from winter, 1873-74
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· Indians Are Raiding
· Forming A Posse
· New Year's Eve
· Reactions
· Second Strike
· Deaths and More Deaths
· A New Day Dawns
Indians Are Raiding
December 16, 1873
Fred Magee, driver for the stage, had a bunch of saloon patrons around him, hanging on his every word. "Yeah, started around Fort Benton somewhere, before the stage shut down for the winter."
"Why are they doing it?" one of the beer-drinkers asked. Fred shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. They're Indians, it's not like they have to make sense." He sipped his own beer. "They attacked some of the farms around Fort Benton, like I was saying... The survivors said they took the food and stock, mostly."
A momentary pause, respectful of the dead. "They've been spreading out, attacking farther and farther from Fort Benton as time goes on. I'm glad I'm not driving the stage out there right now. Just yesterday, they attacked the stage stop between here and Fort Benton. Me and Jonesy went out there today. The Indians burned the place down, but it looks like they took everything." Another sip of beer. "The way people talk about them, they might be heading this way. So I'd keep an eye out, If I was you."
December 24, 1873
It doesn't take long for the whole town to be abuzz. Indians have attacked some of the outlying farms and smaller ranches. Natalie and Joe Seagraves prepare to bury one of their sons, murdered by the savages, while Tyler Ellis lies near death in the infirmary, his dog standing watch outside.
The question everyone seems to be asking is, "When is Lt. York and his cavalry unit going to do something about these marauders?"
December 26th, 1873: Indian Raid Aftermath
Forming A Posse
December 29, 1873
The local law set out this morning to go Indian-hunting, backed up by the full complement from Maddock's local army post. No one knows how long they'll be gone, because no one knows how long it will take to find the Indians. Meanwhile, a funeral service was held today for little Phillip Seagraves, victim of the raids from earlier this week.
December 29th, 1873: Desmond & O'Mally on the Saloon Porch
December 29th, 1873: Reardon & Wilona in the Saloon
December 29th, 1873: Meanwhile, at points North. A larger threat than Indians
New Year's Eve
December 30, 1873
Theresa came in for her usual tea at the Milner house. She spent an unusually long time trying to dust herself off and straighten herself out. "Worst blizzard anyone can remember. Snow's coming down so fast a body can't see ten feet."
Mary Margaret nodded, pouring tea. "Yes, and the weather had been so unseasonably nice... Someone must have told Mother Nature that we didn't have any snow for Christmas, so she decided to make up for it."
Theresa's mouth twisted a little. "Still, it would have been nice to have _snow_, and not this awful blizzard. By tonight, we'll be lucky to get out the door, much less go anywhere."
Meanwhile, the posse is out there in the snow somewhere...
December 31st, 1873: The Gang Rides In
Reactions
January 4, 1874
Seems like a man who didn't want to be named (but he works on guns) made a stop by the undertaker's place before dawn this morning. Well, two stops, actually.
First time, he was carrying Marshal O'Mally's body with him, all stiff from the cold. Those outlaws had tied him to a porch post during the night, after they shot him. Ghastly sight, just ghastly...
Second time was just a little while later. Brought that old gunman who used to work up at the mining camp. Don't know who shot him, but he was just as dead as a doornail, too.
Think that leaves us all alone here, don't it? Just us and those outlaws?
January 4, 1874
Mary Margaret and Theresa sat over their tea, terribly worried. "I heard... I heard they strung the marshal up outside the saloon, after..." Theresa was obivously shaken.
Mary Margaret just nodded, seriously. "Those men are trouble, and we all knew it after their first night here. We just hoped so hard that everything would be all right... Nobody wanted anything like this to happen. The marshal, and that other man, shot down..." It's just terrible.
Theresa offered another problem. "And I hear the telegraph lines are broken, so we can't get word out to Great Falls or anywhere else. And nobody can ride in all this snow..."
Mary Margaret sipped her tea. "It's not a very good start for the year... But we can't just stand by and do nothing... Have you heard anything? Has anyone tried to reach the posse?"
January 5, 1874
Richard Cord rode into town this morning, on a horse that was pretty much used up. Mr. Cord himself wasn't too much better, covered in snow, stiff, and shivering. "Warm him up, would you?" he asked, handing the horse's reins over to the old man at the stable.
The old man looked over the horse, and over the rider. "Where you been?" Especially in weather like this?
Richard flapped his cloak, letting snow fly. "Trying to reach the posse. Damn weather won't let up." He looked out at the snow, frustrated.
The old man hmmed as he started unsaddling Richard's horse. "No luck?"
Richard shook his head. "No, no luck." A day and a night, and no luck. "Looks like we'll have to do something ourselves..." He pitched the old man a half-eagle and headed off to warm himself up. "Take care of that horse, okay?"
Second Strike
January 12, 1874
The streets are a-buzz, if quietly, for fear of being overheard by the wrong ears:
"D'jou hear? Maddie MacClaine had blood on her hands, come early this morning. My Amelia says she saw Maddie herself carry a whole bundle of clothes under her arm, like as she was hiding something."
"Ayeh, I heard it. Jeb Murphy says she 'uz carryin' a whole bundle of the Mayor's clothes. All with blood in 'em. You think maybe she killed him?"
"I thought the Mayor'd rode out with the posse?"
"That wife of his said so, but maybe she was trying to hide him. What kinda man hides behind his wife's skirts?"
"Tobias Lawson said he seen them layin' out the Mayor's body itself in the mortician's place."
"The mayor's dead?!"
January 23rd, 1874: Evan Gets Whomped
Deaths and More Deaths
January 26, 1874
Did you hear what that crazy preacher done? He shot one of those bandits! The one that was tetched in the head. With his own guns too. Just reached out, grabbed them away from the man, and shot him. Then drew a cross on the man's forehead with his blood. And the way I heard it, the whole time he was singing "Bringing in the Sheep". Then he had himself a gunfight with two more of those thieves right there in the middle of the square, yelling something 'bout the Valley of the Shadow. Sent 'em scurrying back into the saloon with their tails 'tween their legs. Bet they're madder'n Hell. Lord only knows what they'll do now.
January 25th, 1874: Death of Cletus
February 1, 1874
The news made its way around slowly, with many folks in town unwilling to leave their houses due to the weather or the outlaws. But soon the word had spread. "The outlaws done killed the deputy's wife!!"
A pair of gunshots late last evening drew a few brave and curious folks over to the east side of town, near the general store. It was there they found Cally Andrews, shot to death and with her own revolver nearby, fired once. One of the outlaws was seen at the scene, the same one who's brother got killed by that crazy preacher the other day.
"He didn't look none too happy though, so I don't think it was him what done it..." one miner said to another at the saloon later, "Carried Mrs. Andrews over to the undertakers, he did, all gentle-like, then went storming off looking madder than hell."
"Word is he'd taken a liking to Miss Cally since him and the others came to town," the other miner added, "I wonder what he's gonna do now. Fellow like that.. mad as he looked last night.. lord only knows what kind of trouble's gonna happen."
"I just hope the posse gets back soon.. while there's still a town to come back to." The two miners nodded to each other with a grave expression. "And best stay way clear out of Mac Andrews' way when he finds out what happened to his wife..."
Another casualty of the villans, Mr. Hayne from the drugstore was shot when he refused to hand over his goods to the thieves without payment.
February 7, 1874
Though Lassiter hasn't been seen around town since the night he gunned down Cletus Booker his presence is still felt. Maddock awoke to a grisly discovery this morning. Lucky Luke Muldrew, a local rustler and theif who'd taken to hanging around the Booker gang, was found tied to the same post on the saloon porch that Marshal O'Mally had been tied to. It seems Luke's luck finally ran out on him because a bowie knife was out on him because a bowie knife was buried in his chest. A cross had been drawn in blood on Luke's forehead and wrapped around the handle of the knife was a note, also written in blood, that contained a single word. "Repent" was all it said. Over the checkerboard at the general store was heard the comment, "It seems a wolf is stalking the dogs that prey on Maddock."
February 11, 1874
Maddock was roused from its early morning slumber by the sound of shots being fired in the square. It seems somebody put a couple of rounds through one of the saloon's upstairs windows, narrowly missing Cobb Booker as he was getting up to deal with some of the after effects of the previous night's debauchery. By the time anyone could investigate the sniper was gone but a few people report seeing Lassiter running away from the report seeing Lassiter running away from the square, heading north, and carrying a buffalo rifle. A bit of a stir was caused when Ruth Cameron claimed that the man seems to have traded in his priest's collar for a tin star but everyone knows what an overactive imagination she has.
A New Day Dawns
February 13, 1874
Well, it's about time...
The weather has finally broken, just when people were thinking they'd never see the end of snow. The dawn came under a crystal-clear sky this morning, still just as cold as ever.
Plenty of snow on the ground, but at least it's not coming out of the sky anymore...
February 17, 1874
Theresa Wilson and Mary Margaret Milner were sitting over their usual tea, just full of news about the recent gunfight. "You think that's the end of it?" Theresa asked.
Mary Margaret sipped her tea and nodded slightly. "I think so, at least for a while. Any of them that got away will have to wait a while and lick their wounds, and then the town's shown it can stand up to them... I think that's the last we've seen of those people." And good riddance.
Theresa nodded vigorously, glad to hear it's over. "I just hope everyone in the infirmary comes out of it all right. It was... four or five, right? People shot in the fight? And you'd think those men would know enough to keep the women away from all that... Letting them go along -- someone's not going to hear the end of it." Wounded women, of all things.
Mary Margaret nodded, slowly. "Yes, I know. But at least we can talk it out now, and not have to keep looking over our shoulders for those outlaws."
Theresa frowned. "And there's people to bury, too, now that the weather's finally cleared up. That poor deputy, and Mrs. Andrews, and the marshal, and the mayor... and those outlaws have to be buried too, though they don't really deserve it..."
February 15th, 1874: Ambush!