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Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580

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Posts posted by Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580

  1. Lady Leigh 7-24-07

     

    The only thing holding the glass in the window frame was probably the yellowish brown tobacco stains . . . at least that was what Bonnie McKenna thought. Clad in an equally stained corset and bloomers, Bonnie picked up a tattered cotton stocking and rubbed out a section of the grime to peer outside.

    She long ago quit praying for a life out there, but just look at that ski! It reminded her of the outside edges of Bachelor Buttons as they were on the tail end of its bloom cycle. The palest of blue laced with that silvery touch . . . “hmmmm” she breathed allowed.

    Just as she was turning away, she noticed the new “Talk of the Town” . . . Bonnie shuddered as she thought about what the men downstairs were saying about her. D. Wales had better watch her step! Most of the men were decent enough, but, a chill ran up both her arms as she recalled what Bert Graves said . . .

  2. Kid Sopris 7-24-07

     

    WARNING AND CAUTION: any similarities between the characters portrayed or any comparision to those person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. In no event should anyone draw conclusions based on the story lines! All rights are reserved by the Authors.

     

     

     

    Kid Sopris 7-24-07

     

    Back in the days when the cowman with his herds made a new frontier, there was no law on the range. Lack of written law made it necessary for him to frame some of his own, thus developing a rule of behavior which became known as the "Code of the West." The Kid was a product of this environment. Innocence of age gave way to surviving and doing what had to be done. Kid Sopris traveled the cow trails, and gunfighters of the West. Eventually maturing and surviving his youth and mistakes, Kid “Reverend” Sopris turned to the Bible and the teachings of the Lord. He used his Colt’s to make followers out of the Non-believers.

    Yet there was not only much that was attractive in their wild, free, reckless lives, but there was also very much good about the men themselves. They were—and such of them as are left still are—frank, bold, and self-reliant to a degree. They fear neither man, brute, nor element. They are generous and hospitable; they stand loyally by their friends, and pursue their enemies with bitter and vindictive hatred. Rev. Sopris was a perfect example and embodied, if not the life, the spirit of what was real about the time. Out on the border of virtue and wickedness alike, men take on very pronounce colors. A man who in civilization would be merely a backbiter becomes a murderer on the frontier; and, on the other hand, he who in the city would do nothing more than bid you a cheery good-morning, shares his last bit of sun-jerked venison with you when threatened by starvation in the wilderness. One hunter may be a dark-browed, evil-eyed ruffian, ready to kill cattle or run off horses without hesitation, who if game fails will at once, in Western phrase, "take to the road,"—that is, become a highwayman. The next is perhaps a quiet, kindly, simple-hearted man, law-abiding, modestly unconscious of the worth of his own fearless courage and iron endurance, always faithful to his friends, and full of chivalric and tender loyalty to women.

    Tall, dark brown hair turning gray, his blue eyes are said to change with the environment, and neatly dressed, Rev. Sopris was delighted to be building a new Christian Church in FIRELANDS.



    Rev. Sopris, though he dressed in his usual Sunday Rev. Clothes on day of worship, was also known to dress casually during the week bridging the gap of those on the edge.

  3. As I said in my other topic regarding posting the original Firelands story from Belle Alley, this story was begun by Duzy Wales and carried on by her and a lot of other folks. As I post that story, I ask that all and sundry refrain from commenting here. I will start a thread for comments but please, please do not comment on this thread. I would much prefer that the story have a chance to unfold as it was originally written. Thanks in advance for your consideration.

     

    The above having been said, let the story begin:

     

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    Duzy Wales 7-24-07

     

    Duzy nudged her Paint, Edi, named after her Grandmother Edith, to a halt and stepped down. Overlooking the valley below, she watched the progress of the new building being completed. It was a day of celebration, with the town’s people helping each other attend business, while taking turns to meet friends, who had ridden in from miles around. Things were good in Firelands, the name of the thriving little town. The women were setting up tables of food, the children running and playing in the dusty streets, and the air of excitement, laughter and music reached her ears, as her heart swelled with anticipation and pride. The building would be her place of employment, the first newspaper office in the area. The Sheriff had been surprised when D. Wales had arrived, thinking that they were hiring a man to run the office, but after a nice lunch and getting to know her, along with her credentials, he had decided to take a chance by hiring her, much to the amusement and ridicule of his male friends.

    She smiled and wished her parents could have made the trip to live there, as she missed them terribly, and then she chided herself, knowing that they would were happier not leaving their home and friends, and that this was her dream. Her Mama and Papa had encouraged her that she could do anything, if she would do what was expected of her. It was simple, Mama said, “Say your prayers, think for yourself, make good friends, use good manners, be honest, help the less fortunate, make a stand against wrong, make your word your bond, your handshake your word, and work hard to find something you loved to do.” They were passionate about life and loved each other more than any two she had ever seen or known and she knew deep in her heart that she dreamed of a love like that someday.

    Duzy had loved books and had fantasized about the far away places that she read about. She had been fortunate, attending some of the best schools in the East, and now she was here, reminiscing about the day she had picked up the news paper, with the clipping that had changed her life. She had been expected by many to finish school, come home, and marry a handsome young man she had known all her life, whose property had adjoined her parents. He was smart and kind, always the gentleman, but she didn’t feel the spark she expected when he held her hand, his touch didn’t make her heart pound, the first kiss had been almost like that of a brother, making Duzy wonder if there was something wrong with her. Sometimes she wondered if she were being foolish, and had taken the love stories and poetry of her books too seriously, giving her the wrong impression of how it should be, but she thought again of her Mama and Papa and remembered watching them leave to take walks at night, holding hands and then she would watch as they kissed in the moonlight under the pine tree….never seeming to want to pull away or let go of each other

    Her beau, as everyone thought him to be, had been shocked, hurt, and angry that she would leave him for the unknown, as he was already an established attorney, located in the foothills of North Carolina, where they had been born and raised. He had finally quit trying to persuade her not to leave, and Duzy knew that he thought she would come running back to him, that the little western town, “Firelands,” he had scoffed, whose clipping had brought her here, would be too boring, too rugged, or both, for a lady of fine breeding and the daughter of a respected family. Duzy was at home in the grand ballrooms in the South. She had once met the inventor, Mr. Thomas Edison, asking her Papa to buy his new invention, the phonograph in 1877. A year later, she had the honor of being introduced to Rutherford Hayes, President of the United States of America. Her Mama had taught her the proper way to entertain, always mingling while seeing to the guest’s needs, and flirting with the young men who kept her dance card full.

    Her Papa had asked his sister, her Aunt Esther, who, like Duzy had unconventional ideas at times, some that amused her Papa and some that made him scold the both of them, to move with her to watch out for her and be her escort, reporting back to him if there were any problems. Aunt Esther had never married and was excited to go. She was diligent, always watching, but Duzy had told her Aunt she had an errand to run, just to savor a few moments alone before the festivities. It was time to return for a leisurely bath, with a scent of jasmine, with her long dark hair needing to be washed and styled; another of her Aunt’s many talents. Turning to get atop Edi, she thought she heard a noise and automatically reached for her rifle, unconsciously feeling for the derringer hid in the pocket of her riding skirt, and remembering sheathing her knife in her boot when she had dressed. Duzy had been raised with brothers and learned how to fight and handle her weapons, just as they had, during her vacations from school. They had delighted in seeing how mad they could make her and how hard she would fight, finding that it was sometimes one of them who called “truce,” before using all their manly strength against her. She wondered if her dear Mama had turned her head, knowing all along that her Papa knew, that she had joined in their activities, making bets on who would win the fights, the races on their horses, the luck and skill of seeing the last card turned in a hand of poker, all the things her “beau” had thought was wrong for Papa to let a daughter see, much less do! Oh, how it had made her prickle, the hair standing up on her neck, when he suggested that when she was his wife that “all that nonsense would end!” Seeing nothing as she scanned the area, she relaxed and started her ride back to the boarding house she and her Aunt were living in temporally.
    .
    She was thinking of the gown she would wear to the dance that night, a black silk underskirt, embroidered burgundy over black silk overskirt with an off the shoulder bodice, with shots of silk threads, in burgundy and black, which seemed to change colors, depending on how you looked at it! She had ordered a set of black bloomers, chemise and petticoat to be made to wear with it, but her prized possession was her new black and burgundy corset which cinched her waist to 25 inches, without any problem. The bodice was slightly daring, showing off her creamy white skin and her cleavage, boosted by the custom made corset. She was hoping to dance with all the eligible men, young and old, never giving too much attention to any one, but flirting the way only a Southern woman could do. Duzy had just began to catch herself falling back into the habit of talking slower than the diction she had learned at school, and found that the men of the West seemed to love the slow drawl of her native tongue! Always thinking of what she was here to do, and after her experience with the Sheriff, she used it more frequently to her advantage, using her charm to break down the barriers of doing business in a man’s world.

    She was a journalist, as she loved to write and seemed to have a fire that sparked her interest in writing about the injustices of the world. She didn’t mind challenging authority and convention to get her story. Although Duzy was a Southerner, she had been against slavery, and the treating of anyone wrong seemed to fill her head with ideas of how to change the injustices. She thought women should be equal to men, with the right to vote and the right to hold office. She had found that she had to be very delicate about the way she let it be known, as she was the newcomer and would have to tread lightly to start with. She thought of the Indians plight, with all the broken promises and treaties and she could feel her blood beat in her temples, as if she were hearing the sound of their drums beating in her head.

    “Enough,” Duzy, she said aloud to herself. Tonight was a night of celebration and she was looking forward to all that was to come, possibly even meeting the man that could make her heart pound and her body afire.

  4. I'm getting out the end of July this year at age 60 and with 32 1/2 years with the company. They froze our pensions at the end of 2015 , so I've just been waiting for 60 so I get full benefits. Saved up enough vacation that my last actual day at the plant will be June 21st, Lord willing.

     

    Then my wife can try to work me to death on the ranch... 😃

  5. Lots of cross draws in this part of the world. I shoot Classic Cowboy, shot cross draw for years, but went to double strongside/double duelist for Classic a year or so ago to lighten the load on my arthritis. Had to teach my left hand to get its act together. Still working on that part.

  6. I had plumb forgot what sorts of shenanigans Saloonatics can get up to at Christmas time! Smooshed the Saloon roof, but the tree does look nice there! Anybody got a string of lights and some ornaments?

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