What's Stranger Than a Stranger?

They say humans will one day be grateful to be extinct, then Aliens will come and pick their bones, creating museums of their past.

"Marks Town next stop Jennyville in two hours, so go freshen up and eat."

"Oh my aching bones Neville, I think we could settle here rather than Jennyville, don't ya think?"

"Sure Ma,” said Neville Prendergast, at seventeen with thick flame red hair and pale skin. Because he was gentle, he had been bullied everywhere they had settled. So his mother took them far from civilisation, hoping she wouldn't regret it.

"That's a big case Ma'am, looks like you have a dead body in there." Grinned Neville.

"Hush Neville," his mother tugged him away from the tall blonde woman wearing black tinted spectacles. Black leather trousers and dragging a large coffin with holes in it. Her spurs clinked as she bounced down with her carpet bag stuffed with clothes.

Heat from the Prairie ran a dried tumbleweed down the dirt road past them. The melting glare bounced from the stranger's tinted spectacles.

The barber caught her line of sight, and went into his shop and closed for the day. "Here comes trouble," he muttered to his last customer, who nodded after seeing the new stranger in town.

Dragging the black coffin, the stranger stepped through the saloon doors to get a drink and fill her water bottles.

The barkeeper nodded and asked, "What'll you have Ma'am?"

"What ya got?" She asked slowly, taking off her dark red spectacles. Her pale delicate skin around her eyes was a stark contrast to the grey of the road splattered onto her face from where they had travelled all day.

"Do you want something cool and refreshing or a whisky to burn the dry right out of ya?" Quizzed the bar keeper.

Looking around at the male eyes staring at her tight trousers, the stranger moved the flap of her coat to show her ivory twin pistols with rose pattern inlay.

"Both please, the cold glass for now and whisky after my bath."

The saloon went quiet at the thought of a new woman taking a bath.

"Ma'am, you shouldn't have said about bath time in this here saloon. Go to the top floor ladies area, click the lock shut on the side door, then you should be safe enough to shake the road from you." Whispered the barkeeper with a long drawl way of speaking.

With very little effort, the stranger pulled her black coffin up to the room she had paid for, to take a bath.

Propping the coffin up to face the door, she pressed a button and flicked a switch. The twelve holes in the coffin were filled with cylindrical automatic guns. "Voice activate", she calmly spoke as she stepped into the hot bath.

Downstairs in the saloon, a woman with plumes in her hair and coins in her hand sang for one of the card players.

"Sing it louder Daisy to stop me thinkin' about that new blonde morsel the stage coach brought in."

When the singer finished, the card player swigged his whisky back and went upstairs. The auto gun went off and a thud hit the floor.

"Thought she was trouble," the barber said, taking off his expensive ribbon trimmed straw summer hat.

"You sure did Vergil." Nodded his last customer, directly behind him.

"Shut up, you two love birds," yelled the Marshall, tucked in the corner sipping his whisky.

"I was just saying," mumbled Vergil leaning against the bar.

"I only went up for a bath," the blonde haired woman slowly moved down the stairs with wet hair in her hand as she rubbed it with a small towel. Her elegant facial bone structure was a surprise, as was her soft southern accent.

"Ma'am, you will catch a chill down here. How about I serve you some dinner in the dining room. Do you need a dress?"

"Dresses get in the way of running, but dinner would be hospitable, thank you kindly."

"I am the Marshall of this here town, and you just shot a man."

"They were blanks, so he’s knocked out, that's all. I was in the bath when he entered, what would you do if he had touched me? A night in jail? Well, do that then."

The Marshall blinked and nodded, knowing that if she wasn't armed, she wouldn't have got out of that bath in one piece.

The stranger heard several horse riders go past the dining room to the saloon to tie up their horses. So she could get a good ear full of what they would speak about.

"Evening bartender, have you seen a blonde woman, likely with a coffin of auto guns and red spectacles she got from killing our brother Marcus?" The guy in the middle was the tallest, and he looked mean and trigger happy. Hand on his gun, he glared at the barkeeper who hadn't answered.

"You mean me Burt Peters?" Stepping out of some shadows with her coffin, the blonde woman smiled.

"You damn woman why ain't ya wearing a dress like other females?"

"They get in my way."

"Yeah, ya said that in our town, we thought we'd be friendly, like and give you one of our sister's dresses. But you didn't wanna give up those leather pants."

The gathering of horse riders laughed and licked their lips at the thought of having another try.

"Come on now girlie girl, you wanna be mine right, come sit on my knee?"

"No Burt Peters, keep your hands to yourself."

Her hand moved and her coffin of auto guns let off a round, killing all the horse riders and wounding the barman who shot at the blonde woman. The saloon singer stabbed him in the eye, while Marshall dived forward.

Down went the Marshall to the floor while unholstering his gun. Slipping in the bartenders' own blood, the Marshall went down as his shot hit the ceiling. His eyes remained open in shock as his gun shot ricocheted from the ceiling light to a tin plate and back to hit him square in the heart.

"Can I cover him Missy?" asked the barber.

"Sure," not one for many words, the blonde woman went back to her dinner.

"Do you need anything else Marshall?" With a shaking voice, the kitchen hand stood with a basket of rolls.

"I suppose I am Marshall of this town now." Smiled the blonde stranger, leaning back on her chair to sigh.

"I ain't dead yet." Spat the Marshall, his blood splurging down his chin. Shooting her leg, the Marshall wobbled on his feet as his heart slowed. 

She spun around and shouted "Shoot at forty five degrees." The auto-gun let a round off into the Marshall, and the barber came lumbering over wiping his mouth, still with his napkin tucked under his chin.

"During dinnertime too," tutted his partner directly behind him.

"Shall we get home now?"

"Maybe rest upstairs in a room so we don't miss anything for the newspaper,"

"Good idea Neville."

"Excuse me Missy, what's your name?"

"They call me the Wanderer, as I don't settle." She clicked her fingers at the kitchen hand, who brought napkins, wound cleaner and bullet grabbers to check and clean her wound.

"Looks like I will be barkeep too tonight," said the kitchen hand, looking at the dead barkeeper.

"I'll be barkeep," the saloon singer stepped forward, smiling at the blonde stranger,"Whiskey now Miss Wanderer?"

"Call me Wanda, will ya, what's your name?"

"I'm Marigold, but you can call me Goldie," smiled the young saloon singer swirling her skirts.

"Oh yeah, black leather is ya thing, isn't it Goldie?" Chuckled the kitchen hand.

"Shut up Stubert, you don't know anything."

"I get what you mean," winked Wanda, it feels good on the skin too. Much better than all those noisy petticoats tripping you up on washing day."

Stubert had poisoned one of the bowls of stew, hoping to give it to the stranger. But Neville coughed up blood as they walked past and fell on the stairs.

"Damn I missed," groaned the kitchen hand.

"What were you aiming for me?" Nevilles' partner slid out a tiny gold revolver suitable for a high born woman, and shot the kitchen hand in the head.

"He wasn't that good at stew, but Neville loved coming in here every night for dinner. Now what am I gonna do?" His partner put his manicured hands into his pomade oiled hair.

"Find another partner I suppose," called the cheeky saloon girl.

The lights went off on the town, while school children stood around listening to their teacher.

"Tell me Charente, what do you think these humans in Marks Town will do next?"

"Have a burial for all those who stopped?"

"Died," corrected the teacher.

"Plait her blonde stuff on her head for her?" The blue bald alien girl smiled at her teacher.

"Hair is on her head ZeeZee, remember?"

"Oh yes, I forgot."

"There will be a test after this museum visit children. If you want to get into Galactic Space Station school, you will need high gold points. So get studying."

"Yes Miss Zeenaha."