This is where posts that take place in the town streets and not in a specific building should take place.....
This message was last updated by the GM at 02:04, Fri 26 July 2013.

Ramsey stepped out into the packed earth street outside his office; it was still soft from the previous day's rain, but he knew come the summer the wind would kick up dry dust all around town.

It wasn't far to walk to the Marshall's office; Escondido was nothing like Baltimore or St. Louis.  It might be a small puddle now, but with luck it could grow into something bigger and better, and those already established would be in a good position to take advantage of new opportunities.

It was a good morning to be outside; he walked slowly, enjoying his preamble across the small town, feeling good to get away from his latest near-misstep off the sobriety wagon.  He gave a longing eye to the Rio as he passed it by, but enjoyed the smell of frying peppers and meat emanating from it.  One of the best things about moving to a town so close to Mexico was the discovery that he truly enjoyed hot, spicy Mexican food; and if a cold beer washed down that food well then all the better.  As long as he kept it to a beer or two he was golden, and his wife need never know.  It was the whiskey that got him into trouble, or almost, as it was today.  He was sorely tempted to stop by the Rio for peppers and eggs, but it was too early even for him to be drinking beer.

And besides, he needed to tell the Marshall that the girl was awake, her brains weren't scrambled, and she was in a talkative move.  His wife would see to her, he could count on that, and when he returned with the Marshall the morning's almost-incident would largely be forgotten.

Until the next one.  But as long as he kept nipping them in the bud it was ok, at least in his eyes.  But he knew Clem was very worried abut him - and them.  How could he ever provide them with a child and a proper family life if she was constantly worried if he was going to turn into the town drunk on a given day?

Like the walk to the Marshall's office, all he could do was take it a step at a time, and hope his path was not beset with temptation, malefactions, misfortune, or poor timing.  With a little luck, anything was possible.

(OOC: slowly walk towards the Marshall's Office)
This message was last edited by the player at 12:03, Wed 24 July 2013.

As the good Doctor crosses the street, he sees a sun baked stranger enter the far end, on a travel weary gray horse, leading a matched pair of heavy palomino pack animals.  Rider and mounts wear a layer of dust that shows they have come some distance.

The man is sitting the saddle effortlessly as if he was born to it.  He is dressed the range clothes of a man who is no stranger to working with stock.  Although his dark colored shirt, pants and hat are dirty for the trail, his gun-belt and boot show signs of being cleaned recently, and if the Doc took the time to look he would note the big pistol and knife on his belt along with the rifle in its scabbard under his left leg were well oiled and cared for.

As the stranger nears the Doctor he nods a “howdy” and keeps his mount moving at it easy pace, towards the livery.

--> from Marshal's Office

As Cyrus stepped out of his office, he noted the rider in the distance leading two pack animals and he noted the trail dust covering all of them.  Hmm... looks like Escondido just got an early morning visitor.  Just passing through... or with a mind to stickin' around for a spell, I wonder?

Of course as long as the stranger didn't break any laws, his business was his business and thus no business of Cyrus'.  As Cyrus continued towards the Doc's office, he spotted a man up ahead that his keen eyes identified as none other than the "man of the hour", Dr. McQueen.  Cyrus sped up his pace as his mind began to race.  Now the Doc could be out here for any number of reasons, most of which would have nothin' ta do with me.  But he's gotta know my routine by now, so he'd have ta be suspectin' that I'd be along to check on Becky any time now.  Of course that doesn't mean he's got to plan his mornings around my self-imposed schedule... still... maybe he's coming this way to seek me out?  And why that if there wasn't news regarding Becky?

The question is, good news... or bad news?

As he closed in on Ramsey, Cyrus politely touched the brim of his hat and said in a friendly with just a hint of concern in the undercurrent, "Good mornin' Dr. McQueen, I trust I find you well and all's well back at the office?"

As he walked a man on horseback with two other horses trailing behind him passed him on the street and nodded hello; Ramsey nodded back, and continued to walk.  Looks like the town got bigger and bigger each day, and that was a good thing, as long as everybody behaved and treated each other with respect.  He knew the reputation that a dusty little Texas border puddle like Escondido had back East, but so far, apart from whatever happened to the O'Dell girl, things had been fairly quiet - and that was a good thing too.  Ramsey McQueen had seen more than enough violence his time, and needed to see no more.  If all he had to deal with were births, colds, and busted arms the rest of his career he'd be a happy man indeed.

Soon he saw the Marshall coming up to him - just the man he sought.  It was an odd situation between them: he never in a thousand years figured he'd run into the man again, or any patient for that matter from the War, but especially his particular case, in which the hand of God himself must have interceded on both their behalves for things to have turned out so well.  Of course, that was before he'd been beaten down by the War, before he'd learn to lean on medicinal crutches and distilled bravery.  Marshall Jericho seemed to have prospered much since their last meeting, and Ramsey was glad for it; but it also reminded him of how far he fell himself.  He had no idea what Jericho thought about him now but he was sure there was some level of lost respect in his eyes.

On the other hand, at least the man hadn't seen him at his worst, either, and therefore be bereft of any respect at all in him.  He had big shoes to fill in the Marshall's memory of him, but it was a task he felt he might accomplish in time, given some luck.

He nodded good morning as he accepted the Marshall's salutation.

"Morning, Marshall.  The kid's awake; I just caught her trying to get up and wander about the office.  I stopped her before she keeled over and busted something else.  My wife is lookin' in on her now.  She's asking questions...and I expect you'll have some questions for her too.  Long as we don't wear her out I don't expect that would be a problem, if you don't mind talking to her in my office.  She shouldn't be walking around anywhere with those injuries right now."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:19, Thu 25 July 2013.

Given the darkness of the doctor's current thoughts, Dr. McQueen probably would have been surprised to learn that Cyrus's opinion of the doctor was far from being as negative as Ramsey projected.  Of course Cyrus had not really seen Ramsey at his low point nor had he heard any bad words spoken against the doctor's skill or character.  While he may have picked up the occasional tension between Mrs. McQueen and her husband, and perhaps the thought had occurred as to why Dr. McQueen had moved all the way out to Escondido to setup shop, Cyrus really had no reason to think poorly of the doctor.  From what Cyrus had seen over the last month or so, Dr. McQueen seemed to be a sharp, competent professional and the Good Lord knew that a place like Escondido could really benefit from a skilled physician when times got rough.

Then again, Cyrus didn't know about Ramsey's bout with alcoholism or the fallout to his medical career back East as a result of his "weakness".  But it wasn't as if Cyrus was unfamiliar with the psyche shattering effects of war upon good men who had made good soldiers until one day they just couldn't take the killing and the death of friends a moment longer.  Cyrus had been forced to deal with men under his command (and on thankfully rarer occasions a superior officer) who "just couldn't take it anymore" and had either turned to drink or other similarly self-destructive behavior.  Sometimes they were Civil War veterans of numerous bloody battles who felt they had no right to survive when so many of their friends and family had not and sometimes they were fighters in the Indian Wars who felt the United States had lost the "moral high ground" in their fight against the Indians because of certain "atrocities" perpetrated against "civilian" Indians (old men, women and children).  Cyrus would be lying if he didn't admit that seeing strong, brave men shaken to their core did not disturb him or on occasion make him privately question the path his own life had taken.

If Cyrus had been "sparred" the psychological trauma it was because of four things.  First there was his strong Methodist faith and belief in God's mercy & justice.  Second there was his deep sense of family pride following in the footsteps of his father and generations of Jerichos who had served honorably in the military.  Third there was his firm belief that his military service had been in furtherance of worthy causes, first in abolishing slavery in the Civil War and second in securing the rightful expansion of his beloved country through the protection of hard working, innocent Western settlers during the Indian Wars.  And finally, his fourth "saving grace" was having been engaged in some form of active combat practically since the moment he graduated West Point, thus Cyrus had never really had a "moment's peace" for serious introspective self-reflection on the death and suffering he had witnessed (and, in his own way, even caused).  While he might not admit it to himself, part of the reason Cyrus had moved from a military career into a "civilian" career in law enforcement where his life was still in danger and the threat of death in the line of duty came with the shiny badge of authority & responsibility was that a more mundane, "ordinary life" might force the warrior to reflect upon his life once he had set aside his ways of war.  In truth, who knows how a man like Cyrus Jericho would fare if danger and conflict were not an intimate part of his life and perhaps it was a subconscious fear of finding out that drove him to wear a badge & gun even though he had put his uniform away.

Then again, perhaps Cyrus had not been spared the emotional and psychological damage from nearly constant warfare, perhaps the manifestation of his "trauma" was the fact that Cyrus could not turn away from a path of violence to embrace a life of peace?  And it was also true that he had lost loved ones in the Civil War whose deaths haunted him to this very day.  The senseless, wanton loss of his kid brother and maternal grandfather in the Lawrence Massacre still boiled his blood every time he thought about it or them.  That burning hatred fed a loathing for former Confederate "Bushwhackers" that hardly knew any bounds, save the thin restraint provided by Cyrus's sense of personal honor and devotion to duty.  Such was what kept him from hunting down the dregs of Quantrill's "Raiders" who had fled to Texas after things had gotten too hot for them in Kansas, but woe to any such man should he dare to cross the line and break the law.  Cyrus would show that man as much "mercy" as had been shown to the nearly 200 victims of Lawrence, Kansas... and may God have mercy on that man's soul because Marshal Cyrus Jericho certainly would not.

As brief thoughts along these lines flashed through Cyrus's mind, he gently shook his head to clear his mind of them and wondered privately as to the source of such thoughts.  It must be due to seeing Becky... Rebecca... Miss O'Dell again.  Seeing her and finding the grisly remains of her parents brings back memories of home... the bad with the good.  I suppose a man can only keep "running away" from his past and his home for so long before it catches up to you.  Though it takes an incident like what happened to Miss O'Dell to bring it all home again.

I don't think I even fully realized, until now, that my being constantly on the move in the Service was my own way of staying away from my home back in Kansas... and thus not having to face the results of the War on my home nor the consequences of my own part played in the Kansas-Missouri misery during the War.

I wonder what Dr. McQueen thinks about when he reflects on his own service during the War and how he handles those memories?  At least he has the solace of knowing he strived each day to Save Lives... not to take them.

Cyrus's mood visibly brightened upon hearing the good news about Becky and he said with a smile, "Well that's excellent news to brighten the start of my day Doctor.  While it is still a sorrowful tragedy, what happened to her folks and the other innocent travelers, at least she survived... no doubt thanks to your considerably skill and the tender mercies administered by your charming wife and yourself.  Congratulations on yet another patient saved from the predations of the Grim Reaper Dr. McQueen.

I must admit, even as talented as I personally know you are, given the dire state of her condition when I brought her to you, I had my doubts as to whether you could pull off yet another medical miracle.  But now I feel a mite ashamed for having doubted your skills.

As for questions, certainly I have them but I promise I won't do anything to unduly tax the poor girl or risk jeopardizing her speedy recovery.  If you say she needs to stay put and rest, that's good enough for me.  I'll come to her bedside with my questions.  You can stay close by and, if you feel I'm wearing her out, you just let me know and I'll come back another day when she's better rested."  It was clear by the upbeat tone in Cyrus's voice, especially when talking about Ramsey's medical skills, that Cyrus had not forgotten that Dr. McQueen had saved a leg that less talented (or perhaps just less concerned or interested) Union surgeons had been all too willing to "write off" as yet another quick amputation to be tossed on the every growing gruesome pile of bloodied mangled limbs.  It certain sounded as if Cyrus still held Dr. McQueen in the highest regard as a medical professional.

Cyrus caught up to Ramsey and accompanied the doctor back in the direction Ramsey had just come from heading back to the doctor's office.

Ramsey accompanied the Marshall back towards his office.

"We all have our doubts, myself included.  I don't take any offense.  In many respects, medicine is equal parts skill and luck.  I don't always have the best of luck, but it appears that Miss Becky does, at least today.  C'mon, let me show her to you."

He wasn't counting any chickens before they hatched; the infection could come back, maybe even turn to gangrene.  There would be no praises of his skill if that happened, and so Ramsey was determined not to let go of her until he felt she was out of the danger zone, no matter how much it vexed her.  It also kept him busy and kept his mind from wandering onto other, less-productive activities.

"As I was leaving my wife promised breakfast; perhaps you'll stay and partake."

---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Cyrus smiled as he nodded his head and said in a polite tone, "A good & proper home cooked meal to start the day off right?  How could I, or any "starving bachelor", possible refuse such a gracious offer?

I would be glad to stay and break bread with you and your wife doctor, much obliged."

So she cooks as well?  I suppose I ought not be surprised but... well... bright, educated, classy, and quite the looker if I do say so myself... and she cooks too, a man has to admire the Doc's taste in women not to mention his extreme good fortune in winning the hand of young Miss Clementine... well Mrs. McQueen.  Ladies like her sure don't grow on trees, especially out in the "wild west".

---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Traveling a few buildings away from the Pinkerton office, Temperance steps into a reasonably clean alley. Turns and gives her oldest daughter an icy look.

"If I had a hickory switch one of you would be eating her supper standing up to night." Prudence takes a small step away from her sister not wanting to stand so close to the accused.

"Emily Joy Peters you have pushed me too far this day. When I tell you girls ‘children are to be seen not heard’ I mean it. Mr. Jennings is a very important man in this town. And you, sassing off just like you were a couple of ole chums. Taron Biehn may put up with your nonsense but not every adult will."

"And don’t you get too smug there Miss Prim." Looking at the younger of the two. "I don’t see any angel’s wings sprouting on your back. Now we have a lot to get done today. This is the only time I’m given you a talkin’ to.  Be good or be sorry."



---> to The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office
This message was last edited by the player at 01:13, Sat 27 July 2013.

It had been a long and dusty ride and John Battles was thirsty. He'd passed the stage not far back down the road so he was hoping there would be a saloon open ready to serve breakfast to the new arrivals. He fancied some bacon and eggs with a whiskey chaser. Or two whiskey chasers. If he were lucky they'd even have an ice house so the beer would be cold. If not he'd drink it warm. He was thirsty after all.

He'd been riding all night, so as he entered Escondido his horse walked at a slow pace. That was fine with Battles. He'd have slowed the horse to a walk anyway so he could survey the town as he rode in. Unfortunately John couldn't be nonchalant as he looked about. He had lost his left eye in the war so he had to turn his head to survey his surroundings properly. Anyone paying attention would have noticed him studying everything intently as he rode by. He didn't care. It was in his nature to always understand his surroundings in case trouble raised it's ugly head. A man who didn't know his surroundings could be a dead man very fast.

Battles reigned his horse in in front of The Shady Lady Saloon. He was happy to smell bacon already cooking, and even happier to see The Marshal's Office was only a few buildings down the road. His first stop after having a drink and breakfast would be to the Marshal's office to introduce himself proper. But first, that bacon smelled damn fine!

Battles swung his leg over the black horses flanks and dropped to the ground, lowering himself slowly with his right foot in the stirrup. The left leg seemed a little stiff. He kept his right hand on the pommel of the saddle as well where as the left would have been more convenient dismounting to the left. Anyone could see the reason. His left hand was covered with a hard black leather brace with only his fingers free. His thumb and wrist seemed to be immobilized. A matching black leather band surrounded his right wrist though there was no apparent reason for it.

Battles stretched his arms out and rubbed his backside. It had been a long night's ride. He was a tall, lean man standing every bit of six foot. He needed a shave and had a grizzled look about him that even a shave might not help. His lone eye was a piercing light blue and his hair was longer than it should be, dark blonde almost brown. He was wide in the shoulder and slim in the hip. A two gun rig surrounded those hips. The right was tied down low, and the left sat across his hip Texas cross-draw fashion.

Other than his dark grey shirt Battles was dressed all in black. His duster overcoat was black leather. His flat brimmed hat was black. His vest and trousers were black, and his boots, except for the silver Mexican rowel spurs were black. His belt and gun-belt buckles shined silver as well.

When Battles removed his Duster and tossed it across his horses flanks, there was a flash of silver revealed on his chest as well.

The badge of a Texas Ranger.

John stretched again, noticing the stage he had passed was finally pulling in behind him, then walked into The Shady Lady intent on having some of that bacon. And  whiskey. And a beer.

As he rises into the saddle, the horse instinctively moved off once the rider’s full weight was taken by his last foot leaving the ground.  Being a son of the south Clay had inherited the notion of why walk when you can ride.  Turn his stead and heads back down the street stopping at the barbers he notes it isn’t open yet in fact about the only place showing any sign of life is a two story saloon further down the street, at this early hour there is but one horse hitched at the rail.

As the horse lazily picks it way down the street Clay’s ever watchful eyes pick up in the minor comings and goings of some of the local folks and pegs the town for what it is, it’ll make do as the closed settlement to the ranch he thinks to himself.  Reaching the saloon presently he hitches his mount and leaving his rifle with the horse heads through the doors to inquire after a room for the night

---->From The McQueen residence and Doctor's Office

Skirting around towards the front of the McQueen residence. The young mother found herself enjoying the rare silence. Both girls being well aware of what could happen if she tried to speak with candy in her mouth.

Hesitating before entering the street, Temperance once again checked the activity. It all seemed normal for the time of day. Roughshod cowboys traversing the road. The doors of the Shady Lady swinging to and fro. But that mattered surprisingly little to her although she was named Temperance.

A man needs a beer and a little time to himself once in a while Woman and Shady Lady is just as good as any place for him to find them. Daniel’s words still strong in her mind although his voice was fading into the past.

"Stay with me girls. I need to visit the bank and we must not dawdle."

'Crack' The sound of Emily chomping down hard and breaking her candy. Prim for the time being remaining mum.

"Ma." (crunch, crunch, crunch ) "I got a question. You said the Mrs. McQueen is a fine lady. And you said ladies never lie. Then why did you tell her to play act that she made breakfast all by herself? Wasn’t that a lie?"

The widow Peters fought hard to keep the look of shock and horror off her face. Lord have mercy she’s got me. Said one thing and did another. What now? Do I get mad? Fess up? Change the subject? Nope that never works. I’m their mother. I need to stand my ground. Shaky as it is.

"Now I want you to listen to me Em and you too Prim. Mrs. McQueen and I are grown up adult women. And sometime when adults want to have fun they play little pranks or jokes on each other. That’s all that was. Just a small prank. Nobody was hurt. If the truth comes out it will be a good laugh all around. Now this doesn’t change the rules for you two. No fibs! At least not until you are married ladies too. And that’s an end to it."

Suddenly a street full of ruffians seemed safer than chatting with her seven year old daughter. So they proceeded on.

---->To The Escondido Bank and Essay Office

The axles creaked loudly and the box wagon seemed to sway heavily as the two sturdy mules the color of dried mud plodded along.  The box was painted white, almost like a house, and on both sides in beg red letters The Natchez Nightingale.  A gilded cage with a beautiful bird was part of the artwork, little music notes flowing from its mouth through the bars and into the open space.

The old man driving it was hunched over, waving at people as they passed by.  "If ye wanna hear the voice of an angel but see a vision surely sent to tempt by the devil, come on out tonight Boys!  Fer a limited time only, The Natchez Nightingale will treat ya to a show you won't soon forget.  Oh pardon ma'am, I weren't talkin' to yer man ..." he said as one woman puffed up and smacked the man next to her.

Robert gave him a big wink and a grin before clucking to the mules and easing them off to the side.  He eyed the sign and grinned, a mirthless chuckle.  "The Shady Lady, eh?  Don't that jus' fit the bill ... yeah, this'll do."  Looking over his shoulder, he smacked the wood.  "Well get yerself ready, Girl!  Tighten them laces an' let's get a move on.  Gotta talk to a man 'bout you bringin' in business fer 'im."  Then he hopped off and went to the back of the wagon, dropping down the metal steps and flinging the door open.

"Watch yer step now.  Don' go makin' them ankles tender.  Got too much dancin' t' do," he chortled and took Flossie's hand.  The woman paused in the door, thick lashes blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight.  Her skin was pale, like fine porcelain and her silvery white hair was coiffed up with ringlets framing her face.  Big blue eyes looked out at the people staring their way and her lips painted red turned up into a practiced smile.  "Now don't you worry Daddy," she said lightly though inside her stomach was churning as she took his hand.  "It's a beautiful day ... what could possibly go wrong?"

[To The Shady Lady]
This message was last edited by the player at 21:02, Sat 10 Aug 2013.

Battles was standing in the street cussing himself. His momma would surely show no pride toward his actions so far this morning, bless her soul. He was bone tired sure, but that was no excuse. These people weren't the people he met riding the trail he rode and he had no business treating them as such. He was untying Ol' Buck from the hitching rail when the old man came crashing through the saloon doors, and his gun was in his hand before he knew it. The hulking man who followed the old timer out of the door was unarmed, but Battles kept the gun in hand in any case. He was ignored by the two men though so for a change he kept his peace.

After the big man had returned to the saloon the older man dusted himself off and straightened up tall and proud and bellowed back into the saloon. Battles had to credit him. He had grit if not good sense. When the man began hollering for his daughter to bring his whiskey Battles remembered the bottle in his saddlebags. He took it out and was about to offer it to the old man when the buxom young blonde came from the saloon and they mounted their wagon which was parked just across the doorway from Battles had tied up Buck.

Battles again felt the unfamiliar need to apologize twice in just one morning, but then he seen the way the old man treated the blond again and his ire raised once more! This time however he was able to control it. With a sigh he walked to the wagon.

"Beggin' your pardon, Folks." he said slowly. "I'd uh...I'd like to apologize for what I did in yonder. I had no business acting that way. My only excuse is I'm bone tired and trail worn and not used to civilized company. If'n you can accept my apologies, I can accommodate you on that whiskey, Sir." he said holding up his bottle for the old man to see. "I'd be happy to pull the cork with you if you're of a mind to be forgivin'"

Battles looked up into the eyes of the young blond beauty and for a second, just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a sadness there one as young as her shouldn't know. But what did he know. He was no judge of civilized people. Just the dregs of the earth which he feared he himself was fast becoming.

"Don't judge the folks of this town by my actions. I'm not a resident. Just rode into town this mornin'. So what do you say? Peace?"

Robert barely got the mules going before the one-eyed man stepped up and with a sour expression stopped the mules again.  He wanted to lay into the man but he was actually apologizing and it clearly caught the old man off guard.  Seeing the bottle of whiskey seemed to settle his mind and he wiped his mouth with his dusty hand, his eyes squinting as if part of him still expected trouble.

”I kin understand bone tired,” he admitted slowly.  ”Guess it’s okay t’ let bygones be bygones.  Mebbe ye’d like to join us at that little cantina fer that drink?  I gotta get my gal here set up to work an’ that looks ‘bout the only other place got drinks.  Hopefully that got a pi-any plunker but she kin sing without.  Main money comes after anyway.”

Flossie was silent though her large eyes took in the lawman’s every feature.  There was a definite flood of redness to her cheeks when Robert spoke of her working so flippantly.  Her father noticed the glance Battles made at his daughter and he started to grin though it faltered when he brought up the people of the town, that scowl setting in again.

”You mighta been sharp tongued but ye apologized which is a helluva lot more than that monster back there.  I put my money down fer a bottle, was gonna sit an’ wait for that there Missus Lee, and the bastard grabbed me up an’ threw me out fer no reason.  I’m gonna file charges I tell ye.  I hadn’t teched nobody an’ was mindin’ my own business.  You got a star there boy.  Mebbe you kin do somethin’ ‘bout that?”

FROM the SHADY LADY

Her copper-colored hair alive in a fiery tumble about her shoulders, Molly Malone flew through the bat-wing doors almost clipping the heels of Flossie's fancy boots as the girl hurried to do her father's bidding. The nasty spite that the old man was bellowing as he belittled his daughter had overwhelmed Molly dragging her back to the dark, desperate days when she had crossed her heart and hoped to die; and the fury that had erupted on the day when Molly had finally set herself free came rumbling up in her once more as though she were an awakening volcano hissing steam.

Glowering at the lecherous old-man Molly caught up her short skirt, and with a flash of long legs that fluttered the flounces of Molly's emerald-striped satin petticoat the Irish dance hall girl jumped the steps, meaning to fly after Flossie and urge her to return to the saloon. Coming closer Molly was near enough to hear every nasty threat and promise that the old man sputtered, and she made mental notes intending to report back to Annabelle every word that was spoken.

Molly listened cringing inwardly as Flossie was shamed by her father's lascivious boasts and dirty innuendo, but she felt a kindred pride  for the girl as she recognized the true grit and fortitude that was keeping Flossie's head held high. When the Texas ranger approached attempting to placate the old fool Molly took a step back but she made a show of being right there so no one might miss her; standing firm with her  French-cut high-buttoned boots planted on the rutted road and with a furious spark in her eye that warned she wasn't going away.

"You have a place here if you want one, Flossie," Molly called out loudly, making sure that her shout captured Flossie's gaze so that Molly might affirm the promise with a certain nod of her head. Then Molly's attention shifted as her glance settled on the inscrutable 'one-eyed' stranger.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:32, Tue 13 Aug 2013.

Battles had to bite down on the comments he wanted to make when the old man talked about how his daughter might make money, even if the comments were only alluding to something and not actually vulgarly said. It was his daughter for Christ sake! Battles knew at once he was actually dealing with the dregs of humanity once again. But Battles had learned in his life such men didn't always have to be handled with a gun. Leander McNelly had preached how sometimes diplomacy worked better than a bullet, even if he didn't always follow his own edicts.

Battles was all to aware when the young red-head came from the saloon herself, but he didn't let his gaze slip far from the old man.



"Well, Sir I'm afraid I can't help you there. I'm a Texas Ranger, not the local law. I honestly don't believe this town has a local Sheriff though I could be mistakin'. There is a US Marshal here abouts. He may be able to take your complaint. I'd suggest an alternative though if you've a mind to listen. You have to understand, Sir, out here in the wilds a woman is a treasured commodity and many of the men of the west would rather see a horse beat than hear or see a woman mistreated. And most of us would kill a man who mistreated our horse. Sometimes, like myself in yonder, we act before we think."

"Now I'm not saying you done any wrong." Battles quickly interjected. "And you are obviously a man with a forgivin' nature since you've let my own transgressions pass. Maybe the big man can be made to see the error of his ways as well and we can all let this be history? This is a hard land an many of us react on instinct before we think. You climb down off that wagon and come back inside with me and I bet we can get this all settled without anyone having to go to jail, and you can show everyone you're the better man, and a right smart business man to boot. If the young lady is going to sing this is the place she should be doing it in."



Battles looked quickly to the red-head but he instantly looked back to the old man. "You see there? We can all put hurt feelings aside and do business like proper folks do. You and I can have our drinks while I wait for the Marshal who I have dealings with, and you wait for the saloon owner. I wouldn't be expecting no apologies from the big man, but I'm sure the young lady here running things right now will keep him in check."

Battles finally looked to the red-head again, his pale blue eye almost daring her to contradict him but at the same time his expression seemed to beg her to agree and help him. All he wanted to do was diffuse the situation and get the young blond in a place she may be better looked after. He thought the red-head would definitely look after her if she could.

"Ain't that right, Miss? This is all a big misunderstanding that can be worked out?"

Then Battles turned back to the wagon and smiled, unexpected dimples appearing on his cheeks. He held the bottle up again and winked at the old man. "Shall we wet our whistle? Let bygones be bygones as you said, conduct our business like gentlemen and keep me from having to shoot anyone? You want what's best for your daughter after all, and I want a drink with good company. What do you say?"

Battles wouldn't really mind shooting the old fool, he knew, but his thoughts were currently on the young girl. She deserved a chance and he thought maybe she'd get one at the Shady Lady if the young red-haired barmaid was any true indication of the place.

Robert sat there chewing on his tongue, frustrated that a law man standing right there in front of him couldn't do something and then even worse talked about how precious women and horses were to men in these parts.  The only thing precious about them as far as Rpbert was concerned was the money they could bring and when the redhead piped up and said Flossie had a place there, he very nearly lost his temper again but he chose to ignore her and focused on Battles.

The talk of going back inside brought a bit of a grin to the old man’s face.  Now wouldn't that be fun, going back inside without that personal invite and escort.  Talk about rubbing it in the big brute’s face!  That alone was worth toning down but add the whiskey in the mix and Robert nodded with another of those big grins.  ”I think that sounds mighty fine, Mister,” the old fart replied with a chuckle.  ”Go on an’ get down, Girl.  Help me git inside an’ then go fetch me somethin’ t’ eat.  Them biscuits an’ gravy you made’r gone already.”

Flossie had kept her hands clenched tight in her lap but had looked to Molly like she’d give just about anything for a place.  Molly could see the resignation in the blonde though, knowing she'd be forced to head out when her father decided it was time to move on again.  Robert’s nudge brought her out of the little daydream of a decent life and after a scowl from the old man hurried to get out of the wagon and then stood close and supported Robert as he worked around favoring the one knee.

In spite of how he often treated her, he was her father and when she heard the hiss of pain as he stepped down on that bad leg she fell easily into her caretaker mode.  Ducking under his arm and supporting him, she spoke softly to him.  ”After I get you something to eat, I’ll mix up your joint salve and wrap your knee.  That usually seems to help.”  The old man didn't say anything for a moment, not liking how he looked weak but then he nodded.  "Aye, you do that," he harrumphed and then looked at Battles.  "Lead the way, Friend," he said with renewed joviality.

"You stop right there, both of you," Molly called out as she tipped her chin and strode the distance that separated her from the lawman who was issuing invitations that he had no right to extend. "Missus Lee decides who is and isn't welcome in her saloon, not you," she snapped, and there was smoke in Molly's husky voice as she emphasized who was and wasn't in charge. "When Missus Lee isn't here then I'm the one decidin' . . . you hear me?" she said fuming.

Although Molly was sympathetic toward Flossie and appreciative of how the Texas ranger was attempting to placate the old man, she was not about to be undermined by anyone. "Flossie is welcome to come in out of the sun and wait, but that old man is not crossing Missus Lee's threshold without invitation of the establishment, and he doesn't have one, me boyo . . . not even close!" Molly's Irish temper was high as she glared into Battle's piercing blue eye. She was so near and up-in-his-face that Battles could breathe the scent of lavender in her luxuriant hair and see the golden sparks that fired her eyes.

"If you encourage that nasty piece of baggage to push his luck it will be on you, buster . . ." Molly almost poked the ranger in the chest with her finger, but at the last moment she snatched back her hand, "And when Jamie is finished showing him the error of his ways then I'll take up my grievance with you."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:56, Thu 15 Aug 2013.

"Why you uppity little whore! Robert bellowed and standing up at his fullest height shoved Flossie away from him, the poor woman landing hard on her pert backside in the dirt.  "This is why women shouldn't have any sort of privileges.  Ye jus' belong on yer back givin' a man his pleasure an' cookin' and women's work.  I taught her right," he said pointing a finger at Flossie.  "She knows her place an' don' take much t' remind her anymore."

He turned to Battles and shook his head.  "I ain't settin' foot near that an' she an' her Missus gonna be sorry when my Flossie starts workin'.  Cryin' shame a little whore messed up a good deal jus' 'cuz she don't like me.  Some'un needs t' give 'her a few lashes, teach her a lesson," he snarled.

Flossie blanched when he spoke of lashes, already so disappointed after getting her hopes up that she just sat there in the dirt.  Her chest was tight and she stared blankly up into the sky.  Things just kept going from bad to worse and she jerked when her father yelled at her again.

"Get yer ass up off the ground, Girl!  Goin' back to that place like I should'a done already instead'a thinkin' some people might give ye a chance.  Damn this knee," he grumbled as he turned back toward the wagon, continually grumbling about the little upstart while Flossie got up and brushed the dirt off of her.  She couldn't look at the others around, instead kept her eyes on her father as she moved to help him again but kept a quiet dignity about her as if none of this had hurt her.

Oh Hell! was the first thought that came to Battles. Damn a woman that didn't know her place or the way of things. Worse yet, damn a stubborn Irish woman, which the redhead clearly was by the accent that she lost control of when she was angry, when she ain't got the sense to know when a fight is over and has to push things to the boiling point!"



Battles had to admit the girl had spirit even if she was the cause of more trouble than was needed. Battles admired fire and spirit in a woman, but when they went to far like the redhead was doing they were apt to get somebody hurt. Same as a young buck trying to look like a man before his time, they thought they knew everything even though they hadn't lived yet. Worse. They thought they had something to prove. More than one young man was dead and buried because he thought he could prove himself against John J. Battles. They hadn't lived yet either and they'd lost their chance to.

A few were fast. A few were damn good shots. None of them had lived long enough to know better about what they were doing. Battles had the scars to show for thier recklessnes. They were to damn young!

Battles would have grabbed the redhead by the arm and forcefully marched her ass straight back into the saloon had not the old man proved to be even dumber than her.

All stupity couldn't be attributed to youth.

Some people never learned despite thier years.



Battles was pissed at the redhead to be sure. She should have just followed his lead and there would have been an end to any trouble. The poor young blond girl, Flossie, may have had a brief respite from her ill treatment with somebody to look after her. But people like the young redhead always thought they had something to prove! Damn them! People like the young blond always payed for the arrogance of people like the redhead!

To prove his thought correct the poor young blond was pushed to the ground by her own father. His lip curled as he looked to the arrogant redhead but before he could turn to help the young blond Flossie up, she was already on her feet and brushing herself off. And she was actually moving to help the old man back into the wagon.

Hadn't he just told the old bastard how most men in the west treated women and expected others to treat them the same way? Hadn't he explained most men wouldn't put up with such?

Battles turned quickly to the old man and put a hard boot to his ass as he tried to climb aboard his wagon!  The old man bounced hard off the wagon before his daughter could catch him, but despite his obvious bad leg he kept to his feet and stared daggers at the Texas Ranger!

Oh this was one tough old bastard Battles thought to himself. His cowering act in the saloon a few moments ago had been just that. An act.

Battles eased his right hand over the staghorn handle of his right Colt.

"You're under arrest for assault, Old Man. Don't even think about giving me trouble while we walk to the Marshal's office."

Slowly Battles backed to his horse without taking his eyes off the old bastard or his daughter for you never knew what a child would do for thier father despite any ill treatment. He reached back with his left hand and dug a pair of handcuffs from his saddlebags, but instead of moving to put them on the old man he threw them at the feet of the redhead.

"You go in there and put those on the wrist of the man that assaulted this old bastard as well! Everyone is equal in the eyes of the law and I can't arrest one for assault without arresting the other! If you don't bring him out I'll come in for him. Trust me. You don't want that. NOW MOVE!"

If she'd only kept her mouth shut. If she'd only followed along nobody would have to go to jail, or if her or the big man got stupid, nobody would have to die. But to put the old man in a cell on a charge, he'd have to put the big man inside in jail on the same charge. That's just the way the cards had been dealt. It was the only way without killing that the blond would get at least a few hours free on her own.

Not to mention the redhead had pushed his buttons and Battles felt a need to put her in her place as she had thought to do him!

“What makes you think that you’ve got sway over me?” Molly fumed at Texas Ranger, her voice raising an octave as he tossed fuel on her Irish fire. “You come a’ ridin’ into town not knowin’ one damn thing about the people livin’ here and now you’re making proclamations to me?” she challenged him. “You’d  better think twice, and I don’t care if you are as spiteful and mean as the devil himself!” Whatever had been redeeming that Molly had thought she had seen in him was long gone.

“You come into the saloon and manhandle me for no good reason leaving bruises on my flesh, and then you have a varmint’s gall to tell me that sometimes you move on instinct before you think about things . . .  like that’s supposed to make it all right. Your own words were that you’d probably have shot any other man who treated me the way you did, yet now you want to arrest Jamie Galbraith for doing the right thing?” Molly laughed in his face.

“That nasty bit of work is pure scum and if you can’t see that then you are cut from the same filthy piece of cloth that he is,” Molly gestured toward McKenna with a sharp jut of her chin. “Miss Annabelle is as accommodating a business woman as there ever was, but in her place no woman is ever disrespected. Jamie Galbraith didn’t hurt that old man none; he taught him a lesson is all; one that clearly needs teaching again. What Jamie did was what needed to be done in this mostly lawless hell-hole; and no more or less than what you did when you shoved your hard boot to the polecat’s backside. If you can’t see through that charlatan’s act, well I’ll allow it’s because you only have one good eye, but if you expect me to pick up those handcuffs and do your job for you then you have half a mind as well!”

Oh was Molly ever mad,  her full breasts heaving from emotion, the exertion of her speech, and the injustice of it all; standing square in the middle of the dusty road with that luxuriant mass of coppery silk tumbling about her shoulders, as proud and fierce as Boudicca the great Celtic warrior-queen. “A pair of jackasses you both are, but I stupidly expected better from you,” Molly’s voice was hot and bitter and her words were laden with scorn as she glared from Battles to the old man and back again; her fists planted on her hips and her expression daring Battles to take her on.

“And you,” Molly turned her blazing green eyes on Flossie. “You’re not the only one who’s been made a slave because of what nasty old men want from you. The only way you’ll be free of this dirty buzzard’s pecking is when you decide you’ve had enough. Earn your way with your nightingale voice or on your back for all I care, but don’t do it for any other reason than because it’s what you choose to do.” Molly stared at Flossie for a long moment as sad and sorry for the girl as ever she had been for herself in the days when she had been property loaned out and passed around. “Miss Annabelle will see you,” Molly’s voice gentled and if there was any spark of bright determination in Flossie then the shamed young woman heard the earnest truth that Molly spoke. “If you’re decent she’ll find a place for you, but if you’re expectin’ some knight on a white horse to save you from that bastard you call Daddy then you’ll never be free.”

“As for you,” Molly turned back to Battles and gave him a look that shouted 'Go ahead and shoot me, I dare you! as she gave the handcuffs that he had tossed a sharp kick in his direction. “You do your own dirty work, and if you’re lookin’ to make the acquaintance of Jamie Galbraith remember to mind your manners and tip your hat when you do.”
This message was last edited by the player at 18:42, Sun 18 Aug 2013.

People on the street were starting to gather to watch the spectical and a couple of cowhands came out of the Shady Lady as well to see what was happening. The boisterous redhead was loud enough the people in Mexico could hear her.

All Battles had wanted to do was difuse the situation but the bitch would have none of it. All she wanted was a fight and to see somebody hurt. She just had to push. She wasn't smart enough or experienced enough to know some people pushed back harder. She wasn't going to be satisfied until blood was shed.

Battles had thought briefly that maybe the redhead could be a comfort and influence on the young blond, but now he knew she was no better than the man who abused the poor girl himself. She had to be in control. It didn't matter how her actions affected others as long as she could be boss. She didn't care about anyone but herself. She didn't even care about the big man who had thrown the old man in the street or she wouldn't have dared a man like Battles to face him down.

Battles really had no choice. He couldn't haul the old man to the marshal's jail for assault without hauling the big man in as well. The big man, Jamie she called him, had assaulted the old man first. Yes the old man was a letch, but he'd done nothing or said anything you didn't see in saloons every day. Most whores knew what came with the territory but obviously not this redhead bitch.

She wanted trouble.

And she'd found it.

"You're a damn fool girl! I have to go in there now and maybe kill a man because you don't know when to keep your mouth shut! I had this all settled and nobody had to go to jail but you had to keep pushin'. I hope to God that big man in there is smarter than you because if he ain't he's gonna die because of you! I hope your foolish pride can live with that!"

Battles turned and looked at the old man and then the young blond. His gaze softened slightly when he looked at the girl, but hardened back right away.

"Old Man, you're under arrest as I said, so don't even think about running and making me come after you. Stand where you are until I come back out or I'll add fleeing from justice to your charges and shoot you down as a fugitive when next I lay eyes on you! Do you savvy?"

Not waiting for an answer Battles turned and headed into the saloon, brushing by the redhead without even a glance.

Flossie was frozen to the spot next to the wagon, her father tossed about again and then arrested.  Part of her heart rejoiced but then she knew he wouldn’t be in there long and there would be hell to pay when he got back to her.  Glancing at her father, she could see the pain in his eyes and the sweat that had popped on his brow but that irrational anger was raging in his eyes when he wasn’t having a fit of apoplexy.

Then the redhead went off and while in her mind she knew her father was trash, hearing someone else say it brought it completely in a new light and gave her new misgivings.  If her father was nothing but filth, then what was Flossie?  The words stung, especially about earning her way on her back, and overrode the good advice she was trying to give.  That was when the spark of defiance went off in her eyes and her lips formed a thin line.

“If I’m decent?” Flossie spluttered and then stopped herself from saying anything else.  Tempers were flaring and she was just as tempted to fly off at the mouth but couldn’t, or more exactly wouldn’t, make things worse.  Battles was livid and her father looked about ready to implode but she knew soon enough that would be an explosion and while part of her did want someone to rid her of her father, she’d long ago given up on a white night.

When Battles started to walk off, it was like someone goosed the girl and she went running after him with her hands up in the air so he wouldn’t think she was going to do anything bad.  ”Please Sir just wait a minute and let’s talk a minute,” she pleaded as she bounced in front of him.  ”Now, let’s see, my m-manager just got angry and he meant to push me behind him in case someone started shooting.  I lost my balance, these dang heels in dirt you know.”

Her eyes were wide and pleading with Battles, hands clasped together as if praying and resting against her pillowing bosom.  ”So he didn’t really assault me and everything’s just been a big misunderstanding.  No one needs to go to jail … let bygones be bygones … just …”  She faltered then, her throat tightening from fear and anxiety which made it hard to breathe.  Her eyes unfocused as she concentrated on calming herself, her breathing slowing to a more regular rate.  Sad blue eyes lifted up to Battles then as she whispered "Please ..."

For a second, just for a second, Battles had thought to push the young blond aside and march into the saloon and give the redhead the killing she seemed to be asking for. He'd seen the big man when he'd thrown the old bastard out of the saloon and he wasn't fool enough to think he could subdue him without a gun.

But he couldn't arrest one for assault without arresting the other. The redhead had pinned his ears back, sure enough. But before he shoved her aside to do his job, the young blond gave him an escape from killing.



Battles looked at the young girl, and looked to the defiant redhead. Then he looked at the old bastard who surely needed taken down a peg or two. But that wasn't his job.

"Well Miss, if you won't press charges for assault, I guess your old man is free to go. I'd strongly advise you not to let him off the hook however.

But...Your old man has said he wanted to press charges agin' the big man inside and from what I'd seen he has a right to. I tried to avoid that by invitin' him to a drink, but the young lady here would have none of it. Unless one of them changes their minds, I have no choice but put somebody in jail, or shoot them if they refuse to go.

I won't fault your father in this as he was willing to let things drop there for a while, but I won't condone his treatment of you either. And I'll surely not hear one more bad word out of his mouth about the women in this town. I'll take this badge off and throw it in the dirt so I don't have to worry about him legal like. I'll be able to deal with him man to man!"

In his own mind Robert wanted to shoot everyone involved in this mess, including his stupid daughter, but he knew he'd not even get his gun out before One-Eye would end his life.  No, things needed to settle and then he'd start working on his revenge.  At least Flossie had given him a moment to think about things and though it galled him to no end, he nodded.

"Sometimes me girl has a bit of sense," he growled as all of his weight was on his good leg.  Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face and it was obvious the pain was worsening.  "I ... I'll not press charges.  Let th' bastard be.  If ye still want a drink, we'll just head on down t' that cantina."  Looking at Flossie, his jaw muscles fluttered.  "Open the back door an' lemme sit there instead of crawlin' in an outta th' bench."

Flossie hesitated, looking from her father to Battles.  "May we go, Sir?  And ... will you join us ... for a bit?" she asked with hopeful sweetness.

Well there it was. Over and done. The tension could visibly be seen to go out of Battles' shoulders as the threat of possible gunplay was removed. The old man had shocked him. He didn't think the old cuss had it in him to let go. He just wasn't the type. No doubt he had something in mind, but there in the street wasn't time to worry about it.

Turning back he gave the redhead one last look, all malice and threat now gone from his expression. Replaced maybe by a touch of sadness? What had the poor girl gone through in her young life to make her so spiteful and uncaring? Well, not uncaring. She'd certainly shown some concern for Flossie. When he took a second to think about it, he actually couldn't fault her for her anger either. It was just the dangerous way she pushed a situation that galled him.

But luckily it was past now.

Bending to pick up his shackles, Battles' was suddenly surprised to find his bottle of whiskey laying there in the dirt as well. He'd dropped it at some point, completely unaware of doing so. He tossed the shackles over his left shoulder and picked up the bottle dusting it off. Not caring if there was an ordinance against drinking in the streets, which he was sure there was as in most towns, but who was there to enforce ordinances in Escondido, he pulled the cork and took a long hard tug at the bottle. Glaring at the people who had gathered to watch, he replaced the cork and tossed the bottle to the old man.

"Move on! There's nothing more to see here!" He turned to the young Blond. "I'll join you for a bit. I'm obviously not welcome here myself. Let's help your...Manager... into the wagon where he can have a drink in peace for a minute."

If somebody was going to look after the young blond it appeared it was going to have to be Battles himself.

Robert watched as Battles took a pull from the bottle, licking his own lips and scratching at his whiskers with a look full of longing but then snapped his fingers at Flossie.  "Now ya'll don't forget about tonight," he called out looking specifically at the men with no women around them.  "One way'r another, this little gal'll be singin' an' dancin' ... ach damn that hurts," he said, the last little bit mumbled as he tried to put weight on his knee.

For her part, Flossie took the signal and smiled brightly as well as took a deep breath to accentuate her blessings then gave a tiny wave, delicate fingers wiggling, in the direction her father was looking.  It was her acting face, the strain of the recent bit of time still showing in her eyes but now wasn't the time to rile up her father again.  "Thank you," she whispered to Battles, her words of gratitude covered by her pursing her lips and blowing a kiss to a clutch of men.

When she walked over to Robert, it was a slow and very deliberate stride that made her full hips sway and she'd hiked up and swished the skirt in the front right to just above the knee.  Her gut was still in knots and she wondered which ones her father would lure in that night but for now she was in preshow mode, trying to lure as many as possible to come see her.  "Now give me just a moment," she said brightly as she helped him toward the back of the wagon, letting Robert lean on her and Battles until she could open the door and bring the string over to fasten it so it would stay open.  She was sturdy thankfully, holding up his weight quite easily and hefting him up to plunk his butt down.

"Now don't you go rushin' them mules an' make me fall out," Robert fussed at her.  His expression was still angry but it was clear his warped mind was whirring away.

"I won't," she promised quietly.  "Maybe I should take you to a doctor?  Have them see to you?"

"Don't want no damn doc.  All they do is shove needles in an' gimme that stuff that addles m' brain.  Nope, gotta get ye set up fer workin' an' that poultice that Injun showed ya should do good 'nuff."

"Yessir.  Now hold on and I'll get us back to that cantina."  Unless someone else decides we don't need to go there just yet, she thought to herself and looked to Battles.  "Meet you over there," she said as she hiked the skirt up and pulled herself up onto the driver's bench, settling down and taking up the reins.  "Alright boys, let's try this again," she called out to the mules and gently tapped their hindquarters, looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't turning in front of anyone and setting them down the road with practiced ease.


[To Cantina]

---> From The Escondido Bank and Essay Office


As the morning wore on. The sun climbing in the bright blue Texas sky. Temperance ushered her small brood out on to the ever changing streets of Escondido.

Noting painted box wagon creaking it’s way down the road. She guessed that ‘The Natchez Nightingale’ was the tightly corseted blonde behind the reins. The lord only knew who or what the dusty old man in the back was.

“Come along children.” Her eyes now falling on the one-eyed man and the red head. Molly? Molly something, she works at the Lady. Been the talk of the town ever sense Miss Lee toke her on. He just looks like trouble. “I’d like to be done and on our way home sooner than later.”

Hurrying the girls along Temperance keeps a sharp look out, just in case.


---> To The General Store
This message was last edited by the player at 22:10, Fri 23 Aug 2013.

From McQueen Residence

Clementine had a list of errands and good intentions an arm's length long, but before she set out in a bustle of hurry she took a moment to breathe the air, admire the improvements that she had made to her tidy little home, and glance up and down the road that comprised the town to see who was about and what was going on.

OOC: Where is our town map? Have I missed it?
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Mon 26 Aug 2013.

OOC ---> from McQueen residence...

With Rebecca holding onto his arm for support, Cyrus takes a slow, careful pace walking gently in the direction of the Marshal's office where Midnight is currently stabled along with his own horse Black Jack.

As they walked, Cyrus spoke in a soft, concerned tone, "So Miss Rebecca, where were you and your family headed to... originally?  Do you have any nearby relations whom I could contact?  I know you're nearly a woman full grown, but even we adults can use a helpin' hand from kin when times are tough."

Rebecca's shook her head, still smiling from his compliment about 'pale ' girls.  "Nay, Papa was on an adventure.   Arizona, California, or mayhap some place else!   It was as if he were a young lad seekin' a lassie."  She looked at Cyrus for a moment.   "Ye never found one.  Why is that," she asked innocently.

Cyrus paused in his step for a moment in reaction to Rebecca's "innocent question" before continuing and replying in a carefully guarded tone, "Well now... who says I never found a lass... or rather a lady?  But finding one and being able to keep one, those are two different things.

And you know the military lifestyle as well as I do, frequent traveling from post to post, often stationed at the edge of nowhere only a step or two away from constant danger either from the elements or hostile natives or untamed bandits... its not exactly a life that many women find attractive.  Safety and stability are usually prized over danger and upheaval experienced on a regular basis.

Aside from being posted on the wild Frontier most of the time, my units were typically knee deep in the thick of one Indian War or another.  It is difficult to ask a lady to make plans with you for the future when you can't promise her that you'll actually be there by her side alive, well, and in one piece a week in advance much less a month or even a year.

Sometimes I wonder how my father managed to convince my mother to risk it all to marry him... though that was an earlier time and it seemed at least as if there were fewer "fires" that needed to be put out on a near constant basis."

Decided that turn about was fair play, Cyrus glanced at Rebecca with a smile and said in a teasing tone, "Anyway I'm an old war horse, there's plenty of reasons why I'm still single... but what about you Miss Rebecca?  I can't imagine what excuse there is for you not having at least 3 or 4 beaus chasin' after you.

Surely there has to be at least a couple of men from here to Kansas who could manage to keep up with you, even astride a fast horse like Midnight.  Or is there someone?  Perhaps a betrothal awaitin' either your return or waitin' for your arrival?"

Now it was Rebecca that paused in her step, blushing furiously.  "Oh, Nay!  Oh!"  She looked at Cyrus accusingly, but even the young woman could admit she had asked for that question.

She shook her head.  "Nay, I have no beau, nor any betrothed!  As ye said, the Army life is hardly one for such things.  And Papa was very careful that I not encourage any such things with the soldiers at the Post.  As ye know, there are very few women at those posts.  I danced with them all, but I was kept from true association with them."

She sighed.  "There was one lovely young man.  He was an officer, mayhap much like ye were when I was but a girl.  He was so very gentlemanly.  We did go riding a time or two."  She grew melancholy.  "He said he should like to come to California sometime, mayhap to find me.  I told him that was a foolish dream, but he was most persistent.  Poor fellow.  He'll likely always wonder what happened to me."

Clementine had a list of errands and good intentions an arm's length long, but before she set out in a bustle of hurry she took a moment to breathe the air, admire the improvements that she had made to her tidy little home, and glance up and down the road that comprised the town to see who was about and what was going on. The truth of the matter was that the rough and wild little town never ceased to amaze her for the denizens were so vastly different from Clementine’s circle of acquaintances in Boston that each time she ventured out of her house the excursion was an adventure.

Satisfied that the impromptu breakfast had gone well, that her husband was enjoying a contented state of mind, and that their patient was on the road to recovery; Clementine banished all thoughts of their house and tiny hospital from her mind.  Lifting her face to the warm breeze and bright sunshine, undaunted Clementine set out with a bounce in her step and a sway to her walk that dared anyone to rain on her parade.

There was nothing to the town but a thoroughfare flanked on both sides by all that was essential for folks to get by; yet although Clementine had not partaken of all that Escondido had to offer, she was well aware of what was and wasn’t there. The heels of Clementine’s suede boots were tapping a merry tattoo on the uneven boardwalk when she spied a lone man sprawled awkwardly in her path. Instinctively Clementine hurried her pace to see what the matter was.


This message was last edited by the player at 00:05, Tue 27 Aug 2013.

----> from his home and office

Ramsey watched the Marshal and Miss O'Dell go their way, while he turned tail and headed towards the barber shop.  There were more people about at this hour, but he was firm of purpose and kept to a bee line that ran straight to the barber, nodding politely when he had to but keeping close and to himself in the meanwhile.

----> to the barber

Cyrus "tsked" as he said in an encouraging tone, "Now, now Miss Rebecca, you mustn't write yourself off like that, you are still alive and gettin' healthier by the day and you're still young and pretty and able to look forward to a long and happy future.

Now tell me... what was the name of this gentlemanly officer?  Do you recall what unit he was assigned to?

Perhaps when you're feelin' better, you might think about writing this young man a letter to let him know that you're alive and well.  You know there's quite a few cavalry troops stations all over the state of Texas and a competent officer can often secure a transfer from one duty post to another.

If need be, I could always put in a good word for him with my former commanding officer, Colonel Ranald Mackenzie.  Col. Mackenzie and the 4th US Cavalry are always on the look out for good men and promising young officers.  I believe Companies A, B, C, E, and K are stationed not all that far away at Fort Clark, while there are a few other Companies posted to Fort Concho to the east of us."

Cyrus paused for a moment and chuckled as he continued in a slightly less enthusiastic but quite serious tone, "But before I get too far ahead of myself... I'll just say that there's no reason to leave the young man wondering what happened to you, you really should think about writing him a letter.  After all, there's the possibility he may hear second hand about the attack and be left wondering and worrying about your fate."

Rebecca seemed introspective.  "His name was Rob.  Robert Erickson, a 1st Lieutenant in Daddy's unit.  Very young, Daddy said, but he seemed so worldly t' me.  He loved Midnight and told me one night he might fall in love with me.  I told him Daddy would never be allowin' him t' ask him to marry me, should such happen.  I... I cried when we left."

She let go to wipe her eyes.  "Silly, huh?  He wasn't about much, but I saw him many times.  I... I danced with him one night, oh he was a bonny dancer!  Not at all like some of the cavalry who seemed so uncomfortable off of a horse!  Oh, he had strong arms and I felt light as a feather..."

She blushed.  "Oh, listen to me!  Please, let us continue our walk, Marshal!  I'm a foolish girl and am simply glad to be alive and on your arm!"

Indeed, as she started walking, her steps seemed more sure.  A stray breeze blew a bit of her long hair up to tickle Cyrus' cheek as they walked.

Cyrus nodded his head as he continued to escort Rebecca towards the Marshal's Officer.  He said in a friendly tone, "Nonsense Miss Rebecca, there's nothing foolish in having feelings for a young man, especially if he returns the favor.  And this Lt. Erickson does sound like a fine, upstanding young officer.

So if it isn't prying too much, and if it is please say so as I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, was this Lt. Robert Erickson your first real beau?

Well... other than Midnight of course!"  Cyrus grinned knowing just how much Rebecca loved horses and in particular her own horse.

She shook her head sadly.  "Nay, he wasna my beau.  He wanted to be, and were I less flighty and knowin' what I know now, maybe he would have been.  He was a dear lad, but he knows not where I am, and that's the end of it."

She looked up with a smile.  "But my Midnight.  I have Midnight, and no lass is happier than I.  And you've saved us both!  How could I ever repay you?"  Her eyes were full of worship and adoration.

Cyrus smiled at Rebecca and replied in earnest, "I cannot rightly take credit for saving Midnight, he managed to stay free all on his own and then came back to watch over you until my cavalry troop arrived.

But as for repaying me for rescuing you... well that warm, healthy, pretty smile you're showing right now is all the reward I need.

I only wish I could do more for you Miss Rebecca.  I am trying my best to track down leads to discover who attacked you and why and more importantly where they are now so that they may be properly brought to justice."

Cyrus's expression turned serious as he contemplated the difficulties in finding the bandits, difficulties that grew more and more difficult as the days turned into weeks.  Still he was determined to bring law & order to this region and bringing in those bandits to face real justice at the end of a rope (after a proper trial and conviction of course) would go a long way to showing the locals that wanton violence and rampart lawlessness were no longer welcome and had no place in "civilized" Texas!

Cyrus spied the Marshal Office just up ahead and he gently escorted Rebecca around to where the stables were in the back.

OOC: ---> to Marshal's Office thread

In reply to Flossie McKenna (msg # 28):

"I'll meet you there directly, Miss. I have to stop in at the Marshal's office on the way, but I won't be far behind you." Battles had no intention of leaving the young lady alone in the old man's care even if he were her father, but he had his duty as a Ranger to perform first and foremost and it was important that he speak to the Marshal about his business in Escondido.