Nunslinger 4

by Stark Holborn

Genres: Westerns

Synopsis

The True Tale of the how Wanted Fugitives Sister Thomas Josephine of St. Louis, Missouri and Abraham C. Muir made a Daring Escape from Capture and Raced for the Mexican Border. NUNSLINGER IV finds Sister Thomas Josephine and Abraham Muir friendless, penniless and on the wrong side of the law in the backstreets of Sacramento. Their only option is to flee for Mexico... with half the Union Army on their trail.

Release date: March 13, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 80

Sample

CHAPTER EIGHT

As vinegar to the teeth, and smoke to the eyes

 

My exit from the store was far less dignified than my entrance, for I was hampered by the strangeness of my new clothes. The bodice wrapped tightly about my chest and waist. Perhaps the woman for whom it was intended would have thought it a good fit, but to me, the close-fitting fabric felt akin to going naked after the shapeless habit.

Once outside I did my best to straighten the garment. Abe had insisted that I also take new boots, a bonnet and shawl. I had chosen the most humble ones I could find. Now, I placed the hat firmly upon my head, wrapped myself in the shawl, for comfort more than warmth.

Abe, on the other hand, had looted the entire store. There was no denying the guilt I felt when I considered my hand in the theft, yet most of all I disliked the stolen dress that told a lie to the world.

It was a necessity, I repeated to myself. After a struggle, I placed the old habit from Sacramento onto a pile of refuse. My fingers sought the rosary hidden in my pocket as I waited for Abe. He scrambled down into the alleyway a moment later, wearing a new coat and hat and carrying a bulging bag.

‘Heard voices out front,’ he whispered rapidly, checking over his shoulder. ‘We better move.’

We hurried into a dark street, then another, Abe limping as he went, until music and brightness began to leak from saloons onto the stalls that lined the muddy road.

‘Damn misers didn’t leave any cash there,’ Muir muttered, hefting at the sack. ‘Reckon I’ve enough here to pawn, though . . .’ His voice trailed off as he looked me over.

I followed his silent gaze down to the dress I wore.

The gown was dark and plain but well made. In the light I could see that it was the color of mahogany, a hint of red in its depths. Thankfully, the shawl I had chosen appeared to be black; I glanced up at the bonnet, also black.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ I demanded, self-consciously.

Pink crept up his neck and he looked away.

‘Jus’ stranger than I thought, to see you like that,’ he mumbled, before shaking the sack once again. ‘Hope this’ll do fix our fare. Got some fine gloves, buckles, even a fur or two in here.’

‘Perhaps what we have done is necessary, Abraham Muir, but it does not mean I shall take any joy from it,’ I said, my voice crisp as I tried to beat back my embarrassment. ‘What of those we have stolen from? What of their misfortune?’

‘No doubt they already know a man’s got to take what he can in a world like this,’ Muir retorted. ‘You seemed to understand that an hour ago.’

In sullen silence we made our way through the thoroughfare. I tried to pray as we trod the streets – for our sin, and for those who had driven us to commit it, and for those whom we had wronged. By and by, Abe found a trader and began haggling for the belt buckles. Unhappily, I turned away. The next stall over was stacked with trinkets and curios. In a basket that hung from a nail, something caught my gaze.

Paper flowers. Their brightness seemed at odds with the gloomy street. Once, I had carried such a bundle in my arms, clean and perfect against my grimy skin. I remembered how it felt trying to protect them from the elements. Twisted paper and thread – that was all they were, yet they seemed to hold a magic of their own. I pushed a few aside, reaching, despite myself, for petals of an impossible blue.

‘Sister,’ Abe was at my arm. I snatched my hand away, in time for him to shake a handful of coins into my palm. ‘That’ll do for some supper. There’s an eatin’ house over yonder. Looks good enough. I’ll meet you there; got to finish some business.’

I felt his arm at my sleeve once again. One of the pistols slid into my grip. I looked at him inquiringly.

‘You can’t be too careful, Sister. This is a dangerous town,’ he murmured.

Resolu. . .