Delivery

This morning I was woken again by the crowing of a rooster – I'll have that platypus cooked for dinner someday – my mood was foul, and it worsened even more when I saw my brother still sleeping soundly. I grabbed a bottle of vile whiskey from the last shipment and poured myself a glass. I felt instantly better. Rob opened one eye and muttered

, "Pour me some too, Tom!" – that bastard can always smell the liquor nearby.

The sun was just beginning its journey across the sky and its sausage game, and a normal workday was beginning at the fort. "It's a good thing the trumpet doesn't bother me," I thought. We washed up and ordered breakfast – scrambled eggs with beans and beef – I think I need to hunt something down, because the sight of canned beef makes me want to puke. Then, like every morning, we faced each other and quietly hummed the Southern hymn – at that moment, I felt disgusted with myself for staying in that fort among the "Yankee dogs." As usual, I stood in front of the mirror and began to fiddle with my revolvers. A familiar, unshaven mug, with several knife scars and one rather large scar from a Yankee saber, stared back at me from the glass. Gray eyes calmly surveyed the world, fully aware that the worst that could happen to me was a cold woman in bed.

Around 10 a.m., there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I shouted, holstering my revolvers. The captain's messenger stood in the doorway.

"What's the matter?" I asked gruffly. I already knew there would be no lazing around today. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my brother also starting to clean my Spencer—he, too, knew something was coming.

"Here," the messenger said, handing me an envelope. "It's bad if we get a letter from the guy sitting two doors down," I thought.

"Thanks, you can go," I muttered. The messenger saluted—probably out of habit—and marched off, clicking his boots loudly. I opened the envelope. Inside was a summons to report to the gate at 11:00.

"We're getting ready, the polka starts at 11:00, little brother," I muttered. In response, all I heard was the click of a rifle's lock.

The sun was slowly approaching its zenith. I was still in a foul mood, especially since I had to get my ass out of this shitty fort—such is the fate of a "mercenary gunslinger." "If it weren't for the fact that I knew the commandant here from Westpoint, I'd probably have been hanged long ago, but at least I'd be hanging with my brother," I smiled to myself. Jake stood at the gate. We stepped aside.

"There's a package," he muttered.

"Isn't it supposed to be there?" I asked with a smile. He looked at me with a slight reproach in his eyes. "

Oh, Tom—you've changed a lot these past few years," he replied sadly.

"Guess why," I replied.

"Okay, what about the package?" Rob chimed in.

"It's being delivered by a courier,and you are to escort her to Laramie, said Jake.

"Packages are usually delivered by couriers, so tell me what's in it," I replied.

I was incredibly surprised when he looked me in the eye and replied

, "A new explosive with its formula... Even the courier doesn't know what he's carrying or how powerful it is," he finished. "You're to intercept it at the rest stop, during the horse change.

" "Okay, Jake, we're in," I replied. As we were leaving, we each received a pack of ammunition for our weapons.

We set off. The sun was blazing hot. A vulture circled above us, searching for prey. "These birds quickly learn that where there are forts, there are corpses," I thought. We were in no hurry; we had time...

After a while, we saw a body lying in the middle of the road.

"Keep me safe," I muttered. I dismounted and, revolver in hand, approached. It was a dead man, still warm. I crouched down to take a closer look, and at that moment I heard a whistle. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground and immediately felt pain in a place where a man shouldn't have wounds, because wounds bring him no glory. I noticed movement in the nearby bushes. Then Rob fired, and without hesitation, I fired both barrels too. It became quiet, eerily quiet. Even the vultures were circling higher.

I slowly began to crawl toward the bushes. Incredible pain radiated down my leg.

"Rob, come here," I shouted softly, "you have to get that damn arrow out of me."

Rob came and knelt beside me.

"Here," he said, handing me the knife.

"Bite hard."

I obediently took the knife between my teeth and settled down. Then I felt incredible pain, but a moment later, relief came. Warm blood poured onto my pants. It felt good, if you could call the feeling of a second hole in my butt pleasant. I ripped my shirt and, as soon as the right amount of blood had oozed out, I made a makeshift bandage.

I crawled deeper into the bushes. Rob was covering me again. After a moment, I noticed the soles of two moccasins. The corpse of the Indian, dressed in a military jacket and trousers, was still warm in his skull, and the bullet hole was visible almost directly between his eyes. I whistled softly three times. A moment later, my brother stood beside me.

"This one's yours, Rob," I muttered. We didn't even have to remove the bullet—I wasn't shooting that high.

In one place, the bushes were broken, as if a fight had taken place. I moved closer. There were still moccasin marks on the ground. I took out my revolver and muttered, "You're right, you're right."

"Cover me, Rob." I cautiously began to follow the tracks. More by instinct than sight, I sensed movement. Instinctively, I grabbed the hand with the knife stabbing my heart, dropping the revolver. I yanked out my knife, and at that moment, I felt my left hand go numb. The knife flew to the ground. Surprised, I also released my grip on the other hand, and at the same moment, I felt the knife cut through the skin of my chest. A shot rang out. Blood flooded my eyes. After a moment, I realized it was the blood of an Indian. His corpse lay nearby.

My shirt was quickly turning red.

"We're getting out of here," I shouted. I picked up the knife and the revolver. I walked over to the corpse and grabbed his hair. With one cut, I removed the skin from his forehead, then yanked it back. I was a little sorry he was already dead when I did that. Then I scalped the other Indian as well. I unbuttoned his jacket. His chest bore scars in the shape of a Thunderbird. We returned to the horses. I looked at the corpse, still lying in a pool of its own blood.

"Keep going," I muttered to my brother. "I'll catch up." I slung the corpse over the saddle and galloped toward the fort.

I caught up with my brother well after noon. I slowed down, letting the horse rest, and began making a dressing with the bandages I'd taken from the fort.

"It's a shame you didn't see their faces when I shouted 'Indians!' and threw that corpse off," I said with a smile. Then I winced slightly as the iodine stung the wound.

We were approaching the station. Wooden buildings stood among trees and bushes. Two horses stood in front of one. We rode closer and dismounted. They were a little tired. I went inside. There were three people in the large room. An elegant man who smelled of detective a mile away. The second one lay on the bunk, with a large, freshly cauterized wound on his leg.

"Snake," said the third, judging by his clothes, the "constable" of this "transfer stable.

" "Hello, can we eat here?" I asked.

"There's only beans," he replied

. "Hey, Bob, bring the beans and hurry up with that water," he shouted toward the other door. A moment later, a small Negro appeared, carrying two bowls of beans. Rob entered.

"The Indians are nearby," I said, sitting down at the table. I groaned—the pain resurfaced where my legs begin. I noticed a nervous smile on the constable's lips.

"I need to dress my wounds. Can I have some hot water?" I asked. "I got a little hurt on the way.

" "The Negro will help you, if you'll let me," the constable replied

. "Of course, thank you very much," I bowed.

The Negro was really handy. Rob went out to tend to the horses.

"Where was he going?" I asked, pointing at the fallen courier.

"To Laramie," the constable replied, "there's a good chance he won't deliver that package." He nodded sadly.

"I can take it," I replied.

"Hmm... I don't know..." the constable said.

"Will that be enough?" I asked, handing him the letter certifying my affiliation with the fort's garrison.

"I think so," the steward replied, taking out the Bible.

"Then you can swear me in, there are enough of us," I replied, placing my hand on the Bible and raising two fingers of my other hand.

"Or not, at least I won't have you on my conscience," the steward muttered. "You won't be going today anyway—too late.

" "Right," I replied. "Is there any way we can spend the night here?

" "Yes, come with me," he said. He led us to a large room. Inside was a large bed.

"Wake me up after midnight," I muttered to my brother. I took off my seat belt and fell asleep on the bed while still in the air. A knock on the wall woke me. I lazily opened my eyes. A moment later, I heard a neighing sound. I quickly got up and looked at my brother...

"I'm going to check on the horses," I muttered.

"Okay." "Hey!" he shouted. The knocking sound repeated, and the station master entered the room.

"We need to check the horses,"

he muttered, removing the bolt from the door that served as one of the walls. "Sure," I muttered, fastening my belt with revolvers and a knife. The master pushed the door open and... fell, wheezing, arrow feathers sticking out of his throat.

"Cover me!" I shouted, diving into the opening. I knew my brother wouldn't be killed so easily; besides, as usual, I was moving forward, and he was keeping an eye on the rest... A

shadow flashed somewhere to the side between the horses' backs. Without thinking, I drew my knife and jumped... I caught the wrist of the arm with the blade flying towards me. I pushed it away, simultaneously slashing across my chest. I heard a groan. I fell forward, adjusting my cut

—this time it hit its mark, the dead body collapsed to the ground...

A howl rang out... a lamp fell onto the hay, the fire began its work. Without thinking, I jumped and began stomping on the flames. I leaned forward, and at that moment I heard a whistle... An arrow flew right above me. I instinctively drew my knife and threw it toward the shadow. With satisfaction, I heard a gurgle, followed by the thud of a falling body. I ran to the Indian. The hilt of my knife was sticking out of his throat. I removed his scalp and turned at the sound of footsteps. "It's just my brother." He showed me a ladder and began to climb it. Shots rang out from behind the wall. I grabbed the first horse I came across and looked at my brother...

He tried to lift the hatch in the roof, but hesitated and aimed his Spencer... He pulled the trigger five times... There was a crash...

"Well, that's three to two for you, little brother," I muttered, spurring my horse...

I hurried him toward the shots, drawing my revolvers at the same time... The farm buildings were beginning to burn. In the firelight, I saw six red-faced men shooting at the house... The horse was spurred... I rode, firing both barrels simultaneously... The first one fell, the second... the fourth... the sixth... More bullets whistled above me...

I galloped behind the barn, began reloading my revolvers... the lack of shots from the roof worried me—my brother was clearly in some kind of trouble. I looked up just as a shadow blocked the moonlight, letting out a terrible howl... Without thinking, I fired both barrels... He was still falling toward me; I didn't want to know what was glinting in his hand... I crossed my revolvers and threw him over me, turned, and fired again... The body fell to the ground, I quickly turned my horse around, and ran back to the stable...

The corral was filled with smoke... I jumped off my horse and ran for the ladder. The roof was on fire... I saw my brother with an arrow in his back... Without thinking, I threw him on my back and carried him down the ladder... The horse was gone...

I ran outside, choking on smoke. The gunfire stopped, but somehow I couldn't believe the Indians had given up. Two horses stood around the corner... Beside one of them was that "dandy" that smelled of Pinkerton from a mile away... I put my brother on my horse.

"Delivery!" I shouted.

Flames were beginning to lick the outer walls of the building... The beams were creaking dangerously... I started toward the house, and then... I felt myself falling...

...My arm ached unbearably. I lay next to my brother, and all I could see of the building was burning rubble. Strangely enough, the horse was standing nearby... The dapper little fellow lay nearby. I mounted my unconscious brother on the horse in front of me and set off towards the fort... A ghostly cry of victory pursued me...

I don't remember much of the journey, only that the horse stumbled once, twice, and then collapsed... I shot the beast with a pang in my heart, for I had grown attached to him and he had pulled me out of many a tight spot... Then I remember marching with my brother on my shoulders... The sight of the fort and

the wagon pulling out... and then darkness...

I woke up in bed, with Rob lying next to me on the other bed. New Spencers lay by the headboard, and belts with polished revolvers hung on them... On a small table stood a bottle of fine whiskey... I fell asleep once again.