Posted January 5, 2018

It was just after daybreak when the train pulled into the station at Missoula Mills. People hustled and bustled to and fro outside the Missoula train depot. Most were retrieving their baggage and departing for unknown places. Shade was feeling the strain of trying to watch everyone at once, people exiting the train, people getting on the train for its return trip to Sacramento. Too many people, he thought, feeling the skin crawl between his shoulder blades. He didn't like the noise, and he most certainly did not like the smells. Shade was already missing the Big Open and wondering if he had made a mistake.

While Quentin stood off to the side, keeping watch and discussing where and how they should meet back up with Harriet Mercer, Shade headed for the horse car. She had told them she needed to go to the nearby livery stable and get her rig and team as well as hire a relief driver. Normally, she and Fang shared the chore of driving. Shade had managed not to snort in disbelief which was hypocritical at the very least. After all, on more than one occasion, Marianne Sherman had driven the stagecoach the final twelve miles into Laramie. That was completely different from handling a four-up for a one hundred twenty mile journey over rough to indifferent roads and terrain.

Both Lakota and Paladin, the only horses in the car, whinnied a greeting as Shade walked up the ramp. He was impressed with the fact that their tack was clean, oiled and waiting. A tall, lanky youth leaped to his feet and hurried to help Shade with the saddles. "I wasn't sure if you would be riding them today so fed them light, gave 'em a good drink," the boy said. "I sure will miss takin' care of 'em."

It was impossible not to hear the wistful note in the boy's light voice. Shade noted the horses' gleaming coats and how calm and settled both were even after the long train journey, a totally new experience for both animals. He snugged the cinch up on Lakota's saddle and glanced over his shoulder at the boy, "If you get tired of working for the railroad, come see Ezra Hale or me at Lost Lake Ranch in Kalispell. You wouldn't get top-hand wages right off, make more stayin' here, but could promise you'd work with good horses."

The boy slipped Paladin's bridle on, adjusting the noseband and fastening the throat latch quickly, "I'll do that someday, Mr. Thornton," he told the older man with a grin. "Gotta send money home for a while yet, but in a few months, I can do what I want."

Ricky led Paladin down the ramp and handed the reins over to Shade when he caught up with Lakota in tow. Shade flipped a five dollar gold piece to the boy, "Thanks for taking such great care of them." Ricky caught the coin and trotted back up into the livestock car. He would have to get it cleaned out and fresh bedding added before the train pulled out in a couple of hours. Shade led both horses the rest of the way over to the platform and tossed Paladin's reins to Quentin. "Since we both have some errands before we head out, I recommend we get one of the livery boys to walk them a bit. They need to get their land legs back under them." He glanced up at Harriet Mercer, "Where's the livery stable?"

Harriet had been studying the two horses with interest. Someone had once told her that you could judge a man's character by his horse. The two horses were well bred and seemed well-mannered. So much for what she'd been told! Harriet gestured toward the street across from the depot, "End of that alley. I will be ready to depart within an hour."

Quentin stood with one hand rubbing Paladin's head and along the spot below his eyes. He could see the horse was still a little out of sorts but doing better now that he was off the train. He leaned over and rested his forehead against Paladin's. "It's okay, I know how being in that box must have felt..." He glanced over at Shade. "I agree. Some peaceful walking would be best for both of them." He then turned to Harriet. "Madame, you may be ready to depart in an hour, but I would like to get a meal and pick up some supplies for the trail. When Shade and I are finished, we will come back to the stable to either meet or wait for you. You are free to be ready to leave whenever you wish, but I will not make similar demands on you."

Harriet narrowed her eyes, and even from where he stood, Shade could see the storm clouds gathering in them. However, she did not respond to Quentin. Instead, she turned to the waiting porter, "Please have our baggage delivered to the livery stable," she paused, and then continued, "within the hour."

Shade watched her turn, gather her sister up with a nod, and stalk off the depot's platform. "It's going to be a long ride north," he stated quietly before following in the direction of the stable. Quentin was right. They needed trail supplies. He had not wanted to pay the extra freight by getting what they needed in Sacramento. Besides, the perishables would have...well...perished.

Posted January 5, 2018

Chaffee's Livery Stable lay at the end of a short, wide alley. Of the three establishments in Missoula Mills, it had the best reputation when it came to the care of the animals under its roof. The one at the Guardian Arms Hotel was probably a little cleaner and definitely more expensive, but the care of the horses had been indifferent. The third one, McCaskey & Sons, was downright filthy and catered to a clientele that would be considered dodgy at best. In fact, it was usually a toss-up on whether the old man and his boys would be available to take care of clients or locked up at the local jail. In addition to providing long-term and short-term boarding for horses, they also offered storage for private coaches and carriages, drivers for hire, and horse rental. Once it became necessary for Harriet to travel to Missoula and on to Kalispell on a regular basis, she had lodged her team at Chaffee's.

The alley opened up to a large, tidy yard. On the left was a paddock where several horses picked at bales of hay or took advantage of the shade provided by an open-front shed that had been built against the barn. On the right was a long, low two-story building. The first floor housed a tack and feed store and the livery's offices. The upper floor was the Chaffee's home. Between the store and paddock was the entrance to the main barn. Through its breezeway was another area with two larger paddocks for grazing the animals and another large barn. Across from the rear barn was a long shed where carriages, coaches, and wagons were housed. Just beyond that was a blacksmith's shop. School-age boys scurried about, mucking out stalls or carrying feed. Mr. Chaffee and his wife were popular employers because they paid a fair wage, even to the boys, and let them keep their tips.

In front of the feed and tack shop was a wide, covered porch. Several tables were set along its length along with a few comfortable rocking chairs. In mild weather, this was where people would wait for their bill to be drawn up, feed orders to be filled or for their rentals to be brought to the yard. Mrs. Chaffee offered a light breakfast in the mornings, sandwiches at lunch and hot coffee or tea all day long. It was a service that even the hotel's livery stable did not offer its clients.

Shade and Quentin left Harriet near the porch to seek out one of the grooms to arrange for the walking of their saddle horses and to purchase supplies needed for the animals. Charles Chaffee walked out of the office door and down the steps. He glanced at Josephine and nodded toward the building's low porch, "There's seating and shade there, miss. I'll send out the Mrs. Chaffee with some coffee and tea." He turned cheerful brown eyes on Harriet, "We got your telegram, ma'am. Too late to get a reply to you though. Roman is putting the final touches on cleaning your harnesses and coach."

"Thank you, Mr. Chaffee," Harriet answered, offering the older man a pleasant smile. "I trust Mrs. Chaffee is well?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," the older man said with a smile, "family's doing quite well, thank you."

"Mr. Fang is attending to other business, Mr. Chaffee. I will need a relief driver. Is Mr. Bennett available?" There were two men that Harriet employed when Fang was not with her. Both were trustworthy, married men who were good with her horses. Usually, she included the need for a driver in her telegrams informing the Chaffees that she'd need her team ready on a certain date. This time, however, she had not expected to be without Fang.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Mercer, Christopher Bennett broke his arm last week and the other gentleman you normally employ, Mr. Holloway, decided to move to California." Chaffee sounded sincerely saddened to have to inform Harriet of the circumstances. He liked being able to accommodate his customers' needs and it distressed him to be unable to do so.

Harriet frowned. This was a predicament she had not anticipated. Ordinarily, it would not be an issue. She could simply remain in Missoula Mills until a driver became available or Fang could join her. However, time was of the essence on this trip. She did not like taking things like the vagaries of weather, the cooperation of hostile Indians, or the perfect operation of her coach and team to reach Kalispell before the injunction expired for granted. Harriet was also annoyed that she had put herself in this situation by becoming distracted before leaving San Francisco and getting the telegram off to Mr. Chaffee late. She had failed to leave time for him to reply as she normally did. Now, she would have to take a chance on a stranger to help drive her team, if there was one available.

"Mr. Chaffee, it is really quite urgent that I secure the services of a driver immediately," Harriet said, her voice firm although she knew that the man could not force a driver to materialize.

"Well, I don't know, ma'am," Chaffee drawled, "I wouldn't want to send you north with just anyone. His gentle brown eyes brightened, "Wait! I might just know a fella that would be available and would not...uh...take advantage of you." He reached into the pocket of his vest and brought out a folded napkin, "Apples for your team. I'll check and see if the man I'm thinking of would be interested."

"Thank you, Mr. Chaffee," Harriet said with heartfelt relief in her voice. She placed her attaché case and carry-all next to the table where Josephine and her birds were seated. She turned and headed into the barn with light and graceful steps, calling the names of her horses with an almost-girlish voice, "Manny, Traveler, Flint, Dancer!" She was answered by various sounds from the horses as they recognized her voice.

Arthur Chaffee walked around to the side door entrance where the employee break room was. The man he was looking for was not technically an employee of the livery stable, none of the drivers were, but he had a habit of dropping in to check for work. As he'd hoped, he was there. "Mr. Stahl, may I speak with you?"

Surprised at the voice from the side door Stahl turned around, interrupting his talk with one of the employees from the stable. "Of course, Mr. Chaffee," he replied walking up to the man, so they could have a proper conversation. "What can I do for you?"

Chaffee led Stahl out to the stable and down the breezeway to where Harriet stood by her horses' stalls, doling out bits of apple to each. Four pairs of equine eyes and one pair of human eyes turned to survey the newcomers. "Miss H.G. Mercer, this is Mr. Adalwin Stahl. It might be he'd be interested in helping you out, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Chaffee," Harriet said, smiling at the older gentleman. "If you would have my coach wheeled out, I'll harness the horses myself."

As Arthur Chaffee headed off to make sure the coach was ready, Harriet turned her eyes to the gentleman that had accompanied the livery's owner. He was a tall man with blond hair worn slightly long and clear green eyes. She saw nothing that made her immediately uneasy. Harriet used her gut reaction as a barometer when evaluating people, but not as the only gauge. More times than not, however, her instinctive reaction had led her to turn down a client only to learn that they had been dishonest in representing themselves to her. Of course, her internal barometer was not always accurate.

"Mr. Stahl," Harriet greeted the gentleman and offered her hand. "I find that I am in need of a relief driver for the journey to Kalispell." She smiled slightly, "I tend to trust Mr. Chaffee's recommendations."

There were several things that Stahl noticed when Mr. Chaffee introduced him to Fräulein H.G. Mercer. The first was, of course, her appearance and a Lady of her good looks would have stood out anywhere. But she had such a well-kept, well-groomed appearance like she was just going to visit a fellow Lady, that certainly was a contrast to her surroundings. Without even noticing Stahl had straightened up, falling into the straight-backed formal stance that had become ingrained in the past. "Miss Mercer, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he responded to the introduction. The second observation of Ms. Mercer came once she spoke, and her words and carriage made it clear she was a woman of education.

Mr. Chaffee had already headed off to bring out the carriage, so no explanations of the nature of the journey or where this Kalispell indeed might be found were forthcoming. Both had become secondary concerns though, no matter where this Kalispell was, even if it was right on the other side of the continent, denying a Lady the requested assistance was one rudeness Stahl hoped he'd never commit, no matter what else life still held in store for him. "I am quite honored by Mr. Chaffee's trust," he replied, deciding not to wonder what in the world the man based said trust. "I was indeed looking for a company to continue my own journey, so I would gladly accept your offer to be your secondary carter on that tour."

"I have business in Kalispell," Harriet went on to explain, taking note of his accent which, she guessed, placed him from somewhere within the German Empire. She was not good enough with the accents of Europe to narrow it down further than that. "Can you handle a coach and four," she waved a small, gloved hand at her four Gypsy horses.

"A coach and four are no problem," Stahl replied honestly, his eyes turning to the four horses. They were lighter than those he knew from supply wagons and other wagon trains, agiler too. "Tinkers," the observation was made only for himself as he studied them for a moment. "Do you wish me to harness them?" He asked, trying to word it in a way that made clear he did not doubt her own abilities, but kept the politeness that was to offer to take such a task from the hands of a Lady. She also might want to know how well he could handle those four.

Harriet smiled, "Not that I do not trust Mr. Chaffee. He and his establishment do an outstanding job of taking care of the boys." She rubbed the snip of white on Flint's nose as she spoke, "But, for my peace of mind, I like to harness them myself the first time out. It allows me to inspect them and their rig." Reaching up to the peg that held the halters and lead lines, she added, "I would be most appreciative of the help, Mr. Stahl. Will forty dollars for the week be sufficient for your time? Kalispell is one hundred twenty miles north, normally a two or three-day journey for a well-sprung team."

"Your offer is more than sufficient, Ma'am," Stahl replied, meaning it. Her words gave him a first sense where the journey would lead them. Without further ado, he moved to assist her as she harnessed the horses.

== == == ==

The character of Stahl was written by retired Player, Echo of Valandhir.

Posted January 5, 2018

Getting a meal and taking care of their personal errands, including stopping in at a telegraph office to send an alert the Hales they were in Missoula, took Shade and Quentin the better part of two hours. During their time out and about Missoula Mills, Shade could not rid himself of the feeling that they were being watched, maybe even followed. However, even utilizing all his skills, he could not detect anyone. There were just too many people moving around him, and he didn't like the feeling that someone could get the drop on them. By the time they returned to the livery stable, Shade was ready to get as far from Missoula as possible. It didn't help that this place held bad memories for the cowboy.

The yard at Chaffee's was less hectic. It promised to be a hot day, so most of the work was being done inside the big barns. Shade saw that Paladin and Lakota standing loose in the paddock in the shade of the front wall. Their saddles hung on the fence rails near the shed with the bridles hooked over the saddle horns. It looked as if someone had polished the tack even though it had been done by the boy on the train.

From the yard's entry, Shade could see the rear of a coach parked in the breezeway. He uttered a low whistle even though he could only see the vehicle's boot and pointed, nudging Quentin to walk with him and inspect the conveyance. Both men dropped their saddlebags and sacks near the coach's boot and walked down either side of the vehicle.

When H.G. Mercer stated that she would make the rest of the journey in her private coach, Shade had envisioned your basic doctor's type buggy and had been ready to dig in his heels and inform the woman it was not suitable for such a journey. Even though Harriet had told them she was an indifferent horsewoman, Shade knew it would be better to ride the remainder of the distance than constantly deal with an unsuitable carriage and the breakdowns that would be inevitable.

Harriet Mercer's coach was definitely not in the flimsy carriage or buggy category. Shade made his way down one side, trailing his fingers along the glossy paintwork. He paused to look beneath the coach, noting with relief that the throughbraces were wide and heavy-duty. They would have supported a much bigger coach. In overall appearance and layout, the carriage looked like a scaled down stagecoach. It was painted a glossy black with silver scrollwork adorning the windows and doors. It looked as if it would comfortably seat four inside with room for a driver and guard or groom on the box. There appeared to be a fold-down cover for the driver as well that could be raised to protect him from inclement weather. Shade also noted that the miniature stagecoach had actual glass windows with knobs that suggested they could be opened and closed. He could also see curtains had been hung inside. The upholstered leather seat on the driver's box looked thick and comfortable. His estimation of Harriet Mercer as a woman of means increased.

As he and Quentin completed their inspection of the coach, ending up in the breezeway between the two sides of the main barn, Shade stopped dead still, staring at the team of four horses. The breed had many names but were essentially small draft horses that were most commonly seen pulling tinker's wagons. He'd seen a couple of them in the past, but they had not held a candle to the four animals hitched to the coach. Each horse stood at least sixteen hands and weighed in the neighborhood of thirteen or fourteen hundred pounds. The two wheel-horses were the heavier of the four since their job was to help stabilize and assist in braking the coach. All four were black except for white facial markings and had the silky feathering below the knee that was typical of the breed. Proudly arched necks flowed into broad, strong backs ending in powerful hindquarters. Their manes flowed from their necks to their knees. Shade also noted with a mental nod of approval that the harness was well-made and clean, but lacked unnecessary ornamentation.

Harriet stood at the head of one of the two lead horses, gently smoothing his forelock with a gloved hand. She had taken the opportunity while waiting for the two men to change her clothes and was clad in a silk blouse of forest green with long belled sleeves. Over that was a short black leather vest. She had changed from her split, calf-length riding skirt into a pair of tailored riding pants that allowed for easier movement. A flat crown, round-brimmed hat of the type normally worn by the vaqueros of the south hung by its strap on her back. Shade watched her adjust a strap on the harness. He could tell she knew what she was doing with her rig.

"Mind if we store all but the essentials in the boot of your rig?" Shade asked Harriet as he ran a hand down the horse's neck.

"Certainly," Harriet agreed readily. "Keep the additional weight off your horses." She paused, seeming to consider what she was going to say next. When she spoke, however, her tone was still friendlier than it had been during the train ride. "If either of you should need a break on the trail, you may ride in the carriage. There are rings attached to the boot for tying horses."

Harriet signaled one of the grooms to take her place at the head of the lead horse. She walked to the rear of the coach, gesturing at the spacious luggage compartment attached to the rear of the coach, "There should be ample room for your supplies and gear." Harriet left Shade and Quentin to deal with stowing their gear and mounted the steps to the porch, sinking gratefully into a chair opposite Josephine. She was ready for a cup of tea. She glanced around for Mr. Stahl as she poured herself a cup of tea. When she did not immediately spot him, she assumed he was occupied getting his horse and gear ready for the trail also.

Posted January 5, 2018

It took Shade and Quentin a few minutes to sort out what they needed to add to their saddlebags and what could go into the boot of the carriage. Neither man noticed the two shadows that slipped into the barn from the rear yard and took up positions where they could watch them.

Shade nodded his head back down the breezeway toward the corral and said to Quentin, "Guess we should saddle up and get moving. I'd like to make one of the way stations before dark." There was only one true relay station between Missoula and Kalispell that had overnight accommodations. The way stations were simply a couple of lean-to type sheds set a few yards back from the road. They'd have to spend at least one night camping on the trail.

Quentin and Shade had almost made it to the paddock gate nearest the alley entrance to the yard when a man's rough voice rang out, stopping them in their tracks.

"Thornton!" The man's voice was rough and unfamiliar to Shade, but he turned slowly, seeing a tall, well-built man standing near the breezeway entrance to the tack and feed shop. He had apparently entered from the rear yard since Shade had not seen him come in as they walked toward the paddock gate. The man's hat cast his face into shadow, but Shade got the impression of rather angular features and a jutting, bearded jaw. "I was a friend of Calvin's. His best friend, in fact. Been waiting a lot of years for you to come back to these parts." The deep voice held a note of anticipation and anger in it.

Shade flashed a glance at Quentin who stood opposite him and adjacent to the rear corner of the porch. He began to edge slightly away from the paddock preferring that any stray bullets hit the wall and not the horses. At the same time, his mind was racing, this situation didn't smell right. It was too soon after their arrival, too convenient that this man knew Shade had gotten into town that morning. Instinctively, he knew it was a setup and that he'd not be able to defuse the situation with words. He discreetly reached down to ease the hammer strap off his Colt.

"I've not been that hard to find," Shade replied, his easy tone of voice belying the tension he felt. He stopped moving, wanting to keep his position, allowing Quentin a clear line of fire should he miss the target. Fortunately, the paddock fence was higher than normal, and the rails were wide. A missed shot from Calvin's best friend might hit them and not any of the occupants in the corral.

Posted January 5, 2018

Quentin watched the newcomer and began to move, taking a direction opposite Shade's path to make the man have to decide which one to shoot at if bullets started flying. Quentin noticed the man's attention was locked on Shade. Well, if this genius wanted to lose a gunfight because of being single-minded, Cantrell was happy to oblige. A sudden movement on the opposite side, between the stable door and coach, made Quentin change his focus. Another man stepped through the gap between the coach's boot and the wall. The coach gun in his hands definitely changed the situations of this face off. Cantrell angled to face him and at least try to keep the odds even. His hand drifted down and floated near his Schofield.

Harriet had just set her teacup down when she heard a man's rough voice call Shade's name. She spotted the man that issued the challenge standing between the livery's storefront and the rear of her coach. Almost immediately, a movement on the far side of the coach showed another man easing out of the shadows of the breezeway on the opposite side with a heavy shotgun in his hands.

Cantrell turned to deal with him or to keep the fight fair, Harriet wasn't sure which. She leaped to her feet and snagged Josephine's wrist, pulling her wide-eyed sister to her feet. "Stay behind me," she hissed at her Josephine. She moved so that Josephine was shielded on two sides by the building's walls since there was no time to get her to the building's entrance at the far end of the porch. Besides, that would put her sister in the line of fire from both men.

Shade's eyes flicked to the man that had just entered the yard carrying the coach gun but kept his focus on the other man, the one claiming to be the late Calvin Steelgrave's best friend. He'd been in enough fights with Quentin on the trail to know the man had his back. He also noted with a mental nod of approval that Harriet had dragged her sister back against the wall at the far corner of the veranda. He was still, his body angled slightly, his right hand appearing relaxed as it hovered near the butt of his six-gun. Shade rarely bothered with all of the fancy finger wriggling movements many gunfighters used unless it was very cold outside and he needed to make sure the blood was circulating good in his gun hand. Instead, he flexed his hand once, then waited, still and intent on the situation.

"I promised Mrs. Steelgrave at Cal's funeral that I'd see justice done someday. Appears that day is here." The man's voice held a sneer yet the words seemed to be uttered by rote as if he'd memorized them. Shade wondered idly how the man planned to avoid a murder charge since he did not intend to draw his gun first.

Shade was not interested in small talk, "If you're gonna draw, mister, then draw." The man's eyes flickered briefly. Obviously, Shade's response was not what he expected. Had he been told he'd be facing a hot-head, a man that always let his temper get the best of him? A man who settled all disputes with his gun?

Harriet watched the scenario unfold, her eyes darting between the newcomer from the stable to Cantrell and then to Shade and the other stranger. Her eyes had just made another circuit when she saw the small door at the far side of the front of the yard ease open. She knew that door gave access to a sidewalk that led along the alley wall and back to the main street. People often used it instead of the main yard entrance since it was safer, less chance of being trampled by horses and rigs coming and going from the barns. She prepared to call out a warning to whoever was entering by the side door to keep them from walking into the middle of a gunfight. She quickly realized that the man sliding in and silently positioning himself with his gun hand raised intended to make sure Shade Thornton did not survive.

Posted January 5, 2018

"Oh, bloody hell!" Harriet muttered. In a movement too fast to track, she reached over her left shoulder with her right hand and pulled a slender double-edged knife from a hidden sheath. The knife was not an ideal throwing knife, but it had more stopping power. She neatly flipped it and caught it by its blade, following through with a strong move, sighting her target and coordinating the throw by instinct.

The knife struck true, hitting the man's wrist and impaling it to his thigh. He screamed in agony and fired his gun into the dirt at his feet as his finger involuntarily tightened on the trigger. In the same moment, the man that had singled out Shade drew his gun. Shade's right hand flashed down to the gun in his holster. As he drew it, he stepped back with his left foot, angling his body to make it less of a target. The other man fell to the ground, a red stain blossoming on the front of his shirt. Shade's movements had been so fast and fluid, Harriet could barely follow them.

Quentin's eyes were locked on the man with the coach gun. He thought he saw a flicker in the man's eyes as he saw something over Cantrell's shoulder. Suddenly the man's eyes flew wide, and he began to swing the double barrels around. Cantrell's body twisted, left shoulder swinging forward as his right swung back, hand grasping the grip of the Schofield, the motion clearing the revolver from his holster as his knees flexed and he dropped lower. His torso rotated back, and his right hand swung up, the web of thumb cocking the hammer and bringing the pistol up, triggering a shot in a fraction of the time to realize he had done so. A dark hole appeared in the left side of the man's vest. Cantrell was worried about a reflex triggering the shotgun, so his hand kept raising, cocking the hammer a second time and firing a shot into the man's face. The impact kicked his head back, and he spun, sprawling face down on the ground with the shotgun under his body. Cantrell straightened and spun, pistol leveled and cocked a third time as he looked around the area. He saw Harriet crouching over a gunman and Shade' opponent laying lifeless on the ground. Cantrell's eyes moved across both to make sure they were safe then he continued his turn, looking around for any additional threats.

As if they had coordinated their actions ahead of time, Shade and Quentin had taken their shots. Shade glanced over at Quentin to make sure his friend was unharmed and then turned slightly to see who had screamed and fired the shot that had set everything into motion. A man lay near the side entrance to the yard, his hand impaled to his thigh with a large knife. Harriet was approaching him, another smaller knife held in her hand. That explained the scream, Shade thought approvingly.

Posted January 5, 201

For several moments, the only sound in the livery stable's yard was that of the ragged breaths being taken by the man laying against the front wall. No one moved, no one spoke. A few of the horses in the paddock had shied at the sound of the gunshots and stood on the far side, heads up, eyes showing white and ears twitching nervously. To their credit, Harriet's coach horses had not shifted so much as an inch.

The two men that had been shot lay unmoving where they had fallen. Shade left Quentin to deal with the two dead men while he turned and crossed the yard. He kicked the dropped six-gun away from the man with the knife impaling his hand to his thigh who seemed more intent on watching Harriet where she stood with a smaller knife drawn. Her gray eyes were the color of storm clouds, and her lips were drawn back against her teeth. She turned her gaze to Shade, nodding at the whimpering man on the ground, "Can you make sure he is not in possession of other weapons?"

Shade kneeled next to him and performed a quick search, pulling out a thin wallet from inside the man's vest. He handed it to Harriet and rose to his feet. The man watched him with equal amounts of fear and pain showing on his face. Shade nodded at Harriet who rose to her feet. The small knife in her hand disappeared. Shade thought he saw her tuck it beneath the cuff of her blouse but wasn't sure.

"Josephine," Harriet called out, "please find a clean cloth for binding this man's wounds. I want my knife back. Mr. Chaffee, can you send one of your boys to the sheriff?" Chaffee, who had come out of the office after the shooting was over, nodded and sent a groom off to do her bidding. "Please bring your sketchbook too. I would like for you to draw the scene so that we have a record of where each of these villains was."

Jo could not believe what had just gone on, right in front of her eyes as well. This was not something she was accustomed to, gunfights and murder. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest as she rose to her feet, her hands trying to bat dust from her skirt. And when exactly did her sister...the way she'd thrown that knife? Even though she had seen it with her own eyes, she still didn't quite believe that it wasn't some illusion. "Of course." She replied to her sister's command, moving toward the front door of the store to see if Mrs. Chaffee could spare something.

Posted January 5, 2018

"And while we wait for the law," Shade said, his dark blue eyes cold and menace in his voice, "you can tell us who hired you." He reached down and knotted his fist in the front of the man's shirt, dragging him to his feet. When the man set his lips, refusing to answer, Shade dealt him a backhanded blow from his closed fist that sent him back to the ground, whimpering louder as the knife shifted. Shade's body fairly vibrated from equal amounts of tension and temper as he leaned down, preparing to drag the man back up for another blow.

Quentin knelt and pushed his opponent over onto his back. He reached and grasped the shotgun and pulled it from under the body. Cantrell stood and turned, walking back toward the group. "Shade, leave him..." Quentin noticed the man turning his attention to his approach. Cantrell pushed the thumb switch and broke the shotgun open, tugging one of the brass shells from a barrel. Quentin raised the shell to his ear and shook it a few times. "Buckshot..." Cantrell thumbed the shell back into the barrel, and his hands snapped the weapon closed. Cantrell's thumb pulled both hammers back with two clicks that were loud in the quiet stable. "I will be honest...I'm pretty sick and tired of all the effort someone has taken to try and get rid of Shade and me. I would like some information but really...I could care less at this moment..." Cantrell brought the shotgun up with one hand and tucked the stock against his side under his elbow, the twin barrels focused on the man's face. "...You get one chance. Give us something useful with the next words you speak, or I pull both triggers."

Harriet watched with interest, noting that Shade stopped trying to pound the information out of the other man when Cantrell quietly told him to back off. It was information that she filed in the back of her mind. Although they had only known one another for a short period of time, Cantrell and Thornton seemed to respect and like one another. She had been somewhat surprised, considering how furious Thornton was, that he'd backed down. It was well played. The man had three choices: tell the two men what they wanted to know, get shot in the face, or be beaten to a pulp by the enraged Thornton. Harriet did not envy him his decision.

"I...I," the man shivered as his eyes moved wildly between Shade, Cantrell, and the woman that had thrown the knife that still impaled his hand. "It hurts..." he whined slightly as he spoke, "...get this knife outta me." He tried to reach with his left hand but stopped moving the second Shade started toward him.

Cantrell tipped the shotgun up and rested the butt on his hip to keep everyone safe in case it had a hair trigger. "Easy...we don't want him bleeding to death before we can torture him, do we?" Cantrell gaze shifted over to Harriet. "We'll let you save his life...but I can't promise it will be a permanent condition."

Posted January 5, 2018

Cantrell watched the byplay, flicking between Harriet and the newcomer as she quickly settled any question regarding her safety or ability. He reached and eased the twin hammers down on the shotgun and then angled it back over his shoulder to hold comfortably as the conversation continued. He caught Shade' eyes on him and gave a slight shrug as the two men continued watching.

Stahl saw the unasked question in her words, in the way she looked at him. There would be questions to answer later. He rose, his eyes meeting Miss Mercer's. "Miss Josephine's help would be much appreciated, ma'am," he replied, keeping the words and tone in a way that indicated an answer to her question. Yes, he was still working for her. "and a kettle of boiling water will be helpful too." He may dislike leaving, and by that sparing himself the debate about the interrogation that was to follow, but he also saw little option otherwise.

"Miss Josephine," he turned to the other Lady. "If you could help me get my things? I have some supplies, disinfectant, bandages and such with my horse."

"One moment, please, Mr. Stahl," Harriet said, her voice still calm and cool. She had taken note of the look that passed between Quentin and Shade. After only a few hours on a train, she could not state she knew them well. Her dislike and prejudices based on her view of their history was firmly in place and would not be easily changed. However, during that train ride, they had become her clients. More than that, their well-being directly impacted the wishes stated by Chance and Regina Thornton in their wills. These were the men chosen by her clients and two of her dearest friends to oversee their estate and take care of their children. Her opinion of Quentin Cantrell and Shade Thornton was immaterial to the situation at hand.

"What is your name?" H.G. asked the man who now sat with his back against the fence.

"Royce, Jed Royce," he answered, his tone sulky and slightly defiant.

"Mr. Royce, you and your late companions have committed numerous crimes including conspiracy to commit murder," Harriet informed him coldly. "You will be arrested, charged, incarcerated and tried. What the final charges against you will depend on your cooperation now. If you cooperate, I will recommend a lesser charge which could mean the difference between time in prison and hanging. Do you understand me, Mr. Royce?"

Royce's eyes slid from Harriet to her two traveling companions. Thornton still looked ready to tear him apart. Although Cantrell no longer pointed the shotgun at him, he was no less menacing. The woman was frankly scary while the man that had examined his wound seemed most likely to be his salvation should either of the other two decide to harm him. Escape was impossible, especially with his injured hand and leg. There was nothing for it, he would be going to jail...again.

"Blackie hired me," Royce said flatly, pointing toward the man Thornton had killed.

"Hired you to do what?" Harriet demanded.

"Rickert and me were to get two-thousand dollars each to make sure Thornton and his traveling companions didn't make it outta Missoula," Royce's eyes slid sideways. "Didn't know that meant we had to kill women though." It was clear from his tone of voice that Royce thought not knowing he was being paid to kill women as well as two men made being hired to murder people was perfectly okay.

"Mr. Stahl will attend your injury now," Harriet turned and offered the tall blond man a slight smile and nod. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Stahl."