The old man shrugs. "Worked well enough for him when the damn Wendell Mine people came in. This place were a reg'lar boom town once. Then the mine done closed up, and everythin' dried out. Hell, we ain't even on the latest maps no more. So yeah, you could say that it didn't work out too well fer him in the end. Which is why I suppose he decided to try and give literal devils a try. That 'Enlightened Society' is a reg'lar coven, if'n you ask me." he spits for emphasis. "But hell, here I am, belly achin' again, and I don't even know you folks!" He holds out a gnarled hand to Charging Bear. "I'm Gabe Clarke, but most folk 'round these parts call me Gabby."

In reply to Telegraph Operator (msg #71):

Robert takes two of the forms and pondering a bit, fills them out.  "Here you go.  Send the first one right away.  The second one, ah, hell, send that one to"

[Private to GM: I figure I need to send a coded message to my superiors, saying that there might be ghost rock here.
And a real one finding out of the judge was held up
Msg#1 (coded to my agency contact)
To: John Smith in Houston
From: Robert Micklethwait
Message: Problem in Blackthorn.  Hot local legal issues will delay leaving.
(Hot = ghost rock.  Local = in area.)

Msg #2
To: judge or sherrif at last town (whoever I worked with
From: Robet Micklethait
Message: Judge not arrive last night.  Pls confirm he left
]

The operator takes Robert's messages and taps them out. He dutifully waits for confirmations, then nods to the lawyer. "Well, messages sent. Might take a while for replies, so why don't you come back this afternoon? Or, if you want me to send a runner, tell me where you can be reached."

"I'll be in the hotel, most likely.  But I can just as easily wander on by, ain't got much else t'do."  With a tip of his hat Robert leaves and mosey's back to the hotel/saloon, unless he sees anything more interesting

The Indian youth gives the older man a firm hand shake as that's what he was taught one does, "Gabby.. I'm Charging Bear."

The clank looks up briefly. "Not tarnation: salvation is done here."

With that it takes its holy water and attends to pouring it into the corpse's skull through both wounds and natural spaces before replacing it face down and sprinkling the water over and around it. Alouette speaks while it does this, mostly Latin but scraps of Spanish in there, too, and fragments of some Athabascan or Hokan tongue - very much like the clank is patching the gaps in its memory with the result when someone tried to translate a Roman Catholic ceremony into a native language/practice. The static interferes a little, but not to any great extent.

The automaton carefully places the glass with the small remainder of water on the side of the hole and heaves/flails/scrambles its way out to start backfilling

The most interesting thing Robert wanders upon is the others he met last night, talking with an old coot, next to a giant hole in the middle of an intersection, which the somewhat crazy automaton is busy filling in.

Meanwhile, Gabby nods at Charging Bear's greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, sir, a pleasure. I ain't met a lot o' your kin, but they always stuck me as decent folk. So, what brings you to this dyin' little speck o' nowhere?"

"Name's August Colby, sir, glad to meet you," August says.  "Can't speak for anyone else, but it was a wrong turn that brought me here - never seen this town on a map, like you were sayin'.  Glad to see it in a storm like last night's, though.  I'm gonna take a look and see if I can't earn some pay while I'm here, once this here is taken care of."

He looks across at Alouette, still working away.  "You want a hand there?  I don't know if'n you get tired or fed up like regular folk, but..."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:32, Sat 06 Feb 2010.

Alouette pauses and straightens a moment. "Hand of August Colby? High probability inefficient." It ticks a bit. "Boot or boots of August Colby plus plus efficient...aid self?" There's some more rapid ticking. "What is tired?"

"Angel does not require mortal sustenance, does not feed...self retains movement upon-" it twitches "-the flames of Hell-" *tzzt* "-rock-that-wails. Fear not! Self will not require plus mineral for half a moon, will not dig within town, Texas - will take rock-that-wails from the wilderness, yonder."
It hesitates only a moment as though determining accuracy, then points past August like he'll be able to see through town and rock over miles of hardpan before going back to its backfilling.

Looking at ole' Gabby, Charging Bear shrugs slight, "To be honest a friend of mine and I got lost on our way to a the Trail House. Ended up on a half forgotten path to this place. I'm not sure where he is thought... we were separated in last night's storm and festivities."

Robert takes note of the direction the gizmo pointed in.  "You might want to make sure no one else already owns that there rock that wails.  They might be a bit perturbed if you just take some."

At the mention of "the rock that wails" and references to it, Gabby goes very, very quiet, and gets a perturbed look on his face.

Finally, he breaks his silence. "And what would you folk know about wailing rocks? Ain't none of those around, here, no siree..."

The automaton looks up on finding itself addressed. "Own...rock?" This gives long pause, it seems - one might almost think it's broken down when it suddenly speaks again, straightening:

"How, Robert Micklethwait, lawyer? How is rock, land, wilderness owned by unknown...mortals?"

Then to Gabby: "Plus plus wailing rock exists in wilderness, Gabe Clarke, yonder-" it helpfully points again, "-self can tell: self is angel. God talks to self, inside head," it adds, in case Gabby doubts its authenticity.

"Trust me, if even wilderness land is owned by someone, and if you take something, they might object."

"Self trusts...but self does not understand," the can of angel says. "Mortals do not make rock, mortals cease existence before wilderness...gone, and rocks remain...how can mortal, singular, own...place, ground?"

"It's just the way it is.  I own my clothing, and it will exist after I'm gone.  People own their houses and the land it sits on.  When they die, it belongs to their children."

"Better you than me," August says to Robert with an affable grin.  He likes the angel-machine well enough, even feels a little protective of it, but explaining property to it?  Not for him, thank you kindly.

He turns back to the old-timer, with a suspicion is his gut that they've stumbled onto dangerous territory.  "None of my business to be sure, Gabby, but sounds to me like you know what rocks it's talkin' about."

Gabby begins backing away slowly. "Ain't none o' your business, sonny. Ain't none o' your business."  He rests a hand warily on the haft of the pickax strapped to him. "Well, it's been fine meetin' you all, but I gots me places I need to be, so I'll be takin' my leave, beggin' your pardon." He keeps edging back towards his mule.

For all its improving English and apparent Abrahamic faith, the thing doesn't seem to have encountered European systems of land claim before.

"Clothing, house...equal mortal things, made by mortals. Land existed before mortals - not made, not mortal work, work of God...therefore cannot be given by mortal..." You can hear the clicking of gears and hum of boiler rather than cogs turning, but the effect is the same. "...mortals can live in a place, but negative mortal, singular, in rock, over all a wilderness...logic error, Robert Micklethwait."

The way it looks trustingly to the lawyer suggests it doesn't think the error is Robert's, rather that it can't make sense of the information it's got. "Cannot own place one does not live...where would wilderness people go?"

Robert is losing patience.  "I'm just warning you that if you go on someones property and take what they feel is theirs, you are liable to get shot."

That gives it pause. "Self is...liable...? It is right, proper to cause explosion of entities, persons, using land which is...claimed?"

"If a person harms another, and that includes taking that which does not belong to them, some will go to the law, others will go for a gun.  Either way, it could get unpleasant."

The thing ticks, logging that firearms are an accepted alternative to legal proceedings and probably saving any questions it feels unanswered to pester others with - it's a persistent object.

It stands a moment, then nods to Mr.Micklethwait like it's seen others do, goes and picks up the glass and looks about for somewhere to put it safely whilst it digs back the soil behind. Since Charging Bear is standing like an ornamental lemon, it gives the glass with the remnants of holy water to him with a caution:
"Do not advise consuming - liquid has remembering in," and gives August one of its birdish head-tilted looks, assessing whether he's going to help, before going back to backfilling.

Through all this John stayed silent and observant choosing to let others speak in his stead especially when attempting to explain property laws to the strange intelligent machine that was filling a hole in the ground inhabited by the former zombie. He eyes Micklethwait as he begins to grow serious and dark and watches the old man leave with cautious interest. "I've seen that look before..." he said shaking his head. "If greed for gold can drive men to monstrous acts greed for Ghost Rock is far far worse." he said and spat. More than once had he heard of claim jumpers doing far more than simply killing who they stole from. "Trouble follows Treasure." he added.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:43, Wed 17 Feb 2010.

Charging Bear remains quiet, preferring to listen to all this talk of ghost rock, ownership, and the evil that men do...