Her thighs ached from the ride. Not the days’ ride up from Delta, but the ride the night before with the rustler from Laramie. As he’d slept, she’d pilfered his pockets and his money had bought this mount. She was northbound before the sun had climbed over the sagebrush east of town.
It was a sorry state of affairs that had brought her here. She had no say in the laws of man. Laws that would let her hold no property, or earn an honest living better than starvation wage. Laws that said she must submit to the hand of a drunken fool. She had as much right to live free in this country as any man.
She nudged the toe of her soft kid boot at the mare’s belly and clucked. As the mare cantered to a gallop, she decided: from now on, she’d make her own laws.
This story was inspired by a real-life outlaw by the name of Pearl Hart, a woman who gives me a fierce itch to write historical fiction.
Pearl was a Canadian debutante turned outlaw to escape a bad marriage. When brought to justice after she robbed a stagecoach, Pearl reportedly said “I shall not consent to be tried under a law in which my sex had no voice in making.”