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

by Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

© 2001

 

* * * * *

Tuesday, September 12, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 5

"Hear ye, hear ye," Paul Grant yelled in a sort of singsong tone, "the Court of the Township of Eerie, Territory of Arizona is now in session. Let all who have business with the Court draw near and be heard. G-d save this Court and the United States of America."

"What the hell is all that?" someone yelled from the crowd gathered in the Saloon. Jake Steinmetz' sentence would begin in the room where he'd been tried.

"Be quiet, you yahoos," the Judge said, pounding the table with his gavel. "That's what's supposed to be said when somebody besides the judge calls a Court into session." In a quieter voice, he added, "Where'd you learn it, Paul?"

"I been in court once or twice before, Your Honor," Paul said. "A bunch of hands can get...wild when they hit a town like Dodge after a two-month cattle drive. Sometimes, the town decides to hit back."

"No doubt," the Judge said. "Okay, we're not here to talk about old times. Stand up, Jake."

Jake was sitting at a nearby table with Milt Quinlan. They both slowly rose to their feet. "Yes, Your Honor," Jake said.

The Judge looked directly at Jake. "What did you decide, Jake? Time in jail or drink the potion?"

"Your Honor," Jake said. "I been in jail once, and I truly hated it. I-I'll drink that stuff of Shamus'."

"Very well. I sentence you to drink the potion and to afterwards serve 60 days at the Eerie Special Offender Penitentiary."

Jake's face went white. He turned and grabbed Quinlan by his lapels. "You said I wouldn't go to prison if I drank that stuff. You said I'd just have to live and work in the Saloon."

Quinlan pushed Jake's hands away. "That _is_ the saloon, Jake. The Judge just gave it a fancier name, understand?"

Jake seemed to calm down. "I-I guess so." He sighed and took off his glasses. "Okay, Judge, let's get it over with."

Shamus walked over to Jake with a stein of dark beer. "Here ye go, Jake. I put it in some of that lager ye like so much."

"Thanks, I guess." He took the stein. "Well, bottom's up." He closed his eyes and quickly downed the beer. "Good stuff," he sighed, wiping his mouth, and handed the empty stein back to Shamus.

People began to crowd around the table where Jake was standing. "He don't look no different," someone said.

"I don't feel no different neither," Jake said with a relieved smile. "Maybe it don't w-w-work on m-me." His voice became shaky, and he suddenly looked very scared. "Or, m-maybe it...do--aargh!." He doubled over, and his entire body shook as he sank back into his chair. "It h-hurts -- hurts all...all over."

"My Lord," Quinlan said, stepping back. "He's starting to change."

Jake closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in pain. Even his teeth hurt. He clenched the arms of the chair, his arms sliding along the top as they shrank. His clothes felt looser and looser. He could feel a draft of air on his face, under his nose and on his cheeks for the first time in years. His hair seemed to be moving, growing even longer. Then, he felt it reach down to tickle his neck.

"Let me in here," Dan said, pushing his way close to Jake. "And everybody better be quiet."

"Anybody talks," the Judge said, "they're in contempt of Court."

Jake suddenly looked up, eyes wide, staring straight ahead without seeming to see anything. His face continued to soften, his hair becoming a light brown, almost blonde even as he stared ahead.

"Can you hear me, Jake?" Dan asked. Jake nodded, his mouth opening slightly. "Okay," Dan continued, "you won't hurt anybody, and you won't try to run away. You'll do whatever Shamus or Molly or me tell you -- oh yeah, and your name's _Jane_ now. That's the only name you'll answer to."

Jake -- no, Jane -- nodded, still staring straight ahead. Then she suddenly jerked her head and blinked. "Is-is it over?" she asked. "Am I...changed?"

Joe Ortleib was standing nearby. "You sure are...and I'll be damned who you done turned into. There were murmurs from the crowd. "Hey, Laura, get yourself over here and see this."

Laura pushed her way through the mostly male crowd. She and the other transformees felt no need to see the potion work again. They had all been sitting together in the back of the room. As Laura walked, she noticed that some of the men were looking quickly from her to Jake -- Jane.

"Well, I'll be damned," the Judge said, looking closely at Jane. "Tell me, Jake, umm, Jane, who's your lady love."

Jane was looking down at herself. Her clothes were much too big, now. Only her suspenders kept her pants from falling down. Those same suspenders were pushing her shirt tight against her...her new _big_ chest. The coarse fabric felt different against her than it ever had before. She reached up to touch...them, only to see that her hands were lost in her now much longer sleeves.

She stopped when she heard the Judge's question. "That -- that's easy, Judge. Laura, Shamus' waitress, she's just about the prettiest thing I ever seen."

"And you're gonna be seeing a lot more of her," Clay Falk said. Almost everyone nearby laughed.

"What the hell d'you mean?" Jane asked. She smiled in dazed recognition as Laura suddenly stepped in front of her.

Laura stared a moment, then frowned. "What they mean, you stupid bastard, is that you're my damned twin."

Molly pushed her way over to way over to Jane. "It'll make it that much easier to be dressing her." She took Jane's hand. "Come on, dearie."

"Wait a minute," Laura said. "You're not dressing her in any of my nice, new clothes. I won't hear of it."

"Relax, Laura," Shamus said. "What I'm _sure_ Molly meant was that we already know Jane's sizes. I'll be sending over to Rachel for some new things, while Molly gets her out of those thing of Jake's. Ye know that."

"You-you're right, Shamus," Laura said. She wasn't certain if she believed him or if the voice was _making_ her believe him. Either way, she did. She had to. "I-I just didn't want her to be wearing anything of mine. She's...she's filthy scum. She suddenly had to laugh. "You know, this won't be the first time I wouldn't let Steinmetz get into my drawers."

* * * * *

Nicholas Varrick pushed his way over to the table where the Judge was still sitting. "What the hell did I just see, Judge?"

The Judge looked up at him. "Why, what do you think you saw, Nicholas?"

Varrick frowned. "A hoodoo, something that just...just is _not_ possible."

"Then you didn't see it," the Judge said with a sly smile.

"Don't play games with me, Parnassas Humphreys. I know what I saw. What I want to know is _how_ it could happen. How can a middle-aged man be changed into a pretty young woman?"

"That is a good question, isn't it?"

"This has happened before, hasn't it?" Varrick asked. "You...this whole town didn't bat an eye when..." His eyes went wide. "The Hanks gang, those names, what was it you told me? 'They had a drink with the Sheriff.' That stuff, whatever was in the beer, you gave it to them, too, didn't you?"

"What do you think?" the Judge asked.

"My G-d, you did...those women, I talked to." Varrick's voice became slightly shrill. "Damn! The truth was out there, and I didn't believe it."

"But now you do." The Judge motioned for R.J. to bring two beers. "The question is, what are you going to do with the knowledge?"

"It's an incredible story...if anyone would print it. I don't think the _Citizen_ would, though. Certainly not without proof."

"Which we're not likely to give you. I'm afraid. None of us wants our town turned into some P.T. Barnum sideshow."

"The women, they could be made to talk." He looked around the bar, obviously looking for one of the transformees. None seemed to be around. "I could take one back with me."

"We can order them not to talk, not to go with you. Part of the magic makes them very...obedient about certain things." The Judge's eyes narrowed. "And you just saw what happened to the last man who tried to take one of them somewhere against her will."

"Then why the hell did you let me find out about the magic, if I can't tell anyone about it?"

"Very simple, Nicholas. You're too damn good a reporter. You were likely to find out anyway. As like as not, you'd have done something...unfortunate, and somebody -- maybe you, maybe one of the woman -- might have been hurt." R.J. came to the table at that moment and set down two beers. The Judge picked one up and took a drink. "Or Shamus might have wound up with a new waitress, one named _Nicole_."

Varrick looked at the beer stein still on the table. "Is _that_ what's in this beer? Can...can I drink it -- and still be me?"

"Nicholas, you shock me. We're not vigilantes here. I won't allow, let alone participate, in such things."

"Then what does happen?"

"First, you'll have a beer with me. Then, I'll go talk to a few people. You come back about 5:30. We'll all have supper here and see what we can work out."

* * * * *

Molly helped Jane over to the stairs. "Why are ye having so much trouble with yuir walking?"

"My shoes don't fit no more," Jane said, looking down. "And I keep tripping over the cuffs of my pants."

"Well then, ye just step out of them shoes and sit down on the steps," Molly said. "Then ye can roll up yuir pants past yuir ankles, and we can go upstairs."

Jane sat down and began to work on her pants. "What's upstairs?"

"Yuir new room," Molly said. "Ye'll be living here in the Saloon for the next two month, remember."

"Oh, yeah," Jane said. I get a room here."

"No," Molly said. "Ye get to _share_ a room here -- you and the other ladies."

Laura and Bridget had been standing nearby. "Wait a minute, Molly," Laura said. "I...we don't want him -- her -- rooming with us."

"I don't remember asking ye," Molly said. "There's space in there now that Jessie's...gone, and that's where she'll be staying." She turned and looked around the room. "Speaking of gone, where's Wilma at?"

The others looked as well. Wilma was talking to Clay Falk. She whispered something in his ear. Clay smiled broadly and took her hand. They began walking towards the door to the kitchen. The Saloon's yard, a private, fenced-in area, was just beyond.

"Somebody -- Bridget -- go get Wilma," Molly said. "Take her over to Shamus and tell him to be having her serve drinks. Otherwise, the Saints only know what mischief she'll be getting into."

Bridget hurried over. Clay and Wilma were almost at the door when Bridget stopped them. Clay looked very unhappy as Bridget talked to them until Wilma put her arms around his neck. She leaned forward and gave him a long kiss. Bridget managed to pull her away and took her over to Shamus who'd been watching from the bar. A few moments later, the pair of women was taking drink orders.

Molly turned to Laura. "Now that _that's_ settled, let's us take Jane -- and this discussion about where she'll be living -- upstairs."

* * * * *

"Here's yuir room," Molly said, opening the door. Jane and Laura walked in, with Molly following. She pointed to a bed near the window. "That was Jessie's bed, but she's gone, so ye'll have it now."

"But she groped me," Laura protested, "kidnapped me; she tried to _rape_ me, for heaven's sake. Why should I trust her now just because she's a girl -- let alone sleep in the same room with her?"

"All right," Molly said, "she can have her own room -- if _ye'll_ pay the rent."

"I don't have the money to do that," Laura said, "and you know it."

"Well, till ye can, I'd say that ye have a new roommate," Molly said.

Jane had walked over and put her shoes next to the bed. She was sitting on it, now, and running her fingers along the blanket. "Nice blanket -- feels like it's got a better mattress than my bed back at the cabin, too."

"Just don't be getting too comfortable," Molly said. "Stand up and take off yuir pants and shirt. Ye can keep yuir underthings on for now."

Without quite knowing why, Jane stood and slipped her suspenders off her shoulders. Her pants fell to the floor, and she stepped out of them. She bent and lifted the pants onto the bed. Then she began to unbutton her shirt. She wore nothing underneath.

"Hold it!" Molly ordered. "Ye can unbutton the shirt, but be keeping it on for now. Thuir's such a thing as modesty, ye know."

"What do I got to be modest about?" Jane asked.

"Go look in the mirror and see for yuirself," Molly said.

Jane walked over to the mirror. She saw a woman -- "Miss Laura," she said -- standing before her wearing only an open shirt and a loose pair of red union suit drawers. "I...I always wanted to see you like this."

"That's you, dammit," Laura said.

Jane looked again. She raised her hands to her half-hidden breasts. The woman in the mirror did exactly the same. "Th-that's right," she said, her voice high with amazement. "I'm your twin, now." Her hands began to caress her breasts. "I can do all them things to _my_ body that I wanted t'do to yours."

Laura rushed over to Jane. "Stop that! Stop it right now!"

"Aye, stop it, Jane," Molly said firmly. "I'll not be having ye do that sort of thing t'yuirself -- or t'any of the other ladies ye'll be living here with."

Jane heard Molly's words echo in her head. She wanted to continue -- it felt so good, and, when she closed her eyes, she could pretend that she was a man again, doing those things to Laura. But she couldn't; the voice in her head wouldn't let her. "Damn," she said, as her hands dropped to her sides.

"Thanks, Molly," Laura said. "I couldn't have taken another minute of watching her do that." She looked in the mirror. Two women, identical except for their clothes -- or lack thereof -- stared back at her. "How the hell are people going to be able to tell us apart, especially if we're wearing the same sort of clothes?" She shook her head.

"Ye don't have to be wearing the _exact_ same clothes," Molly said. "Wear different colored blouses or skirts -- or both. I used to know twin sisters out in San Francisco; that's what they did."

"Are we sisters now?" Jane asked.

"Hell, no," Laura said. "We just look like too damned much like we are."

"Another thing them girls did they wore ribbons pinned to thuir blouses, ribbons with thuir names writ on 'em."

"We could do that, I guess," Laura said.

"Aye, ye could." Molly thought for a moment. "In fact, I've got just the ribbon in me sewing kit. I'll fix them ribbons tonight -- do ribbons for Wilma and Maggie, too, I think."

"Anything," Laura said in desperation. "The last thing I want is for people to think that idiot over there," she cocked her head towards Jane, "is me."

"Ye know," Molly said, "ye could always wear yuir hair a different way, too."

"No," Laura said, "Ar...I like it this way. Besides, I was here first, let her do hair different."

Jane frowned. "No, I want to wear my hair like my sister does."

"We...ain't...sisters," Laura growled.

At that moment, there was a knock -- more of a kick, actually -- at the door. Hey, open up in there," Bridget yelled from outside.

Molly hurried over and opened the door. Bridget came in, her arms full of packages. "Rachel just brought these over, and Shamus had me bring them right up." She dropped the packages on the nearest bed. "Rachel said to tell you that the clothes in here are all Laura's size, so they should fit Jane, too." She looked over at Jane. "How's she doing, by the way?"

"Take a good look," Laura said. "She's over at the mirror posing like she was one of them women on the cigar cards."

"Oh, Lordy," Bridget said, "and we're gonna have to share this room with her. It gives me the creeps, remembering what she was like and all."

"She's worse now," Laura said. "She claims she's my sister, and if that ain't bad enough, we had to stop her -- Molly had to _order_ her not to be playing with her new body."

"I figured she'd be trouble," Bridget said. "Molly, does she _have_ to sleep in here with us?"

"No," Molly said, "she can have her own room just as soon as ye or Laura or the pair of ye give me the rent for it."

Bridget sighed. "I guess she stays here, then."

"If we've settled that," Molly said, "then let's be getting her dressed, so she can go downstairs and start earning her keep." She looked at Jane who was still primping in the mirror. "All right, Jane, stop playing them games in the mirror and take off the rest of yuir clothes."

Jane casually took off her shirt and tossed it on the bed. She turned back towards the mirror and stared at her breasts. "They're so...so big," she said with a smile. She untied her drawers and slid them slowly down her hips, watching herself very closely. She stopped for a moment as her new, female privates came into view."

"Hurry it up, lass," Molly said firmly.

Jane had to obey. She pushed her drawers down her legs until they were below her knees, then stepped out one leg at a time. She dropped the drawers on the bed and turned back to the mirror. She stood there, posing, one knee bent, one hand on her hip.

"I told ye, Jane," Molly said, more firmly this time, "we've no time for yuir silly games." She tore open one of the packages and took out a pair of white drawers with a bit of lace trim at the bottom of each leg. She tossed them to Jane, adding, "Hurry now and put these on."

* * * * *

"I-I ain't sure about this," Jane said. She stood in the hall outside her room waiting with Bridget and Laura.

"You gotta do it," Laura said. "You don't have no choice in the matter."

"Can't we go back inside our room for a while?" Jane asked. She fidgeted, not used to the tightness of the corset she wore beneath her pale yellow blouse. "I ain't ready for all them folks to see me like this."

"They already have," Laura said. "Most of them were there when you changed."

"I-I didn't think about this when I decided t'drink that stuff of Shamus'. All I was thinking about was not having to go back to jail. I don't want to go down there. They's gonna make fun of me."

"You'll have to go down there sometime," Bridget said. "You might as well get it over with. We'll all go down as soon as Molly comes back."

"Which is now," Molly said coming up next to them. "Jane, come over here and hold yuirself very still." Jane walked over to Molly, who pinned a 3-inch stip of light blue ribbon to her blouse, just above her heart. The ribbon had her name written on it in flowing italic script. Here's ribbons for the rest of ye," Molly said, handing ribbons and pins to the others. "Pin 'em on ye, just I like just did for Jane."

"Do you have one for Wilma, too?" Bridget asked.

"Of course," Molly said, holding up a fifth ribbon, "but she ain't exactly up here for me t'pin it on her, is she?"

"Guess not," Bridget said.

"So let's go down, and give it to her," Molly said. "You go first, Jane."

"But..." Jane said. She didn't want to go downstairs, but, even as she started to protest, her body turned and began walking down the stairs.

As she did, the noise of the saloon stopped. "Here she comes," someone yelled.

"No, she don't," came another voice. "That's Laura..ain't it?"

"Well, they's the two of them there on the steps," someone else yelled. "One of 'em's got to be Jake."

"Who'd ever think Jake Steinmetz could be that pretty," the first voice called. Laughter rang out. A crowd began to gather at the foot of the stairs.

"Smile pretty for the men, Jane, and tell 'em yuir new name," Molly said as Jane reached the bottom of the stairs.

Jane gritted her teeth. Her mouth formed into a sort of grin. "I'm not Jake anymore," she said to the men. "I'm Jane, Laura's twin sister."

"Stop that," Laura said. "Molly, you tell her not to say she's my twin. Tell her right now."

"I'm not sure I should," Molly said. "We never told any of ye what ye could or couldn't think or say."

"No, but you gave us enough other orders," Laura said. "I'm not saying she can't think it, just that it -- well, it embarrasses me to hear her say it."

"All right, all right," Molly said. "Jane, come over here."

Jane walked over. "Yes, Molly."

"Jane, whether ye think it or not, I don't want ye to be saying to anybody that ye and Laura are twins."

"Or _sisters_, please," Laura said.

"Or sisters," Molly added, "umm, except for me and Shamus and the ladies here?"

"Thanks, Molly," Laura said, "but why did you say she could still talk that way to us?"

"I ain't sure, but I'm thinking that it'll be helping her to get used to being a female if she can talk to her 'sister' about things."

"What!" Laura said. "I gotta help that idiot. The reason she _is_ a girl is because she kidnapped and tried to rape me."

Molly nodded. "I know, and I'm not saying 'forgive and forget,' but ye got to admit that she's being punished for what she did. Ye'll be living together for a while, so ye may as well try to get along. Besides, ye may be able t'make her understand just how wrong she and Toby was, doing that to ye and Jessie."

"In the meantime," Molly continued, looking around, "Wilma looks like she needs help with me customers. Bridget, ye get Jane an apron and show her what to do. Jane, ye do what Bridget tells ye. Laura, I'm thinking that Maggie probably needs help in the kitchen. Get to it."

Laura hurried off. Bridget got an apron from the hook near the kitchen where they were kept and put it on Jane. She gave Jane a few instructions and sent her over to a table.

"Well, if it ain't Jake Steinmetz," one of the men at the table said.

"He-hello, Davy," Jane said. "I'm called Jane now, whad'ya want to drink?"

"In a minute, _Jane_," Davy Kitchner said. He was a heavyset man in his forties, dressed in work clothes. "Say, you r'member that $5 you owe me?"

"Yeah," Jane said, warily, "but I ain't got the money t'pay you now."

Davy reached out an arm and pulled Jane down onto his lap. "That's okay. You can _work_ it of. Gimme a kiss for a starter."

Jane struggled but Davy was much stronger than she was now. He grabbed the back of her head and began to pull it towards him. She could hear the laughter of the other men at the table. At the last moment, Davy let her go. Jane jumped up. Bridget was standing behind Davy, holding an overturned stein just above his head. He was sputtering and spitting out beer.

"I thought you could use some help," Bridget said. "You boys are going to behave now, aren't you?" The men nodded their heads in agreement. "Don't forget to charge Davy for the beer he just got." She laughed and walked away.

* * * * *

The Judge walked into the Saloon just as Varrick checked his pocketwatch. It was 5:30 exactly. 'If nothing else,' Varrick thought, 'he's prompt.' He snuffed out his half-finished cigar and walked over. "Good evening, Your Honor. Who else will be joining us?"

The Judge looked around. "Shamus will, as soon as he seats us, and...there they are." He pointed back towards the door. "Dan...Amy, over here."

The Sheriff and his wife waved and walked over. Another, taller man was with them. "Mr. Varrick, I don't think you know my deputy, Paul Grant."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Grant," Varrick said, shaking the man's hand. Then he turned slightly and bowed. "And a greater pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Talbot. How are you this evening."

"Please, Nicholas," Amy said. "You promised to call me 'Amy', when you had dinner with us the other evening."

"Amy, then," Varrick said with a smile. "A gentleman, as you reminded me I am, keeps his promises."

"Excuse me," the Judge said, "but if you two are finished with the amenities, Shamus is here to seat us."

Shamus led the group to one of the restaurant tables and handed out menus. He sat down at the end of the table and picked up a menu. "Laura will be here in a few minutes to take our orders. Decide what ye'd like, and, then we'll talk."

Varrick spent a time studying the short menu before putting it down. Amy was the only other at the table who seemed ready to order. "So...Amy," he said. "Where's that little one of yours, this evening?"

Amy smiled at the mention of her son. "Carmen Whtney...the barber's wife, is watching him. She has a couple of children of her own, and we trade off watching them from time to time. I'll pick Jimmy up in the morning."

Before Varrick could respond, Laura came to the table. "Are you all ready to order supper?" she asked.

Varrick looked up. Yes, the woman was a twin for what he'd seen that fellow Steinmetz become. He noticed that a small ribbon with her name written on it was pinned to her blouse. "I guess that ribbon is so people can tell you and, umm, Jane, apart?"

Laura made a face. "Don't mention that idiot. All the women in the world, and he turns into _my_ twin. She's out in the kitchen right now, talking and talking about the fun she's gonna have now that she's living with us. The way she leers at us, it's like she still thinks she's got a man's body."

"All right, Laura, that's enough," Shamus said. "We got our own problems here to be solved. Ye just take the dinner orders. Me and Molly will be taking to ye and the other ladies about Jane later."

"You better," Laura said. She took the orders, collected the menus, and hurried off towards the kitchen.

"Shall we get down to business, now?" Varrick asked.

"Fair enough," the Judge said. "What exactly do you want? Tell us that, and we'll see what we can do about it."

"Well," Varrick began, "I'm a reporter, and you've got to admit that this potion of Shamus is one hell of a story."

"Aye, but not one that we really want the whole world to be knowing about, though," Shamus said.

"It's also one that you'll have a hard time proving," Dan added. "People don't believe in magic. You didn't, yourself, till you saw Jake drink the potion."

"Suppose we trade you two other stories for it?" the Judge asked. "Stories that everyone here will back to the hilt."

"Even if they aren't _exactly_ the truth of it," Shamus said.

"Two stories," Varrick said. "One must be the 'death' of the Hanks gang, but what's the other?"

"Why the kidnapping and rescue of Miss Laura Meehan," the Judge said. "With a few minor deletions, of course."

"Of course," Varrick said. "The same sort of deletions that I expect will be in the story of the Hanks gang."

"Exactly the same," Dan said. "Hanks and his men died in a crossfire when they wouldn't surrender."

"Yeah, and Jake Steinmetz was hung for kidnapping Laura," Paul added. "Or something like that, anyway."

"We can work out the exact details later," the Judge said. "Assuming we can agree on the major points here tonight. We'll even throw in our best guess about what happened to Jessie and Toby."

"Jessie," Varrick said, "I don't...oh, that's right, you said she was taken, too." He laughed. "It's funny, Jesse Hanks was crazy as a hoot owl. The very idea that he got turned into a tiny little blonde who couldn't keep some old coot from carrying her off, it's almost _too_ good."

"Aye," Shamus said, "only something surely went wrong. Paul and them others that went after Toby found him dead and no trace of Jessie to be had."

"Do you think she killed him?" Varrick asked.

"If she did -- and I think she did -- it was an accident," Paul said. "It looked to me like he hit his head too hard against his fireplace."

"Yes," the Judge said, "but we've no way of knowing for certain unless she comes back and tells her story under oath. In the meantime, she's an escaped prisoner suspected of murder."

"Isn't that rather harsh," Amy asked.

"It's the law," the Judge said. "But the charges are based on assumptions. Until the facts are known, she isn't guilty of anything."

"A good lawyer might say..." Varrick looked up and saw Laura walking towards the table carrying a large tray full of food. "Right now, I think our dinner's here. Why don't we all take the time to eat some of it and then talk some more about things."

"Might as well," the Judge said, unfolding his napkin. "Considering how good it smells, I think we'd be a little too distracted right now anyway."

Laura put plates in front of Amy, Varrick, and the Judge. She hurried back to the kitchen and brought out food for the rest. They spent a few minutes just enjoying the meal before the conversation started again.

"I...well, I don't like bargaining about how I write my stories," Varrick said, putting down his fork. "but so far, I-I think you're being fair. I'm inclined to agree to what you're offering, but I'd like a little more...sweetener."

"What _else_ do ye want?" Shamus asked, his brows furrowing.

"Mrs. Talbot...excuse me, _Amy_ asked me to protect her husband by not writing about him." He looked directly at Amy. "And my congratulations, by the way, Amy, on the way you asked. If your father is as good a tactician as you, I'm surprised that he's _only_ a colonel."

Amy looked down at the table. "I suppose that was meant as a compliment."

"It was," Varrick said. "A woman in tears, her baby in her arms, begging me not to make her a widow. How could any decent man refuse something like that?"

"Now just a minute," Dan said, slowly rising to his feet. "What are you accusing my wife of doing?"

"Relax, Sheriff," Varrick said, raising his hands as if in surrender. "I'm accusing your wife of being in love with you and of wanting to protect you from something she thought might...separate the two of you. She fought for you, Sheriff, the best way she could. I...envy you for having a woman who loves you that much."

Dan sat down, still looking suspiciously at Varrick. Amy reached over and gently took hold of his hand.

"To get back to what I was saying," Varrick said, "I'd like...Amy to let me out of the promise. Those two stories, the Sheriff facing down Hanks and his men and how he rescued Laura Meehan, they'd make a couple of great dime novels."

"They probably would," Paul said, "only Dan didn't ride out alone. He had a posse with him. I took half of it and rode over to Toby Hess' place to get Jessie. Dan and the other half went after Steinmetz."

"And it was more Arsenio Caulder, the blacksmith, not me, that actually rescued Laura," Dan said. "He's the one who ran in and socked Jake."

"Come on, now, Sheriff," Varrick said, "don't be so modest. I can't very well write about the three of you. I'm sure you've read at least one of those dime novels. They can only have one hero at a time."

"Why couldn't you," Amy said all at once. "Write about the three of them, I mean, instead of just one."

"What are you getting at, lassie?" Shamus asked.

"Mr. Varrick," Amy said, turning her best smile on the man, "Nicholas, couldn't you kind of...mix the three together into one man? Heaven knows, you're already sort of stretching the truth. If the hero of your stories was part Dan and part Paul -- you wouldn't mind, would you, Paul? -- then...then people wouldn't be sure that it _was_ Dan. He'd be safe -- safer, anyway."

"I'd have to think about that a little," Varrick said. Why don't we all take the time to eat some more, while we all think about Amy's idea? Then we'll talk about it."

By the end of the meal, they had an agreement. Varrick knew it was settled when Amy kissed him on the cheek. He would write a simple version of the two stories for the _Citizen_. He would send much more complicated -- "dramatically embellished," he called it -- versions to a publisher he knew in Chicago. He had some ideas about the story of Toby and Jessie, but he wanted to wait on that, just in case Jessie turned up.

In both versions of the two stories he would write, the hero would be named Dan Grant. The name, like the hero's description and history, was a mix of the two men. The three of them, Varrick, Dan, and Paul would split any money from the dime novels, and Varrick would drop by Eerie every so often to see if anything else had happened that he might want to write about.

* * * * *

Wednesday, September 13, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 6

As usual, Maggie was the first one awake in the morning. She dressed quickly and quietly, trying not to wake the others. Just because she had to go down and start breakfast was no reason that they couldn't get a bit more sleep. She pulled her hair out from inside her blouse and buttoned the blouse up to her neck. She picked up a length of bright blue ribbon and used it to tie her hair off into a ponytail.

Long hair was hard to manage in a kitchen, and the ribbon helped. She could have cut her hair short, but she didn't want to. Lupe, her late wife, had always worn her hair long. When they were together -- when she was Miguel -- she loved how it looked when her long hair caught the sunlight. Lupe was an angel -- a Madonna. It seemed to Maggie that cutting her own hair would be a violation of Lupe's memory.

Maggie smiled as she checked herself in the mirror. Sometimes it seemed like Lupe was there with her, looking back at her from the other side of the glass.

She heard a movement behind her and turned. "Yaaaaawwwn! Morning, Maggie." Laura was stretching and beginning to sit up.

"Buenos días, Laura," Maggie answered. "You had better wake the others. Breakfast will be ready in about 30 minutes.

"Okay," Laura sighed, as Maggie hurried out the door. She stretched again and clapped her hands twice. "Bridget, Wilma, Jane, wake up. It's morning."

Bridget mumbled something and burrowed deeper under the covers. The others didn't move. Laura was about to call out again, when she saw Wilma stretch and sit up. "Mmmm, g'morning, Laura," Wilma said, stretching again, so that the covers fell down around her waist. "I was having the nicest dream."

Laura's eyes grew wide. "Wilma, you ain't wearing a nightgown. Do you have anything on you?"

"Not a thing," Wilma said, smiling. "I like the feel of the sheets against my skin. It gives me the kind of dreams I really enjoy, now." Then her eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with that?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you can sleep like that all the time," Jane said. She sat up in bed, her elbows on her knees. There was an almost masculine leer on her face.

"Stop that, Jane," Bridget snapped, coming awake. "She doesn't have anything you don't have yourself."

"Maybe so, but it sure is nice just sitting here and looking at what she got."

"Well, if you really want to watch...." Wilma threw back the covers and sat posing at the edge of her bed.

"Stop it, Wilma," Bridget said. "You're just encouraging her."

"I _want_ to encourage her," Wilma said, her voice low and husky. "I like for men to look at me."

"Jane isn't a man anymore," Laura said, hating the words even as she said them. "She's my...sister, now." She sighed and braced for the reaction.

"She used to be a man," Wilma said, "and I'll bet that she still thinks like one. Besides, who are you to tell me to stop?"

"Stop it -- all of you," Bridget said angrily. "We ain't got the time for this. We gotta get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast, especially you, Wilma. It's your turn to set the table."

"Yeah," Laura said. "You know Molly and Shamus won't let us eat till the table is set."

"All right; all right," Wilma said, climbing out of bed. She turned and winked at Jane. "Later."

All the women were up now. Laura was unbuttoning her nightgown when Jane walked over to her. "Did you really mean it when you said we's sisters now?" Jane asked eagerly.

"No really," Laura said. Then, lowering her voice to more of a whisper, she added, "I just wanted to shut Wilma up and get her to stop posing at you."

"No." Jane shook her head. "You meant it; you really did. I knew we was sisters."

"I didn't!" Laura insisted. Oh, Lordy, what had she just gone and said?

"You did; you did for sure," Jane said. "We all heard it. You're my big sister, Laura, and you's gonna help me learn to be a girl. We's gonna have us all kindsa fun." She hurried away to her own bed before Laura could say another word.

Laura sighed and pulled her nightgown over her head. She folded it and laid it on her bed before she took a fresh pair of drawers and a chemise out of the dresser. Jane was annoying -- _very_ annoying, but she reminded Laura somehow of Smoky, an old coon dog she'd had as a boy. That pup was into everything, all long legs and tail. It would get into the worse messes, then come to you looking so sorry, whimpering with its tail between its legs, that you had to forgive it.

Jane interrupted Laura's thoughts to ask for help with her corset. She was back a few moments later to ask what blouse and skirt Laura was going to wear. "I want we should match," she explained.

It took a while for Laura to get Jane to understand that they _shouldn't_ match. "People -- Shamus and Molly -- need to be able to tell us apart." Jane finally seemed to accept this idea. When she finally dressed, she was wearing a pale yellow blouse -- Laura's was white and it had a lace trim that Jane's didn't.

Laura thought more about that old dog of hers as the women all headed down for breakfast. That dog and Jane were a lot alike, but -- she decided -- the dog was a hell of a lot smarter.

* * * * *

Paul Grant checked the saddlebags on his packhorse one last time. "Ayup, everything's there."

"You ready to go?" the Sheriff asked.

Paul turned. "Dan, we got us an escaped prisoner out there -- maybe a killer. I was ready to go on Sunday."

"I know that," the Sheriff said, "but the Judge said everybody that was on that posse had to be there in court."

He sighed. "I just hope we...I didn't wait too long. A trail can get awful cold in four days."

"Don't I know it, but I couldn't let you go till the Judge said I could. Otherwise, he have _me_ in jail for contempt."

"You could've wired around for help, maybe asked up in Prescott."

"Right, and how exactly do I tell them that my escaped prisoner used to be 'Mad Dog' Jesse Hanks, only _now_ he's a pretty little slip of a girl with big blue eyes and blonde hair down to his -- down to _her_ waist?"

Paul chuckled. "They'd come down here and locked you up."

"Or worse, they'd have believed me -- or believed her when they caught her and _she_ told them who she was." Dan shook his head. "This wouldn't be a town any more, it'd be a damned P.T. Barnum freak show, and Bridget, Laura, and the other ladies'd be the main freaks. Lord only knows who'd wind up with the potion if word got out, but it'd surely be somebody I'd trust with it a lot less than Shamus O'Toole."

Paul grunted in agreement while he hitched the packhorse's lead to the saddle of his own mount. "And now that we're agreed, I'd best be going. I want to take a good look around Toby Hess' cabin in the daylight and then be well onto her trail before sundown. Chances are, she tried to tracks in the Superstitions, but she's no Injun, so she'll have to make tracks for Ft. McDowell, Ft. Apache, or Prescott. The good thing is that if anyone catches sight of her, he's not likely to forget."

"With them Apache warparties to look out for, at least it won't be dull." He mounted his horse in one sure movement, but he didn't start right off. "Dan?" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah, Paul?"

"What do you suppose the Judge will do with Jessie if...when I do bring her back?"

"That's the Judge's business, not mine. Do you really care what happens to her?"

"Not me. She was a bad hombre before; she's just as bad as a `senorita.' I don't figure that waitressing is ever going to work the meaness out of her."

"The same for Will; lucky that second dose made him..._her_ pretty harmless."

Paul spat into the dust. "I wouldn't want to see that done to a polecat."

Suddenly, he noticed that the sheriff was giving him a curious glance. Without saying more, he grinned and tipped his hat. "See ya, boss," he said and rode off down the dusty main street.

* * * * *

Shamus was working in his office, checking inventory with billings, when there was a knock on the door. "Come in, ladies," he called, putting down his pen and closing the account book.

Bridget walked in leading Wilma by the hand. Laura and Maggie were right behind. Shamus stood as they came in. "Please sit down." He gestured towards a few chairs near his makeshift desk. "Bridget, ye're limping," he said as he noticed her walk. "Is there something wrong with ye?"

Bridget sighed as she sat. "I'm fine. My feet are just swoll up a little. It's them damned monthlies. We're...due in a few days."

"Well, ye can sit there and relax there for a bit," Shamus said. "Are the rest of ye all right?"

Wilma giggled. "My titties are 'swoll up', too. She smiled and lifted them gently in her hands. "They feel real _tender_. You wanna touch them?"

Bridget slapped Wilma's arm. "Stop that, Wilma." She glared at Shamus. "That answer your question?"

"We're all a little...moody," Laura said. "I figure that'll stop when..._it_ starts." Maggie nodded her head in agreement.

"My sympathies to ye, ladies," Shamus said. "We'll try to make some allowances for the next few days."

"Thanks," Laura said, "for nothing." She took a breath. "What did you call us in here for?"

"A little civility, if ye please," Shamus said. "Ye've all got less than a week left of yuir sentences, and I was wondering what ye all was planning to do once thuir over." He looked over at Maggie. "I expect that ye'll be staying on to run the restaurant, Maggie. We're partners in that."

Maggie smiled. "Si, but I am the _senior_ partner. I want to stay, Señor Shamus, but I have not seen my children in such a long time. I think I maybe go down to see them -- just for a little while. I am sorry, but I still am thinking which to do."

"You take what time ye need to think about it, then," Shamus said.

Maggie nodded. "I-I will. I know how much I owe you, Señor Shamus, and I do not just mean the money."

"It'll work out," Maggie," Shamus said. "Ye'll see."

"I'm glad you have such faith," Bridget said.

"What about ye, then, Bridget," Shamus asked. "Do ye want to be staying on as a dealer working for me?"

"I don't know why you're even bothering to ask us, Shamus," Laura said sourly. "All you have to do is just _order_ us to stay."

"Aye, and there's them that would do just that to ye," Shamus said. " Only I'm not one of them, and I'm sorry if ye think that I am."

"Says who," Laura said. "You and the Sheriff were quick enough to order us to stay here when we first changed."

"Yeah," Wilma said, "I still remember what happened when _I_ tried to escape."

"We told ye to stay here because ye was under the Judge's sentence to stay here." Shamus looked mad now. "If I was to tell ye to stay here after yuir sentences are up, I-I'd'be no better than Jake Steinmetz or Toby Hess was. Is that what ye think of me?"

Bridget cheeks flushed. "I-I don't, Shamus; I don't think any of us do...really. We...all of us realize that you could have been a lot worse to us."

"I-I'm sorry, too, Shamus," Laura added. "I think that was my...monthlies talking more than me. You're the last man in the world that I want to get riled at me, but you do have to admit, though, that potion of yours does give you a lot of power over us."

"Si," Maggie said, putting her hand on Shamus' arm. "If I did not trust you, I would not be the partners with you, but it is...sometimes a little scary."

"Does that potion ever wear off?" Laura asked.

Shamus shook his head. "Not that I know of. Rita One Pony said that she _still_ had to do whatever Two Hatchets told her to do."

"Well, ain't that nice," Wilma said; then her expression softened. "What sort of...things does he tell her to do?"

"Never mind her," Laura said. "Is there any way that you can fix it so we don't have to obey you and the Sheriff -- after our time is up, I mean?"

"I don't know," Shamus said, scratching his head, "but then, I never really tried to find one." He pursed his chin for a moment. "Let me be talking to the Doc about it. In the meantime, let's get back to what I asked ye before. Are any of ye interested in staying on here after yuir sentences are up and working for Molly and me."

"I'd like to stay on," Bridget said, "though I'd like it to be a little more on _my_ terms. My big concern is Wilma? Where can she go in her...condition?"

Wilma perked up. "Where there's men, lots and lots of pretty men. Men to kiss me and to touch me and to --" She smiled and began to caress herself.

"Stop it, Wilma," Bridget said in exasperation. "Even you've had trouble with her, Shamus. Who'll hire a woman that's acting like this?"

"Lady Cerise at _La_ _Parisienne_ will hire her." Shamus braced himself for Bridget's reaction.

"Cerise!" Bridget glared at him as she spoke. "You want me to let her work in some cathouse?"

"Let me," Wilma said, looking at Bridget. "You ain't my keeper." She turned to Shamus. "Do you really think I could work there, do you, do you?"

"Now wait a minute, Wilma," Bridget said. "You ain't exactly...ready to decide something like that."

Shamus shook his head. "I know ye want to take care of her, Bridget, but how can ye -- and earn enough to be taking care of yuirself, I mean?"

"I-I'm not sure," Bridget said. "I just feel that I have to try."

"Ye're her friend, Bridget," Shamus said, "and a better one than she probably deserves, but she's right. Ye ain't her keeper. Cerise ain't either, but she _can_ take care of Bridget."

"What do you mean?" Bridget asked.

"She can take care of Bridget the way she takes care of _all_ her...ladies. She treats them fair -- pays them fair, too. She don't allow anybody to get rough with 'em, and the Doc says that he don't know of a single case of the French pox at _La_ _Parisienne_ in all the time it's been there."

Bridget looked disgusted. "But a _cathouse_?"

"Hush up, Bridget," Wilma said. "I always did like cathouses, and I bet I can have a _lot_ more fun in one of 'em now."

"Listen to her, Bridget," Shamus said. "She's still a bit out of her head from me potion, but she knows what's the best for her. Cerise can watch out for her, and ye can't. Besides, Cerise knows how ye feel about Wilma, and she said ye can be coming to visit -- when Wilma isn't, umm, working, of course."

"Just remember, Bridget," Shamus continued, "trying to help a person that don't want to be helped is like trying to teach a bear to sing opera. Ye don't accomplish a damned thing, and it surely does annoy the bear."

"I hope Cerise knows what she's letting herself in for," Laura said. "That's still Will Hanks inside that horny bit of fluff, and she can be just as stubborn as he ever was."

"Aye, she does," Shamus said. "Wasn't Cerise herself who asked me to ask Wilma to come work for her." He smiled. "She said that she was losing money when the prettiest thing in town -- sorry, ladies, but them's her words--"

"Don't worry about it, Shamus," Laura said. "We don't." Maggie and Bridget nodded in agreement.

Shamus continued. "...when the prettiest thing in town was _giving_ it away over t'my saloon." She looked directly at Wilma. "Ye'll have to be finishing yuir sentence, but if ye're interested in working for her."

"If!" Wilma said, "I am! Of course, I am!"

"I thought ye would be," Shamus said. "Ye can start at _La_ _Parisienne_ the very night ye finishe yuir sentence."

Wilma pouted. "But that's..._six_...whole...days."

"Aye, six days," Shamus said. "Of course, with yuir monthlies coming, ye won't be much interested in any of _that_ sort of thing in the meantime."

"I-I guess not," Wilma said, "but _six_ days."

Bridget took her hand. "C'mon, Wilma, you can do it. We made it this long; six more days should be easy."

Wilma smiled slightly. "You're right, Bridget. Thanks."

"If that's settled," Shamus said, "let's be getting back to ye, Bridget. What did ye mean, exactly, by 'yuir terms'?"

"I'd like to play, Shamus," Bridget said, "instead of just dealing the cards while others play. You know, turn professional, rent a table from you and run my own game."

Shamus scratched his head. "A professional gambler, is it now. Ye're good enough, I'm thinking; I've watched ye play. It takes money to be running a game, though, money that I don't think ye have."

"What do you mean?" Bridget asked. "I've been saving my tips. With the money you owe me: my...salary and my cut from selling drinks and from the dances, I should have enough to rent a table. That is, if you're asking a _fair_ price for renting the table."

"Oh, it's a fair price I'm asking for me table, but ye'll be needing money for more than that."

Bridget looked at Shamus warily, waiting for the trap to snap shut on her. "What else would I need money for?"

"Money to bet with, and for yuir bank -- even the best player loses once in a while." Shamus held up a hand, counting items off with his fingers as he spoke. "Ye'll need equipment, cards, chips, and a rack to keep them in. Then there's some new clothes, maybe -- so ye look the part. Last but not the least, ye'll need money to live on -- for food and a place t'live."

"I-I thought I could stay here in the saloon and take my meals with you all like I been doing," Bridget said.

"Ye're welcome here, of course," Shamus said, "but ye won't be my, um, prisoner, so I won't have to be giving ye free room and board. I'll add them things on with the table rental. I never did hear of them being put in for free."

Bridget looked nervous. It wasn't just a trap; it was one of them French gilly-things, the head choppers. "How...how much would all that cost me?"

Shamus thought for a minute. "For the table...let's say $200 a month. That'd include a small room upstairs t'sleep in and yuir meals. And ye'd need 50, maybe $75 for equipment and yuir bank. Clothes'd be more, but ye could wait on them. Ye got all the clothes that I bought ye already."

Bridget's head spun. She had $17 in tips, mostly from dealing cards. "How much do you owe me, salary and my cut together?"

Shamus thought again. "The exact figure is in me books, but -- from me memory, there's yuir salary -- 15 cents a day for 60 days is $9. Yuir cut from the dances and drinks is about $50, and ye got another $10 or so from dealing the cards. Of course, ye still got another week, almost."

Bridget did the math in her head. "That isn't even a third of what I'd need to rent the table."

Shamus patted her hand. "Ye may not believe me, Bridget, but I am sorry. Ye could always stay on and work for me as a dealer and waitress. I'd pay ye a bit more, but I'd have to take room and board out. Ye could save probably enough over a few more months."

"Can I think about it?" Bridget asked, trying not to sound as defeated as she felt.

"Ye've got the same six days as Wilma and Maggie," Bridget said.

"So have I," Laura said, "but I got no idea what I want to do. I can't cook like Maggie or play cards like Bridget, and I sure as hell ain't interested in going into Wilma's new line of work."

"Well," Shamus said. "ye're more than welcome to stay on here as me waitress, same terms as I just offered Bridget. Ye can help me break in Jane."

Laura laughed. "That'll cost _you_ extra. She's hopeless."

Shamus shook his head. "No, Laura, she's no worse than the lot of ye was when ye first...started."

"None of us could've been _that_ bad," Laura said.

"Ye all were," Shamus said. "Ye just don't remember. If ye don't want to be working here with Jane, ye could probably get a job clerking in some store in town. There's a lot of men that'd be happy to hire ye -- some of them even for _working_ in their store."

"No," Laura said a bit too quickly, "and not just for that crack you just made about _working_. When I left home, I swore to myself that I'd never work in a store again."

"Why not," Bridget said, "if you don't mind my asking."

"I-I guess not," Laura said. "My daddy left home on '61 to fight in the War. He died at Bull Run. Mama wasn't the same after that."

"I'm sorry, that must have been rough on ye," Shamus said. "If ye don't want to be going on with yuir story..."

Laura shook her head. "No, it's all right." She sighed and continued. "We...I sold the farm and rented rooms for us in town. I was 14, the oldest of 5, with all the rest of them girls. The only way I could take care of mama and my sisters was t'drop out of school and get a job. I started as a stock boy at Steubens' Feed and Grain, then got promoted to clerk.

"Then what happen?" Maggie asked.

"Nothing -- till about three months ago. Sally, my youngest sister, was the last to marry. Mama went to live with Betty -- she's my oldest sister -- and her husband. I quit Steubens' the day of Sally's wedding."

"Then you headed out west and got mixed up with Will Hanks," Shamus continued Laura's story.

Laura nodded. "My Daddy taught me to ride and to shoot back in Indiana before he left for the War. He said I had a real gift for shooting -- pistol _and_ rifle -- so I practiced whenever I could. When I left home, I wanted some adventure in my life. That's why I joined Will's gang; t'get a quick reputation as an owlhoot."

"Owlhoot," Shamus laughed. "I think ye read too many of them dime novels back there in Indiana."

"Way too many," Laura sighed, "but you can see why I don't want to go back to clerking. That was sort of what got me into this whole thing."

"Aye," Shamus said, "and I don't blame ye. In the meantime, me offer is still open. Ye think about that."

"I will, Shamus," Laura said. "I think we'll all be thinking about what what we talked about here today. Thanks."

"In the meantime, though, ye'd better get back to work, and I gotta be getting back to these books." The women stood and started to slowly walk out. "Scoot, the lot of ye." Shamus opened the account book before they were out the door.

* * * * *

"Ayaaw!" The yell came from near the front door to the Saloon. A woman fell to the floor. She tried to get up, but seemed to have no strength in her legs.

Molly came running over. "Are ye all right...Jane?"

"I...I don't know. Some...something's wrong with m'legs. I can't w-walk." There was a note of fear in Jane's voice. She sounded ready to panic.

"Where was ye trying to go?" Molly asked.

"Out...out t'my claim. I g-got to work it every few days, or the Law says I-I lose it."

"That's the real reason ye took the potion, ain't it? So you could stay here and keep yuir claim."

"No, I...I really was in jail, and I did h-hate it, but, yeah, I wanted t'keep my cl-claim, too. Now, look at me. I'm a...cripple." As she spoke, Jane twisted her body, trying to get her legs working again, but they barely moved.

"Ye ain't a cripple. It's the magic. We told ye that ye couldn't leave the Saloon, so yuir body won't let ye go."

"Then I...I ain't no cripple."

"As soon as ye stop trying to go out them doors, ye'll be able to walk again."

"But if I don't go work my claim, how can I keep it? The Law --"

"The Law is for people like Milt Quinlan and the Judge to be worrying about, not the likes of ye."

"Milt? He was my lawyer...."

"Maybe he still is. He'll be in later, probably. If ye're still here, ye can talk to him about it then."

"I'll be here." Jane smiled ruefully. "My legs...I...I can feel them again." She slowly stood up.

"Aye, just like I told ye. As soon as ye said ye wasn't going nowhere, yuir legs was working again.

* * * * *

That evening, Milt had a short talk with Jane. The next morning, he and Jane had a much longer talk with the Judge. With the help of Nicholas Varrick, the following text appeared in the "Public Notices" column of the September 16th edition of the _Tucson Citizen_:

"By Order of Judge Parnassas C. Humphreys, an injunction has been

placed on any and all legal transactions involving the land claims

currently registered to Toby Hess or Jake Steinmetz and located in

or around the vicinity of the Superstition Mountains, including but

not limited to creation or transfer of title, sale, or exchange of

real estate or other properties. This injunction shall also apply

to any buildings or other properties located in or upon these

claims. Or any attempts to make use of any mineral, mining, or

other subsidiary rights pertaining to these claims."

"Anyone attempting any such transaction or attempting to make use of

any of the buildings or property or to engage in any activities

based on the assumption of mining, mineral, or other rights as

described above shall be subject to prosecution to the full extent

of Territorial and/or Federal law. Anyone wishing to legally engage

in such activites should contact Milton Quinlan, Attorney-at-Law,

who is currently acting as executor of these properties due to the

unavailability of the owners. Mr. Quinlan may be reached in his

office in the Township of Eerie, Arizona."

Copies of the notice were sent by telegraph to every land office in the Arizona Territory and posted all along the borders of Jane and Toby's properties. Toby's claim was included since he and Jake had been partners, and his claim went to Jake when Toby died. Somebody rode out every few days to check on the claims for Quinlan.

* * * * *

Thursday, September 14, 1871, Week 8 -- Day 7

"You are _so_ lucky, Bridget," Wilma said. It was late morning and the two women were sweeping the saloon floor.

"What are you talking about, now?" Bridget asked. The way Wilma jabbered on about things since that second dose of potion was getting on Bridget's nerves.

"You got two -- mmmm -- good-looking men, Cap and R.J. panting after you."

"Panting? Naw, we're just good friends is all."

"Good friends, my Aunt Fanny! They want you, Bridget; I can see it in their eyes, and I think you want them, too."

"I told you more'n once; we're just friends -- that's all."

"Well, now, that's a real shame...if it's true. There ain't nothing like cuddling up with a good-looking man, letting him...touch you, kiss you...all over. Then when he..." Her eyes were closed and her breath was getting a bit shallow.

"That's enough, Wilma! You may be interested in things like that, but I'm not."

"Ain't you? I've seen you sneaking a look at Cap or R.J. when you thought nobody was looking and kinda smiling at them."

"I said they're _friends_. That damned potion hasn't just got you acting like a whore; now you're seeing things."

Wilma frowned, but seemed to ignore the insult. "Well, if there's nothing there, then it's a waste of two men." She paused for a moment. "Can I have them, seeing as you don't want 'em?"

"They aren't mine to give away." Somehow, she resented being asked. "Besides, you already got more than enough men chasing after you."

"Mmmm," Wilma said, hugging herself. "There's no such thing as 'enough men'."

"But what do you do with them all?"

"Do you _really_ want me to tell you what I do with them?" Her smile became a bawdy leer.

Bridget squirmed. Bawdy images of Wilma with a man -- no, with several men ran through her head. "No...no, thank you. I-I'm not interested." She felt her face grow warm.

"Yes, you are," Wilma said, "or you should be. Now, R.J., he'd be good in bed, I'll bet. He's so tall, with them big hands of his -- I bet they ain't all that's big -- and those dark eyes. A gal could get lost in them eyes."

The warmth spread down from Bridget's face, down through her entire body. "Stop it, Wilma. I-I told you that I ain't interested in such things."

Wilma ignored her. "Cap, he's not that...tall, but he's...cuddly. I like that grin of his. I bet he likes to have a whole lot of fun in bed, to play at it just like a little boy." She suddenly stared right into Bridget's eyes. "What do you think?"

"I...I don't...know." The warmth seemed to be centering in her...chest and her...privates. Her body felt the way it had that day when she took her first bath as a woman. In her mind, she kept seeing Cap grinning at her...and R.J., looking serious, his dark eyes fixing her in place like a snake staring down its supper.

"I-I don't w-want to talk about it any...anymore." Bridget grabbed her broom and, still trembling, began to sweep the floor off in a different direction. She wanted to put as much space between herself and Wilma as she could.

Wilma grinned wickedly. "Yes, yes, you do, but I've had my fun for this morning." She moved off triumphantly in another direction.

* * * * *

"Laura," Jane whined as she came over to where Laura was sitting near the bar. "I need help."

'What you need is a good kick in the ass,' Laura thought. Aloud, she asked, "What is it now?"

"There's gonna be a _dance_ on Saturday," Jane said. She made "dance" sound like some sort of torture.

Laura shook her head. "Shamus has a dance here every Saturday. You know that."

"Yeah, I know, but he..he wants _me_ to be one of the waitress girls, to...dance with...with the men."

"Of course, he does. You're one of his...'ladies' now. It's part of the job."

"But I don't know how to dance -- not as a girl."

"It's not much different from dancing as a man -- except that the man leads." Then Laura remembered what dancing with Jake had been like. "Not that you were such a good dancer when you were a man."

"I could do a waltz -- sort of," Jane said, "But I couldn't really polka. I never did learn the...that other dance."

"It's called the mazurka," Laura told her. "Well, you'll have to learn it now. Shamus expects us to dance every dance."

"Teach me; teach me." The whine in Jane's voice got worse, reminding Laura of the screech of fingernails on a blackboard.

"I'm not a teacher," Laura insisted. "Talk to Shamus if you want lessons."

"I did. He says that Miss Amy, the one that taught you, he says she's busy with something, and, besides, he says he ain't gonna pay for a musician for just one girl." The whine came back. "You gotta do it."

"Me? Why me?" Laura thought frantically. "Bridget's a better dancer than I am; ask her."

"Shamus says he needs her to deal poker." She pouted. "You're my _sister_. You gotta do it."

"But I...." Laura tried to think of a way -- any way -- out.

"Please," Jane said. "Please; please; please; please. C'mon, you're my sister. Pleeeaaasse."

"All right," Laura said in exasperation. "I'll...I'll do it -- just stop your whining."

"I knew you'd help me," Jane said, her face lit in a smile. "You're a good sister."

Laura sighed and looked skyward, but no help seemed to be forthcoming from that direction. She looked over to the bar where Shamus was talking to R.J. He saw her looking at her and winked. No help there, either.

There were a fair number of people in the saloon, but Wilma and Molly were handling the crowd. Just the same, Laura didn't really want people watching her work with Jane. She caught Shamus' eye again and gestured. "Jane and me." "Upstairs." "Dance." Shamus nodded.

"Okay," Laura said, taking Jane by the hand. "We'll do this upstairs so people can't bother us."

They went up to their bedroom. Moving the table and chairs around gave them a small practice area. "We'll start with the waltz," Laura said, "since you say that you know it. Let me see you do it."

"Alone?" Jane asked, looking puzzled.

"Yes, just...pretend there's somebody dancing with you."

"Okay," Jane said. She raised her arms as a man would, the right arm high to lead with, and the left low, curved as if around someone's waist. She took a step, then stopped. "This is silly."

"No it isn't. If you want me to teach you, I have to see how much you already know. Now start again." Laura began humming a waltz the band often played.

Jane began moving again, her feet going through the basic box step of the waltz. She wasn't that bad.

Laura stopped humming. "Let's see how you do with a partner," she said, stepping closer to Jane.

Jane raised her arms again. Laura shook her head. "No, you're a girl now. I'll lead."

"You're a girl, too," Jane said sourly. "I want to lead."

"Maybe so, but the men that you'll be dancing with won't let you. I'm used to dancing with a man. You're not. I'll lead."

Laura stepped in close and raised her right arm. "Now put your left hand in my right hand." Jane did. "And put your other arm around to my back."

Jane giggled. "I can't get close to you. Our boobies are in the way; it feels funny with them touching like that."

"You're not supposed to call them 'boobies,' Jane. A lady -- and that's what Shamus expects you to act like -- calls them her 'breasts' or her 'chest.' You understand me?" While she spoke, Laura shifted slightly, so they could stand closer together. "There, now they don't bother us."

Jane arched her arm around Laura's back. However, instead of putting her hand in the small of Laura's back, Jane reached down and rested her hand on Laura's rear end.

"Get your hand off my ass!" Laura yelled. "Move it up, up around the middle of my back."

"Ain't that where a man's supposed to put his hand?" Jane asked not understanding what she'd done wrong.

"First off, you aren't a man," Laura said. "So put your hand where a woman's supposed to. Second of all, touching me like that was just the sort of thing that Shamus warned you and Toby about, wasn't it?"

"Is that what he meant?" Jane's eyes grew wide. "Well, damn, no wonder he got so upset at us."

"That's also just the sort of groping that Shamus and Molly told you that you couldn't do any more," Laura reminded Jane.

Laura's words triggered Jane's orders from Shamus. She moved her arm at once to the middle of Laura's back. The effect was to pull Laura closer, so that their breasts were pushing against each other again.

"Our boobies are touching again," Jane said with a giggle. "You sure it don't bother you none?"

It did, but Laura just wanted to get this lesson over with. "Never mind that. Just start dancing."

"Okay." Jane started forward, still trying to lead.

"No," Laura said. "I lead, remember."

"Oh, yeah, right," Jane relaxed and let Laura lead her through a few steps. "Like this?" she asked.

Laura sighed. It was going to be a _very_ long afternoon.

* * * * *

"Howdy, Bridget," Cap said, coming over to the poker table, where she was sitting alone. "You mind if I join you?"

Bridget shrugged. "Sit; no one's stopping you."

"You okay? Is something bothering you?"

"I'm...I'm fine; just feeling out of sorts, is all."

"Hey, cheer up. Your sentence'll be over in a few days."

"Whoop-ti-do!" She raised a hand and whirled a finger in the air.

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"I must've left my noisemaker in another dress."

"You -- ah -- make any plans for what you're gonna do -- after, I mean?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stay right here, waiting tables and dealing c-cards for...for..." Her voice cracked and she cradled her head in her hands. "Dammit!" Tears ran down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and turned away.

Cap pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "Here y'go." He waited silently while she dabbed at her face with it, not turning back towards him until her eyes were dry.

"Thanks." She sighed and reached out to hand the kerchief back to him.

Cap took her hand in his and patted it gently. "You can keep it -- but only if you tell me what's bothering you."

Bridget pulled her hand away. "I've got plenty of handkerchiefs of my own."

"Tears on a woman don't bother me none. I...well, I have a couple of sisters, myself. I can see that there's something really bothering you, though. Maybe I can help."

Bridget sighed and stared at the cards on the table. "It's about...after, what I wanted to do when my sentence is up."

"You...you didn't want to leave town, did you?"

"No, I want to stay around and keep an eye on Wilma; make sure she's okay with the way that potion's making her act now. Then, too," she squeezed his hand, "I've got some friends here, good friends."

Cap gave a sigh of relief. "Then what's the problem?"

"I _don't_ want to be a dealer for Shamus." She suddenly looked very serious. "I wanted to rent a table from him and run my own game."

Cap nodded. "You surely do know poker well enough to make a go of it. What's the problem?"

"Money!" She spat out the word. "The cost of renting the table, cash to gamble with, cards and chips, even money for room and board." She ticked off the items on her fingers as she spoke. "All told, I'd need almost $300. I ain't got half that much."

"So you're gonna stay here as a dealer?"

"Yeah. Between what Shamus says he'll pay me and tips, I figure I can save up the...cash I n-need in...six m-months to a...a...aw, hell!" Her voice broke and she began to cry again, covering her face with both hands.

"Hey, hey, now, you stop that," Cap said, piyying the kerchief down on the table near her. "This kerchief'll hold only so much water."

Bridget took the kerchief and mopped her cheeks with it. "Th-thanks, Cap. I think talking about it helps a little."

"Anytime, Bridget, anytime. That's what friends..." he suddenly broke into a broad grin. "I got an idea. How about I loan you the money? I got more than enough saved up."

"Oh, yeah," she glared at him and jerked her hand away. "That's a lot of money, Cap Lewis. What am I supposed to use for collateral on that loan? Am I -- my body -- gonna be the collateral?"

"No -- hell, no! What sort of man do you think I am?"

"What sort of woman do you think _I_ am?"

He looked offended and began to stand up. "I just thought I could help you. That's...that's _all_ I thought."

Bridget grabbed his arm. "I...I'm sorry, Cap." Her expression softened a little. "I warned you I was...moody today. Please, sit back down."

"Well, you _did_ warn me." He smiled and sat back down. "There's no strings on the loan -- none like _that_, anyway. I'll even charge you interest if it'll make you feel better."

"Ain't you the generous one," she said with a wane smile. "Okay, moneybags, just what are your terms?"

"Let me think here." He paused for a moment. "Okay, $200 at, umm, 10 percent a year; no schedule of payments. If you're as good as I think you are, you'll probably be able to pay me back a lot quicker than a year."

"Anything else? Do I have to let you win when you play?"

"No, you run an honest game, or you'll never get the money to pay me back." He looked her in the eye. "Besides, I think I can take you."

Bridget frowned, then shook her head. "That's the problem, folks'd think that you already had."

"What...what do you mean?" He asked, puzzled at her words.

"A man gives a woman that much money, folks are gonna ask what she's done t'earn it." She sighed. "And we both know what answer they'd come up with."

"Nobody would think that -- nobody that mattered, anyway."

"I'd be thinking it -- not thinking that we'd done something -- but knowing that other people were thinking that. Or I'd...they'd be thinking that...something was expected of me; that I owed you something...something I'm...I'm not ready to give."

"Bridget, I-I wouldn't expect anything like that."

"You probably wouldn't, Cap, but I..." The words trailed off, and she sighed. "It was a nice idea, but that's all it was -- all it can be. Besides everything else, I wouldn't have any respect for myself, if I couldn't get along without mooching off my friends." She sudddenly stood up. "There's been nobody come by all afternoon to play poker. I-I think I'm gonna go to my room for a bit."

"Will I see you later?"

"Sure...sure you will. I'll be here for a long, long time, just...dealing the cards."

* * * * *

  

  

  

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