Chapter 1: An Ill Guest Arrives

[matt_s]

 

Late Spring in Arcadia.

The desert was a peculiar place in that time. During the day, travelers were often met with exactly what they expected from such a climate, hot sun and clinging dust that stung and exhausted the poorly prepared interloper. At night, bitter cold and long reaching winds across the great arroyos could pose as much peril as the harshest winter in the Yukon. Indeed, many an old mining hand in these parts had prospected in these parts, California, and Alaska and when asked which was the harshest responded only with laughter.

These conditions were what those who ventured outside the shade and shelter of civilization or what little passed for it out there had to deal with. No wonder that Doc Pendrick's guest was in such a poor state as the rumor put it.

Rumor spread like the autumn wildfire for news even by telegram was slow and news of true substance was borne by railroad and horse courier and local affairs were what could easily pass for entertainment...

In Banquo's Refuge

Albert Wrightman finished retrieved the cards from a hand of poker and sighed. That's enough for now, my good guests. Perhaps you can shoot the breeze at the bar with Susan, she knows most goings-on quick like. I saw the Sheriff wandering about in a right huff a moment ago. Might be something to it.

He swirled a glass of water, the walls of the vessel clouded and scratched. The years were tough on things and people in the West. Then he drank. Or maybe not. Who bloody knows...

At the General Store

Ol' Wagne leaned up from his stool behind the counter where he had been slouching. His eyes even when to all observers fast asleep didn't miss much and his ears missed less than that as young scoundrels who attempted to pinch a hard candy from a jar sitting on a shelf by the register figured out unpleasantly fast enough.

What can I do you for? he asked the Sheriff who had entered in a state of some agitation.

Clean linens and if you got any medical supplies, I'd like to take a look at those.

Ain't that the province of my dear neighbor Pendrick?

It is such the province as you well know but he done sent me here. New patient, wants to make sure everything needed is on hand.

Some pharmacy he runs.

Don't tell him that to his face.

Reckon I won't.

Hurry on then, I need to find my blasted Deputy or raise some new ones. And Halberforth may be seeing some more business before this is through.

Don't figure you are referring to a surge in fishing and trapping.

You figure right and I'll shut my mouth so you don't figure any more.

 

[prophane]

Sloan "Sledgehand" Turlough

HP: 13/13 FP: 11/11

---

Sloan pushes his chair back from the poker table and nods to Wrightman as he gathers up the cards. The tall, scowling man makes his way over to the bar in Banquo's Refuge and orders a whisky and a beer. "Howdy, Susan, what's the news on the street?" he says to the bartender. As he waits for her reply, he quietly scans the room, an eye out for any potential trouble. He isn't expecting any trouble, but he never seems to lack for it.

Edited September 18, 2023 by prophane (see edit history)

[Cloudy Summers]

Victoria works her eyes over the assortment of paperbacks Wagne's has on display for a third time in as many days, and she's met with the same bitter disappointment as was to be had the very first time. Nothing in that pile but trash - and while some of it is certainly very interesting trash, none of it is new trash. Just the same trash she's either read already or firmly passed over. She sighs irritably and is about to leave in a huff (for the third time in as many days) when the words "new patient" happen to catch her ears from the register; in less than thirty seconds she's made her way there.

"Pardon me, Sheriff. Did I hear correctly that Dr. Pendrick is seeing a new patient?"

 

Edited September 16, 2023 by Cloudy Summers (see edit history)

[matt_s]

Banquo's Refuge

 

2 hours ago, prophane said:

"Howdy, Susan, what's the news on the street?"

Susan poured a small shot of whiskey and drew a pint of lager into a tall glass. At Banquo's, the drink was certainly not excellent by the standards of fine city folk but the glasses were clean, prices were fair, and the pours were honest. And it did the job. Susan was keen to remind any grumbling patrons that they could take their business elsewhere, elsewhere being halfway to the county line.

News? Well that is a bit generous, if not in the correct vein of things. Something has got ol' Doc Pendrick up in a fuss. He's an excitable fellow, so that's worth raising eyebrows but not much more than that taken alone. But the Sheriff is agitated too, and that takes harder doing. Hank had a rough time in the War and some nasty times before it, and in that crucible he was annealed such that he can take most things in stride.

Not all things, it seems.

She paused, the temporary superiority of knowledge bringing a faint light to her eyes. Bartender by trade, she knew how to weave a yarn and keep an audience enthralled.

I heard it's about a newcomer to town that's in a bad way, too. The Sheriff said that he rode in on a horse that looked run ragged as all tarnation and barely made it to Flenderson's before he passed out. It's a rough world out there, I tell you.

 

Wagne's General Store

Wagne grumbled at Victoria's perusals.

You know we ain't got a shipment of dime novels since you were last here. Tell you what, if you got requests, let me know and I'll put in a order next time I send an order by the post to Tucson. Won't even charge you a deposit, that's how kindly I'm taking to you.

But clearly his guest had other things on her mind, and with a stern look from the Sheriff, Wagne stopped his shopkeeper's prattle.

Sheriff Hank was not a young man. From her best guess, most folks would wager he was in his late forties, early fifties. But when put to it, they'd be hard-pressed to stake any real money on such a claim. He'd been a Deputy before the War and had even traveled as a bounty hunter. A limp from an old bullet wound to the leg still troubled him on bad days.

It was Comanche that did that, some folk said. No, it was that infernal rogue John Glanton himself that did it, after Hank was fool enough to try for that $75000 bounty on the head of the Butcher of Sonora. Not a penny alive, but 75 grand dead, that's the word the Republic of Mexico put out. They had not taken well to a man slaughtering for profit the people he had been contracted to protect.

But Hank disclaimed both tales. Common bandits, he would say, and promptly change the subject.

New patient at Pendrick's? Aye, that's true, I suppose. Circumstances murky and nasty in equal measure. If you want to take a look for yourself, I won't be stopping you. I hear you got some semblance of leechcraft in you, from a real institution at that. Perhaps the Doc could use an extra set of steady hands. I'm headed there now, finish your perusing here and walk with me and my ol' mutt if you wish.

 

 

 

[Cloudy Summers]

The mere word "leechcraft" has Victoria setting her jaw and crossing her arms quite tightly over her chest. Weeks may have passed since she left St. Louis, but God damn it, it still feels like yesterday. "You hear correctly. Although I was not suffered to graduate" - the corner of her nose suddenly twitches like it's trying to jump off of her face - "I did attend McDowell's College in St. Louis for the term of thirteen months and one fortnight."

She emits a strained noise halfway between a sigh and one of her now-notorious huffs, letting the resentment subside. "...I had the same mind of it as soon as I'd heard. My hands are steady enough, and I would call myself as bright as is necessary to learn from the good doctor anything I may not have been afforded by my education. If you'll give me a moment?"

Here the young woman steps aside the Sheriff to speak with Wagne. "I do have some requests, and I'd be very glad for you to post them for me." She digs a hand through her satchel, drawing forth a scrap of paper with a good few titles written on it (in prim and elegant cursive) that she presents to the shopkeep. "Here is a list of books I'm very interested in reading..."

Victoria's list

Steel-Eye Smith and the Secret Of The Demon Horsewoman

Steel-Eye Smith and the Hidden Queen

Steel-Eye Smith and the Quiet Shadow's Curse

Steel-Eye Smith and the Enchanted Beast's Destruction

Steel-Eye Smith and the Blood Skull

Steel-Eye Smith and the Two-Whiskey Saloon

Steel-Eye Smith and the Lightning Devil's Bones

Steel-Eye Smith and the Captive Of The Giant Shadow

Steel-Eye Smith and the Dire Kraken

Steel-Eye Smith and the Mechanical Pirate's Hoard

Following this Victoria unfolds the wallet at her belt and produces from it two single dollar bills, as crisp and fresh as if they'd just come from the bank, which take their place beside the list.

"...And here is your deposit." Victoria sweetens the deal with a small, but genuine, smile and a nod; she then turns again to the Sheriff and gestures in the direction of the door. "I've perused my last. After you."

 

Edited September 17, 2023 by Cloudy Summers (see edit history)

[RedMax]

3 hours ago, matt_s said:

Banquo's Refuge

 

"Howdy, Susan, what's the news on the street?"

Susan poured a small shot of whiskey and drew a pint of lager into a tall glass. At Banquo's, the drink was certainly not excellent by the standards of fine city folk but the glasses were clean, prices were fair, and the pours were honest. And it did the job. Susan was keen to remind any grumbling patrons that they could take their business elsewhere, elsewhere being halfway to the county line.

News? Well that is a bit generous, if not in the correct vein of things. Something has got ol' Doc Pendrick up in a fuss. He's an excitable fellow, so that's worth raising eyebrows but not much more than that taken alone. But the Sheriff is agitated too, and that takes harder doing. Hank had a rough time in the War and some nasty times before it, and in that crucible he was annealed such that he can take most things in stride.

Not all things, it seems.

She paused, the temporary superiority of knowledge bringing a faint light to her eyes. Bartender by trade, she knew how to weave a yarn and keep an audience enthralled.

I heard it's about a newcomer to town that's in a bad way, too. The Sheriff said that he rode in on a horse that looked run ragged as all tarnation and barely made it to Flenderson's before he passed out. It's a rough world out there, I tell you.

 

Wagne's General Store

Wagne grumbled at Victoria's perusals.

You know we ain't got a shipment of dime novels since you were last here. Tell you what, if you got requests, let me know and I'll put in a order next time I send an order by the post to Tucson. Won't even charge you a deposit, that's how kindly I'm taking to you.

But clearly his guest had other things on her mind, and with a stern look from the Sheriff, Wagne stopped his shopkeeper's prattle.

Sheriff Hank was not a young man. From her best guess, most folks would wager he was in his late forties, early fifties. But when put to it, they'd be hard-pressed to stake any real money on such a claim. He'd been a Deputy before the War and had even traveled as a bounty hunter. A limp from an old bullet wound to the leg still troubled him on bad days.

It was Comanche that did that, some folk said. No, it was that infernal rogue John Glanton himself that did it, after Hank was fool enough to try for that $75000 bounty on the head of the Butcher of Sonora. Not a penny alive, but 75 grand dead, that's the word the Republic of Mexico put out. They had not taken well to a man slaughtering for profit the people he had been contracted to protect.

But Hank disclaimed both tales. Common bandits, he would say, and promptly change the subject.

New patient at Pendrick's? Aye, that's true, I suppose. Circumstances murky and nasty in equal measure. If you want to take a look for yourself, I won't be stopping you. I hear you got some semblance of leechcraft in you, from a real institution at that. Perhaps the Doc could use an extra set of steady hands. I'm headed there now, finish your perusing here and walk with me and my ol' mutt if you wish.

 

 

 

Jellico Jake dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post. He hadn't named this one yet, but gave it a scratch on the mane before heading in to Banquo's.

He put his gloved hand down flat on the bar and waited for the bartender to turn towards him. "A glass of beer please, ma'am," Jellico said, shifting his hat slightly with his index finger rather than removing it, not wanting to overdo the gesture but also wanting to offer a modicum of respect.

He struck a match on the side of the bar and lit his cigarillo, glancing around the place to make sure he wouldn't be caught off guard.

 

[matt_s]

Banquo's Refuge

There didn't seem much to catch the on and off again criminal by surprise in the saloon. But Jellico was after all if not born to caution taught its value long ago. A few of the locals lounged at the gambling table, the cards collected some minutes ago by the dealer but the conversation lingering on. The weather, grain prices, the state of the railroads, nothing new or interesting to folks present even the talkers themselves but it passed the time fair enough and that was its purpose.

Susan was behind the bar, talking with Sloan, a man that looked he had been in many fights and won even more. She turned to Jellico, poured a pint of the house lager, and sled it over with a smile.

Certainly. That's a fine horse you got out there. I don't have much need for riding nowadays but I treasure those memories of galloping across the plains, fresh wind in my hair. Enough about the old days though. I was just talking with Sloan here, there's something strange afoot. Sheriff Hank is running about town in a huff, someone turned up half dead - at least - at the Doc's, and it's stumped me. Don't get me wrong, I like this town, but it can be as bucolic as anywhere and nothing interesting has happened since we had to dig those poor miners out from the cave-in about two years back.

Wagne's General Store

Bemused, the middle-aged Sheriff threw up his hands in a plaintive gesture as a man who had been called out on a jest that perhaps he now realized cut a touch too deeply.

I'm not casting aspersions on you or your trade, no ma'am, Hank chuckled. Leechcraft, sawbones, those are just what the lads talked of the docs back in the Army of the Potomac. Never meant offense by it, and I seen men hauled back from the very threshold of death... his voice trailed off and the Sheriff paused. Enough of that. I'll let you finish your business here with good Mr. Wagne and wait for you outside. I think I got what I need from this establishment.

He donned his hat, a broad rimmed U.S. Cavalry style Stetson, tipped it politely to Victoria and Wagne, and stepped outside.

Wagne pockets the list and jots a note of the deposit down. Visibly grateful, he adds, That is awful kind of you. But I won't make guarantees when these will come in, I fear. Few weeks, maybe?

Things can be beyond my control, maybe they always are. But you'll get your dime novels soon as I can manage.

 

 

 

[artsmythe]

Somewhat disappointed at the close of the game, J.J. Lattimore calmly collects his meager winnings from the table, then makes his way to the bar, following the others. The laid-back gambler's standard strategy when first joining a game was not to win large or lose much. He was simply trying to get a sense of the other players and how they played the game. Still, it wasn't a complete loss and he felt certain that there might be another game tomorrow if he could be patient with the same group. Meanwhile the bearded newcomer might as well grab another drink and learn the lay of the land from the pretty barkeep called Miss Susan.

Sipping his whiskey carefully he glances around the saloon nonchalantly and notices the stranger with the cigarillo who just came in and ordered a beer. Smiling amiably in welcome, J.J. lifts his glass in salute, then continues to sip his drink.

Lattimore listens as the powerfully built man continues to talk local gossip with Susan about the Sheriff and the wounded man. The giant's name was... Sloan. Yes, Sloan, he said at the poker table. He certainly looked big, bigger than the itinerant wordsmith, anyway.

He sort of reminds him of his literary creation "Steel-Eye Smith". Yep, surely do look like 'im....

In any event, the laconic dime novelist continues to unobtrusively eavesdrop as the two chat further. Perhaps there might be the germ of a new story in this poor man's situation. It certainly sounds interesting.

 

Edited September 17, 2023 by artsmythe (see edit history)

[prophane]

Sloan "Sledgehand" Turlough

HP: 13/13 FP: 11/11

---

Sloan nods to the newcomer, looking him up and down, obviously sizing him up. "Hey," he says. Tipping his beer in his general direction. As J.J. comes over, Sloan rolls his eyes. Having sat at the poker table for some time, and having lost several dollars to the man, Sloan was not too keen on talking with this fellow, but he seemed to be one that enjoyed the silence just as much as he did. Aww, heck, maybe he was being too harsh a judge. This fellow was just playin's his game, he didn't seem to be no hustler or cheat or nothing like that. He won and lost hands, too. And he didn't leave me down to the blanket, Sloan thought, patting the small wad of cash in his pocket.

With that thought, he turned toward J.J. and tried to force a smile, though to anyone looking, it appeared to be anything BUT a smile. "Good game, you ain't from around here, are ya? I'm Sloan." He puts his hand out then gives the newcomer in the hat a look as if to include him in the introductions.

Edited September 18, 2023 by prophane (see edit history)

[Bobcloclimar]

Hmm, busy day today, Mickey thought as he trudged into the saloon. Don't recognize many o' these folk, and with the Sheriff all in a hustle. Wonder what's tha all 'bout.

He stopped just by the spitoon to empty his cheeks, and winced inwardly as the mass plopped, as it often did, onto the planks nearby. After quickly scuffing it out with his boot, he made his way towards the bar.

"M'regularWhatever hot meal is available, if you please, Miss," he said, raising a finger to the proprietress. Leaning back to wait, he quirked an ear towards the two strangers conversing nearby.

[artsmythe]

The gambler winces melodramatically as Sloan grabs J.J.'s right hand within his own mighty grip. "EASY there, big fella! That's my everythin' hand ya' is crushin', goldurnit!"

Withdrawing his right hand and holding it gingerly with his left, the dime novelist then shakes the offended appendage slowly to restore some sort of circulation. With a whisper of a smile on his lips, he exclaims, "They surely do make 'em big from where ya' come from, don't they, Sloan... or else they make 'em small from where I'm from. The name's Lattimore -- J.J. Lattimore, an' I do hail from Back East, that's true. I'm jes' passin' through on my way to Australia. I hear tell that it's the last of the frontier country.” He chuckles easily.

Then the wordsmith turns to the cowpoke smoking the cigarillo and offers his hand, and then finally to the bartender to whom he tips his hat. Smiling especially hard at Susan, he says, "O' course, my friends call me J.J. If'n y'all don't mind me bein' too nosy, I am a mite curious about that Sheriff o' yours and that poor devil that came into town earlier."

Edited September 18, 2023 by artsmythe (see edit history)

[RedMax]

Banquo's Refuge

 

There didn't seem much to catch the on and off again criminal by surprise in the saloon. But Jellico was after all if not born to caution taught its value long ago. A few of the locals lounged at the gambling table, the cards collected some minutes ago by the dealer but the conversation lingering on. The weather, grain prices, the state of the railroads, nothing new or interesting to folks present even the talkers themselves but it passed the time fair enough and that was its purpose.

Susan was behind the bar, talking with Sloan, a man that looked he had been in many fights and won even more. She turned to Jellico, poured a pint of the house lager, and sled it over with a smile.

Certainly. That's a fine horse you got out there. I don't have much need for riding nowadays but I treasure those memories of galloping across the plains, fresh wind in my hair. Enough about the old days though. I was just talking with Sloan here, there's something strange afoot. Sheriff Hank is running about town in a huff, someone turned up half dead - at least - at the Doc's, and it's stumped me. Don't get me wrong, I like this town, but it can be as bucolic as anywhere and nothing interesting has happened since we had to dig those poor miners out from the cave-in about two years back.

Jellico pays for his beer and takes a sip before responding. "Cave-in, huh? Yeah, I lost my father in a similar tragedy. Coal mine. It's risky work underground--you're taking your chances, but I guess we all are in our own way..." Jellico gets lost in the thought for a moment and then drains the glass. "Much obliged."

Jellico shakes his head. He realizes that the bartender's story has piqued his curiosity, and now he can't help but ask. "So...what do you think is behind all this business with your sheriff...?"

[matt_s]

On 9/17/2023 at 5:53 PM, Bobcloclimar said:

"M'regularWhatever hot meal is available, if you please, Miss," he said, raising a finger to the proprietress. Leaning back to wait, he quirked an ear towards the two strangers conversing nearby.

Of course, dear, answered Susan. With a shout to Martin, who was lounging in the kitchen at present, a bowl of fine stew, steaming hot, was brought forth along with a tall glass of clean water. Plain and hearty, a solid meal for any time of day and to fuel any sort of wholesome honest labor. Or dishonest and unwholesome, food was agnostic in its regard for the deeds of men. Will there be anything else? A strong drink perhaps?

20 hours ago, RedMax said:

Jellico shakes his head. He realizes that the bartender's story has piqued his curiosity, and now he can't help but ask. "So...what do you think is behind all this business with your sheriff...?"

Susan turned to J.J. and Jellico. She smiled with the temporary moral superiority of knowing something her guests did not.

Well, you got more or less the whole of what I know. There's rumor of trouble about, sure, but by my reckoning there's nothing useful to the rumor beyond the rumor itself, if you catch my meaning. So something is up, but whether it's someone making a go at the mine, a band of cattle hustlers, train robbery, extortion at the ferry, or even the U.S. Cavalry having another go at the Comanche, it's a maze of mystery the way I see things. I do an honest business here, and don't get wrapped out in what's out there. Besides, this is the West, good sir. Who needs truth when you have the legend? That's where all those dime novels come from, anyways. Here's a hint for you kind gentlemen - the patient came by way of Flenderson's, and that's to the West, between here and the ferry that takes all those folks out to California, and from there it's also Northwest to that railroad bridge over the Gorge.

But if you want to see for yourselves, you, or at least one of you know where Doc Pendrick's office is at. I'll still be here and the bar will still be open, don't you worry now.

Still mirthful, she scrubbed a glass behind the bar and whistled to herself.

[RedMax]

Jellico smiled. "Well, I'm gonna mosey on over to Doc Pendrick's office." He looked around to the others who turned a keen ear to Susan's story. "Y'all are welcome to join me. I personally can't ignore the situation--the curiosity is killing me. I figure the more the merrier."

(OOC: I'm imagining that Jellico is using his Fast-Talk and Charisma to try to get the others to come along. Jellico is always trying to win people over. Doesn't make sense to him to make any more enemies than he already has! He arrived in town flying solo, but prefers to be in a group of people he can count on, and he's hoping these might be those kind of people.)

Edited September 19, 2023 by RedMax (see edit history)

[Bobcloclimar]

“I kin show ya where th’ ole sawbones is, if ya like,” Mickey offers to those listening to Susan’s tale. “‘fter I finish m’ meal, tha’ is.”