Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-8-08

 

There was always hot water, thanks to the new stove, a fact for which both physicians were grateful: they washed the baby and wrapped it in a towel, and Dr. Greenlees could not help but grin at the strong, wiggling little girl-child that yawned and rooted, looking for her first meal.
"I believe a nursing mother awaits," Dr. Flint murmured, nodding toward the waiting room door. "Please introduce Miz Bonnie to her niece. I will tend to the mother."
Dr. Greenlees bounced the restless newborn gently, hesitating as he reached for the door knob.
He looked back at Dr. Flint, who was resting his hand on the dead mother's forehead.
"You have a daughter," he said softly, "and she is beautiful."
Dr. Flint drew the sheet respectfully over the dead woman's face, and wheeled her into the next room.
Dr. Greenlees waited until the door closed behind his partner before opening the door to the waiting room.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 3-8-08

 

The door opened ....

The Doctor came out ...

Words were spoken ....

A child was handed to Bonnie ....

“Did he say a girl?” Bonnie thought

“Did he say a daughter?” Bonnie thought once again

“Did Chen-chi not make it?” Did Bonnie say this out loud or to herself? Her mind was racing .... or was it even moving at all?

The Doctor told Bonnie the child needed to eat ....

He told her Nurse Susan would help her with the ability to nurse two babies ....

She heard the Doctor talking to Caleb ....

Arrangements? .....

“There has been to much death over the last couple of weeks ....” Bonnie remembered the words Caleb had spoken.

“We need to celebrate life .....” More words remembered

“Bonnie?” Caleb was crouched low, resting on the balls of his feet meeting Bonnie eye to eye. “Bonnie? ..... You need to focus, Bonnie. Look at me love.”

Bonnie thought she was looking straight ahead ....

“Bonnie?”

“Damn it, Caleb! How much more can a person take?” Bonnies words were not spoken loudly. They were not even spoken with a great deal of anger .... there was more exasperation in the words than anything.

Caleb stood and pulled his wife up. Their niece was wrapped tightly in the blankets. “Bonnie? She needs to be fed .... We need to take her home .....”

Bonnie looked at Caleb, and then finally looked at the child.

Quivering bottom lip ....

Tears ....

Eyes blurred ....

But not before Bonnie saw, what was indeed a beautiful baby ... She felt slightly heavier than their Polly ... longer, too ..... Straight dark hair hanging over her forehead, little eyes, not quite almond shape and not quite round. Skin was pale, yet creamy and pink .....

“Opal ..... she looks like an opal ......”

Caleb held onto his wife, and together the went through the door and headed for home.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-8-08

 

Charlie slipped out of the blankets without waking Fannie. The floor was cold on his bare feet and he tiptoed gingerly through the connecting door to "his" room, gathering clothes as he went. His bag was already packed so he dressed quickly, leaving his boots by the door to the hallway. He slipped back into the other room and kissed Fannie gently on the forehead and whispered, "See ya, Darlin'." Fannie stirred, rolled over, and settled back into sleep.

Charlie slipped his boots on, put on his heavy coat, and took his bag out into the hall. He eased the door shut and muttered a disgusted "Damn!" when the latch clicked loudly.

Nestled snugly under the quilts, Fannie heard the latch clack shut and smiled. That man never was too good at saying goodbye, she thought to herself. But soon there wouldn't be nearly as many goodbyes. They would be together all the time. She was looking forward to that.

The miles and the mountains passed outside the window of the parlor car but Charlie was oblivious to the passing scenery. He was engrossed in thoughts of his new job. He'd been to the Denver office before and knew some of the deputies who worked out of there, but he'd never met the office staff. That didn't mean he hadn't heard the stories. The previous senior marshal in Denver had been a good man, but he'd been sick for a long time, and some of the staff had started to think they were more important than they were.

Charlie had a friend named Garvin Morgan who had been one of the Denver based deputies up until his retirement a few months ago and he'd told Charlie, "Conrad Wentzel is starting to think he's God, Charlie. He's one reason I retired. He's brought in a bunch of cronies that think the way he does, and he's aimin' for the top. He wants to be the big boss and to hell with anybody who gets in his way. You'd best watch out for him if you go through there." Little did Garvin, or Charlie either for that matter, know at the time that Charlie would be butting heads with Wentzel directly.

When the train arrived in Denver Charlie collected his bag and took it to a small hotel near the marshal's headquarters. He rented a room to drop his bag in then went back out to the street. He wanted to go get Dawg before he went to the office. He looked at his watch. Two o'clock. With any luck he could make it up to Willy Barton's place in the mountains before dark, and come back down in the morning. He could get a horse at a stable near the hotel and be gone shortly.

The trail up Cherry Creek was well packed from the traffic to the mines and Charlie made good time. He pushed the horse some, enough to keep both the horse and himself warm, and it was still an hour before dark when he got to the lightning scarred spruce that marked the turnoff to Willy's cabin. Here was where the going would slow considerably.

Snowdrifts sent grasping fingers out from the roots of the pines and spruces that lined the trail. A few blown-in indentations indicated that someone had come this way some time in the last week or so, but there wasn't nearly enough disturbance in the snow as there should have been. Willy wasn't a hermit, he was just a man who liked to be up high where he could hear the wind, and it wasn't like him to stay up there for too long. The lack of sign was a worrisome thing.

Charlie rounded a shoulder of mountain and smelled smoke. Willy's cabin was built on the edge of a small hanging basin below timberline, on a bench that had been scoured of trees in some long gone avalanche. Now there wasn't enough left of the hill above the cabin to hold enough snow to be a problem.

At first, the smoke smell was comforting. Maybe Willy was just under the weather and that was why he hadn't been out. Then suddenly the smoke smell wasn't comforting any longer. It was too acrid, and too washed out, almost stale. Charlie clapped his heels to the horse and charged up the trail.

The sight that greeted Charlie when he charged up onto Willy's bench stopped him dead and a bitter curse escaped his lips. Where Willy's cabin had been there was now a pile of charred timbers. The corral had been pulled down and Willy's mule was nowhere to be seen. Charlie looked down at the gun in his hand and had no recollection of drawing it but he holstered it. Whatever had happened here had been days ago. Then Charlie thought of Dawg.

Charlie curled his tongue behind pursed lips and gave out a piercing whistle. He was answered from the timber to one side of the bench by a deep Woof! that broke short of completion with a whining undertone that Charlie didn't like. He booted the horse across the bench to the thicket of sub-alpine firs that stood there. "Dawg! Come here, pardner!"

"He can't, Charlie," Willy's voice said from Charlie's right. Charlie twisted in the saddle. Willy stood near a large boulder, a relic from the avalanche that had cleared the bench, leaning on a makeshift crutch. "He's hurt bad. I've been doin' the best I can for him, but we need to get him down below."

Charlie jumped down from the saddle. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-8-08

 

Percival VanNest had a bellyfull of booze, a woman on his arm and a swagger in his walk. A minor son of the New York VanNests, he was matriculating through the new Ohio University beause his womanizing, drinking and black-sheep reputation kept him out of the respectable schools back East.
This did not trouble him greatly: indeed, he found it very much to his liking: with his family's good name and money, he had no trouble enrolling, and to his great pleasure, he found that instead of being a small fish in a big pond, he was a big fish in a small pond.
In this environment he became the epitome of the "Legend in his Own Mind" ... and too often he set out to prove it, whether with fists, dice or cards.
Tonight, swagger and stagger were equally present in his gait, and when his paramour of the evening exclaimed at the beauty of the horse standing near the corner on Court Street, he shoved his hat forward on his head and declared, "The horse is not born that I can't ride!" and set out to do just that.
Apple-horse, ground-reined, blinked and swung his head to view the approaching wastrel.
Apple-horse muttered a warning as strange hands seized upon his reins.
Apple-horse gathered himself as the laughing stranger swung awkwardly into the saddle.
Apple-horse stood stock-still as the stranger wobbled a bit in the saddle.
"Oh, what a lovely boy you are," the well-dressed young woman cooed, reaching for Apple's velvety nose.
Percival VanNest, having ridden polo ponies, and annoyed at having his new mount baby-talked, jerked savagely at the reins, bruising Apple-horse's mouth, and prompting a minor explosion.
Percival VanNest had ridden polo ponies; Percival VanNest had raced blooded race horses; Percival VanNest had used spurs and riding crops without mercy on mounts that displeased him.
Percival VanNest never in his life had stepped into the hurricane deck of a Western horse.
Apple crow-hopped twice, reared, sunfished and dropped his head, kicking his hind legs well up into the air, and Percival VanNest, having lost contact with the saddle after the first three seconds, discovered that Terra Firma was quite a bit more firma than he enjoyed.
Percival landed flat on his back, the impact poorly padded by six inches of snow; the impact loosened his grip on the reins, and Apple-horse pulled back, trotting several feet to the right and stopping.
It took several moments for Percival to gain his feet; by this time several fellows were approaching, including the night constable.
"I say, old boy!" came the cheery halloo, "I've never seen better riding!"
"Riding nothing!" came the rejoinder, "that was man in flight!"
General laughter followed as Percival struggled to his feet. Squinting evilly at Apple-horse, he muttered, "You'll pay for this," and reached again for the reins.
There was a high, sharp whistle, and Apple-horse's head and ears came up, and he trotted happily up the street, to a tall slender man in a dark suit.
Percival, having gained his feet, drew strength and indignation from his school-chums, and addressed the silent man in the suit. "You there! How dare you bring such a dangerous animal into our town!"
The figure paid Percival no mind; casually, as if without a care, he mounted the stallion.
"You there! You don't ignore me, sirrah!" Percival shouted, face reddening with effort.
The young man in the dark suit spun the stallion, and with the effort, his arm; a lariat floated through the cold winter air, settling neatly about Percival's neck.
Jacob dallied the lariat about his saddle-horn, and Apple, responding to his training, began backing quickly.
Percival seized the lariat with both hands and was dragged on his belly several feet on the snowy street.
The whooping, hollering crowd followed, laughing and jeering.
Jacob dismounted and walked up to the gagging, choking college man struggling at the end of the braided leather lasso.
Jacob hauled back and kicked him in the ribs, hard, and then dropped his weight through the spear of his knees, right into the man's kidneys.
Percival's florid face would have paled, if it weren't for the plaited neck-torniquiet drawn snug by the Appaloosa.
Jacob twisted the man's arms behind his back, pulled a piggin string from a coat pocket and tied his wrists quickly, tightly, then stood.
He seized the man's arms and hauled him to his feet, whistled.
Apple-horse slacked off the line.
Jacob seized the lariat near the honda and, keeping a choke-hold on Percival VanNest, of the New York VanNests, frog-marched him to the nearest lamp post.
Apple-horse walked up to him. One-handed, Jacob spun the line off the saddle-horn, tossed it easily over the lamp post and ran a quick hitch about the horn again.
Jacob made a little kissing noise.
Apple horse began backing again.
Percival realized he was being hanged.
Jacob walked casually back to Apple-horse and stepped into the saddle.
The constable shoved through the shocked-silent hangers-on. "You can't do that!" he challenged.
Jacob threw back his lapel, then unbuttoned his coat. "Sheriff's deputy. I'm out of Colorado. Horse thievin' is a hangin' offense where I come from. Now I'm after a murderer, and I'll kill the first man to interfere with that. And the second, and the third, and however many I have to." His face was hard, his eyes unforgiving. "Now you can arrest that fellow for whatever charges you want, or I can hang him for a horse thief. Your choice."
The constable knew VanNest to be of an old, monied family, and wanted no trouble from them; on the other hand he had no wish to interfere with a brother officer. He appealed to a familiar face, approaching from a nearby doorway, for help: "Sheriff, you can't let him do this!"
Sheriff Doyle shifted his cigar from the left corner of his mouth to the right. He recognized the fellow on tip-toes, choking at the end of the lariat, and had no liking for either him or his kind. "Oh, I don't know," he said casually, flicking ash from his Havana. "Horse thieves are routinely hanged out West, and if I understand my Blackstone correctly, a visiting lawman is like a visiting diplomat: a crime committed against them is judged by the law of their native land."
Percival VanNest made a strangled sound of distress, eyes bulging from his panicked face.
"Constable, do I recall there are laws here against stealing horses?"
The constable had worked with the Sheriff before, and knew the way the man approached things. He composed himself and tucked his billy back under his armpit. "You do that, Sheriff."
"And this fellow was witnessed to have done just that."
"Yes, sir, that's correct."
"And he's done so after having consumed liquor."
"I do believe that's correct, sir." This was not a lie; Percival VanNest was a noted consumer of any compound containing alcohol, and was seldom without its odor upon his breath. Though not a drunkard, he was a drinker of considerable experience.
"I believe charges of public drunkenness and horse theft are warranted," the Sheriff said, grinding the stub of a Havana underfoot and turning to go back inside.
The stocky constable smiled and withdrew a set of cuffs. "Percival, you're spending the night at the city's expense," he said cheerfully, and Jacob backed Apple off just enough for the constable to remove the lariat.
Jacob turned, coiling la reata as he went.
Apple's hoofbeats were sharp and loud in the winter darkness, and Jacob rode north, out of town, toward Chauncey.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-9-08

 

Duzy and Jake held the shot glasses up, looked into each other’s eyes, and toasted, “to us, Darlin’,” together, as they knocked back the shots of tequila! Jake brought his mouth down to hers, as Duzy stood, her arms around his shoulders, her body against his, their tongues touching, as Duzy nibbled on his bottom lip, playfully, and then the kiss deepened, until they each pulled apart to catch a breath of air.

Jake unbuttoned Duzy’s bodice, taking his time with each article of clothing, savoring the softness of her skin, as he unlaced her corset, kissing her shoulders, and then slipped her chemise over her head, as she turned and stood before him, proudly, challenging him with her smile and her eyes, and making him wonder when he would catch glimpses of the shy young lady that he had first made love to!

“Darlin’, don’t you think it’s time I made an “honest woman” out of you?” Jake asked, with that one sided grin Duzy loved so, Jake knowing he was the only man who had ever held her like this, who had ever made love to her, as she stood before him, so close that he could smell the lavender, as he traced his fingers down her body, touching each peak and valley of her curves, as he watched her respond to his touch.

Jake had never known a woman who could excite him with a mere look, or the sway of her skirt as she walked, the way she rested her head on his shoulder as she slept, the way she befriended the needy, or the way she looked holding little Polly or playing with Sarah! Each time, Jake would envision Duzy holding a baby of their own in her arms, or watching as she played with a child, like Sarah, who had been conceived of their love! Jake wanted her to be his forever, till death, and he was becoming impatient. He also knew that she had to feel the same way for their marriage to work, and he knew the demons she faced were very real.

“Honey, I know you want me to set the date!” Duzy threw up her hands and said, “Mama and Papa are waiting until we marry, hell half the town is waiting; but, I don’t know, I know I love you, I don’t want to be without you, and yet I am scared…..Jake, I am scared! We both know how short life can be, we have come so close to losing each other, and not just once! And, there are my visions to try to understand, and to top that off, my life is now being threatened because of the stand I made, and plan to continue to make, for women’s rights, and it makes me wonder if I will make a good wife or if I am meant to be a mother!”

Tears came to Duzy’s eyes as she questioned her ability to take care of a family, as lately it seemed that all she could manage to do was to take care of her, and even then, she had needed help just this evening! Could she juggle her need to be a good journalist and to have a family too? Had she become engaged without thinking it through carefully enough?

And yet, each time they were together, was she not taking that same chance anyway? As careful as they were, it was always a relief when she had proof that she was not already with child. Was it selfish of her to want it all? Shouldn’t she feel happy to know that she would be giving birth to Jake's baby?

“And Jake, there is more, I have told you of my vision, and that I feel I have some type of connection with…with Kid! Jake, I can still see those images of me giving myself willingly to who I thought may be him! What if that vision is true too, possibly sometime in the future? How I even think I could betray you frightens me and makes me question myself!”

Jake had noticed how protective Marshall Sopris was of Duzy. It had angered him that Kid had not told him that Kwai Chang had gone after her, leaving him to search elsewhere. And yet, Jake felt that Kid was a man of honor, a man who had made a decision to protect Duzy by not telling anyone, but who had realized or admitted to himself that Jake loved her and would never hurt her and had decided to tell him the truth. Did he think Kid was interested in Duzy in a romantic way? He supposed it was possible, but if it was true, he took special care to hold back, and to not overstep the boundaries of their friendship.

Hell, when he thought about it, there were always men watching Duzy, from the moment she entered a room, her long dark hair pulled up, with tendrils curled around her neck, her dark eyes shining, sometimes with mischief, as she moved through a room, her skin creamy above her bodice, the sway of her hips, the laughter that followed her as she stopped to tell a tale, exaggerating her Southern accent at times, using the flirtations born of a Southern Belle, until the moment she left, gracefully walking away, hoping to leave those around her feeling a little better than they had before, and usually succeeding. God, how he loved and wanted her!

The vision, oh yes, he had surely thought of that, as he knew for a fact that most of the visions had come true, and he knew that this one in particular had Duzy puzzled, as she had stood and opened her heart to him, with tears forming in her eyes, with the knowledge that she must be honest with him. She knew that she felt something for the Marshall, something she didn’t understand, something as real as the images in her vision.

Jake picked up the robe that was lying beside the tub and gently wrapped it around her, as he motioned for her to sit next to him. “Darlin’, I have been over and over this in my mind; and, I will admit it, I am scared too! The same things that frighten you frighten me, but it is nothing like the feeling I have when I think of us giving up, of not taking the chance to be together, no matter what the future brings.”

“Oh Jake,” Duzy began. “No Darlin’, listen to me, please, if you wish to delay our wedding, to have a longer engagement, to get the newspaper established, to get this investigation behind us, to wait until we know we are both ready for children, then we must stop taking the chances we are taking, we must stop defying convention. I will move out of your suite and back into my room, and stay at the jail more, and I will court you, and I will wait for you until you can come to me, without being afraid, and then you will have the wedding of your dreams and I will you. You are my dream!

Before Duzy could say a word, Jake kissed her goodnight, and asked if he could join her for breakfast. “Yes, that would be lovely! Jake, thank you and I do love you!”

“I love you too, Darlin’,” Jake answered, as Duzy watched him walk out of her door and out into the hallway…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-10-08

 

Jacob loped steadily through the night, first down hill past the depot, then on north on the coach road, through Wolf Plains, which was supposed to have been the county seat -- at least, the Sheriff told him after Jacob presented his bona fides, and they had a sociable talk, and a shot of Old Soul Saver to ward off the Devil -- how Wolf Plains was supposed to have been the county seat, as it was on the back bone of the ridge, and thus proof against flooding: but the surveyors, having set up shop at the local tavern, had gotten too deep in their cups, and confused the two locations on their newly-drawn maps; and so Athens, built on soft ground, became the county seat, and Wolf Plains, high and dry, wasn't much a'tall.
Jacob passed through Wolf Plains, looking left and right, sizing up for ambush, for he was a cautious man; little was there to merit his attention, other than the constant noise from the mine down in Hocking-under-the-Hill, and the constant sulfur stink of coal fired stoves. Jacob sneezed after bit, blowing his nose noisily and shaking his head with displeasure. If it was like this everywhere back East, he thought, they can darn well have it and welcome to it!
He started down off the back bone of the ridge, down towards the Hocking River, across the railroad spur and past the salt works, over the covered bridge, Apple's hooves noisy on the planking.
Jacob unbuttoned his coat, and swept it back, left and right, for a horse's thunder in such an enclosed space could alert footpads and skulkers that a rider was coming, and the end of the bridge was a fine place for an ambush.
There was none.
Jacob swung Apple to the right, following the coach road still, parallel to the Erie Canal. It was froze over, with a covering of dirtied snow, punctuated by fox and mink tracks.
A dirty little tavern set at the corner, a lamp in the window inviting travelers to come in and partake, but Jacob was almost to his destination, and of no mind to stop.
He was another two minutes getting into Chauncey: he found it small, dirty, cramped and lined on both sides of the street with "company houses," built fast and built cheap and rented at exhorbitant rates to the miners, with the rent taken out of their pay and what was left given in mine scrip, good at the mine company's store and nowhere else: the miners were overcharged there, and when they ran out of scrip, they kept an account with the company storre: a sneaky but effective way to enslave the poor folk who were just trying to make an honest living.
All this Jacob learned in his brief conversation with the Sheriff, along with the correct pronunciation of the town's name: "When you say it, say 'Chancy,'" the Sheriff admonished him. "If you call it 'Chawncey' you'll be known for an outsider, and you'll get nowhere fast, and maybe killed. The mines don't want outsiders coming in for fear they'll try and Unionize."
Jacob had thanked the man for his kindness, and the libation, and now he was in that dirty little mining town, and headed up the street at a trot.
He was interested in a meal, a clean bed and a stable, but not in that order: his first priority was to find the town marshal, and present his bona fides, for it was the courteous thing to do, and tended to avoid misunderstandings: it would also, he hoped, give him a good handle on where to find this Jollins fellow.
Jacob's belly reminded him it was too long since the last meal, and a shot of whisky wasn't the best supper he'd had.
Jacob reined Apple-horse up in front of a tavern beside the tracks, and listened to the piano music for a moment before dismounting.
He buttoned his coat, thought better of it, left it unbuttoned and loose, and tied Apple to the hitch rail.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-11-08

 

Jacob walked the five steps to the saloon's door and stopped.
A short, stocky fellow in a derby and an open neck shirt under his coat was approaching with the rolling gait of a powerful man.
Jacob's instinct bade him wait, and wait he did, his back to the wall, his thumbs on top of his belt buckle.
The stocky man stopped and squinted at Jacob.
"Stranger," he grunted. "You lookin' for a fight?"
"Not particular," Jacob said quietly.
The stocky fellow grunted, examined the end of his well-chawed stogie with a sad expression and said "Either my chaw is a-smolder or my cig-gar is about drownded out." He spat and dropped the stub of the stogie to the littered ground. "You might not want to go in there."
Jacob stood silent, waiting.
"You got business here, boy?"
"Yep."
The silence grew long between the two.
"Don't say much, do you?"
"Nope."
The stocky fellow looked at Apple, looked at Jacob. "How about I just take that horse?"
"I hung the last fellow that tried," Jacob said mildly.
"You hung him," the fellow chuckled. "Now that's a good one. They do that out West, you know."
"I know."
The fellow peered sharply at Jacob. "This ain't the West."
"I know."
"I got a feelin' about you, boy," the stocky fellow said. "I got a feelin' you're nothin' but trouble. Now why don't you just get on that fine lookin' horse and get outta my town."
"Can't do that."
"I can make you."
Jacob shifted his weight.
The stranger started to pull a pistol from his pants pocket and Jacob produced his left hand Colt.
The stranger was wise enough to drop the pistol back into his pants pocket.
"My Pa was murdered," Jacob said. "I aim to find the fellow that kilt him, and take him back with me."
"And who might you be?"
Jacob kept the Colt steady and reached up with his right hand, turned over his lapel. "Jacob Keller, Firelands Sheriff's Office."
The stocky fellow nodded, sighed. "You'd best come with me, then."
"Why?"
"I'm the town marshal."
"Let's see some bona fides."
The front door of the saloon flew open and two bodies flew out, landing face first on the frozen ground. The barkeep scaled a hat after one and shouted, "Hey Marshal, I got two more of 'em for you!"
The Marshal sighed. "That's six tonight, Hank. How many more you gonna belt with that bung starter?"
"However many I got to!" the barkeep barked, pulling abruptly back into the smoky interior and slamming the door.
The stocky man hawked and spat and shook his head. Seizing each of the fallen by the belt, he grunted and picked them up like luggage. "You might as well come on, boy. I'm headed for the town jail. Left my bony fides in the desk."
Jacob holstered his Colt and untied Apple-horse, and followed the stocky man into the night.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-11-08

 

Willy slumped down on a rock at the foot of the boulder and leaned back with a groan. "It was five or six days ago. I reckon it was sorta my fault. I've been leavin' Dawg up here when I go to town, and he's been actin' pretty happy about it. Then for some reason he decided to follow me down, and I let him." He shifted to a little more comfortable position on his rock while Charlie waited impatiently for him to go on. "So anyway, we got crossways of some boys down there, and when we left they must have followed us back up here. They tore down the corral in the middle of the night and fired the cabin and shot me when I ran out. I got one of 'em, and I think Dawg got another one before they shot him. He got out into the rocks before they could shoot again and they were afraid to go in after him."

"How in hell did you two get crossways of anybody?" Charlie asked. "You both know better."

Willy looked down. Charlie could tell he was avoiding telling him the whole thing. Finally he appeared to come to a decision and he looked up. "It was Arlen Scorsby, Charlie. He's in one of the camps."

Arlen Scorsby. There was a name to conjure with. If Scorsby was here, then so was Badger Clark, because you never saw one without the other. And it sounded like they were out for blood. Willy looked up. "He said to tell you that he didn't want Dawg, he wanted you. Dawg and me were just icing on the cake."

"Where's Dawg?" Charlie snapped through gritted teeth. Willy pointed with his crutch toward the trees and Charlie went that way at a trot. He crashed through the snugly interwoven branches of the outer ring of trees and into a small clearing. Dawg lay on a pallet of blankets and bandages were white against black fur matted with dried blood. His eyes were closed but he appeared to be breathing easily. "Dawg, buddy, how ya doin'?" Charlie asked softly with his voice breaking. He knelt down by Dawg.

The big head came up and Dawg's eyes opened. His stub tail flickered for a moment then went still. Charlie knelt by Dawg's head and Dawg's rough tongue flicked out and touched Charlie's hand briefly. Charlie ruffled the big dog's ears and Dawg let his head fall back to the blankets.

Willy came through the trees. "What have you two been eating? You're both skin and bones," Charlie said.

"I managed to salvage some jerky from the cabin, but it hasn't been much, and I haven't been able to hunt," Willy said.

"Alright, the first order of business is food," Charlie said. He stood and brushed off his knees. "I think the biggest thing wrong with him," he nodded at Dawg, "is lack of grub. I'll go find us a deer or something. There should be some coming into the lick down in the basin. You get a fire started and I'll be right back." Charlie started to go to his saddle for his rifle and cursed when he remembered that his rifle was back in Firelands. Then he shrugged. He'd just have to make do.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Kid Sopris 3-11-08

 

Marshall Sopris had not been back in Washington to take care of administrative matters like he should and the US Attorney general keeps sending telegrams wanting updates. Sopris thought if US Attorney wanted a daily update he ought to get his carcass off the chair and out in the field. But there were more important matters at hand.

Still in the unlit sky of darkness, Chang and Sopris rode out to recover the unconscious body of Zack, left behind when Chang rescued Duzy.

Once shackled and blindfolded, and draped over a pack horse, the trio rode off toward the graveyard. There tucked in behind some rocks and bushes was the secret entrance to the underground basement below the church. Kid had used this many times and it was good to see nobody had used it or new of it's where abouts or importance.

Chang and Sopris restrained Zack into the granite walls of the cave/basement and with instructions to Chang, "keep the scourge fed and watered and don't hesitate to solicit information from him".

Chang smiled ever so slightly with understanding and yet with the thoughtfulness of kindness. A smile that only experienced interrogators could understand.

Sopris was back at the Sheriff's Office before day break.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-11-08

 

Tom Landers hoisted his beer and took a long drink.
"I appreciate your kindness, Sheriff," he said, picking up his fork and sizing up his dinner plate.
"My pleasure. I hate to eat alone. Esther's working on some railroad business, Jacob's still out East and I'm hungry."
Two fellows drifted over, nondescript in appearance, common cowboys by the look of them; grateful for the respite, they'd gotten a beer apiece, and settled at an adjacent table.
The younger of the two -- I'd say he wasn't much older than Jacob, maybe sixteen or so -- spoke up: "'Scuse me, Sheriff, wonder if you could tell me somethin'."
He was to my right. I knew Tom Landers carried a Lightning in a shoulder rig, and he was accomplished in a shoulder draw while seated; my coat was unbuttoned and I had set as I always do to allow my gun arm free travel.
"Oh, suppose I could try," I said mildly.
"You must be the new Sheriff. I'm lookin' for the old one. Some fello' named Keller."
"Keller, huh?" I said with an innocent expression. "You mean the one that was killed on the riverboat."
I had a good look at his partner's face when I said it, and disappointment was plain in his expression. The young fellow looked absolutely crestfallen. "Killed?" he asked, and I reckon he was seeing dollar signs winging their way out the nearest window.
"Afraid so. Two fellows bushwhacked him on his honeymoon."
"Well, there goes the reward," his partner muttered.
"You fellows must have one of them wanted dodgers," I said, smiling as Daisy's new girl -- Chinese, and darn if I could remember her name -- set a plate in front of me. Good beef it was, and it smelled good, and those two fellows took a long look at what we were eating.
I knew the look.
I asked the Chinese girl if she could bring two more plates, and she folded her hands in her sleeves and bowed, and scuttled back to the kitchen, and the two bounty hunters looked uncomfortable.
"Sheriff, uh," the one said, "we, ah, we're broke, see, and we can't--"
I held up a hand, forestalling further protest. "It's on me, fellas. I know what it is to ride on an empty belly."
Their grins were broad and instantaneous, their thanks profuse; they were soon enjoying the delights of Daisy's good cooking, or whoever she had cooking tonight -- she'd learned the art of supervision, and though she spent most of her time tending Little Sean and Big Sean, she still managed to run her kitchen here in the Jewel like a conductor runs an orchestra.
Once they'd put away two big plates apiece, Tom and I asked how the pie was tonight, and them two fellers got a look in their eyes that a sailor has when he sees home for the first time in two years.
Daisy taught her recruit well, for she taken a pie, sliced it once across the middle, give it a quarter turn and sliced it again, and served up four slices: each of us had a quarter of a pie, and those two travelers did full justice to still-warm, flaky-crusted apple pie.
We all leaned back with a contented sigh.
"I don't believe I've et this good since home," the older of the two bounty hunters said quietly.
I grinned. "I do like their pie."
Tom Landers' eyes crinkled a little at the corners. He was enjoying the show. He knew a man with a full belly will talk more easily, and he was curious to see what was about to happen.
"Say, you wouldn't have one of them-there wanted dodgers on you by any chance?" I asked, and the younger of the two fetched one out of his wallet; it was folded many times, but smoothed out easily enough. It was the same one I'd seen before.
I traced the bottom lines of print with my finger. "Oh, yes," I murmured sadly. "Says here he was wanted for the murder of Jackson Cooper."
I heard a familiar step come through the front door. Now I don't pretend to know how but Jackson Cooper had a habit of showing up right at the right time, and sure enough there he was, and I seized upon the moment like it was planned. "The fellow that printed these up is under arrest for murder, for he lied when he had them printed." I pointed to the big deputy talking to Mr. Baxter. "That's Jackson Cooper right there."
The two looked a little confused.
"Let's say this Keller fellow hadn't been shot on that river boat," I continued. "Had you acted on this wanted poster, and either grabbed him, or taken him in dead, you'd be up for murder, for Jackson Cooper is alive and well, there is no arrest warrant for Keller, and the man who printed these is in custody awaiting trial."
The younger of the two looked like his chair had fell out from under him.
"Now I have got to go pay the preacher," he said, eyes big and voice shaking a little.
"How's that?" Tom asked.
The younger fellow looked at him, a bit more pale than he'd been. "Mister, we was all set to either bend a stick over this Keller's head, or just kill him outright. We was serious set on doin' that. Had we not run into you two we'd likely have either chased our tails lookin' for a dead man, or we'd have figured you was him" -- he pointed at me -- "and ended up in a noose!"
"We'd still be hungry, too," his partner said, rubbing his belly.
The little Chinese girl set coffee down in front of us.
"The Lord looks after fools an' children," I said, pouring a shot of cream in mine. "I've qualified under one or t'other a number of times."
"Amen, brother," the two agreed; they finished their coffee and departed, reluctant to go back out in the cold, but grateful they could do so on a full belly.
"You could have had a problem here, you know," Landers said quietly as the little Chinese girl filled our coffee cups from a blue granite pot.
"I know." I stirred a dollop of honey in my big mug.
"Don't often see a man feed a pair of trouble makers."
I smiled. "They'll talk. Not just about the good apple pie, not just about finding a soft touch on a cold night. No, they'll talk about the wild goose chase, and how they found a hot meal at the end of it. Word will get out, not just that their quarry is dead, but that the dodger itself is fake. That'll spread fast, especially with its author in irons and on his way here for trial."
"Jacob found him, then?" Tom asked, leaning his elbows on the table and taking a noisy sip of scalding black coffee.
I smiled. "Last I heard, he'd made Athens. I reckon by now he's found Jollins."
Tom set his coffee cup down and looked levelly at me. "Linn, there's somethin' cold in that boy. Let me ask you as one lawman to another, and set aside your feelin's as a father."
I set my own coffee down and regarded the man solemnly.
"Ask."
"Will he bring him back, or will he just kill him?"
I nodded. "I'd wondered that myself," I admitted, "but I don't think I'm that bad a judge of a man's character. I believe he'll bring him back."
Tom nodded. "I don't want you to get a telegram saying your son is being held on a murder charge."
I will admit there was a worry in me as I replied, "I hope so too, Tom."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-12-08

 

Bonnie was not at all surprised that Miss Messman was able to change diapers and soothe babies.
She was, however, most pleased at the revelation, and quite grateful for the respite.
Nurse Susan was back at the hospital; her quarters were there, and had reluctantly but gratefully gone back to tend such minor details as her own laundry, a bath, and a change of clothes. Bonnie admired her work ethic -- there was no quitting to the woman -- but she deserved a little relief.
Bonnie, in turn, was delighted at the help Annette gave.
The babies waved their chubby arms and squealed happily as, in turn, Annette bathed them, and got them all clean and sweet-smelling, powdered, diapered, and rocked to sleep.
Bonnie dozed in her own rocking chair, in the quiet of the warm, weather-tight home, opening her eyes now and then and smiling at the sight of the bespectacled young lady, contentedly rocking, slowly, slowly, a baby in each arm, a quiet smile on her face.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-12-08

 

The Marshal spread Jacob's wanted poster out on the cluttered desk. As neat as Linn's desk was, the Marshal's wasn't: the Marshal's appearance reflected his disorganized approach, and Jacob wondered silently how the man ever got the job.
He's probably easy for politicians to push around, Jacob thought uncharitably.
The Marshal shook his head and chuckled. "Yeah, we thought these was a joke when we saw 'em hung up around town," he wheezed. "I recall Linn. Decent a fella as I ever knew. Rotten sense o' humor but he'd not lie to you. Might pull your leg fiercely."
"Yes, sir, I know," Jacob said with a half-smile.
"You know him?" the Marshal looked up with a quick grin.
Jacob veiled his eyes. "Did you receive the telegram about his death?"
The Marshal's face fell. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I got that, and right sorry I was to hear it, too. Good man."
Jacob ran his finger along the fine print at the bottom of the wanted dodger. "What about this fellow here?"
"Jollins? Council president. Or was, until two nights ago."
"Says here to contact Jollins, and here" -- he shifted his finger -- "that Linn is wanted for the murder of one Jackson Turner."
"Oh, yeah," the Marshal said, tipping his derby to the side and vigorously scratching his greasy scalp. "Jackson disappeared one night, just vanished, and not long after Linn left too. Had a row with Council, told 'em where they could put their crooked ways, tossed his badge on the table and walked out. Jollins figured this was a personal insult and allowed as he'd get him for that."
"His words?"
"Yep. His words."
"Go on."
"The man's a coward." He leaned over, hawked and spat into a nearby spittoon. "He'd not enough guts to face up to an alley cat, let alone a grown man, but he'd stab someone in the back if ever he could. Someone come by, said Linn had a gold mine out West, and Jollins allowed as by God if he had a gold mine he'd take it away from him, and then these showed up."
"Gold mine," Jacob said.
"Yep. That's the word." The Marshal chuckled. "Take a look out this window."
Jacob stepped over to the window.
"See that pile of dirt and rock, over yonder, by where that mine's working?"
"Yes, sir."
"Know what that is?"
Jacob frowned. "It's not coal," he said.
"You're right. That's better than gold!"
"Better than gold?"
"That's right!" the Marshal declared. "You are looking at more money than there is in the whole darn Yew-Ninety States right there!"
"How's that?" Jacob looked again, seeing only a pile of dirt and rock in the glare of gas lights.
"Why, that's a million dollars lookin' you in the face!" the Marshal said with obvious pride. "That's zinc! Zinc! And I own a share in it!"
"A million dollars," Jacob smiled.
"Yep! Now you tell me, which would you rather have, a gold mine out there or a zinc mine here?"
"Wellsir, I reckon if you've got a share in a good thing, you'd ought to be happy with it."
"Oh, I am!" he nodded empatically. "Now Jollins, he's a greedy sort. After he found out about the gold mine, he allowed to print these up, said it was a joke, then we found he was shippin' them West. There's always some poor fool wants a fast buck, and more the fool that makes his wage huntin' men."
"I see."
"Now I been answerin' your questions right along. Suppose you answer mine."
"Fair enough."
"Why you here?"
Jacob waved at the wanted poster. "Jollins intentionally and deliberately tried to kill this man. He did it with a printed broadsheet instead of a knife."
The Marshal viewed the young deputy skeptically. "You sure about that?"
Jacob nodded. "See right here, says he killed Jackson Cooper?"
"I see it."
"Jackson Cooper is alive and well and he's one of our deputies."
"Do tell," the Marshal breathed. "Why, that scoundrel!"
I come out here with an arrest warrant for Jollins. I'm to take him back to Firelands for a fair trial before we hang him."
The Marshal reached up under his derby again. "Might be a little difficult."
"How's that?"
"You wanta see the man?"
"I do."
"I'll take you there. It's just up the street."
"I'd be obliged."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-12-08

 

Charlie slipped down through the jumbled rocks and downed timber of that long ago avalanche toward the mineral lick at the bottom of the basin. It was getting close to dark but if he hurried he could get there in time.

The doe and her twins of the year followed the well-packed trail through the drifts of snow to the lick. She paced slowly along the slotted trail, pausing frequently to check the breezes for the presence of danger. Her large cupped ears and wide-spaced eyes turned back and forth as she scanned the landscape all around. Normally she and her fawns, which were nearly her size, would have been down in the lower country but this year the snowfall had been lighter than usual after a summer of exceptional grass growth so she had stayed up here where there was good feed and shelter. And the lick.

Wild animals need minerals as much as their domesticated counterparts, but had less opportunity to get them. The grass, twigs, and shrubs they ate provided most of the nutrients they needed, but salts of some sort were welcome. The lick the three deer were headed for was actually an oozing spring that carried the treats they wanted to the surface. But that treat was also a danger. The spring was in a small pocket in the rocks, and visibility was limited.

Charlie settled himself in a slot between two boulders. His outline was obscured by the trees and brush behind him and he had a wide open view of the lick from less than ten yards. He checked that the small breeze was blowing from the spring to him and drew his pistol.

The doe and her fawns stepped suspiciously into the cup that held the spring. She stopped and checked the breezes for the hundredth time but the flow of air brought her only the usual scents of the evening forest. She stepped aside and let the twins go ahead while she stood sentry.

Charlie watched the doe and her young ones and was relieved when the two younger deer pushed eagerly ahead of their mother and lowered their muzzles to lick the crusted salts around the edge of the spring. They were beautiful to watch with their wide eyes and soft ears, but sentiment couldn't enter into the drama unfolding at the lick this evening. Dawg needed food, and the kind of food he needed was standing in front of Charlie.

Charlie eased the hammer back on the pistol, pressing it against his coat to silence it as much as possible. The doe heard the muffled clicking and her ears and nose swiveled toward Charlie but he held still in the shadows and she didn't see him. The fawns had raised their heads to watch their mother but when she relaxed her vigilance again they went back to licking up the tasty crust around the spring.

Charlie silently lifted the pistol and drew a bead on the nearest deer. He held the front sight at the base of the young buck's neck, near the top, for a spine shot. The shot blasted and the deer went down, his neck neatly broken. With a snort the doe and the other fawn raced from the cup.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-13-08

 

The Marshal removed his greasy derby from his greasy hair as the door opened. A tired looking woman was wiping her hands on her apron.
"Hello, Ed," she said, fatigue heavy around her eyes and in her voice.
"Evening, Millie," the Marshal said. "Kin we see yer husband?"
Millie's shoulders sagged. Jacob saw a woman nearly crushed by her terrible burden, but like most women with such a burden, she drew on a reserve of strength she probably never knew she had, and squared up her shoulders and drew the door wider. "Come in. The doctor is with him."
Jacob, behind the Marshal, slipped the tabs off his Colt's hammers and drew them down, out of the way, and drew his coat forward, discreetly keeping them hidden from the common eye.
He was about to come into the presence of the man he was to arrest.
The man was in his own home, his place of power, his sanctum, and he very likely would resist.
Jacob smiled grimly.
Let him resist, he thought.
He tried to kill my Pa!
Jacob tasted copper, and followed the Marshal into the house.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-13-08

 

Dr. John Greenlees propped one polished shoe up on the foot rail and leaned against the bar, chewing on a sliver of jerky and contemplating the foam on his freshly drawn beer.
"I understand the honey," he said to the Sheriff. "It's been used since Biblical times and before. With all the fancy new medicines it's fallen out of favor, and that's a shame. It works." He took a pull on his sizable mug, licked at the foam mustache and frowned. "I don't understand what Sarah said about you blowing out the fire."
The Sheriff smiled and reached for the mug Mr. Baxter was extending. He sampled his own brew and found it to his liking. "You mentioned Biblical cures, Doctor," he said quietly.
"Now where in the King James does it say anything about blowing out a fire?" Dr. John asked, almost crossly. He considered himself a student of the Scripture and anything that he didn't know quite honestly annoyed him.
"There is an ancient knowledge, Doctor, old ways that aren't in the Book."
"Witchcraft?" the Doctor asked sharply.
"No. No, I don't hold with that a'tall." The Sheriff frowned as he scanned the bar mirror, grateful for its spotless surface. "Be real honest, Doc, I don't know how it works, only that ... it works."
"Hm." Dr. John considered another stick of jerky, decided against it and reached for the shelled nuts instead. "She's near to healed and not even a scar. I would have expected suppurration, swelling, infection, running sores. That's what should have happened."
"Is that what you want?" the Sheriff asked mildly.
"By the Sachem, NO!" Doc snarled. "What I want is for it never to have happened, but that's not possible." He glared at something invisible in the mirror. "No, what I want is just what's happened. There's a happy little girl that's healed without a scar, without pain and without infection." He shook his head. "I don't know what you did, Sheriff, but if you get the chance, do it again."
The Sheriff did not reply.
Doc took a long drink of his beer, savoring its texture, the carbonation, the coolness as it cascaded down his throat.
He came up for air with a deep sigh of satisfaction and looked over at the Sheriff.
Linn was gazing at something a thousand miles on the other side of his beer mug.
Doc reached over and laid his long, tapered fingers on the Sheriff's shoulder.
The Sheriff blinked, surprised. "Sorry. I was ... " he said slowly.
"I know. You weren't here."
The Sheriff nodded.
"Don't feel bad. I do that too."
The Sheriff nodded, drained his beer and set the mug gently down on the polished mahogany bar. He laid a coin beside the beer mug, nodded to Mr. Baxter.
He turned to the doctor.
"Doc, I don't want to do that again. I don't want to blow fire nor stop blood with the Word. I don't want to fight fellas, hang anyone nor drag folks kickin' and squealin' over to jail. I don't want to testify in court nor serve warrants, summonses and the like, and I sure as Perdition don't want to serve foreclosure notices." He smiled tiredly. "Unfortunately this is life, Doc, and sometimes we have to do things anyway."
Doc nodded. "You're right," he agreed. "Can I buy you one now?"
The Sheriff smiled, shook the man's hand. "Good of you to offer, Doc. Thank you, but no, I'll have to water every fence post between here and Kansas City if I do."
They chuckled at the mild vulgarity, and the Sheriff went slowly upstairs, with the tread of a man weighted by fatigue, or perhaps memories.
Doc looked after his departing form with respect.
The Sheriff's handshake had been gentle -- a courtesy normally extended between surgeons, a mark of respect, in recognition of the precise and delicate nature of their art.
Mr. Baxter set another beer before the doctor. "He's a good man, you know," he said with a wink and a half-smile.
Doc accepted the beer with a nod. "I know," he said, putting his weight on his right foot and raising his left to the foot rail.
It felt good to relax.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-13-08

 

Jacob's hat was in his left hand, in front of his belly, the perfect position to camouflage drawing his right-hand Colt.
"How is he, Doc?" Ed asked as Jacob's eyes swept the room, weight on the balls of his feet. His breath was quiet, quick, shallow, and he felt his skin prickle a bit.
The doctor withdrew a tube and funnel from the man's gullet. "He's dying," he said flatly.
Ed sighed. "I was afraid o' that." He glanced back at the open bedroom door. "Does she know?"
The doctor was a big man, hard muscle gone soft, belly grown over his belt; care and worry had creased his face, and he had the sagging look of a man drawn too hard by gravity and hard years. His suit was well tailored and immaculate, but somehow there was an air of surrender about him.
"She knows."
Jacob walked around the bed. "Mr. Jollins?" he asked.
Jollins' dark brown eyes turned toward Jacob's voice.
"He can't talk," the doctor explained roughly. "Can't move, can't swallow. I just ran this down his gut to get some water and broth in him and he didn't even gag."
"Mr. Jollins, I hope you can help me," Jacob continued. "I'm investigating a murder."
"He can't talk," the doctor said, a little more loudly.
"Yes, sir, you already said that," Jacob said quietly, "but I am not talking to you. I am talking to Mr. Jollins, and this is official business."
The doctor threw his hands in the air, the pessary waving wildly, and shaking his head, stomped out of the room.
"I think you made him mad," the Marshal said.
Jacob's look would have frozen water.
Turning to the supine man propped up on a half-dozen pillows, Jacob continued. "Mr. Jollins, can you blink twice for me, sir?"
Blink. Blink.
Jacob looked up at the Marshal. "He's still in there," Jacob said with a half-smile, then turned back to Jollins. "Sir, I need your help. I'm a Sheriff's deputy from out West, and I'm investigating a murder. Blink twice if you understand."
Blink. Blink.
Jacob nodded. "Sir, I understand you've put out a reward for a murderer, one Linn Keller. Is that correct, sir?"
Blink. Blink.
"And this fellow is supposed to have killed Jackson Cooper."
Blink. Blink.
"Sir, just so there is no misunderstanding, if your answer is 'No', blink three times.
Jollins did not blink this time. He regarded Jacob with ... gratitude?
Is this the first anyone has tried to communicate? Jacob wondered, and continued.
"Mr. Jollins, are you saying that Jackson Cooper was murdered?
Blink. Blink.
"Mr. Jollins, this is important," Jacob said with a quiet intensity. "Did you see the murder?"
Jollins hesitated, then:
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"But Jackson Cooper disappeared?
Blink. Blink.
"And then this Keller disappeared."
Blink. Blink.
Jacob looked over at the Marshal. The Marshal was watching Jollins closely.
"Mr. Jollins, would this have anything to do with Keller's interest in a gold mine?"
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Are you sure, sir?"
Blink. Blink.
Jacob turned his lapel over. "Mr. Jollins, my name is Jacob Keller."
He saw the change in Jollins' eyes.
"My father is Linn Keller."
The Marshal had drawn up a chair, and was seated with his legs well apart, leaning forward and hanging on every word, every expression.
"Mr. Jollins, Jackson Cooper is a friend of mine. He is alive and well and he is a fellow deputy. I assure you he is very much alive and well, and married to our schoolmarm."
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Yes, sir, he is, and we have established his bona fides. He is indeed the Jackson Cooper you remember from this fine town, the Jackson Cooper who said goodbye to my father by that barn up in Sedalia when someone took a shot at them in the dark."
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"Mr. Jollins, did you fire that shot?"
Jollins looked at Jacob for a long, long moment, then:
Blink. Blink.
"You are admitting that you did not see a murder."
Blink. Blink.
"You have no knowledge that a murder actually occurred.
Blink. Blink.
"You printed up those wanted posters out of jealousy."
Blink. Blink. Blink.
"You heard he'd struck gold and you were jealous. You made your brags you were going to take it from him."
Jollins closed his eyes for a long moment, then:
Blink. Blink.
Jacob leaned down close to the man's face. "Mister Jollins, I have a warrant for your arrest. I am under orders to put you in irons and take you back to Firelands. Do you know why?" He did not give the man time to blink an answer. "My father was newly married and he was on a riverboat with his new wife, a fine woman, an honorable and decent woman with hair like living flame and eyes the color of an Irish emerald.
"Two men who'd seen your wanted poster waited outside their stateroom and shot my father from ambush. I killed them both, but not until they put lead into my Pa."
If it is possible for a paralyzed man's eyes to show fear, Jollins' did.
Jacob continued, still speaking quietly, for the menace in his voice carried more threat than any shout.
"My father is alive, Mr. Jollins. I am to bring you back and hang you after a fair trial, but I don't know if you would live long enough to hang." He straightened. "Marshal, I need to speak with his doctor." Jacob turned and strode from the room, the abruptness of his move flaring his coat out and allowing a momentary glimpse of his right-hand Colt.
The Marshal sat there in the silence, beside the bedridden Jollins, considering what he'd just heard.

Without the sickroom, Jacob was speaking with the doctor; he spoke frankly, and asked direct questions, and finally thanked the man for his time.
Jacob's grip when he shook the doctor's hand was not the delicate grip of professional recognition extended by his father; rather it was the quick, strong grip of a lawman completing a duty.
Mrs. Jollins came into the room as Jacob was thanking the square-built physician. "Deputy," she said, "will you and the Marshal be staying for coffee?"
Jacob settled his Stetson on his head. "Mrs. Jollins, thank you for that kindness, but I don't believe we will. Your husband helped clear up a murder case I'm working on."
Jacob opened the sickroom door. "Marshal? We're done here."
The Marshal's chair scraped back on the polished, painfully-clean wood floor, and the Marshal waddled out, scratching at his unwashed shirt overlying his belly and hitching up his drawers as he went.
"Mrs. Jollins, thank you for your kindness," Jacob said. "We'll be on our way now."
Mrs. Jollins smiled sadly and nodded.

Outside, Jacob swung into the saddle.
"Where you stayin'?" the Marshal asked.
"Can you recommend a place?" Jacob asked. "I'm hungry enough to eat a hitching post and pick my teeth with the splinters!"
The Marshal chuckled. "The widow Hanson runs a clean place, and she's a good enough cook. Straight across from the village hall, can't miss it."
"I'll need somewhere to put up my horse."
"She's got a stable in back."
"Obliged." Jacob touched his hat brim and turned Apple with his knees.
The Marshal hooked his thumbs behind his galluses and let his belly sag comfortably over his belt.
"Now daggone if he don't favor his Pa," he said thoughtfully.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-13-08

 

Several of the town’s women, including Aunt Esther and Duzy, had gathered to meet with Marshall Sopris to discuss the placement of the ladies who had been rescued in his investigation. Some of the women were ready to work immediately; some unfortunately would need care and had been admitted into the hospital.

Results were being made, as Tilly had hired a woman whose husband had died, Mary Sloan, to help at the Silver Jewel. Daisy had hired a young Chinese woman, Kim Lee, to help in her kitchen. Two had been hired at the hospital in housekeeping, already having worked in laundries before being enslaved.

Most were Chinese, two were German, and another was a beautiful Indian woman, Morning Star, who had fallen for a white man, only to be sold a month later, leaving her feeling shamed and unable to look at anyone, always holding her head down and backing away if anyone tried to reach out to her.

Having tried everything she knew to get the young woman to respond, Duzy had turned to Doctor Flint, asking if he could try to communicate with Morning Star. He had agreed to help, but only time would tell if she would come out of the shell she had built around herself. Cots had been brought in and were set up in two rooms at the Silver Jewel for the ladies to stay, who hadn’t been offered a place yet, but Morning Star would only lie on a blanket on the floor.

Marshall Sopris had thanked all the ladies who had attended and helped, as all had been given a place to stay, even without employment, except for the few at the hospital. Duzy had overheard Caleb say that he could employ some of the others as soon as the textile plant was opened.

It was a good day in Firelands, Duzy thought, as the meeting had been successful and Marshall Sopris was pleased with the outcome, visibly showing signs of relief that they had been welcomed and treated with kindness, in place of the prejudice that he had seen in such cases!

Duzy walked to the bar to talk to Fred and turned to see Jake walking toward her, and she suddenly felt butterflies in her stomach. He looked so handsome and she had to admit she had missed him in her bed, tossing and turning, and wondering why she didn’t just say, “yes.” And then she smelled the scent of roses, and noticed Marshall Sopris sitting at one of the tables, his back against the wall, and their eyes met for a moment, just before Jake blocked their view.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-14-08

 

Jacob drew Apple to a halt and looked north, up the quiet street; there was the blocky Village Hall, made of locally-kilned brick, and looking like nothing more than a brickwork block with a four-sided, pyramidal roof on top, shingled with local slate.
Widow Hanson's will be across from it, he thought, and continued his lawman's sweep of his surroundings.
To the south, down the almost-quiet street, there were taverns, pedestrians, one slow-moving buggy drawn by a worn, swaybacked, hang-dog horse of some nondescript variety.
Jacob patted Apple's neck. "I don't ever want you lookin' like that, fella," he said quietly, and Apple blew, and stamped, for he'd not had a good run in a while, and he was feeling kind of froggy.
Jacob kneed Apple gently, and Apple turned, to the north, toward the local depot: Jacob smiled, reflecting that he probably could have ridden the steam train all the way here into Chauncey, but frankly by the time he hit Athens he was tired of riding in a moving box and wanted nothing more than a good horse under him, open country around him and blue sky above.
Apple trotted easily, lightly, up the brick street. Jacob was loath to take him faster, for Apple was well shod, and steel shoes on brick are notoriously slick. He'd seen the results of abusive riders, and he thought too much of the stallion to cause him harm without overwhelming need!
The dispatcher was still at his desk when Jacob knocked.
"Sorry, young fella, we're closed," the dispatcher said crossly, and Jacob flipped his lapel over to display the five pointed star. "No, sir, you're not," he said mildly.
The dispatcher frowned. "Okay, whattaya want? It's past my quittin' time!"
"Any messages for me? Name's Jacob Keller. Deputy, Firelands County, Colorado."
"Keller?" The dispatcher suddenly had a young man's energy. He sorted quickly through a pile of flimsies and came up with one, in an enveope. "Just came through. I was to try and find you." He handed it to Jacob.
"Obliged," Jacob said, opening the envelope and withdrawing the yellow paper.
He frowned at the poor handwriting but finally puzzled out the contents:
TO DEPUTY JACOB KELLER FIRELANDS COUNTY COLORADO CARE OF CHAUNCEY MARSHALS OFFICE STOP ADVISE PROGRESS STOP ESTHER KELLER OWNER AND GENERAL MANAGER Z&W RAILROAD END
Jacob had cultivated a poker face, having seen it serve his father well, and it served him here. He folded the flimsy, restoring it to the wrinkled, twice-used envelope.
"They also wired your passage back West," the dispatcher stammered. "It ain't often a railroad takes such an interest in a deputy's whereabouts."
Jacob smiled thinly. "When is the first train out in the morning?"
"Oh, about eight, if it's on time."
"Will it be on time?"
The dispatcher's eyes glittered behind his round, wire-rimmed spectacles, and he stripped off his eyeshade and scratched his thinning scalp nervously. "I do believe it will be."
"I'd like to send a reply, please."
"Certainly, certainly!" the dispatcher stammered, shoving a blank form and the stub of a pencil at Jacob.
Jacob looked up at the dispatcher. "I will need a stable car for my horse. Plenty of grain, plenty of clean straw." He smiled. "I like my horse."
"Yes, yes, yes, sir!" The dispatcher turned back to his work, sorting blindly through a miscellaneous stack, as Jacob carefully scribed his return message.
Jacob paid the man from the small store in his vest pocket, and as his boots retreated into the night, he heard the clatter of the outgoing message.
Not as smooth as Lightning, Jacob thought. Hope he gets it right.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-14-08

 

Lightning was just gone for the evening, and his son was sitting desk when the message came through.
Jason wasn't as fast as his father but his ear was quicker; he was better at receiving and understanding the message, a fact which both he and his father knew, but neither would admit openly: the older man, out of vanity and pride; the younger man, out of respect.
Jason grinned as he copied the message.
"They'll be happy to hear this," he murmured, and set it aside to be delivered in the morning.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-14-08

 

Miss Messman knelt in front of the trunk.
She knew its contents, having packed it herself, but she felt compelled to go through it yet again.
I will not cry, she whispered fiercely into the stillness. I will NOT cry!
As soon as she lifted the lid, and she smelled her brother's clothes, tears stung her eyes as they always did, and she dashed them fiercely away with the back of her hand, as she always did, and sniffed once, and leaned the lid back against the wall.
She drew out his two shirts, his two pairs of trousers, his galluses and chaps and she picked up his spurs, and smiled, and remembered how he looked the last time she saw him. He'd grinned that boyish, big-brother-ish grin of his, and he'd ruffled her hair, which she hated, and she kicked him in the shin, and he grabbed his shin and hopped on one foot, laughing.
"You're dangerous, sis!" he'd declared, and lost his balance, and fallen over, and one spur gouged the varnished living-room floor, and her father admonished them both sternly.
Miss Messman spun the rowel on one spur with a soft finger, watching it spin in the lamp light, watching the jingle-bobs swing and flash, and she remembered his laugh as he left, and swung easily into the saddle, and raised his hat to them; his horse was spirited, and danced under him, and with a whistle and a yell he was gone down the street at a gallop, and her Papa's hands were warm and weighty on her young shoulders as he murmured, "Damn fool," and chuckled, and then he wrapped his arms around his daughter and sighed, "If I were his age, I'd do exactly what he's doing right now!"
"Oh, Papa!" Annette had said, hugging him back, and his mustache had tickled her neck.
Now, in the stillness of her room over the library, she rubbed her neck, remembering her Papa, and how his mustache tickled, remembering her brother, and she pressed the sleeve of her nightgown against one eye, then the other.
I will not cry.
She laid each item out, on the painfully-clean floor, and finally came to his rolled-up gunbelt, and his Colt revolver, the one luxury he'd allowed himself. It was still loaded -- she hadn't tried unloading it -- there was a half box of cartridges, and six in the loops on the holster, not yet turned green -- and in a little pocket, in the back of the gun belt, a two-barrel Derringer.
Miss Messman remembered how her brother had exclaimed in dismay when he mishandled his own Derringer, and it hit the ground, and he berated himself in the sulfurous language of the Plains for being so careless: she had reflexively cried out, when she saw Bonnie's Derringer hit the floor, in no little part from this memory.
Grief is a powerful thing, she'd heard, and indeed it is.
Now what do I with this powerful thing?
She carefully, reverently packed everything away, all but the gunbelt.
She remembered the horror she'd seen in the fenced-in yard, the despair she saw in the women taken from the enclosed wagon.
Miss Messman had not only been proof reading Duzy's articles and research, she'd been studying them; she knew the sources were accurate, she knew the information was true, and she knew, as all women of the era knew, that there were dangerous folk about, folk who would despoil and steal and do even worse.
She wrapped her delicate hand around the Colt's grip and drew it from the holster.
Heavy, she thought, and held it at arm's length, then brought her other hand up for support.
I could shoot this!
She slid the revolver back into the holster and opened the flap on the little pouch in back of her brother's gunbelt.
She gripped the Derringer, forefinger on the spur trigger, and frowned; then she extended her first finger, using her middle finger on the spur trigger.
I like that better.
She wrapped the gunbelt around the holster and replaced it in the trunk, then carried the Derringer over to her nightstand.
Jacob, she thought, would you teach me to shoot?

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-14-08

 

Jake had been a lawman long enough to notice the expressions that crossed Duzy’s face, first delight at seeing him, a moment of passion in her eyes, and then confusion as she seemed to notice something, and lastly, as he watched her turn to look at the man sitting at the table, against the wall. Damn, he thought, how could he compete with a vision, as it was obvious Marshall Sopris had been minding his own business until something happened to make Duzy turn to look in his direction?

Walking up to the bar, Jake lifted her off the stool, kissed her soundly, sat her down, and said, “Hello Darlin’, how was the meeting?”

Jake had always shown his emotions somewhat in public, but never quite to that extent! It happened so quickly that Duzy composed herself, without admonishing him, and answered, “It went well; we have the women housed and some are already working! It was a good plan to bring them here.”

Duzy motioned for Fred to bring her a drink and asked if Jake would care for one. “Not this early and I am on duty; is something bothering you? Have you had another vision?”

“No, although I would welcome any information I could get! I do plan to see Fannie and Bonnie today. I need to help Fannie plan her wedding and Bonnie has her hands full with two newborns! Would you join me for dinner?”

Duzy noticed Jake’s expression when she hadn’t mentioned their wedding, but they had agreed to wait and until Duzy was sure why she felt the time wasn’t right, that was what she planned to do.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Duzy Darlin’, everything will work out. You need some time and when you are ready, I will be waiting.”

Fred sat the drink down and looked at Duzy with a questioning expression, as he knew Duzy’s drinking habits and what usually triggered them. They had spoken at length about her visions and how sometimes a drink was all that seemed to calm her. He never judged her, but he did worry how she was going to balance her personal life while dealing with the visions. He had also noticed that Jake had moved out of her suite and Mr. Wales had mentioned only this morning that he and his wife were going back to North Carolina, without mentioning the wedding.

Duzy held the drink for a moment, as she watched Marshall Sopris get up from the table and start toward the bar. As he did, Duzy watched him, looking at him from head to toe, much like the first day she had seen him and she could feel her heart starting to beat faster! What is it about him, she asked herself, as she downed the drink, and watched, as Jake turned and said, “Howdy Kid, would you care to join us?”

“Thanks Jake, I need to talk to you and now is as good a time as any!”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-14-08

 

The Widow Hanson had taken a liking to the tall, polite young man who'd come to her door, hat in hand, asking for a room for the night. She sent her young son out to stable the man's horse, and invited Jacob in: "You're in time for supper. I'm just ready to set it on the table!"
Jacob watched as the nine- or ten-year-old boy took Apple around the two-story, clap board house, back toward the stable. Apple went quietly, apparently quite docile in the child's hands.
Jacob had his saddlebags over his arm and carried his rifle; Mrs. Hanson showed him upstairs, to his room, where he parked his rifle under the mattress and hung the saddlebags over the back of a chair, and followed the widow down the wide, straight staircase.
Jacob appreciated good workmanship and he looked at the corners, the joints; the corners were square, the joints tight, fitted with skill and with care: this is no coal company house, he thought, and he was right.
Jacob hung his suit coat on a handy nail and washed up on the back porch.
Mrs. Hanson's son came running back, and stopped to watch the young deputy's ablutions.
"Mister, are those real guns?" he asked with a boy's wide-eyed admiration.
"They are," Jacob grinned, drying his hands on the common towel and remembering what it was to be a boy, and what it was to marvel at man-things, worn by men and showing signs of use.
Jacob lifted his coat off the nail, spun it around his shoulders and thrust his arms into the sleeves, in one smooth motion. The added weight of the badge held the lapel over for a long moment, long enough to catch the quick eye of the admiring little boy.
"Mister, are you a sheriff?" he asked with the air of someone who has just met a personal hero.
Jacob laughed. "Not yet," he admitted. "I am a deputy, though."
The boy's eyes were large with admiration and he bounced into the house, excited: "Ma! Ma! He's a Sheriff, he's a Sheriff!"
Jacob came back inside, chuckling, and the widow Hanson apologized, her hands full of a large bowl of steaming, fragrant mashed potatoes. "He misses his father so," she said, "and he does love lawmen!"
Jacob took the bowl from her with a smile. "I am sorry to hear of his passing," he said gently, and Mrs. Hanson smiled sadly, and turned back toward the kitchen.
Jacob set the bowl down in the middle of the table, and selected a vacant chair. A dour-looking older man frowned at the young deputy; two younger ladies, schoolmarms by their look, smiled in return, and a drummer on the far corner glared at the handsome young man. Jacob smiled at them, his pleasant expression hiding the visual assessment he made of each one.
If anyone was to give trouble, he thought, it will be the drummer: he hadn't missed the abused nose, the bloodshot veins in the scarred proboscis and cheeks, and the watery eyes.
The older man with what used to be a double chin, across the table, was probably the kind that would disapprove of everything. Preacher, likely. No threat.
The schoolmarms ... if anything were to start they would likely cower down in their chairs and cover their heads. Don't look like the kind to panic and run about.
The drummer, now, looked like a man that liked his drink, and he looked like a man who'd had his drink, and he looked like a man that was less than pleasant when he was in his drink.
Jacob rose as the widow Hanson brought a big basket of hot, fresh light rolls in and set them on the table.
The drummer glared at Jacob's courtesy, and the skinny preacher appeared more interested in the upcoming meal than any commentary.
"So," the drummer rasped, and Jacob thought, Here it comes.
"The boy says you're a Sheriff."
"So he said," Jacob said mildly.
"Well? Are you or aren't you?" the drummer demanded, and the left-hand schoolmarm, seated nearest him, looked down with distaste at the man's outburst.
Jacob turned back his lapel to display his star.
"I suppose you're wearing a gun, too. Your kind usually do," he snarled.
"Me?" Jacob said innocently, rising again as the widow Hanson brought a platter of beef. "Why, I'm as mild as milk!"
The drummer snorted. "Milk! Your kind get drunk on the job and bully the rest of us good honest folk! I've no use for you!" His vigorous gesture nearly knocked over his coffee cup and caused the schoolmarm to shrink visibly from him.
"Be pleased if you'd be more mannerly," Jacob said quietly.
"You're a killer," the drummer hissed. "A murderer, in this good woman's house!"
"Mister, I'm here to have a meal and a good night's rest, that's all. In the morning I'll finish my business and be on my way," Jacob said, his voice still quiet, his eyes veiled.
"Just how many men have you killed?" the drummer sneered.
"Well, let's see," Jacob said with a smile, tilting his chair back and studying the stamped-tin ceiling. "I kilt the man that horse whipped my Ma to death. Used his own gun, too, shot him while he slept. I kilt probably five or six from our church bell tower when a bunch of renegades came into town plannin' to burn us out, and I put lead into the man that shot my Pa --"
"A likely story," the drummer interrupted, and Jacob's chair legs came down with a thump.
"Mister," Jacob said, and there was steel in his voice, "back home you call a man a liar, you better have a gun in your hand, for that's an invitation to a killin'!"
"You're too young to be a deputy! Why, you're no more than a boy --"
Jacob was out of his chair and around the table in four long strides. He seized the drummer by his necktie and brought him out of his chair left handed, and belted him across the face, hard.
The drummer gathered his feet under him, eyes watering from the strength of the blow.
Jacob dragged him out the back door, into the back yard, and shoved him, hard.
The drummer kept his feet.
Jacob heard quick steps behind him, on the back porch, and he did not care.
"You can't do that!" the drummer protested.
"Mister, I aim to teach you some manners," Jacob said, and drove his fist into the man's gut, doubling him over.
Seizing the drummer's necktie, Jacob pulled the gasping, gagging man upright, strangling him a little in the process, but guaranteeing that he had the fellow's full attention.
"Now, mister," he said quietly, "you can shut your mouth, and eat your meal, and be a good and polite guest, or I will knock you north, south, east, west, up to the Texas moon and down to the Inferno, and make it look easy." He held the man's face close to his for several long moments, undecided whether it was fear, or the moonlight, that washed the color from the drummer's unshaven visage.
He towed the man back to the back porch by his necktie. The other guests filed quickly back inside at their approach.
Jacob halted the man abruptly, and rather ungently, just as they reached the back steps.
"Now you are more than welcome to go talk to the Marshal," he said, "but if you offer one cross word -- so much as one little word -- to the widow Hanson, I will dry-shave you." He drew a skinning knife left-handed from its horizontal sheath in the back of his gun belt, held it up for the frightened man to see, and then gently, gently stroked its edge on the man's stubbled cheek.
"Hold real still, now," he murmured, and the blade rasped over the man's whiskers.
Jacob showed him the cut hairs on the blade. "I keep a sharp knife," he said, wiping it on the drummer's shoulder. "I also keep my word."
Jacob sheathed his knife and went inside.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-14-08

 

When Charlie got back to the little clearing in the thicket Willy had a fire crackling merrily near the back side of the boulder that anchored the small patch of timber. The heat of the fire reflected from the granite face and warmed the small clearing ever so slightly. Charlie set his burden down and untied the deer hide he had used as a makeshift pack. The buck hadn't been full grown but the meat would be tender and sweet.

Charlie lifted the liver from the pile of assorted edibles and sliced off several slivers. Dawg whined at the scent of meat and Charlie held the first of the thin slices out to him. The chunk of still warm, blood-engorged protein disappeared in an instant and Dawg licked his chops and waited. After half of one lobe of the liver had disappeared between the massive jaws Charlie said, "That's enough for now, pardner. You'll make yourself sick. Let that digest some then I'll feed you some more." Dawg belched, dropped his head to his paws, and waited. At the sound of the belch Charlie grinned. "See, I told you we needed to wait."

The fire had burned down some by now and Charlie used a branch to scrape a pile of coals out to one side. He impaled some slabs of venison on sticks and propped them over the coals to cook. The dripping juices from the cooking meat sizzled and spread an appetizing aroma across the clearing. While the meat cooked Charlie and Willy discussed what would come next.

"In the morning I'll cut some poles for a travois," Charlie said. "I take it you've still got your ax?"

"Yeah," Willy answered. "But how do you know that livery horse will let you hang a travois full of big black dog on him?"

"He'll stand," Charlie said grimly. "He won't have a choice."

When the meat had cooked to some point between blood rare and somewhat done the two men set to eating. Willy dug into his with the gusto of a man whose meals had been few and far between for a long while. He wolfed down the first piece then just nibbled on the second. He sat back with a sigh. "You're a right good cook, Charlie," he said contentedly.

"I'll bet you say that to everybody who saves your butt," Charlie said. He sliced off some more of the liver for Dawg, who ate with as much gusto as Willy had. "Now tell me exactly what happened to cause all this."

"Like I said," Willy began, "Dawg followed me down the mountain. We stopped in at McCarty's for a drink and Scorsby and Clark were there. They don't know me from Adam's off ox but I know them. I didn't realize Dawg had followed me inside until one of Scorsby's men said something about him. Dawg bumped him when he came inside and spilled that jasper's drink. Apparently he didn't appreciate it." He stopped talking and looked into the fire.

"And then..." Charlie said.

"And then he drew his gun, and Dawg took it and three fingers away from him," Willy went on. "That gent went to screaming and raising a fuss, and Badger Clark went for his gun, and I cold-cocked him with a beer mug. And stuck my pistol up Arlen's nose."

"You're kidding!" Charlie exclaimed.

"I wish I was," Willy said. "But I ain't. I couldn't let them shoot Dawg, could I?"

"So Badger and Arlen rode up here and burned you out," Charlie said. "What I can't figure out is why they were so het up about that fella getting Dawg-bit."

"He was Badger's little brother," Willy told him.

Charlie heaved a sigh of resignation. "And I reckon it might have had something to do with him recognizing Dawg, eh?" he said.

"I'm pretty sure Arlen and Badger knew," Willy said, "and..."

"And they both owe me, or think they do," Charlie finished for him. "Damn!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-15-08

 

Jacob was an early riser, as was the Widow Hanson, and the other boarders, all but the drummer; Jacob had heard the clink of a bottle deep into the night, and doubted not the fellow had drowned his shame in demon rum, and was still sound asleep.
Just as well, he thought. I don't like to shame a man two days in a row.
Then he thought of the day's work ahead of him, and realized he would be doing just that.
He brushed his suit carefully and polished his boots, and ran a speculative hand over his jawline.
What face fur there was, was fine and light and in no need of a blade.
Jacob was soon downstairs, appreciating the odor of frying bacon, and the Widow Hanson smiled at him, as did the two ladies. The dour preacher, it seems, had settled his bill and left already; Jacob figured to do the same, but not until after a good meal.
Conversation was light and pleasant. The two ladies were indeed schoolmarms, and excited to be teaching in a brand-new schoolhouse; the town was large enough, and prosperous enough, to have a school with classes divided by age, instead of a one-room "blab school" as was common elsewhere in the area. Why, they'll even graduate their students from eighth grade from this school!
Jacob smiled. "Education is a fine thing," he said.
"And where were you educated, Deputy?" the left-hand schoolmarm, the one in calico, seated closest to the Widow Hanson, asked between delicate forkfuls of fried egg.
"Firelands, Colorado, ma'am," Jacob said respectfully. "Ours is a blab school, with one schoolmarm."
"And were you graduated?" the other asked, and the first one pressed her elbow into the second's gingham-covered ribs with an embarrassed expression.
"Ma'am, I reckon they'll plan on it in due time," Jacob said, taste-testing an excellent strip of bacon. "Until then, we take the education we're given and do our best with it."
"Colorado!" Calico sighed. "That sound so terribly far!"
"It is, ma'am, and it isn't. The steam train makes travel a bit easier."
The Widow Hanson disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a steaming coffee pot, refilling Jacob's heavy ceramic mug. The schoolmarms had delicate china cups, and only sipped at theirs; Jacob, on the other hand, consumed coffee like a steam boiler takes on water, and his appetite for bacon, eggs and fried taters was like firewood into the above-mentioned steam generator: it pleased Mrs. Hanson that he ate well, for she'd raised boys and a husband, and delighted when her men-folk so obviously approved of her cooking.
The schoolmarms finished their plates, and excused themselves, saying they had to be off to school; Jacob, too, finished his, and leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh.
Mrs. Hanson smiled at him over her coffee cup.
"Ma'am," Jacob said, "that was right good." He drained his ceramic mug and chuckled. "I don't believe I've eaten this well since Daisy got married."
"Daisy?" Mrs. Hanson chuckled. "Is there a story behind that?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Jacob nodded, ordering his thoughts, and then he told her about Daisy, how she ran her kitchen with the order and precision of a Swiss watch; of Sean, that great Irishman, who would come back and snatch her off her feet and whirl her around, and how she would shriek and laugh and how everyone in the Jewel would hear them, and smile; he told her about Fiddler Daine, and the dances, and the ladies all in McKenna gowns, and how in a waltz they would more float than dance, in the strong arms of their dance-partners: Jacob wove a word-tapestry that had the widow Hanson leaning her chin on her palm, a dreamy look in her eyes, as she too waltzed in a fine gown, with gleaming woodwork and the sound of music and laughter, the smell of womens' perfume and mens' cigars and of Mr. Baxter's libations.
The schoolmarms, too, listened, their heads tilted to the side, smiling quietly; one went out the front door, quietly, so as not to break the spell the slender young deputy wove; the other hesitated, and waited until Jacob brought his saddlebags and rifle downstairs and squared up with the Widow Hanson, and followed him out to the stable behind the house.
Jacob saddled Apple, and rubbed his neck, and Apple nosed his chest and danced a little, for the morning was fresh, and cool, and Apple was full of fire and vinegar.
"I know, fellow," Jacob murmured. "Me too."
The schoolmarm approached, and petted Apple's neck. "He's lovely," she murmured, and Apple twisted his head around to snuff at her.
She laughed and stroked his velvety nose.
Jacob opened his mouth to caution her away from him, but Apple showed no inclination to bite.
You flirt, Jacob thought, his eyes narrowing with a suppressed chuckle.
"I'm almost late for school," the schoolmarm said hesitantly. "Can you help me?"
"Why, I think so," Jacob said gallantly, knowing on the moment what she had in mind. "Apple can ride double." He backed Apple out into the yard, swung easily into the saddle and soothed his stallion with a word and a gentle hand on the neck. Slipping his left foot out of the stirrup, he leaned and extended a hand. "Put your left foot in the stirrup and take my hand."
She did, fitting her dainty foot carefully into the doghouse.
"Now on three, take a long step up. Bounce a little as you count."
The schoolmarm's hand was warm, and soft, and surprisingly strong, and Jacob took a steady, gentle pull on her arm as she bounced on the ball of her right foot.
"One - two - three!"
Jacob hauled her up behind him.
She adjusted her skirt, as best she could, and wiggled a little at the unfamiliar seat.
"Put your arms around my middle," he instructed, and Apple danced a little under him, and he turned Apple with his knees, and they trotted across the yard and up the hand laid brick street curving around the hillside, up to the schoolhouse.
Schoolchildren were arriving, some with a reluctant step, others with the eager sprint of youth; all turned at the commanding sound of hooves spanking the bricks, and delighted yells and smiles greeted the schoolmarm as she arrived on a good-looking stallion, riding behind a real cowboy!
The schoolmarm was warm and solid behind him, and interesting as she pressed herself against his back. She laughed as she dismounted, and held Jacob's hand a moment longer.
"Will I see you again" she asked, instantly afraid she'd overstepped herself, and Jacob touched his hat-brim.
"Ma'am, God rules and I ride. We may indeed!" He backed Apple up a few steps, and looked around to his left, and around to his right, making sure no children were in harm's way.
Apple wanted to work the kinks out of his back.
Jacob was a young man enjoying the attention of an attractive young woman.
"Kick, boy," he whispered, touching his heels to Apple's flanks, and Apple came unglued.
The principal watched, grinning, from his second-floor office window as the Appaloosa stallion put on a show: Apple bucked, reared, sunfished, dove, crow-hopped and did his level best to sling his rider over the faint moon overhead; Jacob, in turn, swatted Apple with his hat, raked him front and back with non-existent spurs, and gave a Texas yell, doing his level best to keep his seat. A time or three there was daylight between his hinder and the saddle, but every time he came back into the kak. His back popped a time or two during particularly strenuous moments and his teeth clicked together as his descending backside met abruptly with the ascending saddle-leather.
Little boys yelled encouragement and formed a large, loose circle around them, and little girls bounced on their toes and squealed with delight.
Apple-horse came back to earth, statue-still for a long moment, and Jacob settled his Stetson on his head.
Apple-horse blew, shivered his mane and switched his tail twice; content, they trotted on down the hill.
The schoolmarm had a quiet smile on her apple-cheeked face the rest of the entire day.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 3-15-08

 

Duzy, Esther and Maude sat in the small parlor at the Rosenthal residence. Bonnie asked then to sit, and Duzy remained standing to help Bonnie with the tea. Duzy noticed how tired Bonnie looked, even with a well manicured look that Bonnie wore well, but on this day, it didn’t look like she wore it easily.

“How is Sarah doing in school, and how is she faring with the babies?” Maude asked.

“Sarah?” Bonnie said with a chuckle, “She’s in the height of happiness with both!” I have never seen her dive into her studies like she has of late. I also don’t know what I’d do without her help with the little ones.”
It was the first time any of the women had been with Bonnie since Chen-chi’s passing. Tilly stopped by a couple of times over the last few days, and had shared with Esther that Bonnie had been polite, but very quiet.

“Bonnie?” Esther asked, “How are Polly and .... Oh goodness! I don’t believe we even know
her name!”

“Opal.” Bonnie filled in. “The moment I looked at her I thought she looked like an Opal ....” Bonnie's eyes looked somewhat distant just then.

Esther rest her hand on Bonnies arm, “What is it child?”

“If I knew the answer to that I’d be all the better for it!” Bonnie exclaimed. “I’m tired mostly! Polly is growing soundly, for which I am ever grateful .... but she still eats ever two hours or so,
and continues to take, what feels like forever to eat when she does. Then it’s Opal’s turn, but she eats must faster, which I am equally grateful for. Then there is Sarah to care for, even though she thinks she is completely grown up at the age of six, and can do for herself.” Bonnie took a sip of tea
before continuing, “Caleb has been wonderful, but quiet ..... I think he doesn’t want to say things that are on his mind. He fills me in on, what I call the safe subjects. He talks about how the business is just about ready to start, the house is about ready to be built .... “ Pausing for another
sip of tea,

“After we laid Chen-chi to rest ..... We walked to little James’ grave ...... That was hard ..... How do you talk about that? And for that matter, how do we talk about Chen-chi? My God! The questions that plague me are insurmountable! I even try to open my mind to them, and I get this overwhelming urge to scream! When I do manage to sleep, I dream .... they are jumbled thoughts and images that make no sense, and yet do ....”

“Can you share some of those thoughts, Bonnie? It might help.” Duzy interjected,

“Images of Mama, Papa, James, Margaret and me .... Papa saying, ‘Bonnie lass, sometimes life can’a seem so powerfully wrong. Ya feel like a fist is a wantin ta ram itself out’a yer throat. But Lassie, keep in mind that good always comes out’a the bad.’ Then I see him looking at all of us with that great big smile of his, and his green eyes shining. That was a scene we saw often when he was alive, so I am not surprised to see it in dreams. I figure if anyone knows what hardship was like, and then to find happiness and contentment, it would be Papa.

I dream of James and Chen’chi .... Caleb ordered some marble from that quarry that isn’t to far from here by Redstone. What on earth do I have inscribed on it? All I know is Chen-chi’s name and the date she died. And how does one go about inscribing a memorial for a man, that at the
moment I am so angry with, and who has caused me so much worry and sorrow over the years .... then I look into his little daughter’s face while I feed her, and see such beauty and love.”

There was silence in the parlor .... “See? No one knows what to say? And it is so damn frustrating!

To top it off, Caleb’s family is on their way here, and I find myself not wanting to see any of them .... and I love them ....

I’m glad that when Abram and Miriam went to Chicago to meet up with David and Hannah, that business there kept them from starting their journey here. Maybe by the time they get here, these feeling I am having will be gone ... or at least more bearable.”

Esther asked, “What is about their coming that bothers you, Bonnie?”

......... sip of tea ....... then quietly Bonnie murmured, “That they will blame me.”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-15-08

 

Jacob stood before the white-painted door, hat in hand, and listened to Mrs. Jollins' footsteps.
The door opened; tired though she was, Mrs. Jollins managed a smile, and opened the door.
"The doctor is with him," Mrs. Jollins said quietly, in the steady voice of a woman who knows an end is near.
Jacob nodded, and let himself into the sickroom.
The doctor looked around and grunted. "He's all yours," he muttered. "I can do no more." He closed his black leather satchel with ill grace and clapped his natty derby on his balding head.
Jacob drew up a chair on the opposite side of the bed, and took the man's left hand.
Jollins' eyes turned toward him.
"It's me again, Mr. Jollins," Jacob said. "Deputy Keller."
Jollins' gaze wandered to the opposite wall.
"Mr. Jollins, was I to execute this warrant, you would likely not survive the trip," Jacob said, laying out a framework of logic. "You would be dead, and no longer a threat.
"If you did live long enough to stand trial, and your testimony would be our communication from last night, as given under oath by myself, you would be found guilty, and you would be either sentenced to hang, or to prison."
Jollins blinked, a resigned expression in his eyes.
"Were you hanged, you would be dead, and no longer a threat.
"Were you in prison, you would not live long, and again you would not be a threat.
"Mr. Jollins, I am not going to execute this warrant."
Jollins' eyes snapped over to Jacob's.
"You have a devoted and a loving wife out there, Mr. Jollins. She could have handed you over to the care of the county home, she could have asked the doctor to give you a draught of laudunum or opium or something to let you sleep and die easy in your sleep."
Jollins' gaze wandered to the door. Jacob could hear the doctor and Jollins' wife discussing something.
"Mr. Jollins, you are no longer a threat. You pose no danger to anyone.
"I am going out there, and I will tell your loving wife that you were able to help me solve a murder, and I will tell her you are a good man.
"That will be one of her last memories of you: that someone came clear out here from Colorado to tell her that, about you.
"If I take you away in irons, I will shame her and soil her good name, and she's too good a woman to shame."
Jollins' eyes were starting to well up.
"If I tell her the truth about you, it will be a knife in her heart, and again, she is too good a woman for that."
Jollins' eyes closed, hard, and a tear ran down the side of his face, into his ear.
Jacob stood. "Mr. Jollins, I can't presume to speak for my father. I do know that I love my father, and that he is an honorable man, and an honest man." Jacob turned his hat around in his hand, looking at the floor, and came to a decision.
He opened his coat, drew it back, tucked it behind his right-hand Colt.
"Mr. Jollins, I am given authority of life and of death, at my discretion."
Jollins looked at the exposed Colt with ... relief? Hope?
"Mr. Jollins, I am going to let you live your life out under your own roof." Jacob leaned closer to the man, his palms pressing into the mattress. "Mr. Jollins, I forgive you!"
His words were whispered, but he might as well have shouted them.
Jollins' eyes screwed shut again, and his breath quickened, and if he were whole and healthy, he probably would have broken in that moment, and cried like a lost child.
Jacob straightened, drew his coat over his Colt.
"I'll be going now, sir," he said, and gave the man's hand a final squeeze.
Jollins' eyes followed him out the door.

Jacob stopped in the village hall to tell the Marshal his business was done, and he would be leaving, when the doctor thrust open the door and stomped into the block buildling.
Jacob was standing with his right side to the front door; he had only to turn his head to see anyone coming in the building's only entrance.
The doctor dropped his not-inconsiderable weight into a chair, which creaked dangerously, and he snatched the derby from his head and rubbed at his scalp.
Jacob and the Marshal looked at one another, and then back to the Doctor.
The Doctor pointed a meaty finger at Jacob. "Young man," he said, "whatever you told that man's widow did her a world of good."
"How's that, sir?" Jacob asked, raising one eyebrow.
"She knew him as a scoundrel, a wastrel and a troublemaker, and she stood by him every step of the way. She didn't like what he did but she swore as a young bride to love, honor and cherish him, and by God she did." He frowned. "He can't move. He can't talk. He can't explain a thing. You still managed to communicate with the man. You helped him talk, and you told his widow he'd done a good thing." The doctor fished a flask from an inside pocket, unscrewed the top and took a long swallow. "That's probably the only decent thing he's done in his entire life." He looked sharply at Jacob again. "You gave that poor woman something good she could hold onto."
Jacob nodded.
The Marshal spoke. "You're calling her the widow...?"
The Doctor drained his flask, thrust it back into his pocket. "Yes, he's dead and good riddance," he snarled, standing and slapping the Derby back on his sparsely-furred dome. "Never did like him. Never paid his bills."
"Speaking of which, Doctor," Jacob said quietly, "how much do they owe you?"
The Doctor's eyes gleamed greedily for a moment, and he licked his wet lips, then his eyes flicked toward the door, and he saw once again a woman with bowed head and a straight back, nodding at his news that her husband was dead.
"Ten dollars will do it," he muttered, and Jacob handed him a double eagle. The Doctor started fishing for his purse and Jacob shook his head. "You've earned it," he said, and picked up his Stetson. "Gentlemen, thank you for your hospitality."
The Marshal watched Jacob mount up, and ride toward the depot; he shook his head and sighed.
"I pity the poor fool that tries anything in Firelands," he said, almost sadly. "That young fellow will eat 'em up!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-16-08

 

Jake listened as Marshall Sopris told him of the $5000.00 in reward money that Fannie and Duzy were to share for the capture and subsequent death of Lester James.

Duzy was surprised, and embarrassed, as it was actually Marshall Sopris, himself, who had protected Duzy, while Fannie had backtracked and helped with the capture. It wasn’t as if Duzy had wanted to take the credit; she was only trying to keep everyone else out of it as much as possible, when she was explaining what had happened, thinking that if there was any trouble, it should be on her, as she was the one he had tried to kill. It hadn't even occurred to her at the time that Marshall Sopris was the law!

“But, Marshall, it was actually.....”

“I was doing my job and I know that Fannie and you will make good use of the money. You have both already helped by giving the women I brought to Firelands a place to stay and helped to find good employment for them.”

Duzy’s eyes brightened at the thought of how much more they could help with that much money! “I will donate my part to housing for the women, so they are not living on cots in the only two rooms we had to spare at the Silver Jewel!” Duzy exclaimed excitedly, as ideas ran through her head as to where a place could be built for just that purpose. It could be a refuge for battered women, and even children for that matter!

“Oh Jake, this is wonderful, do you realize how much help can be done with this much money?” Duzy asked.

“Yes Darlin’, I understand, it’s just that sometimes I wish you would think more of us and our future and try to forget saving the world!”

"I'm sorry Jake, I know you feel I neglect our relationship, may we talk more of this later, after I visit with Bonnie and Fannie."

"Sure, Darlin'."

Marshall Sopris couldn’t help but overhear, even though he had excused himself, and was heading back to talk to Chang, to see how he was faring with the prisoner under the church, and what new information he may have to finish the investigation.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-16-08

 

Jake opened the door to his room at the Silver Jewel and bumped into Mary Sloan as she was leaving. “Sorry Ma’am!”

“No, I am sorry Deputy Thomas! I should have been finished by now, but I am not used to working, well in this manner, is there anything else I can get for you?” Jake really looked at the woman for the first time since she had arrived in Firelands. She had long hair and brown eyes, much like Duzy’s, and while he was looking at her, she had moved closer, and before he realized what was happening, she kissed him. And, he kissed her in return, thinking much later how everything that had happened could have happened, if he had really loved Duzy like he thought.

Was it because he had been hurt by Duzy’s reluctance to marry him? No! He couldn’t blame Duzy for being honest, while he had just made love to a complete stranger! Was it because Mary was so experienced at how she had made her money before coming to Firelands? No, he couldn’t blame Mary either, although she had been delighted by his response, and had even bragged later that she knew “she could take him from the little snob who didn’t know what she had, as soon as she had noticed that he had moved from her suite!”

And then Mr. Wales had knocked on the door, just as Mary was dressing to leave, to inform Jake that he and Mildred would be leaving soon and he had wanted to say goodbye, thinking they would return for their wedding at a later time. Lee had taken in the situation quickly and had turned to leave.

“I am sorry!” Jake had started to explain when Duzy’s Papa cut him short and said, “Jake, I thought that of all the men that I have known and cared about, that you would be the right man for my daughter. I was wrong. You do not understand her anymore than I do! I have cursed the day that I knew Duzy was having visions, haunted by the past at times and scared of the future at others. However, she is sweet and honest by nature, and she means well, even if she is difficult. I do not know what I would have done, had she been my wife, as sometimes she is all I can manage being my daughter! I love her dearly, but I do not have to accept everything that she does. I only ask that you be truthful to her and there will be no hard feelings, for God only knows, I truly believe that you did try!” And then he had left.

Jake sat on the bed and wondered how he was going to tell Duzy what had happened, especially since just that day he had told her that when she was ready, he would be waiting. And then, he looked at the future, thinking of his life without Duzy, knowing that he had to tell her the truth, wondering how he would live without her, and dreaded when dusk came, as they were to meet for dinner. Could he do it, he asked himself. Could he tell her? And, once he did, how could he ever live without her?

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-16-08

 

Emma Cooper had just shaken the ashes out of the schoolhouse stove and was replacing the cast-iron crank under it when the doorway darkened and she heard a familiar chuckle.
Emma straightened, smiling in spite of herself, and Jackson Cooper hung his hat on a convenient peg and strode over to his bride. She raised her arms in welcome and he seized her around the middle and picked her up, easily, carefully, as if she were a china doll, and kissed her on the lips, and her arms went around his neck and they laughed in the stillness of the empty schoolhouse.
Jackson held her for a long moment more, and then bent his knees to set her down, carefully, and she patted his shirt front and looked almost shyly at him over top of her spectacles. "Mr. Cooper," she said, "do I understand that married people behave like this?"
Jackson Cooper threw back his head and grinned, chuckling quietly and finally looking down at the diminutive schoolmarm. "You got enough wood?" he asked gently, and Emma rubbed his shirt front affectionately.
"Plenty." She hugged her husband and sighed. "As long as I have you, I'm always warm!"
Jackson Cooper laughed quietly. "If you're ready, Mrs. Cooper, I would admire to take you home."
"I would like that, Mr. Cooper."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-17-08

 

The rail car was new, the paint bright, the lettering crisp, fresh, not faded a bit: the lettering was tall and red and black-shadowed, and read FIRELANDS RR, and Jacob just stood there, admiring.
Finally he led Apple-horse into the car, and into the stall; he poured a bait of grain and dumped two buckets of water into the trough, and the side door slid shut and latched, and the car shivered as it was coupled.
Jacob looked up as the conductor came into the car with the rolling gait of a blue-water sailor; the man carried his hands in the telltale, half-closed way of a man used to hauling heavy hemp lines and hoisting sail, and his face was creased and weathered, but his eyes were bright and he had a ready smile.
"Young fellow," he said a little loudly, for he was hard of hearing, "I am instructed to give you this." He opened his coat and frowned at the inner pocket, squinting in spite of the slender spectacles that threatened to cascade off the end of his oxidized nose; he fished about for a moment, then explored the other side of his coat. "Yes, here it is." He handed Jacob an envelope.
"Thank you, sir," Jacob said politely, tapping the contents to one end and carefully tearing the end off the opposite.
"That's from the owner of the Firelands Railroad herself," the conductor said, and Jacob's quick ear twitched, analyzing and dissecting his speech: Irish? he wondered. Scots, perhaps. Not English. Maybe New York.
He withdrew a letter, and a key.
The envelope was addressed in Esther's distinctive hand, a lovely, cursive copperplate, with his name underlined with a half-dozen bowed loops; he withdrew the letter, unfolded it and read:
Dearest Jacob,
By now you're ready to come home.
Change of clothes in the trunk.
Your father is well, and we miss you.
Safe trip, dear son!
Esther
Jacob smiled quietly, re-folded the letter and slipped it back into the protective envelope, and deposited it in his own inside coat pocket.
"There's a trunk over here for you," the conductor pointed. "Came with the car. Brand new. Sent by the owner of the Z&W Railroad."
The conductor peered sharply at the slender young man.
"Say, who are you, anyway?"
Jacob chuckled. "Me? I'm just a deputy, a long way from home." He winked. "When do you Easterners throw on the feed bag, anyway?"
The car lurched underfoot, the steam whistle announced their intentions, and the train started moving.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-17-08

 

I nearly bumped into Caleb Rosenthal as I hauled open the door to the Jewel. Caleb grinned and thrust out his hand, and I took it happily.
"Caleb, I hear your business is expanding," I declared. "Delighted to hear it!"
"Thank you, Sheriff!" Caleb said, his eyes crinkling happily. "Couldn't be better!" He released my hand and cocked his head a little, regarding me with an appraising eye. "Sheriff, is it my imagination, or do you usually wear a suit nowadays?"
I chuckled. "Not your imagination, my friend. Esther looks so consistently good I feel like a saddle bum beside her, and darned if I'll make her look poor for associating with a slob!"
Caleb nodded. "It does you credit, Sheriff." He settled his Derby on his head and winked. "I'm going back and try to relieve poor Bonnie. She has her hands more than full with two babies now!"
"How's Sarah taking this new excitement?"
I felt a familiar weight against my calf and looked down. Twain Dawg was leaning companionably against me; I reached down and ruffled his ears. "Hello, pup," I greeted, and Twain Dawg looked up at me and laughed.
Caleb laughed again. "Poor Twain Dawg doesn't get out much, because Sarah doesn't get out much! Just to school and back, and when she's not in school, she rushes through her lessons, then she's downstairs to help Mommy! She is quite the responsible big sister!"
I sighed, looking through the far wall at the happy little girl she'd been when I first saw her.
Goddlemighty that was a long time ago! I thought. She's growing fast!
I remembered the weight of my own little girl, longer ago than that, but somehow the older memory didn't hurt like it used to.
"Sheriff?" Caleb asked gently.
"Hm? Sorry," I said, blinking.
"You were a hundred miles away."
I clapped him on the shoulder. "Caleb, you are looking at a soft hearted old fool. Can I buy you a beer?"
Caleb's eyes crinkled again. "Later, perhaps. Bonnie, you understand."
I nodded.
Twain Dawg followed me up the stairs and down the hall, his nails tik-tik-tikking on the hardwood beside the carpet runner.
I stopped at the door, neatly lettered Z&W RR, E. KELLER, PROP., and taking my Stetson in hand, knocked, and opened the door.
Miss Messman and Esther were in mid-curtsy. Apparently I'd interrupted a lesson.
"My apologies," I murmured, backing out of the still-open door.
Twain Dawg dropped his square bottom on the floor and looked from me to the ladies, then flumped down on his belly, muzzle on his paws, ready to go to sleep. He blinked once, his great brush of a tail rising once and falling, and his eyes dropped shut.
"No, it's all right, dear, please come in," Esther waved in welcome, and Miss Messman blushed delicately. "Just girl talk, that's all."
I grinned. "This should make some more girl talk, then," I said, drawing the telegram flimsy out of my inside coat pocket and unfolding it. I handed it to Esther.
Esther smiled and looked at me, and then at Miss Messman, and handed her the flimsy.
Miss Messman read Jason's precise block print, and went from a delicate blush to a positively flaming complexion. If she'd turned any redder the paper would have caught fire from radiation.
"The Z&W has been acquiring more rolling stock," Esther smiled. "The second rail line is in place, with light mine traffic, and the mine is rebuilding our original track, starting out at the eastern end. We're the envy of the big railroads, you know!"
"I didn't know," I admitted. "Are we running both ore trains and passenger on the same track now?"
"Oh, yes," Esther nodded. "Lightning is earning his pay. He's not only a telegrapher now but a dispatcher, and he's very good at keeping the trains where they should be." She looked at me over top her half-glasses. "And he's even better at keeping them away from where they shouldn't be!"
Miss Messman handed the flimsy back to Esther, excitement and confusion in her young eyes.
"He's the first passenger in one of the stable cars I've purchased." She smiled. "I understand it caused a bit of a stir when the railroad's owner sent a private stable car for just one passenger."
"How long..." Miss Messman started, but her voice trailed off, afraid she'd been suddenly forward.
"A few days," I estimated. "Not long." I took Esther's hand, and she stepped in, close, and I bent down and kissed her, running my arm around under her shoulder blades and drawing her tight against me.
"Mr. Keller, we have company," Esther murmured.
"She'll get her turn," I whispered, and Esther swatted playfully at me, and I swept my hat to my middle and bowed rather clumsily, and backed out the open door.
I closed it gently, and heard the giggling sound of females in excited conversation.
Twain Dawg stretched and followed me down the stairs and out onto the boardwalk with the hobby-horse gait of a happy puppy.
A puppy that was rapidly getting big enough to plow.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-17-08

 

Duzy had met with Aunt Esther and Maude to visit with Bonnie. It was obvious that Bonnie was having trouble coming to terms with James’ death and how his family would react. Not knowing what to say to make her feel better, they had listened instead, and had helped to take care of Polly and Opal.

Duzy couldn’t help but see and hear the love in Bonnie’s voice when she spoke of Caleb, and how much they relied on each other, much like Aunt Esther and Uncle Linn. It made the evening ahead seem more important, when she and Jake would be meeting to discuss their future. Should she put her fears aside and agree to marry him soon?

Duzy knocked on Fannie’s door lightly and heard her say, “come on in Sugar, I’ve been waiting on you!” Fannie had opened one of two cedar chests and was going through the items she had saved over the years, and had bought recently, for her trousseau. There were beautiful linens and lovely under things, all fit for a beautiful bride-to-be, making Duzy think of her own trousseau and the love that had went into each item. Fannie’s dress had been especially designed and made by the Rosenthal’s in Chicago, to Bonnie and Fannie’s specifications. Duzy helped to button the tiny buttons, after cinching the matching corset, and Fannie had never looked more radiant, beautiful or excited than she did at that moment. Fannie was head over heels in love with Charlie and couldn’t wait for him to return to Firelands, making Duzy think even more of Jake and their evening together. God, how she loved him, but…..?

“What’s wrong, Sugar?” Fannie asked, always in tune with Duzy’s moods.

 

“Oh, Fannie, I just don’t know! I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I can’t get as excited about my wedding, and you do know it is postponed for the moment. Jake understands, saying he will wait until I am ready, but it just doesn’t seem right at the moment, maybe it is the vision that still bothers me…..or maybe it is just me!”

 

“Oh Sugar, if it doesn’t feel right now, then it is the best to wait, for whatever reason it is, so do not get down on yourself!”

 

“Thanks Fannie, you always know how to help, now turn around and look at yourself!”

 

“Oh Duzy, it’s perfect! I can’t wait for Charlie to see me in it!”

Fannie and Duzy hugged each other goodbye, as Duzy left to prepare herself for her evening with Jake. She wanted to look especially lovely, hoping her fears would disappear as she spent the evening with the handsome man she loved.

Looking at the time, Duzy realized she had time for one more visit before returning to the Silver Jewel, so she decided to visit with Aunt Esther, knowing she was putting off seeing her Mama and Papa until after she talked to Jake, as they were both disappointed that Duzy was holding up the wedding. Maybe tonight would make the difference, and she could give them good news!

Duzy arrived in time to see how delighted Miss Messman was that Jacob was on his way back to Firelands! “Aunt Esther, it seems that love is in the air,” Duzy said as she winked at her Aunt, making Miss Messman blush once again.

 

“Yes, I am excited, Miss Duzy! Just thinking of Jacob makes my knees go weak, but I know that you understand how I feel! Have you and that handsome Deputy set the date yet?”

“No, but tonight may be the night, we will see,” as Duzy had flashes of the times she had spent with Jake, making her own knees go weak at the wonderful memories they had shared!

“Yes, tonight may just be the night,” Duzy said aloud, after hugging her Aunt and friend goodbye, and began walking back to the Silver Jewel, feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long time.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-17-08

 

Jake had spent the entire day beating himself for his actions. He didn’t understand how he could have let it happen or how he was going to face Duzy with the truth! “God, how could I have been so weak?” Jake had asked himself many times.

Mary Sloan was a vindictive woman and could care less that Miss Wales had given her a cot to lie on and was the woman who had asked Tilly to hire her as a housekeeper, all the time telling her that it was temporary sleeping arrangements now that she was employed! Mary couldn’t stand the little “do gooder” and had planned to take Jake from her the minute she had laid her eyes on him.

Mary was also a woman who couldn’t keep her mouth shut and was downstairs at that moment bragging to one of the other women about her conquest. “No, tell me you didn’t, not after the way she is helping us!” “Yes, I did, and I will do it again!” she answered smugly, feeling the vial inside her pocket, the one with the potion she had gotten from the Chinese woman in San Francisco! It was said that the combination of oils from different flowers, along with ginger and other hot spices, would raise a man’s libido from the smell alone and even more so once ingested. Mary had applied some to her lips and had then slipped more into his drink. Jake hadn’t even known what had happened, Mary laughed to herself, remembering his apology for returning her kiss and the awkward moment afterward. Mary had accepted his apology and then had offered him a drink; as she continued to dust the furniture, waiting until she was sure the potion had taken affect to make her next move.

Daisy had stood listening to the two women and was getting angrier by the minute, her temper rising at the thought of Duzy being hurt and by Jake of all people! She had actually thought that Jake loved Duzy. She turned and went to speak to Tilly about firing the Sloan woman, knowing she would cause a ruckus that would have to be explained if she gave the woman the beating she would have loved to!

Jake looked at his pocket watch once again, as he rubbed his aching head, and started to dress for the evening, still not knowing what he was going to do, or what he was going to say once he saw Duzy.

Walking downstairs, Jake asked Daisy if she could fix a picnic basket, as he wanted to take Duzy down by the creek to eat that evening, knowing she loved it when he built a fire as they listened to the water, and also knowing that they would need more privacy for what he had to tell her. Was it his imagination or did Daisy act cold to him as she had left to make the basket, knowing she had muttered something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t make it out! "Damn, this has to be the worst day of my life!" Jake said for the hundredth time and knew in his heart that it wouldn't be the last time!

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-17-08

 

By morning Dawg was looking like he might even survive. He was still skin and bones, but the rich liver and the meat he'd eaten had revitalized him. The same could be said of Willy. Some color had returned to his face and he didn't look like he was ready to fall over at any second like he had.

Charlie took Willy's ax and went looking for a pair of straight young trees he could fashion a travois from. He came back a while later with two poles and several shorter sections to use as crosspieces. He had scrounged around the ruins of the cabin and found enough pieces of rope and rawhide string to lash the poles together at the tip and tie the crosspieces on to make a platform then lashed the tarp from his bedroll to the poles to make a hammock-like arrangement. Now it was time for the livery stable horse to get acquainted with his new passenger.

Charlie led the horse into the little clearing. At first the horse appeared nervous at the sight of the big black dog but it didn't take long before the familiar canine smell relaxed him and dog and horse were sniffing noses and getting acquainted. This was going to work.

Charlie led the horse back into the open and groundtied the bay while Charlie dragged the travois up and lashed it to the saddle. The horse shifted his weight and rolled his eyes at the unfamiliar burden as if to say "Are you sure about this?" but he stayed in place. Now to get Dawg loaded. That was going to be a chore, or so Charlie thought. Dawg had other ideas.

When Charlie went back into the clearing Dawg was on his feet, swaying from side to side and favoring his left shoulder, where he'd been shot. "Where do you think you're going?" Charlie asked. Dawg just stood and looked at him. "Alright, if that's how you feel, let's get you out yonder and get you loaded." He led the way through a gap in the trees, careful to hold them aside so Dawg could pass without hitting his wound.

Outside, Dawg went to the travois and looked at it somewhat mistrustfully, then back up at Charlie. "I know, it don't look like much, but it beats walking, don't it?" Charlie asked him. Dawg sniffed and made his way painfully up into the canvas sling and lay down then looked back at Charlie. The horse stood patiently through all these goings on and Charlie went to the horse's head and picked up the reins.

Charlie looked at Willy. "Are you riding or walking?"

"I reckon I'll walk for a ways," Willy told him. "Riding like that's bad for the image."

"Suit yourself," Charlie told him. "But if twere me, I'd ride now, and walk later." He clucked to the horse and started him moving, mentally making a bet with himself. He won the bet handily.

Willy went to the head of the trail and started down behind the horse. It wasn't long until he hooked his crutch on a root and went tail of teakettle into a snowdrift. He got up grumbling. "Alright, you win," he called to Charlie. He limped to the travois. "Move over, Dawg, and let a man in." Dawg shifted as best he could and Willy crawled into the canvas sling alongside him. "I'm ready if you are," Willy said to Charlie, and the horse began to move again, following gaps through the trees.

"Damn, ridin' in the back of the wagon with the women," Willy mumbled under his breath. "How revolting." Dawg gave him an accusing look and Willy hurriedly apologized for his comments. "Sorry Dawg, no offense intended. I know you don't like riding here any more than I do. But I guess we can handle it. It's only for a few miles."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-17-08

 

“Oh Jake, this is a wonderful idea, do you remember the last time we had a picnic by the creek? It was just after I healed from the train robbery and you carried me out here for a few minutes that evening! That was such a nice surprise! You are always so thoughtful and I do love you!”

“Duzy, we need to talk.”

“I know Jake, I have been thinking of us all day! I don’t know what has been wrong with me. Fannie looked so beautiful in her wedding gown and she is so excited! She misses Charlie so much. And Miss Messman has it bad for Jacob, Jake; she is walking on air knowing that he is on the way home!

Jake took Duzy by her arms and turned her toward him. “Listen to me Duzy, please, I am at a loss here and I don’t know what to say, or how to say it, but I have to tell you! When I left you earlier I went to my room and the new woman, Mary Sloan, was cleaning, and well, Duzy, she kissed me as I walked in and for some reason I kissed her back, and then…..

“Jake, please do not mock my vision, I know you think I have taken it too seriously and have postponed our wedding out of fear of what I may do, or due to some of the feelings I have had, but the vision of me kissing the man in the graveyard was real to me, not something to make light of!”

Duzy turned away for a moment, trying not to get angry, as she wanted tonight to be perfect, but she couldn’t understand why he would pick on her like that, knowing how her visions truly bothered her at times. Taking a deep breath, Duzy decided to let it go, knowing how frustrated Jake had been lately and feeling badly because she was the cause of it!

“Come, let’s spread out the quilt by the fire and eat before the food gets too cold, or us for that matter!” Duzy said, as she walked closer to Jake and wrapped her arms around him, feeling his warmth against her body and remembering how good she felt when he held her, and all the fun times they had shared! It seemed as if every memory had entered her mind at sometime during the day, and she hoped she could put the vision behind her and be back in his arms soon.

“Duzy, I am not mocking you, I know your visions are real.” Jake answered, as he pulled Duzy a little closer and held her like he never wanted to let her go! God help me, he thought for a second, and then stepped away, knowing in his heart that he wouldn’t get any help from God, not after what he had did to this precious woman, the woman that he loved with all his heart. He didn’t deserve her, and her Papa had been right, he didn’t understand her visions and had let pure lust take over his senses to get him to this place and time. He honestly could not think of a time in his life that he felt so low down and sorry as he had this day or this minute!

“I don’t understand Jake, what are you saying?”