Mojave Desert, California

July 1, 1876

Atonwa come a long way. He was originally from the east coast. He was tall for a man his age and even for a man of this time. He stood five foot eleven and he wore a long duster coat as well as a hat. A Rodeo King gunfighter hat. The sun was welcoming on the Elderly man's face. He was eighty four years old. His hair was wavy and silver and had almost a bit of a curl to it when it was not brushed. His business in the wild west was that of which he had traveled a long time

He was here to find what remained of his family. The man was a veteran of the war of 1812. He was of the Kanienkehaka tribe, known to white men as Mohawk. They were part of the Iroquois Confederacy, which as many did not know, was the original democracy of the land.

His nation had once been great but after the Revolutionary war and the war of 1812, most of his people had been reduced to live in slavery, in isolation on reservations in New York State. The only ones with any resemblance of freedom were those who were across the border in the times of peace was when he was born after they had lost to the United States.

He'd been given a "Christian" name. Thomas because like Doubting Thomas, he was skeptical of everything the Christian told him. The Catholics, Protestants and Anglican chutch members had tried to break him but they couldn't.

As a sign of rebellion, even when he went by Thomas he went by the Mohawk equivilent. Atonwa. He'd had his clan name long ago but that was so far in his past. The longhouse villages were the past. Now he was defined only by his rebellious name.

Though the Red Coat had not been fair to most Indians in the past, they had finally learned they would need native allies to survive. They had learned this by the time the French Indian wars had come along. He had been one of many warriors fighting in the War Of 1812, a war in which the British struck back against the United States colonies for their earlier insurrection.

Atonwas father had been a warrior who had clashed with the likes of generals like George Washington and John 'd also been a good friend of Joseph Brant and Cornplanter.

By the time Atonwa had grown to be a young brave himself, his father, had been an alcoholic between the end of the 1700's and the start of the new century. He could still remember him now, his leathery skin, prematurely aged the bags under his eyes but the sad brown eyes then lightened up with life when talks of another war with the colonists came.

The British had once again allied with their nation, the Kanienkehaka and their league, the Haudenosaunee. Most native tribes had sided with the British because even though the English had been quite barbaric to Indian tribes, they were only one country.

They may have been able to push the whites around but they were starting to see that the tribes would not be threatened by them and if the British were to go back on their deal to stay east of the Appalachian mountains there were still plenty of of the original people to drive them out for good.

However the Iroquois Elders knew that if the white man from this side of the pond were to win, the new country would bring in more and more immigrants from Europe and they would be unstoppable. Atonwa had fought in the next war. The war that the O'seroni referred to as the War Of 1812. He had been a young father when the war broke out. Only twenty years old when his first son was born. His wife was a woman named Kawitha.

She was a beautiful woman. A kind matron. Atonwa had traveled south to meet the great man known to Indians of many tribes as Tecumseh, a man who, like Joseph Brant, a great Kanienkehaka leader, was opting for a Pan Indigenous union against Europeans.

Sadly, many tribes though they did side with him at first, when William Henry Harrison burned down Prophetstown the chances of keeping the pan tribal confederacy going ended so he was forced to side with the British as the Shawnee, his tribe, had in the last war much as the Iroquois did.

Atonwas father had died in that war but he had died doing what he wanted to do. One more chance to fight back against the race that had cased so much misery.

Though Atonwa had killed many soldiers, he had lost most of his family and his children were taken from him.

Now, all these years later, that was what he was here in the wild west for. To seek out the truth and find what was his. He realized there was a chance that many of them may not even survived. He'd had more than one kid too and he had raised them for a while but over the course of many years and US expansion he had lost them. It was a painful memory. Now he did not want to think of it.

Right now, what mattered what was what was in front of him now. He needed to keep his eyes straight ahead because every little bit of his journey he completed, was the closer he would be to finding the truth and hopefully what remained of his family.

El Picador It had been founded as a Mexican city in 1844 but after the Mexican American War and the Treaty Of Guadalupe-Hidalgo, the town was, much like the state of California itself, part of the United States. California had officially become a state in 1850 even though for the longest time it had European settlers but before that it had just been the California Territory.

He needed to head to San Francisco from there. North Eastern California was filled with army outposts which he needed to avoid whereas southeast California was still majority Indian land and considered the "Badlands" by most Americans. He would try and sneak onto a train on the way from Los Angeles but he needed to keep a low profile until he could get to San Francisco

That was where he would find the information he would need. As he walked into town he spotted a young boy, a white child of about nine or so selling papers on the corner. Though he he hated to use currency, especially the kind with the worst enemy the Iroquois ever had on it, he had money. "How much for one of those paper?"

The kid looked up at him staring but then said, "That's one dollar, mister,"

Atonwa paid him for it. Atonwa tipped his hat at the kid. "Nia wen, child. Thank you," He went to find a spot to read. He looked down to see the mention of a massacre in Montana which had occurred just days before. He read the article headline.

Savage Indians massacre brave general in the battle Of Little Bighorn.

Tragedy gripped the nation as Lieutenant General George Armstrong Custer and all the men under his leadership were brutally slaughtered in Little Bighorn in Indian territory in Montana. The Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Sioux it appears have joined forces in this brutal show of Indian terrorism. Custer, who was known for bravery during his time in the civil war including the First Battle Of Bull Run and the Battle Of Antietam, bravely took a final stand against the godless savage heathens, is survived by his widow, Elizabeth Bacon Custer. His two brothers, Thomas Custer and Boston Custer also perished with him in the battle. Our thoughts and prayers go out to Mrs Custer in this dark hour for our country.

In the miscellaneous section under the headline read, Also among the deceased one Isiah Doorman, Negro, aged 56, interpreter to General Custer and the 7th cavalry. Dorman had lived among the Santee Sioux and had married a squaw and learned the language. Eye witness reports claim the man was beaten to death by squaws with sticks. Body found mutilated much like General Custer. Along with soldiers were many dead Redskins of Akihara descent all though the Crow Nation also participated on the side of the 7th cavalry. Notable casualties were Bloody Knife,Little Brave, who despite being of a savage race chose the side of God in the battle against Satan. Due to the better nature of Curly, a Crow scout who was the first to report the battle, this story of bravery will be remembered forever and God willing, that Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse be brought to justice. May Jesus grant them all rest in paradise.

Atonwa looked up from the paper with a chuckle. Of course most of what the white men in these papers wrote was lies. Close to 90% of it however after so many years of reading so many papers in the frontier, he had learned to read between the line. He knew this had indeed happened but Custer was no hero. He was a coward and a fool. Suddenly, a white man with a mean look in his eyes, with black hair and black eyes, wearing a red vest over a white shirt and black pants approached. "William, son, you don't sell these to greasers! These people are lawless! He probably can't read it anyway!"

Atonwa looked at the ignorant fool and said, "I can read just fine, mister. I've been reading long before you were alive," The man spat tobacco juice and declared, "Boy I was talking to my son. You stay out of this! William, you go on home and mind your mama! Do whatever she asks you."

Atonwa grinned, "I am not Mexican," He said all though having been in Texas he had learned how to speak it at least enough to survive during the Mexican American war. "You stupidity is like Custer"

The man's beady eye studied the taller man. "Custer was a hero, boy. Civil war hero, hero in the war against the Injuns," Atonwa told him, "I am no boy. I am old enough to be your grandfather. You were never in the Dakota territories. I have been there. They are good people."

The man who was clearly the owner of a saloon and whorehouse said, "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were a dirt worshiping savage yourself! You look like one of them but you dress like he civilized man. It'd be one thing if you were a greaser long as you stay in your section of town and don't stay too long but a wild red man we can't have that here."

Atonwa had briefly gone into Mexico looking for his children in the past decades as he knew some tribes from the midwest and east coast had gone there to escape the cruelty of the United States Government. He knew there were Indians down there too who had been conquered about three hundred years ago by the Spaniards.

The anglos in the states however were too slow to know they were the same race. Because Mexicans were already a colonized people, they were seen as an entirely different animal. To the white man they were brown. Not white enough to be white and not Indian enough to be Indian. They lived in poverty so civilization had done them no good. If this was was in store for those who had not yet surrendered, he feared for the future of tribes out here. He wondered if his people back home, were now as lost as the peasants in Mexico?

"I feel sorry for your son. I have hate in my heart too but I hate the things I know that are wrong that I have encountered first hand. You hate the unknown," Atonwa boldly told the man. The man growled grabbing his pistol and cocked it aiming at the Indian. Atonwa said, "You are going to shoot me? An old man? Does your boy know you're a coward?"

The man spat. "Boy, a nigger fifteen years ago was worth more than you now . Cost a cent to kill one and bury one. You injuns aint worth the droppings from a nag. So it aint murder and I told my son to return home."

Atonwa stared defiantly into the younger arrogant man's eyes. "He is watching you right now. He did not return," The man turned and said, "Boy didn't I tell you to..." There was nobody there but other citizens gathering to watch the spectacle. In an instance Atonwa took the pistol away from him and pointed it between his steel like eyes. "Mister I wouldn't have seen a day in court for killing you but you shoot me you WILL swing from a rope!"

He laughed heartily. "What is the matter, cowboy? You afraid to use your hands as my people do? You don't think an old man like me could hurt you?" He popped open the chamber and let the ammo fall to the dirt. "You son of a bitch!" The man swung and Atonwa caught his fist in mid air. He twisted the man's wrist breaking it. The man howled in pain crying out, "Get this Dakota bastard off me! Fucking dirt worshiper! Somebody shoot him! Get Sheriff Grady!"

Atonwa got behind the man and retrieved his own pistols. Two twin Revolvers and pointed them at the back of the man's skull as a few citizens, withdrew weapons one even brandishing a shotgun. "You let, Al go, now ya hear?! I don't wanna shoot but I will!"

An old man, who looked to be a doctor was pointing the shotgun. Atonwa told Al, "I have no time for your games. Tell me where your horse is if you want to go home to your boy. You've already seen what I can do without a weapon. You don't want to see what I can with one."

The man growled, "Over there! Take him! That damn horse was gonna be put down anyway. Disobedient little shit he was... now you let me go , mister or you will be shot by my community I promise you."

Atonwa put one arm around his neck with the pistol aiming at the men in front of him and he forced the man to show him the horse. The other pistol he used to cover behind him. "There. The black one. Take him. You two deserve each other!"

Atonwa mounted the horse who neighed and tried to buck him off but he held on. "Whoa, there!" He whispered into the horse's ears in the old language. He gave a jerk on the reins and he yelled, "Ya! Much obliged, Al. You made the right decision."

Just then, one of the men from town, a deputy fired, a white man with a reddish beard that was getting gray as he was nearly forty. He fired two shots at Atonwa luckily both missed but it was enough for the old man to turn around returning fire over his shoulder. He hit the man after firing a second round, hitting him in the right shoulder. A third round got him in the chest. The deputy yelped and fell over and Al ran to his side. "Amos, get up! For Christ sake somebody get the goddamn Sheriff!"

They were mounting up a posse. He could feel it in his bones. He had been through this before in the midwest and the east coast. New york , Ohio, Kentucky, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, it had all happened before and he had been shot many times both in past battles that felt like they'd been in a previous life, and in evading the law a;ll to try to find his family. He had searched this country's entire eastern seaboard in search of his family to no end.

He recalled the earlier days of when he'd arrived in the wild west. Even in those days it had felt like he'd been searching forever.

1866

Tulsa Oklahoma

He was on the way to a Cherokee reservation. Though his tribe had fought them during the 1700's plus during the 1800's, they were still an Iroquoian people. Now ironically, they would likely be the key to what he needed to recover the past. His family was supposed to be here. During the war of 1812 some of his children had been taken from him after the fact and sold as slaves. Since Atonwa and his people had been allied with Tecumseh and his Pan Indian confederacy but the Mohawks had rode closely with the Cherokee, his own family who had been sold as slaves were sent west mistaken for Cherokees.

In fact a few of his children had been half Cherokee as his second wife had been. She had died long ago.

He did not know why to this day the white father of Washington had not just required them to go back home. Why not send them back to their homeland north of New York? Surely it would have been easier to keep a low profile life on the reservation now docile Six Nations who lived there, a conquered people. Why send them west? Was it because they knew Atonwa would rather die than give up?

For a time he had stayed in the east after the war but with his nation unwilling to fight the white man anymore, he had headed to Oklahoma with his second wife but she had died of smallpox. So had one of their four daughters. He had also had a son and a daughter from his first wife who had been Mohawk and Seneca but he did not like to think of that either. Only one of his children had survived from that union. He shook the thought away.

He walked past a Wanted Poster and noticed a mean looking white man's face on it, a man in his 50's. He was a civil war veteran, who had been a major and had also served in the Mexican American War. The man was named Jedediah Sandford. He had a gray beard dark beady eyes and long hair except for on top which was bald. He had been a confederate general actually and was wanted for acts of terrorism. According to the wanted poster he had blown up two schools full of children in Philadelphia, and had killed multiple lawmen in pursuit of him for robbery.

He had a bounty of $2000 on his head but it seemed each week the bounty would increase. Atonwa had been traveling the country and had seen many bounties such as these of him it seemed the further west he got the more the reward money increased. Of course it was unlikely he would ever be paid if he caught the man or killed him. Outlaw or not,Atonwa was still an Indian and his own scalp was worth about five dollars.

Of course Oklahoma was supposed to be land given to tribes driven from the east coast but then land hungry settlers were also trying to steal tribal land out here too. Even so, there was Indians with their own business. Many of the Five Civilized Nations had assimilated much more than a lot of other tribes, his own included. He spotted an Indian man wearing western style clothing, a white cowboy shirt, a brown vest, and a cowboy hat. "How can I help you brother?" He asked Atonwa in English.

Atonwa knew some of the Cherokee language. "I would like to purchase ammunition for my Repeater. I'm running low," The man looked at Atonwa with fear in his dark eyes. "We're not supposed to speak that language here...white people are all around. Speak in his tongue before you draw attention to yourself,"

They switched to English. He purchased forty five extra rounds for his rifle as well as a shotgun. "Why do you fear him? We have fought them for years. They may have a big army but they will die when shot the same as you and I would."

The man shook his head. "Tis no use. There are too many of them. His way his religion is what is the future I am afraid. We must toil the fields like women,"

Atonwa corrected him, "Like our women you mean. Those white dogs would not let their women work in the fields. They only want them in the house. The white man said to me a woman should be seen and not heard. How can they disregard half of the population? Religion you say? Their religion. Not mine. If the white man is so afraid of hell let him go there. Red men do not go to hell. We go to the sky world. Happy hunting ground. Onkwehonwehnéha."

The Cherokee merchant studied him. "You're Kanienkeha'ka. You were hostile to the blue coat. Friend to the red coat. In the Battle Between The Great Ponds you were with the King instead of the 13 fires. What good did it do your nation?" Atonwa replied, "What good did it do your own nation? The Cherokee was a friend to the blue coats in the War Between The Great Ponds and how did he show you gratitude? Reservations, just like your more angry brothers to the north. And seven decades later he sent you on the Trail Of Tears. How else would a people from North Carolina end up here in the west, place of the black?"

He was speaking in omen. To the Cherokee the west represented blackness. Death. The east was represented by red. Life.

He then paused and asked the Cherokee merchant, "Do you know where I can find the Planter farm?" The man nodded. "Twenty miles north. There will be a river underneath a railroad track. Head there. I don't know why you would want to go. There are not only hostile farmers there but a soldier station two sleeps from there. News of a Mohawk will not only raise suspicions but Winchesters as well."

Atonwa smiled. "It will not be the first time. I fought Harrison and his Long Knives at the Battle Of Tippecanoe. This has been a long journey but it is not quite over yet. The blue coat, the Great White Father in Washington, long ago took more than land from me. He took women and children as slaves. I must go as far west as needed. O'nen."

He left the Americanized Cherokee in peace. He got back onto the horse. The old man's stomach growled. He knew he must hunt soon. The meat from game would be good to fill his hungry belly and the fur and pelts he could take to trading posts for Rifles, whiskey, and other things. He had no use of whiskey and even as old as he was he was more upright and able bodied than most elders red or white due to having stayed away from alcohol.

He had seen what it had done to his village and he wanted no part in it but after the War of 1812, many had only sorrow. Under Tecumseh's confederacy victory had been almost close enough to taste at times but then The Panther In The Sky fell.

As for the game he was to hunt, this was once again nature out of balance. Able bodied or not he was not what he once was and the way of the Elder where he came from, a man of his age was supposed to take it easy and the young men either his sons, or the men an Elders daughter married was supposed to hunt for the whole family.

He walked by a couple of men, both white, one had messy blonde hair and wore a white dress shirt, a red vest and black slacks, the other, a bald man with a black mustache wore a ten gallon black hat, a pair of cowboy boots. "I tell you what, Russel it aint easy building a life out here. No sir. This state aint worth a sow's tail. Been trying to make a living not trying to do nobody any harm. Homestead act gave me a farm with about thirty acres.

Federals took the land from some Choctaws about twenty years back but as a Christian it's my job to hire them too. Some that even used to live there been workin as ranch hands. Sure pay aint as good as some other places and they probably prefer to hunt but hell it's better than what some of those poor devils succumb to. Starvation and scurvy."

The cowboy looking type said, "Well then what the hell's worth all the fussing about?" The first man said, "Me, them Injuns, the coloreds, the Irish we all work on my farm for a living. Pay aint much work is hard almost soul crushing as it is back crushing. They all get their fair pay and stay in their quarters or back to their families until it's time to work again. These damned outlaws keep on stealing cattle. Always waiting until the boys leave for home or are good and fast asleep."

Russel suggested, 'Why don't you just shoot the scalawags? You'd be doing yourself and the whole county a favor."

The man explained, "Now dag nabbit I have had just about enough shooting for a life time. You think I keep this Scofield because I want to? No sir. As a last resort. The war nearly drove me out of my mind. I shed blood and lost blood to save this country. The east is too soiled by the blood and sins of the past. This land hard as it is was supposed to be a fresh start."

Russel lit a cigar. "Well...you got a lot of outlaws that used to be Johnny Reb's. They thought they was fighting for the right side every bit as much as you did but they lost. What with General Sherman burning folks crops out? Hell, son I could have seen em all becoming outlaws. Can't stay at home they lost their livelihood got the carpetbaggers trying to rob everybody blind. I'm willing to stay behind and help. I wasn't in any war but I've seen my fair share of gunplay and I will shoot to kill if anybody sees fit to try and steal what isn't theirs."

Atonwa moved away from the two men. He was used to camping and sleeping outside., He preferred the Longhouse to sleep in doors. No inns would rent to him in all the places he'd been so he had stopped bothering to try but Oklahoma was different. Here the tribes, even as they had been Americanized were allowed to own businesses and that meant lodging too. He needed to get to that plantation tomorrow and he would take the 5:00 train in order to get there to the plantation which was pretty far west in the state.

North Dakota

He had never seen snow before he got to the plains. It was only just now starting to. Lemuel Reeves looked out at the prairie as he rode. He was reading the bible. Lemuel had hitched a ride with the Pony Express despite him not being a member because they had an extra spot and he had an important mission and he had a seal from the president himself. These folks being kindly Christian folk had obliged to let him ride at least as far as Dakota territory even though he was a Negro and not a member of the Pony Express. That and they knew all about the man he was looking to find.

Jedediah had been a general in the Confederate army but unlike most he had not been willing to return to a normal life. Many former confederates themselves had become outlaws due to the bankrupt economy of the south, the reconstruction going on, the carpetbaggers. He was hell bent on destruction. He always had been willing to kill innocent civilians and right now that was exactly what he had and his band of outlaws had been doing.

The man had burned school houses with teachers and children in Kansas, in Oklahoma, in Nebraska in Missouri and all signs pointed to him leaving a bloody trail west though God only knew why he would want to go west seeing as how his heart was still in Dixie. Maybe he hoped to take advantage of the west being wild country not yet tamed by the laws and civilization of the east.

Maybe he intended on building his own country then, a wanted poster flew towards him blown by the wind. He caught it and brushed the snow from it. On there he saw a man with with long hair in a dread lock ponytail. He was a Negro, overweight in size with a mean looking face, large lips, a large nose and a top hat to go with it plus large overalls.

Crawfish Clemmens...you son of a bitch...

In contrast he was thin his nose also wide but more fine in shape not having been crooked the way the outlaw in the poster was. His hair curly, he also had a goatee which he kept neat. Lemuel had one scar on the side of his right cheek that he got during the Battle of Nashville. He had wanted to kill Crawfish for the longest time. Crawfish , despite his darker complexion, was a house nigger. When Lemuel and his family escaped their plantation in Mississippi , a couple of the men had been caught. His papa had his legs chewed up something awful by Master's dogs.

They'd lynched grandpa but Crawfish, since he was the Negro in charge of all the other Negros, had volunteered to the overseer to shoot him. Lemuel had only found this out after the war ended from a Negro woman who had just earned her freedom when he later returned to Mississippi . A few of Master Foster's overseers later joined the Confederacy and he had fought them in battle.

As he stared down at the poster he uttered, "I'll be goddamned..."

The pony express driver said., "Ah ah ah! No swearing on the pony express! Remember that oath you swore?" He replied, "I surely do but aint that just for folks that work for the express? I don't mean to sound ungrateful at all and I will gladly pay both of ya'll for your kindness is letting me hitch a ride with you."

The man, a somewhat unkempt looking white man with long messy dark hair and a graying beard, perhaps in his 40's but with kind blue eyes and rosy cheeks, grinned with a few missing teeth. "Mister, you aint got to pay me or Isiah here, one red cent. All's ya gotta do is remember the oath you swore. I've seen you reading the bible so I know you're a reader. If you'll kindly indulge me please turn to Colossians 3:8 and read to me what it says?"

Reluctantly, he did so. He had been raised Baptist but he wasn't the most enthusiastic Christian though were it not for the bible he would have remained illiterate but he had taken to reading many other books besides the bible and did not own another one until he had been given one at the start of his journey with Pony Express. "But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth."

The man cackled. "There ya go, mister! From the lord himself! Now...the oath that because you were getting a ride with us you swore to should anybody ask who each of us are was as follows."

He cleared his throat. ""I, ..., do hereby swear, before the Great and Living God, that during my engagement, and while I am an employee of Russell, Majors, and Waddell, I will, under no circumstances, use profane language, that I will drink no intoxicating liquors, that I will not quarrel or fight with any other employee of the firm, and that in every respect I will conduct myself honestly, be faithful to my duties, and so direct all my acts as to win the confidence of my employers, so help me God,"

Lemuel smiled. "You've got me there. I must have forgotten I apologize. I just saw something a little bit upsetting, mister."

"Well we got nothing but time and a lot of road ahead of us. Speak your mind, sonny!" He didn't know why he would confide in them but he was getting a ride. "All right. I saw a wanted poster of a man I've been after for a long time."

The driver, curiously asked, "You wouldn't mean Sandford l would ya? I figured you would already have a wanted poster of him! Being that he's such a vile and evil man even the president himself had to send you to go get him. It must be a dire situation if no law man thus far has been able to stop him. Makes me wonder what the point of the US marshal is if not to catch a crook like him?"

A curiosity arose in Lemuel. "You obviously follow the bible very strongly old timer. You mind telling me what your opinion is of a man who hunts down murderers for a living? See I've been a bounty hunter for years. Sometimes I was able to bring the outlaws in if I had me some rope but sometimes those fellas made it awful hard on me. I had to shoot a lot of them down. Now would you say I'm an immoral man? Better yet what about any man white or colored who fought in the war?"

"Well if you were fighting for the north I could see you being in the right. You forget about King David? That man was a warrior. Saul slaid his thousands but David his ten thousands. Now that's certifiable history right there and slavery is abhorrent in the eyes of the lord. For he led his children from Israel," He didn't want to argue and lose himself a ride since the snow was coming down even harder but he knew all too well the masters of plantations would give sermons from the bible justifying slavery.

The man continued, "So...you were justified. You were not shedding innocent blood. As far as bounty hunting goes that's a bloody awful business but I reckon somebody has to do it. Me I'm a pacifist i aint got any stomach for that sort of thing but murderers were stoned to death in the olden days. You're just the hand of justice. I been back and forth in the west on these routes and there aint much justice."

The man riding shotgun, a younger white male with curly red hair and a brown beard and stocky build snorted, "Will you give it a rest, Cyrus? I know you like to talk to new people but that aint no reason to go getting us lost along the way."

Cyrus told him, "Just hold your horses, Willy! I'm just being social is all. We do got a long way to ride. It aint every day we get to meet a fella that came out of bondage. Well we can put our sorrows to rest. The west is the promised land. Or at least it's meant to be."

The driver replied, "They sure found a lot of gold in the Black Hills. It'll be good for prospectors but I reckon there's going to be a war. It's a shame really. They aint much for using wealth but if the Homestead Act was an affront to the Injuns then the gold rush will too."

Lemuel pointed out, "Well the real gold rush is in California. That's where I'm trying to get to. San Diego That's where ya;ll going right? Once I get there I can take a train down to San Francisco where I might find one of the men I'm looking for but I don't think Sandford is in Northern California He's likely to be in South Eastern California. Desert country."

Cyrus whistled. "Golly it sure seems like a lot of the worst men from back east come west to be outlaws! It may not be easy to do a honest day's work for an honest days pay but it sure is more honorable than robbing banks and murdering folks!" Willy suggested, "It's just like the book says a lot of men would seek refuge back in the olden times seek out cities of refuge when they killed somebody and were seen as murderers. I doubt if most of these men are even innocent or that the men they killed was in defense of their own lives but it seems they are practicing it."

Just then five horses were ahead of them and each of them were men on horseback. The drivers pulled the horses to a stop. The leader of them was a white male with black hair, a full beard, and a black hat wearing red flannel and black pants with spurs on his boots. He carried a Scofield which he had drawn. "Where you fellas coming from? Matter of fact where you headed?" Cyrus answered him, "We come from St. Joseph, Missouri. On our way to San Diego What can I do for you gentlemen this fine day?"

The man was smoking a cigar. "You can start by giving up the mail. Some folks send money. Just like there's boys working the mines and the railroads sending back money to their families, well I reckon there's some folks sending it back this way too. So if you'll just let us take whatever you got, we'll spare your lives."

Lemuel readied his own pistol. "Why don't all of you get the hell on? You aint robbing this coach!" The leader chuckled and his bos aimed shotguns and rifles at all of them. "You think that's such a good idea, mister? There's five of us and three of you. Me and the boys here been having one long winter and we're about tired of having to stay outside. Firewood can warm your bones but not as much as a soft bed and the company of a woman. I'm not an unreasonable man. I'm willing to take half of your packages I'm sure we're bound to find something that can make it worth our while and yours."

Willie aimed his shotgun at them too. "Now you look here, fella...I doubt if there's one dollar between all the letters combined. These are letters between husband and wives men separated from their families. Trying to work far from home just like us to keep their wives and children fed, keep farms up and running. I know a low life criminal like you wouldn't know nothing about that but I've about had it with bandits in this country! Bad enough we have to deal with that Jesse James fella back home. Now you. If you aim to shoot I'd just as soon we get to it."

The gang leader chuckled. "I'm almost certain you do not work for the Pony Express or if you do, you're not making near as much as these boys here. I don't expect these two to wise up and consider my offer but a man like you, Ican see you've killed before."

"Now how you figure that?" Asked Lem. "It';s all in the eyes. You got that look to ya. I ought to know. I see it ever time I look in the mirror. It aint nothing to be ashamed of. Whether you're a soldier or just a fella trying to survive. You got a Mississippi accent. It aint so easy out here. This is hard country. But you can be whatever you want to be. The laws...of them hypocritical bureaucrats back east don't apply out here. You really about to die over two men who don't give two shits for you? Over some mail?"

Lemuel aimed his pistol at his head. "I couldn't get no train ride anyway. Didn't have money for a stagecoach. Wasn't about to steal a horse either. So i'm afraid so. I'd best warn you mister. I've faced worse men than you and a lot more of them. You best listen to what Mr. Cyrus says."

One of the gang members said, "Percy, let's shoot these sons of bitches! I need me a drink a bath and a proper poke!" Cyrus held his hands up. "Now boys...a saloon is a den of inequity. Proverbs 23:27-28 tells us about the harlots and why you ought not to lay with them. That said, I'm willing to take you up on your offer. Take half of the letters if you just let us on our way."

Percy sighed. "No sir...I'm afraid that won't be necessary. You best be on your way now...let's go boys. HYAH!" With that he began to ride off and the horses sound off as they began to gallop away. Cyrus seemed relieved. "Well I'll be! If that wasn't too close of a ..." BANG!

A shot rang out and the man was struck in the back of the head. Lemuel ducked down as the firing started and the five men on horseback all opened fire on them. "Son of a bitch..." Breathed Lemuel as he fired at the men staying low in the wagon as they fired. "Get em boys!" Cackled one of them. They came around the side firing. Willie was struck with a round in the right shoulder as he came around just as he discharged the shotgun.

One of the men fell from horseback as the blast hit a man with stringly blonde hair who was clean shaven looking to be about twenty five years old. The blast hit the man in the chest and the right arm. Lemuel fired hitting a man in the stomach with two shots. "Fuck...I'm hit...!" Cried the man as he fell from his steed his face planting in the snowbank as he fell on his stomach.

He fired hitting a third man with two bullets in the stomach and the last in the forehead. The bullet struck him there above his left eye by a few inches and he collapsed in the snow his nag winneying and taking off. He had to reload but there was two more of them firing at him, one of them had a Carbine. He ducked down among the mail. A third round struck Willie in the stomach as Percy fired on him. "I'm done for...it's all up to you kid..."

Lemuel was reloading when a shotgun blast just barely missed him and hit some packages next to him. Percy reloaded his own weapon and Lem rolled out into the snow around to the side. The horses ran ahead on their own a bit panicked by th gunshots but he managed to snatch up the dropped weapon as Willie slumped in his seat unconscious. He was possibly still alive.

He fired hitting the gang leader knocking him from his horse. The last gang member, a Caucasian with a shaved head in a white under shirt and a black vest plus a top hat rushed towards him with his stallion firing the Repeater. Lem fired the last barrel and hit the man but more pellets hit the horse than him. The horse collapsed on top of the man crushing his legs and pinning his hips under him. "Ahhh you son of a bitch! Filthy nigger...! I'll kill ya!" Lemuel took the man's repeater from him and stepped on the wounds of the outlaw. "Where in the nearest town?" The man spat, "Fuck you!"

Lem did it again and he shrieked. "Ahhh! Five miles...to the north west! Now get this thing off me!" Lemuel told him, "I aint gonna waste a bullet on you but I aint helping you either. You gonna die in the cold just like you shot Cyrus in cold blood. What if you killed all three of us and there wasn't any money in any of those letters?" The man groaned, "You better hope I die out here! Cause if I don't...I'm gonna carve you up like a ham!"

He got on the horse, seeing there was nothing he could do for poor Cyrus but Willie was alive. "Hang on. I'm gonna get you to town. He said there's a town not too far from here now hang on!" The man groaned and he didn't realize he wads still conscious. "They shot Cyrus...why did they have to kill him...?" Lemuel told him, "Never you mind they're dead now. Aint nothing we can do for him except see to it he gets a proper burial. It's a lot more than the average fella in these parts of the country would get all things considered."

He rode as hard as he could. He didn't want to kill Willie too by riding too hard but they needed to get there in good time. He hoped the town would be closer to where they were than what the gang member had said. "No...that aint..Cyrus...saved my ass..more than you know...we gotta finish this mail run...get me patched up...but...I need you to see if any of the letters...are town we're headed to..."So much for not cursing.

Lemuel could see he wasn't doing well so he tried to put pressure on his wounds. He was getting paler and in this cold bleeding out was even worse. "Don't you mean if they're coming to the town we're going to? I won't know where we are until we get there. Just hang on. I can see it up ahead! Finally."

As he got into town he began to shout, "Somebody help me! I need help! I got a man shot here! I need some help!" A few men staggered out of a saloon drunk. "What in the sam hell..."

He pulled up helping Willie down from the coach. "Who are you boy and where you from?"Asked an older white male as he came out of the bar, shotgun in hand as he had thought outlaws were stirring up problems. "Mississippi . I was just hitching a ride with these two here but some bandits shot them"

The bartender told one of his patrons, "Go get the doctor! I'm not about to have a Pony Express driver die in my town!" The man was lean looking with black hair and steel gray blue eyes. He wore a white apron over a red shirt and black pants. He also had a handle bar mustache. "You mean to tell me some outlaws shot these two but they didn't get you? I aint ever heard of no colored boy working for the Pony Express" He chuckled in disbelief at that. "I was in the Union Army, sir. And I aint working for the Express I just got a ride these two fellas were kind enough to help me. I was in the Army of Tennessee. I'm pretty handy with iron. They said the name of one of the men was Percy."

The man sighed. "I'm Alan Ross. I run this fine establishment and this town. What's a soldier boy doing here? Your business in town? Long way from Tennessee."

It was really none of his business and Lemuel didn't like this man's attitude but he answered, "I'm a bounty hunter sir, sent on a mission by President Grant himself. Looking for Jebediah Sandford"

This guy a laugh from the bartender as well as several men standing by. "That's a good one sonny! I haven't laughed that well in a while."

"No joking sir. He wanted my help for this. I heard he's headed west and he may have gone to California. That's where I was headed for next," The bartender spat tobacco juice. "Well he sure as hell aint here I can tell you that much right now. If that peckerwood was ever here he lit out fast. Being a gray coat is one thing but killing women and children is another."

"Percy you say? Percy "Mad Dog" Collins is that who you said he was?" Lemuel corrected him, "No sir I didn't say. Didn't catch his full name. Only his first."

Al grabbed a wanted poster from inside the saloon. "This him?" His eyes fixed on the image. "Yeah that's him. How did you know?" The bartender smirked. "This varmint has been quite the pain in the ass around these parts. I'd wager he's responsible for at least ten deaths that we know about in this state. Four of em was lawmen. I suppose this poor bastard here makes that eleven people. Coward's wanted for murder, and rape. He raped a couple of my girls here in town."

"Girls?"

"I run the girls in town. Don't you even think about it. I can't even let you in my bar even if I wanted to. This son of a bitch raped two of my best, Sadie and a new girl, Lois. Course he also's wanted for the rape of a nun down in South Dakota along with some poor fellas wife. That's the reason why he ended up in this state in the first place. Was a posse gonna string him up for it. Or deliver him to the husband," He said with a chuckle.

"Point being, you might could still get some reward money if you go back there and can get proof that Mad Dog really is dead."

The doctor arrived and they moved Willie to his office where the man began to work on him. He began to remove the bullets. "Mr. Harris? This is going to hurt," He gave him a drink of whiskey and a belt to bite down on as he began to remove the bullets. He screamed and tears formed in his eyes as the doc dug the slugs out of him. The man breathed hard and then passed out from the pain. "Think he'll be ok?" The man told him, "Passing out is expected but he's in God's hands now he's lost a lot of blood. You a friend of his?"

"Not exactly sir. Just hitching a ride is all."

"Well you're his friend tonight. I might as well tell you Al will not let you stay in his hotel even if you agreed to stay away from the whores... but i will let you stay here for the night. Should this poor soul wake up and see a familiar face it might just help him. I know it aint exactly ideal but it's better than sleeping outside on a cold night like this."

"Thank you sir..."

"Just call me Doc. Doc Hitchens."

"Thank you Doc...you know Al said I should go and collect the bodies of the men I killed. I am a bounty hunter after all. Would it be all right if I went out and got the bodies and came back?"

"I wouldn't. Ovenight's going to be critical for your friend here. We ought to know by morning if he's gonna make it or be knocking on the pearly gates. It aint like if you really killed Mad Dog Collins, he won't still be there. If any should happen on is body I doubt they'd be obliged to move it. Nobody will miss him. Though they might try and take his body for themselves and collect the bounty on him."

"Then I should go back. Don't want another man bearing the fruits of my labor. It may not be as dignified as farm work but I about had enough of that for one life time even as a free man..this is all i'm really good at right now."

"Listen fella...it's freezing cold out there. It aint likely anybody's about to be out there nobody but other bandits who are wanted just like Mad Dog. No honest fella is gonna be out there this time a night in this weather. Just hole up her for the night and you can be on your way."

Al came in and said, "Union Boy...can I borrow you a moment?" He turned to Doc who nodded for him to go. "Yes?"

"It's my understanding that you getting a ride with Pony Express you were on your way to California. By chance would any of those packages and letters be coming here?"

"I don't rightly know, Mr. Ross. I could check."

"If you do find some letters for any of the folks out here, it wouldn't hurt to look through and distribute em. With your man laid out ya'll aint gonna be moving for a while. May as well do some good here. What i'm offering is to have your wagon looked over and in the morning you and me can look through the mail and give out whatever letters there might be. This town sees a lot of violence and not much hope so the folks here could do with some brightness in their lives even if it's just ink on paper."

He swallowed not sure he should trust him but right now he did need to store the load somewhere and he didn't want anybody taking what wasn't theirs especially since they had other deliveries to make. He knew that Cyrus would want the letters delivered. After all in the past there had been attacks by outlaws and Indians alike and only one by the latter, but even when that man had perished by the arrow of savages, the mail had been delivered. He wasn't an employee of the Pony Express but under different circumstances if they'd have had him he wouldn't have minded working for them. It was honest work and it didn't have nearly as much bloodshed. The fact that they had been able to do their job even when one of them had been killed was admirable.

"What do you say?" The older white man asked offering his hand to the surprise of Lem. He shook it. "See ya in the morning then."

He went further outside to look at the town's welcome sign. Welcome To Centralia

San Francisco, California

Dalton Boucet was just outside the city limits. Despite his own best intentions he was an outlaw. He'd fought for Dixie in the war and Reconstruction was destroying the south, Dalton himself originally from Georgia. He was no stranger to the war of Northern Aggression. He was a Caucasian man with long dark brown hair and blue eyes in his thirties. There simply wasn't much opportunity back home. The Yanks had destroyed a lot of their cities, their crops. Innocent people on both sides had been terrorized. Now, here he was with a band of renegades about to do the same thing.

They were riding towards what looked like a mining camp. The leader,a middle aged man with reddish brown hair and a winkled face and narrow blue eyes that looked was none other than Alton Taft . "Here we are boys...the west is a chance for a new start. They've destroyed our country..they've changed our way of life. They've gotten rich while we got poorer. Now they're here to take what they can in these new found lands. I say we take our fair share. It's what's due to us."

With that he put his own bandanna over his face. It was a camp of coolies with was bound to be gold there, at least that was what they were told. "Okay gentlemen...it's time to reclaim what belongs to us. If any of the workers give you any trouble you have my permission to end them."

Dalton's throat felt dry. These men working were likely sending what little money they made to their families and they were about to rob them. However, Dalton was in need at the moment. It wasn't like the Chinamen were going to be seeing much if any of that gold as it is. All they were here for was to be exploited for their labor. He didn't want to risk putting other working men out of a job but he didn't see that he had a choice. Either them or me...

He told himself to try and make it ok. He had killed plenty of people in robberies be before but not civilians and even lawmen he had killed had guns on him. He didn't want to start today...to start again. But if he had to he would but the threats were not the little men with cues. It was the guards with shotguns and rifles. As they rode toward the camp, his Revolver in camp he had his eyes on everyone, "HYAH!" Them or me...and while I don't have any fight with a man who came here for work, Twas me who fought for this country. They just got here I ought to be first. I don't want to shoot you...please don't make me have to...

The people working were seemingly obvious to what was coming and by the time they would notice the group of armed men coming it would likely be too late.


That's it for this chapter originally this was a wild west/grand theft autro crossover story but I decided instead this might be better as an original fiction. Atonwa is the same culture as i am.

I haven't decided on who Lemuel is visually based on but maybe historically he'd be somewhat based on Bass Reeves. As far as Dalton he's got some inspiration from Cullen Bohannen from hell on wheels but is more visually based on the guy who played Top Dollar in The Crow. two more characters one woman and one male but that's the next chapter. As far as that oath that Lemuel had taken even as he was not an employee of the Pony Express at least officially, was an actual oath they take. However the profanity used by Willie after being shot is understandable even if you don't curse. It may not be exactly how they would operate as far as picking a stranger up but you never know.

As far as Atonwa I'm thinking visually, Wes Studi.

Lemuel has somewhat of the same occupation as Django from Django Unchained which you can view as a nod to him but his story of hunting a confederate wanted for acts of terror is more based on the storyline from Jonah Hex which Sandford's character is based on the villain of the same name. So each character will have an antagonist it just so happens I established Lemuel's the soonest his top two antagonists will be Sandford and Crawfish.

Dalton is about to rob those gold miners and I'm going to show it both from his point of view and one of the characters that is going to be one of my six characters. And yes aspects of this story will be non linear. I'm sorry but in my culture non linier is common. We don't go by the long time set Greek rules of pathos and ethos and all of that it's just whatever way the story is told is how it's told. That said I'll try and keep it linear as much as I can but theres still going to be flashbacks for each character. If you don't like it don't read it. If you however can overlook that, then thank you. I'm aware many writers go non linear as it is and we see this anyway nowadays with movies more.

That's it for this chapter please leave a detailed review. Thanks