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

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

  

* * * * *

Sunday, September 3, 1871, Week 7 -- Day 3

"I'll see that 25 cent and raise 25 more." Cap Lewis pushed the chips into the center of the table. He leaned back in his chair and turned towards Bridget. "Say, Bridget, you and the other ladies must've worked up a good case of cabin fever being stuck here in the saloon all this time."

Carl Osbourne raised another 25 cents, and Blackie Easton called them all. Hans Euler took the pot with a full house, Jacks over 7s.

"No," Bridget finally answered as she gathered in the cards. "Shamus and Molly send us out on errands once in awhile, mostly just to the Silvermans, though. Besides, more'n enough people come in here to keep things interesting."

"Just the same," Cap said, "would you be interested in going on a buggy ride with me later today, when you take your break?" As an afterthought, he added, "you and the other ladies, I mean." He thought silently, 'of course, I'd much rather you come alone.'

"Why thank you, Cap, I guess great minds think alike."

"What do you mean?"

"Just yesterday, R.J. invited me...us all for a buggy ride. He's off getting the rig now." She shuffled the cards and began to deal. "Okay, gents, the name of the game is draw poker.

Cap stood up. "Better deal me out this hand. I feel a need to visit the 'necessary.' I'll be back in a bit."

He walked out to the yard behind the saloon, only to double quickly around through the alley to the front of the building. He leaned against a post and waited.

R.J. drove up in a buggy a few minutes later. The rig was black-painted oak with a collapsible cloth frame that could be raised in case of bad weather. It was probably the nicest rig in town.

Cap pulled away from the post and glowered at R.J. "That was kind of an underhanded thing to do, R.J."

"What do you mean, Cap?" R.J. asked, climbing down from the driver's seat.

"I tell you my idea to take Bridget for a buggy ride, and you tell me not t'do it. Then you go and do the same thing."

"It isn't the same thing, Cap. You wanted to take Bridget for a ride. I invited all of them."

"So did I...just now. That's how I found about you beat me to it."

"Well, then, it ain't exactly a romantic ride, is it? Not with Jessie and Laura coming along, too."

"Just them?"

"Wilma didn't want any part of it, and Maggie didn't want to leave the saloon while she had food cooking."

"It still sounds like you got something planned, R.J. I don't like it."

"You don't have to." He looked pointedly at Cap. "You ain't invited." He tied the harness to a hitching post and went inside. Cap scowled and followed him in.

The poker game lasted for another hour and a half before Bridget stood up. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, it's time for my afternoon break." She bowed slightly and walked towards the door. Cap stood up and followed at a distance.

R.J. was waiting by the door. Laura was with him. He smiled when Bridget joined then, but frowned when he saw Cap standing a few feet away.

"Damn that Maggie," Jessie said, hurrying over. "She wouldn't let me out of the kitchen till I got them carrots sliced up."

"That's all right," R.J. said, "but we had better get going." He motioned towards the door, and the three women walked through. Cap followed a moment later and stood nearby.

"Nice rig," Laura said, looking at the buggy. There was space for two in the driver's seat. "Who rides with the driver, and who's on back?"

"Why not do it alphabetically," R.J. said with a smile. He took Bridget's hand and helped her up into the driver's seat. He opened the buggy door and helped the other two climb into the back. Then he climbed up onto the driver's seat next to Bridget.

"Let's go, ladies." He said, picking up the reins. "See you later, Cap." He smiled and tapped the brim of his hat with the tip of his buggy whip. He snapped the reins and the horses started off.

* * * * *

Tuesday, September 5, 1871, Week 7 -- Day 5

"Matthew," Abner Slocum said, "may I speak with you for a minute?"

Cap Lewis looked up from the business accounts he was working on. His uncle was one of the few people who called him by his given name. "Certainly, Uncle." He closed the account book.

"I hear that you've been gambling again, Matthew." Slocum frowned. "I thought that we agreed..."

"We _agreed_ that I wouldn't gamble to excess, Uncle Abner. "These are just friendly games and for fairly small stakes. I think the biggest pot I've won has been for about $5 -- most of the pots in that game aren't half that big."

Slocum turned a chair around and sat down opposite his nephew. "Eerie is hardly New Orleans, so I wouldn't expect the sort of 'sky's the limits' games you got suckered onto back there. I'm just concerned that you can control yourself. It cost me a pretty penny to buy up your I.O.U.s back East."

"You make it sound like you threw away your money. You've been taking it out of pay since the day I got here."

"Damn straight, Matthew, and I'll keep taking that money out till I get paid back. Maybe by then, you'll have learned not to play poker any more."

"Uncle Abner, I don't know _how_ _many_ times we've been through this. Poker at the Eerie Saloon is just a friendly game; that's all it is."

"Friendly, eh, who are you playing with?" He leaned in closer to Cap.

"A few of the townspeople...mostly, some of our...your hands."

"I don't like you gambling with my men, Matthew, you know that. It makes trouble if you win."

"Don't worry, Uncle. There's a couple of them that are at least as good as me. They've got as much of my money as I've got of theirs." He paused. "Besides, I'm not their boss. I'm his nephew. It don't bother them as much when I win."

"Principle's still the same. You help me run this place. It don't look good for you to be taking money from the men that work for me."

Cap sighed. "First, you say I can't play poker 'cause I'll lose. Now you say I can't play because I'll win. Make up your mind, Uncle."

"My mind is made up. I don't like you playing poker -- _period_."

"Are you _forbidding_ me to play, Uncle Abner?" He glared back at his uncle.

"No, just warning you to watch yourself very closely because _I'll_ be watching you as well."

"I will; I promise you. I have no desire to get into the sort of debt I did back east."

"Then why do you play? Tell me, really. I'm curious."

"Partly to relax. I got into the habit on the _Gulf Pride_ during the War. A sailor has a lot of time on his hands -- especially, if he can hide from his chief for a while. The same's true for me now -- especially, when you and the men are away on a drive."

"Is that the only reason? There are lots of ways to relax."

"Around Eerie, the main ways are drinking or gambling. I've seen too many good men spoiled by alcohol during and after the War." He scowled at the memory of friends lost to alcohol. "I suppose I could read, but you have me spending most of my days working with books. I'd like to look at something else when I have a chance."

"Are cards that much better to look at?"

"No, but there's something a lot better down at the Eerie Saloon." He grinned.

"You mean those...women. You -- you aren't going down there because of one of them, are you?"

"Who, me? Uncle Abner, how can you even --"

Slocum sighed. "You are. Which one is it? _Please_ don't let it be that Wilma character."

"It isn't. I'm interested in Bridget, the one who deals poker."

"No wonder you're playing poker, then. It's the only way you can spend time with that...Jezebel." He all but spat out the name.

"Now wait a minute, Uncle. Bridget isn't like that."

"She isn't? I know the story, where he -- she came from. She was a thief and a murderer for all you know, and I don't think Shamus' potion did anything to change the fact."

"The hell it didn't. Look, you've heard about that Callen character, haven't you, the one who was cheating the men at cards?"

"What about him? That Bridget was probably working with him."

"Uncle, you are so damned wrong that it's almost funny. It was Bridget that first called him a cheat. She showed how he was doing it and testified against him at the trial, too."

"A falling out between thieves, I'm sure. She's the same snake she always was."

Cap stood up and glared at his uncle. "Uncle Abner, you take that back, and I mean right now."

"Or what, _nephew_?"

"Or watch me ride out of here this afternoon." He leaned on the table, both hands folded into fists.

~~

"Well, I'll be damned." Slocum leaned back in his chair an odd look on his face. "I'd have never thought it of you, Matthew."

"What? I-I don't understand you."

"Matthew...Cap, you been sniffing after girls since you was old enough to know they were different from boys. Mostly, it was a love 'em and leave 'em kind of thing. Now you finally get serious enough about one to stand up to me, and she's really a boy. It makes me wonder if the reason you never got serious about any of the girls your parents or I ever introduced you to was because it wasn't girls you were interested in."

Cap glared at the man. "Uncle Abner, are...are you calling me some kind of a...nancy boy?"

Slocum shrugged. "What else am I supposed to think when you tell me that your spending all your time -- and money -- trying to get a...man to like you?"

Cap shook his head and all but laughed. "Then you better start thinking the same thing about most of the men on this ranch."

"What do you mean?"

"Where do you think they all go at night and on their days off? Who do you think they're dancing with at those dances they keep talking about? I'll tell you who, Bridget and the other..._men_ at Shamus'."

"There's damned few women out here. Just because my men want to dance with those...people doesn't mean they're sweet on any of them."

"It doesn't? What about that big fight last Saturday? They busted up that saloon fighting over which one of them Jessie liked best."

"It still doesn't mean anything. Even I will admit that Jessie looks like a very pretty girl."

"Damn it, Uncle Abner. A man doesn't throw a punch over someone who 'looks like a very pretty girl.' He gets in a fight over 'a very pretty girl.' Jessie, Bridget -- all of them -- _are_ pretty girls as far as your men are concerned, _and_ as far as I'm concerned. You better face up to that fact right now."

"I don't like it; I don't like it at all," Slocum sighed. "It doesn't seem...right. Still, I've heard the men talk, and I know that I don't have a whole lot of say in the matter -- not with them, anyway."

"Or with me, Uncle. I really do like Bridget."

Slocum shrugged his shoulders in surrender. "So I gather, but if she's as wonderful as you say she is, you've probably got a lot of competition for her."

Cap nodded. "There's some. My main problem is R.J. Rossi, the bartender."

"He's a good man. Where's he from anyway?"

"He says he was born in Italy, but his family came over when he was real young, and he grew up in Philadelphia."

Slocum straightened. "Philadelphia -- you mean to say that you're worrying about competition from some _Yankee_? I'm still not sure I approve, but I won't let my only nephew lose out to some Eye-talian Yankee."

"Then you don't mind my playing cards as a way to spend time with her."

"That isn't exactly the best way to court a lady, but go ahead. Just remember," he pointed a finger at "Cap." "What I said about poker -- and about her -- still goes."

"Thanks you, Uncle Abner."

"Don't be so quick to thank me, Matthew. I'm still not completely convinced about your Bridget. And, Matthew, please remember in the future that the agreement between us -- that you'll work for me until I retire or I set you up in a ranch of your own -- please remember that, beholding as I am to your late parents, _either_ of us can end it at any time."

* * * * *

Wednesday, September 6, 1871, Week 7 -- Day 6

Bridget stared at the cards laid out face up on the table before her. 'Three, four, and five of Clubs?' she thought. She reached for those cards.

"What are you doing, Bridget?" R.J. looked over her shoulder at the table.

 

Bridget's hand jerked, dropping the five. "R.J., you startled me. I-I'm just playing a little solitaire."

"That doesn't look like any sort of solitaire I ever saw. Those look like poker hands to me."

"They are. I call this 'solitaire poker'. A gambler over in New Mexico taught it to me."

"How's it work?"

"I shuffle the deck and deal out 25 cards. The object of the game is to arrange the cards into five poker hands."

"That doesn't sound hard."

"Five _good_ poker hands. That means each hand has to hold three of a kind or better. Bret, the man who taught me the game called them 'fighting hands'. He meant hands that a good poker player could win with -- win without bluffing, I mean."

"Sounds interesting. Can two play?"

"What do you mean? It's solitaire; that _means_ one player."

"Didn't you ever hear of double solitaire? Tell you what. There's 52 cards in a deck. You shuffle them and deal 25 to me and 25 to you."

"Then what?"

"Then we each try to get the five best hands we can. I'll bet at least one of my hands can beat your best."

"Oh, you do, do you? Okay, what stakes?"

R.J. smiled. "What sort of stakes would you like?" He winked at her.

"Okay, _Mr._ Rossi. It's my turn to clean the spittoons tomorrow morning. Shamus won't let me out of such chores just because I'm dealing cards in the afternoon, but, if I win, _you_ clean them."

"Those are pretty hefty stakes, Bridget. Okay, if I win, you sit on my lap, put your arms around my neck, and give me a kiss -- and not on the cheek -- right on the lips."

"What kind of stakes is that?"

"You turning chicken, Bridget? Remember, this is _your_ game."

Bridget glared at him. "All right, you polecat. It's a bet, but if you don't get five good hands, and I do, then I win regardless of what your best hand is."

"All right, but the same goes for me."

Bridget gathered in the cards, shuffled them, and dealt 25 each to herself and to R.J. They moved to opposite sides of the table, so neither could see what the other was doing.

About ten minutes later, Bridget slapped the table. "Done. How are you doing?"

"Just finishing." R.J. put the last two cards into one of the hands.

Each stood and shifted around to look at the other's hands. Both had five "fighting hands." Bridget's best hand was four of a kind, all 8s.

R.J.'s was four of a kind, all 10s.

"Damn!" Bridget said.

"I do believe I win, Miss Kelly." He sat in a chair and patted his thigh. "You just sit yourself down right there." Bridget walked slowly around the table. She stopped a foot away and stared down at him, teeth clenched in anger. R.J. took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it gently. "Paid in full," he said as he let go of the hand.

"What the hell?"

R.J. stood up. "You didn't think I was cad enough to expect you to deliver on that bet, did you?" He grinned and started walking back to the bar. "Why, _my_ old friend, Bret, would never forgive me."

* * * * *

Thursday, September 7, 1871, Week 7 -- Day 7

"Couple of beers here, R.J.," Jake Steinmetz said, tossing a silver dollar onto the bar.

R.J. drew the beers and handed them to Jake and Toby Hess. "I think Shamus wanted to talk to you boys."

"I did, indeed," Shamus said, coming out of the supply room carrying several liquor bottles in a wooden box. "Put these away, R.J." He set the box down on the counter.

"What's up, Shamus?" Toby asked.

"Me patience, Toby," Shamus said, looking down at the shorter man. "I warned the two of ye to behave yuirselves around the ladies, didn't I?"

"Uhh, yeah," Jake said. "You, umm, did. And we truly took your warning to heart, didn't we Toby?"

Toby nodded. "Oh, we did, Shamus, we surely did."

Shamus sighed. "If only that were true, me lads, I'd be a happy man. But it isn't, and I'm not.

Jake took a drink. "What do you mean, Shamus."

"For a start, Jake, ye left a welt on Laura's backside -- don't deny it, me Molly saw the thing, a great red mark, she said."

"Yeah, but with everything that happened last Saturday, why do you think it was us?" Toby asked.

"Because the fight was among the men," Shamus said. "Nobody touched any of the women." He looked directly at them. "More important, because that's what Laura and the others are telling me. I'll be believing them a lot sooner than I'll believe either of ye two."

"All right, Shamus, I guess you got the goods on us," Jake said. "Bring Laura over here, so I can apologize to her." He looked around. Laura was talking to some men siting at a table at the far end of the saloon.

"At least ye have the good sense to want to apologize," Shamus said, "but I'll not be giving ye the chance, and I don't think she's in a mood to accept one."

"So what happens now?" Toby asked.

"What happens is that the pair of ye ain't going to be dancing with them any more." Shamus said. "Ye can come here to me Saloon tomorrow night and drink all ye can pay for. Ye can even dance with the men, if ye've a mind to, but the ladies ain't available to ye. We won't even be selling ye a ticket to trade at the bar for a drink."

"That ain't fair, Shamus," Jake said.

"It's more than the likes of ye deserve," Shamus said. "Just be glad that I'm such a greedy man, or I wouldn't even be selling ye drinks." He turned and walked back to the storeroom.

Jake and Toby finished their beers in silence. As they walked out of the saloon, Jake saw Laura wave goodbye. "This ain't over yet," Jake whispered, not noticing the smirk on her face. "Them ladies really likes us, Shamus, whether you like it or not. You ain't keeping us apart."

* * * * *

Friday, September 8, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 1

Bridget was carrying fresh bed linen upstairs when she ran into Molly coming down. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes, Molly?"

"Certainly, Bridget," Molly said, "but ye'd better get them things up to the other ladies. I'll walk up with ye."

Bridget flushed. "I-I'd rather talk in private if I can. Would you mind?"

"Private is it?" Molly said. "Well, ye get that stuff upstairs to the others. Then I'll be needing ye for a wee bit in my own room. So ye be coming over as soon as ye can." She turned and hurried back up the stairs. Bridget followed as quickly as she could with her basket of sheets and pillowcases.

Molly left the basket in the room that Wilma and Jessie were airing out. "Molly wants me for something," she explained. Then she hurried down the hall to the small apartment that Shamus and Molly shared.

"Come in, Bridget," Molly called when she knocked. Bridget went in. Molly was sitting in a chair near a small fireplace. "There wasn't the time to be making the tea, but I can put some water to boil if ye want."

"No...no," Bridget said, waving her hand for emphasis as she sat down. "I don't think I'll be here that long."

"All right-y then," Molly said. "What was so important ye needed to be talking to me about it in private?"

Bridget leaned in conspiratorially. "Can I have your word that you won't tell anybody else what I say; nobody, not Shamus, not R.J. -- especially not R.J.?"

"I really can't promise not to tell, not without knowing" Bridget said, looking sympathetic. "I will promise that I won't tell unless I have to. If that don't satisfy ye, then leave, and there'll be no more said of it."

"No, I...I think that's fair. Thank you for being honest with me."

"Ye're welcome. Now what did ye want to talk to me about?"

"R.J and Cap Lewis, they're...they're sweet on...on me." Bridget stammered.

Molly smiled. "Now what would be making ye think a thing like that?"

"Cap has been dropping little hints, acting a little goofy at the poker table. He keeps smiling at me for no good reason. I think he actually lost a few hands 'cause he was paying more attention t'me me than to the game."

Molly nodded as if it was all news to her. "And what about R.J.?"

"He's been acting kind of funny, too. Last Sunday, he took Laura, Jessie, and me for a buggy ride. He had me sit next to him in the driver's seat, and he made little jokes in a voice too quiet for the others to hear." She paused, not sure of how to continue. "Then, there was that...bet."

"And what bet would that be?" Molly asked.

"I was playing solitaire poker, the other day. It's a game -- oh, never you mind what it is -- R.J. bet he could beat me. If I won, he'd do the spittoons that day, but if he won, I-I had to kiss him, kiss him full on the mouth."

"That's quite a bet," Molly said. "Why did you take it?"

"I thought sure I could beat him. He acted like he never heard of the game, and I do surely hate cleaning them spittoons."

"And he won, I'm thinking."

"He did. He said he learned the game from the same guy that taught it to me. Only, he didn't want the kiss." She sounded slightly annoyed. "He just kissed my hand and said that he was a gentleman."

"And how did ye feel about that?"

"I-I was relieved, I guess, that I wasn't going to have to...to kiss him."

"Just relieved," Molly asked with a small smile, "nothing else?"

"Of course not," Bridget said quickly. "Why should I want a man to kiss me?"

"Why, indeed. Ye've got two men trying to kiss ye -- trying to court ye, anyway. How do ye feel about that?"

"How do I feel? You and Shamus say that I'll be like this for the rest of my life." Her hand ran down the length of her body. "But I haven't, well, given up hope yet. I still want to think of myself as...as a man." She looked down at her lap. "Only, how...how can I be a man, how can I even think of myself as a man, if I've got a man -- got two men -- that want to...to keep company with me?" She sniffled, looking like she was trying not to cry.

Molly leaned over and put an arm around her. "Well, so that's yuir problem. The solution is really a simple one."

"Simple? How can it be simple?"

"When it comes to a man keeping company with a lady, it ain't really the man's choice. If the lady ain't interested, then all she has to do is to be saying that she ain't interested. If the man keeps on bothering her, well," she winked, "thuirs ways to deal with that."

"So...so all I have to do is...is just t-tell R.J. and Cap that I ain't interested."

"Aye, that's all ye have to do."

"I-I'm not sure I can, though."

"Now what do ye mean, Bridget?" Molly looked at her closely.

"They...they're my friends. _They_ think they're giving me a compliment, the way they're paying me all that attention. I want to tell them that I'm not interested, but I-I don't want to hurt their feelings." She sighed. "I guess I'll have to put up with it, at least, till I can figure out a way to tell them and _not_ hurt them."

Molly smiled and gave her a hug. "If that's what ye want to do."

"I guess so," she stood up, "and I guess I'd better get back to work. Thanks for hearing me out, Molly." She hurried out the door.

Molly watched the door close behind her. "I hear ye very well, Bridget, and if that's the way ye feel then ye're already a lot more of a woman than ye'll ever admit to being."

* * * * *

"Shamus," Aaron Silverman said, "welcome to my store. What can I do for you?"

"I need to be talking to ye, Aaron, ye and Ramon, but not about business?"

"Not about business -- what else is there?" Aaron smiled. "There's Ramon, just finishing up with those men from Slocum's." He pointed to a corner of the store where Ramon was talking to three men.

Ramon saw Aaron point and waved.

"Ramon," Aaron called in a loud voice, "when you're done with those customers come join Shamus and me, please." Ramon nodded and turned back to the men. "While we're waiting for Ramon, Shamus, can I show you anything?"

* * * * *

Shamus and Aaron were haggling over shirts when Ramon joined them. "All right," Shamus said, spitting into his palm. "Three shirts for the $5. Agreed?"

Aaron sighed and spat into his own palm. "Agreed, and I'm glad not all my customers aren't the bargainers you are." As they shook hands, he saw Ramon. "Too bad you didn't come over a minute ago, Ramon. I'd have made a bit more on these shirts."

"Sorry, Aaron," Ramon said, "but I believe that what you cleared on the livery I just sold to Mr. Slocum will make up for it." He paused a moment. "I assume, Señor Shamus, that you are the reason that Aaron wanted me. What is it might I do for you?

"Ramon," Shamus began, "ye been a big help with getting that money down to Maggie's family, translating and all for Aaron and me."

Ramon smiled. "I was glad to help you."

"And gladder to be helping Maggie, I expect," Shamus said. "I know how ye feel about her."

"She is my...friend, Señor," Ramon said. "A man is not a man if he will not help his friends when he has the chance to do so."

"I agree," Shamus said. "I've got me a plan that needs yuir help. I'm planning a little something -- don't worry, it's nothing bad. In fact, if it works out, I'll be very much in yuir debt -- and better yet for ye, so will Maggie."

Ramon bowed slightly. "A man helps his friends, and Margarita is a _muy_...a very good friend. What is it you wish me to do?"

* * * * *

Saturday, September 9, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 2

"The music ended, Monk. You can let go of me now." Jessie looked up at Monk Dworkin and tried not to show the relief she felt.

Monk let go of her hand and reached into his shirt pocket. His other hand was still around Jessie's waist, holding her _much_ too close. "I got me some more tickets. We can us have another dance."

"Not right now," Jessie said with a smile. "The band is taking a break. Look." She pointed behind him.

The members of the band were putting their instruments down. "Fifteen minute break, folks," Hiram King, the leader said. "Why don't you all have a drink, cause that's what we're going to do. You gents that was dancing with the ladies might want to buy a drink for your partners, too."

Monk turned, loosening his grip on Jessie. She spun free and hurried away. Laura was standing over by the swinging doors not far away, and Jessie walked over to join her.

"That Monk's quite a dancer, isn't he?" Laura said, trying to get a rise out of the younger Hanks.

"He's quite a something," Jessie said. "Dancing with men is bad enough, but the way he paws me...I swear, if it wasn't for Shamus' orders, I'd have slugged him the first time he grabbed my ass. I'm gonna ask Shamus to have a talk with him, same as he did with Jake and Toby. I hate being grabbed like that."

"I know what you mean," Laura said. "I was lucky...sort of. The last guy I danced with was so busy stepping on my toes, he didn't have time to grab anything." She sighed. "I got away as soon as the dance was over. I'm giving my toes a rest before the next one. You want to go outside for a little bit of cool air?"

"I suppose," Jessie said, and the pair turned and walked out of the Saloon. They knew that the voice from the potion wouldn't let them try to run away, but it would let them walk around on the wooden sidewalk outside the building.

Laura and Jessie didn't notice the two men who followed them out into the dark. One kept walking on ahead, turning down the alley that ran next to the Saloon, connecting the main street with the one behind. The other leaned against the hitching post in front of the Saloon and pretended that he wasn't watching the two women.

Jessie and Laura were leaning against the front wall, when they heard a noise from the alley next to the Saloon. "Yawp!" It sounded vaguely like a man's voice, but they couldn't really be certain. "Yawp! Yawp!" Now the women were beginning to get curious.

The man who was pretending not to be watching straightened up and walked down and around the corner into the alley. "Well, will you look at that," he said. "If that ain't the oddest thing I ever seen."

Curiosity got the better of the two women. They walked over to the corner of the building to look down the alley. The last thing Jessie and Laura saw were the flour sacks being thrown over their heads.

Before they could react, they were bound with ropes and tossed into the back of a wagon. A canvas was thrown over them, and the wagon started down the back street at full gallop.

* * * * *

"Where's Jessie?" Shamus asked R.J. "Monk Dworkin's asked me about her a half dozen times."

"I don't know," R.J. said. "She was talking to Laura when the band took their break. Come to think of it, I haven't seen _her_ for a while either."

Molly was taking a break and dancing with Cap Lewis, while Wilma sold tickets. Shamus motioned for her to join them. Molly excused herself and walked over. "Have ye seen Laura or Jessie since the band took its last break?"

"No," Molly said. "Now that ye mention it, I haven't. Ye aren't thinking they ran away somehow, are ye?"

"I don't think they can, Love. The potion still works on 'em as near as I can tell, and I told them -- told all the ladies -- more than once that they couldn't leave without the Sheriff or me telling 'em so."

"I'll go check the 'necessary' out back," Molly said. "R.J., why don't ye be looking up in thuir room?"

"Ye two go do that," Shamus said. "I'll be checking with the other ladies."

Molly and R.J. nodded and hurried off. Shamus walked over to Maggie, who was dancing with Sam Braddock. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said, "but I'm needing to talk to Maggie for a minute." He handed the other man a dance ticket. "She'll be right back, and the next dance is on me."

Sam nodded and stepped away. "Tell me, Maggie, and tell me the truth, do you know where Jessie and Laura is?"

"No, Señor Shamus," Maggie said, shaking her head. "I not see her since the dance started." She looked down at her shoes, as if she was bothered by some sort of guilty thought. "I been too busy with the dancing."

"I know ye have, Maggie." Shamus said. "I been watching. Were they talking about doing anything...getting into any sort of mischief or anything...maybe even trying to run away tonight?"

"They didn't say nothing," Maggie said. "Anyhow, the potion will not let us disobey you or the Sheriff. You know that."

"Aye, I do know that," Shamus said, "but I have to be asking. Okay, ye can go back to yuir dancing."

Maggie nodded and walked the few steps to where Braddock was waiting. Bridget wasn't any more help than Maggie was. Shamus saved Wilma for last, since she still seemed to be the leader of the group.

"I don't know anything," Wilma said. "If they got away, more power to them."

"Ye'll be telling me the truth, Wilma," Shamus said looking into her eyes. "Do ye have any idea where yuir sister and Laura are?"

"No, dammit, I don't," Wilma said. "But if they are trying to get away, I wish them all the luck in the world."

"Fine," Shamus said. "Ye've said yuir peace. When Molly comes back, ye go over and dance with Monk Dworkin. He'll be looking for a new partner, since yuir sister's gone. And I want you to smile for him, _especially_ when he starts rubbing his hands all over yuir body. Anymore smartness, and ye'll be dancing with him the rest of the evening."

Wilma glowered murderously at Shamus. She wasn't sorry for what she'd said to Shamus, but she wasn't happy about his threat. Sometimes, this place was even worse than that New Mexico prison.

Molly and R.J. were waiting for Shamus by the bar. Neither of them had seen the missing women. "I hate to do it to Amy," Molly said, "but ye'd better go tell her husband what's happened."

"At least there's enough men here to make up a good posse," Shamus said.

* * * * *

Jessie and Laura bounced around in the back of the wagon for several hours. Trapped under the weight of the canvas, they couldn't tell what direction it was going. They couldn't see anything, and the canvas muffled noises, too. The women had no idea where they were when the wagon finally stopped.

The canvas was thrown back, and Jessie felt herself being lifted out of the wagon. The man -- she could hear his voice and feel his strength -- threw her over a shoulder and started walking. She heard the wagon heading off; she'd get no help from Laura. A door creaked open. A few moments later, she was lifted off the man's shoulder and tossed down onto what felt like a...bed.

Jessie tried to sit up. Large hands grabbed her and held her down. She felt the ropes loosen. The bag was lifted off of her.

Jessie blinked her eyes and looked around. She was in a crudely built one-room cabin. The floor was dirt. There was a stone fireplace against one wall, lopsided but serviceable. The one window was shuttered, and she could see a bolt thrown across the door.

"You ready for some fun?" a voice asked. Jessie turned. The man, she recognized him at once as Toby Hess, smelled of too much cheap liquor and too few baths.

"Take me back, you SOB," Jessie said. You take me back, if you know what's good for you! Take me back now!" She wrenched free and jumped to her feet.

"Naw! I brought you out here for some fun, Miss Jessie, and you ain't going back till I have me some." He grinned, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth dark-stained with chewing tobacco.

"They're gonna come after me. You'll go to jail -- or worse," she warned. Did Shamus have any more of that potion, like Wilma said? This guy was just asking for a dose.

"They gotta find us first. We drove over stone most of the way out here, so it won't be easy. They're gonna have to find the trail first.

Toby stood up. He wasn't tall, but still he towered over Jessie. "No! We're gonna have us some fun." He grabbed the front of her dress with both hands and ripped it wide open, then gave a hard second wrench and pulled it off of her. "Nice," he said nodding his head up and down, looking at what was revealed. "We's gonna have us a _lot_ of fun."

He moved suddenly, grabbed Jessie's wrists in one hand, and held them high above her head. With the other, he started ripping at her camisole and corset. In a moment, Jessie felt cool air against her bare breasts. Then she felt something else, as Toby's hand began to rub one breast.

"Let go of me! I said 'let go'." Jessie saw an opening and brought a knee up into Toby's groin. The man screamed in pain and doubled over, letting go of Jessie's wrists. Jessie pushed with all her strength. Toby was off-balance and fell backward, making a loud "Thunk" when he hit the dirt floor by the fireplace. She expected him to jump up and come after her as mad as hell, but he just laid there.

With no immediate threat, Jessie stood for a moment, eyes half closed, trying to catch her breath. When she looked again, she saw a bright splotch of red on one of the stones of the fireplace. She ran over, knelt down, and checked the back of Toby's head.

Her hand was sticky and red where she'd touched the man's scalp. She listened for a breath and heard none. She stood up slowly and looked down at him. She'd seen dead men before, so she knew the signs. He was...dead.

Jessie stood up. "Bastard!" Jessie spat at him, and kicked the body. Her dress, her camisole were ruined. What would Shamus say when she...when she got back. Got back? Jessie grinned. "Who says I'm going back?" She stood still for a moment, waiting to see if the voice inside her head felt like arguing. Silence. "I'm free!" She let out a shrill whoop.

She thought about it for a minute. Shamus had ordered her and the others to never try to escape and not to hurt any of his customers. She hadn't escaped; it had been that bastard, Hess, who'd taken her away from the town -- far away from what he'd claimed. Shamus had never said anything about her having to come back if she did get away. As far as hurting -- killing -- Hess. She'd acted in self-defense when she kneed him and hadn't intended it as a killing blow, so that really didn't count. Yes! She was definitely free of Shamus, the sheriff, and the town. And unless she ran into either of the two men, she was going to stay that way.

Jessie took off her corset -- or what was left of it -- and petticoat. "Better keep the shoes," she said. "I'll never fit onto his boots." There was a trunk at the foot of the bed. She found a reasonably clean pair of pants and a woolen shirt. They were too big, but when she rolled up the sleeves and cuffs they more or less fit. She found a knife, too, and cut a new hole in a belt, so the pants would stay up. Then the knife went back into a sheath, which she added to the belt as soon as she got it around her waist.

Molly had shown Jessie how to roll her hair up into a bun. She did that now and tucked it under a cap she'd found hanging from a hook.

She wondered if the rule about hurting customers applied to anyone she met from now on outside of Eerie. Maybe she couldn't fight the way she used to, but she had a steady hand and could plug a man at twenty paces. She didn't think that _that_ had changed.

Jessie ransacked the cabin quickly and found some other things, useful things. Besides the rifle on the wall, there was a Colt in the trunk with a whole box of bullets. She found a hat and, most important of all, $48 in a rolled up sock.

A horse was penned in behind the cabin. He wasn't near quality of the horse she'd ridden into Eerie those long weeks ago, but he'd do.

There were an old but usable saddle and a couple of saddlebags in the cabin. Toby certainly didn't need them any more. He also didn't need the supplies or the food, so Jessie took them, too.

Jessie looked up at the sky, then at the land around her. Her best guess was that she was up in the Superstition Mountains someplace a few hours north of Eerie. She thought about looking for Laura, but who knew how far away she was. Besides, Shamus or that damned Sheriff might be out looking for her. As long as she kept away from them, she was free. "Sorry, Laura," she said, "but it's every man for himself." She mounted the horse and rode off to the north looking for some hell to raise. "Look out world, Jessie Hanks is back!"

* * * * *

"Over here," R.J. yelled. He motioned for Shamus and the Sheriff to cover over to where he was standing, the end of the wooden sidewalk in front of the Saloon. When they came over, he pointed down at the dirt. "See here; two women's footprints go off the porch. Then there's some kind of scuffle. The women's footprints go every whichway, then they disappear."

"I see it," Shamus said bending over. "Then those other two footprints, the men's go straight back into the alley."

"You two read track pretty good," the Sheriff said. "Let's get some lamps, and see where those tracks lead."

They got two lamps from the Saloon. Several other men, including Whit and Arsenio joined them. Shamus sent someone to run and get the Doc. There was no telling what had happened to the women, and he might be needed.

The footprints went the length of the alley before they disappeared next to the tracks of a wagon. "We'll never be able to follow these wagon tracks at night," the Sheriff said. "Get some sleep, and we'll meet back here at first light."

"We don't need to wait," Arsenio said. "I know where they went."

"You some kind of magician?" The Sheriff asked. "How can you know that?"

"Cause I'm a smith. Look at those tracks. The back right wheel is loose; see how it's wobbling. And...do you see those bumps in that other track. Whoever put on the rim didn't do a very good job of it."

"You know every wagon in town, Arsenio?" Whit said. "Or is this just a lucky guess on your part?"

"No, it's business," Arsenio said. "That's Jake Steinmetz's wagon. He was in my shop a couple days ago to see how much it'd cost to get everything fixed. When I told him, he said it was too much, but he'd be in with it next week."

"As I recall, Jake has a place up in the Superstition Mountains," the Sheriff said. "He and Toby Hess have a couple of claims that they work. Toby has a place of his own a few miles away."

"There's yuir men, Sheriff," Shamus said. "Them two has been in giving the women a hard time for weeks, trying to get one or another of the women to run off with 'em."

"Half the men in town been thinking about doing that," somebody said.

"Yeah, but these two was making a nuisance of themselves," Shamus explained. "A couple of the women complained about it. Finally, I just told 'em they couldn't be dancing to the ladies no more."

A couple of the men said that they knew where Toby and Jake lived. The Sheriff deputized about a dozen men, and they all headed north, riding at full gallop for as long as they dared. The horse were flagging As they got well up into the mountains, and the group decided to split in two. Half, led by Deputy Paul Grant, headed for Toby Hess' cabin. The others veered off towards Jake Steinmetz's place.

* * * * *

Laura felt the wagon come to a halt. Somebody pulled the canvas off of her and lifted her out of the wagon. She was in...someone's arms, being carried a short distance. She tried to move, to wriggle free, but the rope around the sack held tight. A door opened, and she was carried through it. A few steps more and she was tossed onto a bed. She twisted, trying to sit up, to get off the bed.

She did get off the bed.

She fell onto the floor.

She lay there furious at her situation and humiliated, as she heard the sound of male laughter.

A pair of strong hands picked her up and put her back onto the bed. She started to move, then froze when she felt the hands working on the ropes binding her. As soon as they were loose, she began pushing at the sack. She quickly had it up over her head.

Laura found herself looking into the face of Jake Steinmetz. He was grinning at her, showing a set of uneven teeth under his droopy mustache. From his smell, he'd been eating a lot of garlic, too. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Jake?" she demanded, too infuriated to feel scared.

Jake Steinmetz frowned. "Aww, Miss Laura, don't you pretend like you're mad. We talked and danced I don't know how many times back at the saloon. I knowed you liked me, liked me a lot. When Shamus said I couldn't dance with you any more, I decided to do something about it."

"Liked you? Hell, you were just another damn man I had to be nice to. And if I _did_ like you, the way you carried me and Jessie...Jessie! Where the hell is she? What'd you do to her?"

"I didn't do nothing, Laura gal. Your friend, Jessie, she's over t'the cabin of my partner, Toby. They's real good friends, just like we are."

"Friend? I'm no friend of yours!"

Jake grinned. "Maybe I'll just change your mind about that." He paused a moment to take off his glasses and put them in his pocket of his bib overalls. "We ought to get more comfortable. Why don't you take off that there dress?"

"The hell I will." She crossed her arms just below her breasts and glowered at Jake.

"The hell you won't." He smiled oddly and drew a pistol from a holster Laura hadn't noticed before, pointing it straight at her. "Now take off that dress, or do I gotta rip it off you?"

"You got a funny way of showing friendship." Laura said through gritted teeth, as she grudgingly reached down and began unbuttoning the dress. A moment later, she pulled it off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

"That's nice. You are one damn pretty woman for sure! Now, take off that petticoat, too." He pointed with his pistol at the garment.

Not knowing what else to do, Laura untied the ribbons holding the petticoat at her waist. It settled in a heap on top of her dress, and she stepped out of them. "Can I at least hang these up, so they don't get wrinkled?" she asked, more to buy time than through any concern for the clothes.

"Sure, just drape them over the table there." He pointed with the pistol to a three-legged wooden table in a corner. "I don't got no place t' hang them things up.

Laura bent down and picked up the clothing; then turned and walked over to the table. She laid the dress carefully down, leaning over as she draped it over the table. She was taking her time about it, trying to straighten it as if she didn't want it to crease, when she felt _something_.

Steinmetz was standing behind her. Close. Laura felt something at the level of his loins, something she no longer had, pushing into her butt. He leaned forward, trapping her in a bent over position, while his hands came around and began to caress her breasts.

It was a nightmare for Laura. A man had trapped her. He was rubbing her breasts while he pressed himself against her ass. He was trying -- trying to have sex with her. She screamed, cursed at him, but he ignored her.

The worst part was that, as much as she fought, she wasn't able to resist. Laura was a strong woman, but she was up against a much stronger man. He all but ignored her attacks as he tried to arouse her.

The struggle seemed to go on for hours. Laura tried to shake Jake off and turn around, to hit or kick him. Nothing worked. Her body felt...odd, weaker somehow. She felt his hands fumbling at her clothing, and she wasn't sure how long she would have the physical strength to resist him.

She never found out.

"Steinmetz!" The Sheriff's voice came through the cabin. "We know you're in there, and we know you got the women. Let them out, and I mean now."

The would-be rapist's grip loosened and Laura spun around, grabbing his gun hand. "Hurry, Sheriff!" she yelled, then locked her teeth on her assailant's wrist. Now it was Steinmetz who was shouting.

There was the sound of smashing wood, and Laura heard several men's voices all cursing and yammering at once. Somebody pulled Steinmetz away from her. Laura backed off and leaned against the table to catch her breath.

"You son of a bitch!" Arsenio shouted as he grabbed Steinmetz's arm. The taller man howled and threw a roundhouse right. Arsenio dodged and countered with a sharp jab to the other man's stomach that almost lifted him off the ground, then two more slugs to the middle and an uppercut to the jaw. Steinmetz crumbled to the ground like a sack of corn.

"Are...are you all right, Laura?" Arsenio asked breathlessly as he stepped over Steinmetz and stood next to her.

"I-I am now," Laura said, feeling light-headed from the excitement. He gripped her arms, looked into her flushed and dazed face. She just stood there, her eyes locked on his. They just stared at each other, both uncertain of what they were feeling.

"Ahem!" The Sheriff took in their expressions and the way they were standing, trying to hide his embarrassment. He coughed. Laura and Arsenio suddenly self-conscious, reluctantly separated, looking nonplussed. "I'm, ah, sorry to interrupt, Laura...Arsenio," the sheriff went on carefully, "but, Laura, you wouldn't happen to know where Jessie is, would you?"

Laura seemed relieved to change the subject. "That one," she said, spitting at Steinmetz, "he said that Jessie was with his partner, umm, Toby, someplace." Arsenio was looking at her, an undecipherable expression on his face. Laura turned slightly, so that she wouldn't have to look directly at him. "I'm sorry, that's all I know." She smiled and looked at Arsenio, feeling somehow shy.

* * * * *

Dan and his part of the posse reached Toby's cabin about an hour after Jessie had left it. She'd shut and locked the door behind her. The men wasted several minutes before somebody kicked it.

"There's somebody in here, but he looks hurt," Joe Kelton said. "Hurt bad."

"That's Toby," Paul Grant said. He knelt down beside the man and felt for a pulse. There was none. He found the gash on the back of Toby's head and saw the blood on the fireplace stone. "They must've fought. Not much bleeding; he must have hit his head and died fast."

"Hard to believe a little thing like Jessie could take out a man like Toby Hess," somebody said.

Paul picked up the shreds of Jessie's clothes. "Maybe, but I think I know what they were fighting over. Some women get downright unreasonable about rape. "If that's what this polecat was up to, then it was self-defense."

"Maybe," Sam Braddock said, "but I don't see her around anywhere to ask."

"Look for her," Paul told the others. He stood and looked around the cabin, while Sam and Joe searched outside.

"Toby had a horse out here," Sam yelled a moment later. "It's gone now."

"Yeah, it Looks like a bunch of supplies is missing, too," Paul agreed.

"Maybe she headed back to Eerie," Joe suggested.

"I don't think so," Paul said. "She wouldn't take supplies if she was only going back to town. Jessie is even wilder than Wilma -- or at least more reckless. She'd run if she could. I don't know how much of a start that little gal has got or even what direction she took. I do know that we can't track her till sunup, and that's still a few hours off yet." He sighed. "Odds are, she's gonna get clean away."

Joe scratched his head. "The dang fool. She only had a few weeks to serve yet and then she'd be free to go anywhere she wanted. What the hell is she thinking, a woman all alone out there in the desert?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess it just hasn't dawned on her that she's a woman and has to play by new rules. She's a disaster waiting to happen until she does."

"Whatever, the Sheriff ain't gonna like this," Sam said. "Not one bit."

* * * * *

Sunday, September 10, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 3

"Well, you certainly led me a merry chase, Your Honor."

The Judge put down his beer and turned at the sound of the voice. "Nicholas, Nicholas Varrick, what are you doing back here?"

"Cost you a beer to find out, Judge," Varrick said.

"Shamus, get my friend a beer -- on my tab," the Judge said. Shamus nodded and poured a beer.

Varrick took a long drink. "Ahh, that was good. It's a longer ride than people think between Phoenix and Eerie." He took another drink. "Like I said, you led me on a merry chase. The trail of Will Hanks and his men between Santa Fe and Eerie isn't perfect, but it's there. There's no trail of them _from_ Eerie. I spent the last month finding that out." He drank again. "Your Honor, I do believe that you lied to me, and I'd like to know why."

"Well, umm..." The Judge thought for a moment. Could he trust Varrick with the truth? He looked over at Shamus who was standing at a spot behind Varrick. Shamus must have guessed that the Judge was thinking because he quickly shook his head "No."

"It's rather hard to explain, Nicholas." He had a sudden thought. "Look, will you give me time to decide how to best explain things. I promise you, it's not a simple matter. Will you give me the time, if I give you a second story as well?"

Varrick looked dubious. "I really shouldn't. This sounds like another one of your wild goose chases."

"No, I promise that I'll explain everything. It's just...complicated. I want to be sure to set things in their proper order."

"And how many weeks am I supposed to waste in the saddle chasing down this other story of yours?"

"You won't have to waste any time, Nicholas. The trial starts tomorrow and right here in Eerie. In fact, I'm presiding."

Varrick's ears perked up. "Trial? What sort of a trial? Who's being tried and what's the crime?"

The Judge gave a mental sigh of relief; once a newsman, always a newsman. "A kidnapping, Nicholas. A couple of miners took two of Shamus' -- Shamus, here, owns the Saloon -- took a couple of his waitresses. One of the miners was killed, and the girl he took seems to have disappeared. A posse from town rescued the second girl just as the other miner was making, umm, physical advances on her."

"And that second miner is the one on trial tomorrow?" Varrick asked.

"He is," the Judge said.

Varrick pulled a pencil and a small tablet from a pocket of his jacket. "Okay, but this doesn't get you off the hook for the wild goose chase -- not yet, anyway." He turned to Shamus. "Mr., umm, Shamus, tell me a little bit about the place of yours."

The Judge gave sigh of relief and walked over to the table where Bridget was dealing poker. "Excuse me a minute, boys...Bridget, but I need to talk to you all about something."

"What's up, Judge?" Red Tully asked. The men had just finished playing a hand.

"See that man talking to Shamus?" He pointed to Varrick. "He's a reported for the _Tucson Citizen_."

"What's he snooping around here for?" Bridget asked, looking a little nervous.

"You," the Judge said, "and the others. He's trying to find out what happened to the Will Hanks gang."

"Damn," Bridget said. "I sure don't want everybody in the territory to know what happened to us. I don't think any of the others do either."

"I didn't think any of you did," the Judge said. "So I tossed him a red herring. Jake Steinmetz."

"You mean he's gonna stay for the trial?" Bridget asked.

"He is." The Judge looked at Bridget's face. She was trying to decide just whose side he was on. "Look, I know this man. His name is Nicholas Varrick, and he's a damned bloodhound when it comes to tracking down the facts about something. I'm trying to stall him, until I can figure out a way to handle him, so he doesn't write that story."

"Maybe me and a few boys can just catch him alone and _persuade_ him that there ain't nothing to find out." Joe Ortlieb said. He punched one hand into the other to emphasize the thought.

"No!" the Judge hissed. "Then, he'd _know_ that there was something going on here, and he'd be even more eager to find out what it was."

"So what _do_ we do?" Red asked.

"Answer his questions -- answer as honestly as you can," the Judge said, "but, for pity's sake, don't say anything about Shamus' potion or who the women really are. And pass the word on for everybody else to keep mum about it, too." The men all nodded and made noises of agreement.

"I think this game's over for a while," Bridget said. "I'll tell Wilma, and she can go upstairs and tell Molly and Laura. Maggie is out in the kitchen." She made a gesture for Wilma, who was on serving duty, to come over."

"Good idea, Bridget. I'll go tell the Sheriff. Maybe he has some ideas." The Judge stood to leave just as Wilma came to the table. He nodded "Hello" and left for the Sheriff's Office.

"What d'you want, Bridget?" Wilma asked.

"I wanted to warn you," Bridget said. "That man over at the bar," she gave a jerk of her head to point, "he's a reporter come to Eerie to look for us...for the Hanks gang."

"Damn!" Wilma said, sitting down. "The last thing I need is for people to find out _this_ happened to me."

"I know," Bridget said. "I don't want to be a laughing stock either."

"Laughing stock, hell," Wilma said. "I can think of eight...maybe ten men that'd just love to find out that Will Hanks is this pretty, little piece of fluff Shamus turned me into. Yeah, they'd head here like a bear to a beehive to settle old scores." She looked down at her body. "And I don't think I'm up to taking them all on the way I am now."

"The Judge said he was working on something so the word don't get out," Bridget said, "but in the meantime, you better go warn the others -- especially Laura."

"Why 'especially Laura'?" Wilma asked.

"'Cause the Judge told him about what happened last night," Red said. "He's gonna stay here for the trial tomorrow."

"Now why'd he go do a damn fool thing like that?" Wilma asked. She sounded mad.

"Relax, Wilma," Bridget said. "I think he figures that the guy'll take that story and forget about us."

"It'll take his mind off hunting for you -- for who you used to be -- for a while, anyway," Joe said.

"I suppose," Wilma said. She sighed and stood up. "Well, I better go talk to the others, 'especially Laura.'" She made a face and hurried off.

"Now can we get back to the game?" Red asked.

* * * * *

The Judge saw Dan standing outside the barbershop talking to Whit. He hurried over. "Dan, we have a problem."

"Hi, Judge," Dan said. "What problem?"

"Varrick, Nicholas Varrick, the reporter I hoped that I'd gotten rid of," the Judge said. "He came back. He's over in the Eerie Saloon talking to Shamus."

"Dang," Dan said. "I was afraid he'd be back."

"Varrick," Whit said. "Didn't you say he was McCormick's man?"

"He is," the Judge said. "In fact, he says that one of the reasons he's here is because the Governor wanted him to find out how Dan handled the Hanks gang."

"You aren't going to tell him?" Whit asked. "Not the truth."

"I'd very much prefer not to," the Judge said. "The fewer people who know about Shamus' potion and what it can do, the better. Besides, I'm not completely sure that what we did with it would stand up to full judicial scrutiny."

"Covering your own ass?" Whit asked.

"And yours and mine," Dan said. "I let him use the potion on Hanks and his men, and you -- the Town Council, that is -- paid for it."

"So what are we going to do?" Whit asked.

"Right now, I have him chasing another story," the Judge said. "I told him about the kidnappings last night, and he's going to write that story. He was interviewing Shamus when I left the Saloon."

"That means he's gonna stay for the trial, too," Dan said.

"He's bound to find out something by then," Whit said. "Unless...you got some kind of idea, Judge?"

"No, but I'm hoping to have one by tomorrow," the Judge said. "Of course, if either of you come up with anything, I'll be glad to consider it."

* * * * *

"Shamus, I am in serious need of a beer," the Judge said.

"Ye're in serious need of something," Shamus said, as he poured the Judge's drink. "What did you have to go and tell that _Varrick_ about the trial tomorrow for? He asked me the very devil of a bunch of questions about what happened last night."

"Would you rather have him hanging around asking questions about what happened to the Hanks gang?"

"O'course not, but I'm thinking this isn't that much better. He talked to me and to a few of me customers. Then he spend much too long, I'm thinking, talking to Laura and Wilma."

"They must have loved that. Why Wilma, though, I wonder?"

"Trying to find out a bit about Jessie. Wilma is her sister, after all."

"I wonder what sort of stories they made up. I'm sorry to have told him about what happened last night. Frankly, it was all I could think of. Nick Varrick is too good a reporter to let go of a good story, but right now, he thinks he's after one just as good, and he's leaving the first one alone for the moment." The Judge took a long drink. "Maybe, by tomorrow, I can think of something more long term."

"In the meantime, Varrick is off looking for the Sheriff." Shamus scratched his head for a moment. "Say, how about giving _him_ just a wee bit of me potion? Permanent is about as 'long term' as things can get."

"Shamus! It's one thing to use it to save lives or to serve as a sentence for somebody who deserves it. It's something entirely different to use it just to save ourselves from embarrassment." He sighed. "As tempting as it might be to use it that way."

"Ye're right, Judge, and -- to be telling the honest truth -- I really don't think I could bear to have it used that way. I-I guess it just shows how worried I am about this."

"I know you couldn't, Shamus. Besides, you don't have any of it, do you?"

"Aye, I made some up for Phil Trumbell's trial. I thought ye -- ye must have known. I heard ye tell the Doc that ye were gonna be offering him that choice, jail or me potion."

"I didn't know. I offered him the choice, but I expected him to take the jail time. I thought that you could make a new batch if he did decide to take the potion. You made up that first batch overnight, after all."

"Be that as it may, I've a bottle of the potion up in me room. I'll be bringing it with me t'court tomorrow, if ye want."

"Do that. If the jury finds Jake guilty, I'll give him the same choice, and I think he may choose the potion." He took another drink. "I may let him think about it for a bit, though."

* * * * *

"All right, Judge, what are you folks trying to pull?" Nicholas Varrick sat down next to the Judge on the bench outside the Saloon.

"What do you mean, Nick," the Judge said, sure that he knew exactly what the other man meant. He took a long pull on his cigar, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I come here looking for the Hanks gang. Five men named Will, Jesse, Brian, Leroy, and a Mex named Mickey. You tell me they aren't around."

"That's because those men aren't here." What exactly was Varrick saying?

"Then you -- or Shamus -- introduce me to five women, none of whom want to tell me anything about their pasts; women named Wilma, Jessie, Bridget, Laura, and a pretty Mex named Maggie. Hell, Laura and Leroy are both named Meehan."

"Well, you see..." the Judge began.

"Do you seriously believe that I'll think there's some connection between them? Is this another of your red herrings, Judge, some crazy story that -- I don't know -- that...that these women _are_ Will Hanks and his men?"

The Judge wanted to laugh from relief. He'd never have believed that he'd have to _persuade_ Varrick to accept the truth. "But you, of course, don't think there's anything to a crazy story like that, do you, Nicholas?"

"Of course not; how could there be? Now why don't you make your life -- and mine -- a lot easier, Judge, and 'fess up? What really happened to Will Hanks and his men?"

"All right, have it your way." The Judge closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of something. "When the, umm, gang rode into town, the Sheriff had over 20 men hidden on roofs and in alleys. The Sheriff...walked out to meet them. He told them to just ride away. Will drew, and the Sheriff dodged. The, ah, the hidden men began shooting. Hanks and his men were caught in a truly vicious crossfire, and they died almost immediately."

"And that's what's _really_ happened?"

"Hell, no. Shamus gave the gang a magic potion that changed them into pretty girls." He looked straight at Varrick. "Which story do you want to believe?"

"Well, 20 men shooting from cover isn't very brave, but I suppose that I can dress it up." He shook the Judge's hand. "Thanks for finally leveling with me, Judge -- even if I had to force it out of you."

"So what are you going to do now, Nicholas?"

"I'll be staying for the trial, of course. It'll make a good story, too. In the meantime, though, I want to talk to the Sheriff about using the story of his showdown with the Hanks gang -- my version of it, anyway -- in a dime novel."

* * * * *

Nicholas Varrick put down his fork and sighed. "Mrs. Talbot, I have to tell you this is one of the best meals I've had in a long, long time."

"Thank you," Amy Talbot said. She hadn't been happy when her husband had invited the man home to dinner, but she was determined to be a good hostess. "Would you like more of anything? We have plenty."

"Let me just take a second to find some room, Mrs. Talbot." Varrick said.

"Amy...please." She said with a smile. "You're our guest; you can call me by my first name. And you don't have to gush like that about my cooking."

"All right, but only if you call me Nick." He leaned back in his chair. "You know, Amy...Dan, I do a lot of travelling in my job, and that means eating in a lot of restaurants -- eating my own bad cooking when I'm on the range. It's just a pleasure to enjoy some simple, old-fashioned home cooking, especially when it tastes as good as this."

"I've always said that Amy was a good cook," Dan said with a satisfied grin, "but it's always nice for her to hear someone else say so."

"It's my job to report the truth," Varrick said, "and, the truth is, I do believe I'd like a bit more of that roast." He stabbed two pieces of meat and moved them to his plate. Then he poured a bit of thick, brown sauce over the meat. "This horseradish sauce is very good, too, by the way. Where did you find it?"

"I'm glad you like it," Amy said. "I made it myself. I learned the recipe when we lived in Washington."

Varrick's perked up. "I didn't know you'd lived back east, Sheriff,"

Amy laughed. "Dan's never lived east of St. Louis. My father was stationed in Washington for two years just before the War."

"Amy's father is Colonel James T. Reid, U.S. Army Cavalry," Dan said. He took her hand. "That's how we met. I was a U.S. Marshal assigned to Fort Reilly during the War, and he was post commander."

"Poor Daddy," Amy said with a smile. "He had it all planned out. I was supposed to marry some dashing, young lieutenant and raise up the next generation of military men." She put her hand over Dan's and squeezed. "Only, I spoiled it all by falling in love with this..._civilian_."

"I don't think the man forgave me till Jimmy was born," Dan said. "That's my...our son, James Daniel Talbot, sixteen months old member of the West Point Class of 1890."

"He's asleep now," Amy said, looking towards the other room. "You can see him after supper if you'd like."

"I think I would," Varrick said, "as long as he's still sleeping. I-I never know what to do around babies."

Dan nodded. "I know what you mean...Nick. The first few days after Jimmy was born, I was afraid to go near him...afraid he'd break if I so much as touched him. Now -- and I'll deny it if you ever tell anyone -- I've even changed his diaper and fed him once or twice."

"Don't forget the time you gave him a bath." Amy giggled at the memory. "I swear, he wound up wetter than the baby was."

Dan grinned good-naturedly. "Amy, you promised that you'd never tell anyone that story."

"I haven't told anyone," Amy said. She bit her lip a little, and Varrick thought that she suddenly looked years younger. "But I do believe that, umm, Rachel and Molly found out about it...somehow. Carmen, too."

"There goes my reputation," Dan sighed.

"Don't worry, Dan," Amy said. "They've known for months, and I don't think that anyone thinks any less of you for it."

Dan paled. "Months! The whole town has known for months?"

"No, just a few close friends," Amy took his hands in hers, "people who know the sort of man you are and who understand that a man...a father wants to spend time with his son."

"Speaking of reputation, Dan," Varrick said, "have you given any thought to my proposal? I'll be writing a simple version of the story about the Hanks gang for the _Citizen_, but you can -- we can both make -- a fair bit of money if I do up a fancy version and sell it to one of those dime novel companies."

"I don't know," Dan said. "I mean, we can use the money, of course, but it doesn't seem like a good idea somehow."

"Sure, it's a good idea," Varrick said. "Kids all over the territory...all over the country will be reading about you. Why, in a few years, even your own boy can be reading about his father's adventures."

As if on cue, a baby's cry came from the next room. "Excuse me," Amy said hurrying over to the door.

"I'm not sure that I really want everybody reading those...tall stories about me," Dan said.

Amy came back in carrying a small boy in her arms, rocking him to quiet the child. Dan beamed at the sight of them.

"May I ask you a question?" Amy asked hesitantly. Varrick nodded. "I wasn't sure that I wanted you in the house, Nick...Mr. Varrick, but you were my husband's guest. You seem like a good man, and I find myself liking you, almost in spite of myself."

"Thank you, Amy," Varick said. "But what exactly is your question?"

"Actually, it's a couple of questions," she said. "The first one is, do you consider yourself a gentleman...a real gentleman, not just someone who uses the word without knowing all that it means?"

Varrick thought for a moment. "I like to think that I am, Amy, even if my profession isn't known for gentlemanly behavior."

"Then," Amy said, "I'd like to ask you -- as a gentleman -- for your protection, protection for myself and my son."

Varrick shook his head. "I'm afraid that I don't know what you mean, Amy, but I suppose that -- if you need it -- I'll try."

"Thank you," Amy said, "because I've heard stories about what happens to those 'dime novel heroes.' I've heard how they get no time for themselves because everybody who reads those thinks those men are really like that; worse, I've read how every young punk with a gun goes after them because of those stories and the reputation that it gives the men the stories are about." She paused, looking ready to cry. "And sometimes...sometimes, the hero isn't as...fast as the p-punk."

"Amy!" Dan ran over and took them both in his arms.

"Th-that's what I-I want your protection from, _Mr. Varrick_. D-Don't make me, make me a widow, Mr. Varrick. Don't make my...son grow up with-without ever knowing his poppa."

"Amy...Mrs. Talbot," Varrick said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "I-I'd better leave. Thank you for the fine dinner, and, I promise, I'll think about what you've said here." He took his hat from a peg near the door. "Goodnight folks." He shook his head as he walked out the door. "I hope."

* * * * *

Monday, September 11, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 4

"Quiet! Quiet!" Judge Humphreys pounded his gavel again and again on the table. "I won't start this trial until there's quiet." He looked out at the crowd. The Eerie Saloon was serving as courtroom, since just about everyone in town wanted to see the trial of the man who'd kidnapped Laura Meehan.

When the noise didn't stop, Deputy Paul Grant raised his pistol and fired. The noise stopped. "There ya go, Judge." He grinned and holstered his pistol.

The Judge used his gavel once more. "I declare that the Court of the Township and County of Eerie, Arizona Territory, is now in session." He pointed at Paul with his gavel. "Go get the prisoner."

Paul walked over to the storeroom, where the Sheriff was standing. Dan unlocked the door and went inside. He came out a moment later with Jake Steinmetz. Jake was handcuffed, his legs shackled.

There were angry shouts as Dan and Paul walked Jake slowly across the room. Somebody even threw an apple core at him. Dan pulled his pistol. "There'll be no more of that," he ordered. They stopped at a table near the Judge's, and Jake sat down. Milt Quinlan was already sitting at the table.

"You got any witnesses, Milt?" the Judge asked.

Milt did.

He got Shamus to admit that he was making money from the dances, and that fewer men would come if they thought that the women had favorites. "That's why I have me rule -- no two dances with the same man."

Jake said that he was one of Laura's favorite. He admitted to taking Laura and to helping Toby take Jessie, but he said that he was mad at Shamus and drunk. "It was just a joke," he said. "We was just having some fun. Laura likes me, so I thought she'd be happy for an excuse t'spend some time with me."

The story almost seemed reasonable, until the women had their chance.

Wilma, Maggie, and Bridget all agreed that Jake had been grabbing at them. "That man's got more hands than an octopus," Wilma said. "He wouldn't listen to us when we asked him to stop," Bridget said. "We hoped he'd listen to Shamus."

Shamus came back and told that he'd gotten complaints from the women. "I warned him and Toby once. When they wouldn't behave, I said that they couldn't be dancing with the ladies any more."

Laura described her own problems when she danced with Jake. She told of being taken by Jake and Toby and of what Jake had tried to do to her at his cabin. "That little bastard thought I liked him; he thought I'd want him to...to...take me like some kind of animal."

The jury took about twenty minutes. "What'd you boys decide?" the Judge asked.

Milo Nash stood up. "Judge, we, umm, we find Jake -- Jake Steinmetz guilty." He quickly sat down.

"You got to tell me what he's guilty of, Milo," the Judge said.

"Milo stood again. "I-I'm sorry, Judge. We find him guilty of kidnapping and, umm, ah, of attempted...rape." He sat quickly. A few cheers were heard from the crowd, and somebody offered to buy the jurors a drink.

"Qui -- oh, the hell with it -- Shut up!" the Judge yelled, pounding his gavel twice. He looked over at Jake, who was standing at the table next to Milt. "Jake, you've just been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Normal sentence for your crimes would be...umm, ten years at the Territorial prison up in Prescott, but you don't have to serve that time."

Jake smiled and pushed his glasses back on his nose. "I don't? Thanks, Judge. Can I go now?"

The Judge sighed and shook his head. "No, Jake, you can't 'go now.' As an alternative sentence, you can drink Shamus' potion and serve two months as a woman here at the Eerie Saloon. I'll give you till noon tomorrow to decide."

"I thought there weren't no more potion," Jake said. "I heard it all got used up on the Hanks gang."

Shamus took a small bottle out of his shirt pocket. "It was, but I made up some more for ye, Jake." He put it on the table in front of Jake.

Jake looked at the bottle. "You mean that there is the stuff that'll turn me into a girl if I drink it? It just don't seem possible."

"It is, me lad," Shamus said. "Wilma, Laura, and the others is proof of that."

Wilma had a sudden thought. 'The potion! Shamus always said there wasn't an antidote. Maybe it's because the stuff is it's own damned antidote. It turns men into women, so maybe it turns women into men.' She reached out and grabbed the bottle.

"Wilma!" Shamus yelled. "No, ye don't want to be drinking that. A second dose of it will --'

That convinced her. "Damned right, I do." Wilma drank quickly before anyone could stop her. "Now who gets the last laugh," she yelled. "In few minutes, I'll be Will Hanks again, not this damned saloon girl you turned me into." She moaned softly and sank down into a chair, her eyes half closed and an odd smile on her face.

* * * * *

Wilma felt the potion slide down her throat. An odd, honey warmness seemed to flow from the pit of her stomach out to all parts of her body. Within a moment, the heat seemed to concentrate the strongest in her breasts and...down, down there...in her female parts. 'It's working,' she thought. 'I'm changing back.' The warmth became a tingle, a pleasant tickle, growing more intense by the second. Her every nerve seemed to come alive in a rush. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. She felt her nipples elongate and grow stiff.

It felt like a hand caressing her chest and groin. Wilma had expected a feeling of change, like the last time, but not this sensation of sexual pleasure, an incredible level of pleasure that grew and grew beyond anything she could remember as a man. Her entire body seemed to be coming alive, igniting, but she felt it most strongly in the sexual centers of her body.

As this was happening to her nervous system and the erotic centers of her brain, a flood of images flowed into Wilma's mind. In the space of fleeting seconds, she relived in vivid detail every sexual experience Will Hanks had ever had with a woman. She felt painfully envious of those women, and, in a blink, the images changed to accommodate her. Now, in each memory, _she_ was the woman, spreading her legs and feeling the incredible pleasure of being made love to by a man. She imagined Will's hands -- and, somehow, the hands of other men -- massage her breasts. Their lips were at her own mouth, her nipples, her...her pussy. And their cocks were filling her, pushing her higher and higher, bringing more and more joy to her body and her mind. She felt as if she was melting down into a happy puddle of satisfied ooze.

Then it _was_ over.

No, not over. Though the pleasure was done, something strong and not nearly so enjoyable was left behind. What? A _hunger_? Hunger for what? Wilma was still too dazed to understand the object of the need as her senses cleared and she grew aware of someone's hands on her, holding her up from falling.

She realized that the hands were the strong, callused hands of a man, just like in her vision. That thought sent another a thrill of pleasure through her, but only increased the knife-like edge of the craving she had awakened with.

* * * * *

Dan had been the first one to her when she drank the potion. He was still holding her once she opened her eyes. "Are you all right, Wilma?"

"I-I am now," she said, not recognizing anything more than Dan's maleness, what he could do for her...to her...to her body. The look in her eyes startled the sheriff. She grabbed him around the shoulders and kissed him. It was a kiss of desperate need. Her tongue darted into his mouth -- which opened in surprise.

Dan jerked back reflectively, but, to his dismay, Wilma held on and let him pull her to her feet. She continued to kiss him, and her hand, by accident or intent, touched his groin. Dan pushed her away in embarrassed surprise, and she fell against the people behind her.

Now she recognized him. "Hmmm, Sheriff," she purred. "You're a good kisser. Can we do it again?" She caressed herself shamelessly, her hands lingering on her breasts, her thighs, as she tried to arouse him. Her eyes were half closed, and she moaned softly as she swayed sensually, enjoying the feeling of even her own hands on her body.

Shamus looked around the room. The other women -- and most of the men in the room were staring in amazement. More than a few of the men were trying to adjust their trousers without being noticed doing so. "Well," he said to no one in particular. "Now ye all know what taking the second dose of me potion does to a person."

"Court adjourned," the Judge yelled. "Sheriff, take Jake somewhere, so he can think about what he wants to do." Dan nodded, and he and Paul led Jake back to his cell in the town jail.

* * * * *

Maggie and Bridget took Wilma upstairs. The Doc followed them up and examined her. Or tried to. Wilma squealed with delight when he asked her to take off her blouse. "Why just my blouse?" she asked, stripping off her corset and camisole as well.

When he tried to use his stethoscope, she took his hand and rubbed it against her breasts. "Can't you think of a better use of those wonderful, big hands of yours?" she asked, with a slight smile. "Or for this?" Her hand reached down and grabbed at his crotch.

The Doc brushed her hand away. "Stop it, Wilma. I need to examine you -- to see what that potion did."

"Only if I can _examine_ you back." Her voice was husky. She sighed -- deeply, and put her hand back on his crotch. "And I think I'll start _my_ examination right here." She ran a finger along the bulge in Doc's pants.

Doc smiled and reached into his medical bag. "Okay, but first, let's have us a little drink." He pulled out a small, silver flask and set it on the table.

"I don't want a drink," Wilma said with a pout. "I just wanna have some fun."

"So do I, Wilma," Doc put his hand over hers, "but I'm an old...er man, and I need a little something to prime the pump." He poured a yellow liquid from the flask into a glass. "Here, you take a sip and see how good it is."

Wilma took the glass and drank. "Fruity, kind of, with a kick to it. What's this stuff called?"

Doc took the glass from her hand. "A sedative." He leaned over and gently kissed her on the cheek. "A 'Mickey Finn,' to be specific."

"A what," Wilma said. She shook her head, and her pupils began to dilate. "You, you...tricked...me," she said, looking as if she was about to cry. A moment later, she fell back onto the bed, sound asleep.

Doc poured what was left of the liquid back into the flask and put it away. "She'll sleep for a few hours, but she should be fine by dinnertime."

"Is she gonna be so...so like she was just now?" Bridget asked.

"I don't know," Doc said, "but considering that Shamus didn't seem at all surprised by the way she was acting, I think she'll act this way from now on." He paused and looked down at the sleeping woman. "Good luck, ladies."

"Thank you, Señor Doc," Maggie said. "I think we will be needing it."

Doc nodded and left. "Is she all right?" Molly asked him, when he came down stairs. "I mean, is she healthy?"

"Too damned healthy," the Doc said taking a long drink of the beer Molly had just given him.

* * * * *

Bridget and Maggie sat on their beds, staring at Wilma, who was sleeping soundly from the Doc's sedative. Wilma seemed to be dreaming. One arm moved up over her chest. Her fingers touched a breast. She moaned softly and smiled.

Bridget shivered. "Did you see that? She's even doing in her sleep."

Maggie nodded. "Is like she was a _gato_, a cat, in heat. You saw the way she act downstairs, then up here with the doctor. Is this what we are to become?"

"Sweet Lord, I hope not," Bridget said. "It only happened to her 'cause she drank that potion again. I think we'll be okay as long as we stay away from the stuff ourselves."

"Si, I think so, too. You know what this mean, do you not?"

"It means we gotta be very careful what we drink around here." She tried to laugh at her own joke.

"No, it mean we are -- how you say it -- we are trapped like this. We will be women forever."

"No! There's _got_ to be a way back."

"I had hoped so, my friend, hoped as much as any of us, but we have looked everywhere and found nothing. Shamus said there was no antidote, but we did not believe him. Now I do."

"I don't...I-I can't."

"What else can there be? We have looked, we have asked, and we have found nothing. I, too, had begun to think that perhaps the magic was its own cure. What change man to woman can change woman to man."

"That sure ain't the way it works," someone said from behind them. The two women turned to see Laura standing by the door. "It changes a woman, all right, but I sure as hell don't want to be changed into that." She pointed at Wilma, who was now slowly caressing her breasts with her hands.

Maggie crossed herself. "Madonna mia, she is _still_ doing it."

Laura sighed. "I talked to Shamus after you two took her upstairs. He said that the first one who ever took two doses was just as man-crazy when she drank that second dose."

"Did it ever wear off?" Bridget asked.

"Nope," Laura said. "He said ran into her years later. She wound up working in a cathouse and loving what she was doing." She laughed a shrill laugh. "He said she _thanked_ him for giving her that second dose."

"Poor Wilma," Bridget said, shaking her head.

"Poor Wilma," Laura said. "Poor us. She's gonna be happy the way she is. I heard what you was saying, and I agree with Maggie. We're stuck, _ladies_, and we'd better get used to the idea."

"I-I am not ready to be a woman, even if I agree that is what we have truly become," Maggie said.

"Neither am I," Bridget said.

"Well," Laura said with a sigh, "I reckon we got the rest of our lives to get used to the idea."

"Something else we must get used to, also," Maggie said. "We must get used to what it means _to_ be a woman."

"I don't follow," Bridget said.

Laura shivered. "I think I do. We gotta get used to the way other people treat us because we are women -- especially men. There's men been paying attention to the three of us, R.J., Cap, Ramon..."

"And Arsenio," Bridget completed the thought. "I get it. If we accept that we're women, then we gotta give some _serious_ thought to what we're gonna do about those men."

"Damn," Laura said. "This is surely one helluva mess you got us into, Will Hanks." She looked over at Wilma. The woman wasn't moving now. She was snoring gently, a very pleased smile on her face, and her legs wide apart.

* * * * *

"What the hell happened here, Judge?" Varrick asked.

"What do you mean, Nick," the Judge said with a satisfied smile.

"You know what I mean. I talked to that woman, Wilma, a couple of times. She was angry about something -- very angry, but she was a normal, rational woman; well, as rational as any woman can be."

"Yes?"

"Then she grabs that bottle and starts yelling about being Will Hanks -- I figured it was something you put her up to, so I let it pass. But then she drinks whatever is in that bottle, and -- poof! -- she isn't a woman any more. She's a damned cat in heat. I think she'd have had...relations with the Sheriff right here in the saloon if he'd asked her. So I ask you again, what happened?"

"You remember that you said there was no way those women could have anything to do with the Hanks gang?"

"Yes." What was the Judge driving at?

"You just saw evidence of how wrong you were. You stay around till tomorrow, you may just see the _ultimate_ proof."

* * * * *

Wilma didn't always seem to be around that evening. Shamus or Molly found her eventually each time, often with a flushed look to her face. "Just feeling a little lightheaded," she always explained.

It was almost 3 AM when the women finished their chores and hurried upstairs. Bridget happened to glance over at Wilma as they were changing for bed. "Wilma, what happened? Where's your drawers?"

Wilma leaned back against the wall, an odd smile on her face. "I gave them to...somebody. I...I don't remember who." She giggled. "They kept getting in the way." Wilma had been giggling all evening. It reminded Maggie of the laugh of some of the Indians near her village after they'd been chewing buds from the mescal cactus.

* * * * *

  

  

  

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