Guys, get ready. This chapter, I'm going to do the impossible: I'm going to make the threat of litigation...sexy 
Watch and be amazed!
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Tex woke to the scent of fresh-baked bread. After ages of nothing but trail rations, one whiff was all it took to send her stomach into conniptions. Hopping up, she stretched her stiff limbs, then climbed down from the roof and followed her nose inside. She sauntered into the kitchen to find the Sheriff at the table eating breakfast. He still wore last night's clothes, and his hair was standing up like the fur on a spooked cat. He froze when he saw her, a piece of toast raised halfway to his mouth.
Eager to harass him, Tex swaggered over and snatched the food right out of his hand. She bit into the flaky crust as she eased herself into the chair opposite him, and he looked on in astonishment.
“You – you took my toast!” he stammered.
“Mmmm, yeah,” she said, licking her fingers, “and it is delicious. Much obliged.”
He scowled at her, and Tex decided he was more attractive when he was angry. Smacking her lips, she leaned back and surveyed the pantry. In daylight it was cheerful and bright, with white curtains, hickory cabinets, and pale green wallpaper. Any pretense to normalcy ended there. Jars filled with grasshoppers lined the windowsill, and yesterday's dirty dishes lay in a mechanized basin on the floor, surrounded by all manner of gears and pulleys.
And then there was the matter of the five-foot-tall cactus sitting smack-dab in the middle of the kitchen table...
“So,” she chomped after moment, “are you going to introduce me?”
“Introduce you?”
“Yeah, you know. To your cactus. The two of you must be very close, always taking your meals together and whatnot.”
The Sheriff glanced up at the towering plant. “Don't be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I don't keep cacti for companionship. That saguaro is a part of an ongoing experiment of mine. It has to sit in that exact spot, or the test will fail.”
“Wow. No wonder you're still a bachelor.”
He glared again, and Tex swiped his fork. He immediately leaned forward and snatched it from her grip. “Look,” he said, “since you clearly mean to antagonize me for the rest of the week, could you at least do me the courtesy of sharing your name? I didn't catch it while you were waving a gun in my face, putting up your horse in my stable, or sleeping the night away on my roof.”
“Apologies!” she chuckled, before reaching over to the cactus and snapping off a spine. She used it to spear one of the sausages on his plate, then ate the pilfered morsel in one bite. “Mmm...Cynthia Aurora Vortex, at your service, Mr. Neutron. You can call me Tex for short.”
Exasperated, he shoved the whole dish over to her. “Here! Help yourself, Miss Vortex. I can see you're determined to have my breakfast regardless of my feelings on the matter.”
“I told you; it's 'Tex', dunderhead.” She picked up his coffee mug and took a swig. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
He snatched the coffee back from her and pounded the remaining liquid. “I refuse to utter monosyllabic criminal pseudonyms,” he declared, slamming down the cup. “And since I cannot abide the thought of being on a first-name basis with a felon, you'll have to settle for your last name, Vortex. If you ever decide to take a bath and delouse yourself, perhaps I'll reconsider.”
“Tch. Fine by me, Neutron. Just remember that I have both our pistols in my belt, and I've always got one hand ready for the draw...in case you get any smart ideas.”
His grin was threatening. “You just wait. You'll find out...you'll see what I can do. I'm going to beat you at your own game, you little minx, and once I've finished impressing you, I'm going to haul you off to jail for conspiracy to commit murder. I'll see you stand trial if it's the last thing I do.”
“Pffft, good luck getting a conviction. What evidence do you have? Last night's conversation? Not gonna cut it. I know the laws of this country like the back of my hand, and if you take me to trial, I will get myself exonerated.”
“No evidence?” he murmured. “Hmm, I suppose not. Unless of course, you had a written copy of that homicide contract you mentioned yesterday. Perhaps concealed somewhere, like inside that longcoat, or in your hat –”
Tex felt a twinge of alarm. Of course, he couldn't know that she carried a copy of the contract in her pocket. She resolved to stow it elsewhere at the first opportunity.
“My client has the contract,” she lied, “and he's hundreds of miles away by now.”
“How unfortunate. It appears I'm out of luck, then.” He twirled the fork back and forth, flipping it with the precise control of a surgeon. “Or maybe,” he continued, in a tone that made her hair stand on end, “you won't get a trial. Maybe I'll ignore Habeas corpus, and just let you waste away in the Retro Valley prison, until there's nothing left for anyone to find.”
Before Tex could retort with a counter-threat, a strange tapping sound filled the pantry. Mr. Neutron raised a finger to shush her. Blip blip blip, bliiiip bliiiip bliiiip, blip blip blip... He listened intently, and when the noises ceased, he sprung up from the table. He fetched a suede vest from the back of his chair and buttoned it over his shirt.
“Hey Neutron, was that–”
“Morse Code?” he completed, pinning a star-shaped badge to his lapel. “Yes. There's a Western Union telegraph line not far from here; I tapped into the wire so townsfolk could contact me in the event of an emergency. Not sure which one of them sent it, but if I heard the message right, it seems a brawl has broken out in the town square.”
“Brawl? Never mind the brawl! How the devil did you manage to tap into a Western Union line?”
Instead of answering, he whistled. “Goddard, where are you, boy? Don't tell me you're still chasing after that infernal squirrel! Must we go through this every morning? I've told you countless times, it's a futile endeavor!”
Tex heard the click of nails on the hardwood floor, and the Sheriff's dog trotted into the pantry. Goddard took one look at the outlaw, wagged his tail, and went to sniff her boots. As he approached, Tex realized he was missing a leg. A harness held a metal prosthetic in place; it was the same gray as his sleek fur.
“You made a mechanical leg for your dog?” she exclaimed.
The Sheriff eyed her sideways as he knelt to stroke his pet. “As the week wears on, my dear, you may find I have a variety of talents.” She raised an eyebrow, and he straightened. “But for now, duty calls. Goddard and I are bound for the town square to break up the fight.” He extended a hand. “Seeing as I may find myself in harm's way on this venture, I'll be needing my weapon back now. I'm sure you understand.”
She snorted. “Sakes alive, Neutron, you must think I'm a halfwit. But never fear – I'll protect you. Until the week's up, you can think of me as your personal bodyguard. Wherever you go, I'll go too. I promise, nobody will shoot you but me.”
“I...don't even know what to say to that.” He shook his head. “Go saddle up our horses, Vortex. If you can do it in under two minutes, I'll buy you a drink at Libby's.”
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....Because sharing food and drinking from the same cup is romantic, right? RIGHT?
Also, seriously, WTF kind of experiment is he doing with that cactus? Just...Jimmy, just stop it, OK? Your mealtime companion is a saguaro. Look at your life. Look at your choices.
HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT
-OK, Morse code, here we go. In 1836, American artist Samuel F. B. Morse, physicist Joseph Henry, and mechanist/inventor Alfred Vail used their bro time to kick back, hang out, and create an electrical telegraph system. However, because the telegraph was basically limited to blips, bleeps, and periods of silence, language would have to be transmitted via code. Morse was like, "I got this", and he sat down and came up with the forerunner to modern International Morse code (which was then standardized in 1865, and is still used today). The message heard in this chapter - 3 short, 3 long, 3 short - comes out to "SOS", the universal distress signal.
-Western Union was and still is a financial services and communications corp. It was created in 1855 when two competing telegraph companies merged and became this weird monopoly juggernaut that ate up other companies like cheez-its. By 1860, it had built telegraph lines from the East Coast to the Mississippi River, and from the Great Lakes to the Ohio River. In 1861, it opened the first transcontinental telegraph, facilitating near-instantaneous communication between the east and west coasts. Prior to this, message delivery depended on the Pony Express, which employed horseback riders to carry letters in staged relays between stations (where fresh horses and riders were waiting). At the absolute fastest, a Pony Express message would take about ten days to make it from one coast to the other. Imagine waiting ten days to read one freaking email reminds me of dial-up
-Vocab, in case you didn't already know:
- Minx - a pert or impudent young woman
- Habeas corpus - known as "the great writ", this requirement-by-law states that a person under arrest must be brought before a judge or into court. It protects against unlawful or indefinite detention, and it has historically been an important legal instrument safeguarding individual freedom against arbitrary state action
and pissed-off sheriffs.
~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =
PART 7: link
