JENNY STEPPED OUT of an ordinary building on the far side of town. From the front, its wooden façade looked innocuous and drab, but a distressed sign hung above the doorway with flaky black lettering that spelled ‘Generator.’ Behind, an untidy forest of jumbled machinery and shiny tanks towered over the dirt. Long strands of wire spider-webbed from strange, studded spheres; some ran out to timber poles that lined the streets while others plunged into the protective soil, all carrying small amounts of electricity to buildings across the town and to the surrounding farms.
Jenny turned to observe the outlandish metallic structures as they spun and hiccuped. While she knew how her motor carriage worked – she had to so everything stayed up and running – this sight always dumbfounded her. The fact that what appeared to be dissimilar pile of junk could produce anything other than rust was astonishing.
I wonder how true it is, she pondered, reflecting on the talk of the town.
It had always been said that the Generator was one of, if not the first, structures built in the Gulch. It was allegedly made from pieces of some enormous flying machine that had crashed ages ago, possibly during the Burning. Fanciful as it all sounded, many in town dismissed those tall tales as an excuse by the owners – the Rayboulds – to let the place continue to be an eyesore. In the end, though, nobody made too large a fuss about it, paying their bills to benefit from its presence.
Jenny was no different, at least when not overwhelmed.
“Well, that’s that,” she said heavily.
Bartholomew Raybould was standing behind her, his round face grinning and his pockets clattering with coin.
Jenny had just paid him most of her remaining money. The rate was always high, dependent on how much power was consumed, but now that there was also a wire fee assessed, based on the distance the end user was from the Generator, it was brutally expensive. She thought about telling him to just cut it off, but wanted to check with her grandfather first.
“Thank you Mr. Raybould,” she said, lowering her view from the machines to the man.
He nodded politely, more for the fatter wallet than for friendliness.
Jenny placed the Spur and few Cogs that were left in her satchel. Stowing it, she stepped into dusty Main Street on her way to the general store, first passing a small school house sitting tranquilly by itself.
Unlike the power plant, most of the buildings in the Gulch were uninteresting, if not downright boring to look at. The landlords and shop keepers tried their best to cover that fact with bright colors slathered on the wood, but they often just ended up looking like some prostitute desperate to cover her flaws with layers of makeup. Especially the clothier, run by Lawrence Denbrough, whose wife struggled herself with such appearances.
Jenny giggled at the thought, feeling regretful for having such thoughts, but on the other hand remembering Martha’s offhand comment that one time at the bank about her attire being that of gutter trash, all while wearing a hat the size and shape of a frilly umbrella.
More buildings passed by, as did more people. The Gulch grew smokier, smellier, and more cramped the further Jenny went downtown. Around her were hotels and more stores, above which were residences for the proprietors. Most homes, however, were on the streets beyond, near the edges of town away from the gamblers, drunks, and out of reach of the red light’s glow.
Speaking of drunks, there were also a few saloons nearby. The largest and most popular by far was Brewer’s, not a hundred feet from where she walked. She’d never been inside the place before, only hearing about its long paneled bar, gleaming brass foot rails, and spittoons. Not that she didn’t want to go in and down a Cactus Wine or Bo Skinner – Grant could vouch for her drinking abilities which rivaled his own – it just wasn’t a place women could enter or be served, unless the owners wanted to have their licenses revoked by the authorities.
The general store was at last approaching to her right, just past a small alley stuffed with construction tools. The equipment, scaffolding, and charred buildings further down the street didn’t do any favors in making the town look more appealing.
The recent work was to repair fire damage, caused by a lightning strike during a monstrous dust storm two weeks earlier. Since the buildings were so close to each other, the fire spread quickly, and threatened to consume the whole strip. Normally the fire suppressors could make quick work of an incident like that, but the Guardian of the Gulch – a water tower that rose above the downtown area – was nearly empty due to the ongoing drought conditions, not to mention the ill-advised decision of the High Sheriff to use its contents to supply water to the government offices. With little water to combat the growing fire, the suppressors ended up using their dirt lobbers, purchased from a tradesman from Barro, to save the day. It was quick and ingenious, and most importantly, it worked.
As denizens swept out their businesses and dusted off their supplies instead of having to throw them away, there were rumblings calling for the impeachment of the High Sheriff. It all made Jenny glad she lived on the outskirts.
“Still plenty of time,” Jenny murmured as she checked a small pocket watch, arriving at the steps that lead into Johnston’s. It was coming up on one o’clock.
“Ain’t that lucky for us,” said a shrill voice off to the side.
Jenny recognized it right away.
“Jebidiah,” she grumbled, turning her head to find a gangly man standing nearby, thumbs resting on a brown belt with an absurdly large buckle. His duster flapped like his lips as he spit dip on the ground while his wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes but not the reek of whiskey.
Three other men were off to the side, the edges of their hats frayed much like Jenny’s nerves upon seeing them again. Everyone had a small, silver star pinned to their chests.
They were, but more interested in serving themselves than the community.
“Miss Boone, how are you doin’ this fine afternoon?” Jebidiah asked with a tinge of spite, smiling through crusty teeth.
“I’m doing good, as you seem to be” she answered, withholding a grimace. She was sure some of it slipped through her defenses. “As a matter of fact, I must tend to some business here with Mr. Johnston. So, if you’ll please excuse me.”
She started up the stairs, but Jebidiah clicked his tongue a couple of times.
“I most certainly won’t,” he replied, glancing to his left and nodding. “‘Specially since we got unfinished business from the mornin’. Fetch me her pistol please.”
The biggest man of the group lashed out an arm and grabbed Jenny tightly by hers. She struggled for her gun as soon as Jebidiah mentioned it, but the goon had grabbed hold of it.
“You might think me stupid, Miss Boone, but I do learn from the errors of my ways,” Jebidiah said callously. “I think I’ll be takin’ that side arm for myself as payment for that earlier turn of events.”
He signaled to bring her forward. Jebidiah grabbed hold of the pistol and after examining it, handed it off to one of the other men for safekeeping.
“Nice craftsmanship,” he said while eyeing her up and down. His eyes lingered on her chest and he licked his dip-stained lips, glancing toward the narrow alley off to the side of the store. “Now let’s get back to our unfinished business…”
Jebidiah made way for the alley, followed by a couple of his henchmen.
Jenny stood firm right where she was.
“You gonna move?” Jebidiah crowed. “Or shall I get Boris there to do it for you?”
The large man grunted.
“Seems about all your men are good for,” she replied. “And since you can’t seem to manage it yourself, what does that say about you?”
Jebidiah laughed, though it was more a scoff. His fingers strummed the handle of his firearm and his lips twisted into mean shapes.
“You sassin’ me bitch?” he asked, glaring at her.
Jenny didn’t budge, but she did shrug.
Boris moved in to grab her again. Before his large hands had a chance to subdue her, one of her boots slammed against his foot. He yelled in pain and Jenny spun around, giving him a swift kick in the privates.
“You goddamn whore,” Jebidiah said, snatching his pistol and cocking back the hammer. “You’re about to learn a valuable lesson in what happens when you cross the Law…”
“Enough of the theatrics, son,” said a calm voice. “Ain’t no law against protecting yourself against stupidity or flannel mouths.”
Jebidiah looked up. Mr. Johnston was standing up by his store’s entrance, gun drawn and pointing right him.
“You sure you want to interfere with official Ranger business, old man?” Jebidiah spat, quite literally.
“Yes, sure as I’ve ever been,” Mr. Johnston replied, fixing him with a bold stare. “That being said, this ain’t the kind of business one normally finds Rangers involved with. Makes me wonder what the High Sheriff would say about it.”
“Sheriff’s got his own problems these days, what with the tower fiasco, but you’re more than welcome to go whisper in his ear… if you make it there.”
“You threatening me, son?”
“You deaf, sir?”
A shot rang out, knocking Jebidiah’s hat clean off and to the ground. There was a bullet hole in it, dead center, just high enough to clear his head.
“I heard that well enough,” Mr. Johnston replied, looking at his handiwork. “Seems I’m a pretty good shot, too, considering my age. Eyesight must be fine as cream gravy.”
Jebidiah’s men had predictably dispersed, leaving him standing alone in front of Jenny and Mr. Johnston.
Jebidiah was more casual, putting a finger in his mouth, wringing out the large wad of tobacco that was inside. Flicking it to the ground, he wiped the slimy fingers on his coat then picked up his hat.
“I guess that concludes our business… for now. Wilfred, watch yourself, and Jenny, old folks can’t protect you forever. I’ll be sure to drop by to chat about Grant’s property later.”
With that said and a quick tilt of his hat, Jebidiah slunk off into the crowds and was gone.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Johnston,” Jenny said, climbing the few stairs.
“Well, you seemed to be handling yourself quite well, Miss Boone,” he replied, “but I was glad to help speed up Mr. Crowe’s departure.”
Both laughed lightly, Jenny’s face becoming serious shortly after.
“What brings you back by, my dear?” Wilfred asked with concern, noting hers.
“Sir, my grandfather asked me to come by and see you as soon as possible. He told me to tell you that it was time.”
The look on Wilfred’s face indicated that he expected her arrival, but wished that it wasn’t so soon.
“Ah… yes,” he said reluctantly.
“What does he mean by ‘it’s time?’ Surely not…”
Mr. Johnston motioned toward the entrance, ushering Jenny inside the store.
“Come, Miss Boone,” he said quietly, “we have some things to take care of. I’ve prepared everything, I just need to go over it with you.”