Eerie Saloon: Seasons Of Change -- Winter; Part 10 Of 13 free porn video

Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson Sunday, March 3, 1872 Trisha pulled her nightgown off over her head and tossed it onto the bed before quickly stepping into her drawers. Church services began in about 90 minutes, and she wanted to get there early, to bask in the praise for the dance the night before. As she reached for her camisole, she looked over to see how Kaitlin was doing. "Trisha," Kaitlin said loudly, pointing, "what the devil is that on your chest?" Trisha looked down at herself. "What? I don't see anything." "Don't play that game with me. There, on your left... breast." "It-it's just a bruise." "You know very well what it is. You gave me more than one love bite when you were Patrick. What I want to know is how it got... who did it?" "Last night, Rhys Godwyn, he... he kissed me." "He did more than that, I'd say." Kaitlin looked closely at the discoloration. She stepped over to Trisha and touched the shorter woman's breast about three inches above the bruise. "Your neckline only came down to here. You must have -- oh, Trisha, you-you didn't take your dress off, did you?" "No, it was too cool to do that." She blushed. "I-I just unbuttoned it." Should she tell what else had happened, what she and Rhys had done? "D-down to my waist... almost." "Whatever possessed you to do that?" "I... Liam's been teasing me about being his 'little sister', so I've been flirting with men -- just to annoy him, of course. And I-I danced with some of them, and they -- and Rhys gave me spiked drinks. Then when he... kissed me, it felt so good that I --" "Acted very foolishly." Kaitlin pointed a scolding finger. "I don't know what we're going to do." "What do you mean?" "I mean that a couple of months ago, you didn't want to admit that you _were_ a woman. Now, you're acting like a silly, young flirt, letting men kiss you -- and do a good _more_ deal than kiss you, judging from that mark. Is that the sort of woman you've decided to be? More important, is that the sort of woman you think Emma should be?" "Emma?" Trisha paled at the thought. "But she's just a girl." "She'd old enough to have already kissed a boy; last Christmas, remember? That was a one-time thing -- I hope, but it may not be, not if she follows the example _you're_ setting. Do you want that?" Trisha shook her head. "No, you-you're right, Kaitlin. I-I'll do better. For Emma _and_ for myself." * * * * * "Thaddeus, please... please wake up," Martha Yingling called, shaking her husband. The reverend sat up. "What... what is it, my dear?" He yawned, stretched his arms, and shook his head to scatter the last bit of sleep. "I-I just checked the boys' room. Stephan wasn't there. His bed... it wasn't slept in." "I'm sure that he's fine. Why, I wouldn't be surprised to find him downstairs having something to eat." "He isn't; I looked. I looked all through the house." She sobbed once. "Wha-What if he's hurt somewhere, maybe even..." Her voice trailed off, not wanting to even think what she had almost said. Yingling took her hand in his, patting it, as he spoke, to comfort her. "Now, now, Martha," he said calmly. "I'm certain that he's all right." "How can you be so sure?" "Because I trust in the Lord." He looked sternly into her worried eyes. "Just as _you_ must trust in me." "Still... couldn't you -- in church today -- couldn't you ask the congregation to... be on the lookout for him, maybe even to form a --" "I shall do no such thing. It would say that I have no faith in our Savior. Worse, it would say that I cannot control my own son. A congregation must believe, believe with all their hearts, in their shepherd. If they do not, how can he ever hope to lead them along the Lord's path?" "But Stephan?" "Is fine, Martha." He rose, still holding her hand. "Pray with me now. Pray that he will overcome his stubborn denial of the Lord's will. Pray, perhaps, that we will see him at the church." He shook his head. "No, I... _he_ would not want the congregation to see him after he had spent the night in the woods. Pray, and I have no doubt that he will be waiting for us here when we return home after the service." Martha bowed her head so that her brow was resting on his chest. "I will." She closed her eyes in prayer, mostly for her missing son, but also that her husband wouldn't notice her tears, her _doubting_ tears, running down her face and onto his nightshirt. * * * * * From her own seat near the door -- the better to watch everyone else - - Cecelia Ritter watched Trisha, Kaitlin, and Emma walking into the schoolroom. Trisha stood by the aisle while the other two took their usual seats. Then she walked to the front to join the other members of the Board. "Will you look at that?" Cecelia whispered to Lavinia Mackecknie. "Bold as brass, that Trisha O'Hanlan." Lavinia raised an eyebrow. "I know what you mean, my dear. Last night she was cavorting -- dancing and who knows what else -- with a dozen men, at least, and this morning, she walks in looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth." "Oh, she did more than just dance, if you ask me," Cecelia continued. "I do believe that she went off somewhere with one of those men, that man -- a Mr. Godwyn, I think his name is. I saw the two of them walking back from where Dwight Albertson had set up the gate." She paused for effect. "And they were holding hands." Mrs. Mackecknie looked thoughtful. "This Mr. Godwyn, was he a... a tall, barrel-chested man with curly black hair?" "Yes, yes, I believe he was. Do you know him?" "I do; I do indeed. He drives a wagon for my husband's freight company, a very common, very coarse fellow." She frowned at her memory of the man. "Merciful Heavens, you don't suppose that she..." Cecelia managed to look both shocked and, somehow, pleased at the same time. Lavinia clicked her tongue. "Disgraceful, just disgraceful. And Kaitlin is hardly any better. She spent the whole time dancing with her brother-in-law. Her brother-in-law, no less." "It's not as though she had a _husband_ to dance with, and the brother does look very much the way Trisha _used_ _to_." "Even so, she is still a married woman -- of sorts -- and with a young daughter, no less. She really shouldn't be throwing herself at the man -- any man." She glanced towards the front of the room and saw the reverend standing up and walking over to the makeshift altar. "We'll have to talk about this later, Cecelia. Services are about to start." * * * * * Reverend Yingling looked out over his congregation. "Before we conclude this morning's service, I find that there is an announcement I must make." He saw his wife smile hopefully, and he gave a quick shake of his head, telling her, 'not _that_ announcement, not about Stephan.' Martha Yingling's smile faded, and she sank back in her seat without a visible protest. "A few weeks ago," the reverend continued, "a member of our Board proposed that this congregation sponsor a dance as a way of starting the collection of money for possible improvements to our church. There were many, and I will admit to having been one of them, who had doubts that such a dance was possible in the short time they suggested." "I am happy -- most happy -- to say now that I, that all those doubters were wrong. Like the Widow of Zarephath, who fed Elijah during the famine, the ladies of this congregation produced their own miracles of food and, also, of decorations and music and everything else necessary -- most especially, their own charming selves -- to have made last night's dance such a delight." "I will not ask Dwight Albertson whether or not we -- the church -- made a profit for I am most certain that we did." Albertson raised a hand, and Yingling motioned for him to interrupt. "I agree that we made money, and I'll have the exact figures for the next Board meeting." "Thank you, Dwight," the reverend continued. "I know that we also profited by coming together on this project as well as by the enjoyment of sharing an evening together. And so, I will ask Dwight and all of the ladies -- and gentlemen -- of this congregation who made last night possible to stand." Trisha and Dwight stood up from their chairs as members of the Board. Then Kaitlin and the members of the Food and Decoration Committees stood. "You, too, children," Nancy Osbourne called out to those of her students who had come to the services that morning. "After all, you made all those decorations." "Milo, stand up... You, too, George," Albertson added, explaining. "These men are the ones who sold tickets and watched the gate." Yingling nodded. "And now, let us thank them all with a round of applause." He began to clap, and the rest of the congregation, including many of those who were standing, joined in. Horace Styron and the other Board members were cheering as much as anyone else in the room. 'No one can say that the reverend didn't thank Trisha,' Styron told himself, 'but he didn't give her any special credit, either.' * * * * * Monday, March 4, 1872 Nancy Osbourne looked down at her attendance sheet then up at her class. "Ruth... Matthew Yingling, can either of you tell me where your brother, Stephan, is this morning?" Ruth, as the older of the two, stood up. "Miss Osbourne, Mama said to tell you that Stephan wouldn't be in today." She blinked, trying very hard not to cry. "And for a few more days... maybe." "I do hope that he's not sick." Nancy said, marking an "A" for absent next to Stephan's name. Matthew answered for his sister and himself. "So do we, Miss Osbourne. So do we." * * * * * "You just stand like you did yesterday, Jane." Ethan Thomas was at his easel, watching Jane pose in a robe over her camisole and drawers. She shifted her position, moving closer to the left of the chair. "Like this?" She lifted her right hand atop the back of the chair and angled her body slightly. "Yes, raise your left arm... yes, just like that. Perfect; hold still please." He began painting. "How long do I gotta stand like this?" "The whole time today and for most of the future sessions. Since I am working on your figure, just now, rather than your face, you may speak to me so long as you hold the pose." "What should I talk about?" "I don't know." He thought for a moment. "Why don't you tell me how you and your sister came to Eerie?" "I didn't come t'Eerie with Laura. I didn't even know her back then." "I fail to understand. How is it that you could not know your sister?" "We wasn't sisters back then. We was..." She stopped, remembering the warnings she'd gotten about telling people the truth. "You know already 'bout Shamus potion, don't you?" 'Potion?' he thought, then shrugged, curious for what had to be a good story. "Oh, yes, he... ahh, he told me about it himself." "Good, 'cause I ain't supposed t'talk about it to folks that don't know. Me 'n Toby Hess was up near Flagstaff, looking for gold and finding rock. We heard that they was digging gold up in chunks over in the Superstition Mountains." She smiled ironically. "They're always digging it up in chunks... _over_ _there_. We came down here and filed a couple of claims about an hour's hard ride north of here." "I should think that gold prospecting would have been difficult work for a pair of young ladies such as yourself." "I thought you knew 'bout the potion. We was _men_. It was hard; that's why I ain't doing it now, but we was up there the better part of a year." He looked askance. Had he heard her correctly -- that she had been a _man_ in the recent past? What she was telling him _couldn't_ be true, but he had grown familiar with the peculiar way that Jane talked. She had expressed her incredible statement in a way that led him to think that she herself believed it to be true. "If that's the case, how did you and Laura come to be sisters?" "Me 'n Toby come into town t'exchange... for supplies." She wasn't going to tell him about the gold they'd found. "And we seen a sign that Shamus had a bunch of pretty gals at his place, and there was gonna be a dance." She giggled. "Them girls sure was pretty, and I thought Laura was the prettiest of the whole lot." "So you and Toby..." "Toby, he liked Jessie as much as I liked Laura. Only Shamus got mad at us and wouldn't let us see 'em. Toby said that we should take 'em up t'our claims for a while. Toby took Jessie to the cabin we had on one claim -- we'd work each claim for a few days, then switch off -- and I took Laura to the other one." She suddenly frowned and shifted her body. "Jane, please... your arms back as they were." Ethan watched her take the pose again. "You were saying..." "Sorry, I don't like remembering what happened next. Jessie 'n Toby had some kinda fight. She k-killed him, but a jury said it was a accident. The posse that came after Laura and Jessie brought me back for a trial. _That_ jury said I was guilty. The Judge, he told me, I could go t'prison for years 'n years _or_ I could drink the potion." "I drunk it." She shrugged. "And here I am." "And how did that make Laura your sister?" "That there potion changes a man so he looks just like the prettiest gal he ever seen. For me, that was Laura. After I drank the stuff, I was her spit 'n image. That sort of made us sisters, didn't it?" "And how did Laura feel about you, a man, being changed into her sister?" "It didn't bother her none. After all, she used t'be a man herself." Ethan lurched. "What?" Jane frowned at him. "I thought Shamus told you all 'bout the potion." "No -- no, he didn't." He tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. "Not in any detail. He didn't mention...who exactly was changed. He was respecting their privacy, I suppose." "Ya see, Will Hanks and his gang road into town t'kill the sheriff. Shamus give 'em all his potion, and the Judge made 'em work in the saloon." His fist clenched around his brush. "Will... Will Hanks? You mean Wilma...?" "Yep, in fact, she got two doses of potion and wound up working over at Lady Cerise's cat house. Two doses make a man too much of a woman, I reckon." "And the others in the gang, what happened to them?" "They's still all working for Shamus. You already know about Laura. Jessie -- she's Wilma's sister -- she sings, Bridget runs her poker game, and I work with Maggie in the kitchen." "Those... those women were all men -- outlaws?" "They was. They ain't no more." She giggled. "Laura's even gonna have a baby in June." Ethan shook his head. "That's quite a story." Jane pouted. "You don't think it's true, do you?" "I-I'll be honest, Jane, I'm not certain that I do. I -- ah -- half thought that Shamus was just having a joke with me when he mentioned the potion." He paused for a moment, resolving to investigate further. "For whatever it might be worth, a part of me hopes that it is true. The world can always use more women as beautiful as yourself." * * * * * Stephan Yingling looked hopefully at his friends. "I gotta ask one of you t'do me a favor." "What do you need?" Ysabel asked. "You remember that note I was gonna leave for my folks?" He pulled a folded sheet of paper from a book on the table where they were all sitting, inside the hill in Fort Secret. "I stuck it in that book and brought it with me by accident. I-I just found it today." "No wonder Ruth and Matthew were acting so scared today in school," Emma realized. "Your folks don't have any notion of what happened to you." "They gotta think you're hurt -- maybe dead even," Yully added. He reached for the note. "I'll take it over to 'em." Ysabel looked hurt. "Why you?" "'Cause I'm gonna say that he give it t'me -- if anybody asks. I'm the one he's most likely to trust, us being best friends and all." "What're you gonna say?" Stephan asked. "They're gonna have all kinda questions, especially my Pa." Yully thought for a moment. "I'm gonna say that you give it to me in school... Friday, but you -- you asked me t'wait a while before I gave it to them. _And_ I'll say that I don't know where you are." "You just be careful," Stephan warned. "Pa's awful good about getting the truth outta people." "Don't you worry none, Stephan. I'll promise you right now; I ain't gonna tell your pa a thing -- my pa neither." * * * * * "Oooh, that feels good!" Laura leaned back on her elbows on the bed. She and Amy Talbot were in Laura's old bedroom in the Saloon for their monthly pregnancy check-up. Both women wore only their opened camisoles and drawers, and Edith Lonnigan, their midwife, was gently rubbing a creamy white lotion onto Laura's gravid belly. Edith smiled as she continued. "I would imagine so. I'll give you the bottle, and you can do it every day or so." "Better yet," Amy Talbot added, "have Arsenio do it." She winked. Edith cocked her head as if considering the idea. "Just make certain that he does a thorough job and doesn't get... distracted. This lotion doesn't just help with your dry and itchy skin. If you use it for the rest of your pregnancy, it will reduce any stretch marks you might get." "Str-stretch marks?" Laura looked down nervously at her stomach. Amy nodded. "Your body's stretching to make room for the baby. That can leave marks on your stomach or legs to show how it stretched." She pointed at a slightly darker line across her own stomach. "I used that same lotion, and it helped me." She giggled. "Dan helped, and we only got a _little_ distracted." "Did you both have a good time at the dance?" Mrs. Lonnigan asked, trying to change the subject. Amy smiled. "I know I did. Dan's a good dancer, but we don't get many chances to go out. Paul and Tor took over for the whole evening, so he could stay with me." She sighed. "I just got tired a bit quicker than I'd have liked, so we couldn't dance very much." "I'm used to dancing -- working here for Shamus every week, like I do," Laura added. "It was just nice to be able to dance every dance with Arsenio instead of taking tickets and trading partners every dance." She looked at the midwife. "How about you, Edith? I know I saw you there with Davy Kitchner." Now Edith smiled. "Yes, Davy came down from his claim early Saturday afternoon, so he could take me. He's not a bad dancer, either." "I hope he wasn't too tired when he rode all that way back into the mountains after the dance," Laura teased. Edith refused to take the bait. "No, he found a place to stay the night here in town -- and we'll say no more on _that_ subject; thank you very much." "Of course not." Laura bit her tongue. "I'm just glad that you both enjoyed yourselves Saturday night." She didn't giggle, but Amy did. When Edith joined her, all three women gave in to a hearty laugh. The older woman shook her head. "Now that we've all had such a good chuckle, I think this session is over, and you both can get dressed. Laura... Amelia, your weights seem fine. Laura, you can expect to be gaining about a pound a week for the time being. Amy, about half that for you." "We'll see you next month then," Laura replied, buttoning her camisole. Amy mumbled something in agreement. Edith screwed the cap back on the lotion bottle and set it down on the table next to Laura's reticule. "Unless either of you have any questions -- or problems, heaven forbid. Then you come see me _at_ _once_." * * * * * Herve walked into the parlor. "Mr. Thomas, my Lady," he announced. "Ethan," Lady Cerise said, rising from her chair. "What brings you here this lovely evening, business... or pleasure?" The painter kissed her hand. "Good evening, Cerise. Both, first, I came to report that I am making suitable progress on the painting of Miss Hanks, and that I am in the process of securing a pair of new commissions with the Ortega family. They wish me to do a portrait of a daughter for her 15th birthday and another of the family patriarch in celebration of his 70th birthday." "I have the... acquaintance of several of the men in that family. They are extravagant, but they demand -- and reward -- quality." He chuckled. "And they shall receive nothing less. As to my second reason for being here," he looked around the room. Mae, Beatriz, and Wilma were watching his conversation with Cerise. "My Lady," he continued, "part of our agreement was that I might avail myself of your... flowers. I should like to do so this evening, if I may." "But of course. My ladies are at your disposal." "I am an artist, Cerise. I do not 'dispose' of such beauty; I luxuriate in it." The three women sat up and posed, all offering themselves to this handsome, cultured man. 'Finally,' Wilma told herself. "My dear..." He stepped over to Beatriz and offered her his hand. "...would you do me the honor of joining me in an evening of mutual, sensual delight." Beatriz stood and took his hand in hers. "That would be my pleasure, Ethan," she answered. "_Our_ pleasure," Ethan corrected her, and they began walking towards the stairs. Wilma watched them in amazement. 'He... he picked Beatriz.' Ethan could almost feel the heat of Wilma Hanks' eyes burning into the side of his face. He glanced back at the beautiful young woman, who was sitting there wearing black lace. Seeing his favorite model again, feeling his desire for her rise, made it doubly hard to give credence to Jane's wild story. Wilma smiled. She was mistaking the meaning of the intense look he was giving her. She thought that if she could whisk the painter away from Beatriz when they were actually at the foot of the steps, what a sweet twist of the knife that would be. "Good evening, Wilma," Ethan said, as he and Beatriz passed by her chair. "You really should not stare at people with your mouth so open. It is most uncomely." Beatriz giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. "Si, most uncomely." * * * * * "And up ten cents." Liam O'Hanlan tossed a coin onto the small pile already on the table. Joe Kramer raised a curious eyebrow. "I'll see that dime and raise another." He added the coins to the pot. "That was sure some dance over at the schoolhouse on Saturday," he said by way of conversation. "That it was," Mort Boyer added. He had folded in the last round and was waiting for a new hand. "You must've enjoyed it, Liam. I seen you dance every dance with that pretty sister-in-law o'yours." Liam frowned. "What about it? Kaitlin likes to dance." "There was a lot of other women there that liked t'dance. Why wasn't you dancing with any of them?" "Mostly, because those women were dancing with the men who brought them, their husbands or their beaus. You know as well as I that men around here outnumber women three or four to one." Bridget tossed a quarter on the table. "Raise fifteen cents." She studied Liam's face. "Let me guess; your sister-in-law came with _her_ husband. Only, Kaitlin couldn't exactly dance with Trisha, could she?" She looked sharply at the men as if daring them to comment on the potion both she and Trisha had taken, or on the changes it had caused. "No, she couldn't," Kramer replied. "Trisha was dancing, though. With men, and it seemed t'me like she was dancing every dance, too." She'd even danced once with him, though he wasn't about to say that. Fred Norman shook his head. "Not every dance." He laughed. "I seen her and that muleskinner... Godwyn come walking back from someplace 'bout an hour before the dance ended. I don't know where they was -- or what they was doing -- but they was holding hands and grinning t'beat the band." Liam looked daggers at the man. "What're you saying, Fred?" "I think..." Bridget gently put her hand on Liam's arm. "...that he's saying he wants this pot, and he's willing to try and get you off your game if that'll help him win it." She turned to Fred. "Isn't that right?" "You... ahh, caught me, Bridget. Sure, Liam, that's-that's all I'm trying to do." * * * * * "My dear," Ethan said, kissing Beatriz's cheek, "might I ask you something?" They were in her bed, recovering from a most pleasurable romp just minutes before. Beatriz sighed, almost a purr, delighting in the warm glow of recent sex. "After what we have just done -- and will do again, I hope...." Her hand reached down. He wasn't recovered yet, but he was getting there. "After that, you can ask me anything." "Thank you." His hand stroked her right breast, pausing a moment to play with her nipple. "I, too, have every expectation of savoring another moment of sensual bliss with you this night. Before that, however, I have a question for you. I have heard a most... unlikely tale regarding your... associate, Miss Hanks --" His question trailed off. After seeing Wilma in the flesh again, he felt foolish bringing up the subject. He had to be careful not to let on to Beatriz what it was that he heard from Jane. He didn't want all the girls at Lady Cerise's laughing at him. Beatriz' mood soured at once. "Wilma? What did you hear?" Nothing good, she hoped. "A truly bizarre story about how she -- and her sister -- came to this town." Beatriz didn't like Wilma, he knew, and she was likely to reveal everything scandalous that she might know about her. At the same time, he hardly considered Jane the most reliable of sources. But the woman's reply was oddly cautious. "They came," she began, "from a bottle in Shamus O'Toole's saloon, they came." He affected to smile. "What, you mean like a djinn from one of those tales of THE THOUSAND AND ONE ARABIAN NIGHTS?" "No, it was not gin. If you have heard that Shamus O'Toole is some sort of a brujo -- a witch -- you should believe it. They were men -- brothers -- Will and Jesse Hanks. They came to Eerie to kill the sheriff, but a potion O'Toole gave them changed them into women." Ethan blinked in astonishment. Jane and Beatriz couldn't possibly be cooperating on a hoax. And if they weren't, what they were saying might possibly be true. "Amazing," he muttered. He wasn't sure why, but it all seemed sexually intriguing somehow. From what he knew about the girls at Shamus' saloon, they were not shy, although certainly not as sexually bold as Wilma. He found himself wondering what sex with one of these "potion women" would be like. "Is there _anything_ else you wish to me to tell you about her?" Beatriz asked. He could hear the anger in her voice and felt her body moving away from him. "It was merely idle curiosity," he replied quickly. "How could I possibly be interested in any other woman when I am here with you?" He pulled her back to him and kissed her -- very hard on the mouth -- while he ran a rough fingertip over her nipple. She felt his manhood against her thigh, and it was more than ready. They didn't talk again for some time, and when they did, it was most pointedly _not_ about Wilma. But that didn't mean that Ethan wasn't thinking -- and thinking most intently -- about the sultry brunette who had such an interesting past. * * * * * Yully climbed up the tree trunk until he was about twenty feet from the ground. He stepped out onto a thick branch and began to inch his way towards the nearby house, his house. A smaller branch extended out from the trunk a few feet above the one he stood on, and he used that smaller branch as a sort of handrail. By the dim light of the lamp on his dresser, he could see that the window was half-opened, as he'd left it. When he reached the side of the house, he pushed it up. He stepped up from the branch to the windowsill then down into his bedroom. He was lowering the window back into place, when he heard a voice behind him. "'Bout time you got back," his brother Agamemnon, "Aggie", whispered, sitting up in his own bed. "Yeah," his other brother, Nestor, added from his bed. "Where've you been?" Yully whirled around as they spoke. The three boys were alone. "You tell Ma and Pa I went out?" "Nope," Aggie replied, "but we will if you don't tell us what's going on." Yully sat down on his bed and untied his shoes. "I-I can't. I promised Stephan Yingling I wouldn't tell." He pulled off the shoes and quietly set them down beside the bed. "When'd you see him?" Nestor asked. "Matt told Miss Osbourne this morning that he was home sick." Yully shrugged. "It's complicated, and I can't tell you any more." When he saw their faces, he added. "I promised -- look, if I say I'll ask him if I can tell you, will you both promise not t'tell Ma or Pa I went out -- or anything else?" The two other boys leaned over and whispered between their beds. Yully used the time to slide his suspenders from his shoulders and wriggle out of his pants. He'd worn his nightshirt underneath. "Okay," Aggie finally said, "but we'd better get more than a 'I can't tell you' for an answer, or we will tell." * * * * * Tuesday, March 5, 1872 "Mamma, Mamma!" Rachel Yingling burst into her parents' bedroom. "Look what _I_ found." Her twin sister, Rebecca was right behind her. "What _we_ found. It's a letter from Stephan." "Bring it here," their father ordered, sitting up. He glanced over at the mahogany clock ticking away on the bed stand. It was almost 7 AM. The twins were usually the first two up in the morning and were supposed to go downstairs to set the table for breakfast. Martha took the paper from the girls and handed it to her husband. "What does it say? Where is he? Is... is he all right?" "In a moment, we shall both know." Yingling opened the paper and began reading aloud. "Mother," the reverend looked over at his wife. "Please, _please_ do not worry about me. I am fine, safe and sound." Martha let loose a heavy sigh. "Thank the lord. But where --" Yingling continued reading. ` "Father, you told me to take more time to think about ` becoming a minister. I _have_ thought about it, and ` I don't want to be one. How about _you_ thinking ` about me becoming a soldier because that's what _I_ ` want to be." The reverend frowned, but he continued reading. ` "You think about that for a while, and I'll be home in ` a few days to talk to you about it. ` "I love you both. ` Stephan." Yingling crumpled the note in his hand. "Where did you find this?" "It was on the floor by the front door," Rebecca answered. "I... we went downstairs, and it was just lying there." Rachel smiled. "So _I_ brung it up." "_Brought_ it up," Martha Yingling corrected, hugging her daughters. "Thank you -- the both of you." She sighed with relief, but didn't let go. "He's alive and safe and... and he must be close by, to be leaving notes like this." The reverend snorted. "Safe for the moment -- thank the Lord -- but he will not be so safe when I get my hands on him." "Thad," Martha gasped, "what are you saying?" He held up the crumpled paper. "Didn't you hear? To question me -- to question his predestined role as a minister -- to issue ultimatums. I will not tolerate such actions, Martha. He has gone too far." 'Just so he comes back,' Martha thought. 'Please.' * * * * * "Mr. Dwight Albertson, the church's treasurer, would not reveal the exact amount, saying that he wished to first make it known at the Wednesday night meeting of the church board." It was early afternoon, and Trisha was reading the article on the dance in the newspaper, while the store was empty of customers. "He did say," she continued, "that, between the sale of tickets and of refreshments, the profit was a respectable one." She put the paper down and looked across at Liam, who was finishing a late lunch. "You hear that, a 'respectable' profit. Sounds like that dance idea worked out just fine." "For some people, anyway," Liam answered sourly. "What's the matter with you? I thought you enjoyed yourself." "I did. I just didn't enjoy getting raked over the coals about it at the poker game last night." "What do you mean? Who was giving you a hard time?" "Almost everybody. Some folks noticed that Kaitlin and I danced every dance." Trisha's eyes widened. _She_ hadn't noticed. "Every dance? Why?" "Because she loves to dance, but she can't go off with every man who asks her. She's a married woman. Not like --" He looked hard at Trisha. "But it's perfectly respectable for her to dance with me. At least I thought it was." "Did you enjoy it?" "Yes, she's a good dancer, as I'm sure you remember. And, after the hard time she's had since... lately, it was nice to see that pretty smile of hers again." "That 'pretty smile' line sounds like you're taking more than a brotherly interest in Kaitlin." "Maybe I am. That's what they kept saying at the game last night, anyway." "Is it true?" "Is it true that you went off into the woods with -- what's his name - - with Rhys Godwyn?" "Who says I did?" "Right now, _I'm_ saying it. Did you?" "We just walked around a little bit." She was hardly ready to tell anyone what _had_ happened. "Is that _all_ you did? I'm told you were holding hands and smiling when you came back. That sounds like more than walking to me." "You're just trying to change the subject. What -- _exactly_ -- is your interest in my wife?" "What _exactly_ is your interest in Rhys Godwyn?" "Nothing... I... we walked." She glared at her brother. "Just like I'm doing, _right_ _now_." Without another word, she turned and left the store. * * * * * "Hey, Arnie, c'mere," Quint Parnell gestured to the boy. Arnie walked over to where Parnell was sitting, nursing a beer. He set the tray of dirty glasses he was carrying down on the table. "What can I do for you, Mr. Parnell?" "Quint... please, and sit. I feel like I still owe you something for all that ruckus me 'n Bill Hersh caused." The boy spun a chair around and sat down, leaning his arms over the back of it. "I'd say that if you two owe anybody, you owe Bridget. She was the one you tried to rob." "You're right, and I am gonna pay her too. The thing is, though, I sort of need your help t'do it?" "My help? What do you mean?" "We found some color up at our mine -- not a lot, but it's a start. We're bringing in some ore tomorrow so the assay office can tell us how rich that color is." "Congratulations, but why do you need my help?" "We... ah, had a few drinks to celebrate, and my fool of a partner, Bill, broke his damn arm. He can ride well enough, but he ain't worth spit for carrying a saddlebag of ore... or using a pistol if there's any trouble." "Trouble? Why don't you just talk to the Sheriff?" "You never know who you can trust, and this is as close to being rich as we ever got. We're more'n a little on edge about this. Besides, having a Sheriff for a helper is kinda, well, showy." He took a drink of beer before continuing. "What we was thinking was to meet up with you here, then walk with the horses to the assay office. You'd help us get the saddlebags with the ore inside and wait while we cash it in." "I work for Se?or O'Toole. He won't like me skipping out to help you." "It won't take that long." He chuckled. "Be a man about it. Besides, there's a ten dollar gold piece in it for you." "Ten dollars?" "When we cash in the ore. Plus, we're gonna come back here and give Bridget enough money to buy herself a pretty new dress. You think that'll square it with her?" Arnie smiled. "It should." He liked the idea of helping Bridget get a new dress. And that ten dollars would more than pay for that shot for his colt, which gave him an idea. "I... ah, I have a pistol. Do you want me to bring it with me?" "A pistol." Parnell considered the idea, then frowned. "No, I don't want it to look like we needed an armed guard. That'd be as showy as if we had the sheriff coming with us. I think we'll be fine with this." He patted his own holstered revolver. "But thanks for the offer... Arnoldo. I knew you was the right one to help us." "Okay... Quint." He reached across the table to shake the other man's hand. "You got yourself a helper." * * * * * "Norma... Norma Jeane." Trisha heard a man's voice, but she ignored it and kept walking towards her house. The man suddenly stepped in front of her. "What's the matter, Norma Jeane? Didn't you hear me?" "I..." Trisha looked closely at the stranger... the _handsome_ stranger. "Do I know you?" "I'm Ethan... Ethan Thomas. We met out in San Francisco last year. Johnny Hyde had me paint your portrait for the Silver Fox Salon." Trisha shook her head. "I'm not her." "Of course, you are. What are doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Are you in some sort of trouble?" "I told you; I'm not this Norma Jeane person you know. I just look like her." "No one could look that much like..." He remembered the story Jane and Beatriz had told him the day before. Before their night was over, Beatriz had mentioned a father and son who had gotten a taste of Shamus' potion accidentally. Beatriz had spitefully said that she had heard that the father now looked like a blond hussy who should be working at a place like Cerise's. 'Maybe she wasn't crazy, after all,' he thought. He watched the blonde's face as he asked, "Are you one of those 'potion women' I've heard about?" Trisha blinked, surprised that this stranger should know about the town's most important secret. Her first instinct was to deny it, but what was the point? "Yes," she said, sounding a little sad. "Yes, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She started to walk past him. Everywhere he turned, unrelated people confirmed that Jane's mad story was true! "Wait. I-I'd like to talk to you, if I may." He had wanted to learn more about this strange phenomenon, but as soon as the words were out, he realized that he wanted to do more than just talk. This woman was as beautiful as Norma Jeane, and, as a former male, she would know far more about how to pleasure a man than any born woman ever could. He was sure of that. "I've no time for idle gawkers, thank you very much." She started walking. "Do you have time to see a portrait of the woman you resemble? I made a smaller copy of that one I mentioned -- because... because she was the most beautiful subject I had ever painted. I have it over at my studio." Trisha stopped and looked back. She hadn't seen a picture of Norma Jeane, the _real_ Norma Jeane, since Kaitlin had asked Patrick to throw away the cigar card all those years ago. And she was curious. She took another look at the stranger. He was impeccably dressed, clean-shaven, well spoken, and intelligent-seeming. Perhaps he was a true gentleman. "All right," she said hesitantly, then walked back to where he was standing. "If it's not too far." * * * * * "Did you get my note to my parents okay?" Stephan asked as soon as Yully stood up inside Fort Secret. The other boy nodded. "I slipped it under your front door last night, but there's a problem. Nestor and Aggie were waiting for me when I got back to my room -- I used that tree by my window t'get out, so my folks wouldn't catch me so late." "Did they snitch on you?" Emma had just come in from the tunnel. Yully shook his head. "Nope -- not yet, anyway. I told 'em it was a secret, that I'd promised Stephan that I wouldn't tell nobody." "You shouldn't have used my name." The other boy shrugged. "What choice did I have? I didn't tell 'em anything else, but I promised that I'd ask you -- all of you, but they don't know that -- what else I _could_ say? They want something, or they _will_ snitch." By now, Ysabel and Tomas were inside as well. "You gonna tell 'em about the Fort?" the boy asked. "I'd like to," Yully answered. "I've been feeling kinds guilty about them not knowing." Stephan looked thoughtful. "I'd like to tell Matt, too, but Pa hates for us to keep secrets from him. I'd be afraid he'd try to weasel it out of him or me." "Maybe when this is over," Ysabel said, "we can talk about who else we want to tell. For now, let's keep it a secret -- if we can." Emma had an idea. "For now, why don't you just tell your brothers that Stephan's had a fight with his pa and run away for a while. You can't say where he is 'cause... 'cause he didn't tell you where he was going." "But I _know_ where he is," Yully protested. Stephan laughed. "Yeah, but _I_ didn't tell you. Emma did. She's the one that said I should hole up in here." "That just might work." Yully considered the notion. "It is the truth... sort of. I was gonna tell 'em you gave me that note _before_ you left, anyway, if I need to." He beamed. "Yeah, that's... that's the ticket." * * * * * Trisha took another sip of the madeira, her second glass. "You're staring at me again, Ethan." She smiled, still feeling a bit shy, as she said it, even with the relaxing warmth of the liquor spreading through her. "Am I?" He chuckled. "I am sorry. It's just that I cannot get over the apparent resemblance between Norma Jeane and yourself." "Our 'apparent resemblance'?" She looked over at the portrait, which was propped against a chair a few feet from where she and Ethan were sitting in his second floor studio. "_I_ think we're identical. That's what the potion does." "It's difficult to be _absolutely_ certain. I can see the match your facial features readily enough, but Norma Jeane's costume leaves no secrets about her body, while your own form is all but concealed beneath those clothes." Norma Jeane Baker, the woman in the painting, the woman the potion had transformed Patrick O'Hanlan into the twin of, wore a violet-colored corset, a pair of white silk drawers that barely stretched below her hips, and long, violet stockings. A bright red garter, trimmed with small roses, circled the stocking on her right leg at mid-thigh. Trisha was in a cornflower blue, floor-length skirt, with a petticoat beneath, and a matching blouse trimmed with darker blue lace at her high collar and her cuffs. Under the blouse, she wore both camisole and corset. "That sounds like an attempt to get me out of my clothes." Her eyebrow went up, half in curiosity, half in amusement. And -- just maybe -- another half in sexual interest. "Only to better ascertain the degree of similarity between the two of you. I am, after all, a portraitist, a trained student of the human form." She giggled. "Somehow, I doubt that." "I assure you," he made a king's X, crossing a finger over his heart. "My sole interest is to better understand the remarkable similarity between yourself and Norma Jeane Baker." She considered his words -- and took another sip of madeira, finishing it -- before speaking. "If that's all..." she stood up, swaying just a little from the alcohol. "...I suppose that I can cooperate. I'm a little... curious about that myself." "As am I." She began to unbutton her blouse, then noticed him watching her -- watching _so_ very closely. "Please... don't look," she asked, her face a rosy blush. "As you wish, Trisha." He folded his arms across his chest and turned his back to her. Trisha undid her blouse and draped it over the back of the chair she'd been sitting on. She glanced over and smiled to see that he was still looking away. Her hands fumbled a bit as they undid the three buttons that held her skirt tight to her waist. She pulled at the skirt, loosening it, so that it slid down easily over her hips. Stepping out of it, she laid it over her blouse. A few moments later, her petticoat joined the pile of clothing. "I-I'm... ready." Her unease was obvious in her voice. Her hands fidgeted at her sides. She wore a dark blue corset over a white camisole, white drawers, and striped blue and yellow stockings. Ethan turned around. He studied her for a bit, then beamed. "You are easily as beautiful as Norma Jeane." He walked towards her, then circled around behind her. "I do wonder, though, at how far the resemblance extends." "What do you mean?" She could almost feel his eyes on her body. "For example, do you react as she would when I do this?" He suddenly kissed the side of her neck. Trisha whimpered, her entire body reacting to the delightful tremor that ran though it. Before she could think, Ethan spun her around. "Or this." He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers. She raised her arms to push him away. Her hands pressed against his chest -- his broad, masculine chest -- then they moved away as her arms reached out to encircled him. Her nipples tightened at the touch of his body against her own. She moaned, and he took advantage, his tongue sliding into her mouth, playing with hers. At the same time, his hands reached down to firmly grasp her buttocks. He kneaded them, and it was like the stoking of a fire in her loins. The need, the hunger in her, grew stronger, and her arms tightened around him. 'I-I shouldn't d-do this,' she thought, but the urgency that his hands and his kiss were building in her drove away any thought of stopping. The kiss ended. She gazed at him through half-closed eyes and sighed. "Exactly the same," he told her, a grin on his lips. "Shall we continue?" She smiled weakly, any reluctance she might have had overcome by her arousal. "Y-yes." Her arms moved down, her fingers worked at the hooks of her corset. She looked down, not wanting to see his eyes. The corset slipped from her nervous fingers and fell to the floor. "So _very_ lovely," he said and leaned in to kiss her forehead. She squirmed at the compliment -- and the kiss. He moved closer and began unbuttoning her camisole. In what seemed like a moment, it was undone. His hands moved the two halves apart, baring her breasts. He leaned in and took a hard, raspberry nipple into his mouth. His tongue ran across it, and the rough texture on her skin was almost more than she could bear. Her body quivered at the intensity of the sensations. The craving in her grew even stronger. Her loins were warm -- no, _hot_ -- and wet and, oh, so empty. Her knees could no longer support her. He lifted her in his arm as she fell and carried her to a nearby bed. 'As easy as lifting a sack of feed,' she thought and giggled. After he set her down, he laid a trail of kisses from between her breasts down to her navel. When his tongue swirled into it, she gave a surprised, "Eeep!" He slid his feet almost effortlessly out of his boots. "Be with you in a minute," he told her, as he undid the buttons of his trousers. They fell to the ground, and he stepped out of them as well. Trisha's eyes widened at the size of the bulge in his drawers. And a quake of anticipation in her privates made her feel even more ready. She rubbed her legs together, trying to answer her need. 'I don't care what Jane and Beatriz said,' Ethan told himself. 'How could she ever have been male? She's one of the most physically responsive women I've ever encountered.' He opened the top three buttons of his linen shirt and yanked it off over his head, even more eager for what was about to happen. His broad chest was a mass of curls, the same dark brown as his mustache and beard. Trisha beamed at him. She giggled again and reached down to play with the bow of her drawers. After her encounters with Enoch and Rhys, she was able to admit to herself how the beauty of a male body could draw her in. His hands went to his own drawers. He tugged at one end of the cord that held them on. It released his loosened garment, and they slid down his legs. His male tool sprang out to attention at the vision of loveliness before him. She gasped at the size of him, but the sight made her feel her own need all the more. She quickly had her own drawers off, lying on the floor beside the bed. "I-I'm ready," she told him. On impulse, she tried to pose as she thought Norma Jeane would. He climbed onto the bed and over her. His legs were between hers, and his arms were bent to support his weight. "Have you done this before?" he asked her. "What kind of question is that?" she asked, offended by the idea that he might think she was easy. Her evasive reply had given him all the answer he needed. Ethan moved down and eased himself into her moist slit. "Mmmm," she sighed, as he entered her. He let her savor his hugeness for a brief moment, and then began to thrust, filling her, the sensations overwhelming her. Her arms circled around him, drawing him closer. Her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping him. She applied force, trying to pull as much of him inside her as possible. Trisha's head rolled back, her eyes closed, as wave after wave of pleasure swept over her. "Yes... yes," she gasped. A last great surge coursed through her, lifting her up, up, up until it shattered into fragments of exquisite delight. "YES!" she screamed as her body writhed. He wasn't done. He shifted, so that his legs were under hers, and pulled them both into a sitting position. She was on his lap now, his maleness still within her. He kissed her deeply as he resumed his back and forth movement. She accepted him hesitantly, her body tense, until she could contain herself no more and gasped, breaking the kiss. Trisha stared at him with half-closed eyes. Her hips moved to match him. The world shrank down, so that all she knew was the pleasure of their joining. At last, the building intensity of it could no longer be contained within her. She clawed at his back as her body exploded again with rapture. He shuddered and let loose a small groan. His essence shot into her, setting her off a third time. They held still in their joint ecstasy for an instant. Then he released her, and they both sank down onto the bed. "That... that was _nice_," Trisha said at last. She could feel him soften. His manhood shrank down and slid out of her. She twisted her body so that she was next to him and gently kissed his shoulder. "Thank you." Her kissed her back. "You are more than welcome. And may I say that, while your resemblance to Norma Jeane is very strong, much of what you just did, what we just shared, _Trisha_, was your own delectable self." "You -- you were with Norma Jeane?" He smiled. "A gentleman never tells." "Just tell me," she coaxed, her eyes sly with near laughter, "which of us is better?" "Let me just say that each of you was --" "Bam! Bam!" They both jumped at the sound of the heavy knock at the front door. "Stay here," Ethan said. He climbed out of the bed and reached for a clean cloth from a stack on a nearby worktable. He wiped his loins hurriedly before stepping into his pants. He pulled them up, buttoned them quickly, and sat back down to put on his shoes. Instead of his shirt, he grabbed for a nearby, paint-spattered tunic and donned it as he scrambled down the stairs. "I'm coming," he yelled in answer. 'And I'd better be _going_,' Trisha told herself, as she watched him run. "I told Kaitlin I'd behave, and two days later, here I am... _not_ behaving." She sighed and promised herself to do "much, much better." She looked around and saw a pitcher of water and a few more clean cloths on the worktable. She went over to it and began to tidy herself up. * * * * * Ethan opened the door. "May I help you?" "I would hope so." A woman in a dark green dress, her graying, brownish hair done in a tight bun, walked past him into the room. "My name is Ritter, Mrs. Cecelia Ritter. Are you the painter... Thomas, yes, Mr. Thomas? Are you him?" Ethan bowed. "I am he, Mrs. Ritter. How may I be of service?" "I was thinking of a painting, a family painting, my husband and myself -- with our children, perhaps, if that wouldn't be too expensive." Ethan heard a sound from upstairs. He saw Mrs. Ritter tense and look up, and he recognized the curiosity in her expression. "Mrs. Ritter... Cecelia, if I may," he said quickly, flashing her his most charming smile. "I should be delighted to discuss your commissioning a portrait of yourself and your family. However, I have a... subject upstairs whose time to pose is limited. May I have the honor and pleasure of calling upon you at your home at some time later this afternoon?" "I have some errands to run." She tried to hide her interest in whoever was posing -- if that's what they were doing. "My address is 29 Maple Street. That's left out your door, right at the corner, and left again at the next corner." She gestured as she spoke. "We're the fourth house on the right, the one with the green shutters. Would 4 PM be all right?" "It would, indeed." He bowed and took her hand. "Until 4." He gently kissed her hand and, while she was too flustered to object, led her back to the still opened door. "Good day... Cecelia." The matron giggled at the sound of her name and walked away. She stopped twice to look back over her shoulder and giggled again. * * * * * Trisha was waiting near the top of the stairs, buttoning her blouse. "I assume from your clothing that we will not be continuing," Ethan said unhappily. "I don't think so." She stepped over and gently kissed his cheek. "You're a sweet man, Ethan, and I... it was something I needed, but we're not gonna be 'continuing' today or... ever, I think." He slowly ran a finger along her cheek. "'Ever' is a very long time." "No," she answered, trying to ignore the very real attraction she felt -- _and_ the desire he was so expertly stirring in her. "I have resp- responsibilities... and... and a family." In desperation, she added, "please." He took his hand away. "Very well. Though I shall reserve the right to hope that you will change your mind." "Thank you." She gave a deep sigh of relief. They walked down, hand in hand. She stood off to the side, while he looked outside. "The coast, as they say, is clear," he told her. He tried to kiss her again as she walked past him. "Thank you, but, no thank you," she answered, dodging his attempt and scurrying out the door. * * * * * Wednesday, March 6, 1872 "Emma!" Tommy Carson yelled and threw the ball in a high arc. She caught it on the run and ran toward the goal, a tree some 30 feet away. There were only two boys from the other team in front of her, Jorge Yba?es and Bert McLeod. Jorge ran straight at her. She waited until he was close, then shifted to his left and circled past him. 'Now, where's Bert?' she thought. She found out the hard way, when Bert grabbed her by the waist. Jorge was on her a moment later, pulling at her right arm, the one holding the ball. She tried to twist free, but two other boys were trying for the ball now. Their legs tangled as they struggled, and the five of them fell to the ground. Hands scrambled for the ball. Emma tried to tuck it under her. If she still had it when they all finally stood up, her team would still have it, and they'd be _so_ _much_ closer to the goal. Then a hand reached for something else. She felt someone's fingers touch her breast. And it was no accident. The fingers were moving, cupping her breast through the material of her dress and camisole. A warm, pleasant feeling ran through her. She gasped in surprise. And almost let go of the ball. "Stop that!" she screamed. "Stop that right now!" The hand -- whose ever hand it was -- pulled away. The other hands stopped reaching for the ball. She felt the boys shift off her and stand up. Hector Yba?es, her own team's captain, helped her to her feet. She was still holding the ball. "What'd you yell like that for?" Hector asked. Emma flushed. "I... I, uhh, got tired of rolling around in the dirt," she answered quickly. She was hardly about to give the real reason. "Nobody else was gonna stop 'em, so I did." "There's still time left," Tommy Carson said. "Let's get moving." The two teams formed a circle around Emma. She faked a toss to Yully, then passed the ball to Hector. He ran for the goal, with both teams in pursuit. She glanced down quickly at her chest as she ran. 'Better talk to Ma about this tonight,' she told herself. * * * * * "You ask." Matthew Yingling pushed his sister, Ruth, the last step over to where Yully, Emma, Ysabel, and Tomas were eating lunch. Yully looked up from his turkey sandwich. "One of you better ask fast," he told the pair. "There ain't much time left till class starts again." "We been telling everybody that Stephan's home sick." Ruth fidgeted with her hands as she spoke. "He ain't, but I think you already knew that, you being his best friend." Yully tried to look surprised. "He ain't sick? That's news to me." "Nobody's supposed t'know." Matthew replied. "My Pa's furious. He's been calling down the wrath of G-d on him for running away. Ma's real frightened." Ruth's eyes glistened. "We all are. If you know anything, anything at all, please, please tell." Yully shook his head. "I-I can't help you. I-I'm sorry." Tomas was sitting across from Yully. "What is your papa cursing Stephan for? That does not sound like the good priest everyone says your father is." "What's it to you, Tomas?" the Yingling boy asked. "He ain't your 'priest', and Stephan _is_ our brother." "He's also _our_ friend," Ysabel chimed in. Emma nodded in agreement. She'd been oddly quiet all through lunch. Ruth's jaw dropped. "You know; you _all_ know where he is, don't you?" "I never said that," Ysabel answered quickly. Matthew looked angry. "What's the matter? Did all of you promise him not to tell anybody where he was?" "Who says we promised him anything?" Ysabel said just as quickly as before. "I don't care who did or didn't promise what," Matthew said, trying not to lose his temper. "I just want to know where my brother is." "And that he's all right," Ruth added. Yully sighed. "I don't think he wants to be found just yet -- wherever he is. He's real mad about your Pa trying to make him be a preacher." "I'm not sure that I wanna be one, either," Matthew admitted, "but I _know_ that I wouldn't wanna scare Ma like he's doing. Seems like she's crying all the time." Ruth agreed, looking almost ready to cry herself. Ysabel took Ruth's hand. "I do not think that he likes scaring your mama, either, but he thinks that your papa did not give him a choice." "You're not saying anything, then." Ruth shook her head. "Not any of you, are you?" "I just told you," Yully stood up, gathering the remains of his lunch back into his pail, "I -- none of us -- can help you." * * * * * Arnie was gathering up dishes left by customers who'd been at the Free Lunch when he saw Quint Parnell walk in. He waved, and the older man walked over. "You ready to go?" the man asked. "Sure am." Arnie set the tray of dirty dishes down on the nearest table. He untied his apron and draped it over the tray. Dolores was taking a beer over to one of the player's in Bridget's poker game. "Tell Shamus I'll be back as soon as I can," Arnie called to her. "Where are you going?" she asked, but her cousin and Parnell were already walking out the door. * * * * * Bill Hersh was mounted on a dappled mare at the hitching post outside the Saloon. His right arm was in an improvised sling, and an overstuffed saddlebag was tied to his horse's saddle. "Hello, kid," he said by way of greeting. "Let's go." Parnell untied the reins of a brown horse from the hitching post. "You 'n me'll walk," he told Arnie. The boy fell in next to him, while Hersh, still on horseback, followed. Arnie frowned. Was this all that they needed him for? To walk with them a couple hundred feet? He'd have thought that they'd need him more up in the foothills, where outlaws might lurk. The "work" was not worth more than a dollar. Would they really pay him ten? * * * * * The assay office was two blocks down, past the freight office and the bank. Parnell tied his horse to the post. Hersh tossed him the reins, and he tied the other man's horse, as well. Hersh dismounted awkwardly. He stood next to his horse, while Parnell removed the saddlebag. "Want me to hold that?" Arnie asked. "I got it," Hersh said, and Parnell handed him the bag. Arnie shrugged. "Then I'll get the door. He walked over and opened the office door, holding it as the two men walked it. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" Egbert Fields stood just inside the doorway. He was a heavyset, white-haired man wearing a brown jacket with the small badge that identified him as a guard. The jacket was open, so his twin pistols could be clearly seen. Fields looked closely at the three men as they walked in. "Your weapons, please." Parnell had the only pistol. He handed it to Fields handle first, and the guard set it down on a chair behind him. The office looked like a bank lobby. It was mostly empty, except for a few sturdy chairs. At the back, a closed-in area was set up like a teller's cage, with a solid, oak door at the side, and bars from the ceiling down to the top of the desk. Lucian Stone was sitting on a high stool behind the desk, waiting. Parnell shook his head. "We got it." He walked over to Lucian. "We found some color in our claim, and we came in so you could tell us just how good it was." "How much do you have for me to test?" Lucian began setting up a scale. Parnell pulled a small bag from his pocket. "This for a start." He tossed it up in the air, but when he caught it, the bag fell apart. Pebbles scattered across the floor, attracting everyone's eyes. Except for Hersh. His right arm snaked out of the sling and into the saddlebag. He came out with a pistol that he pushed against Field's side. "Hold it right there," he told the guard. "Get his pistol, Arnie," Parnell ordered. "And give it to me." Arnie stared at the men. "I... What are you doing, Mr. Parnell?" "I'm... _We're_ robbing this place, just like we all planned," the other answered. "You ain't getting cold feet now, are you?" The boy shook his head. "I'm not a part of this." "You are now." Hersh laughed. "Now get the man's pistol like Quint told you." Arnie obeyed, not knowing what else to do. "Sorry," he said, as he took the weapon from the guard and handed it to Parnell. "Mentiroso...liar!" he shouted at the man. "You told me my pistol would be 'showy'. If I had it now, I'd...I'd show you... I'd stop this right now." "Shut up, you little bastard," Parnell ordered. "You..." He pointed the revolver at Lucian. "...give me all the money." Lucian reached for his wallet. "The money in that safe," Parnell ordered, pointing at the large safe built into the wall behind the assay desk. "There's no money in there. I write checks for the gold I get, and men take them over to the bank to get cashed." He chuckled. "There's no gold in there, either. I shipped out the last ore I collected to the Denver Mint on the Monday stage. Nobody's brought in any ore since then." Hersh went read in the face. "What! You're lying." "I'd let you check the safe if we had the time," Lucian answered, "but I hit the alarm to call the Sheriff as soon as you drew that firearm. He should be here any time now." Hersh growled. "You son of a bitch!" He fired at Lucian, who ducked down behind the wall. "There's a steel plate in this wall," Lucian told them. They heard a loud "click" behind them. "And I just locked the door. You might as well sit down and wait for Dan Talbot to get here." Fields saw how distracted the men were and grabbed for Hersh's pistol. The pair struggled, but Fields eventually pulled it free. "Drop it," he ordered Parnell. The would-be thief made a face and tossed his own weapon to the floor. "Just sit yourselves down, gents," the guard ordered. "Those chairs are a lot more comfortable than the cell you're all headed for." "They-they tricked me," Arnie