Chapter 18: Showdown at the Abalone Corral
(Abalone, Kansas, July 4, 1883)
OK, technically it wasn't a corral.
But the device transported them back to a few seconds after they had first set out from the stormy morning of July 4. They barely had time to get into the cell before Blendin's mustache sprouted all at once, like a Chia pet on Benzedrine.
"W-whoa," he said, clapping his hands to his head. "Th-this is w-worse than déjà vu! Man, did that chloroform g-give me a headache!"
"You remember both time lines?" Dipper asked.
"Y-yes. Th-that's how it w-works."
"Mabel, lock us in and then take the key back to the deputy."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Mabel said. She did part of that—but when she looked into the office, she saw the deputy stirring and instead of trying to hook the keys back on his belt, she tossed them so they jangled to the floor beside the cot.
A couple of minutes later, Deputy Roscoe came stamping in. "Time's up," he said.
"I'm wiring to the Governor for a stay of execution," Dipper warned.
"You do that, Mr. Houston."
The deputy shoved them out. It was close to five A.M. They walked to the depot—also the telegraph office—and Dipper, after asking who the Governor was—"Just came in from Texas," he explained to the station master—dispatched a telegram to Governor George Glick, briefly asking for a stay of execution for Ben Bland of Abalone, citing irregularities.
The station master transmitted it, but warned Dipper, "There ain't time for him to do this. Your friend's a-gonna be hung. Too bad. I liked him."
Dipper and Mabel took up positions on the boardwalk outside a saloon, diagonally across from the jail. The wind howled, and the dark clouds rolled over, rumbling with thunder. At six o'clock some workmen began putting up a gallows—evidently one they had erected and taken down many times, because it was set up within an hour.
People began to gather almost as soon as it was up. They didn't seem to be in a celebratory mood—they were muttering in a dissatisfied way. The wind twitched the women's dresses and threatened to snatch off the men's hats.
"Where's the Sheriff?" Mabel asked.
"I don't know. I hope he got the telegram," Dipper said.
"Me, too. I wonder what happened—"
A man in a black suit drove a buggy in and tied the horse outside the jail. "Looks like a preacher," Dipper said. "I guess they're going to go through with it."
"Not if we can help it."
Fifteen minutes before eight, the jail opened and the deputy brought Blendin out. The minister was speaking to him. They helped him up the stairs onto the gallows. The deputy said, "We're here to hang this man fer th' cussed back-shootin' of Buck Gunderson. You got any last words, Bland?"
"I-I-I didn't d-do it!" Blendin said.
"Too close," Dipper said. "Plan B!"
As Mabel reached into their bag of tricks, he yelled out, "Scatter! They got guns! Duck!"
And Mabel started lighting firecrackers.
It sounded like the front during World War I. The crowd screamed and ran for it. One or two men fired wildly at the tops of the buildings. The deputy cowered behind Blendin and dragged him back inside the jail. Dipper and Mabel ran across the street and hurled themselves through the jail door before Roscoe could lock it. "Hold up!" Dipper said. "You can't hang this man! I've got a writ of Habeas Corpus!"
He pulled it from his pocket.
"Where them gunmen at?" Roscoe asked.
"I think they rode out of town," Mabel said. "You should get a posse and go round 'em up!"
"Lock Mr. Bland in his cell and go take care of it," Dipper said. "You can't hang him."
But Roscoe snatched the paper (which was a beautifully engraved period writ of Habeas Corpus) from Dipper's grip and ripped it in two. "They's men out there can round up the shooters," he said. "I'm a-gonna hang my prisoner, or my name ain't—"
"Roscoe!" It was the booming voice of the Sheriff. He had come in through the back door.
"Sheriff!" the deputy said. "Listen, we got a hell of a lot of—"
"Are you about to hang Mr. Bland for shooting Buck Gunderson in the back?"
"Yeah, we got him dead to rights—"
"And nothing can stop you?"
"Naw, sir, you know me—"
"I'm starting to." The Sheriff looked over his shoulder. "Bring him in!"
Two strong-looking men hustled in a third, held between them. He had seen better days. He had two black eyes and was, perhaps, missing a couple more teeth.
But he was, indisputably, alive.
And he was Shot Gunderson.
The story of how the stage company had surprised a would-be bandit, how the Sheriff had ridden hard to get back to Abalone in time, how Mr. Bland had been cleared of all charges, and how not only Gunderson but Mook, the Justice of the Peace, and, yes, Deputy Barney Roscoe were all now under arrest—they spread as fast as Fourth of July fireworks.
The stormy weather blew on out before noon—though word was coming in that a twister had struck not too far from town, doing considerable damage. The Gale place, they said, had blown clean away and though the old couple had hunkered safe in the storm cellar, the little girl was still missing. And her little dog, too.
That afternoon, Blendin and the Sheriff appeared before a real lawyer. Who seemed puzzled. "You are selling off your store, lock, stock, and barrel?"
"T-to the best offer," Blendin said. "The S-Sheriff will take care of the de-de-details. I'm transferring ownership to him. And he's going to d-d-donate the pro-proceeds to the county orphanage. I reckon I have to be moving along."
He met Mabel and Dipper back in the watch shop, left the key on the desk, and Dipper operated the time-travel disk for next to the last time.
"Aww! We were so cute! And Waddles was so petite!" Mabel said as they watched their newly thirteen-year-old selves board the Speedy Beaver bus for Piedmont.
"OK," Dipper said to Blendin. "You have to put the bus in a time-stasis bubble when it's right between the Interstate sign for leaving Oregon and the one for entering California. Ask the kids—us—for help. And take it from there!"
"Make sure you get the right bus!" Mabel said. "The driver's Mr. Maclachlan, remember! Also, shave off that mustache again! Because we'd remember seeing it, and we don't."
"I-I-I've got my time-razor," Blendin said. "I-I-I'll shave it b-before I s-stop the b-bus. W-w-we can r-really s-save Time Baby? TPAES will f-forgive me?"
"We guarantee it," Dipper said.
"We can fix Time Baby! He'll not only forgive you, he'll give you a promotion!" Mabel promised.
Dipper added, "Drop us off in 2016, and then—well, you know what to do!"
"Th-thanks," Blendin said. "M-maybe I'll s-see you again s-some time."
"Oh, you will. Believe me on this one!" Mabel said.*
They blinked into Helen Wheels, in the parking lot of the high school. Blendin glanced at Lolph. "H-Hi," he said. "I-I-I got it covered."
"Go," Lolph said, and Blendin blinked out of existence and, no doubt, back into it on a September day in 2012, partway between Oregon and California.
A moment later, Lolph's wrist buzzed. Someone said, "Time Baby's back. Success."
"I'll have to collect everything from you," Lolph said. They handed over everything—all of it in the bag, anyway—and Lolph said, "Ordinarily this would be worth a time-wish. But I'm not authorized to give them, so—you each get a do-over if something terrible happens." He gave them each what looked like a shiny brass coin, a little smaller than a penny.
"How does it work?" Mabel asked.
"Just pinch it and say 'Do over,'" Lolph said. "It'll take you back one hour so you can avoid any catastrophe. And don't worry if you have to use it. The TPAES will clean up any messes. It's our job."
"Thanks," Mabel said.
"You're welcome," he said. "And thank you, Gam-gam."
And then he was gone.
Dipper drew a deep breath. "That was all—kinda pointless."
"Well, only because we succeeded. Again. Man, Time Baby really owes us!"
"What next?"
She punched his shoulder. "Next we go home, we get ready to go to Gravity Falls, and then you get to take Wendy to her prom!" she said.
"That'll be a nice change," Dipper admitted.
"You did good, Brobro," Mabel told him with a grin. "Don't screw it up this weekend, OK?"
"Try my best. And Sis, you saved our butts a couple of times. Thank you, too."
"Aww—don't get mushy on me Broseph. Onward!"
And she even let him drive their car home.
*For what happened next before, see "Baby, Baby." Time travel can be confusing.
The End