A Town Called Jade

Plot

The year is 1867. With the end of the Civil War, many have returned to their lives in the States back east, but not you. You're headed for the Frontier, determined to make something more for yourself in the West, whether that be fame, fortune or anything else in between. Maybe you lived out here before the war and are simply returning home, maybe you're starting over. Whatever the case may be, you've found yourself in a town called Jade. Gambling, murder and drinking all but fill the town and maybe you're just fine with that.... or maybe you aren't.

Occupations

Sheriff [taken]
Deputy [NPC] (Up for grabs)
Marshal
Bartender/ Barkeep [taken]
Doctor [taken]
Banker
Saddler
Tanner
General Store Manager [taken]
General Store Clerk [taken]
Blacksmith
Gunsmith [taken]
Ranch Hand/ Cowboy [3] (More available)
Apache [1] (More available)
Navajo [1] (More available)
Tohono O'odham
Freelance Bandit [2] (More available)
Hartigan Ganger
Hartigan Gang Leader [taken]


The Law

Spoiler

If you don't like what you seen when you walk down the street, maybe a place as the Sheriff or his Deputy is your calling. Mind you, the last few sheriffs in Jade weren't in town long before they either got run off or worse, killed. The new Sheriff, Jebediah Brown, took care not to get on the bad side of certain shady folk and some say he's even in cahoots, but rumors will be rumors- It'll be up to some kind of curly wolf to sort out the law in Jade.

Then there's the Marshall. Marshals don't oft get involved in town matters unless they're called upon as they oversee the whole county, especially given Jade's reputation with short-term lawmen. There's a new Marshal in town now though, set up an office just outside of Jade. Maybe they're brave or just plain stupid, but one thing is for sure- This Marshal is different.

The Professionals

Spoiler

Say gunfighting and brawling aren't your favorite or your best skills. Maybe you set up shop in Jade to make an honest (or not so honest living). Saloons are just about guaranteed to make a buck at the end of the day in Blackhill County, Jade in particular, and a Barkeep is sure to do just fine what with prospectors and all manner of folk looking to raise a glass after a long day.

Say booze isn't your calling either- Plenty of room for the Ranch hands. Jade is surrounded for miles and miles of good grazing land, and there's always cattle to be tended.

Maybe a life on the trails just isn't your style- Blackhill County always has a place for more Doctors. Gunshot and stab wounds are commonplace in Jade and someone to tend these poor people would be a fast and easy addition to the town.

Of course, everyone needs food and supplies out on the Frontier- Maybe you set yourself up as General Store Manager. Of course, as the owner of a general store, you're sure to have brought money from back east, in which case you could open a Bank. Folk always need a place for their money, and there are worse ways to make money than a Banker. Maybe you're a Clerk at the store. Not the best paying, but it's good steady work and someone's got to do it.

Maybe you're good with your hands. The Blacksmith just left town after yet another robbery, so the job's as good as yours if you've got the skills and means to protect what's yours. Tools and knives always need some upkeep too, so you're sure to make a good living. No way in or out of Jade without a horse unless you're aiming to dry up in the desert without a horse, and horses need shoes. Speaking of horses, the Saddler is probably the busiest man (or woman) in town. What with saddles needing fixing, or new people coming in with requests, the saddler is guaranteed a steady and heavy income. If your speed is more along smaller leatherwork, you've probably got what it takes to set up as the new Tanner. Just about everyone in Blackhill County has a gun, and not just anyone can whip up a decent holster. Boots are always in constant demand as well, so you're sure to make a pretty penny along the way.

On the topic of guns, the Gunsmith knows everybody in some fashion or other. Whether a cowboy is looking for a rifle, a farmer for a shotgun or a sheriff for a pistol, the gunsmith is their man (or woman!).

The Outlaws

Spoiler

Not much introduction is needed here- Blackhill County is home to some of the roughest, toughest and meanest guys and gals in the West. Whether they're train robbers, stagecoach holders or all-around banditos, Outlaws are hard to miss in Jade. For the more inquisitive folk, the ones to look out for would be the Hartigan Gang, and their mysterious Leader. Legend has it that the man (or woman) once took on the US Army with their gang and lived to tell the tale, even sending the Yankees running for the hills. It should be mentioned though that legends are really just that- though they say every legend is based somewhere in truth....

The Natives

Spoiler

The Frontier is a dangerous place, and not just for settlers. The Apache, Navajo, and Tohono O'odham have been in these parts for generations. Some believe that the white men and women are invaders to be pushed out, others push for agreements and treaties. Ultimately, it is up to the individuals and their tribes to determine what they will do in future.

Character Profile

Spoiler

CodeSelect all

Select All
[b]Name[/b]:
[b]Age[/b]: (above 15 please)
[b]Gender[/b]:
[b]Appearance[/b]: (If picture is included, please describe again here)
[b]Personality[/b]:
[b]History[/b]:
[b]Weapons[/b]: (not required)
[b]Special skills[/b]: (Skills that relate outside of chosen occupation)
[b]Occupation[/b]:
[b]UFR?[/b]:

Rules

Spoiler

No God modding
No Mary Sues
No killing off characters or injuring other characters without permission from the character's owner
This is the Wild West, so there certainly be cussing, just don't go too overboard.
Romance is allowed, please leave it at kissing.
Gore is allowed, but again, don't go crazy with it.
Please message me regarding the occupation you would prefer. Obviously, there can only be one Sheriff once Brown has been removed from his post, and preferably there will be only two deputies (possible exception- PM me)

Willa Montgomery

The early morning summer sun was blazing across on the rigid brown gravel as I rode through the barren Western countryside. There was no life for a few more silent miles, but somehow I could still feel the rush and noises of people. The rush and noises of home. I have been traveling for 12 weeks and the soles of my boots are bare, and the skin on my cheeks is freckled and tanned. My father's old riding hat is the only thing that keeps the skin on my face attached anymore it seems. I’ve always hated the dust. No matter how long or how hard I scrubbed, it never seemed to come off. Even living in Philadelphia for two years I still found myself in moments of scrubbing the dull layer of dust from my cheeks. Maybe it was all in my head...or perhaps maybe it's running through my veins.

Beneath me, my stallion Bleu breathes heavily as he gallops leaving behind a large cloud of dust. For as long as I could sit on a saddle without falling off, Bleu and I have been inseparable. My father once told me that he had never seen a horse and its rider move so fluidly as one. Then again, he might have only told me that to please my 11 year old self, but I still tell myself it's true. We trust each other, and we look out for each other. In a lonely world without brothers or sisters, a horse can really become your family.


Over half a day's journey has led to this. The scenic picture of an old town known as Jade. From far away it looks like any other ghost town out here in the west, but inside you see the workings of a town with spirit. A town with everything a city doesn’t have. I didn’t expect to be home so soon, but I always felt like there was a force pulling me back to Jade. That force just needed a letter to push me home faster. As I rode into town I was shocked to see not much had changed, but at the same time everything had changed. At the center of town stood the bar that I called home. I wasn’t a drunk...I just lived upstairs.

In a quick fluid motion I dismounted from Bleu. His breath was still wild with exhilaration, but he was happy to rest. I tied him to the old horse post letting him stop to take a well deserved drink of water below. I smiled as my eyes caught on the old badly written initials carved into the side of the post.

W.R.M

Taking those first steps back into the bar felt oddly heavy. My boots clunked against the old wooden floorboards, and the creak of the door sent a comforting warmth down my spine. I heard footsteps come from the other side of the room. My mother looked so much older then when I last saw her. She looked tired and worn out, but there was still that contagious light behind her eyes. She was distracted cleaning a small glass cup.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t open for another hour or so. Besides, drinking this early in the day…” I chuckled at her familiar motherly tone she used with everyone. She was the town mother pretty much. She looked up from her cleaning shocked. Almost as if she was too afraid to look away at the chance I might disappear. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Willa? You’re- You’re home!” She rushed to me clutching me in her strong embrace. I smiled, tears falling from my eyes as I pushed my face into the crook of her neck. She still smells the way she used to. Like fresh cotton. She pulled away grabbing my face with her two calloused hands.

“Hi momma.” I say smiling brighter. She wipes my tears away and hugs me again.

“Oh my girl...my beautiful, beautiful girl.” This time she pulls away and walks back over to the bar. “Tonight we celebrate! I am going to make your favorite. I was headed to the general store anyways. Oh wait until Loretta hears you’re home. She will be pleased. Go up and visit your father. I know he’ll be so happy to see you. I am so so happy happy you’re home. I love you.” She walks past me giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek. You could always count on my mother to keep moving.

Making my way through the door behind the bar towards the spiral staircase leading up to the apartment was like turning into a kid again. Something about seeing my father was so scary, and so exciting at the same time.

Ever since I heard he was sick there has been a soft pain in my gut. How could something like this happen to a man like him? When I enter the room he looks up from his newspaper as though he was completely fine. He looked completely normal, but it was the dark shade under his eyes and the clammy paleness of his skin that proved otherwise. He stood on his feet and stumbled a moment. He did his best to limp to me, and wrapped his arms around me tightly. I hugged him back gently. His body felt so fragile.

“It's so good to have you home!” He pulls away coughing violently into his sleeve. He turns back to me unfazed. “I'm sorry. How was your trip?”

“Warm.” I said. He smiled. I grabbed his arm, and slowly helped him back over to his chair. “How are you?”

“Just chipper! I have been catching up a lot on the news of the country lately. It's crazy how everything is being built back up again.” He coughs again. “Let's just hope we can fill the grave we dug for ourselves before anyone else falls into it.”

“I agree. Is there anything I can get you before we begin catching up. I know you always liked long stories.” He chuckles slightly leading into another coughing fit.

“I’ll take a jug of water, and a few biscuits.” His voice is hoarse, but he smiles again brightly. “I cannot wait to hear about your journey since we received your last letter. It's so much nicer to hear your voice and to see your smile. You only get so much from a dusty letter.”

“Alright. I will be back in just a second.” I make my way down the spiral staircase nearly knocking into a young man in the process. After a moment of shock at the man's handsome features I look at him suspiciously. I place a hand to my hip where my pistol lays hidden beneath a bit of the fabric on my skirt. “Can I help you sir? I don't know if you know this but the bar is that way. Not up these stairs.” He pulls off his hat, and places it to his heart like he is making some kind of oath.

“Oh-Oh I'm very sorry miss. I was just looking for a resident of the bar. I'm back in town for the first time in awhile you see, and I was hoping someone could help me figure some things out. The woman at the general store directed me here…uh she said the
Montgomery's were fine folks that would be the best help.” Letting my guard down slightly I slowly remove my hand from my hip, and place it on the man's shoulder. He slightly blushes as he looks at my hand.

“I don't mean to be so forward mister, but why don't I get you a drink?” I push his shoulder backward turning him around. I turn my head towards the upstairs. “Hey daddy I'm gonna be awhile. Hang tight.” I hear him mumble a joke and I smile. With a small shove I direct the stranger down the stairs back towards the main room. I don't stop pushing him until he finds himself a nice comfortable seat at the counter. I find my behind the counter in front of him instantly feeling my way back into the element I once knew so well. I pour him a cup of water and slide it across the counter.

“Thank you miss.” He looks down at the drink and lifts it slightly like a cheers. He chugs a bit and smiles slightly.

“Now why don't you do me a favor, and start off by telling me your name?” He look up at me with a smile.

“Well-”

Mingan sighed as he stopped outside the town of Jade. Though he was a resident of the town, he did not live in the city limits. According to the general store owner, 'he made people nervous.' His well tanned skin and long black hair giving him a very native look, not to mention the buffalo skin clothing that he wore. His bright blue eyes, were a divert of the 'savage blood' (another statement from the general store owner) showing the white man blood that ran through his veins.

"Easy," he said to the horse beside him. It was currently bearing the spoils of the hunt. A few coyotes, that had been terrorizing the chickens, and a good size boar being dragged along on a make shift sled. "Hopefully there won't be any issues this time." His hand reached down to his hip, where the tomahawk rested, pushed through his belt. The long knife sat opposite in its sheath for quick access. Before continuing his trek into the town of Jade, Mingan adjusted the strap of the rifle on his shoulder. The rifle was seen as something out of place, much like him. A thirty-four inch octagonal shaped barrel and a Vernier sight.

Walking into town, he could feel the eyes on him. He was an outsider, despite his time living and working in this very town. He could see the stable that he had helped raise on the far side, and yet he was still seen as a savage. He stopped at the fur trader and stepped in with the two coyotes. Placing them on the counter the trader looked them over carefully before saying something in Apache. "If I wasn't aware that your Apache was crap and I were a little more savage, I would have scalped you for that comment."

"I do apologize for any offense," The trader remarked before speaking in English. "Five dollars for both."

Mingan frowned. "I may be half Indian, but I am not an idiot. The going price for Coyote fur is five a piece," Mingan growled.

"I'm giving you a fair deal. I'm not offering you beads or fire water. Five for both is the best you will get as an Indian. Don't like it? Take your furs elsewhere."

Mingan grit his teeth as he took the carcasses of the counter and returned to his horse. The painted mare waiting impatiently for him. "Sorry, girl. Looks like I won't have any to get you those apple chips." Setting the coyotes on the equines back, he began a trip to the bar. Tying his horse to the post, he grabbed the jug from the saddlebag and headed inside. He didn't recognize the horse that was tied there next to his mare. He guessed someone was passing through.

Stepping inside he let his eyes adjust a bit to the darker bar, before setting his eyes on the woman at the bar. She didn't look familiar but it seemed a little odd that a bartender like her was dressed like she had just come off the road. Stepping up he set the jug down gently. "Excuse me for interrupting," he said in perfect English, only a hint of accent was pulled into his words. "I have a delivery for Samuel Montgomery."

Jake Harmon

"Hey Sheriff!" A voice came from outside. "Sheriff!"
Jake was on his feet in a second, with his rifle in hand. He threw the door open, only to see an all-too familiar face. Jake glared disgustedly at the man in front of his door. "Gus, if you come screamin' to my door one more time, just to tell me Ol' Blue's drunk again, then I swear I'll lock you up for disturbin' the peace!"
"It ain't that," the short, scrawny figure didn't bother to stand up straight when talking to the sheriff. Instead he slouched, causing Jake to become even more annoyed with him. "It ain't that. There's an Injun jus rode into town! I seed 'im with my own eyes! He's big, and carries a big gun, and has a bunch 'o scalps hung over his hos." Gus loved to stir things up, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Jake however, was not amused. Not in the least.
"Gus, I saw him already. And those weren't scalps, you infernal idiot, they're coyote pelts!"
Gus stood there, seeing that his plan to stir up trouble hadn't worked. "Uhh, well it looked to me..."
"Gus, half the time you walk around cross-eyed so don't tell me what "it looked like to you". You know you're trying to cause a fight. Now I want you off my porch in three seconds, or I'll knock the daylights out of you! GIT!"
Gus didn't say anything, just jumped backwards about three feet. "Alrighty then! Jus tryin' 't protect the town an' all." Gus raised his hands in defense and backed away.
"Stupid troublemaker." thought Jake, "Always trying to stir folks up." Jake went back into his office and slammed the door behind him. The Indian, Apache to be exact, was definitely not the kind to cause trouble. Jake didn't like the way some of the Natives were treated, "But you can't be everywhere at once." Jake set his gun on the desk in front of him and ran his finger along the intricate design on the stock. He was standing again in a minute, headed out the door. He grunted as he grabbed his hat off the rack.
"Rudy! Rudy, I'm goin' for a drink. Watch the place while I'm gone."

Constance Ellen Black

Constance smirked as she walked down the dusty boardwalk towards the saloon, people clearing out of her way and looking anywhere but at her. Sometimes she enjoyed the feeling, the respect and fear that her simple presence commanded, but sometimes she hated it. [Why are they afraid of me?/i] She would think. [i]I haven't done anything to them, only to the people who've wronged me.... Of course, she wouldn't hesitate to gun down any one of the worried faces that shied away from her gaze if they were to annoy her. That's not the point... How would they know I might kill them for looking at me sideways? She pauses in her thoughts and chuckles. Because you've done it before. Luckily, today was one of the days when she enjoyed the feeling.

The black-clad outlaw kicks the swinging doors to the saloon open and moves to the bar, sizing up the few people already inside. There's a girl behind the bar that Connie doesn't recognize. As long as she knows her way around those bottles... She saunters over and takes a stool, offering just a simple nod to the intimidating man with long black hair and wearing buffalo-skin clothing. "Just give me a shot of the good stuff."

Constance usually didn't do much drinking, but today had been a long and hard one, so she felt she deserved some sort of pleasure. The bartender looked over at her before the swinging doors are pushed open a second time. Connie looks over with a bored expression on her face to see who the new patron might be, but her eyes widen ever-so-slightly at the gleaming metal pinned to the man's shirt. So this is the new sheriff....

BEAU


"Oi!! Jep!! Go wake up the Yank!" I shouted, glancing at the new herd of mustangs we had just gotten earlier morning. Jep let out a rebel yell, and ran off to the bunkhouse, to wake up our newest recruit. I glanced at my brother Elias. He grinned at me, as he grabbed a lasso, and mounted his horse.

"Which one we gettin first boss?" Carlisle asked curiously, glancing curiously at the half dozen horses restlessly running around the corral." Let's start with that paint." I said." The sister wants a new horse." Carlisle whooped." New hoss for Miss Ashley!" The rest of the cow hands whooped and cheered.

My sister was a very loved member of the ranch. She was almost like a sister to each man who worked here, having earned her place at the table after knocking out Jep in once punch when he tried to get a feel. We would all die before anything happened.

I opened the gate, allowing Elias into the corral, as he edged his horse closer to the paint who started getting skittish, and neighing nervously. She made a cut to the left, with Elias's lasso missing her by inches. The cow hands began to whoop and shout as Elias brought his lasso in for another try.

"Go get her Elias!" Jep yelled, spitting tobacco. The boys all yelled at Elias when he missed again. He made a face as he finally managed to get his lasso around the paint, who started to squeal and buck." Hold her tight brother!" I shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

Just than my father rode up with a dozen boys. I turned to him as the boys quieted down a little. Elias fought to keep the paint close to him. My father looked at Elias, and the herd, than turned to me." Beau, I need you to take some men into town with the wagon. Your sister insists on needing a new dress, and also those brand new Winchesters I ordered are supposed to come in today on the train. Take about 10. I don't like Jebidiah Brown at all, and he may try to stop you from taking those rifles. Don't let him bully you boy. Put a bullet in him if you want. I'm up to the north range to check on those beef."

With a tip of his hat, he rode off, followed by his men. With a grin, I turned to Elias." Keep working with the horse brother." I turned to Jep, who also happened to be in my regiment during the war." Round em up Jep. Times is a wasting." Jep let out a whoop than yelled." Mount up boys!"

The Jackson ranch hands all ran for their horses and gear as I walked to the barn to get the wagon and horses hitched. I was approached by Woodrow, who was putting on his hat and gun belt." Hey Yank! Quit sleeping in or your off the ranch!" I said forcefully." He nodded at me, and straitened himself.

I glared at him for a second, before speaking." Anyways, we're heading into town today to pick up a shipment of rifles. We might be getting some trouble from Mr. Brown, but best be prepared. Anyways, my sister needs a new dress, so take the wagon and escort her around town. Someone touches my sister, I'll hold you responsible." Woodrow nodded, and began preparing the wagon, as I went to saddle my horse.

Eventually, when everyone was ready, we began the 5 mile trek into town, a loose circle around the wagon, keeping an eye on the horizon. The Jackson land was pretty safe, but Indians could pop out of no where, and there were bandits to worry about. But my boys were all seasoned fighters, and we could hold our own.


ELIAS

Eventually, I had the paint panting in the sun as I got off of her back. I turned to Bobby, our blacksmith. "Think she's ready for shoes?" I asked. Bobby laughed." Boy, this is only day one. Work her out a couple more weeks, than we'll put some shoes on her." I nodded, heading back to the house to clean up. I paused by the piano, glancing down at it, running my hands softly over the keys. My mom had always been a piano lover, and my father had it brought out from New York City for her. How the house used to light up with her music. And than, the fever had hit the territory. My mother didn't survive it. I had offered to sell it off, but my father wanted it here. Said he had gone to to much work to bring it out here, but I guessed it had a sentimental value to him. I had learned to play, from Ash, who was an avid player as well. Sometimes I could see father watching her play. She did look a lot like Ma. Dark red hair, porcelain skin. Bright green eyes. She was a beauty.

And I would die for her. So would everyone on this ranch. The Silver J was a refuge for soldiers of the losing side. A place to call home and work. And they did it with their all. My brother had about a dozen men from his old regiment, and their loyalty to him was amazing. I had considered joining, even offered a place as Aide-de-camp to General Lee, a personal friend of my fathers. As well as General Grant. My pa new everyone.

Shaking my head to clear the memories, to the kitchen, grabbing a sausage from breakfast, before heading out to the corral to check on the horses. The men had all but abandoned the main part of the ranch, going about their job around the range. 10 men always followed my father around, and other 20 were usually in various parts of the range. 10 had gone with my brother. That left 11. And this didn't include our blacksmith or cooks. A couple men were chatting in the shade when they pointed behind me. I turned around as a lone buggy approached the ranch. Carlisle walked up.

"Are we supposed to expect anyone?" He asked curiously. I shrugged." Not that I know of. But it might be important." I said. I began my walk up to the buggy as it became quite clear who was in it. Carlisle began chuckling to himself." I'll let you handle this one Elias." He said, hiding his laughter behind his mustache.
Plastering a smile onto my face, I approached the buggy.

The Reverend Timothy Brown. And his beautiful but... Annoying daughter Abigail. I raised my hand in greeting." Top of the morning Reverend!" I greeted. He smiled thinly at me, his rattish eyes already searching for my brother. It was common knowledge that he wanted to marry his daughter to my brother. Beau was going to be one of the richest men in the territory after my father passed. But that wouldn't be for a while.

The Reverend cleared his throat." I didn't see you at church on Sunday Elias. Or your brother." He accused mildly. I rolled my eyes. My brother and I avoided church... Because of him." Sorry Reverend. I'm sure God can forgive me. We had to help a calf come into this world, from god's arms himself."Abigail cocked her head curiously.

I cleared my throat." I'm the only one here. Beau is headed to town with Ash to get some stuff, and Pa is up at the North Range looking after some beef." The Reverend did a quick once over the ranch, as the ranch hands tried to hide their laughter. He seemed almost certain Beau was hiding somewhere, as if to avoid the fury of God himself, manifested in the tiny Reverend. He sniffed, beginning to back up the buggy." Well, I certainly hope to see you at church this Sunday Mr. Elias. Everyone needs God, especially out here in the wilderness. Abigail winked at me flirtatiously. I ripped my hat at the two as he began to leave the ranch. I walked back to Carlisle who was chuckling to himself." You know, I think Beau wouldn't hesitate to marry Miss Abigail. She a down right beauty." He said. I let out a laugh." It's her father he's scared of I think. That reverend is an interesting man."

"Interesting is an under statement." Mickey said. Mickey was our youngest ranch hand, only 16. He was a war orphan, so of course my father had given him a job. He was an eager and hard worker, and everyone liked him. I feigned a punch at him. He leapt to the side like a coyote, dodging the punch... Right into Carlisle's headlock. We fooled with him before letting him go, and he was off like a roadrunner, before stopping at a safe distance and glaring at us. He brushed himself off and walked off. I grinned at Carlisle before heading back to the Mustangs who still needed to be worked on.

Henry HornMeyer

Henry arrived in town a few hours before dawn and it seemed that things hadn't changed much in Jade. The roads were still dirt and the buildings were as rickety as ever. If a place ever needed to be swept over and rebuilt, it was Jade, in Henry's opinion. Having gone to the general store and gotten a little information on where to go for a bit of help, he came into the bar.

At the moment it was empty, only a gentle breeze through the doors and the slow dawn welcomed him. His silhouette in the frame and a frown on his features. Pulling out his golden pocket watch. "Seems I'm a mite early," Henry muttered to himself. But progress did not have a closing time. It was there. Always open. Heading to the stairs at the back he began his ascension.

The sound of voices drew him steadily upwards until he bumped into a young woman coming down the stairs. The woman was covered in dust, likely from being on the road. She didn't seem happy that he was making his way up the stairs and her hand moved to her hip and the other giving him the obvious motion to stop.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked in a somewhat suspicious tone. "I don't know if you know this but the bar is that way. Not up these stairs."

Henry took off his hat, as was only appropriate when addressing a lady for the first time. “Oh-Oh I'm very sorry miss. I was just looking for a resident of the bar. I'm back in town for the first time in awhile you see, and I was hoping someone could help me figure some things out. The woman at the general store directed me here…uh she said the Montgomery's were fine folks that would be the best help.” She seems a little more at each and her hand moves from her hip to his shoulder. A small blush comes into his cheeks. Having a pretty woman put her hand on him was a rather rare occurrence and it sort of shocked him.

“I don't mean to be so forward mister, but why don't I get you a drink?” She pushes his shoulder backward, turning him around. She speaks to someone that is obviously up the stairs, and a muffled answer returns. Being pushed down the stairs until he is back around the bar and in a seat. She then pours a glass of water and slides it to him.

“Thank you miss.” Henry looks down at the drink and lifts it slightly like a cheers. He chugs a bit and smiles slightly.

“Now why don't you do me a favor, and start off by telling me your name?” He look up at me with a smile.

“Well, my name is Henry Hornmeyer. I'm a business man of sorts that is looking for some help with a piece of property that is nearby. I have a bit of a pest problem and I am looking for some help in running them off the land so that I can have some people start working the land and make it profitable. I understand that the Montgomery's know just about everyone in and around Jade. So I thought I would ask him who would be the best for the job."

At that moment, a dark tan skinned man came through the door. His hair a dark black and his eyes a bright blue. Most definitely an Indian. Dressed in buffalo skins and a long, rather dangerous looking, rifle on his shoulder. In one hand he carried a jug in his right hand and set it down. "Excuse me for interrupting," he said with perfect English, enough that it made Henry stare at him rather shocked. "I have a delivery for Samuel Montgomery." The Indian set the jug on the counter and before anyone could say anything more Henry was up and presenting his hand to shake.

"Nice to meet you there sir," Henry started off. The excitement in his body to strong to keep out of his voice. "I'm Henry, Henry Hornmeyer. I think you're just the guy I'm lookin' for to help me with a small errand."

Mingan

MIngan looked the man over, from his fancy hat to his polished boots and gathered that he must not originally be from Jade. He took Henry's hand and gave it a firm shake, something that only the white skinned people did, but in order for him to fit in, he learned the custom. "Mingan," he responded.

"Mingan," Henry said softly as he was thinking. "That's Apache isn't it?" The smile on Henry's face broadened. "Yes I think you're just the person I need to talk to about my little problem. With a rifle like that I think you could blow away my pest problem. Please come sit with me a moment."

Mingan could see that the man wasn't going to take no for an answer and gave a small nod. "I'll be right back," he said as he stepped away to a table that Henry had chosen and slung his rifle off his shoulder. He set it down, with a heavy thump, and leaned it against the table before taking his seat.

"Now Mr. Mingan, or is it just Mingan. I don't want to accidentally offend you," Henry began, quite civilly.

"Mingan is fine, how can I help you Mr. Hornmeyer?"

"Well you see, I have found out about a piece of land that has no claim to it and with a little development it could be a thriving community. Even larger than this town that were are currently in. There is only a small problem with pests. My contractors won't even consider building until the pest problem is taken care of."

"Alright you have stated your issue," Mingan said, "but what are you wanting me to do?"

"Quite simple really," Henry said, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. "With a rifle like that I bet you could pick those pests off at a nice safe distance."

"This rifle is sighted to shoot up to twelve hundred yards, though it can shoot a little farther."

"For your services, I'm wiling to pay you the finest plot of land available in this area, once we get development on the way. In addition to ten dollars a head."

Mingan looked at Henry like he was crazy. "Ten dollars a head for coyotes? Your sort of overselling it aren't you? Besides, you don't need a long rifle to deal with coyotes." Mingan realized that he had called himself a 'long rifle' instead of a 'sharp shooter' but it didn't seem to phase Henry much as he just continued on.

"It isn't exactly coyotes that I'm having trouble with. Something a little smarter and more cunning than coyotes."

"If it's bandits then you should have the sheriff or local rangers look into it."

"You closer, but these pests are quite enough to get the law involved." Mingan was thoroughly confused now. If it wasn't coyotes or bandits that Henry was needing taken care of, then what? "Let me tell you where this spot is. It's about a five day journey southwest by horseback on some of the best farming ground in those parts.

"Five days southwest?" Mingan repeated. Raking his mind with where that was exactly. The bandits were that far, and dealing with coyotes just needed someone that could shoot straight not from a long distance. Slowly realization sunk in and he stared at Henry in shock.

"I mean your tribe and there's have been fighting each other for years right? You'd be doing your tribe a favor. Just a small Comanche settlement and..." Henry didn't get to finish. He didn't notice that the more he talked, the angrier Mingan was getting.

Mingan suddenly lost it he snapped out, his fist hitting the well dressed man right in the nose. A small stream of blood trickling down his lip from his nose. Before Henry realized he had been hit, it happened again, making him tumble out of his chair. Mingan stood up and grabbed Henry by the back of his collar and quite literally threw him out of the swinging doors of the bar.

Henry's suit was covered in dirt and a few specks of blood from his nose as he rolled over and looked back at Mingan standing in the door of the bar. "That's what I think of your offer." Henry scrambled to his feet, holding his nose with one hand before hurrying away from the bar as fast as his jello legs could take him.

Mingan turned back into the bar and took a deep breath. Looking to the woman behind the counter he spoke in a controlled manner. "That jug has some medicine for Samuel Montgomery's cough. It from an Apache medicine man. I thought it might help." Mingan strode over to his rifle and pulled it on his shoulder. He gave a small nod and turned toward the door.

Minerva Eudora Vaughn

The coach rattled under her feet as it bounced over the bumpy roads. She clutched at her bags and drifted off into thought. Had her father seen all these places? Had he taken her mother out here on walks? Had her mother liked the town of Jade..?

Eudora sighed and looked at the picture she was holding, showing a mother, father and daughter. This old pictured stirred up a whirlpool of memories within her.
No. It would not do.

She put the picture back in her purse gently and straightened up. There would be no tears. Today was the day she’d start to make her fame.

Soon, the carriage driver knocked on the door.
“Last stop, Jade Town has been reached!” he cried out loudly. He needn’t have. She was the last person left anyways. She hopped off the carriage, thanked the driver and strolled into the little town, thanking God that she had worn her thinnest shirt and pants because it was pretty darn hot.

She put her hair down from its bun and shook it to ease the pain in her head from keeping her hair tied for so long and asked a nearby person for the directions to the doctor’s practice.

The doctor’s practice turned out to be the most beautifully placed area. It faced the General Store directly, and from its back windows, you could see all the hills and canyons of the west. Minerva sighed, it was lovely. She went outside, just in time to see the carriage with her things arrive from the train station. She tipped the driver heavily, because it was rare that nothing got lost on the way, and unloaded her things. She dragged all of them inside, and started off by cleaning the storefront.

Afterwards, she peered inside. A desk, cupboard, chairs, and a few beds for patients had been placed at her disposal. She dusted these as well and took her time cleaning the inside of the practice, trying to make it as sterile as possible. She opened the windows, took a wet soapy rag and cleaned everything meticulously, wiped and dusted over and over again until the surfaces were absolutely meticulous. Smiling at her handiwork, she took out her vases and framed portraits, and set them about the table and the walls, then changed the sheets on the sickbeds. After placing all the bottles of medicines in the cupboards neatly, she thought she should check upstairs, where she would be sleeping. Upstairs consisted of a living quarters, a bathroom and a bedroom. The price she paid was a pretty good deal and it was all furnished!

After spending three more hours dusting, cleaning and unpacking, she dropped on her bed, exhausted.

But wait. There was one thing she forgot.

She went to check on the Doctor’s jacket she had washed when she first came here, and sure enough it was dry. On its breast pocket were the words

“Minerva Eudora Vaughn
Doctor of The Town of Jade.”

Minerva grinned and threw it on. Here she was, in her own practice, wearing her own lab coat. She glanced at the pocket watch she was wearing. The pocket watch was a thing of irritation to her family, who didn’t understand why Minerva wanted to go around wearing men’s things. Minerva on the other hand, thought it was practical, so she did.

She noticed that it was getting darker and that the bar across the street was filling up. A drink sounded very good just about now, and she could meet the townspeople too!
Without taking her jacket off, to prevent the onslaught of “WHO ARE YEH!?!?!!” questions, she locked her door and strolled over to the bar and sat on one of the stools in front of the barmaid.

“Your best whiskey” She asked coldly to the barmaid, who glanced at her jacket in shock and wordlessly got it to her.

As she sipped the whiskey, which was pretty good, she looked around the bar.

TJ adjusted his bandanna a bit higher over his face as he surveyed the damage. Three dead, one grievously wounded and one mentally scarred. He pointed his Nock Volley at the coward hiding under the table, his forearm straining with effort. The shotgun was disgustingly over-the-top with seven barrels and weighing in at over 13 pounds. TJ hardly ever fired it. It was for show. And what a show it put on.

He tipped his hat forward. "Young lad, I won't ask again. Hand over the coin."

"Y-you'll kill me!" he wailed.

"Kill ya? Then who would be left to continue the legend?" He chuckled darkly, echoed ominously by his cronies. The boy gasped and scuttled to the register, fumbling around for a few minutes.

"Hurry up!" growled one of TJ's gang members.

"Hush yaself, Royboy," snapped TJ. Royboy grimaced and stepped back.

TJ holstered the Nock on his back and held out his gloved hand as the kid shuffled toward him. "Atta boy." Once the bag of cash was close enough, he snatched it out of the boy's hand and crouched down so he was staring into his eyes. "Now," he muttered. "Sit tight, ya here? Give us 10 minutes and we'll be out of this town before you know it. If ya don't, the Sheriff will be dead. And I'll be back to skin ya alive." He stood up and ruffled the boy's hair before roughly shoving him aside. He cracked his neck and threw the bag of gold to Royboy.

"Goldrush!" he howled as they stepped out of the bar.

TJ was met by a large group of outlaws, all equally menacing and ruthless. There would have easily been fifteen members in total, including himself and the three who had raided the bar.

He hopped onto his horse, a black stallion by the name of Nero, who pawed impatiently at the dusty earth.

"We got 10 minutes," he hollered. He walked Nero next to a tanned, young woman. She looked at him with lifeless blue eyes, a lopsided sneer plastered across her face. "Where're we headed, Lockjaw?"

"We keep going West, DarkHart."

"Where?"

"California I 'spose."

TJ grumbled. I should really get a new navigator...

"Alright, let's ride!" He dug his spurs into Nero who whinnied and quickly sped into a gallop toward the sinking sun. His gait was followed by the pounding of another 56 hooves behind him and the whooping of their riders. What a rush was the life of an outlaw. None of that wimpy crap his father pulled.

The wind whipped at his face as Nero paced through the desert, onward to some new mysterious adventure. A new challenge.

Half an hour later, TJ spied a town in the distance.

"This on the map, Lockjaw?"

TJ could hear Lockjaw fumbling with the paper. "Nah, don't think so, can't really see, it's too dark."

"Who's wants a quick raid?"

Raucous wailing signified an agreement as he turned Nero toward the small looking town.

He slowed to a trot as he closed upon a wooden signpost. The wood had faded in the harsh sun and paint peeled off it ever so slightly that only an eye as keen as TJ could pick out.

Come and make your mark

"Why, don't mind if I do..."

He walked Nero in as he surveyed his surroundings, followed by the rest of his brigade.

Willa Montgomery

I watched calmly as the two men “settled their differences” across the bar. This wasn’t my first bar fight, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be my last. I was used to it by now, and my father always told me that as long as no weapons come out then you let them deal with it on their own. Plus there's that reality of not letting anyone kill anyone, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes.

I couldn’t help but stifle a small chuckle as Mr. Hornmeyer whimpered scurrying away from the bar. He was clearly a hot-headed city boy with the impression that he had the country all figured out. Oh the things you hear standing behind a bar. Ridiculous.

After a moment of collecting himself I watched as the dark haired stranger slowly walked towards me with a satisfied huff. He pointed to the small jug he had placed at the bar earlier.

“That jug has some medicine for Samuel Montgomery's cough. It from an Apache medicine man. I thought it might help." His voice was gentle. Much different from when he was speaking to Mr. Hornmeyer just a moment ago. He turned away from me grabbing his rifle from its place against one of the old wooden tables. I dont know why I didn’t say anything. He probably thought I was fool for only saying something when he was almost right out the door.

“Wait a sec!” I said a bit louder than I probably should have. He turned his head slightly. “Uh- why don’t you have a seat? I would like to thank you for your gift. You can’t blame me if I have a couple a questions can ya? Also, I overheard you talking to Mr. Hornmeyer. I assume you live a little farther out, and you might as well have a drink before heading back out into that summer heat.” I stared at him a moment before he smirked. He walked back over to the bar leaning his rifle on the stool next to him. He looked at me a moment before sitting himself down. I poured us both a drink, and pulled up a stool behind the bar to sit across from him. I sipped slowly at the room temperature beer that did little to help the dusty dryness of my throat. It seemed to have a better effect on the stranger considering how fast he drank it.

“So, how’d you know him?” I asked after a few moments of silence passed.

“Doesn’t everyone in this town? I’m guessing you’re new around here considering your outfit.” He said looking up at me. I ignored the comment about my appearance.

“I mean- Why help him? I mean you didn’t exactly ask for any payment after dropping off your little concoction over there.”

“I owed a debt to him. It’s been a long time since, and he’s most likely forgotten about his kind deed. I never knew what to do, and when I heard he was sick I finally felt like I could pay him back.”

“What debt?”

“Let’s just say when I was a boy, I got into some trouble with the general store owner. I tried stealing some stupid trinkets-”

“Let me guess, it was for a girl.” I joked. He smiled. Slightly.

“Not what you think. Actually I was hoping to sell them again to these traders. They were selling colts and for good prices too...Well when the shop owner caught me, barely, she was threatening to punish me by cuttin’ off one of my fingers.”

“She was always an old fashioned woman.”

“Indeed she was. Anyways, Samuel stopped her. Told her he would shapen me up. Talk to my father. All that. After that he kept his word. For a few years at least. He even had his daughter help me out in my english studies. I always remember her being smarter than me. No wonder I heard she left this place a few years ago.” I shift a little at the comment. Suddenly all the old memories came flooding back. I never imagined the little boy I had always spent time with as a child was now sitting in front of me completely unrecognizable. I guess we’ve both changed a lot since then. “He was good to me up until my father took me away from Jade on our first trade run. We were gone for a few years before we came back. I guess I never had the thought to make a reappearance. I was no longer the boy I was.” He looked up away from his cup at me. It took him a moment before the situation clicked.

“Willa?”

“Back from the dead.”

“Goodness you’ve changed. I always remembered you being more..”

“Boyish?”

“Yeah. I remember you used to fight your mother about wearing a dress when we went riding as children. I feel stupid for not knowing it was you.”

“To be fair, we’ve both changed a hell of a lot.”

“Yeah-” Just then my mother came back in her arms filled with bags.

“Willa will you come over here and- Oh. Who’s this?” She asked curiously.

“An old friend.” I smirked, and rushed over to help my mother. Mingan stood grabbing his rifle once more.

“Thank you miss Montgomery for the drink, but I must be heading off.” He walked towards the door. “It was good to see you again.”

“Thank you for the medicine.” I said. He nodded, and just like that he was gone. My mother finally spoke up after putting most of the supplies away.

“An old friend? Goodness gracious I never remember faces anymore. Your father is right. I am getting old.” I laughed helping her put the rest away.

--------------------------------------------------------

It felt amazing to take a bath. After all this traveling I would say I definitely deserved it. Putting on the old dresses was quite unnerving. I felt like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t anymore. I couldn’t bring much with me on the journey so a lot of my new dresses got left behind. The dresses no longer hung limply off my body. They now fit as they should have before. Comfortable and flattering. It was almost a little embarrassing. Like I was trying to hard. And knowing my mother, who invites anyone at the sign of a celebration, I was about to face a night in front of everyone I used to know.

The night shift was calm. Full of “welcome homes” and the usual lovable drunk. My father even joined in the festivities with the occasional moment of taking himself out of the room. I knew he was in pain, but that never stopped him. While nobody was looking I took a cold swig of whiskey behind the counter. Nothing like a good glass of whiskey to bring you back to life. Back to reality.

Mingan

Having left the bar, Mingan walked to his painted mare, who was still waiting patiently for him. "Hey girl, sorry it took me so long. Bumped into an old friend," he said patting the equine on the neck. "You should remember me telling you about her."

The truth was...he had never forgotten her. She was the only person who made him feel...normal wasn't the right word. Accepted. That fit better. Untying the reigns from the post he began heading down the street toward the general store. Perhaps he would get better luck selling the pelts.

As he trekked, Mingan thought back over those years, long ago, when he was just a scrawny mixed blood boy causing trouble around the town. Samuel had quickly put an end to that once Mingan had been caught. The truth was that Mingan caused trouble because he wasn't accepted by anyone. The Apache didn't consider him a true brother and the people of Jade, as well as those outside of it, though of him as a savage.

But Willa had been different. Once Samuel had introduced them, things changed. He could remember the skinny girl with the short braid dressed in a pair of rolled up pants and suspenders, because they "didn't get in the way" like a dress did. Running through the alleys and climbing onto the roofs to watch the goings on around the town together. Practicing his English with her so that he had become fluent in both English and the Apache languages.

A small blush came to his tanned cheeks as he remembered the crush that he had had on the tomboyish girl. He had never mentioned it to her. He never told anyone. The fact that his father was white and his mother was Apache had been overlooked for the most part. But an Apache man showing interest in a white woman would have been seen as immoral.

Now she was a woman. She had changed completely. So much so that Mingan hadn't even recognized her until he looked in her eyes. The only thing that never changes. Peering into those bright green eyes, he finally realized who he was talking to.

Why was his pulse still racing? Could it be that after all these years his crush had remained? Whether it did or not didn't matter. She would never go for a mixed blood like him. It wouldn't be seen as appropriate. Better to keep them hidden from her.

He managed to sell the pelts for four dollars each and the boar for six. It was more than he was hoping for from the general store. But he knew that they would have better luck getting a good price from the fur trader than he ever would.

Buying a bag off apple chips, he made sure to give a handful to the rather impatient mare that was snorting at him. With her small snack, he headed back toward home. He heard about a small celebration happening for Willa's return. Maybe he shouldn't go. It wasn't like she really missed him at all. The only real reason he was memorable was his lineage.

Mingan paused as he looked to the small shop on the street. Gunsmith was printed on the sign in the window. The windows of the establishment were a little dusty from the travelled road. "I've been needing to have my firing pin replaced," he muttered to himself. Tying the mare to the post he gave her a few more apple chips to the equine before heading in.

The shop itself wasn't too large. Pistols were available in the in a glass case and rifles were hung up on the wall. A young woman, a little older than him he would guess, was currently toiling away at a small revolver with her small tools. Her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail to prevent it from interfering in her work. She glanced up as she put her tools down. "Welcome," she started. "How can I he..." Her voice tapered off as she suddenly saw the man dressed buffalo hide clothes. What got her attention more than anything was the rather large rifle on his shoulder and the tomahawk thrust into his belt. Her hand moving to the pistol on her hip. "...help you."

"Not here for trouble. I'm just needing a part for my rifle," he said putting his hands up. "Just need a."

"Is that a Shiloh Sharps rifle!?" Cassie interrupted as she seemed to suddenly see the large barrel over his shoulder. Mingan nodded as he stepped forward. Cassie's hand having come away from the pistol. He pulled the rifle from his shoulder and pulled down the lever, dropping the falling block, and pulling the forty-five caliber cartridge out. Handing it to Cassie, her arms gave a noticeable drop as the weight of it caught her by surprise. "My word I never thought I would see one of these in my shop."

"I won it in a rifle competition in Dallas. Almost didn't let me have it with my Apache blood. It's slightly customized. Longer barrel, double triggers, and Vernier sight marked up to.."

"1200 yards!" Cassie exclaimed as she lifted the small metal sight. "Don't tell me you can make a shot like that."

"Actually it shoots a little farther than that. It could use a small cleaning and it needs a new firing pin. The one in there is wearing down."

Cassie set the rifle down with a loud clunk as it she looked over the beauty. "Not to sound presumptuous. But do you have the cash for that kind of work?" Mingan place ten dollars on the counter with an inquisitive look. "Yeah, that will do. Alright. Give me until tonight I should have it done by then. When I'm finished cleaning it I would love to see you shoot it. Anyone who says they can shoot 1200 yards is a sight worth seeing."

Woodrow Derringer

I’m not really sure why Beau had me sit next to his sissy in the wagon. Could’ve been to test my trustworthiness. Maybe he just wanted to keep me busy, while the other boys rode around, all toting their guns and looking about cautiously, like rabbits with their ears drawn back.

I had my ace in the hole stashed behind me, under my seat, where Missy Ashley wouldn’t see it and get all nervous. All she needed to have on her mind was was what pretty dress she wanted, and laying my rifle in plain sight across my lap wouldn’t do no good. The other boys were worried about what lie ahead, though, and I was grateful to have my gun in the wagon with me. I did my best to keep the conversation up so Missy wouldn’t notice the worry in the air, drawn fine and thin like an Injun’s bow.

I hadn’t been with the Jackson Ranch for more than a week, and so I wasn’t well-acquainted yet with the cowboys or the family. But I’d already heard plenty about Ashley, everyone’s “perfect piece of calico,” and I figured some poppy-cock with her wouldn’t hardly be a thorn in my boot.

“I hear you play piano, Miss Ashley. Ever play for the boys?”

She smiled humbly beneath her bonnet. “I’d be too scared to. I wouldn’t think my pa would let me take it outside either. It was my mother’s.”

At that I figured her mama must’ve moved onto the second life. I didn’t ask her, of course. Making the missy cry would earn me a flogging from Beau and dismiss any chance of me driving her wagon again.

I quite liked driving her wagon. Ev’ry time she’d look at me with those big round eyes, shining green like the fields of Kentucky, a little critter would scurry around in my chest, disturbing a flock of butterflies that had been tucked away for much too long and letting them flutter to my throat, choking me of any words.

“Beau always calls you a Yank,” she said. I took one hand off the reins to lift my bandana over my mouth and clear my voice. She’d just looked at me again. “What’s your real name?”

“Woodrow Derringer,” I answered.

“That’s a lot better than Yank.”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind much. It’s my fault for being stubborn and wearing a bluecoat badge.” Anxious to throw the poppy-cock off of myself, I asked Miss Ashley another question. “You know what kind of dress you’re getting yourself?”

A shiver of excitement seemed to pass through her. “I haven’t yet decided. Maybe seeing all the colors and patterns together in one place will help me decide. I have enough blue dresses, and I’m tired of the brown ones, so probably neither of those.”

“I’m no dress expert, but I’d think a green one would look awful nice with your eyes.”

“Thank you.”

I parked the wagon outside of the tailor’s shop and helped Missy down off our perch. I didn’t want to let go of her hand once she didn’t need my help anymore, but of course it was only decent to let her be. The street was flanked by unruly characters, however, so I stuck close to her like a protective mother buffalo until we were safely inside.

It feels funny to walk on wooden planks after you’ve been so used to soft dirt or ragged plains for so long; you don’t need to watch your feet for prairie dog holes or snakes. The civilized life is nice, but I don’t miss it. I just wish my lung would stop acting up, so I could be kicking up dust again with a cattle drive.

Missy Ashley couldn’t help but squeal in delight when she saw all the pretty patterns on the shelves. I could see now why she’d have a tough time choosing one. To me, the whole kit and kaboodle looked like they’d work just fine.

The tailor came up to Missy and started asking her questions about clothes and such. I decided he was so thin he could take a bath in a shotgun barrel. His lips were thin, too, and he didn’t smile much. I guess men like him just get plum tired of selling dresses.

I don’t blame him, either. I’d only been in the store a minute and I was plum bored.

Seeking some form of amusement, I moseyed over to the gentlemen’s clothes and looked at the fine things that cowboys like me would never wear, save perhaps for the day of marriage, and fiddled with the tailor’s supply of similarly useless bowler hats. Then I checked up on Missy, who, to my concealed delight, seemed to be particularly interested in a green calico print. After that I parted the lace curtains to look out the window and check on the wagon. Then I just stood there and admired the simple handiwork of the ceiling.

Missy Ashley was just about done getting her dress when we heard the first gunshot.

Carrie Tyler

Business as usual. Maybe not as much as I'd like, but some coin is better than no coin. Carrie pauses and looks up from the small nickel-plated .29 she had been working on as her father's words come to mind. I'll come back home to visit soon, Daddy. A sigh is released from her lips and she wipes her brow before continuing her workdown of the pistol.

Why is it that people feel the need for parlor guns when they don't gamble? Of course, she would never turn down work, but that didn't change how much she disliked working on smaller weapons. A headache was usually in store for her after she was done with the minuscule tools and intricate inner workings, and that was especially true regarding the "fancy" german gun she now held in her hands.

Earlier that day, Carrie had looked through her dust-coated windows to watch as first a woman came riding in on horseback headed for the saloon. Not riding to the side... Carrie had smiled at that. Guess I'm not the only pants wearing girl around this town after all. Only a short time later, a coach had come rattling down the dusty street, and another woman, this one wearing a long white coat, stepped out, headed for the long abandoned doctor's office. The gunsmith had whistled low. "Maybe Jade will have someone to tend to the drunkards and idjits that keep getting themselves shot." She said out loud, and of course her voice startled her in the silence of her shop.

Carrie had gone back to her work then, a few purchases here, a few repairs there. Towards closing time, she was working on that blasted nickel-plated .29 when her creaky wooden door was pushed gently open. Carrie didn't bother looking up at first, waiting until she had finally gotten the new needle into the gun to look up. "How can I he..." An intimidating man, his look completed by the buffalo-skin clothing and tomahawk tucked into his belt. "...help you."

The gunsmith's hand went instinctively to the trusty Remington at her hip, but the man holds his hands up non threateningly. "Not here for trouble. I'm just in need of a part for my rifle." She spied a recognizable, but nonetheless out-of-place barrel protruding up and over the man's shoulder, and all caution was thrown to the wind. "I just need a-"

"Is that a Shiloh Sharps rifle?!" She could hardly contain her excitement and surprise; few people this far west had such exquisite taste. The man nodds and steps over from the door, up to the counter and placing the weapon on the table. He deftly unloads the rifle and sets it into Carrie's waiting arms. Her excitement is such that the weapon's heft surprises her and her arms drop almost to the counter before she recovers. She whispers almost reverently. "My word..... I never thought I'd see one of these in my shop..."

The man speaks up as the gunsmith begins her inspection. "I won it in a rifle competition in Dallas. Almost didn't let me have it on account of my Apache blood. It's slightly customized. Longer barrel, double triggers, and Vernier sight marked up to-" By that time, Carrie has brought the rifle to her shoulder, sighting it out the window. "1200 yards!" She exclaims. She sets the rifle on the counter and looks inquisitively at the man. "Don't tell me you can make a shot like that?" Of course, Carrie's father.... Never mind that now. No use comparing him to others. That man was a shot like no other...

Carrie pulls herself from her thoughts as the man corrects her. "Actually it shoots a little farther than that. It could use a small cleaning and a new firing pin. The one in there is wearing down." Down to business. Carrie sets down the rifle and looks it over appraisingly once again. "Not to sound presumptuous, but do you have the cash for that kind of work?" A firing pin replacement.... that's going to take some doing... Of course, every second would be fantastic; how many gunsmiths could say they had done such a restoration on a rifle like this?

The man places ten dollars on the counter without a word, and she looks at it for a moment, wide-eyed. "Yeah, that will do. Alright, give me until..... say sundown. I'll have it done by then." She pauses and then stops him before he leaves. "When I'm finished I'd love to see you shoot it. I don't know many folks that say they can shoot 1200 yards. I'd put money on it being quite a sight."

The man only offers the slightest of smiles before heading once more for the door. "Hey mister, you got a name? I need a name for the work order." He keeps walking and grunts over his shoulder. "Mingan." Mingan.... Grey wolf.... She blinks after him before setting to work, grinning like a fool as she does.

Eleanora Crawford

I woke up wearing my white dressing gown, my bed empty for the first time in 12 years.

I sucked in a deep breath before stepping onto the wooden floorboards and padding over to the vanity. My eyes were red, my long hair draped over my shoulder in a braid. Benjamin was gone and buried, he would never touch me again.

I pulled up the sleeve of my dressing gown, fingering the pink puckered scar that dragged up my arm and ended at my shoulder.

He will never touch you again

Everybody else thought he had been shot by bandits at the well in the middle of the night. But...

I dropped the dressing gown sleeve as if it was red hot, as if it had burned my skin the way my husband's memory burned into the backs of my eyelids.

I sucked in a breath and walked over to my wardrobe, a wedding gift from my parents. The wedding I had been forced into.

I withdrew my second nicest dress. It would be my first day running the store by myself and I wanted to look strong, capable. It was a light blue calico dress. Light colored dresses were rare here, the desert sand seemed to find its way into everything and sully it. I would spend all day in the store, thankfully, I was shielded from a lot of it.

The dress had a gentle white pattern of wildflowers, the buttons were a dark navy blue and shaped like roses. I buttoned it up all the way to my neck before wrapping a clean white apron around my waist, and putting on Ben's white sleeves. They were white and billowy and went over the sleeves of my dress, meant to keep the fabric pure.

Next my hair. My fingers trembled as I braided it back and pinned it securely. I was ready. At least, I looked ready. But on the inside, I wasn't. I hated this store, I hated living behind the store, I hated all of the memories that seemed to be embedded in the floor boards and woven in the fabrics of our linens and his clothes, the ones I still hadn't removed from the wardrobe.

I stepped through the dividing door and into the general store, flipping the sign over so it read 'open' on the outside.

Man after man walked in, leering at me. How dare a woman work the general store. The only acceptable trades for a woman in this town were whore and seamstress. Although, that seemed to be changing based on the gunsmith I saw walking around and the woman who dismounted the horse before heading into the saloon.

I checked and double checked the figures on the notepad Benjamin always kept next to the cash register. Just then, a woman walked into the store.

"Hello," I said, looking up. Then the smile dropped off my face. This woman was a woman of color.

"Hello," she said, adjusting the kercheif that was tied around her dark hair.

"L-let me know if I can help you with something."

The negroe walked around the shop and I found myself staring at her, waiting for her to try to take something. She was carrying a wicker basket and placed a bag of cornmeal in it along with a half pound of tobacco, some beans, a few matches, and a small pouch of herbal tea leaves.

She walked over to the counter and set her basket down, as I rang up her items.

I punched the total into the typewriter, watching the numbers spin to her total and then, on my side where nobody else could see, the amount of money that should be in the till. The cash register opened with a ding as she handed over some change and I dropped it in, totaling her amount on the small pad of paper to make sure it was correct.

"$2.24," I said, counting out the change. She was a nickel short.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I'm missing 5 cents." I murmured, eyeing her dark skin.

The lady looked through her coin purse, her lip trembling as her dark eyes searched. She turned the bag upside down and shook it, but nothing came out.

"I... my husband... he'll be angry if he doesn't get his tobacco. Without the corn and beans, my children won't eat tonight. Crop as been bad this year... without matches I can't make dinner and without the tea my headaches are simply unbearable."

The negro woman looked up at me. I understood the fear. Angry husbands... often took things out on their wives. I swallowed my pride. This woman, who, outwardly, seemed so different from me... she struggled with the same things I struggled with.

"Well then, it's a good thing prices on tobacco just dropped. From 50 cents a pound to 40 cents. Overnight, who would've thought? I simply forgot to change the price marker, my bad miss. And, since it was my mistake, here's a few pieces of the penny candy for your little ones. How many do you have?" I asked, reaching into the jar.

"3," she said, "But I don't accept charity."

"It's not charity, and I have another customer." The negro woman looked up as the bell rang, the woman who had walked into the saloon was strolling into the store.

"God bless you," the woman whispered, before exiting, taking her bag and climbing up into a buggy outside.

"What can I get for you?" I asked, looking at the girl. She had dark hair and was wearing a plain, dress, dust coating her pale face.

"I just need some flour," she said, smiling cheerfully, "I promised my Daddy I'd make him some biscuits."

I pulled a sack of flour down from the shelf, humming to myself before letting it thunk on the counter.

"That'll be 50 cents, please."

"Do you like music? I heard you humming. There's a piano in the sal-"

"That will be 50 cents please." I said more sharply. The girl handed over the money, looking a little startled.

"I apologize if I offended you." I didn't like people prying. Especially not this girl. And I really didn't care if she apologized for offending me or not.

"Have a good evening," I said, plastering a smile on my face. "I saw that you're new to town, be careful after dark, especially in the saloon. That's when the bandits like to come out to play."

She would hear of my husband's death soon enough. Shot in the middle of the night by bandits... at least, that's what everybody else thought.

"Thank you," she said, before taking the flour and leaving.

Spoiler

@HazelGrace16

Minerva Eudora Vaughn

She left the bar late, after two whiskeys. As she walked through the town, on her way to the practice she surveyed it. The shops were mostly of the same size, with the store on the ground floor and living quarters above it, there was a large ranch in the distance, full of neighing horses.

Neighing horses. In the middle of the night. Something wasn't right.

She fast-walked the remaining way into her store and peered outside through her window. A bunch of horsemen rode into the town through the gates, stopping briefly at the welcome post.

Were these the bandits her mother always wrote about, the ones who raided towns and shot people? Sure enough, they dismounted their horses and took out their rifles, shooting into the air, screaming for money, goods and women. Yep, they were.

A few men dashed outside, their own weapons drawn, and a full fledged gunfight followed. Minerva knew not to interfere until it was over but watched from her window. Men were dropping on the ground from both sides. She couldn't help but think about how good the publicity would be if she patched these men up.

After what seemed like hours, the gunfire ceased and the bandits retreated after having lost several men. Their leader, all clad in black, screamed that he would be returning as he rode away, with the bodies of the bandits tied onto the horses.

Minerva finally ran outside, and asked a nearby woman who was shivering to help bring the bodies into her practice. She had to repeat herself several times before the woman actually moved, and even then, she couldn't get a firm grip on the body she was supposed to bring in.

“What is wrong with you?!” exclaimed Minerva as several other men ran to help her out and carry the bodies into the practice. The woman just jumped and hid something nervously under her dress. Minerva stared at her suspiciously but couldn't think of anything she would be hiding, so she let her be and went into the practice. She was probably just in some sort of shock.

She went up to the first bed. The man waiting inside the practice informed her that his name was Benjamin Crawford, and that he'd been the manager of the General Store. Minerva examined his wounds. There were three bullets in him, embedded in the chest. Lung rupture was very likely from the way he breathed, and ceased to breathe after a few moments. There was nothing to do about him.

Before he died, he seemed to attempt to call for someone. He grabbed around and tried to get up to no avail. Minerva took out her revolver to make him go out more easily when he suddenly said a name.

“Eleanora...” he rasped, almost as if he was angry. Not that it could be easily distinguished, the man's lungs weren't working.

The man nearby told her that Eleanora was his wife, and that it was surprising he'd called for her because they didn't seem to get along well.

Minerva sent the man out to the general store to call Eleanora as she tended to her other patients. These were doing better, with shots in their legs and arms and a shoulder in one case. They were not going to die. She cleaned their wounds and dressed them; she'd operate in the morning. She then supplied them with low doses of morphine so they'd sleep through the night.

The man, in the meantime, had come back in with a woman, the same woman, Minerva noticed, that she'd screamed at back outside. She was shuddering as if she were freezing and she couldn't even look at her husband. Minerva went back up to the first bed, and checked the man's pulse. It was non-existent.

“I'm sorry, there was nothing I could do...” Minerva said, looking at the woman.

For a split second, Minerva thought she sighed in relief but was proven wrong when she started to cry with gigantic, heaving sobs. She patted her on the back clumsily, not knowing what else to do, and led her to her house. She then took her blood pressure, gave her a small dose of morphine, and left her to sleep. Out of the woman's window, she watched two men drag Benjamin's body into the church for cleaning and burial.

As she made her way back into the practice, she couldn't help but think about the woman's face, what she hid under her dress, and that sigh Minerva thought she gave. A terrible scenario formed in her mind but she dismissed it quickly. This was real life, not some sort of western movie those Brits made. Women didn't kill their husbands.

She went inside, checked the blood pressures of her patients once again and made an operating agenda for the next day. These were simple procedures and didn't require a long time but she didn't want to operate in the darkness and under the effects of whiskey. After checking each patient individually and making sure there was no internal bleeding, she went upstairs and into her bed, and fell asleep immediately.