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Eerie Salon: Seasons of Change -- Spring By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson © 2012 Sunday, April 28, 1872 Nancy walked slowly towards the schoolhouse. 'Feels good to be back here,' she thought to herself, as she joined the crowd of Sunday worshipers gathering outside the doors. 'Even just for Sunday services.' There was a rustle around her, as people turned to look her way. "What is _she_ doing here?" someone said indignantly, speaking just loud enough for Nancy to hear. Another voice - Nancy thought that she recognized the nasal tones of Zenobia Carson - added: "Look at her, coming here today as if she had nothing to be ashamed of." Nancy bristled and shifted to face her. "Why shouldn't I be here? I've done nothing wrong." Cecelia Ritter suddenly blocked her path. "Go home, you brazen hussy. You've no place here among decent folk." Nancy looked the matron in the eye. "I thought that the church would be exactly the place for a sinner as evil as you claim I am." Cecelia laughed smugly. "The place for a repentant sinner, perhaps, but I see no sign of repentance - or the hope of repentance -- in you." "And I see no sign of Christian humility - or Christian mercy - in you, Mrs. Ritter." She tried to step around the other woman. "Perhaps, we're _both_ in need of some divine assistance." Lavina Mackechnie and Zenobia Carson moved in front of her. "How dare you speak to Cecelia like that?" Lavinia asked. "Because she deserves it; now let me pass." Nancy glowered at the trio, as they continued to obstruct her. A few others, male and female, joined them. Nancy was all but surrounded. She thought that she saw Phillipia Stone at the back of the crowd, giving her a smile of encouragement, but unable to get any closer. Reverend Yingling pushed his way through the crowd. "What is going on here?" "This... this hussy insulted us." Cecelia replied." She... she boasted about her scarlet ways." Nancy shook her head. "I did nothing of the sort, Reverend. All I wanted to do was to attend services, and these three tried to force me to leave." "Perhaps..." Yingling studied Nancy's face. Then he glanced over at Cecelia. "Perhaps, Nancy, it might be better to let things quiet down before you --" "Seek the guidance of our Lord?" Arsenio stepped up next to the minister. "That's hardly what I would expect a man of G-d to say. A politician might say it, but a preacher like you - never." Yingling took a breath. "She, ahhh... she is, of course, welcome here today. I only meant that she - that all four ladies -- should take a moment to calm down before joining us." He looked angrily at Cecelia. "Joy, not anger, however justified, is the way to worship our Savior." He turned and hurried off, with most of the crowd following him. "Thank you, Mr. Caulder," Nancy said, trying to collect her thoughts. "And good morning to you, Mrs. Caulder," she added when Laura joined her husband. Arsenio smiled. "Glad to be of help." "Nancy!" Phillipa Stone and her husband, Lucian, joined the group. "I wanted to talk to you some more about the school." She smiled at Nancy and gave a reassuring wink. The teacher felt her body unclench. "Certainly, we can have a nice long talk about things after church." "Why don't you join Phillipia and me, then?" Lucian offered Nancy his left arm, as his wife took his right. "Delighted." She took his arm and walked with them into the building. * * * * * Cap Lewis rode into town at full gallop. When he reached Doc Upshaw's office, he pulled up and leapt from his horse, pausing just long enough to tie the reins to the hitching post. "Damn!" he spat when he reached the door. "Locked." He pounded on the glass in frustration. The curtain at the window to the left of Cap opened deliberately. It was Edith Lonnigan, squinting into the darkness outside. She bustled over to the front door, and turned the latch. "Who?... oh, Mr. Lewis." "Thanks," Cap said as the door opened. He hurried past her into the waiting room, a wild look in his eyes, his clothes coated with dust from a long, hard ride. "My uncle," he demanded. "Luke Freeman wired me that he'd been shot. How is he?" He waited for a response. When she didn't speak, he started for the back, where he knew Upshaw had some beds for his patients. "Wait a minute, Mr. Lewis." The curtain before him moved aside, and Red Tully stepped through, to block the way. "The doc's checking on your uncle right now." Cap raised an eyebrow. "Red... what are you doing here?" "Helping me." The physician walked through the curtain from the back. His white coat was rumpled, and his hair was messed. He'd been busy. "Helping your uncle, too." "How is Uncle Abner? What happened? Can I talk to him?" Upshaw raised a hand. "I just gave him something to make him sleep, so you won't be able to talk right now. To tell the truth, I've got him sleeping a lot. It's about all I can do for him at the moment." "Who hurt him?" Cap demanded. "Two men, Stafford and Saunders, ambushed him," Red added, "but don't you worry none. We caught 'em. They're cooling their heels in jail till their trial tomorrow." "Who in hell are they?" "A couple o'polecats from Texas," Red answered. "Stafford... from Texas? Is that the same Stafford Bridget told my uncle and me about?" The other two men suddenly looked uneasily at one another, as if they knew something that they didn't want to say. Cap took a breath. "In jail? That's some good news, anyway." He looked the doctor in the eye. "But you said that all you could do was help Uncle Abner sleep. What _exactly_ is the matter with him?" "The bullet lodged in his spine, as near as I can tell without surgery. He was mounted when he was hit, and he fell off the horse - hard. He doesn't seem to have much feeling below the middle of his back." "Is he... paralyzed?" "It's too early to say. He seems to have some sensation in his right arm, but not much other than that. Look, Cap, there's a Doctor Vogel in Philly. He was an Army surgeon during the War, and he's an expert on such wounds. I've written - telegraphed - him to ask for advice. He's helped more than one doctor that way, so I have every hope that he can help your uncle, too." "How... how soon will he write back?" "I don't know. I said that it was urgent. In the meantime, I'm monitoring your uncle. Luke Freeman told Red to stay here and help out. Did you know that he was an orderly at a Union Army Hospital?" Cap shook his head. "I guess he did mention it once or twice." He glanced to the cowhand. "Thanks, Red." "Glad t'help. Your uncle's a good man." "Thank you for that, too." Cap's body relaxed, and he suddenly yawned. Doc Upshaw studied the man for a moment. "You rode straight on through from Prescott, didn't you?" "I did. What... what of it?" "There're four beds in my ward. Why don't you pick one that your uncle isn't using and get some rest?" "But my uncle... and... and Bridget." The physician frowned for some reason that Cap didn't understand. "It's only mid morning. Wouldn't it be better to wait until later, after you've had some sleep, before you see her? You'll be rested, and you and she can give each other your full attention." "Now, that..." Cap yawned again. And smiled. "... that sounds like a _real_ good idea. Okay, Doc, show me to that bed." * * * * * "Papa," Ruth Yingling said hesitantly, "can I ask you a question?" Yingling smiled. "_May_ I ask you a question, and, yes, you may." "Why was everybody being so nasty to Miss Osbourne? What did she do wrong?" The Reverend thought for a moment. "She, ah... some people feel that she has not been acting in a manner appropriate for a school teacher." "That's not true," the girl protested. "She's a _good_ teacher. She gave me all that extra help with my spelling, and look how well I did on my last test." Yingling patted her head. "It is not her spelling that is the problem, daughter. It was the example she set for her students." "She didn't set a bad example today," Stephan interrupted. "She was just trying to come to church when Miz Ritter and them - and _those_ other women stopped her." The minister raised a surprised eyebrow at his son. "Cecelia - Mrs. Ritter - and the other women were concerned that she _might_ cause trouble. I'm surprised that you didn't see that." "I saw," the boy continued. "It looked to me like they were bullying her, trying to force her to leave." Ruth smiled and clutched her father's arm. "But they didn't. Papa stopped them." "Yes," the boy replied, "yes, he did... eventually." The man frowned. "I merely wanted to give them all time to calm down. One should not enter a church in anger." His son just misunderstood. The boy couldn't possibly be questioning him. "Of course, father," Stephan said innocently. "What other reason could you have?" * * * * * "Your lawyer's here to see you, boys," Paul announced. Zach Levy walked over to the jail cell where Stafford and Saunders were locked up. "Good afternoon, gentlemen." He waited while Paul unlocked the cell and opened the door. "May we have some privacy, Deputy?" he asked as he entered the cell. "Don't see why not." He locked the door. "Give a yell when you're ready to leave." He turned and walked back to the desk. The deputy was far enough away that there was little chance that he could hear them talking. The lawyer sat down on the bunk. He set his dark brown, leather briefcase on the cot next to Forry and took out a pad of paper and a pencil. "It doesn't look very good. Forry, you were heard arguing with Abner Slocum about something. Then you're found holding a rifle and looking out from hiding when he's shot. They found you both, actually." "They done shot me, too," Leland interrupted. "I'll be limping for weeks from that bullet them bastards put in my leg." "The fact that you were two trying to run away doesn't help your case very much. The only thing in your favor is that Slocum is still alive. Otherwise, you'd be on trial for murder instead of _attempted_ murder." Zach studied the faces of his two clients. "Can you tell me anything - anything at all - that would help?" Forry grinned. "How about the fact that I know Ed Davis; know him _real_ good. Does that help?" "I'm not sure. Who is this Mr. Davis? Does he live around here?" The other man chuckled. "Nope, he lives back in Austin - in the _governor's_ mansion." "So you claim to know the governor of Texas. I'm afraid that I don't see how that might help your case." "Oh, I know him, all right, but it won't help at my trial, though. They've got me dead to rights." Zach raised a curious eyebrow. "Do you want to plead guilty, then?" "Might as well. It doesn't really matter _what_ happens at the trial." "What do you mean? Of course it matters. If you can give the jury a good reason as to _why_ you ambushed Abner Slocum, you might even get lucky and draw a lesser sentence." "Well, I could say that Slocum had been making false accusations about me, and that he'd sworn to my face that he was going to smear my honorable reputation by spreading them around. But that defense would just drag things out. I've had enough of this territory, and I just want to get home as soon as I can." "Threatening to hurt your reputation, that seems like a pretty weak justifications for shooting a man from cover. Tell me, do you have any witness to these threats you say he made?" "Leland here." Zach shook his head. "He's one of the accused. His testimony won't count for much, not with Slocum being such a respected man locally." "If I'd had my way, Slocum'd be dead right now. But, like you said, after the trial comes the sentencing, and that's where knowing Ed'll come in _very_ handy. Whoever you got as the territorial governor of Arizona, he should fall all over himself when the governor of _Texas_ tells him to let me go." Saunders looked nervous. "What about me, boss? You ain't gonna leave me rot in some jail, are you?" "I suppose I owe you something. I'll see if Ed can't get you out, too." Forry smiled and put him arm on his hireling's shoulder. 'The hell I will,' he thought, still smiling broadly. 'If I get you out, you'll have something you can hold over me for years, just like you and Cooper did with Adobe Wells. It'll be a pure relief to let you rot.' * * * * * Cap walked through the swinging doors of the Eerie Saloon. He stopped almost at once and looked around inside. Bridget was alone, sitting at her usual table. 'Probably playing that solitaire game of hers,' he thought, 'but why is she sitting with her back to the door, instead of watching to see who comes in?' He shrugged and started towards her. Shamus saw him and started to say something. Cap stopped and put a finger to his lips, asking the barman not to give away the surprise. "Guess who," he told her, reaching around as he did so to cover her eyes. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck - just to give her a clue, of course. She shuddered and pushed away from him. "N-no! Don't... don't touch me!" Then she turned and saw his face. "Oh... oh, my G-d... Cap!" She looked at him, like he never saw her look at him before. She sprang up and bolted for the stairs before he recovered from his own surprise. He stared, confused, for just a moment. "Bridget, what's going on?" When she didn't answer, when she kept running, he began the chase. With his longer legs, he closed most of the distance between them while they were still on the stairway. But when she reached the second floor, she sprinted for her door. She managed to get inside, closing it behind her in time to shut him out. "Bridget, please." He tried the knob, only to hear the click of the latch, as it slid into place. "G-go away. I... you don't... don't..." Her voice trailed off. He shook the door, trying to force it open somehow. "I don't what? Please, Bridget, _please_ tell me what's the matter." He took a breath. "I... I love you." "No, you... you don't." There were no words after that, only the horrible sound of a woman - the woman he loved - sobbing. Why was she acting like this? All at once, he remembered the odd glance that had passed between Red Tully and the doctor. Something had happened to Bridget, something so bad that they didn't want to him to know about it. He sank down to the floor, his fists clenched in frustration and anger. Anger at whoever had done this to her, and frustration that he couldn't take her in his arms and comfort her. * * * * * Shamus caught Molly staring at the ceiling. "Why don't ye go up there, Love?" "What do ye mean?" "That's gotta be the ninth time ye was looking up towards Bridget's room in the last five minutes." "I'm worried, Shamus. Ye saw the way she ran, like she was being chased by a demon from Hell, and not by the man she cares for - and who cares for her - more than any other." "I know. The best thing for the both of them would be if they was in her room... comforting each other. But if they ain't - which is the more likely, I'm thinking, that maybe ye can help." "From yuir mouth t'the Good Lord's Ear." Molly gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the staircase. * * * * * Cap sat on the floor outside Bridget's door. Her crying had stopped, but there were no other sounds from within the room. He was trying to decide what to do next, when he heard a voice, a voice on _this_ side of the door. "Cap, are ye all right?" "Molly?" He managed to get to his feet. "What's going on?" She gave him a vague smile. "I'll not be telling ye here. Come down and have a drink." "What about Bridget? I want to --" "Ye're not likely t'be hearing it from her. For that matter, it ain't likely that she'll be coming out anytime soon." She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Ye might as well be waiting for her at the bar. Our stools are a lot more comfortable that that patch of floor ye've been sitting on." He thought for a moment. "I suppose. She's got to come out sometime, and I can wait just as well downstairs." His stomach growled. "Sorry, I haven't eaten all day." "Even more reason t'be coming with me. Maggie's serving up some nice chicken stew at that restaurant o'hers tonight." Cap followed Molly down, and they both took a seat at one of the restaurant tables. "Now," he asked as soon as he sat down. "What's the matter with Bridget? Why did she act the way she did? What does everybody know that I don't?" "She..." Molly sighed. She looked down at the table and spoke in a low, troubled voice. "Cap, there ain't no good way t'be saying it. Bridget..." Molly sighed and closed her eyes, hating what she had to tell him. "She... she was... raped." She saw the young rancher's expression change to astonishment, then horror, then rage. "Take it easy, Cap," she cautioned. "What! Who did it? Where is he?" Cap growled, his hands balled into fists. "I'll... I'll cut his balls off." "In jail, he is, and good riddance." She spat. "His trial's tomorrow, only it... it ain't for that." She laid her hand on his arm. "His name is Stafford, and he's... he's the man that shot yuir Uncle Abner." "Stafford again! I'll... I'll kill him right now!" Cap's fists were clenched, and Molly kept a careful eye on the steak knife that was part of his place setting at the table. "Don't ye be going off and doing something stupid like that. Bridget needs ye. She's been in a dreadful state of mind, since he... done it to her." "She behaved like she was afraid of her own shadow, but, Molly, why did she run away once she knew it was me?" "That devil of a man done a lot more t'her than just... what he done t'her body. He come in here the next day, bold as brass, and _pays_ her for what he done t'her. He paid her right thuir where everyone could see." "My Lord! He damned well called Bridget a whore when he did that." "Most of them that was about when he come in, they knew that it was a lie. So do most o'them that've heard of it by now. Ain't nobody talked like they thought she was a whore, at least not while me or Shamus was around t'be hearing it." She shook her head. "The problem ain't what other people thinks of Bridget; it's what she thinks o'herself." "She can't possibly be thinking that she's a whore." Molly nodded. "She does, and she's convinced that everybody else thinks the same. Worst of all, she's sure that ye'll be feeling that way, too, as soon as ye hear the tale. That's why she ran. She was afraid t'be facing the disgust she _knew_ she'd be seeing in yuir eyes." "I won't just cut off that bastard's balls..." Cap's face was purple with rage. "I'll cut off his prick, too, and _feed_ it to him. _Then_ I'll kill him." Judge Humphreys had been seated two tables away, eating dinner with Dwight Albertson. He stood up and walked over, taking an empty seat between Molly and Cap. "That's a good sentiment, Cap, though it's hardly something a judge should approve of. Only you won't be able to put those admirable intentions of yours into action," he told them, "now _or_ after the trial either, most likely." "What do ye mean, yuir Honor?" Molly asked. "I heard about what Stafford did, and, no, I didn't believe a word of what he implied about Bridget, not for a minute, either. Unfortunately, she was too ashamed to file charges, so there was nothing the Sheriff or I could do for her." "But they got caught dead to rights on your uncle's land, and the jury's most likely to find them guilty. If they do, I intend to throw the book at them." Cap studied the Judge's face. "So if they get found guilty, they'll get the choice of the potion or jail, like Jane did, or Ozzie Pratt?" Humphreys gave them both a nasty sort of grin. "Maybe." * * * * * Monday, April 29, 1872 "Oyez, oyez," Dan Talbot called out, "the court of the Honorable Parnassus J. Humphreys for the Township of Eerie in the County of Maricopa and the Territory of Arizona is now in session." The Judge was sitting at one of the restaurant tables. He pounded his gavel one time. "Be seated," he ordered and turned to Paul. "What's the first case?" "The Township of Eerie versus Forrest Stafford and Leland Saunders on the charges of attempted murder and flight to avoid prosecution." Zach Levy was seated between the two defendants. He quickly rose to his feet. "Zachary Levy defending these men, Your Honor." "And how do they plead, Mr. Levy?" Humphreys asked. "Guilty on both counts, sir." The Judge blinked. He clearly had not expected this. Then, composing himself, he motioned with his hand. "Stand up, you two." He waited for the men to stand. "Is that right? The two of you are admitting to shooting Abner Slocum?" "We are, Your Honor," Forry replied. "Just for the sake of curiosity, would you care to explain why you did it?" Stafford shrugged. "Angry words were spoken. My friend and I over- reacted." "That would be an understatement," the Judge said with a scowl. Forry shook his head in distaste. "Let's get on with it." He started to sit until Levy warned him to keep standing. Humphreys frowned. "Mr. Saunders, are you pleading guilty, as well?" "He is," Forry said. The Judge studied Stafford with annoyance for a moment. "Let the man speak for himself, Mr. Stafford. Are you telling me that you're also guilty, Mr. Saunders?" "I-I am, s-sir," Leland answered nervously. "I -- I'm deeply sorry, Your Honor." Milt Quinlan had been sitting alone at a table a few feet away from Levy and his clients. "It seems that we won't need your services as prosecutor, after all, Counselor," the Judge told him, "or those of the jury. However, I'll ask the jurors not to leave, as their services will be required again shortly." The dozen men, picked by lot as people came into the saloon, were clustered around two nearby tables. "I think we can do that," Fred Norton, one of the jurors, replied. The others agreed. "Thank you, gentlemen." Humphreys took a breath. "Will the defendants please rise?" Stafford, Saunders, and their lawyer stood up, as the Judge continued. "Do either of you have anything to say before I pass sentence?" Forry gave a low chuckle. "Yes, Mr. Stafford?" the Judge asked. "Speak up." "Do what you want to me, Judge," Forry replied confidently. "I may have acted in rash high spirits, but I only did what any decent man from Texas would have done in the face of such provocation. I think my friend, Governor Davis, would agree with me. He's a Texan through and through, and a man of wide influence. He knows your own esteemed territorial governor, I believe." The Judge shook his head and then looked at Leland. "Do _you_ have anything to say, Mr. Saunders?" When the other man nervously shrugged, Humphreys continued. "Very well, then. I sentence you each to a drink of, shall we say, O'Toole's 'Special Blend' and a two month stay in the Eerie Special Offenders' Penitentiary." "Two... two months?" Forry was almost incredulous. Then he smiled. The Judge was no fool. He didn't want to take the political heat. If the man was, in fact, such a coward, a little more pressure yet should get him released by the weekend. "Is that all?" Zach Levy spoke up. "Your Honor, I'm afraid that I am unfamiliar with this type of sentencing. Where is this 'penitentiary' you just mentioned?" "As a matter of fact, you're standing in it. The Eerie Saloon has been an adjunct of the town jail for several months already," the jurist answered. "And here comes the warden to start their sentences." "What exactly is the sentence? We may wish to launch an appeal." "Appeals? We do things quickly out here," the jurist replied. "Justice delayed is justice denied. You may, of course, launch any appeals that you and your clients deem wise, but for now, the convicted felons have to be rendered into custody. If that doesn't suit the defense, take it up with your client's friend, the governor." He then pointed to Shamus who was walking towards the table where Zach and the others stood. The barman was carrying a tray with two glasses of beer. * * * * * "Now comes the fun part," Wilma said with a chuckle. She was sitting in the back of the crowd next to Rosalyn, who had wanted to see what happened to her "good friend," Forry Stafford. The other woman pouted. "I cannot believe this travesty of justice. Forrest was always a true gentleman. He could never have done what they accused him of." "Then why did he just plead guilty? You don't know him as well as you think you do," Wilma replied. "I guess you two never talked much when you was together." A blush ran across the blonde woman's pale complexion. "No... we did not, I must admit. I will miss his... company." "You can still come over and visit, I suppose. She ain't going nowhere for a while." Wilma chuckled. "'Course, her _company's_ gonna be a lot different from what either of you was used to." "That's horrible, and it isn't fair! This town is more evil in its ways than anything he's accused of doing!" Wilma was genuinely surprised. Rosalyn had always stayed a bit aloof from the patrons of _La_ _Parisienne_, but now it seemed that she and Stafford had become friends of a sort. 'Birds of a feather,' she told herself. 'Speaking of which.' She glanced up towards the stairs. Bridget was sitting on the top step, watching the trial. She was hugging herself. Wilma had hoped that she would be smiling by now, but her face was still an immobile mask of misery. * * * * * Shamus set down the tray. "You're the warden?" Levy asked in amazement. "You're a barkeeper. I-I've never heard of such a thing. Why is this place of business called a penitentiary?" "In just a wee minute, Mr. Levy, ye'll be hearing - and seeing - a lot of things ye've never did before," the barmen told him. He put the two drinks in front of the guilty men. Forry looked at the beer stein. "It's not poisoned, is it?" "What sort of a man serves poison in his own bar?" Shamus said indignantly. "Consider it a courtesy of the house. It won't be killing ye, so ye might as well drink up." "You have not been sentenced to death, gentlemen," the Judge told them. "The refreshments are definitely not poisoned. If we thought that your aggravated assault on Abner Slocum merited a capital penalty, we are quite capable to ordering you to the gallows." Leland looked at the drinks again and shrugged. "Might as well." Forry looked, too. If the spineless judge were giving him only two months of jail for a guilty plea of attempted murder, he certainly wouldn't have the nerve to serve poison. "I never was one to pass up a free beer," he said, trying to sound confident. Both men drank at the same time. "Not bad." He put down his half-empty glass. "Do I get another when I finish this one?" Shamus laughed. "Ye surely deserve another, but I'll not be serving it up t'ye. If ye want a second drink, ye'll have to ask for it. But that will have to come after ye sentence is served. Too much in one day is no good." "What do you mean? After all, I'll b-be stuck here f-for two mo-months - wh-what the-the h-h- hell?" He was shuddering and moaning, his voice rising in pitch. "Yaah!" Forry doubled over as sharp pains coursed through his body. Leland, too, screamed as the pains shot through him also. "I-It w-was p-p-poison!" Forry felt weak; his head was spinning. He leaned against the table for support, but his knees gave way, and he fell to the floor. His clothes didn't feel right. They seemed to be moving along his body, and the material felt coarser than it had before. He couldn't see; his eyes were closed from an ache that made him want to scream. He couldn't stop the way his body was shaking, but he could hear moans - his own _and_ those of that idiot Saunders. "M-Make it st-stop, boss," Leland yelled. The man fell to the floor, feeling too weak to stand. He watched his right hand growing smaller, as his sleeve crept down and all but covered it. But there was more to whatever was happening to him. 'Why's my skin getting darker?' He thought feverishly. 'This is worse than seeing snakes.' Then both men felt a yearning, a need, which grew stronger with every breath. Forry had to open his eyes and to see and to hear something, something more important right now than life itself. Leland was staring as well. They were both compelled to listen for a voice that they absolutely _must_ hear. * * * * * "Can ye hear me?" The pair nodded, their faces blank, eyes opened wide staring at him. Shamus looked down at two of them. Even after all this time, the effects of his potion amazed him, and in this instance, something new had occurred. 'No time t'be thinking about such things,' he considered, as he began to speak again. "Ye'll be obeying me and me darling, Molly, here..." He spoke in a clear voice, stopping for a moment to point to Molly, who was standing next to him. "...and the Sheriff. Ye won't - ye can't -- hurt nobody, and ye won't be trying t'escape, or asking anyone t'be helping ye escape from this place. Do ye understand?" The pair nodded. They suddenly blinked, as the need to listen to Shamus went away. * * * * * "What in the hell?" Forry shook his head, trying to clear it. He tried to stand, but his clothes were suddenly far too big for him. They kept getting in the way, tripping him as he tried to rise. What had that liquor been? If it wasn't poison, it had been the worst corn squeezings he'd ever tasted. He pushed back the sleeve of his coat to find his hand. The hand he uncovered was much smaller and daintier than his should have been. His fingers were slender and supple with much longer nails, and his skin was a light peaches and cream. He saw that the other hand was the same when he used it to pull himself up to his knees. As he looked down at his body, he saw that his oversized shirtfront was pushed out by something - two somethings. His exploring hands found a pair of rather large, firm breasts beneath the shirt. He shook his head to clear it. One cup of booze shouldn't bring on a dream like this one. Something else didn't feel right. One hand shot down into his pants, groping at his crotch. Only it wasn't _his_ crotch any more. All his fingers found was a very sensitive opening where his male equipment had been. One finger slipped inside, and his eyes went wide in surprise - and disgust. "A cunt! A damned --" "Stop yuir talking, especially like that," Molly's voice rang out. Forry tried to answer, but he couldn't make a sound. Wild-eyed, he looked for his lawyer, but the man had taken a few steps back and was staring in astonishment at him and... 'A nigger, a nigger bitch,' Forry thought. 'That can't be Saunders, can it?' This was like a fever dream. He looked more keenly. This was a particularly pretty piece of "dark meat." She was short, with a damned nice pair of tits as far as he could tell with all those shapeless clothes of Saunders' she was buried in. She had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips. Her hair was dark, almost black, a mass of tight curls, and it flowed in waves down around her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and opened wide, as she stared back at him. He felt like hell; he wondered how he looked to her, though, since she was a nigger now, he hardly cared. "If I may have your attention," the Judge ordered, interrupting. The pair turned to face him. "There is one more point to attend to before I hand you over to Molly... Mrs. O'Toole. As part of your sentence, I am legally changing your names. Forrest Stafford, you are now Flora Stafford, and you, Leland Saunders, you are now - damnation, I was going to change it to Leigh Anne, but that doesn't seem to fit now in light of your new... appearance." Forry's head had cleared enough to realize that O'Toole was speaking to the nigger gal as if she were Leland. Forry -- Flora -- touched his -- her -- breasts again. Aaron Silverman had come over to help his wife with the new women's clothing. He raised a hand. "How about Lylah, Your Honor? It means 'night' in Hebrew." "Thanks, Aaron; that'll work." Humphreys pointed at Saunders. "Your name is Lylah Saunders, now. You are both legally women, and may you both do better with these new names -- and new lives -- than you did with your old ones." Flora understood that she had just been called a woman, along with the darkie that was being addressed as Saunders. She touched herself again between the legs. "And them names is the only ones ye'll be answering to or calling each other," Shamus added. Molly stepped up beside him. "Flora, Lylah..." She smiled to see the pair both turn their heads at the sounds of their new names. "Ye'll be coming upstairs now, t'see yuir room and get the two of ye into the proper clothes for working here." "Working?" Lylah asked. She was still totally confused about what was happening. She was only beginning to realize that she had changed race as well as sex. Flora tried to protest, but she still couldn't utter a word. "Aye, working. For the next two months, the two of ye are the Eerie Saloon's two newest waitresses." * * * * * Zach Levy watched his clients slowly climb the stairs. They'd both stopped at the bottom to take off boots that were now far too big for them and were carrying them now. Leland - Lylah, now - had to bunch her pants up tightly in one hand. She was so much smaller that her belt was useless. It was a disturbing sight, and Zach felt that he had to do something. He caught Judge Humphrey's eye with a wave of his hand. "May I approach the bench, Your Honor?" "You may, Mr. Levy. I expect that you have some questions." Zach nodded and walked over to the Judge's table. "I do, sir. For a start, I have to wonder how this... transformation is even possible." "Magic," the Judge replied. "Shamus' potion is half old Irish magic he learned from his mother and half _something_ he learned from the Cheyenne who raised him. He put it in their beer and, voila, magic." "But I never heard of such a thing, except in stories!" "I hadn't either, until last summer. But, in Eerie, we deem it a humane punishment. And all who have undergone it thus far have become upstanding citizens and a credit to our community." He glanced at Wilma. "Mostly." Wilma waved at him congenially. Zach fought to stay calm. "But is it legal?" "You show me a law -- _any_ law - that forbids the use of magic to punish prisoners, and I'll rule that giving Shamus' potion to those two wasn't legal." The lawyer frowned. "Point taken, Your Honor, but, still, doesn't this sentence doesn't qualify as cruel and unusual punishment?" "I'll grant that it _is_ unusual, but two months of living and working in a saloon doesn't strike me as very cruel, not when you compare it to ten years or more hard time in the territorial prison, which their crime certainly would have merited if this better recourse wasn't available to us." The lawyer persisted. "What about the very idea of turning the men into women? Isn't that cruel and unusual?" The Judge shook his head. "I don't see that, Counselor. Nobody gets to choose their own sex, do they? You were born a man, and you grew up to like it. These two were also born men, but they aren't men anymore. It'll take time, but you - and they - will be surprised at how well they adjust to their new lives. After all, women are honored members of our community, as they are in your own home community, too, I presume. The counselor doesn't have any objections to his own mother being a woman, correct?" Wilma was walking over to join Jessie, and she had been close enough to hear the lawyer's question. "Hey, Zach, honey," she said, draping an arm around his shoulder. "You didn't think there was anything so terrible about women them times you come over t'_La_ _Parisienne_. Leastways, you didn't mind Mae being a woman." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and continued on, her hips swinging invitingly. "Asked and answered, I'd say," the Judge replied with a chuckle. "Oh, I grant you that a man who didn't know better might think it's demeaning to be transformed into a woman, but so is being known as a convicted felon of the conventional kind, isn't it?" "I suppose it is." He shrugged, thinking hard about what more to say. "How often is this done here?" he finally asked. "Six felons were previously administered the potion. I am very sure that you may have met some of them." "Met some of them? Who? Where?" "That's not for me to say," Humphrey's said with a grin. "They are no longer under sentence, and it isn't up to me to be pointing them out. In Eerie, we respect a person's privacy. When these ladies are certain that you are a man whom they would like to know, one or more might introduce themselves. Ah, you look like you have something more to say, Counselor." Levy took a deep breath. "I'll withdraw my objections - for now, at least." The Judge thought it was high time to break the tension. "Counselor, we have spoken earlier about you and Milt trading off, with you becoming the prosecutor against Carl Osbourne. Are you still up for it?" "Uh, yes Your Honor," Zach answered quickly, still quite bedazzled. "Good." Humpheys now regarded Milt. "How soon do you want to get started on that, Mr. Quinlan?" Milt took that moment to join the two men. "Actually, Your Honor, I wanted to ask for a very brief postponement of that case." "May I ask why?" the Judge inquired. Milt pushed his glasses back against his nose. "Although my client, Carl Osbourne, is the most directly involved - as the victim, of course - in the theft, it was, in fact, an indirect attack against Abner Slocum; it was his money that was stolen, after all." "And..." Zach asked suspiciously. Milt smiled. "And we have just finished a case involving a direct attack against the same Abner Slocum. Your Honor, I suspect that Mr. - Miss Stafford and Miss Saunders have some knowledge of that robbery. I ask for a postponement until the two ladies return to us once properly dressed and ready to testify regarding their knowledge of that robbery." * * * * * Cap had watched Molly and Rachel lead the new women upstairs. Bridget had been watching the trial from the top step. He saw her expression alter to something that looked intense and thoughtful as the potion was administered, and the pair had changed. Cap hoped that she would at last feel avenged. 'Maybe I can talk to her now,' he thought. He started to stand up, but, as the four women climbed the stairs, Bridget rose and hurried down the hall to her room and slammed the door shut. She didn't come out after they had walked past. He watched for a while, but there was no sign of her. Cap took his chair. He couldn't help wondering what two months of living with Flora Stafford would be like for her, and he promised himself that he'd be there to help her through it. He realized that the trial had left him feeling unsatisfied, and he scowled. It just didn't seem like it was punishment enough, even though he suspected that the rape had actually influenced Humphreys' sentencing. Forry Stafford was a rat and should die like a rat. How he wished he had been able to call the man out into the street and settle things there, fast and hard, in a way that he thought would have satisfied him. Stafford's blood running into the dust would have truly avenged the wrong against Bridget. Now how was he supposed to get back at Forry -- Flora? By being rude to her? * * * * * Molly led the two new women to a small room near the end of the hall. "Here ye go, ladies; ye'll be living here for the next two months." She opened a door and motioned for them to go in. "Who the hell're you?" Lylah asked when she saw an older woman in a dark green dress, with a matching scarf covering her hair, sitting on one of the two beds in the room, waiting for them. The woman rose. "My name is Rachel Silverman - from Silverman's Dry Goods, and you, my pretty, young schwartze, need some better manners." "What'd you call me?" Lylah asked indignantly. Rachel chuckled. "Schwartze; it means 'black', what you are now." "The hell I am." Lylah held her left hand up in front of her. She kept hold of her pants with the right hand. Her sleeve was far too roomy and slid down to her elbows. Her skin was the color of cocoa. "Sheeeit!" she screamed. "I can't be like this." She started for the door. "They gotta change me back to a white man." Molly blocked her way. "Thuir ain't no magic that can do that. Ye'll be a woman - _and_ a negro for the rest of yuir life. Ye might as well get used to it." "No, I-I can't be no nigger. I just can't." Rachel tilted her head, as if she were studying the new female. "No? It looks to me like you're doing a pretty good job of being one." "You surely are," Flora laughed. The other new woman spun around and glared at her former employer. "I don't see that you got that much t'laugh at, you damned bi--" "Enough!" Molly ordered firmly. "Neither o'ye can say anything except t'be answering a question from me or Rachel." She watched for a bit, as the pair tried to speak. They couldn't, and they looked even madder as they tried and failed. "Good, now strip, the both of ye, down t'yuir undershirts and drawers." Flora tried to argue, but she couldn't make a sound. At the same time, her hands slid her jacket off her shoulders. It fell to the ground, as she began to unbutton her shirt. Lylah's pants fell around her ankles as soon as she let go of them to work on her shirt. She watched her fingers, her small, slender, _dark_ fingers working the buttons. 'I don't believe this,' she thought. 'I'm a damned crow; my skin's as dark as I've ever seen.' She rubbed her left arm roughly with her right hand, trying to wipe the color away. It didn't work. Both of the transformed men were wearing sleeveless, gray union suits, shirt and drawers combined into a single garment that stretched down to mid-calf, with buttons from the neck to the groin. The clothes had fitted the men they had been, so, now, they hung like tents on their new bodies. "Lylah," Molly said, "ye sit down quiet-like on one of them beds, while Rachel measures Flora." She waited while the black woman walked over and sat on a mattress. Rachel stood and walked over to Flora. "Now, we measure. Stand still." She pulled a cloth tape and a small pad from a pocket in her long skirt. "Do like she says," Molly said firmly. "Like it was meself telling ye what t'do." Flora wanted to squirm, as Rachel wrapped the tape around her neck, but a voice in her head wouldn't let her. "Such a pretty neck," the older woman told her. "So long, like a swan, it is." She released the tape and wrote the number on the pad. "Now lift your arms." Rachel held the tape in the small of Flora's back and brought it around, holding it so that it went just above her breasts. "Thirty-four," she announced and jotted that number down. The shopkeeper picked up the tape again and warned, "Keep your arms up. This might tickle a little." She brought the tape around from behind Flora's back, only, this time, she placed it right on Flora's breasts. It rubbed against her nipples, tickling her, and she had to try very hard not to move. "Thirty-seven," Rachel told her. "That's a nice healthy body you got, girly." 'You can have it,' Flora thought, even if she couldn't speak the words. Flora endured the rest of the measurements: neck to waist, waist, hips - which also tickled, waist to ground, and the rest, through clenched teeth. It was maddening, and there was nothing she seemed able to do about it. It wasn't any better when she sat on a bed, unable to move or speak, and watched Rachel repeat the process with Lylah. The tall, muscular cowhand had become a dainty, little - a foot shorter if she was an inch - negress. What had the Irish woman said? That there was no magic to change Saunders back? Did that stand for her, too? She couldn't -- wouldn't - - believe it. She'd have to find out who else, if anyone, had been bewitched in this town and what had happened to them. She'd put Levy on the task. "How old are you?" Rachel asked Lylah as she was finishing. "No, how old _was_ you?" Lylah gave her an odd look. "Thirty-one, ma'am; thirty-one last August." "Ye don't look it," Molly said, chuckling. "Maybe ye was that old, but now... now, ye don't look a day over eighteen." * * * * * "So, Yully," Stephan asked, "how's it feel to have your ma for a teacher?" The Fort Secret garrison, as they called themselves, was sitting around the picnic table where they usually ate lunch. It was recess, but most of the boys had been more interested in talking about their new teacher than playing ball. Stephan and Hector Yba?ez, this week's captains, had agreed to start the game on Tuesday. Yully thought about the question before he answered. "It ain't too bad. Ma warned us all about it on Friday, so we weren't surprised. She said she'd try to be fair, no 'teacher's pet' stuff." "No picking on us either," his brother, Nestor, added. "But now we can't get out of doing chores by claiming we got homework that we don't really have." Penny chuckled. "You never were too good at doing either of them, Nestor, chores or homework." She gave him a wink to show that she was teasing. "I don't mind Mama being here, either. Besides, she said she said it'd only be for a little while, just till Miss Osbourne comes back." "That's not the way Hermione tells it. Just look at her." Emma pointed over to another picnic table. Hermione and her brother, Clyde, were sitting, surrounded by at least a dozen of their classmates. "She was carrying on all morning about how her mother got Miss Osbourne fired. Hermione even tried to correct Mrs. Stone, when she was introducing herself." Ysabel shook her head. "Not fired, _suspended_, that is what Se?ora Stone told us. Miss Osbourne is a good teacher. She _has_ to come back. She just has to." "Don't you worry about it, Ysabel." Stephan gently put his hand on the girl's arm. "We've all heard Hermione's boasting and bragging before, and we all know she's been wrong a lot more often than she's been right." * * * * * Molly sat at the table, waiting for Rachel to bring back the new clothes for Flora and Lylah. The new women were sitting on the two beds, unable to talk because Molly hadn't reversed her order that they could only talk to answer questions. "While we're waiting," she asked them, "would ye like for me t'be telling ye just what ye'll be doing here for the next two months?" It was a question, so she could speak. "I would," Lylah muttered. "What more crap you got in store for us?" "Yeah, dammit," Flora added. "What sort of shit _are_ you going to make us do while we're stuck here... like this?" Molly frowned. "I'll thank ye -- no I'll be _telling_ ye, there'll be no more bad language from either of ye while I'm around t'hear it." "As t'what ye'll be doing," she continued, "ye'll be working as bar maids and waitresses, mostly, helping t'keep the place clean and bringing drink and food to the customers. That means helping Maggie with her restaurant, too. Her and Jane do the cooking, but they need help sometimes. It'll be the pair of ye that does the dishes, too, and washes out the glassware." "That's right," she told them, enjoying the shocked look on their faces, particularly the boastful Forrest Stafford, the man who'd raped poor Bridget and almost gotten away with it. "Ye ain't Mr. High-and-Mighty Stafford, no more. Ye're Flora the barmaid. And, ye ain't just servants, bringing men beers and cleaning up after them. Not only that, ye're --" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. "It's me, Molly," Rachel yelled through the door. "Shamus and me got clothes for the new ladies." "Be right there." Molly hurried over and unlocked the door. She let Rachel enter, but blocked her husband in the doorway. "The ladies ain't exactly dressed for male eyes, Love." She reached out her arms. "I'll be taking them packages from ye." He smiled. "Ah, Molly, Love, ye know ye're the only woman I ever want t'be looking at. But... if ye want..." His voice trailed off as he handed her four large paper-wrapped packages. When he was certain that she had them, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "I'll be seeing ye - and them -- downstairs, and it better be as soon as ye can." "Why's that?" Shamus whispered, not wanting Flora or Lylah to hear. "The Judge wants t'be starting the inquest for Carl Osbourne, for that robbery and for Carl shooting that man Cooper. Milt Quinlan - he's Carl's lawyer -- wants t'be asking our new ladies a few questions about them things." He turned and started for the stairs. "All right then." Molly kicked the door shut behind her and set the packages down on the table next to the ones Rachel had brought. "Stand up the both of ye, and strip off them clothes." She saw the hesitation in their eyes. "I mean right now," she added in as firm a voice as she could muster. The new women stood up. Their hands trembled. They wanted to disobey, but the voices in their heads wouldn't let them. They reluctantly undid the buttons on their now much oversized union suits and let the garments slide off their bodies and onto the floor. "Step out of them things and come over here," Rachel said. The pair obeyed and walked to the table. As they walked, they used their hands to cover their crotches. "Ye might as well be putting them hands down," Molly said with a chuckle. "Ye ain't got anything that me and Rachel don't have." Each package had Flora or Lylah's name written on it, as well as a list of the contents. Molly cut the string and opened two of them. She took a pair of drawers from each one and held them out in her hands. The drawers were lacy, white cotton, with green ribbons dangling down from the top and from each leg. "Put 'em on," she ordered. The two women grimaced, but each slowly reached out for a pair. They stepped into the garments and pulled them up around their hips and waist. "Use them ribbons at yuir waists t'be getting them tight; then ye tie them ribbons in a pretty, little bow." Flora and Lylah obeyed. They noticed that these drawers felt cooler and softer than their old union suits. They didn't scratch, either. It was a reminder that they hardly wanted of how they had been changed. Flora got a worse reminder when she bent over to tie the ribbons at the bottom of one leg of the drawers. She felt her long hair brush against her neck as it fell down into her line of sight. 'I'm a blonde now,' she thought. Then she felt the weight of her breasts hanging down from her chest. 'And a big-titted blonde, at that.' "Don't ye be tying them legs yet," Molly said. "Ye've got other stuff ye need t'be getting on first." She held out two camisoles. "These for starters." Lylah took one camisole in her hands. It was the same material as her drawers, and she turned it this way and that, staring at the lace trim on the front of it with a look of disgust. "Now what's the matter?" Molly asked. Lylah was quick to answer. "I don't like these girly clothes, _and_ I don't like not being able t'even talk about it." "Ye're girls now," the older woman replied. "And ye always will be, so ye might as well be getting used to dressing like girls." She thought for a moment. "As for the other matter, ye're right. It ain't fair that ye can't be talking. I'll be letting the both of ye talk now, but polite like, and with none of that profanity." Lylah cleared her throat. "What the he... he... heck do you mean we'll 'always' be girls? Ain't you gonna turn us back when our sentence is up?" "There ain't no way t'be turning ye back. Me Shamus never made no antidote to his potion, and, from what he's told me, it don't never wear off. That's why the Judge uses the punishment for only the most serious crimes." Flora looked nervously at her new body. Her breasts, her narrow waist and broad hips, the... the _bulge_ that was missing from her crotch. "You... must be joking? To be stuck like this, it-it isn't fair." "No fairer than what ye done to Bridget Kelly - or Abner Slocum, I'm thinking. But right now, let's be getting back t'be dressing ye up for yuir new jobs. Put them camisoles on." The pair grumbled, but they both slipped the garments over their heads and let them slide down onto their bodies. The cloth was soft, cool, almost, and it felt... _funny_, sort of ticklish, against their breasts. "Happy?" Flora asked sarcastically, as she adjusted the article of clothing on her body. Molly ignored her comment and tossed each of them a pair of yellow and blue-stripped stockings. "Ye pull 'em all the way up past yuir knees before ye tie 'em off. Then ye pull the legs of yuir drawers down over them stockings, and tie them off, too. Make sure ye tie them ribbons tight, with the same sort o'pretty bows." When they had the stockings on, Rachel opened a second pair of packages. "These are next." "No fu... fu... fu..." Flora sighed and gave up trying to say the word. "It's going to take _magic_ to make me wear _that_." Rachel just smiled. "Nu, everything else we gave you, you're wearing. Why not these? They're 'Thompson's Glove Fitting', the best corset on the market for the price." "Ye'll wear 'em and - well, ye may not like it, but ye'll do it," Molly said firmly. "And for making such a fuss, Flora, ye get t'be the one who wears it first. Lylah, ye'll get t'be sitting down and watching. Flora, ye'll be the one standing still while Rachel fits ye into that thing." The women did as ordered. Rachel walked over to Flora and wrapped the corset around her. It was a milky white color, with ribbing inside to form it into a feminine shape. "Take a deep breath," Rachel said, as she started hooking the corset closed. She began at the bottom, working her way up hook by hook. Flora felt the corset constricting her. She wanted to fidget, but the voice wouldn't let her. As Rachel's fingers moved upward, Flora felt the cups of the garment pressing against her breasts. It was like a pair of hands, holding them in place, lifting them up for display. When Rachel had finished, Molly had Flora sit on the bed and watch, while Rachel did the same to Lylah. It was... arousing, Flora thought, watching the pretty little coon getting dressed up in female frippery. The problem was that Forry's male mind was in Flora's female body. She felt the arousal as a tingling in her breasts and an oddly pleasant warmth down in her privates. She shook her head, trying to banish the sensations. Molly handed each of them a pair of shoes. Women's shoes weren't _that_ different from men's, and the former males were used to wearing shoes with a heel for when they were riding. After they'd gotten the shoes on and tied, Rachel handed them... "Petticoats..." Flora protested. "Why do we have to wear these?" Molly chuckled. "'Cause that's what ladies wear under their dresses, and ye _will_ be wearing dresses. So hurry up and get 'em on. Ye tie 'em up tight with that blue ribbon at yuir waists." The women frowned, but they donned the underskirts as directed. "_Now_ you put on these nice dresses," Rachel told them, "and we're done. You can go downstairs and show everybody how pretty you look." She took the garb from the last packages. Flora's dress was navy blue. It contrasted with her creamy complexion and long, blonde hair. Lylah's was canary yellow and worked well with her dark brown skin. "Oh, joy," Flora said sarcastically. " It's _just_ what I wanted." "Maybe it ain't what ye wanted," Molly answered, "but 'tis what ye deserve. Now button them things so we can be getting downstairs." She watched the new ladies working the buttons on their dresses. "Thuir hair's still a mess, but we can be dealing with that later." She laughed to herself. "Thuir's a whole _lot_ of things we'll be dealing with." * * * * * "Here they come," Angel Montiero yelled. A lot of Abner Slocum's men had come to see the trial - and the punishment - of the men who'd tried to kill their boss. For the most part, they were quite pleased with the sentence Forry and Leland, now Flora and Lylah, had received. The two new women skulked down the stairs, glancing nervously at the crowd waiting below. When they were about halfway down, Flora stopped, turned, and started to climb back towards the upper floor. Lylah hurried to follow. "Get down thuir." Molly and Rachel had walked behind the pair, and they blocked their way. "The both of ye." They tried to continue upward, but couldn't. "Da - darn it," Lylah muttered as the voice in her head forced her to shift again and head towards the barroom again. Flora followed, muttering something under her breath. "Smile, ladies," Shamus told them, when he met them at the foot of the stairs. He sounded almost gracious, but it was still an order they had to obey. "And take yuirselves seats over thuir." He pointed to a nearby table. The place was still set up for a trial. The Judge was seated at a table in the front of the room. Their lawyer, Zach Levy, was talking to him. The man that had shot Dell Cooper was sitting at a table a few feet away, facing the Judge. That other lawyer - Quinlan - sat next to him. "What's going on?" Flora asked as she and Lylah sat down. "I thought our trial was over." She didn't want to think about what _else_ this insane court could come up with. Shamus pulled out a chair and turned it around. He sat down, facing backward on it. "We're having us an inquest about some things that happened here in town lately. That man..." he pointed at Carl, "...robbed a payroll- or got robbed of it. A few days later, he went and shot a friend o'yuirs. We thought that ye two might know something about both of them things." "Ye'll be called up t'testify in a wee bit," he added, "and I'm telling ye - no, I'm _ordering_ the both of ye t'be telling them the truth, no lies, no twisting things around. D'ye understand?" "Yes," they both nodded, not sounding at all happy about the implications of what he had said. The Judge banged his gavel once to get everybody's attention. "Bailiff, if you please." "The Court of the Honorable Parnassus J. Humphreys in the Township of Eerie in the County of Maricopa and the Territory of Arizona is back in session." Dan's voice was loud and firm, carrying to every part of the large room. Humphreys nodded as the Sheriff took his seat. "Thank you, Dan. The next item before this court is an inquest into two events, the theft of Abner Slocum's payroll and the death of one Dell Cooper. Carl Osbourne is, at present, only a participant in both those events, although this court _may_ hold him for trial for charges related to either or both of those events." He took a breath and looked at the men who were still gathered around a pair of tables with the sign "Jury" hanging down front of one of the tables. "Did you all understand that?" "We do," Joe Kramer, the jury foreman replied, and the others mumbled their agreement. Carl stood up. "I do, too, Your Honor, and I got Milt Quinlan here to speak for me, if it's okay with you." "It is," the Judge answered. "Shall we get started?" Milt nodded and rose to his feet as Carl sat down. "Thank you, Your Honor. For my first witness, I call my client, Carl Osbourne." "Carl Osbourne," Dan called out. He was carrying a Bible that he used a moment later to swear Carl in. The cowboy promised to tell the whole truth and took a seat in the witness chair that was set next to the Judge's table facing the room. "Carl," Milt began, standing and walking over to the chair. "Can you tell the court what happened on Saturday, April 20th, regarding Abner Slocum's payroll?" Carl told the story. He was often the one Slocum sent into town to pick up the cash to pay the men. Things went as usual until he was some fifteen minutes away from the ranch. "I was coming 'round a curve in the trail and something... hit me in the chest and _shoved_ me clear off my horse." "I landed flat on my back," he continued. "I was laying there, trying to catch my breath, and this voice from behind tells me to roll over onto my stomach. I heard the click of a pistol being cocked, so I did what he - whoever it was - said. The bastard hit me in the head with something, and the next thing I know, Luke Freeman is splashing water in my face." Milt glanced at the jury for their reaction. "And you don't know who this 'bastard' was, do you?" "No, sir, but I'd sure like to find out." "Why is that?" "Why? So I can pay him back is why. First off, 'cause he took Mr. Slocum's money, and, second, 'cause he tried to make it look like I helped him do it." "So you're saying that you didn't rob - or help rob - Abner Slocum?" "No, sir, I did not. I'm an honest man. I wouldn't do that t'Mr. Slocum - or to his men. They're my friends and that money was for them." He chuckled. "Some of it was even for me. No, sir, I wouldn't steal it." "No," Milt replied in a firm but friendly voice, "no, you wouldn't." He looked at Zach Levy. "Your witness." Zach shook his head. "No questions right now, but I reserve the right to recall the witness." "Okay," Milt told Carl, "you can go sit down over at our table now." As Carl walked back, his lawyer added: "For my next witness, I'd like to call... Leland - excuse me, _Lylah_ Saunders." Dan repeated the name and waited for her to walk over. "Do you swear to tell the truth," he asked, holding the Bible that she had placed her hand on, "the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you G-d?" "I... I..." Lylah glanced nervously over at Flora, who frowned, then at Shamus who glared back at her and nodded sharply. "I d-do." She hurriedly took the witness chair. Milt walked over to stand next to her. "Lylah, do you know anything about the events that Mr. Osbourne just described for us?" "I... y-yes. Dell - it was D-Dell Cooper. He took that money." "Why do you say that?" "He told me, me and Mr.... and F-Flora b-both." "What did he tell you?" She didn't want to answer, but the voice gave her no choice. "He used... used a t-trick from the War, a rope... str-stretched up h-high... across the road. Some... sometimes, it'll catch a rider in the throat 'n' ki... kill him. Sometimes, it'd j-just knock him off h-his horse." "So Mr. Cooper wanted to kill Carl Osbourne?" "If he could." "If Mr. Cooper tried to kill my client, they must not have gotten on too well. Why is that, do you suppose?" "Dell, he... wanted your man's si-sister. Osbourne warned h-him off. Dell figured to get Osbourne outta the way, one w-way or another." "And he did that by taking the money. Is that correct?" "It is." "Did you see him do it?" "N-no, sir. He told me, me 'n' Flora the next day." "And how did you know that he wasn't lying?" "'Cause he showed us the money." "Did he still have that money when he was shot?" Lylah shook her head. "Flora, she... she got mad when D-Dell told us what he done." "Was she mad because he had stolen the money?" "N-no, s-sir. She... we all come out here on-on account of... something else. She got mad 'cause he mighta messed that up." "Where is the money now?" Flora jumped to her feet. "Shut up, you stupid nigger." "Sit down, Flora, and be quiet," Shamus ordered. She sat down at once. When she tried to speak again, no words came. "F-Flora," Lylah answered, some anger i