"And here I thought my horse getting spooked by the howling and having to spend the rest of the night chasing after it and tracking it down was bad. That sounds like one hell of an ordeal. I'm glad you folks made it out alright."

He turned to Gabby. "As for Wainwright, I can't rightly say that I'm the best person to ask after that. We can see to the bodies that haven't yet been buried, or see if they've identified those that have. Like I said, I don't know much more than I've told you so far. Whatever else we find out, we're gonna have to get from them." He hiked his thumb over in the direction of the town.

Sky Dog had already moved off to take the direct approach, quietly hushing and scratching his reindeer since Igor seemed to find Morgan's tall form intimidating.

"A lot of working, a lot of people at the edge of the settlement today," the shaman remarked to the nearest human who seemed to be part of the activity. "Did they make much injury, the outlaws? I was hearing from Morgan," he nodded at the same, still talking to the clump of deputies, "your settlement was already attacked."

Daniel furrowed his brow at the suggestion that the pumpkinheads might be Quanterill's crew. It didn't exactly seem to fit, and he nodded at Sky Dog's response.

As Wyatt explained what they had encountered, Daniel added a detail here and there. He nodded at Caleb's sentiment concerning their well being. He was glad his skin remained whole as well.

"Mostly aright." Daniel corrected Caleb, remembering Cora's injury. He'd presumed the Doc would let him know should she need any further attention.

While Sky Dog started querying the locals, Daniel attention drifted toward his sister. He wondered if she was still toting an eyeball around or not.

Daniel soon spotted Korpi stretched up on the dead man's head, trying to polish a stolen tobacco tin against the hanging rope. It seemed unattended eyeballs didn't last long around Korpi.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:46, Fri 14 Feb 2014.

Though someone disturbed by the sight of a hanging corpse, Coraline's discomfort eased when Caleb appeared.  She smiled at the lawman when he greeted them, pleased that he hadn't come to any harm during the night.  "Well, I suppose that we did come here to investigate, so should probably get to it."  Her eyes turned toward the town, catching glimpses of those moving about.  Carefully, and with much regard to her burned hand, she dismounted and took her horse's reins in her good hand, walking toward the town in search of a hitching post.

Darling rides as close as his mount will tolerate to Sky Dog's moose and tries to include Gabby in his low-pitched remarks: "These seem pretty frightened already. Let's not add to their troubles with a lot of stories about terrors they probably haven't even seen. Ask questions, if you must, but let's try not to spread any panic."

Seeing Cora rein up, he walks his horse over to hers and dismounts, taking hold of her horse's bridle to steady it as she swings down.

"And if they have seen 'em?" Gabby retorts. "These folks're already upset about somethin'. If its Quantrill or the pumpkinheads, they'll be glad to know someone's on their side. If it ain't, and I'm gettin' a notion somethin' else might be rotten here, then they need to be warned. Keepin' folks calm is all well and good, but wrappin' 'em in some magical shield o' ignorance ain't gonna do jack squat to help 'em." He looks Darling straight in the eye. "The whole damn reason we're here ridin' with Wyatt Earp and his boys is to prevent another massacre like in Hays. Or have you forgotten that?"

"I certainly haven't forgotten, Mr. Clarke," Darling replied icily, "And I think having a dozen strangers come riding to their aid, several of them notable lawmen, will do more to assuage their fears than ghost stories about headless horsemen.

"Of course, you won't be the center of attention in that case..." His voice trails off and he turns away from the older man.

Gabby glares at Darling, his eyes narrowing as he curls his hands into fists. "You want to take that back, Darling. I ain't the one tryin' to keep everyone gagged to protect his fuckin' byline."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:26, Mon 17 Feb 2014.

Sky Dog gave the local a gentle poke with the end of his riding-pole to help the townsperson shake off that familiar look of 'what are you and why are you talking to me?'

"That is enough.  From both of you," she said quietly, sounding more tired than irritated.  Cora's gaze traveled between Randolph and Gabby.  "We aren't here to argue and this sort of sniping won't give these people the right impression.  How could we possibly help them if we can't even get along within our group?"  Sighing softly, she tied her horse so that it couldn't take off once they ventured into town.

Daniel nodded at Coraline's response, seemingly always of a similar mind with her whenever these sorts of eruptions occurred. "Mebbe we fin' out jus' what they've seen fore we go tellin' more stories. Then if we think mebbe they know 'bout the punkins, we can tell 'em we dealt with some of 'em."

It seemed reasonable to Daniel, though he was sure there were holes in his logic somewhere. It didn't take him long to remember the logical problem is that Gabby wanted to talk about all sorts of things no matter what.

Caleb sighed. One night alone in the wilderness, and he had almost forgotten about all of this. "I say we play it by the ear. Gauge the temper of the town, and see what needs to be done to bolster their defenses first and foremost. While I will assiduously avoid the debate over whether we should be the arbiters of the knowledge they receive about wild events in the world, there is the possibility that we may lose credibility by kicking things off with a discussion of other worldly topics."

He wanted to try and keep a neutral position on this topic. His first concern was with preventing another massacre here, and finding out what the hell was going on that was getting people killed out here.

The townsfolk there were milling about a small building with a shingle hung indicating that a blacksmith by the name of Turner Jefferson operated there. There were about six people there talking in hushed voices about themselves. All of them held either a rifle or a pistol, and were sort of sheltering behind the building more than being in front of it. They seemed somewhat startled by the Siberian's appearance, as if he might be some kind of spectre. As one tried to come up with something to say, Sky Dog prodded him with the stick. This seemed to prompt the man into talking.

"Hey!" he said, taking a step back. "Well, they tried to shoot us. Turner got grazed in the arm," he said, tipping his head towards a tall, brawny black man in his middle years that stood nearby with a rifle. "But we took care of the rest of 'em. Weren't that many actually, and we'd seen worse before that."

The man noted as Turner was taller than the other men, broader at the shoulders, and by the looks of him perhaps as strong as any of them put together. There was scarring on his shoulder, as if there had been a wound that had been cauterized. "Ain't no thing, jus' a scratch. Doc Whateley patched that shit up real quick. We done seen worse anyway. Killin' live men ain't no thing after you killed deaders, ain't that right?" he asked the rest of the men, leading to general agreement and a bit of a cheer.

Pointing to the body on the tree, he commented further. "Hung that last one up down the road, in case more them bushwhackers think about takin' on Oakley. We don't play 'round down here."

"It is well not to play with such!" Sky Dog agreed, then to the blacksmith, with a very respectful tone: "You have made certain, the live ones you have been killing, they will not walk also?"

The Siberian listened intently, eyes narrowed behind his goggles as he moved into the shade. "Ah? Have Quanterill and his quick dead ones been here before us? I had a vision and brought the men this way for that I saw they would come here after Hays, but when, I did not know. If any have gone onwards, we must go onward also."

"I heard Quantrill was dead. You sayin' he undead too? Sheeit. I talked big, but it wasn't easy killin' them deaders. Only gotta few dead eye shots up in here, and you gotta go for the head." Suddenly, he seemed to grow a bit suspicious.

"Say, what kinda Injun you is? Doc says them undead bein' sent at us by some kinda Comanche magic."

Darling looked abashed at Coraline's admonishment. He nodded at Daniel's words and the Marshall's.

"That's mostly what I meant. Let's see what they need and what they know before we possibly open a new can of worms."

"Quanterill...he is not like the other dead ones. He must have given himself to a demon when he was alive, so that he did not die when he was killed, for it is the demon leaving...tracks, in the shadows of the world, yes? But the man also is still in the skin, though he was buried a long time. Two creatures in his skin." Sky Dog gestured things coming together two-handed, causing Igor to take a step forward on the other end of the rope. The reindeer looked at the nearer townsman with his usual expression of barely-contained alarm.

*uh!*

"-The demon, he is dangerous even to a smith, and he has gathered dead ones with him - this is why I say to be sure, yes? Even only to be burying upside-down with salt." He gave the men a serious look. "Quanterill the man, he is only a crazy sorcerer. He fears his own dead ones! So we will look for him in the day, when the demon, he is weak and probably sleeping. Perhaps some here will come with us?"

The idea of being a Comanche cracked Sky Dog up for well over a minute, his laughter ringing down the road. Pink, he straightened, and just about got a grip. "Ha! Ha ha...hoo...no. I am a wild Tungus!" The animals on his shirt rang against each other with his laughing. "Haa...but if it is the witch making punk..." he paused to call back to the others:

"Pumpkins, the fruit?"

"-we ended three of that one's works last night. Would you consider to trade for the horse?" Sky Dog asked the smith, pulling the hood forward a bit and stepping out to fetch the animal into view. "He is maybe from the Lower World, but he seems as happy to eat grass."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:05, Mon 17 Feb 2014.

"I never heard o' no Wild Tungus," he said, but didn't seem to know what to make of the rest.

"I don't know about pumpkins and demons and all that. You'll probably wanna talk to the Doc about that. He's usually up at the church across the road down there, and he knows all about demons and fairies and magic," he said.

"Don't know 'bout him, but I'll buy your horse," offered another, walking up to take a round at inspecting the animal. "How much you askin'?"

Gabby sighs, but backs down for now and follows along to hear the locals talk.



At this, Gabby gives Darling a smug smile. "Seems like they'd have cause to believe a tale or two." He says, but doesn't push further. Instead, he hobbles closer to Sky Dog and the large guy.

"We don't know if it's actually Quantrill or just someone claimin' the name yet." he says to Turner. "All we know fer sure is he's got a pack o' deaders ridin' herd with him, and he's attacked some Ya-, er, Union towns around here, so we come to give warnin' and some gun hands if'n he do show up. But you're sayin' you got ones that are bein' raised by Comanche? When did these critters attack?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:08, Tue 18 Feb 2014.

Korpi joined Morgan's hat as the posse moved into town and tried to buff her tin a bit more on that, pausing to look over at Dalix and straighten as though to say 'look! shiny!'

Sky Dog's expression was mostly lost under hood, hair and goggles, though he paused at Gabby's appearance. "If you desire it, Uncle, I will draw the one I have seen." To the men, he added: "It is better to be fortified than to try and end them all as they come: the avakhi makes the dead ones very fast."

"Ones an American has said 'they are made by Comanche'," the shaman corrected mildly as he want to see to the sale of a horse, glancing at the smith to be sure he wasn't going over that honoured man's head.

"He is a strong horse, and his tack and a good saddle with him - but I will trade him for a small horse without such, feed for that one, and some potatoes, or two eagle skins, a hard cheese," he mimed a fair-sized wheel, "-two wool blankets and jam...or anything as good."

"Maybe Comanche, he said. Maybe also Kiowa, he said. Didn't know for sure. And he ain't American, not exactly. Some kinda European," offered the blacksmith.

The horse trader took his time to survey the horse, nodding in appreciation. "A good animal. I don't have all you want though, you'll have to go to the general store. I can give you a smaller horse and feed in trade, and twenty dollars besides. You can take that and go to the general store, though I'm not sure they'll have...eagle skins - they should have the rest. That sound like a deal to you?"

"Sounds like a fella to talk to, though I wonder how he'd know. And I wonder how in heck Comanche or Kiowa would have gotten their hands on Radcliffe's machines." Gabby muses. "Still, when was this deader attack? How long has it been goin' on?"

Daniel paid attention to the back-and-forth, though didn't find the time to interject any of his own thoughts. He did notice Korpi looking at him with a shiny, and he winked at her and beckoned for her to come closer. Perhaps he could help her add some luster to whatever it was she held.

His brow furrowed at the mention of Radcliffe again. That was one name he had hoped they wouldn't hear again, or with whose works he had hoped they would no longer be concerned.