Sundown, April 10th, 1879

Hours pass in town. The rain finally begins to let up in the late afternoon, but by then the sun has sunk low on the horizon, and the moon's already up, chasing the day away.

A chill settles over the town of Blackthorn. The shadows seem somehow darker, and the twilight hides more than it should. There's a chill in the air that has nothing to do with the clouds still strangling the sky as the day dies. A phantom halo circles the moon as it ascends to lord over the heavens.

---

The Miner's Association Vault

Evans is late. Very, very late. He should have been back hours ago with those provisions. The vault is getting cold. The only light comes from Cantrell's lantern, as he flips through the pages of his battered copy of Fugitives from Justice, trying to match methods to outlaws.

"Well. I think I might have something." he says at last. "I'm not one hundred percent sure on this, but your duo might in fact be a trio. I've found mention of a Jellicle gang that seems to enjoy targeting lawmen, judges, minor politicians, and such. Now, I have a '77 edition, so if you want more up-to-date information you'll have to wire home for it, but it says here that this gang is wanted for bumping off lawmen and local politicians from New Orleans to Tombstone. It's speculated that they're mostly employed by Bayou Vermilion, intimidating towns into giving the railroad right-of-way for cheap. Now, since the Edict of '77 put the brakes on a lot of the rail lines, and Bayou Vermilion is currently running rail through unpopulated desert, it's possible these folk decided to go freelance and work for the highest bidder. The trio consists of two men and a woman. It says here the woman lures the target to an isolated area, then the men catch them in a crossfire. Was there a woman involved in this whole thing?"

---

The Undertaker's Shop

Evans, Fuller, and Fletcher stand silently over the box containing the body of Robert Micklethwait. Evans has his hat off in respect. He's just standing there, stock still, saying nothing, staring down as if her were looking at the floor through the table.

The Marshal had run to the Grand Bull, but by the time he'd arrived the damage had already been done. The brawlers had already departed, leaving three injured in their wake...and one dead.

Fuller managed to gather the story from the patrons. The fight had started when a lady walked into the bar and started getting hysterical about a poster a bounty hunter had hung earlier. Several men surrounded her, presumably because of the bounty offer. The deputy tried to intervene, and that's when the fight started. The deputy was thrown through a poker table, prompting the other patrons to try to spring to his defense. During the fight, the old man was hit but a full bottle of booze, and had collapsed. The fight continued until the lady returned inside, and promised to go with the belligerent men, at which point they departed via the back door.

It was shortly after this that the Marshal had arrived, with fuller and Fletcher bringing up the rear. And it seemed as if something broke within the man as he'd surveyed the damage. He didn't pursue the culprits...he grabbed the deputy's body and rushed over to the undertaker's place, apparently because the Undertaker also had some medical training. The Undertaker did his best, but pronounced the man dead.

The Marshal had been here since, staring at the body, unmoving, for several hours now. What was Elijah to do?

---

The Grand Bull Saloon

Katy Devon finally made it back to the saloon. She was wet (they'd dunked her in a horse trough), sore (then they had paddled her rear with a plank), and shaven (then they'd grabbed her hair and took a razor to it, lopping it off in uneven chunks...she'd need to visit a barber to keep from looking like she'd got the mange).  It was all she could do to curl up on a stool and get a nice, hot cup of tea and try to relax...

Carl paces. He's been pacing an L-shape from his corner since the shivering got bad enough to irk him, focusing on the physical. Carl knows it's a bad thing if the shivering stops. The hunger isn't bothering him any more: he's switched into the state of not expecting food that comes with lean periods and hard drives. Eat it when you got it, don't think about it when you ain't.

Carl paces back the other way. Pace soft, measured, conserving energy. Trying not to think. He hopes like Hell someone has thought to take Hoss in by now.

By that point, Wildcat would have dug into her war bag and offered the inmates trail provisions, most likely self made johnny cakes.

"There were..."  Damn.  "The woman that complained about the Dust Adders raising hell at the undertaker's parlor."

It had to be.  Cantrell had just spelled this out for her, perfectly.

She was concerned Evans wasn't here, but it could be anything.  There wasn't a choice, Cantrell wouldn't leave, and she wouldn't leave Charging Bear with Cantrell for a jailer.  Nothing for it.

"Well, then. That's probably this Jellicle Gang." Cantrell says. "I've only got aliases for them...pretty fanciful stuff, the kind of thing you'd name a cat. They're known as Rum Tum Tugger, Mcavity, and Jenny Anydots." He points out the descriptions in the book. "You'll be glad to know that each of them is worth a few hundred dollars to me, so you've got my help hunting them down."

Carl's willing to accept food provided out of duty, though he won't take any offered in sacrifice/kindness - if there's not enough for Wildcat to take at least equal share he'll feign disinterest. If he gets Charging Bear's ration and can't make the injun seem awake by whistling sharply and/or throwing some at him, he'll eat that too. He's not oblivious to the discussion, however.

Elijah leaned quietly against the doorpost of the Undertaker's.  There were quite a new notes he wanted to jot down, but it seemed a little unmannerly at the moment.    Dammit...  Maybe he was right.  Hard not to feel like a damn crow, just standin' here circlin' over the dead.  Just get /my/ story and to hell with everyone gettin' hurt around me... Some soldier.   He had given the Marshal a while now.  Some space to pay respects and think.  This town can't afford to lose the Marshal too. Maybe I can get him goin' again...  Some focus.  Clearing his throat, Elijah pushed up from the doorpost and began to limp closer to the Marshal, "Sir?  What do you plan to do now, sir?  This town still needs ya.  Prolly now more'n ever." 

Evans looks up towards Elijah. He doesn't look at the man, though...the stare is one the former soldier had seen all too often before, the sort of stare that goes through a man to some point a thousand yards away, on the face of one who has seen too much, who has reached the limit of what they can endure.

"Do they?" he asked tonelessly. "Do they really?"

He picks the badge from his chest and stares down at it. "I...I can't take this. There's just been so much, in so short a time..."

He lets the badge tumble from his fingers. There's a *CLINK!* as the tin star hits the ground.

"I can't do this anymore." he says.


"I quit."

Elijah stares hard at the man.  Exhaling heavily, he shakes his head, "Just let me get my facts straight.  One of your deputies was forced into arrest, but lives to stand trial.  One of your deputies died doing the damn job you hired him for.  There's obviously some other things goin' on that you won't say nothin' about; which makes them damn worrisome.  And now you're jus' gonna up and quit?"  He glances down to the tin star on the floor, "You said out there that the people of this town made you Marshal.  Now that its gotten real bad...now when they need you the most...  Who're you leavin' 'em with?"  Hefting his cane, he points off in the direction of the vault across town, "The bloodied up almost-Ranger?  The bounty hunter?"  Pausing a moment, he considers, "Or are you just concedin' the town to the Dirt Snakes?  If that's true, then we'll need t' take that star on over to the fella at the vault."

"Do what you want." Evans replies. "Everything I've tried to do to makes things better has done just the opposite. He was here two days. Two days! Just helping me out, looking into some problems that I needed some outside help on. And it got him killed in a damnable bar fight!" He sinks to his knees. "And it's all my fault. he was just passing through, and I asked him for a favor, and it got him killed."

There was an adequate supply to go around.  "Not bad huh?  I put a little cinnamon in the cornmeal, makes all the difference.  I'm guessin' this is the first time a woman's cooked for you in ages."

Again, trying to introduce levity into a situation which had none was probably going to fall flat, but this was posturing.  If the Adder could maintain his dark humor, so could she.

Wildcat didn't say anything for a moment to Cantrell as she really had no problem with Cantrell going after a bunch of criminals like that and could find no fault with it even if it was just for money.  But her silence is tacit approval.

"But that, that's not the whole of the problem now is it?  If they're a, free fallin', as ya put it, the question is who the hell is bank rollin' them?  Who sent 'em?  It don't make sense.  I know you make enemies at this job, but I ain't been at it long enough to make that many of those kinds of enemies."

Wildcat looks down at the harmonica, lost in consternation.

"If they were just out to get me I wouldn't mind so much, but they'll just keep doing this if'n they ain't stopped.  Ah cain't let that happen if I can help it.  I'd prefer alive but if they resist, we can't hesitate."  She sighs.  "Why is it the solution to killin' is always more killin'?"

It wasn't so much a lament, just a bitter acknowledgement of a hard fact she knew well.  It was never simple.

"Whoever it is probably doesn't have it out for you personally, and is reacting to the presence of the position of Texas Ranger." Cantrell says. "That means they got somethin' to hide, and if they're willing to send assassins after you after you only just set foot in town, it's somethin' they want to hide bad. Like that Lago business. You hear about that?"

"Not particularly.  I hear 'bout a lot of business but not that 'un."

Charging Bear's sleep was short, one might call it a nap. He awoke as Cantrell spoke. The native son picked up his discarded clothing, taking time to to check how damp they still might be. He slowly wrung the remaining water from his shirt and coat. His movements shouldn't have caused any alarm but who knows what a local bandit, a bounty hunter and a tin-starred ranger would so. So he watched them while he tried to finish drying his clothes. Once he was satisfied with them being at least less damp than they had previously been, Charging Bear put his clothing back on and sat back down. He had nothing to do but wait at this point.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:40, Mon 22 Nov 2010.

"Right. Well, the place is a ghost town now, on account of some weird stuff goin' down. From what the survivors said, a Ranger was killed there because he poked his nose into their mining operation, which was operating on government land. The townsfolk hired on some bandits to take out the ranger, then double-crossed them and sent 'em down the river to jail. When they got released, the folk of Lago hired on a drifter to deal with 'em, but the drifter, if you believe the rumors, was actually the ghost of the Ranger they kilt and used his position as town's 'protector' to execute some mighty nasty vengeance on the place before finally abandoning them to the bandits they hornswoggled."

"That's a hell of a story."  It's all Kat can say, as most of its significance is ironically lost on her.

"Yeah..." Cantrell seems lost for a moment in his own tall tale, before shaking himself out of it. "Anyhow, while the ghost is the part most folk remember, it's the reason the Ranger was offed in the first place that's of importance to us. Now, I don't know much about this place except that it seems to be half dead. You got any more information on what this town's been through, it might give us a place to start lookin' for them that tried to kill you. Hell, I'd lay odds that it's the same reason that judge was bein' bribed to keep away before his demise. You think he was killed because he got too curious about where his extra money was coming from?"

"All I really know about that is there's a man called Ward, big shot around here, who seems to be the one everything important in this town keeps tracing back to.  I think this feller-"  She indicates to Carl.  "-is in his employ, or at least his posse is.  Ah don't think, from what I've gathered, that he'd do something like that, but I bet he's got a piece of the puzzle."

Wildcat looks toward Carl's direction.  "I was going to ride out there, today, to arrest that Frost feller, an' try to talk to that man.  Got side tracked by those assassins an' other problems and it just didn't happen. By God Cantrell..."

The light went on in Kat's head.

"Evans was right."  She directs to Carl.  "There's something going on here bigger than whatever problems we got with each other."

And then it got brighter, when she saw Charging Bear miserably sitting there in the vault.

"Deputy Bear... I know you were out there, you told me yourself.  Did you talk to Ward?"
This message was last edited by the player at 17:18, Mon 22 Nov 2010.

Carl, paused near the door, nods at being identified as one of Ward's, and again at his not being involved with the judge's murder. He just gives Wildcat a flat look along the lines of 'no shit, Ranger' at the mention of bigger problems. It seems he knows something of the nature of these already.

Charging Bear nodded to the ranger, "I have. Was out there last night and this morning."

OOC:  Okay I need a ruse.  Evans has the vault key right?

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #20):

[[OOC: As far as Wildcat knows.]]

"In that case... this Adder's getting out when I need him to.  We ain't waitin' on Evans."  Wildcat turns to Cantrell.

She hated to throw the Marshall under the stage coach, but it was the most convincing ploy she could think of.

"You want those other bounties Cantrell?  I need a little sit down with Ward.  He can make damn likely that happen, but not while he's in jail, and ah wouldn't put it past Evans to leave him in here too long by 'accident' to try to teach him a lesson.  Evans is obviously 'too busy' to come back, and he has the damn key.  Somebody's got to find where he's drinkin' an' playing poker and tell him to come and gimme the key if'n he's going to not tend to his own jail, and you and me are the only ones not locked in there.  Charging Bear ain't gonna evaporate while yer gone, and I can't let him out if I wanted to, so what have you got to lose?  I don't care if Deputy Mickle-fwate brings it back instead.  He's bein' held overnight, that's as long as he's gonna stay in here dammit, an' no longer."

"Right." the brawny black man gets to his feet. "I'll be back quicker than two jiggles of a jackrabbit's ass."

He heads out of the vault room.

As soon as I'm happy he's out of the building... 

Wildcat has no idea Carl is already privy to the weirdness in town, but accepts this as an acceptable breach of security since it's all shot to hell by now anyway.  Keeping this quiet, that ain't gonna happen, but it's going to be even worse if it just keeps spiraling out of control.

Cantrell had made it so clear.  Well, not really, but it made a lot more sense if it was true.

"All right, he's gone.  You two both listen to me and listen real good.

"Deputy Bear, you talked to me about them Indian spirits that'd been summoned right, them Ashtak ones with the long funny names I wired in to dispatch?  An' someone mentioned undead yankees, and I seen weird stuff here myself.

"My momma didn't believe in coincidences and I don't either."  Wildcat addresses Carl.  "I don't think your boss man is necessarily up to somethin' bad on purpose, but he is right in the middle of it.  I don't think yer boss is behind them killers, or they wouldn't have used you guys as cannon fodder like that.  Also you outta know he's got a whole laundry list of bounties, names I don't know.  If some of yers are wanted, it's in their best interest to hood wink this Cantrell feller with me.

"Mah guess is Ward or someone he's got out there is doin' some weird stuff over there, unnatural stuff with them Indian spirits.  But the Adders and the Marshal and the deputies and all the other bystanders fightin' tooth and nail over the town... Ward probably don't know the whole of what's going on here, reckon?

"This here's just my gut, my gut and nothin' else talkin', but ah think Ward's the key to all this.  You done told me you killed the man called Frost for what he done to the town th' other night.  I think it's because he don't want no conflict with Evans, right?  Ah reckon he has something to do with the judge not ever stopping here too.  Ward wants this town to be private, no accountability to outsiders, same as the Dust Adders so it makes sense he'd bring them on.  Only he's hidin' somethin'.

"Ah think whatever Ward is doing over there, he's got you Adders on to discourage anyone from peerin' in on it, and he probably has a good reason for that, but think about what Cantrell said.  It ain't me personal them killers is after, they're after me because Rangers have jurisdiction to go poking around places Evans can't.  I represent a wild card in Ward's plans, even though I probably couldn't stop him with all ya'll around, why take the chance if you've got something riding on it?

"What if'n someone, who ain't us, Ward, the Marshall, nobody we know of yet, don't want me to discover what Ward is doing over there with all what Charging Bear done told me about.  I reckon they reckon I'd try to stop it, and they don't want it stopped!

"Ah think someone knows what Ward is really doing, an' wants him to do it, an' it's what's causing all these problems.  Only Ward don't know how bad it really is  here because everyone's trying to kill each other instead of jawin' to each other.  Someone wants to destroy this town, and they're playing all sides against the middle.  Ward is using you guys to keep his privacy.  We're too busy fighting you to investigate him and mess with whatever he's doin'.

"This whole time I been thinkin' it was Ward using th' Adders to terrorize the town... an' don't look at me like that, first thing I seen when I got here was you guys shooting at people.  Fact is, yer boss had it under control... but someone else wants him to keep it that way, ya reckon?  Someone's playing your boss like a fiddle.  Ah've got to talk to him.  Ah've got to, make him stop it before it gets worse.  You know the difference between right and wrong after all, so help me dammit."

She shifts her view back to Charging Bear.

"So here's the plan.  Cantrell ain't dumb, he'll get that key back here one way or th' other.  I turned his greed on him, he'll make sure the quiet man here gets out at sunrise.  Charging Bear... ah, I can't base whether to let you stay or go based on what ifs, it's nothin' personal.  I couldn't live with the guilt if they lynched ya and I just stood there and I couldn't live with the guilt if you actually did any of those things and I let you loose.  But I have got to go back to the telegraph, but that could mean leaving you alone with Cantrell.  I won't do that if you don't want me to.  Ah have no right to ask either.  But I am asking, will you take that chance?  And if Austin lets you go, will you come with me?  Ward knows you, and you know what them spirits is called... it would help."

OOC:  That turned out really long... sorry.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:52, Mon 22 Nov 2010.

Carl resumed pacing as though bored or feeling the cold at Wildcat's speech, but when Cantrell turns his back he limits himself to one wall, nodding for Charging Bear to go towards the door where Wildcat can see him better and not have to raise her voice. He's still shirtless, happier now he's dried off; as he moves away in his pacing the barred light flickers over his left arm, tracing a history of probably-unecessary knife fights and sundry other defensive injuries. He'll consider coming over if called, but is otherwise content to pace and listen.

He nods as to Ward's semi-obliviousness, and shudders once, suddenly and helplessly, when Wildcat gets to the mention of 'someone'. He nods to her suggestion of talking to Ward - Carl will let the boss know he means to kill her anyway, so Ward can talk to her freely - and makes a quick mime of writing something, apparently after paper or something to make marks with.

Wildcat will look around for something to write on and with.  Not being much for reading and writing herself, that's one thing that ain't in the war bag.

With a smile, Charging Bear says, "Life is about chances Ms Hawkins, I'll take one for you. I didn't hurt Rose or anyone else that poster said I did. Cantrell's always had it out for me, even back in our CSA days."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:21, Mon 22 Nov 2010.

"Thank you Deputy Bear.  As fer you-"  she turns back to Carl.  "-I let you out of here, you go back to yer boys and sleep, not necessarily in that order.  Talk to this Dave, whatever you have to do.  I will have to sleep too.  We don't have time for it, but neither of us can be exhausted for this, because I'm ridin' back with ya'll.  When the clock strikes two, out in front of the Grand Bull... unless I get kilt between now and then, a distinct poss'bility here.

"It ain't my idea of good company, but I can't go there alone or I'll just be a moving target, and I can't take more manpower away from the Marshall.  We already seen the assassins're cowards an' afraid of ya'll.  They won't jack with you."

OOC:  If I find any paper or such I'll let him have it.

"Charging Bear... I want to believe you, mostly because I want to believe those terrible things didn't happen to her.  Ah just... Ah can't make that decision that way.  I've got to get some confirmation."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:28, Mon 22 Nov 2010.

As Wildcat searches for writing utensils, in the darkness up stairs a figure lurks.

Hidden and crouching up near the stairwell, Cantrell suppresses a chuckle. He was a former slave...he knew the signs of being dismissed so that the white folk could talk. He made damn sure he was always within earshot of such conversations ever since the one that he'd missed that ended with his master's decision to sell his mama down the river.

So. This "Ward" person was knee deep in some dark dealings, eh? You're gonna regret no keeping me in your confidence, girl, he thought to himself as he crept away to go fetch the keys from the Marshal. I could've been a great help for you, but I don't cotton to being kept out of the loop.

With that thought to comfort him, he left the building, to head for the Saloon that had had such helpful people within before.

Per The Stray's OOC Comment, she presents the improvised writing tools with her apologies.

Carl waits until Charging Bear's moved out of the way a bit, then looks bemused at Wildcat's offerings, taking the charcoal and gesturing for her to pull a flap of her warbag within reach. If he gets this, he'll concentrate and start drawing - bold lines rather than sketchy, so she can look at and remember them before scrubbing them away.

When he's finished, there'll be an unnerving little collection of Masonic-type cult symbols, some Charging Bear might recognise as having been set into the summoning-circle, the largest a sort of triangular construction with a crescent and weeping eye set into it. He catches her eye pointing to that one, like 'Them.'

He raises an eyebrow, holding up two fingers - one might surmise he's querying whether she wants to meet just after midnight or after siesta.

Wildcat looks at the symbols, mesmerized.  Damn, how deep did this go?

15:55, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 4,1 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1. knowledge Occult.

Anything?

"Th' afternoon.  Won't do much good to ride out plumb tired for either you or me, will it?  You ain't slept one wink since ya been here and I ain't neither."

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #32):



[[OOC: The symbols are vaguely familiar to her...she's seen the crescent and weeping eye one before, at least. It's a masonic sign...the Enlightened Society of the Weeping Moon, a gentleman's lodge that Lt. armstrong had mentioned in a fairly negative fashion. They talk about "bringing progress through the application of traditional methods in new endeavors," and gets frequently confused with the Freemasons.]]

Carl leans against the bars, very aware of Charging Bear's position beside him, and hopes she'll have the sense to at least keep that flap shut until she's transferred the images and/or scuffed them off. He gives her half a tight twist of smile and nods over at Charging Bear as their reason for insomnia, though the staying awake doesn't seem to have much outward effect on the cattlehand.

"Thank you... that helps a bit.  Might help me explain things to Ward in a way he'll understand."  She'll wipe it clean, seeing no reason preserve such a thing.

Wildcat just shrugs in reference to Charging Bear.  "I'm playin' jailer, I can't be snoozin' anyway."

Charging Bear simply shrugs and returns to his corner, as he's gotten the distinct impression that Carl doesn't much care for him.

As Charging Bear returns to his corner, he notices that someone is already curled up there. Which is odd, because there shouldn't be more than two people in this cell.

The figure is dressed in black, and has a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over it's face.

"Get your own spot, Injun." the thing growls in a familiar Cajun accent. "This one's mine."

What the flying fuck?   Does Wildcat see this, or is it all just in Charging Bear's head?  Well it could all be in my head too for that matter...

In reply to Ol' Snake Eyes (msg #37):

Charging Bear's face grows pale and he grabs his chest.

OOC: As Spectral Gunman aren't every day I figured I'd roll Guts...
10:03, Today: Charging Bear rolled -1,3 using 1d4-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. Guts (+2 Grit, -4 Fear Level).
10:05, Today: Charging Bear rolled 41 using 1d20+4, rerolling max with rolls of (20+17)37. Fear Table.
That would be a heart attack.... ugh!

[[OOC: Yup, that would be a Guts check...for everyone, not just you. Charging Bear incapacitated and must roll Vigor at -2. If you succeed, you're Shaken and can't recover for 1d4 rounds. If you fail, you're dead in 2d6 rounds unless someone can heal you [Heal check at -4]. Whee!]]

Charging Bear feels his heart freeze up, and he collapses on the ground. The ghostly black figure stands and chuckles. "All that strength, and he done collapses at the sight of me."

"Hey there, Carl." The ghost in black says, drawing a pistol and advancing towards the Dust Adder. He pushes his hat up, revealing the face of Nathanial Frost, still with a bloody hole in his temple, his hat hiding the missing half of his skull. His eyes have turned green and snake-like. "We gots to have some words."

Wildcat hears Charging Bear fall over, looks up...and sees the ghostly figure rise and advance on Carl, though she can't here anything it says...

OOC:
10:31, Today: Charging Bear rolled 5,8 using 1d8-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 7,(6+4)10. Vigor vs Heart Attack.
Success with a raise!

[[OOC: Ok. That makes you Shaken, but you can recover normally.]]

Charging Bear slowly gets back to his feet, his face still pale.

OOC:
11:01, Today: Charging Bear rolled 3,1 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. Unshake (Spirit).

11:24, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 5,14 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+6+2)14. Requested Guts check, -4/+2.

I messed up that's actually a 12, but that'll do!  I ain't afraid of no ghost!


Wildcat, stupidly, pulls her gun and points it at the spectral intruder, unable to know it just spoke, but she's still thinking it's after the inmates due to Charging Bear's apparent peril.  That, and it's advancing on Carl with a gun in its hand.

"Hey, no one arrested you!  Get the hell out of my jail!  Put that weapon down and keep the hell away from him!"

It's a strangely maternal anger, like the man who promised to kill her and the man she had to arrest for possible rape charges are her cubs and she's a frightened mama bear.

Dammit...  Her mind searches for a way to get in there... but there simply isn't one.  She steadies her aim, standing with the bore between two bars, meaning to shoot this thing for all the good it won't do, but shooting things like this is where Wildcat's mind always goes first.

OOC:  Drawing a gun, and if there's time for another action, taking the Aim action.  Incidentally, does the gun look solid or spectral?  If it happens to look solid I'm aiming at that.  I don't know why it would but it's worth mentioning just in case.

Carl's shoulders hit the bars of the door hard as he jerks back in shock. Ignoring pain, speech, pointed weapons, anything but the urge to get away, he claws at Wildcat's gun arm, possibly trying to shove the weapon down toward the lock, probably just trying to reach the handle on that side.

The Dust Adder flails a bit, pressed up against the metal, fingertips scraping the handle. No way out. No way out! Carl catches a bar as his legs decide they won't hold him and part-hangs, part-leans against the door, teeth bared at the apparition.

Wildcat is thrown off by the Adder's frantic charge, but does her best to maintain control of the weapon, backing off.

Even the weakest locks are impossible to breach with mere handguns, a scattergun might stand a chance, but not against... this thing.

She couldn't try to reliably aim at the thing or manipulate the door with Carl going crazy, so for now she just stands back, helpless to do anything.

After a few moments more, Charging Bear's feels the strength of his body returning.

OOC: Not sure of the 'rounds'
16:09, Today: Charging Bear rolled 3,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,4. Spirit (unshake).

"Oh, now, Carl, that ain't no way to greet an old friend now, is it? We got so much to discuss." The snake-eyed ghost says, walking calmly up to the terrified man. He places his gun up against Carl's head. "One ill turn deserves another. As the Good book says, 'I will strike down upon them with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my bothers.'" The hammer cocks back. "And you will know I am THE LORD when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"

The gun screams like burning ghost rock, and Carl feels the ghostly bullet snap his head back...

[[OOC: Ol' Snake eyes lays a curse on Carl.

Ol' Snake Eyes rolled 8,9 using d8+2,d6+2, rerolling max with rolls of 6,(6+1)7. Touch attack!

Ol' Snake Eyes rolled 5,3 using d10,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,3. Spirit.

Carl, roll vigor to avoid having the curse stick. You need to beat 5.

We're not really in Rounds, just posting in turn right now]]

Carl snarls mutely, withdrawn so far into instinct the words may not even register. His body jerks back against the door with the phantom explosion, reflexes fully believing he's been shot in the head.


[[3 - Nope, sticky curse. [sadface] I hope it's not eternally feeling as though about to sneeze, that would suck...]]

Thinking quickly, Charging Bear quickly removes his belt and lashes out at the spectral form of Nathanial Frost.

OOC:
16:33, Today: Charging Bear rolled 1,5 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,5. Fighting.
I miss the ghost.

The wailing from the shot fades. wildcat, close to the shot, feels herself spattered with gore...but there's no blood that she can see.

Carl feels blood leaking out of the back of his head, down his neck, soaking his shirt. There's a ringing in his ears...might be tinnitus from the gunshot, might be the quiver of his mortal soul at the horror of the undead before him.

"There. You're marked now, Carl. Marked for death." the ghost says, withdrawing the smoking gun from the man's forehead. Carl can still feel the pain, like a flash burn. "Feel it eat away at you. You'll be dead with in the week, and so will all them others what hunted me down. I'm a vengeful spirit. Tell the other boys to expect me. You're my harbinger now."

The belt whips out at the apparition, but goes through him. If he felt the blow, he doesn't show it. But he turns to face Charing Bear. "You and I will have our reckoning, Redskin. But not yet. I'll get to you later."

He turns to Wildcat, winks at her, and blows her a kiss.

[[OOC: Carl, you are Cursed. You are Fatigued, which imposes a -1 penalty on all trait rolls (like a wound). You'll need to make a vigor roll each day or it will get worse. You'll need to find someone who can break the curse, or convince the spirit to lift it (destroying the spirit won't help).]]
This message was last edited by the player at 21:56, Tue 23 Nov 2010.

Wildcat can't hear what it's saying, but that infuriates her.  The blonde has a real short fuse when people are being attacked.

"Get out here you son of a bitch, what kind of stunt are you pulling!?  You want to go, we'll go right now!"

This is clearly not a rational plea as Wildcat has absolutely no idea what she can do to an opponent who cannot be harmed by neither lead nor steel.  Just better her than the helpless men in the cage.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:04, Tue 23 Nov 2010.

"Good...at guessin'...ain't she?" Carl raises his head. He's dead, he knows he's dead, and somehow that makes it all right. He meets the spectre's eyes, nothing in the intelligence returning to his expression but betrayal.

"..."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:29, Tue 23 Nov 2010.

The ghost returns Carl's glare. "Our fight may have been square, but that ain't what i'm pissed about anyhow. 'We shall be a serpent by the way, an adder in the path, that biteth the horse heels, so that his rider shall fall backward.'" he says. "That was us. All together against the world that done us wrong. You could have refused to help Ward, or run him around long enough for me to skip town. Or hell, you could have left me my goddamn head and given me a chance to crawl back out of the ground like them other deaders done, and the law wouldn't have nothin' to say about it since I'd already be dead. But you went to Ward like a dog, then turned my boys against me with his blood money, and then made damn sure I didn't even have a way back. That's three times you betrayed me, Carl. And as I said, one ill turn deserves another. So you go on and tell Mike, Little Tom, Percy, and Frank their doom is comin' for them. I'd get Jesse, too, but your girlfriend there got to him first." His tips his hat, and walks out the back of the vault, though the solid wall. "See you all again soon."

Carl's silent reply starts off a snarl, but it changes to a sort of lip-curled disbelief and finally a pale anger. He siezes and balls up his shirt from beside him, skin prickling at the feel of phantom blood, and throws it after the departing departed. "..."

Meanwhile, in the Grand Bull Saloon, Katy finally got her tea and tearfully drank it. The simple pleasures in life really could bring one to their knees if they only could realize how important it was. Her slender cold fingers touched the smooth wooden cup the dark amber liquid distorting the ghostly image of her reflection as she shook a little from the soreness of her rump that burned a bit when she sat. Now her distress didn't come from the cutting of her hair, she use to do that all the time up to three years ago and would dress like a boy and wrappingh er chest down. Hell, even her brothers on occasion would play a joke to choppping off lobs of her hair while she slept and throwing it around the yard. It wasn't being dunked in the trough, even though it had a weird sort of smell, like a stagnant pool. She always use to swim and her brothers would toss her int othe lake and ruin her new dresses.

What truly distrought her was gettingspanked with a paddle. She never been paddled before, her big brothers always got a whippin for draging her into things and she would always try to mind them they'd get the switch for acting that way. Boys will be Boys, cause they never cared about the consequences. Too bad that she did. And now, she has all those little secrets too.. The vampires, the bites, the bandits, and the large giant kid named Tex...

She had no where else to go, she had no one that could truly help her. Perhaps she should have just ran out of town rather then sticking around here..

With a shuddering sigh, she finished off her tea and raised from her stool to collect the luggage. Giving a last look around, she walked out to the streets and down the murky road and started walking barefoot in the rain to nowhere...

[Exit Katy Devon - Intro]

Wildcat slowly calms down after seeing the apparition vanish.  It was probably a good thing she couldn't hear the thing, as the idea Kat would be this Adder's sweetie possibly could have enraged her to the point she might have torn the vault door off its hinges.  After leaving Riley at the altar, she'd not really had time to worry about the fellers, or so she'd told herself, but those inner demons would have to lie mercifully still for another day for lack of auditory perception.  The implicit statement that she willfully killed Jesse just for his satisfaction wouldn't have helped either.

The apparition's silence however was dreadfully effective in its own way.  It just creeped her out, more than anything it could possibly have said.

She looks down at where she felt blood spray her, but doesn't see any.  The reality of this finally sinks in for her as the adrenaline dies down.  What the hell just happened here?  He shot 'im, ain't ya supposed to get hurt when yer shot?

"Are you... are you all right?"  she asks Carl, the concern genuine.  "That was so creepy... the way it didn't make a sound."

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #9):

Elijah stamps his cane on the floor, trying to shock Evans into paying attention, "I was with you the whole damn time.  I didn' see you swing no damn bottle or start no damn fight.  You hired that good man to do a hard job and he died trying.  That's the way of it."  His voice grows a little softer at the thought, "Good men die trying.  Every damn day."  Shaking out of the reverie, the soldier-turned-reporter continued on, "You didn't kill that man.  A bad situation did.  Now, you can make that situation worse by turning your back on the town /or/ you can keep trying to make it right.  Good men try.  Its what makes them better.  It ain't about being perfect."

"For the last two and a half days it's just been one crisis after another, each one worse than the last." Evans says. "In two days I went from stalemate with the Dust Adders to all out war. And that's not counting in the horrible, monstrous things that I've found writhing just underneath the surface." he looks at Elijah with that thousand yard stare. "Did you know that there have been dead men wearing Union uniforms attacking people at the edges of town? Did you know that there might be a nest of vampires spreading their taint throughout the citizens? did you know that one of the Dust Adders is an unholy giant with the strength of ten men who could break me in half if he weren't so mentally retarded? Did you know that the wealthiest, most powerful man in town might be summoning some ancient Indian snake demon to devour everyone? Did you know that? Any of it?" he looks down at the ground again. "And add to that the tension with the Dust Adders, and the fact that any move I make against Dr. Ward might make everything worse for eveyone because he's the only one that brings business to this town...and I've also got assassins shooting up Rangers, and now bounty hunters locking up my deputies, and now, now, one of the most reliable, dependable people I've known is dead and gone....It's too much! I can't bear it! It's too goddamn much!"

Elijah listens quietly to the litany of troubles.  His expression remains impassive, purposefully so.  Hell... Either he's gone completely loco or the Epitaph is gettin' some things right.  Either way, I am smack in the damn middle of this Helltown, which is currently runnin' very low on lawmen.  Still want this story Elijah?  Think hard now...  After a quiet moment, he leans, carefully, down and picks up the tin star.  He polishes it off lightly on his coat and pockets it, "I'll get this to the Ranger."  Another moments thought and he tugs a small metal flask out from a pocket.  This is offered to Evans, the reporter's voice is carefully calm, "I'm leavin' you be for now.  You'll need this and you'll need to go rest up somewhere.  Anywhere you can go that's relatively safe where I can find you later?"

Evans takes the flask and drinks a long pull. "I will be here, at least for a while. If I'm not, then I will be at the Grand Bull, packing my things." He fishes out a ring of keys. "Give this to her as well. She'll need them."

Elijah accepts the keys with a nod, stuffing them into another pocket.  He actually seems at a loss for words for a moment, but finds something, "Get some rest.  I mean it.  We'll talk agin before you go leavin' town." The tone doesn't seem to leave any room for equivocation.  With that, he turns to thump his way out of the undertaker's, calling back quietly, "Just remember that ya tried.  That makes ya one of the good ones.  No matter what."

As elijah heads down the street, he passes the large figure of Jericho Cantrell heading the other way, towards the saloon. The big man didn't seem to notice him.

Elijah pauses to watch the hunter go on by, eyeing him curiously.  Now I thought he was watchin' the prisoners with the Ranger...  I hope that Ranger is still breathin'....  I do not want to get stuck with this damn star.  Thumping his cane on the boardwalk, Elijah makes his slow way back to the safehouse with its vault-turned-jail.  Using his cane, he raps on the door, "Ranger!  Still in the land of the livin' I hope?!"

Oh what now?

"Whoever's there, you might as well come on in, t'ain't locked."

Sounds like the Ranger...  I doubt the big fella or the Injun could manage that voice  Elijah knocks open the latch on the door and pushes it open with his cane, his other hand near his holstered pistol.  This town makes a man jumpy.  If nothing terribly wrong presents itself, he'll step on in.  "Ranger?" he inquires, looking around the place.  He keeps his voice quiet, no sense in letting the jailbirds know more than they should, "I got some bad news for ya...  Marshal up an quit."  He draws out the tin star as proof.

Oh hell.  Blackthorn was now truly lawless.

Wildcat went into emotional shock.  Between the recent news Hardin had been caught, the realization a Dust Adder at least knew what wrong was, and the weirdness she just saw, this was too much.  Her internal monologue, like the ghost she'd just seen, was silent.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breathe before she reaches her gloved hand out for the Marshall's star.

"Mr... Fuller was it?  Can you at least tell me why?"

Shit...  There's that look again.  I swear if the Ranger throws down /her/ star, I ain't pickin' it up this time.  Leaning heavily on his cane, Elijah nods, "Yes'm.  Elijah Fuller.  As for why the Marshal quit... One of his deputies was killed in a bar brawl while y'all were settin' up the jail here.  A Mr. Micklethwait I believe."  He pauses again to fish out the Marshal's keys, which he hands over as well, "Given that his other deputy is in jail here and the trouble with the local roughnecks..."  He trails off, eyeing the Ranger a bit, "Along with a series of other...occurences...  I believe the man is overwhelmed.  Feels lost."  He shrugs a bit, noting, "I seen it in the War.  Officer loses alot of men...  Blames himself.  Loses his nerve."

Wildcat looks disheartened at the news.

"Oh no, Mr. Mickle-fwate..."  Wildcat felt her heart sank.  She'd barely known him, and her regret at the fact welled up inside her.  But this was no time.

The worst part is the running joke with his name will likely have to stop now.

She looked at the star, and thought about what she'd told him.  She thought about what Elijah was saying too, nodding without realizing it.

"Mister Fuller... were he in any condition to be jawed at?  Ah need a yes or no, this is importan'."

"No," comes Elijah's already considered answer, "The man is beat and low right now.  I don't know if he /can/ hear anythin', even from you.  Give him some time to grieve and think."  Raising a brow, he adds with meaning, "A few hours at least.  He'll be packin' his bags up then and you'll have yer chance.  Just...go easy on 'im."

"Ah don't have a whole lot to say to him Mr. Fuller, and ah may not get the chance.  Dire circumstances force mah hand at the moment.  There comes a time when a man has to decide who he's going to be, and I cain't decide for 'im."

Time to move.  And fast.  The telegraph had to be here by now.

"Mr. Fuller you seem like a decent human being.  Ah have a proposition fer ya.  Ah got just a couple or so ounce of silver here in the ol' war bag, an' a little bit of scrip left.  Ah got to send one more, very short, telegraph, right now.  If'n yer willin' to serve as the town's jailer fer just a little bit, yer welcome to the silver and what I don't spend."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:54, Wed 24 Nov 2010.

Elijah shakes his head at the offer, "Keep yer money.  You're the only law this town has left at the moment, near as I can figger."  He glances over the to jail-vault, "I'll keep an eye on 'em cuz its the right thing to do.  Just buy me a drink and tell me a tale sometime."  Looking back to the Ranger, he offers a grin, "I just hope they don't try to run.  I'll just have t' shoot 'em."

"If anyone asks, Evans deputized you."  Kat goes to put the star in her pocket, but rethinks it.  "No... you stay here in town Mr. Fuller.  You'll... you'll be needing this, ah have faith."  She gives Fuller the badge back.

"Cantrell will probably get back here before ah do.  Tell him I went to go get the telegraph, that I had to know about Charging Bear, because that is the truth.  If'n I have to I'll go find the operator and drag him up there, this is an emergency.  If, if I make it back from the telegraph operator's, I'll explain more.  The Dust Adder... he goes at sunrise, whether I get back or not.  Ah know that sounds ridiculous, but I got good reason to..."

Kat trails off, and suddenly smiles.  Her own words come to her from before, why take a risk you don't have to?  They weren't after him.  He was a nobody to them.  He'd be safe.

It was another security breach... but it was an acceptable one, to her anyway.

"Mr. Fuller, forget everything I just said.  Listen to me now, there's a very important telegraph coming in, ah need it worse than anything.  Ya just have to go get it for me, if'n I go, I think someone's gonna try to off me on the way.  But no one will suspect you of being the retriever.

"But while you're there, I need you to send one too, to the Austin Ranger command, like this:  Ward. If I don't report back in a week, send in army, level the place. Love, Wildcat."

She pulls out a dollar.  "Oughtta cover it.  I know it's asking a lot of ya Mr. Fuller, and you may get to play jailer when you get back too, but this has got to happen.  And I know this aren't gonna persuade you much, but that telegraph... please don't read it.  I'll most likely be tellin ya'll what it done said anyhow, but I've got to ask ya that."

It's not easy to check on the Dust Adder, since he's curled against the wall to the left of the door, near the corner. He's thrown up in said corner and is trembling worse than ever for lack of energy...and ignoring this, curled and still against the cold wall save for the shivering and the occasional twitch, staring at nothing. There's still an impression that approaching the cowboy would be a bad idea. Except for the lack of foaming at the mouth, one might believe that being shot by a green-eyed ghost results in accute rabies.

Carl wants to think straight and can't. He knows that if he puts a hand to the back of his head he'll feel his hair...and the raw-egg drip of brains from the glass-shatter of his skull. The thought is maddenning on the surface but deep down it's all right...he may be dead - strange, to be feverish when dead - but he's still himself. Carl wants to bite people and so vows he won't.

A fierce love of pack and town is burning somewhere under lungs that can't draw enough breath and he will fight any and every threat that just gets within reach. Even the damn Snake itself. He'd had a bad feeling when the ranger had mentioned 'someone' toying with Ward, and Something had shown its hand, right there. He hopes she heard his last words, keeps guessing. He can hear her all right. He's got to get to Ward.

In reply to Carl (msg #74):

There's also a burn mark on his forehead in the shape of a circle, caused by the touch of the gun barrel.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #73):

Elijah's grin fades away quickly at the Ranger's request.  His brow creases in consternation at the very thought as he eyes the dollar, "Now, I said I'd help and I meant it.  But, you're askin' me to bear a weighty message there."  He pauses a moment, still sizing up the Ranger, "I remember how the Army "levels" things and I'm not too comfortable with the idea of that happening here....  If its really that bad, I'm in.  But if I'm in, I got to know what all I'm in /for/.  My duty remains with the Truth."

Why does he have to be stubborn?  Kat recalled a saying about mouths and gift horses however.

"Fine, it's real simple actually.  The telegraph should learn me if'n the Indian is wanted by Austin or not, that's the main thing that I got to know right now.  I wired in some of the problems we done been having, see if they could tell me anythin' useful ta do about 'em.  In fact Mr. Fuller you probably won't even be able to read it, even if ya did look at 'er.  But if'n he's wanted or not, ah don't plan on keeping it a secret from anybody.

"As fer the one I want ya ta send... there's a thing built into a train, and I don't know how it works, but if'n the engineer done keels over dead, it brings th' train to a screechin' halt.  This telegraph to Austin is mah dead man switch, Mr. Fuller.  This Ward feller, he's up to something, an' I got to get over there and yammer at 'im about it.  But once I do, I'll be on his land, surrounded by his guns."  She takes in a breath.  "Well, I probably ain't comin' back except maybe in a pine box.  Once I say to him what I got to say, he'll have no more use for me, alive.  There ain't a single Dust Adder I can't take, but a half dozen or more of 'em on their home turf is a different story, and even a fool gets lucky sometimes.  But ah have got to go, and try.  And I've got to have something over Ward's head fer leverage.  But a man like him might just kill me anyway."

She shakes her head.

"There's nothin' fer it Mr. Fuller, if Ward won't turn this thing around, th' only solution is overwhelmin' 'n total force, if they'll even listen ta me.  Ah don't want that.  Ah don't think th' army would destroy the physical township, but they'll destroy everything that goes on here and that'll kill the town.  But it's the only way to stop whatever the hell is going on here, before it spreads anywhere else.  When the Rangers can't salvage it, that's what has to happen, and I can't salvage it if ah'm dead.

"An' please don't ask fer a longer explanation, it would only comp'l'cate thangs, an' would take time, time we don't have. Th' Marshall, he'll have to carry out the evacuation effort if'n I don't come back.  And now that Mr. Mickle-fwate is gone, he'll need help, Deputy."

"I ain't agreed to no deputy-ship as yet," offers Elijah quickly, eyeing the star he can't seem to get rid of, "We'll jest have to see on that notion.  As for the rest, I thank you for your honesty and I can agree with your notion of the deadman switch."  Now, he accepts the dollar which joins the badge in a pocket, "I'll run yer messages, but I will want that longer explanation later.  With details.  That's my price."  Reaching up, he touches the brim of his hat in semi-salute.  Cane thumping on the floorboards, the reporter will begin to make his way out, thinking to himself. Well, you took a gamble heading out to such a small town and it looks to pay off.  This is Epitaph material fo sure and certain.  Just keep your eyes peeled and make it out alive.

Elijah makes his way back outside, and from there to the Western union office, where a slim man with a green visor is just closing the door. He looks up at the reporter's approach.

"Oh, hello there. I'm sorry, but we're closed for the next hour while I get some dinner."

Wildcat goes back to the prisoners.  She'd have to pay that piper later.  She prayed she'd have to pay that piper later, because it meant she'd have come back alive somehow.

What's more important 'Ranger', the lives involved or your damn rules?  taunted a voice in her head she could quite put a name and face to yet.

It put a smirk on her face, one that would probably look rather inappropriate to the inmates but thankfully it was only for a second or two.  Thing about funny names like "Wildcat" was, you never gave yourself such a name, it was ascribed to you.  They had meant "Wildcat" as a gentle but firm form of ridicule.  In a double turn of irony, she had not only adopted the moniker like it was some kind of honorific, but in doing so she'd invariably stained herself with it, meaning the training nickname would follow her the rest of her days.  In that respect it was far more successful than those who had mocked her with it could ever have dreamt.

Well at least if you had the law on your ass, it sounded better to your other Adder or James Gang or whatever group buddies to have "Wildcat" after you than "Katrina".  But the funny thing about names that people give you like that, they were usually the right names.

She went back to the prisoners.  She'd tried to pull a fast one on Fuller with that deputy business.  He was a sharp one, reminded her of Mr. Mickle-fwate.  The thought made her hurt inside, but she ignored it again, for now.

"Change of plans... that weird... thing, it's stepped up the time table.  This keeps getting worse, we don't have the luxury of waiting for more hours.  Now that I got the keys, soon as I know something from Austin, we're going.  We're going to ride on exhaustion.  You want out of here, I want Ward, it works out beautiful don't it?"  She says to the Dust Adder.  "You ain't gonna learn your lesson any better standing in here any longer.  And you'll be pleased as punch to learn Marshall Evans is temporarily off duty.

"Deputy Bear, if the telegraph says yer free, yer free.  If'n it don't say that, ah think Mr. Fuller will hold the keys.  He's a stranger, but ah don't have a lot of choices.  I want somebody who's gonna stay in town to have them in case that happens again, and Evans isn't an option right now.  But he will be again, soon enough."

Carl wants to react, but can't. He leans against the wall where he's curled, shivering and staring blankly, feeling that if he moves, it'll be with the same explosive mechanical violence as the result of a pulled trigger. He should be pleased at what she's saying, he knows it - he wants out more badly than anything at present...but at the same time he's dead, and it doesn't matter.

Putting his belt back on, Charging Bear looked at Wildkitten, "Ms Hawkins I expect that you'll need all the help you can get, so for everyones sake I hope I'm cleared. While I'm not much with the old ways, I know alittle bit about them and that might be an edge this town needs." He paused and looked at Carl, "Cause that mark is something from the other side. I think Frost made a deal with that snake spirit, which his eyes more or less guaranteeing and the spirit brought him back with nasty powers."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:12, Wed 24 Nov 2010.

In reply to Telegraph Operator (msg #79):

Elijah puts on his most winning smile as he catches the operator stepping out, "Absolutely, sir.  I'd never want to get between a man and his dinner. Feelin' a might peckish meself in fact."  Switching to a more resigned, sorrowful look he offers a shrug, "But, Ranger Hawkins sent me after a very important telegraph she was a waitin' on.  You know Rangers...  Got to be done now."

OOC - Persuasion of 4 to push up the cooperativeness.

"Well, I suppose I might be able to release that." The telegraph operator says. "Providing, of course, you can prove she sent you."

Elijah nods to the idea, doing his best to not look put out at the idea.  I hate pushing the truth like this, but...  He drew out the tin badge to show the operator, "The Ranger gave me this.  Seems to think this town needs all the law it can get."  Pausing, he lifts a brow and eyes the operator meaningfully, "If that's not good enough, I'll be happy to inform Ranger Hawkins and she'll come have some words with you about obstructing Ranger business..." He pulls his smile again, to lessen the threat, "Frankly, sir, neither of us want or need that trouble.  Especially it bein' dinner time."

The man looks at the star. "Oh, that's quite all right, sir. No need to go to all that trouble...just trying to cover all the bases. You know how it is." He unlocks the door and opens it. "Can't be too careful these days, things being the way they are. But hell, I'll be glad to get rid of this thing. Damnedest crazy message I ever did see. If that Ranger can make heads or tails of it, she's welcome to it."

He rummages around and pulls out a folded paper. "Here you are, sir. Now, if there's nothing more, I'd like to go get myself fed."

Elijah accepts the telegraph and nods, "Obliged, sir.  Now, I don't want to keep you from your supper any longer.  Ranger did have a message to send out though..." He thinks a moment, "I could jot it down for you to tap out after you eat, if that's fair?"

the operator rolls his eyes at the additional imposition, but nods and hands him a form.

The form is quickly filled out with Wildcat's "deadman switch" message.  Elijah offers it, along with the dollar and an appropriate extra amount to cover a meal, "I appreciate your time, sir, and since I made ya late there's a bit extra for your supper."  Reaching up, he touches his hat brim, "The Rangers appreciate your discretion as always."

"Thank you for choosing Western Union, sir." The man says, following him out and closing up the shop.

Now all that's left is to deliver the message...or take a peek at it.

[[OOC: At 5 cents a word, the whole dollar will cover it plus a god portion of the man's meal, so you don't have to give him anything extra if you don't want to.]]

[[OOC: Moving things along...]]

In short order, Elijah has returned to the makeshift jail, bearing the telegram from Austin.

Message as follows:

TO WILDCAT HAWKINS BLACKTHORN TEXAS *STOP*
FROM LT JOHN ARMSTRONG AUSTIN TEXAS *STOP*
PARTS OF PREVIOUS MS UNREADABLE GIBBERISH *STOP*
REPLY IS AS FOLLOWS *STOP*
IF YOU WOULD UNTANGLE YOUR CURRENT PREDICAMENT COMMA REMEMBER THAT THE KEY TO ENLIGHTENMENT MAY BE FOUND IN SCRIPTURE *STOP*
FOR THE PATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS IS BESET ON ALL SIDES BY THE INIQUITY OF THE SELFISH AND THE TYANNY OF EVIL MEN *STOP*
BLESSED IS HE WHO IN THE NAME OF CHARITY AND GOODWILL SHEPHERDS THE WEAK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF DARKNESS FOR HE IS TRULY HIS BROTHER'S KEEPER AND THE FINDER OF LOST CHILDREN *STOP*
OPERATOR DO NOT DISCARD FOLLOWING *STOP*
And then there is several long string of what looks like random letters, occasionally broken up by stops.

Wildcat considers the response carefully.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #92):

Wildcat consider it some more.

PM

19:39, Today: Wildcat Hawkins rolled 11,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+5)11,4. me smart?.

PM

Wildcat tries something just to see if it will work.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #98):

Luckily for her, it does.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:51, Sat 27 Nov 2010.

Wildcat looked at the message with very mixed emotions, choked up with a combination of dismay and joy.  She wanted to cry and pound on the wall at the same time, but thankfully the emotions were counteracting one another for now.

"Th' part we was worried about, it didn't come through.  Says to send Pony Express.  The good news is we are getting a little help, I should be getting a few dollars in a day or two, an' a Pony Express rider will be here in town to deliver something."

Damn, this presented problems.  But everything in Blackthorn was about problems.  She had to make a choice.  Ward would have to come first.  Her speech was fragmented like her thoughts.  That ghost in the vault, it was a wakeup call.  While it would be nice to procure the delivery herself as her first priority, she couldn't let this continue just for her own convenience.  Hurry up and wait was not on the table right now.

"Mr. Fuller, yer a good hand, but I can't authorize you or no one else to accept that delivery.  But ah will ask you to serve as jailer.  Ah do have to caution you Mr. Fuller that it t'ain't no easy job.  Normally there'd be two men switching off, three even, but we're making do with nothing here.  I don't think it's real important who keeps him penned up, but we got a real problem here in town with folks not thinkin' the law is in the right.  Until I have a leg to stand on, we're just stuck.  This don't have the information I need to release or otherwise process Deputy Bear, ah ain't happy about it, but I'm stuck on this.

"Only thin' I can think to do is, I'll have to go there and right back.  If God is good to me this time, I'll come back, an' I can send a detailed missive back with th' rider to get Charging Bear out the hoosegow or else in the right one.  If'n I don't come back, they'll return to sender, and they'll know somethin's bad wrong."

Wildcat shook her head.  Grand Bull to the Theater, Theater to the Telegraph, this that and the other, all she did any more was run around like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Evans... do you know what his plans are sir?"

Elijah, allowing the Ranger time with her message, managed to scrounge up and dust off a suitable chair.  Taking his seat, he stretches out his leg carefully, wincing a bit, but then seeming more relaxed. Sometimes its just good to ave a sit down.  As the Ranger finally speaks up again to the idea of being jailer, he nods, "I can keep an eye out for a bit, though I'd appreciate it if you could wrangle up a few other volunteers.  Surely there's some citizenry in this town with sand enough to sit and watch a prisoner."  As to Evans, he adds, "Said he was gonna stay with the body for a while at the Undertaker's..  Then head to his rooms to pack up his things.  I asked him to stay a while, but.  Never can tell."

Silently watching the tin-star ranger read her letter, Charging Bear knew he'd have to wait. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and then she'd bitten her lower lip. Yeah, Austin hadn't come through for me... then again why should they? I'm no ranger, though I've help one or two out on occasion. Just a case of rotten luck, heck the way this is going... I won't doubt it if Lt Cantrell didn't come walking in and shoot me." The native son frowned at the negative thoughts running through his own mind. He walked to 'his corner' and had a seat, no sense in dying tired.

Fletcher sighed as he checked into his room at the Grand Bull.

This job was shaping up to be a complete waste of time. His only link to those mineral rights his employer was interested in had just died, right in front of him, and now he was adrift at sea, as it were.

Fletcher was no stranger to hardships. He'd been in bad situations before, trying to get in tight with those "Molly Maguires" so he could break up their strikes, foiling assassination plots against powerful industrialists and rail barons, guarding against unionists trying to usurp the powerful, spying during wartime...many difficult missions, and he'd earned distinction in each case. But this time, he wasn't even sure what he was here to do.

He decided to take a walk, get the lay of the town. Most of it was depressingly squalid, and there were more empty buildings than ones in use. He passed a masonic temple emblazoned with the symbol of a crescent moon and a weeping eye, and smiled in satisfaction. It can't be all bad, if the Enlightened Society found a reason to put down stakes here. Though he didn't understand a word of their esoteric gibberish and felt their "progress and prosperity" line was something of a self-serving lie, he'd had a couple of very lucrative contracts from the Society, ones that made him predisposed to work with them again. In fact...

In fact, since this job was turning into a bust, it would behoove him to cut his losses, wire to his employer that their agent was deceased and that no progress could be made on the matter he had been concerned with, then stick around town and get an appointment with whomever might need someone of his talents. Perhaps he could get another angle on that "hot legal issue" he'd been called her to investigate. A Ghost Rock mine outside the maze would be worth a bloody fortune, and the bidding to claim such a strike, if indeed one existed, would make him a very wealthy man indeed.

Yes, there was money to be made if one kept his head about him...

In reply to Elijah Fuller (msg #101):

Fuller's words had a funny way of jogging Wildcat's tired brain for the second time today.  Her blue eyes looked over at the inmates, and a small smirk formed on her lips.

"Mister Fuller... if'n yer willing to do that much, and yer so interested in what's going on with this place, ah have another pro'sition for ya, but this time there's a little somethin' in it for ya that ya done said you was interested in, and t'ain't dinero."

Elijah was just tugging a pouch of tobacco out from a pocket as the offer was made.  Opening up the pouch, the reporter glanced up at the Ranger.  His eyes narrowed just a bit.  Now the Ranger is just offerin' up information...  Better telegraph the Pope and see if Hell done froze over...  A pack of rolling papers joins the pouch; the process of creating a cigarette begins.  "Proposition away, Ranger," offers Elijah as he starts to work, "I'm listenin'..."

"Criminal or not, this injun here, he knows things.  Ah want to talk to this man Ward, ah want him to come with me.  Problem with that is, there's rules, protocols for transporting a prisoner.  Ah need two officers, and I am only one.

"You take on a temporary Deputy-ship, and play the role of the second officer.  Easy job, keep a hold of a rope and point a gun at a man that ain't done nothin' to resist so far.  In exchange, you get to ride out on this fool's errand wit' me as a neutral observer th' Adders can't fault since all yer doin' is pointin' a gun at a man they hate.  Who knows what you might see, and overhear."

She shrugs.

"It's the last thing on this earth I want to do, but stopping this carnage is mo' important than that."

Elijah carefully rolls up a cigarette between his fingers as he listens to the idea.  He pauses, long and thoughtful, before licking the edge to seal it up.  Looks like I'm gonna be deputy no matter what I do.  So, might as well be where the action is.  In for a penny....in for a pound, as they say.  Here's hopin' I don't get pounded. Cigarette finished, he hangs it from a lip and puts away his materials, "Aright.  I'll go along.  Neighborly thing to do and all.  Citzen of the Great State of Texas and all that."  He cracks a grin, tilting his cigarette up as he fishes for a match, "Didya ever consider sellin' patent medicines?  Somehow you manage t' make it easy to swallow some nasty stuff."

OOC - Remember I can be slow during the week, so feel free to push things along as needed, where needed.  Eli'll follow along easily enough and observe quietly.

Carl's still curled to his wall like some almost-dead wild thing, but he's listening. Planning. Trying desperately to keep moving, somehow.

Fuller could prove an annoyance...much as the man had taken against him, Carl wasn't keen to "vanish" a veteran of the grey, even if he stuck his nose in the wrong place. The Ranger he could protect a little, provided he made it clear who all had right to her death, but Fuller...plenty of harmless dung to sniff at the ranch, but, well, who knew what he might hear or see.

...and they'd have to kill the injun first, since as soon as a gun was off him and the way to freedom clear that was either a murdering rapist on the loose or a man out for vengeance. Everyone knew if you freed a red man from white justice he'd have your scalp. Something to do with their way of honour.

Carl watches the corner, listening and wonders about who the Ranger serves, and what she protects. Seems it's nothing but the Law, but who could live like that?

"Good, now here's the oh-fish-al re-vised plan."  Indicating Carl, she lays it out.  "We're about to let him out of here.  Show of good faith, plus he's got things to accomplish in the mean time."

She addresses Carl more directly.  "Yer gonna have plenty of time to accomplish couple things partner.  One, yer gonna sleep.  I am hoping to God once you're out of here Charging Bear can sleep more easily... but I dunno about that... either way we's gon' try.  Two, we're going back to the first plan, leave in the afternoon, but only as soon as we can get our act together.  Whatever you gotta do on yer end, if you gotta send some of the hot heads back ahead of us, go ahead.

"I'm gonna stay here and play jailer another six hours or so.  Mr. Fuller, I need you to go rest up, and then we'll switch off.  I also need you to tell Evans he's off of French leave of tomorrow afternoon and t'ain't gonna be any other way.  He wants to argue about it, you send his rear end to me.

"I know that's a long delay, but reason being is I'll probably wake up in enough time to intercept the Pony Express rider, hopefully, and pay to send word back to Austin again that a way.  We're  also moving a prisoner, can't have two exhausted officers doin' that.  Soon as I take care of that, ah think we'll be ready.  Somewheres in the middle of all this we all got to figure out how we's gettin' there.  An we'll need to get a rope."

Wildcat started fumbling with the keys.  "Mister Fuller, after I rejoin you, we're leaving these keys with Evans before we skip town.  Now is everyone clear on the plan, all subject to complete change an' disaster?"

The Dust Adder is still outwardly unresponsive as Wildcat details the Plan, demonstrating her broad ignorance - or apathy - as to how the outfit runs. No matter. Move, Carl screams silently at his corpse. Go on, git, get up, get out. There's a way out! Move! It's not until the painful jangle of keys cuts into his dead brain that he actually manages to twitch a hand out towards the stone.

Carl claws blindly at the wall, gets purchase, rises - moving on momentum now, pain spiderwebbing his chest, guts, head like glass crazed by so many bullet holes - fetches his shirt, paces evenly across to the door. Keep moving. His skin is cold but his forehead burns, violence held tight like a vial of nitroglycerine under his breastbone. If the door's at all open by then he'll try to get out of it.

Wildcat, against some part of her judgment, finally finds the right key, and puts it to the mechanism.  It throws her off a little bit, she's used to actual cells, not bank vaults, but she does open it cautiously.

"All right now real nice and easy like."

Carl gets his palm against the door and fingers around the edge as soon as there's enough gap to do so, shoving back with even pressure. When he can squeeze through, he'll squeeze through, muscles trembling not so much with the effort of opening the door as not throwing it back against the wall.

Everything else is ignored except the way out; if not physically interrupted/halted, Carl's pace will increase until he's out of the building. He casts a glance around for his stuff on the way out, no more.


[[4 notice for if Evans just put his weaponry down somewhere rather than running off with it]]

Charging Bear watched Carl leave, staying quiet in his corner. When at last it was he and his jailer he asked, "So... what's for dinner?"

"Just wat I got in th' war bag, fer now."  She offers Charging Bear the same offering Carl got, a handful of johnny cakes she'd made before coming to Blackthorn and a few strips of smoked bacon.  "Heh, we're so hard up, I really am gonna have to start setting snares outside town."

With a chuckle, Charging Bear says, "So it really is jail." He gets up and moves to the door. "But who am I to complain."

"Back when ya were in the cavalry, I'd 'magine it were like this fer every meal, less you had a sutler about."

"Oh I've eaten worse Ranger but like here it wasn't by choice." Charging Bear says with a slight smile. "Amazing what little you can survive on if you know what you're doing. My grandfather said he knew a man who'd lived on beetles, grubs and grasshoppers for a month. I being the silly kid I was, tried it for a day and figured it was too much work to find all those creepy crawlies when I could get a deer much easier."

"I can't compare to that, but I was telling the Adder about the first time I ate a lizard whole as a side dish.  Broiled prickly pear was the entree and roasted snake were dessert.  I've appreciated cornbread and beans a hell of a lot more ever since."  It's like she's recalling a fond childhood memory, laughing at her past self.  "To think I used ta scream when my brother would catch them things and throw 'em in my hair.  That whole time I'd been throwing free snacks away."

"Lizard isn't so bad, and snake can be quite tasty. Cook enough of those and the occasional rabbit while in the Cav." Charging Bear says as he takes a bite out of the johnny cake. "Always about the seasoning they said... used to carry some rosemary and thyme with me to help things out."

"Rosemary and thyme huh?  I bet that would help.  Between you and me I'll even eat rabbit to save mah two bits."

In reply to Carl (msg #112):

[[OOC: He probably still has Carl's weapons, as Carl can't find them anywhere.]]

Carl goes a-lookin' for his Hoss and his hat.

In reply to Carl (msg #122):

Carl's hat is not in the street anymore. Neither is Hoss, nor Jesse's horse for that matter. It looks like the boys may have picked these things up already.

All feverish energy and head smoking like a dynamite line, Carl'll pad over to the livery to check on Hoss and fetch his shotgun. Any stray pedestrians or small dogs would do well to avoid the man on his way over.

Hoss is there. She wickers at Carl and flicks him with her tail, apparently a little annoyed at being left out in the rain. The shotgun is there, as is all the rest his stuff.

While Wildcat, Elijah, and Charging Bear are hashing out the details of their plan, there's a knock at the door of the miner's association building.

Elijah, after agreeing to the plan, struck a match to light his smoke.  A notebook is retrieved, followed by a stub of a pencil.  Carl's departure gets a suspicious kind of look.  Fella that angry's lible to try dern near anythin'... But, once the gunman is gone, the reporter relaxes again and begins jotting notes.  The conversation regarding military food gets a bit of a laugh, but for the moment, he just keeps to his lonesome.  The knock does cause him to perk up from his noting though.  Setting his work aside, he grabs up his cane and pushes himself back up to his boots, "Spectin' any more company, Ranger?" 

"Nary a soul, unless it's Cantrell come back, and I don't know why he'd knock."

Drawing her weapon, she nodded to Fuller to cover her, perhaps from behind the abandoned counter or some other piece of cover or concealment.  She approaches the door, but stands beside it, not in front of it.  She didn't want to be in the path if a scattergun fired through it.

"Howdy?"  she calls out to the mysterious interloper.

There's a dusty trailhand at the door, holding his hat in his hands. "Uh...howdy, ma'am" He says nervously. "I'm looking for the Marshal...I was told he might be found this way."

Carl smiles and reaches out to lay a hand on Hoss, moving up to stroke her nose and face in apology. He'd been terrified, deep down, that being killed by a snake-eyed ghost would cause him to smell unnatural to her, curtail his freedom to ride under the wide Texas sky. A man needed a horse that knew him well; it was efficiency, could be life or death.

Carl fetches some brushes, checks Jesse's bay and what must surely be the injun's old nag are dry and fed and gives Hoss a swift but thorough grooming, even if she's already been rubbed down from the wet. The regular movements help him pull himself together and use up some of the fevered urge to hurt things. The desire to murder goes from hot to cold and Carl knows he is himself, in control.

Remorse catches him once: he presses his face to Hoss' shoulder with a grimace of pain, then carries on grooming until that's done. Carl checks his stuff, puts on his hat and duster and re-checks his shotgun. He glances back at Hoss, hoping she'll forgive him a little, and strides out for the Red Eye. Boys'll probably be there by now.

Elijah does take the hint and limp, quietly as may be over to the counter for a bit of cover and conceal.  The position he finally settles in allows him a good view of both the vault and the door.  His own pistol is drawn, reflexively checked over, and then held at a low ready position.  The sight of the cowboy gets a lifted eyebrow, but doesn't cause him to relax.  We'll just let the Ranger do the talkin'...

In reply to Bill (msg #129):

"He's temp'rarily ind'sposed at the moment."  Wildcat answers the man simply.  "But if'n yer lookin' fer th' Marshall, that probably means some deviltry is about."

Wildcat says it straight, although there's just a hit of weariness in her tone.

"Well, I suppose you're right about that, in a way."  the man says. "My name is Bill McCoy, and I'm here because I done some pretty bad things. The other day I damn near died...hell, I beleive I was dead, just for a moment. And while I lay dead, I saw myself falling into the pit of Perdition, with the Devil waitin' for me with open arms, until an angel swooped down and carried me back to my body to give me a second chance to repent. I been talkin' with the new preacher, and he tol' me that the best way for me to absolve myself would be to put right what I done wrong and, well...well, here I am."

The Red Eye is actually pretty quite this evening. Old Crazy Pete spares Carl a glance as he wipes down a glass, but aside from Ned, Jack, and Big Tom it doesn't look like there's any of the boys about.

Ned looks up from his conversation and grins. "Hey! Carl! You busted out!" He waves the man over. "Damn, that was quicker 'n we thought..." then he sees the burn mark on Carl's forehead. "Hey, what happened? You look pale enough to have seen a ghost."

Carl nods in greeting to the Dust Adders and sets his hat on their table, wondering a little if Jack's been down here the whole goddamn day. He gives a slight shrug and a sharp shard of a grin, nodding out of town, and another, apparently unconcerned shrug to the question. Pain scrabbles about in his lungs like a trapped rat and he wants to cough, doesn't.

Looking about a bit, Carl raises an eyebrow. "?"

In reply to Bill (msg #133):

"Well all right then."  Wildcat rolls with it.  "Whatcha done wrong that needs the Marshall ta put it right?"

That preacher must be good.

She'd seen it all.  On another day, this would have taken the cake.  On this day however, what with the ghost and the lynch mob and the walking dead and all, it just didn't get the credit it deserved.

The man lowers his eyes to the ground. "I were part o' the gang that killed the previous preacher." He says.

In reply to Carl (msg #135):

"Ah, well, Dave thought the boys could use a break." Big Tom says. "There was a brawl in the Grand Bull on account of that woman what shot up Charlie. One of them busybody deputies tried to stick his nose in to our business, and got his skull caved in for the trouble. The boys took that girl outside, gave her a shave, a dunk, and paddled her behind a bit for what she done. Some wanted to do more, but Percy and' Mike wouldn't let 'em. Dave said we all needed a jollification and suggested going to catch them dancers at the Oriental, maybe git some scratch if they were lucky. Ned and Jack and I, well, we're right comfortable here, so we decided to stay." he takes a pull from his whiskey. "Oh, and Bill finally crawled out o' whatever hole he's been hidin' in the last couple o' day. He was kinda actin' funny, though."

In reply to Bill (msg #137):

"That's mighty serious.  Law of man and God both take a dim view of killin' a man under the wrong circumstances."  Wildcat's tone is serious and even.  She wonders if he pulled the trigger.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #139):

"I knowed that. That's why I'm here now." the man says. "I done lots else besides, but that stain there is why I figger I've been damned, and if I want to avoid the flames, I gotta do something to make it right. And before you ask, I didn't pull the trigger, but I was part o' the bunch that went after the preacher and disposed o' him after, so I share part o' the blame for that."

Carl smirks, turning once he's settled to whistle Ol' Crazy for that glass he's re-distributing the dirt around. "..." If he gets said glass he'll push it to the middle of the table since there seems to be more than one bottle about, mock-begging for succour. Fingers pressed hard against the wood to hide the tremor.

He tilts his head a little at Ned, clearly waiting for some expansion on 'funny'.

In reply to Carl (msg #141):

Crazy Pete grins that yellowing, gap-toothed smile of his and slides the glass over.

"Hey, don't look at me." Ned says. "I didn't speak to him, I been here all day."

Big Tom shrugs as he pours a shot for Carl. "Well, it's like he been all leapin' at shadows, sayin' things about how he's been damned and gots to make himself square with the Lord and whatnot. Dave said he's spooked on account of that crazy clank nearly choking him to death yesterday." he downs a shot, pours another. "Hell if I know what's goin' on in his head. Bill's always been a little touched anyhow."

Sitting quietly in the 'cell', Charging Bear listens in silence. Guess I get a new cell mate.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Tue 30 Nov 2010.

Carl turns the look on Jack like 'you too?' Then just shakes his head a bit, smiling faintly though it feels like the rat in his chest is gnawing, working its way out to the inside of his ribs. He returns his attention to Tom with a nod of thanks for the shot, wondering if the dead can get drunk. He downs it anyway, listens.

*tink* *tink* "..." Carl flicks the nearest bottle gently with the back of a nail, grimacing a little. It's not obvious, but his shoulders tense against a shudder, memories skittering about the shadows of his mind. He doesn't pull any into focus. He looks between Ned and Tom, on the subject of the clank. "?" Then shakes his head again. "..."

It set him thinking, though.

Seeking if nothing else an escape from the rain, David walks up to the Masonic Temple and knocks, then tries the door.

In reply to Bill (msg #140):

Wildcat stands there for a moment, quite frankly stunned.  She at least puts her Colt away, and paces beside man before speaking again.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Wildcat finds something to lean on, and nods to Fuller he can relax a bit.  "Well it may be your lucky day mister, while that's undoubtedly at least an assault charge, not too many men turn in their path before they do somethin' that can't be undone.  Private Wildcat Hawkins, Texas Ranger.  Ah'd be much obliged if you can tell me more about the incident itself, when, and who was involved, as I thank this may be th' first I heared of it, or if I have, I shoved it to the back of the heap wit' all th' other problems."

Elijah uncocks the hammer on his Colt and slides it back to the holster.  Free to relax again, he leans against the counter and taps out the ash on his smoke.  I suppose, with everything else goin' on, the strangest thing that coulda happened next would be criminals just walkin' in and confessing...   As the Ranger inquires, he can't help but add his own vote of curiousity, "Yes, do tell.  Confession's good for the soul, so I hear."

Remaining ever silent, Charging Bear just shook his head. This place really is coming unglued.

OOC: Still here!

In reply to Carl (msg #144):

"Hey, don't give me that look." Jack says. "I can feel your look. I ain't done nothin' wrong, just took care of my friend here."

"Yeah, like you took care o' me when you turned tail and ran like a jackrabbit last night?"

"Are you callin' me a coward, Ned?"

"Settle down, boys." Big Tom rumbles warningly, then shrugs. "Naw, I ain't seen it. I heard about it all, though. Isn't Ward lookin' it over or somethin'?" he drinks a shot, then shakes his head and sighs. "I tell you, that man is driftin' further and further from the safe shores o' reality. I mean that crazy symbol thing in the barn? What's all that about? Somethin' to make all a' them Enlightful Society nobs go swoonin'. Then he has us haulin' beeves in there, and there's these weird ol' lights from the barn for a bit, then we take 'em back out with the rest o' the herd. I just don't understand it all sometimes."

In reply to David Fletcher (msg #145):



The door of the Lodge opens. "Yeeeesssss?" says the very, very big man in a black pall-bearer's suit who opens the door and looks down on Mr. Fletcher. "Can...I...Help...You?"

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #146):

The man nods and steps inside. He sighs, then steels himself for his tale. he begins to speak, a flood of words pouring out of him.

"It was about three months ago. The preacher started runnin' his mouth off about Gus Shaw, which riled him up, I guess. Nate--that'd be Nathanial Frost--he done took a few of us up to the church. Now, I ain't naming no other names, as it's on the souls of them that joined in as to whether they want to come clean or not. But we were just there to put pressure on him. Make him see that leavin' town might be his best option, you see. The plan wasn't that no one would get hurt. But the preacher, he started this brimstone and hellfire speech, sayin' that we were takin' the wages o' sin from the devil's coffers by playin' with dark and unholy magic, and Nate didn't like that. Gus already wanted to run him through...he made this pact, you see, with some kind o' snake thing, to save his brother's life, and he don't like it when you say he done made a deal with the devil. But Nate, he held Gus back, and then said somethin' like, 'you wanna see witchcraft? I can show you witchcraft!' and then he muttered some strange old words and then drew down and shot the preacher with them Ghost Rock bullets he had made up. Just gunned him down. And we had to take the preacher's body an' dump it in the sea."

Carl just gives a lazy almost-smirk at Jack and nods to Tom's question, then waves vaguely around, stopping abruptly to put two fingers to his throat. "..." He puts a finger upright behind his skull a second, then shakes hi shead, tensing a little at the imagined drool of dead blood down his neck. "..."

Whatever the construct was, however, Carl began to suspect its crazy insistence of being an angel was some clue to its puropse. After all, if you built a thing to play piano that could go off on its own and talk, you'd punch into its...mind or basic phrases or whatever that it was a piano player, so who all found it wouldn't try to make it clean house or fire a gun. Stood to reason. So if you made it say it could protect from demons...

The mute just leans back and shrugs at Tom's rambling, but he doesn't look happy about it. "..." After a longish pause and more "begging" for liquor Carl leans forwards again, brow furrowed in thought - he flicks a thumb across his throat in a killing gesture that flows into one of setting aside, looks at the others with a question, pale and serious.
"?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:01, Thu 02 Dec 2010.

In reply to The Stray (msg #150):

"Indeed you can.  I am David Fletcher of New York City, here is my card.  I have had pleasant associations with the New York Lodge, and wanted to pay my respects to the lodge leader."

In reply to Bill (msg #151):

The weight of the man's words had multiple impacts on Wildcat, but the one that crept to the front was the thought that Damn, there's absolutely no containment of this mess possible by now whatsoever.

She'd suspected it for a while now, but she didn't have the benefit of being in Blackthorn all the time to realize the true gravity of it all.  She'd been the victim of her own optimistic nature.  Hank One-Eye Ketchum himself couldn't keep this quiet.

The only thing for it was to try to put it down.  But perhaps this was just such an opportunity.  After a respectful pause, she started again.

"Sometimes yer too close to a situation to see what the right path is.  Th' scripture done said If thy brother trespass against thee, rebuke him.

"The point of that is, the rebuking has to come from someone else.  You can't see it yerself when yer so close to it.  Now ah'm as guilty as anyone.  I ain't better than no one else.  It's our sinful nature to ignore things we don't like to hear, and it takes a willful decision to accept them as true.  But the point is, ya done good.  It takes a lot to do what ya just did."

In reply to David Fletcher (msg #153):

The giant looks at the card, then tucks it into his pocket. "I See." He says in a voice that shakes the floor. "The Malviosin Is Home This Evening. He Lives At The Circle W Ranch, Two Miles South Of Town. The Society Meets Tomorrow Night. You May Meet Him Then, Or Visit Him At Home."

"Damn." Tom says. "Do anyone know where the thing came from?"

The three Dust Adder consider Carl's question.

"You know, I don't think so." Ned says. "At least, we haven't lost any stock since we caught them rustlin' bluebellies."

"Jethro found the body of a Mountain Lion this morning," Jack says, "Just after the posse went off to catch Nathanial. Looked like it had crawled on to the property to die. Ain't been no prairie ticks about since last year, come to think of it."

"Yeah, I don't miss them." Tom grumbles. "Always hated watchin' them things pop out o' some poor steer's belly."

"Why do you ask?" Ned says.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #154):

"Yeah, I suppose you're right about that." Bill says. "It took me nearly dyin' to realize just how low I done sunk, which is why I want the chance to make things right."

"So that's why I want to offer my services as a Deputy to the Marshal, if he'll have me."

Carl raises a hand to the heavens and lets it fall to show his complete ignorance, recalling Ward's words as he does.

He wrinkles his nose a little at the mention of prairie ticks - yeah, those were bad old days - but just sets one hand on the table thoughtfully, drumming his fingers to hide the shake, clearly agitated about something. He then holds up his hand and looks around the others with an expression that requests tolerance, tilts his head a little and gestures at Tom as example. "..."

In reply to Bill (msg #157):

"Well I'm the closest thing to 'in charge' as we have at the moment.  Yer hired."

In reply to Carl (msg #158):

"Yeah." Tom says. "Well, after all the shit we seen, crazy begins to seem downright normal. What's on your mind?"

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #159):

"Really?" The man says. He breaks into a grin. "Oh, thank you ma'am! thank you! I promise, you won't regret having me on!"

In reply to Bill (msg #161):

"Now, yer first item of business, tell me about the Dust Adders."

Kat sits down and indicates he should do the same.  She's got some hours of sitting here to kill, and this could be good to know.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #162):

Bill looks a little confused at the question, then shrugs. "I don't figger there's that much to tell, Ma'am. We're just a bunch o' cowboys now, just real close is all. Most of us were miners 'till the Wendell people pulled out, then tried our hands at the railroads, so I suppose you could call most of us veterans o' the Rail Wars. Sure, some o' the guys got some shady pasts...Nate, he always bragged he done stole the secrets o' witchery from one o' Black River's gals, Jesse was accused o' cattle rustlin' by some overeager deputy near Nacogdoches, and Gus...well, I won't speak more o' Gus. But they ain't bad folk...mostly. Just folk who've been done wrong by the big companies. Now we work for Ward, who tries his best to keep the town afloat with his ranch. We inspect the stock, keep rustlers at bay, chase off them goddamn sheep herders what crop the grass so low it don't grow again, and do odd jobs around the town."

Carl drums a moment longer, then flicks his hand up to trace the coils of a snake in the air, meeting eyes. He taps his chest, wrenches at something invisible, then briefly touches where a badge would be, indicates something rising. "..."

Carl makes eye contact again, gives half a shake of the head and a grim-looking nod towards the town centre, hand flicking in a gesture of something burnt up. He looks dubious, but then nods across to Jack and checks he has the others' attention. "..." Again the law gesture, then the indication of the underside of a hat and again a serpent. Carl leans forward, frowning, gestures up, throw away, a fist. Then a wave out to the ranch, an indication of Tom, watching faces. He gestures something going or passing on, then the flick of the thumb across the throat again. "..."

He lets that sink in. There's a quick wave out towards the ranch before Carl's frame relaxes a little, grey eyes holding the others' a few moments each before he resumes casually scrounging liquor.

In reply to Carl (msg #164):

The Three Dust Adders huddle around Carl. Tom pulls out a small stack of bills and passes them over to Old Crazy Pete. "Hey, Pete! Why don't ya go to the show at the Oriental? I hear they got some right pretty gals dancin' there...and for the right price, you can get a 'dance' in private!"

Pete eyes the money suspiciously, but having been host to the Dust Adders before knew there were times when it wasn't healthy to be a fly on the wall, so he picked up the wad of cash, slips it into his trousers, and heads out the door. "I tell you what man don't go drinking me out o' my dang ol' stock while I'm gone now, ya hear?" he says, then skedaddles.

Ned looks a bit ill at Carl's suggestions, while Jack has picked up some kind of twitch.

"Do...do you think we're all infected?" Jack asks. "I-I mean, we've all eaten beef from the ranch, and Ward sells a lot of it to the town..."

"You think too much." Big Tom says. "Yeah, we got Deadders again, but think about this...we never did find out what caused that first batch to rise up, and they were all kinds o' dead, old and new, some dead afore Ward showed up in Blackthorn. And what about the Ghost Rock we had them rustlers digging up for us? I heard that Rock can do some pretty strange stuff to folk."

"Wait." Ned says. "Ghost Rock?"

"What, you didn't know? We found a few seams o' Ghost Rock in the mine, but it was past the cave-in...near where that bone thing was. We were having the rustlers dig it out for Ward's experiments, so that if that bone thing came back it'd get them instead o' us. Ward was tryin' to suss out how big that load was...he was talkin' some big things for reopenin' the mine if it were prac-tic-a-ble. Until then, Ward wanted to keep it quiet. Then them bluebellies escape, and all hell breaks loose."

"If it's the cattle makin' people get up again," Jack says, "Why ain't it done for Charlie? Or Jesse?"

"Well, I'll pass the word on to keep an eye out for cows doin' a walker when they shouldn't be, but I dunno...maybe it only works on certain people."

In reply to Bill (msg #163):

Wildcat listened.  That helped, confirmed what she suspected.  What was obvious to him was still new information for her.

"I'm that 'overeager deputy' partner, or I were, I s'pose.  I will set you straight on one thing, deputies don't accuse people of cattle rustling, deputies are sent to arrest folks accused of cattle rustling.  Jesse wanted to kill me earlier today.  Ah didn't want him to.  Guess which one of us got what we wanted fer Christmas."

Wildcat pauses, but not long enough to let him answer yet.

"Ah think Blackthorn has been under this system so long, you folks done forgot what the rule of law is.  The rule of law is that when you got two folks fussin' over somethin', like Ward and th' sheep herders, ya go get a third party, the sheriff perhaps, wit' no interest innit one way or th' other, to resolve the problem.  It ain't the threat or the oppressor, at least it's not supposed to be.  I know it ain't always perfect but it ain't always wrong or evil neither.

"Now mebbe ya'll can mind yer own business and ya should, but th' problem is things are going on here, terrible things, that ain't gonna stay in Blackthorn.  Ya ever heard that yer right to throw a punch ends about half an inch in front of mah face? Wherefore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake."

Wildcat stops talking at that point as she wants to see this curious fellow's reaction to it.  Granted he's only one man, but if he'll listen maybe others can too.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #166):

The man looks down to the ground. "Yeah...poor Jesse." he mutters, then shakes his head and looks back up at the Ranger.

"Look. I knows you mean well, but I figger you're goin' about it all wrong. These men here, they been bent over and screwed, if you'll pardon my French. You ought to go ask Gabby what happened when he tried to make a plea to that 'fair and impartial law' against the Wendell Company stealing his claim out from under him. The Law there took the Wendell people's money, then turned him out into the streets."

"Or maybe you can explain to them why the last Marshal afore Evans up and vanished on them. He just up and left us, high and dry, after that range business got settled."

"And hey, I seem to recall we all fought a tiny war over the issue of who gets to tell who what to do. What was that war called again? Great War o' Southern Independence? War o' Northern Aggression? And we got some veterans o' that elephant here, who figger they done earned the right to do as they please. You wanna go tell 'em they're wrong?"

He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a drag. "But yeah. I agree that there are things we got goin' on here that ain't fit for decent folk. I just think that goin' in and tellin' folk that the things they thought their whole life through is wrong ain't the way to get things done...it just makes people ornery. The people here ain't bandits. We don't go ridin' about the High Plains murderin' and thievin' and causin' all manner o' commotion. We're just folk who got a little place to protect, a place that's been kicked around like a mangy old dog that's had enough and just nips back at whatever comes near. If'n you wanna teach that dog not to nip, you gotta treat it kind, 'cause hittin' it more won't do no good."

"Leastways that's what I figger, anyhow. I figger I can do the most good by warnin' the Law when it's got out too much stick and not enough carrot." He takes another drag. "So you got's to ask yourself...what are you here to do? You here to bring the Law to Blackthorn? Or are you here to make Blackthorn a better place?"

"They're one and the same sir.  The war was about accountability to others.  The damn Yankees didn't act like they was accountable to Texas or the Carolinas or wherever very much now did that?  That's the problem here on all sides.  I believe ya that ya been bent over and screwed.  But I ain't seen too many people here, from here, who've done something about it in the past, but who ain't really done anything about it presently.

"The war's a perfect example.  Sure for a little while we just sort of did what we had to do, but eventually we had us a president an' everythin', and we put a group of men in charge and said that's how we was gonna move forward.  Ya'll act like the war's still on.  You got rid of the bad elements, but ya ain't built nothin' to replace it with.  T'ain't nobody in control of this place at all if'n preachers can be kilt fer no good reason an' nothin' ever done about it.  You sir are the first person I have seen here who is trying to actually rebuild himself, and this place.  If there's a few more like you, there's some hope.  I think ya'll will find yer way if'n some more of ya try."

Wildcat shrugs.

"Look feller, we could argue this 'til Doomsday.  I didn't mean to rile you up, I just wanted to see if you'd listen without tryin' ta shoot me and ya did, that's all I'm worried about.  As fer the rest, there's just some differences in the way folks look at things that ya can't solve by jawin' about it.  Some folks fear the Lord, some are heathens.  Some folks hate the negro or the redskin or the Chinaman or all of 'em, other folks don't reckon the colored people ever done nothin' to them to deserve such scorn.  No amount of barkin' at a knot is gonna change anyone's minds on some things, but I'm in a line of work where I don't have the luxury of too much self doubt.

"But what's more important right now is we got us a problem of Biblical proportions here.  I think your boss man Ward is at the heart of it and don't realize it.  Ah think if'n I can talk some reason into Ward, we can make this mess stop.  Th' quiet one, he's supposed to be talking to th' other Adders to let me go out there and jaw at him tomorree.  Now ya can help us out with that effort, but there's things you can do here in town that would help.  There's plenty of evil to go around."

Carl waves Jack's fear away - not entirely dismissive, but panic's not useful right now - and nods to Tom to indicate yes, he'd been thinking about that...Carl waves a slow swirl in the air like gathering clouds, then taps the sawdusted floorboards with a boot, indicates something flashing to earth, thoughtful.
"..."

His fingers drum pensively on the table at the talk of rock, then still, index finger tapping twice for attention. He gestures at Tom, then taps at the nearest metal object, catching eyes. "..." Carl makes a grabbing gesture over his lungs, then shakes his head and looks puzzled. After a moment he nods back townwards a little and looks around with a question. "?"

Then the silent man's jaw sets and he looks grim.
"..."
He taps his chest and moves his hand to his shotgun a moment as he leans back, deadly serious.

In reply to Carl (msg #169):

"What, you think it's like that one Frankenstein book?" Jack asks. "I dunno...could be. That would have to be somethin' Ward would know more about, though."

Big Tom takes another drink. "Well, I knowed he were on o' the guards on them, along with Gus and Tex. Someone would've had to be in the mine with 'em, to make sure they weren't up to no funny business and to prod them along when they got uppity, but I don't know no details about that. Nate was the one scheduling the work crews, and we can't ask him now. Gus would know more, though. he were the main one doin' the jailin'."

At Carl's last pronouncement, they all silently nod their heads in agreement.

In reply to Mr. Lurch (msg #155):

"Thank you.  I will attend the meeting.  Good day" David tips his hat and leaves.

Hmmm, where would I find prospectors.  The bar of course. Fletcher heads for the nearest saloon.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #168):

"Well, I'm willin' to do what I can to help bridge the gap between you and the rest o' my friends, as I figger that's what God wants me to do. But I think you got to have a lighter touch on it, is all. So tell me what it is you'd like to see done around town, and I'll see what I can do to help."

Carl gives Jack a flat look. "..."

He nods to Tom and nods after the barkeep. "?"

Elijah liked to talk, but he liked to listen more.  Stay quiet sometimes and you can learn all kinds of interesting things about folks.  Still leaning against his chosen spot on the counter, he quietly drags out his trusty notebook and pencil again.  More notes get jotted, between drags on the cigarette.  As they comment on the War, he is sorely tempted to butt in and throw down his two-cents on lessons to be learned fromthe War.  But, not the time.  Not the place.  Now is the time to be the observer.  Ranger's right.  This fella seems to be a local willin' to stand up and try to make things better.  Maybe, jes maybe he could start a new trend...  Gotta start somewhere...

Wildcat smiles for perhaps the first time since she got here, a real smile, not her trademark smirk for bouts of black humor or sarcasm.  "You don't know much about Texas Rangers do you partner?

"But I agree with you, I am not the person to be doin' this day in, and day out.  But you are.  Blackthorn needs its native sons, so to speak, to be career law men.

"Right now though, what do I call you?"

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #175):

The man looks puzzled. "Bill...Bill McCoy. Thought I done told you my name already."

Sensing an end to the serious part of the discussion, Alijah finally decided to speak up.  Tapping again his ash to the floor, he offers a bright grin, "May I suggest, if it ain't too bold, /Deputy/ McCoy?"

In reply to Carl (msg #173):

"Oh." Jack says, suddenly staring deeply into his drink. "Oh yeah."

Tom shrugs. "Just the usual. Enough to cover any tab we might run up while he's away, plus a bit extra for the dance hall. Why?"

"Wrong.  Now you're Deputy McCoy.  That was a test, rookie."  Wildcat had this questionable joke used on her at the start of 'boot camp', as they liked to call it, only the name they'd ascribed to her at that point was far more harsh, even moreso than 'Wildcat'.

"Anyway Deputy McCoy, all kidding aside, there's one immediate errand you can attend to.  Several, actually.  That preacher, if'n he's of a denomination that blesses water, get as much as he'll bless.  We need crosses 'n crucifixes."  She reaches into her duster and pulls out that horrid thing she's been carrying this whole time that looks like a sharpened chair leg, because that's exactly what it is.  "I need these, lots of 'em, and made with proper tools.

"Ah need somebody to go to Underhill, and tell him to burn every carcass that comes through his shop once we get a pit built that can do it... and we need that pit built."

Wildcat's expression is dead serious.

Carl gets up and wanders to lean right over the bar, moving things hidden under the counter by the sounds of it. "..." Fortunately none of the lads are close enough to hear the mute's catch of breath as he does so, pain flaring through his lungs high into his throat with the pressure.

It's not long before he flourishes a bottle - opened, but well-stoppered - and mimes scrubbing tongues before setting a foot on his chair in bringing it over.
"..." He looks about seriously, and will pour for any who wish to partake, watching for the effects.

Elijah's eyes narrow just a bit at the Ranger's demands.  A long, thoughtful draw is taken off the cigarette.  His glance shifts from the Ranger, to the new Deputy, then back again to the Ranger.  Finally, he just crushes the cigarette out with finality and begins putting away his notebook, "Well, ain't gonna get done standin' around.  Who goes where, Ranger?"

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #179):

"Right."Bill says. "Y'all want me to telegraph the Pope, too? See if he can make a trip all special like?" he cracks a grin. "Should I have the boys start buildin' a really big boat while I'm at it?"

"Look, I don't know what you think is this big unholy problem here, but rumor has it we got another deadder uprisin'. Deadders ain't nothin' special. They slow, they dumb, and they go down like any critter when you shoot 'em in the head. Nothin' to get all Biblical about."

The Grand Bull Saloon is right where he left it...but there seems to be a couple of patrons blocking the entrance, enthralled in conversation...

In reply to Carl (msg #180):

The three men grin widely as Carl produces the "Good Stuff" and produce glasses, and eagerly partake.

[[OOC: How long is Carl going to be carousing here?]]

Carl waits and watches until sips are safely swallowed, smirking faintly, before settling to join them. God, that was good. It even burnt away the pain a moment, though Carl tenses not to cough. He catches gazes again when they've tasted the deep amber drug and motions out to the range with something of a frown, adding a money-rub of the fingers and nodding down at his gun. "..."

He waves vaguely, then holds up three fingers, draws one across his chest, gestures onwards, then after another sip of angel piss another finger is held up. He presses it against his nose a moment then mimes lots of swirling above his sleeve. He gets Augustus' poster out and sets it down casually, shrugging and indicating many points on his body. "..."

Carl then remembers something, gestures ranchwards again, and of the law, briefly making the child's beaky gesture of someone chatting or nagging, shrugs. "..."



[[Until Mike/Dave comes back, or is clearly not going to - he has information to pass on that way best not shared amongst the distractions of a strip club. You can skip ahead when the jail crew have their plan of action sorted (or a plan of inaction in poor CB's case) and Katy/Jake/Vinny have decided what they mean to do also. Carl won't get too drunk in the meanwhile since he doesn't want to throw up again and he's fighting the beginnings of hydrophobia]]

In reply to Bill (msg #182):

"Another deader uprising?  This has happened before?"

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #186):

"Wait, you mean the Marshal didn't mention this to ya?" Bill blinks. "I'd have thought it would've been important, since, ya know, it's why Evans was made Marshal in the first place."

He takes a drag from his cigarette. "It were about six or seven months ago. Just after a nasty storm, as I recall. We'd just had an outlaw blow into town. Maybe you heard o' him? Shanghai Reggie? Walks around with half o' his face covered? Anyhow, Nate had the idea of tryin' to collect the bounty on the Chinaman's head, so he gathered us up and we hit town. Didn't really work out, though...the Chinaman wound up duelin' Gus at sunset, and Gus got injured."

"Well, just as we were pickin' up Gus to take him to the Doc to get patched up, we heard somethin' comin' from the graveyard. Sounded like a fiddle. A crowd collected there, and lo and behold, the dead were pullin' themselves out of the ground and doin' some kind o' waltz! Strangest damn thing you ever did see, I figger. Then the dead turn and attacked the fences. Broke through in a few places, too. Well, Evans takes charge o' the situation. He wanders into the crowd o' deadders, blowin' holes in them with his fancy gun, and the rest o' the crowd followed suit with whatever they had on 'em."

"It took all night, and the Deadders got a few o' us, but we put 'em back down again. The mayor declared the whole thing a raider attack, and, well, most folk decided to just go with that, and not remember it were deadders wearin' the skins o' their loved ones. Evans was elected Marshal, and been here ever since."

In reply to Carl (msg #185):

"Right." Ned says. "We'll keep an eye out for 'em."

"Yeah, an' I think the bounty hunter gonna get a disappointment if he goin' after this fella." Jack slurs. "The Doc seems kinda attached to his pet scientist...think he's gonna offer the guy a place in that 'Enlightened Society' he runs."

Big Tom is quiet, a big ol' goofy grin on his face as the whiskey warms his soul.

In reply to Bill (msg #187):

Wildcat shakes her head.  There just was no point in maintaining a semblance of This isn't happening, it's ghost rock fever! at all any more.  This was a Class Five intelligence breach and had been for months before she ever got here.  Unless she planned on personally murdering everyone in town and the surrounding counties, there was no containing news of this having ever happened.

In a way however that was liberating.  She sighs deeply and stares into the newly christened deputy's eyes with intensity.

"Ain't you never read the Revelations?  The dead rising is quickly followed by the presence of the Devil hisself, and th' war the Devil declares against the righteous cain't end until a rain of fire from God wipes out everythin'.  Only the Devil don't just come to Blackthorn in th' Scripture, he spreads hisself out everywhere.  This is what we call a problem.

"Ah know yer used to doing yer own thing.  But ah need you to trust me on this.  The Marshall, he oughta be back in the saddle here before too long, and his orders trump mine if he tells ya different. If it makes you feel any better, myself, Interim Deputy Fuller here, and th' prisoner are riding out tomorrow to question Ward.  You might just have the whole town to yerself."

Blacthorn's self isolation had created the perfect storm for this to happen.  She doubted that it was literally the events prophesied in the Scriptures, but it was too close for comfort.

Carl snorts softly and raises his glass in mock-toast for science.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #189):

"Alright, I suppose." Bill says. "So, as Deputy, ah, Fuller asked, who goes where?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:55, Sun 05 Dec 2010.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #189):

Charging Bear, who has been quietly listening, says "That's Revelation or The Book of the Revelation to John...  there isn't an s in it Ranger."

In reply to Charging Bear (msg #192):

"There is in Texas, Deputy Bear."  Wildcat shrugs.  "Anyway it's real simple, Deputy Fuller, go give Evans his star back and tell him it's compliments of yers truly, an eat, rest up, and come back to relieve me.  Deputy McCoy, if the preacher won't listen to ya, tell him to come see me.  But until we ride out tomorrow I'm going to put you otherwise at large, someone needs to watch the streets."

Bill nods. "Right away, ma'am." he says, setting his hat back on his head. "Uh...I heard you done pinched Carl. Would it be alright if'n I said hello to him, first?"

"Yes, ma'am," drawls Elijah with a bit of a grin.  Though, with everything that's been talked about his grin is starting to look a bit forced.  Cane back in hand, the reporter begins making his thumping, limping way to the front door, "Just t' check..  If the Marshal still don't feel up to listenin' t' reason, do I just whack him across the head and drag him back here?  Just wonderin', these bein' Ranger orders an all..."

Wildcat chuckles at the notion of 'Ranger orders'.  "Mr. Fuller, let's not go on any pretense other than I need help and yer offerin' it voluntarily an' I'm abusin' the hell out of it.  You could both walk away right now an' I wouldn't think any less of either of you.  If Evans won't listen, just tell him  he can continue French leave until we leave tomorrow, because at that point we'll have to give him th' keys back.  Sometimes, you just have to believe in a man even though he could let ya down.  He's welcome to come here if'n he wants, but I ain't gonna demand it."

She looks at Deputy McCoy square in the eye.

"That's not a question I can answer, exceptin' I gotta ask ya, do you think that's smart?  He don't say much but from what ah can gather, that feller ain't got no love for anyone acting under title.  If ya think it will help go ahead, ah don't know them like you know them."

Wildcat shrugs yet again.  It's a weak gesture with her narrow shoulders.

"A normal group of people might appreciate someone they know is on the right side, and to be honest Deputy McCoy the fact that all of this town's lawmen have been outsiders so far is a sign something's wrong with the way things are done here.  Ya'll seem to have this mistaken notion I'm against yer independence here, but that ain't how it is at all, ah just think ya'll should go about it differently.  But ah don't know how they'll take it.

"Realize ol' Carl and his posse there are going to make a move to kill me at some point fairly soon.  That's why I advise you stay in town when the rest of us go, I ain't gonna make you choose between being a lawdog and the friends you've always known.  That's a choice you'll probably hafta make, but I ain't gonna make you do it on mah part.  But I'm trustin' th' feller fer the greater good myself even though I know what's comin', so I can't rightly tell you one way or another.

"While we's on that subject, Interim Deputy Fuller, yer job after we get there and Ward gets a chance to hear Deputy Bear will be to make sure he gets back here in town safe from Cantrell.  Ah hope by the time ya get back the Pony Express will get back with something definitive.  It'll be tense, but th' Adders got no beef with you and if'n ya ask nice and call Deputy Bear a savage they might even help ya.  If they turn on us, you just reach for the clouds and remember yer job.

"And on that note, I'd be sure to retrieve Deputy Bear's effects while yer there.  Last I saw, Mr. Mickle-fwate had them."

Wildcat felt another pang of sorrow, but the time for that would have to come later.  Mr. Armstrong had tried to warn her about keeping it together when one of your own fell.  What amazed her is not only how hard this was, but that she was following his advice after all.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #196):

"Yeah, but if Carl ever tries to kill you, it won't be in the back or in your sleep." Deputy McCoy says. "He's a Southern man. When he tries to kill you, you'll be awake, you'll be facin' him, you'll be armed, and it'll be between you and him without the rest o' the boys gettin' in the way. It's Dave Baines I'd worry about tryin' to bushwhack you, given that's what he done in Kansas before comin' here. He said he used to run with Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson. I don't know if that's true or not, but Dave's kind of a mean snake in the grass and Luke and Charlie were his best friends."

"As for Carl, I think I can talk with him. Might argue a bit, might wind up tradin' blows, but once I explain things I hope he'll understand. I got to walk my conscience in the end, 'cause the preacher told me there ain't no one gonna walk that lonesome valley for me."

"Every tub sits on its own bottom Deputy."  Wildcat agreed with the remarkable recruit.

Elijah nods once to all that, "Will do, Ranger.  Will do."  With that, he reaches up to tug the brim of his hat in a soft salute.  That done, he hobbles his way through the door again and heads off towards the Undertaker's.  You do know how to put yourself right in the shit, Eli.  And here you thought writin'd be easy safe work.

In reply to Elijah Fuller (msg #199):

[[OOC: Elijah, you will begin posting on the 9.3 thread.]]

Bill is still there, waiting for Wildcat to lead him to the cell where his friend is staying. He might not have realized she'd already let him go...

OOC:  Ah, I was wondering what he meant by pinched.

"Oh, guess ah should have been more clear.  Ah let 'im loose.  Limited manpower, and the Marshal proved his point he could be arrested.  Ain't like we have the means at present to actually incarcerate terribly well.  Besides it's more impo'tant we talk ta Ward than he sit in here another few hours and learn nothing."

"Oh." Bill says. "I see. Well, I figger I oughta get busy, then."

He heads out the door, off to see the preacher, leaving Wildcat alone with Charging Bear.

Meanwhile, Carl's sitting out and keeping score for a chaotic game of Cajun Tarot, nursing his glass of liquid warmth and freedom from pain and longing for the rain to return. The world feels strange and wide and empty tonight, and he is dead.


[[in case y'all were wondering what Carl was up to.]]

[[OOC: I have absolutely no idea what to do now with the characters in this thread, since most of them are waiting for stuff. I have Elijah out and about involved in something which will probably take a few days to resolve, and I don't want to leave you all twisting in the wind while that happens. I don't know if I'd feel comfortable just skipping ahead when the events being covered right now will probably change things up quite a bit.

So please, if you would continue having some In-Character conversations to keep occupied, I would greatly appreciate it, unless you think all that has to be say has been said.]]

OOC:  Really unless Charging Bear wants to try to talk her into freeing him, Wildcat is sort of done for the moment.

[[ Thoughts: perhaps if Bill felt he had reason to seek O'Rourke at the church he'd return/stop off via the Red Eye - Carl won't be entirely happy with 'his' ranger left without some male in attendance, given her habit of standing far too close to the bars if that comes up...and anyone going/coming from vaultwards'll probably hear Jesse - hey, Cantrell probably will, coming back Evansless...though Cantrell and CB can't be left in a box together...hmm.]]


Carl rules "Mornington Crescent" a valid call if a two is dropped on any knight on the table and the caller drinks to the health of the Pope.

In reply to Wildcat Hawkins (msg #202):

"So what are you expecting out at the Ward place anyways?" Charging Bear says at last. "I imagine you've not done many property inspections."

"Truth be told, I don't know what to expect, other than a hell of a fight with th' Adders."

"Think the Adders are going to kill a ranger?" Charging Bear ponderings, "You've spoke with Austin, and Carl knows that... if you don't report back they'll most likely send someone else out."

Wildcat ponders it.  "It ain't unlikely, what you done said, but mah reckonin' is that these fellers have been sittin' around here starin' at each other fer so long, the idea that they're responsible fer what they do here to the rest of Texas, much less the Confed'racy, probably still don't register with 'em.

"You heard th' Adder jawin'.  He thinks that it's them against th' world just because there's some bad people out there, like there ain't no one else in the world who's never been mistreated or had a hard time of things.  Ya know what's downright queer about all this?  I feel sorry for 'em.

"They been so cooped up in their own problems fer so long here, they lost their sense of normalcy.  You heard McCoy, he thought th' dead rising weren't nothin' to worry about.  He laughed at me when I done learned him what needed to be did, like I were over-reacting.  For the love of God or what you probably call Th' Great Spirit, ah don't want to live in a place where the dead walk an' most everybody ain't scared out their wits.  The fact such ain't the case means that kind of thing is the norm here.  These poor people are like a frog that done been cooked, an' they don't even realize it."

Wildcat tries to find a seat.

"If'n ah could move heaven an' earth an' just let them lie in their own bed, I might be tempted to, but this will spill out of here."  She makes another of her narrow shrugs.  "Ah can only hope ah'm right and we can put the brakes on this thing.  Ah don't like it at all, but what choice do ah have."

Charging Bear nods mostly to himself, as he thought on Wildkitten's words. "This place has been ill for a while now. I imagine it started even before thing turned unnatural. People here have lost hope for whatever reasons. You'd figure folks would run for the hills when the dead start walking and talking... but no they just stay around." Charging Bear laughs, "Heck I'd have run myself if I hadn't seen it before."

Wildcat felt a little better that someone else saw the same problem.  Maybe she hadn't lost her mind after all.

"It's human nature, we don't want to see things we don't like.  They're so..."  The word Wildcat wanted was insular but it wasn't in her vocabulary.

"...into their own business, and it's understandable they would be with the things we've seen here, they got to tha point where when you or me or anyone else tells them what only an outsider can see, they get mad at ya!"

"When you live with something so long, no matter how strange it started, in time it seems normal." Charging Bear muses. "But regardless, I'll do what I can to help."

Time passes in Blackthorn.

Deputy McCoy goes about securing the services of the preacher, who seems eager to be of assistance and doesn't question the sudden need for large amounts of holy water, crucifixes, and sharpened stakes. Indeed, Bill notices that the man seemed to be half-expecting such a request. He leaves the man to his work, then stalks off to the Red Eye to see if he could catch up with any of the boys.

Carl, Ned, Big Tom, and Jack are about two-and-a-half sheets to the wind when Bill appears in the Saloon.

---

Meanwhile, David Fletcher makes inquiries in the Grand Bull, collecting general information about the area. He ignores the two monopolizing the barkeep, though he might have some questions for the man later. The most interesting thing to him right now is mention of a prospector called "Gabby," who pans silver from a nearby creek and has recently been known to speak about Ghost Rock in a cagey fashion.

---

While Elijah and Robert yell at each other in the streets loudly enough to wake the dead, it seems the help isn't needed, as there's a dead man singing already.

At least he sings until another figure interrupts him by opening the coffin. The figure wears a tattered, muddy sheet over him like a cloak.

"Oh death! Have you come for me at last?" The dead man laments.

The figure slaps him across the face. "Cut that shite out." it snarls. A chunk of bloody meat is dropped on Jesse's face. "Eat that. It'll help that gnawing sensation ye got in your belly. And come on. We need to be gettin' out o' here."

Jesse falls quiet, and probes the meat chunk with his fingers. He wasn't sure just what was going on, as he'd never been dead before, but this wasn't meeting his expectations. Still, there was a gnawing hunger in his stomach, and he began to chew the raw chunk down. Ugh. Unpleasant, but he'd had worse. He couldn't identify the texture...it was kind of like pork, he thought.

He pulled himself up out of the coffin and looked about. The meal, disgusting as it was, had revitalized him a bit, though he could still feel the gunshot wound in his belly aching. Perhaps he wasn't dead? The undertaker wasn't much of a doctor, after all. It would be like Underhill to make a hasty judgment...he would get paid whether his patient lived or died, and a funeral was less work.

"Come on." his shrouded savior whispered, urging Jesse onward. "Ye can marvel at your existence at length all ye like once we've gotten to cover."

Jesse nodded, and followed the cloaked figure out the door, offering a quick prayer to Jesus, thanking him for sparing him his life and offering him a second chance.

In his haste to leave, he failed to notice the other opened coffin, with the bloody smears on the side hinting at the source of his revitalizing meal...

---

Jericho Cantrell might have heard the singing coffin if he'd been anywhere nearby when it started. But he wasn't. Currently he was on the trail, headed for what the locals told him was the Circle W ranch. He intended to meet this "Dr. Ward" person. He wasn't going to get much help from the Ranger chasing his other bounties, not after that little speech she'd made when she thought he couldn't hear. So let her twist. He had bigger fish to fry.

Charging Bear wasn't going anywhere for a while yet, and this "Augustus Spotswood" would make a fine prize. The bounty on the pair would net him about a thousand dollars, and he only needed to bring one of them back alive. He didn't intend to kill Charging Bear...he'd rather make the Indian suffer through the trial and inevitable hanging that would follow it. But neither would he let the man slip his grasp, Ranger or not.

He walked towards the Circle W. Time to get to work.

Carl rules that any rule elaborated, ignored or made up because you're too drunk to remember the complexities of Cajun Tarot counts for the rest of that game, and that game only. Unless it's a really good rule, or he forgets about it.

He pushes a mostly-empty bottle in Bill's general direction when the man walks in, expression vagely enquiring. "..."

Charing Bear sits quietly in his cell, there's nothing for him to do otherwise. He at long last drifts into an exhaustion induced slumber.

Wildcat gets some badly needed harmonica practice in.

This thread is now closed. Please post on the 10.1 thread