Return to Toostone

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger awoke from a deep sleep. It was almost daylight, so he dressed, gathered his things and headed for the Saloon to see if he could get some breakfast to satisfy his hunger, and more importantly, some  coffee to satisfy his addiction. When he finished his breakfast, he stopped by the livery and saddled Broomtail. 

He made certain that the two mules were taken care of, then he mounted and headed for the encampment. He wondered how working for the Army would work out. 

When he arrived, he was told that he would be riding with M/Sgt. Johnson, and report directly to the Major, while on the trail. In the meanwhile the troop was busy breaking camp and getting ready for the trail. The troop was followed by a baggage train of four wagons loaded with what supplies they might need. It was late in the day so they would leave early in the morning. Badger tried to stay out of the way and to help where it was needed. As the sun went down, the troopers set up their campfires and began to prepare their evening meal. M/SGT Johnson invited Badger to join him at one of the fires and they talked about the  coming adventure over coffee. As darkness settled, M/Sgt Johnson made the rounds to insure that all was ready for tomorrows ride, and security was in order for the night. Then he and Badger retired for the night.

 

First light brought the bugle to life, as the sounds of reveille carried across the camp. The men arose and attended to the call. In a short time the embers from the fires the night before were crackling. Mess was under way and over in a very short time. Roll was called, and all of the troopers were ready to roll before the morning dew was dry. The major mounted and the troop headed west. 

 

[Calico Mary]

It was sure scary when Miss Whiskey had me shoot her gun, that was something I’d never done before and had never even thought about doing.  That thing sure made a lot of noise, and at first it was hard to keep my eyes open and my hands study, I was shaking like a leaf the whole time.  After a while I did manage to finally hit something, and it got a bit easier after that.  Miss Whiskey was very patient with me, though Mr. Sam was a little annoyed at having to duck the first time, but at least he didn’t yell at me too much.  Clinton on the other hand wasn’t going to forgive me for a while, I could tell.  I ended up having to ride double with Miss Whiskey on the way back, the mule wasn’t about to let me on him at that point.  After we got back to town, she took me to the gunsmith’s shop and bought me my own pistols, and a belt and holsters for them, telling me to make sure I had them on anytime she or Mr. Sam weren’t with me.   That was sweet of her, and she also said something about getting me a horse of my own, to replace Clinton, but that it would have to wait for tomorrow.  For tonight she had business to take care of and I was on my own, that I was to go get something to eat and she’d see me later back at the hotel.  She also warned me to be careful, but with Sir no longer a problem I didn’t think the warning was necessary.  I was safe now, wasn’t I?

 

I had tried to go to the restaurant next to the hotel for supper, but found out that they were closed for the evening.  The hotel clerk told me there was another restaurant further down the street where I could get some dinner, so I started walking in the direction he had told me it was.  A few doors down, I looked in a window and saw the man that had been at the jail was inside eating a steak, so I went inside.  I had seen Sir go into places like this plenty of times, but I’d never been allowed to go with him.  There was a long table on one side, with a man standing behind it, and several smaller round tables as well.  The man standing behind the long one saw me come in and gave me a strange look, then motioned me over.  I got strange looks from the man from the jail and another one seated farther back, but the only other man in the room who was seated at the long table gave me a big smile as I walked over to the one that had beckoned to me. 

 

“Um, ma’am, are you sure you are in the right place?  Ladies don’t usually come in here, especially by themselves…..oh, and my name is Bottles by the way, I’m the bartender.”  I wasn’t used to being called a lady, and I didn’t really understand why I shouldn’t be in there, but that steak sure looked good.  “Well, I…Miss Whiskey tole me to get something to eat….don’t you serve food here?” I asked him, and Bottles nodded his head.  “In that case, Ma’am, I can fix you up with a plate, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring you a sarsaparilla.  The food is gonna take a few minutes,” he told me.  I went over and sat down at an empty table, about halfway between the two men that had given me strange looks.  I’d barely gotten seated when the third man, the one that had smiled at me, came over and stood next to my table.  I looked up at him and saw the most gorgeous smile I had ever seen.  He had brown hair and a moustache with just a hint of grey, with sparkling blue eyes, and in no time flat I had a weird fluttering feeling in my stomach.  I could have sat there all night just staring at that smile, and was thrilled when the man asked if he could join me.

 

“Cody Rawlins, my lady, at your service,” he said, his voice music to my ears.  As he sat down he reached over and picked up my hand, bringing it to his lips for just a second before letting go.  I was mesmerized by the twinkle in his eyes, to the point I hardly noticed when Bottles set the sarsaparilla down in front of me.  I had no idea what to say to this man, but that didn’t seem to bother him, he started out telling me that he was in Toostone looking at ranches in the area that may be for sale.  Before long he was asking me questions about who I was and why I was there, and I found myself telling him almost my whole life story.  No matter what I said, that smile never left his face, and I almost couldn’t eat when Bottles finally brought me my dinner, I was so intent on talking to and listening to Mr. Rawlins.  I’d never had a man show that much interest in me, at least not in such a friendly manner before.

 

When I was finally finished eating, Mr. Rawlins offered to walk me back to the hotel, and insisted on paying Bottles for my food and drink.  As he went over to settle the bill, the man from the jail got up and walked towards the door, passing by me on his way.  I’d forgotten he was even there, until he leaned over and whispered to me, “You may want to think twice, that one isn’t as he might seem,” but didn’t wait long enough for me to answer or to ask what he meant by that.  Mr. Rawlins had been a perfect gentleman so far, so the comment did confuse me.  I didn’t really have time to give it much thought though, Mr. Rawlins had come back over and held out his arm for me to take it.  He walked me back to the hotel, and just before I went inside he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned over, giving me my first kiss.  If that’s what it felt like I sure didn’t want it to be my one and only one ever either!   As he leaned back, I had a hard time catching my breath, not wanting to let him leave.  “I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?” he asked, then with one more of those incredible smiles he turned and walked away.  I went into the hotel and slowly climbed the stairs to my room, thinking that there was no way I wasn’t going to make sure I saw him again!

[Whiskey Business]

As I was leaving the gunsmith headed towards the lawyers office, I caught a glimpse of Col. Flint at the saloon. Remembered him from the war. I had only been in north Georgia for a while, visiting family, when the war of northern aggression broke out. My uncle was a doctor and had a farm near Kennesaw mountain. We did our best to tend to the wounded. In late June of 1864 the  battle of Kennesaw Mountain began. Our forces, along with General Johnston's army from Tennessee, defeated sherman's forces. Victory was sweet until sherman's army crossed the Chattahoochee river at Sope creek. sherman's forces outflanked Johnston's forces and sherman continued his swath of destruction to the sea. That was the day the devil came down to Georgia. Thought I had left those ghosts behind. 

 

I arrived at Doc's law office and Doc Ward and I went over several legal matters, including Calico's predicament. I wanted to make sure she was on good standing. We discussed legalities for a while, then I left and Doc said he would draw up the papers and have them ready to sign tomorrow afternoon. Once that was done my party and I could leave for California the day after.

 

The next morning Sam, Calico and I were at breakfast discussing our plans. I told Calico about my new homestead in California and she was more than welcome to join me. Also told her she had the means now to pursue her own interests if she so desired. Just then, there was a commotion in the street as a man, looked to be beat up and bloodied, stumbled into town helped by the man from the livery. Several men came to his aid and called out for the doctor. We ran out to the street in time to see Doc Ward the lawyer being carried to the surgery. Afterward, we waited in the hotel lobby for what seemed like  hours for any news of his condition. The man who ran the livery, Mr. Curtis otherwise known as Saddlesore, came in to tell everybody his story.

 

"I saw him right before it happened. He was just takin a morning stroll and I done warned him, it was real early and not all the night critters went to bed yet. I told him. Yes siree done told him! Then there was just a ruckus and growling and screaming then a gunshot. By the time I ran up he done killed the mountain lion but he hisself was tore up!"

 

After waiting for a long while, enough was enough and instead of sitting around I went to doctor's office to check on Doc. The doctor told me that he would fully recover since his wounds were not life threatening, but he would be laid low for a while.

 

I walked back to the hotel Sam and Calico looked at me, waiting for news. "There has been a change of plans ya'll. We are staying in Toostone for a little while."

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

Back in the Saloon, Mr. Rawlins returned and sat at the bar.  I moved over to the immediate vicinity and Bottles brought me my usual whisky.  Mr. Rawlins and I didn't know one another and I wasn't sure he even knew who I was, and that's the way (uh huh uh huh) I like it.

 

"Bottles" I spoke up loudly as I pulled the "Wanted" flyer out of my pocket and slid it across the bar "If you know anybody that wants to try and collect this bounty, I'd appreciate it if you would send em over to speak with the Sheriff. Tennessee Stud put it out while he was out of his head, it's as useless as tits on a bull."

 

With that I looked over and locked eyes with Mr. Rawlins "Are you a bounty hunter?" I asked as I dropped my hand close to my revolver. 

 

He stammered "No, not at all Mr. Flint."  Bottles was amused by all of this and actually joined in  "Colonel" he said

 

Rawlins looked back and forth between us "Colonel Flint, the lunatic gunman?"  he stammered and then realizing what he had said to me he  muttered "Oh shit!" then raised his voice a bit and spoke "I didn't mean no offense, just heard it so often . . ."

 

I laughed "Bottles pour him a glass of the good stuff."  and as I took my drink I continued "He's buying the bar a round, I believe"  Rawlins cracked a smile on a pale and sweaty face "Yes Sir I am.  and thank you for not taking offense."

 

I slapped him on the back "I've been called worse, words don't rile me much.  Then again, if a man were to want me on his bad side, he wouldn't have to try to hard-just mistreat a lady, or some young girl that's just growing up.  A man that does that, I wouldn't think twice about scalping him alive."

 

Nervously he stroked his hair "No sir, I'd never do that, not me."  He paid Bottles and made a hasty exit.

 

Bottle looked at me "J. Mark, you Sir, are a Grade A Bastard."  I grinned and poured myself another drink.  "You got that right."

[Tennessee Stud]

Just at Sun-up outside of town, the silence is broken… “Well… here we be… Cowboy.  That’s Toostone over there”.  As TN Stud leans over and rest his forearms over onto his saddle horn… he starts tryin’ to size thangs up.

 

Then out of nowhere… a cowpoke comes ridin’ up from a draw below… lookin’ like he just got off a hard night of drinkin’.  He stops on the trail just ahead of TS… lookin’ kinda haggard-like and spent-out.

 

(TN Stud)…”You been in that town for a spell?”

 

(Cowpoke)… “Yeah.”

 

(TN Stud)… “Law in that town tough?”

 

(Cowpoke)… “Yeah.”

 

(TN Stud)… “You know a murderous sum’bich named J. Mark Flint?”

 

(Cowpoke)… “Don’t know who you are, Mister… but you best keep quiet.  That man’s sittin’ in the Saloon over there right now.  And he ain’t one to be trifled with.”

 

(TN Stud)… “Is he carryin’ one or two firearms?”

 

(Cowpoke)… as he starts his horse past past the TS… he utters… “Mister… you best leave him alone.  I don’t want none of it.”  And he rides past and up the trail behind TS.

 

Spurrin’ the horse to the outskirts of town… “Well… Cowboy… we got a man’s job ahead of us.  This bein’ my birthday… least I think it is… sure don’t want it to be my death-day.”

 

 

[Pat Riot]

Pat awoke in pain and agony from head to toe. He was dazed and confused. He was lying on something smelly and as he opened his eyes he realized that it felt like his left eye was swelled almost shut. The light hurt his eyes but he didn't stir. Even though he was in pain he knew something was wrong. He could hear noises. The noises of people, dogs and movement. But these weren't the noises of white people. They were the sounds of Injuns. Pat felt a start as he remembered what happened and wondered why he was lying here alive...where ever "here" was.

 

Pat had been making good time. He knew he was in Utah Territory but he knew he was a little too far east for his liking as he knew that he might be nearer the Ute lands than he would like. He remembered the "Meeker Massacre" as it had come to be known. Just the year before the Utes had risen up and killed a bunch of Indian Agent people and there was quite a battle between the Utes and the Army. Pat had been told in Flagstaff to steer clear of the Utes because there was a lot of bad blood going on but he figured if he stuck close to Navaho lands he would be okay. He was wrong.

 

The  last thing Pat remembered was that he was riding a trail and just coming up to a crest on a hill when he heard horses. They were approaching from the other side. They were at a trot and as Pat neared the crest the horses and their riders crested the hill. It was early and the sun was still fairly low in the sky. He was looking into the sun as the riders came into view and when he realized they were Injuns it was too late to do much of anything. The Injuns stopped not more than twenty-five feet away. Pat couldn't tell how many there were all together but he saw at least fifteen of them. They came to a stop and so did Pat. The sun was in Pat's eyes and he was at a disadvantage. He was just below them on the trail and he was being blinded by the sun.

 

Pat always had this weird fantasy of taking on a passel of Injuns on horseback, guns ablazin' saving a ranch or a small town and having dime novels written about his exploits. Heck, he'd become a Sheriff or a Marshall or maybe even a Mayor. He'd get to meet the President and he would go on tour telling of his exploits and meeting lots of pretty girls and perhaps settling down and marrying the one who most took his fancy. Oh, it would be just capital! 

 

If Pat could step outside himself and watch the moments after coming face to face with the "Injuns" he would have seen a different scenario from the one that played out in his fantasies. What he would have seen was a surprised 38 year old white cowboy, former rancher and all around pretty tough guy get whacked smack dab on the side of his head by the butt of a thrown tomahawk. He would have seen himself slide from his saddle and hit the ground in a pile. He would have seen the indian that threw the tomahawk curse because he misjudged the throw and he would have seen all the others in the party laugh at the indian tomahawk thrower. He then would have seen the big indian in charge motion for the other braves to grab Pat's horse and mule and to work Pat over soundly, even though he was out cold. Pat would have seen them hitting and kicking him. He would have also seen the leader yell at the braves to stop before killing Pat and to throw his body over the back of his horse so they could figure out what to do with him. They didn't want to risk firing their guns at Pat because this band was being hunted by the Army and they knew it and the leader made sure the braves knew not to do anything stupid that would attract Army attention. That included leaving the corpse of this stupid white man along the trail to be discovered.

 

Yes, if Pat could see what happened when they made camp he would have been even more upset at himself for allowing himself to get caught the way he did. He would have seen all of his belonging torn through and distributed amongst the braves. The leader took posession of Pat's new Centennial Rifle. The tomahawk thrower took his carbine but voiced his displeasure with the leader as he felt the "big rifle" should go to him. Pat would have taken pleasure in the leader slapping his subordinate but only a little pleasure. Because Pat would have seen that the first thing the leader did with his new found rifle was to kill Jack, Pat's favorite mule and long time companion. Jack didn't like captors and unlike Pat Riot, he put up one hell of a fight...right up until the leader tired of watching his braves stumble around like idiots trying to subdue the animal to get the booty from his back. Jack did not suffer. He never knew what hit him when the slug tore through his skull. The Indians partially butchered Jack for meat and the leader thought it would be fun to have his braves toss Pat's body onto the mangled corpse of his beast that was lying just over the side of an arroyo next to the camp the Indians had made at the base of a hill.

 

All Pat's belongings were distributed. Pat's horse Daisy along with his saddle and tack were also claimed by the leader. He thought the saddle and tack would be good trade goods but the horse, now she was special and he would keep her. Pat's saddle bags were rifled through and the contents that held no interest to the Indians was burned. Some things made it back into the bags and the saddle bags were tossed back onto Daisy's back as the leader liked that they matched the saddle. Pat's boots were taken as was his hat and his jacket. His trousers and shirt were left on him, mostly because they wouldn't fit anyone in the tribe and because they were smeared with mule guts and blood.

 

Pat laid very still assessing himself and assessing his situation. He was sore everywhere. He could see out of his right eye and he cautiously moved his head to take a look around. He could hear the Indians to his right but couldn't see them. He tried to roll over but his bedding was weirdly mushy and wet and stank. He tried moving his arms and legs and all seemed functional. He didn't think he had any broken bones but he did feel like he'd been run over by a stage coach. He decided that he would try to move up to the edge of the arroyo and look around. As he moved he was aware he was wet and slimy. He rolled over and kind of fell off of his "bed". That was when he saw the brown hair and the guts and loose skin of an animal. He thought to himself "Good, maybe they think I am dead and tossed me aside like this dead horse". He slinked on his belly up the side of the arroyo feeling every painful muscle in his body singing out to him in a tragic cacophony that only nerves can do. He turned his head to look behind him to make sure no one was there and that was when he realized his bed...the dead animal was his beloved "Jack". Stinging tears and rage were all he felt. He saw the bullet hole in Jack's forehead and for an instance took solace in the fact that Jack may not have suffered. His rage was probably more intense than he had ever known but he held back his desire for vengeance. He knew that trying to do anything right now to avenge Jack would be stupid at best. He swallowed his rage and brought his thoughts back to the task at hand. It was almost as if he was on "landing party detail" back in the war again. He always thought that term to be stupid..."landing party"...it was never a "party". Maybe for some higher up that got promoted due to Pat's excellent work at killing and coordinating the killing of Rebs.

 

Pat shoved all thoughts from his mind except how he was going to get out of this situation. He couldn't see the sun so he couldn't judge time but he felt that it must be very early in the morning. He inched ever so quietly to the top edge of the arroyo and peaked over the top next to a sage bush hoping to conceal his face. He was quite upset that he had no gun belt, no boots, no anything. He looked at the Indian camp. There were a few braves sitting and talking about fifteen feet away. There were others tending to horses. It appeared that ther weren't as many as the day before. Maybe twelve. The big man, who Pat assumed was the Leader was there amongst those that were talking closest to Pat. Pat was angry as he could see his new rifle in the hands of the big Indian. Pat scanned the other Indians. He could see some of his belongings among the other Indians. He looked for Daisy and he saw her off to the left. She was still saddled but it looked like the saddle was just sitting on her back. He couldn't see the blanket but the thing that got Pat's full attention was the saddle bags. They were thrown over the saddle. She still had a bridle. He knew that there was no way that he get to her and just ride away unnoticed but he had to at least get those saddelbags. He had $20,000 in there in bonds hidden in the secret pockets of the bags. 

 

Pat slinked around through the arroyo until he was about ten feet behind Daisy. He felt lucky that the arroyo curved the way it did. There was plenty of brush for concealment but he wasn't sure how Daisy would react to him sneaking up behind her. He raised up just enough to see that things in the camp were the same but they weren't. All the Indians were at the far side of the camp getting ready to leave. Anxiety hit Pat in the gut like a punch. Thoughts raced through his mind. Should he make a break for it and try to get Daisy and run for it? Should he just forget about Daisy and the saddlebags and hide? She he run up, grab the saddlebags and then run back here to see if he's discovered? Again he looked across the camp. A couple of the Indians were on their horses. 

 

"There is no more time to think Pat." he whispered to himself. It reminded him of his training with the Marines aboard his ship. The Sergeant would tell them "Move when you think you should. Do not sit idle when you need to move, Move!"

In a second he scurried along the ground to the left side of Daisy. He went to his knees, reached up and grabbed the bottom of the bag nearest him and pulled it down to him. This startled Daisy and she jumped and whinnied. Her reins came loose from the sage they were tied to and she trotted into the camp clearing. At that same moment Pat scurried back to the arroyo and rushed to get back over to where Jack laid. Jack cringed at what he was about to do but he shoved the bags into the cavity where Jack's guts once had been. Pat then climbed / slinked back up on to Jack's side to the same as close as he could get to the same position that he was where the Indians had left him. He was fighting back tears again mostly due to the loss of Jack but some had to do with the pain that he was in. That is when Pat saw it in the sand. It was the blade of a butcher's knife. He reached out and snatched and tucked his hand with the knife under him.

 

When Daisy whinnied and trotted out into the clearing the Leader ran over and grabbed her reins. He rubbed her nose and looked back over to where she had come from to see what had startled her. One of the braves said something and the Leader told him to wait and cinched the strap on the saddle to help hold it there on Daisy's back. He led her over to his horse and got on his horse and signaled the other braves to move out. They all fell into place behind the Leader and left the area single file.

 

Pat heard them all leave but laid there quietly for a few minutes.

 

As the Indians were making there way through the brush one of the braves realized he did not have his knife. He told the Leader and the Leader told him to go look for it and catch up later. The brave turned his horse back to the camp.

 

Pat sat on the side of the arroyo looking through his saddle bags. The bonds were still there. He found his compass and map. There were a few little odds and ends that he always carried but what made him happy was the little leather satchel with his little Smith & Wesson was there and the gun was loaded. The little bag that he kept cartridges was not there but t least he had his little pocket pistol and it was loaded. He put the pistol in his pocket and pulled out the map that he really no longer trusted. He looked at it and a noise behind him sent shivers down is spine. It was a horse and that meant a rider and that rider was probably an Injun. He grabbed the saddlebags and the knife and went back over and laid down on his beloved Jack for the third time. He figured it was an Injun coming back to make sure he was dead and then he thought of the knife. He laid sprawled just as he was when he awoke earlier this morning. He figured one of the braves must have realized he left a knife behind. Pat heard the horse stop and he heard feet hurriedly shuffling about. The sun was up above the hillside now. Pat all but closed his eyes and laid still. He wasn't sure if the Injun would be armed but if he got close Pat intended to exact some vengeance. Through nearly closed eyes he saw a shadow at the top of the arroyo.

 

The Indian came down into the arroyo looking around for his knife. He remembered the last place he had it was when they were cutting meat from the mule and he and his fellow braves joked about gutting the mule and leaving the white to die on his mule's carcass and guts. The white man looked plenty beat up and plenty dead. He leaned down close to the white man because he realized that it looked like he had something in his pocket. As he leaned forward and was reaching towards the white man he saw that the white man's trousers were dirty. He hesitated and thought how is there dirt over the blood.

 

Pat saw his chance and lunged upwards with the knife plunging it into the Injun's throat at the base of his neck at an angle sure to cut through the artery and the windpipe.

 

The brave saw the white man move but it was too late and he knew it. He felt his own knife plunge into his neck and saw the red spray shoot from him and cover the white man;s face and chest. He could not believe it.

 

Pat felt the hot stream of blood hit him directly in the face. He tasted the coppery taste of blood. His rage swellled and drew and plunged the knife into the Injun again and again...into his chest, into his throat, into  his chest again, striking the rib bones and stopping, he pulled the knife back and plunged it lower and the Injun was falling back and Pat was rolling forward with him stabbing him over and over with rage in his heart. He was screaming inside but never uttered a sound and luckily, neither had the Injun. 

 

The brave was dead on the third thrust of the knife. His last thoughts were "How could I have missed the dirt on the white man's trousers....how could he kill me with my own knife?"

 

Pat stood and looked around knife at the ready. He looked like a wild man. Covered in blood and dirt. He looked in all directions for a new threat. The horse the Indian rode just stood there looking at him and flicking his left ear. The silence was bizarre to Pat. Here lies a dead man, a dead Injun, that he had just stabbed to death and there was barely a sound made through the whole ordeal..."He's dead" thought Pat "Good!".

 

Pat acted quickly. He grabbed his saddle bags and stuck the knife in the left one. He quickly patted the Injun down looking for any other weapons he might have. There was nothing. Pat looked at the stone that was on a leather thong around the Injun's neck. It was smooth turquoise. Pat grabbed the leather and yanked it from the Injun's neck and shoved it in his left pocket. He got up and walked up to the horse hoping it wouldn't bolt. The horse stood still. Pat caressed the mare's nose. She looked strong and muscular. She was chestnut with a long black main. She was beautiful and Pat marveled how well taken care of she looked. All she had was a crude bridle with reins made of leather and on her back was a blanket. He looked at her tracks to see where she came from. Pat grabbed her main and swung his leg as he jumped up onto her back He made it but nearly fell off. He was surprised he was able to do it. He reached out and caressed her around her ears, reached down and grabbed her reins and nudged her forward with his heels and she began walking. He snapped the reins and nudged her hard with his heels and she took off. Down into and out of the arroyo. Pat didn't want to be mean to her but he needed distance between him and the Indians and he needed it fast. He rode west as hard as he could looking like a bloody mad man on the back of a beauty. His heart pounded as fast as the Ute horse's hooves beat the ground. If Pat wasn't so scared he thought that he would actually be enjoying this ride. This horse was strong and she was fast. He smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Tennessee Stud]

(skirtin' the town.....)

 

Thinkin' to hisself...  

 

"Well... I see all the Mex's leavin'.  Huh...  look at 'em go.  That's a good sign that J. Mark's here.   He is never good news.  Fer nobody.  Wished I knew if Pat Riot was here or anybody else.  Cowboy... we're just gonna have to stable.  We need food.... you and me.

 

Hope nobody recognizes me comin' in.  Guess I will tuck my hair down in my coat... sure don't hope nobody recognizes me here.  Hell... really sure don't hope that even Riot recognizes me... 'fore I can explain some stuff.  He's gotta big saddle-burr from our last meet.  Hope I can avoid him". 

 

Spurred-on... Cowboy winds his way through a draw... on the back-way to the livery.

 

5w

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

The column traveled late into the day before stopping. A camp was set up, the horses picketed and security set. 

Soon campfires sprang up and the aroma of coffee and bacon drifted on the evening air. Johnson broke out his pipe 

and the smell of Mickey Twist  floated across the darkness. Badger sat down beside him and said, " We came a fer piece today, Sargent."

"What do you reckon the Major is up to?" 

Johnson smiled to himself in the darkness and said, "He doesn't seek my council in such matters, but I figure that missing Gatling gun has him a mite worried."

Just then, a orderly came looking for the Sargent and Badger. "Major wants you  both to report to his tent, right away,"

 

When they arrived, the Major was sitting at a small table with a lamp burning and a map on it. He got right to the business, telling Badger that he and one of the indian scouts would be riding out in the morning to check out the trail. The troop would rest and await his report. 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

After Rankin, left the hair on the back of my neck stood up.  Trouble for sure was nearby.  Well I figured now was as good a time as any so I headed upstairs and knocked on the gypsy lady's door.

 

After a moment the door opened and with my hat in my hand I looked downward and spoke "I am here to apologize for my behavior.  A man who was my friend has decided that he wants me dead and that has troubled me of late. It does not excuse me from forgetting my manners."

 

"Come in" she said softly, her accent stretching the words out like the melody of a song "I believe you are sincere and I have had my satisfaction already"

 

I stepped through the door and dropped my hat on an empty chair.  She motioned me over to take a seat, which I did. "This friend who wishes you death, you fear him? That is not what I sense."

 

"No,  I fear neither him nor death, but killing him would weigh upon . . ." I hesitated and she tried to finish my thought "Your soul, perhaps?"

 

"I forfeited that long ago, I believe. It would break a promise I made." I replied.

 

She lit a long thin cigar "A man who has forfeited his soul should scarcely concern himself with a promise."  With that she closed here eyes a moment and took in a deep breath. "This man who seeks you, he has long grey hair, He is near and there is more, he is possessed."

 

I stood up and thanked her, leaving a few gold coins, which brought a smile to her face. 

 

As I headed back downstairs I wondered if TS might just be under the influence of something inexplicable.

 

 

[Tennessee Stud]

As TS rides in the outskirts of town... behind the buildin's... he  looks for the obvious corral that usually runs behind a livery.  Finally... he sees it... and spots the scrawny horses within it.

 

Ridin' up... he dismounts, as his duster sheds clouds of dust... 

 

Talkin' to his horse... "Cowboy.  This place is not good... I may have to park you out-chonder a forty-rod... or two.  Dam."

 

The livery owner comes out... and is obviously drunk at day-break.  He asks... "what do you want?".  TS mounts back back up... "Nothin'... from you."  Then heads straight-out from town.  The livery says out to him... "I have good rates"... but TS keeps ridin'.

 

Talkin' to his horse... he says... "Cowboy, at 'bout a couple of furlongs out... I will put you on some sweet-grass... and hobble yore sorry-a$$". 

 

Then as TS rides off from the sloppy stable... wonderin' to hisself... "Is J. Mark Flint been stupified by somethin' unusual... that made him kill our mutual friends?  He ain't never been rational in the head as long as knowed him.  But he ain't never been stupid, neither."

 

TS parks his horse on some sweet grass... way... way... outside of town... then gets himself some jerky to carry him over 'til he gets to town.  "Dam... hate bein' afoot walkin' in boots."  But he starts the walk.  After 300 yards... he squats down... and removes his spurs.... they keep hangin' up on rocks as he walks.

 

Then the over-ridin' thought came to mind... "I'm walkin' into Toostone... into that Saloon... and killin'... the murderous J. Mark Flint.  Gotta do it.  Just got to figure out how".

 

And he continues the walk. 

 

 

[Blackwater 53393]

Sabre returned to camp after looking in on the outlaws. The scout watched as C.J. stooped, poured himself a cup of coffee, and found a spot on the ground under a tree to sit and drink it.

 

"You see anything' new?" Mort Campbell asked as he rose to refill his cup.

 

"They're settin' up camp over there beyond this rise. Got 'em a spot next to a creek with a few cottonwoods fer shade," C.J. replied. "Looks like they may be settlin' in for a spell."

 

Blackwater stood up and stretched. "I'll slip over there and keep an eye on those bastards for a while," he groaned, the stretch continuing. "Mort!  You come take my place in, oh, three hours or so. We'll take turns so's they don't disappear on us."

 

"I'll get us some grub ready," Sabre told them. "Mort can eat before he relieves you and you can get your fill when you get back."

 

"Keep the fire small or them hombres may figure they're bein' watched," Blackwater answered as he put his rifle over his shoulder and set off in the direction of the outlaw camp.  

 

He walked up the slope to just below the top of the rise and followed Sabre's tracks off to the left of the ridge. After moving about a half a mile he noticed the tree line that marked a creek and eased his way to the top of the rise. A thin wisp of smoke climbed skyward from just beyond the trees. "That'll be them," he mumbled to himself as he crept along, keeping himself out of sight.

 

The outlaws were sitting around a small fire, passing a bottle around. Blackwater couldn't hear what they were saying, but the corporal was gesturing toward where the creek disappeared around a small hill and the other two followed his motion. There was no indication that they were planning to move or break camp, so the big reb crawled into some bushes and eased his way to a position closer to the camp. He rolled onto his hip and then to the seat of his pants and then raised his rifle to aim at the corporal. "I oughta' burn you down here 'n' now," he thought to himself.  He lowered the rifle to his lap and leaned back against a tree.

 

Back at camp, Campbell and Sabre talked about what plans they thought might work to capture the three outlaws alive. "I think they're workin' for somebody else." C.J. explained. "These three don't seem bright enough to plan that hijacking that we busted up back in Topeka!" 

 

Mort studied on that for a bit. "Do you s'pose somebody back at the fort planned it out?" he asked, looking back down the trail.

 

Sabre shook his head. It was a moment before he answered. "That's a possibility. I cain't say just yet, but I think these three are waiting for somebody to tell 'em their next move." He looked up at the coming dusk. The stars were just beginning to peek out faintly. "It'll be dark in an hour. I'll get us some food and another pot of coffee cookin'."  He nodded toward where Campbell had laid out his gear. "You get some shuteye so's you can relieve Blackwater when the time comes."

 

"That reb is sure a piece of work!" the scout chuckled as he stretched out, letting his head rest on his saddle. His blanket and saddle bags were placed so he could prop his feet up. "How long you knowed him?" 

 

"Only just met him when he took on the freight wagon job." Sabre grinned a little. "The U.S. Marshal sent me to cover him and make sure those rifles got delivered. Deputized me to make it official."  He added a few small dry sticks to the fire. "That "reb" as you call him, stood in the face of a platoon of phony soldiers and pulled his pistols and did his work without any thought of backin' down!" He nodded in Mort's direction, "You already know about him snatchin' your colonel up and shakin' a knot in HIS tail. I speck he's one you wouldn't want fer an enemy!" Sabre thought for a spell then looked dead into Campbell's eyes. "I'll ride the river with 'im!!"

 

Mort Campbell rolled onto his side, his back to the fire. "I figured the two of you went back a ways. S'pose I'd not worry 'bout my back if either of you was with me." He squirmed a little to get comfortable. "Wake me up when it's time...."

 

C.J whipped up some batter to make hoe cakes and fried up half a pound of bacon. He poured out the last of the coffee and grounds and built a fresh pot to put on the fire. When the bacon was done, he placed it aside and dumped a can of apples into the skillet.  "Fired apples, hoe cakes, and bacon!" he muttered. "If they can't eat that, they can starve!"

 

The stars were shining brightly and the moon had begun to rise when Sabre rousted the scout from his slumbers. He offered a plate of warm food and a cup of coffee to Campbell as he approached the fire. "Hope this'll do for grub. This ain't Delmonico's."

 

"Looks damn good to me!" Mort said as he wolfed down one of the cakes. He chugged the coffee and chewed the strips of bacon at the same time.

 

Sabre pointed to the rise, "Up just short of the top, you'll see where we trailed off to the left. Don't go no higher or you could skyline yerself!"  He watched as the scout gulped down more coffee. "It's near half a mile to where they bedded down. If I know Blackwater, he's holed up in some brush or rough cover of some kind where he'll be hard to find."

 

"He'll be lookin' for me 'bout now."

 

"Yeah!! But you be careful. He's liable to try to slit your throat if you surprise him!" C.J. warned.  "Make some kind of night bird sound or somethin' before you come too close."

 

Mort finished his meal and picked up his guns and a blanket. "Come 'n' get me before the moon sets."  He climbed the rise and found where the others had moved off to the left. He followed the trail until he saw the faint glow of another fire. As he edged along he looked for the spot where Blackwater had headed up the hill further. He mimicked a Whip-poor-Will a couple of times as he injuned down off of the ridge.  In a minute he heard a cricket chirp twice nearby. He eased along in that direction and repeated the bird call once. The cricket chirped again and he followed the sound. Suddenly, a hand grabbed him just above where his shirt tucked into his britches and pulled him down gently from behind.

 

"They're bedded down for the night," Blackwater whispered.  "I ain't been able to hear none of their palaver, but that damned corporal was pointin' up the crick whilst they was talkin'."  He paused for a little then continued, "They was takin' snorts from a bottle and then they all took to their blankets. I don't know if they ate or not!!"

 

"I got this," the tracker answered. "The deputy's got supper ready and he'll take my place 'fore the moon sets.  You go get some rest!"

 

Blackwater slipped out of the brush and walked quietly back to his camp. Sabre handed him a plate just as he leaned his rifle on his saddle.  He ate in silence, taking a drink from his canteen.  He stood up, walked to his pack and drew out a bottle of clear liquor, took a slug, and put it back. He returned to the fire and finished his meal. After another drink from the canteen, he turned to the deputy marshal and reported all he had observed. "You might be right in thinkin' there's somebody else runnin' the show."  He thought for a minute and continued, "Them three peckerwoods ain't got walkin' around sense.  They set there and yammered at each other and drank up a bottle of whiskey. Don't know if they eat before I got there or not, but they was all passed out a little after dark."

 

"Could ya' hear what they were saying?" C.J. asked, hoping for more.

 

"Nah!" Blackwater growled. "I couldn't get close enough to hear, but the corporal was wavin' and pointin' up the creek at the hight of the conversation." After another short pause he continued. "I think they're waitin' on somebody or somethin'!!"  

 

 

 

[Sgt. C.J. Sabre, SASS #46770]

“I think they’re waitin’ on somebody.” 

That’s not what C.J. was hoping to hear. C.J. HATED waitin’! It’s not that he was in a hurry or anything, he just didn’t like waitin’. ESPECIALLY waitin’ on somebody else. 

“I guess we can’t do anything but wait with them,” C.J. said. “And I’m pretty sure we’re right about them not runnin’ the show. If they were, or if somebody else back at the fort were, they wouldn’t be setting around in the middle of nowhere waitin’ to be told their next move.” 
“Well,” he continued, as much to himself as to Blackwater, “We’ve got food and coffee for a couple weeks so we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

With that, he bade Blackwater a Good Night, and asked to be woke up in a few hours to spell Mort. 

 

The next couple days passed with no further activity from their quarry. The three men continued their watch from above. Blackwater had sneaked down almost to the outlaws camp a couple times, and had managed to hear enough to know that whoever they were waiting on wouldn’t be here for several days. Blackwater and C.J.’s arrival at the fort with the rifles had ruined The Boss’s plans, and whoever he was, he couldn’t just drop everything to come out to fix his henchmen’s screw ups. 

 

As much as C.J. like hot cakes, bacon, and beans, by the third night he wanted some fresh meat. There were plenty of deer in the area, but the men couldn’t risk shooting one and having the outlaws hear it. The outlaws, of course, weren’t under such constraints. Quite the opposite. Having had to make a run for it, they hadn’t been able to supply themselves with anything that they hadn’t had at hand when they ran. 

 

The scent of roasting deer was making C.J.’s mouth water as the outlaws cooked their latest kill. That, and his impatience led C.J. to have a crazy idea. 

 

“You’re insane,” Blackwater said.
“Possibly,” C.J. answered.
“You’ll get yourself killed”, Mort added.
“No I won’t”, C.J. told them. “It’s been a while, but I used to be pretty good at getting into places I shouldn’t,” he said. “Besides, YOU got pretty close to them,” C.J. said to Blackwater. “I’m just going a little closer.”
“You’re talking about going INTO their camp!” Blackwater exclaimed.
“Look,” C.J. said, “I’ll wait until they’ve had their nightly drink and passed out. They’ve done that every night we’ve been watching. 
“After they’re out, I’ll sneak into their camp and steal the rest of that deer.” He reached into his seemingly bottomless pack again. Pulling out a few brightly colored feathers, he continued,
“I’ll leave these around their camp. That way, they’ll think it was Indians that stole their deer. It’ll throw them off any thought that there’s anybody else here, and scare the bejessus out of them at the same time. It might even get them to moving again.”
“That wouldn’t break my heart any,” Blackwater agreed. “Just try not to get yourself killed,” he admonished.
“If I do,” C.J. told him, “You can keep my share of the job,” and before either of the other men could say anything else, he turned and made his way toward the outlaw’s camp.

 

It didn’t take C.J. long to get where he needed to be, as he’d made the trip numerous times in the last few days. And as predicted, as day turned into night, the outlaws started drinking again. 

Their talk was loud and raucous, but nothing that C.J. hadn’t heard before. Mostly bragging on what they were going to do with their share of the money that they were sure The Boss was bringing them, though as badly as they’d messed the job up, C.J. couldn’t imagine what for. 

 

C.J. waited until the talk turned into snoring, and made his move. Like a shadow in the night, he crept silently around the outlaw’s camp to where the remaining deer carcass was hanging. Picking up a tarp that one of the outlaws had carelessly tossed aside, he pulled his ten inch Bowie knife from it’s sheath inside his right boot and cut the deer carcass down. Wrapping it in the tarp, he slung it over his shoulder, scattered the Indian feathers he had brought, and as silently as he had entered the camp, left it. 

C.J. was so pleased with himself that he hadn’t lost his touch that he was back at his own camp almost before he knew it. 
And so was an Indian War Party..      
 

[Calico Mary]

At breakfast the next day, Miss Whiskey told me that not only was I free from Sir, but that I now had some money of my own to live off of, though I was more than welcome to go with her to California.  Before I even had a chance to think about it, there was a lot of shouting in the street and Miss Whiskey jumped up and ran outside to see what was going on.  Turned out the lawyer she’d been talking to had gotten attacked by a mountain lion, poor man, but the sawbones said he would be ok it just might take a while.  That changed Miss Whiskey’s plans of leaving the next day, and she also said we would have to delay looking for a horse for me, as she was going to return to the doctor’s office to see what she could do to help the Doctor take care of her lawyer friend. 

 

I didn’t see why Mr. Sam couldn’t have taken me to look for a horse, but as soon as we’d dropped Miss Whiskey off Mr. Sam told me to go find something to do but to behave myself, and he disappeared.  I wandered around town for a while, having been warned not to go back to the saloon again, but there really didn’t seem to be much to do.  I thought about going into the General Store just to look around and get out of the hot sun, then I heard a voice from right behind me.  “Good afternoon, my lovely young lady, pleasant day for a stroll, isn’t it?”  I spun around and ended up staring straight into the twinkling eyes of Mr. Rawlins.

 

“Um….are you talking to me?” I asked, he couldn’t have been talking about me being lovely, but I didn’t see anyone else within earshot.  “Well, of course I’m talking to you, my dear.  Are you going any place in particular?  If not, do you mind if I join you?”  Mr. Rawlins offered me his arm, so I gingerly placed my hand on it and he led me down the street towards the livery.  As we walked along, I found myself telling him that I hadn’t had any real plans, but that I was disappointed that Miss Whiskey was too busy to either take me to find a replacement for that dumb mule or to do more practicing with my pistols.  Mr. Rawlins quickly offered to take me with him to look at some properties he was interested in buying, and he also said he knew of a place where I could practice shooting, and he promised to give me some tips that he said would make me a better shooter. 

“I have an extra horse down at the livery you can use for the afternoon, and I think the livery has a side saddle that we could borrow for you.  We’ll also keep an eye out for any horses, if you see any that you think you might like I will be glad to make an offer for it.  There’s just one catch, you must call me Cody, not Mr. Rawlins, and allow me to call you Calico.  Do we have a deal?” he asked.  For the life of me I couldn’t understand why a man I’d just met last night would be so generous, but he was being so sweet I saw no harm in agreeing to call him by his given name.  At the livery stable, he borrowed a saddle for me and helped me up on his spare horse, then quickly swung himself into his saddle.  On our way out of town, I glanced over and saw Mr. Sam headed back into town, Mr. Sam didn’t look real happy to see me with Mr. Rawlins but I just looked away and kept riding.

 

We rode for a while until we came to a small clearing, and spent over an hour working on my shooting.  Mr. Rawlins, or Cody as he insisted I call him, showed me how to shoot both pistols at the same time, with Miss Whiskey I had only used one.  Being left-handed, I had trouble at first with my right hand, both holding the pistol and with actually hitting anything with it, but Cody stayed patient with me and it wasn’t long before I was finally able to hit about half the targets with my right.  He’d given me tips on improving with my left as well, then he pulled out his Winchester rifle and gave me a lesson in how to shoot that as well.  That was a lot of fun, but I enjoyed seeing Cody smile at me even more than the shooting.  Even though we were in the shade, I felt myself getting a little warm at times, it was a good thing that Cody had brought two canteens of cool water with him.

 

After my hands had decided they’d had enough, we mounted back up and headed towards a ranch Cody said he wanted to look at.   When we arrived at the place, I could tell almost instantly that Cody wasn’t really interested in this one, all the buildings were a little run down and the ground seemed a little too rocky to grow much grass.  The owner did say he had to buy a lot of extra feed for his horses and cattle, but that he was asking a fair price.  Cody just shrugged and said he’d think about it, but as we were walking back to our horses I noticed a beautiful palomino mare standing in the corral.  She looked like she needed a good meal or three, but aside from being a little on the skinny side she was the prettiest horse I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.  Right away Cody noticed me looking at her, and told the owner, “Name any fair price for that mare and it’s yours, but I know about what she’s worth so don’t try to fool me.”

 

They agreed on a price of $60, and we rode out of there with me on my new palomino and Cody leading his spare horse.  A little ways from town he stopped at a small stream to let the horses drink and my new mare eat her fill of the grasses growing along the bank.  I tried to tell Cody that I had no idea how I was going to repay him, I knew Miss Whiskey had said I had money but I had no idea where, she had said something about a bank but I wasn’t even sure what that was.  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about $60, think of it as a gift.  And I know a much better way for you to say thank you anyway,” Cody stated.  Before I knew what was happening, I was in his arms and he was kissing me again like he had done the night before, but far more intensely than the first time.   “Relax, my dear, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, then as his lips met mine again I could feel one of his hands moving around to the front of me, but I was feeling too good at the moment to even wonder if I should be doing this or not….

[Pat Riot]

Pat had made his way out of danger, or at least he hoped. The Ute horse was a blessing but his butt ached and his legs were always falling asleep from dangling as he rode. Riding a horse without a saddle was an Injun trick that Pat always wondered about but never had any intention of trying. He was surprised by the aches and pains he had from waking up muscles that he had never used before just trying to ride this Mare. He had to stop often and climb down. He was pretty sure the horse was glad of it too. He weighed a good 185 pounds and the prior owner was probably about 135 soaking wet. He was a scrawny Injun but tough as nails. They all were. The big man, the Leader was about Pat's size. Pat sure was glad he didn't have to tangle with him in his condition.

 

Pat had stopped again to let the horse rest and to get some feeling back in his legs. He was on a rise looking down at the Colorado River again. He decided he was going to stick to the river as far as he could until he got close to Toostone. He had no way to carry water. In his saddlebags he had a pocket pistol, a butcher knife, some fire making tools, a compass, a map, a couple small leather pouches and one fair sized one, and a small metal box that he always had kept in his saddle bags that contained some fishing line, a few fish hooks,  a purple marble, a Barlow knife, some leather strips, a magnifying glass in a leather fob, A little roll of waxed twine, a sail needle, a couple safety pins, a little needle and thread kit and and two gold rings in a leather pouch that had a pocket for each one. Each ring had a small garnet stone set in it. One was a man's ring, the other was for a woman. He got the rings in a card game many years prior when he lived on his ranch in Arizona. Even though one was a man's ring he would never wear it. He kind of thought that someday these rings could be wedding rings and maybe his own wedding rings but that was looking more and more like it would never happen and Pat wasn't so sure any more if the concept of marriage even interested him. In his opinion he would be a fine catch even though at the moment he looked like a complete lunatic. He had lots of money from the money that he made from the ranch and much of it he had invested in various ventures around the West. He also had accounts in Kansas City, San Francisco, El Paso, and a few other places.

 

Other than these things and the clothes he had on and a turquoise stone on a leather thong he had no food or any way to carry water. Once he had escaped the Injuns he rode West - Northwest hoping to get to the river before hunger and thirst took it's toll. For the past couple of days he had let then horse find the water and the horse was pretty good at it. Now that they were near the river that problem was solved but the issue of food and clothing was an issue. The past couple of nights Pat thought he'd freeze. His feet were sore from thorns and rocks. "At least I have my hair," he said aloud and laughed.

 

He grabbed the horse's reins and more or less leaped aboard. No one would call his technique "mounting". He and his horse made their way down the hill to the river.

 

+++++++

 

Pat was riding near the river and had been for the better part of the day but something was bothering him. He had looked at his map several times i the past few hours and the map showed the Colorado River running in a Southwesterly / Northeasterly direction but h had been riding almost due East for hours. He stopped to look at the map again. It was a poor map but it was the only one he could find that had any info showing Toostone in Utah. It had no real topographical information and Pat had found that it also didn't show how rugged the terrain was in some spots near the Colorado when he first started following it. He decided to leave the trail near the river once he got out of Navaho lands in the hopes of not encountering Utes, which was a mistake, obviously. 

 

His main concern right now was he was traveling East and East was toward Ute territory. He wondered if this map was missing the river he was riding along. The river was somewhat wide in places but appeared shallow. It was summer so crossing should be easy.

One sure way to find out if this was another river that flowed to the Colorado was to turn around and follow it to the confluence of the two rivers.

Another would be to cross the river and right Northwest until he found the Colorado.

But one thing was for sure, this river was not the Colorado.

 

Pat debated his options for a few minutes as the horse grazed on short grass. His stomach rumbled and he felt weak. He looked up to the sky and he figured he had  a good 3 or 4 hours of daylight. As he stood there thinking about things a grasshopper landed on his arm. He stared at it for a second and wondered what they tasted like. He had heard that some Injuns would eat bugs and in particular, grasshoppers. All of a sudden, in his mind, he heard a word shouted as if someone next to him had yelled it. "BAIT!". He snatched the grasshopper and held it in his closed hand. He went to his saddlebag and got a leather pouch. He put the grasshopper in it nd searched for more. After a little while he had five of them. He hopped on the horse and rode her down closer to the river bank and hopped off.

Pat got his little metal box and got his fish hooks and his line out. He went over to a scrubby looking tree and found a somewhat straight branch that was about six feet long. He cut a piece of line bout ten feet long and tied it to the stick and then tied a hook on the end of the line. He baited the hook with a grasshopper and  went over by a tree that was hanging over the water and flicked the grasshopper into the water . He did this over and over until the grasshoppers died, one after the other until he was on his last one. He moved up stream a little to another tree and flicked the grasshopper out into the water and "Bam". A fish grabbed it. Pat jerked the pole and set the hook. After a few moments of the fish fighting t get off Pat raised the stick to get a hold of the line and he walked backwards pulling a brown trout out of the water. The fish was a nice one that was about fourteen inches long. The fish was flopping about and Pat literally lunged and landed almost on top of it for fear of it getting away. He wahcked it on the head with a rock and then set about getting some wood for a fire.

 

After Pat had eaten his fish he sat and watched the sun going down. He felt the warmth of the big rocks all around him. He walked about for a bit and found two nice big rocks that he would lay down between and sleep. He checked that his horse was hobbled, got a drink at the river and the laid down between the rocks. He decided when he awoke he was going to cross the river and once on the other side he would decide  which direction he would go.

 

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

I couldn't shake the feeling that Tennessee Stud was in the area.  I went to the livery and saddled my horse.  The useless livery owner was drunk and I took the time to feed all of the horses there.  Just as I finished he came to and saw me.  "Don't be wasting that feed it costs money" he said.  I walked over to him and backhanded him across the face and he tumbled over a saddle and sat on the ground.  "What the hell was that for?" he exclaimed.

 

"For cheating people and abusing their animals.  If I find you doing this again I'll do worse than that." I said as led my horses out.

 

He looked at me and hung his head in mock shame. "Well your business isn't welcome here. If my place isn't good enough for you,  then you and that fellow that was looking for you last night can open your own livery."

 

I looked at him.  "Who was looking for me?"  He shrugged "Dunno, thin fellow, wiry and a little crazy looking-called his horse 'Cowboy' of all things.  Rode up and looked around and left late last night."

 

I looked around the back of the livery and saw tracks heading out of town.  Might be his, might be someone else's.  I decided to follow them and see what I might find.

[Pat Riot]

Pat had crossed the river and was headed north by northwest in the hopes of encountering then Colorado. Getting across that river wasn't bad at all. The water wasn't deep at all where Pat crossed. The area where he camped was not walled like a canyon or in a depression. It was almost like a natural depression that might one day be a road. He and Ute-horse went along at a nice slow pace. He didn't know if water would be scarce so he was taking it easy on her. Normally, when he was traveling by horseback he would spell his horse by walking to give the horse a break. But since he had no shoes and the ground and vegetation were unforgiving he rode and gave his horse breaks at fairly regular intervals, as far as Pat could tell. The fancy watch that he had actually bought in Chicago is probably now in a bladder bag in a Ute teepee somewhere....

 

As Pat traveled he thought I should name this horse. Immediately a flash caught his eye from off in the distance to the north. Pat heeled the horse and made for a  red rocky outcropping. He missed his telescope. He scanned the area where the flash came from but couldn't make out anyone. He did decide he wasn't going to run scared but he did wonder if whoever that was may have thought he was an Indian because of the appearance of him and his horse. He had tried to clean up as best he could in the river but he still looked like a vagabond, which, in a way, he was, Pat chuckled. Pat decided that since the flash came from the north that was where he would head. He doubted that any Injun would have a telescope, assuming that is what made the flash, but Pat was hoping it would be a white man...one that might have some food. One that might be able to point him in the right direction for Toostone.

 

"The country is beautiful here" Pat thought as he guided Ute-horse through the sage. He kept his eyes open and in particular on the ridges to his left. He ha gone about a half mile when he came across tracks. The tracks of men wearing boots and shod horses. There was no camp. The tracks came from the north and it appeared the men had been walking next to their horses but at this point it looks like they mounted and headed southwest. "Probably to those rocks" Pat said aloud. This convinced him that his thoughts about them perhaps scoping him and thinking he was Injun might be true. He stood and scanned the rocks and the ridges beyond looking for a sign of the riders.

 

Just as he was about to mount Ute-horse a bullet hit the dirt in front of his feet  and under the horse. The horse didn't move. He then heard the report a couple seconds later. As he was mounting the horse he thought she's calm even under fire, like she either doesn't care or she's just a calm animal. That's good....that's very good. Then he thought and said aloud "...or, maybe she's just stupid."

 

"Come on Meadow, let's get out of here" he said as her heeled her north bound. "There's no sense hangin' around and lettin' them get range on us. We have no idea who they are and I don't want to know. Pat and Meadow rode hard for about a half an hour and then they came to a small arroyo that had murky water flowing in it. Pat let Meadow drink while he scanned to the south looking for a dust cloud or any sign they were being followed.

 

"Well, Meadow, you have a name now. Looks like I have to keep ya." Pat smiled at the horse that looked at him she actually might understand him, but he knew better. He thought she was smart but no horse is that smart. Pat chuckled and said "Hey, if you understand English that would be quite a feat since we've only been together a few days and I rarely speak to you."

Pat thought, :Yeah, I need food and some decent rest. I am starting to lose it...talking to a horse, sheesh".

 

Pat remounted Meadow after a long drink of muck and they continued north. Pat figure he would cut west again when he figured he had enough real estate between himself and those men.

 

They had gone a few miles when Pat spotted a little ranch. The house was modest looking but looked big for a one story structure. Big as in many rooms. It appeared to be lived in. There were some chickens, cows and a couple horses. The barn was somewhat small but there were several out buildings. He didn't see anyone but he heard a strange whacking sound that had a well timed cadence. He decided not to go to the homestead but to dismount and take up  position near some sage so that he could watch and possibly not be seen.

 

The sound went away but he could other sounds and then he heard what sounded like women laughing. "Yep, there's people there Meadow. They must be out back."

Pat wondered how close he should get to the house before announcing his presence. He decided to skirt the property and come in from the back so that the ldies behind the house might see him as he came up. But he also wanted to get a better lay of the ranch so he could know escape routes and to see if he could determine how many folks actually lived there.

 

Pat headed west for couple hundred yards and then turned north for a few hundred yards and then back to the east. The ranch sat in a nice valley but there was no grass for livestock so these folks must have a town nearby to get supplies, Pat thought.

 

Pat moved up to where he could see the north side of the ranch house but saw no signs of human life. There was a rug hanging from a limb on an oak tree. "That must have been the whacking I heard...someone cleaning a rug" There were a couple tubs on the back porch and the porch floor looked wet around the tubs. There were wet clothes hanging from a clothes line between two poles. 

He sat on Meadow looking around but saw no movement and heard no sounds but the breeze in the sage behind him. That is when it dawned o him that the sage brush had been cleared for about two-hundred yards in every direction around the house and out buildings.

"Someone is smart" Pat said to himself.

 

He decided to go ahead and slowly move up closer to the house.

He had moved up to within one-hundred feet of the house between two of the out buildings. He stopped in the shade to look again, but nothing moved. There were no sounds. He had Meadow step forward  few feet and as he was shouting :HELLO THE HOUSE" three things happened.

A man on a horse appeared around the northwest corner of the house, rifle in hand and was in the process of pointing it towards Pat.

A woman appeared on the porch carrying the biggest shotgun Pat had ever seen.

Pat glimpsed a dark motion to his left and as he turned towards it saw what looked like a pretty woman with bron hair swinging a really long handled skillet at his head.

Pat saw stars, heard the clunk of cast iron striking his head and then felt the warm sand of the earth come up to greet him... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Blackwater 53393]

Blackwater raised his right hand, palm facing the indian war party. There were eight of them, a small group on a scouting mission. "La Ko Tah!" he said and removed his hat with his left hand. He lowered his hand and placed it on his chest. "Mini Sapa!" he said firmly and then swung the hand away and to his right.  He spread his hands and motioned the natives to enter the camp and sit. He looked at Sabre and motioned for him to place his stolen venison next to the fire as he signed for them to join him in a meal.

 

The leader of the party nodded and stepped into the camp and made sign accepting the offer.

 

"Speak English?" Blackwater asked as the men sat down in a rough half circle, facing the food and fire.

 

The leader nodded, "Some." He stared at Blackwater and asked, "Savvy Lakota?"

 

The big freighter shook his head and signed, "I know my name in your tongue. It was given to me many winters ago by your people."

 

The warrior replied, "I have heard your name in the councils. You are remembered as a friend."

 

Sabre said softly, "Tell 'em to help themselves.  There's plenty!"

 

"Already did!" Blackwater grinned. "Figured they might rather eat than fight."

 

"You got coffee?" another of the red men asked.  "Like coffee!"

 

Sabre poured what he had into a cup and offered it to the man, repeating the gesture with the two other cups in the camp. He raised one finger to show that he intended to make more of the strong brown liquid and refilled the pot and placed it on the fire. He pointed toward the men and then to the pile of meat, nodding his head. First one and then another of the indians pulled or cut off a chunk of meat and returned to where he sat to devour it greedily.

 

As the party ate, Blackwater and the leader of the war party spoke and signed. Blackwater explained what they were doing and that they were stalking the three outlaws.  "We need them alive," he explained. "Their leader comes and we want to capture him.  They are very bad men! The white man's army will punish them for the bad things they do."

 

The other indians nodded and listened. "Mini Saba!  Black Water is known to our people. If he wishes, we will kill these evil men. We want no such men in our lands!"

 

"But you are far from the land of your people," Blackwater observed.

 

"Not so far." the red man grunted. "The white man takes more of our land every year."

 

The three manhunters all nodded. "It is sad that men cannot get along.  Many are too greedy!  Our people. Your people. We live different."  Mort muttered as he tore off a piece of the pilfered meat. "Which is right, I don't know!"

 

"What is right for one isn't right for all." Sabre added. He offered more coffee to the men of the war party. Some tried it, others refused.

 

"We will go in peace, Mini Saba." the leader finally said. "We will watch and see how it is that you punish these men.  We will see if your words have iron!"  With that the entire party rose and walked out of the camp without another word.

 

 

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger and Pronto, the Indian Scout, rode out together, headed west.  They had gone several miles when Pronto called attention to a trail of riders that had come into their path, out of the north East. They rode over for a better examination. The telltale signs showed twenty riders or so, and a wagon, heavy loaded. "Strange signs Pronto," said Badger. They decided to travel along from a distance. It didn't take long before they spotted a column moving slowly along. It came to a rock formation with a small rise of ground behind. The wagon moved behind the rock formation, along with most of the riders. Three of them rode up on the rise, where they could see in all directions. Satisfied that this was not a welcome situation, with the troop coming along behind, they turned and returned to find the troop.

 

When they arrived at the camp it was late in the day.  They found the Captain talking to some of the men attending to their mounts. He expressed his relief at seeing them, and ushered them to the Major's tent. 

 

The Major was anxious to hear their report. He questioned them about the location and activities of the riders. Pronto gave a brief description of the terrain 

and distance traveled. Badger mentioned that the wagon looked to be the same size and had the look of the one he had seen in Toostone, with the Gatling gun.

The Major took a map from a leather case, and spread it on the small table. A quick search, with the help of Pronto, pinpointed the location. 

He then sent a runner to fetch Sgt. Johnson to his tent. When he arrived, the Major gave a brief summation of the situation. 

 

"We are under orders to meet and relieve a Colonel Reed, at a designated spot west of here. He is escorting a wagon train from Carson City. "

"It would appear that his trail will take him  in close proximity to where this band has located."  "I am concerned that they may have access to 

a confiscated Gatling gun, in addition to repeating rifles." "Several weeks ago, a platoon of troops was ambushed and a Gatling gun was captured."

"I believe that is the same gun that you saw, Badger." " I want to send a message to Colonel Reed to warn him of the danger and inform him of my plan."

"Badger, you will take that message to him." "Pronto will guide our troop to a point of attack." Sergeant Johnson, make sure the troop has an issue of combat rations and ammunition. " "Captain, you will take a small scouting party and ride with Pronto, to the point of attack." 

 

"Badger, you and Pronto, get some food and fresh mounts." " We will be moving out shortly."

 

The Kitchen tent was broken down and loaded into one of the wagons, ready to travel. But the cook was able to cobble together some cold meat and hardtack, to fill the hungry scouts. Badger checked over Broomtail, and then selected one of the army mounts, and saddled up. He then returned to the Major's tent, and received his orders and the sealed message for Colonel Reed. He rode out of the camp as the sun was beginning to drop below the horizon. 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

After a few hours of tracking I figured I was close.  Fresh horse droppings steaming in the night air suggested I was mere minutes behind Tennessee Spud.  Being as my horses were fairly new to me I tied them in a mesquite thicket and elected to move forward on foot.  Just as I started to walk away, I had a thought.  Grabbing my rope and a shovel off the pack mule I headed out into the desert flats until I found a place with a 360 degree field of view for a nearly a mile in every direction.  I quickly dug a hole in the soft earth as deep as I could before it started to fall back in on itself. I dropped my lasso to the bottom of the now 6 foot deep hole and then spread the sand and dirt so that the hole would only be visible up close.

 

With that task done I returned to the horses, gathered a bit of firewood and headed them out to the spot.  I covered the hole with a blanket staking it down and cutting a slit down the middle, then I covered it with sand.  satisfied that it was sufficiently hidden, I then built a smile fire out of the bits of sagebrush and mesquite I had brought along.  Nearly ready I dusted my hair with the sand and dirt until I figured I would blend well enough.

 

I laid out my bedroll and stuffed it with tumbleweeds and rocks and lit the fire.  Then I dropped into the hole and retrieved the rope, leaving just enough room to poke my head out like a giant prairie dog to look around.  I tossed a big loop onto the ground between me and the sleeping bag and away from the fire.  A few handfuls of loose sand tossed about it had covered it sufficiently.

 

I could see the moon bright overhead, and I waited, and waited, and waited.  By my best guess it was an hour or two til first light when I heard the horses whinny and start to prance about a bit.  Sure enough a human critter was coming close.  I waited patiently until I heard steps and they stopped.  The distinctive sound of a revolver being drawn cocked and fired all in a fraction of a second was my signal to  flip the lasso upward and jerk it back with all my strength.

 

As the thrashing body hit the bottom of the pit wrapped in the lasso and the blanket, I added a swift stroke from the buttstock of my rifle.  The thrashing stopped and I climbed out of the pit and tossed the unconscious body on the ground.  I stoked the fire to get some light and  with a revolver in one hand I pulled back the blanket.

 

While my plan had worked I was disappointed to see not Tennessee Spud but Red Jack Almer, an outlaw of little interest, other than the fact he had just tried to kill a stranger in his bedroll.  He started to regain his senses and I buffaloed him with my revolver and dragged him over to the horses where I secured him to his own saddle, being careful to tie the ropes in the most uncomfortable way I could imagine.

 

Time to head to Toostone and drop off this one with the Sheriff, might even have a bit of bounty money coming my way.

 

Soon the light was up and we were moving an a quick pace when  a shot rang out and my saddle horn blew up and a lead slug buried itself in my right thigh.  I dropped the lead rope and spun to face the threat as I slid my Winchester from it's scabbard.  I saw a muzzle flash and threw myself to the ground. Firing at the position as I ran, until my rifle was  empty in a few seconds and then I pulled my pistol and a wicked bowie knife.  I leapt over the small boulder used as cover ready to fire and slash, but instead I pulled up as I saw a man I didn't recognize slumped over and dead.

 

I took a step and heard the squish in my boot.  I was bleeding badly from a gash across the top of my thigh.  Quickly I tied it off with my bandanna and built a small hot fire and heated a cinch ring, holding it with the leather strap and I dragged it across the wound.  After a few minutes I eased off on the pressure of the bandanna and used it as a pad for dressing the wound.  I threw the dead outlaw over his horse and swapped his saddle for my now ruined one.  After gathering his gear and guns, I returned to my course and headed for the Sheriff's office.

 

Not a bad fishing trip, but I sure would have preferred to have caught the Tennessee Spud.

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger neared the place where he and Pronto had seen the gang disperse. It was nearing dawn and the sky was growing lighter in the east. He could see the twinkle of a campfire in the rocks, so he headed south to skirt around prying eyes. Once well away from the group, a lone rider headed south would not attract much attention. 

He rode for a few miles before turning once more to the west. It was mid morning before he spotted a long column coming toward him a mile or so distant. Six riders 

broke from the group and headed toward Badger. As they neared, Badger could discern that they were very dusty troopers. A very dusty Lieutenant held up his hand and the riders stopped. He approached Badger and said, "  I am Lieutenant Kane. Please state your name and business?" " I am  Badger, a scout for Major Clark, and I was sent by Major  Clark to deliver a message to a Colonel Reed." The Lieutenant instructed Badger to come with them and the rode back to the column. The young officer reported to the commander of the troop, pointed to Badger, saluted and fell in behind the leader. Badger was summoned forward. "I am Colonel Reed."

"I understand that you have a message for me from Major Clark?"  Badger handed the sealed envelope to him. He read it, then turned to another officer and issued some orders. The officer rode off down the column. He then instructed Badger to fall in with them and they continued on. 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

I rode up to the Sheriff's office with Red tied to his saddle and the dead man draped over his horse.  I tied up at the hitching rail and walked inside.  The Sheriff looked at me, with a bit of a grimace on his face. "You're bleeding."  He said simply. 

 

"Just a scratch, nothing worth worrying over." I replied.

 

"No, you are bleeding on my floor, who do you think is gonna clean it up?"  His voice was gruff, but I could see the smile hiding in his eyes.

 

"Well, there's a prisoner and a body outside tied to their horses.  The prisoner is Red Almer, I'm sure there is paper on him out of Oklahoma.  The corpse, I don't know, maybe you'll recognize him or Red might tell you, but so far our conversations have been a little one sided."

 

We walked outside and I pulled the corpse off the horse and laid him in the street while the Sheriff dragged Red into the cell and locked him up.  He returned to the street and looked at the corpse and started counting holes.

 

"Did you really need to shoot him 6 . . . no 7 times?"  I shrugged,   "It was dark and I was already shot. If I'd have had another gun, there'd be more holes.  More importantly, you got any coffee?"

 

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Traveling a few miles, the column halted, and several officers rode down the line, one stopping at certain intervals. 

Apparently the Colonel's orders were being carried out. several groups of troopers left the caravan and headed out in different directions. 

The rest of the caravan continued on at a normal pace. A short distance ahead the sound of gunfire could be heard coming from behind the rocks. 

Suddenly it erupted on top of the mesa and then it became very quiet. An officer came riding back to the head of the line and reported to the Colonel. 

Another saluted and rode back to where Badger was in the column. 

 

"Colonel wants to see you, Badger,"  

Badger joined him and they rode to the head of the column. 

 

"Badger, I want you to return to Major Clark, and tell him we have captured a band of bushwackers, and seized a Gatling gun in their possession."

"We will continue to our rendezvous tomorrow as scheduled."

 

Badger acknowledged and left the caravan, headed east. 

 

[DocWard]

Doc Ward knew he had work to do, some paperwork to draw up for the frail bit of a woman that Miss Whiskey had brought by his office. He also knew that it wouldn't take long to get the pheasant he had seen earlier. He hadn't had pheasant since leaving Ohio, and the thought of it made his mouth water even thinking about it. Parker shotgun in hand, he moved through the grass along the base of a small outcropping of rock. Focused on flushing the bird, he caught the movement and the shadow out of the corner of his eye too late. Even as he spun, the cougar hit him, knocking him rolling and sending the Parker flying. Forcing his forearm into the big cat's mouth, he felt it bite down, the teeth sinking through the flesh. Screaming in pain, Doc fought to keep his arm jammed deep, his other hand behind the cougar's head gripping the skin, wedging the cat's jaw wide. The cat slashed with paws, lacerating Doc's body and shredding his clothing with its claws as they struggled, The cat, feeling the pain of it's jaw pried wide, struggled to pull free as desperately as Doc held on.

 

Finally pulling free, the cougar rolled in one direction even as Doc Ward rolled the other, fighting to pull his hunting knife from its sheath. As the cougar leapt to attack again, Doc drove the sharp tip of the heavy knife up into the flesh of the cougar's neck. The cougar recoiled in pain, bleeding onto Doc as he pulled the knife free and drove it again and again into the cat's soft underbelly. Even as it was dying, the cat fought and slashed until it no longer had the strength to do so, finally falling heavily onto Doc.

 

Rolling the weight of the cat from his body, Doc lay, looking up at the blue sky, a couple of white clouds slowly floating overhead. "Well, hell," Doc said to himself. His breath coming in rapid gasps, Doc tried to think. He had long been of the opinion that there were few problems that couldn't be solved by thinking them through. Doc didn't think his arm was broken, but he knew it was severely lacerated, and that he was pretty well cut up all over his body from the cat's claws. Doc knew he was a good two miles as the crow flies from Toostone, but that if he could get to his feet, he might be able to walk it. Might, if he hadn't lost too much blood. Looking around, Doc spotted his Parker, and crawled to it. Opening the action, he pulled the two unfired shells from it, thinking the last thing he needed was to have it go off on him unexpectedly.

Putting the butt of the shotgun down, Doc struggled to get to his feet. Feeling lightheaded, Doc used the shotgun as a cane as he began walking. Trudging slowly, every step causing his body to throb in pain, Doc tried to focus on just taking each step. Several times Doc fell face first into the grass, thankful it was there to cushion his fall. Each time he struggled to his feet, to begin walking again.

The sun was getting low in the sky when he walked into Toostone. He decided the Saloon would be the place to go, since there would be people there. Struggling to make it up the step, Doc Wardwalked in through the bat-wing doors. Conversation dyed as people stopped to stare. Doc stood there, wavering on his feet, his shirt bloodied and shredded, his body torn, dirty from head to foot. As he clutched the shotgun helping him stand upright, Doc looked around. His words were audible enough as he said "Mountain Lion." Doc Ward then fell headlong to the floor.

[Blackwater 53393]

The war party disappeared as quickly and quietly as they had arrived.  No trace of them could be found, but the deer carcass was nearly bare!! "Them injuns can pack away the grub!" Campbell chuckled as he peeled away some of the remaining flesh and crammed it into his grinning face.

 

"Better than packin' off our hair!" Blackwater pointed out. "They remembered my name. Good thing!!"

 

Sabre turned around to face Blackwater. "Yeah!  What was that all about?" He glanced again toward where the natives had vanished. "I figured we was done for!!"

 

"Some time ago, I did a favor for an old chief's grandson. The chief made me a Lakota warrior."  The big freighter made it plain that he wasn't going to expand on the story. "You don't need to know more."

 

Sabre looked at the big man for a moment and nodded. "We'd better keep a close eye on those outlaws. Blackwater's friends might not take it kindly if they was to slip away!"

 

Between chews, Mort spoke up, "I'll be lookin' in on 'em soon as I get s'more of this deer and a drink of coffee."  He tore off another strip of the venison.

 

Blackwater mused, "If the main man don't show up in the next day or two, I may let my brothers get what we want to know outta the three of 'em!"  He walked over to the fire and pulled a portion of the meat off for himself.  He chewed at it for a bit and swallowed. Pulling his knife from his boot, he cut away another chunk and held it out over the fire. "Never much cared fer deer meat cold."

 

"Those braves might take it kindly if we were to give 'em a little entertainment," Saber acknowledged as he pulled off a portion of his own and squatted next to the fire. He produced his own knife and dangled the morsel over the flame. "Meat's a little gamey cold, ain't it?"

 

With their bellies full, each man set about his appointed task. Mort grabbed his carbine, checked the load and moved off to spy on the scoundrels. Sabre trimmed off the rest of the edible meat and buried the left over carcass. Blackwater went to where the horses were picketed and hung a feed bag of grain on each of them. He poked around in the bushes and found where a brave had stalked their livestock. That all the horses remained made him smile to himself. He checked the talisman that hung from the bridle of his saddle horse and nodded.

 

Upon his return to camp, Blackwater pulled his boots and examined his stocking feet. Finding no holes in his socks, he pulled the boots back on and stretched out on his bedroll. "Wake me up in a couple of hours and I'll go spell Mort." He slid his hat down over his eyes and crossed his legs. Last of all, he pulled his pistol and laid it across his chest.

 

C.J. dumped out the coffee pot and built another brew. The coffee bag was near empty and he thought how the indians had swilled down two potfulls while they visited. They'd be out of coffee in another couple of days, he thought to himself. "I wish WHOEVER would show up soon," he muttered to himself.

 

At the other camp, Campbell had just slipped into a position overlooking the outlaws. The corporal was shouting at his two compatriots, berating them for letting their food get stolen. Mort laughed quietly as he heard them blaming it on indians. "Ol' Sabre is purty slick!" he whispered with a smile.

 

The corporal was still fuming an hour later when another man rode into the camp.  He was dressed like a city slicker trying to look like a working cowboy. All new clothes and fancy boots and hatband, his shirt was a bright green and his britches a darker green with fancy stitching at the waist and cuffs. The other three snapped upright and made it plain that they knew who was boss.

 

"You three are a sorry lot!" the newcomer growled. "First you DON'T get those rifles, you lose nearly a dozen men, and then you pull a holdup on your way outta' town that puts you on the owlhoot trail!"  He looked each one up and down and shook his head, "I'm tryin' real hard to figure out what good any of ya's are to me!"

 

Campbell didn't hear any more. He slipped out the back of the stand of brush where he'd hidden and silently made his way back to his own camp. "New man in that camp!" he announced as he returned to his cohorts. "He's a 'Fancy Dan' of a feller, all duded up like Astor's pet pony!" He went on to describe the new man to his companions in further detail.

 

"Reckon I'll slide over there and take a gander at him for myself!" Blackwater grunted as he stood up and holstered his revolver. He tugged his hat down on his head and picked up his shotgun. "I want to know who this peckerwood is!"

 

As he strode out of camp, the other two looked at each other. "We should be ready to ride!" Sabre warned. "If they break camp, we'll have to trail 'em straight off!"

 

Campbell began by rolling his bedroll and picked up his gear. "I'll saddle the horses. You get the pack animals squared away so's if we hafta' move, we'll' be ready when Blackwater gets back!"

 

Blackwater had eased into the spot that they'd used to spy on their quarry. He gazed into the camp, marking every feature of the new arrival. "Fancy Dan is right!" he thought. "Two gun rig with silver trim." His horse was saddled with an expensive, showy saddle that was tooled and fringed.  "This one thinks a lot of himself!" Blackwater said in a soft whisper. "I never seen you before Mister, but I won't forget you. You can bet your ass on that!!

 

As he watched, it became obvious that the corporal and his pards were uneasy around this new addition. Every time he said something, the others jumped or shuddered. It was plain that they wouldn't be breaking camp right away, so the big reb settled in to watch and listen. Over the next hour or so, the four outlaws boiled coffee, put a pot of beans on the fire, and listened to the new man berate them continuously. In that entire time they only called him "Boss". When they settled around the fire to eat, Blackwater stole away and returned to his own camp. As he went, he formulated a plan to capture the outlaws.

 

"We'll come at 'em from different sides. C.J., you take yer rifle and come at 'em from where we've been watchin'." He turned to Mort, "You circle around and come at 'em from the trees on the other side of camp."  After a moment, he continued, "I'm gonna' come at 'em from across the creek.  Come in on horseback and come shootin'!"

 

"Do ya' aim to kill all of 'em?" Campbell asked.

 

"If we hafta'! " Sabre added, then shook his head. "Shoot high the first time and we'll see if they give up!  Any of 'em that shoots back, punch his ticket to Hell!!"

 

Blackwater studied the sky. It had been dark for a hour by the time he's laid out his plan and the others had had a chance to add to it. "We'll break camp at midnight. Move quiet like and circle out wide so's you don't give away the plan." He looked each man in the eye. "We'll make our play when it gets light enough to see. Mort, take the pack animals with you and stake 'em back a ways on your side of the creek."

 

"You figurin' some of them bastards will get away?" C.J. asked.  "I kinda' want to capture one or more alive!"

 

"At this point, I don't hardly care, so long as none of us gets killed." Blackwater said firmly.  "Let's get some grub and some rest!  We want to get the drop on these hombres 'fore they know what's hit 'em!"

 

 

 

[Grampaw Willie, SASS No.26996]

It was reported this morning that a case of Toostone Saloon's own Select Reserve Special Rye Whisky was stolen after hours from the Saloon.

 

A couple of Suspicious Looking Characters were seen shipping an item about the size of a case on the 0500 Toostone Express to Arthur's Hole.

 

These Suspicious Looking Characters were observed by a couple of Patrons who apparently "just didn't get to bed last night"

[Ridgetop Rich - SASS#42606]

Familiarity......

 

What is it about returning to a place you haven't been in years.... the people change, the trees are bigger, things fade away new things spring up in their place, but still.... there is a sense about the place, like all the old memories just under the surface, some of the adventures forgotten, some told so many times they've become completely different.

 

Ridgetop paused to look up at the sliver of a moon, smiling at him like a big cat up in the trees.  In the distance he could hear the mournful whistle of the train as it signaled its approch to Toostone.  Not an hour ago he had been on that train, but had exited quietly to avoid the man (for lack of a better word) that was following him.  He pondered the events of the past few years.  The mysterious summons from Virginia, being shanghai-ed and ending up off the coast of Spain.   The plan... the failed mutiny... the bullet in his chest... dying but not really dying... the cold blackness of the water... the sharp rocks... then a hand pulling him from the water, 

 

Then, the freakishly quick recovery.... the absence of scars.... the new places.... the new languages... France, Russia, China, the Far East.... Japan and his time with the Samurai.  And finally the riddle... always back to the riddle.... "In the end there can be only one"

 

It was a low, muttering but familiar voice that brought him back to the here and now. "Gotta be a way to kill that bastard Flint"

 

"Not the first time I've heard that" Rich though to himself as he silently unsheathed his katana and creeped up behind the slim figure.  In one swift stroke he sliced through the man's gunbelt, just as the cowboy sensed his presence and turned to draw. As Tennessee Stud completed his spin, his gunbelt fell to the ground and he ended up pointing finger-guns at his assailant. 

 

Recognizing TS, Ridgetop lowered his sword and grinned. "You gonna poke me to death?"

 

Tennessee shook his head. "Well truss me up and dip me in sheep snot, we all thought you was dead!"

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

"Killing me is straightforward enough, Spud.  What you have to do is die in the process.  I'm ready if you are. Oh and you'll need a blade."  I stepped out of the shadows with my greener leveled at Spud  "Be real calm right now, the 10 gauge will more than do the trick for you Spud and Rich there, he'll survive, but he ain't gonna like it for awhile if I pull these triggers."

 

"Flint you murderous bastard, you are awful brave holding a man at gunpoint.  I seen you murder my friends and I'll see you in hell."  TS snarled.

 

I chuckled, "You mean like Rich-you saw me murder him if I recall."

 

Ts "Yeah, I saw you kill him and others too . . ." He turned to Rich "Flint killed you, I saw it!"  Rich took his Katana and rubbed his thumb down the blade just enough to draw blood and held it out for TS to examine.  "What you saw was subterfuge, Flint didn't kill anyone that day,  he helped some good people disappear, and myself as well."

 

I lowered the shotgun "You sure you wanna kill me TS?" and I lowered the hammers and  tossed him the shotgun."  TS looked confused "No I guess not, but you call me Spud one more time and I'll be inclined to change my mind again."

 

"How about I call you Tennessee and you quit printing reward posters with my picture and name?"  TS unloaded the shotgun and handed it back to me "That'll work." he said simply.

 

Ridgetop Rich looked around "You two are some of the oddest critters I've ever run across.  Is someone going to buy me a drink?"

 

I slapped him on the back "Just as long as you aren't here to claim a prize for anything other than second place Rich, I'll buy you all you can drink before sunrise.  You too, Tennessee, but you might wanna be careful, I hear there's paper on you too."

 

He looked at me a moment "You're still one murderous son of a b*$%#, but if you are buying, I guess I'll drink."

 

I nodded and thought to myself . . .  and then some my friend, and then some.

[Sgt. C.J. Sabre, SASS #46770]

While Blackwater and Mort got some shuteye, C.J. couldn’t seem to settle down. Something was bothering him about The Boss in the outlaw’s camp. Crawling out of his bedroll, C.J. once again sneaked down to where they had been watching the outlaws. 

He saw pretty much what Blackwater and Mort had described. A fancy dressed boss man dressing down his subordinates.
The Boss couldn’t seem to sit still OR shut up. He kept walking around the camp, berating his men again and again. Even well after dark, he kept it up. After a while, it all started to run together. THAT’S when it struck C.J. what was bothering him.
He got back to camp just as Blackwater and Mort were just finishing packing up for their assault on the outlaw’s.

“Where’ve you been?” Blackwater growled at him. “We were starting to think we were going to have to go at it without you.”

 

“Never happen,” C.J. assured the men. “Somethin’ was bothering me about this whole thing, and I think I know what it is.”

“Well, spit it out!” Blackwater growled again.

“You’ve seen Fancy Dan types like that before, right?”

Blackwater and Mort both agreed that they had. 

“Ever’ so often some General from back East will show up at the fort,” Mort offered. “They allus look the same. Fresh, new uniform. New boots and saddles, polished sword belt, often as not dangling a sabre, too. All ready to show the rest of us How It’s Done. None of ‘em ever make it past the first patrol if they see any action. Some don’t make it back from even that.”

Blackwater allowed as how he’d seen the same thing, both military and civilian.

“What’s the one thing ALL these guys have in common?” C.J. asked.

The other men looked at him, wondering where he was going with this. 

“An entourage,” C.J. told them. “Guys like that ALWAYS have a gaggle of people with them. Some of them actually know what they’re doing. But there are a bunch of other hangers on to get their food, clean their clothes, polish their gear, and such. They NEVER travel alone like THIS guy is.”  

Intrigued, Blackwater asked, “So what do you think the story is here.”

“This guy is bait, pure and simple,” C.J. told him. He’s here to lure out anybody watching the Corporal and his men. Like us!”
“What’s the furthest the other side of their camp we’ve been?” C.J. asked.

“I can’t say I’ve been past our lookout spot,” Mort said. 

“Me neither,” Blackwater acknowledged.

“Give me a couple hours to scout around,” C.J. said. “I want to see if they’re as alone as we think they are.”

“What if they break camp while you‘re gone?” Blackwater asked.

“You two give chase,” C.J. told the big Reb. “I’m not going so far as I won’t hear you two shootin’ at ‘em. I’ll give ‘em a surprise comin’ in from the other side.”

As C.J. rode off, Blackwater and Mort settled back to wait and see what he could find out. 

“We might as well get some more shuteye.” Blackwater told Mort. 

“Might as well,” Mort agreed. “It’s still several hours ‘till daylight anyway.”

 

The Sun was just not quite peeking over the horizon when Blackwater and Mort were wakened by a horse coming in, and fast. They barely had their guns pulled when C.J. galloped into the camp, not even trying to keep quiet. 

“WHAT IN TARNATION ARE YOU DOING!?” Blackwater thundered at him. 

“Sometimes I hate being right,” C.J. said, leaping off his horse. “They’re out there alright!” And while we were watching them, they were watching US! If those Lakota warriors had gone down there it’d been a massacre.” 

“Don’t tell me…,” Blackwater started to say.

“Yep. They knew I was coming. And there are about two dozen chasin’ me! I managed to lose them for a bit, but they know where we are, and I’d say we’ve got about a minute ‘till they get here.”

Without any more need for discussion, the three men took up previously selected defensive positions to wait for the impending attack. 

Soon enough, the men chasing C.J. rode up, encircling the camp.

“YOU MEN JUST COME ON UP OUT OF THERE!” one of them shouted. “WE’VE GOT YOU SURROUNDED!”

“YOU’D BETTER GIVE UP WHILE YOU CAN!” C.J. called back to him. WE’VE GOT YOU RIGHT WHERE WE WANT YOU!”

“WHADDAYA MEAN BY THAT?” 

“”IF YOU’VE GOT US SURROUNDED, WE CAN HIT YOU NO MATTER WHICH WAY WE SHOOT!” 

[Blackwater 53393]

Several shots rang out around the camp. Dirt kicked up as bullets whined through the air.  Blackwater let out a screaming rebel yell and rolled into the tree line at the back of the camp. His cry was answered by the howl of a wolf and the scream of a panther. Mort went down with the impact of a bullet, but he scrambled into the brush, firing his rifle as he went. C.J. was firing at  smoke puffs with his rifle as he moved behind the stacked pack saddles. As he went he began to limp. The heel had been shot off of his right boot.

 

From the tree line, screams were heard and there were yips like coyotes on the hunt. Blackwater climbed to the top of the rise, firing one and then the other pistol. He saw one outlaw go down from his shots and he snapped off another shot at a shadow standing beside a tree with a rifle aimed at the camp. The man went down and as he did an arrow punched through his neck! Other outlaws fired and fled as bullets, shot, and arrows riddled their ranks. The gunfire subsided and as it did, Blackwater moved back to where Campbell had fallen. The man was sitting against the trunk of a large pine. His rifle and a pistol lay in the dust beside him and his shirt exhibited a large red blossom just above his gun belt. He smiled up at the big reb as he shucked shells from Blackwater's shotgun. 

 

"I ran out of cartridges. Glad you left this layin' around!!" Mort laughed weakly and dropped the big double into his lap.

 

Sabre fired in the direction of the retreating outlaws from across the camp. "Where'd them Sioux come from?" he shouted as he reloaded his rifle.

 

Blackwater picked up the shotgun and stuffed in two more shells. He stalked up the ridge and watched as the riders made their escape. "Only four of them left!" he shouted. "The "Boss" is leadin' 'em away!" He strode back down the slope to the camp and stood beside Campbell, leaned the loaded shotgun against the tree and stooped down to examine Mort's injury. "The Lakotas offered to keep an eye on them bastards and I accepted their offer."

 

Pulling up the scout's bloody shirt, they found a bullet hole just above the belt line a few inches to the left of his belly button. Rolling him over, it became apparent that the slug had passed through, leaving a larger hole on the back side.  "Looks like it missed your kidney, but it's tore out a sizable chunk of meat." Blackwater explained.

 

"Need to stop bleeding!" a Lakota warrior said as he squatted next to the wounded man.  He produced a pouch with several smaller bags inside of it. He dumped the powder from one of the smaller bags into the bigger wound on the tracker's back and pushed it into the wound with a finger. He then rolled his patient back over and did the same to the smaller wound as well. Sabre produced a shirt, tore several long strips from it and proceeded to bind the wound. "Man will live!" the indian said as he stood up. "Not travel for two suns." 

 

"Thank you," Mort said as he watched the warrior walk away.

 

"I'm gonna' take a look around and see who's NOT gettin' away!"  Blackwater said. "I need to find out if we got any chance of figuring out who the "Boss" is and what's his next move!  I aim to kill that bastard and this time we ain't waiting on NOTHIN' when I catch up to him!!"

 

C.J. followed behind. "Maybe some of these bums are still alive enough to tell us what we want to know."

 

"We'll see!"

 

Climbing the slope again in the direction the bandits had made their escape, they found the bodies of several men. The corporal was among the dead.  At the base of a tree, they found one of the other outlaws they'd tracked across the prairie. He was alive, but his time was short. Bloody foam trickled down his jaw, a hole in his chest from a bullet and an arrow in his lower rib cage.  "Who's your boss?" Sabre demanded as he squatted beside the dying man.

 

The blood seeped between the man's lips and his eyes rolled. "Never heard his name," he gasped. "Said he came from over Cheyenne way."  The man slumped further and his eyes ceased to roll. He stared up at the sky, but he didn't see.

 

They counted sixteen dead. There were none who survived that were left behind. When Sabre and Blackwater returned to their camp, they found several Sioux braves and their leader sitting around a freshly restarted fire. There were several small animals, fresh dressed and roasting over the flames. Blackwater pulled the scout's bedroll from his horse and spread it near the fire and then, with help from C.J. he got Mort moved onto the spread blankets.

 

Blackwater then joined the braves around the fire while Sabre dug out the last of their coffee and a pot to boil it in. The big reb spoke and signed with the warrior leader for several minutes. When it was apparent that he'd said all there was to say, the two men stood and grasped each other by the shoulder.  "We are brothers, you and I!" Blackwater declared. The indian nodded.

For another hour, they ate and drank coffee. Even Blackwater shared the dark liquid, a tribute to their friendship. Just as abruptly as was their arrival, the braves stood and walked out of the camp, each nodded to the men who remained behind.  The scream of a mountain lion was heard as the last of them disappeared over the ridge. Blackwater replied with the howl of a wolf.

 

"I'm goin' over to the other camp an nose around.  Maybe i can get a clue as to who the hell this hombre is. I'll be back before noon."  Blackwater checked the cinch on his saddle. There was no need now for stealth.  He climbed into the saddle and kneed the horse in the direction of the outlaw camp.  When he arrived at the other site, he saw that they'd abandoned the camp in a hurry. There were live embers in the ashes of the fire and a few supplies still sat where they'd been deserted.  After seeking but not finding any new information, he gathered up the remaining grub and returned to his trail partners.

 

Sabre had taken several bundles from the pack saddles. "We'll take Campbell to the nearest town as soon as he's up to being moved. 'Til then, we need to watch him for fever and make sure he don't set in to bleedin' again."  He produced a bottle of whiskey and set it down near the patient. "We'll be needin' this, probably sooner than later."

 

"At least they skedaddled so quick that they left their coffee," Blackwater laughed. "I KNOW how you 'n' Mort can't live without it!"

 

"We gonna' be here a couple days according to that redskin," Sabre added. "The least we can do is drink civilized!"

 

The freighter looked around then growled angrily, "Time we get back to huntin' these damned varmints, the trail's gonna' be dead cold. I may not catch him now, but I won't forget what he looks like and if I stay on top of the ground long enough, I'll see him face to face someday!!"  He marched over to his mount. When he returned, he dropped two bags next to Sabre. "The take from the stage. They lit a shuck so quick that they didn't take it with 'em!!"

 

C.J. shook his head slowly, "At least there's that.  Maybe the Marshal will let me keep this badge!"

 

 

[Blackwater 53393]

Three days later, Sabre and Blackwater helped a weak but game Mort Campbell into a doctor's front room in Ringgold, Nebraska.  After a thorough examination, the doctor pronounced the tracker out of any danger. "What is that you put into the wound? It purely stopped the bleeding," the doctor told them.

 

"A Sioux brave poked it into the wound when we first found it." C.J. told him.

 

Blackwater added, "Don't know what it was, but he seemed to know what he was doin'!"

 

"You can leave him here 'til he's able to travel. You've paid the bill," the doctor commented as they stepped out onto the porch.

 

"Thanks, Doc!" they both said as they stepped down into the street.

 

The two men found a cafe and had themselves a good meal. When they'd gotten their fill, they saddled up and rode back eastward.  "There's no trail left to follow," Sabre said.  "I'm going back to St.Louis and see the chief marshal. I'll return the stage loot and let him decide how to proceed."

 

Blackwater rode in silence for a while. "I'm thinkin' I'll spend a few days in St. Louis and then mosey out to Cheyenne and look around!"  He let that simmer for a mile or so. "I aim to find that Boss feller and blow me a hole or two in his brisket!!"

[Ridgetop Rich - SASS#42606]

Tennessee Stud shook his head, and glanced at the silver flask he always carried. "meybee it's time to change brands...." he muttered to himself.  None of this made any sense....  He remembered riding shotgun on the mysterious trip that Ridgetop, Mark and the others took out to Virginia... Then waiting around at the Oriental with all their strange food and bizarre customs. Especially the most disturbing one of all.... the one they called... (he shivered and suppressed a small gag reflex) Karaoke.  Then the drinking, which was the only thing that made it tolerable, the strange women, then ending up on the ship to Spain in chains.  The escape, the mutiny, and then when it was all going so well, Mark Flint goes full blown Mr Blonde and starts shooting all of their friends in the chest and dumping them overboard.  If he hadn't clocked Flint in the back of the head with an oar from one of the lifeboats and knocked him overboard he would have killed the entire crew.  Now here Rigdetop was like nothing had happened.  He'd seen the two slugs through his heart, the light go out of his eyes.  The whole thing was just dang blamed confounding!

 

Was it a joke, was he seeing ghosts?  Could he trust them?  The answer was.... he didn't know.  How could you trust a man that killed all your friends?  How could you trust a man that wouldn't stay dead? He figured he'd best just play along for awhile until he could figure this thing out.... or at least figure out an edge.

 

"You know...." he grunted at Rich. "That was my favorite gunbelt."

 

[Badger Mountain Charlie SASS #43172]

Badger found Major Clark and his troopers. He reported and told the story of capture of the outlaws. 

The Major was satisfied with the report,  and preparations were made to move to the rendezvous on the morrow. 

Finding no further need of Badger's service, but liking his commitment and performance,  he asked if Badger would like to 

sign on as an official scout for the Army. Badger smiled, thanked him but declined. He sought out his new friend, Pronto and said goodbye,  then headed back toward Toostone. 

 

Several days later he could see the rooftops of the town. He was anxious to shake the trail dust and get a good night's rest in a bed. A few days of R &R and then head out for San Francisco. 

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

Tennessee and I shard a bottle and I explained to him what he had seen and why it had been done.  Rich's being present and apparently alive seemed to help put him at ease, though I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.  After a few drinks I reminded him there was paper on him and that perhaps we could do something about that.  I showed him the flyer and suggested we speak with Doc Ward, once he was up and about and see if there was some way he could help.  He muttered something about godless lawyers and I reminded him that they weren't really godless, they just worship a different god. 

 

After an hour I figured it was time to go speak with the Sheriff about the prisoner and the corpse.  I walked over to the office and entered.  He was in back attending to the prisoner, so I poured a cup of coffee and waited.  When he came out he frowned. "You are gonna give this place a bad reputation."

 

I laughed "Beats being boring. You figure out who that dead gent was?"

 

He nodded "You'll like this, his name was Bill Poster, leastwise, that's the alias he's been using the last few years. I think he is actually Jean Baptiste ."

 

I raised an eyebrow "The mormon graverobber?"

 

He nodded-"Pretty sure, come take a look."  I followed him down to the undertaker where he showed me the body with the shirt stripped away.  We rolled the body over and across the back were scars of a whipping and a brand of sorts that crudely read "Graverobber"

 

"Well that is something-any reward?"  The sheriff shook his head no. "No one knew for sure if he was alive.  Mormons might give you a wife for killing him."

 

I looked at him in all seriousness "It was self defense, no need to punish me."

[Blackwater 53393]

Sabre and Blackwater returned to St.Louis.  After an evening of relaxation and a good breakfast, Sabre reported in to the U.S. Marshal. When he'd explained in detail the entire series of events and filed the paperwork, he returned to the Marshal's office. 

 

"I want you to bring Blackwater in," the marshal instructed C.J. "Use whatever means necessary.  If he refuses, arrest his ass.  If you need them, take whatever deputies you feel it'll take to do the job!"

 

Sabre loked at his boss with some dismay.  "Is it that bad?"  He thought for a moment. "What is he wanted for?"

 

The marshal snarled, "Never you mind what for!  I want him here pronto!!  You understand??"

 

C.J. tucked his chin in and exited the office.  He went to the hotel and found the big reb sitting at a table in the back of the bar.

 

"Marshal says to bring you in to the office immediately!" C.J. said as he sat down in an empty chair.  "He was purty gruff when he said it!"

 

Blackwater sipped at the drink in front of him.  "Any idea what it's about?"

 

"Never said!  Just made it plain that he wasn't takin' "NO" for an answer." Sabre shook his head, "He told me to use whatever means I thought would be needed, including arresting you or having a few extry deputies to drag you down there!!"

 

Blackwater drained his glass and then slid his chair back, leaning it against the wall and tilting his hat back on his head.  "WELL!!  I reckon I better go see what the hell this is all about!" He rocked forward, letting the chair legs slam onto the floor hard. He stood, adjusted his old Colt in it's holster and strolled out of the bar.  As he reached the street he slipped his hat back down over his eyes and turned toward where Sabre had come from. He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the deputy marshal who had just reached the front door. "You comin' or what??"

 

He set out again at a determined gait and C.J. hurried to catch up.  "What've you done that would make the marshal want you so bad?"

 

"I ain't done NOTHIN' that he nor anybody else knows about!!" Blackwater said firmly. "At least not since the war was over."

 

When they entered the building, the marshal was standing in the doorway to his office.  "Get in here!" he ordered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

 

Blackwater stared at him for a second and shook his head, then strode into the office.

 

The marshal stepped aside to let him through then looked at the deputy. He jerked his thumb again and said, '''You too!!" He walked past both of them after they'd entered and sat down behind his desk. "Sit down!  Both of ya's!"

 

The deputy sat in one of the chairs in front of he desk. Blackwater stood a moment longer and then he spun the second chair around backward and straddled the seat, leaning his right arm on it's back and letting the left arm dangle near his sidearm.  He slowly lowered himself onto the chair. "Just what the hell is stickin' in yer craw?" he growled.

 

The marshal leaned back in his chair and raised both hands to shoulder level, palms facing forward. "Don't get all wound up!" he said, a slight smile beginning to show. "First! I want to thank you for the job you just did." He looked directly at the freighter. "You got those rifles and ammunition to where they needed to go and you helped bust up a ring of cutthroats that's been doggin' us for a while!" He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, giving a soft whistle as he did. "C.J.! Good work!  I'll have you another assignment in a few days!"

 

"OKAY!!" Blackwater still wasn't smiling, "What the HELL is so all fired important that you gotta' threaten me with arrest and being drug down here?" his agitation showing.

 

The marshal ignored him for a moment. "Deputy, did this one do anything that would reflect badly on him?"

 

"No," Sabre replied.

 

The marshal looked at his deputy for a long time.  "You can go!  I'll send for you when I'm ready."

 

The deputy rose, looked over at his companion for a bit and then put his hat on his head and walked out.

 

"You stay where you are!" the marshal ordered as he turned his attention back to the angry man still seated.  When the door closed behind Sabre, the marshal leaned forward , rising up over the desk. "The judge says to deputize you and if you don't accept to throw you in jail!!" He doubled his fists and leaned over onto them.  "I agree with him!  I tried to hang a star on you the last time I saw ya' and you turned it down!"  The marshal let out laugh that offered no humor.  "So! You wanna' take my offer or would you rather spend some time behind bars??"

 

The big reb's expression didn't change. He stared at the lawman, not letting his gaze waver at all. "I don't take orders well no more."

 

"The judge says he's got a job for you.  Says he don't care how you do it so long as it gets done once and for all!" He reached into a drawer and produced a badge.  "You in or do I lock you up?" He extended the hand holding the badge over the desk.

 

Blackwater still didn't move. His face still a mask of anger and irritation. "It might do to know what I'm s'posed to do 'fore I say one way or the other!"

 

The marshal grinned, "That'd be between you and Judge Treat!!"  He looked across the desk, "What'll it be?"

 

The big man shrugged his shoulders, the anger in his face turning to disgust, "I don't favor bein' caged up," he muttered.  "Where's the damned judge?" He took the badge.

 

"Upstairs in his office!"  the marshal smiled, "He can swear you in!"

 

"Not 'fore I give him a good cussin' out!!"  Blackwater stalked out of the office.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Calico Mary]

It was late in the afternoon before Mr. Rawlins, I mean Cody, and I got back to Toostone.  Every time Cody looked at me he gave me a huge smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back, remembering how good his kisses had made me feel.  He hadn’t pushed me for any more than that, and had even tried to apologize for being a little too forward, but I didn’t mind one bit.  It had been the best afternoon of my life, and I was going to treasure that memory for a long time.

 

On our way back into town we saw a man heading into town, though at a slower pace than we were going, both he and his horse looked tired.  "Badger Mountain Charlie, ma'am, at your service," the man said to me while tipping his hat to me as we rode by.  After stopping by the livery and dropping off his horses and my new mare, who I’d named Sparkle, he escorted me back to the hotel.  We passed by the man I’d seen both at the jail and in the Saloon, and for some reason he didn’t seem real happy to see Cody, though he did tip his hat to me as well as he walked by.   Cody wanted to take me out to dinner at the restaurant, but he told me to run upstairs and change into my fanciest dress first.  I had one of my riding outfits on, but it was a little dusty, so I went to my room and put on the one dress Miss Whiskey had bought me.  It wasn’t that fancy, but I thought it looked nice.

 

When I got back downstairs though, Cody looked rather disappointed.  “Is that your best dress, my dear?” he asked.  I nodded, not sure what to say because I could tell he didn’t really approve of it.  Cody sighed, then he smiled, “No worries, it will do for this evening.  But tomorrow, before we go to look at a couple more properties, how about I take you shopping and buy you something really nice?  I have learned a thing or two about ladies’ fashions from some of my trips to St. Louis and New Orleans, and the dress shop down the street has a few outfits that would be perfect for you.  It will be my treat, and all you have to do to repay me is go riding with me again tomorrow, then allow me to escort you to dinner again, with you in one of the dresses I’ll buy for you.  Deal?”

 

“Deal!” I told him, “but can we go now?  If you don’t like this one….”  Cody just laughed, “I’m afraid the dress shop is closed for the evening, darling, it will have to wait until tomorrow.  Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, you do look lovely regardless.”  Every time he smiled at me, I could swear there was a whole flock of butterflies loose in my stomach.  It was a good feeling though, and I almost forgot to eat my dinner I was so busy staring into his eyes the whole time.  The only bad part of the night was when he took me back to the hotel and kissed me soundly at the foot of the stairs before I went to my room.  I almost didn’t want to let him go, it felt so good to be in his arms.  Then when he finally excused himself and left, I turned to go up the stairs and looked straight into the eyes of Miss Whiskey.  She was standing at the top of the stairs, and it was obvious she’d seen the whole thing.  She did not look real happy about it either….