Western Trails & Beyond (For DarkWarrioress and myself)

[JackHemingway]

Part II:
Sara Williams

A resume might have been from another lifetime, but Sara kept adding to the one in this life: survivor, frontierswoman, Doctor's Assistant, Cook, babysitter, and now caretaker. In her travels between River Gulch Fort Collins and many other small communities, she'd met George Washington Brown and his wife, Kiwidinok. The pair were married and very loving, but they were business partners in all things.

George was a Black Civil War veteran who had traveled to the West to work as a hunter and trapper. Kiwidinok, whom her husband affectionately called Kiwi, was a Cheyenne woman who earned her living as a gunfighter protecting prospectors on the frontier. She was panning for gold when she met George at a trading post and decided to work together. Love came in time as well, and they prospered. They alternated between hunting game and searching for gold. They also rode the trails, selling and trading directly with settlers. They did well for themselves.

While the couple was out adventuring many days, when they did come to town, they'd have several meals at the Blue Moon. Even after closing, they'd share their beer with Sara as she swept up. Lately, George has not been able to buy his drinks, and he even has a dime novel written about him. He'd recently killed a great wolf that had killed a large number of deer, several cows, and at least one horse and rider near Fort Collins.

George was modest about the whole affair and said he and Kiwi did it together, but Kiwi said George had nailed the fatal headshot through an eye that ended the beast while she was reloading. Taking this impressive trophy was his second legendary encounter. The first was in Cheyenne territory, where he'd killed an incredible buffalo attacking wagons.

All this fame led to George and his wife being invited to Oregon City by Rugged Marksman Outfitters to review and endorse their products. The pair were excited to see the city but wanted to stay in their home. They'd built a large rectangular trapper's cabin with a root cellar and storage in the attic. They also had some chickens, pigs, and a lucrative trade business. Many settlers didn't have money for meat, but they had plenty of supplies. Kiwi joked it was like they lived in a general store.

They said they'd trust Sara with their home and goods until they returned and hoped she'd take on the task. She could still work, and their house was on a good stop on the trail near Fort Collins and the new military outpost Iron Stronghold. It was little more than a blockhouse, a handful of larger cabins, and a two-story supply house surrounded by earthworks. Sara's new friend happened to be stationed there as well.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part III

Jackson Graham sat in the dim light of the Middle Lantern Bar, so named because of the large mine lantern hanging above the front entrance of the small mining community. He drank down his tequila and held up the glass for the bartender to take notice of before he began digging into his bowl of Sonofabitch stew. It wasn't bad, but nothing like Caraleen cooking, though, he thought. How was it that the more you tried not to think about someone, the more you did?

A month or so ago, he lost his beloved Cara in one of the most violent ways one could die on the frontier. Cara rode out as a storyteller and teacher, visiting the many farms and communities near South Pass. Less than five miles from home, she found a dead horse. Cara dismounted and investigated and quickly found two crying children tormented by a thirty-foot rattlesnake doing its best to conceal itself. Cara wasn't going to abandon those young souls to that monster. She attacked, emptying her rifle into the creature and then both pistols, giving the children time to run and get help, but she wasn't so lucky.

The creature would bleed out soon afterward, but not before taking a massive chunk out of Cara's chest and shoulder. Even if she didn't die of the wounds, the amount of poison was beyond lethal. The two frightened, exhausted children returned to their family farm, and soon, their father and others were looking for the creature. When word got out that the "Story Lady" was in trouble, it was said that most of South Pass was armed and on the hunt. Many local tribespeople also went on the hunt for the beast.

Taka, a local Sioux scout whose younger siblings were among Cara's students, was the one who found the beloved teacher. He treated her body with the utmost respect and performed a ritual honoring her valor before bringing her body back to town. This all happened while Jackson was a week's travel away with the army, and when he received word, it took several days before he could head back. By then, his beloved had been laid to rest in one of the local cemeteries fittingly not far from the schoolhouse.

Cara's grave was adorned with gifts left by children of the town and the tribes, and he was told she was not left alone for a second in death after she was found. The community had great sadness and a tremendous outpouring of love from all. The family of the children Cara had saved made a special trip to see him, and the children were crying and thanking him profusely. They had been so scared, but their teacher had saved them.

In the following weeks, Jackson cleared up much of Cara's possessions, sending some to family through Kayleb and donating much to those in need, which she would have wanted. A handful of special items went in a chest with items from his first marriage, where his wife and children had died from illness. In this world, death was more common but no less painful. The familiar comforts, though, seemed to make things even worse.

Despite objections from Brad and Wenonah, he signed several of his assets over to them, including the property in South Bend. He still had resources, and the pair assured him they were watching over his things. Being a hero, he had no trouble arranging a lengthy leave from the military, and his peers understood. With that, he headed out with two horses, a few guns, and supplies and rode the trail back and forth that spring. It was similar to the first time he'd established himself on the trails, but this time he was in mourning.

Jackson hunted and gave the game away to those he needed after he took his share. He helped people repair wagons and helped miners and farmers with only meals and a place to sleep in exchange. Whenever word got out that there was a dangerous beast, though, Jackson headed out like a lightning bolt. Before the heat of the summer came, he'd killed two great bears, a vicious large cougar, and one rattlesnake close in size to the one that killed Cara. The last one gave him particular satisfaction.

Jackson avoided praise, giving the trophies and meat away to those he encountered, only keeping several necklaces of teeth. He did have a pair of boots and a large knife sheath made out of rattlesnake hide, though. He wondered the frontier looking for fights and found them with local bullies, outlaws, and collected bounties. He drank, avoided friends and familiar places, and walked a very dark path. So much so rumors and legends started about the man who wore a dirty poncho and rode a black horse. There were dime novels about Jackson and similar ones about this stranger who killed two and four-legged beasts without mercy.

Here in Desolation Springs, which was either Southern Utah Territory or Northern New Mexico territory, he'd done his usual routine. He'd killed three Raiders on the tail coming into town and taken on the local bully his second day who'd picked a fight with him. Since then, Jackson had taken up residence in the man's shack, taken his guns and horse, and sold everything else. There was little to do at the outpost, which was only there because of its good supply of water, and there was some gold and silver in the surrounding area. So he drank and waited for the US Marshal to bring his reward.

Jackson felt like the cliche bruding dark cowboy in the Westerns his father used to watch. The problem was that he didn't know how to change course and didn't see the need, so he drank his tequila and ate. Cedrick Jarvis, the bartender and aspiring novelist, and Jackson got along pretty well, though Jackson suspected the bartender was trying to get material for his next project. He was distracted from his food when he heard the seldom-used backdoor open and the sound of boots on the stone floor.

Jackson glanced back, hand on his heavy pistol, ready to pull, then nodded and gestured with his head for them to come over. Foxxi or that's what the half-Mexican, half-Native waitress and dancer, went by in the small outpost. Being one of the few unmarried women in the community, she also offered companionship services to the lonely cowboys and miners. Clad in boots and a well-worn, worn, colorful huipil dress, she wore a bandolier across her chest and carried a lever action shotgun. She sat next to Jackson and held up two fingers to Jarvis.

The bartender happily poured her two whiskeys, and she also rested her weapon on the bar. She then took a gold coin from her pouch and placed it in the glasses. She drank one of the glasses, then turned to Jackson and said, "Heard you were looking for me, Shooter. Sorry, I was gone for a few days. The mine foreman wanted company on the supply run."

Jackson kept eating and barely looked up but nodded and replied. "No worries. Can you do overnight, or are you too tired?"

"No honey, I napped and cleaned up in the creek. I even got a cowboy to pay me to watch the whole time."

"So, come over after supper? I cleaned the place up a bit."

Foxie finished her other drink, slid off the stool, grabbed her weapon, nodded, and headed out the door. As she yelled out, "Take a bath first, and then we can do business."

The town bully's shack was pretty spartan, but it was solid and hard. It had a strong front door, a good stove, and, most importantly, a very large bed with several Indian blankets. It was a few hours since they met at the bar, and now an immaculate Jackson sat on the edge of the bed in only a loincloth, watching the beautiful busty brown-skinned Foxi count the coins he left for her on the table. Satisfied, she put the coins in her coin pouch and put up her long dark hair.

Foxie turned and looked at him, then walked over to him, the light from the fire bouncing off her curvy frame. She gently touched his shoulder, moved it to his face, and caressed it lightly. "Honey, I don't say this often, but is that all you want? I mean, you paid too much anyway, but well, you sure I wouldn't mind. You're clean, and I like you."

Jackson responded by moving onto the bed. He slid over to the other side and beckoned for Foxie to join him. She sighed softly, lay across his chest, and his arms wrapped around her tightly. She pulled a blanket over them, and she nuzzled against his chest. "You must really miss her, honey. Most of my guys complain about their wives."

Jackson lightly stroked her hair, closed his eyes, and fooled himself for a few minutes before he replied, "You're beautiful, Foxie, but my only complaint about Cara is that she isn't here."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Sara had been pretty good at saving her money. She knew what she wanted. A place of her own. She wanted to grow crops. She wanted to raise cattle. She simply wanted a place she could call her own and she thought she was almost there. Just a few more paychecks.

Funny thing about the West. It was a harsh place. You either had the gumption to make it there or you got out and moved on and that’s how Sara learned about the Miller place. She had made a habit of checking at the Land Office. There was a place just down the road. As soon as she learned of it, Sara asked Betsy for the afternoon off. Luckily, dinner was already cooking and the biscuits were rising. When she told Betsy why she wanted the time off, Betsy’s reply was quick.

“Well, why are you still standing here, girl?”

With a quick grin, Sara ran upstairs to change her clothes, threw her money into her saddlebags and headed to the stables for her horse. The Millers were loading up their wagon when Sara got there. She tied off her horse and went over to a tall, lanky man, loading up the wagon.

“Mr. Miller?”

“Yes and who might you be?”

“My name is Sara Williams. I work for Miss Betsy at Fort Collins. I heard tell you’re trying to sell this place. Have you sold it yet and if not, I’d like to buy it from you.”

“Well now, Miss Sara Williams, why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk.”

Sara met Mrs. MIller and their three children. She smiled and made some small talk. After Mrs. Miller and the children went off, Sara and Mr. Miller settled down to talk business. Sara was a shrewd business woman. She had a good idea how much the land could sell for and how much it was worth, approximately. After a little haggling, they agreed on a sale price. Sara went out to get the money and returned to find Mr. Miller drawing up a bill of sale. Sara carefully counted out the money and laid it on the crude little table he was sitting at. Nodding, he gathered it all up, handing her the bill of sale.

“You make sure to take this over to the Land Office there at the fort. They’ll be sure to get it recorded. Good luck, Miss Williams. This is a harsh land and maybe a bit more rougher on a single woman tryin’ to make a living on it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller. I’ll do that.”

Sara walked outside, putting on her hat as she did.

“Good luck wherever you are heading, Mr. Miller.”

Sara mounted up, tipping her hat and turning her horse back toward town. Her first stop was going to be the Land Office to register her ownership of the Miller place. All the way back to the Fort, Sara couldn’t help but feel accomplished.

An hour later, she left the Land Office having successfully registered her ownership of the Miller place. She was also a bit surprised to learn she owned a 160 acre lot. Mr. Miller had claimed it from the Federal government through the Homestead Act. Well, that would do for the cattle she wanted to raise. After taking her horse back to the stables, Sara sauntered back to the Blue Moon.

“Well?” Betsy was waiting for her.

Sara grinned. That was all Betsy needed to hear.

“It’s pretty empty, Betsy. I’ll have to work on having someone make me some furniture. My purse is a bit light at the moment. Unless you know someone that can help me?”

“I just might. Let me ask around.”

“Thanks, Betsy. Give me a minute to go change and I’ll get back to work.”

Over the next few eeks, Betsy was able to find someone to make her a bed frame, a couple of chairs and a table. Sara didn’t need much. Betsy also found some old curtains she had stashed and she gifted them to Sara. The young Miss Williams also purchased a hammer, a saw and some nails. Mr. Johnson, who ran the general store offered to order her some fencing. Sara was hesitant, but Mr. Johnson assured her that she could open an account and buy it on credit. Since Sara was planning on continuing to work for Betsy for awhile, she readily agreed. She needed to start as she meant to continue.

Sara roped off her bed and fitted it with a feather mattress that Maggie had given her when she found out that Sara was now a landowner. The curtains had been hung. The front door was fixed with solid bar she could drop down at night. It wouldn’t keep anyone who truly wanted to get inside, out but it would give her time to fetch her rifle. Mr. Johnson had sold her an axe and that’s what she was out doing at the moment, chopping wood for her cooking stove and her fireplace. Betsy had hired on a part time cook so Sara could spend more time getting her home fixed up.

Days came and went, slipping from summer to fall. Sara had been working hard to get stores put up in her make-shift pantry. The split wood was stacking up nicely on her porch. She had climbed up on her roof and patched it up. She covered it with sod. It made for cool summers inside and warmth, she was sure, for the winter. A small lean to was erected for her horse. Sara was thoroughly grateful for her education. While, in her previous life, she knew nothing of building or even stringing fence, her education in Western Trails provided much. Water came from the creek that ran out behind her small cabin. She was going to have to see about running water from the creek to her cabin. She just hadn’t figured out exactly how yet.

(tbc)

 

[DarkWarrioress]

She wanted a bathtub or something that could be used for one. The idea of soaking her body at the end of a long workday and it sure would come in handy in the colder months than wading in the creek for a bath. For now, the creek felt good on her heated skin.

Through the Blue Moon, Sara had met George and Kiwidinok. Kiwi, as George fondly called his wife, had asked to speak with the cook one evening. Sara came out and met the couple. Kiwi had asked if Sara used certain herbs in her cooking. They were herbs generally used by the local Indians. It had briefly reminded Sara of her husband. To answer Kiwi, Sara named off the herbs she used regularly. That had led to a longer conversation on Sara’s education of herbs, cooking and medicinal. Sara mentioned she had been married to a Sioux warrior called Gentle Bear. Then she had to explain how she ended up at the fort. Both of them were sympathetic to her history. Sara had shrugged and took it in stride. She explained she had no idea where Gentle Bear’s tribe lived or how far away it could be from the fort even. So, she had simply picked up her life and lived each day as it came.

At one point, George and Kiwi had offered to let Sara live at their home, taking care of their livestock while they were out adventuring. Sara had thanked them for the generous offer but explained she had just purchased her own bit of land with a cabin. However, she would be glad to ride by and look after their livestock for them until they returned to stay for a bit. In return, they offered her the eggs from their chickens, a pig when she needed to slaughter one for meat and anything else their livestock could provide for her. Sara readily took up that offer. She also closed up the trade business for the duration. Kiwi had many stores in her root cellar and had in their cabin. They told Sara to take what she needed. They wouldn’t be home for an extended time and they would rather see Sara use it than it go to waste. In the meantime, Sara set about creating spaces for the livestock at her place. The couple could come by and collect them once they got ready to stay home for a bit. Sara had every intention of building George’s livestock up as a bit of repayment for their generosity. She kept meticulous records of the livestock. Breeding them was on the list of her things to do, once she could insure they would be safe on her land. It was a lot of work and it kept her busy.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I​

The legend of Black Jack, the gunfighter, bounty hunter, and guerilla, seemed to overshadow the identity of Jackson Graham, the guardian of the frontier and good soul. He dressed like a gunfighter with the tarot card of Death tucked in his hat brim, riding from watering holes to outposts in the New Mexico territory, engaging in skirmishes along the way. Jackson knew how to embody the persona; his only solace was that he understood it was a facade, even if it persisted for over three months.

The Indians, ranchers, and law enforcement officers knew his name, though, and the latest war in Mexico was just a new opportunity. He'd considered heading home to the Oregon trail region again, but he wasn't ready. As he was being called, Black Jack collected a pile of bounties, filled the pages of dime novels, and killed several fantastic beasts, including a nasty tarantula the size of an oxe. After he had explored its cave, he found treasure and plenty of skeletons.

Western Trails Online created a jumble of a timeline that included events, technology, and characters that shouldn't exist together. Since "migrating" to this world, Jackson Graham had to get used to all the anachronisms. The Pony Express didn't last long, but in this world, it had been in business for over a decade, and alongside the telegraph, no less. People still traveled west in covered wagons settling, but the native tribes still had large nations. The American Civil War was brutal, but things returned to relative peace once it was over. However, a new Confederate rebellion cropped up every five to ten years.

Of course, things were similar south of the border, and Mexico again had another new Emperor, Maximilian IV, who was hell-bent on consolidating his small empire. To put down local rebellions, a large number of American and European freebooters, including a large number of Confederate veterans, went to fight in "foreign legions." While this happened, the proper Mexican Imperial army pushed into several neighboring nations, seizing lucrative territory.

Wealthy bankers and industrialists in several foreign capitals organized filibuster expeditions to regain territory and establish puppet regimes. As if this wasn't enough chaos, groups of Mexican guerilla fighters and militia units recruited from the ranks of bandits began attacking inside United States territory. They couldn't capture and hold anything for long, but they caused ample problems, adding to the already tense situation.

How did Black Jack, a frontier roughneck who lived on the fringes of society, fit into all this? When some concerned parties approached him, he rounded up wild mustangs and sold them to ranches along the Texas border. These weren't civic-minded citizens but rather wealthy Texas ranchers and bankers who weren't about to see their state become a providence in Mexico's new empire. They also weren't about to wait for the United States government to handle the issue.

As they called themselves, the Council of the Defiant offered to pay him handsomely and give him plenty of resources to deal with the Mexican infiltrators and raiders he was already facing. While they were interested in protecting their fortunes, the border raiders were causing havoc on both sides of the border. So, in the late summer, Jack left San Antonio in Vaquero attire with three mustangs and a small wagon train of arms and supplies. Once back in the New Mexico territory, he began his unconventional recruiting again.

With the gold provided, he began recruiting numerous Apache warriors from the several tribal groups in the territory. Already seasoned fighters, they started hunting down the emperor's renegade fighters. Jack had brought Foxie with him as his assistant though the council members were skeptical at first that they'd underestimated the small-town whore. Foxie could ride and shoot and was fluent in Spanish and English. The men of Desolation Springs might have missed her, but Foxie wanted gold and adventure.

Jack had gained respect from the Apaches as a warrior, and their party regularly rested in their villages as they recruited cowboys, buffalo hunters, and Texicans to their cause. While there hadn't been any large-scale battles, there were plenty of skirmishes and numerous gunfights around watering holes and farms in the region. These could quickly turn into a war, but for now, things were unofficial. However, that might change today, Jack thought as he observed an official-looking visitor.

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Oregon-Trail

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II

Jack and his large company of irregulars had set up camp near several water sources and near an Apache village where they traded for meat and other essentials. The locals had already told him of the approach of the Texas Rangers Cavalry Brigade. The unit was initially recruited to fight Indians, so the tribe's warriors looked on at a distance as a small party road to where Jack had set up camp—a mix of covered wagons and teepees. The officer in charge inquired and was pointed to one of the small hot springs nearby. Skeptically, he headed over and was caught off guard at what he saw.

The man looked like a respectable rancher, featuring a long-sleeved gray shirt, brown pants, brown shirt cuffs, and a matching vest with tall brown boots. The only indication he was a cavalry officer was the saber, gunbelt, and standard-issue hat. He carried a custom cattleman revolver, which was more than most could afford. He cleared his throat, and Jack looked at him with a toothy grin.

Jack was soaking up to his chest in a natural hot spring. That shouldn't have been too shocking, but Foxie was swimming around behind him, totally naked, with her long dark mane up in a messy bun. She moved up behind Jack, pressed her large breasts against his back, and wrapped her arms around him, and in response to the man clearing his throat, she replied. "Someone to see you, sir. You want me to get my notepad?"

Jack laughed and replied, "No need. I'm sure this gentleman will keep notes."

One of the officer's aids, looking uncomfortably at the ground, took out a notepad. Still, the officer in charge shook his head, smirked at Jackson, and said, "I'm Major Salomon Powell of the Texas Rangers Cavalry Brigade."

"I can see the flag, Major, and I know this isn't Texas, so what are you doing here besides trying to provoke the Apache into killing you."

The Major knelt next to the spring and continued, "And I know who you are, Black Jack, but there is concern that there might be war with Mexico, and Western Command wants to be ready."

As Foxie messed with his long hair and caressed his beard, Jack laughed and replied, "You're assuming there are people in Western Command doing any thinking. Look, Major, this is the frontier, and it doesn't operate like the United States. A bunch of feudal kingdoms agree to get along as long as everyone is respected. Bringing an army unit here could disrupt everything."

"We're here to support your operations; why with reinforcements change anything?"

"Because I'm with Apaches who are being paid to deal with an Apache problem. They want to maintain their lands at all costs, and they don't care if they fight Mexicans or Americans. New Mexico is only a United States territory because we don't press the matter. You bring enough forces to fight three tribal nations, not counting their allies, and I assure you the Mexicans aren't gone yet."

After pondering the situation for a few moments, the Major begrudgingly nodded. "We can give you some extra supplies, but I want you to have some observers and report back regularly. Your friends on the Council assure the men in Washington the Apaches won't be at war with us either."

"And if you keep making intelligent compromises like that, you might live long enough to make General Salomon. Part of leadership is being a diplomat as well as a warrior. Trust me, I've been in five wars and countless smaller ones. You try to find better options first."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

One night, Sara found she couldn’t sleep. She had tossed and turned in bed. Finally, giving up the fight, she slipped from bed, donning a cotton robe and went to make herself a hot cup of water seeped with some leaves that should help her find sleep. While she waited for the leaves to fully soak into the hot water, cradling the mug, Sara opened her front door and stepped outside onto her porch. The moon was full and high in the sky. It cast a glow over the land and where it could not, the shadows deepened. Leaning against one of the posts that held up the roof over the porch, she inhaled slowly, trying to relax. She took a sip of the tea and let her mind listen to the night noises around her. The peacefulness of the land washed over her. Sara wasn’t afraid to be out here alone. She could outride, outshoot many men, including outlaws who thought they were something mightier than God and out to prove it.

Something in the shadows moved, catching Sara’s eyes. She stared out into the darkness trying to fathom it. Whatever it was, it stopped moving but was still there, just inside the darkness. Setting her mug on the porch railing, Sara slowly moved to retrieve her rifle and then deciding to be an idiot, she stepped off the porch and moved toward where she had seen movement. Moving slowly and quietly with only the moon and stars as witness, Sara stopped just short of where she had seen the shadow of…something. She had not spoken a word. There had only been the sound of her beating heart and the soft crunch of her footsteps as she moved. Then, it moved. It came toward her and Sara automatically stepped backwards, still not uttering a sound. It was huge. Large enough to cast a shadow on the moon itself. Sara slowly raised the rifle and waited.

From the shadows cast by the moon, slowly stepped a massively sized wolf. Something beyond anyone’s dreams... or nightmares, as it were. Its eyes bore the reflection of moonlight. From its haunches, it stood at least thrice her own height and wide, oh was it broad shouldered. A quick glance downward and she noted its paws. Far greater than any bear she had ever encountered. Still, oddly, there was no fear in Sara’s heart, she was only filled with awe. Slowly she lowered the rifle. Perhaps that was an unwise decision on her part, but she was simply following impulse. Although, she admitted to herself as human and beast stared at each other, impulse often, more times than not, got someone killed. She saw no dangerous glint in the animal’s eyes. Didn’t feel as if her life was in imminent danger. The wolf padded forward slowly until Sara could feel its breath on her face. It whispered across her mind....

“Daughter of the Sioux, your husband mourns your loss but life has led him to take another. You will see each other again, one day. The Great Spirit has changed each of your lives. Follow the change of your path but know, I am always with you. When you have need of me, I will come.”

The wolf melted back into the shadows and was no more. Sara blinked. Her mind wondered if she had even seen it to begin with, let alone heard the wolf and why had It brought word of Gentle Bear? She had to admit, Gentle Bear had been on her mind. She often felt bad about not trying to get back to the village and him. Some part of her chided herself for not asking the soldiers. Surely, they might have heard about Gentle Bear and his village. There was another part of Sara that wanted to leave that part of her behind. After losing their child, her heart with the village was also lost. She belonged here now. This was her life. Still, she wasn’t adverse to seeing Gentle Bear again someday. Her heart was gladdened to know that he would or had taken a new wife.

The wolf. That was an even stranger experience. She had never seen such a huge animal before. Had it been a spirit animal? Turning back toward her house with her rifle on her arm, she didn’t absolutely count that out because it had “spoken” to her, which was even weirder. Setting her rifle just inside the door, Sara returned outside to take up her mug of tea again. No one, including herself at the moment, would believe what she had just experienced. People at the Blue Moon were full of talk about men encountering these HUGE wild animals. Bears, Buffalo, Eagles and the like. Had what she just encountered one of them or something altogether different?

Sara finished her tea and went back inside, securing the door behind her. The mug she washed and set aside to dry as she climbed back into bed and started drifting off to sleep.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I
Back in the real world, Jack had never been to Mexico or traveled all that much. He'd had a close group of friends, and everything was right there at the college and in town. He had good food and good times, and the only thing that tempted him to get on a plane was visiting Sara. She talked about how lovely Califonia was, and even if she took a laptop to the beach, she still got out there and had fun. They'd even talked about a list of places to travel if they got together or whatever you called their relationship. Well, that never happened, but as Jackson Graham thought he'd seen much of the Western United States, Canada, Mexico, and other points on the map, modders had added to this universe that made up Western Trails.

He still wondered if it was growing thanks to the input of gaming nerds, and he always asked what Sara might have included. That was assuming she hadn't forgotten all about it and moved on with her life. That was all background thought, though, as Black Jack, notorious raider and gunfighter, sat on the steps of the Philidelphia Saloon in Monterrey, Mexico. The five bloody corpses nearby would take some explaining.

The war against the border raiders had taken Black Jack as he went by, and he even appeared in the newspapers across the border to an isolated town that was little more than an arsenal for the corrupt. Bandits, raiders, and guerillas bought their arms and equipment from a Merchant of Death, Bartholomew Worthington. Bart had served in several European armies and quietly smuggled arms into North and South America at a profit. A small but fanatical gang handled this particular operation. Their audacious raid on a U.S. military depot caught Jack's attention.

With their unwavering courage, he and his band of Apaches caught this group of killers off guard and took back what was stolen from the government. Jack sent his people back to Texas with orders, but he remained in Mexico to run down some leads. He found his way to Monterrey, where a few agents of the Merchant of Death were supposed to meet some contacts from a European arms manufacturer, but he got there before the meeting could occur.

One of the things Jack had learned from being stranded in the world of Western Trails was that while it was a big world, it held a lot of mystery. Bars and saloons were the same in Canada as in the United States because nobody modded anything different, and there was simply a different flag hanging above the bar. New York City and Washington DC had a few unique landmarks, but both cities had a lot of similarities, and you could say the same about Seattle. Even South Pass, which he was involved with founding, still had the same buildings and population of Independence, Missouri. There were differences, but having the knowledge he had, he knew the computer or whatever created it, and all this repeated itself a lot. Yet, despite this knowledge, the world still surprised him at times, keeping him engaged in the adventure.

You could still be surprised sometimes because how it worked remained a mystery. Monterrey wasn't so much a city as a collection of neighborhoods divided into districts. In Western Trails, there was a template for a typical Mexican town complete with shops, cantina stables, and various other buildings, depending on the scenario. There was also a large mission complex with a big church, a school, a farm, and other necessary buildings. There was no city template, so Monterry had numerous versions of the typical town, each with a district office built around the mission. The city had large stretches of farmland and pastures because each area had these as part of its basic build.

Now Jackson sat on the steps of the Philidelphia Saloon drinking a bourbon, his almost-finished cheesesteak sandwich next to him on a plate, and Mexican police officers all around. Their uniforms were just like the ones of American officers in the larger cities but were tan. They'd responded quickly to the brief but deadly gun battle at the saloon, only a few blocks from the Xavier Grand Hotel and train station. Having some diplomatic clout and a fatal reputation, the responding Lieutenant was willing to listen to him and not force him to disarm. Jackson was told someone of authority was on their way, and for their part, the officers were busy keeping the crowd back.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II ​

When Jackson saw the well-dressed caballero with a European man in a suit both ride down the street and present himself to the Lieutenant, he knew he'd gotten the response he'd wanted. After conferring for a few moments, the man introduced himself. "Hello, Señor Black, good afternoon. I am Efraín Ortegon. I understand you requested to talk to a government official. I would have to say that is a first for someone who murdered five men in a bar brawl."

Jackson smiled and drank more of his bourbon before responding, "And what capacity are you here as Señor Ortegon? I won't be talking to just anyone."

Efraín laughed loudly and nodded. "You should be in jail right now, sir, but I will indulge you since you might be the one who says you are in the documents you presented. I am a constable here in Monterrey as well as having rank in the militia and the police reserves, I am a representative of His Majesty in diplomatic matters of the court and a former Navy Officer, and my father is one of the largest land owners in the region. Am I sufficient in titles for you to talk to me?"

Jackson smirked and nodded. "Well, you sound like a man who can get things done, and I've heard of your father. Sold some Mustangs to him some years back, and I believe you were in the news when you arrived in the Port of New York City when you purchased a man-of-war ship from the French government."

"Yes, Señor Black, you are correct, but my father buys many horses. It is a passion of his. I did enjoy my brief time in New York City, though. We were purchasing Navy stores."

"You eat at the Excelsior Hotel?"

"Oh yes, the finest food and drink, and the roast pheasant is to die for, but Señor Black, the matter at hand," Efrain said, gesturing to the blood interior of the saloon.

Jackson nodded understandingly and began his response. "The roast turkey is also wonderful if you ever get back there. Anyway, I've been working with U.S. Army intelligence tracking down these arms suppliers, and we found out one of these outposts was on your side of the border."

"So you thought it was appropriate to invade my country?"

"Hardly, but we had to move before they cleared out of the position. It seems they'd paid many bribes to the local magistrate and others in law enforcement. I'd originally tried to get them to do something about it, but they could have been more cooperative, as you probably already know. So, we raided the town and took back what was stolen from the U.S. military. I'm sure your people have been there by now, recovered a hundred cases of rifles you recently purchased from Europe, and saw the nasty shrine to the Grim Reaper."

"Yes, I've heard of the situation, sir Señor Black, but you should have come to us before taking direct action. I assure you those officials are being dealt with and replaced by more reliable individuals. My government appreciates you leaving the weapons behind, but how does this relate to this matter?"

"Well, those men lying on the ground had gold and would make another purchase for their organization from some European suppliers. I know you've seen an increase in European investment, but not all is good or legal. I wanted to see what they knew, but they were spoiling for a fight, and I think I'm out of leads."

"Yes, our investigation shows that you fought back in self-defense against these men who are wanted here and in the United States. Also, you have some diplomatic documents that allow you to operate on both sides of the border, but that doesn't mean that any of what you've done is technically allowed."

"So where do we go from here, Señor Ortegon?"

"Well, Señor, We will go to the train station. You'll leave in the next few hours and not return to Mexico for a long while. No worries; it will be first class, and your horses will also be taken. But we will sit and have coffee in the station's lovely new cafe. We will sit and talk about the Excelsior Hotel and these arms traffickers and anything else I want to know, and then you get back on the train. This is the only pleasant option. What do you say?"

"I hear they have lovely pastry to go with their coffee."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Sara looked up from weeding her growing garden to see a dust cloud heralding a rider heading her way. Setting aside her hoe, she took up her rifle and waited. Who could be coming to visit her? Sara didn’t get many visitors out here, so she was curious, to say the least. With her rifle resting on her arm, Sara squinted as the rider drew closer. At first, she couldn’t make out who it might be, but as they drew closer, she was surprised. Corporal Steven Hanks. Well, well. Sara set her rifle against the fence and leaned on the top railing of the split wooden fence she had built by herself as she waited for him to get within earshot.

“Good Morning, Corporal Hanks. What brings you out my way?”

The man brought his horse alongside of her fence, tipped his hat, smiling.

“Morning, Miss Williams. Just out to pay a friendly visit on my day off. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Come on inside. I have a fresh pot of coffee on the stove and some of those biscuits you seem to like. Just made them this morning.”

The good corporal walked his horse to the front of her porch where she had a drinking trough to one side alone with a hitching post. He slid from his horse, tying it to the hitching post and rummaged in his saddlebag for something. Sara, in the meantime, came out of her garden, and walked toward him, waiting for the man to follow her indoors.

“These are for you, Miss Sara.”

Steven turned, holding a bunch of wildflowers out to her. She grinned, accepting them.

“Been awhile since anyone brought me flowers. Thank you.”

Sara held the bouquet up to her nose and inhaled deeply as she stepped up onto the porch and then headed inside. She set the rifle close to the door and walked over to her sink, where she filled an empty jar with water before placing the flowers in it. She turned.

“Have a seat Corporal,” she set the flowers on the table and turned toward the stove, reaching for a coffee mug.

“Steven, please. “

“Steven,” she affirmed before getting a plate that he could put his biscuits on, “help yourself. Biscuits should still be warm and here’s some butter I just churned yesterday. Oh, some jam I made recently too. I like jam on my biscuits.”

Sara poured herself some coffee and took the empty chair across from him. She sat back in her chair and watched him lather up a couple of biscuits before he devoured them. She laughed.

“Did you even bother to eat this morning?”

He looked up at her sheepishly.

“Barely.”

After they both laughed at that, Sara pushed the basket covered biscuits closer to him.

“Help yourself and tell me what’s been going on at the Fort. I don’t get over there as often as I use to now that I have this place to run.”

Between bites he started to fill her in on what he could.

“Well, George and Kiwi’s place got ransacked the other night.”

Sara sat up, cussing. She should have checked on their place more often.

“The best we could tell, it was the Indians. We’re guessing they were just looking for food and took a lot of the grains Kiwi had stored up. Managed to locate their root cellar too. Cleaned it out of goods. They left most of the livestock alone. We think. We have no idea what George and Kiwi had so---”

“That’s alright. I do. I’ll get over there in the next day or two and see what is what since they left me to take care of the place while they are gone.”

“Be mighty obliged, Miss Sara.”

Sara couldn’t even be mad at the Indians. They were the guardians of the land before the white man came along. Still thought of themselves that way too. No, she knew Kiwi wouldn’t mind sharing what she had. Sara would just mosey on over there and see what was left of Kiwi’s stores. She made a mental note to put up extra and replenish the root cellar. There was no telling when George and Kiwi would come home again.

“Miss Vivian has been asking about you.”

Sara’s eyebrow rose at that one. Her lips quirked as she looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

“And how would you be knowing about that?”

She bore no judgement against a man for visiting Miss Vivan’s place or her girls. He was a young man, after all.

Steven turned a shade of pink when Sara asked that. He merely cleared his throat.

Sara laughed aloud at his discomfort.

“I’ll be seeing Miss Vivian and her girls in the next day or two. Doc already asked me to check in on them.”

They both knew what that meant. Everyone at the fort knew that Sara looked after Vivian’s girls twice a month.

“Ole Frank is selling his camp and moving on. Says it hasn’t been the same since Henry died.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Frank leaving.”

She said nary a word about Henry.

“Miss Betsy’s new cook can’t hold a candle to you, Miss Sara. She can cook just fine but not as good as you do, Miss Sara and Miss Maggie and Doc are expecting their first child. Just learned of it yesterday.”

“I’ll need to check in on Maggie soon and see if I can help her with anything. I know how busy Doc can get and forgets about things like that. Well, Steven, I’m fixing to go down to the fishing hole and catch some fish. Care to join me? I have an extra pole carved out and ready.”

Steven pushed back from the table and grinned, “What are we waitin’ for? I haven’t been fishing in, well, I don’t remember the last time.”

 

[JackHemingway]

Jackson Graham was politely asked to leave Mexico and not return for a while—or at least Black Jack was—so he took the train out. Once across the border, he shed his old image. He paid off all the men who were with him handsomely. The agent from the Council of the Defiant wasn't thrilled with him, but the goals had been accomplished, so the agent promised a favorable report and that they'd move him to the inactive list. Jackson sold or threw out anything related to his Black Jack image except some gifts from the Apache.

Jackson next went to the barbershop and had them shave his beard and cut his hair. Flushed with gold, he bought a wagon, oxen, a few hours, and many supplies. While Jackson did arm himself extensively, he chose the clothes of a settler, and that fall, he headed out along the Continental Divide. The country was so beautiful you could get lost in it, and he spent much of his time when he wasn't traveling sketching a new hobby Jackson found he had a knack for.

Along the way, he met a few settlers, trappers, and Indians and was remarkably generous with his supplies and knowledge. He did some trading, made a few friends, and had company around the fire. His open-hearted nature endeared him to many. Along the way, Janette Luninghohner, a rancher and gunfighter wanted in New Mexico after being on the losing side of a local cattle war, joined him. She'd lost her husband and her land and wanted a fresh start. Her revenge spree even made her the subject of her own dime novel.

While the beautiful brown-haired woman liked to fight, curse, and drink, she hid a lot of pain from having lost the love of her life. Both having known loss and violence, he and Janette connected, and the pair had a few adventures that fall. They found buried treasure, killed a great bear, and traded with several tribes. This business relationship led to them adopting two Native American dogs they named Dawn and Danny. Jackson kept a separate journal on the experience until they reached Chimney Rock.

Once back on the Oregon Trail, they did some trading and gave Janette a new name: Jane Cassidy. She was a widow to a mountain man and was making a fresh start. Jackson gave her the wagon, the team, and a large portion of the supplies and traveled with her, posing as her hired scout until Fort Laramie. There, they parted company when she joined a wagon train, and she promised to write to him in South Pass when she got settled. He had her keep the dogs, which gave her so much joy.

Not ready to ultimately return to South Pass himself, though, Jackson found an abandoned homestead not far from Fort Laramie near the river on the trail to Independence Rock. That fall, he worked on the house, preparing it and himself for winter and doing a lot of fishing and hunting. He even panned for gold so he'd have a little extra money to trade at the fort, though there was no shortage of wagons passing by, and people were eager to barter for food or other essentials.

Jackson even built small cabins for families to stay in while they repaired their wagons. He didn't make much rent, but more people survived because they had a roof over their heads, which meant a lot. Eventually, there were three teepees on his land as Dakota Braveheart and his sister and brother moved in with their families for the winter. The men worked as scouts, and the women worked as cooks and in laundries but preferred being in nature. So they found an arrangement that had them staying the winter. They all worked on building a large storehouse and improving the cabins. With adults to spend time with and children to play with and teach, Jackson found he had a family again.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Time slipped by as Time liked to do. Steven Hanks, over the coming weeks, became a fixture at Sara’s place on his days off. One evening together, Steven made his intentions known and Sara stopped him, relating her last experience to him. It was the first time, since it had happened, that she shared it anyone but felt he had a right to know. She still suffered from the after affects. She still felt her body freeze up whenever Steven came close to her and she had always found an excuse to move away. She didn’t find his kiss repulsive or him either, for that matter. He was kind and patient.

“You’re worth waiting for, Sara.”

When Steven wasn’t helping her with her homestead, she was helping Doc Taylor and putting up medicinal supplies. Today, she headed for River Gulch and Miss Vivan’s place. River Gulch was as rowdy as ever. Sara was tying off her horse when the doors of the Last Chance Saloon, across the street from Miss Vivan’s place, the Birdcage, erupted and out tumbled two men, slugging it out. They kicked up dust as Sara simply leaned against her horse, watching. A quick look about the town showed her that the sheriff was nowhere to be seen, not that that was a surprise. She had never laid eyes on the lawman since she had started coming to town. She watched, in amusement, for a few minutes before giving her head a slight shake and grabbing her saddlebags and headed inside The Birdcage. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the interior.

“Sara Williams! You are a sight to behold.”

The husky tones of Miss Vivian reached her ears, causing her to grin.

“Miss Vivian,” Sara acknowledged, “how are you these days?”

“Oh, you know how it is, Sara. There are good days and there are bad days. I take ‘em as they come.”

Sara peered at Vivian.

“Are you okay, Vivian? Do I need to check you over today too?”

Vivian ushered Sara into the room they called Sara’s office.

“Oh, don’t you worry none over me, Sara. I’ll be fine.”

Sara stopped, setting her bags down before she gave Vivian a stern look.

“That means you aren’t fine. After the girls, I want to check you over. Do not argue with me. I’ll come looking for you if I have to.”

The madam just laughed, waved her hand in a dismissive manner, turning to leave.

“I’ll go fetch Velvet. She’s up first.”

Sara turned back to lay out her supplies. Velvet. She sighed. That young one was going to get into trouble sooner or later. A timid knock on the door made Sara turn around.

“Miss Sara.”

“Velvet. How are you? Anything ailing you today?”

The girl shuffled in. Sara’s look sharpened.

“Velvet, what’s wrong?”

“I’m wondering if you’d take a look at my back. I took a beating the other day and it kinda hurts.”

“Can you get up on the table here and sit down? If not, I’ll have you lean over it.”

“I’ll give it my best try, Miss Sara.”

Sara had to hand it to the girl, she did try to get up on the table but every time she went to lift a leg, she winced. Finally Sara stopped her and had her bend over the table instead, lifting up her dress. Sara was horrified by what she saw.

“Does Miss Vivian know about this?”

Sara lightly ran her fingertips down the bruising she saw. The girl shook her head.

“And please don’t tell her. I need the money and if Miss Vivian knew, she won’t let him come back.”

“And she shouldn’t,” Sara moved to her supplies and picked up a jar of paste.

“Velvet, you girls are her bread and butter. If someone beat you up, she needs to know. Roughing you up some, that’s one thing but this?”

Sara opened the jar and smell of peppermint filled the air. Scooping out some of the paste, she smeared it across the bruising on Velvet’s back.

“This is unacceptable, Velvet. What if something happened to you? It would upset Miss Vivian.”

Sara retrieved some bandages and wrapped Velvet’s back.

“You tell her, Velvet or I will.”

The stern tone in Sara’s voice told Velvet she would do just that.

“I will, Miss Sara. Thank you kindly.”

Velvet couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. The afternoon went rather quickly. Luckily, the majority of the girls were healthy enough. A few needed some ointment. Some needed a refill on the tea leaves Sara passed out. The sun was riding low in the sky when Sara finished checking Vivian out. She left some herbal leaves for the madam with instructions and then bid the woman farewell until the next time. Vivian always made Sara laugh before she left town. This time the madam told her….

“You smell like an angel and you have a body built for sin. You sure you don’t want a job working for me?”

​

The next time Steven Hanks came calling, he had a proposition for Sara. He and his commanding officer had been talking and they took their idea to the commander of the post. The idea went over well, but they needed to find someone who could fill the job.

“Me? You’re pulling my leg, right?” Sara looked incredulous.

Steven shook his head.

“No, Ma’am. They want you for the job.”

She continued to stare at him in disbelief, “Me? A schoolteacher?”

“That’s what we’re asking.”

“I’ll be damned.”

 

[JackHemingway]

Jackson Graham was back to the basics regarding life in Western Trails in the fall of that year. After his adventures in Mexico and making his way up the Continental Divide, he'd settled into the simple life in his small outpost not far from Independence Rock. Surprisingly, it had sixty residences, both settlers and Indians of all ages who planned to winter there before moving on in the spring. The original game only allowed you to push on in the rough winter months, but options became available over time as Jackson found, and he was glad to do his part to ensure people survived. They even had a pony express station and a wagon repair stop. Most of the trading happened between the residents and the few people who passed through the area. Jackson let his old life come back to him, and he'd visited South Pass and saw friends, as well as Brad and Wenonah, who had two children and loved the house. He shared a sarsaparilla with Kayleb, who told him of his new pen pal, Doctor Taylor, who had plenty to say about the treatment of women patients and frontier medicine in general. More importantly, he'd married the lovely Bonnie Adams, who'd penned half a dozen dime novels under various pennames and was happy to talk to Jackson all about writing. He entrusted her with his journal from the last trip, which spoke about his gunfighter's love interest and all their adventures. She was thrilled and was working on turning it into a series of novels, so she kept him updated in regular letters.

Back at the outpost, they gathered and preserved so much food that they had to build a storage house for it, along with root sellers and all the regular storage spaces. With South Pass growing and people taking up different roles at the outpost, Jackson took one of the traditional jobs that one did in Western Trails. He became a wagon guide and scout, bringing people from Ash Hollow to Independence Rock. Once there, he'd make introductions to other guides, but as it got colder, he tried to find them other options for lodging through the winter. He'd then gather supplies and head back with anyone making their way down the trail, ranging from people bringing goods back east to keeping up with express riders. His attire now was an entire mountain man, and he lived in his buckskin, grew out his beard again, and topped off the look with a fur hat adorned with a few feathers. His long-barrelled rifle was the same one every immigrant purchased for their first rifle, but he had all the extras and fancy adornments. He kept it in a beautiful fringe buckskin cover. He rode a beautiful spotted Appaloosa that he'd traded for with one of his tenants, and Duskwalker was a friendly and loyal horse. He lived simply making friends as he found them, fighting the raiders when he encountered them, and trading with Indians. He kept track of the world around him, but he was trying to take a more minor role in the affairs of it all. For now, he planned to be at his new home for Thanksgiving and would probably be settling in there for the winter. He still had some time, but it could be harsh and brutal when winter came, and the best travel was no travel.

This might not have been the rugged life he'd wanted, but there were times when he was watching a sunrise or had a view of nature's majesty that he was happy to be here. Besides, he'd been gone from his old life for over ten years now. Jackson's parents probably hadn't even noticed he was gone for a while. His friends probably moved on with jobs and marriages, and Western Trails clearly went on without him. Sara, well, she probably didn't even bother with video games anymore and had a husband and kids and a great job. She was a great lady, and he was lucky to know her for the short time he did. All that time online talking and playing games and staying up late on the phone had to have meant something. Jackson had known more than a few women since then, had been married once, and had a fiance he would have had a life with if she hadn't died. Still, something about Sara crept into his mind when you were on those long stretches of trail where all you had to do was take it all in and think about your place in the universe. For Jackson Graham, as he sat down at the fire that night and pondered his place in the universe, he thought he'd been a good man in this chapter of his life, and in the last chapter, he hoped Sara felt he favorably fit into hers. Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but when a shooting star crossed the horizon, he took it to mean confirmation of his feelings.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

So, Sara Williams ended up becoming a school marm to about twelve children of various ages. They had built her a schoolhouse there in the fort. It even came with a hanging bell. She had gone over to check it out after seeing the commander of the fort. She and the commander had a long talk. The commander realized that they needed to educate the number of growing children in the fort. Basic things really, reading, writing, mathematics. The older boys probably wouldn’t be attending as they were needed at home to help their fathers on their homesteads. Sara felt strongly that they needed an education too and while the commander agreed, he also saw their parents’ point of view. So, for now, they were going to let that sleeping dog lay.

That night, Sara sat down with pen and paper starting to write out what she wanted to teach. This might be the Wild West where justice was meted out with guns but it wouldn’t always be so. This wasn’t going to be an easy task, but she faced it like she did every challenge in her life so far.

A few days later, Corporal Hanks came to visit and to help Sara fence in a few acres of her land. Cattle was on her mind. She needed to protect her herd from thieving coyotes. Those animals killed for the sport of it, not only because they were hungry. She and Steven had built a chicken coop for just that reason and to protect the chickens from hawks and other flying predators as well as the four-legged kind. After a day of hard work, Sara and Steven sat down to a nice meal. They talked and laughed until the sun started to set. After eating, they retreated to the front porch, sitting on a comfy bench he had made for her. It wasn’t anything fancy but it was sturdy. Steven sat beside Sara, his arm around her as they drank coffee and enjoyed the peace and quiet.

“Sara,” he began and then stopped as if searching for words, “do you think we’ll ever---- you know.”

Sara turned her head to look at him and softly smiled, “I hope so.”

He leaned in and nuzzled her neck whispering, “I do too.”

As the sun sank lower, Steven sighed. It was time to get back to the fort.

“I’ll see you next time, Sara.”

“I’ll be here.”

She watched him ride off toward the fort. When he was gone from sight, Sara sighed herself, wishing she could be exactly what he needed, but for her, Hank had left a deep and ugly scar, mentally.

The next day Sara got an impulsive urge. She decided to ride into River Gulch. She gave brief thought to stopping in at Miss Vivan’s saloon but decided to head across the street to the Last Chance. Sliding off her horse, she tied it to the hitching post and headed toward the doors of the Last Chance. Even before she got to the double doors, a man came flying out to the land in the street. He was quickly followed by another one who came swinging a fist at the man on the ground. Sara shook her head, pushing the doors open and stepping inside. Heads turned to see who had entered the place. Sara headed for the bar. She took to wearing a handgun on her hip these days. Even though she still proffered her rifle, sometimes just having a handgun close by came in handy. Especially when coming face to face with a rattlesnake, which was what she had done a couple of days ago out in her garden. Her rifle had been leaning against the fence, too far away to simply reach for. Instead, she had very slowly backed away. At the bar, she asked for a whiskey. Placing her back against the bar, she scanned the room. There were men playing poker at a couple of tables, smoking and drinking. A few of the saloon girls were sidled up against a few men. A sudden bout of loud cussing caught Sara’s ears and she turned her head in time to see a scuffle break out at the other end of the bar. She shook her head slightly and turned back to the bar and downed the rest of her whiskey. She pushed her glass across the bar top and nodded toward it. The barkeep refilled it. She heard the saloon doors swing, the tap of boot heels on the old, stained, saloon floor and felt a presence come up and stand next to her. A deep, gravelly voice ordered a drink. Casually, Sara looked up and over, straight into a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever met. Amusement sparked in his eyes and his lips twitched.

“Little lady.”

Sara felt her cheeks grow red, but she managed to incline her head in acknowledgement. The man looked rugged. Deep grooves lined his weathered face. His skin was dark from being exposed to the sun for way too long. His amusement, in whatever he found in her, abated and returned his attention to his drink. He didn’t take any interest in his surroundings, just continued to drink his drink. He didn’t take interest in the saloon girl who rubbed herself up against him as she came up next to him. He didn’t even turn his head in her direction.

“Sorry, darlin’, not interested.”

She pouted up at him but took the hint and flounced off. The stranger, with drink in hand, turned slightly in Sara’s direction.

“And what do I call you, little lady?”

Sara glanced over in his direction. For a brief second she thought about giving him a sarcastic answer but thought better of it.

“Sara and you are?”

“You’d be better off not knowing, Sara but you can call me Chase.”

“What brings you to River Gulch, Chase? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

He shrugged, “Just passing through.”

 

[JackHemingway]

Part I
Jackson Graham's boots clicked on the wooden floor of the Beef & Elk Saloon in the rather pathetic excuse for the mining town of Widow's Peak. The name of the establishment fits, at least. You could either get whiskey or beer and have it with a steak or elk stew. There was a small mine that kept perhaps around fifty employed, not to mention all the prospectors and hunters who passed through the area not far from what many would consider the main Oregon Trail. Still, most immigrants avoided the place unless they were under dire circumstances. It was the kind of town where your daughters worked the streets, and the boys killed each other in them.

In game terms, the place had every nasty encounter, and they seemed to make each one multiple. It wasn't anything special to have a card game turn into a brawl or even a gunfight, but when it spilled into the street, things would escalate as a fresh bunch of tough guys would feel the need to jump in, and then someone else would like to prove their reputation would also get into things. The town's version of Boot Hill kept the grave diggers busy, and they had to move the fence around the perimeter further out. Jackson would never stop here with a wagon train, but today, he had the badge of Deputy US Marshal on his lapel.

He stepped to the bar, and the fat, bald, dirty bartender reluctantly walked over to him, took his order for two whiskeys, and began pouring. Jackson wore a black hat, red bandana around his neck, blue vest, and dark jeans and boots, but the long light tan coat worn by law enforcement officers throughout the region stood out to this crowd. The badge wasn't essential, and looking around as he drank his first shot, he knew he wasn't welcome. The town was a haven for outlaws, and any lawman in the area knew that you could come here and probably find your man, but it was a dangerous place where you could quickly be overwhelmed, and even the whores, miners, and bartenders were armed.

Jackson had arrived with a possie over twenty-four others to ask questions and bring in whatever wanted men & women they could find. They had only been there less than half an hour, but tension steadily rose. The primary reason Jackson picked this place was an informant told him that this place had become a supply depot for the United Raiders group. He still didn't have a name for this underground group of terrorists, but they had too much infrastructure to make him think they were a small-time outfit that was just getting lucky. They operated in multiple territories, were well-equipped and informed, and even took the time to train their people.

Jackson hadn't seen anyone who might have been an agent of the group, but that didn't mean they weren't here, and there were plenty of ordinary criminals to deal with today. He'd brought Nannie Wilder, a skilled woman buffalo hunter taking bounties as a sideline, and Walter 'Bloody' Taylor, the half-Apache and Mexican scout who'd been invaluable on his New Mexico adventure. The rest were all cowboys, scouts, and bounty hunters, all sworn in by Judge Andrews at For Bridger. They'd all had previous experience in law enforcement, and the wise frontier judge wanted to deal with the problem, so they'd been at it for a few weeks, tracking down leads and dispensing justice as best they could.

While Jackson knew he was being watched by practically everyone in the cramped, ramshackle bar, out of his peripheral vision, one group stood out. Three burly men in buffalo hide coats were sitting at a table, but they weren't touching their cards or drinks, and one had just roughly pushed a topless, tattooed dancing girl aside. A second later, he grunted, stood up, and said, "Hey, law dog!"

What shocked everyone, especially the speaker, was that two shotglasses rocketed in his direction. The first hit the man square in the face as he bent over and began spitting blood, and the other smashed against the wall behind him. As he screamed in pain and mumbled about his teeth, his companions stood up, going for their weapons. Jackson was already going for his thought and beat them to the punch.

 

[JackHemingway]

Part II
Both pistols went off simultaneously, and rounds went flying in their direction. He hit both men several times and shifted to their already insured comrade, who was trying to pull his heavy pistol, but he got the last of the hail of gunfire. Sensing others wanting to get involved, Jackson flung himself over the bar, grabbed a glass mug, slammed the bartender in the head with it, and moved to his position. As he rightly thought, there was a double-barrel shotgun concealed behind the bar with a box of shells and other weapons like knives and clubs.

Jackson holstered both of his pistols and rose with the shotgun and scanned the room and saw that several of the crowd were retreating, but he didn't have that long of a look as bullets began flying his way, shattering bottles behind him. After the fire slowed, he rose again a few feet from his original position and cut down a man rushing the bar with a machete. Both barrels sent a powerful message, and he dropped down to reload.

Fortunately, help arrived in the form of Nannie and Walter in the doorway. Both began firing with pistols, taking down the few remaining gunmen. Nannie reholstered the weapons rather than reloading, took the rifle off her back, chambered a round, and made her way through the saloon. Walter just took out a bowie knife and began walking through, kicking bodies, and then going to the topless dancer and seeing if she was unhurt. Jackson took a few deep breaths, swallowed, reloaded, stood behind the bar, and shakily poured himself a drink.

Nannie looked at him and said, "You're all right, Captain. Are these three the folks we're looking for?"

Jackson shook his head no, pointed to them, and replied. "No, dammit, but they were Chase, Orville, Clifford Sween. The brothers were all buffalo hunters, but when that became too much work, they started robbing banks and frontier stores for supplies. Oh, and they thought shooting Chinese people was fun. They're all wanted for murder. They're scum, but not the scum we're looking for. There is at least some reward money."

Having checked the room thoroughly, Nannie came over to the bar. He poured her a glass, which she eagerly took after reloading, and nodded in appreciation. "Well, I reckon I might want some of their gear."

After sending the young dancer on her way, Walter came over to the bar, stuck his blade into the bartop, reloaded, took the shot provided by Jackson, and said, "Well, this isn't a bust exactly. We didn't find any agents of this group you want to find, but we keep coming up empty. We have caught more than a few outlaws and got their stuff, so that's something."

Jackson poured himself another shot, drank, and nodded to his friends before clearing his throat. "Well, it's a small win, and I'll take it for now. Get everyone together, tell them to get wagons and horses, take whatever they want from the outlaws, and leave the minors alone. I imagine they know that. I want to be out of here by nightfall."

Jackson's compatriots nodded and soon gathered the rest of the posse on the street. Within a few hours, they had half a dozen wagons filled with plunder and proof that they'd bagged various outlaws. They had at least twice as many horses, and many in the group were already talking about the reward money coming to them on top of whatever they could sell the captured gear for when they got back to Fort Bridger.

Out in the nearby hills, beyond the naked eye's view, two figures clad in black watched the band head out from behind spyglasses. They watched for a few minutes longer before putting their small telescopes away, and they passed a flask back and forth. Unlike cowboys, they dressed in suits with long dusters and fine hats most on the frontier could not afford. The pair shared traits that would make someone assume they were from the same family.

The first man broke the silence by saying, "This will never do."

The second, he replied. "Agreed, he keeps getting closer. We only moved the cache out two hours before their arrival. Hopefully, no one shared what they knew."

"Doubtful, but this was just plain luck, and we can have that. He keeps on turning up in these situations."

"We'll have to remedy that situation quickly but without causing too much attention."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

“Well, Chase, it was nice to meet you. Maybe we’ll meet up again sometime. If you’ll excuse me.”

Sara tossed back her drink, set the glass on the bar and turned to leave. Only a stranger in the bar stepped in front of her and had other ideas.

“How about you and me have a drink, missy?”

“No, thank you. Please let me by.”

The man must never bathe. He stunk from here to high heaven and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Then dance with me,” he insisted and grabbed her arm in a grip that was sure to leave bruises.

“No, thank you. Now I suggest you remove your hand from my arm.”

The stranger laughed, “And if I don’? Whatcha gonna do?” he leered in her face.

He never saw Sara’s pistol leave the holster. He did, however, feel the barrel under his chin. She stared steadily into his face. Her tone remained even and carried strength and truth.

“I’m fast losing patience, mister. I’m going to blow your head off if you don’t remove your hand from my arm and step away.”

The man’s hand came away from Sara’s arm and he held up both hands as he slowly backed away. Sara reholstered her gun and stepped around him. She got as far as the swinging doors of the saloon before she heard a shot ring out behind her. Swiveling on her toes, she sharply turned back toward the interior of the Last Chance. On the floor, dead, was the stranger that had accosted her. Sara’s eyes went from the dead body to the bar. Chase stood there, casually sliding his gun back into the holster. Sara inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, turned and exited the saloon. Her guess was that the stranger had drawn his weapon and it had been aimed at Sara, only Chase had her back and shot the man dead. She owed Chase one. Sara untied her horse and rode out of town, heading for home. She had enough of River Gulch for the day. On the ride home, Sara couldn’t help but wonder about Chase. Something told her that he was a man that spoke little and usually minded his own business. There was something about him though that kept him in her mind.

Steven joined her on his next day off. He helped her with some work around her homestead and she made him supper. After supper they sat on her front porch. It had become a habit of theirs. Steven kissed her sweetly and she had returned his kiss but even she had to admit to herself that there was no passion there. She wondered how to tell him but before she could broach the subject, Steven spoke up as he squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Sara, I’m leaving tomorrow. It’s my unit’s turn to go on patrol. I’m going to be gone for a while. Will you be okay?”

She turned her head and kissed his cheek.

“Of course I will, Steven. I wish you luck out there and be careful.”

The rest of their time together went by quietly. When it was time to go, Steven kissed her tenderly, got on his horse and headed back to the fort. Sara stood on the steps of her porch and watched until he was gone from her sight. She climbed the steps, retrieved their mugs and went inside.

That night, Sara was abruptly woken up by the sounds of something scratching at the side of her cabin. It sounded like deep, long scratches. Getting out of bed, she slipped on her moccasins, grabbed her rifle and quietly opened her door. She paused on her porch to load her rifle before she slipped around the house to see what had awakened her. In the moonlight she could see a dark silhouette standing on its hind legs. Bear. She took careful aim, bracing herself and pulled the trigger. The bear roared, coming completely upright and heading for her. Sara quickly pumped another shell and took aim, wasting little time in pulling the trigger. This time, the bear dropped over dead. Lowering her rifle she approached cautiously and kicked the bear in its side to make sure it was dead. It was. Setting her rifle against the house, Sara retreated to get her skinning knife. Why her? Why in the middle of night? She sighed at her luck, returning to the dead animal and began to gut it. She would never get over that smell of its insides. She’d have to get a shovel in the morning and bury the innards. If the coyotes didn’t come get them. They usually kept their distance, but hunger drove an animal beyond its instincts most of the time.

It took Sara a while to drag the bear to her barn and hoist it up to hang. Gutting it had helped make it lightly to drag but not by much. The bear wasn’t huge, thank goodness, but big enough. She knew it was more meat than she could use so she would be splitting it up and knew exactly where the remainder was going.

Sara managed to get back to bed and get some sleep before the sun came up. Rolling over with a groan, she was tempted to stay in bed and try to get a few more hours of sleep, but she knew herself all too well and knew that wasn’t going to happen. So, with a groan of mild protest, Sara rolled out of bed, got dressed and headed for the barn.

 

[JackHemingway]

After about a month of rough and tumble law enforcement duty, Jackson Graham returned to South Pass after over a year. He'd dealt with his personnel crisis and the troubles of the land, so one of the town's founding members was finally back, and there was a bit of to-do about the whole affair. He wished it could be avoided, but it happens when you're down in the community, and you penned more than a few books at this point, never mind that others had written about you. So rather than stay with Brad and Wenonah and their children, he settled into the White Buffalo Hotel, one of the latest additions to the town, which seems to continue to grow. He took over two large rooms, with one dedicated to all his belongings where he sat with the press and visitors, and the other was to simply sleep. His dog Whiskey, a mutt he'd adopted at Widow's Peak, had a bed on the floor in front of his bed, and the friendly creature had made friends with many of the hotel staff and the guests. The only downside was the hotel occupied the top two floors of the three-story building, and the Diamond Jack Saloon, which had gambling tables, was on the first floor. While Jackson could sleep through most things, the rowdy crowd was often there until three o'clock from Thursday through Sunday. He was working his way through the hotel's kitchen menu, which was a welcome change after eating plenty of trail food and saloon fare.

With Thanksgiving only a few weeks away, Brad and Wenonah insisted on him coming to the house to eat and promised many old friends would be there as guests, including Kayleb, the popular town Doctor who was the brother of his beloved late fiance, Caraleen. Within days of his arrival, he made a point to go to Caraleen's grave site and was moved that so many trinkets and gifts were left by children, including Chinese lanterns, spiritual totems, and art. All of South Pass was happy he'd returned, and with the comforts of the past and present, he decided to do his best to enjoy himself, so he happily talked to reporters and school children and met with local officials and business people. Jackson would be here for at least the winter, so why not be comfortable taking care of yourself and others? Brad had embraced his role as a builder and now had a large construction company. While he continued to build houses, he also built larger buildings and, slowly but surely, roads inside the town. Wenonah spent much time with the children but still found time to clerk at the Pony Express office, sell horses, and make many traditional crafts. She said she was a regular vendor at the town marketplace place, thanks to his influence, and Indians mingled with townsfolks and immigrants passing through the area.

The marketplace was where he was spending his time today, representing his friend who owned one of the two general stores in town, which was a comment on the growth of the town where most settlements only supported one. The owners, Paul Sophia Foley, were an interesting pair that he'd gotten to know, and they wanted him to go to the market to buy any items they thought might do well in their store. Many vendors only came once a month, so they tried to find out if there were any items people might buy more regularly. They also wanted him to buy any raw materials they might be able to make into the finished product and sell at a profit. The pair were a product of the Western Trails environment in that Paul started as a gunfighter and army scout, and Sophia worked in her father's store until she married a prospector who died on the trail. The pair met when she was trying to sell off all the gear and became friends and partners. After a few adventures and finding a modest treasure of gold and silver coins, they decided there was more money in selling the picks and shovels than looking for treasure and setting up their first store. They kept expanding over the years before settling in South Pass and had a good reputation for treating people fairly and paying gold, not just food, to Indians who came into trade.

Jackson had started his day with breakfast with Brad and Wenonah before heading to the marketplace and had spent much of the morning looking over items and made a few deals for some above-average items he knew would sell from the store well, including a large number of native made blankets, a supply of firewood, and an extensive collection of buffalo hide blankets. The last items came from a new visitor to the community, a rugged-looking Sioux who'd decided to take a different trade route this time on his wife's suggestion. His name was Gentle Bear, and considering how imposing the man was, Jackson felt lucky the man decided to be kind. His wife Salali, a beautiful half Cherokee half White woman, was with him and was very friendly. She explained she had kin in this area and wanted to see if they could sell at a better rate while she visited. While her husband dressed in traditional buckskin with an impressive headdress and bow, she balanced the two worlds wearing decorated mocassins that went up to her thighs, jeans, and a fitting white blouse decorated with native symbols, and she wore a cowgirl hat. They were happy to trade the lot for ammunition and gold so they could head back home, but Sally, as she liked to be called, insisted on shopping in town. She confessed while she loved life on the plains, there were some things she just craved, including German chocolate.

They later joined him at the Diamond Jack Saloon's dining room for supper and got to know each other better. Sally's father owned a ranch and regularly traded with the native people. She'd learned several languages growing up with her mother's people and through her father's business and met her husband at a trading post. She said it took a lot of effort to get Gentle Bear to notice her, but she said he was getting over the death of his wife from a year before. Gentle Bear had been silent for that part of the conversation, but he reached over and squeezed Sally's hand. He said he missed Hiding Turtle very much, but it was time to move on, and Sally was a wonderful friend, partner, and wife. Both men were widows, and they connected in a way you wish you didn't, but still, it was good to support someone else. So, while Sally listened and smiled, they shared stories of their late loves. Caraleen was a wonderful person, and Hiding Turtle sounded terrific. While he wasn't clear about how she came to the community, she was welcomed and intelligent, learning many different crafts and trades and being good with horses and hunting. Eventually, they retired to their camp even though Jackson had offered to use one of his rooms, and he wished them well.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

The sun was riding high in the sky by the time Sara was done with the chore she had set for herself. She had spent the morning cutting up the bear she had shot. Setting aside what she needed, she took some to the Blue Moon. Betsy was surprised but grateful to accept, especially after Sara reassured her that the meat was going to go bad if Betsy didn’t take it. Sara had all she needed. After waving good-bye to Betsy with the promise to stop in for coffee one morning, Sara headed to the small village just outside of the fort. She met with the chief and presented him with the rest of the bear meat. Again, she reassured the chief that she had more than enough and had already given some to the Blue Moon in the fort and she told him that she didn’t want to see it go bad. Sara spoke fluently in his language, which surprised him. She explained that she had married a Sioux by the name of Gentle Bear. She stayed for a bit and played with the children. It made her smile to know that they would be eating well tonight. Sara took her leave with a promise to visit again.

As she approached her home, someone was sitting on her porch, feet up on the railing. She slowed her horse and reached down to slowly pull her rifle out. Laying it across her arm, she gently urged the horse forward. As she got closer, her eyes widened. She recognized her visitor. As the horse went up to the trough to drink, Sara made a show of sliding her rifle back into its place and leaned on the pommel, staring at her guest.

“How in Sam Hell did you find me?” Her tone of voice was slightly amused and just a bit irritated.

His fingers came to the brim of his hat in a brief salute.

“Hello, Sara.”

The deep tones of his voice sent delicious warning shivers down her spine. She stared at him sitting there so nonchalantly.

“What brings you to my home, Chase?”

She asked as she slid from the horse’s back, giving it a pat on the neck before she walked up the steps to her porch. Sara eyed him sitting there. He was dressed in all black, just like when she had met him at the Last Chance. She continued to stare at him as she waited for him to answer her. Her eyes were wary. He set off warning bells inside of her. She was either going to poke the bear or play with fire. Any way you looked at it, everything said “Danger ahead.”

In her old life, Sara would have run the other way. She wouldn’t have known how to handle a man like Chase. In this new life of hers? Sara wasn’t afraid to get her toes singed. If the bear was going to leave a mark on her, so be it. Life was short in the West and she was going to live her life as she saw fit.

“Well,” he started out, drawing that word out while he dropped his legs from her porch rail.

“I came to see you.”

His eyes sought and found hers. The look in them took her breath away. For a long, hot minute, she couldn’t look away but then, she tore her sight from his compelling gaze and moved past him to sit down in the chair next to the one he was occupying.

“Any reason?” She managed.

“Nope,” he got to his feet, towering over her.

Her head tilted back from where she was sitting. He shifted closer, setting both hands on either side of her, effectively trapping her where she sat. His face came close to hers until she could feel his breath on her cheek and across her lips. He leaned in, until they were cheek to cheek.

“I mean to have you, Sara Williams.”

His deep tones held an unspoken promise and he wasn’t asking either.

“Oh, you do, do you? Do I have any say in this?”

“Yep and nope. I have a feeling you won’t complain.”

A delectable shiver slid down her backbone. Goosepimples sprung up on her skin and she could feel her nipples grow tight. Sara folded her arms over her chest. Before she could say anything the rogue straightened up, tipped his hat to her and left her porch to mount his horse. Easily, he took up the reins and turned his horse. Without even looking back, he rode off toward town. Sara stared after him.

He came all the way out here to just say that? She had a feeling she was in trouble. The kind that made her blood run like fire through her veins, her heart pump wildly and her loins ache with need.

 

[JackHemingway]

One of the things Jackson Graham could appreciate about Western Trails was it wasn't the old West that Jack had yet to learn about through books and film in the old world, a previous life he thought about less and less often as the years rolled by. While many romanticized the old West and made it about adventure and action, it was a hard life, and while that was present in Western Trails, things could be much worse. There always seemed to be enough land for both settlers and Indians. Blacks and Asians weren't second-class citizens, and while there was conflict, there was something reaffirmed by it all. Things made sense to him, and part of him didn't want to leave it if he had a choice.

Today was Thanksgiving, the start of a rare four days off for most, and it was free of drama. Jackson was still comfortably residing at the White Buffalo Hotel, where the management compensated with free meals and a discount on his rooms for mingling with the guests, signing their books, and even posing for photographs. While Jackson wasn't entirely comfortable with the role as a celebrity, it had to happen eventually. He'd been adventuring throughout the American frontier for over a decade.

Jackson guided wagon trains, searched for gold, and hunted epic beasts. He'd brought criminals to justice and fought in wars chronicled in newspapers and dime novels. In his old life, Jackson's father told him he'd never amount to anything and would be some guy on the computer spending the rest of his life in a college town. Well, now he'd done some things and could even be proud of himself, but he was a stranger to his old life.

"Who is Sara," the charming Pattie McPherson inquired from across the lavish breakfast table as she raised her mug of coffee to crimson lips.

Returning to reality, Jackson smiled and replied, "A dear friend from another lifetime I lost track of when she headed to the coast. I always raise a glass to her on holidays and wish her well."

"Oh well, that's a charming tradition and a good way to remember and absent ah friend?"

"The best type of friend is a good frontierswoman and very smart. I'm sure she's well wherever she is. Are you enjoying breakfast?"

That day, the White Buffalo Hotel was serving two meals. The morning offering was a large breakfast in the main dining room, and later in the day, they'd be serving a large roast turkey dinner. It was the first year of the hotel's operation, so they were doing their best to make a good impression on the travelers staying for the holiday. Most would be heading off in the next few days to get to their destinations before the heavy snow came. Today was a day of relaxation and gluttony.

The food was delicious, and there were many conversations at the long table among the assortment of travelers, but Pattie McHerson was his focus today. She was dressed in the typical blouse, skirt, and boots of many women on the frontier, along with a trusty six-shorter by her side. She'd arrived a few days earlier ahead of her husband, who was concluding business further west, but she'd brought an exciting proposal.

Pattie looked up from her eggs, sausage, and grits and nodded with a smile. "As good as any restaurant back east. I hope Harrison makes it here in time for dinner. Will you be joining us here at the hotel?"

"No, I will return for coffee and cigars later, though. I will be dining with some local friends. I was hoping Harrison would be here by now I don't trust the weather."

"One of many things I worry about, but he's with friends and hired some experienced guides. Once we're settled in that rental house, we will have you over for dinner. My frontier stew and pies are the best. I've won blue ribbons. Oh, did you get a chance to read over all the material?"

Jackson sipped his coffee and nodded before replying, "Most of it, yes. So you plan to head out in late summer or early fall?"

"That's the plan. The last ship will be outfitted and ready by then, and we'll head to the Orient. We'd love to have you on board, and you might even snag us a few more investors. You've hunted, fought wars, and helped lead that expedition on the Amazon."

"Spending two years away would mean missing a lot, but exploring and trading in Asia could be fantastic. Five steam clippers with all the updates and veteran crews are very tempting."

"Jackson, you'll get a large share if we're successful, and we will be. I mean the trade alone, never mind the treasure we'll find. You're already a legend on the frontier. You can settle down or go on another great adventure. There is no rush but think about it. Harrison will just be happy to see you either way."

 

[DarkWarrioress]

It had been three weeks since she went to the Last Chance Saloon and she would admit, to herself, that it was on purpose. She wasn’t sure what to make of Chase. Something told her he was a dangerous man and dangerous men rarely lived long in the West. Still, she had to subconsciously confess that the man did make her heart beat a little faster. Okay, a whole lot faster. She felt drawn to him, like, a moth to a flame and the end result, if she wasn’t careful, was going to be exactly the same. The last thing she needed was a scorched ass.

Chase was a fine figure of a man. She saw how the women at the saloon fawned or rather, panted over him. However, she looked him straight in the eyes before. Those eyes haunted her. At first, she didn’t understand why. Giving it some thought, she had come to the conclusion that his eyes were empty. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and she wondered if that meant he had no soul. A walking, talking, handsome dead man. Life was rough in the West. Most of the time, you couldn’t count on the law to handle something because there were so little law men around. Sometimes, you meted out justice yourself and the justification of your actions was between you and your god. Whatever or whoever Chase was, had little bearing on what she felt. Okay, let’s get real here, it had little bearing on how her loins felt. Of course, there was also Steven to be considered. However, if Sara felt like this around Chase, she knew her feelings for Steven were little more than friendship and when he returned, she’d have to set things right between them.

The following day was hotter than a frying pan frying up frog legs as Sara harvested her corn. She had to stop multiple times to wipe the sweat from her brow and drink some water. By mid-afternoon, water wasn’t cutting it and having finished getting her corn into the cribs, Sara went down to the stream to jump in. The water was refreshingly, shockingly, cold on her heated skin. She took the opportunity to wash her hair as well as herself before climbing out and heading back into her house to change clothes. After that, she was getting her horse ready for a ride to the Last Chance Saloon. Chase be damned. She wanted a whiskey. Even though the cold water of her bath helped, Sara’s muscles were screaming at her. Besides, she was going to mosey on over to see Miss Vivian a little later just to check on things there or so she told herself.

The roads were dusty and the sun was hot. Sara had never been more glad to see the Last Chance. Tying off her horse, she went inside and strode up to the bar, telling the keep she wanted a whiskey and leave the bottle. She had her back to the room when she heard the doors swing open and felt a dangerous tingle slide down her spine and she silently cursed. He strode up to the bar, his spurs jingling against the wooden floor. Sara didn’t acknowledge him as he came to stand beside her and ordered a whiskey in his deep, raspy, baritone voice. Sara could hear the piano playing, the women in the room laughing with the men on whom they sat. She could hear the loud thumping of her own heart. She heard his glass touch the bar top as he finished his whiskey and she could swear she even heard him breathing next to her.

“Afternoon, Sara.”

She took her time responding, finishing her current drink and setting the whiskey glass on the bar next to his before she turned her eyes upon him, inclining her head.

“Afternoon, Chase.”

“You want to share that bottle of yours?”

“I don’t mind.”

She let out a surprised squeal as Chase swooped down, threw her over his shoulder, snagging up the bottle of whiskey before heading up the stairs.

“Chase! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She yelled at him as she beat on his lower back while her head bobbed up and down from her position over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.

 

[JackHemingway]

PART I

Cyril Emmett Reinamer learned the value of hard work, the importance of bravery, and what greed could do to a man at a young age. However, Cyril didn't garner any of the usual lessons from his military experience in his late teens. During one of the many conflicts with Confederate raiders, the 11th Missouri Light Infantry, also known as the St. Louis Volunteers, was a Union military unit formed primarily from volunteers in St. Louis, Missouri. The unit played a vital role in various campaigns and battles throughout the war, serving with distinction and valor. While that's what the papers and unit history read, the reality was different for the young man.

Leaving home with the community's blessings, a sweetheart's promise, and dreams of grandeur, Cyril's two years in the war were a harsh reality check. The days were filled with relentless fighting, building earthworks, and guarding supplies. It was a monotonous routine, broken only by moments of sheer terror and the heart-wrenching loss of friends. Yet, Cyril's unwavering resilience in such adversity was truly inspiring, a testament to the human spirit's ability to endure.

Cyril and his unit returned to St. Louis when the war ended, but the homecoming was far from joyous. His sweetheart, having heard nothing from him, had moved on. His father's demise had left his mother in debt, and to add to his woes, his unit was called back to quell an Indian rebellion. The year spent on the western frontier was a painful ordeal, and even his bravery was no solace.

Discharged from the service, Cyril Emmett Reinamer showed a new side when he had the opportunity to hustle. Overstocked with supplies and needing more storage, Cyril heard a supply officer complain that things would be easier if some of the stock disappeared, and he seized the opportunity. He filled a wagon with supplies and went home, selling what he could. He often traded for food and feed for his horses, but he learned how to make a living trading. Cyril's resourcefulness in making the most of his situation and his ability to turn a problem into an opportunity was truly impressive.

Once home, Cyril had money to help his mother and took a job at a local store. However, living a mundane life wasn't for him, so he left the city behind and headed to the frontier. While most were willing to make a living prospecting, farming, or hunting, Cyril had no intention of getting his hands dirty if he could help it. So, he looked to profit from the hard work of others without exploiting them, which he despised. Even in the face of temptation, Cyril's unwavering commitment to his values and his refusal to compromise his integrity were genuinely admirable; at least, he thought so.

So when there was news of a gold rush, he was there with brand new tools to sell. If an excellent buffalo herd was reported, he was there with long rifles and ammunition. He traded coffee and tobacco to cowboys for cattle, then sold the cattle to the slaughterhouse and walked away with steaks to trade for whiskey with the local saloon. Cyril would play cards with railroad workers and get tipped off about unclaimed cargo for sale and free tickets for those who couldn't pay up.

 

[JackHemingway]

PART II

All this hustling kept Cyril Emmett Reinamer in fine clothes and comfortable lodging, though he found keeping a fixed address wasn't advisable. Some didn't appreciate losing at cards, even in a fair game; some felt they didn't get a good deal, and some thought they could take what they wanted with brute force. He'd learned to be a light sleeper, keep a gun ready, and always pay extra in advance if he might need to leave a hotel in the middle of the night.

Right now, things were going as smoothly as possible as Cyril brokered several deals, including supplies for the local fort over the winter, a timber deal with the railroad, and local farmers. A consignment of alluring undergarments practically sold out at the local brothel, and he'd cannibalized his empty wagons for parts that he sold off. He'd made a deal for a room, food, and drink at the Last Chance Saloon.

Cyril worked for the Last Chance Saloon crowd, sharing stories, offering advice, and running a few friendly poker games for the house. He kept his remaining stock in his room, and during the off-hours, he set himself up at a table to sell it or make trades. His excellent reputation brought customers in, and they were more likely to buy a drink and a meal. Even when he visited the Blue Moon for breakfast, the one meal the saloon didn't serve, he talked the place up and even got a few customers.

Today was a little slow, though, he thought, as he sat at the table piled high with his stock and played around with a deck of cards. On his left side were a bunch of Indian-made crafts, including blankets that travelers often purchased, and on his right, a selection of books, mostly dime store novels, that most enjoyed. Today was about finding the right customer, and all Cyril had to do was wait.

Among the books was a five-volume leather bond set that mostly chronicled the adventures of Jackson Graham. A celebrated and well-known gunfighter, adventurer, and explorer, he'd met the man in South Pass when he stayed at the White Buffalo Hotel. They worked out a deal over drinks at the bar, and the man happily signed each particular book for him. It was a four-volume set, but the fifth book was a story penned by Jackson himself about another adventurer.

Cyril hadn't heard of Aaron "Ranger" Gray, but Jackson said it was a good story, and a collector would be interested if he included it in the set. What Cyril had yet to learn about, though, was that Aaron Gray was one of the characters created by Jack and Sara years ago for a Western Trails forum writing contest. The story wasn't submitted on time, so it stayed between the two friends. They planned to work on it and resubmit it next year, but Jack disappeared. Besides Jack, only one other person would recognize the story of Aaron Gray.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

Chase remained silent as he climbed the stairs, stopping in front of a closed door and kicking it open. He strode across the room and dumped her, unceremoniously, on the bed, where she bounced and sat up, glaring at his back as he turned to close and lock the door. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she glared at him as he strode back to the bed, took a swig of whiskey from the bottle before setting it down on the small table beside the bed.

“What am I doing?” his rough voice held a glimmer of humor, “I thought that might be obvious by now, Sara. I’m going to spend the afternoon fucking you.”

For some reason, not only did her heart rate increase but his words infuriated her. She started to climb off the bed only to be tossed back on it before her feet could hit the floor.

“If you want to walk out of here later with something to wear, I suggest you get out of your clothes yourself.”

Again, that slight hint of humor in his voice continued to irritate her.

“I don’t know who you think you are, Chase or what you think I want, but I’m leaving.”

Again, she tried to get off his bed only this time, not only did he push her back to lie flat on her back but he followed her down, covering her body with his. Even though she had this innate sense that Chase wouldn’t hurt her and certainly not the way Henry had, it still made her fight him. Her fists went flying. Chase gave a bark of laughter and caught both her wrists in one hand, hauling her arms over her head as his mouth found the side of her neck. The warmth of his breath on her skin made her moan even as it sent delicious shivers of wanting deep into her body. At the same time, she felt a wave of panic rush through her, causing her to fight him.

“What the hell?” Chase muttered as he lifted his head to regard her seriously.

He could see the panic clouding her eyes, feel it course throughout her body. Something was wrong.

“Sara!” His voice held the strength to command and it cleared her eyes, but she was still panting as her body went still.

“Sara, what’s the hell is wrong?”

Chase had a good idea. He had been around a lot of women. He eased his body slightly off hers.

“Henry,” she panted, trying to draw a deep breath.

“Who the fuck is Henry and what did he do to you?”

Chase still held her arms over her head but his grip eased up.

“Do I have to kill him for you?”

He said it humorously, but his eyes had taken on a deadly glint.

“No,” her eyes softened, “he’s already dead. Indians, apparently.”

“Good. Saves me the trouble.”

“Now, tell me.”

Chase took both of her wrists in one hand, using his currently free one to start unbuttoning her shirt.

“I’m waiting,” he said gently, lowering his lips to her freshly exposed skin.

“I was kidnapped from the Indian village I was living in and dumped outside of River Gulch. Two prospectors found me and took me in. One of them, Henr---”

Her voice faltered as Chase undid more buttons, exposing the swell of her breasts to his eyes. His lips traced over the swell of each breast, leaving, much to her surprise, a trail of fire in their wake.

Chase lifted his head and looked at her.

“I don’t know what that asshole did to you, but I can guess. I’m not him, Sara. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know that Chase but I can’t stop my body’s reaction… “

Having opened her shirt completely, he pushed the edges away from her chest. He mouthed her nipples through the material of her bra and shifted his body back over hers.

“Feel me, Sara.”

He released her wrists and tugged the bra down, exposing her uplifted breasts to his eyes. His hand claimed one breast, cupping it as his lips parted, sucking a nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. Instantly, Sara’s nipple hardened. She softly moaned, arching up into his mouth as his tongue swirled around the now hardened pebble.

“Chase…”

Her fingers found the back of his head, lacing into the thickness of his hair, holding his head to her. Her voice was laced with need and wanting. It had been so long since she had felt need and desire, brought on by a man, course through her body.

“Yes, Sara.”

His nimble hands removed her bra and shirt. They were working on her pants next. Sara’s body was coming alive again under his tutelage. His fingers snaked down until they slipped through dampened curls, parting her pussy lips. They found and rubbed her clit, rolling over it until her hips pushed upward with an unspoken plea. Chase’s clothes had fallen away and she felt his knees insistent against her own, pushing them apart. She knew a moment of panic as she felt the head of his cock press against her pussy lips and there it stopped.

“Sara, look at me.”

The soft command of his voice was heard and her eyes opened to stare into his hypnotically. Then and only then did she feel him enter her body.

“I want you to know this is me, Sara.”

His eyes held hers as he sunk into her body. His hands slid to her thighs, drawing them up and pushing back toward her body as he began to move inside her. Her hands grasped at his upper arms. A soft sound escaped her as he began to fuck her in earnest. Sara could feel the heat and pressure building inside her as her body responded to Chase’s.

Chase could feel his release ripple through his body and along the length of his rigid cock. He pumped himself into Sara’s body again and again until with one last thrust, held himself against her, filling her pussy with his seed. Chase collapsed against her, breathing hard. Sara’s breath wasn’t much better. For a while, the only sound in the room was their harsh breathing. Then Sara began to laugh in pure joy.

“What the hell?”

Chase lifted his head to stare at her, like she was a crazy woman.

 

[JackHemingway]

Northwest of the relatively new town of South Pass was another blooming settlement named Widecross. Now, dozens of teepees surrounded the handful of permanent structures that made up the center of the town. The town square consisted of a saloon, general store, trading post, and pony express office. These simple structures meant there was commerce, mail service, and a place to drink—just the basics but enough to put it on the map, and Jackson Graham was stuck there for the foreseeable future.

Jackson looked out the window of The Great Antlers Saloon as snow piled up on the streets and nearby rooves. Jackson drank a few more mouthfuls of beer in his buffalo hide coat and shook his head. He'd long gotten used to the idea that no snow plows would be coming to clear the streets, and he'd be lucky if the weather broke before spring. His trip was only supposed to be a short visit before returning to South Pass for the holidays. Still, the weather took an intense turn very quickly, a stark reminder of the unpredictability of frontier life.

The situation could be much worse, and he'd found lodging with an old friend named Lonnie Frye. The mountain man and trapper was a friendly sort who lived in a small cabin in town packed to the walls with supplies, hides, and a collection of friendly hunting dogs. Lonnie was a good cook, and they played cards and talked in front of the fire most days when they weren't doing chores. The town's sense of community was palpable as, almost daily, someone came by to make a trade and would stay for a bit. Jackson had brought enough supplies, and Lonnie said he was welcome until spring and was especially happy about the coffee.

Today, though, Jackson broke with routine and delivered a young hunting dog to one of the Sioux in the community, who'd already traded Lonnie some tobacco and a few other items. He'd met the man around lunch and stayed for the conversation, drinks, and a few card games with the handful of other locals who'd broken the winter monotony with a visit to the saloon. While he could have made it back, it was easier to pay for a bedroll and a place by the fire, and he was looking forward to a change in supper. You could only do biscuits and stew so many days in a row, even if it were good.

Cowboy Eli Edwards sang and played his guitar as he worked his way through the standards. Bartender Guy Hutchinson amused a few at the bar with card tricks and by serving the drinks by flipping glasses and bottles before making perfect pours. From time to time, you'd hear the moans of Lola Avery, the resident prostitute who'd set up business in one of the back rooms. Jackson was sure a few of her customers were trying to keep warm and paid extra for additional blankets. William "Dawn Rider" Johnson, the last express rider to make it before the storm, shared the latest news from the trails and South Pass.

A few mugs of beer later, Jackson looked away from the window when Lin Shui approached his table and said in broken English, "Supper, Mr. Graham, soup with noodles, then I bring chicken and rice. That good?"

Jackson nodded as she placed the bowl in front of him and smiled. "That sounds delicious, honey. Your parents are excellent cooks. I think I'll be around for breakfast tomorrow too."

"Oh good, I'll return your book tomorrow."

"No rush, dear. I'll be stuck here for a few more weeks."