Death on the Bayou, Pt. 3

"Jeb, be a good boy an' fetch my cane if you would," Kingston said in a calm and cool voice that held the air of sophistication. "We are entertaining two fine ladies, so I must make certain my attire is appropriate." He smiled to the small black boy and waved him off to carry out his duty. Kingston fussed a bit in the mirror as one of his body guards stood by near the window. Kingston looked over to him somewhat curiously. "Is there any sign of the carriage?"

"Not yet, Sir," the body guard replied as he adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. Dressed in finery, the man looked more like one to be more at home on the range than working as a guard on a plantation. The hired gun looked back to the window as the small boy ran back in with Kingston's cane.

"Why thank you, Jeb," Kingston replied with an overly genuine smile. Why don't you go downstairs an' ask Miss Mabel for some corn bread, hmmm." The boy smiled and Kingston saw the question that seemed to hang in the boy's eyes. "An' yes, you may ask for some fine Swiss cheese to go with that." The boy ran off excitedly as Kingston waved him off yet again. "Make certain ta inform Marcus that we'll be lockin' the gates once the carriage arrives."

"Sir?" the gun hand inquired as he looked back to Kingston.

"This Miss Wennemein spent a great deal of money on that slave," Kingston said as he tucked the cane under one arm. "That means he is worth a great deal, and is someone to be added to the stable." The gun hand nodded and quickly stepped out of the room as Kingston slipped into his evening gloves.

"You must be careful, Mahstah Kingston," the deep, seductive voice of the black woman said from the shadows. Kingston turned to look in her direction as he arched an eyebrow.

"An' why would you say that, Lady Isabella?" he asked, punctuating the question with a thud of his cane on the hard wood floor.

"That woman was a gunslingah," Isabella commented. "She is powerful. Ah can feel it in me bones."

"Well," Kingston replied with a sly smile. "If that is the case, then we will most assuredly have to call upon your talents, my dear. For how many people in this world have ever had ta deal with the walkin' dead b'fore?"

*****

The carriage came to a slow stop at the front gates of the plantation. Ezekiel hopped off the back of the carriage and moved to the door, opening it with ease. Shani took her first steps out onto the pristine racked path that lead to the mansion that lay before them. She took in the area with a gunslinger's eye, taking note of the hiding spots that snipers could hold themselves up in. Once satisfied, she turned her attention back to the carriage and assisted Ezekiel as Pania climbed down to the ground. The elven bard moved slowly as she climbed down, making certain her dress didn't become snagged on the carriage at all.

"Well then," Pania said with a sigh as she looked around the grounds. "Fine lookin' place, isna it?"

"Fine 'nough," Shani replied as she once again turned her attention back to the grounds and tried to determine where attackers might lay. "If ya don't mind livin' in a bunker." The three began walking toward the front steps of the mansion, both elves taking in the beauty of the place. Shani, though, could not help but feel a sense of foreboding as they walked past the marble of the Roman columns. Then there was that tug on her arm.

She looked to her left and found Pania smiling as she stood beside the elven gunslinger, arm neatly tucked into Shani's. "Um... what're ya doin'?"

"A lady needs an escort, ye know," Pania replied with a grin.

"I'm fine," Shani stated with a nod. "Really, I don't need no escort." Pania furrowed her brow and let out a harumph. No time to argue, however, as Ezekiel approached the door and knocked loudly to announce their presence. Shani had her mind on other details. "Got a Colt slung on my side in a shoulder holster an' two short blades jist in case. You packin'?" she asked of Pania.

"I've go' one o' me pistols tucked 'way in a garter," Pania replied with a sly smile. "Wanna see?" she asked with a grin as she looked to Shani. Pania's arm was still tucked into the elven gunslingers, and Shani's only response was to roll her eyes and sigh. But any banter between the two would have to be put on hold. The massive double doors, made of only the finest oak no doubt, were being opened.

A rather sophisticated looking manservant bowed to the trio and quietly bid them enter. The lobby of the mansion was incredible. Two stair cases that hugged the wall while seeming to embrace the room with warmth. An elegant chandelier hung with care from the tall ceiling. Paintings were displayed, obviously announcing the former owners of this plantation, which gave a hint as to the long lineage that Kingston came from in the Americas.

The three stood in the lobby and marvelled at the sight. Pania gazed with wide eyed wonder, while Shani took a much more skeptical view of the place. Ezekiel too gazed about the room, but his eyes drifted back to a spot on the floor, making certain to keep himself unnoticed in his position behind the two elves.

"Well, well," announced the broad smiling voice of Jeremiah Kingston as he sauntered into the lobby. "What a sight indeed. Two fine lookin' ladies. Allow me ta introduce myself, I am Jeremiah Kingston, the Third," his smile seemed to grow as he held out his hand to each lady.

"Pania Alow, if ye please," the elven bard said as she took his hand and curtsied with a cow smile. Kingston seemed to chuckle as his eyes drifted across Pania's curvy form.

"I do b'lieve we've already met," Shani said as she removed her stetson, but shook Kingston's hand as a matter of formality.

"Yes indeed, we did," Kingston replied. His eyes fell on the figure of Ezekiel and his smile again grew just a bit more. "I am so pleased to see that you have brought your manservant with you. I believe that if we associate from such lower class people, perhaps they can become educated in the ways of higher society. I am all about equality, but a person needs ta know their place first b'fore they can ascend."

"In'erestin' philosophy," Shani said with a slight smirk. Gods he's such a racist bastard, she thought in almost the same breath.

"I do b'lieve we can discuss more o' this over dinner," he said as he held out a hand to usher the pair toward the dining room. As they walked, Pania wondered if the dining room was just as immaculate as the lobby of this rather palatial mansion.

Death on the Bayou, Pt. 2

Ezekiel Morgan followed obediently behind one of the slavers as he was taken out of the paddock. He'd seen this before, slaves taken from one owner to another. This was his time now. He prayed at least that maybe this master would be kind and understanding. Perhaps, maybe even grant him his freedom. He kept his head low, eyes looking to the ground, knowing exactly when to stop and exactly when to start walking. He listened as the slavers talked but didn't really register what they said. He didn't really look up until he heard the voice of the one who had paid for him.

“Thank ya kindly, boys,” he heard her say. A woman. He'd never heard of a woman owning property before. His eyes drifted up for a brief moment, taking in the lean figure that stood before him. He saw the pair of long barrels slung low on her hips, a pair of short swords tucked neatly into scabbards that rested near the holsters. A gunslinger. He'd been bought by a gunslinger. What would a gunslinger possibly want with a slave? “Son,” he heard her say again. “Y'all kin look up, son.” Ezekiel's head slowly looked up to take in the woman before him. She was shorter than he was by at least a foot and a half. And skin whiter than any white man he'd seen. True white in colour. And her ears, her pointed ears.

“Yes'm,” he said as he looked up, nodding respectfully.

“Name's Shani,” she replied. That alone took him aback, never before had his owner introduced him or herself to him before. “Ya gots a name, son?”

“Y.. yes'm,” he replied with a hesitant nod. “Ezekiel, ma'am.” His timber remained respectful and timid, as he'd learned from previous owners. Any sign of confidence was usually beaten out of most slaves.

Shani nodded with approval and turned to the guards. “Y'all gots the key ta his shackles?” The guards stared at her for a moment in disbelief. Shani huffed and rolled her eyes as she continued. “If I wanted a puppy ta lead 'round on a leash I'da bought a dog.” The guards muttered as they finally handed Shani the key to the shackles, and watched as the pale elf began unlocking the chains around Ezekiel's hands and feet.

“Miss,” one of the guards cautioned as he stared at Ezekiel. “He could bolt an' run.”

Shani stood up and tossed the shackles to the ground and looked Ezekiel in the eye. “Ya ain't gonna run from me, are ya Ezekiel?” The tall black man shook his head slowly. He didn't know what to make of this woman, and decided if he did run, she could easily gun him down. “There, see?” she said as she looked back to the guards. “'Sides, I don't need no personal servant draggin' b'hind me all chained up. C'mon, son. Let's go.”

Ezekiel followed her dutifully, keeping his head bent low and eyes on the ground. His mind raced as he tried to figure this woman. That detective work would have to continue later, as he heard another voice call out to his new Mistress.

“I congratulate you, Madam,” the very debonair voice stated as he approached with his entourage. The dandy that he had seen before. Along with the woman. The woman that made him feel uneasy. “I had hoped to add a strong back to my work force. But it would appear that t'day was not that day.”

“I recon so,” Shani replied with a nod. She didn't smile, but remained cool as the dandy approached. “I needed somebody ta help out with a few things, an' a strong back's what I need. I can't lift ev'rythin'.”

The dandy extended his hand in an offer of greeting. “Allow me ta introduce myself. I am Jeremiah Kingston. The Third. It is a pleasure to meet such a lady as yerself.” He smiled to her with a slight bow as he introduced himself, his well trimmed mustache and goatee matching his demeanor.

Shani smirked and nodded as she shook the man's hand. “Shani Wennemein,” she said slowly, allowing him to believe that she had a slow, Texas drawl. “The first.” Ezekiel kept his head low but managed to shift his eyes back and forth between the two of them. He already was beginning to piece together some of Shani's body language. He could tell she really didn't like this man. Rightly so, he also gave Ezekiel a very odd feeling.

“If I may be so bold,” Jeremiah continued after the short introduction. “But it is often an honour ta meet a lady such as yaself. It would be most pleasant if ya might join me at my plantation for dinner.” His smile was ever present, making Shani believe that it actually might really be a fake.

“I would haveta say thet is most kind o' ya, Mr. Kingston,” she said with a nod. “I will haveta say, though, I am gonna bring 'long my partner. Pania's 'er name.”

“Well,” Jeremiah let draw out as his eyes seemed to brighten at the prospect of not one, but two women that he could entertain. “I will look forward ta seein' ya both. And please, do bring your manservant. He is most welcome ta join us as well. I will send a carriage ta your quarters around six this evenin'. I don't need the address, buyers such as yaself are easy ta find.” He bowed to her as his smile grew just a bit, and then moved off, followed closely by his entourage.

When he was completely out of ear shot, Shani turned to Ezekiel. “I don't trust the bastard.” This comment, combined with the fact that she confided in him, surprised him even more. No one had ever done that before. Ever. “C'mon,” she said as she began to move down the street. “Need ta git cleaned up an' then all three o' us needa git gussied up. Y'all kin meet Pania, too.” Even with the few surprising events in the last few minutes, he obediently followed her down the street. These events would be nothing compared to what was to come.

*****

Pania sat back in the warm water, eyes closed as she hummed quietly to herself. Finally, she had a decent bath. After several days of running creek water through her hair, she would be able to soak and get some of the stench of the trail out of her skin. This was something that she'd been waiting for over the course of their ride from Oxford to Shreveport. They didn't stay for very long in one place, so it made it difficult to get a decent bath. And now she had the opportunity to actually sit and soak in a nice warm bath.

The boarding house was very high class. The few thousand they had accumulated from previous jobs afforded them some ability to pass themselves off as high than their class. Even on Earth, flash enough cash and it got you places. And this place even took in clothing to wash it. She sighed deeply as she relaxed. All was perfect with the world. Even the sounds that filtered in through the window, the tromping of booted feet down the hall, the laughter from the patrons of the establishment, the shouts from outside as people called to each other. All of it seemed relaxing.

She even enjoyed the reception she received, as each person took to calling her Mademoiselle, to which she bowed in thanks and repeated the greeting. It felt very high class here.

The sound of light boots and the familiar ching of spurs signalled that Shani had returned. Pania smiled, maybe if she remained in the tub, Shani might be tempted in some way shape or form. The door opened as Pania continued to hum to her self.

“Damn, it is hot out there,” Shani called out as she moved through the three room apartment they had rented. A decent sized place for such a boarding house. Another example of its high class nature. Pania heard the shuffling around of feet. And then she heard something else.

“Oh my Lawd!” The voice was most definitely male. “I am so sorry, Miss. I did not mean ta ...” Pania opened her eyes, which grew to the size of saucers when she saw the tall black man standing with his back to his, a hand covering her face. “I am so sorry, Miss.”

“Shani!” Pania called out quickly as she rose to her feet and quickly grabbed a towel. The elven gunslinger walked back into the room as she heard the commotion, somewhat confused by what she was hearing.

And then it became all too clear when she became enlightened of the situation.

“Oh fer cryin' out loud,” she said with a sigh. “Pania, put some dang clothes on.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Pania huffed, her voice holding a mocking tone. “I didna know we were gonna 'ave comp'ny comin' o'er.” She wrapped the towel around her, gazing over at the black man every so often, then motioned Shani over as the shock of being seen in all her glory had finally passed. “Who's tha'?”

“His name's Ezekiel,” Shani explained.

“Mhmm,” Pania said with a nod as her eyes continued to gaze over the man's form. “Now. Please explain why there's a very, very black man in the room. An' dunna try an' say ye met an ol' friend on the street. I know 'ow blacks 're treated 'ere.” Her eyes moved to Shani as she waited for the explanation.

Shani sighed slightly, knowing that no excuse would be good enough for the elven bard. “I ... I bought 'im,” she finally said in a quiet voice. Pania's only response was a blank stare, only broken up by the odd blink from time to time.

Pania opened her mouth two or three times as she tried to find the words. Her mind tried to process what she had just been told. Naturally, it was the only logical answer, but she still couldn't believe what she had just been told. “Ye... bough' 'im?” she finally said with a voice filled with shock. “With money?”

“Yeah, money,” Shani shot back. “I figger one way ta actually free a slave may very well be ta buy 'em.” Shani rolled her shoulders as though she struck a small victory with her comment. Ezekiel heard the words, and realization sunk in. This woman did plan on saving him. Maybe not him per say, but she purchased him, and she wanted to free him.

“An'... wha' 'xactly were the plan?” Pania finally managed as she was able to produce a full sentence with less shock in her voice. “Buy a slave, ride up ta 'Arrisburg, knock o'er a bank, ride back 'ere, buy a few more...”

“Hell, no,” Shani replied with a grim tone. “It were impulse. I jist... I couldn't jist stan' there an' watch.” She took a deep breath as she waited for Pania to continue her tirade. But the elven bard's attention had focused on Ezekiel again. “Ezekiel,” she called out to the black man. “'Salright, she ain't all nekked no more, ya kin turn 'round.” Ezekiel did as he was told, keeping his head bowed low and eyes to the floor.

Pania moved forward, her anger toward Shani, the shock of being exposed in front of a complete stranger, was all but gone. “Ye dunna 'aveta look ta the ground, ye know lad,” she said softly. “I were a bit s'prised, an' no' angry.” She smirked as she looked to the elven gunslinger behind her for a moment. “'Least no' at ye, lad.”

Shani sighed and shook her head in reply before changing the subject. “We got other problems ta think 'bout anyways,” she stated quickly. “We been invited ta a fancy dinner by a Jeremiah Kingston. The Third.”

“The Third?” Pania repeated with a chuckle. “Sounds important, aye.”

“I bet he think he is,” Shani replied with a smirk. “Anyways, coach is gonna come pick us up at six. We needa git us some fancy clothes an' git ourselves all purtied up fer t'night.” He eyes moved over to Ezekiel and then to the bath tub. “But first, we needa git cleaned up.”

*****

Ezekiel stood straight as he inspected the fine suit he wore. He'd never had clothes like these, and it made him feel important. The fine, black material, along with the black dress shoes. Mind you, the shoes did pinch a bit, but he wore them, never having had such articles before. Both Miss Shani and Miss Pania were off in other rooms dressing for the evening. Ezekiel still had a difficult time getting past the image of the white hair elf from his mind. It was their first meeting, and he often did not see people naked when being introduced. One thing was certain with these two, they were different, and they treated him differently. While they shopped for clothes, they took him along, asked his opinion, wanted to know if he liked the clothes they picked out. Granted, it was done in hushed tones, but still, they asked his opinion. As though they treated him as an equal.

His thoughts came back to the present as the door to one of the spare rooms opened and Shani walked in. She wore smart looking slacks and matching vest that covered a fine silk shirt. The pale elf slipped on a matching bolero jacket and topped off the wardrobe with a brand new stetson. Her new boots seemed slick and the spurs gave a sharper ching as she walked. Even the gunbelt was new and pristine looking, holding her trusted long barrels with care. Under the vest, she wore a shoulder harness that held each short sword in comfortable scabbards and neatly tucked away from sight. Ezekiel smiled as she stood in the middle of the room, as though modeling the latest fashion. Shani dressed up quite well, making the Tom Boy look come out that much more for her. Had it not been for the fact that her long hair and feminine features gave away her gender, she could have been mistaken for a man.

"Ya look right nice, Miss Shani," Ezekiel said with a genuine smile. His opinion was honest, it wasn't a forced thought that came out to satisfy an owner. Shani did look very nice indeed.

"Well, thank ya, Zeke," Shani replied with a grin. She had begun taking to calling him Zeke, finding the name quicker to use and easier to say. "How ya find them clothes?"

"They fit right good, Miss Shani," he said with a nod. There was some hesitation before he continued, however. He knew there would be no reprisal for his comment, but he had grown up not wanting to voice discomfort in front of white folks. "Shoes're a bit tight."

"Well, couldn't find nuthin' in yer size," Shani replied with a sigh as she fixed up the bow tie for him. "Jist keep up 'ppearances 'til we git done dinner 'n then we kin find ya a decent pair o' soft shoes." She picked up a smart looking black cap that sat on a nightstand and handed it to Ezekiel. He took it carefully and gently placed it on his head, adjusting it so it felt comfortable. The pale elf smiled and nodded her approval. "I figger we gonna come off lookin' like a right respect'ble group o' upper class society at Kingston's lil sworay." She looked back to one of the doors that lead to another spare room. "How y'all comin' in there, Panny?"

"I'm comin'," a muffled voice said from behind the door. "Jus' gimme 'nother minute."

Shani rolled her eyes and shook her head as she muttered in a low voice next to Ezekiel. "Fer swingin' fer the other team, she sure are a girly girl."

"I 'eard tha'," a louder, but still muffled voice called out from behind the door. There was some shuffling around and several moments passed. Finally the door opened, and Pania stepped out. Both Shani and Ezekiel were silent for a good long while as they took in the vision that Pania had become. Her dress was maroon with gold trimming along the ruffles of the skirt, at the waist line and about the neckline. Pania wore long evening gloves and displayed a gold ring on her left hand. A gold flower nestled on her bosom, as gold trim went up to the shoulders. With her left hand, she held lightly onto a matching umbrella. Pania had transformed into an upstanding southern belle.

Ezekiel smiled as he nodded. "You... ya look real nice, Miss Pania." The elven bard grinned as she curtsied. She could tell the tall, black man's comment was genuine. Just something in his eyes let her know.

"Yeah," Shani added with a slight smirk. "Y'all purty up but good, girly-girl." The elven gunslinger snickered as Pania scowled mockingly at her. The seeming playful nature between the two elves made Ezekiel smile. It had been a long time since he had felt like this. It felt good. The sound of a carriage coming to a stop could be heard through the open window, and Shani moved to get a clear view of the street below. "Looks like our carriage has 'rrived." She looked back to her companions, smiling a sly smile. "We went all out an' gussied up, now it's time ta play the part. Like I done said b'fore, I don't trust this Kingston 'far as I kin throw 'im, so be on yer guard."

Death on the Bayou, Pt. 1

Shreveport, Louisiana, September 23, 1863
Pania removed her duster and wiped her brow. Not only was it hot, but humid. Never before had she felt such conditions. The heat and humidity felt like a huge weight that bared down on her. Shani felt it too, as both gunslingers looked tired in the saddle. Even their horses loped along slowly. That didn't stop them, however, as off in the distance they could see their goal. Shreveport. Here was where Pania had wanted to come. Help with whatever was needed in the Underground Railroad.

“Goddamn,” Shani huffed as she tried to breath through the thick and cloying air. “Ain't never felt nuthin' like this b'fore.” She pulled on the reins and brought her mount to a halt as she looked toward the town sight. “Gonna need a bath when we git inta town.”

“There's gotta be a place ta rest b'fore we start lookin' fer them wha' run the railroad,” Pania suggested in a tired voice.

“Jist keep thet talk 'bout the railroad quiet, 'right,” Shani offered her advice. “We don't need no gun play when the air's so hot it'd make a Junebug fry on a sidewalk as it's walkin'.” Pania chuckled lightly with Shani's simple wisdom. But she was right. It wasn't as though they could walk door to door and ask. Both elves coaxed their horses forward toward the town. They took note of the small camp that lay on the outskirts of Shreveport, saw the armed guards. “Wonner what's goin' on?” Shani mused.

“Slave auction,” Pania replied under her breath. She could see the slaves, lined up like cattle in the camp. Rich dandies walked through the camp, inspecting possible purchases for later in the day. She had only heard stories of the auctions, and now seeing one up close, she grew just that much more disgusted with the human race. “I still dunna know how one man can claim ownership o'er 'nother man, an' sell 'im like 'e were cattle.”

“The obvious reason's starin' ya in the face,” Shani suggested as she lit a cigarillo. “Y'all don't gotta go no further 'n the colour o' their skin.” Again, Shani was right. The rich, white slavers that held court to decide the fate of the dark skinned workers. To the Confederates, this was just another day. But to a pair of elves who had only heard about such activities, it was just another nail in the coffin of the human race.

Pania motioned to Shani as the entered the town limits. Citizens busied themselves with their days work, almost ignoring the small camp. The sight had become a normal one on auction day. For the elves, it wasn't so much the camp that filled their minds, but a place to rest. And Pania saw a rather comforting looking boarding house. They brought their horses to a halt and tied them off on the hitching posts, lazily entering the establishment. Pania held her duster over one arm as she carried in her satchel, Shani did the same, making sure that her most precious possessions were close at hand. Shani would let Pania talk to the owner, maybe they could get a decent room, a decent bath and a hot meal.

“There looks ta be a good place there,” Pania pointed out a clean looking boarding house. “Need ta get a good 'ot bath.” She entered the elegant looking building, something of a common appearance in this southern city.

“While yer doin' thet,” Shani called out as Pania opened the door to the establishment. “I'm gonna scout out, see what I kin find 'round here 'bout information on the auctions an such. Give a listen in there, maybe some loose lips.” Pania nodded as Shani tipped her hat and rode off. The pale elf stretched as she worked out the kinks in her back. She'd been riding in the saddle for too long a time, and had grown stiff. Yes, a good hot bath was in order.

*****

Shani brought her horse to a slow stop as she neared the gathered crowd. Their attention was riveted to the main stage as an auctioneer called out. She furrowed her brow as she saw men and women paraded onto the stage, and prices called out. Men in the crowd placed bids quickly as each lot was brought onto the stage. Shani became sickened by what she saw, but knew there was no way to stop it without getting gunned down in the streets. It was time to play things cool and just watch.

She gained a feel for the crowd as she watched, and saw the looks on the slaves as they were paraded up on the stage. And then she realized, she still had a large sum of the money from the job in Harrisburg. “Maybe one wrong kin make a right,” she muttered under her breath. “Use some o' this here money ta buy somebody's freedom.” The prices that were finalized were high, but not enough to make a significant dent in the amount she had. She looked through her money belt and found a cool one thousand tucked away. Her favourite saddle bag held the rest of her earnings.

“Ma'am,” a voice called out. Shani looked up and studied the man who approached her. She didn't even realize she hadn't dismounted from her horse yet, her mind was too full of ideas. “Ya look like yer contemplatin' a look over the merchandise.”

She struggled with keeping a civil tongue, knowing full well the word merchandise referred to other human beings. “Been thinkin' 'bout it a might, I wager,” she replied.

“Well ma'am,” the man said as he approached her. “If you'll dismount, one o' the boys can take care o' yer horse an' I'll register ya with a ticket.” He took out a clip board and pencil as he watched her dismount. He got a strange feeling from Shani, she didn't look like the type to be owning slaves one bit. “Mind if I ask yer interest in this auction, ma'am. Haveta know, just ta be certain. There's a lotta agitators that would like nothin' more 'n ta strip down a way o' life we built up.”

“Well, I'd say thet there is mighty polite o' ya,” she said with a smile after she let the workers take away her horse. “Been range ridin' fer a spell, figger it's time ta settle down. Get a piece o' my own, so ta speak.”

“Puttin' the cart b'fore the horse, ain't ya ma'am?” he replied with a small snort of laughter. “Usually plantation owners buy land first, then worker stock.”

“Some workers have a good eye fer land,” she replied. “Be nice ta know I ain't buyin' somethin' thet'll be done in two years. I got a lotta time invested, an' I'm lookin' fer one ta help me an' mine out.” She took the clipboard and wrote down her name as she spoke. “I'm here with a partner o' mine, Pania's her name. We've been ridin' fer an awful long spell, figger it's time ta settle a bit.”

The man nodded, confirming that Shani's bull story had done the trick. The bigger the lie, as it were. “I understand completely, ma'am. I take it you two have husbands.”

“Hell no,” Shani replied with a smirk, trying to hold back some laughter as she had an image float through her mind of Pania in a wedding dress getting married to some southern gentleman. No chance that would ever happen. “But ya never know what'll happen in the future.”

“True 'nough, ma'am,” the man said with a smile and tipped his hat. Shani walked into the throng of people that watched the stage. She'd already seen quite a few of the slaves that had come and gone. She just wanted one, didn't matter. One to free. Her good deed, so to speak. She watched the others as they bid, studying how much the offer was, watching their facial expressions. In a way, even though she had the noblest of intentions, she felt extremely dirty.

The bidding continued as each was brought to the front. Shani found herself standing beside a rather well dressed man, a dandy as it were. He held himself with an air of importance. She then looked to the stage, and saw the latest brought on the block. The auctioneer gave no name, just a lot number. But Shani could see a dark skinned human, and looked upon the man with different eyes than the rest that stood here.

“Bidding will start at 15 dollars,” the auctioneer called out. Immediately, the dandy called out with his bid, opening the session. She knew he always backed off around one hundred dollars as she had studied his bidding before. Another called out, raising bid to twenty. When the bid hit thirty, Shani made a call.

“One hunnerd!” she called out, and looked right at the dandy. He was watching her with a smile, and Shani became surprised as he raised his own hand.

“One hundred an' twenty.”

The bid surprised her. He never went above one hundred as far as she saw. But the bidding continued. Shani didn't know if this man was a caring slaver or not, but she didn't care. She knew that if she won, she had the best chance to give the man his freedom. It was a far cry from how she would usually do such a thing, busting into a place with guns blazing or steel slashing.

“One thousand!” she called out to the shock of the audience. There was silence as the crowd stared at Shani. Even the dandy was looking at her with a grin on his face. The auctioneer called out for other bids. As none came, the gavel came down, and the lot was completed. With one shocking announcement, Shani had just purchased a human being. The realization finally sunk in. Oh lord, she muttered to herself. What have I jist done?

I Am The Law, Pt. 7

Oxford, Mississippi, September 21, 1863
Shani looked around the office for a moment as she gathered her things together. She and Pania had been in the town for nearly two weeks. They'd gone from hunted outlaws to trusted peacemakers, in just two weeks. After Shani took down Dorval, life in Oxford grew much more peaceful. A new judge came in from Jackson, and the rest of Dorval's men were sent to trial. Some were given light sentences. Others, like Mitch and Gator, had enough evidence against them that they saw the gallows. Peace had returned to this little spot in the south.

And it was time for the two elven gunslingers to move on.

J.C. Walker stood in the doorway as Shani finished packing her things. He watched her as she gazed upon the silver star that she wore for those two weeks. It had become an extension of her, something that she didn't even take notice of. Sheriff Wennemein. It did have a ring to it. “Lotta people gonna be a bit disappointed that yer movin' on,” he said in a somber tone.

Shani didn't look up, she merely shrugged in response. “Sometimes a person has ta do what they gotta do. I come ta this world lookin' fer adventure. I ended up doin' somethin' thet needed bein' done. Now it's time ta move on.”

Walker pushed himself off the door frame and walked into the room and took a look around as he spoke. “Guess that's true 'nough. At least ya helped put people's minds at ease. Been a while since a man could walk down the streets o' this town an' see people smilin' without getting' that feelin' o' dread.” He stood beside Shani, and even though his six foot seven frame towered above the elven gunslinger, he looked upon her as though she were ten feet tall. “Gonna be hard ta find a new Sheriff.”

She moved to face the old gun hand fully, and looked up into his eyes with a smile. Shani still held onto the silver star with delicate fingers, and for a brief moment, looked to it before reaching up and gently placed it on Walker's lapel. “No,” she said in a quiet voice that held a small smile. “No, it ain't gonna be too hard ta find a new sheriff.”

*****

Shreveport, Louisiana, September 21, 1863
Armed guards circled the small camp that was set up just outside the small city of Shreveport. In recent years, it had come to this. Renegades from the north and sympathizers from the south had begun raiding slave traders, and stealing off with slaves. Owners who were putting slaves up for auction had the most to lose, as they had time and money invested in these slave auctions.

To Ezekiel Morgan, the politics didn't matter. He just waited things out, going from one master to another. He hoped, in time, that he might see some of these people who would free him or any of those he was caged with. Born in captivity, he did not know what freedom was. But he'd heard the stories. Perhaps one day, he might actually taste his own freedom.

He looked up as one delicately dressed man wandered through the camp. Behind him there was a small group that followed him, including a woman. A black woman, dressed in the oddest of clothes. She looked very fine, and very well kept. Maybe this slaver actually treated his slave better than some others. But he soon pushed that from his mind as the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He got a bad feeling from this woman. He wasn't sure what it was, but he only knew, she could not be trusted.

The adventure continues...

I Am The Law, Pt. 6

The day went by slowly as the people of Oxford went about their business. Rumour had spread quickly, something was going to happen on this day. No new people, no celebration in the town, nothing of happy times ahead, but news and rumours that put worry in the eyes of the townsfolk. They could feel it as they would pass by Sheriff Wennemein or any of her deputies.

Shani walked the streets just for something to do. She was nervous, excited, and worries about the events to come. She knew Dorval would cheat, as his nickname would indicate. He'd try to set up some sort of trap, and have her gunned down in the streets by his men. Fortunately, Shani had backup of her own.

Word came down where Dorval wanted to meet, and it was ironic that the location was where Cole had been gunned down by Mitch and his buddies in drunken revelry. Shani would not allow that to happen to herself. So she inspected the town square, taking note of the rooftops, the alleyways, the hiding spots where Dorval might set up his men. She wanted all of the angles covered. So for most of the day, Pania, Walker and Ming explored the town square as best they could. They determined absolutely every possible location that Dorval's men could ambush the elven gunslinger from. They already knew that Dorval had ten men who would ride with him. More than likely they would come into town a couple of hours before the appointed meeting. Possibly half an hour before they would set themselves up. So Pania had her work cut out for her. Thirty minutes to flush out the ambush.

Shani had the easy part. If one could call being faced down by a gun hand with the possibility of being shot dead in the street easy. However, with her three allies, she had nothing to worry about. Dorval would be the one who needed to worry. Shani just had to keep up her bravado.

Nothing like a date with death to make the time drag by slowly. Noon came and went and Shani paced with a nervous excitement in the office for an hour. Partially wanting to steel herself by letting Mitch mock her, call her down. But after a while, even that outlaw knew that Shani was just using him to bolster her own confidence. Eventually, he quieted down and lay down on his cot until Shani finally decided to leave.

The afternoon dragged on. There was no contact and no sight of either Dorval or his men. The assumption was that Dorval would leave things until the last might and not allow Shani the time to scope out the area decided upon. And so, Shani stayed close to Pania, Walker and Ming in case anyone tried to ambush her before the alloted time come.

By five thirty, the message came.

Gator walked with a smirk down the street toward the Sheriff's Office. He had that cocky attitude that would come around when he felt he was on the winning side. Shani and her crew was lazily resting on the porch to the Sheriff's Office when they saw the cowboy approach. Shani pushed herself off the support post she'd been leaning on to meet Gator in the street. “'Bout time ya come here,” Shani called out, stopping Gator in his tracks.

He snickered as he studied the elven gunslinger for a moment. “Small change in plan,” he stated with a smile. “Dorval d'cided it best thet y'all don't gotta git worked up too much. So he figger ya just stay here. Dyin' in front o' yer office'll be poetic 'nough.”

“So Dorval thinks,” Shani replied in an even tone. “Tell Dorval I'll be ready.” She watched as Gator lazily turned and marched back down the street. Shani waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to her comrades. “Time's a wastin'. Guess we best git this started.” The other three nodded wordlessly and moved into the street. They had just one goal, find Dorval's men, take them out and make certain to quell any thoughts of an ambush. Shani was suddenly very alone as she stood in the street and waited.

It wasn't long.

Dorval walked down the street slowly, his eyes landing on the elven gunslinger as she stood in the street. He smiled and let out a quiet chuckle as he called out. “Seem yer all 'lone, little girl.” He came to a stop twenty yards away from her, his eyes staring her down.

“Oh, I got alla help I need,” she said as she patted the pair of Colts that rest on her hips. Her voice held a brash confidence that Dorval could easily recognize. “Way I hear things, this has been a long time comin' fer you.”

“Indeed it has,” he replied quietly. “Sheriff always come inta town with dreams o' keepin' the peace. What he don't understan' is the peace always been here. I keep the peace. I set the laws. I am the king o' this here territory.”

“Settin' yerself up fer a mighty big fall, Dorval,” Shani called out, her voice echoing in the now empty street. Shopkeepers busily locked their door and boarded the windows, knowing full well what was about to happen. “Talk like thet draws all sorts o' nasty lookin' ta take ya out.”

“Whyn't we just get this started,” Dorval sneered as his hands rested lightly on his six guns. Shani nodded and positioned herself as her eyes stared down the gunman. The air grew still, and even the birds stopped their chirping as though they too knew what was about to happen. No one wanted to get in the way of this fight. Huddled in the safety of the surrounding buildings, some people prayed, hoping that this constant fight of chaos would today finally end.

The silence was broken. Not by a gun shot, but by breaking glass. Ming had found a target in the upper floors of the boarding house. The gunman was easily taken care of, as the cowboy's body broke through the window violently. Ming walked onto the balcony with confidence as he stood over the unconscious form of the would be assassin. Dorval glared as he realized that his plan was slowly starting to unravel. That became more of a confirmation as a shot gun blast sounded out. A wounded cowboy stumbled out into the street and fell to the ground. Walker strode slowly up to the man as he loaded the double barrel shotgun and stared at the wounded cowboy.

Dorval was growing uneasy. His plan was completely and utterly ruined. He only had one hope, and those were the men he'd ordered to position themselves on the rooftops. But even they would not be able to assist.

Gun shots rang out, one man fell from the rooftop to the street below. Dorval looked up, seeing the elven bard with a smoking Smith and Wesson in her hand. And she didn't stop. Keen elven eyes spotted the other attackers and flashes from both pistols came to life as the elven songstress cut down the rest of the cowboys with ease. Pania looked down to Dorval on the street with a smirk as the last gunfighter fell to the ground. None of Dorval's men were killed. Wounded, but not killed. “Looks like the fight's gotta be fair, Dorval,” Pania called out. “Guess ye'll 'aveta rely on yer own skill.”

“'Less yer a coward,” Shani added as she smirked toward Dorval. The old cowboy was steamed. His plan was destroyed, and he was mad as hell. To be mad in a gunfight was a big mistake. He reached for his guns, fully expecting to fill Shani with bullets, but found he was just a bit too slow. As his hands reached for the pistols the first of the bullets rained down. Shani was faster than he was, and she was so much more deadly. Her aim was perfect as the shots hit his chest first, filling his with lead. Her last shot struck Dorval dead center in the forehead.

His body seemed to float as it fell back. The windows of the nearby shops began to open as people peeked out. There was a sudden sigh that could be felt, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. The tyrant who had ruled this territory with his own style of justice lay dead in the street.

Shani held up the pistols as she stared at Dorval's body. It was over. Finally over. Slowly, she twirled the now empty six shooters and holstered them. She looked up to Pania's position on the rooftop and offered a smile. Pania replied with a small wave. Ming and Walker gathered up the remaining cowboys and carted them off toward the Sheriff's Office.

It was all finally over.

Yarrrr!

Shiver me timbers!

It's September 19th!

And that means only one thing. It's International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Okay, so it's not something that is celebrated in a very secular fashion or even a major commercial fashion. But it's still a fun day, and something to keep one's sanity firmly in place.

So grab ye cutlass an' batten down the hatches. Whether ye be from the Prairies (famous for the Last Saskatchewan Pirate) or from the islands an' sailin' the seas sailed by Cap'n Cook 'imself, enjoy the day an' give yer co-workers a Yarrr jus' b'cause.

...ahem...

Maybe get a few cough drops in case your throat gets a little dry from talking like a pirate.

Until me booty is hidden away in the cove...

...keep 'em flyin'.

Passing of a Legend

It's often odd to read news stories about a general manager or a former player in sports one day, and then the next hear of their passing. Such was the case with Ron Lancaster. Ron Lancaster became the face of not only the Saskatchewan Roughriders, but of the Canadian Football League. Born in Pennsylvania, he was considered too small for American Football at five foot nine. But he went north, and joined the Ottawa Rough Riders in 1960. He was the back up quarterback, and showed a spark for times when he was pressed into action.

But Ottawa was Russ Jackson's town and team. They couldn't have two big quarterbacks in Ottawa. So Lancaster was traded.

To the Saskatchewan Roughriders.

For the next 16 years, Lancaster became the player that set the tone for other quarterbacks in the CFL. Nicknamed the Little General, Lancaster never thought a game was not able to be won. There was always time left on the clock. Lancaster was the quarterback who brought the Grey Cup to Saskatchewan for the first time in 1966. The Green Riders would make Cup appearances again in '67, '69, '72 and '76. He set records that stood for over two decades. After his time as a player, he coached for two unsuccessful years in Saskatchewan, before moving to the broadcast booth, with the CFL on CBC.

After a long stretch in the booth, Lancaster returned to the sidelines as head coach with, first the Edmonton Eskimos and then the Hamilton Tiger Cats. He won a Grey Cup with each team, winning Coach of the Year with Hamilton.

From the side lines, he moved to the front office, becoming the general manager of the Ti-Cats.

Lancaster was 69 years old, and passed away due to complications with lung cancer.

On Saturday, September 20th, the Saskatchewan Roughriders will don their retro jerseys, sporting a Number 23 on them in memory of Lancaster. A moment of silence will be had before the Riders take to the field against the B.C. Lions. On the same field, that the Little General commanded his own troops so many years ago.

As always...

...keep 'em flyin'.