Feb 2015 - The Rifle

Something a little different for you this week suggested by one of your number who will remain both anonymous and ex-outlaw obsessed.


"A few weeks back there was news of a 132 year old rifle found leaning against a tree in Nevada's Great Basin National Park (close to the Utah and Arizona borders). Serial numbers say it was from Cody Wyoming about 1882, but no information about owner(s). It's a mystery why it was left. You can read about it here:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/wp/2015/01/14/the-mystery-of-the-132-year-old-winchester-rifle-found-propped-against-a-national-park-tree

"


Consider the challenge - let your many and varied imaginations wonder and wander on the above scenario.


Let us have:
Explanations, Expositions, Expungements, Excitements, Explorations, Exhortations, Exhilorations...

Whatever takes your fancy around:

"The Rifle"


Let your historical re-enacting, begin.

'Scene One - In the Writer’s Office'

Heyes and Curry took seats in front of a desk piled high with papers.  The writer, Joya Jenkins, sat on the other side behind a mammoth Olympia SG1.  She lit a cigarette while the boys made themselves comfortable.

 


Figure 1. Olympia SG1

“So what’s brewing for this season Joya?” asked the Kid; “and by the way, congratulations for getting promoted to chief writer.”

“Thanks Curry,” Joya replied.  

“We haven’t seen a thing Joya,” added Heyes.  "No scripts, not even a synopsis.”

“I know,” Joya replied.  “Roy has had some trouble getting started with this one."  

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah. Here’s what I know.  He’s moving the outdoor filming up to some god-forsaken place in Utah called ‘Moab’.  He wants to give the show a grandeur look.  He also wants lots of still shots of the landscape, and he’s going to throw in cute National Geographic style shorts of wildlife; cougars, bears, deer, bunnies – stuff like that.”

“What for?” asked the Kid.

“He thinks that might help sell the show.”

“Uh-oh,” said Heyes.  “What about plots?”

“Frankly, he’s having some trouble coming up with solid ideas.  He comes over here quite a lot.”

Joya picked up two folders and reached across the desk. “All I’ve got for you fellas is this one script of what is supposed to be the first episode.  But we’ve only worked out the first three scenes.”

Heyes and Curry took the folders and started leafing through the pages.  “This one’s called ‘High Lonesome Country.'  A rancher, played by Buddy Ebsen, has been advertising for someone to trap out his ranch. The opening scene is a saloon card game, during which the rancher gets the boys to fall into the job – against their better judgment.”

The Kid looked up from his pages, “Yeah, I bet.”



Figure 2. Cornered.

“Yeah, right,” Joya added.  



Figure 3. "Kid, when you're stuck, you're stuck.

“Anyway, when they get out to the ranch the rancher’s wife recognizes the Kid.  After the boys take off in a wagon loaded with traps, she tells her husband that one of them is Kid Curry.  The rancher figures the other one must be Hannibal Heyes, and he knows there’s $10,000 out for each one, dead or alive.”

“Ok,” said Heyes; “so far, so good.”

“So the next day a hunter shows up; he’s responding to the rancher’s advertisement. The rancher suggests that the hunter take these two out guys and then split the proceeds. Well, the hunter takes off after the boys without reaching a binding agreement, and the rancher realizes he’s been had.

“Right, no trapping,” said the Kid.

“And no money,” said Heyes.

“On top of that, his wife has overhead the conversation.  She gives him lots of flak for even entertaining the notion of killing you two – since you never killed anyone.”

“Of course,” added the Kid, “we should spend the rest of our lives in jail instead.”

“Right,” Joya continued, “and to prove her right, you two manage to catch and tie up the hunter after he wings Heyes.  You don’t kill him, but you sure feel like it.  Instead, you leave him tied up and go back to the ranch house and confront the rancher.”

“Why?” asked Heyes.  

The Kid turned to Heyes, “Roy is probably trying to extend the plot.  He does silly things like this to fill time.  You get used to it after a while with the show.”

“Oh,” replied Heyes.

“I know,” Joya added. “On top of that, the next day you two bring the rancher and his wife out to get the hunter.  Meanwhile, he’s gotten loose and planted himself on a high bluff with a Sharps Buffalo rifle.”

“Let me guess,” said the Kid, “from there he starts taking potshots at the four of them.”

“Right, and he hits our guest star Buddy’s horse when he decides he going to make a run for it.”

“So what happens then?”

“Well Buddy breaks a leg when he’s thrown, and lays out in the open.”

“And…?”

“And nothing,” Joya added with a sense of defeat.  “That’s all I’ve got scripted – all in those pages I gave you.  Roy hasn’t given me anything else to flesh out.  I’ve made suggestions, but he hasn’t taken a bite.  Anyway, we’re shooting the indoor scenes this afternoon in the back-lot and then were all shipping out to Moab tomorrow: lights, makeup….”

“And writer?”

“Yep,” said Joya, “everybody, Roy too.  He said he’d have things worked out by the time we’re ready for the missing scenes.”

“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other on this one,” said Heyes.

“Yep, you’ll be getting your lines fresh out of this SG1.”

The Kid looked at Joya and Heyes. “You know, after working two years with Roy, my hunch is that this episode‘s going to be number six, not number one like Roy thinks.”

“Why do I have a terrible feeling that you’re probably right,” Joya replied.


‘Scene Two – Makeup in Moab’
“Hey you two, are you ready to put on the fantasy bad boy?” Ernest the makeup man joked with Kid and Heyes when they entered.

“Yup,” said Heyes as he reached into the fridge for a cold beer. “They haven’t told us where we’re shooting today, but whereever it is it’s gonna be hot as blue blazes.”

Heyes turned to the Kid, “Kid, all they’ve got left in here is Pabst Blue –that OK?

“I don’t care what it is, s’long as its cold.”

Heyes and the Kid sat down in the makeup chairs and began nursing their beers as Ernest started working.

“Well boys, you won’t be shooting around here today.  Roy’s had props out looking for some woods, and there ain’t any in this country.  He insists on shooting the couger scene in some woods so the whole crew's driving out to Nevada’s Great Basin National Park.

“Nevada?”

“Yep. It’s going to take a half day to get out there from here so you better be ready to shoot when you get there. How are your lines?”

“They’re easy,” said the Kid.  “It’s that darn cougar skin; I don’t think anyone’s going to believe I’m wrestling with a real cougar.”

“Yeah they will,” said Heyes.  “Just roll around a lot, and be fast.  Get real dirty.”

“Very funny; you get to take the hero shot.  While I’m rolling around like an idiot you take one shot and kill the cougar.  You can’t even shoot a pistol straight.  How is anyone going to believe you can shoot a cougar with a rifle at that range without shooting me?”

“They will, Kid,” Heyes said with a smirk.  “I’ll look like I’m in charge; I’ll keep my shirt clean too!”


‘Scene Three – The Ground Hog Confab’
Heyes, the Kid and Roy Huggins sat in Joya’s motel room in Moab. They watched as  Joya  finished editing the script for the day’s shoot, 'Sniper Scene P2'.  Joya’s SG1 was set up on a rickety metal typing stand that shook and rattled as she pounded away.

“You two did  a good job with the cougar scene,” Roy said.  “The initial edit looks believable and clean.”



Figure 4. The Kid and the Kiddy Cat.

“We were wondering about that skin,” Heyes said. The Kid looked at him open mouthed.

“Yeah," Roy observed, "there were a couple places where a cougar leg flipped around too fast  But Kid, you moved fast and got plenty dirty; I don’t think anyone will notice the leg.”

Heyes smirked at the Kid.

“So you two have any questions before we shoot the second sniper scene?” asked Roy.

“Yes sir,” said the Kid.  “What’s going to happen when Buddy gets bucked and is laying out there with a broken leg.  That’s where our scripts end.”

“Joya’s fleshing that out right now.  You two are going to take your rifles, split up, and do some sniping on your own.  Joyas got it all planned. It will be a classic 'attack the mountain' format - lots of scenics.”

Heyes and the Kid looked at each other, then looked back at Roy.

“Ah sir,” said the Kid, “what rifles?”

“Those rifles you used out at Great Basin yesterday,” Roy said.

“You mean those three Winchesters the prop guys brought out with the cougar skin?’”

“Yep.”

“We don’t have them sir,” said Heyes. “We followed the script and left them out there.”



Figure 5. "Alright, hold it right there. Drop that Winchester...."

Joya’s head popped up over her SG1; fear and panic crossed her face.

“We assumed the prop guys were going to pick them up,” said the Kid.

Roy looked stunned.  “They left this morning. Before they left they told me to not forget the Sharps and the hunter outfit.”

“They either took those Winchesters with them or they’re still out at Great Basin,” Joya added.

“Well, we can’t run out to Great Basin,” Roy added in a defeated tone. “It would take half a day to get there, and another half to find them.  I can’t afford to keep everyone out here for another day, especially Buddy.  We have to can the rifle angle and run this through again; any ideas?”

“We can have the wife run out, talk to Buddy,” Joya suggested. “But she won’t get shot at.  When she notices that she wasn’t shot at she’ll run to her horse and make an escape and go for help.  It will look like the hunter has a soft spot for ladies.”

“Technically, that works,” said Roy.  “But it’s not in character for the hunter.  Maybe he hesitates to see if the rancher has died or not.  When he sees her talking, and then jumps on the horse, he decides to reload.  But by then she gets out of range and escapes.”



Figure 6. "She Escaped!"

“Okay,” Heyes agreed.  “Now we have to decide how to fill the time until she gets back with help.”

“You two can take turns running out between five-second reloads,” said Joya.  “Maybe he’ll run out of bullets. Then you can snipe him with your pistols. ”

“Five seconds!” said the Kid.

“No,” replied Roy, “that would get old real fast.”

“No kidding,” said Heyes.  “How about every fifteen minutes or so; we could calculate that it would take that long for him to change position.  So we could track where he is.”

“That sounds good,” said Roy.  “Let’s make it every twenty minutes.  That way we'll only film it about nine times.”

“Nine times!” said the Kid.

“Yeah, you're right.” said Roy, “that would get old fast too. We need dialogue.  I want you two to ad lib like crazy.  Fight with each other.  Kid each other. Flip coins.  I want you to look hot, tired, dusty and desperate.”



Figure 7. "I want you to look hot, tired, dusty and desperate.”


“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” said Heyes.  “It’s hotter than blue blazes out there, and there’ll be stage lights on top of it.

“Dusty too,” said the Kid.

“You gotta run fast and crooked though,” said Joya.  “As long as you run fast and crooked he’ll probably miss at one-thousand yards.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” said Roy.  “But that has to look believable. How about running with your boots off?”

“Boots off?” said the Kid.  “There’s cactus and rocks out there!”

“Heyes,” joked Joya, “just tell the Kid: ‘now you always said you didn’t wanted to die with your boots on…”

“That’s a good one!” Roy said.  “Don’t worry Kid – we’ll get some orthotics from the Moab drug store to stuff in those socks, then you can walk slow and we'll speed up the action back at the studio.  It will work."

Roy paused for a moment. "There’s something missing though; just waiting for help is too dull.  We need a stronger climax.  Any ideas?  Come on guys; we got to work this out until we get it right.”

Everyone sat silent.

“Well the wife made it out,” suggested Joya.

“How about we have her kill the hunter with her pistol?” the Kid suggested.

“Perfect!” said Roy.  “That’s perfect you two; you just made this a perfect day. Let’s shoot."

"Yeah;" the Kid mumbled, "if you say so."

"You ever seen such a wilderness, Private?"

"No, sir, Sergeant. There sure is a whole lot of empty out here."

"Indeed there is, son. And we'll be seeing more before we've brought in them two villains." Sergeant O'Hara twisted around in his saddle and looked back at the young soldiers slowly riding up behind him. Horses and men alike were caked in dust. Sweat poured from the horses' flanks, and the men's dirty faces were streaked by rivulets of perspiration.

"See them aspen trees just ahead, men?" he said. They all squinted in the bright sunlight. "That means there's a spring there. We'll rest up a bit there, fill up our canteens. Take a siesta like the Mexicans do." His words were greeted with subdued laughs. He could almost feel the sense of relief from his troops. If truth were told, O'Hara was looking forward to getting out of this sun as much as they were.

Half an hour later, six unsaddled horses were gratefully drinking from the cool waters of the spring. Tired men were leaning against trees, sipping from their canteens and slowly chewing jerky and hardtack. Their heavy blue cavalry uniforms clung to their bodies.

"Now ain't this a fine place, me boys?" O'Hara asked.

"We ain't complainin', Sergeant," Private Tobias replied.

"Clever boy," O'Hara said. "If the Army wanted you to have complaints, they'd've issued you some."

"Sergeant," another private asked -- O'Hara frowned, trying to remember his name -- "do you really think they came this way?"

O'Hara took off his regulation cap and wiped his face with a handkerchief.

"The Colonel says so."

"But how can we track them through rocks, sir?" the private objected. Horvath, that was his name. Some kind of Hungarian or Polish thing. "How can anyone follow Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry when there's no tracks?"

"I was wondering the same thing, sir. Anyway, don't they stay over to Wyoming? I never heard tell of them way out yonder in Nevada Territory." That was Tobias' friend, the blonde from Wisconsin, Mackey. Another greenhorn. O'Hara gave him a hard stare before replying, and the boy averted his eyes.

"Don't you be questioning orders, Private. You're in the Army now. We go where we're told, and we do what we're told." Properly chastened, the green recruits looked anywhere but at O'Hara. They looked so hurt, he instantly felt a little ashamed of himself. When he'd come from Ireland, all of 16 years old, hadn't he been more foolish than them? Only the Army, and some good sergeants, had saved his life. Maybe he was being too harsh. They couldn't help being young.

"I do think they come through here, Mackey. Them two is smart, remember. The only way they've stayed alive and out of prison is because they do what the law don't expect them to do. The Colonel himself, he told Captain Harte that someone who knows 'em on sight saw 'em. They're calling themselves by different names, 'course, but once you been robbed by highwayman who are damn fool enough to identify themselves, well, that you don't forget."

"But how we gonna track them, sir? Ain't nothin' here but rock and sand."

"Simplicity itself, Private. That wagonload of supplies Heyes and Curry bought in town will be too much for their horses to handle. They'll be dumping supplies along the way, same as the folks going to Oregon in the 40's did when they crossed through here. We'll split up into two groups, spread out a bit to make sure we don't miss nothin', and we follow their trash."

O'Hara watched his men nod and smile as they considered what he'd said.

"Anyways, me boys, don't be stretchin' your brains too hard. The Army don't pay us to think. We get paid to be true to these uniforms we wear and to each other." He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt.

"We'll not be catching them outlaws by lollygagging here all day. Time to saddle up." The young soldiers slowly rose to their feet, slapping their pants, trying to shake off sand and dirt.

"Horvath, Mackey, Tobias, you ride me with me. The first group to spot anything will fire three times. We'll join up then."

Once mounted, the two groups branched off from each other and headed deeper into the Nebraska scrublands. They rode slowly under the hot sun, scanning the ground.

"Sergeant O'Hara! Look!"

"What is it, Mackey?"

"Something up ahead! On the ground!" O'Hara shaded his eyes with one hand and looked where Mackey pointed. He saw lumps on the ground that didn't resemble anything natural.

"Quickly men!" O'Hara spurred his horse into a canter.

"What is it, sir?"

O'Hara was laughing softly. "Look for yourself, boyo. Didn't I tell you how it would be?"

The soldiers gathered alongside the sergeant. Ahead of them they saw several items strewn on the ground -- a chair, pots and pans, and a variety of small items.
"And you were worried about finding a trail, Private Mackey. Them outlaws are making it easy for us. They won't escape us now."

00000

"This is the worst idea you've ever had, Heyes. The worst. Those boys in blue aren't idiots. They're going to see through this."  

Hannibal Heyes pushed his battered black hat higher and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was too hot, tired and uncomfortable to argue. Almost.

"Will you stop, Kid? It's too late to change the plan now. If you didn't like my idea, you should have said so before."

Curry shook the reins. "I did say so before. I said leaving a false trail was still leaving a trail. I said that they'd be on horses and we'd be in a wagon, and that we couldn't outrun them if they caught up to us. Remember? I said all that."

Heyes looked sideways at Curry, sitting next to him on the rumble seat of the wagon.

"I do remember. I also remember you didn't have a better idea." Curry shook the reins again and stared resolutely forward, trying to ignore Heyes by not looking at him. But nothing could shut out the sound of Heyes' voice.

"Or did you?" Heyes said, oblivious to Curry's clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. "I sure don't remember hearing you come up with anything better."

Curry pulled back on the reins, and the horses stopped suddenly. Surprised, Heyes grabbed the front board to keep from falling onto the ground and under the wheels.

"What the hell did you do that for! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Not intentionally," Curry replied. "It's time to follow your genius plan. Go in back and pick something to throw out."

"You could have warned me it was time to stop, you know."

"It's more fun when I don't." Heyes glared at him and climbed into the back without replying. Curry heard him moving boxes, followed by the hollow thud of things dropping onto the desert floor.

"You about done back there?"

"Yeah." Heyes said, coming forward to sit up front again. "I took a look at the map. We should make a hard right here, and then we'll drop some more stuff a couple miles away. That ought to confuse them some."

"Some," Curry agreed. He made soft clucking noises to the horses, and they resumed their gentle pace across the harsh terrain.

"I know what's really bothering you, Kid."

"Oh you do, do you? You mean aside from the plan I don't like but I'm going along with anyway. Or the fact that we got the cavalry chasing us instead of some posse that'd get tired and go home sooner or later. Or that we spent most of our money buying supplies we're throwing away, instead of using, and we're broke again. Tell me what's really bothering me."

"Leaving that rifle behind, that's what's bothering you. It kills you that we had to leave a perfectly good rifle behind, just leaning it up against a tree all by its lonesome."

"I wouldn't mind if it made sense, but you're right. Leaving that beautiful Winchester leaning against a tree was adding insult to injury."

"We had to do it," Heyes insisted. "The inscription on that stock was the only link to the idiots who pulled that Army payroll robbery. If we got caught with that thing in our possession, we'd be wanted for murder."

Curry's shoulders slumped. He didn't say anything. The two men rode in silence for a few minutes. Heyes reached under the seat and pulled out a canteen.

"How about a drink?"

"Don't mind if I do." Curry passed the reins to Heyes and accepted the canteen. He leaned back and took long, deep swallows. Even warm as it was, the water tasted good. He offered the canteen to Heyes, who shook his head no.

"You got to be thirsty, Heyes."

"Not just yet." Curry replaced the stopper and put the canteen back under the seat.

"You're wrong, you know."

"Wrong about what? Me being thirsty?"

"Maybe not that, but a lot of things. Mainly about what's bothering me."

"So what is bothering you mainly? Aside from the plan, the gun, the Army, and being broke again, that is." Heyes ignored the look Curry threw his way.

"Running again. And again. How many times can we get away? We got away so many times, I figure the odds got to be against us by now. And now we got the Army chasing us."

"The odds ain't never been with  us, Kid, not since we were boys. There's nothing new or different about that. And frankly, I think you're putting too much faith in the Army. Soldiers do things the prescribed way, the Army way. They don't think for themselves. Now us, we're creative. We do something they don't expect, like laying a couple false trails, and they won't know what to do. By the time they figure out they been hoodwinked, we'll be long gone. We'll leave the wagon behind, take off on the horses, and then there won't be no trail at all for them to follow. We'll be gone again. Broke, yeah, but we been broke before, and we always find a way."

Curry thought for a moment. Heyes saw a small smile creep across his face.

"I guess we do, don't we? But how long can we keep going on like this?"

"As long as we need to. That's what people do, ain't it? Keep on keeping on."

"I guess that's so."

"'Course it's so. Meantime, we're only a couple hours away from that big watering hole. We'll rest the horses there, and once they have some water and food, we leave the wagon behind, and we head out to that new silver strike I read about in the newspaper. We'll play some poker with the miners and get us a stake. We'll take it one day at a time. Does that sound like a plan you can live with?"

"Yeah, Heyes, I can. You got a deal." Heyes reached over and patted Curry's arm a couple times.

"Have a little faith, Kid. And don't worry about the odds. We'll make them work for us. We always do."

00000

O'Hara pulled his pistol from the holster, preparing to signal the other group of soldiers to join him. He had hardly clicked off the safety before three shots rang out in the desert.

"Sweet Jesus!" He looked around in anger. Another series of shots sounded, bang bang bang. O'Hara cursed with a fluency that made the men with him hide smiles behind their hands.

"You men stay here. Don't you go nowheres until I come back to get you." He put his spurs to his horse and took off at a gallop across the hard ground. Barely ten minutes later, he pulled up his second search team was waiting. The satisfied smiles on the their faces faded when they saw O'Hara's angry expression.

"Just what in God's sweet name are you boys doing?"

"What you told us to do, Sergeant," blonde Lindquist said. "You said to shoot three times when we found the trail of trash. Here's the trash."

O'Hara dismounted and walked slowly towards the line of household goods scattered in the dirt. He saw a chair, a frying pan, some tools, exactly what he'd expected to see discarded from an over-supplied, heavy wagon, and an almost exact duplicate of what his party had found. He walked up and down the line a few times, hands on hips, thinking hard.

Lindquist, braver than the others, asked the question everyone was thinking.

"Sir, is something wrong? Isn't finding their trash a good thing?"

"Oh, aye, son, it is. Except my group found some, too. Now we've got two piles of trash, which means two different trails to follow." Confused looks appeared on the young men's faces. O'Hara paced back and forth, talking more to himself than to his inexperienced troops.

"Could be we're tracking two wagons, which ain't likely, since the mercantile only sold one. More like, the outlaws are setting up false trails to confuse us. And they're doing a fine job of it, too." O'Hara shook his head slowly. He wasn't sure what to do now.

"Clever of them. Don't know how they knew we were following them, but they did, and now we got to either split up to chase both trails -- hoping they didn't set a third -- or we take a chance and all follow one and just hope it's the right one. Either way, boys, the odds are against us now."

"So what do we do, Sergeant?"

O'Hara got back onto his horse. "We'll follow one trail for the rest of today. It don't matter which one. If we don't catch up with them outlaws by tonight, we head back to the fort tomorrow."

"But which trail, sir?"

"Don't really matter now, does it? One of 'em's a false trail. Or both. No way for us to know for sure, not unless we come to the end and find Heyes and Curry sitting there waiting for us." The thought of a professional gunman like Kid Curry laying in wait for his inexperienced troops . . . O'Hara didn't like to think about that. No, the odds weren't on his side anymore.

"Come on, boys," O'Hara said. "Mount up. Time to ride." He wasn't looking forward to tellling his officers that his search had failed, but that was better than riding back with bodies across saddles. Besides, his wasn't the first group that failed to bring in Heyes and Curry. Someday the odds would be against the outlaws. Today wouldn't be that day.