Crank lowers his shoulder cannon to the table, lamenting its less than optimal charge. In this strange place—lacking any form of electrical power, his weapons will be completely depleted within a short time. Unless, he can put his plan into action. Most of the parts he will need for the engine can be harvested from the surrounding buildings.
As Crank considers different options, his acute hearing picks up an unusual sound. A sound like a million maelstroms converging. Another dust storm? A bigger one? Are they in any danger?
Crank crosses the room to where Simone is sleeping. He lightly jostles her awake. Simone stretches noisily, reaching both arms over her head, and slowly opens both eyes. She focuses her gaze on Crank’s concerned face and hurriedly props herself up on an elbow.
“Crank? What is—?” Simone asks.
No sooner are the words out of Simone’s mouth, then she hears it. A noise like a hundred trains thundering across rickety wooden tressels. Her eyes widen and she reaches for her shoes.
“Another storm?” Simone warily questions.
Crank's mouth forms into a pout and he offers Simone a shrug which denotes his ignorance.
"I'm not sure," he replies.
-
-
Paul Bunyan leaves the barn and places one hand at his forehead, struggling to see the far horizon. A smile builds on his lips as he recognizes a trademark sign in the distance. The detective had warned him what to expect.
“That ain’t no storm,” Paul says with a chuckle. “That’s Calamity Jane.”
-
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The seven steeds drawing Calamity Jane’s stagecoach huff and pull vigorously against their reins. Smoke erupts from their flaring nostrils and fire burns in their round equine eyes. The lead horse whinnies as the ghost town comes into view. The horses at his flank follow his lead, a couple of them rearing up. With a burst of speed, the stagecoach surges forward. The woman clothed in drab brown, high upon the driver’s seat, doesn’t have to say a word.
The dark clouds on the horizon quickly approach, the thundering noise of their arrival making it hard for anyone in the party to hear. Simone grips Crank’s hand with uncertainty. Paul Bunyan, however, has no doubt as to who…Or what approaches. He stands rod straight with a broad smile on his weathered face. Sherlock, for his part, seems bored. The opium having dulled his senses.
“There’s my girl,” Paul whispers, as the stagecoach comes into view.
Simone can only stare at the sight in front of her—awe transforming her features.
“Oh…My…God!” Simone whispers.
The stagecoach crests a hill and continues on toward the ghost town, following the road, just as Crank and the others had done. Flames and smoke trail behind the coach as it blazes into town. The woman aboard the coach pulls on the reins and the horses draw to an abrupt stop. Simone can’t help but wonder how the woman is not thrown from the coach. But then, she remembers where she is.
Jumping down from atop the coach; the woman in the tall brown hat, long coat, and dusty boots starts in the direction of the group. She takes long deliberate strides. When she is less than five feet away, she raises her head. Crank’s eyes widen and he chitters with agitation. This woman is almost a spitting image of the woman who dropped him off at the diner. There is no longer any doubt that everything they have experienced thus far is connected. But how?
“Howdy, strangers,” the woman drawls. “Where’s the Englishman?”
Simone turns to point at Sherlock but realizes he is gone.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“He was…He was right here…” Simone says and glances around. Then, she spots Sherlock a distance away. He is crawling on the ground, using his magnifying glass to follow what she can only assume is a bug. That opium really had him acting crazy.
“Umm…Actually, he’s over there,” Simone corrects herself.
All eyes shift to where Sherlock is crouching in the dirt. He lifts a hand in the air, pinching something between two fingers, and shouts jubilantly.
“I’ve got it,” the famous detective screams.
Right before the praying mantis snaps a thin fingertip with a pincer. Sherlock’s resulting yell pierces the air and Calamity Jane laughs throatily.
“Just as crazy as a loon,” Calamity Jane guffaws.
The tall woman slaps her knee and turns to study the group of people in front of her. It is then that her laughing cuts short. Jane’s mouth droops and she squints at Paul Bunyan.
“Paul? Paul Bunyan…Is that you?” Jane says with disbelief.
“It’s me,” Paul says. “The one and only.”
Calamity Jane lets out a loud whoop and grabs Paul Bunyan up in a bear hug. She squeezes him as tight as she can manage--which is a heck of a lot tighter than most women could manage—and whirls him around. Crank suddenly notices how tall and powerful the woman is. If Simone is tall for an ooman female—this Calamity Jane is colossal, by comparison. She would make a handsome specimen in a hunt. This Jane could definitely hold her own in a fight. Crank shakes off this line of thought and tries to focus on what is going on at the moment.
“Paul Bunyan,” Jane crows loudly, setting Paul back on the ground. “You side-winding, beer-guzzling, tub of a lumberjack! I never thought I’d see you again. When did you get into town?”
Paul rubs his side and smiles weakly at Calamity Jane.
“Uh…About four days ago,” he says wearily. “If we’d known there was a stage coming…We’d have saved ourselves the foot leather and rode in with you.”
Jane guffaws again, slapping Paul hard across the back. Her mane of red curls bounces with every jerk of her broad shoulders.
“That you could have, Paul Bunyan! That you could have! So who are your other friends?” Jane says.
She pulls a cigar from her pocket, and lights it with a match she strikes between two fingernails. She shakes the match until the flame goes out and tosses it aside. Next, she jams the cigar between her teeth, studying Crank the whole time.
“Especially, the really strong handsome one.” Calamity Janes says, smiling around the cigar in her mouth.
Simone immediately feels a surge of jealousy and slides her hand into Crank’s gloved one. Crank senses something is not quite right and looks from one woman to the other. Paul Bunyan loudly sucks on his teeth and smirks.
“This is Crank,” Simone states defensively.
Simone's fiery eyes lock on Calamity Jane’s gray ones. There is a brief awkward pause. Calamity Jane's eyes narrow, and she guffaws her customary laugh. She casually waves Simone off.
“Simmer down, young lady,” Jane says between loud laughs. “A woman can look and not touch. That’s my motto. I’ve seen an awful lot of handsome hunk of male in my day. Ain’t touched a whole lot though. ‘Cause often what you see ain’t what you get.”
Calamity Jane turns her cruel gaze on Paul Bunyan. Her voice drips with sarcasm.
“Ain’t that right, Paul?” she drawls with a cryptic smile.
Paul's wily smirk disappears from his face. He quietly nods agreement. Swallowing a large gulp of spit, he turns away from Calamity Jane.
“Well, anyway…” Calamity Jane continues. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff ordered by that English gentleman over there. If I’d known there was a whole group of ya…I’d have brought more. Come on. Help me unload the wagon.”
Everyone moves to obey. Not really sure why, but unwilling to test the limits of a woman who commands a stagecoach of fire-breathing steeds.
-
-
Once the stagecoach is unburdened, Calamity Jane climbs back aboard the driver’s seat. She grabs the reins in a viselike grip and plants both feet. Paul Bunyan gazes up at his past lover with sad eyes.
“You be careful, Jane,” Paul says, patting the nearest horse affectionately.
Calamity Jane tilts her head in a fashion which, to Crank, seems like that of a yautja. She fixes Paul Bunyan with a fierce stare.
“When have I been anything but,” she exclaims around the nearly spent cigar in her mouth. “I’ll see ya round, Paul Bunyan.”
To Crank, Calamity Jane winks and clicks her tongue. Crank sneaks a glance at Simone.
“You too, big fella!” Jane says.
Without another word, Jane whips the reins up and down. Fiery energy leaps into the eyes of the horses; and they whiny in unison. The stagecoach is drawn forward with a tremendous lurch. Within moments, Jane and her steeds are a speck on the distant horizon. Paul Bunyan allows his arms to drop to his side and goes back to the barn.
“Poor, Paul—” Sherlock says from his crawling position on the ground. “Maybe, they’ll meet again. When she comes back in three weeks. Something to look forward to, I’d gather. Well, at least she brought my opium. Such a relief."
Sherlock crawls away again. Presumably, chasing another elusive insect. Simone shakes her head and puckers her lips, trying not to laugh.
“Don’t ask!” she warns Crank with a genuine smile.