Reno

“I believe there’s been some kind of mistake,” said Fiona, politely, sitting in the lockup behind the sheriff’s office. “I’ve never been to Albuquerque before in my life.”

“That phoney Brit accent ain’t foolin’ me for a wink. I know Cactus Sally, the toughest, meanest, rootin’est, tootin’est, orneriest, cussedest and most downright malevolent outlaw in the Wild West, when I sees her walkin’ down my main street like a pat o’ butter that thinks it’s too cute to melt.”

Sheriff Jolene Jezebel, freckled, rangy, red-headed sheriff of Reno, Nevada, sat on a chair outside the jail cell, cleaning her gun. “Ain’t no use tryin’ any o’ your tricks on me, Sal. You may have got the drop on all them law-ladies back in Texas and Oklahoma, but I reckon you’ll find here in Reno we do things a mite differently. I’m goin’ to sit myself down right here, keepin’ an eye on you, until such time as the judge gets done with his deliberatin’.”

“But I don’t even know what I’m accused of!”

“Bank robbery, cattle rustlin’, horse theft, use of obscene language on a Sunday, use of obscene language not on a Sunday, and about three hundred counts of disrespectful treatment of the fairer sex. This bein’ a euphemism for Cactus Sal’s well know habit o’ plunderin’ stagecoaches, confiscatin’ the clothin’ of the occupants and leavin’ ‘em stranded by the side of the trail in a state o’ nature to face the long walk home.”

“But I’m an Englishwoman! My name is Fiona Fairweather, and I was only passing through town aboard the Transcontinental Express! I’ve never plundered a stagecoach! I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”

“An Englishwoman who just so happens to look exactly like Cactus Sal?” Jolene pointed to a WANTED poster on the wall, displaying a face that bore a startling resemblance to Fiona’s own winsome features, though distorted into a sneer of pure villainy. “Now, I heard plenty o’ tall tales in my time, but that beats ‘em all into a brass helmet. You must be flyin’ with your head in a handkerchief if you think I’m goin’ to believe that ‘un.”

“I don’t believe these are real colourful Western turns of phrase,” said Fiona, primly. “I think you’re just making them up on the spot. Anyway, what exactly is the penalty for all the crimes you mentioned?”

“Well, it varies between jurisdictions, but I’d say most likely we’ll strip you nekkid, cover you in molasses and feathers, parade you round town on a rail and leave you in the stockade for a few days before shippin’ you off to the ladies’ state prison, where you’ll be spendin’ a considerable amount of time reflectin’ on your sins. And I personally am goin’ to see to it that you get a good hard spankin’ with a wooden spoon to see you on your way.”

“Surely, there must be a trial of some kind?”

“Judge Jackson mostly does as he likes. He’s always givin’ wayward women the old molasses and feathers treatment.”

“I want to see a lawyer!”

“Nope.”

“What if I told you,” said Fiona, thinking as fast as she could, “that I really am Cactus Sal, and that I’m in town to dig up a treasure buried in an old silver mine just outside Reno, and if you let me go I’ll take you there and we can split it?”

Jolene hesitated.

“Well,” she said, after a long and thoughtful pause, “I can’t deny it’s an intriguing proposition.”

“Wonderful. Unlock the cage!”

“Hold on, now. I got a few conditions. First, I want you to stop doin’ that mighty unconvincin’ English accent.”

“How on Earth do you want me to talk?”

“Just the way you normally do.”