The Unexpected Partner

Chapter 28

Over two years ago-

Aaron Jackson was on his way back to Creek Valley when he stopped in Cheyenne to see if there was anywhere to get a drink. He was parched. He had been in Wellings, a city close to Cheyenne, to pick up supplies for his family. It was dark, almost midnight, and there was not a single soul in the streets, but he was an eighteen-year-old boy that knew how to handle himself.

Riding his horse into the small town, he looked around the establishments to see a tavern with an open door. Fixing his hat and checking the pistol in his holster, he walked towards the door, praying that they would give him a glass of cold beer.

When he first walked in, he saw a horrendous scene. A robbery. There was a man with a cane, holding his revolver at the bar keeper's face.

Aaron knew he had to do something. He was taught by his parents and his older brother that in these situations, it was always best to stick up for the underdog. "Hey!" He called out. The two men both swung their heads in his direction.

Taking this as his opportunity, the bar keeper took the money box and jumped down, hiding behind the counter. He was trying to find his pistol, but it was nowhere in sight, realizing that the robber must have taken it. The bar keeper felt stupid for not suspected the crippled man.

"What are you doing?" Aaron yelled at the man with the cane.

The man with the cane was Jake. Jake Flenning.

Jake was furious that someone this late at night had interrupted the robbing. The robbery that he was hoping to score big in, so big that he and his brothers would leave Montana and head for California. He had been planning this for months: staying late to see who came in and out and strategizing the best time for him to strike. But the blonde-haired boy standing in front of him was not part of the plan. "Boy, I suggest you stay out of this!"

"No!" Aaron replied, reaching for his pistol. "You need to lower your pistol."

Jake glared at the boy. "Put yours down before I do something we both will regret."

"Is that a threat?" Aaron asked, walking closer. Jake felt panic that this boy was going to ambush him, and he would not be able to defend himself. After all, the revolver in his hand was all that he had going for him.

"Stop!" Jake yelled. Aaron did the opposite. He jumped in Jake's direction but before he could reach him to get the pistol, a loud blast erupted through the dark establishment. A noise that Aaron did not know he would ever hear so closely.

The pistol fired and hit Aaron straight in the chest, causing him to fall on the wooden floor. The bar keeper, Frank Thompson, stood up and saw the scene, the man with the cane had shot the boy that was trying to stop the robbery.

Frank leaped forward to grab the man's pistol, but he was also too slow. A shot was fired and hit Frank in the arm causing him to yell out in pain and fall to the floor.

"You bastard!" Frank yelled at him.

Jake did not know what to do at the moment. He knew that someone in town must have heard the blasts and would be coming soon, so he did what he knew to do when put in these situations. He aimed his gun, wanting to shoot Frank again and kill him. However, when he fired, nothing came out. The revolver was empty. He scolded himself for not putting enough bullets in but decided that he would leave it near Frank to make it look like he was the one that shot the boy.

Jake quickly took his cane and looked at the scene in front of him. The boy was lying face down, in a pool of blood while Frank was sitting against the wall holding his bleeding arm. Jake felt a little remorse for the boy, but he couldn't do anything. He was the one to impose, Jake thought, trying to rid himself of the guilt. But there was little guilt to begin with. The art of detachment was something Jake had perfected ever since his parents died and his leg became limp.

He stumbled to the back door and quickly exited the tavern. Once he was out, he fretfully looked around to make sure no one had seen him. When it was all clear, he limped quickly in the town and made his way to the Marshall's house.

Knowing that the town marshal wouldn't suspect him if he was the one to tell him, he went straight to his office. Once he reached the place, he knocked aggressively on the door. After no one responded at first, he knocked on the door again. This time, the Marshall's footsteps could be heard running down the stairs as a sleepy old marshal opened the door in his nightshirt and dark pants.

"Jake?" The marshal asked. "What is it, son?" The marshal knew the Flenning brothers, but he had yet to hear of all the bad things they had done. He was simply nice to them because of pity; he felt bad that they had lost both their parents. The pity was greater for Jake since he was the one that was most affected.

Jake tried to sound shocked and fearful by replying in a breathless voice, "There was... there was a shooting at the tavern!"

"What!" The marshal exclaimed.

"Frank shot a boy! A robber!"

The marshal ran to the coat hanger and grabbed his long coat. He also put on his hat and holster. "Where are they?" He asked, running out the door and closing it behind him. Jake pointed to the Tavern that was two buildings down, noticing a couple people already at the door to see what had happened. Cheyenne was a town of caring people after all.

Jake tried to keep up with the marshal as he ran down the dirt street. When he finally reached the Tavern, the people were talking outside.

"Frank shot the boy!"

"The boy's dead!"

"Who is he?"

The few people standing outside were too scared to go in, but the marshal walked past them. What he saw when he entered the tavern was a sight he had never seen before and prayed every night that he never would.

There was a skinny, tall boy, lying face down in his own pool of blood. And Frank, the new Tavern barkeeper, was leaning against the wall.

"I didn't shoot the boy!" Frank said. "It was the man with the cane!" The marshal tried to calm the young adult down, but Frank would not stop panicking. He was hysterical. "I was getting robbed!" He kept repeating that phrase, as his eyes closed and out due to the pain in his shoulder.

When Frank said he was getting robbed, the marshal did not think that another person was robbing them, but that Frank was getting robbed by the boy and that was why he shot him. The marshal ran outside again and looked at the crowd that had increased. It was the first time in history the quiet little town had seen a shooting. "Someone get the doctor!"

Without even waiting for anyone to respond, he ran back inside and to the boy that was laying on the floor. He bent down, turned him over and was shocked to see the bullet wound tearing open his chest. There was not a single piece of his coat that was not soaked in blood.

The boy wasn't from Cheyenne. If he was, the marshal would have recognized him. Reaching for the boy's pockets, the lawman pulled out some dollar coins along with a hazy black-and-white picture of what looked to be the boy's parents. Turning the old picture over, he saw the writing.

Paul and Elise Jackson, of Creek Valley, Montana. Those were the people he had to inform that their son had died.