and bottles as targets. Louis applauds her success as he heads back to the corral. Nice shot. What a shame she was aiming for a bottle at the other end of the wall. This little gun is next to useless. Unless she has it pressed up against someone's guts she's more likely to miss than to hit.
She tucks the derringer into its holster and pulls out her father's old pistol instead. It is a prettier gun, but also a much heavier gun with a longer barrel. It should be much more accurate.
'Be careful with that.' Her father would have said.
'It's okay father, I know what I'm doing.'
'Really? You seem to have forgotten everything I taught you. Didn't I show you how to hold it in two hands so you could steady the weight better?'
She pulls the trigger and a puff of dust kicks up in front of the wall.
'You're jerking at the trigger. Squeeze it.'
'Yes father, I remember.'
'If you can't even hit a bottle with it from this distance then you shouldn't really be carrying it at all. Maybe I should have given both of them to your brother. You won't live long shooting at people and missing. You'll do better not to shoot at all.'
She fires again. The bullet ricochets off the top of the wall.
'Your brother would have hit that bottle by now.'
That was it wasn't it. She knew her father always wanted her to have been a boy. So here she was, doing her best to be a boy. Running the family ranch, shooting guns, riding horses, using everything at her disposal to protect what he had left her.
'You should come clean about the McLaren house. They know it was you. They have a witness, you heard that. If it was me -- well I wouldn't have messed it up in the first place, but if it was me --'
'No, father you wouldn't have messed it up would you. You'd have got your infallible sidekick Sanchez to do it for you. Just like I did.'
'I wouldn't have messed it up because I wouldn't have done it in the first place kid. Stop pretending to yourself that you're doing things the way I would have. You're just lashing out like a frightened animal.'
'You wouldn't have let people tell you what to do on your own ranch.'
'True, but then nobody dared to. It's because you're a girl on your own. Your brother --'
She fires the remaining bullets in the pistol wildly and angrily trying to drown out the voice in her head. When the smoke clears the bottles and tins all still stand where she placed them. The big pistol might look impressive but to her it is no more use than the inaccurate little derringer. She stomps back to the house. The pistols might be no use, but she has a rifle.
As she passes through the ranch house to fetch the rifle she pauses by the door where Billy is recuperating. Laura is tending to him again. Neither of them notice her watching from the door.
Billy coughs and winces at the pain.
'Any blood?' Laura asks, kneeling beside the bed.
Billy shakes his head, still grimacing at the discomfort.
'That's getting better then. If you can sit up you won't cough as much.'
'Okay.' He says through gritted teeth. He pushes futilely at the sheets but hasn't the strength to raise himself.
'Let me help you.' Laura reaches behind him to adjust the pillows then, wrapping her arms round him, raises him to a sitting position. Emily, is impressed with her strength, and with the tenderness that she uses to care for the injured boy. She continues to watch, transfixed by the little scene and not a little jealous of the intimacy that the two of them seem to share.
It is going to be long time before Billy will be out riding the ranch again. He does seem to be recovering, she has that consolation. She was convinced that night she had brought him home that he was dying. That danger has passed. Now, of course, there is the new danger that someone will find out that it was Billy that killed the deputy and he'll hang for it. She is determined she won't allow it, but maybe her determination counts for nothing when she can't hit a barn door with a bullet.
Billy coughs again. Laura wipes the spittle from his chin but he takes the cloth from her. He dabs at her nose with it playfully. She laughs.
'Do you want me to make you some soup.'
'I think I've had about as much soup as I can take without springing another leak.'
'You know I can't stay in here with you all day. I have other jobs to do too.'
'Miss Nixon won't mind if you stay a little longer.'
'She won't mind if I stay in here all day, but she'll still expect that other stuff to get done. You wouldn't want to get me in trouble would you?'
'Has she said anything, any news about the deputy? She won't tell me anything.'
'Miss Emily doesn't say much about anything at the moment, I think she's got a lot on her mind. But don't you worry about no deputy. You're safe all the while you're here. Ain't no deputy going to get you in here.'
Emily winces at the thought that there are deputies watching the house right now, and all the time. Any sense of safety here is just an illusion.
'Ain't no deputy ever going to get me. I plan to get well clear of this place when I'm better. Maybe you'll come with me.'
'Maybe I will.' She reaches over and kisses him tenderly on the cheek.
Emily slips away from the doorway before she is noticed and fetches the rifle.
She wishes Billy didn't feel that he needs to escape the ranch and Walkers Creek, but she understands. The little blossoming romance between him and his nurse brings a smile to her face. She longs for that sort of closeness with someone. Ever since Humby expressed his intention to marry her in order to get control of the ranch she has been treated with cold mistrust by every possible suitor in town. Logan Tanner is different, which is odd when he seems to be working for Humby already. Perhaps she just likes him because he is one of the few who seem genuinely oblivious to Humby's money and influence.
It's foolish to think too much about him, she chides herself and returns to her target practice. Leveling the rifle at the targets on the wall she feels much more comfortable and confident. When she squeezes the trigger the rifle bucks reassuringly against her shoulder and the bottle on the wall disappears. So much more satisfying than the ineffectual noise and fury of the pistols. The rifle is the weapon for her.
Something causes her to turn around and she notices a little puff of dust in the distance on the road to the ranch. Someone is riding in from Walkers Creek. Her heart skips a little imagining that it might be Logan. Then she remembers that it is more likely Sanchez returning from his grisly errand.
As the rider approaches she sees that it is neither. She reloads the rifle.
'You're not welcome here Frank. Go home.' She calls out as soon as he is in earshot.
He ignores her and rides up, stopping his horse only a few feet away.
'Howdy Miss.'
'Go home Frank. You've already made a fool of yourself once this week.'
'Oh yes, but thanks to your new friend I never got to say my piece. Well, he ain't going to stop me saying nothing now. I saw them taking him to the jailhouse myself this morning. What d'you think of that?'
'I think you talk a lot of nonsense. I've no time for your remarks. I thought I'd made that clear enough.'
'Oh yes, your bullet went clear enough through my foot, it did. Don't you think for a minute that's a rum way to treat someone who works for you?'
'You spoke enough words out of turn to make it clear you wouldn't understand any other answer than a bullet.'
'I didn't say nothing that nobody else wasn't already thinking. And I still think it. That's a mighty fine behind you have young lady and I wouldn't mind you using it to help me forget my troubles for a few minutes.'
Her eyes narrow and she raises the rifle up to point at him. 'Don't make me put a hole in the other foot you disgusting piece of dirt. Why, you look like you haven't washed in a month.'
'You're going to put me in the bath now are you?' He licks his dirty cracked lips provocatively.
The rifle's safety catch snicks off. He hears it.
'Now look here, you goaded me into saying them things. That's not why I came here. I ain't got no money you see. I can't work with this foot, how am I supposed to get money? I reckon you owe me.'
