"We know we're here today, Lord, 'cause a number of your commandments were broken, and a steep price has been paid. What we ask, is that you look kindly on the innocent child that survives, alone now, and'll be growin' up without a family."

The preacher's shadow wandered in a crooked path across the two coffins at his feet, altered by the breeze stirring branches that filtered the setting sun.

"We leave Jonas and Cora Whitlock in your care, and pray you'll see justice done on behalf of them and their daughter, Lord. Peace on you both." The preacher waved a hand over the graves and then clasped his hands and bowed his head as the grave diggers lowered the caskets into the ground and began backfilling.

After a brief moment mourners paid their respects to the young girl standing dazed at the scene, and shuffled away to their carriages.

"Amen." The preacher's voice intoned over the departing crowd.

"You'll come back to our place, Emmeline, we'll have some supper and get you settled in." The woman placed a gentle arm around the young girl's shoulder, feeling the tension in her small body.

"I want to stay a while with Ma and Pa . . . alone."

"They'll be fillin' in the grave and puttin' up the marker, Emm. There's really nothin' else—"

"I'll come after a bit."

Not wanting to upset her, the woman just nodded and squeezed her hand. "Surely, dear. When you're ready."

Back at the site, Emmeline sat down on the grass to watch the men finish tamping and backfilling the soil. Aware of the unsettling eyes observing, they exerted a little extra effort to plant the cross marker before tipping their hats and quickly leaving.

A light wind blew dirt in a tiny dust cloud across her legs, and she got up and walked to the cross, touching it with both hands. Muttering a silent promise to her parents, her eyes watered but no tears fell, and she turned, walking stiffly back down to the road, as darkness filled the sky.

Twenty-Four Years Later

The bills were counted out loud, slowly and carefully, each one stacked neatly as the group around the desk watched silently. Throat clearing, shuffling of feet and the steady voice of the sheriff's count the only sounds.

"Eight hundred dollars. That's a tidy sum, Miss Whitlock." The sheriff picked up the paper she signed and handed it to the council member. "When the circuit judge comes through we'll be needin' you for your testimony."

"I doubt I'll be back this way any time soon." The money was folded and secured in a buttoned pocket on the short leather jacket. "You don't need my testimony. You got your paper, your prisoners and a feather for your hat." She touched her brim and left the office, followed by several pairs of eyes.

"Don't think I can get used to the idea of a female bounty hunter. In what world does that even happen?"

"New times, councillor." The sheriff offered.

"Those two are mean as snakes – cold killers. How the devil did she do it?"

"Reckon you could ask her . . . if you've a mind."

"Not on your Nelly. Did you see that iron she wore? I know men couldn't handle that gun."

"Guess you answered your question then."

*****

Depositing her funds at the bank, Emmeline planned to have a draft sent to the Eastman family and one for herself. Assuring that it operated the way she had been doing for a number of years. After a meeting with her, many a bank manager did their utmost to provide that assurance. Business finished, she went to the saloon and ordered a large breakfast.

Her presence was noticed but mostly ignored after the bartender explained who and what she was. That was fine, she preferred being alone – she'd been alone her whole life it seemed. Even when living as part of the Eastman family she never really felt she belonged. Growing up, she had contributed her share to the family, learned her schooling and eventually maturing into a well grounded young woman, but there was always a gap they couldn't close.

When she finally left, it was with genuine gratitude, still the family felt she lived behind a wall they could never climb.

The food was good, the coffee hot, and the woman serving her was pleasant and helpful. She knew the best place for a hot bath, the way to get a good price at the general store, and how to win over the livery owner. Emmeline thanked her and repaid her with a generous tip for the meal.

"That's a mighty big gun for a woman." The taunt came from a rough looking cowboy drinking with his friends at the bar. She gave them a cursory glance and kept heading for the door. "Sure you don't need a man to get it out for ya?" The friends snickered and poked at one another.

Emmilene paused at the swinging doors, her face set in a cold stare out at the street. Don't take the bait. You've heard this a million times. She took a breath and began to push the doors open.

"Hey there, filly, don'tcha wanna see my gun?"

She hesitated part way out and turned to look at her heckler. "If it's as big as your mouth it would be hard to miss."

A loud whoop went up and the heckler was pushed and shoved by his laughing cronies. Blushing furiously, he stepped away from the bar and stopped cold. She didn't even seem to move and yet the gun appeared in her left hand aimed straight at him.

"I'll ask for an apology once. Don't make me ask a second time."

"What's goin' on here?" The sheriff came in behind her and stepped to the side, his fingers on his gun. "You causin' trouble again, Nestor?"

"She pulled on me." Nestor snarled, and turned a vicious glare on his friends who were breaking up with laughter again.

"It's true, Sheriff," the bartender said. "But Nestor was itchin' for some trouble. The lady was on her way out."

"Think you should just keep goin', Miss Whitlock. We don't want any shootin' here in Ebbotville."

She holstered her gun with another smooth move. "Fine by me, just as soon as I hear his apology."

*****

Emmeline soaked in the hot sudsy water, a smile on her lips as she replayed the apology from the man called Nestor. The sheriff had insisted, indicating the alternative – her Colt 45 Single Action Army Peacemaker revolver, also known as The Big Iron. Nestor had grumbled the words and pushed his way back to the bar.

Thinking about what to do next, she lowered herself to her chin and closed her eyes. For the last ten years her mission was to track down the men who had murdered her parents. Life lessons had been part of that journey, resulting in some remarkable skills and a practical way of dealing with the outlaws she encountered. Bounty hunting had been a natural evolution and in addition to providing funding for her hunt, it provided a reputation that helped her avoid a few spots of trouble.

The search had been drawn out and challenging, with only a rough sketched image of a red-haired man with a crooked nose ingrained in her memory to fuel her desire for vengeance. She knew the men would be older, and maybe not together anymore or even dead. Still, life had nothing else on offer for her, nothing she wanted – or thought she did. Ebbotville was just the latest town in a long string, with a lot of string still to go.

The water grew tepid, and she climbed out of the tub and towelled herself dry.

A quick trip to the general store for a few items of clothing and a restocking of food and other necessities, Emmeline went to the livery and spent a few minutes nuzzling with her horse and paying for its keep.

"Mighty fine animal there, ma'am." The elderly man waved the stump of one arm toward the stall. "Calm and peaceful as a desert moon."

She stared without shame at his disability. "How do you manage here with one arm?" She went about saddling the horse and stowing her items in the saddlebags.

"Years of hard learnin'." His whiskered features crinkled in a wry smile. "'Sides, I have help." He tipped his head, indicating out back. "Young Jimmy does all the grunt work."

She pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it toward the old man. "You ever seen this man?"

The sketch was worn and the paper creased, but he studied it for some time before shaking his head. "Could be a lot of people, missy. Hard to tell from that."

"Best guess."

He pulled at his chin whiskers and shook his head. "Don't think so. Who is he?"

"What about young Jimmy, think he might know?"

"I kin ask." He turned and hollered in a voice that belied his age. A moment later a strapping young man strode from behind the stable, a pitchfork over one bare shoulder.

"What do you need, Mr. Gore?"

"Lady here wants to know if you ever seen this fella." He handed him the paper.

Emmeline adjusted her hat and stood a little straighter. In her mind Jimmy had been a gangly teenager. Not this, easy in his tanned skin, more than handsome man.

"Sorry, don't look familiar to me. Who is he?" He handed the paper back, eyes smiling at her.

"Just someone I need to find." The sketch was returned to her pocket and she crossed her arms then uncrossed them, looking between the two men. "Well then, thanks for looking after Rain for me."

"Rain? That's her name?"

"Yep. It's personal." She led the horse from the stall and swung easily up into the saddle. "Thanks again – both of you." Rain's head came up as the reign was tugged, and she moved away at a slow trot. Her smiled fell on Jimmy, who was shading his face as he watched her leave.