This message was last edited by the GM at 14:58, Fri 13 Sept 2013.

Sky Dog grinned at the Marshal as he left, then after him as though about to laugh, but just shook his head, smirking, and continued to make a kind of nest of drying kindling around his tea-fire. A dozen or so small slashes and triangles of angry pink marked the shaman's hands, neck and face, attesting to the speed at which his colourless skin burned at the least touch of sun. The hood, goggles and bandanna that had spared him the worst of it lay loose about his neck, the cloth used to wrap his hands piled near his tiny hearth.

If Sky Dog had cut an alien figure when the posse caught up with him in the baking afternoon, he seemed more human now, contentedly camped downwind of the fire (a Siberian thing, it seemed - even Igor voluntarily bathed in the smoke) and making it clear that the offer of chai was open to all. Twice the shaman had turned up with wood and useful gather before the whites had thought to make a murmur of need, and something from one of his caches of medicine seemed to please the horses very much when added to their rub down, though not everyone trusted the Evenki enough to take up the measure.

Korpi wheeled aside from a game of stick-hunting with Clemya to a hopping stop nearby to see how tea was coming. Sky Dog gave her an estimate and hunted in his bags for raven rations, setting a couple of dozy snakes on the ground as he did so.

Shortly after, Cora found the shaman of a sudden at her elbow.
"Present?" he offered, half-grinning as though amused at himself for even trying to make peace offerings to Hawthorne. A shimmering satin ribbon twined over his fingers, deep green to offset the brown of Cora's eyes and hair.

Cora had taken twice as long as everyone else to get settled around the fire.  Each spot she picked wasn't quite good enough for her.  It was too lumpy or too hard, the smoke was in her face too often, or the grasslands were just too close.  When she finally found the perfect place to sit, she curled up on her blanket, chewing at some of the tough buffalo jerky that the store clerk had sold her.

Sky Dog's sudden appearance startled her and she glared, though her expression softened when she saw the ribbon.  "For me?  That is so very sweet of you."  She wasn't quite sure where the strange shamen had gotten pretty satin ribbon or why he felt the need to gift it to her, but she wasn't going to argue.  Free ribbon was free ribbon, and Cora, like most women her age, loved pretty things.  The shuffling cards in her hands paused so she accept the offering.

The horse and gear had just about emptied Randolph's poke, but he skimped on rations and figured to do without coffee. Thu7s he had five dollars for the hotel manager to hold his trunk until called for.

At first it seemed folly to depart Dodge City so late in the day, but by the time Earp called a halt to make camp, Darling was profoundly glad he wouldn't be in the saddle any longer and that they wouldn't have too far to ride tomorrow. He knew how stiff and sore he would be from several hours in the saddle and a night spent on the hard ground with just a thin blanket and his duster for coverlet.

He smiled to himself as he thought how a younger version of himself would have thought nothing of such exertions back in... back home. He might not be the tinhorn he was taken for out here, but he had to admit he had become a tenderfoot, though it wasn't precisely his feet that were tender tonight.

Sitting around the fire, sipping at Sky Dog's generously offered chai, he grinned watching Coraline accept the Siberian's offered scrap of finery, as pleased at it as she would have been with a new bonnet back East. She was a remarkable young woman, courageous and resilient, not to mention beautiful and smart.

He caught himself beginning to doze and decided it was time to turn in, confident that the experienced frontiersmen would see to it no harm befell the campsite.

"I'll say goodnight to all the company, then. Sky Dog, thanks again for the warm beverage."  He walked a few steps out of the firelight and stretched out on a thin mound of grass he had gathered earlier, blanket beneath hum, duster over him, head resting on his saddle, Stetson tipped over his eyes. Beneath the duster, his hand rested on his stomach, curled around the butt of his Colt.

Clayton sat closer to the fire, though tucked away a bit from the others, and sipping at a cup of the chai that Sky Dog had given him. It might be summer, but night out on the plains could still get a bit brisk. Right now, though, it was just pleasant. Still, it was a good thing to have the tea-like drink there to help with his detoxification. When he could manage it, he had consumed nothing except liquor for the past as far as he could remember it. Since that thing had first taken him over. It would be a long time again before he would be right in mind and body again, though he feared that it might not be till the day he met his maker that his soul would be right again.

Sitting there at the fire, he couldn't help but feel a little out of place among these hard men - and a woman that he suspected belonged more here than did he. He had been in the Confederate Army once upon a time, but he was never much of a fighter. His place had been with books and in the hospital. He hoped that none of these people needed his care during this trip, but he was willing to give it to them and anyone else who needed it. Maybe that would help find redemption.

While some of the others had mess kits out and were fixing something to fill their bellies, Charlie Bassett got out the guitar that he'd brought with him and struck up a chord. He started out with an old camp song that had gained popularity back when the War wasn't as hot any more, when it had started to drag on. It had first gained popularity with soldiers of the Union, but soon enough Confederates had taken to the tune just the same. He played well, and sang clearly in a deep voice.

It didn't take too long before Texas Jack, Masterson, Earp and even Dr. Mansfield added their voices to the chorus, filling the night air with a pleasant, if mournful melody.

"We're tenting tonight on the old camp ground,
Give us a song to cheer
Our weary hearts, a song of home
And friends we love so dear.

Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,
Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts looking for the right
To see the dawn of peace.
Tenting tonight, tenting tonight,
Tenting on the old camp ground.

We're tenting tonight on the old camp-ground,
Thinking of days gone by,
Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand,
And the tear that said, 'Good-bye!'"
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:08, Fri 06 Sept 2013.

Sky Dog nodded slightly to Hawthorne, taking note of the idiom if not understanding it at all, and grinned at Darling before retreating to his own fire and 'hobo samovar'.

The singing got a look like the men were completely mad - Daniel might remember Sky Dog's tale of the band who had woken a mountain - but the shaman did not remark on it, simply settling a little further away. That the whites were apparently quite happy to be eaten alive by mosquitoes was already proof enough, if proof were needed, that iron devils were crazy.

Sky Dog stripped to the waist, tattoos stark as strips of shadow on his white skin, and settled his white bearskin over himself with the skull over his own, cradling his chai and watching the night as though he heard or saw something the others did not. Korpi eventually picked a spot atop Igor's antlers and watched with him until she got the dregs of tea to finish.

Shotgun John smiled at the others' soldierly singing, but toed his newly-cleaned weapon away and concentrated on food.

Gabby hated riding. He liked horses just fine--when they were hitched to a wagon, pulling it along. He was good and minding them when they broke for camp, and good at leading them as he drove. But him? On a horse's back? Utter disaster.

So it was that Gabby had clung entirely too tightly to Danial as the pair rode Jacques across the Kansas plain. And he was first to slip off--none to gracefully--when they halted for the day.

He set about working the kinks out of his legs and back, then went about doing chores around the camp. Once the horses had stopped carrying people, Gabby was much more agreeable to them. He tended to them with Sky Dog, doing rubdowns for the horses that the others wouldn't let Sky Dog near, and set up feed and water. He also groomed down his mule, who'd spent most of the ride carrying belongings (she was a pack mule, after all).

He didn't know the first thing about how to care for an elk, though. He looked at Igor, who looked strange all shaved down as he was, then gave Sky Dog a lost look and shrugged, deciding that Igor would be better off left to the shaman's care. He smiled as Clementine chased sticks with Korpi, and joined in. They played fetch until the sun was well and truly down.

Gabby joined the others by the fire. He joined in the tenting song, then led a round of "Oh Susanna!" and "Camptown Races," songs he'd first heard in the gold fields of California in his youth. Songs he'd once sang to a tiny girl on nights like this.

Dang it! Texas Jack had burned the coffee again. He poured his dented tin mug full and set the pot on a rock beside the fire, moving away to a log where he'd left his plate of beans and bacon, hoping to escape teasing from his chums. He hated being teased.

Earlier he had rejected the drink offered him by that Skydog injun. Naw, he'd said, I don't want any a yer slop. Though he had to admit to himself that it smelled sweet and good.

He shoveled down his grub, drank as much as he could of the bitter brew and slung the rest into the darkness. Then he used sand to scour out his plate, wiped out his mug with a tattered old bandanna he kept for the purpose, wrapped up his spoon in the cloth, and stowed it all in his saddlebags. His hands he wiped on the seat of his britches.

He took out a bottle of sippin' whiskey, had a snort, and passed it to his pard, Charlie Basset, then tucked it into his saddlebags again.

He sat on the log, looking over the bunch Earp had saddled him with -- that white injun of some kind he'd never heard tell of, a tinhorn writer, a barber fer gosh sakes, a drunkard doctor, and a gol-darn woman. Only one seemed any use at all was the old Texan, and he couldn't even ride his own gosh-dang horse! Well, that U.S. Marshall, Morgan, seemed like he knew his business.

He blew out a disgusted breath and got to his feet as that dumbass Charlie pulled out his derned guitar and they all commenced to singing.

"Gotta see a man 'bout a horse," he announced, "I'll take first watch." He stalked off a ways into the darkness and proceeded to wet down some rocks, careful to keep his back to the campfire, in case that woman was peeking.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:27, Fri 06 Sept 2013.

Daniel quite enjoyed the ride out of town. Jacques had been itching to get some exercise, and Daniel was happy to oblige. It felt about like it should. Riding out of town with a posse of legends to do battle with evil. Much of the time Daniel didn't spend talking with others was spent in a state of near bliss - a half-smile always present on his face.

One of his stray thoughts drifted to the fortune-telling Chinaman. He said something about Daniel finding himself in an endless series of scraps. If that was his destiny, then God he was going to ride with eyes wide open into that future. It probably meant pain, but it was nothing compared to what Jesus had endured.

A few times he checked his barbering bag to make certain he had everything he thought he should. Every time, everything was there.

Once they got to the campsite, Daniel made himself as useful as he could and joined in the singing. His uncle seemed to enjoy it greatly, and Daniel appreciated being able to spend this time with Gabby. And though he enjoyed the occasional song, he was most interested in whatever tales Gabby might be willing to share.

Gabby is, indeed, in the mood for stories. "You know, sittin' here around a fire, singin' songs and celebratin' good company...this reminds me o' when I went to California durin' the rush o' '49. There were a dozen of us, I reckon, all settin' out with dreams o' hittin' it big, makin' a fortune, makin' a mark on the world. A man can dream big, out here."

"Big Jake, well, he wanted to see the ocean. He'd heard tell that the Pacific was just the deepest blue you ever did see, and wanted gold to have money to maybe sail across it to Hawaii or China or Australia...he never did settle on one, and I reckon he'd like to see 'em all. He did alright, too...managed to get a bit of a stake and lit out for San Francisco long before the Quake swallowed it, so for all I know he's out there in Australia yet."

"Then there was Johnny Walker, who never did let on what he wanted gold for...he didn't like talkin' bout his past much. I think mebbe he was in debt Back East. He wasn't much o' a miner, though, and last I heard o' him he'd got himself killed tryin' to rob a stage."

"Some o' the folk with us on that trip, they wanted a grubstake to set up businesses. Jeb Williams, Ryan Sanders, Deke...all o' them wanted to open up some business or another. Deke was a wheelwright, and figgered folks out in Cali would need wheels just as bad as folk Back East. Jeb started a bank in 'Frisco with his gold..." he shakes his head. "That was the last I heard o' him, so I reckon the Quake got 'em. And poor Ryan...Ryan wanted to paint, not dig rocks, but he wanted money so he could paint at his leisure. He was good, too...showed me some sketches he'd done, and I can't fault a man for havin' a dream and then workin' to make sure he can pursue it. But Ryan caught the grippe and couldn't shake it, and passed on in '51."

"And then there were those who wanted to lift their family up. We had a few Micks with us, Ronan Lynch and Tommy Sullivan. They said they'd come to America lookin' for work 'cause some kind o' blight rotted all the potatoes in the ground. Sullivan had the sweetest voice you ever did hear...taught me a few Irish songs."

Gabby cleared his throat, then launched into a short song:

"~#Oh, I'm a little beggar and a beggar I have been
For three score or more on the little isle o' green.
I’m known from the Liffey down to Segue
And I’m known by the name of old Johnny Dhu
Of all the trade’s that’s going, I'm sure begging is the best
For when a man is tired, he can sit down and rest
He can beg for his supper, he has nothing else to do
Only cut around the corner with his old rig-a-doo#~"

He grins. "Sure, my voice ain't quite as good as his, but you get the idea. He had a family back in Ireland that he wanted to bring over. Ronan, now, he was tough bastard. I heard he quit the gold fields and moved Back East, then fought in the War, but I wouldn't know what became o' him."

"And then there was me. I was 18 and filled with dreams o' gold, bein' rich and livin' in luxury. Hell, you know the sorts o' thing people do when they think there's easy money to be had. Not that it was ever easy...I did alright for myself, but never hit what you'd call a motherlode. But I did find the greatest treasure of all...settled down with the love of my life and raised the sweetest little girl you ever laid eyes on. Then the damn Quake changed everything..." he sighs. "But I reckon that's a tale for another time."

Shotgun listened half-distractedly, his attention roving the camp's perimiter with a wary restlesness. The deer and the bird in its antlers kept drawing his eye, as did the shaman's fur-cloaked form.

Collins frowned and took pity on the youth: he was probably way over there because he assumed no-one would want company of a savage, and had taken Texas Jack's curt manner to heart. The boy wasn't to know Texas was always bellyachin' about something...poor Injun was probably simple, too. All white like that, stood to reason there'd be something wrong with his head as well. "Hey! Hey, Chalky!"

The Injun took a moment to realise he was being hailed and looked round, expression quizzical. "That's a fine big bearskin you got there - kill it yourself?"

Sky Dog looked back some moments, then got up and padded over, settling cross-legged nearer the Americans. "I admit it," he said, serious. He indicated the liquor that was going around and on recieving it made the fire a belated offering, handing the bottle back.

"We were starving on the coast of Alaska," Sky Dog said, his gaze meeting Collins' then roving over the others, pale fingers gesturing as though to wind a string of telling around the listeners. "I was carrying my sister in my shirt and leading Igor, my kujjai, for that they were too weak to fly far or for to carry me...our pack-beast we had lost to wolves before we got on the ice, and the snowstorming had driven us south, so we did not see the markers of the Seal People to guide us. It was bare country we came to, and myself, for the first time I was lost - a place I had never migrated to before, or been visiting."

"So. We are trying to get properly onto the land, but there are cliffs. Beside us, the little ice, not yet so far out to sea, and the sky is grey with the light going as the sun hides for the winter - only a little each day, yes? Then the grey is moonlight on the snowclouds. We try to dig for seaweed. I am feverish with hunger. It is some days like that, then, on the cliffs, the forest's-favoured." He tugged at the skin of the bear by his shoulder, unwilling to say the word, then rolled to a crouch and lifted the still-furred jaw from about his neck to meet the rest of the skull it was hinged to, mimicking the animal's looking back and forth with considerable artistry. When the 'bear' looks down, the shaman looks up, pushing back the skull, and settles.

"I see him, and I know we are kin - kin in whiteness, yes, but also in power, and hunger. He sees me and knows this also: he says to me 'I will eat you, brother'," the voice that passed the shaman's lips was entirely unlike his own: a deep, breathy grating. "-he says to me. I laugh - well I am feverish - and I tell him 'no, I will eat you first!' Me, down on the beach and himself up there and much stronger than myself who has no gun, it makes him also to laughing...and so and along we go - he paces and I pace, and our bellies empty-" Sky Dog demonstrated the rolling gait of a bear pacing a tiring reindeer and a young man slogging along an icy shore, his hands tucked into the bear paws, bear skull low and eager, back and forth, back and forth. "-all the day, and I hardly dare to sleep, but when the night is black for a few hours we must, or break our legs in pieces." He shuddered, remembering.

"On waking in the grey-light, he is gone. I am afraid he has found a way to climb down behind us and beg my sister to fly high and seek for him, and send my helper-spirits also. So I find he is crossing the land we are on, that goes out into the sea; straight over, he is going, singing his hunting-song, and he will come to a bay he can come down on the beach, and eat us." Sky Dog shrugged.

"He is powerful: he is a honey-paw, a most-beloved...but I am a shamán, and I have skill to match his singing, though I am weak from many days without food. He does not think it. I sing strength to my steed's sinews, I sing warmth to my own heartstrings - like the reindeer I am running, and I pass the ground below me - like the little green-bird flying, like the wind across the birches, I sing this to my running. Igor falls, he is too tired, but we are close enough where the fur-clad will come, and I have dreamt what must be done."

"I leave Korpi with my reindeer, I take my knife and all my fishooks - all my needles and my flint-sharps, all my tacks and nails of iron...my small things for the trading, all the harpoon-tips and tin-lids...and I climb to the top of the cliffs and make snowballs." He paused until people stopped laughing.

"In the snowballs are my fishooks, all my bone-sherds, flint and splinters...I go and piss among the trees, so the great-paw he will smell me - smell me hot and living, as though I speak a challenge...then I take up my young-man-knife," he indicated his heavy blade, "-and cut my right palm bleeding. I leave the snowballs, holding them a time in my hand until they are red on the white plain of the grey world - leave them some here, some there...and yes, he comes to eat the fresh-blood snowballs, the forest most-beloved, very soon he comes to eat them and at the last I am throwing them to him."

"He does not understand why his belly hurts him, why his throat is getting sorer - puts it down to hunger, yes, hunger and the sharp frost coming - and I sing to the bone sherds, to the tin-lids and the fishooks, sing to them to find me, that have my blood and onnir," Sky Dog made a clawed pulling gesture as though hauling points through bear flesh. "Then he feels that he is injured, bleeding before and behind, and he roars, with the spittle, yes? Very red with his own bleeding: 'Brother! Bond-twister, you have tricked me!'" Sky Dog rose somewhat, making it easy for the imagination to picture the hanging skin as full of huge and angry bear, the swinging jawbone snapping in blind, furious agony. Then he straightened, a man again, himself, bargaining on an Alaskan clifftop:

"I tell him 'I cannot fight you; it is not well to come at me, it is below you to do so, God's-beloved.' Thus I warn him, but the honey-eater is angry, very angry, yes? He runs at me. I jump for the branches that are hanging, and he goes over." He shucked the bearskin in lieu of description: a blurred fall of heavy white fur, a splayed pile of once-animal, broken. "I go down to him, yes, down though I am aching all over, and he also is still alive, so I stick my knife in under his ear and cut his poor throat, and drink his blood and much onnir with it."

Sky Dog paused, unconsciously licking his teeth, then took on the bear's voice again, this time in a whisper: "'This is a sin,' the great-paw gives me to know with his eyes, as his bird-soul crouches to fly out. I say 'I will not deny it, if they ask me. I will tell your dying, brother, and if I am ever a bear, and yourself a man, you may do this thing to me.'"

"And he dies, and I eat his liver and skin him, and cut him in pieces, and all the little pieces for Korpi also...but Igor is still tired, and winter without light is coming, and I do not know that without him I will not die...so whilst I am still very full with the bear's onnir and his body, I take off my man's clothes - Ha! It is starting to...blizzard, you say? Yes, and put the clothes and the meat onto Igor, and Korpi with them, and make a harness of the rope-" he gestured over at Igor, who had indeed worn a rope during the day. "-then I cut as to skin myself, put the most-beloved's skin over my skin and his shape over my shape...so I am as he was, and take my reindeer and my sister on my back and with my nose, I find a band of Yupiq. It is not easy! I think one more day running, or to be in the blizzard as a man, it would have ended me. But I came there, and became again a man - as they fed Igor, I went to sleep!"

Sky Dog grinned again, wrapping himself in his bearskin as though it were an ordinary blanket. "I do not know how many days I was sleeping, for it was the Long Night when I awoke, but the first thing I told to the people was the death of the honey-eater, as you have heard it."

He stretched, still alert to the night. "I have kept my promise."

Coraline stared at Sky Dog after his story ended, trying to make sense of everything that he'd said.  "To clarify, you are saying that you killed a bear by feeding it shard-laced snowballs and tricking it into falling off a cliff?  And then stuck it in the ear with your knife, slit its throat, and drank its blood?"  She blinked, mouth slightly open in disbelief.  She was more than a little impressed at his ingenuity, but it did nothing to disprove the perceived insanity.

"Isn't that what one is supposed to do when one is set upon by a bear?" Masterson couldn't help but grin.  "I've had one or two try to sneak up on me, but had firepower to back me up.  Known a few injuns that have killed bears with knives, but none that killed one quite like that.  What do you think you would have done, missy?"

Coraline shrugged in noncommittal fashion.  "I wouldn't have become bear food, that's for certain.  I have one or two tricks up my sleeve for such occasions."  Her gaze dropped to the cards in her hands as she shuffled them.

"Oh, I just bet you do."  The man's smile widened.  "I've known plenty of ladies from New York and Boston, though very few that have a passion for cards and gambling.  Done quite a bit of gambling myself, legal and otherwise."  Adjusting his bowler hat with one finger, he watched her shuffle with keen interest.  "Which begs the question -- what's a lady like you doing with this pack of oddly-matched fellows?"

"That's my business," Coraline replied archly.

"I'd say it is our business as well since we're the ones that have to put up with you."  His smile was a clear indication that he was teasing, and he only grinned wider when she glared at him.  "Shouldn't a woman your age be at home raising babies and not tramping about the frontier without a husband?"

"Why is it that every man I meet seems to think he knows what is best for me?  You do not even know me, sir.  I choose to be unmarried, and will remain so until I meet a man I truly and deeply love.  If my mother is content to respect my decision, then it should be nothing to you."

"No one has ever asked you, hmm?"

"That is entirely beside the point," she said sharply, though not without blushing.  Her eyes flitted briefly to where Randolph had retreated for the evening and returned to her cards rather quickly.  "I have been acquainted with many gentleman of good standing, from respectable families, and am rather fond of one in particular.  He's from France.  You wouldn't know him," she added rather quickly.  Too quickly.

Masterson laughed and went back to drinking Sky Dog's brand of tea.

Randolph gets to his feet, discarding the duster he was using as a coverlet, and advanced to the edge of the firelight. "I knew a Frenchman once," he begins, "Probably not the same one as had Miss Hawthorne's acquaintance. (He gives her a bow and a smile.) And I've always enjoyed the story he told of his first night in the wilds of New York City."

With that he whistles a few notes and commences to sing http://ia600304.us.archive.org...ATripToChinatown.mp3 in a pleasant, if somewhat unsteady' tenor, busking a few steps with each refrain:

"Oh! the night that I struck New York,
I went out for a quiet walk;
Folks who are "on to" the city say,
Better by far that I took Broadway;
But I was out to enjoy the sights,
There was the Bow'ry ablaze with lights;
I had one of the devil's own nights!
I'll never go there anymore.

"The Bow'ry, the Bow'ry! They say such things,
And they do strange things On the Bow'ry! The Bow'ry!
I'll never go there anymore!

"I had walk'd but a block or two,
When up came a fellow, and me he knew;
Then a policeman came walking by,
Chased him away, and I asked him why.
"Wasn't he pulling your leg?," said he.
Said I, "He never laid hands on me!"
"Get off the Bow'ry, you Yap!," said he.
I'll never go there anymore.

"I went into a barbershop,
He talk'd till I thought that he'd never stop;
I: "Cut it short," he misunderstood,
Clipp'd down my hair just as close as he could.
He shaved with a razor that scratched like a pin,
Took off my whiskers and most of my chin;
That was the worst scrape I'd ever been in.
I'll never go there anymore.

"I struck a place that they called a "dive,"
I was in luck to get out alive;
When the policeman heard of my woes,
Saw my black eye and my batter'd nose,
"You've been held up!" said the copper fly.
"No, sir! But I've been knock'd down," said I;
Then he laugh'd, tho' I could not see why!
I'll never go there anymore!

"The Bow'ry, the Bow'ry! They say such things,
And they do strange things On the Bow'ry! The Bow'ry!
I'll never go there anymore!"

He claps his hat to his belly in a deep bow and returns to his rough bed (leaving the party with no clue about himself).

Korpi reappeared in the firelight, disturbed by the noise. Landing on Sky Dog's shoulder, she watched the end of Darling's sudden performance and his equally abrupt return to recumberence.

"Vodka," she pronounced. Her brother made a brief hand-away-from-self shrug and grinned at Masterson, half in bemusement.

Daniel looked from face to face as they each told their story. He was not surprised when his Uncle led off, but was pleasantly surprised by what followed from the others. When Randolph's song died down, Daniel watched him disappear and then cleared his own throat.

"Well, I ain't been 'round so much as muh uncle. But I picked up a story or two here'n'there. Mostly from paw. He told me a story of a fella, musta been one o' our ancestors from over th'ocean what owned both a horse and a dog. Fella named Alfred." Daniel waved a hand in a generally easterly direction to indicate which ocean he referenced.

"The horse Alfred got was named Jock. But he weren't no great ridin' horse like the fine fella that Gabby and I rode here on. He were more a draft horse, pullin' plows an' wagons an' the like. Well, ol' Alfred also had a fine dog, too. We'll call her Clementine as I can't remember what paw called 'er. Anyhoo, Jock and Clementine lived far diff'rnt lives. Jock lived in the stable an' did lotsa hard work. He was fed well 'nuff, and always had water an hay. Whatever he needed."

"But that Clementine was a real beauty. Weren't no sheepdog, neither, Alfred just kept her cuz he liked how she looked and she entertained his children. Clementine was also purty smart, sides jus' bein' purty." Daniel's gaze rested briefly on Cora, then found his uncle's trusty dog. "She could do all sorta tricks and whatnot. An' Alfred and his family sure did love that dog. They give her food and attention all the time. Prolly even got her hair cut at a barber." Daniel smiled briefly before he continued.

"So Jock found hisself workin' real hard, an wondered why he gotta work so hard an Clementine jus' gotta relax and get pet an eat an sleep. So that horse thinks he knows why. He's a purty smart horse, sides bein' so strong. So that Jock decided ta break outta the stable. Not that he wanted ta make a mess or nuthin. But he did so. Anyway, he broke out and galloped straight inta th'house." Daniel looked over in the direction of his own horse, obviously hoping Jacques didn't get any funny ideas.

"Once there, Jock decided ta jump about and act frisky like the dog usually did. Unfortunately he smashed a lotta the stuff on the table an' the table itself. He then decided ta lick Alfred right on the kisser. Scared the piss right outta Alfred, he did. That horse then decided ta do some tricks like the dog done. Standin' on his hind legs an' such. Only he fell down an' broke some more of the missus' good things. Eventually, after a lotta broken stuff an' a few hurt folk, they got some neighbors ta help get the horse back in th' stable."

Daniel shrugged. "After he healed up, th' horse seemed content with his lot in life an behaved like a horsey angel ever after."

Some part of the night passed with the sweet sound of music, songs loud and quiet, drifting out into the vast emptiness of Kansas, the only light in the sky given by the glowing full moon and the  twinkling stars that the city slickers among them would notice as seeming much brighter in the night. Stories were told and enjoyed, and the group of men - and the woman - got to know each other that much the better, and in the presence of good company and a warm fire the danger they sought to chase down now seemed further away than it had when they began their journey, though they had in truth come much closer.

Jack, on watch, peers into the darkness, "Look alive, camp!" he calls softly, "Riders comin' and faster'n they ought in the dark."

He draws his Colts and hunkers down behind whatever cover is between him and the sound.

Gabby cursed at the warning, and rushed over to Bessie and his saddle bags, where his shotgun. Clementine barked and followed along, not quite sure what had prompted the movement but feeling limber enough for a little happy run.

Wyatt Earp also went for his rifle, and made sure his Buntline Special was handy.

Korpi took her head from under her wing with a growling note of irritation. "Kaaauuuuurrr..." The firelight shone a red flicker over her feathers as she hopped up onto her brother's head.

Sky Dog rose, frowning and murmuring a single word to the raven. The trails of cloud fingering the bright oval of moon rendered the flat Kansas landscape a depthless, impenetrable blank to vision reliant on contrast. The shaman made an attempt to catch Hawthorne or Darling's attention with a gesture as the whites scattered in all directions.

"I cannot see them - who comes here?"

Shotgun just took up his good clean namesake and moved away from the fire. He hunkered down far enough forward to help his eyes adjust and waited.

Though a bit sullen from the teasing, Coraline perked at the faint sound of hoof-beats.  Her head swiveled toward the darkness and she rose, one hand pressed against the flat of her stomach as she moved beyond the fire.  "I hear at least three, perhaps even four."  She threw a glance of warning at the others.  "They are heading directly toward us."  Slowly and quietly, she slid her fan from her sleeve and began to wave it in front of her face.

Though he didn't hear anything particular, Bat rose along with the rest of them, one hand on his pistol.

Charlie had tipped his hat over his eyes and was dozing a bit when the alarm went up. At first he gave Texas Jack a look like he was trying to yank Charlie's chain, but when other folk started going for their shooting irons, Charlie slowly followed suit, still wondering if it might be a practical joke.

Daniel heard the hoofbeats off in the distance heading toward them, and like some of the others he stood and face in the direction from which they approached. "Mebbe jus' some travlers lookin' ta share our fire? Safety in numbers an'all?" Daniel didn't believe that was the case though, and loosed his sword from its scabbard, relishing the weight of it in his hand. He moved away from the fire to make it more difficult for anyone approaching to see him, and to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

As the others begin moving around and making noise, Randolph wakes, lying still while he gathers the gist of the situation. He throws off his blanket and rises to a crouch, reaching under his saddle for the Gatling pistol stashed there.

Adjusting the pistol sling over his shoulder, Randolph looks about. Since it seems there are plenty of guns moving in the direction of the hoof beats, he turns his back to the fire and steps around to the other side of the tree under which he had been sleeping.

He presses his back against the tree, certain that the shadow cast by the fire will conceal him from watchers in front of him. Provided they have normal eyes, that is.

"They're ridin' hard. At night." Gabby says to Danial. "That ain't ever a good sign, no matter how it shakes out. I'm hopin' it's Marshal Morgan with some news, but if it is, he's still ridin' mighty fast."

The skin-wrapped shaman stooped for his riding-pole to make his profession more apparent and rested his hand on his hilt, looking in the direction Hawthorne had heard riders. Korpi took to the air as he straightened, flapping heavily into the fire's updraught for height.

The sounds of the pounding hoof beats grow louder and louder, until they should be right on top of them, but still no riders appeared. The night was well covered by the full moon up ahead, and the light that the campfire gave them besides, so it wasn't that those hoof beats were coming from far into the dark. Listening closely, they seemed to come from around them, as if there were mounted men riding in a circle around them, the lack of a visible appearance giving them an eerie and horrible sound. Off to the side, where they had found a lone copse of trees and tied down the horses and the mule, it was quite clear that the animals were becoming spooked.

This message was last edited by the GM at 13:06, Thu 03 Oct 2013.

Holy Hell... Gabby thought at the sight of the headless riders. He'd been expecting to fight dead men much like they'd faced in the past. Aim for the head, take 'em down. He hadn't quite expected this. He wasn't sure what a shotgun would even do to one of the riders.

So he aimed for the nearest horse instead. They were better targets at the moment anyhow, all rearing like that.

The horseman had his beast rear at just the right time. Where that shotgun blast would have put a big hole in the animal's torso, the mount managed to survive the attempt on its life, though it's rider looked none too pleased. Daniel's sword dug deep into the rider, the end of a cruel blow, but if it fazed the rider one bit he didn't show it. Instead, one facing Daniel holstered his pistol and the other two holstered their sabers, producing with seeming spontaneity pumpkin heads that glowed from within, which began to make vicious faces at those who stood before them. The faces would change as if the things were recarving themselves, making generic leering and angry faces, but sometimes twisted and cruel mimicry of the faces of their lost loved ones, as if the headless riders could see tragedy deep into their souls.

Realizing at last that it wasn't a joke, Charlie squeezed a couple rounds out of his Winchester, targeting the demonic horses. He was man enough to keep his bowels and bladder in check, at least for now.

Coraline was visibly shaken at the sight of the headless riders.  Her mouth opened in shock as she gazed at the horrible creatures that surrounded them, unable to think clearly for several moments.  One hand pressed against her quivering stomach as she staggered backward toward the fire, trying to remain as close to it as possible without being burned.

The gunslinger had come up with his rifle at the ready and, after only a brief moment of surprise, wasted little time in firing at the demonic beasts.  He targeted the nearest rider, butting his rifle against his shoulder as he aimed and fired, blasting at the thing's guts.

Randolph stands stock-still, only his head moving as he looks from one monstrous apparition to another. This isn't mad science or humans twisted by weird forces, this is truly supernatural! He just isn't prepared for this.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:26, Fri 11 Oct 2013.

Sky Dog had been bent over clutching his ears at the squealing; he straightened, a smirk at the spirits quickly becoming a nasty shine of teeth at the sight of the images waved at him. His glance flicked to Hawthorne, taking note of her movement, then back to their visitors.

Feathers flickered across the vision of the horse nearer Earp, but Korpi's nerve was a little shaken. Spirits with more or less than the total of limbs they should have were nothing new to a shaman's sister, but riders bearing flaming anything were always bad news.

She fluttered aside and up as Igor bolted away from the light, wheeling back into the sky. Risking her wings without picking a target would achieve nothing here.

Shotgun stayed crouched, not entirely voluntarily. He swore under his breath and tried brushing his left hand dry on his thigh, cursing the sudden tremor in his fingers.

Shaking free of his fear at last, Randolph brings up his Gatling pistol and loses a burst of bullets at the westernmost Rider.

Silent and stern-faced as he was, the colour in the shaman's cheeks and the tension in his body showed his quiet fury rising like a heat-shimmer lifts from the ground.

"Iron ghosts," he addressed the same, striding towards the one not distracted by bullets "If you had made your howlings and rattled your sabres only there was place by the fire for you. But you would disrespect a dead shamán? Seek to frighten those I am migrating with?"

Sky Dog struck the nose of the ghost-steed as it tried to bite, not looking at it, attention on the rider's chest. Privately, he opened his soul to the blue-black god, felt the Laughing One's attention slide to focus on him like steel over flesh. These have frightened my sister, ancestor-nephew. Let us teach them good conduct. Korpi glided overhead. Sky Dog felt the power come, gripped it, laughed.

"Ha! Perhaps I should not speak to you, Small One. Ha! Ha! You would answer in farting, maybe?" The last word trailed into a snarl. Grabbing the rein of the horse now urgently trying to rear away, Sky Dog struck out at the spirit with his riding-pole.

Korpi issued forth a caw that cracked into the night like a whip, casting aside even the sound of the bullets bursting from the reporter's Gatling, which seemed to harmlessly bury themselves in the rider.

As the shaman strode forward and cast out his riding pole, the headless being on the horse seemed to recoil as if the Sky Dog had struck him a grievous blow. The form on that rider slumped over in its saddle for a moment, then falling off the horse onto ground where it lay motionless.

Daniel had never felt even a glimmer of fear, at least not in the years since he had learned to call upon the power of the Lord's embrace to steel himself against it. His movement toward the thing was tentative at best, and his swing was both lackluster and low.  His blade may have sliced into the thing's leg, but it was difficult to tell if it had any effect one way or the other. Daniel growled in frustration and punched himself in the thigh in punishment for his lack of concentration and focus.

He placed his hand back on the hilt of his sword and waited for the creature to make some sort of move.

Now not only headless, but horseless and wounded, the rider that had been bitten by Daniel's blade stood warily, defensive in posture and if there were eyes on the thing they would be focused solidly on the youth. Dark, thick blood oozed from the leg wound - the very blood that now stained the young warrior's weapon - but the creature's movements seemed unhampered by it. While the barber had likely encountered desperadoes in the past who were unaccustomed to fighting with a blade at close quarters, Daniel could discern that his current foeman moved with the poise and grace of one trained to the weapon as he himself had been.

It didn't strike back with blade, at least not for the moment, instead throwing the jack o'lantern with its leering and menacing face. As soon as it struck the ground near Daniel's feet, it exploded bursting into flames. At the same time, almost at the same instant, the same happened as another jack o'lantern was hurled to the ground near the feet of Coraline and Bat.

Jack moved deliberately toward the unhorsed rider to back Daniel's play. With each step he fired a shot from one of the Peacemakers clenched in his fists.

Daniel had been wary of the pumpkin being brandished by the spectral horsemen, and wasn't entirely surprised when it was hurled at his feet. By the grace of God, Daniel skipped aside at just the right moment, as if someone told him when and where the strike would occur.

The explosion of flames blanketed parts of the ground, but whether on account of pure dumb luck, quick reflexes or divine inspiration, Daniel managed to steer well clear of it. As he moved, he gave Texas Jack the opportunity he needed to line up the perfect shot, plugging down the one that had just thrown the pumpkin.

Just as Bat was about to fire at one of the ungodly creatures, he was forced to throw himself to the side, hoping to escape the fiery bits of pumpkin head that exploded at his feet.

Cora wasn't as lucky as the gunslinger.  Reaching through to the other side, she grabbed a particularly weak manitou that was absolutely no help.  She flung her arms up to shield her face and tried to turn from the exploding pumpkin.

Wyatt Earp had gotten over the shock and drawn his Buntline special. He sighted along the long barrel at the last remaining horseman, and squeezed the trigger twice.\

{{CRACK! CRACK!}}

As he often did, Wyatt Earp struck true, at least with one of the shots. It struck the horseman, burying itself in its gut, letting black blood ooze out of that wound into the night. To any that was close enough to see, that blood seemed to cease it's leaking, turning into a column of smoke that rushed back into the wound, sealing it up as if it had never been, and the lone horseman issued a cruel and mocking laugh at the veteran lawman.

Charlie walked a bit cloesr to the remaing assailant and raised his rifle to his shoulder as he stopped. He aimed for the center of the thing's mass and let loose a cylinder of lead meant to stop its progress. He couldn't see if he grazed it or missed, but he only briefly picked his head up before returning to his normal firing position.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:01, Fri 27 Dec 2013.

Charlie Basset's shot struck home, hitting the rider dead on. It was a shot that might have killed a man dead on, especially considering all the other bullets the horseman had taken, but as with Earp's shot before, it didn't seem to halt or hinder him much, though Charlie might have gotten the eerie feeling that if the rider had a head, it would have been pointed straight at him.

Seeing as lead seemed to do little to the headless men, Collins rose, paced forwards twice, and squeezed off a steady if unsporting shot at the demon's mount. The pale heathen seemed to be calling something about cold iron behind him, but any detail was lost under the roar of shot.

Texas Jack steps up beside his compadres and lets loose with a shot from each Peacemaker at the monstrosity.

It might have been that cold iron would have done the trick, but Shotgun John Collins did just as much with the twin barrels of his firearm, blowing the horse's head off and sending its rider scrambling as the body collapsed from under him.

The headless rider nimbly alighted, but not long after was plugged hard by Texas Jack, and seemed now off balance and out of sorts as it worked to ready its own weapon.

Gabby lined a sight on the remaining rider, horseless and scrambling for its weapons. He scowled. No time to aim up a proper shot--it was all he could do to keep his hands steady as he raised his shotgun again. He wasn't sure if he could hurt the thing...Earp and Basset had already blasted the thing with no effect. But maybe he could stun the damn creature while Sky Dog did whatever he'd done to make the other collapse.

He lined up his shot. "This is fer Clementine, you son of a bitch." He whispered. Then he squeezed the trigger.

{{BLAM!!}}

With a furious final shot from the old miner, the gutshot horsemen hobbled for one last moment before it collapsed to the ground as well, it's now twice dead body joining those of the others already on the ground.

The next moment seemed a perfect silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire in the center where it seemed ages ago they had been sharing stories from old times and singing songs before their peace on the prairie had been interrupted by those three spectres that came to trouble them with fear and violence.

The cowardly doctor climbed down out of his tree or wherever he'd been hiding, and scrambled to his medical bags. "Is anybody hurt?"

Sky Dog shoved the demon horse's head lower, baulking its attempts to shake loose and get away.

"It is well to be cautious, yes? That one may be hiding himself, just leaving what he was wearing. Mansfield, do you take your lesson here?" the shaman's tone had a slight edge to it - the whole encounter seemed to have sparked the shaman's quiet anger rather than any fear.

"Dalix!" Korpi warned Daniel, coming to alight heavily on his shoulder and check him over for injuries, more excited than ruffled.

Collins spat with deliberation. "What. The Sam Hill," he said, staring with narrowed eyes at the ghoulish things sprawled out round the camp.

He looked over at Miss Hawthorne, who seemed shaken. "You all right ma'am?"

Mansfield stared at Sky Dog, uncomprehending, and licked his lips. He looked a little pale, and as always seemed hesitant around the strange Siberian. "Uh...lesson? I'm afraid I don't take your meaning."

The Evenki youth gestured down at a rider corpse with his pole, apparently intending for Mansfield to learn by observation what acts the angry ghosts of the once-beheaded might wreak rather than elucidating.

He half-led, half-dragged the vast black stallion across to the trees away from the other horses, the animal skittering and rolling its eyes as though simultaneously terrified of the shaman and powerless against his mild pulling on the bridle. Sky Dog spoke to it in Evenki, passed a hand over its nose in a curious gesture and hitched it, continuing to speak in a low tone until the beast calmed and stood at rest, shivering slightly.

"Do we shift our camp some paces?" he asked, glancing at Earp as he set down his riding-pole and bearskin, seeking in his bags. He came up with his 'young man knife' a dust-scoured glimmer along his right forearm, the sack of salt curled in his free hand, and walked over to his tea fire.

"The little wolves will want these-" he nodded at the various corpses, crouching to scoop the pulped mass of tea leaves out of the zavarka can with his knife and squeezing them mostly dry, salt on the ground beside him.  "-I do not think they will come among us as we sleep, perhaps, but my kujjai will not return close to here if we are ringed about with hungry ones."

The half-naked shaman came over and offered the soggy mass of tea leaves to Cora, nodding down at her obviously-burned arm in case she had any strange foreign ideas as to their usage.

Earp frowns and nudges the corpses with his toes.

"Hmm." he mutters as he mulls over the strange shaman's words. Finally, he nods. "I think you're right. We should either move the bodies or move camp."

Gabby pats Clementine to steady her. "Yeah, I hear that. Don't reckon I feel sanguine 'bout bedding down anywhere near these things."

Daniel turned his head quickly as Korpi called out to him, though relaxed his face into a warm smile when he realized the origin. He had no small degree of affection for the bird, and stroked the feathers on her head when she landed on his shoulder.

His attention then returned to what had attacked them, and he wandered toward the fallen without a word, looking as closely as he could at what he found without touching anything.

Korpi leaned into the stroking with a quiet contented sound, then watched with bright-eyed interest as Dalix cirled the corpses. "Zhuliev diaboli," she noted.

Anticipating what came next, the raven decended in a fire-sheened fall of shadow to the nearer corpse's side, nipped its fingers and jumped away with a little whoop to test that it was really (re)dead. A word from her brother had her pattering carefully across the ground to grab a beakful of salt and fly back, scattering it across the headless ex-undead from a perch on his chest before hopping down to loot the leg-pockets for shinies.

Reaching into the dead thing's pockets, Korpi managed to retrieve a coin. Old and grimy, the thing hadn't seen use in quite a measure of time by all appearances. In the firelight, it glinted gold.

Korpi straightened a moment and looked around to be sure no-one was immediately about to steal her shiny. Then she dipped her head to pick it up and polished the coin with enthusiasm against the ex-abomination's chaps, pausing every other second to shift grip and see it glitter in the light.

The bird's continuing attention to the coin caused the grime that coated the surface to be removed little by little, exposing the metal glint more fully to the firelight, and to those who would recognize such, an image.

Taking a cue from the bird, the doctor began to inspect the bodies as well, though his inspection was less into whether they had coins or rings inside their pockets, but the general condition of the bodies as well. He had a lantern with him that he used to shed light upon the situation. "Oh, my. This is certainly not good. No, not good at all. From the condition of these, I would have to say the bodies would have been dead for some time now. Not too long, but not a short time either. Long enough to have been buried."

Mansfield moved to the neck, now focusing on the area of the apparent decapitation. "A fairly clean cut on all of these. Methodical. Not a surgeon's hand, though, I can say that much. Thankfully not a scalpel. Something like an axe. Brute force, but one swift blow. No hacking away or anything. Might even have been the blow that killed 'em." The doctor tucked down the shirt on one of the bodies, and frowned.

"What's this now?" He moved from one body to the second, doing the same thing. "Here too," he murmured, before checking the third. "And here again. Not a coincidence, I think."

Looking up to whoever was keen to take notice, he said, "Come now, have a look at this. There's a tattoo, just here, just above the heart on all three of these men. The areas are clean, and they were recently done. Crudely, though."


This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Tue 07 Jan 2014.

Sky Dog looked over, the tattoo above his own heart looking black in the firelight. "Ah, they are made things?" The shaman looked back at Cora a moment, his tense gravity somehow underlining his youth, as though in contrast, then at Mansfield again.

"Do you know why they were waving the fruit, Mansfield? Sabres, I have seen, and spitting of boiling blood by the plague-spirits, but the fruit on fire, never." He gestured at the corpse Mansfield was inspecting. "Perhaps it would be well to give their hearts to Our Friend," he nodded at the fire.

"Fruit?" Mansfield asked, blinking for a moment in incomprehension, before briefly surveying the scene again, and then looking again in Sky Dog, realization dawning on him.

"Oh, the pumpkins. I don't know about plague spirits, and I don't quite know the why about the pumpkins on fire. There's a legend...a story, and I'm not one for such, but it involves a headless horseman that was an old Hessian soldier in the American Revolutionary War and I think I remember something about a pumpkin being involved, but I can't quite recall the particulars."

Gabby, despite not really wanting to deal any more with this things, was drawn by morbid curiosity to examine the corpses with Sky Dog and Mansfield. He shivers at the tattoos around the heart, and perks up at the mention of the stories.

"Yeah, the Headless Horseman o' Sleepy Hollow. Written by the same guy who done Rip Van Winkle. The Epitaph did a reprint o' that story a while back. Fella named Ichabod Crane was wooing this lady, and his rival, fella named Brom, tol' him the story o' the Headless Horseman to spook him. In the story, Crane done got attacked by the Horseman, who threw his flamin' head at 'im, and Crane up and vanished. The next day, all they found was his wandering horse, trampled saddle, discarded hat, and a mysterious shattered pumpkin. The story kinda implied that it were just Brom in disguise tryin' to murder or chase away Crane, and the pumpkin was what Brom used as his ghost's head." Gabby frowns. "I'm guessin' whoever Quantrill's got who knows Radcliffe's mad science methods, they done some improvements, read the Epitaph, and got creative. I wonder...if we was to cut one o' these folk open, would we find a chunk o' ghost rock where their hearts would be?"

At the mention of the word 'Story', Daniel immediately turned to look at his uncle. He was delighted to hear that some things never changed. Death, taxes, and Gabby telling stories. Well, death seemed to no longer be such a sure thing. But Gabby and stories certainly were.

Having inspected the bodies closely without touching them, Daniel shrugged at the question from his uncle. "Only one way ta find out, now." Daniel went over to retrieve his barber bag, then seemed to remember something. "Oh, anyone get dinged up by those, er, fellas what threw punkins?" He looked for a moment or two among his things, then withdrew a scalpel. It ought to expose whatever had taken the place of a heart. He'd never done autopsy work before. Though perhaps this wasn't exactly that sort of work.

He looked about to see if anyone indicated the need for medical attention before he went over toward the doubly dead bodies that needed opening.

"Yes, that's the story! But...why would you find a chunk of ghost rock in their hearts?" asked Mansfield, curious.

Coraline met Sky Dog's strange and curious gaze with one of her own, before walking closer to observe the bodies. She pulled out her fan, fanning herself while she looked on at the curious symbols carved there, not squeamish at all.

She responded to the doctor's question in a casual, offhanded manner. "A long story, doctor, and I'm not sure you'd believe the half of it. Let's just say a few of us had a run-in with a scientist who had somehow discovered a way to use ghost rock to reanimate the dead." Still, she winced a little bit. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it wouldn't kill her, so she had always told herself. But this time, it would cause her a little bit of pain. She could wait for the most recent mystery to be uncovered before asking for any medical attention for her burned arm.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:08, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

"If you're gonna cut his heart open and take a look, best get on with it. Bloody work, but if you've seen the like before best to find out now if this is the same. Either way, it's late, and we're for Oakley in the morning," he said.

Daniel nodded at the opinions and was satisfied that no one was injured enough to speak up.

He went over to the headless corpse that he had previously bent over and cut into it where the heart ought to be.

Sky Dog shrugged slightly at Cora's lack of desire for skincare and turned to supervise the crazy Americans.

"They will not have ghost rock inside, it is...what do you say, straight up witchcraft...if we were all very stupid even I could tell you the these are made," he gestured bemusedly at the headless ones. "It is these horses from the Lower World and the pumpkings that are strange...but if you will throw their little hearts in the fire, it is well. I will salt them, so that the wolves around do not take in the bad...medicine here."

"Mansfield, if you will listen I would tell you about the plague-demons, for you have the clear sight of them, I think," the shaman remarked, gently tipping his handful of leaves into the edge of the fire and rousing it again before fetching the tin horse from among his effects, clearly intending to take it to the live one.

It took some time, and left his hands and the surrounding area more stinking and messy than they had been before, but Daniel managed to perform the bloody operation. Even before making any incisions, he would have noticed that there were no previous incisions indicating any surgical cuts were made to the body's torso. Still, as he was determined to operate, he managed to uncover the rotting remains of the heart and Sky Dog's words were shown to be true; he found no traces of ghost rock or anything else, for that matter.

The leaves dropped into the fire produced a faint, pleasant smelling smoke, that the doctor took note of even while watching the operation take place. When their curiosity was at least partially satisfied, he turned to Sky Dog.

"Sure, I'll listen to your plague demon story," said the doctor."Hell, I'll listen to anything if it's as good as the bear story!"
This message was last edited by the player at 18:24, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

Randolph hitched the sling of his Gatling around to keep the weapon out of his way and watched Coraline closely for several moments to see whether she needed immediate attention. Satisfied that she was coping with her injuries at the moment, he produced his notebook and went to make observations of the corpses.

He sketched the tattoo of one that Daniel wasn't cutting on. He also took note of the hands and fingers of all three to determine whether they bore any rings. He made rapid notes as he walked about the site.

"Well, the best thing for now, I think right now is to lump all these bodies up together - not near the fire, but somewhere we can see 'em. You know, in case they get back up. Hopefully we put enough lead and whatever else in 'em to keep 'em down, but you never know. I'd rather have them all in one place so Shotgun John and Gabby and hose them down with their shotguns if and when they start to rise again," he said.

"Then we probably want to set up a watch rotation. Probably not too much longer till it's light and then we can set out again for Oakley. What do you say you and me take the first watch, Wyatt?"

"Works for me. We'll wait till everyone's had their fill of corpse pickin' and then I'll set up a watch order," he said, noting that the strange group of erstwhile Dodge deputies were still busy peering and poking at the corpses.

Sky Dog had tied the tin horse into the black beast's mane and come to watch, taking a little time to salt the bodies. He crouched some yards from Mansfield, then apparently thought better of it and made himself useful, tugging over a corpse and divesting it of anything potentially useful or tradeworthy as thoroughly as a Comanche.

"It is said as it was, straight as my back," he remarked to Mansfield with a bemused grin, running his blade neatly along the superficial muscle and pectoral attachments from an incision at the hollow of the throat. "They do not often try to take white people, the kind of plague-demons I speak of-"

Putting his weight behind the blow, Sky Dog knelt over the dead man's chest and buried his large knife in the corpse's sternum with a wooden 'thunk'. Using the blade as a lever, the shaman worked and heaved the thing's chest apart as he talked. "-but medicine, it does not know one kind from another, yes? I hope."

"The ones that cause the plague with the...ah, blisters? -they come with the white people. Where I am from, they come with the traders, looking like white women with red hair, and the traders do not see them. In asking the chief trader how many are in the party, that one will not be able to count the demon. Sometimes they look and they think they see, and the count is different, but they cannot see her." Sky Dog turned his blade to prop the gap he'd made, simply reaching in and tugging the half-rotten mess from its moorings to cast it into the fire before retrieving his knife. His sister came to sit on his shoulder and tried to polish her coin still further on his head.

"By the time the demon has been seen, it is too late for the village - they will all die from the plague unless a shamán or a strong medicine-worker steps up to fight it. The old shamán that taught me..." Sky Dog paused, getting off the body and wiping his hand on the ground, otherwise unmarked.

"...he fought one in my sight, saving my life also: you have different ways, perhaps, but when he called out to the demon and she rose up, uncoiling herself into a thing of red hate and iron claws, he fought her with salt and with silver, with his strong songs and dancing, and his own knife." Sky Dog mimed the hack and slash at that terrible foe, Korpi fluttering on to his head to stay clear of the action.

"She spat the boiling blood from her belly, and tried to blind him - I watched this from the woods, with the baby we had come to bring under my own coat, for its mother was too weak to leave the camp - blinding with spitting and the claws, yes? Two days, he danced, and at last she was weakened enough for him to call in a helper spirit other than his grouse, so he called the black wolf, and it jumped on her for the dogs of the camp to tear her up. Then there was no disease. He was a good man, my master. Until he took to alcohols, a good man." The Siberian stood, and wandered over to the lawmen, hearing their discussion.

"I do not think it will be easy to move the dead horse...but if we go on some small way, the wolves will take the dead ones for us. They are already here, yes?" He looked about, though no wolves were bold enough to be obvious quite yet. "Always, little wolves in America. Wolves and chairs!"

Mansfield sat fairly well spellbound by the tale, though whether he was compelled or confounded by what he heard was hard to discern to the casual observer. He didn't know quite how to respond, so he just sat there for a minute thinking.

"Salt and silver. I guess that's how you fight some of those things. Well, I knew about the silver part, but not so much the salt. Or the singing and dancing," said the doctor finally.

"I don't reckon these were powered by no smallpox-spirit." Gabby says, watching the disposal of the rotten hearts with a grim expression. "I was expectin' Ghost Rock, but I guess that was always jest how Radcliffe were controllin' his bunch, not how he made them. Wilder weren't very clear on how he made that hand thing o' his move about. The question is, were these some of Quantrill's outriders, or somethin' sent out by some other asshole?"

"Kor," Korpi remarked, pinning her shiny underfoot to yawn at some length and clean her beak on her brother. Sky Dog laughed.

"Ha! No, we would all be very dead-" he looked over at the last corpse and went to attend to it before Daniel decided to excavate his way through that one's viscera with a tiny blade, too. Korpi went to hide her shiny amongst their things. "-It is rare even a powerful shamán can defeat - smallpox? - smallpox, with dancing. Mostly, everyone dies."

He looked over at Mansfield. "The man Mansfield has medicine, but his hands were taken from him, direly, for that he had no good knowledge of where even the white medicine crosses the shamán's way. I believe he wishes to do well for the people."

"Iron, also," he added to the doctor, making use of his. "If you are attacked in the Middle World. Of all that exists, only God and the blacksmith can make iron: it is powerful for that. Only the wicked spirits steal it - it makes them mad with their own hurt!"

The speculation as to the origins of the wandering undead brought only a shrug from the shaman. "It is not always the good and pretty spirits, that come for singing."

Korpi landed near Daniel to see what he was doing, curious if half asleep on her feet. "K'wip? Krrp? Kor kor..."

Coraline grimaced while watching the hearts being cut out and burned, not out of queasiness or reluctance; she understood the necessity to take the precaution. Her grimace was more for the dull but not insignificant pain that could be felt in her arm after the burn. The second time in days that something had happened to her arm, though the first had been a calculated risk of her own. This had just been her not being quick enough on her feet to avoid that flying, burning pumpkin.

She sat down on a tree stump nearby, and watched them work, waiting for it to be over.

Daniel looked over at Korpi after finishing his dirty work and smiled as the bird landed near. He went to run a hand over her head, but thought better of it at the last moment, showing the bird that his paws were a bit dirty.

Daniel put his tools away and looked around at the others conversing. He enjoyed the stories, even those that were unbelievable or only half-understandable.

"I dunno if it matters s'much what kinda spirit drove 'em here, or powered 'em or whatever. But if these were sent by anybody, do we jus' wanna sit here in th' same spot? I vote fer movin' camp, at least a little."

He looked about for something to use to wipe and wash his hands while listening to what the others had to say.

Charlie wandered over by John Collins. "Ya sure took a long time ta get that boomstick o' yers goin'. Afraid o' re-killin' someone ya know?"

"Nyyyyet!" Korpi ducked away from Daniel's stinky mitt and also looked about for something to clean him with.

The shirt taken from the deadder Sky Dog wasn't currently working on suggested itself; Korpi pattered over there and picked it up, dragging it Dalixwards with a hop, skip and flutter that made the fire flare away and cackle. After getting about two-thirds of the way she halted at the edge of the mess of liver and lights and called for her target's attention. "Dalix!"

Since cleaning all a Dalix with one's beak was tiring, however, Korpi soon let him see to his own hands and jumped up to set his hair in order, which was far easier.

"Jes' dint want to risk getting blood on Bat's suit," Collins said mildly, offering tobacco. "Not like we've got the time to send the Deuce a cleaning bill, after all."

"Talking o' which..." Collins frowned. "I was sure that last pumpkin-bomb got the lady's arm, y'see her sleeve is burnt...reckon she's tryin' to stoic it out 'case we laugh at her or leave it to th' Injun boy."

He tried calling over, just in case. "Hey Miss! You sure you don't want the Doc to look at that?"

Daniel smiled at Korpi and her assistance, and kept his hands away from her otherwise clean feathers. He walked over and used the shirt she suggested to wipe most of the mess away. A little alcohol should take care of the rest. And there shouldn't be any shortage of that given present company.

Korpi made sure the near side of Dalix's hair was preened and smooth, then hop-scrambled over his head to get at the other side. Her efforts were noticeably lessening in intensity, however, and after a few longer pauses it was quite clear the bird was in the process of falling asleep on Daniel's shoulder.

"Well, I'll thank you for that John," he said. His suit looked a bit rumpled and worse for wear for the journey, but somehow seemed to avoid having been bloodied.

"Mr. Clarke, I'm inclined to agree with your nephew for the moment. I'm not sure what kinda spirits are involved in all this mess, but for the moment, I think maybe we move camp and find some rest. Maybe like chalky says, wolves'll do for the rest of these deaders."

Coraline's head raised at Shotgun's call.  Her lips thinned at having to seek anyone's help, much less a man's, but her arm was uncomfortable and throbbed painfully whenever she thought about it.  Which happened to be all the time.

Pushing herself off with her uninjured arm, she sighed visibly and tucked her fan away.  "I suppose, if it isn't too much of a bother."  Lifting the hem of her skirt, she headed over to the doctor.

The doctor wandered over to Coraline's side, and took a look at where her arm had been burned, pulling back her sleeve. "Oh my. Well, this doesn't look good. But it isn't bad either. I reckon it should heal soon enough, given the right treatment. Fortunately, I treated more than a few burns for our good men during the war, so I know how to take care of this," he went on, his Carolinian accent as on as it ever was.

Digging around in his medical bag, he pulled out a tube of some ointment and gave Coraline a stern look. "Now, grit your teeth and don't make a fuss, because this is gonna hurt a little bit, but it'll make you all better. Why, by morning, you'll be good as new!"

He seemed distracted, and then started to ramble into a strange story. "You know, when I was a young man, I met a woman that looked something like you, except that she had a wild red bird on her shoulder all the time. I think she was from off, somewhere in Europe. Don't know where she got the bird..." While telling the story, he gently applied the ointment to her arm, but kept on talking, in the hopes that it would help distract her from the sensation that would come with the applciation of the ointment. When he was done applying it, though, the pain would gradually subside, followed by a coolness and a tingling. At the end, he wrapped it up for her.

"Don't pull that off or mess with it!" he warned her sternly, wagging a finger at her.

As the doctor sets about his work on Coraline's arm, Darling comes up on her other side, wordlessly offering his hand, in case she wants something to grip onto.

Gabby nods at Masterson, and moves to help pack up the camp.

The shaman looked up from neatly packing up his makeshift samovar, coals still glowing in the warming-can. "Do any here wish to eat snakes, in the morning? Some that have given themselves to my hunting, I have kept them three days and will not eat them tommorrow." He held up a couple of live snakes from his sparse baggage to illustrate.

Daniel didn't bother Korpi as she fell asleep. He briefly wondered whether Sky Dog would care if his sister was sleeping with him, but he mentally shrugged that off at the mention of snake. He raised a hand. "I'm sure I'd find that thar snake mighty tasty. Count me in. I might even have got some spices in muh barber case."

Daniel then went about the business of getting the camp moved. He wondered about burning the corpses versus leaving the wolves to them. He didn't want any possessed wolves running around.