This story (and any similar ones that may follow) is based on the "Eerie Saloon" captioned pictures by Christopher Leeson. I thank him for creating the world, for letting me play in it, and for his help in the birthing of this story. A lot of the specific details are mine, though, so if there's something you don't like, it's probably my fault and not his.

  

Tales of the Eerie Saloon: High Noon -- How It All Began

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

  

* * * * *

Wednesday, July 19, 1871

"Telegram, Sheriff."

Dan Talbot looked up from his month-old copy of the _Police Gazette_. "Give it here, boy." He took the envelop from the boy's hand and began to open it. Telegrams were a rarity in this part of the Arizona Territories. It had to be important.

"What's it say, Sheriff?"

Dan took his legs down from his desk. He was a lanky man with arms and legs that were almost too long for him. He had long, thin face with straight, black hair and deep-set eyes that took in everything. The effect was an almost feral look that was often spoiled by a big, friendly grin.

"That nosy boys should mind their own business and get back to their pa's telegraph office before they get themselves into trouble."

"Yessir, Sheriff." The boy turned to leave, his head hanging down.

"Hey, Tommy." When the boy turned back, Dan tossed him a penny. "Thanks for bringing it over." Tomas caught the coin and ran out the door so fast that Dan had to laugh.

He stopped laughing when he saw the name on the telegram. Arthur Revson was an old friend, but he was also the warden of the New Mexico Territorial Penitentiary over near Santa Fe. This was not going to be good.

"Dan," the telegram began, "Will Hanks released today. He and gang heading your way. Watch your back."

'Fourteen words,' Dan thought. 'Art always was cheap about telegrams. Too damn bad it had to be those words.' Dan Talbot had been the one to capture Hanks almost ten years before, back when he was still a federal Marshall. He'd also testified at the trial that followed. Hanks' last words before they led him away were that he'd "remember" Dan. Now he was out, and he and some friends were coming to Eerie to keep that promise.

Dan thought for a moment. It was a long way from Santa Fe to Eerie, and a lot of it was hard riding through hot, dry country. Today was Wednesday. He had two days, maybe more, to get the help he'd probably need.

Dan left the Sheriff's Office and walked down to Josiah Whitney's barbershop. "Whit" was working on some cowhand. He looked over as Dan walked in, ringing the small bell over the door. "How do, Dan. I'll be done with this feller in a jiffy."

"Take your time, Whit. I'm here on business, but it's _my_ business, not yours."

The barber cocked an eyebrow behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "Trouble, Dan?"

"I'm afraid so." Dan sat down. "You finish this guy's shave, and we'll talk about it."

Whit nodded and went back to work. In less than five minutes, the cowhand was shaved and talced. He left smelling of wintergreen and with directions to Shamus O'Toole's "Shamrock Saloon."

Whit spun the barber's chair around and sat down. "Now what's the problem?"

"You remember Will Hanks?"

"A-yeah, he was one very bad man." Whit's New England accent cut through the words. "Why? You put him in prison years ago, didn't you?"

"He just got out," Dan said, handing Whit the telegram. "And he and some friends are coming to pay me a visit."

"That ain't good. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm doing it. I'm asking you as head of the town council to call a meeting for tonight. The whole town should be warned about it, and I'm looking to get me enough deputies to handle things."

"I'll call the meeting, but I don't know as it'll do you much good. We ain't gunmen here. That's why we hired you."

"Townfolks ain't pros, I know that, but most men out here know how to handle a gun -- know which end to point, at least. If I can get enough help, we can take Hanks and his boys without anybody having to fire a shot."

"There's the point of the whole thing, Dan, _if_ you can get enough help -- enough men, and I don't know that you can."

"Maybe not, but will you at least call the meeting and let me try?"

"Suppose so. There's a meeting due this month anyway. At least now, we got something for the agenda." He motioned to his barber's chair. "Why don't I fix you up for the meeting tonight? You just might be more convincing with a good haircut and a shave."

Dan laughed and sat in the chair. "So tell me, Whit, how'd you happen to come out here? Didn't you tell me one time that your family had money?" He wanted to relax and not have to think about Hanks for a while.

"A-yep. My family's been sailing out from Maine for over a hundred years. My great granddaddy bought his first ship before the Revolution."

"So why'd you leave?"

"You ever spend a winter in Maine?"

"Can't say as I did."

"I have. It made the prospect of life in the heat of the Arizona desert look mighty good."

* * * * *

"Order! Order!" Whit pounded the desk with a wooden gavel. Town meetings were held in the schoolhouse, with the council jammed behind the teacher's desk. Nancy Osbourne, the teacher, was over in a corner. Taking the minutes were a part of her job.

"Yeah, give the Sheriff a chance to talk." Arsenio Caulder, blacksmith and town councilman, pounded the desk with a fist bigger than Whit's gavel.

"Why should we," somebody yelled. "He's trying to talk us into getting ourselves killed."

"Yeah," another voice added. "Why should we have to go up against killers like Hanks and his men?"

"Maybe we need another sheriff," said a third voice.

"Who we a-goin' to get," Whit asked the last speaker, a pudgy man in overalls. "You be wanting the job, Carl?"

"Me!" the man sputtered. "Hell, I'm a carpenter, not a gunman."

"Then, how about you, Sam?" Whit pointed to one man in the audience, then to another and another. "Hans, you got the time to be sheriff." Neither man answered. "Anybody else want the Dan's job?"

"If nobody else wants to be the sheriff," Aaron Silverman, the third councilman, said, stroking his gray beard with two fingers. "Then, we gotta stay with the sheriff we already got." When no one argued, Aaron shrugged, settling the matter. "What help exactly do you need, Dan. I'm no good in a fight, but if you need any dry goods, just ask."

"Thanks, Aaron," Dan said. "I'm hoping it won't come to a fight. I figure to need ten, maybe fifteen, men with guns, placed so they can catch Hanks and his boys in a crossfire. He's mean, but ain't dumb. That should be enough to make them put their guns away."

"Yeah," someone said. "But 'should' don't mean 'will,' and even if Hanks puts his gun away, how do we know his men will -- we don't even know how many he's bringing with him."

"Hanks was a sergeant in the Army for a while before they kicked him out for stealing," Dan said. "He ran his gang like a military squad. If he says 'jump,' the only thing they'll say is 'how high.' Don't worry none about that."

"I still don't know," somebody said. "That makes it sound like it'll be even harder to trick them."

"Harder in some ways, but easier in others," Dan said. "Now, who's with me on this? Raise your hands, and I'll swear you in right now."

* * * * *

"Four men!" Dan Talbot spat. "There was almost seventy men in that room, just about every man in town, and a bunch from the ranches here about. Seventy men, and only four of them had the guts to volunteer."

Dan and a few friends were at Shamus O'Toole's Shamrock Saloon. Dan had lost his temper when so few men had volunteered. Hiram Upshaw, the town's only doctor, and Shamus had brought him there to try and get him to cool down.

"You should have taken them, Dan," Doc Upshaw said. "Four's better than none."

"Not much better. I know those men. They'd be great for what I had planned, catching Hanks and his boys in a crossfire and making 'em give up. But one on one, I'd just be throwing their lives away along with mine."

"You're still gonna face Hanks down then," a voice said. Dan looked around. A tall, wiry-looking man in the jeans and work shirt of a cowboy stood a few feet away nursing a beer. Dan noticed that he was wearing a six-gun slung low on his hip.

"What's it to you, stranger?"

"Well, it sounds like as good a way as any to spend some time till I can get a job with a herd heading out." His stuck out a hand. "I'm Paul, Paul Grant, but most folks call me 'Stretch.' If you're still looking for men to fight along with you, you can sign me on."

"I don't know, son." Dan said "Why ain't you out with a herd right now. Abner Slocum just left last week, and I know he was hiring."

"He was, and he was smart enough to hire me, too. Only, I wasn't so smart."

"How's that?"

"I got too near a calf they was trying to brand. Damn thing kicked me in the leg. Hard. They thought my leg was broken. Mr. Slocum paid me some money and left me with the Doc there." He pointed to Upshaw.

"That's the way of it," Upshaw said. "That calf dislocated the boy's leg. He won't be able to ride too well for another week, and he may always have a bit of a limp, but he's in good shape otherwise."

"Can you shoot?" Dan asked.

"You see that knothole on the door?" When the others nodded, Grant drew his gun. He wasn't as fast as Dan, but he was fast enough. Accurate, too; the bullet lodged in the knothole.

"You're hired, Stretch," Dan said. "It's a shame Slocum took so many men with him. A few more like you, and I wouldn't be worrying about Hanks so much."

"That makes five, Dan," Shamus said with a smile. "If you can still get those men from the meeting -- and I think you can. Heck, I'll come in, too."

"And I'll make it seven," the Doc said, "if you'll have me."

"Thanks, Doc," Dan said. "But you better stay out of it. You're the only sawbones we got in a hundred miles or more. I'd rather not put you at risk."

"Well, now," Shamus said. "That isn't exactly true. It isn't widely known, but yours truly here can do a bit of healing. I got the knack from me pappy. He was a Cheyenne medicine man, don't you know."

"Shamus," Doc said. "If you're an Indian, I'm Queen Victoria."

"Well now, Your Majesty, I never said I was an Indian, just that me pappy was."

"And how did _that_ happen?"

"Me Da, me real father, was a pub keeper in Dublin as was his Da and his. Then came the Famine. Da and his wife and five-year old son -- me -- headed over to America and a better life. We landed in Baltimore and headed out to the west in '51. Halfway across the Plains we was when Da took sick, real sick. Me mother just kept us going, hoping for the best. She was what you might call a hedge woman, a keeper of the auld, auld ways of healing."

"The problem was, it wasn't enough. Da's buried under them prairies. We was lost out there, and things didn't look good. Winter was coming, and it was coming fast. Then the Indians found us. You might think the worst, but they wasn't going to be cruel to a new widow with a young child. They brought us back to the village. We spent the winter there."

"Ma never got over Da, but by late spring, Dog Yelping, the medicine man, and she was keeping company. They was married in the summer, and he took me on as his son. You know, I've got two half-brothers and a half-sister still living with the Cheyenne."

"So why aren't you there yourself?" Doc Upshaw asked.

"Well, ye can take an Irishman out of Ireland, but ye can't take Ireland out of an Irishmen. I liked living with the People -- the Cheyenne, but I just, well, got homesick for White civilization. When I was about seventeen, I said goodbye to me Ma and pappy and headed meself to the nearest town. I walked into a saloon and asked for a job, and auld Tommy Ryan -- bless his soul -- no sooner heard me accent than he gave me one."

"And when in all that did you learn doctoring?"

"Whilst I was growing up. Dog Yelping taught me the magic he knew, and me Ma taught me the hedgeways, the auld wisdom from afore St. Patrick brought the new Faith to Ireland." He paused for a moment. "In fact, I just had a thought. You come back here about noon tomorrow, Dan. I may, I just may, have a way out for your little problem."

* * * * *

Thursday, July 20, 1871

Dan and the Doc came back around ten the next morning. The saloon was practically empty, just a few diehards trying to stay awake long enough to cheat each other in a poker game that had started the evening before.

Shamus was at the bar with his wife, Molly, a plumpish redheaded woman in her late thirties. R.J. Rossi, the assistant barman, was restocking the bar from the locked supply room. R.J. was a tall man with straight, black hair and a rather swarthy complexion.

"Ah, you're here," Shamus said. "Molly, love, go get Boozer."

"Boozer," Doc said. "What's that stray mutt got to do with anything?"

"A demonstration, me good doctor," Shamus said with a smile. "I could use you or one of those supposed card sharps, but I don't think you'd like it."

Molly had gone to the back of the saloon and now was coming back carrying a small brown dog. The dog squirmed in her arms and tried to lick her face. She set it down on the bar. It sat there wagging its stub of a tail as if expecting some great treat.

Shamus put a small bowl down on the bar. "As ye know," he said, "Boozer is a prime specimen of doghood with a connoisseur's knowledge of fine foods and liquors -- which is why he chooses to stay here at me Shamrock Saloon."

"That hound's a drunk," Doc snorted. "He stays here cause you and Molly are dumb enough to feed him -- so are half the other rummies that come into this place of yours."

"I noticed you was giving him something from the 'Free Lunch' yourself the other day, Doc," Dan said.

"Which only proves my point," Doc said. "Besides, there was gristle in that chicken anyway."

"Never stopped you from eating it before," Shamus said. "But to get back to me original reason for having you come in, Doc, would you take a good look at Boozer, ye know, like he was getting a physical or something?"

"All right." Doc walked over and petted Boozer on the head. "Boozer is a male dog, about five years old, of, shall we say, no immediate breed. He weighs about...twenty pounds -- good boy -- and his nose is wet. Anything more, Shamus, and I get to send you a bill."

"No, that's fine, Doc, thanks." Shamus drew about half a beer into a glass and set it down on the bar. He took a small dark brown glass bottle from under the bar, opened it, and poured an odd looking green liquid into the beer. He lifted the glass and moved his hand back and forth, stirring the mixture. In a moment, the greenish color disappeared.

"I mixed this up last night. It should work, but Boozer, ah, he's the test." He poured the beer into the bowl and set it in front of the dog.

Boozer lived up to his name. He wagged his tail and began lapping at the beer until the bowl was emptied. He stood there a moment looking at the bowl and at Shamus as if waiting for a refill.

Then suddenly, Boozer let out a strange "Yip" and began to shiver. He seemed suddenly unsteady on his feet and all but collapsed onto the bartop.

"Dammit, Shamus," Dan said. "I didn't come over to see you poison a dog."

"And you haven't," Shamus said. "Doctor, would ye be so kind as to be attending to your patient."

Doc walked over to the dog and slowly moved his hand down to the dog's muzzle. Boozer sniffed the hand, then licked it once and whimpered. Doc stroked the dog's head and touched his nose again. "Still cold and wet. He doesn't seem to be dying, Dan, just very confused about something. You know, I've never seen a dog's eyes dilate like that. I didn't think they could."

Boozer moved his head, rubbing it against the Doc's hand as if asking to be petted. Then he rolled over onto his back. "Wants me to rub his stomach, I guess," Doc said.

"Does _he_?" Shamus said. "Look at the dog, Dr. Upshaw. Look close, now, there, at the base of his stomach."

"All right, but I don't -- by all that's holy!" Doc seemed to turn white.

"What's the matter, Doc?" Dan asked.

"How...how did you do that, Shamus?" Doc asked.

"I didn't," Shamus said. "Me potion did. Take a good look, Doc."

Doc bent over the dog, looking very carefully at the space near the hind legs. "He was...but now...Shamus, this...this is crazy."

"No, Doc, it's magic." Shamus was grinning from ear to ear.

Dan was getting curious. "Doc, what's going on?"

"I don't know how he did it, Dan, but somehow that crazy Irish Injun of a bartender changed Boozer into a female." Doc stared at the transformed dog, now wriggling on its back, begging to have its stomach scratching.

"Doc, that ain't possible -- is it?" Dan asked.

"No." Doc scratched his head. "Except that Shamus just did it."

"But what good does -- wait a minute -- Shamus, is this...are you saying we should do this to Hanks and his men?" Dan's eyes were wide with wonder.

"Of course," Shamus said. "Ye don't think I did this just to start a breed of boozehounds. I got enough of the two-legged kind, and _they_ pay for what they drink in here."

"Umm, I like it," Dan said. "But is it legal?"

"You'd have to ask Judge Humphreys on that one," Doc said. "But I never heard of a law against turning a man into a gal."

* * * * *

Judge Parnassus C. Humphreys stared down at the dog still lying on the top of Shamus' bar. Her head sprawled back and her tongue hung out, as Molly absentmindedly scratched her stomach. "That _is_ Boozer, isn't it?"

"Aye, it is," Molly said.

"And you two both saw him -- her -- change?" the Judge asked. Both Dan and the Doc nodded. "Then it must have happened, though I'll surely be damned if I can understand how."

"That's two of us," Dan said. "The question is, would it be legal to do the same thing to a man?"

"Hmm," the Judge stroked his goatee. "You say you want to use it against Hanks and his men?"

"Sure do," Dan said. "It'd sure distract them long enough for me to take them."

"Oh, it'll do more than that," Shamus said.

"What do you mean?" the Judge asked.

"Boozer got kind of shaky in the hind legs after he changed." Shamus said. "He'll -- she'll be that way for a while yet. It'll take her body that long to get used to the changes." He paused for effect. "And there's a lot more changes between a man and a woman than between a boy dog and a bitch."

"You mean they won't just get the, umm, new plumbing?" the Judge asked.

"No, Your Honor," Shamus said. "There's a beauty spell woven into it. Each man will be changed into a pretty woman. They'll be smaller, daintier...weaker."

"And a lot easier to take. Hell, they won't be able to put up much of a fight." Dan was definitely smiling. He remembered how hard it had been to capture Hanks years before, and the man had been alone then.

"They may not even _want_ to put up a fight. Ye see how much auld Boozer's putting up with. That mutt never much liked having his stomach scratched for very long." Shamus looked very pleased with himself now. "For just a little bit after he changes, the girl wants to please people. Ye tell her something, she'll do it or believe it. And she'll keep on doing it or believing it, if ye tell her to."

"This sounds better and better," Dan said. "But I still need to know that it's legal to use the stuff on them."

The Judge continued to stroke his beard. "Let's see, if you got them drunk, then captured them, it would be legal. If you gave them poison, on the other hand, it wouldn't, but that's only because it's illegal to poison somebody. I've never in my life -- not here nor back in Georgia -- heard of a law against giving a man a magic potion -- or against turning a man into a woman with a magic potion. I'd say you can do it."

Dan had a sudden thought. "That settles the first question. Now where do I keep them till that magic wears off? I can't have women in my jail on any sort of long basis. I ain't got the...facilities."

"Oh, it'll never wear off. They'll be girls for the rest of their lives." Shamus looked a little embarrassed.

"Well, they didn't do too well as men -- Hanks surely didn't -- maybe they'll do a better job of it as women. At the least, it'll certainly take the wind out of their sails. Still, where am I going to keep them? They'll have to serve some time for what they came here to do."

"How long?" Molly asked.

"I'd say at least 60 days, maybe longer," the Judge said. "Having to be female for the rest of their miserable lives has to count as some punishment."

"Why, Judge, since when did you have anything against women? From what I've heard, you've always been rather fond of us ladies." Molly laughed as the Judge blushed at her words. "As far as what to do with Miss Hanks and her little friends, why not give 'em to me and Shamus to look after?"

"What are you talking about, Molly?" Dan asked.

"We been thinking about hiring a few girls to, ah, help around the place. The Shamrock ain't the only saloon in town, you know? We got that big room upstairs they could sleep in."

"And what keeps them from walking out the door and running off?" Dan asked.

"Me potion," Shamus said. "Right after the change, I'll tell them that they can't. The magic will make them believe it."

"I don't know," Doc said. "Prisoners working in a saloon?"

"When I was working in Frisco a few years back, I heard about the local jail hiring out prisoners for heavy work," Molly said.

"Back in Georgia, we use prisoners to do road work," the Judge added. "Sometimes, they were hired out to help with a harvest or work on somebody's plantation." He slapped the bar. "I rule it's legal. Almost."

"What do you mean, almost?" Shamus asked.

The Judge frowned. "Half the saloons in the territory are brothels; the girls that work in such places serve up more than...ah...drinks."

"Aye, but not here at the Shamrock. Molly's the only woman on the premises, and I'm certainly not going to let me own wife do something like that."

"Of course not," the Judge said, "but if this crazy plan works, there'll be five new women working here. I'm not saying that Hanks and his men don't deserve it; they probably do. But I'm not about to sentence _any_ woman to 'white slavery,' to working in a brothel."

"Ye-Yuir Honor," Shamus said. "I-I'm shocked. How can you even be thinking that I'd be doing something like that?"

"Relax, Shamus, relax," the Judge said. "I don't -- I honestly don't think anything of the sort, but I had to ask. I truly apologize."

The Judge offered Shamus his hand. Shamus cocked an eyebrow, but took it. "Apology accepted, Judge."

"Thank you, Shamus," the Judge said. One last thing, though. You're not hiring these...women for a few hours work. You're going to have to house them, feed them, be their keepers. You can't do that as private citizens." The Judge looked directly at Shamus, then over at Molly. "Raise your right hands, the both of you."

Shamus and Molly looked at each other for a moment, then raised their hands.

The Judge pursed his chin for a moment. "Do you, Shamus and Molly O'Toole, swear to uphold the laws of the township of Eerie, of the Arizona Territories, and of the United States and to do your best to perform the duties imposed upon you as officers of my Court?"

"We do," the pair said.

"Whatever that means," Shamus added.

The Judge smiled broadly. "It means that you two are now the wardens and keepers of Eerie's special offender penitentiary. You get paid by the township to keep prisoners fed and clothed and to occupy their days in a gainful manner during their time in your care."

"I get it," Shamus said. "The township pays us to keep the new ladies here at the saloon."

"Probably won't be paying us much," Molly said.

"Aye, but the money they'll bring in should make up for it. I'll have to be changing the name of me saloon, though."

"What do you mean?" Doc said.

"Well, if the Shamrock here is a -- what did you call it, Judge -- a 'special offender penitentiary,' then she ain't the Shamrock anymore." He quickly poured beers for the five of them. "Now then, gentlemen -- and Molly, me love -- will ye join me in a toast to the auld Shamrock and to the new..._Eerie_ Saloon."

They lifted their glasses and drank. "You think the town council's gonna go for this, Judge?" Dan asked as he set down his glass. "Setting up the saloon as a jail will cost money."

"I'd say, give them their choice, either they agree to the...Eerie Saloon or they can stand with you, Dan, and face down Hanks and his men." The Judge smiled. "That should convince them."

"Aye," Molly said, "and if it doesn't, you remind Aaron that he'll be the one we'll be buying the clothes for these girls from. And tell Whit that a mess of pretty new girls in town should mean more of the young bucks around here are going to be wanting their hair cut."

"That will do it, I think. I do have one more question, though, Shamus," the Doc said. "How many times have you done this before?"

"What do you mean, Doc?" Dan asked.

The Judge thought for a second. "I think he means that Shamus knows an awful lot about what that stuff does, a lot more than if this was the first time he ever brewed the stuff up."

Shamus looked embarrassed. "Well, to tell the truth, I did make it one time before, back when I was about twelve and still living with the Cheyenne."

* * * * *

Harvest Moon, 1857

Sun Haired Woman, who had once answered to Mrs. Caitlin O'Toole, found her son kneeling over a small fire at the edge of the village. "Straw Head, whut are ye up to?" She spoke in Cheyenne with a thick Irish brogue.

The slender, sandy-haired boy looked up. "Ma, I didn't hear ye coming up. Has pappy been coaching you?" The boy, once known as Shamus, also had an Irish accent, but much less than his mother's.

"No, and don't be changing the subject. What are you doing?"

"Just trying out some stuff." He said the word carefully. "Ye've been teaching me the hedge lore from the auld country, and pappy's shown me a few thing about the magic of the People."

"And...." She let the question hang.

"And they ain't as different as ye might think -- at least in some of the ways. I wanted to try to make something, a mix ye might say, from the both of them."

"And just what sort of foul brew did ye make?"

"I mixed a dream potion that pappy uses with a glamour spell you showed me. They were real close in what went into them, even if they don't do the same sort of thing to whoever takes them."

"I don't know, Straw Head. Dog Yelping told me that those potions make him think like a woman; he says that's what a medicine man does -- think different from what he is. And the glamour spell I showed you is to make a woman look pretty. Maybe they are alike in what they do."

"That's what I want to find out, whether they are or they ain't alike and what happens if I mix the two."

"Ye ain't gonna take that yuirself, are you?"

"Ma, I ain't crazy. That's what I got him for." He pointed to a small dog with a rope around its neck. The other end of the rope was tied to a nearby tree. He looked at the small pot over the fire. It held a greenish liquid that was bubbling gently. "In fact, I think it's done.

He used a wooden hook to take the pot off the fire, lowering it onto a small square of wood. He put a small piece of dried meat into a wooden bowl and poured some of the liquid over the meat. He lifted the bowl and blew on it to cool. Then he put it down near the dog.

The dog strained at the rope all but pulling himself up onto his hind legs. He slid forward, putting his head into the bowl and began to lap at the food. In a moment the bowl was empty.

The dog looked up at Straw Head, as if asking for more food. Then it suddenly let out a surprised "Yip!" It began to back away from the bowl, but it seemed unable to walk. The dog collapsed to the ground unable to rise on its hind legs for all it tried. It wriggled around, winding up on its back.

Mother and son watched the animal carefully, waiting to see what happened. Straw Head saw it first. "Ma, look. His peepee's gone."

Sun Haired Woman looked. "By all the Saints!" She crossed herself, then looked around quickly in case any had seen her. The People were still suspicious of her and her Faith. "It's become a bitch."

"Is that supposed to happen, Ma -- with your glamour potion, I mean?"

"No, son. The mixing of the two somehow makes them do things the neither of 'em would do by itself."

"Are ye sure, Ma? Let me try it out on another dog."

"Go ahead, son. Heavens knows there's enough of them strays about the camp."

By the end of the day, Straw Head's potion had changed six other male dogs into females. The potion never worked the other way, though; females -- whether born female or transformed by the potion -- would not change to males.

Each new female suffered a weakness in her hind quarters that lasted a short while after the transformation. Straw Head also noticed that, whatever the male dog's original temperament, it seemed to be unusually affectionate for about the same length of time after the change. One dog had been a particularly nasty as a male, snapping at and scaring the smaller children. When Straw Head gave it a second dose to see if it would change sex again, the dog remained female, but the change in its personality became permanent. It remained a friendly, overly affectionate female for the rest of its life.

* * * * *

Dog Yelping listened carefully to his stepson. "And this, all that you have said, was from a potion that you mixed?"

"Yes, my Father. A potion based on what both you and Ma have taught me."

"This is a strong medicine," Dog Yelping said, "and a very strange one. Does any of the potion remain?"

"Yes, my Father, almost half of what I mixed." Straw Head said proudly. "Shall I get a dog and show it to you now?"

"No, I would like to think about this first. A new medicine, a new way of making medicines, these require much thought." Dog Yelping rose. "I go to speak of this to the other elders. Do nothing until I return." He wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and left their tent.

* * * * *

"Is Straw Head still awake?" Dog Yelping stood at the entrance to the tent. Sun Haired Woman could see several others in the shadows outside.

"He tried to stay up," she said, "but this has been quite a day for him. He's been sleeping for a while now." She looked at her husband's expression in the light of the small fire she was tending. "Should I wake him?"

"Wake him," a second voice said. It was Hunts Buffalo, the headman of the tribe. The man ducked his head coming into the tent. "But do it gently."

"Just wake him," another man said. It was Red Elk, Hunts Buffalo's younger brother. "Why should we care about the boy."

"Because he is my son," Dog Yelping said. "He is a People, the same as any other and to be treated as such.

"He is a white and the son of a --"

"Enough," Hunts Buffalo said. "He is the adopted son of Dog Yelping. That is why we are here, because of something he learned from his father."

By now, the talking had woken Straw Head. He sat up, pushing back the robe he had been sleeping under. "Father, what is...Hunts Buffalo, my Chief, what is going on?"

Hunts Buffalo squatted down on the floor of the tent near Straw Head. "Your father tells me of this potion you have made. I would ask you about it."

"Yes, my Chief. Do you want me to get a dog and show you how it works?"

"No, I do not think I need to see that. I would ask you, though, why you made this potion?"

Straw Head looked at Dog Yelping. "Tell Hunts Buffalo the truth, my son, and you will have nothing to fear."

The boy nodded. "I have been learning from my father...and my mother. Both have great knowledge, but from...different...different teachings. I -- I wanted to see what would happen if I used some of each. I meant no harm, my Chief. I...I was just...just curious. That is all. I meant no harm."

"And are you still curious," Hunts Buffalo said. "What else would you know? Do you want to give this potion of yours to...a man?"

"A man? Change a man? No...no, my Chief, that would...I mean...I would never....It -- it just would not be right." Straw Head was horrified at the thought.

"Would you give it to a man if your father told you to?" Hunts Buffalo asked. "Or if I did?"

"I...I suppose I would have to," Straw Head said. "But it still seems...wrong."

"How do we know that he is not lying?" Red Elk snorted. "For that matter, how do we know that this potion of his really even works as he told Dog Yelping?"

Dog Yelping stiffened. "Because he is my son, and I say that he does not lie."

"If you say it, Dog Yelping," Hunts Buffalo said, "then it is so." He turned to Straw Head. "You may keep the potion. Learn what you can from it, but be very careful." He thought for a moment. "And do not tell our guests of it."

"Guests," Straw Head asked.

Dog Yelping answered. "In two days, the chief of the Iron Rocks Band of the People will be in our camp. I have word that they are camped at the mud flats this night. Our two tribes have argued over hunting lands. Their chief comes to talk of this and to settle the argument in peace. The People should not fight -- should not kill -- the People."

"I will not tell." He tried to stifle a yawn.

Hunts Buffalo smiled. "Then I leave you to your sleep, Straw Head. Talk more to your father of the potion -- but do it tomorrow." He turned and left the tent. Red Elk scowled, but he left when his brother called for him.

* * * * *

The three men rode slowly into the village. They were dressed like members of the People, but no one had seen their faces for three summers. The men of the Iron Rocks Band had come to Straw Head's village.

The riders looked carefully at every face as they rode, watching for an ambush. Behind them trailed a line of six ponies, all young and strong, their coats brushed and shining in the midday sun. When they reached the tent of Hunts Buffalo, they stopped. Hunts Buffalo came out and stood for a moment staring at the leader of the three.

"Wolf by Night, my cousin, it is good to see you again," Hunts Buffalo said. He reached out and shook the hand of the lead rider in the manner of the People, each man grasping the other's forearm.

"It is always good to see family," the rider said, "but it is best to see them to make peace." He motioned at the other two horsemen. "These are my band brothers, Yellow Grass and Two Hatchets."

"They are as welcome as you are." Hunts Buffalo shook the other two men's hands. The three riders dismounted. "Summon the council to my tent," Hunts Buffalo said to a few of the young boys who had gathered to see what was happening and who these riders were. Then he gestured to his tent. "Come inside. Your ride has been a long one, and I have food and water waiting."

The riders nodded and followed him into the tent.

* * * * *

"Straw Head, may I talk to you?" Straw Head looked around. Red Elk was standing nearby, leaning against a tree. Straw Head noticed that they were alone and just far enough from the camp not to be heard.

"Of course, Red Elk, but do you mind if I keep gathering wood as we talk. My mother needs it to cook the evening meal." He picked up another branch and added it to the pile in his arms.

"No, go right ahead. You're a good boy."

"Thank you, Red Elk. What did you want to talk to me about?

"That potion of yours, do you still have it?"

"I have some left, but it's hidden away. I've been careful with it like Hunts Buffalo said."

"He'll be glad to hear that. He sent me to get it from you." Red Elk picked up a large branch, broke it into four pieces over his knee and handed them to the boy.

"He did? Why?"

"He did not say. I think it has something to do with the men from the Iron Rocks Band. Maybe he wants to impress them with the magic of it."

"Do you think he wants to use it on one of them?"

Red Elk laughed. "My brother would never do anything like that. He is a man with much honor."

Straw Head nodded in agreement. "The potion is in my tent. Should I bring it to Hunts Buffalo?"

"No! I mean, it would not seem proper for a boy to have such magic. I will wait by this tree. Bring it here, and I will take it to him." He sat down beneath the tree. "Now you should hurry. "Your mother needs that wood if Dog Yelping is to be fed tonight."

* * * * *

Straw Head was sitting at the flap of his tent watching his younger half-brother, Otter, playing with another boy. The two were pretending to be Hunts Buffalo and Wolf at Night, mimicking the elaborate ceremonies they had seen earlier in the day. Otter was only four summers old, but he had a sharp eye and would make a fine hunter, Straw Head thought.

Straw Head began to think about his own place with the tribe. He knew that he was really not a People. His mother had told him many stories about life in the White Man's World, and he wondered about living there some day.

"Straw Head, why did you give your potion to Red Elk?" It was his father. Dog Yelping looked very angry.

"I...he...he said that Hunts Buffalo wanted it. Did...did I do wrong, father?"

"_I_ do not think so, my son, but wrong has been done. Come with me." Dog Yelping picked the boy up and threw his onto his shoulders. Then, without stopping, he turned and walked quickly back to Hunts Buffalo's tent.

The three riders, Hunts Buffalo, and several other men of the tribe were sitting around a low fire arguing about something. Straw Head noticed that there was a woman with them, one he did not recognize. She was dressed in the garments of a man, a warrior. How had she come to the village, and why were the men allowing her to sit with them in council?"

"I have brought my son," Dog Yelping said. He lifted Straw Head from his shoulders and set him on the ground. Straw Head faced the men around the fire, not knowing what to think. Then he felt his father move behind him and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "I am with you, my son. Answer their questions with truth, and you will have nothing to fear from them."

Straw Head took a breath. He reached up to his shoulder and gripped his father's hand. "What do you wish to know?"

One of the riders, Two Hatchets, pointed a finger at him. "Why did you do that to my gift?"

"Do? Do what?" What _had_ he done?

Two Hatchets pointed again. "Don't lie, boy. Hunts Buffalo gave me that stallion; gave it to me to mate with my own ponies. And you, bah, you turn it into a female somehow. You shame me, and you shame your tribe."

Straw Head's eyes went wide. "My potion? But I...I gave it to no pony. I do not even have it anymore."

Two Hatchets stood up. "You heard, all of you. He admitted that the potion was his. Did you use it all up, boy, or did you throw the rest away?"

"I gave it to Red Elk this afternoon. He said that Hunts Buffalo wanted it."

Hunts Buffalo looked up. "Did you see him give it to me, Straw Head?"

"No, I was gathering wood for my mother. I just gave him the potion, and he walked away."

Hunts Buffalo turned to another, older man, Crow in Wind. "My uncle, who was it that claimed the pony I wished to give Two Hatchets?"

Crow in Wind's voice was soft, but there was a firmness in it. "Red Elk. He has boasted more than once about that pony."

"Will they believe Crow in Wind?" Straw Head whispered to his father.

"He is an old man, but a man known for his honor. He is also uncle to Wolf By Night. It was he who helped to settle the anger between our two bands."

Straw Head looked around. "Where is Red Elk," he whispered again. "Why is he not here to answer what these men say?"

"He is here. You just don't recognize him." Dog Yelping pointed to the woman. "See what your potion does to a man."

Straw Head's eyes grew very wide in amazement. "He looks so...different. Not at all like himself."

"Wolf by Night says that he looks much like a maiden of his own band, a maiden that Red Elk met when he and others journeyed to meet with Wolf by Night in his own camp. I understand that Red Elk had thought to ask for the maiden's hand in marriage."

Then Straw Head noticed that her ankles were not tied by a thick cord as a prisoner should be tied. "Why doesn't she try to move, to escape?" he asked.

"Your potion has done it," Dog Yelping said. "He was running away when he drank it. He staggered, but he kept running. He had a pony waiting nearby, and the others were on foot. Then someone yelled that he could not escape. He -- she stopped and stood still, nodding. She was still nodding, still repeating that she could not escape when they brought her back to our camp." Dog Yelping put a finger to his lips. "Now, be still. The Council is not done with you yet."

"Straw Head, why did you give Red Elk the potion?" Hunts Buffalo asked.

"Because he said that you wanted it," Straw Head said. "He is your brother and of the council. Was I wrong to believe him?"

"I don't know what is worse," the other rider, Yellow Grass, said, "that one so young should learn so much about lack of honor, or that it should be one of the People who teaches him that lesson."

Everyone nodded. Dog Yelping told Straw Head to sit where he was and joined the others. The circle of men drew close together, talking in whispers. Red Elk strained to hear; but the potion still worked. He, now she, wasn't able to move in to hear what was being said.

Finally, Hunts Buffalo stood. "Straw Head, you are not to blame. All that you did was to obey an elder of the tribe. We thought that this was so, but we had to let Two Hatchets question you, so that he would also know."

Then Hunts Buffalo sighed and looked at his transformed brother. "Red Elk, you were my brother, but I must do what the laws of the People say. I banish you from this tribe. You wanted that pony so much; I give her to you. Take what few things you have and ride from this place."

Red Elk shook her head. "No, please, my brother. Let me stay. I...I still have some of the potion. I will change her back."

Dog Yelping laughed. "Straw Head, did you ever change any of the dogs you gave the potion to back into males?"

Straw Dog realized what his father was asking. "No. I gave the potion to many female dogs, some changed by the potion and some just females. None of them ever became male."

"But then...." Red Elk fumbled at her body. "No, it can't be true."

"It is," Hunts Buffalo said. "You drank the potion when we caught you so that we would not kill you. Your new shape, it would seem, is also a part of your punishment, my _sister_."

"No, no," Red Elk said. "Here watch, you'll see. It will work." She grabbed a small gourd from the ground near her. Straw Head recognized it as the container he had kept the potion in. Before anyone could stop her, Red Elk raised it to her lips and drank frantically.

"What does a second dose do?" some one asked.

"It made the dogs friendlier," Straw Head said. "That's all I know."

Red Elk closed her eyes and threw her head back. Her arms dropped to her sides. The men quickly gathered around her. "Poison," Two Hatchets said. "She kills herself rather than take the punishment."

Dog Yelping knelt down and looked at her. "No, she's still breathing. Did your dogs act like this, Straw Head?"

"They...they seemed unsteady for a short time, but it passed and they were fine. They...they just didn't change back."

Red Elk suddenly opened her eyes and sat up. She looked at Dog Yelping and smiled strangely. Then before the man could stop her, she pulled him to her and gave him a long, passionate kiss."

Dog Yelping managed to push her away. "What are you doing, Red Elk?"

"I...I don't know, but I...I liked it, and I want to do it again. My body feels so odd, so warm. Especially here -- and here." She shamelessly touched her breasts then reached a hand down to stroke at the junction between her legs.

Somebody laughed. "Well, she's certainly friendlier."

"Too friendly, I think," Hunts Buffalo said.

"She is without honor or shame," Crow in Wind said. "Now she _must_ leave, or she may teach other maidens to behave as she does."

"Where can she go?" Two Hatchets said. "We do not want her."

Hunts Buffalo pointed out towards the direction of sunrise. "There is a fort of the White Horse soldiers four days ride from here. Give her enough food and water to reach it. I have been to that fort. There are women there who act much as she does. Let her live among them."

* * * * *

Thursday, July 20, 1871

"And did she?" the Judge asked.

"Aye," Shamus said. I headed to that fort meself when I decided to try out the White Man's world. She called herself Rita One Pony by then, spoke pretty good English, too; though not as good as me own, of course. She was one of the 'soiled flowers' at the local cathouse, making pretty good money and loving every minute of it. Why, you know what she did when she saw me on the street?" He paused for effect. "She kissed me and told me to come by for one on the house."

The Judge smiled. "Perhaps, I need to amend what I said before. I won't sentence anyone to the life of a trollop, but I'll not stop a woman -- real or transformed -- for freely choosing -- and I mean _freely_ choosing -- that life for herself."

* * * * *

Friday, July 21, 1871

"They're coming," the lookout yelled. Since Friday dawn, there had been a man on the roof of the smithy looking for riders. Cap Lewis had even loaned Dan his old telescope to make the job easier.

In minutes, Dan was up on the roof looking through the telescope for himself. "It's Hanks, all right," he said, "and he's got four men with him." Dan recognized two of the others, Jesse Hanks, Will's kid brother and a mean cuss in his own right, and Brian Kelly. Brian had ridden with Hanks when Dan captured them. They were three tough men, and the other two -- whoever they were -- were likely to be just as tough. It wasn't going to be easy.

Dan sighed. He handed the telescope back to Carl Ridge, the lookout, just in case, and climbed down. Then he hurried over to the Sham...no, the Eerie Saloon.

Hanks and his men reached the edge of town about ten minutes later. They rode in slowly, looking for traps. Each man had at least one hand on or near his pistol.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, are you looking for the sheriff?" Arsenio Caulder stepped out from the shadows of his smithy. He was short, only 5 foot 6, but clearly not a man to trifle with. Stripped to the waist because of the heat of his forge, the man was a mass of solid muscle. His closely cropped gray hair and bull neck just added to the effect.

Will Hanks smiled at the man's politeness. All that muscle and the smith was still smart enough to be afraid of five armed men. "Why, yes we are." It didn't hurt to be polite -- for now. They could have their fun with the man after the sheriff was...taken care of. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"He said to tell you that he's waiting for you in the saloon -- that's the Eerie Saloon. It's on ahead, right across the street from the Sheriff's Office. You can't miss it."

"We never miss," one of the other men said. Impatient, he drew his pistol and fired.

The bullet hit the ground near Arsenio's right foot, but the man never moved. "The ground's an awfully big target," he said without emotion.

"I can aim for a smaller one if you want." The shooter, a wiry man in his mid 20s raised his pistol, pointing it at Arsenio's forehead.

"Later, Leroy," Will Hanks said in a stern voice. "First things first." Leroy holstered his pistol. It was clear who was in command.

The men rode on into the town. The saloon was a large building at one end of a block of stores. It was painted a bright green, with large wooden clovers, also painted green nailed to the outer walls and along the railing to the porch over the entrance. The sign at the front of the building was covered with a large tarp. The words, "Grand Re-Opening of the Eerie Saloon" were crudely painted on it.

"Stupid name for a saloon," Jesse Hanks said as he rode up to the hitching post and dismounted.

"Stupid name for a town," his brother said. "But, what the hell, in about five minutes, we can change it to something good...like 'Hankstown'." Will Hanks was a tall, solidly built man with glossy black hair hanging down over a thin face. He had a gunman's natural squint to his dark eyes. Jesse was a younger version of his brother. He'd grown a long, thin mustache to make himself look a bit older. And meaner.

"So let's get to it," Leroy said. "I got me a blacksmith I want to talk to." He laughed and dismounted, as did the others.

* * * * *

The sheriff was sitting in a table at the far side of the saloon, his back to a wall. He was drinking a beer as Hanks and his men walked in, but he put it down when he saw them. "Howdy, Will...boys. What brings you all to Eerie?"

"You do, Sheriff." Hanks scowled. The way the sheriff was sitting, one hand below -- behind the table, Hanks couldn't tell if he was armed. Hanks shifted his weight, ready to jump to the side and fire. "I just got outta prison, and I come to see you." He grinned. "Just like I promised at the trial."

Talbot smiled back at him. "Why, Will, I'm flattered that you remembered me." He motioned for the bartender, apparently the only other person in the place. "Let me buy you and your men a beer. You must have had a long, thirsty ride to get here."

"This some kind of trick, Talbot?" Hanks began to draw his pistol.

Dan's expression hardened. "Look, Will, I'm just trying to be hospitable. I know what you've got in mind, and I don't think I can talk you out of it with a beer."

"Not with one beer -- or a hundred, Sheriff, but I guess if that's how you want to spend your money...." Hanks _was_ suspicious, but he hadn't had a beer since the trial, years before, and it had been a thirsty ride. Why not let Talbot spend his last minutes on Earth buying beers for the men who were going to kill him.

Talbot motioned again to the bartender. "Shamus, some beer for my friends here." The barman nodded and filled five glasses from a tap. He put them on a tray and carried them over to the sheriff's table.

The sheriff brought his hand -- his _empty_ hand up from behind the table. "Help yourself, boys," he said and motioned to the beers.

That was all Hanks needed to see. He'd been expecting Talbot to draw on him and his men while they were drinking. "Go ahead, boys." He reached for a beer. "We're drinking to the _late_ Dan Talbot." Then he laughed and took a long drink. He smiled at Talbot, as if daring him to start something. He took another drink, his men following his lead.

"I don't think so," Dan said. Hanks lowered his glass at the sound of the Sheriff's voice. Talbot was still seated at the table, still smiling, but now he had a pistol in each hand.

"Neither do I." Hanks turned. Somebody else -- someone he hadn't seen before -- was standing behind the bar, a tall, slender man with -- Dang! -- a deputy's badge. More important, he was holding a Winchester. Hanks smiled again, a wicked smile. This was going to be fun after all. "Well, Sheriff, I guess you got th-the d-drop on-on us." Why was his voice quivering? "Bu-but t-t-two agai-against f-f-five i-iss st-still l-lou-lousy I -- OW!"

Hanks doubled over, his body wracked with pain. His hands -- his entire body was shaking. He gritted his teeth and tried to draw his pistol. That bastard sheriff may have poisoned him, but he wasn't going to get away with it.

Somehow, though, his pistol seemed bigger, harder to grab. And it was -- it couldn't be, but it was -- it kept growing bigger in his hand as he drew it. It seemed heavier, too, somehow. He tried to hold on to the pistol, to raise it and fire, but it slipped from his shaking hand.

His legs weakened, and he dropped to the ground on his hands and knees. He looked down at his hands -- Lordy, how had his shirtsleeves gotten so long? His hands, what he could see of them half hidden as they were by the material of his shirt, seemed so much smaller, so...delicate, with long tapering fingers.

"What's happening to me?" His voice wasn't shaky any more, but it sure sounded a lot higher than usual. Hanks wondered about his men. From the moans he heard, he guessed that they were all suffering from the same thing he was. He felt too weak -- much too weak -- to look, though. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache. His clothes felt odd, much too big for him. It felt like something was pulling at his chest, too, and something, it felt like hair, was tickling the back of his neck.

Then, all of a sudden, he began to feel very light headed. It was getting harder to concentrate -- except...except for a voice, a voice from far away. Hanks felt pushed -- compelled to listen to that one voice. He recognized it now, Dan Talbot's voice. He hated the man, the voice, but for some reason, he had no choice. He _had_ to listen.

* * * * *

Talbot looked at the men, astounded by the changes in them. They were all looking at him now, mouths open slightly but not speaking, eyes glazed. "Do you hear me?" he asked. The transformed men all nodded.

"Good," Talbot said. In his mind, he ran through the words Shamus had suggested. Then he began to speak. "You will not try to escape." The transformed men nodded again. "You don't want to hurt anyone, and you will obey everything Shamus or I tell you to do."

The transformed men nodded one last time. They stared at him for just a moment, as if expecting him to say more. Then they began to blink and to shake their heads as if coming out of a trance. Dan sensed that he'd finished just in time.

* * * * *

The voice -- or rather the _need_ to listen to it -- seemed to melt away, but Hanks could still hear the words echoing through his head. He still felt weak -- so damned weak -- every muscle he had ached. Hell, even his bones ached.

Hanks was still on his knees. He turned, though not very fast -- it hurt his head to move fast -- to see how his men were doing, how they were handling whatever was going on. His brother and Brian Kelly had been on his left, and Hanks turned that way first to get a look at them.

They were there, on their hands and knees just like him. At least, their clothes were, but the people in those clothes sure didn't look like Jesse and Brian.

The girl -- yeah, it was definitely a girl in Jesse's clothes, her long curly blonde hanging down to the floor -- was tiny. Jesse's clothes mostly hung on her like a tent. Her face didn't look anything like Jesse's. It was round with big blue eyes and full lips, downright pretty. She looked...familiar. Yeah, she looked a lot like that little dancer Jesse had been sparking with in Denver, the one he'd shown Hanks a picture of a couple of months before. What the hell was she doing here...and in Jesse's clothes, no less?

"All right," Hanks heard Talbot say, "the lot of you stand up." He was still trying to figure out what had happened. His body still ached, but he suddenly _had_ to stand. He staggered to his feet, unable to resist the impulse, the _need_ to do as told.

Talbot was standing now. One pistol was holstered, but the other was still drawn -- just in case. The bartender and the other man -- the deputy -- were coming out from behind the bar. He could hear the sound of two or three others walking downstairs from the floor above. His bleary mind told him that he'd walked into an ambush.

Hanks glanced back at his men. They weren't there. Instead, he saw four _pretty_ women, standing around in men's clothes looking as confused as hell. A thought, a horrible thought, began to form in his mind. "Jesse," he said in a half whisper, afraid to hear the sound of his own voice.

"B-bro," the little blonde said. She looked like a confused little girl dressed up in her daddy's clothes. "What the hell --" Her eyes went wide at the sound of her own voice, and she looked down at herself in horror. Her hands went to her chest, as she felt the shape of her breasts for the first time.

From the way her -- her? -- hands were moving, they must be fairly big, Hanks thought. Then his hands went to his own chest. Dang! The puppies under his own shirt were just as big, maybe even bigger. Was Jesse, was _he_, a girl now? This had to be a dream. That damned bartender must have put something -- maybe peyote -- in his beer.

He looked hard at the other three women, guessing who they were from their clothes. Brian Kelly was a redhead, now, about a head shorter than before, with a pale complexion. Brian's green eyes were opened wide as Brian felt at his groin, then shook his head in disbelief.

Leroy Meehan actually looked a little taller and had a woman's curves now, but he -- she? -- was still strong looking. Only now, he had a round, freckled face and a mass of light brown hair that hung straight down to his shoulders. After groping at his breasts for a moment, he reached down to his groin. Hanks saw Leroy's lips mouth the word "Gone!"

Mickey Sanchez wasn't skinny anymore. He looked younger; his new, fuller figure was busting out of his clothes, especially his shirt, which was now straining at the seams to hold in what was now inside. His angular features had softened. His nose was smaller, while his eyes looked bigger, with long, thick lashes. His short graying hair had turned jet black, now and hung down to his waist. His pants, hell, they were so tight that they looked almost painted on. He groped at his new body and screamed something in Spanish.

Hanks shook with fear and fury, but a part of him wondered what he looked like. He didn't want to know if his male parts were gone. Instead, he looked down at his hands -- slender hands, stranger's hands, _woman's_ hands. His skin was just a bit darker now, like he was part Mexican. A few strands of hair fell down onto his face, and he gathered them in his hand. He saw long, wavy dark curls. He could feel the weight of his hair against his shirt, reaching part way down his back.

"If you-all are finished feeling yourselves up," Talbot said, "you can take off your gun belts and give them -- and any other weapons you might have -- to my deputy over there." He pointed with his pistol at the deputy who was coming around from behind the bar.

The five transformed men trembled. They didn't want to give up their pistols, but they just couldn't stop themselves. Will Hanks closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. One or two of the others were actually shaking as they slowly unbuckled their gunbelts and handed them to the deputy. Sanchez pulled a knife from inside his shirt and handed it over to the deputy. The seams of Meehan's pants ripped in the seat when he bent down and pulled a knife from his boot.

As Jesse Hanks handed his gunbelt to the deputy, his pants began to slip down past his hips. He dropped the gunbelt and grabbed for them, catching them just as they reached his knees. His oversized shirt came free and hung down over the pants. He struggled to pull the pants up, but the shirt kept getting in the way.

"Why don't ye just forget about them pants," Shamus said with a sly Irish wink. "Just step out of them. Your shirt's certainly long enough."

Jesse nodded and, hands trembling, let go of the pants. They fell to the ground, puddling around his feet. He stepped out of them, leaving his boots behind as well. Standing barefoot on the floor, he looked to be barely five foot tall. He was almost a foot shorter than before, and his shirt hung like some sort of shapeless dress down just below his knees. He stood up and handed over his gunbelt.

Dan turned to the Judge, who had just come downstairs. "My prisoners are ready, Your Honor. Let's start the trial."

"Might as well," Judge Humphreys said. "Set up the courtroom." He sat down at the table Dan had been sitting at. "I'll preside from here." Shamus moved the other chairs away from that table. "Leave that one for the witnesses," the Judge said, pointing to one chair. "Just turn it so it faces the courtroom."

The deputy handed the box to the barman, R.J. Rossi, who put the weapons in a box behind the bar. "Why don't we let the prisoners make themselves useful fixing the courtroom for us," he said.

"Good idea," Dan said. He looked directly at the transformed men. "Hanks, you, your brother, and your men move some of the tables out of the way; just leave those two near the Judge.

The men nodded and shuffled over to the other tables. They were trying to resist, but the impulse to obey what Dan told them seemed as strong as before.

Will and Jesse Hanks got on either side of a table and tried to lift it. The table seemed much heavier; Jesse could barely lift his side off the floor. Will walked backwards, trying not to look at his brother's pretty, new face. They had to stop twice while Jesse set his side down and rested, but they managed to get it out of the way.

Mickey and Brian had an easier time of it. They were both smaller and less muscular than before, but neither had the sort of petite body that Jesse did.

Leroy watched the others struggle for a moment, then lifted a third table, just to get an idea of how much weaker he had become. There didn't seem to be much difference. It was a strain, but he managed to pull the table over to the wall by himself.

While the tables were being moved, Shamus and the deputy set up chairs at the remaining two. "Sit here," Dan said to the transformed men, pointing to one table, "and don't move from there until I tell you otherwise." The men sat, fidgeting, wondering what was coming next. While they waited, R.J. set up two rows of chairs for the jury.

Molly brought down a Bible from the room she and Shamus used as living quarters. She gently placed it on the Judge's table and sat down in a chair near the bar. A dozen men came in from the street and took the jurors' chairs. Others came in from the street, too, and sat down around the room. So did two other men who had come down from the second floor with the Judge. Dan, Shamus, and the deputy took seats at the other table near the Judge.

The Judge pulled a wooden gavel from his coat pocket and banged it on the table. "The Court of the Township of Eerie, Arizona is now in session." He looked at the transformed men sitting at the table. "I take it the defendants are ready."

"They are, Your Honor," Dan said.

"Are you really a judge?" Will Hanks asked through gritted teeth.

"I thought you told them not to talk," Shamus whispered to Dan.

"No," Dan said. "I just told them to stay there a the table."

The Judge shrugged and answered. "Yes...Mr. Hanks, I am a Judge, and you five are on trial. Do you want a lawyer?"

"The hell with a lawyer," Hanks said. "I just want to get my pecker back."

"Do you all feel that way?" the Judge asked, looking at the other transformed men, "that you don't need a lawyer, I mean."

"They do," Hanks said. "You just make them change us back. Then we'll see about whatever charges you think you got on us."

"I'm afraid it isn't quite that simple," the Judge said. "This is _my_ Court. You'll stand trial first. Then, we'll deal with what happened to you."

"The hell with..." Leroy said.

"Be quiet!" Shamus said, "all of you." Leroy's jaw snapped shut in mid-sentence. When he and the others tried to speak, they found themselves unable to make a sound.

"Thank you, Shamus," the Judge said. "Now, Will Hanks, you come up here and tell me why you came to Eerie." He pointed to the empty chair near his table.

"Do what the Judge just told you," Dan said, "and you tell him the truth."

Hanks felt himself stand and walk and sit in the chair. It was like being in a dream.

"Put your hand on that Bible," the Judge said. When Hanks did, the Judge said, "Now, raise your other hand and repeat after me, 'I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but, so help me, G-d.'"

Hanks tried to stop himself, but he was helpless to resist, since the voice still echoed in his head and compelling him to obey. "I will tell the...truth, the who-whole truth, and...nothing but...the truth, so-so help me, G-d."

"Was that necessary, Judge?" Shamus asked.

"Yes, Shamus," the Judge said. The law requires every witness to be sworn in. "Now...Mr. Hanks, please state your full name for the record."

"William...Joseph...Ha-Hanks."

"Mr. Hanks, why, exactly, did you and the others come to Eerie?"

The last thing Will wanted was to confess to attempted murder, but the words came despite him. "I...we...I came he-here to...kill Dan Tal...bot for put-putting...me in j-jail."

"And the others, they came to kill Sheriff Talbot, too?"

"Y-yeah. To take c-care of...anybody else try..trying to b-back his pl-play. Then we...was gonna have...have some f-fun...with the folks in...his town."

"Run roughshod over us for a while, rob us, that sort of thing?"

"Y-yeah, we was...gonna _rule_...this...town."

"I think that's enough," the Judge said. "You may stand down. Sheriff, have Jesse Hanks -- have the one that said she was Hank's brother take the stand."

"Will," the Sheriff said, "you come back sit down over here with the others. Jesse, you go sit up there where your...where Will is now." The two men switched places. As Jesse sat down, Talbot added, "And, Jesse, you tell the Judge the truth now, whatever he asks."

Jesse frowned. He sprawled in the chair, his legs wide apart. His shirt stretched out by his legs and rose up past his knees.

"A girl shouldn't sit like that," Molly said, her voice turned brittle. "You can see all the way up to her drawers."

"You're right," Shamus said. "Jesse, ye sit there like a good girl. Sit up straight with yuir knees together." Jesse's frown turned to a scowl, but he had to obey and shifted his position in the chair."

"Now put your hands on your knees, me girl, palms down," Molly said, "and you smile nice for Judge Humphreys, too."

Shamus laughed. "Jesse, ye do what Molly just told ye."

Jesse's scowl slowly changed to a slight smile. In a moment, he was sitting in the chair, doing a cowboy's rough imitation of a demure young girl.

The Judge swore in the new witness. "Again, just for the record, please state your name."

"Hanks...I-I'm Jesse Hanks." Jesse was as reluctant as his brother to speak, but the magic gave him no choice.

"All right, Jesse," the Judge asked. "Why did you come to Eerie?"

"Sher...riff put me...put my brother in-in jail. He...he gotta p-pay for...that."

"And how did you intend him to pay?"

"We was gon-na...shoot him...shoot him dead." He grinned, but his hard laugh came out sounding like a giggle. The sound shocked him, and his hands flew up to cover his mouth.

"What were your brother's plans for anyone who tried to help the Sheriff?"

"Sh-shoot them...too."

"And afterward," the Judge said, "after the Sheriff and anyone who'd tried to help him were dead, what were you going to do?"

"We was...gonna have some...fun. R-rob the bank, sh-shoot up...some stores, teach these...these sod kick-kers to be...be afraid of...us."

"And that seemed fair payment to you for what the Sheriff had done?"

"We...got the...guns. We say wh-what's...fair."

The Judge frowned. "I see. Very well, you may step down now. Sheriff, have the next one there, the, ah, redhead, take the stand. At the Sheriff's orders, Jesse and Brian traded places, and Brian was sworn in.

"State your name for the record," the Judge said.

"Brian...Geoffrey Kelly." The words came out slowly, as they had with the others.

"Now, Mr. Kelly, you've heard the testimony of the others. Is that also the reason why you came to Eerie?"

"I came...cause Will..came."

"Would you explain that?"

"Will...he stood...by me when-when we got...throwed out of...the Army...when nobody...else would e-even...talk to...me. I-I owe...him."

"Do you owe him enough to kill innocent men for him?"

"N-no, but I-I owe him...enough to b-back him in a f-fight."

"And what were your plans for after that fight, when the Hanks brothers were going to take over the town."

"I...th-thought I...c-could k-keep things from...get-ting out...of hand."

"What if 'keeping things from getting out of hand' meant fighting Will or Jesse? Would you have been willing to do that?"

Kelly's new face paled. "I-I don't know."

The other two men testified. Miguel had met Will Hanks in prison and had joined him for the easy money he promised. Leroy Meehan thought riding with Hanks was a good way to get a reputation. He'd been waiting for Will on the day Will and Miguel were released.

Mickey Sanchez needed money for something "back home." Something he didn't want to talk about. "Please, don't...don't make me...tell," he said when the Judge pushed for an answer.

"Just tell me this much, Mr. Sanchez," the Judge said. "What you want the money for, is it legal?"

"Si...yes, is legal, just...is...personal."

"I'll respect your answer," the Judge said. "For now, anyway. Sheriff have him go sit back with the others." Talbot told Sanchez to move and the transformed man shuffled back to his original seat.

The Judge banged the table with the gavel. "If there's no other evidence, the jury will go deliberate -- that means you boys go talk it over in private and decide if they're guilty or not.

"I don't think we need to do that," Fred Nolan, the jury foreman said. He turned and faced the other jurors. "Who thinks they're guilty?" The others all raised their hands. "There ya go, Judge; guilty as charged."

The Judge pounded the table twice with his gavel. "Will the defendants please rise?" The Sheriff made a gesture and the five men stood. "Having heard the evidence of your own testimony, this jury has found the five of you to be guilty of...umm...malicious mayhem, and I sentence you each to 60 days at the Eerie Special Offender Penitentiary."

"What the hell does that mean?" Will asked. "Sixty days ain't nothing. This has gotta be some kinda trick?"

"It means that ye girls will be working here for Molly and me for the next two months," Shamus said.

"Which brings me to the second part," the Judge said. "You, um, ladies don't have very feminine names --"

"Who needs girls' names," Jesse said. "You gonna change us back, ain't you?"

"They damned well better," Will added.

The Judge smiled. "As the Bard said, 'There's the rub,' Mr. -- Miss Hanks. We can't change you back."

"What," Leroy Meehan's shout came out as a screech. "The hell you can't. Now, you listen here, you two bit shyster..." The others were just as indignant.

"Quiet," Dan said, his voice raised to be heard above the shouting. The five men were silenced in mid-complaint. "Now sit down and listen to the Judge."

The men scowled, but they obeyed.

"Thank you, Sheriff," the Judge said. "As I was saying, you five _ladies_ don't have very feminine names. A fact I intend to rectify, since you'll _be_ women for the rest of your lives."

The five men tried to speak, but the Sheriff's order still held them. They looked at one another in fear as the implications sank in.

"William Joseph Hanks," the Judge said. "I hereby legally change your name to Wilma Jean Hanks. Jesse Hanks, your name will now end with an 'i-e,' since it's now short for Jessica. Brian Geoffrey Kelly, henceforth you will be known as Bridget Kelly; I'm told Bridget is a very common Irish first name. Leroy Meehan, I'm changing your first name to Laura. And as for you, Mickey or Miguel Sanchez, we'll call you Margarita now -- Maggie for short." He pounded his gavel again for emphasis.

"All right, ladies," the Sheriff said. "I want you to stand up one at a time and say the name the Judge just gave you. Will, we'll start with you."

"Wilma Jean Hanks."

"Jessie -- Jessica Hanks."

"Bridget Kelly."

"Laura Meehan."

"Margarita Sanchez."

"Very good," the Sheriff said. "From now on, that is the only name you -- all of you -- will answer to, and it's the name you'll give if anyone asks who you are. Your old names, well, they don't mean anything to you any more."

"Aye," Shamus added, "ye'll even call each other by yuir new names, and if somebody calls any of ye 'girl' or 'missy' or any name like that, ye'll answer to it as well."

"Now that we've got names for the girls," Molly said, "It's time they were properly dressed. Rachel's waiting for them upstairs."

"Right, as always," Shamus said. "Go upstairs, girls, and be quick about it."

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