1 Chapter 1

Suddenly there were gunshots exploding into the air as loud as thunder, in rapid succession. Men with kerchiefs covering their faces backed out of the bank with their guns drawn, carrying dirty cloth bags filled with money. Just as the last robber was mounting his horse, he took a bullet, and fell.

“Johnny got hit!” one of the robbers yelled out as he pulled back on the horse’s reins, causing him to rear up.

“Looks like he’s dead!” Reno Stokes yelled out. “We can’t stop now; we gotta get out of here.”

In among shouts and blasting guns, they all jerked on their horse’s reins, turning them toward the end of town where they rode hell for leather, kicking up dirt and galloping hard. The injured man lay on the dusty street fighting for his life. Maybe the sheer will to live, or the fear of being caught pushed death away, but somehow, in all the confusion, he managed to crawl into the alleyway, and out of sight. He hid there until most of the excitement had died down, got to his feet and stumbled out, looking for his horse. When he didn’t find him he knew that in the wake of so much commotion his horse must have spooked, and rode off with the rest of the gang.

The man sank back down into the darkness, the pain in his chest taking him close to death. In spite of his agony, he began an awkward gait down the alley, hiding behind barrels, in corners, and under stairwells while a posse was being formed. When they finally rode out after the gang of outlaws, the town seemed empty and quiet. The townspeople that were left had taken their unrest out of the street, and into the Rough Rider Saloon. While they relived the whole thing over and over again, the injured man crawled out slowly, looked around, and then began to creep down the dark road, stumbling and staggering like a drunk from one shadow to another. He could feel his strength slowly leaving him with every step he took. He had to find some place to lie down and rest before he lost any more blood, and headed toward the soft hay in the town stable. While he stumbled, one foot in front of the other, he saw in the distance what looked like a row of gaudily colored tarps standing tall, whipping in the wind. As he got closer, he discovered that the tarps advertised freak shows of all kinds, such as acrobats, rope dancers, jugglers, a sword swallower, a bearded lady, and even burlesque shows.

He could tell it wasn’t big enough to be a circus, and knew it must be a struggling carnival or a sideshow. He staggered toward it, until he noticed that behind the tarps was a beat up circus train used for temporary housing of the performers. The train compartments stood in back of the larger tents where the exhibits were displayed. All were dark except one. The light drew him, so he continued on until he stopped and looked inside. There he saw the strangest sight he had ever seen in his life. It was difficult to tell if he was looking at a man or a woman since she was dressed in bloomers, and was cinching up a corset. She had bright red hair, green eyes, and sparkling red lips. Her heavy makeup covered a lantern jaw, strong chin, and her shoulders and back were muscled, but it all just seemed to flow down into the corset that struggled to give her strong body an hourglass figure.

The sight was so bizarre, he almost got dizzy trying to take it all in.

His gaze shifted around to the brightly ruffled costumes that were decorated with sequins and fringe. He also saw yards of silk lace, net stockings, garters, and built up bodices. In another corner were colorfully hued petticoats that were so stiff they stood up by themselves. On a false head he saw a wig, and lying beside it were scattered tins of colored balm, beeswax, olive oil and rosewater. Looking much like the legs of a spider, were strands of horsehair used to make eyelashes, and some kind of glittering dust for—whatever, he didn’t know. And then his gaze moved to something sparkling, and he saw a pistol, and a jeweled dagger lying side by side in among a mess of spilled powder.

Just when he thought that surely he had died and gone to some kind of bizarre hell, he fainted.

* * * *

Hearing a noise, the man in the bloomers and corset turned suddenly. There, lying in the mouth of the tent, he saw a stranger dressed in nothing but black from head to toe. The first thing he did was pull him inside and over to a less traveled area where he could loosen his clothes, and see how badly he was hurt. Even though he was looking right at him, the unconscious man’s face was full of shadows, but he recognized him. He could tell he’d been running, and it made sense that he might be a member of the Desperado Gang that had robbed the bank. When he looked at his face he got an impression of strong, stubborn male beauty as his hair wafted around his head like black smoke, its tendrils curling and moving as if it shifted in a nonexistent wind. Madness seemed to lurk in his face. Not an insane madness, but a quieter madness, somehow. He had an animal savagery about him, mixed with a great amount of humanity. He could tell that this man felt deeply, and countless expressions had passed across this handsome face in his lifetime. For some reason he wanted to get to know this stranger, to see each and every one of those expressions grace his face. Fear, anger, sadness, surprise, love, and yes, even hate. All of them, even now, seemed to stir just beneath the gleam of the sun’s rays.