HC02B: Seven Shots
by VStarTraveler
Summary: Seven 1-shots. In Shot #1, The New Men in Town, a young man sees two mysterious strangers who look remarkably like the bad guys on the cover of his new dime novel. Since such books were often based on the exploits of real lawmen or bad guys, he believes them to be those from the book. Are they there to rob the town? How can he convince anyone else, and how he can stop them if he can't?
The High Chaparral premiered on NBC TV on September 10, 1967. "The New Men in Town" is my 50th anniversary tribute story for the series. It is also my entry in and First Prize Winner of The Plight of the Little Known Fandom's August 2017 challenge, The Song Challenge: The Piano Man.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of The High Chaparral is entirely my own, and The High Chaparral and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners. All characters in this story except for Wasson, Clum, Loss, and Moran are fictional. The four mentioned are used in their historical context only.
Author's Note: I apologize to anyone who caught my accidental post that included an early outline for this series. I hope that the outline, some of which will be used in some form, won't ruin the enjoyment of the actual series as it unfolds. Thanks for understanding, VST
Shot #1: The New Men in Town
High Chaparral Ranch, early April, 1878:
It was late evening after a long, hard day on the ranch. The Cannon and Montoya family was seated in the living room with the babies having fallen asleep in their parents' arms. With Reno and Chun Li having picked up the mail in Tucson earlier that day, three of the adults were reading newspapers and Buck was reading a letter.
"John, help me with my English, please?" said Victoria sweetly, looking up from the March 29th edition of The Arizona Citizen newspaper. Several recent editions had all arrived at the same time. "I thought sure I had a good grasp on the language, but I'm not sure if I understand this article correctly."
John sat on the couch next to his wife reading his own paper while holding baby Betsy. He looked over at hers and said, "Which one?"
"Here," she said, pointing. "'Women as Practicing Attorneys'." She handed him the paper.
He quickly read the short article and then nodded. "Yes, I can see how that might be confusing, but that's our Congress for you. If they see a problem, they take forever trying to fix it, and if they don't see one, they create it."
"That's what I thought," she said with a bit of frustration as she repositioned a growing but sleeping little Bobby on her lap and arm. "I initially became an American citizen because I love you, but I also want to participate in our government and making our country better. I hope that when Betsy and Bobby become adults that they will have the same rights. If Betsy wants to be an attorney and practice before the Supreme Court or if she wants to go to the polls to vote, there won't be anything stopping her."
"That's coming, Victoria, and probably sooner than you think," assured John. "The citizens of Arizona will be petitioning for statehood in just a few more years and when we do, we're going to do what Wyoming and Utah have done and give women the right to vote."
Mano was hiding a smile behind his newspaper, but Buck, who was just finishing Billy Blue's letter, hid his behind his hand. Buck refolded the letter and put it down as he said, "So Blue's package didn't come?"
"Nope," said John. "You know how it is with the mail. It could arrive tomorrow or it could be six months."
"Well, he said it had some gifts so maybe it'll be here by Christmas. Just wish he'd told us what it was."
"Where would be the surprise of the presents if he'd done that, mi amigo?" asked Mano, grinning.
Buck sighed, defeated. "True, I guess. Brother John? Are you through with that issue?"
John really wasn't, but he nodded and passed the April 5th edition of the paper across to his brother. "Through with this one, I guess, and getting closer to being through with the paper as a whole. Ever since they moved to Florence last year, that newspaper just hasn't been the same. They take forever to get here, too, but when we do get them, we get, what, three or four issues at one time?"
"Why did they move?" asked Victoria as she gently rocked her sleeping baby boy who'd stirred on hearing his father's voice.
"I'm not sure," replied her husband more softly as he shifted Betsy in his own arms. "It lost advertising last year when the territorial capital was moved up to Prescott, so Mr. Wasson sold it. Rumor in Tucson says that Mr. Clum, the new owner, may have wanted to be closer to the U.S. Army operations in the territory since he used to be an Indian Agent at the San Carlos Reservation, but personally, I think that's balderdash. I'm guessing it's because the Federal Land Office is in Florence."
Buck looked up from the paper. "What difference would that make, John?"
"Well, all of the federal land transactions for the southern part of the Arizona Territory are conducted in that office. That covers all of the usual farm and ranch tract claims and water rights, but that also means railroad land grants and mining claims."
Manolito looked up from his copy from a few weeks earlier. Holding it up to Victoria, she nodded and they swapped. Turning to Buck, he said, "Buck, based on what I've seen, I think the editor is really interested in mining operations and railroad development. I suspect he wants to be right in the middle of it." His eyes focused on the new issue that was now already almost two weeks old.
John looked to his brother and then to his wife. "Unfortunately, John Clum may be in the middle of all of that, but he's shifted the focus of the paper away from the Tucson area and has started having more articles on the Florence area. The advertising seems to be shifting in that direction, too."
"Es verdad," said Mano, flipping the page. "Here's a good example of that. A lot of the ads are now for Florence, Globe City, Prescott, and Phoenix. For instance, here's a new ad that just started." He proceeded to read to the others:
J. C. Loss - M. L. Moran
The Gem,
A NEW SALOON
Loss & Moran. - Proprietors
We would respectfully notify the public
that we have opened a new saloon
Opposite Sutherland & Company's
Livery Stable,
Main St., - Florence, Arizona
We intend to keep it as a Saloon should
be kept.
The very best quality of Wines, Liquors,
and Cigars always on hand and sold
at prices to suit the times.
Gentlemen who visit our Saloon will be
treated right, and every effort will be
made to preserve order, as we in-
tend that this shall be a place
of pleasant and refined re-
creation.
LATE PAPERS FROM ALL PARTS
can be found in the back room.
2 Drinks for One Bit-Each.
March 28 - 25 tf
Victoria rolled her eyes but Buck was listening closely. Having once been in the saloon business himself, however briefly, he understood the problems of fulfilling the stated mission successfully. "That sounds like it could be a nicer place than the saloons in Tucson, Mano. We'll have to check it out if we ever get up that way."
"Sí, sounds good," agreed Mano, smiling at the prospect.
Victoria gave her brother a little disapproving frown, but John laughed. "Funny you should say that, Buck..."
~HC~
The next afternoon in Florence:
The California and Arizona Stage Company coach from Wickenburg by way of Phoenix was running over an hour behind when it finally pulled into Florence on a hot mid April afternoon. It had been a long, two-day ride, but it hadn't bothered young Wendall Johannes Kranitzky. When not looking at the varied scenery of the Arizona Territory, searching the horizon for bandits or Indians that had never appeared, or trying to stay out of the way of the traveling salesman who'd slept much of the time with his head on his shoulder, he'd been reading his last acquisition before leaving San Francisco, a new dime novel entitled The Cactus Kid Meets the Lonely Hearts Gang. Taking place somewhere near the U.S.-Mexican border, the book was his favorite yet. The bad guys made a habit of romancing wealthy women and then fleecing them; the Cactus Kid, of course, was hot on their trail and determined to put a stop to their nefarious schemes.
Yes, Wendall J., as he termed himself, had a thing for western novels. The young man was just over 20 years of age and he was excited to finally be in what he considered "The West." His parents, the children of immigrants from eastern Prussia, had made their way to California in the years following the gold rush, so the boy had grown up in the city of San Francisco, about as far west as was possible, but he always wondered what lay in the world beyond the city's limits. As a teenager, he discovered the ever-so-exciting dime novels of the American West, giving him some insight into what he'd missed and causing him to determine on his future course.
Even after working a number of different jobs in the city, his goal as a young adult remained the same as during his teen years: He was eventually going to venture to the real West and make his fortune. Therefore, when the time had come, he had headed to the Arizona Territory.
Flipping the page, the young man saw that the Cactus Kid was finally closing in on the outlaws, but it was that moment when the stagecoach driver called, "Welcome to Florence! End of the line!"
Therefore, Wendall J. closed his precious book, looking once again at the great artwork on the hard paper cover. The Cactus Kid was hiding in the rocks with his back to the viewer, a Colt Peacemaker in each hand, and looking up at the two partners who headed the notorious outlaw gang. The bad guys looked wary, but apparently didn't see the—
"Ya' getting off, kid, or are ya' takin' up residence?" asked the driver.
"Uh, uh, sorry," said the young man, stepping off the coach.
The driver pitched him his bag from the covered boot in the back, which Wendall J. caught with an "oomph." The young man thanked the driver and then turned to get his first look at the little town of Florence. He stood there for a moment, looking at the stores that lined the dusty street, wondering where he might find a job. It was later in the day than scheduled due to the slide that had temporarily closed the road. Still, he wanted to begin his job search immediately since he had only a small bag of possessions and very little cash, but a great desire to make his fortune.
Unfortunately for Wendall J. Kranitzky, he was a rather small man and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles. In addition, he had no experience herding cows and he hadn't even ridden a horse too many times. Therefore, those doing the hiring for the jobs that young Kranitzky was seeking generally decided that they'd filled their quota just before he arrived, whether they actually had or not. There had, however, been an exception in Prescott about a week earlier. That foreman had looked at the young man and told him how he saw it.
"Kid, you're 'bout as big as a tadpole, scrawnier'n a starved steer, greener'n that there grass, and, from the look'a them specs, blinder'n a bat. No, I ain't got no job fer ya, and I suspects that nobody else 'round here will neither. Now, git home and leave me be."
Sadly, Wendall J. knew what the man had said was true, but he wasn't about to give up on his dream. Somewhere, someone would give him his chance. Therefore, when he arrived in Florence in his rumpled light blue striped suit with the black trimmed lapels and the matching blue bowler hat, he set off learning the lay of the land and looking for a job. There were no cattlemen around, so he decided he'd get what he could for the moment and find his dream job in a few days. Visiting the shops that were still open, he had no luck until he finally walked into the town's recently opened Gem Saloon.
~HC~
The Gem Saloon, a few evenings later:
"Hey, new guy—what's his name? Hey, Keys! Play us a song!" called one of the regulars who'd had a few or possibly even a few too many.
"The name's Wendall J. Kranitzky," said the young man in reply.
"Yeah, Piano Man! Play us a song!" called another.
Wendall sighed about the nicknames, put his broom and pan in the corner, and stepped forward to the piano. Unlike most of the equipment for the new saloon, the piano had not arrived on time. When it finally did, Misters Moran and Loss, the owners, were at a real loss on what to do, since their original hire for the keyboard had already taken another job. Then, good fortune had walked through their swinging door in the form of Mr. Wendall J. Kranitzky, who'd been playing the piano, at his mother's insistence, since he was nine years of age.
That, at least, was the way Wendall J. saw it. The owners had already dismissed him and were shooing him out the door when he ran his fingers across the until-then silent piano. At an offer of six bits a day plus free room and board, Wendall J.'s first evening at The Gem was a good but very tiring evening. Now, several evenings later, he was still the new guy but he was at least recognizing the usual crowd.
Young Kranitzky sat down at the keyboard and looked across at his two fans. "You want a song. Okay, here goes!"
With a flourish across the keys, he launched into a song he'd learned for a tavern where he'd worked in Frisco. It was a lively tune that drew the attention of all of the patrons for a least a bit before their attention returned to their drinks or their cards or, at the ever popular faro table, the banker's shoe as the players waited anxiously for the next card to be drawn.
When the tune drew near its original end, Wendall J. kept it going by repeating part of the work. This went on for quite some time, as he repeated sections of the song and then blended in similar parts of other works in his repertoire. When he decided he was done, he returned to what would have been the last couple of pages of the sheet music, if it had been in front of him, and he raised the tempo. This drew the attention of his original fans and a few others, leading to a small round of applause when the music drew to a stop.
"Good job, Keys! Play us another."
The manager behind the bar gave a little nod in Wendall J.'s direction, so the young man reached into the small stack of sheet music in the basket on the piano. He selected one with which he was not familiar, but which looked like a good piece that used a slower tempo than the last one. Studying the notes, he saw it wouldn't be much of a challenge, so he started to play.
The next hour was filled with song after song as the saloon itself began to fill for the evening. Wendall J. glanced at each of the new arrivals, recognizing most and remembering the name of a select few. He was determined that it wouldn't be too long before he knew them all. For now, he picked up on the little features of each, memorable pointers that gave clues to their identities, even if he didn't know their actual names.
He glanced at the clock over behind the bar. It was almost nightfall. Miss Margie, The Gem's talented singer, would be doing sets on the hour through midnight, so he had to grab a bite to eat since the owners really liked having the music going all evening. Wendall J. only got a five minute break before each set.
Young Mr. Kranitzky was about to finish the current song and take a break when the swinging door flew inward and a man entered the saloon followed by another. This happened numerous times each evening, but the people that entered were not these two. No, these men were dark and dusty, with a rough quality to them that told the piano player that they were not to be treated lightly.
The young man finished the tune and then shuffled sheet music for a few moments while looking at the men through the edges of his round eyeglasses. Something about them looked very familiar, as if he'd seen them before. They hadn't been on the stagecoach, and he didn't remember seeing them in Florence since his arrival. He thought back to his days in San Francisco, but couldn't place them there, either. Still, there was something about them.
Wendall J. rose from the piano, gave a wave to dismiss the couple of minor protests, and then turned to head to the kitchen where he would take his meal. As he walked, he stepped sideways to pick up some trash from the floor, being careful to keep his eyes on the new arrivals. He was almost to the kitchen door when he saw one particular detail that he hadn't noticed earlier. His eyes widened in surprise, and then in fear.
The men who had just come into the saloon were the spitting images of the hombres on the cover of The Cactus Kid Meets the Lonely Hearts Gang!
The first was an American, tanned and weathered, with sandy blond hair. He wore dark pants, a matching long sleeve shirt, a sleeveless black leather jacket with padded shoulders, a bandana that might possibly have been white when new, and a dark and dusty hat that looked like it had been dragged behind his horse for at least the last few miles of his journey. The key, though, was the bullet band worn around his left arm, just like Lucky Braswell of the Lonely Hearts Gang. The only real differences were that this man looked a little older, probably in his mid to late 40s, and he didn't have Lucky's mustache. His way with women was yet to be seen.
Even with the bullet band, Wendall J. would have assigned the man's appearance being so close to Lucky Braswell's as nothing but coincidence except that the second man bore an equally strong resemblance to Hector Morales, Lucky Braswell's partner in crime in the Lonely Hearts Gang. This man was Mexican or at least of Mexican descent, and he was a few years younger than his partner. He had Morales' toothy grin and haircut, and he even wore the same clothes as in the book: dark brown striped pants with an accent stripe on the side, a brown Mexican bolero-style jacket with trimmed edges, a yellow patterned shirt, and a flat black hat. The only significant differences he noted were that Hector Morales sported a Van Dyke rather than being clean-shaven like the stranger, and he wore a green bandana tied around his neck rather than the stranger's red one.
The men ordered a bottle of whiskey and Wendall J. moved slowly, continuing his discreet observation. He had to learn more about these two men, to see if they might really be the real Lonely Hearts Gang.
Moving back to the piano, he shuffled through the sheet music, as if looking for a particular song. The American was loud, tough-looking, and seemingly poorly educated based on his speech. The Mexican, on the other hand, seemed to have an excellent command of the English language. From their guns and the bullet band on the loud one's arm, Wendall J. concluded that they must be robbers. The Mexican even had a silver gun. In the dime novels, only robbers had shiny guns because the shiny guns were more expensive and robbers wanted to be flashier. Therefore, if these two didn't have a promising female to rob, they were probably in town to rob the bank. This concerned young Mr. Kranitzky even more, since he had just opened an account at the bank with the last $12.47 of his reserve fund.
Young Wendall J. was about to rush into the kitchen to seek help in capturing the outlaws when he realized that he would probably need proof of their identities to be able to have them arrested. Therefore, he put down the sheet music and slowly turned around, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He walked over to the corner where his abandoned broom and dustpan sat, and picked them up before slowly making his way toward the strangers' table. He figured he might be able to use the broom handle to knock the gun out of one of the men's hands if they drew on him. However, on seeing them talking, he bent over to sweep a little patch of the floor where he could hear what they were saying.
"—ll, I tell you, I ain't never seen one before, but I sure want one of them fancy things. They're a sight for sore eyes!"
"Sí, mi amigo. I must agree with you. I think it would be a great addition. Around here, though, they'll be worth their weight in gold, so you'll basically have to be on the lookout for one to steal it wherever you can."
"Lord, yes, I bet they do cost a mint," said the American, "but it would be well worth it."
The Mexican laughed. "If Victoria finds out about this, she's going to want one in every room in the house. And probably two or three in some of them."
With the men planning what appeared to be a huge robbery, Wendall J. stood up as the other man laughed and threw down a shot of cheap whiskey. As he plopped the shot glass back down on the table, Wendall J. took the opportunity to speak up.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to The Gem. I'm Wendall J. Kranitzky, the piano player who'll be accompanying Miss Margie shortly. I just want to welcome you to our establishment, you being new in town, and all. What brings you gents to town?"
The two men glanced at each other uncertainly, and then the Mexican said, "I am Manolito Montoya, and my thirsty compadre is Buck Cannon. We're here on a bit of business."
"That's great. Did you just get into town?" asked young Wendall, hoping to be able to get as much info on these men with fake names as he could to give to the marshal. While the Montoya name didn't mean anything to him (beyond both names starting with the letter M), the other man's name was almost certainly an alias for Lucky Braswell. Lucky, Luck, Buck! And cannons in the old days were made of brass! Or was it bronze? The young man actually wasn't quite sure after thinking about it. Whatever, it had to be fake.
"Just got here a few minutes ago," said Lucky/Buck. "We saw the ad in the paper the other day, so we decided to give your new establishment a shot."
"Uh, great," said Wendall J., realizing that they might be there to rob the saloon or perhaps Miss Margie instead of the bank. He had to let someone know, and quickly. "Well, welcome to The Gem. Got to run."
He quickly slipped out to the kitchen and picked up his book from the spot where he'd stored it for his break.
"Señor Espinosa, there are two outlaws at one of the tables up front!" exclaimed the young man to the cook. "Here's their picture on this book. I think they're here to rob the saloon."
With such evidence before him and since no one wastes their time robbing poor cooks, the man really wasn't worried in the least. "I think you dream, young Piano Man, but if you really sure, you go get marshal." The cook pointed to the back door.
Wendall J. knew it meant skipping supper, but he made his decision and shot out the door, taking the book with him. Less than a minute later, he was knocking steadily on the door to the marshal's office while looking at the sign that proclaimed "Richard Larsson, Deputy U.S. Marshal". The sign looked newly painted.
"Enough already!" came a voice from inside the office as the bolt was thrown. The door opened and the man with the star said, "Now, what's so all-fired important?"
Wendall J. quickly introduced himself and excitedly told the marshal the story. He then showed him the picture on the cover.
Looking back and forth between the young man and the cover, Marshal Larsson appeared very doubtful, but he rubbed his chin for a moment while thinking. He finally said, "Heck, kid, you've got these guys in your saloon, but I've got a couple of friends who look just like them, too. It's a dime novel, a story—"
"But, Marshal, lots of these stories are based on real people! These two could really be them!"
"Yes, but what I'm telling you is that they could be just about anybody else, too." He sighed. "Tell you what, I'll come down in a few minutes and take a look. Just point to them discreetly and I'll check them out, okay?"
Wendall J. breathed a sigh of relief, so he thanked the marshal and quickly returned to the saloon by the same way as he'd come. The manager was already frowning at him as he slid into place on the piano bench.
"The Gem, the finest saloon in the Arizona Territory, is very proud to welcome our very own singing sensation, Miss Margie Lynn!" On finishing his announcement, the manager waved toward the little stage where Miss Margie stepped out from the back.
A round of applause, shouts, and whistles filled the room, and Miss Margie blew kisses to her admirers for a moment before turning to Wendall J. and giving him a sweet smile and the signal to start. The young piano player launched into the first song.
As the tune drew to a close, he knew, as did everyone else in the establishment, that the pretty woman had sung like an angel. The applause was much louder than before and it kept going. Wendall J. watched as Lucky was clapping wildly and whistling at Miss Margie. Hector, the Mexican, was applauding more politely and smiling directly at the woman, as if trying to act sophisticated.
The second and third song went roughly the same way, and the reactions were basically the same, too. In watching, Wendall J. was slowly realizing that these guys weren't nearly as smooth as the men of the Lonely Hearts Gang.
It was at that point that Marshal Larsson entered the saloon and looked around. When he glanced at Wendall J., the young man nodded to the table near the front. The marshal drew his six-gun as he approached that table.
Miss Margie gave the signal for the next song, so the pianist began to play as he watched the marshal near the table. Suddenly, the marshal holstered his gun as Lucky shot up from the table. The two men were shaking hands animatedly while Lucky said something that sounded like "Deputy Rick!" Hector followed suit, and there was more handshaking. Lucky was even calling the bartender for an extra glass as the marshal took a seat with them.
Wendall J. was quite confused. The deputy marshal appeared to be speaking with them as if they were old friends. Could the marshal, who was also apparently new in town based on the freshly painted sign, also be part of their gang?
When the set ended, all three rose and greeted Miss Margie as she worked her way through the crowd. Lucky and Hector were really buttering her up, but Marshal Larsson caught Wendall J.'s eye. He curled a finger at the young man indicating for him to come.
Going over to them, the pianist heard the marshal say, "Buck, Mano, this young man is Wendall J. Kranitzky, our new piano player."
"Yeah, we had the pleasure," said Buck, smiling at the young man, as was Mano.
"Wendall J., have a seat," said the marshal. "I was just telling Buck and Mano that I got a letter from a friend at the newspaper a couple of months ago about the vacancy in the marshal's office here, so I applied and I got the job. Before that, Wendall J., I was a deputy in Tucson. Do you have any idea what else happened in the three years I lived there?"
The piano player shook his head uncertainly. He wasn't sure where the marshal was going with his story.
The marshal smiled. "That, my friend, is where I met my good friends, Buck and Mano."
Wendall J.'s eyes were big. "Really? But they were talking about stealing something! I heard them."
Mano and Buck gave each other a strange, questioning look for a moment before their eyes slowly turned up toward the ceiling. Buck pointed to one of six, slowly-turning fans that were evenly distributed across the room.
"We were talking about them mechanical fans up there on that ceiling. With this Arizona heat, we're thinking about gettin' some for our bedrooms."
Mano laughed. "Bedrooms nothing; Victoria—my sister, and his sister-in-law—is going to want them all over the house."
"Yeah, I 'spect you're right," said Buck. "Only problem is that they'd be practically worth their weight in gold 'round here and so hard to come by that you'd practically have to steal them. We're going have to see 'bout getting my nephew Billy Blue in Sheecago to get some for us."
"And some new windmills," said Mano. "Victoria's going to want so many of these things that we'll have to build about a half-dozen new windmills to spin them all!"
The marshal looked questioningly at Wendall J. "Satisfied?"
The young pianist nodded, looking quite sheepish. "Sorry. I really thought…"
The marshal looked quite serious as he stared at the young man for a moment before finally breaking into a smile. Turning to Buck and Mano, he said, "Guys, it appears there's been a case of mistaken identity on the part of our young pianist. Son, get that book."
Wendall J. jumped up and rushed back to the piano, where he'd stashed his copy of The Cactus Kid Meets the Lonely Hearts Gang. Still looking rather embarrassed as he walked back, he held it out to the marshal.
"Well, don't just stand there. Sit back down, kid," said the marshal as he took the book. Turning to his friends, he said, "It turns out that Wendall J. has been reading this book and the bad guys in it, by some strange coincidence, look a good bit like a couple of new guys in town." He pushed the book across the table.
"Well, I'll be, Mano!" exclaimed Buck. "That do look just like the two of us, don't it?"
Mano was chuckling. "Posiblemente, possibly. I think I do see a considerable resemblance, though, if I'm not mistaken, we are much, much better looking than those hombres."
~HC~
Three days later...
Buck and Mano rode through the gate at High Chaparral and dismounted after a long ride.
Having successfully filed John's water rights claim at the Federal Land Office in Florence, the two had lunch with Marshal Larsson, and then dinner dates with young ladies from the town. They'd left the next morning for the two day ride home, stopping over in Tucson for an early lunch on the second day, along with stops at the post office and the telegraph office.
Both men dusted themselves off and then unpacked their horses before entering the big door to their home.
"Hola, mis amigos," called Mano. "We're home!"
They were putting their rifles in the rack as Victoria came running out of the kitchen and John stepped out of his office. Young Isabella peeked over the couch from the living room floor and waved from where she was busy playing with Betsy and Bobby.
With greetings soon out of the way, Buck said, "We got the mail in Tucson on the way home." He handed it over to Victoria and then added, "Blue's package finally came, too."
Mano carried it over to the couch, and all of the family, including the babies and Isabella, were soon gathered around as John opened the package. There was a paper on top of a box filled with peanut shells. John opened it and read.
"Dear Dad, Mom, Uncle Buck, Mano, and Betsy and Bobby,
Hope you're all doing well. Enclosed are the new glasses that Victoria wanted. I hope they all arrive safely. I've also put a little package down in the bottom with some extra gifts for Dad, Uncle Buck, Mano, and the twins (for when they get older), plus one for the bunkhouse boys. In addition to all of my other artwork projects, I've recently started working with a book publisher, so enclosed are five copies of "The Cactus Kid Meets the Lonely Hearts Gang" with my very first illustrated book cover. Buck, Mano, the guys in the book sounded a bit familiar, so I hope you don't mind that I made them look a little like you.
Love you all,
William B. Cannon
~HC~
Follow-up Notes:
Thanks so much for reading my story. If you've enjoyed it, please consider following, favoriting, or leaving a short review note to let me know. PMs are welcome, too. Your feedback is greatly appreciated.
A few historical notes related to the story:
The newspaper stories and ads quoted in this one-shot were taken from the actual editions noted of "The Arizona Citizen" newspaper. More about that shortly…
While there were no rules against it in the courts, female attorneys weren't allowed to practice in federal courts, so Belva Ann Lockwood worked from 1874 to 1879 to get a Federal law passed that explicitly allowed the practice. The bill became law in 1879, and Mrs. Lockwood was then sworn in as the first woman member of the U.S. Supreme Court bar on March 3, 1879. In 1880, she became the first woman lawyer to argue a case before the U.S. Supreme Court, arguing Kaiser v. Stickney and later United States v. Cherokee Nation.
Arizona granted women suffrage on achieving statehood in 1912. Victoria would have been about 72 to 74 years of age. The Nineteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified in 1920. It stated "The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex." Victoria would probably have been about 80 to 82 years of age when she finally achieved her goal.
In October or November, 1877, The Arizona Citizen, Tucson's largest newspaper (which covered news from around the Arizona Territory), relocated to Florence, Arizona, about 70 miles to the northwest. This was shortly after the original owner, John Wasson, sold the paper to former San Carlos Indian agent John P. Clum. It appears that Mr. Clum may have wished to be closer to U.S. Army operations in the territory or to the Federal Land Office in Florence, since all federal land transactions for Southern Arizona were conducted there until 1881, when the office was moved to Tucson. This may have led to a drop in subscriptions (Tucson's population was around 3,500 versus the much smaller Florence), so Mr. Clum moved the newspaper back to Tucson in September 1878. Copies of The Arizona Citizen from the period can be viewed on the Library of Congress website in the "Chronicling America" collection.
The advertisement for The Gem and the information on operations of the California and Arizona Stage Company were taken directly from the newspaper. There was also an advertisement of pianos for sale, to be shipped from the East, and a number of items available from San Francisco, since it was on the first transcontinental railroad line and was a major seaport.
Mechanical ceiling fans driven by windmills or, in some cases, steam engines, became popular in the American South in the 1870s. They used a series of belts on pulleys (and possibly water jets) to operate large, two-bladed fans to move air. The Gem, as a new, upscale establishment, would probably have had such devices.
Dime novels were quite popular, and many did feature real people in wildly fantastical roles bearing little resemblance to their actual lives. While there were many such books, "The Cactus Kid Meets the Lonely Hearts Gang" is purely a figment of my imagination.
Blue's artwork had actually appeared on the cover of and inside another dime novel, "The Left Handed Gun," in the Season Three episode "Generations," when Victoria sent the drawings to a publisher. The publisher offered Blue a job in St. Louis, but he declined it. Since Blue's absence in Season Four was not explained, my post-canon tale of the Cannons is that he went to Chicago instead to study art and open his own art studio.
Finally, Deputy Rick, now Deputy U.S. Marshal Richard Larsson, was introduced briefly in Buck's chapter in "Wind and the Willow."
