Chapter Nine

In Tombstone's main square, the clock began to chime high noon. Buck jerked to attention as the first bell woke him from a catnap; after a moment he came to his senses, and his hand slowly released its grip on the butt of his revolver.

His bleary eyes scanned the surroundings, but there was still no sign of Evans. Buck cursed under his breath; his horse shifted its weight beneath him, as if sensing his anxiety. His good mood had long since spent itself, and now he was eager to be out of town. This was partly because bigger cities made him feel cagey, but the fact that he'd had to break into the Bird Cage to get his things was also a factor.

Evans finally came into sight, leading a freshly purchased horse of his own; Buck glanced meaningfully at the clock, and the Doctor flushed slightly.

"My apologies," Evans stammered. "I had to sell my luggage to afford the supplies, I'm afraid. It took me a while to get a fair price."

"Not like we could have traveled with all those trunks anyhow," Buck grunted.

Evans shrugged somewhat mournfully; Buck dismounted and began to load the provisions into their saddlebags. After a moment, Evans coughed politely.

"Is this your horse?" asked the Doctor.

Buck glanced over his shoulder, his brow raised.

"No, I stole it," Buck muttered.

Evans' jaw dropped, and Buck realized that he'd made a mistake.

"Yes, it's my horse," Buck hissed. "What, they don't have sarcasm in Maryland?"

Evans chuckled nervously, his shocked expression relaxing somewhat.

"Of course," Evans ventured. "Very funny, I'm sure."

Buck sighed and continued packing. After a moment, he realized that Evans was still standing beside him, somewhat uncomfortably close. Buck wheeled around and fixed the Doctor with a steely stare; Evans flinched slightly, and then suddenly broke into a nervous grin.

"Was there something else?" Buck coolly asked.

"I'm sorry," Evans murmured. "I was only wondering, ah... what's his name, if you don't mind my asking?"

Buck stared blankly.

"What's whose name?" Buck demanded.

Evans gave an embarrassed cough; Buck gaped for a moment, and then comprehension finally dawned on his face.

"What, the horse?" Buck demanded. "How should I know?"

Evans seemed disappointed.

"He doesn't have one, then?" he asked.

"Of course he doesn't have a name," Buck snapped. "Who the hell names a horse?"

Evans shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I just thought that cowboys always named their horses, I suppose."

Buck boggled at this for a moment before managing to find his voice.

"First of all, I am not a cowboy," Buck stated flatly. "I am not in the cattle business, do you understand? Lets be really clear on that point."

"If you say so," Evans answered uncertainly.

"Secondly, there's just..." Buck trailed off momentarily, but rallied quickly. "It's not all fun and games out here, okay? I don't know what kind of romantic ideas you've got in your head from Buffalo Bill or whatever, but it's just... it just isn't, okay?"

"I can see that," Evans muttered.

The Doctor slumped, seeming somewhat deflated, and Buck cursed.

"Oh, don't pout," Buck groaned. "Okay, alright. Fine. His name's Sparky, okay? There we go. From this day forward, he will be known as Sparky the horse, okay? Are you happy?"

"Not especially," Evans admitted dourly.

Buck seethed for a moment, obviously trying to think of an appropriate response to this; after a few seconds, however, he fell silent.

"Is something wrong?" Evans asked.

Buck didn't seem to hear the question; Evans followed the gunslinger's line of sight, and immediately realized the cause of the man's apparent distraction. About a hundred feet away, a young woman was standing in the middle of the street, staring fixedly at the two of them. She was quite lovely, her strange clothing notwithstanding, but something about her eyes was deeply disquieting. Evans had seen the look before, but he couldn't immediately recall where; after a moment, he realized that it reminded him of the way that a snake looked at its next meal.

"We need to get out of here," Buck whispered. "Right now, I think."

"Who is she?" Evans asked, his voice shaking.

"I don't feel like sticking around to find out," Buck answered.

Evans found that he agreed wholeheartedly with this assessment; the two of them began slowly mounting their horses, their eyes not leaving hers. At last, the young woman broke the silence.

"Polk Buckhorn?" she barked.

Buck wasn't feeling particularly brave at the moment, but he managed to puff himself up a bit.

"In the flesh," he called back as boldly as he could manage.

The woman's face went through a bizarre transformation as conflicting emotions raced across it; at last, her expression settled into an eerily sublime smile. Her right arm blurred, and Buck heard the bullet whizzing past his ear before his mind had registered the sight of the gun in her hand. His hand jerked instinctively towards his holster, but he checked it at the last moment; her aim was centered on his chest, and her precision told him that the first shot had been a warning. Even sober, he wasn't sure that he could have outdrawn her.

The woman's grin widened; this time, Evans was reminded of a shark. The woman finally spoke again; her voice seemed distant, as if she were lost in a daydream.

"Run," she suggested.

Buck hesitated for only a moment, and then spurred his horse with ferocity; Evans followed a moment later, his eyes bulging. A few more bullets whistled by as they fled; Buck had the unpleasant sense that the woman had missed on purpose. A few startled townsfolk leaped out of the way as the two men raced towards the city limits, neither daring a backward glance.

Evans and Buck finally slowed to a canter a few miles outside of town, once it had become clear that the woman was not in immediate pursuit. Evans was pale and out of breath; Buck seemed only slightly nonplussed, although he was still glancing back over his shoulder rather frequently.

"What was that about?" Evans finally gasped.

"Search me," Buck mumbled.

Evans boggled.

"She was trying to kill you," he stated unnecessarily. "You mean to tell me that you don't even know why?"

Buck shrugged vaguely.

"There's a lot of people that'd like to kill me," he answered.

Evans considered this; he was finally beginning to calm down, Buck noted with relief.

"I see," Evans said at last. "I've heard of that kind of thing: up-and-comers thinking that it will help their reputations if they can beat a famous gunslinger."

A number of responses to this immediately suggested themselves to Buck, but he managed to check himself.

"Exactly," he muttered instead.

Back in town, a number of civilians had gathered at the site of the commotion; they were rather disappointed, however. There was no sign of a fight - only a strangely dressed young woman standing in the road, smiling serenely into the distance.