NationStates Jolt Archive

Gerry looked at Wilfred, feeling a little relieved that something had broken the silence. She was unsure what you were supposed to say to a relative stranger you had just woke up next to, having spent an entertaining evening with them. The thought once more brought a smile to her lips and a blush to her cheeks. She moved slightly in the bed, moving out of his embrace, shivering as the heat of his body was removed from hers.

“Breakfast sounds like a good idea.” She fell silent for a moment, wondering how best to get out of the bed to pick up her discarded clothing, which lay scattered around the floor. “I feel like I could eat a whole cow.” She smiled, turning back to Wilfred. “Well…maybe half, if you would care to share.” Finally realising there was little to do other than slip out of the covers, she did just that, standing beside the bed wearing nothing but a smile, as she gathered her clothing.

Her gaze flickered habitually to the doors as someone entered, but it was only Mr. Garfield. He was always in such a strange mood these days. Gratefully she took her drink as Doc returned to the table and glanced once more at the soot-covered stranger.

"I've never seen him before, Mr. Jennsson. Must be just passing through, though he looks to me like he could pass for a miner."

"I've never seen him before, Mr. Jennsson. Must be just passing through, though he looks to me like he could pass for a miner."

“Either that or he’s suffering from a severe case of aquaphobia,” Doc agreed. Not that folks were too concerned with personal hygiene, around here, but the grime on this fellow was something else altogether.

Doc glanced at James Garfield at the back of the saloon, and felt a touch of concern. The saloon owner looked way too stressed for his own good. Perhaps I should subscribe him some of Lucille’s herbal tea. But then he forcibly shut down his professional instincts and focused on the people that were sitting at the table with him.

Sure is a peculiar fellow, he thought, glancing at Jennssen. Doc was rather curious to know what the man had done to upset the Sheriff to the point of violence. It took skill to break through Guffrey’s alcoholic apathy. But considering the other person on the table, he chose not to ask. Dawn had probably had enough of Guffrey today to last her a lifetime. Better just stick to small talk for now.

“So, Mister Jennssen, are you staying in the whore… erm, in the boarding house, then?”

Despite not wanted to come off as crass or single-minded, Wilford still found himself staring at Gerry as she left the bed. He found himself wondering if it was proper, but decided that he'd already seen her anyway, and besides, there were times when one's baser instincts take over. Might as well enjoy the ride. As she started to dress, he realised that he probably should see about gathering his own clothing, lest he embarass himself, she was quite attractive after all.

As he stood in front of the mirror checking his collar, he grinned when he saw Gerry's reflection, "I know this nice place we could get something to eat. Plenty of grease and some really nice home-made moonshine." He winked at her, chuckling as he tightened his gun belt a little.

Jenssen shook his head, "You don't smell the salt pepper from here? He looks like a sponger who stood too close to the barrel when the gunner fired. And smells like he survived a major gunpowder explosion. I guess he could be a hard rock miner but I didn't think there were any hard rock mines this far south."

He turned to the doctor, "Well tonight I have the gracious hosptitality of Dawn so that I er...don't have to spend my night in a cat house." He nodded his thanks to Dawn. Sipped his beer and then stood back up for a moment.

" barkeep, mind if I borrow that lamp for a moment?" He pointed to the oil lamp behind the bar.

Gerry smiled, feeling oddly comfortable in Wilfred’s presence, considering she had only met him the previous day. Nodding her head, she liked the idea of getting some food, yet she groaned slightly at the mention of moonshine and placed her hand and her forehead and frowned. “Moonshine?” She laughed lightly. “I think I might abstain for a while.” Once the laughter stopped, the smile once more appeared on her face.

Finishing dressing, like him sliding the gun belt around her hips, she settled it comfortably, adjusting it until it fit snugly. She looked at him, and walked over, her gave fixed to his. She stood before him, and without warning pressed a brief kiss to his lips. “Thank you.” She took a step back. “That was the most pleasant evening I’ve had for…longer than I can remember.” Grabbing her jacket, she placed it over her arms. “Oh…breakfast is on you.” She grinned as she turned towards the door. “You have all my money.”

Jenssen shook his head, "You don't smell the salt pepper from here? He looks like a sponger who stood too close to the barrel when the gunner fired. And smells like he survived a major gunpowder explosion. I guess he could be a hard rock miner but I didn't think there were any hard rock mines this far south."

He turned to the doctor, "Well tonight I have the gracious hosptitality of Dawn so that I er...don't have to spend my night in a cat house." He nodded his thanks to Dawn. Sipped his beer and then stood back up for a moment.

" barkeep, mind if I borrow that lamp for a moment?" He pointed to the oil lamp behind the bar.

"Not at all," said Cecil obligingly. "Just have it back soon." He shrugged and went back to polishing some shot glasses behind the bar.

Peter nodded his thanks, and brought it back to the table.
"I would have borrowed the Sheriff's but apparently he hasn't filled his in quite some time."

Peter took one sheet of paper with small figures written out in his neat, copper plate handwritting before him. As he sipped his beer, he metally checked the figures and nodded, obviously agreeing with his previous work now before him.
He pulled a small folio from his pants pocket and turned, blocking any view of its contents. He placed out one hundread and thirty dollars in local currency on table before returning the folio to his pocket. Peter turned, smiled with a bemused look at placed the money on the sheet of paper, using the paper to wrap the money.

Peter then took a second sheet of paper, apparently a letter by the writting across it, and folded it over the packet of cash. A bit of string, pulled from another pocket, wrapped up the small parcel and secured it. Peter took another swig of beer from his glass and then started on the next step.

Peter pulled the lamp towards him, removed the chimney and turned up the flame. Jennssen began to heat the red wax stick with the flame. As the wax began to turn molton, he let it drip onto the back of the packet, forming a blob of red wax over the knot of string and the edges of the flolded paer.

Peter removed a small, gold ring off his right hand and pushed it into cooling wax. It left a cirular impression with several small raised symbols decernable in the center.

Returning the ring to his finger, he began to clean up the mess he had just made, finishing his beer as he did so.

Dawn looked on quietly. Your man must be pretty confident of himself to flash that much money right there in plain view. And in a bar, of all places. He was a mystery, alright. Her father had taught her to hold her tongue like a polite young lady, but sometimes curiousity was piqued beyond the control of manners.

"That looks pretty official.."

She sipped at her own drink, casually watching him clean up the wax.

OOC: was editing last post after I accidently submitted. :confused:

Peter paused for a second, "Well enough to keep the curious at bay until she opens it at least." He thought for a second, "I never would have hired Blackie if I knew he was a widower and a father. Of course, based on his sisters letter, he was the cause of his own widowhood. But the boy deserved something." He stood up and looked at the two other people at the table.

"I appologize for being somewhat quiet company, but I have things to do including getting that corpse into the ground today. So, if you will excuse me I will be on my way. I will be out your way this evening Dawn..."

He gave a short bow while touching the brim of his hat to the lady, then gave a short bow to the doctor.
"...Doctor."

The lamp, with the chimney replaced, was set back down on the bar as Peter walked back out into the day. The empty beer glass and a few reminants of red wax on the table were all that marked his departure.

****
Peter walked out into the street and looked off to the still closed telegraph office. Damn, don't tell me the Sheriff is also the telegraph operator. He turned to the brown and took her from the hitching post. The dead body was starting to smell and attract flies.

He made is way to the general store, which he hoped also functioned as the local post office around here. Then the local cemetary, next to a church that looked in poor repair, was about to get a new occupant.

“Odd fellow,” Doc mused, following Jennssen with his eyes as he left The Cylinder. He turned to Dawn, who had been watching the stranger leave as well, and hesitated for a moment, but then figured he was too old to worry about what people thought of him.

“You think it’s a good idea to let that gentleman stay at your ranch?” he asked, as casually as possible.

She laughed lightly over her drink, turning a lively gaze back to Doc.

"I have his solemn word that he will not rob or otherwise take advantage of me. For all the quirks, he seems trustworthy enough. Besides, if anything comes up, Wayne will be close by."

Doc was one of the few people in this old town that Dawn reserved a special place for in her heart. He was a genuinely nice man, if not a little disapproving of her behavior sometimes. After all, she was not the lady her father had intended her to be. She was a woman of her own mind, as he could attest to better than anyone. As a doctor and a friend, he'd seen her through more than a few scrapes of varying severity.

"Don't you worry about me, now. Your drink's getting warm."

“Of course I worry about you, young lady,” Doc said with an apologetic smile. “But I gotta admit, you can usually handle yourself better than most people would expect you to. Your father would be proud of you.”

There was a brief flash in her eyes and Doc quickly looked away to not impose on her any more than he had already done.

“Anyways,” he continued as he reached for his drink, “you make sure to tell Wayne to keep an eye on this Mister Jennssen. Tell him I’ll send Lucille after him if he doesn’t.”

He winked at Dawn, downed his drink and smacked his lips.

Fly sipped his drink as he worked at somthing interestedly on his table. After a whle there was a hissing noise and he smiled evidently pleased. he picked up a contraption of whirling blades that caught the light with each spin showing off how 'sharp' was the difinitive adjective here.
He carefully raised it to his face and began to shave.
After two minuited he dropped it with a yelp and wiped the scratch that was now bleeding freely.
'Well, thank you for the drink but I'm afraid I really must go and get some iodine. Here, keep the change' he tossed a few coins on the bar and made his way out, hopefully before the barkeep realised they were fake.

The shovel scrapped into the hard, dry earth. Peter looked down to see white scrapes along a patch of grey in the red earth. "Damn rock..." He said quietly as he bent down to pull the stone out from the shallow hole he was digging.

The stone felt cold in his fingers compared to the hot sun now beating down on his back. Peter straitened as he tossed the rock onto a pile nearby. He leaned against the worn fence of the cemetary and looked about. It wasn't much. The patch of earth had more rocks and weeds than anything else. A few wooden crosses, the names now bleached away by the the sun and rain stood scattered about. A few headstones filled the cemetary.

In one corner was a metal fence around a few headstones. It looked to be the only part of the cemetary really cared for. Flowers lay on the ground before the small stone markers.

Peter turned and looked at the hole he was digging outside the graveyard fence. It was now about four feet deep. It appeared the dirt had larger and larger stones the farther down he went. Peter looked up at the body and sniffed. Well I really don't feel like digging you a deeper grave, if the wolves decide to eat your carcass fine...

Peter walked over and started to kick the body, now only dressed in pants and a long johns, into the hole. The body rolled and fell into hole sending up dust and flies.

Peter began to shovel the local red dirt back into the hole. As he did so he began to sing a song. Unless one spoke Manx, they were likely not going to understand the tune at all.

"Of course."

She regarded him with a mock-pout as if having been scolded.

"Poor man. That would be cruel and unusual." Wayne avoided Lucille like the plague. Not that there was anything wrong with the woman, but the rough 'n tough cowboy hated to be fussed over. They both knew it, and Lucille seemed to find no end to the entertainment provided by going after him for anything and everything from his complete disregard for personal health and safety to judgement in ill-repaired clothing. Encounters like this usually ended with him trying to walk away, and her following in continued scolding, which proved great entertainment for any third-party spectators.

She heard the stranger yell and turned in time to see him grab his bleeding face, but he was out the door before her or Doc could even get up.

"Now if anyone ever made me nervous 'round here, it would be that one," she stated calmly, with a nod after him.

Wilford's mirth matched Gerry's and he smiled at laughing with her, "That might be a plan. It seems to have a pretty big affect on you." He glanced towards the bed, smirking a little. He simply smiled at her as she thanked him again, squaring his hat on his head before tipping it slightly at her and affecting an accented drawl, "My pleasure, ma'am." He lead her out into the street, blinking at the bright sunshine, "Don't worry, I'll give you a chance to earn it back. I'm nothing if not fair."

He pushed open the shutters to the Cynlinder for Gerry, hoping they wouldn't become grist for the rumor mill, but was pretty sure the would regardless. He smiled at her, "I'll get us something to eat."

Nelson Guffrey slowly woke up, and didn’t immediately find anything unusual about where he was. He’d woken up in his own jail cell plenty of times. But then his memory started to return, and he quickly bolted upright.

And swiftly passed out again.

When he regained consciousness, he used a more patient approach, rolling on his side and lifting himself up on his elbow first, to give his blood pressure some time to settle down. By the time he sat upright, he didn’t feel half bad. Not nearly as bad as he usually did when waking up, in any case.

No wonder, he thought, I barely had anything to drink. Yet he had passed out somehow, and in a pretty bad way at that, far as he could recall. Must’ve been right in front of Dawn Bradley. Boy, she probably got a kick out of that.

Thinking about Dawn made Nelson realize how sober he really was. I need a drink, he thought. And maybe something a bit more substantial, but a drink first. He got up from the cot, still a bit careful, and walked out of – Bloody crap! He stared at the locked cell door. That didn't make sense. Who the hell would want to keep him behind bars? Maybe he’d done something that had made the “upstanding” citizens of Chassis finally realize they needed a new Sheriff. If he had, it must’ve happened during a serious blackout though.

His Sheriff’s star was gone from his shirt pocket as well, he realized. Heh, maybe I did get fired. He looked around. His gun belt and the keys to the cell were on his desk. And – oh, look at that. Someone had been nice enough to leave him a few bottles of booze.

He grabbed a bottle, then hesitated. Maybe it was better if he stayed sober til he found out what the hell was going on. Oh, what the heck, a few swigs can’t hurt…

* * * * *


"Now if anyone ever made me nervous 'round here, it would be that one," she stated calmly, with a nod after him.

“Yes, he does seem like an accident waiting to happen,” Doc grinned. “Whatever that contraption was, I don’t think it was meant to slice open his chin like it did.”

He turned to look at the opening doors, and saw two people walking in, smiling at each other.

Doc leaned a bit closer to Dawn with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well look at that,” he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear him. “Looks like Wilford got lucky last night, and not just at his poker game.”

Peter was covered in red dust. He obviously wasn't all that happy either, growling almost as he walked down the dust bowl of a street.

Digging graves never suited me. I don't care for the dead, expecially not those who have bullet holes from my men. At least he hadn't been hit by a cannon shot. I would have needed a pitchfork and a mop...

Peter stopped before the boarding house. I bet they have a bath room in that place. At least to keep the girls reasonably clean. I need a drink and a hot bath. But I wouldn't trust the alchol they serve in there not to be watered and drugged. The former marine realized that if the local doctor was in on things then they would be after his 'stake' and not just trying to get him to buy a poke. After all that is what had happened to several members of the Crew of the Athus back in Shanghi.

"Well I'll just get my own bottle and take in with me. Likely won't complain about that." A nice hot bath ran though his head. Getting the dirt, scum, and now the smell of rotting corpses off of his body.

I'll just get my old bottle from the jail, rather than drag my stinking ass back into the Cylinder. Peter thought as he neared both establishments.
He led the brown behind the jail and tied her up to a small scrub tree that offered some shade from the late afternoon sun.

Peter trugged along the side of the jail, his hand running over the rough cut logs and crubling mortar between them before he stepped up into the shadow of the porch. Peter wacked at his body, turning the air into a dust cloud before he finished stepping in the door of the jail.

He dropped his body into the chair behind the desk, the squeel of the casters protesting the sudden weight sounded through the silence. The silence, only broken by the sound of some mass shifting on one of the bunks in the cell.

Peter realized that he didn't hear the sounds of heavy breathing or snoring. Damn, did that Quack kill the bastard? Peter stood back up and moved along the front wall until he saw the face of the Sheriff staring back at him. The man was working on a new bottle of whiskey. Just started to drink after walking up...the man doesn't even have a speck of food in his stomache. "I see your recent bout of unconciousness is over Guffy." Peter said in his accented english. His eyes seemed to be sparkling at Guffy.

Jenssen's face turned into a wry smile, as though Guffy were decidely in a bad postion right now. "Well before you return to your normal inebriated existance we need to have a talk..." He closed and bolted the front door. A solid, quiet bang filling the air as the bolt went into the socket.

Peter bent down and picked up the chair, carrying it forward towards the cell. "You see there is a decided reason your behind bars Guffy." He placed the chair before the cell, with the back towards Guffy. As Peter sat down stratling the chair, a fine red dust was stirred up. It blew into the cell and carried the sent of the decaying corpse the Alconian had just buried into the chell.

Peter leaned forward, his eyes searching the face of Guffy. As he rested his elbow of the back of the chair and his head on his hand.

"After all we don't want you winding up like Sheriff...what was it, Bacos...Banos...up north now do we? They found him strung up by his neck three, no four months past? Seems the murderers did not feel three bullets in his back was sufficent to guarantee his death."

Gerry entered the Cylinder, hoping silently that she had not made a fool of herself the night before. She did not recall doing anything other than lose a heap of money to Wilfred and get a little drunk on moonshine. She was sure she was not the first to do so and certainly would not be the last. Making her way to a table, she did not let her eyes flick around the room, not wanting to meet the eyes of the other customers, as that tended to make them feel uncomfortable.

Pulling out a chair, she took a seat and took a moment to cast a glance at the bar, where Wilfred was standing. She smiled to herself, grateful that he had been gentlemanly enough to stand her for breakfast. Not that she had lost everything to him; she had always been wise enough not to carry everything with her at all times. Now she was seated, she let her gaze wonder around the room, her eyes spotting a familiar faces from the previous day.

"Appears that way," she returned with a little snicker.

She wasn't sure why, but there was something amusing about that business. Maybe because it was Wilford and he seemed to swear off all women. Something in the back of her mind suggested jealosy at their bit of diversion, but she would never admit as much even to herself.

Downing a bit more of her drink, she flashed Doc a knowing smile. If either of them had the misfortune of playing him at cards in the near future, they would have an ace up their collevtive sleeves to throw him off his game.

"Reckon I oughta think about heading back soon. I told the boys I was just going to sell the extra milk and pick up a few supplies. Best tidy up a place for Mr. Jennsson and his mare as well. But not before I finish this pint," she added with a wink.

"Reckon I oughta think about heading back soon. I told the boys I was just going to sell the extra milk and pick up a few supplies. Best tidy up a place for Mr. Jennsson and his mare as well. But not before I finish this pint," she added with a wink.
Doc grinned at Dawn and looked longingly at his own drink, tempted to get it refilled. But then he decided against it.

“Yep, some people actually have to work for a living,” he said with a wink, as he stood up. “On which note I think I’ll go check up on that Sheriff of ours. You take care, Dawnie.”

He accompanied those last words with a semi-stern look to press his earlier point home, and then reached for his doctor’s bag, only to remember he had left it in the jailhouse.

* * * * *

"After all we don't want you winding up like Sheriff...what was it, Bacos...Banos...up north now do we? They found him strung up by his neck three, no four months past? Seems the murderers did not feel three bullets in his back was sufficent to guarantee his death."

Nelson stared blankly at the Jennssen fellow. He should’ve known this would turn into a crappy day. Next time Dawn Bradley’s the first thing I see when I walk out the door, I’m going back inside, he thought. Then again, perhaps there would not be a next time. And, hell, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“If you’re gonna put three bullets in my back, let me just turn around for you,” he said. “Might as well get it over with, I’m not in a mood to play games.”

He gave Jennssen a defiant look, took a swig from the bottle, and turned around.

“And my name is Guffrey,” he sneered at the back wall.

She stood with Doc, setting her hat back on her head and adjusting it comfortably. A firm pat on the shoulder was enough of a reply to his concerns, and she stepped back out into the dusty street. She passed the jail, mildly concerned that the door was shut. Maybe it was the wind? Nevertheless, she took her time cinching up Solo and securing the cart before heading out. With so much strangeness going on around here lately, it was best to be cautious.

"Now why would I shoot you Guffrey? Turn around like a good chap and I won't shoot that bottle out of your hand."

Jennssen paused quietly until Guffrey finally turned. "Thank You, and since were not playing games anymore let me quickly give you a run down of what is going on. The mess that is occuring around Mount Baldy up to the north, you know, the murders, shootings, what have you is travelling south and may stop here in Chassis." He looked strait into the Sheriff's eye.

"Now, personally I wouldn't care less, but they are likely to shoot me after they get rid of you. Yes you Sheriff, now you can hide in this wooden fortress of yours" He indicated the jail.
"But sooner or later you'll run out of food, water, whiskey. You'll step out that door and then fall flat on the ground with a few bullet holes through you."

Jennsen looked about, "Now take the fact that you went out of your mind this morning with barely a drop in your stomach, for no apparent reason. And some are saying that Miss Bradley would make a better Sheriff than you."

Those two hate each other, the idea of Bradley being Sheriff and taking his job is going to be a nasty threat One likely to raise his ire against the town.

His eyes were sparkling again, "Or you could claim that you've come down with something and recruit yourself a deputy temporarily. One who would go out and get the food, and the whiskey, while you stay nice and safe in here."

Peter paused again, "And keep your job and your pay. Your wondering what it is in it for me? Let's say that operating as your deputy, with the law behind my back, while I am in town will make me a great deal safer than having a drunk Sheriff hiding in here. I'll be able to arrest the murdering scum before they have a chance to kill me, or you for that matter. And if they resist arrest, well I was only trained to kill. Just like those three fellows I was forced to gun down last night. Hell, I'll even split any rewards with you fifty-fifty."

Peter stood and walked over to the desk, he pulled something from under one of the legs. It was a bible, more dusty and dirty than the floor of the jail. Peter walked up to the bars. "Now swear me in as deputy, or I will leave you locked in this cell with out a drop alchol and let Bill Aldrich and his boys pop a few rounds into you when they get into town."

"Now swear me in as deputy, or I will leave you locked in this cell with out a drop alchol and let Bill Aldrich and his boys pop a few rounds into you when they get into town."

Nelson tried to keep his facial expression as blank as possible while his mind raced. This was getting more messed up by the minute. He didn’t like it, not one bit.

He particularly didn’t like the options presented to him. It was like having to choose between abstinence and crabs – either way, you were left with a terrible itch.

Not that Nelson was necessarily opposed to having a deputy – especially if a band of thugs was gonna be sweeping through the area. But he didn’t trust this fellow as far as he could kick him. If he was on the up and up and wanted a career in law enforcement so badly, all he would’ve had to do was ask. Locking up your boss and tossing threats around was not exactly the most confidence-inspiring way to apply for a job.

He looked at the bible in Jennssen’s hand and realized he had to make a decision.

A knock on the door bought him an unexpected delay.

* * * * *

With a quick knock on the door, Doc went into the Sheriff’s office – or would have, if the door hadn’t been locked. What the -? He knocked again, a bit more firmly this time.

“Sheriff? I’ve had Cecil set some grub aside for you. Nice and greasy, just what your stomach needs.”

Doc waited a few moments, but there was no reply. He supposed Guffrey had woken up and was working on another bottle. Except that didn’t really make sense, since that Jennssen fellow had locked him in his cell. This didn’t smell right. He waited another moment, tried the door again for good measure, then turned around to head back to The Cylinder.

Peter turned his head, "Hold on a moment Doc...the Sheriff and I are having a private discussion about earlier."

His gaze returned to Guffrey, "Sheriff? Do you want me to let you out or leave you locked in here? I mean we didn't know what caused that fit of yours, but you did get quite violent. Not exactly the best way to act to keep yourself out of jail."

Peter turned his head, "Hold on a moment Doc...the Sheriff and I are having a private discussion about earlier."

His gaze returned to Guffrey, "Sheriff? Do you want me to let you out or leave you locked in here? I mean we didn't know what caused that fit of yours, but you did get quite violent. Not exactly the best way to act to keep yourself out of jail."

Doc frowned. Private discussion about earlier? With the bloody door locked?

He put his ear against the door and heard Jennssen speak, but couldn’t make out what was being said. Given the Sheriff’s earlier disposition – unconscious and locked up – it seemed clear who was in charge of this little private discussion. Which could be innocent, but could just as well be real bad news.

Doc looked around. Only Dawn was in sight, securing her horse up near the Saloon. There was no way he was going to get her involved. He could go get Wilford, Cecil, maybe a few others down in The Cylinder – but they’d take some convincing to leave their seat for anything involving Guffrey.

He made his decision, took a deep breath and banged on the door with his fist.

“Young man, open this door right now! I demand to see my patient!”



Hearing the Doc almost throwing a fit outside the door, Nelson looked at the Jennssen fellow and only just managed to surpress an arrogant grin. He raised his eyebrows instead.

“Seems to me, Mr. Jennssen,” he said, speaking slowly, “that I’m not the one with a choice to make, here.”

The sun stood high when Ike opened his eyes for the second time on this otherwise regular day.
Otherwise, because he again found himself sleeping on a little bush on the street.
As a result of that, or of something he forgot, he could hardly get up and after a few brief attempts, he decided to crawl to his office. And why not. He had all day. Hell, why hadn't he thought of crawling everywhere earlier? It proved to be a great way to get somewhere and kill time in the process.

It wasn't so much that the rest of the town didn't exist, it was more that they were even less noticed by Wilford than usual. He'd always tended to keep himself separate for the usual patrons of the Cylinder, and from the town in general. For the most part, he just didn't care. It wasn't that he hated his fellow citizens, or his home, he just never mustered much interest in their lives. If they were sitting at his table, they largely didn't exist to him. This time, however, he wasn't so much ignoring them as not noticing them. Had he been more poetic, he probably would have pined about being smitten or some such nonsense. As it was, he just sort of found himself in a haze.

He walked back to Gerry's table (their table?) with two plates of breakfast and a pretty goofy grin on his face. He set the plates down and took his seat, smiling at her. "Not a meal fit for a king, but it's... tolerable." He grinned, "After eating here every day for years, you build up a resistance to the lard."

Not intending to eavesdrop, Cecil overheard Wilford's remark about the food with some consternation. ...but, I use only the best lard. He sighed and went back to cleaning some mugs, keeping an eye on his boss sitting alone in the back of the saloon. Mr. Garfield seemed to be stewing in his own juices (in addition to the copious amounts of whiskey) and Cecil figured the man would explode soon if given an excuse. He just hoped that it would be a small explosion, one that wasn't too hard to clean up.

Watching as Wilfred walked over with the plate, Gerry could not stop herself from smiling. As he placed the food in front of her, she gave it the once over then returned her gaze to his face as he took his seat. “I’ve had worse.” She picked up her fork and thrust it into a piece of sausage, and held it up to her mouth. “Thank you.” She smiled, and finished the fork’s journey, taking a bite.

She chewed it a little suspiciously at first then more vigorously as she discovered it was not as bad as she thought it might me. The smile, no longer visible on her lips was still evident in the sparkle of her eyes. Finally swallowing, she grinned enthusiastically. She did not know what had gotten into her; she had not felt this relaxed in more months than she cared to remember.

“It’s pretty good. I’ll have to pass my compliments to the chef.” She smiled, as she flicked her eyes to the bar, and gave Cecil a smile, before once more turning her attention to Wilfred. “I think I can understand why you like Chassis so much. I suddenly find I’m in no rush to leave.”

Dawn was slightly alarmed by Doc's inability to enter the jailhouse, but forced herself to accept that there was probably a reasonable explanation. She was too suspicious of people, especially lately. And while trusting your gut was one thing, relying on it was something else entirely. So she finished cinching up Solo, slowly, but Doc didn't seem to need her. Swinging up into the modified saddle, she pointed the gelding towards home and eased him into a lope.

There was so much to be done still, and she'd already spent more time than intended in town. There were stalls to be mucked, horses to be turned out, troughs to be filled, animals to feed, and no doubt a few of the working horses needed new shoes. She could at least take out the loose nails and remove shoes until the ferrier could make an appearance. They would just have to make do. With a sigh, she resolved herself to the tasks at hand. She'd have Wayne and the others ride the fences before dark, just to be certain everything was in order. The fences always worried her, as most stretched out of sight. And most importantly, the boys would need a good meal tonight. Ah, a woman's work was never done.

"Everyone has choices, Guffrey. Do you want me to be your ally in all of this? Or do you want to have...screw it. When the blighters come they'll either put a bullet in your hide or just burn your alchol sodden a** out of this jail. Either way your dead. Unless you did resign being sheriff like you said. But I thought that was just the sickness talking."

The Captain turned and walked over to the door, unlocking it. "I would say that I and Guffrey have become quite good enemies doctor." He pointed to Guffrey sitting in his cell.

"Although I haven't taken up shooting unarmed men in their cells."

Fly made his way over to the jailhouse. It was one of the lesser known things alchemists had to do for thier art, and they weren't extatic about the need themselves. But they needed the stuff and the best place to get it was-
He sighed and knocked on the jailhouse door

Ike had finally arrived in his office. He stood up but the pain in his lower back forced him to sit down, which caused him even more pain, so he decided to lay down on his bed which was located in the room behind the small office. He had sold all the unnecessary stuff.

There he tried to memorize why he woke up outside, on a bush. He couldn't. Maybe he tried too hard? So he tried thinking less. Ofcourse, that didn't work either.

At least it's time consuming, he thought. Suddenly he realized how much he hated time. Time was his enemy now. It felt crazy. What he thought was crazy. I'm thinking crazy things.

Wilford had grown used to Cecil's cooking over the many years. It was hardly gourmet fair, but Wilford had only his own mother's (rather bad) cooking to compare it too. He liked to tease Cecil about it, of course, but it wasn't anything too horrible. Besides, it's not like he (or anyone else) knew how to cook without copious amounts of lard. Extra Virgin Olive Oil wasn't exactly known.

Wilford smiled at Gerry as he stabbed at a sausage with his fork. "It's actually pretty good... I just like busting Cecil's chops." He grinned, keeping his manners about him and not talking while having his mouth full of sausage, "I'd like to think it's more than just Cecil's cooking that's tempting you to stick around..."

"Although I haven't taken up shooting unarmed men in their cells."

“Glad to hear that,” Doc said as he hurried into the jailhouse. He wasn’t sure what he had just interrupted, but whatever it was, it had thoroughly ticked off Jennssen while Guffrey was standing in his cell doing his best not to look smug. Better not ask, he thought. He grabbed the key ring from the desk and went to unlock the cell.

“You feeling better, Sheriff?” Doc asked in a cheery voice, hoping to take some of the tension away.

“No,” Guffrey grunted, flashing a look at Jennssen. “But I’m awake, at least.”

“Not for long if you don’t get some solid food into your stomach.”

Guffrey nodded more agreeably than expected, then left the cell and walked over to his desk. His eyes never leaving Jennssen’s, he carefully strapped on his gun belt.

“Right then,” he said, adjusting the holster on his hip. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jennssen.”

As he was about to open the jailhouse door, someone knocked on it. Guffrey paused briefly in surprise, then went ahead and opened it. He frowned as he saw a strange fellow with a long coat, covering his chin with a bloodied hand.

“It’s for you, Doc,” he said, moving aside to let the stranger in. “I’ll be in the saloon, working on an indigestion.”

“Glad to hear that,” Doc said as he hurried into the jailhouse. He wasn’t sure what he had just interrupted, but whatever it was, it had thoroughly ticked off Jennssen while Guffrey was standing in his cell doing his best not to look smug. Better not ask, he thought. He grabbed the key ring from the desk and went to unlock the cell.

“You feeling better, Sheriff?” Doc asked in a cheery voice, hoping to take some of the tension away.

“No,” Guffrey grunted, flashing a look at Jennssen. “But I’m awake, at least.”

“Not for long if you don’t get some solid food into your stomach.”

Guffrey nodded more agreeably than expected, then left the cell and walked over to his desk. His eyes never leaving Jennssen’s, he carefully strapped on his gun belt.

“Right then,” he said, adjusting the holster on his hip. “Have a nice day, Mr. Jennssen.”

As he was about to open the jailhouse door, someone knocked on it. Guffrey paused briefly in surprise, then went ahead and opened it. He frowned as he saw a strange fellow with a long coat, covering his chin with a bloodied hand.

“It’s for you, Doc,” he said, moving aside to let the stranger in. “I’ll be in the saloon, working on an indigestion.”

'Oh, hello there, I was just- Oh dear lord!' He was slightly startled by the most ill looking man he had ever seen
'Is he er- ok?' he muttered to Doc' He noticed them looking at his bloodied chin
'It's....an industrial accident shall we say. The er, cut and thrust of advancement.' he looked around at the bemused faces
'I cut myself shaving. Shall we leave it at that? Now er, this is a slightly strange request...but you know when a man drinks, and eventually the water has to come out somewhere, and I know in a jailhouse buckets are quite useful for this process so I assumed you might still have some..well, any of that around? Its a chemical really, I need it for an experiment of mine. Is he-' He gestured with a thumb to the sheriff
'Going to be ok?'

Peter said nothing as the Doc let Guffrey out of the cell. Nor anything as he strapped on a gun. Go ahead try it... Peter was surprised by the fact that the Sheriff didn't try to arrest him.

Coward... was his only thought as he watched Guffrey walk across the street to the saloon.

The new figure in the jail was the same fellow who had smelled of gunpowder earlier. Now your looking for Urine? He studied the man with his eyes.
Quite intresting...gunpowder, small cuts, and now he wants urine

"I think Doc should have a look at those cuts on you. Shrapnel wounds can easily become gangrous if not looked after properly." He spoke in his odd accented English staring at the wounded man and waiting for a response.

Peter said nothing as the Doc let Guffrey out of the cell. Nor anything as he strapped on a gun. Go ahead try it... Peter was surprised by the fact that the Sheriff didn't try to arrest him.

Coward... was his only thought as he watched Guffrey walk across the street to the saloon.

The new figure in the jail was the same fellow who had smelled of gunpowder earlier. Now your looking for Urine? He studied the man with his eyes.
Quite intresting...gunpowder, small cuts, and now he wants urine

"I think Doc should have a look at those cuts on you. Shrapnel wounds can easily become gangrous if not looked after properly." He spoke in his odd accented English staring at the wounded man and waiting for a response.

Fly smiled upon hearing Peter talk
'Ah, another Englishman I see.' He touched the cut and winced
'Well yes, perhaps I should have it looked at. I usually carry my own kit but I er- left the last town in somewhat of a hurry. You see I caused a slight injury to the mayer. Or...a rather large injury. Lets just say as I was leaving they were still looking for his other kidney. But I know what I did wrong' He said hurridly
'So there's no chance of it happening again I assure you.' He sighed and absentmindedly wiped his hand on his sleeve
'Truth be told business is not as fast as I would have hoped. Scientists are so unappreciated around here. I'd get another job but I don't know of any I could do, I'v always been an inventor.' He lowered his hand so Doc could take a look at the cut

Fly smiled upon hearing Peter talk
'Ah, another Englishman I see.' He touched the cut and winced
'Well yes, perhaps I should have it looked at. I usually carry my own kit but I er- left the last town in somewhat of a hurry. You see I caused a slight injury to the mayer. Or...a rather large injury. Lets just say as I was leaving they were still looking for his other kidney. But I know what I did wrong' He said hurridly
'So there's no chance of it happening again I assure you.' He sighed and absentmindedly wiped his hand on his sleeve
'Truth be told business is not as fast as I would have hoped. Scientists are so unappreciated around here. I'd get another job but I don't know of any I could do, I'v always been an inventor.' He lowered his hand so Doc could take a look at the cut

"Hmm, No, not anymore. I am from the Dutchy of Alcona, formerly the English Colony of Thunderbay until Cromwell lost it to the Royalists and Charles the Second sold it off to pay his debts."

Peter paused for a moment and sat down on the edge of the desk. He started playing with his lap desk. It was made of english walnut with inlay of mother of pearl, quite an expensive item. "Now then, perhaps I might have employment for an educated man. If you would be so kind as to give myself and the good Doctor a more formal introduction, as well as a general overview of what device you are working on that...seperated the mayor from his internal organs."

Peter looked at the Doctor with a knowing glance. Likely his entire lower body was blown to small chunks...and likely there is a warrent out for him.

"Hmm, No, not anymore. I am from the Dutchy of Alcona, formerly the English Colony of Thunderbay until Cromwell lost it to the Royalists and Charles the Second sold it off to pay his debts."

Peter paused for a moment and sat down on the edge of the desk. He started playing with his lap desk. It was made of english walnut with inlay of mother of pearl, quite an expensive item. "Now then, perhaps I might have employment for an educated man. If you would be so kind as to give myself and the good Doctor a more formal introduction, as well as a general overview of what device you are working on that...seperated the mayor from his internal organs."

Peter looked at the Doctor with a knowing glance. Likely his entire lower body was blown to small chunks...and likely there is a warrent out for him.

'Thunderbay...no, I don't believe I'v had the pleasure of visiting the place. Well the device? Well..It's somewhat of an embaressment, I was trying to perfect an invention of mine. I believe it is possible to have a sort of- continuous controlled explosion, this would provide a great amount of forward thrust. When the mayor got wind of this he wanted to get in on it. He wanted a carraige that could pull itself, would you believe it? Sheer madness, but no, he wanted his explosion fuelled carraige or it would be my neck. So, I rigged one up for him. let us say the explosion was not controlled enough. And so, here I am, Flywheel Mckutchin, at your service good sirs' He bowed theatrically

Peter looked a bit confused, "Continous controlled explosion, like a rocket? I know the English once had Rocket Brigades but I thought they proved to be poor subsitute for a good, well handled peice of artillery." Actually Peter's tone was a bit scathing.

Those bastard Cawbs attempted to use Congreve rockets on us at that river crossing. Hell we were undergunned at the time with only a nine pounder with sufficent rounds to deal with the bastards, but we still hit them in three firings. They fired four salvos of ten missles and only hit the baggage train, and a detachment of calvery....

"Peter Jennssen, former Captain of Artillery of The Royal Alconian Marines at your service."

OOC: Congreve Rockets were invented 1809 and in service until 1815...as quoted in the American National Anthem, "The rockets red glare, bombs bursting in air..."

Gerry smiled at Wilfred and lowered her eyes to her plate as she spoke. “Who said anything about it being the food?” She grinned to herself then raised her eyes back to his, her eyebrow raised coquettishly. “I was more thinking about the welcome and the company. This kind of food can be found anyway.” She jabbed her fork into another piece of sausage. “Good company, on the other hand, is not so easy to find.”

She lifted the fork to her mouth and took a bit, chewing thoughtfully, as she watched the man sitting opposite to her. If someone had told her the day before that she would be having breakfast with a man she had spent the night with, she would probably have shot them before they had finished uttering the words, but now she could think of nothing she would rather be doing.

Peter looked a bit confused, "Continous controlled explosion, like a rocket? I know the English once had Rocket Brigades but I thought they proved to be poor subsitute for a good, well handled peice of artillery." Actually Peter's tone was a bit scathing.

Those bastard Cawbs attempted to use Congreve rockets on us at that river crossing. Hell we were undergunned at the time with only a nine pounder with sufficent rounds to deal with the bastards, but we still hit them in three firings. They fired four salvos of ten missles and only hit the baggage train, and a detachment of calvery....

"Peter Jennssen, former Captain of Artillery of The Royal Alconian Marines at your service."

OOC: Congreve Rockets were invented 1809 and in service until 1815...as quoted in the American National Anthem, "The rockets red glare, bombs bursting in air..."

OOC: Ah, well, my knoledge of history equates to what I had for breakfast, so I apologise now for all future mess ups involving history :D

'Pleased to meet you' He shook Jennssen's hand
'I always thought there was so much to be done with rockets, a connonball seems so...inprecice...haphazard...' He shrugged
'Well I am but a man of smaller creations. Unfortunatley including this' He pulled out the contraption that looked like an angry metal porcupine
'It's supposed to help shaving, but I don't think it knows when to stop' he dropped it suddenly in suprise when it started up and it happily ate into the woodwork of the floor

IC:
Jennssen eyed the man with a curious look.
"Then sir you have never seen a missle salvo in the feild. They are comparatively happazard and random, espcially compared to a modern rifled cannon. I taught an opposing enemy force that once, my well handled nine pounder forced their rocket battallion from the feild."

Peter seemed a bit happy at remembering that, but his mood darkened. The former marine watched the small device hit the floor and began chewing on the wood.

"My god man, what are you trying to do? Kill people? If it can chew the floor like that then it has far more power then it needs to cut off your wiskers."

The man is a nutter...a bloodly nutter...

OOC: Liquid fuel rockets haven't been invented yet...(1892?)

IC:
Jennssen eyed the man with a curious look.
"Then sir you have never seen a missle salvo in the feild. They are comparatively happazard and random, espcially compared to a modern rifled cannon. I taught an opposing enemy force that once, my well handled nine pounder forced their rocket battallion from the feild."

Peter seemed a bit happy at remembering that, but his mood darkened. The former marine watched the small device hit the floor and began chewing on the wood.

"My god man, what are you trying to do? Kill people? If it can chew the floor like that then it has far more power then it needs to cut off your wiskers."

The man is a nutter...a bloodly nutter...

OOC: Liquid fuel rockets haven't been invented yet...(1892?)
OOC: Right, got it.
'Well a military man I am not. I couldn't hit a barn door with a six shooter if I tried. A tried and tested subject actually, I don't think I ever payed that poor man back for his cow....anyway. You're right of course, unless mankind develops beard hairs with the relative strength of steel wire rather quickly. Another failure I suppose' He sighed again and kicked the shaving experiment

Doc had stood aside to let the strangers talk after he had cleaned up the cut on Fly’s chin. As the conversation progressed, the look of concern on his face grew more and more severe.

“Mr. Mckutchin,” Doc finally said. “I believe your presence in Chassis might be very good for my business. But I’m not sure it’s the kind of business I want. May I suggest a real job? There’s a couple of ranches around here that can always use an extra hand shoveling manure.”

* * * * *

Nelson kept his head turned sideways to keep a half eye on the jailhouse door as he crossed the street to the saloon. His hand was resting on his gun, as casually as possible. He was pretty sure he had nothing to worry about though. If that Jennssen fellow wanted to shoot him, he could’ve done so easily already. All the same, he hoped Jennssen left town soon. Preferably today still.

He entered The Cylinder and glanced around. Just the usual handful of deadbeats. His eyes paused for a moment on the broad Wilford was eating with. I’m in the wrong line of work, I should’ve become a poker player, he thought, moving over to the bar. Cecil eyed him warily.

“Could use something to eat,” Nelson grumbled.

Peter huffed a bit at the doctor. "Quite, a mechanic of his quality shoveling manure?" He just shook his head, "If you would prefer employment not related to being an equestrian pooper scooper I might have need of your services."

Jennssen stood up with his writting case and looked at the Doctor. "However it is far more dangerous than being hip deep in dung. If your intrested Mr. Mckutchin please follow me. I have much buisness to attend to today."

Jennssen walked out the door and noticed that the telegraph office was now open. He began to walk down the street towards it.

Peter huffed a bit at the doctor. "Quite, a mechanic of his quality shoveling manure?" He just shook his head, "If you would prefer employment not related to being an equestrian pooper scooper I might have need of your services."

Jennssen stood up with his writting case and looked at the Doctor. "However it is far more dangerous than being hip deep in dung. If your intrested Mr. Mckutchin please follow me. I have much buisness to attend to today."

Jennssen walked out the door and noticed that the telegraph office was now open. He began to walk down the street towards it.

'Oh, er, thank you I'm sure' He inflated a little from the compliment and hurried after Peter.
'Well when you spend your life around chemicals and contraptions that are rather volitile to even the slightest touch, danger becomes somewhat of a null and void concept' He smiled weakly

Peter shook his head, "I have been hired..." He looked about the very empty street for a moment and continued in a much quiter voice. "By parties to conduct a survey for a railroad grade through these parts. Unfortunatly, this has infurated some other powerful parties. Yesterday my assistant was shot and killed by a murderous party of theives and cuthroats. I buried the last of them this morning."

Peter looked about again at the door to the telegraph office. "I have decided it would be prudent to hire two individuals to replace him. One to help conduct the survey and the other to act as a guard and lookout."

Jennssen opened the door and stepped in. "The two jobs pay twenty five a week plus provisions. If you take the position, your first duty will be to find the other aide, realizing that you will get the residual of whatever is left out of the twenty five a week you promise to them." He turned to the telegraph operator and smiled,

"I need this sent out please..."
Jennssen handed a small sheet of paper to the telegraph operator. A code was written out in nice bold handwritting.


Ballard, Cross Apex Mine

1645 9778 58Z7 2539 [stop]
3667 0Z5LKKTK0 [stop]
Y128 9845 [stop]
2897 A936 1978 8177 8922 [stop]

'I can, with absolute honesty Mr Jennsson, say that any job would be better than no job. Er, but more importantly this job is better than transporting equine refuse around a ranch. Thank you' He shook Peter's hand
'Now, I believe I have a partner to find if you'll excuse me' He smiled and left the office in thought.
One for assisting with the survey, one as a guard and look out. Well, I know which one I would be He remembered some of the times he had tried out his improved firearms. The firearms had worked well, but he had not.
A hired gun then? Well at least it wouldn't be hard to find one....
He walked through the door of the bar and dropped a coin on the bartop
'I don't suppose you know anyone interested in being hired as...well let us say if one group of people decided to dislike me, this person would be in possession of the skills to help.' He listened to what he just said and it slightly confused even him
He gave up 'A gunslinger, I need a gunslinger.'

Ike was doing nothing but lying in his bed. That's why he was quickly to his feet when he heard a conversation approaching his office. Conversations often bring people. He could hear something about powerful parties and survey... He heard just enough to understand the survey he had to do, wasn't very popular among 'powerful parties'.
He turned to the telegraph operator and smiled,

"I need this sent out please..."
Jennssen handed a small sheet of paper to the telegraph operator. A code was written out in nice bold handwritting.

"I didn't know we had powerful parties here in Chassis? If we do, they owe us some attention and money."
Ike took the paper. "This are not words mister... Are you sure this is what you want to send?"

Jennssen just shook his head watching the mechanic leave. "Yes, I know those are not words. Does it matter if you get paid for sending gibberish that you send it?" He looked down at the telegraph operator.

"Do your job man...and don't listen in to other people's conversations unless you want to suffer lead poisoning one of these days."

Suddenly, a terrible chill crawled across his back from his toes to his head and back. Is this some kind of investigator? The way the stranger walked, his attitude and his appearance looked like he was from the military. And the handwriting...

If he's here to investigate the town, I might be in big trouble... While a minute ago he hadn't been interested at all in the person standing in his office, Ike was now looking for every clue to confirm whether he was a detective or not.

Ike produced a smile and said: "I believe we haven't been introduced yet, I'm Ike ... ehm... Ike McNelson, hehehe, they always just call me Ike, almost forgot my surname, hehehe. With who do I have the pleasure?"

Dawn sighed heavily and tucked a pistol away in the waistline of her chaps. Steadying a paint mare named Apache, she hefted a dead sheep over the animal's back. This was the third one in as many days. Damn coyotes had to be chewing through the fenceline somewhere, but damned if anyone could find where. No one had even seen the pests. The only proof of their existance was the dead sheep out to graze. A pity too, this ewe had produced some fine lambs in the past.

With a gentle tug of the reins, she began leading Apache back towards the ranch proper. Dusk had a way of sneaking up on folks out here, and Dawn did not like to be out by herself when it started to get dark.

Peter's cocked hat, indigo blue shirt, and accent said that he wasn't a native. However his demenor was turning to that of an officer dealing with an idiotic private.

"Mr McNelson? The name is Jennssen." He gave a short nod of the head.

"Now then Mr. McNelson, I would be much obliged if you do your job and send that telegraph. Or are you like Guffrey the local excuse for a Sheriff who spends his time holed up in a bottle so much... you can remember how to send a telegraph Mr. McNelson?"

He was leaning over the desk now. His blue eyes drilling into the telegrapher. "I am afraid that the Sheriff has used up all my patience today already...so if there is a problem spit it out."

Peter's left hand moved down and rested on the hilt of his revolver. His right hand sat on the hilt of the sword bayonet attached to his upper leg.

Jennssen... Just Jennssen...That's good, since it isn't officer Jennssen or something.
Ike felt more at ease now. The stranger didn't seem to like the sheriff's attitude much. Ike did. He didn't like the nosey type.

"Our sheriff can be a good guy and he has solved many a crime. He is always of great service to me and this town."

Jennssen began leaning over his desk and practicaly asked to be spat in the face, but that isn't be a good way to make friends so instead the telegrapher replied: "Ofcourse I'll send it, if you pay, buddy. And since you're not a local, tariffs are double."

Peter's eyes narrowed at the double tarrif quote.
Ah now I see, your the criminal sort are you? Robbing decent folks right under the nose of that drunken Sheriff. I wish you did work for me you little snot nose bastard, then I could kick your ass all over town...

"Fine, but I want a receipt..." He pulled a few bills, more than enough to cover the cost, and thew it on the desk.

"Fine, a receipt with it."
He scribbled some figures on a little piece of paper, stood up again, and handed it to Jennssen, along with some change.
"Goodbye, sir."

He turned around to his desk again, sat down on the chair and began the usual telegraphing ritual.

Jennssen just stood there and watched McNelson work. Obviously the man didn't trust McNelson for obvious reasons.

When McNelson finished, Peter turned to the door and said in a casual tone. "I will pick up the reply in the morning, good day Mister McNelson."

Jennssen looked up at the sun, realized it was getting late and turned down the street towards the cat house. Really he wanted to wash off the stink of death that he was still carrying about himself.

James walked out of the 'boarding house' freshly washed and with new enemies. One of the girls had decided to rob him while he was in the tub, unfortunatly for her, Peter kept his revolver handy.

James looked up and the lowering sun and down the dusty street that was Chassis. God, what I wouldn't give for a nice ocean breeze right now He pondered the world for a moment as he walked into the bar and looked about. It appeared that the regular crowd was starting to fill in. His eyes locked on Mckutchin apparently still at the bar.

"I will see you tommorrow morning, here six hundread hours sharp." He then turned and walked back out of the bar. Standing looking down at his horses he wondered how long a ride it was out to Dawn's place. "Well no time like the present..." He stepped down off the porch and got his horse ready to ride.

60 miles north

The door swung open onto the shadowy porch. The street was quiet right now, things would change in an hour when there would be a shift change. Those working the second shift would emerge soon from the various mine shafts through the valley and decend on the brothels, bars, and gambeling dens that made up most of the buisnesses in town.

The short, wiry fellow walked down into the sun baked dirt street and looked off at the mountains rising in the distance. It was hard to make out the sheet steel and red painted wood that marked his enemies stronghold.
"And I shall keep my brother in the shadow of death, and strike down those who would harm my brother." He said outloud in a scratchy barratone. The man's blue eyes narrowed as he stared into the sun for a moment more, studing the shapes of the buildings in the shadow.

In truth the man in the straw Cancun hat had little personel against those across the valley. No, he might rail against, "The evil and wicked of this world..." and might "smite thee with the holy sword of Saint Colt" but the wicked were decided by who paid him, not by their own actions.

Someone stopped for a second and began to ask something but stopped. The woman's words trapped in her throat as she realized the man dressed in a black jacket and pants with a clerical collar was not a man of the cloth, but the Preacher. It was obvious from the glint of the two colt revolvers the man had around his waist.

The Preacher turned and looked at her. His peircing blue eyes locked onto hers. The Preacher's eyes went wide, the right accentuated by the nasty scar across it. "Tell me child what do you desire..."

"Ah nothing father..." One always called the Preacher 'father' or he would likely cause you to die a slow, painful death.

"Why my child, you seem afraid. Fear not, for those wicked men across the valley shall soon perish by the might of his holy works. The good shall prosper, and the wicked shall be smited..."

"Ah...yes father..."

"Tell me child, why to you tremble...why you must be in the grips of Satan's grasp...we must free you at once with the love and kindness of our Lord Savior..." The look in the Preacher's eyes had little to do with lust or kindness but lust and hunger. He reached out to place his hands on her shoulders. The peice of paper in his left hand crickled as he started to grip her. The Preacher locked his eyes on the hand, then went back to the girls face. Her eyes were terrified in fear for herself.

He pulled back his hands and looked at the paper for a moment. "I am afraid dear that duty calls me to save the small town of Chassis to the south. For Satan has sent a demon to the place...and I must vanquish him and save the citizens of the fair town from eternal damnation. But when I return, we shall see about saving your soul my dear..."

The Preacher stepped back and tipped his hat to the young woman. His eyes were like those of a wolf looking upon a crippled, lonley lamb. "Good day miss..."

As the Preacher turned and walked into his 'boarding house' the young woman looked about. Everyone in the street was avoiding looking at her, ignoring the plight she was in. She turned and ran...ran from a town where fear of both the Preacher and the Union minning Company was supreme.

*****
Jennssen kicked his horse to trot a bit faster towards the homestead up ahead. A nice little place... he thought as he rode towards it. Jennssen noted the sheep nearby, which reminded him of home. Bugger, go thousands of miles and I wind up looking at the little woolly creatures again. I had thought this cattle country but Dawn doesn't seem to be doing too bad...

James Garfield continued to order whiskey, chugging away with determination at copious amounts of whiskey that would have caused a man of lesser...stature...to pass out. That stupid whore Trixie was still on his mind. She would still regret rejecting him, that he was sure of. He attempted to spring to his feet, but ended up standing slowly and almost falling backwards over his chair. He quickly stumbled towards the saloon door in his best attempt at a manly jog, feeling sure that he would be able to find her this time and extract payment for the wrong she had done him.

A thunder of hoofbeats signalled Wayne's approach, but you'd have to be blind to miss him on the relatively flat terrain. Bringing his mount up beside her, he spur-stopped and neatly hopped down from the saddle, taking Apache's reins.

"I think your company will be here in a few minutes. Best get on back and be a proper host."

Wayne sometimes had the same smile as her father, and it was a wonder the two weren't related somehow. Gratefully, she swung herself up into his saddle and kicked the horse into a ground-eating lope, leaving Wayne behind to deal with the dead sheep. In the barn, she quickly untacked and washed the dust from her face and hands with water from a trough. Grabbing her hat from a peg beside the door, she walked out to meet him.

"So you found the place, eh?"

Peter swung himself off the horse and began to to undo the saddle. "Well your directions were quite easy enough..." He paused for a second looking around at the sheep.

"You do seem to have a good number of sheep around the place...but I haven't seen a sheep dog yet..."

"Dog died a little while ago now. It was okay for a bit since we put the new fences in, but I'm starting to think it would be a good idea to invest in another. Besides, I think we have just about the limit of how many animals we can handle now, with the horses and all. There are a few heads of steer that keep mostly to the far end of the property, but I think after we sell that bunch we'll leave off the cattle business for a while. Except for a milking cow or two, of course. Just don't have the manpower these days."

She shrugged helplessly and patted his horse on the nose. As he seemed occupied by the saddle, she gathered the reins to lead the mount off towards the barn.

"Here, let me show you to the stalls."

Peter gave Dawn an odd look, "When I saw so many sheep and didn't see a sheep dog, or hear one, I got worried there was trouble." He shrugged, "old habits die hard I guess..."

He carried the saddle into the barn, noting that the other two horses were also following Dawn to the barn.

Dead serious, she glanced back over her shoulder at him.

"Well the sheep can get a little ornary from time to time, but they haven't tried to take the place by force in a few years."

Her stalls were not record-setting for their size, but they gave the horses enough room to lay down or turn around if they needed to. There were only 8 or so, but not all of the herd needed to be inside at once, so things worked out. Leading Jennssen's mount into a vacant stall, she tied a rope across the opening to the aisle which would serve as a barrier to escape.

"There's a tack room behind you," she explained as he stepped inside. "You can put that saddle anywhere there's a free rack."

Ducking under the rope, she began untacking his horse, hanging the bridle by the headstall on a hook beside the stall opening. With a wet rag, she doused a few of the sweat spots so the horse would cool off faster and not get sick. There was plenty of fresh hay and water, so this accomplished, she let herself out again.

"Trouble and I are no strangers. Seems that some coyotes have come back to the area so getting another dog is becoming less and less of an option and more of a necessity."

Peter started to chuckle..."Yeah, you have to watch those Baaarians, pesky lot." He shook his head, "I guess you don't have the problems with pirates like we did back home. Or raiders from the north..."

Jenssen put his saddle on a rack and went back out to start taking the odd blanket that the palomino was carrying. He attached a rope to a beam of the barn in the stall, appeared to run the line under the blanket along the horse's back and then up over another beam.

He gripped the line and pulled, hauling the odd blanket like contraption off the horse. It swung away winding up on the side of the stall. Peter tied off the end of the rope and then rubbed down the horse.

"You know I think I am just going to let the brown out into your corral, she doesn't seem to crazy about being in a stall." The brown was acting figidity as they stood there.
As he began to pull off the old worn saddle, he continued "As for coyotes, well I don't know how they deal with a good sheep dog. But they used to keep the manxes at bay. Of course sometimes you just had to let lead poisoning deal with a bugger for a real taste of mutton."

Jenssen held the saddle in his hands for a moment and shook his head. "Bugger...this thing hasn't been cared for at all."

"It may come to that," she commented about his methods of pest control quietly while watching the ordeal with the blanket. Though curious, she couldn't bring herself to ask.

Now that both horses were moderately comfortable and cared for, she carried a few extra flakes of hay outside for the brown, setting them down in what appeared to be a large round pen.

"She might get a little less spooky out here. But all the same, I'd like to keep her seperated so no one gets any bright ideas about trying to be the dominant mare."

As soon as the pushy stranger was riding out of town, Ike made a list of things to find more about.

- Ballard, Cross Apex Mine
- Jennssen
- Decoding the message

It was a good excuse to return to the bar. Just as he was approaching, Mr. Garfield smashed his body through the saloondoors, falling over and walking at the same time.

"Goodday, Mr Garfield" Ike nodded. He wondered if this man knew anything about the influential parties and the Cross Apex Mine, to which Jennssen sent his message. But then again, he looked too far away to remember such things...

Peter shrugged, "Not my horse...well an inherited beast if you will so I don't know how she and other horses would react to each other."

Peter walked into the barn for a moment and up to the 'blanket' He undid one of the pockets and pulled out a small wooden case before returning outside the barn with his saddle bags over the other shoulder.

He looked at the brown and shook his head. "God I never should have taken this job."

******
The Apex mining company was a Knootian (Dutch) firm that had been working a gold strike to the north. It was having run-ins with the Union Mining Company that existed on a nearby strike. Both were hiring gunslingers to intimidate and kill the miners in a bid to force the other company out of their shared valley. It had turned nasty recently....

Ballard, William Rudolf was the Manager for Apex.

OOC: Sorry you need Jennssen's cypher to translate the message.

Cecil was a little worried when Mr. Garfield stormed out. He hoped Trixie hadn't left the house yet. That could be dangerous with a liquored-up and foul-feeling fellow like Mr. Garfield running around looking for her. Cecil sent a little prayer up to what he figured must be heaven and went back to cleaning up some mugs. He noticed after a few moments that Ike had come in again and Wilford and Gerry were being awfully quiet lately. He hoped the food he had made for them hadn't given them gas or something. He would feel awful if that was the case.

"Well we must all make our own choices, I guess. They say everything happens for a reason."

She wasn't sure what else she could say, so Dawn fell to silence and sauntered amiably towards the house. Inside, she hung her hat near the door and made her way immediately to the kitchen to put some water on to boil.

Out in the yard, Wayne was trying to herd the sheep into one of the smaller pastures to keep an eye on them for the night.

Peter gave a slight smirk when he had realized that he had just spoken out loud. "Quite..." was all he could muster besides an embarrassed look. As Peter stood in the door he noticed Wayne attempting to corral the sheep.

That would be a lot easier with a properly trained sheep dog. he thought. Peter put down his gear inside of the door, closed it and turned to help Wayne.

He cut off a few Ewe's who had oddly wandered from the main flock and clucked them back in to the main body.

The potatoes were cut and placed in near-boiling water to soften up. Wayne and Jenssen seemed to be making fine time with the sheep. With any luck, this would keep the coyotes at bay until she figured out a way to deal with them on a more permanent level. After drying her hands on a rag, she carried his gear to an empty room.

"Well, you sure now how to handle the things, I'll give you that." They were the only words Wayne offered as the last of the sheep scuttled into the smaller paddock.

Wayne, while grateful for the help had always been suspicious of folks he didn't know, and found himself sizing up the other man in silence. He closed the gate behind the last of the flock and thanked the stranger with a look and a polite nod. He then made way for the barn to make sure everything was in order before supper, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Jennssen came across as a no nonsense foreigner with an odd accent, a ram-rod strait up his back and perhaps just a bit devious. At least anyone who could convince a Ewe not to jump back and escape by using one hand to get the sheep's attention while using his foot to trip said excaping sheep was devious.

But then Jennssen didn't appear to shirk work or be a lazy bother either. As though he were a bit more cunning about things than most people around here.

Jennssen returned to the house humming a bit of a tune.

"I knew a lass as pretty as the flowers of heaven,
Her eyes were as green as the emerald tree
and her hair was the color of a raven
But I nared listen to my mama who waned thee...

She hath a temper like the sea goddess
One moment calm, the next deadly surf
So you'd best stear clear your mind of that lass
For she will either kill yea, or turn yea into a smurf

But Nay I did not listen to mother mine
I paid no attention, just followed my heart
So I went a courtin that lass just so fine
And that lass did..."

"Song from home?"

Dawn stepped out into the hallway after placing his things in the room behind her. Closing the door softly, she turned and headed back towards the kitchen. The stew would be finished before long and she still needed to add carrots to the concoction.

"And on behalf of Wayne, thanks for the helping hand out there. He can get a bit strange 'round folks he hasn't met," she explained, almost apologetically.

Pulling out a few of the dried vegetables, she cut them and placed them in the water with the potatoes.

"Only if you consider between the decks home."

Jeenssen sat down and looked back at the front door. "And Wayne is just like anyother Freeman farmer from back home, they really don't trust outsiders all that much. Too many wars and too many pirate raids have made them a bit paranoid. Only thing you can do is...really I don't know. First time as the foreigner in this position actually."

He looked around the kitchen for a moment. Then at the pot, "So goody Dawn what is the menu for this evening?" He asked with a mock Dyellian (sort of Irish) accent.

Odd layout for a house, just a narrow hall off the front door it appears.

"The only difference between a dwelling and a home is sentiments and memories."

She replaced the lid on the pot and turned to face him.

"Tonight's fare will be lamb stew and bread. Hope that sounds agreeable, because I'm really not inclined to make anything else. Truth be told, I hate cooking, but some things a woman can't escape."

"The only difference between a dwelling and a home is sentiments and memories."

She replaced the lid on the pot and turned to face him.

"Tonight's fare will be lamb stew and bread. Hope that sounds agreeable, because I'm really not inclined to make anything else. Truth be told, I hate cooking, but some things a woman can't escape."

"Between Decks is the crew space on a warship, so I doubt it counts as either." He chuckled.

Jenssen raised an eyebrow at Dawn for a moment after the way she had said 'I'm really not inclined to make anything else', "Although my mother got out of cooking for her entire life as far as I know, I am not a picky eater. Actually lamb stew sounds wonderful. Now is there anything I can do to help or is that considered an insult in this part of the world?"

"I think I pretty much have it all under control for the moment, but thanks anyway. Your room is down the hall if you wanted to tidy up or check on your things."

Dawn stirred the pot idly, then set to preparing a makeshift strainer to seperate the potatoes and carrots from the boiling water. Next, she'd add them to the boiled meat and gravy and allow the combination to simmer together for a little bit.

Jenssen would be using her father's old room. It was the largest, and the only one really suited for guests. The house had been built around necessity and functionality, substituting aesthetics for purpose, which had left many of the rooms somewhat small and accounted for the strange layout. Not that there was much need to be able to entertain guests way out here.

"I think I pretty much have it all under control for the moment, but thanks anyway. Your room is down the hall if you wanted to tidy up or check on your things."

Dawn stirred the pot idly, then set to preparing a makeshift strainer to seperate the potatoes and carrots from the boiling water. Next, she'd add them to the boiled meat and gravy and allow the combination to simmer together for a little bit.

Jenssen would be using her father's old room. It was the largest, and the only one really suited for guests. The house had been built around necessity and functionality, substituting aesthetics for purpose, which had left many of the rooms somewhat small and accounted for the strange layout. Not that there was much need to be able to entertain guests way out here.

Jenssen stood up nodded and walked down the hall to the room. He looked about the comfortable room and picked up this saddle bags and then pulled out a large swatch of paper. He unfolded the paper on the bed, it was a large map of the surrounding area. Matt leaned over it and unattached a red wax pencil from the the side of the map and began to write some notations on the map.