Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-17-08

 

“Duzy Darlin’, I am saying that what I am telling you is true. I don’t understand it myself, it just happened. First, there was the kiss and then, God Duzy, how can I tell you this, as it seems more like a dream, but I know it wasn’t!”

Duzy was beginning to be frightened herself, if what she understood Jake to be saying was true! “Jake, are you saying that you and Mary, that you really kissed her and there is more? No, it can’t be, Jake, you promised you would wait for me! The words were torn from Duzy, as her chest tightened until she could barely breathe, and she looked into his eyes for an answer. “Oh God, please tell me no! Duzy pleaded as she seen the tortured look on his face and in his eyes and knew in that moment that he was telling her the truth!

Duzy swayed, feeling as if the world was spinning and somehow she had lost her place, and everything she had believed in wasn’t right anymore.

Jake caught Duzy and started to pull her to him, when suddenly she pulled away and looked at him like she had never seen him before, like she didn’t know the man who stood before her and he reached out to her once again to try to talk to her, to try to make her understand that it had meant nothing to him.

Duzy could hear the words, but there was a ringing in her ears so loud, that she thought she must be screaming herself and that it would never end and she couldn’t stand the pain anymore, and she turned and started to run, to try to get away from the noise and back to reality, as this couldn’t be real! She had to find Jake or someone she knew to wake her from this terrible nightmare!

Daisy had been watching from an upstairs window, holding little Sean, fearing what might happen, and she turned to go find Esther or Linn, when she noticed that Marshall Sopris was walking hurriedly in her direction!

“Duzy! Duzy, look at me! It’s me, Kid, what is wrong, where are you going, what has happened?

“Kid, thank God, you woke me, I was having a…..”

“No, Duzy, you are outside, you are awake, and you are cold! Come let me get you inside and get you a drink. It looks as if you could use one!” He took off his coat and was wrapping it around Duzy, concerned that something terrible had happened to her.

Jake had just managed to catch up and as Duzy looked around and realized it wasn’t a dream and remembered Jake’s words, she somehow managed to pull herself together and turned to the Marshall and said, “Thank you, yes I do need a drink,” as she gave Jake an icy glare that would have frozen hell!

Marshall Sopris was at a loss too, wondering why Jake had not stepped in, but when he hadn’t, he took control himself and put his arm around Duzy, as they made their way toward the Silver Jewel, with Kid thinking he would need to talk to Jake as soon as possible to get an explanation.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-17-08

 

Jacob decided he liked the cooking.
He'd just finished two grouse, half a pound of bacon, a good plate of mashed taters and gravy and four light rolls, and was leaning back with his third coffee in hand, contemplating his next foray into the dinner plate.
The porter delighted in serving the polite young man, and inquired after dessert; Jacob smiled and declined but added, "I would take a bit more coffee."
"Yassuh," the bowlegged, stoop-shouldered porder said with a broad grin, hobbling back down the aisle.
A fellow in a natty checkered suit and Derby hat sized Jacob up, assessing the bloom of youth on his cheek, the gentle look in his eye, the slow and easy way he moved.
Easy mark, the sharper thought, and moved over to Jacob's table.
Lifting his Derby he inquired "May I join you?"
Jacob looked sleepy as a cat in a sunny windowsill. He set his coffee cup back on its saucer and waved languidly at the empty chair opposite him.
"I say, you look like a sporting man," the sharper said with an oily smile, withdrawing a deck of cards from an inside pocket. "Could I interest you in a friendly game?"
Jacob's eyes were half-lidded.
This does not mean they were half-closed.
He did not miss the glint of blue glass that almost came along with the deck of cards, and for a moment, for just a moment, he could smell the Jewel again, the particular odor of the Firelands gambling-house and hotel, and Jacob smiled.
Tilting his hat back on his head, he smiled and nodded once.
The sharper shuffled the deck easily, quickly, careful not to make it look too easy; he set the deck down for Jacob to cut.
Jacob picked up the deck, shuffled it idly in his slender fingers. "Deck's got some experience," he said quietly. "Where you from?"
The sharper's eyes never left Jacob's fingers. "Oh, here and there," he said. "See here, that's my only deck, don't wear it out!"
Jacob smiled and stripped out a half-dozen cards; he palmed them, fanned them out on the table.
They were all high face cards.
Jacob smiled, returned them to the deck, shuffled again; he stripped the same cards out a second time.
The sharper was looking uncomfortable, licked his suddenly-dry lips.
"Why don't you take out those blue spectacles?" Jacob said. "I'd like to take a look at your handwriting."
"My ... handwriting?" the sharper asked nervously, starting to look around.
"Lemon juice on the back of a playing card shows up nicely through blue spectacles," Jacob continued, "like those ones inside your coat."
"I, I, I, don't, ah, I don't --" the sharper stammered.
"And what about these?" Jacob fanned a random half-dozen cards face-down on the table; the light coming through the window to his right showed the fingernail-marks pressed into their corners. "Someone slipped you a marked deck, friend."
"I, I, I, no, ah, those aren't, ah, I don't --"
Jacob swept the cards together, cut the deck one-handed. "You ever hear of someone named Sugar?" he asked mildly.
The sharper's eyes bulged. "You, you, you ain't --"
"No, I ain't," Jacob agreed. "But Sugar is friends with Tom Landers, and Tom Landers is a friend of mine, and he keeps the Silver Jewel in Firelands Territory peaceful, and he showed me a few things to watch for."
The sharper was beyond stammering. Caught, trapped, he tried hard to swallow.
The porter brought more coffee, and a small pitcher of cream.
Jacob thumped the taper-cut deck down in front of the sharper.
"This fellow was just leaving," he told the porter. "He'll not need anything."
The sharper's mouth worked open and shut a few times. Finally he said, "Mister, who are you?"
The train slowed, cars banging the slack out of their couplers. Jacob steadied his coffee cup, added a little cream. "Name's Keller. Jacob Keller." He sipped his coffee.
"You a gamblin' man, suh?" the porter asked, his ancient face carefully impassive.
"No, sir, I'm not," Jacob said, never taking his eyes off the sharper. "I'm a Sheriff's deputy."
The sharper snatched up his deck of cards, lifted his Derby in farewell, and scuttled down the aisle and out of the car.
The porter watched him go, turned to Jacob.
"I do believe he had you sized up fo' a spring chicken," he said in his raspy, old-man's voice.
Jacob sighed. "He'd ought to find a better line of work. He's not very good at this one."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-18-08

 

Jacob sat in the dining car a little while longer, looking out the window, resting his lips on his knuckles. After about a half hour of contemplation, he reached into his coat and withdrew Esther's note.
He looked at the envelope for long minutes.
Jacob, it said on the front, in that beautiful, ornate hand, with the careful, symmetrical loops beneath.
Just the one word, carefully scribed, lovingly embellished.
Specially for me, he thought, and swallowed.
He withdrew the letter, opened it, re-read it.
His eye lingered long at its very end, and the few who watched him noted his quiet smile.
Dearest Jacob, she'd begun the letter, and Dear Son, she'd ended it.
Dear Son.
He carefully restored the letter to its ivory sleeve, slipped it carefully into his inside coat pocket, left a coin for the porter and got up.
He settled his Stetson on his neatly-combed hair, and smiled at the young lady who'd been discreetly admiring the handsome young man, and left the dining car.
He didn't hear the feminine sigh that followed the closing of the dining car's door, nor the quick, giggling conversation prompted by the girlish exhalation.
Jacob lingered on the platform a moment longer, looking out at low hills and rough houses, hardscrabble farms and a yellowish haze of coal smoke, and shook his head.
The sooner I'm home, the better, he thought, and went on into the stable car.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-19-08

 

They were husband and wife, originally from New York, jewelers for several generations; he was a gifted engraver, she was best at sales: together they built their business, there on the river port, and sold to businessmen and travelers, women and men, scoundrels and scions of society.
The tall, well-mannered young man was no different, and yet quite different, from their usual clientele -- if indeed they ever had a "usual" clientele, here on the river, that great highway through the heart of the continent.
The wife remembered him, at least long enough to see his shoulders departing through the door, for his manners had been gentle, his voice soft, and his eyes kind: he'd lifted his hat to a lady outside, and the woman behind the jeweler's counter smiled when he did, for most there in the town considered that particular female somewhat less than a lady.
Still, given this courtesy, she saw this "lady" brighten, and for a moment, she saw through the cheap clothes and tawdry make-up, and for that moment she saw her for the young lady she'd been, or perhaps could be again.
The young man had bought two lockets, both alike, or nearly so.
One had a cameo, flanked with arcs of polished jade: a rearing horse, ebony on white ivory: the other, a special order that had never been picked up, and so had been put in the display case: carved ivory, a flower, delicately tinted in shades of green, and flanked by a single emerald on either side.
He'd asked that they be wrapped, and he'd paid in coin, and thanked her for her kindness, and as his tall, slender form crossed their threshold and departed, her husband came out from the back room, unscrewing the loupe from his left eye, his right hand pressed to the small of his back, as he always did.
"Did you make the sale, my dear?" he asked, and she smiled, and considered the payment the young man had left.
He'd given her exactly twice as much as she'd asked.
"Yes, dear, I made the sale."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-20-08

 

I grinned as I settled into my chair.
The stove had been out and cold, but then we had no one in the office, so a little chill wouldn't really hurt anything: I touched match to the waiting tinder and added sticks as it grew, warming the stove slowly; I had no wish to bust the cast iron with a sudden blaze.
I opened the front door and looked around before slinging the water bucket's contents out into the street. Twain Dawg's ears came up and his head cocked as the water sighed out of the bucket, and he jumped a little and yapped once as it splashed onto the half-froze, half-dry dirt, and I chuckled, and we went back inside, and I closed the door.
It was still a bit chilly so I didn't take off my hat.
Twain Dawg trotted happily around the office and back among the cells, his nose telling him more than any ten mens' eyes, and finally he came back and sat by my leg, happily accepting my attentions.
Few things are as happy as a hound dog being petted, and had the floor not been so well made, I might have feared Twain Dawg's tail would have pounded a splintered hole right through it.
I opened the big journal and started catching up on what I'd missed.
Twain Dawg sighed with pleasure and laid down beside my right boot.
Life is good, I thought, reading my deputies' accounts of what had transpired during my absence.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-20-08

 

Jacob brushed the immaculate Appaloosa, carefully combing the mane, the tail, paying careful attention to the ticklish places that generally prompted his stallion to dance, or on occasion, to kick; he'd learned that one the hard way, early in their acquaintance; it wasn't that Apple was mean, just ... well, ticklish.
Jacob could understand that. Early in his acquaintance with his father, he'd been tickled a time or two, and if you knew just where, why, it was possible to reduce the lad to giggling helplessness in short order.
Jacob smiled. It was a pleasant moment from not long after he'd arrived in Firelands, an unguarded moment of the Sheriff's, a look into an earlier time when Linn, too, had been a lad, and had been tickled by a father's big, gentle fingers.
Apple muttered and turned his head to look at Jacob.
Jacob patted Apple's leg and drew a hoof up, critically examining the hoof, the shoe; satisfied, he let Apple plant the hoof solidly, and rather loudly, and went on to the next. He always checked the hooves in order, in sequence, exactly the same way, every time: it was a habit he'd formed, and Apple was used to it, and knew what to expect, and so tolerated it.
Most of the time, anyway.
Jacob had learned to respect the stallion's moods, and Apple had learned to respect Jacob's command, and the two of them occasionally disagreed, but for the most part they enjoyed each others' company, and got along well.
Satisfied, Jacob reached in his coat pocket and frowned.
No more apples.
He rubbed Apple's velvety nose, and Apple nibbled playfully with rubbery lips.
"We'll be there today, fellow," Jacob said, leaning his head against Apple's neck. "We'll be rolling into home today!"
Apple grunted, and brushed his nose in the feed trough, and crunched loudly on the few grains of corn that remained.
Jacob threw in some fragrant hay and refilled his water trough.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-20-08

 

Kid escorted Duzy to a table against the wall, affording her some privacy, and Fred walked over and sat a shot of tequila in front of Duzy and left the bottle on the table. He had a cup of vanilla coffee ready for the Marshall, and the Marshall thanked him kindly for the both of them.

Fred had already heard about Jake from Sean, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why he would do something like that when he had Duzy, and neither could Duzy, as he noticed the pain etched in her face.

“Duzy, do you want to talk about it?” Marshall Sopris asked.

“Not now, maybe not ever, I really don’t know what to think at the moment,” Duzy answered honestly. “Jake and I are over; that is about all there is to say.”

Kid looked at Duzy closely and thought he had never seen her look quite so fragile and could only wonder what had happened between the couple. He had been conferring with Chang and hadn’t been in contact with anyone until leaving the church and had seen Duzy walking like the Devil himself was after her!

Jake stood outside, a haunted look on his face, and decided to find Linn or Charlie, no Charlie was out of town, but he felt he needed to talk to someone who would listen and help him to understand. Or, would Linn be so angry he wouldn’t listen either? There was only one way to find out, so he turned and walked to find him, not really caring at the moment if someone did beat him senseless, he damn sure deserved it!

Tilly was usually quiet and mild mannered, but after listening to Daisy tell her about the little trollop she had hired bragging about Jake and herself, why, it was downright unforgivable, and Mary Sloan would soon see a different side of Tilly Moulton! Tilly mulled on it a few more minutes, thinking how everyone had helped the woman, hoping to give her a better life, a second chance, just like she had been given and how never a day went by that she wasn’t thankful and appreciative! Just thinking of how her life had changed from the days at Sam’s Place to having a loving husband and a beautiful baby still humbled her! Tilly looked over at Duzy, and that was the last straw, seeing the hurt on her friends face!

Mr. Baxter noticed Miz Tilly march past him going toward the back and knew more trouble was brewing, as he had seen that kind of fire in a woman’s eyes before! Laying his towel aside, he stepped around to the hallway to watch, and had to step out of the way as Miz Tilly grabbed Mary Sloan. When the woman opened her mouth Miz Tilly shoved a rag in it and dragged her down the hallway toward the back door. Miz Daisy had noticed and opened the door, as Miz Tilly threw the woman out of the Silver Jewel, landing sprawled on her backside in the snow! A few others were beginning to gather and he vaguely heard someone say to get the Sheriff, just as Miz Tilly went out the door behind her, and was soon sitting astride her, as she landed a hard right to her jaw, brought back her fist and punched her again, bringing spurts of blood from her mouth, as Miz Daisy stood cheering her on!

Sheriff Keller had gotten there quickly, as he came through the door at that time to see what the ruckus was about, and Miz Daisy grabbed his shirt sleeve and he stopped as she whispered something in his ear.

Marshall Sopris had noticed Miz Tilly go by in a rush too, but she wasn’t his concern at the moment, so he sat with Duzy. It didn’t take long for Duzy to notice Linn coming through the door and Duzy said, “What the hell could be happening now?” Standing up, as she did, they both walked out back just in time to see Sheriff Keller pulling Tilly off of Mary Sloan and helped her to her feet to get some answers from the women.

Mr. Baxter chuckled, shook his head, turned back toward the bar, and said, “No one can say there is ever a dull moment in Firelands, the bar will be busy tonight,” and he picked up his towel and started back to work.

Duzy was surprised that Tilly had been the one to throw Mary Sloan out, but she had felt so numb that it hadn’t even occurred to her yet! She knew then that her friends had already heard what had happened and asked Kid to please get her out of there, knowing that Uncle Linn would take care of the situation, and at the moment could only feel the humiliation, and gut wrenching pain of Jake’s betrayal! Soon everyone in town would know and Duzy couldn’t stand to see the pity in their eyes, although some time later, she would feel again and would be thankful to have such loving friends.

Marshall Sopris did as Duzy asked, and escorted her to her suite, where she packed a few items, and they left the Silver Jewel, he not knowing yet where they were going, and not knowing if Duzy knew either!

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-20-08

 

Whoever built the Sheriff's office used good solid timbers, and set them well and tight, and chinked them: proof against wind and assault, it was a tight little office, solid, a young fortress.
The door was likewise solid, well hung, heavy.
It took me somewhat by surprise when the door swung open fast and an urgent voice hollered "Sheriff there's a fight over at the Jewel!" BANG and the door slammed shut.
Twain Dawg was on his feet, bristled up twice as big as normal, and my hand swept up with eyes of its own and snagged the Stetson without my looking.
Twain Dawg and I were out the door on the hot foot, and while I did not rightly run, I didn't waste any time either.
I am a tall man and long legged and covered the width of the street in short order.
I came into the Jewel fast, but cautious: I was met with puzzled looks and turning heads, and sounds of commotion from out back, straight down the hall.
I long-legged it down the hallway, at least as far as the kitchen, and Daisy reached out an urgent hand and seized my arm.
"Sheriff," she said, and I'd never heard that tone in her voice, so I came to a quick halt, and Twain Dawg fell against my calves and nearly brought me down. Daisy's grip kept me from landing on my ... dignity ... and I got my feet under me again, and she had my undivided.
Or most of it.
There was the sound of a good female fight outside the back door, and Daisy could hear it as plain as I, but if she figured something was urgent enough to keep me from it, I was inclined to listen to her.
"Sheriff," Daisy said quickly, "Mary Sloan used some Chinese poison on Jake. It addled the poor man like a strong drink or maybe opium, and she had her way with him, and now he blames himself."
"Well, Daisy," I started, and she cut me off with a gesture, slicing her hand through the air like a knife.
"Will ye LISTEN to me, man!" she hissed. "The man was POISONED! He'd no more control o'er himsel' than fly! I heard her bragging, bragging, mind you, that she'd planned it! Now she's broken poor Duzy's heart and I doubt me not the wedding's off!"
The more she talked the quicker she talked, the more clearly she talked, and the more pronounced her Irish accent became.
If she hadn't said Jake had been poisoned, it would have been amusing.
"Hold it," I said quietly, and something settled into place inside me, and it wasn't pleasant. "She poisoned Jake?"
"Yes, the ungrateful witch! She's a vial o' the poisoned juice on her, she said so! Bragging, she was! Why, I've a mind t' take a rollin' pin to her mesel'!"
"Daisy, Daisy," I said warningly as the fired-up Irishwoman seized up a marble rolling pin, "I'll take care of this. All right? I will take care of this!"
So saying I stepped out of the kitchen, and out the back door.
Tillie had Mary Sloan down on the ground, and was busy pounding the woman with both fists, screaming language better suited for the gutter.
Twain Dawg whined and shrank back.
He was probably smarter than me, for I went on outside, and seized Tilly from behind, by the upper arms, and hauled her off by main strength.
It was kind of like trying to pick up an enraged wildcat, but I got them separated, and I pulled Tillie back a little distance, and spun her around, and shouted her name a couple times.
I have faced enraged men, but I have never felt quite the fear that comes with facing an utterly enraged woman, and looking into Tillie's eyes, I was honestly afraid.
Tillie wasn't saying a word.
That made me even more jumpy.
"Tillie," I said soothingly, glancing over my shoulder at the bleeding and still-supine Mary Sloan, "could you kindly tell me what's going on here?"
Tillie pulled abruptly away from me, seizing her hair and fiercely drawing it back behind her head, doing some woman-magic with her hands to keep it in place: her lips were pinched, her face pale, and her eyes were like deep pools of obsidian: absolutely black and shiny, and sharp enough to cut a man's heart out with a glance.
"I'll tell ye what she's done," Daisy declared loudly from the back door, "she's broken poor Duzy's heart, that's what she's done! The ingrate, we took her in, we gave her a warm bed an' a room an' a roof o'er her head, we put clean clothes on her back and food for her belly and look what she's done! She bragged that she'd take Jake from Duzy, and she used that Chinese poison t' do it!" She pointed emphatically at something in the snow. "There 'tis, the damned juice, Sheriff! That little vial there! See that ye don't get any o' it on yer skin, it'll pizen yer heart and ye'll --"
Tilly pushed past me and went for Mary again.
I thrust myself in front of her, hands raised, palms out; "Whoa, whoa, Tillie, let me handle this, I'll take care--"
SMACK! and Tillie's bony fist belted me just south of the left cheek bone.
Now Tillie isn't all that big and Tillie doesn't have any amount of meat on her knuckles, so when her bony fist hit just below my cheek bone ... well, I won't admit to seeing stars.
Two or three minor planets did swim into view.
When my eyes quit watering, Tillie was standing there with her hands covering her mouth and distress in her eyes, and she was making kind of a funny noise that I think meant something like "Oh, no," and the steam went all out of her and she kind of sagged to her knees.
Daisy came down the three steps with a clatter of hard heels and knelt beside Tillie, gathering the woman in her arms and soothing her in something musical and melodious that I think may have been Gaelic.
"Get her inside, Daisy, it's cold out here," I said gently, and turned to look around.
I picked up a small vial, about as big around as my little finger, with a yellowish fluid half filling it. It was corked, and didn't appear to be leaking, so I put it very carefully in my coat pocket, and then turned to the dazed and staring Mary Sloan.
"You tried to poison a friend of mine," I said. "Mary Sloan, you are under arrest."
So saying, I seized her left wrist and hauled her upright, and over my shoulder, and packed her across the street to the jail.
Tillie had just given her the beating I would like to have.
As I walked, I got madder by the step, and by the time I go to the door of the Sheriff's office I was ready to throw Mary Sloan down and rip her throat out.
I didn't.
Twain Dawg trotted along beside me, and he knew I was boilin' mad. He was still bristled up and his fangs were half out, and he was snarling, a low, menacing growl twice as deep as he was tall.
Was I not so boilin' mad my own self I would have been afraid of him.
I got Mary Sloan back in the cell and took a look at her.
Tillie had bloodied her nose and beat her face up pretty good, and if I was any judge, her unkempt hairdo probably contained a good percentage that had been yanked out by the roots.
I did not try feeling for any broken ribs. When I saw Tillie at her energetic best, she was a-straddle of the trollop, giving it to her with her fists, claws and open hands, not necessarily in that order.
I fired up the pot belly stove in back, for it was cold enough I could see my breath, and kissed at Twain Dawg: "Come on, fella. One animal in a cage is enough."
Twain Dawg wrinkled the hide up between his ears and gave me a puzzled look, then he looked at Mary Sloan, and sniffed, and hoisted his nose in the air, and trotted out behind me.
"Fella, you been takin' lessons from the girls?" I asked.
Twain Dawg curled up in front of the other stove, in my office area, and ran his red tongue out and laughed.
"You stay and guard the prisoner," I said. "I have to go see some people."
I needed to talk to Jake, and I figured it would be a good idea to have one of the doctors come and examine the prisoner.
I needed to see that Kwai-Chang fella I'd seen with Sopris.
Hell, I needed to see Sopris.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-20-08

 

The travois bumped its way down the trail, rubbing against trees and occasionally nearly wedging between some of the more close set ones but each time it slipped on through. The jolts brought grunts from Willy but he hung grimly to the poles and gutted it out.

Eventually the trees thinned and they struck the main trail from the gold camps to Willy's turn off and the going got easier. "I believe I could walk a ways, if you'll stop this thing," Willy said conversationally.

"It's still a couple of miles," Charlie said back over his shoulder. "You might want to rethink that." He kept the horse moving.

Willy slumped back with a resigned sigh. "I reckon you're right," he said. "It just galls me to ride like this."

"Think of it as payment for not paying attention," Charlie said.

"Whadda you mean, not paying attention?" Willy asked sharply.

Charlie stopped the horse and turned around. "You were more interested in gettin' a drink than you were in seeing where Dawg was," Charlie snapped. "We've been friends a long time, so don't give me any crap. You know you brought it on yourself. So just sit there and shut up." He turned back and clucked to the horse and started down the trail.

At the first camp that showed any promise of a bed for the night Charlie halted the horse again. The sun was fading behind the hills to the west. A sign hanging from the ridgepole of a big canvas tent with pole sides read "Beds-6 bits" and Charlie stepped inside. He was greeted with the sight of rows of cots running the full length of the tent and a large, slovenly fellow in a farmer's bib overalls and brogan shoes sitting behind a small table. His wool shirt had numerous unidentifiable stains on the front that led to the same stains on the front of his overalls "What can I do for ya, friend?" he asked Charlie.

"I need a couple of beds for the night. And a doctor. My friend's been hurt."

Got a whole slew of empty beds since winter set in," the man told him. "Take your pick. And I reckon I'm the closest thing to a doctor in this camp, 'less you count the Chink down the way." The man grinned. "Most folks don't count him."

Charlie bristled up and stepped closer. "What did you just say?" he asked in a voice cold enough to freeze the Colorado River solid.

"'Bout what?"

"The doctor," Charlie gritted. The man across the small table from him suddenly realized that he was in serious peril and shrank back.

"He, he, he, well, he's uh, uh, Chinese, ya know?" the man stammered.

"That's better," Charlie said. "I don't like that other word. Now. Is there any place else with beds?"

"The Chi...er, Chinaman's got some, but he don't generally rent 'em to anybody but his own kind," came the answer.

"I'll think I'll take my chances," Charlie said. He turned on his heel and stamped outside, his temper just below boiling.

"What's the matter with you?" Willy asked. He was standing beside the travois.

"Never mind," Charlie growled. "There's a doctor down the street. C'mon." He picked up the reins and led the way toward a sign printed in both English and Chinese down the street.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-23-08

 

Jake noticed Duzy and Marshall Sopris leaving the Silver Jewel, as he was searching for Sheriff Keller, and noticed that Kid was carrying a couple of Duzy’s bags. As he walked toward the two, Duzy looked up and into his eyes, and Jake could see the pain and anger that seemed to go to her soul! Feeling even more wretched than he had, he asked, “Are you leaving Duzy?”

“Yes, Jake, I am leaving with Marshall Sopris to go to Washington, D.C.; it seems I am needed as a witness against the man who kidnapped me and will be leaving as soon as possible.”

Duzy could see the hurt in Jake’s eyes, but felt that he had brought it upon himself and looked away. Marshall Sopris could sense Duzy’s need to get away from Jake, and said, “Jake, the position is still open as Territorial Marshall if you are interested.” Jake thought about it for just a second and accepted, “Thank you, Marshall, I need to be busy now and that will help!” He glanced at Duzy again, but she was looking away.

“Jake, the prisoner that kidnapped Duzy gave us Mary Sloans’ name as an accomplice in the San Francisco slavery and prostitution ring and your first assignment will be to escort her back to be tried. Will that be a problem?” “No sir, I can handle that and anything else that is expected of me.” Jake answered, thinking he hated the idea of being around the woman again and knew what Duzy was probably thinking, but it was his job now and he would have to do it.

Marshall Sopris told Jake he would leave his credentials at the Sheriff’s Office before they left, and took Duzy’s arm as Jake watched Duzy walk out of his life with the man in her vision.

After watching until they were out of sight, he turned to find Sheriff Keller, still needing to speak with someone he trusted.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-23-08

 

Twain Dawg's ears came up and his tail began punishing the floor.
I wrung out the rag and folded it carefully.
Jake swung the door open and took a look at my shiner. "Good Lord, Sheriff," he exclaimed, "did she do that?" He thrust his chin back toward the cells, and I flinched as the cold rag touched my abused cheek bone.
"No," I mumbled, moving the rag so I could talk a little more clearly. "No, it was Tilly."
"Tilly!" Jake was honestly surprised. He'd known Tilly had knocked the stuffing out of Mary Sloan, but he hadn't realized I'd come into the line of her fire.
"Still waters run deep," I chuckled. "I've never in my life seen that woman's fuse lit, and now that I have, I don't want to see it again!"
Jake hung his hat on the peg inside the door. He had the look of a man with a wagon load of misery on his shoulders. I waved at a chair and stepped over to the stove. "Coffee?"
"Nah, just had some," Jake said, settling uncomfortably into the chair.
I poured two tin cups anyway.
Twain Dawg looked expectantly at me, as if begging a taste.
I looked squarely down at him. "You don't want this, pup," I said warningly. "It'll stunt your growth. Look what it did for me!"
Twain Dawg sneezed and laid back down on the stove-warmed floor.
I walked over to Jake, handing him the blue-granite cup, handle first. "Careful, she's warm," I warned.
Jake took the cup and, hunched over, rested his elbows on his knees, staring into its shimmering black depths.
I sat back down, dunked the folded pad back in the water bucket. "Jake, do you recall being poisoned?" I asked, squeezing the excess out of the rag.
"Poisoned?" He seemed honestly surprised.
"Not by the coffee, either." I took an experimental sip of mine and scalded the hair off my tongue. Frowning, I set it on the desk and laid the cold, wet pad against my shiner.
"No. No, I surely don't..." Jake hesitated. "Sheriff, I'm surprised you didn't meet me at the door with a mouth full of knuckles."
"Duzy?"
The misery in his eyes was answer enough.
"Jake, listen to me," I said, sitting upright. "You are one of the most decent men I've known. You would never knowingly do anything, of your own will and accord, that would dishonor yourself or anyone else."
Jake snorted. "I sure did, Sheriff," he said, and his voice was as heavy as the weight bowing his shoulders.
I opened my desk drawer, pulled out a metal lock box, fitted a key into it. "Jake, take a look at this," I said, and carefully, carefully withdrew the vial I'd taken from Mary Sloan. "See this?"
Jake frowned. "Never saw it before," he muttered.
I withdrew the cork -- carefully, carefully -- and placed the open vial in the very center of the desk. Holding the cork by its edges, I carried it over to Jake.
"Take a little sniff," I said. "Don't touch it, whatever you do!"
Jake sniffed at it, blinked.
I returned the cork to the vial.
"Smell familiar?"
Jake closed his eyes, turned his head. "Oh, good Lord," he muttered.
"Jake, that's a Chinese poison that turns a man into a seed bull," I said. "What happened wasn't your own free will, that was this damned juice."
Jake looked at me, half afraid to believe what I was saying.
"But ... But I did ..."
"Jake, let's say you were a townie back East and didn't even carry a gun. Let's say someone grabbed your little boy and put a straight razor to his throat, and said to go pull a thousand dollars out of the bank and bring back or he'd cut your boy's throat. Now let's say you had no money in that bank but you would do anything to save your boy's life, so you rob the bank.
"It's not something you would do of your own free will and accord."
"Nobody had a razor to my throat," he muttered.
"The hell they didn't!" I flared. "Jake, it was this damned juice, not your free will! You were POISONED, man!"
He looked at me -- a good man, an honest man, but condemned in the court of his own mind -- strong enough to still look me in the eye, but with a guilt more imagined than real.
"Sheriff, I've hurt Duzy worse than she's ever been hurt."
I nodded. "She's more hurt than she's ever been, Jake, but wasn't you that did it!"
"Yeah? You tell her that!" He stood abruptly. "I'm resigning."
"WHAT?" I dropped the folded pad to the desk top, my jaw hanging open with surprise.
"Sopris offered me a territorial marshal's position. I'm taking it."
Of a sudden I felt kind of lost, but I got my feet under me.
"Jake, I'll miss you but I think it's a good move."
Jake came over and shoved his hand at me. "You've always been square with me, Sheriff, and I appreciate that."
I nodded. "You'll have Federal jurisdiction. That could come in handy."
He grunted. "My first assignment is to get Sloan to trial. She's been implicated in some pretty dirty dealin's."
I reached down and opened the top right hand desk drawer, pulled out a set of lady-size Tower cuffs. "Here you go, here's the key. How soon will you be leaving?"
"I'm packed already. So's Duzy." His eyes faded into hopelessness again.
"I don't know ... Linn, I don't know if I'll ever see her again."
I had never seen such profound sadness in a man.
No, come to think about it, I had, but never outside of a death.
This was worse, in a way.
The man still loved Duzy, but the knowledge of what had happened was like a branding iron laid against his soul.
I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jake, you'll always be welcome here, you know that!"
"Even after what I've done?" he whispered.
I shook my head. "Jake, you are equally as stubborn and hard headed as I am myself!"
The man smiled, a little, and then started to laugh, and he reached up and laid his hand on my shoulder.
"Thank you, my friend," he said quietly.
I plucked the jail keys off their peg. "Well, let's get her ready."
Jake unlocked the Tower cuffs, a grim look on his face.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-25-08

 

The West tended to bring the young to adulthood quickly, more quickly than back East.
Jacob had been doing a man's job for some time, even before circumstance and strong hands pinned the Deputy's star on him.
Now he stood beside his saddled Appaloosa stallion, looking out the open side door of the stable car, watching the familiar landmarks sliding by slower, slower, as the new-fangled air brakes snapped and hissed under them, and the cars shivered as slack banged forward in the couplers.
He heard the Lady Esther salute the town and couldn't help but grin.
His coat pockets bulged on either side, for he had two ladies he wanted to see, and he was anxious to get Firelands under his feet again, and he wanted to see folks he knew and sit with his father and laugh with Mr. Baxter.
He wanted to sleep in his own bed.
He'd debated on whether to launch Apple-horse out the side door like an arrow from a drawn bow. He knew the stallion would be willing to make the jump -- he'd jumped farther and higher, he and Apple, but good sense prevailed.
It's one thing to jump an arroyo that's not moving.
It's something else entirely to land at a full gallop and have momentum throw you unexpectedly sideways, coming off a moving train.
No, he thought. No, let's not do that.
His hand wandered up and patted Apple's neck.
Apple-horse pressed his head against Jacob and muttered, and Jacob laughed, and rubbed his velvety nose.
"Soon, fella," he murmured. "I know right where those dried apples are kept. Soon, now."
Apple shifted restlessly, anxious as Jacob to be on his way.
Jacob had cleaned out the stall, left it bare to dry out. No sense rotting out the floor from laziness, he thought.
The train shivered a little as it came to a full stop, and Jacob and Apple came to the edge of the door, and no one was there with a ramp.
Jacob grinned.
Apple nodded.
It was tempting, it was tempting, it was tempting --
"Hello, young fellow," came a companionable shout, and the ramp was brought up and dropped into place, and Jacob led Apple-horse out of the stable car and onto the broad and welcoming depot platform, and walked him up to a young lady who stood, clutching a fan, shivering a little in the cold.
Jacob dismounted, ground-reining Apple and stroking his nose. "Stand," he whispered, and Apple blinked, and swished his tail against non-existent flies.
Jacob took off his hat, and smiled.
Miss Messman dropped her eyes, and dropped a curtsy.
Jacob withdrew a silk-wrapped package from his left-hand coat pocket and extended it to her.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-26-08

 

Esther rubbed the bridge of her nose, where her spectacles rode, and gazed out her window, smiling.
Her office window overlooked the street, and from here, overtop the Silver Jewel, she could see WJ's general store, and the Sheriff's office, and the few other buildings on that side; she heard the cheerful yelling of the children, leaving the one room schoolhouse at a dead run, as they always did.
Twain Dawg came charging out of the Sheriff's office at a dead run, a black streak six inches high and three feet long, shot like a midnight arrow from an assassin's bow, and she saw her husband, the Sheriff, laughing at the sight of the furred canine's charge.
She raised the window, shivering a little, for it was still chilly outside, and snow huddled in the shadowed corners, but the air smelled clean, smelled a little damp, smelled of springtime's promise. Winter's back would soon be broke, and the prairie and the mountains would start to green up again.
It was Esther's favorite time of year.
Esther smiled again as she heard a familiar voice: "Twain Dawg, where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you!" -- Sarah's complaint, and though she could not see it, she knew Twain Dawg was bouncing like an animated rubber ball, bouncing on hind legs, his muzzle reaching for Sarah's hand, held well above her head height, and reaching it easily, shoving it with his cold, wet nose.
The Sheriff looked up and raised his hat to his wife, and she saw the flash and gleam of white teeth beneath his iron-gray mustache, and she waved.
There was a knock on her door, and she drew back inside, and pulled the window down.
"Why, Jacob!" she exclaimed, reaching out and approaching the shyly smiling young man. Miss Messman stood behind him, blushing a little, hands clasped nervously in front of her.
Esther took Jacob's hands and kissed him on the cheek, drawing him inside. "Come, sit! Tell me about your trip!"
Jacob came in, hat in his hands, turning it nervously by the brim -- just like his father, Esther thought affectionately -- and Jacob cleared his throat.
"Ma'am," he said, and reached into his coat, "I have much to thank you for."
She gave him a knowing look.
"You gave me swift passage on each of the railroads, ma'am," he said, and his ears were reddening. "The word of a railroad's owner carries, weight, ma'am, and thank you for that kindness."
"Now, I couldn't let you be just another passenger, could I?" Esther asked, the corners of her mouth curving up a little, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Besides, you were on Firelands business!"
"Ma'am, this" -- he drew the envelope out of his coat pocket, and the letter from the envelope -- "starts out, 'Dearest Jacob,'" -- he cleared his throat again, for it was becoming more difficult to speak -- "and" -- ahem! -- "it ends, 'Dear Son.'" He blinked, biting his bottom lip.
If he's not the seed of my husband's loins, he certainly should be, Esther thought fondly, thinking of times when they two were alone, and her husband had confided matters of intimacy, or matters that touched him deeply, when he too found it difficult to speak, and bit his bottom lip, and his ears turned red too.
Jacob took a deep breath. "Ma'am," he said, "thank you for ..." He looked away, stared out the window.
"Jacob," Esther said gently, "if you bite your lip any harder, you'll bring blood."
Jacob blinked, surprised, and wiped fiercely at his lower lid. He thrust his other hand into his coat pocket, withdrawing a silk-wrapped box.
He turned and faced her squarely, and extended it slowly, with both hands.
Esther took the box, looking at Jacob, looking past him at Miss Messman, who was dabbing at her nose with a lacy hankie, smiling as only a co-conspirator can smile, and Esther opened her package.
"Ma'am," Jacob said, and this time he did not reach for the fat tear that spilled over the dam behind his left eye, "thank you for being my Mama."

Later that evening, her husband complimented her on the new cameo she wore, for its delicate, green-tinted flower, he said, compliments her eyes beautifully.
Esther smiled and said it was a gift from a young gentleman.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-26-08

 

At the Chinaman's board-sided tent Charlie dropped the reins over the hitchrail and looked at Willy. "This gent's supposed to be a doctor," he said. "I'm gonna see if I can get him to look at Dawg. You want him to look at your leg?"

Willy looked up at the sign and its Mandarin characters. He didn't share any of the miner's prejudices. "If he can make my leg feel better, I don't care what language he talks," Willy said. "He'll be my friend for life. Let's go."

The front of the tent had been framed in lumber and a door installed. The door was lacquered red with a rampant dragon in gold in the center. The door was closed. Charlie stepped up and knocked politely and waited. Shortly the door swung open on silent hinges and a small, very wrinkled lady, for that was the only appropriate word for her and the dignity with which she carried herself, looked up at Charlie. "May I help you?" she asked in a voice as musical as the trickling of spring water over the rocks.

Charlie quickly removed his hat. "I hope so, ma'am," he said. "My friends have been hurt, and I'm looking for the doctor." He pointed with his hat at Willy, who doffed his own headgear.

"But I only see one person," the lady, Quan Li, said.

"Uhm, the other one's on the travois," Charlie said. "He's having trouble walking."

Quan Li nodded. "I will tell the doctor you are here. Please wait for a moment." She swung the door shut gently and Charlie put his hat back on. It was only moments before the door opened again and the biggest Chinese Charlie had ever seen stood there with a black bag in his hand.

"My mother tells me you have brought me some patients," the doctor said in an Oxford accent. He chuckled at the look on Charlie's face. "My accent surprises a lot of people," he said. "Now where are my patients?"

Charlie pointed at Willy. "One of them's right there," he said. "But he can walk. The other one's on the travois. He's not doing nearly as well."

"Why don't we see to the one who can't walk?" the doctor said. He walked up alongside the horse and now it was Charlie's turn to chuckle when the doctor saw who, or actually what, his patient was.

"I guess I should've warned you," Charlie said. "But I thought you might not come out if I did."

"I very much believe that's the largest dog I've ever seen in my life," the doctor said with a smile. "What is the matter with him?"

"He's been shot," Charlie said.

"By whom?" the doctor said. The cold look in his eyes was enough to give Charlie pause.

"Arlen Scorsby's men," Charlie answered.

The doctor snorted. "That scum. They've sent more patients my way than I care to have," he said savagely. "They've beaten and robbed a number of my countrymen." He turned back to Dawg and his voice warmed. "But I think we can fix what's wrong with you." He reached out a hand and before Charlie, who had stepped up on the other side of the travois, could warn him, had ruffled Dawg's ears. Charlie expected Dawg to at least snap at the hand but instead he licked it.

The doctor looked at Charlie. "I don't think the two of us can carry him inside. Can he walk?"

"Some," Charlie answered.

"Good. Let's get him inside then."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-27-08

 

March, 1880

Dear Diary,

Never before, have I felt so desolate, so unsure of myself, so unsure of everything that I believed in…..

I truly believed Jake loved me.

I continue to ask myself if it is my fault, if I am the reason Jake turned to another woman. Am I lacking? Was it my inexperience? And, if so, why did he walk away and promise to wait? Why did he not teach me the proper ways to fulfill his needs? I would have tried….God knows I would have tried!

When I visited Fannie, she told me it was not my fault…..so did Bonnie and Aunt Esther and Mama and Tilly, God bless Tilly for caring! Sometimes, I wonder at her anger and her actions, when it should have been mine….but I blamed Jake more than I did Mary Sloan! Uncle Linn tried to tell me he was under the influence of some sort of potion, but I would not listen. Papa advised me to give it time, to be sure of myself, as I was the one who was afraid to set the date for the wedding. Aunt Esther said if it was meant to be, it will be, and to take this time to reflect and meditate.

Marshall Sopris is kind, always watching out for me, and God help me, sometimes, I want him to hold me, to make me feel whole again, to comfort me and to make me feel like a woman, and at times, I think he feels like reaching out, only to watch him back away as if he has something he has to do, leaving me searching for the answers.

Mr. Chang observes, but never advises, although, it is sometimes a look between he and the Marshall that breaks the spell……the way I catch myself looking at the Marshall and he at me, as if there is some kind of connection….. something more than friendship, and then he leaves…..and, I question why I would want another man to hold me if I truly loved Jake…..I am so confused.

Now, Jake is with Mary Sloan, and I can only wonder what they are doing, as images cross my mind of the two intertwined, his lips on hers, and I find myself looking at the handsome and virile Marshall (I do not know when I quit calling him Kid!) and wonder how it would feel to be in his arms. Does that make me as guilty as Jake? Is lust in the mind and heart not the same as carrying that thought out?

I must do as Aunt Esther advised and meditate, to find the answers in my heart. I will write more as we continue our trip.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-28-08

 

Day Two,

I slept very little last night. My mind was running and my body tense.

It is interesting to see the countryside change as we roll past and the Marshall points out all the prettiest places to watch for, and in time for me to get in the best position to look. He laughs at my squeals of delight! I must try to be more ladylike.

I mentioned to the Marshall yesterday that I would love to be on Edi at one point! The ground was not too steep and I could have felt the wind against my face, let my hair fly loosely, and felt free, but that would be foolish, making this trip on horseback would be long and arduous!

The Marshall asked if riding horseback would make me happy and I laughed in jest as I know he doesn’t like being cooped up either! He is serious most of the time, and then I make a silly comment like that and he acts like a young man wanting to please a young lady, or I see the boy in him, and it makes me wonder more about his background, his family, and how he grew up. He is still a mystery in so many ways.

Mr. Chang is a most unusual man, hardly ever speaking, but always alert. Perhaps he has not forgiven me for eluding him the night of the rescue, making him search for me, and I must admit I smile at the thought. At times, I think I see a hint of admiration in his eyes. It is most likely my imagination!

We discuss politics, as it is an election year, and wonder how “Lemonade Lucy Hayes” would react to the Daine boys or me for that matter, as I still have my toast of tequila each evening, as the Marshall and Mr. Chang drink their vanilla coffee and tea. We discuss the candidates and all agree there will be partaking of alcohol once again in the White House!

Each time I see a newspaper, they speak of the economy in worrisome ways and the corruption, especially in places like the docks in the larger cities, such as New York. President Hayes removed the remaining troops out of the South. I hope that was not a bad thing to do. I worry about the bigotry that still exists in my home place and further south.

I have not heard a word out of the prisoner, which is unusual, as he was very talkative the night he kidnapped me…..and all I ever see is his back. It seems he sleeps all the time.

I try not to think of Jake, and the conversation helps; however, he is never far from my mind, especially when I try to sleep and he is not beside me. I miss the way he always made me feel that everything would be fine, that we could work through anything, and then I get a mental picture of him with Mary Sloan and wonder how I could ever trust anything he has said, even if she did have some kind of magic potion. I know that Uncle Linn would not lie to me, and it is only now that I have opened my mind to what really happened that day. I must try to forget and move on.

I miss my friends and family in Firelands. I think of Fannie and Charlie and how happy they are. I pray that Charlie makes it home safely. I wonder how Bonnie and Caleb are, caring for two newborns with the knowledge that they lost one of their own cannot be easy, especially with Bonnie feeling so hurt by James’ actions, and concerned about family coming to visit. When I think of Aunt Esther and Uncle Linn, I know in my heart that they are happy and so proud of young Jacob! Mama and Papa left for another trip to California and are enjoying traveling and being able to see places they once dreamed of. I always think of Fred, polishing the bar, and plotting with the men folk! I wonder how Emma and Jackson are, and dear Tilly, bless her, I didn’t even thank her like I should have! I think of little Sarah, with Twain Dawg and can only smile at their antics! I miss them so! I also wonder if Doctor Flint has been able to help Morning Star. I think of Firelands as home, although I must say, I will always love the mountains of North Carolina!

I see the Marshall coming my way, with a most mischievous look, so I will close for now, as he has made me most curious by that smile...

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-28-08

 

Twain Dawg's normally happy expression was distinctly less so.
Matter of fact, Twain Dawg looked positively mournful.
Sarah, however, was happy and chattering, as she usually was, and was industriously fitting a carefully-sewn frock on Twain Dawg, and a bonnet on his head, and she insisted that he sit at a particular place at her table, and have tea with her dollies.
Twain Dawg had already explored the table with his nose and, detecting nothing edible, decided his attention was best spent elsewhere; and so when Sarah's attention wandered, he did too.
Quickly.
Bonnie looked out the window and motioned Caleb over, quickly, with the urgency of her gesture: together they watched Twain Dawg running across the yard, Sarah in pursuit, each voicing protest as best they could: Twain Dawg, by twisting and rolling in a desperate attempt to free himself from ruffles and ribbons, and Sarah, objecting loudly to Twain Dawg's vigorous attempts at freedom.
Twain Dawg eventually allowed himself to be captured, and brought inside, and divested of his unwanted finery; Sarah, distressed at the soiling of her handmade doggie dollie designs, shook her head and sighed, in a fine imitation of her mother -- again, to her parents' mutual amusement.
Twain Dawg nosed a door open and slipped into the next room, where Caleb's sympathetic hands restored a measure of dignity to the situation, and when Sarah finally found him, Twain Dawg was curled up beside Bonnie, snoring.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-28-08

 

Doctor Quan Su Han straightened and rubbed the kinks from his back. He patted his patient on the head and a large pink tongue flicked out and touched Dr. Li's hand. "You are a brave soldier," Dr. Quan said in Cantonese and Dawg's stub tail flicked. "Now you must sleep. It is good medicine in itself." Dawg lay his head down on the canvas cot and his eyes closed. The herbs Dr. Quan had given him in a cup of water relaxed the large frame and he soon began to snore.

"Uh, Doc, do you suppose we could do something with my leg now?" Willy asked.

"Of course," Dr. Quan said. Charlie chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Willy demanded.

"You playing second fiddle to a dog," Charlie said. "Or rather a Dawg." He chuckled again. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Dawg was hurt worse than I was," Willy protested. "But he's done bein' fixed up now, so it oughta be my turn."

"Indeed it is," Dr. Quan said. He handed Willy a cup. "But drink this first."

"What's in it?" Willy asked suspiciously.

"Something to ease the pain," Dr. Quan told him. Willy sniffed the liquid in the cup and was pleasantly surprised by the aroma. He took a small sip, then drank the rest down and smacked his lips.

"That was good!" he exclaimed. He lay back on his own cot and lifted his leg up onto the canvas. "It's all yours, Doc." He giggled. "That was right good stuff you gave me," he said, slurring his words slightly. He giggled again but the giggle was interrupted by a snore.

"What's wrong with his leg?" Charlie asked as the doctor leaned down to look at the limb in question. He straightened and looked at Charlie.

"Nothing that time can't heal, Mister MacNeil," Dr. Quan said. "Time and rest. It appears that your friend has some torn ligaments and strained muscles, but that is all. Your large black friend was hurt worse. Both of them should be fine in a few days."

"That's good, Doctor Quan," Charlie said. "And please call me Charlie."

"And I am Han," the doctor said. "Mister, er, Charlie, if you'll excuse my saying so, I meet few of your countrymen who would come to me for help of any kind, let alone medical help." Charlie looked at him for a moment, considering his answer.

"Han, I try to judge a man by what he does, not by what language he speaks or what color he is. As far as I'm concerned, everybody's a perfect stranger until I get to know 'em better. After while they cease to be perfect, just strange." He kept his expression deadpan while he watched the doctor's reaction. Han broke out laughing.

"That has been my experience also," he said. Then the laughter stopped. "You said that Arlen Scorsby was responsible for your friends being hurt. I see you are wearing a badge. What do you intend to do?"

"I intend to find Arlen Scorsby and his compadres and read 'em from the book, as a fella I met named Sackett was fond of saying," Charlie answered grimly. He unpinned his badge and dropped it in a pocket. He got a startled look from Han. Charlie saw it and went on. "Men like Arlen and Badger have a way of coming out looking pure as the driven snow," he said softly. "I intend to dirty 'em up just a bit." He went to his saddlebags and drew out a pistol belt and buckled it around his waist. He checked the loads in the holstered gun and looked up at Han. "Look after my friends for me, would you please?"

Han nodded silently and Charlie put on his hat and turned toward the door. "One more thing. Do you know where Arlen and his men might be this time of day?"

Han stood silent, wondering how or if he should answer. He reached a decision and said, "They will probably be at the Alpine." He pointed south. "Got to the end of the street and turn right. It is a large log building sitting against the base of a rockslide. You can't miss it."

"Much obliged," Charlie said. "I'll see you later." He strode out the door, heels ringing on the board floor of the big tent.

"I certainly hope so, Mister MacNeil. I certainly hope so," Han said quietly as the dragon door swung silently shut.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-29-08

 

Sarah's youthful energy had been harnessed, if not efficiently, at least usefully; she'd been put to work scrubbing out diapers, and though she wrinkled her nose a bit, she did not shrink from the work, and between she and her Mama, they scrubbed the stack, and rinsed them, and though Sarah was a bit too short to hang them on the clothes line to dry, she could at least hand her Mama each clean, wet diaper in turn, with two wooden clothes pins to hold them in place.
Twain Dawg watched from a few feet away, head tilted, tongue lolling out one side of his mouth; occasionally a bug or something of equally stellar importance drew him away, but he always returned, regarding his chattering mistress with adoration, as dogs always do.
The wash water was carefully emptied in the back yard, in a well-thatched area that would not muddy up with the wash water, and the ladies went back into the house.
Twain Dawg stayed outside; curious, nose to the ground, he circled the house a couple times, "reading the newspaper" with his sensitive sniffer.
Twain Dawg's head came up suddenly, and he looked out over the field, the flesh between his ears wrinkled up with curiosity.
The front door opened, and Sarah came out on the front porch.
Twain Dawg heard her Mama's voice through the open door: "Now, Sarah, don't leave the porch," she admonished, to which Sarah dutifully replied, "Yes, mama," and of course was immediately down the steps and petting Twain Dawg.
Twain Dawg looked out at the field again, and made a curious noise, which Sarah knew meant "Something is out there and I don't know what it is," and her eyes followed his, but saw nothing.
Twain Dawg began galloping toward the curiosity, and Sarah began running after him, laughing.
Bonnie had just laid her two little girl-babies down; they were fed, they were clean, they were wrapped up and warm, and she'd found that they had formed an instant bond: they slept best either when being held, or when laid beside one another, and she smiled as one made a sleepy little baby-sound, and the other wiggled a little, and both yawned, and turned their faces toward one another, and were asleep.
Bonnie looked out the window to see Sarah chasing after Twain Dawg.
Bonnie sighed. She knew it was near her moon-time, and her temper tended to be a bit sharp, and so she did not stomp out the door and slam it after her: she had, after all, just gotten the babies to sleep: she held her tongue until she'd closed the door behind her, and bent over the porch railing a bit, before calling, "Sarah! Young lady, you get back up here this instant!"
Twain Dawg stopped, ears up, then he turned, for Sarah had caught up with him, and Bonnie frowned as Sarah stopped, obviously finding something interesting.
Bonnie saw Twain Dawg's attitude and knew that he, too, had found something, and Bonnie felt funny of a sudden, for there is a mother's instinct, deeper than words, wiser than Solomon, that knows when something isn't qite as it should be.
She squinted, willing her eyes to see what it was.
Sarah leaned forward, hands on her knees, as Twain Dawg backed up a few steps.
Bonnie's adrenal glands contracted, shooting an urgency throughout her entire body: several things happened in that moment: Bonnie's spleen contracted, driving a unit of blood into circulation; her lungs expanded, oxygenating more blood, faster and more efficiently; her heart rate increased and her blood vessels contracted, the better to get the freshly oxygenated blood to her brain; her liver, too, drove simple glucose into her system, the better to feed the brain, for the brain lives on oxygen and glucose and little else.
Bonnie did not know these things. All she knew was, something is not right, and her right hand dropped down to snatch up a handful of skirts.
"Caleb," she called, her voice quavering a little, and then she saw Twain Dawg's fangs, only instead of diving on whatever danger lay unseen in the grass, she saw Twain Dawg leap up and sink his fangs into Sarah's backside, just below her belt.
"CALEB!" Bonnie screamed, and in one long step she was across the porch, and another long step she was off the porch, and Caleb Rosenthal, curious, lay down his steel-nib quill and looked up from his ledger.
Caleb's tidy, roll-top desk was across the room from a window, and the window was framed with hand-made curtains, drawn back and tied with ribbon. From his seat at the roll-top desk, Caleb saw Bonnie running -- running like a young girl! -- across the field, and he saw Twain Dawg dragging Sarah back, and down to the ground, and he too was on his feet.
Caleb was a man of the city, and of civilization, but Caleb was also a man who knew the realities of life: his hand snatched up the long-barreled shotgun he kept in the corner, and he too was out the door, and on a dead run.
The two babies, however, cuddled up against one another, slept peacefully.
Caleb's townie shoes were not made for running; his trousers were not cut for exertion; his soft hands were not callused for warfare: part of his mind knew this, but the rest of his mind bared its teeth and extended its claws and rejoiced in the coming war, for beneath every civilized man's skin is a warrior, ready to unleash an unimagined ferocity in defense of home and family.
Sarah rolled over and sat up, blinking. "Twain Dawg, why did you do that?" she demanded, and Twain Dawg looked back at the space she had occupied, and whined.
Bonnie came in like a streak, and Sarah shrieked and giggled as Mama's hands seized her under the arms and whirled her up and away, and Bonnie coasted to a stop at her husband's approach.
Caleb's eyes were big and Bonnie had never seen them sparkle like that, and she remembered later how very big and absolutely black his pupils were, and she looked back at where Sarah had been, where Twain Dawg had his nose to the ground, sniffing.
Caleb adjusted his spectacles, breathing heavily and frowning.
Twain Dawg sat down beside the hole in the ground, a hole as long as a grave and twice as wide, and ran his tongue out the side of his mouth, laughing.

Later that day a crew from the mine was setting fence posts around the hole. Engineers had inspected this new development and pronounced it safe: that is, there would be no chance the hole would grow: it was a flaw in the rock strata they'd mined out, it was underlaid with good strong quartz, they said, there would be no sink hole develop, they said.
Bonnie shivered at the memory of the ground caving in as Sarah stood at its edge. She rocked her two babies as the men discussed the event; she'd served the men coffee and pie, and excused herself, taking Sarah with her. Twain Dawg, of course, had lingered long enough to make friends with the mine owner, and the foreman that had come along, and the engineer, before joining the ladies in the next room.
"Perfectly safe," she heard one of them say, before she closed the door behind her.
Perfectly safe? she thought. My little girl nearly fell down into your mine, and you call it perfectly safe?

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 3-29-08

 

Charlie strode purposefully down the street in the direction Han had indicated. The few bystanders he passed shrunk away from the look on his face. If he had seen himself in a mirror he would have recognized the look of the Highlander on his face. His family had come from warrior stock in the Highlands of Scotland and his temper was something that occasionally reared its ugly head long enough for an icy calm to come over him. Fire and ice were in his veins and in his hands and Heaven help the man or men who got in his way when the elements swept over him.

Charlie found the Alpine and stopped. The fire and ice didn't keep him from being rational. On the contrary, the elements seemed to help him see with a clarity he didn't often have. And what he saw was promising or not, depending on your point of view.

The Alpine was built of logs and backed up tight against the rocks that had rolled down the mountain in some time-distant paroxysm of earth and snow. The piled boulders formed the back wall of the building, leaving no place for a door other than the wide, hide-screened doorway that centered the wall in front of him. A row of tiny windows high up near the eaves ran down each side wall, too small for a man to crawl through. The roof was peaked to shed snow and covered in crudely cut shakes, rough and irregular in shape. A crude pole ladder was nailed to the roof and slanted up alongside the chimney. A similar ladder bridged the gap between the ground and the eaves. Charlie smiled grimly at the sight and a plan began to form.

A lean-to storage shed was built against the side of the Alpine and Charlie want to it. Inside was a pile of burlap bags and he gathered an armful and went to the ladder. He scrambled up the ladder to the chimney and stuffed the bags in the opening then hurried back to the ground. It wasn't long before he got a reaction.

"What the hell's wrong with the chimney?" a rough voice demanded. Smoke was beginning to drift out under the hide that screened the doorway and suddenly the hide was torn down as the occupants of the Alpine suddenly made a charge toward breathable air. The first ones out were Arlen Scorsby and a man with a bandaged hand. Badger and the rest were right behind him. The men stood coughing and rubbing tear-filled eyes, not paying attention to anything but trying to get some uncontaminated air into their lungs.

Charlie stepped out away from the corner of the building and in a ringing voice called out, "Arlen Scorsby! You're a yellow-livered backshooter! And if you go for a gun I'll kill you!" He punctuated his words with the cocking sound of the pistol in his right hand.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-31-08

 

The Sheriff had enjoyed a good night's rest, and a good breakfast; he'd been out on Rose o' the Mornin' visiting two nearby ranches who'd reported some rustling, and swung back to town, cutting sign and finding little useful; finally, shortly before noon, he trotted down the main street.
Jacob was riding toward him, the Appaloosa stallion dancing in the crisp air; they drew up, one facing east, the other west, and stirrup to stirrup, regarded one another with a quiet smile.
"Jacob," the Sheriff said finally, "you're home."
"Yes, sir," Jacob replied, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle.
"Did you bring a prisoner with you?"
"No, sir."
"Did you find the prisoner?"
"Yes, sir, I did."
"You hungry?"
Jacob grinned; males of his vintage were a walking appetite on two hollow legs.
They turned and walked their horses over to the Silver Jewel, and tied them off, and went inside.
Mr. Baxter was sizing up his inventory, pad in one hand, pencil in the other, and he wasn't so much using the pencil to point at the bottles he was counting, as much as waving it as a conductor waves a baton, for he was not just counting an inventory, he was planning, and his mind was running in about three directions at once.
He turned as the doors to the Jewel opened, and the two tall men walked in; silhouetted against the sunlight, they were two figures in shadow, devoid of detail, but each was tall, and stood tall, and their step was confident and self-assured.
There was no mistaking father and son.
Mr. Baxter, still immersed in his task, held up a beer mug with a questioning rise of his eyebrows, and the Sheriff held up two fingers, and he and Jacob headed back to the back of the room to the Sheriff's usual table. As they went, they greeted and were greeted by the half-dozen or so other patrons, all of whom expressed pleasure at Jacob's return, and each sizing the young man up anew, for he was walking with his father, and wearing a star, and all knew of his recent trip East.
One of the Chinese girls -- the Sheriff mentally kicked himself, he'd meant to learn her name, and still hadn't -- brought two mugs of beer. The Sheriff ordered for them both, and the Chinese girl bowed, and smiled shyly at Jacob, and scuttled with quick, tiny steps back toward the kitchen.
The Sheriff sampled the beer, rolled it about his tongue for a moment and took a longer swallow. Nodding, he set his heavy flagon back down, as Jacob took a tentative sip of his own.
"How did you find the East?" Linn asked, his eyes smiling a little.
Jacob blinked. "Dirty, sir," Jacob admitted. "The air stinks of sulfur smoke. Had you not spoken of it already, I might have thought myself close to the Inferno."
Linn nodded. "We're wide open enough out here that, even with the mountains, a light wind will sweep everything away and replace it with clean air."
Jacob nodded, remembering how big the earth looked, and how small Firelands looked, as he'd ridden in the mountains overlooking.
"Back in Athens County the hills are sharp and close set. The same breeze out here would barely reach from ridgetop to ridgetop back there, and the air in the hollows would still be full of smoke, and tree-dust, and everything else."
"Doesn't seem healthy, sir."
"It's not. Consumption is common, so's the Miner's Consumption." He frowned. "I don't know the difference between the two, only that they take folks with consumption to Nelsonville to die."
"Yes, sir."
Jacob had heard talk of Nelsonville, among the miners; they had been pooling their money so they could ride the Inter-Urban from Chauncey to the Nelsonville brewery, and bring back a few kegs of beer. It was a ritual, depending on payday or whether someone had hoarded back a few coins for the delightful task.
The Sheriff looked sharply at Jacob. "You weren't shot."
"No, sir."
"Mmm." He nodded. "That tells me you didn't go riding up any hollows."
"No, sir."
"Good thing." The Sheriff took another pull on his beer. "Moonshiners set up in the hollows. You travel anywhere off the roads you run the back bone of the ridge, otherwise they tend to get testy."
"Yes, sir, I recall your saying."
Two plates were set on the table, hot and smelling really good.
Conversation was suspended in favor of taters and gravy, good back strap beef and hot apple sauce.
Jacob had been noticeably hesitant in his answers. It was clear something was troubling him. He'd just finished the last of the back strap beef when he said, "Sir, I found Jollins," and the Sheriff held up a forestalling hand.
"We'll discuss Sheriff's business in the Sheriff's office," he said gently. "Right now I am delighting in having a meal with my son."
Jacob blinked, surprised, and then grinned.
After a couple of plates apiece, father and son leaned back, comfortably full but not excessively so. They finished their beer and declined coffee, and after the Sheriff squared up their bill, they walked their mounts over to the Sheriff's office.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 3-31-08

 

Same day, continued…..

The Marshall had the most exciting news. We will be arriving in Saint Louis soon, and are to disembark there for some time to refresh and see the sights. I am thrilled! I anticipate a warm, lavender scented bath to relieve the tenseness of my body. I am not sure if it is due to the trip thus far, or to the many thoughts and restless nights, thinking of how my life has changed in such a short time!

I will dress for the afternoon for a carriage ride around Lafayette Park, the oldest park west of the Mississippi, thirty acres, with a wrought iron fence, gazebos, park house, and a duck pond. I have also learned that Saint Louis is now the fourth largest city in the nation!

The Marshall has told me of many exciting things to do and places to stay. I am so thankful for his constant attention to my wants and needs. He is such a gentleman; and, I am beginning to see the different facets of his personality, as he is constantly thinking of ways to keep me in a cheerful mood, delighting me with stories of his adventures as a lawman, although he is still reluctant to speak of his family at this time.

Of course, I would be interested in the newspaper, and I found that The St. Louis Post-Dispatch is a daily newspaper, founded in 1878, and purchased by Joseph Pulitzer, by acquiring the bankrupt Evening Dispatch for $2500 and is highly recommended.

The Tony Faust Restaurant, on the corner of Elm and Broadway, is the very location that the first “Arc Lamps” were installed in 1878. It is said that in this year, there are 600 telephones in use in the city! If only we had one in Firelands! I must say that with our growth thus far, it is only a matter of time!

The Lindell Hotel is said to be “a world class hotel” and was rebuilt in 1874 after a fire destroyed the original building in 1867. Could this be where we stay? I am not sure yet, as there are many charming places in the city. A beautiful Victorian Bed and Breakfast, Napoleon’s Retreat, is said to be a wondrous place to stay. The French Victorian retreat boasts two 12 foot double door entryways and stands alongside many “painted ladies,” a name used for the Victorian homes surrounding Lafayette Park.

The Eads Bridge, the first suspension bridge to cross the Mississippi, opened in 1884, and is one of the sights I hope to see before we cross it later in the week. The rail line runs under the top of the bridge and is a remarkable feat, like the many tunnels and railways around the gorges that we have already been through or passed. I find that the Marshall’s love of nature and the growth of our country are as exciting to him as they are to me.

I will close for now and hope to rest more peacefully, without the images of Jake and Mary Sloan constantly in my mind. I must say, I cannot help but wonder how he is faring. I am thinking of asking the Marshall what kind of potion could render a man senseless enough to forget the woman he loved! I wish I could get as angry as Tilly, but it seems the hurt is too raw and the pain is all I feel when I think of it.

To be fair to Jake, I did back away from our marriage, and the only reason I had for doing so, was my vision of kissing the man in the graveyard, a man I still believe in my heart to be the Marshall, although it would have to be in the future, as he was not in Firelands at that time, on that fateful day…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 3-31-08

 

I had Jacob drag his chair up beside mine, so we were both sitting behind the desk, rather than me behind it and him in front of it.
Jacob leaned his elbows on his knees. I could almost hear his thoughts ordering themselves for presentation, like soldiers falling in for inspection.
"Sir, I found Jollins," he began. "He was being tended by the doctor, for he had fallen with apoplexy in a Council meeting and was not able to move."
"I'll be," I said softly, shaking my head. "Go on."
"Sir, he could still hear, and he could understand me." Jacob's voice was low, and intense, and his hands were restless on his hat. "I told him who I was, and why I was there, and I saw the fear in his eyes, and then resignation.
"I helped draw him up in bed and get him comfortable, and excused myself, and got a good night's sleep, and I slept on my decision." His hands were stilled; he was reliving a decision, and his hands told me he believed he'd arrived at the correct one.
"Sir, he could not speak, but he could blink. I had him blink twice for yes and three times for no, and I asked questions, and he answered.
"I told him the next morning that I had decided not to take him back with me, and that I would tell his wife that he had helped me solve a murder, and that he was a good man.
"He died not an hour later."
I nodded. Not the outcome I'd expected, nor desired: I'd hoped to have him in irons and compelled with the full weight of the courts to recant, to confess and to rescind his false claim.
"Jacob," I said, "tell me again about his wife."
Jacob sat up straight, and his eyes wandered along the far wall, up against the ceiling. "Sir, she looked worn out. She looked like a kind soul, and she bore up like a lady through his illness, and she cared for him in his infirmity like an angel. I told her, just as I was leaving, that her husband had helped me solve a murder." He looked squarely at me. "The doctor came over to the marshal's office and told me whatever I told her, had been of great comfort to her, for he'd died moments after I left."
"Died of natural causes."
"Yes, sir."
I nodded again, and the silence grew long between us.
"Jacob," I said softly, "do you know what you've done?"
"I do, sir."
"I do, too." I sat up straight myself and leaned my elbows on the desk. "Jacob, you were sent to bring back a prisoner. You chose to disregard a direct order and act on your own authority." I turned my head and looked at him, straight and upright in his chair, a little pale, and almost afraid of what I was going to say.
"Jacob, you used your judgment. I value that."
He relaxed, just a little.
"You left a widow with something good to hold onto. That was a kindness. You saw a man who could do no more harm, and you chose to let him die under his own roof. You showed mercy.
"One characteristic that marks the American soldier superior to the European is that Americans think for themselves. Individual initiative on the battlefield won a number of actions during the War. I did a few of 'em myself." I shifted in my seat, wishing for a cushion; perhaps I would ask Tilly to have one of the girls sew me up one.
"Then I did right, sir?" Jacob asked tentatively.
"Yes, Jacob," I said with a smile. "You did well."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now if you've got your receipts we'll square up your expenses."
"Yes, sir." Jacob dug into a coat pocket.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-1-08

 

St. Louis, Early Morning, Day One

Dear Diary,

I awoke to the aroma of coffee, with a hint of vanilla, and knew instantly who was nearby....

“Good Morning,” he began, with a grin that made me smile as I looked into his eyes, knowing that he was thinking of me, and that he wanted to be present when I opened my eyes! I wonder if he has any idea how special that made me feel!

Somehow, I know this is the beginning of a lovely and adventurous day, for I can feel my heart beating with anticipation!

The weather is cooperating, still cool, but not cold, nor wet! The Marshall has a carriage waiting, and we will soon be on our way to explore the sights and sounds of Saint Louis!

After drinking the coffee he offered, I excused myself to dress, and have decided on my sapphire blue day dress, made of blue silk over a black underskirt, simple and yet elegant. Somewhere, at another time and place, I remember the Marshall saying it was a favorite color of his! It is interesting how we think of things like that at times!

I cannot style my hair quite like Aunt Esther always has, but I made do, as I pulled it up, and with a few twists and turns and with many pins, I am satisfied! I have added the matching hat, being sure to secure it well, and have picked up my reticule, and not forgetting to slip my derringer into my secret pocket, I am now off to meet the Marshall, not wanting to keep him waiting!

I promise to write much more after this day ends…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 4-1-08

 

Duzy's gown she is wearing in St. Louis .... compliments of Bonnie McKenna Rosenthal. This is one of Sarah's most favorite of Duzy's gowns, and Bonnie was thrilled to make it for Duzy before the babies began occuping Bonnie's time.

Bonnie spends her free time .... when not feed, changing nappies, washing nappies, feeding, changing nappies, washing nappies, laughing at Sarah and Twain Dawg, feeding babies, loving Caleb, changing nappies .... designing women's clothing that will be made by seamstress's hired at Rosenthal and McKenna Textiles.

It came to Bonnie's mind one day that she really needed some help ...

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-2-08

 

Midday,

Dear Diary,

The Marshall and I decided to check our bags at the Lindell Hotel and I had a light breakfast, while enjoying watching the Marshall devour a large steak, with eggs, and biscuits with gravy, and strawberry preserves with more biscuits! It is obvious that with the way the man eats, he is always active, as he stays fit and muscular. I couldn’t help but remember the way his clothes fit like a glove the first day I saw him in Firelands! He was the most handsome man in the dining area and caught many of the ladies eyes! I told him so, but he returned by saying that he had no reason to look past the beauty sitting before him, and complimented how the sapphire blue of my gown looked lovely on me. I am finding him to be most charming!

The hotel is as nice as advertised and I would highly recommend it!

The carriage ride was wonderful. The pond was still iced over in certain areas and the park was beautiful. Each way I looked, there was something beautiful to see.

We parked downtown and then took a stroll down Olive Street where Barr’s Drygood’s is located! There was a beautiful wedding dress in the window that drew my eyes, making me think of Jake, momentarily, but I took the Marshall’s arm and quickly walked away, not wanting to feel anything but joy on this day! It wasn’t anything like the creations that Bonnie designs, and I think the only reason I noticed it was due to my own failure with my wedding plans.

The Marshall noticed my discomfort, and soon we were riding toward the Eads Bridge, past the Courthouse and in sight of the large water tower! There was a chill in the air and we sat very close, as he put one arm around me and helped to keep me warm as we marveled at the construction of the bridge and watched the activity on the docks and the steamships and paddleboats on the Mississippi River, a sight that never fails to delight me.

I must admit that I enjoyed having his arm around me, and feeling his body close to mine. After knowing a man’s touch, is it any wonder that I would feel that way, and sometimes I wonder if another man will ever want me for his wife after knowing that I have already been with another. Papa always told me that I am too impulsive at times, and it must be true, for God help me, I found myself wondering how it would feel to be with the Marshall in that way! Now, I cannot help but think that I may be wanton by nature to be thinking of such things! Would that not make me even guiltier than Jake, for I was fully aware of what I was thinking, or could it be that deep within, I would like for Jake to feel the hurt that I feel?

I am in my room now and the Marshall will be coming by later. He mentioned that he had some business in town. I am not sure of our plans for the evening yet, so for now, I will close, as I wish to have a warm scented bath and time to relax before he returns…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-4-08

 

Bill had just set out another row of preserves on the counter, and Mac had just refilled the penny candy jar, for the stage had arrived and handed them off a sack of mail, and received the outgoing mail, and shortly there would be a deluge of humanity -- well, a small deluge, for Firelands was not a large town by any stretch of the imagination, but folks would be in all the same.
That early in the day, school was still in session, but through the day one child and then another would leak out and if a child was lucky enough to be in the Mercantile when someone got a letter, why, there was just the outside chance they would be given a penny candy.
Besides, the jars of preserves were inviting, this late in the season; early spring and most folks' stores of canned goods were pretty well gone, and they'd be tiring of their own cooking, and someone else's preserves, setting right there on the counter just begging to be picked up ... well, Bill thought, it generally worked with him, but then he had a soft spot for preserves.
Maude was sorting through the mail, what little there was, and in about two minutes had it stacked out on a side table, and as the day progressed the stacks and rows would diminish. An empty box beside the table awaited outgoing mail.
The Sheriff leaned against a porch post in front of the Silver Jewel; his son leaned against the other side of the post. Each held a mug of coffee, steaming with inviting fragrance in the chill morning air; they watched the stage jingle in and hand down the mail sack; they watched Maude hand them a mail sack in return, and then a small package, and though the Sheriff could not hear the conversation, he knew from the quick grins and tugs at hat-brims that the driver and his shotgun had just been handed a twist of tobacco apiece, and a sandwich besides.
Firelands was the next to last stop for the stage, before they reached the mine; on their return trip they would stop and overnight, and Shorty would tend their stock, mend the traces if need be, and the smith would handle any metalwork needing attention.
Jacob cocked his head a little to the side, smiling, as the smith's hammer began its ringing cadence, the sound carrying clearly in the still chill.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Jacob?"
"Sir, why does the smith smack his anvil three times before he starts work of a morning?"
The Sheriff shifted a little. "At the building of King Solomon's Temple, Jacob, the stones were too huge for men to handle. Solomon, King of Israel, was a magicworker, and through spells and ensorcelment, employed great spirits of the desert, called djinns in the Arab tongue -- a word we call genie -- to handle the stones, and to set them in place." He took a sip of coffee. "Spirits are repelled, and can be harmed, by base metal. Iron is perhaps the most effective, especially if it's sharpened."
"Spirits can be cut, sir?"
"So I've been led to understand. Superstitious folks have long carried straight razors, not just to slice off whiskers, but also to cut any marauding ghosts."
"I don't follow you, sir."
"The Temple of Solomon was assembled using only wooden implements. Had there been the sound of metal upon stone, even once, the great Djinns would have fled screaming into the desert, and would never have returned." Another sip of coffee. "The smith smacks his anvil, three times, to drive out any evil spirits that may've tried to take up residence. The sound of metal upon metal."
"I see, sir."
The shotgun guard waved and they waved back as the driver whistled and yelled, and the team leaned into their harness, and the coach rattled and jingled down the street, on its way to the mine.
"Reckon we got any mail, son?"
"I don't know, sir." Jacob was anxious to run and find out, but he was learning patience; though curiosity was eating him alive, he held still, without fidgeting.
"Why don't you hand me your coffee cup and go see?"
"Yes, sir!" Jacob's reserve was cast from him, and barely had the Sheriff the cup in his other hand but Jacob was sprinting across the hoof-marked, hard-packed dirt street, taking the steps from street level up onto the board walk with one long, jumping stride.
The Sheriff smiled.
I was that way, once, he thought, and the memory of it was good.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-5-08

 

Jake was losing patience with his prisoner and finally said, “If you do not want to finish this trip gagged, you had better shut up!” Mary Sloan had tried everyway possible to seduce Jake, reminding him of every detail of their encounter in Firelands, and had taken every opportunity to get close to him or to show him what she had to offer.

They were on the last leg of the trip, and soon he would be handing her over to the authorities in San Francisco, and it couldn’t come too soon! Every time Mary mentioned that day in Firelands, he felt even guiltier than before, but he had decided to take Linn’s advice and have the potion tested. If she had poisoned him, he would make sure that more charges were added! The potion may not have killed him, but the way he felt, she may as well have shot him on the spot! He could only wonder how Duzy was and if she would ever forgive him.

As the train pulled into the last stop, he looked out of the windows, scanned the crowd, and sure enough, there were two of the men that Marshall Sopris had shown him pictures of, waiting at the depot. Knowing these men were wanted and that they were no doubt there to free Mary Sloan, he pulled Mary to the back of the car, shoved her down on the floor behind the last seats, gagged her and then handcuffed her to the bottom where she couldn’t be seen easily. He moved forward and sat down, pulled his hat low, and waited. Sure enough, the two men appeared and started walking toward him. Thinking that there would be two in the car and that one would be Marshall Sopris, whom they had a picture of, the men turned to walk away.

“Put your hands above your head, you are both under arrest!” Both men turned, pulling their guns, but Jake was ready and waiting, shooting both men, killing them as they fell. He turned, released his prisoner, and made her step over the dead comrades, as he shoved her forward to take her to the Marshall’s Office in San Francisco.

As he left the office, he turned to Mary and said, “Good riddance,” signed the necessary papers and gave the vial to the head of operations, informing him how she had used the potion.

 

“I will take care of it Marshall; we are looking forward to watching this one hang! Are you sure you do not wish to stay?”

 

 “No sir, you have all you need and I need to move on, I would appreciate a report on the contents of that vial.”

 

“Where would you like it to be sent?” Jake thought for a minute, not having received his next orders, and said, “Sheriff Linn Keller, Firelands, Colorado.”

He then returned to clean up the mess he had left on the train, as usual, leaving the men in unmarked graves.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 4-5-08

 

The men in front of Charlie froze in mid-cough and he could see their backs go stiff. The one he had addressed as Arlen Scorsby straightened. "I know that voice," he said in a surprisingly mellow baritone. "MacNeil, is that you?"

"You know damned well who it is," Charlie barked. "You didn't expect me quite this quick, did you?"

"I expected that damn dog of yours to be dead, but he was too quick for us," Scorsby snarled. "I'm pretty sure we got lead into him, but he got out of sight before we could make sure we finished the job." He turned slowly, keeping his hands in sight but at belt level. His face didn't change when he saw the gun. He'd had guns pointed at him before.

"There's no charges against us in Colorado," Scorsby said.

"I know that," Charlie said. "The only charges against you here are for shooting my dog, and burning a good friend of mine's cabin down..."

"You mean that no-account trapper that was with the dog? Isn't he dead?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not!" Willy's voice came from the trees to Charlie's left. The double click of two shotgun hammers drawing back could be heard. Willy came into sight with a cut-down Greener in his fist, leaning on his crutch. "You damn near got me when you burned my cabin, but not quite. Now it's our turn."

Scorsby laughed. "There's six of us, and only two of you. Sounds to me like the odds are on our side." He laughed again but it was cut short by a deep rumbling growl from the other side of the clearing.

"What the hell..." Badger started to say.

"It's that dog!" Arlen snapped. "You boys take care of him! Now!"

Two men, one with a bandaged hand that appeared to be only half its normal size, started to move toward the sound. "Our pleasure," the bandaged one said. He drew his gun with his left hand. "I owe that mutt anyway." Charlie didn't say a word and Scorsby looked his way.

"Aren't you gonna tell them to stop?" he asked Charlie.

Charlie gave him a grim smile that went no further than his lips. "Not hardly. It's their funeral," he said. "Apparently that boy didn't learn the first time not to mess with Dawg. I reckon you just can't fix stupid, all you can do is let it go its own way and pick up the pieces afterward. If there's any pieces left to pick up." He kept his gaze fixed on Scorsby. The two men disappeared into the brush and trees that the growl had come from. Silence settled over the clearing except for the breeze whispering through the boughs of the evergreens that surrounded the Alpine.

A shot blasted the silence into shards, and the screaming began.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-5-08

 

"Jacob, you eatin' regular?" Bill challenged, a little loudly, for he was a bit hard of hearing, as the tall, slender young man stepped through the door.
"Yes, sir, every day," Jacob chuckled, removing his cover and nodding at Maude, who smiled in return and turned to the mail, neatly ranked on the table.
Bill shook his head. "You look like you'd not throw a decent shadow, young fellow!" His expression was positively mournful. "Why, was you to step out in the sun without your shirt I could likely count your bones from the sunlight shinin' through your hide!"
"Bill, you was no bigger when you was his age!" Mac snarled good-naturredly.
"Yeah, I know," Bill sighed, shaking his head. "But look at the poor fellow! Why, he don't look to have had a good square meal in a year!"
"You seen him eat?" Mac shot back. "Why, Jacob there can put away a good man sized meal with pie on top of it, and walk out the door, turn around and come back in an' do it ag'in!"
Jacob turned a little red as the two good friends argued and heckled one another, and accepted the two envelopes Maude handed him. He blinked in surprise at her expression.
"Miz Maude, what's wrong?" he asked quietly, and he followed her eyes down to the envelopes he held.
One was written in block letters, a hand that had once been bold, strong, but was now shaky; the other, in a woman's looping, graceful, feminine hand, and edged in black.
Both were addressed to his father.
"Thank you, ma'am," Jacob said, and the smile faded from his young face.
There was a tug at his coat tail, and he looked down to see a little boy looking up at him.
"Hey Mister!" the lad exclaimed in the high, piping voice of the very young. "You got a letter?"
Jacob blinked, grinning, and he squatted down to get to the lad's level. "I've got two of 'em," he said, waving them in front of him.
"Does that mean I get two penny candies?"
Jacob couldn't help it, he laughed, ruffling the lad's hair afffectionately. "You want two penny candies, do you?" he grinned.
"I want three of 'em!" the young shyster replied, looking greedily at the candy jar.
Jacob winked at Miz Maude and fished around in a pocket. "Tell you what," he said, "I'll flip you for it. Heads, you get three pieces, tails you get one."
"Aww!" There was disappointment in the lad's voice.
"No?" Jacob handed the coin to Maude. "Two, please."
Maude handed the blond-headed urchin two sticks of peppermint. "What do you tell the man?" she reminded in her best schoolmarm's voice.
"Sure would like to have another!" came the grinning answer, and he bolted for the door, waving his prizes in triumph.
Jacob straightened, laughing, and then looked down at the missives he held.
"Pa won't like this," he said, settling his hat on his head, and headed for the door.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-5-08

 

Duzy had become so comfortable in her bath that she dozed, luxuriating in the feel on the water against her body and the scent of lavender. Suddenly she could see Jake and felt danger, hearing gunshots, and images of Mary Sloan with Jake. She awoke and looked around, realizing she was still in Saint Louis and not knowing how much time had passed.

Was Jake in trouble? Was it a dream, or perhaps a vision? Reaching for her robe, she stepped out of the bath and walked over to the window, looking out at the streets of Saint Louis. Looking at the time, she realized she would need to dress for the evening as Marshall Sopris would be returning. As she turned, she heard a knock on the door and heard the Marshall, “Duzy, may I come in?” Pulling her robe around her and tying it, she walked to the door and opened it.

Marshall Sopris was standing in the doorway, flowers in his hand, and Duzy could only wonder where he had found such exquisite flowers at this time of year! Flushing from embarrassment at letting the time get away from her and due to her state of dress, Duzy asked the Marshall to, “please come in, but as you can see, I will need a little time to dress.” “No problem, Duzy dear, you look charming with suds on your chin!” Laughing mischievously, he added, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Reaching up to wipe at the bubbles, Duzy replied, “Well, first of all, you can wipe that smirk off your face while I get these gorgeous flowers into a vase! And thank you, they are beautiful.”

“You’re welcome, and I will be happy to do that for you, while you dress, that is unless you would prefer to have dinner in. I could arrange that, you know!”

Not knowing whether the Marshall was being serious or playful, Duzy decided to call his bluff. “Hmmm, dinner in the room, and then what do you have in mind, Marshall?”

Walking further into Duzy’s room, Duzy thought she may have overstepped herself and backed up a step, and then watched as the Marshall opened the door that adjoined the two rooms, and just before closing the door that entered into his room, he turned and said, “Knock when you are ready or if you have need of anything. I will be waiting. And, Duzy, be careful, I may forget I am a gentleman the next time you ask that question!”

“I thought I was replying to your question, Marshall, but for now I will take your advice, besides, there is still a lot to see, and I have a question I need to ask you.”

“Sounds serious, is something bothering you?”

“Would you happen to know if Jake made it to San Francisco safely? I had a dream that involved gunfire and I do not know if it was just a dream or a premonition.”

“I haven’t heard anything, but to put your mind at ease, I will do some checking for you,” he replied, as he closed the door separating the two rooms.

Duzy stared at the door for a few seconds, and then turned to dress for the evening.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-5-08

 

Just before leaving for the evening…Saint Louis, Day 1

Dear Diary,

I must say I have looked for the perfect evening dress, with a cape that will keep me warm, until I wish for the days of my Nanny, when she would pick up after my strewn clothing before leaving for a dance, tea or other special event! I know how terrible I must sound, and selfish too! I am so fortunate, and I really do not mind picking up after myself. I only wish I could be more decisive.

I finally chose my garnet red evening gown, worn off the shoulder, long gloves, flowers and jewels in my hair and around my neck, along with a long cape, made of velvet, matching shoes, reticule and with my ever present derringer and the knife I keep strapped to my leg! I love it that the Marshall always wear his Colts, almost unnoticed, unless you know him! One cannot ever be too careful!

The air is chilly, but I find myself looking forward to getting out and seeing more sights! We will dine at the Faust Restaurant and see the arc lights as they are at night! The Saint Louis Symphony has opened this year, and I would love to attend! I will ask the Marshall if that would be something he would enjoy!

The Marshall is challenging, with me never knowing for sure what he is thinking and I find that I enjoy it! Sometimes, like earlier today, I wonder at my recklessness! How would I have reacted if he had not gone to his room?

I certainly hope that Jake is safe now and that what I felt is another of my visions! I wonder if I will ever completely know reality, as it is at this moment only. Will all my visions come true? Or, are they part fantasy and imagination? I wish I knew for sure!

Time to stop writing and to knock on the Marshall’s door to be on our way…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 4-6-08

 

"Mama?"

"Yes, Sarah."

"Do you think Aunty Duzy will wear that pretty red gown you made her? You know the one that slips off the shoulders?"

Bonnie chuckled, "Well, Sarah, it is 'supposed' to slip off the shoulders, and yes, I imagin she will wear it while in St Louis. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know .... Don't you think she'll get cold?"

Another chuckle escaped Bonnies lips, "That is why she has her wrap and cloak, my darling. She'll be fine."

Actually, Bonnie wondered a great deal about her friend. Duzy spoke often about her emotional delema concerning Kid Sopris and Jake. Though she cared a great deal for the Kid, Bonnie had a soft spot for Jake. Kid always seemed so mysterious .... sometimes Bonnie would look at Kid's face expression looking toward Bonnie, and seeming to know things that Bonnie couldn't help but wonder if they were things that somehow concerned Bonnie herself.

But Jake! He was wonderfully and beautifully in love with Duzy. He seemed to Bonnie to be the kind of man that supported honor. "Tish tosh," Bonnie thought, "that horrid nonsense with that horrid woman! Everyone knows Jake wouldn't openly betray Duzy that way!"

Then Bonnie's thoughts went in another direction. Her inlaws would be arriving at some point soon .... though she loved them dearly, she was not exactly looking forward to their being in Firelands. Other than the Christening of Polly and Opal taking place while they were in Firelands, she dreaded seeing them ....

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 4-6-08

 

The two men who were with Badger and Arlen looked at each other, then at the thicket Bo and Weldon had gone into. The screaming had stopped now but it went on in their heads. "What say we get outta here?" the blond one whispered to his companion.

"Arlen'll shoot us fer sure," the dark-haired one whispered back. They had frozen facing away from Badger and Arlen so their words went undetected.

"Not if we're quiet," came the answer. "If we slip out yonder, we can take off before them two can get a shot off." Both men were seriously afraid of Badger and Arlen, but they were more afraid of being eaten by a dog the size of a Percheron. That sucker was bloody huge.

"Alright, let's do it." The two men began to gently slide their feet across the ground, listening intently behind them in an attempt to learn whether or not their desertion of the cause would be noticed. They were nearly to the street, watching their feet carefully, when there was a belch from just in front of them. The blond one lifted his eyes and instantly a dark stain began to grow in the front of his britches.

"Jeff," he gasped, still trying to be quiet.

"What?" Jeff asked in an irritable whisper.

"Look!" Jeff lifted his own eyes to an apparition straight from Hell.

Dawg stood in front of the two men. His ruff was standing up and his lips curled back from red-stained fangs that to Jeff's startled eyes appeared to be as big as railroad spikes. Dawg's eyes picked up the last of the late afternoon sunlight that streaked the clearing and glowed red. Strings of red drool dripped from his jaws to the ground and a snarl rumbled deep in his chest. The stark white of the bandages wrapping his shoulder and across his chest served merely to emphasize his savage appearance.

"RUN!" Jeff screamed and leaped into a sprint. His partner was only slightly slower. Dawg held his position and the two men split to run around him. Dawg's jaws snapped once and Jeff screeched as hide and a small chunk of canvas covered buttock was neatly removed from his left cheek. Jeff accelerated and the two men disappeared down the street.

Scorsby had kept his eyes locked on Charlie all the while Dawg had been reducing the two men he had sent into the brush to mincemeat. And he didn't flinch when Jeff's screech rent the air. Scorsby looked at Badger from the corner of his eye. "MacNeil's mine," he said softly. "You take the trapper."

"Alright," Badger said calmly, and went for his gun.

Badger was fast, and Badger was mean. But there was no way Badger was going to beat a shotgun that was already cocked. His Colt appeared in his hand as if by magic and he dove to his left, hoping to pull Willy off balance, but Willy wasn't buying it. The cutdown Greener roared and a double load of buckshot turned Badger's dive into a death roll. He came to a sliding stop in a welter of blood and a cloud of dust. Even so, slashed and torn by the hail of lead, Badger tried to bring his Colt to bear but the gun suddenly seemed to weigh so much. Badger took a breath that rattled in his chest and tried to force the gun to lift but it was too much. He exhaled heavily and lay still with his wide open eyes staring up at the slowly dimming sky.

On his best day, Badger was no match for Arlen Scorsby. And Charlie knew there was no way he was either. He had been counting on the drawn gun to possibly put some sense between Arlen's ears, but apparently that had been wishful thinking. When Badger made his move so did Scorsby. Scorsby's draw was lightning fast and Charlie got suckered.

He'd been expecting Scorsby to draw with the hand hovering by his belt. Instead Scorsby's left hand streaked into his vest and came out with double-action Webley revolver that began to spit lead as soon as it came out in the open.

Charlie felt something slam him in the left side just above his hip bone and he squeezed the trigger of the gun in his hand. That bullet went into the dirt. His left hand flew across his body and he fanned three shots into Scorsby's chest, knocking puffs of dust from Arlen's shirt and spraying blood across his chin and chest. Arlen was knocked back a step but he kept firing wildly until the Webley's hammer dropped on a spent cartridge.

The Webley hit the dirt and Scorsby reached for his holstered Colt. Charlie's last shot slammed into the base of Arlen's throat and knocked him off his feet. The Colt flew to the side. Arlen was growling deep in his chest even as each breath fanned a red mist into the air in front of his face. His eyes were locked on Charlie while he felt around him for the Colt.

"Give it up, Scorsby!" Charlie gritted through a red mist of pain from the wolverine that was trying to tear its way out of his side. He stepped forward and kicked the Colt away from Scorsby's searching hand and nearly went down as the wolverine took another bite. He staggered back and watched with one hand pressed to his side as Arlen Scorsby slumped down in the pool of red mud he lay in and his eyes closed. Scorsby blew out one final breath of red and stopped moving.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-7-08

 

I looked at the envelope and almost smiled.
I knew the handwriting.
I also knew it could not mean good news.
I broke the red wax seal and withdrew the folded half-sheet.
I read the words, read them again, and folded the sheet back up, and slipped it slowly back into the envelope.
My legs were going numb under me and it felt like a cork had been drawn out of my boot heel and my strength was all running out on the ground.
I cleared my throat.
"Jacob?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Could you have Rose saddled for me, please?"
"Yes, sir." Jacob's eyes were concerned, and he almost asked a question but thought better of it, and he headed for the livery with that long-legged stride of his.
I leaned against a porch post, took off my hat, ran my fingers through my scalp.
Old, I thought. You're getting old.
I just stood there for a while, looking off at the horizon, where the blue met the brown, yonder, past the Jewel and beyond the livery, and I took off my coat and folded it over my arm and held my hat in the same hand, and bent over and shoved my face down into the rain barrel.
The water was cold, cold, and I blew like buffalo when I came up, and slung water off me with my free hand.
Jacob rode up on Rose, dismounted.
I shrugged into my coat, settled my hat on my wet head.
"Jacob, I'll be at the Phillips ranch if I'm needed, off east of here. They've had rustlers."
"Yes, sir," Jacob said, and I don't even remember the effort of swinging up into the saddle.
It was still a little chilly and Rose was frisky and wanted to run, and I held her back a little until she got stretched out. It had been a while since I'd run her and I didn't want her to get hurt.
I pointed her nose east and she started to flow like water under me.