Chapter 3 - City of 10,000 Guns

[jemmus]

Andreas, Doos, the rail construction the guards, and the not especially prosperous nor talented fellows call Larry, Curly and Moe have their special deluxe supper in the guards tent. Steak fried in bacon grease, with the bacon with it; mashed potatoes with plenty of milk and butter and milk beef gravy; fresh collard greens sauteed in bacon grease, German Texan style; corn bread. The two remaining guards (the singing one and the harmonica one) discuss current events.

Harmonica: I wonder what happened to Dickens. He took off all of a sudden without so much as a how-do-ye-do to anybody.
Tenor: I never trusted that fella much anyway. Always writin somethin he didn't want anybody to see. That "Irene" gal of his didn't seem vary real. In my cowpunchin days I spent plenty a time hearin lonesome and homesick cowboys goin on and on about the the sweetheart waiting for em off somewhar. They'd read a letter from the gal over and over again, and often out loud, to show off to everbody that they had a letter from a gal.
Yeah. I've heard a belly full of that stuff too. Dickens didn't do that. He'd just open a letter, read the lines back and forth, and fold it up and stash it in his rucksack.
Well, he's gone and supper's good, I guess it ain't any a our truck.
Yup. Cookie done good. Same fer the manager Smith takin off on a train fer Austin with a boy sent from the railroad office and these fella's partners. He nods to politely Doos and Andreas, and half again in the direction of the Stooges. If it was any of our truck, the railroad would have to up ar pay. And I don't foresee that happenin. Cornbread's a little salty fer mah taste, though.
Yup, fer mine too.
They go back to eating from their tin dishes, wiping the various mixed juices and sopping them up the little too salty cornbread.

At that point, Gao hustles in with a steaming pie, its pan held by hands under worn, palms-blackened leather railroad gloves. He drops it on the little folding wooden table, and gives Doos and Andreas black scowls. Then turns and hustles back toward the cook tent.

The group at the camp and the group in The Iron Front Saloon are synched in time. Things are happening at the same time, but a 45 minute ride apart. TBC

[Thumper]

As They make their way out of the Iron Front Saloon and while cinching saddle straps:

“As to temporary "Special Deputation" with no pay, just the reward money upon success, that is an intriguing idea. I’m wondering if we can be employed for pay in a job that allows us to also collect rewards.”

Pretty standard for local lawmen, Texas Rangers, and Federal Marshall’s to receive a small base salary, plus bonuses, plus keep any offered rewards or bounties. Feds get bonus pay for serving subpoenas, finding snd interviewing witnesses, and such. Town Marshals and Sheriffs also get paid bonuses per arrest, stray dogs shot, and the like. I suspect that was part of your trouble in San Marcos and with the Austin Marshals. Looking to bump their pay for the day.

Before lunch with you guys, I stopped in at the U.S. Marshall’s office. Deputy Dorner, seemed like a good guy, offered to help recruit me to his boss. Problem is, it takes weeks to get the paperwork in order. Maybe this could be an Avenue into holding a badge but not being under the bureaucrat’s thumb in the performance of his duties instead of ours.

I guess if we formed our own team, we could join up with the Rangers, maybe. Not sure how tied they are to the State Captain’s string. We could ask tomorrow. I should look in on the two you rode and got shot up by Indians, William. State office is here in town.

After too many years in the Army, I just don’t want to trade one puppet string for another. I’d want freedom to pursue the endeavors that interest me, not get told what to do. At least not all the time.

Perhaps Doos or William could shed some light on that. Food for thought.

I’m going to run Ajax and try to beat the fading light. We could be back to camp in 20 minutes or so if we hustle.

[redwarrior]

William shares the events of going back to the old farm and trailing the horses up to the Indian encounter, the subsequent separation from the Rangers, and the results of their shootout with the Indians, and the fact that they're not going to be able to send anyone out for the rustlers for some time. He visibly perks up at the talk of "special deputations" and the like. I also think the rustlers and the wells fargo attackers are part of the same gang. I like this idea of special deputations. I agree, I don't want a boss or to be following orders. But it seems that in this country one can make a living just fine with righting wrongs as one finds them AND have the freedom to move around as he sees fit.

[ateno]

Doos will nod back to the two guards and smile.

Doos will take a shift until it gets dark and then head over to his appointment with his bottle of whiskey.

Doos

[Grognardsw]

“Alright then, tomorrow morning Doc why don’t you see about getting us the Special Deputations,” said Paladin, seeing their personal interest in rewards aligning with the private interests of Wells Fargo and the Cattlemen’s Association. “That authority will be good to have.”

He pondered connections between horse rustlers, the murderers, stage coach robbers, and known persons of interest like Harry Adler and King Fisher.

What is the circumstances of the murders? I’m hazy on what happened.

Knowing that following the money can get one to the bottom of things, while being paid handsomely to do so, Paladin said: “Should we see if Wells Fargo wants to hire us as well? That could give us inside access to interviewing the robbed drivers, getting the route map, and access to their coaches for us to ride and perhaps lay a trap. Maybe plant rumors of a big shipment or rich passenger, then be part of that coach and see if the robbers take the bait?”

“If there is interest, I can inquire about that tomorrow at Wells Fargo while DT talks to the rangers.”

Any responses for these…?

At the Iron Front Saloon...

“So Gideon, how much did you make on side bets in the shooting contest?”

At the Iron Front Saloon...

Paladin talked with Leon from San Marcos. “How is the sheriff recovering? That Darryl’s wife seems to stir men’s emotions right easy.”

[redwarrior]

William DT, if you don't mind, I'll accompany you when you visit the rangers. I feel bad for lighting out when I did. They were right that it was the sensible thing to do, but it don't feel right, and I might have made a difference had I been there.

[Thumper]

Sure, Paladin. I’ll check with the US Marshal and the Texas State Rangers tomorrow, as soon as we’re back in town. Don’t see much utility in deputizing with the local law. Too local.

Would love the company, William.

And he runs Ajax out to the Rail Camp…15 minutes or so at a run?

[jemmus]

Four big, relatively amiable bouncers stand inside the door of The Iron Front Saloon. Inside, it's a lively time.

A piano player bangs out lively tunes to the accompaniment of a banjo. Once in a while an accordionist joins in and they play a polka for the German-descent folks, who are fairly populous in this part of Texas. Every table is filled, and in typical frontier style, at most of them no sooner was everyone seated before a deck of cards came out. The bar is elbow to elbow, and the revelers have spilled onto the stairwell to the upstairs gambling floor. The billiards room is too crowded for anyone to draw back a cue and play a game. There's a cloud of tobacco smoke hanging under the ceiling, and plenty of exhaled streams of the same all around headed to join it.

The dance hall girls crew have passed out everyone's round of free drinks and mill through the crowd (with their gigantic, unsmiling bouncers) with trays of whiskey shots and mugs of beer for sale. I'll have one of those, a young ranch hand says, My on the house one. The lady laughs and says, You had yer free one, you rascal! I never forget a face. And besides, us girls worked out a system. We divided the whole place into six "territories," one fer each of us. If y'all card sharps had had any sense, you'd have moved around into another girl's territory after ya got yer free drink. But it's too late now. There are some groans, and she winks and gives the fellows a merry laugh. Nickels, dimes and quarter dollar tips flip onto her tray and the boys take their drinks.

A regular waiter weaves his way through the crowd and serves DT, Gideon, Paladin and William their dinners. Gideon replies to Paladin's question about his side bets. I bet two dollars on myself and lost that, and four dollars on Paladin to win the rifles contest. I'll come out two ahead-- if that fella pays up on his I.O.U. Not likely that I'll ever see them four bucks. Fella probably took me fer a durn fool fer givin him his surety back. That was his ole cap and ball revolver. I may be soft, but it don't seem right to leave a man without a firearm, especially on a night like tonight with a lot a men likely to git drunk and be out and about. The Good Lord said, "Lay up yer treasure in heaven, not on Earth," and that's what I've been tryin ta do. I do know that I have been successful at not layin hardly up any treasure on Earth. Anyway, if that fella's gonna welch on a bet, that's on his own road to ruin, not on me. Besides, someday I'd probly run into this "Wm. Johnson" with his I.O.U. again someday, if he's a card player. They tend to happen to end at the same places over time. But sadly, many a shootin and killin has happened over a old $4 dollar debt and a ole cap and ball revolver along the way.

Leon Robles spots the table and comes over with a dance hall server in tow. He tips his hat. Evenin, gentlemen, he says in his naturally open and affable way. Good to see y'all made it. Miss Lucille here will take yer drank orders. Have anything ya like-- if it ain't over fifty cents each! He winks and chuckles. Just funnin ya'll, have anything ya like. If I cain't spring fer it, you'll have to pay fer it yerself.. He winks and grins again. If yer in San Marcos, come by the place. We'll put ya up fer the night and my ma will feed ya up good. She'd like the company, and mah pa would as well. No dranking in the house, though. Fer that ya got to go ta Hoffman's place, which most of y'all already know. Er if that's too far, down to the pond dam and under the stars, like me and my brothers and ar friends do. Thar ain't much company except fer ole cows sitting around chewing their cuds. But that ain't much worse company than you'll usually find at Hoffman's.

He replies to Paladin's questions about Hays County Sheriff Behan, rancher Darryl McCullom, and Darryl's wife Virginia recently retrieved from the home of the former. His jovial affable manner changes to one of quiet look-you-in-they earnestness. From the man's eyes, it's obvious that he's got a keener than most intellect, awareness, and a step ahead of the game powers of observation. Mr. Paladin, Behan's got some time yet to git on his feet after receiving that shotgun blast. But the word around is he ain't forgittin that shot very soon, either. And Darryl, bless his soul, he ain't the sharpest tool in the shed. He don't seem ta notice, he's seems jist happy as a lark to have his wife back in his house. And Deputy Sheriff Harold Riney-- some a y'all knew him too. He's dead, killed with yer friend out at that ole abandoned farmhouse whar ya beat them Duncan boys rustlers. Riney was the sharpest tool among them boys, and a good and honest man too. Be he ain't gonna be around if it comes to Behan against McCullom, now is he? All a the county is worried. The sheriff is shot up because a ruinous scandal, the deputy sheriff is dead and buried. There's no law in the county, except from the town a San Marcos's marshall's office. And they're family men who git paid by the job fer keepin the town generally orderly. Shootin stray dogs, bustin up husband and wife arguments, investigatin illegal livestock raisin and butcherin stinks within town limits... things like that.

I jist fear that McCullom's wife might git in some a danger along the way. They say she's the daughter of a rich man in Houston or Austin. Thar's some ruthless characters in Hays County er any part of Texas and if they think easy money is on the table.... And I kind of fear fer them dumbass thievin Stringtown Wiley boys, who stole y'all's horses on a lark, shook in thar boots, and spilt their guts to y'all and Deputy Riney. Lord bless his soul. Leon looks around the table. Word got out in San Marcos that Harvey Adler in Comal County was connected to the Wiley boys sellin y'all's horses. Let me tell ya a little about Harvey. He's a big talker, likes to be the center of attention. Throws big barbecues and can drink with the best of em, but on Sunday morning he's always on the front row in the Baptist church. He's a deacon of it, in fact. He's a popular man, and also unpopular because of his sharp cattle tradin practices. But everybody knows who Harvey Adler is. We'll, the posts a Comal County sheriff and judge are comin up, and people reckon that Harvey will stand fer one a em. He's been droppin hints like that. Meanwhile, Hays County's got no sheriff er deputies at all. People been pressuring me to take Riney's job, er even Behan's. I don't much like that proposition. But I suppose I'll do it if I have to. He pauses. If you go against Adler, ya might be goin against popular opinion of most of Comal County too. He's got a lot a them fools either bluffed er hornswoggled.

He goes back to being his jovial, full of bull bar self. Alright gentlemen, I'm going off to git drunk. I hope y'all join me. If ya don't-- pray fer me! He grins, touches fingers to his brim, and heads back toward the bar.

Sorry for the delay posting.
You can roll an Observation roll, if you'd like to.
The murders are the ones described in the letter you took from the dead rustler's saddle bag. And the ones written about in the newspaper. Which seem to be the same ones.
It's a 45 minute ride from Austin to the camp.

[cybersavant]

Andreas Richter eats his share of supper, then makes a point of being seen and heard thanking the cooking staff for their efforts. He heads outside to patrol a bit and watch the camp from various spots until the others return. Then he'll inform them of what the regular guards said about the spy.

[Thumper]

DT is oblivious being in a room so busy and loud. Plus he’s listening close to the details of the group’s time in San Marcos and thereabouts.

Observation 15: [1d20]=20

[redwarrior]

William Observation target 15 [1d20]=9

[Grognardsw]

"Well $2 ahead is better than none," replied Paladin to Gideon's gambling tale.

"Leon I may take you up on that, and try your ma's cooking. I may be in San Marcos again sooner rather than later," said Paladin to Leon Robles.

"Deputy Riney's dead?" Paladin was surprised at the news. And who among our friends died with him? The news of Adler's prominence and possible running for office wasn't good news for the town. If Adler was part of the rustling ring, and became sheriff or judge, that would be a big bowl of wrong.

Paladin puffed on his cigar and drank as he talked with his friends.

He kept an eye open. In saloon Observation 13 [1d20]=2

"It sounds like we have some next steps then. We can see what Doos and Andreas think of it. Shall we head back to camp?"

[jemmus]

William and Paladin notice that Leon Robles is wearing a plain cowhide gunbelt with a smooth hardwood grip projecting from the holster. If the prize pistol is on him, it's not visible.

The discussion about the stagecoach robbers threw Gideon McLaury right off of a drinking in a bar room and semi-drunk high into a deep, low funk. Gideon says grimly, Yeah, Riney and Sebastian was killed at that ole farmhouse whar we found the rustlers. Sebastian guided Riney to it to investigate. They think Riney got a couple a mortal rifle shots at the same time. Poor Sebastian... well, from the powder burns on him, they think he was executed while shot and unconscious. The Rangers picked up the track of three riders heading out a the area goin north. One a em was losing a lot a blood. But night was falling and we had to head back ta Austin. That's when we come across them Comanches.

He says to DT, Doctor, there's somethin ya may no know. One a them stagecoach robbin and murderin sumbitches is my brother. Name a Phineas McLaury. It shames me to share the same last name with him. But expect one a us ain't gonna be using it fer long. Except fer on a tombstone. I'm gonna rid the Lord's good Earth a that head louse, or he's gonna rid me of it. Mr. Paladin, I changed my mind, I'll ride back to the camp with ya. He looks glumly around at the men drinking and reveling, with the piano, banjo and accordion playing and the dance hall girls walking around serving drinks. I can't stand all a this cheerfulness.

[Grognardsw]

“Leon, where’s that fancy pistol you won?” Paladin asked.

“Sebastion…” Paladin’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. All the more reason now to catch the murderers.

“Gideon, any idea where your brother Phineas is? Or how to draw him out?”

[Thumper]

DT listens to Gidean tell of his brother, and he considers the words, expressions, and somberess of Gidean. He lays his hand on Gidean's arm and looks him in the eye:

Just as the son should not have to bear the sins of the father, one McLaury should not bear the shame of the choices and actions of another. God holds us individually accountable, and so should we.

That said, there is evil in this world that cannot be negotiated with; and you feel a righteous obligation to stop that evil. I...no, we’ll help you. We'll do this together.

He looks around the table at William and Paladin.

The sooner we settle this rail business tomorrow, the sooner we can start on this stage work. Tomorrow we'll go speak with Wells Fargo, the Rangers, and Federal Marshals. We’ll get maps, all info available and investigate any possibilities there might be for deputation. Regardless of the badge thing, tomorrow we collect the info we need, make a solid plan, then execute it..
--------------
Paladin's question to Leon about his prize pistol suddenly catches DT's attention.

[jemmus]

Leon Robles replies to Paladin, I left that pistol somewhere safe. I hope I can remember where that was. He winks. Cause I planned on gittin drunk tonight. Actually I don't know if I'll ever carry that piece around with me. Could just make a fella a target fer theft. Er worse. If yer in the market fer a Colt .44 Army model that's as pretty as a Fredericksburg gal on her weddin days, ya can make me an offer. The price might be kinda steep, though. I was thinkin a giving to my mother fer her birthday. She appreciates a good firearm, and she's a deadeye shot against a rattlesnake er cotton mouth. He grins and winks again.

Gideon replies to DT and Paladin. I know it's the Lord's responsibility to give Phineas his justice. "Justice is mine, sayeth the Lord." But I cain't jist go ridin off to the card tables in San Antone and let that jasper be. He'll do worse before he does better. Some people are jist born mean. And I never come across a meaner cuss that one. Mr. Paladin, I'd guess he's right thar with them Kansas boys out west a here, somewhar around the roads to Burnet and Fredericksburg. Hiding out out in the middle a nowhar. Them sumbitches rode with Bloody Bill Anderson, they probably don't care about havin niceties such as sleepin under a roof er having a hot meal with salt. Phineas likes them thangs, but whut he cares more fer is goin against another man. As long as thar's a chance fer him to use a gun, knife er busted chair leg on somebody, he's likely content enough.

William, Paladin, Gideon and DT pay their bills at The Iron Front and prepare to depart and ride for the rail construction camp. They overhear some nearby men's conversation. They sound about half drunk, if not a little past that.
Them judges sure did make some damn fool mistakes judgin the rifles contest.
Yep, they shore enough did. Hard to believe how they could be so dumb cow plop fer brains to mess thangs up like that.
Yeah, hard to believe, a third voice says. The group notice that the speaker is a rifles contestant. The weathered old cowboy or horse wrangler who shot with an old large caliber Spencer rifle.
A fourth says, Ya don't bet it was rigged, do ya?
The old cowboy quietly replies, though with whiskey in his voice, I didn't say that. I just said them mistakes that were made was hard ta believe.
The first voice says, The fella does dress fancy, don't he? Like he got money. City education too.
Well, that sounds about right. More money and smarts than a two-bit ole country Austin shootin judge. The man seems to have lost his glass, but not his bottle of sour mash whiskey. He takes a swig from it and hands it to the man to his left. I ain't slick. And I don't ever put on airs ta present myself as slick. The man currently with the bottle says, I ain't ever won a contest prize offa a bunch a tom fool dumb judges either.

The bottle goes from hand to hand, and Paladin feels eyes on him and the fine prize rifle slung on his back. DT, Gideon and William note the same. Gideon sighs.

It's maybe eight steps to the front door and the street and the group's hitched horses. The group of four men are near to the right, between the PCs' table and the bar. There are four of them, but two or three saloon patrons have noticed some tension and are starting to look on. Each PC can take an action (such as movement, etc.), or look around to observe the men, their arms, their conditions, potential enemies or allies, other things around the room, etc.) Observing will need an Observation roll. PCs can act or observe, but not both this round.

[redwarrior]

William glances sideways at the man talking and at Paladin. He leans back, taking in the room, trying to fix everyone and everything in his mind.



Observation target 15 [1d20]=3

[Grognardsw]

I was afraid something like this might happen.

Paladin noted the side talk as he continued walking out the door. As he passed the doorway he drew and cocked his pistol and then mounted Copper.

Paladin considered the situation. In a crowded saloon with so many witnesses, he was unlikely to be openly attacked. Staying and talking with drunken accusers wouldn’t lead to anything productive. He knew the fancy rifle was a target. Maybe he’d sell it, or paint it black, or try it out on thieves. Paladin would have to watch his back, but that was nothing new.

[Thumper]

DT says to Gideon: We'll stop him.

-----

Hearing the drunks and feeling the tension rise, DT steps away from his place around the table with both hands held loosely at his side in plain sight and walks to the side of the drunk's table perpendicular to the line between the drunks and Paladin. Having lived 6 years in forts with Texas frontier fort towns, he lays on a little bit of Texan...as much as he's confident in throwing in. As he walks, he talks in an easy voice at it's natural (Sam Elliot) low rumble:

Y'all got that right...that was some weirdness tonight. I was one of 'em who got my score pinched after a perfect score was first called. I was mighty steamed...but I seen my target paper. Them judges was right in the end...no dishonesty with my score. But it shore looked bad...I'll agree to that. I'm guessing that's why the sponsors decided ta buy everybody a drink here at the ole Iron Front. Hope you enjoyed yours...'cause I shore did enjoy mine. Again, good shootin' against ya.

As he reaches a hand out to the old wrangler...again, looking him in the eye.

He's prepared to dive (evade) to the side if any of them goes for a gun.

I know that would take a lot longer than a normal round, but I would think walking and saying 'Y'all got that right" might delay the drunks from acting. DT is trying to make them sympathetic to him, distract them, and buy time for Paladin to leave.

[jemmus]

The piledriver continues it steady bass thumping. It's been going so long that nobody hardly notices it anymore; it's just become a part of the landscape. After dinner Andreas tours the camp. The men are in their tents, digesting their good suppers, playing cards, talking among themselves in Irish, Cantonese, and English of various accents. Andreas finishes his meal and patrols the camp, looking into it out from it from various stations and angles. Dusk is over and night has fallen. No one seems to be out and about around the camp. Doos does an inspection, then sets Larry as first guard for the evening and the night. He goes to the workers' tent he saw Sam Hopkins and his friend go into before supper, fresh bottle of whiskey with him. Inside, by the light of three kerosene lamps, men sit on cots and crates around other crates, cards, pennies and nickles on their tops. The men play slowly, tired from another hard day and relaxing to enjoy a good meal. Doos notes that every crate is surrounded by men of the same background: Texan, Chinaman, Tejano, Irish.

The four freed men of this tent around playing cards, though. They're looking at the pages of a J.C. Penny catalogue. One of the young men he met earlier says, When I git my pay, I'm gonna order that hat there for my Polly.. Older Sam Hopkins replies, [/dialog]Lucas, I don't know if that's a good idea. Man try to dress a woman in what he thinks she'd like is jist askin for trouble. Gals's got ever kind a way a imagin what they want to dress up in. You step inta that, you're fer danger. Go on out there, kitty kitty kitty.[/dialog] He smiles and the other two laugh.

Lucas replies, Well I suppose I ought to git an ole cast iron Dutch oven. She's been sayin she's wantin one a those. Sam replies, Nah, you'd be doin wrong there too. That'd be like me giving you a sledge hammer fer Christmas. An implement of labor fer doin more a tha same hard work in the next year. That's git ya butt-whupped just the same. The two younger men look thoughtful for a moment. The second younger man says, What if ya just give em the money?

Sam whistles a slow whistle and replies, You might have hit tha nail on the head thar, Arthur. Give a gal a stock a cash to do with as she's needin to, and some left to do with as she pleases-- now yer a hero. But ya got to give her a lil something with it fer her to stock up in memory and remember it by. He looks up and notices that Doos has stepped through the tent flap. He and the two younger men seem surprised that the Railroad man from outside actually showed. The wink and casually rise and head toward the outside. Sam scoops up his guitar. The group moves along the tents, and the men silently greet Doos with conspiritorial smiles. As they pass each they one or another listen a part of a tune, as if to cover the sound of water hitting prairie grass and dirt. The group moves one, and smiling but beaming workers join it along the way. In the end, 10 men of various ages are in the group.[/dialog]

Sam says, I don't like the sound a that ole piledriver. We're gonna have ta take a little walk. The ole crawdad hole, somebody says. Sam strums a deep and ringing E minor chord on his guitar.

Before long, the group stops at place that they all know. It seems very likely to Doos that it's a bank and higher ground and more northward of the gully the railroad is driving piles into, laying rails over, and crossing. Somebody says, Look at that! I think that's that same ole king crawdad coming sittin there as pretty as ya please moonlighting hisself! Some other worker says, I believe so too. Looks like jist right about like tha same ole rascal. Ya jist be right about that, Roy. Sam says, Y'all this is Mr. Doos. A good man. Several men, young and old, smile and nod. Somebody looks up at the stars and Moon in the sky and starts to sing in a tenor voice. Sam's guitar comes in a low E minor chord, then a higher A chord, then for the lead parts, some stuff around strings fretted to some kind of D.

Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Coming for to carry he home
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home...

Sam looks over to Doos, not expecting him to sign in any kind of voice. But a younger singer says, Go ahead and sing it it, boss.
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