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    • Brendan simply sat in the bed and listened to Caroline. That was the least he could do. But at least she was saying good things about him. He would have felt proud in any other circumstances, but right now he just felt guilty, as though he had somehow had a hand in Caroline's horrible fate.   His eyes widened in surprise as she kissed him. The kiss was not deep, but it was still affectionate, although not the kind of affection he had imagined when he had imagined being kissed by Caroline. But, in a way, this was better.   He lifted a hand and put it at the back of her neck. Doing that felt all right - to him, anyway. It was the natural thing to do when someone kissed you. He knew that if his hand slid down, it would be resting between her bare shoulder blades. Instead of sliding his hand down, he let his fingers slide off the back of her neck and down onto the sheets as she pulled away.   "I've never been so glad to get a consolation prize," he said in a light-hearted tone. Because that's what the kiss had been.
    • "Oh, Miz Addy doesn't scare easy," Weedy pointed out, "she even killed a bear that killed one of her horses!"  He was real proud of her for that, even though she didn't make much of it.  "Gave the carcass to the Piutes, but she kept a couple of the claws."   He led the way into the kitchen, where there was a table that (barely) seated four, although there were only three chairs, a small stove, pantry and a sink complete with indoor pump.  "Here's some water."  Carefully, Weedy used the pump to fill a tin mug that he handed to Isiah.   "We can put the horses behind the house, and you can just stay in here when she gets home."  He looked up at the man with a grin.  "Are you the brother who pushed her in the lake or left her in the tree to find her own way down?"   @MD
    • Lucinda smiled as Clara emerged from the kitchen. The girl was so young, and so solemn, even though the expression on her face was pleasant. She had been slightly nervous about asking the new Mrs. Lutz for work - never having asked anyone for work before - but how could she be scared of a woman as young as Clara was?   "Well, actually, I was hoping that I might be able to help you." She held her hat with both hands so that it touched her knees. "My name is Lucinda Dietrich. I don't know how much Emeline told you, but I'm new in town. I helped Emeline wash dishes one night and she told me that if I couldn't find work, to come back here."   She paused, unsure of what to say next. Up until now she'd just been filling Clara in, but now she actually had to ask for work. How did one do that?   "Could...could you use an extra hand in the kitchen? Or out here?"
    • "Hello? Who is there, please?" asked Frances, raising her voice that the stranger outside might hear.    "Marshal Speed Guyer, Miss Grimes," He announced.   When she realized that it was the Marshall, she let him in immediately. "Is this about my brother?" she asked, in a voice that betrayed the fact that she would be surprised if it was about anything else.   "I'm afraid so ma'am," He was not not surprised, "Perhaps you'd like to sit down." He gave her a moment before continuing, "I'm afraid that your brother Frank got into an argument with some men at the Stardust Saloon earlier.  Unfortunately for him, he drew his pistol, and was killed." That did not come out the way he had intended. It sounded hollow and cold.   "I have what money he had on him, and some from the sale of his gun totaling thirty-five dollars." He added. "Also, there is the question of his horse and saddle. If you like, Miss Grimes, it can be sold and the money would come to you." He had hoped to make the delivery of Franks death much more smooth, but he felt a failure in that department. @Javia
    • Arabella listened with rapt attention to Mr. McVay's story about how he and his late wife had met and married. Oh, it was no heart-pounding tale of wild romance, as might be found within the yellow tinged pages of a dime novel; but neither was it the cold and stodgy retelling of some arranged twinning based upon financial dowries and settlements, as was so often the case. No, it was a nice, cosy, warm story: and Arabella smiled happily through the bulk of it.   But then came the dreaded and awful denouement.    "The winter of '74 Beth took a serious fall while I was at work. By the time I got home her leg was swollen, the house was like ice, and I was in a panic."   Arabella, who had been imagining Mr. and Mrs. McVay's idyllic life together so vividly, gasped, and her face fell.   He paused again. "I got her to the doctor who had her admitted to the hospital where they tended to her leg, but within days pneumonia set in. Not having the necessary strength to fight it, she succumbed."   "Oh, McVay..." sighed Arabella, leaning forward, eyes wide, her lower lip beginning to tremble.   He fained a smile, but his now red rimmed eyes were forming tears. "And, here I am."   The girl from Virginia, who was given to wearing her heart on her sleeve and crying at the drop of a hat at the best of times, now burst fully into great sobbing tears and running over threw her arms around the hard bitten reporter and wrapped him in a chaste and heartfelt hug.   "Oh poor Beth! And poor Mr. McVay!" she wept, before disentangling herself and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "and now you're here and... you're all... all alone in the world. Sniff."    @Flip

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Mature Content:  None

With: Speed, Oskar Winter, Others?
Location: Winters Gun Shop.
When: July 1876
Time of Day: Afternoon.




Speed had tucked the Colt into his waistband as he stepped out of the saloon and then into the street, looking for an opening to cross, the afternoons always seeming to be the busiest time of day for traffic on Main Street. He managed to cross without much difficulty, and made it to the door of Winters place of business. This might well be interesting.


Speed stepped through the door, and closed it behind him, seemed that every business had a bell to announce the presence of a potential customer. Of course, Winter probably had work in the back, repairing guns and such, and a bell made perfect sense based on his wares. No sense allowing some miscreant to come in and steal a gun, though the rifles were chained in their rack behind the counter, pistols were laid in his display case, easily removed.


He pulled Grimes' pistol from his waistband and looked it over again, pulled the hammer back two clicks, and gave the cylinder a spin. Smooth, work had been done on it.


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It was an airy afternoon, and to be entirely fair; Oskar was not feeling all in the mood for work. Slouched in a chair out back, he took idle sips from a little glass of something-or-other (horrible stuff that, not at all like Austrian brandy), and watched the clouds go by. Since the beginning of the Centennial States' fair he'd been receiving word by the day of new advances in the field of personal defense, and it had all become rather exhausting. That wasn't to say he was bored by any means - why, who could be bored of the grandest and boldest instruments ever designed?! His capacity for that excitement was simply experiencing somewhat of an overload.


That was why when the little bell trilled its greeting from the inner room, he responded with a sigh rather than springing to his feet. The little wooden bandit sitting at the opposite end of his gun range seemed to sneer, pointing his painted gun at the prone gunsmith, as though he was being goaded into motion by an inanimate object.

He set down the glass and pushed himself out of the chair, stretching, straightening his suit jacket and giving his arms a little stretch, before he wandered back into the store where who awaited him but Henry Guyer himself.


"Marshal!" Oskar greeted, taking in the pistol at his hand and the look on his face. Even from this distance, the click of the rotating cylinder was audible to Oskar's trained ears, and he knew that the weapon that Speed held was no stock-standard firearm.

"How can I help you this fine afternoon?" he continued, moving behind his counter to take up position.


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"Well sir, got a pistol here, actually a fairly new Colt." He said, laying the gun on the counter. "It belonged to Frank Grimes and hard as it may be to believe, it appears to be well taken care of. Since Frank experienced another case of slow, I'd like to see what I can get for it, he has a blind sister, Francis, about town who'll need any cash that can e raised."


What Speed knew was Frank's horse and a fine looking range saddle that would fetch a good price, either separately or together. Far more than the pistol, and with any luck, Frank had a rifle which could be sold as well. Speed's real concern was how Francis would manage without the support of her brother, worthless as he might have been, he did see to her.


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"Oh, the poor girl." Oskar remarked, though already his mind was on the weapon in front of him. He craned over the counter, sizing the machine up and already disassembling it in his mind. Modern colts had gotten remarkably more robust over the last few years what with the advent of centrefire cartridges, but even a good gun could run foul in the hands of a poor owner.


"Let's see here..." he mused, as he worked the hammer and began to disassemble the weapon. "Not much rust or corrosion in the barrel... cylinder action is smooth... can't speak for its longevity..."

He gave the hammer a squeeze and held the weapon up to his ear, listening for the click. The mechanism sounded like it was in good shape, even if it was clear by the weapon's assembly pins that it had been disassembled several times already. The problem with an aftermarket weapon like this though, is that customers were generally more wary of them, even if they were empirically better firearms.


"Well, I can't say I see anything wrong with it." Oskar thought out loud. "In light of the smoothing on the mechanism-and of course the circumstances of poor Mr. Grimes and his sister, I am presently willing to offer fifteen dollars for this piece."


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Speed smiled. "Fine, I appreciate that, Mister Winter.  The funds of course will go to a good cause.  That girl will need all the help she can get." The plight of Francis Grimes was not one he was able to fully grasp. With no sight, without her brother's assistance and support, her situation appeared to be grave. Yet, what did he actually know of her circumstance? Nothing. She must have a place to live, that all but go without saying.


"I've several guns over at the jail that belonged to the men that robbed the bank.  They won't be needing them, I can bring them over to be repaired where necessary, and perhaps you would take them on consignment once the town pays you for the repair work. Sound like something that you might be willing to do? That money can go to her as well." He would head over and see Matt Wentworth about the plan.


Edited by Flip (see edit history)

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Oskar listened to the Marshal's offer and gave a moment to think it over. Outlaws weren't known for their acumen in firearm maintenance, but as Speed said, he was being paid for the repair work regardless. He could at least distract himself from keeping up with the centennial for a time.


"Yes, that seems most agreeable. I'd be entirely happy to." Oskar declared, sweeping the pistol below his counter and depositing it in one of the numerous slots and boxes housed therein. "Would you like the cash directly? I could hold off until the repairs are complete and then offer a lump sum in alternative?"


He hovered his finger over the ejector on his till, as an accentuation of his question.


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Speed smiled, "I think that would be fine, Mister Winter. Just fine. I'll present her with what cash I've accumulated so far, and when we've got all this settled, I'll see that she gets the balance." A lump sum offer for guns that he could turn a profit on for himself was a more than fair offer, in fact, it was a most generous offer. More good coming out of the bank robbery tragedy.


"I'll head over and gather up what I have. Maybe the gun leather is in acceptable condition as well, I really hadn't paid much attention, except for one outfit, the two gun rig that had belonged to Kid Carlisle. A pair of nickle plated, ivory handled, Colt peacemakers in four and three quarters inch barrel lengths. Well cared for."


They would fetch a pretty penny separately or together. Then the rig itself polished black leather. The right man could wear it with either of the Mexican  loop holsters if he chose to. Or, buy the whole lot. Perhaps an auction for them, that was food for thought.


"Well, I'll be back, need to stop by and see Gunther about Grimes' horse. I'll have those guns here before days end." Speed announced.



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"A pair of nickle plated, ivory handled, Colt peacemakers in four and three quarters inch barrel lengths. Well cared for."

"Ivory, you say?" Oskar repeated. "Well I'll certainly take a look."

Ivory's price had been rising ever since the routes to Africa no longer ferried slaves, and such trips had become less profitable ventures for merchantmen.


"Well, I'll be back, need to stop by and see Gunther about Grimes' horse. I'll have those guns here before days end."

"Absolutely. Best of luck Marshal." Oskar offered, circling around to the door so that he could show Speed out.


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"Well sir, I'll be back with those pistols as I said, and the nickle Colts. See you then." He found it refreshing to have the door opened for him as he stepped out onto the boardwalk. "Good day, sir."


Across the street at the Stardust stood Grimes horse and what had been an  idea earlier now was a quandary. The animal would now belong to Francis, it would be her decision as to what happened to the horse and saddle. That left him holding thirty-five dollars and wondering just where he could find Francis Grimes to give it to her, and find out what she wanted to do with the horse.


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About Sagas

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.

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