Prompt: There is an argument.
Setting: Western (late 1900s)
Randall squinted in the hot sun. He could make out dust clouds in the distance and hoped that it was the herald of Cousin Jean’s arrival. He rubbed at his prickly chin, wondering if he should have taken the time to shave that morning, seeing that the coach was late anyway. Well, it was too late for that now. She would have to take him as he was.
The black and gold coach stopped outside the post office.
“Howdy, stranger,” Randall greeted the coachman. “Welcome to Renaissance. You be carrying Cousin Jean?”
The man looked him up and down. “No,” he replied gruffly, turning away, his eyes stripping the small outpost town.
“Ah, well. Come in through Targe, did you?”
“No.” He threw the reins down to Randall who caught them deftly.
“Kris or Villein then?”
“What’s it to you?”
Randall shrugged. “See any other travellers coming out your way?”
The coachman ignored him and entered the building. Randall tied the reins to a nearby post and went back to surveying the horizon.
The new dust cloud that appeared fifteen minutes later didn’t look big enough to be another coach. Randall shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to get a better look. The woman who came galloping in at full speed was furious - Randall could tell by the set of her mouth, the lines of her eyebrows. He was fairly sure the shade of her face was more to do with the blistering heat and dust than her current state of emotions.
“Why the hell did you steal my coach?” she yelled as she dismounted.
Randall looked around. “I…”
“Don’t deny it! And you dare stand here, waiting for me to catch up with you? What the hell is wrong with you?” She had him pressed against the wall of the post office, pounding his chest with each word.
“But Ma’am, twasn’t me! The man, he…”
“It was you, Mr. Fuzzy Face! Now own up. I had to borrow this lousy horse that I have to take all the way back to Assart!”
“Look here, woman, you can’t simply go around accusing people you don’t know of stealing your coach.” He could feel the heat rising to his ears.
“Don’t woman me. I recognise your shoddy face and dusty clothes. Stupid country men!”
He caught her hand mid-punch, making her wince.
“I’ll woman you if I want to!” he growled. “The man from off the coach just walked into this here building. Now why don’t you go in and yell at him, then? Now leave me alone. I’m waiting for my cousin.”
Read part two.
Read part three.