Prizes

by kayak Lady's Spouse

A longish tale whereby Jess makes an unexpected acquisition due to a poker tournament...and the fallout that results, a romance for Slim and a Mayoral election.

2. Chapter 2

Part 2- Diddling Around

Chapter 7

The owner of the saved livery stable also owned the 'Cheyenne Club' so the men's last night in town had been long and lively. Many ladies had clamored for their attention. In short, alcohol flowed, music played, people danced, and a good time was had by all.

The following day saw Jock and Jess homeward bound on the fire engine. "Thanks for the help with dresses," Jock said with smiling sincerity. "That other dress looked great on Rachel, and she's about the same size as Marcy. If you hadn't said something I would have bought it instead of the one we got."

Tossing his head, Jess laughed as he drove the wagon, "Don't tell anyone, but I took the trouble to get schooled on women's clothes a while back. You'd be amazed how helpful it's been over the years. First, Rachel is nowhere near the same size as Marcy. She's the same height but she is a whole lot bigger in the, uh, chest. Second, she's a really popular dance hall girl so she wears clothing emphasizing that part of her build. Lastly, she's a mulatto with a dusky complexion."

"So? What's wrong with mulattos? Alisande is a mulatto and she's as nice a girl as there is," Jock countered with mild belligerence.

Jess cocked an eyebrow at Jock's getting his back up, but who was Alisande? Then it dawned upon him, "Oh, Allie! Deacon Jones granddaughter. Yes she is, but we're not talking personalities. We're talking clothes. That brilliant green was spectacular on Rachel but it would make Marcy look about two weeks dead," Jess said shaking his head as he explained his judgment.

"Really?" Jock asked, frowning in surprise. "But it was so pretty!"

"Pretty on the shelf isn't the same as pretty on the girl. Trust me, Marcy'll like the peach dress a whole lot more," the cowpoke turned amateur fashion guru reassured Jock.

Neither Jess nor Jock were normally much interested in women's wear; the women in it yes, the wear itself not so much. Jocks' shopping excursion had a purely anaesthetic motive: the dress was purchased in an effort to reduce the future pain he expected to suffer at Marcys' hands for having hared off to Cheyenne.

Back in Laramie, Lilly Spencer stood in front of her prized full length antique mirror. It was an ancient Dalyngridge family heirloom, passed down to her through her mother. It had originated from, Aelueva, the wife of Richard Dalyngridge. Carefully maintained, the antique was far older than it appeared. Lilly stood before it, wrapped in a deep discussion of her future. "What would George Sand do?" Lilly Spencer asked, looking into the mirror at the woman there. George Sand had become her guiding star subsequent to her discarding Jesus as impractical. "George would go after what she wanted, of course!" the Woman in the Mirror lectured her.

"That hasn't worked out well so far. I'm pregnant," she countered sardonically, "and Big Richard is married."

The Mirror Woman shook her head in response, "He promised to get your oils shown through his connections, and that was the point of bedding him. So we got what you wanted. The pregnancy is just a minor complication. Your art is everything, your immortality, your life," the Mirror Woman stoutly reassured her.

Lilly nodded and smiled at the Woman in the Mirror. She was right; she always was. "Now what? I can't just abort the baby, that would be wrong," she continued with her smile turning into a frown.

The other woman grimaced, "That is a problem, and babies must be legitimate here. You don't have enough money to move to France and live like George." She paused and then announced, "You need a husband."

"The child is the mayors…" Lilly started hesitantly, frowning in concentration.

The Mirror Woman shook her head, "He won't leave his wife. That would kill him politically. Worse, as provincial as the United States is, you can't just openly become his mistress. How about Slim Sherman? He's well respected."

Slim had been her boyfriend and she had initially welcomed the relationship turning serious. Then she had become skittish and dropped him. Her growing fondness and his dependability, the last quite eerie to her experience, had been too unnerving. Lilly made a face and answered, "You always bring up Slim. Oh, he's is nice enough…."

The Mirror Woman shook her head interrupting, "He's also handsome, respected, and has his own ranch. You must be practical. Think of him as Casimir Dudevant, George's dull husband," she pressed. Then she added wistfully, "Only he's nice, smart, has big shoulders, dreamy eyes, lovely blonde hair, and a sense of humor."

Again Lilly made a face, and then she counter suggested, "What about Jess Harper? He's way more fun than Slim; handsomer and a better dancer too."

"Also an easier seduction," the Mirror Woman agreed with a nod, "but he'll wander off some day. Seduce and marry Slim; have an affair with Jess. Slim is very trusting and you'll be able to carry that off without a hitch. That is what George would do."

Lilly Spencer smiled at her co-conspirator happily, "That wouldn't be bad. Oh course, if I fail with Slim, I can still kill Betty Diddler and marry the mayor." Consulting with the understanding Woman in the Mirror always put complicated matters into perspective.

The Mirror Woman nodded approvingly, "It's always good to have a backup plan."

"There you go boy," Slim Sherman said to his tired horse as he finished currying him in his stall. It had been a busy three days, bringing a small herd down from high country near Gordon's Folly. Fortunately, that area was easy to work. Alamo munched contentedly as the rancher left his stall and headed to the ranch house.

"Welcome back Slim. Come fishing with me?" Mike cheerfully caroled in his newly cracking voice as he bounced off of the porch with his fishing gear.

Slim smiled tiredly at the boy. Some quiet time sounded good. "Give me a few minutes Mike. I've had a hankering for an apple and some cheese, all day," he answered.

"Ok, Miss Daisy made biscuits for dinner," Mike volunteered eagerly.

Slim laughed in reply, "Thanks for the heads up. Go grab my gear; I'll be back in a moment." Mike had just enough time to grab the tackle because Slim was as good as his word.

The pair trooped off to the lake to catch the evening bite. They spent a couple of pleasant hours together, while saying little. It was only with the deepening of the gloaming, as they packed and then started the walk home, that a frowning Mike asked, "Slim, you're taking Miss Marcy to the dance aren't you?"

Slim looked at the boy in surprise and answered, "Why, yes I am Mike. Why? You aren't usually curious about my time visiting with ladies."

Mike explained as they walked, " Miss Daisy wanted me to get some spices Tuesday. When I got them, Miss Marcy gave me a licorice whip and mussed my hair. She never does that. Then, out on the street, Miss Lilly asked if you were going to the dance. I told her I thought you were going with Miss Marcy and she got right grumpy."

Slim frowned into the darkening landscape, thinking, Lilly Spencer dumped me months ago and since then has been spending time with the mayor's son. What did she have cause to get grumpy about?

Mike continued. "Then today I got to school, and I heard a bunch of talk about how Miss Marcy and Miss Lilly near came to fighting after I left. I was wondering if everything is alright with them 'cause they aren't actin' like themselves and," the boy finished. He was both concerned and confused by their odd behavior.

Slim simply shook his head, and gave the boy a small shrug. "Don't worry over much Mike, women are like that sometimes. I'm sure they'll sort out whatever is between them." He didn't add, Which I think is me. He then changed the subject, commenting cheerily, "That was a beautiful red ear you caught. I bet he's three pounds."

Mike puffed up proudly, "Yeah, he hit really hard and…." and all further talk was of fish.

Back in Laramie, two women sat in the Benson front room surrounded by fabric and the tools of sewing. "Marcy, we can't finish this by Saturday," Mattie Bradford stated flatly. "Not with you working and me busy with church functions." The Baptist church was deeply involved with Arena Linkous' campaign. As usual, Mattie was heading up everything related to music and/or the church kitchen. That Marcy was a poor seamstress didn't help the sewing situation.

Uncharacteristically, Marcy was near tears from frustration and a lack of sleep. Single handedly running the store, while trying to get the dress done and performing critical household chores, resulted in an uncharacteristic outburst, "Mattie, we have to! Slim finally asked me out and I need to look my best. I really do. I'd get Maggie Muldoon to do it but she says she can't possibly get to it for a month."

The older woman went quiet, and studied Marcy with a cold look of appraisal. "Lamb, come here. I need you to look in the mirror," Mattie said gently while gesturing the younger woman over. Reluctantly, Marcy put aside the mangled fabric on her lap.

Mattie spoke, gesturing elegantly with her hands and arms, as the younger woman looked into the mirror. What Marcy got was not the gentle motherly reassurance she was expecting. "As you know, all men are subject to beauty and Slim is very much a man. He's one of the best, hereabouts." Marcy nodded as Mattie continued, "Fine clothes help, there's no denying that, but they only help. You need the basics in place or they will do you little good. There you are fortunate as you are quite pretty."

To Mattie's surprise, the normally high spirited Marcy burst into tears, "I look like a boy. I'm not like you Mattie. You're curvy, busty, and just plain beautiful. I bet men fell all over you. Me, I'm skinny, spindly, and and and flat!" The last word burst out of her in desperate self condemnation.

Mattie's eyebrows danced up her forehead and came down in a fierce scowl as the image of Lilly Spencer came to mind. Lilly was abundantly curvy, though plain of face and possessing mousy hair. Lilly and Marcy had a set to the previous day, broken up by Deacon Jones. Mattie had tried to wheedle from the Deacon the whys and wherefores, but he was as infuriatingly tight lipped as her beloved Ed could be. This was saying something as telegraph operators were professional secret keepers. The light now dawned upon the nature of that disturbance. Obviously, the pair had gotten into it over Slim: previous girl friend vs. new girl friend squabbling over property rights. Her scowl vanished into a soft, comforting, expression.

Mattie smiled and tossed her head with pride, "Why so I was, a good quarter century gone by. You should have seen me at your age. I was saucy and curvy, but you listen here. You are every bit as attractive as Lilly Spencer. She's naught but a mousy haired, moon faced, witch. Trust me, judging beauty was part of my work. Ok, she's bustier than you, and has a first rate rear end, not that most men could tell that last under the current fashions," Mattie pronounced. Then she unsheathed her cat claws, "of course Slim may well have had a better view, scarcely unique mind, than most. However, that won't matter since she unceremoniously dumped him. Proud men don't cotton to that and Slim is justifiably proud."

Marcy sat dumbstruck as Mattie's cold blooded assessment continued, "You have a lovely neck, an enviable complexion, and a truly lovely heart shaped face crowned with thick, curly, jet black hair. But look in the mirror. You're giving yourself bloodshot raccoon eyes. The dress has to wait until another time. It is costing you too much elsewhere." She paused a moment, then nodded to herself, "Here, I promise you that I'll get the church to have another dance in three months. That will give you plenty of time to get together a dress to wow Slim."

Marcy's outburst abated under Mattie's assurances, and her own natural curiosity, "What work, Mattie?" she asked. Mattie never mentioned previous work and, for as long as Marcy could remember, she had worked with her husband in the telegraph office.

A quick flash of fond old memories confronted Mattie, "Pray forget that I mentioned it and just take my word. Please don't speak of it to anyone as I dislike remembering my dreary life, before Ed," she fibbed. "Egad, woman!" she thought to herself. "Confession is good for the soul but only if you do it to God. Mere mortals aren't nearly so forgiving!"

Mattie continued while gesturing at the brutalized fabric, "For now, put this dress up and we will beat it into shape when we have the time. Say every Sunday after church. Now go and get some sleep." She then smiled and added, "Mama Mattie has spoken!" in a voice made deeper and very resonant (Mattie had a fine contralto singing voice with a very deep range). Generally this would bring a laugh. This time it did not but at least Marcy smiled and nodded her acquiescence.

Mattie left Marcy's home, walking in the cool night air. It wouldn't be long before she would want her sweater as the Wyoming evenings were turning towards their fall inclinations. As she walked, her mind went back in time to the foggy San Francisco nights of 1850 Sidney-Town (which later, after it had calmed down considerably, became infamous as the Barbary Coast). There she, wild 18 year old Matilda Lockerbie, was the undisputed Queen of the Sidney-town dance halls. As the lead dancer at the finest dancehall in Frisco, she had supervised the other dancers and enforced discipline. Her efforts resulted in tremendous profits, a genuine camaraderie amongst the ladies, zero prostitution, and the lowest turnover rate in the city.

It had been a lively three years, full of action, money, oh so attentive men, mayhem, murder, and theft as Sidney-town was not for the timid. It was there that she had met Ed. He had been one of her many dance partners and a musician at the hall. Initially, Ed had not impressed her. Near sighted and neither physically imposing nor full of witty sayings, he further earned her disapproval by frequently stepping on her feet. On the other hand, he had been an intelligent, steady, and kind man with wit that was as spare as he was. They became friends though it was a full year before she learned that he was an escaped felon from the Port Arthur Prison in Tasmania. For the last 25 years, Ed had steadfastly maintained that he had managed his escape by disguising himself in a kangaroo skin and hopping out. It was a story that Mattie manifestly disbelieved.

Still, it had been Ed who had helped her escape from the Tong. That deadly criminal organization had been irate after discovering her hobby of clandestinely spiriting off conscripted Chinese prostitutes. "What a truly hair raising, but oh so romantic, episode that escape had been. Oh the joy I've shared with that man over the years. Ed Bradford, you're neither sensible, nor practical but I wouldn't trade you for ten times your weight in gold," she thought exultantly as she swished up the street.

Jock shouted, "I'm home, Sis!" as he bounced through the front door of the Benson home. He had arrived with the sunrise and was tickled to be back. "She must be upstairs," he thought as he galloped up the hard wood stairs in his heavy leather boots.
Face still puffy from sleep, a half awake Marcy stuck her head out of her bedroom door. "Tarnation Jock! Do you think you can make some more noise? I'm sure you've roused only half of boot hill."

Jock looked at her, surprised. "Are you still abed? You're always out waking up the roosters to keep'em on schedule. Are you sick?" he asked frowning and genuinely concerned.

"No. Somebody left me a store to run and I've been trying to sew a dress for the dance. Mattie made me give up on the dress last night and I was sleeping in; trying to catch up on some rest," she gave him an exhausted and daggered look.

Jock gaped at her open mouthed. "Sis you can't sew. If you made a pair of pants they'd have three legs and none of'em would be the same length," Jock proclaimed without thinking. It was an accurate observation that fully woke Marcy up and caused storm clouds to gather over her. Fortunately for Jock he continued, "Which is why I bought you this!" he exclaimed as he handed her a neatly tied package. On the way back from Cheyenne, four times Jess had kept him from opening it, to gloat at the enclosed gift. If the Texan hadn't, the dress would have probably gotten wadded up and stuffed next to the coal oil can.

Marcy took the package, face rife with curiosity and suspicion. Anything could be in it as the only guarantee was that Jock didn't MEAN any harm. She burst the string and tore the wrapping paper. Gently she unfolded the peach dress and then looked up at her smiling elder brother in grateful surprise. "Jock! It's beautiful," she exclaimed and then grew concerned. "But will I fit in it?" She immediately disappeared back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

Jock let out a sigh of relief, unaware that he had been holding his breath. Once past the initial mad Marcy never went back to it. The trick was getting through the initial blast; like black powder she would only explode once. Jock waited to see the dress on his sister knowing that he would be recruited for hemming. Ten minutes later he was still waiting so he knocked on the door, "Sis, what's the verdict?"

"Oh, sorry Jock. I've been looking in the mirror. Just a second." Then the door opened and Jock let out a whistle.

"Excuse me miss, I was looking for my drab homebody sister. What's your name and when did you arrive in town?" he asked, looking over her and glancing around her room in mock confusion.

Marcy tossed her head playfully and let out a laugh. "Why just this minute. I'm afraid your drab sister is gone forever. Jock, this dress is beautiful! You shouldn't have spent the money, but I'm so glad that you did. It even fits. We don't have to do anything. I'd have never guessed that you could pick a dress that was both beautiful and fit." She threw her arms around her older brother in a huge hug. Jock smiled, happily wrapping his arms about her and gently rocked her from side to side. He was not about to volunteer that Jess had picked the dress.

Later that day at the Sherman ranch, Miss Daisy was in full storm. Such an event was so rare that the two men at the center of it weren't sure what to do. "Land's sake! A body goes to town, and when she gets back here heaven alone knows what mischief she will find. Have you no sense? Why couldn't you just leave it to me like you always do, Jess Harper!?" The elderly woman demanded with her hands upon her hips and wrath blazing from her eyes.

"Daisy, Mike really needed a bath and we thought we'd take care of it. That's all," Jess said meekly glancing down.

Slim raised his hand and opened his mouth, preparatory to coming to his partners' aid, but Daisy rounded upon him before he got one word out, "What do you have to say about this Slim Sherman? I know you have sense! Why don't you use it?"

"Daisy, nothing is broken and ….." the blonde rancher started, taking a half step back from the detonating housekeeper.

"And that's only by God's good grace! No thanks to the pair of you! I bet he has that arm in a sling for a week or more," she interrupted wrathfully, while wildly waving her index finger at the pair of men.

Neither man had an answer for that. It might well be true as there was no telling yet if the boy's injury was a light sprain or not.

Daisy finally broke the ensuing silence by turning to Mike and saying, "Come into the house and we'll get you into some dry clothing." The boy meekly followed the irate woman, fearing that he might be her next target.

Both men were silent until Daisy was safely behind a shut door. "That probably wasn't our best idea," Slim finally said, "though he smells a lot better than he did."

Jess snorted, then he leaned near to Slim and spoke so that there was no possible way the words could carry into the house, "Did you see his face when I rolled up with the pressure high and the water ready to go?"

Slim laughed quietly, while turning away from the house and covering his mouth with his hand, "Yes, I did. He thought he was so clever, after ducking us inside, when he climbed up that tree."

Jess chortled, "Well, that's worked for him in the past. It just became a little predictable."

Slim shook his head and moved his hand to his chin in consideration, "What happened? Things were going great. I had a nice steady cold stream of lake water on him, then boom! We hit him with enough pressure to blow him right out of the tree."

Jess scowled, "The pressure was getting a little high and when I went to bleed some off I turned the valve the wrong way. The pressure immediately jumped and it was enough to knock him out of his nest. I need to label those valves and practice with them some."

Slim nodded his agreement then the pair went back to mucking out the corral. "I'm glad Mike is alright. It gave me a turn when he fell," he eventually said.

Jess nodded ruefully, "Yeah, me too. We did get off lucky; a sprained arm is no big deal." Jess said from personal experience. Then he added, "Hopefully Miss Daisy will calm down by supper time."

"You'll have to tell me if she does," Slim grinned, fully enjoying the fact that he wasn't going to have to suffer the extended wrath of Daisy.

Jess gave his partner a wry smile, "You did pick a good evening to go court Marcy. I've a mind to make it a double date 'cept I don't currently have a girl to do it with."

Jock Benson quietly sat in the gallery of the newly finished Laramie Town Hall while the town council met. Aside from the events surrounding the election, the Council didn't have much going on. Consequently, they had been amenable to hearing Jock address them. He was to speak right after Gretta Braun presented her, largely unsigned, petition for a town ordinance banning the wearing of white shoes after the first of October.

When it was Jock's turn to speak he stood with his hands flat upon the top of the podium, "Gentlemen, a fire engine recently arrived in Laramie. It is a grand piece of equipment that I have had the privilege of operating, both in training and fighting a fire. In that fire, the engine made all of the difference between saving and losing a structure while making the combating of the blaze safer for all involved." He paused a moment to let his opening words sink in.

Jock continued, "I was also present when the fire engine was acquired by its owner; Jess Harper. Despite assertions to the contrary, it neither belongs to the mayor nor did it arrive in a thunderbolt from the hand of the almighty. Those tales originated with a man now facing the noose for murder and arson in Cheyenne. This being the case, I strongly recommend that this council purchase the engine before Mr. Harper sells it elsewhere. I know for a fact that he is considering Denver, Cheyenne, and Salt Lake City as potential markets and any of those cities could well afford to buy it. Cheyenne is particularly taken with the apparatus. Thank you." Jock sat down.

"Jock, how much does he want for it?" asked Marvin Hornbeck, noted skinflint and the owner of the local coal mine.

"Marv, he'll take as much as he can get and that's a fact. Would you do otherwise? But he won it on a bet and so has nothing tied up in it. He knows that it was initially purchased for $2200 and that he can get more for it out here.

"We could easily swing that," Gustavus Sweeney said with a nod that made his numerous chins jiggle, "but do we want to? Lets take a quick vote." When the voting was done the final tally was 5-1 in favor of purchasing the engine. Since Jess' low regard for the council was well known, they sent Jock to give him their initial invitation.

Chapter 7

Four hours after the termination of Mike's unscheduled flight, Slim exchanged waves with Jock as they passed each other on the road. "I bet he's heading to the ranch to play with the fire engine while I am inbound to town for a haircut, a haggle, and to see his sister. There's a symmetry there," he laughed to himself. Slim's 'haggle' was a visit to the bank to find out just how much he and Jess had to pay to eliminate the mortgage on the ranch; a very cheerful prospect. He chuckled to himself at the wrathful look Miss Daisy had given him when he had re-stated his intentions for the afternoon and evening. There was not the slightest doubt that Jess' dinner was going to be less pleasant than his own. On the plus side of the ledger, Mike was already getting the use of the arm back- he'd only had a funny bone injury.

Later, Slim whistled happily as he walked to the bank after his haircut. Tab Elting, the barber, was surprised as he hadn't expected to see him for another three weeks. Tab had heard that he was taking Marcy to the dance so considerable good natured chaffing had occurred during the shave, hair cut, and the first time purchase of a bottled aftershave. The sight of Lilly Spencer approaching silenced Slim's tunefulness.

"Afternoon Slim," she said greeting him with a friendly smile and a flirtatious glance.

"Howdy Lilly," Slim said cordially, tipping his hat but not slowing down. He had no desire to talk with her, as that would encourage further squabbles between her and Marcy.

Lilly moved directly into his path and stopped. Slim could plow into her, stop, or dodge around. Stifling a sigh he stopped. "I haven't seen you around much lately Slim," she said giving him the eye and pushing her abundant chest up just a nudge.

"Why Lilly, I haven't been into town much lately, with things being busy at the ranch and all," he answered cordially, and then added, trying to bring this interview to a quick close, "I just came in today for a trim and to talk to our banker. Oh, and to make sure that Marcy will still be able to make it to the dance Saturday." Slim figured that flatly telling Lilly he was taking Marcy might get her to back off. He gave silent thanks for Mike's tale of Lilly and Marcy.

"Why Slim," she said, feigning surprise with large eyes, "I had no idea. Be careful with Marcy, she'll be all over your feet. She's not near the dancer I am." Her comments were made while making certain time honored movements that flirtatiously advertised her abundant curves, and they continued with the invitation, "I was hoping that you would ask me."

To Slim's great credit, his eyebrows did not jump off his head and he kept the startle from his tone. "Sorry Lilly, just being friends and all, I've already asked Marcy." This aggressively flirtatious Lilly was new to Slim and he instinctively backpedalled away from her.

A spark of anger flashed across Lilly's eyes when she heard the words that she had previously used upon him, "Just be friends," was a relationship phrase akin to "drop dead." Then she was back to flirting. "What a shame," she said while adding with her body language, See what you will be missing out on? Then she departed saying, "I'll see you there Slim. Bye."

"Bye Lilly," the bemused rancher said, while noting that Lilly was looking for a date and that Jess had complained about no lady being available. Jess liked Lilly and loved dancing with her as she was the finest dancer hereabouts. Resuming his whistling, Slim continued on to the bank for his dicker with bank president Snead. Credit was still dried up, from the Panic of '73, so he figured that they could get a good value on early repayment (thus letting the bank loan out the money to others at the current higher interest rate). He continued on optimistically.

"Dinner is ready Jess," Mike called into the smithy where Jess was making horse shoes.

The sweaty cowboy looked up with a smile, "Thanks Mike. Is Miss Daisy still on the war path?" he asked.

Mike nodded saying, "Yep, I'm having apple pie for desert, but I don't think you are."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about arsenic in my stew," the Texan said wryly while putting down his hammer. "How is your arm doing?"

"It hurts some, and it's weak, but it's stronger than earlier and doesn't hurt as much so it's getting better," Mike replied flexing the injured arm a little and wincing.

Jess, well pleased with the arm's recovering, nodded, "Yeah, it'll be even better tomorrow. Want to go into town with me Saturday? It should be a lot of fun."

"To listen to the mayor and Miss Arena talk?" Mike asked, making a face.

"That's part of it though I was thinking you might enjoy the picnic, the exhibition of the fire engine I'm going to do, the dance, and the games," Jess continued as he banked the fire for the forge. He'd return and make a few more shoes after dinner.

"You're taking the fire engine in? What games?" Mike hurriedly asked with greatly increased interest.

Jess straightened up and stretched, "Yes, the City Council is interested in buying the fire engine and has asked me to show it off Saturday. That was why Jock was here earlier. I'm afraid I don't know the game schedule. I expect there will be apple bobbing, three legged races, and such. There's also a rumor about a baseball game. I know for a fact there will be a fishing tournament, and some competition shooting."

"You'll win the shooting," Mike said, grinning proudly.

"I'd have a very good chance with pistol. Shot gun will be up for grabs and there is a new competitor this year for rifle. She'll be tough to beat," the dark haired cowboy pronounced. "But for me it doesn't matter. I'll be showing off the engine all day so I won't be shooting," he ended, not bothered in the least. "I'm sure another shooting competition will roll around soon enough."

"She?" Mike said aghast, then continued crestfallen, "Oh, Miss Iwona. Jess it's not right for girls to be in shooting tournaments."

Jess laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, "Want me to tell Iwona you said that?" Iwona Vasa Corey and Jess Harper were close friends. Close enough for her to call him 'braciszek.' It had taken Jess six months to find out what the word had meant, Polish not being the most common tongue in Wyoming and Iwona was laughingly unwilling to explain herself. After finding out what it meant, he had confronted her about it, as a beautiful woman calling you "little brother" was never a happy thing. Her smiling answer of, "Because you are short (Iwona was a strapping woman who stood in at just under 6'1"), very dear, and somewhat immature," had left him grumpy for a week. Mort hadn't helped matters by calling him "Shorty" for as long as he was annoyed.

"Oh, that's ok Jess. I guess not," Mike said abashed.

"I guess not too," Jess said with a small laugh and a smile. "Are you joining me?"

"Sure, I'd like to go. Can I put my fishing gear on the fire engine?" Mike answered, pleased.

"Sure, but there's one catch. Well, not really a catch. Call it a warning." Jess smiled again but this time with a serious look to his eyes.

"What's that?" Mike asked with mixed curiosity and suspicion. He knew Jess to be capable of anything.

"Just that you might want to take a bath Friday night. A real bath, 'cause if you stink I'm going to stop on the way to Laramie and hose you down with the fire engine, again," he informed the boy without a smile.

Mike's face took on a belligerent look at the mention of a bath but paled at the very real threat of another fire engine shower. In the end he simply nodded.

*.*

Leaving Slim in the street, and with her head throbbing, Lilly Spencer returned to her house and exploded. "How dare Marcy Benson move in on my man!" she stormed to her empty bedroom. She conveniently overlooked the fact that she had dumped Slim months ago. "I'll show that little tramp at the dance," she announced.

Turning, she caught a glimpse of the Woman in the Mirror and stopped. The woman was angry and shook her head. "Lilly, it won't work," she advised sternly.

"Why not? I'm way more woman than that….boy," the irate artist retorted, standing proudly and showing her figure to best advantage in the mirror.

The Mirror Woman nodded but continued, "Oh there is no doubt of that and Slim is still interested in you or else he wouldn't have used the phrase "just friends" to spite you. Unfortunately, that phrase also means he is hurt and sulking." As the Woman in the Mirror went on, she became less angry but no less serious.

"So what is the problem?" Even as she asked, Lilly realized what the problem was so both women answered together. "Time," they chorused.

The Woman in the Mirror continued, "Given a month or two I'm sure you could easily win Slim back. Unfortunately, in two months the world will know you're pregnant and he'll know it isn't his. He'll drop you," she said with finality and a helpless hand gesture.

"Not Slim, not if I cry. Slim is like that," Lilly answered with a light disdain insufficient to hide her uncertainty.

The Mirror Woman gave her a sympathetic look but shook her head. "Are you really sure? You'll be betting everything on that," the woman asked with kindly finality.

"No," Lilly said in her smallest voice. "So, is it time for the backup plan?" she asked.

"Yes. Hey, being the Mayor's wife will be fun. You'll see. He'll have every reason to always help you show your work," the Mirror Woman answered, nodding with a reassuring smile.

Lilly pouted, "What about the dance?" she asked. "I still want to go to the dance but Big Richard won't. It's at the Baptist Church and he won't be welcome there until after the election."

The Mirror Woman swung her hands up and out in a "So what?" gesture, "Why girl, go then. Why not? You're not yet married to Big Richard so you're still welcome. Besides, won't it be fun to show Slim what's he's missing out on?" the Mirror Woman said with sweet malice. She was not at all opposed to petty behavior.

"Yes it will," Lilly said with an answering smile and nod. "Thanks, you always help so much. I have no idea what I would do without you." She then sighed, "You know that you're my only real friend."

"Any time, "The Mirror Woman answered. "Anytime at all, I'm always here."

Lilly considered the dance. Should she go with a date? A beautiful unattached woman going unescorted to a dance at the Baptist church wouldn't raise any eyebrows. In fact, she would be welcomed with open arms. On the other hand, a date would help keep away unwanted dance partners though it would also get in the way of spiting Slim. Perhaps she should get little Richard to take her? Rumor had it that they were courting, but what a laugh that was! He and she shared some interests, but he was far more interested in wearing women's dresses than he was in the women inside them. Yes, Dick would help her and, even better, he would cheerfully disappear on cue.

Recomposed, Lilly was off to the mayor's house. She walked across the town with a smile. She knew Laramie for a provincial dung heap but some of its people were quite nice, in their limited fashion. There was no need to hurt their feelings as they couldn't help being what they were. How she longed for the city, where an artist would be appreciated. Big Richard said he could get her shown in Cheyenne. Then Chicago would be next and that would be the real start. First Chicago, then New York, then Paris! Once seen, her paintings would be her wings to fly around the world.

Lilly half danced as she walked, her mind savoring the delights of the wider world. These flights of fancy were common to her and her half dancing, and the inevitably accompanying merry mood, were seen by others as highly attractive quirks of a beautiful and playful woman. Enroute to the mayor's home, a full dozen people (mostly young men) gave her cordial greetings and no less than three men asked her to the dance. She turned each down, mind elsewhere, though she surprised Raleigh Davis with a quick kiss when she declined his offer. The kiss left him a gratified, though confused, young man.

Mrs. Diddler answered Lilly's knock, "Oh, Miss Spencer, do come in." The words were polite but the tone would have given chill blains to Jack Frost. Betty Diddler neither liked nor approved of Lilly Spencer though she welcomed her diversion of Big Richard's disgustingly animalistic interests. Betty saw her wifely duties as complete with the birth of their son and was of no mind to repeat them. Big Richard was welcome to find 'release' elsewhere as long as he kept it private. Being a politician, that was in keeping with his own agenda. Their arrangement suited Betty admirably; it maintained her, boosted her socially, and she didn't have to perform activities that utterly revolted all proper Victorian ladies.

"Ah Lilly, welcome!" The voice of Mayor Diddler boomed, as he licked his lips with hopeful anticipation. "Come to discuss your upcoming art show? Are your pictures ready?" He intended that talk to turn into a renegotiation for his assistance. Negotiating with Lilly was always delightful.

"Hi Lil," Little Richard added.

"Hi Dickie. Hello Mr. Mayor. Yes, though I first need to talk to Dick for a few minutes. I have four dozen pictures packed and ready to ship," she answered gaily.

"Lets go outside Lil," said the mincing son, much to his father's disappointment and mother's relief. Lilly nodded her agreement and off they went. As expected, Dick was all enthusiastic cooperation. While he loved dancing, he found getting dates for dances a chore and their subsequent expectations worse. Truly, when he suggested 'just being friends,' to a woman, he really meant it.

Escort recruitment accomplished, Lilly went back into the house to speak with Richard. They soon found themselves alone and Lilly broke the news of her pregnancy to him; surprisingly, he was delighted. That was such a tremendous relief that Lilly rewarded him with enthusiastic physicality.

Only after that did they turn to practical matters. The mayor lamented that he was already married and unsure how to carry on from here. Following the ensuing discussion, Big Richard announced that the pregnancy's timing was a blessing. The election was a little over a week away, and soon after the election he would happily divorce Betty and end their sham marriage. He would then marry and maintain Lilly in Cheyenne, as he said that he expected to become the territorial governor within the next two years. When Lilly left it was with a satisfied smile.

As the door closed behind her, Big Dick stopped smiling. "I am ruined," he said to the empty room, shoulders and expression slumping. "I've got to do something fast and I'm not sure what," he mumbled to himself as he went outside to walk and think. There were some hard choices to make and little time in which to make them. While he didn't loathe his wife, she was no more than a prop in the theater of his political career. Going into his marriage he had been convinced that he was getting a passionate beauty. The illusion was brief. After Junior's birth, Betty turned out to be a frigid fraud. Now he had gotten a real-life-passionate-beauty pregnant and there was no way in the world his wife would give him a divorce. Truth to tell, he really wasn't sure he wanted Lilly anyway as she was sometimes a bit odd. He mulled things over as he walked, mechanically glad handing those he met.

Two hours of walking left him tired, sweaty, and decided upon a course of action. One or the other woman had to go. It wasn't a hard choice. Lilly, as a wife and bed partner, was very appealing and she was carrying his child. Betty meant little to him and her properly timed, terribly tragic, demise would generate a sympathy vote to assist his troubled re-election campaign.

Diddler's plan for eliminating Betty was simple enough. The townsfolk had been after him to fund cemetery improvements. Saturday's festivities would now include a cemetery fund raiser whereby local notables would be jailed on silly charges and held until their 'bail' was made, or the following morning. He would set his bail too high to assure that, come dance time, he would be the only one left in the jail. Using an extra set of keys that nobody knew he had, kept in case a minion or political ally needed to make an escape, he would let himself out. He would then eliminate Betty, fake an interrupted burglary, and sneak back into custody. It would be easy.

The first step was to stop in at Councilman Mark Truman's house and discuss the fund raising idea with him. Mark laughed saying that it was a great idea and that he would get it rolling. Together, they set Richard's bail at $100. Everybody else's bail varied from $5 to $10, except for Truman's which was set at $50 (to which he immediately donated $40- the cemetery improvements were his pet project). "I'll bring cards and my harmonica. Every jail should have a harmonica player," Mark laughed as the mayor departed.

Lilly danced home to her dark and quiet house. Four months previously, her mean-tempered, perpetually drunk, and shiftless father had passed from an epileptic seizure. His passing left the home a serenity it had never enjoyed during his life. Neither she, nor anyone else in town, had mourned overmuch at the event. Now she happily lit a lantern, slopped her hogs, fed the chickens, and made herself a simple dinner. After dinner, she brought out her beloved paints and continued her latest work which was of a tornado moving across a gloaming Wyoming countryside. She called it "Death Wind."

The easel was set up in her bedroom and she happily hummed as she worked. "He won't do it you know," the Woman in the Mirror said quietly.

"Divorce Betty? Of course not, I understand that," Lilly answered serenely as she worked on the vortex.

"Then why are you so happy?" the Mirror Woman asked, her tone indicating that she knew the answer already.

"Because it means that he wants me. I know he doesn't have the spunk to eliminate her himself, and that she won't give him a divorce. It means that if she disappears then he is mine. Now I have a reason to proceed." She smiled, adding a little lightning and a horse sailing through the air. "I need to make it a pretty horse, how about Jess Harper's Traveler? A fine idea," she said out loud.

"So, when?" the Woman in the Mirror asked with a predatory smile. "I suggest as soon as possible."

"Yes, the sooner the better because of the baby and to give Richard a chance to do that mourning thing. Saturday night during the dance, I think. The town will be busy and I can slip out without Dick knowing. He's taking me you know. Betty doesn't dance so she'll be at home."

"Where will Richard be?" the Mirror Woman asked with concern.

"I don't know. If he is not home, I'll stab Betty and set the house on fire. It'll all look like an unfortunate accident," Lilly said absently while tightly focusing upon Traveler's detailing.

"Afterwards, you can bring the bereaved family some food and comfort them in their grief. If you and Richard were to subsequently fall in love and marry, that would only be natural wouldn't it?" The Mirror Woman laughed quietly, "This is a good plan Lilly, a very good plan."

Lilly chuckled to herself, as she painted. "I think so too. Oh, drat. I'm out of red."

The Mirror Woman shook her head, "No you're not. You have a spare tube in the wardrobe," she said pointing at the piece of furniture.

Lilly slapped her hand to her forehead, "Oh, that's right. Thanks."

"Any time," the woman replied.

Slim and Gerald Snead, the bank president, reached an amicable agreement over the early repayment of the Sherman ranch mortgage. It would take almost all of the cash from the poker winnings, but they would own the ranch free and clear. It gave Slim a heady feeling.

"You drive a hard bargain Mr. Sherman," the bank president said. He then added with a formal dignity, "but you are quite correct about there being a number of investments available to this bank that would pay a significantly higher rate of return than your mortgage does. When would you like to get together and finalize this transaction?"

Slim thought for a moment, and then he spoke, "I need to talk to my partner, since he is providing most of the cash. Can you have everything together by next Friday?"

The bank president nodded with a formal, yet sincere, smile, "Mr. Sherman, if you go to dinner I can have the papers ready by the time you're finished." A twinkle came to the old man's eyes, "Of course your current circumstances would give me more time than I would usually have."

Slim gave the man a curious look, "What do you mean 'my current circumstances'?"

The man smiled knowingly with a merry glint in his old eyes, "Come, come, Mr. Sherman! You're courting Marcy Benson. How could dinner in town not include her? She would need to get ready, have dinner, you two would court, and then you would walk her home. There would be some, ahem, absolutely necessary delays along the way and…."
Slim interrupted the explanation with laughter, "Alright, alright. I get it. Is everybody in town watching us?"

The elderly financier smiled serenely and gestured expansively with his arms, "Why Mr. Sherman, there are no secrets in a small town; most especially where courting is concerned. Back to your question, I will stay a little late tonight and the papers will be ready tomorrow morning."

"Mr. Snead, there is no cause to stay late." Slim protested not liking to put the man out without a good reason.

"Mr. Sherman, for the next three nights I welcome any excuse to stay late. Since we possess the largest kitchen in town, my beloved Melissa is hosting the food preparation for the annual Ladies of Laramie preserves sale. Sir, have you ever been present in a house where 60 pints of pickled watermelon rind are being prepared? I do not recommend it. Between that smell, and the constant nattering of all of those lovely ladies, it is enough to drive a man straight out of his house and home." He then added, "Oh and I'll be here auditing the books Saturday night, during the dance, as I am tone deaf and music holds no charm."

Slim grinned, "See you Saturday, then," and the two men shook hands upon the deal.

Slim's walk to the Benson's store was brief and his stay was briefer. There was a note on the door- "Closed early on account of personal business. Open again tomorrow. Sorry, Jock and Marcy." When his knock went unanswered, the thwarted suitor walked around the store to the Benson home and knocked there. There was no response. Disappointed, he left his own note on the house door, collected Alamo, and returned to the ranch.

Two hours later Marcy came back to the store. She had been at Mattie Bradford's house practicing dances. Finding Jock's note on the door, she announced with an annoyed sigh, "Jock, one of us has to be here during business hours. Confound you." She re-opened the store, finished up the day, and went home. Jock did not reappear.

After closing out, Marcy returned home and found Slim's note on the front door. Her response to the second note was stronger, "Jock! I am going to strangle you. You should have been at the store and told him where I was." Slim's note read, "Marcy, I happened to be in town to arrange paying off the mortgage on the ranch. I thought we might go out to dinner to celebrate. I'm sorry we missed each other, but I am looking forward to Saturday. Love, Slim." Re-reading the note, Marcy noticed "Love Slim" which made her a tad mushy and put her in a mood to commute Jock's sentence. By the time Jock returned from fishing, she was over her mad but secured his agreement for him to work the last half of Saturday alone.

Chapter 8

Friday morning Lilly Spencer awoke to find that her permanent headache was accompanied by fierce cramping and nausea. The additional maladies came on with no warning and left almost as abruptly. What was left in their wake was unexpected, messy, and filled the woman with mixed emotions; a heavy and unexpected menstruation. Lilly was no longer pregnant. She spent the day at home, talking with the Woman in the Mirror, and moving about as little as possible. Together they cancelled her plans concerning the mayor's wife. She figured that she would tell Richard Sunday.

Saturday dawned clear, cool, and cloudless with Lilly breathlessly excited. Today's festivities would include her first really big showing and she looked to it as a dress rehearsal for bigger and better things. By 6 a.m. she was arranging her art at the newly finished Laramie town hall and ready to pounce upon any visitor that so much as glanced at her pictures. It would be a long wait as events were not scheduled to start until 10:00 a.m.

While Lilly awaited viewers, Mike Williams reeked so badly that both Jess and Miss Daisy made him ride to town on the back of the fire engine. Despite this precaution they could still smell him. "Daisy, are you sure? I can have pressure up in seven minutes. We'd be done in 12," Jess argued for one last time.

"Jess Harper, you nearly broke his arm last time. No, I will not allow another 'fire engine shower' as you call them. Besides, I'm not sure it would work. It's not like he's dirty. He did a commendable job of washing last night," the elderly woman primly proclaimed as they rolled out of the ranch.

Jess smiled, facing away from the dejected and smelly boy at the other end of the rig. Speaking quietly, "He's growing up Daisy. This is real evidence that he's discovered girls."

Daisy smiled too, facing away, "That became evident last year, at the dance where you made a drunken fool of yourself with Iwona. Remember that?"

Jess blushed, laughed uncomfortably, and replied, "Yeah, I kinda remember. So he's been taken with gals for a while then?"

Daisy nodded, "I think it was his first dance with Amanda Reinhardt that did it. He's been sweet on her ever since. The grapevine told me that they are meeting secretly today." The she added, "Some of his friends still claim girls are toxic."

Jess twitched the reigns as he nodded and observed, "Wanting to impress a girl explains his sneaking in and trying out Slim's new after shave. Well, anyone can drop a bottle and the house should be aired out by the time we get home. I think that he did Slim a favor."

Daisy turned slightly and asked curiously, "How so?"

"Well," Jess said roguishly, "now Slim isn't going to smell like a French House of Joy."

Daisy was silent a moment and then dead panned, "You're quite familiar with those are you Jess Harper?"

"Heavens no Miss Daisy! I know nothing at all about them," the Texan said with assumed innocence. "I just happened to walk by one once and noticed the smell. How could you even think such a thing?" Jess' eyes danced with amusement while Daisy laughed gaily.

Upon arriving in town, Mike immediately bolted to the fishing tournament where he managed to fall into the lake, several times, to no avail. The reek of the aftershave still hung about him like a sickly sweet cloud. Unfortunately that reek was now supplemented by the smell of drying decomposing lake bottom muck. The scents were anything but complimentary. The result was that his competitors allowed him plenty of room to fish while making pointed observations. The low point of the morning came when he spotted Amanda Reinhardt looking for him. He was fortunate to find a bunch of brush to hide in and to subsequently slink off unseen.

Elsewhere in town, Betty Diddler finished the breakfast dishes and found herself alone in her house. Big Richard was at the town hall readying his speech and Little Richard had chased off with his friends. With nothing in particular to be done, Betty found herself available for gossiping. It was a delightful change from her normally full schedule as a proper wife, mother, and Mayoral spouse.

Making the rounds of her friends, she was disappointed to find them busier than she and unavailable. Approaching her sisters' home, she found her favorite niece disconsolate upon the porch.

"Good morning Mandy. Whatever is the matter?" she asked, sitting down beside the girl.

"Hello Auntie Betty, nothing," the girl answered in a woefully dejected voice.

"Rubbish!" Betty said with bright scorn, "you look like your best friend just died, and as I just saw Deborah, I know that isn't the problem. You can tell your Aunt Betty."

Amanda looked up with enough sadness to set a nation to bawling. "Boys are stupid," she announced, indicating that the statement explained everything.

"Yes dear, they are. They are also uncouth and far more trouble than they are worth," Betty answered with smiling sympathy. "Who has performed what stupidity now?" she inquired.

Amanda nodded, "He said we could talk and now he's hiding from me. I hate boys."

Betty shook her head reprovingly, proclaiming, "My dear, you shouldn't go looking for boys. They should come looking for you. That is what is right and proper."

The girl looked down, "I like Mike, Auntie. I thought he liked me. He said he did, but I can't find him and I know he's in town and in the fishing tournament. He came in with Mr. Harper. He's hiding from me. I could tell that by how the other boys snickered when I asked after him." The girl looked woeful indeed.

"Hmmmph." Betty Diddler snorted, thinking, Mike Williams? A boy of literally no family. He's just a fosterling to those two handsome roughneck ranchers; Harper and Sherman. Still, it was but a childhood flirtation and would cause no harm though Sissy and Herman would have a fit if they knew. They had high hopes for their pretty youngest daughter, far higher than as a match to the poor fosterling of two bachelor hardscrabble ranchers.

"We're supposed to talk," Amanda went on, "and then dance tonight. I want to show him my new dress," she said gesturing at the pink Lisle dress that she wore.

"It's a very nice dress, dear," Betty reassured her, "When are you two supposed to meet and talk?" the amused and concerned aunt asked. This sort of drama was something she had witnessed, and experienced at Amandas' age, too many times to count.

"Before the dance, "Amanda said reluctantly.

"Good heavens child! The dance is this evening and it isn't noon yet. Let me tell you something about men and boys: none of them have enough sense to think about things until they're upon them. Now dry your tears, go have fun, and forget for now about Mike Williams. No doubt he'll be along in good time," she reassured her niece and finished saying, "You're far too pretty for him not to be." The last earned her a tentative smile and Amanda excused herself.

Bored and intrigued, Betty decided that a saunter down to the water was in order. The walk to the pond was pleasant, though brief, and she soon came upon the errant Mike forlornly perched upon a stump. She approached the wet, messy, and unhappy young fisherman with a formal, "Good morning Mike Williams, how are you this day?" just prior to letting out a gag. Mike just looked at her mournfully. If he had been a hound he would have howled.

"Merciful heavens child! What have you gotten into?" she said, astounded, while moving up wind and trying not to laugh out loud at the predicament the scamp had gotten himself into. No wonder he was hiding from Mandy.

"I broke Slim's bottle of aftershave on myself and I can't get rid of the smell," he answered quietly while staring intently at the ground.

"So you jumped in the lake to wash it off?" she asked getting a nod. "So now you smell twice as bad."

Mike added, "Lou Kyle said I was the best bear repellent in Wyoming."

Betty pursed her lips so as not to laugh, instead saying primly, "That was most unkind. True, but unkind. Well youngster, I can solve your problem." Mike looked up, hopefully, "but it will cost you," the politicians' wife continued.

Mike became downcast again, "Ma'am, I don't have no money."

"You don't have ANY money," she corrected.

"That's right ma'am, I don't."

Betty Diddler shook her head, then announced in her most business like voice, "I'm not looking for money, youngster. How about this? I will wash your clothes, that is the biggest problem with the smell. You will wash yourself, and then change into some old clothes of Little Richard's. While I wash your clothes you will wash all of my upstairs windows, and do a good job of it. Plus, you will never tell anybody I helped you." That should keep Amanda from knowing I interfered, she thought. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes ma'am!" Mike all but shouted, leaping up enthusiastically.

"Then off we go to the store to get a nickel's worth of Oscar Diggs Magic Cleaning Solution. I discovered it when Little Richard was a boy and he accidentally doused himself with my best perfume. I think it would de-scent a skunk," she announced with smiling satisfaction.

Mike enthusiastically followed her off. Soon, dressed in Little Richard's worn but sound hand me downs (somewhat tight in the seat) he was energetically washing her windows while Betty deodorized his clothes by soaking them in the cleaning solution. The woman was terribly pleased with herself. The boy was doing an admirable job on the windows and she was going to make her niece happy. She found few things as satisfying as profiting from a good deed.

Back at her art exhibit, Lilly thought happily, "The people around here are not art connoisseurs but they are appreciative in their simplistic way." She had been quite bored, having no visitors until 10 a.m. when a traveling encyclopedia salesman wandered through. Well dressed but average looking, Cyrus McCourt had laughed at her consternation of an encyclopedia salesman being in Laramie. He had countered that it was even more unlikely to find a talented artist of the oil brush here. She found him sophisticated, urbane, educated, and attractive; so unlike the local populace.

It was with disappointment that Lilly heard him announce, "Dear Lady, much as I am enjoying myself, I must away for my business demands it." He gave her a sad but theatrical bow.

"Why is that?" she asked, with a disappointed and flirtatious look.

"An unusual sales opportunity presents itself. The mayor, as well as the rest of your town council, is to be locked in a jail cell. There I will find a truly captive audience for an encyclopedia sales pitch. I must away. Perhaps I may call upon you later?" he added hopefully, startling her by taking her hand and kissing it.

"Better than that Cyrus. There is a dance tonight, and my escort has, uh, disappeared on me. Would you be kind enough to escort me there? I do so love to dance and I am in need of a rescue." she asked hopefully while making enormous eyes at the man and letting him hold onto the recently kissed extremity.

Cyrus McCourt merrily replied, releasing her captive hand, "I would be delighted to. Never let it be said that Cyrus Pygmalion McCourt ever failed a distressed damsel."

Lilly giggled, and brought the recently kissed hand to her bosom, "Pygmalion?" she asked, eyebrows uplifted.

With an unabashed grin, the man shrugged, "Not my fault." Then he departed the art exhibit and made his way to the jail. Lilly made a note to herself to tell Little Richard to disappear, and why. He'd do it cheerfully, provided that she gave him all of the juicy details of both before and after the dance.

The political speeches, which started off the town's festivities, were long and noisy. The speakers were applauded by their supporters and booed by their opponents. There was nothing new said as the topics had been covered many times. Diddler promised good government, freedom, and prosperity. He also took credit for the newly competed territorial jail, located near Laramie, and for the new town hall. Arena Linkous promised an end to the evils of in town drinking, derided the mayor for corruption, and once again relabeled him as "Satans' minion." Everyone was relieved when the speeches were done, an eternity of two hours later.

A bandaged Deputy Cobb, and Mort made the 'charity arrests' as the speech making broke up. All nine (counting Diddler) council members plus half a dozen others in the community (such as Reverend Linkous and Padre Enrique) were arrested with great theatrical fuss, and trooped to the jail. Every prisoner spouted lamentations and/or counter accusations at least as ridiculous as the crimes they were accused of. A typical charge was that applied to Van Buren bearded Councilman Marcus Truman. It was claimed that he was really Sarah Burnhardt in disguise. An un-expected outcome of this was that, for the next six months, Truman was frequently referred to as Councilman Burnhardt. Mark didn't mind, even going so far as to occasionally sign unofficial documents in that manner.

Following the charity arrests, most folks were pleased to see the baseball game begin, although Arena Linkous decried the Arcade Saloon's donation of a keg of beer to the players. It was a long and raucous game with the Virginia Dale team eventually winning 32-5.

Slim Sherman watched the game while laughing and shaking his head. When the game ended, he confronted Jock Benson as that worthy joined the other players in heading towards the saloon. "Jock!" he called out smiling.

"Howdy Slim, tough game," the dirty catcher replied with a grimace. Jock didn't like to lose.
"So I saw. I don't recommend that you visit the saloon just now," Slim opined.

"Why not?" Jock asked concerned, "Is something wrong there?"

Slim shook his head, "Marcy wants you back in the store. Don't you remember your promise?"

Jock turned sulky and looked ready to protest. Slim went on hurriedly, "Also, she asked me to tell you that she is trying to go help Allie Jones with her dress. Allie says she won't go to the dance without that dress being finished," Alisande Jones was Jock's date.

With a martyred sigh, Jock nodded and dejectedly trudged towards the general store. At least he had gotten to play with the fire engine before the ball game. Slim smiled and went to join Jess; his partner who was still having a grand time showing off the fire engine. Passing the mayor's house he spotted Mike energetically washing upstairs windows and vaguely wondered how that came about. He shrugged, figuring that he would find that out later.

There was a crowd of twenty or so people around the fire engine. Suddenly, there was a "bang" and a geyser of water shot up from the far side of the rig. A startled "Dagnabit" burst from Jess and laughter erupted from the crowd. The Texan appeared, hatless and completely soaked, from around the far side of the boiler. He hastily spun a pair of valves, causing steam to fiercely hiss out of the safety exhaust. Slim barely suppressed his laughter as he cheerfully called out, "Hi Jess, how goes showing off the fire engine?"

"Great!" answered the sodden and grinning cowboy. "I just found out the engine can burst a hose if you crank the pressure up high, then shut down the nozzle and talk for 10 minutes."

An equally soaked 12 year old appeared bearing Jess' sodden hat, "Mr. Jess, you lost your hat," he said handing it back.

Jess touched the top of his head, confirmed that his hat was indeed gone and then took the bedraggled and muddy headpiece. "Thanks Todd," he said absently while rechecking his gauges and hauling out an intact hose.

"Pard, could you go down to the store and get me another 50 lbs of coal?" he asked as he squelched to the other side of the steam hissing fire engine. The crowd shouted forth questions and suggestions as he replaced the burst hose.

"Sure Jess," Slim answered happily, and then he strode off on his errand. Slim figured that Marcy was probably still lecturing Jock about keeping agreements so he would catch her there.

He wasn't disappointed as Marcy was indeed in mid-lecture. At his appearance, her lesson stopped abruptly so that she could fill his coal order and then accompany him in bringing it to Jess. After making the delivery, the happy pair immediately went off on their own private picnic where they earnestly discussed nothing in particular. Marcy completely forgot about helping Allisande Jones hem her dress.

Earlier, it had been a large and raucous procession that made its way to the jail. The procession terminated with Deputy Cobb arresting Mort and tossing him in as well. Tiny but sassy, 13year old Betsy (aka 'Bitsy') Wainwright, was made 'official sheriff' and took her place behind Mort's desk wearing his badge, gun and hat. Bitsy lived up to her nickname and Mort's hat rested around her eyes. This didn't deter her from adding her own brand of sass to the hilarity of the proceedings. Diverse townsfolk came in to heckle the prisoners, while making donations towards their bail.

In a related fund raiser, Iwona Corey had set up two tables just outside of the jail, and vended food with the proceeds going towards bailing out Mort. At 10 cents each, her Perogies and chłodnik had Mort out in less than half an hour. After that she had to change her sign, several times over the course of the day, to free various less popular men. By 4 pm, she was out of food, save for what she had reserved to feed any remaining prisoners, and turned her receipts over to Councilman Truman who thanked her profusely for her help. In the end, the fundraiser had been terribly successful and by evening only the mayor remained jailed.

"Mr. Mayor, I don't think you're getting bailed out today," Mort said.

"I reckon not. Any of your Missus Perogies left?" the mayor answered without looking up from some paperwork that his gopher had delivered.

"Yes, also some of that chlodnik which, I think, is beet soup. She never made that for me before," the sheriff answered cheerfully. "You don't really intend to stay here all night do you?"

The mayor finally looked up, "If I'm not bailed out, I do. I said that I would. It isn't a big deal as Betty's mad at me anyhow," he lied.

Mort looked embarrassed; it was common knowledge that the Diddler marriage wasn't the warmest in town. While he couldn't say that he liked the mayor, Mort was so happy in his new marriage that unhappier liaisons secretly saddened him. He heated up the mayors' perogies, poured the man a beer, and delivered them, plus the last of the cold chlodnik. Then the lawman bid his prisoner good night, locked up the jail, and left.

Big Richard tasted his perogies and let out a happily surprised, "Whoa! Jail food is surprisingly good!" He ate the elk perogies with gusto, thinking "Mrs. Corey is obviously a better cook than Betty." Suspiciously, he considered the chlodnik. "Soup shouldn't be cold, purple, and have green stuff floating in it. Why couldn't the woman cook something like chicken or bean soup?" he announced to the empty cell. Nerving himself, the mayor grasped his spoon and took the plunge. It wasn't long before he had the soup bowl licked clean.

Stomach full, the mayor put aside his paper work and reviewed the day with satisfaction. The speech making had been ineffective and moved nobody. The charity arrests had gone over quite well and brought in considerable funds for upgrading and cleaning up the town cemetery. He took an apathetic satisfaction in that. A new project succeeding, no matter how prosaic, was vaguely satisfying. Unforeseen events in the jail were what really made him smile; election victory was now his.

Like his fellow 'criminals', the mayor hammed up his incarceration from band stand, to jail, and continued to play at it for as long as there was an audience. Three hours after their arrival, as the council discussed buying an encyclopedia for the school, Arena Linkous (plus hangers on) marched into the jail. She started a nasty and jeering tirade on how the council belonged right where it sat. Mort Corey had been released earlier and was out doing his job. 'Sheriff Bitsy' had tried to stand up to her. That sweet snip had reminded the harridan that the prisoners were there raising money for others. They deserved applause rather than abuse. The lady candidate, and her 'evangelical' cronies, had subsequently derided and bullied the youngster into flight.

As the fearful girl backed out of the jail, the hitherto silent traveling salesman, had intervened by drawing the toxic evangelist's attention away from the fleeing youth. "Ma'am, I take it you are running for mayor against Mr. Diddler. Why should I vote for you rather than for him?" the encyclopediast had asked.

The woman had turned towards him and haughtily answered with her normal set of corruption accusations. She then added to it a medley of the mayors' moral short comings and his love of degenerates. With surgical precision, the salesman had coaxed out her views on the 'degenerates.' What he got was a loud and emotionally charged list of who they were and what should be done with them. The list included all purveyors of spirits, gamblers, vagrants, users of crude language, Catholics, Jews, Hispanics, Asians, Indians, Irish, and continued from there. She waxed louder and louder, with more enthusiasm, saying that she would pass ordinances against all of these groups and make Laramie a right and holy community. She only stopped when she noticed the council looking at her dumbfounded. Diddler then laughed, applauding her uproariously, while performing a jig in his cell. "Well spoken, Saint Arena! Well Spoken! Let all the world hear the awesome wholesomeness of your words!" he had trouble choking out the words through his laughter.

"Be still, Minion of Satan!" she had sternly shouted at him in vexation.

He had paused in his jig and brayed at the woman, "Miss Arena, if I was 'Satan's Minion' I would be far too busy to spend my time raising money for our dead while being stuck in here listening to you yap. Be assured that I shall see to it that all of Laramie hears your words, you bigot. Thank you for just handing me the Chinese, Hispanic, and Catholic votes. Not to mention the votes of those other groups you intend to persecute." Resuming his jig, he continued," You had me dead, going into today. However, between your public threats against these groups, and your claims of divine-right-of-fire-engine, I shall win handily! Woohoo!" He neglected mentioning his own abortive attempt to lay claim to the fire engine.

Arena paled at his speech and then slunk out, followers in tow. The imprisoned men erupted in a spontaneous cheer and shouted through the cell window at a passerby to bring some beer down from the Arcade. They were in a mood to celebrate.

It was a smiling Diddler who was the first to turn to McCourt, "Mr. McCourt, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you for getting that harridan to slit her own throat for me." Only the jail bars prevented the oversized mayor from seizing and hugging the encyclopedist.

Cyrus McCourt theatrically bowed saying, "After what she said to that young girl it was a duty, a privilege, and a pleasure, sir."

Diddler smiled and gestured expansively, "You just sold an encyclopedia set."

"Richard, you can't speak for us on buying that for the school. We have to vote on it," Hornbeck chided.

Diddler smilingly shook his head, "Marv, you are right and I'm not. That encyclopedia is for the Diddler household."

There was a moment of silence, "I move we buy TWO sets for the school," bellowed Horace Kellerman, who had not previously spoken on the issue.

"Second," Diddler said.

"A motion is moved and seconded," Hornbeck announced with a smile, "Those for the motion."

"Aye" thundered the men in the cells, whether they were members of the council or not.

"Those opposed?" he next asked.

Birds chirping were his only respondents.

"Motion carried. Mr. McCourt, please put us down for two of your encyclopedias for the school."

Mathias Hicks cleared his throat and spoke next. The owner of the Arcade, though not on the council, was a popular merchant who had likewise been incarcerated for charity. "I'd like one for the Arcade."

Everybody present looked at him like he had grown a second head, "For the saloon?" Councilman Sweeney asked.

"For the saloon. Arena Linkous just got an unexpected education from Mr. McCourt. Maybe a few of my patrons will get one from my encyclopedia," he joked in his relief at the elimination of the threat of Laramie going dry.

Mayor Diddler mused upon his memory of the event with great satisfaction. Today was going spectacularly well. To finish it off perfectly, all he had to do was murder his wife. Then he could start a new life as mayor, husband, and soon to be father. Life was very good.

While the Council learned about encyclopedias, and watched Arena Linkous implode her own candidacy, Betty Diddler learned about Mike Williams. This was the first time she had ever dealt with the boy. She found him endearing thinking, "if he was but of higher station, Amanda's taste in males would be sound. Or at least as sound as any girl who didn't yet realize what non-prizes men were." Eventually she called up to him, "Mike, your clothes are clean and don't smell anymore."

"Thanks ma'am," he yelled then came thundering down the stairs.

Betty Diddler awaited his loud arrival with open amusement. He skidded to a stop in front of her and saw that his clothes were still soaking wet. "They're clean but soaked. Why don't you just hang onto Richard's clothes and pick your clothes up before you go home tonight? He won't miss them as he out grew those years ago. Yours should be dry by then and they will be waiting for you on the porch."

"Sure, thanks again ma'am." He called, romping off as fast as the too tight borrowed pants allowed.

Betty watched him go, sadly reflecting that, "Boys are so delightful. Why did they have to grow up into creatures like Richard?"

The recently freed Laramie town council, minus the still incarcerated mayor Diddler, reconvened their celebration at the town hall and were making merry with a small beer keg generously donated by the visiting encyclopedia salesman. The men were eagerly retelling each other tales of personal successes. Many of the tales were ethically dubious, but they considered them hilarious. Inevitably the topic of Jess Harper's fire engine re-emerged.

"That fire engine is just what Laramie needs," Marvin Hornbeck said, "but I dread negotiating with Sherman. Harper we could talk into selling it for pennies on the dollar. The man is a bumpkin. On the other hand, though a cow flop stomper, Sherman is also a man of business who is the devil's own come the time to sit on the ol' horse trading blanket. He'll make us pay full value."

McCourt pursed his lips, "Tell me about these men, why don't you? Mayhap I can help you here," he suggested.

So they recounted numerous tales, many quite violent, of Jess Harper and Slim Sherman. Some minutes later McCourt nodded soberly, feeling that he had the measure of all the men involved, "I see what you mean. They're dangerous men, but trusting, and Sherman is an able man of books and business. He would be a tough nut for you to better in negotiating. Are both Sherman and Harper here in town now?"

"Yes," Gus Sweeney answered.

"No," Marcus Truman said, "Harper is but, when I got the beer, I saw Sherman take his sweetheart off in a buggy." Numerous crude sallies answered that observation.

"There now!" cried McCourt, "Tis your best opportunity and mayhap your last! I'll bring Harper in and you can negotiate with him while his protector is gone! Let's drink to it!"

With a clinking of steins the men toasted. Cyrus McCourt was then off to round up Jess Harper. The salesman's professional smile left his face as he departed the town hall and was briefly replaced by a calculating look of contempt. "Filthy, wealthy, swine," he thought, "all keen to fleece honest stout hearted men who have accomplished so much and helped so many. By God, Cyrus McCourt won't stand for it. Right enough I've got my knife out, but tis not for skinning this Harper lad. The first step is to find someone else to summon him and then to intervene myself. From the tales, I do believe the sheriff is his friend."

Jess whirled at the noise and barely withheld his attack upon seeing that it was Jock. "Don't sneak up on a man, Jock. Bad things can happen," he said making a motion imitating the holstering of his fire hose.

Jock laughed aloud. Jess was 'under siege' by about 30 Laramie youngsters armed with loaded buckets. The water fight had been going on for nigh an hour with most townsfolk avoiding the combat area at all costs. A goodly chunk of Main Street, about 100 feet across, had been turned into a muddy bog. More than one adult had been caught between bucket and hose discharges and many of these collateral participants were less than amused.

Jess heard a step, and instinctively pivoted left ducking under and away from a dousing of water. He let the hose rip. A giggling, shrieking, and sodden 11 year old girl pelted away from him back to a water trough around the corner.

"You've got that pressure down pretty low Jess. Trouble with the boiler?" Jock asked, concerned. Their earlier demonstrations had used much higher pressures.

"No Jock," Jess answered shaking his head as he menaced a trio of teenagers who were trying to work up the courage to charge him while knowing that whoever was in front would get soaked. "Earlier this week, we blew Mike out of a tree by accident. This is all in fun; we certainly don't want to hurt anybody."

"I can understand that. How did…." Jock was interrupted.

"Truce!" an adult voice called out from around a corner waving a white handkerchief. It was Mort Corey.

"Ok Mort, come forward, but be warned. If I see anybody tries to use you for cover you're going to need a change of clothes," Jess challenged.

"Jess, would I let that happen?" Mort called back innocently.

"Any day of the week and twice on Sundays," Jess retorted, causing Mort to snicker.

"Well not today," Mort walked forward. "Ok kids, the water fight is over. Most of you have to go home to dinner while others have to get ready for the dance. Jess needs to close up the fire engine and meet with the town council. Also, as it is, I think it will take all night for this mud to dry out and there's no need to make it worse. Now scat, the lot of you!" He said, smilingly directing his attention to the younger crowd while making shooing motions with both arms. With disappointed mutterings the youngsters disbursed.

Jess went back to the fire engine, fully opened the pressure relief valve, then started banking the fire in the boiler. "What does the council want, Mort?" he asked as he worked.

"They want to dicker with you over the engine. I can't make you go, but it made for a good excuse to get the youngun's off to where they belonged," the sheriff said with satisfaction while he watched Jess with indifferent curiosity.

"Jess, I'll shut her down. Why don't you change clothes and go talk with the council?" Jock offered eagerly.

Jess eyed him with open amusement, "Alright Jock, but make sure she IS shut down after you get done playing with her." Turning back to Corey, "Are they still in jail?" he asked.

The lawman shook his head, "No, they're in the town hall having a keg party. Only Diddler is still locked up."

The announcement startled Jess, "Dad Gum! What inspired that?" The City Council was a generally sociable body, but they were not renowned for throwing keggers.

"Looks like Arena Linkous stuck her foot in her mouth and threw the election," Mort said shrugging.

"Well, that's good news, as far as it goes," Jess offered as he neither favored a dry Laramie nor the end of gambling there, "but if anybody can seize defeat from the jaws of victory it is Big Dick. Not that he's much of a prize."

"My thoughts too. I'll bet you $5.00 the mayor does something stupid between now and next Saturday," Mort offered.

"Diddler is forever doing stupid things, that's a sucker bet. No thank you," Jess declined, shaking his head.

"See you later Jess," Mort said, departing to continue his rounds.

"Bye Mort, see you at the dance," Jess said turning towards the town hall. Then he paused and asked, "Hey Mort, Iwona is coming to the dance isn't she? I still owe her a sober Tango."

Mort laughed, the memory of his wife's first encounter with Jess always cracked him up. At a church dance, Jess had asked her to dance a Tango with him while he had been a lot less than sober and before knowing that she was engaged. The resulting epic failure in seduction was a favorite memory. "Yes, but she might pass on that Tango," the sheriff cheerfully said while making a big circular motion in front of his belly.

"Oh, right. I forgot," a chagrined Jess responded. Mort laughed as he sauntered off.

A cheerful voice pleasantly sounded to Jess' blind side, "Excuse me Mr. Harper. My name is Cyrus McCourt and I am a salesman. Pray tell sir, how much money do you think you can get for your fire engine?" the dapperly dressed stranger asked as he appeared out of nowhere.

Jess' heart surged with surprise and the Texan was grateful that the man was neither a 15 year old armed with a bucket of water nor a pistolero with a grudge. "Mr. McCourt, the engine cost $2200 in New York. I figure I can hold the council up for $3000," Jess answered though not entirely sure why he was doing so.

The salesman looked on with disapproval writ large upon his face, "My good sir, of course you can, but I can do better. I am sure I can boost it at least to $4000. Let us make a deal. Let me represent you in this and I will receive 10% of all monies over $3000," the man offered.

Jess paused. He instinctively liked McCourt and was ever the man to follow his instincts. "Alright, but I also want to be part of the fire department though I live far enough out that I can't be here every day."

Cyrus pursed his lips and nodded understandingly. "Very well, sir. Are you willing to help train Laramie's men on the use of the beast?"

"I can do that." Jock interjected.

"Sir, I asked Mr. Harper," the salesman replied sharply while giving Jock an unfriendly glance.

Affronted, Jock stilled. Jess shrugged and smiled, "I was assuming that I needed to."

"Then Mr. Harper, come watch me work my magic, for this is what I do!" He reached up and wrapped an arm around the startled cowpoke's shoulders. Then he strode him off towards the town hall. As they went, McCourt talked volubly, gesturing with his free hand all the way. By the time they reached the hall, the pair were singing a risqué Irish bar song, in a round. Entering the Council Chambers, they encountered a half empty beer keg and a well lit Council.

"Mr. Harper, Mr. McCourt! The men of the hour! Have a beer and let's talk fire engines!" an owl eyed Marvin Hornbeck slurred out loudly.

The two men poured for themselves; then let the steins stand untouched. Nobody else present noticed. McCourt stepped to the center of the room and started his sales pitch, "Councilmen, Mr. Harper has asked me to represent him in this matter as I have the gift of words and he would have all things made clear…."

So began what Jess later described as 'the Greatest snow job since the blizzard of '65.' Jess watched raptly as the salesman detailed the history of firefighting, using a plate picture of a Silsby in his encyclopedia, the importance and glory of civic leaders banding together for the common good, and reasonably profitable ways for such leaders to finance such ventures through the fronting of funds. The half blasted, political leaders of Laramie gaped at Cyrus in fascination. Tiberius Downes actually drooled while Marcus Truman wept tears of joyous pride. By the time McCourt finished his pitch, he probably could have gotten their souls, first born children, and full and unquestioned access to their daughter's bed chambers.

"So, brothers on the Laramie Town Council, I propose that for $5500 cash, and the position of trainer/advisor for teaching the valiant firefighters how to use the dangerous but awesome Silsby fire engine (the position to be recompensed at $100/year for no less than five years), due to Mr. Harper, you will receive the beautiful technological wonder sitting outside. Furthermore, I shall provide you with fire hoses and related equipment directly from Silsby with a bare mark up of 15% above documented costs." He produced a prewritten contract where he filled in the specifics, "Are we in agreement my brothers?"

"Aye!" cried the council, stampeding to the table to sign. After Jess signed, it was done.

Only then did McCourt and Harper touch their beers. Jess shook his head and very quietly toasted the other man, "Mr. McCourt, we are indeed fortunate that you were not there to assist at the temptation of Jesus."

"Friend Harper!" Cyrus Pygmalion McCourt answered merrily, but equally quietly, "Well do I know the power of my words! Ne'er would I work such an evil. Say rather, tis a sad pity that I wasn't present at our savior's final trial. For if I was, 'twould have been old Antipas nailed up on that cross and you, my new friend, now owe me $250."

Jess smiled and nodded in answer, "And a drink Cyrus, and a drink." They departed to the saloon and, by the time Cyrus left to escort Lilly to the dance, Jess had ordered an encyclopedia for Mike.

Lilly was tired, crampy, and wishing that the dance was tomorrow. "Why does the most interesting man, ever, have to appear on the day of a dance where I feel awful?" she groused. To top it all off, she had argued with the Woman in the Mirror. The Woman felt she should continue pursuing: the Mayor because he was in the best position to further her art, or Slim. Opposed, Lilly was much more interested in either: Jess Harper or Cyrus McCourt. The conflict had degenerated into name calling with the Woman in the Mirror calling Lilly irresponsible and childish. Lilly retorted that the woman was insecure, crass, and boringly hung up on Slim. At the moment they were not on speaking terms, and Lilly was reduced to using the mirror in her parent's room for brushing her hair.

She had finished her dinner, repacked her paintings, and was awaiting McCourt's arrival when her head pain suddenly multiplied murderously. Lilly had suffered continuous headaches since she was 13. As she got older, intermittent bouts of much more severe pain manifested with increasing frequency. This had been a good week and she had only had one other brief bout. She was relieved when the current one passed after only a few minutes. There were times when it could go on for days. Last year one such bout had lasted a week and she had talked to the doctor. His prognosis had been grim; she had a brain tumor and it would eventually kill her. There was little to do about it save to take a spoonful of laudanum when the pain became unbearable. Fortunately this was not such a bout or she would have had to miss the dance.

"It's beautiful here Slim, I've always loved meadows," Marcy declared as they cleaned up from their picnic.

Slim smiled happily, "Pa used to bring my mother up here, just so they could have some quiet time away from us kids." Then he added, with a grin, "I think that's why I had a number of siblings."

Marcy smiled thinking, If you favor your pa I can understand that, but merrily said, "Why Slim Sherman, are your intentions in bringing me here less than honorable?"

The big rancher blushed, looking down, and stammered, "No, I wasn't…. I mean, you're beautiful and all and…," yikes, If I say yes, I'm a cad. If I say no she'll think that I'm saying she's unattractive. Help! he thought.

She put a hand up over his mouth with a sweet smile, and then blushed, when he kissed her palm. "The answer is 'no' and will stay that way until I marry but I would have been very disappointed if you hadn't tried." She then snuggled into his chest with a happy sigh as the big, confused, man wrapped his arms around her.

Slim hugged her tightly but gently, thinking that there was no understanding women. He hadn't intended to do more than to steal a few kisses from her, but if thinking otherwise made her happy, then so be it. Who was he to say otherwise? Who knew where things might have led? Marcy Benson was a prize catch; ring selection was now something to be considered. "We had better be heading back or we'll be late for the dance," Slim finally said while savoring her closeness.

"Slim, I don't care a fig about the dance." Marcy said quietly, truly she wasn't much of a dancer.

Slim bent his neck and kissed the top of her head, "Want to skip it then?"

"That wouldn't break my heart. How about a long moonlight ride instead? I'm in the mood for stars," the young woman said dreamily.

Suddenly he was too. "So be it," he said with a nod and gentle smile. On the return ride, the way was first lit by a rich russet sunset and then by the lights of the milk way. With one arm around Marcy, Slim reflected that the big open didn't get much better than this.

Chapter 9

The Baptist church was one of Laramie's largest buildings. Even so, the election dance was loud, very crowded and overly warm. The music played was diverse, with a Polka currently bouncing couples all over the room.

To Mike Williams, red headed and freckled Amanda Reinhardt was a beauty beyond mere words. He was just shy of being smitten stupid. Fortunately, the girl was chatty enough for both of them. She was completely engaged; showing off both Mike and her new dress while she commented about the other people present (at least those safely out of earshot).

Mike was determined to impress Amanda with his dancing and this Polka was just the chance. Secret lessons from Miss Daisy had given him both the confidence, and the ability, to bounce around the dance floor with the best present. In Mikes opinion, the best were Jess Harper and Lilly Spencer as her exhausted date was sitting next to the punch trying to recover from three hours of continuous dancing. Suddenly social disaster struck. Mike and Amanda made, yet another, light leap when he missed his landing slightly and recovered by heavily flexing his knees. To Mike's horror, he felt and heard his borrowed trousers split all the way down the seat. "Oh, God!" he thought mortified, quickly guiding Amanda so that his back was to a wall.

"Mandy," he whispered to her as they came to a doorway he knew led to the back door of the church, "I have to duck out, NOW."

Startled, Amanda looked at him and saw that he had turned deathly pale. "What's wrong, Mikey?" she asked quietly, not having heard the dreaded sound of fabric parting above the musical din.

"I just split my pants." He said with his face going from pale to crimson.

Amanda giggled, "Whatya going to do? It's not like you have spare pants."

Mike straightened up, "Yes, I do," he announced.

"In town?" she asked with a skeptically tilted head.

"Yup, I'll duck out and get'em. We'll dance when I get back. Bye!" he said fleeing backwards down the hall that led to the rear of the church.

Amanda watched while thinking, "Mike Williams is super smart. He thought of everything. He was even ready if his pants split. He's the neatest boy around, no matter what Mona Carlisle says." She quickly blew him a kiss as he disappeared through a door. With a smile, she thirstily turned back towards the room and scooted over for a cup of punch. Then she joined Mona, and several other girls, in complaining about the boys they liked.

Mike raced through the church, ducking past couples who had strayed from their chaperones. In moments he was outside and sprinting across Laramie towards the Diddler house. Passing Jock, who was still showing off the fire engine to the townies and cowpokes that had skipped the dance, Mike stuck to the board walk remembering that Main Street was a muddy mire.

It wasn't long before he was on the Diddler's porch. By the light which showed through the curtained front room window, Mike found his clothing dry and neatly folded on the porch swing. Moving into the cover of the shrubbery, he stripped down and put his own clothes on while tossing the borrowed clothing onto the swing. The boy paused a moment to see if he could put his head through the pants tear. He winced when he discovered that he could.

As he finished lacing his shoes, Mike heard the sounds of blows, as well as a muffled scream, come from inside of the house. Then came the crash of shattering glass, and the light coming through the curtained window changed from a steady lamp glow to that of wildly dancing flames.

A very large hooded man slammed open the front door and bolted out of the house into the darkness, passing by an unseen Mike. After the man had run down the street, the boy leapt to the doorway and looked inside. Already the front room was an inferno, and in the center of the room lay the bloodied form of Mrs. Diddler. Braving the doorway flames, the boy ducked inside, and went to the downed woman.

She had been beaten senseless; her eyes were closed and blood oozed from her head. Mike looked about the burning room for something to staunch the blood. Quickly, he grabbed an oversized doily, applied it, and the thin material immediately went crimson. He yanked his belt off and lashed the makeshift bandage into place.

Richard Diddler turned and looked back forlornly at his home. "Curse the woman!" he thought. "She had to flail about and knock over that lamp. Now the house will go up, and along with it most of my wealth." It was then that he saw the boy bandaging his wife. "Oh my god! She's still alive and he saw me," he thought. Panicked, Big Richard lumbered back towards the house. Getting to the porch he paused, fearing the flames, and then he leaped through the doorway.

Hearing the step on the porch, Mike looked up and saw the return of the hulking hooded form. Shouting a brief uncouth phrase, that Jess had unwittingly taught him, he darted away from his lunging assailant. The hooded mayor immediately sprawled over Mrs. Diddler while ineffectively grabbing at the bolting boy.

Mike pelted down the hall and cut left into the dark kitchen. There he slammed the locking bar out of the kitchen door's brackets and threw open the door. He was set to run through, disappearing into the relative safety of the night, when he was stopped by the horrifying thought, if I go; Mrs. Diddler will burn to death.

Heavy footfalls were rapidly approaching, "What to do?" he thought, "The pantry!" in a flash he was across the kitchen and hidden within the Diddler pantry. He kept the door cracked open and waited with a thundering heart. Mike knew that if his pursuer caught him then both he and Mrs. Diddler were as dead as the salt pork that he was standing next to.

The heavy foot falls entered the kitchen and Mike saw the man swearing by the open kitchen door. Immediately the big man went outside and turned to the right. Instantly, Mike was out of the pantry and heading back to the front room. His only plan was to get Mrs. Diddler away from the flames.

It got hotter and harder to breathe as the boy approached the front room. He slipped on a throw rug and found it easier to breathe near the floor, so he stayed stooped over. Mikes eyes were tearing badly by the time he got back to Mrs. Diddler. The woman was lightly coughing, but was otherwise motionless.

Seeing that exiting through the front door was hopeless, he knew that he had to haul her out the kitchen door. He grabbed her by her ankles, heaved, turned away from her and placed her slipper shod feet upon his shoulders. Then he hauled with all of his might. Dragging her towards the kitchen was slow and heavy work. Grunting with the effort, he moved one trudging foot step at a time. The boy randomly thought, "I feel like Beulah, the Beaumont's mule, and Mrs. Diddler is my plow." The heat and bad air didn't make it any easier.

Mike had hauled the woman halfway down the hall when he heard heavy footfalls returning. "Oh my God," his mind raced, "I've got to hide us both." Seeing that he stood next to a door, he grabbed the knob and turned it revealing stairs down to the basement. He plowed through, shutting the door as he went, and found moving down hill to be a lot easier than on the flat. In bare moments he had Betty bounced halfway down the stairs. As an added bonus, the air down here was both cooler and easier to breath.

The heavy footfalls passed the door on their way back to the front room. From there Mike heard, "No! Christ on a Crutch! Where has she gotten to?" Again the heavy footfalls approached. Mike pulled Mrs. Diddler downward, wincing at the sound of her forehead bouncing off each step as they went, but this time he lost his footing on the steep steps. The duo wound up in a heap with Mike inadvertently providing a cushion for the comatose woman's landing. To him, the tumble sounded as loud as a herd of bison charging through the room. The question now was, "Did the sound of the fire cover the noise?" Partly trapped under the hefty woman, and with a heart thundering with fear, Mike frantically tried to free himself as the menacing footfalls approached the door.

Under the twinkling Wyoming sky, Slim and Marcy were rolling slowly back to Laramie. Neither was in a hurry to get there. Marcy sighed happily as she snuggled against Slim's chest. She knew that she was greatly complicating his driving by sitting crosswise in his lap. This, and the fact that Slim didn't find her boyish, given his reaction to her snuggling, hugging, and kissing him, added greatly to her cat-with-the-canary feelings. What a marvelous evening it had been. Marvelous enough that she was having second thoughts about rejecting his earlier romantic overtures.

"Marcy, out of my lap." Slim said, abruptly and tensely.

"Hon?" Marcy answered surprised and not moving. "What's wrong?"

"Look over there. There's a fire in Laramie. We've got to make time," he said pointing.

Marcy saw the flickering of a fire about a mile away. "Maybe they're having a bonfire," she said doubtfully. "They had one last election dance and it would let Jess and Jock show off the fire engine." She slid off of Slim's lap and snuggled up to his side putting an arm around him. Unless she missed her guess, the ride was about to get a lot bumpier.

"I doubt it. There wasn't one scheduled. Yah!" Slim shouted, flicking the reigns and taking the horses up to a trot. The rancher decided that it was too dark to go faster than that, with Marcy on board. If Marcy hadn't been present he'd have rolled in considerably faster.

They rolled quickly through the night. "Slim, I think that's the mayor's house." Marcy finally said as she peered at the light in the darkness.

"I can't tell for sure, but you might be right. You've sharp night eyes Marcy. Pretty ones too." Slim added, though he was tense in his flirtation.

Marcy ignored the flirtation; her concentration was fixed upon the distant structure. "The alarm hasn't been raised yet. Everybody must be asleep or at the dance," she observed.

Slim nodded, "I bet you're right."

The last few minutes they covered without speaking. As they approached the front of the burning house, a bell began ringing frantically. "That's not the normal alarm. Is that the bell on the fire engine?" Marcy asked.

Slim nodded, "Yes, I bet your brother is still showing it off. Jess will be at the dance."

Marcy smiled grimly and wryly, "No doubt dancing with that witch Lilly. Better him than you," she added hugging him tightly, "though if Jock's on the engine, Allie Jones is probably fit to be tied. He was supposed to take her."

"A bit late for that now," Slim replied.

Moments later they pulled up to the house with Slim calling out, "Whoa!" He handed Marcy the reins as he hopped off of the buggy. "Hon, here, you might want to go help your brother."

Sliding over to take control of the team, the petite woman fiercely advised "Slim Sherman, you be careful!" She would have liked to stop him from doing whatever he was going to do but she knew better. "How can I help Jock? I don't know how to use that thing," meaning the fire engine.

"No, but you have sense and he doesn't; keep him from running over himself," Slim called back as he trotted towards the rear of the house.

Marcy was frightened for him, but she took a breath and got the horses moving. The best thing she could do for Slim was to get the fire engine, and more men, over here as quickly as possible. It occurred to her that being married to a heroic man was going to gray her early. Well, that's what hair dye is for, she caustically reassured herself while calling out "Yah!" in her high pitched voice.

Slim smiled with proud affection as he heard her move off. "That's my girl! We've no time to waste on scared hissy fits," he thought with satisfaction. Marcy was good 'in the crunch.' That had become apparent, a few years back, when her outlaw father had come to claim her. Rounding the corner of the house, Slim saw that the kitchen door stood open. Good, somebody had gotten out.

"Hello, anybody there?" he called as he ran up. No answer. Frowning and squinting he ran inside; the house was thick with eye watering smoke. "Hello, anybody here? You have to get out. Hello?" There was no answer. He crossed the kitchen, went into the hallway, and turned towards the front. That was the most dangerous area. If somebody needed immediate help they would be there.

He moved forward and spotted a very large figure in the smoke, "Hello," he called. It was about the right size to be the mayor.

Richard Diddler jumped, and then turned towards the shout with a sinking heart. He was spotted after discarding his mask to see better in the smoke. If a team of firemen had come into the house, he was a goner; alibi shot. Once they talked to Betty his life would be over.

"Oh thank God," he thought when he saw it was only the rancher Sherman; too bad for him. "Sherman, seen Betty?" he called out.

Slim moved up next to the mayor, "No mayor. Is she the only one here?"

The mayor shrugged, "Little Richard might be here too. I don't know. I just got here myself, "he said then, "Look at that!" he said excitedly, pointing past Slim. When Slim turned, Diddler swung with his hitherto concealed right hand, which glittered with a set of bloodied brass knuckles.

While not expecting trouble from the mayor, Slim was chock full of adrenaline and "twitchy as a cat" inside the blazing house. Peripherally he caught the looping movement of the mayor's blow and ducked while kicking out with his right boot. The kick caught the mayor in the knee as the knucks grazed the side of Slims head, causing his head to thunder; vision blurring. Half dazed he staggered against the near wall. No doubt a direct hit would have cracked his skull. For his part, Diddler let out a yelp and went down clutching his leg.

"What in the…." Slim exclaimed as he shoved himself away from the wall and cleared his sore head. In a moment, he surged towards the mayor who was staggering to his feet. Feinting with his right, Slim closed and slammed a punch into the mayor's right bicep- a blow so hard it numbed the mayor's arm and temporarily deprived him of the use of his brass knuckles. Then a three punch combination rocked back the man's head and put him down.

Head thundering, Slim looked down at the man and thought blearily, "Now I have to move this deranged elephant. I don't know what that was all about but he is not coming to with those knuckle busters on." Leaning over, he pulled the weapon off of the comatose mayor and threw it down the hall. Then he grabbed the man by his armpits, gave a mighty heave, and drug him towards the kitchen as the fire entered the hallway.

Slim had gone about eight feet when the door to his right opened a foot or so and then slammed shut. "Oh now what?" he thought, "If I grab the door, I'll drop this fat lunatic and I'm not sure I'll be able to lift him again." He settled for shouting at the door, "Whoever is there, come on out. We have to get out of here. The fire is getting really bad." Then he started hauling his mayoral prize again.

The door opened and Mike burst out shouting, "Slim! Look out, there's a big guy running around here attacking….. oh you found him," he ended deflatedly.

"Yeah I guess I did. Get out of here now," the rancher shouted so as to be heard over the fire.

The boy shook his coal dust streaked head, "Mrs. Diddler is hurt down in the basement. You've got to carry her out. She's too big for me," Mike yelled. Then, pointing at the hulk in Slim's hold, he added "I think he beat her up and then set fire to the house!"

Slim nodded, grunting with the pain of the nod, "That must be why he attacked me. He's trying to kill her and I saw him."

"Slim. Hurry, it's getting mighty warm in here," Mike said urgently while hacking from the smoke.

Without thinking Slim dropped the elephantine Diddler, and quickly went down the stairs to fetch the injured woman. Mike was left alone with the comatose mayor. Taking a step back, the boy thought, "What if this guy wakes up?" Then he had a flash of inspiration and charged up the stairway to the second floor where there was a strange old gun on a rack above the mayor's desk. It was as an old short barreled flintlock with a flared muzzle. Next to it hung a powder horn and a bullet pouch. Mike grabbed the lot and ran back down stairs where the mayor was slowly stirring.

Hurriedly, Mike primed the elderly firearm noting that it already had a flint. He paused not, knowing how much powder to put in since he had only used prepared cartridges himself. He dumped in about 1/3 of the powder horn thinking, "That should be plenty." Tearing open the bullet pouch, he saw that the balls were all much smaller than the bore of the gun, and realized that this was a really old shotgun. After tamping the powder, he dumped in about six balls, tamped them, then he put in a paper patch, and tamped that too.

As he finished tamping the paper patch, Diddler surged up and grabbed the gun while sending Mike sprawling with a backhand. "Where's Sherman?" the wobbly man growled.

Mike looked up at the man in scared defiance, blood leaking from his nose, and thinking frantically, "What would Jess do?" his immediate answer was, "Jess would shoot him." Then he derided himself, "Kinda hard to do when he just took your gun from you."

The hurt, frightened, and frustrated mayor repeated himself, "Where is Sherman you little brat?" He cocked and aimed his grandfather's blunderbuss at the boy.

Scared as he was, Mike remained silent. Then the basement door started to open, accompanied by the sound of Slim grunting under the unwieldy load of 220 pounds of inert mayoral wife. Mike immediately shouted, "Slim look out!"

Diddler wheeled about, saw the door opening, jerked the weapon to his shoulder, and fired wildly at the movement. The worn-out, wildly overloaded, and plugged muzzle loader burst. It killed Diddler instantly and showered the basement door with metal shards. Diddler's massive body shielded Mike from the blast.

The impacted door bounced off of Slim, rebounding to the wall. Slim looked down at the obviously dead mayor, shrugged, and continued carrying Mrs. Diddler out of the house. "Come on Mike, let's go." Eyes stinging, and coughing from the smoke, the three left the flaming house as Jock, Jess, and two dozen others manually hauled the engine up to the front. Half of them, including Marcy and Allie, were covered from head to toe in mud.

Jess handed Jock a hose saying, "Go to it. I'll run the engine."

Gleefully Jock grabbed the nozzle and charged towards the front door. Jess waited for him to get there and then charged the line with water. They had discovered that full fire hoses are a lot heavier than empty ones so charging the lines at the last moment made sense. With a whoop, Jock started in on the blaze. A dozen men followed him while the remainder prepared the other hose lay at Jess' direction. The subsequent fire fighting didn't exactly go like a scripted ballet, but the enthusiastic men soon had the fire under control. In the end, front part of the first floor was a loss but the rest of the house was saved.

As Jess bossed the crew, frequently running back and forth to them from the engine, the doctor tended Mrs. Diddler. He had followed the fire engine, figuring that somebody was going to get hurt using that thing. A mud covered Marcy rejoined Slim. "Hi, aren't I cute?" she laughed. "It took all of us to get the engine out of the mud. Jock had it well and truly mired. About half of us slipped and fell at least once. I managed it twice." Her laughter stopped when the fire light showed her Slim's bloodied head, "Slim Sherman, are you alright?"

"I'm ok," he said quietly, making a dismissive gesture.

Shaking her mud splattered head, "You're hurt," she accused, took him by the elbow, and marched him towards her house. Slim went meekly enough. Jess laughed as he saw the tiny woman troop the big man off. "Mike, give me a hand with the engine will you?" he called, thinking, that should keep the boy out of mischief and away from Marcy and Slim.

Mike bounced over and soon he was happily shoveling coal at Jess' direction and telling his foster father the tale of what had happened. Jess was appalled at the story and commended the boy's actions. He succeeded in hiding the fact that those same actions made him want a good stiff drink, or maybe two.