Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-20-08

 

A few years before, under the persistent blows of an axe-man, a chestnut was felled: its limbs trimmed off, the trunk lay waiting for the harnessed team to hitch on and drag it to where it was needed: alas, the hungry waters rose, and carried it off, and it lay in water and in mud for some years, before a change in the currents during flood-time cut away the muds and the sediments and allowed it freedom.
Water-soaked, it was nearly weightless, having almost the density of the surrounding water: there was a little difference, which meant that, when the water grew warmer or colder, more or less dense, when gas-generating bacteria grew more active, or less active, the hidden hardwood would float, a little, dragging one end and its other end waving in the current: at other times, it lay along the bottom, sometimes rolling a little, as sand bars shifted and washed away, or waters increased with rain and with flood.
Riverboat captains were a notoriously fearless lot, laying bets as to the swiftness of their boats, and recklessly ordering their boilers over-pressured, to get another ounce of speed from them: boiler explosions were a thing to be feared, but the one thing regarded with genuine dread were these hidden, semi-floating loggerheads, that could be safely submerged as one boat passed overhead, but rise up and gut the next boat following.

-------
The prisoner’s eyes were big as the Captain removed his cap and bowed his head; every man’s cover was removed, and every head bowed. Words were reverentially spoken, and the Captain’s callused hand closed about the handle of the steam-valve, and his other hand pulled the locking dog out of engagement, and the steam- winch began to hiss, and to chuff, and turn the bronze worm-gear, which drove a second gear, which drove another, which turned the drum; it was surprisingly quick, and the condemned was hoisted swiftly off the deck, and raised some six feet in the air, to struggle and kick and shiver, to the dry rattle of his shackles.

-------

Perhaps the water-gods were hungry; perhaps they were jealous that their red-headed prize had been denied them by a Texas lariat and by men who knew salt water and canvas sails: perhaps that’s why the loggerhead began its slow, up-and-down cycle in the water, pointing its nose at the stilled sternwheeler.
And perhaps those same water-gods were satiated by an offering, a sacrifice, one of their own, chained and thrown to his fate, an appeasement of sorts: for no sooner had the man fallen overboard than he began stroking, both hands together, awkwardly, but the best he could do handcuffed: his feet touched bottom and he gathered his legs and pushed off for the surface, and the loggerhead began its slow, ponderous descent.
He kicked and struggled against the entrapping stub of a branch that caught the chain connecting his shackled ankles: in fact, he had nearly kicked free, when the loggerhead, partly sideways to the current, rolled, and drew the condemned man’s legs under it; then, settling into a depression in the sandy bottom, the loggerhead settled, nose-down, slumbering.
The river was satisfied.
The river had its victim.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-24-08

 

Mr. Baxter's eyebrows shot up and his lips pursed in a soundless whistle.
He held the wanted dodger at arm's length, looked at the illustration, looked at the tired, dusty rider, and looked back at the dodger.
"What's wrong, yer arms too short?" the dusty fellow snarled.
Mr. Baxter nodded to Jacob. "Son, could you fetch Deputy Cooper, please?"
The bounty hunter seized Jacob by the shirt collar. "Now wait a minute!" he grated, but his words were cut off as Jacob drove the muzzle of his percussion .44 into the man's ribs.
He looked down and held very, very still.
Jacob's thumb had slipped off the hammer, and the hammer stood at full cock, and Jacob's eyes were as warm and forgiving as his father's in such moments.
There was a metallic sound and the dusty rider looked back at Mr. Baxter.
Mr. Baxter cocked the second barrel of his stubby twelve-bore and said quietly, "We don't care for bad manners. Please release the lad and have a beer, on the house. The deputy will be here directly."
The bounty hunter saw the wisdom of accepting Mr. Baxter's hospitable offer.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-24-08

 

Esther folded her hands, as she did in such moments, and I knew the gears were turning behind those lovely emerald eyes.
I turned, rifle in hand. She'd come in as I loaded a sixth round in each of my revolvers, and checked the chamber of my engraved rifle, and thumbed a final round in the magazine.
"My dear," she said in her gentle voice, "do you think this is wise?"
I strode across the stateroom and took my wife in my arms, and kissed her passionately. Her arms held me tight, and she kissed me right back.
"I must know," I murmured.
"You must know...?"
I drew up a chair, a twin to the velvet cushioned throne she had occupied on the foredeck earlier that day, and leaned over its back, easing the strain on my lower back.
"My dear," I began, "do you recall the response when I named myself?"
Esther smiled. "I do."
"I was approached not long after. It seems the fellow was a bounty hunter, or a would-be, at least: some fellow who wanted to make a name for himself. He'd been bragging in the saloon that he'd found Billy Carson, and he was going to bring him in, peacefully or otherwise."
"And you resemble this ... this Billy Carson?"
"He seemed to think so."
"And your plan?"
I picked up the rifle and reached for my hat. "I plan to go see the local town marshal. We'll be in town by noon. If there's a wanted poster for this fellow, the local law should have one."
Esther stood. "One moment." She walked over to the desk, opened a drawer, and extracted my journal.
"Do you still have that lovely drawing Fiddler Daine made of us?"
I smiled. "My dear, I shall have it forever."
"May I have it?"
Puzzled, I replied, "Of course," and opened the back cover of my journal.
"No. Please don't take it out." Esther took the journal. "Let me get my shawl and my hat and I shall go with you."
It was my turn to ask, "My dear, do you think this is wise?"
Esther spun her shawl about her shoulders and turned to the mirror. Situating the hat upon her head, she worked some magic with her hair and a couple of hat-pins and smiled. "Somehow, dearest, I don't believe this desperado would appear in public in a suit, wearing his badge, and with a beautiful woman on his arm."
I turned back my lapel, considered the star I wore under it.
Esther saw my frown.
Divining my concern, she unfastened the badge and released it from its home, hidden behind the turn-back; she produced a needle and thread from somewhere, and with a few quick turns, stitched the badge to the front of the lapel.
"There," she said with a nod of satisfaction. "No big holes from the pin, the badge is secure, and none may doubt your rank!"
I drew her into me. She was warm and solid in my arms, and I rubbed her nose with mine.
"I love you, Mrs. Keller," I said quietly.
"I love you, too, Mr. Keller," she said, and kissed me, and my arms tightened around her again, and God help me but my belly turned to water and my knees went weak.
I came up for air.
Esther was halfway to the door.
"Well?" she asked, the imp of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Are you coming?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 1-24-08

 

Damn but Jacob was fast with that pistol. Charlie and Caleb were in the corner with coffee in front of them when the ruckus started across the room. Before Charlie could do more than push back his chair and slide his pistol into his hand, it was over and the rider was at the bar with a beer in one hand and the other hand avoiding his own pistol by as big a margin as possible. Jacob holstered the gun and went out the door at a fast walk.

"Is there anything I can assist you with, Mister Baxter?" Charlie called jovially as he watched the bartender return his shotgun to its accustomed place beneath the bar.

"I don't believe so, Marshal MacNeil," Baxter called back. Both men saw the rider at the bar flinch at the sound of Charlie's name. The rider picked up his beer, took a long drink, then casually turned and leaned against the bar, but it was obvious to all and sundry that he was uneasy.

"Would that be Charlie MacNeil?" the stranger drawled with an undercurrent of tension below the easy words.

"My reputation precedes me," Charlie said. He smiled. "And you are?"

"My name's not important," the stranger said. He took another drink of his beer, tipping the mug up to finish it. When the mug came back down below eye level Charlie was standing in front of him with his thumb hooked in his belt near his gun.

"Oh but it might be, my friend," Charlie said. The man's eyes widened as Charlie leaned in closer. "So it might behoove you to let us all know who you are. In fact, it'd be downright un-neighborly to keep it to yourself." Charlie smiled but the smile never reached his eyes. "Even if you have to make up a name."

That got the man's attention. He slapped the beer mug down on the bar and snarled, "What are you gettin' at? Are you sayin' I'm wanted?" His hand slipped toward his gun and Charlie slapped him. Hard.

Now Charlie wasn't a big man, but he was bigger than some, and his arms and hands were work-hardened and he knew how to whip that hand in. No man likes to be slapped and the stranger was instantly mad but before he could do more than reach for his gun Charlie slapped him again. The stranger came away from the bar with a lunge.

Charlie stepped aside and stuck out his boot, and the man did a headlong dive into the polished hardwood of the floor. His pistol tumbled out of the holster and Charlie kicked it to one side. The man lay on the floor, temporarily stunned, and Charlie pulled his pistol and stuck the muzzle in the hollow at the back of the man's skull as the stranger reached to push himself up from the floor. "Don't even think about it," Charlie said softly. "Now what's your name?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-24-08

 

"Hey, Mac! That fella at the counter talking to that Marshall feller."

"What bout him, Bill."

In Bill's hand was a a brown piece of paper twisted around in a cone shape with it's loose top section folded over, so that was held inside would not fall out.

"Well! Don't he look a tad familiar?" Bill questioned.

"Everone looks familiar to ya Bill. Hell! At our age, I recon we probably seen just bout everone God placed on this here earth."

The two continued to shuffle into the Silver Jewel. Mac spied Caleb half sitting, half standing at a table across the main room.

"There's the little tykes Papa, Bill. Let's get this here pepperment over yonder, and get ourselves back to the Merchantile. There's a shipment due in, and I don't want to let Maude down by not bein there."

"Dang it Mac! My bones still ache from the shipment last week!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 1-25-08

 

Duzy smiled as she watched Fannie entering the room in her velvet robe, drawing Jake and Kid’s eyes, and with a sweet “good morning,” and a few hugs later amongst those gathered, Fannie had everyone ushered out of the room except she, Bonnie and Duzy.

Knowing her friend would want every detail, what had happened, who was involved and also knowing that her head would be full of ideas on how to handle the situation, usually involving her guns, and certain parts of the person’s anatomy, Duzy stood ready to tell her all she knew.

Fannie had always been very protective of the few people she genuinely loved and Duzy loved her all the more for that particular trait. Fannie’s actions never failed to amaze those around her, and the thought came to Duzy that she could write a book about Fannie’s exploits alone!

Duzy walked across the room and picked up the file she had used for her research on the article, mostly consisting of the laws that had been passed in San Francisco on the immigration of the Chinese. The Chinese people had been useful during the building of the railroad, but now that they were no longer in such a great need, more laws were being passed against the laborers, leaving the Chinese women already there to be sold into the brothels. There were other laws against the Chinese marrying outside of their race and against the Chinese bringing their wives into the country, all leading to a group of greedy Americans and Chinese, who were making a fortune smuggling the women in, to be sold into brothels, especially in the San Francisco area.

“I had no idea this article would get any attention from the “slave traders,” coming from a paper in Firelands, Colorado, but it seems I have struck a nerve,” Duzy stated, as she handed Fannie the article.

Jake and Kid had reached the bottom of the stairs just as Charlie slapped the man at the bar.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-25-08

 

Esther tucked Duzy's pepperbox in her reticule -- along with who knows what else, that woman never fails to surprise me! -- and she held my arm with a most ladylike grip as we walked to the foredeck.
The Captain had maneuvered to the dock and had the boat made fast, and the gangway secure, and Esther and I approached.
A big fellow with a surly expression and a top hat shouldered me aside, shoving me into Esther, and Esther into the railing.
I seized the fellow's fancy coat by its collar and pulled hard, bringing him back across my leg and onto the deck. He brought his arms reflexively over his belly, exposing his soft ribs, which is just what I wanted: I put my right boot into them, hard, then stomped his right wrist down into his belly hard enough to drive the wind out of him.
I'm surprised his arm didn't break.
There was a burst of German from my left and the sizzle of steel coming out of a scabbard, and I brought my Winchester to bear on the second well-dressed offender.
The fellow turned a shade of sick yellow and eased the long blade back into its scabbard, and he backed away, palms toward me.
I reached down to the rude fellow in the fancy outfit and seized his shirt right about mid chest, and got me a good handful, and twisted hard, and brought him to his feet with my left hand. My right still held the Winchester, and I raised his toes off the deck a few inches, which was not easy as he was as tall as I and heavier.
I shoved him into the arms of the second fellow and they both fell backwards onto the deck.
The big Nantucket man with his red knit cap came up beside me, fists knotted. "Is there a problem, Sheriff?" he asked loudly, with an unkind smile for the pair struggling to their feet.
"Sheriff?" the first man choked, struggling to get some wind back into his lungs. "Py Gott, I vill haff satisfaction!"
Esther's hand was gentle on my arm. "My dear, allow me," she murmured.
Delicately plucking at the fingers of her glove, she drew it from her hand, and held it dangling by its open end.
She stepped up to the reddening dandy, and with an insultingly limp wrist, struck him across the face with her glove.
Red turned to purple; he gathered his outrage and balled his fists and stormed, "Damned Yankee cowardt! You allow ze voman to challench ME, you haff not der courach to challench your zelf!"
"Oh, no," I said mildly. "The lady challenges on her own behalf."
"You, sirrah," Esther said pleasantly, with a smile, "have offended me, and insulted me, and I challenge you to a duel of honor."
"I vill not fight a mere voman!" he stormed.
"Then, sirrah, you are a coward as well as a bully, and I shall choose the time, the place and the weapons for you, and if you don't fight, I shall kill you for the dog that you are," Esther said, never losing her pleasant tone, never losing her smile.
The outraged foreigner drew himself up and looked down his nose at her.
"Undt vhat vill you choose?"
"The time, now. The place, here. The weapons, blades."
"She vill die, mein herr," the pale dandy behind him offered.
Esther offered the big foreigner her glove.
He took the glove and struck Esther across the face.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Kid Sopris 1-25-08

 

"For it's a fool who enters a den of another, thinking of easy prey"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-25-08

 

Duzy crossed the room and picked up a file and told Bonnie and Fannie the sordid details of the women's slavery among the Chinese.

Numbly, Bonnie reached for the folder, and Duzy handed it to her while still talking to Fannie. With shaking fingers, Bonnie opened the folder and began reading what Duzy had researched. As Bonnie continued to read, the voices in the background faded away to a dull hum.

Bonnies eyes moved fast at some parts, and almost stopped at others, but the papers kept turning, and the words continued to be read .... e a c h a n d e v e r y .... one ......

Bonnie stood, what seemed an eternity later, and crossed the room to one of Duzy's windows. An earlier time dawned on Bonnie ..... a memory ..... another window. A window streaked with yellow tobacco and grime. Willowy fingers brushing across the window to see a sky the color of Batchelor Buttons trimmed with the silvery edge those flowers get when they are reaching the end of their bloom.

Bonnie looked down and ran her hand over the tufted rose colored silk that was her robe, then fingered the embroidered net lace that edged the cuff, and another memory struck Bonnie, as if it were yesterday. The same young woman looking out a dirt window, and dressed in equally dirty underclothes, torn .... mended .... torn ..... mended .......

Torn and mended ...... "Like me ....." she whispered.

Tears spilled over onto Bonnies cheeks, and with her fingers, she smoothed them away ..... a cleansing .....

And with smooth, deliberated steps, Bonnie crossed the room and exited the door.

Once out in the hall, she stopped and turned around, and re-entered Duzy's room, "Duzy? Educate the world at the autrocities women go through ..... but be mindful of your safety. I have an idea of a way that Caleb and I can help, but I need to talk with him first.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-25-08

 

Esther raised her blade in salute, and the big German sneered as he did the same.
The foredeck was ringed with spectators. Where a moment before the atmosphere had been carnival, with shouts, whistles, calls for the favorite, bets being wagered, now that sun shone on bare steel and the contestants faced one another, a silence fell over the boat.
Suddenly the wavelets lapping against the hull were loud.
Esther's blade descended, slicing cleanly through the air, soundless in its passage; the German's blade, turned sideways, whistled a little.
The two approached one another.
Esther's off hand was confidently on her hip; the German's held a short blade with a full guard -- a main-gauche, after the Spanish pattern -- he moved lightly for a big man, on the balls of his feet.
The tip of Esther's blade dropped.
It was an invitation.
Steel rang on steel as the German slashed, and was blocked: Esther's blade was a snake in her hands, beating the Krupp sword out of the way, slicing the air just under the German's nose.
She didn't draw blood.
She did draw a few hairs from his viciously-curled mustache.
The yelling started again, beginning on the upper deck and spreading like fire spreads on kerosene, and suddenly the crowd was alive. Fists waved greenbacks, pokes of gold coin were thrust into view, wagers were given, taken and taken again: the favorites' names, or as near to it as the speakers could manage, were shouted.
Esther's blade blocked the German's again, and he tried to bend her by sheer strength.
He'd never fenced an Irish lady from the South.
Esther had grown up with a fistful of brothers, all of whom delighted in alternately tormenting and defending her: she had, from earliest childhood, fought with them, played with them, raced with them, and beaten them at most of their games. She'd fenced with masters of the art, her wrists were like iron, and her eyesight was perfect.
She was also enjoying herself.
The German thrust -- Esther's move was lithe, she bent like a willow, letting his blade pass under her left arm, in the triangle of space where her hand was still on her hip -- and her own blade kissed his ear, cutting a tiny slice just above his left earlobe.
Esther stepped back, then circled to her right, spinning an end-weighted length of emerald cloth in her left hand.
The German turned, trying to turn inside her, and Esther struck, twice: there was the ring-beat of her blade on his, and she snared his main-gauche with an underhanded, cross-body flip.
A quick pull, and his left-hand dagger hit the deck.
Esther moved in now, not longer playing.
The German was bleeding. He put his hand up, touched his ear, and rage took all sense from his eyes.
He began slashing now: all discipline lost, he was a roaring monster with three feet of sharpened steel.
Esther was cold as snow on the northern hills of her ancestral homeland. Her blade spun and flashed, blocking his -- left, right, left again -- she slid her blade up his until they were hilt-to-hilt, and he shoved her back.
He was stronger, but she was faster.
Esther skipped back three quick steps, tossing the weighted emerald scarf to the side.
His eye involuntarily followed its fluttering arc.
Esther moved back in, spanking his blade twice, then with a quick circling move, spun her blade around his and out of his grip.
His blade flew, shining, into the crowd; they parted, quickly, and the Krupp steel rang as it hit the deck.
Esther's blade was at the German's throat.
For a long moment, the big foreigner looked into those hard and unforgiving eyes, and he tasted copper as he realized something warm was trickling down the front of his neck, there beside his Adams-apple, where life bubbled close to the surface.
Esther backed away, a half-pace, and her blade twitched in the sunlight, and the big German put his hand to his cheek, brought away blood.
Esther grounded the point of her sword.
"Welcome to Heidelberg," she said, and saluted him with her blade, and turned away.
The deck erupted.
Every throat released its pent breath in a full-voiced shreik of approval. The whistles and cheers that had preceded were as nothing; hats flew in the air, feet stomped the deck, money exchanged hands.
Within the crowd, the German's assistant drew a hidden pistol from under his coat-tail and began to raise it.
A Texan's rough voice counseled against such a move, punctuated by the triple-click of a Colt's revolver, pressed ungently into the man's kidneys.
The assistant very carefully replaced his pistol in its holster.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-25-08

 

Like many towns, it pretended to a grandeur it did not possess: fine-sounding names on the various emporia on great, false fronts vied for the eye, and hopefully the gold, that chanced by.
Esther and I had hired a buggy, and our eyes were busy as we trotted down the rutted main street. Here and there a local propped up a porch post with a languid shoulder; the only stray dog we saw was energetic enough to look up from its sunny spot, and thump its moth-eaten tail twice before resuming its nap.
"I shall need to stop at their general store," Esther murmured, and I marked its location, along with that of the local saloon. My rifle leaned against the seat between us: unlike the star on my lapel, it was not easily seen.
I drew up in front of the general store with a "Ho," and the dray-horse ho'd, and assumed its natural sway backed, head hung, picture of fatigue and desolation it had displayed when we hired the hack.
Behind us, the four Nantucket men gawked and marveled at this genuine, honest-to-God, west-of-the-Mississippi town.
I think they expected red Indians to rise up out of the water-barrels and come after their scalps.
One elbowed another and pointed. "Grog!" was the cry, and in a moment and with a violent lurch of the hack, the four launched themselves to the street and advanced in an irregular skirmish line, intent on plundering the local saloon.
I tethered the sad old gray and offered a hand to Esther. She stepped down with a smile and a murmured "Thank you, my dear," and raised her skirts, and stepped into the general store.
I continued on down the board walk, Winchester in hand, toward a weathered, fading sign that said MARSHAL.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-25-08

 

Strangers in town were nothing unusual, not with the riverboat making regular stops to discharge goods, take on wood and give the passengers a chance to stretch their legs.
What was unusual was to have four quarreling, swearing and very thirsty, blue-water sailors barge into the saloon and proceed to consume unholy amounts of whatever was on the shelf.
The piano-player grinned, for he could smell a bar fight from a half-hour away; his broken nose testified to his skill in such, or rather lack of it; he tended to lead with his face, and so concentrated on pounding the ivories instead of his neighbor's visage.
The sailors reveled in the atmosphere: oaths, epithets, coarse and rude jests, full-voiced, with all the reserve and modesty of excited children; they expressed their appreciation of the decor (dirty), the art (likewise), and the clientele.
In other words, a local was brash enough to slap the red knit cap off their chieftain, and the fight was on.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-25-08

 

There were two, and only two, bright and cheerful occurrences in the general store that day.
One was the happy dingle of the bell on the front door as Esther opened it.
The other was Esther's smile.
The proprietor wore a perpetually mournful expression, and it changed but little at the sight of the truly beautiful woman who glided into his little realm. His expression never changed as Esther asked to see his railroad watches, selected a five-jewel, and asked where she might have it engraved.
The balding man opened a drawer and withdrew a wooden cigar-box with a sliding lid; wiggling the lid a little, for it had swollen with damp, he displayed a half-dozen watches, all with truly exquisite engraving on their backs, on their covers.
"I do my own work," he said with all the gaiety of a professional mourner, and even the dog in the corner seemed saddened at his colorless voice.
Esther picked up a pencil, wrote a few words on a slip, and slid it across the counter to him. "Could you engrave this on its back please?" she asked.
The proprietor drew his spectacles to the end of his nose and squinted a bit to make out the words. "Lovely hand you have," he murmured. "To --" he blinked, swallowed.
"Sheriff Linn Keller?"
"Yes, that's correct," Esther said nonchalantly.
"You mean ... Sheriff Linn Keller?"
"Why, yes," Esther said with an utterly innocent expression. "I am Mrs. Keller. The Sheriff's wife."
The proprietor looked as if he'd just swallowed his chaw, but somehow managed to regain his voice.
"Yes, Mrs. Sheriff -- I mean -- I'll have this --" his voice wheezed to a halt, and he read the words again, half-unbelieving.
Esther put gold in his palm and said, "I will also need a shotgun, if you please, a coach gun with a box of heavy shot. Swan shot, if you have it, I like a nice dense pattern."
The proprietor looked at the note in his one hand, and gold in the other.
Fame and fortune, it seems, had arrived, and all in the same day.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 1-25-08

 

"M-m-martin T-t-tanner," the man on the floor stammered. He was sweating profusely.

"And what exactly is it you do for eating money, Mister Tanner?" Charlie asked, still in that quiet voice.

"I'm a b-b-bounty hunter," Tanner said with a quaver in his voice.

"Not a very successful one, I'd wager," Charlie said. He gave Tanner's hair a tug. "You can get up now." Tanner clambered to his feet and stood with his head hanging. "Now that we know who you are and what you do, why don't you tell us why you're here disturbing the peace of our quiet little town?"

"I gave the paper to him." Tanner pointed at Mister Baxter.

"I didn't ask to read a paper," Charlie said. His tone hardened. "I asked you a question, Mister Tanner. And I"m not a patient man."

"There's a reward out on a man named Linn Keller," Tanner said. When Charlie didn't say anything, Tanner hurriedly went on. "I heard he was here. He's wanted for murder back East."

Charlie looked him straight in the face. "Either you are a liar, or someone has sold you a bill of goods. In either case, your arrival in Firelands has set you on a path that only has two forks. One of those forks will see you dead immediately. The other will see you living a long and prosperous life. Elsewhere." He paused and waited for Tanner to say something but the bounty hunter just stood there with a stunned look on his face so Charlie went on in the same vein.

"At this point I would suggest that you haul your grubby butt out of this nice clean establishment, plant said butt in the middle of whatever means of transport you came into town on, and make yourself scarce before that young man you had ahold of earlier returns and brings Sheriff Keller's deputy back with him. They might not be so accommodating as I am." Tanner looked at him but didn't move.

"NOW!" Charlie roared, and Tanner beat a hasty retreat toward the front door. A short time later the only indication of Tanner's presence in Firelands was a fading cloud of dust.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-26-08

 

With white apron and black arm gators on, Bill was putting the shipment of cartridge shells on the shelf behind the counter.

"Rander? ... no ...." Box to shelf, "Tander?.... no." Box to shelf, .....

"Mac! It's Tanner!"

"What are you ramblin bout, Bill?"

"That man at the Jewel .... the man I said looked familiar. Tanner's his name .... looks just like his granpappy, too .... no good son of ......, well, if'n he's in town, I spect theres trouble brewin somewhere's."

Scratching chin .... box to shelf .... box to shelf, "This is goin to take all day, Mac! We's never goin to get to the checker board!"

"Try puttin two boxes on the shelf at the same time, Bill."

A silently laughing Maude was around the corner.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-26-08

 

Esther smiled as the young man with reddening ears grasped the telegraph key. He'd leaped to his feet when she introduced herself, and she assured him with an upraised palm and a laugh that she was there as a customer, not as owner of the Z&W Railroad, and could he kindly send this for her, please?
He did, with the smoothness of long practice, not realizing she could read code as well as he; dots and dashes flowed through copper wire, and in her mind's eye, Esther could see Lightning frowning the way he did when copying an incoming message.
She recognized Lightning's "fist" as she read the reply with her ears.
Esther's smile faded, and she turned a little pale; she paid the red-faced young man with the slicked-back hair, and hurried back to the gig.
She snapped the reins on the desultory gray's rump. "Yup there!" she commanded, and the gray's head came up, and she fetched the buggy smartly about, and set the sway-backed prad for the Marshal's office at a spanking trot.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-26-08

 

“Hello, Love!” Caleb had just entered their suite of rooms, carrying a rather large box in his
arms and waving a letter held in his finger tips. “Mother and Hannah say in this letter that you may be in need of the items enclosed in this box .... the family is also wondering when we may be heading back to Illinois ....”

Bonnie smiled and stood up from the chair that was set in front of a small table in the corner of their room. Caleb cut the strings from the box, and together they pulled the brown paper away and after opening, they discovered maternity gowns for Bonnie. “Well, they couldn’t be more right about needing these! Caleb! I just can’t get over how big I am getting, and so quickly! Yes, yes, I DO need these.” Bonnie put one of the gowns aside and embraced her husband, then laid her head against his shoulder.

“Bonnie? Um .... what should I reply to the family as to when we will be heading back to Illinois?”

Bonnie hung onto Caleb before wanting to answer. Caleb looked over toward the table and noticed several pieces of paper written with numerous lines. “Are you writing a letter ... maybe a book?” He chuckled.

“Not exactly ..... I’ve been writing down several categories of things .... ideas ..... possibilities ....”

Bonnie pulled away from Caleb as he moved toward the table. He picked up one of the pieces and read:

Bonded labor: those caught in a cycle of debt and being forced tp work off the repayment .... generally in conditions that are a violation of their human rights.

Forced marriages: Women, and sometimes girls, having to marry against their will. Often times having to live a life of servitude .... or slavery.

Forced labor: Generally coercion based, and often times women and children are exploited and held prisoner while being forced to work. Political gains from foreign countries usually stand to gain.

Human trafficking: Like the Chinese women Duzy talked about. Women and girls freedoms taken away, and sold into bondage.

Traditional slavery: People sold as a commodity.

Child labor: Children working in unbearable conditions. Health risks. Uneducated.

“What’s all of this, Bonnie?” Caleb asked without taking his eyes off of the paper.

“Slavery is not a marginal issue, Caleb.”

"This I know all too well, my dear, but what brings this subject in the open right now?" Caleb noticed that Bonnie was standing tall and straight. Her head was held high ... as was her chin. He knew his wife well. "This is going to be an interesting discussion", he thought to himself.

He reached for her hand, and togerther they sat to discuss .... these ideas and pssibilities.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-26-08

 

"Hello, Mort," I greeted the Marshal.
The Marshal's right leg was propped up on a stool; his chair was leaned back at a careless angle, and the stove popped comfortably with the welcome heat it threw into the room.
Mort's grin started slow but spread over his entire face. "Now by the Sachem himself, there's a voice I recognize!" He stuck out his hand. "I'd get up but I busted my leg yesterday, and Doc wants me to keep 'er propped up."
I stepped around the desk and took the man's hand. His grip was as firm as I remembered, and we quickly switched to a secret grip, shared only between members of a particular fraternity.
Mort winked.
"Hear tell you've been doin' good work out Colorado way," he said, waving to a chair. I drew the chair up beside his desk and sat carefully, as the woven cane bottom didn't look too good, but it held me so I set my full weight down, and leaned back against the wall myself.
I kept the Winchester across my lap.
"Well, give an account of yerself, lad," Mort said, pulling open a drawer and withdrawing a flat, pint bottle of amber liquid, and two short glasses.
I accepted the amber and we hoisted a salute to one another.
"So give," Mort said after we quit choking and got our breath back. "What in the cotton pickin' have you been doin' clear the hell and gone out in the mountains that we hear about you clear over here by the Big Muddy?"
I laughed quietly. "Mort, I heard a man say something about the account of his death being greatly exaggerated. I think it was that Mark Twain feller that's in the papers now and again."
Mort nodded, regarding the bottom of his glass and pouring himself another.
"Pain killer," he said, and I nodded.
"Yep, I've read the fella. Writes funny but he's from back East."
I laughed again. "Back East" just happened to include his little town, located as it was on the generally accepted divisor between the civilized East, and what the East saw as the howling wilderness of the American West.
"Mort, I'm still tryin' to figger it out. I rode into town figgerin' on a bath and a meal and I ended up cold cockin' the town's lawyer, and fer that they made me Sheriff."
Mort's eyebrows did a little dance. "Interesting custom. I've known some lawyers I'd like to knuckle."
"This fella deserved it. He was so crooked he planted a grove of cork screws for shade."
"And what else have you been up to?" Mort took another tilt of the amber and wheezed, wiping his watering eyes with the back of a scarred hand.
"Oh, nothin' much ... bought a railroad, gave it to my wife for a weddin' present, managed to lay claim to the biggest gold seam God ever put on this earth. Nothing much."
Mort tilted his head back and laughed at the ceiling. Pounding his callused palm on his cluttered desk, he nodded and pointed the other hand at me. "You, my friend, always were full of it!" he cackled.
"Not only that," I continued with utter innocence in my expression, "I married a red-headed Suth'n belle who can handle a sword as well as I can handle a Colt!"
Mort's mirth reached the level of hysterics and I wondered which would come first: would he wet himself or would he produce an egg: neither one happened, though he was obliged to wipe the dampness from his eyes twice more before his breathing returned to normal.
"You always was a good'un to partner with," he wheezed when he could finally talk again. "I always did like law doggin' back in Chauncey with you. The night might not be interestin' but we laughed an awful lot!"
I nodded, smiling. "I recall, Mort." I looked frankly at him. "I miss them days."
"I do too," he agreed, "least ways I miss workin' with you."
"Mort, I need your ears."
"How's that?" He poured himself another generous volume of amber, draining the flat glass flask. Disappointed, he opened another drawer that was pretty well filled with empty bottles, closed it; opened the one above, withdrew a full one.
"Mort, my wife and I are taking a trip on the river boat docked yonder, and some fella allowed as I looked like a local."
Mort's face grew solemn. "Well, my old friend, it's fortuitous indeed that you stopped in to see me, for your problems are greater than you know." He scooted his chair back a little and worked the middle drawer open on his desk. "Like that fancy word, fortuitous? Paid a drummer good money for it!"
"Yeah, Mort, that's a good one."
Mort pulled out a wanted poster and handed it to me.
"My old friend, tell me how I can help."
I looked at the poster, read it twice, then twice more.
I looked up at Mort.
"Murder?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-26-08

 

Jacob worked the morning stiffness out of his arm. It troubled him some of a morning, especially in this colder weather, but he kept working it and Doc said working it was the best thing he could do, so work it he did, and not lightly.
He'd put together trail rations and loaded his saddle bags with clean smallclothes and socks, saddled his stallion and thrust his rifle in the scabbard. His Colts were belted under his winter coat, the Derringer in the hidden pocket in the middle of his trouser back seam, and he had loads enough for a young war.
Shorty regarded him with a concerned eye. "Young feller, where you headed?"
Jacob stopped. Shorty was a man he trusted, and it was not in him to lie.
"My Pa is in trouble," he said. "I aim to keep him safe."
Shorty nodded. "You figger to ride clear to the Mississippi?"
Jacob hesitated. He didn't rightly know where the Mississippi was, only that it was East, and if he pointed his nose to the rising sun he would run into it; beyond that, he was unsure.
"I don't know how far it be," he admitted, "but I can't just sit here."
Shorty nodded. "It's farther than one horse will carry ye," he said. "Fact is, had you four horses and switched off like a Pony Express rider, you'd be hard pressed to get there in any decent time.
"Now once you hit the river, which way do you head ... up stream or down? Them river boats run both ways, y'know."
Jacob's face grew long. "I don't know," he said quietly, his slender hands knotting into fists.
"Now let's say you got to the river, and you found his boat. What then?"
"Why, I'd keep him from bein' taken!"
"Now that I don't doubt one little bit!" Shorty said emphatically. "I wonder, though ... would it look like the Sheriff's son was running like a coward?"
Jacob's head twitched like he'd been slapped.
"I'd never thought of that," he admitted.
"With your Pa out of town, you represent his name," Shorty said reasonably. "Might you serve your Pa better by staying put, with your head high, and not allowing a dishonor on his name?"
The Appaloosa danced, snorting. It was clear he wanted a good run.
Jacob thought for several long moments.
Shorty waited patiently.
Jacob's eyes were tormented. "I sure wish I could side him right now," he said, voice heavy with grief.
"I know, son. I do too. He's a good man."
"Murder!" Jacob whispered. "Shorty, could it be?"
Shorty put his stubby fingers gently under Jacob's chin and tilted his head up.
He even looks like his Pa, he thought.
"Jacob, I don't know anyone more decent and honest than your Pa. He's killed, we all have, but murder?" He shook his head. "Nope. 'Tain't possible."
Jacob closed his eyes and nodded.
Shorty's hand was warm and firm on his shoulder. "I'll tend Ap here. Why don't you go talk with Jackson Cooper and Charlie MacNeil. They'll know what to do."
"Yes, sir." Jacob drew his rifle from its scabbard and slung his saddle bags over his left shoulder.
"Shorty?"
"Yes, son?"
"Thank you."
Shorty nodded. "Anytime, Jacob."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-27-08

 

“I’m not saying, Caleb, I want to be Elizabeth Stanton or Susan B. Anthony! I also know
Firelands is .... a bit rough around its’ edges. But, gracious Caleb! Colorado was admitted into the union in 1876, and granted, that was just a few years ago, but the Wyoming Territory stands in higher regard to women than we do here! I mean, look,” Bonnie picked up another piece of paper and read, “in 1869, the conservative AWSA (American Women Suffrage Association) was
organized in the Wyoming Territory. A Woman’s Suffrage Amendment was introduced to the U.S. Congress two years later.”

“Yes, but Bonnie, it still hasn’t been passed.” Caleb interjected.

“I know that, Caleb, but the point is, there is an awakening among people that women can be more than a commodity. There may still be a tense political atmosphere, but, in time, Caleb, there could be some real and viable changes to be had.”.

There was silence between the two.

“Caleb,” Bonnie interrupted the silence, “It only takes one person to create a change ....”

Tears threatened to spill, but Bonnie kept them intact, “Don’t you see? Had it not been for ‘One’ person to alter a path .... I’d still be .... at Sam’s Place ..... That ‘One’ person was Duzy, Caleb. One person led to several, and next thing I knew, Tilly, Daisy, to just name two, along with myself, were able to break free from ....”

Caleb grabbed Bonnie’s hand, “Love .... what are you asking me to do?”

“I’m asking you to stay .... here in Firelands ... and offer a way to help. We already are with a hospital, thanks to the generosity of your Family, but there are other ways we can aide, not just with Firelands, ... but .... people, too.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-27-08

 

"Take a look at this." Jackson Cooper spread the wanted dodger out on the Sheriff's desk and put a meaty finger under one word, in the finer print at the bottom of the page.
"See that name? 'Inquire Village of Chauncey.'" He pulled a telegraph flimsy from his vest pocket, smoothed it out atop the wanted dodger. "Now this."
Three leaned their heads over the telegram, and they read Lightning's firm print:
"LINN KELLER WANTED THIS VILLAGE CHARGE MURDER ADVISE IF YOU HAVE IN CUSTODY C JOLLINS MARSHAL CHAUNCEY."
"Now this." He laid a second flimsy atop the first.
Charlie sucked air in between his teeth, something he did when an idea hit home, and he and Jackson exchanged a look.
"KELLER WANTED THIS VILLAGE FOR MURDER OF JACKSON COOPER ADVISE IF YOU HAVE IN CUSTODY C JOLLINS MARSHAL CHAUNCEY."
"Does he know you're alive?" Jake asked quietly.
"Lightning didn't put my name to it," Jackson smiled grimly, and the smile was not pleasant. "Once he got this reply" -- his finger stabbed the flimsy -- "he looked at me and winked and said he signed it "Sheriff, Firelands."
"Good. Let's think about this." The three men straightened up. Jackson settled himself in the Sheriff's chair, Charlie turned the withe-bottom chair so he was side-on to the desk -- and face-on to the door -- Jake walked across the room and leaned against the wall, and the room was suddenly quiet, save only for the occasional pop of wood in the stove, or the rattling hiss of ashes falling through the cast-iron grate.
"They offer a reward."
"They do, for a fact."
"Poster says one thousand dollars."
"A fine sum." Charlie frowned. "Every spalpeen and petty would-be agent in three territories will see that and come a-latherin' for that kind of money."
"Where is Linn now?"
"Esther sent a telegram and Lightning filled her in. They're on the Mississippi now."
"With nobody at their back and enemies anywhere. We need to get word to them pronto, get them back here where we can keep him safe."
Jackson Cooper chuckled. "Anyone tries to take him will find they've tangled with a boar coon. I'd not want to go up against him."
"That's what worries me," Charlie admitted. "Bounty hunters aren't too particular if the man's sitting his saddle or tied over it."
Jackson Cooper's wolfish smile faded. "You're right." He stood. "I'll have Lightning send word. Do we dare contact the town marshal there?"
Charlie's expression was haunted. "I don't know if we can trust him," he admitted, "but we've got to do something even if it's wrong."
The door opened and Jacob stepped in, saddlebags over his shoulder and rifle in hand.
"Send me."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-27-08

 

“But is Firelands a safe place to raise our children, Bonnie? And what about our house is St, Charles?” Caleb questioned.

“A house is just a house, Caleb .... a home is entirely different. As far as a safe place? What place is safe unless people make a place safe?”

Caleb looked at Bonnie longingly,

“What are you proposing, Bonnie?”

“I’m proposing that ‘We’ help to establishing a safe haven, not just for women, but for cultures of people who need a place to live and to work.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Other pieces of paper were brought forward for Caleb to look at, but Bonnie started speaking before Caleb could even look at them to read for himself, “Our own Fathers came to this country, Caleb. Mine as an indentured servant, and yours came to better the livelihood for himself and a
family. Together they did that. Look at the empire that was established, Caleb! It’s a strong business, and it employees strong people. Many of those people came to America to find a dream. Those people learned our language, established themselves, and those that truly wanted to see and make a difference, DID!

Look at Denver. It may not be a Chicago, but, Caleb! Maybe one day it will! It’s a growing city, and all I am saying, is that Firelands can grow too .... it is growing, Caleb. We can help it to grow in a way that is stable. Firelands can give a livelihood to people who desperately need a place they can call home .... a place they can raise their children .... children, both male and female, can be educated. With education, and good employment, Firelands future can only grow stronger.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 1-27-08

 

As the official lawmen of Firelands were busy finding out who was behind the murder charge against Sheriff Keller, Duzy asked Kid if he would like to join Fannie and herself in some practice rounds with their guns. It didn’t take long for the word to get around and soon there were several people in the town who wanted to join in. Kid, along with some of the other men in town, rounded up some targets to use. After Kid gave a lesson on how to handle the guns safely, giving special attention to some of the younger people who had joined in, they each started shooting and it turned out to be a day of fun and competition for all those involved.

Kid stood behind Duzy at one point to give her some advice, as she seemed to be shooting too high. Fannie and Kid were excellent teachers, going from one person to another to offer advice, if they seen anything that would help the person to be more efficient and therefore more deadly.

On this occasion, Duzy could feel the warmth of Kid’s touch; his voice was soft, and she could feel his breath against her neck as he helped her to level her gun. Duzy couldn’t help but wonder about the incident in the graveyard, so she asked, “Kid, is there anything about us that I should know, anything that happened between you and me that was unusual…..and then she felt herself start to blush as she knew he had said he had come into Firelands that evening, after the vision or whatever it had been…..I am sorry Kid, I shouldn’t be asking you about something when you have no idea what I am talking about.”

“Holster your gun, Duzy, and tell me what is on your mind.” Duzy turned to Kid and looked into his eyes, usually blue, but now almost a smoky grey, and told him about the incident in the graveyard. “Put your mind at rest, Duzy, if it was you and I that was in the graveyard in that vision, it will be in another lifetime or in the future. I wasn’t in town until that evening, as I said.”

Duzy smiled, thinking she could finally let any doubt about the incident go before she married Jake. “Good, now I have another question.” Kid’s eyebrow rose, and he gave her that look, a look that Duzy perceived as being “what is coming next?”

“I need all the information you have on the people who may have thrown that rock into my window. I plan to write more and I need to be prepared. Who do you think is involved? I need names of anyone who may have felt threatened. And, I want to find the person who threw that rock and do a little threatening of my own!”

“Duzy, be very careful. I will do as you ask, but these people are making big money and they won’t hesitate to kill you if you bring more attention to what they are doing. As for the information, I have already given it to Jake, Charlie and Jackson Cooper, as they will be here to help protect you and your newspaper.”

“Does that mean you are leaving again?”

 

“You sure are full of questions today; now let’s see if you can hit that target in the center this time?”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-27-08

 

Jacob smelled Indian tobacco and stepped away from the door, holding it wide open for the gray-haired, distinguished gentleman in the old-fashioned suit.
Charlie came to his feet, as did Jackson Cooper.
"Gentlemen," Judge Hostetler said, removing his hat and exhaling a great cloud of cigar smoke, "what's this rot I hear about our Sheriff being accused of murder?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-27-08

 

“Oh, Bonnie .... I just don’t know. I can’t but help thinking about Sarah being sheltered behind a piano, you shooting a gun, meant to kill, mind you ..... It seems every time we turn around there is something amiss. Why just this morning Charlie had a run in with a bounty hunter, and though I do not know what all of the details were about, there is more trouble on the horizon ...”

“This world is not going to be a Utopia, Caleb. The Good Book promised hardship, and it is merely going to be a part of our lives whether we like it or not! Do you think that because Chicago is a large city that it is spared turmoil? Of course it isn’t, and you know that as well as I do! If you get right down to it, Caleb, what makes this place any different than any other? It’s what ‘we’ do right here that will make a difference.

And don’t think for a moment I have not considered Sarah with all of this. She’s a strong little girl, with strong ideas. I believe she can grow up here and continue making a difference where we leave off one day .... I’m afraid she’ll get swallowed up back in Illinois. Out here, where life is
fresh and new, her voice will be heard .... I can’t help but think she’ll have a stronger chance of really being able to express herself here.”

“You don’t think she’ll have the same opportunity in Illinois? You don’t think we can make difference ‘from’ Illinois?” Each time Caleb said the word Illinois it came out stronger and louder. Bonnie knew Caleb was struggling with this whole concept. But she also knew, deep down within herself that she was right about this .... you can run, but you can’t hide came to mind for the second time that day ..... right along with being torn and being mended.

“Can’t you just think about this, Caleb?” And with that, Bonnie turned, reached for her coat, “I need to see Maude .... I’ll be back soon .... OK?”

The door to the room closed so quietly that Caleb was unsure the door even latched. He ran his hands over the sides of his head. Then he turned, rest his hands upon the table, let out a breath of air, and began looking at all of the paperwork Bonnie left there.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-27-08

 

Mort was just over half way through his second pint of Old Stump Blower when a boy fetched him a telegram: he read it, squinting his left eye shut, then he read it again, squinting his right eye shut: finally he handed it to me, muttering something about not having brought his glasses, and proceeded to swallow another volume of Old Eyeglass Cleaner.
TO MARSHAL PORTSMOUTH FROM SHERIFFS OFFICE FIRELANDS, it read: FALSE CHARGES FILED AGAINST OUR SHERIFF LINN KELLER STOP DISREGARD ANY WANTED POSTER ISSUED FOR SAME STOP URGENT SHERIFF KELLER CONTACT US END.
I read it aloud to Mort, who nodded, quite relaxed by this time.
"I've a couple boys in town who delight in tearing down wanted posters," he said, examining the bottom of his glass from the inside. "Dern thing must have a hole in it, she's empty again." Amber liquid sloshed into the glass. "Now where was I?"
"You've a couple boys in town who like tearing down wanted posters," I reminded him.
"Oh, yeah. I'll tell 'em they can tear down all they want for the next month. That give you enough time?"
I nodded. "Reckon it ought."
Mort raised his glass to me. "You be careful now. You don't have me to watch out for you like I did back during the War."
I grinned and waved at the old lawman with the busted leg.
Esther came wheeling up in front just as I came out the door.
"Get the whalers," she said briskly. "I'll be at the General Store, and we are out of here in five minutes. Move!"
"Yes, ma'am," I said, touching the brim of my hat with the barrel of my Winchester.
She never saw, as she'd curled her lip and whistled to the gray; snapping her reins against its rump, she headed up the street for whatever mysterious mission took her to the General Store.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 1-27-08

 

Jackson explained to the Judge what he'd gotten from "Back East" Then all four men looked at Jacob then at each other. Charlie scratched his chin. "You know, Jacob's got a pretty good idea. Nobody would expect that a kid, no offense Jacob, would be a body guard, eh? The problem is getting him there in time to keep anything from happening." He looked at Jake and Jackson. "Meanwhile, we can figure out a way to kill this murder charge."

"We could always fake his death," Jake said with a smile.

"That's not as funny as it seems at first," Jackson said. "In fact, it might be just the thing we need to shut this whole thing down. But it'll mean cutting Linn's honeymoon short and gettin' him back here in one piece." He chuckled grimly. "Which one of you boys is stud enough to tell Miss Esther that she's gotta come home early?"

"What do you mean, you boys?" Charlie asked. "You're standing here too."

Jackson held up his hands. "Yeah, but I'm a newly married man. I can't take a chance on bein' wiped out in the equivalent of the Little Bighorn Massacree and leavin' my new bride a widow already. So that's why it's gotta be one of you two. Neither one of you is married yet."

"I don't think Miss Esther will object all that much if it means getting those men off Pa's backtrail," Jacob said into the resulting pause. "I'll tell her, if you all can get me to that boat." He went on to relate what he'd done at the livery earlier in the day.

"Shorty was right about goin' horseback," Charlie said. "But I do believe that the Miss Esther is due in at the station in about two hours." He consulted his watch. "I'd say it might just be a good thing to have you a ticket on that train when she heads east."

"But what do I do when I get to the river?" Jacob asked.

"They're still up north at the moment, at least according to the last telegram I got," Jackson said. "The boat should be turnin' back south in a day or two. You can get a horse when you get to the river, and... No, dammit, that won't work. It'll still take too long."

Jake suddenly stood up straight. "Back in a minute, fellers," he said. He hurried out the door while the others looked at each other in puzzlement. Jake came back in with a newspaper in his hand. He hurriedly paged through the pages until he came to the page he wanted. He turned it so the others could see.

NOW BOOKING PASSAGE FOR THE MAIDEN VOYAGE

of the

MEMPHIS BELLE

Fastest steamship on the Mighty Muddy

Departing New Orleans January 15

Contact George Sullivan, Golden West Steamship Company

"What day is it?" Charlie asked. "I seem to have lost track."

"It's January 10th," Jake said. "If we get him on that train, he can just make it. Meanwhile we'll wire that Sullivan character and get a spot reserved on that boat."

"Alright, let's do it," Charlie said. "Jake, you head for the telegraph office. Jackson, you write a note from us to Linn, and I'll go see about getting Jacob a train ticket." He turned to Jacob. "You got everything you need to be a bodyguard?" Jacob spread his coat and showed his holstered guns. Charlie chuckled. "That's all well and good, but I was thinking more along the lines of a change of underwear and a clean shirt."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-27-08

 

FROM SHERIFF FIRELANDS TO MARSHAL PORTSMOUTH STOP MOST URGENT STOP MESSAGE FOR ESTHER KELLER OWNER OF Z AND W RAILROAD STOP REPEAT MOST URGENT STOP ADVISE L AND EK TO MEET JACOB AT MEMPHIS BELLE LANDING STOP SHERIFF FIRELANDS END

Mort liked his liquor but he liked order and harmony better, and the six quarreling, arguing locals with black eyes, loose teeth and bloodied noses were not improving his temper one little bit. He raised himself up on his good leg, set his backside down on his desk and bellowed "AT EASE!"
The half-dozen aggrieved parties, astonished, fell silent.
"Now." Mort pinned them with an icy glare.
No one moved.
"Right now I figure you yahoos got what was comin' to ya, seein's how you like to hooraw any stranger that comes around." One of the fellows, his left eye swelled shut, opened his blood-crusted lips to protest, only to close them without speaking as the Marshal's eyes narrowed with displeasure.
"I got worse things to worry about than your hurt feelin's. Billy!"
A tall, rangy ranch hand stopped halfway across the street, turned back, trotted for the Marshal's office. His boots were loud on the weathered board walk. "Yeah, Mort?"
Mort held out a telegraph flimsy. "Billy, get this to the river boat and I want it there five minutes ago. You're to give it to a woman named Esther. She's Irish, she's a passenger on that boat and they're due to cast off just any time. Fail me and I'll skin you with a dull spoon!"
Billy grinned and threw him a careless salute. There was the sound of one step on the boardwalk, a squeak of saddle leather, then the quick cadence of a galloping horse.
Mort relaxed a little. If anyone could make it, Billy could.
"Now," he addressed the still-cowed casualties. "Who wants to go first?"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-28-08

 

Bonnie entered the Merchantile and saw Bill and Mac putting items on a shelf .... at least that is what it looked like as everything seemed tp be in slow motion. Mac looked her was and then appeared to look dismayed with her, “probably because I don’t have Sarah with me”, she thought.

Bonnie also saw Maude poking her head around the corner with an amused face expression. When Maude caught Bonnie’s eye, she waved Bonnie over. “Can you stay a little for a cup of tea, Bonnie? I need to not watch those two as all of the laughing is giving me a side ache!”

Bonnie followed Maude to the back, took her coat off and sat at a table.

“What brings you here, and why the long face?”

“Oh, Maude ..... just a discussion with Caleb. Thought I had better leave him be for awhile .... and you are the first person I thought of to see.”

“Missing your Mama?”

“Always .....”

“Well, you look wonderful, Bonnie! Life is surely showing itself well on you these days.”

Bonnie chuckled, “I’m getting huge, Maude! How does that show itself well? And this little fella sure does move around a lot, too! Goodness!!”

“I hear tell there is a confusing situation with the Sheriff ....”

“Oh?”

“Something about a murder?”

“I haven’t heard anything about that .... but Caleb did mention something earlier about, what could be construed, as pending trouble. What all have you heard?”

“Basically just what I told you. By the time I hear things, people sometimes have the facts distorted ....”

“This is one of those times I hope the distortion is the case, Maude! Oh dear Lord ....”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll know more accurate details soon enough.”

Maude handed Bonnie the tea cup, “Maude? Have you ever felt something from your very soul telling you that you need to do something?”

Maude looked over to Bonnie with a questioning glance. Bonnie proceeded to tell Maude about the distressing situation with the broken window and the note on the brick Duzy had gotten that
morning. Bonnie went on to tell Maude her own feelings about the possibility of staying in Firelands and why.

“Bonnie? Why did you leave in the first place?”

Thoughtfully, Bonnie spoke, “For three years all I could do was think about the hell hole I was in, Maude. All I wanted was to get out! Then when I did, I just wanted to go someplace where people would look at me, and not see me as I was for those three year ......”

“But?”

“But ..... Oh I don’t know, Maude! Being in Illinois feels all wrong! People there expect me to be a certain way. You know, to look just right, to entertain just right, wanting me to get Sarah a governess, expecting us to have maids .... I’m just not all that comfortable with it, I guess.”

Maude sipped her tea, but didn’t say anything, so Bonnie continued, “It dawned on me that maybe I was running ..... then I thought about how I was able to get my feet firmly planted on the ground again .... Maude? Is it wrong to want to help others get their feet firmly planted?”

“Oh my dear girl. It is not wrong at all .... providing it is not an extension of running. I believe you have to feel secure and strong within yourself before you can help others.” With saying that, Maude placed the palm of her hand on Bonnie’s cheek. “You have great capacity to help others, Bonnie .....”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-28-08

 

Dr. John Greenlees, M.D., physician and surgeon, shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned.
Not just a grin.
A genuine, pull the ears back and split the face, possum eatin' on a dead horse grin.
Dr. John Greenlees was standing in the middle of the brand new, never used, clean, bright, polished, surgery.
He'd looked in cabinets, pulled out drawers, walked through the rooms; he'd tried the roll tops on the desks, slid the chairs in and out, and if his movements had not been so deliberate, so methodical, so planned, he might be thought as acting like a kid with a new toy.
It was quiet in the surgery, the stone walls absorbed sound from without, and moderated the temperature; he tilted his head back and looked at the great, polished lens, and the reflector behind the lens, and the acetylene jets he knew were between the reflector and the burner. He'd opened the carbide generator and looked in it, wiped his finger on the residue adhering to its inner walls, where it had been fired up and tested for leaks.
"A hospital," he said quietly, his gentle voice loud in the stillness. "A brand new, never used, hasn't seen its first patient hospital!"
Dr. John Greenlees nodded, and Dr. John Greenlees laughed.
Life was good.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-28-08

 

Billy rode a Texas pony, and the pony loved to run, and Billy gave the scrawny mount his head.
Ahead of them, just at the bend of the road, he saw the wagon: a man and a woman driving, and four fellows in back, and they weren't wasting any time.
Well, he wasn't either.
He knew the sway backed gray could cover ground when the notion struck, but he also knew the gray pulled a buggy, and no buggy made could outrun a Texas pony, so he swatted his mount with his hat and whistled, high and sharp, and the Texas pony took the bit between his teeth and stuck his nose straight out and did its level best to split the wind.
Billy stood up in the stirrups and leaned out over the pony's neck, tears whipping out of the corners of his eyes, and he gathered wind for a good Texas yell.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 1-30-08

 

Kid and Duzy were riding in the buggy, taking the targets back to town, and were further behind the other citizens who had joined in for a day of practice. From years of experience at watching everything around him, even though one would never know with the way he held the conversation, Kid noticed a movement in a grove of scrub brush nearby and instantly lowered Duzy, holding himself over her, simultaneously pulling his gun and taking aim. A curse was heard and then the sound of a horse.

“Looks like the only place you are going is to jail!” Fannie said, ordering the man attempting to get on his horse, to throw his gun down or she would shoot him through the heart, startling the man enough to fall backward on the ground. “Kid, Duzy, I had the feeling we were being watched the last hour or so, so I decided to double back and see who it could be.” “Good thinkin’, Fannie!” Kid stated. “Yes, thank you both,” Duzy said with a sigh of relief. “It seems with all my visions and feeling better after practicing today, I still have a lot to learn!”

The man looked to be an American businessman, not a gunslinger, but evil hides in many forms it seemed….making Duzy even more wary about watching her surroundings and knowing that anyone could be a threat. Kid placed his right boot on the man’s chest, after kicking his gun out of reach, and looked at him closely. “Duzy, this is the man who is working for the persons who are behind your problems. Maybe with a little encouragement we can get the names we need.”

“Sounds good to me,” Duzy said, as she pulled her own Colt, aiming it between the injured man’s eyes. “I don’t think you will make it to jail unless you start talking! Or to the new hospital in town! So what do you say, do you want to die out here for the vultures to eat or tell us who you are working for?” The man didn’t say a word. Duzy cocked her gun.

“Maybe you need a little inducement,” Duzy said as she lowered her gun and shot the dirt between his legs, making him wonder where she would shoot next. “Good thing I have been practicing today…..I was aiming a little high with this gun….seems I have it just right now!” Duzy raised her gun an inch or so upward.

“You wouldn’t dare, I will have you arrested!”

“Not dead, you won’t! And I am losing patience!”

Duzy fired again, this time grazing the inside of the man’s leg.

“Kim Wong and Chester Morris,” the man stuttered. “Now, can I go?”

“Sure thing, you are going to jail and if you tell us where to find these men, we may get you a doctor” Kid stated, as he jerked the man upward. Kid walked back to the buggy and found a piece of rope and tied the man’s hands behind him as they all rode toward the jail.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 1-30-08

 

Bonnie left Maude a couple of hours later, and went back to the Silver Jewel. Once entering the suite of rooms, she noticed Caleb and Sarh both absent. SO were the papers she left behind on the table.

She went to window and looked, but did not see her little family. Turning, she went to the foot of the bed, and picked up one of the gowns her Mother and Sister-in-laws sent. Shedding herself of the gown she was wearing, she put the new one on, immediately feeling better not being in such a restrictive gown.

Sitting back down at the table, Bonnie picked up the newest edition of the Denver Post. 1880 was a Presidential election year. President Rutherford Hayes was not going to be seeking re- election, but that was his 1876 campaign promise, so this news did not surprise Bonnie any. This was going to be the year the Republican Party’s referendum was going to be the relaxation of the Reconstruction efforts in the southern states. “Everything about today appears to lead to then subject of slavery.” Bonnie thought. She deposited the newspaper onto the table.

It was at that moment, Caleb and Sarah entered the room. “There you are!” Caleb said, followed by Sarah, “Papa and I stopped by the Merchantile, but Mr. Bill and Mr. Mac said you had left.”

“Love? Do you care to take a stroll with Sarah and I? I have something to show you, and something to tell you ....” Bonnie noted the odd smile on his face.

“Of course!” Bonnie couldn’t help but hope this had something to do with their conversation earlier in the day..

The family walked out of the Silver Jewel, toward the train station, across the tracks, were Caleb stopped and pointed off to the North. “The Smyths moved recently, or so Michael told a while ago. There is a 100 acres with a barn, and a small house.” Bonnie could see the structures from she stood. “I think it would be a good place to start in the development of and extended finger to the Rosenthal and McKenna Textiles Company, Bonnie.” He paused here and looked at Bonnie, “To be honest with you, Love, I haven’t been all that happy in Illinois either. Something about this place gets under your skin. The mountains ... the people. They are more than just friends ... they’re family .... aren’t they?”

Bonnie smiled and nodded her head.

Caleb continued, “I sent a telegram to Father with a proposal, and it is my guess he will except it .... though I don’t think any of the family will be happy about our not returning to Illinois, especially with the baby coming.”

“Caleb! Are you sure about this?” Bonnie questioned

“Absolutely! And if for some reason Father does not want to invest into an extension, you and I can afford to do so on our own. I just want to give Father and David the chance to this first.”

He wrapped his arm around Bonnie, and rest his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Michael tells me around the bend a ways”, Caleb was pointing toward the land again, “there is a stream and a pond. Very picturesque I understand. Perhaps we should take a look at it tomorrow and see about building a home. I figure if we are going to be buying a 100 acres, not all of it can be used for a textiles company.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 1-30-08

 

Billy rode up beside the buggy with a whistle and a yell, waving his hat and grinning. Linn's grip on the shotgun's wrist relaxed as Esther drew back on the reins a bit, slowing the buggy but little.
Billy held out the telegraph flimsy; Linn stood, leaned out a bit, riding the speeding buggy's floor like a sailor on a storm-tossed deck, and just barely got it between thumb and forefinger when Billy let it go, spun his Texas pony on two-bits and came up with fifteen cents change, and was gone.
Linn sat down abruptly as Esther whistled up the gray, and the gray thrust into its collar again.
It wasn't far to the landing, and she wasn't wasting any time a'tall.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Mr. Box 1-30-08

 

"Nelly, how are you doing? You look like you are getting softer every time I see you."
"Shorty, I'd better settle up with you. I haven't been over here in a while. Looks like I need to get the old girl out for some sunshine."
"Might be some folks looking for a gentle buggy horse. I could send them over to see you, Mr. Baxter, if you'd like."
"May as well, Shorty. I'm not using her and the buckboard much."