Randolph steps out of the shadows where he's been lingering.

"If the young lady's entreaties and the Marshall's arguments don't convince you, friend, let's just say it's the right thing to do," a $5 gold piece glitters faintly in his fingers, "And I'll pay for the coal and your time."

Catching the metallic glint of the coin, the blacksmith grinned broadly.

"Indeed. The right thing to do. Well, why don't you folks come round back to the forge." He stepped out of his residence, and beckoned them to follow. Walking back around his dwelling, there was a locked area at the back. Unlocking the heavy padlock with a key, he opened the makeshift doors and began to get going.

Morgan gave Hawthorne a quiet smile. Nodding to the reporter, he said, "I'm grateful for your help, Mr. Darling."

Following the blacksmith, Morgan removed his coat and hat, placing them near the door. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, "I don't know anything of smithing, but I'd be glad to shovel the coal if it'll help things along."

When they reached the forge, Coraline took hold of Randolph's sleeve after Caleb disappeared inside.  "How nice of you to join us, Mister Darling," she said, somewhat coldly.  Dropping her voice, she hissed.  "Just what do you think you're about, Randolph?  I'm growing a little weary of you haring off on this wild notion or that without any explanation.  I could have used your support a short time ago when nearly everyone seemed ready to burn me at the stake.  Instead, you were off giving your apologies to a soiled dove.  A whore, I might add, that you only accused because you decided go to haring off on your own again before you had all of the facts.  What in the world has gotten into you?"

Darling smiles at Coraline.

"I'm sorry not to measure up to your expectations, Miss Hawthorne, but gladdened to see that you are not even singed by your tribulation. I doubt Marshall Morgan and Deputy Earp would have allowed any serious harm to come to you. Indeed, you seem most able to take care of yourself.

"As to my interactions with the 'soiled dove' you reference, you may rest easy on that account. I spoke only with Doctor Smith -- and that through his front door -- and so was quite able to keep my animal lusts in check. Besides, my tastes are more inclined toward dark, flashing eyes and a certain imperious manner. It is my weakness.

"Now, shall we watch the doughty Marshall become sweaty and grimy in pursuit of our goal? It should be most intriguing."

He gestures that she should precede him into the smithy.

"You know very well that I wasn't speaking one single bit about your lusts.  Stop sneaking away all of the time," she chided, waving her fan in his face.  "I mean it, Randolph.  One of those times you are going to find yourself in a heap of trouble without a single person around to haul you out."  She sounded more like a mother hen than a scorned lover, but her eyes were indeed smoldering. Giving him one last look, she sniffed and followed Caleb into the smithy.

Randolph shook his head, rubbed his jaw, shuffled his feet, scratched the back of his neck and otherwise signified that he just didn't understand women. He followed Coraline into the dark smithy.

The smith took a look at Caleb, and shook his head. "I can do this on my own. Easier that way, too. Way I'm used to. Besides, I think you need to see a doctor and soon. Somebody that can fix you up. You've stopped bleedin' but I think if you start shovelin' coal, you're gonna open right back up and start again." He went ahead and began the process of starting up the forge.

"Doc Smith lives just up the road. I reckon' he won't be too happy to get woken up, but he'd be less happy if you show up come mornin' without gettin' that seen to."

The truth was, Morgan hadn't thought about his injuries at all until the smith spoke up. His mind had been entirely focused elsewhere. Glancing down at his once white shirt, he saw the reason for the smith's words. There on his arm and chest were the tears and dark stains where Mansfield's blade had done its work. As his attention returned to the wounds, he became aware once again of the low, throbbing ache from each one.

Although she had disagreed, he remained convinced that without Hawthorne, none of them would have left that lonely stretch of street alive.

"You're right," he told the big man. "I'll go have Smith take a look at me as soon as we're finished here."

He paused, then added, "I'd just like to see this done first."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:51, Sun 14 July 2013.

"Damn, Morgan, I didn't realize you'd gotten so cut up. You should go get Smith to patch you up. I...ah...I know he's awake.

"Coraline and I will see this through."

"I appreciate that Mr. Darling. I do. I would just...," he cast a worried look at the forge, "I'd feel a lot better knowing that thing was melted down."

He gave Darling a rueful smile. Keeping his voice low, he said, "The truth is, I've been in worse shape before, and a lot further from any kind of help when it happened. I'll manage."

"Honestly, I probably don't even need to bother Smith. With these kinds of cuts, I think Daniel should be able to get me fixed up just fine. I'll get over to the Dog Eye once this is done."

"Are you quite certain you will not visit the doctor, Mister Morgan?  At least one of those cuts looks as though it may need stitches."  Her eyes drifted briefly to his bloody shirt before returning to his face.  "There's no need to put on a brave face for our sake.  We're well aware of the sort of damage the killer could cause.  I almost thought I'd lose a limb there for a moment.  I'd say we are all very fortunate to have walked away with as few injuries as we did."

"Anyhow, I know nothing of metal working or coal shoveling.  If the two of you don't mind, I shall stay well out of the way and read for a bit while we wait for the forge to reach optimum temperature."

"I'll go see the doctor," he acquiesced, "Just as soon as the scalpel's disposed of, I'll go."

Returning to the door of the smithy, he retrieved his hat and coat. He placed his hat on his head and draped the coat over one arm. Finding an empty section of wall, he leaned against it and watched as the smith brought the forge to life.

It took nearly an hour by the time the sweaty blacksmith had gotten his forge up and running again. He would occasionally make small talk with the deputies, but his conversation seemed forced - he would clearly rather fully commit himself to the work at hand. Only, there wasn't really much complicated about what they were tasking for here. At the end of the process, all he had left was a misshapen lump of metal that remained from what had once been a scalpel. Before he quenched what was left, he looked at the deputies.

"I take it this is good enough?"

Morgan nodded, but gazed at the piece of metal uncertainly. "It's certainly not a weapon anymore," he said.

But was the magic that transformed Mansfield into a monster still sleeping within it?

"If it wouldn't be any trouble," Morgan added, gesturing to the remains of the scalpel, "I think we'd like to take that with us."

"Fine by me," he said. With a grunt, he quenched it into a barrel of water that he kept nearby.

It took a while longer before it was cool enough for them to take, but eventually the smith tossed it into a burlap sack and accepted the payment that Darling had offered him earlier.

"And if you have any real work that you need done, don't hesitate to come on back," he told them as they were leaving.

Morgan accepted the bag from the blacksmith. He smiled faintly at the man's comment as they departed. Knowing nothing of the scalpel's true nature, it had doubtlessly seemed a frivolous task to him. The smith would never know just how important it had actually been.

When he, Darling, and Hawthorne were several paces away from the smith's home, Morgan raised the bag. He felt a twinge in his chest as he did so. He did need to see Smith before the night was through.

"It might be safe to bury now," he offered. "I was planning to ride out of Dodge in the next day or so. My intention is to go to Hays. See if I can pick up the trail of those responsible for all the murders there. I could put this deep in the ground somewhere along the way."

Looking to the reporter, he said, "Mr. Darling, if you're still interested in going to Hays, I'd be proud to have you join me. You're a good man. Not afraid of a fight."

He turned his attention to Hawthorne. "Miss Hawthorne, I...well, it may not be right for me to ask, but I'd be grateful if you'd consider coming along as well. I have no doubt that I'll need your help out there."

Coraline put her book away as they left the smithy, walking quietly with Caleb and Randolph toward the doctor's.  "Actually, I had already given that some thought, Mister Morgan.  I think it best that we go investigate Hays to find out what really happened and who is to blame.  What happened there should not be taken lightly."

"Thanks for the kind words, Morgan. There's no one I'd rather stand beside when danger's about than Miss Hawthorne and you. I'll be pleased to ride with you to Hays. Of course, I expect Earp will want you to stay on through the Fourth, at least."

As they neared Smith's place, he spoke again.

"As to the former scalpel, do you think it would be best buried in hallowed ground, rather than out along the trail someplace where it could be found by any...one? I'm willing to tote it to a churchyard and dispose of it that way."

Morgan smiled, sincerely thankful for their answers.

Nodding to Darling, he said, "Don't worry. I'll keep my word to Earp. I think I'm just...eager to put this city behind me." He glanced up at the night sky.

"I hadn't thought of placing the scalpel in blessed ground, but that might be a wise idea," he added, "Father Iglesias strikes me as a man who could be trusted. He'd guard it well." He offered the bag to Darling. "If you want to wait until morning, I'd be glad to go with you." One corner of his mouth lifted in a half grin. "I reckon we could pass for gravediggers, if need be."

Morgan fell silent for a moment, his mind a sea of thoughts as he recalled the events of the evening. So much had happened in such a short span of time. Realizing they had neared Smith's home, he stopped. Shaking his head, he said, "There's no reason for you two to wait here while Smith patches me up. You've both been through just as much as I have. More, even. Why don't you head back to the Dodge House? Get some rest. You've certainly earned it."

Coraline took the burlap sack before Randolph could lay a finger on it, holding it almost possessively.  "I am going to see this through to the end, thank you.  If you think you will be alright, Mister Morgan, then I shall leave you to your care.  It is likely best if Mister Darling keeps his distance from the doctor's right now, apology or no.  I shall see you in the morning at breakfast, I'm certain.  Do try to get some rest yourself.  That is usually the best thing for wounds."

Randolph walks with Coraline in silence to Dodge House. He sees her to her room and bids her a courteous goodnight. He retires to his room and sleeps until morning, if he's allowed to.

Morgan bid both Hawthorne and Darling good night.

Stepping up to the porch of Smith's home, he prepared to knock on the door, but paused. Turning his attention back to the street, he watched Hawthorne walk alongside Darling until they both disappeared from sight.

Returning his attention to the door, he knocked firmly, ready with an apology for disturbing the doctor and his family once again on such an eventful evening.

A steady soreness worked in his chest as Morgan emerged from the doctor's residence. Hawthorne had been right. He'd needed stitches. Walking down the steps of Smith's house he saw that the streets were completely dark, almost silent.

Morgan's walk back to the Dog Eye was slow, his mind alive with a restless stream of thoughts. It had only been a matter of days since he and the others had arrived in Dodge and yet, in some ways, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Images rose and fell as he walked. Brave little Laura Palmer who had seen such terror, but wanted to be a Marshal. Tearful Sarah Ingram who had finally found the life she had long deserved, free from his ghost. Walter Jackson trapped in the street with his wounded arm. Clayton Mansfield weeping over the monster he had become against his will. Coraline Hawthorne, who'd stirred his emotions and now knew a secret he'd shared with no one else.

He looked up into the night sky. His gaze fixed briefly on the moon. It was waxing. Gaining strength.

Shifting his coat from one arm to the other he was suddenly aware of the tintype, resting as it had for years in the pocket of his vest.

Stopping, he reached into the inner pocket and drew out the picture. Himself and Sarah at the fair. Smiling. Content. Promised to one another. Before the war. Before the shadow. Before the vast prairie had become his closest companion.

He regarded the picture for a long moment.

Then, fishing in his pocket, he found a match. Striking it against a hitching post, he carefully touched the tintype to the flame. The fire took it quickly, turning the image black as it grew. After a moment, he let it fall to his feet, his eyes fixed on it as the picture was lost completely, the paper slowly reduced to ash.

And at long last, he let Sarah sleep.

He crushed the few remaining embers with his boot, then continued his walk. After a few paces, his eyes fell to the badge Earp had given him. He'd be returning it after one last day. He was glad of that. For all the good they'd done in Dodge, he had earnestly grown to dislike the town during his stay. Perhaps he'd just seen too much of the mean undercurrent that flowed through the city and its residents.

Reaching into his coat pocket, he retrieved his Marshal's badge. It was battered, having seen hard use since he'd first been given it, but the stamped characters remained clear. He regarded it with a frown, rubbing his thumb across its surface. Unbidden, he recalled running through Lawrence as a young man, the town's once familiar buildings swallowed by flame, gunshots sounding all around as he carried Josiah in his arms, his chest heavy with the knowledge that his brother Cyrus and his mother were gone.

If somehow it really was Bill Quantrill, the man that had ordered the deaths of his family, out there putting more innocents to the sword, was this really about the law? Would he honestly be seeking him out for the same reasons as the dozens of other hard men he had chased over the years?

For the first time he could remember, he was uncertain. He slipped the badge back into his pocket.

He walked on into the dark, toward the Dog Eye.

At the boarding house, Coraline spent much of the evening reading through her Hoyle's in search of a particular bit of knowledge.  When she discovered the secret she was after and her brain absorbed what she'd read, the knowledge struck her like a physical blow.  How had she not seen it before?  How had she never understood?  The hours passed unnoticed as she studied, flipping through the pages, jotting notes in her journal.  Her hour spent at the smith's had not been in vain, though another five were gone before she had a grasp of the hex she needed.  Though she was weary from the day's events and tired as she finally sought her bed, she wore a dangerous smile of contentment.  All that had happened would never happen again.  She just wouldn't allow it.  Snuggling into the covers, she was soon fast asleep with visions of golden-eyed men running through the wild with golden-eyed wolves.