Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 4 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, January 21, 1872 "Hola, Arnoldo, nice suit." Arnie and his family were outside the church, starting home for their noon meal. Arnie stopped when he heard his name. "Isn't that Pablo Escobar?" Teresa Diaz asked, pointing to the boy standing some ten feet away. Arnie made a face. "Si, it is Pablo." "You may stay here and talk to him," Teresa told her son, "but do not be long. Se?or O'Toole expects you at noon, and I want you to eat something first." "Why don't I just go home with the rest of you. If I want to talk to Pablo, I can do that another time." "Arnoldo, I know that the two of you do not get along. Today, it seems that Pablo is trying to be polite." "There is no shame in trying to make peace, Arnoldo," Dolores added. "If nothing good comes from it, you still will be the man who tried." That convinced him. "Very well, Dolores... Mama." He shrugged and walked over to Pablo. "Hola." "That is a nice suit you wore to church today, Arnoldo. Is it new?" Arnie shook his head. "You know this suit. I've had it for almost a year." "I know it. It is a shame that Se?or O'Toole does not pay you enough to buy some decent clothes. This suit..." He turned around slowly. "_is_ new. It is good to work for someone like Se?or Ritter, who pays a man properly for good work." "If he pays for _good_ work, then why would he be paying you?" "Ha! I suppose the boy who scrubs spittoons knows about a man's work." The two youths glared at each other. They balled their fists, circling, looking for an opening. A stern voice stopped them. "In the very yard of our Lord's house, on His day, is this the way you act?" "Padre," Arnie said. "He started it." Father de Castro shook his head. "You two have been fighting for so long that I do not believe either of you know remember what you are really fighting over." "But he insulted me," Arnie argued. "I came over because I thought he wanted to talk, and he insulted me." "That is a lie," Pablo yelled. "Truth or lie, that is enough," de Castro said. "Just go home and think about what you want to do with your lives, and if you will let this hatred between you sour those lives." Pablo laughed. "Let him go running home to his mama, Padre. Me, I have a man's job to do." By way of apology, he added, "But I, at least, will think of what you said." "I will go, Padre, because it is you that asks." Arnie turned to glare at Pablo. "But this is not over. I am the better man, and I will prove it." * * * * * Rachel gently put her hand on Ramon's arm. "So tell me, Ramon, what's the matter with you?" "Rachel." Ramon blinked and looked up at her. "I... I did not see you standing there." "If it's me you're asking, you ain't seen much of anything since you came in today. Not the way you been looking up at the ceiling." "I am sorry. I have been thinking about something." "Something serious, I'm sure. So, _nu_, what is it all ready?" She took a breath. "And don't you say it's just nothing. From such nothings, a world can be built, as the Sages say." He laughed. "I never could fool you, Rachel." He sighed. "It is Dolores, Dolores Yba?ez. She is my problem." "Seems to me that this Dolores has been a problem for you -- and for mine Maggie -- for a while now. Something is changed, maybe, to get you so _verklempt_... so upset." "She's leaving Eerie. She told me last night that she's going home next Monday." "And it bothers you that she's leaving?" She looked at him closely. He nodded. "It is more than that, Rachel. She... she asked me to go with her." "And..." Rachel raised a questioning eyebrow. "And..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head again. "I do not know. _That_ is what I have been thinking about all day." * * * * * "Once Amy gets a man to keep ` She'll be alone when not asleep. ` But until that day her life's her own; ` Her wedding gown is still unsewn." "Whenever dance hall girls kick high, ` They never ask the how and why. ` When love goes wrong, they hardly cry; ` The tune of love is not a lie." Jessie finished the song with a flourish and bowed low to a round of applause as a few more coins joined the ones already at her feet. "Thank you, gents," she said to the crowd gathered in the parlor of _La_ _Parisienne_. "Glad you liked my act." Most of the men were standing, though a few sat on chairs or the long sofa. Mae and Wilma were sitting on the laps of two of them. As Jessie bowed, the man whose lap Mae was on whispered something in her ear. "That's a grand idea, Ralphie," she answered and stood up. She took Ralphie's hand as he got to his feet. "Nice show, Jessie," she added. "You, too, Rosalyn." "Thank you so much," Rosalyn replied. She played the piano, and Lady Cerise had told her to accompany Jessie. She tried to smile as she watched Mae lead Ralphie towards the stairs. 'Beatriz is upstairs for the second time,' she thought, 'and Wilma's been up and down with her gentleman, while I have to sit here and listen to her sister's howling.' "You done with the show, then, Jessie?" a tall, bearded man asked. Jessie was kneeling down to pick up the money the men had thrown. "I am, Max." "In that case," Max ventured, "how 'bout me and you go upstairs, and you can sing something just for me." Shamus' canary, as some called her, shook her head. "Sorry, Max, but the only singing I do here is downstairs." "The hell you do." He took a step towards her. "A gal who works in a place like this --" "I ain't the singer my sister is," Wilma said, stepping in front of him, "but I got _other_ talents you might wanna try out." Max's eyes ranged up and down Wilma's form. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and she was wearing a lavender corset that exposed most of her pillowy breasts and a silky white pair of drawers that clung to her wide hips and teardrop ass. "You'll do, darling," he said, "and then some." He took Wilma's hand as his lust overcame his anger. Another man walked over to stand besides Rosalyn. "I want to see what else this pretty lady can do with them clever hands of hers." "You would be surprised, sir," she answered in a sultry voice, "and very much pleased." She reached over and ran a finger over the bulge at his crotch. "Mmm, lovely. As my friend, Blanche Dubois, used to say, _I_ have always delighted in the hardness of strangers." Cerise walked over to Jessie, who was putting the money the men had tossed at her into her reticule. "And I have always delighted in whatever my guests have delighted in, Jessie. Here is the money we agreed upon." She handed Jessie a five dollar silver piece. "And I would be more than delighted to continue paying, were you to sing for my guests in a regular basis." Jessie put the coin in with the others. "And _I'd_ be delighted t'take the money, Cerise, but... can I think about it for a little bit more?" "Oui, cherie, but do not take too long." * * * * * Maggie was browning the cubes of meat for the stew she was making, when she heard the kitchen door slam. "Hello," she called, turning to see who had come from the yard. "Mama, mama, say it is not so." Lupe ran over and wrapped her arms around her mother. Maggie put down the fork she was using to turn the meat and looked down. "Lupe... why are you crying?" "Uncle... Uncle Ramon." the girl was sobbing, the words coming out one at a time. "He-he... is... going... away!" She reached down and gently hugged her daughter. "Now who told you that?" "He... he... did. I-I went over to... to ask why he did not go to church with us." She let out a sob, then continued. "He was t-talking with Bubbe Rachel. I stood quiet and waited. And... and I heard him say he... was -- that lady, Dolores. She is going home, and he... he is going to... to... to go with her." Lupe hugged Maggie tightly. Tears streamed down her daughter's cheeks, and she was crying too hard to continue talking. "Now what's ailing you, little one?" Jane had just come in from the bar. Maggie picked up her daughter. "Jane, please take over for me. I am making that spicy stew with the chilis. You know the recipe, I think." "I do." Jane went over to the stove. She used Maggie's fork to begin to turn the meat. "Bueno," Maggie told the other woman. "I am taking Lupe upstairs to lie down for a bit. I will return as soon as I can." Lupe rested her head on Maggie's shoulder. "Are you going to talk to Uncle Ramon, mama?" "Yes," Maggie told her. "But not right now, Lupe. You are too upset to leave alone for very long, and I have to make the meals for the restaurant." "But Uncle Ramon..." Lupe's voice trailed off. She was still sniffling. "I do not think that he is leaving today," Maggie said. "I will talk to him and find out what is going on. I promise." It was as much a promise to herself as to Lupe. * * * * * Monday, January 22, 1872 Jessie was sweeping the floor near the front of the saloon, when Laura came in. "Morning, Laura," she greeted the other woman. "Hi, Jessie," Laura answered. "This is handy. I wanted to talk to you." "What about?" "Arnie's lessons. I don't think I can help out with them anymore." "Why not?" "The baby." She gently touched her stomach. Jessie looked worried. "Ain't nothing wrong, I hope." "No... it's nothing like that." She smiled, grateful for her friend's concern. "Last Friday, the baby started moving. I could feel it... feel it moving inside me." "What's that got to do with Arnie?" "Not Arnie - not exactly. But every time he fired his pistol, the baby moved - jumped, almost. I think the baby heard the noise, and - maybe - got scared by it." She rubbed her stomach, the bulge that marked her pregnancy. "I can't exactly tell it not to be scared, so I figured that it'd be better if I wasn't there when he's practicing." Jessie chuckled. "You're probably right." She lightly placed her hand next to Laura's. "You behave yourself for now, little one, and don't give your mamma no trouble. You do that, and, when you get old enough, I'll teach _you_ how t'shoot." "Thanks for the offer," Laura replied, "but I sort of plan to do that myself." She smiled at Jessie again and added, "But you're welcome to help." * * * * * "Hola, Ramon," Maggie said softly as she walked into the Silverman's store. Ramon was restocking a display of shirts. He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. "Margarita... what brings you over here?" "I-I heard that you were l-leaving Eerie, and I... I came to say goodbye." His smile faded. "Who told you that I was leaving?" "Lupe heard you telling Rachel about it yesterday." Maggie felt a spark of hope. "Did she not understand something she heard you say?" Ramon shrugged. "Only in part." He looked around. It was mid- morning, and Rachel Silverman was waiting on the only customer in the store. Aaron was sitting near the register reading. "Can we talk in private?" Ramon asked. "Where?" "We can go in the back of the store. Would that be all right?" Maggie nodded. She followed him through a curtained doorway into the storeroom. He turned a corner and stopped next to a high set of shelves filled with boxes. "What did you mean 'in part', Ramon?" "Dolores Yba?ez is going back to Mexico City next Monday. She -- Margarita, she asked me to come with her." Maggie's eyes went wide. "Are you going?" "I-I have not decided. It is a big step. I have --" He paused for a beat and seemed to be considering something. "Margarita..." he began again, "... how would you feel if I... if I did go with her?" It was an unexpected question. "I... I would miss you very much. You- -you are a... a good friend." Ramon gave her a wry look. "A good friend? Yes, and, perhaps, more than just a friend." On a sudden impulse, he pulled her to him. Then he paused, his lips above hers, just long enough for her to push him away if she wanted to. When her only reaction was a surprised widening of her eyes, he kissed her, deeply. A pleasant warm feeling ran through Maggie's body. Before she realized it, her arms were around his neck and she was returning his kiss with an urgency that surprised her. 'He will stay,' she thought with boundless relief. 'Wait until I tell Lupe and Ernesto.' Lupe and Ernesto -- the thought of them drove the passion from her. With a gasp that was almost a sob, she lowered her arms and pushed Ramon -- no, she pushed _herself_ away. "I cannot do this," she said, shaking her head. "Margarita." Ramon reached for her, but she twisted away from him. He sighed. "I do not understand your changeable ways. Tell me truthfully, what is it that you cannot do?" Eyes filling with tears, she seemed to struggle to find the words that would not come. But, a moment later, still silent, she turned and ran from the store. * * * * * Reverend Thaddeus Yingling walked around his desk to greet the two parishioners coming into his small office. "Trisha, how good to see you again. And Kaitlin, as well. How can I help you two la..." He stopped as Trisha's expression changed. "...you two on this Monday?" "You can sit down for a start," Trisha told him, smiling again. Both she and Kaitlin sat down. Trisha waited until the man was sitting behind his desk to begin. "A while back, you came into the store and asked how Kaitlin and I were getting on. Do you remember?" "Indeed. I offered my services if you were having any problems because of your... because of what happened." He put his fingers together, forming a small tent with his hands. "May I assume that you've come here today to take me up on that offer?" "You may," Trisha replied. "Kaitlin's been making a lot of trouble where there shouldn't be any." "_I'm_ making trouble!" Kaitlin glared at Trisha. "You're the one who keeps forcing me to --" "A husband shouldn't have to force his wife." Trisha looked straight at Yingling. "You tell her that, Reverend. I've got my -- what do you call them... conjugal -- I've got my conjugal rights." Yingling looked askance at her, but he quickly regained the calm face he customarily used when a parishioner threw some unpleasant news his way. "Trisha, are you saying that you want to have... _relations_ with Kaitlin?" "I am." Trisha nodded. "Doesn't the Good Book say that a man should cleave to his wife?" "Matthew 19:3," Yingling answered her. "It also says that maid shall not lie with maid." "But I've got... needs," Trisha protested, "the same as I always had." She giggled. "Well, maybe not the _same_, but damned -- excuse me, Reverend -- darned close. Kaitlin's my wife. It's her duty to --" "Duty!" Kaitlin spat. "It's not supposed to be a _duty_, Trisha. 'Rejoice in the wife of your youth.' That's in the Bible, too. Isn't it, Reverend?" "It is; Proverbs, chapter 5, verses 18 and 19." Yingling wasn't certain how to proceed. "The Bible says many things, Kaitlin. And all of them are intended to guide us to do our Lord's will." Trisha shook her head. "I don't know what got into you, Kaitlin. When I first asked you..." She stopped and looked at Yingling as if studying him. "Can I trust you, Reverend Yingling, trust that you won't tell anyone else what we say to you?" Yingling seemed to be studying the pair in return. "Have you ever heard of my telling anyone what I was told in confidence?" When Kaitlin and Trisha both said no, he continued. "I am here as the representative of our Savior, to give aid and solace in His name. I would betray Him, as well as the two of you, were I to reveal what I am told in secret, and _that_ I will _never_ do." "That's more than good enough for me," Trisha said. "When I first..." She paused and looked over at Kaitlin. "_Now_ you're having second thoughts?" Kaitlin said angrily. "You dragged me over here, and the good reverend has promised not to say anything. Go ahead and tell the man what you think is so important." Trisha frowned. "All right, then. When I first asked Kaitlin to have... relations with me, she said that she wanted to think about it a while. I gave her --" "You gave me!" Kaitlin interrupted. "I think not. I asked you for a week to think about it, and you agreed. And reluctantly, I might add." "Whatever," Trisha continued. "When that week was over, you seemed more than happy to go along with the idea. We went at each other pretty good for more than a few times. And it felt _real_ good." Trisha's face reddened. "Then, all of a sudden, she _won't_ do it anymore." "Do it?" Yingling asked, not certain that he wanted to hear the answer. "Yeah," Trisha answered. "I'd start out kissing her, touching her where she likes to be touched, but she makes me stop -- that potion I took, it makes me obey her. That ain't right. A wife's supposed to be -- what's the word... submit, yeah, a wife's got to submit to her husband, not the other way around." She looked at the minister, trying to gauge his reaction. When she couldn't, she continued. "She wouldn't let me touch her, even when she was touching _me_, touching my --" "Th-that's enough," Yingling quickly interrupted. "I get the idea." Trisha pressed on. "But now she won't even do that. A couple of days back, I really needed --" "I said that is enough!" Yingling interrupted her again, using his best preacher's voice. Trisha stopped, and both women looked at him. "It is just as well that Kaitlin has stopped... stopped being a part of what you described." "What are you saying, Reverend?" Kaitlin asked, sounding a little hesitant. "Kaitlin, you and Trisha are both valued members of my congregation. I've enjoyed working with you on various projects as well as being your spiritual advisor." The man's voice turned harsh. "But, _as_ your spiritual advisor, I tell you that what you and Trisha have described to me just now must come to an end now and forever. It is unnatural, evil." Trisha looked shocked. "Evil? Don't you think you're being a little hasty, Reverend?" "Hasty, why do you say that?" He sounded surprised to be questioned. "It seems to me that you're jumping the gun on this," Trisha said carefully, not wanting to insult the man. "You're giving an answer without really taking the time to think it through." Yingling sighed. "I doubt that I shall change my opinion, but I will agree to take more time to consider the matter -- for your sakes and for the sake of the friendship that I believe we have shared. Please come back Friday afternoon at... ah, is 2 PM all right?" "Two, it is." Trisha stood and offered the man her hand. "We'll see you then." Yingling shook the offered hand. "Fine, and I'll give you both my _thought-out_ opinion." * * * * * Arnie backed through the door into the kitchen, holding a heavy tray of glassware. The room seemed empty. "Anybody here?" he asked cautiously. "Just me," Jane answered him. She was kneeling down, feeding the fire in the wood stove. Her back was to him. "Maggie's in the pantry, getting some more carrots." Arnie nodded. He carried the tray the rest of the way to the sink and set it carefully on the counter. Most of the glasses were empty and went directly into the sink, but someone had left almost two fingers of whiskey in one glass. He looked around quickly. Jane was still working the fire. 'Better hurry,' he thought. He took the glass and downed the liquor in one quick gulp. The now-empty glass went into the sink. Before he took another glass out of the tray, Arnie reached into his pocket for a small, unmarked tin. He opened it and popped a sen-sen into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the candy, a "breath perfume" the manufacturer called it, in his mouth, even as he felt the warmth of the whiskey settling in his stomach. It was a pleasant combination. At that same moment, Maggie walked in carrying several large bunches of carrots. 'I took that sen-sen just in time,' Arnie thought. 'Must be my lucky day.' He was smiling when he came out of the kitchen a short time later with a second tray, this one full of clean glasses. He walked behind the bar and set the tray down under the counter. R.J. watched him closely. "You look a little unsteady there, Arnie." "Se?or?" What was R.J. talking about? "Unsteady, like you were having trouble walking... or you were drunk." The barman leaned close and sniffed. "I don't smell anything, but that doesn't mean there isn't something to smell." Arnie laughed. He'd fooled the man. "There is nothing there, R.J." "I hope not, 'cause I heard Shamus warn you. He's not in the best of moods right now, and I'd advise you not to cross him." "Aaah," Arnie said, trying to sound blas?. "He ain't gonna find nothing," "Like I said, I hope not." R.J. shrugged. "By the way, the folks at a couple of those tables you bussed owed money. You pick it up?" Arnie reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins. "Here you go. I think we even got a tip or two." R.J. put the money on the counter and sorted it into two piles. "We did." R.J. put most of the coins in the register, but a few went into the "Tips Jar" Shamus kept behind the bar. Tips were split between R.J., the women, and Arnie, with Shamus taking only a share as bartender. "I better go back and wash those glasses," Arnie said. R.J. nodded and started to sort the glassware. Arnie started back towards the kitchen. He was trying not to laugh. "Fooled him about drinking _and_ managed to keep twenty-seven cents from the tips," he whispered to himself. "This _is_ my lucky day." * * * * * Tuesday, January 23, 1872 It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and Miss Osboune was allowing her students to eat their lunches outside. Emma, Ysabel, and Tomas took their usual places at one of the tables farthest from the schoolhouse. Tomas was the first to take the lid off his lunch pail. "I got tamales again and... coricos." He held up three of the yellow, ring-shaped cornmeal cookies. "Anybody want to trade?" "I got tamales, too, and some dried apple slices," Ysabel said. Emma took out a sandwich, a thick cut of roast beef between two slices of home-baked bread. "Trade you each half of this for a tamale, okay?" "Done," Tomas replied. Ysabel nodded as well. Both placed a tamale on the lid of Emma's pail, which served as her plate. Emma glanced around. "Is anybody looking?" When her friends shook their heads, "No", Emma twisted around on the bench, so that her right leg was resting on it. She leaned over and pulled her mumbly-peg knife from her high-button shoe. She opened the knife blade and used it to cut the sandwich neatly in half. She wiped the blade clean with her napkin, folded it into its sheath, and slid it back down into her shoe. "You oughta just wear pants, Emma," Tomas said, as he took his piece of chicken. "Then you wouldn't have to hide it in your shoe like that. You could just keep it in your pocket." "I'd probably have to hide it anyway," Emma answered. "Ma was real angry at Uncle Liam when she found out he give it to me." "Why didn't she just take it then?" Ysabel asked, taking a bite of chicken. "She did, but Trisha gave it back. She said a boy my age had every right to have a knife like that." "Ma said I wasn't a boy, but she agreed to let me keep it, as long as I kept it in my room. She checked my pockets when I wore pants. I left it in my room or hid it in my shoe, same as I do now. Since I'm wearing dresses, she figures I can't be carrying it." "Is that why you stopped wearing pants," Ysabel asked, "so you could sneak out with that knife?" Emma shook her head. "Nope. I got tired of being called 'Patches.' I know Hermione and Clyde started it to tease me, but it was getting to be a nickname. Last week, when we was playing ball, and I had it, Bert yells, 'Toss it to me, Patches.' That was the last straw, my own teammate calling me that." "Did it work?" Tomas asked, "or is he still calling you that?" "Not since the next day when I came to school in that yellow dress of mine," Emma replied. "The one with the lace at the cuffs." She finished the first tamale and wiped the corners of her mouth, copying a quick gesture Ysabel had made moments before. "I'd've thought I'd get more teasing if I came in a dress instead of pants, not the other way around. It doesn't make a lick of sense." * * * * * Someone once asked Molly O'Toole, "Why does Shamus mostly curse in that funny talk of his?" "That's Cheyenne, he's talking," Molly explained. "They raised him, ye know. As for why himself cusses in it, well, that's me doing. I'm not one for using profanity; I heard too much of it as a lass from me father and me brothers. So, when we was first married, I asked him if he'd stop." "And he stopped?" "Whust, no. He said it weren't natural for a man t'not be cussing, said it was part of what made a man a man. 'When a dog can't bite the one that's hurting it, it whimpers,' he says t'me, 'but when a man can't strike back, he can still curse.' Now, what could I be saying t'that?" "You must've said something, to make him change." "I did," Molly said with a satisfied chuckle. "I told him how his cussing was bad for business. He had such a talent for it, says I, that a man that's feeling the need t'be cussing some while he drank wouldn't come in t'our place for fear of being outcussed by himself behind the bar." "And that worked?" "O'course it did. He's a man of business, me Shamus. Besides, he found that he got just as much satisfaction -- which is half the joy of cussing, ain't it? -- doing it in the Cheyenne. Not one man in a hundred knows what he's saying, especially here, where there ain't no Cheyenne about, so they don't care what he says." She laughed. "And neither do I." * * * * * Shamus was keeping his promise. For more than an hour, he'd been going strong in Cheyenne on the results of the Fort Grant trial. He was calling down the wrath of the spirits that his Cheyenne stepfather worshipped and the Trinity and saints of his own Roman Catholic heritage down upon William Orry, the judge and jury, and the Papagos Indian tribe. In between calls for vengeance, he prayed for the souls of 100 Aravaipas Apache, all but 8 of them women or children. The victims had been repeatedly shot or had their brains beaten out of them, many of them in their sleep. Some of the women were raped before they died. Bodies were mutilated. Thankfully, some 30 children had survived, but they were the prisoners of the Papagos. The perpetrators of this evil were 48 Mexicans, 8 Anglos, and 94 Papagos, all led by Bill Orry, former mayor of Tucson. "That Orry bastard calls it a 'memorable and glorious morning', may he rot in hell." Shamus was speaking Cheyenne as he quoted from the newspaper next to him on the bar. "Some lying judge tells the jury it's all right for folks t'be defending themselves if the Army won't, and it takes them misbegotten vermin all of 19 minutes t'be letting Orry and them other sons o'the devil go free." Molly stood near him. When he downed another whiskey -- she'd lost count how many, she finally spoke up. "Are ye sure ye should be drinking like that so early in the day, Love?" "And why shouldn't I?" Shamus answered her in English. "This here is a 'memorable and glorious morning', ain't it?" She shook her head sadly. "No, it ain't, I'm sorry t'be saying." She took his hand. "Shamus, Love, for me, please go and have yuirself a bit of a lie-down." "Gotta stay." His voice was shaky, his words slurred. "I-I got me a saloon t'be running." "There ain't that many here just now. It's early, and, besides, R.J.'s here t'be helping me if there is a crowd." "R.J., aye, he's a good man, R.J." The taller man had held back, standing some distance away to give Molly and Shamus some privacy. Now he stepped over at the mention of his name. "Let me give you a hand up to your room, Shamus." "I can... can m-manage by meself, R.J," Shamus told him. "The People - - that's what the Cheyenne called themselves -- they taught me how t'be walking, silent as a shadow." R.J. put Shamus' arm over his shoulder. "Really? Can you show me how you do that on the way up to your room?" "All r-right," Shamus agreed. "Ye start like this..." He took an unsteady step and, with the sort of dignity that only a very drunken man can ever assume, let R.J. lead him upstairs. * * * * * Ramon took a second, longer sip. "This is an excellent madeira, Sebastian." "I thought you'd like it," Sebastian Ortega replied. "We have several cases of it at the store, if you'd like to buy some more." Sebastian's family ran the only grocery in Eerie, stocked mostly with produce from the land-grant ranch they still controlled and had converted to farming. The two men were in Ramon's sitting room, part of the old guesthouse attached to Carmen and Whit's home. Carmen and Ramon had inherited the town house from their parents. Carmen and Whit had taken the main house, and Ramon had moved into the attached guesthouse. Ramon chuckled. "Ever the storekeeper." "And you are not, over at Silverman's?" "I try. To tell the truth, I enjoy working there more than I probably would have enjoyed being a rancher like my brother." "I wish you were more like your brother. I know that he will buy some of this madeira. In fact, he already has." "My brother can afford 50-year old wine far better than I can." "Not a case, perhaps, but you can buy a bottle or two, surely." "Perhaps, for now, I will enjoy this gift bottle you brought." "I thought that it might make things easier," Sebastian said, pouring himself a glass. "You sounded most troubled when you asked me to drop by tonight. What is it, money or women?" He hesitated a moment, then smiled wryly. "From what you just said about this madeira, your finances are the same as ever, terrible. It must be women." Ramon chuckled. "It is. Dolores... she is leaving for home next Monday." "Ah, and you don't want her to go, is that it?" "No, she asked me to go with her." "Poor Ramon, a beautiful woman wants him to run away with her. I should have such trouble, my friend." "I... do not... I am not certain that I-I want to go with her." He took a breath. "Margarita..." Sebastian finished the thought. "Wants you to stay? Or is it that you want to stay with her?" "That's the problem. I-I don't know what... _who_ I want." "They are both muy attractive woman. I would not mind having either of them --" "Sebastian, Margarita is not that sort of woman." "I meant as a sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow. "Is Dolores _that_ sort of woman? Ramon... having you been holding out on me?" "I have not... _we_ have not. Not yet anyway, but Dolores has all but promised that we will if I go back to Mexico City with her." "I can see how you would want to avoid having to suffer such a thing." "I am hardly inexperienced in such matters, Sebastian. It is just that, for so long, it has been Margarita that I have... wanted." "Leaving town with another woman would certainly not help your chances with her, would they?" "No, and now you see my problem." "Actually, I see two problems," Sebastian told his friend. "Two?" Sebastian reached over and topped off the wine in Ramon's glass. "Si, the problem with your decision, and the problem that the madeira in this bottle is not enough to help you decide what to decide." * * * * * "Just remember what I told ye," Shamus said gruffly. "Don't be singing _that_ song." Jessie glared back at him. "I know what you said." She waved him away. "You just go downstairs and introduce me." Shamus grumbled something under his breath. He walked downstairs and over to the small stage. "All right, folks; all right." He clapped his hands to get the crowd's attention. When things were quiet, he continued. "As the owner of the Eerie Saloon --" "And a damned Injun lover," someone shouted. Shamus eyes narrowed to thin slits. He looked around to see who might have yelled. When he couldn't, he counted to ten and took a breath. "I'm proud t'be presenting -- even if some of ye don't deserve it -- the pride of Eerie, Jessie Hanks." He began to clap his hands, and most of the crowd soon followed. "The years creep slowly by, my darling..." Jessie started down the steps. She finished the song, standing on stage, to a hearty round of applause. She bowed and moved on to "Betsy from Pike." As the second round of applause died down, somebody yelled, "Sing 'Collee's Ride' next." A few other voices agreed. "Aw, you don't really want me t'sing that one, do you?" Jessie said, trying to smile. "I think she wants to be coaxed," someone yelled. Others chimed in. "Sing it, Jessie." "C'mon." "Collee's Ride... Collee's Ride." Jessie looked over at Shamus, standing over at the bar. He frowned, shook his head slowly, and mouthed the word, "No". "You sure?" Jessie asked, still looking at the barman. The crowd thought that she was talking to them and began to applaud. Shamus glared at her and nodded once, firmly. He was sure. Jessie picked up her guitar, still not certain what to do. She saw Molly come over and stand next to her husband. Without saying a word, she took his hand in her own. Her face was a mask of sadness. "I know how much you all like 'Collee's Ride', but I just learned me another song. I like it better, and I'm gonna sing that one instead, whether you like it or not." She frowned for a moment, as if challenging them to protest. Then she winked and began to sing. "When the dance hall girls kick high..." There were a few protests, but the crowd settled down. By the end of the song, they were clapping along. And more than a few tossed coins, when she finished. "I think you like that one, too," Jessie said, bowing. She glanced over at Shamus and Molly. His expression didn't change, but Molly nodded slightly and mouthed the words, "Thank you." * * * * * Maggie turned down the wick. The lamp dimmed so that the hall was almost dark. Satisfied, she stepped through her bedroom door... ...into a room she did not know. It was larger than her bedroom, but with no windows. A fire blazed in a six-foot high hearth that took up much of one wall, the only light in the room. A high-backed chair stood near the fireplace and turned away from her. There was a bed in the center of the room, wider than her own, with the covers pulled back and a sloping cloth canopy above it. She sniffed the air; cinnamon, one of her favorite scents. The floor was covered with a thick rug; fur of some sort; she could feel it between her toes. Between her toes? She had been wearing slippers. Maggie looked down. Yes, she was barefoot. More than that, her dress and apron were gone. She wore a pale blue silk chemise and matching drawers, both trimmed in white lace. The chemise was sheer enough that she could see her dark nipples press against the material. When had she bought such a garment? For that matter, when -- and why -- had she put it on? A figure rose from the chair and turned to face her. It was a dark silhouette against the flame. "Margarita?" "Ramon," she gasped in surprise. "What is happening?" "What do _you_ want to happen?" He moved towards her. Maggie realized that he wore only a pair of gray, cotton drawers. As never before, she appreciated his broad shoulders, his well-muscled arms and chest, his narrow waist. The bulge in his drawers. Her nipples crinkled and grew tight. There was a warm, somehow pleasing ache between her legs. His arms went around her and pulled her close. Her breasts were pressed against his firm chest. His bulge was pressed against her groin. "Ramon," she whispered, "this is not right." "Do you really care?" he answered. He took her head in his hands then and steadied her as they kissed. She moaned softly as their lips met. Her mouth opened slightly. His tongue slipped in and began to tangle with hers. She trembled at the sensations running through her body. An instant later -- though she didn't know how it came to be -- they were on the bed, still kissing. Her chemise, she realized, was gone. Ramon broke the kiss and smiled at her. "Do not be afraid, Margarita. Everything that happens is what _you_ wish to happen." Astonished, she began to shake her head and mutter, "No...noooo..." He stilled her protests by kissing her again, softly, on the lips, before moving his head lower. He left a trail of kisses down past her chin, on her throat, and on down to her chest. He kissed one breast, then the other. He switched between them, alternating kisses, with his rough tongue, and with gentle love bites. Maggie arched her back, pushing her breasts to his mouth. She trembled again, nearly lost in the pleasure. Her hand snaked down of its own will, and her fingers took hold of his member. Madre de Dios, he was naked! She felt him throb as she carefully guided him into -- she was naked, too! -- into _her_. Maggie's eyes went wide with surprise as he slid inside her. She hadn't known how wet she was -- or how much she wanted him. She almost purred as he filled her. It was like... A blessing, a healing. Ramon shifted his body and began to pump in and out of her. It was as if she had become Lupe, and Ramon was Miguel. She started to move her hips to match him, and the sensations became even more intense. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper. Her hands clawed at his back. Waves of sexual heat spread from her groin like a spill of warm syrup to every part of her. Her fingertips, her hair, even, tingled. The pleasure grew deeper and warmer, and pushed against her like she were a dam. At long last, the dam broke and flowed across her like a flood. Maggie gasped. She screamed. She woke up. Maggie was in her own bed. Alone. Her left hand was on her breast, under her nightgown, a nipple between the finger and thumb of her left hand. Her right hand -- no! -- it was flat against her crotch, rubbing against her most intimate place through the thin material of her drawers. She pulled her hands back as if from a hot stove. She cast off the covers and clambered quickly out of bed. A bowl and a pitcher of water sat on her dresser for washing herself in the morning. She splashed a handful of water in her face, shivering at how cold it felt. "This has never -- never! -- happened before," she whispered.: "Oh, Ramon, why did you have to kiss me like that, and why -- Madre de Dios -- why did I kiss you back?" She sank back onto the bed, her head in her hands. And she began to cry. * * * * * Wednesday, January 24, 1872 Tommy Carson knocked on the half-opened door. "Telegram, Sheriff." "He's not here right now, son," Paul Grant called out. "Will I do?" The boy looked at the envelope he was carrying. "It says, 'Sheriff Talbot' on it, but I don't think my pa'll mind if I give it to you, sir." He handed Paul the telegram and stood quietly watching while the deputy read. "Is it something important?" he finally asked. "Yep." Paul tossed the boy a penny. "Here, you go. Thanks." Timmy caught the coin. "Thank you, sir," he yelled as he ran out the door. "Heading straight for the penny candies at Silverman's, I'll bet," Paul said with a chuckle. Paul picked up his hat and headed for the door himself. "Might as well deliver it; things are quiet enough just now." The telegram was addressed to "Dan Talbot, Sheriff of Eerie, Arizona," but it really belonged to Laura. It was late afternoon, and she was probably at the Saloon working. "I'll just take it over to Laura and head back," he said to himself. "Of course, if I _happen_ to run into Jessie while I'm there..." His smile grew broader. If it things were as quiet at there as they were in the office, there might be time for Jessie and him to do a bit of talking -- or whatever. * * * * * Ramon turned at the sound of the bell at the door of the Silverman's store. "Hola, Dolores." "Hola, Ramon. Have you decided?" "De... decided?" "Si, are you coming with me to Mexico City?" She walked over to him. She was wearing the green dress he liked, and he could smell the familiar rose scent of her perfume. "It will make the trip back go so much faster." Her voice was low, soft and sultry, full of sexual promise. "And when we get to Mexico City, Ramon, we will have so... so much _fun_, won't we?" She stood close, her hand on his arm. "I sup... Dolores, please, I-I have not yet decided if I want... if I _can_ go with you." She pouted prettily. "Oh, but you must decide, and soon. The stage leaves Monday, and you will need time to pack." "I know that." He decided that it wasn't fair to keep her waiting. "Dolores, have dinner with me tomorrow night, the restaurant, at 6:30. I-I promise that I will have my answer then." She smiled. "And I know that it will be the right answer." She kissed him, quickly, but with feeling. "Just a hint to help you decide," she told him as she broke the kiss. She smiled and left the store. Ramon watched her go. Then he turned to see Aaron, Rachel, and the customers who had been in the store all staring expectantly at him. "Th-thank you for your interest, Miss Yba?ez," he said from habit of waiting on trade. A moment later, he had the good sense to blush as everyone laughed. Aaron came over to Ramon a few minutes after Dolores left. "I saw you... ah, you was talking to that young lady just now." "_Everyone_ saw me. I will be teased about what happened for days." "The easiest misfortunes to bear are somebody else's." Aaron shrugged. "So tell me, have you decided yet?" Ramon shook his head. "No, but I told her that I would give her my decision tomorrow night. That will _force_ me to decide." "That's a good idea. As the sages say, it's easier to hit the target once you decide what the target is." "I'm taking her to Margarita's restaurant. I'll tell her there." "To Maggie's restaurant -- _veys_ _mer_. Whatever you decide, that's a brave thing to do. Good luck, _kayn_ _ahora_." "Thank you, Aaron." "Don't be so quick to thank me. Luck, you'll need." He stopped for a moment. "I don't want I should influence your decision, but, if you do decide to stay, there's something you and I, we should maybe talk about." "What is that, Aaron?" "Pheh, when you decide, _then_ I'll tell you. Maybe. In the meantime, while you're trying to make this big decision of yours, do you think you could find _ein_ _bissel_... a little time to wait on the customers?" * * * * * "And what are ye so happy about?" Molly asked Arnie. The boy was whistling as he stowed a tray of clean glasses under the bar. Arnie looked up and all but grinned. "Didn't you read the paper today, Se?ora O'Toole? Those men down in Tucson, the ones who killed all them Apaches, the jury set 'em all free." "And ye're happy about that? A hundred souls murdered in thuir beds, and that makes ye happy?" "Not people... Apache." He spat the word. Molly was surprised. Arnie had never shown that kind of strong feelings before, except for that feud he had with Pablo. "Arnie, lad, most of them was women and children. Some of 'em was wee babes." "Like my brother, Enrique, was a baby when the Apache killed our father. I say good for the men who done it. I-I hope they go out and kill 100 more... 200... a thousand." Molly stiffened, trying not to show her own anger. "Arnie, I'll not be telling any soul what t'be thinking, but don't ye say that -- or anything like that again -- not where me Shamus or I can be hearing it." * * * * * "Can I talk to you for a minute, Jessie... Miss Hanks." Jessie was standing on the boardwalk in front of the Saloon, getting a breath of air. She looked to see a tall man staring down at her. "I suppose. What d'you wanna talk about, Sam?" "I'm pleased that you remember me," the man said, a broad smile on his face, "what with everything that's been going on over here." "Sure, I remember you, Sam. You run the Lone Star Saloon. You offered me a job as a waitress as while back." "That's right. You turned me down, said you just wanted to work here for Shamus." "That I did. Why're you over here bringing it up now?" "'Cause I hear you ain't just working for Shamus these days. A couple of my customers was talking how you was singing over at Lady Cerise's place on Sunday. They said you was pretty good." Jessie smiled. "They did, huh? Well, whoever they was, you tell 'em thanks for me." "Why don't you come over and thank 'em yourself?" "What d'you mean? Are they over at your place?" "Not right now," Sam explained. "What I mean is, you come work for me, sing at my place, and I'll point 'em out t'you the next time they come in." Jessie smiled. "I'll take that as a complement, Sam, but I got me a job singing for Shamus." "I know, buy I figure if you was happy working for Shamus, you wouldn't be working at Cerise's place, too. Well, you can keep on working for her days, so long as you're singing in the Lone Star at night." "I... I do like working for Shamus." "Maybe, but you'll like working for me more. I'm as good a boss as he ever was, and I'll pay you a dollar a day more'n he does -- however much that is. You can pick your own music, too. I heard there was some song he wouldn't let you sing." He took a breath. "I don't know what it was, or what Shamus has against it, but you can sing it at my place." "I won't say 'yes', Sam, but I won't say 'no', neither -- not right now. I'll think about it some and let you know in a few days. That okay?" "Since I don't got a choice, it is. I'll talk to you later." He smiled and walked away. He was whistling happily as he sauntered off. The prospect of putting one over on Shamus was a pleasant one. The prospect of stealing his star attraction and, he suspected, a guaranteed moneymaker, was even more pleasant. Besides, the men were flocking into O'Toole's every damn night to see the prettiest girls in town. And the prospect of having one of them at his place instead of Shamus' saloon appealed to him, as well. * * * * * Laura heard the sound of Arsenio's hammering. As she walked towards the smithy, she watched him working metal, enjoying the sight of the firm muscles of his broad, tanned back moving as he worked, shirtless, at the forge. "Mmmm, nice," she whispered, hugging herself. But that wasn't why she was there. "Arsenio... ARSENIO!" She had to yell to be heard over the noise. Arsenio stopped, cocking an ear. "Somebody there?" he asked turning. "Me." Laura stepped towards him. He smiled broadly and carefully put down the hammer. He laid the iron bar he'd been working on back in the fire and walked towards her. "Laura... what brings you over here this time of day?" "This." She handed him the telegram. "We've got company on the way." He read a few lines and looked up. "Your sister and her husband are coming. We know that." "Look closer. We knew they would be coming _someday_. Theo sent that letter from St. Louis between trains. This says that they'll be here a week tomorrow, eight days from now. Eight days, and they'll be looking for _my_ grave." Arsenio took a step and put his arms around her. "And I'm very happy to say that they won't find it." "Arsenio, what are we going to do? How can I tell Elizabeth that _I'm_ her brother Leroy?" "I wish I knew. We'll have to tell them something. They're coming out her for your... for Leroy's body." "Maybe... maybe the Judge could just refuse to let them dig... me up." "I don't know. If there was some sort of law against it, the Judge would've told 'em right away by telegram, wouldn't he, not wait till they came all the way out here." "I don't know... would it hurt to ask the Judge if he could tell them no?" "I suppose not. We'll go ask him when we're done." Laura looked up at Arsenio. "Done?" She asked, not certain what he meant. "Well, I was just thinking that... since you _are_ here..." He lifted her chin with his hand, lowered his head, and kissed her. Laura put her arms up around his neck and pressed her body against his. When they finally broke the kissed, she sighed. "They're not going to be here for a week, after all. I suppose we do have _some_ time." * * * * * Ramon was waiting on the boardwalk outside of Silverman's, when Ernesto walked past on his way to Maggie's kitchen after school. "Ernesto," he called after the boy. Ernest kept walking. "Wait." Ramon came over. His long stride let him catch up with the boy easily. "I have not seen you in a while," he said, taking Ernesto's hand in his. "Why have you not come over to the store this week?" "Why should I?" Ernesto shot back. "Well," Ramon began, "you always told me that you were coming over so that you could have a talk with a _hermano_... a man." He tried to smile. "A _man_ keeps his word." The boy spat the words angrily. "Did you not promise that you would help me with the Candlemas party?" "Si, I did." "But you will not. You are going away. You will be long gone by the time Candlemas comes." "Ernesto, I... please let me explain." "I do not want to hear more lies." He pulled his hand free from Ramon's. "I do not want to talk to you at all." Ernesto kicked Ramon in the shin and ran off. "Liar!" he yelled back as he ran. Ramon watched the boy dart into the alley next to the saloon before he turned and limped back to the store. * * * * * Cap slid a quarter to the pile of coins on the table. "I call. What do you two have?" "Two pair." Hans Euler laid down his cards. "Tens and fours." Bridget smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, Hans, we were playing new rules, you'll remember." "Ja, I do," Hans answered. "Mr. Leighten here asked us to, und nobody said no." He glanced at Leighten, a tall, leather goods drummer visiting some of the merchants in town. The man had dropped out of the hand after the first round of betting. "You got something dat beats me mit dem new rules, Bridget?" "As a matter of fact, I have," she replied. "A straight, the eight, nine, ten, jack, and queen." As she spoke, she put down each card in turn. "Those new rules _are_ interesting," Cap said, "but they still don't beat a good, old-fashioned full house..." He showed his cards. "...sevens and threes." Euler shook his head and laughed. "Looks like you beat us both, Cap." "Congratulations, Mr. Lewis," Bridget said coldly. "If you gentlemen don't mind, it's almost seven. We've been playing for over an hour, and I find myself growing hungry. I wonder if we might stop for some dinner and resume play in thirty minutes?" "I've just come into a small bit of money, Bridget," Cap said as he scooped in the poker pot. "May I buy you supper?" Bridget frowned. "My meals are included in my arrangement with Shamus. There's no need --" "Yes, there is a need, Bridget," Cap answered, "_I_ very much need to talk with you. In private." "But do I need to talk with you, sir?" "Please." Cap's voice was low and very sad. Bridget just managed not to smile. "Oh, all right. You may join me." "Thank you, Bridget, I knew you couldn't resist that puppy dog look of mine. No woman has since I used it on my mama when I was a boy." "You are incorrigible, Cap... Mr. Lewis." She lost her resolve and smiled at his joke. "Maybe, Miss Kelly, but it still got me the chance to have supper with you." He took her arm and led her to one of the restaurant tables. Neither spoke until Laura, the waitress that evening, had taken their orders. "Now, what was so important?" Bridget asked brusquely. "Getting back in your good graces. I can't think of anything more important." He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. "I want to apologize, Bridget." "I shouldn't have doubted you," he continued. "Uncle Abner kept insisting that the facts in that report he got had to be true." "And you believed them." "No, I told him that there had to be more than that." He smiled. "He said I was thinking with my John... letting my affection for you overcome my reason." "I know how influential Mr. Johnson can be. I knew him myself once, remember?" She looked at him closely, trying to find his tells, to read what his body language was saying. "Are you saying he was right?" "Bridget, I hurt you, and you have every right to doubt me. If my mind was overruled, it was my _heart_ that was doing it. I knew that there was more to the sto... to what happened, because I can't believe what the report said about you. Please tell me the rest of it." "That's all very well, but I'm not sure that I'm ready to say what did happen. Especially when the man that I need to convince isn't ready to listen." "Please don't hold me responsible for my uncle. I can't control what he thinks any more than _he_ can control what _I_ think." "Cap, I almost think that I can forgive you, but your uncle can't forgive me, and until he's willing to listen -- well, we can be friends, I suppose, but things won't be the way they were." He reached for her hand again, and this time she didn't draw it back. He picked it up and gently kissed her palm. "Bridget, I'll work on Uncle Abner, I promise I will. For now, I'm just happy that you're calling me 'Cap' again." * * * * * Thursday, January 25, 1872 "So this is how the 'Songbird of Eerie, Arizona' spends her time." Jessie spun around from the bed she was making. "Wilma, what brings you over here? Something going on I don't know about?" "Just visiting m'sister," Wilma replied. "You come over t'see me the last few times, and I figured it was my turn t'come over here." "I'm glad you came. I'll be done here in a minute, and we can have some lunch." Wilma pulled a chair over and sat down. "I'll wait." "Be done sooner if you'd help." "I don't help _gals_ in beds, Jessie," Wilma said with a sly grin, "not even you." "You never were much help, not even when you was stuck working here." "Maybe that's 'cause I wanted more outta my life than making beds and cleaning spittoons for Shamus." "I got more than that. You said it yourself; I'm the 'Songbird of Eerie, Arizona', ain't I?" "That songbird's still in a cage if you're still working for Shamus. Once you serve your time, you don't hang around the jail." "It's been a long time since I thought of this place as a jail. I don't mind the work -- not too much, and it was Shamus, after all, that got me t'be a singer. You got something against Shamus? You still mad about that potion of his?" The brunette swept a wisp of hair back behind her ear, like a cat grooming itself. "Not hardly. Taking the second dose of that potion was the best thing that ever happened to me, and _that_ was my idea." "Feeling charitable, Wilma?" Jessie's sister smiled wickedly. "Not a bit. He tried to stop me from drinking that second dose. No, I'm just saying that Shamus helped you, maybe, by making a singer outta you, but you worked here long enough t'say 'Thank you.' Now that everybody knows how good a singer you are, you're gonna get other offers. Hell, Cerise'll be happy t'have you sing over at her place as much as you want." "She ain't the only one," Jessie admitted. "The other day, Sam Duggan asked if I wanted t'come and sing for him at the Lone Star." "When d'you start? What'd Shamus say when you quit?" "I... I ain't quit yet." "Hell's bells, do it now, Jess. I wanna watch his face when you tell him." "Wilma, I-I don't know if I'm gonna quit. I like working here. Molly's got t'be... family. Hell, Shamus is even kinda family. I-I'd -- well, I'd feel bad quitting." She sighed. "I ain't sure what t'do." "Sounds t'me like you're getting to like the life the potion gave you, _little_ _sister_." Jessie scowled. "Better the potion than a bullet in the gut, and that's where we was all heading. You know it's true. We got off easy, maybe." "I guess that Paul Grant is pretty easy to take, but I still can't get my head around the idea of mean-as-hell Jesse Hanks spooning with a lawman." Jessie gritted her teeth. "If you can't give any useful advice about my real problem, maybe we should just go and get that mouth of yours stuffed full of grub instead of sass." "Oh, that. Well, I'd say you got two choices. You can take them other jobs and be done with Shamus -- and have the fun of sticking it to him when you do, or you can use them other jobs to drive a deal with him, one that's more on _your_ terms." Jessie shrugged thoughtfully, impressed with Wilma's insight. "You just may be right, I'll have to think about it. I gotta admit, I did enjoy singing at Cerise's. I think the men that was listening enjoyed it, too. Hell, even that gal, Rosalyn, enjoyed it. I could see her sitting there and smiling while she played that piano." "That's 'cause she got to sit there and act like the lady she likes t'tell everybody she is. Rosalyn loves t'play at being the lady she used to be, instead of what she is now." "Yeah," Jessie said with a laugh, "and her friend, Beatriz, just loves t'play_. She went upstairs twice while I was singing." Wilma laughed with her. "She does enjoy playing. She must like it near as much as I --" She suddenly stopped talking and stared ahead at the wall. "What's the matter, Wilma?" Jessie asked nervously. Wilma smiled, her lips curling up cruelly. "Nothing, little sister, and thank you. You just give me the start of an idea that's gonna save my job." * * * * * "Arnie," Shamus called from behind the bar. "Bring that tray over here. I got some more dirty glasses ye can be taking back t'be washed." Arnie walked over and put a half-filled tray down on the bar. "Okay, Shamus, here y'go." While Shamus piled glasses into the tray, Arnie reached down into the pocket of his apron. He pulled out a small handful of change. Leaning over the bar, he put it down on the counter. "That's from tables 3, 5, and 8." "I know, lad." Shamus divided the coins into three piles, payment for the drinks at each table, and put them into the register. A few coins remained, and these went into the "tips jar" behind the bar. Arnie carefully picked up the tray, which was now full almost to overflowing. "I better get these to the sink," he said. He stepped back, away from the bar, and carried the tray into the kitchen. "Anybody here?" Arnie looked around as he set the tray down. He was alone. He took a couple of empty steins out of the tray and reached for a glass, still filled with whiskey. The taller steins had hidden the whiskey in the smaller glass. "Before ye take that drink, lad, I'll be asking ye t'be for the change ye left in yuir apron." Arnie spun around. "Sh-Shamus, I didn't hear you come in." "I told ye, lad," Shamus explained, "Ten years and more, I lived with the Cheyenne, and I can walk just as quiet as any of 'em." He held out his hand. "Now give me the rest of the money, what ye held back just now." "You set me up, didn't you, you damned Injun lover," the boy muttered under his breath. "What did ye just say?" "I said that I didn't keep any of that money." "Oh, really?" Shamus' hand shot into the apron pocket before Arnie could stop it. "What's this, them?" Shamus brought out his hand and showed Arnie the three dimes he'd found pushed into a corner of the pocket. "I-I thought I'd gotten all the money out." He tried to lie, even as his anger grew. "I guess I was wrong." "Ye knew them coins was there. Ye left 'em there, and don't be lying and say that ye didn't." "You calling me a liar, Squaw Man?" He was caught, but he was too mad to care. It wasn't stealing if it was for a good cause... wasn't it? And getting the shot he needed _was_ a good cause. "Don't push me, Arnie. The tips've been light the past few days. I watched, and I finally caught ye at it." "All right, you caught me. What're you gonna do, scalp me?" "No," Shamus answered, his face red with anger. "I'm gonna fire yuir insolent ass. Get outta here. Now." "You don't have to tell me twice. I can barely take the Injun-loving smell of the place." Arnie glared at Shamus for a moment, then walked out through the back door. * * * * * Emma came over as Ysabel was packing her books at the end of the school day. "Hey, Ysabel, you wanna go over t'the fort and play some cards or something?" "I got chores at home, Emma. You know that. Maybe on Saturday, we can all play there." Emma sighed. "Oh, okay. Maybe Tomas..." She looked around just in time to see the boy run out the door. "Dang!" "What's the matter?" Ysabel put a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "You don't sound too happy." "I... I just hate going home. These days, all my folk seem t'do is fight." "Is your father --" "Trisha. She's Trisha now. When we first changed, Ma told me all I could call her was Trisha, and that potion I took -- that's still what I have t'call her." "She must hate that. You must hate that." "I don't think either of us liked it at first. Now I'm used to it, just like I got used to being called Emma." "I never thought about that. I've called you Emma from the first day you came to school." She thought for a moment. "But... well, Elmer was just a boy in the class. He and I weren't friends like we are now." "No, I... I guess we weren't," she waited half a beat. "So, _friend_ are you sure we can't to over to the fort today?" "I wish we could, but Mama expects me to come home and help with the housework after school. Are you that afraid to go home to your parents arguing?" "They won't be arguing. Trisha don't get home from the store till almost six. But they do argue so much that Ma... well, she's grumpy all the time, on a hair trigger. It seems like anything I say or do sets her off." "Can you hide from her or does she make you stay where she can watch you do chores when you get home?" "I wouldn't call it hiding; she don't mind if I go upstairs and study or do my homework till suppertime." She sighed again. "What's the matter? It gets you outta your Ma's hair, and you get you homework done, too." "It just seems... I don't know. Maybe I'm doing it too much. I... I don't like being in my room. I'm..." She shrugged. "...tired of it, I guess." "Maybe you need a change." Emma looked down at herself and laughed. "I've had more'n enough change in my life, thank you." "No, silly. I mean your room. When did you fix it up the way it is now?" "There wasn't one time. I found that skull I got on my wall about a year ago." "Then you're due." Ysabel nodded her head once, very firmly, for emphasis. "Instead of going to the fort Saturday morning, I'll come over, and we can fix up your room real pretty." "Pretty? Why does it have to be pretty? I'm still a boy... sorta." "I meant that like nice... pleasant, that's all." "Oh, okay, I suppose we can do that." Ysabel suddenly hugged Emma. "Wonderful. This'll be so much fun. I don't have a room I can decorate at home. I share with my sister and, now, my cousin. I love them and all, but the place isn't... mine." "My room ain't yours either." Emma laughed and broke free. "But you come over Saturday, and we'll see what we can do with it." * * * * * "Shamus, can I talk to you for a minute?" Bridget asked. Shamus sighed and walked closer to where she was standing at the bar. "I been wondering when ye'd come over, Bridget. I'm truly sorry for what happened." "What did happen? I saw you follow Arnie into the kitchen, then you come storming out of here, and I haven't seen him si