Lawless Liberty Ch. 01

Lawless Liberty

June 5, 1883

-Karen English-

I've been entranced with the Sheriff since the moment he stepped off the stagecoach at the beginning of the year. Rumor had it, he was a veteran of the War of Rebellion, an officer in the Northern Navy. Rumor also had it, he was a captured Northern Spy who the rebels tortured for information, but he never told them anything. He left Castle Thunder broken and beaten, but his secrets intact, securing the safety of likely thousands of Northern soldiers. Rumor further had it, though an older gentleman, he was still dashing.

It was a frigid winter when he arrived. Him climbing out of the stagecoach, placing his wide brimmed hat on his head shortly afterward. He thanked the driver and tried to warm his hands by breathing on them, his hot breath instantly turning into mist and then disappearing. It looked like the icy ground getting swept into the air by a strong gust of wind.

The winter was cold, but the snow hadn't come down enough to block the trails coming in. The Union Pacific cut straight through Nebraska and into the Wyoming territory. You need to travel north on stagecoach to reach Utopia from the last stop at Bushnell.

The town's previous sheriff, Mr. Damon Killian, had departed east to find his replacement, leaving the town in the charge of his deputy Mr. Jesus Dominquez. Mr. Dominquez is a lovely tanned skin, Mexican cowboy who took various odd jobs on his journey up north. Sheriff's deputy is just the latest. In a different time, he would have just become the sheriff, but Mr. Killian knew many old minded folks in Utopia would die before having a Mexican be the chief lawman. Asking someone to become the Sheriff in a nowhere place like Utopia is a hell of sell, so Mr. Killian went to go sell the job to someone looking to move west with a guaranteed job. When he returned two months later, Mr. Sigmund Leavenworth came with him.

For the first months, Mr. Leavenworth shadowed Mr. Killian. He introduced him to the town folk, setting their fears at ease. Not only had he come back with a competent man, but a war hero. A man with a record of integrity and loyalty. More importantly for me, he was a strong, handsome, kindly spoken man.

Mr. Killian brought Mr. Leavenworth into my parent's saloon a week after he arrived. During the winter my parents installed the full doors, instead of the ones that swung both ways. This caused his entranced to be less dramatic, but it certainly was still impactful. His black coat over top his shirt and vest. The thick scarf to protect himself, making his green eyes the only visible part of his face.

"Greetings Hiram," Mr. Killian says to my father who was sitting on a stool at the bar, leaned over a newspaper that arrived last week from Omaha. He was proud to be only shop in town that had it. Too bad half the town couldn't read. "Martha," he said while tipping his hat to my mother who was sweeping the second floor on the balcony overlooking the tables.

"Ma'am," Mr. Leavenworth said to my mother as well, taking his hat off and putting on the bar. "Little miss," he says to me as I carried the last stack of papers in. "Need any help with those?"

"It's alright sir, it's the last one," I said, placing them down behind the bar where my father wanted.

"What is the news from Omaha?" Mr. Leavenworth asked.

"Not good. It's hasn't been good since these slave loving Republicans took the White House. It's a shame that bullet didn't go through Garfield and hit Arthur behind him." Daddy fought in the war for what he calls the great state of Tennessee. He decided to move to the Nebraska territory with me in tow as an infant. Two years later Nebraska joined the union, and the state began to vote for those 'goddamn Republicans'.

Eighteen years after the war ended, literally days before I was born, the wounds are still fresh. My daddy came to Nebraska to be free, only to be roped into the same union he left, ruled by the party he hates, with law enforced by an officer of the army trying to kill him.

"Shame to hear that sir," Mr. Leavenworth said politely.

"You fought for the oppressors? You fought for them slaves?" Daddy asked.

"I fought to reunify my country," Mr. Leavenworth said, Daddy huffs and keeps reading his newspaper.

"Hiram, this here is the new sheriff..."

"I know who he is Damon," Daddy interrupts without looking up from his reading. "Look at this. Dawes, in office for days, already plotting. Johnson was right when he vetoed this god forsaken state into the union. Then what happens? They stop the veto, make this land a state, get two more republican Senators and now those slaves are citizens. Citizens!"

Daddy is a man of his time. Mama rolls her eyes when he goes on his tangents about those 'Goddamn Republicans' and those 'Goddamn Slaves'. I would like to remind him, Mr. Fitzgerald was the man who switched out the doors, and Mr. Fitzgerald was one of those 'goddamn slaves'.

Two months after Mr. Leavenworth arrived, Mr. Killian took a stagecoach further west into the Wyoming territory to build on the land he staked out. Mr. Leavenworth was now Sheriff Leavenworth and made his presence known to Utopia. While Mr. Killian's idea of keeping the law was to stay in his office and send Mr. Dominquez to patrol, Mr. Leavenworth was more hands on. Breaking up saloon fights with a few stern words of warning. If that failed, he'd hold the men in the cell for the night to sober up.

By spring Mr. Leavenworth was the most respected man in town. Also by spring, my parents were telling me I was to marry Hilbert French, the son of the town tailor.

Hilbert is a nice enough man, but he's dull. His ambition in life was never anything more than to take his father's business. When we began courting, it's all he talked about. An honest living, a boring a predictable life like both of our parents. If I had anything more than the clothes on my back, I would have run the moment my daddy told me what he had arranged for me.

I'm not some little girl who needs her daddy to tell her what to do. I'm eighteen years old. I'm a woman, not a girl. I'll be damned if I don't have my own desires.

It was late and I told mamma I was just going out the back to toss the pigs a little slop. Out the back really meant I left to go talk to the Sheriff. Mr. Leavenworth lived in a room above the Sheriff's office, and that slop I was throwing out was truly a basket filled with a bottle of whiskey and some bread. I just hoped it wasn't too late in the day.

I walked up the stairs to the room above the jail and knocked on the door softly a few times. My heart swelled when I heard the footsteps and burst when the door opened.

"Evening Mr. Leavenworth. We had a little left over at the saloon. Figured you wouldn't mind a drink," I said with the best smile I could muster.

"Well thank you miss, but I don't drink. We got enough drunks doing plenty of that," Mr. Leavenworth replied.

I felt my soul sink and extended the basket anyways. "Oh, well, there's some bread for the morning."

"I'm a little peckish. Would you like to join me for a meal? I just finished up some stew," Mr. Leavenworth said, and I pause. I only wanted to drop off the food, get a few words in to increase his interest. Honestly, I knew nothing about seducing a man.

"My folks are expecting me back soon," I said.

"Nonsense, I reckon they think you're somewhere else," he said with a grin, and I blushed. He already knew me well enough. "Besides, you're in the safest place in the whole town. Hell, even in the whole state I'd wager."

"You aren't wrong," I said, and accepted the invitation.

Mr. Leavenworth's quarters are a single room with a small table near the window and a stove in the far corner. To the other side is his bed with a trunk at the foot and a wardrobe against the wall. It's tidier than I expected for a bachelor.

I placed the basket on the table and have a seat. Mr. Leavenworth reached into his counter and removed two bowls he filled with the stew he had on the pot. Steam was rising from the bowls, filling the room with a hearty aroma of beef and vegetables.

"Trevor Pollak just got a few cows in. This is the first beef of the season," he said, sitting across from me. He pulled out the bread and broke off two pieces, one for himself and one for me. "Eat up while its hot."

"Thank you, Mr. Leavenworth," I said.

"Please, in here, you can just call me Sigmund," he replied.

"Well thank you, Sigmund," I replied with a toothy grin.

We ate and we talked, and I know mamma had to have noticed by now. I didn't care, and I kept talking. Sigmund let me to an awful lot of the talking. About my engagement to Hilbert and my dissatisfaction with it.

"He seems a pleasant boy, what's the issue?" Sigmund asked.

"I haven't done anything. It's like I'm just supposed to get married and have babies less than ten miles from where I was raised. I'm supposed to be a woman, but everyone treats me like a girl," I said, and he chuckled. "You laughing because you agree and I'm hollering because I don't know any better?"

"No, I'm laughing because I agree with you. You're a woman. It's high time people around here realize that," he said, and I laugh. "Girls don't got a body like that."

I stand up from the chair and twirl once, my dress spinning to a stop after I do.

"I want someone to treat me like a woman," I said, and he smirked again. That smirk makes my knees weak.

"How do you think a woman is treated?" he asked.

"How do you treat a woman?" I asked back.

"If you must know, the women who come to my home after dusk typically don't leave until dawn," he explained, and my cheeks are violet.

"What are you doing between those times?" I asked.

"It'd be easier to show you," he replied.

Sigmund stands from his chair and spins me so my back is to him. I feel his hands unlacing my dress, which fell to the floor a few seconds later. He kissed my bare shoulders as he finished undressing me. When I was naked, he swiftly picked me up out of my dress and carried me to his bed.

"I'm going to make you a woman tonight," Sigmund said.

My parents hadn't told me anything about how this works. By I trusted he knew what he was doing. My trust was well placed. Sigmund undressed as well, and I saw his firm manhood as he joined me in the bed. He positioned himself over me, then licked his fingers and rubbed my outsides between my legs.

"It helps it go in smoother," he said, then slowly begins pressing it into me. I clench the sheets and hissed through my teeth. "The first time is the only time it hurts a little. Give it a minute, and I'll settle you right in."

Sigmund made love to me for the first time that night. Like he said, the pain dulled away, and soon I couldn't handle the pleasure. After some time with him over me, he flipped me over, so I was on all fours, then loved me from behind. I could feel my chest swaying with his thrusts. Minutes later I heard him grunt from behind and felt him grow inside me. I let out and a moan as he pushed himself deep inside a few times before sliding out and laying down.

"Women clean it up when it's done," he said, and a look down and see him slowly stroking his still hard cock.

"Clean it up?" I asked, breathing deep.

"With your mouth. You just suck what's left out of it, and clean it up," he said. I love having a man who knows how this is supposed to work. I shimmied down and placed my mouth over his cock and hear him groan from above. It tastes musky, but I got to clean it.

"Like this?" I asked after sucking a little.

"Just like that," he replied.

Dawn arrived and I carefully left his home. My folks didn't even notice I was gone.

--

I've been discretely seeing the Sheriff for a few months now. On nights when I'm able, I disappear and arrive at his home. Sigmund can now love me fast and firm, and sometimes I clean him before he does. It's just something women do.

It's the start of summer now. In the day I'm the saloon owner's daughter and the fiancé of the tailor's son. At night, I'm Sigmund's woman. Having an affair is so exciting.

Today, daddy asked me to drop off a parcel to the Sheriff's office. I hide how eager I am and take off with the letter in hand. The bar is rowdy with six loud men from out of town. They're playing blackjack at one of the tables and fire an empty pistol at each other when someone busts. They holler loudly every time. Momma told me to keep my distance.

I near skip across town and walk through the door to see Sigmund hamming a nail into a board for some recent bounties that just came in.

"New bounties?" I ask.

"Just the big ones," he says without looking at me. "There is a lady outlaw making her way up. They say she's killed seven men in cold blood. Lawless Liberty is what they call her."

I lean around his shoulder and see the picture he's referring to. The picture is a mass produced black and white drawing of a woman with braided hair under a rancher hat. Thin eyebrows and a small crooked nose. Light freckles on the top of her checks. The scariest detail is her eyes, almost as if the artist who drew it likely died the moment he finished. Other than being terrifying to look it, she is very pretty.

"Daddy asked me to give this to you," I say, and hand him the parcel.

"Thank you," he says, and opens the letter.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing. A supply wagon was raided a few weeks ago. The items were insured, so anyone who had cargo they were expecting is filing a joint settlement I'll be mailing later today," he explains.

"Was it this Lawless Liberty?" I ask playfully.

"Allegedly it was the Twenty-Two Bust Gang," he replies. We both hear the door open and I turn to see who just entered. "How may I help?"

"I'm looking for Captain Sigmund Leavenworth," a woman says. A woman in a ranch hat with braids. She's got freckles too. And a bent nose.

"I haven't been called Captain in some years," Sigmund says then turns to her. Then he turns to the poster, then back to her.

"This is for my brother," Lawless Liberty says, right before she pulls a pistol from her belt, and shots him square in the head.

--

June 5, 1883

-Liberty-

At dawn I wash my face in the stream. With water dripping from my hands I stroke my fingers through my hair. I soak my hands more and clean my hair a few more times. When I'm done cleaning, I walk the few short feet back to my camp where my horse Andronicus is loafing around. He has been a loyal steed for several years. An older Arabian the same color as my hair. Andronicus was originally owned by the second man on my list.

I make sure Andronicus has had time to graze and drink from the stream before I disassemble my tent and blanket. I roll it up into a tight bundle in preparation for travel. My campfire is lit to heat up water for Arbuckle grounds. I tear at a piece of jerky with my teeth while I wait. When the water is to a boil, I pour it through my grounds and into my cup. I remove the pot from the fire to let it cool off and take a sip of my morning beverage.

I clean my weapons. The first is a Colt 1851 Navy Revolver that belonged to my brother. It's been nearly a year since I fired a shot from it, but I clean it every day. I'd hate for it malfunction when I need it to work. I open it and count the one round I have left in it. I started with four rounds, and now I'm down to one. This gun has one purpose, and I will see that purpose through.

The second is another revolver, my Smith & Wesson Model 3 Schofield. This is my primary weapon and is always fully loaded.

I carry a Winchester Model 1873 repeater, and a Scarce Percussion 8 Gauge. The latter is an English gauge of course.

Once I've had a drink and a little food, I saddle up Andronicus and repack my camp. I climb on top of my horse and kick his sides to get him moving. I should be in Utopia very soon.

--

I keep my head low as I ride into town. I can't be certain, but I must assume my bounty has gotten as far as Nebraska by now. It's a quaint little town with no more than twenty buildings, none of them taller than three stories. I rode through a few ranches and from the outskirts of town I saw plenty of homes. It's likely many of the shop owners live above their businesses.

The butcher, the baker, the candle stick maker. The usual businesses. I'm here for one person in particular. The man I want is the Sheriff. Before he was the Sheriff, he was Captain Sigmund Leavenworth, the commander of a merchant vessel on the east coast. He was my brother's captain, taken prisoner with him. This man is the reason my brother is dead.

The Sheriff's office is at the corner where the only two paths in town meet. If you're coming from the south like I am, it's the last building on the right. Across the path moving east to west is the saloon, right in the dead center. I tie off Andronicus two buildings south of the Sheriff's office, giving him a few pats and rubs before I step away. I pull out my gun and check to make sure the bullet is at the top of the cylinder.

I start to walk before I see a woman leave the saloon and start walking toward me. Soon she begins a jovial skip, and I pull the brim of my hat down and lean against the side of the tailor next door, watching her from my peripheral. Once she crosses the road she turns into the Sheriff's office. Taking a breath, I start walking toward the Sheriff's. I stop just outside the door to listen.

"Was it this Lawless Liberty?" I hear the woman's voice ask. Shit, my bounty is this far already. I have no time to waste, so I walk right through the front door.

"How may I help?" a man asks me while looking at a board with bounties. My bounty. I see from the corner of my eye the woman who just entered, and she seems to think I look familiar.

"I'm looking for Captain Sigmund Leavenworth," I say to the man. I see the edge of his mouth curl some.

"I haven't been called Captain for some years," Sigmund says and turns to me. Then he turns to my poster, and back again.

"This is for my brother," I say. I draw my revolver and fire my last round straight into his face. A bloody hole is torn into the center of his forehead just before he falls straight back and crashes to the ground.

I lower the gun and look at the woman who is too shocked to even breathe. I holster the weapon and take off running out the door. I'm nearly at Andronicus before I hear reality finally hit her. Her scream of terror erupts from the Sheriff's as I start to climb onto my horse.

"Murderer! Killer! She killed the Sheriff! She killed Sigmund!" I hear her shout as she runs outside as well. Now she's hollering all over town.

"Mr. Dominquez! She's right there!" the woman shouts down the street. I kick the horse's sides to get him moving, turning him to come back the way I came. As I lean, I see a man running toward me with a rifle raised. I pull my second pistol and fire toward him but not at him. I don't kill if I don't have to.

The man takes cover between buildings, and I tug the reins to turn Andronicus. Before we're facing the other way, a shot cracks through the street. Andronicus releases a horrid cry before he keels over and throws me to the ground. The son of a bitch shot my horse.

"Andronicus!" I shout, touching his face as he looks at me. The bullet went into his neck, and I know he isn't getting up again. "Andronicus."

A second gunshot comes, kicking up dirt just behind me. I take cover behind my horse and fire a shot back to where the man fled. He's a devil of a shot, and the next shot puts Andronicus out of his misery. I hold back a tear, kiss my companion's head, and fire another round as I take my cargo off his saddle. Once secure I sprint for the buildings, hiding between the tailor and the sheriff buildings.

The man and I are now in a proper shoot out. We take turns leaning out from the buildings and firing. I holster the Schofield and prepare to use the repeater. He fires his round and I lean out, but he held position and fires the moment my head is open, and I flinch back in. I felt the wind from that bullet.