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  He told her he would ride back to the campsite to check on it before anything got started. Janie agreed it would be a good idea but asked him to leave her some money so that she could pick up whatever she needed at the mercantile. He handed her a one hundred dollar banknote from the loot. It was overkill though. He could have given her a Double Eagle and been fine (a Double Eagle is a $20 gold coin). A last kiss, and he was off on his errand. He stopped by the store himself and purchased a canteen and a half pound of jerky.

  He reached the stable and Smitty met him at the big door.

  "Well met, Smitty. How goes the progress with my mare?"

  Smitty replied, "It should be any time now. Her demeanor is telling. See how she breathes?"

  "That's great! I want to surprise Janie with her 'twofer' as you call it." He responded with a good-natured clap on Smitty's back.

  Clint saddled up the stallion and headed out of town. Scanning the woods as he rode, he checked the timbers as he passed by. He finally came to the spot and found the marks on the trees. His stallion turned on to the faint trace at the junction. The surefooted steed followed the trail until they came across the clearing.

  He pulled up just short of the open space where Janie and he had first discovered the change. A cursory glance showed no change in the looks of the clearing. Something was odd. He heard faint noises not part of the forest sounds. Clint cautiously dismounted and tied the horse to a small sapling near the entrance to the glade. Edging around the first structure, he drew his pistol and stealthily entered his tent. He found nothing was amiss after carefully examining the interior of his tent.

  Clint just as quietly moved over to Janie's tent. A tingle up his spine caused him to stop short. He returned to the back of the tent. Using caution, he moved the bottom part of the flap aside and peeked in. He slipped into Janie's tent as quietly as he could. Crouched to the side of the door was a shady-looking character with his revolver drawn. The man brushed up against the tent which masked the movement caused by Clint as he entered through the rear of the tent. There was a pile of cases between Clint and the tent opening, so the man couldn't see him. Once set, Clint cocked his revolver. The man froze at the sound.

  "Slowly, and I mean slowly, drop your gun and stand up," Clint demanded.

  The intruder complied, taking care to place his gun on the ground and stand up, his hands raised over his head.

  "Don't shoot, Mister," the grubby soul pleaded. "I didn't mean no harm. I thought someone abandoned these here tents."

  "Do me a favor," Clint drawled. "Move your sorry ass over to that other corner and sit quiet like."

  "Yes, Sir. I will."

  Clint took the man's pistol and studied it. It was a 32-20 Colt that had seen much better days. Clint even wondered if it would fire. He still flipped the loading cover open and extracted all the shells. Even they looked old, and neither man doubted that they would misfire 3 times out of 5. At least the fellow had sense enough to keep that one-cylinder empty for safe carrying.

  Clint tossed the revolver onto a sack nearby and holstered his own weapon. "Look and learn." Clint said guessing what the guy was thinking.

  He showed his skill as he drew the shiny silver-plated Colt and returned it before the dude could blink twice.

  The man watched the action and just sat back, a resigned look spread across his countenance and he bought his wrists up for Clint to tie. Once secure, Clint made him stand again, and they both marched out of the canvas edifice. Taking seats on a handy log, Clint did the questioning. He convinced himself after half an hour of interrogation that the stranger was only a vagrant who stumbled upon the campground and was seeking to claim squatter's rights.

  "OK, Mr. Van Horn. I will untie you. You have seen me draw. You know that you wouldn't have a chance if you crossed me. I'll release you if you give me your word."

  Van Horn quickly agreed.

  "Look, I can't help but believe you're an honest man deep down. I have this feeling. So here is what I need to do," Clint decided. "Let's get something to eat first off. Then we'll think about outfitting you and maybe even get you a grubstake, so you can pull yourself back on your feet."

  "You mean it?" Van Horn asked in wonder. "You'd do that for a stranger? Even for one who sought to steal your stuff? Why?"

  "Let's say that I'm a real softy at heart. So we should see about some clothes. Stand up."

  They stood side by side and Clint eyeballed the man. He even placed his foot beside Van Horn's. Clint decided that the man was almost the same size right down to the boots and he knew there were spare clothes and boots that would fit.

  "Here, let's see about getting you cleaned up and you can try on these extra clothes I have."

  Clint got the bucket of rainwater and filled a basin. He brought them out and set the basin on the end of the log. He also brought out a bar of soap, a towel, a mug of shaving soap with a brush, a strop, and a straight razor that he'd gotten from the Cumberland General Store catalog. It was a sharp, finely honed blade of German steel. He stropped the razor and then handed it to Van Horn.

  "Wash up and get your face shaved. There's more water in that jug behind you. Use it. I will get you some better clothes while you do that."

  Clint left him to clean up while he re-entered Janie's tent to straighten things up from Van Horn's search of their belongings. That task didn't take long, and Clint emerged from the tent to find a totally different man there.

  "You clean up real good" Clint remarked. His appearance wasn't too bad.

  "My first name's Bruce, and you kin call me that." He told Clint about how he had lost everything in the post-war depression. His wife had died of the fever, and then Indians had raided and killed his son. Bruce was a broken man. He had resorted to stealing to survive.

  Clint retrieved his horse from the path and climbed up. He held his hand out. Bruce accepted it and swung up behind his new benefactor. The short trip to town turned out to be uneventful. Clint rode up to the hotel and tied his horse to the hitch.

  "Come with me," Clint suggested, "I have something for you in my room."

  Clint knocked on the door when they reached the room at the head of the stairs.

  "Well, hello sweethea... erk!" Janie squeaked and hid behind the door when she saw Bruce.

  "You should put something on, Dear. We have company. You might give him a heart attack dressed like that."

  Janie had answered the door wearing a smile and her birthday suit. The scarlet-faced blonde opened the door a minute later. She covered herself with a robe that concealed her form from head to toe. The two men entered the room and Clint motioned for Bruce to follow as he led the man to the chair where the excess weaponry was being stored.

  "This is Bruce Van Horn, Sweetheart. I met him over at the tents. He was protecting them from vandals when I came upon him," he said with a wink. Janie could see it, but Bruce couldn't.

  "Ain't no such thing, Ma'am," Bruce offered. "I found yur stuff and was fixin' to make off with whatever I could carry. I'm just a scoundrel, a no-good low-down unsuccessful one at that. Yur man there done made me clean up an' gives me these here clothes. I'm powerful sorry for my actions, Ma'am. I truly are."

  "Well, if Clint thinks you're worth saving, so do I," she replied. "If you'll excuse me for a minute, I'll make myself more presentable."

  Janie entered the bedroom and shut the door.

  "Look through this bag and tell me if there's anything in there that you'd want," Clint motioned to the bag as he spoke. "I picked up extra firearms the other day and you 'might' find something to your liking there."

  Bruce examined the contents of the bag for a minute and then replied, "This here holster rig sure is nice. I'll take that iff'n it's all right with you. As fer them there guns, well, I'll just have to wait on that. Not one of them worth a plug nickel and I'd most likely end up dead of a misfire iff'n I took one. Thanks anyway. We might use them fer parts. Same goes fer them long guns too."

  Clint gave him a knowing nod.
"Well, how about these?"

  He produced the good Colt and the Henry rifle, salvaged from the loot. Bruce's eyes opened wide in amazement. He recognized the rifle and the gleam of the gunmetal on the Colt impressed him.

  "They're yours if you want them," Clint offered with a smile.

  A thoroughly shocked Bruce was almost speechless. Almost. "How can I ever repay you for this? I am your man, I swear. Whatever you say, I am yours."

  Clint knew the truth of his words. He had made a life bond in that moment. Bruce would serve him no matter what. Janie looked on in amazement as she saw the change in the man as she reentered the sitting room.

  A single tear streaked Bruce's cheek. Janie came up to the two men and gently placed a kiss on Bruce's cheek as a sign of acceptance as Clint encircled her waist. With a twinkle in her eye, she goosed Clint.

  "Well, let's go get you a horse, too. Oh, and Janie, have you been lazing around, or have you already been to the mercantile?"

  Chagrined, she admitted she had been lazy and slept in after the rough night. She promised to go to the store as soon as the men left. Bruce was trying the Colt with the holster. The fit was almost perfect. A little working with the leather and saddle soap and it would be perfect. He took another moment to do a closer examination of the Henry. There weren’t any imperfections that he could find. The trigger pull was just like he would want it to be.

  Clint pointed out the 44-40 shells and Van Horn loaded up both weapons plus the bullet loops on the gunbelt. The two men left for the stable when he finished. Clint led the way and Bruce insisted on leading the horse.

  As they approached the stable, he called, “You about, Smitty?"

  The stableman stepped out of the shadows, shotgun in hand. "Well, what do we have here? Dried up, has ye?"

  "You know this man?" Clint asked.

  "He used to be a damned fine lawman until his wife died and his son was kilt in an Indian raid. Yeah, I know Van Horn. How ya been, Bruce?"

  "I've seen better days… and worse," Bruce stoically replied.

  "It's good to see you cleaned up some. So, what kin I do fer you, Clint? That there filly is still holding out."

  "I need to buy a horse for my friend here. Got any worth keeping? I want none that's going to the rendering plant, mind you," he said with a grin.

  All he needed to do was give Smitty one of the double eagles he'd received the other day. Bruce was the proud owner of a sixteen-hand roan gelding complete with the tack. Clint paid the added fee for its keep. Pleased with his gift, Bruce again pledged his undying loyalty.

  "You heard him, Smitty. I charge you with keeping the record. He pledged me his life bond, though I don't know why."

  "That is a pledge he can never break, except at death," Smitty sagely responded.

  Clint grinned and clasped Bruce's forearm once more. The two men walked away from the stable smiling. Smitty just shook his head in wonder as he watched them go.

  Clint and Bruce made their way back to the hotel. Clint paid for another room so that Bruce would have a place to sleep. He also gave the man a Double Eagle to make purchases at the store.

  "Make sure you get yourself a shaving kit, at the least." Clint directed. "You look a whole hell of a lot nicer without that scraggly stuff you had this morning. You should pick up an extra set of clothing too. I have extra shells for your guns, but you will want a cleaning kit to go with them."

  Then he sent him on his way. He saw Janie struggling with her arms loaded down with packages as she entered the hotel about that same time. He stepped down the stairs to assist his betrothed. They both carried her purchases to their suite.

  She spent the next hour showing off the clothing and notions and other stuff. Clint especially liked the period undergarments. They were a lot less revealing that what she had been wearing. They added to the mystery of the woman. She had purchased her own razor so that she could continue to shave her legs, keeping them smooth for her almost husband. She got the latest in bath salts and was eager to try them.

  "I got something for you too, Darling. I hope you like it."

  She had purchased a wedding present for Clint. It was a slightly used gold pocket watch with an attached fob. The watch was of peculiar design with many extra buttons that did who knows what. She had found it in the bottom of the miscellaneous bin at the store. The clerk hadn’t ever seen it before and only charged her two dollars for it since it was used. Clint pulled her close once more and put everything he had in the kiss he gave her. She went weak in the knees once again.

  He looked at the watch and asked if the time was correct.

  "The man at the telegraph office at the train station set it for me," Janie assured him. "The time conformed to the railroad; it was the official time of the nation. You know the iron horse rules the West."

  He closed the cover with care and slipped the watch into his vest pocket. It was a perfect fit. Clint took Janie by the hand and led her from the room, down the stairs, and out of the hotel. Bruce fell in behind outside the hotel. Clint led Janie down the walk until he stopped in front of the Millinery Shop. Janet Thompson greeted the trio as they entered. She knowingly smiled as Clint had described his bride to a T.

  "Come," Janet said as she led a questioning Janie into the back room and closed the door. The door opened again ten minutes later. Janet stepped out and nodded. She then stepped back to make space for Janie.

  To Clint the room brightened and then faded into nothingness as the view of her loveliness entered to room. Nothing would ever compare to the beauty he beheld now. The print of the dress was just the icing to the cake. The dress‘s fit was perfect. No, it was beyond that. Janie's wondrous torso filled a bodice so refined that the fabric fit like a glove. The cloth moved as she moved.

  Janie's smooth gait accented the flow of the skirt. Her hips flared just right, and the skirt's waistband rested on that flair. She turned and walked away from him. This view allowed him to gaze at the gentle lines of her strong back and shoulders. The lace at the shoulders stressed the almond color of her tanned neck and back.

  Janet had taken the time to make a loose French braid in Janie's hair. It cascaded down her back, blending with the smooth lines of the dress. The skin of her shoulders provided a contrast to the pastels of the fabric.

  "Oh my God," a dumbfounded Clint whispered, "You're beautiful."

  "Well now, why don't we round up a group of your new friends and others, and head for the preacher?" Janet suggested.

  Janie took Janet's hint. "Aggie agreed to be my Maid of Honor. I assume that Bruce will be your best man? And I think you would want to invite Smitty, Sheriff Smiley, and Doc Anderson. I'd like to have Mrs. Johnson and Janet here, come too. I think that we can get everyone to the church by two o'clock. What do you think?"

  "It's a little early, but go for it," he agreed. "Let's invite everyone!"

  Bruce took his best man's job seriously, and everyone in town knew about the wedding by two o'clock. They had either already arrived or were on their way to the church. Reverend Thomas Moore would be officiating.

  "Oh, please wait a minute, Bruce," Janie said as they approached the small white church. "I have someone who I'd like to introduce. Aggie, oh Aggie. Come over here a minute."

  She waited as her friend extracted herself from the clutch of women standing around. She noticed the handsome gentleman standing next to Clint as she made her way across the yard. Her eyebrows went up a notch when she also noted his reaction to her. She stood next to her new best friend, Janie. She nodded her head to the men, bashfully lowering her eyes at the same time.

  "Aggie, ah ... that is, Miss Eugenia Agnes Farnsworth, may I present you to Mr. Bruce van Horn, lawman, cowboy, farmer, Best Man, and life-debtor to my husband to be. Mr. Van Horn, Miss Farnsworth."

  Aggie performed a perfect curtsy as Bruce took her hand and kissed it. A crimson streak rose from the edge of her pale blue prairie dress. It spread across her chest and up her neck, giving a glow to her cheeks before e
nding at her hairline.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Van Horn. This is such a special day, with the wedding and all. I am sure that I will always remember this moment for as long as I live," she said, as she smiled at Bruce with such intensity that he was dumbstruck with her beauty.

  Clint saved the day after a pregnant pause, by explaining that Van Horn would join their enterprise and would be the chief ramrod for the outfit. He put a little extra emphasis on the word and noted the shiver that ran through the Maid of Honor. He also heard Bruce's feet shuffle as he tried to find a more comfortable standing position. He finally excused himself for a moment. He exited the room and returned a minute later in a more comfortable state.

  The wedding was about to begin.

  They filled the little church shepherded over by Reverend Moore to overflowing. Even Banker Barnes showed up, seated straight upright. Mrs. Johnson was picking at his suit for lint.