Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 12 Mar 06 - 04:37 PM

I awoke after eleven hours of Lethe's deepest potions, feeling at rest, my strength renewed. But only moments after my dreams faded, and I had made the long slow climb back up to spring sunlight rolling across the foot of my bed like an invitation to go to sea, my mind began again to submerge between the wonders and terrors of the day before, which came back to me as rapidly as lost friends appear at the door of a suddenly prosperous gambler.

My head was haunted with images of the desperate fury in the face of Celia's daughter, of the earnest desperation in the look of Katherine McInnis when she thought I could give her some clue as to Emmet's whereabouts, the desolate whiteness of Lefrenier Chouvin's dead face, his soul already, I am sure, writhing in judgment at the edge of the Hereafter as I dragged his useless corpse into the underbrush.

I wrestled with this state for three days, during which I strove to keep my life appearing normal and routine, working steadily at my small handful of cases from the rapidly burgeoning commercial interests of Saint Louis. There were few in town who could be trusted at law, and I made it a serious policy to be one of them, always seeking to deal with my clients with complete integrity of character and honesty of word and deed, honoring their confidences and their visions for the future. As a result I was becoming known amongst the large merchants in town who owned the mills, the steamboats and their cargos, and, yes, the slaves who made it possible. Although I had to steel myself to rationalize their situation, I knew that changing the condition of their lives could only be done individually until by God's grace we could grow up as a people, both economically and spiritually,, and learn to be fully human. But until I could help that happen, I bit my lip. At some level, perhaps, I had interceded to help Sophie and her mother to assuage my guilt in this respect. But who knows.

For three days I staggered through my ordinary work, my mind haunted by Katherine's McInnis' smile and her blue eyes, and my heart grieved by the death of the men I had shot, albeit in self-defense.

I thought this would probably be all the burden I would carry for the day's misdaventures, so I was unprepared for a visit that Friday evening at my office from Joseph Conway. I had helped him with some paperwork on Revolutionary War claims against the government, and had met him on multiple occasions in the ordinary course of working in the courts, for he had been the county's only sheriff since shortly after statehood.

Being sheriff had been good to Joseph Conway, judging by the girth he had put on since I last saw him; his youth was beginning to fade under the encroachments of jowls and a thickening waist. But he was as smart as he had ever been.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 12 Mar 06 - 10:04 PM

Katherine waited downstairs for nearly an hour, but there was sign of neither Bill nor Jack. She ate a modest breakfast and then decided to go into the town on her own and try to find out more about where Emmet might have gone off to. She reached the sunny porch of the hotel and in gazing around caught sight of the whorehouse. She gave an involuntary shiver and then struck out on her own. After speaking with the merchant Chouteau, and the town doctor Saugrain, she realized that even though Emmet had made a mark on the town, it was hardly an indelible one. Memories were fragile and suggestible things, and it seemed as if everyone she met had too little to tell her.

Upon leaving the doctor's office, she caught sight again of the whorehouse. Life was stirring even at this early hour of the day and she cringed to think that if there was anywhere in this town that a man like her brother could have left his mark, that might just be the place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dixie had just come downstairs when she saw the young woman come in to the bar. 'Same eyes, same face, the resemblance is striking,' she thought to herself. The poor thing looked scared out her wits. Dixie walked over to her and whispered coyly: "I'll be damned if you ain't a McInnis." When the surprised woman smiled shyly at her, Dixie grinned back, and when she asked if she had to pay for a quiet place to talk, Dixie just said, "Honey, this one is on the house."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he had left Katherine and gone to Bill's room, Jack saw that it was empty as a tomb. He rushed downstairs only to find that the mister Corporal Brennan had check out that very morning. Jack slammed the counter with his fist and all but ran to the livery. He arrived in time to see Bill settling up his affairs with the stableboy and leading his horse to be saddled.
"Going somewhere?" he asked.

Bill turned around to face him: "We're done here, Jack. We brought her to St. Louis. We did what we were asked to do and now it's time to go home. I am leaving and I suggest that you do the same."

"You know I can't do that," replied Jack. "We said we'd help her find her brother, and I don't recall having done that yet. If your memory is clearer than mine--and your conscience is cleaner--then you go ahead and get on that horse, but I'm staying."

Bill swung his leg up and over his horse in one fluid motion. He looked down at his friend and said: "I have to check in with Col. Atkinson at the Barracks before I leave. If I get the order, Jack, you know you have to go or face a firing squad. It's your decision, and I hope to God she's worth it to you," and with that he nudged his horse in the ribs and trotted off towards the river.

Jack watched his friend ride away and the fury in his face changed to wonder as he saw Katherine leaving the whorehouse with a woman who was obviously a resident of the establishment. They embraced at the door and Katherine left to walk back towards the hotel.   The woman in the doorway watched Katherine leave, and then looked straight at Jack and waved. Jack blushed a deep crimson as he crossed the street to the whorehouse. When he got within earshot, the woman called out to him: "You know that girl? If you got any sense at all you'll get on upstairs and show her what you're made of!" Jack's blush went several shades deeper as the woman and several patrons laughed at her remarks. Jack did his best to save face--a mock salute not unlike the one he delighted Katherine with-- then a turn and a quick jog up the street. As he left, he could hear the raucous laughter following him like a train.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 12 Mar 06 - 10:07 PM

Jack had found that throughout the course of his life the most sage advice had always come from midwives and whores. The advice he'd gotten today was no different. He'd arrived upstairs to find Katherine a willing witness to 'what he was made of', and although there was nothing earth-shattering about their various couplings throughout the afternoon, they finally rested with the tired and sweaty glow of two people who knew that their lucky stars had lined up perfectly for a day.

Katherine was sitting with her back against the wall and the sheet pulled up modestly around her when Jack brought her a glass of water. They both raised their glasses "To Dixie", and drank--Jack gulping his and Katherine sipping daintily as she watched Jack sprawl at the foot of the bed.   He was almost asleep when Katherine nudged him in the chest with her foot. "Jack, what did you find in Emmet's notes?" she asked.

"What makes you think I found anything?" Jack asked sleepily.

"Just a hunch, I guess. I thought you might have because you wrapped them up and hid them last night. If there was nothing in them, I don't think I'd have done that…" she trailed off.

Jack opened one eye and looked at her. He sized her up in an instant and knew he had to tell her. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Saddle bag under the table," she replied. She couldn't help but admire his form when he walked across the room, but on his return she was all business. He unwrapped the bundle and fished out the map that caught his attention the night before.

"This one here," he motioned. "What does it say?"

"No water," read Katherine.

"What happens if you are here and don't have any water?"

"You go west," said Katherine, and when Jack picked up several of the other drawings and showed them to her in succession, she knew what Emmet had been trying to hide with Ben Huntington. "Oh no," sighed Katherine, "We really need to find Bonneville."

"No," said Jack, showing her a final piece of paper in the bundle. "I think we need to find Leavenworth."


Bill was returning from the Jefferson Barracks and climbing the stairs of the hotel just as Jack was leaving Katherine's room. Jack had his boots and coat over his outstretched arm and was stealthily trying to reach his own room without being seen. Bill had seen Jack in this position many times before, sneaking into the barracks after hours with his shirt untucked and his hair tousled—with another story of conquest for the troops—but it never had this effect on him before. He could hardly catch his breath. All he managed to do was to lay his hand on Jack's shoulder. When Jack turned around he saw Bill's face, haggard as the grave, and heard the words: "Dinner. Tonight. We're taking her further." Jack nodded, eyes wide, and watched as Bill went back downstairs.

Bill secured a table in the dining room, and a bottle of whiskey to wait with. He wanted to erase the day from his mind, the voice he heard in his head that sounded so very like Colonel Atkinson. "I will not have the good name of one of my officers sullied for such a rash act. Do what you have to, but stop her.", and the sight of Jack leaving her room.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 13 Mar 06 - 09:21 AM

The Woman that came down the wooden staircase behind the Byway Tavern was the same woman who worked there by night, her eyes and hair gave that away but nothing else about her would suggest that fact.
Dixie looked clean faced, with her long thick hair tied back at the nape of her neck.
Her simple dress, was just that, simple.
Thursday was her favorite day of the week.
It was the day she went to Dr. Shepard's Office, the Market and forgot 'work' for a while.
She had been very self conscience when she first walked through the town come a Thursday. She would walk passed the decent girls and see them talking behind their hands then giggling as she went ahead. Other women would make sure she seen the look of disgust on their face.
It was a challenge, one that as always Dixie rose to.
She paid none of them any heed. She felt what they were thinking.
After a very short time she thought about why she should care about these women when she had most likely shared her bed more than once with a few or more of their reputable Husbands and quite a few of these younger women's Beau's and been paid well for her services.
Happy with that thought she would always smile at them. She felt their irritation as they quickly looked away in distain at her. Ah well thought Dixie what they don't know won't hurt I hope

There was a feeling of Spring in the air. Sun higher in the sky and a feeling of newness. She headed down towards the market.
Passing Crawford's Stables, Joe wandered out carrying a broom and bucket.
"Well looky here, if it ain't Miss Dixie. How is life treating ya these days Dixie?" asked Joe
"Can't complain none Joe and you?" Dixie smiled.
"Fair to middlin, much like yourself, I can't complain, well I could but I reckon no-one would pay me any heed" Joe laughed at his own remark.
Dixie wandered over to the door of the Stable and looked inside.
"That is one good looking Grey there Joe, who belong it? she asked.
"Don't know his name, strange fellar, asked where the Byway be, rode in last night and said to mind her just for one night. He had come a ways for she was hot and sweatin and plum tired. She's perked up since a good night of hay and rest. I ain't never saw her owner before though and I will say I didn't care much for his manner, but he paid me good. He had a bad air about him though, mean like" said Joe in a low tone.
Dixie went inside and up to the Stall where the Grey Mare stood and stroked the Horse's neck. She was a beauty. Calm but strong with the gentlest eyes.
"When I head out West Joe that's the kind of Horse Ill be sitting on, you can bet on that " said Dixie with conviction.
I don't doubt you will Dixie, I don't doubt you will for one second" Joe laughed and spat his Tobacco juice from the side of his Mouth and wipe his lips with his hand.
Oh Joe, know who I just had coffee with over at the Byway?. Dixie paused for effect. " one Katherine Mc Innis"
Katherine Mc Innis! said Joe, with a puzzlement in his voice. "She wouldn't be related to young Emmet would she?" he asked.
"Sure is, she is his Sister and I tell you Joe there is no mistaking I knew it the second I set eyes on her. The same Mother spat both them out. I was surprised that she would have the courage to even call into the Byway. Not a place for a real Lady to visit" said Dixie still stroking the Mare.
"What might she have been wanting there?" Joe's voice had changed, a seriousness had come over it.
"Looking for Emmit, seems she ain't heard from him since he headed out and she is mighty worried, she is real pretty and a decent person too, just like Emmit, you'lle like her Joe"
"What did ya tell her about Emmit Dixie?" Joe asked.
"Everything I knew Joe, and I told her to talk to you as you saw him for he left and that you and he got along real good. So she said she will most likely be calling on you at some point today" Dixie stopped petting the Horse. Time was moving along. "Ill let you get along now Joe, catch you on the way back and don't be working yourself too hard" Dixie patted the Mare one last time and then came outside the Stables.
Joe nodded. He was distracted all of sudden.
Dixie wondered what was eating him but Joe was like that sometimes so she didn't think much of it. Joe could be fickle. She reckoned he just hadn't had enough sips from the whiskey flask he always carried in his back Pocket and with that thought Dixie went about her Business.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 13 Mar 06 - 09:31 AM

The market was busy, like it was most Thursdays and Dixie's day hadn't started as planned. She made haste only stopping to pick up some bits and pieces at the Market before arriving at Doctor Shepard's Office.
A bell ring above the door as she entered.
"Be right with you" came a voice from a back room.
Dixie didn't answer, she just waited.
Will Shepard came out of the room wiping his hands. "I knew it would be you Dixie he said smiling. Always punctual. What does punctual mean?" he throw the question at Dixie quick like.
Even quicker she replied "to be in good time"
"Good, good. Well we best start as I have to call out to the Paterson's before dark as Amy Paterson is about near her time for the Baby to arrive" he said.
Dixie nodded and sat across from the Doctor at his desk.
"Right then. I think we should take it from where we left off last week, just go back a few lines or so to refresh our minds alright? said the Doctor placing THE AMERICAN SPELLING BOOK in front of Dixie"
She wasted no time.

"The Section is used to divide chapters.
An Asterisk, and other references, point to a note in the
margin or bottom of a page." Dixie Paused and looked up from the page.

"Good, Good, now onto Page one hundred and twenty" said the Doctor.


It was near four on the Clock when Dixie left Dr. Shepard's Office.
She always felt a sense of having ate a good meal after her Thursday meeting there.
In fact it had given her an appetite as although she may have felt the same sense of staifaction that came from finishing a good meal, her stomach was near empty.
Although hungry Dixie felt to go by Joe Crawford's Stables again to see if the Grey Mare was still there.
She thought nothing of the Bucket lying on it's side just outside the entrance to the Stalls.
She put her head inside and called Joe's name but her only reply was from the Horses, snorts and movements in their Stalls. The Grey Mare was gone.
Slightly disappointed at not having seen the Horse again before she had been collected by her Owner Dixie turned, but then had a strong feeling of evil around her. It made her, just for an instant, struggle for a breath.
Something was drawing her further inside.
She walked in to the Stable and up to where the Mare had been stalled.
Lying face down in the Stall was Joe Crawford and it took no guessing to know he was dead. The pitchfork buried deep in his back made that fact quite clear.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 13 Mar 06 - 12:06 PM

I asked him in as the early evening shadows began to darken the wide street outside my office, offered him a shot of local rotgut which I keep only for visitors, and invited him to set.

"What can I do for you, Joseph?"

"Wal, Ben, I don't know but what it might be the t'other way to, this time. Seems a bunch of bully boys who hang out at Lefrenier Chouvin's place out on the Booneslick Road are complaining that their pal has gone missing. 'Bout the very next day, a couple of drunks who hang out at that Tavern out at the Great Trail are saying they found some bodies, tucked into the underbrush out by Yoacham's Tavern. One of them looks to be th' explanation. But these boys tell me that Chouvin was on his way to meet you out there. Wondering if you could tell me anything about that."

I told him what I had been told about Lefrenier Chouvin and said it was my impression he was a wanton bully, not the sort I would make meetings with. I also told him about Celeste's trial, from which Chouvin had been forcibly separated from valuable but ill-gotten property by judicial decree.

"So you see, Joseph, there appears to be a modicum of revenge in these complaints. I have never made any appointment to meet Lefrenier Chouvin in my life, and based on his repute, I would not."

"'S about what I figgered. Still, these boys are raisin' a ruckus over the thing, y'see, and it's just possible they might decide to do something about it."

"Something such as what, Joseph?"

"Wal, y''never know with boys of that stamp. They get too het up they like to bust things up, or even string someone up, if ye get too many of 'em in one place. So I am sure you will be on your guard, having been duly warned that some of those boys seem to be determined to make some trouble..."

Our conversation was interrupted by a pounding at the door. A ragged-trousered barefoot boy about 12 years old was pounding on the frame for all he was worth, clearly excited at being a messenger of some importance as much as by the import of his message.

"Sheriff Conway!! Sheriff Conway!! Someone done killed Joe Crawford at the stables an' left him in the straw with a pitchfork in his back. You better come purdy quick!!"

Joseph Conway left the door open on his way out.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 14 Mar 06 - 12:02 AM

Bill had been watching Katherine all morning, partly out of duty, and partly out of curiosity. He skulked along behind her like a feral dog as she marched all over town trying to find out about her brother. He admired her spirit and he also admired the hypnotic sway of her skirts as she walked. He remembered her sitting all of those mornings at the General's offices, and despite what he had come here to do, he liked her better this way. She seemed to be more free than he'd ever seen her, but for how long was anyone's guess. He watched her through various windows and knew from the bewildered expressions on the faces of the people she was talking to that they were of no help to her. This was working in his favor and for the time being he was content to be in the shadows.

It was different when she went to the whorehouse. She walked in gingerly, but when she didn't return in a few minutes, he thought that maybe she'd found some one to talk to. He had to go see the Colonel today anyway, so his vantage point from the livery would be close enough to watch for her exit. He brought his stall-crazy roan out to the fence and began to brush him. The horse was anxious and anticipating a ride, so the longer that Bill took, the more agitated he became. The situation worsened when Bill heard Jack's familiar step behind him. Their confrontation was less than friendly, and frankly the whole relationship was beginning to wear at him. Jack knew well enough that there was no one on this earth for Katherine except Bill-- It was he who'd sat by her through all of those lonely afternoons in the city, speaking of her every night in the barracks, and it was he who had buoyed her spirits on the ride to St. Louis, so it was only natural progression that he would see Katherine through all of this foolishness and when she settled down it would be him that married her. The rationale was wasted on Jack.

He left Jack in an ill mood, and his own mood wasn't helped by the fact that as he rode towards the barracks, he saw Katherine leaving the whorehouse with a smile on her face. He cursed under his breath and damned the new fire that he'd more than likely be asked to put out. Even worse, Katherine left in the company of the pretty green-eyed whore he'd had his drunken sights set on in the not-so-distant past. The two shared a familial embrace and it was enough to cause Bill to see red. He spurred his horse harder than he needed, and rode at a gallop towards the Jefferson Barracks.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 14 Mar 06 - 12:05 AM

When Bill reached the Barracks he was admitted, after some wait, to the Colonel's office. Atkinson was not any more pleasant or congenial than he had been when Bill was here before. The man seemed to take comfort in barking orders, and Bill wondered for a moment if that's what a man needed to make it in the new military, a stubborn will to be unhappy. Atkinson asked on his progress, and he was ashamed to admit that there hadn't been any to speak of. The Colonel tried unsuccessfully to curb his temper, but it was no secret to Bill that he wasn't exactly in the Colonel's best graces at the moment. Bill made mention that some of the soldiers in the Barracks had spoken to Katherine, they told her that they thought her brother had gone west on the surveying expedition with Bonneville. The Colonel seemed somewhat relieved by this news, and Bill took it as a sign of better things to come.
"If the young lady wishes to follow her brother to the wilds of the West, so be it," said the Colonel, gruffly.

"But Sir, if I am to understand what you told me yesterday…" started Bill.

"Soldier, listen to me. I will not have good soldiers' names tarnished for what amounts to nothing more than a rash act. If Miss McInnis believes that her answers are to be found with Bonneville, let her believe that. She will be far from harm and far from harming anyone else. Do what you have to, but stop her before good men are ruined. Do you understand your duty, Soldier?"

Bill nodded his assent to the Colonel but for the love of God could not understand the reasoning. How could leading Katherine in the wrong direction be the best for all involved? He'd sworn his allegiance to the government long before he'd met Miss McInnis, but he was cleanly torn between them.

Bill returned to the heart of town just in time to see Dixie La Fleur leaving for her Thursday outing. The woman looks almost respectable thought Bill as he dismounted and led his horse into the barn. When he saw Dixie come into the barn and begin to talk to the stable hand, he instinctively crouched down and held his breath the listen. I knew that whore was up to something the minute I seen her he thought. The fact that Dixie had spoken to Katherine for hours on end was bad enough, but now this stable boy was about to tell Katherine the truth about her brother's whereabouts? It made Bill's blood boil.      

He waited until he heard Dixie leave before he exited the stall. The stable hand seemed startled at first, seeing Bill pop out of nowhere was unnerving enough, and even yet he remained uneasy as Bill spoke to him about generalities; the weather, the horses. He asked the hand about Dixie, innocently enough he thought, but the stable hand wasn't biting. He asked politely about whether the hand had seen Miss McInnis today, and wasn't it a shame about her brother going missing. As he talked and talked, the man grew pale. He finally flat out refused to speak-- other than saying he'd wait to speak to Miss McInnis himself-- and turned to go back to his work.   When the stable hand, wasn't his name John? No, Joe? thought Bill, nervously turned his back to attend to one of his charges, Bill grabbed the pitchfork leaning against the wall and pushed it clean through him.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 14 Mar 06 - 12:08 AM

Bill left the barn on shaking legs and went back to the hotel. That was where he found Jack creeping from Katherine's room. He'd seen Jack like this many times before and knew that behind that door was His Katherine. It was all he could do to speak those words to Jack and go back downstairs to drown his day in a glass.

He hadn't numbed himself enough for the sight of Katherine. If the freedom and sense of purpose had made her shine earlier in the day, now looking at her was like staring into the sun. She came downstairs on her own and sat a cautious distance from himself and Jack. She doesn't think I know thought Bill. Bill drained his glass and looked at his two companions before speaking:
"I met with Colonel Atkinson today and he says he found a duty roster with the name of Emmet McInnis on it. Seems your brother left with Bonneville for all points west. If you like, we can follow in a few days. It will take that long to gather supplies, but I think we can make good time on the trail."

Katherine and Jack shot each other a quick glance before Katherine said:
"All points west, by way of Ft. Leavenworth, you mean."

"Of course." The look that Bill then gave her should have chilled her to the bone, but he couldn't get a read on her. If she meant to strike out on her own, who was he kidding, strike out with Jack sniffing her tail, then so be it. He could play along for now…..

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 15 Mar 06 - 05:23 PM

Joseph's warnings weighed heavy on my mind. So the next morning, relying on past favors done as a ticket of entry, I showed up at the door of the Byway tavern and bawdy-house and asked for the only person I knew there that I could trust -- the greeneyed Dixie.

"Well, counselor! What an interesting surprise!!"

"Good morning, Dixie. I trust you are keeping well?"

"I am indeed, thank you , sir!" She smiled with that springtime-on-the-Mississippi smile that could melt the heart of a French voyageur in January.

"I assume your lessons are going well?"

"Very well, thank you counselor. But I am equally sure you didn't come to enquire about my education. Nor, I assume, to improve your own?"

I blushed in spite of myself. DIxie had that special feminine confidence that makes a man want to dance in public for her.

"Well, since I haven't sent for your services, Ben, and you are still declining mine, what can a poor girl do for Saint Louis' finest gentleman of the court?"

"I need a favor...".

We spoke briefly and she reckoned she owed me for getting her off some assault charges a few years back. So when I handed her my dusty, scarred lockbox, she took it with a smile, and said "It'll be right here when you need it, Ben. Jes' like me!"

I blushed again and smiled, and thanked her warmly, and I meant it, too. We seemed to understand each other, Dixie and I -- maybe because our professions were similar in age, and other respects. But I left feeling considerably lighter.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 15 Mar 06 - 09:19 PM

A loud knock on Dixie's door pulled her out of her thoughts.
She opened the door to see Adam Henry "Mr. Wilmot says to come down to his Office Dixie."
"I ain't working tonight Adam."
"He knows that Dixie, he wants to talk to ya that's all, best just get it done and then go 'bout your Business," Adam Henry turned and started to walk down the Hallway then turned back around and said "You ok Dix?"
"I'm ok Adam, thanks for askin'" Dixie gave Adam a slight smile.

Wilmot was sitting in his Chair as usual and there in the corner smoking a cigar was Sheriff Conway.
"Oh I get it" thought Dixie.
" Sheriff wants to ask you a few questions Dixie" said Wilmot with a smugness in his tone.
" No problem Sheriff, where you want to go to talk?" said Dixie. Eyes fixed square on the Man in the corner.
"Don't mind me, talk away" said Wilmot, sounding slightly put out by Dixie's question to the Sheriff.
Conway was taken by surprise too and looked from Wilmot to Dixie and back to Wilmot before saying " Here is fine Dixie, just fine."
"Ok then, do you want to talk to Mr. Wilmot too or is it just me you want to talk to?" her eyes still fixed on him, Conway was left with no option but to say it was Dixie he was there to see.
Begrudgingly he looked at Wilmot.
"Would you mind giving us your Office for a few minutes?"
Wilmot rose and walked around the desk. He went and stood next to Dixie, right next to her, and then said " No Joseph, be my pleasure, I have some business out in the Bar anyway"
Wilmot shot Dixie a look. Dixie however kept her eyes squarely on Conway.

" Now Dixie tell me how you came to find Joe Crawford"
Dixie waited 'til she heard the door close and then turned and checked to make sure that only herself and Conway were in the room.
"Passed on my way back from Doctor Shepard's and looked in to see if a Horse I liked was still there," she answered.
"When did you last see Joe alive, Dixie?"
"Around one on the clock."
" Did you talk to Joe at all?" said Conway.
"Yes, we talked, bout nothing in particular, this and that and about the Horse I liked," she said
" Was Joe alright, did he seem upset or bothered?" asked Conway, sounding slightly irritated at Dixie's brief replies.

Dixie thought for a second, she had a strong feeling not mention Emmet Mc Innis or his Sister Katherine. She went with that feeling.

"Nope Sheriff it was business as usual with Joe, we just jawed for a bit and then I went on my way to the market and Doctor Shepard's."

"You say you went to see a Horse on your way back but the animal was gone, who'd the horse belong to?"
"I don't know", said Dixie shrugging her shoulders, "Joe said it was only there for the night and its owner had asked where the Byway be after putting his Horse in for the evening, seems he paid in advance and then went about doing whatever he was gonna do I suppose."
"But Joe didn't say who the owner was?" said Conway.
"Nope," Dixie replied.

"You don't seem too rattled for a Woman that just found a man with a pitchfork in his back this afternoon Dixie, how is that?"

" Well sorry Sheriff how do you want me to be? I am how I am. Joe Crawford is dead. Someone killed him cause he didn't stick that pitchfork in his own back and I sure as hell didn't do it and there ain't much I can do about it now is there?"
Conway rose.
" No I don't suppose there is much you can do about it Dixie. I just thought that you and Joe Crawford got along and maybe you would be upset or something."

He hated her. She showed him no respect. Cold Hearted dirty little Whore he thought.

"Don't go thinking for me Sheriff, you don't know how I feel tonight about poor Joe Crawford and I suspect you don't really care either but if you're looking for a weeping and a wailing Woman you should have known better than to look for that from me cause I got done with tears a long time ago. We done here then?" asked Dixie sharply.
"Yeah we're done," Conway said with a disgusted tone.
Dixie turned and left the Office.

"Those eyes, damn them, they pierce a man like a knife," said Conway to himself while wiping his sweaty palms with his handkerchief.

"Nice Chat Dixie?" Wilmot was sitting at the Table outside the Office door with Alice.
Dixie didn't reply.
"Alice tells me she saw Benjamin Huntington leaving here a while ago. Now what might he have been wantin' at the Byway? Did you call for a Lawyer's services?" Wilmot laughed at his smart mouth and Alice joined in laughing but nervously.
Dixie fixed her look on Wilmot. He stopped laughing.
"Counselor was enquiring how I doing was after finding Joe Crawford's dead body," Dixie said.
"Must of thought you might of had some Business for him again Dixie, eh Alice?" Wilmot said, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.
Dixie sensed that Alice was getting uncomfortable. Alice was afraid of Wilmot. Although she was a tough old Gal, she had a fear of Wilmot that Dixie could never quite figure out.
Dixie decided that she would spare Alice the discomfort and end the exchange as quickly as possible. The one thing Dixie had was time to put Wilmot straight and she could wait till that Time came about. Tonight was not that time.
"Well if that was the case, which I doubt, Benjamin Huntington made a wasted trip then," replied Dixie. "I have no need of his services fortunately and he is of no need of mine unfortunately. However, I was touched that he felt the need to come here to enquire as to my well being but then again that is how a real Gentleman treats a woman I suppose. Now if you will excuse me, it being Thursday and all and my free time, I would rather spend it somewhere other than here in the Bar. So I'll take my leave. Night Alice.." Dixie nodded to Wilmot and only then took her eyes off him.
"Night Dixie," said Alice, relieved that this particular discussion was over.
Wilmot didn't answer Dixie, he looked away because he had the feeling going up his back again "Damn her," he thought.

Dixie walked away but out the corner of her eye she saw Wilmot get up and walk straight into his Office. "No doubt they will be ripping me apart in there.... Conway and Wilmot...now there is an unlikely couple. The Law and Lawless!" she thought to herself and started to head towards the staircase. Dixie had a lot of things on her mind and she needed to get her thoughts together.
There was more trouble coming that was for sure. She just knew it.
That feeling of evil that had came over her today was like nothing she had ever felt before and she knew Old Joe's murder wasn't the end of something, it was a beginning. Only the beginning.
A shudder ran through her body as she quickened her step to get to the stairs and up to her room.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 15 Mar 06 - 11:27 PM

I went across town to Joshua Slate's store, after I left Dixie, and spent a few serious hours with the old man. Joshua had seen it all -- he'd been orphaned and taken by a war-party of Osages when he was a sprat, raised among them for a few years, then ran off back to so-called civilization on a stolen pony at fourteen years of age. He'd wrassled bears, rattlers, French, British and Indians over the years and kept his cool-centered methodical competency throughout. I loved to set on the rickety chair in his store and listen to him talk about Boone and Bridger and Lewis -- the men who came before, the men who lived on their wits and their muscles, and their reflexes by the grace of God. Joshua -- like Celeste, like Kit, like Jemima Callaway, had the fire of far horizons in his eyes, of spaces where the law is set by a higher hand than is seen in the courts of town. Talking to him was like opening a window to a fresh breeze off the mountains.

I left with my leather bag of saved-up eagles and bits considerable lighter; but I knew I had been fitted out by a man who knew what he was doing. My saddlebags were heavy with cartridges, an Army Colt with the maker's oil still on it, and a new and remarkable rifle that Slate had just received from Philadelphia -- not only did it have metal-cased cartridges, but it had a trap door in the back for sliding them in from the rear of the breech, an improvement Joshua had come up with and commissioned as a trial design from the Enfield firm. It was a beautiful weapon, capable of stopping anything with a .44 inch bullet of the new design. I hoped, nevertheless, that it would not be required to do so.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 16 Mar 06 - 11:19 AM

They came to harm and to ruin, appearing during the quiet hours after dinner, when decent men rest and plan, with a rumbling of hatred and a din of destruction, booted feet bruising the street,   dust and dirt clouding the name of an angry crowd. Their torches threw terrible shadows far into the evening darkness and their voices rattled panes and stirred and frightened the children in the homes they stamped past in their yelling and anger. Their mind was no mind, their bloody urgency stirred like black clinkers into hating flames by a few. Their name was mob, and their vision was murder, and they moved with the sullen ferocious grace of a sluggish sidewinder through the evening dust of Saint Louis' streets. They were pale, pinch-faced and made ugly by torchlight, with viper-eyes and hate-painted faces in the night. I heard their self-stirred noises a full twenty-minutes before they came around the corner past the hotel and the Byway, marching loudly and hatefully, ragged and spouting their own pains and confusions into the night for others to fear.

My nightmares, which I had wished I could leave to my sleep, had arisen and materialized in the evening of my waking day, and came to kill me.

Hera was waiting in the back alley, and I knew all I needed do was mount her and ride by back ways. I had made ready to do so, and I slipped into the shadows behind my small building and soothed her. But as I stood there, hearing the shouts growing closer, a foolish moment took me over; I saw, in my mind's eye, images of Celeste, of Sophie's brutalized face, of Dixie, Katherine, Jemima and others into whose eyes I had looked, and seen fearlessness and sorrow in equal measures.

I cannot say, beyond this, what was in my mind. But when the mob came down the street past the Byway and formed a rabid mass in front of my office, I had not left. Driven--whether by folly or by the angels, I cannot say—by the moment, I leapt up the cheap wooden stairs that climbed to the second story from the alley and dragged myself and my fine new Enfield onto the roof.

From there, I could see the mob being herded by the squinty faced lout I had come to know as Lefrenier Chouvin's first cousin, an inbred squab of a man named Rowzee Ceres. He carried a wooden club in one hand, and a coil of used hemp rope in the other. Others of his breed, lay-abouts and bullies lately of Chouvin's crowd, pressed around him carrying torches, pistols, a cattle whip, and egging him on with shouts.

A press of confused folks followed them, taking up the yells, willing to borrow anger and outrage, regardless of the reasons, for the sake of imagining some virtue in themselves they could not otherwise find, fueled by the blind hunger for destruction that carries mobs. The orange and black shadows of torchlight made them look angrier and more animal-like than daylight could do, and they pressed around the front of my office, calling for my blood. I heard a brick smash the window of my office into broken pieces, and I tightened my grip on the Enfield and checked the Colt by my side.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 17 Mar 06 - 08:50 PM

Dixie sat down on the Chair by her window.
She had to collect her thoughts after this day. In fact she felt that she had to think through a lot of things leading up to poor Joe's murder.
She was sure that Joe was killed to shut him up and she had a strong feeling that it had to have something to do with Emmit Mc Innis, but what?
She seen Joe's face in her minds eye and how it had changed when she had told him about Katherine's visit this morning..
A sense of dread came about her. Maybe Emmit Mc Innis had met with harm, but then that couldn't be because he had left from the Fort for this trip in the company of Private Harrison and Corporal Lyndsey, who were assigned to the task of ensuring Emmit Mc Innis's safety! If something had happened then surely she would have heard about it from one or more of her regulars, them being from the Fort and all. No, something here just wouldn't add up.
Dixie found the grey Mare coming into her head along with the voice of Joe Crawford,
"Don't know his name, strange fellar, asked where the Byway be, rode in last night and said to mind her just for one night. He had come a ways for she was hot and sweatin and plum tired. She's perked up since a good night of hay and rest. I ain't never saw her owner before though and I will say I didn't care much for his manner, but he paid me good. He had a bad air about him though, mean like".

Dixie got up from the chair like someone had lit a fire beneath her. She went straight out her door and almost ran down the Hallway. Catching herself at the top of the stairs she walked down them a clip but without drawing too much attention to herself.
She looked to Adam Henry behind the Bar and with her head indicated towards the Kitchen door.
Henry nodded.

Minutes later Dixie was standing face to face with Adam just to the inside of the Kitchen door, no one else was around now, kitchen workers had long gone Home or out on the floor in the Bar.
"Adam how gone on whiskey were you last night"
"What! asked Adam, with a surprise in his voice like a child would have when caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
"Oh Adam this is important, were you aware of who came and went during last evening at the bar"
Adam thought for a moment then he took a breath, or more like a sigh of surrender and said "some, up till 'bout 11 on the clock I reckon"
"Good" said Dixie. "Now think, do you remember anyone coming in here last night that looked as if they had rode as ways, I mean a long ways"
"No Dixie, not that I recall. Seems to me it was just the usual crowd and the boys from the Fort and those Business men, no-one like a hard rider that I recall...no wait, there was a man. he came in early but see he came to see Mr. Wilmot.
"He was dusty and thirsty though that's for sure" Adam said.
Dixie was silent for a second.
" Adam I need you to think real hard now. What did he look like, had you seen him before?"
Adam Henry wasn't the brightest button in the tin but he was sharp enough when it counted. Dixie was counting on that right at this moment.
" He was tall,well built. Wouldn't look me in the eye. Mean voiced, like he didn't like me. Seemed annoyed that Mr. Wilmot made him wait and even more annoyed that Mr Wilmot had told me to only give him one drink" Adam paused then said "that's all Dixie, that's all I remember"
Adam went on "The Man asked me after a while to let Mr Wilmot know he was tired of waiting so I told him to hang back a bit and I went to the office and asked Mr Wilmot if I should bring the Man over to see him. Mr Wimot said yes, so I did and then....I got busy and had a few drinks and I don't recall seeing the Man leave or nothing. I wasn't paying him no mind after I took him into Mr Wilmot Dix. What's wrong and why you asking me this?"
"Don't fret Adam. I just wondered about something that's all. I have had a hard day you know. Now mind, we didn't have this conversation ok?"
"Why sure Dixie, you ain't gonna say nothing to Mr Wilmot bout me being..eh drinking so much, are you"
Poor Adam she thought.
"No Adam, no" Her voiced softened. "I wouldn't tell Wilmot the time if he asked me...it's ok Adam, really. Don't worry now you best get back out there. Thanks for your help" Dixie rubbed her hand on Adam's arm and he smiled. Relieved, he left the Kitchen.

Dixie went out the back door of the Kitchen into the alley behind the Byway and took a deep breath.
She knew now that she needed to talk to Katherine Mc Ennis again and sooner rather than later. Tonight even.
Then her attention was drawn to a noise in the distance.
She couldn't figure out what it was but as it got louder and closer she knew.
It was men, shouting, angry men.
She sneaked to the end of the Alley where she could see the street in front of the Tavern, making sure to keep herself against the wall of the building and in the shadows.
The noise was getting louder and then she saw them, torches lit coming up the Street. Where were they heading for, the Byway?
Eventually the Angry Mob reached the corner where Benjamin's Office was located.
They stopped there.

Dixie knew the leader of the Mob, Rowzee Ceres,, a twisted son of a bitch to Dixie's thinking and he was carrying a rope as if he was meaning to lynch someone, but who?
Then she heard the window of Benjamin's Office break and her heart turned cold as she realized they had come for Benjamin Huntington. "What on God's Earth would Benjamin Huntington have done to make Rowzee Ceres gather a mob and bring them here to string him up?"
"Twas Just as well that Benjamin left town today" she thought. "Just as well"
Then Dixie caught a glint, a flash of light in the dark. coming from the roof of the Office building and as she looked up towards where the quick flash had came from she saw the shadowy shape of a man on the roof.
"Good Lord, it's Benjamin" she said aloud.

She ran back to the back door then through the Kitchen, out into the Bar to find herself arriving just in time to see Sheriff Conway hurrying out of Wilmot's Office and out the front Door of the Byway and into the Street.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 18 Mar 06 - 12:48 AM

They were half drunk, half scared and half just plain mad at anything they could see, stirred up and blood-in-the-eye frenzied. When one of them heaved a brick through my office window, I felt my heart stop for a brief moment, and it was as if I was being forced out onto a hostile stage.

I fired a shot into the dust in front of Rowzee Cere's feet, and the crowd went stone silent. The sound of that Enfield echoed across the river and back and they stared up at me, blinded by their own torch light.

"I'll thank you folk to desist and go to your homes," I said, sounding much braver than I felt. "I have done nothing to offend you all, no matter what you have been told. These men do not have your interests at heart."

"Don't listen to him!!!!" hollered Ceres, turning to the crowd and waving his club. "He's a slick talkin' city lawyer, a thief and a n***** lovin' murderer to boot!! He's the man who done Lefe Chouvin in, and we're going to string him up!!"

The crowd was still rabid enough to be seized by his venom. A couple on the edges were looking a little bit unsure of themselves, but when he was done hollering, they took it up like choir boys at church.

"Yeah!! Hang the damn murderer!! Kill him!!!" They roared and murmured, watching me with a feral gleam, but keeping one eye on my rifle. They could hear me reload and cock it for the next round. And I watched them, as well, alert for the glimmer of gunmetal. Mobs like that are not usually unarmed.

From the shadows, moving like a determined prairie bull, stepped Joseph Conway, wide as a house and looking like the wrath of Moses coming down on the people. He pushed the back row of men aside and strode up to the wooden walkway in front of the office, and raised a thirty-gauge over-and-under shotgun into the air and let one of the barrels fly with a noise like God's thunder coming down the Mississippi. For the second time, the crowd froze snarling like a kicked mongrel dog.

"You boys had your fun for this evening," the sheriff said, in a deep and gentle voice that cut through the crowd. "Break it up; there's nothing else for you here."

"Sheriff, that man stole three slaves from my cousin, and shot him dead, besides!!" yelled Rowzee. "An' we aim to see justice done!! You get outta the way!"

"Rowzee Ceres, you lay one hand on that man outside of due process and you'll be seeing the inside of a jail cell for thirty days. You've done enough. Now go home." Joe Conway was unruffled and as firm as a hill in the torchlight.

And it started to work. Ceres' face sagged, and he stepped back. A wave of uncertainty rippled through the faces of the crowd as they sensed the battle of wills had been lost.

One of Chouvin's bullies, a little too drunk to comprehend what was going on, hollered in turn. "We ain't goin' without sheein' a hangin' for Misher Chouvin!"

Joseph Conway took two strides and with one hand had the drunken bully on his knees with a half-nelson twist.

"What you'll be seeing' Rafe, is a judge in the morning and a week on bread and water." He dragged the unfortunate lout back to the walk way with him and waved his shotgun again. "All right, folks, break it up. Go on home."

Two shots froze the moment into split-seconds. The first was from an ugly Colt in Rowzee Ceres' hamlike fist. Joe Conway dropped his shotgun, bent over and fell to the ground, gutshot and bleeding. The second was my Enfield. The slug tore out Cere's throat and dropped him like a bird.

For a second, the crowd seemed suspended in time. Then the drunken lout scrambled back to the crowd and yelled like a banshee, "Get that murdering lawyer!!".

A couple of handguns appeared and a few wild shots whizzed by my vicinity. I stepped back into the shadows, my heart pounding, my fear replaced with the burning demand of the instant I was in. I slipped another shell into the rifle.

"Never mind shooting at him! Smoke that bastard out of there!!" Someone had enough brains to listen to an order and a torch was thrown through the shattered window. Another came hurtling up onto the roof with me, and I stamped on it. But the damage was done. In seconds the dry wooden frame of the building was pouring flames and I knew I didn't have much time to lose. I tucked my rifle under my arm and headed for the stairs on the back. Smoke was already pouring out of the lower story and I could see tongues of orange flame finding their way through the windows.

I ran down the stairs to the first story as the flames caught new fuel and burst out around the lower half of the staircase and I was trapped like a possum half way up a tree. The crowd was beginning to realize where I had headed and a couple of them were heading around the corner of the alley, their shadows thrown into stark contrast by the light of the burning building. One of them waved a Colt.

"I've got the sumbitch!!", he yelled. I raised my rifle, determined to go down fighting. Another shot rang out from somewhere behind me, and I heard my name being called as the gunman fell face down in the dirt.

"Ben!! Ben!! Down here!! Quick, now!! Jump and roll!!" A shadowy form on horseback was coming up under the back of the building from the far end. Half blinded by smoke, a leap of faith was my only choice. I threw my rifle down to the dark figure and leapt, slamming into the dirt alley with a tuck and a roll that bruised me badly, but saved me a broken leg or neck.

"Now, Ben!! Up, let's go!!" I saw the figure throw me the reins of Hera, my own beloved Hera, and I scrambled onto that horse as though lightning were running up my pants and spurred her out of the smoke. He threw me my rifle and we moved out of the shadows into the firelight at a canter, and I was finally able to make out his face. I have never been so glad to see Kit Carson in my life as I was galloping after him that night, down the mud streets of the Saint Louis waterfront, down to the river.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 18 Mar 06 - 02:18 AM

"Eldon" Forsythe stood at the doorway of the stable and watched with huge, round eyes as the crowd surged towards the lawyer's office. She'd never seen such an ugly, hell-bent-for-hanging crowd before, although she'd seen one hanging of a man who'd helped a runaway slave back in Virginia. It was something she never wanted to see again in her life.

"C'mon, Jacob, let's git outta here," she said to her mule. Slipping into the shadows of the night, far enough away to not attract attention from the crowd, she headed over to the Freight Office. She was to leave at daybreak, driving a team for Rogerson. He'd been grudgingly impressed when he saw how she handled a mule team and reckoned he'd give her a chance to go out West with a train hauling all kinds of goods: flour, coffee, liquor, beans, sugar, salt, bolts of cloth and other goods to trade and placate the natives as well as outfit the frontiersmen blazing new trails.

Jacob snuffled his consent and followed her quietly as she went down the side road to Rogerson's. For all her calm, her heart was triphammering in her chest to beat the band. Terrifying images of huge shawdows cast in the light of torches carried by the angry mob looked as though the devil himself was afoot this night. She said a silent prayer for anyone caught up in the melee and for her own safety. Turning the corner, she left the crowd behind. With only a half a block to go, she urged Jacob on, though in typical mule fashion, he was in no hurry. In fact, her urgency and the furour of the crowd frightened him. He did a little quick step and sashayed his behind to the side of her, causing her to slip. Just catching herself by the reins, she managed to keep upright. "Whoa, boy'o, hie up, it's okay, now. No need to get excited, darlin'." She stopped and soothed him with a calm stroke along his neck and the soft part of his nose. After a moment of him blowing the fear through his nostrils, she led him on. Almost there she thought.

Suddenly, out of the shadows, a figure stepped in her path. "Well, well, whadda we got here? Where ya goin' boy? Or, is that what ya really are?" The man was tall and rugged looking with a mean sneer as he looked her up and down. "Sneaking off before the party gets going are ya?" He looked over her shoulder, standing between her and the safety of Rogerson's. "Lookee here, boys? We got a gen-yew-ine greenhorn here; a mama's boy trying pass hisself off as a man!"

As he yelled at his pals, Eldon drew a .36 caliber flintlock pistol from inside her waistband, stepped up beside him and stuck it in his ribs. Using her deepest, most powerful voice, she said, "Mister, you just shut yer mouth right now, or I will help you on your way to the Devil's Garden, right now!" Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "Tell your friends you made a mistake and be quick about it!"

"Go on, boys. This here's a, um friend of mine, no call to get excited, now," he hollered down the road behind her.

Eldon kept the pistol shoved right up against where his heart was. Jacob nervously shifted his weight from one side to the other.
"Now, Mister," she continued, "we are going to walk right down the street to Rogerson's Freight. Don't make any sudden moves or try anything, or I will kill you," she warned with a false bravado. Inside her stomach was roiling and her knees were shaking. Thankfully it was too dark for anyone to see and her voice remained steady. With her other hand still holding Jacob's reins, she reached around to the man's holster and drew out his gun, tucking it inside her waistband.

They walked on down the street, the girl-turned-boy-muleskinner and the drunkard rabble-rouser who'd missed out on the fun around at the lawyer's. As they neared the freight office, she yelled out, "Hey, La Petite Jean! You there?"

A huge, bulky fellow stepped off of the boardwalk in front of Rogersons holding a rifle across his chest with both arms. "Ah, the Leetle One has come with bon catch of zee night! What's zis? A nastee fellow, eh?"

"Yeah, Petti-John," for that was what she'd taken to calling the big guard. "He's a bad un' alright. Can you take care of him for me? I've got to get some shuteye before the sun's up and my mule needs a bit of a rest. Big day tomorrow!"

"Oh, sure, sure, Leetle One, for you I take care of zis son of the devil's harlot!" And, with that, he grabbed the ne'er-do-well by the scruff of his jacket and pulled him around back of the office to an alley. Eldon could hear sounds which made her cringe, soft muffled blow after blow on clothed flesh; soft grunts and curses made their way to her ears. She winced, then thought of what might have happened if she'd not been so close to the guard who'd decided to take her under his wing. Well, thank you God, for getting me outta that one she silently mouthed a prayer. Walking around to the stockyard and barn of Rogerson's, she took Jacob through, got him fed and bedded down, then collapsed in a heap beside him. Suddenly she felt very weak at the knees, her hands were shaking and she realised just how careful she was going to have to be. No more walking around, sneaking past trouble at night, alone, you idiot she told herself. She took the man's gun out of her waistband, checked the load and that of her own pistol, then laid them beside her on the straw. With that she fell into an exhaustion of sleep.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 19 Mar 06 - 10:34 PM

And, then...

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 20 Mar 06 - 11:58 AM

..and then BOTH UW and Gonzaga made it to the sweet sixteen via televised games and there were lovely spring-ish days to distract story writers from doing their duty by their characters, you know, the usual...

The very evening of Joe's murder found Bill trying to swallow a dinner that tasted like sawdust. He couldn't tell what was more unappealing, the food on his plate, or the company at his table. He had agreed to escort Katherine west in search of her brother, but the search had taken an unexpected turn. His orders from Atkinson were specifically to keep Katherine from going in the direction she now decided to go. When he left the table, he could feel Jack and Katherine staring at him as he walked away. He had exited under the guise of securing supplies for the trip, and he knew that when he returned he would have to have a plan.

Bill found everything he required at Slate's store. He ran through his detailed mental list and Slate scurried around the store as he tended to both Bill and a tall stranger who seemed rather serious about his armament. On any other occasion Bill would have been curious, but tonight his thoughts were his own. He purchased his own ammunitions, blankets and supplies, and when Slate offered him a hell of a deal on an old springboard, he took it just for the faint flickering vision he'd had of Katherine riding in relative comfort on their trip.

When he got back to the hotel, Bill felt a strange sense of accomplishment.   He went up the stairs to tell Katherine that they would be able to leave first thing in the morning, and when he knocked on her door she answered. The way her expression changed when she saw him made Bill's heart fall. He knew in an instant that it wasn't him she'd been expecting to see. He was, however, secretly glad that she was in her room alone. She blocked his entrance, but Bill saw over her head into her room and noticed that there was a mess of papers covering her bed. When he craned his head for a better look Katherine moved to block his view again. He locked eyes with her for a moment and she gave him a steely thank-you and good-night, then Bill went to his room.

Bill woke well before dawn and went downstairs. He had somehow managed to escape news of the carnage of the night before and walked quickly to the barn. He was surprised to see Jack already there. Most of the horses had been cleared out after folks had heard about Joe Conway's murder, and because of all of the excitement of the previous evening their three horses appeared nervous and ready to go. Bill realized with a bit of a mental growl that Katherine must have spoken to Jack late last night because Jack was already in the barn and had the roan saddled, his own black gelding set in the springboards traces, and Katherine's pony was tethered behind the wagon. He untied his horse from the post just as Katherine entered the yard. She gave Bill a faint polite smile as she loaded her few bags into the wagon and allowed him to give her a hand up to the benchseat. Later, Bill would remember that as the finest point of the day.

They left St. Louis as the sun was rising. None of them bothered to look back on the city, their path was set ahead of them

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 20 Mar 06 - 01:37 PM

Oh, yeah, March Madness...that's what they call my b-day!**bg**

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 06 - 01:51 PM

Wild times in the old town, ladies. Sorry about the gap! I too have been nose down and tail up. More tonight!


A

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 20 Mar 06 - 08:20 PM

The morning sun found me wrapped in a blanket roll a mile outside of Saint Charles, a small town near the Missouri. We had ridden hard until midnight, and found a solitary stand of cottonwoods away from the byways we rode; and feeling exhausted and unwilling to cross unmarked country in the pitch black night, we tethered our horses and built a small, sheltered fire in the overhang of some boulders by a creek that run down to the Missouri a few miles away, as best we could reckon it.

I woke with a start, lost in a deep dream in which Katherine had brought me the great news that I had been found not guilty, and was about to kiss me in congratulations, when the bubble of my dream crashed on the edge of the real world and birdsong dragged me to my senses under the trees. I was glad to be alive, but I was sore from hard riding and my leap from the burning building the evening before, and I wished bitterly I could have seen the dream to fulfillment. Kit was already up and had stirred the fire awake, and had drug out a trail pan, scratched and dented, but serviceable, and was boiling up some coffee in it. I dragged my boots out from under my sleeping roll and shook them down, pulled them on and crawled to me feet. He handed me a tin mug full of bitter,muddy coffee, thick with grounds, but as I swallowed it it sang my nerves awake until I could hear the birds rustling among the leaves as they sang; it seemed the best I had ever drunk.

"Another debt I owe you, Kit. I'd be bleeding to death in the ashes back there if you hadn't come along."

"Well, I dunno; you looked about ready to defend yourself, but I was in a hurry, you know?" He smiled.

"Damn good thing for my sorry hide, I'd say!" And I smiled back. "So now what?   Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I happen to know of a safe harbor for you about a day's ride from here. We'll head for there, and sort out the next to come after we have us a breathing spell. I thought for sure those boys were gonna light out after us, but I guess they hadn't any mounts nearby."

"Yes, I guess -- well, besides, mobs don't often have a lot of persistence, in my experience. When the excitement breaks up, they kind of wander away."

"I've heard some do, and then some don't. Depends on whose leading 'em. You did a smart thing taking that feller down."

"Who, Rowzee Ceres? Do you think so? Only thing I could think of, after I saw him fall, was the likely indictment for murder in the second degree."

"I don't think that'll be a problem, as long as you stay out of that town. Besides, you cut off the head of the Hydra."

This was the first time, and not the last, that Kit surprised me with what he knew. There was a lot more to that head of his than he let show.

"Well, I dunno what you think a safe harbor is, but I guess, all things considered, it's 'bout what I need."

"All in good time. Rest assured, you still have some friends. Let's make some miles while we can, before the grapevine catches up with us."

It seemed like good advice, and we wrapped our little camp spot quickly and saddled up our horses. I felt glad to be back on Hera, as solid and constant a friend as I ever had in the world, and riding with Kit, who was quickly proving himself to be another. I knew I should be wary, and feel hunted, and be on the alert. But I felt free.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 23 Mar 06 - 10:31 PM

We rode a long winding path, skirting the town of Saint Charles and finding our way along a hunting trail that had been used by moccasins for hundreds of years, winding along the southern bank of the mighty Missouri river. The water stretched and rippled, a thousand yards wide in some places, deep, quiet, and endless.   We startled jackrabbits and turkeys from the underbrush, but we left them alone. We saw a number of flatboats poling up the stream, and one being towed up on the opposite side.

Toward sundown we came to a dirt road which we moved onto, and crossed a crude wooden bridge over a creek which fed the old Mizoo, a place Kit said was called Wild Horse Creek. Every once in a while we would see a cabin built along the water's edge, as the road bent in toward the river and then veered away into the woods.

We rode in the gathering twilight, still warmed by breezes off the water, alone in our own thoughts as the shadows lengthened and the sun went down. My mind was on the life I had left behind, where I might go, and how fine it was to be in the open country on a spring evening, far from the honky-tonk and dust of Saint Louis. Finally, Kit spoke up.

"A safe harbor sounds like a fine idea fer you, to my way of thinking. And I reckon we'll find one just another piece along."

He led us off the road into a narrow wagon trail that wandered into the darkening woods, and around several bends, down a hollow and up again, and then down again in a long curving passage between old alders and elms that had stood sentinel for scores or hundreds of years. We saw, far ahead where the track curved down to the banks of another, wider creek, a faint light glimmering, and as we approached, I made out the shape of a crude but sturdy cabin, with two outbuildings around it, one a stable and the other some sort of workshop down by the shore, where the southern branch of Wild Horse poured its waters into the Missouri.

"Halloooo, the house!" Kit called out. I loosened my Enfield in its sheath nervously, unsure what sort of people to expect, or what they might know.

"Come on, then!" came an answering call, and we dismounted and walked our horses forward, leg-sore from the saddle.

A shadowy form filled the doorway, backlit by the faint glow of a fire at a stone hearth, and I stepped forward with my senses heightened and my rifle firmly gripped under my arm.

Then there was an explosion of bodies running through the night and I was swept off my feet by embraces, halloos, handshakes, and slaps on the back from the laughing and jubilant forms of Sophie, Antoine, Paul and Auguste, all of them hale and strong; and sweeping up the rear behind them, the laughing, dark eyed wondrous face of their half-Indian mother, Celeste, laughing to heaven and clapping her hands in welcome.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 24 Mar 06 - 08:44 PM

Bravo Amos.
Dixie is hoping that Kit Carson sticks around:). We shall see what we shall see over the weekend, I hope.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: frogprince
Date: 26 Mar 06 - 10:37 PM

...as loyal fans await the next episode...

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 01:06 AM

okay, forgive me for the fictionally diarrhitic episodes to follow. I'm playing a bit of catch-up here. *bg*

The days of their ride towards Ft. Leavenworth passed easily. Spring is always kind to the prairies, and as Bill watched the pair sitting in the wagon, he felt a twinge of envy. Katherine was obviously enjoying being out on the trail, and Bill smiled to himself every time she would gasp and point out some rabbit or prairie dog that was sunning itself outside a burrow. He wanted desperately to be in that wagon, and when his chance came, he took it.

Bill sat loosely in the saddle, and when his horse stumbled in a gopher hole, Bill took the opportunity to 'fall'. He'd had hundreds of worse tumbles, both he and Jack could be witness to that, but Katherine was certain that he had broken something and she insisted that it wasn't that far now to Leavenworth, he could just lay in the back of the wagon and rest until they could get him to a doctor. Bill relished the opportunity to play injured to Katherine's nurse, and he was also beginning to like it more than a little bit when he saw Jack fuming.

Katherine had thrown their blankets out in the back of the wagon, and sat beside him when he dragged himself into the bed. She positioned his hat to block the sun from his face, and gently took his hand in hers and rested them on her lap. Bill could hear Jack muttering to himself, but he couldn't have been happier than when he looked up into Katherine's face and saw that particular mix of concern and kindness that women get when they are tending to their own. It was the same face she'd had when she sat outside the General's office with him, and he wanted it for himself forever.   

After a while, the warmth of the sun and the jostling of the wagon lulled Bill into a half-sleep and he felt Katherine move. She slipped his hand across his chest and as the wagon came to a stop, he heard Jack helping her back to the front of the wagon. He couldn't quite hear the words they were speaking over the creaking of the boards, but he knew from their tone that there was trouble brewing. Jack certainly distrusted him at this point, but Bill only assumed that it was because of Katherine's attentions. He changed his mind rather quickly, however, because the 'pillow' that Katherine had been leaning against in the back of the wagon was her own pack. Bill remembered her guarding his line of sight in her hotel room and took this opportunity to slowly untie the laces and peek inside. He kept both ears and one eye tuned to the bickering pair in the front while he quietly looked for the papers that Katherine had in her room in St. Louis.   He didn't have much time to look before he heard Jack tell Katherine that 'that must be the great Ft. Leavenworth', but what he saw in those papers made him realize that he was in trouble, more so if Jack has seen the papers and recognized the same names that he had. He leaned back, closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he made the decision that would seal his fate forever.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 01:08 AM

Katherine was relieved to see the fort at last. Seeing the soldiers milling around the high walls made her feel safe at once. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Jack. He saw the look that passed between the welcoming Captain and Bill, and he didn't like it one bit. He saw the Captain tense up when Bill introduced himself, and it worried him. The Captain was gracious enough, but the way he looked at Katherine made Jack uneasy too. He finally figured he must have gotten a case of wagon-crazies and decided to turn in before he went completely mad.

Katherine took the Captain's interest in her in stride. The Captain was an intense man who took his duties at the fort seriously. She noticed the Captain giving her approving glances, but she didn't think it as strange as all that. When he showed them to their quarters and offered her a tour of the fort, she accepted immediately. Jack was road-weary and begged off some time to rest, so she linked her arm in the Captain's and went for a walk. The Captain struck her as a soldier to the core. He told her that it was a real treat to have a lady at the fort, but it was also a treat to have someone come along who reminded him of Emmet. He said he found it difficult to find stimulating conversation in the wilds, and her appearance was a rare treat. She smiled her sweetest smile and let the Captain revel in his good fortune. The Captain told her that when Emmet left the post, it was a sad day for the entire fort, how vital a member he had been, and it was disheartening to see him go. When Katherine asked if he had said goodbye to Emmet, the Captain said no. Emmet had gone to see the Governor and had not returned. His escorts said it was because the Governor had found another post for Emmet and they had paperwork to support it. With the speedy changes in the ever-growing West, the Captain never thought it untoward.

They had an early dinner with the Captain that night, all of them complaining mightily about the trip thusfar. The Captain had offered to show Katherine some of her brother's handiwork in the morning, and Katherine accepted. When she closed the wooden door of her quarters that night she heard footsteps on the wooden sidewalk outside her door. She was frightened at first, but found the courage to peek out the door and see Jack and Bill talking together in the moonlight. They seemed almost conspiratory to her and she held her breath and watched them for a few moments more before they parted ways, Jack heading out to the barns and Bill heading towards the barracks.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 01:10 AM

The following morning came a bit too early for Jack. He groaned when he pulled his boots on and thought to himself that when this was all over it was going to be soft city life for him and nothing less. He stood up and stretched, looking out the doorway just in time to see Katherine trotting out of the fort's walls on her bay pony with the Captain on his horse close behind. He cursed aloud and went in search of Bill.

Katherine was enjoying the spring morning and despite the beautiful scenery, was mentally calculating every square mile that the Captain showed her. He told her how Emmet had been charged with surveying the land of the Indian Frontier, the very barrier that would keep the savages from invading civilized society. The series of mounds, burned clearings and outposts would allow for the Army to patrol and protect the frontier and its settlers. Katherine was amazed and disgusted at the same time. It was a tremendous undertaking for Emmet, and sure to make him famous, but it was also horrifying to her what was happening to the poor Indians. Surely they deserved better, but the temper of the day leaned more toward isolation and ignorance. She didn't fancy herself a grand thinker, but from what she knew about Emmet's personal papers that he'd left with Mister Huntington, something didn't ring quite true. The only thing that she did notice for certain was that there was in fact, no water.

Jack, meanwhile, was trying desperately to find out anything concrete about Emmet McInnis. When he'd met Bill outside the night before, they both had the same idea in mind. He'd agreed to speak with the men on patrol and Bill said he'd try talking to the men in the barracks.   From what Bill had told him over breakfast, there wasn't much information to be had. But then again, that information was coming from Bill.   Everyone he spoke with said that Emmet was a valuable addition to life at the fort. He was bright and quick, a city boy but a fast learner, and laughed at himself as easily as most people laughed at others. If he'd ever had an enemy at Ft. Leavenworth, no one was talking. At least, that's what he got from the men on patrol. As for gaining any confidences from Bill, well, Bill wasn't offering much in the way of conversation these days.

That afternoon, a small group of soldiers arrived at the fort. Among the riders was a man named Harrison, one of the soldiers who were sent to accompany Emmet on his trip to Fort Leavenworth. Katherine heard about him over dinner and was most eager to meet him. The Captain arranged for the soldier to be invited to dine with the travelers and the officers, and when the young man came in to the room, Bill knew something was amiss. The soldier took one look at Katherine and went as white as a sheet. He blamed it on the sun that day, but Bill sensed blood in the water. If he hadn't already taken an instant dislike to the young man, he certainly acquired one when Katherine sprang from her seat to help him into a chair. The way she fanned his face and her hushed tones sent Bill's heart into a frenzy. When he looked at Jack, he could tell it was the same for him.

Bill sat quietly throughout the meal, as did most of the people around the table. The only one who could stomach any serious talk was Katherine. She had the young man conversationally treed and she wasn't letting him down without finding out about Emmet.   When, exactly, was it that the three men went to see the Governor? Why, exactly, had Emmet gone in the first place? What, exactly, had he been wearing, eating, saying, riding, ad nauseum. The Captain was the only person who wasn't affected by her insistance.   Katherine became more and more upset with the young soldier's vague answers, Jack looked ill for fear that Katherine would give away in her ramblings what they knew from Emmet's papers, Bill looked ill for fear of what he had to do, and the poor soldier looked ill for what he knew he had done. The Captain had another coffee and watched this circus with curious amusement. After exhausting her bevy of questions, Katherine finally sighed and told the men she was due for a much-needed rest. Jack rose to escort her to her quarters, but she waved him off. When she left, he then turned his attentions to Private Harrison.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 01:11 AM

Bill watched Jack like a hawk. He knew his friend, and knew the persuasive power that his easy laugh and slow smile had on others. You couldn't help but like Jack, and the thought that he might like you to? Well, that thought had led many a man to lose his fortunes and females to dear Jack.

When Katherine excused herself from the table, Jack leaned in to the young soldier and gently nudged his arm. "You know, young feller, she can sure get the bit in her teeth," and with that smile had entered into brotherhood with the young soldier. Bill leaned back and took some tobacco that the Captain offered. It would be easier to watch his friend through the haze of smoke, and he wouldn't have to respond too quickly with the pipe in his teeth. The young soldier loosened up around Jack, and before long the two were swapping stories and a bottle of whiskey that had mysteriously appeared for the occasion. Bill continued to watch. When the tipsy young man stood to leave and Jack offered to go along with him, Bill made no notice save the quick squint of his eyes, something easily attributed to the smoke, but that was only if you didn't know Bill.

He let the two men get a head start out the door before he said his good-night's to the Captain. When he left the officer's quarters, he saw the two men in the moonlight. They stood by the gate of the fort for a moment before signalling to a guard and walking out. Bill walked to the stable and saddled his horse as quickly and quietly as possible. He led the horse out to the front gate and signalled to the guard as well. Let the man think I'm with them thought Bill. No harm in that, is there? He led his horse towards a copse of trees, tied the roan off, and then walked into the trees.

He heard them before he saw them. The sniveling young soldier was spilling his guts to Jack. This is what the Army's come to? thought Bill. The young man was obviously unable to hold his drink, and inbetween fits of retching in the trees, Bill heard his stammer:

"I didn't know what else to do! We didn't have any choice. I was sure he was going to tell the Governor! We brought him back and forth to St. Louis, and he was meeting with that lawyer feller, we just knew he was gonna hang us," the young man sniffled. "All that time out surveyin'. Anyone but Emmet would've just done as he was told. The lines would've been redrawn to the Captain's wishes and left at that. Emmet noticed that the re-drawing made sure that none of them Injuns would have access to water for a hunnert miles. The Captain knew it would make them move further West for water, and open up a heap of land for settlers. A heap of land he could sell for a fair price, and no one was gonna kick out settlers once they was there. When Emmet met with that lawyer, we knew he was gonna see us all hang for it. Corporal Lyndsey and I took the chance when we took Emmet to see the Governor. He went to the fancy dinner party with the Governor, and the next day was supposed to meet with him over 'important business'. We both knew what that meant.    We was both scared to death. I didn't want him to, but Lyndsey shot Emmet dead and I helped him throw his body in the river, " with that, the young soldier burst into hysterical sobs.

Jack was trying to comfort the young man as Bill walked into the clearing. When he looked up at Bill, Jack's face was completely readable, even in the faint moonlight--he was going to find Katherine and tell her everything. Bill quickly pulled his revolver and held it pointing towards Jack. He calmly told the soldier that there was a roan pony tied to the trees behind him and the best thing for him to do right now was to get on that pony and ride west. Jack stood silent and slackjawed, staring at him, while the young man threw up again and crashed off into the trees in the direction of the horse. When Bill heard the thundering hoofbeats fade into the western distance, he pulled the trigger.

The Captain heard the shot ring out, in truth, he had been waiting for it since the trio of travelers arrived at Fort Leavenworth.   He slowly rose and tapped his pipe into the fire before stepping outside. When he did, he caught some motion out of the corner of his eye and put his hands in front of himself, instinctively trying to protect. The flying object was Katherine. She heard the shot as well, and had been in a frenzy looking for either Bill or Jack. The Captain caught her and held her to himself for a moment, trying to calm her. It was then, in the pale moonlight, that they saw Bill run back through the gate of the fort. He saw the Captain silohuetted in the light of his doorway and ran towards him.

"Sir," started Bill, "there's been a horrible accident." As Bill told his tale, he directed all of his comments toward the Captain, but his eyes remained locked on Katherine. Yes, the young soldier had taken Jack out into the trees, he'd followed and heard about how the young man had killed Emmet in a fight over a woman. He had admitted to forging the papers from the Governor stating that Emmet was away on duty, and upon realizing that Jack was going to tell Katherine, he had shot him in cold blood and taken off on Bill's horse. He had been unable to stop the soldier, who had blazed past him and if not for the malfunctioning revolver that the youth carried, he wouldn't be here to tell the tale.

Katherine screamed loud enough to wake the dead and then collapsed at the Captain's feet. If she'd had any of her wits about her, she might have seen the Captain mouth the words "Good Man" to Bill in the moonlight.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 02:39 AM

Holy jumping Moly!! And, Huzzah!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 02:52 AM

Jaysus!! Talk about catch-up! Drat that Bill! Welcome back, darlin'!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 06:02 AM

well knock me down with a feather duster Woman, when you want to get up to speed you make like a bullet darlin..wiiiiiiiizzzzzzz..:) ....Brava Darlin..

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: SINSULL
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 09:23 PM

Wow!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 10:05 PM

At the sound of the gunshots most everyone that was left in the Byway headed outside.

Dixie didn't move for a few minutes and when she did she headed for the stairs. When she reached her room she went inside and locked her door. She didn't light her lamp and went and sat at the window.

It was mayhem below on the street. Men shouting, women screaming, with one body face up on the wooden boardwalk and one face down in the dirt.

Her head was spinning. Thoughts racing through it so fast she couldn't grab a hold of any of them. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders tight.

Below her window a few drunks were attempting to figure out what they could do next now that the fun was over it seemed at the Lawyers.

"Gonna get that Lawyer bastard fir killin poor Rowzee' said a slurred man's voice.

Then she heard another say "Lawless here now. You see Conway go down..like a tree falling " then loud laughter followed.

Wilmot, Dead! Benjamin must be alive... but where was he?

Dixie was processing what she had just heard. What to do. She wanted to talk to Katherine McInnis real bad but that was impossible tonight.

Once again in her Life, Dixie La Fleur's inner voice started talking to her. When it spoke she listened.

Git Dixie, make a move, do it first thing. Tell Katherine what your thinking then get out of this Town. Don't wait, don't look back.
Get your things together, ask Doc Shepard for some help and then go, go as far away from this rotten place as you can. It's time.You know it is.

Her inner voice was scaring her but she knew from experience it never lied and she knew she has to do what it was telling her.
Her head hurt.
Dixie allowed her head to rest on the back of her Chair and closed her eyes. willing the dull throb above her brow to ease.

----------------------------------------------------------


Casey was sound asleep. He awoke startled. Taking a second for his head to recognize that someone was tapping quietly on his door.
Then he heard the voice quietly saying "Casey.. Casey wake up.. please Casey...it's me, Dixie...Casey!"

He half jumped out his bed and half fell to his door. He opened it to find Dixie standing with a piece of paper in her hand. She pushed passed him into his room.

"Close the door Casey, this is serious" said Dixie.

Casey closed the door and went to light the lamp on the table.
"No. leave the lamp out Casey. I need your help, will you help me?"
Casey was wide awake now, "what is it Dix"
"Will you take this note and put it under Sam Shepard's door...now"
"Right now Dixie? it's just gone 3 in the morning"
"I know that Casey but I want Sam Shepard to get this and read it as soon as he gets in. He is always at his place real early, will you do this for me?"
Casey looked at Dixie. Just for a split second he saw something he had never really seen before. He saw Dixie's Heart. He saw behind all her bluff, all her detachment. All he saw was a beautiful young woman who was asking him to help her.

"Give me it here Dixie, Ill get dressed and head over there right away. You Ok?"
"Thank you Casey, yeah I'll be fine, just need you to do this for me and I'll be all set,
less you know the better, if you catch my meaning" Dixie walked to the door but turned and walked back over to Casey...
"I won't be seeing you tonight Casey, you're a good un, don't waste your Life here."
She kissed his cheek then turned and left his room closing the door quietly behind her.
Casey raised his hand and placed it over where she had put her lips.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 10:32 PM

For the first time since Dixie had come to work at the Byway the Bar was closed way, way early.
The place was deadly quiet.
Wilmot no doubt shut the place up after Conway got shot.
No-one would want to grab a whore or play poker after that happening and why risk having the place trashed by a drunken lynch mob that didn't get to lynch someone.
Dixie walked to the door of Wilmot's office, no light came from underneath it.

She tried the handle....the door opened.
She put the key in her hand back in the pocket of her skirt.

She thought about the key for a second, a key that she had taken from Adam Henry's set one night when he was passed out at the table beside the bar. He had never, to this day,even noticed the key missing. The very key that had let her into Wilmot's Office in the small hours to get help for poor Jeannie when things got bad. As they often would do. That Bastard Wilmot. He killed Jeannie as sure as stabbing her in her heart thought Dixie.

Jeannie Lawrence had been a new Girl who really didn't belong at the Byway. She was an Orphan, nowhere else to go and owned nothing but her body, well that was until Wilmot took over the ownership of that. Jeannie was 15 years old. Terrified. Dixie remembered Wilmot laughing as he watched Jeannie come down the stairs the first night she started working for him. Her eyes glazed, no expression on her face. The fifteen year old was gone and she never really came back during her short stay at the Byway and all thanks to Wilmot.

"See how you like a taste of your own medicine Wilmot" said Dixie under her breath.

Dixie opened the bottom drawer of Wilmot's desk and took out the half full Whiskey bottle, then she took the full Bottle of Laudanum from her pocket and carefully poured it's entire contents into the Whiskey Bottle and swirled the contents around. She smelled the mixture. Wrinkling her nose. It smelt more of whiskey than anything else to her mind. She replaced the Cork and put it back into the bottom drawer.
" Maybe he'll notice, maybe he won't. I hope the bastard drinks it all "
She left the Office and went back upstairs.

Looking around room for what was to be the last time in her Life, Dixie checked the now packed Carpet bag making sure she had everything. She lifted the Floorboard under the dresser one more time and checked. There was no longer anything there.
Her metal Box and the Box that Benjamin Huntington had given her for safe keeping where safely packed in her Bag.
Her 'working' dresses were hanging in the Closet. She would never be needing them again and the bottle of Rose water that was almost empty sat on top of the dresser, unpacked. As long as she lived she would never put a drop of that on herself again.
Dixie looked in the mirror, she didn't pinch her cheeks, she simply made sure her thick Black hair was secure in it's clasp.
She lifted her bag. Walked down the Hallway and down the stairs, looking only at the Clock as she passed the poker table to check the time. It was 7am Byway time, which meant it was just 5am in the world outside, "perfect" she thought. Then Dixie walked through the Kitchen and headed for the back door to the alley. She opened the back door and stepped outside, closing it behind her.
She did not turn to look at the Byway once as she walked the backways towards Sam Shepard's Office.
With each step Dixie took she started changing, head tilting upright, face setting into a determined look and her Green eyes more fixed than they ever had been on where she was now heading.

The Byway was missing a whore and that whore would never be back. Not to the Byway, nor to St. Louis nor to anywhere else for that matter. In fact the truth was, it was as if a whore called Dixie La Fleur had simply never existed

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 28 Mar 06 - 11:40 PM

Beautiful, Alba! Way to go, Dixie!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 29 Mar 06 - 01:00 AM

I had been some time in passing through the great pipestone hills. The old Medicine Chief of my village, Smiling Crow, had a pipe made of the sacred red stone of this country, that he claimed to have traded a small horse and a large woman for. Here it lay in abundance, great shattered columns and boulders and weird shapes like huge birds or tortoises or hares, standing out like the color of blood against the green firs and the white snows.

For the late snow had caught me in the passes of the Black Hills. My pony had plunged to the withers in it, struggling, and I had dismounted to lead him on. In shelters where the red stone overarched us, we camped, and to keep from freezing I built fires in the darkness. In one spot, a Lakota burial had taken place near by, and all night the pony whimpered at things that moved outside the globe of light around the campfire. I smudged sage in the coals to keep us safe from spirits.

But what I feared was flesh and blood. This was the holy ground of the Sioux. Everywhere were signs and totems warning of death to trespassers. On two occasions I had seen small parties of warriors moving along the creeks on their ponies, but we stayed in timber and remained unseen. After nearly ten days in those hills, I had taken ill. I prepared a poultice of bison fat and sage mixed with creosote, which I rubbed into my chest. This helped my cold but greatly reduced my hunting success, and even my pony seemed to resent my strong aroma, blowing sharply through his nostrils and nipping at my knee as we rode. The buffalo meat had become a tiresome repast, and I yearned for the meat of salmon, its taste and powerful nourishment.

Emerging from the snowy hills, I began to follow a creek that flowed due east, down through sunlit meadows and glades speckled red with paintbrush. It was as if we had passed through the cycle of the seasons from winter to spring, and the land took on a soft and languid appearance.

I had stopped to let my hungry pony graze the fresh spring shoots of grass when I saw at a place in the creek where the water pooled, then rushed through a gap between two boulders, the rough wicker form of a fish trap. Leaving the pony to graze, I walked slowly toward it, and beheld within it a large cutthroat trout, thrusting in futility with his fat tail against the trap frame. I again glanced about me, then carefully put my hand into the mouth of the trap. A sudden burst of nearby laughter stopped me cold, and I lay the trap back in the creek, creeping toward the place where I had heard the sound. On all fours, cresting a rise in the bank, I beheld a naked boy and girl embracing in a shadowed nook among the willows. As she giggled, he spoke softly to her in a tongue I recognized as Shoshone. Smiling to myself, I returned to the trap, removed the trout and ran a leather trace through the gills, slinging him to my pony. Across the top of the fish trap, I carefully laid seven strips of jerked buffalo meat.

After my fine meal of smoked trout, a sound night's sleep and a brilliant morning sun flushed the sickness from my body. With soft gray mud I lavaged the poultice off of my chest. The creek joined another, larger one and entered a valley where hundreds of elk grazed, barely troubling themselves to move enough to give us passage. The world seemed suspended in a dream, the land seemed never to have felt the tread of man and horse. We had ridden on, stopping only when it became too dark to find our faint path, and I slept beneath the vault of endless stars. In the morning, the persistent cry of a whippoorwill woke me from a dream in which I found myself treading the wide stone paths of a great village, the people therein being of flesh like snow, with eyes the blue of sky and hair like maize in sunshine. They smiling held out to me gifts, wonderful devices wrought in fantastic colors.

When I awoke, I stood and looked into the east, beholding the sun suspended low above a track of water that spanned the horizon. I had reached the Misoo-rie.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 29 Mar 06 - 07:00 AM

'HE' is back or should I say 'HE' is on his way! Who might HE encounter?..oh it's so exciting?    Good to see you LEJ:)

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 05 Apr 06 - 12:40 AM

The great river meandered south and east through a wide and lush valley. Many times I saw vast herds of bison that took little notice of my presence. One morning I woke to see the river covered in white from bank to bank, as if a great snow pack had broken loose upstream, but on closer examination found the stuff to be great clumps of white feathers. As I stared at this wonderous sight, I heard a loud brawl of squawking voices from upstream. As I sat on the sunlit gravel beach, a huge flock of egrets floated into my view, busy in preening away their winter feathers. This flock was some minutes in passing downstream.

I had packed up my camp and was preparing to depart as the sound of the egrets faded from my hearing, when suddenly I became aware of another combination of sounds : The steady plop of a canoe blade in the water, and the sound of two voices, one low and rumbling and occasionally bursting out in song, the other high and carping, seeming to complain about the singing of the first. I couldn't make out what the voices were saying, being in a strange kind of coughing-spitting language, but I still remember the words and melody of the song...

O do ye remember sweet Betsy from Pike
who crossed the wide prairie with her husband Ike
with one yoke of oxen and one spotted hog
a tall shanghai rooster and an old yaller dog

I led my pony behind some cottonwood trees, and squatted in the shadows as a canoe made of shiny black cloth slid into the waters before me. I was surprised to see that there was but one figure seated in the stern of the canoe, the rest of the craft taken up with a great pile of beaver pelts. This boat led another in its wake by a short rope, and that canoe too was piled with fur. The figure itself seemed to be nothing more than a pile of pelts, with a sort of dirty blue hat on its peak. The canoe emrged from the tree shadows into the sun, and at that moment it ceased singing, and began to berate itself in the other, the high complaining voice, and as it changed tones, it looked more or less in my direction, and I saw a bulbous red nose, a mouthful of scarce and irregular teeth, and a pair of crazy and sparkling blue eyes, shining out from a coat of fur, and wild shaggy hair that covered the head, ears, and most of the face.

Without thinking, I shouted out a word I had learned long ago from my Father, the only word I knew that this man might comprehend..."Friend!" I yelled. This brought both voices to a halt, and the strange figure looked directly at me, stopped paddling, then smiled and steered the boats onto the beach. Several joints in the man's body snapped loudly as he clambered out of the canoe, made the bowline fast to a branch, turned and began to dance there on the bank in a rather demented fashion. I clutched the medal Lewis and Clark had given my Father, glanced at it, and decided that, although this weird gnomish figure cavorting in front of me bore little resemblance to the noble personage on the medal, that he was indeed a white man. He stopped dancing with a flourish, slapping both thighs, clapping his hands together, and then extending his grimy right paw.

"Friend it is, and friend it'll be!" He laughed. With some reluctance I also extended my hand, which he grasped with vigor, pointing at his chest and saying "Cletus Smythe!! Friend!" This he said using the brash baritone voice, but topping it off with a quick burst from the carping voice, which added "ye black-hearted Heathen!"

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 05 Apr 06 - 05:13 PM

ROFLMAO! Well done, LEJ. Sorry I am late!


A

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 11 Apr 06 - 05:27 PM

I made camp that night with Cletus Smythe, although I felt uncomfortable by the fact that he built us a huge fire. I sat far back from it but the heat didn't seem to bother Cletus, and neither did the fact that the fire could be seen 30 miles away by any one in the territory. Cletus cooked some portions of deer steak that he had buried under the pile of beaver pelts, many days ago by the smell of it. These steaks he encrusted with flakes of red pepper. I tried a bite and it was as if i had thrust a burning branch down my throat. I could barely see or breathe and finally flung myself belly-down on the bank and began to gulp the muddy water from the river to stop the pain. This all sent Cletus into a rapture of laughing and dancing and singing.

When I at last recovered, I watched Cletus wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes, and decided that this man was no ordinary white man, but a kind of shaman, and despite the fact that he was obviously demented, had been sent by the spirits to teach me something. I refused any more of the meat, and Cletus at last pointed at himself, saying "me Cletus. You...?"
"Tala-cho", I said. Then, my name meaning Horned Owl, I made the hoot of the owl for him.
"Owl!" he said. "AL! That's yer name, then, Al!"
"Tala-cho" I repeated, hooting, then shoving my fore-fingers up above my brow.
"Horns!" he said. Then his eyes lit up and he pointed in my direction and he said "why, hell! I know you! You're ol' Al Horne!" And he began laughing again.

For some time I had been glancing at the rifle he had propped against the forked branch of a scrub oak Suddenly, Smythe jumped up and he rubbed his hands together and said "you like gun, Al?" He plucked it out of its resting place, put the butt against his shoulder and seemed to sight at something along its length, saying "you watch buff'ler come runnin' by...BOOMMM!!..no more buff'ler! Jes' buff'ler meat!" He handed it over to me. "Here, Al. Takee a look."

The thing was heavier than I thought, more like a stone war club than a spear. It smelled tangy, bitter. I looked down the barrel as he had, sighting at a rock that shone in reflected firelight, then moving it in a sweep until I saw Cletus' astonished face behind the site. He ducked, grabbing his hat, then pushed the barrel up.
"Damn, Al! Ye wanna blow my head off? Ye don't never point it at yer friend." Of course, in those days, I hadn't the remotest idea what he was saying, but I could see he was upset. Soon, his goofy smile returned, and he said "ok, then. I'll let ye shoot her if'n ye want."

As I watched, he poured black powder into the barrel from a horn, tamped it in, then followed the powder with a round metal ball. "Now then," he said, and moving to the side, he handed it to me. "Sight on that tree trunk" he said, pointing at a thin pine near the fire. Taking a second smaller horn, he poured a bit of powder into the flash pan. "Now...on count of three...ye pull this here thing back." He stood back, then said "ONE..."
Not knowing the language, I assumed this was my order to pull the "thing" back, which I did. I wasn't prepared for the flash as the lock and striker hit the pan, and I was immediately blinded, just a moment before my ears were pierced by the loudest noise I had ever heard, outside of when lightning struck a lodgepole pine on the ridge where Wolf Brother and I had camped. Simultaneously, I was struck hard in the shoulder by something that made me drop the gun and rolled me backwards nearly into the fire. I sprung up to see a broken trunk where the pine had stood, and the rifle still smoking on the ground. I then looked over to Cletus Smythe, eyes huge with wonder and amusement, who paused for several seconds, then grabbed his head with both hands and tossed his hat into the air, shouting "yeeeeEEEEEE- HAWW! The tree fall'd over one way, he fall'd over t'other!! Al Horne done kilt his first pine!!!" Then more dancing and hysterical laughter. I sat down, rubbing my sore shoulder. Cletus stopped and said "ye hurt yer shoulder there, Albert?" with great concern. Then, rooting in the furs, he pulls out a clear container filled with something shining red in the firelight, comes over and sits close by me, a little too close, saying low and rumbling " little somethin' to help my friend Albert with his sore arm...." then, in the high voice - "Rye Whiskey!!!!"

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 10:49 PM

Bravo LEJ, I have been outdoors doing winter clean up...but I hope that Dix can mix with ya soon:) Jude

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Apr 06 - 11:39 PM

Same here, LeeJ. House-buying is over; kids are in the process of moving out and I will have my office back SOON! At which point, "Eldon" oughta come-to!

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Little Hawk
Date: 18 May 06 - 08:54 PM

Great stuff, as always, LEJ. You could be another Larry McMurtry...only his stories always end in such a depressing manner. I gave up reading them, due to that.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 04 Jun 06 - 10:36 PM

When the sun came through the cabin window, Bill wasn't sure he'd made it through the night until he tried to blink and felt his eyelids drag mercilessly across his eyes. With some effort, he turned his head and saw her sitting in the chair by the cabin door. She'd probably been there all night, letting him lie in his filth with the same disgusted expression she'd worn since they arrived here last fall.

He and the Captain had seen to it that Jack had a funeral service as solemn and fitting as the fort could provide. He thought that would make her happy. She'd even unrolled that town dress from her bedroll. He cringed a little when he'd seen that, so clearly in his mind seeing her walk out of the whorehouse in St. Louis wearing the same thing. That day she'd been smiling, but at the funeral she was not. The Captain tried to warn him, but he hadn't listened.

After the funeral he'd walked past the kitchen and seen her crying. She was taking those papers she'd hidden in her saddlebags and throwing them into the fire. Later that day when the obligatory posse had been arranged, with himself leading, of course, he'd been so happy to see her come stomping into the Captain's quarters, demanding to be included in the ride. It wasn't until much later that he'd learned the truth.

His breathing now shallow, he asked her for water but she acted like she hadn't heard him. Her expression never changed and she kept sitting on that chair. He watched her for a minute, not sure if she were real or apparition, until she shifted slightly and the chair creaked. He let out a ragged sigh of relief and again asked for water.

He'd been a good man. He'd watched out for her all along the ride and he was proud of that. With their small band chasing imaginary hoof prints across the plains, it wasn't easy to keep up the lie. Maybe Emmet was this way? Maybe Jack's murderer went this way? One by one the soldiers in their band left for other callings, but she stayed with him, the same determined look on her face. He'd tried playing jokes with her, but she never laughed like she had with Jack, she only ever looked nauseous. In any other man, it would have withered and died, but not with Bill.

When the chill of fall had come, they camped in an abandoned line shack. The last remaining soldier that rode with them fell for a squaw and ran off before the first snow fell. It was at this time when Bill heard the news. She had burned all of those papers at the fort, but not before sending copies back to that St. Louis lawyer. She had hidden them in a Bible and even though the lawyer was long gone, his clerk had liked the looks of the Good Book and found the papers when he opened it. The young man had made quite a name for himself in publishing the scandal and when the news reached their humble outpost, he'd seen a flicker of laughter cross her eyes, just for a moment, but the moment was enough.

He'd only forced himself on her the once, and he regretted it immediately. That was the last time she'd ever spoken to him. They passed the winter in silence and it wasn't until the early spring when he came back from hunting and found her shoveling bloody straw into a hole that he knew she'd been with child. The foul-smelling tea in the pot by the fire told him everything he needed to know. He knew it was most likely a gift from that Kiowa squaw who skulked around by the river when Katherine did the washing up. It made him furious to think that she'd confide in anyone besides him, after everything he'd done for her, and made up his mind to take care of that squaw once and for all.

That evening when he'd lain down to sleep was when he felt the pains again. They had plagued him slightly throughout his hunting trip but he'd blamed them on bad grub and rough riding. His stomach turned and he fought the urge to vomit. That had been 2 days ago. Now he lay, blue-lipped and weakened, on a straw tick that was sodden with his own vomit and stool. She hadn't made any move to help him, even when his legs cramped so badly that he screamed and bolted upright in bed. She just sat and watched him.

The morning sun had finally cleared the window when his eyes glazed over. His breath began to rattle in his chest before she moved from her chair by the door. She dragged in some sage branches from the pile outside and threw them haphazardly toward the fire. When the spring sap bubbled and sparked she simply stood back and let the blaze consume the cabin. She wasn't there to see his last breath but it was enough to know that it had been taken.

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 04 Jun 06 - 11:08 PM

(Holy mother machree, Ma'am!! I am shivered from guggle to zatch.)

A

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Alba
Date: 04 Jun 06 - 11:24 PM

Mawhahahahah, me likey very muchly JenEllen. Makes me think of Shawn Colvin's song "Sonny came Home':) Two lines in particular...
"She didn't believe in transcendence.
It's time for a few small repairs she said"
Excellent..as always Darlin...we want more...*giggle* Loves ya Bunches Honey
Jude

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Leadfingers
Date: 05 Jun 06 - 07:54 AM

Great stuff - thoroughly enjoyed this thread .

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: JenEllen
Date: 05 Jun 06 - 11:48 AM

I don't know that there is anymore, y'all. Also, apologies to LH. I didn't read your posting until after I was done. Nothing more depressing than having Katherine wait a whole year for Bill to confess his sins and getting nothing for her troubles. Maybe in another lifetime...

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Amos
Date: 05 Jun 06 - 12:14 PM

Don't hang up Katherine's phone just yet, Dear Autrix. We may be able to provide her with a more interesting future...

Subject: RE: Fiction: Shenandoah and Beaver!
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 15 Jul 06 - 05:26 PM

These many years later,I remember some of the things that happened concerning that night spent drinking whiskey with Cletus Smythe. I remember Cletus singing a song called "The Rascal's Return", and that he was in tears by the end of it. I remember singing for him Fish Hawk and the Bear, an old Nez Perce song about a man who went hunting and was cornered by a bear that turns out to be the spirit of his uncle who died in a snow storm many years before. I accompanied the song with a dance that went with it, but which diluted the touching aspects of the story, because I kept tripping over rocks and roots while doing it. After that song, I remember nothing until waking up to a throbbing headache and the smell of coffee, left in a tin cup for me by Cletus. Next to it was a stale biscuit which some ants had found first, and some jerked elk meat. I got to my feet and began to walk toward the river to bathe, when I noticed my left foot was extremely painful to put weight on, result of an apparent campfire burn. The sun was very high before I started off again down the Missouri.

Several days passed uneventfully until I smelled wood smoke one hot afternoon. In a bend of the river, I found a large number of lodges that had been strongly built of mud and timber, and thatched with saplings and pine boughs. The entire village was silent except for the occasional bird song or buzz of flies. Grass grew hip-high in the lanes between the houses. At last I saw a thin column of smoke rising from one of the larger lodges. I tied my pony to a bramble and approached the lodge, pulling aside a blanket that covered the only opening. It was dark and quiet inside, and smelled of musk and sage. Then I heard a woman's voice, unsteady, mumbling in an unknown language. It was not the white man's language, but when she looked at me, half-risen from her pallet on the floor, she said a white man's name....Emmett.

I smiled, although she couldn't make much of that in the dark, and I tried some words in my language, and some words I had learned from Cletus. "Friend", I said. I took some dried pine and lay it on the coals, and as it caught, the light fell on her. I had heard of the Death Rash, although it had never fallen on my people. But in the light it was clear to me that it had fallen on this woman. I suppose my first instinct was to turn and run, but she held out an empty earthen cup for me to fill with water, her hand shaking, and as I filled it I saw another small figure beside her, clinging to her but staring back at me without fear, hair black as the night sky, eyes blue as a mountain lake.

I stayed with the woman, bringing water and wood, washing her bedding in the river, trying to feed her, though she took no nourishment. The child, a girl of 3 years, had somehow escaped the small pox, although she made me understand that her father had died of it, the man named Emmett. So had the rest of the village, died or fled in fear of dying. This little girl was named Hannah. She was my companion during the many spells when her mother lay sleeping, helping me dress meat from the deer I slew, carrying water, then returning to lie by her Mother when she awakened or to comfort her as she tossed in fitful fever. When at last, after several days, her mother died, Hannah even helped me to make a grave for her by where her father had been lain.

Hannah rode before me on my pony after that. We traveled some three days travel down the river, when I awoke one night with my head pounding, thirsty and in a cold sweat. Before I could reach the bank of the river, I must have fainted. I was awakened again by the little girl patting water on my face with her hands. I was able get back to the camp and to collapse on my blanket, but could do little else. I recall hours passing with no clear distinction of day or night, but I do recall Hannah bringing water to me, singing to me, clinging to my side as she had done her mother. During a moment of clarity, Hannah asleep beside me, I resolved to take her, break camp, and move on to anywhere but this place. Steadying myself, using my spear as a staff, I rose and began to pack our meager gear. Finally I awakened Hannah, who happily mounted the pony.

The pony ambled along the river at his own pace, Hannah keeping up a steady jabber to try to keep me awake. I had no strength, and the time came when the effort need to stay on the pony was more than I could bear. Then Hannah cried out "Tala-Cho!" and at the same time I smelled the smoke. Something was burning nearby, just down stream.

It had been a white man's cabin. All that was left now was a rubble foundation and some still-smoking timbers. And before it, sitting as if to watch the last gleaming embers grow cold, was a woman. At the moment we glimpsed her, she saw us as well, and stood. I rode toward the woman, her eyes hollow, but a vague smile playing on her mouth as Hannah called out to her. Soon Hannah had dismounted, and the woman kneeled in front of the little girl to speak with her. I noticed the woman was carrying a child.

As I dismounted, I remember saying "friend", but no more, for I suppose I collapsed. I was useless to them, in and out of a raving fever, but the two of them cared for me, made camp and provided food for me. The woman bathed me, and held my hand in hers. There were several nights when I could feel death hovering in the air around me. Once I woke, the two of them sleeping, the stars scattered above me, all silent, but with the sense that something strong and ominous was approaching, like a great powerful beast. As I stared up at the night sky, a shape suddenly loomed over me, blotting out the stars. Sitting up, I tried to stand but couldn't. Reaching for my spear, I could not find it. The creature heaved a great breath, shook dust from the thick matted hair of his back. The coals of the nightfire flared, revealing the great head and body of the old buffalo.
"Grandfather," I said," you have come to take me with you." He walked several paces, turning as if beckoning me to follow. "Wait," I said. "I wish to go." But I remember that I could not rise, even for this death. A cold wind sprung up, and I shivered in it, pulling the blanket closer. My skin was wet and freezing. I raised my head to look for the Buffalo, and he was gone. I slept.

In the morning, the woman smiled at me as I sat up. I was hungry, and told her so. Hannah laughed, and tried to climb onto my shoulders, but the woman held her back.

In two more days, we were able to leave that place; the woman, who was named Katherine, Hannah, and me. But of course, you know what happened after that. Katherine and I raised Hannah and Jacob in this place that has changed so much from the wilderness outpost it was when first I came here. Katherine and I have prospered as farmers, earning enough to enter into a highly profitable drayage business with the infamous Ella Forsyth. Ben and Dixie Huntington were married, and Ben elected to Congress in 1848. Some say he'd have gone even farther if certain incidents of Ben and Dixie's early years hadn't been brought to light in the St Louis Dispatch. Wolf Brother...well, I have no idea what happened to him. I hope he is getting fat on salmon in his old age up in Idaho. I think he would be happy to know that the only child Katherine and I had together, Zeke, has the same rebellious spirit, and the same feisty wildness in his look that takes me back to my youth in the far-away Shining Mountains.