Scareship_Issue8

Until one midday, when into their midst rode Isabelle Starr on
a white mare, upon which she sat side saddle in the English
manner, carrying a parasol for shade. When she walked into
Uhry’s Saloon, Inky was knocked back like a cocked hat. For, as
powerful a creature as he was, he was the only one of his kind as
far as he knew, and he had not known any woman’s touch since his
mother had slipped loose of his hand that fateful day in the woods.
He had certainly never seen a woman of Isabelle’s comely nature.
So, he was unprepared for the flood of emotion that overwhelmed
him in that moment.
When the lady strode in, Inky was seated alone at a table,
playing solitaire and drinking rotgut. Isabelle sat down beside him.
“You are Gilly’s friend, are you not?” Inky was unable to speak.
She extended her hand. “I am Isabelle Starr… delighted to
make your acquaintance.” Inky took her delicately gloved hand in
his massive paw and shook it gently.
“My, you are quite a specimen, Mr…. Mr. …?”
“Dugan, ma’am. Inky Dugan.”
“Oh, how delightful! Inky! Yes, it suits you. And where is
your friend… Mr. Gammesson?” Inky pointed toward the rooms
upstairs, where Gilly was taking one of Sunny’s new girls out for a
hard ride.
“Oh, yes, I see,” said Isabelle, as she poured them both a drink
from the bottle on the table. She raised her glass. “Tir nam beann,
nan gleann, nan gaisgeach!” she toasted, then downed the shot
without hesitation. “Cheers,” said Inky, and followed suit. And so
it went.
Soon they were laughing and sharing intimacies, with Izzie
reaching over and playfully twirling Inky’s black chest hairs in her
long white fingers. Inky was more intoxicated by her than the
whiskey. Soon enough, they too were in a room upstairs, thrashing
around like beasts in heat.
When Inky fell asleep, drained and exhausted, Izzie dressed
and slipped out. Downstairs she found Gilly, chatting with Sid
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