BOOKS BY V.GRAHAM

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The smell of gunpowder hung on the dry desert air. The sharp report of the guns firing sent the residents of the town of Marin Arizona running for cover. Two people were fighting a running gun battle in the street just as the sun was beginning to set. A cowpoke from the saloon glanced out the winged doors and turned away bored. Another man loading his wagon at the mercantile store dropped the bag of flour that broke, spilling white on the brown earth then ran for cover back into the store.

There were sounds heard but not important to the two gunfighters. Feminine screams, rustling of skirts, and  several horses neighed. One sorrel with wide terrified eyes attempted to run away pulling at the reins that held him to the hitching post.

The tall well-dressed man ran with light footsteps across the street.  Ebony colored, keen eyes alert to the position of the other gunslinger, thirty-eight in his right hand cocked and aimed. A cold smile touched his lips. He jumped over the small child's wagon left in the street. Then ran a hand down the front of his coat, wiping away the dust. He smiled showing white even teeth under the well-kept mustache.

Jake Tanner, gunfighter moved to the boardwalk as a bullet shattered the wood in the beam by his head, a small chip hitting him in the cheek, drawing blood. Tanner ducked and returned fire fanning the hammer with his left hand twice more. Then advanced, keeping the supports and the various barrels, and tables between him and his challenger.

Lifting his left hand with the callused palm to his face rubbing the stubbled cheek. His plan was to kill her and end the lady gunfighters' growing legend, but hadn’t counted on her being this good.  It caused him to change his methods, deciding against facing her straight on, turning it into a different kind of gunfight.

Savannah moved fast and effortlessly and was on the opposite side of the street from the gunfighting dandy. Calm on the outside but knots in her stomach. Her dark Stetson shaded green eyes as she saw the movement from the alley across from her. ‘So he thinks he’ll sneak up on me does he?’ The delicate gun hand was steady holding her special made pearl handled forty-five with perfect balance gleamed in the light.

She was at the hotel. Turning and going down the side, seeing one window opened a crack. She pushed it farther and pulled herself up and inside. Crossing the empty room and out the door Savannah went up the stairs to the second floor. Looking out over the porch, spotted the man who sought to kill her. She eased out the window and looked between the spindles of the porch. Standing up and yelled out, “Brand!"

The man's head snapped up following the sound. Their eyes met for a brief second just before both raised their guns and fired. Savannah watched the man jerk and fall over the puff of smoke from her gun, and then felt a trail of fire along her forearm.

With her gun still in hand and Savannah gasped the injured arm. Dang it, she thought, another wound. Less than two days here and she had managed to get into another gunfight. Her shoulder ached and now so did the right forearm she was adding up scars. ‘It's time to leave this town.’

Noon found Savannah riding a few miles from town. When would things change for the better, and she could stay awhile somewhere nice. Savannah rode along her eyes taking in the scenery, checking for danger and nothing else. She had a bit of fever coming on, and no one to talk to.

What the next town held for her. She had not run into any friends in weeks and questioned where they all were. The weather was at least warm so it wasn't too bad for riding. There was a few more hours of riding before she could camp out for the night.

An hour before sundown Savannah halted for the night. An area that had a few trees and a stream nearby. She had seen no sign of any houses in the area, which was good. At least no one would show up and make her move off their land. After getting off her horse and tying her up, and reaching for her gear on the back of her horse. She paused.

Glancing up at the sky seeing the beauty of the setting sun. Towards the west, the sky was painted red, orange, purple and gold. The last bit of beauty before the night came to shroud the world in it's cloak. Savannah stood there watching, awed by it.

Putting her roll and saddlebags down she began to gather some large rocks, and wood to make a fire. Her stomach rumbled and she wished for a piece of fried ham, and why stop there.? A little mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy, biscuits and pie would be nice, with a glass of iced sweet tea. Though at home she was able only to eat two or three bites of each, the stays pulled so tight prevented her from eating more. Her mother had often told her that a lady ate like a bird, so a man could put his hands around her waist and his fingers touch. She didn’t understand why that was important.

When was the last time she had a meal like that. Not since leaving home, she now existed on western food. She didn’t know how to cook very well. Something she had not been taught, as it was explained, she didn’t need to. She was to marry a rich southern gentleman and live a life of luxury. She should have gotten Janny to teach her to cook before leaving. She wondered if Nick would care if the food were burnt. But then, what did it matter, they didn’t have a chance to be together. She worked as her thoughts turned to other things.

The fire started and she settled back on the soft blanket, pot boiling, with the beef from the canning jar she had opened. She cut up some potatoes and added it, and a small onion. A little salt and a touch of pepper, it was all she knew to put in it. The secret was to remember to cook it only long enough to be done. Night was closing in, as she turned her vigilance back to the fire. Eyes drawn to the fire, watching the tiny flickers of flame dance around the bottom and sides of the pot.

She wondered if all the cowboys and gunfighters felt as she did. Felt the desolation, made her feel as though she was the only person alone in the world. She remembered different holidays, seeing families and friends celebrating in towns, while she was alone. How many solitary holidays had she spent, sitting at a table by herself, pretending she didn’t care about the holiday. Memories invaded her thoughts about the holidays at home, and how much she delighted in them, no loneliness back then.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, which was soon joined by many more. She could not stop the flood of tears or the sobs that came from deep inside. She was unhappy, and all alone. She drew up her knees and face lowered in her hands onto her knees. She didn’t want to die out here all alone. She cried for the loneliness, her father, and for what could not be with Nick.

A wolf observed from the shadows, seeing the young woman crying. He could get a whiff of her tears and fear. He didn’t understand why she was acting this way. He lifted his proud head and howled for her, as he was alone too.

***

Finally, a few weeks later, the pleasant weather had altered. It was a bitter day with heavy storm clouds hanging low obscuring the sun foretelling rain. Horse and rider could smell it on the air for it hung there heavy.

The Conifer trees would look great covered in snow soon. The grasses dry and the brittle leaves crunched beneath the hooves of Conaill the tall red Arabian mare. Her rider sat low in the saddle coat pulled close, her scarf covering the neck and dark Stetson pulled low. Conaill tossed her head and began to gallop seemingly in a hurry to arrive somewhere before the bad weather hit.

The town came into view, about a dozen buildings in all; off in the distance the rider could see several homesteads. Riding into town sharp eyes taking in the surroundings remembering the layout people walked about taking care of their business. Several sets of eyes turned and took in the horse and rider.

The stables came into view and Conaill turned to it not waiting for its rider to choose. A short heavyset man appeared wearing the blacksmiths apron perspiration running down his face. He looked up and grinned, revealing several empty spaces where teeth used to be.

"What can I do for you?" The rider sat tall and looked down at the man one hand pushing up the dark Stetson revealing the feminine face.

"I want to board my horse for a few days, extra oats too."

He reached out a large callused hand and took the reins. As the rider dismounted landing lightly beside the horse. She stood facing the man who wasn't much taller than herself, looking him right in the eye.

"That will be two bits a day."

"Fine, here are four for two days." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the coin and flipped it the man caught it out of the air. She turned and pulled off her saddlebags and her extra bag. "Where can I get a decent room and a meal?"

"Well you can get a room at Missy's' boardinghouse. It's down that away," he pointed one sausage like finger down the street, "third building on the left. Food... well that would have to be the saloon. Not a place for a woman."

"Thanks."

She turned and walked back the way she arrived taking in the local folk she passed without appearing to notice anything. She walked up to the door and knocked. The slightly graying, dark-haired, middle-aged woman with a bright smile on her face opened it soon as she looked at the caller.

"Have you got a room?"

"Yes." She moved aside and waved her guest inside permitting Savannah to step in. The narrow hall was dark except for the dim light given off by the small lamp on a side table. "I've a room for a young woman, would you be wantin meals too?"

"If it’s possible."

The woman led her into another room there a warm fire blazed brightly in the fireplace her eyes drawn to the crackling flames. Weak midday light came into the windows revealing the faded and worn carpet that lay on the wooden floor. Several chairs sat about the fireplace a polished table sat in the middle. A lamp with a colored glass shade in tones of red and blue on it another table against the far wall held a dozen books. The chairs had crocheted rounds on them cushions with various scenes covering their front made with loving hands sat on the sofa against the window overlooking the front porch. On it was one book turned upside down to mark the page.

"You can use this room when you don't want to stay in your room we have a handful books. If you like we can play gin or talk in the evenings." She hesitated for a moment then smiled. "By the way I'm Missy sometimes I tend to ramble on." She motioned back towards the stairs. "Follow me. You will like the room” Savannah followed her out and up the stairs. The place was warm and inviting, a good place to stay for a few days. She just hoped nothing happened to ruin her peace here.

***

An hour later, she entered the Shamrock saloon as masculine heads turned at her entrance. She walked over to the long bar ignoring the men who glared at her their mumbles not always unheard. She glanced in the large dusty mirror behind the counter at the men who stared at her and her eyes narrowed. The bartender stood wiping a glass with a dirty rag as he leaned and wiped the counter with his sleeve. "What can I get for ya gal?"

"A steak, potatoes, greens, and biscuits would be good. A drink."

"I can get you a bowl of stew and biscuits. What is your poison? We have Sarsaparilla, Water, Beer, and Whiskey." He leered at her his eyes roaming her curves plainly seen. Then he met her eyes and he saw something he saw only in the meanest men... death. He swallowed and put the glass down. It didn’t look right on a female he figured.

"Sarsaparilla." She put six bits on the counter watching the dirty hand reach and pick it up. She wasn't sure if she wanted anything to eat here until she spotted a young girl who appeared out of the back with a serving of food for someone else. At least she thought he is not the cook. He went over to get her a drink bringing the bottle over and placed it on the counter he walked off. Taking a sip of the tepid liquid one hand is on her .45 as she tried to get a feel of the place.

She was bone tired after her long ride.  Feeling the hair on the back of her neck began to raise turning she looked around. She saw that she had unwanted attention. Why couldn't there have been a café in this town, so she could have avoided this. Savannah didn't like saloons, and tried to avoid them when she could. Slowly she looked at each one before taking her drink and moving across the room to a table in the corner she sat down with her back to the wall. Her hand on the grip of her gun as she sat there, observing the others in the room.

A tall ruggedly handsome man with a deep tan and hair the color of a raven's wing with black penetrating eyes over high cheeks bones looked at the girl. Full lips smiled as he watched her walk across the room. He knew the walk he had seen it many times it was the walk of a gunhawk. Her ivory handled forty-five strapped low to her left hip in her oiled holster disclosed as much. He looked at her face, a beauty with her alabaster skin, he could feel desire rise. As she looked his way, he knew she had seen him staring and he nodded at her dropping his eyes to his drink. Lee Springhawk knew from long experience she would probably not be interested in a half-breed. The only types of women he could get to talk to him were usually the saloon girls.

Savannah looked at her plate placed in front of her by the girl, the food had solidified. The beef looked tough and the potatoes were a little green. She looked a little closer and pushed the plate away, letting the brown walking bug who had taken up residence in her plate have it. This is stomach turning; I should shoot the fool cook. She sat sipping her drink observing the room from beneath the brim of her Stetson.

"I bet that gal over there would like to get to know me. All the gals do." The boisterous voice called out accompanied by masculine laughter. "Hey you -- Red. I'm talking to you." Savannah looked up and over across the room and the man who stood at the bar. Tall slender above average looking cowpoke with a fancy new gunbelt tied low. His tanned face was smiling as he moved away from the bar, his thumbs looped in his belt and his long slender fingers pointing down at his crotch. She gave him a bored look.

"I'm not interested." Her southern drawl evident and the man laughed and Savannah stood up, and stepped back from the table, standing where she could watch the room and keep her back safe. She watched him lick his lips, as his eyes grew hot; he glanced over at one of his friends and winked.

"A southern gal, not many around these parts. I like the way you talk." One finger came up and rubbed at his neatly trimmed mustache. One of his friends nudged him in the ribs as the bartender moved from out behind the bar and went in the back. Savannah saw out of the corner of her eye the rest of the occupants of the saloon. Only three appeared interested in what was going on, the loudmouth and his two friends. "How about you and me having a friendly couple of drinks and go somewhere together.

"Go ahead without me, I'm leaving alone." Her tone had lowered and it carried an edge to it. Lee sat there his hand on his thirty-eight and felt the knife that lay against his thigh. He would help if needed though he usually didn’t interfere with others problems. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to see anything happen to the girl, he felt his protective instincts come to life.

The warm saloon filled with voices kept low as chairs scraped on the sawdust covered wood floor. A man around seventy was putting wood inside the potbellied stove in the corner looked up, then moved toward the front door. Table cleared cards sat abandoned as the air filled with a charged current like what existed before a lightning storm. The man who could not shut up began to move towards her a few feet. He looked at her, made motions in the air that wasn’t something she had ever seen, and a bright red stained her cheeks. However, her eyes flashed as the gunfighter in her came forward and took over. There was no room for the gentle girl inside, as she felt the dead calm steeling over her.

"Now you don't have to act so mean I'll make you smile."

"Perhaps you don't know what the word no means. Go back to your pals and drink I'll go on my way."

Her antagonists rocked back on his heels making his spurs jingle. He could not back down in front of his friends. Who did she believe she was? Women liked him.

"Then girl I guess we'll do something else together." He slapped the side of his holster. "Your decision. I hate to bloody up that shirt you wear."

"I believe... that blood will be shed. However, it won’t be mine. I'm giving you a chance to walk away." Her voice had become hard and her eyes were like flints.

"What for? For a little girl like you?" He sneered. "You don't scare me." He glanced over at his friends they smiled at him and urged him on. Something clicked in Lees' mind and he promptly knew who she was. That man had picked the wrong one to confront.

"You should listen to her. She's the Savannah Rose... lady gunfighter." The room went dead silent. Savannah looked at Lee and then turned to the other man. She stood calmly with her left hand relaxed by her side. Her right hands fingers hitched into her belt. Her eyes never left the mans, as she patiently waited.

"The Savannah Rose... I heard of you. I'll be damn if I'll let a gal... with a pistol scare me. Draw!" He shouted as he drew his pistol seeing Savannah draw with great speed. Then the sound of a gun discharging rang out, just as he cleared leather he felt the lead as it entered his body. It burned, as it tore into his flesh, bright red blood gushed from the wound. His gun fell from his hand as he grabbed his chest a look of surprise came across his face, as he felt the warm sticky liquid on his hand.

He looked at the bright crimson covering it, and then glanced at her. "It wasn't supposed to end like this." He spoke his voice raspy as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

One of his friends made to grab his own gun, as his friend fell back against the bar, then rolled off and with a loud thud hit the floor. Lees' hand moved in a blur drawing his knife and throwing it watching it fly striking the man in the shoulder. The slender blade made a thunk as it entered; blood ran down from the wound as the man clutched his wound, glaring at the Indian. Lee backed until he was beside Savannah who stood covering the entire room. Men with their hands clearly showing, slowly began to sit back down at their card games and their drinking, all the while whispering, watching out of the corner of their eye the girl who was a gunfighter.

The wing doors opened and a man wearing a sheriffs' star came into the room gun in hand. The bartender pointed at Savannah as the sheriff took everything in with his old faded blue eyes. Savannah stood still, her gun holstered with Lee still standing beside her. She turned and looked at him a slight twinkle there then turned to the sheriff. The man was in need of a haircut and an iron to his clothes.

"Now little lady what is this all about? Why did you shoot Matt?" Savannah took a breath and motioned with her delicate hand at the man lifeless on the floor.

"I didn't start it he did. I was minding my own business when that man decided that he was going to make me a happy woman with his... I might add unwanted attentions. When I said no that I was leaving he wouldn't let me." The sheriff was studying her at length, as he ran his fingers through his already messy brown hair.

"Why are you wearing a gun? Ladies usually don't." She could not miss his look of disdain that crossed his face, as he looked at her or the disgust in his eyes the color of a stormy day.

"For my protection against just this kind of thing. Men who do not understand no. Can't always count on anyone coming to the rescue," She turned and looked at Lee. "With exceptions."

The sheriff looked over at bartender, “Charlie I want to know just what happened. I want two men to take Matt over to the undertaker and one to take Jake over to Docs." The bartender walked slowly over his eyes on the gunfighter.

***

By two o'clock that afternoon  Savannah found herself riding out of town, politely told that it was that or jail. Because she had dared to wear pants in his town that just might give other women the wrong idea. Could not have that. She had heard that law before made by some man whose woman had probably dared to try to wear some. However, she knew the real reason; it was merely because of her gift with a gun. Except this time, she wasn't alone beside her rode Lee Springhawk.

 

 

Debutante Gunfighter is available at the following....

 createspace  &   Amazon        $10.00

A book for those who have read history...know that women have been many things that were men only...pirates, faught in wars though dressed as men, stage coach drivers, led cattle drives, outlaws ---look at Bonnie and Clyde, Joan of Arc, in some countries women faught next to their men, and were warriors...this is a what if story...what if there had been a woman who dared to strap on a 45.