Uncle Michael and Cousin Fred

A quick twist of the wrist and the fly arced across the sky, being dragged by the line, until it floated gently across the surface of the bubbling water, being carried by the current. A second later something came up to the surface and inhaled the bait, racing back down into the waters. The line grew taught in Ethan's hands as he set the hook deep into the trout's mouth, reeling it toward him. The creek in June was as full as it was going to get and with it came the spring hatches, sending the rainbows, brooks, and browns into daily frenzies for insect protein. It was perfect for a young angler to practice his skills.

Twenty minutes later and with several fish in the basket, Ethan rested underneath the shade of a cottonwood tree, admiring the towering mountains from which the creek ran out of. Below it would join with others until forming the might Clark Fork, a highway for those who came before, but an obstacle for the railroads that brought mom and dad out here. It was certainly a more beautiful scene than the ever-building mines across the valley atop the "richest hill on earth". Normally he'd be working and at the ripe old age of 14 it would be time to take trips down below. Deep, deep down far past the sun. Ethan recalled how his Dad said that it's so deep at the bottom of the mine that God won't even venture down there, and that the devil himself has lost your name.

"Hey, Ethan! You down there?" A familiar voice called, perking up Ethan's ears.

"I'm down by the creek, cousin!" He replied, stretching and getting up from his shady spot beneath the tree.

"Dad wants me to take you back home." Frederick said, peeking his head out of the bushes and gesturing for his younger cousin to follow. Ethan didn't seem to be excited though.

"Aww. But dad's been so angry lately. Shouting, ranting, throwing things—"

"And drinking like a sailor, I know." Frederick finished. "That's why your mum and my dad said you can stay with us for a while longer."

"Oh, well in that case…" Ethan quickly grabbed his things and followed the trail through the brush.

Walking down the trail, signs of civilization began to grow more frequent. It was always nice to be out of town, especially these days. So many of the men were angry. The parade the other week had already been disrupted, and ever since those Finns got fired things had been tense in town.

In a smoky basement reeking of tobacco, A private detective was listening to the rants of his boss, one of the copper tycoons of Butte.

"By God Dom, we need more violence if the plan is going to succeed! As it is, there are talks of a truce between the WFM and the IWW. If that truce were to go through, now Butte would have two unions and it might be enough to run myself and all the others out of business for good."

Drago, always smooth as silk and cool like an autumn night, looked up from his cigarette. "Perhaps it was unwise to fire those Finns."

The fat cat scoffed at the suggestion. "And what? Let a bunch of dyed-in-the-wool socialists fester in my city? A line had to be drawn, we can't allow room for the enemy to grow. One day they might even take over this town if they are left unchecked!"

Drago was growing rather irritated at his boss' ranting. It was almost enough to walk off the job, but he and Moreau were getting paid handsomely by the detective company. Still, he could see where the conversation was going. "Look, sir, we were hired to protect your property during these… violent times. But ever since we got here, we've been doing nothing except dirty work. The other week we were nearly lynched for dynamiting Sullivan's house. If the miners had pulled our disguises off, we would have been drawn and quartered then lynched."

Calming down, the cat tried a different approach. "You know, you could learn a thing or two about enthusiasm from your partner. Moreau has taken to those tasks like a fish to water. But you do make a good point. You and Moreau have been great assets to us so far, which is why in the morning there will be two first-class tickets for your return back east. We just need one more thing to be done."

The dim red light from a second cigarette then illuminated a grey face under a black hat. Drago's partner in crime and fellow detective stepped out of the shadows, putting a hand on Drago's shoulder. "And what might that task be?"

"There are three boxes of dynamite across the street from the Miner's Hall. Tonight, we need you to sneak in and blow the building to kingdom come. Make it look like the work of the IWW. If all goes well, the resulting fallout will be enough for us to call in the national guard from Helena. Butte will finally be rid of unions."

Moreau's lips curled into a smile. "Well then, we best be moving. Whenever you're ready, Dom." As the two cats got up to leave, the boss had one more thing to add. "Oh yeah, and fellas. Anyone who catches you, eliminate them. But do it silently, we don't want to raise suspicions. Also, this conversation never happened. Got it?"

Dom turned his head as he put his hat on. "What conversation?"

Trout for dinner was always a delight, and even better when Uncle Michael made it. Ethan and Frederick were positively stuffed, having had the first decent meal in days. The lack of work was taking a toll on everyone, and while a union representative had access to a bit more rations and funds to see the family through, it was being stretched thin for the poor man. Michael loved his brother but knew how bad things were starting to get at home. Ethan was rebellious, just as any Irish cat should be, but it was irritating Michael's brother, who already had two other mouths to feed and a long-suffering wife who was at her wit's end trying to keep them all together. At the moment, Ethan was safer with him as an honored guest. The boy at least had a knack for getting things done. He'd make a fine miner someday.

Just then the phone rang. Getting up from the table, Michael answered the call. Ethan and Frederick looked up from their plates and tried to listen in. It was mostly garbled words distorted and muffled by the elder Kelly's fur. But it was clear that something was wrong. Hanging up the phone with a terse "good night", Michael turned to his son and nephew. "Alright boys, sounds like I'm needed downtown yet again. You two stay here and don't be up too late, it shouldn't be too long until I return. Oh, and get the dishes done, please. I won't have time tonight to do them."

The ever-obedient Frederick was quick to reply. "Yes, sir. We'll have them done."

A Row in the Town

Despite being summer, the mountain air was cool and breezy as Michael made his way up the hill into town. Living outside the city was nice but made the journey on foot quite long. Thankfully the street rail at the edge of town cut the time down significantly and soon Michael was departing just down the street from the Miner's Hall. The protesting outside was on the verge of turning violent yet again, so Michael pulled his hat down low and snuck around the backside of the building, pulling out a key to access the rear door. Inside the dimly lit room was a handful of other cats, all different representatives for the local chapter.

"Mr. Kelly, I'm glad you're here."

Michael wasn't so enthused about his presence. "I wish you gentlemen could find a way to keep the peace for one night. I've got two boys at home and my brother is in desperate need for help around his own house."

"Well you are our leader, at least until Mr. Riley gets back. We're going to be meeting with the IWW soon, but we need your approval for our initial proposition."

"Alright, let me see them…"

Fifteen minutes later, Michael put his spectacles back in their case, satisfied with the draft. "We ought to make a few changes before submitting this, but all-in-all you've got my approval. At the very least, this truce should give us some space to regroup and perhaps negotiate. The AFL won't like it, but we can deal with that later. Now, let me just get my…" Michael grabbed one pocket, then the other, feeling around and not finding anything except cloth and air.

"Ah damn, I don't have my stamp with me. Would a signature suffice?"

"Sorry Mr. Kelly, but a stamp from you is necessary if the IWW is going to take this seriously. Where did you leave it?"

"It's back at home in my other coat. When are we going to meet the IWW representatives?"

"In twenty minutes, across the street on neutral ground."

"Right, well, there's nothing for it then. I'll have to make a phone call."

Ethan and Frederick were finishing dishes when the phone rang again. While Ethan continued to put plates away after wiping them down, Frederick was quick to dry his hands before answering the phone. Taking it off the hook, the 17-year-old cleared his throat. "Apologies, but my father is currently out of the house."

"Frederick, this is you dad. I left my stamp in my other coat. I need you to bring it to me downtown as quickly as possible. Understand?"

"Yes sir!" Frederick replied before hanging up the phone and turning to his younger cousin. "Hey Ethan, sounds like Dad forgot his stamp again. You want to come with me downtown."

"Sure, what else am I going to do?" Ethan said as he put the last dish away. Soon the two boys were running up the road and into downtown. By then, the streetcars had shut down for the night, so they had to walk/run the whole way up the hill. It was quite the effort, but soon the light from the miner's hall could be seen amongst a large crowd of angry people.

"Hang on, Frederick… I need a breather…" Ethan said, panting.

"I know… it's quite the run… isn't it? But Dad needs this stamp. You just wait here." Frederick then willed himself to keep going despite his burning lungs and cut his way through the crowd. At night no one was going to recognize him, so Frederick was able to slip through without drawing much attention.

Meanwhile, Ethan finally caught his breath and tried to find a way around the crowd. It was big enough that he soon found himself across the street when a familiar voice called out to him. "Ethan! Over here! Do you have my stamp?"

Ethan whipped around and saw his uncle leaning out a first-floor window just above him. "No, sorry uncle. Frederick has it, he's trying to get in the union hall."

"Go fetch him please, I need that stamp now before the IWW representatives get here."

Nodding in understanding, Ethan pushed his way into the crowd. Meanwhile, Frederick was at the top of the steps trying to get in the building. The doors were locked, and a lot of the windows were barricaded. It was starting to become clear that his dad wasn't inside.

Around back, Moreau was running wires out from under the structure. They had made a hole just behind a bush, barely big enough to crawl through. But underneath the first floor there was plenty of space to stash their volatile gift. Three full crates of blasting dynamite were positioned all along the foundation with a small pile in the middle. Drago was growing concerned as Moreau connected the wires to the firing mechanism.

"You know, this is going to blow up the whole building, right? We could have used a fraction of the dynamite to bring the hall down."

"Quite right, Dom." Moreau said as he finished tightening the screws. "But we were given three boxes of dynamite, we're going to use three boxes of dynamite. Our bosses want us to make a statement, and if all our other preparations pay off, the two unions will be at each-other's throats until judgement day. Now, we had better take cover…"

Frustrated, Frederick looked back across the street. The roar of the crowd was deafening, and some miners were now standing on the steps, demanding an end to the WFM. An arm waving out a window across the street caught his eye, followed by the flailing of his younger cousin in the crowd trying to get his attention. Ethan was yelling but no sound was reaching Frederick's ears. But through pointing and other gestures, it became clear that his dad was in the next building over.

Then it happened. In an instant the building seemed to lift off the ground before shattering into a million pieces. The roof seemed to disintegrate as bricks found their way across the street. Ethan watched in horror as a ball of fire, smoke, and dust overtook Frederick, throwing his cousin clear off the steps and into the crowd that had now buckled under the pressure from the explosion. The sound was so loud that after the initial shock there was only a dull ringing filling Ethan's ears.

Whether it was the stress of the situation or fear for his cousin, Ethan seemed to come alive despite having ran and walked halfway up a mountain in twenty minutes. He couldn't hear his own voice but hoped that Frederick would as he shouted out for his cousin. Just then a hand caught Ethan's pant sleeve. Looking down, Ethan recognized the face of his cousin, but there wasn't much else left. He seemed to be bleeding in a thousand places from a thousand different wounds. Cradling his dying older cousin, shouting Frederick's name, Ethan could feel the lifeblood leave his cousin's body.

Michael could hardly believe what he had seen. The flash of the explosion was blinding, but as the dust settled and his vision came back into focus, he couldn't help but notice a familiar set of faces fleeing the scene. It was Moreau and Drago, agents hired by the mine bosses to protect the mines. But that had to wait, his son was right outside the building and now there was no sign of either his boy or nephew. The only silver lining is the fleeing crowd gave him enough space to rush toward the scene.

Ethan was in a state of shock now as Frederick gasped for air. His cousin's body shook and rattled before settling, cold and still. It was over, his life ended just like that. Ethan couldn't even cry in that moment, but soon the dust parted, and he saw his uncles face. Sadness and grief overtook him, bringing the man to his knees. Reaching out for his son, Ethan tried to move his corpse closer. But Michael only put his hand on his son's forehead, then closed the boy's eyes. Looking up, Michael's eyes now flashed with an emerald anger that only an Irishman could possess.

"Moreau and Drago did this. Ethan, I need you to stay out of this. Remember, none of this is your fault."

Ethan's hearing had finally returned. "Uncle, what's going on? What do we do?"

"Go, Ethan. Go back to your father, tell him what's happened. I need to settle a debt." Michael then stood up, the flash of a revolver hit Ethan's eyes, and his uncle was gone as quickly as he had come. But Ethan was terrified, and his only thought was to follow the one man who would surely keep him safe. So he got up, hands covered in his cousin's blood, and ran after his uncle.

Fury of a Good Man

Michael was now enraged, the anger building with every stride. He knew Butte inside and out. There wasn't a hole a rat could hide in and avoid his detection. The two agents had been trouble since they arrived, but he could never prove it. They were too good, often wearing disguises, seemingly ten steps ahead. But not this time. This time he knew just the hole those two rats would be hiding in. Turning the corner, he saw then in the shadows, taking possession of a fat envelope, no doubt loaded with cash. They were still too far away, and Michael only had five shots, but in his anger he didn't care.

"Drago! Moreau! You sons-of-bitches just killed my boy!"

The two agents, in a rare twist, were indeed surprised. They had planned everything so carefully yet failed to take into account the one man who had been onto them for weeks. Sure, Michael had no proof, but at this moment the normally lawful man didn't seem to care about anything except seeing them dead.

Ethan, still covered in dirt and blood, followed close behind. Turning into the alley, he finally saw his uncle, but was confused when he saw the man he so admired firing wildly, charging at two figures in an alley.

The two agents dodged the bullets as the courier for the mine boss melted into the shadows. One shot, then two, then three, then four. All misses. Yet the enraged union representative was closing the distance and looked like he was mad enough to strangle them both with his bare hands. The Irish cat lunged, fangs and claws now at the fore as Michael quickly brough Drago down with one blow while slicing up Moreau's cheek with razor-sharp claws. With Moreau on the back foot, Michael turned his attention back to Drago.

"You'll die for what you did, right here and now!" Holding the revolver up to Drago's head, the agent felt legitimate fear that this was it and there was nothing he could do about it. All Drago could do is close his eyes and accept his fate.

"click."

The last shot didn't even fizzle. It was a dud. Michael, expecting to see blood and brains splattered out before him, was surprised. Sensing the opportunity, Moreau recovered and gave Michael a swift kick to the face. Drago, realizing that he had just cheated death, pressed the advantage of two men against one. The fight was over quickly as Moreau pulled out his own pistol and put six shots into his assailant. Drago, knowing that the noise would surely attract police and that they couldn't be sure if those responding were paid off or not, grabbed his friend by the shoulder.

"We better go. Now."

Ethan was standing in the middle of the alley, frozen in fear as he now found himself exposed and without anyone to protect him. It didn't take long for the two agents to notice their second uninvited guest. Moreau was quick to grab the kid before he could get away and pinned the boy to the wall, lifting him up off the ground.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I-I'm Ethan. Ethan Kelly, s-sir!" Ethan stammered, scared out of his mind.

"You aren't his son, are you?" Moreau asked, noting the difference in fur pattern. "He must be your uncle or something, isn't he?" Ethan only nodded in confirmation.

Drago wasn't happy to be sticking around. "Leave the kid, Moreau, we need to get out of here."

"Just a second, friend." Moreau growled. "Now you listen well, young man. You see my face; you see these cuts your uncle gave me? If you ever tell someone what you saw here tonight, you'll see my face soon and I will be there to finish you off. You and everyone you love. Got it?"

Ethan again nodded.

"You're lucky my gun is empty, otherwise you would join your uncle." And with that Moreau threw Ethan to the ground before disappearing into the night. Ethan's heart pounded in fear. The cat was not only willing to kill his uncle but kill him too! But a groan from his uncle attracted the boy's attention. Crawling over, Ethan struggled to turn his uncle over who was dying from a half a dozen gunshots to the chest and stomach, but for the moment could still speak.

His voice was weak, but Michael managed to force out some words for his nephew. "Don't try to get revenge, okay? Promise me you'll protect your family, but don't go out and seek a fight. It will be the death of you, lad."

"I-I-I'm scared, uncle." Ethan replied, the words clearly not sinking in as his uncle desired, but now Michael too was gone and Ethan was alone in a dark alley, the amber glow of a fire down the block illuminating his uncle's lifeless face.

A week later, and Ethan was dressed in black, holding onto his two younger brothers by the hand. There was a large turnout for the funeral. Miners had come from all over the county to honor one of their best and bravest as well as the murdered son who would never get the chance to be even better and braver as his father before him.

"O God, by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, bless this grave, and send your holy angel to watch over it. As we bury here the bodies of our brothers, deliver their souls from every bond of sin, that they may rejoice in you with your saints forever. We ask this through Christ our Lord."

"Amen." The congregation solemnly replied in unison.

Soon, all that remained was the grave digger to do his duty. Elizabeth took Liam and Sean back with her, telling Ethan that it was okay to take some time for himself. His father didn't even walk home, he went straight to the bar to mourn in the only way he knew how. His only brother was gone as was his nephew, both damn fine men that this town would never see the likes of again.

The Old Ought-three

I woke up in a sweat, having dozed off on the couch in the main room. Looking over at the clock on the wall, it was evening already. I had worked hard earlier that day to get the speakeasy looking presentable and then to provide the promised food to the band and Horatio. Stretching, I went into the bedroom and picked out the family photos from the little box. If it weren't for the photos, I would have forgotten their faces by now.

I recalled the promise I made to my uncle that day. Don't seek revenge. I did follow the paths of Drago and Moreau for some time after that, but their trail went cold in the Midwest. Union disputes in the area ceased after those riots and Butte did not recognize a union after the leaders of both tore each other apart. With any luck, both were dead by now. Finally done in by one of the many people they hurt over the years.

Sitting down at the table, I pulled out the Springfield J.J. found down in the speakeasy. It was collecting dust, but other than that it seemed perfectly functional. My first condition of employment had been met. The 30-caliber government cartridge was a good one. I remember the first time I held one at the training range. It felt natural, like an extension of the body. After a few days of drilling I had become the most proficient marksman in the class.

The bayonet was sixteen inches of cold, American steel. Though it made the gun terribly long and threw the balance off, I had found out the extra few inches came in handy when our positions were being overrun on Hill 198. It was also just short enough to stow under a jacket, and in close quarters it would make for an effective short sword against the small daggers and boot knives our rivals surely used on the streets. The only problem with both is that concealing the whole rifle would be a problem. But our market didn't stop at the city limits, the booze had to come from somewhere and I guessed that wherever we might meet resistance, it was likely going to be in the woods and fields of Missouri. Out there this weapon couldn't be beat. But first, my new rifle needed some serious cleaning and tinkering to get it performing at its best once more.