Chapter 4: Strange Pursuit

[Thumper]

DT isn't convinced this man’s temper is finished. He seems able to turn his temper on and off. Given the proximity, he thinks this man may strike again...at least until Doos succeeds in disarming him. Only when Mrs Smith moves out of striking distance, he drops the revolver to his side and moves closer to the little brother and says:

I'm actually a Medical Doctor. 6 years in the Army forts to the West. Can't imagine your brother would want me to treat him, and I wouldn't touch him unless he's sedated with Ether or Chloroform...both of which I have. Can’t tell from here, but that left arm is mangled. It might have to come off. You're welcome to take him to the cattle veterinarian, or you can put him under and I'll do the work. Up to you two.

Just 'cause the brute got shot by DT doesn't mean DT would Pro Bono the treatment when his own actions led to his wounds. But he’d do his best to practice good medicine.

While the little brother figures it out, DT will walk over to Moriarty and treat him...waking him with smelling salts.

[jemmus]

The smaller man-- and he's not a small man-- looks at DT sideways for minute. It seems that he may be less hot-tempered than the big fellow, but not much more sociable. He ain't mah brother, mister, he says. But he's half owner of this wagon, team and gear, and ah mean to git it movin inta buffalo country. Ah already lost three weeks' profit cause is bad temper gittin throwed in the calaboose. Gideon rests his hand on his holstered pistol's grip, chaws his tobacco, and says, It takes a man of a special temperament to shoot hundreds a buffalo cows and calves from a quarter mile off, fer a buck er two each per hide. And leave the meat ta rot fer the buzzards.
Takes a kind a special temperament and character The man looks at him, and it seems that now he's the one who's about lose his temper. But he decides against it and just scoffs. Gideon casually looks him in the face poker faced and chews. Somewhat reminiscent of the way a dumb, harmless cow chews the cud when she's sitting down in the evening.

The big bleeding man with the battered face is amazingly still on his feet. He slowly puts his lightly wounded knife and gun hand on his pistol's grip and pulls the hammer back. and says to DT, No sir. Keep yer doctorin-- and yer shootin inta fights that ain't none a yer hotddamn truck-- ta yerself. If ya don't want yer head blowed off. Ah'll remember you, doctor. All a y'all. He looks around at the group, fixing his eyes each one standing there in the street. Including Mrs. Smith. Texas is a big state, but there ain't that many Texans in it. "It's a small world," as they say and paths come across each other. Howard, let's go find that cattle doctor and git out a this damned little town and on ar way. The wagon rolls down the street, the big man driving and the smaller one sitting watching behind.

DT moves to attend to unconscious Moriarty lying bunged up in the dust. A man maybe in his late 50s or early 60s with a tin staron his coat comes loping up. He stands in the stirrups, as if to avoid the discomfort of sitting seated in a saddle might cause him. He looks around at the scene, noting the unfamiliar faces outside of the dining and lodging house. He tips his hat to Mrs. Smith and says hurriedly. Mornin, Mizz Smith, What happened here? She replies, Seems like a guest didn't like mah breakfast conversation er that knocked out man from Ireland thar. It turned inta a fist fight, that man lost it ta tha buffalo hunter and went down, and tha other feller went to knife him. We started shootin then, ta stop tha murder. Ah can vouch fer these men, they was all polite and honest guests. Tha man with the knife got shot in the arm pretty bad. Him and his partner just drove off in thar wagon to Carl and June Budd's house fer doctorin. The sheriff tips his hat again and says, Thank ya, Mizz Smith. Ah'll take a look and stop by later. Ah'll have ta write up a report fer the county judge. That's me too, all a y'all, if ya don't know. He has a pained expression on his face. Ah don't suppose y'all can stay around until ah take a look in the vet's office and write it up?

Gideon chews a little more, then stops. His face takes it's grim, stony expression again. He says in a quiet voice, Ah don't know about y'all, ah'm just speakin fer mahself. Ah ain't wastin no more time on no trials. That sheriff, Lord bless him, ain't got no help ta take on them boys is out thar. And they're mankillers. It's already past breakfast and full mornin daylight. And we don't even know which way ta ride ta start ta look fer em. Somewhar south a Burnett, ah guess.

Per the Brawling rules, characters recover 1 point of Strength per hour from Brawling wounds. With treatment by a Doctor with a successful Medical roll. Otherwise, it seems that it could take much longer, depending on whether the wounds were Light or Serious. If DT wants to assess that, another Medicine roll would be needed. Let's say at 20 minutes needed per roll, in this situation.

PCs' actions?

[Thumper]

DT would treat Moriarty. Then he’d want to speak with the Sheriff briefly to see if he can point them to the squeaky windmill south of the river and likely west of the Burnet-Johnson Junction road. He’d also ask the sheriff to inquire of the vet as to whether he’s patched up any riders with bullet wounds in the past week or so. He’d pursue details if so.

Somewhere in there, he’ll turn over the mail bag with the salvaged letters picked up yesterday. He’d give it to the Sheriff or the store/post office.

Otherwise, DT is anxious to get out on the hunt.

Medicine 15: [1d20]=4

[ateno]

"We had a days work ahead of us as it is, so we are good till the morning I bet. If this lady has no reservations for tonight."

Doos smiles at her.

"Somewhere between assault and attempted murder happed this morning, I can write you a brief if I can use your paper and pencil Sherriff."

Doos

[cybersavant]

Andreas Larson steps outside and upon hearing Gideon, he turns to him with a smile. "I left ein mark on der road. Iff no vhun tampered mit it, vhe can pick up der tracks vher i stopped last night."

[Thumper]

Andreas Larson steps outside and upon hearing Gideon, he turns to him with a smile. "I left ein mark on der road. Iff no vhun tampered mit it, vhe can pick up der tracks vher i stopped last night."

DT:
Wait, what? You had the trail?

We worried about ya out there on your own. But we didn’t know where you’d gotten off to! Good to see ya this mornin’.

[jemmus]

DT administers to Moriarty with available rather harsh medicines from his bag. After a few minutes, the redhaired man regains consciousness and looks around, still dazed. His face is bruised and swollen. Mrs. Smith says, You'd better come back into the house and rest, Mr. Moriarty. A half a day, at least. Moriarty pulls himself up and rather unsteadily makes his way toward the house. He says in his outlandish Irish brogue, An hour or so's rest will be fine, ma'am. Then I'll be out of your way, and on my own.

A man wearing farm clothes, work shoes and a tin star comes galloping up and reins in his horse. He looks over the scene, the strangers, the large patches of blood in the dirt of the street with Mrs. Smith's Yeller sniffing them. Mrs. Smith yells, Yeller! You git away from that! The dog seems torn between intense curiosity and perhaps canine appetite and fear of the lady's ire. The first impulse causes him to linger, until a matronly Yeller! Stop that and git over here! brings him back to his better senses. The man with the star touches his hat's brim. Mrs. Smith, sheriff. Sorry ah'm late. Ah heard shootin. Mrs. Smith says for the deputy sheriff's and Moriarty's benefit, Mr. Moriarty and another guest, Mr. Mike Bartow, stepped outside fer a fistfight. Mr. Bartow won and knocked Mr. Moriarty out and pulled a bowie knife. He was about to stab him so me and Dr. Crockett shot him. He got a bad shot in his arm, but ah suppose he'll live. His partner Mr. Carmichael put him in their wagon and the headed to Carl and June Budd's place for doctorin.

The sheriff with the stiff and smarting lower back says to Doos, If by "brief" ya mean a signed statement about what ya witnessed, we'd appreciate that, sir. Just one statement to back up Mrs. Smith's honest word ought to be more than enough fer the judge. The boarding house's proprietor replies to Doos as well. If by "reservations" ya mean spoke-fer rooms, Mr. Doos, no, we ain't got any. Y'all are welcome fer another night if ya like.

Gideon's ears perk up at Andreas's words. Ya picked up a trail, Mr. Andreas? From whar we come across that wrecked stage coach? Lead the way if ya would, sir. Let's ride, y'all! "Strike while the iron's hot." One a tha prophets said that, and that's some wise advice. The sheriff and deputy look at Gideon, their thoughts obviously questioning and evaluating.

At DT's inquiry, the quite beyond mature county sheriff looks at the stranger for a moment, appraising. We got more'n a few squeakin windmills in Burnett County, Doctor. Ah wonder why anybody'd be lookin fer a particular one.

A crow caws loudly from up behind Mrs. Smith Dining & Lodging House. She mutters to herself, Tha rascal is callin ta his cronies about that hangin rattler.... She turns and starts marching with her bad knees and ankle (on the same side) toward her garden and hog sty behind the house. Yeller! Go on! Ah know ya cain't chase a clever ole crow in a tree. But just run on ahead! And that he does, barking like all get out.

DT can roll a Stature roll for some assistance with his inquiry. With possible bonuses awarded for the credibility or convincingness of the explanation. Anyone else can also jump in with the same roll and same possible bonuses.

[Thumper]

DT:
Well, Sheriff. I’d like to know what ya know about the Sheppard brothers.

He pauses for effect and to gauge the Sheriff’s, Marshall’s, and Mrs Smith’s reaction.

Or about the man that calls himself Phineas McLaury? We know they travel through here occassionally.

Again a slight pause and assessment by DT and his companions.

You see, my old friend, Judge Doos, Mr William Moore, Esquire, Mr Andreas Larson, and Mr Gidean McLaury again a slight pause for assessment and for emphasis of the name fell victim to horse thieves a week ago. Horses stolen from a locked stable overnight down in San Marcos. They got their horses back after tracking and confronting a rustling ring…the Duncan brother's gang. Had to kill some, but went way out of their way to bring others to Austin to stand trial and get convicted rather than just stringing ‘em up. Honorable.

They lost one of their own along with a Hays County Sheriff Deputy at the scene of that Blanco County rustling transfer station. They rode later with the Rangers investigating that ring and station, but they got into a shooting match with a small band of Commanches SouthWest of Austin. I did a bit of doctoring for those convalescing Rangers, then agreed to ride along with my old friend judge Doos here. Mr Moriarty here is new to us. Met him on the road into town yesterday. Looking for Sam Bass who he thinks came out this direction.

Evidence says those Blanco rustlers trade, er, traded stolen horses with the Sheppard gang…and messages are, or were, passed between gangs via a shabby ranch where I described…down South of the River around 5 miles West of the road Southbound outta town. That ranch has a squeaky windmill. We aim to speak with folks who live there at “River Station”, so called by the Duncan Brothers gang.

He asks Gidean to retrieve the mail bag and give it to the Marshall.

Picked that up a few miles down the road at the site of the stage robbery. Like to have y’all turn that over to the town postman. Guess no-one else’s been out that way since it happened?

There’s a fair chance these Sheppards and their friends are involved in the stage robberies. We found some evidence to that effect. We’re also here on behalf of Wells Fargo…contracted to stop the coach robberies. Wells Fargo and the Texas Rangers now know everything we do about the Sheppard rustling ring as well as our suspicion of them being the stage robbers glancing over to Moriarty or at least one of ‘em.

Oh ya, I almost forgot, I have a letter right here from Ranger Captain Watson…you might know him as the one-armed Ranger.

Mrs Smith, can you read that out loud for all of us, ma’am? as he hands it to Mrs Smith to read to the lawmen.

What can you tell us about the Sheppards, the “River Station”, and the hold ups?

I’d also like to know if anybody passing through town the past few days stopped for gunshot wound treatments.

Will you help us?

Stature 7 [1d20]=10

At some point in the conversation, DT will turn to Moriarty and say, I think I speak for all of us…you’re welcome to join our cause now that you know all about us. You seem a decent and honorable man. We were a bit vague with you yesterday on the road…please forgive us. If you help us bring in the rustlers and robbers, I’ll for one will assist you take Sam Bass in…I hope we all will.

[cybersavant]

Andreas Larson starts toward the stable behind the house, but stops to listen as the Doctor talks.

[redwarrior]

William interjects as he says, we lost one of our own, I knew that deputy and I rode with those Rangers. These rustlers will face justice for the damage they inflicted. In a court if we can, but face it they will.


Stature target 13 [1d20]=4

[jemmus]

The sheriff says, I've never run across anyone calling himself Phineas McLaury. Ah imagine ah'd remember the name, it's a unusual one. Mrs. Smith reads the letter from the Ranger captain vouching for the men and the sheriff and deputy sheriff listen. The sheriff says, I know Zeb Watson. That sounds about like the way I'd imagine he'd write a letter. Ah imagine them Comanches is why the Rangers haven't be out to check with us about them stage robberies. We wanted to check em out ourselves, but as ya can probably see ah hurt mah back, and wasn't goin to send Deputy Sheriff Bayless here out on his own against a cold-blooded murders robber gang

Since Captain Watson vouches for ya, ah'll let ya know about a place ah know with a squeaky windmill in the area ya described. Ah don't have much occasion to go around there much. It's about a mile south a the Colorado River, and like ya said, about five miles west a the road, and about five miles east a where Sandy Creek runs inta the Colorado. It used to belong ta the Vitek family, but Billy took ill and couldn't farm or work cattle anymore, so they moved to Waco, where he had kin. Ah heard that he opened a barbecue place there and it's doin alright. If they sold the place here, we didn't get any notice of it for the county records. A couple a months back we was in the area a the old Vitek place and saw that there was horses in the corral. A dozen er so, pretty good ones. Ah didn't look at the brands, because gittin close to somebody's livestock on their own land is a good way to git yerself shot in Burnet County. Or about anywhere in Texas, ah imagine. Ah stopped by the house to pay mah respects, but there was nobody in. Ah hurt mah back after that and ah haven't been back, didn't think ah had any pressin need to. Now ah wish we'd taken a look at them brands. Ah can confirm that there was a squeaky windmill at the place.

The deputy looks at the sheriff and the sheriff looks back, then shakes his head. Mr. Bayless knows the location of the place, but ah can't spare him. Presently ah can't do much more than talk like a preacher or school teacher, and Burnet County needs at least one lawman who can ride, fight, and shoot if he has to. When ya git in the area, look fer a big place with a Texas flag flyin on a flagpole in front a the ranch house. That's Wilfred Bland's place. Wil's a good ole boy. He can give ya directions ta the old Vitek place, and he might feed ya dinner too. Tell him Jack Ellis in Burnet sent ya, and tell him plain what yer after.

Moriarty replies to DT, I thank ye for the invitation and the trust, Dr. Crockett, all. But if this dog starts chasin one rabbit, then another one catches his eye and he turns to chase it instead, he might not catch either. I've got my eye on Sam Bass, and I've down my school work on his habits. I'll ask ya, when the time time is right, if ya can help with baggin him and splittin the reward fair. I'll ask the good sheriff hear to pass along any messages received in Burnet to me. And I can be reached by telegram at the Drover Hotel in Austin. And I tip my hat to the indomitable Mrs. Smith of Burnet County. The Saint Patrick of Burnet County! He indeed lifts and tips his hat. Mrs. Smith has her hands on her hips. You better git inside and lay down, Mr. Moriarty. Ya about got kicked in tha head by a mule. Ya ain't thinkin straight. Come on, ah'll help ya up the steps. Hold onta mah shoulder. One. Two... Moriraty cries, Good Lord, you're dragging me backward, woman! Ye've got no rhythm! I can do it myself! He stumbles up a step at a time, and the older woman murmurs Tssk. Boarding house business. Ever kind a varmint showin up at all times a night. Let's git ya inta e=ye yer bed and quilt ya up, Mr. Moriarty. Ya can wake up and start movin around when yer ready....

Gideon says, She's all yers, Deputy Sheriff. Ah'm glad to be rid of the responsibility of handling the U.S. Mail. Even if it was just fer a couple a seconds. Mishandlin it is a Federal offense punishable by life imprisonment and fines of up ta five thousand dollars, ya know. Besides, ah might have a love letter ta a certain big ole gal at the Gay Lady in Austin in thar. He gives farmer-rancher Deputy Sheriff a friendly wink. He turns to the riders crew, grim and stern. So, let's git outa here before some Burnet County judge wakes up and gits stuck waitin fer a stinkin buffalo hunter trial! Ya can take the "stinkin" part however ya like. If we don't got Andreas Larson's track, we got a general direction and a flyin Texas flag ta folla. No offense, y'all, but whether y'all are comin with er not, ah'm ridin fer south a tha Colorada. Taday. He points to the southwest. That way.

Mrs. Smith yells, Yeller! You git away from that dead rattler before ah whup ya with a folded newspaper! Git! Git on now!

So...
-The sheriff has confirmed seeing a ranch/farmstead in with a squeaky windmill and horses in a corral in the area described by the rustler prisoner Mark "Slim" Davidson from an Austin jail.
-The sheriff didn't answer DT's question about anyone receiving medical treatment for wounds, but it seems that the rather talkative lawman probably just honestly missed it.
-DT has not yet visited the veterinarian Dr. Carl Budd that Mrs. Smith mentioned, nor his wife June at their clinic-barn-stable-home.
-From Moriarty's previous casual talk from yesterday, and the sheriff's today, it seems that the Irishman's Longhorn Caverns and the robber's suspected station might lie along the same general line, the caverns being closer, just a couple of miles away.
-It's around 7:45 in the morning, Monday, early June, south central Texas. The sky is clear again today, and the Moon will be gibbous again tonight.

Actions?

[Thumper]

DT finds himself chuckling, once again, at the big personalities of Texans. Salt of the Earth.

Andreas having a trail and the Sheriff’s information providing apparent validation of Slim’s statement are enough for DT to settle on the next steps. The Veterinarian and his wife will have their hands full with that nasty Buffalo hunter for a while.

Sheriff, it was a a pleasure to meet you and your deputy. We will follow up on your directions. Thank you for the info on the Vitek and Blands. I expect we’ll check ‘em both out by the end of the day. Hoping your back heals quick. When we come back to town, and less rushed, I’d be happy to see to it. Unless there’s an infection or something I can see to quickly now? if not, DT extends his hand in a shake. He tips his hat to the Deputy and the widow Smith.

Two things are true about Moriarty. He’s found a new mother…a Texan mom. And it certainly won’t do to chase two targets at once. We best saddle up and ride out quick. Lots to do today.

He saddles Ajax and brings him around front, and retrieves his things. He’s ready to ride.

[redwarrior]

William follows DT's lead and mounts up ready to ride.

[ateno]

"I was hoping to sell my extra saddle out here, but your right, let's go."

Doos

[cybersavant]

Andreas Larson saddles his pinto and mounts up as well. He nods to Mr.s Smith as they leave.

[jemmus]

Gideon saddles up as well and slides his newish shotgun into a long saddle sheathe. Thank ya Mizz Smith, that was some fine dinin and the bedclothes sure was clean and good-smellin. Ah'll recommend yer place ta anyone passin through Burnett. Tha reputable ones, a course. He takes his hat off and says in lower voice, Mizz Smith, if ya got a extra prayer tonight, pray fer us out on tha roads and trails. We're headed to find and probably gunfight some rough and pitiless men. Mrs. Smith nods and replies, We'll git right on that, Mr. McLaury. All a us, and right away. She wipes her flour-coated hands on her apron and steps onto her porch to stand and watch, as is the custom, until the travelers ride away and are out of sight. The mounted sheriff with the stiff and painful back and the deputy with his star pinned onto his farm work shirt do the same.

The riders know that there are several ways to approach the ranch place across the Colorado. They know the general location-- maybe 15 miles to the SSW, on the other side of the Colorado River. Around 5-10 miles west of the road going south from Burnett

Andreas, who tracked horse tracks from the second wrecked stagecoach for some miles leads the way.

Need an orienteering roll for Andreas, with the goal of finding the spot where he left off from his tracking again.

[Thumper]

DT follows Andreas' lead and let's his horse follow while trying to keep a sharp lookout in the brush.

[cybersavant]

Andreas Larson heads out on the road, backtracking to where he left markings to lead them back to the trail.

[ateno]

Doos follows along, watching the horizon. And behind.

Doos

[jemmus]

The riders follow Andreas's lead toward the south southwest. The pass big ranches, 160 acres or more, some up to 640 acres, fenced with cedar posts and strands of tight steel wire. Big herds of longhorn cattle graze head down on the grass between the scattered mesquite trees and bushes.

The land is hilly, and there's no road, only cattle trains worn by cattle walking single file to streams or dammed stock ponds. Around three miles outside of Burnett the land becomes rougher and the hills steeper. It's unfenced and no ranch houses or dwellings are seen. A covey of fat quail flushes from the tall grass and rises at a shallow angle, flying directly away from the riders. Gideon says, Them's good eatin, and it'd be a pretty easy shot with this shotgun. But this buckshot would just tear the meat all up.
And besides, doin any unnecessary shootin on this ride might be foolish. The riders come across a small herd of whitetail deer 70 yards off. They peer at the men and horses alertly, ears twitching, ready to bolt and flee.

Then into a flat place, where for some reason of the climate and soil, the bluebonnets haven't yet gone to seed.

After two hours the riders have covered a little over four miles. A couple of fenced ranches with their longhorns come into view. Andreas stops. He rides just a few steps to a rough little cone stones stacked by a dead tree branch. He dismounts, examines the ground, and looks of to the south southwest.

Andreas nailed that Orienteering roll with plenty to spare. Anyone who wants to roll for Tracking can do that. It requires being dismounted and leading your horse, or giving the reins to someone else. A tracking roll is required every two miles, which in this terrain on foot (or on horseback) is every hour. It's around 9:45 AM. If anyone wants to interact with the deer or other encountered creatures, or do anything else, please say.