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Chapter 2: Part the First: The Legend of Hungry Jess

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Chapter 3: Part the Second: The Bride of Chief Iron Rod

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Chapter 4: Part the Third: Three Suitors for Sally MacGruder

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Chapter 5: Part the Fourth: Ma Varley’s Bail Bond Specials

Hungry Jess Thimbleton jogged into Wichita nearly half a day after the train he’d been following. It wasn’t his fault - he’d fallen asleep while running, misstepped on a bridge, fallen into a river and been swept several miles downstream before he woke up. His stomach rumbled. He’d been running for days. Several passers-by looked up at the sky apprehensively, wondering why there was thunder on such a clear day.

The interior of the Maiden’s Legs was dim, smoky and noticeably tense. Jess ordered everything edible in stock. As he ate, the suspicious silence of the bar became awed, then nauseated. It wasn’t until after he finished that it occurred to him he’d left his coin purse all the way back in his cabin in Ohio.

*

Sally McGruder glared at her cell-mates with resigned annoyance, cramming tobacco into her clay pipe with vicious twists of her thumb. Wyatt was watching her apologetically, wincing a little every time he moved his bandaged shoulder. The boy they’d thrown into the cell an hour ago was snoring like a herd of asthmatic buffalo.

Sally ground her teeth as she remembered they’d taken her matches. She’d have to ask for a light. She snorted. Better to sit in here going deaf from the stupid ape’s sinusoidal difficulties than ask anything of that kindly, sparkly, ingratiating bastard.

“D'you smell that?” Wyatt asked.

Now that he mentioned it- Sally caught herself hoping that giant deputy had burnt the Sheriff's french toast and scowled. Then, Wyatt tackled her off the low cot. Fortunately for the Jail's paint job, the explosion drowned out Sally's commentary on his parentage.

Lithe, soft-spoken Nancy Varley stepped through the neat hole she’d blasted in the wall and rushed to Wyatt’s side with a cry of dismay. Hard on her heels was towering, Amazonian Dolly, who peeled him off Sally before she could get in more than a few good, hard jabs with her elbows. Nancy picked bits of plaster from their leader's hair and began fussing with his bandages. Dolly seemed quite prepared to carry him all the way to the nearest border cradled close to her generous bosom.

“Nutmeg?” Sally asked, sniffing at the wafting blue smoke, thoroughly unimpressed.

Lacy Varley slipped through the gap in the wall and took in the situation, hands on hips. Wyatt seemed all right, and her sisters were trying to start another boring glaring contest with that Sally MacGruder, so she strode over to examine the boy who'd somehow slept through the blast. She poked him with the barrel of her rifle and an expression of enthused curiosity.

“Hey!” she said. “What’s with this guy?”

She prodded him again. His snoring changed keys and gained several decibel levels. Dust sifted down from the ceiling as the beams rattled against each other.

“Wow!” She shouted, clapping her hands over her ears and stumbling backwards. “Boy can really snore.”

“What?” Nancy asked.

“What?” She shouted back, “Speak up, Nan!”

Sally was dismayed to find her holsters empty. No one called her a whore and remained in one piece, especially not those Varley tramps. It wasn’t her fault Wyatt followed her around like a lost dog.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dolly rumbled.

“What?” Lacy shouted back.

“I SAID-“ She began, resisting the urge to blush at Wyatt’s gyrations against her, “LET’S GET OUT OF HERE. THE GUARDS MIGHT HAVE HEARD THE EXPLOSION.”

“NOT OVER THIS RACKET,” Lacy grinned, obviously impressed.

“HE WASN’T SNORING LIKE THIS WHEN WE BLEW THE WALL IN,” Dolly pointed out.

“Oh, dear, you’re right,” Nancy said, hand to her mouth.

“WHAT?”

Wyatt finally twisted violently enough that Dolly dropped him and darted out through the hole after the departing Sally. The Varley sisters followed, hastily.

*

Sally marched through the puddles of light spilling from the shuttered doors of the saloons, growling under her breath. Those three were incompetent at everything - even jealousy, which seemed to be their chief concern. And that Wyatt was even worse. The man had been following her since Desmoins and hadn’t the sense God gave little green onions. If she had her pistols- Well. There was no use sticking around here hoping to get them back- at least, not tonight. She’d just have to punch Wyatt if he so much as opened his fool mouth. But first she had to get out of this godforsaken town before any more stupidity could-

“Well, well,” smirked an irritatingly familiar voice, “What’sh a lovely lady like you doing on the shtreetsh at thish hour?”

The asshole she’d shot the day before was leaning heavily on an ornate cane, flanked by a burly Irishman and a narrow-eyed Chinaman, both clutching shotguns. He reeked of cheap brandy at 10 paces.

Sally swore a blue streak. A bird roosting on the eaves nearby dropped from its perch, stone dead.

“Not again,” boomed Dolly, behind her.

Fucking cavalry. All she needed now was for that simpering, smiling, shiny, gentlemanly Sheriff to-

Everyone was surprised when a rising cry of “Hee-YAH” resolved into a streak of white which scooped Sally MacGruder off the street and whisked her into the night. No one was more surprised than Sally MacGruder.

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Chapter 6: Part the Fifth: Vengence at Whipsnake Creek

Jess stretched and yawned cavernously as a ray of morning sunshine fell against his face. He blinked at the hole in the wall through which it had entered and the barred door now standing slightly ajar. Huh. His stomach rumbled a little, portending more serious hunger if he skipped breakfast. He hopped off the bunk and went to the door of the cell.

“Hello?” he called.

After several minutes with no answer, he slipped out through the cells and into the front office. It was deserted but for the revolver sitting on the immaculate desk.

*

William P. Quincy smiled cheerfully over the tall grass he was crouched in as he leveled his double-barreled at the boy’s chest.

“May I help you?” he asked, politely.

“Whoa, Mister,” the kid said, saucer-eyed, “Sorry I- uh. That is, I was just walkin’ and somethin’ ‘round here sure smelled good and I-“ He blushed as his stomach rumbled - either that or there had just been a stampede nearby.

William glowed at the compliment. Clarence had brought home a particularly juicy buffalo which had been just perfect for stew. His expression cracked slightly as he remembered what else Clarence had brought home last night. He shifted his hips viciously, taking care not to let his sawed-off waver. Somewhere in the tall grass, Chief Iron Rod moaned.

“You tease.”

William smirked and shifted again, producing a satisfyingly incoherent string of curses. Oh, dear. If that boy’s eyes got any wider, he might injure himself. However, Clarence  was currently moving in a most distracting fashion.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” William said, and returned to the business at hand.

*

 “You perverted bastards had better untie me right now!” Sally yelled - not shrieked, mind you - at the footsteps outside. Unfortunately, her struggles had broken one leg of the chair she was tied to and she was not in position to glare at her captors. She glared at the wall instead, causing the white wash to blister.

“Food!” Someone said, gleefully. The footsteps pattered into a run, skidded, and were replaced by loud chewing and appreciative murmurs. Disgusted, Sally cursed under her breath and debated whether to ask for help or lay there inconspicuously until this cretin left her in peace.

“You!” She barked, “Get over here and untie me. Now.”

The footsteps belonged the odd, brown boy from the jail yesterday, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s, a wooden spoon hanging from his mouth.

“Gee ma’am,” he said, “You sure seem t’ get yourself inta lotsa bad situations.”

“NOW,” Sally snarled.

“Ok, ok,” he said, “Who tied ya up like this anyway? Was it that weird guy hidin' out there in that grass? I was just walkin’ along mindin’ my own business and he pops up with a shotgun and starts smilin’ at me. Now, I wasn’t scared, but boy, was I hungry so I said-“

“Shut up,” Sally said, smacking the little chatterbox upside the head as he freed her arm. He reeled back a step and Sally extracted herself from the remains of the chair with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Hey, ma’am, what was that for?” he asked, rubbing the sore spot and getting gravy in his hair.

Sally shot him an exasperated look. “Just keep your mouth shut,” she said, looking around for a firearm. She missed her pistols. That shimmery pervert probably kept them under his pillow, slept with them against his warm, wiry torso, those strong hands wrapped around the grips, fingers tracing gently along the hammer, the trigger guard-

“Hey, ma’am, this is really good,” the slovenly boy said, waving his spoon at the stew pot, “Y’want any?”

Sally cuffed him again, nearly making him drop his bowl. Ignoring his whine of protest, she strode outside.

*

Jess licked the remains of the meaty brown gravy from his bowl as the lady darted right back in the door and crouched under a window, scowling. 

“Get down and shut up,” she growled at him, her hands groping at her empty holsters again.

“Why?”  he asked, crouching next to her and peeking up over the windowsill at the cottonwoods, “Is that weird guy coming back? D'you really think he made this stew?  It’s really good. D'you think he’d make me some cornbread or some-“ the lady’s palm landed over his mouth, and she pulled him down out of sight with a grimace of disgust.

“You have gravy on your face. And didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” she said, low and fierce “It’s not those perverts. There are three of them, and one is walking with a cane. If you’d quit yapping and listen, you’d hear them too.”

And Jess did, now that she mentioned it- heavy steps swishing through the dry grass and dead leaves near the river. He peeked over the sill again, but she planted a palm on the top of his head and dragged him back down.  Her body was slight but solid against him, her skin cool.

“They smell like cheap cologne,” he announced, wrinkling his nose, “Hey, I’m Jess Thimbleton but you can call me Jess. What’s your name?”

“Shut. Up.” She snarled, “I don’t want to have to deal with that asshole again until I can shoot him. If he finds me because of your howling, so help me I’ll shoot you, too.”

“What happened to your guns?” he asked, making a conscious effort to speak quietly. She gave him a withering look and peeked around the door frame quickly.

“Hey,” Jess said, “Why don’t we just go out there and beat them up if they’re bothering you? I’d let you use this gun,” he pulled the pistol from where it’d been tucked into his waistband, “but it’s out of ammo.”

“Lucille!” she whispered. She snatched the gun from his fingers, and pressed it to her chest a moment before checking the chambers, her movements precise and practiced. “Where did you get this?”

“I took it off the Sheriff’s desk. Is it yours? Y'know, I thought you’d look prettier 'f you smiled, but it really doesn’t, um...” Jess trailed off as she paused to glare at him, her blond hair shining in the dusty light streaming through the window.

“Um. Can I call you Lucy?” he asked.

She smacked him upside the head - fortunately, she used the hand that wasn’t clutching the pistol - and set about extracting bullet after bullet from her bustier.

“It’s Sally. Now make yourself useful and find whatever weapons those fruits have stashed in this house.  And stay quiet!”

*

Will was warm and pliant, his long, thin arms circling Chief Iron Rod’s broad shoulders in a loose embrace. Will had been in favor of dozing on the riverbank until it was time to start supper, but the Chief had felt it best to go and check on their captive, and somehow -  he wasn’t quite sure how -  it had all ended up with him cradling Will’s slight weight, hot soreness reminding him at every step of what they’d just-

Cheif Iron Rod shivered a little at the memory and felt Will smile against his neck. The smile became a long, wet stripe from shoulder to pulse point and the snake of tongue into his ear. His knees rebelled. Suddenly the lush, soft grass by the path looked mighty inviting.

Gun shots rang out from the direction of the house.

Will sucked hard on his ear lobe.

Someone yelled something indecipherable.

The Chief found his fingers curled around the swell of Will’s buttocks a bit more intimately that simply carrying him required.

The sounds of wood cracking from the house and White Lightning kicking restlessly at his stall door.

Will biting gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Suddenly, a dark-haired man in a long Chinese shirt and baggy pants stepped from the brush.

“Excuse me,” he said, soft voice only slightly accented, “But have you - ah, that is…”  He blinked at Will’s circumstance for a moment, before a large red-haired man crashed out of the woods, nearly falling into him.

The newcomer peered at them and laughed something in a brogue thick enough to drown a moose.

“Oh?” Will asked, and, in a nearly seamless motion, he extracted himself from the Chief’s arms, did something to the Irishman that dropped him like a rock, and scooped the Chief up like a blushing bride.

“What- “ The Chief sputtered.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Will nodded to the first man.

The barn’s loft was filled with sweet-smelling summer hay. Will’s eyes glittered as he lay the Chief gently into it and set about unbuttoning his pants again.

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Chapter 7: Part the Sixth: The Angel in the House

Their clearing was a mess of scuff marks, bullet casings and torn turf. Their new broom lay forlorn in the middle of it, handle splintered into three pieces. The inside of the cozy dugout house hadn’t faired much better. The cabinet was on its side, crockery smashed beyond all hope of repair, lamp leaking onto the whitewashed dirt floor. Two of their three chairs were broken, and their feather bed was torn and spilling a small drift of down into the corner. That woman sat in the last intact chair, smoking a clay pipe and cleaning a revolver on the small table. The bare-footed boy from earlier that morning was elbow-deep in their stew pot, scraping the last of the gravy from its insides.

“Oh dear,” William said, making a conscious effort to loosen the muscles of his jaw.

“Told you it was a bad idea to leave her here by herself,” Clarence said under his breath.

“And I told you you didn't have to come with me to look for willow bark.”

Clarence's glance was torn between lustful and exasperated, “As if I really could-  Er.” He flushed, then rattled on, “Um. Heh. We did forget the bark, huh?”

“That's quite all right,” William said, smiling, “My headache is much improved.”

He turned back to their guests, and inquired politely after their health. “I do hope no one was hurt.”

“No one but Mr. Fancypants there,” laughed the boy, “Though all that fightin’ made me awful hungry. Hey, mister, you got any more of this stew? It was deeelicious!”

The woman was thrusting the bore-rod through the barrel viciously, and seemed intent on ignoring them; perhaps she thought her weapon ensured her safety. William was sure that it would not, were she to begin yelling again. Clarence was staring. William elbowed him to remind him not to be rude.

“Hey, what was that f- Wait, you ate all my stew? All of it?” Clarence protested, marching across the wreckage of their home and getting the boy in a headlock, “A man needs his meat when he comes home from a long day of riding.”

“Hey, lemme go!” the boy said, flailing his arms as Clarence rubbed his knuckles vigorously into his scalp.

The woman snorted and began working oil onto the barrel's shaft.

“Well, then.” Smiling at her hurt William’s face, so he began sifting through the remains of the cupboard. “If you'll excuse us, we have a lot of work to do to put our home back in order, and I think, it would be best if you-”

“Will!” Clarence protested, “No one escapes Chief Iron Rod, scourge of the high plains!”

“Clarence, you’re from Louisiana,” William sighed, a note of displeasure not quite entering his voice.

“Not helping!” Clarence said, teeth clenched, “Besides, this brat ate everything and look what he did to our house!”

Clarence had the boy half-pinned on the ground, and the boy appeared to be biting him just above the knee.

“Well,” William said, adopting his most reasonable tone, “You were saying just last night that it was time to think about moving.”

“Was I? Ow! You little-”

“California, I think we agreed. I’ll need a hand with the mattress-“

“California!” the boy shouted, shrugging Clarence off like a particularly beefy jacket and bouncing to his feet. “Hey, that’s just where I’m headed! My name’s Jess Thimbleton, and this here’s Miss Sally MacGruder, and we’d just love to come with ya!”

“We?” the woman growled, flipping the loaded cylinder shut. Her speaking voice had all the dulcet charm of an rusty cross-cut saw. She recoiled as Clarence dropped to one knee before her and kissed the back of her hand.

“Miss Sally MacGruder, it’s an honor to have you with us,” he said, suavely. “With your legendary skills there’s no way our journey-”

The discharge of her firearm was entirely too loud in the confined space of the house and the  bullet hole now smoking on the floor was entirely too close to Clarence's groin. Their last intact tea cup appeared to have shattered. William let its pieces fall from his fingers.

“I,” Sally MacGruder said, jerking her hand from Clarence’s hold, “am not going any where with the likes of you.”

“But California, Miss Sally,” Jess whined, eyes huge and shining.

“No. That Sheriff took something of mine and I’m not leaving with out it.”

“But Sally -”

“Look, kid, you’re the one who wanted to be in my gang.“

“For a Lady in distress, I would-“ Clarence began.

“NO,” Sally and Will said, simultaneously and emphatically.

“Well,” William said into the ringing silence, “I don’t suppose I might have a word with you outside, madam?”

Sally eyed him suspiciously, huffed, “Fine,” and stomped out, holstering her revolver at her hip.

William leaned over Clarence, picked a bit straw from his long, dark hair, and slid a finger from breastbone to oversized sliver belt buckle. Clarence shivered under the touch, head falling back a bit and exposing the dark smudge of a large hickey under his jaw. William eyed it with fierce satisfaction and said, brightly, “Would you be so good as to load the wagon while I speak with our guest? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

*

Mr. Grover Teasdale clutched his aching head with one hand and his aching thigh with the other. The blinds of his drawing room were shut tightly against the afternoon sun. By the side board, his friend and henchman, Cormac Finn, was doing something with raw eggs and whiskey that he did not want to watch.

That woman had shot him. And then gotten away. And, most enraging of all, had declined his offer to dine with him. Twice. 

Rare beauty only made up for so much.

He was saved from Cormac’s foul-smelling concoction and his incomprehensibly-accented explanation of its beneficial properties by the timely arrival of his other friend and henchman, Yu Yun, with a slip of paper on a silver tray. It said:

CATALINA BARNES OF THE SAVANNAH BARNES TO ARRIVE ON 4:00 WEDNESDAY EN ROUTE TO CRYSTAL PEAK STOP.  TRUST SHE WILL BE TREATED AS A LADY STOP. REGARDS STOP. YOUR FATHER STOP.

Grover massaged his temples.  He remembered Miss Catalina as a small, pale girl of unfortunate roundness. He did hope she had improved herself in the last ten years; it was always so uncomfortable when unattractive women threw themselves at him.

Charms such as his were truly an awesome responsibility.

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Chapter 8: Part the Seventh: Reeling Mathilda

Chief Iron Rod was posed dramatically on the loaded wagon, one knuckle to his chin, brow furrowed. “They’ve been talking for an awful long time,” he said.

White Lightning whuffled in agreement. Jess paused in petting the horse’s silky muzzle and eyed the pair warily. White Lightning had balked at the wagon traces until the Chief had mentioned that the whole thing was William’s idea, so Jess had little doubt where the horse’s interest lay. The Chief, on the other hand…

“Why don’t ya just go check on them if you’re worried?” Jess suggested.

The Chief’s face brightened and he hopped from the wagon’s high seat.

“Good idea, kid! C’mon.”

He grabbed the back of Jess’s shirt and hauled him away from the wagon with surprising strength.  He was no match for Jess, of course, but Jess didn’t want to hurt the guy, so he let the Chief pull him along with only minimal protestation. Besides, he figured somebody had to make sure Miss Sally wasn’t getting herself in trouble again. 

They were only part way back to the clearing by the river when Jess heard the unmistakable sound of footfalls on the narrow path. They were too light to be William and definitely not angry enough to be Sally. He shoved the Chief into a convenient bush, gesturing for silence.

One cannot describe his shock when a familiar wide-brimmed hat came bobbing along the path, its freckled owner chewing a long stalk of grass contemplatively. Jess was out of the bush and halfway up the path before he even realized it.

“You!” he said, pointing.

“Hey, Jess,” the blond boy grinned easily.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“Got drafted into the Sheriff’s posse t’ find some criminals or somethin’. What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m beating you to California, that’s what!”

“Y’are?” the boy said, looking positively delighted. “Really?”

“Well, only ‘cause you left ‘fore I could challenge you to wrestling,” Jess mumbled. His face felt hot. The boy’s smile was doing weird things to his guts.

The boy laughed and stuck out his hand. “My name’s Jenner Birch,” he said. Jess shook it warily. It was dry and very warm against his palm, and the next thing he knew, he was eating dirt.

“Pinned ya,” Jenner breathed into his ear, pressing him to the ground with chest and hips. He was heavier than he looked, and clung tenaciously as Jess tried to buck him off. Jess had just managed to get on top of him, his cornsilk hair spread in the dust, his grin wide as ever, when someone grabbed Jess by the ear and pulled him to his feet.

“Hey!” Sally said. “Stop fraternizin’ with the enemy and get your butt over here.”

“Oww, Sally! I was winnin’.”

“Too bad. Now get down and shut your mouth,” she hissed, tossing him into another convenient bush. William was in the clearing beyond, discussing something with the silver-haired Sheriff.

“…obviously not being held against my will, sir, and I’m afraid going to Wichita with you is out of the question at the moment. Are you quite sure you couldn’t just take a note to my sister?” William was saying. He looked terribly reasonable; the Sheriff was apparently much braver than Jess had thought.

“OK, here’s the plan,” Sally whispered. “Will’s distracting that bastard Sheriff, so you sneak up and grab the pistol while I cover you. Watch out for the Giant, he’s bound to be around here somewhere.”

“Why do I have to grab the gun? Isn’t it yours?”

“That’s not the point-“

“I don’t want to grab his gun! I was-”

“Look, kid if you want to be in my gang you’ll-“

“I have a gun right here,” Chief Iron Rod said, appearing behind them. “You want it?”

“Ah, there you are Miss MacGruder,” the Sheriff purred, spreading the leaves of their bush with his immaculate white gloves. Sunlight arrowed through the cottonwoods’ branches, haloing his hair in brilliant white. “It’s wonderful to see you well after your harrowing abduction from my prison. If you don’t mind, I’ll take you safely back into custody now.”

Shooting at the perverted wannabe injun hadn’t been the best reaction under the circumstances, Sally reflected. Not only had it given away their hiding place, she could feel William’s icily blank stare from across the clearing. She pressed Lucille’s barrel between the Sheriff’s eyes in an attempt to salvage the situation. He backed away slowly, and she followed, keeping the cold circle of metal against his skin.

“You,” she growled at his sunny smile, “had better have my Mathilda on you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he glowed, spreading his hands to show their emptiness, “but you’re welcome to, ah, look.”

Sally snarled silently and started searching his numerous, body-warm pockets. Thoroughly. She resolutely ignored William’s raised eyebrows and the muffled giggling coming from a certain bush.

“Perhaps,” the Sheriff said, sounding a bit strangled, “A little to the left?”

Sally blinked and jerked her hand out of his hip pocket as if burned. That- That-

A hideous rattling, banging, clomping sort of noise was approaching the clearing by the little house. 

That-  That-

From the corner of her eye, Sally saw the fringe-wearing giant emerge silently from the brush. The banging was quite loud now.

That man. Lucille hadn’t wavered an inch from the Sheriff’s shiny, shiny visage, and he was smiling again. Sally’s finger tightened on the trigger.

A white horse burst from the brush towing a fully loaded, open wagon, that bumbling kidnapper caterwauling at the reins. Before she could quite shoot the Sheriff she found herself plucked from the ground yet again, the hungry little cretin’s grip like iron around her waist as they careened through the trees. The horse had shouldered the Sheriff to the ground, but he appeared to have avoided the wagon’s wheels, Sally observed. The Chief and William had somehow ended up in a tangle of limbs across the pile of bedding. No one appeared to be steering.

“Hey!” the kid screeched, dropping her and leaping to his feet to shake his fist at something receding into the distance, “I’m still gonna beatcha to California! YOU HEAR ME, JENNER BIRCH? I’M STILL GONNA BEATCHA TO CALIFORNIA!”

Sally fumbled through her pockets for her pipe as the wagon jounced toward the setting sun. It was going to be a long, long journey west.

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Chapter 9: Part the Seven-and-a-Halfth: The Ballad of Chief Iron Rod

Author's Notes: This side story is beta'd by AngstyMcGoth, and was written with much love and birthday wishes for NewKate. Features special guest Banri as Ms. Henrietta Reed.

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Chapter 10: Part the Eighth: Cutting to the Chase

When it came to nothing, Nevada pretty much won, having far, far more of it than Sally had ever had to put up with back east. Although, she thought, it was still better than Kansas. Quieter, for one thing.

“He’s not a girl!”

“Are you suuure?”

Or, it would be in a moment.

“He doesn’t have any, um…” Jess made fluttery gestures in front of his chest.

“Ta-tas?”
 
The bullet hole appeared precisely one quarter inch from the Chief’s inner thigh.

“Miss Sally, please remain seated while the wagon is in motion. For safety, you know,” William beamed. “You’re not shooting holes in my feather bed again, are you?”

Sally snorted and sat back down, twirling Lucille into her holster absently and resettling her pipe stem in the corner of her mouth.

“He's still not a girl,” Jess sulked.

“Does that bother you?” William asked, sweetly. He held the reins with one hand, the other sifting comfortingly through the annoying kidnapper's hair. The kidnapper peeked at Sally from around William's thigh and made an obscene gesture with his tongue. Damn him, hiding behind the least offensive person present. Yellow varmint.

Ahead, the horizon was featureless and very, very far away. Behind them it was the same, but for a low, brown, innocent-looking cloud that seemed to be following them.

*

“Is this really necessary?” Sally asked for the fourth time, sitting primly with arms folded, and somehow managing to look entirely unruffled despite the violent jolting of the wagon.

Lightning thought it definitely was necessary. He was very tired of towing this sour, bickering lot around behind him, and he could smell fresh water and the homey scent of hot mash somewhere just ahead. There would be a cool, shady barn and soft hay, and maybe a sweet little bay mare to cozy up to in the pasture.

“You may certainly walk if you prefer,” William said, his knuckles white on the reins. He pitched his voice to be pleasant yet clearly audible over the deafening rattle of their gear. “Please don't feel obligated to accompany us if we are a burden to you.”

Sally's lip curled sourly and she spat over the side of the wagon. 

“We can't stop!” Jess yelled, shaking William's shoulder rather roughly, “We're almost there!  YOU HEAR THAT, JEN?  I'M GONNA BEAT YOU SO BAD!” 

“You ain't there yet!” came the faint reply from behind them, where three figures on horseback were gaining on them, little by little.

 "My dear Miss MacGruder, if I could just have a word with you-" the Sheriff called, the metal work of his tack glinting in the dry, hard sunlight.

Sally snarled wordlessly, caressing the grip of her gun.

White Lightning's coat was glistening with sweat, his galloping hooves chiming on the harsh rocks, his breath coming in great gasps. Clarence was engaged in an ongoing struggle to keep their gear and the wildly capering Jess Thimbleton from flying off the back of the wagon.

“How could they have caught up with us?” he yelled, lashing the feather bed tighter around their cookware. “Will you sit- Damn!”

He and Jess fell heavily against the back of the wagon as the trail began a sudden, sharp ascent. Lightning snorted, straining against the traces, and the heavy wagon slowed.

“No!” Jess cried, “Come on, Lightning!  You're the fastest thing on four legs! You can do it!” 

Lightning huffed and put on an impossible burst of speed as the top of the rise came in sight. Just ahead, a rambling white villa decked in gingerbread trim lounged incongruously on a dun hillside. And, more importantly, by a low, white outbuilding, there sat a brimming trough of clear, beautiful, delicious water. The wagon clattered up to it and stopped dead as Lightning plunged his muzzle in and locked his knees.

“Yes!”  Jess crowed.  “We made it! WE MADE IT GUYS!” 

He threw himself on Will, giving him a hug that would have cracked his ribcage had it lasted a second longer. Sally deflected his affection with a well timed shove, and Clarence's quick grab for his belt was the only thing that kept the boy from tumbling overboard.

*

Chief Iron Rod sat still for a long moment as his faithful steed slurped contentedly from the trough. His bones were still rattling against each other. He hoped Will wasn't too sore, then wondered if he knew anything about massage. He'd taken special care that their oil jar not get broken.

The delectable Miss MacGruder stepped down from the wagon and brushed the dust off her adorable suede riding skirt. She squared her shoulders in her checked blouse, displaying the firm swell of her small, pert breasts, took a step toward the house and hesitated.  The furious look she cast them over her shoulder nearly set fire to the wagon, but, fortunately, she turned its full fury on the distant sheriff before more than a thread of smoke could curl from the wood. She snorted, whipped out her enormous pistol and started reloading it.

Will elbowed him lovingly and wiped a bit of moisture from the corner of his mouth with his crisp white hanky.

“That was some nice driving,” The Chief told him, allowing himself to be pulled back against Will's chest, not really minding when Will's sinewy arms closed around him like iron bands.

“It was a bit rough, I'm afraid. Are you all right?” Will murmured, sliding his hands across the Chief's rippling abs. “Would you like me to check?”  The Chief wondered why he hadn't invested in a covered wagon.  Really, it was much more practical than the topless model.

“Oh, there you are, darling!” a warm, throaty voice called across the yard.

Descending the white building's wide steps was a vision in gold and blue brocade. She walked proudly, back straight as a rod, though, from the motion of the front of her ruffled bodice, she was definitely not wearing stays. Her face was young-looking, her eyes soft and welcoming, her brassy hair threaded with gray and bound up in a stately coil of braid. She looked a whole lot like Miss MacGruder, come to think of it; if Sally ever smiled and were at that wonderful age when women got really wild between the sheets, they might have been twins.

William dabbed at the corner of his mouth again and pinched him intimately. The Chief leaned into it, still staring as the woman floated across the yard and took both Sally's hands in hers. 

“I was wondering where you'd got off to!” she exclaimed, then kissed Sally on the cheek.

“Mother?” Sally gaped.

“Hiya, ma'am!” Jess said, bouncing up to them while Sally stood like a statue. “M'name's Jess Thimbleton, and that's Will and that's the Chief, and we're Sally's gang!”

Will stiffened behind him, his fingers tightening on The Chief's shoulders. He was probably smiling that broad, blank, polite smile. The Chief wiggled against Will distractingly, then bowed to Mrs. MacGruder with as much flourish as a man seated in another man's lap can manage.

“Madam,” he said, and smiled winningly.

“Oh, how absolutely charming,” she exclaimed. She ruffled Jess's hair and he leaned into the caress like a dog. “You all must call me Eveline. Darling?” she called toward the house, “Darling, come here would you? Salome is home!”

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Chapter 11: Part the Ninth: Matters of the Heart

<center><i>~Part the Ninth~</i>
<b>Matters of the Heart</b>
</center>

“Welcome to Crystal Peak Sanitarium, my boy,” the man in the white lawn suit said, pumping William's hand and  running his eyes from William's throat to his crotch. “You've gotten here just in time,” he shifted his leer to Clarence's bare chest. “Yes, I can tell by your grip you've a tense bowel. All sorts of health problems stem from disorders of the bowel, you know! I've just the thing to help you up in the green room. You <i>were</i> planning to stay for a while, weren't you my dears?  Please, call me Doctor Borowitz, or just Doctor, if you prefer.” He finally dropped William's hand, which was, by now, unpleasantly clammy. William wiped it discreetly on his pants with well-concealed distaste. “But you,” Borowitz continued, cupping Sally's slender shoulders in his hands, “Must call me Father.”

Eveline MacGruder smiled gently as Borowitz enfolded her daughter in a rather intimate welcoming hug, twining his arms low around her waist and pulling their bodies tight together. Sally's face was the ugly, apoplectic purple of a day-old bruise. “It's so good to have you back with us, Salome,” Borowitz murmured into her hair.

With a merry chime of tack, Eustace Brewer and his posse finally pulled up to the stable yard. The sheriff's eyes glinted coldly as he surveyed the small crowd assembled by the wagon.

“Miss MacGruder,” He bowed over his saddle, one hand perched on the pistol at his hip. “I've-”

“HA!” Jess shouted, jumping up on the wagon tongue. “I DID IT!  I BEATCHA TO CALIFORNIA FAIR AND SQUARE JEN.” He broke into a sort of awkward victory dance. Jenner Birch watched with a narrow, private smile.

“Actually,” Borowitz put in, ignoring Sally's attempts to push him off of her, “We're still about half a mile from the California border.”

Jess blinked at the Doctor as Borowitz eyed the way his trousers clung to his thighs.

“Are we, really?” Jenner drawled.

“Oh, yes,” Eveline MacGruder said airily, “For tax purposes, you know.”

Jess hit the ground running.

“Thank y' kindly,” Jen added, tipping his hat to Mrs. MacGruder before leaping from his startled horse and taking off after his rival. The paired clouds of dust they kicked up washed over those assembled outside the Sanitarium, settling onto clothes, hats and skin.

“My,” breathed Eveline, fanning herself with a large paper fan in the oriental style, “Such energy.  Well, who's for lemonade?”
 

*

Chief Iron Rod would never have guessed Sally MacGruder came from a wealthy family, though her beauty and intolerance of rough manners other than her own certainly suggested it - as did her mother's obvious good breeding and the size and elegance of her Sanitarium. The rambling veranda was populated by plushly cushioned wicker and an assortment of variably menacing pieces of furniture with wires trailing from their bases. One of these, some sort of bench surrounded by a closed, sheer curtain, was inhabited by what appeared to be a small mountain of white lace. The apparatus was humming softly. The lace was giggling.

“Therapeutic vibrating chair,” Doctor Borowitz said, caressing a smaller, black contraption and smiling widely at Sally. “Care to give it a whirl?”

“Don't mind us, dears,” the ravishing Ms. Eveline told the lace, fondly. “My daughter is finally home, and we're all a bit excited.”

“Oh-  oh!” Squealed the lace, throwing aside the curtain, “How perfectly <i>lovely!</i> You simply <i>must</i> introduce us.”

The lace fountained briefly and resolved itself into an delicate blond with a happy flush, a charming southern drawl, and a very generous décolletage. She grasped both Sally's hands in hers and began rambling:

“Oh, how <i>very</i> lovely. You and Eveline look <i>just</i> alike! Almost like sisters! Oh, I'm <i>so</i> glad to meet you, really I am. Please call me Catalina. And this is my dear Grovie-kins-”

“You'll have to forgive me if I don't rise,” Grovie-kins said tightly, seated on the vibrating bench in a plum colored suit. He was dark-haired, heavily pomaded and vaguely familiar. His right leg was bandaged and propped up on a leather footstool, which was also plugged into the wall and humming softly.

“My Grovie was injured fighting off those <i>vicious</i> Indians,” Catalina said, her enormous eyes shining like limpid cerulean pools.  “They shot him in the leg <i>twice!</i> He's still a bit tender, poor dear. Oh, but I'm <i>so</i> happy!  Here, you must come and sit right by me, ah-”

“Salome,” Eveline supplied, arranging herself serenely in a high-backed wicker chair.

<i>“Salome,</i> oh how <i>charming!</i> Just like a Phoenician princess!  Oh, we <i>will</i> be good friends, I can tell already.” She maneuvered Sally into the wicker chair closest to her bench by sheer force of feminine good will, then flung herself against Grovie-kins with a contented little sigh and a great perturbation of her wide skirts. Sally, for her part, appeared to be in some kind of overwrought trance, so different from her normal adorable prickliness it was almost alarming.

The rest of the party edged around the vibrating chair, taking care not to touch its matte surfaces. A minor skirmish of elbowing broke out when the Sheriff rudely attempted to  steal the chair closest to Sally's, which the Chief had marked as his own. The duel ended abruptly when Will slid around them both and took the chair for himself, dragging the Chief onto the ottoman at his knee. The Sheriff stalked off to the chair across from Sally, pouting with diamond-like intensity. The Sheriff's Giant shuffled silently, left with no where to sit but on the menacing black contraption. Borowitz watched with interest as he settled his steely bulk onto the chair, then reached over and flicked a switch on the back.

<i>“Imagine!”</i> Catalina was saying, “We hadn't seen each other for ten years, and a few weeks later, we're <i>married.</i> Oh, my mother was so <i>cross</i> with me!  She had wanted me to wear her dress, you see. <i>Dreadful</i> old thing, all false roses and eyelets...”

The pomaded young man was smiling with blissful indulgence at his lady love, his arm curled round her elegant white shoulder. Her face flushed with beauty at his touch; her white, bird-like hands fluttered delicately against his strong, purple-clad thigh.

Ah, the glories of true love! Chief Iron Rod leaned more closely against Will's knee, toying with the cuff of his pants. His Will, whose gentle smile and petal-soft skin hid such overwhelming strength of passion. And he still couldn't quite think of Will as a man, which was silly because he certainly, definitely was. Was he ever. But, Chief Iron Rod was a lover of women, of delicate flowers such as those assembled on the veranda. It was Miss Catalina's fresh radiance and Eveline's stately grace which attracted him, the way Sally's hair shone in the sun, Will's body like finely carved alabaster, like a perfect marble brought to life. He smirked to himself as Will discretely parted his hair and stroked the back of his neck. No, it was quite impossible for anyone so attractive to be a man, the Chief was quite sure.

The delectable southern belle finally paused for breath.

“You're married?” Sally grated, expression still adrift in the souring remains of shock.

“Oh, yes, right after we arrived,” Catalina bubbled, molding herself to Grovie-kins' side.

“Vernon is a doctor of divinity,” Eveline explained.

“Really?” The Sheriff seemed considerably cheered by the news, and let his smile flash brilliantly at Borowitz before returning to his intent study of Sally's profile.

“We specialize in the treatment of... marital difficulties,” the Doctor purred, eying the Sheriff with renewed interest, “We also have a special package for honeymooners. Preventative medicine, you know.”

“I just <i>can't</i> recommend it enough,” Catalina glowed, laying a hand on Sally's arm and leaning toward her conspiratorially, “He cleared up my neurasthenia <i>and</i> my hysteria in the first two days!  Marvelous.”

Sally gave her a horrified look, leaning backward rather precariously. The Chief would have scootched his ottoman closer, in case she fell, but Will's legs seemed to keep getting in his way. Ah, Sally! So proud, so firey, but so soft and needy under her thorns. The tension between her and the young Sheriff was perfectly visible: the way the Sheriff leaned forward in his chair watching her, the sharp, almost pleading little glances she kept shooting him while Miss Catalina detailed her hat collection. Yes, it was clear as day, clear as crystal: The Sheriff was in love with Sally MacGruder, and, with his perfect and hard-won knowledge of Matters of the Heart, Chief Iron Rod could see that she loved him as well. He traced little circles around the point of Will's ankle, picturing it. Their Sally would be a wild cat in bed, biting, tearing at clothing, snarling as she ravished her lucky Sheriff into exhaustion.

“Oh, Salome, dear,” Eveline MacGruder said, with the air of one returning gently from some distant, pleasant recollection, “You must properly introduce us to your young men, when you get a moment.” She smiled.

Sally looked like she'd just swallowed a bug. She held herself stiffly in the wicker chair, seemingly unable to meet her mother's eye.

“Miss MacGruder,” the Sheriff said earnestly, in imminent danger of toppling from his chair in his attempt to get closer to the object of his affections, “If I could just-”

A large pewter tray and a cut glass pitcher set hit the floor with a loud, wet crash. In the doorway, a charming young lady in a crisp white apron stood frozen, one slender hand clapped over her mouth. She had shining blue-black hair, twisted elegantly back, and a <i>supremely</i> generous bosom.

“Oh! Oh, no,” she moaned, trembling visibly.

“That's quite all right, Nancy dear,” Eveline said gently, “Perhaps it's getting to be time for luncheon anyway?”

“Ah, yes, Ms. MacGruder, it is” Nancy said, tearing her eyes away from Sally. The top few buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing the creamy curve of her throat. The Chief lept to her aid, smiling winningly.

“Allow me, Miss,” he said, eyes lingering on the shadowy regions revealed as she bent to help him collect the largest pieces of glass.

He peeked over his shoulder, and found both Will and the Doctor watching him intently, and the three lovely Ladies sneaking glances as well. He smirked to himself and arched his back, just slightly, feeling the play of his powerful muscles. Yes, he'd been cooped up in the wagon with ape-boy for far, far too long. And, while Jess was fun to wind up, he also had an annoying habit of making Will want to protect his innocence. But now, they'd arrived; all Chief Iron Rod's pleasant fantasies about mineral springs, private rooms and wide hotel beds were so close he could taste them. He smiled at the way Nancy's hips swayed as she disappeared back into the hallway, and smiled wider at the hot look Will pinned on him as he turned around.

“Well,” Ms. Eveline said, rising, “We ladies should go freshen up a bit and dress for lunch. Darling, why don't you give the gentlemen a little tour of our facilities before we eat?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Borowitz purred, and pinched her bottom. She smiled warmly at him, took Sally's free hand and helped Miss Catalina guide the stubborn sharpshooter into the house.

Back to index

Chapter 12: Part the Tenth: Plain Facts about the Hysteric and Nervous Disorders ~for couples~

<center><i>~Part the Tenth~</i>
<b>Plain Facts about the Hysteric and Nervous Disorders
<i>~for couples~</i></b>
</center>

Jess hardly had time to get up to speed before Jen was hard on his heels, practically breathing on his neck, his gangly arms flashing in the corner of Jess's eye.

“Now, you know I won the footrace last time,” he said.

“Y'did not!” Jess barked, “We tied.”

Jen tipped back his head and laughed, and Jess saw red, and the next thing he knew they were a quarter mile away, skidding to a stop in the dirt.

"Pinned ya again," Jen said, lounging on top of him like a particularly self-satisfied and immobile cat. Jess squirmed and hooked a leg over his thigh, trying for any sort of leverage.

"Y'ain't won yet," he insisted, arching hard against him, baring his teeth in Jen's face. "Y'ain't-"

*

"You're right, Nancy, the mother of pearl combs are just right with this shawl." Eveline MacGruder smiled at her maid reassuringly, gratified that she could comfort the shy girl with such a simple kindness (In fact, Eveline had worn the same reassuring smile every day since she'd perfected it at the age of sixteen. They type of smiles she'd worn at night, however, had undergone a radical expansion in form, mood and vocabulary since she'd met Dr. Borowitz some three years previously.).

"Oooh, <i>this</i> one!" Catalina cooed, fingering some stiffly ruffled silk confection. "Lavender would look simply <i>divine</i> on you, Salome!"

"Catalina, dear, don't you think that's a bit elaborate for a simple lunch?" Eveline said, gently. "Maybe best to save that one for some special occasion?"

Catalina caught her meaning and winked at her conspiratorially, (she was much quicker than she let on, the sly dear, though Eveline had yet to get her interested in literature or social reform).  "Why, yes! I'm sure <i>some</i> special occasion will come up before too long," she giggled.

Eveline glanced over at her daughter, who was glaring weakly at them from her hiding place behind the oriental screen (she'd been back there since they'd rid her of her worn out traveling gear and treated her to a lovely bath with attar of rose and that sandalwood oil that reminded Eveline of her time in India. Dolly had been exceptionally helpful in holding her down.).

"Salome, darling, you're looking downright peaked," Eveline noted, pouring a dollop of thick, milky liquid into the cap of her elegant little silver flask. "Here, have a nip of the liver tonic. It's a bit heady at first, but you get used to it." 

"Mother, you know that stuff does nothing for your liver," she said, turning her face to one side disapprovingly.

Eveline shrugged and daintily slugged back the bitter tonic herself (she'd have to remember to put less juniper in the next batch, and perhaps a hint more ginger). Sally retreated behind the screen, scowling as Catalina advanced on her, brandishing a Damask <a href="http://www.costumes.org/history/galleryimages/rationaldress/pages/46worthteagown.htm">tea dress.</a>

*

The box was quite heavy for its small size, and the weight shifted slightly when tilted with a soft clink like glass. The label pasted to the lid read:

<center><b>Dr. Borowitz's Rectal Dilation Home Therapy Kit </b>
<i>~for couples~</i></center>

"My own design, you know," Borowitz smirked, "Hand crafted for me by a family of artisans in West Virginia. Delicate glass-work has been their specialty for generations."

"Ah," William said, shortly "I see." 

"Aren't you at least going to open it," Clarence  murmured, standing comfortably too close, as if he were about to drape himself indiscreetly over William's shoulder. William gave him a pointed look, and he swayed a quarter-inch closer, his lashes set at a seductive half-mast. His fingers were dark against the grain of the flimsy pine box, and darker against William's own hand. He pressed William's thumb against the catch, opened the lid, and sucked in a shaky breath. William tore his eyes from Clarence's profile and forced himself to glance at the contents of the box. They were.  <a href="http://www.collectmedicalantiques.com/quack5.html">Well. </a>

"Great for muscle soreness and headaches, and instrumental in a number of the special therapies we've developed here at Crystal Peak." Borowitz told him, his black eyes glittering in the shadows of the cluttered study. "A full examination will be necessary for a more complete diagnoses, but you've all the superficial signs of nervous tension.  You really must look after your health, my dear boy!  Perhaps medical oversight for your first usage would be-"

"Unnecessary, thank you. The instructions are rather... graphic," William said, eying the diagrams. He wasn't sure if he wanted Clarence to back off or be much, much closer at the moment. The Sheriff glanced at them with poorly concealed distaste, but dropped his gaze back to his own kit when William caught his look.

"Well," Borowitz continued, smirking even wider, "Next, how about a peek into the hydrotherapy room? We've worked up some very exciting designs for the treatment of hysteric and nervous disorders. Revolutionary really, if I do say so myself."

*

Lacy Varley frowned, plunked the opera glasses on the sill and blew her shaggy bangs out of her eyes. She'd had high hopes when she saw those two kids runnin out into the desert that somethin excitin might finally be happenin round this place, but after just one tackle and a little rollin around they'd gotten borin again. The blond boy'd had the other one pinned for an awful long time. She figured he must be winnin.

Her sisters were off somewhere doin borin girl stuff, an' Wyatt was down in the kitchen, but she'd just havta do stupid borin chores if she went down there. Maybe she'd go out to the stables and look at the new peoples' horses or somethin. Or, maybe she could go take a ride and shoot some jackrabbits. Yeah, and then Nan could make her some roast rabbit an' rabbit stew an' rabbit pasties an'...

Lacy Varley clattered down the stairs with an excited whoop, sling-shotted herself around the banister, barreled through the door and crashed directly into a very large, very hard heap of muscles. She looked up.  And up.  And <i>up.</i> And the biggest, muscliest man she'd ever laid eyes on looked down at her with a tiny, contented smile on his face. Oddly enough, his lap seemed to be vibrating.

*

Clarence was gaping openly at the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Pelvicdouche.jpg">pelvic hydrotherapy device</a> as Borowitz demonstrated its controls to the Sheriff.

“Well, my boy, it seems you and my dear daughter are quite close.”

“I've merely come to return her gun to her, sir.” 

“Come now, there's no need for such elaborate euphemisms with me! Your intimacy is clear as day to someone who knows her as well as I do. Have you popped the question yet? It would make Eveline and I most happy to have a fine young man such as yourself care for our little girl.”

The sheriff took a deep, steadying breath, his blue eyes gleaming.  “I am honored you think so highly of me, sir.”

“That will never do. Call me Father. Yes, Eveline and I would love to keep both of you very close to us from now on.  It does wear on her so when Salome goes astray. We're very worried about her health, you see. She's clearly a full-blown <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Female_hysteria">hysteric</a> - it's been perfectly obvious to me from the second she arrived.  Now, your average doctor will prescribe intercourse for a hysteric woman, but I've found in most cases that just isn't enough for a complete recovery. Highly successful treatment requires a certain... tenderness, you could say, a sensitive and skillful hand, and to that end I'd be happy to personally tutor you in the special therapeutic massage techniques we've developed, and of course, the use of your dilator kits. We very much believe in husbands taking an active role in the treatment of their wives, and vice versa; we find hysteric paroxym is much easier to attain when the masseur is ah, shall we say, well liked by the patient." Borowitz purred. "This dial here controls the speed of the pulses - highly effective, I think you'll find.

Now, if you'd all like to step over here to the <a href="http://www.collectmedicalantiques.com/quack3.html">electro-therapy</a> chamber, I'll share with you the very latest developments in our research - We're amassing quite a lot of evidence that men, in fact, can suffer a condition very similar to hysteria. You see, it all began when we were in Tibet..."

*

"I keep telling you ducks that it's perfectly acceptable in Utah. How can you girls ever expect to get the vote if you keep waiting for the man to make these kind of decisions?" Eveline said, (though her help hadn't listened to her yet, when it came to men. Girls needed to make their own mistakes, she supposed.) "Catalina, dear, isn't that a bit tight?"

"Oh, <i>honestly,</i> Eveline, it's <i>fine.</i> Pull harder, Dolly, or I'll <i>never</i> fit into this accursed bodice."

Eveline sighed disapprovingly as the strapping young stable girl strained at Catalina's corset lacing. "All right. Just promise me you'll stop tight-lacing when you're with child. You too, Salome! No corseting once you get pregnant."

<i>"Mother!"</i> Sally blanched, her shoulder jerking under Eveline's hand.

"Do stop twitching, darling, or I'll end up pulling your hair."

“Salome, I <i>must</i> tell you how <i>terribly</i> impressed I was when you rode up. <i>Three</i> of them under your thumb and a whole <i>posse</i> whimpering behind!  Magnificent, <i>just magnificent.</i>" Catalina bubbled, only slightly breathless with the dreadful constriction of her waist.

"I knew you had it in you, darling," Eveline said proudly, pinning a golden curl into place.

"Which of them is <i>your</i> favorite?  <i>I</i> rather fancy the mulatto, myself. With his chest bare for all the world to see-  picture <i>that</i> one tupping a white ewe, hm? The one who helped you pick up the pitcher, Nancy, <i>you</i> remember. ” Catalina tittered.

Nancy blushed and nodded, ducking her head behind the stocking she was mending. "He did seem rather - ah - attached to the one with the spectacles, though," she said, softly, her flush creeping down her neck, "That is, um. Oh, dear, I didn't mean-"

Catalina giggled into her hand and Sally scowled at her reflection in the dressing table mirror.

"Of course you didn't, dear," Eveline said, gently. Once they were done dressing, she'd have Nancy get the suite next to the green room ready for those two young men; Vernon found them fascinating specimens, and would likely want to work late. (She'd just have to go and distract him if he wasn't in bed before she finished that letter to  <a href=" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victoria_Woodhull">Victoria.</a> Such a bright girl, if a bit confused at times.) "But, Salome, I rather fancied the young Sheriff."

"He walks with a certain <i>elegance,</i> doesn't he?" Catalina put in, excitedly.

"And he has such sensitive-looking hands."

"And the way he <i>looked</i> at you-"

Salome was very pale and faintly green. “He hasn't touched me!” she snarled.

“He hasn't?” Eveline asked, giving Salome's bangs a last fluff.

"Haven't <i>any</i> of them?" Catalina asked.

"NO."

"Well, no <i>wonder</i> you have them all so well in hand!" Catalina exclaimed, "But really, you mustn't tease them <i>too</i> much, or they'll lose interest!"

*

Jess was falling. Or it kind of felt like it. His mouth was tingling and he was falling like when you lie back on a big rock and feel the earth spin out from under you. And Jen's hair was sticking to his sweaty face, and the sun was shining through it like molten gold and, he thought dizzily, he was so not beaten yet.

"Rematch," he gasped, hauling hard on the back of Jen's neck.

Jen was solid as stone under Jess's hands. He grinned as he lowered himself, slowly, and boy was Jess hungry. He wasn't sure he'd ever been hungry like this before.

"Come on," he said, tugging, "Unless you're chicken," and Jen whispered, "You're on."

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Chapter 13: Part the Eleventh: Arabian Nights in White Satin

 Thomas Jefferson Wyatt had been named for his great-great-grandfather, from whom he'd also received his startling red hair, expansive civic-mindedness and rugged individualism.  Yes, he thought, placing the plate of perfectly square finger sandwiches next to the soup tureen, a gentleman must take pride in whatever task he undertakes, and complete it to the best of his abilities. He grinned fiercely at lunch, which was now perfectly and elegantly laid out on the grand dining table in spite of the severe difficulty of operating a dumb waiter one-handed.

Dolly and Nancy had been called away to help the ladies dress, and Lacy was no where to be found; intermittent thumping and banging from upstairs was far too common in this house to be a reliable way to locate his hyperactive young ward. Wyatt suppressed a sigh, adjusting his half-healed arm in its sling, and began methodically searching the sideboard for the lucifer matches. He'd just determined them missing and made a mental note to speak with Ms. Eveline again about hiding them from the young and irresponsible, when he heard a truly terrific series of thumps, accompanied by a very familiar cry of rage and exasperation. It couldn't be-  How ironic if, after months of hard work finding her and unsuccessfully attempting to herd her westward, his employers' wayward daughter had found her way home on her own. He firmly squelched his urge to hide in the kitchen until she (if, indeed it was her, which the stream of audible cursing from the upstairs hallways strongly supported) ran off again. Sally was by far the most trying assignment he’d gotten from Borowitz, but Mother couldn’t possibly be expected to pay for her own treatment while recovering from illness and divorce at Crystal Peak’s special facility in the Greek Isles, and the Doctor’s assignments were generally less perilous to his honor than a return to his former life of crime. Wyatt sighed, and started for the stairs. A gentleman knew his duty and attended to it with poise and efficiency, after all, and Wyatt was nothing if not a gentleman.

*

Sally MacGruder stomped viciously down the hallway of the west wing, the window panes and elaborate wall sconces rattling with the impacts of her boot heels. At least - and really, it was a stretch to call this a good thing, but Sally was trying her hand at optimism - at least, her mother hadn't hidden Lucille this time. Well, she had, but she'd let Sally watch where she hid her through a chink in the oriental screen, and later had distracted that twittering Southern hellion while Sally retrieved her precious firearm and took off. Sally MacGruder did not enjoy wasting her time on gossip or overly elaborate beauty rituals - and she would have been far more sparing with the attar of rose, no matter how nicely it complemented sandalwood.

Nothing, she decided, could possibly make this day any worse. She'd shoot anything that tried.

The nightmare of ruffles she'd been changed into succumbed to a much-needed catharsis of tearing without so much as a whimper. Yes, those thirty pounds of skirts looked much better of the floor, where they wouldn't impede her footwork or make her gunbelt ride up. Sally nodded in grim satisfaction, wheeled toward the stairs and found that silver-haired pervert leering wide-eyed at her, frozen at the top of them. Which was actually, she realized, in a sudden, blinding epiphany, a golden opportunity. She drew Lucille, cocked her hammer back, and smiled. The sun sank past the top of the window frame, bathing her white-clad form in molten honey.

"Won't you join me, Sheriff?" she purred, yanking open the nearest door and gesturing stiffly with her chin.

Eustace Brewer swallowed hard and pried his suddenly sweaty fingers from the banister.

"I'd be honored, ma'am."

"After you," Sally murmured, jamming the barrel of her revolver between the man's shoulder blades as he passed, and pushing him into the empty guest room.

The gilt-framed hall mirror which had briefly reflected her smile waited a full minute before sprouting a spider web of fine cracks across its surface. 

*

Grover Teasdale was dismayed to find he was not the first to the dining room for luncheon, but only because those who had gotten there first were, well, questionable.  But his wounded leg was aching, and the porch a long, plushly carpeted hobble behind him. He had to lean heavily on the sideboard while pouring himself a drink. He sighed and seated himself at the head of the table, stretching his leg gingerly. Ms. MacGruder really did need to look into getting better help, he thought, eyeing the scattered plates and the three children mounting a highly determined campaign of ingestion against them.  At the very least, someone to keep this kind of riffraff out.
Though, he admitted to himself, the Giant had been sufferable company while they were sitting on the porch, despite his scruffiness, and hadn’t once interrupted Grover’s harrowing account of a train robbery he’d personally prevented. The man in question was seated in a therapeutic vibrating chair which had inexplicably migrated into the dining room, wires trailing out the door and down the hallway. He was smiling softly into the middle distance. In front of him was a full plate, to which the girl on his left was constantly adding, and from which the boy on his right continually stole things, determinedly cramming the slices of cold roast beef into his already full mouth. The last boy was seated across from him, lounging back in his chair, and somehow managing to match the other bite for bite while looking thoroughly unaffected. All three of them were chattering incessantly, the girl to the unresponsive Giant, the boys smirking and taunting one another inanely. Grover felt a headache coming on, and took a large gulp of his cognac.

Frankly, he was surprised to see children left unsupervised in the Sanitarium – who knew what kinds of expensive, delicate equipment they could get into. But, he reminded himself, children were simple creatures really, easily distracted and impressionable.

He cleared his throat, loudly, waited a few seconds, and began:

“So there we were, just three men all alone, deep in Indian territory. Our victuals were running low, and we were nearly out of ammunition. Every bullet would have to count, were we attacked, or we would certainly be overwhelmed.  (Luckily my companions and I were all expert marksmen. Yu Yun can hit a rabbit in the eye at a hundred paces, Cormac at a hundred and fifty.) Why, Mr. Teasdale, you might say, any sane man would have fled in such a circumstance! But honor forbade such action:  the savages had taken a virtuous lady hostage, and we were her only hope of rescue and redemption. We managed to sneak all the way up to their very doorstep, when we were surprised from behind. They managed to wound me-“

“He screamed like a girl,” the dark-haired boy put in, and popped a deviled egg into his mouth.

“Did he rescue the lady?” the other boy asked, smirking.

“Nah, Sally hates his guts. You gonna finish that pudding?”

“Why, you think I can’t?”

Grover snapped his mouth closed, then ground his teeth in irritation. He would never understand why a woman of quality like Salome MacGruder would voluntarily lower herself so far as to associate with these ruffians. He would never have dreamed the refined and tasteful Ms. Eveline might be her mother, until the poor, deluded girl had shown up here, where she stood out like a rough diamond in a velvet jewel case. Teasdale knocked back the last of his cognac and thanked God briefly for his dear, gentle, ladylike Catalina. Where was she, come to think of it?  If luncheon were put off much longer it would become dinner. What was left of it.

*

Sally MacGruder stomped viciously down the servants’ corridor toward the kitchen, buttoning the sheriff’s shirt over her bustier with savage yanks. Wyatt trailed after her, trying desperately to compose himself for the necessity of confrontation. It was natural, he reminded himself, for the gentleman, upon finding a pile of torn women’s garments lying strewn across the hall, to investigate. And perhaps it hasn’t been gentlemanly of him to leave the sheriff in such a… condition… but, chivalry and propriety demanded that Miss MacGruder not be allowed to walk through this house in such an indecent state of dress unchaperoned. Yes, the things honor sometimes demanded of him were trying indeed.

Sally slammed into the deserted kitchen, banging the swinging door in his face. She was waiting for him when he pushed through it with his shoulder, face contorted with an unusual amount of rage, even for her.

"I didn't need your help," she snarled, drawing two pistols at him, one of which was much larger than usual and covered in ornate scrollwork. 

"Uh," Wyatt began, staring at it, "Miss Sally, that’s not your pistol, is it?"

Her eyes widened as they lit on the mismatched guns and she swore. The second-best salt cellar shattered, spraying fine white crystals across the wide kitchen table.

With a growl she holstered both pistols at her hips, whipped around and practically sprinted for the door.

"Miss Sally, you can't mean to go outside like that-"

She stopped short, looked down at her torn petticoat, the Sheriff's vest and rumpled shirt hanging from her shoulders.

"You're right," she said, slowly, half-turning and leveling Lucille at his face again.  "Pants and boots. Now."

She cocked the hammer back, and he hurried to comply, sliding his boots across the floor to her and, fumbling with his fly buttons one-handed. 

"Sally, think of your poor mother-" he tried.

"Shut up," she snarled, gesturing with the gun, "Just toss those over here nice and easy."

He did so. She eyed him menacingly as he stood there in his skivvies, then carefully lowered Lucille's hammer and turned away.

"I don't like you," she told him, over her shoulder, "So give it up. Moron." And then she slammed through the swinging doors and was gone.

*

Catalina Teasdale, nee Barnes, loved a wedding, and was honored, just honored, when Ms. Eveline allowed her to plan Salome’s. Oh, it would be just as divine as she could make it, perhaps with a Persian theme – yes, yes, Arabian Nights, with silks and satins draped everywhere, and perhaps an exotic dancing girl for the reception…  Oh! It would be divine, simply divine!  Salome and her Sheriff were so obviously in love! Perhaps it would even rival the splendor of her own union with dear Grovie last week. Catalina tittered to herself, nearly skipping up the stairs to the attic, in search of the costumes Ms. Eveline had told her about. Ah, glorious, glorious! The trunk was packed full of stiffly embroidered coats, savage prints from the orient, exotic wraps and glorious silken robes which fluttered beautifully when twirled about. The scent of patchouli filled the dusty attic, mingling with her sighs of delight.

Dolly and Nan were still closeted with Ms. Eveline when Catalina went looking for help with the heavy trunk. When questioned about the bride’s whereabouts Ms. Eveline smiled mysteriously and said something about the wedding likely needing to be sooner than she’d thought. Catalina, who was a consummate hostess and equal to any challenge, clapped delightedly. Yes, yes! A sunset ceremony overlooking the majestic hills, with a banquet of spiced cakes and ices afterwards! She knew just the perfect spot for it, too – the little knoll where Grovie had proposed to her during a twilight stroll. Oh, there was so much to do! The dress was chosen - a glittering white sari, beaded all over with purple waterlilies -  but there must be flowers, and suitable attire for the wedding party, and ah, yes, a suitable wedding party as well…

A groomsman, flower girl and ring bearer were easily located in the dining room, under the expert supervision of her Grovie.  She kissed him thoroughly as a reward, and told them all to stay put. The minister was busy in his study, though he turned up quickly after an extended bout of knocking at the suite next door produced two disheveled ushers – maids of honor, really, since they were to be in the bridal party. She did hope Dolly would have something wide-shouldered for them, if there weren't enough saris to go around.

It took Grovie over an hour to comfort her when she was utterly unable to find the groom anywhere on the grounds. They finished just in time for her to arrange the flowers for the surprise double wedding which took place later that evening in a hastily arranged arcade of candles under the fiery desert stars. She always cried at weddings; unfortunately, the brides and their lucky groom occupied the hydrotherapy room far into the night, forcing Grovie to comfort her further in the privacy of their own suite. Eventually, she remembered that she still had Salome's wedding to plan, and a whole day or more to assemble the necessary harem pants. She slipped into sleep glowing with contentment.

*

Lightning didn't mind so much, he supposed. Sally was much lighter than the wagon had been, though she was a bit rough with the reins. It was cooling off rapidly now that the sun had set, and there was decent browse at their little campsite. He had at least had time to get groomed and drink his fill at the stable of that strange-smelling house. And anyway, the big black stallion had been eyeing him in a way he didn’t particularly like, and eyeing the sweet little bay who’d ridden up after them in a way he liked even less.

Okay, so maybe he was a bit miffed at having to leave her back there alone with that stud-horse.

But Sally needed his help, and he couldn’t deny her that, wouldn’t dream of denying her. She was staring into a smoky little fire, absently caressing the large, fancy pistol sitting in her lap, biting her lip. He nuzzled her shoulder, lipping her collar and she pushed his face away with a murmured protest.

He wuffled contentedly, and surveyed the horizon, scenting the air for coyotes, wolves or other pursuers. Will or his master would come looking for them sooner or later, he hoped. If they could pry themselves away from rutting for that long. And if they didn’t, life with Sally might not be so bad. They could find quiet little cabin somewhere by a mountain stream, with a lush glade of grass and a nearby town full of pretty fillies to impress with his rugged good looks. Maybe, if he was really lucky, Sally would take up horse-rustling.

The wind picked up a bit, wheeling around and blowing from the east, carrying new scents for him to sample. He sniffed suspiciously, taking a few steps out into the dusky desert, away from the smoke of the fire.  Yes, he was quite certain! It was her, his little bay mare, and she was all by herself but for a lone rider who smelled of cologne and suede, and something effervescent, like sun glittering on water. Lightning tossed his head happily, and trotted out into the night to meet them.

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Chapter 14: Epilogue

<center>
<b>Epilogue</b>
</center>

Like ships in the night, two letters crossed paths in the post office of Jefferson county, Nebraska. One was a card depicting swans floating on the reflecting pool in the Schönbrunn Palace gardens. It read:

Darlings,
Having delightful time in Vienna! Met fascinating
young man, Sigmund, at the opera - long walks,
discussions of human consciousness and sexual
deviance over brunch in the Innere Stadt - Vernon
and I are quite taken with him!
My love to the children,
Eveline.

The other was written in an elegant, elaborately flourished hand on creamy, expensive paper ornamented with white lilies. It read:

 Dearest Mother,

 We are settling in to yet another new home, this time in Patience, Arizona. The house is adobe, in the Spanish style, quite cool and functional, with a charming terrace overlooking a little box canyon. It rained the second morning we were here and the hills just erupted with enchanting purple flowers - you really must come visit next spring, if not before. The children have been much excited, and get into endless trouble - Faith got into a fistfight with a little boy from town within two hours of getting here, and last week, they left a live rattlesnake under a basket by the back door. Scared the living daylights out of me when I went out to peg up the laundry! Little Tobias is just starting to toddle, and gets into everything; this morning I found him asleep in the pantry cupboard when I went looking for my bundt pan. Eustace Jr. is doing very well at his lessons, but I suspect Clarence has been teaching him how to play cards - Oh, that's right, he and Will showed up exactly three weeks after we moved here, just as we'd predicted. William has set himself up as a doctor for the mines, the previous doctor having left town rather abruptly soon after they arrived.  William is also kind enough to help with the children, continuing their tutoring, and even opening the lessons to the few other children in town. They did attract some unsavory attention when they first arrived, until the loudest of their detractors came down with a protracted, unusually severe case of dysentery. The man will most likely pull through, and things seem to have quieted down for the moment. I only hope there won't be any official complaints - I can't imagine all this sand would be good for a bullet wound. 
  In response to your last letter, Salome seems to be quite a bit happier here than in Oregon; there's at least one good barfight for her to break up each week, and claim jumpers and vagrants to haul in constantly. Keeping busy seems to make her more receptive to therapy as well - have tried several of the techniques you recommended with very good success.
 Jess Thimbleton and Jenner Birch - you remember, the flower girl and the ring bearer? - are also in town, and boarding with us a while on their way from Mexico to Alaska. They were apparently in California last year when that awful earthquake hit. When I asked about it, Jen just smiled and Jess turned red as a beet. The Wyatts also wrote us a lovely letter, and are considering a visit once their youngest is out of diapers, though perhaps we'll stop with them instead, should Sally insist on relocating yet again.
 Hope you are having a smashing time on the Continent! The children and all of us send our love to you and Vernon. We think of you constantly!
 Your Son,
  Eustace

Below this, in tense, harried handwriting, was a brief note:

Mother,
Constantly surrounded by morons; your advice to go abroad sounding better by the day. Perhaps the children would enjoy South America?
Lose that pervert at Versailles or somewhere and come home.
-Sally

<i><center>And that, dear Readers, concludes the Legend of Hungry Jess Thimbleton. I may not get to answer comments for a long time, so thank you all for your support during this long and trying project!   </center></i>

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