Silly Stories, Vignettes, Filks and such
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun shining hard on the Mexican desert. My partner was wearing his powder-blue suit, and I was in my dark brown one. We were neat, clean, shaved, and sober, and we didn't care who knew it. We were everything the well-dressed former outlaw ought to be. We were calling on several million dollars, and about twice again their equivalent in pesos.
The entrance to the Armendariz place was high and gated, and guarded by half a dozen goons with sombreros and shotguns. One of them asked us our business, and when I told him that Senor Armendariz had requested our presence personally, he raised his eyebrows, but he didn't move. It wasn't until I showed him the telegram that he stood aside and let us in the gates.
Senor Armendariz was waiting for us personally, when we reached the entrance of the hacienda. He was dressed in his usual short jacket and embroidered trousers, and looked quite the grandee. "I suppose you are wondering why I have summoned you?"
"Yeah," I said. "We were."
"Well, you see, Mr. Heyes, Mr. Curry, you have behaved most resourcefully on behalf of my old adversary, Mr. McCreedy. I am of hopes that you will be equally helpful to me."
"What did you have in mind, Senor?"
"It is my two daughters. They are being blackmailed."
My partner spoke for the first time. "Daughters? I didn't know you had any daughters."
I sighed to myself. If one of them was pretty, the Kid's concentration would be shot. If both of them were, we might as well cross back over the border right now.
Armendariz clapped his hands, and two young women entered the room. However, they were nothing like the dutiful senoritas you would have expected. The first one to enter was a blonde. She looked like trouble on legs. She was pretty, all right, but there was something hard and cynical about her gaze, as she strode into the room.
"My daughter Linda," he explained. "And here comes my daughter Carmen. Their mother was an American."
If the blonde looked like trouble, this one looked like a small war, as she floated into the room. She was an attractive little redhead, with a dreamy gaze -- the gaze of a dope fiend. "Hi!" she giggled. "Do you think I'm pretty?" She stuck the end of her thumb in her mouth and pouted prettily. She was young, but she wasn't that young.
At this point the fragment breaks off . . .
Well, thought Clementine Hale, it's taken me long enough to track them down, but here they are. The two of them: the dark-haired leader of the partnership, with his clever plans, and his ready wit. And the blond one, with his youthful sense of chivalry, his loyalty, his good heart.
"Hey, boys!" she cried out, and the two men whirled to see her running down the street, long skirts gathered in her hands.
"Clem! It's Clem!" they both exclaimed delightedly.
And as she ran to them, they bowed down to the ground in front of her, crying out, "We're not worthy!!"
"Hey, Wayne, hey, Garth!" she said. "How are you boys doing?"
"Party on, Clem!" said Garth.
"She likes us, she really likes us!" said Wayne to the camera, with a smile.
(Webmistress note: This one probably belongs in some kind of Bulwer-Lytton contest, but it actually came about during a long discussion some time ago about cannibalism and how it just wouldn’t work in an ASJ story…)
It was a dark and stormy night and out on the trail, Heyes and Curry sat huddled near a blazing campfire, trying to keep the cold and wind at bay.
Heyes reached for the spit and tore off a piece of meat and wiped his mouth after he bit off a piece. "Hey, Kid. Got any salt?"
"Look, you're already eating my leg! Find your own damned salt!" Curry snapped.
And the biting wind continued to whip around them at Donner Pass...
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