<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/7/7f/Marshallbadge.png)</div><br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 2nd, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gomorra<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Closed<br/><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/2a/JP.png)</div>A storm gathered over Gomorra.<br/><br/>“Sheriff Coleman, Sheriff Coleman, Sheriff Coleman!”<br/><br/>J.P. Coleman, the Sheriff of Gomorra, continued to draw the file across the revolver's firing pin.  He frowned at the miniscule skew in the even strokes, the tiny tremor in his hand when Corky blasted through the front doors of the Sheriff's Office like a runaway stage coach.<br/><br/>The apple-cheeked farm girl drew a deep breath, looking surprised to see the Sheriff in quiet repose over the pieces of his revolver.  Ever mindful of the dangers of his position, a loaded Winchester rifle sat in easy reach while he worked to maintain the pistol, and his gaze never wavered from the head of the tiny firing pin.<br/><br/>Which was easier said than done.  When Corky Hendricks had been made an honorary Law Dog, she was a twelve year old girl who'd put  a bullet in the head of  a Phinneas Snope.  Snope had been busy running down the street with two bags of money appropriated from the 1st Bank of Gomorra, and the newly arrived, newly orphaned farm girl had shot him dead from fifty paces with a single round.  She'd been a narrow hipped girl with carrot colored hair and freckles, but she'd taken the honorary appointment with the seriousness of a coonhound on a trail.  At twelve, she'd been spritely and spunky, a mascot for the Law Dogs, a much needed burst of enthusiasm.  At sixteen, she seemed to stretch the bosom of every blouse she owned, and skinny hips had become a rounded derriere that made the society women cluck their tongues when she went scampering through the streets like an enthusiastic child.  Corky Hendricks had filled out and become a woman, but Corky Hendricks seemed to be the last one to know it, and her deep breaths had become rather eye catching.<br/><br/>“Dinja hear me?”<br/><br/>Coleman set down the file, examining his work, looking up at the youngest deputy in Gomorra's short history.  He tugged at the corner of his white handlebar moustache, regarding the red haired firecracker.  “Half Gomorra heard you, Corky.  What seems to be the trouble?”<br/><br/>Corky grinned, the crazy grin that still brimmed over with childish enthusiasm.  “Black Jack's<em>here.</em>He's here in Gomorra, and I seen him, and he's half loaded wit' whiskey.”  Her pigtails bounced with enthusiasm.  She clapped her hands on his desk, making the carefully order pieces of his revolver jump.  “We kin go get 'im!”<br/><br/>Coleman tipped back his dark hat, rubbing his fingers to his temples.  “And yer response, when comin' into this piece o' information, was to run down Main Street hollerin' my name,” he said dryly.  “Corky, we been - “  He paused, realizing just how futile his last eleven conversations with Corky about discretion had been.  She was a girl playing Cops and Robbers, who just happened to be a deadly pistoleer.  So he cut himself off, instead, frowning to the irrepressible deputy and beginning to put his revolver back in order.<br/><br/>“Get Bilton, and Hunter.”<br/><br/>Corky's jaw dropped.  “Hunter ain't come back from that bounty yet,” she said, the worry in her tone running deeper than concern for her fellow lawmen.  Corky'd been enamored of the dark haired, dark eyed senior deputy since she was twelve.  “And Bilton's... it's his night off.”  She blushed, considerably more aware of why Bilton was indisposed than it being his evening of rest.<br/><br/>“He's seven whiskeys deep and on his second whore at Miss Greene's,” said Coleman, well aware of his senior deputy's fondness for the pricey whorehouse.  Coleman wondered to himself how he'd come to have two deputies so night and day from one another.  Hunter only seemed to come out of his relative timidity when he was in a courthouse or a gunfight.  He had a powerful temper he kept checked by force of will, but Coleman had seen the dam burst, twice, and both time there'd been a half dozen bodies left in Hunter's wake.  Bilton would sooner miss a two-for-one night at Miss Greene's than a gunfight, and Coleman had yet to meet a rattlesnake with a meaner temper.<br/><br/>Truth be told, he wasn't particularly certain he wanted Bilton around.  The man had a nasty habit of turning bar brawls into gunfights, and gunfights into shootouts.  The man was a bludgeon, and if Corky was right, this might well be his one and only opportunity to bring in the notorious outlaw alive, and see him live to stand trial.  Better to leave Bilton to a night of whoring.<br/><br/>“Get Templeton, and Flatbush,” said Coleman, as he continued to put the Thunderer back together.  Flatbush was a dandy who enjoyed the privilege that came with a tin star, and Templeton was a schoolyard bully, but he reasoned the two men together might make the equal of one of his senior deputies.<br/><br/>He glanced up, regarding Corky.  She was a bright spot of innocence, and while some part of him cared to spare her the horrors of the position, she was a better shot than Templeton and Flatbush put together.  “And git your shotgun,” he added.  Corky's eyes widened at the responsibility he was offering.<br/><br/>“I'll git 'em both!” she beamed.  “We'll be backer quicker'n you kin … quicker'n you kin - “<br/><br/>“Quicker'n you kin finish that sentence,” smiled Coleman.  “Git,”  He nodded his head towards the door.  Corky flashed a smile of pure joy, and raced for the door, her hat flying off her head.  She didn't even stop to retrieve the tattered Stetson, letting her long legs carry her on her errand.<br/><br/>“And close the - “  Coleman sighed.  He'd have jested that the girl'd been born in a barn, except she truly had been and it seemed in poor taste.<br/><br/>Another pair of booted heels crossed the threshold, and Coleman looked up, recognizing the dark figure the filled the doorway.  He snapped the cylinder of the firearm back into the Thunderer, eyes returning to his work.<br/><br/>“Gonna have to do this dance another time,” he said.  “Go back to your masters and tell 'em Black Jack's in town, and we're bringing him in tonight.”<br/><br/>“I know,” said a gravelly voice.  Instincts honed by years of law enforcement made Coleman's eyes snap up, just as the figure leveled a doublebarreled shotgun at his chest.  Coleman was faster, snapping up the Thunderer and leveling it, his palm slapping the hammer back as he squeezed the trigger.<br/><br/><em>Click</em><br/><br/>Coleman cursed the instincts that made him reach for the unloaded, familiar pistol before the loaded Winchester, just before a shotgun blast tore his gizzards to hamburger.  Shards of metal pierced his heart, his lungs, and he fell back over the chair of the desk. He tried to croak out a warning, reach for a weapon, but the world was blurring and his arms grew leaden.  Coleman looked up at the dark figure which towered over him, and managed to croak out a word.<br/><br/><em>”Why?”</em><br/><br/>It was Coleman's last gasp, and the towering figure that stood over him gave a chuckle at the question.  Black, hawkish eyes peered down at him, surrounded by a mop of dark grey hair, a beard that stretched from chin to sternum.  The eyes that regarded him as he took his dying breath seemed intensely curious, bemused.<br/><br/>“I didn't ask,” said the man.  He leveled the shotgun at Coleman's chest, setting the muzzle against his heart.  He pulled the trigger on the second barrel, emptying the chamber in a fountain of blood.  A gnarled hand plucked a black handkerchief from his pocket, and dropped it over the cooling body of the town's sheriff.<br/><br/>There was a clap of thunder, a streak of lightning, and the gathering storm became a torrent of rain and wind.<br/><br/><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/0e/Corky.jpg)</div><br/>“Sheriff Coleman, Sheriff Coleman, Sheriff Coleman!”<br/><br/>Corky burst through the door of the Sheriff's office, looking around for the grizzled lawman.  The rain had soaked her hair, her blouse, and the mud had splashed up to midthigh.  Coleman would yell at her for tracking it inside, but there were more important matters to attend.  “I got Flatbush, and Templeton, and got Bilton outta his who – outta Miss Greene's, and - “<br/><br/>She paused, clutching the shotgun to her chest.  “Sheriff Coleman?”<br/><br/>She peered around the desk, wide green eyes catching sight of a sleek black leather cowboy boot and a steel spur.  The pool of blood Coleman lay in was still spreading, and the Sheriff stared sightlessly at the ceiling.  His chest was a mass of red, of pooled blood and ruined flesh.  Only the tin star on his chest had survived both blasts, and his Thunderer lay a pace from his body.<br/><br/>“Sheriff Coleman!”  The shotgun fell with a clatter, and Corky launched herself to his side, her eyes filling with tears.  “Sheriff Coleman!”  The words were a panicked shriek, as she bent herself, touching the bloody chest, the face of the man who'd been like a father to her.  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she gave a sob.  Her hand touched something – a bloodied kerchief, and she drew it up from the body, gazing on it in horror.<br/><br/>“Black Jack,” she breathed.  In a moment, the pain of loss turned into the bright red haze of revenge.  She pushed herself to her feet, fighting back another sob.  She'd led them here.  Her and her damn eagerness.  His raiders had followed her back to the Sheriff's office, and she'd left him alone while the mere idea of their leader being here had made her throw all caution to the wind.  She reached for the Thunderer, snapping open the cylinder.  Unloaded.  They'd gunned him down in cold blood.  The tears spilled, and her face stretched in anguish.<br/><br/>It was her fault.<em>Her</em>fault.<br/><br/>But she'd set it right.  She slid bullets from her gunbelt, loading the Thunderer, snapping the cylinder back into the pistol with a satisfying click.<br/><br/>She would get the murderous sons of bitches.<br/><br/>She tore through the gathering deputies outside, bowling through Bilton, Flatbush, and Templeton as they arrived.  “Corky - “ They shouted, but her long legs carried her down Main, mud splashing with every step.  Whiskey Lou's was on the far side of the mesa, an eyesore the civilized folk of Gomorra were happy to turn over to the miners.  It was where she'd spotted him before.  Where she'd seen the leader of the murderous outlaws.  She pushed herself, running harder, while the rain washed away the tears and the peals of thunder cracked over Gomorra like blasts of dynamite.<br/><br/>A black clad figure swayed as he walked, staggering with drink.  He'd stumbled from the wooden walkways around store falsefronts, weaving into the muddy road.  His hands reached up for the sky, extended to the dark clouds overhead.  He sang in a baritone, his voice deep and rich, off key with drink.<br/><br/>“<em>Jesus rose from the dead,<br/>Rose triumphant as He said,</em>”<br/><br/>Corky continued to barrel towards him, leveling the Thunderer she still carried in hand.  “You murdering son of a bitch!”  Her voice was lost in another crack of thunder, and for a moment she saw the dark figure illuminated by a stroke of lighting.  He was tall, and powerfully built, jaw and scalp shaved close.  He continued his drunken hymnal.<br/><br/>“<em>Snatched the vict’ry from the grave,<br/>Rose again our souls to save—</em>”<br/><br/>Corky planted her feet, the mud giving out from under her, sliding three paces before her feet were grounded.  She shook with hot fury, the sights of the gun leveled at Black Jack's back.<br/><br/>She screamed again.  “Turn around, you murderin' son of a - “ Her thumb cocked the hammer back.<br/><br/>There was a moment, as the click of the hammer sent tension through Black Jack's body.  That click was an old, familiar sound.  Black Jack spun, his hands moving to his sides like lightning.  The Peacemakers leapt into his palms.  There was a moment, less than the span of a heartbeat, where he realized the killer bearing down on him was a teenage girl with tears in her eyes.<br/><br/>Then bullets fired out of the guns chambers, and Corky squeezed the trigger of the Thunderer.<br/><br/>She felt a bullet whiz through the part in her hair, and the Thunderer seized and leapt from her hand.  Black Jack's face was contorted with... confusion, and she saw him reach for his chest.  Blood leaked over the dark brown undershirt he wore beneath the black duster.<br/><br/>“O glory, hallelujah to the Lamb,” he muttered.  His eyes slipped down to the bullet which had landed mid gut.  “Damn fine shooting, kid.”<br/><br/>Corky reached for the Peacemaker still in it's holster.  Black Jack's pistol rang out, clipping the holster from her side.<br/><br/>“You killed him!” screamed Corky.  “You killed him, you sonofabitch!”<br/><br/>Black Jack took a half step back, reeling from her rage more than the bullet buried in his gut.  He knew the anguish in her eyes, and the pain and adrenaline cleared the whiskey from his senses.<br/><br/>“I ain't killed no one tonight,” he said.  “I don't care to start with you.”<br/><br/>Behind Corky, the three deputies began to materialize through the rain.<br/><br/>“Liar!” screamed Corky.  “Hobble your lip!  You killed Coleman, and yer gonna burn in Hell!”<br/><br/>Black Jack's eyes went wide with surprise.  He saw the face of Templeton, Flatbush and Bilton begin to appear behind Corky.  Questions would have to wait.  He turned, and ran, and Corky took a stumbling step after him.<br/><br/>“That's right!  Run you yeller bellied snake eating son of harlot!”<br/><br/>Black Jack was only twenty paces from the lip of the mesa.  Templeton and Flatbush ran in hot pursuit, but Bilton drew, aiming his pistol at the fleeing outlaw.  He snapped off shots, the crack of thunder and the rain spoiling his aim.  He fired off a round, then a second, then a third, before a charging Corky spoiled his arm, running into his line of fire.  She passed the older deputies, heedless of the danger, as Black Jack reached the edge of the mesa and launched himself over the side.  It was a hundred foot drop to the waters of the Maze below, but Black Jack leapt without a flicker of hesitation.<br/><br/>“Corky!  Corky, no!!” shouted Flatbush.  He saw the red-head's fire, the determination as she picked up speed, and launched himself at the long-legged red-head.   He bore her to the ground, the both of them sliding through the mud.  Corky tumbled off the side of the mesa, then yanked to a stop, Flatbush's hand gripping the leather gunbelt.  He'd slid right to the edge himself, and looked down over the towering drop, his breath quickening.<br/><br/>Corky gave a scream of rage, balling her fist and shaking it at the waters below.  Black Jack's head surfaced from the water, and he splashed upwards, beginning to swim.<br/><br/>“You let him get away,” mourned Corky, still dangling from the edge of the mesa.<br/><br/>“The sharks'll get him,” promised Flatbush.  He gave a grunt, beginning to haul her up, then flopped to the side as managed to get her atop the suit.  His favorite suit was coated from shoulder to boots in mud.<br/><br/>Corky crawled back up, shaking her head sadly.  “No, they won't.”<br/><br/>Templeton shook his head at the youngest deputy, and Bilton arrived a moment behind.<br/><br/>“Goddam it, Corky.  You got more guts than sense.  Now what the hell got you so worked up?”<br/><br/>Corky lifted her gaze, the rage fading, the tears threatening to spring anew.<br/><br/>“Coleman's dead.”