Blake Wellman watched the dust covered stagecoach pull to a rocking halt in front of the Cooper Hotel and Saloon. The lathered horses marched nervously in the traces as the driver set the brake and tied the reins off.

He jumped down, taking off his hat and wiping his face and pulling open the stage door with a weary call to climb on out. A nervous little man with a large case clutched to his chest was first out and went immediately into the hotel. Next came a couple of elderly looking homesteaders, exhaling as if they had held their breath for the entire ride. Last out was a young woman in a creased gown with her petticoat showing and a pert little hat with a half veil, on her head.

Blake watched the passengers debark then focused for a minute on the young woman trying to orient herself, appraising his purchase as he might any other addition to his stock. He climbed off his wagon and walked out into the street to greet her.

"Allison Bleeker?"

The woman turned and looked inquiringly at the man. His ruddy face looked sun worn behind the almost orange moustache and the faded blue, close set eyes presented an angry countenance.

"Are you Mister Wellman?" Her voice carried an uncertainty as she observed the man that had sent east for a bride.

"Wagon's over here. You have a bag?"

"Yes. That grey one there by the coach."

"Fetch it and let's go. Half hour's ride from here and I still got work to do."

On the steps of the general store across the street, Sheriff Nathan Tessler watched the woman struggle with the bag while Wade waited on the wagon. He stepped down and crossed the street, tipping his hat and introducing himself.

"Let me do that, ma'am. Looks a mite heavy for a young lady."

Without waiting, he picked up the bag and walked to the wagon, setting it in the back and then purposely helping the woman up onto the seat beside Blake.

"Lost all your manners livin' out there by yourself, Wellman?"

The scowl was the only answer and as he slapped the reins on the horse's rump, Tessler tipped his hat again to the woman, her eyes had clung to him with a frightened uncertainty as the wagon bumped away, raising a powdery cloud of dirt. Nathan watched the couple all the way to the end of town.

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The ride to the ranch through a flat uninteresting landscape was dusty, uncomfortable and taken in silence. The only attempt at conversation was met with a grunt and a sense of dread spread over the woman's earlier anticipated excitement. It spread further as the wagon pulled to a stop in front of a hopeless, shoddy looking cabin.

"Git down, this is it." Wellman jumped off the wagon and headed for the cabin door.

"Could you please get my suitcase?"

He stopped and wandered slowly back to where she stood. "This ain't the city, lady; you learn to do for yerself out here." He grabbed the bag off the wagon and dropped it at her feet.

Allison stared after him; the bleak feeling enshrouding her increasing. She stared at what was meant to be her new home, a stark, ugly structure on scruffy weed dotted ground; the only trees a thin line on the near horizon and she felt her eyes well up, disillusionment piling on like earth in a fresh grave . . . her grave. Gathering her dress about her, she left her bag by the wagon and walked to the cabin door, stopping to experience yet another wave of dismay.

One room consisting of a smoke stained stone fireplace beside a small counter with a bowl, pitcher and an overhead cupboard. A tiny widow with a dirty limp curtain provided the room's only daylight. Exposed in the paltry gleam was a three drawer dresser, a scarred table with a pair of chairs and in the corner a bed barely large enough for two, covered in a grubby blanket.

Wellman stood at the counter opening a can of something with a wicked looking knife.

"You kin start warmin' this up for dinner while I tend to my stock- and find somethin' better to wear than that fancy dress."

"I am not warming anything up, Mr. Wellman. This- this property of yours is a total fraud as represented in the contract I agreed to and I wish to be taken back to town immediately."

He turned from the counter and glared, pointing the knife toward her. "I paid out good money fer you and yer trip out here and I aim to get my money's worth. Now grab that bag, get changed and do this dinner. I'll be back in an hour . . . hungry." Without waiting for any objections, he tossed the knife on the counter, pushed past her out the door, slamming it behind him.

Allison stood staring at the empty room, the earlier threat of tears finally making their way down her cheeks. This was nothing at all like the broker had described. The images of a sprawling ranch house with a verandah and flowers surrounding the foundation and a view across grassy range land dotted with grazing cattle were all a lie, a lie to relieve her of her money and send her starry-eyed on her way west.

She went outside and struggled back with her bag, unsure about sitting on the bed so she chose one of the wooden chairs. A dozen thoughts fought for attention as she studied her surroundings once more with fearful disgust. Kindling and a few dirty logs lay on the floor by the fireplace that held a barely glowing fire. A rusted pot hung from a hook over the coals, its inner surface thick with old blackened grease.

She stood and went to the counter; her fingers tilting the half opened can of beans then discarding that for the knife. The blade was dangerously sharp in spite of cutting the tin of beans and she squeezed the handle hard, besieged by another flood of thoughts- equally dangerous. She left the knife and lifted her bag onto the bed, unstrapping and opening it out with determination. A change of clothing was definitely in order; her fancy dress would not do and as she began removing it another wash of helpless tears stained her face.

*************

The door banged open and Wellman stomped in, stopping and staring at Allison seated at the table. His eyes circuited the room and he slammed the door shut.

"I told you to have dinner ready."

Allison fingered the knife in the fold of her skirt and shifted to face him. "Everything in here is filthy and I wouldn't dream of eating anything you might call food."

"Mighty fancy talk, woman." He slipped off his suspenders and began undoing the buttons on his shirt. "Seems you need breakin' in like new stock." The shirt sailed onto the floor in the corner. "Too bad I don't get to strip that fancy dress off, guess those duds'll do just fine." The thick belt came undone and Wellman's pants sagged down below his knees exposing the wrinkled grey long underwear. "Get on that bed."

Allison gripped the hidden knife more firmly and braced herself on the chair.

"Never!"

"Yeah? We'll see about that." With surprising speed, considering the impediment of his trousers, Wellman crossed the room and grabbed her arm, trapping the knife in the material of her skirt. He yanked her up out of the chair and spun her toward the bed. The action caused her to stumble and she fell painfully on her side on the hard mattress. In a flash Wellman was atop her, wrestling with the bulky clothing.

Her feet lashed out as she struggled to free the knife from her skirt; screams of fear and anger exploding in the small cabin. Wellman grunted as her boot connected with his shin and he tried to slap her, only managing a glancing blow on the side of her head. They rolled over together and he quickly ripped away her top, leaving a nasty red mark across her chest. Allison screamed in his ear and he turned away from the pain of the noise, freeing her arm and in a flash the knife arced through the air, burying its blade in his side.

Wellman gave a scream of his own and fell away onto the floor, his face a study in horror as his hands tried to smother the gush of blood from the wound. Allison struggled up from the bed and stared down at him, the knife dropping from her fingers. She stood trembling, unsure what to do; her nightmare growing in leaps and bounds. Wellman gasped out a plea for help and she snapped to brief attention, her actions rushing ahead of her thoughts.

She grabbed a grotty towel from the counter and knelt down, jamming it against the wound, her eyes locking momentarily with his and realizing her error. His hand came up and took a fistful of her hair, wrenching her head painfully down onto his stomach. Crying out, she reached up and tried to free his hand, her face slipping in the blood soaking into his smelly clothes. In desperation she felt blindly for his face and dug her fingers into his eyes, immediately feeling his hand release as he scrabbled for her fingers.

She pulled away and crawled backwards across the floor, kicking at his side and legs to help. Wellman lay screaming, eyes pinched shut and fingers patting at the scratches on his face as she got to her feet.

"I'll kill you, bitch!" He yelled, trying to raise himself and falling back in agony.

Breathing heavily and crying freely, Allison wiped her hand across her bloody face and, kicking his leg aside, dragged her bag free from the bottom of the bed and over to the door. She looked back at the man who was supposed to be her dream husband, choked back another sob and fled the room, hauling the bag to the wagon outside.