"I plan to start nothing where women are concerned until I meet one that I like and one that acts her age," he replied in a slightly miffed tone.
“Well, let’s just hope the two of ‘em never meet!” chuckled Arabella, nudging Bridget, who laughed, despite not really getting the joke.
“Anyhow, I always act my age – nearly Sixteen!” declared the driver of the buggy. Indeed, in a mere 354 days, she would reach that august age.
“Back home in the Old Dominion, I’d ‘a’ probably been wed by now!” she added.
Despite her ironing board figure and girlish ways, ever since it had happened a few months ago, she had considered herself a young woman, rather than a mere girl.
"Besides, I thought we were on a trip so that Miss Monahan could attend mass and not some sort of confessional."
“Oh, don’t you know nuthin’?!” she tsked “Confessional’s exactly what we’re goin’ up there for. She’s gotta confess all her terrible sins to the priest feller before she's allowed to go to Mass and eat the flesh and drink the blood of Jesus.” Without Bridget seeing, she caught Charlie’s eye and, screwing up her face, gave a dismissive shake of her head, to show that she thought the whole thing was a bunch of nonsense, theologically speaking. Miss Arabella Sumpter Mudd was no friend to the foolish notion of transubstantiation.
“Course, I’m a Methodist m’self. Say, what’s your denomination, Charlie? You know that there priest is going to have a whole bunch of religious questions to ask you, don’t you?” she asked in a serious tone of voice.
After hitching their horses, Mike and the rest of the Lost Lake hands surveyed their surroundings. The crowd was starting to build up and a couple of the hands headed over towards the tent where the beer was being served. A few of them headed over to where the food was. Some of them went inside leaving only Mike, Charlie and Marty to decide what to do.
After a minute or two, Marty tapped Mike on the arm and pointed towards the barn entrance. "Over there boss, a couple of the Evergreen crew. Remember them from that fight last year at the fair."
Even though it happened before he had arrived in Kalispell, Mike had heard what had happened last summer. He also knew the story behind the so-called feud between Evergreen and Lost Lake. "Okay, just make sure you and the others stay clear of them."
"Oh, I plan to...otherwise all bets will be off and I intend to win this time," Marty replied before heading off to warn his friends.
Mike turned to Charlie, "Speaking of bets. What time did you put down?"
Charlie, who was distracted by something over where the food was being served, quickly turned his attention back to his brother, "Nine thirty."
Mike smiled, "Isn't that a bit a optimistic?"
Shaking his head, Charlie answered, "From what I hear it isn't. Besides Sam put down nine forty-five."
"I suppose you could be right but I'm hoping you're not. Wouldn't mind winning that pot myself." Taking one last good look at what was going on, Mike straightened his jacket, "I think I'll head inside and try my luck there. I'll see you later."
He patted Charlie on the back before walking towards the barn.
Brendan shifted his weight under Clara's scathing stare. He stuck his thumbs in his suspenders and met Clara's eyes, setting his mouth stubbornly. "Brendan Connolly.”
That name sounded Irish, like Bridget’s. Oh, well, he couldn’t help that, Arabella supposed. Maybe he was a Catholic and could take her and Bridget to the Catholic mission tomorrow. She was going to ask him, but for once she couldn’t get a word in edgeways.
“And I didn't set you up. The hands set me up."
“Sure, the hands set him up!” Arabella agreed, not having a clue what this was all about, but trying to pour oil on troubled waters. Considering that she was her ‘bosom friend’ Clara never actually did tell her much about her life.
"Still wanna dance with me after hearin' that? I'll take a polka with you and a slow dance with Miss Ginger there, if she's 'con-struct-ed' for it."
“Hey don’t call her that!” Arabella corrected the man, for these were the days when having red hair was considered ugly in a woman. “You wouldn’t like it if we made fun of your bow legs, now would you?” He didn’t really have bow legs, unlike most cowboys, but he wouldn’t know that. Unlike women, men didn’t spend a lot of time examining their own bodies, looking for imperfections. “I mean, they ain’t too bad, but you still couldn’t stop a pig in an alley.”
Arabella caught Bridget’s eye and nodded toward Clara, as if to say, to the elective mute, ‘have a word with her’, while she grabbed hold of Brendan’s arm and dragged him away from the scene of conflict.
“Step over here a second, Mr. Cowboy Connelly, and I’ll show you where we got the beer tent set up” she offered brightly, and as soon as they were a few steps away, hissed “Well, what the Dickens was all that about? You two looked fit to start a range war back there, even before this shindig’s begun. Tell me what happened between you two.” she asked with frown on her youthful features.
Meanwhile, Bridget’s contribution to all this was to rustle up to the incandescently furious looking Clara, bustle to bustle, and whisper in her ear “Is that man bad?”
Harem? While it was true he couldn't remember some parts of last night, he was pretty sure that there wasn't a lot of kissing involved. Maybe the two girls were having a joke at his expense but he couldn't be one hundred percent sure.
"I plan to start nothing where women are concerned until I meet one that I like and one that acts her age," he replied in a slightly miffed tone. "Besides, I thought we were on a trip so that Miss Monahan could attend mass and not some sort of confessional."
"They'd hafta find us first," she grumbled, surprised but not that he knew what she was going to say. "I'll give yer way a chance, an' I reckon if anyone could untangle this, it'd be Miz Mercer. Ought we ta find her now, get this started?" Then she'd have to find Weedy and finally talk to him, although she suspected he suspected, how could he not, what with his mother gone so long this time?
"Not lookin' forward ta talkin' ta Weedy, but best get that done before he hears from someone else." Wouldn't take long for word to spread, and even though there might not be any malicious intent, someone might ask him questions that would be awkward, especially if he hadn't been told.
Sagas of the WIld West is a roleplaying game set in a fictionalized version of the town of Kalispell in Montana territory. Our stories begin in 1875 and are set against the backdrop of actual historical events.Sagas was inspired by the classic television and movie westerns. Our focus is on writing, storytelling and character development.
Connect With Us On
If you would like to join the Sagas' Discord server or are already a member, click the image to open the Discord web application.