We entered the saloon, and I could tell Dean's excitement was fading as we looked around and saw only four people: two filthy saloon girls with hardly any teeth, the bartender, and a passed-out patron.
Dean sighed. "This is not awesome."
Sam approached the bartender after encouraging Dean with a pat on the shoulder. "Howdy."
The bartender nodded. "What'll you have?"
Dean nodded. "Oh, uh, okay. Great. I'll have your top-shelf whiskey."
The bartender shrugged. "Only have the one shelf."
"That'll do just fine." Dean pointed to Sam and me. "And they'll have sarsaparillas."
The bartender nodded and turned around. Sam glanced at Dean, but he only got a wink in return.
"You Elkins?" Sam asked.
The bartender nodded. "One and only."
"You know a man named Samuel Colt?" I asked.
Elkins nodded. "He passed through here about four years ago."
Sam smiled. "He still around?"
Elkins sighed. "Rumor is, he's building a railroad stop twenty miles out of town, just by the postal road. Middle of nowhere."
"The Devil's Gate?" Sam whispered to us.
Dean nodded. "Location fits."
"Howdy, boys." A sultry voice and the clicks of high heels approached us from behind.
"Darla's my best girl." Elkins smirked and winked at Sam as he passed us our drinks.
We turned around to see a woman approaching us in a filthy white dress with pus-filled cold sores all around her mouth. Her gums were lined with a brown film when she smiled.
"Try me." Darla smiled at Dean. "You want a kiss?" She leaned closer to him, her lips pursed, and her eyes closed.
Dean leaned back and turned his head away from her. "Oh, so much more germier than I pictured."
Darla giggled and bit her lower lip at Dean.
"Darla!" Judge Mortimer shouted as he walked in.
Darla sighed, rolling her eyes. "Judge." She stepped back from Dean and turned to face the judge. "Nice to see you."
"I thought we had a date." Judge Mortimer motioned up the stairwell.
Darla sighed and walked up the stairs with the judge, giving Dean one last wink before disappearing at the top.
"Wow, that was a close one." Dean let out a sigh of relief.
"Yeah, I'd say. You were about a quarter-inch away from catching something nasty." I smirked.
Sam smirked. "I guess it's good to be Judge."
Dean scoffed. "Yeah." He took a sip of his whiskey and spit it out. "Oh. It's like gasoline."
I smirked. "Looks like you should've gone with the Sarsaparilla." I winked and took a sip of my drink, which honestly wasn't that bad at all.
We took off running when we heard a scream from upstairs. We stormed into the only room with a closed door. Darla was partially undressed and cowering against the wall, staring at the bed. A smoldering skeleton lay half-turned to ashes on the bed. We could only guess that it was what was left of Judge Mortimer.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As soon as word reached the jail next door, the sheriff arrived. He entered the room and stared at the bones, almost astounded by the sight.
"You okay, Sheriff?" Sam asked.
"'Course I'm okay," the sheriff snapped.
"It was a ghost!" Darla shouted.
"It wasn't a ghost. Unless ghosts leave footprints." The sheriff motioned to the floor, where dark footprints led out of the room.
"I am telling you, Elias Finch was here. He did that..." Darla motioned to the still-smoking bones. "And then he walked out that door."
"Rope didn't kill him. Seen it before," the sheriff said.
"Well, you got any idea where he could be?" Sam asked.
"Could be a thousand places," said the sheriff as he turned to leave the room.
"Well, you got a way to flush him out?" Dean asked.
The sheriff nodded. "'Course. We're gonna form a posse. Then we're gonna string Finch up right. Put a bullet in his head for good measure."
Dean nodded. "That actually sounds like a good plan."
The sheriff pointed at Sam and Dean. "You two should come along. Meet downstairs at dawn."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, we'll be there."
The sheriff gave me a look. "You should stay behind. Ain't no place for a lady. Sure, Elkins can fix you up with a room."
"I'll come along if you don't mind." I smiled, not really enjoying the sexism of the times.
The sheriff nodded. "Eh, I do mind, missy. This is man's work."
I nodded. "Ah, well, on second thought... I'll definitely be joining the posse then." I clicked my tongue and winked at him with a smirk.
The sheriff frowned in annoyance at me before turning his gaze to Sam and Dean. "Get yourselves some real gear first, huh?" Then he left the room.
"Well, I think we ought to pay our respects to Finch," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Later that night, we went to the cemetery to look for Finch, but the grave was open when we arrived. The coffin was smashed and burned, and there wasn't a body in sight.
"You guys thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked.
"Rose from the ashes, burned up its victim?" Dean asked, and Sam and I nodded. "You know, maybe we're not looking for a flaming bird. Maybe the phoenix is actually walking around in cowboy boots."
"That makes sense, right?" Sam shrugged. "Could be Finch. So, question is, how do we put this thing out?"
"Well, we do know one thing that'll kill friggin' anything, right?" Dean asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, the Colt."
"So, you go get the gun," Dean said.
"But isn't the gun coming here? I mean, according to Samuel Colt's journal?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, but people here barely even know who Colt is. Maybe you got to go find him and make history. Maddi and I'll stay here, hook up with the posse." He smirked. "'Cause you know me... I'm a posse magnet. I mean, I love posse. Make that into a t-shirt." He smiled, proud of himself.
"You done?" Sam asked.
I just shook my head and looked at him. "What the hell is wrong with you, dude?"
Dean gave me a disappointed look.
Sam chuckled. "Look, the problem is... Colt's twenty miles outside of town. How am I supposed to get there and back before noon?"
Dean smirked as we heard a horse whinny in the distance. "Ride 'em, cowboy."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We went to the stable and bought a horse from the kid watching over them. Sam grabbed the horse's reins and tried to mount it awkwardly.
Dean cleared his throat. "Why... uh, try— try the other side."
Sam nodded and crossed the room to the other side.
"Yeah, good boy," Dean said as he stroked the horse's muzzle.
"Right." Sam sighed and climbed onto the horse. "Yeah. Right. Hey. This actually feels all right."
Dean nodded. "All right, take it... just take it easy."
"Yeah, you bet. I'm good. All right, 11:00 A.M., right?" Sam asked.
"Don't be late," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "Okay."
"All right. Go on. Go." Dean lightly smacked the horse on the butt. "Hyah!" We watched as the horse and Sam rode out of town. "That poor horse."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Dean picked up a duster and a new hat on his way back to the saloon. He walked into the saloon, his new outfit filling him with pride and confidence.
"New hat," Elkins said as we approached him.
"I look good." Dean smirked. "Where's the posse? We must be early."
Elkins chuckled. "Or you're the only greenhorns dumb enough to go chasing after a ghost."
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked. "Sheriff's tough as nails. He'll be here."
"Oh, god!" a man shouted outside. "The sheriff's dead!"
Elkins hurriedly exited the saloon.
Dean looked down at me. "Or not."
We went outside with the others to see another pile of smoking bones with the sheriff's badge on top.
"Great." Dean scoffed. "Who's the sheriff now?"
Elkins knelt, picked up the badge, and wiped it clean. He looked down at it before pinning it to Dean's vest.
Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Wait... What..."
"Now..." Elkins smiled. "Congratulations, Sheriff."
Dean took a deep, nervous breath.
I gave him a worried smile. "It's what you always wanted, right?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We went over to the deputy's house and knocked on the door.
"Who's there?" the deputy asked nervously.
"Candygram for Mongo," I said sweetly.
Dean pointed his gun at the door as the deputy answered with his own gun. "Howdy, pilgrim."
The deputy gave Dean a confused look. "I ain't no pilgrim."
"All right, back up." Dean pointed to the deputy's gun and flashed his new sheriff's badge. "Is that any way to greet a lady and, uh... your new boss?"
The deputy scoffed and tucked his gun away.
Dean lowered his gun. "Missed you at the posse this morning. We were a two-man wolf pack, thanks to you." He nodded, his gaze drawn to the partially packed suitcase on the deputy's bed. "What's going on here?"
The deputy returned to his packing. "Going to visit my sister."
"Well, she'll have to wait," Dean said.
The deputy sighed. "But if I don't..."
"Finch said he was coming back for the former sheriff... Judge Mortimer... and you. That's two down and one to go," Dean said.
"Then, just let me go!" the deputy shouted.
"You really think you can outrun him?" I asked.
Dean nodded. "He is going to kill you. Unless..."
The deputy looked at Dean, hopeful. "Unless what?"
Dean smirked. "Unless we gank him first."
The deputy furrowed his brow. "'Gank'? What's 'gank'? Mister, you're crazy." He shook his head. "No way. You're on your own."
"I'm not asking you to throw down with him. I'm asking you to play your part," Dean said.
"My part?" the deputy asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. Bait."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *