A Bad Spring in East Fork

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

I turned sideways and drove the side of my boot into the ground, skidding to a stop.

Utah was already stopped and gave me a hard look:  we scrambled to run the way we'd come, only instead of ducking through that concealed bolt-hole back into the saloon, we ran down along the side of the building and looked around.

My head was ringing and my chest felt tight, I fell back against a porch post and near to collapsed.

Too much, too fast, too sudden and too long:  I have no idea how I kept my feet but I stayed upright.

Utah ran toward the first friendly face, yelling:  I recognized what he was doing, I knew he was gathering information, fast, with little regard for manners nor feelings, and that's the way the man in charge has to do it: he was Sheriff and he was the man in charge and my head fell back against the ring-turned post and I felt myself sag.

I'm in no shape to give chase.

What do I have steam enough to get done?

I pulled my head back to where I was looking straight forward instead of up into the overhang, and I looked around and tried to set one rational thought in front of another.

Calamity.

Make sure she's all right.

I turned and headed toward her place, and it felt like my legs vibrated as I walked.

 

[Calamity Kris]

As things seemed to quiet down, Calamity and Lucas began to rise from behind the counter.  At that moment a large man bolted through the door, rifle at waist level looking for trouble.  Well, he came to the right place, Calamity thought.  Lucas trained the shotgun on the uninvited guest while Calamity growled “What do you want?”  “I want that red headed woman.  Where is she?”  As soon as he finished his words, he felt the barrel of a rifle between his shoulder blades.  “You mean me?” Abby asked.  “Well, it looks to us like you’re outnumbered.  I think you had better put your gun down and hands up.”  The man waited for a second then tried to spin around, only to be met by a butt stock to the back of the head, sending him to the floor in a heap.  Abby stood over him with the muzzle pointed in his face as Linn and J Mark ran in.  “Well, it looks as things are well at hand here” Linn stated.  J Mark grinned and said “I’ll second that.”  “Please get this stench out of my shop.”  Calamity growled.  “It’s bad for business.”  J Mark and Linn each grabbed an arm and dragged the still unconscious man out of the shop and over to the jail.  Abby, Lucas and Calamity had a good laugh at the expense of the gentleman. “Well, I guess you won’t be fitting him for pants any time soon, will you?” asked Lucas, to which the assembled giggled.  “No I think not.” Calamity said.  At that moment, Abby exclaimed “I had better find Ben and make sure he is all right.”  “Do you think that is wise, considering someone is looking for you?” asked Lucas.  “I’ll be alright” Abby said.  “Why don’t you go with her, Lucas.  I can mind the store alone.  Take the shotgun with you, just in case.”  With that Abby, rifle in hand and Lucas with Calamity’s shotgun exited the store onto the street in search of Ben.

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

J Mark and I dragged that fellow to the calabozo and we were not in the least little bit gentle about it.

Both of us had a hard look about us and I know my jaw was set and I thought to let Doc know his wife was fine and dandy but he's probably already looked in on her -- I was kind of occupied for a little -- hell, I've no way of knowin' but I could not help but admire the way she drove that crescent butt plate right ag'in the back of this fellow's skull.

Had she wanted, she could have drove it point first and killed him, but she didn't, and that takes control and power both.

I though to remind myself never, ever to cross that woman, but that was a stray thought I kicked out of the way as we finished draggin' toe marks in the dirt from wearin' this fellow's boot toes right before we hauled him up on the board walk and I reckon the edge of them warped and weathered planks bangin' into his insteps was pain enough to start to rouse him.

We hauled him on in and dropped him on the plank floor and we each set our boot down hard between his shoulder blades and allowed as he'd best not try to get up.

He tried.

I dropped my knees into his tenderloins and J Mark stopped his rifle's butt from drivin' down ag'in the back of the fellows slightly bloodied head and I heard him mutter "Well, that worked," but the most noise was the pained grunt from where my weight drove through the spear of my Prayer Bones right into him.

Flattened him back out it did, and we had no trouble deprivin' him of things a prisoner hadn't ought to have with him, and right directly he was layin' on the floor of a locked cell and he was not movin' much a'tall.

We come back down into the office and looked at Utah.

"Orders, sir?" I asked, and 'twas not my voice that fell out from between my teeth, 'twas the voice of a man a decade and more younger who'd had the misfortune to have to fight in Lincoln's war.

Utah looked at us and considered for a long moment and I blurted, "Where's Doc?"

[DocWard]

As Doc glanced toward Calamity's shop, then back toward Cushman making noise and pointing, he was set by a moment of indecision. He didn't see or hear any activity in the store, so set off toward Cushman and the bank. He had just pushed past Cushman into the bank when the large man bolted through the door to Calamity's shop.

 

Cushman followed Doc inside, his voice pitched with panic, "Go after them! Go after the money!" Looking around, Doc saw Constance, Cushman's teller, slumped against the wall behind the counter, holding her head as blood streamed down her face. Turning to Cushman, Doc put a finger in his face and commanded, "Shut up! Go see if the doctor is around, or if anyone can come help me get Constance over to his office." When Cushman began to protest, "But the...," Doc's face went red and he shouted in a loud baritone voice, "NOW!" Cushman went pale, but turned and ran from the office as Doc yanked a handkerchief from his pocket as he ran around the counter and dropped to a knee.

Dropping down next to Constance, Doc was suddenly gentle and quiet as he looked at the older lady. Carefully pulling her hand away, Doc whispered, "Let me see, Constance. Can you tell me what happened?" Listening to see if she was coherent, Doc carefully wiped away the blood from her face and dabbed at the laceration on her scalp, carefully moving her hair, seeing where a lump had already formed.

"They... They came in. Hammond's sons and another man. Talked to him... Mr. Cushman. I didn't hear what was going on, but Cushman opened... The safe. When I saw them taking money, I asked... Asked why, when the man with them... Hit me over the head with his pistol. I don't remember after... I'm sorry." Doc nodded as he pressed the handkerchief gently against her head where blood was still flowing. "No need to apologize, Ma'am. Let's worry about you, OK? Do you think you can walk?" Constance looked up, unsure, but nodded her head. Doc took her hand and placed it over the handkerchief. "Hold this there, and let me help you up."

 

With as much decorum as possible, Doc helped Constance to her feet, feeling her lean against him as she got dizzy. Putting an arm around her, Doc looked down, "Easy, take a couple of deep breaths. Then let's just walk slowly toward the door." As she started moving, Constance was a bit off balance, but began moving better, and as they neared the door, shrugged off Doc's arm. Looking up, she smiled weakly, "I'm fine to walk under my own power, and we wouldn't want to start gossip, would we?" Doc gave a slow shake of his head as he smiled, trying not to laugh outright. "Oh, most definitely not Ma'am." With exaggerated courtesy, Doc reached for the door and opened it, gesturing with his hat in his free hand as he gave a slight bow, "After you, Ma'am." Standing as tall as she could, handkerchief pressed to her head, Constance walked through the door, smiling with good humor despite her injury, only to have it turn to exasperation as she saw Cushman hurrying back, his face red, "Oh, good, she's fine. Now, you need to go get a posse together and go after the money!" Constance looked at Mr. Cushman, and hesitated only a moment before reaching to slap the man, "Mr. Cushman, I quit!"

[Cactus Jack Calder]

Jack watched Linn charge into the Saloon. Then a gun battle of epic proportions erupted inside. Grabbing his 73 Jack headed for the rear of the Saloon. As he rounded the corner a small hatch popped open and two men exited. Recognizing Utah Bob and Linn, he held his fire. Linn and Utah moved around the other corner heading for the front. There was a good deal of shouting out in the street. The only word Jack could distinguish was ‘Bank’. That was not expected and boded no good. As he reached the front of the Saloon, sharp whistle sounded.  Then he saw Kit’s horse, Orion, disappear down an alley. Jack smiled, ‘That’s Kit alright. He has that Stallion trained like a performing puppy’. Running towards the bank, Jack saw the woman teller step out of the door, a kerchief held to her scalp with Doc close behind. The banker rushed up yelling about going after the money, when Doc shoved him aside. Taking the arm of the teller Doc began to escort her towards the doctor’s office just as Jack arrived.

 

Cushman, stepped forward as if to interfere. Jack grabbed him by the collar of his coat and commanded, “Leave them be! Tell me what happened.” “The bank was robbed,” sputtered Cushman. “It was the older Hammond son, Samuel. He and another man forced me to open the safe. They emptied it after clubbing Constance. Then they rode out of town.” “Did you see which way they went?” questioned Jack. “No! I was too busy trying to get the Marshall to see which way they went. There was all that shooting over at the Saloon and everyone was running that way. I did see that other Ranger heading north out of town. He was riding very fast. Do you think he might have been in on the robbery?” “You darn fool,” growled Jack. “If Kit was riding hard it was likely in pursuit of the robbers. You go over to the Marshall’s Office and tell him the Rangers are after the robbers and which way we went. I’m going after Kit if he’s alone, he may need help. We’ll bring back anything we catch, men, money or both.”

 

With that Jack swung up on his horse and galloped north to the edge of town. Pausing to read the sign he headed on the trail of three galloping horses. Keeping his eyes and ears open, Jack raced to the nearest rise on the trail. Once he could see a good distance he knew this was going to be a long chase. He set his horse at a ground eating lope to preserve his strength. He’d seen that Kit had done the same. Jack knew that Kit would be cautious of an ambush. That let Jack keep his pace up to catch Kit, with little danger to himself. An hour into the trail Jack could see that the outlaws horses were tiring. Kit’s sign showed the care he had given Orion, as his trail was as surefooted as when he started. Jack knew he was gaining. He hoped he caught up to Kit before the inevitable confrontation. Ahead he heard several shots. Nudging his horse into a faster pace he pulled his 73 from the scabbard and cocked the hammer. Rounding a corpse of trees, Jack spotted Kit hunkered down behind some rocks. Orion was off to the side well out of the line of fire. The robbers were in a draw. One was shooting at Kit’s position while the other moved along the length of the draw to try and flank Kit. Jack stepped down, took a knee and drew a bead on the flanker. One chance at surprise was all he had. He was out of range of the man shooting at Kit. Gently squeezing the trigger he fired. The flanker dropped and lay still fully exposed to Jack’s position.

 

Kit snapped a look in Jack’s direction and then returned to answering the shooter in kind. Jack hustled to the end of the draw where the flanker lay dead. Moving along towards the shooter he gained a position with full view of the man. Lining up his sights he hollered, “Texas Rangers, drop your weapon we’ve got you covered.” The shooter began to turn towards Jack. Jack fired, hitting him in the shoulder, knocking him onto his back. The man’s rifle fell away from him. Jack held his stance ready to shot again if needed. It wasn’t. As Jack rose to his feet, Kit approaches with his rifle at the ready. “Glad to see you Jack,” Kit said. “These fellows thought they would ventilate me and loose all pursuit.” “Yeah, I’m glad I showed up. That sneaky one over there is dead. This one is one of Hammond’s pups. If we get him back to town alive, he’ll spend 20 years in the pen.” Jack said with an evil looking grin. “That is unless you want to split the loot and tell the Marshall we couldn’t find it after these two birds died in the shootout.” “Wait, wait, you can’t kill me. My father is too important. He will have you hunted down.” Whined Samuel Hammond. “I truly hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Junior,” growled Jack. “But, your father is dead. He was shot by that lowlife Frezzel he had doing his dirty work. Your best shot at living is turning over the bank loot and coming clean on all the shenanigans your father pulled to try and get rid of Doc and Linn Keller.”

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Apple-horse set an easy pace toward town and four mountain-bred greys followed loyally.

Chief Deputy Jacob Keller did not have to look to know they followed.

The trail widened and became something that imagined itself a road, and after a bit, where another of the kind converged, it got a little wider and actually had a couple wagon ruts started.

Jacob came into town and eased up in front of the Sheriff's office.

Jacob was tall and Jacob was lean waisted, Jacob was pale eyed like his Pa, and like the old man back home, Jacob tended to take in the sights before jumping into the fracas.

He waited until the banker got snagged by the coat collar and admonished, he waited until men swarmed into and around the Sheriff's office, he waited until things seemed to settle down just a little bit, and then he unhitched his double gun from its sling over the saddle horn and dismounted.

A tall man coming through the door with a double gun pointed to the ceiling might cause concern in some circles, but not here: here, he was a man in a black suit and a solemn expression, here he was known to be a lawman, and here he stood watching as his Pa's cousin Linn turned toward the Sheriff and said "Orders, sir?"

He doesn't sound much like Pa, he thought, but outwardly made no move.

"Who-all is gone after the bank robbers?" Utah asked, his voice brisk, clipped, efficient:  Jacob recalled his Pa's voice sounding like that when he was in charge, when he was seizing information and processing it, when he was assessing troop strength and assignments.

Jacob moved, as was his habit, with all the fuss and bother of a passing cloud.

He was three steps from the heavy plank door when the door thrust open and an anxious, out-of-breath young man thrust in, his mouth working like it was trying to outrun his young legs.

Utah looked past the preacher, pinned the new arrival like he was pinning a butterfly to a cork board.

"Lucas?" he said and the young man raised his chin.

"The bank is robbed, sir," Lucas said, his words spilling out over his chin and falling to the floor like a minor waterfall, "the Rangers are after the robbers and Calamity and Mrs. Ward are safe."

Rangers, Jacob thought, a ghost of a smile hiding behind his cold eyes.

Once the Rangers go after them, they're as good as got.

Peacefully, or otherwise, and it don't matter which.

 

I turned as Jacob came in, and it was like seeing my cousin again -- he looked just like my best memories of the man -- a young fellow came in a moment later and informed that the Rangers were after the bank robbers.

Me?

I stood there kicking myself for not thinking of the bank.

Of course they'd want to hurt the town however they could.

What better way than to strip the only bank and take everyone's irreplaceable funds?

 

Utah considered for a long moment.

"Much as I'd like to go hell-a-tearin' after the robbers," he said slowly, "the Rangers can do a better job, faster, than I could with a whole posse."  He gave us a wise look and admitted, "Even if those thievin' scoundrels did make off with my money and everyone else's!"

He looked very directly at Jacob.

"You?"

Jacob looked just as directly back at the man.

"This is your county, sir," he replied firmly. "I came to deliver four horses and I have done that. I would be pleased to put myself at your disposal but I am not about to horn in on your territory."

Utah nodded, frowned a little, probably at a memory.

"Thank you," he said softly, confirming Jacob's suspicion that there was indeed a memory there, likely some well meaning sort who tried to tell Utah how to run his business.

Silence was sudden and thick in the room and finally Utah said "Linn, why don't you and Jacob ride out after those Rangers and see how they're comin' along."

"Yes, sir."

Two voices chorused, two men turned and strode out the door.

 

 

 

 

[Cactus Jack Calder]

After loading up the dead man and tying Sam Hammond to his horse. Kit and Jack headed back towards town. Winking at Kit, Jack asked, “Are you sure you want to bring this one in alive? We ain’t in Texas anymore. There’s no one to know we recovered the bank loot.” “Please,” screamed Samuel. “You can’t kill me. I’ll spill it all. Everything my father did.” “Yeah, and I suppose you were just an innocent victim in his nefarious plans? Unable to stand up for yourself or the people he victimized in his attempt to become ‘King of the County’? That story won’t wash. You lorded it over people around here, like you were a crown prince. Unless you own up to everything that you’ve done as well as layout your father’s actions, you are going to spend most your remaining life in prison.” Jack said. “What about your brother? Where is he?” “Albert! That no good coward,” said Samuel. “He wouldn’t ride with us when the men decided to hoorah the town. He’s out on the range ‘Learning the cow business’. All Bert wants to do is run the ranch and be a nursemaid to a bunch of cows. He has no ambition to be anything other than a Rancher.” In his disdain for his brother’s chosen path, Samuel never realized. He was providing Albert with testimony that would clear his name of any hand in the depredations of their father and Samuel.

 

Half an hour later they saw Linn and Jacob Keller approaching from the direction of town. “Hey there Linn,” hallooed Jack with a big grin. “Did you and Jacob figure we might need help?” Linn replied, “Marshall Bob sent us along to check up on your progress. It seems you two have things well in hand.” Samuel Hammond interrupted desperately, “Mr Keller, please help me. These barbarians are going to kill me and steal the bank’s money. They already killed Slim. They claimed to have killed my father also.” Linn Keller replied, “Samuel Hammond, you are a known scoundrel and liar of the first order. You have followed in your father’s foot steps. Now you must pay the penalty for your actions. The only thing that I could wish for is that your father had survived to answer for his crimes.” Seeing no chance of sympathy or help from the Kellers, Samuel lapsed into a sulking silence.

 

It was late when the five men arrived back in town with their grizzly load. Entering the Marshall’s Office with Samuel in tow. Jack said, “Hello Marshall. We have a prisoner for you, the bank loot and a body for digger.” “I’m sure glad to see you men recovered the bank money.” Responded Utah Bob. “This town would be in a mighty bad fix if that money wasn’t recovered. Cushman has been going on about how he’d have to close the bank and declare bankruptcy. That none of the depositors would be getting much of any money and he would have to foreclose on all loans the bank held.”

 

“I think you need to have a long talk with Samuel here.” Said Jack. “ It seems that Cushman was in cahoots with old man Hammond to defraud the people in town of their property and money. They were making a play to own the town, lock stock and barrel. This ‘Bank Robbery’ was a put up job to drive everyone into the poor house and allow Hammond to buy up most of the town for next to nothing. Then any holdouts would have been forced to deal with Hammond owned businesses and squeezed out by over priced goods and services.” “That’s what Doc and Linn were thinking,” replied the Marshall. “That’s why Cushman has been locked out of his bank and a State Banking Inspector has been requested to come and review Cushman’s financial practices.”

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Jacob looked over and I realized I had a grin and he'd heard my quiet laugh.

I looked over at him and laughed again.

"Jacob," said I, "riding with you is like riding with my pale eyed cousin."
I shook my head, looking around, then looked back.

When bank robbers and Rangers tore out of town, they were in a hurry and made no effort whatsoever to keep from throwing a very plain trail, and following them was not in the least little bit difficult.

"When you open your mouth, it's my cousin's voice that falls out, and you ride just as upright and as easily as the man!"

Jacob's eyes were busy as well, but he paused and looked over at me with those pale eyes and they were a little less hard -- which is almost like saying sandstone is a little less hard than mountain granite -- but they were more of a blue and I knew that meant my cousin was feeling just a shade friendly, and I supposed that held true with his son.

"Thank you, sir," Jacob finally replied.  "I will take that as a compliment."

We rode on.

At one point we drew up, our horses' ears telling us they heard something we couldn't:  we frowned, slacked our jaws and cracked our ears, the better to hear whatever it was that brought our mounts' attention ...

... nothing ...

We looked at one another, and we both made the same hand signal at the same time, and we flanked out on either side of the trail before proceeding ... the hand signal was one used by Cavalry scouts, and it was the easiest and most natural thing in the world to do, and each of us slid Winchester steel out of its scabbard before proceeding.

The country was conducive to ambush -- there were plenty of points I'd looked at and considered it would make a fine hide for a rifleman intent on taking out a pursuer -- and I felt a little better, flanking out from the path, knowing we both rode with rifle in hand, ready.

We were not met with gunfire.

 

It was only natural that two attractive young women should gravitate to one another.

They'd regarded each other with the polite inattention, looking only when it was not obvious, at least until one got up and walked down the aisle and stopped, and spoke very directly to the other.  This might have been a breach of Eastern protocol, but the pretty young woman being addressed was learning that Western manners were more direct -- and from her Uncle's letters, she gathered that this may be a result of living in a less ... formal ... society.

Introductions were made, the two settled in beside one another, talking quietly:  the newcomer cupped delicate fingertips under the other's chin, tilted her head back just a little, turned it slightly left, then right, frowning, studying her new acquaintance's features closely.

"You are honestly beautiful," she almost whispered, nodding.  "You're going to meet someone?"

The young woman was a little surprised, but her gut told her she could trust this pretty, pale eyed young woman in the fashionable gown whose gloved fingertips just released from under her chin.

"My uncle," she admitted, smiling innocently.  "I think he's known as Utah Bob."

The newcomer's eyes widened with delight and she gripped her new friend's hands carefully, the way a woman will when she makes a happy discovery.  "My father knows him!"

"Oh, do you know him too?" she asked in a delighted voice.

The pale eyed woman shook her head, smiling a little.  "Only by reputation, but he's known to be a man to ride the river with!  Honest as the day is long and Lincoln could have used him to blockade the Mississippi!"

The younger girl looked a little confused and her fashionable compatriot explained, "When Lincoln ordered the Mississippi blockade, he assigned his most bribe-proof officer to the task.  The Mississippi was so important as a supply route that he was bribed and repaced, and Lincoln put an even more trustworthy individual in charge.  He lasted a week.

"Finally Lincoln found absolutely positively the most bribe-proof, honest, straight-arrow adjutant in charge, and all was well, for one week."
"One week?"

The pale eyed young woman nodded solemnly.  

"Lincoln received his telegram and laughed when he read it."  She smiled again, quietly, recalling the tale told her by her pale eyed Papa.

"It read, 'Every man has his price and they've very nearly reached mine.  Advise course of action.' "

The two laughed quietly, and men and women alike smiled to hear it, for the laughter of two pretty young ladies is a pleasant thing to hear.

"Why are you traveling?"

"I have a private car," the pale eyed woman admitted, "but I was tired of riding alone and so I thought I might find some trouble to get into."  Her voice was low, as if sharing a naughty confidence, and they laughed again:  soon they rose and made their way back to the private car, where they realized they were bound for the same destination, but for different reasons.

Sarah Lynne McKenna had her new friend stand, and then turn, and she frowned:  "Let me take in your gown ... here, like this -- look in that long mirror -- it won't take but a minute," she murmured.  "I think we can tailor this for a really nice fit."

They chatted as Sarah sewed, her stitches quick, tiny, precise:  twice she had the gown on her model, twice she had it off her, and on the final fitting, she took her new friend by the shoulders and steered her in front of the long mirror.

"There now," she declared with satisfaction.  "How's that?"

Widened eyes and a delighted O of a mouth told Sarah she'd just pleased her friend immensely with her work.

"Now you've asked me why I'm traveling," she asked as Sarah lit the spirit lap to heat water for tea.  "Why are you taking this train trip?"

Sarah Lynne McKenna smiled wickedly, looking through lowered lashes, and her new friend had the delicious feeling she was going to be let in on a naughty secret, just between two girls.

"My brother is having fun without me," she said quietly, "and I intend to kick him right in the shins!"

[DocWard]

Mr. Cushman sat across from Utah Bob and Father Kit. Next to Mr. Cushman sat his wife, her face looking more sour than usual. Behind Bob sat his newly appointed deputy, Lucas Clayton. Utah Bob had asked for the meeting, but had wanted an official but unbiased witness. Young Lucas was there to observe and learn. While Kit had been involved in some the activities against the Hammonds, he had not had any direct dealings with the bank. Bob had decided that since Jack Calder had worked for Doc Ward, and Jacob Keller was related to Linn, the best choice among the lawmen in town was Kit.

Mrs. Cushman's face blanched as Utah Bob explained what had been reported, but Mr. Cushman turned red with anger. Nearly coming out of his seat, Cushman raised his voice in righteous indignation, "That's a Lie! I've done nothing illegal here, and my books will bear it out!" Utah Bob raised his hand in a calming gesture, "There's no need to shout, Sir. I haven't been rendered entirely deaf by all the shooting." Cushman stammered his response, "Y-You question my integrity and want me to remain calm? Especially in front of this man and that... That kid?" Utah Bob waited a couple of beats before responding, "Yes." As Mr. Cushman harrumphed and crossed his arms, Bob continued, "This man sitting next to me is a duly appointed lawman from the State of Texas, and that "kid," is now a deputy and is here to watch... And learn. Now, I'm not saying you did anything, that is what Hammond's son has said. If I had evidence, you would be in jail with him. You've been our banker, and an important member of the community, so I thought it my obligation to speak with you directly, instead of going off of the allegations of a person already charged."

Sitting up, Mrs. Cushman maintained her sour look, "Do you believe him? You said yourself he was charged, he is liable to say anything. Constance has access to our books, surely you don't think she would be involved in anything illegal, do you?" Bob leaned back in his chair using finger and thumb to smooth the hair on his gray mustache as he thought for a moment. "Funny thing, that. No, I don't believe Constance would be involved in anything illegal." As Cushman and his wife both gave slight nods and smiles of triumph, Bob continued, "In fact, I believe she is quite honest. Which made me wonder when I talked to her over at Doc Waite's after she got buffaloed. When the men were robbing the bank, they didn't have guns drawn. The gent that hit her, had to draw his pistol to do so. At least, that is how she recalled it."

Cushman again became livid, "If you think I had something to do with robbing my own bank, you have another think coming! Ask Doc Ward, I wanted him to give chase as soon as I saw him! Gentlemen, I believe this meeting is over. Come along Martha." Standing, Cushman looked at Utah Bob and Kit, pointing a finger, "Let the inspectors look. They'll find nothing." With that he turned and walked out the door, his wife scurrying behind him." Utah Bob looked around, "Well, that went better than expected."

[Cactus Jack Calder]

With Lefty Frezzel dead, Ranger Calder’s duties in East Fork, Wyoming were concluded. Jack had Marshall Utah Bob certify that it was indeed Frezzel that had been buried in Boot Hill. Telegraphing the news of Frezzel’s demise to San Antonio he was ordered to return to Texas. After getting a room at the hotel for one night, Jack wandered down to the station to purchase a next day ticket on the Denver and Gulf R.R. for himself and a tag for his Zebra Dunn to Denver, Colorado. In Denver he would transfer to the Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe R.R. For the long haul to San Antonio, Texas. It would take five days to make the entire trip. Having made the same trip north, Jack knew that by the time he reached San Antonio, he would be as sore and grumpy as a Bear with a bad tooth. At least Jacob Keller would be along for the first leg of the trip. He would have someone to talk to for a while. Jack was curious about the Sheriff of Firelands County, Colorado. He’d heard some rumors on the law-dog grape vine about a pale eyed lawman. While Jacob had those pale eyes he was obviously to young to account for all the rumors. Yep, the first leg of this trip could be entertaining.

 

Jack met Miss Abby, Doc and Linn Keller at the hotel restaurant for a farewell get together. Miss Kris was along with Miss Abby, although she was paying close attention to Linn. Jacob Keller, Kit Cool with Miss Lardy on his arm and Utah Bob wandered in and it was shaping up to be a party. “It seems Jacob and I are headed south on the same train tomorrow.” Said Jack. “I have to admit I’ll miss you folks. If your ever down Texas way look me up. The Ranger offices in San Antonio or Houston will know where I’m hanging my hat.” “You never told us the story you promised,” said Miss Abby. “The one about how you became ‘Cactus Jack’.”

 

“Well, seeing as how I promised you Miss Abby I guess I’ll have to own up to my embarrassing adventure. When I was pretty new with the Rangers I was stationed south along the border with Mexico. Our company was trying to stop the Mexican Bandidos from raiding across the border into Texas. They’d use hit and run tactics and cross back into Mexico where we Rangers could not go. The Mexican Federales swore they were trying to capture the bandits, but they never came close. It was accepted as fact that the Federales were being bribed. Being young and foolish I proposed to my Captain that I would take a couple of days leave.”

 

“On the third night the Ranger Company would welcome me back from leave in an arroyo just inside Texas. With luck I would have the company of the bandits to escort me across the border. I made a pest of myself with the bandits. Firing my rifle into their campfire, spooking their horses, that kind of thing. On that third night I let them get close enough so that they thought they could run me down and the chase was on. My horse had been fed on grain for several days, so I wasn’t worried they could actually out run me. Anyway, as I was hightailing it my horse slipped on some loose stone and threw me. I landed in a patch of Cholo Cactus. The horse was fine, I was covered with cactus spines and had no time to remove them. I jumped into the saddle and rode for my life. The bandits followed me across the border and the Rangers were there as planned. After the short battle my Ranger Compadres started calling me Cactus and it stuck. So now you know the  ignominious story of my monicker. I’ve become used to it and now embrace it. It has on occasion been an advantage when dealing with men who are not truly hardened. The stories of Cactus Jack Calder are some what over blown south of the border.”

[DocWard]

After the events of the recent days seemed to be winding down, Doc and Abigail enjoyed the company of friends, new and old for the evening. In all the chaos, Kris had managed to finish a couple of new dresses for Abigail, and Doc insisted she wear a deep blue one, despite it being a little formal for a simple dinner. A bit of makeup concealed the bruising and cuts she had remaining, and she looked a vision to Doc when he saw her in the dress. Calamity Kris was pleased at his response and just said, "wait until you see the emerald one." Despite Doc's curiosity, neither Kris nor Abby would say more. It just so happened that Mr and Mrs. Cushman were leaving the Marshal's office as Doc and his wife were walking toward the restaurant, and Mrs. Cushman looked as though she had swallowed quinine at the sight of Abigail in her new dress. Ever gracious, Abby smiled pleasantly and nodded slightly, "Good evening Mr. Cushman, Mrs. Cushman, I do hope all is well with you." The couple turned up their noses as they hurried past, not uttering a sound.

 

At the small party, as it turned into, Doc leaned forward in his seat, "Jack, you've been a tremendous help, and I wish you were sticking around. I have a few dozen head of cattle arriving on the train, and I'm going to need a couple of good hands before long. But, here's your pay, even if you didn't work out the month. Don't tell your Ranger friends, but you earned it." Cactus Jack took the proffered coins with a heartfelt thanks, and called for a bottle of wine with a grin.

Finally, feeling the need for rest, Doc and Abigail finally said their goodbyes, headed back for home. As they rode, they had discussed the future, cattle, and  building a new house, a little higher on a small bench of land behind their current home. Abigail had a couple of scabs and a bit of bruising from the cuts on her face, but looked no worse for wear otherwise. Once home, she had to admonish Doc, telling him she could take care of herself as he tried to do for her. She knew it was his way of expressing his relief that she was safe and sound, but she preferred doing for herself. Especially when it came to cooking. Doc could cook some things tolerably well, but she far preferred to take care of it herself, and not have the mess that he would leave.

 

Doc was up early the next morning, and had a grullo saddled to go check the property, letting the bay horse he favored get some needed rest. Doc walked the horse into the paddock and put a foot in the stirrup and, hands on pommel, was swinging into the saddle when he felt a powerful blow high on his arm, knocking him backward, as he flew backward, his mind was incredulous, thinking "How'd this damn horse kick me from that angle?" Falling, Doc's head hit a post, knocking him cold.

When he stirred, he was vaguely aware of having heard shots, and noises. Unable to move his left arm, and feeling his shoulder throbbing and burning with pain, Doc reached up with his right. Dragging himself to his feet by the fence rails, Doc saw blood where he had been laying, and looked down. Seeing he had been shot, he realized his left arm must be broken. His lightheadedness told him he had lost blood, and he leaned against the post as he called the grullo over. Hesitating, the horse slowly walked forward until Doc got reins in hand. Struggling with weakness and dizziness, Doc finally mounted the horse, thankful it was smaller than the bay. Tugging his wild rag from his neck, Doc stuffed it inside his coat and into his shirt sleeve, to try to slow the blood flow.

Nudging the horse forward, Doc walked to the front of the house. The door stood open, and Doc could see blood on the ground, and the results of a struggle. His voice hoarse with pain and fear, Doc called out, "Abby? Abigail! Are you in there?" Leaning forward in the saddle and peering inside, he saw the open shotgun on the floor, four empty cases nearby, and a spilled box of shells scattered around. Doc muttered to his horse, "She didn't leave without a fight. Come on, we need to get to town for some help." With that, Doc urged the horse forward, gripping the reins with his right hand, his left hanging to his side, blood seeping down it. Once on the trail, Doc urged the horse's pace, even as he lolled in the saddle, sometimes slipping into a twilight world where his wife's face was all that kept him moving on.

 

As the horse padded into town somewhat lathered, Doc heard Calamity Kris shout "Doc! What happened?!? Marshall! Anyone!! Help! It's Doc, he's been shot!!!" As she ran toward him, Utah Bob came running from his office, and Linn Keller came from the diner, followed by Michigan Slim. As they ran up to him, Utah Bob took Doc's horse by the bridle, and Doc looked down at his four friends. "Abby's been taken," was all he got out, and as he tried to dismount, his head swam, and Doc fell into the waiting arms of Linn and Slim.

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

I went all cold inside and the civilized part of me stepped to the side out of the way.

What was left was the hard shell of a man who knew war too well.
Doc slumped forward and then went over sideways and Slim and I pressed shoulders together and reached up and grabbed Doc before he could fall too far.
Bloody he was and his arm wasn't right and someone came up with two poles and a blanket across 'em -- I'd manufactured stretchers in that identical way myself -- we got him over to the doc on the hot foot.

Doc held his bad wing and tried to climb out of his bloody haze, or I should say his blood loss haze, for he was pale and his lips were not any color I liked to see.

Once we turned him over to the doc, Slim and I looked at one another and I reckon how I felt was plain as a newspaper and he didn't look happy a'tall his own self.

"Slim," said I, "how good a tracker are you?"

He looked at Doc and he looked at me and he said, "I'm good," and that was enough for me.

We saddled up and headed out to Doc's.

Whoever took Abby left sign and we needed to know what happened, and we needed to know what they rode, and we needed to know which way they went.

Jacob was not back yet.

I would have welcomed his presence but 'twas the two of us and that would have to do.

One of his mountain greys was standing beside my Bud mule and I nodded, for there are signs and portents, and that was one:  I stripped Bud-mule of saddle and blanket and I saddled up that grey, and I rubbed her jaw and whispered to her and I could not help but look within myself and see the Scripture that came to mind.

Death rides a pale horse.

I nodded, for that suited me just fine.

[Cactus Jack Calder]

As Jack was enjoying a leisurely breakfast before heading to the station to wait for his train. He heard yelling, then it registered, Doc was back in town, he was hurt. Dropping a couple of coins on the table he ran out of the cafe towards the disturbance. Utah Bob, Linn Keller and Michigan Slim were already lowering Doc off his horse. Miss Kris was telling Lucas to get Doc Waite.  Jacob was right behind Jack as Utah Bob turned and said, “Someone’s taken Abby. Jack, you and Jacob ride out to the ranch find Linn and Slim see what you can find. I’ll send Lucas along as soon as he gets back from the doctor’s. Send word back with him of what you find and what you need. I will get Doc taken care of for now. Is J. Mark still in town?” “I believe he was to take the train this morning,” said Jacob. “He is probably nearby.” “Okay, you two get going. I’ll organize anything else that is needed once I hear from you.” Said Utah.

 

The men headed for the livery. “Jacob,” said Jack. “Would you get ‘Pardner’ ready for me? I’ll head into the mercantile and grab some jerky and hard tack in case we have to stay out for a while.” Jack entered the mercantile and said to the shop keeper, “I need enough jerky and hard tack for four men on the trail for four days. Split it into two sacks, we’ll divide it up more on the trail. Also, give me four canteens.” “Right away, Ranger,” the shop keeper responded. “Is Doc going to be alright? My son heard what happened. Are you going out after Mrs. Ward?” “Yes, Linn Keller and Slim are on their way. Jacob and I are going out to meet them. I expect Ranger Cool, will be joining us. I don’t know how bad Doc is hurt, but it was pretty bad looking.” “Good hunting, Ranger, I pray you can bring Mrs. Ward home safe. The supplies are on us. The Wards are good people. We need more of their like here in East Fork.” “Thanks sir, I’d best get at it.” Said Jack as he exited the store.

 

Crossing over to the livery he was not surprised in the least to see Kit tightening the cinch on Orion’s saddle. “Howdy Kit, I figured you’d be here I got supplies for four and extra canteens so we can push hard if we need.” Hailed Jack. Stepping up to Pardner he tugged at his cinch. “Thank you Jacob for dressing out Pardner here. Let’s ride, Abby Ward is in trouble and I’ll brook no delay to rescue her. Linn and Slim are ahead of us and will have the trail started by the time we catch up to them.” “We are with you Jack,” Kit said. Everyone mounted up and headed out at a quick gait, towards the Ward ranch.

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

I had just loaded my horses onto the train when Lucas came running up. "Col Flint: he shouted as I stepped up onto the train.  I turned and stepped down.

"Deputy, what can I do for you?"   He caught his breath and told me Doc was shot and Abagail was missing.  I turned and headed to the stock car, "Help me get my horses Lucas, no time to waste."  In a moment the two chestnuts were off the train and I was tightening the cinch on Thunder's saddle as Lucas led Lightning towards the Sheriff's office.  We tied up to the hitching post and I thanked him as I stepped inside the office.

 

"UB, your Deputy told me there was trouble.  What can I do?"  UB looked at me and gave me an outline of what was going on.  "UB I can track as well as most indians, but I'll do whatever you need."

[DocWard]

Doc Ward came to as he was being littered to the doctor's office, and tried to lift himself up, "We need to get on the trail, quickly... Abby... She fought... Don't know if she's hurt..." Keller pressed him back as he tried to pull himself up. "Lay still, man, we need to get you to Doc Waite's and get you taken care of, then we'll be leaving momentarily." Doc struggled still, but gripping his hand, Calamity Kris spoke in soothing tones, tears in her eyes, "Please Doc, do what he says. You need to be seen to. Let them handle it." Looking around, his face showing near panic, Doc pleaded, "Then hurry, we need to hurry. Please." Linn looked down at his friend as if Doc's pain were almost his own, "One thing at a time, Doc." 

 

"Should we bury 'em?" The four men stood around the bodies of their two companions. Dead from the shotgun Abigail had wielded as they came after her. Of those remaining, One had his arm in a makeshift bandage that was already bloodied, and one had a broken nose from the butt of the shotgun Abigail had slammed against his face, and his eyes were already turning black. Another suggested, "Wrap 'em in their bedrolls, then tumble some rocks over on them. That's about all we have time for. Then we need to start making our trail scarce. No telling how long before somebody goes out to their ranch and find's her husband's body and figures out she's missing. Two men dead and two injured, I don't think the big guy knows what he's in for with her. Glad we got half in advance." As he spoke, the man looked over at Abigail, wrists bound behind her and ankles together, a gag in her mouth. Even like that, the fury and hatred in her eyes gave him a start, and in the back of his mind, a cautious bell sounded. Grabbing a bedroll, he shook it out, "Come on, we're burning daylight."

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Slim and I were satisfied the men we wanted were long gone, so our attention was on the ground.

We taken pains not to ride over their tracks, and when we cut sign of horses ridden hard headed another direction, we held up and studied them.

Slim dismounted and hunkered, he got up and waddled a step or two and hunkered again, frowning a little and I had the general impression he was reading the ground like a civilized man reads a newspaper.

We back trailed to Doc's place, keeping wide of these tracks and we were not alone for very long.

Hard eyed men we knew came riding up, men ready for a young war:  none were in such a careless hurry as to run hell-a-tearin' until we had as much information as we could reasonably get without wasting time.

Jacob looked over at me, mounted on one of his Pa's greys, and he nodded, once, slow, and I returned the nod.

So far his horses really hadn't been of much use.

Now ... now I intended to put this Colorado bred ghost of a mount to good use.

Bud-mule was sure footed and Bud-mule was steady and Bud-mule was tough, but my gut told me I would need something closer to a Cavalry mount.

Something made of whipcord, rawhide and Damascus steel, something tough as white oak and raw hide leather.

I'd heard about these horses, these Macneil mounts, these mountain horses carefully bred of the best stock the granite mountains ever saw.

So far this one was intelligent and eager to please, and if I were foolish or not attentive, I might mistake it more as a pet than a warrior's mount.

 

Two fashionably dressed young women stepped from the private car and  then up to the depot platform, looking around.

Their luggage was carefully, deferentially placed on the platform with them, the porter touching the brim of his polished, black cap brim as he turned to climb aboard once again.

Both women turned to see a truly huge, absolutely black horse, too large to be considered a saddlehorse, being led from the stock car.

Sarah waited until their luggage was loaded onto the hired wagon, until the carriage drew up, until she and her companion were seated on tuck-and-roll upholstery:  Sarah kissed at the huge black mare, and it paced along behind them like a happy puppy, and Sarah directed their driver to swing by the livery, that she might have her Snowflake-mare put up.

Only after this detail was addressed did they proceed to the hotel to secure lodging.

"I know you have family here," Sarah said confidently, "and they will be more than happy to take you in, but you yourself said they weren't sure when you were arriving, and this way you are guaranteed meals and a bed without inconveniencing them.  Besides" -- she gave Utah's niece a gentler look -- "I am a stranger in town, and it helps to have a friend."

She colored a little and nodded.  "I know," she whispered.  "I haven't seen my Uncle for some time."

"Is he nearby?"

"He is the Sheriff."

"Good."  Sarah's face went from soft and sympathetic to almost wolfish.  "Let's find him!"

Sarah looked around once they were outside, raised a gloved hand, then pointed.

"If men want to know something, they go to the local saloon," she said, "but if we women want to know something, we go to a woman, and I think" -- she pointed to Calamity's shop -- "that might be a good place to start!"

[DocWard]

Laying on Doctor Waite's exam table, Doc Ward gripped his upper arm as he looked up. Rubbing his chin, the doctor explained, "Bullet hit, broke your humerus up high, took a bit of muscle with it, and you bled a lot. You've quite the bump on the back of your head. I'm guessing you got a headache and would be light headed even without the blood loss. I think I can set your arm, but it's gonna hurt, and with as much blood as you've lost, I don't think whiskey is a good idea. I've no ether or chloroform either." Doc Ward closed his eyes and nodded as he swallowed hard. Breathing heavily, Doc swallowed again before speaking, "Set it and bandage it, splint it, and sling and swathe it as best you can, I've got to get out there and join the search."

 

Waite shook his head, "Are you insane? You are in no condition to go anywhere. You're going to be laid up for weeks, and I don't know if you'll ever get full use of your arm back. The best around are already out looking for Abigail. Texas Rangers, former cavalrymen, Indian fighters... Leave it to them. They'll bring her home." Doc Ward glared up at the doctor he respected, "She's my wife. If anything happens to her, I intend to see the men who harm her dead. By my hand. Just do it, or I'll go find someone who will." Shrugging, Doc Waite, replied, "Your funeral."

Doc's agonized scream as his bone was set could be heard outside in the street. After, his pale face covered in a sheen of sweat, Doc said through gritted teeth, "That wasn't so bad," before letting his head fall back onto the pillow on the table as the doctor checked his fingers for circulation. Sitting Doc Ward up, the doctor finished his work. Wiggling his fingers, Doc said, "Make sure I can at least use the fingers of my left hand, I need to be able to load a revolver, and maybe hold onto reins." Doing his best work, the doctor finished up, and stood back. Doc, slid to his feet and grasped the table as dizziness and nausea threatened to bring him to his knees. "If you insist on trying to kill yourself, at least go to the diner and get some food in you. I'd recommend soup, and plenty of water. Slim is out on the search, but his daughter is there." Stumbling toward the door, Doc dropped his good hand to make sure his revolver was in place, muttering, "Slim... Good... Nobody better on a trail, unless it's Col. Flint." Walking out the door, Doc started toward the diner. He was glad to see someone had left his horse at the rail down the street near where he had fallen.

[Calamity Kris]

As Doc was making his way down the street grabbing each post and rail for balance as he moved, Calamity bolted out of her shop and ran towards him.  "Doc, BEN, what are you doing here?" Calamity shrieked.  "You've been badly hurt and lost a lot of blood.  You need to be off your feet and resting."  "Look", Doc said weakly, "I have to help them find Abby."  Calamity would hear non of it.  She reached up and grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled his face closer to hers.  "Listen to me.  You and Abby are my best friends and the only family I have.  I could not stand to loose either one of you but the thought of possibly loosing both of you would destroy me.  You need to get your backside in bed and rest up.  Col. Flint is assisting as well as Slim and Linn.  The men have it covered.  Please go lie down and take care of yourself.  I'm begging you, and I don't beg very often."  With that, Doc pulled back from the grip Calamity had on his collar to lean against the post for a moment.

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

Slim and I rode point ready to find any sign and halt the group before the trail might be obscured.  I slowed and signaled as we were still a quarter mile out.

 

"I'd suggest Slim rides a loop around the range. I'll go to the house on foot."

 

Slim frowned "That's a two plus mile loop, wouldn't we be better off to go in opposite directions and meet in the middle?"

 

I nodded. "Possibly, but time isn't on our side and I need to see the scene in good light."

[DocWard]

Listening to Calamity Kris, Doc could only think of, and fear for, his wife. After leaning against the post for a moment, Doc nodded and spoke, his voice pained, "You win. Let me go to the diner and get some soup, then I will go get some rest." Calamity took Doc by his good arm, "I'll do you one better, I'll take you to the cot in the back of my shop, and you can lay down, then I'll go get you some soup, and you can eat, then rest." Tugging him, but actually bracing him, she started toward her shop. Doc knew there was no use in arguing anymore, or trying to get away from his friend. "Tomorrow," he thought, "I'll get out on the hunt tomorrow."

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

A pale eyed young woman glided up on Doc's injured side, a pretty but scared-looking girl hanging back, wringing her reticule in gloved hands, clearly not knowing what to do.

"How can I help?" she asked, her voice low, musical, and Kris shot her a glare that would pierce boiler plate.

She found her glare matched by mountain's cold, by granite-hard eyes that had clearly seen her share of hell and grief and was prepared to wage war any time, any where.

"Help me get him inside."

Doc's vision hazed as strong hands gripped him, gripped his belt and his coat, his good arm and across his chest:  he set his teeth against the pain, against his weakness, his damned weakness! -- he had to go, he had to get Abby, his Abby ...

"He's passed out."

"Good."
Kris's head snapped up and if she'd had her hands free she'd have ripped this newcomer's head off and slung it down the alley.

"Let's get him inside," the pretty, pale eyed woman said, her voice quiet, but with steel behind the words: "I have some herbals."

She looked at Kris and something cold wrapped itself around Kris's guts as the pale eyed woman murmured, "I am a mountain witch."
Kris's lips were white, bloodless, pressed together:  somehow Doc's compact, muscled bulk was easier to handle with this stranger's hands on him, somehow he was almost lighter, if that were possible -- but at the moment these were secondary observations, filed away in the back of Kris's mind as the rest of her ran ahead, mentally cataloging bunk, blankets and broth, things a hurt man would need to recover.

 

Jacob leaned back a little, his Apple-horse obediently halting:  he raised a gloved fist and his companion, fading into a clump of brush, stopped.

Jacob raised his glasses, stood in his stirrups, studied something:  he gave the area a careful looking-over, for he was not a trusting man ... then he nodded, looked over, freed one hand.

One man, his gloved hand said.

He waited for the acknowledging nod.

Jacob raised two fingers in a V, pointing to his own eyes, another sign:  Watcher.

A rear guard, then, an outlier, someone watching for pursuit.

Slim's blood cooled several degrees, fast, at the change in the deputy's face.

He was pale now, very pale, the flesh stretched tight over his facial bones; his eyes were white, hard, like polished granite, his lips peeled back like a dried skull's.

He made one more sign, and then he drew a knife, a long, slightly curved, very sharp knife.

Slim recognized the sign and, seasoned warrior though he was, a deep and hidden part of himself shivered in honest fear as the skull-faced deputy gave one last hand signal before melting forward into the brush, he and his horse, and disappearing.

Mine.

[DocWard]

Abigail was pulled roughly from the horse by the man who was clearly the leader of the group. Tall and powerfully built, he had a nearly flat nose from many fights, and a dark bushy beard that was long and unkempt. Setting her on the ground, he set about tying her feet and knees. He and the others then sat about making a quick evening meal. There was little talking as they worked. As she watched, she knew they were efficient in their work, if nothing else.

 

Bringing food to her, the tall man took a knee and untied Abby's hands and pulled her gag from her mouth, watching as she worked her jaw and tongue to relieve some of the ache in them. Handing her a canteen, the man watched as she drank, then handed her a plate of food. The man was still disconcerted by the fact that every time their eyes met, he didn't see fear. He saw fury, hatred, even disdain, but no fear. Taking up the plate, Abigail took a bite, as the man retrieved a plate for himself and staying near her as he ate.

 

Looking up, she asked, "Where are you taking me?" The man shrugged off the question, "You'll find out soon enough. You just concern yourself with being smart so we don't have to hurt you. You're worth a thousand dollars apiece to us. Hell, with Jack and Tyler dead, I guess that's fifteen hunnerd. But unharmed, so let's keep it that way." Abigail pondered the news. Six thousand dollars? For her? Who... And why...?

 

Abby looked up at her captor, "Dead men don't spend money very well. You'd be wise to take me back, or just let me go and get out of the territory. It won't be long before my husband and our friends catch up to you, and they aren't men to be trifled with. I don't know if your employer told you that." The man gave a wicked grin as he looked down at Abby, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your husband is dead. Daniel had him dead to rights, and I saw that shot knock him from his horse, and when he hit the ground, he didn't even twitch." Her captor expected shock, tears, screaming, even cursing at the news. He didn't expect the smile Abby gave as she looked up at him, and it sent a chill up his spine. "I'm afraid I have to bear bad news. My husband is not dead."

 

Even as the man scoffed, he watched as Abby relaxed, taking a breath and exhaling slowly, her eyes focusing on nothing in front of her for a long moment, as if he and everything around had ceased to exist for that moment. Looking up, she smiled that smile again, "No, you are mistaken. If he were dead, I would know it." Tapping her heart, then after a pause her head, she added, "I would know it, here... And here. Men are already on the trail for you. Hard men. Veteran soldiers and lawmen. Unless I am released unharmed, you will all die. At least one of you, perhaps your employer, by my husband's hand." The man scoffed, but the chill of caution that ran up his spine was still there, and it was something like fear.

As they packed up from their meal, the men whispered among themselves, "She seems awful sure Daniel here didn't kill her husband. Didn't even flinch when you told her." "He's dead I say, you saw that shot as well as I did. I plugged him solid. She's crazy, or in shock." "Just remember, fifteen hunnerd apiece, I don't care if her husband's alive and coming with the cavalry and Texas Rangers, that's a good chunk of money, and to collect, we need to deliver her in one piece. Do your jobs, and we'll collect and be on our way. Daniel, you get out in front a ways. Jack, you hang back and keep an eye on our back trail. Me and Joe will ride along with her, and lets try to make some time. The sooner we deliver her, the sooner we collect."

[Cactus Jack Calder]

Jack and the others saw Jacob, in the lead, stop and scan ahead. He watched as Slim waited patiently, then after making small hand motions, Jacob turned into the brush and disappeared. Slim turned back and slowly approached,”Jacob has seen a watcher on the trail. He went to capture or kill him. Linn thet young cousin of yours can be downright scary.” Linn snorted, “Takes after his father. His eyes got pale didn’t they? That branch of the Keller line are like that. You don’t ever want to have one of them after you. Jacob has a sister, very beautiful. I’ve never met her, but I’m told she is more deadly than Jacob. Jacob said, she bests him in personal combat.” Suddenly Jacob was there easing out of the brush at their side. “The watcher is dead. He had little information to give other than there were four men left of the group who took Mrs. Ward. She accounted for the two we found buried under the rocks. He did say they were to be payed by someone he didn’t know, to deliver her UNHARMED.” “In a way that is good news,” replied Linn. “They are less likely to handle Abby roughly. It may slow them a little, as they’ll need to take care not to injure her. Let’s move while we still have light. Slim are you and Jacob still good to do the tracking?” “I’m good,”said Slim. “How bought you Jacob?” “Let’s go,” he responded.

 

After Slim and Jacob moved ahead the cavalcade set out to follow. J. Mark said, “I wish I’d gotten my hands on that watcher. He’d have told us more when I was through with him.” Linn gave him a thin smile and said, “I seriously doubt there was anymore he knew. I know Jacob’s story, though I’d not met him before. Jacob had a hard life as a youngster and took care of himself. Though young in years he was a man in experience when he finally found his father. That Damned War made life harder than need be for many who did not fight.” Jack sat his horse and listened without comment. Observing each man in the posse. He knew Kit Cool best as a fellow Ranger, he was by definition of the job a reliable partner on the trail. He was comfortable with Linn Keller, he’d seen him in action. Jack had met J. Mark only a short time ago, Utah Bob accepted him. Though it seemed he had some reservations about the man’s restraint. Jack felt an affinity for Jacob, his quiet assured manner fostered confidence. Jack knew Michigan Slim hardly at all, though his tracking skills were apparent. This was the posse that rode on a mission to rescue the wife of Jack’s best friend in East Fork. Miss Abby had treated him like family and Doc had given him respect, sound advice and cover for his earlier assignment to capture a cold blooded killer. Doc and Miss Abby had his complete loyalty. If they needed his help, as they did now, Jack was committed.

 

The posse moved along at best speed. Balancing time against caution they closed on the distance between the posse and the gang of kidnappers. When it became too dark to track Jacob and Slim joined the main group. “There’s a full moon later this evening, said Slim. “Once it is up I think I will be able to continue tracking. I need to be very careful that we don’t stumble on their camp. I don’t want to alert them to our presence until we are ready to act. Jacob thinks we can move carefully if the terrain remains the same. He will keep an eye out while I work the tracks.” “Let us take this time to eat a bite, rest and water the horses then check our weapons,” said Linn. By unspoken common consent Linn had assumed the roll of posse leader. As the group began their tasks, Jack approached Jacob. “Can you or Slim tell anything about the condition of their horses? It’s been a long trail so far. If they’re pushing their horses hard they may be wearing down. If they have a relay ahead with fresh horses we can be at a big disadvantage.” “The trail indicates they are taking care of their horses. Conserving the animals resources.” Responded Jacob. “I have a hope that means these animals are their only mounts.” “That will be good if it is so,” returned Jack.

[Calamity Kris]

Kris motioned towards the back of her shop.  "The cot is in the corner near the stove."  Both ladies guided him to the corner and gently let him down onto the cot, doing their best to avoid his injured arm.  Having witnessed the goings on, Lucas came rushing into the back of the shop to see if he could be of any assistance.  "Lucas, please go to the cafe and get a bowl of soup for Doc.  Make it some of that hearty beef and vegetable soup they specialize in.  He needs all the nourishment he can get.  Have them put it on my tab."  Lucas touched the brim of his hat with a gentle "yes ma'am" and darted out the door to the cafe.  Kris motioned to the shelf nearest the cot and said to the young lady standing there "please reach up and grab that quilt and the pillow to the right of it.  I need to make sure he's comfortable."  The young lady did as was asked of her in short order.  Kris placed the blanket over Doc and the pillow under his head.  "Now Ben, you rest.  Lucas will bring you back some soup.  I'll have him stay here with you in case you need anything."  Doc began grumbling as if he wished to argue, then thought better of it.  He slumped back onto the pillow and breathed a sigh of relief.  "You just relax," Kris said.  Lucas will be back soon. 

 

"I'm sorry ladies" Kris stated.  "I was rude and didn't catch your names."  "You were a might busy taking care of your friend" said Sarah.  "I completely understand."  The other young lady who had been watching from the side spoke up and said "Are things always like this in your town with folks getting shot and all?"  "Dear no," Kris stated in a shocked tone.  "We have a very peaceful town here and the folks are good, upstanding citizens.  We are having a little difficulty with a couple of the bad apples, that's all."  With that, Lucas came in the front door with a hearty bowl of soup and some fresh baked sourdough bread.  The wonderful aroma filled the shop.  Kris grabbed the chair from her sewing table and placed it next to the cot for Lucas to sit in.  "Please sit here Lucas and keep Doc company.  Make sure he gets plenty to eat and then some rest.  He has been badly hurt and needs it."  "Will do, ma'am." with that, Lucas procured a spoonful of soup and brought it to Doc's lips.  "Just take a small sip right now, sir.  There's plenty more for you but you need to take it slow."  With that, Kris motioned to the ladies towards the front room of the shop.  "I'll grab some tea cakes and we can chat up here.  Let's give the men some rest."

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Sarah raised a finger, raised an eyebrow, and Lucas obediently froze.

She reached in her reticule, frowned, fished around with thumb and forefinger, brought out a tiny little porcelain mortar-and-pestle:  another dip into her little bag of wonders and she brought out a small paper envelope.

Lucas held the dish as she ground something that looked like crumbled, dried leaves; the smell was something he couldn't quite identify, couldn't quite name, something only vaguely familiar.

"Now we'll stir this in," she murmured, tapping the contents of her little porcelain bowl into the soup:  she stirred it gently, nodded.

"Lucas, please back up one step, just so."
She placed gentle fingertips on Doc's temples, turned so she faced him squarely.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," he whispered, wishing for another spoon of soup, at least until something drove through his skull and seized his very soul with adamantine claws.

His eyes widened as he fell away from his body, fell through time and through space and through cold, damp clouds --

He opened his eyes and grinned, and it was not a pleasant expression.

He felt his red Scottish beard without reaching up to touch it, his feet were damp in the low growth, he felt woven wool brush his knees --

He raised a sharpened blade, raised the good watered-steel sword, snarled deep in his throat as he faced the ranks of the hated English.

His left hand closed about a second, wire-wrapped hilt, and the twin to the sword he hefted in his good right hand raised to his field of vision, just before his chest expanded and he inhaled damp, cool, Highland air, just before his throat closed around the roaring war-cry of his Clan, just before he and his Clansmen charged the English ranks.

Part of his mind registered that his skin was blue, blue with woad, warrior's blue, as was the hide of the Celt pounding along beside him, a fellow warrior screaming defiance, spike-bossed targe in her off hand and a businesslike blade in the other, and he knew without looking this was his mate, his wife, the mother of his children, the other half of his soul:  his own instinct pointed to her like a compass to a lodestone, and he knew that in this life or the next, or a hundred lives yet to be, he would know where she was, without having to look.

He fell from the battlefield, he was suddenly standing alone in a low hut, a Wise Woman before him, a Wise Woman with fingertips to his temples, a Wise Woman who saw through his eyes, who shared the deepest knowledge of his soul.

He felt her fingers lift from his temples and he was lying on his back again, and the fingers became hands, and the hands closed gently about his broken arm.

He felt heat, he felt the gnawing pain shrink from him, and he relaxed, and the witch-woman's hot palm rested on his forehead and he heard her whisper, without words, and then he saw her lips move, rich red lips below ice-pale eyes.

 

Lucas waited, big-eyed, wondering what it meant when this beautiful, pale eyed woman whispered, "Clan Maxwell is here," with a distinct accent, and then she looked up at him and nodded.

"I believe he is hungry," she said gently.

Sarah stepped back, closed her eyes, bowed her head.

 

Jacob's eyes snapped open and he felt his ears pull back a little of their own accord, as if hearing a whisper, and then his eyes tightened just a little, at the corners.

He looked at his father's cousin, lifted his chin.

Linn paced over to him, his expression curious.

Jacob straightened.  "Sir," he said quietly, "I know where she is, and she is not hurt."

His expression was one Linn had seen before.

It was the satisfied expression of a man who knew he was going to do very violent and very unpleasant things, to someone who most richly deserved such treatment.

"She's not hurt?"  Linn asked quietly.

"No, sir," Jacob replied, "but she is very, very angry."

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Abigail knew they kept her alive only because someone was not going to pay for damaged goods.

She knew she'd fought for her very life and she'd sent more than one ahead of her when they came through her door, and she knew her captors had not forgotten this.

They gagged her after she'd eaten, they'd forced the cloth cylinder between her teeth, tied it off behind her head:  they'd kept her blindfolded, so she could not see who held her while she was bound again.

Her ankles were crossed and tied, a line secured them to something -- she hadn't seen what -- multiple sets of hands held her, tightly, while she was arm-bound, and whoever tied her, had experience at tying women.

Or girls.

They'd run the leather string around the slenderest part of one forearm, tied it off, then crossed her forearms and tied around the slenderest part of her other forearm, run a twitch, set the knots high, where questing fingers could not possibly reach them.

They'd forced her elbows together, run a string around just above her elbows, tied this off.

They'd laid her down on her side and withdrew with a few comments, quickly stifled -- whether by a strong leader, or out of jealousy, Abby didn't know, nor did she care.

She'd eaten because she knew she had to keep her strength up, she had to be ready when her opportunity came, and she knew that come it would.

Abby was a descendent of Scots warriors, and she well knew that a warrior had to be ready, but a warrior could not burn out her strength ahead of time, and so she willed herself to sleep, for sleep is as necessary to combat effectiveness as nutrition.

 

Hard-eyed men ghosted over the countryside, flowing like shades of the departed: they knew they were close, they knew they were hunting men like themselves, and they constantly asked themselves, if they were pursued, where would they set their watchers.

They made as much headway as they could and then stopped for the night, knowing their pursuit would be faster come daylight.

 

Abby woke.

There was a warmth behind her, the heat of a living creature.

Abby was wide awake in a hearteat, but helpless:  she did not feel fear, she felt anger, a deep and abiding rage, and yet she controlled this passion, this warrior's fire:  her breathing did not change, and when a hand grasped one of hers and a stubbled chin brushed the angle of her jaw, her mind raced about in circles, seeking some way of laying violent hands on this monster intent on her defilement --

A whisper --

"Clan Maxwell is here," she heard:  "squeeze my hand twice if you understand."

Abbie froze, then took a long, silent breath, squeezed twice.

"Hold still and make no sound."

She squeezed twice more.

A man's fingers looked at her forearm-bindings; she heard the quiet pop of the leather strings yielding to a very, very sharp blade.

She felt her rescuer pause, knew he was holding action for a good reason.

His hand ascended her arm, found the elbow-binding:  this, too, was parted, carefully, methodically, freeing her left bicep only.

He placed a checkered-wood knife's hilt in her hands.

"Don't move," he whispered, and she felt something, she was not sure quite what -- until a man's hand gripped her foot, and the leather strings confining her ankles parted, one at a time.

Abby controlled her breathing.

She'd been freed and she had a weapon and she was more than willing to lay about the Philistines with this sharpened jawbone of a jack mule, at least until she could seize what her husband called a "battlefield pickup" --

A tug, the sound of steel whispering through cloth, the blindfold fell away, and then steel slid between the rear angle of her jaw and the hated mouth stuffer.

"Wait," came the whisper, and Abby opened her eyes, blinked rapidly.

There was no fire, but there was a moon:  she faced a rock, she could see nothing else.

"I need you to come with me," the man's whisper in her ear:  "be silent," and she felt him withdraw from her just a little.

 

Slim waited.

He hadn't seen Jacob slip away from him -- he'd known it was happening, but when the man moved, he was as much a ghost as those grey horses of his -- Slim knew the others were encircling, and they too moved with the stealth gained from a lifetime of hunting men.

Nothing moved in the moonlight.

Grey horses drifted into the outlaws' string of tied-off mounts, muttering to one another; the unwashed, unshaven sort assigned picket duty looked over at the greys, drifting into the spaces between their picketed mounts as if they were old friends coming home, and he stood, staring, until a hand covered his face -- until he was seized from behind -- until a sunball of utter agony detonated in his tenderloins, an agony so bright, so overwhelming, his scream was locked deep in his throat, paralyzing his voice and his body, at least until a stone-sharpened edge came close to parting his head from his shoulders.

J. Mark eased the body down, hoping the wind would not carry blood-scent to the picketed horses and spook them, but the night breeze was drifting toward him, not away from him.

He slung the excess off his blade, wet his lips, warbled a soft night-bird's call.

 

Abby moved like a wraith, slithered around a rock, paused.

Her benefactor flowed into a ball, or so it seemed in the deep pool of moonshadow:  she had the impression of a great cat, then the cat stood and it was a man:  he squatted again and offered his hands.

"Would you stand, my Lady?" he whispered, and she came up on her knees, took his hands, stood.

"Jacob Keller. My father met your husband years ago and we're getting you home."

"Is my husband hurt?"

"He's hurt, yes ma'am, and he's mad enough to bite the railing off a whorehouse porch, but he's very much alive."

Abby breathed in, slow, deep, her warrior's rage firing itself within her.

"Let's get some distance."

Abby did not want distance.

Abby wanted justice.

She looked back at the outlaws' encampment and blinked.

 

Kit took a short grip on his rifle's barrel, thrust, hard, parrying the outlaw's gunbarrel as if they were two blades.

Kit was veteran at close-in and dirty fighting:  to watch him was to watch a dance, and were there eyes to see and to appreciate, his movements would have been recognized for what they were:  fast, smooth, well-coordinated, honed by much practice, and with the confidence of a man who'd done this before.

He spun the opposing gunbarrel up and out of his way, he reversed his own rifle and drove the crescent buttplate's upper point hard into the other fellow's collar bone, driving hard enough to snap bone and bust the underlying artery:  a twist, a snap-kick, Father Kit's boot disappeared into the outlaw's gut just above the belt buckle, driving him backwards, folded in two.

The outlaw's gunshot slammed the night's peaceful silence aside, punched a hole in the night sky, and the fight was instantly general.

 

Jack's descending revolver caught the startled kidnapper's forearm, breaking at least one bone just above the wrist:  he stomped the outlaw's other hand, driving his heel into the bones of the flattened-out hand as the man was trying to push off the ground, trying to rise to the fight.

Something like an angry bumblebee went searing past his left ear and he turned in time to see the offending outlaw collapse, and he saw white powder smoke rise from a dark blob of shadow across the camp.

"THIS IS THE LAW!" a powerful voice boomed.  "YOU ARE TAKEN AND THE WOMAN IS SAFE!  SURRENDER OR DIE AND WE DON'T CARE WHICH!"

Jack reached down and seized the jaw-clenched, groaning outlaw by the front of his shirt, hoisted him up, his good left hand twisting up the material with a merciless strength.

"Friend," Jack said in a pleasant voice, which made the abiding anger in his expression all the more terrifying, "I think I'd like to talk to you."

[Cactus Jack Calder]

Jack dragged his captive none to gently to the fire ring. After stoking up the fire  he placed a boot heel on the captives left hand. The one he’d already stomped. “Now ‘FRIEND’ let’s talk in a reasonable fashion, said Jack with a feral grin. “I’ll ask the questions and you answer, with the truth. That way we can have a pleasant conversation without any discomfort on your part. Have I made it clear to you?” “Yes,” gasped the man. “Please let me up.” “Not until we’ve concluded our conversation,” replied Jack while applying a little pressure with his heel.

 

“Uhh,” moaned the outlaw. “Okay, okay I’ll talk. Just let up on my hand, both my arms are out of commission. I can’t try anything like this.” “Now, where were you and your gang taking the woman and why did you select her to kidnap?” Growled Jack. “We were told to get her and kill her husband when we grabbed her. The man who hired us wanted her specifically, alive and unhurt. I don’t know why he wants her. We are  supposed to meet him west of here in Big Piney. He’s some mucky muck in the timber trade over there. I don’t know his name, Jasper did all the talking. He was the boss. I think your man killed him.” The outlaw said in a rush, hoping Jack would let him up. “Well now that’s convenient that ole Jasper can’t talk,” mused Jack. “You recon I believe all that guff? I want a name and description. Even if you didn’t do the negotiating you heard something more I’ll wager,” as he applied just a little more pressure on his heel. “Agh,” groaned the man. “Yes, his name is Murphy, I don’t know his first name. He’s a big man, he has a beard, brown, about 6’- 2”, over 200 pounds, dresses spiffy but wears those lumberman’s boots, the lace up kind. He carries a Schofield in a shoulder holster under his jacket. He thinks people can’t spot the iron under his coat. Please, that’s all I know.” “Yeah, I expect that is all you know,” said Jack as he lifted his foot. Grabbing the man by his shirt front Jack spun him over and trussed his arms and legs. “You won’t be giving us any trouble that way.” Turning to Linn, Jack asked, “Who do you want to go after this Murphy fellow? I would guess you’d want to see Miss Abby safely back to East Fork and Doc? Me and Kit and Jacob would make a fair showing, maybe J. Mark if he’s of a mind to go. You and Slim can escort Miss Abby and this varmint. That is if you’re agreeable.”

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

"I think I know who this Murphy fellow is, and his name isn't Murphy. It's Harris Austin.  He spent some time in the Chickasaw Nations.  the description fits him perfectly."

I offered.

 

I adjusted the gear on my saddle.  "Good luck and when you put him down, empty your gun he's a tough one. I'm gonna have to pass on this one.

 

I swung up into the saddle and waited

[DocWard]

Doc Ward's eyes fluttered open and he realized it was daylight. Sitting up, he reached for his injured shoulder. It ached, but there was no significant pain. Wiggling his fingers, he then lifted his arm. Stiff, but it was functional. So it wasn't a dream, he thought. Clan Maxwell... So far as he knew, not allied to his wife's clan, and by extension his own... But a clan, regardless. He had seen the witches back in Kentucky, and seen things he couldn't explain, but nothing like this. He still felt weak. Weaker than normal, at any rate, but no longer did he feel like death warmed over. He did feel hungrier than he had in a very long time.

 

Sliding his boots on... Doc didn't remember taking them off, so he assumed Calamity Kris had... He then stood up and reached for his hat, then his gun belt. Pulling his revolver he checked to see it was loaded, then dropped it back into the holster and put the thong in place. Walking out from the back, he saw Kris, and she came hurrying up to him, putting a hand to his chest. Looking up, her face angry and concerned, she admonished Doc, "You should be in bed, why are you up?" Using his left hand, he put his hand to hers, and gripped it, then lowered it. "I'm much better, thanks to your visitor, whoever she was." Kris looked confused, and shook her head in disbelief as Doc lifted his arm. Shrugging, Doc continued, "I don't understand it any more than you, but I am better. Now, I need to go get some breakfast, then get on the trail."

As Doc started to step past, Kris reminded him, "There are others already out on the trail, you should just wait for them to get back." Doc nodded, "I know, but I can't sit here and wait. If I can be of help, I need to be. If..." Doc blinked as his face clouded with worry and cleared his throat, "If something has happened to Abby, then I need to be there to take care of her, or to..." His voice trailed off, leaving unspoken the possibility of her death, and what he would do to anyone responsible. Kris's brow furrowed with concern, but she nodded her understanding. "Just be careful. I meant it when I said you two are the only family I have." Doc nodded, and gave Kris a quick hug before replying, "I know. We feel the same about you, along with Linn." Turning, Doc walked out the door.

 

Looking down the street, he realized someone must have taken his horse to the livery. Coming out of the Marshal's office, Lucas saw Doc and came running over to him. "Are you OK, Sir? When that Sarah lady put that stuff in your soup and started gripping your shoulder, I didn't know what to do. It was like I was frozen... What's the word? Para..." "Paralyzed," Doc finished for him. "Yes, I'm much improved. She's a..." Not sure if Lucas would understand, Doc decided to not go into too much detail, "She's a healer, of the old Scottish clans." Lucas nodded, his face brightening, "I recall her saying something about 'Clan Maxwell.' That makes sense, I guess. You're from a clan, too?" Doc took his hat off as he paused, thinking of the best way to explain to the young man. While intelligent, Lucas struck Doc as naive.

 

"Scottish clans are a funny thing. yes, I'm Scots-Irish, but Abigail is of a known and respected clan. A clan known as warriors. At any rate, with clans, if a man marries a woman, he can be accepted into her clan, as I was by her parents." At this, Doc lifted his leg and reached down in his boot, pulling out the sgian dubh he had been carrying there since the craziness of late had begun. Holding it by the blade, he offered it to Lucas to look at. Taking it carefully, Lucas looked at the engraved writing on the wooden handle, speaking the words out loud, "Virtue Mine Honour? What does it mean?" Doc took the small blade back from him. "It means something like 'my honor is shown by my virtue,' that my honor is important to me, and you can see it by how virtuous I am." Lucas nodded, thinking he understood.

Doc replaced the blade in his boot, "Do you know if my horse is at the livery?" Lucas nodded, "Yes, Sir, I took him there myself. If you want, I can go get him for you. Were you going to get breakfast? I'll saddle him and have him waiting." Doc gave a slight nod, "I would greatly appreciate it, and thanks. Oh, and Lucas, call me Doc. Or Ben, if you want." Lucas's adam's apple bobbed, but he felt... Accepted, and decided to go with what the other men that were Doc's friend's called him, "OK, Doc, I'll do that." With that, Lucas turned and quickly went to the livery to saddle the grullo.

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Linn considered Jacob's words, nodded.

"You're right," he said finally.  "We should get her back, fast."

"Two people riding fast, with remounts," Jacob suggested, "can cover ground better than a dedicated posse without remounts."

"That's so."  Linn frowned.  "I hesitate to send the two of you off ..."
He looked up, past what used to be the outlaws' last campsite.

"We have a name and a probable location. We can let the law handle it from here."

"One thing at a time, sir," Jacob said quietly. "First we get Mrs. Ward back to safety.  Then" -- he gave Linn a hard and very direct look -- "then we find out why someone wanted to run out the whole town, why someone wanted Mrs. Ward badly enough to take her, but keep her alive and unharmed."

Linn nodded.  "I've been thinking about that.  Murphy, or Harris, or whatever name he chooses to wear today" -- he paused, rubbed his chin.

"I'm wondering if East Fork isn't sitting on a mineral deposit."

"I can't see him wanting it for timber," Jacob agreed.  "There's that much and more in places not disputed."

A feminine hand closed on Linn's forearm.  "Am I interrupting a council of war?"  Abby asked, smiling a little, and Linn looked at her -- Jacob did not miss the sadness that washed over his face, quickly hidden.

He's known loss too, Jacob thought.

"We were speculating the reason you were taken," Linn admitted, "and I can't help but think of what we heard about running everyone out of town."

Abby smiled gently, nodded.

"I had wondered that as well."

Linn looked at Jacob, rested a hand on the lean-waisted, pale-eyed deputy's shoulder.

"We need to get Mrs. Ward home."
"Yes, sir."

"Can you ride?" Linn asked Abby, and Abby's hand tightened gently on his arm.

"Like a Comanche," she smiled.  "That's not as good as an Apache but it's pretty good."

"You mentioned timber." Abby tilted her head a little, her voice growing thoughtful. 

"Let's say they start mining.  Have you ever seen the inside of a large mine?  It's timbered to prevent collapse. Not just the shafts, but the great rooms. They make honeycombs of timbers" -- her hands sketched her idea and she frowned, frustrated that her mental picture eluded her clear description -- "and it takes a horrendous amount of timber to do this."

Jacob and Linn looked at one another, and each man's left eyebrow tented up a little.

"That, would, explain it," Jacob said thoughtfully, then looked at Abby.

"Ma'am, your husband would see you," he said formally.  "I would be pleased to see you safely home."

Abby's mind was busy behind her lovely eyes, then she looked at Linn.

"I need to be with my husband."

 

Doc's step was determined and his jaw was set, his helm had set course for the livery and little short of a major power would stop him or turn his course.

Something did.

A woman's voice said "Your arm, sir," and Doc lifted his arm slightly away from his body.

A gloved hand claimed his forearm and an attractive woman fell in step with him.

Doc could not help but notice how warm her gloved hand was, even through his coat's sleeve.

"I believe," she said, her voice low, musical, "that I must beg your pardon."

She felt the amusement bubbling up from Doc's soul as he looked at her, a mixture of humor and curiosity on his weather-tanned face.

"I do not remember an offense," he said, his voice gentlemanly.

The woman stopped, turned him -- her lightest touch elicited a surprising command, and he found himself facing her squarely, in the very center of the rutted, almost-muddy street.

"It's not for what I have done," she said, "but for what I am about to do."

"I'm afraid," he said slowly, "I don't follow."

The woman closed her pale eyes, took a long breath.

"I would speak of your wife," she said slowly, and Doc's natural caution wrapped itself around him like a cloak.

"Do continue," he said, his words measured, his defenses rising like walls.

"You will not be surprised to know that your wife loves you."

The man nodded, slowly.

"And it will not surprise you to know she is dedicated to the very depths of her eternal being to your health and welfare."

He nodded again, just as slowly as he'd done already.

"Your wife is a rare treasure, and she is a remarkable individual who has dedicated herself to you, exclusively, deeply and most powerfully."

She gripped his forearm, drew him closer, opened her pale eyes wide, driving her gaze into his.

"You know these things already," she hissed, "but it is essential that you hear the words and that you know them" -- she placed gloved fingertips in the center of his chest -- "that you know them here!"

Doc blinked -- he well knew the absolute truth of her words -- but for a rarity, he found himself without words.

"Deputy Jacob Keller is returning, right now, and your wife rides with him."

 

 

 

 

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

I rode next to Linn Keller for a bit scanning the terrain cautiously.

 

"J. Mark, not that I fault you for it, but why don't you want to ride on this Harris Austin fellow? I know it sure isn't fear."

 

I chuckled, careful to keep my eyes on the surroundings.  "That, Linn is not quite accurate.  I'm afraid I would kill him."

 

He creased his brow "No offense, but you've killed enough men to make me wonder about that. Care to explain?"

 

"Well Linn, no reason not to I suppose, he is, or was my brother in law for a time."

 

Linn broke his attention from scanning the road ahead.  "Didn't know you were married."

 

I smiled "A few times depending on your definitions, it has never ended well. After the war I spent some time in the nations.  Married a Chickasaw girl and was content for a time.  Austin Harris was married to her sister. We were of a tribe, I suppose. He's a number of years younger than I.  He's good with his guns and he is prone to being reckless-back in the day though he wasn't a murderous bastard.  Guess he learned some of that from me."

 

Linn nodded "So what happened?" I frowned at the question "The Chickasaw don't speak of dead people, but I'll leave it at childbirth was too much for her. Harris helped with the burial. I can't hunt him."

 

"Sorry to bring it up." he replied and I shrugged "There are good memories to go with the bad." and I tried to smile and remember one-neither attempt was truly successful.

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Jacob took pains to adjust the stirrups so their length was most comfortable for Mrs. Ward.

He nodded, walked around the grey's hinder, his hand caressing the gelding's backside: Jacob had gotten into the habit early, and it had served him well.

He thrust a foot into his own stirrup and swung easily into saddle leather.

"Ma'am?" he asked, and Abby smiled a little, trying to hide her discomfiture:  she'd never ridden a bit-trained mount, and though she knew the principle of knee-reining, she'd never actually tried it.

Jacob turned Apple, looking around behind them, then turned ahead, kissed at the mountain-bred grey.

Abby's breath caught a little in her throat:  her knees tightened and she brought her hands up a little, as if holding a nonexistent set of reins, then she placed her hands on her thighs and leaned forward a little.

The gelding fell in behind the stallion and they set a brisk pace.

 

Doc had a rigid hand on his emotions as he rode back to his cabin.

A deep and abiding anger swarmed like a cloud of angry hornets in the miasma of grief he felt, the grief of a man who missed his wife more than he thought possible.

He doubted not that she was on her way back -- but he was a man of habits, and it was his habit to have the knowledge he'd need to engage a pursuit, and so he sought the story from the ground, from damage visible to his cabin, from all he'd gathered so far.

He stopped, his eyes swinging slowly across the scene:  muscle bulged in his jaw as he studied the ground, puzzling out what he could from the confused mess of tracks.

He lost track of time:  he looked at the door frame, chewed and splintered from the buffalo rifle's murderous payload; he looked at shotgun shells still scattered on the floor, he remembered the gun, open, on the floor, and he reached over and picked it up from where he'd set it after he'd found it.

He looked at the chunk knocked out of the rearstock's toe, frowning:  he looked around, saw the missing piece, picked it up.

His eyes tightened a little, a satisfied expression.

A little hide, hair, dried blood ... his beautiful bride had indeed accounted for herself, close in, vicious, uncompromising and unyielding.

His head came up at the sound of hoofbeats.

He dipped his knees quickly, snatched up two brass hulls, straightened, dunked the rounds in the gun's breech and brought the rearstock up, closed the action, took a step to the left, looked out the open door.

Something fairly launched out of a ghost-grey horse's saddle, something wearing a familiar dress, something with big eyes and a halo of floating hair and he tossed the shotgun to the side, aiming for the bunk, and suddenly his arms were full of woman, her arms around him, tight, tight, her chin lifted and planted over his collarbone, her cheek against his.

Doc's still knitting arm ached and he didn't care.

Nothing mattered now.

Nothing.

The other half of his heart was returned to him, and he closed his eyes, and buried his face in her hair, and all was well with his world.

[DocWard]

Doc held Abigail tight, his face buried in her hair, her head pressed into his chest. She could hear his heart pounding as he could feel her breathing, deep and heavy. After what seemed like ages to Linn, Jacob, and J. Mark, but only a moment to the couple, they stepped away to arms length. Smiling up, Abby tilted her head slightly, "They said you were dead, you seem pretty spry for a dead man. I told them they were wrong. Unfortunately, they didn't believe me." Doc gave a shrug before responding, "By what I'm told, I looked it a couple of days ago."

 

Patting his shoulder caused Doc to wince, and Abby gave a quizzical look. "I sort of got shot. Sorry about that." Rubbing his arm gently, Abby looked at it, trying to comprehend how he had healed so quickly. Doc, knowing what she was thinking, said simply, "A woman. Of a clan. You recall me mentioning the healing witches... Granny witches, mountain witches, whatever you will... Although she was a might young to be called a granny witch." Abby raised an eyebrow at the comment, and Doc smiled, "I'm sure you'll meet her. I would feel more comfortable with you back in town for now."

Looking at the three men watching patiently from horseback, Doc asked, "Are the remainder dead?" Linn responded, "All but one, and he gave the name of the man who hired them to kill you and kidnap Abby." Doc noticed the slight glance Linn gave toward J. Mark, and the Colonel's overly passive expression, but said nothing of it, simply asking, "What is the man's name and where is he? Did he say why?" Linn shook his head, "No, that he did not, although we have some thoughts on the matter. As for a name, the man that hired them is going by the name of Murphy," Tilting his head toward J. Mark, he continued, "Although J. Mark believes his real name may be Harris Austin. He's said to be in Big Piney."

Looking at his wife, then back to his friends, Doc said, "Then it seems I need to make a trip to Big Piney." Doc turned to his wife, who looked up at him, her face a mixture of emotions. Her voice showing her emotion, Abby said, "I would just as soon face him myself, but I understand your need to go. Let me get a few things from inside, and we can go back to town, then you go take care of Mr. Austin." With that, she turned and went inside.

Leaning over the pommel of his horse, Linn lowered his voice a little, so Abigail wouldn't hear, "The survivor of the four that had her has a broken nose from the butt end of your shotgun. Said if she had any more warning, she might have killed 'em all. As it was, she spooked 'em, because she never showed fear, just anger, and she just smiled and told 'em they were wrong when they told her they'd killed you." Doc gave a glance over his shoulder then looked back, "If they had bothered to ask, I'd have told them to not trifle with her, and more importantly, to believe what she says." Linn gave a smile, "I think the three went to their graves realizing just that, and the survivor... Well, he's a believer. Said she also said one of 'em, maybe the one that hired them, would die by your hand." Doc smiled up, but the smile was not pleasant, "Well then, we need to get riding, I don't relish making a liar of my wife."

[J. Mark Flint #31954 LIFE]

I tipped my hat to Mrs. Ward and rode close to Doc. "Doc, don't give him even the scent of a chance, kill him hard and bury him deep, face down and put this through his heart and leave it there."  I pulled a long arkansas toothpick from my saddle bag and handed it to him.  Doc gave me an odd look "Something more I need to know about this fellow?

 

I nodded softly "In '67 I saw him shot three times in the chest, he rode away.  In late 68 I saw him shot twice with the same result."

 

Doc frowned "You sure you're not wrong on this?"

 

"I'm not wrong, I have a thought.  You ever hear of a fellow named Deacon Jim or Killer Miller? He's been known to wear a steel plate under his shirt.  When you find Harris Austin, you put one through his head on your first shot."

 

I pulled my Sharps, scabbard and all and a box of ammo "If you are smart, you'll do if from as far away as you can."

[Linn Keller, SASS 27332, BOLD 103]

Utah shook his head, smiling a little, just a little.

That pale eyed Colorado deputy had come pacing through town, that long legged Appaloosa stallion of his moving at an easy trot that would be close to a gallop for a normal horse, and beside him ...

Utah had seen many things in his lifetime, but a grey horse that was about a third less than the stallion, keeping up as if it were nothing, reminded him of the ghosts he'd seen after a battle, ghosts of men in uniform, men looking stolidly forward, moving at a measured, military pace, but traveling as fast as a man can run.

That's what that grey horse looked like.

He'd have thought it a ghost, despite the sound of its hoof-falls, were it not for the woman astride, a woman he knew, who rode as easy and as naturally as he'd ever seen anyone a-horseback, a woman with her hands on her thighs as she rode, and it wasn't until they were past that Utah realized the grey horse had not even a bridle.

He hadn't noticed at first, because there'd been a good looking woman bouncing in the middle of the street, a woman in a shining blue gown, a woman waving a kerchief and whistling happily, two fingers to her lips, the very image of a happy schoolgirl seeing someone famous in a parade, and he recalled that pale eyed deputy gravely lifted his Stetson as he rode past her.