:: Paris, Wyoming ::Chapter Seven John Doggett was just finishing his early evening rounds. The saloon was subdued, though Frohike had insisted upon keeping the place open. The girls were plying their trade and Marita Bruckman’s visit earlier in the evening had been met with half-hearted jeers and catcalls. John knew that Scully had been in a meeting with her brother and the three-man city council and that Colonel Spender had even ridden in to attend. John didn’t know the details, but the saloon remained open at least until the new owner decided what he was going to do with it. A swish of fabric and a startled gasp spun him around to the alley entrance. Soft brown frightened eyes stared out at him. "Miss Monica?" Monica Reyes stepped hesitantly out of the alleyway. "Deputy, I…I…" she stuttered to a halt. An unexpected fear gripped his heart. "Ma’am, are you all right?" Breathlessly she explained, "I was at the school, cleaning and checking the supplies and I guess I forgot the time. The next thing I know, it’s dark out and I guess I got a little nervous. I tried to get back to the hotel, but these two men were coming down the street and …." Her voice trailed off in embarrassment. A sudden urge to protect this woman washed over Doggett. He growled out, "Did they hurt you? Did they say anything?" "N-n-no. I stepped into the alleyway before they even saw me. Then, I was just too scared to come back out." Doggett held out his arm. "Miss Monica, may I escort you back to the hotel?" Even in the moonlight he could see the relief flood her face. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her. He held the door open and as she entered the lobby, Maggie Scully looked up from the desk and excitedly demanded, "Monica, where have you been, we’ve been worried." Monica looked from Maggie to Doggett and suddenly fled up the stairs, past a startled Dana just descending after tucking Emily in for the evening. Dana stared for a moment before confronting Dogget. "What happened?" Her deputy shrugged, bemused. "Got me, Sheriff. I found her hiding in the alley between the undertakers and Pendrell’s store. Said two cowboys spooked her." Maggie came around the counter. "Oh dear, I better go up." Dana stopped her. "That’s okay, mom, let me. Why don’t you go make a plate up and I’ll take it to her. John, I’ll take over in a bit, if that’s all right with you." Doggett tore his gaze from the top of the staircase to look at Scully. "Sure, Sheriff, take your time. Just find out what’s wrong." Balancing the tray on one arm, Scully knocked softly on the door. When she didn’t hear anything, she tried the knob and it swung open to show the schoolteacher staring out the window. "Monica?" Scully entered the room and placed the tray on the dresser. "Mom wanted me to bring up some dinner for you." "Thanks, I’ll eat it later." Reyes never turned from the window. Dana was at a loss for what to say next, but she closed the door and went to stand by the teacher. They stood there for a while until Monica whispered. "It was a mistake to come here." "Why?" "You can’t run away." "No. No you can’t." Dana touched Monica’s arm. "What happened tonight?" "Nothing?" Taking a deep breath, Dana asked, "what happened in St. Louis?" Monica finally turned away from the window and walked over to the bed. She sank into the deep soft ticking and sighed. "I don’t want to talk about it." Dana faced her. "It will probably help if you did." "No it won’t." Keeping her exasperation reigned in Dana calmly insisted, "Try." "I can’t. You’ll hate me. You’ll tell your brother and he’ll fire me." Her voice rose to a wail. "Even though it wasn’t my fault." Gently, Dana admonished the other woman. "My brother is a lot of things, Monica. Most of them annoying, but he is usually very fair. What happened?" Monica buried her head in her hands and started to weep. Sitting next to her, Dana put her arm around the weeping woman’s shoulders to comfort her and waited. As near as she was, Scully had to strain to hear the whisper. "It happened six months ago, I was coming back from visiting a student when this man grabbed me and dragged me into an empty store. He tore my clothes and he…he…" Dana pulled the sobbing woman to her. "Oh, Monica, I’m so very sorry. He raped you?" Monica nodded into the sheriff’s stiff denim shirt, the tears soaking the material. Dana patted and soothed her. "Monica, you said it yourself. It wasn’t your fault. But what makes you think that I would tell Bill? It’s none of his business." "But he made me sign the contract and he pointed out the morality clause." "Oh posh! One, Bill will never hear it from me. And, two, it wasn’t your fault, remember. Look, do you mind if Missy comes to sit with you. I have to get on patrol, poor John deserves some sleep." Monica stood and ran her hands over her eyes. "Oh, please. Yes go. But I’ll be all right. You don’t have to bother Melissa." Scully moved toward the door. "Actually, yes, I think you need to talk to my sister." Dana wasn’t even surprised to see Melissa Scully standing at her open door down the hall, solemnly studying her sister, then looking at the closed door. "It happened to her too, didn’t it?" Dana shook her head in wonder. "How did you know?" Melissa shrugged, closed her door and walked down the hall to knock gently before opening the teacher’s door. Dana walked down the stairs, the tears threatening to spill over. Few of the townspeople knew that Melissa had been raped three years ago. She never saw the man who did it and Soo Ling had treated her in more ways than just physically. Bill knew, but they had kept it quiet after a search of the stables and after questioning anyone that had been near the barn that night. In the following months, Melissa had grown closer to Soo Ling’s philosophy than Bruckman’s accusatory evangelism and had truly forgiven her unknown assailant. Dana managed a small smile as she opened the door. She suspected that the schoolteacher would be visiting Soo Ling very soon. Finally arriving at the office, Scully ordered Doggett to get some sleep and sat at her desk going over the latest wanted posters that had arrived by the afternoon post. She stared at one, a very bad drawing of a black man with a heavy wild beard. The only identifying mark was a dulled tattoo on his inner arm, the description vague, a flag and perhaps a horse. There was something vaguely familiar about the man wanted for gunning down a deputy sheriff in Salt Lake City almost six months ago but her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed riders go past her window. Anger surged through her and she ran out onto the sidewalk and yelled, "Skinner!" The two stopped in the middle of the street and Mulder leaned over and muttered, "you’re on your own, Wolf," before continuing onto the hotel. Skinner nudged his horse back to the sheriff’s office and glared down at the small angry woman. "Yes, MISS Scully?" His insolent tone only enraged her more. "Come inside, now!" She turned and marched into the jail. Skinner gritted his teeth and followed her in, slamming the door behind him, rattling the pane glass window. She rounded on him and yelled. "I told you to leave town!" She stood across the room daring him to argue. Slowly he advanced on her. "Last time I checked, this was a free country." He stopped about a foot away from her. Scully gulped. "We have a vagrancy law in this town and you have no visible means of support." Until that moment Skinner had no plans of claiming the saloon. In fact, a stray streak of humor had given him the notion to sign the deed over to the funny little bartender. But now he whipped the deed from his coat pocket hand held it in front of her, forcing her to take a step back. "On the contrary, this makes me one of the upstanding town fathers." He stepped closer until he loomed over her, "little girl." Once again, she reached out to slap him, but, once again, his hand engulfed her slender wrist long before it made contact. She jerked her arm but it was no use, he stood there, grinning down at her. "Now, Sheriff, just what is the problem?" With her free hand she reached for her gun, but he grabbed it and pushed her against the door leading to the cells. He held each hand on either side of her head. Both of them were breathing harder than the exertion or the anger called for and as their eyes locked, an awful realization struck them both and Skinner’s lips descended on hers in a firm open-mouthed kiss. At first she struggled, but feelings and needs so long suppressed finally surfaced and she parted her lips and returned his passion ten-fold. He released her wrists knowing she could grab her gun and send him to meet his maker, but she stepped into his embrace and lay her hands around his neck to hold him closer. His hands caressed her back, pulling her tight, crushing her breasts against his chest. Her tongue darted out and back, inviting him to follow. He plundered her mouth, filling her, demanding more. His hands dropped to her bottom as her groan of approval urged him on. He finally broke the kiss and stared into her bottomless blue eyes, now the color of the storm tossed sea. Just as he was about to renew his attack on her senses, shots rang out down the street. Sanity returned instantly and Dana pushed him away to run out into the street. Skinner, his gun already drawn, followed her. By the time Doggett reached the jail, Scully had locked three drunken miners in one of the cells to dry out and Skinner was standing protectively off to one side. Doggett panted, "Is everything okay?" Dana smoothed her hair back. "Its fine, John, just three of Colonel Spender’s boys upset that the roulette wheel wasn’t working tonight. Mr. Skinner here helped and except for a broken nose on one of them they’re fine. You can let them go when they wake up tomorrow – after they pay for the damages. Doggett eyed Skinner warily. "You didn’t know there was going to be trouble before they shot out Pendrell’s window?" Skinner glanced at Scully but before he could lie, she blurted out, "he was here, talking to me, John. He never saw the trouble brewing." "Oh." John glanced quickly from Scully to Skinner. "Yes, Deputy, I stopped by to tell the sheriff that I was moving out of the hotel and into the saloon." Skinner met her shocked expression with more calm than he felt, barely managing to hide his emotions. "Of course, Maggie can keep the rent money, I just think that I should stay at the saloon so that this kind of thing doesn’t happen again." Both of them knew that he wasn’t talking about the drunken shoot out. Scully took a deep breath and lowered herself gingerly into her chair. Picking up the wanted poster again, she finally composed herself enough to look at him and ask softly, "you’ll not wake her tonight though?" As he left the office, never looking back he agreed, "Of course not, good night Sheriff, Deputy."
:: Chapter 8 ::Mulder rose early and grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a piece of toast. He ignored Skinner as he passed the gambler explaining to Maggie why he was leaving the hotel to stay at the saloon. "It will just help to keep peace if I’m there." Maggie tried to give Skinner his money back and as Mulder closed the door he could hear Skinner adamantly refusing. The sky was overcast and grey, the first snow of the season would be soon and Mulder was glad he had his long leather coat. The wind whipped his face as he rode down the approach to Spender’s ranch. A finger of dread and excitement traveled down his spine as he passed under the large X inside the circle emblazoned on the gate. A man on a fine roan galloped up to meet him and Mulder had little time to decide on how to play out the scene because until the man was nearly up to him, the slouch hat and poncho effectively concealed his features. The man stopped several feet away from the agent and studied him. "Morning, mister…hey, I know you." Mulder stared into the stone cold eyes of the gunslinger Skinner had been hunting for nearly 15 years. Mulder had only seen the man on the Delta Queen and had never talked to him. He decided to play dumb. "Oh yeah? Don’t believe I’ve had the…pleasure…Mr.?" The killer’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah, bout two years ago now. The Delta Queen riverboat. You and that Johnny Reb Colonel bushwhacked Jack Arnold." As the man’s hand dipped under the poncho Mulder flexed his forearm and the small but deadly Derringer was instantly in his fist, pointing directly at a spot between Kersh’s eyes. "Just hold on there, mister. You best get your facts straight. I’m a Pinkerton agent and what happened on the Queen was business. What? Were you part of the counterfeiting gang too?" Kersh held out both hands so Mulder could see them. "Counterfeiting? Arnold? I’ll be damned." The man visibly relaxed. "I wondered where those phony bills had come from. I figured that bastard Skinner slipped them to me." "Why would he do that?" Kersh’s eyes shifted craftily. "Bastard’s crazy. Thinks every man of color who ain’t plowin’ a field is the bushwhacker that killed his wife." Kersh spat. "Damn rebel slave owner." Mulder considered his options, thought of his job and inwardly sighed. Skinner wouldn’t thank him for killing the son-of-a-bitch and Mulder wasn’t the kind to shoot a man in cold blood, so he raised his shoulders a fraction of an inch and using his reign hand reset the gun back under his coat sleeve. "Well mister, I don’t know anything about that, I’m here to see Colonel Spender about his mine troubles." Forcing himself to think of the twenty men and women who had been killed, Mulder prayed that Skinner would forgive him. "I don’t know why Skinner is in town." Kersh surprised him by crooking his lips up in a sneer. "Oh, I know why he’s in town. He’s come to die. Young Jeffery already told his pa how the big, bald card sharp cheated him out of his allowance." Nodding toward the ranch he growled. "If anybody stops you, you tell him that Alvin Kersh said it was okay." :: :: ::
Mulder looked around at the trophy heads mounted to the walls, a huge grisly bear posed in an attack position glared at him from a corner. He brought his gaze back to the man behind the inlaid mahogany desk. At least 60, too many years in the baking sun and too many cigarettes had etched deep wrinkles into his face. The voice was smooth and somehow mesmerizing. "You understand my position don’t you, Mr. Mulder. I brought those men over here. I paid their way. Where is the gratitude? Most of the bastards were starving for God’s sake! Is it too much to ask for a little loyalty? Unions! NOT AT my mines, sir. I know Pinkerton’s record with these anarchists. I want them crushed. I want you to put someone inside the mine." Their eyes locked and Mulder felt a cold chill as Spender assessed him and obviously found him wanting. "Not you, perhaps; someone more rugged, not quite so soft." Mulder’s sigh of relief was two-fold. At first it had seemed to him that Spender could read his very soul. Secondly, it didn’t fit in with his plans to actually go into the mines at all. He allowed a small smile to play across his lips. "No, I don’t think I’m a good candidate for that particular job. Actually, I have someone in mind, someone already getting into place." Mulder lied smoothly. Spender sat forward in his fine chair and locked his hands over the rich leather inset of the desk. "Who?" He demanded. A perfect idea formed in that second and Mulder sagely shook his head. "Sorry, but I have to protect him. All I can say is that he is one of the miners already working there. His sister got into some trouble back east and lets just say he is in my debt." Mulder leaned back and smiled to himself. <<<Simple, to the point and damn near infallible. 120 miners, three-quarters of them Irish. How many of them have sisters? And nature being what it is, strife is bound to cause some fights anyway. And this way, Spender can’t harm any of the men there lest they kill ‘my agent’.>>> Clearing his throat, he finished. "We’ve already gone over several good plans to disrupt the union meetings. <<<Got to remember to send beer over there. I wonder if Frohike knows I know he is really on their side?>>> It should only be a matter of time before fights break out <<<yeah, like that doesn’t happen anyway>>> soon you can move in with soldiers because they are disrupting work. <<<Hopefully, I’ll know where the gang is hiding out before then.>>>. Spender studied the man across from him. He didn’t like the cocky little bastard. Reminded him of that gambler Krycek and there was something about him that didn’t ring true. But, he would bide his time and wait for results. "How long do you think it will take?" Mulder remembered the reports he had read and rattled off some of the more sickening success stories that Pinkerton had breaking unions all over the West. For the first time since sitting down across from the man, Mulder saw a pleased smile spread across the wrinkled face. "Excellent, I particularly like the idea of the worms in the cornmeal." Standing up, indicating that the meeting was over Spender nodded toward the door. Keep me appraised on your progress, Mr. Mulder. I expect to hear from you weekly." Mulder rode off toward town, Spender standing on the porch. "Well, Mr. Kersh, what do you think of our Pinkerton?" Alvin Kersh came out from behind the door and stood next to his boss. "Don’t know. Don’t like him, but then I don’t like too many people. What do you want me to do?" Spender sighed. Too much was riding on the ruse to fail because he ignored his gut feeling and his gut feeling told him that something was amiss with Mr. Mulder. "Follow him, see if he hooks up with anybody, including that Rebel Colonel." Kersh grinned and started off, but Spender gripped his arm. "Don’t kill Skinner where other people can see you. I mean it!" Kersh growled and yanked his arm away, but he nodded in agreement before stalking off to mount his horse. :: :: ::
It was still late afternoon by the time Mulder walked into the saloon. He spotted Skinner right away, seated at the poker table, alone, drinking; a precious bottle of Jack Daniels sitting at his elbow. He had a most peculiar look about him and it took Mulder some time to realize that he had only seen the gambler drunk once before. Taking a seat across from the man, Mulder looked back at Frohike and motioned for a glass. Reaching for the bottle, he was somewhat surprised when Skinner didn’t stop him or make a rude remark. Taking a sip of the whiskey he wondered what he could say and realized that he really didn’t know this man very well. The only reason why Mulder had found out about Skinner’s dead wife two years ago was because he happened upon the gambler when he was drunk then. Sighing heavily he glared at the man across from him and ground out, "Kersh knows you’re here." "You tell him?" Skinner asked with little interest. "Well yeah, but he already knew, the Spender brat described you." "Okay." "What’s got you down this time, big guy?" The growl should have warned him, but Mulder felt a certain responsibility toward the older man, so he ignored the warning signs and plunged on. "She is kinda of cute, and it would be a good match, hell a perfect match. You run the saloon and keep the sheriff warm at night and she leaves you alone while you make a pretty penny here." He braced himself and rolled with the punch that nearly knocked him across the room. Skinner stood staring down at Mulder, unsure why the agent had provoked him. It wasn’t like Mulder at all, some part of his brain that was still sober insisted, but the drunk part, the part that was feeling sorry for itself was thrilled at having something to strike out at. Skinner roared for Frohike to throw the bastard out and sank back into his chair. Diana Fowley started to come up to him, but the glare in his eyes turned her around to coax a miner up the stairs. So engrossed with his own tortured thoughts of revenge and the guilt over his feelings for Scully, he completely missed the smiling face of Kersh peering over the top of the saloon doors. Frohike helped Mulder outside, ignoring Spender’s hired gun, and pushed the dazed man into a bench against the wall. "Man, you got a death wish or somethin?" Mulder shook his head to clear it and noticed that Kersh was moving away to his horse. <<<Good, maybe the bastard will believe that Skinner and I barely know each other and aren’t working together.>>> Rubbing his chin, he grinned up at Frohike. "Touchy, isn’t he." Frohike sniffed. "No call for you to be talkin about Miss Dana that way." Mulder eyed the little bandy rooster of a bartender and smiled knowingly. "You’re right. There isn’t." "So why’d ya say it?" Mulder stood and moved his head from side to side before smiling down at the little man. "For the same reason that you tell everybody that will listen how much you hate the Irish miners. You’ve set yourself up as the eyes and ears for them, haven’t you?" He didn’t wait for confirmation of his suspicions. "Well, I’m just looking out after my friend the best I can. He’s in no shape to help me." "Help you with what?" Mulder smiled again. "Now what does this territory really need help with." Frohike’s eyes grew wide and he whispered softly, "I knew it! I knewed ya weren’t no Pinkerton. You’re a marshal, ain’t ya? Out to find them train robbers." Mulder watched Kersh ride out of town and then clapped his hand on the bartender’s shoulder. "Something like that. Now watch my friend in there; don’t let him do anything dumber than he already has. Try and keep him here tonight and if you don’t want yet another owner tomorrow, I suggest you don’t let him deal cards tonight." Melvin grinned knowingly. "Don’t you worry, Mr. Mulder. I got me some knockout drops. He does anything stupid, I’ll get him one last drink." Mulder mounted his horse and headed out of town in the opposite direction that Kersh had gone. He had studied the pattern of the train and bank robberies and he was sure that the gang’s hideout was near this town. And, after talking with Spender and Kersh, some sixth sense alerted him to the fact that they were involved somehow with the robberies. The night was beginning to claim the land. The crimson sunset was laced with streaks of purple, the last rays of sunlight glittered off the snow covered mountain peaks ahead. Mulder was looking for a break or gap or even a larger pass through the mountains, some secret passage where desperate men could hide after their vicious attacks. He noticed the herd of sheep ahead and grimaced. He hated lamb and hated sheep but they stood between him and his goal so he made his way toward them. The terrain here was rough and large boulders jutted up from the ground and the prairie grass was sparse. <<<Hell, what else was this land good for but sheep.>>> As he neared the flock he sensed a movement behind him. Too late he realized his stupidity and he heard a low chuckle just before he heard the shot; just before the flash of pain filled his head. :: :: ::
The smell relentlessly invaded his consciousness, a foul mixture of wet wool, animal excrement, human body odor and lord-knew-what-else nudged him awake. Next came the sounds: the screech of ungreased metal slowly rotating in ungreased metal; the incessant bleating of sheep very nearby, very close indeed, and the occasional nervous human plea, "Dickie, cain’t you go no faster. I cain’t get the bleedin’ ta stop." Mulder couldn’t make out ‘Dickie’s’ response. Finally feeling began to return, something he could have done without for a while. The next time he regained consciousness he was being manhandled up creaking wooden steps, a calm voice urging, "gentle, gentle, watch his head. John, you better go find the sheriff." Delicate fingers probed his scalp. He felt moisture dampen his hair and face as she cleaned the wound, all the while talking to him in an almost hypnotizing voice, soothing away the pain. She wrapped his head and then lifted a china cup to his lips. He inhaled a wonderful mixture of scents as he drank the sweeten concoction. The last thing he remembered was the warmth spreading throughout his aching body.
:: Chapter 9 :: "Boss! Boss! Wake up! Mr. Skinner! Phoebe, gimme that coffee." Skinner tried to shut out the insistent racket, but finally he raised his head to blearily consider the people around him. Frohike held out a steaming mug of coffee and forced him to drink some. The shock of the scalding sludge against his tongue and the back of his throat jerked him fully awake. He glared at the bartender and gritted out a dangerous, "What?" Frohike looked at Diane and Phoebe standing there in their silken robes, their customers long gone. "You girls get on back to bed. I can handle it from here." After the whores grumbled their way back upstairs Melvin turned his attention to the new owner of the saloon. "Drink it," he ordered, pointing to the cup. Skinner growled, but something in the little man’s manner told him that he wasn’t being sobered up just to be sent up to bed. Frohike had watched the big man drink for most of the day, getting more and more surly with each drink. Frohike and several of the girls had tried to get Skinner interested in something besides the bottle, but Skinner adamantly refused to look at the books, open the roulette wheel or go upstairs to sleep – or not – with Diane Fowley. The only funny occurrence of the entire day had been when Marita came in, dressed in her brown high collar dress, her bible clutched tightly to her breast. She sat across from Skinner and began to read from scriptures, John Wesley and her husband, Rev. Clyde Bruckman. All the while Skinner had sat in his chair, his elbow on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, staring at her until she finally ran down with a haughty, "Well?" Skinner sat back in his chair and studied her for a moment before shrugging. "Well, you’re kinda bony and you’ve got no bosom, but if you want to try. Phoebe!" He bellowed. "Get this young lady a pretty dress and see if she can earn her keep." Staring myopically at the outraged preacher’s wife he asked plaintively, "what was your name, again?" The stunned silence of the saloon was broken by an affronted "Well, I never!" as Marita flounced out of the bar either ignoring or not hearing Diane Fowley’s chortled, "Probably not!" With that the patrons had dissolved into loud guffaws and the piano player returned to abusing his horribly tuned instrument. Skinner returned to his solitary drinking until he passed out around nine. That was six hours ago and Frohike needed to tell him about Mulder. Glaring at his new boss he snarled, "Are you sober enough to understand me?" Frohike learned a valuable lesson that morning as Skinner’s hand whipped out and grabbed the bartender by his vest, yanking him down until they were nose to nose. "I’ll only ask you once again, What?" Frohike pulled away and smoothed his vest. Carefully he stepped back before continuing. "I just thought you would want to know. Your friend, the Pinkerton – if that is what he really is – got bushwhacked. Jimmy and Dickie, the sheepherders, found him and brought him to Soo Ling’s. She’s been workin’ on him." Melvin watched the gambler pale, the strong hands fisting and opening in nervous tension, a slight tremor in the chin that had nothing to do with the post alcoholic recovery process. Standing uneasily, Skinner demanded, "is the bathhouse open?" Frohike shook his head. "Not at this hour." A sly grin creased his face. "But, Tom Colton owes me. And, I don’t think you’re that worried about the water being hot or not." Skinner stood as cold water cascaded down his shoulders before filling the large wooden tub he was standing in. When it was half filled, he lowered himself gingerly into the frigid water. He rubbed the harsh lye soap over his body before shaving from the small bucket of hot water that Colton, the bathhouse owner, had grudgingly brought him. Frohike had insisted Skinner go directly to the bath house, promising to bring him a change of clothes. Skinner was somewhat surprised that the disheveled little man had picked out a decent match from his wardrobe and he quickly dressed in black with a subdued grey vest, the red silk tie the only splash of color. He stalked out into the street after paying Colton twice the going rate for a bath and immediately went to the small crowd of people clustered around the alleyway by the bank. Pushing his way through he paused at the bottom of the steps before climbing upward, carefully keeping the spurs on his boots from clanging and gouging the wooden treads. John Doggett stood guard at the top and the look in Skinner’s eye kept his questions stilled. The deputy jerked his head toward the door. "You might as well wait inside, I guess. If you can stand the smell." Skinner barely gave the man a glance before pushing into the small antechamber. "Sweet God above," he exclaimed. He saw two men, dressed in shepherds’ garb waiting patiently in two chairs. "You the two that found him?" The longhaired blond man stepped forward, his floppy hat clutched in his hands. "Yes, sir. Me and Jimmy heard the shot and we seen the horse galloping back toward town. Saw the man lying there; blood all over the ground. We got our wagon. Had to bring the lambs with us, those men of Spender’s waiting to do mischief and all, and we brung him inta town." Skinner’s eyes were watering and his stomach was clenching from the smell. Reaching into his pocket he handed them each a silver dollar. "Get out of here. The bathhouse is open. Go get baths and use what ever is left to at least buy a decent shirt." Langley eyed the money and thought to keep it, but Skinner’s look dispelled that notion. "Come on Jimmy, it tain’t Saderday, but I guess we do smell a bit sheepish. Skinner watched them leave before turning toward the closed door across the room. He opened it carefully and peered in. Soo Ling sat in a small straight back chair next to the cot where Mulder lay; his head swathed in gauze, his face ashen grey. The herbalist glanced up and smiled. Rising gracefully from her chair she motioned Skinner to back out of the room. She gently closed the door behind her and studied the man before her. "He is sleeping soundly. I think he will recover fully. The bullet creased his head, but it is a very hard." "So he’ll be all right?" Skinner breathed a sigh of relief. Soo Ling’s tired gentle smile did more to assure him than her words. "I think so. The next several hours will tell." She rubbed the back of her neck and stifled a yawn. Skinner studied the small woman and suggested, "why don’t you get some sleep. I can sit with him." Soo Ling considered his offer and Skinner could see the indecision in her eyes. "I won’t hurt him." Surprise suffused her face. "No! I never thought you would. I was just trying to think of what I have for you to sit on. That little chair in there…" Skinner stretched his back. "Don’t worry about me, miss. I’ve been sitting in a hard chair since lunchtime yesterday. I’ll manage. Now scoot," he insisted. The herbalist led him into the room and showed him the small pitcher of water. Wake me in a few hours and I will change his bandages." Skinner took her by the shoulders and propelled her toward the other door in the room. "I’ll manage, Soo Ling." Skinner stood by the bed and gazed down at the pale comatose man. Guilt, Disgust, and Anger came to keep him company and to debate the merits of his manhood. Guilt started the discussion <<<You should have been there. If you would have gone with him, helped him, then this wouldn’t have happened.>>> Disgust piped up. <<<But nooooo. You were trying to drown your feeling for the redhead. Course the whole town probably notices your hard-on every time you catch sight of her.>>> Anger tried to come to his defense. <<<He should have waited. Besides he didn’t tell me he was going anywhere.>>> Disgust shouted anger down. <<<Bull, you shut him out.>>> Guilt whispered <<<You owe him. He saved your life.>>> Anger, the one emotion that had served him well all these many years was getting tired. <<<I have to get Kersh. I owe Sharon at least that much.>>> Another voice so soft he barely heard it anymore spoke up. <<<It’s been fifteen years, Walter, let me go.>>> "I can’t." Tears of self-pity threatened. "Can’t what?" Her voice, so soft and caressing, startled him out of his reverie and in the moment their eyes met, Dana could see the unguarded raw pain and emotion that he was usually so good at hiding. She looked away first and he was able to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he lied dryly, "I can’t imagine why he went out alone like that." Scully accepted the lie for what it was and let it pass. "So what do you think? Did miners do this?" Skinner put his hands on his hips. "I don’t know who shot him, Sheriff. I assume it wasn’t the two who found him and brought him in." "No. But Jimmy swears he saw the man ride away. Unfortunately, he didn’t see his face. Just a big bulky man in a poncho, a slouch hat hiding his head and face." Scully looked like she was going to say something else but instead walked to the other side of the bed and watched Mulder for a long time. Skinner kept glancing at her, knowing she wanted to say something, but he didn’t help her. Finally, she looked up, her eyes suspiciously moist. "Why did he say that?" Skinner gulped but refused to understand. "Say what?" "Those things in the saloon. Those things that made you hit him." Skinner shook his head and sighed ruefully. "Ah, the joys of living in a small town. Guess you heard about that 10 minutes after it happened." She quirked the corner of her mouth. "Five actually. But you didn’t answer my question." "I don’t know. No one saw us – in your office, I mean." His face was red and he couldn’t meet her gaze. "It couldn’t have been that nonsense with the Indian." "What?" Skinner rubbed his hand across his mouth and then told her about meeting Albert Hosteen. The name rang no bell with Scully. "Kinda weird. There was nobody else with him?" "Not that I saw." She looked up at him, just as the first rays of dawn slashed across the window, illuminating her hair a fiery red gold. She whispered, "You think I’m this hawk he was talking about." The vision was too much and Skinner sank down on the chair. It creaked in protest. "I don’t know what to say. I’ve seen a lot wandering over the countryside. Things that make no sense, at least to white folks. But that Indian…that pretty much took top prize." Before he could continue a low groan from the bed interrupted him. He leaned forward, "Mulder? Mulder, can you hear me?" Mulder started to thrash, but Skinner stood up and held his arms. Looking up at Scully, he ordered. "Go wake up Soo Ling." The herbalist rushed in and soothed Mulder’s brow. She checked the bandage and then leaned over the bed. "Mr. Mulder, wake up now." Mulder moved his head back and forth murmuring, "Scully! Scully!" Dana, who had come to stand next to the gambler across from Soo Ling, looked at Skinner in surprise. Leaning over the bed she reached out and touched his cheek, "Mr. Mulder? It’s Sheriff Scully, I’m here." His eyes fluttered open and he smiled sweetly and then confusion overtook him. He glanced up and saw Skinner and finally he came fully conscious. "Skinner? What am I doing here? What happened?" Skinner told him and then demanded, "What were you doing out there alone?" "I didn’t know he followed me." "Who followed you," Skinner’s voice had become harsh. Mulder looked away and Skinner hissed, "It was Kersh, wasn’t it." Finally piecing the story together he barked. "That’s why you said those things. Kersh was there wasn’t he, watching us. You wanted to make sure that he thought we weren’t working together." Skinner worked his jaw and then stalked around the bed. As he flung open the door he growled back. "I’ll find him. It stops here." Scully took Mulder’s hand into hers, "Mr. Mulder, you and I have to talk." :: :: ::
Skinner ran down the steps and to the stable for his horse in less time than it took Scully to get the full story, including his real identify, from the dazed Secret Service Agent. When Scully came down the steps looking for Skinner, Langley rushed up and told her that the gambler had left not ten minutes ago. Skinner raced across prairie, the early morning sun quickly giving way to an overcast sky that promised snow. He found the gully he had been using and urged the horse to his hiding place. Using the spyglass to check out the ranch house, he was surprised to see Spender rush out of the house, mount his own horse and head toward the mountains to the east. Skinner scanned the awakening ranch before him, but though people were running about doing their chores, not one of them even resembled Kersh. He mounted his horse and made his way to the end of the gully until he was back on the wide open plain. Far ahead, he could make out the moving dot that had to be Spender. He was unsure exactly why he thought that he needed to follow Spender but the feeling was too powerful to ignore so he kept the man in sight, carefully checking over his shoulder whenever the opportunity arose. The spot approached the mountains and Skinner had to urge his horse closer so that he would not lose his prey in the shadows and backdrop. He was surprised to see Spender slow and begin to wade through the herd of sheep grazing in a wide grassy canyon leading into a mountain pass. He pulled his horse behind a large boulder, tied the reigns to a small Aspen pine before following the man on foot. He would have missed the opening if he hadn’t caught the flash of color and movement as Spender passed through the narrow split of rock. Drawing his gun and double checking to make sure he had the cylinder loaded, Skinner followed the rider down the narrow arch of rock, ducking behind fallen boulders whenever he could. The passage narrowed and widened for a little over a quarter of a mile and Skinner listened carefully for any sounds indicating more riders either ahead or behind him. Finally, the path narrowed so much that Spender had to get down and lead his horse the last ten feet or so. Skinner waited a long count before peeking out from around the last outcropping of rock. The view nearly took his breath away. Even in the late fall, Indian Summer still reigned in this sheltered valley; the grass was still more green than brown and trees flourished near the clear, deep blue water spotting the valley floor. He found a large rock to hide behind where he could still survey the encampment before him. Rickety wood shanties were built next to several of the ponds and lakes; corrals holding stallions and wild ponies were at either end. Men worked at tending the horses, watching over the meat roasting over huge fires or cleaning rifles and other assorted weapons. Skinner knew he had stumbled upon what Mulder had been searching and nearly died for. There had to be twenty men, and several women who were busy washing clothes in one of the far off ponds. Skinner saw all he needed to see and knew there was nothing he could do alone. He carefully checked behind him and cautiously made his way back to the gorge that had led him to the robbers’ hideout. He made his way back out to the canyon and through the bleating herd of sheep. He found his horse and was just starting to mount it when a snap of a twig warned him. He fell and rolled to the ground. By the time he had risen to his knee, his gun was in his hand, pointing straight at Alvin Kersh, whose gun was also drawn and pointing at Skinner. A sneer curled on Kersh’s lip. "Well, Johnny Reb, time we settled this." Skinner stood and saved his breath. He took in the man before him, noted the knife at his belt and the vicious sharp spurs on his boots. He waited for Kersh’s finger to flinch on the trigger of his .45. The gunslinger smiled. "You think you can take me in a fair fight…Mastah." Kersh spit the epitaph out. Skinner raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Master? Where did you get that shit, Kersh? I never owned any slaves." Kersh’s sneer grew. "Your wife’s daddy did though and you lived with him." Skinner’s eyes narrowed. "Sharon’s daddy was the preacher in town, Kersh. We had our own place." A sickening realization hit Skinner. "You tellin’ me that you shot my wife in the back thinkin’ she was somebody else?" A flicker of emotion played across Kersh eyes. "He tole me different." "Who told you different?" A shudder went through Kersh. "Don’t matter now, Johnny Reb. You was workin’ for the slave owners and you paid the price. Me tellin’ you killin’ your missus was a mistake ain’t gonna stop you from comin’ after me. Let’s end this here." Skinner was taken aback and so almost missed the telltale muscle movement, but he got off a shot as he fell to the right. Kersh’s bullet grazed his arm, tearing his duster, not even drawing any blood. But, as Skinner fell, his hand hit a sharp rock and he lost his gun. He looked around wildly and saw that his shot had hit its mark. Kersh held his shoulder his gun lay several feet away. Before Skinner could find his weapon, Kersh charged him and pushed him into a boulder, knocking the wind from Skinner, causing him to double over. A hard right connected with his jaw and Skinner went tumbling down a small incline, scattering sheep every which way. Skinner stood and shook his head. He had managed to grab a fist full of dirt and as Kersh came at him, the vicious knife held awkwardly in his good hand, Skinner threw the dirt in his face and ran headlong into Kersh’s stomach. They grappled on the ground, each landing damaging punches. Skinner had just managed to kneel away from the gunslinger and raise his fist for another punch when a blinding pain shot through his head. Through the pain and blood, he saw Kersh laying there with a large rock in his hand. Skinner fell on his back but never lost consciousness. He watched helplessly as Kersh threw away the rock and reached down to pull off a spur that Skinner had managed to avoid up until this moment. Kersh grinned at him as he crawled over, kneeling up, he brought the spur to the side of Skinners throat. The shot echoed throughout the canyon. A look of surprise suffused Kersh’s face and he dropped the spur, nicking Skinner’s jaw as he did so. Staggering back he fell clutching his chest with both hands and then disappeared down a small wash. Skinner tried hard to remain conscious but everything was bleary. He tensed as he heard stones scattering. "Skinner. Oh Jesus. Skinner!" Her voice was stringent in her panic. The rock had broken the skin at his temple and blood gushed from the wound. She reached into her duster and pulled out a large red square of cotton and bunched it up before placing it over the wound. "Just don’t move. I’ll be right back." Some time later he was aware of her tugging at his shoulders. "Skinner, you have to get up. I can’t lift you." "Jus’ leave me be. I’ll rest here and get up in a minute." He mumbled through the fog, the very cold fog. "Jesus Christ. Skinner!" A sharp sting jarred him a little more awake. "Ouch! That hurt." He rubbed the side of his face where she had slapped him. He opened his eyes and saw the fog was drifting down in big fat pieces, sorta like feathers from a pillow. He groaned. <<<Shit, sorta like snow.>>> He forced himself to sit up and the pain nearly knocked him back down, but she had her opening now and she got behind him and started urging him up, her knees digging into his back. "Damn it, Scully. Give me a minute." "There’s no time, you’ve been out for over two hours. I couldn’t wake you and I couldn’t leave you. We have to get out of here now, the snow is really starting to come down." The panic and worry in her voice spurred him on and he managed to make it to his knees. Using a nearby flat rock, he pulled himself upright. Well, as upright as he could manage. His knees nearly buckled, but she was there supporting him the best that a 100 pound 5’2" woman could support a 200 pound 6’2" man. He gasped out. "Get my horse." Silence met his request. He groaned and peered around. "Ran off?" "Yeah, I guess the shot must have spooked him." "Well, I guess it would have." He snarled. "Hey! I saved your life…" "I know. I’m sorry." He looked around him and saw her roan, standing nearby, shivering in the cold. The temperature must have dropped another twenty degrees since he entered the cavern leading to the robber’s hideout. "That horse isn’t going to carry two of us. We’re gonna have to find someplace to wait out the storm." As if to underline this fact the wind kicked up and drove the heavy snow around them. Scully led the horse over. "Can you get on?" "I told you that two of us couldn’t ride that thing." Skinner growled. "Stop playing the hero. We’re both gonna die out here if we don’t get to safety. I know a line stack about a mile away, but you’ll never make it. Now, DAMN IT, can you get up there?" Skinner cursed and groaned, but managed to pull himself up on Scully’s horse. Once she was sure he had a firm grasp on the pummel, she led the horse back the way they had come. Skinner shouted down. "What about the sheepherders? Don’t they have a place near by?" He could barely hear her shouted response. "No. It’s more than three miles the other way. They were only using this canyon for a little while because Spender burned off the pasture closer." She trudged through the blowing snow, urging the horse to follow. Skinner drifted in and out of consciousness but managed to stay upright on the horse. They had walked nearly an hour through the darkening afternoon until Scully came to a small outcropping in the mountainside. "Get down." She steadied him as he climbed down. It took every last ounce of strength he possessed to keep his knees from buckling under him, but he let her lead him through the rocks. The snow lessened and the wind was mercifully blocked. The howling of it still drowned out her shouted directions so he just followed where she led him. She tied the horse to a small bush and pointed upward. The climb was arduous but he managed to keep up. The small wooden shack loomed up ahead of them and she pushed him the rest of the way to the door. He worked the small nail from the hasp and the leather hinges allowed the door to swing open so smoothly that he fell into the room and promptly passed out. :: :: ::
He was cold and it was dark. Well, maybe not as cold as he had expected to be and the dark was alleviated by a dim flickering somewhere in the room. The almost-shadows played above his head on the ceiling. He rolled over on his side, the pain now more a dull ache than real agony. He saw a small stove in one corner a dull red glow surrounding it. Gingerly he forced himself up and looked around. He was on the floor, a woven mat the only thing between him and the dirt. There was an old bedstead pushed up against one wall, a pitiful, bare mattress on its leather braces. A small three-legged stool in one corner and a rickety looking table finished out the furnishings. He noticed that a saddle and blanket had been flung into the corner. He could see bright moonlight shining in through the slats of a shuttered window. He examined his body and found that a heavy horse blanket had been thrown over his duster. The occasional gust of wind and the crackling of the fire broke the dead silence of the cabin. He pushed off the floor and stumbled to the bed and finally allowed himself to wonder where the hell she was. He remembered how bad the storm had been as they reached safety and he prayed that she had not tried to go for help. He just started to stretch out on the mattress when the door swung open and an apparition appeared, back lit by the full moon. Snow swirled around until she managed to push the door shut. Scully dropped the logs by the stove and shrugged a set of saddlebags to the floor. Ripping off the wool muffler from her head she paused and stared at him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything more beautiful. Her hair had come out of its tie and it fanned around her face. Her heavy leather duster was buttoned to her chin and her cheeks, even in the dim stove light shone a rosy red. He closed his eyes and dropped his head and the next thing he knew she was at his side examining his wound. He tried to push her away but the effort was too much. "Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be such a baby. Let me see it." She turned to the saddlebags and pulled out a small clean square of fabric and a canteen. "This is the only water I have, but I have a small camp pot in there and we can get some snow off of the rocks outside if we need more." As she cleaned his wound she gave a running commentary. "Well its not very deep, but it is already changing color. Does this hurt? Oh, sorry. Of course it does. I don’t suppose you are a real gambler and keep a little flask of whiskey on you?" He reached inside his suit coat and brought out a battered silver flask. She noticed the dint in it and knew there was probably an interesting story behind it, but she merely opened the flask and poured some of the liquid on to the cloth. "Hey!" He sputtered but she glared at him and he meekly allowed her to continue cleaning the wound. He grimaced when the alcohol touched his skin, but he didn’t move as she continued to work. She returned to the saddlebag and rummaged through both sides and let out a long aggrieved sigh. "What’s wrong?" he demanded. She stood there with her lips pursed, staring down at her shirt. "I need to bandage your head and I don’t have anything to wrap it with." Skinner realized what she was about to do and hurriedly stood up. She rushed over to steady him but he grabbed hold of the cheap iron bedpost and struggled out of his duster and suit coat. "I’ve got a vest and a shirt, you don’t need to go ripping up your clothes to bandage my head, Sheriff." His voice was ragged from the exertion. She watched as he fumbled with the vest buttons, a trail of blood coursing down his cheek. She gently pushed him back on the bed. "Here, you’re going to pass out again. Let me." Keeping her eyes locked on his, her upper lip caught firmly between her teeth, she opened each pearl button. She considered the red tie but it had been flayed and dirtied in the fight and she quickly discarded it. She found that she was having trouble breathing as she worked each button on his stiff cotton shirt open revealing a rich mat of hair across his chest. <<<Oh, this was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.>>> She gulped and managed to pull one arm and then the other free until he sat there, naked from the waist up. His chest rose and fell with each breath and she had to turn away from him. She wondered if her cheeks would ever return to their normal color. Taking a knife from the saddlebag she slit his shirt down the back and then cut a three-inch strip from it. Carefully laying the shirt over the chair, she turned back to him and forced herself to meet his eyes. He had taken the alcohol soaked rag and wiped his face off and as she approached him she noticed that there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and on his chest. And she knew he was as uncomfortable about this as she was. Somehow that made it easier and she managed to wrap and secure the wound quite nicely. "You better put your coat back on, before you catch your death." Skinner winced at the pain as he struggled to put the suit coat back on but he resisted her attempts to help him. "It’s okay, Sheriff, I have it." He voice was harsh and stinging. She nodded and moved back to the stove and put another log on the fire. "I don’t have much food, but I do have some beef jerky if you want. I wasn’t expecting to camp out tonight." "You shouldn’t have followed me, Sheriff." She whirled on him. "I didn’t follow you, you pig-headed fool! Mulder told me what he has been up to and where he had been shot." She huffed and put her hands on her hips and Skinner’s eyes grew round at her anger. "I AM NOT THE ONE who went off half-cocked. I came out here to follow up on a lead, not seek revenge on something that happened 15 YEARS AGO!" She realized that she had gone to far and she put her fingers to her lips. Skinner gritted his teeth. "You don’t understand. He killed my wife. Have you ever lost anyone like that? It was so senseless." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "He shot her in the back!" Tears filled Scully’s eyes. "I do understand, you know. I’ve lost people. Everyone has." "Not like that." His voice was a steel razor cutting the air. "Yes, just like that." She turned away from him then and contemplated the moon through the crack in the window shutter. "My father was sheriff of Paris, I was just his part-time deputy." She hugged herself as she remembered. "It was just a few years back actually, springtime. It’s really beautiful here in the spring, you know." She heard the bed creak behind her but she didn’t turn around. "It had been a really rough winter and everyone was going stir crazy, and the saloon was really hopping. Dad had gone out on patrol and he just never came back. Danny Pendrell found him in the alley, a bullet in his back. His gun was holstered. He never had a chance. So you see, MISTER Skinner, you aren’t…" She turned to face him and found that he was standing just behind her. She looked up into his eyes and saw the shame and the shared grief there. He reached out a hand and touched her cheek. "I’m sorry…Dana." Something broke inside her and the tears fell as he pulled her to him. She sobbed into his chest until she realized what standing was costing him. She pulled back and smiled. "I’m okay, you best go lie down before you fall down again." He nodded and pulled her back to the bed with him. "Okay, I’ll get some sleep if you will." She raised her eyebrow. "Really, Mr. Skinner. I don’t think…" "Sheriff, really, do you think that I would take advantage of the situation?" Touching his forehead he grinned, "do you think I COULD take advantage?" Scully sniffed and pointed to the bed. "You just get settled. I want to make sure that the fire stays lit." Skinner shrugged and muttered something about body warmth, but tentatively stretched out on the bed. She saw that laying flat was causing him pain so she rolled up the wool muffler she had used to cover her head and put it under his. Their eyes met and she turned away quickly to return to the fire. She finally relaxed when she heard his even breathing turn into a soft snore. She stoked the fire and turned back to the bed to watch him sleep. He had pulled the bedroll blanket around him, but he still looked so cold. Sighing she shed her duster and crawled into bed next to him; using the heavy leather as an extra cover. :: :: ::
Dawn and cold woke him and for a moment he had no idea of where he was. The only part of him that was warm was his chest and he looked down and saw that her nose was nuzzled into his bare chest, her breath gently moving the hair there. He gulped and tried to move away but she followed him in protest, flinging her arm over him, under the blanket and his coat so that her soft hand lay on his bare skin. Her being so close was playing havoc on his senses and he strove to remain in control but his own nose was so close to her downy soft red hair and he found himself inhaling the clean scent of lilac water and wood smoke. He had to get away from her and he tried pushing her away again but this time an plaintive mewl made him look down and he found himself drowning in incredible blue. He had promised her that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation but she had made no such vow and she moved her lips closer to his softly making tentative contact. He could no more not respond than he could stop breathing and he captured her lips in his, sucking her lower lip between his teeth eliciting a long drawn out moan of pleasure from her. She pushed him onto his back and knelt up beside him. "Sher…Dana. I don’t think." "Please Skinner, it’s been so long." She slowly unbuttoned her shirt and the cold danced goose bumps across her chest. The tiny chemise was next and she stood to struggle out of her boots and pants. She groaned in frustration and turned quickly to the stove and stoked the embers before placing another log in. Skinner lay on the bed and watched in fascination as her bare bottom moved up and down. He sat up, ignoring the twinge at his temple and quickly shed his coat and struggled out of his pants and long underwear. He held up the covers and she rushed back to the bed to join him. He rubbed his hands up and down her body before kissing her again, molding her into the thin mattress. Her hands began an exploration of their own and she stroked and caressed his stiffening manhood. They shared a groan of pleasure as he finally began stroking her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard little pebbles. She arched into his body, opening herself to him and he began a gentle exploration of her already hot moist sex. "Dana, darlin, there is so much I want to do to you, to touch you, to make you feel so good." She groaned in response and began nibbling on whatever bit of skin her lips could make contact with. Plunging first one, then other finger deep within her, stretching her, readying her, he brought her to climax and she shouted his name as she came hard against his hand. Then he spread her legs and knelt between them pressing his shaft home. "Oh my, oh Walter, please." She began to move with his thrusts and the delicious tightening began all over again. He looked deep into her eyes as he gasped out his own intense orgasm and saw a love and passion there that he hadn’t experienced in over 15 years. She held him close to her as they slowly came down from their passion and fell asleep in each other arms. Home :: X-Files Index :: e-mail |