Title: Stone Soup
Author: Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006
Chapter: Act Two
Comments to: feedback to the list or to my email address, new scenes, new story, new characters
Rating: PG -- This story may contain some mild violence.
Pairing: none (of original series' characters)
Spoilers: The story contains references to another short story by the author, Stone Cold Heart.
Archive: Yes, at http/ http/tv.groups. and at author's website, http/aimee-dupre. NOTE: Author's website includes pictures from the original series.
Summary: How can a collectible pistol and a calculating invention bring two distrustful conspirators together? The lawyer with a swindler's past could give the passionate widow everything – his hopes, his dreams, his secret thoughts. But could she trust him? Only U. S. Marshal Jared Stone can show them they are after the same things: justice . . . and love.
Warnings: This story contains some mild violence and veiled references to sex.
Disclaimer: The characters in the story (with the exception of new characters created by Aimee DuPré) are the sole property of Peacemakers, USA Networks, and in association with Michael R. Joyce Production. This is a work of fan fiction that intends no infringement on copyright or trademark.
New Characters: New characters created by Aimee DuPré include Mrs. Emily Jordan (Katie Owens' aunt), Mr. Elliott Stone (Jared Stone's cousin), and Tevis Carver, Bank President, and are the sole property of Aimee DuPré, copyright January, 2006.
Author's Notes: "Whiskey For My Men and Beer For My Horses" is a song by Willie Nelson and Toby Keith. The music video featured scenes from the pilot episode of Peacemakers.
To know "poor bull from fat cow" means to know good times from bad.
El's comment about Jared being the only man he ever knew who could sneak up on a Cheyenne dog soldier is a veiled reference to Tom Berenger's character of Lewis Gates in Last of the Dogmen, about a lost tribe of Cheyenne dog soldiers.
The reference to the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City is a "hats off" to the longest running western drama series in television history, Gunsmoke.
Today, only 168 Colt Walkers are known to exist, and their value can exceed $100,000.
I must admit, I "stole" the Sucaba invention from a novel by Sidney Sheldon called If Tomorrow Comes. Tom Berenger was in the 1986 mini-series.
Stone Soup
By Aimee DuPré
Copyright January, 2006
Act Two
"Raffling off a traitor's weapon?" Mayor Smith was incredulous. He stood at the bar in the Velvet Cushion Saloon and examined the large, long pistol in front of him on the bar counter without touching it. Outside, the rain still fell in torrents and even inside it was gray, dank, dark, and depressing.
"Who wants to buy a raffle ticket for the gun of a deserter?"
"You do, Mayor," Stone stated. "Five dollars each. You'll take twenty."
"A hundred dollars? I think not. Where did you get those tickets printed, anyway?"
"The Silver City Sentinel was kind enough to make them up for us."
"Us?"
"Uh, . . . " Stone stammered. "Well, Mrs. Jordan. The pistol will be raffled off at the Fall Barn Dance. The raffle will raise money for the Owens' Mortuary bank loan. Katie's father borrowed against it to send her to medical school. Katie never knew about it till the payments were overdue."
The mayor held up his hand. "I heard about the shooting at the bank," he laughed. "From what I heard," he lowered his voice as if imparting a secret, "Owens thought he'd only need the loan short term, so he mortgaged the property at the going rate, 36. That interest adds up quick, especially when his heirs made no payments."
"Carver tell you that?"
"Maybe," the mayor said, so careful not to reveal his source that he did so. "I also heard that Mrs. Jordan is quite the feisty lass underneath that psalm-singing, church-lady exterior."
Stone nodded his agreement. "Would you like to have this small cannon pointed at you?"
Mayor Smith shook his head in the negative. "So, Marshal, how did you come up with this raffle idea?"
"Uh . . . Mrs. Jordan. She said it's just like stone soup."
"You have completely lost me, Stone. Any reference to your surname?"
"None that I know of. The story she told me is how this soldier was on his way home from the 'Recent Unpleasantness.' He was tired and hadn't eaten for days. He came to a small town that had been ravaged by the war, so they were wary of strangers, 'specially soldiers. They figured he'd be hungry, but they had so little for themselves, they hid their food.
"The soldier stopped at several houses, but they lied and said they had no food. So the soldier told them he'd hafta make stone soup. He asked for a large pot, water, a fire, and three smooth stones. He dropped the stones in the pot.
"He told them soup needs salt and pepper, so children ran to fetch it. Then he told them carrots would make it better, and a woman ran to get carrots. He told them a good stone soup should have some cabbage, and another woman scurried off.
"With beef and potatoes to add to the taste, the soup was ready. And after they ate, the people told the soldier they'd never go hungry again now that he'd taught 'em how to make stone soup."
"I don't get it," the mayor said, scratching his head.
"You will," Stone mysteriously answered.
"So did Parker print these for you on your good looks or on Emily Jordan's?"
Stone smiled and winked. "Gave him twenty raffle tickets."
The mayor looked surprised. "Good business sense, Marshal. Didn't know you had it in you."
"Don't. It was the widow's idea. You know, this gun could be worth a small fortune to some Eastern museum like the Smithsonian. Did you know that the Smithsonian was established the same year this pistol was manufactured?"
"No, can't say as I did. When was that, you say?"
"1846. Did I tell you the Smithsonian wrote Mrs. Jordan a letter?"
"You don't say!"
"They tell her that upon authenticity, this pistol could be worth ten thousand dollars."
Mayor Smith swallowed hard. "Double eagles good enough?"
"Your twenty dollar gold pieces are always good, Malcolm. I'll count out your tickets," Stone said as he glanced up and looked in the mirror behind the bar.
A man was entering the Velvet Cushion. He wore a flat-crowned black hat pulled down so low that his face was almost hidden. Rain dripped off the brim and he took off his hat and shook the water out of his hair like a dog coming out of the water.
Stone froze as he recognized the man.
Then the man saw Stone's face reflected in the mirror and also froze. The stranger's right hand slowly moved his jacket out of the way and he placed his hand on the handle of his gun as Stone slowly turned to face a man of the same height, with eyes just as blue as his own. The biggest difference in appearance was that a touch of gray invaded Stone's temples.
"Jared Stone!" the stranger said in surprise as he reached up and pushed his hat off his face. "Shoulda known you'd be hangin' out in the saloon this time of day. Still think you can outdraw me?"
"My God, Jared!" The mayor was so upset that he used Stone's given name. "Is that man your brother?"
Stone quickly glanced over at the mayor, then kept his eyes on the stranger.
"No. I'd hate to have to claim that low-down skunk as my kin."
"Hah!" said the man who looked like him. "Just because you finally made somethin' of yourself – and with my help, I might add – and never a word of thanks for me gettin' you off in only three years instead of the maximum fifteen."
"What is he talking about?" the mayor asked. "Who is this man, Stone?"
"My lawyer," Stone answered. "You know how you can tell a lawyer's lyin'?"
The other finished for him, "His lips are movin'. Why you no good, drunken scoundrel!"
The man ran towards Stone and Mayor Smith hid his face in his hands. He heard slapping sounds and looked up as the two men enthusiastically embraced and clapped each other on the back like long lost brothers.
"Cousin Jare!" the man called.
"Cousin El!" Jared called back. "You still sweet talkin' little ol' widow ladies outta every penny of their estates?"
"Like you're still orderin' whiskey for your men and beer for your horses!"
"Those days are long gone. I'm a federal marshal now."
"Well, I'll be. I heard about that and barely believed it. Guess you'll be surprised to know I'm a fine upstandin' attorney in Yellow Dog."
"You mean you're still standin' upright after all these years?"
They both laughed.
"Oh, Mayor," Jared suddenly remembered his presence. "El, this here's the mayor of Silver City, Malcolm Smith. Mayor, this is my father's youngest brother's youngest boy, my baby cousin, Elliott Stone."
"Pleased to meet you," the mayor said, extending his hand. The other Stone grabbed it firmly and gave it a vigorous shake. The way the marshal had made the introductions had not escaped the mayor's notice, either. Stone introduced his cousin to him, not the other way around like he should have in order to show respect for Smith's age and position.
A lesser man than me might have taken offense, the mayor thought.
"Jare and I shore knew poor bull from fat cow," the younger Stone told the mayor. "Jare here is the only man I ever knew who could sneak up on a Cheyenne dog soldier."
"And Elliott here is the only man I ever knew who spent most of his ill-gotten gains in the Long Branch Saloon on fast women, whiskey and gambling. The rest of it he squandered."
The two men laughed as the mayor interrupted. "I've heard of the Long Branch. Isn't that a notorious cathouse?"
Elliott's blue eyes sparkled. "Jare sure oughta remember that place!"
The Marshal nodded and added in explanation, "There were a lot of complaints about it by the upstanding citizens of Dodge City." He paused and then slapped Elliott on the back again. "What the 'El you doin' in Silver City," he punned.
"Business, dear cousin. S'posed to see a Mr. Carver at the Silver City Bank & Title."
"Legal business?" Jared's eyebrows rose in curiosity.
"Bankin' business," Elliott mysteriously replied. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, pointing to the pistol on the bar counter.
"Nothin'." Jared quickly placed the weapon down the front of his pants. If there was money in it, Elliott Stone knew the trick.
"By the way, Marshal," Mayor Smith interrupted. "My raffle tickets."
He waited as Stone counted them out. The mayor dropped five coins in Jared's open palm.
"I do hope, Marshal, that you find a safer place for that Colt Walker than down your pants."
Elliott laughed loudly. "How true, Jare. That never used to be a very safe . . . "
"Shut up, El!" Jared growled. "It's goin' in the bank safe right now."
He stormed out of the saloon, with Elliott hot on his heels.
"Jare! Hold up! I'll go with you, since I'm goin' there anyway."
"Yeah." He didn't slow his pace.
"You know, I stood outside the saloon and listened to you talkin' to the mayor. That ain't the version of stone soup I heard."
"No?"
"No. Stop here on the sidewalk and let me fill you in."
"Don't have time, El."
"Sure you do. How 'bout your office?"
"How 'bout you make a long story short?" Jared kept walking across the town square.
"The story I heard was mostly the same, but the emphasis was on the wool that got pulled over the townfolks eyes by the sly soldier. It ain't hard to make stone soup, if you've got somethin' good to add to it. I reckon even a man as hardheaded as you can see the subtle difference. So, cousin, tell me about this widow Jordan you've taken up with. And, if you're on the up and up now, how come you're sellin' raffle tickets for a counterfeit Walker Colt?"
Jared came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of the town square. The look he gave Elliott stopped him cold in his tracks as well.
"What makes you think it's a fake? You just glanced at it. I never knew you to be an expert in firearms."
"If you recall, a Walker was my first gun, when I was eight. Pa traded a peddler a pair of horses for it. I can tell this one is fake by the color of the barrel and the poor craftsmanship. Lemme see it close up," Elliott said as he reached out his hand, but Jared wouldn't give it to him. "Well, I was just gonna show you that the markin's are probably abbreviated, 'specially Samuel Colt's name." Elliott gave Jared a close scrutiny. "They are, aren't they? I can tell by your expression."
Suddenly, a wagon driver had to pull up his horses to avoid a collision with the two men. Rain had made the mud in the streets so thick that wagon wheels clogged up and wouldn't turn. It was mired up to its axles in mud and was not easy to get rolling again. Several men helped push it out of the deep ruts in the street.
"Come on," El said. "You'll get us run over."
El pulled Jared over to the wooden sidewalk in front of Ling's store, just next to the bank. Those boardwalks were a real blessing in weather like this, just as the brick sidewalk in front of the former Wannamaker homestead had been a sign of his great prosperity.
Now, the cousins both stared in at the window, feigning interest in the wares on display.
"Jared, are you intentionally perverting the truth? I do believe you're falsely misrepresentin' the authenticity of this pistol to induce others to part with their hard-earned cash."
"You're definin' fraud, El. Remember, I'm a Federal Marshal, now. I know a little bit about the law."
"Little wonder, since we've both been on the wrong side of it so long."
"There's a little more to this than meets the eye. I know that vintage weapons are commonly faked."
"And you know the Texas Rangers' Walker is a Colt treasure. Collectors always heed Sam Colt's warnin' 'Beware of counterfeits.'"
"El, keep your nose out of business that ain't yours."
"You might as well use that gun for a paperweight. It's worthless to a collector. Why, Jared, this sounds like a makeover of the fiddle scam. You know, where one man has a worthless violin and he leaves it with the mark. Then another feller makes out how valuable it is and says he's goin' off to get $5,000 to give him for it. Meanwhile, when the real owner returns, the mark offers him $100 for it, thinkin' the other fellow will be back with $5,000."
"Yeah. And neither one ever comes back. That's the scam you was workin' when your wife died, wasn't it?"
El hung his head momentarily. "Yeah. But since my children are grown, I've made it up to them. I'll be a better grandfather than I was a father."
Jared gave him a stern look.
"Hey, Jare. Who's this widow Jordan you've taken up with?"
"She's a friend, nothin' more. And I'll warn you to treat her well, should you happen to meet her. Which I doubt."
"You're just jealous."
"I just know you've connived and scammed widow ladies out of money before."
"I'm a changed man," Elliot said. "I gotta new occupation, tryin' to help the law catch embezzlers and confidence men. That's why I'm in town. I gotta swear you to secrecy, but there's possible defalcation going on at the bank."
"I'll be sure to look that up in my dictionary when I get back to my office."
Elliott gave him a big grin. "You won't have to. Defalcation -- embezzlement -- occurs when the perpetrator, who lawfully possesses property illegally converts it into his own property. Crimes of this nature involve a relationship of trust and confidence."
"Like a treasurer or a bank president?"
"Exactly. Or a lawyer."
"Funny you should mention that occupation, Attorney Stone," Jared quipped.
"So how would a feller get introduced to this widow Jordan?"
Stone scowled. "Reckon a feller would hafta be a churchgoer."
"Oh, so she's a psalm singer? Jare, didn't I tell you? I got saved, too."
Stone gave him a look of disbelief as he entered the bank. El told the bank clerk he was there to see Carver while Jared put the gun in the bank safe. The ticket money he had raised so far went in a savings account. When he had finished his business, he said goodbye to his cousin.
"See you in church," El said and waved goodbye.
"Not if I see you first."
El was called to the bank president's office to meet with the banker. It didn't take him long to get right to the point.
"Seems like a lot of people in Silver City have defaulted on their promissory notes," Elliott stated. "Particularly widow ladies."
"Failure to meet financial obligations is becoming more and more common all the time. Of course, a clever banker always knows more than a little about the affairs of his customers."
El thought, you might know more than a little about embezzlement, too.
"I suppose," Carver continued, "you heard about one of those widow ladies attacking me right here in my office?"
"My cousin might have made some mention of it." That wasn't a lie. He wished that Jared had made mention of it. This was juicy gossip.
"Emily Jordan. She threw herself at me. I was very surprised at her actions."
"I'm sure you were," Elliott agreed, noting that Carver, with his obviously false teeth was not particularly good looking.
"My disbelief soon turned to dismay when she pulled a gun on me, all because I refused her advances. You see, I make it a point to never mix business and pleasure," Carver added.
"So you had business dealings with her?"
"Banking business," Carver said nervously.
Elliott got the impression Carver had let something slip that he hadn't meant to.
"I guess something like that could give you a feeling of being betrayed," Elliott commented.
"Our business has ended. She has withdrawn her money from the bank."
"Ah, too bad. That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about."
"You have money to place in our fine banking establishment? I assure you, it is safe here at the Silver City branch."
"Ah, actually, I wanted to speak to you about an investment opportunity." "The bank is not interested in making unsecured loans." "Not the bank." Elliott leaned forward conspiratorially. "You as an individual. I know that bank presidents only earn about $250 a month. The bank clerks get $150 and even those silver miners get $80 a month. One of those lovely ladies of the evenin' over at the Velvet Cushion might earn $200 a month, and that at $5 a customer and two bits for a dance. Why, even the Marshal makes $150 a month. I can understand how a man could be tempted to take a little of the money entrusted to his care. He needs a little more each month, and the perfect opportunity presents itself – well, it doesn't take much rationalization to figure out what to do."A man might pilfer cash intending to replace it later. Or he figures a little money won't be missed. Or he gives himself a deserved raise or bonus. Of course, I'm not sayin' a man in your position would do such a thing, just that sometimes men are tempted."
Carver's interest was piqued and his lust for money was undiminished, so Elliott continued, knowing that you get their attention directed elsewhere, then you pull the real con.
"I have no qualms about making a little money on the side. In my business – bein' an attorney -- I get to know a lot of people. Say a certain man invests a new calculating machine that will revolutionize accounting. He comes to me to help him protect his interest in it. I can get him in touch with the right people – people with money to invest."
"What kind of machine?" Carver asked.
"He calls it a Sucaba. Makes these new adding machines look outdated. Calculates faster and more accurately than any of 'em. Adds, subtracts, multiples, divides. You know those adding machines can't multiply or divide, just add or subtract. The true appeal of the Sucaba is its simplicity. A child can easily learn to operate it accurately and with great speed."
Elliott paused for effect before adding the clincher. "This new calculatin' machine can take care of coverin' up scant funds or money that's been unavoidably lost."
Now he had him. It wasn't really a lie. The machine could do anything a man told it to do, and an inventive bookkeeper would have little problem covering up embezzled funds.
Carver rubbed his chin. "How much money would an investor need to get in on a deal like that?"
"Five thousand dollars," Elliott answered. "In two weeks' time, that money would be doubled. Ten thousand return on your investment. It's an amazing opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime deal. I've invested my own money and need just this little bit more to finalize production. As a matter of fact, I can give you one of the very few prototypes when I get your cash investment."
Carver looked pensive. "I'll have to think about it."
Elliott Stone walked out of the bank with a pleased expression on his face. He turned in at Ling's Store and knew exactly what he wanted to purchase. He had seen it on the shelf earlier when he'd looked in the window with Jared. As he paid the Chinese clerk, he asked her to wrap it in plain brown paper.
Then he went to the Velvet Cushion for a well-deserved shot or two of whiskey.
The piano player was softly 'tickling the ivories' in one corner as Elliott took a cheroot from his gold case, lit it and blew out big smoke rings. The third shot of whiskey hit him like a punch in the belly as he watched -- with evident pleasure -- Luci Prescott come down the stairs. When she saw him, a big smile came over her face. The other men in the saloon stared after her as she walked to him.
"Well, well. If it ain't El!" she said as she sauntered up to him and gave him a big kiss right on the lips. "You notorious flirt!" she told him.
He put on his most charming smile. "Nice seein' you again, too, Luce," he said. His grin was disarming, even to a worldly woman like Luci. His bright, deep blue eyes seemed to notice everything going on around him and still appear to look only at her, as if she were the only woman in the world worth looking at.
"What's in the package?" she asked when she noticed it sitting on the bar.
"No peekin'," he answered. "That's the rules."
"Under the new rules," Luci informed him, pointing her finger sternly in his face, "you start a fight like you used to, you are ejected from my saloon, forcibly if necessary, and you aren't welcome back."
He grabbed her finger and gently touched it to his lips. "So I might as well go home now," he stated as he released her hand.
"Well, I don't know about that," Luci said rather dreamily. "You get caught with your hand in the cookie jar again? Can't you be a good boy?" She pressed herself into his side and rubbed up against him.
Her eyes met his and stared into them. She had thick blonde hair, just the way a man wants it. Softness in all the right places. Her lips were bursting, waiting for things to happen. She was temptation incarnate.
El smiled. "All of a sudden, I'm not so sure. I was ever party to many of the grosser forms of sin; but I have changed my ways, although I might share one dance with you."
"Just one?" Luci asked as she grabbed the cigar out of his hand and put it out in his nearly empty whiskey glass. The extinguished ember made a sizzling sound as she wrapped her arms around him, swaying to the piano music. "Jared warned me you were back in town."
"Shoulda known you'd be on friendly terms with my cousin. Jared always would ride anything that'd let him get up."
"And you still dance as fine as you ride, which ain't sayin' much!" she teased him.
Meanwhile, back at the bank, Tevis Carver was on the telephone.
"He's suspicious. He's been snooping," he said.
A pause.
"No, he doesn't suspect you."
A longer pause.
"No, I won't call you again." He hung up the phone receiver.
Intriguing, he thought to himself. I wonder what she's up to?