South Fork, WY
early September - 1870
Conner Kenway, Richard Big, and Dotty Jackson… (at least those were the names they’d given the sheriff the last town back) escorted their prisoner, Hank Baran, south toward a little town known as South Fork.
They’d been on the trail since yesterday morning. And today has been another long day of travel; all are plumb tuckered out. Even Hank, who’d spent most of the trip bending the ear of whoever he could get to listen; alternating between how his family was cheated out of ownership of the mine. As if that completely justified threatening the lives of 23 miners, none of which were direct stakeholders in the mine anyway. And vague threats that ‘they’ wouldn’t just leave him to hang. But it seemed he’d finally talked himself out and had been quiet for the last couple miles, fiddling with the cuffs around his wrists.
South Fork shouldn’t be too much further, but with the last of the daylight fading, the trio decided to look for it in the light of the next morning. They might have made it already, but the horse provided for Hank had thrown a shoe a few hours earlier, so they’d been forced to keep the pace slow. Hopefully, tomorrow, they could find a farrier able to replace it before continuing onward toward Laramie.
For now, this spot looks good for a camp. It's a clear night, without a hint of rain in the air.
Several miles further behind, but slowly gaining, was Marshal Sydney Richards accompanied by the Goller brothers: Dave (a.k.a Bones) and Charlie. The brothers had, by their account at least, traded in their outlaw ways and taken up hunting bounties. The first targets being the members of their old gang. It seemed a wise move to eliminate those that might be holding a strong grudge against them.
“I still think it’s gotta be Flinch and Smitty. Who else would she be with?” Bones asked. The stick-thin younger brother often seemed like the leader of the pair. Cock-sure and quick with his six-shooters, he had an inflated sense of invulnerability.
"Sure didn't sound like 'em," Charlie replied. The sheriff back in that last town had mentioned the names of the two men were Conner and Richard. But that didn’t mean much. It wasn’t uncommon to give fake names. It was the description of one of the men as an ‘injun’ fella that was making Charlie nervous. “We sure Sparrow Hawk’s dead?"
"Course he's dead," Bones chimed back in. "You killed him yourself, didn't ya, Marshal?”
Hank would certainly find no receptive ear from Connor’s part. The Kiowa Brave hardly ever spoke to even his companions. His expression, as always, like stone.
That was not to say he was without emotions, Connor continued to look as if he was late to some great important meeting, determination always present in his blue eyes, to the point were he seemed perpetually upset. He took point as he often did and attempted to cover as much distance until night fell. If he could see in the dark it was likely he would keep going.
He set up camp quickly and scanned the perimeter for dangerous wildlife. He seemed impatient still, head tilting this way and that, feet shifting. The horses may be tired but he was not, not when there was still so much injustice in the world.
Quite frankly, Connor qualified for the saying that he had ants in his pants. He could simply not sit still. Finally, he decided to use what was left of sunlight to practice his forms.
Connor stood slightly away from the encampment, he didn’t want to put on a show but he also knew he couldn’t afford to find some solitary place in the wilderness, he thus stood where he could still see his companions and their prisoner.
Finding a small patch where he could move, Connor suddenly unsheathed his saber and tomahawk and began attacking an invisible enemy, or several from the looks of it. Holding his saber in a reverse grip like a knife, he parried and hooked with the curve of his axe whilst delivering quick counter stabs. His blades moved in a flurry of motion as he tore to ribbons an imaginary target. Even adding kicks in as he delivered a series of snapping high kicks followed by a spinning one to strike with the heel at someone’s head.
To the uninitiated this whole dance would look ridiculous. Why even bother with knives, axes and kicks when a six shooter is so much easier? It was something that only a warrior could understand, and besides, Dorothy had certainly seen what Connor could do to man who got within tomahawk range.
Connor finished his Okichitaw forms and sheathed his blades, sword on the left and axe on the right. He then placed a hand on his chest and saluted softly in all four cardinal directions, North, West, South and East.
Only until he was finished did he rejoin the group looking just as impatient about something but at least he didn’t seem to be bouncing on his heels. He sat on a nearby rock and drank from his canteen , brooding quietly.
That was not to say he was without emotions, Connor continued to look as if he was late to some great important meeting, determination always present in his blue eyes, to the point were he seemed perpetually upset. He took point as he often did and attempted to cover as much distance until night fell. If he could see in the dark it was likely he would keep going.
He set up camp quickly and scanned the perimeter for dangerous wildlife. He seemed impatient still, head tilting this way and that, feet shifting. The horses may be tired but he was not, not when there was still so much injustice in the world.
Quite frankly, Connor qualified for the saying that he had ants in his pants. He could simply not sit still. Finally, he decided to use what was left of sunlight to practice his forms.
Connor stood slightly away from the encampment, he didn’t want to put on a show but he also knew he couldn’t afford to find some solitary place in the wilderness, he thus stood where he could still see his companions and their prisoner.
Finding a small patch where he could move, Connor suddenly unsheathed his saber and tomahawk and began attacking an invisible enemy, or several from the looks of it. Holding his saber in a reverse grip like a knife, he parried and hooked with the curve of his axe whilst delivering quick counter stabs. His blades moved in a flurry of motion as he tore to ribbons an imaginary target. Even adding kicks in as he delivered a series of snapping high kicks followed by a spinning one to strike with the heel at someone’s head.
To the uninitiated this whole dance would look ridiculous. Why even bother with knives, axes and kicks when a six shooter is so much easier? It was something that only a warrior could understand, and besides, Dorothy had certainly seen what Connor could do to man who got within tomahawk range.
Connor finished his Okichitaw forms and sheathed his blades, sword on the left and axe on the right. He then placed a hand on his chest and saluted softly in all four cardinal directions, North, West, South and East.
Only until he was finished did he rejoin the group looking just as impatient about something but at least he didn’t seem to be bouncing on his heels. He sat on a nearby rock and drank from his canteen , brooding quietly.
Sydney had been on the road for months chasing after the woman who had escaped his custody. The marshal had felt like he was making progress with Dorothy during their little talks. Maybe he was just being optimistic with his own beliefs. His mind and body were getting tired of the pursuit. Not to mention that his horse was feeling the effects of the pursuit. His mare did her best to carry them both closer and closer to their newest destination. There was times when it seemed like he was getting no closer to his goal.
The countryside all looked the same to Sydney with each step forward. Only minor differences could be noted with each passing day. Sydney made certain to gather more supplies and tend to the needs of his horse with each stop. While it cost him some more time it was worth it in his mind. Sydney would be better situated when he finally reached whoever was helping Dorothy in this endeavor. This new town gave Sydney hope when he heard the news. His quarry was only a few hours ahead of him.
Sydney took the time to water his horse and make sure nothing was amiss. The traveling had been tough on everyone. He was really looking forward to getting some rest. The news was unsettling about their job but it also worked in his favor. Sydney had brushed out the hair on his horse before heading further into the town. It would be a disaster to catch up to them only to have something happen to his mare or to himself. The marshal made certain to get some grub into himself before mounting his horse again. He was hoping to catch them before tomorrow. However, that would still be pressing his luck a little.
Sydney kept his attention on the brothers who were assisting him in this pursuit. He did not trust them at all, but they had betrayed their previous employer to help him. The marshal did not trust anyone who betrayed those closest to them. He was waiting for them to turn on him and do the same. So far, they had not done anything to arouse his concerns. Sydney nodded his head when the others asked if the man was dead.
"I didn't know his name but he was dead. We buried him before heading out of Tombstone on this chase. What can you tell me about the men with her?"
The countryside all looked the same to Sydney with each step forward. Only minor differences could be noted with each passing day. Sydney made certain to gather more supplies and tend to the needs of his horse with each stop. While it cost him some more time it was worth it in his mind. Sydney would be better situated when he finally reached whoever was helping Dorothy in this endeavor. This new town gave Sydney hope when he heard the news. His quarry was only a few hours ahead of him.
Sydney took the time to water his horse and make sure nothing was amiss. The traveling had been tough on everyone. He was really looking forward to getting some rest. The news was unsettling about their job but it also worked in his favor. Sydney had brushed out the hair on his horse before heading further into the town. It would be a disaster to catch up to them only to have something happen to his mare or to himself. The marshal made certain to get some grub into himself before mounting his horse again. He was hoping to catch them before tomorrow. However, that would still be pressing his luck a little.
Sydney kept his attention on the brothers who were assisting him in this pursuit. He did not trust them at all, but they had betrayed their previous employer to help him. The marshal did not trust anyone who betrayed those closest to them. He was waiting for them to turn on him and do the same. So far, they had not done anything to arouse his concerns. Sydney nodded his head when the others asked if the man was dead.
"I didn't know his name but he was dead. We buried him before heading out of Tombstone on this chase. What can you tell me about the men with her?"
Convincing PJ to let Jack keep up his act as a prison guard for a transfer that wasn’t part of one of PJ’s larger schemes would be more than just ordinarily difficult. That was why, Jack had followed his own, year long mantra of not asking permission, and just hoping for forgiveness. After all, if PJ needed more guns, Freddy Linch and Paul Smith were still staying in Esme’s safe house - they could likely be roped in if the need arose.
Jack had therefore continued to work under the name of Richard Big; a clean alias that (unlike Jack’s own name) didn’t frequent any posters or papers. While working with the mining town’s sheriff, he’d covered his face with a duster to avoid anyone recognising him by mistake, but as they traveled further and further along, Jack’s stopped adjusting the sliding bandana, and eventually let it slide off the lower half of his face.
Hank’s threats and seemingly endless stream of words had affected Jack as little as they had Connor. Not because Jack was as focused and stoic as the Kiowa Brave, but more because he had his eyes on the fourth member of the small party - Dorothy, whom he’d quickly developed a habit of calling Darlin’ Dotty. If it hadn’t been for his interest in her, and the competition, he felt Connor could be, if he traveled alone with her, Jack would never have done the work of a lawman. Especially a lawman who’d see him hung from the nearest tree, if he’d discovered that Richard Big was Jack Brennan.
As the party came to a hold at a stop deemed suitable by Connor, Jack dismounted his horse and helped the man set up camp. While he still wouldn’t trust the man alone with Dorothy, nor tell him his real name, Jack had come to at least acknowledge the man’s many, useful skills. Had he not been so keen on serving the bitch named justice, Jack would have happily worked with him on a more frequent base.
“Shame I didn’t get to show ya the gorge before we left, darlin’ “ Jack said to Dotty, as Connor went off to practise. Jack admired his determination and commitment to his style, but shotguns, six shooters and hunting knives had yet to fail him, so he’d let Connor practice his style, and continue to practice his own.
“Maybe we oughta go there when we’ve dropped this one off?” He sent Dorothy a mischievous smile, before dragging Hank off his borrowed horse. To avoid him running off during the night - potentially harming one of more of them in the process, he’d have to be tied up well. Luckily, a nearby tree seemed sturdy enough to anchor the man to, and the branches would rattle loud enough to alert them if their prisoner attempted any funny business.
Jack had no real background or training knots - but he had plenty of experience of breaking out from them. So instead of focusing on thing a strong knot, Jack focused on tying a knot with none of the usual flaws that made it escapable.
“D’ya have any whisky left?” He asked Dorothy, when he found the man to be adequately restrained and fixated.
Jack had therefore continued to work under the name of Richard Big; a clean alias that (unlike Jack’s own name) didn’t frequent any posters or papers. While working with the mining town’s sheriff, he’d covered his face with a duster to avoid anyone recognising him by mistake, but as they traveled further and further along, Jack’s stopped adjusting the sliding bandana, and eventually let it slide off the lower half of his face.
Hank’s threats and seemingly endless stream of words had affected Jack as little as they had Connor. Not because Jack was as focused and stoic as the Kiowa Brave, but more because he had his eyes on the fourth member of the small party - Dorothy, whom he’d quickly developed a habit of calling Darlin’ Dotty. If it hadn’t been for his interest in her, and the competition, he felt Connor could be, if he traveled alone with her, Jack would never have done the work of a lawman. Especially a lawman who’d see him hung from the nearest tree, if he’d discovered that Richard Big was Jack Brennan.
As the party came to a hold at a stop deemed suitable by Connor, Jack dismounted his horse and helped the man set up camp. While he still wouldn’t trust the man alone with Dorothy, nor tell him his real name, Jack had come to at least acknowledge the man’s many, useful skills. Had he not been so keen on serving the bitch named justice, Jack would have happily worked with him on a more frequent base.
“Shame I didn’t get to show ya the gorge before we left, darlin’ “ Jack said to Dotty, as Connor went off to practise. Jack admired his determination and commitment to his style, but shotguns, six shooters and hunting knives had yet to fail him, so he’d let Connor practice his style, and continue to practice his own.
“Maybe we oughta go there when we’ve dropped this one off?” He sent Dorothy a mischievous smile, before dragging Hank off his borrowed horse. To avoid him running off during the night - potentially harming one of more of them in the process, he’d have to be tied up well. Luckily, a nearby tree seemed sturdy enough to anchor the man to, and the branches would rattle loud enough to alert them if their prisoner attempted any funny business.
Jack had no real background or training knots - but he had plenty of experience of breaking out from them. So instead of focusing on thing a strong knot, Jack focused on tying a knot with none of the usual flaws that made it escapable.
“D’ya have any whisky left?” He asked Dorothy, when he found the man to be adequately restrained and fixated.
“We better. Else I ain't gonna believe any a yer promises, Richard,” Dorothy agreed with Jack, returning his mischievous smile with one of her own.
Despite having a prisoner to watch over, she felt more at ease than she had in months. They’d rescued the hostages and been hailed like heroes. She’d gotten in the good graces of a sheriff. That was a first. Well, maybe a second if she counted Sheriff Joe. They’d even been given a pretty respectable job since the sheriff believed them capable of handling themselves. And she hadn’t had to deal with Smitty for 3 days now. She hadn’t felt like this since… well, since after she and Conner had a major hand in rescuing the teamsters of Easton’s company.
Was it possible she might find a life here in the north? Of course, there was still the matter of their rent payment. The clock was ticking on that and she had a strong suspicion that the price for failure would be higher than just eviction from the blue house. Still... that wasn't today's problem and she could wait to worry about that until they were on their way back from Laramie.
She dismounted from her horse, Pongo, a flashy brown and white pinto with a white face and blue eyes that gave him a bit of a ‘wide-eyed’ wild look. She stretched some of the sore from her muscles after the long hours in the saddle then got her horse taken care of while Jack secured their prisoner. She took care of Hank’s horse too, casting a glance sometimes at Conner and his fighting practice. She had indeed seen the man in action with his tomahawk, but still couldn't pretend to really understand what he was doing.
He'd seemed on edge all day, she thought. Though maybe that was nothing new. Despite her trust in the brave, she neither knew nor understood him that well.
"Ain't got anymore whiskey," she answered Jack. "Bet we could get some in South Fork tomorrow though. Hey, yinz hungry?" she asked when Conner finally returned. “Got a couple cans a beans we could heat up and a bag a apples one a the miner's wives gave me."
Despite having a prisoner to watch over, she felt more at ease than she had in months. They’d rescued the hostages and been hailed like heroes. She’d gotten in the good graces of a sheriff. That was a first. Well, maybe a second if she counted Sheriff Joe. They’d even been given a pretty respectable job since the sheriff believed them capable of handling themselves. And she hadn’t had to deal with Smitty for 3 days now. She hadn’t felt like this since… well, since after she and Conner had a major hand in rescuing the teamsters of Easton’s company.
Was it possible she might find a life here in the north? Of course, there was still the matter of their rent payment. The clock was ticking on that and she had a strong suspicion that the price for failure would be higher than just eviction from the blue house. Still... that wasn't today's problem and she could wait to worry about that until they were on their way back from Laramie.
She dismounted from her horse, Pongo, a flashy brown and white pinto with a white face and blue eyes that gave him a bit of a ‘wide-eyed’ wild look. She stretched some of the sore from her muscles after the long hours in the saddle then got her horse taken care of while Jack secured their prisoner. She took care of Hank’s horse too, casting a glance sometimes at Conner and his fighting practice. She had indeed seen the man in action with his tomahawk, but still couldn't pretend to really understand what he was doing.
He'd seemed on edge all day, she thought. Though maybe that was nothing new. Despite her trust in the brave, she neither knew nor understood him that well.
"Ain't got anymore whiskey," she answered Jack. "Bet we could get some in South Fork tomorrow though. Hey, yinz hungry?" she asked when Conner finally returned. “Got a couple cans a beans we could heat up and a bag a apples one a the miner's wives gave me."
Conner’s search for animal tracks would show some horse and wagon traffic along the trail the group is utilizing, deer tracks, rabbit tracks, and some scat with what appears to be deer hair in it that is partially covered by debris.
“Don’t I even get dinner, Mr. … Big?” Hank complained as Jack bound him right away, putting some emphasis on the surname that might suggest some doubt about its legitimacy.
Charlie nodded, reassured to hear that the Marshal had actually witnessed the Navajo man be buried back in Tombstone.
“Flinch and Smitty,” Bones answered. “Flinch’s a short croaker. Dark hair. Constant cigarette. Usually got a mustache, but who knows now.” After their time on the trail, even Bones was sporting a horribly scraggly beard to go with his mutton chops. “And bout as shy of brains as a terrapin is of feathers.”
“He’s a good shot though,” Charlie chimed in. The older brother was the more cautious, level-headed of the pair. “He spent a lot of time practicing with Parsons. I always thought maybe he had a thing for her.”
“He ain’t that good,” Bones said dismissively, taking his revolver out of its holster and spinning it around by the trigger guard before aiming it at a tree. “Pew! Pew!” he said, as if imagining the tree was Flinch. He gave the revolver another well practiced spin before sliding it into his holster in a smooth motion.
“Smitty’s a little more of a curly wolf…” Bones felt a tinge of regret. He’d really gotten on pretty well with the man. But then he smirked a moment later. “I’d bet ya a gold eagle he’s the one that told the sheriff back there his name was Richard Big.”
“We catch up with ‘em tomorrow, what’s the plan?” Charlie asked Sydney.
“Don’t I even get dinner, Mr. … Big?” Hank complained as Jack bound him right away, putting some emphasis on the surname that might suggest some doubt about its legitimacy.
Charlie nodded, reassured to hear that the Marshal had actually witnessed the Navajo man be buried back in Tombstone.
“Flinch and Smitty,” Bones answered. “Flinch’s a short croaker. Dark hair. Constant cigarette. Usually got a mustache, but who knows now.” After their time on the trail, even Bones was sporting a horribly scraggly beard to go with his mutton chops. “And bout as shy of brains as a terrapin is of feathers.”
“He’s a good shot though,” Charlie chimed in. The older brother was the more cautious, level-headed of the pair. “He spent a lot of time practicing with Parsons. I always thought maybe he had a thing for her.”
“He ain’t that good,” Bones said dismissively, taking his revolver out of its holster and spinning it around by the trigger guard before aiming it at a tree. “Pew! Pew!” he said, as if imagining the tree was Flinch. He gave the revolver another well practiced spin before sliding it into his holster in a smooth motion.
“Smitty’s a little more of a curly wolf…” Bones felt a tinge of regret. He’d really gotten on pretty well with the man. But then he smirked a moment later. “I’d bet ya a gold eagle he’s the one that told the sheriff back there his name was Richard Big.”
“We catch up with ‘em tomorrow, what’s the plan?” Charlie asked Sydney.
Ever the conversationalist, Connor said absolutely nothing as he sat down to join the others. He didn’t deem any of his findings worthy of being mentioned and so he kept them to himself.
Although silent, Connor continued looking hyper alert of his surroundings. Dorothy was right in more ways than one, as Connor always appeared tense. Only with very subtle facial expressions did he ever reveal his mood. In this case, it was a fleeting tightening of his lips when Jack once again brazenly started flirting with Dorothy in his presence.
In their time together, Connor had come to grudgingly respect Jack’s abilities, and saw him as being a very reliable sort. He still didn’t trust him though, in particular in matters regarding Dorothy.
Unfortunately for Connor, where his ability to kill men was formidable, his social skills were the complete opposite and had no idea what to do or say outside of openly attacking Jack or challenging to a duel, which, was clearly not an option.
Thus, he just sat there looking apprehensive. He cast a judgmental look at Jack when he mentioned wanting whiskey, finding his lack of discipline disturbing, but he remained silent still.
It was only until Dorothy addressed him that he finally talked. “Those kind of beans upset my stomach.” He confessed, and looked annoyed at having to reveal a weakness. Canned beans on an empty stomach was just something he couldn’t handle.
“I will take an apple.” He continued and dug around his pockets. “I have some corn meal if any one wants any.” Trading food around a camp fire was a very acceptable practice for the Kiowa.
To their prisoner, he said nothing, he would let Dorothy or Jack decide if he could eat.
Although silent, Connor continued looking hyper alert of his surroundings. Dorothy was right in more ways than one, as Connor always appeared tense. Only with very subtle facial expressions did he ever reveal his mood. In this case, it was a fleeting tightening of his lips when Jack once again brazenly started flirting with Dorothy in his presence.
In their time together, Connor had come to grudgingly respect Jack’s abilities, and saw him as being a very reliable sort. He still didn’t trust him though, in particular in matters regarding Dorothy.
Unfortunately for Connor, where his ability to kill men was formidable, his social skills were the complete opposite and had no idea what to do or say outside of openly attacking Jack or challenging to a duel, which, was clearly not an option.
Thus, he just sat there looking apprehensive. He cast a judgmental look at Jack when he mentioned wanting whiskey, finding his lack of discipline disturbing, but he remained silent still.
It was only until Dorothy addressed him that he finally talked. “Those kind of beans upset my stomach.” He confessed, and looked annoyed at having to reveal a weakness. Canned beans on an empty stomach was just something he couldn’t handle.
“I will take an apple.” He continued and dug around his pockets. “I have some corn meal if any one wants any.” Trading food around a camp fire was a very acceptable practice for the Kiowa.
To their prisoner, he said nothing, he would let Dorothy or Jack decide if he could eat.
Sydney made a note of what the other two men were telling him about the possible men with Dorothy. They would need to be careful with their approach. The last thing any of them needed was another gun fight breaking out. It was hard to get solid intel about her traveling companions. All the stories were consistent in the fact that she was seen traveling with two men. The stories varied from there so it was hard to tell fact from fiction. Sydney thought about the plan that was formulating in his mind.
The tracks, on the ground, were somewhat easy enough to follow as they pursued the three on horseback. In some places it became a little harder to follow the trail. Other places were easy to pick it back up. Such was the way with tracking. The weather played a part in their ability to track down their adversaries. Sydney glanced up towards the sky to see they still had some daylight to use before they would need a place to crash for the night. His eyes looked over his surroundings for a suitable place to settle in for the night that would offer them some protection from the elements and any creature or prying eyes that happen upon them.
"I would like them to surrender peacefully. However, that seems rather unlikely. Depending on terrain and locale we may need to use force. We should be prepared for the worst outcome. Most of my plan hinges on when and where we find them. Are you both ready if a fight breaks out?"
Sydney had not said much about his actual plan to the brothers. This was mostly due to his lack of trust for them. Spilling his entire plan could spell the end for him. Either one of them could betray him and return to the others. His plan really came down to when they were able to locate the three law breakers. They could surprise the three and capture them before much of a fight broke out. Or they could be spotted and have to fight the entire time to reach them. Each situation required a different approach and planning. Sydney was still working out most of the option available to them. He looked from one brother to the other.
"I want to try and surprise them, if possible, in order to capture them. If a fight breaks out, I won't run. I will do what must be done to secure them. You're free to leave after they are secure. Unless you want to be hired to help transport them back to Tombstone."
The tracks, on the ground, were somewhat easy enough to follow as they pursued the three on horseback. In some places it became a little harder to follow the trail. Other places were easy to pick it back up. Such was the way with tracking. The weather played a part in their ability to track down their adversaries. Sydney glanced up towards the sky to see they still had some daylight to use before they would need a place to crash for the night. His eyes looked over his surroundings for a suitable place to settle in for the night that would offer them some protection from the elements and any creature or prying eyes that happen upon them.
"I would like them to surrender peacefully. However, that seems rather unlikely. Depending on terrain and locale we may need to use force. We should be prepared for the worst outcome. Most of my plan hinges on when and where we find them. Are you both ready if a fight breaks out?"
Sydney had not said much about his actual plan to the brothers. This was mostly due to his lack of trust for them. Spilling his entire plan could spell the end for him. Either one of them could betray him and return to the others. His plan really came down to when they were able to locate the three law breakers. They could surprise the three and capture them before much of a fight broke out. Or they could be spotted and have to fight the entire time to reach them. Each situation required a different approach and planning. Sydney was still working out most of the option available to them. He looked from one brother to the other.
"I want to try and surprise them, if possible, in order to capture them. If a fight breaks out, I won't run. I will do what must be done to secure them. You're free to leave after they are secure. Unless you want to be hired to help transport them back to Tombstone."
Dorothy’s remark made Jack tip his hat as if he was more of a gentleman than he was. In fact, he’d done very few things in his life that could be called gentlemanly or even honourable. Having helped save the hostages was the first time, Jack could recall doing something just, and the first time he recalled working with the law except against it. The feeling wasn’t overwhelming enough for him to do consider changing his ways of life, but maybe he ought to branch out his work, and play ‘Richard Big’ more often...
When Connor refused the offer of beans, Jack couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was all in good spirit, even if he’d come to know that the Brave wasn’t much of a jokester. “Seein’ what ya can do with ya weapons, I am surprised to find out that beans are ya undefeatable enemy,” Jack joked. He went through his saddle bags and found a few strips of beef jerky, he’d brought from the blue house.
“I’ll trade ya some jerky for the cornmeal,” Jack added. He was about to ask if they should just cook up a mix of jerky, cornmeal and apple, with beans on the side, when he was interrupted by their prisoner.
” Don’t I even get dinner, Mr. … Big?”
Jack cursed under his breath as he stood up and grabbed a can of beans. “I swear I should’ve gagged the son of a bitch, too...” he muttered. Not feeding him would either make him too exhausted to talk during their ride, or make him complain the rest of the ride to South Fork, and Jack wouldn’t take that chance. His ears were barely still attached after the man’s constant chewing.
“Here ya go,” Jack said throwing the spoon and can into Hank’s lap, with little concern over what the metal can hit. “Figure the rest out yaself - ya should be smart enough for that.”
Jack walked back over to Dorothy and Connor and sat down. It felt odd to camp outside, when he’d gotten so used to staying in the many safe houses they’d procured over the years, but it wasn’t a bad kind of ‘odd’. Some times, he missed looking up at the stars when he drifted off, and knowing that there’d be a bed for him later, these few nights of camping weren’t all too bad.
“Y’all wanna celebrate handing over the bastard with a drink in South Fork?” He asked his companions. “My treat.”
When Connor refused the offer of beans, Jack couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It was all in good spirit, even if he’d come to know that the Brave wasn’t much of a jokester. “Seein’ what ya can do with ya weapons, I am surprised to find out that beans are ya undefeatable enemy,” Jack joked. He went through his saddle bags and found a few strips of beef jerky, he’d brought from the blue house.
“I’ll trade ya some jerky for the cornmeal,” Jack added. He was about to ask if they should just cook up a mix of jerky, cornmeal and apple, with beans on the side, when he was interrupted by their prisoner.
” Don’t I even get dinner, Mr. … Big?”
Jack cursed under his breath as he stood up and grabbed a can of beans. “I swear I should’ve gagged the son of a bitch, too...” he muttered. Not feeding him would either make him too exhausted to talk during their ride, or make him complain the rest of the ride to South Fork, and Jack wouldn’t take that chance. His ears were barely still attached after the man’s constant chewing.
“Here ya go,” Jack said throwing the spoon and can into Hank’s lap, with little concern over what the metal can hit. “Figure the rest out yaself - ya should be smart enough for that.”
Jack walked back over to Dorothy and Connor and sat down. It felt odd to camp outside, when he’d gotten so used to staying in the many safe houses they’d procured over the years, but it wasn’t a bad kind of ‘odd’. Some times, he missed looking up at the stars when he drifted off, and knowing that there’d be a bed for him later, these few nights of camping weren’t all too bad.
“Y’all wanna celebrate handing over the bastard with a drink in South Fork?” He asked his companions. “My treat.”
Dorothy dug the sack of apples out of her saddle bag. There were still over a dozen left, so she offered one to each horse. A few years ago, she’d been intimidated by the large animals. But under Sparrow Hawk’s guidance, had learned to love and respect them. Her own steed, Pongo, was at the end of the picket line, and he nickered impatiently as he saw her give apples to the other 3. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget ya,” she said, giving his neck a scratch as he slobbered apple juice over the hand holding the apple for him.
“Ya think Jack and Conner ’re buddies now?” She whispered to the horse. Her time at Donley’s seemed a long time ago, but some of the habits she’d picked up there still lingered. Such as recognizing when a man was displeased. The slight tightening of Conner’s lips hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Yeah… me neither.”
She returned to the campfire with the bag of apples, using her brown pants to wipe her hand “clean” of horse saliva and apple juice, then passed around the sack to Jack and Conner.
"Would the corn meal taste any good on apples?" she wondered aloud, skewering an apple onto a sharpened stick and holding it near the campfire to warm and soften it. She'd never really learned how to cook... this was about as fancy as it got.
“Can’t complain ‘bout a free drink,” she said to Jack, accepting a piece of jerky to chew while her apple was cooking.
"Hey, ya think Easton's gonna be cuttin' a deal with the mine still after all that rigamarole back 'ere?" she asked Conner, wondering if their paths might be crossing more often should she end up staying in the area. That was both a pleasant thought and a worrying one at the same time. How long could she manage to keep him in the dark about the company she kept? Oddly enough... the thought of abandoning that company didn't really factor into her thinking. After all, where else would she go?
“Ya think Jack and Conner ’re buddies now?” She whispered to the horse. Her time at Donley’s seemed a long time ago, but some of the habits she’d picked up there still lingered. Such as recognizing when a man was displeased. The slight tightening of Conner’s lips hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Yeah… me neither.”
She returned to the campfire with the bag of apples, using her brown pants to wipe her hand “clean” of horse saliva and apple juice, then passed around the sack to Jack and Conner.
"Would the corn meal taste any good on apples?" she wondered aloud, skewering an apple onto a sharpened stick and holding it near the campfire to warm and soften it. She'd never really learned how to cook... this was about as fancy as it got.
“Can’t complain ‘bout a free drink,” she said to Jack, accepting a piece of jerky to chew while her apple was cooking.
"Hey, ya think Easton's gonna be cuttin' a deal with the mine still after all that rigamarole back 'ere?" she asked Conner, wondering if their paths might be crossing more often should she end up staying in the area. That was both a pleasant thought and a worrying one at the same time. How long could she manage to keep him in the dark about the company she kept? Oddly enough... the thought of abandoning that company didn't really factor into her thinking. After all, where else would she go?
As the sun was starting to sink below the horizon, the Marshal and the brothers located a suitable place to make their camp.
“We wouldn’t leave ya high and dry, Marshal,” Bones assured, his skinny fingers dancing along the handle of his shooting-iron as he dismounted from his rather nondescript brown horse. He was itching for a fight. Though somehow, he managed to be anything but convincing about which side of it he’d be on. It may all come down to which way the wind was blowing once bullets started to fly.
“I wouldn’t count on ‘em coming along peacefully,” Charlie commented, dismounting and unsaddling his own horse. “They’re both Johnny Rebs.” He couldn’t remember if Sydney already knew that or not. Probably, but he thought it bore repeating. “Ain’t gonna be easy to catch ‘em with their pants down.”
Charlie counted himself lucky to have avoided being conscripted into the war efforts. Bones would have joined up in a heart beat, but he wasn’t even a teenager yet at the start of the war and there was no hope of Dave passing for older than he was.
“Guess the other man…. What’d the sheriff say his name was again? Harry? Henry? Somethin’ like that…” Charlie continued. “…still gotta go to Laramie, right?”
Hank grunted and sucked in a sharp breath as the can hit a rather sensitive region. But, he was hungry, so didn’t give Jack any further lip. He just got to work very awkwardly spooning cold beans into his mouth as best the ropes would allow.
“We wouldn’t leave ya high and dry, Marshal,” Bones assured, his skinny fingers dancing along the handle of his shooting-iron as he dismounted from his rather nondescript brown horse. He was itching for a fight. Though somehow, he managed to be anything but convincing about which side of it he’d be on. It may all come down to which way the wind was blowing once bullets started to fly.
“I wouldn’t count on ‘em coming along peacefully,” Charlie commented, dismounting and unsaddling his own horse. “They’re both Johnny Rebs.” He couldn’t remember if Sydney already knew that or not. Probably, but he thought it bore repeating. “Ain’t gonna be easy to catch ‘em with their pants down.”
Charlie counted himself lucky to have avoided being conscripted into the war efforts. Bones would have joined up in a heart beat, but he wasn’t even a teenager yet at the start of the war and there was no hope of Dave passing for older than he was.
“Guess the other man…. What’d the sheriff say his name was again? Harry? Henry? Somethin’ like that…” Charlie continued. “…still gotta go to Laramie, right?”
Hank grunted and sucked in a sharp breath as the can hit a rather sensitive region. But, he was hungry, so didn’t give Jack any further lip. He just got to work very awkwardly spooning cold beans into his mouth as best the ropes would allow.
((For next time around (or two or three if needed, no rush!) ... which camp gets a visitor during the night?))
rolled 1d2 and got a natural 2.
Note: 1-Conner Jack Dotty, 2-Sydney & Gollers
The mighty Kiowa Brave, feared across the plains... defeated by a can of beans. Even Connor could see the humor in it, but he still looked sullen about Jack taunting him about it as he knew he would. Connor just was no match for Jack’s silver tongue so he merely grew silent and didn’t try to match wits with him... he’d get him back somehow...
The idea of mixing everything together had merit though so he focused on that. He waited until Jack was done dealing with the prisoner and Dorothy returned from getting the food from her the saddlebags before he spoke again. “If we have a pot big enough we could cook everything together.” He suggested. Maybe he could eat those beans without them hurting his stomach, that would be nice.
“He surely will.” Connor answered Dorothy. “Easton would cut a deal with a wendigo if he foun it profitable. As long as the mine yields coin he’ll be willing to make business.”
As Jack suggested they all hit the bar afterwards, Connor’s initial impulse was to decline . He loathed fire water. However, the idea of Jack being alone with Dorothy alone irritated him and against his better judgment he agreed. “Yes, I too will go.” Having fun was very uncharacteristic for Connor, it was obvious he had ulterior motives.
The idea of mixing everything together had merit though so he focused on that. He waited until Jack was done dealing with the prisoner and Dorothy returned from getting the food from her the saddlebags before he spoke again. “If we have a pot big enough we could cook everything together.” He suggested. Maybe he could eat those beans without them hurting his stomach, that would be nice.
“He surely will.” Connor answered Dorothy. “Easton would cut a deal with a wendigo if he foun it profitable. As long as the mine yields coin he’ll be willing to make business.”
As Jack suggested they all hit the bar afterwards, Connor’s initial impulse was to decline . He loathed fire water. However, the idea of Jack being alone with Dorothy alone irritated him and against his better judgment he agreed. “Yes, I too will go.” Having fun was very uncharacteristic for Connor, it was obvious he had ulterior motives.
Sydney looked over the camp sight they found. It would be a good place to settle in for the night. Defending the camp in case anything came during the night should be easy enough. He was rather satisfied with what the brothers were able to find for them to use. The marshal gave a silent nod of his head towards the brothers at their comments.
"Odds are that Laramie is their destination. Most criminals wind up there. We should make towards there to try and head them off. I never expected this to be easy. Nor to catch them with their pants down completely. Just something to tip the scales in our favor."
Sydney had the men figure out a routine for taking guard shifts. While he was hoping nothing would come during the night it was not safe to sleep without someone keeping an eye out. It was sometime during the night when everything went south and not in the direction. Sydney had started a small fire and had a pot over the fire. All he had was a small amount of canned goods. Most of them tasted better warmed up than cold and straight from the can. It was a can of potatoes mixed with some broth to make it more like soup which should fill them up more than just the potatoes.
"This may not be much but it should fill our bellies. Anything you want to add into the pot?"
*Dice roll will be for when the visitors come
"Odds are that Laramie is their destination. Most criminals wind up there. We should make towards there to try and head them off. I never expected this to be easy. Nor to catch them with their pants down completely. Just something to tip the scales in our favor."
Sydney had the men figure out a routine for taking guard shifts. While he was hoping nothing would come during the night it was not safe to sleep without someone keeping an eye out. It was sometime during the night when everything went south and not in the direction. Sydney had started a small fire and had a pot over the fire. All he had was a small amount of canned goods. Most of them tasted better warmed up than cold and straight from the can. It was a can of potatoes mixed with some broth to make it more like soup which should fill them up more than just the potatoes.
"This may not be much but it should fill our bellies. Anything you want to add into the pot?"
*Dice roll will be for when the visitors come
rolled 1d4 and got a natural 3.
Note: 1 - fully sleeping, 2 - partially asleep, 3 - partially awake, 4 - fully awake
“Glad to hear it,” Hack replied when Connor agreed to go to the saloon with him and Dorothy. He didn’t take the man for a drinker nor gambler, but sharing a bottle of whiskey in a saloon or around a campfire was Jack’s version of the Kiowa food-sharing tradition. If Connor wanted to partake, he was welcome. If not, Jack wouldn’t object to having Dorothy to himself.
“There may be enough room in my pot,” Jack said, standing up with a bit of a groan. His muscles were stiff from riding all day, and were now protesting against being used more that day. Jack walked to his horse and dug a pot out of one saddle bag. It wasn’t very large, but then they could cook over a few rounds.
Jack placed the pot over the fire, making sure it was stable and could heat up while they cut up the apples and added the rest of the components for their meal. Since he didn’t have much else to do now, he dug out a tin of tobacco and began rolling cigarettes. The number in his case had gotten low during the last few days.
“That Easton fella sound like just the man for Esme,” Jack said with a cigarette between his lips. “Good thing they ain’t never met, or she’d be sinkin’ her claws straight into him.”
The closest thing, Jack had to a motherly figure was Esme Black-Wilkerson, which was odd in more than one way. She wasn’t more than six years his senior, and in no way or shape maternal. She was, however, the wealthiest person, Jack had ever met, amassing plenty of land and riches from her eight marriages.
“D’ya think they’d be a match, Darlin’?” Jack asked Dorothy as he lit his cigarette and began chopping up an apple for the pot.
“There may be enough room in my pot,” Jack said, standing up with a bit of a groan. His muscles were stiff from riding all day, and were now protesting against being used more that day. Jack walked to his horse and dug a pot out of one saddle bag. It wasn’t very large, but then they could cook over a few rounds.
Jack placed the pot over the fire, making sure it was stable and could heat up while they cut up the apples and added the rest of the components for their meal. Since he didn’t have much else to do now, he dug out a tin of tobacco and began rolling cigarettes. The number in his case had gotten low during the last few days.
“That Easton fella sound like just the man for Esme,” Jack said with a cigarette between his lips. “Good thing they ain’t never met, or she’d be sinkin’ her claws straight into him.”
The closest thing, Jack had to a motherly figure was Esme Black-Wilkerson, which was odd in more than one way. She wasn’t more than six years his senior, and in no way or shape maternal. She was, however, the wealthiest person, Jack had ever met, amassing plenty of land and riches from her eight marriages.
“D’ya think they’d be a match, Darlin’?” Jack asked Dorothy as he lit his cigarette and began chopping up an apple for the pot.
Dorothy let out a short laugh at the idea of Easton cutting a deal with a wendigo. But as Jack spoke so openly about Esme in front of Conner, her laugh cut off quickly and she shot him a ‘shut up’ look.
“Doubt it, Richard,” she said, very much hoping to not need to spin more lies to Conner. But at the same time, it gave Jack more leverage over her than she might like. One little ‘slip’ could easily reveal to the Kiowa Brave that she was a wanted outlaw with connections to the recently deceased ‘One-Eyed Bobby’: thief, murderer, & rebel.
“I think Easton’s married anyway,” she added hastily. In truth, she had no idea if the man was married or not. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean much. A lot of men didn’t like to wear them when they were working around the wagons and horses to avoid getting it caught on something and losing a finger.
“Either a ya ever been down ta Laramie?” she asked, rather obviously wanting to change the subject.
“Doubt it, Richard,” she said, very much hoping to not need to spin more lies to Conner. But at the same time, it gave Jack more leverage over her than she might like. One little ‘slip’ could easily reveal to the Kiowa Brave that she was a wanted outlaw with connections to the recently deceased ‘One-Eyed Bobby’: thief, murderer, & rebel.
“I think Easton’s married anyway,” she added hastily. In truth, she had no idea if the man was married or not. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean much. A lot of men didn’t like to wear them when they were working around the wagons and horses to avoid getting it caught on something and losing a finger.
“Either a ya ever been down ta Laramie?” she asked, rather obviously wanting to change the subject.
“That ain’t a bad idea,” Dave agreed. “We can pick out a nice good ambush spot.”
As the conversation turned to dinner, Charlie dug out a paper bag from his saddle bags. “Got some biscuits,” he offered. “Little hard maybe, but they’ll sop up that stew alright.” Not that he’d add them directly into the pot, just shared them around once the potatoes were hot.
Even Bones seemed in a somewhat generous mood on this fine night, their quarry finally feeling within reach. So after dinner, as they settled in for the night, he offered around some of the tobacco he’d picked up in the mining town two days before. “Got some Arbuckle’s left too, for in the morning if we still got a fire going,” he said, referring to a popular brand of coffee.
“You want first watch again, Marshal?”
As the conversation turned to dinner, Charlie dug out a paper bag from his saddle bags. “Got some biscuits,” he offered. “Little hard maybe, but they’ll sop up that stew alright.” Not that he’d add them directly into the pot, just shared them around once the potatoes were hot.
Even Bones seemed in a somewhat generous mood on this fine night, their quarry finally feeling within reach. So after dinner, as they settled in for the night, he offered around some of the tobacco he’d picked up in the mining town two days before. “Got some Arbuckle’s left too, for in the morning if we still got a fire going,” he said, referring to a popular brand of coffee.
“You want first watch again, Marshal?”
Connor actually looked excited about mixing everything in a pot, or at least what passed for excitement with him.
The Kiowa still looked somewhat upset with ‘Richard’ and his schemes, but he knew how to channel his anger into productive things and focused on getting some dinner. It was important to stay well fed in the event of combat.
He added the corn meal to the pot, added some water from his canteen, then added the beans essentially making grits. He chopped some of the apples as well and added the bits of jerky into his own bowl. A very a la carte meal, but a complete one.
Connor chewed quietly looking oddly satisfied, in all the turmoil of the world a pleasant meal did wonders to calm his indignant, battle hungry heart.
He listened idly to the talk of matching Easton with some woman named Esme, and though he knew little of such topics he could at least say that, “Easton could benefit from having a partner that balanced him.” The man’s greed would be his own demise but it hardly looked like this Esme was the right candidate for him.
Connor frowned as he sensed some tension from Dorothy and Jack, and though the information might give Jack some leverage over Dorothy, on the flip side Connor was just looking for an excuse to pounce on Jack and introduce him to his extensive repertoire of killings techniques.
Connor tensed up and gave Jack a pointed look to warn him that he shouldn’t upset Dorothy further or there would be trouble.
“No, I have not.” The Kiowa answered Dorothy, but without looking at her, setting his bowl down just in case he needed his hands for something else, i. e. A fight.
The Kiowa still looked somewhat upset with ‘Richard’ and his schemes, but he knew how to channel his anger into productive things and focused on getting some dinner. It was important to stay well fed in the event of combat.
He added the corn meal to the pot, added some water from his canteen, then added the beans essentially making grits. He chopped some of the apples as well and added the bits of jerky into his own bowl. A very a la carte meal, but a complete one.
Connor chewed quietly looking oddly satisfied, in all the turmoil of the world a pleasant meal did wonders to calm his indignant, battle hungry heart.
He listened idly to the talk of matching Easton with some woman named Esme, and though he knew little of such topics he could at least say that, “Easton could benefit from having a partner that balanced him.” The man’s greed would be his own demise but it hardly looked like this Esme was the right candidate for him.
Connor frowned as he sensed some tension from Dorothy and Jack, and though the information might give Jack some leverage over Dorothy, on the flip side Connor was just looking for an excuse to pounce on Jack and introduce him to his extensive repertoire of killings techniques.
Connor tensed up and gave Jack a pointed look to warn him that he shouldn’t upset Dorothy further or there would be trouble.
“No, I have not.” The Kiowa answered Dorothy, but without looking at her, setting his bowl down just in case he needed his hands for something else, i. e. A fight.
Sydney was glad to see the others chipping in a few small supplies to help make their meal a little more enjoyable. He would take one of the offered biscuits to eat with his potato stew. The stew would likely soften the biscuit while they ate their meal. While he was leery of his company none of the men were proving to be absolutely terrible. Each of them could find some form of redemption and have the chance to start over by making the right choices. They each made some bad choices in their past and they would have to contend with that down the road.
"I've got first watch," Sydney said.
Sydney usually tried to take the first watch. Most of the men he worked with wanted to get some sleep early on. He did not mind staying up longer if it meant they would be safe. Without a watch they would surely be captured or outright killed. It was dangerous traveling around the countryside hunting down criminals. However, Sydney always felt like it was worth the risk. Seeing criminals caught and judged under the law was what he lived for. He looked over the men in his camp.
"Where y'all come from originally? Like ya hometown."
His question was directed at no one in particular. He wanted to hear a little more about each of the brothers. Since they would still have some ways to travel together even after they recaptured Dorothy. While he did not expect the brothers to stick around that was always a possibility. Tombstone was quite a ways away from where they were currently camped.
"I've got first watch," Sydney said.
Sydney usually tried to take the first watch. Most of the men he worked with wanted to get some sleep early on. He did not mind staying up longer if it meant they would be safe. Without a watch they would surely be captured or outright killed. It was dangerous traveling around the countryside hunting down criminals. However, Sydney always felt like it was worth the risk. Seeing criminals caught and judged under the law was what he lived for. He looked over the men in his camp.
"Where y'all come from originally? Like ya hometown."
His question was directed at no one in particular. He wanted to hear a little more about each of the brothers. Since they would still have some ways to travel together even after they recaptured Dorothy. While he did not expect the brothers to stick around that was always a possibility. Tombstone was quite a ways away from where they were currently camped.
“Luddy mussy…” Dotty whispered under her breath as things seemed, momentarily, ready to escalate.
“I ain’t either,” she said quickly, in an attempt to get past the tension. “Mrs. Hutton, she’s the one that gave me them apples… was telling me bout it though. Said its got bout anythin’ you can magine and then some. Cause of the railroad.”
It wasn’t long afterward that she was laying out her sleeping roll, purposefully positioning herself halfway between where she thought Jack and Conner would each sleep. She’d been trying to walk a thin line between them. Though, sooner or later, something was going to force her to pick a side.
“Can I have the morning watch again?” She requested before kicking off her boots and settling in with her saddle bag as a pillow, tucking her revolver up near the bag where it was within easy reach.
“I ain’t either,” she said quickly, in an attempt to get past the tension. “Mrs. Hutton, she’s the one that gave me them apples… was telling me bout it though. Said its got bout anythin’ you can magine and then some. Cause of the railroad.”
It wasn’t long afterward that she was laying out her sleeping roll, purposefully positioning herself halfway between where she thought Jack and Conner would each sleep. She’d been trying to walk a thin line between them. Though, sooner or later, something was going to force her to pick a side.
“Can I have the morning watch again?” She requested before kicking off her boots and settling in with her saddle bag as a pillow, tucking her revolver up near the bag where it was within easy reach.
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