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 Shannon O’Brien’s full lips pursed at her mistress’s disapproving glare.  

  “You’ve laced me too tight Shannon. I need my morning pip,” Lacey Greene irritability quipped to her spry little Irish maid. “This retched place is dusty and so hot I can’t get my proper breath!”

 “Well, I’m fresh out of laudanum Miss high and mighty.” Shannon sarcastically replied. Lacey whirled around to face the little maid with her hands on her hips.

 “Oh, shut up Shannon! You wouldn’t know and besides I told you to bring enough along when we left Boston!” They were in Fort Yuma waiting for the Butterfield Stage line. Originally called Camp Calhoun, the Fort was the last outpost in California. Built over a former Mission for protection of immigrant travel from the Yuma Indians, it sat on the west bank of the Colorado River.

  Shannon’s face reddened. “Tight-lacin’ is no better than what the Chinese do to crush their wee baby gerl’s feet to keep’um tiny. Besides, me agreement was with ye Uncle, not ye, Miss Greene!” Her Irish brogue was thick and angry sounding as she stood defiantly with hands on her hips.

  Lacey angrily searched inside the handbag that dangled from her wrist finally pulling out an envelope. She shook it at Shannon.

 “This letter from my father arrived in the post Feb 20^th 1859, at Uncle Waldo and Aunt Katherine’s and was addressed to me! Uncle Waldo had nothing to do with it. I made the decision to come! You answer to me!”

  William Greene, in his letter, had demanded that Waldo, Lacey’s guardian, immediately send his daughter out west to his huge ranch in the Arizona Territory. Lacey was not yet eighteen and Waldo McBride had no choice but to honor the wishes of her father, who under law, held parental rights even in absence.

  Lacey continued. “Listen you indentured wench, my affairs are none of your business! You choose to not wear a corset or proper formal fitting clothing. I find that behavior to be insipid. It’s shameless at best, that loose cotton clothing and lack of structured underclothing swathe your body openly exposing your feminine curves. It’s scandalous and immodest! You’re nothing but an insolent, rude, submissive little servant girl who does not have the slightest idea of what being a lady means. Your lack of discipline will invite more than looks from these half-wild men that lurk around here! They can see too much of your figure Shannon, it’s shameful!”

  Shannon muttered low in Gaelic in response to Lacey’s tongue lashing.

 “What did you say?” Lacey coldly retorted.

 “Such a poor little rech gerl, why don’t ye just admit it all ye do is tight-lace for display jest to draw attention to that tiny perfect flower waist of yours! I didn’t see ye prancin’ about on that steamer that ye Uncle saw fit to put us on with ye corset all tight-laced and such. Ye had a nice room to be comfortable in. Jest think Missy, if ye would have had to ride this retched newly formed stage we be waitin for, all the way from St. Joe, Missouri to this God-forsaken place as your father wanted then ye might have something to complain about!” 

  Lacey was a beautiful girl, exotic looking, like royalty from some foreign country. Her unruly dark hair shimmered with coppery highlights framing her tiny oval face with full savory lips that in an instant could change from gentle softness to tumultuous wrath. But it was her eyes that commanded instant attention. Huge and round, they were the color of spring violets with thickly rimmed dark lashes. Small, not more than ninety pounds and finely built, Lacey was used to living in privileged wealth and lavish comfort, sheltered and spoiled with a naive opinion of reality, at least until now.

 Lacey’s eyes narrowed. She was taken back at Shannon’s cutting remarks and hated to admit it, but knew the spunky maid had a point. Lacey’s blood was boiling now and she was furious with Shannon.

 “When I reach my father’s ranch, unlike you, I shall arrive with my decorum in tack. This journey has been taxing, granted, but with all due respect Shannon, this will be worth the effort as I shall receive my rightful inheritance. After all, my father has proven that he cares for me and in his letter he did say that I am his only child and therefore heir to his huge estate. Frankly my little Irish tweet, I don’t give a dam what you think, for I will be wealthy and live in posh comfort with all the things my heart desires. My father will spoil me and treat me like a queen and then perhaps I will marry and become a governor’s wife!” She finished and gave her little maid a smug and contemptuous look.

 “He will spoil ye! I think not! When ye reach yer father’s ranch I fear ye will find somethin’ ye no wish to know, mark my words! Ye own father sent a stranger to fetch us at Phineas Banning’s Port of San Pedro in Los Angeles. Don’t tell me ye already forgot the hours we waited in that cold stinkin’ port. He don’t care for ye, he didn’t come to get ye but sent a stranger in his stead to put us on the stage here. Now we stand in wait in this awful place. Me thinks that ye father tis a coward and a braggart who thinks of no one but himself! ” Shannon retorted back hotly.

  “Shannon!” Lacey did not need to be reminded who her father had sent. The Don, José Machado, had announced he was from Rancho La Ballona, near the port of San Diego. The letter he produced had William Greene’s name embossed into the letterhead. Disappointed and frightened, Lacey realized Shannon was right, William Greene could not be trusted, but she did not want to share that tidbit of information with Shannon.  

  “Gerl, yer fashion and style tis not what brought us here, tis ye greed, plain and simple.” Shannon poked Lacey with a finger.

   “That will be enough! How dare you Shannon! You know nothing of style and fashion and you have no right to speak to me that way, or in that tone! There are heathen men all around here and they might hear you. Now hush up!”

  Shannon was speechless. She hated Lacey’s superiority and smugness but knew better than to further an argument that would only make her mistress angrier. She was too upset to care about any silly men and drew her sultry mouth into a pout.

  Lacey continued to lecture Shannon feeling smug she had finally got the better of the fiery little maid. “Uncle Waldo was very generous to you Shannon. He has placed you in my care instructing that I am to release you from your last year of servitude when we arrive at my father’s estate. You should be grateful. Now stop whining.”  Lacey sighed and worried that Shannon was right. What was to happen to her?

  A sudden wind gust caught her dress and made her cage crinoline swing up as she frantically tried to control one side, while Shannon held the other.  The only shade around was an ancient looking lean-to in front of an old adobe which gave little to no protection from the blowing dust or the searing heat that made them uncomfortably hot. To make things worse, unwanted stares from uncouth trappers, frontiersmen, and soldiers milling about the worn adobe mercantile made Lacey think them barbaric at best with their odd clothing and strange articles they wore. Most acted as if they had never before seen a properly dressed young woman in lady-like attire showing good breeding, high culture, and discipline.

  Women here were brazenly dressed in nothing more than thin sleeveless peasant blouses with thin narrow skirts. Shameless!

Uncle Waldo had felt a woman ought to stay within her sphere, keep a home comfortable for her husband, dutifully bear his children and please society with her limited education. Lacey recalled how irate he had become with Aunt Katherine for putting “crazy notions of independence” into his niece and daughter’s head. He insisted that Katherine step up her schooling in the necessity of dressing as all girls in good social standing did, for fear of the icy chill that society would cast upon the McBride women if she did not.  Great effort had been given, not only to instruct in proper dress, but in the virtues of innocence, as all Victorian women were, and to make sure they were devoid of any animal like feelings such as sexual love.

  Lacey smoothed her blue and white silk bodice on her stylish tea dress with mesh net gloved hands and opened a dainty parasol to shield her soft skin from the blistering mid-day June sun. How long must they stand here in this retched place? She shot Shannon another contemptuous look and tugged at her bodice. She was growing impatient. Thick wavy heat loomed over the dusty street like an oven making it absolutely unbearable.

  “Why don’t I ever listen?” She mumbled, not realizing her spoken words reached the still sulking Shannon’s ears.

   “Aye, ye should have listened to Mr. McBride, more of a father than the real one to ye.” Shannon gladly took the opportunity to chastise Lacey again, shaking a finger at her. “If ye own father cared he wouldn’t ‘ave left his seck wife and wee child to go looking for his pot o’ gold. After ye mother died, Mr. McBride took ye in, no? Aye, Miss Lacey, I certainly would have known better than to try and peck off a dangling carrot that’s been put in me face like a cart pony, simply for teasing gerl, just to get ye to do something, don’t ye see?” 

  “You know nothing about me Shannon, or my father. It’s none of your business!” Lacey retorted in anger. Her feelings of being abandoned and left an orphan and her survival depending wholly on the goodness of others lay heavy in her.

  “Aye, but I do Miss. I know what loneliness ‘tis.  I know what it does to the spirit it can make sane folk insane in need to prove worth. They fight like Kilkenny cats for it too!”

  Lacey didn’t answer, her mood had turned dark. Silence settled over them until Shannon poked her hard in the ribs with a finger.

  “Look!”  She hissed. 

   Lacey felt her spine tingle. Two men approached. One was an inch perhaps two under six feet and powerfully built with head thrust forward in unmistakable intent. An intense fixed stare glared from eyes hidden beneath the wide brim of a black felt hat. A shorter, squattier built man walked several paces behind him. She tried to subdue her panic and calmly assess the situation.

  “Miss Lacey?” Shannon whispered next to her ear.

  “Shhh!” Lacey hissed back through her teeth.

  The taller one held a devious look on his gaunt grim face that made her skin crawl. Strands of black greasy hair trailed down from beneath his hat to the shoulders of the filthy buckskins he was clad in. A thick black mustache covered his upper lip. The other man had darker skin and wore a sombrero tied tightly under his chin with a leather thong. His eyes held the unmistakable glaze of lust. A wide red sash circled his waist and a scabbard with sword hung to one side over baggy pantaloons.

  The men brazenly moved close to them. Without a word, the tall man reached for her, grabbing her shoulders as his calloused hands caught on the silk material of her bodice. His body was stinking and his hot breath on her cheek reeked of whiskey. Lacey grimaced and shrank back as Shannon let out a squeal when the other man grabbed for her. From the corner of her eye, Lacey saw the man roughly shove Shannon down the walkway, towards the end of the building. Shannon pushed at the man and he slapped her hard across her face.

  “I have me a live one here! How’s yours McGinnis?”  The man said laughing as he pushed Shannon again.

   “Real pretty, smells nice too.”  The words slurred near Lacey’s ear making her shutter.

  “Leave us alone!” Lacey commanded with as much authority in her voice she could muster and tried to desperately wiggle free of the man’s firm hold on her shoulders. He snickered and tightened his grasp, his fingers like iron. She cast her eyes downward but could still feel his burning eyes on her face. Boldly she looked up past his face, her eyes darting around for anyone who would help them, but no one seemed to care. How did she get into this mess? She saw his lips move then curl slightly.

  “No one’s coming to help you pretty lady, ‘magine that?” His sarcastic words were punctuated with a short laugh. He drew his mouth close to her, his breath fetid as it blew across her face, hissing between missing front teeth. Tiny droplets of moisture glistened on her skin as she mustered her courage and spat out at him again.

 “You better leave us alone. My father will be here in just minutes.  When he sees what you are doing…” she barely got the words out before he grinned wolfishly.

  “Naw, no one’s comin’, we’ve been watching you.”  His taunting voice low as he stroked the side of her head. She tried to move her face.  Instantly he grabbed a fistful of her dark hair, cruelly pulling it out of the neat bun she had at the base of her neck.  Lacey tried to hit him with her parasol but he grabbed it and threw it to the side then savagely wrenched her head back even further with his other hand. Lacey blinked back hot tears fighting to stay on her feet. She saw the glint in his hand before she felt the cold hard steel of his knife blade against her throat. Oh dear God, he’s going to kill me a voice screamed inside of her head. She immediately stopped struggling and went limp, her huge eyes staring at her captor’s face.

  He lowered his knife after a few sizzling moments. “That’s better. Now, you and your little bitch maid are gonna show us a real good time, aren’t you?” He brought his mouth up close with the intent of kissing her. Disgust rose up inside of her replacing fear as she struggled managing to turn her head away from his foul mouth which caused his rough lips to graze her cheek.

 “You little bitch!” His voice was filled with fury as calloused hands cupped her chin pinching her cheeks tightly between rough fingers jerking her head around to face him. Lacey squeezed her eyes shut as a gut wrenching scream came pouring out of her. Her hair felt as if it were being pulled out by the roots as a fierce jerk toppled her over into the dirty street. Through tangled hair that hung in dark ropes over her eyes, Lacey caught a glimpse of a man clad in beaded buckskins grab her assailant and shove him hard against the adobe walls of the mercantile. A large knife poised menacingly at the ruffian’s throat.

  “The lady asked that you leave her alone.” His voice low with words spaced evenly.

  “Who are you?” The man spat back at him. “Where’s my man?”

  “You mean the Cuchan? He can’t hear you.” The man wearing buckskins answered menacingly.

  Lacey saw Shannon out of the corner of her eye. The poor girl was clutching at the post of the adobe unsteadily with the man who had been pushing her crumpled in the dirt several yards away, crimson blood pooling around his head.

 “You dirty ‘pache breed.” The voice shook with hate as Lacey’s attention was drawn back to the two men.

  “Name’s McCallister does that sound like a breed to you?” The silky voice was coiled with threat as he pushed the man harder into the adobe wall.

  “Why do you care about them women? Hell they ain’t like all them other whore’s around here, all old and used up.” The man whined back.

 “Unless you’re plain stupid you can see from the way the one’s dressed that she isn’t a whore. Now, go have your fun someplace else. There’s plenty of young señoritas around that would be happy to oblige you. I’ll give you some free advice. Unless you want to end up like him, I would be mighty careful of the kind of partner I would take on from now on.” McCallister motioned towards the dead man, growling out the words between clinched teeth before letting the man go with a rough shake of his collar. Then he slowly backed away.

  Her assailant swallowed hard, bent down to retrieve his hat which had gotten knocked off in the scuffle, dusted it off on his pants leg and put it back on. Then he backed up slowly, keeping his eyes on McCallister. “I’ll be seeing you again, you kin count on it.”

 Stepping off of the boardwalk, he reached for the big bay tied in front of the cantina and in one swift motion loosened the reins and swung up on the horse’s back. With a cruel kick to the ribs of the animal, he galloped out of Fort Yuma, his horse seeming to favor its right front leg.

  McCallister remained silent and watched the man ride off before pulling back his beaded coat then slid his knife back into the sheaf hanging from the leather belt that circled his waist.

  In the meantime, Lacey had struggled to her feet and was trying to regain her composure. Shaking badly and not able to think clearly, she attempted to dust herself off when she felt the intent gaze of his eyes on her. Lifting her head, she stared back at the lean brown face shielded beneath the wide brimmed planter’s hat. It seemed like an eternity. She wanted to thank him for his assistance but something kept her from speaking. Shannon rushed over to put a comforting arm around Lacey then gently guided her to where the stage now sat. When Lacey turned back to look, he was gone.

  “This place, Fort Yuma is nothing but hell. I’m glad he killed him.”  Shannon angrily said punctuating the “glad”.

   Lacey shuddered to think what could have happened had the frontiersman not shown up when he did. She was ashamed she felt no remorse for the dead man and shared Shannon’s sentiment but did not want her to know she felt the same way. It simply was not proper.

  What had that awful man called him, a “breed?” She had read about his kind in dime novels, ruthless untamed heathen men, half-Indian, half-White, roaming the west, killing and stealing. She felt confused though, as he did not seem to fit that description. Oh, she was certain that he was a dangerous man alright, but there was something about him that did not fit that image...she shook her head to clear it, what was she thinking, the man was a killer.