Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny by Tempe O'Kun

year, the deputy and I tracked down another thief who robbed Hayes’ store. We found the man in a deep ravine, only a few hours dead. Never could prove Hayes had a paw in the killing, but who else would have? The lion would have us think that he just fell down the canyon and broke his neck.
    I stop at the post office and mail a letter to County Records, researching political decisions that went in favor of Hayes. It’s a long shot, but it might give me some hints as to just where his crooked dealings lie. I’ve been trying to track down some of his former cronies, but anyone who falls out of his favor seems to posses the good sense to leave town. I have Harding on the scent of some leads too. Maybe I’ll luck out and find he has history of unsolved robberies, though that seems a bit much to hope for. If Six is right and this was a front for sending bribes around, that money won’t be coming up on anybody’s books. The lion runs a tight ship, more so than his uncle before him.
    Were Hayes a less reputable citizen, I’d ask around town. As it stands, I’d get nothing but looks. What’s worse, it would be unprofessional if I just started digging through gossip in the hope of pinning Hayes. Seems likely to earn me a bullet in the guts too.
    All in all, I think patience is the way of it. Life’s a prickly pear out here— you have to take time to burn off the spines before you can enjoy it.
    If only I could stop thinking about that damn bunny.
     

 
     
    Sometimes, you just need to crush the life out of something to feel yourself again.
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
     
    I’ve always had a rotten temper, the kind that sears and throbs like a bad tooth. Back east, I was Father’s blunt instrument. The family held me back as a threat, setting me loose when somebody challenged the natural order a little too much. The rest of the time, I was just too eager for violence. I see that now. Had I seen it a decade sooner, I might not have slashed out Big Dog Theo’s eyes and they might not have sent me out here.
    I don’t lose control like I used to. Some of it might be age, but I reckon the bulk of it comes from having no one else to stop me. Morris knows I’d relieve him of his lower half if he got in my way. Mary Elizabeth ceased caring what I do long before we came out here, being now much more interested in anyone else’s husband but her own. I don’t care who she lifts her tail for, so long as word doesn’t get around. Challenging a lion’s authority like that is often the last thing a fella does. Or a woman.
    Life’s all about control. Control yourself and you’ll stalk down new opportunities. Control your mate and men and they’ll raise you up. Control your enemies and you’ll come out on top. Control your resources and you’ll stay there.
    One of the resources I’ve kept over the years is the cult. They’re my blunt instrument. Like a club, they’re unwieldy and destructive, but cheap and ready at hand. For the price of supplies and showmanship and some half-recalled Swahili my grandfather babbled in his toothless years, with a healthy helping of words I made up for good measure, they’re truer than a gold bar. All that acting’s a bargain. Having a few dozen hired guns backing you is one thing, but having that many crazed followers makes other folks in the business think twice before muscling in on you. I can’t count the number of times that hesitation has saved me and mine. All thanks to the ore.
    My eyes catch the shine of black lacquer across the red dirt. This is no Wells Fargo coach. I spur my pony around to face it. A team of four sleek ponies pulls the stagecoach into view. A matched set, they’re gray on the top and black-belled as storm clouds. Wherever Mei Xiu found them, they must have cost her dear.
    The stage pulls up beside me, covered in a fine layer of red dust. The door opens, and silk flows out like a waterfall, taking the form of a tall, powerful tigress. She moves like a statue given breath: