A Tribulation of Camels

by Topazlady

The United States Camels Corps was a mid 19th century experiment by the United States army using camels as pack animals. The Civil War interfered with the experiment and the animals were sold at auction.

Disclaimer: I do not own "Laramie", the television series or anything associated with the "Laramie" name. All of the original "Laramie" characters are the legal property of NBC Universal.

The fictional story is slightly based on a real incident. The United States Camel Corps was a mid-19th-century experiment by the United States Army in using camels as pack animals in the Southwest United States. While the animals proved to be hardy and well-suited to travel throughout the region, the Army declined to adopt them for military use. The Civil War interfered with the experiment, and it was eventually abandoned; the animals sold at auction.

From Wikipedia the free encyclopedia.

Many thanks to the greatest beta readers and teachers, Kayak Lady and Jan Graham. Special thanks to Gus for the terms taken from "Cowboy Slang". The mistakes are mine.

A Tribulation of Camels

Topaze Lady

Chapter One Camels for Sale

On a sunny day outside the Army surplus warehouse in Tucson, Arizona, a modest group of gawkers gathered for the yearly auction. Arkan Moody, a young, but up and coming auctioneer who some people said was a born blatteroon, traipsed slowly along the line evaluating the items offered by the military. They consisted primarily of blankets, canteens, tents and other miscellaneous items. Most of it was of scant value or interest to the onlookers. However, the United States Army was selling a pair of camels, survivors of the experiment in which the beasts of burden were used as pack animals in the Southwest.

Auctioneer Moody examined the gaping ragtag collection of private citizens, store owners, children, women, and town loafers with a few Indians scattered within the assemblage and tried to judge the extent of audience participation. More importantly, he sought to estimate how much money he could get for the animals.

Fatima and Toot, named for his smelly habits, had an infamous reputation. They learned anything with hooves would run from them. All the stock had to do was sniff the camels' aroma, and they took off. It was entertaining for the perpetrators, so midnight games of Chase were high on their list of fun and games. The duo was known to bite, kick or demonstrate a multitude of bad habits when annoyed by humans insisting the dromedaries do anything they didn't want to do such as stand up, walk, lie down or carry a pack.

Arkan said to himself 'Caveat Emptor' as he motioned to four privates who, when drunk, had destroyed the barracks and tried to set the latrines on fire two weeks earlier. Only when offered a full pardon, promotion to the next highest rank, and early release from the guardhouse had Mason, Dixon, Lyon and Dale hesitantly agreed to participate in the auction.

The soldiers led out the grand prizes trying to hide their fear as they steered the couple to the sale ring. The bull camel studied the soldiers and decided to bide his time. Next, came the cow, darker brown and slightly smaller. She slowly ambled into the ring looking curiously at the spectators. Then finally parked herself next to her mate.

Moody began his acclaimed spiel by calling out in his rich Irish brogue, "Alright folks, it's starting right now. The biggest auction in the Southwest brought to you free by the United States Army. So just gather around. Look at what we're going to sale today. Do not blink, do not look away. You can see what we're selling today. You see two Camelus Dromedarius known as Fatima and Toot."

"Let me tell you about these camels. That's right, they stand seven feet tall, gentle as kittens, carry packs that would ruin a horse, run all day and play all night and get fat and sassy on a starvation diet.

"They lugged chests all around the desert like it was a dance floor. Living with camels you'll never be bored."

"If you are fast enough, quick enough, good enough, you can put in a bid and take one or both of these distinguished mammals home with you today. Just think what your envious neighbors will say when you use a camel to bring in your hay."

"Finally, anybody and I said anybody can own these magnificent, exotic Arabian immigrants."

So come on, people. Pay the Army for them. Who'll start us out with a one-hundred-dollar bid?"

Moody faced the crowd waiting for the first offer.

The resounding silence was deafening, then, some members of the crowd began to guffaw. Others congratulated the auctioneer on his sales pitch.

"Pay the Army for them," one anonymous disparager shouted. "The Army had better pay us to take them off their hands."

The appreciative audience began to laugh and applaud the heckler.

"You got that right." somebody hollered. The crowd started to chortle again.

Finally, everyone settled down just enough for the auctioneer to hear a portly middle-aged man dressed in a Tattersall checked suit and loud printed floral vest call out, "I'll pay five dollars for the pair." The spectators went into shock that someone actually wanted to own the two beasties.

Before the inpatient bidder could change his mind, Auctioneer Moody shouted, "Any other bidders? Any more bidders? Going once, going twice, going three times. Sold to the…," he paused for a moment and spoke to the man in the gaudy outfit, "I don't believe I got your name sir."

The proud new owner nearly smirked. "My name is Hank Haley of Haley's Traveling Frontier Circus. These exotic, mysterious, outlandish wasteland explorers will be the centerpiece of my superb, fantastic show." Shaking his pudgy hands with overblown, attention-getting, grand, eloquent gestures he reached into his pocketbook. With manicured fingers, he paid for the creatures with a five dollar gold piece, all the while loudly pontificating on the accolades his soon to be famous circus would be sure to receive.

Haley went on to explain, in great detail to Moody, the crowd, and the released privates how his brilliant mind conceived the idea of purchasing camels for his circus. Haley rattled for ten minutes before Moody was able to interrupt Hanks' monolog to get in a word.

"Make sure you take them out of the territory." The unimpressed auctioneer hissed loudly enough for Ringmaster Haley to hear as he pompously led his brand spanking new principal attractions away. "They aren't welcome anywhere in the southwest."

Getting Fatima and Toot on the train wasn't an easy task. Both animals continued to add to their evil repute by lying down and refusing to get up until bribed by buckets of the best quality oats. They didn't like traveling by rail, so they demonstrated their discontent by chomping, kicking, and screeching every inch of the trip.

The engineer, H.E. Smith, and his crew threatened to throw them off the Union Pacific line in the middle of nowhere. Haley was able to continue only after paying an exorbitant sum to the staff and agreeing to pay compensation to the railroad for all damages caused by the critters.

By the time they finally reached their destination, the bustling town of Cheyenne in the Wyoming Territory, Hank was exhausted, a nervous wreck, frustrated, a much poorer man and wasn't sure he made such a good deal. He was willing to shoot his new attractions and disband the circus.

He felt better when he saw his circus family waiting for him as the engine puffed into the station. The only one missing was Red Wesley, the festival's publicist. He was undoubtedly going around to the county seats and larger towns making arrangements for the circus' performances.

Joe and Hannah Blake, who performed aerial gymnastics, were waving at him with silken scarfs. Bill and Belle Panels were master and mistress of the balancing acts. The rest of the artistes were J.J. Hagel, performer of a series of grotesque posturing feats; Queen Anne, who executed prestigious equestrian tricks and Arron Katt, the lion tamer. The Van Brothers were clowns and also served as the calliope player and knife thrower. Too late in the year to join another show, all of the performers depended on Haley 's troop to support them.

As usual, several roustabouts were missing from last season and new temporary hands were in position. Sometimes they worked out and continued with the circus for the whole term. Sometimes they were fired or left after one show.

Paul Culhane, boss hostler, and the "educated mule and dog" trainer stood by himself, away from the group. Paul was not a "people person." It wasn't that he disliked humans, but he was so tongue tied with shyness he could barely sputter out a complete sentence. People supposed he was "slow" and tended to ignore him. Animals were better. They accepted him as he was, with no judgments and didn't laugh at him behind his back. All of Paul's menagerie thrived in his care.

The moment Paul saw the camels his eyes lit up. He marched forward to guide them down the ramp the railroad crew gladly provided. After sniffing Paul over, Fatima and Toot followed him obediently, as gentle as lambs.

Faced with the loss of their livelihoods, the entertainers convinced Haley to grant the dromedaries a chance. As soon as possible, the circus headed out of Cheyenne, more or less following the railroad in a roughly circular route that would bring them back to Cheyenne by the end of the tour.

SR&R

Fatima and Toot were exactly the draws Haley needed. Once out of the territory where they were known, people flocked to see the novelty of the Army's Arabian Steeds. The money came pouring in from people who wanted to brag about having seen the actual Camelus Dromedarius.

More money came in when they began offering short rides to the public. Open arms and pocketbooks greeted Haley's Circus, renamed Haley's Greatest Show on Earth, wherever they traveled.

Now treated well, Fatima and Toot were good-natured. They carried riders on their backs or in specially built saddles, hauled wagons and invited people to rub their noses. The twosome was easy to feed as they could, would and did eat nearly everything.

Fatima, drawn to happy children who fed her candy, apples, and bread with butter and jelly rapidly became the favorite of the two. Paul realized Fatima was getting fatter but decided it was her eating habits.

Woody Parks, one of the new hires, treated them casually. He ignored the need to make sure the camels were in a heavily secured enclosure. They waited patiently. One moonless night when the circus was camped close to Fort Washakie, Wyoming, Toot chewed through the rope which held the gate of the makeshift pen closed and the pair took off for better pastures. Just a few days later, Fatima and Toot became the parents of a bouncing baby calf. Standing about three feet tall with a thick fuzzy, brown coat, the bairn was able to run a day after birth and called to its parents with a soft bleat like a lamb.

When the circus reached the city of Rimrock, Hank had reward posters made up for the runaways offering a reward of two hundred dollars for their safe return. Haley believed it would be hard to miss the dromedaries. How many seven feet tall, humped, brown furred, foul-smelling creatures with long curved necks that could grumble, bellow, grunt, and bleat like a goat or sheep could there be in Wyoming?

The notices, distributed to the towns serviced by the stage line, informed the region of the ungulates escape. Hopeful the show's main moneymakers would soon be captured and given back to them, the extravaganza continued toward Laramie.

The large reward offered for the escaped camels became sensational front page news on every newspaper in Wyoming Territory and nearby states. People lined up to buy newspapers with the most recent, (real and phony) sightings of the escapees. Editorials, both for capturing the creatures and against, were perused and commented upon by the general public. The newspapers were delighted with the uproar as it meant more circulation which meant more money for them.

Some of the papers even put out extra editions, which stage passengers skimmed as they traveled. The newspapers, discarded by the readers, ended up on the stage. They were valued as literature for other travelers to take with them to be read over and over until they fell apart.

It didn't take long for the Cattlemen's Association of Wyoming to begin hearing rumors about some new type of strange varmint that was terrifying livestock. Ranchers hate it when stock, mules, and cattle are scared so badly they run off the home range. The Association released a reward poster offering five hundred in cash to whoever eliminated the critters.

Chapter Two Monday Morning

Slim Sherman and Jess Harper stood beside the well-built barn at the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station, loading fencing supplies into the buckboard. "That should get you started, Jess," Slim cheerfully assured his buddy as he placed the toolbox beneath the seat. "I'll join you as soon as I get the morning stage team changed. I'll bring our dinner pail with me."

"Okay, I'll start where we left off yesterday," the dark-haired man replied, settling the rolls of fencing wire more firmly, "Just see to it you get there before I have to do the pasture near the swamp. That's really a two person job."

"I know," confessed Slim with a shrug. "There's a briar patch, snakes, bugs, and marshland. There's also a shortcut to town, and lots of saddle tramps trespass up there. If it weren't for the fresh water spring, I'd sell that section and say good riddance."

Jess hid his smile. He knew all about the water hole, the trail beside the glinting water and the "NO TRESPASSING" sign. 'I had a lucky break the day I stopped to rest for a while on Slim's land. Never figured it would turn out as good as it has.' Jess reflected, content with his life at the moment.

His partner's quick grin told Jess his amigo remembered the occasion when a certain drifter "helped himself to a few swallows of water for himself and his horse." The saddle tramp became a highly valued partner and trusted right-hand man.

"You ain't going to forget, are you?" laughed Jess as he climbed into the seat of the wagon.

"Now, Pard. Would I do something like that to you?" Slim was all injured innocence as he checked the harness one last time and waved Jess off.

Slim paused in the doorway watching as Jess drove out of sight, then he strolled into the kitchen, made a fresh pot of coffee and set out a plate of cookies one of the unmarried neighbor women had baked and given to Jess.

After inspecting the entire house, Slim relaxed as it met the stage line's strict specifications for way-stations.

Slim groomed the team of relay runners at the feedlot and double-checked the harnesses, making sure everything was complete. While working, he mused, 'The money from the stage line keeps the place afloat during the hard times, but things are better now. Maybe I could drop the contract to just be a rancher. But we don't have enough cash to keep the place going for long in case of an emergency; better maintain the contract for a while.'

The distinctive rattling sound, snapping of the whip and noise of a galloping span of matched roans informed him the morning stage was coming into the ranch yard. Slim put on a pleased look and strode out to greet the driver.

The timeworn man guided the stage around the final curves into the yard. "Morning, Mose!" Slim happily called to the aged driver.

"Howdy, Slim. I've got some mail for you today." The wizened teamster handed down a package of letters and posters plus a couple of newspapers. The gaudy headlines about the escaped Ships of the Desert caught Slim's attention instantly. Mose glanced down at the publications as he handed them to Slim. "You know, Slim, I might have seen those camels on the Ridgeback a few miles out of Cheyenne. Must a been seeing things, I guess."

"Really?" Slim inquired only half joking, "Do you want to go hunting for them with Jess and me? We sure could use the money. We'd split it three ways."

"No, thankee, Slim. I've been hearing about 'em. They sound like bad business to me, and I'm not as young as I used to be. What else you got to offer?" Mose seriously refused Slim's proposition. "And you and Jess don't need to go hunting 'em either. Hate to see you boys get hurt."

At Slims' inquiring glance, Mose continued, "I hear camels can be mighty dangerous. Big teeth and they can kick you to death in a heartbeat."

"Relax, Mose." Slim laughed. "I was teasing. Jess and I have too much work to do here to take time off to go hunting. They probably aren't anywhere near here anyway."

"Well, I reckon so." In an abrupt change of subject Mose enquired, "You got anything good in the kitchen, Slim?"

"Coffee?" asked Slim taking the packet. Placing it to one side, he began unhitching the team.

"I asked if you had anything good. I didn't ask for your coffee." The elderly man's eyes lit up with amusement, "Slim, you need to get a second four-in-hand hitched and set to go. Another coach is arriving in about twenty minutes.

Startled, Slim goggled at the prickly stage driver. "No one said anything about another stage coming in."

Mose replied. "Same! The big men at the top like to keep secrets from peons like us. It's always been that way, and I reckon it ain't gonna change anytime soon. But, Slim, I'm telling you, it's somethin' big. Get a new relay close to hand."

Moose spat a mouthful of tobacco juice into the dust of the yard as he geared up to mount the driver's box, "Well, thanks a lot. Take care of yourself and Jess. See you next trip."

"Wait a minute, Mose. You can't just drop an artillery shell and drive off. What's going on?" Slim probed carefully.

"Slim," Mose was suddenly cautious with his reply. "I can't tell you. More than my skin's worth to say anymore. Just do like I say and get some fresh broom-tails harnessed. See ya."

The coach left the yard, leaving Slim hustling to get another hook-up ready.

The driver of the second stage was a stranger to Slim. However, he realized the two military shotgun guards meant only one thing: trouble was landing in his front yard.

The coach door creaked as it opened. Slim realized, 'I need to oil that door before it gets worse.'

A medium-sized man with premature grayish brown hair and sad eyes stepped down from the stage. Slim recognized him at once.

Slim was Sergeant Sherman when they met in an army hospital set up at Fort Donaldson, Tennessee. Slim was getting his arm patched up after a ricochet bullet had dug a chunk out of the muscle. Waiting for his arm to heal, Slim requested a transfer to General William T. Sherman's command.

Mr. Saul Moore came bearing an offering of fresh fruit to serve the wounded warriors and stopped to talk to the young officer assigned to garrison duty.

Born with a crippled leg, Barrister Moore was unable to maneuver on the battlefield. Mr. Moore, an established attorney before the war, by special request of Edward Bates, President Abraham Lincoln's Attorney General, was asked to work with the newly created Provost Marshal's Office. Under conditions of Martial Law which President Lincoln declared at the outset of the Civil War in 1861, the title sometimes applied to civilian officials.

The Office of the Provost Marshal performed many duties. Specifically, Saul was assigned to investigate the theft of Government property. He prosecuted the people involved as soon as he built a strong enough case.

They bonded over the shared belief that all men deserve justice under the law. Saul even went so far as to offer to let Slim study law with him after the war.

There was plenty for Slim to do helping Saul in his quest for thieves. In his spare time, he read the outdated, faded manuals in the billet to which he was assigned. The Army had instruction books for everything. Slim reviewed them so often he memorized the contents.

"How to Remove Bullets" was useful on many occasions.

"How to Build an Outdoor Shower" was a real blessing.

"How to Ride a Camel" and "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Camelus Dromedarius" were the most entertaining.

Most of the content of the army textbook was taken from the book, "The Camel, his Organization, Habits, and Uses, with Reference to his Introduction into the United States" by George Perkins Marsh, the fifteenth United States Ambassador to Italy, and rewritten army style. Marsh's illustrations were excellent and were incorporated into the instructions.

Approval of Slim's application was granted. He was transferred to General Sherman's command.

Leaving his mentor was difficult, but in the end, Saul said he understood and maybe he had.

After Slim's transfer, the two stayed in contact. Slim knew when Saul moved to Washington after the war. President Andrew Johnson charged him with locating, capturing and bringing to trial the men who betrayed their country for personal gain.

SR&R

Moore always believed in being hands-on whenever possible. He went wherever he concluded he could best serve. For a moment, Slim paused in his forward rush to greet Saul. The elderly man had a new frailty and vulnerability about him indicating failing health. For the last six months, Saul had been living in Cheyenne. Due to the pressures of work, he and Slim had not been able to meet in person, but they had exchanged several letters. When President Ulysses S. Grant appointed Saul a territorial judge earlier in the year, Slim was the first person Mr. Moore notified.

Saul also knew when Slim caught himself a wild Texas mustang named Jess Harper and gentled him to a saddle and bridle. Worried about Slim, Mr. Moore investigated Jess' background. He realized Jess' history was checkered, but trusting Slim's hunches about people, Mr. Moore said nothing and kept watch on his surrogate son from afar.

"Hello, Slim." The once robust voice cracked, giving evidence of the hard decisions Mr. Moore had been forced to make.

Slim's joyful laugh as he ran forward to shake Moore's hand caused even the dour faced guards to beam in pleasure at the reunion of two comrades. Saul reached out catching Slim's hand in both of his, clasping it loosely. The limpness of his grip proved the weakness of his body.

"Slim, my boy, it's been too long." The judge held Slim's hand tightly for a moment.

"Mr. Sherman," inquired one of the guards, "Why don't you and Mr. Moore have a good visit? We'll change the hacks and look the place over." Slim concurred, recognizing Saul's need for a break from the jolting, bumpy stage ride.

"Saul, what brings you to the Sherman Ranch? Come in and have some coffee." Slim's warm welcome couldn't conceal his curiosity. Automatically, Slim carried the mail and papers into the house with him, placing them on the edge of the table.

"Did you make it?" inquired Mr. Moore.

"Well, yes. I did. It tastes better than you might think. I practice a lot." The laughter in Slim's voice died when deep coughing that lacerated Saul's wasted voice shook his entire body, then changed to wheezing and finally to regular breathing.

Slim rushed forward to help, but. Moore shook his head. "I'll be all right, son. I need coffee. That's all."

Seated in the kitchen, Mr. Moore looked Slim straight in the eyes. "I remember you as a truthful, caring man who always wanted to get straight to the point. Do you remember Henry Strong?"

"Yes, you know I do." Mechanically, Slim set his best cups, saucers, spoons, sugar and canned milk on the table. Removing the pot from the stove, Slim poured the steaming liquid into two cups. Only his eyes, changing from sapphire to cobalt, betrayed the upsurge of anger.

"We think Strong is operating in Wyoming. A man who meets his description led the attack on an army supply train recently. He took money, wagons, uniforms, arms, and ammunition." The venerable man shook his head in disbelief, "We don't know why he wanted the clothes and wagons. The entire detachment was killed."

"Saul, I didn't realize he's operating again," Slim faced his former mentor. "What else have you learned about him?" Standing, his actions those of a man who must move or jump out of his skin; Slim crossed the room to look out the window.

"Did you know Strong was at West Point before the war?" Saul sounded weary, "I analyzed his file. There were several complaints on the permanent record. The teachers were genuinely concerned about him." Mr. Moore put a tablespoon of sugar into his drink, eyeing the plate of cookies on the table. "It seems Henry's short temper and colossal, self-centered ego created situations which reflected poorly on himself and West Point. Several students claimed Strong took their work and presented it as his own. His disciplinary record equals that of George A. Custer."

"You're right, Saul, I didn't know, but I can believe it." His irritation concealed from anyone who didn't know him well, Slim calmly asked. "Did he graduate?"

Knowing Sherman intimately, Saul empathized with Slim, but all emotions were better kept under control. The attorney's voice was dispassionate. "No. He didn't. The war interrupted and, as you know, Strong went with the Confederates."

"Slim, while Strong was at the Academy, his acquaintances were men who shared the same experiences and beliefs." Moore considered the evidence pensively, "The instructor's evaluations, including those of Lieutenants Lee Fitzhugh and Charles F. Field, showed Henry to be highly intelligent with a magnetic personality." Mr. Moore paused for another sip of hot coffee. "He tends to draw others to him and controls them, demanding unquestioned obedience. The records indicate he is obsessive and prone to taking illogical actions to get what he wants."

Saul continued his narrative as Slim walked away from the window.

"I evaluated a biography Henry wrote about his chosen role model," Saul, reluctant to burden his onetime assistant, judiciously watched Slim's face. "He claimed the man never got the honors he deserved. His actions in the Revolutionary War were acceptable; Henry Strong seems to be following in his idol's footsteps." Warily judging Slims reaction, Saul deemed it safe to continue.

"Saul, what are you trying to tell me?" Slim gently questioned the very peacefulness of his voice a red flag.

"Henry is imitating Benedict Arnold." Saul's statement hung in the air. Moore paused a moment evaluating how much further he could go with his account.

"Benedict Arnold! He was going to hand over West Point to the British. He would have lost the Revolutionary War for us." Slim wrestled his voice into calmness. "There were rumors he was trying to set up a state for himself."

Placing the cooling pot of coffee back on the stove, Slim added, "I don't think the rumors were ever proven."

Waiting for Saul to continue his account of Strong's exploits, Slim sat down opposite his one-time colleague. Moore bent his head before speaking, "Before hostilities were declared, Strong broke into the office of Major Bowman, the commander of West Point, and stole confidential information which he handed over to the Confederates." Moore drained his coffee and Slim swiftly refilled the cup. "We know from teachers and other students' testimonies Strong was angry when offered a lieutenant's position in the Union forces. He believed he deserved better. We have the document offering him a captaincy in the Southern army. I don't know why he didn't destroy it." Saul massaged his crippled leg under the table temporarily relieving the pain. "After leaving the academy, he recruited and trained soldiers for the Rebellion."

Moore continued, "Strong tried to steal a 'specie' shipment meant for the United States government. We never did find out where all of the gold and silver coins came from. Possibly a lot of patriots gave up their coins in return for the new greenbacks."

"I can't forget, Saul." Slim interrupted. "I didn't know that much money existed in the whole world. Fort Donaldson is just a few miles from Clarksville, Tennessee. The Northern Bank of Tennessee was located there. I guess it still is. Just before the Federal forces took over the town, Mr. David Kennedy, the bank president took action to save the bank."

Slim's laughter was contagious. "I have to admire the man. Mr. Kennedy put all of the bank's assets in his saddlebags and left town late at night. He took everything to New Orleans and the bank's resources were sent to England for safety." Slim paused before he asked, "I understood all the bank capital was refunded at war's end?"

"Yes, I believe it was." Saul, grateful for the change of subject, returned the chuckle. "Mr. Kennedy honored the trust he was awarded. He kept faith with the bank's clients."

Studying the liquid in his cup as if all the secrets of the universe were immersed there, Saul concluded, "During the war, the bank building was used as the headquarters for the Union Provost Marshal. I was one of the men who supervised the Invalid Corps. The troopers were recovering from injuries or sickness, guarding the fort and waiting for further orders. It was easy to have you assigned to work with me. My workplace was located in Mr. Kennedy's office."

"I know. I spent hours there helping you." Slim's sunlit smile faded as memories took over. Furtively analyzing Slim's reaction, Saul had a momentary vision of the ice cap that plugs the throat of an active volcano close to eruption.

"When the Paymaster General decided to use the bank vaults to store a hard currency shipment for a few days my commanding officer told me to select the men I wanted for a special detail. I was on my way back to work when one of Strong's men approached me on the street."

He drew a derringer from his coat pocket, stuck it in my ribs and told me Henry Strong wanted to see me. Strong made me an offer he assumed I couldn't refuse." Slim stood, jamming more wood in the stove with a force that suggested he was ramming Strong instead "I know," Mr. Moore frowned at Slim's clumsy attempt to avoid the subject. "Strong threatened to 'cripple the other leg of the old man' if you didn't cooperate. Strong boasted about it in court." Saul chuckled at the expression on Slim's face. "Ah, my boy," Moore's eyes gleamed. "You never were one to beat around the bush."

"You taught me well, Saul." Slim's statement needed no reinforcement.

"So," Saul continued as if Slim had not spoken. "You were closely watched. It took nerves of steel to keep playing your part. When you came to work for me later in the day, you slipped me a note informing me of the situation. I gave it to the commanding officer and became the liaison between you and Captain Jones. The two of you came up with a good plan; it was very simple. The detail guarding the money would hide in the bank early in the day. You would open the door for Strong and lead him to the vault. While he and his men were loading the cash, you would slip out and shut the door."

"It might have worked, Saul." Frowning, Slim took up the story. "The detachment and I openly stood on the street or in the building watching as the coins were unloaded and placed in the vaults. For a while, it looked like we would be ordered to assist, since all of the coins made for a massive shipment. When everything was unpacked and placed in the storeroom, the detail left the building."

Slim continued, "There must have been a slip up in communication somewhere, or the misinformation was intentional because we were told it was a shipment of new greenbacks. We didn't know it was coins until it arrived. I guess Strong's information was faulty too. He didn't bring a wagon or anything else big enough to haul the money off in.

"When I let him into the bank that night, the first thing he did was take my weapons. Everything was going fine. Then someone in my detail sneezed. Strong realized I tricked him and shot me. I took the bullet but was able to grab a pistol from another's man's holster, and we had an appalling shootout. Bullets were flying all over the place." Slim grimaced recalling the firefight.

"Yes," Mr. Moore interjected, "I even dug a few out of the walls of my office."

"My troop was outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise. Two men I considered allies, John Fuller and Bob Smith were shot down right in front of me." Slim's eyes were ice and fire. "Only Strong and a few of his men got out of there alive. His raid netted him some cash but not what he came for. I led the patrol that tracked him and his remaining men down. "

The timbre of an ice storm resounding in his voice, Slim continued, "We caught up with Strong; he ran and left the others to cover his retreat. We cornered him hiding behind some rocks in a hole in the ground, like a rat. Strong tried to kill himself rather than be taken alive. I tried to knock his head off until he surrendered. When he came to trial, I was I was the principal witness for the army. My transfer to General Sherman's command arrived the next day, and I was ordered to report to Sherman's headquarters without delay, so I didn't get to hear the rest of the story." Saul bowed his head in agreement. "Strong was found guilty of treason and sentenced to Gratiot Street Prison. It was a Union prisoner of war camp located in Missouri and suitable for the jerk." Mr. Moore waited, but there was no visible reaction from Slim.

Moore sounded apologetic, "You remember how chaotic things were in the last few months before General Lee surrendered. Near the end of the war, there was a daring breakout at Gratiot Street and Strong escaped."

Engrossed in the story, Slim lowered his head to look at Saul, "What did Henry do next?"

"It appears he left the country. We have documented statements of his presence in Texas for a few months; then he completely dropped out of sight for a year before showing up again in Texas." Gazing hungrily at the cookies, Saul settled his chair nearer the table. Slim pushed the plate of sugar cookies closer to his counselor.

Mr. Moore selected a golden brown treat.

"I learned about his return and sent an agent to find him. He reported Strong was collecting a band of men from all over the United States, with emphasis placed on men from the south." Saul stopped for a moment to select another cookie. "The recruits are meeting in Wyoming Territory."

"What happened to the agent you sent?" Intrigued by the story, Slim gripped the edge of the table as he absorbed the information.

"We unearthed what remained of his body," Moore stood up carefully, "My bones are getting too soft for this job. I came to tell you to watch your back, Slim. Strong wants you dead. I would hate to hear of that happening." Moore's softly spoken, serious warning lingered in the air.

"Slim, run your ranch and relay station. You've put the past behind you. Leave it there. Build for the future," commanded Saul. "It's a great thing you're doing. I hope more people will do the same."

Saul stood, flexing his knee, as he prepared to leave. "Slim, I wish Strong had never come back, but he did. You have to be on guard now. Don't let him destroy what you are doing. Don't go after him."

Slim stood casually at the table, "Relax Saul, I'll be right here. Taking care of this place is about all I want to do now. I'll be careful, and I have Jess to watch my back."

"Jess?" Mr. Moore inquired looking around the homey room as if expecting to see another person there. "Where is he, Slim?"

Slim explained. "He's catching up on the fencing right now. I'm meeting him for lunch." With a flash of humor in the blue eyes, Slim continued, "Jess is my brother by choice. Don't worry, Saul. I'll be fine."

One of the newspapers Slim tossed on the table caught Moore's attention. Saul picked the tabloid up, turning it to read the captions and scrutinize the fantastic illustration of a camel.

The brash headline of the Cheyenne Leader proclaiming "Unceasing Search for Circus Camels Continues" printed in large letters and red ink was eye-catching. The wry expression on his face showed his appreciation of the humorous situation. "Mind if I take this with me?" Saul asked. "I think it might be entertaining on the ride."

The two men hesitated for a moment as Slim located a clean napkin and placed the remaining cookies in it, tying the ends together to create a neat package. Saul rose and limped toward the door that led into the living room. "I'm leaving some posters with you. An army artist drew them. They're of men known to have past associations with Strong and some might be riding with him."

The gray man sighed. "Sometimes I'm weary of the unfairness of the world. Slim, I wish you could have stayed with me. You would have made an excellent advocate." Slim carefully inspected the experienced lawyer, worried by the forlorn quality of Saul's voice.

"I know many of these posters are wrong, so I'm going to talk with President Grant." Mr. Moore continued, "He'll sign an executive order to have the inaccurate ones removed from circulation. Innocent people shouldn't have their lives disrupted every time they turn around." Another bout of racking coughs set him quaking. "I think I'll see a doctor when I return to Washington." Saul's voice broke, but he continued, "Eventually, Strong will be captured. He'll get a fair trial if I have anything to do with it. We have to be ruled by the law and not the gun." Mr. Moore's droll smile was slightly embarrassed, "Sorry, Slim. You know it's a soapbox of mine."

Saul gratefully took the napkin of cookies. Holding the towel as if it contained solid gold, he limped from the house to the waiting stage. Both men gazed uneasily at the darkening sky loaded with rain clouds.

Saul straightened his shoulders and struggled into the waiting stage. "Thanks for the cookies." His Dutch Uncle settled back into the stage, Slim waved goodbye as it disappeared around the bend of the road.

Moore watched Slim grow smaller as the stage drove farther away from the ranch. 'Slim would have been a wonderful son to me. If he had stayed with me, maybe I wouldn't feel like my life has been in vain.'

Returning to the kitchen, Slim picked up the packets of posters, newspapers, and letters. He chuckled at the posters from Hayley's Greatest Show on Earth concerning the runaways but was more interested in the Cattlemen's Association reward. All he would have to do was find, capture and eliminate whatever was scaring all living creatures off the land. According to the Army manual, livestock would run from camels.

Looking into Moore's package of posters, he didn't recognize anyone, and his shoulders relaxed. Picking up the last picture in the stack, his heart lurched. The unknown artist described Jess to a "T", right down to the curls which flopped over his forehead. Slim didn't have to think about it. He knew the poster was a mistake. He was aware of Jess' code of honor. 'Actually,' he admitted to himself, 'Hedid ride with a few unsavory characters before coming to Laramie, but that's over and done with. There's no way Jess would have ridden with a bloodsucking louse like Strong.'

Slim hurried to clean up the kitchen and get food and coffee for the midday meal. Charging into the barn, he began to saddle Alamo. Ready for exercise, the handsome cutting horse eyed Slim expectantly.

SR&R

Concealed behind the spacious outbuilding which proudly displayed the SR brand, a rider on a black mule eyed the stage team newly released into the home pasture. They were among the best he had seen. Moving toward the gate, he paused as Slim rushed out of the ranch house door. Hastily, he slipped behind the shed, listening as Slim saddled up.

Slim swung the saddle onto Alamo's back, tugged the cinch tight and made sure the saddlebags were firmly attached. Out of habit, he checked the contents of his coat, shirt, and saddlebags a final time.

Just as Slim settled on Alamo's back the uneven thudding made by a limping hoss warned him a rider was coming. The stage line used jockeys for faster communication between relay stations when warranted. The distinctive brand on the gray mare identified the lad as a stage line employee.

The dispatch rider failed to see Slim partially veiled by the open door and didn't see the sulker behind the barn at all. Slim promptly folded Jess' poster and shoved it inside his shirt.

"Hey, Sherman. Where are you? I need a new shoe for my mount," the rider called as the clouds chose that moment to overflow and changed the dusty yard into a quagmire.

"I'm over here. Bring that nag in here and get out of the rain." The boy led the mare under the lean-to and up to the forge. Slim asked, "What's going on?" as he lightly ran a hand over the mare's left hind leg and then lifted her hoof to examine it.

"The president of the United States! Ulysses S. Grant himself is coming. He's inspecting Fort Sanders. Then he's going to Yellowstone. He'll come part way in by train and take a stage the rest of the trip." Message delivered, the envoy jiggled impatiently from one foot to the other. Under normal circumstances, the messenger's enthusiasm would have been contagious, but not now. Slim indifferently questioned, "When is Grant supposed to arrive?"

"In three days," Breathlessly, the herald continued. "Hurry up. Mr. Frazer told me the relay operators have to be primed for the President. To give the station masters time to set up there'll be no more stages until Grant has been and gone." Slim replaced the broken shoe and waved the boy off to inform other relay stations.

Concealed behind the barn, Preston held his mount still as Slim swung aboard and headed out to find Jess. The thief entered the corral as soon as Slim was out of sight; recognizing the value of Slim's new breeding stock. The magnificent broodmares were hurriedly tied head to tail and led out. Pleased with his unexpected news and horseflesh, the rustler headed toward the mountains.

Chapter Three Camel Anxiety Ringmaster Haley and the Greatest Show on Earth continued on their route visiting towns and forts but without the camels, there was less excitement.

However, Hank, who visited the saloons, general stores and other places where townspeople congregated began to hear stories about mysterious stampedes, strange screams in the night and invisible sheep bleating loudly at weird hours of the day.

Paul and Hank were in the "Hell on Wheels" city of Benton, ten miles east of Rawlins, Wyoming, when they overheard the most disturbing news. Benton bragged about its thirty dance halls and saloons. Paul and Hank listened to thirty different theories on what was causing the unrest. In Benton's largest bar, called "The Big Tent" which had the dubious honor of being so bad a skunk would be ashamed to crawl under the batwing doors, Haley was alarmed to learn the citizens of Wyoming would be searching for the critters and would shoot to kill. Paul took exception to the news and flattened the speaker. Hank believed it best to leave Benton in a hurry.

Chapter Four Not A Good Day

Jess' morning started off just fine, then went downhill fast. Leaving the ranch yard, Traveller, his cowpony, danced down the length of the corral keeping pace with the team. Reaching the far end of the paddock, he nickered and jumped the fence. The bay then happily trotted along with the wagon.

Jess drove around the first curve of the lane and the worst stench he ever smelled in his life hit him like a fist in the nose. 'Smells like Slim's been cooking outdoors again. It's worse than normal. I surely do wish he wouldn't do that.' The team of bay mares went crazy. They began bucking in the harness, trying to climb over the wagon tongue and kicking back at the wagon. Jess gagged at the stink as the team broke into a dead run to get away from it. Occupied with controlling the team, Jess didn't go back to see what caused the problem.

When working on the first segment of barbed wire, Jess smashed his finger with the hammer. Next, when stringing the wire, he managed to tear a large hole in his last pair of good work gloves.

Working down towards the swamp, he came across a longhorn stuck in the mud. Rescuing the animal required a lot of hot, sweaty lifting and hauling. More than once, he landed flat on his face in the muck. Smarmy mud from the bog caked on his worn jeans worked its way into his long-sleeved blue work shirt through the holes at the elbows and quickly changed to adobe inside the sleeves. Safely on firm ground, the steer bowed his horned head at Jess and charged him. To avoid being gored, Jess performed an impromptu dance recital with the bull acting as the ballet master. He did shuffle steps, promenaded halfway around, and split the outside two. The California Twirl mixed well with the pirouette and the arabesque with the two-step. Finally, the ungrateful bovine trotted off in the general direction of the pasture.

Jess replaced the fence and went to the buckboard to get his midday meal, thinking, 'Bad mornings happen to everyone.' Reaching under the seat where his vittles should have been, Jess remembered he didn't have anything edible. Slim was going to bring lunch. Worst of all, in Jess' opinion, he didn't have the makings for coffee.

A chilly torrent started soon afterward. "Perfect, just perfect!" Jess snarled to Traveller and to whatever fates were ruining his life.

SR&R

The precipitation was a minor inconvenience to the four grimy, unshaven gunslicks gathered at the head of the trail located on Sherman property.

A heavy set man with a schoolmaster's bearing barked, "Horn, Marty, you're sure this man is Slim Sherman? We wouldn't want to get the wrong man." Sarcastic laughter met his statement.

Horn, an ugly lanky bully pushed a battered Calvary hat to the back of his head, the worn out officer braid flopping with the movement. "Yes, sir, I'm sure." The remaining men joined in the callous snickers.

Their leader inclined his scarred face towards another man and questioned "Preston, what about the rest of the men?"

Preston, a caustic voiced, teenaged, penny-ante rustler, and a new addition to Horn's bevy answered hastily, "Doing well, Mr. Horn. More coming in every day. If you can get someone to guide them over Snowy Range Pass and push it hard, we can be in Canada before anyone catches on to us."

Strong agreed, "Don't worry, Preston. I'll get you a guide." Removing a much-creased map from his pocket, he added, "You can go now. Bring the uniforms to us when you get to this point." Using a thick finger, he pointed to the location. "We'll be waiting for you."

Preston, a Confederate sympathizer, snapped a salute, pirouetted his bangtail and trotted off into the sweeping storm towards the Sherman Ranch.

Stroking his revolver as if to comfort it, Strong inquired. "I sent you, Marty, to watch the Sherman Ranch and keep an eye on Jess Harper. Do you know where he is now?"

Gleefully, Tommy responded, "Jess was working on the fence near the swamp. Even Jess has sense enough to come in out of the rain or take shelter."

"Marty, what did you learn about Harper and Sherman's relationship?" Bellowed over the rising whine of the wind, Strong's question was barely audible.

Marty twisted the reins dubiously. "I don't think Harper knows Sherman was in command of the troop that caught us."

Horn pondered, "I wonder what Sherman will do when he finds out Jess traveled with us for a while after the war ended."

Marty replied, "Harper didn't stay long before his decent streak took over. But nobody double crosses the band. He was the one who betrayed us to the local law. That traitor Harper ought to pay for that."

Strong snorted maliciously, "Yes, Jess will pay off his debt in blood." Strong's chestnut gelding, alert to his surroundings, began rapidly swiveling his ears and raised his head as he caught strange sounds coming from the forest. "Sanctimonious, hoity-toity, entirely self-righteous Slim Sherman should pay the full price for what he did to me and my boys.".

Marty took a gander around as his piebald mare spread her forelegs to each side and leaned back a little. She was seconds away from spooking. Both Strong and Marty calmed their mounts as they drew their weapons and checked for whatever was scaring their steeds.

Concealed by the forest beside the trail and camouflaged by the pounding monsoon which masked the sound, sight, and smell of Toot and Fatima from the humans, the camels listened to the meaningless conversation before moving away from the road, deeper into the woods.

Chapter Five Kidnap

For Jess, the only good thing about the cloudburst was that it created a chance to wash his muddy clothes. Hanging his shirt, socks, and pants on the branch of a nearby tree, he recalled when the ragged garments were the best he owned. His socks, often repaired with various kinds and colors of thread, were an especially lurid combination of colors and textures.

Jess slipped his Colt.44 under the tarp of the wagon trying to keep it dry. He was nearly naked, icy, wet, tired, and hungry. Shivering in the chilly liquid sunshine, Jess crawled under the meager protection of the wagon.

Traveller and the wagon team took shelter in the woods near the marsh standing with their tails to the wind trying to keep warm. The wind began to pick up blowing the downpour into miniature rivers, all of them trickling toward the underside of the wagon. The blowing wind diluted the unusual smell of wet camel. Watching the ponies take shelter, and the man crawling under the wagon, Fatima and Toot moved on to a dryer, safer location.

The splash of approaching broncs was a welcome distraction for Jess. He reckoned four riders were coming, but only three came into view. The man in front bellowed. "Hello, the wagon."

"Hello, yourself." Jess sent back the salutation.

"Can we come closer?" the talkative stranger yelled.

"Sure. Just be careful how you come." Reluctantly, Jess accepted company, hurriedly grabbed his pants and slogged into them. Meeting an unfamiliar posse dressed only in wet underwear wasn't high on his list of things to do.

As the visitors drew closer, Jess abruptly identified the travelers. "Horn, Marty, it's you." Jess spat out the names as if they were poison.

The riders drew closer as Horn snarled, "Well, cowboy, I'm happy to see you too. I believed we would never meet up again after you cut out on us in Texas. You shouldn't have done that."

Jess instinctively reached for his revolver, remembering too late it was under the tarp in the wagon. At his futile effort, the men drew their weapons and walked their horses into the makeshift camp. "Hands up, Sonny." Horn ordered with a sneering grin.

Unhurriedly Marty dismounted. Reaching into his saddlebags he removed several pigging strings and strolled towards their captive. "I'm glad to see you finally learnt how to obey orders, Harper." Marty leered, making the words an insult. He called to his ally, "Horn, keep him covered while I get his gun." Marty casually reached into the bed of the wagon and removed the weapon.

Jess watched him carefully, hoping for a chance, even a desperate one, to strike back.

"Get dressed. You're coming with us." Marty glared at Jess as he moved into range.

Jess shouted, "No," He threw a right cross and had the satisfaction of seeing Marty fall. He ran towards Traveller. A lasso settled over his shoulders from behind snaring his arms and cemented them tightly to his sides, jerking him off his feet. Jess hit the ground hard enough to wrench a cry of pain from him. The rope held him in place to matter how he struggled.

Harper listened to hoarse laughter from the third man who sneaked up behind him. Marty stood up, caught Jess by the upper arms and brutally shoved him against the wagon.

Defiantly facing the three men, Jess raised his head. Come what may, he was not going to beg.

Marty violently, cruelly forced Jess to turn around. Immediately securing Jess' hands behind his back, yanking the knots extra tight, Marty then callously dragged him face forward again. Henry Strong strolled into the Texan's direct line of vision. Looking into his eyes, Jess knew the killer wanted him dead.

The assailants' savage beating created a red mist of pain. Jess was seized and hurled roughly to the ground. A sharp crashing blow slammed into the back of his head, and darkness possessed him. As he dropped bonelessly to the ground, the abductors handled Jess' body like a bag of cornmeal, casually tossing it into the wagon before tying his arms and legs with twisted rawhide.

"Good boys." Strong praised his men. "Don't take any chances with Harper. He's tricky." The brigands roped Traveller, tied him to the back of the wagon, harnessed the team and headed west.

Jess came around feeling sore, with chattering teeth and relieved to wake up at all. He was still dressed only in his wet long john top and jeans. The ground was hard rock covered with ancient, mushy, fallen leaves. His hands were bound to the wagon wheel, with rawhide strings, the knots tight enough to bite into his wrists.

Limited on every side by trees, Jess's visual inspection didn't cover much ground. Twisting his head to the left, he saw Traveller and the wagon team tethered to saplings. To his right, an undersized campfire provided a cheery glow, and the uncaring, flickering flames seemed to laugh at the chilled prisoner just beyond the reach of their warmth. Strong stood in the firelight intently studying a paper of some kind. He ran his right index finger over the paper repeatedly.

The goons removed the makings for beans and bacon from the saddlebags. In short order one of the men hacked off ragged chunks of meat from the hindquarters of a deer and the delicious smell of roasted meat and succulent beans, simmering in rich, spicy sauce rose to torment Jess.

"Captain," Tommy spoke up, "Harper's conscious."

Lifting involuntarily, the hairs on Jess's arms prickled, and his muscles tensed. Marching with deadly silent grace toward his prisoner, Strong was intimidating. Towering over Jess, he said civilly, "Hello, Harper."

Strong continued, "I let you ride with my company. You repaid my kindness by betraying us to the local law. Marty, Tommy and I escaped by the skin of our teeth."

Jess' famous hotheaded temper kicked in before he considered the possible consequences of defying his captor.

"That's a pity." Jess's hatred showed in his voice. "And what in the foggy blue morning do you think you'll get by taking me prisoner?"

"What are my men and I going to get out of this? Hey, boys." Strong called for his band. "Harper wants to know what we're gonna get out of this. Think we should tell him?"

"Yes, sir," the motley crew replied unanimously.

"Well, Jess, I'll tell you what we're going to get out of you. You're going to guide us into Canada." Strong casually flicked open a well-sharpened pocket knife and began to clean his fingernails.

"No, I ain't." Jess could teach a mule how to be stubborn when he wanted to, and this was one of those times. "Besides, what in the…" Jess broke off what he was going to say. Slim didn't put up with that kind of language. Slim had weaned Jess off of it, sort of. Thinking about Slim gave Jess pause.

"Yes, you are, Jess. I sent one of my boys to collect remounts for us. I do hope Slim Sherman tried to fight." Strong brandished his knife in the scalping technique used by the Indians to collect human hair. Jess' bindings wouldn't allow any bodily reaction to the menace in that voice, the promise of pain for Slim.

Jess took a deep breath to steady himself and began again. "That's me. What are you and your men going to get out of this?"

"In a few days, me and my boys are going to be rich. I'll be wealthy enough to rule South America." Strong's eyes gleamed as he day-dreamed of the future, "I'll start on a small scale with Brazil."

Jess's disbelief emerged in a rude snort.

"You don't believe me, Harper? If you had stayed with me, you could share in the new government I'll set up." The fake pitying tone in Henry's voice stomped on Jess' last nerve.

"What makes you think you're ever gonna make it to South America?" Jess painfully hissed out the words as he tried to move his aching hands.

Speaking as if to a child, Strong focused on Jess's eyes. "Brazil's Emperor Dom Pedro the Second wants to increase the cultivation of cotton in his country. He offers an impressive list of endorsements for Southerners to immigrate to Brazil. Inexpensive fertile land with good roads is available. A new railroad will be constructed. Brazil will become the new South."

Passionately Henry continued, "Senator William Norris, from Alabama, established a Confederate colony called Americana in San Pablo. We are backing Senator Norris. As payment for our services, our records will be clean. We will become righteous, prosperous, upright citizens." The orientation finished and duly applauded, the men meandered away from the wagon.

"You studying to be a halfwit, Strong?" Jess did his level best to slay Strong by staring daggers at him. Jess's stare should have dropped Strong where he stood; the knives coming from his eyes were that lethal.

Henry positively crooned, "I'm no more half-witted than Benedict Arnold."

Strong turned on his heel. He strode to the fire, picked up a tin plate of beans, bacon, and venison hunkered down and began to eat, still staring maliciously toward his prisoner. Jess' stomach rumbled in protest.

Strong continued between bites, "Unfortunately, even by South American standards, it takes a lot of money to maintain a particular lifestyle." Drawing out Jess's discomfort, Strong ate slowly, occasionally smacking his lips. "I think Grant and the federal government should pay for it. After all, Grant and General Sherman were responsible for destroying much of the South." Leisurely swallowing the last of his coffee, he stood and paced over to the fire signaling his desire for another cup to Tommy, the cook. "That's the general that's no relation to your Sherman." Strong sputtered with laughter at his private joke.

Returning to Jess, he squatted down to eye level, "We are going to snatch Useless Stupid Grant and hold him prisoner in Canada for ransom. I return to Brazil a hero." With a self-congratulatory expression on his face, Strong added, "With my military background, my private army, and the ransom money, I will easily become Emperor of the new South."

Incredulously Jess peered at Strong. 'The man actually believes he can get away with it.' Jess ran the idea around in his brain. 'He's loco as a bessy bug.' Aloud he mumbled, "Well, have a safe trip to Washington. Last time I heard, that's where the President is."

"I'm taking Useless off the stage right here in Wyoming Territory in three days." Henry's conceited reply grated on Harper's self-restraint.

"Got a crystal ball, do ya?" Skeptically, Jess eyed Strong, "You know, I ain't ever known anybody crazy as a loon before."

Strong laughed humorously. "The newspapers are excellent spies. The New York Times released the dates of Grant's trip in advance, and the Cheyenne Leader published his daily agenda. Plenty of time to plan and recruit men. Much of the Canadian-American border is forest and poorly guarded. It's not difficult to get into Canada. Once there I'll send a wire to Washington confirming I have Grant, get the money and return to Brazil." Swollen with arrogance, Henry gestured approval of his plans.

"How do you think you're gonna get out of Canada?" Jess sneered. "Don't you think the law just might be searching for you?"

"That's very straightforward. Even you should be able to figure that one out." Henry continued his lecture. "We'll go to Ottawa. Benjamin Weir maintains a facility there."

Flummoxed, Jess howled, "Who's that? I ain't never heard of him."

"He backed the South during the war." Strong's eyes gleamed remembering past glories of the men who risked everything to defy the Union. "The Confederate blockade runners used his ship repair, paying in cotton."

Henry shifted his weight into a more comfortable position, looking toward the horses. The animals were beginning to show signs of alarm. Something was disturbing them. A slight rustling noise came from the forest, then faded away. 'Probably just a deer, or elk.' Jess whispered to himself, ''I wish it was a posse of badge toters.''

Strong didn't seem to notice anything wrong and his men carried on with their camp routine.

Pleased with his plans, Strong boasted, "Some of the blockade runners still work for him. I contacted Weir months ago. He's expecting us. We'll take one of his ships to Halifax and sail down the east coast straight to Brazil."

Shaking his head in wonder, Jess pried into Strong's affairs. "Why don't you go to Mexico? That was closer last time I checked."

Strong contemptuously responded, "William Henry Stewart. His involvement in French and Mexican affairs caused Maximilian to refuse Confederate immigration into Mexico."

Marty, hurrying into camp from his post, interrupted nervously, "Rider coming in."

A poorly dressed man, riding an enormous black mule entered the field. The newcomer snapped a crisp salute, "I have a report, Sir."

"This had better be good, Preston." Strong's voice could have cracked glass.

"I was inspecting some splendid cayuses the owner of a relay station had corraled, and I overheard a conversation which confirms your information." Preston hopefully regarded the remains of the meal and frowned narrow-eyed at Jess.

"You know who 'volunteered' to bestow those horses on us?" Preston paused for the maximum effect of his announcement.

Strong raised one eyebrow waiting impatiently for Preston's answer.

"Jess, amigo, it was your head honcho, Slim Sherman himself, who 'furnished' me those mares." The passel howled with laughter as Preston bowed from the waist in appreciation of the hilarity.

His face reflecting his emotions, Jess promised, "If you hurt Slim I'll track you down. When I'm finished with you, there won't be enough left to snore over."

Preston and Jess' eyes locked. In Jess' eyes was the promise he made and the will to keep it. Preston broke eye contact first with a slight shiver, realizing how dangerous Jess could be.

The physical pain was nothing now for Jess, the mental agony was paralyzing; just breathing was a battle. 'Whatever he did to you, I'll make him pay. Slim, I promise you I will.' Jess made a mental pledge to himself.

"Excellent." Strong purred. "We have business with the pretender president. Preston, did you make a good selection for us?"

Preston grinned, showing tobacco stained teeth. "I took the best horses Sherman had. One of the boys is taking them to the locations you showed me. I fetched the uniforms with me."

"Well done, Preston. You just earned yourself an appointment in my new government." The outlaw leader spun to face his men. "Saddle up, men. We have a job to do."

Horn glared murder at Preston and concluded, 'It ain't right that Preston gets a promotion and I don't. I swear that scum won't live long enough to enjoy his new rank.'But he joined in the chorus of, "Yes, sir," like everyone else.

The remaining men hurried to break camp, catch their horses and saddle up.

"Sir, what do we do with Harper?" inquired Marty.

"Oh yes. Harper. Put him on another hoss and bring him along." Strong's malicious grin would have jolted a grizzly.

Marty sliced through the tough bindings with his Arkansas toothpick, then stepped back to watch Jess try to get up.

As soon as Marty cut his hands free, Jess lurched to his cramped legs and nearly frozen feet, which almost refused to take his weight. He exaggerated the difficulty of standing.

"I can't walk right," Jess made himself whimper shamefully. Frantically shaking his hands and rubbing his wrists to restore circulation, Harper's eyes shot to the knife still in Marty's hand. Jess stumbled forward grabbing the knife held in Marty's lax grip. He spun, staggering toward Strong only to be bashed to his knees.

"Can't you do anything right?" Strong blasted his men. "Do I have to do everything for you?"

His men made up for their oversight by throwing Jess belly down over a heavily spotted horse. They enjoyed hog-tying his hands and feet together beneath the horse's barrel. In a few minutes, the entire party disappeared into the night. The abandoned wagon sitting forlornly in the drizzle marked the place where the fugitives had held their conference.

Fatima and Toot stayed in the area of the dry overhang they came across until the downpour stopped. Grazing on anything that appeared tasty, the adults, followed closely by their newest family member, ambled deeper into the forest.

Chapter Six Humped back Horses

The trio of camels drifted lazily through the night, letting the teeny one nurse whenever it felt hungry. About midnight the animals hit upon a place that was perfect for their needs; a large meadow with a clear flowing stream for the adults and shelter under the thick ground brush, just the right size for their tired offspring.

Fatima stood patiently as the nursling drank its fill, and contentedly watched the adults graze as it settled down to sleep. Gradually Toot and Fatima moved out of hearing range.

Ehawee, whose name meant Laughing Maiden in the Sioux language wasn't laughing. She followed her father away from the village when he went hunting, and now she was lost.

Her father believed she was with her mother; her mother supposed she was with her dad. Her parents didn't discover the truth until her father came home later in the day. The entire tribe urgently launched a desperate search.

The six-year-old girl roamed the dangerous territory forlornly seeking shelter. Sometime before night fell, Ehawee took refuge in a secluded niche in a meadow with a stream where she drank until she could drink no more. Ehawee huddled in the velvety grass of her temporary bed and cried herself to sleep.

Ehawee awoke when the strangely shaped thuhtnugA (humpbacked) sujawakan (horse) arrived, and the cihcala (child) began to nurse. She had never seen anything like them. For a moment, she wondered if these strange creatures were real or just a bad dream.

Staying perfectly still, she waited until the big wamakuskan (animal) ones moved away after the slight one finished and folded up its spindly legs to rest.

Moving closer, keeping a cautious eye on the beasts she crept within touching distance of the clumsy infant. The tiny creature raised its head as the young beings studied each other. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the wooly hide. The skin was both soft and warm, stroking it relaxed her and lessened her fears.

Surprised by the human touch, the young tetrapod cried for its parents loudly bleating like one of the goats in the village. Gently Ehawee continued to stroke its head and back. Unharmed the pitiable foal settled back into its grassy bed.

Ehawee slipped her arm around its curved neck, rested her head on the furry brown side sobbed once or twice, then finally fell asleep. Fatima and Toot, wandering too far away to hear their suckling's bawling, found the two youngsters curled up next to each other when they came back from foraging. Fatima lay down beside them, her body heat providing warmth and comfort. Toot stood silent guard during the night.

Early the next morning the sleepy party was awakened by Indians searching for their lost child. Ehawee called out, dashing to meet them, and was instantly scooped into her father's arms. She tried to tell them about the funny horses. By the time her father checked out her story, the trio of draft animals had vanished.

Not caring where they were going, the family of desert exiles began to backtrack heading in the general direction of the Sherman Ranch. Following behind its parents, the miniature copy of Toot made a significant find. He could bite grass, bushes and leaves just like his parents. Practicing was easy for the ruminate. Like a human infant, he liked to chew on anything.

Chapter Seven The Camels Are Coming The downpour finally stopped, leaving the ranch yard in a state somewhere between sticky mud and wet clay. It clung to Slim's boots and made excellent tracks. Slim mounted up, removed his hat, ran his hand through his sun-bleached hair, firmly settled his tan colored Stetson and finally sent Alamo out of the stable.

Concealed behind the barn, the rider on the black mule plucked his revolver from its holster, fixed to shoot. To Preston's relief, Slim left without seeing him.

Touching the slight bulge beneath his shirt to assure himself the wanted poster on Jess was still there, Slim tried to figure out how to approach the subject. The best thing to do would be to jump right in and tell Jess about his relationship with Henry Strong and Saul Moore.

'If I make it sound like Strong, and his men are hunting me, Jess will stick around to protect me. I know him that well.' Slim mentally rationalized his plan of action. 'Then, when he's worried about me, I can easily get him back to the ranch, where I can watch out for him.'

'Telling Jess, I was the one who caught Strong and sent him to prison is not going to be easy,' reflected Slim. Talking about the war was not something that came naturally to him. 'Capturing Strong makes me sound like a hero, and I'm not.'

'As for the reward poster, if Jess wants to explain, that's fine. If he doesn't, that's okay too. Much of his life is still a mystery. Perhaps, some day, when Jess isn't afraid to talk about the past, he'll tell me about it. Whatever happens,' Slim swore, 'I'll stand by my pard. Jess and I will ride clear to Washington if necessary, to get Saul to clear Jess's record.'

Knowing where Jess was working saved time. A soft, warm breeze reached him bringing with it the scent of rain washed earth. Slim's laughed out loud as he imagined how Jess would react when he finally arrived with the very late meal. Jess would have a lot to say in that unusually deep voice of his. Slim put Alamo into a dead run covering the distance like a bat out of hell.

Unpredictably, the site was abandoned. Jess, buckboard, and team were nowhere in sight. A flash of color caught his eye. Jess' blue shirt, black hat and multicolored socks, still wet from the storm, hung from the lowest branch of a tree.

Apprehensively, Slim dismounted and searched the ground. He recovered Jess' boots resting close to the deep impression left by the wagon wheels. The tracks of four shod horses came from the direction of the trail. The wet earth, scuffed and disturbed by the men's boot marks and Jess' barefoot prints told Slim the gut wrenching story.

Slim wrung Jess' clothing hard, removing most of the water and crammed the garments into his saddlebag. The boots and hat were easy to carry when tied with a pigging string and attached to the saddle horn.

Slim remounted and rapidly followed the tracks until it was too dark to see. "Oh, Jess." Slim breathed a prayer for his pard. With a heartfelt sigh of disappointment and frustration, he stopped for the night. Since he hadn't planned on camping out, he would have to ration the food and water in his canteen. Not knowing where Jess and his captors were, Slim dug a deep fire pit and made a hidden fire merely big enough to make coffee. The rest of the meal would be left over baked beans and biscuits. Slim glanced at the container filled to the brim with beans. Jess' sweet tooth reacted favorably to the molasses in the baked beans, and Slim carried extra molasses in a tightly stoppered jug. Slim remembered how undernourished Jess had been when he arrived at the Sherman Ranch. He wasn't quite so scrawny now that he was eating three square meals a day at the Sherman table.

Slim made sure Alamo was firmly tied to a cottonwood tree before removing the saddle and bridle. The sorrel would be okay for the night grazing in a limited circle and drinking out of the puddles. He hung the rest of Jess' wet clothing to finish drying.

The coffee pot was beginning to bubble, sending out beautiful, delightful smells when Alamo snorted a warning. Slim glanced up as Alamo's sharply pricked ears indicated someone or something was near the camp. 'Of course, given that animal's fear of large leaf piles it could be blowing shrubbery.' Slim complained mentally.

Hearing a slight movement in the bushes behind him, Slim twisted in place, drawing his revolver, willing to face whatever monster Alamo saw or imagined. He held his breath, eyes anxiously scanning the bushes. The puny campfire flickered in its hole giving off enough light to illuminate the creature as it staggered out of the bushes. It scrutinized Slim and bleated like a lost lamb.

Slim gasped in disbelief at what he saw. Words, illustrations, and phrases from the long-ago Army manual came back to him.

'A baby camel is called a calf.'

The reward posters were correct. The camels were in Wyoming and furthermore, they were right there on his land. The adults had to be somewhere close. They wouldn't leave the youngster unprotected. Slim checked the shadowed surroundings pronto but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

The elfin, animated picture from George Marsh's book appeared defenseless, helpless, and innocent. Still holding his Colt .44 in his right hand. Slim reached out and patted it gingerly on its downy back with his left hand. According to the guide book camels did not begin to grow humps until older than the miniature specimen before him. The infant pushed his way up against Slim's leg, delicately lipping his fingers and showing off a formidable mouthful of teeth.

Behind him, the coffee pot started to boil over. The smell of the freshly brewed coffee was intoxicating. Scanning the area one more time and not seeing or hearing anything suspicious, Slim twisted around and bent over to remove the coffee pot from the fire. The camouflaged fiend snuck up behind him and bit him in the seat of his pants.

Slim jumped up, squalling like a goose whose tail feathers had been yanked. He spun around realizing he was facing the offender, flanked by two adults. Fatima and Toot, frightened by Slim's actions, unhesitatingly spat at him, hitting him in the face.

Slim started spitting, coughing, choking, and frantically trying to remove the slimy green goo while the threesome scampered into the shelter of the twilight shadows of the forest leaving one confused cowboy. Discovering he had knocked the coffee pot over, and his liquid energy boost had soaked into the ground, was the last straw.

The restless night passed slowly. Without enough water to wash his hair, it formed into stalactites and some of the green goop dried on his face. The stench of the spit turned his eyes red, he was out of coffee, and Slim was not a happy camper.

Chapter Eight Traveller Free

The bleak shore of the flood-swollen lake called to the tired rustlers. Strong stopped his weary mount and examined the site. "It's too dark to see the trail. We'll stay here for the night." Henry called to his men. "Make camp."

"Marty, you ride back and double check our trail. Make sure we're not being followed." Henry rasped the command.

The desperadoes roughly snatched Jess from his piebald and forcibly bound him to an oak tree planted deeply in the lakeshore soil. Henry's self-satisfied grin wouldn't have been out of place on a rattlesnake. "Jess boy, we're getting closer to where you start earning your keep. You know the Snowy Range Pass. You're gonna guide us into Canada."

Jess jerked the words out of a mouth that felt like someone stuffed it full of cotton, "Strong, your brain cavity wouldn't make a drinking cup for a canary. There ain't no way I'm helping you."

"Harper, if you want to stay alive for a short time longer, you'll cooperate. That isn't a threat, just a promise." Bored with the conversation, Henry veered to walk away.

Marty glared at Strong's back, 'I'm tired and hungry too.' Marty whined to himself, 'Somebody else needs to go.'

Strong noticed Marty hadn't moved. "Marty, what did you say? Why are you still here?" Henry spoke sharply to the tired, resentful thug.

Marty considered his circumstances, 'I ain't got my part of the money yet. Better pretend to go along with Strong for a while longer.'

Marty gave the first excuse that came to mind. "My nag needs to catch his wind."

"Take Jess' bay. He's fresh enough." Strong tossed off the order briskly.

"Yes, sir." Tommy knew better than to disobey a direct command.

Jess barely stifled a snicker; Traveller was usually a one-man horse. The only rider he let on him besides Jess was Slim. Marty was not going to take Traveller without a fight.

Standing quietly while being bridled, Jess' horse was the picture of a perfectly mannered ride. Marty's unfamiliar saddle, complete with rifle and bedroll, was tossed onto his back. When Marty climbed aboard, Traveller promptly changed from a mild-mannered, well-trained mount into a rodeo style bucking bronco. Marty stayed in the saddle for a couple of high dives, but Traveller's version of the pile driver sent him flying to the ground. The desperados howled with laughter as Marty bit the dust.

Jess' scornful laughter carried to Marty's ears.

Finding himself free, Traveller took off at a dead run straight into the darkness.

Jess silently cheered his four-footed friend. Traveller would return home to his barn. Jess told himself, 'Slim will come looking for me. I need to have my hands free to escape and help Slim.' Jess didn't even consider Slim not coming to find him. In the Texan's entire life, few people even came close to getting under the thick self-sufficient skin of protection he developed. Jess counted less than a handful as closer than mere acquaintances. Of that number, only one never let him down. Slim was alive, and he would come. Harper began rubbing the rope binding his hands against the bark of the tree, hoping to fray the strands.

Astride a less bouncy cob, Marty left on his errand giving Jess a murderous glare as he trotted out of camp. 'Laugh at me, will you. Harper, you are so gonna pay for that. Something else on your account.' Marty's eyes with their unblinking, merciless stare were those of a reptile. 'I learned a lot of fancy knife work from the Apache. Reckon it'll be fun to practice on you."

Chapter Nine Follow On

Trying to calm Alamo, Slim recoiled when the quarter horse whinnied. Answered by the neigh of his stable mate, Alamo turned to face the woods. Traveller came trotting out of the rustling forest straight up to Alamo, and the two equines briefly touched noses before standing close to each other.

Slim caught up the dragging reins, replacing the bridle with a rope he noticed coiled on the strange saddle. He tied Traveller next to Alamo and groomed both as well as he could. "Easy boys, easy now." Slim murmured soothingly to the skittish animals. "Jess can't be far away. I'll backtrack Traveller just as soon as there's enough daylight to see."

Awakening long before dawn Slim packed up his unfriendly icebox of a camp. When he tried to saddle the cowponies they wrinkled their noses at him. He knew he smelled foreign, scary and dangerous so he wasn't surprised when Alamo tried to bite and Traveller attempted to kick the tar out of him.

Finally, successful, he explained to the restless ponies, "I'm not very good company this morning. I hope we find Jess soon and don't find the four-legged irritations again." Mounting up, he rolled his hips in the saddle trying to find a comfortable way to sit. There wasn't one. Slim settled uncomfortably in the seat and called the calf a plethora of wide-ranging names his mother would not have approved.

Following Traveller's tracks wasn't challenging. The bay had run down a well-defined game trail. Intermixed with the prints of deer, elk and mustangs were wagon tracks. The alien imprints of Toot and Fatima overlapped everything else.

Following the path at a swift trot, the horses reached a lake about an hour later. Transformed by the inundation, the water was an inland sea barely contained within its banks. Both the bay and sorrel snorted, sidled away, but at Slim's gentle urging, slowly put hesitant hooves on the path. 'They need to drink, and I need to refill the canteens.' Slim reasoned as Alamo and Traveller uncertainly picked their way down the trail. He dismounted cautiously, leading them to an overflow with sizable pools of water. The thirsty cowponies guzzled the liquid. Moving upstream to fill the canteens, Slim came across fresh camel tracks. The sighting didn't make his day any brighter.

Slim moved to Alamo's side, assuring himself the water bottles were in place. His hand on the horn, left boot in the stirrup, he was swinging into the saddle when the wind changed. An abominable stench filled the air, hooting sounds burned into the gelding's ears, and two humpback nightmares hurtled from the woods. The blaring noise they made was the last thing they expected to hear. Alamo and Traveller whirled in the direction of the lake. Slim's boot caught in the stirrup. He was wrenched off his feet and dragged into the water by his terrified horse. He barely had time to fill his lungs with air as he was jerked underwater. Terror flooded over him. Somehow, Slim fought it down as he desperately wrenched his foot until the boot came free. He struck out swimming toward the opposite shore. As Traveller passed, a blind grab netted him a horsetail, which he held on to as he was towed across the lake.

Reaching the far shore, Slim splashed to dry land involuntarily bathed, less aromatic and more acceptable to the animals. The animals were breathing hard and fast, their ears pricked forward and back, and they were trembling. It took a while for all three of them to make sure they were still alive and breathing. Standing, Slim tramped further down the bank to retrieve his Stetson, which had floated ashore. Mentally celebrating, he laughed, 'At least, it landed brim up. Pa always told me to keep the hat brim up so the good luck wouldn't run out of it. Don't know if that's true or not but I'm glad I don't have to find, buy and train another hat.'

The black hat Jess favored had survived as well. Slim hoped Jess would still be alive to enjoy it when he caught up with them.

Slims luck seemed to hold as he found the wagon tracks. He had made up some time swimming across the lake while the dray had taken the longer route around. 'Jess must be close.' Slim forked Alamo once more following the beckoning trail.

SR&R

When the new pealing storm began, bringing darkness with it, the family of camels took shelter in the back of a grotto they encountered in the mountain defile. Toot stood guard while Fatima folded her legs under her. The calf settled next to her, finding refuge under her neck, next to her chest. Feeling safe, they slept

Time lagged until Slim located the abandoned wagon. Thanks to the cloud covered night, the coagulated mire held the camp story clearly stamped into the mud. Viewing the intermixed marks of boots and bare feet, seeing where someone had fallen to his knees, combined with knowing Jess the way he did, Slim was willing to bet he had attempted to escape. "At least, he's still alive," Slim gratefully told Traveller. "We can be thankful for that."

There were furrows in the mud where the renegades dragged Jess close to hoof prints which clearly showed the right front foot with a barred shoe.

It was child's play to follow the tracks of several horses, including the one with the barred shoe, leading away from camp. The trail dipped into valleys and rose over mountains. Slim got off Alamo and switched to Traveller. The ride was less than comfortable, given his long legs, but it would let his sorrel rest allowing him to close in on Jess faster.

Chapter Ten Final Plans

Thinking Jess utterly subdued, the guards didn't pay strict attention to him. Harper desperately worked on fraying the rope around his wrists during the night. By morning, he had unraveled several strands, almost enough to escape.

Riding into camp from his post as a night guard, Horn roused the band into yawning, stretching and preparing for breakfast.

Strong removed a much creased and folded map from his pocket. "All right boys." He called to his assorted rabble. "Here's where we make our final plans to seize Grant. Gather around men." Placing the chart on the ground and arranging it so everyone could see, Strong began, "We're here. He put a pebble on the diagram to indicate the spot. Using an oddly shaped snail shell, he added the location of Snowy Range Pass. A bullet represented the President's stage. "We'll change into the Army uniforms here." Henry tapped the illustration indicating the locale. "The men guarding the coach will assume we're regular troops when we ride up." Strong paused, "Any questions so far?"

No one asked a question. The pack hung on Strong's every word.

"We attack here," Henry stated, "When the stage is closest to the saddleback. We'll have replacement horses waiting at several locations along our escape route into Canada." Strong grinned at his men. "We'll change every few miles. If there is a pursuit, the soldiers won't be able to catch us. Of course, there shouldn't be any soldiers left alive to chase us."

"Sir," Horn asked respectfully, "Would it be okay if Preston and I went to check on the pass now? We'll make sure it's open all the way. With "Useless Stupid" in tow, we don't want to have any unpleasant surprises awaiting us. You and the rest of the boys can catch up to us in nothing flat."

Surprised at Horn's initiative, Strong was quick to agree. "Sure, go ahead." Henry placed his full attention onto his meal. "When we grab Grant each one of us will know exactly what to do."

"Horn," Strong did not look up from his tin plate. "Take Harper with you. He'll guide you through the passage." Standing, Henry strolled over to the fire with coffee cup in hand. He stood close to Horn to mutter just loudly enough for him, "Remember, we need Jess to get us to Canada. After that, he will forfeit any claims he may have to keep on living. Keep him alive just long enough for me to get there. I want to finish the job myself." Horn untied Jess muttering words laced with sarcasm tinged with derision under his breath. "Yes, Sir, Captain Strong, Sir."

Jess, his empty stomach audibly growling in protest, peevishly inquired. "You really think you're going to take Grant?"

Strong rumbled complacently, "Aren't you feeling gut shrunk yet, Jess?" as he swallowed a tasty piece of bacon. The hooligans eagerly threw Jess on the cayuse. Securing him to the pony with the frayed rope, Horn chortled at him, "Trying to escape, were you? You'll wish you had before much longer."

Reaching for both the last plate of bacon and a new lasso, Horn's underestimate gave Jess a chance. Desperately Jess yanked at the frayed riata. The damaged rope unraveled a few more strands, and suddenly, Jess' hands were free. He leaned forward grabbing for the reins. With the reins in his hand, he kicked the spotted mustang into motion. Horn's gigantic hands caught him and jerked him from the spotted pony's back onto the ground.

"Horn," shouted Strong, "Can't you even hang on to one man? I've got a good notion not to award you any of the proceeds from Grant's ransom."

Furious at being shamed in front of the horde, Horn spun around to face Jess. Looking into Horn's hate filled face Jess didn't see the blow coming that jarred him to the bottoms of his feet. He would have fallen if Horn had not been holding him up. Rising fury took him. As Horn swung again, Jess wrenched himself away and threw a left hook. Horn swayed forwards and back before falling. Hearing a sound behind him, Jess whirled around to see Henry and Preston positioned to attack.

Two against one are never good odds. Jess fought as well as he could. Outnumbered in the no-rules, rough and tumble combat, he didn't have a chance, especially when a recovered Horn joined in. Strong smashed a straight left to Jess' jaw that staggered the ranch hand and started a slight trickle of blood from his damaged lips. Jess looped a roundhouse swing that missed. Preston's left lanced out towards his belly as fast as a striking rattler.

Jess' right uppercut rebounded Preston's head back from his neck and Strong jumped into the fracas with an uppercut that missed and hit Horn instead. Horn ricocheted onto the ground where Jess danced a fandango on his hands.

Strong charged, swinging. Jess blocked one swing and caught the second on his chin. Jess went down hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Preston scurried nearer, and Horn got to his feet. Jerking Jess upright, he scored another hit to Jess' face broadening the blood flow while Preston held Jess's arms behind his back until Jess collapsed again and did not get up. Overpowering Jess was hurriedly, if not easily, accomplished. Trussing Harper like a chicken headed for the pot, Strong himself bound Jess securely with a better rope.

Jess glared at the thugs as Tommy fastened the paint's lead to Horn's saddle. Tommy started to throw him face down over the spotted packhorse. "Stop," Jess moaned. "I'll lead you to the pass, but I can't do it like this. I'll guide much better forking a pony."

"All right, Harper. You can sit on the back of that broomtail as long as you cooperate. Try anything else funny and I believe we can get ourselves into Canada." Strong glared at the men as he resumed planning the raid to kidnap the commander in chief.

SR&R

Jess, Preston, and Horn rapidly distanced themselves from the camp. The skies overhead started to darken, and the winds began to increase. Eardrum breaking thunder rolled over the land. A nearby lightning strike affected Jess's skin so it tingled.

"Another storm coming." Preston glanced up at the precarious sky. "We should get under shelter before it gets worse."

Without warning, Horn removed his rifle from the scabbard.

"Preston, look out," Jess warned as Horn pulled the trigger.

The firearm went off, and Preston fell from the saddle. Elated, Horn smirked at the fallen man, "You ain't ever going to claim that place in Strong's new government now, Preston. It's gonna be mine." Horn alighted and casually shoved Preston's body into the bushes.

Chapter Eleven Snowy Range Pass

The bone chilling crack of a rifle carries for miles. Slim cocked his head at the sound of the shot; he placed it near Snowy Range Pass.

"I wonder if that has anything to do with Jess?" Slim urged the geldings into a run.

A black mule, cropping neon green grass, raised its head to stare at him, then reverted to grazing. A pain filled cry came from the brush on one side of the trail. Dismounting and taking his canteen with him, Slim carefully turned the injured man over. Nonchalantly Slim took Preston's weapons, placing them well out of reach before he knelt beside the wounded man, cautiously holding the canteen to his lips. Preston moved feebly as Slim helped him drink and assessed the damage. Working the grungy shirt off the injury revealed a tiny knife secreted in the frayed and bare collar.

"I remember you, Sherman." Preston frowned at Slim, "I saw you at your ranch earlier."

"What do you know about Jess." Slim spat the words out; the sizzling tone denied any lying from his captive. Cutting Preston's bloody shirt into bandages with Preston's knife took seconds.

His voice tight with pain, Preston rasped, "Sherman, Horn took Jess with him."

Slim merely nodded as he yanked the improvised bandages tighter.

The bandit broke into a shivery sweat, "I'll cut you a deal. Let me go and you might be in time to save your pal. Ride out now. You might make it to Jess before the rest of the boys get there." Grimacing in pain Preston continued, "You won't hurt me, you don't have it in you to kill in cold blood. There's not enough time to get me to the law."

Slim bound the renegade's hands and feet with a tightly knotted pigging string Slim took from Preston's saddlebag. Sherman offhandedly placed Preston's pistol and knife into his own saddlebags before catching the mule and throwing Preston onto the hardtail's back.

Tying the donkey's reins to Travellers' saddle, Slim calmly acknowledged, "Preston, I'm going after Jess, and I'm taking you with me. You better hope I get there in time."

As Slim anchored Preston to the saddle Preston whined, "Hey, Sherman, you tied the knots too tight. My hands are going numb."

Slowly, Slim pivoted to consider him. The expression on his face sent chills through Preston's mind and body. He didn't struggle when Slim gagged him.

A thunder crack reverberated overhead; lightning clouted the earth nearby. The ground under Slim's boots shook in protest.

Slim calmed the excited livestock. "Jess and Horn are in Snowy Range Pass by now." Worried, he eyed the rapidly blackening sky. "There's a cave there that might work. I'm going to leave you there, Preston, while I get Jess. You'll be under shelter, and I'll leave you a blanket."

Slim checked the ropes and his weapons before remounting. Directing the horses into the pass at a gallop, he traveled hard and fast. Preston moaned piteously with every hoof beat until he lost consciousness. 'Under normal circumstances, I'd be kinder, but circumstances aren't normal.' Slim rationalized as he lightly touched spurs to Alamo.

Slim followed the tracks of two horses, one with a barred shoe, for a few more strides before recognizing the tracks of the camels. 'They're ahead of Horn and Jess. Just what I need.' Slim leaned closer to Alamo's neck and raced onward.

The cannonade played the earth like a drum as lightning bolts ignited the inundated sky; the rainstorm performed a war dance as Slim fought the weather and the panicked animals in his quest for Jess.

SR&R

Horn gawked at the fallen trees with muddy roots blocking the way. Irritably studying the problem, the jailbait checked the pinto's lead still fastened to his saddle. Horn then put a noose over Jess's head and tightened it. "Harper, you try taking off, and you'll hang yourself," Horn gruffly warned his prisoner. "Once you're on the ground, move the trees." Horn cut the rope holding Jess on the mustang. Jess hit the ground hard, discovering that the loop around his neck not only obstructed his breathing but hindered his movements as well. He slowly cleared the deadfall striving all the while to find a chink in Horn's supervision. If he could break free, a cave not too far away might provide a hiding place until he could think of something else to do. The crashing thunder and cloud- to- ground lightning bolts gave him an idea. It was risky but better than nothing.

The dappled brown and Horn's gray twisted their heads towards the far end of the gorge as they stamped their hoofs and rolled their eyes. Another bolt of lightning shattered a bur oak tree standing alone near the crest, causing men and beasts to jump.

"It's gonna be a bad one, Horn," warned Jess, his voice husky from harsh treatment. "Look at the horses. Something's scaring them. We need to get out of here, now. Slim told me the pass is a direct flash flood drain. All the rain from the last few days has to go somewhere. I don't want to be anywhere close to here when it arrives."

Taking his eyes off Jess for one moment to inspect the equines, Horn gave Jess his chance. Abruptly charging forward, Harper knocked Horn off his feet and tore the rope from his hands. Scrambling to his feet, Horn tackled Jess. For a moment, both men rolled on the ground, hitting and scratching, determined to win the fight.

A hissing noise accompanied by the strong scent of sulfur and brimstone came from out of nowhere. Astonished, both men froze in place watching a ball of flaming red light float down the valley before vanishing with a deafening explosion. Temporarily blinded, Jess staggered to one side.

Leaping forward, Horn caught the reins of the startled mounts, vaulted astride and bolted, knocking Jess down. 'That'll fix Harper. Death by drowning or frying. Either way, he's dead.' Sprinting like scared rabbits, the animals and Horn were soon out of sight leaving Jess stranded.

Grim-faced, Jess watched Horn's flight. Snowy Range Pass never flooded and the second Horn figured that out he'd be back. Gamely Jess started hunting for the inconspicuous subterranean shelter. He knew it was barely above the floor of the pass. The sharp rocks cut into the tender soles of his feet and reached up to grab his ankles. Jess lost his balance and fell onto his knees twisting the right one painfully. The furrow the rope had engraved into his neck burned like fire as sweat poured into the open wound. Jess reached the hillside, before deciding the rise was unclimbable in his condition.

Getting enough air into his lungs through his nose was impossible as his face was swollen almost beyond recognition. Gasping for air and panting heavily, Jess forced his injured body forward, along the base of the hill. If he didn't make it into shelter before Horn came back, Jess knew he would die right where he was. Slim wouldn't know where to find his body, take him home and plant him six feet under.

Hustling rapidly as he could over sharp rocks with bare feet, Jess located the chamber entrance. He began to move toward it, supporting himself with one hand against the rocky wall. Shaking with the effort, every muscle starting to scream, Jess finally crawled into the musty darkness of his sanctuary.

Hearing the infuriated Horn returning, he hid behind a pile of rocks just inside the entrance. It took Horn several minutes to find the crypt and block the entry eliminating any chance of escape. Tensing, Jess planned for the inevitable confrontation.

Bantering mockery thickened Horn's voice. "Harper, between you and me, you're more trouble than you're worth," Horn entered calling, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, and maybe I'll let you live."

Scrutinizing the hidey holes offered by the indentations of the walls and rock formations, Horn pitilessly stalked a helpless Jess. "There you are, Jess." Horn teased, "With my little eye, I spy you, and now, I'm gonna take your life.''

Bellowing explosions of thunder from the warring sky rolled bloodcurdlingly close to them and hid the sound of boot steps.

"Howdy, Horn," Slim stood outlined by lightning in the opening behind Horn. It was not the words that made Horn spin around but the way they were spoken: emotionless, measured and downright challenging. At the sight of Slim, Horn's face transformed; arrogance evaporated, and a rising fear took its place.

Horn paused for a split second and then lunged for Jess grabbing him by the shoulder, swinging him around him so Jess faced Slim, his body a shield for Horn.

"Come any closer, Sherman and I'll shoot him right in front of you," Horn, sweating and red faced, spit the words. "Just like I killed your people years ago."

Without hesitation, Jess slammed his right elbow into the soft spot just over Horns' ribs and broke away from his captor falling out of the way behind some rock pillars.

Straightway, Horn raised his hands over his head, surrendering without a fight.

Jess staggered out of the shelter of the rocks. Slim breathed a fervent prayer of thanks and relief.

"Hi, pard," Jess cheerfully called. "I sure am glad to see you. You're a sight for sore eyes."

SR&R

Laughing in sheer relief, Slim stepped into the aperture. Placing his hands on Jess' shoulders, he drew the younger man into a momentary rough half embrace, before confiscating the rest of Horn's weapons. Jess lead Alamo, Traveller, and the mule into shelter.

Alamo's sharp whinny of fear distracted Slim for a moment. Stubbornly resisting Jess's commands, the horses struck their hooves against the hard flooring of the cavern sending flint rock shards flying. One landed close to Horn, who swiftly hid it in his pocket. Attributing the equines' timidity to the lingering smells of sulfur and brimstone, Jess more or less coaxed them inside.

Taking a lasso from his saddle, Jess uncoiled the rope testing its strength several times before turning toward Horn who shrank away from Jess only to back into Slim's Colt .44. "Horn, you don't deserve this. I really should hang you." Jess stated the bald fact, but all he did was tie Horn's hands together. Horn gave a huge sigh of relief.

Once Horn was bound, Slim and Jess took a few minutes to unsaddle the animals and make Preston as comfortable as possible before tending to their own needs. Rummaging through Slim's saddlebags produced Jess' socks, boots, and shirt. Once he was fully dressed, he sat down savoring his meal of jerky and canteen water. Chewy, salty dried venison was manna, and the tepid canteen water was the best he ever had in his life. Slim removed his own kerchief and did what he could for Jess' face.

Jess was beginning to shiver with reaction to the savagery of the past days. Slim got his matches, removed their waterproof covering, and started a tiny fire. He salvaged enough coffee to make one full pot and brewed cowboy coffee strong enough to make their hair stand up straight.

Between the lovely bouquet of the coffee, and the smoky fire, the companions' overloaded noses failed to notice when the sulfur and brimstone reek slowly started to fade, another stinky smell incorporated itself into the sulfur. The jittery cowponies and mule huddled together in a compact group facing the back of the cave.

Slim rose and removed his wet shirt. He started to hang it up to steam dry, failing to notice the paper that fell out, but Jess did. 'Must be valuable,' he reasoned picking it up, 'Better open this to dry flat.' Setting it down he recognized his face.

About to resume his place by the fire, Slim watched Jess' tattered face melt into a genesis of devastation combining misery, panic, and desolation.

Saying nothing, Slim walked around the fire very carefully sitting down next to Jess. Finally, in a broken voice, Harper started to talk. "Slim, I've done something wrong. Really terrible." He couldn't find the words and fell silent again. Placing his arm around Jess' shoulders, Slim tranquilly waited.

Across the grotto, Horn used the opportunity to slip the razor-sharp flint from his pocket and set himself to the task of cutting his bindings. As he worked, his malignant expression focused on Jess. 'Confessing your deeds will cause Sherman to abandon you,' he rationalized, 'and you'll wind up on the outlaw trail in no time. You'll die alone and be buried in some Boot Hill, and nobody will care.' The feel of several rope strands parting at once, releasing his hands pleased him.

Quaking, with his head buried in his hands, Jess revealed his deepest secret. "Remember when I told you I was captured and sent to a prisoner of war camp?"

Recalling the occasion, Slim inquired. "What does that have to do with this problem? You signed the loyalty oath and were released after the war."

Continuing hesitantly, his voice shaky, Jess announced, "I let you think that, but that isn't true. Strong, Horn and I were in the same jail cell, that's where we met. We broke out together before the war ended. We stole some thoroughbreds from a man and headed home to Texas."

"So, it's a prisoner's duty to escape, and the theft was an act of war. Failure to sign the oath is more of a problem…" Slim broke off as Jess continued, "We traveled together after that, and some more men joined up as we headed south." Jess finally looked at Slim needing to tell the worst and get it out of his way.

"Slim, we robbed a two-bit bank in Oklahoma in early July. The bank teller told us the last of the Confederate generals, Brigadier General Stand Watie, surrendered June 23rd. Strong didn't seem to care that we robbed a bank after the war ended, but I did, so I lit out. I wasn't there when the posse caught up with them and destroyed the gang. Strong blames me for that." Jess sadly examined the past. "I ain't making excuses. Robbing that bank after the war ended made me ineligible to sign the blanket loyalty oath. I reckon I'm still a traitor to the United States." Restlessly, Jess moved away, his body sagging in defeat, "I don't much care what happens to me now, but Slim, I surely am sorry I got you into this."

"Okay, we'll find a way to make it right. We'll face it together," abruptly Slim laughed, "You had me worried for a minute. I was afraid it was something we couldn't fix. I have an attorney, Saul Moore, who'll help. All we have to do is get to him and explain the situation."

Jess lifted his eyes, optimism beginning to stir again. "I'd like that, Slim. I'd like it a lot." Failing to find the words he needed, Jess' voice stumbled to a halt. Desperately needing to balance his emotions, Jess stood up, making a show of looking in Slim's saddlebags for something else to eat. "Slim," Jess spoke carefully, "you got to know…."

Preston interrupted Jess by moaning in pain and twisting in his blankets. Concerned, Jess limped over to him and knelt beside the wounded man. Slim," Jess' disbelieving voice carried well, "He's just a kid. Why was he riding with Strong?" Jess didn't see the slight movements in the darkness at the back of the alcove.

Carefully, Slim began, "Jess, we have a few more problems." Looking up from studying Preston, Jess shrugged. Slim added, "President Grant is coming."

Jess shook his in agreement, "I know." Slim's eyes widened in surprise while Jess continued, "Strong and his men intend to take him off the stage. They were making final plans when Horn drug me out of their camp." Jess smiled ruefully, "I know what you're thinking. We have to save the president."

Slim's eyes laughed at the irony of the situation. "Well, yes. It would help our case considerably if you, an unreconstituted rebel, saved the life of President Grant."

Standing, Slim wandered around the campfire to check if his shirt was drying. "Jess, did Strong say where he was going to ambush the president?" Putting his shirt on again, Slim quietly replaced the wanted poster inside his shirt.

Crouching on the filthy bedrock floor, using twigs and rocks, Jess began to set up a coarse diagram of the area. "Yes, he's going to get him when the stage is closest to the pass."

"If we go overland, Jess, I think we can get to the stage before Strong does." Slim studied the crude chart, contemplating the geography and the distance. "We'll have to go real slow with Alamo and Traveller. The rocks merge into a large patch of almost desert country, and they can't travel fast on that terrain."

Chapter Twelve Camels Again

Slim and Jess, occupied with planning, failed to notice the oddly shaped shadow on the fossil imprinted column wall. Narrowing his eyes as the silhouette approached, Horn caught his breath.

Recognizing the reeking tang from personal experience, Slim leaped to his feet barely catching the mule's tether as it broke free.

Alamo and Traveller began to yank against their restraints as an overwhelmingly horrible stench filled the room. They viciously pinned back their ears, kicking out in the direction of the intruders. Heaving free from their restricting ties, the horses dashed out of the opening, heading for the home pasture where horrible monsters didn't exist.

Vaulting to his feet, Horn wrenched the mule's lead rope from Slim's hands, swarming astride bareback as the animal took off at a dead gallop. As he escaped, his hat flew off and landed in the dust near Jess' boots. In moments, Horn had disappeared down the valley heading back toward Strong.

Tearing after the runaways, rushing by Slim, the adult camels bolted from the cave.

Shell-shocked, Jess stared after the cavalcade, "What in the name of Sam Hill was that?"

"That, Jess, is part of what I was going to tell you." Slim hesitantly launched into an explanation, only to be interrupted by a frantic bleating. Hesitantly, the forsaken calf poked its nose into the antechamber.

Looking at the trembling infant, Jess the born horseman, didn't hesitate a moment. Almost of their own inclination, his hands moved toward the frightened creature in reassurance. "That's all right. Everything's going to be okay." Jess began to make soothing sounds as the panicky juvenile regarded Jess as if the man was a lifeline. Slim urgently called to his comrade, "Jess, be careful. That's not a fuzzy, brown foal."

Then words failed him as the young'un clambered hastily to the protection of Jess' hands. The moppet's eyes pleaded with Jess to defend him. Looking at Slim, the minor camelid uttered a mournful wail, then cowered behind Jess. Kneeling to hold the infant Jess peered into its eyes as the creature blinked at him. "Slim," Jess inquired, "I ain't never seen one of these before. What is it?"

Slim glared at the sharp-toothed, gas emitting, pants-biting creature. "That's a camel." The tone of Slim's statement warned Jess to tread lightly.

Jess spotted Horn's hat lying on the floor. He picked it up and, in a fit of whimsy, placed it carefully over the calf's ears. Jess then froze as a war cry exploded out of nowhere, commencing as a moan and ending in a hooting yip that would have frightened a wolf pack, let alone a human.

As a ball of lightning pierced the sky releasing the howl of wounded air, Toot and Fatima reappeared and vocally stated their claim on the cave.

Seeing its parents, the small fry abandoned Jess. Baaing happily, it ran to stand close to them. Nuzzling their offspring, eyeing Slim and Jess suspiciously, the adults remained in the foyer, blocking the exit.

"Dad gum," Jess exclaimed in awe. "I don't believe it. Real camels." The ships of the desert must have recognized Jess's incredulity. Toot strolled over to Jess amiably laying his head on Jess's shoulder. Fatima shuffled over to him, sniffed him with her soft nose and then stood quietly as Jess patted her wooly hide.

"Look, Slim. They like me." Captivated by their gentle response, Jess barely noticed Slim's disbelieving stare. Jess overheard Slim mutter something about, "It figures." The chamai stood side by side, imperturbably, docilely watching the ranchers.

Standing together, the two men assessed the animals. Jess saw magnificent creatures from out of legend placidly chewing their cuds. Slim saw impressive vexations actively masticating their next rounds of ammunition. The juvenile, still wearing Horn's abandoned hat strolled forward to examine Preston. Regaining consciousness, Preston became aware of something sniffing him.

Chancing to look at Preston, Slim and Jess met the crook's gaze. He was mesmerized. His unshaven face was frozen in place, his eyes bugged out, and it appeared he was going to cry. Preston struggled to jump to his feet, scaring the hat wearing, big eyed, long legged creature. It wailed like a banshee. In a flash, Preston passed out again.

Looking at each other, Slim and Jess quietly shrugged, continuing to examine the situation.

His personal problem uppermost in his mind, Jess hesitantly inquired, "How are we going to get to the president? Without horses, we can't get there in time to help him."

Speculatively looking at thecamels, Slim's ability to implement a unique solution to a problem kicked in. Mentally measuring the odds against the foolhardy attempt, Slim glowered at the Camelus Dromedarius and faced Jess. Slim's exuded calm and his focused demeanor meant only one thing to Jess.

Fearing he already knew the answer, Jess hesitantly inquired, "You ain't gonna try and ride these critters are you?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, Slim replied, "Why not? We can rig bridles and saddles with the equipment we have."

Jess's doubtful'I don't think so'look at the height and shape of the humps must have gotten through to his partner because Slim added, "Maybe saddle pads. They can be ridden bareback."

Shaking his head, Jess moved to the other side of Fatima. He might not know the words for steadfast resolve, but eyeing the animals and his partner, Jess anticipated,' This might be entertaining. Be fun to see who comes out on top. I'll bet on Slim.'

Outside, the fence-lifter storm continued pouring out its sleet, lightning, and drumfire. Inside, Slim continued with his plan, "Camels can run up to 25 miles an hour for extended periods. They can race up to 40 miles an hour for short bursts. The traitors are not going to be racing their horses, and we'll be running our uh. . . uh. . .." Slim shrugged, "camels. We can head them off at the pass." Slim focused on the beasts, "The first thing we have to do is get ropes on them so we can rig a saddle pad of some sort and a bridle." The men herded Toot and Fatima into the back of the cleft.

Slim declared, "We'll have to be quick about this." Uncoiling his lariat Slim moved confidently toward the animals. "I don't think we'll get a second chance, but they've been ridden before, so this shouldn't be hard."

"Just how fast do you believe we'll have to be? I don't think they're going any place." Jess watched as the seven-foot-tall animals strategically placed themselves at the hardest place to reach in their self-created fortress. Assertively, Jess strolled towards the beasts. The adults suddenly charged him, Toot throwing in a surprise kick that nailed him in the hip.

Preoccupied with trying to lasso Fatima, Slim was rather short in the sympathy department, "Sorry Jess, I forgot to tell you they can kick with all four feet in all four directions." Throwing his loop, he failed to notice his tan Stetson sashaying from his head to the top of a multicolored, mossy rock.

In Jess's opinion, Slim didn't sound nearly apologetic enough. "Is there anything else I might need to know?" Jess irritably inquired rubbing his sore rump.

"Yeah, they all spit." Throwing the loop as high as he could, Slim just barely missed Fatima's head.

Toot flattened his ears, began to move his jaws back and forth, squinted at Jess and charged, attempting to knock him down and stomp on him. Straightaway losing any perceived sympathy he had for the poor unappreciated creatures, Jess fervently joined in capturing them. His loop sailed true catching Toot unawares. Jess tied him to a nearby rock, before turning to help Slim.

Fatima employed another tactic. She collapsed onto her stomach, tucking all four legs under her. Rapidly slipping the rope over her head and down her neck, Slim handed the line to Jess. "Here, I'll put a blanket and bridle on her."

Looking around to locate the other animals, Jess saw Toot standing next to the rock he was tied to and the youngster peacefully chewing Slim's favorite hat.

The turbulent storm, its fury spent, suddenly ended, leaving puddles, soaked earth and uprooted trees behind. The men, attempting to harness the camels, didn't notice.

Putting a blanket on Fatima was relatively easy. She only tried to bite two or three times. Fastening the pad was, in Jess's opinion, going to be a problem. Fatima wouldn't stand up. Nurturing a grievance at the unfairness of Slim's and Jess' deliberate indifference to her rights and comfort, she proceeded to pout.

Slim's attempt to put a halter on her caused her to mutter in protest. The harder Slim tried to harness her, the louder she complained. Finally, Jess stepped forward. "Slim, let me try something," Jess casually suggested, "It might work, and won't make things worse."

"Sure, go ahead." Exhausted, Slim handed Jess the makeshift head collar and tenderly sat down on a rock. The calf, still happily turning Slim's Stetson into a sloppy mess, made sure to stay where he couldn't be seen.

Jess began to talk to Fatima. "Now, please, my lady," he crooned, carefully approaching her, "Be reasonable." Jess slipped the hackamore over her head as Fatima gave another growl of general aversion. "Slim and I have to ride you to save the president. Please stand up and let us get you dressed to go."

Fatima chewed her cud for a minute longer, then, to Slim's astonishment, rose to her feet. Fatima, being cooperative, helped Toot settle down and soon both adults were wearing makeshift saddle pads and halters.

Tensions between the two men were taut as they made final preparations for the ride of a lifetime. "We can't put Preston on a travois, Slim," Jess realistically stated the obvious truth. "If they can run as fast as you say, he'll fall off."

Slim ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I know, Jess. One of us will have to carry him and the other the pint-sized duplicate." Looking around the area, Slim asked, "Where's the piddling brat?"

"The baby must be teething. He chewed your hat." Jess continued stroking Fatima's nose. "I don't think you want it back." Sadly, looking at the shredded remains of his headgear, Slim agreed.

With a world-weary sigh, both Toot and Fatima collapsed onto the stone floor where they commenced to bemoan their fate.

Slim held Toot's lead while Jess tied Preston into position just in front of the hump. In Slim's nightmares, he would relive cornering the spitting image of Toot, tying its feet together and placing it on Fatima's back. The "sweetie pie" cried, kicked, spit and bit at him but never at Jess.

"Okay, Jess?" quizzed Slim as, mistrusting the jury-rigged harnesses, he ran a final check making sure everything was as tight as it could be. Carefully, Slim tied his rifle to the saddle pad.

"As good as I'll ever be, I guess." Stoically if not reconciled, Jess rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before continuing to massage Fatima. "Slim? A few questions? How do we make them get up, stop, start and how do we get on their backs?"

More loudly and succinctly than words, Slim's expression said it all. "Jess, the army manual told the riders to mount from the camel's side while it's lying down. The commands are "Koosh' 'to lie down and get up, "Gee" to go right, "Haw'' to go left, and "Hutt'' to go forward. I don't remember the command to stop. I guess we just say "whoa.'' Slim ended with a rueful laugh.

Alarm, suspicion, and bewilderment filtered rapidly across Jess's face. "I see." Shaking his head uncertainly, Jess suddenly grinned as his daredevil spirit rose to the occasion, "Well, Slim, it's been good to know you, Pard."

"Same here, Jess. You hold the rope, and I'll jump on. Once I'm seated, you get on the other one." Slim endeavored to hand Jess the leash.

Jess snapped, "Me hold the camel! You hold the camel!" Walking towards the rear of the area, he dodged a bite from Toot and a spitball from Fatima. Jess eyeballed the distance from the back of the cave and the height of Toot's back, got a running start and leapfrogged onto the surprised animal's back.

Toot rose, rear end first, nearly throwing Preston and Jess over his neck. The front end came up next, hitting Preston in the face. The worst was the instantaneous seasick feeling caused by the camel's waddling toward the foyer. Determined, Jess used the reins to turn Toots' head to the right yelling "Gee." To everyone's surprise, Toot actually went in the desired direction and stopped beside Fatima.

Slim, dodging from a frustrated Fatima, scrambled astride her hump, even his long legs having difficulty settling into position behind the calf. In protest, Fatima lurched to her feet. Slim tried to find a more comfortable position on her back; There wasn't one. The imp bawled and tried to bite while at the same time emitting a burst of gas.

The two men exchanged a long look and together shouted "Hutt." Keening the unfairness of the world, the camels swayed and shuffled their way out into the light of day.

Chapter Thirteen The Ride of a Lifetime

The heat rose as the rain let up. Slim and Jess rode steadily for some time when a bird calling from a tree somehow offended Fatima. Her resentment showed itself in an unwillingness to run forward. Slowing to a flat-footed amble, she snorted and tossed up her muzzle in the hope of catching some portion of Slim's anatomy. Her infant's position thwarted her attempts to bite.

The sun came out and climbed higher into the sky. The men were barely able to retain their seats on the makeshift saddle pads. Jess had never been on a storm-tossed ship, but he believed he knew the sensation. His ship of the desert was darting forward at unknown speed. He made out Slim's voice shouting something, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Toot came to an abrupt stop, throwing Jess over Preston and through the air. The idea flashed into Jess' mind, 'this could be the end of everything.' He was grateful for the thought of death. He would be freed from the agonies of riding this crow bait that was wrapping his backbone around his ears.

Toot gleefully watched Jess struggle to his knees. Jess bribed him with a tasty looking bush to get him to lie down again. Reluctantly, but having no other recourse, Jess struggled astride the hump-backed creature. However, the rascals refused to return to their steady pace and chose to protest their treatment by continuously screaming.

Frustrated Slim barked, "I wish we had a camel singer. The manual said the animals run faster if they like the music. Their feet begin to move in perfect rhythm, and they keep it up as long as the singer will serenade them."

Jess immediately replied. "You have a great singing voice. Maybe that would help."

Slim's melodious voice was a deep, clear tenor. The ancient Irish ballad was beautiful. Jess knew it was an excellent performance.

The varmints disagreed with him at once. Toot stopped in his tracks, planted his feet like tree trunks and from his posture stated, "I will not take another step as long as we are subjected to your rude, unseemly display of vocalizations."

Fatima ended Slims singing by uttering a note of pure derision.

Slim sighed. "You see, Jess, there are some singers and songs they just don't like. The stupid brutes are showing their bad taste." He was silent for a moment. Then, his tone of voice, making it clear the idea had just occurred to him, said, "Jess you try. They like you. You might get them moving again."

"I'm not a singer." Jess protested. Still, he raised his voice and sang the introductory verse of the first song he remembered.

The riders were equally shocked by the results. Their camels fell into a steady gait. The mite stopped squalling. As one, all three beasties raised their heads to hum along with Jess.

"They like it," Slim shouted. Toot and Fatima made it clear they wanted nothing else. As long as Jess sang to them about his misadventures on "The Old Chisholm Trail" they continued swinging forward with a long, smooth gait that consumed the miles. Jess punished the air until his throat was sore and his voice was nearly gone. Every time he stopped singing, the camels stopped also refusing to consider moving again, until Jess whispered out the lyrics.

They caught their first sight of the stage as a rapidly moving barely visible speck surrounded by outriders. "That has to be it." Wearily Jess urged Toot forward. "I'll be glad to get off these critters."

"Jess, look down and towards the right," Slim commanded. "Do you see another group of men riding at an angle to reach the stage?"

"Yeah. It's probably Strong." Drained by the accumulated events, Slim and Jess called on their last resources of strength and urged Fatima and Toot forward. They rode hell-bent for leather knowing Strong was closer to the stage and would get there before them. All they could do was try.

SR&R

The unfortunate mule stumbled wearily forward; Horn had nearly run the creature to death in his attempt to reach Strong. "Strong," Horn hollered as soon as he was within shouting distance.

"Horn, what are you doing here?" Strong furiously demanded.

"Sherman rescued Harper, sir," grinning, Horn smirked. "I was able to run off their horses, so there's no chance they can catch up and stop us."

"Good. Take one of the remuda. We'll continue with our plan to capture the president." Strong inwardly mused, 'I'll deal with you later, Horn. I must admit Sherman is more of a problem than I expected.'

Chapter Fourteen President Grant

Riding in the top-of-the-line coach, surrounded by outriders, the slim figured, slightly overweight, stooped man with chestnut hair and beard did not look very presidential.

"So, tell me again, Saul." President Grant's eyes betrayed his concern. "Wasn't Harper covered by the Amnesty Act of 1872? As I recall that act removed voting restrictions and office holding discriminations against most of the men who fought for the South, except for some military leaders of the Confederacy."

"Yes, sir, but Harper wasn't covered by that act. He was part of a bank robbery in early July. From the teller's report, it appears Strong and his men weren't aware the war was over. As far as I can tell Jess left Strong's group shortly afterward." Fueled more by his fears of what Slim would do and say if he failed, Saul's persuasive listing of the facts he had gained from earlier reports continued.

Grant listened intently to Saul Moore's excellent summary of the reasons to pardon Jess Harper. The president's face gave no indication of what he was thinking. However, his eyes revealed to Saul that he was losing the argument.

SR&R

Mose, long employed by the stage line, knew the trail like the back of his hand. It was natural he would be selected to drive the president's stage. Concern for the president's safety had Mose watching the road ahead like a hawk. The outriders, members of the president's bodyguard, scanned ahead and behind.

"Were we supposed to be met by more soldiers? I don't remember that being in the orders." Mose asked Captain Jeff Miles who was seated beside him on the box. Captain Miles, a crack shot and a member of the president's bodyguard, leaned forward to examine the sharply dressed soldiers in crisp Union blue who blocked the trail.

The captain in charge of the new patrol raised his hand to signal the stage to stop.

"Captain Strong, sir." The new officer came forward. "Let me present my credentials. The bridge washed out during the recent rain, and we were sent to escort you to Laramie by a different route."

Surrounding the stage, Strong's men suddenly drew weapons from their holsters.

Strong ordered, "Lay down your arms." More men came up behind him to form a circle about the President's men. Those soldiers who tried to fight were forthwith dispatched. Strong's men disarmed the remaining men of the president's guard.

Smiling grimly, Strong demanded, "Pretender President, Useless Stupid Grant, get out here."

"No." Snapped Captain Miles. He grabbed the Winchester from its rack under the seat. "Run for it," he bellowed.

Mose whipped up the team. "Grab on to something," he hollered at the man beside him. "And hope the rig won't tip over." Rushing forward, the team plowed into the felons temporarily scattering them. Rapidly regrouping, the bandits raced after the fleeing coach.

Intent on managing the team, Mose couldn't help the guard. Captain Miles fired at the pursuing gangsters slowing their headlong rush. The stage tilted and lurched down the sloping back of the gully. President Grant and Saul held on for dear life.

When the loud explosion of a carbine cut loose, the top heavy vehicle was swaying badly. Mose couldn't control the team. The stage tipped precariously. Thrown from the driver's seat Mose and the guard landed hard enough to stun Mose and knock the breath out of Captain Miles.

The high-speed chase ended when the stage crashed to the ground. The wheels continuing to spin in thin air were a pathetic sight. Loose papers inside the coach blew out and carpeted the ground like an early snow.

Inside the carriage, President Grant pushed himself up from the bottom of the heap as Mr. Moore tried to regain control over his crippled leg.

"Grant, step outside." Strong demanded.

President Grant whispered to Mr. Moore before he dragged himself from the wrecked vehicle. "Stay where you are. Pretend to be dead and get help as soon as you can."

Whipping his glance towards Strong, Grant emphatically inquired, "What makes you think you're going to get away with this?"

One of Strong's men handed the reins of a buckskin to the president.

"We can do whatever we want, Grant." Strong declared point-blank.

Grant was a stubborn man but not a foolish one. As slowly as possible he swung abroad the restive yellow horse with a black mane and tail. With a tyrant's swagger, Strong signaled to his collection of riffraff. "Gentlemen, some of you check the stage. Form a firing squad and attend to the guards and anyone else you find."

Eagerly, several murderers swung from their saddles and took positions as executioners.

Moments later, Saul was yanked from the stage and forced to join Grant's bodyguard being lined up in front of the jubilant outlaws.

"Horn, tie Useless Stupid's hands to the saddle horn. We wouldn't want him to fall off, would we?" Strong proudly watched as all components of his plan continued on schedule.

President Grant, furious, sought desperately for a way to foil the scheme. Yanking on a rope to test its strength, Horn stomped toward Grant, finally lashing the president's hands to the saddle horn.

Preparing to die, the soldiers snapped to attention. Mose, standing with the troopers, glared at the butchers. Strong called out, "Ready, aim…" Strong's skunks never got the chance to fire their weapons.

The arrival of screaming, smelly, terrifying monsters upset the horses. In comparison to the pandemonium created by the arrival of Fatima, Toot, Slim and Jess, Bedlam was well organized.

Most of the lawbreakers who remained astride were forcefully separated from their sun fishing, air twisting broncs. The firing squad made a great effort to run for cover. The rogues who ate dust ran every which direction, being knocked down, trampled and stomped in the dirt by the stampeding riderless horses. The few reprobates who managed to remain upright dodged left and right sprinting for their lives while Fatima and Toot chased after the assassins. It was a fiasco.

In the confusion, the troopers grabbed their weapons and took pot shots at any two-legged swine who dared move. Well trained sharpshooters, the cavalrymen enjoyed taking their revenge on the outlaws.

Mose and Saul picked up discarded carbines and proceeded to put a few bullets where they would count all the while, cheering, "That's it. Get 'em, boys. Get'em."

Realizing his plans had failed, Strong grasped the reins of the president's horse and took off on horseback, followed by Horn.

Toot gleefully pursued them disregarding Jess's efforts to stop him.

Slim managed to bring Fatima to a stop in front of the astounded presidential party. He shouted down from his swaying, precarious perch, "Saul, are you all right?"

"Just fine, son," an elated Saul shouted back.

"Here. Watch this." Slim lifted the calf from Fatima's back placing it in a dumbfounded Saul's care and gave Fatima her head. She happily dashed after her mate, leaving the scene of utter chaos. Moore and Mose watched the retreating figure on camelback as he disappeared from sight. Finally, Mose snorted, "I don't know about you, but I wanna know. I'll bet it's something of a story."

Saul laughed out loud, "I won't take that bet. I would lose."

Captain Miles, recovered enough to take command, decreed, "Sergeant Cannon, capture, take their weapons, and tie the good-for-nothings." Then he commandeered a dun mare, picked up a rifle, assembled a platoon and tore off after the President.

Unable to control Toot, Jess realized he was riding a runaway camel. His already risky method of travel rapidly became worse. Hooting merrily at the terrified, stampeding horses, Toot zipped along until he was racing beside Horn's gelding.

Horn recognized his predicament and whipped his chestnut onward. Jess moved his weight until he was barely balanced on Toot's hump and jumped from the camel's back onto Horn. Landing on Horn sent both of them somersaulting to the ground. They slid a few inches before Jess got to his feet, with his revolver in hand. Horn, glaring his defiance, rose with his hands in the air. Toot, suddenly without a rider, decided to quit running and saunter back to Jess.

Strong, slowed down by leading Grant's buckskin, released the animal. Finding himself free, and having no desire to run father, the ex-cavalry mount stopped, lowered his head and began to nibble the long mountain grass.

Strong callously lashed his racing horse, forcing it to run faster. "I'm going to get away." Strong muttered to himself. "I must get away. I can't be stopped."

Slim's lasso grabbed him out of the saddle, dragging him backward off the running horse. Strong grabbed for his iron as he fell, only to lose it when he hit the stony ground. Strong slowly got to his feet, "Sherman," he hissed. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Maybe so, but you didn't. I could have eliminated you the day I captured you, but I didn't. I reckon we're even." Slim equably agreed, knowing he spoke the truth.

Glaring around, Strong's eyes rested on Jess as he escorted the vanquished Horn towards them. "Don't bet on it Sherman. I can still hurt you." Strong spat out the promise. "I can and will take Harper down with me. Whatever happens to me will happen to him. I know I'm going to hang for what I tried to do. Jess can dangle right beside me." Strong made his unscrupulous exchange clear when he spoke again, "Or, Sherman, you can let me go right now. I'll be on my way, and you can keep Harper."

"Strong, that's a gamble I'll take." Jess broke into the conversation. "I've learned a man can't run forever, and he's gotta face what he deserves." Jess stood proudly, "I'll take my chances."

"Equal justice for all under the law. It's something we have to believe in." Slim pointed back toward the stage. "Now march."

SR&R

Fatima stood looking curiously at the buckskin. The warhorse wasn't afraid of anything. President Grant, a highly skilled equestrian, sat easily in the saddle watching and listening to the conversation between Slim, Jess and Strong. Harper covered the outlaws as Slim nearly fell off Fatima and limped to Grant's side. "Are you okay, Mr. President?" Untying Presidents Grant's hands took a minute which President Grant used to study the disheveled men.

"I'm uninjured, young man. I haven't had this much excitement in a long time. I think we better go back and check on my boys now." President Grant, in control of the situation, rode forward a few feet before stopping to stare at Slim. "Camels!" he shook his head in wonder. "I believe I'm looking forward to this story." Slim and Jess exchanged a strained smile knowing is was likely to be an unpleasant experience.

Captain Miles joined them. He took in the situation with a single glance and ordered his men into formation. Fortunately, his horses were too tired to object to the smelly presence of the Camelus Dromedarius.

SR&R

Surrounded by the president's guard, the beaten captives either gazed dejectedly at the ground or flabbergasted at the Arabian steeds. When finally released from his unnerving, embarrassing position Preston appealed to his guard. "Do you think Sherman would come over and talk to me for a minute?"

The private moved by pity, walked over to the cluster of men surrounding President Grant, standing stiffly at attention until he was acknowledged.

"Mr. President, the prisoner asked if he could talk to Mr. Sherman. Is that okay?" the trooper inquired.

Grant looked at Slim, "It's up to you, Mr. Sherman. What do you want to do?"

Surprised by the request Slim moved over to the injured youngster and knelt beside him.

"So you did it, Sherman." Preston panted the words drawing in short gulps of air. "Saved Grant and Harper, destroyed us. I just wanted you to know that I ain't never seen anything like you. What are you gonna do with me now?"

Kneeling beside the wounded man, Slim murmured, "Preston, I've already done it. You're in the hands of the army."

Preston's dimming eyes lit up with joy. "Oh, good. The army might kill me, but they won't make me get on those creatures again." He reached out a shaking hand, "Sherman, why did you do it?"

"Jess is my pard, and friends take care of friends. It's as simple as that." A terrible calmness followed Slims dignified reply.

"I wish I'd had a friend. Got out on my own when I was just a kid. Never had a home." Preston barely whispered the words.

Slim suddenly realized Jess could so easily have been Preston. Raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the camp, Slim called, "Saul, please come over here." Saul, curious, limped to Slim and stood watching the two men.

"Saul," Slim opened the conversation, "I think Preston needs to talk to you."

Mr. Moore's probing gaze rested on Preston. "All right, my boy. You may begin."

"Look, I know I've been out of line, but…." Preston started his speech only to be interrupted by Slim.

"Out of line." Slim snapped out. "Preston, you have been more than out of line. You're a rotten little horse thief. You probably have a wanted poster out on you. You could have stopped your thieving ways long before it reached this point, but you didn't. Why not?" Slim's anger threatened to explode.

Saul wondered, 'Where is Slim going with this?'

Preston sputtered "I don't know."

Slim was controlled outrage, "Don't give me that. You knew."

Preston gulped out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could do it over again. I wouldn't ever rob anybody."

Slim gave Saul a wink and a nod of his head as he walked to Preston's other side. The boy's eyes fearfully following him.

The aged man understood. Slim was asking him to help Preston, just not in words. In his thick, gravelly voice Saul enquired," You do know the penalty for horse thievery don't you?"

"Hanging by the neck until dead." Preston was losing the battle to keep his composure.

Slim glared at the scared lad. "That's only vigilante law." Looking at Saul, Slim asked, "It's prison time, isn't it?"

"I'm not familiar with that section of Wyoming law, Slim. I'll have to look it up." Saul's eyes began to twinkle at the prospect of helping a young person straighten out his life.

"What about it, Preston? Do you want Saul to help you? If you do, I'll leave the two of you to talk. If you take him up on the offer, make sure you honor your agreement, or I'll come back and finish what I started." Slim's stern, almost superhuman blue eyes commanded obedience.

"Yes, Sir. I'll do anything. Please." Leaving Saul and Preston to an illuminating conversation, Slim hurried toward the aroma of great, fantastic coffee.

SR&R

Some of the guards had managed to capture and hitch enough horses to the stage to pull it into an upright position again. Others built a fire and made sufficient coffee for a regiment.

Fatima and Toot, fettered to the stage, contemplated the rope binding them. The bambino wandered over to stand next to Jess while showing Slim its pearly white teeth. Slim felt like showing his back.

When everyone had a cup of coffee in their hands, the President and Saul settled down beside Slim and Jess. "All right, gentlemen, I want a debriefing." President Grant's voice held the commanding ring of a general. Absent-mindedly Grant patted the minute ungulate.

Covertly, President Grant studied Slim and Jess as they sipped the steaming liquid. The dancing flames transformed Slims' eyes into brilliant sapphire and gentled Jess' rough, craggy features. President Grant wondered, 'What kind of men are these? Sherman saved me at great danger to himself. Harper believes in law and order enough to risk everything for a principle. '

"Jess, why don't you start?" Slim shifted his position to find a softer seat. There wasn't one.

"Slim, forgive me." Saul inquired, "I can't help but notice. Why are you having trouble sitting?"

Slim glared at the spitting image of its parents as Jess began the epic tale. Slim took over at the point when he rescued Jess in the cave. Jess completed the saga. The president and Saul fought to keep straight faces as Jess finished the narrative.

"So you see, Mr. President." Saul interjected, "Mr. Harper has kept out of major trouble since the war ended. He's making a real life. Look at everything he endured to rescue you. He's a good man; isn't there something you can do?"

Strong, listening to the recital, hollered, "We robbed that bank after the war ended. Jess is guilty. He shouldn't receive any special treatment."

Slowly the president shook his head, "Everything you say is true." Jess bowed his head sadly, accepting the decision.

Strong grinned victoriously at Slim. "I win. You lose." His sinful triumph over everything Slim represented was expressed in his eyes.

Slim, placing his coffee cup on the ground, finally spoke, "Mr. President, sir. I remember Article Two, Section Two of the Constitution gives the president broad and reviewable power to grant reprieves and pardons for all offenses against the United States. You've listened to the reasons why Jess should be granted amnesty. There's another reason to deliver a release. Perhaps the greatest reason of all. "

Mystified, everyone watched Slim.

"Greatest reason of all?" Grant was confused. "What reason is that?"

"Compassion." Slim's simple, softly spoken one-word answer echoed in their hearts.

Mr. Moore's pride in Slim glowed in his eyes. "I taught you well, Slim. I really did."

President Grant looked into cornflower blue eyes that reflected the soul of the man before him. He saw the undefinable quality within Slim that made lesser men straighten out and behave themselves. Grant beamed his approved, "Mr. Sherman, you're right."

Strong leaped to his feet, shouting "NO. NO." A trooper pushed Strong down again. "Strong," President Grant spoke sternly, "One more word from you and I'll have you gagged."

Grant called to the camp at large, "Does anyone have a piece of paper? All of mine blew away when the coach overturned."

Reaching into his shirt, Slim removed the crumpled wanted poster, "We have this, Sir."

With that, Grant extracted his new-fangled dip pin, a gift from Richard Esterbrook. Saul's Gladstone Bag held a bottle of ink which survived the crash. "Turn around, Mr. Harper." Using Jess's broad back as a desk, President Grant wrote a pardon and signed it. Handing it to Saul, he said, "Saul, you had better sign this also. That should make it doubly legal."

"Well, Mr. Harper," The president inquired, "Now that you have your freedom, what are you going to do next?"

Staring at the priceless piece of paper which gave him full freedom, Jess stammered, "Well, sir, there's a pocket-sized ranch not too far from here. It ain't much of a place now, but it's gonna be, and the boss..." Jess looked at Slim.

Slim was standing with his back to Jess, Saul and President Grant watching the captured booty. He spotted all of his new breeding stock in the remuda of captured animals. He stood, his eyes on his horses, heart and soul paying attention to President Grant and Jess.

"Well, sir. Slim is a man to ride the river with. Mr. President, I'm going home." Jess' words held the intensity given to a sacred vow.

Studying the expression on Jess's face, realizing that he was trespassing on holy ground, the president sharply looked away.

His gaze rested on the camels. "I have never ridden a camel," he muttered under his breath. Louder, he inquired, "What are you going to do with them?"

Slim glanced over his shoulder. "Mr. President, we're going to leave them right here. There's a box canyon with plenty of good grazing, water, and shelter about a mile from here. We can fence it in and keep them there for a few days. The Cattlemen's Association offered a reward, so did the people they escaped from which Jess and I will collect. The circus will be in Laramie in a few days. We'll return the camels to their owners at that time."

"Mr. President, I see some of my stock in the remuda." Slim continued to watch the milling horses.

The president nodded his head. "Take all of your horses plus two more. The buckskin isn't afraid of them. I bet you can find one more that isn't afraid either. I believe you really don't want to ride the camels again. However, I would like a short ride before you leave."

"Slim," Jess began tentatively "About the little bitty one? Can't we just…"

Slim dropped his hands down to the gun belt which cinched his narrow waist. "No."

Jess knew the tone of voice. If he wanted to stay out of trouble, he wouldn't ask again. The president choked back a laugh.

Fatima was untied and led to the President. With the help of several men, President Grant was boosted onto her back, as Fatima refused to lie down again. Jess had the honor of leading her because she refused to move for anybody but him. The armed escort formed a guard with all rifles at the ready. President Grant enjoyed the ride but loved getting off. He fully sympathized with Slim and Jess.

Horn and Strong were tightly bound and placed under heavy guard. Under Captain Miles' direction, some of the troopers began to march the prisoners towards the nearest jail.

Slim and Mr. Moore found themselves alone for a moment.

"Slim, I was proud of you today." Saul's husky voice was pitched so low Slim had difficulty hearing. Slim bowed his head to study his mentor.

"Saul, you believed in justice under the law for everyone and taught me to believe in it also. I learned the principle from the very best." Slim's courageous smile embraced Moore, "I want you to make sure Strong and Horn get a fair hearing. That's right and proper."

"You're sure?" Saul's hesitant inquiry was hopeful. At Slim's nod, Saul stood taller. "I actually did teach you well, son. I really did." Saul limped over to where President Grant had dismounted to ask for and receive permission to accompany Strong and Horn.

"Gentlemen," President Grant addressed Slim and Jess as he sauntered towards them. "It's been an experience I won't soon forget. I need to continue to Yellowstone. I'll be sure to stop at your relay station on the way back." Grant shook hands with Slim and Jess. "Mr. Mose, the stage driver, tells me you make 'interesting' coffee." President Grant boarded the stage, opening the creaky door.

Slim swore that squeaky door called out, "Sliiiiiimmm, greeaaassase meeeee," but no one else seemed to hear the complaint.

They watched the stage roll out with Mose driving, Captain Miles riding shotgun, while President Grant waved goodbye.

SR&R

"Slim, what did you really think when I sang to the camels?" Jess asked curiously.

As the stage disappeared around a curve, Slim stepped into the saddle. He grinned but didn't hesitate to answer, "Jess, it reminded me to oil the stage door."

08/2016

Topazelady