She gave a wry smile before admitting, "He didn't actually manage to hit my knee mind you, stupid son-of-a-bitch couldn't even do that right."

There was an uncomfortable silence, eventually broken by Jack who seemed suddenly fascinated by the rifle she was holding. "Linn told me what you did, letting the others believe I was dead, telling your bosses that I was as well. I..." she stumbled to a halt then looked up so that he now looked into green eyes that seemed different somehow. "Thank you, Marshall?" she paused again and this time a wry grin twitched her mouth, "I never did know what your damn name was."

With an answering smile, he replied, "Duckett, Morgan Duckett." The smile broadened as he saw the green eyes widen. Then a mischievous grin appeared on Jack's face, momentarily wiping away the lines of pain around her eyes and making her look ten years younger. "Damn me, you're Marshall Morgan Duckett? Hey, Linn, this is that Marshall who's never lost a man!"

"Or a woman," he added deadpan. Looking around he continued, "Looks like you've been busy. Are you planning to make a go of the place?"

"Yes, it seems to suit us well enough," Linn answering this time, "Jack does a little trapping and we get a reasonable enough price for the pelts, and what with our savings we are doing okay."

"No hankering for the old life then, Jack?" The tone was light but the question was serious and from Jack's face, she understood the importance of her answer.

"No, Marshall," she limped over to wrap her arm around Linn's waist, "I have everything I need here." A shadow of the cold killer resurfaced in her face. "I can't promise I wouldn't kill again if we were threatened but up here that ain't likely and I have no desire to go out and find trouble." Seeing the Marshall's brief nod of understanding her face relaxed into an expression of wry amusement. "The local townsfolk are friendly enough, even if the old biddies have some fanciful ideas about who I am and why we suddenly turned up here. Thankfully none of 'em are anywhere near the truth."

Accepting the truth of what she was saying, the Marshall suddenly recognised the change in Jack's eyes as contentment - it appeared that against all expectations the rough was truly happy here.

"Come on in, Marshall, we do not get many visitors so make the most of those we do." As Linn lead the way towards the cabin, she commented in a stage whisper, "Just do not let Jack try and talk you into a poker game, I think it is the only part of the old days she really misses."

"Har-har," the rough muttered but the faint guilty smile showed the truth of the words.

Entering the cabin, he saw that the inside too had changed - there was a new table, some shelves and a couple of stools. Finally, were there had been a small single bed there was now a large comfortable looking one more than big enough for two, across the foot of which was spread a deerskin with two bullet holes visible in the hide. Seeing the direction of the gaze, Jack shrugged, the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Didn't seem right just to use it for the leather, after all he did save my hide."

Shaking her head in amusement at the appalling attempt at a pun, Linn indicated the stools. "Please take a seat, Marshall,"

He pulled out a stool and started to sit only to stop at the sudden, "No, not that one," looking at Linn in surprise, she explained, "It is the first one Jack made. It is a little, how shall we put it, temperamental." He glanced in surprise at the blonde-haired woman who gave another surprisingly expressive shrug.

"Got to do something to fill those dark winter days." Green eyes twinkled mischievously, mouth twitching into a sly grin, "After all we couldn't stay in bed all day now could we? No matter how much a certain insatiable calico queen of my acquaintance wanted to."

The Marshall couldn't help grinning at the teasing comment, the grin broadening as Linn blushed then slapped Jack's shoulder in mock irritation.

Taking a more suitable seat, the Marshall took a sip of the offered coffee before commenting. "You took a hell of a risk, Linn," noting the surprised look as he continued, "trying to persuade us that Jack was dead. What would you have done if it hadn't worked?"

A cloud suddenly settled on the room and he half wished the question unsaid.

Linn gave Jack a brief unreadable look then replied, "Kill her as I had promised to." The Marshall looked in shock at first one then the other.

"I wasn't going to let you take me alive, Marshall, surely you'd got that by then?"

"Yes, I'm?" surprised that Jack would even ask, but even more surprised that Linn would agree.

"Then I was going to kill myself." Both heads turned in surprise at Linn's quietly spoken words.

"Linn?" Jack was stunned; she'd never even considered the possibility, couldn't comprehend why Linn would do that.

"What? You surely did not think I was going to live on without you, not after that!" There was anger in her voice now as the suppressed emotions came rushing back, "Damn you, Jack, I understood why you asked me but it nearly broke my heart, and I still cannot forgive you for it, not completely." She sat down hard on the edge of the bed then, to her surprise and mortification, she burst into tears. Finding herself being taken into strong arms, she turned to press her face into a familiar shoulder.

"Oh damn, Linn, I'm so sorry. I thought you'd be left alone if I was dead, I didn't think, I?" She stuttered to a halt, her voice cracking at the sudden realisation as to quite what she'd put Linn through, how selfish she'd been, the guilt stabbing deep into an already battered soul.

"No, of course you did not. You never do!" She sobbed angrily into the increasingly damp shoulder,

Attempting to change the subject, even slightly, the Marshall asked, "Whose idea was it?"

Looking up from the woman she still held, Jack answered, voice calm again and the pride unmistakeable. "All Linn's, Marshall, first thing I knew about it was waking up with a hole in my leg to add to the one in my arm, a thumping head and blood all over my shirt."

Sniffing back her tears, Linn explained what had happened. "I realised it could only end with Jack's death, one way or the other, so I decided the only way out of it was to persuade you she was dead. When she stood to take that last shot, I hit her hard with a lump of firewood. I worked a hole in the shirt and used the deer's blood to make it look like she had been shot in the chest. I thought that if I kept her body moving enough you would not notice she was still breathing. My only worry was that, with that stubborn thick skull of hers, she would not stay out long enough." She paused briefly at the remembered emotion. "When Pete shot her in the leg I thought he had seen through it. Then you sent them out and I realised he had not, but when you said about corpses not bleeding and you looked at the deer's carcass I knew you had worked out what was happening and I thought it was over." Another pause, then Jack's arms tightened supportively, offering comfort, love and understanding and she finished. "Then you left. I still do not understand why you did that?"

"I'm still not sure myself," the Marshall hesitated, trying to organise his thoughts. "I'd heard how you'd been brought up, Jack, seen how little choice you had. Not that it excused what you did but it made me think you weren't through and through bad." A wry smile, "Then you risked your life to help those kids and the fact that twice you coulda killed me but didn't was damn confusing as well." He thought back to that moment in the cabin when he'd decided to play along with the subterfuge, "But mostly it was because I don't believe that you coulda been that bad and have Linn love you like she obviously does." He shrugged, "Call me an old romantic if you like." Then a small grin tugged at his mouth, "Of course, thinking you'd never walk again helped." A final, hopeless shrug, "I guess I thought you'd been punished enough."

Linn was staring in astonishment but Jack took the explanation with barely a blink. "I always said you were good for me, honey, I just didn't know quite how much."

"No more than you were for me, sweetheart." She moved a hand around to the back of Jack's neck, running her fingers through the fine short hairs that felt like the softest of fur. She'd come to like the short hair her 'husband' had to keep along with her socks in order to maintain their pretext of being Mr and Mrs Jackson, even if it wasn't quite the same as the long tresses she'd so loved. Then she pulled, gently but insistently, drawing the rough into a tender kiss that soon deepened and would have led even further if an uncomfortable cough hadn't reminded the two women of their audience.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Jack leant her forehead against Linn's for a brief moment before turning to look at the now decidedly embarrassed Marshall, a distinctly frustrated expression on her face. Intellectually he'd realised that the love between these women was more than friendship and the stories he'd heard and the gentle bantering added to it but seeing them kiss like that was just plain strange.

"I think I'd better be? um? going." He rose from the stool and headed for the door. "Thanks for the coffee."

On the edge of the clearing, he took a final look back towards the cabin and was surprised to see two figures, contrasts in light and dark, standing in the doorway, each with an arm lovingly around the other. He felt a brief flare of unexpected pleasure when Linn raised her arm in a gesture of farewell and he returned it before continuing on his way, content that he had done the right thing in letting Little Jack die so that Jack Jackson could live.

The End