Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(26)
Lewis’s eyes fluttered open. When he saw Anna, he slowly rose to his feet with a scowl. His face was still a mess from the broken bottle. Clearly the doctor had paid him a visit, but the wound dressings looked somewhat inadequate.
Anna turned back to the sheriff. “Do you mind if I have a moment alone with him?” she asked.
“Go right ahead,” he replied, seemingly eager to return to his whittling.
Anna stared at Lewis. “You dumb asshole,” she said softly.
“Shut up,” he barked. “I didn’t know who he was. And besides, he was all up in my face, you saw—”
“You shot the pastor’s son. You realize they’re probably gonna hang you.”
Lewis moved closer to the bars and lowered his own voice. “Oh, is that what they’re sayin’? Well, who gives a fuck? When Clinch gets in to town, it’s not gonna matter what they do. He’ll bust me out, and anyone who tries to stop him is gonna be a dead man.”
“You know something?” she said, starring him down with conviction. “One of these days there’s gonna be a man who’s faster than Clinch. And stronger. And smarter. And then Clinch is gonna be the dead man. And I’m gonna smoke a big, fat fucking cigar to celebrate.”
Lewis took another step closer to the bars. Anna did not step back. “I don’t think Clinch would like you talkin’ about him that way,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Not a nice thing for a man’s wife to say about her husband.”
“Well, we’ll see if he gets here in time, huh?” she said, a hint of a smile creeping into her expression. “Tick tock.”
His hand lashed out at her, but she moved swiftly out of its reach with a ballerina’s grace. She whirled around and was gone.
The fairgrounds bustled and buzzed with the once-a-year gathering of visitors from three different towns: Sherman Creek, Bullhead, and Old Stump. The result of the aggregation was a crowd of a size rarely seen in these sparsely populated regions of the frontier. Merchants cried their wares, bakers and cooks displayed all manner of elaborate confections, and barkers hollered and gesticulated as they attempted to lure passersby toward the games, contests, magicians, and exotic animals that peppered the normally barren desert landscape. It was an uncomfortably hot day as usual, and Albert wiped his soaking-wet forehead with his sleeve as he rode up to the entrance. As he reined in and dismounted, he heard a familiar shuffling sound behind him.
Baaa! Baaaa!
He turned around just in time to see two of his sheep hurrying to catch up.
“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered. “Did you guys follow me all the way from home? No! Get outta here! Go home! Jonathan! Andrew! Go!” The sheep stared at him with puzzled looks on their fluffy faces, before reluctantly turning and awkwardly shuffling back in the other direction. Albert sighed as he tethered Curtis to a wooden hitching post.
“Hey, sheepboy!” a familiar voice called out.
Albert turned to see Anna trotting up on a brown horse that almost matched the color of her hair. She wore a light-green dress with a white flower pattern, and her hair was down, the curly locks spilling over her shoulders in a carefree yet elegant fashion. She’d worn it up the night of the saloon brawl, and Albert observed that she looked decidedly more feminine today. She greeted him with a broad smile.
“Hey.” He waved to her, wondering how anyone with a sibling who had recently been arrested for murder could be in such apparent high spirits. “Jesus, I heard about your brother,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, dismounting from her horse. “And, Albert, do not worry about Lewis. Anything that happens to him right now is his own fault. Got it?” The lightness in her tone was undeniable. She really didn’t seem to be bothered at all.
Albert shrugged, deciding not to press the matter. “Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Good!” She playfully tipped his hat forward over his eyes. “ ’Cause you know what I wanna do?”
“Um … eat hot food in hundred-degree weather?”
“No.” She laughed. “Get my picture taken. I’ve never done it before.”
“That’s horseshit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“No, I mean, that’s horseshit. Be careful.”
They sidestepped the mound of equine leavings.
“Come on, let’s go!” Anna grabbed his hand, and he almost face-planted in the dirt as she broke into a run, pulling him toward the busy fairground.
They made their way through the excited, perspiring throng toward a painted wooden sign reading PHOTOGRAPHS! MADE BY LIGHTNING AND GOD HIMSELF! Albert had had his photograph taken only a few times in his life, but the technology always intrigued him. He watched as a family of six clustered together in front of the large wooden camera.