Caleb spent a good amount of time canvassing the area around the Dog Eye Saloon, talking to people around. From what little he was able to gather, no one knew Paul very well. He was a man of regular habits, though, and had taken a room on the second floor of the Dog Eye Saloon. He took all his meals at Kennely's restaurant across the street, and took regular walks.

The marshal made the restaurant his first stop. Kennely's was a small place packed with tables, chairs, and six very satisfied looking diners. The kitchen was in the eastern side-building. The decor was like the food: tasteful but plain.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:54, Thu 28 Mar 2013.

A plain faced woman, clearly the hostess, greeted Caleb when he entered. "How may I help ya? A table for just you, or ya bringin' the missus?" she asked with a smile.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:55, Thu 28 Mar 2013.

Morgan smiled, politely tipping his hat to the woman. "I'm afraid it's just me, ma'am." He opened his jacket to reveal the star pinned to his vest. "I'm Deputy Marshal Morgan. I'm not certain if you're aware ma'am, but there was a murder here last night, at the Dog Eye Saloon. I'm trying to track down some information about the victim, a man named Paul. From what I understand, he ate here fairly regularly."

Her face fell, and she looked suddenly crestfallen and pale. "Paul...Goodwin?" she asked.

Morgan nodded. His voice sympathetic, he said, "I believe so, ma'am. From what I understand, Mr. Goodwin was a man of habit, and dining here was amongst his regular activities."

"I'm truly sorry, ma'am. If you could tell me about Mr. Goodwin, or could point me to some of his friends or associates, it could help us track down those responsible for his death."

"I was wonderin' when he didn't make it in for breakfast. He's here every day for his three squares. I'm 'fraid I don't know much more than that. Nice man, from back East, I think, by his way of speakin'. Kept to himself, for the most part. Stayed across the street at the Dog Eye. Not sure what he was about. I think he said he was writin' a book. Maybe writin' a dime novel or some such, now that I think about it."

Morgan nodded as he listened. "Ma'am, I know you said he kept to himself. Did you ever happen to see him with anyone? Were there any regulars here that he spoke with from time to time? Perhaps someone he spoke to about the book he was writing?"

Obviously, the book was a cover story, but it was a well thought out one. To casual observers, it would explain away Goodwin's apparent lack of profession and enable him to ask questions relevant to his real interests in the name of research. If Morgan could discover the subject of the "book", he believed it might provide clues about what Goodwin was truly involved in, and who his enemies were.

Morgan let his eyes travel over the restaurant's interior. He suspected that the spy had frequented certain locations for a reason. That somehow, his haunts were connected to the subject of his interest as an agent of the Union.

She scratched her chin. "No, not that I can think of. He was friendly enough, but he kept to himself. Mainly came here just to eat. Sometimes he would sit and write, but that's about it. Sorry I can't be of more help."

Morgan tipped his hat to the woman. "I really appreciate your help, ma'am. If you happen to think of anything else, you can talk to me or Deputy Marshal Earp at the Town Marshal's office."

Morgan stepped outside and walked briskly over to the Dog Eye. Entering the saloon, he looked around for Hank McNary.

Hank wasn't a hard man to find. As ever, he was standing in the middle of the room with a mop, and looked like he was getting things ready and cleaning up messes from the night before.

"Howdy, deputy. If you're here after Suzy, she's at the doctor's place."

"Actually, I  didn't come to see Suzy," Morgan explained, "There are a couple of other deputies visiting the doctor's office today. "

"I wanted to see Paul Goodwin's room again and collect his personal effects if I could. There might be something amongst his belongings that could help us find his killer. Are all of his things still upstairs?"

"Deputy Earp asked me to box 'em up for him to come pick up, so I put it all in there. Hopefully there's somethin' in there that'll help with the investigation, but it wasn't much stuff," he said.

"Go right ahead - door's still open. They came for the body earlier, and I cleaned up some of the mess. I gotta turn that room back around at some point. Maybe you could take it with you over to the jailhouse if you're headed there again later."

"Thank you, Mr. McNary," Morgan said, "If you don't mind, I had a couple of questions about Mr. Goodwin."

"I was curious about how long he had stayed here at the Dog Eye. And, from what I've gathered in talking with some other folks around town, he was writing a book. Did he ever happen to mention to you what he was writing about?"

"He's been here...I think a few months. Maybe four, five months. Came in from Back East talkin' about wantin' to write a book. He wasn't much of a talker. Said he was gonna write the next big dime novel."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:31, Mon 01 Apr 2013.

Morgan nodded. "Thank you. I'll get that box over to the jail."

He climbed the stairs, the events of the previous evening flickering in his memory as he did. The murder. Gabby finding the letter. The Wilderness Riders and broken Walter Jackson lying helpless in the street. Sarah and the ghosts of all that could have been.

Reaching the landing he stepped into the late Paul Goodwin's room. He took a long look around, searching for any detail that might have been overlooked in the confusion of the previous night before moving to the box to inspect its contents.

The box Caleb found was an old wooden crate that at one time had probably held whiskey bottles. Inside it were a collection of clothes of a decently expensive cut, some assorted personal effects, a box containing ink, writing instruments and spare paper. Mixed in with the lot of it was a small book, informally bound as if done with the papers in the box.

Morgan took a moment to skim the book. It was, just as Goodwin had represented to others in town, the beginnings of a novel. A story about the war. Morgan wasn't a reliable judge of writing. Only Darling could give a fair assessment of the spy's skill. But the effort seemed earnest, the descriptions of the battlefield vivid.

Reading over the novel, Morgan wondered if Goodwin had been striving to change professions. To put spying behind him and retire to a quiet life as a novelist. He felt a brief pang of jealousy, to have the freedom to change one's course, to seek out an existence free of conflict. Only someone had robbed Goodwin of his chance. Someone, Morgan felt certain, with a secret to keep.

He turned back to the front of the book and read the dedication. To Barney Ford, my Greatest Friend. Goodwin thanked Ford for showing him and his wife hospitality during their visit to Denver. What business had Goodwin pursued in Denver? Most likely, it had been a Union errand.

And the man had been married. Someone needed to inform Goodwin's wife of his demise. As Morgan considered that, his thoughts drifted to Suzy and Goodwin's apparent closeness to her.

Frowning, Morgan shut the book and returned it to the box. He would take the articles to Earp's office and go through them there, hopefully with Earp's help. Two sets of eyes were always better.

Descending the stairs, Morgan approached McNary again. "Mr. McNary, I need to trouble you with a couple of more questions. Was there anyone besides Suzy that Paul Goodwin talked to on a regular basis? Anyone he drank with, or even met here for business?"

"And, if you wouldn't mind me asking, how long has Suzy worked for you?  Does she work strictly at the saloon or does she have another job here in town?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:26, Tue 02 Apr 2013.

"Nobody in particular, not that I know. Every once in a while, he'd have somebody in over a drink, and write in that book of his. I think people comin' in on the train. One time he said somethin' fancy 'bout collectin' experiences o' new travelers to the west, so I think mebbe that was it. Other than that, just Suzy. He'd try to get her to go to bed with 'im, but Suzy's awfully particular about her customers."

"She's the best lookin' whore in town, and folks pay a pretty price for a night with her, so she can afford to be picky. She didn't work for me, though. Just let a room here. It's good to have a steady customer or two, keep the money comin' in. She's a good ol' Southern girl too, and don't much care for the company of Union men like you and me and Paul, at least not without chargin' us a king's ransom for it, I think. Paul would mainly try to talk her price down. I never asked personally how much she was gonna charge him. I don't make a habit of payin' whores for company."

Hank 'Dog Eye' McNary grinned. "Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free?"

Morgan arched an eyebrow. "Some of Mr. Goodwin's papers indicated that he was married. I hope I don't have to bring up his interest in Suzy when his wife is contacted."

Morgan shifted the box in his hands. "How long has Suzy rented from you, Mr. McNary? Do you happen to know if she has any kin here in Dodge?"

"Well, if he was married, I never seen his wife. I suppose you'll do what you feel is best. I personally don't see a good reason to bring it up. Won't do nothin' 'cept to cause her pain. Plus, I don't think he really ever got with Suzy. And I never seen him 'round no other whores. No harm done, looks to me," he said with a shrug.

"Suzy's been rentin' from me about a year or so. She came down over from Wichita. I think that's where her people are. She don't talk much about that. I suppose it's a bad situation she got out of or some such."

"That's my intention," Morgan said with a nod, "I'd think it best not to bring his association with Suzy up, if it can be avoided. It's good to know that I can honestly tell Mrs. Goodwin that nothing really ever occurred."

"Thank you kindly for the information. If you happen to remember anything you think might be important Mr. McNary, please let me or Deputy Marshal Earp know."

Morgan exited the saloon, walking back to the Town Marshal's Office.

Randolph conducts Coraline across the street, watching for horses and wagons as they cross.

"Hullo, Marshal, we were just wondering whether it's puppies or kittens you have in that crate?" He assists Coraline to step up onto the board sidewalk.

Morgan smiled. "Bear cubs, actually," he replied. "I thought they might liven things up at Earp's office."

He shook his head. "These are the personal effects of the man who was murdered. The name he used here in Dodge was Paul Goodwin. The story he gave was that he was a writer, hard at work on the next great dime novel."

Morgan nodded to a book lying atop the other items in the crate. "I'd be obliged if you'd have a look at that, Mr. Darling. I'm no judge of writing, but it appears that Goodwin was authoring a book, a story about the War of the Rebellion. It made me wonder if he had hopes of quitting spying and living a writer's life."

"He makes mention of the fact that he was married in the book's dedication. Dedicated it to a friend by the name of Ford, who Goodwin and his wife spent some time with in Denver."

"From all I've gathered, Goodwin seems to have kept to himself, which comes as no surprise. McNary told me that he would want to talk to newcomers in Dodge about their experiences in coming out West. That certainly wasn't what he was writing about. Perhaps it had something to do with the work he was doing for the Union."

"The only person he appears to have spent much time with is Suzy, from the Dog Eye. McNary said that Goodwin spent a lot of time and effort trying to woo her. Apparently, he never was able to able to win enough favor, or pay enough, to get the affection he wanted."

"Did you two learn anything at the doctor's office? Were you able to speak with Suzy?

Coraline shook her head.  "Unfortunately not.  The doctor says that she is in a very bad state.  He thinks that witnessing the murder has driven her a touch mad.  He didn't think it wise that anyone should speak to her just now.  Apparently she hasn't been making much sense."

"He did give us information on the deceased, but it was not anything of great note.  The limbs and head were removed with surgical precision, but that is all he could determine."

Randolph takes the offered book.

"It was no frenzied butchery, though. The doctor estimates it would have taken an hour or more to remove the arms and head. He couldan't determine a cause of death from the remains, but suggested the throat might have been slit.

"I didn't notice that Suzy was blood-stained, so I'd say she's in the clear as the one who dismembered Goodwin at least," Darling shrugs, "She might not even have seen the murderer. However, Smith said the only intelligible word he's heard from her is 'monster'. I told him Earp might want to post a guard at their house where Suzy is, in case the fiend comes for her."

He turns to Coraline, "Miss Hawthorne, I understand the distaste you feel for the woman's profession, but you should probably be the guard. You may be less threatening to Suzy and best able to gain her trust. We need to know what she saw last night... and soon."

"Surgical precision." Morgan repeated Hawthorne's words with a frown.

Listening to the additional information Darling gave, he said, "When this killing took place, we were all downstairs, drinking a toast. We weren't alerted that anything was happening until the girl screamed. None of us heard the sounds of a brawl upstairs. With all the violence that happened, the killer was quiet about his work. "

"One of three possibilities exist, in my mind. Either Suzy came upon the scene when the killer was close to finishing or she was there and so frozen with fear she couldn't bring herself to scream until the deed was done. Or...whoever was responsible was able to accomplish an hour's worth of work with inhuman speed."

Morgan shook his head. "And here I thought this would just be a matter of walking a patrol and breaking up a fight or two," he muttered.

Looking to Hawthorne and Darling, he said, "If you do find Suzy's presence distasteful, Miss Hawthorne, we might ask Gabby or Daniel if they'd be willing to take on the guard duty. He grinned. "McNary maintains that Suzy strongly prefers the company of Southerners. It might be that she would open up to one of them."

"But you're quite correct, Mr. Darling. We need to speak with Suzy soon."

Addressing Hawthorne, he said, "If you'll forgive me for asking, Miss Hawthorne. I couldn't help noticing, back at the mine, that you're able to accomplish...well, some remarakable things with that deck of yours. Is there anything you could do that might help mend the girl's mind?"

Coraline stared at Caleb, a slight crease forming between her brows as the corners of her mouth turned downward.  First Gabby and now Caleb?  Apparently she wasn't as clever and sneaky as she thought.  "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Marshal," she stated firmly.  It was a desperate and transparent attempt to deny what they both knew had happened, but she certainly wasn't going to talk about such a thing in public where anyone could hear.  Quieter, after a sidelong glance at Randolph as she tried to gauge his reaction, she mumbled, "Still, it is something to think about."

Randolph has developed an intense interest in the 'book' he had taken from Morgan's crate, giving no sign that he has heard what passed between Morgan and Coraline.

He looks up, tucking the papers under his arm: "I suppose we should get these items to Earp while Caleb's arms are still attached to his shoulders." He chuckles, then realizes the reference he has made and turns a bit pale.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to make light of the dead. Let's go."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:55, Fri 05 Apr 2013.

Inwardly, Morgan winced at his misstep. Suddenly understanding that Hawthorne wanted to keep her talents, whatever they might be, hidden elicited a pang of sympathy from him. He was intimately familiar with the struggle to keep a burdensome secret.

Looking down at the crate full of Goodwin's possessions, he said, "I apologize, Miss Hawthorne. Clearly, I was mistaken."

Morgan nodded gratefully at Darling's suggestion and resumed walking toward Earp's Office.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I didn't take the time to thoroughly look through Mr. Goodwin's possessions when I retrieved them from the Dog Eye. I had hoped to enlist Marshal Earp's help, but if the two of you wouldn't mind, perhaps we could all examine these items at the Town Marshal's office and see if there are any more clues to be found."

"I'd like to be of help, Morgan, no matter how mundane the task. However, I owe my publisher a telegram to let them know I won't be able to come through with an exclusive interview with Radcliffe, since he's been spirited away by those damned government men." He walks along in silence with his friends for a moment.

"Say, do you think Earp's on the level? That he surrendered the man to US agents? You don't think he's playing a double game and working with the Confederates, do you? I mean, he let those Wilderness Riders walk away scot-free after Walter Jackson was beaten."

Morgan was quiet for a moment as he considered Darling's question.  "Mr. Darling, I had telegraphed the Agency about Vinton Radcliffe shortly after we brought him here to Dodge. As well informed as you are, you may already be familiar with that organization. They are Union agents tasked with investigating...well, some of the more unusual occurences out here on the frontier." He sighed and shook his head. "I'll be frank in saying that I'm not especially fond of them, but in instances where a Marshal like myself encounters a crime that involves something supernatural, we're expected to report those things to the Agency."

"I honestly regret having informed them about Radcliffe. So much so that I'm afraid I'll have to think long and hard about reporting anything else to them in the future. I believe that Radcliffe might have been able to provide some information that would have been useful regarding the massacre in Hays, but the Agency snatched him away before those questions could be asked. For what it's worth, I'm truly sorry you weren't able to conduct your interview."

He frowned. "I do think that Earp is trying to do the best and most honest job that he can. I think he makes an earnest effort to distance himself from anything that could stir up any kind of political hostility. I believe he's trying to avoid showing favor to either Union or Confederate symapthizers. To be as neutral as possible."

"I'll be honest, Mr. Darling. When I saw what had happened to Walter Jackson, my intention was to take the men responsible to jail. By force if necessary. I told them as much. But when Earp came on the scene, he simply made them leave. I may not completely agree with that decision, but I understand it. I believe that he was thinking in terms of keeping the peace and avoiding more violence. In his estimation, arresting those boys would have incited more chaos. I think he was trying to do what he thought was best at the time."

Morgan shrugged. "So yes, I do think he's on the level. Unless he does something to make me believe otherwise."

"Speaking of Walter, did you find out if he saw the doctor? Even with that arm being set, he was beaten pretty badly."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:31, Wed 03 Apr 2013.

Pleased that Caleb was intuitive enough to drop the subject, she let his explanation of the situation soothe her ruffled feathers and took a moment to calm herself.  It surprised her that Caleb had been the one to contact the Agency and have the man whisked away, but she couldn't fault him for it.  It had been a curious and frightening experience, and not one that needed to be repeated.  Better the man remain in custody of people that could properly restrain him.

"Yes, we did ask the doctor about Mister Jackson, and the doctor saw him last night.  He said that whoever set his arm did a fair job at it and that he was doing well when he left." She indicated the way to Earp's office.  "I'd love to have a look in that box.  Perhaps there are further clues about what this man was up to and why someone killed him."

When they arrived at Earp's office, Randolph tipped his hat to Coraline, "I'll be back presently," he says with a smile and sets off down the board sidewalk.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:07, Fri 05 Apr 2013.

Morgan pushed open the door to the Town Marshal's Office with his shoulder and held it so Hawthorne could enter. Stepping inside, he sighted an empty desk and set the crate down on top of it.

After greeting Earp, Morgan briefly recounted all that he had been able to learn that morning about Paul Goodwin.

Pointing to the crate, he said, "I collected Mr. Goodwin's possessions from the Dog Eye, but I haven't had the chance to look through them. If you'd like to lend a hand, you're welcome to. If you have other matters to attend to, Miss Hawthorne has been kind enough to volunteer her help and Mr. Darling should be along directly."

Wyatt Earp looked like he hadn't slept in a month. Managing all the chaos seemed to have taken a noticeable toll on the lawman. He stood up, and looked in the box, and fished around in there a little bit.

"Sure, I suppose I can lend a hand. Change of pace. There somethin' in here in particular you're hopin' to find?" he asked. He removed a jacket from the crate, searching through the pockets as he waited on a response.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:10, Fri 05 Apr 2013.

Picking up a pair of Goodwin's trousers, Morgan searched the pockets.

"I'm hoping we find something that would give us a clue about what Union business Goodwin was attending to here in Dodge. I'm guessing that, whatever it was, it's probably the reason he was killed."

They spent several minutes searching through the mundane items in the box that Caleb had retrieved from the Dog Eye Saloon, but turned up nothing that would distinguish Goodwin from any other man. At the end, they had a neat pile of clothes and assorted items.

"Well, that's too bad. A good thought, though. We'll keep this here for a few days, just in case anything turns up." He looked at the crate doubtfully.
This message was last updated by the player at 19:39, Sun 07 Apr 2013.

A bit disappointed that the search had turned up little, Coraline sighed softly.  Placing the object she'd examined back into the crate, she turned to Caleb.  "Marshal, do you intend to continue scouting the town for clues of this man's identity or do you have another plan in mind?"

It was diificult for Morgan to mask his disappointment. Returning the last items he had examined to the crate, he shook his head. "My only thought at the moment, " he said, "is to return to the Dog Eye once things liven up over there. See if I can speak with a patron or two that Goodwin might have interviewed. See if they recall anything of note."

"It might be that Mr. Darling can glean something from Goodwin's book. If anyone could dig some clues out of it, it would be him. If he finds something, we can chase that lead down."

He gazed out the window at the dusty street. "Other than that, it's just a matter of waiting. Perhaps Gabby, Daniel, and Sky Dog will learn something from the Wilderness Riders. Hopefully, Suzy will regain her senses soon and we can ask her about what she saw."

He glanced at Earp with a wan grin. "Sometimes, doing the work of the law, waiting is all you can do."

Frowning, he asked, "Marshal, the name Barney Ford wouldn't happen to mean anything to you, would it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:13, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

"About letting Mr. Darling dig around in the book you found, I think we probably want to get that back. You said you have contacts at the Agency, Marshal, and I think it's best to get it to them. Do you really want a reporter nosing through what might be your government's intelligence?"

When Caleb asked him about Barney Ford, he thought about it for a moment, and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't know the man. Who is he?"

Morgan considered Earp's statement. He knew that the Deputy Marshal was thinking of Darling only in light of the man's profession. And there was no question, Darling was eager for a good story and had meant to make Vinton Radcliffe his latest. But there were things Earp couldn't take into account. The man had traveled to an abandoned mine and faced plenty of horrors to help rescue Edwin Wilder. Nothing had obligated him to do that but he'd risked his life anyway. Though he couldn't say as much to Earp, Morgan was choosing to trust Darling.

Nodding, he said, "Being a writer, I thought Mr. Darling might have some insight that I didn't into Mr. Goodwin's novel. But I'm certain that once he's looked it over, he'll return it here for safe keeping."

"Goodwin dedicated his book to this Barney Ford. Called him a life long friend. Goodwin indicated in what he wrote that he and his wife had spent some time with Ford in Denver, at the Inter-Ocean Hotel, I believe. I guess I was just hoping that perhaps someone by that name had done some business here in Dodge City."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

"You might want to send a telegram to the town authorities in Denver," says Darling from the doorway, "See if they can give you a line on Mr. Ford."

He holds out Goodwin's book to Morgan: "I haven't had a chance to do more than riffle through this 'book' Caleb. It looks like a would-be novelist's pitiful attempts. Being a would-be novelist myself, I feel qualified to judge Goodwin's work at about a par with my own scribblings. Still, when this is reported to the federal authorities, you might want to pass it along to them.

"Have you found anything to indicate Mrs. Goodwin's whereabouts? Was his watch in his clothes or an address book?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:58, Mon 08 Apr 2013.

"It seems that Paul Goodwin kept on him only what he needed, and no more. He wasn't free with his information, neither. He lived clean and simple, and didn't leave hints behind for us to dig through. Knowing his vocation, I don't find that surprising," he said.

"Honestly, I don't think we can even be sure that Paul Goodwin was the man's real name."

He nodded at Darling's suggestion. "I think I will send that telegram. See if the authorities up there have any suspicions regarding Mr. Ford."

"Then I suppose I'll head back over to the Dog Eye and see if I can locate anyone who remembers being interviewed by Goodwin." He looked to Hawthorne and Darling. "Unless either of you have some suggestions. I'm certainly open to ideas."

"I've done a little diggin' into the matter myself, and I haven't been able to find anything on Paul Goodwin, or whatever his name was, other than I think what we know so far - which is more than most folks know about him. I'm thinkin' maybe all we can do is keep a sharp eye out and see if we can't catch this killer the next time he strikes. I've alerted the other folks I've taken on who are watching other parts of the town. Other than that, I can't think of much that would be helpful. And make sure to get some rest today, whatever else. Tonight's gonna be just as busy as last night, though I can hope less bloody," he said.

Morgan nodded slowly at Earp's suggestion. Much as he hated to admit it, the Deputy Marshal was likely right. It had already felt as though they had been chasing shadows all day, but then a spy, by definition, was a shadow.

Perhaps Suzy would snap out of shock and be able to speak. Maybe one of the Wilderness Riders had witnessed something of import. Beyond that, it was a matter of waiting.

He had hoped to be out of Dodge soon. Back on the open prairie, where he belonged. It was July 3rd. He had three days.

"I reckon I'll walk our patrol a couple of times before nightfall in that case," he said, "Make sure I know where someone can run if they're trying to make an escape, in case our killer comes calling again."

Darling looks up from idly picking through the contents of the crate: "I'll walk along with you, Caleb, if you can stand the company."

"I'd welcome the company, Mr. Darling," Morgan said. "Miss Hawthorne, you're welcome to join us if you'd like."

"I think it best if we stick together for a bit.  We may not be able to cover as much ground, but it will be useful to have an extra hand just in case trouble starts up.  We should certainly be on the lookout for any more of these Wilderness riders." 

"Yes, ma'am. I think that would be best," Morgan said. In light of last night's events, working in larger groups certainly was the wisest course. Whether dealing with more miscreants like the Wilderness Riders or the killer they sought, none of them needed to face those threats alone.

As he walked to the door, Morgan turned and nodded to Earp. "Deputy Marshal, if you need us for anything, we'll be in the vicinity of the Dog Eye."

As the three departed the jailhouse, they encountered Walter Jackson, who was walking up towards them. "Just lookin' for you deputies. You in particular," he said, gesturing to Caleb.

"Wanted to thank you again for savin' me last night."

Randolph gives the Negro a smile. "I'm gratified to see you up and around, Walter. I do recommend, however, that you lie low for the next few days. Those boys are likely not done with you ye.," He reaches into his jacket for his wallet, "Do you need any money to tide you over?"

Extracting his wallet, Darling is struck with a thought. "Morgan, what if Walter's beating was set up as a distraction to give our murderer a chance to get away? That make any sense to you, Miss Hawthorne?""

"I was glad to help," Morgan told Jackson, "I'm glad to see you're doing better, too. I'd have to agree with Mr. Darling. You need to be careful, especially if you're around any place the Wilderness Riders frequent.  They strike me as the sorts that hold a grudge."

Morgan considered Darling's question. "It's certainly possible." Turning his attention back to Jackson, he asked, "Mr. Jackson, do you remember what led up to the Riders attacking you? I know you were mostly concerned with defending yourself, but do you recall anything unusual that any of those men said or did?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, sirs, I got 'nuff money, thank ya though. Well, I wasn't really doin' much to defend myself.  Ever since I done quit bein' a soldier, I been of a non-violent philosophy. They just walked up on my and Ralphie starts wailin'. Didn't work out too good for me, though. I've had somethin' of what one might call a change o' heart about that." He unsheathed a knife he had at his belt.

"I plan to stay low, keep mah head down till this whole thing be over. But now if they come for me, I'll be ready."

"I think that's wise, Mr. Jackson," Morgan said, "Hopefully you wan't have to use it, but better to be prepared."

"You take care. If you need our help, go to the Town Marshal's Office. Deputy Marshal Earp will know how to find us."

"Or come to the Dog Eye. We try to keep a deputy there at all times of the night," adds Randolph, returning his wallet to his pocket.

"Thank ya, sirs, but I'm gonna try and high tail it back to tha flophouse. Got a few other black folk there. Ain't no white boys gonna try make trouble fo' me there," he said with a grin.

"Gonna keep me outta trouble, really. Anyhow, I see y'all 'round. Good luck with tha deputizin' and all."

"It certainly would have been the perfect distraction, Mister Darling, though that would mean that the Wilderness riders are somehow connected to the murderer.  Of course, that is a wild conjecture and not based in any particular fact.  Still, something to keep in mind, however."  She offered Walter a smile.  "Do watch after yourself, Mister Jackson.  I hope that it doesn't resort to violence for you again."

Darling is silent for a moment as Walter walks away, considering.

"No. My idea won't hold water. The trouble with the Wilderness Riders didn't start until we were all upstairs. The killer was gone by then.

"We have a mad surgeon who kills a Union Agent, cuts off his head and arms, and leaps through the window with them, disappearing into the night," he shakes his head, ruefully, "I'd hate to try selling that story to my publisher."

Walter Jackson ducked away with one more word of thanks, and made for his flophouse, leaving the group to continue moving on with their patrol.

The crowd seemed to be milling about as usual, but there was a group in the middle of Chestnut street right in the groups way as they turned down that avenue. There looked to be something of a gathering commotion, and the center of it was a short, tough as nails looking old woman.

"I heard there was a murder! Through the grapevine, I heard it, and somebody got cut up! I tell you what, I would be my spring dress it's one o' them good for nothin' liquor drinkin' bluebellies! Got in an argument with somebody that didn't like the fourth celebration, cut him all up!"

"Now, hold on a goddamn second. You don't know what in the hell you're talkin' about! Where'd you hear all that crap anyway?"

"I heard it where I heard it," she said stubbornly. "And I figure what I figure, and it ain't your business, bluebelly!" That was about when the pushing and the shoving and the swearing started. There was a flash somewhere in the crowd, as if they could see a bit of sunlight glinting on metal.

Perhaps it was because he had never been to Dodge in the thick of the Independence Day celebration. Or maybe it was due to the fact that, in recent years, he'd been able to keep mostly to the grasslands, the lone tracker who only interacted with others when he brought a man in to be jailed. Whatever the case, Dodge had begun to wear on him. Never in his travels had he encountered people who were so doggedly determined to keep old wounds open and bleeding.

Stepping toward the crowd, he let his hand fall to his pistol. He scanned the crowd, searching for the source of the metallic reflection, silently praying it wasn't a weapon, but prepared to act if it was.

Raising his voice to a shout, he yelled, "TOWN MARSHALS! EVERYONE STOP THIS FIGHTING! NOW!"

Darling shifts a bit to Morgan's left, staying behind him. He pulls back his lapel to display his badge, but does not declare himself.

His right hand tucks the tail of his frock coat behind his holster and grasps the butt of his own revolver. His eyes seek out any weapons that might be displayed.

Glad that Caleb's voice carried the way that her's wouldn't, Coraline stayed close behind the two men.  She didn't think her pistol would be of much use, but her fan was already in her hand and open, waving lazily in front of her face.  Calling for cards in such a crowded area was always tricky, though most would be too distracted by the scuffle to notice.

"This cranky old bitch said that it's Union folks that's been committing some murders around here," said the young man, obviously irritated by the thought.

"Just like one of you BLUEBELLIES to resort to name callin' when your devious ways have been shown to all!" she retorted, scowling. "Next thing you're gonna get these Yankee lawmen over here to make trouble for us on your behalf."

"We know if anybody was gonna go around murdering people, it would be some dirtbag Rebels. Brave soldiers of the south, killin' women and children like they did in Hays."

"You with the bowie knife!" Randolph says in a loud voice, looking right at the man, "Put it up or I'll shoot you in the foot. Same goes for anyone else that draws a weapon here." Randolph pulls his revolver and cocks it, but keeps it pointed at the ground.

The man froze as he met the deputy's gaze. For a moment, he considered what kind of man he was dealing with, but when he saw the steel in the deputy's eyes, he decided to slide that knife back into its sheath. Still, it wasn't with grace that he backed down, and there was a threat in his look; a promise that he might choose to fulfill when there weren't so many watchful eyes around.

"Now, don't you go slandering our good soldiers. You don't know nothin' about Hays or what happened there. But I've said my piece," she said, glancing at Caleb hesitantly. "And I think I best get on with what I'm about." The crowd began to disperse as the ranting and rambling old lady wandered off.

A man wearing a black suit and tie and a black bowler approached the three of them. Pinned to his lapel was a badge twin to Wyatt Earp's, naming him one of Dodge City's lawmen. He might have been dressed in finery, but his suit looked a little dusty and he walked like he knew how to use the gun at his hip.

"That was neatly handled. Wyatt Earp told me this part of town was gettin' rough, but I didn't think I'd see this many fights start in the span of a few minutes. You know, just around the corner I had to stop some fool from carving into another's chest because the first man said something unkind about the second man's mother. I know some don't have respect for the badge, but we usually have to take them in on a hunt or in the street. It's something entirely different with these large crowds and angry mobs," he said.

"Bat Masterson," he said, offering his hand to Caleb and Randolph to shake, and tipping his hat to Coraline.

"Well done, Mister Darling," she said quietly as the crowd thinned.

The phantom cards in her hand dissolved as she closed her fan and tucked it into her sleeve.  Smiling at the newcomer, she nodded in greeting.  "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Masterson.  I have heard your name mentioned as much as Mister Earp's when people reference the upstanding lawmen of the west." 

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Masterson," he extends his hand in greeting, "The name's Randolph Darling, temporary lawman and erstwhile reporter and writer from New York.

"May I present Miss Coraline Hawthorne, also of that city."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 17:11, Tue 23 Apr 2013.

"Good eyes, Mr. Darling," Morgan said as the gathering began to disperse. "That could have gone a lot worse, had you not spotted that fella."

When Masterson introduced himself, Morgan extended his hand. "Caleb Morgan. U.S. Marshal, though that's something I'm trying to keep to myself around here. It's good to meet you Mr. Masterson."

He glanced over his shoulder at the retreating crowd. "I'd have to agree with you. Most of my time in Kansas, I've been hunting men down on the prairie or pulling them out of saloons and dance halls. I've never had to try and control so many fights since I put on a badge."

He shook his head. "Earp certainly has his work cut out for him."

"The pleasure's mine, I'm sure, Miss Hawthorne," he said respectfully, and greeted both Darling and Morgan in kind as well, looking properly impressed to meet a U.S. Marshal.

"Dodge is usually a better place, though I suppose you'll have to take my word for it. It's all the Independence Day stuff that has everybody riled up. That, the Hays Massacre, and all the crowds. All these people together...it's like a powder keg. It's like you said, Mr. Morgan, things are usually a lot simpler, even when dealing with more dangerous types. But this...it's just all the goddamn people. Pardon my language, Miss Hawthorne." Masterson seemed an incredibly well mannered man of good breeding, an odd figure on the frontier. He didn't give off the impression that he was a tinhorn at all, but he knew how to speak. From all accounts, he was one of the most skilled gunfighters in the West. Anybody who knew who he was tended to step lightly, and he seemed to carry himself like he knew it and meant nobody to forget.

"No good reason for it, I suppose. So, you two're from New York. That's a long ways off, and an interesting coincidence, Mr. Darling. I've always wanted to go to New York City and have often thought about being a news man myself. What brings you two down all this way?"

"Let's not stand out in the dusty street to talk. Mr. Masterson, Let me buy you a drink in the Dog Eye Saloon, since it's handy. It's also where we've made our unofficial headquarters and the scene of last night's grisly doings."

As the walk along to the saloon, Randolph begins: "I've come West like so many others hoping to 'see the elephant.' Difference is, I want to capture the pachyderm in words for my publisher back East. Well, let me tell you..." He goes on to give a summary of the last few days.

"I won't say no to a drink, not today," he said, walking in step with the others as they moved on from that spot and walked towards the Dog Eye, listening to the reporter's tale. Every once in a while, he cast a stern glance at a passing ne'er–do–well, but he didn't seem to have the need to do much more than that at the moment.

"Now there's a two dollar word for you. Let me tell you that most of the stories you've heard are probably at least half true, even the most outlandish ones. I'm sure you'll come to see that for yourself." As they arrived at the Dog Eye saloon, Masterson stopped to hold the door open for the others.

After the others went in, he followed them, letting the door fall shut behind him, and taking a seat at the mostly empty bar.  "What do your publishers think of what you've no doubt wired them so far?"

"As long as what I send them will sell, they don't ask much of anything else," Darling tells the lawman with a grin. He orders drinks for them and looks around for the drunkard doctor.

"Say, Mr. McNary," he asks Hank, "Have you seen that fellow, Mansfield today? Or do you know where he sleeps?"

The shaman wandered in and came to lean on the bar, not ignoring anyone present but with no specific greeting. Korpi pulled his hood down, then hopped onto the counter and wandered along to Morgan, looking at him, then what Dog Eye was doing.

"Vodka," she remarked.

When Morgan seemed to have a spare moment, Sky Dog offered him a folded piece of paper. "Morgan, a question: this place, do you know it? I believe it is eastward of here."

Dog Eye wandered up to the bar with the ordered drinks, placing them in front of the group. "Oh, that drunk. He's got a room here, up top. Paid up for it in advance. I figure he knew he'd drink up his money if he didn't. But if you want to find that fellow look no further than somewhere where there's liquor nearby, and a stranger who might or might not buy him a drink."

McNary pointed to the back and of the saloon, where the drunk sat nursing a small glass with a fraction of whiskey left in it, half slumped over as if he was trying to sleep, though his heavy lidded eyes weren't fully shut.

Caleb looked at Sky Dog's drawing. From what he could tell, it was a cluster of oak trees, some drawn with specific detail. Unfortunately, it didn't ring a bell. Oak trees were quite common, and they might be found anywhere. He shook his head with a sigh as he answered Sky Dog.

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help, Sky Dog. I don't think anyone could, to be honest. I don't know if you have this kind of tree in Siberia, but it's called an oak tree - and there are oak trees all over Kansas. All over the country for that matter."

Darling sips his whiskey in a pensive manner, only shivering slightly as the raw spirits burn down his throat to pool in his stomach like liquid heat. Drinking down the last of it, he orders an extra drink, carrying it with Masterson's and Coraline's to the table they have occupied.

"According to McNary, Mansfield has a room upstairs, on the top floor," Randolph says in a hushed voice, "He's a surgeon and he lives right above Goodwin. It's not impossible that man is our murderer, hiding in plain sight.

"I'm going to brace him. Cover me."

The writer stands and walks over to the table where Mansfield struggles against slumber.

"May I sit down, Dr. Mansfield? I've brought fresh supplies." He sets the full glass in front of the other man and takes a chair to the man's right, leaving Coraline and Bat a clear field of vision.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Mon 29 Apr 2013.

Returning the sketch to Sky Dog, Morgan noticed Darling taking a seat with a man in the back of the saloon, the drunk who had set Walter Jackson's arm out in the street. By reputation, he knew that Masterson would be more capable of handling any trouble that arose than he, provided that the "doctor" was sober enough to cause trouble.  Even so, it was wise to be watchful.

Keeping an eye on the table, he asked McNary if he had any coffee brewing.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Mon 29 Apr 2013.

"Oh, hello there," he said, smiling politely, if drunkenly, at Darling.

"Mighty kind of you sir," he said, finishing his whiskey quickly and taking the glass proferred by the reporter. The man reeked of liquor, and his speech was slurred. He raised the glass in the air as a toast, and took his first sip, releasing a gentle sigh. He managed to set the glass down, though he almost knocked the other one over in the process.

Sky Dog looked amused. "Oak trees, I understand they are everywhere, but in such a place, where it is a group in the low of land with the plains so, behind? No?" He sighed and erased a shudder from his shoulders with a stretch.

"Quanterill is unhorsed, at least, and what is still human of him is crazy and runs about. Maybe no-one dies if we stay here some days...but I dislike it, to be uncertain." He watched Darling approach the now-named medicine drunkard with curiousity.

Korpi gave him a look that contained a question, but wandered down the bar at a small gesture from her brother. She studied Matherson for a bit, wary of his hands, then looked to see what Dog Eye was up to.

Wandering back into the kitchens, he quickly came back with some hot coffee for Caleb, though he was watching the scene between the Deputy and one of his drunk patrons with curiosity.

Gabby and Danial mosey in to the Dog Eye. Gabby nods at Sky Dog, and catches sight of all the other familiar faces there. He spots Randolph talking to the very man he was here to speak to, and eases on over, though he keeps a healthy distance so as not to disturb the reporter.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:59, Mon 29 Apr 2013.

Randolph quietly and slowly asks the man several questions, putting him at ease before getting down to serious business: Where are you from? Heard you did a splendid job setting the colored man's arm last night, did you practice medicine back East? How long have you been in Dodge? That sort of thing.

Morgan thanked McNary for the coffee. Nodding at the shaman's comment he said,  "I don't like remaining here in Dodge either, Sky Dog. Those people in Hays have been on my mind since I learned about the massacre."

He gestured toward the window. "I want to be out there, hunting down those responsible, be it Quantrill or whoever. Whoever it is isn't going to stop killing. The sooner they're found, the more lives will be saved."

Frowning, he added, "But we made Earp a promise. We need to see this through first."

The raven's interest was at once caught by the coffee; she hastily padded down to investigate the intriguing smell.

Sky Dog threw a grin back at Gabby. Morgan's declaration got a small nod. "We have taken his law, it is so. Still," the started sentence failed to go anywhere.

Sky Dog leant away from the bar, mentioning with a casual air "If ever you wish to join my camp beyond the many, many walls of the settlement, it is there. Sometimes I am!" the grin slid back, though the shaman seemed a little distracted, as though half-expecting someone to walk down the stairs.

Clayton drunkenly stumbled through the questions, and it took Randolph patiently repeating not a few of them to get a coherent answer from the man.

"Shouth...Carolina, oh my shweet Carolina. I should go back there." If not for the man's slurred speech and staggering intoxication, he seemed to have a gentrified almost aristocratic southern accent. "....sherved in...the war. Terrible war. War'sh...terrible. Hot and cold....too much fightin'...Gotta drown out the memories..." He leaned over, as if he was about to smack his head into the table, but swung up again somehow. He shook his head, and took a sip of that whiskey that Randolph had given him, which seemed to put a little spark back into him.

"Not right, beatin' on that negro like that!" he said, looking almost as if Randolph had done it himself. "Too drunk to shtop it....shet the arm...arm washn't right...gotta shet it quick!....gotta...shet the arm....not right ....beatin' on a boy...no reashon..." He drained the last of the whiskey, and this time his head did hit the table, and he passed out.

"Damn," Randolph mutters, eying the slumbering drunkard.

"Well, it looks like I ain't the only one you can bore to sleep." Gabby says with a chuckle. "Still...sounds like the poor man's fallen on hard times. He don't sound like your typical lush. Probably an army surgeon." Gabby gives the man a once-over. "Hmmm..." he fingers the scrap of silk in his pocket as he thinks.

Dog Eye peered at the picture of trees, and then up at Sky Dog's strange behavior. "You go an' get yerself drunk again? What exactly you lookin' for oak trees for, Injun? Lotta oak trees round here."

Gabby continues to consider his half-formed thought.

A man off the street walked into the Dog Eye, sitting down at the corner of the bar. "A quick beer for me, bartender," he said cheerfully.

Coraline wasn't at all surprised at how little Randolph managed to get out of the drunk doctor.  While a drunkard could always be plied with alcohol, it would only serve to make whatever information he had utterly useless.  Disliking the way that some men overly imbibed in drink, she ventured to the bar to catch Hank's attention after he'd dealt with his other customers.

"Could I trouble you for a sarsaparilla?"  She opened the small drawstring purse she wore about her wrist to fish for payment.

"Drunk?" Sky Dog queried, a little surprised but not offended. "Ah, no, only the settlement, it does to me like I am a little bird in a little box, shaken," one hand made a box-shaking gesture, letting Dog Eye picture a wild bird's consternation, bewildered, half-hurt and fluttering.

"Vodka!" Korpi interjected, happily smelling the coffee.

"Drunk, I would be much worse," the shaman said, expression shadowed, then smirked. "Ha! Now we have worked out the word 'oak'," he smoothed the paper flat on the bar, indicating the leaf in the corner. "Everyone says this, but do you look here, yes?"

Sky Dog covered up the corner doodles with a hand about the shade of the paper. "You see this place. You think the trees are oaks, these ones, so, the land is dry-brown, the sun, here," he gestured with his free hand. "I believe it is eastward of Dodge. Nearby, a white madman goes who wishes to murder buffalo, so this plainsland behind, it is very grassy. My blood-cousin gave me to know it was likely the ones that killed Hays, they will soon be near such a place. You have knowledge of it, Dog Eye?"

Korpi looked over at Coraline with clear suspicion as duty called the barkeep.

Morgan took a sip of his coffee, giving Korpi a friendly scratch on the neck as he did so. Nodding to the stranger who had just ordered a beer, he said, "Afternoon. Sounds like you're in a bit of a hurry."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:38, Tue 30 Apr 2013.

"Be glad to, ma'am," he said, serving her up a sarsaparilla as quick as he could. He seldom got anyone as fine for company as Coraline, and looked a little out of his element. He was a little more in his rhythm serving up a beer to the man in the hat.

Coming back over to Sky Dog, he leaned on the bar and looked at the drawing and listened to Sky Dog's bizarre explanation. "Gimme a minute to think about it. I gotta go see to a drunk."

He wandered over to where Darling and Clarke were, and said, "I think Mr. Mansfield's had plenty to drink for one night and I should get him to his room. You got more questions, I'm sure you can find him beggin' for a drink in the mornin', or hell, maybe again tonight. He don't get out much." Dog Eye bent down and hoisted up the old drunkard, and began to carry him towards the stairs.

Gabby nods absently. "Say...where's your back stairs? I want to see if'n someone could have come up them last night without bein' heard."

"Follow me," he grunted to Gabby from where he was at the top of the stairs. By the time he was at the top, it seemed that Mansfield was on his feet again, and opening his door drunkenly. With Dog Eye's help, he was able to get his door unlocked and wander in. Shutting the door behind him, it wasn't long till snoring was heard from within.

Gesturing over to the wall, there was a panel that blended into the wall that he was able to unlatch that opened up into a sort of door. He reached down to pop another latch and a set of rusty metal stairs creaked down to land on the ground with a loud noise. "You can pull 'em down from the bottom too. Don't get much use anymore, and I try not to tell folks about 'em. Noisy as all hell. Loud enough to wake the dead, though maybe not the drunk. Safe, though. I think." Just to show his point, the bartender walked down the rusty metal stairs. With each step he took, a loud creak emanated, and just as he said, it was unpleasantly loud.

Downstairs at the bar, the man replied to Morgan. "Oh, I'm not in much of a hurry, I suppose. I do have to get back out there and do some huntin' though. I came out west to be a buffalo hunter! And let me tell you, it is quite a life! Beat's livin' in Boston, that's for sure! Not all the comforts of home, it's true, but ten times the adventure!" he said.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:14, Tue 30 Apr 2013.

Gabby watches the demonstration and nods. "Yup. Noisy as all hell. Means that our killer didn't get in here that way." He says. He leaves the implication hanging in the air. "Who all was in here last night, right at the time the screamin' started?"

"Da, da da..." the raven on the bar croaked, leaning into the scratching with every symptom of enjoyment.

Hank scratched his head idly as they walked down the stairs again, and the flexed his arms a little bit. Getting the drunk up the stairs had been thirsty work.

"Oh, hell, lots of folks I don't know. You've seen how it is out there. When it starts to get dark, folks start to come in and then get to drinkin' themselves silly. Might could be just about anyone in town was in here at some point or another, and I'd be none the wiser. It's busy back there behind the bar with so many folks in."

"Thank you, Mister McNary," she said to the bartender, offering him a smile.

Catching the bird eyeing her as she took a sip of her drink, Coraline shot the bird a look of disapproval before turning her attention to the buffalo hunter.  "Oh?  You hunt buffalo?  I've heard that is a very challenging occupation.  Have you ever come across any hostile natives during your adventures?"

The stark white shaman simply leant on the bar as though he heard nothing of the buffalo hunter's conversation, looking up the stairs at the odd mechanical squealing sounds. He continued to watch as Dog Eye came down, then looked to see if Darling had got himself together, trying to shift his thoughts from the darkness of a three-month winter night and a moonlit riverbank where he'd once held a gun.

Daniel watched the 'interrogation' of the drunk doctor with amused frustration. He seemed to be able to find nothing but dead ends. Perhaps if he went off to chase something completely irrelevant again, their investigation could begin to move at a quicker pace again.

After Gabby asked his question of the barkeep, Daniel mentioned, "I took a good gander about after y'all went upstairs. So's I might be able ta recognize any twere here, but don't know if that'll amount ta much."

"Indeed! Not while hunting, though, thank goodness for that! Actually, it was on my way out here, on the road west. I was captured by a group of Pawnee. I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying! One of them spoke English, though, and pretty good English at that. I think they were going to kill me, but I was able to help them out with a little dental problem they were having - I'm a dentist, or I was back east - and they were quite grateful. Well, one thing led to another, and they bundled me on my way and gave me some type of buffalo jerky to keep me fed," he said, congenially.

"Quite an adventure! What about you, ma'am? If I may say so, you've got the sounds of the east on your voice!"

After a minute or two contemplating the table top, Darling looks up at Coraline talking to a man at the bar. He rets up and crosses back to Masterson.

"Well, that idea's a washout. I doubt the man could stay awake for an hour of surgery, much less operate with any precision."

Catching sight od Daniel, he waves him over to join them.

The shaman looked over at Darling, who seemed unwounded as far as he could tell. "You are in need of surgery, Darling?"

Darling looked up at the question. "Who, me? No, Sky Dog, I'm fit as a fiddle. Just trying to get a line on whoever performed the operations on our dead friend last night."

The shaman laughed. "That was not good surgery! Butchery, yes - nur-nur six, ten minutes with an old man knife...the white doctor is finding many little blade marks in the...hollow place, for the shoulder, yes?" Sky Dog waited a moment to hear if such was the case or whether large blades had simply hacked through bone, then glanced to the stairs and back to Darling, gaze serious.

"The woman...Winger? From the room, is her bird-soul returned?"

"Doctor Smith was of the opinion that the amputations were surgically precise, not butchery. He says that Suzy's mind has wandered from shock and he doesn't know how long until it will return, if it ever does."

Sky Dog moved his hand a little away from his body in a shrug. "Perhaps the doctor does not often do a butcher's work," he suggested, uncertain how surgical dismemberment might be finer than a hunter's knowledge of anatomy and disarticulation.

"Did you ask the medicine drunkard if he sent the killing-thing, or saw it go from the room?" he asked with peculiar innocence, then frowned. "Probably her bird-soul has got lost in the shadows of the world...I am not the right kind of shamán, to catch souls, but it is unfair, I think, that she will die if left to herself...have you seen Grandfather Ming today?"

"Ming Chin? That old charlatan!" he said with a laugh. "That man's a hoot. I think I saw him earlier wandering the north side of town. He's raking it in. With all the folks in town for Independence Day, he's been getting steady sales on his trinkets and his phony Chinese medicines. He keeps movin' though, so he could be anywhere. That man doesn't know how to stand still, I think. He's pretty handy in a fight, though. You wouldn't think it of an old man, but I once saw somebody try to start a fight with him. Ming didn't even look like he was fightin', but he managed to give the cowboy that attacked him a thrashin'."

Sky Dog looked at the stranger with the somewhat confused expression of a foreigner trying to navigate accent and idiom at once, then barked that sharp corvine laugh.
"It is well, then, I do not wish to fight him! I will be alert for his direction, thank you. If any person in Dodge will have a soul-trap, it is Ming, I think."

He gave the man half a grin, "I would find him far faster in the taiga, I think - an area the size of this province, it would be less challenge than the settlement!"

"I'm sure you would," said Bat, not really quite understanding what the man was saying. Finishing his beverage, he stood up.

"Well, I thank you for the drink, Mr. Darling. I think it's about time that I get back to makin' my rounds. Take too long off the beat in this town at a time like this and somethin's likely to go wrong." Having bid farewell to the deputies, Masterson took his leave of the Dog Eye.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Sat 04 May 2013.

"You have a good ear, sir," Coraline said to the buffalo hunter.  She smiled thinly.  "New York to be exact.  Passing through this wild land in search of adventure, and perhaps a bit of fortune, like so many others these days.  Quite a change from the big cities back east, as you well know.  Are you in town to enjoy the festivities?"

"Oh, indeed! Though the way things are looking, I might do better to go out and start hunting again. Some people aren't too keen on the festivities, as I'm sure you've noticed!" he said. He shelled out a little coin to pay his tab, and tipped his hat to Coraline.

"I think I'm gonna go to the Alhambra. That's where most of the buffalo hunters hang out, and I need to make a meeting I have with one of them. It was nice to meet you, and I hope that your adventures here in the west turn out to be all that you hoped and more."

The day wound into night, and the deputies found themselves patrolling their corner of the city, which wasn't any easier than it normally was. They broke up a couple of minor fights, including one in which somebody tried to punch Coraline and wound up missing her and winding up in a trough, to the general amusement of those around. Fortunately, nothing got too serious, and nobody got seriously hurt, if a few people did end up giving and taking a few punches.

Things didn't start go get serious till just around midnight, when there was some loud shouting going on out back behind the Dog Eye Saloon. Of course, a crowd thronged up back there. One man was leaned up against an outhouse, loudly vomiting. Whoever it was that beat the man to the privy was nearly as vocal. The hollering only got louder and louder, and took on a nasty tone.

Having accompanied Sky Dog on his rounds and as-yet fruitless hunting for strayed Simpkinses, the raven was well in a mood to seek potential carrion when requested. She left the shaman's shoulder and flew onto the privy roof, observing with curiousity.

Gabby curses at the sounds of commotion, and rushes out to see just what was going on, unslinging his shotgun as he does so.

It took Gabby a good bit of jostlin', pushin' and shovin' and flashing his tin star to get through the crowded area behind the saloon to see what all the fuss was about. What he discovered at the front was the body of Ralphie Simpkins. It took him a moment to recognize the body, because there was a cut diagonally across his face. His throat was slit, and his legs were missing altogether.

Daniel followed quickly in his Uncle's footsteps, and cursed at the sight of a dead body. He had a hard time recognizing the fellow he had seen so recently. His apparent loyalties made Daniel wonder about the reason for the attack - he looked about to see if there were any faces he recognized in the crowd.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Mon 06 May 2013.

Morgan's mood had already become dark long before he heard the commotion behind the Dog Eye. The incident involving Hawthorne had angered him and half convinced him that Dodge was a town full of animals. He was sincerely thankful that it was not his to police on a regular basis. Were he forced to remain here long, he felt certain his temper would eventually get the better of him.

Still, there were decent people here that needed protection.

When he reached the Dog Eye, he pressed into the crowd just enough to get a look at the victim, his heart sinking as he recognized the man's face. Deep down, he wasn't surprised. His brief involvement with the Simpkins brothers had convinced him they were the sorts that would eventually pick a fight with the wrong person and end up getting the worse of it. But he recognized that this would likely throw the Wilderness Riders, and their sympathizers, into a frenzy. One that they would all have to fight to control.

For the moment, he remained on the periphery of the crowd, studying the reactions of the gathered people. Watching for anyone behaving in an unusual fashion, or any hint of violence.

Sky Dog called brief instructions back to his sister's whoops of carrion-finding and bent to the very sick townsman. "Are you first here, mister? Dog Eye will give you water, if you go in, yes?"

He straightened and shouldered across to Gabby, holding his wrist high for Korpi to rejoin him when he was nearer the front. "Which room is it that the medicine drunkard uses, Uncle?" he asked softly, then set to backing folk up. "Please, it is well to move back, there may be still a track here."

The shaman raised his voice somewhat to be heard. "Is there one here who knows his brother?"

"Damn." Gabby says. "Damn, damn, DAMN!"

He was very glad now that he hadn't let Sky Dog go through with his cursing, because in the pit of his heart he knew that would have just made things so much worse than they already were.

He almost doesn't here Sky Dog's question. "Not sure..." he says absently. "Gotta ask McNary..."

He turns to the crowd. "Alright, everybody BACK OFF! This here's a crime scene! That means there might be evidence about the sonofabitch that did this, evidence you might muck up by bein' to close! Back off, everybody! Back off!"

The man who had been sicking up, just nodded aimlessly at Sky Dog's suggestions, and staggered off down the street, spitting. Most people tried to keep clear of him, and as Gabby began to impose law and order on that little back alley, they began in earnest to clear out. At least most of them cleared out. Some of them just backed off a bit, but continued to try to get a look at what was going on.

It was just then that another group of men pushed through the crowd.

"You there!" Gabby shouted at the men coming toward them. "Stop!"

Jake ignored him. "What in the hell is goin' on here? Is it true?" Jake Simpkins shoved his way through the crowd, strolling up to the scene full of piss and vinegar like he usually was and smellin' like liquor to boot. A handful of the other Wilderness Riders, many of whom usually were found in his company, followed in his footsteps. Anybody that didn't step quick enough for them got a shove, unless they were too stout to be shoved or looked too dangerous for it.

He knelt down by the body of his brother, and swore. Soon enough, he stood up again, red in the face. "Alright, which of yer fuckin' bluebelly buddies did this?" He pointed an accusing finger at Gabby.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:17, Mon 06 May 2013.

Meanwhile, on patrol...

"...just think it really might be better for you to serve as... as a nerve center and... and a reserve for us at the saloon," he continues as he and Coraline patrol down Bridge Street making the last round for the night, "That way, you see, we can summon you if your... particular talents are needed.

"You might even be able to get in some poker. Early on at least when things are quieter."

Randolph stops and reaches for her hand, turning her to face him. "If that fool had actually struck you, I probably would have shot him," he says sincerely, "And as for Morgan-- Well, I shudder to think how he might have responded."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:46, Mon 06 May 2013.

"Jake Simpkins, as God is my witness, we all just got here." Gabby says. "We just got here, and every man in this crowd can vouch fer it. We don't know who done it yet, but lookin' at the legs, I'd say the mystery killer, the one you didn't see last night because you were too busy beatin' on a black man, has struck again. Now, I know you're upset. Hell, I know exactly how you feel right now! I know that the rage and pain and misery is just buildin' up inside. I've been there, Jake. I know what it's like to lose family...I know it better than a man ought to." He rests a hand on Jake's shoulder. "I know it, and I swear to you, I swear it right now, that we will find this cocksucker who done this. We will find him and bring him to justice. But we can't do that until we figger out what happened, and if you want to catch your brother's killer, then you need to let us do our jobs. Can you do that, Jake? Can you set aside that pain and rage in you and let us work? I can let you know what the details are one we know 'em, but we need to know 'em first. Can you let us work out what happened, Jake? For your brother's sake?"

Surprisingly, Jake actually listened to Gabby finished talking without doing or saying anything, though at several times the older man probably had an itch tellin' him that Jake was thinking about hitting him in the face, just 'cause. But that never happened. Jake held his tongue, and by the end, he was nodding along as Gabby was talking.

"Alright," he said, simply. "I'll call off the dogs."

"Jake, you can't let Wyatt Earp and his posse o' Yankee lovin' deputies get away with-"

"Earl, how about you just shut the fuck up. Wilderness Riders, let's get outta here. Everybody. Now. Let the deputies do their jobs. And if they haven't done it in a couple days, well, we'll know it's just them coverin' shit up...and then we'll see what's what." There was some muttering when it looked like they weren't going to get their chance to exact retribution for what had just happened, but when Jake promised them a possible future bite at the apple, they seemed to quiet down and start leaving.

"Get him for me, deputy. Get him fast." With that, he turned around and walked away, and the rest of the crowd began to melt away too.

"Before you go..." Gabby says. He knew he was taking an awful risk, but the question had to be asked. He trundled up to Jake, and lowered his voice.

"Before you go, I gotta ask...why was Ralphie hangin' around here in the first place? Do you know? It might be important."

He did look irritated as he turned around, but again, nothing came of it. "Fuckin family can't be helped, I swear. I got motherfuckin' nephews and in-laws fucking all my shit up all the time and it ain't like I can plant 'em in Boot Hill and not hear about it Thanksgivin' time. Honestly, he was probably drinkin' and lookin' for a fight. Ralphie was an idiot, but he was my kin all the same."

Behind them, Sky Dog had straightened from preventing the faithful Clemya from faithfully following Gabby around over the evidence and watched Jake, arms crossed over his chest. Korpi was no longer on his shoulder.

Gabby tips his hat. "Thank you kindly." He says, and heads back to the body.

A suspiciously large-bird-sized movement of black-on-black hop-fluttered away into the shadows of the outhouse in a guilty manner as the deputy approached.

As the crowd dispersed, Morgan approached the body, crouching to get a better look at the dead man.

"That was some amazing work, Gabby, talking Jake Simpkins down the way you did," Morgan said. "You probably just spared this town a world of trouble."

"More like delayed it a little." Gabby said, as he knelt with Caleb. "Mind that eye...our killer didn't do that, that was Sky Dog's sister."

"Or a lot." Daniel nodded his agreement with Caleb's sentiment before turning back to his uncle. "Course like ya said, mebbe we jus' delayed things. They'll simmer a bit 'til we find out who done this. We don' produce the killer, and more bad'll come of it. An' truth be told, I ain't got any kinda good idea 'bout who might it be. Folks're gonna start spreadin' tales, though."

Coraline gave Randolph's hand a friendly squeeze before releasing it.  "Honestly, Mister Darling, you really need to stop coddling me.  I can handle myself very well, thank you."  She wrinkled her nose at him as she smirked.  "Stop trying to protect me.  A person can be shot just as easily while tucked away in a saloon as they can on a busy street."

As they neared the Dog Eye, Coraline took note of the unusually large crowd gathered around back and gestured to Randolph that she wished to investigate.  She paled a little at the gruesome sight of the dead man, missing body parts just like the body they'd found the night before.  "Goodness...," she exclaimed.  Fan in hand, she waved it in front of her, suddenly needing a breeze of fresh air upon her face.  Her attention shifted to the crowd that remained, searching their expressions for signs of recognition or anything out of the ordinary.

Cora might have noticed a flutter of wings and Korpi holding something round, wet and red-smeared white atop the privy before pinning the object against the tiles to pierce it and wolf the pieces down with great relish.

Randolph watches Coraline slip through the crowd with a sense of admiration. He pulls back his jacket so that his badge shows and begins trying to break up the mass of people: "Alright, folks, alright, shows over. Move along now. Let the law gor to work."

He beckons to a familiar face, one of the streetwalkers who frequents the Dog Eye, and asks her to get a blanket or something from McNary to cover the corpse.

Sky Dog watched goings-on a little longer then spoke to Korpi and slipped around the front, leaving the corpse in the other deputies' capable hands (and paws). Entering the saloon, he padded up towards the bar and looked about for Dog Eye, his stance alert.

"Which is the room of the man Mansfield? It may be important I should speak with him."

"Well, if it ain't one thing it's another," he said, making his way over to the scene as the crowd seemed to thin out around them even further, leaving only the law dogs to see what was afoot. He looked at the body and sighed.

"The word's spreading fast. So far, the only thing I'd been able to discern is that Ralphie Simpkins is dead, and that some old man talked Jake Simpkins down from a fight. I assume that's you, Mr. Clarke, and I wanted to congratulate you. If he's not out there sheddin' blood right now, it's to your credit," he said.

"The rest is all mixed up. I heard a rumor that me and my posse of Yankee deputies cornered Ralphie and killed him in an alley. A dozen more rumors too, each more unbelievable than the next. The truth is probably more bizarre. One man loses his head and his arms, another loses his legs."

Hank pointed to the staircase that lead up above. "Probably the first room on your right."

Sky Dog dipped his head in thanks, then went back to the door and leant out of it, apparently to speak Evenki to the porch roof. Satisfied, he paced back across the floor and up the stairs, checking corners as he went.

Sky Dog's fist was ready by the time he was halfway up the stairs, tension settling on his shoulders. He paused and knocked, the learnt gesture a little awkward and the resultant sound sharp and fast, echoed by the rattle of tin beasts on his shirt. "Mansfield? You are awake?"

Outside, Korpi followed Sky Dog's instructions and pushed off from the porch roof, circling around to see if there was a sill to perch on or better yet an open window related to the room indicated.

"Well, I think you kindly for that, Deputy, but I'd rather not had to have talked him down at all." Gabby says as he looks about the scene for clues. "I wish I'd found out more that was useful today, that's for damn sure. I wish more than ever the Agency hadn't spirited Radcliffe away, because I'm gettin' the notion that this fella is stealin' body parts for a purpose. and whatever purpose it is, ain't a one of us gonna like it none."

He sighs. "First a yankee spy, now a fellow rebel rabble-rouser. It ain't political, unless it's someone tryin' to rile up both sides. I'm guessin' that with the way Ralphie's face is all cut up, he saw the killer comin', might have put up a fight. I don't think the body parts is the main reason the killer's doin' this...seems to be an afterthought." He starts reasoning aloud. "Both attacks here at the Dog Eye, and no one heard the back ladder last night, it squeaks all to hell, so it's likely someone who was in here at the time, and might have a room. Goodwin was seen arguin' with Suzy, and Ralphie might have been comin' this way to pick a fight, according to what Jake said. Think this might be some kind o' vigilante type?"

Morgan studied the ground, following a distinct series of tracks back to their source: the Dog Eye saloon. Studying the building for a moment, he motioned the others over.

Pointing at the upper floor, he said, "Have a look. The stairs haven't been lowered, but the door leading to them on the upper floor is wide open. I think that may be where our killer came from. He obviously doesn't have any problems jumping from high places."

He frowned. "I think we need to have another look inside the Dog Eye. If that's where he came from, I suspect he may be a guest, or a worker there." He shook his head. "He could've been hiding right under our noses the whole time."

"Gabby, maybe you, Daniel and I could head up there. Have a look around." He glanced over at Earp. "Deputy Marshal, could you, Mr. Darling, and Miss Hawthorne do a quick canvas? Find out if anyone happened to see someone jump out of that door, or go running through one of these alleyways?"

As he spoke, Morgan's mind was contemplating the missing body parts. A head and arms from the first victim. Legs from the second. He couldn't help thinking of Bob, the dead, stitched together giant that had almost killed them all in the mine. Could someone be collecting pieces to create another monster like Radcliffe's?
This message was last edited by the player at 01:16, Wed 08 May 2013.

"Shit." Gabby says. "Right. I'm right behind ya, Caleb."
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:04, Wed 08 May 2013.

Darling nods to Morgan, thinking that anyone who saw a man make that sort of a leap would likely be blabbing it to anyone who'd listen.

When the whore came out with a tattered and stained blanket, he took it over and threw it across Ralphie's body. He squatted down to take a look at the stumps where legs had been, trying, in the dim light, to see if it was the same neat job.

He certainly felt no sorrow that the Rebel had been a victim. Indeed, he couldn't think of anyone more deserving, other than his brother. He did spare a thought for Walter Jackson's knife, but couldn't feature the boy taking Ralphie one-armed, let alone taking his legs. He also wondered where Wilder, the mad inventor from the train might have gotten to.

Rising, Randolph takes a step to the privy and pounds on the door: "Deputy Marshall. Whoever's in there, come on out."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:43, Wed 08 May 2013.

"You two go on ahead. I'm actually gonna go wake Doc Smith," he said. "I don't wanna wait till tomorrow morning again on this. I think he should look at the body as soon as possible. I'll send word if I can get him, or maybe just send someone over to bring the body, depending on the circumstances. Then I gotta help Bat with a situation he's having. You'll hear from me either way," he said, before walking off, giving Randolph a friendly clap on the back and a chuckle as the reporter ostensibly seems to be using his authority as a deputy to get dibs at the outhouse.

While the others were looking about, Daniel took a closer look at the corpse. He wanted to be certain they didn't miss anything, even though the cause of death seemed obvious.

Getting no response, and hearing no obvious stirring from within, Sky Dog tried the handle.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:14, Wed 08 May 2013.

Once he had taken a closer look at the wounds on the body, Daniel jogged to catch up with his uncle and Caleb. "Uncle, ya said that feller we brought here ain't in the jail no more, right? Radcliffe? Missin' body parts that been sliced so cleanly make me wonder 'zactly who gots 'im right now."

He touched his sword to make certain it was loose in the scabbard. If the fellow that did these killings was a resident of the Dog Eye, Daniel wanted to have easy access to his favorite weapon.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:27, Wed 08 May 2013.

"Radcliffe liked to use the whole bodies." Gabby says. "Besides, I doubt he could have rejiggered his machine this quickly. And I somehow doubt this 'Agency' would let him out on the loose. Even supposin' it was him, you'd think we'd be his targets, given how royally we done fucked his shit up. I think we can rule him out as a suspect for now."

Daniel furrowed his brow at Gabby's response, "That big thing what grabbed at Missus Linkous seemed ta be sewed together, uncle. An' outta diffrnt parts. Includin' horse parts. If that weren't Radcliffe done that, then who?"

Daniel scratched his head a few times, "They mentioned that Hellstromme, right? Though he was more Wilder's pal it seemed. Mebbe twerent the Agency at all what busted him out. Mebbe twere one o' Radcliffe's cronies, actin' like they was Agency."

Morgan listened to Gabby and Daniel as they moved toward the Dog Eye. "Radcliffe went to a lot of trouble to try and kidnap Wilder," he said, "Wilder's research, his ability to create the things that he did, was of great value to Radcliffe. My concern is that Radcliffe wasn't the only one interested in Wilder. It could be that someone else, with similar ambitions, came to this area with the same interest in Wilder's work. Another possibility is that Radcliffe wasn't working alone."

"Maybe it is some of Hellstromme's people. Most of what I know of the man is what I've read in the papers. But I'm certain he would be interested in the processes that Radcliffe and Wilder developed."

He shook his head, a scowl on his face. "Why in hell can't people leave the dead in their graves, where they belong?"

Glancing at Daniel, he said, "Daniel, I'm the one that telegraphed the Agency about Radcliffe. It's a decision I'm regretting more and more, even if it was something I was expected to do as a Marshal. So I'm fairly sure it was the Agency that snatched Radcliffe. Still, it is possible that it was a group of charlatans. That would be a clever way to get a prisoner out of custody, no questions asked."

pm

A man stumbled out of the privy looking less than respectable and definitely a bit embarrassed, not to mention intimidated. "I didn't do nothin!" he protested. In the distance, fireworks could be seen and heard, loud cracking explosions and flashes of light over the town.

---

Inside the Dog Eye, Caleb, Daniel and Gabby encountered Sky Dog trying the handle of a room on the second floor where the rooms were.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:45, Mon 13 May 2013.

Sky Dog raised his voice a little and addressed the closed door in Evenki, lowering his pitch enough to carry in the manner of someone used to slopes lethal with heavy snow. A faint *tonktonk* answered his enquiry.

"The man Mansfield is not here," he told the deputies, as though they'd asked. "My sister sees no moving also, from the window."

Daniel was never entirely sure whether Sky Dog was way ahead or way behind. However, given recent events Daniel felt like he was always asking the same sort of question, though made his voice similar in pitch and volume to the Evenki Shaman. "Who's Mansfield?"

Gabby was also curious as to who Mansfield was...he felt he might have an idea, though. But he wanted to see what Sky Dog was about to say.

Korpi did not catch Daniel's query, as the first salvo of fireworks startled her off the windowsill, the sub-shocks shuddering though her body. The raven half-tumbled, half-flew to the porch roof, trembling. Colours burst across the sky, not in the gentle, static-whispering waves of her homeland, but searing as rifle fire in the night. She sought her brother.

Sky Dog had straightened, trying not to think about the story of Eagle-Before-It-Was and Raven. "The medicine drunkard: it is my thought he did see what happened last night, if he did not send the thing himself. If-" the shaman was interrupted by a ceiling-level disturbance downstairs.

"Kossak! Kossak!"

At once recognising blind terror, Sky Dog stepped to the head of the stairs and held out his arms: the raven more or less hit him in the chest, trusting him to catch her without damaging feathers. Sky Dog frowned, holding his sister.

"Do Sioux attack?" he asked generally, tensed. Mere guns and cavalry had never startled Korpi to such a shivering state before.

Gabby cocked his head to the side, and listened to the fireworks. "Naw, that's just the celebrations." He says. "It's July 4th. A day of celebrating the nation's independence from tyranny. They light off rockets that burst with colorful lights as a reminder o' the war."

He frowned to himself. His own nation was still at war, fighting for it's independence from the North, though it seemed like there would never be an end to this pointless struggle. Gabby wasn't very political. He'd lived most of his life as far away from the struggles as he can, and he had no issue with the idea of freeing people in slavery. But he'd been born in Arkansas, and his formative years were spent growing up in Texas, before his great trip out to California. He was a southerner, and he stood by his nation, even as he'd questioned some of the directions it had gone in.

Shaking his head, he put his mind to the issue at hand. "This room...it's right over where we done found Ralphie's body. I think we oughta get the key. We need to know what's in there."

Randolph pokes a thumb at the badge pinned to his chest. "I'm a deputy. Tell me everything about this dead man here, what you saw, what you know, what you think." His other hand rests on the butt of his revolver.

Sky Dog frowned more deeply, his eyes catching a green dog-glint from the low light as he bent to murmur this information to Korpi. "...they will do this until the noon of the next night?" he asked, clearly a little shaken himself.

Of Mansfield's room, the shaman dipped his head to show deference to the elder before advising against it: "It is better, maybe, to wait until he is returned. If he has the guilt of this, and a helper-spirit he leaves here sings out to him there are men in his room, he will not come back unless maybe he would send the murder-thing."

Sky Dog looked down into the saloon proper. "Also with the rockets I think I should fetch Igor, or turn him out of the settlement...it might be well if some one will come with me, and go to warn the deputies where there are more coloureds that the Wilderness men may wish to...what is it...'string up a nigger' for the dead Simpkins, as he has no kujjai." It seems Sky Dog had learnt a bit about racial interactions walking Jackson home the night before.

As Sky Dog, Gabby, and Daniel spoke, Morgan moved toward the open door which led to the rickety, pull-down stairs. Crouching, he examined the floor, looking for any sign of passage: scuffings from boots or markings in the wood, that might suggest where the individual that had jumped from the second story door had come from.

"Naw, there ain't gonna be that many fireworks. Some right now, and then maybe some when dark falls again, 'cause that's when more people will be out celebratin'. I reckon it'll go on for an hour or two each time." Gabby trails off. "Wait, where are there more coloreds?"

Sky Dog described the area around the place Jackson was lodging in, albeit more by landmarks and physical orientation of thoroughfares than by street names. It was clearly beyond their group's beat. Korpi eventually stopped trying to hide her head between her chest and his and scrabbled onto his shoulder, still too alarmed to be embarrassed.

Downstairs outside the saloon, the man spat on the ground a couple of times before answering. "Well, I ain't never had a strong stomach for this kinda thing. I was just walkin' down this way, takin' a shortcut home and I saw this feller all cut up and missin' his legs! I don't know who dunnit, but...I'm sorry, even talkin' about it makes me wanna sick up." He looked queasy, perhaps about to sick up again.

"Don't get any on me and don't get any on the corpse," Darling warns, before continuing his line of questioning, "What's your name and where are you staying in Dodge? Do you have a job?

"Did you hear anything before you spied the corpse? Any shouts or screams?

"Did you see anyone coming out of the alley or running away from here?

"Did you recognize the dead man when you saw him?"

Coraline began to circulate through the people that were still gathered at the crime scene, questioning several about what they saw and generally looking for anything out of place.  But how could you find a killer that seemed to be able to kill in such grisly ways in public spaces?  And how was their killer disappearing so completely without anyone seeing him?  She thought for a moment about Suzy and wondered if she'd be able to tell them anything if she did regain her wits.  Was there a way Coraline could help her?  She'd have to do some reading.

Daniel looked back and forth between his uncle and Sky Dog, listening to their discussion of where there might be some more folks in danger from the Wilderness Riders. Though there was still the matter at hand. "Didja wanna git that key, uncle? Seems like there could be a clue as ta the fella what done this in there."

Sky Dog glanced over at Daniel. "If you do think Mansfield has some guilt for these, it may be well not to go into his room without that he is also there," the shaman said carefully, scratching and smoothing Korpi's nape as the raven pressed her skull to his behind his ear. "-if he makes one thing faster, stronger than a man and maybe using pieces of a dead one, why may he not make another?"

Sky Dog gestured at the locked door, letting the others work out the connections.

While the others talked, Morgan made his way downstairs, winding his way through the patrons on the lower floor as he sought out McNary. Once he was able to locate the saloon owner, he drew him aside, keeping his voice low.

"Mr. McNary, I assure you I would not ask you this if it wasn't of the greatest importance, but can you tell me the names of the people that are presently renting your rooms upstairs?"

The saloon's owner and namesake looked up at Caleb as he approached, but didn't ponder the matter too long.

"Well, I got six rooms. You already know about three of 'em - that's yourself, Daniel and Gabby. The three more rooms, one's Suzy's - and I'm holdin' it for her at no charge till she gets back. She brings in enough custom to make it worth my while in any case. I hope the poor dear's alright," he said.

"The other two...well, one was that fella...Paul what's his name. The fella that got killed up there when Suzy was with him. And the other one's the drunkard, Mansfield. Fella paid up as soon as he came in, in advance at that, and then drank the rest of his money away."

---

Outside the saloon out back, the man who had just gotten done sicking up answered Darling's questions. "My name's Larry, I'm a carpenter and I'm stayin' at my home. No, no, no, and no. Don't know nothin'. Just walked on up here, saw this fella...I ain't never been good 'round blood and all that."

Morgan frowned, nodding as McNary discussed his renters. Clearing his throat and speaking quietly, he said, "I need to ask you for the key to Mansfield's room. There's been a second murder and it looks like the culprit came from here." He gestured toward the ceiling. "The back door that leads to that rickety staircase is wide open. It looks like someone jumped out of it. Strange as it may sound, Mansfield is the only person that stays on the second floor I haven't been able to account for."

In reply to The Marshal (msg # 182):

"When you saw the dead man, why didn't you call for help or run away?"

"Well, I was pukin' and then a whole crowd had swarmed up. Seemed a little late for that."

"Okay, Larry, be on your way. If you remember anything you think might be helpful, come see Deputy Earp at the Marshall's office." Darling gets the man's last name and address before he goes.

Turning to the blanket-shrouded corpse, he pulls back the covering and looks at the wounds. He pulls the man's revolver from his holster and sniffs at the barrel, then breaks the action open to unload it into his hand.


Rising, he walked over to Coraline, "Do you know whether Dr. Smith has been summoned?"
This message was last edited by the player at 15:58, Fri 17 May 2013.

Daniel nodded at Morgan's assertion, then turned to the proprietor of the establishment. "Do ya s'pose ya can git us inta his room? Might be somethin' worth seein' in there if he's doin' these bad sorta things."
This message was last updated by the GM at 21:00, Fri 17 May 2013.

Coraline shook her head at Randolph.  "I haven't the faintest idea.  Do you think he needs to be?  There's nothing he can do for the dead man except examine him to see if he was murdered by the same culprit.  Perhaps we should just have the body moved to his office and out of sight of... the public."

Gabby waits upstairs with Sky Dog, petting Clementine as she sniffed around the doorway. Clementine barked every time a firework went off...not scared, just excited by the noise. The fireworks were too distant to be much threat to her way of thinking.

The shaman briefly touched three fingers to his forehead in lieu of a third warning, saying only "I advise to bring a blanket - if there is a fast, unmastered thing to catch, it is better than to have it also in the streets, yes?"

With a brief detour to toe shut the outside door, Sky Dog padded downstairs and made for the street. Korpi grabbed his ear and tried to pull him back. "Nyet!"

The shaman turned and silently took her on his wrist and set her on the bar, leaning to her level. A couple of words and some mute reassurance passed between the Siberians before the pale one straightened and paced out into the unquiet night.

In reply to Coraline Hawthorne (msg # 188):

"I thought I heard Morgan say he wanted the doctor to see him before he was moved, in situ, so to speak. One of us should make sure he's on his way, while the other waits here to keep the body in custody. I'll stay, if you want to go, but it's your call."

"I think it better if you stay and keep the peace here.  You have a better grasp of the situation, in my opinion.  I shall go fetch the doctor and will return shortly."  With a wary glance at the blanket covering the body, she threaded through the crowd and headed for the street, hoping that the doctor was actually in his office and not out enjoying the festivities.  Otherwise, it could be hours before they managed to find him.

Hank McNary looked uncertainly at the deputies, and then shrugged. "Well, I can't just give you the keys, but I could come with - just to make sure all's well." He looked about, and aside from a few of the usual barflies the place was pretty well empty. He gave some brief instructions to one of the girls who worked for him waiting tables, and he went upstairs along with a set of keys.

Clementine sniffed at the door hesitantly and barked a little bit, then started barking more.

"Now, you calm down, doggie," he said, bending down to pet the dog and attempt to calm her down for a moment before he straightened himself up again. "Now let's see, which one was it." He pulled out a ring full of keys, and tried a couple of them.

"I can't never remember what key on here does what. I haven't been up in here to make up the fellas room since he got in here. I think..." He turned his key, and it clicked.

Inside, the room is immaculately kept. The bed is sharply made, and the closet doors are cleaned. The rug on the floor is very neat, and everything is generally tidy and well in order.

"Go ahead and look for whatever y'all are lookin' for. Don't know where the fella is, but if there's no cause on it, don't want him comin' back to me givin' y'all the ol' show'n'tell in his room."

Daniel gave Hank a friendly smile and nodded at his instruction. "Unnerstood. We'll try'n be quick as lightnin'." Searching for clues wasn't Daniel's forte, but the room wasn't very big, either. He looked to see if anything jumped out at him as suggesting anything besides what appeared to be an orderly person.

Gabby kneels by Clemetnine.

"Shhh, girl..." he says. "Smellin' somethin' foul? Go find it."

He lets Clementine go and heads into the room to help Danial with his search.

"Korpi," Korpi told the barmaid with great gravitas, looking up at her.

"I appreciate it, Mr. McNary," Morgan said as he stepped inside Mansfield's room. He stepped over to the closet, carefully opening the doors.

Opening the closet, Caleb finds an open steamer trunk that's empty. Hung neatly above are a few shirts - three made of white silk, two of darker colored cotton. All the clothing is in a fairly poor and tattered condition.

Daniel pulled open a drawer on a nearby shelf, finding within it a black doctor's valise. Digging around inside the valise, he found that it was full of what he recognized to be surgeon's tools, and a small black carrying case.

Clementine's nose lead her right to the bed, and she stuck her head under it, working at something. She looked up at Gabby and barked once, sticking her head under the bed and pulling on something that was obviously heavy by the way she held herself. From the part she seemed able to pull out, they could tell it was a carpetbag.

Gabby picked up the carpet bag, trying to get a feel for what might be inside it before he opened it.

Clementine barked once as he picked up the bag. The bag was heavy, even as the older miner lifted it. Not so heavy that he couldn't handle it's weight, but heavy nonetheless.

"EAGH!" Gabby says, dropping the carpet bag onto the bed and wiping his hands on his trousers repeatedly...one might even say obsessively.

"Well, I think we done found our killer." he says after a moment of regaining his composure. He points to the bag. "And that's what he's been carryin' his trophies in!"

Korpi abandoned her efforts to scrounge pickled shallots off the bemused barmaid and went to see what carrion Uncle was calling out about. One good thing about Americans, it seemed, was that they always made a loud noise when they found a corpse.

The raven flew upward, but paused on the newel post to see if anyone below was about to offer competition.

Morgan shook his head, silently angered that Mansfield had been able to commit such mayhem under all of their noses. But how? The man had seemed a hopeless drunk.

But then, how had Wilder and Radcliffe been able to create monsters from dead men?

Turning to McNary, he said, "You need to be certain you alert one of us, or Deputy Marshal Earp, if Mansfield returns. Do not try to detain him yourself."

Hearing Darling yelling for him downstairs, he looked to Daniel and Gabby. "I'll be right back. I didn't see anything of interest in that closet. Just some shabby clothes and an empty trunk."

He went downstairs.

Korpi watched Morgan go, then took off for the room where the men were gathered.

The swift swish of feathers heralded the raven's appearance in the room: avoiding Daniel's shoulder with a slick turn, Korpi landed on the bed. The bounce surprised her a little. "Kop!"

Korpi fluttered up on the end of the carpetbag and looked down at Clementine, then up at Gabby.

Daniel walked over to the bag and frowned at the sight of the carpet bag. He looked at Caleb at his command to McNary. "Well, we got rooms here, too. We can set up a watch in th' saloon fer this fella. Not that we know what he looks like." He watched Caleb leave. "Hank, what does this fella look like?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:44, Wed 22 May 2013.

Hank seemed disturbed by what they found, but like the others, he seemed not to want to look in the bag. "Scraggly lookin' old fella. Paid up all his tab when he came in - about a week ago - probably was afraid he'd drink it all up. He's supposedly waitin' on somebody to wire him some money so he can buy a train ticket out west. You prolly seen 'im in there, all drunk all the time askin' folks to buy him a drink outta kindness. Lotta folks do. Now that I think about it, I ain't never seen him not drunk since the first day he got here."

He looked at the valise Daniel had set down. "What's that you got there?" Taking a look inside, he handed it to Gabby. It's full of surgeons tools
and a small back carrying case.

"Vodka!" Korpi replied to the mention of 'drunk', then tried to fiddle the carpet bag open. Distracted by the intriguing rattle of possible shinies, the raven craned to see, then decided to help the deputies look for the vodka whilst they were raiding this cache and hopped back down on the bed.

She picked up a corner of the untouched pillow and heaved it onto the floor to check underneath. "Vodka!"

Gabby looks at the surgical valise. "You know, I heard him muttering something earlier when Darling was talkin' to him." He runs a finger over the impression of a missing surgical knife. "He said he wanted to drown out the memories o' the war. Then he said somethin' about the attack on Jackson...how he was too drunk to stop it, then he ranted about how it wasn't right he'd done been beat like that..."

He looks up at McNary. "Did Mansfield seem particularly sweet on Suzy?"

He looks back over at Korpi, sitting on the bag. No, he wasn't about to open it up. Not yet.

"Not that I know of. He never had no money for payin' for girls no how. Suzy, she likes to get with them southern boys, but she don't do nothin' for free," he answered.

"Maybe he had a thing for her. Lookin' from afar, that sorta thing. He never said nothin' about it though."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:23, Wed 22 May 2013.

"Did he ever have any arguments with Paul Goodwin, then?"

Hank scratched his beard, thinking about it for a minute. "Well, not an argument, not exactly. So Clayton comes in beggin' for a drink the other day, Mr. Darlin' being so kind buys him one. He tried the same thing a few days ago with Paul, and Paul was pretty damn rude about it."

"How rude is pretty rude?"

Having thown the pillows on the floor and made a fair go of pulling back the blankets to prove there was no alcohol hidden in the bed, Korpi marched back over the covers (with a pause to bounce, just for the novelty) and resumed fiddling with the carpetbag.

"Well, I don't remember what he said, though I think I remember him callin' Mansfield a beggar and somethin' else that sounded nasty. To be fair, Mansfield is kind of a beggar...but still. Ain't no cause to be rude. Just don't buy the man no drink, and do what you do. Still, no cause to be killin' him over it neither."

Gabby nods slowly. "Yup. I'm sensin' a bit of a pattern...do you reckon you know of anyone else what might have given Mansfield cause to dislike 'em? Someone's life might depend on it."

In the background, a short amount of determined fiddling was rewarded with a soft *click* of the bag unlatching. Korpi tilted her head to look inside.

"Kow-WIP!" Korpi whooped, jumping away from the carrion just in case it wasn't properly dead, like the iron devil who'd been so convincingly corpselike at the bar. If the kikituk proved inanimate, well, she'd found those eyeballs first.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:14, Thu 23 May 2013.

"Honestly, I don't think there's anyone else. Plenty of folks done bought him drinks, or they didn't. He generally seemed a pretty peaceable fella, and didn't really take it the wrong way when they said no. Paul was the only one that got rude to him about it or anything else I've seen. Most folks just pity the drunken fool," he said.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Wed 29 May 2013.

After another, smaller, jump-whoop test, Korpi settled on the bag hinge. The heavy beak darted down, coming up with an eyeball trailing a pale, surprisingly undecayed string of optic nerve.

Korpi swallowed it, then paused to aim and speared another, choking it back with great enjoyment...then plucked up a third eyeball, pulling at a stubborn string of flesh.

Gabby nodded. "Well, if you think of anyone..." Then he noticed the bird plucking more eyes than a head usually has.

Uh-oh.

Swallowing hard, he steels up his courage to shoo the bird away and check the actual contents of the bag.

Korpi lifted her hackles a bit, but was soon shoo'd off. Landing on the floor, she tilted her head this way and that, then pattered hastily over to the bedside.

Hoisting the sprawl of disordered bedclothes out of the way like a curtain, Korpi disappeared under the bed.

Daniel tried to give Korpi a soothing pat, then moved over near his uncle to peer at the contents of the bag as well.

As Gabby and Daniel looked at the carpetbag, it split open as what seemed to be a pair of ordinary hands tearing it open. Crawling out, each hand seemed to be stitched to a severed head, some of which were missing eyeballs now. The sounds of more bags ripping open could be heard, and from under the bed emerged heads attached to legs and arms, hands and feet, stitched together expertly, skittering towards Gabby and Daniel.

Gabby shouts in shock, but he already had his gun ready. "McNary!" he called to the shopkeeper as Clementine when howling out of the room. "Run! Get the Marshal!"

He himself backed up to the door. He wanted to close it after Danial got through, but the window was broken. These...things could get outside, and he was sure as shit not going to let them if he could help it.

So he took aim at one of the things and squeezed the trigger...

There was an alarmed "KAWK!" from under the bed, but a few moments later Korpi walked out, following a skittering kikituk. Jumping on it for momentum, she launched herself into the air and perched on the corner of the wardrobe to watch.

Daniel reached for his sword and extracted it from its sheath with lightning speed. He brought it down toward the head of one of the nearby...things and was satisfied with the result.

With a yelp, McNary was out of the room just after Clementine, yelling something that sounded like assent in response to Gabby's suggestion.

The heads that seemed to be walking on the ground on whatever appendage they were attached to skittered towards Gabby and Daniel, jumping and biting at them. One of each jumped up to get a quick bite at each of Daniel's legs, and one of them caught Gabby. One of the others jumped up to the windowsill and unlatched the window, gripping it.

Clementine stops running as the panic passes. She can't just leave the master to those...those things!

She turns, and rushes back to the room, leaping and snapping at the monster that seemed to be the weakest.

Gabby grits his teeth as one of the critters gnaws on his boots, but the one trying to get out held his attention. He focused on the monster, took a deep breath, sighted, and squeezed the trigger, sending buckshot into the tiny demon.

Korpi stopped preening her breastfeathers on top of the wardrobe and watched, wondering why the crazy white men wanted to break up each kikituk individually rather than corraling them into a corner under a blanket and stomping them. She startled a little at the shot, twisting to nip at some stray fragment that had nicked her side.

The raven raked her beak through the base of her feathers a little more. Nothing there, not a drop of blood or fleck of lead...and no longer any pain.
"Yaponsky bog," she cursed.

Korpi flew down to the windowsill, completely ignoring the kikituk, and leant to see whether it had got the window open.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:40, Tue 04 June 2013.

Watching the one at the window drop, Gabby continues taking aim and shooting at the heads around him, trying to thin the herd. His third shot splatters one across the room, but by now the things were getting wise to him, and his last shot is wide, blowing up a lamp rather than the head that he'd been aiming for as it dived away.

"I'm out!" Gabby called to Danial. "Cover me while I reload." he sees blood fly as the boy lays into the things with his sword.

Daniel seemed to be in his element while swinging his sword about, connecting with nothing but heads and gonads. He even occasionally gave it a twirling flourish before slamming it into the head of his next victim, splitting it like a ripe melon.

He gave his uncle the barest of nods, since Daniel was concentrating on all the skittering things, but as requested he slid over to protect his elder kin, the pointy end of his sword leveled at the remaining mini-constructs.

Korpi strangely, and very suddenly stopped fooling around with the window, and turned her attention on the monstrosity forged from the hand and head of a dead man. With a cry, she landed upon it, and began to viciously savage it with her beak, resulting in a sickening display of blood and gore flying about around it till there was little left recognizable of the head that came attached to that hand.

Daniel wrinkled his nose at the mess Korpi made. He would have to either give the bird a bath or remind her brother to do so. Once they were done with these heads, anyway.

Daniel saw the last of the things nearby. He took a step and almost nonchalantly slammed his sword home.

"Izzat th' last of 'em?" He looked about for any more that they had missed, taking a moment to wipe his blade on the alredy messed bedsheets before sliding it back into its scabbard. He looked over at the bird. "That weren't very ladylike, Korpi. Yer gonna need ta wash yer plumage now. Lemme know if ya need a hand."

Korpi flicked a last piece of bloody brain matter to the floor and bent to clean her beak on the windowsill.

Something about the way her shadow moved over the darkened glass behind made it seem that for an instant there was a larger bird behind, or, as she looked up, a crouched figure wearing some kind of feathered headdress. An instant only: with a wink of the gaslight behind the curtain the dark glass showed only mild distortions.

Korpi jumped onto the foot of the bed, shaking her bloodied pinions and settling down to trying to preen off the sticky before she clotted. "Krrk rrk rr rrb..." she grumbled, picking bone shards off her back, then looked up at Dalix. "Saui."

She tilted his head to focus on him. "Saui."

Gabby shudders a bit as the raven goes to work on the heads, but he was glad it was over.

"I reckon most o' these poor devils weren't made here." He says as he bends down to examine them. "Earp would have mentioned other beheadings to us. We gotta stop this guy, Danny."

Daniel smiled at Korpi as she started picking away at some of the remains from the head. He slowly moved toward her and assisted as best he could. "No need ta be sorry, Korpi. We all gotta do what we gotta do, ya know? An sometimes we gotta peck through the skull o' some ill-begotten critter. I jus' hate ta see a purty girl like ya mussed up, s'all."

Daniel focused his eyes on helping clean Korpi, but responded to his uncle. "Yup, we gotta stop whatever bastards are doin' this. I ain't so sure Radcliffe ain't behind it, though. I still gotta sneakin' suspicion we're not done with that fella. Not that it really matters where th'trail ends up. So long as we stop whoever's doin' it." Daniel shrugged as he finished the rest of the cleaning and then glanced at his uncle.

"Radcliffe needed his device to control 'em." Gabby says. "I don't see no ghost rock chips here to receive signals. Also, these things were a bit brighter than Radcliffe's meat puppets. Remember the one goin' for the window? And they hid until we sprung open the carpet bag. Whatever these things are, they're at least as sophisticated as Wilder's fancy hand. Radcliffe's lot weren't bright at all."

Korpi perked at the appearance of sucessful communication and permitted herself to be rubbed down with a sheet. She fluffed and shook herself out before noticing Uncle bending, maybe to look under the bed.

"Nyet vodka," she informed him, and sprang with a single flap to perch on Daniel's shoulder, where she began to carefully preen his hair.

The owner of the saloon wandered back up to the room, first peeking his head around the corner, and then fully stepping into the doorway with a sheepish expression on his face. He had fled in terror at the sight of the things while Gabby and Daniel and even a bird and a dog had stuck around, and he didn't look incredibly proud.

"I tried to find Earp, but he wasn't over there," said Dog Eye. And then added, "Well, god damn," as he surveyed the scene. "What in the hell is this? Hands and heads and feet. Jesus."

"We're tryin' to figger that out, honestly." Gabby says. "We've run across somethin' like this before, but in that case the fella was usin' whole bodies, and wasn't killin' folk to get the parts. But I reckon Mansfield is our killer...all these things was waitin' to jump us. I just can't figger why. Why'd he start this collection in the first place? What's drivin' him to kill?"

"Well, I can't rightly say. Most of the time, he seems like a nice fella.  A drunk, but a nice fella. And then, I just...I just don't know," said McNary, shaking his head in consternation. 

"I suppose crazy murderin' folk don't wear no signs that say 'I'm a crazy murderer!' but you'd at least think you'd be able to get a whiff of it."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 15:17, Tue 18 June 2013.

Daniel frowned at the questions his uncle was asking. "Mebbe like we sorta been hearin', the guy just kills whoever happens ta be annoyin' him? S'pose we gotta be careful usselves now. As deputies, we prolly gotta take our cues from Marshal Earp, once we find 'im, though we could wait here ta see if the fella stayin' in this room ever returns. Not like we don't got rooms of our own here."

There's a lull, and for a moment, the fireworks seemed to have stopped. The moment of quiet is interrupted, however, by the sound of two gunshots. By the sound of it, they're coming from just down the street.

Daniel cursed under his breath and looked to his Uncle and to Korpi. "Sounds like there mebbe summore trouble. But I worry bout leavin' this mess behind. The fella what made these things ain't gonna be happy when he gets back here. And I don't wanna leave trouble fer Mister McNary here."

"Da," Korpi agreed to whatever Dalix had said, since he sounded concerned about the shots. The god, though neither inherently a friend or enemy to wingless beasts, did not dip his beak to free a warrior from the distraction of weak and childlike kikituks without reason. If her ancestor-son had taken an interest, it was important.

She nudged him urgently with the top of her skull as though trying to push him out of the door whilst still standing on his shoulder. "Da. Túda, Dalix."

Of course, what these Americans needed was a shamán, but a shamán's sister would have to do. Korpi glanced back at the window, nervous of the sky-lights' reappearance. She'd told Sky Dog it was dangerous.

"I got a feelin' that the trouble's connected somehow." Gabby says as he reloads his shotgun. He looks up at the barkeep. "I reckon he won't be happy at all, but I can't just sit by when trouble's happenin'. We're still on duty, after all." He racks a shot and whistles for Clementine to follow him as he rushes towards the sound of gunfire.

Daniel frowned briefly at answer, but followed on his uncle's heels. Korpi's urging certainly helped him with that decision. He looked at Hank as he sheathed his sword and got ready to follow his uncle through the door. "Mebbe play dumb er blame us fer this mess if the fella that did this comes back. Don't take no chances."

"Well, I'll just lock this sucker back up and let 'im figure it out for himself," said the saloon keeper, locking up behind them.

"That mess'll have to get cleaned up, and better sooner than later. But I guess it'll wait till you find the fella. Still can't believe it." Shaking his head, he lead the both of them downstairs, but he went back behind the bar and took up a seat. Pulling out a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a half glass full and proceeded to start drinking it.

Soon afterwards, they found themselves on the front steps of the Dog Eye Saloon. The revelers seemed by and large to be removed from the streets, and the fireworks were going on still. A bright plume of red and blue lit up the night as they wandered outside.

Gabby looks in the direction he heard the shots from, trying to guess where the action was.

The member of the group with the most scouting talents was decidedly out of action. She stuck her head down Daniel's collar and pressed up against the side of his head, shivering at the violent cracking of the weird bright invaders of the air and trying not to watch, in case that gave them power to reach out and char feathers. "Nyet nyet nyet..."

Gabby heads east, near the office of Doc Smith. His foot aches a bit from where the critter bit him, but he's had worse wounds in his day. Clementine runs beside him, barking frantically at the fireworks.

Daniel stroked Korpi's feathered head gently a few times as she appeared frightened of the fireworks. "Don't gotta worry so long as ya stay outta the sky. Only too happy ta carry ya 'long." It momentarily struck Daniel that he was having a one way conversation with a bird, but he quickly put it out of his mind. He had already seen things more bizarre, and surely would continue to.

He moved as quickly as he could toward the sound of gunfire, hoping he could be there in time to help whoever it might be that needed it.