🂱 • 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 • 🂱 ~ 𝒹ℴ𝒸 𝒽ℴ𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎

chapter two - foundations

   I sat with a few cowboys on the porch of a saloon. I pulled out my knife, and started to clean the dirt from under my fingernails.
    "Hey, Earp?" One of the cowboys called.
    "Yeah." I replied flatly without looking up.
    "What'd you reckon you'd do if you saw all three yer brothers r'now?"
I scoffed.
    "Well, I'd probably either punch their guts inside out, or just let 'em get a good look at me. This ol' sash would already sting 'em enough." I joked, patting the red cloth on my hip. The cowboy laughed.
    "Well maybe you should look over yonder then." He said, pointing to a group of men standing by the street. My head shot up. I saw old Fred White the Tombstone town Marshall. He was pointing out the handful of cowboys strewn around town to the men in black. My hand clenched around the handle of my knife, turning my knuckles white. The four men didn't seem to notice me. My other hand balled into a fist, my fingernails digging into my palm so hard I began to bleed. My gut twisted like a pretzel. The cowboy beside me sat back and chuckled at my reaction. I watched my middle brother Wyatt confidently walk into the Oriental, the slaughterhouse of saloons. I shook my head.
     "Damn fool." I mumbled, standing up. My spurs jingled against the wooden steps as I made my way down to the street.

     Seeing my brothers again was like a bad dream. My head spun and I felt my knees begin to buckle. I grabbed a horse hitching post for assistance to keep myself stable.

     The sight of Virgil, Wyatt, and Morgan made my world spin upside down, literally. I slowly crouched down, staring at the ground. I wished for my nausea to disappear. My stomach seemed as if it was jittering from one side of my body to the other.

     "Miss, you alright?" a voice all too familiar called from behind me. A hand clasped my shoulder lightly. I shot up, trying to ignore the spinning sights around me. I made lethal eye contact with the man.

    Virgil's jaw fell slightly, stumbling back.
    "Hey what's the matter Virg-" Morgan Earp began. When he saw me, he had the same reaction, but a familiar sparkle shown in his eyes. He still had this boyish mentality about him. The innocence.
    "Daisy..." Morgan started.
    "Don't call me that." I growled. Their gaze slowly drifted to the red fabric on my side. Virgil cleared his throat.
    "Cheyenne. You-" Virgil began. A lump formed in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes. I snapped. I smacked Virgil across the face, hard. He gulped. Morgan just stared.
    "I'd suggest you leave me alone." I turned and walked away. My vision became blurry. I rushed to an alleyway and slid down a wall to the ground. I put my head in my knees, taking shuddering breaths. I was stronger than this. Much stronger.

    I bit my quivering lower lip to stop the threatening tears. I rose from the ground, brushing off my pants.

     I had to figure out this whole thing. Luckily, Wyatt hadn't seen me yet. I would prolong that interaction for as long as possible. I leaned against a column and began to think about my past.

    As a girl, I was always closest with Wyatt. We were two peas in a pod then. Riding the range, making forts, sneaking into town, stealing penny candy from the sweets shop. A small part of me longed for those memories, but another part of me was angry.

    Angry that Wyatt dropped everything to become a peace officer in Kansas. Angry that Daddy became evil after Wyatt his favorite child, left. He started hittin' me every time he drank. Drinkin' and smokin' till he dropped. I would always care for him when he was sick. Mama died when I was younger. It was just Daddy and I.

     When I turned nineteen, I ran away. I had enough.

    The cowboys found me alone in the desert and took me. They wanted to use me for their own disgusting entertainment. But when they discovered I could hold my own and sling a gun better than they could, the cowboys slowly respected me. They let me join them.

    I would never forget the moment they decided wanted me alongside them, fighting.

     I had stolen Daddy's horse. I was entering the outskirts of some no-name mining town. I had started to drift off. I hadn't slept in days. My eyes fluttered closed as the rhythmic beat of my horse's hooves continued.

     Suddenly, a rope around the waist shot me awake. I was yanked back from my horse, slamming into the ground. A group of men surrounded me.

    "Looky here, boys." One, by the name of Ike Clanton said. He had the face of a pig. Greasy, round, and dirty. I struggled, trying to get free of the rope. Another man roped my feet. There was no escaping now.
     "Shut up, Ike." Johnny Ringo said unkindly.
     "What do you want from me?" I barked.
     "We was just wonderin' what a pretty one like you is doing out here all alone. Where's yer family?" Curly Bill asked, a Cheshire Cat grin on his face.
     "One of 'em is six feet under, and the others probably so drunk he can't walk in a straight line."  I smiled sweetly. "Anything else?" I asked. Curly Bill's smile dropped. Johnny Ringo watched darkly.
    "I like her, boys. What do you say?" Ike Clanton chuckled, crossing his arms and grinning stupidly at me.
     At the time, Johnny Ringo and I were about the same age. He looked me up and down and turned away. He walked over to his horse, got on, and sat there watching emotionless.
     "Your our's now, missy." Curly Bill smirked again. "What's yer name?"
     "Cheyenne." I took a deep breath.
     "Well then, Miss Cheyenne. Yer coming with us."
    "You ain't taking me anywhere." I gritted my teeth. Curly Bill reached down and attempted to lift my chin with his hand. I bit his finger, hard. It was my only defense. Curly Bill yelped back, shaking his finger.
     "Bitch." He muttered. The cowboys laughed. Ringo was looking down, his black hat covering his face. 

    Suddenly, gunshots rang out nearby. All the cowboys turned, watching a shootout between a cowboy and a sole lawman form. A few moments later, the lawman dropped to the ground, dead. But the cowboy who was dueling him didn't shoot him. Johnny Ringo spun his revolver around his trigger finger and slid it back into its holster. The cowboys chuckled.

    As their attention was aimed at the sudden action, I had slowly slithered out of the ropes. I jumped to my feet. The dress I was wearing was covered in dust and grime. I walked over to the cowboys. I tapped Ike Clanton's shoulder. The cowboy turned, his shit-eating grin falling.
    "What in the hell-" he started, reaching for his pistol. Quickly, I jerked his revolver from his holster, cocked the hammer back and pointed it straight at his head. He gulped. I stared straight through Ike's soul. Though he had another revolver on his hip, he froze. The rest of the cowboys turned.
    "Well I'll be dammed." Curly Bill chucked. "The bitch can sling a gun." I turned my head over to Curly Bill and shrugged casually.
    "More or less." I said calmly. I grabbed Ike's other revolver. Still staring into Ike's threatened eyes and holding the first gun there, I spun the other gun in my free hand. I flipped, spun, and tossed the revolver effortlessly. In the corner of my eye, I could see Johnny Ringo watching. The rest of the cowboys were clearly impressed, but tried not to show it. I cocked the hammer on the other gun, finger resting on the trigger. I aimed the second gun at Ike's head as well. Both revolvers sat on either side of Clanton's head. I slowly backed away, still aimed at him. I then spun both pistols simultaneously, in different directions. Curly Bill raised an eyebrow.
    "Anyone else wanna try me?" I mused, dripping with confidence. My father had taught me his very best gun tricks at a young age. By fifteen, I carried a shotgun on my saddle when I went out for rides. My father was no cowboy, but he could sling a gun like nobody's business. When he was sober, at least. 

    Nobody moved.
    "Almost as good as you, Ringo." Curly Bill said, looking between the two. Ringo got off his horse, strolled over and carefully viewed me. He was almost evaluating me with his smoky Hazel eyes. The rest of the cowboys backed up, watching the interaction. I stared back at him, meeting his sharp gaze. Ringo seemed to be almost challenging me. I didn't back down. After about a minute of this, Johnny Ringo pulled a red scarf from his pocket and tossed it to me. I let out a quiet gasp. 
     "Ringo, have ya lost your damn mind?" Curly Bill reckoned.

    "Like you said, Brocius." Ringo sneered. "She's almost as good as me."