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FetzenRetribution
The Legend of Colt Clementine
Candy and Tybalt Capulet
The small town of Audrey Springs, Colorado, 1859.
It wasn’t much unlike any other day on account of most things, but all that changed when a certain young lady arrived in town just shy of sundown. Now she may have been just a petite little thing, but a pretty teenage girl riding a full grown black stallion, dressed like a man with an ivory grip Colt revolver hanging from her hip, was sure to note all sorts of strange trouble. Yet there she was, them moist field-green eyes glistening in the shade of that large, broad brim hat. She couldn’t have looked a day over fifteen with wild chestnut hair draped about her shoulders, them spurred, knee length grey boots and that weathered old coat wide open and shrugging on her shoulders, body gently bobbing up and down on the only male she trusted in this life.
She steered those reins with ease, right on up to the trough outside of Audrey Springs Saloon and dismounted that beast before any one man found a word to utter. In this case it was some broken down old one-eyed geezer sweating out his day of drinking. He was seated on a bench, resting back against the timber slats of the wall like he’s been guarding the entrance of that saloon for far too long.
“Some might say it ain’t lady like to be riding open-legged like you is. Suits my old eye just fine, though.” He tipped up his hat, giving her a good old eyeballing. Tongue slid across his chapped upper lip. “Anywho, I suggest you don’t be heading on through them doors, sure as hell ain’t no place for a little missy like yourself.”
She was busy adjusting the gun belt beneath her coat while the old man spoke his piece, but even after fixing herself up she didn’t seem to pay him any mind. She just strolled on up, pushed open them batwing doors, stepped inside, and drove her eyes across every unfamiliar face as the whole damned place fell silent. You could have heard the smallest penny drop. Not even the doors swinging shut behind her made the slightest bit of sound as every cowboy, lowlife and bow-legged whore fixed their eyes on her.
“Name’s Abigail Kate Clementine!” Her introduction hollered out across the room without the smallest hint of the tremors. “Now I don’t expect any one of you low down dirty half breeds to know who I am - not by name, nor by reputation - so let me go ahead and tell ya’ll a smidgen about my sweet little self.”
With a couple of quick tugs she loosened her dusty neckerchief, hocked up a chunky ball of moistened dust from her throat, then spat it clean into a spittoon several feet away. After wiping her mouth with a quick swipe of her sleeve, she continued her speech.
“Little over six month ago a gang of no good squirrel raping cowboys killed my family and left me all bruised and lay’n on the floor of our homestead with my lady parts bleed’n – and perhaps I have no need to explain that leave'n me alive was the biggest mistake those misborn’s ever made for themselves!” She paused just a moment to let her words sink in, driving her eyes over the faces of all present once more. “Now I’ve just rode clear across two states to be here tonight, since I’ve been led to believe that this here saloon in the scum tainted town of Audrey is where I might find the nastiest, low down dirty man-hunters this side of East Coast to help me in my purpose. Just don’t go misunderstanding what I’m tell’n ya; I ain’t gonna be your friend and ain’t gonna be you’re god damn whore, but if any of you gunslingers decide ya have noth’n better to do than join an under-ripe filly like myself on her mission, then there just might be a pretty penny waiting for ya at the end of it all. Now, I’ll be renting myself a room in this here establishment for the night, so if any of you whisky lickers need to know more, then you know where to go ahead and find me! Other than that… I’ll be head’n out at sunrise. Don’t be tardy!”
Thus concluding the end of her speech, Abigail Kate flicked back the drape of her coat to expose the ivory gripped Colt Revolver handing from her hip while making her way to the bar, where she propped one leg up on the footrest and glared real hard at the bartender.
“You the manager of this establishment?” She may have softened her mildly rasped voice just tad at this point, yet every word she spoke was still heard clear across the room, as everybody present couldn’t keep their quiet gaze from being fixated on her. It could have certainly been the unexpected speech she made - all that confidence sprouting from a girl of her tender age - or maybe it just so happened to be that shiny cannon swinging from her belt that kept their ongoing captivation. It was just about as big as her own arm.
The bartender was a sturdy built man, not the muscly type, just a whole lot of plumpy and dressed in much the same fashion as any other barkeep in any other town of pretty much any other state of your choosing. Honing his attention he swung that bar towel over his shoulder and leaned with arms folded on the counter, drawing his round, unshaven face as close to Abby as his belly would allow. “Folks round here call me Fred.” He replied, look of fond apprehension in his beady brown eyes, voice low and smooth as he ever could muster, which really wasn't much of either. “Others round here might call me The Ear. There isn’t a rumor that passes through this town that don’t catch my attention at some time or another. So let me make one thing clear; I’ve heard about you before. That’s right. Some might be inclined to call you Colt Clementine, do they not, little miss?”
Abigail Kate didn’t change her expression from that of no emotion at all, in fact it’s safe say that maybe she didn’t care for a word Fred spoke. She simply just laid out a few silver coin on the counter real calm like, tapped her finger twice to make note of her exchange. “I’ll be taking a room for the night. Send me up some warm food and water.” She hardened her stare, furrowed her brow and curled one side of her mouth. It would have been cute to see, had it not been so believably sinister. “Are we gonna have a problem with that?”
Fred swallowed dry, yet doing well to hide the fear he suddenly had for this sweet looking thing standing before him. His cheek kind of quivered, left eye almost closed as he thought on the situation. He finally found the words to speak, though his voice noticeably rattled a touch. “As you wish… miss.” He stood up straight again, tilting his head to crack his neck as he produced a key from his pocket and slid it over the well-worn polish of the counter. “Up the stairs. Second door on your left.” His eyes glanced over the few prostitutes that decorated the saloon, and added softly; “Make sure to try and avoid the rooms on the right, lest you have other ideas for the night.”
She steered those reins with ease, right on up to the trough outside of Audrey Springs Saloon and dismounted that beast before any one man found a word to utter. In this case it was some broken down old one-eyed geezer sweating out his day of drinking. He was seated on a bench, resting back against the timber slats of the wall like he’s been guarding the entrance of that saloon for far too long.
“Some might say it ain’t lady like to be riding open-legged like you is. Suits my old eye just fine, though.” He tipped up his hat, giving her a good old eyeballing. Tongue slid across his chapped upper lip. “Anywho, I suggest you don’t be heading on through them doors, sure as hell ain’t no place for a little missy like yourself.”
She was busy adjusting the gun belt beneath her coat while the old man spoke his piece, but even after fixing herself up she didn’t seem to pay him any mind. She just strolled on up, pushed open them batwing doors, stepped inside, and drove her eyes across every unfamiliar face as the whole damned place fell silent. You could have heard the smallest penny drop. Not even the doors swinging shut behind her made the slightest bit of sound as every cowboy, lowlife and bow-legged whore fixed their eyes on her.
“Name’s Abigail Kate Clementine!” Her introduction hollered out across the room without the smallest hint of the tremors. “Now I don’t expect any one of you low down dirty half breeds to know who I am - not by name, nor by reputation - so let me go ahead and tell ya’ll a smidgen about my sweet little self.”
With a couple of quick tugs she loosened her dusty neckerchief, hocked up a chunky ball of moistened dust from her throat, then spat it clean into a spittoon several feet away. After wiping her mouth with a quick swipe of her sleeve, she continued her speech.
“Little over six month ago a gang of no good squirrel raping cowboys killed my family and left me all bruised and lay’n on the floor of our homestead with my lady parts bleed’n – and perhaps I have no need to explain that leave'n me alive was the biggest mistake those misborn’s ever made for themselves!” She paused just a moment to let her words sink in, driving her eyes over the faces of all present once more. “Now I’ve just rode clear across two states to be here tonight, since I’ve been led to believe that this here saloon in the scum tainted town of Audrey is where I might find the nastiest, low down dirty man-hunters this side of East Coast to help me in my purpose. Just don’t go misunderstanding what I’m tell’n ya; I ain’t gonna be your friend and ain’t gonna be you’re god damn whore, but if any of you gunslingers decide ya have noth’n better to do than join an under-ripe filly like myself on her mission, then there just might be a pretty penny waiting for ya at the end of it all. Now, I’ll be renting myself a room in this here establishment for the night, so if any of you whisky lickers need to know more, then you know where to go ahead and find me! Other than that… I’ll be head’n out at sunrise. Don’t be tardy!”
Thus concluding the end of her speech, Abigail Kate flicked back the drape of her coat to expose the ivory gripped Colt Revolver handing from her hip while making her way to the bar, where she propped one leg up on the footrest and glared real hard at the bartender.
“You the manager of this establishment?” She may have softened her mildly rasped voice just tad at this point, yet every word she spoke was still heard clear across the room, as everybody present couldn’t keep their quiet gaze from being fixated on her. It could have certainly been the unexpected speech she made - all that confidence sprouting from a girl of her tender age - or maybe it just so happened to be that shiny cannon swinging from her belt that kept their ongoing captivation. It was just about as big as her own arm.
The bartender was a sturdy built man, not the muscly type, just a whole lot of plumpy and dressed in much the same fashion as any other barkeep in any other town of pretty much any other state of your choosing. Honing his attention he swung that bar towel over his shoulder and leaned with arms folded on the counter, drawing his round, unshaven face as close to Abby as his belly would allow. “Folks round here call me Fred.” He replied, look of fond apprehension in his beady brown eyes, voice low and smooth as he ever could muster, which really wasn't much of either. “Others round here might call me The Ear. There isn’t a rumor that passes through this town that don’t catch my attention at some time or another. So let me make one thing clear; I’ve heard about you before. That’s right. Some might be inclined to call you Colt Clementine, do they not, little miss?”
Abigail Kate didn’t change her expression from that of no emotion at all, in fact it’s safe say that maybe she didn’t care for a word Fred spoke. She simply just laid out a few silver coin on the counter real calm like, tapped her finger twice to make note of her exchange. “I’ll be taking a room for the night. Send me up some warm food and water.” She hardened her stare, furrowed her brow and curled one side of her mouth. It would have been cute to see, had it not been so believably sinister. “Are we gonna have a problem with that?”
Fred swallowed dry, yet doing well to hide the fear he suddenly had for this sweet looking thing standing before him. His cheek kind of quivered, left eye almost closed as he thought on the situation. He finally found the words to speak, though his voice noticeably rattled a touch. “As you wish… miss.” He stood up straight again, tilting his head to crack his neck as he produced a key from his pocket and slid it over the well-worn polish of the counter. “Up the stairs. Second door on your left.” His eyes glanced over the few prostitutes that decorated the saloon, and added softly; “Make sure to try and avoid the rooms on the right, lest you have other ideas for the night.”
The rooms of the Saloon weren’t anything to glorify; a single bed, a dresser, a chair, a couple of racks and just about enough room in between to turn around in.
Once she relieved herself of her neckerchief, coat and hat, she stood at the window for a while staring down through the shutters at the night, the main road of town faintly lit by the fire of various street lamps. She had a direct view of Jack below, otherwise known as Black Jack, the finest pure bred stallion to ever crawl the earth. There wasn’t really any fear of having Jack stolen during the night, either. Men had tried stealing him before, two men as far as Abigail could tell, and both those men were dead now. It wasn’t Abby who killed them, though, Jack himself was responsible for that. Suppose you could say he just trampled them to death. Seems Jack only had eyes for Abby, there wasn’t another person on this whole forsaken earth that he’d let in his saddle.
Her watchful gaze of the street was interrupted when Fred delivered the requested items to her room; a warm chicken stew and a jug of water. After that she laid back on her bed and polished off her meal. That’s where she remained in wait; sprawled on the bed in her boots, sheepskin trousers and beige, button-up shirt, head propped against the wall and one leg turned out with her trusty Colt revolver resting on the inner of her thigh, pointed in direction of the door. Was just a matter of time before one of them cowboys downstairs decided to come calling. Perhaps they’d come with certain questions pertaining to the speech she had made upon her arrival, or maybe they’d use that as an excuse in the hopes of getting lucky with the finest young sass in town - either way, sooner or later, someone was bound to come knocking. That much was guaranteed….
Once she relieved herself of her neckerchief, coat and hat, she stood at the window for a while staring down through the shutters at the night, the main road of town faintly lit by the fire of various street lamps. She had a direct view of Jack below, otherwise known as Black Jack, the finest pure bred stallion to ever crawl the earth. There wasn’t really any fear of having Jack stolen during the night, either. Men had tried stealing him before, two men as far as Abigail could tell, and both those men were dead now. It wasn’t Abby who killed them, though, Jack himself was responsible for that. Suppose you could say he just trampled them to death. Seems Jack only had eyes for Abby, there wasn’t another person on this whole forsaken earth that he’d let in his saddle.
Her watchful gaze of the street was interrupted when Fred delivered the requested items to her room; a warm chicken stew and a jug of water. After that she laid back on her bed and polished off her meal. That’s where she remained in wait; sprawled on the bed in her boots, sheepskin trousers and beige, button-up shirt, head propped against the wall and one leg turned out with her trusty Colt revolver resting on the inner of her thigh, pointed in direction of the door. Was just a matter of time before one of them cowboys downstairs decided to come calling. Perhaps they’d come with certain questions pertaining to the speech she had made upon her arrival, or maybe they’d use that as an excuse in the hopes of getting lucky with the finest young sass in town - either way, sooner or later, someone was bound to come knocking. That much was guaranteed….
~**~ 