Firelands-The Beginning

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-20-08

 

Apple-horse stood patiently, for a change, there in the middle of the street, ears swiveling and tail busy in the lengthening sunlight.
Jacob looked long at the library.
He had need of a soft hand in his, a gentle voice on his ears, a gentle soul to soothe his own.
Jacob turned Apple-horse and looked at the Sheriff's office.
He needed a father's strength, a father's hand on his shoulder, the ear of authority for his troubled voice.
Jacob turned Apple-horse and looked at the Jewel.
He needed a good square meal.
His belly rumbled and Apple's ears swiveled back at the sound.
Jacob laughed, a little, and patted Apple's neck.
"Come on, fellow," he said, with reins and knee-pressure, "let's go see the Sheriff. Might be he's hungry too."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-22-08

 

At the back of the railcar, Kid stood and scanned the sky. An uneasy feeling had made him reach for his cloak, hooded against wind, rain, or someone trying to make his identity, a gut feeling that had served him for years. When he saw the clouds start to swirl and reach toward the ground, he hurried inside, lifted Duzy off the bed, and laid her on the floor, as he pulled the mattress off the bed and over the two of them, him atop her, shielding, another instinct to protect. For an instant, he realized he would always be a lawman, retired, or not.

Duzy tried to look into Kid’s eyes, to find a clue to his thoughts of their outcome, but there was only darkness, and then his voice, “hold on Duzy, we may be in for the ride of our lives, and we need to stay together!” Duzy wrapped her arms around Kid; feeling the shaking of the railcar beneath them, and remembered her dream. The sound was like nothing she could remember, furious, unyielding, and suddenly the car left the tracks.

After a while, Duzy stopped hearing anything, stopped feeling anything, and had no idea whether she would ever see her family and friends again. She had heard that before you die, you see your life flash before you, and in those moments, she did.

The beautiful mountains of North Carolina where she had played with her siblings, watching her parents kissing under the pine tree, graduating from high school, then college, meeting Fannie, the decision to become a journalist, the job offer from Firelands, killing Bert Graves, meeting and loving Sarah, Bonnie, and Tilly, her precious Aunt Esther and Uncle Linn at their wedding, building the Silver Jewel, Jacob, Daisy, Sean, Mr. Baxter, Emma and Jackson, Dawg, Twain Dawg, Charlie and Fannie, Kid, Jake, flashes of her times with each of these people, and others, and their times together, and then oblivion, a young life cut short.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-22-08

 

Jacob removed his Stetson as he came into the Silver Jewel.
His father wasn't in the Sheriff's office, and his appetite won out over any further search: he swept the room as he came in, as he always did, easily, automatically; he nodded to Tilly behind the desk, smiled as he saw the busy flash of Mr. Baxter's elbow, and the ever-present polishing cloth.
He looked up the stairs.
The Sheriff had Esther on his arm. His mustache was freshly waxed and curled into a modest handlebar; Esther, as always, was striking, and just before her smile washed out everything else, he saw the cameo brooch he'd given her, in against her throat, bedded in a nest of ruffles.
They'd just made the second step when Esther hesitated; her right hand seized the hand rail and she nearly fell.
The Sheriff spun, his left bootsole planting hard and flat on the next step down; he spun, his left arm coming around her middle, his hand locking around the hand rail.
Jacob's Stetson wobbled slowly in mid-air, discarded and forgotten, as he launched himself up the stairs two at a time.
The Sheriff ran his right arm under Esther, just above the small of her back, his left thrusting under her knees; he picked her up, bounced her a little to settle her in his arms.
Tillie, curious, was half-risen from her chair, looking at the space where Jacob had been just a moment ago. She heard a low-voiced, urgent conversation, then slow, heavy footsteps; a door opening, closing.
Mr. Baxter came around the end of the bar, folding the towel neatly over his arm, and directed an inquisitive look at Tillie.
Tillie felt his gaze and turned, spreading her hands in a mute confession of ignorance.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-22-08

 

Jacob and his father worked together, quickly, silently, with the efficiency of practice and close association: Jacob turned down the covers of the single bed Esther kept in her office, for those long nights when business kept her from home, or she might feel the need for a nap: Linn swung her into bed, hesitated, then quickly divested her of the gown she wore: he worked silently, frowning, with a look Jacob had seen before.
Jacob knew his father believed something was very wrong, but he also knew that his father could handle the situation.
Linn released Esther's corset, using the bedsheet to maintain her modesty, and rested his fingers lightly on the side of her throat, then against her cheek.
He looked over, at the bureau. Jacob followed his gaze and smiled.
He poured water from the pitcher into the basin, and brought the basin over, and two towels.
Esther woke to the feeling of having her left hand carefully washed with a damp cloth, and her face; she moaned, shaking her head, and her emerald eyes snapped open, regarding the tin ceiling with alarm. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, shivering.
"My dear?" Linn asked gently, her hand in both of his.
He felt the tension in her, felt her tremble, felt the effort she put into composing herself.
Jacob drew up a chair for his father. Linn got up off his right knee. "Thank you," he said quietly, and settled gratefully into the seat.
Esther looked over at Jacob, and back at her husband.
Jacob looked down at his hands, not quite sure what he should do next.
Esther slid her free hand under the sheet, found her corset open in front; she gave her husband a quizzical look.
"You needed to breathe easy," he said simply.
Her eyes flicked over to Jacob.
"He was the perfect gentleman, my dear," Linn assured her. "I handled the..." he cleared his throat -- "delicate arrangements."
Esther bit her bottom lip.
She cleared her own throat, started to say something, closed her mouth and thought a moment.
"Jacob," she said suddenly, "you've familiarized yourself with the railroad's bookkeeping, have you not?"
"I have, ma'am," he nodded, giving his father a puzzled look.
"Do you think you can keep track of expenses, authorize expenditures, oversee the rebuilding of the depot?"
"I can, ma'am," he said without hesitation.
"Good." She seemed to relax a little.
"Ma'am?" Jacob asked.
Esther reached out her left hand. Jacob took it in both his own, just as his father had done her other hand.
"The two most important men in my life," she said with a smile, giving each of them a squeeze. "I have wonderful news."
Linn and Jacob leaned forward just a little, listening closely.
"I am with child."
Jacob's grin split his face and threatened to run clear around to the nape of his neck. Linn's was no less delighted; he gathered a deep breath and bit back the yell of joy that rose unbidden.
A tear rolled over the dam of Esther's left eye, and trickled back toward her ear, and another: her right eye, in like manner, began to leak, then to flood, and Esther sat up, and reached for her husband, and clutched him with a desperate, fearful grip.
Linn gathered her into his arms and held her as she sobbed, heartbroken.
Jacob's expression was one of alarm.
He'd seen his father in his many moods; he'd stood shoulder to shoulder with the man as they faced death together, as they fought drunks and robbers together, he'd laughed with his father, raced with his father, wrestled and boxed and shot with his father.
He had never seen this expression on his father's face.
He looked at his father now, and he saw fear.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-22-08

 

When Jake arrived in Marshville, he had a sick feeling inside, not just looking at the devastation of almost the entire town; no, this was something more personal, and as he read the list of passengers that were on the incoming train, he suddenly realized why. The last car, a private railcar, had the names, Kid Sopris and Duzy Wales Sopris.

“No!” It was only one word, but the thoughts behind it were many. Could it be true that Duzy and Kid were now married? Were they alive? The storm had not did as much damage to the train itself, as it had the town, even though it had hit in four places that they could determine. Jake went in search of the private railcar and found it off the track, lying almost 500 yards away, overturned.

Carefully making his way inside, he called out their names, hoping to hear some sign of life, but no one was there. As he turned, he noticed Duzy’s diary in the corner, and picked it up and began to read. The words filled him with joy and hope in the beginning, as she spoke of their love and plans for the future, and then she had written of the heart wrenching pain of his tryst with Mary Sloan. As he turned the pages, he began to read about the trip to Washington, and how close she was becoming to Kid, and the last two entries tore at his heart. Would he ever know what she had decided? Would he have the chance to find out?

As he left the railcar, he looked for any signs of Duzy and Kid leaving the car, but the rain had washed away any evidence of anyone being there, and then he noticed a small cemetery, another 50 feet away, probably a family plot, sitting atop a hill, and turned away, not wanting to think of that final scene. Jake returned to the Court House, which was now serving as the morgue, to search each person that had not already been buried.

After an extensive search at the courthouse, neither Duzy nor Kid could be found. Jake, along with two of his men, left to search the perimeters of the railcar, not expecting to find anyone. With a heavy heart, and unspeakable grief, he wrote the words that were to be sent to Firelands, as soon as the wires were back up, wishing he could go in person, but knowing he had a job to do.

To: Sheriff Linn Keller, Firelands, Colorado
Duzy and Kid missing.
Presumed dead.
Marshall Jake Thomas, Marshville, Missouri

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-23-08

 

I soothed Esther as best I could.
Jacob parked his backside in the other chair, drawn up on the other side of the bed from me, and Esther rolled over toward me and I bundled her up in my arms and fetched her off the bed, wrapped in the sheet, and set her on my lap and held her like I would hold a frightened child.
Esther did her best to muffle her sobs into my shoulder but she wasn't too good at it.
Jacob chewed his bottom lip and looked through the mattress like it wasn't there. I know the look he had on his face, for I've seen it on my own, on those rare times when a mirror was accidentally handy.
Seemed like maybe a year later when Esther came up for air. Her hair was not nearly as neat as when we started down the stairs, and I brushed it away from her eyes; bloodshot they were, and watery, but still the beautiful, emerald, bottomless ocean of green I'd fallen in love with.
I kissed the end of her nose.
"You must think me a weak and foolish woman," she said in a quivery voice.
I hugged her to me, rocking her a little. "I think no such thing, dear heart," I said gently, and the chair broke under me and we both went straight down to the floor.
I let out a sound like a wounded bull and Jacob vaulted the bed, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, eyes big with alarm.
I looked up at him and tried to laugh, but hitting the floor of a sudden with Esther atop me knocked the wind out of me and all I could do was make faces and try and breathe.
Esther rolled off me all a-flutter and started to cry again, and this time Jacob held her, which had the dual benefit of soothing her distress and keeping the bed sheet from slipping any further.
I finally got enough wind in me to start to laugh.
Jacob's eyes lit up and he grinned, not daring to give voice to the sight of his old man sprawled on the floor among the litter of what used to be a chair, but Esther felt his inner convulsions as he manfully stifled his laughter. Alarmed, she drew back; Jacob could contain himself no more, and the two of us entertained outselves for a few moments expressing the humor of the situation.
Esther looked from one to the other of us, wrapping the sheet around her and over one shoulder like a Roman toga, and started to chuckle herself. She turned and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Jacob ran a hand under my arm -- surprising how strong the lad is already! I thought, and we got me back on my feet.
Jacob busied himself cleaning up the remnants of the chair and I sat beside Esther, my arm around her shoulders, her head leaned over into me.
"My dear," I said, "that's not quite what I had planned."
Esther started to giggle, and the laughter started all over again.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 4-24-08

 

Duzy heard Kid calling out for her. When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the ground, and when she called out, he stumbled toward her and fell to his knees, thankful that he had found her! He remembered vividly when they could not hold onto each other any longer, and he felt lost until he heard her voice. The darkness surrounded them and the rain beat down as Duzy reached out to him, and felt his lips as they came down on hers, a passion ignited so intensely that neither could deny it, for they were both alive! When he started to pull away, Duzy said, “No don’t stop, I need you,” and he kissed her again, and she responded as if her very life depended on this moment, at this time, with this man, and there was a flash of lightning, and Duzy could see the headstones around them and she realized they were in a cemetery and was living her vision.

Jake had hoped with all his heart that he would find Duzy and Kid alive, but the scene before him was almost too much to endure. He knew at that moment how Duzy had felt when she had heard that he had been with Mary Sloan. Duzy was lying in Kid’s arms, each kissing the other, and they suddenly looked up, as they heard Jake approach. Duzy knew that it was Jake, even in the darkness, and started to speak, but he turned and walked away, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe and needed time before he saw either of them again. Jake asked the two men with him to see that they made it safely to Saint Louis.

At that moment, Chang called out and Kid answered. Soon, the trio realized how lucky they really were, as Chang pointed out the prisoner, who was impaled upon a broken tree, and as the light began to break over the horizon, they could see rubble that lay around their bodies, and yet they were all able to walk away and make it to safety!

Jake returned to town and began to help his team dig more graves, praying that they could keep the town from the next danger of such a magnitude, the diseases that usually followed if too much time passed without proper burial and the flooded waters became contaminative. Jake, like many of the men working, could feel his tears well up and drop to the ground, as he continued doing what he had been sent there to do, knowing that Duzy was still alive, and yet feeling the grief of losing her heart to another man.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-24-08

 

"Sir?"
I looked up.
I'd been studying my hat intently enough that I think I memorized the pattern in the hatband well enough to draw it in my sleep.
I blinked.
"I'm sorry, Jacob. What was the question again?"
Jacob was leaned against one wall, I against the other, outside the door stenciled Z&W RAILROAD. E. KELLER, PROP.
"Sir, do you think it wise that we're out here, and ..." -- he hesitated, unsure for a moment -- "and Mother is within?"
I grinned. "Jacob, unless we hear her hit the floor, I think this is the best arrangement."
"Yes, sir." Jacob looked down at his knuckles, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The handle of his right-hand Colt thumped quietly against the wall, padded only a little by his overlying coat tail.
The office door opened, quickly, silent on oiled hinges, and Jacob started, surprised.
Esther smiled at us, looking as fresh and tidy as if she'd just stepped out of Creation itself. She'd changed her gown, fixed her hair and traded out Jacob's scrimshaw brooch for her emerald, and I think she pinched her cheeks a few times to get the color up in them.
She put her hands on her hips. "Well, if you men are done solving the problems of the universe, I'm in the mood for some supper! I understand Daisy came into some particularly good beef today!"
The hall was not wide enough for each of us to have an armful of Esther: Jacob stepped back, one step, a mark of respect, Esther took my proffered arm, and we three went downstairs to the Jewel.
Truth be told, supper sounded pretty good.
Tilly smiled at us and gave Esther a secret look, something subtle that passes between women; more is told in a glance, a tilt of the head, or perhaps a slight incline of the hand, than a man's eye will ever divine: I knew there was something communicated, but bless me if I knew quite what.
We convened at our regular table. Daisy must have figured Jacob and I had the appetites of thrashers, for she set out enough mashed taters and gravy to feed a platoon, beef enough to fuel a squadron, a combined mass that would have amounted to a good start for the Irish Brigade: this and good homemade bread, fresh churned butter, hot coffee and cool cream.
We ate like kings.
The main door opened, there was a hurried step; I looked and could just see Daisy's hand, and then Lightning's boy came almost timidly into the dining room.
He held a telegraph flimsy and a sick expression.
My heart sank.
I pushed my plate away and reached for the flimsy, handed him a coin and unfolded it, read Lightning's precise block print, read it again.
Duzy and Kid missing, I read. Presumed dead.
Both ...?
Somehow the Kid's death seemed easier to deal with than Duzy's.
I remembered Duzy, warm and firm in my arms, at once my dear niece and yet all woman, beautiful and desirable and complex and confusing and so alive, so very alive, and her eyes were deep and liquid and I could have swum in her eyes ...
I closed my own eyes and seized my feelings with an iron grip.
Presumed, I thought. Wait for confirmation.
Missing in action, that's all. The Kid's resourceful. He'll bring them through.
I opened my eyes, looked across the table at Jacob, then at Esther.
"I believe there is pie," I said quietly.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-27-08

 

Miz Emma, the schoolmarm, was known throughout the community as a sweet soul, a charming woman with a gentle nature: accepting, longsuffering, patient, tolerant, she managed to keep order and the interest of her students, despite their varied age and the single room of their schoolhouse.
It caused a bit of a stir, therefore, when Miz Emma launched herself out of the end pew and in three long strides, seized the little boy by his crossed galluses and landed flat on her face.
Parson Belden, behind his podium, was frozen with an expression somewhere between delight, dismay and utter surprise; it was one of the only occasions when the man was truly ever speechless.
Annette, at the piano, had jerked her delicate fingers from the keys as if they were scalding hot.
Esther was pressing a kerchief to her nose to hide the laughter she was trying very hard to stifle, the Sheriff was holding her other hand and grinning broadly, and Mr. Baxter was laughing heartily.
The young miscreant, scrabbling against restraint, managed to drag Miz Emma about a foot before the strong hand of justice descended upon the nape of his neck; his father, with a firm grip and a stern voice, backed his son up far enough for Miz Emma to disengage her hold on the boy's suspenders, and Jackson Cooper reached down and picked his wife bodily off the floor.
Jackson Cooper was laughing, his ears were absolutely flaming red, and as Emma came off the floor and to her feet, she too started to laugh.
The church hadn't heard that much community merriment in its entire history.
The young rascal was marched to the front of the church, his face flaming with embarassment, and his father said in the stern but quiet voice that fathers use in such moments, "Now tell us what you did."
The boy's eyes were on the scrubbed, varnished floor as he pointed to the piano.
"I put tacks on the piano things."
"Tacks?" his father asked, surprised.
Miss Messman gave middle C a tentative peck.
The sound was not quite what a good church piano should sound like.
The middle C strings were not hit with a felt hammer.
They were rapped with the hard face of a steel headed tack, a tack pressed into the felt hammer by the industrious, and mischievious, right thumb of the young scalawag currently squirming before the congregation.
She tried a quick treble run, her mouth open with surprise, and was dismayed at the rinky-tink saloon-piano sound it elicited.
Jacob was seated in the very front row: no one had asked, but all knew, it was because he wanted to be close to her: the imp of mischief, having spoken to the boy, now whispered in Jacob's ear, and he leaned forward, cupping his hand around Miss Messman's left ear as he whispered an idea.
"Jacob, no!" she stage-whispered, swatting at him.
He nodded toward the piano, made a go-ahead gesture.
She looked at him over her spectacles, straightened her back, squared her shoulders and raised her chin.
The church quieted, and the good Parson cleared his throat.
Miss Messman began playing, not the solemn, stately notes of the selected hymn, but a lively tune familiar to nearly all the men in the church, for all had heard it played, but never in a house of worship.
In fact, the last time they'd heard this particular tune played, it was in a Kansas City saloon, and was the tune preferred by certain ladies who danced the can-can on stage and otherwise disported themselves publicly for the entertainment of the gentlemen.
A weather beaten old cattleman in the very back row guffawed, and the laughter started again, and the little boy, firmly imprisoned in his father's grip, squirmed futilely, wishing mightily he'd been more fleet of foot, or that the schoolmarm had been just a bit slower.
Annette stopped after a dozen bars, folded her hands primly in her lap, and glared at Jacob over her spectacles.
"Satisfied?" she mouthed.
Parson Belden's laughter coasted to a stop. He wiped his eyes, blew his nose noisily and harrumphed again, unable to contain a broad grin.
"Friends, kindred and brethren," he chuckled, "today's sermon was going to be 'Make a Joyful Noise Unto the Lord,' but I believe we've just had that message put into practice. I don't believe anything would delight the Almighty more than good healthy laughter." He looked down from the pulpit.
"This does not excuse you, young man, but I believe your father is better suited to tend this matter than am I."
The young man found himself being summarily escorted, with the All Encompassing Hand of Doom firmly fixed upon the back of his neck, to the side door of the church, and then outside: and his heart fell a mile and a half as he watched his father's big hand snatch a switch off a nearby tree.
Justice was swiftly served.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 4-29-08

 

Esther's tread was slow and her expression thoughtful as we left the church: as usual there were many who wanted to stop, and shake hands, and talk; I listened attentively to reports of rustling here, of an odd campfire there, I took note of chance comments dropped accidentally, and filed them away in the mental "Book of Useful Knowledge" all lawmen maintain.
I'd traded for a fine Sunday buggy, carefully selecting one not quite as nice as Jackson and Emma Cooper's. Jackson was my deputy, and earning a deputy's wage, which wasn't all that much, but it's all the county would allow: Emma made some as schoolmarm, and as I was on the school board, I saw to it that she too was paid, but there was a delicate issue as well: it would not do to have the wife earning more than the husband, not in this Victorian era: and so I arranged anonymous gratuities, supposedly from parents of her several students.
Truth be told, only one of the parents ever did give Emma any cash money, but most were quick enough to insinuate that they too had contributed largesse to the project.
Emma's bonuses came from me, and mine came from my share of the gold taken out of the nearby mine.
Many's the time I blessed the Rosenthal who came through and bought up the mineral rights, and my own realization that I should buy into it when I could.
At this rate, I thought, Jacob will be left a good legacy.
Every father wants to see his son do better than he himself has done, and I was no different. Jacob and I had discussed his attending university. His eighth-grade education, thanks to his own native intelligence and Miz Emma's kind labors, equaled or surpassed any in the Territory. I doubted me not he could excel in a college as well.
Jacob thought it over, and talked it over, and slept on it several nights, and finally decided that he would take his chances without a formal college education. Maybe he was influenced by the drunken revellers when he passed through Athens with that arrest warrant, he never did say, but I respected his decision.
Jacob had hired a buggy; he and Miss Messman drove out of town to the east, and Esther and I, to the west: each of us had some talking to do, I reckon.
I know Esther and I did.
It's quite an occasion when a wife tells her husband she is with child.
I was at once ecstatic, and apprehensive.
Connie, dear Connie, had died of the small pox, and me away at war, and our sweet little girl, dead of the same: sometimes I thought it a blessing that I got to see her for the few moments I did before she, too, followed Connie into the Valley; sometimes it felt like salt, ground into my raw soul.
And now Esther.
Childbirth is a chancy business. I know women have been having children for thousands of years, many without a doctor's help. I'd watched native mothers grip a small tree, and squat down, and birth their first child, in utter silence, and with apparently no complications.
I'd seen others die of a hard birth, or bleed to death, or die of childbirth fever not long after.
We drove out of town for some distance, and turned a big circle in the high prairie meadow, and I Ho'd to the team, and they ho'd, and stood hip-shot like they were ready to collapse: I'd driven this team before and knew them to be a pair of fakers. They had good endurance and were reasonably fast and besides, they bribed easily with the few dried, wrinkled apples I had left over in the barrel, and so I went down and bribed them again, and hitched the anchor stone to their bridles, and they were content to stamp, and swish their tails, and take the occasional mouthful of grass.
I reached up and took Esther under the arms and swung her out of the buggy, and she laughed as she often did, away from town and away from the railroad and away from responsibility, and I held her tight to me and she held me back, and I tossed my hat up onto the buggy seat and leaned my face down toward hers.
To this day I remember how soft her lips were that noonday, and how she smelled, and how alive, and whole, and perfect,she felt in my arms.
We walked a little, slowly, holding hands, not saying much.
Esther was scanning the cold ground for early flowers; me, I pulled a weed stem and chewed on it for a bit.
I spoke first.
"Dearest?"
"Hm?" She faced me with a half-smile and a turn, and her skirt swung and shimmered in the sun.
"You said you are with child."
Her eyes veiled, and she nodded, pressing a knuckle to her lips.
I took her elbows in my hands. "How far along are you?"
"Not long," she said hesitantly. "I missed my moon-time, and ... and I am late on this."
"Have you had the morning sickness?"
"No." She passed a hand over her eyes. "Not yet, anyway."
"You might not," I ventured. "Some women don't."
She looked up at me without raising her head. "My dear, a woman can tell."
"I don't doubt it. You know yourself better than anyone."
Esther sighed. "My moods ... " She looked quickly up at me. "My temper is sharper than it was, my ... my dear, I am afraid I may fly off the handle!"
I laughed and brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "The earth would sooner stop turning than you would lose your temper," I murmured.
Esther's hands were warm on my chest. "My dear, do you remember the German swordsman I faced on the riverboat?"
I blinked. "I do, dearest, and so does a whole boatload of people!"
She patted my shirt front. "I fought with a cold, logical precision. Some people say women can't think logically. I am afraid not to." Her emerald eyes were troubled. "My dear, I fear that I shall become all too womanly with this pregnancy, and that I may become a harpy!"
I took her face gently, so gently, in my hands. "That you know it, and you fear it, tells me you will not do it," I said quietly. "You may feel the impulse, an occasional word may slip through the guard of your gates, but I doubt me not you'll keep your wolf in its cage."
"More like a badger, the way I've been feeling," she muttered, crossing her arms and turning away from me.
This is new, I thought. Is this its beginning?
I came around in front of her; I did not touch her this time.
I cocked my head a little, stepped back, regarded her full length, studied her closely.
Esther could not help but smile, and color a little.
I nodded.
"Your complexion is healthier," I observed, "a little softer, if I'm any judge. Esther, whether you are with child, you are lovelier than you've been!"
"You're just saying that!" she snapped, reddening, then looked sorrowfully up at me. "I'm sorry, my dear. You meant well, I know, and I don't know why I said that!"
"I do." My fingertips were under her elbows, just touching, no more than just touching. "You're scared. So am I. It's no light thing to carry a new life under your heart!"
Esther ran her arms around me and clung with the desperation of a drowning man to a life-ring. I felt her shivering a little.
"I've wanted a child for so very long," she whispered. "I have wanted a little girl to dress in ribbons and ruffles, a little boy who would chase after a hoop and bring me frogs and wildflowers and track dirt into the house."
"And I," I confessed, "I so wanted my Dana to grow to fine womanhood. I wanted her to ride, standing easily behind me on the saddle, regarding the world with bright and fearless eyes." I kissed the top of Esther's head. "I wanted to raise horses and children."
"Really?" Esther looked up, her eyes bright with womanly tears.
I nodded. "Really."
"How many?"
"Oh, at least a dozen."
"Children?" she exclaimed, drawing back a little, shocked.
I threw my head back and laughed. "Good Lord, no! Horses! Out here, fifty at least ... but not, not that many children."
Esther began to giggle, and buried her face in my vest front, and began to laugh. "Fifty children!" she laughed, and her laughter was sweet to hear.
We held each other for a long several minutes, soaking up the sun shine, listening to the birds, and the wind, and the horses.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-1-08

 

We drove slowly back toward Firelands, the horses content to walk, and I content not to hurry them.
Esther held my arm. She seemed inclined to say more, and I figured the best way to encourage this was to stay silent.
I figured wrong.
Finally I looked over at her and said "If this infernal silence gets much thicker I'll have to slice it open with a knife just to poke my head through it and say howdy!"
Esther laughed, and the spell was broken.
"It's Duzy," she blurted. "I know something has happened."
I nodded. "Ho," I spoke to the horses, and they were quite happy to ho again, lazy natured as they were.
I turned in the seat to face Esther. "Tell me what you saw."
Her eyes were troubled. "Not saw, not exactly," she murmured, "more like ... it's like I was there, for just a moment. A terrible moment!" She shivered, and I bundled her up in my arms.
"You're here now," I said quietly, "you're safe, Esther. I will let nothing happen to you. Tell me what happened."
"Darkness, cold ... cold and wet." She shivered. "It sounded like a tornado. I remember when the tornado came through our farm, when I was a little girl. Mama had us in the root cellar, with a lantern, and she drew the doors shut over us and held them, for there was no bar on the inside." She took a long breath. "I think it must have been a tornado. It felt like we -- she -- I fell over." She smiled up at me and almost laughed. "And there was the feeling of hiding under a mattress, a clean mattress. I could smell the ticking." She sighed. "I don't suppose I'm making any sense, am I?"
"If there were a death, would you feel it?" I asked her directly.
Her eyes cleared. "Yes," she said firmly.
I nodded.
"This bears troubling news," I said, drawing the flimsy from my inside pocket and handing it to her.
"I wanted to hear what you had before I showed you what I had."
Esther's hand went to her mouth as she read. "And no word since?"
"None yet." I leaned my cheek down on top of her head. "Yet. It's only been a day, dearest, and word travels slow sometimes, especially after a tragedy."
"And your letter, earlier ... the one edged in black ...?"
It was my turn to draw the veil behind my eyes. "Another matter, my dear."
"Family?"
I nodded.
"Who?"
I shook my head. "My concern is for the living," I said firmly, "and that concern starts with my wife. I'm worried about Duzy and the Kid, too, but until we know something -- until this is corroborated -- I will not count them dead."
"And what of Jake?"
My eyes were on the horizon, but the horizon isn't what I was seeing.
"I don't know, dearest. I don't know."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 5-1-08

 

Charlie stood in front of the mirror in his hotel room carefully tying his tie. It was time for a reckoning at the Marshal's, his, office, and he wasn't looking forward to it. But it had to be done. Someone had set the wheels in motion to have him declared dead and he meant to find out who it was. He just prayed that Fannie hadn't heard the same.

Charlie stepped out into the crisp morning sunlight with Dawg beside him. As the pair strolled along the boardwalk they were given a wide berth by all and sundry and Charlie smiled a little as he walked, his odd sense of humor finding something uplifting in the avoidance of passersby. Dawg grinned himself, just a small flash of white, but apparently it was enough, and he and Charlie walked down the street in their own small bubble of silence.

At the Marshal's office Charlie held the door for Dawg then followed him inside. A short distance inside the door a counter with a swinging gate at one end divided the room into two unequal parts. A young man with pomaded hair parted in the middle and a magnificent waxed mustache stood up from a chair behind the counter. "Excuse me, sir," the fellow began, "but that animal will have to wait outside. We do not allow pets of any kind in this building."

Charlie gave him a warm smile. The dandy failed to notice that the smile climbed no higher than Charlie's lips. "Is that so? And when did this rule go into effect?" He didn't give the man, whose nameplate on the counter read "Oswald Smithers", a chance to answer. "The last time I was here there was no such restriction."

Young Smithers answered, totally oblivious to the tone of Charlie's voice. "Our office manager, Mister Parker, has become allergic to animal hair," he said. "It was his idea."

"Must make it a royal pain in the butt to travel," Charlie commented. He moved toward the gate at the end of the counter. "Come on, Dawg." He put his hand on the gate and swung it open.

Smithers stepped in front of the gate. "Now see here, Mister..." he began.

"My name is MacNeil, Mister Smithers," Charlie said. He waited for his name to sink in, which it immediately did. "I'm your new boss."

"But, but, but, we heard you were dead," Smithers stammered.

"Not hardly," Charlie replied. "Now please step aside." He stepped forward and Smithers hurriedly cleared the way. "I'll be expecting all available personnel in my office in ten minutes." He had been here enough to know the way to his predecessor's office and he headed in that direction.

Behind him, Smithers said, "Marshal MacNeil?" Charlie turned toward him somewhat sharply. This time there wasn't a smile on his face.

"Is there a problem, Mister Smithers?" Charlie asked coldly.

"Er, you might say that," Smithers said. "Mister Parker occupies the Marshal's office..."

"Then I suppose he'll have to move somewhere else, won't he?" Charlie asked. He looked at his watch. "He now has eight minutes."

"Mister Parker isn't here yet," Smithers said quietly. Charlie looked at his watch again.

"It is now eight fifteen, Mister Smithers. Just exactly what time does Mister Parker come to work?"

"He's, uhm, usually here by ten," Smithers said haltingly.

Charlie could feel his temper starting to flare, and he clamped it down. "Then I suppose we'll have to move him out of my office ourselves, won't we?" he asked acidly. "Come on, Dawg." Charlie strode down the hall to the office he was supposed to be occupying and grabbed the door knob. The door refused to open. He turned on Smithers, who was close behind him. "Do we have another key to this lock?" Charlie asked.

Smithers shook his head, no. "I can't hear your head rattle, Mister Smithers," Charlie said sarcastically.

"Mister Parker has the only key," Smithers said hurriedly.

"Then I suppose we'd best find a locksmith to install a new lock," Charlie said. He raised his boot and gave the door a kick next to the knob. Wood splintered but the door stayed closed. Another kick slammed the door open. "And a carpenter as well," Charlie said as he stepped inside the office.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-1-08

 

Jacob's eyes, like his father's were on the horizon.
He, too, saw something other than the sky line.
Unlike his father, he wasn't talking.
Unlike Esther, Annette was.
After a fashion.
She took Jacob's face between her hands, put her lips on his, and held them there.
Jacob's eyes closed, and his arms came around Annette's back, and his thoughts flew from his head like a wisp of smoke before a hard gust of wind.

 

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-1-08

 

Dearest?"
"Yes?"
The buggy was almost silent on its well greased axles: well made, it neither creaked, nor did it groan.
"Have we heard anything from Marshal MacNeil?"
I frowned.
The horses were at an easy walk, which suited them just fine, and I was of a mind to ignore my belly for once and enjoy a quiet ride with my wife.
"I've not heard one word from the man."
Esther shifted on her upholstered seat. "He is a good man, you know."
"I know."
"He is patient and longsuffering," Esther declared with an emphatic nod.
"Yes, ma'am, he can be that," I agreed, smiling at the memory of times when he ... wasn't.
"What do you suppose he's doing?"
"Oh, he's probably taking life easy. I'd say he's got his feet propped up on his desk, giving orders, looking over wanted posters, petting Dawg and smoking a cigar the size of a singletree."
Esther gave me a knowing look.
"I'd bet money he's taking life easy, sipping whiskey-pegs and taking in a different dance hall show every night!"
"Mr. Keller," she said quietly.
"Yes, Mrs. Keller?"
"Do you know what you are full of?"
I gave her my best innocent look. "Me?"
"Yes, you!" She tickled me high on the ribs and I wiggled and tried to twist away from her efforts.
It didn't work.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 5-1-08

 

Charlie went through his new office like a whirlwind, pitching anything not directly law enforcement or government related out into the hall while those of the office staff who were present watched with mouths agape. Soon a sizable pile of debris had built up on the polished hardwood floor outside the splintered door.

Charlie dropped himself into the upholstered chair behind the large desk. "Alright, staff meeting, now!" he called to those in the hall. "Who has the neatest handwriting?" Timidly Smithers raised a hand. "Good," Charlie snapped. "You just got elected to take notes. Get yourself a pad and pencil and get back here. The rest of you drag something in here to sit on and let's get started." When no one moved he suddenly shouted, "NOW, DAMMIT!" There was a frenzied scurrying and shortly the office was filled with seated government employees.

"Alright," Charlie began. "Let's start with introductions. In case there's someone here who hasn't figured it out yet, I'm your new boss. My name's MacNeil. Some of you may have heard the rumors of my demise. Those rumors were pure horse hockey, and I will be sending a wire to Washington DC to that effect. If anyone has a problem with that," he pointed, "there's the door. Use it, and don't let it hit you in the butt on the way out." When none of the statues planted around the desk moved, he chuckled grimly. "Good. It looks like we understand each other." He went on with the meeting, finding out the name of each of the seated staff members and what their capacity in the organization was. When that was finished he asked about outstanding investigations. He already had a list of deputies that he had memorized.

Charlie told those in front of him, "This will be the last of these meetings. I'm sure all of you have better things to do than sit around and stare at each other. If there are any problems you think you can't handle, or at the very least need help with, come to me. If you don't like how I'm conducting the affairs of this office, come to me." He stopped and glared around the room. "But keep this in mind: if you have a problem with me or what I do, and you don't come to me before you go over my head, I will see to it that you regret every step you take beyond this office. That may sound like a threat, but believe me it is much more than that. It's a promise. Now get to work."

Chairs scraped as the assembled staff got to their feet. Charlie was starting to feel like maybe this office wasn't as worthless as he'd been led to expect when a sudden commotion arose in the outer office. A man's voice asked in a nasty tone, "What is this animal doing in this office?" It was answered by a deep, growling bark. The bark was in turn followed by a screech of pure terror. Charlie got to his feet, laughing.

"Bring him here, Dawg," Charlie called. A moment later Dawg came into view holding a man's sleeve, with arm still intact within and the rest of the body following. "Mister Parker, I presume?" Charlie said.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-3-08

 

Jacob's hands were shaking, a little, and his breathing was fast, and shallow.
His hands, on Annette's upper arms, were gentle.
In another era, a father would remark, "His automatic pilot just took over," but this was not that era: still, a young man's instincts can be wakened, and his were.
Annette's expression was complex. Jacob knew part of what he saw in her eyes was what he felt himself.
He wanted to recapture what he'd just felt.
Part of her expression was surprise.
Jacob felt that as well.
Part of what he saw was ... well, fear.
Annette hadn't fully realized the genie in her bottle, and now it was surging against the walls of her propriety, struggling to escape: Jacob, likewise, was fighting his own battle.
Neither of them spoke.
Annette's eyes dropped, modestly, and Jacob threw his head back and laughed.
Annette looked up in surprise, and before she had time to feel hurt, Jacob had her under her arms, and he picked her up, and spun her about, and set her down, and he kissed her again.
This one was longer than the last one.
Annette's arms were firm around Jacob's lean, solid body, and she abandoned herself utterly to the moment.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-4-08

 

Duzy, Kid and Chang looked at the devastation around them and began to pitch in to help. It was the only thing they could do. They had been offered a ride to the next connecting train, but couldn’t bring themselves to go.

Duzy worked, helping anyone she could…..sometimes comforting a Mother, sometimes holding the hand of a dying man, and luckily, being able to help feed and care for those who had survived.

Kid and Chang stood with the men digging more graves….so many graves, so much heartbreak! Kid and Jake worked together, both Marshall’s, one retired, as they stood side by side without saying a word. Chang watched both men from the corner of his eyes. Not revealing his thoughts, he wondered which man would go after Duzy. Which man would stand back? Or, would they both fight for her or both walk away?

Unconsciously, Duzy reached up and touched her lips; still feeling Kid’s mouth on hers, wondering what would have happened had Jake not walked up at that moment. But she knew….she knew in her heart what would have happened. It had been the same feeling as in her vision, of wanting more, of kissing him and wanting more, which was why she could not commit to setting the date of her wedding.

So much had happened, she thought, first the vision, then Jake with the Sloan woman and now the feelings toward Kid. Was it a moment of passion ignited due to their being alive? Of having survived? Or, had the vision been given to her to stop the wedding?

Suddenly, Duzy forgot both men, as a feeling came to her. It was Aunt Esther….she could see her as clear as day, with a worried expression for a moment, and yet she glowed with happiness and giggled with Linn like a schoolgirl in the next! What could it mean?

Duzy walked to the two men who were in her thoughts, and both looked up, neither giving away their feelings, but both protective and concerned. “I am sorry to bother you, but I have a feeling something is wrong with Aunt Esther. Are the lines back up? I need to know that she is well!”

Jake could have kicked himself; he had forgotten to send word that they were alive! “I will take care of it Duzy,” Jake answered and left to send word to Linn. “Thank you, Jake!” Jake looked at Duzy and searched for a clue to her thoughts, but when she looked into his eyes, he dropped his, unsure himself of how he felt about seeing Duzy in Kid’s arms, and still carrying the guilt of Mary Sloan on his shoulders.

“How are you, Duzy?” Kid asked, as they looked into each other’s eyes and both couldn’t help but wonder if that one special moment, the kiss they had shared, would be all they would ever have together? And what of Jake, as they had both watched his conflicted feelings? Only time would tell…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-5-08

 

"My dear?"
I looked over at my lovely bride and smiled.
Esther looked at me over her spectacles -- or would have, if she'd been wearing them -- and said, "It's eating at you."
I blinked.
Her foot began tapping, slowly, and her head turned a little, and she was giving me her best stern-schoolmarm look.
I drew on the reins. "Ho," I called, and was obliged to draw a little more firmly, and "Ho!" before they finally ho'd.
I reached into my coat and drew out what had indeed been eating at me.
Esther looked at the black-edged envelope, and up at me.
I opened the flap. Most of the wax seal was intact, the ornate K still discernible.
I reached into the folded paper sleeve and drew its contents, also edged in black.
I was leaned forward in the seat, with my fore arms on my knees, and I looked over the horses, into the distance, remembering the contents of the letter.
I looked down, opened it, as if hoping its fell message would have changed with time.
It hadn't.
I handed it to Esther.
She fished her spectacles from her reticule.
As she read, her expression went from "stern schoolmarm" to my own dear wife.
Her hands sank into her lap, still grasping the note.
She looked at it again, re-reading it, and then read it again.
She looked at me, her eyes bright with tears.
"I am so sorry," she murmured.
I nodded.
She handed me the note, and I folded it in two again, and slipped it back into the envelope, and the envelope into my inside coat pocket.
Esther replaced her spectacles in her reticule, and then leaned against me.
I ran my arm around her.
"I love you, dear heart."
"I am so sorry," she whispered. "I know you loved her." She sighed. "She was your aunt?"
"She was."
I pushed my grief from me, shoving it down into a bottle and driving the cork in tight behind it.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-6-08

 

Emma Cooper was the very image of propriety.
Emma Cooper was the schoolmarm.
Emma Cooper wore her hair very properly, put up in a swirled bun, and wore very proper, schoolmarm's dresses, and addressed her class with a merry laugh and a twinkle, and she was the delight of her students, and the prize of the town.
Jackson Cooper, at the moment, was rubbing his hand across her belly, smiling a wicked smile, and the very proper Emma Cooper was giving him a look which could be described as somewhere between smoldering, wanton and very, very naughty.
It was sun-up, the first red fingers of the rising crimson disk just caressing the bedroom curtains.
Emma Cooper closed her eyes and purred, warm under the quilt and beside her husband, and abandoned herself to the delicious feelings he'd just spent several hours perfecting in her, and with her, and upon her, and her lips responded very, very willingly to his.
Even if his mustache did tickle her nose.
She cuddled against her husband, utterly spent, absolutely content, completely relaxed.
Only three words had been spoken since he'd drawn the quilt up over them, not long after sundown: in his deep, masculine voice, that voice she so loved, he rumbled, "I love you," and nibbled her earlobe, and she giggled, and that was the end of conversation for the rest of the night.
Even when Jackson Cooper convulsed and came out of bed like a scalded cat, no words were spoken.

The Sheriff slouched in his saddle, watching Jackson Cooper's front door.
He'd hailed his deputy's door: "Hello the house!"
In maybe half a minute there was the clatter of boot heels on the stairway, and the door flung open.
Jackson Cooper was fully dressed.
That is, for Jackson Cooper, he was dressed with all he needed.
Jackson Cooper flung open the door wearing his hat, his boots and an irritated expression.
The Greener double gun swung easily in his grip.
The man's obvious strength made it look like a broomstraw in his fist.
Jackson Cooper frowned.
He'd never seen the Sheriff slouch in the saddle.
He'd seen the man hurt, he'd seen him bleeding, he'd seen him with stove in ribs, but this was different.
He's not drunk, he thought.
"You run things for two days?" the Sheriff asked quietly, without preamble.
"Yep."
The Sheriff touched his hat brim and turned Rose o' the Mornin' with his knees, and a light rein on the side of her neck, and Rose began to lope toward the mountains, a nice easy long-legged lope that covered ground smoothly and with a surprising velocity.
Jackson Cooper tilted his hat back with his forefinger, looking after the departing lawman, and went back inside.

Emma smiled and turned back the quilt, an invitation if he'd ever seen one.
Jackson Cooper smiled and accepted the invitation.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-6-08

 

I'd had to ask Jackson Cooper to take over for me.
I couldn't ask Jacob.
Jacob had his eyes full of stars.
I was young once.
I know what it's like.
An old ache started around my heart again and I tore it loose and shoved it down in the same bottle as I'd corked up the black-edged letter, ruthlessly ripping any feeling from my soul and shoving it down with both hands into a cold, lightless place.
Rose paid no mind to my pique, and I gave no mind to anything.
We rode into the mountains, for a particular high lonesome I knew of, and had been to only once before.
It took us most of the day to get there. Between elevation and exertion, Rose was blowing and tired when we were a mile from it, so I dismounted and walked her the rest of the way, to a high meadow, high enough to be chilly despite the afternoon sun.
It was just past the heat of the day and that suited me fine.
Rose and I looked around.
Rose didn't much like the place, and I didn't blame her. Animals are more sensitive to the spirit world than are we, and a shaman had told me, in his flowing tongue and graceful hand-words, that this was a place of power, and that I would need it some day, and I would know the need.
I knew it now.
I unsaddled Rose o' the Mornin' and set the good high grade saddle on the ground like it was so much trash. The saddle blanket went on top of that. I slung the saddle bags over my left shoulder and carried my '73 rifle in my left hand and I walked over to the rock shelf where the shaman had sung long into the night, his shadow ten times his size on the cliff behind him.
I put together a small fire, no bigger than a tea cup. I needed no fire for warmth -- I am a hot blooded man and I don't chill easy, just ask Esther, she tells me I'm a furnace under the covers -- but I did need the fire.
Half a dozen licks of steel on flint and I caught the charred cloth a-smolder; I put this in the mouse nest I'd found and saved for such moments, and held it up, and blew gently into it, and I had fire.
I fed it small sticks and it was hungry, and I started the sage a-smolder, and I drew a great circle about myself with the sage, and spoke the words I'd learned from the shaman, spoke them in Cherokee, and the air shivered and rang around me with the syllables I uttered, my arms up-thrust in the last long rays of the evening sun.
I sat down cross-legged, between that little teacup fire and the cliff behind me, and the sage smoldered bright in my hands; I divided it in two bunches, laid one on either side of me, and looked up into the dark, dark blue sky directly above me.
A solitary eagle tilted on the high winds, its wings a blessing.
I drew out the letter edged in black.
The seal was a near-perfect circle of brittle red wax, broke down its middle so I could open the damned messenger.
I knew the relief capital in its center. As a child I used to study the big brass seal and even then I marveled at the steady hand that graved the letter in the round brass face, graved and smoothed and polished it.
That same brass seal had pressed this very wax wafer.
I ran my finger tips over the wax, remembering the gentle soul that had first shown me how a wax seal was made, her hands soft but firm around mine as she guided me in pressing that wooden handled seal down onto a fat drop of red wax.
I reached into the folded paper sleeve and drew out the letter, and unfolded it, and read it yet again.
The words were few, and simply framed; the hand was unremarkable, the characters a bit shaky, as if the writer were unused to writing.
I smiled. Knowing its author, he would indeed be unused to writing.
He'd gone to the trouble to edge the letter with a quarter inch border of India ink, to signify a death notice, and for good measure marked the envelope as well. I'd done as much myself, with such missives.
I read the words yet again.
The genie in the bottle was shoving hard on the cork and I got tired of holding it in.
Alone, there in the high mountain meadow, I let the genie out, and it poured its cargo of grief all over my heart.
None could see me, there in that lonely place; no one was nearby to hear; I gave full vent to my grief, and to my loss: unmanly tears spattered the ground, and distant wolves joined in my howling as I raged into the night, and darkness drew its thickening curtain round about.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-7-08

 

He'd fed the little teacup sized fire a bare handful of slender sticks, just as the falling sun touched the horizon.
The fire burned all night without tending: most of the time, yellow, but when the whispers came, blue, or green, or red.
His shadow stood large on the sheer cliff behind, sometimes standing, sometimes pacing, while he sat cross-legged and unmoving before the fire.
Voices whispered on the night wind, almost heard, but not quite; at one point, deep into the night, a second shadow, a towering silhouette like the first: where one was masculine, with a man's strong and forceful gestures, this was feminine, with a woman's graceful movements.
He sat, unblinking, gazing into the night, seeing further within himself than he saw into the close darkness: behind him the shadows stood, and seemed to talk; they reached for each other, and embraced: not the vigorous embrace of lovers, but the gentle embrace of kinfolk: and so the night passed, and as the sun rose again, the shadows faded, as did the fire, and the tall, slender man with the iron-gray mustache rose as easily as if he were a beardless youth.
Rested and refreshed, he whistled, a high, clear note, and a chestnut mare trotted happily over to him, and accepted bit and bridle and blanket and saddle.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-7-08

 

Morning Star looked up as Doctor George Flint came into the Jewel.
Morning Star was waiting for the blocky, dignified Navajo physician.
She handed him a hot mug of vanilla coffee.
"You knew I would be here," he said gently, in Navajo.
"I knew you would come," Morning Star replied in flawless English.
Doctor George Flint sipped the coffee, smiled, drank more deeply, feeling its welcome glow warm his belly.
Of the many customs he'd learned from the white man, morning coffee was one he particularly enjoyed.
Morning Star stood, silent, patient.
"You felt it?" Doctor Flint asked, this time in the white man's tongue.
Morning Star nodded, slowly, once.
Doctor George Flint drained his mug, set it on a nearby table, and held out his hand.
"Come."
Fear tightened Morning Star's belly: too many times she'd been told, "Come," and it led to many bad memories.
Morning Star's spirit drew deep within herself, hiding in a secret place; her hand obediently came up and took Dr. Flint's.
They walked outside, through the Jewel's front doors, and into the middle of the street.
It was yet early, and cool; their breath steamed in the chilly air.
They looked toward the mountains.
"He's up there," Doctor George Flint said quietly. "I heard him, last night."
Morning Star's spirit, curious, peeped out of its hidden cupboard, flowed back into her body, until it occupied her fully once more.
"He is coming," she said softly.
Her hand was still in his, and he noted with his physician's mind that she was no longer trembling.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-7-08

 

Jacob removed his hat as he entered the Sheriff's office.
Jackson Cooper was stoking the stove against the morning's chill.
"Seen Pa?" Jacob asked, looking at the empty chair behind the desk.
Jackson Cooper closed the door on the crackling fire. "Not since he rode off yesterday morning."
"I'll report to you, then." Jacob came fully inside, closed the door and hung his Stetson on a handy peg. "I found the rustlers Pa was asking about."
Jackson loooked sharply at Jacob, his quick mind imagining several outcomes the tall, slender lad might provide.
He nodded. "Go on."
Jacob shook his head and chuckled. "You recall that fellow that took a shot at Pa, here some time ago?" He gestured up-street with his left hand, his eyes distant for a moment, and Jackson Cooper noticed a slight tremor to his voice: so slight it might have gone unnoticed, but Jackson Cooper tended to listen for such things.
"I recall. Go on."
"His brother still works for the same ranch, or did."
Jackson Cooper frowned, went over to the Sheriff's desk and opened the drawer. He withdrew the Sheriff's ledger and paged quickly through it, running a thick finger down the neatly-scribed lines.
He looked up at Jacob. "Go on, I'm listening."
Jacob shifted his weight, left thumb hooked behind his belt buckle. "The brother is the rustler. He'd been stealing from his boss."
Jackson Cooper looked up, surprised, then nodded. "You caught him?"
"I caught him."
"And what happened?"
Jacob smiled. "I turned around and left."
Jackson Cooper's forehead wrinkled and his eyes were bright with curiosity. He sat down, leaning forward, the picture of close attention.
"I rode back to the ranch house and got his boss. I'd been watching this fellow, off and on, for a week or so, and I knew his pattern."
Jackson Cooper nodded, the corners of his eyes wrinkling a little with a smile trying to come out of hiding.
"We sneaked up on him and I showed the rancher as we rode the tracks, we found where he'd kept the rustled stock, and when we got there the fella saw his hand using a running iron on the stock."
Jackson Cooper nodded. "What did you do then?"
"He was too busy altering the brands to hear us. We kept our voices low and we had a good hiding place. I asked the man what he wanted me to do, if he wanted the law to handle it, or would he like to.
"He said he still felt bad that one of his men had put lead into my Pa, that my Pa was a decent man, and he felt even worse that he hadn't killed this bad seed when he had the chance. He allowed as he'd take care of it so's not to bother the law with it.
"We rode up on the fellow. He went for a gun but we had him dead to rights, and we were separated enough he couldn't get but one of us, and he knew it.
"The rancher gave him a choice. Take a train ticket and get the hell out of the territory for good, or he could spend some time in Territorial prison.
"The rancher had some business in Denver so him and this fellow left together.
"I asked him if that was wise, and he said he'd personally make sure the thief got on that California train."
"If this fella is a rustler he'll likely pull something if he gets the chance," Jackson Cooper frowned, his deep voice rumbling up from his broad chest.
Jacob chuckled. "He might," he admitted, "but he'll find it kind of difficult. The rancher tied the fellow's elbows behind his back and rolled his gun up in his bed roll. Said he'd let him loose on the depot platform and he'd toss his bedroll to him as the train started to pull out."
Jackson Cooper nodded. "Surprised he didn't just shoot 'im."
Jacob was quiet for a long moment and he looked thoughtfully at the floor.
"Had I not been there," he said slowly, "I reckon he would have."
Jackson Cooper looked at the slender deputy. "I reckon there's more to the story than you're tellin'."
Jacob smiled. "Didn't see no sense to drag it out, but yes."
"Anything important?"
"Not other than grabbing the rancher's Colt and running my little finger in between the hammer and the frame when he drew down on the rustler."
"Anything else?"
"My other hand seemed to be full of revolver its own self. The rancher was inclined to disagree with my view point until he felt a gun barrel poke into his belly and then he saw the sense of my argument."
"Kind of what I expected." Jackson Cooper nodded thoughtfully. "What's to keep him from killin' the fellow on the way to Denver?"
"He give me his word he'd not."
Jackson Cooper shoved out his bottom lip and considered. "The man's not the brightest candle I ever saw lit," he admitted, "but he's honest. If he gave his word I reckon he'll keep it."
Jacob nodded.
"Say, you had breakfast yet?"
Jacob grinned. Like most young men, he walked on two hollow legs, and they both reminded him they could stand filling. "Oh, reckon I could struggle through a plate or two."
Jackson Cooper stood and reached for his hat. "I'm thinkin' I could use some coffee myself."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 5-8-08

 

"Let him go, Dawg," Charlie said mildly. He looked over at Smithers who was staring wide-eyed at Parker who was trying to gather up the few remaining shreds of his dignity. "Mister Smithers?"

"Yes sir?"

"Do we or do we not have the ability to send telegrams directly from this office?"

"We do, sir."

"Good. Take a message." Smithers scrambled to turn his tablet to a blank page then waited with pencil poised.

"Yes sir?"

"To: US Marshal's office, Washington, DC. Rumors of my demise greatly exaggerated Stop Housecleaning in Denver office Stop Regret to inform you of termination of office manager Stop Signed US Marshal Charlie MacNeil, Denver" He looked at Smithers. "Do you have all of that, Mister Smithers?" There was no answer and Charlie noted with amusement that Smithers and Parker were staring at each other in shock. "MIster Smithers!" Charlie barked.

"Yes sir!" Smithers said hurriedly.

"Yes sir what?" Charlie asked.

"Yes sir, I have it."

"Good. Get that sent immediately."

"You can't do that!" Parker sputtered semi-coherently.

"Do what?" Charlie asked. "Send a telegram?"

"You can't fire me," Parker snapped.

"I beg your pardon?" Charlie asked in a tone that said sugar wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"I said, you can't fire me. You don't have the authority. I was given this position by your boss," Parker sneered.

"I beg to differ with you, friend," Charlie said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a somewhat bedraggled sheet of notepaper. It was the telegram confirming him in his new job. That selfsame telegram gave him carte blanche to hire and fire. Charlie handed the telegram to Parker and sat back to watch the man's face.

Parker seized the paper authoritatively but as his eyes moved down the page his face paled and his grip slowly loosened until the sheet slipped from his fingers and drifted to the floor. He stared at Charlie with his mouth hanging open for a minute then with a noticeable effort closed his mouth with a click of his teeth. He tried to speak but no sound came out as he stood there looking like a carp tossed out on the bank in the sun. His hands were at his sides then suddenly they weren't.

Parker snarled in a good approximation of a mad wolf and lunged across the desk at Charlie with his hands curled into claws. Charlie sat calmly and watched as Dawg popped to his feet, took one step, and caught Parker by the seat of his well-tailored breeches and sat back down, pulling Parker with him. Parker tried to wheel on Dawg and Dawg released the cloth held in his jaws and gave Parker a toothy smile. Parker froze in his tracks.

"I do believe it would behoove you to get your keister out of this office and out of this building, and do so as soon as possible," Charlie said coldly. "Dawg hasn't had his midmorning snack. We'll send you your final pay."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-10-08

 

Esther put the finishing touches on her hair and smiled.
Humming a little, she picked up her reticule and went out the front door of their solid, well-built house. Jacob was waiting with their fine buggy.
He removed his Stetson and offered his hand as she came to the bottom step, and though she really needed no help, she allowed him to assist her into the buggy.
Her husband would have seized her and whirled her in, and though their son had the height, and she doubted not their son had the strength, he also had a sense of propriety: this, somehow, was a husband's place, and not a son's, and she respected him for recognizing that facet of dignity.
She couldn't help giggling, though, for she did love it when her husband seized her in his strong hands, and for a moment she was flying, safe in his grip.
She settled herself on the upholstered seat as Jacob mounted from the other side and picked up the reins. Clucking to the dapple, he lifted the reins, and the dapple headed for the Jewel.
"Ma'am?" Jacob asked quietly.
"Yes, Jacob?" Esther smiled, happily regarding the colors on the eastern horizon. I'd like to find material of that rose color, she thought.
"Ma'am, have you seen Pa?"
Esther patted his forearm affectionately. "Jacob, you know the Sheriff," she chided him gently. "He's like as not chasing after some hoodlum."
Jacob frowned. "No, ma'am, I don't think so," he said finally. "He would have told me and we'd've gone out together."
Esther nodded, never losing her contented smile. Unconsciously, one hand rested lightly, protectively, on her belly. "It is a matter of importance, no doubt."
"Yes, ma'am. No doubt."
The dapple drew them at a slow trot, which suited its passengers well.
"Ma'am, the depot is rebuilding in good shape," Jacob offered. "She's set on a good cut stone foundation now. The platform is solid. I doubt if she'd shiver with the heaviest freight wagon."
"Good." Esther nodded emphatically. "And the ticket and telegraph office?"
"They're nearly ready to open, ma'am. Matter of fact they should be open today."
Esther smiled. "Jacob, I am proud of you. I gave it into your charge, and you have done wonderfully."
"Thank you, ma'am," Jacob muttered, his ears turning red. He had done well with the depot, he knew, but hearing her say it ... well, it means something to a young man for someone he respects and admires to recognize his good work.
They drew up in front of the Jewel. Jacob set the brake and dismounted.
He'd no sooner offered Esther his hand than, standing, she looked up the street, and he followed her gaze.
Rose o' the Mornin' was just coming to the far end of the street, moving at a spanking trot. The mare's coat fairly glowed in the morning sun, and the Sheriff, grinning, raised his hat in greeting.
Jacob froze the moment in his memory. His Pa was lit by the morning sun, twin clouds of steam blew from Rose's nostrils, his Pa had a big grin, and he always did look really good when he set that mare anyway.
Esther took Jacob's hand and dismounted from the buggy, and stood up on the board walk in front of the Jewel, hands folded, waiting for her husband.
Jacob looked up at her, standing with all the regal poise of a queen, and then at his Pa, heading their way.
Jacob carried that mental picture with him for the rest of his life.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-10-08

 

Some thought that Duzy was a strong woman, an independent woman, who delighted in helping others, a journalist that believed in the right to speak our minds, an entrepreneur, and then there were other’s, like Aunt Esther, Uncle Linn, Bonnie, Jake and Kid knew Duzy also had a dark side, one that she had been struggling with since a small child. It hadn’t been easy to have the “sight,” it leaves one confused, questioning everything, stalling to make decisions…..always hoping to make the right one, and never quite sure.

Chang had seen the torment in Duzy and had hoped to have time to teach Duzy how to accept the gift, not to take everything so seriously, but to always listen to that inner voice that will not leave, or that instant connection where you know it is the only thing meant to be.

Most of the cleanup in Marshville was finished, and it was time that Duzy, Kid and Chang moved on. Jake came by to thank the three for their help, and to see them off, planning to see Duzy for a few minutes alone….hoping that someday she would forgive him, hoping that Linn had gotten word about the poison and would relay that information to Duzy, or he would go to Firelands and tell her himself, and see if they could make it through what they each knew...although he could only be sure that Duzy had kissed Kid, while he had been with Mary Sloan for an entire evening.

Duzy had mentioned a headache and had lain down for a nap. The dreams started coming, one after another until she was trembling inside and could only imagine what some of the images meant, and then the darkness descended around her, swirling, round and round, until the darkness took over her mind.

“Duzy, Duzy? Wake up Darlin’, it’s time to get up to meet the train, Jake asked, not even noticing he had called her Darlin’, like he used to do every day and night. Duzy opened her eyes and looked at the three men standing above her….two cowboys….both looked like lawmen or outlaws, not much difference between the two, she thought, and then looked at the other man. There was a connection for a second as their eyes met…..

Duzy reached for the Colts that usually hung low on her buttoned britches, shirt and hat and looked up with the devil in her eyes, “What are you doin’callin’me Darlin’? Do I know you? And what the devil did you do with my clothes?”

Jake, Kid and Chang looked at each other and then back at Duzy. “What are you talking about Duzy, those are your clothes.” Jake answered, reaching to feel Duzy’s face, when Duzy interrupted abruptly, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit, where are my britches, shirt and Colts?”

The three men looked even more confused.

“I said where are my damn Colts and my clothes, and who the hell are you? What have you did with my things?”

“Duzy, are you okay, what do you mean, what are you talking about? It’s Jake, Chang and, me, Kid, Duzy do you know me, do you not recognize us? And then Kid reached to check Duzy to see if she was feverish as she looked flushed, confused and more than a little angry.

Duzy instinctively reached for the knife that was always strapped to her leg and was holding it to Kid’s neck before either man had time to react. “I don’t think I need to make it any more clear….my clothes, my Colts and who the hell is this Duzy? You have five seconds to answer my questions!”

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-10-08

 

Morning Star brought us coffee and we sat at my favorite table, in back, and I parked my rifle against the wall beside me as I always did.
Esther handed me a telegram flimsy. "You'll want to read this," she said, and her color was up and she was looking might pleased with herself.
I don't recall her ever looking better.
Jacob was hiding a grin, so I figured the telegram was good news.
It was.
Jake sent that Duzy and the Kid were alive.
What little else there was to the message, didn't matter much.
We'd heard about the tornado and the many deaths.
We'd gotten Jake's initial telegram reporting them missing, presumed dead.
This was good news indeed!
Morning Star came out with a tray and started setting plates on the table, good breakfast that reminded me I hadn't eaten for a while.
"Thank you, Morning Star," I said gently, for I knew she was a timid soul, and did not wish to distress her in any way.
Morning Star dipped her knees and made a quick, subtle hand-gesture I almost recognized.
Jacob caught it, though. I saw it in his eyes.
Once Morning Star was out of earshot I looked from her to him, and raised an eyebrow.
Jacob raised both his, and he whistled very quietly.
"What did she say, Jacob?" I asked, pitching my voice low, so only we could hear.
Jacob repeated her hand-talk, then more slowly: "Chieftain," he translated; then, with a subtle move, he added, "Great respect."
I nodded, feeling suddenly humbled.
"Sir? Have you heard anything from Charlie lately?"
I shook my head, smiling. "No, not a word. Wonder what he's up to these days."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 5-11-08

 

"Mister Smithers!" Charlie called.

"Yes sir?"

"I need to send another telegram."

Smithers came into the office with pad and pencil in hand.

"To Sheriff Linn Keller
Firelands, Colorado

Sheriff Stop Denver taking longer than expected Stop Will fill in details later Stop

Signed MacNeil US Marshal"

"Get that out right away, would you please?"

"Yes sir." Smithers turned to leave.

"And Smithers..."

"Yes sir?"

"My pa was Mister MacNeil, or sir. My name's Charlie." He stood and held out his hand. "I'm sorry I came on so hard, but somebody in this office was doing his or her best to see that I didn't take over here, and I had to find out who and disabuse them of the notion." He and Smithers shook hands. "I'm glad to see it wasn't you," Charlie said. Smithers gave him a startled look.

"What do you mean?" the young man asked.

"Are you armed and dangerous?" Charlie asked. "Or just armed?" He had seen that Smithers was indeed carrying what appeared to be a cut down Smith & Wesson Model 3 in a holster under his suit coat.

"I can shoot, if that's what you're asking," Smithers said.

"Have you ever shot a man?" Charlie asked. "Or been shot at?"

"Both," Smithers said simply.

"Then if you don't mind, would you please explain to me why you come across as such a milksop?" Charlie asked.

"It's very simple, Marsh..., er, Charlie," Smithers said. "I need my salary. Mister Parker would have fired me if I had been the least bit defiant." He sighed. "I guess that acquiescing to the wishes of a tyrant gets to be a habit if one does it long enough." He looked straight at Charlie. "Are you going to be a tyrant? Because if you are, I believe I will have to tender my resignation, need or not. A man can only take so much." Smithers stood stiffly and waited for Charlie's answer. The answer when it came was a surprise.

Charlie broke out laughing. Smithers stood there looking perplexed at Charlie's reaction, which made Charlie laugh harder. When he could finally take a breath again, Charlie wiped his streaming eyes and slid open the middle drawer of his desk. "Congratulations, Mister Smithers," Charlie said between chuckles. "You just got a raise." He picked something shiny and metallic out of the drawer and spun it through the air toward Smithers, who nearly dropped it. "You are now my assistant. You run the place when I'm not here. Raise your right hand." Smithers raised his hand and Charlie gave him his oath of office then stood and wiped his eyes a final time. "Now, Deputy Smithers, where can we get a beer and something to eat? You can tell me about being shot at." He picked up his hat. "Come on, Dawg."

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-13-08

 

A muscle in Kid’s face twitched and it was real easy to tell he didn’t like the knife at his throat, and he damn sure wasn’t waiting for it to bring blood, but at the moment it looked like diplomacy was his best move. “Ma’am, we are sorry, there has been a mistake, as we thought you were a friend of ours, but we mean you no harm. You look enough like her to be a twin. If you lower the knife, we will start over. What is your name?”

“You’re a real smooth talker, and handsome to boot, you an outlaw or a lawman?” Duzy asked.

“Retired U.S. Marshall, why do you ask?”

“Figured you were, that’s all,” Duzy answered, still holding the knife firmly against Kid’s throat. “I will lower the knife if I can be on my way and you give me back my clothes and my Colts.”

“Kid, I think the lady is right, this lady obviously isn’t Duzy, and we have no use for her that I can see.” Jake turned to Duzy and said, “I am the law here, U.S. Marshall Jake Thomas, and you have my word that you can go, but there is a problem with the items you speak of. We had a severe storm in Marshville. You may have lost your Colts, traded them for the clothes, or someone may have taken them from you, but this is how we found you. Now, lower the knife and you are free to go.”

Duzy lowered the knife, looked at Jake and said “thank you kindly, I will go in search of my belongings, and I will find my Colts, don’t feel right without them. Don’t feel comfortable in these fancy dresses either, never did see why anybody did!

“Sorry Mister, a woman can’t be too careful!” Duzy said, as she turned to Kid, “By the way, my name is Josie, and I ain't got no twin, ain't enough room anywhere for two of us!” she said, and began to walk away.

“You’re going to let her go? Just like that? It’s obvious something is wrong with her!” Kid asked Jake harshly.

“We’ll watch her, see where she goes, what she does, but at least she doesn’t have you by the throat,” Jake answered just as harshly.

The two men had been brooding for two days, both thinking about Duzy, as they worked digging graves and burying the poor souls, and their tempers were raw. Chang joined the conversation at that point, and said, “Looks like you better start watching instead of quarreling because she is almost out of sight!

“Damn!” both men said at once, and turned to see that Chang was right.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-14-08

 

Kid, Jake and Chang started after Duzy, running down the steps from the upper level of the Court House, where they had slept on cots while they worked, and heard the train whistle signaling the departure of the train from Marshville.

“She slid down this damn stair rail!” Kid said as he tried to do the same, landing ahead of the others by mere seconds. “Damn woman, I feel like taking her over my knee for acting like a child!”

“I just bet you do, Kid, even though you just did the same thing!” Jake retorted.

When they saw her next, they watched in shock as she stopped, quickly slid her skirt and petticoat off her hips, tied them in a bundle, and clad in her blouse, bloomers, and soft kid boots, made a run for the open doorway of a freight car on the same train they had been planning to board, the one that had just left!

What may have surprised the men even more was the fact that she made it, as if she had did it many times, throwing her bundle on the train, and pulling herself onto the train with her hands, body strength and the door, and was smugly waving goodbye to the three men. They could only wonder what her next move would be when she reached Saint Louis!

“Where the devil did she learn how to do that?” Jake asked, looking at Kid.

“Don’t look at me, I certainly didn’t teach her how to do it, I tried to give her first class travel in a private rail car, remember?” Kid shot back. “And what the devil did she mean about a “fancy dress? That was one of the simplest outfits she has, and she wore it because she has been working!”

“It is the power of the mind; she is who she thinks she is. I have seen this happen when one is caught between worlds, fantasy and reality, and is confused between the two.” Chang remarked, with a solemn look on his face. “Not good, not good at all, as you may never see Duzy again, not as you knew her.”

“Don’t even say that Chang, we have to catch her! When does the next train come through?” Kid asked, looking more worried now than shocked.

“Luckily, since supplies are being brought in, there will be another train here in an hour, but it will take some time to get it unloaded. Mr. Chang what do you think she will do?” Jake asked, also looking worried.

“She will do what Josie would do.” Chang stated simply.

“I’m leaving with you! I will wire for a replacement and put Mr. Winters in charge for now. I can’t stay here with Duzy missing!” Jake replied, wondering what the hell “Josie” would do. “I will also wire the authorities in Saint Louis to be watching for her and she won’t have time to get into any trouble until we can find help for her! They can hold her until we get there.”

"She will love you for that, but you should warn them that she is armed!" Kid said as he rubbed his neck unconsciously.

Neither Kid nor Jake saw the look on Chang’s face, which could only be described as skeptical, concerned, and yet with a touch of mirth, thinking things may not be quite that simple…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Linn Keller 5-14-08

 

"Okay, square up."
The Sheriff was stripped to the waist
So was Jacob.
"Put 'em up."
Each raised his fists in an exaggerated boxer's pose.
Each held the pose for a long moment.
Neither pugilist could keep a straight face.
Both men dropped their dukes, laughing.
The Sheriff squeezed his son's shoulder affectionately. "Let's try it again."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, square up."
They were just out of arm's reach of each other. Hands half-open, they raised to chest level and began to weave, looking for an opening.
Jacob was first, and fast: he shot a left to his father's belly, almost tagging him; the Sheriff was not able to block the punch.
"Good one. That would have hit."
Jacob figured his Pa would throw the next punch and so launched his attack first, stepping in, feinting another gut punch and driving his bony fist toward his Pa's chin.
His Pa wasn't there.
His Pa's knuckles tagged Jacob lightly in the soft ribs, low on his right side.
Jacob turned in time to see the shadowed face of his Pa's fist stop a quarter inch from the end of his nose.
They both drew back, straightened up and took a deep breath.
Jacob shook his head. "How did you do that? I never saw it coming!"
The Sheriff laughed. "How did I do it? Good Lord, Jacob, do you know how fast you are?" The Sheriff pulled two knives from the back of his belt, handed one to Jacob. "Show you something. Square up."
Jacob held his knife tentatively, blade up; he looked briefly at it -- a wooden slat, covered with leather, with a thick wrap instead of a cross guard.
"Now. If I punch for your face -- so--" his Pa stepped in and punched, very slowly, at Jacob's face, and Jacob faded to the side, just far enough to miss the molasses-speed fist.
"Okay." The Sheriff returned to his stance, gripped his knife point-down. "If I punch now" -- he punched again, as slowly as before. "What do you see?"
Jacob's eyes lit with a new understanding.
"I see your fist."
"Would you see the narrow edge of the blade coming at you?"
"No, sir!"
"So even if you duck to the side to escape the blade, the side of your face is laid open."
"I see that, sir!"
"A good man with a knife is deadlier than a good man with a gun."
"Sir?"
"Well, hell, it's like Santos said, 'A knife is always loaded.' Punch a hole in a man with a gun you've got a little hole in and a little hole out. Slice him with a knife--"
Jacob thought back on stock he'd gutted and skinned out. "Yes, sir, I can see that."
"Back up about four steps."
Jacob back pedaled four long strides.
"Now. Pretend you're wearing your gunbelt."
"Yes, sir."
The Sheriff lunged for his son, suddenly, unexpectedly, and Jacob realized the quick friction burn across his belly as his Pa dove past him represented a single, disemboweling stroke.
His empty fist was only just above where his holster would be.
Jacob's eyes were big.
The Sheriff pushed up from the ground, chuckling: in his haste to make a fast lunge, he'd over-balanced himself and landed flat on his face.
"Sir?" Jacob turned, half-bent as if to help his Pa up.
The Sheriff laughed. "My own fool fault, Jacob. I'm gettin' old!"
"Old my foot, sir," Jacob declared. "May that day never arrive!"
"If a man has a knife, Jacob," the Sheriff said quietly, "especially in close, don't take a chance. Do not take a chance!"
"I see that, sir," Jacob said solemnly.
"Oh, boys," Esther called from the back porch. "If you're done playing, supper's on!"
"Never let it be said that I delayed a good woman-cooked meal!" the Sheriff said with a mock severity. His tone and expression were so utterly dolorous that Jacob laughed, delighted at his Pa's tomfoolery.
"Come on. Let's get washed up."
"Yes, sir!"

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Charlie MacNeil 5-14-08

 

Charlie and Smithers sat across from each other at a round table in the back of the room. A cold beer sat on the the table in front of each man. "All right," Charlie said. "Let's hear it."

"Hear what, sir?" Smithers asked.

Charlie looked all around the room. "I don't see my Pa anywhere in the room," he said with a smile. "I told you to call me Charlie."

Smithers took a deep breath. "It was actually a little over a year ago," he began. "For whatever reason, two men mistook me for someone with money." He looked off into the distance for a moment then shook himself. "When I tried to convince them I didn't have any, they took exception to my explanation and decided that I was too impoverished to be allowed to live, or something equally as asinine. They shot at me, I shot back, they went down, I came through unscathed. Somehow."

"So why were you still an office boy instead of wearing a badge like I just gave you?" Charlie asked.

"Because Mister Parker wanted it that way. He tends to have an aversion to promoting those who might turn out to be either smarter or more talented than he. And as I said earlier, I need the salary. I have ailing parents, and their medications take all I can make." He sighed. "I've tried my hand at other occupations, but this one paid the best."

"Fair enough," Charlie said. "Consider your salary increased." Smithers gave him a startled look. "Any man who can put up with that weasel Parker for that long without shooting his scrawny butt is my hero." He stuck out his hand, and Smithers took it in a strong, confident grip. "Besides which, I'm not going to be here all the time. I need somebody to fill in for me when I'm gone. Are you interested?"

"Absolutely," Smithers said without hesitation.

"Good," Charlie said. "We'll make it official when we get back to the office. But for now, let's eat. Oh and by the way, what do you like to be called? I can't just keep calling you Smithers."

"My parents call me Ozzie," Smithers answered.

Some time later the two men left the restaurant and turned toward the office, confident that all was right with their world. For Charlie, it was the satisfaction of having left his mark on his new office. For Ozzie, it was an overwhelming sense of gratitude that someone had finally recognized that he was a man and not some faceless drone there only to do the master's bidding. But all was not totally right with the world after all…

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-15-08

 

Josie tumbled down the bank, after jumping off the train, on the outskirts of Saint Louis, having seen a house nearby, one with a clothesline full of freshly washed clothes swaying in the wind. Quickly, she found her bundle and pulled her clothes on, straightening her hair by running her fingers through it, trying to look as presentable as possible. Holding her head high, she walked to the front door of the house and knocked. A woman, holding a baby on one hip, and the hand of a small boy, came to the door.

“Howdy Ma’am, I am sorry to bother you; I just came in from Marshville and I lost most everything in the storm. I am in need of a few things and I thought if you could use some help……I don’t have any money, but I would be willing to work for a pair of those britches on the line, or I could wash this skirt and trade it if you like it.

The lady looked at Josie’s skirt and could see herself wearing it to church. It had been a long time since she had the time to sew for herself. “You poor thing, I heard that was a terrible storm, come on in and have some coffee and there are biscuits and ham left on the stove.

I have these pearl earrings to swap too if you have a hat and some boots that would fit, don’t matter if they are old as long as they have good soles. These thin soles hurt after walking a ways. The lady looked at the nice kid leather boots and wondered why she wanted to trade nice clothes and jewelry for men’s clothes.

I will need a place to sleep for a night or two, the barn will be fine if’n you don’t mind me using it. I have kinfolk’s hereabouts, but I will have to find them, and the city looks big, I am not quite sure where to start!” Josie said as she downed one ham biscuit and almost reached for another. “The lady smiled and reached out her hand saying, my name is Mary, and please have another biscuit, have as many as you can eat and another cup of coffee too. “Thank you kindly, my name is Josie.”

Josie took a deep breath for the first time after jumping on the train. It looked as if she had chosen the right place, knowing the law would be looking for her to get off the train, not to mention the two handsome lawmen and the Shaman, who she didn’t doubt were closing in fast!

Did those men really think she fell for that story? Mistaken for a twin? No, she didn’t believe a word of it! But, she hadn’t wanted to kill him, a mistake she wouldn’t make again. She had never pulled her knife without using it! And then, he had given her a way out, a way to walk away, they all three had….

Could they really know her from somewhere? Josie had been thinking on the train and thought she must have hit her head during the storm, as she couldn’t remember much of her past, even her last name! Josie tried to think back to when she could have met….

“Hell, no need to figure out the past, when you have to fix the here and now Josie!” She admonished herself.

Mary came back in the room holding a stack of clothing. “These were my oldest boy’s clothes, he up and left one day and I haven’t heard a word since, said he was going to dig for gold and would be back with all the money we could use. I wish I hadn’t told him how foolish he was being.” One big tear ran down the side of her face.

“I lost my husband to the war, but remarried and had these two little ones; he works in town and maybe he can find a buyer for your earrings and that watch pinned to your blouse.” Josie looked down at the watch like it was the first time she had seen it. She had noticed the pretty ring she was wearing and had stashed it for the time being, not wanting to take the chance of losing everything at once.

The little boy walked up and said, “You sure are pretty.” Josie looked at the blond hair of the boy, and remembered a little girl with blond hair named Sarah, but couldn’t place where she was or where she knew her from…..just Sarah.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Duzy Wales 5-15-08

 

Josie could wear the young man’s black button fly britches, fitting snug across her hips. The black hat and boots fit nicely too. She had three changes of clothes, and a black duster, much more than she had hoped for and had slept in the young man’s room instead of the barn.

Mary’s husband, James, had found a buyer for her jewelry and had been kind enough to let her ride into town with him, just after hugging Mary goodbye and thanking them for their hospitality. She had hugged little Jamie too and thought of Sarah again.

Josie found she recognized Saint Louis somewhat and found a game at the Lindell Hotel. Hearing footsteps as she placed another bet, she looked up as Kid pulled back a chair at the poker table. He tipped his hat and smiled. “Can anyone join this game?”

“If you can make the bet,” Josie said and smiled right back at him. Somehow, she didn’t feel like he was an ordinary lawman…..no there was something more he wanted, something more he was after, but what was it?

Josie loved a challenge, and her brown eye sparkled as she took in his body, leaving his eyes and going down and then back up again and was delighted to find him still watching her and still smiling as he dropped the gold coins on the table. “I’m in.”

A few hours later, as Josie was raking her money across the table, Kid said, “Have you ever played at the Silver Jewel? You are good, you know.”

“No, can’t say I remember the place. This was the first place I came to, well after reaching town that is. If you recommend it, I will try it. That is, after I replace my Colts. I still feel lost without ‘em, you know, like I’m not completely dressed.”

An image of Duzy running in her bloomers and catching the train came to his mind….

“Speaking of Colts, I think I know where you can find them.”

“Mine?” Josie asked, and her eyes looked like coal, burning coal for a second, as she waited for his answer.

“May be yours, you would have to identify them before I could be sure.”

“Where can I see them?”

“I brought what I could find of yours from Marshville, they are in my room.” Kid said, hoping he could get her out of public view and find out what the hell had happened to Duzy! Hell and damnation, what a mess! How was he supposed to get her back to Firelands like this?

“No thanks, I will find them eventually.” Josie answered, not falling for his tactic to get her to his room.

“If they are yours, you deserve to have them. Everything happened so fast in Marshville, you didn’t have time to see the things you left there. I will bring them down. I see your watch is gone and your pearl earrings, why didn’t you sell the ring?”

“My husband gave it to me, I couldn’t part with it.”

“What was his name Josie?”

“Names ain’t important, lawman, now, please excuse me?”

“Not yet!” And then Kid pulled Josie to him, holding her against him tightly, and kissed her like he had in the cemetery, as he felt her lean in closer and return the kiss.

“Looks like you two got cozy mighty quick,” Jake said, causing the two to break the kiss and make Josie wonder why these men always seemed at odds with each other?

“What’s the matter, Marshall Thomas, you jealous?” And then Josie surprised Jake by walking up and planting a kiss on his lips.

“Hmmm, well you both can kiss, how well can you shoot?” Josie flipped one of her gold coins and said, “wanta’ bet I can outshoot both of you?”

“I’m in,” they both stated, looking at each other as if they had just met and wanted to prove which was the best.

“Where is the Silver Jewel? I need a place to work. Do you think I could run a table there? Would they hire a woman? Or let a woman play the tables?”

“Firelands, Colorado. I think they would hire you or let you play. We are headed that way, would you like to do some traveling?” Kid asked, smiling.

“Ain’t got nothing better to do, but I want to look at those Colts first.” Josie said, as Kid pointed the way and she walked in front, both men watching the sway of her hips in the men’s britches.

[Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580]

Lady Leigh 5-15-08

 

Bonnie was beginning to think her in laws were not going to be coming to Firelands afterall. Though the thought made her feel guilty at times, she still relished in not having to face them. Their delay in Chicago calmed Bonnie to no end.

Bonnie had just finished nursing the girls, and it was late in the night. Sleep wasn't always easy to return to after the mid night feedings and on such a night, Bonnie was rocking by the fire. With shawl tucked tight around her shoulders and her head leaning back against the high backed rocker, Bonnie thought .....

Caleb assured her the family was not angry at Bonnie for her insistance on staying in Firelands. He also assured her they could never be angry at her for the loss of their son. Bonnie accepted his words .... but there was still the nagging thought tugging at her brain that when her husbands family came, with them would come a hardship. Though Bonnie could not pin point the feeling, she still struggled with the thoughts.

She, too, asked questions on if they stayed in Illinois would their son be alive ... maybe had they stayed, she wouldn't have gone into premature labor ...

But had they not stayed in Firelands, she would not have Opal ... that subject alone pulled her into many directions. James ..... Bonnie wondered at the secrecy of his being alive for so many years .... anger .... yes, Bonnie still experienced anger over that. Chen-chi .... so many questions. Wondering what the whole story was behind her brother and sister-in-law. Oh ... She knew just what James wanted her to know ... which wasn't all that much, truth be told. Bonnie re-read the letter James sent with Chen-chi often .... so many times, in fact, the letter resembled an ancient writing. The paper was tearing at the folds, it was crumbling at its corners and it had an aged appearance due to the many fallen tears. His words of someone coming to tell her the whole story ... two people knew, he said.

"I wish I knew, James ..... the answers are long overdue ...."

"Mama?" Bonnie jumped at the sound of Sarah's young voice.

"Sarah? What are you doing up? Are you OK?"

"Yes ...."

Sarah climbed up onto Bonnie's lap and rest her cornsilk blond hair against Bonnie's chest, "What is it sweetheart?"

"Just couldn't sleep, and Twain Dawg said I should come downstairs as he said you were rocking."

Bonnie smiled, "He told you that did he?"

" Well .... not exactly, Mama, but just in case you got angry at me for not being in bed, I thought it would be best to have a scrapecoat."

A chuckle escaping Bonnie, "I think you mean a scapegoat, and no, darling, I would not be angry at you for coming down."

"Good! I didn't think so, but .... you know .... just in case. Besides, when I told Twain Dawg to come with me, he just huffed and put his head back down on the floor."

Dear God in Heaven, how Bonnie loved this child!

"Mama? When is Auntie Duzy coming back home?"

"I've been thinking that same question, Sarah .... but I just don't know. I am hoping she sends a letter soon to let us know how long she is going to be away."

Sarah continued to sit there, both Bonnie and Sarah quiet ... just listening to the night time sounds. AS time ventured on, they both fell asleep. Sarah's head resting against Bonnie's chest, and Bonnie's cheek resting against the top of Sarah's head ..... That is how Caleb found the two a few hours later.