The wagon in the Mine Field is gone (ashes to ashes….). A decompossing sleeping bag was inside the wagon and seeing it head to the fire brought back a lot of memories (Assassin Johnny! - Remember?) There was actually quite a bit of wood inside/near the wagon from earlier Mine Field clean-ups so there was quite a lot to burn. Also, some stray wood pieces which had been “stuck” in stick blinds for extra cover were removed and tossed in the fire. Ray and James brought up more firewood to the house which will get us through the winter (thanks guys…totally above and beyond).

ONE MORE WEEKEND IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN BEING A GROUNDHOG THIS YEAR!

With the snow this deep... where to start?!?

Thank you to our newest Groundhogs: Jerry, Super Mike, Steve, Ray, Jared, Kyle and Jason Horning.

We will continue to work on the fields again next weekend - on the docket is the burning of the Wagon in the Mine Field, as well as more stick-dragging in the Painted Forest.

Thank you all for coming out to help, it really means so much to each of us that we have people to help us carry on. Have a great week and we’ll hopefully see more new Groundhogs again on Saturday! The current total is 40 so far, so let’s keep it coming!

 Episode One

 The ten of us rode, our shoulders hunkered up and our chins tucked turtle-like, as the rain pounded us for another long night.  It had not stopped raining in three days and we were, all of us as well as our mounts, soaked to the bone.  Lightning flashed, and moments later the thunder rolled around us.  I raised my head slightly, looking at the men that rode with me.  The ten of us had been through a lot together and I knew we had a long road ahead. 

Four years, all said and done, that’s how long it had lasted.  Four years.  We had been together since the start, greeners that would ripen over time.  Ten men from different backgrounds, yet we all shared the same desire.  Preserve the union.  A noble cause.  That bullet struck down more than just a President that night at Fords Theatre; it struck down hope as well.  Hope for a speedy reconstruction.  Hope for a fast mend. 

The rhythm of the rain as it pelted my hat, combined with the rocking motion of the horse, sent my mind back to a night much like this one.  We all sat around a small fire on the banks of the Tennessee River and talked.  The days fighting had been fierce and we knew we were in for it at first light as well.  It was on that rainy night that I learned much about these men I had been fighting with for weeks.

Nathan Grimm was the first to break the silence.  He looked into the fire as he spoke.  “I was a teacher,” he began, his round glasses reflected the dancing flames, his pointed beard an ominous shade of red due to the light.  “I was head master at a small college in Michigan…the youngest ever.”  Teach snapped a piece of hardtack off with his teeth and chewed it methodically before continuing.  “Soon after the conflict began, I found myself bidding goodbye to far too many young men.  Boys, really.  My students.  It was their dreams, their lives being sacrificed for something that should have been decided years ago.  How could I sit and do nothing?”

The man next to him nodded as he answered for us all.  “Yes…One must act.”  Joseph “Law” Boss began his tale.  “I, too, had a life before this war…and a purpose.  When I was a child, a man showed up at our family farm with a paper.  Father met him at the door with his shotgun in his hands.  In all my life, I had never seen my father so angry.  I remember asking my mother what had him so upset, and she explained to me that the paper said we had to leave the farm.  I still remember father standing there with his shotgun in his hands as the paper blew across the barnyard into the pasture. We lost the farm and shortly after - father as well.  Years passed, I graduated law school and hung my shingle.  But this war has taught me a valuable lesson…sooner or later it all comes down to guns.  Father should have shot the SOB after all.”

“It’s all a gamble anyway,” John Black was the next to speak.  “I spent my whole life sailing up and down the Mississippi River, seen and known men from both worlds.  My daddy was a steamboat captain and I cut my teeth on a loading dock.  It didn’t take me long to learn that the gamblers onboard made a lot more money than the crew, including the captain.  No…it’s all a gamble.  When this war started I watched men turn on each other, brother on brother, gambling it all on who would win.  So I’m here now, gambling on you all.”

“Not for me.  It’s a sure thing,” Steven Kree jumped in.  “I’m sure of my choices.  I had a small parish in Kansas.  A small band of raiders attacked the town and burned it all.  I watched as my church burned to the ground.  As I picked through the ruins and the bodies, I decided that this evil must be dealt with on its own terms.  I grasped the sword of Arch Angel Michael and came out swinging.”

“Singing!”

The Preacher gently pat the leg of the man sitting next to him.

Eric “Boom Boom” Day had been a miner before the war, and apparently used a lot of explosives.  We all learned his first day here that he was almost completely deaf.  But he was the best black powder man in the world.

“Nothing, Boom Boom” the man on the other side of the miner answered.  It was still funny hearing the English accent.

Tony “The Englishman” Broughcut was a puzzle to us all.  He claimed, rather fervently, that he was a direct descendent of King Henry the Eighth.  “I came here to build an empire of my own.  A cattle empire.  The tall thin man moved closer to the fire as he continued.  “I had been here about a year when the war started.  I felt that if I was to make this country my own…well then I should get involved.  You see in England you are judged by your father’s actions. What you do as a man means little if your name isn’t the right one.  This war is about that.  And I for one believe the cause to be a just one.”

“For my kids, that’s what drove me.”  Rod Styler added.  “I was an Engineer, drove the L&M line out of Chicago.  Hauled mostly freight, but I did love that train.”  He held a small wooden object in his hands as he told his story.  “I couldn’t believe it either.  When it all started I mean…seems along time ago.”

The man held up the small object.  “My son made this for me.”  He placed it to his lips and blew gently.

“Sounds like a train whistle from far away,” I said.

“Yep…My boys love trains too.”  Whistler placed the treasure gently back into his vest pocket.

“More wood,”  Ray “Sticks” Oxwald said as he set the bundle down.  Sticks had been a lumberjack before the war; none was better with axe or blade.  He never said much.  I learned about him from the Doc.

Jason “Doc” Blue had been with the regiment from the start. He lay curled up next to the fire snoring lightly.  Doc could sleep anywhere at anytime.  And would save our lives many times over.  He never told any of us why he was here, with a small Calvary troop, but we learned to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

That night was to be the first of many campfire talks for the ten of us.  It was a miracle that we all survived those times.  

A particularly loud thunderclap brought me back to the present.  Teach had fallen back from the head of the column and was now riding beside me.

“Think we should pull in for the night, Colonel?” he shouted above the furry of the storm.

I simply nodded yes.  They still called me Colonel, after all this time.

Law Boss took point and soon located a cave in the side of a hill large enough to house us and the horses.  The Gambler built a small fire and as we settled in I explained to them why we were here…none had asked in the three days we had been reunited, they just came when I called.

“General Scott has been appointed the military governor of a new territory which is opening in just a few days time.  He has asked for our help.  It’s a chance boys.  A new chance for all of us.  I ask for your help in bringing law to this edge of civilization.” 

None spoke for a moment.  Then each in turn simply said yes.

Episode Two

“Don’t you see, Kid!  It’s a new chance!”

The pounding of the piano and the rumble of the crowd all but drowned out what Whitey was yelling to his young friend.  The Kid didn’t react; he simply stared straight ahead into the large mirror that was always over the bar in joints this big.

“Are you listenin’ to me, Kid!” shouted the pale man.

No one seemed to notice the man stepping just inside the saloon door.  Only a few noticed as he raised the Winchester rifle in his hands and leveled it at the Kid’s back.

Snake-like, the Kid struck.  In one smooth motion, his 45 was out and he spun towards the door.  A single shot rang out as the crowd reacted, some diving for cover under tables…others just trying to get out of the line of fire by racing towards the edge of the room.  The impact from the bullet threw the man back out the door and onto the boardwalk.

“That’s the guy from this morning.  He’s been tailin’ us all day, Whitey.”  The two, along with the rest of the crowd, walked out to the fallen man.

“That’s Bud Short,” one of the locals announced.

“All right folks, what’s going on here?”  A large man wearing a badge pushed his way through the crowd.

“It was a legal shoot, Marshall.  Bud here was about to bushwhack this kid…seen the whole thing Marshall,”  another of the spectators spoke up as all murmured in agreement.

“That so?”  The big man moved closer to the Kid.

“Saw him in the mirror…”

“So what do you figure you done to upset Bud here?”  He pointed down at the dead man.

“I think it was about this,”  the Kid slowly removed his gun from its holster.  Handle first, he offered it to the Marshall.  “He stopped us when we rode in this morning…tried to buy it from me, but I wouldn’t sell.  Guess he figured on getting it another way.”

The Marshall’s eyes were wide, never before had he seen such a weapon.  The craftsmanship, the balance, the hand etching along the barrel, the gold inlay, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Sounds like Bud.  So how did a youngster like you end up with a gun like this?” the Marshall asked as he continued to admire the weapon.

“Won it in a card game,” the Kid replied as he extended his hand to retrieve his weapon.

They locked eyes, and just for a moment the Kid thought he had lost it. 

“What’s your name, boy?”

Continuing to hold out his opened-palmed hand, he answered, “Korey Blaze.”

As they stood facing each other, Whitey slowly moved his hand, gently resting it on the handle of his holstered gun.  Then with a quick flip, the Marshall handed the Kid back his revolver.

“Well …enough folks saw it to call it a legal shoot, so I’ll not hold you.”

“Much obliged, Marshall.”

“But I will tell you this.  Bud here has two brothers and when they find out what’s happened…well I can’t say they’re gonna be too happy.  I’d suggest you get on down the trail as soon as you can.”

With that the Marshall turned to the crowd and gathered some volunteers to carry Bud’s body to the undertaker.

“So Whitey…what’s the name of that town you been spoutin’ about?”

“Edge City.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She stepped off the rear platform of the train, her gray silk dress blending in with the shadows of the approaching night.  In one hand she carried a small leather satchel, in the other a smaller drawstring purse.  The train slowly pulled away leaving her standing alone on the platform.

The two cowboys saw her as she stepped off the train.  They continued to pass the bottle of whiskey between them as they watched her standing on the platform.  Then as the train pulled away, they moved towards her. 

She heard them…and then smelled them, right before the bigger of the pair roughly grabbed her arm from behind.  Spinning her around, the satchel dropping to the walkway.

“You waiting for somebody, little lady?”  the drunk cowboy slurred.

“Please..just leave me be,” she pleaded.

“I’m somebody…” he said as he pulled her closer to him.

The odor of whiskey and the trail filled her nostrils.  “Do you feel that?”  She leaned forward and whispered in his ear as she shoved the barrel of her Derringer into his belly.

“Huh?” he stammered and grunted as he noticed.

“It’s a 42 caliber pistol…with a greased barrel.  Know what a greased barrel means, cowboy?”

The shorter cowboy was now moving closer.  “What’s she sayin?”

She continued to whisper, “It means that when the bullet comes out it spins, like a little saw, it just rips through you.  Tearing up your insides.  Won’t kill you right away…it will take a few days.”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

“But not to worry, cowboy.  I’ll come visit you every day, just to remind you of how stupid you are…and to watch.”

His friend was now beside him.

“You little…”

The shot echoed through the platform area, as did the man’s scream.

As his friend stood in shock, the lady in gray quickly produced another pistol and shot him between the eyes.  Quickly she dropped both guns into her purse, picked up her satchel and headed for the hotel.

The next morning at breakfast she heard about the shooting.  How dreadful it had been, two cowboys fighting over a herd…one dead, the other dying.

She easily located the doctor’s office, and true to her word, she visited the dying cowboy every day.  On the fourth day she was told he had died…and being that she was his only living relative, naturally, she gained ownership of her “brother’s” herd. 

It was the financial backing CJ needed to bankroll her dream. 

Now it was on to Edge City.

Episode Three

“Don’t you see, Kid!  It’s a new chance!”

The pounding of the piano and the rumble of the crowd all but drowned out what Whitey was yelling to his young friend.  The Kid didn’t react; he simply stared straight ahead into the large mirror that was always over the bar in joints this big.

“Are you listenin’ to me, Kid!” shouted the pale man.

No one seemed to notice the man stepping just inside the saloon door.  Only a few noticed as he raised the Winchester rifle in his hands and leveled it at the Kid’s back.

Snake-like, the Kid struck.  In one smooth motion, his 45 was out and he spun towards the door.  A single shot rang out as the crowd reacted, some diving for cover under tables…others just trying to get out of the line of fire by racing towards the edge of the room.  The impact from the bullet threw the man back out the door and onto the boardwalk.

“That’s the guy from this morning.  He’s been tailin’ us all day, Whitey.”  The two, along with the rest of the crowd, walked out to the fallen man.

“That’s Bud Short,” one of the locals announced.

“All right folks, what’s going on here?”  A large man wearing a badge pushed his way through the crowd.

“It was a legal shoot, Marshall.  Bud here was about to bushwhack this kid…seen the whole thing Marshall,”  another of the spectators spoke up as all murmured in agreement.

“That so?”  The big man moved closer to the Kid.

“Saw him in the mirror…”

“So what do you figure you done to upset Bud here?”  He pointed down at the dead man.

“I think it was about this,”  the Kid slowly removed his gun from its holster.  Handle first, he offered it to the Marshall.  “He stopped us when we rode in this morning…tried to buy it from me, but I wouldn’t sell.  Guess he figured on getting it another way.”

The Marshall’s eyes were wide, never before had he seen such a weapon.  The craftsmanship, the balance, the hand etching along the barrel, the gold inlay, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Sounds like Bud.  So how did a youngster like you end up with a gun like this?” the Marshall asked as he continued to admire the weapon.

“Won it in a card game,” the Kid replied as he extended his hand to retrieve his weapon.

They locked eyes, and just for a moment the Kid thought he had lost it. 

“What’s your name, boy?”

Continuing to hold out his opened-palmed hand, he answered, “Korey Blaze.”

As they stood facing each other, Whitey slowly moved his hand, gently resting it on the handle of his holstered gun.  Then with a quick flip, the Marshall handed the Kid back his revolver.

“Well …enough folks saw it to call it a legal shoot, so I’ll not hold you.”

“Much obliged, Marshall.”

“But I will tell you this.  Bud here has two brothers and when they find out what’s happened…well I can’t say they’re gonna be too happy.  I’d suggest you get on down the trail as soon as you can.”

With that the Marshall turned to the crowd and gathered some volunteers to carry Bud’s body to the undertaker.

“So Whitey…what’s the name of that town you been spoutin’ about?”

“Edge City.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She stepped off the rear platform of the train, her gray silk dress blending in with the shadows of the approaching night.  In one hand she carried a small leather satchel, in the other a smaller drawstring purse.  The train slowly pulled away leaving her standing alone on the platform.

The two cowboys saw her as she stepped off the train.  They continued to pass the bottle of whiskey between them as they watched her standing on the platform.  Then as the train pulled away, they moved towards her. 

She heard them…and then smelled them, right before the bigger of the pair roughly grabbed her arm from behind.  Spinning her around, the satchel dropping to the walkway.

“You waiting for somebody, little lady?”  the drunk cowboy slurred.

“Please..just leave me be,” she pleaded.

“I’m somebody…” he said as he pulled her closer to him.

The odor of whiskey and the trail filled her nostrils.  “Do you feel that?”  She leaned forward and whispered in his ear as she shoved the barrel of her Derringer into his belly.

“Huh?” he stammered and grunted as he noticed.

“It’s a 42 caliber pistol…with a greased barrel.  Know what a greased barrel means, cowboy?”

The shorter cowboy was now moving closer.  “What’s she sayin?”

She continued to whisper, “It means that when the bullet comes out it spins, like a little saw, it just rips through you.  Tearing up your insides.  Won’t kill you right away…it will take a few days.”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

“But not to worry, cowboy.  I’ll come visit you every day, just to remind you of how stupid you are…and to watch.”

His friend was now beside him.

“You little…”

The shot echoed through the platform area, as did the man’s scream.

As his friend stood in shock, the lady in gray quickly produced another pistol and shot him between the eyes.  Quickly she dropped both guns into her purse, picked up her satchel and headed for the hotel.

The next morning at breakfast she heard about the shooting.  How dreadful it had been, two cowboys fighting over a herd…one dead, the other dying.

She easily located the doctor’s office, and true to her word, she visited the dying cowboy every day.  On the fourth day she was told he had died…and being that she was his only living relative, naturally, she gained ownership of her “brother’s” herd. 

It was the financial backing CJ needed to bankroll her dream. 

Now it was on to Edge City.

Episode Four

Flashes of lightning briefly brightened the deserted streets as the ten rode into town.  The formation halted only momentarily to view their surroundings.  To call this collection of tents and shanties a town was a stretch.  Dim lights glowed through dirty windows.  They spurred their horses forward at a slow trot.  Curtains were pulled aside and dark silhouettes watched them as they passed.

“They seem a little worried,” Teach broke the silence.

“I would be.  We must be a sight.”

The group continued slowly through town, stopping at last in front of the Sheriff’s Office.

“Find a place to get dry and wet, boys…be with you directly.”  The Colonel dismounted and stepped onto the porch and then into the jail. 

Behind the desk sat an old man, his long white mustache and shoulder length white hair reflected the small lantern’s light, “Help you mister?”

“I believe you are expecting me….”

“…..Colonel Cross.  Yep - got the telegram last week.  Looks as if I’m being put out to pasture,” the gentleman rose slowly from his chair and extended his withered hand.  “Sheriff Oscar Rosecrans…  I guess former Sheriff, now.”

“You are more than welcome to stay on, ya know,” the Colonel replied.

“No…no.  You boys is going to have your work cut out for ya.  No …. I plan on doin’ alittle fishin.”  He moved from behind the desk and faced his replacement.  “Keys are in the top drawer, bottle in the bottom.”  The elderly man slowly shook his head and turned towards the door. 

“Wish you and yours the best of luck, Colonel,” were his parting words.

*****

Fritz stood on the rear platform of the last car.  As the train lurched forward, his hand reached out and grasped the rail firmly.

“And so it ends,” he said to himself as he looked over the city he had grown to love.

“WAIT!”  A female voice shouted from just below the steps of the platform.  “Wait, Oh please!” She called.

Fritz moved to the steps and saw a sight he would never forget.  Carrying a camera, still hooked to the tripod, her hat flying from her head and her free hand reaching for the rail was a woman with the most determined look on any face he had ever seen.

Fritz reached out for her hand

“No you fool!  Take the camera!  Take the bloody camera!” she instructed.

Doing as he was told, he reached down and took the bulky object from her hand.  As the train sped up, Fritz called out, “You might want to hurry…”

The young woman hiked up her dress with both hands and sprinted closer.  “I…. could…. use…. that… hand…. now!” she panted.

The reporter reached down and effortlessly pulled her onto the platform beside him.  “So what was that all about?” he asked as she did her best to fix her hair and straighten her dress.

“Jennifer Mustang” she said as she extended her hand, “but please, call me Jen”.

“Call me Fritz”

“Nice to meet you, Fritz, and thanks for the hand.  I just had to get that shot, the steam blowing , the moment of movement, “  Jen explained as she reached for her equipment and turned to open the door to the car.

Fritz followed her in and before long he learned that she was a photographer who was heading to, of all places, Edge City. 

It was a meeting that would change both of their lives forever.

Episode Five

CJ stepped from the trading post and turned her face towards the sky.  She closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth of the western air.

“Much better than the dress I take it?”  Josh was sitting in a chair leaning backwards comfortably as he looked up at her.

“Much!”

“Driver says about four hours before we get there.”  Josh stood up eyeing CJ from head to toe.  The buckskins she wore clung tightly to her small frame, and the tilt of the hat spoke volumes to anyone who was paying attention.

“So… you’re sure about working for me?” she asked.

“Looking forward to it,” was his response.

“You know it’s not going to be easy.”

“Nothing worthwhile is, Boss.  Nothing worthwhile is.”

The stagecoach carrying the pair arrived in Edge City at dusk.

********

The Kid and Whitey road into Edge City like so many drifters before them, tired, hungry, and flat broke.

“Sure am hungry, Kid.”

“Me too.”

“So you figure we can maybe get us some food somehow?” Whitey rubbed his empty belly as he asked.

“I think so.”

“I sure hope so, Kid.  My belly thinks my throat’s been cut.”

The two walked into a small tent that had been set up as a restaurant.  Instantly a rather large robust woman was upon them.

“You two sure look a sight!  Bet you’re hungry huh?”

The Kid, hat in hand responded, “Yes ma’am…trouble is….well…”

“You ain’t got no money do ya?”  She interrupted.

“Not a cent.”

“Well….I got a lot of chores need doing.  Figure you two could work for supper?”

“Yes ma’am!”  Whitey jumped right in.

They ate until they were about to bust; and never worked harder for anyone when they finished.

When night fell, they bedded down in the barn near their horses.  The Kid pulled his hat down over his eyes, folded his arms across his chest and was sleeping soon after. 

Whitey was exhausted, but his mind was racing.  The land rush had drawn a lot of people, no denying that.  He pulled out the well-worn piece of paper, carefully unfolded it and smiled.  “April 1st at two o’clock.” 

He sure was glad they got there early.

********

Episode Six

Edge City seemed to swell as the train unloaded hundreds of fortune seekers daily.  The cowboys and gamblers filled the streets and the once small shantytown had, in a matter of days, tripled in size and was still growing.  Tents and makeshift buildings were popping up at the rate of four or five a day.  Three saloons had been added in a week’s time and another was under construction.   

The streets were an avenue of mud and dung, and the smell of the people combined with the animals was overpowering.  Several new restaurants had opened, two with board floors along what was now being called Washboard Street.  And of course, along with all of this came the buzzards.  Con men and loose women lurked the dark alleys and out of the way places to take advantage of anyone who dare fall within their grasp.  But for the most part, Edge City remained calm.  A few minor brawls and gunplay, but nothing of major importance.

The time had finally arrived and it was an incredible sight.  A solid line of wagons…the horses and humanity undulating as if the line itself were a living creature.  The dust rising slightly in the still air as the animals pawed at the earth, while the men did their best to keep the beasts behind the line.  The Colonel and his men watched as the soldier moved toward the cannon.  He stood at the ready, waiting his commander’s orders. 

The General sat stiff in his saddle as his mount shifted beneath him.  He eyed his pocket watch for the exact time.  His free hand was raised slightly above his right shoulder and the gunner’s eyes were locked firmly to it.  And then it fell, the lanyard was pulled and the cannon erupted across the prairie.  An explosion of men, animals and gear erupted forth, the human wave raced forward. 

The Colonel watched in amazement, and he wasn’t alone.  Those that were there to witness the event knew that stories would be told for decades of the land rush.  Myths would be hatched, and legends born.

“A lot of folks with the same idea,” Doc mumbled as he picked some brown mud from the bottom of his boot with a stick.  “Land fever.”

“How full is the jail, Colonel?” asked Sticks.

“Jail?  If you call that storeroom a jail.  Let’s see…I’ve got one cowboy for disturbing the peace…shot up the saloon alittle…and probably another five on fighting.”

“Sounds like the place is about to bust.”

“Oh, and one more.  A gal from Sadie’s shot a man…in his…well…” the Colonel hesitated…

“Let’s just say if that bullet had gone a hair to the left, our boy wouldn’t be too happy!” Doc interrupted.

“Where are you holding her?” the Preacher asked.

“House arrest.  Figured she wasn’t going anywhere.  The cowboy wasn’t pressing any charges,” the Colonel answered as he shrugged his shoulders.

The deeds were soon filed and it was not long before two major factions had risen to the top.  One was a

kid, really, but something about him drew loyalty and desire.  The other was a woman, of all things, determined to carve her own path from the very bedrock of this country.  Each has acquired men, equipment, and enough land to make a good go at it.  All that was left now was to see who had the better cowpokes…who would gain the highest share of the ranging herd.  In addition, it was well known that the military was paying top dollar for horseflesh in order to outfit the new border units.

The opportunity was available to all, but only a few would succeed.

Episode Seven

It had always puzzled him.  He was an educated man after all, overly so by some standards.  He was a man of science and of logic…but this “sense” of what was about to happen that periodically invaded his well-organized world still puzzled him. 

Teach did not know that the men gathered at the far end of town were casing the bank, but he felt it.  Edge City had been packed with people the entire day, so it was hard telling what those folks were really up to.  But he felt it.  They could be just a bunch of boys from one of the larger ranches gathering for payday.  But he doubted it.  It was a cracker box of a bank for sure, ripe for the picking.  Slowly he moved down the street.

Whistler stepped out of a doorway and was now walking beside him.  “You get that feelin?” he asked Teach.  Whistler had learned to trust “that feelin’”, it had gotten them all in and out of many situations during the war.

“Seems like a lot of cowpokes.”

“You recognize any of them, Teach?”

“No…not for sure…one maybe…”

“Think  I’ll just cut through here and come up on the other side there, o’l buddy.”  With that being said, Whistler dodged off and moved between the buildings to afford a better angle on the group of men.

“Good morning Deputy!” Fritz shouted from across the street as he approached.

Two or three heads rose from the group and looked towards the two men.

“How you doing today, Deputy.”

“Fine thanks,” Teach replied as he kept his gaze trained on the group near the bank.

“Say, I’m working on a piece about all of you.  Wondering if you can fill in some of the holes for me.  I’m trying to get a first edition run by the end of the week,” Fritz stated.

“Anything I can do to help.”

“Is something wrong Deputy? I notice you keep looking down the street.”

“No…I’m sorry.”  Teach gave Fritz his full attention.  “You were asking something?”

 At the sound of the first shot, they both turned.  The second shot blew the hat from the top of Fritz’s head.

“Get inside!”  Teach shouted as he simultaneously shoved Fritz and drew his revolver.

The next few shots that rang out he immediately recognized as the report of Whistler’s Sharps Carbine snapping off rounds.  Behind him chaos reigned as men scurried for cover and horses bolted from the sounds of gunfire.  Teach was closing the gap rapidly as he watched a pack of masked men pour from the bank, all firing in every direction at once.  Bullets whipped past his head and kicked up the dirt at his feet as he continued to close in on the group.  When he was within range he stopped, raised his weapon and in a hail of bullets he began squeezing off well-controlled rounds. 

Bodies tumbled to the ground, while others jumped and ran toward the horses being held by one lone cowboy.  The pale youth stared wide-eyed at the explosion of gunfire around him.  Both hands were full of reins and he was holding on for dear life as the animals reared and pulled.  Slowly Teach turned his attention to the youth, and squeezed the trigger firing his last shot.  The white haired man spun around from the force of the bullet and was thrown to the ground as the rest of his companions grasped the dangling reins of their horses and mounted up, spinning and spurring their animals directly at Teach. 

Methodically he loaded his weapon, counting the men as they neared.  Eight of them had made it out of the bank.  As he loaded his sixth shot and closed the chamber, two tumbled from their saddles, both striking the ground and bouncing beneath the hooves of the horses behind them.  As he raised his gun to sight the next target, Doc’s voice boomed.

“Teach!”

The gunmen galloped nearer as the Deputy turned to see Doc pointing.  Teach instantly focused his attention to Doc’s warning and saw to his horror a woman, not more than ten feet behind him, standing beside a camera and holding the flash pan.  She was intent on getting a picture.

Teach felt the ground shake as the horses moved closer and he sprang towards the young lady shouting at her to get out of the way.  She remained frozen in spot, focused…calmly waiting for the right moment.

Within seconds Teach had closed the gap.  Bullets were striking the dirt and the boardwalk all around them, one whizzing past his ear.  As he reached out for her, the pan flashed.  Instantly the Deputy was blinded.  His momentum carried him into her, and her camera.  The galloping horses reared, and in the confusion three more robbers were hit and fell dead to the street.  The pair tumbled onto the ground as the remaining desperados galloped out of town.

* * * * * *

Whitey moved slowly through the dark alleys of Edge City, his side burning where the round had passed.  He could not ever remember hurting so much.  The warm blood soaked his shirt and saturated his gun belt.  It had been a long afternoon. 

It had seemed like such a good idea.  All he had to do was hold the horses, ride out with them, and get his cut.  Easy, simple they had told him.  No one was going to get hurt, it would be a snap.  The blood continued to flow and he winced as he placed the bridle over the horse’s head.  The saddle was going to be the hard part…that and explaining to the Kid what had happened. 

It had seemed like such a good idea.

Episode Eight

Fritz was the first to reach the couple.  “Jen!  Are you all right!  I told you it was crazy!”

Boom Boom was next.  “TEACH!”  he shouted.  “You ok?”

The Deputy stood up, lifting the woman to her feet.  As he rubbed his eyes, he demanded, “How many got out?”

“Three.  Me and Whistler could of got ‘em, I think………..then there was that flash,” Boom Boom looked annoyingly at Jen.

Whistler rounded the corner, his hand pressed to his side and blood trickling between the closed fingers.  “We going after them?” he asked.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Doc shouted from down the street as he moved quickly toward them. 

“Doc’s right,” Teach said as he blinked rapidly.  “Boom Boom, Preacher and I will go after them.”

“Five dead.  You made a quick job of it,” said Doc as he took a quick look at Whistler’s injury.

Teach had finally regained his sight when he asked, “What about the pale fellow, holding the horses?  White hair, younger man?”

“None of the corpses fit that description.  They all appeared to be pretty rough hombres,” Doc answered.

“Thought for sure I got him…thought for sure,” mumbled Teach.

The three were soon mounted and riding hard in the direction of the robbers.  As they rode out of town, Fritz and Jen stood watching.

“Who was the Deputy that ran into me?” she asked Fritz.

He smiled, knowing that look, having seen it many times in his life on the faces of others.  “Don’t you mean - swept you off your feet?” he replied with a grin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The three lawmen rode fast, as the trail had been easy to follow.

“Boom Boom, I want you to go and see if you can get us some help from the CJW crew.  If we can wrangle up a couple of men to help us out, surely we can hem the three of them in…trap them between us, the Indian Territory and the KGB homestead,” Teach instructed.

With a brisk nod, Boom Boom spurred his horse and turned towards the CJW ranch.  Teach and the Preacher continued on the trail.

It was almost dusk when Boom Boom came upon a group of men running a fence line for the CJW ranch.  He galloped up and skidded to a halt in front of the group.  “The bank in Edge City got hit this afternoon and three of the robbers are coming this way.  What I need is for you to keep a sharp eye out for anyone coming from this direction, is that clear?”  Boom Boom shouted excitedly as he pointed down the road.

Boom Boom dismounted and quickly deputized the CJW men.  The men understood the importance of what they were being asked and each was determined to help the law in this new territory.  The group then prepared for what might happen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Kid had spent most of the day rounding up cattle and driving them back to the holding pen.  It had been backbreaking work, but a very profitable day.  He and his men had gathered up several horses as well and he was looking forward to breaking a few of them himself.  As he headed for the gully on the far end of his property, he thought it odd that he had not seen Whitey all day.  He found it hard to believe that Whitey had such pressing business in town.  The Kid had learned, however, you never really knew what Whitey was up to.  

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The three ranch hands had no idea what they were riding into.  They had been sent by the Kid to check the fence line between the KGB and CJW ranches.  The three slowly trotted over the rise, precisely where Boom Boom was waiting. 

Boom Boom had no way of knowing which one of his deputized men shot first, and once the bullets started to fly, it really didn’t matter.  The ambushed ranch hands reacted quickly, turning their mounts and spurring them back in the direction they had come.  In mere moments, two of the KGB men suffered serious wounds as the three raced off in the orange twilight of dusk. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The robbers rode hard into the failing light.  “Think we lost ‘em?” one of them shouted over to the leader.

“Not sure…got to keep movin,” he responded.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Teach knew he was close.  With the light fading fast it was easy to lose your bearings and with the way the tracks turned, he was convinced that the bank robbers had gotten themselves lost.  He was sure they were turning in a circle….so sure that he sent Preacher straight across the plains to intercept them.  It wasn’t long before he had proven his theory.  Before him the setting sun silhouetted the three horsemen as they rode hard, side-by-side. 

Teach spurred his already exhausted mount forward.  No way was he going to let these men get away, not on his watch.  The gap narrowed and his quarry loomed closer.  Ahead was a small dip in the plains, not much, but just enough for him to possibly lose track of them.  While still at a full gallop, Teach drew his Winchester rifle from its saddle scabbard and took aim on the man to the far left of the line.  Timing the horse’s bounce, he squeezed the trigger.  The man tumbled from the saddle like a rag doll.  Still running at full speed, he cocked his rifle and took aim at the robber on the right.  Once more, waiting until just the right moment, he squeezed off another round, and again the target fell to the ground.

The Kid heard the first shot, scrambled for his gun and threw himself against the wall of the gully.  As the second shot rang out, this one closer, he braced himself and pulled back the hammer of his revolver.

Teach was certain that he would only get one shot at the last of the fleeing robbers.  Once more he raised the Winchester…and just as the rider’s horse began to dip down out of sight, he pulled the trigger.

The third shot was closer still and moments after it echoed a pile of man, horse and money spilled into the gully.  The horse screamed as it struck the ground kicking and thrashing for footing.  The Kid dove to one side, just escaping the slashing hooves of the stunned animal and the falling body of a man.

Teach skidded his mount to a halt at the edge of the gully, dismounted and leapt over the rim.  When he landed he and the Kid were face-to-face, gun barrel to gun barrel.

“What’s going on!” the Kid shouted as he locked eyes with the dust-covered man.

“Drop the gun!”  Teach bellowed as he pushed his gun roughly against the Kid’s chest.  It was then that he heard the groans from the man on the ground.

“Don’t be a fool, son.”  a voice spoke calmly behind the youth.  “I’ll say a prayer for you, but sure as God made green apples - I’ll drop you where you stand.”  The Preacher moved closer as he cautioned the steady handed lad.

“No trouble here.  I was just fixing the fence line is all,” he was setting the gun on the ground at his feet while explaining.  “I heard the shots, and well as you can see this came tumbling in!”  the Kid was pointing at the now silent robber, the money still drifting in the air and falling to the ground around them.

“Seems pretty convenient, Blaze, you being right where they were headed,” Teach said as he lowered his gun and bent to retrieve the pistol on the ground. 

“I told you I was fixing the fence line, and that’s the truth.”

The Kid was covered with the kind of dirt that only a full day’s work could produce.  Teach handed the pistol back to the young man, looked him square in the eyes and said, “You had better just head back to your ranch.”

With those words of advice, and thankful to get out with his skin, Korey Blaze headed home. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The night curtain had dropped, but the full moon had risen and shone bright across the land.  In the distance the Kid identified three riders closing fast.  He wasn’t able to make them out but they were heading to his homestead.  Angling his horse slightly, Blaze turned in the direction of the three unknown riders.  As he came closer, he heard a warning shout from one of the men.

“Who is that!  I’ll shoot!”

“Easy now Pard!” Korey shouted back as he reined in his horse slightly.

“That you Kid!” the man asked.

“That you Curly?” the Kid responded.

“Boy am I glad to see you!  Wild Bill is hit pretty bad, and Blush took one to the leg!” Curly informed his boss as they came together.

“What happened?”

“Got jumped by them CJW boys along the fence line!  They just opened up on us, Boss!  We didn’t have a chance!”  Blush answered between clenched teeth.

“Why?  I mean, I thought we had an agreement!”  The Kid took the reins of Bill’s horse and they began to move toward the house.

“I think the agreement is off, Boss,” Curly mumbled.

Wild Bill and Blush were helped from their horses and taken inside for treatment.  Quickly the word spread and soon everyone on the ranch gathered to hear the tale.

“They just gunned us down!”  Curly shouted to the group of men.

“Easy now, Curly.  Let’s not get too worked up,” one of the cowhands said from the crowd.

“Worked up?  Worked up!  It ain’t you that was gettin’ shot at!”  Pointing at the house Curly continued, “It ain’t you that’s layin’ in there bleedin’…at least not yet it ain’t!  If they is out for us…then by gum I say we take it to ‘em!”

Just then Whitey rode slowly through the gate.  The men turned and the horse stopped.  The Kid emerged from the house and they all watched as Whitey slowly slid from the saddle, wincing with every move.  He walked toward The Kid holding his side.

Curly stepped forward shouting excitedly, “They jump you too?  Bet they did!  Them CJW boys did us too!  Shot Blush in the leg and we don’t know if Wild Bill’s gonna make it or not!  They jump you too, Whitey”

It seemed the best way out of a bad situation.  Before he collapsed, Whitey said, “Yep.”

That having been said, the feud was on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Episode Nine

The solitary brave sat astride his horse on the cliff’s edge, viewing the valley below him.  For years he had fought for his people in the white man’s courts, only to lose everything.  All that time he spent in the white man’s schools; learning… studying… attempting to follow the law…and then trying to make the law work for his people…all had been for nothing.  In the end it came down to move…or die.  Most of his people would choose the path of life.  A small band would follow him to their deaths.

Turning his mount around, he gently guided the animal down the mountain trail.  What was left of his tribe would be waiting for him at the bottom.  All of them determined to make the invaders pay dearly for each blade of grass and each grain of dirt that was being taken from them.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Curly James spurred his horse onward.  Traveling most of the night he hoped he would make the pass before the wranglers of the CJW ranch moved through with the herd.  He arrived just as the sun was rising and located a perfect spot to hide and wait.  The emotions he felt for his newfound friends were strong.  Curly truly believed that had it not been for the Kid and Whitey, he would have been dead by now.  He checked and rechecked his weapon.  All was ready.  He would show them what messing with his friends would cost.

Slowly the herd moved through the grass.  CJ moved confidently among the cattle and the wranglers.  It had been a hard, dusty ride…but well worth it.  She had taken a gamble and had followed up on a lead from one of the men she recently hired.  Range cattle - just waiting to be rounded up, he had said…and sure enough, he had been right.  Just a small way to go now and they would be on her land.  Just through the pass…and they were home free.

Curly saw the dust cloud in the distance and knew that the cowboys were heading his way.  Shifting slightly to get a better view of the floor of the pass, he steadied himself and waited.

CJ waved her rope as the herd pushed through the narrow gorge.  Could be trouble if these animals get spooked.  The words had hardly formed in her brain when she heard the shot ring out.

The animals bawled and broke into a run, colliding and smashing into each other and into the other wranglers as they panicked and pressed forward into the pass.  CJ watched in horror as the cowboy in front of her was instantly swept away.  She spun her horse around and moved as fast as she could away from the pressing mass.  She heard the screams of men as they fell and were soon trampled beneath the sharp hooves of the panic-stricken beasts.  Her eyes strained to see through the dust…and then she saw him at the edge of the rim.  His hat in his hand and his long, red curly hair blowing as he cheered and shouted down at the remaining cowboys. 

They all recognized him and they all knew who he worked for.

Episode Ten

The air hung thick with revenge as the men of the CJW ranch buried two of their own.  A feud was the last thing that CJ wanted…but it was the way of the West.  Fight for what you want, and defend it with your life once you have it.  The men CJ had hired were good with a gun, as were most men in this part of the country…but now she needed more.  It would be costly.  She needed professionals and it was time to hire some gunmen of her own.  Many would come just for the chance to build a reputation in this new territory…and many would die.

At first Josh had been against the whole idea.  But as was the pattern, CJ managed to convince him it was the only way to insure their hold on the land they had recently staked.  She was well aware of the fact that after the dust had settled, only two came out on top.  Now that blood was drawn, she intended to eliminate her competition and in any way that she could.  If it meant gunslingers, then so be it.

* * * * *

Over night, Edge City had become a boomtown.  As the season started to change, so did the man on the street.  More and more arrived each day; they carried their guns low, and their tempers high.  They say a town, like a man, goes through growing pains.  Edge City was now in its teen years, and it showed.  It was becoming much too common of an event…two men…face-to-face…the flash of powder…and only one left standing.  The undertaker was doing a fine business.

It was not an easy task for the law to be everywhere at once and without the help of his men, the Colonel would have never been able to pull it off.  Over time, each of his men had begun to carve out a life for himself. 

Doc was busy right from the start, healing a town that had been without medical care for some time. 

Joseph “Law” Boss, on the other hand, found himself with a lot of free time.  He read or wrote the occasional agreement, but for the most part, the town did not seem to need a lawyer.  What they did need, however, was an honest judge and when Law Boss was offered the appointment, he humbly accepted.  There was no better man to administer justice.

Whistler was an expert blacksmith.  He missed his old job terribly, but fell right into the heat and grime of his new chosen one.  A few more weeks of 18 hour workdays and he would be able to send for his family.

Teach had opened a small school, just a tent on the outskirts of town, but a school all the same.  The Englishmen had given up on his dream of owning a big ranch, and decided to establish the first stockyard.  Preacher was busy saving souls, and had recently started to raise the funds to build a church. 

Sticks took over the lumberyard and was making a small fortune.  He was well on his way to becoming a major player in the towns affairs.  The Gambler kept to himself, applying his trade and getting out when the getting was good.  He had managed to buy in to one of the saloons, and spent a lot of his time dealing blackjack.  Boom Boom took to mining and had started a small claim.  It had not paid out much yet, but he had high hopes.

Each, however, was always at the ready.  Each was prepared to do what was needed to ensure the law…and at the drop of a hat would move to defend it.

What was on the horizon would test them all.

Episode Eleven

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the loud noise and the smell of drunken men and over-perfumed women.  He just enjoyed taking their money.  And that meant time at the gambling table.  Max moved slowly through the swinging doors of what was to be his new workplace.  It was a job to him, a way to make a living and earn enough money to avoid getting dirty.  The doors swung closed behind him as he moved through the crowd to a table placed in the corner of the room.  The high roller table.  These men meant business as well.  The smoke hung thick in the air and swirled slightly as he moved to the only empty chair.  No one at the table seemed to notice him as he slid the chair back and took his seat.

“Gonna cost you 100 just to get in this game,” the dealer said flatly.

Max placed his money on the table in front of him and nodded. 

Luck is a funny thing, fleeting at times, but solid at others.  Max was solid that night.  Pot after pot was pulled in by the new face.  It was as if he couldn’t lose.  As the players came and went, so did word of his run of good luck…and with that the crowd started to grow. 

It was just after midnight when Max looked around for the first time in hours.  He was amazed at the number of onlookers.  Several of them were pretty shady, in his opinion…and the amount of money in front of him had to look tempting to many others.  Several of the girls had already done their best to get their share, but he had not taken the bait.

Max glanced at his pocket watch.  He knew the lawman would be making his rounds and should be walking through the saloon doors at any minute.  Max was no fool.  He would insist that he be escorted out of the saloon and back to his room.  He laid down his winning hand and drug yet another pot towards him while the crowd around the table applauded his good fortune.

The next morning Max Number Seven, as he was being called, became the largest depositor in the Edge City bank.

* * * * *

The first arrow pinned his leg to the side of his horse.  Both screamed as they tumbled to the ground.  Shots rang out all around him, and the war cries echoed through his eardrums.  As the dust cleared, the second arrow pierced his heart.

“Kid!  They’re all around us!” one of the ranch hands shouted over the noise.

Korey leveled his gun and began snapping off rounds.  “Get to the rocks!” he ordered as his men regrouped and began to move toward the small outcropping of stone close by.

Bullets skipped around him and screamed past his ears as he methodically fired round after round at the enemy.  The men scrambled uphill to the safety of the boulders as the arrows bounced and struck the stone.

“Not very many of them!” Korey shouted as he reloaded his gun and leapt into the cover of the rocks.  “Just keep your heads down and we’ll be ok!”

He looked down the slope at the man pinned beneath the dying horse.  It was bad enough dealing with CJ.  Now this.

* * * *

“We could help, ya know,” the young trapper whispered to his friend as they both peered over the top of the log at the battle.

“Why should we?” his friend answered.

“We could try talkin’ to them…”

“No way.  Buddy of mine tried it last week.  Thought he could get safe passage through the gap.  Thought because we used to have an understanding, so to speak, he could talk to ‘em.”

Shots continued to ring out as the veteran trapper relayed his story.

“We found him two days ago…scalped as clean as you ever saw.  Funny thing was, we found a note pinned to him…said he wasn’t going to be the last.”

“I think we should do something …don’t you?” the young man insisted.

“Just sit tight.  This is a small raiding party.  They just want the ponies…look, they’re already pulling out.”

Just as the experienced trapper said, the Indians had begun to pull back and away from the hill.

* * * *

The wounded group made their way back to the KGB Ranch, informing everyone along the way that renegades had struck.

Episode Twelve

Things happen fast on the range.  Fortunes are found and lost, reputations built and ruined, and storms arise within minutes.

CJ stood on the porch of her newly completed home looking westward.  She thought of how things had escalated so rapidly and wondered if there was any way to change the course that she, and others, had taken.  The dark clouds boiled and churned as if being dumped from a huge pot, the mass swirling and tumbling towards her.  Lightning flashed as she emptied the coffee cup in her hand onto the ground and moved back into the house.  It had been raining for days.  The rivers were swollen and the ground muddy and soaked.  The work on the barn had come to a halt, but some of the men were still out on the range struggling to keep the herds together and the projects moving along.

It was late in the morning when the door burst open and in stepped the foreman.  Josh stood in the open doorway, his poncho drenched and his silhouette accented by the flashes of lightning.

“We got a problem, Boss.”

“What’s wrong now?”

“The river’s rising fast and if we don’t get them strays over to this side in a hurry, well…we could be looking at a big loss.  I left some of the boys rounding up what they can, but if we’re going to get this done we’re going to need every man we can get.”

“Let’s get them going then…” CJ responded.

“Another thing, Boss.”

“What?”

“With the weather being like it is…well…it’s kinda gettin’ hard to tell whose is whose, ya know?  I mean…we could be getting a few of the KGB brand mixed in.”  Josh shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re not going to worry about that now, we’ll do what we can and worry about it later.  For now, we take what we can.”

* * * *

Whitey turned to Curly, “I think we should do it,” he said.

“You know what’ll happen, don’t ya?” Curly asked.  “We blow this dam and it’ll take out half her ranch!  Half of her land will be under water!  That’s what!”  He shouted to his friend as the thunder clapped overhead.

“All we got to do is place a keg of powder at the base.  All this rain…that dirt mound won’t hold.  And when it blows, it’ll wash away every crossing she’s got.  Even when the water goes down, she ain’t going to be able to cross that river!” Whitey shouted back.

“What about the others?  The smaller homesteads in the way, Whitey?”

“Don’t matter.  It’s gonna come down to only one of us anyways.  Might as well wipe them all out at once.”

“You talk to the Kid about this?” Curly hollered as a loud crack of thunder rolled forth.

“Kid’s got other things on his mind.  I’m taken this one myself.”

* * * *

Josh checked his watch, the water rolling off the dial as he opened it up.  Never seen it so dark this time of day, he thought to himself.  All around him, visible only during the brief flashes of lightning, ranch hands worked through the torrential downpour. 

Josh urged his mount forward and the waterlogged animal moved slowly in the deep mud.  He kept one eye on his boss as she herded a small group of cows toward the makeshift pen.  He watched as she worked, methodically waving the lasso and whistling short loud bursts at the animals to get them to move as she directed.  It was more than respect he was feeling.  More than admiration for her determination and drive.  It was a growing feeling of true fondness for her.  The lightning flashed once more, and he smiled to himself as he saw her moving closer.  The thunder followed, a loud boom echoing all around them, and as another streak lit the sky, she was gone from his sight.

Instantly Josh spun his mount toward the last spot he had seen her and spurred towards it.  He shouted her name as he galloped through the mud, seeking her out with each flash of light.  As he neared the location, he spotted her lifting herself up from the water soaked ground and rubbing her backside.

He couldn’t help grinning when he asked, “You ok?”

“I’m just fine.  Help me find my horse!” she responded between curses.

Josh turned in the saddle and waited for the next bolt of lightning to get a look at what direction her mount might have taken.  As he waited a peculiar thing happened, he heard a loud boom, but saw no flash…

* * * *

The rain soaked the two men as they scrambled and crawled along the top of the earthen mound.  The small lake had grown three times its size in the last few days and the water was close to the top of the dam.

“Almost there!” Whitey shouted to his friend as they pulled themselves along the muddy path towards the center.  “We need to bury this some…get it into the dam a few feet.  That’ll work for sure, Curly!”

“Whatever you say, Whitey.”

The wind had kicked up and the rain pelted them as they moved along.  At last they reached what Whitey believed to be the middle of the dam and Curly started to dig.  As the work progressed, Whitey removed a long piece of fuse wrapped in wax paper from his pocket.  “That’s good!” He hollered.

Curly stepped back, the shovel over his shoulder.

“You head back now.  I want you well out of the way in case something goes wrong!”  Whitey shouted as he set the barrel of powder in the hole.

“You sure?  I ain’t scared, Whitey!”

“I know you ain’t, Curly.  It’s just that once I light this, I don’t want to have to worry about anyone but me gettin’ off this dam.  Understand!”

“Ok, if you say so.  I’ll go back and have the horses ready!”

Whitey opened his coat and huddled over the barrel as his friend made his way back to the bank of the river.  He carefully opened the wax paper and removed the fuse.  He placed it into the powder barrel still hovering over it to protect it from the rain.  Reaching into another pocket he removed the matches and waited.  After he felt Curly had had enough time to get clear, Whitey struck the match, lit the fuse, and watched as it flashed to life. 

Then he ran.  His feet sank deep into the mud as he tried to move faster.  He scrambled along the top of the mound, slipping and sliding as he did his best to stay on his feet and get clear of the blast.  It was dream like…for every step he took, he lost two, but he drove forward.  A spectacular flash of lightning revealed he was close, but not out of danger yet.  He could see Curly waving him on, shouting for him to hurry as he continued to struggle through the mud.

Then he felt the ground shake beneath his feet.     

* * * *

In a moment’s time, Josh realized what he had heard and what was about to happen.

“We’ve got to get!” He shouted as he reached down for her.

“What’s happened?”  She asked as he swung her up on the saddle behind him.

“They’ve blown the dam!” Josh shouted.  “Hang on!”

The pair raced toward the other men shouting for them to get mounted and ride.  Some stood puzzled, while others jumped into action.

“The dam!  It’s been blown!  MOVE!”  CJ screamed out her order.

The confused men snapped out of it once they understood the danger they were in.  The water was racing toward them and only a fast horse would get each of them out of this one.

The group started off close, leather snapping as they encouraged their horses to move faster.  Josh bent over the neck of his animal and watched as the single riders pulled ahead of them.  He knew the two of them would be lucky to get out of this one.  CJ’s grip tightened as she realized it as well.  There was no way the two of them could make it to the crossing.

The horse’s hooves beat out a steady rhythm as they continued to fall behind the group.

“The burial mound….can we make the mound!”  CJ shouted in his ear.  The small hill that overlooked her land was much closer than the crossing.  Josh turned his horse in the direction of the burial mound, confident the others would make it to the crossing.  The flash of lightning outlined the hill in the distance as they raced towards it.

CJ turned and looked behind them.  “Faster!” She shouted as the wall of water closed in.

Suddenly the ground pitched and Josh knew they were moving upward.  The exhausted animal struggled as Josh spurred his horse to the top of the mound.  Josh turned his head just in time to watch the wave surround the small hill.

* * * *

The force of the blast and the ground tearing out beneath him tossed Whitey into the mud.  He clawed his way forward as the earth beneath him began to shake and sink.

“Come on Whitey!  You can do it!  Get up!  Get up!” Curly was screaming as he stood watching his friend swim through the rapidly collapsing dirt and mud.

With his last bit of strength he lifted himself from the dirt and was running once more.  With each step he took he half expected the ground to be gone, but it remained solid beneath him.  Then he was safe.  He fell to the ground at his friend’s feet.

“Thought you was a gonner for sure, Whitey.  For sure.”

Whitey looked up at his friend.  “I need a drink.”

**********************************************************************************

Episode Thirteen

The weather had brought most of the work on the range to a halt, and The Kid was in need of some relaxation.

The saloon was packed. Every drifter and ranch hand within a hundred miles seemed to have shown up at the same time. The Kid recognized some of his own men mingling with some of CJ’s and for the most part, everyone was getting along just fine. Then he saw why. Sitting in the far corner of the room, on a slightly elevated platform with a commanding view of the entire area and a twelve-gauge shotgun in his hands, was the Sheriff. The Kid, like the rest of the town, was well aware that the law had certain interests in the gambling establishments. This one was owned outright by one of the Sheriff’s deputies, Johnny Black.

Shaking off the water from his duster and hat as he went, the Kid made his way to one of the corner tables. He drew out a chair, a wad of money, and settled in… only to look across the table and see Mister Black himself staring him right in the eyes. The Kid had failed to notice him when he pulled up the chair, and now it was too late to get up. He was stuck.

The talkers soon faded, while the real players remained. The Kid played it safe, not betting too big and folding rather than bluffing. The entire time the Gambler across from him never said a word… but he was in control right from the start. As the night wore on, the players dropped out. Many, in that moment of frustration, eyed the Sheriff on the podium, before they mumbled and stormed out.

It was well into the evening and it was now down to three… The Kid, The Gambler, and MaxSeven. A small crowd had gathered around their table, the three betting a lot of money and everyone wanting to see who would clean out who… or who would quit and walk away. The smoke and tension hung thick in the air as all three men continued to risk what they truly could ill afford to lose. Conversation at the table consisted of very few words… “check” or “fold” or “show’em”.

It was almost midnight and the men had been at it for hours when the pot was suddenly growing. The onlookers all knew that this was going to be a breaker for one of the men. The Gambler sat confidently eyeing both Max and The Kid. He had already decided to make this a two-man game. Johnny knew the cards he held had them both beat, but instead he chose to let the two of them slug it out, so he folded. The Kid bet big, and in the end Max walked slowly out into the rain. Now it was just the two of them.

The crowd thinned and the two remained. The Gambler had slowly taken back most of what the Kid had just won, and was the clear winner at the table. Kid Blaze took stock and decided to stop where he was. He was about to inform the other player of his decision when a man, soaking wet and covered in mud, stumbled through the doors of the saloon.

“It’s busted! The Dam had broken!”

Episode Fourteen

The people in the flood devastated community spent the next three weeks pitching in and helping one another through what for many had been a loss of everything.  No one in town suspected, nor even considered the notion, that the dam had been blown.  The dam’s failure was attributed to flash flooding.  Many of the smaller homesteads had indeed been ruined and would never be able to recover.  The two ranches that remained grew stronger with each broken dream.  As land was abandoned, either the CJW Ranch or the KGB Spread immediately gobbled it up.

* * * * * * * * * *

The old miner had been digging in these hills for years.  He had fought off Indians, blizzards, landslides and every varmint on two and four legs that God had created…and now this flood.  As he looked down into the water filled hole that had once been his claim, he realized there was no way for him to bounce back from this one.  The water had rushed through and swept with it all of his equipment and his hopes.  The only thing left was his mule.

“Well, Gertrude…” the old man moved slowly over to his only asset, kicking the dirt with his boot.  “Not sure how we’re gonna get out of this one old girl.”

The mule raised its head and looked at its owner, ears twitching as if understanding every word, then brayed lightly.

“I know…I know…” the old miner mumbled to himself as he moved closer to the animal….then he stopped.  At first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.  Then he reached down and from the moist soil he picked up a small, crystal-like stone.  The miner wiped it clean on his pants and held it at arm’s length.

“Well I’ll be…..”

* * * * * * * * * *

As is the case with anything of such importance, word traveled fast.  It was soon the biggest news in the country…and the “Diamond Rush” was on.  Miners moved in from all over the world and Edge City once again experienced a growth spurt, this time stretching its very skin to the breaking point.  Money was flowing and the large ranches were prospering.  What had started as a great disaster had turned into a greater benefit to the area.  The flood-exposed parts of the land that had been buried for many, many years…uncovering its treasures.

The range war between the two ranches spread across the prairie and into the back woods but was, for the most part, being avoided in town.  Fights still broke out, and men still died at the gambling tables, but such was life in the fast growing city.  Gunplay and death go hand-in-hand.  The Colonel and his men beefed up their patrol, doing their best to keep the citizens safe.  But even as diligent as they had become, rats always sneak in.

* * * * * * * * * *

Curly had been in the saddle for most of the morning when he decided to stop and rest beneath the shade of a large oak tree.  The temperature had skyrocketed and the air was hot in his lungs.  The Kid had sent him to check out several acres of timber in the northern-most region of the KGB Ranch.  It was going to take a full day to get there, or so he was told, and most likely another day to check on the condition of the lumber.  Timber was going out at a record price, and if there was money to be made…Korey wanted in on it.  After resting for a short time, Curly remounted and continued on his way. 

The forest was becoming thicker which slowed his progress.  Curly maneuvered his mount around obstacles, zigzagging the animal between small saplings and large fallen trees.  The soft thump of the horse’s hooves blended with the sounds of the wilderness around him as he moved deeper into the shade.  Suddenly all was silent.  It was so sudden that Curly instinctively drew his weapon from its holster and began to look in all directions.  The breathing of his horse was the only sound that penetrated the silence. 

The first arrow sliced the air so close to his head that he was certain he had lost an ear.  The next struck his leg just above the knee.  Two more whizzed by him before three arrows, in rapid succession, struck the side of his mount.  Curly yanked up on the reins, cranking the neck of the dying beast sideways and angling its belly towards their attackers before the horse and rider tumbled to the ground.  The crashing sound as the pair struck the forest floor, combined with the death screams of the animal, was deafening.  Curly pulled his leg from beneath the animal just in time to avoid getting pinned and in one swift movement was using the horse as a shield, firing over the top of the sprawled animal.

There was no way for him to know how many he was dealing with…but what he did know was that it would be days before anyone would even think to come looking for him. 

**********************************************************************************

Episode Fifteen

Curly James had been in many a bad spot in his time.  Stampedes, gunfights, and more than a few of what could be referred to as “illegal activities”.  But none compared to the situation he was currently faced with.  Alone, wounded, horse dead and plenty of daylight left for whomever it was to finish him off. 

When faced with such a predicament, one had few options…and those options were racing through his head as he reloaded his pistol.  A quick inventory told him how much ammo he had for his sidearm and his rifle, and it wasn’t much.  It was a sure bet that he wasn’t going to shoot his way out of this.  He wasn’t going to outrun anyone either.  He knew he had to come up with something real quick. 

Curly slowly pulled himself up, just easing his eyes over the side of the horse.  Instantly, and in rapid succession, half a dozen arrows struck the ground, the dead horse and whizzed passed his head.  Instinctively he knew that they must be closing in around him.  He was being held in place for them to flank him. 

The rains had moistened the forest floor so he began to dig.  Using the butt of his rifle, Curly began to scrape out a hole beneath the dead animal, periodically looking around…waiting for the fatal shot to strike him.  Once he felt that enough dirt had been moved, he reached down and grasped in his fist the arrow shaft still protruding from his leg.  The bleeding had slowed, and he knew he was better off at this point leaving it in.  He also knew he needed to break off part of the shaft so he could slide beneath the horse and into his makeshift bunker.  With a quick turn of his wrist and a low growl of pain, he broke it off and crawled into position.

* * * * * * * * * *

“So we’re gonna just let them get away with it?” Josh growled under his breath as CJ continued.

“We have zero proof that anyone from The Kid’s ranch had anything to do with it.”

“I know what I heard, and it WASN’T thunder,” Josh added.

“Besides…truth have it, it’s worked out for us as well.  We’ve been able to gain more land along the river, and that stretch of timber will pay off very well.  What we need to be concerned with right now is holding on to it.”

“What we need to be concerned with right now is getting rid of the competition!  We need to make sure they think it’s better to leave than to die.  That’s the way of the West and that’s the only way our worries will be over.”  Josh locked eyes with his boss.  “The ONLY way.” 

It was the first time CJ would see that “look”, and it made her shudder.  She knew he was right.  She knew that only one thing would resolve this feud forever…and it frightened her to death.

After their meeting, Josh pulled several of the men aside and they gathered quietly in the barn. 

“We have to do this a certain way.  We have to take them out one at a time.  Catch them alone, or at most in pairs…starting with those two…what are their names?”  Josh asked the group standing around him.

One of the men answered instantly, “Whitey and a guy they call Curly.”

“All right then.  They are the first two we look for.  And men…don’t miss.”

With a little snooping around and more than a few drinks bought and spilled, the men were able to find out two things.  No one had seen either Whitey or Curly since the night the dam burst and no one had a clue as to where they might be.

* * * * * * * * * *

Curly slid down deeper into his bunker, searching left and right for the ones he was sure would be moving in on him.  The sun was shifting.  It was late afternoon and the shadows in the trees made it hard for him to determine what was… and what wasn’t.  He held his breath, focusing all his attention to his hearing…but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his chest.  His eyes strained, searching the dark forest around him…and then he saw them…

Every Day is a Holiday

Every day is a holiday, I thought to myself, causing me to chuckle aloud as I shook my head in disbelief. I wonder what this assignment is really all about? My thoughts were interrupted by the final hiss of the train as it came to a rest at the station. I gathered up my photography equipment, my scratch pads and my lucky pen which I tucked behind my left ear. I stepped off the train knowing there was a story in this town and it was my job to find it.

We had arrived late into the night, and I could just make out the silhouette of a thin, tall man standing outside the corner building. As I drew closer to the man, his fingers met with his lips and a drag from his cigar revealed protective sleeves like that worn by a Telegrapher.

“Are you open?” I asked.

“Sure, can’t sleep,” he nodded as he extinguished his cigar on the post.

“It’s my Sciatica you know…” he said as he opened the door for me.

“…But enough about me, you want me to make some coffee?” he asked as I sat down.

“No thanks, I just need to send a message to the chief to let him know I’ve arrived.”

“Don’t think anyone’s up this late, except me,” he said.

“Well, don’t worry, we’re sending this to New York City.”

The man and I spoke for a few minutes as we concluded our business. I stayed across the way at a boarding room. Early the next morning I was on my way to the supply depot.

The depot was smaller than I expected… being stuck way out here with nothing for miles. But I suppose people find a way to survive on their own. As I arrived at the depot, the man stood up from his chair, meeting me almost eye to eye. He spoke in a rough voice from the belly as he barked, “Welcome to the depot, what’ll it be?”

He then took a long drag off his cigar as I thought, does everyone smoke cigars in this town? Instead I said, “What do I need to make it down the Tug River?”

“Well..”, he grunted as he pointed at me with his cigar, “You will need to buy a ticket for the river boat and it leaves at High Noon.”

“Well, how much for the ticket,”

“Two dollars American.” He replied.

I thought this to be quite outrageous for a boat ride, but paid the man just the same. I glanced down at my pocket watch and noticed it was ten minutes to Twelve. I thanked the man for the supplies and quickly made my way towards the riverboat.

The road soon changed from dirt to wooden planks, and on the planks a simple inscription was made – PLAY WITH HONOR. I followed the planks to the end of the dock where the riverboat sat. The sign that hung above the boarding ramp to the main deck read, “NO HATFIELDS.” The answer to why, was the reason I came here.  I glanced over at a fellow passenger as I took my seat. The headline from his local paper caught my eye, Man Found Guilty of Stealing Pig. I thought, what have I gotten myself into this time, as thick puffs of steam rose steadily into the crisp, clean air as we pulled away from the dock.   

Cigars and Guns, What a Way to Live

 I stepped to the back of the boat and onto the rear deck. I stood overlooking the paddles as they rhythmically sliced through the river. I lit up my cigar in curiosity. Man, these are good, I thought as I slid my lighter back into my pocket. I’ll save this other one for when I finish this story, tapping my breast pocket confirming its whereabouts.  On the railing of the deck a sign read, Beware of Pickpockets and Loose Women. That thought had not been far from my mind.

I snapped back into reality as I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned to see none other than the Telegrapher. He looked quite disturbed and slightly winded. I thought, Who was running the telegraph office?  But I said, “What are you doing here?”

“A message came for you late this morning, I think you should read it.” He stated, as he briskly handed the paper to me.

“You… over there, where’s your ticket?” said the Ticket Master. The Telegrapher shuffled his feet quickly as his eyes darted around searching for an escape route.

“STOP! Where’s your ticket?!” the man demanded as he drew closer. The Telegrapher, left with no place to go, swiftly jumped the side rail. A tiny sploosh was heard as he entered the water. I quickly stuffed the note in my pocket and puffed on my cigar in amazement, watching the air bubbles make their way to the surface.

“You’re coming with me” said the stout man with cold blue eyes as he reached out for my shoulder. “I don’t know that man,” I said.

“Good, but this has nothing to do with him.” He stated as he corralled me down off the deck and towards the common area in the center of the boat.

We pushed open a set of saloon doors, and the room opened to the left. In the middle of the room stood a pool table. Quite odd, I thought, as I made my way to the bar on the back wall. I sat down to re-light my cigar, when in the reflection of the mirror in front of me, I noticed a Gentleman walk in wearing a black suit and a deep red shirt. His firearm was seated in a black holster that ran along the right side of his leg. None of the others in the room seemed the least bit affected by the pistol, but it made me nervous.  He ran his left hand along the end rail of the table making his way toward me. He turned abruptly to his left and continued down the side of the table. Now at the head of the table, he looked over to the booth in the left corner of the room that was drenched in darkness. He turned around, removing his suit coat and smiled as he said, “Do you have time for a game?”

“What are the rules?” the man asked as he stood up from the shadows of the booth into the light. I took a closer look at the man and noticed immediately the numerous animal pelts that made up his attire. He looked as though he was on safari.

‘It’s simple… follow the Lead Dog.” Said the man in the red shirt as he eyed up a suitable cue.

Just then as I peered down the bar past the two men, a shadow cast by the Hunter fell upon the mirrored glass room behind them. I could just make out what appeared to be small, thin man dressed in an all-white suit. I needed a drink, but I found an ashtray. I grabbed it and made my way up to the mirrored wall. As I shaded my eyes with my other hand and leaned forward towards the glass, a door to my right popped open and a cloud of smoke drifted out of the room. I wondered for a moment, had I seen a man at all?

Just then, an impressive man strut out of the room leaving the door ajar. He nodded to the Gentleman in the red shirt as he sat down at the bar and opened up his tool pouch. This couldn’t have been the same man I saw a second ago. I glanced back to the bar long enough to see him pull a firearm from his pouch, lay it down on the bar in front of him and immediately begin to disassemble it. This man must be a Gunsmith. As I peered inside the mirrored room, I thought, Cigars and guns, what a way to live.

The Beginning of the End

There he was, in the back corner of the mirrored den area. There was very little light to make him out clearly. My only aid was the glow from the fireplace which sat squarely on the back wall. Above it sat a mantle full of trophies. On the left where the Clouded Man sat was a leather couch which stretched from wall to wall. On the right, two chairs in a dark corner, flanking a table that was faced off in an empty game of chess. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see the fireplace was framed by large bookcases. Every book I’d ever known had its place here. A fireplace, a leather couch, books; this was some riverboat. The two dollar ticket was starting to seem like a deal. The Clouded Man lifted his head, shaking me from this daydream.

“Hello,” I muttered, unsure of what, if any response I would receive. Sheepishly he glanced down at the floor and giggled.

My lighter, I thought, I left it at the bar. I quickly spun around, still inside the frame of the door.

The Black Widow, I gasped, stopping in my tracks. She was sitting in my seat, using my lighter. I had read stories about her. There she sat, dressed in black lace with long black gloves, her twin red revolvers securely at her side. The story goes she was some sort of European royalty and left her lifestyle to travel the world. All I knew was… I was out a lighter. I had back-peddled in the room with the Clouded Man when a thunderous crash snapped my head to the left. Chess pieces scattered violently about the room.

Another man in the mirrored room?

Had I interrupted their conversation?

Is that why the Clouded Man giggled?

The man was drenched in darkness as he hovered over the table staring at the map he had thrown down. He circled a large portion of the map as he looked over to the Clouded Man and spoke. “It’s going to be twenty to one,” with confidence in his tone. I heard another giggle as the Clouded Man sat up and whispered, “Only twenty?”

The Strategist sank back into the darkness and lit up another smoke, all the while keeping his eyes focused on the map. I made my way quietly towards the door, looking down at the bar past the Gunsmith. I saw the Hunter down his last swig of beer, slam his mug down and throw his arms around the Gentleman in congratulations. I sat down two stools from the Gunsmith who was busy polishing his barrel.

Just then, another man pushed open the saloon doors. At first glance he reminded me of the store keeper who sold me this ticket back in town, but as he spoke aloud I knew it wasn’t him. He greeted the room with a brief hello as he dragged behind in his right hand what appeared to be a leash. At the end of the leash, now coming into view as it crested the door jam was an alligator. A large alligator. Immediately the barkeep shouted, “You can’t bring that in here!” The Gentleman quickly made his way to the barkeeper’s ear. After a few words were spoken, the bartender simply reached for a glass and asked, “What will it be?”

“A beer” said the Handler plainly as he sat down next to the Black Widow, tying off his gator to the stool next to him.

A new opponent stepped up to the table and racked the balls. He opened a small black case and pulled out a hand-crafted black and red cue. He swiftly screwed it together and pulled fresh chalk from his vest pocket. As he stood ready to compete, I knew he had done this many times before. The Gentleman broke with vicious velocity, pocketing three balls on the break. After a double bank that caught the edge of the pocket sending the ball to the middle of the table, it was now the Shark’s turn. He lived up to my assessment immediately as he pocketed the next five balls in quick succession, leaving only the nine to shoot. It was pressed against the rail and would take some serious skill to make. The Shark stepped back briefly, eyeing the room full of anxious bystanders. He leaned in and as he struck the ball cleanly, the gator’s tail collided with the table, sending the cue ball off course, into the side pock for a scratch. The Shark looked up in amazement as the Handler quickly apologized. The Gentleman stood between them as the saloon doors burst open again.

There stood a Fisherman with reel still in hand and behind him, soaking wet, the Telegrapher, followed by the Ticket Master. “Someone owes me two dollars and fifty-five cents for this reel,” he said, as he tossed it on the pool table. Before anyone could ask, he continued, “I was just fishing off the lower deck when all of a sudden this guy comes flying off the top and gets tangled in my line. Now normally it would have busted, but since I was catfishin’ that line there is strong enough to hold an elephant,” he said proudly as he pointed back at the Telegrapher, still tangled in fishing line. The Telegrapher stepped forward with the assistance of the Ticket Master, looked directly at me and spoke, “Sir, there is something else I have to tell you about that note.”

“It will have to wait,” said the Gentleman, as he motioned the Ticket Master to close the doors behind him. The Black Widow stood up and approached the pool table. The other men followed behind her. There they stood, the Gentleman, the Black Widow, the Hunter, the Strategist, the Clouded Man, the Gunsmith, and the Handler with his gator leash in hand. Next to him the Shark, the Fisherman, the Telegrapher standing in a puddle and to his side the Ticket Master. There they gathered, leaving only me on the outskirts, vying for elbow room at the table’s edge.

“You know why we are here,” the Gentleman spoke in a stern manner. “I know there are some new faces, but I assure you we are all here for the same reasons. It’s the Hatfields and McCoys, and this time… we end it.” 

Go to Hell!

The steamboat slid swiftly and silently, settling on the sandy shore. Everyone geared up in their own way. Some sat quietly in the corner, checking and re-checking their equipment. Others cracked jokes and boasted of past victories. Still others paced the floor, letting their minds prepare for battle.

The footing was sloppy from the morning rain. The Gentleman and the Black Widow led the way off the boat. We traveled a small distance from the shore and arrived at the landing zone. It wasn’t long before men started picking bunks and settling in for war. The Gentleman met with the Hunter in the corner of the room; their discussions stern and brief. The Hunter turned towards the group and motioned to the Ticket Master. The men made their way out the door. They took no more than a step outside when they were face to face with two men. The men stood there in total contrast to each other but there was an eerie similarity to them, like that of brothers.

“State your business” said the taller, lankier of the pair.

“Stand aside or die” said the Hunter plainly.

“We are the law around these parts,” said the other mystery man.

“Not anymore.” The Hunter replied.

“Whoa… is that a Federal Badge?” said the man as he pointed to the Ticket Master’s chest. The Ticket Master ran his hand along the breast of his coat then quickly closed it over the badge.

“If you’re not ready to run in five minutes I’ll shoot you myself” said the Hunter. He then side-stepped and pointed inside as he spoke again, “See the Gentleman for your badges.”

The Brothers jockeyed for position to the front door as the Fisherman burst through it sending the door bouncing off the front of the house and screaming back toward the door jam, just as the Telegrapher stepped through. The impact sent him flying back into the room.

“Hey, you coming or not?” yelled the Fisherman over his shoulder as he strut into the woods.

The Gentleman, Black Widow, and Handler stayed behind to unpack the rest of the gear. The mission was simple: we are here to scout the area and if anyone was found in violation of the law we were to deal with it swiftly. I followed the Gunsmith into the woods, he seemed to know where he was going. It wasn’t long before we were in McCoy Territory. The Gunsmith drew his weapon and made it obvious what he was there to do. Soon he spotted a homemade still. As he began spouting off some Federal Code violation he kicked over the barrel. He then cited a local ordinance as he ripped the hose from the jug, spilling its contents everywhere. The Fisherman and Telegrapher joined us at the site and gathered pieces for evidence.

The Black Widow was pleased as we sat the still pieces down in front of her. She dispatched us to the other side of the river with orders to support the Hunter’s Recon team. We easily made our way down the freshly cut path the Hunter left behind. The Ticket Master signaled us from a small patch of trees. We closed in on his position quickly and began to take rapid gun fire from the bush.  He explained that they had the Hatfields surrounded and they had us outgunned.

The Fisherman made his way around the rivers’ edge and shouted, “Listen up Hatfields, we are here to break your still up, just let us have the pieces we need.” There was a brief silence to the battle before a thunderous voice rang out, “Go to Hell!!” he said defiantly.

“Okay” said the Fisherman, “I guess it will have to be the hard way.”

He gave several small hand gestures to the men around him and disappeared into the tree line. Fire broke out from all directions at once. Hatfields hit the deck, some mortally wounded, others scared for their lives. The battle was swift as the Fisherman re-emerged next to the Telegrapher and the Ticket Master, just outside the Hatfield compound doors. The Feds poured inside as children’s screams poured out just as quickly. It was as if a pack of dogs had cornered a chipmunk in that building; it wasn’t pretty but it was over quick.

They swept the area clear, finding the still they were after. The agents loaded up the evidence and as they were leaving the area, they witnessed the McCoys following in their footsteps. One after another they raided the newly emptied Hatfield compound. The Hatfields suffered seventeen casualties at the hands of the McCoys that day. Also in the exchange, they managed to steal the Hatfield’s prized pig and boastfully held it in a pen outside their homestead. The Hatfields took control of an abandoned parts depot and were able to rebuild their still. The McCoys were caught in the act and thusly could not repair their still that day. With the success of the raids behind the Feds, they set a new goal, to interrupt the flow of ‘shine’ to the area.

We all sat down to a much-needed hot meal. Stories recanted, the Gentleman rose and requested, “Rest, rejuvenate, relax. Soon the Red River Runner returns.” 

Dot Dot Dash

The Telegrapher tightened the tie-down on the tugboat and trotted into town. He returned to his familiar office, made a fresh pot of coffee and sat down at his desk. He pulled out the message I had given him to send to my boss and got down to work:

-   ….   .       ….   .-   - -   …       .-.   ..-.   .- -  stop

-…   -   -…       -   .   - - -  stop

-   ….   .       ..-.   .   -..   …       .-.       .-.   ..- - -   ..-.  stop

.-.   ..   -..  .       .-.       -..   ..   .  stop

The Telegrapher finished the message and the last of his coffee at the same time. He set down his cup with an empty thud, gathered his gear and locked up behind himself. He had taken only one step when he heard a familiar ripping sound. The cold night air blanketed his thin, bare thighs. He hung his head in disappointment as he turned back to see his pants hung up on a loose nail sticking out of the door jam; the same nail he wanted to pound in so many times before, but could not find a hammer. He quickly retrieved his “spare” pants from his gear and jumped into them, while making his way down to the docks.

The Gentleman had made it clear… the Telegrapher was to be back at camp by morning. The Feds had allowed the Hatfields and McCoys to run shine right under their noses. The Gentleman also made it clear that things were going to change. He knew the damage they could cause to their still operations, but now it was time to go after the source. The Hatfields and McCoys were out of ingredients and the first place they would go is to the West end of the Tug River, where the river runs purest. If they were to re-stock with fresh ingredients, their shine productions would be next to impossible to stop. With these facts weighing heavy on the minds of the Feds, there was only one conclusion: total eradication of both families.

2008 Time Warp Scenario story written by Joe Neal

The Struggle for Power

Day turns to night and seasons come and go. The seas rise and the landscape changes constantly, as the climate takes its toll upon Earth‘s landscape. Change can be seen all around us since the beginning of time. One thing that has not changed over time, however, is man’s desire for power. Beginning with the oral stories passed between the tribal people of the Vurki, history has shown us that the desire for power is the natural force that drives our existence. Though the exact date is uncertain, the oral histories may have originated centuries before the first written journals. The oldest written text known to exist was found amongst the bodies of princes, said to have been entombed during the Broughcut era. The journals detail epic battles and ferocious struggles that occurred in far away lands and in kingdoms that are only now visible as ruins from a time long forgotten. Antiquity has also shown us that man is not the only being with an innate lust for power. The written word, supported by artifact, has shown that we as humans are not alone in the quest for power. We have learned of lands beyond our own existence. Though hard to believe the evidence cannot be denied. Indeed, we have been visited by strange creatures from parallel universes and invaders from strange alien worlds. With the knowledge of such power existing beyond our own grasp, man has been trying to find a way to breach the seemingly natural boundaries placed upon him by the continuum of space and time. Throughout the ages great nations have been forged, each empowered by the influential leaders and aristocrats of their time. These nations aspired to enlist the services of the most brilliant of minds, including cunning generals and resourceful engineers to lead powerful armies. Nations employed brilliant scientists, teachers, and philosophers to facilitate their endeavors and assist in the creation of the most revered warriors. One after another battles were waged, nations rose…and nations fell. Ultimately, the world found itself with those who were more or less equal in power. They all shared a common goal, that of securing a free and peaceful world under a single democracy. In order to achieve this end, they joined together as a unified power with the intent of wiping out those who were unwilling to accept the principles behind their drive for globalization. The nations united together and came to be known as the Confederate Alliance for Peace (CAP).

The CAP soon became the most feared force in the world. It seemed as though no power could stand against them. The CAP’s impending dominance of the world was further exemplified by a startling discovery. A prominent scientist, Dr. Thomas Cross, was working on various projects under commission of the CAP. Using his own devices, and combining them with ancient artifacts procured with grants from the CAP, he created something quite unexpected…a key. The key, he soon discovered, opened a portal to the Fourth Dimension. It took years of experimentation to perfect. After many trial runs, Dr. Cross eventually perfected his process. He developed a means to enter the Fourth Dimension using a conveyance known as a ‘time tunnel.’ The tunnel allowed access to parallel universes and alternate existences within the space time continuum. It didn’t take long for the brilliant scientist to realize that if the tunnel were used irresponsibly or excessively, the consequences could prove to be severe and possibly irreversible. The implications of such thoughts were almost maddening. The scientist tried to hide his findings from the CAP for fear of what would come from using such a device. Over the years the confederacy kept quite stringent tabs on the doctor and subsequently uncovered his secret. Despite adamant protests from the scientist the CAP took control of the tunnel believing that they could use it to better the world for their own purposes. Dr. Cross warned that without proper study the device would cause utter destruction of the world. The CAP summarily dismissed the doctor and brought in their own government sanctioned scientists to manage the project. By using the ‘time tunnel’ to travel through the Fourth Dimension, they were able to discover and bring back exotic technologies. They found new medicines and devices to cure sickness and disease, as well as improve healthcare beyond their wildest imaginations. Nanotechnology, bioinformatics, artificial intelligence and quantum fusion are but a few of the technologies that were soon put to use. It appeared as if things were going to work out well for the confederacy.

Most of the remaining nations had joined with the CAP and those that had not, were in imminent danger of falling under the confederacy’s rule. Alas, something dreadful brought a stop to the progression of the CAP’s dominance of the present world. There was no doubt that much could be benefited through the use of the time tunnel. Yet, who would have thought that the very things they were using to better our society would eventually cause its demise. It was discovered that one of the technologies brought back from a parallel universe contained a virus within the RNA core that, when combined with certain elements of our ecosystem, created a mutated strain for which there was no known cure. The virus, known as the RotaX 6 strain, progressed at an astonishingly rapid rate. The virus quickly attacks the central nervous system and alters the cells of its victims, resulting in an agonizing mutation within hours. Early estimates figured the virus was capable of living outside of a host for a maximum of two days in moderate climates and that it could only be passed from one host to another via bodily secretions. The early projections for the spread of the virus were all wrong. It was later realized that the pathogen was airborne and could survive outside of a host for up to two weeks even in harsh climates. The new projection rate was staggering. It meant there would be a complete and total infection of the world’s populace in a period of six months. Within hours of this news it was decided that the ‘time tunnel’ should be used in an effort to undo or at least correct the mistake. By then, however, the scientists charged with maintaining the project were found grossly mutated; victims of the virus. As a last ditch effort to contain the virus and protect the uninfected, the CAP ordered its nations to put as many prominent and necessary citizens as they could into isolation. It was hoped that someday, should they survive, they could continue building the bridge to a brighter future for the world which was now in such a horrid state of affairs. The decision had been made to detonate nuclear missiles in the nations that seemed to have the largest infected populations. Those who could were instructed to take cover under ground. The situation was dire and called for drastic measures. Much of civilization was already in pandemonium as the news spread throughout the satellite and WebComm broadcasts; the chaos that ensued was indescribable. Within 24 hours, 471 nuclear war heads had made impact with Earth.

Kathy burning the first load of trash from the fields

 Up at the house, Tony spent the afternoon preparing a delectable Chili as well as a red-velvet cake (in celebration of all our February Birthdays) for the crew. Thanks Tony! It was delicious!

Thanks go out to: Ted and Kathy, Karl and Shannon, Tony, Nate and Jen, Todd and Amanda, Alex, Chuck, Rod, Rendell, Joe, Easterday, Scotty B. and Olivia, Johnny, Josh and Stephanie, Chad T., Bruce, Brian, Brad, Jake, James, Amy and Jon, Justin, Alayna, Andrew, Jeremiah and Hayden.

In addition, special thanks go out to Rod - for offering his continued help with the paint and air for the store, Jen - for continuing to update the Splatmandu Website, and Scotty B. and Ted - for writing the story for War Games 2010. Thanks also are deserved for Eric Easterday - who has agreed to tackle the first round of T-Shirts for the Reds for this season. We are still looking for a talented individual for the Blue team to join Ted and Scotty B. in the writing of this year’s story. Anyone with the creative vision - please contact Ted or Kathy for more information.

Work will continue every Saturday at 12:00 NOON. In order to be a Groundhog, you have to sweat in February. We would love to have a record-breaking turn-out this year, so please, if you have no plans one of these Saturdays, come on out! Without the help of our club members, Splatmandu cannot continue. We’ve got a great start, so let’s keep it going!

The air was thick as I moved through the narrow hallway, the heels of my boots clacking as I moved towards the large double doors. It was always hard to breathe on this planet - the oxygen content not being the same as home, always took time to adjust. If I am lucky I won’t be here long enough to worry about it. It was my time to stand before the leader of this event and to assist in the upcoming games as much as I could. This was part of the tradition, the last years’ winner was assigned to assist the new teams, and they will need it. If their arrival was anything like my team had been, they are going to have a ton of questions.
If I only knew then what I know now…

I’m not sure where we are. The last thing I remember was being on the front line with the rest of my command group. We were assaulting an enemy stronghold and getting mauled pretty bad for the effort. That’s our job. The 13th Penal Legion, that is. We are all convicted criminals facing various punishments. We get all the crappy jobs. Command decides which missions are too dangerous for “good” line troops. That’s where we step in. The good thing is if we survive all our missions, we get a full pardon. The bad thing is if we don’t survive, we get a full pardon posthumously. We are all given one ‘last chance’ at redemption by fighting in the worst combat zones in the galaxy. Not many make it. That’s why we are called the ‘Last Chancers’.

That’s all in jeopardy. We got snatched from our current assignment by unknown aliens. This is bad. Command doesn’t like not knowing what our location is at all times. They are liable to add desertion to our list of crimes if they don’t just shoot us on sight. The only information we have was given to us by a human in Red body armor…

The doors flew open, and as they did five bright red laser dots appeared on the center of my chest. The grouping I had noticed was about the size of a dime. I was facing five haggard looking men, but with eyes wide as dinner plates. They were the faces of veterans.
” Easy soldiers. I am more than likely the only friend you have right now.”
I slowly raised my hands. ” Nothing in these hands…or up the sleeve.”
The dots didn’t waver.
” Listen, I know this is … well kinda weird, but even though you have no reason to, you have to trust me right now.”
My eyes roamed from face to face. Pausing on the one I knew was in charge.
” Besides, your weapons were deactivated during transport. They don’t work”
Five triggers pulled instantly, the loud “CLICK” almost sounding as one.

Oh…this is going to be fun, I thought to myself.

He never gave us his name. The man was somewhat short and stocky, a common trait in people from heavy gravity worlds. That makes them especially strong and tough. He looks to have seen some action. His red body armor was scarred from heavy fighting.
‘He has definitely seen some action.’ I thought.

He is a warrior. Not one to be screwed with. That much was obvious. He carried himself like a person that could handle himself in a fight. All of us had a bead on him, but I’ll be damned if none of our weapons would work.

“You are to be part of a game and you are the grey team leaders.” Said the warrior.
“Why us?” I ask
“Because the game masters have been watching you. They felt you would provide a good game.” He replied.
“What sort of game?” I asked
“It is a game of life or death for their entertainment.” He said with a wicked grin.
“What is the prize?” I asked.
“Life.” He said with a sad smile.
Then he walked away, laughing.

After the Red warrior left the room, I looked at my men. I could see the anger and worry on all their faces. This group of convicts and I go way back. I could read their faces like a SITREP. They were pissed and looking for someone or something to kill.
“Well boys, what do you think?” I asked.
“I dunno boss, he didn’t give us much to work with.” said one trooper.
“There is no doubt we are in it deep boys, but we are used to that. We are always in it up to our eyeballs.” I said
Worried looks all around.
“Sir, some of us are close to receiving our pardons. The way we disappeared from the front line could see us shot for desertion.” said one worried trooper.
“We will burn that bridge when we get to it.” I said. “Right now, we need to concentrate on getting off this rock. To do that, we are going to have to win this ‘game’. So win it we will, even if we have to kill every living thing on this planet.”
They all agreed with that philosophy. All these grim faced men had a certain moral flexibility. They would do whatever it took to accomplish the mission. Right now, that mission is to win.

************************

We have been sitting here in this room now for several days. The men are starting to get snippy. This much down time is not good for front line combat troops, especially this group of malcontents. Even I am starting to get testy. If we don’t get out of this room soon, it’s possible we could end up at each others throats. It could come to blows but I won’t allow it to go any farther. Blow off some steam, yes. Kill each other, no. I doubt it would go that far anyhow. We have had each others backs for far too long for that to happen. Brotherhood forged in the fires of combat.
All the men have their little quirks. Some are more obvious that others. If you spend enough time around a person, you learn to gauge their temperament by those quirks. Like I said, we have been a team for a long time. Prisoner 070179 was the first Last Chancer I met. He has been sitting by the door almost the whole time we have been trapped in this room. To someone that doesn’t know him; he is just checking and re-checking his gear. I know better. I know he is quietly watching and listening to everything and everyone in the room, waiting for the right moment to make a move if necessary. He won’t light the cigar he has been chewing on because it’s his last one. He will save it for a special occasion. He loves his cigars almost as much as he loves to fight.

Prisoner 070179 hails from Telos. It’s a heavy gravity mining colony on the outer reaches of human controlled space. Gamma sector, if you look on a star chart. A frontier world where brawling and drinking is the favorite pastime. That makes him the strongest, toughest, and meanest S.O.B. in the room when it comes to bare-knuckle brawling. His strength and temper is what landed him in the 13th.

The day this team was put together, I was standing on the landing platform of Atten Prison Facility waiting for the rest of my command group. When the first prisoner shuttle arrived, they didn’t bother to land. The Imperial prison guards just tossed prisoner 070179 out of the rear hatch, 10 feet off the platform, shackles and all. I remember them yelling just before they sped off, “Hey! Good luck with that one!” I noticed one guard with a black eye and another with a fat lip. As he picked himself up off the plascrete no worse for wear, I thought, ‘Oh goody, a hard nose brawler and a tough one at that. I hope he can take orders. I would hate to have him shot right here and now.’

“Prisoner 070179 reporting for duty!” he barked.

The lack of ‘Sir’ got my immediate attention. He was testing my authority already. One thing I learned when dealing with these convicts was to not give them an inch. I fixed him my command stare and raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t believe I heard you correctly troop.” I said coldly while resting my hand on my empty side arm holster. Maybe that scared him, but I doubt it. I think he recognized I would broker no disobedience.
“Prisoner 070179 reporting for duty, SIR!” he replied after thinking for about 1 second.
“Prisoner 070179,” I said while looking through his file. “A.K.A. Dando. Heavy weapons specialist. Convicted of: Manslaughter, disorderly conduct, drunk in public, destruction of public/private property, resisting arrest, assaulting an officer, and my personal favorite, urinating in public.”
“Yes, sir.” He answered.
“My kind of trooper.” I said with a grin.

 
Dando single-handedly dismantled a squad of Jantin Paladins, several MPs, and the bar they were all in in fairly short order. Ended up accidentally killing one of the MPs. Scuttlebutt had it that it took 6 MPs with stun wands set to maximum to bring him down. One stunner will knock a horse goofy. With my most sincere smile, I said, “Welcome to the 13th Legion.”

Prisoner 022586 is keeping himself busy trying to figure out how the aliens shut our guns down. I think he has had that assault rifle apart more than a dozen times. He keeps telling us they should work. Every circuit in the rifles appears to be in perfect order. The damn things just won’t work. The disgusted look on his face tells me he is about to take the weapon apart for the umphteenth time. Pretty much the same look he had when I told him he was going to be a Last Chancer.
Prisoner 022586, he prefers the handle Hammer, is a tech prodigy. One of those kids that is too smart for his own good. He was on the fast track to becoming one of the greatest tech minds of our time. Then he got cocky. According to his file, he hacked into the Ajax Planetary Defense Grid and managed to set off a global red alert. All the orbital MACs came online, the Navy scrambled fighters, defensive ack-ack batteries were readied, and Guard units were mobilized to repel a planetary invasion. Pretty much scared the poop out of the entire population. World leaders were not happy. What really sunk his ship was that he refused to tell the government how he managed to crack the 528 bit encryption from his home desktop computer. In theory, that is impossible without a mainframe supercomputer.

He was the second Last Chancer I met that day on the landing platform. This time the shuttle actually landed. As 022586 was escorted out of the rear hatch, all the guards were grinning and laughing. Hammer didn’t look old enough to be out of high school much less a criminal of the caliber required to be in the 13th. The scowl on his face told Dando and I that whatever was so funny was at Hammers expense.
“Prisoner 022586 reporting for duty, sir.” He said.
“We just call him cupcake.” One guard interjected with a chuckle.
The nasty look that Hammer shot at the guard brought more laughs.
“Feth you, Jake!” Hammer snapped.
All the laughter stopped, however, at the cold stares the guards got from Dando and I. After all, we convicts have to stick together. Poor little Hammer was stuck between two groups of very mean, nasty, and bad tempered men that clearly didn’t like each other. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a combat knife.
“Well, he is all yours.” The ranking guard said with a chuckle.
With a hand signal the shuttle started to spool up its engines and the guards retreated to the safety of the rear hatch.
“Thanks guys. Those jackasses think that name is hilarious. They’ve been calling me that since we left…..” he paused. He noticed we weren’t smiling at him either.
“022586, lets get something straight. We may have to work together to survive, but that don’t make us friends nor will we ever be friends.” Dando said with a scowl. Now it was Hammers turn to be nervous.
“Ah, sir, what exactly am I doing here?” he asked.
“We needed a tech guy and your it. You are going to be a Last Chancer.” I said.
There was that truly disgusted look I told you about earlier.
“I think I would rather stay in my cell.” He said under his breath.
“Too bad,” I said with a small grin. “Welcome to the 13th Legion…….cupcake.

(Special Ops 141)

We had been stuck in the same foxhole for days when the orders came in. I knew that if they needed the Roughnecks, this mission was of extreme importance. It was going to require 8 weeks of special training, and we were going into outer-space. That is all they would tell us. The news got everybody excited, but i had an uneasy feeling in my gut.

 
It’s been 8 weeks and were getting ready to launch and they still won’t tell us anything. What kind of training was that, weapons straight out of a Sci-Fi movie. Survival techniques that would be illegal on earth. Everyone’s excitement has turned into anxiousness and caution. What in god’s good name could they be training us for. It’s obvious space is not where this battle is going to take place. All that is going through our minds is what are we going to encounter.
It’s been 3 weeks and we are nearing our destination. Orders will be coming through, but information is still on a need to know basis. The alarm starts going off and that is are queue to strap in and get ready for a rough landing. Everything starts shaking and we can feel gravity, a good sign that this planet is habitable. Everything got still for a few moments and then impact! The way we were bouncing around we must have landed in water. It wasn’t to long before getting beached. We had no idea what we were getting into…….

022477 had been pacing the room. It’s not that it’s a small room. Quite spacious, actually. Larger than our cells, at any rate. 022477 just don’t like being stuck in places with no way out. That is probably the main reason he ‘volunteered’ for the 13th. He would get a chance to get out of his cell. If there was a way to get out of this room, he would find it. That’s what he does. He can get into and out of places no one else can, usually with things that don’t belong to him. He’s not just a thief, he’s an exceptional thief. If it has wheels, wings, or value, he can and will steal it.
022477’s file says he got an early start in the criminal world. His father was a small time crook. Dad would take the boy on some of his heists. 022477 was in and out of the juvenile justice system most of his life. Once he turned eighteen, the judge gave him a choice, prison or Imperial Guard. 022477 decided the Guard would be better than a jail cell. He became a master of “appropriating” items in the guard. Goodies just sort of showed up in the platoon barracks. Just like magic. That’s what the platoon started calling him. Majik.

One night while snooping around the warehouse district, he noticed some vehicles and people moving in and out of an “abandoned” building. Being the type of person Majik is, he snuck in to investigate. Turns out, there was some type of top secret weapon system in that building. So top secret, it didn’t even flag top secret. So top secret that if they catch someone snooping around that shouldn’t be, they just disappear. He was lucky that I was able to talk the intelligence guys into giving him to me on the condition that he kept his mouth shut. To this day, he hasn’t spoken a single word about what he saw in that building. We catch glimpses of people watching him. Pretty sure they are spooks with a kill order if he talks.

The day Majik joined my merry band of cutthroats always brings a smile to my face. Dando, Hammer, and I were going over the logistics of the Legion when a sonic boom got everyone’s attention. We saw the fire trail of a shuttle doing an orbital drop.
“Looks like a combat drop.” Said Dando.
Combat drops are pretty much straight down. Very bumpy and very fast. Anybody that says combat drops don’t scare them is either lying or crazy. Most people take the long way down. A nice gradual glide in from high altitude. This pilot knew what he was doing. He didn’t scrub one bit of speed on his approach. Very much like going into a hot LZ. The guards surrounding the platform were watching the shuttle very intently. They were backing away from the platform. Just when it looked like the shuttle was going to make a large hole in the world, it flared out, engines screaming in protest. The shuttle settled onto the platform like a leaf on the wind. When the rear hatch opened, a naval rating stumbled out and promptly puked on the deck. While Navy was heaving his guts out, a tall, thin prisoner walked out of the hatch with the swagger of a fighter jock. He grinned as he walked past the ensign. I noticed that his shackles were hanging form one wrist. ‘How the hell did he get out of those?’ I thought. The sound of more engines could be heard approaching fast. Dando was watching the sky.
“Gunships.” He said calmly.
The Valkyrie gunships came in fast. They came to a hover on both sides of the shuttle. If having that much ordinance pointed at him bothered him, Majik didn’t show it. He came to attention in front of me.
“Prisoner 022477 reporting for duty, sir!” He said with a smile.
A second shuttle came in behind the gunships. As soon as the shuttle touched down, a fire team poured out of the hatch. They ran straight for Majik.
“Freeze 022477! DO NOT MOVE!” The team leader screamed.
The fire team surrounded us, weapons at the ready.
“You are going back to the hole and you’re going to stay there until MY kids are old and grey.” Growled the guard.
A Navy pilot got out of the second shuttle and was busy yelling at the rating that, by the way, still looked pretty green. I’m betting the shuttle that Majik landed belonged to that pilot. Security-wise, somebody dropped the ball and somebody was going to pay for it. That somebody was going to be Majik.
“He’s not going anywhere.” I said “His butt belongs to me now.”
“Like hell, he escaped and stole a shuttle!” The team leader snarled.
“Do you really want to tell your CO that a prisoner not only escaped but took YOUR shuttle on YOUR watch?” I asked.
He was still pissed, but his common sense prevailed. He must have decided he didn’t want that particular blemish on his record. With a huff, the guard spun on his heel and stormed back to the shuttle with the rest of his fire team. Once aboard the shuttle, the gunships peeled off and both shuttles chased after the gunships.
“Thanks, sir.” Majik said.
“No problem, welcome to the 13th.” I said.
“Ah, sir? You don’t suppose that fire team leader would want this back do you?” said Majik while holding the guards wallet.
I think they could hear us laughing from orbit.

Most regulars have already switched gears in preparation for SplatmandBOO Haunted Forest. The transformation of Tippmann is well underway, as well as building of the Chicken Chair (new for the 2009 event).

It’s been a great season, and we thank all of you for your contributions to the Club and to helping the Domestic Assault Shelter. Work begins for the 2010 Paintball season the first Saturday in February - when the “Groundhogs” come out to play! See you next year!