Jump to content
  • Recently Browsing

    • No registered users viewing this page.

  • Recently Used Characters

  • Posts

    • "Ain't hardly nothin' to do but hunker down till she blows herself out." The man squatted, "Rance, is the name. Been watchin' you, doin' a fine job. You'll do Wheeler, you'll do. Try and get some rest, might end up bein' a long night. Least you won't be ridin' drag come daylight, there's a plus for ya."   He stood and made his way to his shelter to await the grub that was coming.   @Bongo
    • Meanwhile, in the main house, Reb Culverson was visiting with his old friend Fightin' Joe Hooker, who was the ramrod for the fledgling Montana Territory Stockgrowers Association, Northern District. He was there to convince ranchers to join and support the organization, hoping it would take root.   "And just what good is this here association ya got started?" Reb asked.   "It'll give us a voice in the territorial government, Reb, that's what it'll do. Once that happens we'll be able to git us some sortta range police to protect the herds, and the ranchers." Hooker responded. "Rustlin' might not be the threat it was, but you know as well as me, it can come back."   "You get anywhere with Lost Lake, 'er that cow thief on the Evergreen?" Reb asked.   "Can't say as I have, startin' with the smaller spreads an' workin' my way up to them two. I'm well aware of both spreads, and the men that own 'em."   -------------0------------   They swept down out of the trees whooping and hollering and firing off a couple of shots as they closed on both sides of a big group of cattle, just as they had planned. The  lone night hawk knew he had no chance of stopping the raiders, or of saving the cattle while he watched the chunk of the herd moving toward and then into the trees at a run.  He emptied his Colt at the raiders, the whipped out his Winchester  and levered several shots in the area where they had disappeared.   He could not know that one of his shots had found its mark. A man that had just joined took a slug in his back and toppled from his horse. Toole and the men continued to drive the cattle toward the dry riverbed as planned. It was an acceptable loss.   The sound of the shots, mere pops at the distance to the main house and the bunk house alerted everyone, and men boiled out of the bunk house guns in hand, only to watch the night man shooting after the rustlers.
    • Out on the boardwalk they stopped, "So we managed ta git a deal right off, thet's good, it is. Now all we gotta do is convince ol' Wentworth to free up the money so's ya don't have ta use yers right off." Amos commented, "Seems a fair deal but like you say, minin's not no sure thing."   "John and Mary are good folks. It's not a sure thing, but you saw the vein, went to the floor and it looks rich," Speed responded. "And it looks to be wider where they stopped digging. I can't wait to get it assayed to see what we've really got our hands on."   "And it should assay out pretty good from the looks of it, though I know so little about copper ore." Alice admitted.   "Well, you saw the copper ore, which is clearly distinguishable from the surrounding rock due to its reddish, mottled appearance. And that surrounding rock is granite which is not easy to work, but it can be done, and, if we have hit it, the veins could be as much as a mile long, a mile wide, and a mile deep!" Speed explained with a grin. "With that equipment we'll be able to not only dig deeper, we'll be able to tunnel, and we have the property to do just that."   "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!" Amos exclaimed. Might oughtta buy up what ground ya can aound 'er, jest ta be certain!"   "First things first, let get on up to the bank." Speed suggested.
    • Justus was more than happy to have a chance to get out of the bulk of the wind, although he knew this was far from over.  And he knew they'd be hacking up dirt for days.     With the picket lines set, he moved over to help put up the shelters for the night, pretty quickly deciding that it was a fool's errand...they were all going to be miserable until this let up.   Squinting, he looked out toward the herd, not able to see but a few in the dust, it looked like they had been swallowed by the big, dirty cloud, and weren't even there.  In fact, he had the eerie sensation that all that was left in the world was this small circle of men and horses.   "Ya need me ta do anythin' else?" he called over the din of the wind.   @Flip
    • Doc Gilcrest walked into the bunck house to see Carson on his feet, dressed. "I may not be able to ride, but I can darn sure walk some. Tired of layin' in that bed."   "I reckon you kin do thet, sure 'nough. No body said ya had ta lie there if'n ya didn't want to. Yer stitched up plenty good. Jest leave thet hog leg where she's hangin' fer now, don't need the weight in thet wound."   "So anybody come sniffin' around?" He asked.   "Not so's you'd notice. There's four men down there keepin' watch, but it don't look like Lost Lake's lost any sleep over their man, that is if'n they even know he's gone." Gilcrest offered.   "He seen that brand an' went ta shootin'!" Carson reflected. "I jest shot straighter. Had no choice in the matter. Fool could'a rode on, but, well, that just ain't what happened. Hell of a mess."   "Oh I dunno. So far nobodies come huntin', the boss ain't upset over it, neither's Granger, so you got nothin' ta worry on 'cept gettin' better."   "I should'a been more careful, but maybe there just wasn't no way to be more careful. Up on the side of that mountain is the purdiest view a man could look at. You can see fer miles, see right where they got them cows of theirs. Now that ain't gonna be no easy matter to get to any of 'em. They're deep on Lost Lake range. Gonna be hard to get at, an' worse to get out. We'll lose some men tryin' this one, that's for sure!'   Gilcrest rubbed his chin. It wasn't like Carson to go on about the prospects of a job.

Ups and Downs


Recommended Posts

Mature Content: Contains scenes that some viewers may find upsetting.

Author: Bridget Monahan 

With: Bridget Monahan, bullies, plus her rescuer (you know who you are).
Location: Main Street.
When: April 1876
Time of Day: Morning.

 

content-divider.png

 

The three boys wouldn’t have been out so early, if they’d had their druthers, but they’d been sent out straight after breakfast to attend the silly school that had been set up in the town. The three of them (to hide their blushes, we will call them Fatty, Ugly and Titch) had pretty quickly decided to form a compact to not only play hooky from school, but to have as much fun at other people’s expense as they could possibly muster. No man, woman, child or animal would be spared, unless, of course, it was someone who could whup ‘em.

 

They were all around the 12 to 14 mark, and at various stages of adolescence: Fatty and Ugly as tall as grown men but juvenile in aspect, their recently broken basso profundo voices occasionally squeaking high; Titch was yet to hit his growth spurt, but despite this, was the evil mastermind of the whole outfit. They struck gold straight off, there was that imbecile woman walking along staring at the boardwalk, like she was looking for something. Titch sniffed, like a coyote smelling an easy kill. “Hey fellers, look at this dumb b____h” he snickered, showing off his mastery of the vernacular.

 

The three of them crowded the boardwalk in front of her, so that she would have to step around them and onto the muddy road. Bridget jumped as she nearly walked right into them and gave a little gasp. “We in your way, Gingerbread?” snarled Fatty, “Gee, why your freckles so ugly, ugly?” spat Ugly. “Go round, idiot!” shouted Titch. Bridget stepped back with a frightened look on her face that made the little men feel big and tough. She went to step down to the road, and Titch thrust out a foot to trip her and she tumbled into the road: parasol, purse and legs flying.

 

“Christ, she’s got a wooden leg!” roared Fatty, wide eyed.

 

“Ha ha!” laughed Ugly “Redhaired, Ugly an’ a Peg-leg! What a mess!!”

 

Titch jumped down to the street, a look of malicious delight on his cherubic features. “Grab her boys, I wanna good look-see!” This was actually a little too far for the other two, bigger boys, but they dare not loose face by disobeying their diminutive lord and master. While Bridget flailed around in the mud because her leg straps had half twisted round, the bullies jumped down and held her while Titch grabbed the hem of her skirts and pulled them up, revealing the strange prosthetic limb.

 

“Whoooo!” he screamed in joy, not only at the curious and, to the uninitiated, grotesque sight of the leg, but at the utter distress and humiliation of the of the tearful girl on the ground.

 

 

@Wayfarer

 

Edited by Javia (see edit history)
Link to comment

The boy's cruel fun was suddenly over. From behind,  before either of the other boys could shout out a warning,  Titch tumbled to the dirt after a hard whack with a broom. Lucky for him it was only the brush end and not the hard wood handle.

 

"You ruffians get out of here!  Right now!" snapped Clara, the wielder of that broom which she had just borrowed out of a barrel full for sale just next to the general store front door. She had witnessed the whole disgusting scene. It was appalling and Clara was not going to tolerate such behavior.

 

As Titch got to his knees, Clara decided she wasn't quite done with this one and gave him a few more swings which at least he somewhat fended off with arms raised to protect his head. The other two boys were wide eyed and stepping away as fast as they could.

 

"Get! And David Molsen, I know you and your mother from Sunday services. She is going to find out about this!" Clara vowed even as she raised the broom for yet another swing. But Titch had enough and scrambled up to join the others as they beat a hasty retreat.

 

Clara lowered her 'weapon' then turned her focus on the girl, "I am so sorry. Do you need assistance getting back up?"

 

(At the slightest indication that the young lady did, Clara will drop the broom and give her whatever help is needed until Bridget is back on her feet)

Link to comment

Bridget’s head had started to swim; the grabbing, the holding down, the hands lifting her skirts, it all came back in its full suffocating, painful, humiliating horror. But this time it ended differently. There were no deafening bangs or blinding flashes of light in the dark, no men yelling and screaming even louder than she had been, no sound of a man’s voice, begging for his life, no blood covering her dress. Just a pretty girl, broom in hand, looking down at her from the boardwalk on a bright spring morning.

 

Clara lowered her 'weapon' then turned her focus on the girl, "I am so sorry. Do you need assistance getting back up?"

 

Bridget looked around, unsure how she got here. The leg didn’t feel right. She glanced up at the girl, and wiped away the tears that she had tried so hard to suppress during the attack. She self-consciously pulled up her skirts, with her own hand this time, to adjust the straps which held her false limb firmly in place when she walked on it. A few passers by looked on curiously. She tried to get up, and floundered.

 

She looked up again at the girl with the broom and nodded. Yes. Please help me.

Link to comment

The girl wasn't much of a talker or she was simply still so upset by the boys' outrageous conduct. Clara fell terrible for the poor thing. Life had to be hard enough with an artificial limb without suffering bullying. Well, she had made an offer to assist in getting her onto her feet....err foot. Whatever! The woman struggled in a game attempt to do it herself but no luck then looked up needfully at Clara.

 

"It is fine. I am happy to help," without even looking Clara tossed the broom aside for now, she would pick it up and place in back in the right barrel later.

 

Stooping down she grasped at Bridget with both hands, getting under her armpits then, with a grunt, hoisting her up, "I will not drop you. I am stronger than most folk think."

 

It worked but Clara remained quite prepared to catch onto the young lady should her first step falter.

 

"How is that now? Better?" she asked hopefully.

 

 

Link to comment

"It is fine. I am happy to help," without even looking Clara tossed the broom aside for now, she would pick it up and place in back in the right barrel later.

 

Bridget at least managed to reach out to the side and get hold of her muddied purse, once so pretty, and her now broken parasol. She tried to get up again.

 

Stooping down she grasped at Bridget with both hands, getting under her armpits then, with a grunt, hoisting her up, "I will not drop you. I am stronger than most folk think."

 

Between the two of them, they got her up. Bridget took a first step. It just didn’t feel quite right, but she couldn’t tell if it was just the straps that needed redoing or it had broken again. It had been sort of funny when she broke it doing the polka with Arabella, but this was different. Some mean people had been the cause of it. This new girl was helping her. In her head she thought of her as ‘Brown Girl’ because of her dress.

 

She hung on to Clara and turned a tear stained face to her.

 

“Wanna go home.” she stated in a quiet voice that was almost lost in the slight breeze of the morning. She pointed down the Main Street with the wreckage of her sun brolly.

Link to comment

Well, the woman was up but none too steady at it for certain, Clara wasn't about to let go and step too far from her just in case she collapsed once more. Besides the woman was clinging to her. She did make her wish quite clearly though.

 

“Wanna go home," she said softly.

 

"Of course, I will go back with you. You will not fall, I can catch you if necessary," Clara started to head the way she had pointed.

 

"As for your purse, I can wash the mud off that, it will be as good as new," alright so that was probably a lie, but a white one and those were permissible.

 

Clara decided not to say anything about the umbrella as that looked broken for good.  Hopefully the young lady's parents would buy her a new one.

 

"By the way, my name is Clara. What is yours?" it couldn't hurt to ask.

Link to comment

"Of course, I will go back with you. You will not fall, I can catch you if necessary," Clara started to head the way she had pointed.

 

Bridget nodded her understanding. Her leg wasn’t too bad, in fact it was generally easier to walk on anyway, since Mr. Ryker had made his deft repairs and adjustments to the knee joint part, but she was scared that it would suddenly give way. She looked sadly at her purse as they walked. “Dirty.” She whispered quietly.

 

"As for your purse, I can wash the mud off that, it will be as good as new," alright so that was probably a lie, but a white one and those were permissible.

 

The girl seemed to brighten at this and smiled bravely. It wasn’t just that the mud had ruined the purse and her dress, it was also that it reminded her of a time when she seemed to be mud caked and dirty all the time.

 

"By the way, my name is Clara. What is yours?" it couldn't hurt to ask.

 

Instead of whispering the information to her, which seemed to be the queer young lady’s primary mode of communication, she brought them to a halt and, staring right ahead, gulped down some courage, made a few preliminary starts and then said out loud and clear “My name is Bridget Monahan.” It actually sounded more like ‘Bijit Monyhan’ but the meaning was clear.

 

Soon they were at their destination, the old abandoned funeral parlor right at the ‘wrong’ end of the street, where few people happened to walk unless they had particular business there. The green door to the place door started to open even before they reached it and Bridget put her head close to Clara’s and whispered urgently “Don’ tell Mister Crabbe!” just before an oriental face peeped through the crack at a low height and looked horrified at the sight of the bedraggled girl and her helpmeet.

 

“Ooooh! Miss Bridget! What happen?!” he chattered as he came out to help her inside. “Some boys pushed me over!” she said quietly and started having to hold back tears again. Clearly, this wasn't 'Mr. Crabbe'.

 

“Pursez all dirty.” Bridget added, and the Chinaman looked around worriedly. “Oooh! No tell Mister Crabbe!” he warned, chiming the same bell as the girl. Fa looked the prim and proper looking Clara up and down, nodding gratefully. “You very nice lady, you help Miss Bridget!”

 

The redhead was still leaning on Clara as she entered the door, which rather put the onus on the supporting maiden to follow her inside, where the busy Chinese man was already making preparations to fix things up.

 

“Give purse, give dress, Fa clean!” he realized this might seem impossible to the dark haired girl, but he smiled at Clara genially “Fa work in Chinese Laundry three year in San Francisco, Fa clean anything!”

Edited by Javia (see edit history)
Link to comment

Clara gave her name and then asked the young miss hers.

 

"My name is Bridget Monahan.”

 

"Pleased to meet you, Bridget. I like that name," Clara smiled, not something she did easily but it was obvious this woman was a bit ..... well, slow minded and she wanted to be supportive of her.

 

Bridget ended up not at 'home' but the now abandoned funeral parlor? Only someone had taken up in the place now when the door opened. It was a Chinaman, don't see many of those kind about. Bridget wanted something else from her suddenly.

 

“Don’ tell Mister Crabbe!”

 

"I will not then, I give you my solemn word," Clara did not hesitate to oblige.

 

The Chinaman and Bridget began to talk, they plainly knew each other well. Bridget instantly gave away what had occurred.

 

"Young ruffians, I chased them off," Clara announced grimly.

 

“You very nice lady, you help Miss Bridget!” the Chinese addressed her after hearing what she had done to help out.

 

"It was my Christian duty and I was happy to do it," Clara replied.

 

Bridget headed inside but had not stopped clinging to Clara so in went the young farm girl too, glancing about the place. It seemed to be in the midst of a refurbishment.

 

“Give purse, give dress, Fa clean!” then the man  smiled at Clara genially “Fa work in Chinese Laundry three year in San Francisco, Fa clean anything!”

 

"I told her I could wash it but if you can do better who am I to stop you, Mr. Fa," Clara wasn't even sure Chinese folk used 'misters' and such.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Link to comment

 

"It was my Christian duty and I was happy to do it," Clara replied.

 

“Ooooh! Christian, yes! Fa Baoyu become Christian during great rebellion in China. Man say he chop head off if no become Christian. Fa very quickly see light! Buy bible, chop chop!” he explained … sort of explained. “Leader of rebellion think he brother of Jesus Christ. Anyone not become Christian, he soon able to swing own head around by pigtail.”

 

“Give purse, give dress, Fa clean!” then the man  smiled at Clara genially “Fa work in Chinese Laundry three year in San Francisco, Fa clean anything!”

 

"I told her I could wash it but if you can do better who am I to stop you, Mr. Fa," Clara wasn't even sure Chinese folk used 'misters' and such.

 

“Miss not help, you honorable guest, you sit, Fa bring tea. Need to boil kettle to clean dress and purse anyway.” It wasn’t a Chinese laundry, but Mr. Fa was adept at adapting everyday implements and equipment to serve his needs.

 

Bridget, meanwhile, was trying to get the dress off and becoming increasingly frustrated and upset over a hook that was jammed. She looked to Clara appealingly for help.

 

Fa looked back from his water boiling activities.

 

“Miss Bridget. You take leg off, too, give stump rest!”

Edited by Javia (see edit history)
Link to comment

"Hardly the best reason for conversion but I suppose it is the end result that counts," Clara listened to the chinaman's tale of conversion.  She had her doubts about how heartfelt such a thing was but could hardly blame the man.

 

"I think that fellow needed a few history lessons. It was quite impossible to be the brother of Jesus," she couldn't help but add.

 

Still, she was getting sidetracked, she had come here with Bridget to help her not chat with this chinaman.

And sure enough the look on Bridget's face said she was having trouble removing the dirty dress.

 

"Oh let me do that for you. It is always easier with an extra pair of hands," Clara deftly undid the hook then assisted her out of the garment, making certain the woman did not fall down.

 

“Miss Bridget. You take leg off, too, give stump rest!”  shouted the chinaman.

 

"You need to rest your stump?" That sounded odd but what did she know about it?

 

"Can I help with that, be happy to," Clara hovered over Bridget to be of further assistance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Link to comment

"Hardly the best reason for conversion but I suppose it is the end result that counts," Clara listened to the chinaman's tale of conversion.  She had her doubts about how heartfelt such a thing was but could hardly blame the man.

 

“Oh, Fa change back when rebellion over!” he admitted happily. “Only become Christian because Brother of Jesus give death by thousand cuts if no convert!”

 

 "I think that fellow needed a few history lessons. It was quite impossible to be the brother of Jesus," she couldn't help but add.

 

Hong Xiuquan dead now. Order all followers to eat 'manna', he call poisonous weed manna. He eat manna, he die. Hong Xiuquan need cookery lesson, not history lesson.” quipped the Chinese.

 

"Oh let me do that for you. It is always easier with an extra pair of hands," Clara deftly undid the hook then assisted her out of the garment, making certain the woman did not fall down.

 

Bridget smiled gratefully, as Clara helped her and they handed the dress to Mr. Fa who seemed unperturbed at the sight of the young woman in her corsets and many undergarments.

 

 “Miss Bridget. You take leg off, too, give stump rest!”  shouted the chinaman.

 

 "You need to rest your stump?" That sounded odd but what did she know about it?

 

Bridget nodded and sat down on the chair again and pulling up the leg of her pantlets started to fiddle with the straps.

 

 "Can I help with that, be happy to," Clara hovered over Bridget to be of further assistance.

 

The ginger girl looked gratefully at Clara but shook her head. She knew what she was doing.

 

Mr. Fa bustled up with the purse. What the Hell he had done must have been some kind of Chinese Alchemy, because it was clean as a whistle, but a little damp. He took her leg and then fetched her a crutch, in case she needed to hop around anywhere in the house.

 

“You like cup of tea?” he asked Clara. Bridget was rubbing her stump and Baoyu realized it must be a bit of a shocking sight if it was the first time a body had seen such an injury.

 

“You not scared by Miss Bridget stump, you very brave girl, what you name?” he asked. By telling her she was brave, he hoped make her so. He knew that it was upsetting for Bridget when other people became upset by her affliction.

 

hqdefault.jpg

Edited by Javia (see edit history)
Link to comment
  • JulieS locked this topic
Guest
This topic is now closed to further replies.
×
×
  • Create New...