Part 3- See How They Run

Chapter 10

Sunday morning revealed a very sleepy Laramie. Many townsfolk had been up all night dealing with the Diddler fire and the subsequent celebratory drinking (after the fire being put out). This morning, the only one expending any real energy was Arena Linkous . She was having a fit in front of the church sign which now read 'Worst Fractured Baptist Church'. During all of the commotion, the sign prankster had struck again.

Word of Arena's bigoted monologue, greatly expanded in the retelling, had spread throughout the town. It had mobilized many detractors and alienated much of her support. Then Diddler got himself killed so the town found itself with one, highly unpopular, mayoral candidate and it was past the deadline to get any other name printed on the official ballots.

The congregation of the newly re-signed Baptist church had broken up into their usual social cliques and was heatedly discussing the political situation. A large group still favored Arena, several others had ideas for write in candidates, and a vocal minority favored not being involved as a church. The name of "The Worst Fractured Baptist Church" was looking quite appropriate. It is to be noted that the Baptist Church has a long tradition of growth by fission; where church factions get annoyed with each other causing one to pull out and found its own house of worship. That process was well underway in Laramie.

Elsewhere, a badly hung over Town Council was meeting. "A write in candidate! We have to put forth a proper write in candidate and get the word out," Gus Sweeney announced hammering his fat fist down upon the council table and causing everybody around it to wince at the sound. "The Baptists are going to band back together under Arena and we need somebody else, anybody else, who will be reasonable," he finished.

Sitting unobtrusively in a corner, Cyrus McCourt sat placidly observing. Each council member assumed that someone else had invited him to sit in. "'Reasonable' meaning someone you can control," he said so quietly that nobody else could hear him.

"Not father Enrique," Horace Kellerman opined, "I don't think fighting religion with religion is a good idea, though Enrique is partial to tippling a bottle."

Marvin Hornbeck shook his head, "No, that would just stir up the Baptists more. Besides, Enrique would be inhibiting of other activities." He paused, and pronounced with a smile, "Jock Benson."

The suggestion was met with silence and then unanimous smiles. Sweeney seconded the suggestion,"Perfect! He's a man of business. Plus, after last night he is a hero. Better yet, everybody likes him, and we can talk him into anything."

Mathias Hicks, the other non-councilman present, shook his head, "No, Marcy is the businessman there, but otherwise you're right. He does think he's a man of business. Let's get the word out immediately."

Without further adieu, the meeting broke up leaving Cyrus McCourt deep in thought. "Andy can deal with corrupt locals, he's had to often enough, but he doesn't like to. I do believe this town is in need of a strong honest mayor. Ach well, time to get out my Diogenes lamp and find an honest man," he thought as he limped out of the council chambers. He was sore after a night of dancing with that lovely Lilly; he wasn't used to so much exercise as he was sedentary by preference. It was something his wife chided him about whenever he was home.

Slim Sherman was sitting in a rocker, under a blanket, on the Benson porch. He felt fine despite the bandage on his head. Better than fine, actually, despite having had no sleep at all. Marcy playing nurse to him had been delightfully cuddly, though painful. While her virtue was still intact he was convinced that it's loss had been a very near thing. He smiled thinking that he had best visit the jeweler in Cheyenne soon. With his mind made up, he rose to go. Head pulsing, he sat back down. He also remembered that he had some cattle to chase down and he would be out on the range until Wednesday morning. "Fine, Wednesday then," he re-decided.

Marcy and Jock were sleeping inside so Slim quietly folded up his blanket then carefully stood up and left in search of breakfast. While not tired, he was ravenous. To his delight, he found Mike and Jess as he walked down Main Street. By their steps it was obvious that both of them were in equally high spirits.

The rancher merrily called out, "Morning Jess, Mike."

Jess grinned over at him, "Howdy pard, how about some breakfast? My treat. What a night for all of us! I see Marcy patched you up."

Slim laughed, "Yes it was and she did."

Jess smiled, "I sold the fire engine. With some help."

Slim's smile slipped, his partner wasn't near the businessman he was and he feared he had been rooked, "To the town? For how much?" he said thinking, Jess, please say for $3500.

"$5500 less commission," he grinned.

Slim's jaw dropped, "Holy cow! $5500? I was hoping for $3500. $4000 tops." He frowned, "Hmm. How long are they going to take to pay." He could see a thousand year payment schedule, or negative interest, looming.

Jess' grin only increased. "That's why I'm buying breakfast. Mr. Snead was at the end of the bucket brigade, filling the fire truck last night. After we finished, I deposited the towns note of payment. The money is in our account at the bank. It's done," the cowpoke laughed.

Slim shook his head, "Jess, you amaze me. Maybe you should handle all of our horse trading."

Jess shook his head, "Nah, I had help. I said 'less commission' didn't I? A traveling salesman, named McCourt, wandered in and skinned the Council for us. He did it for 10% of everything over $3000. Oh, and I am the official trainer for the fire department at $100/year for five years." Jess laughed again, "I'd have done that for free."

"Well, this McCourt made out well, but he surely earned his fee. Wow." Slim turned his glance upon Mike who had been unusually quiet throughout the exchange. The boy had an idiot grin on his face and appeared to be somewhere else. Slim nodded knowingly and suspected there was a girl involved. Come to think of it, he felt a bit like Mike looked.

"Who is she Mike?" Slim asked quietly causing Jess to laugh once again.

"Huh, what?" Mike said, reappearing from wherever he had been. "Whatya, mean Slim?" he dodged not sure that he wanted to admit to a girl friend.

Jess answered for the boy, "Mandy Reinhardt. She's been giving him the hero treatment after he helped save her favorite aunt."

"Help nothing; he was the one that got her away from a murderer and the fire. I just finished carrying her out," Slim grinned. "Though taking her down into the basement was a desperate move since you couldn't get her back out."

"We were trapped. I couldn't get her out and we needed to hide. I didn't mean to give her the black eyes but her head kinda bounced on the steps as I drug her down," the boy said defensively but still proud.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Jess answered grinning. "I bet she thinks Diddler did it."

Slim shrugged, "If she wasn't so big you would have carried her off like a gentleman instead of bouncing her down the stairs like a ball." Mike laughed at that.

The trio continued on to breakfast, laughing, talking, and generally behaving like the three heroes of the moment that they were. After breakfast, they went to church, where they enjoyed a lot of back slapping by the other men of the town. Somewhere in the confusion, they lost track of Mike for an hour. The boy eventually reappeared, being towed by his ear by a silently surly papa Reinhardt. Slim just grinned as he took custody of the boy. He never liked Reinhardt anyway. After collecting Marcy and Daisy, Slim and company headed back to the ranch.

Monday morning arrived and Marcy Benson was cheerfully up before the dawn. She bounced down to the kitchen, and was stirring up the fire in the Franklin stove, when she heard her brother moving about. "He must be up early to go fishing. That'll put him back in the store at about noon." With a fatalistic sigh, and a mildly put upon smile, she shook her head and acknowledged to herself that she was too indulgent with him.

She tapped on his door, "Morning Jock, want some breakfast?"

The door opened immediately, revealing a fully dressed Jock who smelled like a cigar store inside of a brewery. "Hey Sis," he slurred, "hear the news?"

The young woman instantly reassessed her opinion, "Nope, not up early. How could I think that? Just coming in. Certainly the store is all mine until at least two," she thought shaking her head. "Depends on the news, oh wild one. Slim brought me home kinda late so I crept in, foolishly assuming that you were already asleep. Not out howling at the moon."

"I'm gonna be the next mayor and was not out howling at the moon. I was meeting with the Town Council and discussing campaign strategy," he announced with owlish self importance.

Marcy stared at him for a moment, then blurted out, "You can't be serious!"

"Yup, they asked me to run in place of Diddler the Dead. They're backing me, as a man of business, against Arena Linkous. Being a hero and all they said I should be a shoe in," he finished proudly.

That was when Marcy exploded, "Jock Benson, you are no more a man of business then I'm Abe Lincoln's Cat! Half of the time I run our store while you're out fishing, sleeping, or otherwise not around. Now you want to be mayor and you'll use that as an excuse to NEVER work in the store. Well brother, I have some news for you. Slim Sherman is about to propose to me, and I will say yes, and then be a rancher's wife. How will you support your mayoral self with me out on that ranch and you spending all of your time pretending that you're Richard Diddler?" she fiercely challenged while glaring at him.

Jock looked at her dumbfounded, "When are you marrying Slim?" The rest of what she said seemed to have missed him completely.

Marcy shook her head from side to side and then looked down a little embarrassed, "Well, he hasn't exactly asked me yet, but he's going to. Jock, don't change the subject. You can't be mayor," she decreed returning to the more comfortable part of the conversation.

"Yes I can, and I will." he said shutting his door.

Marcy fumed a moment, shook her head, and then replied, "Oh very well Mr. Mayor. Nobody will vote for you anyway. Just be down at the store this afternoon. I'm going to the 'Ladies of Laramie meeting at one.'"

"Ok Marcy, I'll be there. I promise. G'night," her much put upon and drunken brother grumpily called out through the door.

Gerald Snead, president of the Bank of Laramie, let out a whistle. "That's great news for Laramie, though disruptive. Why do you entrust me with this confidence as opposed to some other notable?" He asked, putting down his doodling pencil.

Cyrus McCourt smiled, "Because Gunther James says that your secret keeping is so trustworthy that you don't even talk in your sleep."

Snead started and loosed a surprised smile, "Gunther? I haven't seen Gunther since the war! We chased after war bond counterfeiters together. I wasn't even sure he was still alive. Where is that rascal and what is is he up to?" the elderly banker asked happily. He and James had once been very close friends; close enough for James to be the best man at Snead's wedding.

"Pittsburgh, working for my cousin Andy. He is well, though his wife Wilma passed, and he took that very hard," McCourt reported.

Snead grimaced, "A shame about Willie, she was a lovely person. They were married a long time. So you picked me on Gunther's recommendation. For what?" he asked curiously, absentmindedly picking up his pencil again.

"I need an intelligent and honest man, to push for a new mayor, to help keep your crooked Town Council from robbing the rest of the locals. You know what's going to happen to property values. Andy doesn't like Robber barons of any ilk, local or imported, as he's a bit of an idealist," McCourt answered.

"I suppose you mean an honest man besides me," the banker smiled.

"Yes sir," McCourt answered without smiling, "as we need you to be available as an independent auditor. This way, when the new mayor suspects wrong doing, you can do the audit."

"Why sir, will he suspect wrong doing?" the banker queried archly.

"Because I'll tell him about it," the more than mere encyclopediaist said with a devilish grin.

"And if I find wrong doing it will trigger a re-election for the council and an honest group can be put in," the banker said nodding.

The salesman nodded. "Yes sir, that's the plan, but first we need an honest man for mayor," McCourt confirmed.

"I have two for you but neither will want the job," Snead answered with a frown.

"Leave that to me, sir. Persuasion is my business," McCourt replied, with complete self confidence.

"I can see that," the banker said, eyeing the master manipulator coldly.

Later that afternoon, in the Snead home, "That concludes old business," Mellissa Snead announced. "There is no new business, unless someone else has something to suggest." The leader of the "Ladies of Laramie" looked expectantly at Mattie Bradford, "Yes Mattie?" The two had prearranged this.

Mattie Bradford spoke up, "Who are we going to support in next Saturday's election? We had supported Mayor Diddler but that isn't much of an option now."

"Arena Linkous is only candidate," Iwona Corey said with her heavy Polish accent, "a bad choice, but only choice." Iwona was a staunch Catholic and Arena was not popular in that portion of the community.

"That is not true Iwona. You're new here so you don't know. Anybody can be voted for, not just the ones on the ballot. The Council is pushing for Jock Benson. He's a very nice man and kind of cute too," put in Magda Sweeney. "He is also a man of business and brave. We all saw him leading the fire fighting at Betty's home."

"He's also a knot head. I should know as he's my brother," Marcy Benson replied strongly while opening her arms wide in a gesture of exasperation. She continued, "I love Jock, but he's neither sensible nor dependable. We need somebody else." This announcement was greeted with mixed tittering and surprise. The surprise came from those who weren't familiar with Marcy and her ongoing grumbling about Jock.

"Then who Marcy?" asked Brenda Abbot.

"If I might address the meeting?" the unmistakably male voice of Gerald Snead came from the back of the room.

"Jerry, you're not a member," Mellissa Snead admonished, waving the bank president's Masonic Lodge gavel at him. While she had helped arrange for the topic to come up, Mrs. Snead had not been privy to her husband's involvement. She strongly felt that the "Ladies of Laramie" was only for Laramie's ladies. We will discuss this later, she silently promised herself.

"Nope, not built to be either," he quipped, "I would just like to say a word, and then I'll leave you to yourselves."

Mellissa sighed as the other ladies tittered. As always, her husband got his way by making others laugh; forget about rules. "You sir, are impossible. Make it brief, or I shall have you on the couch tonight," she threatened him.

Gerald Snead's eyes danced at her word choice. Mel had always been prone to unintentional innuendo. He responded without missing a beat, "Why my dear, I shall absolutely filibuster then! Wherever you wish to 'have me' why I shall not…."

Mellissa cut him off, blushing, as the rest of the room burst into laughter, "Fah, say your piece you impossible man, before I beat you with your own gavel."

"My dear, I am but improbable. You, in your sweetness are the impossible one…." The banker started, then seeing that she wasn't buying it, he switched back to his topic, "Ladies, let me make my thoughts brief. Our current council is, with apologies to some present, of dubious ethics, and has selected a mayoral candidate they can control. Jock's a nice man, but unfocused and malleable. We need a man cut from a different cloth. I have two men to suggest to you. Both are terminally honest, undeniably brave, intelligent, hard working, popular and, since this there will be little time to campaign, well known. I suggest you ladies put forward either Mort Corey, or Slim Sherman. Personally, I favor Slim since his victory will still leave us with an honest sheriff. "

The Missus' Hornbeck and Sweeney turned beet red and started protesting. However, Gerald Snead did as he said he would. He turned upon his heel and left the room. A great hubbub ensued, during which the two councilmen's wives left in huffs. Marcy found herself encircled by her fellows and being asked innumerable questions about Slim. With great pride and enthusiasm she extolled his many talents, virtues, and generally wonderful characteristics. From her speech he could well have been named Saint Sherman the Valiant and Virtuous. Iwona Corey didn't greatly change the tone of things when she chimed in, reminding all present of Slim's courage when their stage was attacked in the summer of the previous year.

"Iwona, you're speaking more favorably of Slim than of your own husband. People will begin to wonder," Sally Rogers said archly, with a raised eyebrow and a challenging smirk. "Mort IS the other man we're considering."

Iwona returned her a hard look, and then she threw her head back and laughed. She stood up. "Just look at my huge belly and you know who I favor!" she said bouncing her eight month along bulge. "But Mort would hate Mayor job so don't consider him. Pick Slim everyone. He is second best man in Laramie, after my Mort."

Mellissa Snead was not diverted by the levity and turned to Marcy, "Would Slim take the job?"

Marcy looked at her squarely, swallowed, and said with a complete conviction that she didn't feel, "Yes he would. He'd be honored," while thinking, "Oh Slim, please don't kill me. Jock as mayor would be a disaster for both us and the town."

In the end, the Ladies of Laramie started a write in campaign, 'Slim Sherman for Mayor,' saddling Marcy with getting the election paperwork in order. She agreed to it, quailing inside. Slim had told her that he would be gone several days, bringing down cattle, and there was no time to wait. She was grateful that she had Slim's signature at the store. His writing was so hard to read that forging it would be easy.

Cyrus McCourt and Gerald Snead sat in his home office, sipping brandy and listening to the ladies plot downstairs. "It's begun," the traveling salesman finally commented with a smile.

"So it has," the banker replied with less confidence, "this might just split the anti-Linkous vote and saddle us with a religious bigot."

McCourt shrugged, "I doubt it, but shall we get to work on making sure that doesn't happen? You and I are going to be busy the next few days. I'll go out to Sherman's place, and recruit him in the morning."

"I'll make some posters and have them put up. A few hand written ones today, and printed ones tomorrow," the banker nodded and said with resignation.

"Is your hand neat enough for today's? I've a fair hand for sign lettering, " McCourt offered.

Gerald Snead nodded, "Oh yes, my sign lettering is quite good. I've practiced on the Church sign for years, and these I won't have to do in the dark."

Chapter 11

Gerald Snead made several signs and ordered printed ones from the newspaper. Cyrus McCourt happily mixed selling Slim Sherman with selling encyclopedias to the locals. The 'Ladies of Laramie' went home to recruit their husbands, and the Laramie Town Council held an emergency meeting.

"Boys, we've got trouble," Gus Sweeney announced, "Magda just stormed home from her 'Ladies' meeting. They're running another write in candidate."

"So?" Councilman Kellerman asked, "Is he another anti-drinking, anti-gambling Puritan?"

"Nope. Worse," Sweeney replied with a grimace.

"Yeah, much worse," Marvin Hornbeck answered. "It's Slim Sherman, and they're running him on an anti-corruption platform. Slim is almighty popular in town, a straight arrow, and the ladies think he's pretty as a picture. We've got trouble."

"How'd this happen?" Kellerman asked leaning forward on the table. "I haven't even seen Sherman in town since church."

"Snead arranged things," Sweeney replied, which was responded to with groans and grumbling from around the table. Gerald Snead had previously thwarted some dubiously ethical council activities that would have turned handsome profits. The Council was of the opinion that the affable banker was the biggest pain in the backside within a hundred miles. Only the man's stranglehold on local credit had saved him from retaliation.

"Curse that snotty, meddling, blue blood," Hornbeck snarled, lightly smacking his left palm down upon the table, "he's always in the way of a businessman turning a dollar."

"Isn't Sherman bedding Jock's sister?" Sweeney asked, trying to move away from complaining and into a useful discussion.

Kellerman said leaning back, "Yes, do you think that Jock could influence her to get him to back out of the race? Women can be awfully persuasive. What could we do to sweeten the notion for her?"

Hornbeck smirked sideways at Kellerman, then chimed in, "Well Horace, you should know about persuasive women." This got a laugh from everyone at the table. Even the embarrassed Kellerman laughed as it was well known that he had a long history of trouble with persuasive women.

As the laughter abated, Sweeney suggested, "Well, let's set Jock to it. At the same time, let's step up campaigning for Jock. Get him out speechifying and shaking hands. If that doesn't work out it still isn't all that bad. If Sherman ties in with Marcy Benson then he ties in with business here in town. We might be able to make him one of us. Suddenly the notion of Slim Sherman running for mayor isn't all that upsetting," Sweeney finished feeling more upbeat.

"Speak for yourself Gus," Marvin Hornbeck grumped glumly. "Slim Sherman has been a straight arrow, and a do gooder, forever. He won't join our business alliance. The mere thought of him running makes my piles hurt."

Later that evening, emotions were running high at the Benson household. "Jock Benson! I will do no such thing," Marcy stood with arms crossed, head held high, and the impression of steam shooting out of both of her ears, "Slim will make a fine mayor and you know it!"

Jock looked down at his feet, then less down at his diminutive sister, "Now sis, I'm your brother, and you should help me with this. I'm running against Slim and my being mayor would be good for our business," he plaintively reasoned while uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Marcy held her ground, "Your being mayor will mean I do everything in our store, and you know it. Let me tell you this now. Not only won't I pressure Slim into dropping out, I am the one that nominated him." Her arms went from crossed to hands upon her hips, a sure sign that she was near to going into full rampage mode.

"No!" Jock said standing open mouthed, "What kind of sister are you? Knifing me in the back like that!" he puffed up with fists clenched and his face tight with the betrayal.

Unimpressed, Marcy stood in closer and let fly verbally with enough hand gesturing to do the king of France proud, "What kind of sister? The kind who's your business partner. The kind of sister who takes care of the business while you go gallivanting off to Cheyenne with Jess Harper. The sister you always stick with taking care of everything. That's the sister I am. I am also the sister who will marry Slim Sherman, and if my husband wants to be mayor…" a big if, she thought but she quickly shoved the thought aside, "then by all that's holy I'll not stand in his way!" With that she picked up a poster that had been laying face down upon the kitchen counter. She flipped the poster over and waved it under her brothers nose while continuing, "In fact, I am the sister who is posting this on our fence right this minute!"

Jock read the poster, paled, and then stomped off to his room. Marcy looked at it once again. It wasn't exactly subtle, but she approved of the sentiments:

"Feed Arena to the Lions and don't be a Jock supporter!

Vote for Slim Sherman for Mayor!"

Tuesday morning, found Cyrus McCourt out early and riding into the yard of the Sherman ranch. With one hand on the saddle horn, and a very tender rear end, it was obvious that horseback was not the encyclopediaists element. "Hullo the house!" he called, glad to be at the end of his ride and resolutely not thinking about the ride back.

Mike popped out of the hen house, "Howdy mister," and Jess followed suit by coming out of the barn. The family joke was that when Slim milked you got a bucket of milk and a bucket of foam. When Miss Daisy milked you got a bucket of milk. When Mike milked you got half a bucket of milk, and when Jess milked you got a lot of questionable language. Today was Jess' turn, and he was pleased at the interruption. "Howdy Cyrus! Welcome, but what are you doing out here? On your way to Cheyenne?" Then turning to Mike, "Mike, please go finish the milking while I talk with our guest." Giving Jess a dark look, Mike obediently headed over to the barn.

"Good mornin' to ya Jess!" the sore rider said as he gingerly dismounted and tethered his horse. "No, this is where I was bound for. Tis good to see you, but I'm actually here to have a word with your partner. Is he about?"

Jess shook his head, "Nope, he's moving some cattle, and then is heading straight to Cheyenne. He should be back here Fridayish. He won't buy an encyclopedia from you anyway; I've already ordered one, and a man can only read one at a time."

"Cheyenne? Well that's inconvenient. It really is urgent that he and I speak. Could we go find him?" he said, rubbing his sore rear and giving his mount a forlorn look.

"That is possible, but it might take a while. I can handle any ranch business, we're partners. Why not talk to me?" the Texan asked curiously.

"Jess Harper! Invite that man inside. Breakfast is ready." Miss Daisy interrupted, "Good morning Mr. McCourt. I'm Daisy Cooper."

Cyrus looked over, nodding towards the newly appeared house keeper. "Honored and pleased ma'am, but don't put yourself out on my account. I can wait until you finish your breakfast," Cyrus gallantly answered though the smell of the meal made his mouth water.

Jess clamped a firm hand upon the much smaller man's shoulder, and propelled him towards the house, "Don't be silly Cyrus. By the looks of things you've earned a good breakfast just by riding out here."

Inside, a full-fledged ranch breakfast awaited them all. Ham, eggs, coffee, cold milk (from yesterday), corn bread muffins, goose berry jam, butter, and small antelope steaks were all ready. Miss Daisy was a firm believer that ranchers needed to start with a heavy meal for the long day. Of course, she ended their day the same way….plus desert.

Eating took first priority, and towards the end of the meal McCourt finally spoke up. "Back to your question Jess," Cyrus said while cutting the antelope steak with his fork, "my business with Mr. Sherman isn't truly ranch business. You see, he has been nominated to run for Mayor, and I came out here to talk him into accepting it."

Jess' face went red as he inhaled scrambled egg while starting to laugh. Miss Daisy simply said, "Oh, my!" Mike showed no particular interest as he didn't care who was mayor. The youngster finished and was excused.

"Holy Cow, Slim as mayor! The Council would have kittens! We don't get on very well with that greedy bunch," Jess finally wheezed out.

"So I have gathered from Gerald Snead," Cyrus replied cheerfully, then ate the last bit of his steak.

To Cyrus' surprise, that wiped the smile from Jess' face, and the Texan looked the salesman over carefully. "Who nominated Slim, Cyrus? Obviously not the Council. Nor the Baptist Church. The Ladies of Laramie?"

"Why yes," the encyclopediast said startled at the cowpoke's perception while thinking that things are taking an unforeseen turn. Sherman was supposed to be the brainy one.

"So you and Gerald are hand in glove in this, and you've roped in the ladies. Why?" Jess demanded staring down the visitor without the slightest trace of good humor.

"Jess, remember your manners. This is our guest." Miss Daisy reminded him, startled at his abrupt attitude change.

Jess spared her a glance, and answered soberly, adamant in his suspicion, "Daisy, something is afoot here. Cyrus has no stake in Laramie yet he is in this up to his neck. Gerald is a good old duffer, but he is not usually political, except when he can't resist thwarting the crookedest of the Council's dealings.

Cyrus McCourt looked closely at his two breakfast companions, and made an instant decision. His instincts said they could be trusted and he desperately needed their help as Sherman was not to be found. He nodded, pulled out his wallet, and removed a business card. He handed it to Jess.

Jess read, "Cyrus P. McCourt, Route Surveyer and Supply procurement supervisor, Cheyenne Pacific Rail Road" then he said, "So much for encyclopedias."

Cyrus smiled, "Oh no, I am a seller of those marvelous books as well. They allow me to get a feel for a town without causing pandemonium, and I find selling them fun."

"Ok, a railroad is coming through Laramie. That'll change things," replied Jess.

"Yes Jess, and I agree that your current town leaders are a crooked lot. They would use their positions to play robber baron. My boss prefers to work with honest men, when he can, so I am pushing for the most honest man I can find here; Slim Sherman. The only people here, who know the railroad is coming through, are you two, myself, and Mr. Snead."

"No offense McCourt," Jess replied firmly, "but from what I've heard, railroads are less than caring about the towns they visit. Why are you going to all this trouble?"

"My cousin Andy has the controlling interest in the Cheyenne Pacific. He only dabbles in railroads. Mostly he makes his money supplying their construction. Steel is his biggest business, but his favorite hobby is social justice," Cyrus McCourt shrugged, "he's not your average rich guy."

Jess nodded with pursed lips, "What is 'Cousin Andy's' last name?" he asked though it looked as though he guessed already.

"Carnegie, Andrew Carnegie. His mother is my mother's sister," the salesman said quietly, as if embarrassed.

Jess nodded, satisfied with the announced intentions. The Carnegie name was famous for wealth, power, and philanthropy. He went back to the practicality of Slim being mayor, "As mayor, Slim couldn't stop the Council's actions. He'll have a vote but that's all." Jess said then stopped, "But that's not all is it? He can keep an eye on them, and the budget."

McCourt nodded, "Yes, the budget, Jess. They can't do much without tapping the budget. More importantly, he can call for an outside audit of the budget and town accounts. What will happen if he does that?"

"An honest audit? If the auditor isn't killed, then our Council will flee to Mexico!" Jess laughed. "So you want to get Slim elected, get him to call an audit, and then to stay alive long enough to have it finished. But who can…..oh. Gerald Snead can audit the books under Judge Klink's supervision. Klink won't be a problem; he would love to scalp half of that bunch."

"Yes, though I probably would ask somebody from the territorial treasury to supervise the task. They are very sympathetic to pushing a railroad from Cheyenne to Salt Lake City," Cyrus McCourt explained with a wry smile "In fact, they're making quite a nuisance of themselves trying to increase their own personal fortunes by unsavory means. It appears, however, that they are assuming the wrong route." He paused with an innocent smile, "I can't imagine how that happened."

Jess laughed, at some point there was going to be a lot of crankiness in Cheyenne. "But first you want Slim," Jess commented.

"Yes, we do," McCourt replied nodding.

Jess made a snap decision. His pard would be grumpy but would see the need. "Count him in. Catch him in Cheyenne; he's going there to get an engagement ring. He should be there tomorrow. You haven't a prayer of catching him earlier. He's riding circle and going there cross country."

"I'll have a co-worker talk to him there. I need to stay here to help get him elected," McCourt said nodding.

"Count us in Mr. McCourt," Daisy Cooper said as Jess nodded, "Jess sometimes speaks for Slim when he is away. He can speak for him now, and I will talk to the ladies."

"Good, but that's not all that concerns you. The railroad is going to kill Overland around here," Cyrus continued.

Jess grimaced, "Working the stages has brought in needed cash. We'll miss that money, but we'll get by." He paused and added with pride, "The fact is, we just paid off the place this week."

McCourt smiled, made an expansive gesture, and then pointed with his index finger straight down, "Actually Jess, you'll more than get by. You have the only water between Laramie and Cheyenne. We'd like to put a water tower, track pans, and a coal store, here."

"Which means running track through our land. That won't come cheap, Mr. McCourt. You can run through government land and they'll pay you for it. We won't; having a train run through our herds is not a privilege," the Texan replied getting his back up a bit.

"Mr. Harper," the salesman said formally, "we didn't expect it to be, especially as we would like you and Mr. Sherman to run the tower and procure the coal." He put out a hand, "Pending negotiation, welcome to the Cheyenne Pacific Railroad, Jess. We'll treat you fairly."

"Pending negotiations; that'll have to wait for Slim. This is too big for me to not talk it over with him," Jess said, taking his hand.

"I don't close such deals anyway. You'll be dealing with Lucius Kennedy for that. I would suggest being careful with him, if I were inclined to make suggestions. Which of course I am not," the salesman grinned. "I would be curious to look at your contract, before you sign it. I might make a suggestion or two, strictly as an anonymous and disinterested friend."

Jess shook his head at the 'non-advice and offer of 'help.' He doubted if he could ever figure out when, and if, McCourt was altogether on anybody's side. However, his instincts told him that Cyrus was his friend and he was satisfied with that.

As Cyrus and Jess talked, Sally Vanderark finished dusting Mr. Snead's book shelves. That only left the desk to do. It was boring work, and she didn't much care for the Sneads. However, between their pay, and the money Mr. Sweeney gave her to report to him anything that she found that was interesting, it supported herself and her daughter. That counted for a lot as single-never-married mothers often had to do much less appealing work, especially if men found them unattractive.

Sally found the time spent cleaning up after Mr. Snead the most profitable. He was a doodler and note taker, so interesting things were often to be found on his desk. What she found today about made her heart stop, "God in heaven! A railroad is coming through Laramie," she gasped. "Mr. Sweeney will pay me well to know that." She picked the doodle out of the trash, re-read it, and stashed it in her cleavage. Quickly she finished her work, and then went down stairs where Mrs. Sweeney would be waiting with a grocery list.

"That was quick today, Sally. Are you sure that you've finished everything?" Mellissa Snead asked impassively. She was of the sort that routinely treated social inferiors brusquely.

Eyes dutifully gazing downward, Sally answered, "Yes ma'am. Mr. Gerald was rather tidier than usual," she explained mentally adding, "You snotty witch."

"Very well, here is today's shopping list. Now take that hammer, those tacks, and stick these posters up along the way," the lady of the house blandly ordered.

"Yes ma'am. Anything else ma'am?" she asked politely while leaving out, "You lazy snot."

Mrs. Snead turned away from her, and returned to reading 'Desperate Remedies.' "No Sally. Bring back the groceries and then you're done here for the day."

"Thank you ma'am," she said while making a curtsy and then she left.

Sally dutifully put up the posters. Initially she was going to hang them upside down, but saw that they were for that sweet rancher, Slim Sherman, so she hung them properly. What a nice man he was. He always greeted her, and he never looked over her head and pretended that she didn't exist.

Sally put the last sign up on the Sweeney fence then knocked on their back door. It was answered by Mrs. Sweeney who smiled and motioned her in. "Good morning Sally, do come in. Would you like some tea? Gus will be a few minutes as he is suffering from uncooperative pants," Magda Sweeney said archly.

Sally put her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. "Uncooperative pants," meant that Mr. Sweeney had put on some more weight. He either couldn't button up a pair of pants, or had split them out. The man hated to admit to getting wider, and wore the same pants until it became impossible to pretend they fit. "Thank you ma'am, some tea would be nice." Magda Sweeney fetched and poured tea. Then the two women chatted amiably until Mr. Sweeney thundered down the stairs complaining loudly about pants that shrunk when they were laundered.

"Dear, mind your language," Magda called to him, "Miss Vanderark is here to see you and she has some very exciting news."

The councilman ground to a stop before rounding the corner. "Oh hi Sally, just a minute," he called hurrying back upstairs. A few minutes later he was back with pants that, more or less, fit properly. "So what is this news that it couldn't wait until Friday?" he asked curiously. They usually kept their meetings to once a week to reduce the chance of Sally's getting caught.

"This, sir. Mr. Snead has been doodling again, and I thought you should see this as quickly as possible," she said handing the piece of paper to Sweeney.

"Jehosephat! Well this casts things in a different light. Sally, you are a pearl. A pearl of great price!" he said as he read and re-read:

Cheyenne Pacific Toot Toot

Laramie-Tie Siding-Denver

Chicago-Denver-Cheyenne-Laramie-Salt Lake-San Francisco Sweet

Station/Hotel/Restaurant $$$

Replace Diddler/Clean house

"Thank you sir," Sally answered gratefully, set her cup down and stood up. It was wonderful to be appreciated and the Sweeneys were so very nice. "Now I have to go finish my errands, thank you for the tea Miss Magda."

"Just call me Magda, Sally," Mrs. Sweeney said for probably the thousandth time.

"Please wait, will you Sally? I need to go to my study for a moment," Gus Sweeney asked and once again trundled up the stairs.

"Certainly sir," Sally replied, quite pleased. Whenever he had to go to the study it meant that she'd get a special reward; once as much as $5.00. If she got that much now she would have more than enough to cover the rest of Megan's school expenses for the year.

A minute later he came back, and was intercepted by Mrs. Sweeney in the doorway. Magda insisted on seeing what he had gotten for her. Dissatisfied with what she saw, the elegant woman pointed back the way he had come and whispered fiercely at him. Sally only caught the phrase, "quit being a tightwad" as she shooed him back.

The big man flushed, and retreated upstairs. When he returned, Magda intercepted him again. This time he passed muster and received a kiss on the cheek.

With great dignity, and a minor theatrical flourish, Gus handed Sally three double eagle gold coins while saying, "Thank you, Sally. You really came through this time. "

Sally gasped and clutched her $60 reward. It was the most money she had ever had at one time. "Thank you sir, thank you so very much!"

"Now there is one catch to this. Not one word to anybody about this. Nobody at all. If you don't tell anybody, six months from today, I will give you two more eagles. Agreed?" he asked while wagging a finger with supreme seriousness.

"Yes sir, not a word to anybody. Not one, I promise," she promised, bobbing her head up and down. She immediately left before the Sweeneys could change their minds.

"You will have to eliminate her dear," Magda softly said after their informant left.

The fat man grimaced. "I hope not. She's worked well for us. If I don't have to I won't," Gus Sweeney continued, sighing. "If Sherman sees reason there will be no need."

"Sherman won't see reason," Magda said quietly as she sidled up to her squeamish husband. "He is determined to replace our current council, or he would have talked with you already. You won't be able to scare him off either. The man doesn't fear violence," she added, and after a momentary pause, finished by adding, "Snead had best be dealt with as well."

Grimacing once again, he reluctantly nodded. "You're right my dear, you generally are about such things," he conceded.

She smilingly patted her beloved husband's chubby arm, "That is only natural, dear. It wasn't your papa who was an officer in the czar's Third Department. On the bright side, you'll be able to buy the bank for a song and the coming of the railroad will make those delinquent mortgages, that Snead is so reluctant to foreclose on, quite valuable."

Chapter 12

Cyrus McCourt gingerly stepped off of the shotgun guard's seat. He then helped Miss Daisy out of the stage, as Mike raced out of the other door and off to school. "Mose, you won't regret purchasing that encyclopedia any more than I regret riding the stage back into town," he remarked.

"Well, it will help me read better. I don't have much to read when I'm on the road and it sounds like a durned good set of books," the driver responded. Mose would be halfway to Virginia Dale before he realized that there was no way he could read while driving and wondering what on earth had possessed him to order an encyclopedia.

Miss Daisy went off to visit with some friends awhile campaigning for Slim. Cyrus made a bee line for the telegraph office, where he sent the chief rail crew supervisor a telegram. The message described Sherman and said where he would probably be staying. It then instructed the man to intercept the rancher, tell him of the railroad's plans, and to inform him that his friends had decided to run him for mayor. Further, it requested the rancher's return to Laramie to assist in his campaign. Not knowing if Slim had a sense of humor, McCourt suppressed the almost over powering urge to say that this was only the first step before running for territorial governor.

Deciding that Magda was right about Sherman, Sweeney went to see Mathias Hicks. The saloon owner knew every lowlife and scoundrel for a hundred miles, and the Councilman used him as a go between for getting dirty work done.

"The Plunkett brothers are in town, have no scruples about killing, and love money. They're your ticket," Hicks said without a moment's hesitation.

Sweeney replied almost disinterestly, "Fine Mathias, you know best. They'll have to go to Cheyenne to do the job. Sherman has gone there for supplies of some sort. He probably won't be there long or he won't get any campaigning done before the election."

Hicks nodded and answered, "Sure thing Gus. It also means they won't have to mess with Harper. I'll settle a price with them and pay'em. You can pay me back tonight or tomorrow. Our usual terms?" The price always included a sizable commission.

"Suits me Mathias," Sweeney said as he left.

Hicks frowned and decided to have a back up team ready in case the Plunketts failed. As affable as Sherman was, he was one dangerous cat. The man possessed nine lives, if the assassins failed in Cheyenne, he would have to be eliminated on home turf and he shared that turf with a deadly partner who was going to be downright annoyed.

Jess found politicking for Slim fun. It involved lots of talking, drinking, and good natured roistering while telling everybody what Slim stood for. Furthermore, working with Cyrus was entertaining as that huckster was a wonder to watch. There wasn't a place where Cyrus went that, after 10 minutes, he wasn't treated like some long lost, and beloved relative back from the dead.

Jock was out campaigning as well, but he wasn't having nearly as much fun. He did well in the saloons, where he gave out free drinks as those businesses were sponsoring him, but Jock wasn't the talker Cyrus was. He was also plagued by female hecklers, first courtesy of Arena Linkous' stalwarts and later by the "Ladies of Laramie." In the end, the shop keeper got frustrated and went fishing. By the lake, he found a sad eyed Lilly Spencer, painting. She was surprised to hear he was running for mayor, and he was surprised to hear that she was sad at Diddler's passing; few others were. Both consoled the other's unhappiness as each did what they liked best. When daylight failed, Jock wound up carrying all of her stuff home for her while she was kind enough to carry his stringer of fish.

Wednesday afternoon found Slim Sherman at the Railroad Hotel in Cheyenne. He went up to his room, cleaned up, and dropped off his gear. Returning to the lobby, he was surprised to find that he had a note waiting upon him at the front desk. It read;

Mr. Sherman: I urgently desire to meet with you. Please tell the front desk clerk where, and when, such a meeting would be convenient. Cordially, William Eichorn.

Slim read the note and shrugged as he knew no Eichorns. Turning to the desk clerk he asked, "Who sent this?"

The beetle browed, pimply faced, and gum chewing desk clerk shrugged disinterestedly, "I don't know, he's some guy at the railroad. He said I'd get a tip if I took him a message from you. Whatya got to say?" he asked.

Slim viewed the man with distaste. It was pretty obvious that he had better keep the message simple. On second thought, it would be best to write it down. Slim flipped the message over and wrote; "Mr. Eichorn: will be having dinner at the 'Chuck Wagon' at 7:30 p.m. You are welcome to join me. Sincerely, Slim Sherman." He handed the note to the desk clerk, saying "Here you go, just give that to him."

"Oh, you can write. That makes it easy," the young man grunted happily.

Turning away, Slim thought better about asking the clerk about a jewelry shop. The gumsmacker's rudeness was amazing and the rancher figured any directions he got from him wouldn't take him anyplace desirable. So he jauntily bounced out of the hotel and addressed an expensively dressed, parasol toting young woman that was passing by.

"Excuse me ma'am, I'm in Cheyenne to get an engagement ring. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of a jewelry shop?" he asked with a happy, cheerful smile.

The woman slowly turned. Her expression shifted from haughty annoyance to a coquettish 'wow' as she took in the sight of the head turningly, handsome, blonde rancher. "Why suh," she said in a silky smooth southern drawl, "I would be pleased to take you to one as I am heading in that direction myself."

"Thank you ma'am," Slim said offering her his arm, "Which way?" He disinterestedly saw that she was a lovely dark haired, dark eyed woman in her mid twenties. Her only beauty flaw was a mildly stubborn chin. "I'm Slim Sherman," he announced.

"I am pleased to meet you Mr. Sherman. I am Eliza Bronson," she said with a practiced and winning smile as she took his arm. They chatted merrily and Slim learned that Miss Bronson was a Georgia Bronson accompanying her father on a visit to her cousin, the territorial governor. Furthermore, the lovely lady was kind enough to offer her assistance with ring selection.

"Miss Eliza, I would be so grateful. I want to get Marcy the right ring, and I don't know much about such things," he replied, greatly pleased and mildly embarrassed.

She put him at his ease by patting his arm and archly remarking, "Why Mr. Sherman, most men who do know of such things are not worth having." They entered the shop, which sported a sign saying "Harris' Gem and Jewelry Shop." Dropping his arm she said, "You look at the rings, and after you narrow things down then I'll give you mah opinion. This way you can truly pick the ring. Just remember that the ring you pick will say a bit about you." Eliza then went over to the other end of the shop, where an uncomfortable looking young woman nervously discussed necklaces and broaches with her. A man came out of a back room as Slim approached the glass display counter that contained rings.

Since the shop reeked of decorum, and a man didn't pick out an engagement ring every day, Slim chose to address the man with polite formality,"Hello, my name is Mathew Sherman, and I wish to buy an engagement ring," the rancher said amiably.

The smoothly dressed and oiled man thought "Clod hopper" as he looked at his customer overly impassively. "Very well, sir. What do you have in mind?"

Slim shrugged, "I don't know. Do you have any suggestions?"

The salesman pattered about the solemnity and importance of the occasion and how it's importance needed to be underscored with a token of beauty and permanence; the ring. It was a practiced speech that he said mechanically, not expecting this sale to be more than $5-$10. He felt that cowboys were a waste of his time as they could rarely afford anything but simple bands and he was paid by commission.

Slim didn't much like the man's attitude, and an edge of annoyance crept into the normally tolerant rancher's voice. When the salesman started with simple bands he asked about the addition of ornamental gemstones. This caused the man to smile.

"Begemmed rings are more expensive, of course, but I would be happy to suggest some to you. Multiple gems are the norm, such as this garnet, onyx, and diamond combination," he said pulling three small gems out of boxes. "We would have to make, and affix, the gem mounts but that is easily done."

"Very pretty, what other gems are there?" Slim asked intently.

The salesman blinked hard at the question, "Mr. Sherman, there are hundreds of different gems. I couldn't possibly go over them all. Let us just go over the most common ones shall we?" He said the last sentence with such an emphasis on the word "common," that it set Slim's teeth on edge.

The man went on, "The rules for matching gems are many, and complicated. I shall put together some sets; then you pick what you like." A smile came into the man's voice as he pulled out gems and placed them upon the counter, saying "Here are some of my favorite combinations."

To Slim's eyes, some of the suggested combinations looked odd while others were quite pretty. Being unfamiliar with many of the gems, he asked about them. The salesman would condescendingly identify them, and give him descriptions of what they traditionally symbolized. When they had it narrowed down to six sets, Slim turned and called out; "Miss Eliza, we've reached the point where I could really use your help."

With a smile, Eliza looked up and gave him a nod, "One minute Slim, then I will be finished over here." She turned back to her saleswoman who had acquired a relieved smile.

Slim turned back to his salesman who, inexplicably, had paled and turned greenish during Slim and Eliza's exchange. "Perhaps, Mr. Sherman, we might best start over. Several other, superior, combinations have suddenly occurred to me and….."

Slim's gave the salesman a startled look, "We've put a lot of work into these selections, let's see what Eliza has to say," he said looking back down at the six combinations they had come up with.

Beryl-Iolite-Topaz-Cats eye-Hematite

Hematite-Agate- Garnet

Pearl – Iolite-Garnet

Opal- Iolite-Nuumite-Kyanite

Moonstone- Onyx-Onyx

Beryl – Amber-Amber.

Slim Continued, "Currently I am favoring the Beryl and amber set. I can't say that I care much for the other Beryl set you are so fond of."

"That is part of the fun of jewelry. Everybody has different preferences. The Beryl and Topaz set is quite popular, let me assure you…" the ill looking man started as Eliza arrived.

The glorious brunette seated herself and dulcetly announced, "Let's see what you have found." Then she looked upon the sets. After about 15 seconds she looked up, a depth of rage in her lovely dark eyes fit to give a grizzly pause. "Slim, has this man given you any assistance whatsoever?" she asked with her silky smooth drawl bubbling with anger.

Slim tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. This promised to get very interesting, "Why Eliza, he suggested all of these sets, and many more, saying that gem selection rules were beyond my understanding."

"My good lady, sir, I said nothing of the sort…" the salesman started, beads of sweat appearing upon his forehead.

Eliza picked up her parasol and angrily interrupted, "Slim have you ever shot a man?"

The rancher readied himself to keep the woman from beating the man with the umbrella, she was that worked up. "Yes ma'am. Enforcing the law sometimes works out that way," Slim answered, his look hardening.

Showing a tremendous effort at self control, the woman set her parasol back down, and then spoke, "Then let me assure you that any judge in Georgia would rule it justifiable homicide if you shot this scoundrel, right between the eyes, at this very moment." Turning back to the pale salesman she commanded, "You! Fetch Mr. Harris immediately, and leave the gems. He shall see your suggestions."

"Oliver can't leave the gems out ma'am, store rules. I'll get the owner," the young saleswoman squeaked from across the room.

"Thank you Caroline that will suffice." Eliza answered politely but with her wrath filled gaze never leaving the pallid and sweating salesman. The saleswoman exited in much the same manner as a miner leaving a lit black powder charge.

"Truly ma'am, it was only meant in jest. Harm was neither meant nor done," the oily and sweaty salesman simpered.

Slim gave the man the hairy eyeball and cocked his head. "Perhaps if you will explain the jest to me, taking into account my limited understanding, as I seem to have missed it entirely," he suggested, with a tight little smile that would have given a rattlesnake a case of nerves.

In response, the salesman urred, hmphed, and gave every impression of wanting to disappear through the floor boards.

The Georgian intervened, "Since your tutor is now indisposed, let me explain," Eliza began. "Begemmed engagement rings carry simple sentiments, symbolic of the woman, the relationship, or something central to the couple in the relationship, for the entire world to see. These are read by taking the first letter from each gem's name and seeing what they spell."

A small, thin, well dressed, and balding man entered saying, "Good afternoon sir, Miss Bronson. What Miss Bronson says is quite correct though a few very intricate rings spell out simple sentences. Furthermore, many gems traditionally stand for certain things all on their own. For example, diamonds symbolize purity and eternity. Caroline says there is a problem, how may I assist?" he genially added as he approached. Before he was answered, he glanced down at the gems on the counter and froze. He first went deathly pale, and then scarlet.

Eliza's silky southern voice continued the explanation. "Yes, Mr. Harris, your man has suggested that my friend unknowingly call my cousin, his fiancée, a bitch, a hag, a pig, a cow, and a sheep. I believe that last is a vulgar term for slattern. As the one that recommended this shop, I am truly outraged, and it is my intent to inform my entire circle of our treatment. What sir, have you to say?" She falsely claimed Marcy as kin to solidify her right to raise merry cane, and she was all about tightening the verbal thumbscrews.

With clenched jaw, Slim had a vision of Marcy's hurt reaction at receiving the 'baa' ring. He didn't think, he just flexed his great hands, lunging upon the squeaking and terrified salesman catching him by his, oh so stylish, vest with his left hand. He hoisted the man up nose to nose, while pulling back his right arm for a blow fit to stun a moose. The salesman froze expecting immediate obliteration. A moment later he was shocked upon finding himself ten feet from the rancher, lying on his back, having been tossed away in contempt. Slim slowly turned upon his heal and stalked towards the door saying, "Thank you Eliza, you saved me from a big mistake," meaning the ring selection. He had mixed feelings about not smashing the prankster, but self possession had saved the annoying man at the last possible moment.

Eliza stepped back and gently put a hand up to Slim's shoulder, checking his departure, "Just a moment, Slim. I am not finished," then she turned again upon the jeweler, "Well suh?"

Edgar Harris was shocked at the stupid meanness of his nephew and wished for the size and strength of his irate customer so that he could throw the miscreant through the door, or more preferably, the wall. But at 5'3," and a scant hundred pounds, he was forced to settle for taking him by the ear, leading him away, and booting him out of the shop door saying, "Oliver, you are fired. Go home and tell your mother that her brother will be over later to discuss this." Oliver immediately left, glad to escape without broken bones.

The mortified Harris then turned to address his outraged clients, knowing that the continued viability of his business hung in the balance. Experience told him that Eliza Bronson's threat was dire, and no bluff. "Sir and lady, I am deeply ashamed and sorry for my nephew's unforgivable and unbelievably boorish behavior. I offer you my profound and sincere apology that this, nor anything even vaguely like this, should happen under my roof. You have my solemn word that such an event shall never be repeated, to any customer of mine. I beg both of your forgiveness and indulgence at the turn of events. Might I offer each of you a glass of brandy while we review the situation?"

Eliza nodded haughtily, a gleam of triumph in her eye and Slim let out a breath suggesting the exhalation from the safety valve of Jess' fire engine.

Across the street from the jewelry shop, in front of the Red Bull Saloon, Samuel and Clem Plunkett leaned against the board walk rail as Oliver Farber was booted out by his uncle. They had taken up position there after being told that it was the best jewelry shop in Cheyenne. Since Sherman had come looking for an engagement ring, it seemed the easiest way to find him.

"Shoot Clem, how long does it take a man to buy a ring?" Sam grumbled for the umpteenth time as he fidgeted.

"Heck, with Sherman it looks like all day. Give the man some credit though, it surely didn't take him long to scoop up that fancy Jadestone. She's something aint she? With her on my arm I wouldn't be looking at no engagement ring," Clem responded while not quite drooling.

Oliver crossed to the saloon while giving the dirty plaid shirted Plunkketts a wide berth. He'd had enough of wranglers for one day and, even on the best of days, would have looked askance at these two ratty specimens. The unemployed salesman entered the saloon, to sulk in his beer, before heading home to convince his ma that he had been unjustly fired by his mean and addled uncle.

Three hours later, a tipsy Oliver staggered out and the ratty wranglers, looking even more put out, were still there. It occurred to him that they might be staking out his uncle's shop. He was galvanized upon hearing the red shirted one whisper to the other, " …maybe if we just set fire to it…..".

"Ah," Oliver thought," a chance to get back into Uncle Ed's good graces." He staggered down the street, crossed, and circled around to the shop's back door. He hammered upon it until his irate uncle opened it.

"For the love of Mike!" Edgar Harris started, then stepped outside and shut the door, "Haven't you done enough damage for one day, you numbskull? I've about mended the damage you caused and at no little cost. You showing back up will certainly set Bronson off again. Get out of here."
"Uncle Ed," Oliver slurred, "I know you're mad, but listen anyway. There are two men, across the street, who have been staking out the store for more than three hours. I just heard one whisper to the other, 'maybe if we set fire to the place.' I just thought you should know," he said with great self satisfaction.

Harris' eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, "Over three hours you say?" he continued when Oliver blearily nodded, "then they want to catch me without customers in the store. My smoothing down Bronson and Sherman has delayed them. Very well, go fetch Marshal Owen for me, and you're rehired though we shall still have words. Also, you can't work until that Bronson witch leaves town."

Oliver nodded, smiling, and then groggily frowned, "Uncle Ed, Owen is shot up, remember? Got shot gunned down at the railroad and is laid up. Mason, the deputy, just rode out for some reason. I don't know when he'll get back."

Edgar Harris let out a snort, "Why the devil do I pay taxes?" he harrumphed. "Ok boy, you're drunk. Go home. I'll handle this." Oliver nodded and trooped off, duty done, re-employed, and pleased to get away from anywhere lead was likely to fly.

The jeweler took a deep breath and made a few quick decisions. Re-entering the formal demonstration parlor, he spoke quickly. "My apologies at the interruption. " Eliza, Slim, and the saleswoman all looked up at him expectantly. Five thousand dollars worth of ring findings and gem sets lay neatly arranged upon a mirror topped table set with drinks.

The jeweler continued with dignity. "A worried citizen just told me that two armed scoundrels have been eyeing my store for over three hours. I fear they have been waiting for your departure to make their move. If I might prevail upon you two gentle souls, I would appreciate your delaying your departure a minute, while I double check my weaponry."

The big rancher frowned and straightened, "Why not send Miss Caroline to fetch the marshal?"Slim asked, "Miss Eliza could accompany her, and I will stay here until he arrives."

"A sensible and generous offer, Mr. Sherman," The jeweler replied with a grimace, "but Marshal Owen is currently indisposed from a shotgun wound and deputy Mason is out on an errand. There is no telling when he will get back."

"Then how about this," Slim returned, "Miss Caroline and Miss Eliza leave. Then we handle this together." Slim liked the jeweler and didn't hold his nephew's actions against him. The man had been generous, honest, and sincere in his atonement. In fact, Slim had mildly frustrated Eliza with his forgiving nature. She was from a long proud line of Georgia Bronson's and Carolina Teach's. Both families were highly successful seafarers long noted for going for the jugular. She just did it genteelly.

From her scared look, Miss Caroline thought any plan that got her out of the action was a good plan. Slim was more concerned with Eliza's look of amused speculation.

Ed Harris smiled with relief, "A most generous offer, sir, and one I am only too happy to accept. You did mention being a lawman."

"At times, though not currently," Slim nodded with a lopsided smile.

The shopkeeper turned to the women, "Good ladies, if I might prevail upon you to depart through the back. Caroline, return to work at ten tomorrow. God willing, I shall see you then."

The saleswoman all but ran for the door, but Eliza was in no rush, dawdling with dignity while twirling her parasol. "Why Mr. Sherman, you do be careful. I would be most distressed if you were to come to harm," she said silkily with a tilted head, coquettish smile, and eyes full of pretended innocence (one of which gave him a slow and saucy wink). Then she was gone.

Upon hearing the back door shut, Slim let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding. Edgar Harris laughed softly, "Mr. Sherman, some advice from a jeweler. Marry your engaged quickly, or that woman will tie you up and carry you off to Georgia. Around town, I've heard tell that both her friends and her enemies call her 'the tigress.'" He went behind the counter and quickly inspected a sawed off double barreled twenty gauge shotgun.

"Good advice, I think," Slim answered, then added ruefully, "but I have to admit that there's a part of me that's tempted to get the rope for her."

With a quirked and knowing smile the jeweler looked up, "Giving in to that temptation might be the biggest mistake you ever made. Then again NOT giving in to that temptation could be the biggest. Truth to tell, I'm not sure which applies though I am certain that one does."

Slim made a face, "I'm glad you're not my father. That's the worst fatherly advice I've ever heard."

Harris shrugged and smiled in amusement, "Hey, I've never had children so I haven't much practice. What say we tend to the task at hand?" Slim nodded his agreement.

The men went to the front of the shop and looked out of the front window. They easily spotted the scruffy Plunketts and discussed the situation. It was decided that Slim would exit the store and cross the street diagonally towards the milliners next to the saloon. When he hit the opposite board walk, Harris would exit the store, and head directly across the street. With luck, the robbers would lose their nerve and depart. Without luck the miscreants would be exposed and in a cross fire.

"Here we go." Slim said, calmly opening the door and stepping out. As he shut the door, he was appalled to see Eliza Bronson come strolling around the far side of the saloon. She saucily sauntered up to the wrangler nearest to her, parasol a twirl, and flirtatiously asked him a question. "Curse the woman," Slim thought. He had known that wink meant trouble.

Both of the men straightened up when Slim exited the shop. Slim kept the nearer one's attention as he started crossing the street. Eliza forced the other to split his attention until the man curtly excused himself and turned towards Slim. "Uh oh," Slim thought, "They're not after the shop, they're after me."

When the man turned, Eliza lowered her parasol and jammed it against the back of his neck. Then she sweetly announced, "It is most impolite to turn your back upon a lady. In fact, most unwise when that lady's parasol was custom designed and produced by Colt."

Clem froze, started to turn, then refroze when she said with dulcet steel, "Sir, desist or I will pull this trigger."

Sam Plunkett whirled at the exchange and went for his pistol. Slim pulled and fired. He put a round into Sam's gun arm just above his elbow, and sent the gunman's pistol flying. Then the blonde rancher retargeted the blushing Clem. "Tarnation Eliza, I thought you were taking cover," Slim called out while moving in.

The dark haired Georgian stepped back, mixing a look of mock surprise with poorly concealed amused excitement, "Why Mathew Sherman, I never said any such thing. What I did say, was that I was deeply troubled for your safety."

Edgar Harris joined them, adding his shotgun to the weaponry covering the dejected gunmen. "I'll lock up," he said, "then let's tote these vermin over to the jail until deputy Mason returns."

"Mr. Harris, why not simply tell me where the Marshall lives? I will fetch his keys and we can lock this pair up immediately," the patrician woman suggested.

The jeweler smiled, "A fine notion Miss Bronson. A very fine notion."

Chapter 13

"They're doing what?" Slim sat at the table, slack jawed, while Eliza Bronson and the railroad man Eichorn, looked on with open amusement. Slim had taken the news of the railroad coming to Laramie in stride. It's desire to negotiate a water stop, on his lake, with pleasure, and the prospect of selling them a right of way with a nod. All of that made good business sense and promised him a very prosperous future. However, he was more than a little taken aback at being run for mayor, without his consent, in a town he didn't live in.

"Why Mathew," Eliza said with a knowing smile, "they're just showing the great respect they hold you in."

Eichorn bit his lower lip, in repressed amusement, at the rancher's discomfiture. He had only met him at dinner but had immediately liked the man. Eliza Bronson he recognized because her father, Ezra Bronson, was the second biggest investor in the Cheyenne Pacific. He had met them previously at business functions and was aware that she already knew the general rail route. Otherwise he wouldn't have informed Sherman of the goings on around Laramie, with her present.

"Just who is trying to make me mayor?" Slim scowled as surprise turned to concentration and annoyance. Two nearly total strangers had come to Cheyenne and stood around for hours waiting to kill him. Even in a life as lively as his, that was not a daily event and he couldn't think of any particular reason for it. His surprise mayoral candidacy seemed an unlikely cause, but compared to everything else, it was downright plausible.

Eichorn ate a bite of his trout, "All I have is a telegram telling me to inform you of your campaign, and of the railroad's doings; so my information is limited. It did say that 'Cyrus McCourt, the Ladies of Laramie, and some locals: Harper, Cooper, Corey, and Snead' were pushing you for election." He paused, "Apparently your agenda is anti-corruption," he added helpfully.

Slim nodded, reassured at who his supporters were but still wondering at how it had come about. Then the rancher shook his head and threw up his hands, "But how? I've never been active in politics. In fact, I have no use for them. The corruption part I understand. The Laramie Councilmen are the greediest men in town. They're the richest too, except for Snead, who is often at odds with them."

"Why Mathew, I expect that it was the 'Ladies of Laramie' though I am seriously shocked at you since you are an engaged man." Eliza playfully opined in an amused and silky voice that evidenced no shock whatsoever.

Amused, Eichorn shook his head as he finished his last bite of trout. Then he spoke, "Mr. Sherman, my mission is done. It has been a delightful evening, but I must depart before Mrs. Eichorn has cause to raise a rumpus." He extended a hand, heavily calloused from the expert use of a double jack hammer; he was not a man who had won his executive position through family connections.

Slim smiled, stood, and shook the iron hard paw, "A pleasure meeting you Will. Assuming everything gets negotiated, I guess I'll see you on my spread bossing a crew."

Eichorn nodded, "Yes, I spend a lot of time in the field. Is the fishing any good in that lake of yours?" Slim nodded and Eichorn continued, "Then you shall certainly see me. The worst day fishing is better than the best day working," then he turned to Eliza, half bowed, and departed.

"What now Mathew?" Eliza Bronson asked while subconsciously making sure that she sat showing Slim her best profile.

Slim chose not to acknowledge her flirtatious overtones. Instead he answered the question straightly. Most men's brains would have started dribbling out of their ears at such close exposure to that stunning profile. However, Slim possessed a loving girlfriend and random strangers who were trying to kill him. This left him, marginally, more interested in the Tigress' shrewdness than her opulent charms.

"What would you suggest Eliza?" he asked puckishly, "I seem to have been unexpectedly handed a new career, as well as a shorter life expectancy."

"Why, I surely don't know. I am a simple southern belle…." she started, but then stopped with an irritated look when Slim laughed.

"Why I declare, Mr. Sherman why do you carry on so?" she asked haughtily with her finely chiseled nose thrust into the air.

Slim picked up his beer, and toasted her, "To you Lady Tigress! A southern belle you are, but I doubt that you were ever simple. No, Eliza, dazzling though you are, I am most interested in tapping your obvious brains."

The Georgian eyed the rancher, surprised that he knew her nickname. She was even more surprised that he openly used it, and nigh shocked that he was more interested in her brains than her beauty. Most of all, she was downright appalled at the level of arousal this man was causing her. That the Yankee was humorous and beautiful had been obvious. Next he turned out to be bold, generous, and brave. Now he's showing signs of both intelligence, and intellectual evenhandedness with women. "If this goes much further I'll either need to make an early evening of it or get a fan," she thought.

With a sigh she dropped all pretenses of frivolous posturing, "Alright Mathew, but you are in greater danger than you know."

Slim smiled ironically as he quizzically tilted his head, "Really, why so? Because two thugs tried to gun me down today? By the way, I gave you a hard time over that. Thank you for your help, but I would have prefered for you to stay safe."

She smiled softly and continued with great seriousness, "Oh that too. No an entirely different danger. You could well meet the same fate as the last man who valued my brains over my beauty."

Intrigued, Slim inquired, "And that was?"

"I married him," she answered softly and then sadly continued, "The cholera took him two years past."

Slim started, "Yikes!" he thought. Quickly he changed the direction of the conversation back to the less combustible topics of politics and assassins. In the end, Slim found his read of the woman had been correct. Beneath the highly comely and genteel exterior lay an incisive and clever mind. Their conversation was both useful and entertaining. It both gave him perspective and helped him to organize his own thoughts. He was in the company of a truly amazing woman. If his heart had not already been taken by Marcy he suspected that he would have given it to the Georgian.

Eventually, and with a reluctant sigh, Eliza made the dreaded pronouncement, "Slim, it grows late and I fear you must now walk me to the governor's house." The regret in her voice was quite real.

A fleeting look of regret crossed Slim's features, then he nodded, saying, "Certainly Eliza. Let me pay for dinner and we shall go." She nodded and finished her glass of champagne. She had started the evening with that glass and drunk only the one. Slim came back a moment later, smiling wryly. "It seems that I've been had. Will took care of the bill on his way out."

Eliza shrugged and smiled, "That was kind and generous of Mr. Eichorn. I expect he will charge it to the railroad as a business expense." Slim chuckled his agreement.

The fall evening was cool as they walked to the governor's mansion. They stopped at the front door. Without thinking, Slim kissed the startled but willing woman. "Why Slim Sherman, you cad, you're an engaged man," she said with a shaky laugh after they broke their extended embrace.

Slim blushed and looked down, he had surprised them both with the impromptu kiss. "Uh, not yet, officially," he said lamely.

Playfully, the southern belle tapped him on the chest with two fingers, "You are in here. Good bye, dear Mathew. I have never pursued another woman's man," not one married or engaged, she mentally amended, "and I will not now." She took a breath and nodded as if coming to an agreement with herself. She then continued, "Remember this though. The ways of the world are wicked, wild, and unpredictable. If misfortune should strike your Marcy, as it has my two departed husbands, know that you have the dearest of friends in Savanna. She shall be most wroth if you fail to come calling." The invitation was half entreaty and half command; Magdalene Eliza Bronson was used to giving orders.

Slim smiled warmly and gently squeezed the hand he held in the cool moon light. "Eliza, you're a very bold woman," Slim answered with respect.

With a merry shake of her head, but a darkness concealed tear on her cheek, the woman replied, "Fortune favors the bold and we Bronsons live and die by that creed. It is why we are the most beloved, and hated, family in all of Georgia."

By the tenseness in her hand, Slim could tell this was important to the woman, so he softly spoke, "Good fortune has always followed me, but if such happens, then I promise to visit Savannah." This time she kissed him, and then she flowed into the mansion.

Slim stood for a long moment after the door closed. With a light and heavy heart, he made his way back to the hotel while wondering about the wide world, and two stunning women in it. For years he had the devils own time with relationships. Yet in the space of a few blazingly short weeks, he had courted and fallen in love with one beauty, and been nearly carried off by a second. Tomorrow morning would find him at the jewelers' shop collecting his ring. Then he would be off to see Marcy. In four days, Eliza would be on a train headed for Savannah, her father's business here was finished. He doubted he would ever see her again, but was grateful for the evening they had shared. What an amazing woman.

For her part, Eliza Bronson checked in with the governor's household staff. She then made her way to the suite that she, her father, and their attendants shared. It was Angela Trudeau who answered the suite door. Angela was her father's nurse. Many years before, she had been Eliza's wet nurse.

"I'm so glad that you're back safe, Missy," the matron said with a relieved smile. "You really shouldn't go unescorted in this savage place."

"I was fine, and for once I had an escort," Eliza smiled sadly, wishing that she was still with that escort. "How is Papa?" she added as she placed her single action, three shot, parasol revolver on the table.

"He wouldn't go to sleep until you returned and gave him his good night kiss. His sundowner's is bad tonight. Missy, I think this is his last trip," the nurse finished slowly shaking her head.

"I think so too. Even during the day his mind is getting weaker. We'll keep him safe at home in the future. Agents and lawyers will do his future traveling," Eliza added, peeling off her gloves and placing them by the firearm.

A maid put away the discarded items while the two continued talking. "Praise God he gave you his power of attorney when he felt his mind weakening. Not many men would have trusted a daughter in that way," the nurse sighed.

Eliza nodded, "I have a little more business to attend to before turning in. Send in Carter, I want to dictate a letter after I tuck papa in." The nurse nodded compliance to her favorite, and last, lamb. She had wet nursed Eliza and all three of her brothers. Unfortunately the boys were gone; felled at Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and some obscure place in Virginia called Hanging Rock.

Eliza went in to attend to her father. His largely vacant blue eyes recognized her; they did even in his worst bouts. With a smile she gave him his good night kiss. In return, he smiled, rolled over, and fell asleep almost immediately. In the morning he wouldn't remember this, and would publically give the impression of being a dignified, if standoffish, man of business that refused to make snap decisions. Though it usually annoyed his petitioners, he always took a day to think things through. In reality, he discussed things with Eliza and she made the decisions. It had been so for a year and a half now.

She returned to the central room of the suite where Carter O'Dell, her father's secretary of 35 years, waited. He was more like a dear elderly cousin than an employee. "What do you need, Tiger?" he asked with a tired smile. His years were telling and he would be glad to get to bed.

"Just a quick letter Carter, but I want it out by messenger tomorrow." She said and Carter nodded, pad at the ready. She dictated the letter to Lucius Kennedy, who was handling the railroad's negotiations for right of way, and facilities between Cheyenne and Laramie. It instructed him that Slim Sherman was now a fellow railroad investor. All efforts to acquire his water rights and property, as opposed to purchasing the water by volume used and leasing a simple right of way for the tracks and structures, were to desist. She also informed him that generous prices were to be paid. Of course, all other such efforts were still left to Kennedy's discretion.

After Carter left, Eliza made her way to her bedroom and made ready for bed. It was a luxurious bed and she snuggled down into it wishing that it wasn't otherwise empty. She rarely wished that as she was an active sleeper and, flirtatious nature to the contrary, not a notably lusty woman. In fact, in her 25 years she had bedded only her husbands. Tonight was different, and it was hard for her not to wish that the unknown Marcy Benson would be hit by an errant bolt of lightning. Temptation to the contrary, she decided to leave similarly terminal events in God's hands as Slim was smart enough to detect any involvement of her own. That would cost her his good opinion.

It was quite late when Ralph Rizzo quietly rode back into town and over to the jail. He was leading deputy Mason's grey gelding as that gent didn't need it any more. Decoying the man out of town had been easy enough; a few shots into the Holbrook farm house had caused them to send their grandson out the back and into town for the law. The law never quite got there.

He dismounted and tethered the horses. Moments later he was in the dark building whistling. He spotted and lit a lamp. Proceeding to the back, the murderer opened the door into the cell area, and called out "Evening Rufus." Grumbling came from the nearer cell where the Plunketts complained about being awakened.

"Howdy Partner," Rufus Redding happily called out from the far cell, careful to not name the man.

"Ready? Shoulder good enough to ride?" Rizzo asked as he unlocked the cell.

This brought new noises from the other cell, "Hey! Let us out too. Please let us out."

"A man doesn't ride on his shoulder. I'll be fine," Rufus growled walking out.

The pair left the other two jail birds and walked into the front of the jail, "Let me dig up my stuff." Rufus hunted around and found his belongings. He immediately turned and handed Rizzo $75. "Money well earned. Thanks. It wouldn't have done me any good where they were sending me," he said while deftly belting on his gear with one hand.

Rizzo shook his head, "No problem. Let's go."

"I just had a thought, hold up a second." Ruthless took out the belongings of his cell mates, keeping their weapons and splitting three quarters of their money with Rizzo. "Let's set loose a few decoys. That'll split pursuit after us. I'm leaving them some of their money so that they'll get a little further."

"Pursuit after you," Rizzo corrected him.

"Not joining me?" Ruthless asked, turning to half face his rescuer.

"Nope, we part ways once we hit that door, and those two look too stupid to be decoys," Rizzo added jerking a thumb in the general direction of the Plunketts.

"You can't be too stupid to be a decoy," Redding countered with somewhat less than total assurance.

Rizzo shrugged indifferently, "Suit yourself."

The Plunkett's were overjoyed to be let out, ticked off when they weren't given all of their belongings, and quickly silenced when they found their own firearms pointed at them.

"Bye partner," Rizzo said as he exited and mounted his horse.

"See ya amigo," Redding replied, taking Mason's grey.

"Bye," Clem Plunkett said to them as they left. He was a sociable sort.

"Shut up, stupid." Redding and Rizzo replied simultaneously. They left in opposite directions. Rizzo had decided to head south to Denver. Redding was trying for Deadwood, in the Dakota Territories.

Clem and Sam looked at each other. Clem went to the office's rifle rack and got a Winchester and ammunition. Sam, effectively one armed as his gun arm was in a plaster cast, hunted around and eventually found a poorly maintained cap and ball pistol. As they left the jail, Clem asked "Where to now?" They both knew that Sam was the brainier one.

"We had better run for it, so we need horses. The livery?" he suggested, turning in that direction.

Clem joined him. "Ok, the 'Happy Heifer' is next to the livery and it is open all night. Let's get some beer and breakfast," Clem suggested.

Sam showed that 'brainier' is a relative term with his answer, "Ok. Some bacon and eggs would go down nice.

Slim was up early as his evening with Eliza, and imminent journey home to Laramie, had him too wound up to sleep very well. He figured he might as well get up, have an early breakfast, pick up the engagement ring, and leave.

Well fed and cheerful, he walked through the open door of the livery at 6:30. Two steps in, the big rancher heard familiar voices talking; voices belonging to the previous day's would be assassins. Putting down his saddle bags, Slim slipped a cartridge into the empty chamber of his rifle, the magazine being already full. He crept forward, listening.

"Hurry up with that message Clem, then help me here. Saddling a horse one handed is a pain," Sam Plunkett loudly griped.

"Shoot Sam, you write this. You know I'm no good at spellin'" Clem answered.

"I can't. My gun arm is in a cast and that's my writin' hand too." He grumbled and then growled, "Carnsound you horse! Stand still, dag nabbit!"

"Oh, that's right. So I gotta write the telegram. Uh, howdya spell 'Arcade'?" Clem asked.

"Why ya need that word?" Sam asked. The question was accompanied by the sound of a saddle blanket being put on a horse and the horse shaking it off, "Curse you ya nutless thing!" Sam continued.

"The address. Matt Hicks, Arcade Saloon, Laramie. So he'll get the message," Clem answered.

"Oh, yeah. Arcade – O-U-R-K-A-T-E," Sam spelled out.

"Thanks," Clem answered, brow furled in concentration.

"Need saloon?" Sam offered as he continued trying to saddle somebody else's uncooperative pinto that was making a game of trying to step on his feet.

"Nah, I know saloon." Clem replied. "We can't say we was shooting Sherman or the telegraph operator will have the law after us before we get outta town. How about this for the message? 'Hickey- Sam bit by your wolf and has busted arm. Stop. We quit. Stop. Off to Canada. Stop. Clem."

"That works. He knows we're gone and didn't kill Sherman. We owe him that much," Sam said with a grimace.

"Why don't we just go back to Laramie and tell him?" Clem asked curiously.

"Because Corey will lock us up on sight. We aint the only ones as can use a telegraph," Sam answered shortly. Then he cursed in pain and slapped the horse. The pinto had just scored on his left foot.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Clem said chastened. "I didn't think of that."

"Good morning boys," Slim announced as he stepped around the corner. "Hands in the air and no fast moves, or I'll drill the pair of you."

The Plunkett brothers looked up, swore, and raised their hands. "Clem, move to the wall really slowly, and don't even look at that rifle." The rifle in question was leaning against a rail behind the man and the otherwise unarmed shootist edged his way away from it. "Now face the wall." Slim ordered, and Clem docily complied. "Now Sam, toss that pistol in your pants to the ground and kick it away, then join your brother." Sam did so.

Slim moved in and recovered the firearms. It was then that Slim noticed the beer stench surrounding the pair, and that they were both a trifle wobbly. An idea suggested itself.

"Ok boys; lower your arms if you like, but no sudden moves. It seems to me you two should be back at the jail. Since no alarm has been raised, I hope you haven't done anything to Deputy Mason." He phrased the statement as a half question. The duo just looked at him stupidly as they lowered their arms.

He changed tactics, "Where is Redding?" he asked.

That got a response, "That thief stole our guns and money. Then him and his buddy rode out of town," Sam replied.

"If he stole your money, how did you have your beer party," Slim asked curiously, just to keep them talking.

"He only took most of our money, he left us some." Clem answered. "I don't know why," he added.

Slim nodded, "So you could run and create trails for a posse to follow," Slim answered. "He was using you two as decoys. How long ago did he ride off?"

"Hours ago," Sam said.

"Why didn't you boys take off?" Slim asked curiously.

"We was going to," Clem answered, "but we stopped for some grub and a few beers. Then Miss Gladys and Miss Sylvia wanted to dance and all. Then we was entertained by them. A coupla times. Time just got away. We was leaving when you come in."

Slim smiled and nodded, "Yeah, time can get away from you when you are, ahem, 'being entertained' by their likes. I'm right glad you boys had a good time. It'll probably be your last seeing as how you're going to hang."

The drunken pair just stared at him. "Hang? We didn't hurt nobody. Heck, I only pulled when your lady friend said she'd shoot my brother. Then you shot me," Sam said.

"Robbery and arson. You'd only get a few years for trying to rob the jewelry store but you were set to burn it down and it is also a residence. Burning down a residence, in Cheyenne, means you'll swing," Slim announced matter-of-factly.

"Rob and burn what?" Clem asked dumbfounded.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked at the same time, equally confused.

"Why your robbing and burning the jewelry store. That's what Eliza and I stopped you from doing yesterday. You stood outside of it for hours, casing the place, and one of the locals heard you talk about burning it. That's when he came over, and warned us," Slim said, watching them intently while thinking, "Come on, take the bait. Owen said we really didn't have enough evidence to get you on anything but a few trivial ordinances. Say something useful you two drunken boneheads."

"We wasn't robbing the store, was we Sam!" Clem said wide eyed with horrified and innocent conviction.

"Shoot no! Though Clem, you did suggest burning it down," Sam put in with great concern.

Clem paused and slowly thought. "Yeah, but I was only suggesting it and only because Sherman was taking so blamed long getting a ring. I didn't mean it. You know that." he said to his brother.

"Yeah I know, but it does sound bad if somebody as heard it didn't know you," Sam allowed with a nod.

"Yeah, I guess it does," Clem agreed, crestfallen.

Slim put surprise into his voice, "You boys mean to say you weren't there to burn and rob the place?"

"Heck no Sherman, we was just there to shoot you. Hanging us for arson just wouldn't be right," Clem said, shaking his head from side to side.

"Not hardly fair at all. We weren't there to bother nobody. We surely didn't mean to rob and burn the place. We was just gonna kill you and ride away, peaceable like," he explained emphatically.

Slim frowned theatrically, thinking "Good Lord, you two are morons. I've got you to admit what you were about. Now let's see if you're stupid enough to say why," and saying, "Boys, I find that hard to believe. You were there a long time just looking at the place. No jury is going to believe you."

"That was just because you was taking forever in there. How long does it take a man to pick a ring anyway?" Sam belligerently challenged the rancher.

"It can take a long time, if he wants to get it right. Boys, you don't know me and I don't know you. Why would you want to kill me? That just doesn't make any sense at all. Nope, you had no reason to kill me so nobody is going to believe you. Sorry, you're going to hang," Slim judged verbally while mentally wincing at the stupidity of his own reasoning. He was glad Jess wasn't present as his friend would have been merciless about it later.

"Sam, we're gonna hang for something we didn't do!" Clem blubbered.

"Sherman we had us a good reason!" Sam said belligerently, he paused, "if I can convince you, will you help us convince the others we just meant to kill you? I mean, we didn't mean no real harm."

Slim appeared to agree reluctantly, "That will take some convincing boys. Go ahead and try."

With a triumphant look, Sam spouted, "It was Hicks. He hired us to kill you," while Clem nodded through his tears and running nose.

"You've got to be kidding. Mathias Hicks? He's got no cause for that," Slim said, shaking his head and voicing doubts he didn't really feel. Slim knew that Hicks was tied to all of the low lifes around Laramie. "As a matter of fact, he and I are on good terms," the rancher added.

"He did so!" Sam loudly insisted, continuing, "He hires muscle for others and sends them out. We saw him with Sweeney, the fat councilman, and we was sent after you so that Jock Benson would become mayor. Sweeney has gotten the council to support Benson and wants him to win." Sam added and Clem nodded, "We was paid $75 to off you, and another $75 upon completion. So, see, we had a really good reason. We wasn't burning nothing down."

Slim smiled, "Boys, I can see now that you're telling the truth. We'll write all that down then you'll sign it and so will I. I guarantee that you won't swing for arson. Lets mosey you on back down to the jail where you belong." So they did. After locking them up, Slim visited Marshall Owen and handed their signed confessions to the head shaking Marshall. He then collected his engagement ring, finding that Harris had substituted a lovely stone called a Star Sapphire for the sapphire they had originally agreed upon. The jeweler said that the star sapphire stood for the law as well as loyalty and so was more suitable than the simple blue stone. Then he rode for home. All in all, it had been an interesting morning.

Chapter 14

"He's a lot of fun, and I never before realized just how handsome he is," Lilly gushed to the Woman in the Mirror.

"I didn't either Lilly," the Mirror Woman responded, "Are you sure about this? It seems sudden to me," she asked concerned. The two had patched things up and were back to plotting and comparing notes.

"It's very sudden, but oh so exciting! He's going to be the next mayor and I'm helping him." Lilly laughed, bouncing her breasts at the Mirror Woman, "Jock is completely smitten with me."

The Mirror Woman laughed as well, "Put those things away Lilly, you don't need to impress me with them." Grinning, Lilly buttoned up as the Mirror Woman went on. "Aren't you forgetting about Cyrus and Slim?" she asked.

Lilly made a rude noise, "Slim's boring. Let that boy Marcy keep him, and Cyrus is leaving town to sell his books. I don't want to be attached to a weakling of an itinerant book seller anyway."

The Mirror Woman shook her head, "That makes sense with Cyrus, but Slim is different. He is handsome, smart, and well liked; especially by the women around here. The 'Ladies of Laramie'…"

"Those biddies!" Lilly interjected contemptuously while belligerently crossing her arms.

"… are pushing him hard and Iwona Corey….

"That big boobed moose!" Lilly spat out venemously.

" …. has the Catholics lined up for him. It looks to me like he is going to be your next mayor. Not Jock. Sorry girl," the Mirror Woman finished with sympathetic firmness.

Lilly stopped, appalled by her friend's reasoning. She had assumed that her friend was going to make another argument for getting together with her ex-beau. "I better go help Jock. He needs all the help he can get," she announced as she tore out of her home.

"Hey traitor, your breakfast is ready!" Jock called up the stairs of the Benson house. Being a mayoral candidate meant that he had to be up early, and if he had to fix his breakfast, he had better fix Marcy's as well. They had a long standing arrangement; if one fixed them both breakfast the other had to fix them both dinner. Being a slugabed, Jock had fixed a lot of dinners.

"Don't poison me Jock. If you do, you'll have to run the store," Marcy shouted back.

"Not likely. Fresh trout, pan fried potatoes, and eggs. You know I wouldn't ruin trout with poison," Jock called back as he flipped the fish. The man was a good game cook who enjoyed sharing his catches.

It hadn't been hard for the siblings to come to terms as they had grown up spatting and making up. If Marcy was determined to marry his opponent, then so be it. If Jock was going to be irresponsible, that was nothing new. Life was back to normal for the Bensons.

Marcy came in with a smile, snuck up behind her brother, and gave him a big hug. "That smells wonderful. Are those today's eggs or should I hustle out and check the chickens while you finish up?" she asked.

"Go raid the chickens sis, you have about that much time before it's ready," he replied jovially while adding a touch of red pepper.

If a flash she was gone and returned with a dozen more eggs plus another bucket of water for washing up. Soon they were sitting down and eating. Halfway through breakfast there was a knock on the door, to which they both shouted "Come in!" Their reactions to the visitor diverged at that point. It was Lilly Spencer.

"Hi Lilly, join us for breakfast? It's fresh trout." Jock merrily called. Marcy just scowled, displeased at her rival's presence.

"Morning Jock, Marcy." The busty artist caroled, then bounced in, and surprised the siblings by giving Jock a resounding kiss. "Thanks no, on the fish. I'm not hungry," she radiantly explained.

Jock gave a pleased smile and straightened up proudly at the table. Marcy just stared. Lilly laughed at her, "Don't fall out of your chair Marcy. It was just a kiss," she laughed, shaking her head.

Marcy looked at her brother, at the painter, and back at her brother. She shrugged and gave up trying to make sense out of it. If Lilly Spencer wanted to chase after Jock, that was fine by her. It kept her away from Slim. As Lilly was the only other woman currently interested in 'her man,' this development went a long way to brightening Marcy's morning. If she had known about the Tigress it would have ruined her appetite.

Lilly and Jock talked politics while Marcy enjoyed her breakfast. When she finished eating, Marcy shooed the pair off announcing that she would clean up the dishes. As she washed, she pondered on what else she could do to further Jock's suit with her rival.

Slim was as good as his word in making it home in time to switch out horses for the afternoon stage. As the stage rolled out, Miss Daisy, Mike, and Jess rolled in on the buckboard.

Jess and Mike were in high spirits as Jess gave Mike a blow by blow description of his day of campaigning/brawling. On the other hand, Miss Daisy was less than impressed with the conversation.

Jess' buoyant spirits lessened upon seeing his cross armed, cold eyed partner leaning against the front rail of the porch. The Texan immediately told Mike to tend to the horse while he talked with Slim.

"Howdy Pard, "Jess called out, "welcome back. Any problems in Cheyenne?"

Slim replied sourly, "Nothing that knowing I was running for mayor wouldn't have helped with."

"Sorry, hard to find you out on the range. I see you got McCourt's message though." Jess replied firmly while walking up. "Let's go inside, and I'll tell you how it all happened. We knew you would be annoyed, but your running was needed."

Slim nodded and the pair went in. Daisy wanted nothing to do with this conversation. She went into the kitchen where she could hear their talk and intervene if things went south.

"You look a little beat up Jess. Been brawling?" Slim asked after they were inside.

"All a part of campaigning. Just working out a few political disagreements with opposition campaigners," the Texan grinned, touching a swollen lip and his cut nose. "I was reluctant to get involved, truth to tell, but it turns out that campaigning is fun. It involves a lot of arguing, some shouting, and the chance to bust some heads that really deserve it; all in the name of civic responsibility," he finished.

Jess went on to explain how Diddler's death resulted in the council running a puppet candidate- Jock. A puppet wouldn't really have been a change from Diddler but, with the railroad coming into town, things really needed cleaning up. It wasn't Jess and Daisy that put Slim forward, it was Snead and Marcy.

Slim was aghast. "Marcy? Why in the world did she put my name in? I take it she spoke for me then?" Slim questioned, getting riled at his would be fiancée. He thought, "If she is doing this now what is she going to be like if we marry?" Giving her an engagement ring was suddenly less appealing.

Jess nodded, "Yes, filed the paperwork and, I guess, paid the filing fee. She has been pretty enthusiastic about all of this; bad mouthing her brother as much as declaring your greatness. McCourt came out here and recruited us. Cyrus meant to talk you into all of this but you were gone. Bad timing that Pard. We were all pushed into this," Jess finished.

Slim was silent, scowling with concentration, then he said while shaking his head, "I've heard of candidates being drafted before but how did I get drafted? It's not like there was a convention."

Jess shrugged then walked to a chair and sat, "The 'Ladies of Laramie' picked you and have been working their tails off to get you elected. Mattie Bradford, I had no idea that she spoke Chinese, has been getting the celestials behind you. Iwona has the Catholics organized for you too." Jess paused, losing his smile, "Iwona's been working so hard that she went into labor today. It stopped though. Doc says she is ok, but Mort has ordered her to bed. I'm not sure how he's enforcing that since he's been awfully busy trying to keep the peace."

"Judging by your face, you haven't helped there," Slim said breaking a small smile. The cheery rancher really wasn't much good at maintaining a mad.

Jess grinned unabashedly, "Yeah, with you gone I've been speaking for you, being your partner and all. I haven't said anything you haven't said. I promise you that," he said, raising his hands up to ward off protests. "Between speaking for you, and Mattie organizing the Chinese, I've been pretty active with my fists. The council is really angry, especially Hornbeck and Sweeney, over the Chinese as they've always stayed out of politics."

Slim pulled another chair over, and sat down facing his partner. "That's not surprising with Hornbeck. He uses them like animals in his mine. If they organize he's in trouble. I've already heard about Sweeney. He tried to have me killed in Cheyenne," Slim said soberly.

Jess' smile disappeared and he froze in his chair, "Come again Pard?" he asked quietly.

"Do you know the Plunkett brothers?" Slim asked. Jess shook his head no. "They're a couple of local low lifes who drift around out here. They made a run at killing me up in Cheyenne. I got bailed out by a visiting Georgia belle, with a parasol. My was she a peach," he said with great emphasis. " Anyway, I winged one and captured both. Later they escaped when Redding got loose again…"

Jess interrupted while shaking his head and scowling, "Loose again? Next time I'm just shooting that man where it's final. "

Slim continued, ignoring the interruption, "….and I ran across the pair of them before they got out of town and stuck them back in jail. Anyway, the Plunketts and I got chatty and they told me that Mathias Hicks hired them for somebody else; they think Gus Sweeney but aren't positive. Those two aren't exactly deep thinkers. So I have a warrant for the arrest of your beer source"

Jess made an apathetic gesture saying, "Well so much for a year of free beer. Pard, let's go talk to Mathias tomorrow. I'm right curious to hear what he has to say about this. Do we include Mort or not?" Jess asked, knowing that if Mort was there it would restrict how they went about discussing things with Hicks.

Slim turned a sardonic eye upon his partner, "Yeah, we'll include Mort. Even if I cared to, I don't think a beating would get anything out of Hicks; but the threat of hanging might. I expect I'll pay Marcy a visit afterwards. You'll probably want to make yourself scarce for that," Slim finished.

Jess nodded quickly, "No kidding."

It was Thursday night, when a tired Mort Corey locked up the jail, and headed for home. It had been a busy day. Advocates for Slim had tangled with supporters of Benson and Linkous. Jess was involved in at least three different brawls when Mort finally sent him home, for the day, under parole to Miss Daisy. Mort's day had been further upset by Iwona going into false labor while she was stumping for Slim. If that hadn't been enough, Cheyenne had sent word to be on the lookout for Ruthless Redding who had escaped with the aid of an unidentified accomplice. The two men, armed and dangerous, were not expected to be traveling together. The telegram also said that Slim was on his way home, with a letter from Owen concerning the Laramie town council, so Friday promised to be equally lively. "Well," Mort thought, "tomorrow is another day."

Walking through the quiet night, the tired man heard a great deal of whooping and hollering from the Arcade Saloon. It meant nothing. Just Benson supporters; he had checked on them earlier, read the crowd, and felt safe in moving on. A minute later he came upon a silhouetted couple; Jock Benson and Lilly Spencer. Jock might or might not win the mayoral race but it looked like he had won a good looking girlfriend. Not that Lilly Spencer was the most stable girl in town. Mort judged her to be flighty but only troublesome to her boyfriends. He continued home where he could keep a watchful and worried eye upon his pregnant wife.

"Jock, will you help me?" Lilly asked, snuggling against the man whom she had recently allowed diverse groping liberties.

"'Course Lilly, what's the matter?" Jock asked concerned, but utterly distracted by her closeness.

"I want immortality Jock," she said simply, "and as mayor you can help me get it."

"What in tarnation are you talking about?" she had his full attention now.

She gave him a sad smile, "Jock, I'm dying. Doc says I have a brain tumor and it will eventually kill me. There is nothing to be done about it."

"No!" he said shaking his head.

"Yes, my dear," she said placing an index finger upon his lips, then continuing, "I am so sorry but it is so. We will have to just be happy with what time we have together. Like I said, I want immortality, and that I can have. An artist is immortal as long as her work is admired. I need your help to get my art out into the world, before I leave it," she explained.

"How can I help with that?" he asked, completely at sea.

"Mayor Diddler was going to use his connections to get me a showing in Cheyenne. When you are mayor I want you to do the same," she explained, snuggling up against him.

"Honey, I don't have any connections in Cheyenne and I won't when I am elected," he protested, dropping his chin on top of her head.

"Try for me, will you? Please try," she asked tearfully.

Jock shook his head, wrapped both arms around her and then shrugged, "I'll do my best. I'll ask the council for help, but I'm not sure what will come of it." Then he sighed, "I don't think I'll be mayor. Honey, face the facts. Slim is killing us."

Face hardening, Lilly said fiercely, "Tomorrow is another day my love. We shall see," and they spoke no more.

"Boys," Marvin Hornbeck said downcast, "Unless something unexpected happens, Slim Sherman is going to be our next mayor. Jock just doesn't have the appeal that Slim does, and the bunch pushing him is working like the very devil to get him in."

The three men who really ran the town council, Hornbeck, Kellerman, and Sweeney were in a back room of the Arcadia saloon, along with Mathias Hicks. The other men muttered their unhappy agreement.

"Look what he's already done with the Chinese," Hornbeck went on. "Next there will be some sort of legal inquiry into the Council."

Sweeney answered wryly, "A full audit is what I hear, with Snead as the auditor. We won't stand a chance of hiding anything from that old devil."

"Where did you hear that from, Gus?" Kellerman asked paling. He was the town treasurer.

"Cyrus McCourt told me. The salesman is right chummy with Snead," Sweeney lied, not wanting them to know he had a spy in Sally Vanderark.

Hicks interrupted quietly, "I have two deadly men waiting. I telegraphed for them an hour after I heard that Sherman was running. They will go out, he will disappear, and we will never see them, or Sherman, again. It will cost us $1200." Hicks said quietly.

"$1200?" Hornbeck gasped, goggling at the price, not the action.

"No haggling on this Marvin," Hicks said quietly while lowering his head towards the man and pointing a finger at him. "They charged me $200 just to come. Either we hire them or we don't but we do not haggle with them.They find haggling rude and you do not want to be rude to this pair. With them, rudeness can be terminal."

Gus Sweeney stood up, pulled out his wallet, and put $300 on the table, Kellerman followed suit. Hicks added $100 saying, "My other $200 is already paid." Hornbeck looked at the pile of money in the center of the table and sighed. Grimacing as if he was putting his own blood in the pile, he added another $300.

The meeting broke up as Hicks pocketed the money. He walked to the hotel where the two men awaited him. He went to their room, knocked, handed the cash to the small man who answered it, and left without saying a word. Everything had already been said.

Lilly left Jock and went home. Changing clothes, she talked to the Woman in the Mirror, "I can't let Slim win."

"You can't stop him Lilly. He has too much support," The woman answered softly.

"Not if he dies tomorrow morning," Lilly answered firmly, quietly, and unhappily.

"Lilly, Slim is too dangerous, and you're a terrible shot," the Mirror Woman admonished equally quietly.

"I have nothing to lose. Unknowingly, he is killing me, so Slim must die. That truly stinks because I really like Slim. He's just too boring to keep permanently," Lilly's lip trembled while she sternly belted up.

"Your kind of immortality comes at an awfully high price Lilly. I don't think it's much of a bargain," The Mirror Woman judged. She sighed and went on, "How are you going to do it?"

"I'm going out to his place tonight, and I will ambush him in the barn," Lilly answered.

"Isn't he in Cheyenne?" asked the Woman in the Mirror.

"No, the stage driver said he was back," the artist replied to her best, and only, friend.

"You'll never get away with it. Jess will see to that," the Mirror Woman said shaking her head. "You'll either wind up shot or at the end of a rope."

Lilly swallowed hard. "I'm not planning on escaping. Jock will win the election. He'll see that my art gets shown. That is all that matters," the sad artist replied.

The Mirror Woman looked at her dubiously and shook her head. "You have a lot more confidence in Jock than I do," she sighed then added, "Your father's pistol is in his wardrobe."

"Yes I do, and I know where the pistol is. Good bye," Lilly answered simply and silently packed up her paints, easel, and canvas. Then she left, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

"I'm so glad that I unloaded that filthy weapon," The Woman in the Mirror sighed to the empty room.

Lilly took her gear and went outside where a livery horse waited. She'd ask Jess to return it for her; if she got the chance. Then she rode through the dark of the night. The season was turning cold and the moon was hidden by clouds. "I hate this," she bleakly said to the darkness that somberly matched her mood. Arriving at the ranch, she avoided the house and rode to the back of the barn where she tethered her rented pinto. Keeping the barn between herself and the house, she lit a small lantern, unpacked her gear, and moved into the barn where she set up her easel. She wanted to spend her last night painting. The farm animals stirred quietly, disturbed by her light.

Art supplies neatly arranged, Lilly reluctantly retrieved her deceased father's cap and ball revolver. She hated the weapon as it was tied to memories of the bullying man getting drunk and waving it at her and her mother. Merely touching it made her skin crawl. Regretfully and distastefully picking it up, it occurred to her to check the cylinders. To her horror she found that it wasn't loaded. Having no reloads, she stared dumbly at the gun, finally saying out loud, "Well, I'm a bad shot anyway." She looked around the barn for an alternate murder weapon and spotted a hay fork. That would have to do.

Lilly's plan had been to paint all night and to be discovered in the barn, still painting. Slim would find it odd but not threatening. When Slim good naturedly asked why she was painting in his barn, she meant to take out the concealed pistol and then to shoot him. Now she would have to spring at him from ambush. She extinguished the lantern and hid behind some hay. It was going to be a long wait and she missed the comfort of her painting.

Chapter 15

Morning dawned bright, clear, and a little cold. Miss Daisy had collected the day's eggs and was happily preparing breakfast for herself and the two men. Mike would not be eating this morning as he had just lost last night's dinner. Jess had left off cleaning his rifle and was helping the boy clean up the mess, before sending him back to bed. No doubt the boy would be fine tomorrow as Saturday was not a school day and children threw off illnesses as quickly as they caught them.

Slim quirked his lips good naturedly as he headed out to the barn, bucket in hand, to milk the cow. He was surprised to see 'Miss Piggy, ' their perpetually gravid 400 pound breeding sow, lying contentedly in the barn doorway. Piggy liked to get out but she never wandered far and would cheerfully wander back to her pen once he opened the door. Slim prodded her firmly with his boot toe. The sow good naturedly lumbered up, and walked through the door when he opened it, heading straight for her pen. The big rancher let out a laugh as the huge sow waddled along, a smile on her face in anticipation of being fed. Her off spring had been the 'guests of honor' at countless ranch meals but "Piggy" was a pet and would never be dined upon. He slid home the bolt on her pen door, securing her.

The big man turned and walked towards milk cow's stall in the back. "What the heck?" he thought, "Why is there an easel in my barn? It surely wasn't here last night," as Lilly's readied project came into view. Behind it he saw that the back door to the barn was part ways open. That explained how Miss Piggy had gotten out.

He called out, "Lilly, are you in here?" He had no idea why Lilly Spencer would be painting in his barn, but nobody else was odd enough to cart an easel around the country side in the middle of the night. Whatever Lilly's reason, Marcy would not be pleased.

He heard movement ahead and to his right. Lilly grimly stepped out from behind some hay holding his hay fork and looking like she had been crying. "Morning Lilly," he said moving forward, "What are you doing here?"

He was a scant two steps away from her when she whipped up the fork and lunged at him. Slim dodged away, knocking the four pronged weapon to the side with the milking bucket. "Lilly! You dumped me not the other way round! What's gotten into you?" he shouted, surprised. Unblocked, that lunge would have skewered his chest.

Lilly agilely recovered from her thrust and tried again; this time aiming for his throat. Once again Slim blocked with the dented bucket and moved to the side. Lilly pursued and thrust again but, when Slim blocked, she shoved the fork down and lifted it again before striking home.

"Yow!" Slim shouted as one of the tines scraped the side of his head cutting a shallow furrow. "That's enough, quit it Lilly!"

"You're killing me Slim," the artist panted, finally breaking her silence. "Jock has to be mayor." She lunged again, managing to stick the tines through the bottom of Slim's best milking bucket.

Slim twisted the milking bucket, turning the hay fork in Lilly's hands, and then grabbed the haft. "Lilly, you're not making any sense. I'm not killing you, you're trying to kill me," the big man replied as he wrestled away the fork.

Expecting Slim to try to clout her with the tool, Lilly bounded towards the back of the barn. Slim tossed his prize aside and followed her, "Lilly come back here. What in tarnation are you doing?" All this was a little surreal to the man as it was early in the morning, a noisily sick Mike had given him a poor night's sleep, and the idea of the town's beautiful artist trying to skewer him was ridiculous in the extreme. He would have been much quicker if he had actually felt threatened; say she had a gun.

That was when Lilly saw Slim's oversized mattock leaning against the wall. The blacksmith had specially made it for him so as to make better use of his size and strength. Dashing over to the heavy tool, the woman grabbed and hoisted it up over her head. Slim stopped in his tracks saying, "Lilly this is getting out of hand. Put that mattock down!" Then he stepped back.

Lilly awkwardly charged forward, mattock held high, and Slim bolted back the way he came. Blocking a hay fork was one thing. Blocking a hefted mattock was another. In a moment he was outside with a determined woman in hot pursuit.

"The well!" he thought. In a moment, he was off to the side of the barn and heading towards the well. He could play ring-around-the-Rosie with her all day without her getting a swipe at him. "Stop this right now Lilly Spencer. It isn't funny and I don't want to hurt you," he shouted as he ran. Not wanting to hurt her was why he hadn't yet slapped leather.

As he reached his goal, Lilly desperately launched her strike. The blow came up short and took a gouge out of the wooden structure. "Slim, what kind of a man runs from a woman?" she taunted him in a gasping voice. Dancer or not she wasn't used to running with heavy tools.

"A man being chased by a nut with a mattock." he replied, safely behind the well and moving away from whichever way she circled. "What has gotten into you? You haven't done anything to Marcy have you?" he asked with sudden concern.

Lilly shook her head, "No, Marcy is fine. If you like that 'boy' better than me that just tells about you. No, you can't be mayor Slim. I have to have Jock be mayor to be immortal." She darted one way and he circled the other. Slim easily matched her movements as he was both very athletic and not lugging a huge mattock. Stalemate.

"Hey pard, have a problem?" Jess' voice cheerfully called from the porch.

Without looking over the big rancher replied, "Yeah, Lilly came over to talk politics and has an extreme opinion. You know, I never thought running for mayor would be this dangerous."

"Yeah, between her and the Plunketts. Shoot, I wonder what will happen after you win? A Souix uprising?" Jess' tone changed, "Lilly, put that mattock down before I have to shoot you." Lilly looked over and saw that he had his Winchester leveled at her.

The artist dropped the tool and burst into tears; she had failed and wouldn't be immortal. The men closed in on her and she sobbingly threw herself upon Jess. He dropped the Winchester, which wasn't actually loaded. Jess had returned to cleaning it and absentmindedly brought it with him when he heard the commotion outside. He wrapped one arm around the girl while putting his gun hand upon his pistol butt, just to be careful.

Lilly wasn't faking her outburst. She really was distraught and not just trying to get his gun. Jess handed his hog leg to Slim, who had also picked up the discarded rifle, and the trio went into the house. They sat down to breakfast, where Lilly was not allowed a knife, and they all tried to get some sense out of the woman.

Milk, ham, eggs and coffee later they had Lilly's story. She only left out the part played by the Woman in the Mirror, figuring that there was no need to get her in trouble too. The men looked on in amazement at the tale. How she was dying from a tumor and sought immortality through her art. How Jock had agreed to help her, which surprised neither man, as Jock would help the devil himself if asked in a friendly manner. Finally, how everything was ruined with Slim becoming mayor.

Slim looked at his ex-girlfriend and shook his head, "Lilly, I'll be glad to help you and I won't need to win to do it, but only if you promise not to try to kill me again." He was touched and sad to hear that she was dying and ascribed her actions to the tumor; it really wasn't her fault.

"Truth to tell Slim, I like you and don't want to kill you," she said honestly.

Slim shook his head and raised an eyebrow, "Is that a promise? No more trying to kill me?" he didn't relent.

Jess looked at his partner, "That was a promise Slim. How are you going to help her?"

Slim shook his head, "No, that was an evasion. Promise Lilly?"

Lilly looked at him, "Why would you help me Slim? You already have a girl."

The question startled Slim, so he took a moment to just look at her and then he just shook his head, "Because I like you Lilly. We're friends; least wise I thought we were friends until you came after me with a hay fork," he answered.

"Mattock," Jess corrected.

Slim turned towards his partner, "Nope, she started with the hay fork and switched to the mattock when that didn't work out. You missed the first round," the rancher answered lightly.

The cowpoke bantered back, "I've got to work on being on time. I miss more stuff by being late." Both men were startled when the woman burst into tears again; tears that turned into hiccups.

"Slim, I'm so sorry. Really I am." Then she went speechless. She knew lots of people, and men pursued her constantly but, aside from the Woman in the Mirror, she hadn't had a friend since she was a little girl. Her 'oddness,' flights of fancy, and the brutality of her father had scared everyone off. Now she found that she had a friend and she had tried to kill him. Lilly felt lower dirt. "I don't have friends." She finally said.

Jess was the first to answer, "Sure you do. I'm your friend Lilly. I bet Jock Benson is too," he added.

"Jock likes my breasts, Jess," she returned, "not me."

Jess colored, deeply embarrassed, "Well I like your figure too, Lilly, and I like you. I bet Jock feels the same way."

"Well that makes it unanimous!" Slim announced. "All three of us like your figure, but we also like you."

Lilly laughed, then cried, but she eventually managed an answer, "Slim Sherman, you prefer a girl with almost no breasts. Marcy is darn near a boy."

Slim shook his head answering, "Breast size is like hair color; it's just there. Marcy is all girl, Lilly, and please quit calling her a boy. It really upsets her."

Lilly smiled through her tears and nodded, "Ok Slim. Can I come to your wedding?" she asked.

Slim stopped, startled by the change in topic, "If we have one, yes. Of course, you can't kill me between now and then," he said returning them to the original topic.

The half mad woman laughed, "Ok, I promise not to kill you. I don't kill my friends." Then she stopped remembering what he had said earlier. "Slim, you said you can help me without being mayor. How?"

Now it was Slim's turn to blush and Jess let out a whistle, "Eliza?" the Texan said, "Marcy'll have a conniption if she hears about it."

"Well, right now I'm not overly pleased with Marcy," Slim announced with a hard voice, "and Lilly needs this. One way or another Marcy and I will just have to deal with it," he finished sternly. "Lilly, I have a very wealthy and influential high society friend from Georgia. She is currently in Cheyenne. How soon can you get your art to Cheyenne?" he asked. "Eliza is leaving very soon."

"It's all packed up. I can leave as soon as they're loaded," the artist replied eagerly.

"Then let's all get to Laramie. I'll wire Eliza and see if she is willing to help. I'm betting that she will and that you will have shows in Atlanta and Savannah, but only if she thinks your art is good enough. Be warned, it will have to be good enough to satisfy her and she's no pushover," the blonde rancher admonished. "I won't be able to help you there. Eliza has her own opinions."

Lilly smiled and nodded, "Slim, thank you ever so much." She stood up and then launched herself at the seated rancher, wrapping her arms around him, and kissing him resoundingly. Shortly thereafter, the threesome was on their way to town, morning events forgiven if not forgotten. Lilly was deeply ashamed of herself and, before leaving, threw her father's pistol, as well as Slim's oversized mattock and haying fork, into the ranch cesspit. The rancher never did figure out where those tools got to. The woman also promised herself that she would buy the ranch a new milking bucket and decorate it with a nice oil landscape.

As they rode, Slim, Jess, and Lilly talked of the election and discussed how things had come about: the unreasonableness of Arena Linkous, the death of Diddler, and how both Jock and Slim had been tapped for candidacy. Lilly calmed Slim, a little, towards Marcy by telling him that the banker, had been the one to bring his and Mort Corey's names up. However, she was forced to admit that his girlfriend had been awfully diligent in the matter.

Riding on, Lilly called a halt on a small rise overlooking the road. "Guys, just a minute, I saw something I want to remember so I can paint it later," she said.

"Don't take long Lilly, we have business we really have to get done," Slim replied with Jess nodding.

The woman smiled, "Five minutes, no more. I promise," she said while she dismounted and pulled a spy glass from her saddle bag.

"What's that for Lilly? I thought you wanted to paint what you saw?" Jess asked, curiously watching her.

Lilly laughed, "I do but a closer look helps when you want to do the bigger picture later."

It didn't make any sense to either Slim or Jess, but they were willing to wait. True to her word, the woman was mounted again five minutes later.

They rode on until Jess spotted, far ahead, a pair of riders on white or light gray horses. Seeing them Jess felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He pulled up saying, "Hold up. Lilly let me borrow your glass."

With a look of interest she handed the glass to Jess who used it to quickly examine the distant riders. "Mother of God, no!" the Texan whispered, paling, then he handed Lilly her glass back.

"What's wrong Jess?" Slim asked, cocking a curious eye at the very distant horsemen.

"I'll tell you later Pard. Lilly, we need you to ride straight ahead to Laramie. We'll see you there. When you come up to those two, stop and delay them. Ask directions. Flirt. Whatever. If you can buy us five minutes that would be great. Be nice and polite, whatever you do, and don't be afraid. They won't hurt you. Can you do that for us?" Jess asked tensely.

Lilly saw Jess' apprehension and nodded seriously. If Jess was afraid then this was serious indeed; Jess Harper feared nothing.

"Jess…" Slim started saying while reaching for his Winchester.

"No Pard. I'll tell you after we reach town but we're circling around those two using Jaeger's draw." Jess turned on the road and headed back in the direction they had come with Slim following him.

As she watched them leave, Lilly silently blew kisses to their receding backs. They wanted five minutes, she promised herself to get them ten even if it meant doing a striptease on the Laramie road. The woman dismounted, tethered her horse, and set up her easel. Quickly she started roughing in the landscape, with a tornado added, and two horsemen on white horses approaching. She did it very roughly for she had little time, twenty minutes to be precise, but by the time the men approached she had a painting well under way with the greatest detailing going to the horses.

"Good morning, sirs" she gaily called to the men as they approached, while still focusing upon her work.

"Ma'am" the first said in a flat voice while reigning up. He was a small man, maybe 5'2," and palely complected with the deadest eyes she had ever seen in a living creature. Her skin crawled. "Ma'am" the second repeated equally flat voiced while tipping his hat and reigning up. He was a twin to the first with equally dead eyes. Both men were well dressed in identical black suits and sported silver chased firearms; pistols on their belts and rifles on their saddles. Their horses were a matched pair of rangy whites who eyed her indifferently.

Sitting absolutely motionless, the first rasped again, "Ma'am you shouldn't be out here, all alone in the wilds. Bad things can happen."

She replied with a coquettish smile despite never feeling less like flirting, "Why thank you for your concern, sir, but I paint the wilds and to do so I must go there. Come and see," she said gesturing to the work in progress.

The second man dismounted, losing his hat to a slight wind gust, revealing that he was bald. The first dismounted and retrieved the second's hat.

"Thank you Levi," the second said quietly to the first who nodded slightly.

The pair walked around and looked at the painting, "Jehosephat Levi, that's Jericho and Nineveh. Miss, you worked quickly to get our horses into your picture that fast. See here," he said pointing, "you can see the old scar on Ninny."

"Miss, that is looking to be a fine picture, "the motionless Levi croaked out, "why the tornado? There isn't one here."

"There was a few years back. Folks around here called it the 'death wind.' The theme of this picture is faces of death. Seeing you two I thought of the bible verse about 'Death riding a pale horse.' I hope you don't mind," she added.

Both men started, looked at each other then burst out laughing. It was a harsh noise as if their throats were little used to making the sound. "Ma'am, we don't mind at all. My name is Levi and my brother's name is Dan. As a matter of fact, we go by the handle of the 'Thanatos brothers' so you have a discerning eye." Something approaching good humor appeared in his dead eyes.

"You do? Well I am very pleased to meet you," she said giving them a curtsy. "I am Lilly Spencer and I live in Laramie."

"Pleased to meet you Miss Spencer," they flatly chorused. The pair returned to studying her painting and the threesome discussed lighting, color, and texture. The two men, highly intelligent though they were, knew nothing of these things but Lilly happily discussed each at length as she worked, occasionally making a mistake and fixing it. After twenty minutes, of watching and talking, the men mounted up to leave.

Lilly had one last gambit for delaying them, "Gentlemen can I get a little help from you?" she asked with cheery politeness.

"What Miss Spencer?" Dan asked curiously, dead eyes almost smiling.

"Please ride a few feet back down the road and stop, facing me. I'd like to rough the pair of you in to finish painting you later. It'll take maybe 10 minutes. I wouldn't dream of asking you to stop here long enough for me to do a proper final job."

Levi looked at his brother and they smiled at each other with a nod. Hardened professional gunmen that they were, they still had egos that could be tickled at odd moments. Truth to tell, this was one very odd moment. "How long would we have to sit for you to detail it correctly?" Dan asked.

"Oh, that would take an hour. Maybe two," she answered, heart stopping.

"We're in no rush miss, we'll stay for you," Levi answered. "We've done a lot of things, but we've never been painted before."

"Why thank you sirs! Thank you ever so much," she gushed while wishing the two would ride on. Though gentle of speech, well mannered, and terribly polite, these two scared the bejeebers out of her. They were the absolutely scariest men she had ever seen, heard, smelt, or dreamt of and she had already given her friends far more time than they had asked her for. She worked hard and fast, greatly aided by their uncanny immobility. The pair didn't seem to breathe and rarely blinked. Forty five minutes later, the Thanatos brothers were back on the road and twenty minutes afterward the shaken artist was gone too. Though whiskey was unbecoming for a lady, she promised herself a stiff drink when she got to town. On the positive side, the picture was becoming very interesting. The vague countryside, along with the more sharply defined tornado and riders, made for an interesting contrast. More significantly, she had somehow managed to translate her own fear into the work.

Chapter 16

Jess pushed Traveler and Slim followed. It made talking impossible and before long they were in Laramie. "Pard, you go get Mort, I'll head over to the Arcade and make sure that Hicks is there."

Slim looked at his partner and asked, "Jess who were those two we passed?"

Jess looked at Slim grimly, "Old companions of mine. They go by the names of Dan and Levi Thanatos. Thanatos means 'death' in some language or another and those two are the most efficient killers to ever come out of Texas. If we go against them, alone, we die. It's as simple as that. So let's deal with Hicks and the council. Then we'll figure out what to do with the Thanatos brothers."

Slim was appalled, "And you sent Lilly to delay them?"

Jess shook his head and smiled grimly, "Lilly is fine. The Thanatos brothers are gentlemen. Not only do they only kill their marks, as far as I know they are always polite to women. Heck, when she's with them she's probably safer than when she is with us."

"You sound like they're old friends," Slim observed.

Jess shrugged, "We got on well enough but they have no more feelings than rattlesnakes. Now go get Mort while I check on our saloon owner friend."

Slim nodded and left for the jail. Jess hustled over to the saloon to deal with Hicks before Mort and Slim got there. They wouldn't approve of what needed to be done in order to save Slim's life. There wasn't a doubt in Jess' mind that the council had hired the two killers and that they were on their way out to the Sherman spread. They would find out from Daisy that he and Slim were in town, so dealing with Hicks must be done quickly. Jess paused outside of the bar. Grim faced, he adjusted and then re-settled his black leather gloves upon his hands. Then the Texan quickly strode through the double swinging doors of the saloon.

It was too early in the morning for the saloon to open. Mathias Hicks was taking inventory behind the bar while Charlie the drunk swept and emptied spittoons.

"Hicks, we have to talk. Your life depends upon it," Jess called out, striding towards the bar.

The saloon owner looked up from his work saying, "Jess, Good morning to you too. What has you so.." then he saw Jess' demeanor, turned, and grabbed the sawed off that was kept under the counter. He pulled the hammers back as he stood up, but Jess was a fast mover and was already directly across the bar from him. The grim Texan's right hand shot out, grabbed the gun, and yanked it out of Hick's hands. Then, like the return stroke of a piston, the shot gun butt stroked the bar owner in the solar plexus sending him careening back into the shelves of just inventoried whiskey. Three shelves collapsed, and the bottles on them shattered. Jess tossed the weapon aside as he placed a hand upon the bar and nimbly vaulted over. "Take a break Charlie, your boss and I have business," Jess growled to the worker. Charlie swallowed hard, grabbed a half empty whiskey bottle from a table, and departed. He wanted no part of the rampaging Harper and his infamous temper.

Seizing the gasping bar owner by his lapels, Jess hauled him to his feet. "Jess I didn't..." the man started as Jess grabbed him by an arm, and his hair, and then slammed his face into the counter top.

"You didn't what, Hicks? You didn't sic the Thanatos brothers on Slim?" he growled as he spun the man back around. Blood was streaming from Hick's nose and mouth. "Or do you mean you didn't try to have him killed by the Plunketts in Cheyenne?" The business man reached back and down under the counter, grabbing a whiskey bottle by its neck. Swiftly he raised it, but Jess back handed him hard across the bleeding mouth, sending a loose tooth to the floor, and knocked the raised bottle across the room. "Neither! I don't know anything about any of that," The man said bringing up both arms to protect his damaged face.

Jess took a deep breath; he had almost lost control and beat the man to death. Satisfying as that might be, and the urge to do so was still very strong, it wasn't what needed to be done. "Listen here you scum. I want a letter to Levi and Dan calling them off. "Hicks flinched at the names. Jess continued,"Yes I know them personally. If you do not give it to me I will have the satisfaction of beating you senseless, maybe to death. That will depend upon when Slim and Mort show up with a warrant from Cheyenne. It is for soliciting a murder and conspiracy for attempted murder. The Plunketts messed up and then ratted you out. The longer we take getting my letter the less time you will have to slither away from the noose you deserve."

"Don't know Plunketts…" Hicks started, stopping with a gasp when Jess spun him and slammed two blows to his kidneys. The tavern owner immediately vomited on the bar top.

"The letter Hicks!" Jess growled at the heaving business man who weakly nodded away from him.

"Paper, pen … office." The man gasped when he had wind enough to talk. Jess drug him there, and sat him on the wooden chair by the desk. The bar owner opened a drawer and tried to pull out a Colt. It was a bad move which cost him two more teeth, more damage to his nose, and resulted in Jess winding up with the pistol. Hicks gave in and picked up a pen. He wrote;

"Dan and Levi Thanatos:

There has been a change in plans and your services, regarding Sherman, are no longer desired. Thank you for coming and I am sorry that it just hasn't worked out. Most cordially, Mathias Hicks, esq."

Jess looked at it, "I think a PS is in order."

"What for?" the bleeding man asked, droplets of his blood splattering the letter.

"You tell me. If that letter fails I'll be back to finish this and not even a cell will protect you," Jess replied sinisterly.

Hicks gulped and nodded quickly. Then he continued writing, "PS- that also goes for eliminating any witnesses at the ranch and burning the evidence. A living Sherman makes such actions unnecessary. MH."

"Thank you," Jess said sardonically as he pocketed the letter. Then he hauled the man to his feet.

"You said I could run when I finished," Hicks whimpered.

"We're not finished. Not by a long shot," the Texan said as he spun the man around again, pulled a leather thong from his pocket and bound the man's wrists behind him. "We're going for a ride and you're going to answer my questions. If I think you are lying to me we will stop riding and start dancing again. Do you understand?" The Texan's voice was as hard and cold as the grave.

Hicks nodded, blood dripping from his ruined nose to his shirt and his eyes beginning to swell shut. Before leaving the office, Jess wrote a quick note and left it on the desk chair. Then they exited the saloon, reacquired Traveler, and then they went around back to where the saloon stabled animals. The Texan saddled up Hicks' horse, filled a canteen for the man, and they rode out of town with Jess leading.

As they rode, Jess asked a lot of questions concerning who paid for the Thanatos Brothers, how much, and why. He whistled at the price the Thanatos brothers commanded and added Kellerman, Hornbeck and Sweeney to his list for social calls. Hicks whimpered and moaned a lot as they went. Not only had Jess bruised his kidneys but one of the blows had cracked a rib and the solar plexus strike had left him with a strong urge to vomit. All in all, the saloon owner had experienced better mornings.

"Jess, I've answered your questions. Just let me go. You've got it all. I mean, I haven't actually hurt anybody and was only following orders," Hicks bemoaned.

"Well, you've answered my questions so that just leaves us with one last thing," the Texan replied tight faced.

Fear shot through Hicks. Harper was going to kill and bury him out here! Vainly he struggled against the thong. Hicks realized that he was a dead man and slumped in his saddle while dejectedly cursing his captor.

Jess paid him no mind. With the whole story, as Hicks told it, he was even over most of his mad at the businessman. Not all of it mind; punching him a few more times wouldn't break his heart but he no longer had any desire for true brutality.

Miles later Jess and his burden left the road. Stopping under an old oak that was quite suitable for a hanging, Hicks started wailing and openly crying. "Oh shut up. I'm not hanging you. I'm tying you up."

"You're lying. You're gonna hang me …" Hicks wailed and then he flinched and shut up as Jess raised his gloved hand.

"That's better. Now off of the horse." He helped Hicks sprawl off the horse, drug him over to the oak, and tied him sitting down against the tree's trunk. He tethered his prisoner's mount well out of reach and the horse went to quietly cropping grass. Taking the man's canteen he gave him a drink of water.

"Harper, what are you doing?" Hicks finally asked.

"Gagging you. Open your mouth." A moment later the man was gagged. "To answer your question, we're one ridge away from the Sherman ranch house. I'm going to go talk to your employees. If your letter gets me killed you will have every chance of starving to death right here. Do you have anything to change in it?" Hicks shook his head and Jess left him, leading away the man's horse. If it all went south, he was killed and Hicks starved, there was no need for the animal to suffer.

Lilly missed Jess in Laramie, coming in on a trail which short cut the road. She dropped the pinto off at the livery while optimistically arranging for a wagon. Then she went straight to the Benson's general store. Lilly wanted three things there; a bottle of whiskey for her drink, to warn Marcy of Slim's impending rampage, and to talk to Jock. All morning she had talked to Jess and Slim about friendship and what she was told was new and wonderful to her. She needed to talk to Jock; a third potential friend that she wanted for company on the hoped for trip to Cheyenne.

Entering the store, she found Marcy there. "Hi Marcy, is Jock here?" she caroled.

Marcy looked up at her appraisingly, "No, he went off looking for you."

Lilly nodded, that made sense. "Ok, first I need a small bottle of whiskey. Good whiskey and I have no idea what is good or bad. I owe myself a drink," she said shuddering.

"And why is that?" Marcy asked with polite curiosity, while Lilly's father had bought much whiskey, Lilly never had.

"I just delayed the Angel of Death, actually two of them, for Slim and Jess. I'm shaking so bad that I can't even hold my paint brush," she answered. It was true. Once the Thanatos brothers rode away she had only pretended to paint as the shakes had set in with the relief of their departure.

Upon hearing that she had been with Slim, Marcy selected a small bottle of the most horrendous rot gut whiskey she had on hand. "This should do," she said, then added "we sell a lot of it."

Lilly made her purchase, opened the bottle and took a drink. She immediately gagged on the vile liquid and wound up coughing it up in the shop. "Gah! How can men drink that?" she said putting the bottle down with no intention of ever picking it up again. Marcy suppressed a snicker and got out some cleaning rags to mop up the mess. To the store owner's surprise, and secret embarrassment, Lilly pitched in and apologized for making the mess.

"So much for my drink," She said. Then turning to the shopkeeper she announced, "Marcy, prepare yourself for trouble. As I said, Slim is back. He's fit to be tied and he's heading your way."

Marcy answered carefully, not sure what to make of a warning from her rival, "Why I'm tickled that Slim is back though I'm not sure why he'd be angry at me…."

Lilly put her hands on her hips and looked fiercely at the smaller woman, "Don't play the fool with me Marcy Benson. You know darned well why Slim is breathing fire! You volunteered him for Mayor and have worked your tail off to make him such without asking him if he wanted to be. He's now going to pay you a visit and it won't be a quiet one. You've got a little time because he has a few men to see, and to put into jail, before he 'deals with you.' His words not mine."

Marcy paled but answered "Actually, I didn't volunteer him. Snead did, I, uh, just helped," she said lamely.

Lilly crossed her arms and looked down upon her. "That's not what Slim heard and he's riled something fierce," Lilly said. "Where's Jock? We need him to run the store while you get ready for Slim's onslaught."

"Onslaught? Get ready for Slim? What do you mean? I told you that I don't know where Jock is," Marcy replied, becoming unnerved by Lilly's imperious demeanor and aggressive descriptions.

The artist/dancer threw her arms up theatrically and did a pirouette while declaiming, "Bath! Hair! Perfume! Ribbons since flowers aren't available! We're going to get you up like you're going to a big doo. Slim Sherman is not the sort of man who can hold a mad at a contrite woman making big eyes at him. If nothing else, it will make him laugh and if you can make that man laugh this battle is won. Without a doubt Slim Sherman is the nicest and most forgiving man in Laramie. I should know, I tried to kill him this morning and we're best friends again," she finished.

Marcy stopped cold, staring fiercely, "You what?"

"Oh don't worry, we have other problems. Rage at me later. I'm going to drag Jock back here by his, uh, ear and then you are going to prepare yourself." With that the artist blew out of the store, like the tornado in her latest painting, leaving Marcy to just stare after her.

Lilly marched herself up the street, "Where would I be if I were Jock? Fishing? No, my house to mope." she thought, and kicked her pace into double time. Soon she encountered Slim and Mort on their way to the Arcade saloon.

Slim smiled when she approached and stepped in front of her, bringing her to a stop. "Are you alright?" he asked

"Never better, why ever not?" she replied absently.

"Why? I take it those two were no trouble," the relieved rancher asked.

"Those two were the scariest things I have ever seen," she replied, "but I'm ok."

"I'm glad to hear it. Jess has been acting oddly since we saw them. Tell me about them, will you?" the rancher requested.

So Lilly spent ten minutes describing her encounter with the Thanatos Brothers. Slim became incredulously quiet as she described painting for them. Eventually her narrative came to a close. Then she turned and asked the sheriff, "Mort, have you seen Jock lately?"

"I saw him earlier, moping over by your house," he replied, eyes twinkling. She nodded in response and scurried away. She reappeared, scant minutes later, towing Jock by his ear.

"Who do you think you are, my sister?" he protested as she drug him along. She hadn't even kissed him. She'd just grabbed and drug.

Lilly released his ear, stood in front of him with shoulders thrown back, chin and chest proudly upraised. "Do I look like your sister?" She replied proudly.

"Uh, no…." he replied slowly, sensing that there was a trap in the question.

She nodded, re-grabbed his ear and returned to dragging him, "Good, I'm glad that's settled."

Mort and Slim walked into the Arcade as Charlie was cleaning up the mess Jess had left. The work was not going quickly as Charlie had polished off the half bottle of whiskey before anybody could take it from him.

"Looks like Jess and Hicks had a right lively discussion," Mort said looking around and heading over to the bar. "What happened here, Charlie?"

"Mr. Hicks pulled a shotgun on Harper. Harper took it away from him and then hit him with it. Harper was awful mad and told me to take a break. So I did," the swaying drunk slurred.

"Charlie, I never credited you with sense before, but I do now," Mort commented noting the tooth on the floor, and the blood and vomit on the counter. "Slim, how worked up was Jess when you sicced him on Hicks?"

Slim shook his head, "I didn't sic Jess on anybody, and not very. He was very grim about the two shootists Lilly delayed. That was all."

"Well Traveler is gone, and I bet we find Hick's mount gone too. If we don't meet up with Hicks again, I'll have to go hard on Jess," Mort said glumly. Slim just nodded.

The pair walked around the saloon, finding two teeth and a smaller mess in Hicks' office along with a bloody pen, "He made Hicks write something," Slim observed, showing the pen to Mort.

"What?" Mort asked curiously.

"I don't know. Let's go talk to Sweeney, maybe they went there. Or maybe Jess went there with a note from Hicks." Slim suggested.

Mort shrugged, "I'm in no hurry. I figure Jess is the next one we need to talk to." The sheriff then stopped, seeing a piece of paper laying on the floor. It was the note Jess had left on the chair. He picked it up and read it. Then he handed it to Slim.

The rancher took the note. It read, "Slim and Mort: Hicks admitted that he hired the Thanatos brothers to kill Slim and is going out with me to call them off. We'll both see you back at the jail this afternoon. Wait for me as I want to help you with the council. Jess."

Mort shrugged, "Like I said, the next person I have to talk to is Jess. At least it looks like I won't have to jail him for killing Hicks. Let's wait for him."

Slim shook his head. "I'm heading out after them."

Mort paused, looking suddenly glum. "I'm joining you. Dang I hope Iwona doesn't go into labor while we're out," the nervous father to be grimaced.

Jess rode a tired Traveler, leading Hick's mount, over the ridge and down towards the ranch house. Nothing stirred in the yard save chickens. With Mike sick that was to be expected. Still, Jess knew that danger was there as surely as he knew the Thanatos brothers.

Not that 'Thanatos' was their birth name. They had come into the world as Dan and Levi Veytz. They took the other name after the destruction of the commanchero brigands based in Thanatos Springs, Colorado. Jess, the Veytz brothers, and nine others had been paid to track down, and eliminate, those marauders.

Their employer got the group ambushed and half wiped out. Only the insanely fast and accurate gun skills of the Veytz boys had preserved the rest. The surviving gunmen had pressed on and conquered the Commanchero base. After the smoke had cleared, only Jess and the Veytz's were standing. Afterwards, the Texan had said good bye to the lethal pair and hadn't seen them again until today.

Jess tethered Traveler to the corral and called out loudly, "Levi, Dan! I know you're here and have me covered. I am disarming, watch." The Texan knew that staying armed was a temptation to disaster. Though he knew himself to be a first rate gun hand, Jess also knew that his skills were no match for of either of the pair lurking nearby. Jess unbelted and put his gun and belt into a saddle bag. Then he stepped away from his mount and pulled off his shirt to show that he wasn't packing a back up gun. Putting his shirt back on, he waited. It wasn't a long wait.

A small man in black drifted out the house carrying his customized Winchester loosely in one hand. "Howdy Harper, it's been a while," he croaked out.

"Howdy Dan. I see you're well. How's Levi?" Jess asked, well knowing that politeness was critical with the Thanatos boys.

"Nope I'm Levi," the man croaked out, with all of the calmness of the grave.

Jess shook his head, this was a game they liked to play, particularly with him. Most people couldn't tell them apart (they claimed they couldn't tell themselves apart in mirrors) but he never had a problem. "Nope, you're Dan." He then went on to the current agenda, "I assume you're here on business."

Dan Thanatos gravely smiled his dead smile that didn't reach his equally dead eyes. He nodded his head, "Right on both counts Jess. Want to talk inside?"

"Your call," Jess replied shrugging, "I assume that Mike and Miss Daisy are alright."

Dan nodded, "Of course. Harming them isn't currently our business."

Jess nodded, "So are you after Slim, me, or both?"

Dan nodded, "If 'Slim' is Sherman, we have business with him. We didn't know that you were involved. How did you know that we were around?" the dead eyed man asked with morbid curiosity.

"Your employer made a run on Slim earlier, so I was looking for trouble. Sure enough, you two showed up. Trouble with a capital T," Jess answered. "I saw you on the trail earlier, so we went around you into Laramie and I had a word with Hicks. I knew that Slim was safe because he wasn't anywhere near here."

A mournful call sounded from the barn and Dan relaxed slightly. Jess hadn't been aware of the man's tension until it had passed. "So you are alone, good." Dan's twin came out of the barn. "Hello Harper," he croaked out with cold cordiality.

Jess turned to the second man and made a half wave, "Howdy Levi. Actually I'm not alone but the man with me is tied to a tree, some ways from here, just in case you boys want to talk to him."

The black dressed twins glanced at each other with grave smiles, then Levi spoke, "Your word is good with us Jess, though we would like to know what Sherman is to you. We three might wish to discuss alternatives," he said, with a chilling emphasis on the last word.

Jess shivered but kept it out of his voice and features, "Well, read a note I have first. It's in my shirt pocket and I don't want to be shot six times while I pull it out."

Both men smiled coldly and nodded, "You give us too much credit. I doubt we'd hit you more than four times before we discovered your tragic mistake." That was the limit of their sense of humor. Not greatly reassured, Jess pulled the note out slowly and handed it to Levi.

Levi snickered gratingly when he read it. Then he handed it to his brother. "The pen is mightier than the sword. You knew you couldn't out gun us so you got Hicks to call us off. It was a nice touch, having the man sign it in his own blood," Dan said, alluding to the dried droplets on the paper.

Jess nodded, "That about sums it up."

Dan finished reading it and pursed his lips, "Hicks is the man who's tied to the tree?"

Jess nodded, "Yeah, I brought him in case you wanted to make sure I didn't write that."

"Which you would do if you thought you could get away with it," Dan replied without rancor.

"Actually, beating it out of him was far more satisfying. Still, I expect to turn him over to the law after we're done," Jess said matter-of-factly. He had long ago decided that dealing with this emotionless pair straightly was the best policy.

"Then we'd best be heading out. Jess, you win. Our prepaid contract is cancelled and bodyguarding that weasel wasn't part of it," Levi said with Dan nodding his agreement and pocketing the note. "Just bringing Hicks out shows you're being straight with us. What is Sherman to you? You know how dangerous we are," the dead souled man re-asked the question as another might discuss the weather.

"He's my partner and has become, more or less, my brother. How much risk would either of you run for the other?" Jess asked proudly.

"To the limit. Against Man, God or Devil, it wouldn't matter," they answered together, sounding like an infernal chorus and sending more chills down Jess' spine.

To Jess' surprise, Dan Thanatos then made him an offer. "Jess, join us. We've talked over getting a protégé to eventually take over what we do, and we've never worked with anyone we liked better than you." Levi added, "You nearly have the speed and accuracy, already. With some coaching, and a few life changes, you could become our peer. "As an afterthought Dan concluded, "We also make very good money."

Jess stood taken aback in wide eyed surprise. None were better at what this pair did and he felt deeply and strangely honored by the offer. Then the cold chill of someone stepping on his grave ran through him. "No thanks boys, I have family here. But please share a drink with me before you go. I can't say why, but I am honestly glad to see you," he replied while mentally adding, "in a scared spit less sort of way." The shaken Texan then led them into the ranch house, took out the medical whiskey, and poured three large glasses. A terrified Miss Daisy looked on in silence.

"The lady doesn't like us much," Dan observed emotionlessly.

"No reason for her to," Levi answered, getting a nod from his brother.

"She reads people well," Jess said matter-of-factly, "and sees just how black and blood stained you are. You know you're not easy company."

That drew harsh laughs from the pair. By their grim standards, it had been a positively humor filled day, "We try not to be. Nobody messes with the Angel of Death and we're two images of him."

The three gunmen silently toasted each other and the two visitors made to leave when Levi suddenly stopped, "Jess, would you like us to take Hicks away? It might simplify your life and we wouldn't find it any bother."

Jess smiled cold cordiality, "Thanks, but no Levi. I need him. I appreciate the offer though."

"Would you mind doing us a favor?" the other shootist asked.

"What is it?" Jess asked curiously. These two never asked anything of anybody. They either took what they wanted or did it themselves. They truly valued their independence.

"A young artist lives in Laramie. She is painting a picture she calls 'The faces of death.' We wish to buy it when she finishes it and are willing to pay up to $400. Will you handle that for us? We aren't too keen on hanging around, maybe for months, while she fiddles with it," the reaperish Levi asked.

Jess smiled, nodded, and answered, "Sure Levi, Lilly is a friend and will be greatly pleased."

The twins nodded, Levi gave Jess some contact information, and then they went to their horses and silently saddled up. With a wave, but no words, the sepulchral duo rode off to the east.

After their visitors left, Daisy cornered Jess into explaining just who had visited and why they had been there. It took a few minutes, and a shot of whiskey, to calm her down. Jess then looked in on Mike before leaving. The boy had slept through the chilling visitation. This reminded Jess of a sermon about the children of Israel sleeping safely behind blood marked doors while the Angel of Death passed them by. He didn't much like that sermon.

Saddling another horse, Jess rode out and collected his tree hugger. Hicks was relieved by Jess' return but not happy about returning to Laramie. Jess cut him short saying, "It is that or you're going off with my old companions. They made the offer and they don't much like you." That silenced the barman for the entire ride back. The silence suited Jess as he had a puzzle to sort out. Why had he enjoyed seeing those scary devils, once he knew that things were going to be non-terminal? And why did a part of him find their job offer attractive? He eventually decided that part of himself was still the wild drifter and forever would be. That was fine. It made harrowing memories sweeter, as time smoothed out their edges, without ruining whatever sort of man he was turning into. It was a pleasure when he was joined by Slim and Mort on the way back to town

Mort had a few things to say after Jess explained why he had abducted Hicks. The sheriff was annoyed, but allowed that peaceably calling off those two hell hounds was probably the best for everybody. He also added that, since Hicks pulled the shotgun first, dancing him around his own bar was justified…. but not to make a habit of such things.

Jess was surprised at the mildness of Mort's tongue lashing. He figured that his friend had heard a little about the Thanatos Brothers and was glad to have them out of his jurisdiction. Heck, if Mort knew them as well as Jess did, their departure would have had him doing cartwheels back to town.

After Mort's mild tongue lashing, the trio rode companionably back to Laramie. Well, companionably for Jess who simply ignored the fuss his partner made at him for going after the Thanatos brothers alone. Slim simply didn't understand the situation with those boys and, as far as Jess was concerned, his ignorance was bliss.

Arriving back at the jail, the three men happily chucked Hicks into a cell. They then walked over to the Sweeney house and knocked upon the door. Mrs. Sweeney smilingly answered it, "Good afternoon sheriff. Come in, please come in."

Mort nodded, taking off his hat with Slim and Jess following suit. "Magda, we're here to talk to Gus. Is he around?" the Laramie sheriff asked while Slim, looking at the friendly and attractive woman, thought of a quote from an old story, "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it." He surreptitiously loosened the gun in his holster.

"Why, whatever for sheriff?" she asked innocently.

"It concerns Mathias Hicks. I just arrested him on a warrant from Cheyenne for conspiracy to commit murder. I need to ask Gus what he's heard, if anything," Mort answered.

Magda's eyes flattened and she snapped, "Gus knows nothing about such things and hasn't been to Cheyenne in months. He has no enemies there so this has nothing to do with him. Whatever Mr. Hicks did is not of our concern."

Gus Sweeney came stomping down the stairs with a challenging and unfriendly look, "Come here for a reason sheriff or just to upset my wife?" the Councilman demanded.

"We came here to arrest you for murder for hire, Gus. Hicks ratted you out like the Plunketts ratted him out. Come along. You know what will happen if you try to draw that hogleg you conceal above your fat butt," Mort continued in a reasonable voice but with an iron look to his eyes and a hand upon his Colt.

Sweeney's hands quit inching towards his concealed gun and he heaved a sigh of defeat. Magda, seeing Slim closely eying her with a hovering gun hand, made no move towards the pepperbox she had concealed upon herself. Given half a chance she would have drawn and fired it. But she didn't have that half of a chance. She loved her husband but wasn't uselessly committing suicide for him. Minutes later the Councilman dejectedly sat alone in his cell.

Within the hour he was joined by Kellerman and Hornbeck. Half an hour later the Councilmen were falling all over each other to rat out their cronies while Hicks was noisily ill in the corner; Jess had done some damage to him that would be a few days sorting itself out.

Hicks was also disgusted with his jail mates as Mort had been less than truthful when he had told them that the bar owner had turned them in. He had done no such thing, but once they turned on him, he rectified that omission. Judge Klink was going to be very busy the next time he came to town.

Law work settled, Slim turned to sorting things out with Marcy Benson. As he walked to the store, Mattie Bradford hailed him, "Slim! I've a reply to your telegram!" and brought it over to him.

"Thanks Mattie," he said taking the paper and putting it in his pocket, unread.

"Best read it as it ends 'awaiting response,'" the telegrapher cautioned.

With a nod and a sigh he retrieved and read the message. "If you accompany art will delay through Monday then absolutely must leave Stop Else leaving as scheduled Stop Get moving cowboy Stop Eliza.

Slim laughed, which caused most of his aggravation with Marcy to abate. He simply wasn't a man that remained angry at people he liked. Eliza Bronson's unabashed blackmail both flattered him and struck his funny bone. "I had better keep things moving," he thought.

Turning to Mattie, who had pencil and paper at the ready, he dictated, "To Eliza Bronson, Governor's Mansion, Cheyenne Stop Will accompany art and artist Stop Looking forward to seeing you Sunday Stop Expect to have Marcy in tow to size ring and to keep self safe from Tigers Stop Slim." "That will fix her!" he thought and his response also settled his mind about Marcy. She was in for a bit of a roasting, as what she had done wasn't right, but she hadn't done anything more serious than to complicate his life a little.

Mattie read it back to him and immediately started back to the office. She couldn't talk to anybody about it, as respecting privacy came with the job, but how she dearly loved knowing everybody else's business.

Slim continued on to the store where he found Jock and Lilly, but not Marcy. "Hi Jock, Lilly" he greeted them.

"Hi Slim, is there news?" Jock asked, while Lilly clasped her hands and smiled tightly with nervous expectation.

Slim nodded, smiling at her, and her smile turned into a grin. "I'm looking for your sister and I have a telegram to show Lilly," he said walking across the store and handing Lilly the paper. The woman read it, bounced up and down twice, leapt at Slim and hugged him. She refrained from kissing him only because Jock was there. Then she shot out of the building, hell bent for the livery stable.

Jock looked on with a smile. "I take it we're headed to Cheyenne today."

"We? I take it Lilly and you have been talking about taking her art over there," Slim asked.

"Yeah, are you going too? Lilly thought there was a good chance that you would be coming," Jock answered.

Slim nodded, very glad that Jock was coming. A road trip with Lilly, without another male present, would cause rumors he didn't feel like putting up with. Marcy coming along would cause plenty of rumors too, but he already intended to 'make an honest woman of her' so that wouldn't be a problem.

"You know, it's funny. One of us will become mayor tomorrow, Arena hasn't a prayer, and not only will neither of us be here but we'll be out of town together. Heck, bring a fishing pole and we can fish on the way. That way we can say that we all went fishing. It'll make a better story," Jock laughed.

Slim agreed and laughed as well. Then he changed the subject, "Where's Marcy, Jock?" he asked.

"At home awaiting her doom," Jock said, shaking his head. "She figures that there'll be the devil to pay for getting you into the election."

Slim shook his head, "So she's hiding under the bed? That doesn't sound like Marcy to me."

Jock grinned, "Shoot no. Digging a moat and boiling some oil."

Slim shook his head and departed the store. It only took a moment to reach the Benson house and he knocked upon the door. Then he stepped to the side so that anyone answering the door would have to step out if they wanted to see who was there.

The door opened, slowly, "Yes? He heard Marcy timorously ask, then "Who's…." as she took a half step out. Slim was upon her immediately and scooped her up. He gave the startled woman a mock growl and very hearty kiss which, after the briefest of pauses, was heartily returned to the accompaniment of tears.

"Hey, what's this?" Slim asked breaking his side of the embrace; she still clung to him. Only then did he notice the fancy peach dress, Lemon Verbena perfume, hair ribbons, and expertly done hair. "How did all that happen?" he thought, "Marcy must have had an accomplice, she hates mucking with her hair."

When Marcy finally spoke she had hiccups from crying, "I'm so sorry, Slim. hic I had to help volunteer you. If hic I hadn't Jock would be mayor and hic we'd never see each other because hic I would always be stuck in the store. Then you weren't around and we just had to do everything hic and I know you're mad but I hic ….." Slim stopped the outpouring with another kiss. A kiss periodically interrupted by hiccups.

"Enough," he said firmly after breaking the kiss, anger virtually forgotten. "Don't volunteer me for stuff without my permission, I find it really annoying and I might not do it. Ok?"

She nodded and grasped him again. "I really am sorry Slim, I really am. Lilly told me how hic angry you are and I've thought about it all day and all…." Actually, Lilly had artistically embellished and grossly exaggerated Slim's rage and had included fanciful and lurid descriptions of the two pairs of killers sent after him. The result had left Marcy twitching with apprehension, guilt, and contrition. The artist had decided that such a state would best appeal to the rancher's sympathetic nature; he was such a big hearted and forgiving soul.

"Ah," Slim thought, "Lilly was in on this, which explains hair, clothes, and such. Jock was right about defenses. Very feminine defenses and most effective ones," he thought ruefully.

"…and, if you don't want to be mayor that's alright. We'll figure something out hic." Her hiccups were abating slowly."

Slim pursed his lips and looked at her sternly, which in her guilt ridden state made her feel awfully uncomfortable, "I do have one thing to ask you."

She looked up at him with huge deer-in-the-porch-lights eyes, thinking "look forlorn, Lilly said to look forlorn. I don't know how to look forlorn," the angst of which, of course, made her look very prettily forlorn. She knew he would be asking why she had done what she had done when she could have easily sent him a telegram and gotten his permission. Truth to tell, that option hadn't occurred to her, but her saying that would sound lame. Oh, he was going to be angry after all or just hold her in contempt which would be so much worse….

Slim pulled his oversized hand out of his pocket, looked her dead in the eyes, dropped to his left knee and quietly asked, "Marcy Benson, will you be my wife?" Then he opened the hand and showed her a ring. It had a blue Star Sapphire on the top edge, a boulder opal on the bottom edge with malachite at the other two compass points. Centered was a diamond solitaire. She immediately read MS, MB eternally; Mathew Sherman and Marsalene Benson together forever.

Manfully, she fought off the vapors, but alas, she couldn't speak. With a rictus grin, she settled for madly shaking her head up and down and then flinging herself upon him. He found that answer quite sufficient.

Lilly grinned all the way to the livery and all the way back to her house where, after barely remembering to tie off the horses, she charged into the home and madly loaded her 48 prepared paintings. Then she grabbed her work in progress, 'Faces of Death,' so that she could continue painting in Cheyenne. Next would have to come the necessities for the trip, and she suddenly realized that she was at a total loss as to what to bring. She had moved to Laramie at the age of four, and had never travelled anywhere since. The prospect of leaving safe, familiar, and known Laramie was suddenly very daunting. Out there was anything and everything. Provincial Laramie now seemed very dear indeed. Above all, for the first time, she had friends. Three friends, to be exact. Maybe four though she was unsure of Marcy. Pondering the mystery of travel needs, Lilly was startled to notice that her headache was gone. It had been her constant, unwelcome, companion for the last seven years. Now it was gone, and somehow she knew it would never return. Good riddance. Taking a deep breath she decided that waiting for Jock was her best option. He could help her make a list of, and load, the necessities. She didn't doubt that he would be over directly.

Happy with the plan, she went upstairs to tell the Woman in the Mirror what had transpired. What a day it had been! She looked into her Dalyngridge mirror and the Mirror Woman smiled back, but oh how worn and tired she looked. "What's wrong?" she cried out, "you look unwell and you're never ill."

"I am very tired, Lilly. I've been busy. I see you have chosen to go forth with your art. I wasn't sure that you would in the end. I still think you should have chosen Slim over Jock. He reminds me of Gareth only handsomer and smarter," the Mirror Woman said, ever the matchmaker, and Slim Sherman, ever her favorite.

"No, Slim is too predictable and that makes him boring. Still, I'm not sure about Jock," Lilly answered defensively, then added, "I'll be back soon enough," and immediately doubted herself. "Would she?" she thought.

"No dear, I think not, but even if you are we shall not meet again. I must rest now. I have done much work this day and must sleep and sleep. Mayhap I will wake again for your grand or great granddaughter. Care well for the mirror, child. And go with my love and blessing." The Mirror Woman faded from view while Lilly softly said, "Good bye," then cried a storm of tears.

The Sidhe looked through the mirror, invisibly, one last time before going to her rest. Manifesting in the mirror was easy enough but exiting through it was exhausting. Indeed, it had been nearly 400 years since she had last done so. Since this was the second time she had moved through it, this year, she was brutally exhausted. Still, her god daughter, as amoral and charming as the sidhe herself, had needed her aid. Now the tumor was dead and the girl would have a life. How tiring such curing was. Much more tiring than when she had last emerged and elfshot Lilly's brute of a father.

The sidhe looked her last upon this most favored god daughter. She was the faerie godmother to all of the Dalyngridge women but only a very few could, or would, see her. The sidhe sighed wearily as she went to her rest and remembered the human women she had had in her charge. She let out a most ungracious snort, "Imagine taking Jock Benson over Slim Sherman. Oh what fools these mortals be," she thought tenderly as she drifted off for a very long sleep.