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The Only Rules That Matter: Legacy (Corsair and Madam Mim)

"Hey!" Sam protested, slightly offended but playing it up. "Ah happen ta like ta read, thank y'all very much!" She snickered, a little. "Ain't always rightly understandin' what Ah'm reason', mind. But Ah enjoy it." She settled back. "Even tried ta learn mahself German once, fer th' hell o' it."

Jackie's comments about the map made her chuckle. "Be a fun conversation, wouldn't it? We might wanna put any leftover bullets away, though, afore we do. Ah kin see it now: 'why, no Ranger suh. We jes' plumb forgot 'bout that map. Pay no mind to them silver bullets.'"

Settling back, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of Jackie sitting next to her. It was a comfortabke feeling, even kniwing she had a bum leg. A peaceful sort of feeling, like she could sit for hours , perfectly happy to do nothing more than be with her. Maybe Jackie was right, and it was too soon and complicated to start talking about love. But damnit, she woukdn't back down on liking her.

Or on wanting to fuck her. Because, damn if that wasn't fun!

She opened her eyes and glanced at ber watch. "Well, shit. This's gonna take forever, ain't it? Wanna play some cards?"
 
"German?" Jackie snickered. "What's that like? Just...yell, with a lot of phlegm?"

The afternoon was peaceful and lazy. They played cards and other games, talked, went down for dinner then came back up. Jackie barely slept: every time she rolled over her ankle would start hurting enough to wake her up. So when the sun finally rose and it was time to go her face felt heavy and her eyes sore every time she blinked.

"Don't like this," she murmured as they rode their horses to the train station. "Feels too easy...like they know we gave 'em the slip and they've got an ambush waiting for us."
 
It wasn't the first time Sam had slept in her clothes, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Once the sun went down she'd made up a sort of bed roll in front of the door, then laid down on it with her boots on and her Colt near to hand. The shotgun she left on the nightstand, where Jackie could reach it easily. "Just try not to shoot me too, y'hear?" she laughed, before sitting down and taking Jackie's hand. "And stop lookin' at me like that - last thing we need is fer me ta roll on yer foot right now. Sides..." She thumbed over her shoulder towards the door. "Ah'll be a livin' block, if'n they try an' get in. An' Ah'll feel 'em a-tryin' ta open th' door."

Although they were still in the same room, it was the first time in a month and more that she'd tried to sleep without Jackie next to her. It felt... strange. Unpleasantly strange. Also, keyed up as she was by the thought that undead bastards might try to break in and kill them both, sleep was fitful at best. Every strange sound woke her up, and a hotel was full of strange sounds. By sun-up, she was tired and irritable and her neck and back was sore. Coffee and eggs downstairs perked her up some, but it was still going to be a long, tired morning.

"Don't like this," Jackie murmured as they rode their horses to the train station. "Feels too easy...like they know we gave 'em the slip and they've got an ambush waiting for us."

"Seems like we ain't got no choice, though," Sam replied. "Train's th' fastest way outta town, an' they's only one way onto th' train.

"Sure enough reckon there ain't," someone called from behind. Sam stiffened at the words, hand going to her gun. "Now, Ah ain't lookin' ta hurt neither one o' y'all. Mister Beckett just wants ta have a little chat with you two, an'..."

Sam wheeled Silver around, and her pistol seemed to leap from it's holster as she did. Then she stopped, gaping at the speaker. He was tall and sandy-blonde with pale blue eyes, wearing a brown Stetson and a poncho. He stared back equally dumbfounded, the pistol in his hand forgotten. "Butch?" she asked, shocked. "What th' hell?"

"Samantha?" the man replied at the same time. "What in Sam Hill are y'all doin' here?"
 
Jackie frowned as they got dressed, rubbing Sam's shoulder gently as they ate breakfast and downing enough coffee to give a horse a heart attack. She was irked to find that in addition to her leg she couldn't sleep without Sam. Between the two of them and their fitful, uncomfortable sleep there wasn't much talking until Jackie mentioned that it felt too easy.

"Seems like we ain't got no choice, though," Sam replied. "Train's th' fastest way outta town, an' they's only one way onto th' train."

"Sure enough reckon there ain't," a masculine voice called from behind them. Jackie's hand went to her gun as well but, figuring he probably already had his on them, didn't draw yet. "Now Ah ain't lookin' ta hurt neither one o' y'all. Mister Beckett just wants ta have a little chat with you two, an'..."

Sam wheeled around, whipping out her gun, but froze mid-aim. Jackie frowned for a bare moment before Sam called him by name, and he apparently recognized her as well. Carefully, trying not to agitate her ankle, Jackie turned paint. She had no problems with drawing her gun on the sonofabitch, but considering Sam knew him didn't aim quite yet.

"Y'all know each other?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "So...does that mean we're free to go then?"
 
"No," Bart answered, at the same time as Sam said "yes". The two stared hard at each other for a good minute. "Damnit, Sam," he drawled, irritated. "Ah cain't let y'all go. Mister..."

"Like hell you cain't, Bart," Sam snapped. "Ah ain't talkin tw yer Mister..."

"Becket's a-wantin' ta talk ta th' folk what was nosin' 'bout his ranch," he continued, talking over her. "Blonde guy anna squaw, an'..,"

"You watch yer mouth," Sam hissed angrily, eyes narrowing. "Y'all talk 'bout Jackie like that in front o' me, an'..."

"Ah never in a month o' Sundays reckoned the 'blonde fellah' would be you!" He glared at her. "What are you doin' here?"

"Lookin' fer justice," she replied, voice still hard. "'Cause yer Mister Beckett done killed a passel o' Texas Rangers an' nearly killed me in th' process, an..."

Bart gasped, eyes wide with shock and horror. "That was... you were there?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, voice wary. "Yeah, an' Jackie's ma done dug a dozen slugs outta me, an' Ah was the lucky one..."

"Sam, you have to go. Now." Batt's eyes darted around. "Ah kin pretend Ah never saw you, but ya gotta git! Y'cain't..."

Sam drew herself up and folded her arms across her chest. "Bartholomew Erastus Cavendish," she declared, "Ah ain't budgin' 'till y'all tell me what th' hell is goin' on."
 
So wait...was his name Butch or Bart? Jackie looked back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match, but didn't take her gun off of him. When he called her a squaw, however, she pulled back the hammer and pressed her lips into a grim line.

"You hush up with that language," she warned, but Sam sprang to her defense as well. When Sam mentioned the Rangers, and that her ma had dug a dozen slugs out of her (it had been a little over a dozen, but Jackie wasn't going to belabor the point), she nodded. "Damn near lost a leg," she confirmed. "Was 'bout half dead when I found her."

Bart or Butch or whatever his name was looked around as though expecting Beckett to pop up from behind a building as he whispered at her to go. Jackie giggled behind her hand at 'Erastus,' but then the enormity of it hit her. "Wait, Cavendish?" she squawked. "You mean first time I meet one o' your brothers and he's pointin' a gun at me?"
 
"Yeah," Sam grimaced, staring the man down. "This here's mah second oldest brother." She aimed the pistol at his head. "An' Ah ain't goin' nowhere till Ah find out why y'all killed them Rangers." Sudden anger flashed in her eyes. "An' why y'all shot me!"

"Ah didn't know it was you!" Butch responded, anguish in his voice. "Sam, Ah swear ta..."

"Shut it!" Sam snarled. "Ah don' wanna hear no low down dry-gulchin' murderin' son of a..."

"Ah didn't wanna do it," Butch repeated. "Y'all ain't got no clue what Beckett's got on me!"

Sam's eyes were like ice. "Ah don' reckon Ah rightly care, Butch Cavendish. Pa didn't raise no..." She flinched as Bart brought his pistol up and fired, looking wildly around as the report echoed down the streets. Then she gasped as her brother crumpled to the ground, a gaping hole in the side of his head. "Butch!" she shouted, leaping from her saddle. "Butch, y'dumb punk, whaddya go an' do that fer? Goddamnit, Butch! Y'didn't have ta..."

Butch sat back up.

"What the hell, Butch?" Sam gasped. "Y'all are one o' them haints?"

Her brother rubbed the side of his head, feeling where the bullet hole had been a moment ago. "Beckett own's mah soul, Sammy. An' if'n Ah don' do exactly what he says ta do, Ah'll never get it back. Ah'll go on livin', if'n y'all kin call this livin', 'till the Judgement Day." He looked away. "Ain't no hope fer me, Sam, not in this world or th' next."

Sam stared down at him, then hit him hard in the side of the head. He tumbled sideways, blood streaming from the impact, and Sam dropped knee-first on to his gut. Grabbing his collar in one hand, she hit him twice more with the silver nugget. "You lissen here' y'dumb punk," she snarled as he stared up, eyes wide in shock at the sight of his own blood dripping onto his face. "Y'all are comin' wit' us, an' yer gonna tell us exactly what th' hell is goin' on. Y'unnerstand?"

"But..." His words were cut off as Sam hit him with the nugget again.

"Y'all got a long, long haul afore Ah fergive you fer helpin' kill six Rangers an' fer leavin' me ta die like a dog, Bart," she snapped, menacing him with the nugget again. "Y'kin start workin' off th' bill now. Or y'kin find out jes what a bitch Ah kin really be."

Eyes wide, he nodded once. "All... all right. Ah'll come." He looked around. "But we gotta git, cause Ah ain't th' only one here lookin' fer you."
 
"Ah didn't wanna do it," Butch repeated. "Y'all ain't got no clue what Beckett's got on me!"

"'I's just followin' orders' has been a sickening excuse since the beginning of time," Jackie spat, already not liking him much. But halfway through Sam declaring that she didn't care Butch put a pistol to his head. Her cry was lost in the gunshot and she brought one hand to her mouth as he crumpled. Sam flew from the saddle to kneel down next to her brother and Jackie started gingerly extracting her bad leg from the stirrup to go comfort her...but then Butch sat back up. "Christ on a cracker!" she yelped, bringing her hand to her mouth again.

Disliking Butch anyway, she was content to watch Sam beat up her brother. She smirked and shook her head as he protested and Sam wailed on him again. "Just stay down, ya stupid sumbitch," she advised. Finally Sam had bullied her brother into coming with them and he advised that they move quickly, as he wasn't the only one of Beckett's men there. Jackie jerked her head to the arriving train. "Better buy up a ticket fast," she said before looking at Sam. "I'll give y'all a minute."

Without another word she took Silver's reigns and, still on Paint, led him over to the livestock car and waited their turn to board. The conductor--a kindly-looking old fellow--helped her down out of the saddle and she limped along the side of the train, using it for support, until she found the right car and gingerly pulled herself up onto the train. Jackie watched the two out the window with a frown. She would be keeping an extra watchful eye on Butch; anyone who would work for a man like Beckett was likely capable of lying to his sister for a little sympathy. They could be walking into a trap.
 
Sam plunked down the coins for the extra ticket, scowling the whole time. Beside her, Butch shifted uneasily and kept looking over his shoulder. "C'mon, Sam," he urged, "hurry up. We gotta..."

"Hold yer tater, Butch. Ah cain't buy a ticket no faster'n this," she snapped back, waiting for Cecil to hand it over. He did so with a cheery smile, and she grabbed it and her brother and hurried aboard the train. Stomping down the aisle, she shoved him into a seat and sat down next to Jackie.

The train lurched, slowly dragging itself along the rails. Sam sat silently, staring at her brother. Finally, uncomfortably, he cleared his throat.

"About three years back, now, Ah hired on at th' Beckett Ranch," he began. "He saw me in a punch-up at th' Midnight Saloon, an' offered me a job. Said he could use a tough hombre, on his ranch. Well, Ah was betwixt jobs at th' time, so Ah took him up on it."

He grimaced. "Mah signin' bonus was an old-fashioned gold coin. Spanish, like. Got ta pick it meself, from an old wooden chest. But... them coins got a curse pn 'em, Sam. Next mornin', somethin' happened."

He swallowed. "Ah, Ah couldn't feel nothin' right. Like Ah was wrapped in cotton. An' Ah couldn't taste nothin', an' when Ah went a Me. Beckett, he had some o' his boys take that coin away from me. Said he owned me, now. Ones mah soul, an' Ah'd do as he said, or Ah'd be like this ferever."

Butch stared out the window. "So, Ah ran. He didn't even try an' stop me. But that night, when the moon rose, Ah saw what he'd done." He held up his hand. "Bones, Sam. Ah ain't naught but bones, in th' moonlight." He shuddered. "Ah'm daid, Sam. Daid an' walkin', an' only Beckett kin help me."
 
Jackie's face grew dark at the mention of an old Spanish coin taken from a chest. It darkened more and more as Butch went on, talking about how he couldn't feel anything properly and that Beckett owned his soul. When he revealed that he became a skeleton in the moonlight her eyes widened and her mouth pressed into a grim line.

"Beckett can't help you, ya idjit," she said after a long pause. "Or, at least, he won't. Coin prob'ly had a skull on one side, didn't it, surrounded by the sun?" When Butch looked surprised that she knew this, Jackie folded her arms across her chest and stared at him for a long moment before looking at Sam. "The story I told you, that my dad told me...this is it, kemosabe. It's...it's real."

She turned back to Butch, looking him over and unable to believe how stupid he'd been. "Picking that coin from the chest yourself was a trick," she informed him. "Even if we got the coin back, it wouldn't do much. How many hands does Beckett have?"
 
Sam stared at Jackie, mouth agape. "Them just-so stories y'all said yer pa told ya? Y'think that's what this is?"

"Coin did have a skull on it, though," Bart said slowly, thinking. "Old, funny lookin' thing."

"But that's jes'... jes'..." She flailed for words, gesturing with her hands as if she could pluck them from the air. "What would old pirate treasure be doin' here in Texas?"

"Picking that coin from the chest yoursekf was a trick," Jackie said, fixing Bart with a hard stare. "Even if we got the coin back, it wouldn't do much. Hos,w many hands does Beckett have?"

"Fifty, maybe sixty," Bart sighed, slumping back into his seat. "An' he's a-hirin' more. Bringin' in Mexicans, former banditos an' reg'lar army types. Some Injuns too." He frowned. "In that story y'mentiined... hiw many o' them coins was there?"

"Niw don't tell me yer..."

"Sam," Bart interrupted. "Ah'm daid. Daid, an' still walkin'." He laughed, but there wasn't any mirth in it. "An' y'think cursed pirate gold's foolish?"
 
Jackie ignored Sam's protests. There was healthy skepticism, then there was foolish denial of reality. Instead she swore under her breath at the number of hands Beckett had, and the news that he was hiring more. When Butch asked how many coins there were in the story, she shook her head. "Thousands," she said with a shrug. "No rightful number, but Barbossa's crew was maybe twenty or thirty and they spent 'em all. Y'all ain't spent 'em, have you?"

"Now don't tell me yer..."

"Sam," Butch interrupted. "Ah'm daid. Daid, an' still walkin'." He laughed, but there wasn't any mirth in it. "An' y'think cursed pirate gold's foolish?"

"It ain't foolish, kemosabe," Jackie chimed in, addressing Sam seriously. "There's such a thing as curses. Got a family curse m'self. There's lookin' for a reasonable explanation, then there's denying facts. Fact is Beckett's got that chest. If you wanna save yer brother we gotta get every one of 'em gold pieces, with blood from everyone who's taken one, and put them back in the chest. Then we kill Beckett." Her eyes narrowed in thought. "Somethin' familiar about the name too, but I can't put my finger on it. In any case, Butch, you gotta get away from him and fast."
 
Sam nodded sheepishly at everyone's comments. "Yeah, yer right. Both o' you. Ah reckon Ah jes' don' wanna believe, even after seein' it." She glanced at Jackie. "An' y'gotta tell me 'bout this 'family curse' o' yours. Later."

"Ah cain't get away from Mr. Beckett," Butch groaned. "Not while Ah'm still this, at least." He slumped back in his seat. "Even if he can't - or won't - help me, if'n Ah need them coins t'break th' curse, then..."

Sam stared at her brother. "Then y'gotta go back," she declared. "We plan at do somethin' 'bout Beckett, once we figger out what he's doin'. Y'kin be our eyes an' ears."

"An' how kin Ah do that?" Butch demanded. "Seein' as ta how Ah got on this here train wit' y'all."

"Oh, that's easy," Sam laughed. "Follow me, Butch." With that she rose and left the compartment, followed by a confused Butch. "See," she said, making her way towards the end of the car. "Y'kin tell 'em y'chased us. The injun an' her fellas - an' keep tellin' 'em Ah'm a fellah, would yeh?"

Bart nodded. "Sure, sis."

"Good. Tell 'em y'chased us onto th' train." She pulled the door open and stepped onto the connector, holding her hat with one hand and a grip with the other. "An' that we escaped!" she added with a shout.

"An' how'd y'escape?" Butch shouted back.

Sam cocked her head, then pivoted and kicked him in the side. Butch staggered and pitched off balance, then tumbled from the train as Sam kicked him again. "Yer a bright boy!" she shouted as he bounced and rolled along the ground. "You'll think o' sommat!"

She watched her brother until he was out of sight, then returned to the compartment. "Welp," she declared as she took a seat. "Ah reckon he'll think twice afore shootin' me again."
 
Jackie turned in her seat to watch Sam lead her brother over to the compartment door. The rumble of the engine and the wheels on the tracks filled the compartment with an almost physical presence. She couldn't hear what Sam was saying...but she did see her kick Butch in the side and pull him off of the train. Her eyes went wide as Sam returned to her seat casually.

"That was cold, Dahteste," she said frankly. "Remind me never to get on yer bad side."

After a few moments of companionable silence and looking out the window, stretching her bum leg out onto the seat across from her, she finally looked at Sam again. "They say the family curse started with the first Jack Sparrow," she said. "The one who went on all sorts of adventures and found that chest in the first place. They say he robbed an Egyptian temple and was cursed by the Egyptian god of death. He said that Jack Sparrow wouldn't die there in Egypt, but he wouldn't be allowed to die at home. He won't be allowed a quiet, peaceful life, instead always running, always fighting, a victim of wanderlust." She let the words sit heavily for a moment then shrugged. "So what do they do? They keep naming their sons Jack Sparrow, and not a one of us has had a quiet, peaceful death." She rolled her eyes. "Two hundred years and not a one's thought to name their kid Bill or Carl. Thank God I'm never having kids or I'd be expected to inflict the same curse on my kid."
 
Sam laughed darkly as she sat down, then leaned just a little against Jackie. "Takes a lot ta get ion mah bad side like that, Tsidiiligai," she murmured, kissing her cheek. "Jes' don' help gun me down an' leave me ta bleed out. Besides," another grim laugh. "Ain't like it'll kill him or nuthin'."

After the sleepless night and the excitemennt of the past few days, it was nice to just settle back and stare out the window with an arm around Jackie's shoulders. She just drifted, not really paying attention, letting the bouncing rhythm of the train lull her towards sleep. When Jackie started talking, it was difficult to pay attention. But the longer it her story went, the more interesting it sounded.

"That's..." she tried to decide what to say. "Why'd all yer folk get cursed, if'n it was jes' yer great-great-great-granpappy what gypped a god?" She considered that for a minute. "An' Ah reckon it says somethin' about mah day, when that story ain't even the wierdest thing Ah done heard." Grinning, she shifted and rested her cheek on Jackie's shoulder. "But Ah reckon yer right 'bout not havin' no kids."

She fell silent for a while. "Ain't got no curses or th' like in mah family. Closest Ah get is th' time pa told me 'bout meetin' mah ma. Apparently, she got in a dispute wit' some fellas in a bar 'bout whether or not she was a whore, an' she broke one fellah's nose an' another's arm, an' he cracked a third fellah's skull when he pulled a knife." She chuckled. "Pa always said Ah take after her."
 
Jackie laughed at the story of how Sam's parents had met. "I see it," she agreed, leaning comfortably against Sam and resting her cheek on her head. "Hell of a way to meet. No more interesting than findin' your lover damn near shot to death in the desert and carrying her sorry ass back to civilization, I guess."

She thought for a few minutes over all the stories her dad had told her. Finally she found rattling in among all the larger-than-life Captain Jack Sparrow stories the explanation for their family curse. "It was him who robbed a god," she said slowly, "but that god wasn't the only one he pissed off. They say he traveled to Avalon to get a golden apple for the sick little girl I told you about, and he pissed off some fairies. Well, I'm sure gods and fairies probably talk around the campfire some, and they found out about that curse and made it their mission to make sure it was fulfilled. Fairies don't experience time like the rest of us, you see. They're immortal and they forget that we die. So when they come across someone named Jack Sparrow, they give him hell even if he's not the right Jack Sparrow."

She smirked and shook her head a little. "Go figure we suffer because of a two hundred-year-old clerical error."
 
Sam yawned. "Cain't say Ah unnerstand what a two-hunnerd year old priest'd have ta do wit' it, but ifn' theys fairies an' gods in yer family curse then Ah reckon it ain't hard ta accept that neither." Another yawn. "Shee-it. Never thought Ah'd be thinkin' fairies an' pagan gods was real, y'know? But, after th' past coupla months, Ah reckon Ah outta keep an open mind. Right?"

She paused for a moment, then tossed her hat on the seat across the compartment and shook out her shaggy blonde hair. Two months of just getting it trimmed had left it long enough to touch the top of her collar, and she absently combed her fingers through it as she stared at her washed-out reflection in the window. "But, Ah reckon y'all ain't got much ta worry about wit' th' family curse. Ah mean, mebbe gods an' fairies'r stupid enough ta not tell th' difference betwist a man an' his son. But y'all clearly ain't no man, are yeh?" At that she leaned close and cupped one of Jackie's breasts. "Not built like this, y'all ain't," she whispered, tracing Jackie's earlobe with her tongue.

Opening the first few buttons of Jackie's blouse, she slipped her hand inside. "But, jes' mebbe, they're kinda dumb," she grinned, nibbling on the lobe now while her thumb circled her lover's nipple. "Mebbe, jes' in case any of 'em are watchin', Ah outta show 'em how much of a woman y'all are..."
 
Jackie opened her mouth to correct Sam on the definition of a clerical error, then closed it again. Wasn't worth the trouble, and it would probably embarrass her some. Jackie chuckled when Sam reckoned she ought to keep an open mind.

"God ain't all gods," she agreed. "Spirits I can get behind, but I never was one much for fairies. After all this though, I might wanna start watchin' what I say about 'em." When Sam shook out her hair Jackie smiled. She reached up to run her fingers through it, enjoying having something to grab onto. "You need a haircut, kemosabe," she teased. "Well, you need one if we're gonna keep 'em thinkin' you're a man. But I think I like it like this. Once this is all over you should try growing it out, if you wanna."

When Sam licked her ear and cupped her breast Jackie shivered and blushed. Her body thrilled as her lover suggested doing naughty things just to make sure the fairies didn't mistake her for another Jack, but her eyes darted around for anyone who was watching. A man walked by and looked judgmental but didn't say anything, likely mistaking Sam for a man despite her grown-out hair. Maybe Sam felt like a man sometimes and a woman other times, but was it worth the risk? Jackie squirmed in her seat, looking around, then turned to lean her forehead against Sam's.

"This ain't a private car," she reminded her quietly, leaning in to kiss her gently. "Even if folk don't think you're a woman, I'm still some half-breed squaw remember? We got put in the colored car for a reason, and even then folks still don't like race mixin'." She nuzzled her gently, rubbing their noses together in "Eskimo kisses."
 
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed, but Jackie had a good point. So Sam gave a sheepish little smile and leaned into the nose rub, then fumbled a little trying to do Jackie's shirt back up. Buttoning a blouse one handed was, it seemed, a mite more difficult than unbuttoning. "All right," she grumbled good-naturedly, "Ah'll behave." She still stroked her fingersover her lover's breast and down her belly, once the last button was done. "Jes' y'all remember that Ah don' wanna..."

She jumped, just a little, reaching for her gun as the compartment door opened. But it was just a conductor, a thin older man with a dusapproving expression. Not one of the haints. "Sir," he began coldly, and it took Sam a moment to realize he was addressing her, "we've had complaints about your... behavior."

Aw, shit, she thought. This is about me pitchin' Bart offa th' train. She braced herself for the accusation, and so his next words blindsided her.

"It is bad enough that you insist on sitting in the colored car. Kindly refrain from... availing yourself of your squaw until you disembark."
 
Jackie smiled. "Well then I won't hold it against you."

Sam jumped and reached for her gun when the door opened, but Jackie reached down and gently pried her hand away from it when it turned out to be just the conductor. The stern-looking older man approached and Jackie leaned away from Sam and looked away. Sure, the anti-miscegenation laws in Texas only specifically mentioned black folks, but that wouldn't keep an angry mob from stringing her brown ass up if they got angry enough. When he asked Sam not to "avail herself" of Jackie her cheeks pinkened a little, but she forced a smile when she looked at the conductor. It was clear from Sam's expression she'd been expecting him to address Butch's sudden departure, but Jackie had figured it was a 50/50 shot.

"He just gets a li'l carried away sometimes is all," she said casually, patting Sam's leg briefly before keeping her hands to herself. She'd gone through this bullshit enough times, had enough close calls in her younger days, that she didn't particularly feel like being tossed from a moving train on a bum leg. The conductor's mustache twitched as he focused his stern disapproval on her.

"I dunno where the transaction happened, li'l girl," he said imperiously, "but your line of work is still illegal in many parts of Texas this train runs through and we still reserve the right to remove you if you continue such lurid displays of immorality."

Jackie's mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments and a flush of anger and humiliation crept up her neck and all the way to her hairline. "I ain't a whore," she rebutted.

"Call it what you like, just refrain from it on a public train." The conductor turned on his heel and began to walk away.

That was how Sam's parents had met, wasn't it? Her ma had started a bar brawl over someone calling her a whore? Well Sam's ma was white, like as not, and white folk could afford that sort of foolishness. Throwing a punch now would land Jackie in jail, on a rail, or at the end of a rope, depending on the will of the good people of Texas. Her throat hurt as she swallowed hard and slouched down in her seat, pulling her hat farther over her eyes and turning her face to look out the window. Imjun whores getting uppity with upstanding white men like him would never get anyone anywhere but dead.
 
Sam bit her tongue as the conductor talked, feeling her hand on her knee squeeze a warning. But then the man called her a whore, and she watched the angry red flush darken her skin, and fury boiled up in her gut. "You son of a bitch!" she snapped, coming to her feet as the man stepped into the hall.

He turned to look, surprised as she stalked towards him. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Ain't mah pardon y'all best be beggin'," she snapped back, getting up in the conductor's face. "You ain't got no call ta be callin' mah girl a whore, an' Ah reckon y'all owe her an apology!" A look of sneering contempt crossed the man's features at the 'mah girl' line, and Sam's features hardened. "Ah'll give yeh ta th' count o' three..." she snarled, fists balling.

"What you do with your squaw is none of my concern," the conductor said coldly. "But not in..."

Sam punched him in the gut, then hammered a left hook into his jaw. "Three, y'bastard," she spat.
 
Sam jumped to her feet and Jackie grabbed uselessly for her hand. "Sam no!" she hissed, but she wasn't listening. She demanded an apology Jackie knew she wasn't going to get, then threatened the conductor. It wasn't an empty threat; her fists balled so tightly her knuckles were turning white. "Dhateste sit. down," she said in a low voice. There wasn't any use in starting a fight over this. Night Vale had been an extreme outlier in their willingness to accept not only two masculinely dressed women who were clearly together, but an interracial relationship besides. Most places in Texas would make a white man sit in a separate room from his wife if she were a different color.

"Sam!" Jackie tried to jump to her feet, but yelped in pain as she put weight on her bad leg and crumpled back into the seat. A man from a seat or two ahead of them stood up and walked down the aisle to stand between them.

"Whoa, whoa, peace my brothers," he said in a gentle but firm voice. "Let's not get violent here. Sir, if you'll apologize to the lady I'm sure he'll be happy to go back to his seat and behave himself."

"Nobody asked for your input, boy," the conductor spat once he'd recovered, "and I would die of shame to ever be called brother by your kind."

"Yeah shut up and mind you own nigga," another passenger called. "White boy ain't got no business back here no how. Ain't y'all s'posed to be ridin' horses everywhere anyway?" This was addressed to Jackie when the second man turned in his seat. Her only response was to groan and slide down more in her seat.

"They've got just as much right to be here as we do," the first man insisted.

There was a chorus of agreement from some, and of disagreement from others. The argument got more and more heated, with more and more voices chiming in over whether white people should be allowed in this car, over miscegenation, over whether Jackie was a whore and if that counted as miscegenation since they weren't married, over whether an Indian should even be back here since they weren't black or Mexican and didn't believe in Jesus, over whether whores or heathens should be allowed on trains. Even the women were getting involved. Then someone--there was no telling who--threw a punch. Jackie made herself small against the window as the car-wide brawl broke out, trying to just make her ankle throb as little as possible. When the dust settled there were innumerable black eyes, seven missing teeth, three bloody noses, and a knife in a calf. The conductor, bloodied and bruised and with half his mustache missing, was livid.

~*~

"I told you to just shut up and sit down," Jackie sniped, leaning against Paint. "I told you to just leave it alone. White folks don't listen to reason Dhateste, you know that!" She put her good foot in the stirrup and lifted herself to sit side-saddle before pulling her bad leg gingerly over to the other side of the horse. "Now we're banned from the railroad, one horse short, in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

Silver had also been led off of the train, of course. They were one horse short because they had one person too many. The man who had tried to make peace had been kicked off too, for starting the brawl even though he hadn't thrown the first punch. Jackie looked down at him disdainfully, then sighed and shook her head. "C'mon, git up."

"Ma'am?"

"Git up, we ain't leavin' you in the middle of the desert." Jackie scooted forward in the saddle and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Hurry up, Mister."

"Norrington, ma'am," he said politely, doffing his hat. "B.D. Norrington."

"Jackie Sparrow." She didn't tip her hat. "This here cussed sumbitch is Sam. Now get on the damn horse and maybe we can get somewhere before nightfall."
 
Sam watched the train puff away with her good eye, then gingerly touched the puffy skin around the left eye and hissed in pain. She couldn't be sure without a mirror, but given how it was swollen she must have a whopper of a black eye.

"I told you to just shut up and sit down," Jackie sniped, leaning against Paint.

"Ah know," she sighed, turning to check that Silver's saddle was secure. "But what th' hell was Ah supposed at do? Let that sumabitch talk shit 'bout you? Let him get away with callin' you a whore?" She leaned against Silver's flank. "Ain't nobody gets to do that to you!"

"I told you to just leave it alone," Jackie snapped, struggling to mount Paint. "White folks don't listen to reason Dhateste, you know that!"

She smiled at that, even though it made her face ache. "Then what makes y'all think Ah'd listen?"

"It was a brave thing you did," added the man who'd tried to defuse the scene. "You played a man's part, far more than those so-called decent folk on the train."

Jackie, who'd finally pulled herself into the saddle, bristled up at that. "Now we're banned from the railroad, one horse short, in the middle of fucking nowhere!"

Sam swing up onto Silver, assorted aches and pains making the act uncomfortable. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but her swollen eye probably wasn't the only bruise she had. "Ain't th' middle o' fuckin' nowhere," she pointed out. "We kin follow th' tracks ta Abeline. Jes' be slower, is all."

Their unexpected companion, a handsome Negro in an inexpensive suit, looked uncomfortable at the rough language. Jackie glanced down at him, then sighed. "C'mon, git up."

"Ma'am?"

"Git up, we ain't leavin' you in the middle of the desert." Jackie scooted forward in the saddle and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Hurry up, Mister."

"Norrington, ma'am," he said politely, doffing his hat. "B.D. Norrington."

"Jackie Sparrow." She didn't tip her hat. "This here cussed sumbitch is Sam. Now get on the damn horse and maybe we can get somewhere before nightfall."

B. D. shifted uncertainly. "I'm obliged, ma'am," he said, still clutching his hat. "But, perhaps I should ride with your... your husband?"

Sam laughed, even though the question sent a rush of confused emotions through her. "Naw. Ah ain't her... her husband." She tipped her own hat. "Sam Cavendish, sit. An' you'd best ride wit' Jackie." She stroked her steed's neck. "Silver don't take kindly ta strangers."

"Forgive me," B. D. said, carefully pulling himself up behind Jackie. "I just assumed..."

"Ain't no harm done," Sam assured him. "We're, uhm...". She bit her lip, thinking about their recent conversation and trying to decide what to say.

B. D. laughed, a rich, deep sound. "Courting? I've been there myself, with my own wife - God rest her soul."


An hour later...

"What Ah don't get," Sam said, "is what brings a Yankee preacher-man ta Texas. 'Specially a...". She hesitated.

"A colored Yankee preacher?" B. D. filled in with a laugh.

"That, yeah." Sam sounded relieved that he'd said it.

"Well, my wife was called home by the Lord less than a year after I earned my divinity degree." The memory, from his tone of voice and expression, was still painful. "Influenza, just before our second anniversary."

"Ah... Ah'm sorry," Sam said into the sudden silence.

"Thank you. But, after she passed, I felt the call to come south." He gestured towards the rails. "I preach in a few small black churches along the line, and do some farming to supplement what the congregations can give me."

"An' Ah done made it harder on y'all," Sam mumbled, feeling terrible.

"Nonsense," B. D. assured her. "You did the right thing, and I would have if you hadn't. So, either way, I'd have been put off." He grinned. "Not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last." He glanced at the sky. "If we hurry, we can make my home by evening. It's just two rooms, but you're welcome to stay the night if you wish."
 
When Sam mentioned that they weren't in the middle of nowhere, and had only to follow the train tracks, Jackie scowled. "It's not just the one train. It's the whole goddamned rail line." She was in a cussed mood and there was no persuading her out of it. Sam had been lucky that she was already on her horse and not willing to hurt her ankle getting off when she'd mentioned that she wouldn't have listened since white people don't listen to reason. She'd had the strong urge to punch her in that smug smirk. With a sigh she instructed B.D. to get up and introduced them. At the implication that Sam was her husband Jackie snorted and snickered.

"Husband," she muttered, shaking her head.

"We're, uhm..." Sam hesitated. Jackie, too, was thinking about their conversation about the dreaded l-word, about what exactly they were. Married wasn't it, obviously...but it felt like a little more than courting, didn't it?

"Courting? I've been there myself, with my own wife - God rest her soul," B. D. laughed. He had a nice laugh, a friendly laugh. Jackie liked it.

"Well, it ain't exactly legal, is it?" she pointed out with a shrug. That was true on multiple levels. She didn't mention anything about Sam being her husband simply because she didn't know if that was what Sam would have wanted to be called. She didn't know how exactly which gender she felt at the moment, so she would leave that up to Sam to share. "And good thing too or I'd have to divorce ya for that shit. Welcome to the Indian experience: sit down and shut up and just let folks call you squaw." Jackie shook her head again, muttering to herself. "Ain't even squaw. That's Algonquian...can't even get their goddamned racism right. Well go on, hold on," she added to B.D. over her shoulder. "Ain't gonna have you fallin' off the back every twenty feet." Hesitantly he put his hands on her hips before she urged Paint forward at a decent clip.

An hour later they'd discovered that B.D. was a preacher from Connecticut. He explained that he'd felt the call south, then offered them a place in his home for the evening.

"Much obliged, B.D.," Jackie accepted the invitation. Her anger at Sam still hadn't completely burned off yet, but she wasn't willing to turn down a hot meal and a roof over their heads just for sheer cussedness. "What's B.D. for, anyway?"

"Bechorath Defiance." His name was accompanied by that deep, rich laugh when Jackie whistled.

"Name like that I'd go by B.D. too. 'Course, I got no room to talk."

"What's wrong with Jackie? Or, I assume, Jacqueline?"

"Jacqueline's what my dad called me," she said with a shrug. "Tsidiiligai don't exactly roll off the tongue, and White Bird Sparrow sounds like one of them godawful Western shows they show city folk. Make 'em think we all say 'how' and smoke 'em peace pipe." She rolled her eyes.

"Fair enough."

They chatted casually on and off for a few hours, stopping every now and then to water the horses or stretch their legs. Finally, around sundown B.D. pointed to a silhouette on the horizon. "There she is."

"Thank god," Jackie mumbled, pressing her good heel to Paint to make him speed up, then pulling the reigns to correct as he veered off to the right.

The homestead was small but cozy. There was a sitting room with a rocking chair and two hard backs, a cookstove, a fireplace, and some pots and pans. Several stacks of books sat on the floor, though not too near the fireplace. Among them were a Bible and a Qur'an along with several of the classics and a complete collection of the works of Shakespeare bound into one volume. Through the doorless doorway Jackie could see a fair-sized bed for two--probably from when he was married--covered with a patchwork quilt. From what she could see the bedroom looked otherwise pretty spartan.

"Gimme a few minutes to get a good fire going," B.D. said, piling kindling into the stove, "and I'll get dinner started. There's some salt pork and some whiskey to tide you over, if you want, and you can sleep in here for the night."

"Thank ya kindly, preacher," Jackie said, reaching for the bottle she had already spied out. Angry and in pain, she was looking to dull one or the other, hopefully both, with the pleasant warmth of inebriation. "And you keep your hands to yourself," she said sharply, pointing at Sam after taking a pull straight from the bottle. She took another then passed it to her. "It's your goddamned horny ass got us tossed in the first place." Jackie didn't particularly care whether rough language made B.D. uncomfortable, or that she'd taken God's name in vain. It wasn't her god, after all, and they were all grown-ups here. Words were just words.
 
"That's right neighborly oh y'all," Sam agreed, echoing Jackie's thanks. "Particularly on account o' how we got y'all kicked off the train. Well, after Ah got y'all kicked off," she added hastily, aftercatching Jackie's angry expression.

"Say no more," B.D. asked, holding a hand up. "You did the right thing, even if the conductor didn't think so."

Fetching a glass, Sam offered it to Jackie. She responded by glaringm and taking a pull from the bottle. "And you keep your hands to yourself," she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "It's your goddamn horny ass got us tossed in the first place."

Sam chuckled uncomfortably, glancing at their host. "Doesn't bother me," he said calmly. "The Good Lord made love and sex pleasurable, to draw man and woman together." He paused, then grinned. "Just try not to get kicked out of my house as well, allright?"

Sam nodded, watching Jackie swallow another slug of whiskey. Then she rose, moving to check out the books on the shelf. The Bible, she recognized. And, vaguely, the Book of Mormon - the Mormon 'gold bible'. And Shakespeare. She'd read a few of his plays. "Cuewer anne?" she said, trying out the unfamiliar word. "That a Bible in some kinda foreign language?"

"Koran," B.D. corrected. "And it's a book of Mohemmidian scripture, from the Middle East."

Sam pursed her lips, considering that. "You... you a Mohammedian, then? Or..." She tapped the Book of Mormon. "One o' them Mormons?"

"I'm a Universalist, actually," B.D. replied, chopping a potato into the pot. "We believe that God is in everything, and that all paths lead to God."

"Sounds nice," Sam mused aloud.
 
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