A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
It was late Tuesday afternoon when Roland came calling to Addy's residence.
He was dressed in his usual 'western suit' which he'd acquired from a New York tailor during his time in the state before heading cross-country. In England, it would have been considered a country suit proper for picnics and excursions in the park. Here, it was everyday wear. By bits and pieces, he'd been expanding his wardrobe to include more American apparel, but it was a process.
He'd also been growing his beard out somewhat, experimenting to determine what length would make him look most authentically like a man of this frontier.
That would be a process, as well.
He eyed the house briefly. A modest but well-kept home. Perhaps a reflection of Addy herself.
Shifting a single yellow flower from his right hand to his left, he walked up to the doorstep. Then he knocked gently, hoping to create a noticeable but polite amount of noise.
Sit down, shut up, don't touch anythin'
Hunched over a slate, Addy was carefully tracing out letters, sounding out the words as she wrote them, but occasionally glancing at the cans of paint and brushes stacked by the door. She was going to start whitewashing the outside of the house, but first she needed to finish her lessons, the painting being a sort of reward for doing her letters.
The knock on the door startled her, causing her to squiggle a line across the slate as she dropped the chalk. But, happy for the break, and curious about who would be calling, she hopped up and crossed the room, checking that the shotgun was right there, just in case this was a government man come to steal Weedy from her.
Flinging open the door, she was surprised to see Roland standing there, but at least she wasn't going to have to shoot anyone today! "Howdy!" She smiled brightly, opening the door wider. If he noticed the supplies just inside the door, that might explain the baggy, thread-bare dungarees and oversized shirt she was wearing...but, maybe not!
"C'mon in, what can I do ya fer?"
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland paused a moment to take in the sight of Adelaide Chappel.
She was singular in town, even among frontierswomen. There was no artifice about her. Not even the most basic illusions of putting up clothing, hair, and (scandal of scandals in some circles) makeup. Everything she did was for practical reasons, the result of a true and honest character absent ego. If she smiled at you, it was safe to bet she was happy or glad to see you. If she scowled at you, then you'd earned it.
And he was fairly certain she hadn't the faintest idea that her red-headed fire, with these over-sized workman's clothes draped over her frame, was as alluring as a multi-tiered Sunday dress sporting all the frills and fancies.
"For free, Addy. For free. And whenever you'd like."
He glanced about and noticed the paints. Then he looked past her and saw the slate.
Finally, he extended the hand holding the flower. "I think a useful tool or maybe rugged boots might be more to your taste, but there's something to be said for tradition. May I come inside and get some rumors going about the sin we share?"
"C'mon In," she'd already said before he could ask.
He grinned. He had actually given up any seduction of the bullet-proofed Addy. She seemed impervious to his charms. But he was content to court her friendship as he'd court another lady's... warmer favors. They'd killed together, and somehow that had forged a bond in his heart as iron-sure as an anchor chain. She had his love for life, as regrettably chaste as it must remain.
"It touches upon the local ranch troubles."
He entered her home, looking for a place they might be able to sit and talk.
Sit down, shut up, don't touch anythin'
"Oh, well, thank ya." Flowery language to go with the pretty flower he offered! Addy accepted both with a smile, pouring some water from a porcelain pitched decorated in pansies into a pewter mug, turning it into a make-shift vase that she set in the middle of the table. She might not be obsessed with frills, but she was still female, and appreciated pretty things, including flattery, and what would later be referred to as 'eye candy'!
"So, now, ya say ya got business?" She nodded to a chair, sweeping aside the slate and chalk. Business was always an open topic, so she was willing to listen.
"It touches upon the local ranch troubles."
Ah, well, there was plenty of that to touch on, that was certain! Of course, he may not be referring to the mess between the Evergreen and Lost Lake, but there really wasn't much else to be considered 'trouble'. The Redmond place wasn't involved in all that, and the Pike place wasn't even up and running yet.
"Do tell?" She raised an eyebrow, curious, but saving her judgement for after she had the details. "Ya want some coffee? An' I got some left-over cobbler from th' Lickskillet."
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Coffee was not Roland's preferred beverage, but neither was he the sort to snub it. As for the cobbler...
"I would murder a man for some of that cobbler," he declared a bit too emphatically. He added a somewhat embarrassed 'har har' when he realized he'd put more force into the statement than he'd intended.
"I recently had a poor encounter with the husband of that establishment's acting proprietress," he explained, "and was warned by him not to go near her, lest I invoke his wrath." The encounter had been so strange that he had trouble describing it now.
"I believe the man somehow mistook my altruistic attempts to arm him with a decent pistol. Instead, he perceived it as some dark scheme to get him killed and take his wife as my own. I have not yet managed to repair that mistaken impression, and so the Lickskillet pies remain out of my reach for the time being."
Sighing, he went on, "But that is an entirely separate matter from the one which brought me here."
"I've met two of the local prominent ranchers, first Mr. Cantrell from Lost Lake, who impressed me as a good and decent man. Then, later, Mr. Steelgrave of Evergreen... who seemed less so. It's been made clear to me that these two fellows are going to come to blows. Well, much more than blows, actually. And I've found that as the local arms merchant, I am somewhat between them and left to make some difficult choices."
He paused, allowing her to take in what he'd shared thus far.
Sit down, shut up, don't touch anythin'
"Jacob Lutz is his own sorta man, that's fer certain," Addy chuckled, cutting two pieces of cobbler and setting them on plates. "Likely just fluffin' his feathers, tryin' t' impress Miz Clara." She placed the plates on the table, along with the coffee, then sat. "I'd be more afraid'a Granny Miggins, that woman can scare th' stink right off a skunk!"
Her grin was playful as she sipped her coffee, but then she frowned. "Well, I can say that th' Steelgraves aren't folks ta be crossed. No good, th' whole lot'a 'em, 'cept th' daughter, Miss Leah. Even she has her own men that keep her safe from her pa an' brothers."
Elias Steelgrave was the worst of the worst, arrogant and ruthless, willing to do whatever it took to get his way, or to intimidate competition. He wasn't a man to be toyed with, but that didn't mean you couldn't do business with him.
"So, what's th' specifics of yer dilemma?"
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Miggins... but I shall keep that picture in my mind as a caution when I do."
Roland smirked, his mind awash with the colorful image Addy had painted, until the cobbler arrived and he dug into it with gusto. Perhaps more gusto than he might display in front of others.
One refreshing thing about Addy... she didn't seem to care about the things that didn't actually matter.
"Caroline at the saloon also suggested that Steelgrave's daughter was a better fruit than the fathering tree," Roland confirmed. "I'll be sure not to tarnish her with the brush that colors my impression of the other Steelgrave."
He paused to sip his coffee, mentally formulating the framework of the information he must next provide.
"Mr. Steelgrave has ordered up some ammunition. Enumerated in the thousands. And they are fighting cartridges, not those most useful to a hunter. I think he arms for battle."
Roland cleared his throat, "Of which I insinuated you might make delivery for five dollars, incidentally."
He tried to gauge whether he needed to apologize for that or not. "I tried to estimate something much higher than your usual rate, as a distasteful duty ought to be compensated higher than otherwise?"
A pause, then, "My dilemma is in arming one man to murder another. But I've concluded that if I do not do so, someone else will. And I have a scheme. I'd like to sell my scheme to you now, and then you can help me sell it to the keepers of Lost Lake later. I've been invited to dinner at their ranch. I'd like to bring you with me, as my co-conspirator. And of course I'd enjoy the company of a friendly face regardless."
Sit down, shut up, don't touch anythin'
Addy's nose wrinkled up in distaste when Roland mentioned that Elias Steelgrave was looking for Army-sized numbers of rounds, undoubtedly for a specific reason, and that wasn't good. While she didn't exactly understand the reasons for the friction between the ranches, she knew that Steelgrave was pure evil, and if he was wanting ammo, it meant that there was major trouble in the way...for the whole town.
She was about to declare, in no uncertain terms, that she would not do anything to help Evergreen, including delivering war supplies, when Roland proposed a 'scheme', something else she wasn't sure she wanted to be involved in, but at least it assured her that he had some scruples, and wasn't just jumping into things.
"Well, if ya got an idea, I'd be happy ta do what I can ta help." Hopefully, whatever he was planning would avert a conflict altogether, she knew that was what the Lost Creek people would prefer, and the rest of the town for that matter! "Just...Elias ain't a man ta cross, not blindly."
While she'd do about anything for a good cause, her lot in life had changed with the death of Weedy's mother, so she had that to take into consideration. Still, she'd listen.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland nodded, "Yes... I imagine anyone willing to orphan children, and then scheme to take the childrens' inheritance, must be a dangerous man indeed."
Still, if the topic was dire, it didn't seem to impact Roland's appetite. He finished off the cobbler and took a deep sip of the coffee.
"Thank you, Addy."
He cleared his throat, leaning forward a bit as he spoke. "The way I see it, Mr. Steelgrave has two paths to get what he wants. He can buy my ammunition locally, or he can order the same from Oakdale. If he orders it from Oakdale, it'll be exactly what he wants. And your freight company will deliver it. It'll probably be you running the wagon."
A certain mischievous gleam came to Roland's eyes, "But if he buys my ammunition, I control the costs. And I control the quality."
He held up a hand and gestured as he spoke, "I can't give him stuff that will blow up his guns. Or fail to fire. Such would be detected instantly. He'd stop using what I supplied him with, and he'd probably order his men to kill me."
He shrugged, "And then he would order a batch of factory ammunition from Oakdale, and I have accomplished nothing."
He held up a finger, "But there's more than one way to sabotage ammunition. If I vary the powder load by 7 to 15 grains with each cartridge, it'll never land a slug in the same place twice at anything past ten paces. One time it'll be a bit low. The next, very low. The next, a bit high. Never quite where they want it. Not a decisive thing in a fight, mind you. Sometimes they'll hit what- or who- they aim at. But sometimes they won't.
It's not cutting a tree down, Addy, but it at least leans it in Lost Lake's favor once the shooting starts. And it's subtle enough that it won't be immediately obvious as an ammunition fault. It could be perceived as shooter's error. Especially if the first couple hundred rounds I provide are pristine and perfect. They'll shoot those, doubtless practicing their skills. Find it good. Then go into the field proper and seem to lose all of their skill when it matters most."
He licked his lips, "I am charging Steelgrave double my normal rate. So for every cartridge I make him, I can make a second, perfect one and supply it to Lost Lake, free of charge. This preserves an arms parity. It will prevent a decisive advantage, and perhaps the war altogether, at least for a time."
Roland leaned back again. "It is the best I've been able to come up with, Addy. Subtle. Slight. But the only move I can make that doesn't immediately cut out this town's ability to change the landscape to any degree.
What do you think?"
Sit down, shut up, don't touch anythin'
Addy listened quietly, taking occasional sips of coffee, as he spun his plan, then pondered over the potential problems, of which there seemed to be at least a few..
"Sounds like a risk, but might could work." At least so long as no one figured out that the ammo had been tampered with...otherwise, Roland was right, there would be hell to pay! "Best discuss it with th' Lost Lake group, an' maybe even Marshal Guyer, too." It really was sad and frightening to think about a range war happening here, all the stupid violence, innocent lives lost, and pretty much for nothing.
"If I make th' delivery, ya'd need ta have other cargo...Elias Steelgrave knows I'd never deliver any weapons ta him, but if it's in with other supplies such as food or feed or whatnot." That would depend some on Steelgrave, he might very well want to use his own freight wagons, and after the outlaws she and Roland had taken out of commission, she wasn't in need of money so much.