August Moone
Timing Is Everything
Chapter 13
Timing IS Everything

	He had been on some bad trips before--but this was ridiculous!  Nothing much of it he could remember, only that it was ten times as bad as the previous Time Trip.  Again he had seen mathematical equations, algebra numbers, formulas way beyond August’s concept.  More shapes, math shapes, some he recognized, most others were beyond him.
	Again, as before, he floundered helplessly in an upset raging thick green sea.  Again a huge wave pummeled him and sent him crashing onto a black “sand-like” shore.  He rested after his tumultuous experience, waited until his eyes adjust to the scenery--which wasn’t much.  Seaward there was just an inky blackness and he could only see so far.  Left and Right were pretty much the same.
	Up along the shore left and right was something of a tropical island, much like his previous incident.  There, too, much like the previous, were palm trees and shrubs right up to the edge of the small shore.  The shore was black sand-like but not like any sand August knew of.  The trees all were black in bark and surface but with all those math shapes and numbers emblazoned on them.
	Waits for a bit, feels no wind, no pain, no sensations at all.  “Ahem!  Hello?” he says just fucking because.  Noticed quickly that there was something definitely amiss--his voice didn’t sound quite right.  It was his voice, sure, but it seemed to lack substance.
	Slowly he came up to the edge of the “jungle”.  Nothing stirred, he smelled nothing, felt nothing.  This wasn’t like before, before there had been that sudden “rip”, the bright light streaming through a hole.  He fondled his chin, realized that he was NAKED, and wondered where exactly he was going to end up.  The Device in his hand seemed to be off-line, there were no readings at all.  
	1800.  He couldn’t believe it.  He assumed (he assumed) that he had punched in the wrong number in his foolish haste.  1800.  He sighed, “Shit.” then, “Shit--shit--shit--shit--shit!”
	Copping a squat on the “sand” he crossed his legs--he wasn’t going no dam place unless he absolutely had to.  Running his fingers through the course black “sand” he found that it was indeed very much like the sand he knew--but it was a tad bit different--in that it was almost plastic-like.  Something akin to silicon or something.
	Curiously he wondered if TIME passed at all within--within--within wherever the hell he was.  He had to assume some sort of Transition.  His thoughts returned to Charlie, the transitional time he had been in at the military-government installation, the tunnels, the pirate ship.  That episode in his life had been quite the little adventure.  Now years later he was enduring yet another.
	He heard a warbling from a distance.  It was the only sound and worth investigating.  He held his ground though, for a while.  Not certain if it meant anything or what, but he slowly arose and began trudging through the heavy dense overgrowth of “foliage” to the sound.
	As he drew closer the sound increased.  He saw nothing, though.  All around him was jungle, the color scheme being the “air” was black, inky black sky, ground, and out some 500 yards or so.  The trees and shrubs and even the boulders were black & green, with mathematical equations written into them, shapes and such as the like like that there.
	There was no path per se, so he made his own, narrowing in on the only sound there was; he at length came to a great pond being filled with flowing water--that made absolutely no sound at all.  The water was black, the waterfall feeding it was green with number seen in the spray.  The “warble” sound was from behind the fall; he could only assume now that there was a cave of some sort behind.
	The water beheld no substance, there was nothing, he ran his hand through it and then waded out into it.  It felt odd to him, a little tingling sensation but nothing more.  He swam out to where the fall crashed into the lifeless pond and then climbed about the boulders until he found as he assumed a cave.
	It was much darker inside the cave, but he found what he thought was something of a torch.  Being naked and all he had no means in which to create a fire.  So he sat just inside the entrance of the cave, brooding.  The warble sound was from down deep inside the cave.
	As he sat with back against the wall, eyes staring at the perfect drawn numbers on the wall, small thoughts began to occur to him.  He chalked it up to watching too damn many science fiction movies.  But then again, what could it hurt.
	First he muttered aloud, “Two plus Two--equals Four!”
	It was worth a shot.
	Nothing happened, though.  As expected.  But what were the mathematical equations and such doing on the walls, the trees, and boulders?  There seemed to be no logical order to it, just random selections of prime numbers, binary numbers, algebra equations, exponents, and then all the shapes.
	“Ahem!” he said clearing his throat, “A prime number is a positive integer that has exactly two positive integer factors.” end quote.  He chortled to himself--his math teachers WERE right, you’ll never know when you’ll need higher math functions!
	When nothing happened he leaned forward and read the numbers off the wall.  After spouting off a random series of exponent numbered equations, suddenly there came a flame from the torch.
	“Holy shit!” he exclaimed.
	He was taken and shaken and confused--and delighted.
	But confused, still, just the same.

	With torch in hand he hugged the wall and made his way along.  The cave was not like other caves (or tunnels) he had ever explored--this cave was smooth and virtually straight.  He could stand up and move along without mishap.
	The warbling sound drew him closer and closer.
	After several yards the cave opened up to a large room.  He no longer needed the “torch” as in the center was great light already.  The room depressed in a slant downward with what looked to be steps in one big circle, like an amphitheatre.  Centralized was a great fountain whereas in the middle instead of water there was what August had seen in the early “adventure”, a rip opening.
	As it grew larger and larger the warbling sound increased.
	Slowly he advanced down the steps to the flat area.  The light was great as was the sound, he had to poke his fingers in his ears as well as shun the increasing bright light.  As before, he assumed that he had to step through the opening.
					*****

	He lay still for a long time--unable to move for one, too frightened to move for two.  Every fiber of his being was on fire.  He couldn’t get his breath, he couldn’t hear, see, smell, anything.  He felt numb (and on fire) at the same time.  He hoped that this would pass.  It was like something of giving birth he reckoned--the figurative sense, not literally, gals.
	Slowly his senses began to return to him and his body settled.  There was a lingering “whine” in his ears, he tasted salt in his mouth and his vision was a bit blurry.  These things, too, decreased to allow him to look around at his new surroundings.
	There were trees.  Normal trees.  Oaks he took them to be.  It was hot, he was sweating and the sun was blazing.  There were grasses, though not green.  He saw boulders and a squirrel, lizards crossed his path, a bird screeched high o’er head and landed in one of the nearby trees.
	With extreme strength he sat up.  He seemed to be on a hill, a dry grassy hill and that was all.  Many moments were going to be needed before he got his senses about.

	The first thing he needed to do was to find some water, he was parched!  After standing on wobbly legs and tumbled and rolled and rolled and tumbled some more before rolling down the hill he had been on.  That hurt.  His shoulder and shins and hands and knees.  Scrambling back to a standing position he looked wildly about to make sure he hadn’t been “pushed” or anyone had seen him fall.
	No worries there, there was no one about.
	Doggedly he stumbled along seeking shelter under the great oaks, for their shade.  He was hungry and thirsty, those two items held precedence and nothing else.  
	Not a breeze one did he feel, even under the shade of the trees didn’t help much.  There were few acorns, and the ones that he did manage to grab he got bitched out at by the squirrels.  He stumbled along coming up to another down hill.  It looked down into a long wide valley.  He could see clearly enough, a distant horizon beheld some huge snow capped mountains.
	Where he was he had no fucking idea.  He sighed and copped a squat on the lip of the hill trying his best and noshing on the acorns.  A slight breeze DID stir up, bringing a little coolness.  He found that he had long hair, shoulder length.  Had it always been this way.  His mind was frapped and unable to make much processing thoughts of who he was, where, when, how, etc.  Something began stirring in his noggin, though.
	In the distant down in the valley in among the trees he caught the sound of something he wasn’t sure of.  It was difficult to make out; he strained and listened and couldn’t make sense of it anyways.  He saw what looked like dust stirred up.
	He waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  A red tailed hawk settled in the oak beside him, it screeched, pranced on the branch and dropped a load of poo.  August took this as a sign to get moving.
	It was a long ways down the dry grass hill, right out in the open and down in the valley wasn’t going to be much better.  Rugged hills, boulders, hot blazing dirt (no sand he noticed), and dry-dry grass.  The oak trees and other assorted tress gave very little aid in his distress.
	A creek, though, DID give aid.  He smelt the water long before he heard it.  He had to pause and prance in place before striking out into the direction of life giving soothing H2O.
	It wasn’t a big creek, but it would do.  He wasn’t complaining.  It was refreshing and he drank his fill while residing in the cool waters.  He felt a few fish nip him and swim by, if he had the means of a campfire he would have caught some.  But didn’t so he moved on.

	Through the trees, now, there were lots and lots and lots (and lots?) of trees about, mostly oak.  Flat land with rolling hills all about.  A deer scurried off to one side, something slithered off in another.  A breeze wafted in and among the trees, the sun baked him and at length he came to another hill rolling down into another valley.
	By now the sun was beginning to set.  The air was turning just a tad bit cooler than the day had been.  He was hungry, damn hungry, a lot confused, and naked.  He could only recall his name, August.  Nothing more.  Right now nothing more mattered.  He settled under a great oak and waited.

	Night creatures can be such a pain in the ass.  Coyotes and other assorted critters strove to make his first night in a new world miserable.  As he rested, watching the sun disappear beyond the vacant horizon and the moon begin its long rise to the sky, slowly he began to retrieve bits & pieces of August Moone, adventurer extraordinare!
	By morning’s light there were still “gaps” but he felt assured that he soon would recall all he needed to know.  He basically had conceived the notion that he was a Time Traveler.  Just how and why and wherefrom he lacked knowing.  (uh-oh)
	Down the new hill he went, catching something odd wafting on the breezes.  His stomach hurt and he was getting a headache from the lack of nourishment.  He got a spooky feeling and began entering into Stealthmode as he traipsed, coming out to a clearing where he saw a dirt road.
	The road had huge ruts in it.  To the left following the road it went meandering up into some craggy rocky hills.  To the right it meandered out through a flat empty valley.  The heat was already turning high and August could just see something down the road.  There was a fire!
	He paused a moment and could indeed smell the smoke in his nostrils, but there was something else there, too.  As his confounding curiosity drew him in the “smell” in his nostrils began to repulse him.  As he drew nearer he saw that there were what appeared to be old wagons, covered wagons.  There was a dead horse in the road and then he saw some bodies.
	“Shit.”

	At the tragic scene there were at least half a dozen male bodies strewn about the landscape.  Four big canvas covered wagons were on fire, two others had been toppled, another had run off the road and up into the trees, possible to try and get away.  Five big horses were among the dead.  The smell of the dead was horrid.
	August scrambled to try and make sense of it, had there been a head-on-collision?  He couldn’t think straight.  No, that was silly.  Befuddled he came upon a woman, naked, tied to a wagon wheel bloodied all over her body, especially between her legs.  Her throat had been slit, too.
	A young teenage girl he found nextly, then a young boy no more than ten who had been scalped.  Three men in their early twenties the same manner out in the trees.
	August then spied the arrows, flaming arrows; pierced here and there, into the wagons, into the bodies of the settlers.  He was repulsed by the brutality of the massacre.  It didn’t sit with him well.  So, when he came to the end of  the massacre site his rage seethed within him; on the ground helpless was a young girl about twelve--being raped by a Savage.  The Indian was big and naked and relentless in his doings.
	Tied to an upturned wagon was a woman--possibly the young girl’s mother, and two other girls plus a young boy.  Another Indian stood by rummaging thru a toppled trunk.  Two horses out in the woods were theirs.  No one else seemed to be about.
	When the big Indian got his nut finally in the young girl, he pulled out and wrenched the child about, placing her into a doggie-style whereupon he began seriously spanking her, finger gouging her asshole before slamming his big Indian dick up into her--then running his blade across her throat!
	He pumped madly as her life ebbed away, stood up and licked the bloody blade and leered at the remaining captives.  The woman sobbed quietly, mouth open, mind gone.  The big Indian with cum drizzling from his uncut schlong stepped up to the woman, sneered at her and ripped her dress open.  With her breasts bare to him he groped them, sucked on them and continued shredding her dress.
	August held his pose were he was, hidden behind one of the other wagons.  Beside him the lifeless nude body of a fifteen year old girl, raped and with her throat slit.  A boy no more than eight lay crumbled nearby, he was nude as well, sodomized, throat slit, testicles and penis missing, as well as being scalped.
	The other Indian not so big continued rummaging through all the spilled belongings.  Surely these two couldn’t be responsible for the melee, August assumed that they weren’t, they were just the laggers.
	Suddenly August spotted something of use--but it was out of reach--he would have to cross out into the open to the wagon partially blazing.  But there was a Winchester rifle laying there.  
	The big Indian left the distraught mindless woman and stood before one of the two girls tied to the wagon.  She was about sixteen.  Pretty she was, blond hair in curls, a pretty dress.  She had ribbons in her hair as well as blood.  Big Indian began shredding her dress with his still bloody blade, not caring that he was slicing into the delicate skin of the girl.
	Once mostly naked he began roughly fingering her poon, sucking on her breasts and groping her ass.  His cock, however, was not in the mood.  He slapped it against her body then began kissing her, forcing his tongue inside her young mouth before grabbing her legs and putting them about his waist.
	Rummaging Indian came up with trinkets, something of a jewelry case.  He also found a Derringer.  Toying with it he blew his brains out.  Literally.  The sound of the report startled Big Indian and as he whirled about and stared at his stupid companion, August dashed across the road to the burning wagon, grabbed the rifle and slinked down among the dead.
	He held his breath for a long while, cautiously peering about to see if the Big Indian had seen him.  There was nothing.  He couldn’t hear all that well as the wagon he hid behind was burning.  Slowly he crept out, the rifle cocked and rarin’ to go.
	Peeking around the corner he saw the nude body of the sixteen year old still tied to the wagon with blood gushing down her chest.  Big Indian had now wrenched the other girl, thirteen or so, off of the wagon and had her in a doggie-style, spanking her and doing his best to sodomize her.
	August summoned his courage, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.

	The report forced August backwards, tumbling over the dead and burning wreckage.  Scrambling to recover he rolled into the roadside ditch and then came up to where the Indians had been doing their thing.  Big Indian lay on top of the damaged girl who was miraculously still alive.  Big Indian had brain matter splatter all over the place.
	He stepped up and pushed the Big Fuck over and from out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement.  He reacted too late--the Rummaging Indian fired the Derringer and struck August.  He knew no more for a long while.
				Welcome to Walnut Grove
				  (a parody involved here)
		   (featuring the cast from Little House on the Prairie) 

					*****

	“He’s coming around.” a voice said.
	Sort of.  He wasn’t sure.  He felt awful.  Just awful.  Again he couldn’t think straight, again he couldn’t detect much--only that he was in some kind of pain.  His toes curled as he struggled to send the pain elsewhere.  A fire burned in his shoulders and another in his head.
	“Easy son, just rest easy.” came a soothing voice.  August tried to focus, there was a strong ringing in his ears, a burning in his nose.  He tried to speak but only sputtered.  A hand came to his neck, raising him up and offering him a drink from a glass.
	Slowly he began to see that he was in the company of a man, well dressed with one of those pocket watches strung across his vest.  A striped vest, dark.  A long sleeved dress jacket, white shirt with an odd bow tie at his throat.  He was not an old man, in his forties, he seemed strong and rugged but with kind blue eyes.
	“Hello, I’m Doctor Baker.” the man said seguing into a broad smile.
	August tried to speak once more but couldn’t.
	“You’ve take a nasty hit, but I think you’re going to be all right, now.”
	August gave him that, “Huh?” look.  A nasty hit?
	“Do you remember anything?” the doctor asked him.
	August tried, he really tried, but all that filled his mind were images he couldn’t make sense of -- followed by the images of the massacre.
	“It’s all right, son, you’re memory will come back in a few days.”
	The doctor stood and refilled the glass, setting it down on an antique off-white nightstand.  “You just rest easy now, I’ve got some other things to do.”  he seemed cheerful enough and August had no cause to fear him.
	The doctor left and August looked strongly at his newest surroundings:  painted off-white clapboards made up the room’s walls.  A plain ceiling, some windows, another small bed and a couple of dressers sandwiching a long table with doctor-like instruments and books on it.
	There was a window nearby, August peered out it and saw people.
	All sorts of people, and horses.  No cars, no trucks, no pavement.  A dirt road with old western-like buildings up along the street.  Kids and women in various styles of dress, odd manner of dress styles, too.  He licked his lips and continued to try and make sense of it.
	When moving his head--bad idea.  His whole world made him ill and he lay back onto the cool fluffy pillow.  He thought he heard what sounded like muffled voices, from outside? Another room?  He couldn’t be sure.  He reached for the water glass and lost his grip, the glass fell and broke onto the floor.
	Seconds later the door whisked open and the doctor came in, followed by two other men.  One was bald and resembled a store keeper of some such, the other wore an old faded hat, long dark curly hair, rugged broad shouldered; a farmer no doubt.
	“Sorry.” August managed to blurt out.
	“Don’t worry about it.” smiled the doctor as he quickly cleaned up the mess.  Catching the eye of the other two men August managed a bleak smile.
	“Hello,” spoke the farmer, “I’m Charles Ingalls,” he stuck out his hand and smiled big, and introduced the other man as Nels Olsen.
	The handshake from August was weak, he then caught the delightful scent of something wondrous.  His mind frantically sought to bring to mind what that wondrous smell was.  Nothing came to mind but he didn’t care--it was FOOD!
	And food it was.  There were voices from the outer room, the men made way as a tall woman in a full dress outfit came ushering in, she carried a rustic antique picnic basket and set it down.  From within the blue checkered cloth concealing the contents came fresh homemade chicken.
	August’s mouth drooled and he scarcely could pay attention to the conversation that was taking place between he and the newcomer, who happened to be the farmer’s wife, Ms. Caroline Ingalls.
	The convo seemed to be about the doctor’s concern for the “patient’s” ability to eat just yet after his harrowing experience.  To wit Caroline replied, “Nonsense.” the chicken fresh baked was placed on some small cloths, a glass of lemonade was poured, there was fresh hot baked cornbread muffins and a piece of hot apple pie for desert!
	August smiled and devoured every morsel.  He didn’t care where he was or WHO--this place was great!
	There was a “washroom” with a sink and a pitcher of water.  But that was about it.  No toilet, no shower.  After everyone had finally left, he had stuffed himself well, the time came that he was in another “need.”  There was a backdoor--that had a small path leading out to a small structure.  ‘Oh no.’ the sudden realization of where he was, in what time period really began to sink in.  Outdoor plumbing, an outhouse.
	He made his way and did his thing, collecting his thoughts and sighing deeply stinking up the place.  When “done” he emerged to make his way back, he still wasn’t too up to par, he had been shot!  His head was wrapped and was dressed in a so-so smock gown covering.  
	On his way back he was chanced upon by a sweet young girl.  She was possibly ten, maybe.  A short dress, black stockings, long brown hair, and a dirty face.  She smiled at him and August paused momentarily--then he began to think about her more sternly with more interest.
	Upon blinking his eyes, his mind reverted and he suddenly realized--
	‘Oh shit!’ the Device!  Where was it!  He began to panic.
	“Hello.” chirped the little girl.  
	August knelt down, peeved at himself that he was now REALLY stuck in whatever time period he was in now, and smiled at the little girl.  She came up close to him, trusting thing wasn’t she?  She held his hands, he held hers, his cock rose to attention and he drank her in.
	‘Boy I’d like to see you naked.’ he chimed to himself.
	The little girl continued to smile and look charming, despite her dirty face and appearance.  Then, she let go of his hands and stood back, growing a little serious and she began pulling off her dress!
	August gulped, stared at her, blinked his eyes excessively and tried to make sense of this new nuance. He was more confused than ever…
	Not much on the underwear department, long white leggin briefs, bloomers just to mid thigh.  The dress she promptly pulled over her head and then casually dropped.  She did pause and put on the persona of confusion herself.  August blinked his eyes again and tried to think clearly--if not quickly.
	Taking a look around--this was NOT the best place to be up to any shenanigans.  They were out in the open.  They were behind the buildings of the town, but the town’s buildings were not set up in straight lines.
	Quickly he took the girl’s hand, picked up her dress and whisked her--into the shitter.  It was close at hand and most private.  It was a little roomy in there, stinky, and private.  The little girl seemed to have no problem with but August did.
	As soon as he was within the small wooden stinky outbuilding he saw a flash of something in his eyes.  As he took note of this it was determined not to be so much as IN his eyes as it was in his vision.  Blinking hard and concentrating just as hard he took note that seemingly on the back wall of the shit house there appeared to be a multi-colored green box with horizontal lines, numbers and calculations on one line while on another was a long wavy line.
	Another line had what appeared to be a statement:  I’d like to see you naked.
	He gulped again.  What the fuck?
	Blinking his eyes, shaking his head, closing his eyes hard then reopening he looked again--the vision had cleared.  It was then that he became acutely aware that holding his hand was the little girl--who was showing all the signs of freaking out.
	‘Uh-oh.’  Now he was in trouble.  Panic began to settle in him as he quickly tried to finger a way out of this one.  The little girl began to wail and stamp her feet.  “Oh, I wish you’d be quiet!” he bellowed.
	Seconds later she was.
	August so noted that the “green display” was once more occupying his vision.

	Her skin was smooth, soft, supple.  She smelled a bit but that was alright--it mingled nicely with the wafting funk emitting upwards from the poop hole.  The wooden lid was down covering the hole lest she should misstep and fall in.  That would be bad.  Her undergarments had been removed and the little girl herself placed up on the wooden box seat of the crapper.  August fondled her ass, kissed her, and diddled his fingers to her non-virginal cunny.
	Tessie was soon laid out on the toilet seat box, legs up, shoulders down.  August brought his aching (aching to fuck) cock to the child’s quim and began a steady bout of grinding against it.  Who had she been having sex with?  August asked the question, saw it in the green HeadsUpDisplay box and the answer was:  “Daddy!”  
	August slowly entered his own cock, emptying his frapped mind and enjoying himself, sweating profusely, straining, still trying to make sense of what had happened and how and why and how and why…
				****

	Once safely back in his “room” he rested his eyes and began working on how it had happened.  Was it “wishful” thinking or what?  After fucking the little girl, fondling and finger fucking her asshole, “I want you to forget about meeting me.” he told her.  “Do you understand?” to wit Tessie smiled and nodded and nodded her pretty little head that she would.
	He remained in the shit house and watched her as she scooted merrily along her way without so much as a wave goodbye.  (She DID dig at her butt and crotch…)
	Closing his eyes tight then reopening them did not bring up the HUD.  Excessive blinking, though, did.  Five blinks in rapid succession brought up the HUD.  The Device in a new form, in his head!
	Seriously he did not know if this was a bad thing, it was more convenient, sure, but what were the repercussions?  It was a fantastic trip regardless.
	He grew tired (and bored) of waiting for Doc Baker to return, he meandered out into the waiting room and office, then opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.  He wasn’t dressed for waltzing about the town so he remained where he was.

	A girl approx. 16 years came walking by, long curly blond hair, long dress, a Plain Jane, but pretty enough.  As she moved on by without a glance to him, August blinked five times and brought up the HeadsUpDisplay.  He was beginning to realize the scope and depth (and trouble) that he was in.  Recalling just who he was, his past--er, future, was slowly filling his common thoughts.
	Taking a big risk he called for the girl, via the HUD, had her meet him around the back of the doctor’s building, and nixed going back into the shit house--that stunk.  He instead whisked her into the doctor’s house itself, the back room where there were some storage stuff.  He didn’t bother with getting the girl’s name--he was horny.
	Under the dress there was something of an underdress, a complicated layer of clothing serving as underwear--full body length.  The girl he positioned over a canvas covered pile of equipment & supplies, got her underclothes down, cheeks spread, and began plowing away steadily at her very tight virginal backdoor.
	The sensation was tremendous.  It was wondrous.  It was orgasmic!
	As the doctor was due to return any time soon without warning, the place where he did his business was not overly secure he let the girl go, just creaming her asshole.  A hickie he placed on each cheek, fondled her titties and had her stroke his schlong, thrust his tongue into her sweet young mouth, and finger fucked her virgin pussy before letting her return along her way.
	Ten minutes later and the doctor DID return.

	The year was 1875, August.  The Universal Postal Union had been established in July.  Jesse James was the biggest new, robbing a train in Otterville, Missouri; and the world’s first roller skating rink opened in London.  Civil war hero Ulysses S. Grant was the US president.
	August Moone was in 1875, eighty-six years before he was born!
	The place was a small homestead-town called Walnut Grove.  He didn’t think he was in Arizona any more, he assumed that he little trek through the “jungle” and then the cave had moved his destination.  That was alright, he doubted that he would be able to get back home, especially with the Device Item 0110 now seemingly apart of him.
	The town didn’t have a sheriff or a marshal. There was no mayor but a governing body called a town committee.  They had a post office, school, church, hotel, general store, livery stable, and possibly a hundred or so peoples lived in Walnut Grove.  It was quaint and August thought he could do himself well here--in this time period.  He wasn’t sure, it remained to be seen.
	He knew to play his cards cool, be aware and sharp.  This was not the place to get caught doing something--they hung people back in the old west and did it damn quick, too!
	That evening Caroline Ingalls was back with more chicken, buttermilk basted chicken, more apple pie, refreshing lemonade.  August was pleased and casually wondered (to himself) what she looked like in the nude.  She was in her thirties but that was okay.
	Her husband, Charles and some of the other townspeople had come, despite Doc Baker’s decree that the patient needed rest.  But they wouldn’t wait, August was being hailed as a hero!
	Him!?
	He gulped and brought up the HUD, just in case this turned badly after all.  But he needn’t worry, he WAS being hailed as a hero, many of the prime towns’ folks were elated and delighted and grateful for his actions at the wagon train massacre.  Although many (most) had perished and had been brutalized by the rogue savages, there were three survivors; the one mother, two daughters, and son.
	They gave details on August’s heroics, August blushed and became embarrassed.  The woman and her surviving children were in a nearby town Mankato, it wasn’t determined factually if August was a member of the doomed wagon train, but it was so assumed and August didn’t say one way or another--he feigned some amnesia and no one was the wiser.
	He DID need some rest, though--he admitted that to himself--he HAD been shot!  He tried to downplay the heroism of his actions, his modesty only prevailed and he was hailed even more.  Doc Baker finally had his say and scooted the hero worshippers out.  August settled down and noshed on the fine offering from Ms. Ingalls; there, too, was an offer of a few dollars worth of goods from the general stores in town, clothes and needed things like that.
	From the local restaurant he was offered his meals free!
	Mr. Hansen, who ran the mill, offered him a job (should he need one.)
	And naturally, good hearted Charles Ingalls offered August to come out to the farm and work there.  It was a lot to chew on, August felt that the new time period wouldn’t be so bad.  He’d been in worse places…