A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [2]
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Kerrie Hughes, Monster Slayer
THE DRIFTER
Jane Lindskold
Prudence Bledsloe rode into town on a big buckskin stallion. She was on the trail of trouble, and it didn’t take much to see she’d found it.
She was accustomed to attracting stares when she arrived in a new area. It wasn’t just that she traveled alone. In these modern times, women did that all the time, but usually by stagecoach or train rather than on horseback.
It might have had something to do with the rifle in her saddle boot or the six-guns on her hips. It might have had to do with the fact that she wore trousers. It might have had to do with the message that every inch of her long, lean body and the direct stare of her yellow-brown eyes projected: “Don’t mess with me. I’m more trouble than you can handle.”
But today, as she rode through the central town plaza, Prudence sensed that none of the usual reactions were behind the stares. The stares she knew were usually long, disapproving stares or sidelong shocked stares. These were scared stares, fast and quick, checking her out, making note of her and then reacting.
What were they feeling?
Prudence took Buck to the rail in front of the general store and dropped-tied him. She’d had to make too many fast getaways ever to tie her horse. Anyone who tried to steal Buck, well . . . they’d learn that messing with the horse was as bad an idea as messing with the rider. Buck would mind the pack horse, a tough, wiry tricolor paint gelding Prudence had christened, with a rare spurt of imagination, “Trick.”
“I’ll be back in a moment, guys,” she said softly. “Then we’ll get you out of all that tack and comfortable.”
Prudence had one boot on the wooden sidewalk when it hit her what she had seen in the eyes of the locals. Fear, yes, but fear mixed with something else, something she never expected.
That something else was relief. Relief that Prudence wasn’t whatever it was that had them so deeply concerned.
If they were that scared, she’d probably come to the right place, but could she get folk to talk to her? That was the biggest problem about going it alone. When Jake had been around, he did the talking to strangers. Now, bridging the gap was up to her.
Riding boots echoing on the boards, Prudence strode over to a shop that the neatly painted sign over the door announced was Eli’s Mercantile.
A round-faced man with a fringe of graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard looked up too fast from where he’d been counting stock. A round- faced little girl, fair-haired, probably no more than ten, jerked back behind the counter, then peeked around, her blue eyes wide as the western sky. Her rosebud mouth was working slightly. She smelled of peppermint.
“Afternoon,” Prudence said conversationally. “Mr. Eli, I need some supplies.”
“We’ve got ’em,” the man said, acknowledging his name with a slight dip of his head. “Grub over there, blankets there, ready-made clothes there.”
As Mr. Eli mentioned each category, he jerked his bearded chin in the general direction where the stock was shelved or stacked.
The shopkeeper gave Prudence and her unusual ornamentation a long look, then added, “Ammo and gun supplies are behind the counter. If you’re needing reloads I think I have what you’ll need. Looks like you’re carrying a .32 Smith & Wesson.”
Prudence nodded. “You’ve a good eye. I’ve a .56-.50 Spencer rifle out on my saddle. Could use reloads for that, too.”
“Got ’em, and you’re welcome to ’em.”
Prudence spent several minutes stacking items on the worn but lovingly polished wooden counter. Casually, she made certain that Mr. Eli caught a glimpse of her weighted coin purse, just to reassure him that she could pay. He’d been more polite than many she’d met, even when