Nov 15 - Safely gathered in...

Hello all!!

Everyone feeling creative?
Panting for your next challenge?
Good, good.

I'm giving you a nice easy one.
Let the plotting and scheming - or the tear jerking - begin on;

Safely gathered in

Jed Curry rubbed frost off the windowpane with his gloved hand.

“How's the weather?” Hannibal Heyes asked.

“There's frost, but no snow.”

“Strangest autumn I ever seen. It's almost Thanksgiving, and there's no snow. It ain't natural.”

“Don't complain. It'll be here soon enough, and we'll be stuck here at Devil's Hole till the spring thaw.”

“Ain't that the idea, Kid? That we'd be safe and sound here, where no lawman can take us?”

Curry turned away from the window. Heyes wore his hat and heavy blue coat and was pulling on his leather gloves.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He reached for the sheepskin coat hanging on a peg by the door. “And, like I told you before when we were talking about wintering here, I could use some peace and quiet for a change.”

“Glad to hear you're not reconsidering.”

“I'm not. Especially since you're not doing the cooking.”

“Kid! I'm hurt. Partners all these years, and now I find out you don't like my cooking?”

“Your cooking ain't so bad as your coffee. Lucky for both of us that a better cook than you wanted to winter here with us.”

“And speaking of that,” Heyes said, opening the heavy door, “let's head over to the bunkhouse before breakfast gets cold.”

000000

Smoke pumped from the bunkhouse chimney, sending the smell of bacon throughout the clearing. The men quickened their pace, stomachs rumbling. They were greeted at the door by a tall thin man wearing a stained canvas apron.

“About time you two got here! I was beginning to think I'd have to eat this all on my own.”

“Now, Preacher,” Curry said, taking off his coat and draping it on the back of a chair, “you know we don't make any member of the gang do something that we wouldn't do.”

“Absolutely not,” Heyes agreed. He sat down at the table and unbuckled his heavy coat. The warmth emanating from the big cast iron stove made the room almost hot.

“I knew I could depend on you.” Preacher gestured towards the covered plates on the table. “We got bacon, flapjacks with jam, and baking powder biscuits. Help yourselves. After we say grace, of course.” Hands halfway extended towards the plates froze in mid-air.

“Of course,” Curry agreed, glancing sideways at Heyes. “Go right ahead.”

“Lord, we thank thee for thy continued blessings of abundance and for shelter from the storm. I was hungry and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. For all that we receive, we are truly grateful. Amen.” He reached over and removed the covers from the plates, allowing steam and a wicked good aroma to rise into the air. “Now we can eat.”

Half an hour later, the three men had finished their hearty breakfasts and were lingering at the table, drinking coffee and digesting.

“Preacher, I don't know who changed your mind about spending winter in Texas, but I'm mighty grateful to him, whoever he was.”

“Texas was too full of Texas Rangers, shootin' people for no good reason. Just didn't feel safe without the gang and you two to watch my back. I knew that Heyes'd lay in enough supplies for five winters. So I decided I'd join you, spend my time in contemplation and prayer.” He grinned. “And I figured you wouldn't mind if I did the cooking, especially with Thanksgiving coming up.”

“Thanksgiving feels funny with only us around,” Curry complained. “I kind of wish we had more folks here to celebrate.”

“Me too,” Preacher agreed. “I enjoy cooking for a crowd, and we got more than enough provisions. But just knowing the three of us are safely gathered here together is reason to give thanks.”

“True enough,” Heyes said, draining his cup. He stood and stretched his back. “Well, we better get going. Me and Kid thought we'd take a ride around the property, check up on everything while this weather holds.”

Preacher started to clear the dishes.

“It is the strangest winter I ever seen here, that's for sure. Feels like I brought Texas weather up here with me.”

“Just as long as you didn't bring any of those Texas rangers” Curry said. “'Sides, I don't think this weather's gonna hold much longer. The sky looks like a snow sky.”

“Better be extra careful. Don't ride out too far, or you could get caught in a blizzard. You know how fast the weather can change.”

“You contemplate dinner while we're gone,” Heyes told him. “We'll be back safe and sound before you know it.”

00000

The November sun was warm as they rode the trail away from the waterfall and familiar cabins, across the high country that provided a clear view of the surrounding territory. There was a sharpness to the air that kept Curry watchful and quiet. There was no need for him to say much anyway, since Heyes kept up a running commentary on the color of the aspens, the sound of the elks rutting in the distance, the huge amount of supplies they had stocked in the storehouse, why Mark Twain was talking too long writing his next book, the funny things a shopkeeper in Sheridan said, why General Grant should run for President, and such. Heyes tended to ramble on when he felt relaxed. Since he didn't need to do more than insert a comment like “you don't say?” or “how about that” or “I guess so” when Heyes took a breath, he was able to turn his attention to his own thoughts. Riding casually like this through the Wyoming uplands felt real nice. Too often, being on horseback meant riding hell bent for leather to outrun a posse. It was good to be outdoors. He was so lost in the pleasant mindless ride that he almost missed the unusual sound.

“Heyes! Wait up!”

Heyes pulled up on his reins and turned around in his saddle, blinking in surprise.

“What is it?”

Curry held up one hand. “I heard something.”

Both men strained to hear, their relaxed moods changed into alertness. The only sound was the wind blowing through the aspens, shaking the dry leaves down.

“What did you hear?”

“Voices.”

Heyes knew better than to question his partner's acute hearing. It had saved their lives on more than one occasion.

“Where?” Curry pointed down, towards what passed for a trail. They turned their horses towards the sound. As they descended, they heard voices, both male and female. It was bad to have unexpected visitors, but if some of those visitors were women, they probably weren't bounty hunters or a posse. More curious than concerned, they came to a stand of trees that overlooked the trail. They saw a covered wagon below perched at an awkward angle, as if a wheel was missing. Two women wrapped in heavy shawls stood with crossed arms, watching three men who knelt on the ground, working on some sort of repair. Four horses were tied up nearby, nuzzling the ground for forage.

“What do you think, Kid?”

“I think it's getting colder. And it's starting to snow.”

Heyes tilted his head back and sniffed the air. A few snowflakes fell on his upturned face.

“Yeah. But I was talking about those folks. They look like settlers.”

“What're settlers doing out here in November? Don't they know they shouldn't be traveling in Wyoming this time of year?”

“Maybe they never heard of what happened to the Donner party.”

“Everyone's heard what happened to the Donner party.”

“You'd think so, wouldn't you? So why are they here?”

“Only one way to find out. Let's talk to them.” Snowflakes floated down, whitening the dark ground for a moment before melting away. They heard the settlers' tense voices more clearly the closer they got.

“Hello there!” Curry shouted. He held the reins with his left hand and kept his right hand close to his gun. Beside him, Heyes cradled his rifle across his lap. Neither smiled.

The settlers were almost too shocked to move. One man jumped up, but stopped when Heyes pointed his rifle.

“Keep your hands where we can see them. Don't even think about going for a gun.”

“Who are you?” a woman shouted. “What are you doing out here in this godforsaken country?”

Heyes and Curry exchanged a quick, amused glance.

“That's a real good question, ma'am,” Curry said. “Maybe you folks can answer that one for us. Why don't you fellas come around in front of that wagon, slow-like, and keep your hands where we can see 'em. No sudden moves. My friend here don't like surprises.” They spurred their horses to get closer.

“We are surprised, too,” a tall man answered. “We didn't expect to be see anyone, especially someone pointing a gun at us.”

“You shouldn't be here,” Heyes told him. “Devil's Hole is outlaw country. There are lots of men who point guns.”

Curry eased off his horse. He walked cautiously towards the group while Heyes stayed mounted, rifle at the ready.

“Maybe you'd like to tell us who you are and why you're here.”

An older, bearded man stepped in front of the group.

“I'm Tom Hutchins, here with my sons Richard and Thomas, and their wives Anna and Margaret. We're from Indianapolis, on our way to the Willamette Valley in Oregon. We're going to live with my brother there. And who might you be?”

“You're an awful long way from Indianapolis and Oregon,” Curry said, ignoring the question. “No sensible person is on the road in Wyoming in winter. Why are you here?”

The three men looked sheepishly at each other and at the ground.

“We got a late start from Indiana and had other problems along the way. A man we met in Dakota Territory offered to guide us through a short cut that'd get us to Oregon faster. He ran out on us after he tried to rob us and found out we had no money. We've been following his directions.”

“Are you crazy? Didn't you ever hear about what happened to the Donner party when they took a shortcut someone told them about? You could be stranded in these mountains till spring.”

One of the women pulled her heavy shawl more tightly around her. “We are stranded now, aren't we? The snow is getting heavier, and we are broke and out of food.”

Heyes slung the rifle over his shoulder and dismounted. He walked over to the broken wheel and knelt down to inspect it. The group watched him nervously.

“You aren't going anywhere with this wagon. Axle's sheared off. You'd need a blacksmith to fix this, and the closest one's in Laramie.”

“Is that far?”

“Mrs. Hutchins, you really are lost, aren't you? Laramie's a day's ride away. This storm is only going to get worse. You'd never make it.”

“What other choice do we have?” Tom Hutchins asked, wringing his hands. “We can't stay here. We have to find shelter.”

Heyes knew what was coming. He saw the thought cross Curry's face, and he knew what Curry would say. It was a terrible idea that could escalate into disaster. But for all his ability to think fast and talk faster, he couldn't come up with the words or the will to prevent it.

“You do have another choice,” he heard Curry say. “You can come with us. We've got a safe place where you can wait out the storm, and we got plenty of provisions.”

Hope, fear, and anxiety played across the settlers' faces. They looked at each other, looked at the dark clouds shedding thick snowflakes, the wagon listing uselessly to one side, and at the strange men who'd ridden up unexpectedly, pointing guns at them.

“I'm sorry,” the younger woman said. “We don't know you. We don't even know your names. We could be in more danger if we go with you.“

“That's right, you don't know our names. But you're wrong about being in more danger with us. I don't want to frighten you – then again, maybe I should.” Curry's voice was hard now. “You're unprepared for winter in Wyoming. If you stay here, you'll die of cold or hunger.”

“Why should we trust you?” the old man said. “We trusted another stranger, and he left us to die in this country.”

“We're offering you life,” Heyes said, coming around to stand face to face with him. “You said you don't have any money, so I can't rob you. But you got to decide right now. We still got to ride up this here mountain to our cabins, and you don't have time to pack more than you can carry on your backs. What's your pleasure?”

“We need more time to think this over,” Hutchins insisted.

“That's fine,” Heyes said. He pulled his pocket watch out from underneath his coat. “Take five minutes. Then my friend and I leave, whether or not you come with us, because we sure as hell don't intend to die here with you. What's your pleasure?”

00000

By late afternoon, the man called Preacher had almost worn a path of worry on the wooden floorboards along the windows. The snow that started gently at mid-day had turned into a full-scale blizzard. Gusty winds blew the piles of white into drifts that stacked against the buildings, and there was still no sign of Heyes and Curry.

Sighing heavily, he sank down into the rocker and opened his Bible again. It was no use; he stared at the page, but he was too worried to read. He tucked the book under his arm and got up to pace again. Where were they? What should he do? Heading out in this weather was unthinkable. What if the boys were hurt and hoping he would rescue them? Shouldn't he at least try? He'd promised to watch their backs. Was this the time to prove it? He opened the Bible again, hoping it would provide an answer, but it opened to Leviticus talking about slavery. No help there. He slammed the book closed again. What should he do?

He spun around at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Snow blew in on a heavy gust. Kid Curry appeared, head bowed down.

“Praise the Lord! I was so worried! Are you alright?” He rushed over and hugged Curry in his relief. Curry gave him a brief hug in return, then pushed him away gently.

“We're alright, Preacher. Sorry to worry you. We got waylaid.”

“Waylaid! By what?”

“Not by what,” Curry corrected. “By who.” He stood aside to hold the door open. To Preacher's amazement, two men and two women stumbled in. Curry had to push the door hard to close it against the gale while the strangers sank, exhausted, into chairs.

Preacher was too surprised to ask anything. He turned towards Curry with his mouth hanging open in shock.

Curry took off his snow-covered hat and hit it against the wall, dislodging melting droplets of snow onto the floor.
6

“Didn't you say you wanted more company, Preacher? Me and Heyes done brought you some.”

“Where's Heyes?”

“Stabling the horses. There's one more guest helping him. We got four guest horses as well as five people.”

“Where . . . how. . .”

“Did these folks come from? Does it matter? Like you said at grace this morning, they're strangers, and we're taking them in.”

“Did he really say that?” Tom Hutchins wondered. “The Lord does work in mysterious ways.” He wearily took off his heavy outerwear, letting it fall into the wet floorboards. The others had taken off their coats, but were too exhausted to do more than rest their heads on the table.

“How about firing up that stove?” Curry said. “We're all hungry and just about done in.”

When Heyes and Thomas came in half an hour later, they saw wet clothes hanging from wall pegs, sending steam into the warm air as they dried. The Hutchinsons and Curry, all wrapped in blankets pulled off the bunks, were sipping coffee and digging into venison stew.

“Plenty food for everyone,” Preacher announced. “Lucky I made so much, since I wasn't expecting guests.”

“Weren't you?” Heyes asked. He blew his nose hard into his bandanna. “Looks like you cooked for a crowd.”

“We prayed the Lord would safely gather us in, though we thought that would happen in Oregon,” Anna said, “And then we prayed for shelter from the storm. Prayers are always answered, though not always in the way we expect.”

“We surely weren't expecting such hospitality,” her sister said.

“The good book says 'do not neglect hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some have entertained angels unawares,” Preacher said. “We only follow His law.”

“I think you men are the angels,” she said, “not us. Only angels would take in strangers as you've done.”

Heyes hid a smile behind his hand. “Well, I don't rightly know if you can call us angels, ma'am. Here in the west, we got a tradition of hospitality. We watch each others' backs. I'm sure you'd do the same for us, if our circumstances were reversed.

“Anyway,” he went on, “my partner was just saying this morning he wished there was more of us gathered together for Thanksgiving.” He smiled fondly at Curry, who blushed bright red. “Looks like his prayer was answered, too.”

“I don't exactly know if that was a prayer,” Curry said to his folded hands, uncomfortable with everyone looking at him. “Just . . . Thanksgiving's about friends and family gathering together. Don't seem like a proper holiday without a crowd.”

“Seems like a lot of prayers were answered today,” Preacher said thoughtfully. “Listen to that wind howl outside. And here we are, safe and warm and fed. We truly have reason to offer thanks together this Thanksgiving holiday.”

Safe-ly gathered in...Part II

This story will make more sense to ASJers on the right side of the pond; think 'Dad's Army' - OK?

Meanwhile, back at the Devil's Hole Gang's hideout, the rest of the boys eagerly awaited the return of Heyes and Curry.

Wheat stuck our his chin and looked around at the gang "I got a gun in the closet that's going to put us all on the road to riches" he bragged.

"How'd you mean?" asked one of the gang.

"I mean...." Wheat responded with mock annoyance; "I mean it's so powerful no one can defeat us."

"Well, let's see it!" another in the gang responded.

Wheat went to the closet and pulled a long, bulky object, wrapped in guinae sack. He walked over to the table, laid it down, and his face turned serious. "Now this is a powerful gun, i can't let anyone go shooting it around right now.  I'll get it  set it up and show you how it works."

"Where'd ja get that" asked Kyle wide-eyed when Wheat finished unwrapping it.

"Well I aint sayin. It's a hand-held gatlin gun, it'll shoot off 700 rounds a minute."

"Seven-hundred rounds!" a gang member exclaimed.  "That's this fast."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3oQFa-SqfM

"No it ain's" another objected. "It has to be stronger and louder, like this."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eL6Gmy94y4

Kyle grabbed the gun off the table.  "I'll show you guys, he yelled.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pQlPjUSj7no

At that point the whole gang joined in

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exwizrbXPSc

Just then Heyes and Curry walked in, looked around in disbelief, and looked at each other. "What are you clowns up to now?" Curry asked. Then he grabbed the stock of the gatline gun, pulled it out of Kyle's hands. "If you reallly shot that thing it would knock you over."

"Wheat!" Heyes commanded. "Get that thing back in the closet.  I told you to leave it in there until I got back! Clear that table off, we got money to count."

Wheat sheepishly bundled the gun back and returned it to the closet as Heyes and Curry spread out the dough on the table.

Heyes gave two bottles to the Preacher. "Here's something for you guys while we count this. It'll help you celebrate. Go easy on it though, it's pretty potent."
"Yea, go easy on it," repeated Curry.

"What is it?" asked Kyle.

"Potato wine," said Curry. "It's got another name I think, but that'll do."

The gang started drinking the vodka.  Soon they were laughing at each other. But the more they drank, the more beligerant they became.  Soon they were shoving each other around.

The Preacher  tried to hold it all together. "Hey, calm down guys, you're supposed to be celebrating, not fighting!"

"Get these clown to sing something," suggested Heyes as he looked around that the gang drinking and carousing.

"If they do that," added Curry, "maybe they'll stop roughhousin. Tell 'em, after they finish singing, well split the dough. That should get them goin.'"

"Sure, that's a good idea," the Preacher agreed. He turned to the gang.  "Listen up fellas, Heyes and Curry want us to sing a song and stop roughhousin.  When we finish the song, they'll split the dough. Agreed?"

The gang agreed.

"Safely gathered in - that's a good one. That should make us real thankful for the haul."

He and the gang started singing, but before they were halfway through the first verse, everyone was on the floor.  Between the drinking and the shoving, the Devil's Hold Gang was reduced to a pile of kicking and slugging men. The Preacher stopped singing and raised his hands in frustration.

Heyes and Currry looked on.  "Well if that don't beat all, Curry said."

"That's how they say thanks," Heyes added.