They made good time to Langton. The wagon rolling through the dusty streets attracted some stares from passersby. Stopping in front of the sheriff’s office, the three women disembarked as the sheriff sauntered over to them from his rocking chair. “Well, ladies?” he spread his arms wide. “Didja find whatever you was huntin’ or did it prove a man’s job after all?”
“You tell me,” Abie released the rear gate of the wagon and the bloodied, disfigured body of the man-beast flopped unceremoniously onto the ground. The crowd that had begun to gather now leapt back with cries of dismay.
“Jonah’s beard,” the sheriff pushed his hat back on his head and squatted down to get a closer look. “That’s Ezra Daniels ain’t it?”
“You should give him a Christian burial, sheriff,” Abie said gruffly. “He did not know what horror he caused.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.” The man stood a little more meekly than before, and slowly took off his hat. “I reckon I owe you ladies an apology.”
“Consider it forgiven,” Abie shrugged. “We are accustomed to being underestimated.” She nodded at Agent Plant who touched the brim of his hat and flicked his whip over his horse’s ear. The dust kicked up by the wheels drifted lazily into the air.
“I’ll have to tell his mama,” the sheriff rubbed the back of his head. Turning to his deputy, he murmured something about fetching the local padre. The man set off at a quick trot down the main street.
“We do not envy you,” Kateri offered him a small smile. “I hope this town will be at peace now.”
“As do we, ma’am,” the sheriff agreed.
Just then, the doors of the saloon flew open and a woman clad in a fine leather skirt with a blue cotton blouse was forcibly shoved from the dark interior. “You stay out of here, cheat!”
“Cheat!” the woman stumbled but then spun on her heel. “You’re upset because I’ve already forgot more ‘bout playin’ cards than you ever knew!”
“And there’s Marion,” Kateri sighed.
The three nodded to the sheriff, who grimly asked they come by his office later for the promised bounty, and went to collect Marion. Her small, wiry frame was visibly tense to accompany her flushed cheeks. The two Native women went to her side while Rose stepped through the still-swinging saloon doors to speak with the proprietor. After a few minutes she came back out. “A simple misunderstanding. I set him straight about your character and considerable skill. He’ll be a bit kinder in future.”
“Sooner we see the back of this town the better,” Marion grumbled.
“As it happens, Agent Plant has work for us at Dolan Springs,” Abie told her. “We will pass the night here and meet him tomorrow.”
Just then a woman clad head to toe in black mourning dress and heavy veil appeared, leaning on the arm of the village priest. She passed by the knot of women without a second glance— her eyes were fixed in horrified silence on the prone body at the sheriff’s feet.
Rose kicked at the ground. “Sometimes I hate our job.”
“It was well done,” Kateri said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we must feel good about it.”
The night passed without event and the four women walked out of Langton at first light. Their path took them across several old river beds, discernible by their smoothed sands, rounded rocks, and distinct ledges where dry, bristly grasses and other desert flora clung to the hope that water might flow past this spot again soon. In this early hour, the nocturnal animals were still finding their ways back to burrows, holes, and rocks, and around the women, the brush rustled with startled life, though not much of it was visible just yet. The cool morning breeze swept the lingering fog back toward the low-lying flat-topped mesas toward the west. It wouldn’t be long before the sun’s rays eliminated the fog altogether as it sought to parch and tan the earth. It was always like this in early March. After about an hour and a half of this march, Abie, who had taken the lead, made a pleased noise and quickened their pace.
Agent Plant was waiting by a different kind of wagon this morning. It was shrouded in iron plates and was making a strange sound, shaking slightly as it sat several yards away from the river bank. The water of the Cimarron ran fairly clear here; the river widened out as it carelessly crossed the land toward Texas.
He greeted them cheerfully, the usual gravitas of his voice curiously absent. “You should reach Dolan Springs before nightfall, and I don’t want to keep you,” he said. “Your canoes are ready. But I have something I want to show you first.” He slid down the short embankment, sand dust kicking up around his boots. The women followed. Two large canoes laden with supplies waited, partially beached on a sandy spit of a bar down on the water. Plant moved his hands over the two black metal boxes at the back of each. “These are steam engines,” he said with a touch of pride. “Made to get you there and back quickly.”
“I did not know they were small,” Abie furrowed her brow. “Do you mean that little device runs an entire train?”
“No, ma’am,” Plant replied, “A steam train is a much larger version of this here. Think of it like a kettle on top of a coal fire. The fire below boils the water,” he tapped a tank. “The pressure from the steam builds up inside this boiler and a valve is then opened to allow the expanded steam to enter the cylinder, here. It pushes this piston, causing it to move. The movement, called a ‘stroke’ turns the crankshaft, which drives your paddle wheel in the water.” Plant was getting visibly excited now, his words coming faster. “When the piston hits dead bottom, another valve opens and allows the old steam to escape. Another valve opens to let in new steam, this drives the piston up, and the crankshaft keeps turning. This happens again when the piston is at the top of the stroke, and so on.”
The four women were eyeing him, but he continued undeterred. “More heat makes higher pressure, making the piston move faster. You’d be untouchable, even going upstream.” He spun suddenly and whistled through his teeth for the driver of the strange iron-clad wagon. The driver opened a door at the top of the iron mound on top of the wagon and climbed down. He went to the back of the wagon and opened a hatch. When what he wanted was not immediately visible, he climbed in half-way and seemed to rummage around. He slowly climbed back out and made a gesture to Plant, who sighed audibly and spoke to the women. “So it seems we have forgotten your fuel for the coal box. Forgive me. You will only have enough for one trip up or down river.”
“Well that makes the decision easy,” Marion smiled at him brightly. “Current only flows one way.”
General
Comments are closed.
The night passed without event and the four women walked out of Langton at first light. Their path took them across several old river beds, discernible by their smoothed sands, rounded rocks, and distinct ledges where dry, bristly grasses and other desert flora clung to the hope that water might flow past this spot again soon. In this early hour, the nocturnal animals were still finding their ways back to burrows, holes, and rocks, and around the women, the brush rustled with startled life, though not much of it was visible just yet. The cool morning breeze swept the lingering fog back toward the low-lying flat-topped mesas toward the west. It wouldn’t be long before the sun’s rays eliminated the fog altogether as it sought to parch and tan the earth. It was always like this in early March. After about an hour and a half of this march, Abie, who had taken the lead, made a pleased noise and quickened their pace……… my favorite paragraph. Why? I love the details ……. man, that’s eloquence! It was like a magnifying glass for my mind’s eye! I can see what the women were seeing…. like I was walking with them!
I really enjoyed reading both parts of your story so far, and I’ll be keeping my eyes open for the next installment. It has me wondering if Agent Plant has to explain the steam powered boat because it’s new technology or something ancient and lost. Also, I’m excited to see where this new journey takes the group of monster hunters and what hardships they may have to endure on their travels. Keep writing and thanks for sharing.
This is fascinating.
I can’t tell you the last time I read and old Western story. I’m coming in a little late in the game having not read the story previous to this one, but I can already tell that you have something truly special going here. You had me when the women dropped a dead body off and I love it when I can tell that a story is well-researched.
Where are they going? I can’t wait to find out.