Clash of the Worlds. Ned Vizzini

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      “The deadly outlaw that goes by the name Lefty Payne,” the man said.

      “Lefty Payne?” Cordelia repeated. “Never heard of him.”

      “He’s called Lefty on account of him only having one arm, the right one,” the man said. “But don’t let that fool you, he’s four times deadlier than most men are with two arms. He’s a wanted outlaw guilty of at least fourteen unprovoked homicides. And we know he’s hiding in here.”

      Cordelia did her best to look indignant. Like she belonged in this house in the middle of the prairie.

      “Well, I certainly hope you catch him,” she said. “But there’s nobody here but me. And besides, you have no right to just barge into my house like this!”

      “I have no right?” he said as if he was the King of the Prairie. “Don’t you know who I am?”

      “I’m afraid not,” Cordelia said.

      “Sheriff Burton Abernathy,” the man said and then paused, as he pulled back his shoulders to make himself look more regal.

      Cordelia’s face remained blank. Sheriff Abernathy grew visually agitated.

      “Well?” he finally shouted at her. “You ain’t heard of me?”

      Cordelia shook her head.

      “They call me the Wolf Catcher,” Sheriff Abernathy said. “You must know me by that name! I’ve caught over one hundred and fifty wolves with my bare hands.”

      “How do you catch wolves with your bare hands?” Cordelia asked, not able to help herself. When some crazy guy in a fur coat says he’s caught hundreds of wolves with his bare hands, further enquiry is required. It’s an inescapable, proven law of science, like gravity, or photosynthesis, or climate change, or evolution.

      The Wolf Catcher held up his right hand, allowing the sleeve of his coat to slide down, revealing a muscular forearm covered in hundreds of cuts and streaking scars.

      “By jamming this arm down their throats!” he said triumphantly. “It keeps them from biting me.”

      “How … macabre,” Cordelia said, warily eyeing the old scars on the man’s arm.

      Even though he said he was a sheriff, and had the badge to back up his story, she was getting the sense that he was not to be trusted.

      Sheriff Abernathy looked around the house for the first time. The relatively modern furniture and artwork and fixtures seemed to unsettle him. The odd setting of the house only seemed to make him more suspicious and angry than he’d been when he first arrived. He shoved the gun towards Cordelia’s face again, practically jamming the barrel up her nostril.

      “Mind if we look around some?” he asked.

      “No, I want you out of here,” Cordelia said, surprised by her own defiance in the face of this seeming madman.

      The sound of a low cough drifted out into the foyer from the kitchen. The three lawmen’s heads all snapped in that direction and then turned back towards Cordelia.

      “I thought you said you was alone,” one of the deputies said.

      “You mean, were alone, Deputy Sturgis,” Sheriff Abernathy corrected him.

      “Yeah, whatever, she knows what I meant,” Deputy Sturgis said with a menacing grin.

      “You know, little lady,” Sheriff Abernathy said to Cordelia. “Lying to an agent of the law is a felony offence. Punishable by death.”

      Cordelia was fairly certain that could not be true. But at the same time, Old West law was vastly different from the modern law she learned about in civics class last year, in the sense that the local sheriffs of counties in territories that weren’t even states yet could virtually make up their own rules as they went along. There used to be judges known for that sort of thing in the Old West. Judges who acted as the sheriff, jury and executioner all at once.

      “I didn’t lie,” Cordelia said, her voice shaking. “There’s nobody here but me.”

      “You’re lying again,” Sheriff Abernathy said with a nasty grin. “That’s two offences now. Which means we get to carry out your death sentence immediately and with extreme prejudice. Men, take aim. Fire on my command.”

      

      “We ain’t even gonna arrest her?” one of the deputies asked.

      “No, Deputy McCoy,” Sheriff Abernathy replied, “we are not going to arrest her. There’s no time, we need to keep looking for Lefty Payne or else he’ll get away again. Plus, arresting folks creates paperwork, and you know how much I hate paperwork. Now, reload your rifles if you need to. We’ll fire on three.”

      All three lawmen raised their weapons and took aim at Cordelia. She couldn’t believe it had devolved to this so quickly. She could only hope Eleanor and Brendan were busy making their getaway.

      “One,” Sheriff Abernathy started. “Two …”

      “Hold up a sec,” Deputy McCoy blurted out as he lowered his gun. “Shootin’ an unarmed man is one thing, but shooting an unarmed female? Well, that just seems downright unhonourable. Plus, I’d be feeling mighty guilty about it for the rest of my days. Now, Sturgis and me is the same rank, why do I got to shoot this here little girl?”

      “He makes a right good point,” Deputy Sturgis said. “I don’t want to shoot her neither …”

      “Either,” corrected the sheriff.

      “She reminds me of my own little girl,” Sturgis said. “But one of us has to do the dirty deed, since the law is the law and all, and she done broke the law. Maybe we should vote on it?”

      “That’s a mighty swell idea!” Deputy McCoy said. “’Cause, you know, there’s three of us, so we know it won’t end in a gridlock tie or whatnot.”

      “We’re not voting!” Sheriff Abernathy screamed, silencing them both. “It doesn’t matter! I’ll just do it myself!”

      He raised his Colt and pointed it at Cordelia again. He pulled back the hammer. This time there would be no countdown. Cordelia closed her eyes and hoped it would go quickly.

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