”Mighty handy talent you with those bullets, Mr. Cooper,” Bauer observes as the wind picks up. The deputy shivers, drawing her poncho tighter around her shoulders.

Kansas Kate was about to say something in response to the ongoing ammunition fabrication discussion, but her eyes narrowed.

"What'n th' fresh hell is that?"  She raised the shotgun.  "Con sarn it, ah bet that there's bait.  Well, might's well take it.  Keep yer eyes open."

She walked carefully toward the strange object she'd spotted, eyes wide open, weapon ready.

Moving cautiously toward the edge of the campsite, primed to respond to the first hint of danger, Kansas Kate reaches the object without any hint of interference. Stooping down the outlaw picks it up, her eyes, now adjusted to the gloom, able to identify it before she collects it.

It is a wide brimmed brown fedora. The crown of the hat has a long tear in it and on the left side, the brim is ragged and mostly gone. Blood is smeared over the surface of the fabric.

Kansas Kate recognizes it immediately. It is the hat that was worn by Tom O’Folliard.

Looking up, neither the outlaw nor her companions see anything moving toward the camp. The only motion any can see are the gray branches of the pines swaying in the icy wind.

"Sunuvabitch!"  She swore, though only that was the clear swear she articulated.  Angrily, she scooped up the hat and stomped back to the others and threw the hat down on the ground.

"GAWDAMMIT!  Ah'ma SKIN these sons'o'bitches'n use their gonads fer a coin purse!"

She was angry.

Jacinta was a bit confused, not recognizing the hat nor the reason why Kate was so angry.  She pointed at the offending object.  "Belong to someone you know?"  Picking it up, she inspected it, coming to the quick conclusion that whoever wore it was either badly injured or, more likely, very dead.

The outlaw, fists clenched, choked out through her teeth with a rasping hiss.  "This is O'Folliard's damn hat!"  She stomped the dirt a few more times, then seemed to calm somewhat.

"Ah'd... ah'd say get to trackin'... but'n if he ain't already dead, ah'll be a two headed king snake."

OOC: As a side note to those not on watch, unless you happen to have the Heavy Sleeper hindrance, there’s a good chance that Kansas Kate’s reaction to her discovery stirred you from sleep. Whether you remain awake or not is entirely up to you. After all, the outlaw gets mad a lot. So, her being pissed off may not, in itself, cause you alarm.

Kate’s outburst brings Tamsin to a half awake state, and she shifts just enough to be audible. ”Is someone dying or can I go back to sleep?”

The wind finds its strength again, ushering in another layer of cold to blanket those gathered beneath the overhang. The campfire falters at its arrival, shrinking at its touch, the shadows growing as it struggles to remain alight.

The wind does not come alone. Its icy reach carries hints of voices along with its travel: whispered pleas, hisses of anger, weeping, and furtive laughter; loud enough to be heard, but not strong enough to be clear. They are murmurs that wash past, scattering hints of sharp emotion before bearing their secrets off into the dark.

As the last of the voices fades to a trembling breath, a lone figure steps from the shadow to the firelight, a cloak hanging from his broad shoulders, a wide brimmed hat drawn low over his eyes. In his gloved hands, he holds only a pipe, which he methodically packs with tobacco.

“I told O’Folliard, and all the rest of those boys, to put Lincoln behind them. To ride east into Texas, or west for California. To forget this valley.”

Lawrence Murphy looks pointedly at Albert Cooper. ”Told Henry Cooper the same. He’s a fine man. Good rancher. Could make a life for his family anywhere he chose.” He shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have any of it.”

He lights his pipe, the flare of the match providing a glimpse of eyes that are black and lifeless. ”Now here I am, trying to talk sense into each of you. I doubt you’ll listen. But you need to turn back. Find a life elsewhere. Put this business behind you.”

“This mountain, it doesn’t care what you’re made of. What you’ve seen, how brave you are. It’ll swallow you up just the same. Every last one of you.”

Kansas Kate's shouting and yelling had woken him up, and he approached where the others were just in time for Murphy to make his speech to them.

"Well, I appreciate you takin' the time outta yer busy schedule, Mr. Murphy. You seem mighty confident of whatever is goin' on with this mountain - and about our ability to rise to that challenge. Believe it or not, I've had my doubts about this very misadventure myself. Could you perhaps enlighten us as to what happened to Mr. O'Folliard, his whereabouts to the best of your knowledge, and about what awaits us at the culmination of our journey?

You see, I can handle just about any sonuvabitch. You should see your lieutenant. Dolan ain't lookin' so pretty right about now, and neither are the rest of the bootlickers you sent to Blazer's Mill. That was all before I talked to Roberts over here, though. Now...I think I'm getting outta my depth as a lawman.

I'm afraid I don't know enough about Owl Witches and the like to dissuade these good people from whatever it is they intend, so if you could let us know about what it is we're up against it would surely help me make my case that we're better off just leaving this situation altogether."

---

OOC:

I'd like to play 9H - Spill the Beans:

The subject of your questioning tells you everything you want to know, whether by friendly persuasion, intimidation, or force. The Marshal gets a draw from the fate pot.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:36, Wed 22 Jan 2020.

Oh she had words for Murphy, such words.  But... now was not the time.  And honestly, words weren't her strong suit, she was about action, though some might say she did have a way with language (specifically, torturing it).

Kansas Kate was a prideful creature, but also a sinister one, and saw an opening the Ranger had just created she might be able to exploit.  This time, her sinister nature defeated her rage.

"Coop.  How many o' them ya got?"  Kansas Kate growl-whispered in a low voice.  Her scattergun was at the ready, drawing a bead on Murphy's head.  Whatever was wrong with him, he wouldn't be much good with his eyes blinded by lead pellets.

But she didn't kick off the festivities.  Not yet.

And here's where I'm glad KK doesn't have the Vengeful Hindrance.

Albert frowned when Murphy talked about his uncle and shook his head. "Course he wouldn't. Folk what made their homes through hard work deserve ta reap the fruits o' their labor. Not just run off fer no good reason."

The cowboy looked over at Bryan when the ranger asked his questions. Albert leaned an ear closer to Kate as she spoke quietly. He momentarily had a slightly confused look and he asked for clarification as quietly as Kate's query had been stated. "How many o'what?"

Wayland struggled to wake up.  There was more than enough noise and reason to wake up, of course.  But, his dreams often shook him.  Rest was rarely restful for the scientist.  For him, there was always talking....whispering...voices....  always....always....

He jerked very suddenly awake from his place by the fire.  His eyes wild and suspicious, "No no no no...."  He scrambled to his feet as the conversation went on, muttering half a conversation.  He pulled his hat roughly back on his head and grabbed up his lightning gun as though he meant very serious business.  Of course, as he hadn't quite caught up to the goings on at the fire yet, one might wonder just what his business might be...

Kate grumbled back.  "Yer special loads.  Think'n we's 'bout ta need 'em somethin' pow'r'ful."

Albert nodded slightly. "Ah, them. Was just about ta make some more as J-Lo and I used what we had. Ya want me ta scratch one up fer ya?"

No answer was never a good answer. Tamsin gets up from where she was sleeping, making sure to grab her gun belt and everything that went with it, drawn to whatever is happening. Now she has to find out what’s going on, because obviously someone isn’t dying, but... someone is probably dead, from the looks of the hat she spies on the ground.

”Of course, Ranger. I’d be glad to answer all of your questions. If a discussion is genuinely what you want. I came here in the hope that you and your companions were the sort who might see reason,” Murphy replies.

”But I sense that some of your fellow riders are more interested in a fight. If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” As he speaks, the sharp sounds of cracking wood interrupt the stillness as the trees surrounding the camp lean inward, their branches stretching like skeletal limbs, reaching for those gathered around the fire. Roots, black with decay, emerge from the earth like the bloated limbs of the forgotten dead, snaking toward the travelers. The campfire shrinks, with only a few licks of flame providing a weak amber glow. It seems suddenly as though the posse is standing within a small space underground, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.

From every quadrant of the wood, even from the darkness above, there are the echoes of ghostly cackling.

”I’m not one to waste time. Which do you prefer?”

And just like that, Kansas Kate understood (or thought she had?) and lowered the shotgun.

"Horseshit."  She sounded disgusted.  "Gawd. damn. horse. shit."

She seemed... disappointed.  "Go 'head 'n jawjack.  Just don't do nuthin' none of ya an' don't go nowhere.  Go slack as a hemp rope soaked in an oil barrel.  Good time ta go take a piss if'n ya want."

She doubted anyone would understand or gave a damn, but she was already done with this.  She also might be horribly wrong.

Jacinta's rifle was still laying across her knees, but she had yet to take aim at anything.  If what was said about Murphy was true, then regular bullets weren't going to stop him.  So she kept her seat and simply leaned forward to listen, a slight frown playing at her lips.  Her eyes flitted to the surrounding trees and darkness, both of which caused her to make the sign of the cross.

"You know, I'm a sorta talk first kinda guy. I mean, I'll fight if I have to, but I mean it's sometimes easier to see if talkin' will work. I tried to hash things out with Jim McDaniels, but he was only really interested in violence, so we had to take care of business there. I would've preferred to lock him up, I suppose, but apparently demon folk don't take kindly to the notion of incarceration. That's neither here nor there, though."

He hoped that if that even if who he had come to think of as Murphy wouldn't tell him what he wanted, well, at least Coop could etch out a few more of his bullets.

"Though I figure you might see things differently, bein' a business type fella as you are. You see, after we handled Demon McDaniels and Dolan and Evans and all the other sorry sons of bitches you got workin' for you, the general thinkin' was that whatever was up here wouldn't be so bad - maybe just some more demons and assholes. I was outvoted, so to speak, but I thought since you seem to know more about this, you could succeed where I didn't. Probably we're gonna need to hear somethin' more than ominous bullshit about us gettin' swallowed up and all that."

OOC:

Persuasion: 4 (6 in the dubious case he respects Rangers)

09:50, Today: Bryan Lee rolled 3,1 using d6,d6, rerolling max.  Persuasion.
+2 from Edges
-1 from Hindrances

Dr. Wayland continued to look around wild eyed for something for a few moments more till some bit of the "conversation" caught his ear.  It wormed through his maddened confusion and he went from panic to studiously calm.  A bit too suddenly.  As the threes and darkness began to stretch and close around the camp, the scientist gave it all a narrow, measured glance, muttering, "Not the pickle one then...  Some new nightma-ah...  No...  Might be real...  Its hard to tell...  So hard to tell...  You are no help..."  At Kate's suggestion of passivity, Dr. Wayland leaned his lightning gun against his shoulder and set his jaw, "Ah.  Awake then.  Damn."

The fire returns to life. With groans and creaks, the surrounding trees stand straight again, their blackened roots retreating underground. The darkness recedes, the camp returning to the ordinary appearance it had mere moments ago.

Even Murphy’s countenance seems to shift, going from an imposing figure of shadow to that of a stately man of advanced years, his hair silver, his face deeply lined. The bowl of his pipe glows as he inhales. He shakes his head as he releases a stream of gray smoke. ”Shame about Dolan. He was a man of many talents. Perhaps if his ambitions had been directed elsewhere, he would have found great success. And would still be among the living.”

“To your first question, Ranger, Tom O’Folliard is dead. Not much remains of him to bury, I fear. I had a direct hand on his demise. I won’t deny it. Another sin I have to take ownership of. He was...a convenient way for me to satiate my curse. What I didn’t take of him, the wolves did.”

He smiles mirthlessly at Lee and taps his temple. ”Not the wolves that haunt your imagination, Ranger. The real ones that have defied the grave for centuries here in these mountains.”

Stepping closer to the campfire, he glances over at Andrew Roberts and Shabbakasha, both of whom have awakened. Staring down at the blaze, he says, ”You and your posse seem to have a calming influence on the Regulators. Had O’Folliard reached them, I’m certain he would have stirred them up. Given Bonney even more reasons to seek vengeance. Billy and those boys would have ended up making the climb with you. But...they’re not strong. They’re impulsive and steered by emotion. Up there...she would’ve turned every one of them into monsters. Like me, they wouldn’t have the fortitude to refuse her.”

He straightens, gazing out at the surrounding forest. ”After the war, my obsession was with ownership. Being able to sit on my porch and know that all the land I could see was mine. Going to California, digging deep into the hills so I could call all the gold and ghost rock that was hiding in the earth my own. To be made great by what I had claimed.”

“You know, the Mescalero, and as far as I know, the Comanche, don’t have words in their language that express the idea of land ownership. It’s an unknown concept to them. And rightly so. It’s a foolish notion. That we could possess the earth. Bend it to our will. It’s home to things that make our lives seem laughably small. That dwarf us with their power.”

He exhales another haze of tobacco smoke. ”Did you, or any of your friends serve in the war, Ranger? Perhaps fight on the side of one of the railroads?”

"This pigeon-livered flapdoodle maws on worse'n a fishwife.  There's less hot air over a bonfire."  Kansas Kate observed idly with a chuckle, sitting down like there was nothing to be concerned about.

"They're still here? We killed a bunch of 'em that attacked our stage coach...Damn wolves..." He muttered under his breath before shaking himself out of it and back to the present.

"I didn't fight in the war, so to speak. The big one or the rail ones, though I did do some work on behalf of Dixie Rails before I took to lawin'. I'd say it was less of a war and more just thumpin' saboteurs and knockin' heads."