This is a work of fiction any similarities between the characters, events, or locations in this story and actual locations, events, or people are purely coincidental.
© 2004 Warlord
“If you ever riff with either one of us
BREAK OUT, before you get bumrushed, at the
The Wild Wild West When I roll into the
The Wild Wild West When I stroll into the
The Wild Wild West When I bounce into the
The Wild Wild West”
Will Smith Wild Wild West Soundtrack
I walked over to the small window of what was the stable attendant’s office. I reached to my belt and pulled out my lucky silver dollar. I turned to Krista, waved the dollar and said:
“I’ll leave the money for our stay here on the counter.”
So saying I threw the dollar on the counter.
It hit the counter.
The room rocked once to the left, then spun once on its axis to the right.
“What the fuck was that?”
The State of South Dakota is relatively new, as states go. It was admitted to the Union in 1889. In 1858 when Minnesota was admitted to statehood, what is now North and South Dakota was a single territory. Much of it was Indian Reservation “as long as the grass shall grow and the sun shall shine.”
In 1874 the sun quit shining as gold was discovered in the Black Hills of far western South Dakota. The town of Deadwood gained worldwide prominence as a home of easy money and even easier death. The Indian was pushed out of the sacred hills; George Armstrong Custer felt the last sting of their annoyance!
As the gold played out, Deadwood fell on hard times. The frontier history could not make a living, even with the flow of tourists visiting Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse. In a state so sparsely populated that they have only a single congressman, there was little money for redevelopment. The South Dakota Legislature decided to play along with the Deadwood frontier history of a wide-open town. They passed laws allowing blackjack and slot machines in Deadwood bars and saloons.
I was on my way to Deadwood today, but not for the gambling. Not that I am averse to an occasional hand of blackjack. I was to be in the home of so much history for a Frontier Action Shooting Round Up.
Frontier Action Shooting is a series of matches fired by modern day cowboys and cowgirls dressed and armed like the frontier’s desperados. Deadwood hosts the Midwest Regional. Think Sturgis with horses and Colt 45’s instead of hogs!
I am William Ebenezer Anderson, traveling from my home in Minnesota. My father decided at my birth that an Anderson needed a distinguishing characteristic. It is only by the grace of God and my mother’s strident insistence that Ebenezer was not my first name!
Anyone named William who shoots in an Old West costume should be clear that his nickname would certainly end in “The Kid.” I took the inevitable with good grace despite my partners-in-crime occasionally ribbing me about my age far exceeding any possible “kid.”
In the pickup as we crossed the Missouri River on I 90 was one partner, Krista Calder. I was 24-year-old Krista’s mentor and coach in both Frontier and Modern action shooting. Conversely, Krista’s skill and competitive drive forced me achieve at a higher level than I was really used to. With my age twice hers, it was a symbiotic and wholly platonic relationship.
Krista shared a characteristic with most women I had coached in that she was very coachable, with very little “attitude” when her technique was corrected. She also had the best hand/eye coordination of any man or women I have ever been around.
During matches, I wore three handguns. All Colt Single Action 45’s. I wore a seven inch barreled Colt in the strong side holster under my right hand. The four-inch barreled Colt was in a radical cross draw on my left next to my belt buckle. Another four inch barreled Colt was in a skeleton shoulder holster under my left arm.
Krista had a slightly different arsenal. She had a double holster set with a short-barreled Colt on each side. She had another long barreled Colt in her radical cross draw. I asked her about a shoulder holster once. She said, “Not likely with these babies impeding my draw,” as she lifted her more-than-a-handful breasts.
She laughed happily at my obvious embarrassment, and never failed to remind me of our conversation whenever we passed a holster display at the matches.
Krista was an athletic honey blonde. She had a clean natural beauty that fashion models would kill for. Krista was, as she demonstrated, amply endowed, with a tight butt and six-pack abs. She had long well shaped legs. Year round she had an all over tan that complemented her complexion nicely.
Krista competed at the cutting edge of speed at the matches. She was going to find out in Deadwood if she was the fastest woman in the Region. Krista could draw and hit a target equating to a man’s chest at seven yards in twenty-five hundredths of a second including reaction time. In fanning events she could empty her gun into the same target in less than a second. She was ambidextrous during events -- nearly equal with either hand!
Krista’s favorite Colt had an ivory grip, with a silver snake inlaid in the grip. It was a “dedicated fanner,” with no trigger and a flatter hammer spur. The action was strengthened, and had the half and quarter cock notches removed, to lessen the constant battering of the mechanism from fanning. Krista usually wore half gloves just covering her palms, leaving her fingers bare.
For much of her shooting career, Krista competed in matches as her alter ego Crystal. Lately Krista was being introduced at her speed matches as Snake. She loved it -- said the new name took several hundredths off her time in fanning events alone.
She also shot in mounted events. Her Appaloosa horse, Duke, was in the trailer we were towing. Mounted shooting exercises involve shooting several targets from horse back at a full gallop. Krista was an accomplished horsewoman who taught Duke to ignore the gunfire. Actually I think she taught him to love the noise! Duke seems to prance when Krista completes a run -- shooting practically between his ears.
When they go up to accept the inevitable ribbon or trophy that he and Krista win with regularity, Duke preens as if he were solely responsible.
Krista also taught Duke to ride English. She competes with him in Novice jumping events around the area. I usually drive the pick up towing the trailer to those events.
Krista and Duke are attempting to teach me to ride. Krista gets me up on his back at every opportunity. Duke, for his part, acts as if she put an infant or invalid on his back.
Duke and Krista, together, travel at a gallop that would put Secretariat to shame. For me, Duke cannot be persuaded move much above a walk.
Krista has me ride her Duke in mounted shooting events. He takes it with good grace until trophies are announced. It takes little imagination to see Duke’s reproachful look when awards conclude without he and I walking to the judge’s stand.
The handwriting is on the wall. At some point Duke and I will be jumping fences. Krista is adamant that I WILL ride English. Even Duke seems resigned to teaching me. That is why my tack and even my saddle are in Krista’s four-horse trailer.
Duke is a classic Appaloosa color of blanket with spots. He is buckskin colored with a white blanket on his hindquarters. The dark spots form an irregular pattern inside the white blanket.
We were at the Interstate 90 rest area overlooking the Missouri River. We had removed Duke from his trailer to let him roll on the ground and then walked him in the pet area.
Duke always attracts a crowd. He seems to take his celebrity seriously, understanding he is an ambassador for the Appaloosa breed. Duke is especially patient with children. He puts up with indignities from children that would certainly get an adult kicked. It is really only a matter of time before Duke has his own sitcom!
As we got back on the road, I glanced at Krista. She had her bucket seat fully reclined as she tried to nap. I looked at her tee shirt that said: “Not Everything is FLAT in Minnesota.” The shirt was so tight (and stuffed with her tits) that much of her six-pack was visible. Her nipples, stretching the shirtfront, confirmed the absence of a bra.
I don’t know why it aroused me. We shared a room at every match or riding event. The Krista dress code was similar to the dress code at a nudist camp. She would strip and dress in front of me and expect me to do the same. But today the tee, and the very low-rise hip hugger jeans, had me on edge.
To take my mind off the entrancing view, I thought about my upcoming performance at the Round Up. I was not a specialist like Krista, much more a generalist. I was in the top twenty-five in most events, top ten in a couple. The events I won were combination events that used two or more guns in the exercise.
My favorite combination event is “Stagecoach.” Stagecoach starts with the contestant perched on a bench eight feet off the ground. The perch is the same height as the seat on a Wells Fargo Stagecoach. The shooter has a rifle, shotgun and any handguns on the bench. I have a Winchester lever action in caliber 44-40 and a twelve-gauge double-barreled coach gun for this event.
At the whistle, the shooter engages targets with any guns he chooses. The shooter is then expected to grab the moneybox, climb out of the coach and move through a “Hogan’s Alley” of pop up targets to the finish line. Time stops when the moneybox crosses the finish line. Best score is a combination of accuracy and fastest time. I win the event even with my lack of foot speed because of my accuracy with all three type firearms.
My other winning event is “Main Street.” Main Street starts with the contestant on a balcony platform, ten feet off the ground. You shoot at targets appearing in windows, then leave the balcony and move through the Hogan’s Alley of pop ups to the opposite end of the street to cross the finish line, concluding the exercise.
I win this because I take extra time shooting from the balcony with my rifle before I start the walk. I use a special rifle as well. I have a Winchester that fires 50-95 rounds. This big, powerful round allows me to hit targets all the way to the end of the street.
Main Street combines speed and accuracy with the extra spur of disqualifying the contestant if three targets are missed. The logic being, dead contestants can’t finish and three live “bad guys” are enough to make one dead contestant.
Krista and I compete together in Team Main Street. She is so quick, that we set a record in our last joint competition. We bettered the best time by a full second with no missed or passed targets.
We passed Rapid City and I-90 turned north. To interrupt my musing, the GPS made its “doorbell” sound and a mechanical woman’s voice announced our exit next. The noise woke Krista. She straightened her seat and reached for her coffee. She asked, “How long now?”
“We leave the highway, and take county roads now. Part of it is two-lane and open range, so we won’t make good time. Figure an hour.”
“You okay driving?”
“I’m fine, K. Help me navigate and watch for suicidal cattle.”
“Cool.”
With Krista helping, we pulled into downtown Deadwood in under an hour. We would be staying with Dan and Jan O’Hara at their Deadwood Bed and Breakfast. Since they were also competing, the B&B was closed for this week. We were lucky to have a bed. Many competitors were staying in Rapid City and driving in every day.
We drove to the old livery stable on the north end of Main Street. Dan and Jan owned the dilapidated old building. We would be parking the pick up and trailer in the stable during our stay. The stable is an original, permanent, wooden structure that has been on the end of Main Street since the beginning of the Gold Rush.
Krista jumped out to open the combination padlock and swing open the main door. I pulled straight in. I climbed out and stretched as Krista lowered the ramp to release Duke from the trailer.
I walked over to the small window of what was the stable attendant’s office. I reached to my belt and pulled out my lucky silver dollar. I turned to Krista, waved the dollar and said, “I’ll leave the money for our stay here on the counter.”
So saying, I threw the dollar on the counter.
It hit the counter.
The room rocked once to the left, then spun once on its axis to the right.
“What the fuck was that?”
Krista and Duke were standing, frozen, in stunned silence. Duke had his legs braced and ears forward. Krista was hanging from his bridle, trying to regain her feet. I was hanging on the counter.
We looked around at a building suddenly in much better condition with the smell of freshly cut lumber in evidence. There were no horses in stalls but the hay was fresh and bags of oats filled a small storage room. The office now had a cot and personal effects.
Krista and I cautiously opened the main door to confront Downtown Deadwood at the height of the Gold Rush!
The hitching rails were filed with horses and the saloons were loud even in the early afternoon. Krista and I looked carefully and then closed the door. She asked, “Is that what or when I think it is?”
“Yes, I think that is 1876 Deadwood.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but my lucky silver dollar is from the Denver Mint and dated 1870. When it hit the counter the room switched.”
“Can we go back?”
“One way to find out.”
I picked up my 1870 dollar and then retrieved my 1951 silver dollar. The coin was a gift from my grandfather on my golden birthday commemorating my birth year.
I held up the “modern” dollar.
“Ready?” Krista and Duke nodded. I swear, he did. In a universe which had just given me a convincing demonstration of time travel, it didn’t seem worth remarking on.
I dropped the dollar. It hit the counter. The room spun and lurched the other way.
We were back in the dilapidated modern day livery stable. Krista said fervently, “God damn, that was a rush.”
Well, if Krista had the same reaction I did, then the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination. “K, I think we should have a talk with Jan and Dan.”
“Good idea.”
Given what had just transpired, the rest of our time in the livery barn was mundane. We unloaded suitcases, garment bags and two large duffle bags. Krista threw a sheepskin exercise pad on Duke’s back. We roped the two duffle bags together and threw them over the pad. Then we roped the two garment bags together and threw them over the pad as well.
A word of warning: Don’t try this at home! Most horses loaded like Duke would be in a bucking and kicking frenzy immediately, if not sooner. Duke took the load with his trademark equanimity, and patiently waited for his mistress to grab his lead rope.
Krista grabbed a suitcase. I grabbed the aluminum case holding our handguns. Long guns were in a steel vault in the horse trailer.
We walked out of the livery stable, with Krista leading Duke. I locked up. We sauntered down the modern Main Street until we turned west toward the Bed and Breakfast.
Jan and Dan were waiting. We had no sooner opened the front gate, than they came rushing out their front door.
Dan was short, but very broad. A classic ”easier to step over than walk around.” None of it was fat. He was amazingly strong.
He was also a martial arts instructor, with a dojo in his garage in Deadwood. That probably wouldn’t pay the bills except for his contract with the South Dakota State police as a martial arts instructor. Dan also taught them to use their PR-24 tee-baton nightsticks. The PR-24 batons are equipped with a side handle, and are actually derived from the oriental Tonfa weapon.
Dan also instructed in his own martial art combination that involved strikes and throws also in combination with any or all of So staff, Manrikigusari chain, Whip chain, Tonfa, Sai, Katana, Wakizashi, Tanto, and Nunchaku. Dan also practiced with throwing knives, spikes and shuriken. He regularly carried an oak staff reinforced with brass caps and brass straps.
Dan specialized in bowie knife and tomahawk throwing events at the Roundups. His shooting skill was the shotgun, and he carried a ten-gauge Berretta side by side goose gun, with outside hammers cut down to a coach gun.
Jan was a petite brunette. She was short and slender with terrific muscle tone. She ran an exercise studio here in Deadwood, in addition to the B&B.
Jan was the “dead-eye” of the group. She had a Sharps falling block rifle in 45-110. Her long barreled rifle was literally almost bigger than she was. She would compete with iron sights to distances of 600 or more yards. She also shot in an event called Cowboy silhouette. The targets were metal cut outs to be knocked down at 50, 100, 150, and 200 yards. Jan uses a Winchester lever gun in 38-55 for that event. She has a wall full of trophies to attest to her skill.
Dan grabbed Duke’s bridle and led him to their small horse barn behind the house. Jan grabbed Krista and me. She hustled us into the house. Krista and I were quickly seated in the front parlor with large glasses of lemonade.
Dan was hauling our luggage upstairs. Jan was explaining sleeping arrangements.
“We did not accept any reservations for this week. That means all eight rooms are open. Dan and I decided the honeymoon suite is the nicest room in the inn. You will be staying there this week.”
Krista clapped her hands, obviously delighted. I wasn’t sure what I was.
“K, don’t we have something we need to discuss with J and D?”
By this time, Dan had completed move in. He joined Jan on the other couch.
Krista related the livery stable incident. I filled in where I could. The surprise was how calm and unsurprised everybody was.
I said, “The livery stable is a transit point. It is a structure that remains the same as it was in gold rush times.”
Dan said, “That’s true, even buildings like this one have had many inside and outside changes.”
I had a question, “Do you think it is the actual past or a parallel past?”
Krista came right back. “It’s back into our own history.”
I countered, “Then can we change history and affect our present?”
She replied, “We already have!”
I and everybody else goggled and went: “HUH?”
Krista said, “Look around. We are here together. We have nothing in common and we four bonded instantly first time we met. In the barn we acted calmly. You quickly picked up one coin and dropped another. We tell J & D and they don’t lock us up or drug test us, they buy in to a fucking fantastic totally unbelievable story.”
Krista ran down. We sat in silence pondering her words. Dan said, “Drinks seem in order.”
Jan agreed. “Good idea.”
They jumped up and went to get us some liquor to help smooth the bump of this experience.
Krista looked carefully at me in the gathering silence. She said, “You sensed something today. The closer we got the hornier you were. You’ve been staring at my tits since the Missouri River.”
“Sorry.”
“Wrong answer, W. You staring made me excited. That made my nipples hard which made you stare more and me more excited.”
“Um.”
Suddenly Krista launched herself into my lap. She grabbed my head in both her hands and fastened her lips to mine. Some time passed. I realized that I was holding Krista’s shoulders. I noticed that I was not trying to push her away. Quite the contrary I was holding her so that our tongues could easily reach deep into each other’s mouth.
We finally broke our kiss. J & D were back seated on the couch. Our drinks were on the coffee table. Most of Krista’s lipstick had transferred to my face.
I looked around and asked, “Was I the only one here that didn’t know this?”
Krista giggled. “You are pretty hint proof.”
Jan said, “I don’t know about the horse jumping crowd, but every person in Action Shooting knew.”
“That makes me THE dumbest bastard. Sorry, K.”
Krista smiled. She settled lying on the couch next to me with her head on my lap, facing up. She took my left hand and placed it carefully on her left breast.
“I always loved you, K. I was just so sure that you had no interest in an old guy.”
Her answer was to pull my head down into another tongue filled kiss. I came up for air as Jan giggled happily.
Then we resumed our conversation.
Dan said, “I agree that we are too calm. There must be an explanation. I don’t know how you have a memory of something that hasn’t happened yet. Maybe when we traveled back past ‘US’ we left a wake, like a motorboat.”
“That would explain why I knew about the coin so quick.”
Jan said, “I wish I knew if this whole deal worked and what we did.”
Dan answered, “Didn’t we always say we would be bounty hunters and stage coach guards if we were actually in the West?”
We all nodded in recognition of our statements. Suddenly Krista bounced to her feet and said, “Wyld Stallion rules.”
We both did the air guitars. We often acknowledged our mutual enjoyment of the guilty pleasure of “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”
Jan said:
“Okay, we know you and W love that movie. So what?”
Krista said, “Jan. You’re not following. Pivotal scenes in the movie involve Bill and Ted traveling time, and then leaving keys and garbage cans where they need them to escape. So, we left stuff for us to find BEFORE we go.”
Dan said, “How can you know that?”
Suddenly it hit me, Krista was right. I said it. “K’s right. We would leave money and info.”
Dan said, “True, and guns. You would want to buy out the gun store with Colt 45’s selling for Five Bucks.”
They were all convinced just that quickly. It was eerie. I guess Krista was right. We bonded during the time travel. This must be a residual of the experience.
Memory before the event!
Jan decided it was time for the scavenger hunt. She asked both of us, “K.and W., where would you hide something?”
Krista said, “Here, in the house.”
I said, “In the livery stable.”
Dan said, “How the fuck are we gonna find it?”
Jan said, “Metal detector.”
Dan agreed. “I’ll borrow the one from our neighbor. I’ll tell him we need to find a pipe. Then we look for a stash from the past.”
Dan returned with the metal detector. It was the deluxe model detector with tone and meter. It even had earphones. The sound would alert us and the meter would allow us to delineate the size of the “hit.”
Dan asked, “Where shall we start?”
Krista answered, “Let’s go back to the stable. First, unload everything from the trailer. Then search the livery stable with the detector.”
“Do we need some tools?”
“No, I brought mine from home, they’re in the trailer.”
We all piled into Dan’s pick up. Krista had to sit on my lap. Okay, Krista decided that she wanted to sit on my lap. I was loath to dissuade her.
We pulled up in front of the old livery stable. Dan unlocked the combination lock and swung open the big door. Jan slid behind the wheel long enough to pull the truck inside. Dan swung the door shut.
There was light from the afternoon sun coming in the dirty dusty windows.
Jan looked around and said, “Christ, this is so dirty. I bet the horseshit is gold rush original!”
Dan said, “Yep, that’s why it worked.”
Krista threw open the side doors on her four horse trailer. We started transferring items to the back of the pick up. The pick up had a shell over the bed. That provided enough cover for our trip back to the B&B.
They started hauling out my tools. Dan saw the battery powered drill and the several large toolboxes. He started laughing. ”Were you planning on problems?”
“You know me. Mister Obsessive. Can’t have too many tools.”
With all the jocularity the unloading was quickly done. I hauled out a couple of powerful spotlights that I plugged in the cigarette lighters in the two trucks. Jan and Krista each grabbed a light. Dan grabbed the detector. I had a long thin piece of welding rod to use as a probe.
Dan worked carefully around the edges of the barn. We found several bottle caps. We also found some badly rusted metal pieces that were unrecognizable but still magnetic.
Dan reached the last stall. At some point this stall was converted to hold tack and saddles instead of livestock. There was even an ancient McClellan saddle on a peg surrounded by dusty bridles. Krista yelped and pulled his arm. We all stopped as she said;
“This is the spot. We would have done this. We wouldn’t want horses pissing on the ground above our stash.”
We were stunned. I got a little light headed. I held on a post for a minute. Dan said:
“Look, there’s a wood floor in this stall.”
We verified; none of the other stalls had a wood floor. The storeroom and the office had floors. Jan and Krista quickly cleared the tack out of the stall. Dan walked in with the detector. He yelled as he pulled off the earphones:
“Holy Fucking Shit, I just pegged the meter and the tone is deafening.”
I grabbed the broom out of the trailer and swept the stall floor. Then I examined the floor using the strongest spotlight. I used a rag to wipe away the last of the accumulated grime. My three companions stood patiently waiting for my verdict. I stood up and said, “We put this floor in here.”
Dan asked, “How the fuck do you figure?”
“Torx.”
“NO SHIT?”
Dan grabbed the light and crawled around the floor of the stall. Krista and Jan were becoming increasingly agitated. Jan got right in my face!
I remembered something. In the bad old days before Dan found his center with martial arts. Dan used to trash a bar or two just for fun. Even the cops were terrified of him. Jan used to wade into the wreckage and drag Dan out by his ear. She could be formidable when she was pissed and right now she was pissed.
“WELL? Are one of you assholes going to share your secret with the rest of us?”
I put my arms around her and hugged.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be an asshole. It’s a little overwhelming. I wanted Dan to make sure before I blathered.”
Dan stuck his head out of the stall.
“Go ahead and blather. This floor is held down by Torx.”
I put my hand over Jan’s mouth before she could erupt. I led her and Krista to my toolboxes. I threw the one up on the tailgate that housed my drill. I flipped it open. I held up a Torx sheetrock screw.
“This is a Torx screw. There are no slots. A regular screw or a Phillips has slots. The Torx head is recessed and uses a special driver almost like an Allen wrench. Like this one.”
I held up the screws and drivers for them. I gave them regular screws and drivers to examine and compare to the Torx.
“Okay ladies -- the kicker. As near as I can tell, Torx was invented and became widely used after 1960 or there abouts. This floor either was installed recently OR somebody transported modern technology back and used it to install this floor in frontier times.”
Jan yelled loudly. She threw her arms around me to give me a sloppy kiss. Then Krista kissed me. Then both of them kissed Dan. Dan said, “You kiss me, W., and I put you flat on your ass.”
Krista and Jan grabbed the lights. They examined the flooring. Krista said, “There is no good reason to build this floor with these Torx things except as a message to us.”
Jan and Dan nodded in agreement. I grabbed my battery powered electric drill. I put in the Torx screw bit that I use for sheetrock screws. No surprise! It was exactly the right one. I backed out the screws. Of course they were sheetrock screws. As I loosened and released boards, I handed them to Jan and Krista.
I showed them the screws when I was completed. Chrome plated sheetrock screws with Torx drive heads. I said, “Wild Bill never had any of these babies.”
Krista grabbed the folding shovel out of the horse trailer. She began scooping dirt out of the stall floor revealed by removing the flooring. About six inches down she struck the first piece of plastic sheeting. Then six inches below that another plastic sheeting covered the stall floor.
Jan was using Dan’s Swiss Army knife to cut through the plastic. Dan turned to me.
“The plastic would be easy to transport. We just need one or two big horse drawn wagons for all the crap we need. The plastic tucks in anywhere. How were you planning to keep your drill motor batteries charged?”
“Solar panels to a battery charger, I suppose. I would likely use an old-fashioned brace and bit with the Torx screw bit and self-driving screws, where noise was an issue.”
“That makes sense.”
“Two big wagons?”
Dan looked around and said, “At least. Gotta be careful. Take enough stuff first time. We ain’t exactly established that we got back.”
“Good point.”
By this time Krista was down several feet. Her and Jan were scooping the dirt out with their hands. They started to find objects wrapped in layers of plastic. As Dan dragged them out of the hole, I recognized them.
“They’re leather and canvas bank bags. Banks used them to transport currency and coin. Very heavy duty with good fasteners.”
Each was wrapped in layers of plastic. Clearly nothing had been disturbed. Dan carried them directly to his pick up. There were eight bank pouches. There were six more plastic wrapped bundles that were clearly long gun cases. Krista finally called a halt. “That’s it kids. No more in this hole.”
Jan looked at her watch. “Supper time. Anybody hungry?”
I answered, “Not until you mentioned it. Now I’m starved.”
“Didn’t you eat on the road?”
“A buffalo burger at the restaurant by the Missouri River rest area.”
“Poor baby. Dan has steaks to grill. I think they’re dinosaur.” Dan did tend to think big and overbuy anytime he was in the grocery store.
I closed up the horse trailer and my truck. Dan quickly threw some dirt back in the hole. Jan and Krista threw the floorboards next to the stall.
They climbed in Dan’s pickup. I swung the stable door open, Dan backed out, and I swung the door closed and locked it. I slid into the cab as Krista again carefully perched on my lap. I put my arms around her. It just felt right.
Dan pulled into the B&B driveway. He parked behind the building. He backed up close to the back door. We began unloading.
Our costumes and shooting clothes went into the bedroom close to our suite. Guns went across the hall from our suite. All the plastic wrapped bundles went downstairs into the basement. Tools and the metal detector went into the parlor. With unloading done we stepped outside.
Dan was starting up the grill. Krista and Jan headed for the small four box stall horse barn to tend to livestock. Duke was calmly walking the exercise merry-go-round. He was stretching after his ride. Even our long absence did not unhinge him.
The shed held four stalls. One was dedicated for Duke. Jan had a paint horse just her size named “Buttercup.” Dan had a large red Thoroughbred named predictably “Red.” I had a riding mule.
The whole mule deal started as a joke. When D&J asked me what kind of horse I wanted in their shed. I did not want I horse. I did not want to ride. I said, “I want a mule. Like I rode into the Grand Canyon.”
I thought that solved the problem.
Then one weekend Krista and I arrived and I met “Francis.” They named him after the talking mule from a series of 1950’s movies.
My Francis was a cross between a mule and a horse of mixed Morgan and Percheron ancestry. The Percheron draft horse for its “cold blood”; the result was a calm animal over fifteen hands tall.
Krista had worked with Francis before I arrived on the scene. He had several comfortable gaits. He also had zero fear of gunfire.
I did not realize how good Francis was until we went on a horseback camping trip. Francis carried me up hills so steep that the rest of the horses had to be led up. He also carries a pack and pulls a small buckboard just as nicely. I learned to appreciate my mule!
Jan tended the other two horses. Krista was brushing and cooling down Duke. I greeted Francis. We had the horses lined up outside as we brushed and curry combed. As usual, they acted calmly despite the close proximity. Krista said, “I think you should ride Francis in your mounted events this week.”
Jan asked, “You still want to compete, K?”
“Oh yeah. Final tune up, before we tackle real gunfighters with real bullets.”
Dan had walked up just during the discussion. He said, “I agree. Plus we got groundwork before we jump in with all eight feet.”
We all laughed at his wordplay. We also nodded at the logic. Krista said, “I wish we had left us a note.”
I said, “K honey, do you realize how convoluted that sounds?”
“This is a fucking situation.”
We all nodded. Jan said, “Maybe in the B&B. We haven’t searched yet.”
Dan said, “After supper. No more searches on an empty stomach.”
That was a real big hint. We turned the horses into the modest paddock. J & K started hauling food and plates to the picnic table. I helped Dan finish grilling the steaks. He was also heating the baked potatoes and grilling ears of sweet corn.
We ate until we were stuffed. Then Jan brought out dessert. Desert was making your own ice cream sundaes. I completely forgot I was full and stuffed myself with ice cream.
We ended up sitting on the grass next to Dan’s fire ring toasting marshmallows. Krista was on my lap. Jan was on Dan’s. Jan said, “Fuck this. I want to try out the portal. Tonight.”
Krista agreed. “Me too.”
Dan asked, “W., do you think we left some message?”
“I hope so, D. But how would we code it and decode it?”
“Why would we ‘code it’ in the first place?”
Krista answered, “To keep it out of the wrong hands. Any body not sitting around this fire right now IS the wrong hands.”
Jan said, “How would we code it and still guarantee that we would be able to decode it?”
Dan turned to me and said, “You’re right, W. This is getting hard to follow.”
Krista answered, “Shorthand.”
Another electric shock for all of us! We all realized that Krista’s secret language would be EXACTLY how we would do it.
Jan climbed off Dan and crawled to Krista. She took Krista’s face in her hands and looked in her eyes. The she quietly asked, “Where would you hide it, K., so we would find it quickly?”
Krista pondered the question. Then she smiled.
“I would put it in the attic with something metal but away from all the guns and money.”
The rightness of the answer was hard to fault. We would put the communication away from the guns and money. Even if the scavengers found our caches we would still keep the secret.
Dan got to his feet. He pulled the rest of us up off our lazy asses. I think that’s what he said. We walked over and put the horses and mule back in their stalls. Then we headed in for scavenger hunt, part two.
Dan stopped in his garage and grabbed two halogen work lights. He grabbed several very long power cords. He pointed to the Stream light flashlights. We went inside. K. grabbed the metal detector. Jan picked up some of the tools and my drill.
The B&B was an imposing structure. Three full stories tall with a full attic for the fourth floor. It sat far back from Main Street on a side street. This was the west edge of town. The yard was surrounded by stonewall and wrought iron fences. The B&B sat in the middle of the huge lot, with open space all around. Dan and Jan had purchased extra lots, giving them room for their horses and Dan’s dojo.
We stood at the bottom of the narrow stair that led to the fourth floor attic.
Dan related the story. “Legend is that this is the site of Deadwood’s most deluxe whorehouse.”
Jan continued, “This was always some kind of sporting house. We found a secret room behind the kitchen. Judging by the shelves and the pass through to the bar it was storage for booze during the prohibition.”
I looked carefully at the narrow stairway. I said, “You realize the attic stairway is totally enclosed and it’s all dead space.”
Their three heads snapped around. Dan said:
“God damn. You’re right. This fucking place is rife with secret rooms. What now, W?”
“Attic first, D.”
We walked up the steps and Dan unlocked the attic door with a small skeleton key on his key ring. Nobody commented on the oddity until I asked how often they visit the attic.
Jan answered, “Never. I don’t think we have ever been up here. Why?”
“Is the attic key the same as the front door J?”
“No. Don’t be silly. We replaced all the outside skeleton locks with modern Medeco deadbolts the first week we were here. Why?”
“Dan and Jan. I want you to stop and tell me why Dan has the attic skeleton key on his key ring?”
That was an absolute showstopper. I had waited until everybody had put their loads on the floor. Then I watched as D & J sagged into each other. Dan straightened and asked, “How come we ain’t noticing this stuff?”
“The wake you talked about. We know this is here even though we don’t know why we know.”
Memory before the event!
Krista said, “Freaky. Now what?”
I said, “You hid it, Smart-ass. You find it.”
Krista stuck out her tongue.