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

  

* * * * *

Thursday, July 27, 1871, Week 1 -- Day 7

"Damn, these cards is cold." Carl Oberman tossed his losing poker hand down onto the table. "I need me some luck."

"You need to learn to okay poker better," Red Tully said.

"Very funny," Carl said, lifting a hand and waving it in the direction of the bar. "Hey, Shamus, another whiskey over here."

"Same here," Hans Euler said. The other men at the table made similar gestures.

Bridget walked over with the tray of beers a minute or two later. The men watched as she put the glasses down on the table.

"Now here's something to warm a deck of cards," Red said, putting an arm around her waist. "Or anything else she's a mind to."

Bridget gritted her teeth. After almost a week, she was getting used to being grabbed, but she still didn't like it any more than she had the first day. She twisted to try and get free.

"Hey, don't be so unfriendly," Carl said.

"Yeah," Red said. "In fact, why don't you get yourself a drink -- on me, of course -- and come join us. This place is quiet enough that Shamus can spare you for a while. Can't you, Shamus?"

Shamus came over carrying a drink. "I don't see why not. Ye can sit down, here Bridget." He put down the glass at an open spot at the poker table and winked at Bridget. She knew that it was the fake whiskey Shamus served his own people, mostly colored water with just enough alcohol to make it smell right. It would drown her before it made her drunk.

"Ye boys let me know if ye want any more to drink." Shamus headed back to the bar with a broad smile on his face. With this new distraction, a game that looked ready to break up would go on for a good while longer, with the bunch of them drinking, hand after hand; not to mention all the drinks that they'd be buying for Bridget.

Bridget sighed and obeyed Shamus' instructions. Sit quietly; smile; and get them to buy another round every so often. 'Well,' she thought, 'at least I get to watch the game.'

* * * * *

Wilma carried out a tray of clean glasses and put them in a shelf behind the back bar. As she turned to stand, she saw something glinting under the bar, right by the beer tap, about where Shamus usually stood. She looked closer; a Colt "peacemaker" lay on a shelf next to a box of bullets.

She looked around. It was mid afternoon, and the saloon was almost empty. A couple of men sat at a table nursing beers, and there were three men in a corner table still playing poker. Wilma frowned; Bridget was sitting next to one, smiling and watching the game. Well, Brian always was a fool for poker.

R.J. came out of the kitchen carrying a couple more trays of glasses. It was now or never. Wilma grabbed the pistol and pointed it at him. "Hold it right there, R.J."

R.J. stopped walking. "What the...Wilma put that down."

"Sorry, R.J., but Shamus didn't say anything about my listening to you, and I'm gonna be long gone before he gets back." She kept pointing the pistol at him and began walking away from the bar. "Now you just stand there and hold those glasses while I go for a little walk."

R.J. stood where he was, still holding the trays, and watched her. Wilma took a few more steps. The two men at the table began to stand. They weren't armed. She shifted and pointed the pistol at them. "You two just sit back down. This don't concern you." The men nodded fearfully and sat.

"Wilma, what the hell are you doing." Bridget stood up. So did the poker players.

"I'm...we're getting out of here," Wilma said. She pointed the pistol at the men standing by Bridget. "You get their guns, and we'll be gone before Shamus knows what happened."

Bridget nodded and grabbed the pistol from Red's holster. She took weapons from Carl and Hans as well. "Nothing personal," she said. Then she smiled and added, "by the way, Carl's bluffing, he's only got a pair of fours." She walked over and joined Wilma half way to the door. She kept two of the pistols for herself and tossed the third to Wilma.

Both women walked backwards slowly towards the door. Maggie and Jessie were in the kitchen. Laura was upstairs. Wilma was sorry that they couldn't take the time to call them, but who knew when Shamus would come back. She swore to herself that she'd be back, at least for Jessie. For now, the important thing was to escape. Then they could try to figure some way to get the potion and change themselves back. After _that_, the five of them would make the whole damned town pay for what had happened.

But as Wilma and Bridget got closer to the door, they found themselves getting shaking. Their legs felt as if they were made of lead.

"What's the matter, Wilma?" R.J. asked. He put down the tray and began walking towards the women. "Having a little trouble with your escape plan?"

"I'll show you trouble," Wilma said. She raised the Colt and aimed at his heart. "Don't come any closer or you'll be sorry." Her arm began to feel heavy, but she wasn't going to show it.

"No, I don't think I have anything to worry about." He stepped closer.

"I warned you. Nobody can say I didn't." She took a breath and squeezed the trigger.

Or tried to. Her fingers wouldn't move. Her hand began to shake until she could barely hold on to the gun. "Wha-what's ha-happening to me-me?"

R.J. took another step.

"Please, don't, R.J." Bridget raised both her hands; she had a pistol in each. Her hands started shaking. She dropped the pistols and turned to run for the door. She got about three feet before her legs collapsed under her, and she fell to the floor.

R.J. walked over to Wilma and took the weapons from her hands. She tried to hold on to them, but her fingers refused to pull a trigger, refused to even hold on to them. "What d-did you do to me? To us?"

"Nothing," R.J. said with a smile. He bent down and picked up the pistols Bridget had dropped. "Shamus and I were wondering when one of you would try to escape. That's why we _let_ you find the Colt, to get it over with. We've been watching you ladies all week, and now we know how well the potion works on you. It wouldn't let you escape -- that's why you two couldn't get out the door. It won't let you hurt anybody either -- that's why you couldn't shoot."

"You bastards," Wilma spat. She tried for the door, but her legs went out from under her just as Bridget's had. When she tried to crawl, her arms collapsed under her weight.

"As soon as you two decide that you aren't trying to escape right now, you should be able to stand. In the mean time, I'll just wait here and warn folks as they come in. Don't want them tripping over you." He pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down, grinning at them.

Bridget stood first. She started walking, head down, back towards the poker table. "Wait a minute," R.J. called. When she turned, he handed her the three pistols. "You take these over with you and apologize to the nice men for borrowing them."

Bridget glowered at him, but she really had no choice but to go along, since it seemed that she was stuck here. She handed them men their weapons. "I-I'm sorry," she said, head bowed, her teeth clenched.

"That wasn't very nice," Red said. He patted her on the head like a child.

"It wasn't nice telling them I was bluffing, either," Carl said, "but you're too pretty to hold a grudge against. You sit back down and we'll just pick up where we left off."

"Why nicht," Hans said, his German accent a bit heavier than usual. "I guess the excitement's over for now, and a woman as pretty as you is, is worth a little _aggravation_ now and then."

Bridget tried to smile. Compliments like that still made her feel very uncomfortable, but she sat back down at the table.

"Why don't we just play this hand over," Red said. He picked up his stakes from the table. The others did the same. Red collected all the cards, shuffled, and dealt a new hand. "This time, Bridget, don't you be telling anybody anything about what cards we're holding."

Wilma stayed on the floor for a good while. R.J. just smiled. "When you're ready, just say you won't try escaping. You'll be able to stand up again, and you can get back to work. There's probably a lot more clean glasses ready to be brought out from the kitchen by now." He went over to the bar and began polishing the chrome behind it.

Eventually, Wilma gritted her teeth and spoke. "I won't try to escape." As soon as she said it, she found that she _could_ stand. 'Not today, anyway,' she thought to herself as she headed back to the kitchen for more clean glasses.

* * * * *

Monday, July 31, 1871, Week 2 -- Day 4

"Oh, hell," Laura said, "he's back." She was standing by the bar, waiting for R.J. to fix the "Texas Sidewinder" someone had ordered.

"Who's back," Jessie asked. She put down the tray of empty glasses with a sigh. Even empty, eight glasses and a tray was a heavy load for her.

"That...that damn blacksmith I got in a fight with when we rode into town. He keeps coming back to make fun of me."

"I thought the Sheriff told people they shouldn't be doing that."

"Yeah, he did, but this guy's a special case. He's on what passes for the town council. That makes him the Sheriff's boss."

"He tries anything with me, he'll be singing soprano." Jessie kicked a table leg for emphasis.

"Sure, like we can really hurt anybody. I feel like a damned helpless five-year old kid. "

"I know, but I can still try."

"Forget it. B'sides, I seen him talking to Bridget and Wilma; he don't bother them, just me."

Jessie gave a wicked grin. "Why, Laura, I think he's smitten on you. He just wants to get your attention."

"Don't rile me, Jessie. Shamus told us not to hurt his customers, but he didn't say anything about my whaling the tar out of the likes of you!"

"Fight on your own time, ladies," R.J. interrupted them. He put a glass filled with an odd brownish liquid on a tray. Laura, you take this over to the man who ordered it. Then go see what Arsenio wants to drink. Jessie, there's still more empty glasses for you to gather up."

"Why don't we switch off?" Laura asked. "I'll go get them empties, and Jessie can take that guy his drink."

"Cause it's still your shift getting drinks," R.J. reminded her. "Now move, or do I have to get Shamus over here to tell you?"

Laura made an annoyed sound deep in her throat and brought the man his drink. He paid her, and she stuck the coin in her apron pocket. Arsenio's table was a few feet away. "What'll you have?" she asked, sighing again.

"A smile from you," he said. "A pretty one, not like how you smiled at my smithy the afternoon you rode into town."

"I don't see why," Laura said. "I'm thinking the same thing I was that day; how much I'd still like to stomp you into the ground!"

"Yeah, but you ain't exactly up to doing that now; are you, _Laura_?"

"Why you dirty --" Laura shuddered. She wanted so much to hit the man, but the potion -- the voice of Shamus in her head -- wouldn't let her.

"Well, if I can't get a smile out of you, I'll take me a whiskey. Then I'll just sit here and relax. It's been a long day."

"Do you want me to bring you the bottle?"

"No, just a shot for now." He smiled, but not pleasantly. "That way, I get to call you back every time I want another sip; again and again and again. Having a pretty gal like you at my beck 'n call is a _grand_ way to spend an evening."

* * * * *

"You sure?" Toby Hess looked closely at his partner. Sometimes Jake tried to pull his leg, but Toby could usually tell when he was trying something. The two men were taking a day off from working their claim to relax in town. Sometimes, it seemed that they worked the claim just long enough to earn drinking money.

"Yep, I heard it from Red," Jake Steinmetz said, pushing an unruly mass of silver gray hair back over his forehead. "He was one of the men Wilma drew on. He said Wilma and Bridget fell on the ground when they tried to draw on him and t'others."

Toby was a short, balding, redheaded man with a round face, a mustache and wide mutton-chop sideburns. His partner, Jake, was taller. Jake was a thin man whose mustache ran down along both sides of his mouth, then along his jaw to merge with his own wide sideburns.

"So you're saying that they can't do anything to anybody that tries to...say, kiss them. That the magic, whatever it was that changed 'em into women, won't let them."

"That's the way Red tells it, Toby. We can get as _friendly_ as we wants, and they can't do a blessed thing about it."

"That'll teach for being so uppity when we tried to talk to them that first night."

"Hell, they treated everybody that way. When Wilma spilled that beer on that cowboy, I like to die laughing." Jake smiled, showing uneven teeth. Well, now I can try grabbing her like that, and unless she got another beer to spill, there ain't nothing she can do to me."

"No, but there's a lot you or I could do to her." He grinned at the thought.

"You could if she was around, but she ain't. Molly and that Mex...Maggie is the ones serving beers now."

"I ain't interested in Mollie. She's married to Shamus. Maggie's kind of pretty, though."

"So try it out on her then. I sure wouldn't mind kissing her."

"Me neither, but to tell the truth that Jessie's the one I like, a tiny little doll of a woman."

"I like 'em big. You can have little Jessie. I'll take Maggie or maybe that tall one, Laura."

"Well, here's your chance." Toby pointed at Maggie who was walking towards their table on her way back to the bar.

Jake grabbed Maggie as she walked past them, pulling her down onto his lap. "Little lady, if your kisses is half as spicy as that stew you cook, we's gonna have us a whole lot of fun."

Maggie squirmed and cursed trying to break free, but Jake was too strong for her. "Hey, Maggie, that ain't no way to act. C'mon, you give me one little kiss, and I'll let you free -- unless you decides that you _wants_ to stay." He laughed, then dodged as she tried to push him away. "Now _that_ wasn't friendly no how. The price for getting free just went up -- way up." He reached around with his other arm and began to fondle her breast.

Maggie swung again, this time, towards his stomach. She connected -- hard! Jake let go of her and howled from the pain. Maggie jumped up. She heard other people laughing, and it just made her madder. She wanted to hurt this man more, maybe kick him in the _cajones_, but the voice -- Shamus' damned voice inside her head -- wouldn't let her. She could curse, though, and she did, all the way back to the bar.

Shamus and R.J. had watched the entire incident from the bar, and they'd laughed as hard as anyone else in the saloon at Jake for what had happened to him. Shamus handed Maggie a tray of beer and sent her off towards a table in another part of the room.

"You saw that," R.J. said once Maggie was out of earshot. "I thought you told them they couldn't fight with customers. That worked well enough the other day, when Wilma got a hold of that Colt, but Maggie just suckerpunched Jake Steinmetz in his belly. Is the magic wearing off?"

Shamus thought for a minute about that. "I don't think so, R.J. They can't just fight with anybody that bothers them, but the ladies can use self-defense to get out of a bad situation."

R.J. nodded. "I think you're right, Shamus. Maggie wanted to kick Jake. I could tell from the way she was moving her one leg. But she didn't."

"Aye, the magic wouldn't let her. She tried, though, then she gave up and came back to the bar." Shamus scratched his head. "Well, I suppose it's only fair that they get to defend themselves. I just hope that's not too much of an advantage to leave them with, though. They still know all the dirty tricks of fighting that they learned when they was men."

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 2, 1871, Week 2 -- Day 6

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Sheriff Talbot, if he's still...um...alive." A tall, dapper man in a dark brown suit stood in the door of the Sheriff's Office. His thinning brown hair was slicked back, and he was smoking a thin cigar.

"Yeah, I'm alive," Dan said, sensing trouble. "Who're you, Mister, and why do you think I shouldn't be?"

"Well, well, Sheriff, this _is_ an honor -- and, I must say, something of a surprise. I'm Nicholas Varrick; I'm with the _Tucson Citizen_."

"Really, how is the Governor these days?" Now Dan knew there was trouble. The _Citizen_ liked to pretend it was a private concern, but the newspaper was an undeclared arm of Richard McCormick, its founder, who had used the paper to become territorial governor the year before.

"I wouldn't know, Sheriff. I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks. I've been too busy tracking down the story that's going to make you the hero of every boy in this territory, maybe in the nation."

Dan sighed. "Look, Mister...Varrick, I've told more than one two bit penman that I'm just a guy who's been lucky with a pistol. I don't want to be no penny dreadful hero." Dan found himself wishing that he'd gone out to do the rounds and left his deputy, Paul Grant, in the office.

"Sheriff, you may not have the final say in that any more. The man who faced down Will Hanks and his gang is a hero in anybody's book. I'm just a little surprised that I'm the first one here to write about it." Varrick pulled out a small wire notebook from a pocket in his jacket. "Now tell me all about the gunfight. Were you alone? Were you wounded; I don't see any scars, any bandages on you."

"Hanks," Dan laughed. "Who says I fought Will Hanks? Who says he was even here in Eerie?"

"Sheriff, a public spirited citizen anonymously told me --"

'You mean one of your paid goons told you,' Dan thought, but he didn't say it. No sense getting this man mad. Angry men are curious.

Varrick continued. "...told me that Will Hanks and a couple of other men got out of prison about two weeks ago. They were met by Hank's brother, Jesse, and another man. The five of them were heard to say that they were coming here to Eerie to -- as one of them said -- 'make that bastard Talbot pay for putting Will in jail.' -- Excuse the language, Sheriff, that's an exact quote."

Dan scowled. "I'm sure it is, Mr. Varrick, but I'm afraid that you wasted your time coming here."

"Are you saying that Hanks and his men never came here? Because, if you are, you should know that I talked to people along the way. I've got a good half dozen witnesses that will say that they rode by heading this way."

"No, they came," Dan said. "I won't deny it, but all that happened was that they had a drink with me over at one of the saloons. That's all. No big gun battle, no drama, just a few men having a drink."

"You don't mind if I check out that story, do you Sheriff?"

"I do, but it's a free country. It was the Sham...the Eerie Saloon. Shamus, the owner just changed the name a little while back. You can talk to him, too, or his wife, Molly. Let's see, umm, Doc Upshaw and the Judge was there, too, so you can ask them."

"Ohh, that's good, that's very good, the town doctor _and_ some local judge. Okay, I will ask. If nothing else, I can get a drink at that saloon of yours." He turned and left.

'Dang it!' Dan thought. 'I hope Shamus and the others can think on their feet. If I follow him, he'll know we're trying to hide something."

* * * * *

The Saloon was easy to find. Varrick walked up to the bar and ordered a beer without introducing himself to anyone.

"Excuse me, sir," came a voice from behind him, "but aren't you, umm, Nick...Nicholas Varrick?"

'Damn,' Varrick thought as he turned. This was one time he didn't want to be recognized. "Yes, I am, but -- why Judge Humphreys, isn't it? Fancy meeting you here." Varrick hadn't realized that Humphreys was the judge the sheriff had been talking about.

"I might say the same," the Judge said, nodding. "I haven't seen you since the Governor's inauguration. What brings you to our little town?" The Judge had a good idea, but he wasn't about to give anything away.

"Can't cover big city politics forever, Judge. Mr. McCormick wants the _Citizen_ to be a territory-wide paper. There's a lot more to Arizona than Tucson."

"Not around here, there isn't. Fess up, boy, what brings you to Eerie?"

"You got me, Judge. I came here to see what happened with the Hanks gang."

"Hanks? Wha-what do you mean, what happened?"

"Will Hanks was as mean a man as I ever heard of in this territory. Your sheriff puts him in jail for what, five years. The day he gets out, he gets a gang together and says he's going to pay the man a visit. I know he got here, but I don't know what happened then."

"What do you think happened?"

"I think there was some kind of a fight, a big one. The sheriff says they all just had a drink together. So I'm asking you, Judge, I'm asking as one party man to another, what really happened that day?"

"Let's get a little more privacy. R.J.," the Judge said to the man behind the bar, "we're going to sit over there." He pointed to a table near the wall. "Please send over a bottle and two glasses."

The Judge led Varrick to the table. It was early afternoon. The saloon was mostly empty; just a few men playing poker at a table halfway across the room and a couple of men standing at the bar.

A tall, very pretty brunette brought over the liquor. "Thanks, Wilma," the Judge said. The woman gave Varrick an odd look, then walked slowly back to the bar. The Judge poured drinks for the two of them. He quickly swallowed a shot and put the glass back on the table.

"Look, Nick, are you here as a reporter or as McCormick's man?"

"As a reporter, mostly. To tell the truth, I always wanted to see how I'd do writing penny dreadfuls. There's a lot of money in that, if you can find somebody folks'll want to read about."

"And that's all? Really, those are the only reasons you came all this way?"

"Okay, that's not all. The Governor likes your sheriff; he met him years ago, and he wanted to know what happened."

"I'm happy to tell you there was no big fight with the Hanks gang. Nobody got killed. Nobody even got hurt."

"The sheriff bushwacked them then." He drank his whiskey and refilled both his glass and the Judge's. "Handled the right way, that sort of thing could be as exciting a story as a shootout in the street."

"I told you already; nobody shot anybody."

"You're saying these men, these vicious killers came to town, had a drink, and then rode off peaceful as you please."

"Something like that."

"I don't buy it, Judge."

"Look, Nick, you asked me as one party man to another. Well, I've been a loyal member of the party since before you got out of short pants, and I'm saying that there was no fight, no bushwacking, nothing like that."

"I don't know, Judge, but I suppose I'll take your word on it. For now, anyway. Say, you didn't happen to notice which way they went when they rode out of here, did you?"

"I'm sorry, Nick, but I don't know where they're headed." He took a drink, trying not to look anxious. Varrick could spot that.

"Well, I won't find out sitting here." He emptied his glass, then put the cork back in the bottle. "You mind if I take this with me? I might as well get something out of my stay in Eerie."

"Be my guest. As far as the Hanks gang, I'd say why don't you try Phoenix. It's not that far away, and there's certainly a lot more men, like you say the Hanks gang were, could find to do that they could around here."

"It's as good a direction as any." Varrick stood up and stuck the bottle in the coat pocket. "I trust you'll settle any bill there might be."

"Of course, Nick, and happy hunting."

"Thanks, Judge, and, by the way, if I don't find anything...." He let the words trail off. "Well, I _do_ know that they got as far as Eerie, and I just may be coming back."

* * * * *

"I heard you had trouble the other day," Ramon said in Spanish when Maggie brought his drink.

"It was just a little trouble," Maggie answered in Spanish, holding her fingers barely an inch apart.

"They say a man insulted you, groped you." Ramon said. "That should not have happened. A woman...a lady should be protected from such things."

"I am not a lady, Ramon deAguilar. I am...I am not even really a woman. You know that."

"I know, but it is still not right. I do not like for such things to happen."

"I do not like it either, but I am not some simpering little woman who needs protection. I can take care of myself."

"But you shouldn't have to. You should have a man --"

"Señor deAguilar...I _am_ a man. I just...I just do not look like one."

"Margarita, I-I am sorry. I forgot myself. No woman should have such trouble as you had yesterday. It is disrespectful."

"Oh, just drink your drink and go. Please." She turned and walked away. Ramon was a reminder of herself and of a past -- of a self -- that Maggie felt she might not be able to reclaim.

* * * * *

Friday, August 4, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 1

"I'm a girl. I'm a girl. I'm a girl." Jessie sat in front of the mirror brushing her hair and reciting as Shamus had commanded her and the other women to do. It was late in the afternoon, and they were in their room getting ready for the evening rush.

"Whoowee!" Wilma laughed. "The way you's smiling, Jessie, I do think you're beginning to like being a girl."

Jessie scowled at Wilma. "Now you know that ain't true. I hate this as much as any of you."

"Then what was you smiling about?" Wilma asked.

"T'tell the truth I was thinking about Sarah Fuller, the gal I look like. I was sparking with her while you was in jail."

"Oh, yeah, what was you thinking that'd make you smile like that?"

"Sarah was the daughter of the local Baptist preacher. A gal like that either grows up to hate sin...or to love sinning. Sarah _loved_ to sin. She could be as proper as a Sunday school class around people, but when we was alone...well, there wasn't a girl in the territory could get her drawers off faster."

"Too bad you can't do anything about it now."

"Hellfire, Wilma, I can't even think much about ole Sarah nowadays. When I do, my body starts to feel plumb odd, and I gotta...stop."

"I knows what you mean. I look like that gal I met at that House we hid out in that time over in Texas. She said she was the daughter of some I-talian count or something. Now _that_ was a week I'll always remember." Wilma smiled at the memory, then frowned. Her body felt...odd. It had happened once or twice before since had she changed, and she didn't like it. She tried to distract herself. "How about you, Maggie. Who do you look like?"

"I-I do not know. Some woman I must of seen once." Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"C'mon," Jessie said, "there had to be something more than that to it."

"Yeah, who is she, a looker like you...like that, she must cost you a whole lot for a romp in the hay." Wilma grinned.

"You take that back!" Maggie snapped.

"I think you hit a nerve there, Wilma." Jessie grinned. This looked like it was gonna be fun.

"I think you're right, Jessie." Wilma said. "Is that why you're always sending money home, Maggie? Paying for another night with her. You don't have to anymore, you know. You got the same body now as that pretty Mex whore."

Maggie screamed, "You take that back, you, you bastard!" and grabbed for Wilma's throat.

Wilma was taken by surprise by the force of Maggie's attack. She fell backwards taking Maggie with her. They rolled on the floor, swinging, and screaming obscenities at one another.

"Don't just stand there," Bridget yelled. "Try to separate them." She bent over trying to grab one or the other of the women."

Jessie just laughed. "Why? This is the funniest thing I've seen in weeks."

Laura ran over. "Shut up, Jessie. Bridget, you grab Wilma; I'll get Maggie."

Bridget nodded. The two women began to try to catch a free arm or to just pull the two fighters apart. The cursing got louder. After a few minutes of struggle, Bridget and Laura did manage to get their arms around Wilma and Maggie and start to separate them.

Wilma and Maggie kept on fighting -- or trying to, swinging at one another as they were pulled out of each other's reach. After they were separated, they started trying to kick at each other. Throughout it all, both women continued the verbal assault, Wilma in English and Maggie more and more lapsing into Spanish.

"What the hell is going on in here." Molly stood in the doorway just long enough to see what was going on. Then she turned and yelled, "Shamus, get up here quick. The ladies is fighting something fierce."

"What in the bloody..." Shamus' voice boomed out. "Wilma, Maggie, the both of you _stop it_. Stop fighting right _now_!"

"And stop the cussing," Molly added.

"That, too," Shamus said.

The two women froze in place, unable to continue. They glared at each other, baring their teeth; then they both seemed to relax in the arms of the woman who was holding them.

"Now then," Shamus asked, "what's going on here?"

"Damned if I know," Wilma said. "We was just talking, and this crazy Mex jumps me. Ain't that right, Jessie?"

"Sure is," Jessie said.

"Is it, Jessie?" Shamus said sarcastically. "Ye'd say the sun set in the east if Wilma asked you to." He paused a moment. "All right, Maggie, let's hear your side of it, and I don't want any of ye to interrupt."

"She...she say I...my Lupe was...was a whore." Maggie trembled as if trying to attack again, fighting the voice that wouldn't let her.

"Lupe?" Shamus asked. "Who or what is Lupe?"

Maggie lowered her head. "Is...is personal, someone I know from home."

Shamus scratched his head. "Ye must know her pretty well, if ye'd attack somebody because of something they said about her. Who is she, Maggie? Tell me right now."

Maggie sighed. "Lupe...Guadalupe Rosario Lopez...she...she is...was my wife."

"We was talking about the women we looked like," Bridget said. "Maggie -- you know how closed up she is about things -- she wouldn't tell who she looked like. Wilma said, whoever it was, she must be some kind of whore. That's when Maggie jumped her."

"Is that true, Wilma?" Shamus asked. "Answer me."

"I...suppose it..._might_...be true." Wilma was forced to answer by voice in her head, and she didn't like it.

"That wasn't right," Molly said. "Wilma, ye should apologize."

"Ye're right," Shamus said. He looked directly at Wilma. "You go over and apologize right now, and try and sound like ye mean it."

Wilma trembled. Apologize was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn't help herself. She slowly walked over to Maggie. "Maggie, I-I'm...sorry. I-I didn't m-mean no insult to...your wife."

"The hell you did not." Maggie crossed her arms and glared at Wilma.

"The both of ye shake hands -- shake hands right now," Shamus said. He watched as the two of them slowly shook hands. "And that is the end of it. I don't want ye -- any of ye -- to be trying anything or to be fighting over what happened here today. Do ye understand."

The women all nodded.

"Fine," Shamus said, looking at Wilma and Maggie. "Ye two don't look that much the worse for wear. Ye all fix yuirselves up. Molly'll stay and help. I want ye all downstairs as quick as ye can." He turned and left. Molly supervised, hurrying the others along, while she repaired the damage that Wilma and Maggie had done to each other.

* * * * *

Maggie was taking a tray of dirty glasses into the kitchen when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second?" It was Wilma.

"What the hell do you want?" Maggie said through gritted teeth.

"First off, to say I'm sorry -- for real, not because Shamus is making me."

"You had no call to say that about my Lupe."

"You're right, Maggie. I shouldn't have said anything like that. We got to stick together, the five of us. I truly am sorry for what I said."

"So you sorry -- you say -- but I know you, Wilma, you got something else on your mind. What is it?"

"In a way, it's about that wife a your'n -- hey, don't get riled. I just mean, wouldn't you like to see her again -- as a man?"

"I...I would love to see her again, but what does that have to do with what you want of me?"

"What I want, what we all want is to get back our peckers and get out of here."

"Si, but Señor Shamus and the sheriff, they say there is no way we can turn back to what we was."

"Don't tell me you're actually starting to believe that. Look, you spends more time here in the kitchen than any of the rest of us. You got a chance to look around. Shamus said he changed us with some kinda potion. Maybe theys still some of it around, or maybe he wrote the recipe down someplace. You gotta look around and see what you can find."

"I-I will look, but Señora Molly, she is always in the kitchen watching me."

"I know, but I think she's beginning to trust you a little. You two talk, don't you, while you're cooking and such?"

"Si, we talk about a lot of things."

"So, just kind of casual sometime, you ask her about the potion. See what she knows. Then, when you find out anything, you come and tell me."

"Okay...okay, I do that."

"I thought you would. You wants out of here as much as any of us, maybe more." Wilma looked around. "They're gonna be wondering where I am so long. We'll talk again when you find out something, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, and I am sorry about what I said." Wilma smiled and walked back into the saloon. 'But not too sorry,' she thought once she was out of Maggie's sight. 'Just cause you help me turn back don't mean I gotta help you. Serve you right if I left you looking just like that whore of a Mex wife of yours.'

* * * * *

Saturday, August 5, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 2

Shamus looked at his pocket watch; it was 1:45. "Molly, gather up the ladies." Molly nodded and blew on a whistle strung around her neck. Cap Lewis had suggested it, based on the boson's whistle he'd answered to as an able-bodied seaman in the Confederate navy.

Bridget sat at the poker table, as usual. Laura was serving drinks. Maggie and Jessie walked out from the kitchen, and Wilma came down from upstairs. As quickly as possible, they all hurried to the place near the bar where Molly was standing.

"What you want, Señora Molly?" Maggie asked.

"Ye ladies all go upstairs and fetch yuirselves a clean camisole and drawers and yuir hairbrushes. Then ye hurry back down here." Molly looked at Shamus' watch. "We don't want to be late."

"Why?" Wilma asked. "Where are we going?"

"Ye'll find out when we get there." He gestured with his hands. "Now scoot."

The women hurried off. They were back quickly, each of them holding the linen garments and their brushes. "Och," Shamus said. "Jessie, Laura, ye're carrying them things like flags to be waved, not like the unmentionables they are. Roll them up." He waited while the two women obeyed. "Fine, now remember, ye're not to be trying to get away once we're outside me saloon." He walked over to the doorway. "All right, R.J., ye're in charge. Molly, ladies, follow me."

The ladies fell into line, with Molly at the rear, and followed Shamus out the door and down the street. As much as possible, Shamus stayed on the wooden sidewalks in front of the buildings. The streets in Eerie varied between dusty and muddy, depending on the weather, and the ladies' dresses were long. Molly knew how to handle the dirt, but the others didn't.

They stopped at Whit's barbershop. Whit was standing at the door with a slender Mexican woman with a narrow face, her dark hair done up in a bun. She wore a large white apron over a red and yellow dress. "Ladies...Shamus," Whit said with a bow. "Good afternoon. For those of you who don't know her, this is my wife, Carmen. Please come in. The water is just about ready."

The women followed Shamus into the shop, then through a door into a back room. A dozen lockers stood against the walls with benches in front of them. "A bathhouse," Wilma said, "a damned bathhouse!"

"That's right," Shamus said. "I want ye ladies to strip down and get yuirselves clean. I'll be leaving; ye'll listen to Molly and Carmen here and do like they tells ye." He started back out and then stopped. "And if any of ye _do_ try anything, I'll be right outside here waiting for ye. And so will the Sheriff." He turned again and left.

With audible sighs, the women began to undo their clothing. "Hang yuir dresses in the lockers," Molly said, then put the other things in there with them," Molly said.

While the women were undressing, Carmen went through a curtain in the back of the changing room. A dozen large wooden tubs were placed around the room. A wood furnace had been converted to a water heater, a pipe going to each tub. Carmen turned a small handle at the front of five of the tubs to fill them with hot water. Once they were filled, she opened a cupboard and took out a large box of perfumed bath salts. She dumped some into each tub, stirring it in with her arm. "Is ready," she called.

The women came in slowly, heads down and trying very hard not to look at one another. As a rule, they changed clothes as quickly as possible. Guys didn't look at each other's bodies unless they were queer. They knew they were all men, but they all had all these _girly_ parts, bosoms, and butts, and down _there_ between their legs. Seeing such parts on the others reminded them of what they didn't want to think about -- that they had those same parts themselves.

When Molly said, "All right, ladies, get in the tubs," they quickly climbed in and sank down until only their heads and the tops of their shoulders were above the water.

"Hey," Jessie said. "This water smells funny." She cupped her hand and held some water up to her nose.

"Feels funny, too," Laura said, "kinda tingly, like seltzer or something. What's in it?"

"Is bath salts," Carmen said and then repeated her answer in Spanish for Maggie. "Makes your skin all nice and soft; makes it smell good, too."

"The hell with that," Wilma said, starting to climb out.

"Ye'll sit back down, right now, Wilma," Molly ordered. "And none of the rest of ye will try to get out till I tells ye to. Now just lie back for a few minutes and let yuir bodies soak in that pretty smelling water."

The women did as they were told. They felt the gentle heat of the water soak into their bodies. Gradually they relaxed, eventually half dozing and enjoying the sensations, despite their determination not to. Molly noticed that all of the women's nipples were erect, and that some of the girls were unknowingly fondling themselves.

She let them sit in the tubs for a bit longer. When she thought it was time, she tossed each a bar of soap and a washcloth. "You ladies work up a good lather and get yuirselves, all of yuirselves completely clean."

"Hey, this stuff floats," Laura said, holding up her soap.

"Didn't you never hear of this stuff," Wilma said. "'Ivory', I thinks they calls it. We used it in the Army during the War. It was sure handy washing in a river. You couldn't lose the bar."

Laura picked up her bar and began to work up a lather on the cloth. She sat up and began rubbing soap onto her arm.

As Laura finished, she started to move the washcloth across her...breasts. She frowned. She hardly wanted to think about them, let alone touch them. She started to move her hand away, then she heard the voice in her head, "all of yuirselves completely clean."

She sighed, and, having no choice, began to lather her breasts. It felt strange...uncomfortable, not from the sensations of the soapy washcloth on her breasts -- which was disturbing enough -- but from the knowledge that she had breasts to wash. The two emotions, discomfort and arousal, caused her to close her eyes and shudder, but she had to keep going. The voice wouldn't let her stop.

Laura's heart started to beat faster, and she felt a little short of breath by the time she finished. She sank down in the tub to rinse the lather and then sat back up to continue. As she did, she looked around.

Bridget was still doing her breasts, a tight grimace on her face that looked something like a smile. Jessie was just sinking down. She stayed low in the water, as if not wanting to continue. Eventually, though, she did sit back up. Laura couldn't see the others, but she expected they were having the same sort of problems. 'Yeah, damn voices, same as me,' she thought. She picked up the soap and began to rub it across her stomach to work up a lather.

Then she did her legs, using the washcloth. She soaped them one at a time, then lowered each into the water to rinse. In a few minutes, she was finished.

Except.

Except for the space between her legs. Laura waited. Had the instruction to obey Molly worn off? No, the voice was as strong as ever. "Completely clean."

She shook her head. "_Completely_ clean."

Laura sighed, unable to fight it. She folded the cloth around the soap and rubbed it in her hand to work up a lather. Then, gritting her teeth, she plunged her hand down into the water and began to run the cloth against her crotch. It felt...damn, she hated the way it felt. As she rubbed down _there_, she felt a warmth growing in her breasts. Liking it and suddenly curious, she let her hand move on its own, in long, slow strokes. Her eyes closed as her breathing became uneven. Something -- something she didn't even want to think about -- was stirring in her body.

Then just when the sensation was beginning to be more than she could bear, Laura felt a bucket of cold water splash down on her head. "What the hell," she screamed and let go of the soap.

Molly was standing next to her with the bucket, a wicked smile on her face. "We figured we'd do yuir hair, too." She took the cloth with the soap still inside it and handed Laura a bottle of shampoo.

Laura poured some of the yellow liquid into her palm. She let a little flow into her other hand, then reach up and began to work it into her hair. As she did, she heard a scream. She looked up and saw Carmen standing next to Bridget, an empty bucket in her hands. Bridget was panting, and her face looked flushed.

Jessie was leaning back in her tub. Both her hands were under the water near her crotch. Her eyes were closed and her head was rolling on her shoulders. That stopped, and she sat up with a start, when Molly dumped water on her.

"All of ye shampoo yuir hair real good, now," Molly said. "Then we'll rinse ye off and comb it.

The women lathered their hair, then sat stoically while Molly and Carmen rinsed them off with cold water. After the water, Molly and Carmen handed them towels to use on their hair. Then they each got a second towel to wrap around their still-damp hair. The women climbed out of the tub and took other towels to dry their bodies with. "Pat, don't rub," Molly said. The women discovered the truth of this as soon as they tried rubbing. "Yuir bodies are softer now," Molly explained.

They walked back into the locker room. Carmen was waiting with small containers of talc. "This is for use before you dress," she said. "You just rub it on your skin."

Laura and the others shook powder onto themselves and began to rub it in. Laura noticed that she wasn't the only one who was careful when it came to putting the powder on her breasts. 'No sense starting _that_ again,' she thought.

The women quickly donned their camisoles and drawers, anxious to cover up. "Before ye go any further," Molly told them suddenly, "I want to stop and brush out yuir hair. Sit down and take off the towels. It should be dry enough by now."

The women sat on the benches and unwrapped the towels around their heads. Jessie's hair was a mass of tiny ringlets. Wilma and Maggie's tresses were full of curls, while Laura and Bridget's hung straight down. Molly checked them all; the hair was dry enough to comb. "I think ye'll do 100 strokes this time because of the water, and don't ye forget to say what Shamus told ye to say when ye brushed yuir hair."

"I am a girl," Maggie began automatically. The others joined in, until the five were a single voice. They sat, bodies still sensitive from the baths -- and what they had been doing in the water, in camisole and drawers and smelling of the lilac perfume that had been in the bath salts and the shampoo, repeating the sentence 100 times each.

Finally, they finished. "Can we finish dressing now?" Wilma asked, her attempt at gruffness coming out sounding more like purring.

"No," Molly said. "While ye're all here, I want to show ye a few things." She pointed at Wilma who was sitting leaning against her locker, her feet on the floor, her knees far apart. "Wilma, sit up and put yuir knees together." Wilma obeyed as quickly as she could. "Now, sit up strait and put yuir hands together on yuir lap." When Wilma obeyed and shifted position, Molly added, "Now ye girl's all keep that in mind. _That's_ how a girl sits."

"Or," Molly said, "she puts one knee over the other and holds her ankles near each other. Wilma you sit like that, now." Wilma groaned, but did as she was told. "I'll not _order_ ye to sit like that, but I do want ye to keep what I'm telling you in mind when ye do sit down."

Molly pointed at Bridget. "Now it's yuir turn. Stand up and walk across the room." Bridget stood and obeyed. "When ye come back, I want ye should take a smaller step and place yuir foot so the toe is in line with the toe of the other foot. Hold yuir hands down as low as ye can without shifting yuir shoulders, but away from yuir body. Do ye understand all that?" Bridget nodded. "Good, then walk back over here."

Bridget walked back, trying to follow the directions. It took Molly a few more tries, but Bridget was soon walking in an acceptably feminine manner, her hips swaying slightly with each step, an effect which pleased Molly very much to see.

"That's the way," Molly said, smiling. "That's the way a girl walks, and I wants ye all to remember that, too. Understand?" She looked at the women to make certain that they all responded. "Good, then get yuirselves dressed. We've all got work to do."

Shamus and the sheriff were waiting for them outside. The two men and Molly escorted the women back to the Saloon. "It didn't take as much with some of them as it did with the others," Shamus whispered to Molly as they walked, "but there's not a one of them ladies that isn't walking at least a little more _like_ a lady."

* * * * *

Monday, August 7, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 4

"Okay," Jeff Callen said, raking in the cards. "Next hand will be seven-card stud, duces are wild, okay?" He was the new man in the game, a notions drummer, who'd come to town to try and sell some of his goods to Aaron Silverman. He said that he was planning to stay the night before he rode on to Prescott. When no one at the table objected to his suggestion, he shuffled the cards once and began to deal.

"Hold it," Bridget said. "He's cheating."

Callen smiled. "Why, little lady, whatever makes you say a thing like that?" He dealt out another few cards.

"Because you're bottom dealing," Bridget said. "I thought I saw you doing it the last time you dealt the hand, so this time I was watching you."

"That's ridiculous," Callen said. His voice wasn't near as friendly as it had been a moment before. "Shall we continue, gentleman?"

Sam Braddock and Cap Lewis were willing, but Hans Euler wasn't so sure. He put his hand on the two cards he'd been dealt. "What you mean, Bridget?"

Bridget looked at the deck in Callen's hand. "I think he did some kind of a partial shuffle to get some of the cards he wants, like that pair of tens Cap just won with, to the top of the deck. Now he's dealing off the bottom -- except for his own cards, of course."

"Nobody can deal like that," Sam said.

"Sure they can," Bridget said. "And I can prove it, if you'll give me the deck." She reached for the cards in Callen's hand.

"Are you going to take the word of this trollop?" Callen glared at Bridget.

"If I'm wrong, I buy a drink for every one at this table," she said.

"Dat's good enough for me," Hans said, looking sharply at Callen. "Give her the cards."

Bridget took the cards from his hand and picked up the ones already dealt. She looked through the deck. "Just as I thought, the top card is a king of hearts."

"That doesn't prove a thing," Callen said. He was beginning to look a little nervous. A few people in the room saw the argument and were walking towards the table. Callen noticed that one of them was wearing a badge.

"This is what he's been doing." Bridget put the king of hearts back on the top of the deck. She shuffled the cards and dealt five poker hands. Then, before anyone could look at his cards, she turned the top card of what was left of the deck in her hand over. It was the king of hearts.

Callen smiled through thin lips. "Now I can explain." He suddenly jumped to his feet and started to run towards the door. He got about two feet before the sheriff grabbed him by the arm and threw him to the ground.

Callen reached inside his jacket. "I wouldn't," the sheriff said. Callen looked up and saw that the sheriff was holding a pistol.

"Very well, Sheriff." Callen took his hand away from his jacket and slowly got to his feet. The sheriff led him away.

"I think I'll be the one buying the drinks, gentlemen," Shamus said, forcing a smile. "One round for the five of ye by way of the Eerie Saloon's apology for letting such a blackheart get into yuir game." The last thing he wanted was for the poker players to move to another saloon.

"Don't forget one for Bridget," Sam called. "She's the one who spotted him." He put an arm around her waist. "Bridget, you're my new good luck charm, and you can sit at my poker table any time you want.

"Same here," Red Tully said. "Hell, why don't we just play these cards just she dealt us. The day is young, and I'm feeling lucky."

The game resumed. Shamus walked back to the bar to get the promised beers and to think about what had just happened.

* * * * *

The poker game broke up about 3. The Judge was going to be trying Callen in the Saloon in about an hour. A couple of the players wanted to get cleaned up, since they were going to have to testify. "Don't want to look like no poker bum," Red explained.

Bridget knew she was going to have to testify, too. If anybody didn't know who she was, they would in an hour. Well, there was nothing she could do about it. She decided to go outside and get some air before the damned thing started.

"Now what did you go and do that for?"

Bridget turned. "Oh, hello, Jessie. Do what?"

Jessie folded her arms below her breasts. "Why'd you go and tell them folks that guy...Callen was cheating them?"

"Because I didn't like the idea of him cheating my friends."

Jessie laughed. "Friends is it now? Just what did any of these shitkickers ever do for you -- for any of us -- except take away our peckers and put us in these pretty dresses?"

"They treated me square, not like I was some kinda freak. I...well, I got to like them guys."

"I thinks you more than just _like_ them. I thinks you're sweet on them. You wants them to hug you...kiss you. Maybe...maybe even grab your...b-breasts. Yeah, that...that gets you all hot, don't...don't it, Bridget? You...you just wants to lay d-down and spread your l-legs for them..._friends_ of yours. Don't you, B-Bridget?" Jessie's eyes were half-closed, and her breathing was getting a little shallow.

"Hell, Jessie, I-I ain't sure just what I want, Jessie, especially after what that bath we all had on Saturday...did to us, but it sure sounds to me like that's what you want...somebody to do to you."

Jessie stiffened. Her face was flushed, but Bridget couldn't tell if it was anger or...something else. "The hell I do. I'm a man, dammit."

"So am I, Jessie. So am I. I was just ragging on you a little. I didn't mean nothing by it." She tried to smile. For a day or so after that bath, she _had_ been thinking like that -- a little anyway.

"Apology accepted, but don't you never say anything like that again." Jessie shook Bridget's hand, glad to change the subject. Maybe she _had_ wanted those things -- just a bit. Damn that bath!

"I won't, I so don't get your hackles up." Bridget paused a moment. "Look, Jessie, I set a lot of store in loyalty to my friends. You know that. I didn't come here to Eerie to get revenge like Wilma, or to raise hell like you. I come cause Wilma's my friend, and she asked me to come."

Yeah, so?"

"Well, I got to be friends with Red, Cap, and the others, and I didn't want that SOB Callen to be cheating them."

"Yeah, but what did it matter? He wasn't taking your money."

"No, but he was taking _theirs_, and it wasn't in me to let my friends get cheated. Can you understand that, Jessie?" She stuck out her hand again.

"I suppose, but that don't mean that I like it." Jessie shook Bridget's hand a second time.

"I'll settle for that. Now let's us get back inside. The place is starting to fill up, and Shamus will be looking for us soon enough."

* * * * *

Tuesday, August 8, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 5

Maggie looked up from the celery she was cutting up for her stew. "Señora Molly, why you do that to us?"

"What do you mean?" Molly asked. She was sitting a few feet away, reading a _Harper's Bazaar_. "Ye know why ye all got changed into women."

"I do not mean that. I mean what you do to us last Saturday, the baths and the lessons. I do not want to learn how to walk like a woman."

"I'm afraid that ye'll have to, Maggie. My Shamus says there is no potion to change you back into men."

"No way? N-no way at all?"

"None, dear. Like we told ye all before, ye -- all of ye -- will be ladies for the rest of yuir days."

"But...that is not fair. We do not deserve to be changed like this, not -- not forever."

"And just what did ye expect to do to the Sheriff, to the town, when ye all come riding in? Was that going to be fair?"

"I guess...no, it was not fair. I did not realize what Wilma had in mind. She say we just gonna make some easy money in this town."

"How? Ye didn't think you was gonna work for it, did ye? Honest work, I mean."

Maggie sighed. "No,...I guess I did not."

"Ye're a good person, Maggie, so far as I can tell. Why was ye going along with a spauleen like Will Hanks?"

"I was mad...angry. I did not steal from Mr. Coogan -- he was my boss -- he say I stole his payroll. I did not, but nobody believe me. I spend a year in jail before somebody else admit they stole it, and they still almost did not let me out cause I am a Mexican. I wanted to get even with somebody, and Wilma, she say, come with her, and I get even -- get a lot of money, too." She looked down at her body. "Now you say I stuck like this forever. It...it just not fair."

"No, it isn't. But ye have to admit, ye did bring it on yuirself."

"I suppose, but that do not mean I got to like it."

"Ye don't have to like it, but ye do have to learn to live with it. That's why we took ye all to Whit's bathhouse on Saturday."

"That why? So we could learn to live with being women."

"Aye, and the first step is to make ye understand that ye _are_ women."

"And you do that by making us...do what we do there...in the tubs...on Saturday?"

"Yes, and by making ye say, 'I'm a girl' while ye brush yuir hair, and by showing ye how to walk and how to sit like women."

"How -- how does that do anything but make us feel..._ridículo_?"

"Ye were feeling something else on Saturday, though. Ye were feeling what it's like to be a woman. Ye may not want to admit it, not in yuir heart of hearts, but on Saturday, ye -- all of ye -- _knew_ that ye had women's bodies."

"I-I...yes, we knew that. I felt...funny the rest of the day, and the dreams I had that night..." Maggie shivered, remembering them. She had dreamed of Lupe as she often did. Only that night, _she_ had been Lupe, being kissed by a man, by her male self. "We knew, all right."

"Good, then ye can all start learning how to be a woman; how to talk, how to act like one, so ye can make new lives for yuirselves when ye finish up yuir time here at the Saloon."

"Life? What sort of life can I have? I cannot go home like this?"

"No, I guess ye can't, and I'm sorry about that; I truly am. We never thought any of ye would have families."

"I did -- I do, and what would they say if they saw me like this?"

"That's something only time can tell. After all, they haven't seen ye in a lot of years, have they?"

"No, but I been sending money home to them. How can I do even that now?"

"The way anyone does. Ye get a job and send part of what ye earn home."

"A job? I got no skills except I can do ranch work or cook. I am not strong like I was, strong like Laura still is, so I cannot work at no ranch. Who would trust me enough to give me a job?"

"Well, if trust's the problem, what say, I give ye a try."

"What you mean, Señora Molly?"

"I mean, that I'm going out front to help Shamus and R.J. at the bar. After ye finish that stew for the 'Free Lunch', I want ye to start on supper for us. I don't expect anything real fancy, mind ye, but I do expect a good tasting meal for the eight of us. R.J. eats dinner here, too, remember."

"I remember. And thank you."

"Just make sure ye do a good job on our dinner. Ye'll be eating it the same as the rest of us." Molly turned and left the kitchen. She sighed as she walked through the door. 'I just hope I'm right about this,' she thought. 'Poisoning is a horrible way for a body to die.'

* * * * *

Shamus looked around the Saloon. It was almost empty, even the poker players had gone home, or wherever, for some supper. Only a couple of men sat nursing drinks. Now would be a good time to eat. Besides, the smells coming out of the kitchen were beginning to make his mouth water. He turned to check and saw Molly walking towards the kitchen. "That supper smells delicious, me Love. How soon will it be ready?"

"Just a minute, Shamus, and I'll go find out." She had a mysterious sort of smile on her face.

"Find out?" Shamus asked. "Ain't it you that's been cooking it?"

"Me, no," Molly said. "I've been over at Silverman's. Rachel just got a letter from their oldest, the one that lives in Frisco. He and his wife are expecting another baby come December."

"That'll be what, their third. Rachel and Aaron must be thrilled." He paused for a moment, remembering. "But if you was over there, then who's in the kitchen making our supper?"

"Maggie. She's such a good cook I decided to let her do it tonight."

"Well, then I hope you invited the Doc to be here when we eats it. Who knows what sort of poisonous thing she'll be putting in it."

"Shamus! If it was Wilma or Jessie -- maybe even Laura -- I'd be agreeing with ye. But...I don't know...I thinks we can trust Maggie."

"Ye can, but I'll be asking her about it before I eat anything."

* * * * *

Maggie bought out the food about ten minutes later. R.J. took his meal at the bar in case anyone wanted a drink. He and Shamus switched off the duty each night. The others sat at a table near the kitchen.

"It looks good," Shamus said, as Maggie set down a platter of sliced meat in front of him.

"Thank you, Señor Shamus," Molly said, sitting down next to Bridget. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure that we will, Maggie," Shamus said. "But what all is it?"

"You cannot tell? Is sliced roast with a mustard sauce, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and -- wait! Do you think I try to...you think I put something bad in the food." She looked sad, then angry. "Okay, you do not trust me. Ask me, ask me right out, did I do anything bad to this food?"

Shamus felt a bit embarrassed for wondering, but he had to be sure. "All right, Maggie. Tell me, tell me honestly, did ye do anything to this food, put anything into it that might hurt us or make us sick?"

Maggie sat upright. She squared her shoulders and looked Shamus in the eye. "I put nothing bad in this food. I did nothing bad to it. And I show you." She picked up a slice of meat with her hand, poured a bit of the mustard sauce on it, and stuck it in her mouth. She chewed for a bit, then swallowed. "Now the biscuits." She reached for one.

Shamus reached out and put his hand on hers. "Maggie, I'm sorry. I should have trusted ye."

"Si," she said proudly. "You should have."

"Well, I do." He reached over and took several slices of meat onto his plate. "Ye can cook for me, for us, anytime ye want."

"And for us." They turned and saw the Saloon's two remaining customers standing near the table. "That surely does small good."

"If ye're hungry," Shamus said, "I think there's still a bit of her stew left over at the 'Free Lunch.'"

"I'd eat her grub even if it wasn't free," one of the men said as they walked over to the end of the bar where the "Free Lunch" was kept. Shamus nodded, then reached for some potatoes.

* * * * *

Wednesday, August 9, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 6

Laura and Jessie were the barmaids on-duty late in the afternoon, when Arsenio came in. He _always_ seemed to come to the Saloon when Laura was on-duty. He sat down at an empty table near the wall and motioned for her to come over.

"I suppose you want your usual, rum, a shot at a time," she said.

"You can bring the bottle -- if you join me." He tossed a $5 gold "Half Eagle" onto the table. "Bring something for yourself, too."

Laura took the money and headed back to the bar. She didn't want to have a drink with the smith, but Shamus had ordered them all to encourage men to buy them drinks. That damned voice wouldn't let her refuse. 'There won't even be any alcohol in my damned beer to make it worth while,' she thought. In a few minutes, she was back at the table with a bottle of the brand of rum Arsenio liked, his change, and a "beer" for herself.

"Now that's better," Arsenio said, as she set down the drinks, handed him his change, and sat down opposite him. Arsenio poured himself a shot of rum.

"I suppose now you're gonna talk sweet-talk to me."

"I'd like to, Laura. You're a right pretty woman." He smiled at her. "But, somehow, I don't think it'd do me very much good."

"Not really," she said, feeling relieved...mostly.

"Then what should we talk about? Frankly, I'd just as soon skip talking about how you were gonna whip the hell outta me."

Laura smiled, just a little. "I would have, too." She glanced down at her now female body. "But I guess that's kind of besides the point now."

"Well, I'm not saying that I would've beat you and I sure ain't gonna admit that you would've beat me. But I will say that it would have been one helluva good fight." He held out a hand. "Will you shake on that, at least?"

Laura grinned. "Yeah, I guess I will." She took his hand warily and shook it.

Arsenio emptied his glass in one gulp, then poured another. "I guess that means we're friends, now."

Laura took a drink. Well, at least it _tasted_ like beer. "For now, let's just say that it means we ain't enemies no more."

Arsenio sipped his drink and looked at her. "I guess I can settle for that."

* * * * *

Thursday, August 10, 1871, Week 3 -- Day 7

Bridget and Maggie met by the door to Shamus' office. "I guess Shamus wanted to see you, too," Bridget, said. "Any idea what he wants?"

Maggie dried her hands nervously on her apron. "No. You think we should wait and see who else comes?"

Bridget shook her head. "If he wants to wait for anybody else, he'll tell us." She knocked on the door.

"Come in, ladies," Shamus called.

They walked in closing the door behind them.

Shamus was sitting at a desk made from old liquor crates -- you could still read the brand names -- with two boards nailed across the top. He rose as they came in and pointed to a couple of chairs nearby. "Please have a seat."

Maggie pulled one chair over and sat down. Bridget twisted the other chair so it was facing away from the desk. She threw a leg over it, stretching her dress tight on her hips, and sat with her arms resting on the back of the chair. "What did you want to see us about, Shamus?"

"We do nothing wrong, did we?" Maggie added.

Shamus laughed. "Wrong? No, Maggie, actually, I asked ye two here because ye did something very right. I want to offer ye both jobs."

"What do you mean, Señor Shamus? We already work for you."

"Yes, what exactly _do_ you have in mind," Bridget said suspiciously. 'Oh, Lord,' she thought, 'don't let this have anything to do with those damned baths we took the other day.'

"Not what ye're probably thinking," Shamus said. "I don't run _that_ kind of a place. The five of ye were sentenced to do general work about me Saloon, clean, serve drinks, and like that. Ye'd still be doing a bit of that -- Wilma, Jessie, and Laura will take up yuir slack, but ye've turned out to be having special talents. I want to hire them, and I'm willing to pay ye for them."

"Talents?" Maggie asked. "What sort of talents you mean?"

"In yuir case, Maggie, it's cooking. Ye're a wonder of a cook. There ain't been a meal ye've made that hasn't had somebody come and ask for some of it. I want to give it to them -- for a price."

Maggie sighed. "You mean you want me to cook for more people."

"Aye, Maggie," Shamus said. "If ye're willing, I want to set up part of the Saloon -- say those four tables just by the kitchen door -- as a restaurant."

"A restaurant," Maggie blinked in surprise. "I no can cook that fancy. I am just a trail cook."

"Ye're a cook, Maggie, and a good one." Shamus patted his stomach. "Besides, I ain't talking about some fancy place like they got out in Frisco. You make a menu, maybe four entries and a few simple side dishes to mix with them. The place would only be open for suppers, say from 5 to 8."

"I would need help," Maggie said. "I cannot cook _and_ serve. It would be nice to have somebody in the kitchen with me, too, for help with the food and to clean up after."

"The others would take turn being waitress," Shamus said. "Wilma and Laura, at least; I don't think Jessie's strong enough to carry a tray full of food. They can all help in the kitchen getting things ready, too, and take turns washing up. It wouldn't be fair to make you cook and do the dishes, too."

"The four of us would split it then," Bridget said.

"Not if ye take me up on me other offer, Bridget." Shamus had an odd look on his face. He was clearly up to something. "I'll be telling ye about it when I'm finished laying things out for Maggie."

"So tell me, Maggie, what do ye think?" he added.

"I think I want to think about it a little. Wait a minute, you say this is a job. Do that mean I get paid?"

"Ye're already getting paid, Maggie" Shamus said. "Ye know that. The five of ye fifteen cents a day, plus yuir clothes and such that we've bought ye. Ye'll be getting it all at the end of yuir sentences -- except for you, Maggie, I sends half of what ye earns each week down to...away for ye. Still, this _is_ something extra, so here's what I'll be doing to sweeten the deal. If the restaurant loses money -- and it's me that will be keeping the books -- it closes. If it makes money, ye'll get half the profits. If ye want, I can be mailing some of that each week, too."

Maggie jumped up and shook Shamus's hand. "I thought it over. You just got yourself a cook, Señor Shamus." She continued to happily pump his arm.

"Fine," Shamus said, pulling his hand free. "Ye go talk to Molly about what ye'll be needing in the way of kitchenware, dishes, and such. _If_ we make a profit, ye'll be paying for half of it, so don't be going overboard."

Maggie stiffened. "That could be a lot, what you want me to pay." Was this his way of cheating her of her share?

"Aye," Shamus said. "But don't ye be worrying. Ye'll be paying it off over time, so ye'll still have enough to send some out each week."

"Then is a deal." Maggie began to shake Shamus' hand again until he finally pulled it free.

"Now, Bridget," Shamus said.

"Okay, Shamus." Bridget nodded. "What sort of a deal have you for me?"

"Ye're a wonder at the poker," Shamus said. "Ye're honest -- ye proved that with Callen -- and the men trust ye. They all say ye bring them luck, and they wants ye to be sitting with them when they play."

Bridget smiled. "I like them, too, Shamus, but I don't see --"

Shamus held up his hand to interrupt. "The problem is that one girl can't sit next to five men. I want ye there -- the games last longer, and they buy more drinks -- and I need ye there -- ye've settled more than one argument about the rules and such. The trouble is, I can't just have ye sitting there. Sooner or later, they'll be fighting over who ye sit next to."

"Are you offering me a job as a dealer, Shamus?" Bridget asked.

"Aye, if ye're the dealer," Shamus said, "ye sit at the head of the table. They won't be as like to fight over who sits where, and ye'll have an easier time if they's any sort of argument over rules."

"But where's the money in that?"

"Impatient -- or greedy, aren't ye," Shamus said with a smile. "I've talked to a few of the regulars, Red, Carl, and a few others. They like the idea of ye being the full-time dealer. Likes it enough, they do, that they'll pay me five cents out of every pot. We split that, fifty-fifty, same as we do with any tips ye might be getting." He looked Bridget directly in the eye. "Ye'll also get out of whatever chores need doing while ye're at the table. Now, do we have a deal, Bridget?"

"Can I play, too?" Bridget asked.

"I'd rather ye didn't, but I'll not stop ye." Shamus said. "I'll also not give ye any money to be playing with." He smiled. "Besides, the men will trust ye more as a dealer, if ye aren't a player, too."

"I don't know," Bridget said. Then she offered Shamus her hand. "It's tempting, very tempting. I'd like to think about it, though -- just a little, before I say, 'yes.'"

* * * * *

Dan Talbot leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. "That was delicious, Amy."

His wife looked across the kitchen table. "There's still some pie left, Dan. Would you like another slice?"

"No, please. I'm full." He reached for a napkin and wiped his mouth.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I did. It was as good as anything Maggie --" He stopped realizing his mistake and bracing himself for what was going to follow.

Amy stiffened. "Yes, Dan, tell me about how good a cook that Maggie is."

"Amy, please. Maggie's a professional cook. It was a compliment."

"To whom, Dan Talbot? I'm getting very tired of listening to you talk about those women. Women -- bah -- they aren't even real women, but to hear you talk, they're a bunch of fairy princesses, not a bunch of men that came to town to kill you."

"I know who they were, Amy, but they're...well, they're different now. At least, some of them are.

"I'm sure thy are. That's why you spend so much time there at the saloon. You want to see how different they are."

"They're prisoners, Amy, my prisoners, even if they are officially in Shamus and Molly's custody. I have to keep track of them."

"Yes, but do you have to spend so much...time there with them?"

"I told you already that I have to. It's part of my job. Besides, Shamus and Molly run the biggest saloon in town. I have to check in there from time to time. Just the other day, there was that --"

"Yes, I heard about that card sharp. You just _happened_ to be there when that Bridget woman caught him cheating."

"It's a good thing that I was there. He might have gotten away."

"From what I heard, there were a number of men there at the time. They held back because you were there."

"You sound like you wanted him to escape."

"No, I...you're twisting my words, Dan. Of course, I'm glad he was caught. But why...why did you have to be the one who caught him? Why did you have to be there at the saloon?"

"Because I'm always at that saloon that time of day. I make my rounds in the afternoon: the Eerie, a few of the other saloons, the...um...houses, the bank, Silverman's. I haven't changed my schedule that much since the women -- since Shamus used his potion on them."

"But you have changed it some. You go there...you go there to see those women."

"Amy, I go there because Shamus is doing more business than ever, and I have to go there to keep things from getting out of hand. Plus, I have to check on the prisoners -- to make sure that they're behaving."

"I thought that _magic_ potion kept them from misbehaving."

"It does, mostly, but I still..."

"You still want to be around those women. Admit it."

"All right, I admit it. I can't explain to you what all is going on with them. You have to see it for yourself."

"I'm sure."

"No you aren't. Look, five men, five very bad men rode into town out for my blood. Then we give them Shamus' potion. Now one of them is turning in other crooks -- to protect her '_friends_', she says at the trial -- and another is cooking meals for the people who are holding her prisoner."

"And the others? What about them?"

"Well, Wilma is still out for my blood, I think, and Jessie, well, I think she's just a little crazy, but I think Laura's starting to come along, too."

"Come along where -- and with who?"

"Straighten out, Amy. They're finding new lives for themselves. It's like that potion is giving them a second chance."

"And you want to be a part of that, don't you?"

"Sure I do. I don't think anybody's so bad that they don't deserve a chance to start over and make a better life."

"And the fact that they're all young and beautiful doesn't have anything to do with it? The fact that the potion makes they obey everything you tell them doesn't make you want to be a part of their new lives?"

"Is that -- Amy, is that what you think?"

"Yes, I think you're enjoying keeping an eye on those five beautiful prisoners of yours. I think you're enjoying it far too much."

"You know, you're right, Amy. I am a very lucky man."

"What!"

"Let me tell you about my luck. I get paid to watch five beautiful women -- who aren't really women, three of whom are still madder than hell at me for making women out of them and would like nothing better than to put a bullet between my eyes if they could."

"But..."

"Then, at the end of my day, I get to go home to a real woman, a beautiful woman, the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and the mother of my child. And she yells at me for what I do all day to make the town a fit place for them to live in and to keep a roof over our heads."

"I never meant it like that."

"Amy, I love you. I've loved you since I was a U.S. marshal working out of the same fort as your father's regiment back during the War. Nothing and no one is going to change that."

"But they're so beautiful, and I'm..."

"Far more beautiful than they are; at least, you are to me."

"I'm still not sure...I mean, you're in there day after day."

"Then come with me. In fact, you can even work with me."

"What do you mean?"

"You, Amelia Benton Talbot, are a lady, a lady from the ground up. You can teach them to be ladies."

"I thought Molly and Rachel were doing that."

"They are, but Molly's not a lady -- not in the same way that you are, the daughter of a career officer...a colonel, someone who's even lived in Washington society for a couple years -- and Rachel, well, she's a good soul, but she's a lot older than any of them. You can teach them how to be _young_ ladies because you're still one yourself."

"I don't know. Is it safe to be around them?"

"It should be. I'll tell them not to hurt you. You, yourself, said that that they have to obey me. Besides, how can I try anything _friendly_ -- not that I would, of course -- but how could I, if you were there watching me?"

"That, Dan Talbot, is the first bit of real sense you've made all evening. I want to think about it a little more, but I believe I'll do it."

* * * * *

Friday, August 11, 1871, Week 4 -- Day 1

Natty Ryland got to the bar about 10:30, just as Shamus had asked. The doors were shut. A hand-lettered "Closed Till 1 PM" sign hung from a nail on the door. He knocked. "Shamus, Molly, it's me, Natty. I come just like you asked."

"Just a minute," came a voice from inside. R.J. Rossi opened the door and let Natty in, then shut it quickly behind him. Natty was a stocky man with a round face and a mass of curly brown hair. He had large hands with long, slender and supple fingers.

Shamus came over and gently shook Natty's hand. "Glad ye could come, Natty. Hope yuir brother don't mind."

"Enoch don't mind. Business is a little slow at the shop this time of day, and money is money." He paused a moment. "You are paying me for this, aren't you?"

"Of course, we are," Shamus said. "O'course, it ain't like ye're playing for a room full a people, is it?"

Natty sighed. "Okay, then, how does 20 cents an hour sound?"

"Not as good as 10 cents an hour?" Shamus grinned, loving the chance to haggle.

"Split the difference at 15 cents?" Natty offered, trying not to sound hopeful.

"Done and done." Shamus spit in his palm and offered his hand. Natty shook

hands, then quickly wiped his palm on his pants.

"One other thing," Natty said.

"I thought we agreed on yuir price, already."

"We have, Shamus, but if I'm still here when Maggie brings out lunch, I want some of it."

"Och," Shamus said. "That's a given."

"Then let's start. What exactly do you want me to play?"

"Dance music, Mr. Ryland. The sort you play at a dance?" Natty heard a voice behind him say.

Natty turned. "Why, Mrs. Talbot, what brings the sheriff's wife here?"

Shamus answered. "With Amy's help...and yuirs, of course, we're gonna teach the new ladies to dance."

Natty shrugged. "I don't know why. Half the men that show up just want to jump up and down to the music."

"That still leaves the half that do," Shamus said. "And I'm thinking that more of them may want to dance for real when they're dancing with a pretty girl instead of a guy wearing a kerchief around his arm."

"You may be right," Natty said. "Who's going to be dancing with them now?"

Shamus counted off on his fingers. "Me, naturally, and R.J. Amy dragged Dan in." He laughed. "Or was it the other way around? And Sam Braddock; it turns out he learned to dance real good back in Ohio."

"That's four," Natty said. "Which of them isn't dancing? Or is it just that Maggie's too busy making lunch?"

"I am here, señor," Maggie said. She had just come out of the kitchen carrying a tray of sliced vegetables for the "Free Lunch."

"We'll be having sandwiches for lunch today," Molly said. "Leftovers from last night's roast. And, by the way, I'll be the fifth one to be teaching the ladies. If men can be women at a dance, I can be a man for the teaching."

"And all of the ladies will be trying their best to learn," Shamus said. "He looked straight at them. "I _know_ that they will."

"All right," Natty said. "Mrs. Talbot -- Amy, if I may -- what dance do we start with?"

"Amy's fine -- Natty." Amy said. "I thought we'd start with the polka. Ladies, gather around please." She waited until the women had formed a half circle in front of her. "The basic steps are step, close, step, hop." She did the steps, then watched as the new women repeated them several times.

"I think you've all gotten the basic idea, at least," she said. "Now, if Dan will come over, we'll show you how it looks with a partner." The sheriff came over and put his left arm around her waist and took her right hand in his. They repeated the steps slowly and without any music, saying each step aloud. "Step, close, step, hop."

They danced once across the floor, then Amy called to Natty, and she and Dan circled again, this time to music. "Now, you all try." Amy said as they stopped. "First, without the music."

Couples formed: R.J. and Wilma, Shamus and Jessie, Sam and Bridget, Dan and Laura, and Molly and Maggie. "The hell with this," Wilma said. "You ain't putting no arms around me." The other women quickly agreed.

"The devil we ain't," Shamus said. "Ye'll dance with us, and ye'll not complain about it. Understand?"

The women nodded sadly, and the men -- and Molly -- took them in their arms. Amy clapped to keep time as the couples began to dance. After a few tries, she had Natty begin to play. The women were awkward at first, but they had no choice but to keep trying. After a few turns around the floor, they were moving much better.

Amy had Natty play two or three polkas, so the women could try the steps to different tunes. When she was satisfied, she moved on and repeated the process with the mazurka. It took a while longer with the more complicated dance, but the women were eventually clicking their heels and stomping to the music.

Amy had made the women change partners several times for each of the dances they learned. "You'll be dancing with a lot of men," she said. "You might as well get used to having different partners while ye're learning."

They took a moment to rest. Shamus sent Sam and Maggie into the kitchen for a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses.

"What'd you mean, we'll be dancing with a lot of men," Wilma asked, as she poured herself a glass of lemonade. It was the first chance she'd had to ask about Amy's remark.

"We'll be having a wee dance tomorrow night here at the Saloon," Shamus said. "Ye're learning to dance because ye'll be working out there for me. I figure there's men here that'll be happy to be paying 50 cents a dance to be dancing with ye -- Don't worry, ye'll be getting half."

"Gee, thanks," Wilma said. "I can't wait."

"Oh, tomorrow's just for the practice," Molly said. "The big dance will be coming when Abner Slocum and his men get back into town in about ten days. They'll be forty or so of them, newly paid and _so_ eager to be dancing with pretty girls like the five of ye."

"Aye," Shanus said. "And now that we've all wet our whistle, let's get back to work. Ye've still got the waltz to be learning."

* * * * *

They finished with the waltz a bit after noon. As promised, Natty joined the others for lunch. So did Sam Braddock, who kept talking poker with Bridget. While they ate, Natty and Shamus dickered over the price of his playing for the dance on Saturday. They settled on five dollars for the evening, plus one beer an hour and whatever tips Natty might get.

The afternoon passed quietly until, about 5 PM, Shamus sent the women upstairs to get ready for the evening. While Laura was changing her clothes, she started humming the melody of one of the mazurkas Natty had played.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," Wilma demanded, as she stepped out of her own dress.

"Changing clothes," Laura said. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks -- it sounds to me like you're humming one of them songs that fiddler was playing."

Laura shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I was. It's just one of them tunes you can't get out of your head. I must have been humming it all afternoon."

"Well, stop it," Wilma said. "Stop it right now."

"Why the hell should I?" Laura stared at Wilma, her hands clenched at her hips.

"I like that song."

"So do I," Maggie said. "What's your problem, Wilma?"

"You like it," Wilma said. "Did you like what you was doing while he was playing it? Did you like dancing with a man?"

"Well, umm, no, I guess I did not." Maggie said.

Laura nodded in agreement. "Me neither, I suppose."

"You guess. You suppose. Sounds to me like you two _did_ like it." Wilma stared at the others. "How about you, Bridget, Jessie, did you like it, too."

"It weren't too bad," Jessie said. "I always did like to dance." Bridget didn't answer.

"Now ain't that sweet," Wilma said. "All the little girls was having fun at their dance class. I'll bet you all just can wait till tomorrow night's 'cotillion.' You'll get to have men dance with you all night."

"Now just wait a minute, Wilma," Laura said. "Just cause we liked the music don't mean we want to be dancing with men like you say."

"I think it does, _Laura_." Wilma said. "I think you're all forgetting that you're all really men. I think you all got to like being girls."

"Hold it, Wilma," Bridget stepped between the two women. "You too, Laura."

"What's your problem, Bridget," Wilma said. "You want a piece of me, too?"

"Yeah, stay out of this," Laura added.

"No," Bridget said. "I'm tired of this, and I want it to stop." She sighed. "Wilma, you've got to stop picking fights with the rest of us."

"What's the matter, _girlie_?" Laura sneered. "Can't you take it?"

"You both know that's not true," Bridget said. "Look, Wilma, you keep saying that we gotta stick together if we're gonna find a way to change back. Right?"

"Yeah," Wilma sounded wary.

"And, Laura, I _know_ you want to be a man again."

"So what's your point?" Laura asked.

"We ain't never gonna stick together if we keep fighting with each other. She looked at them both, "and if we don't stick together, we got a lot less chance of changing back."

Wilma mumbled something that sounding like she was agreeing. Laura just nodded.

"Good," Bridget said. "Now just so we all know that it's settled, why don't you two shake hands." When neither moved, Bridget added, "shake hands like the men you two truly are."

"I'm willing if Wilma is." Laura stuck out her hand.

"I still think we all gotta be careful so we don't get to like being this way," Wilma said, " but I'm man enough to shake hands." She took Laura's hand and shook it firmly.

"Good," Bridget said. "It's settled." She turned away to finish dressing deliberately ignoring the look Wilma was giving her.

* * * * *

  

  

  

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