Captain Dwight Russell slowly folded the letter and nodded at the dust covered messenger; “Thank you corporal, get yourself some food from the canteen and the Sergeant will find you somewhere to bed down. The stables will take care of your horse. But when you’re rested, I’ll need you to ride back to Fort Jackson.” The corporal saluted and left as the Company Adjutant stood in the doorway, adjusting his glasses. The captain sighed; “Get me Lt. Graham please Arthur.” The Adjutant didn’t smile and headed back into the outer office, shouting at old Trooper Byles to fetch the young lieutenant.
Dwight reread the communication from the Fort again and slowly smiled; at last, the company was going to see some action in this bloody war. He walked to the big window and stared across the dusty parade ground. Sergeant McKay was taking 2nd and 3rd Sections through mounts and dismounts on the wooden horses. It was going well; the men were keen and willing to learn, now that had surprised him about his coloured troops. ‘C’ Company of the 27th Coloured Regiment of the Kansas Volunteers had been holding the small outpost on the border with the Indian Territory for the last few months. They had relived the previous company – all white – so they could fight in the Civil war between the states. They were not expected to see any kind of action. The Indian nation had been quiet for a few years since their War Chief ‘Little Bull’ had died in a bad winter.
There had been rumours about ‘Youngblood’ who apparently was filling his place and that could mean real trouble; the young brave would have to prove himself before the other braves and would certainly encompass fighting the ‘white dogs’. Dwight wondered what the Indians would make of the coloured soldiers. Maybe they would call them ‘Black dogs'. Either way, the captain knew that trouble was on the horizon. The Arapahos had been resident in these parts for centuries and they weren’t about to give it up.
There was a knock at the door, and he shouted enter. Lt. Foster Graham strode in and saluted; he was smiling. The captain gestured for him to join him at the big map pinned to the office wall. The pair stood discussing the letter and Lt. Graham was clearly happy about being assigned this patrol. “Foster, I want you take sections 2 and 3, a supply wagon and some mules and head out to Devil’s Dyke. It’s a small town that borders the Indian territory about here.” He tapped the map and they both had to stare at the tiny dot that indicated the town. It appeared right in the middle of nowhere. “For some God forsaken reason; Lee has sent a small detachment of cavalry to the place. Intelligence doesn’t know why and we’re the only Union troops for hundreds of miles and so it’s landed in our laps. I suppose they know we’re a coloured Regiment. “
The lieutenant grinned and pushed back his hat; “Our boys are spoiling for a fight Sir. No mistake about that.” The captain grunted and walked back to his desk; “Take McKay as your sergeant, He’s been in action and was a scout for General Reynolds before he re-joined the colours. And do listen to his advice Foster; it may stop too many boys being killed.” Foster didn’t smile and just nodded.
The captain watched the young Lieutenant stride from his office with a little sadness; the boy had arrived just three weeks ago and wasn’t – frankly – much use. But Dwight couldn’t send the other – and experienced - Lieutenant; Harvey Banks because he was still laid up with the fever. So, it was down to the untested new boy. He sat behind his desk and puzzled over why the Rebel Commander would be interested in a small town, sandwiched between basically nothing and the Indian nation. He had commanded this area since the sudden death of Colonel Jarvis some months ago. Found him stone dead in bed. Old Doc Hamilton reckons it was his heart and the heat. The young squaw that normally shared his bed had also disappeared off post. That may have explained the money missing from the late Colonel’s wallet. He smiled at that.
He rose and walked back to the map; in his six months here, he hadn’t even heard the place mentioned. Shouting and activity from the parade ground drew his attention back to the window and he watched the preparations under way for the extended patrol to be undertaken by Lt. Graham. That’s when the Sergeant Major knocked and brought in the captain’s afternoon coffee; Dwight asked him about Devils Dyke. The old soldier rubbed his chin; “That’s odd sir, just a few days ago I was in town and Isaac the saloon owner told me that a wagon had stopped overnight and the young man with it asked about Devil’s Dyke. Isaac said he had a young boy with him and a huge black Negro servant. But what caught everyone’s eyes was the woman with them, an absolute peach apparently. They purchased some supplies and headed off; didn’t really mix with anyone.”
The captain sipped his hot black sweet coffee and wondered if that was a co-incidence. He told the sergeant major to let the young Lieutenant know about the story. He looked again at the map; why the hell hadn’t he heard about the damn little town before this? He shouted for 'old Arthur' the adjutant, who appeared in the doorway, coffee cup cradled in both hands. "You yelled Dwight." he asked with a little smile. The captain nodded; "So, do you know anything about Devil's Dyke Arthur?" The old soldier sighed; "Been abandoned since about '42; the water went dry and so everyone just upped and left. There was a silver mine but that was exhausted before even the damn water. Apparently the local Indians steer clear of the place because they believe it has 'bad medicine', suppose to be full of angry spirits and the such like. Does have a crazy legend about some old time Spanish Conquistadors who took the wrong turning and ended up there instead of Mexico, them having a big punch-up with the natives way back; a couple of hundred years or so. Story says that some school ma'am found an old Spanish helmet near the dried up creek bed which was hundreds of years old and no-one could explain what it was doing there!" Arthur sipped his coffee. "What is odd, some of the local Indian tribes use Spanish words and no-one has a damn clue where that comes from. It was said that old Little Bull's grandfather could speak a sort of Spanish."
The captain sat back and nodded, thanking Arthur who returned to his desk in the front office. He still had no idea why General Lee would be interested in the long dead town.
The patrol left that afternoon; Lt. Graham commanded thirty troopers and a supply wagon with Alphas the old Negro cook and his young assistant; Troy. They were civilians because army cooks were hard to get hold of around here. They were accompanied by two mules loaded down with ammunition and water. At least he had a good sergeant with him; Mosses McKay knew his way around real fighting. He had fought in the early Indian wars and scouted for the general. He had re-joined the colours in 1861 and had seen action at Gettysburg and Fredericksburg. He had been transferred to a frontier post after being wounded. He also thought the coloured troops had potential and treated ‘his boy’s’ well. Very firm but fair and they seemed to respect him.
But Lieutenant Graham was a different matter; he used the ‘N’ word openly to the men and showed them little respect for volunteering to fight for their freedom. He could be a real problem unless seeing real action changed his ways. But Captain Russell wondered how many of the ‘boy’s’ would die during that change? Then there was the mysterious wagon, probably whisky and gun peddlers to the Indians. Little wonder they kept themselves to themselves. He wasn’t surprised that the town Sheriff – Phil Bates – did nothing about them; he was a fat useless man with a yellow streak. He was only sheriff because he was married to the mayor’s ugly sister! But why would they have a beautiful woman with them? That was just plain stupid and asking for trouble: the young bucks would fight over such a female who could be worth guns and horses. The captain sighed and thought about the Confederate cavalry; what possible interest could the small town be to General Robert E. Lee? Now that really did get his mind racing. Could the wagon be heading to them for some reason? He finished his coffee and picked up the Post Order’s and signed them. He would take a small bottle of decent whisky and visit Harvey in the infirmary. Maybe with Doc Davis they could play some cards; but the strange events forming around the ghost town swirled about his mind. He certainly wouldn't sleep too much until the patrol returned; hopefully with some answers.
2. JERICHO TIBBS
AND THE ARAPAHOS.
The
wagon trundled through the dust with Wilson at the reins and Owen sitting next
to him. Alex was just behind; sprawled across a pile of colourful blankets;
moaning about the heat and being over dressed. Jericho rode a small pony some
yards in front, constantly lifting his hat and wiping his face and neck. Owen
was conslting his mirror; “In the original human time line, the Battle of
Devil’s Dyke never took place and then suddenly; there are thirteen unscheduled
souls. Something or someone changed this little piece of history and the time
line alters badly some 101 years later. Apparently Jericho had an assignment
back here in the late 1840’s and knows the local Native tribes well. Except, of
course, he hasn’t aged a day so he’s here as his own son!”
Alex
stirred and ran a beautiful big fan over her face; “It’s hard to imagine our
Jericho as an Indian fighter.” She stared through the rear flap of the wagon
and found herself smiling at the extra member of the team; added just for this
mission from Doc Silas Underhill’s team 13. ‘Skyrise’ was a Native American and
had helped team 74 previously. He was also mounted on a pony and really did
look magnificent to Alex. She wouldn’t admit to her colleagues but she found
him very attractive; very attractive indeed. [See the episode; ‘Doctor Alexander Harris and his battle
with God'.]
Jericho
turned his pony about and joined the wagon – as did Skyrise – and they stopped.
“Several Indians skirting the ridge on ponies; they will make contact because
we’re on their lands now.” He gestured to the stick tied against the side of
the wagon; it was an Arapahos signal meaning peace and friendship; he had
acquired it from his old friend ‘Little Bull’ many years ago.
“They
will certainly be curious about that and wish to find out how we obtained it.
I hope it still works.” He smiled and wiped his face again. Alex leaned
forward, a little concerned; “Will Skyrise be OK? I mean he’s Apache; aren’t
they enemies or something?” Jericho smiled again; “He’ll be fine; the Indians
are now fighting a common enemy; white people.” Everyone watched carefully as
the group of warriors approached slowly and Jericho noted that only two had
rifles; the rest were armed with spears and had bows strapped across their
backs. “Gun runners must be in short supply around here.” He said quietly and
held up his right hand. He greeted the natives in their own tongue, which made
them stop and stare.
Youngblood
rode forward and stared at Jericho really hard; then the sign hanging from the
pole. “How did you come by this white stranger and how do you speak our
tongue?” he said simply with no emotion or curiosity in his voice. Jericho
nodded and gestured to himself; “Jericho Tibbs, son of Jericho Tibbs the
father. Big Chief LittleBull and he had friendship pact and I have come to pay
my respects to great chief and tell him that my father has passed into the land
of the spirits. I bring gifts for my father’s friend and his people.”
Youngblood sat up in his saddle and really did look surprised now. “You are son
of Tibbs?” Jericho nodded and asked if he was Youngblood; the old chief’s
nephew.
Youngblood
and the other braves all looked at each other; Tibbs – this man’s father – had
saved Little Bull from certain death and carried
him on his back through the desert to his village. He had been made a friend of
the tribe and good friend of the old Chief. Youngblood nodded and indicated
beyond the ridge; “The camp lays by the river Tibbs. You do indeed look like
your father. I was only a small boy, but I remember your father and what he
did.” He indicated for the wagon to follow him and the warriors turned their
ponies and headed back towards the ridge with the wagon following.
Jericho
could have won an Oscar for his performance when Youngblood told him that the
old chief had died. He knew the chief had – of course – but played the sadness
of the declaration well. He had liked the old chief and so that part wasn’t
hard to fake. They made the encampment just before dusk and Jericho realised
that it was a warrior’s camp. There were no women or children about the place.
That fact alone made him curious; what were Young blood and about thirty braves
doing so far away from their villages? The conclusion wasn’t pleasant; they had
to be a raiding party. But who were they raiding? There were few settlements or
farmers around here and the nearest town was Devil’s Dyke and that had been
abandoned years ago. Jericho knew that Union troops were headed for the old
town because of the approaching Rebel Calvary. None of this was in the original
time line and that’s why Team 74 was there and of course; the thirteen unscheduled
deaths that should never have taken place here and now.
Jericho
cautioned Alex to stay close to the wagon and him. A beautiful white woman
would be considered fair game to the warriors who would easily fight over her.
He told the team to pretend not to understand the language; that would be
nearly impossible to explain and would raise too many awkward questions. It was
accepted that Skyrise would know some of the language and indeed three of the
braves could speak some Apache. Jericho was a little surprised that the
Arapahos accepted him readily into their camp and that did concern him too.
Only
Jericho was invited to sit by the big fire with Youngblood and his senior
warriors. Owen brewed coffee and cooked beans for supper with some cold ham and
biscuits. Wilson was the centre of attraction to the braves – after Alex of
course! – They had never seen a black man before and appeared fascinated by
him. Some asked to touch his face and arms to see if the ‘black’ came off.
Youngblood impressed Jericho by asking him to keep Alex
away from the men; he didn’t want to lose a single warrior fighting over a
woman. Not even one that beautiful. He confided to Jericho that Chief Little
Raven would pay at least 20 ponies for such a woman and most of his braves knew
that.
Youngblood
knew that the whites were after land and even the poor land they occupied would
be taken; eventually. He passed Jericho some ‘prairie chicken’ and lamented his
lack of modern weapons; he needed rifles and pistols that shot more than just
one bullet. But his land produced very little gold and gold was what the white
gun traders only wanted. He shrugged his shoulders; “Much has changed since the
time of your father and a young Little Bull my friend; except the lies,
stealing and killing by the whites.” Jericho could only nod and enjoy his meal
and then re-join his team by the wagon. The Indians sat around their camp
fires and sang mournful songs about the glories of their past.
The
team sat around their fire and quietly talked amongst themselves. Owen reminded
everyone about the events which would unfold around this time and place come
autumn; “The Arapaho and the Cheyenne join together to fight the whites and it
all ends up with the Sand Creek Massacre in November of this year. A Union force
killed hundreds of Indians including a lot of women and children who were
camped and peaceful: a real dark day for humanity.” Then he didn't smile
adding; "There are always plenty of 'Dark Days' where humanity is
concerned." No could disagree with that.
Alex
slept in the wagon, with Owen and Wilson beneath in their blankets while
Skyrise found his own place to sleep. Jericho made himself comfortable on
the wagons seat and discretely consulted his mirror. Their peaceful night
was interrupted by the arrival of a single stranger with a pack mule. The team
recognised him at once; it was Sage Columbine. He clearly knew them; but made
no reference to their previous encounter which Jericho found strange, very
troubling and somewhat disturbing. [See the episode; ‘Betrayal at Gettysburg.’] Arapahos also knew him and he made his
camp away from the wagon and the Indian encampment, sitting around a small
fire, smoking a cigar and swigging from a hipflask. He clearly felt safe
amongst the Indians and Jericho wondered what his involvement with the Arapahos
was. He had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t in the best interests of the
current time line!
Jericho
joined Wilson and Owen and they discussed the arrival of Sage; they knew he had
been a scout for the Confederate Army at Gettysburg and Jericho believed he
must be involved with the Confederate Calvary troops that was heading this way.
“He’s dangerous and we know he’s from 1925, so he would clearly know what
should happen here. Is he trying to change the fate of someone alive now? Or
maybe the fate of the Indians, but whatever he’s up too, we need to find out
and make sure nothing changes.”
They
were joined by Skyrise and Jericho gave him some specific instructions which he
was more than happy to follow. Everyone settled back down for the night.
3. JOHN NORTON –
CORPORAL: ‘C’ COMPANY of the 27th COLOURED REGIMENT of the KANSAS
VOLUNTEERS.
Alex
noticed immediately that Skyrise had gone and that Sage Columbine had also left
early; before sunrise. She handed Jericho a hot cup of coffee and he smiled;
“Skyrise is back doing what he loves; tracking. He’ll follow Sage discretely
and report on his movements. We need to know what he’s up too and Skyrise can
shadow him and keep us informed.” Wilson accepted a cup and smiled too; “He
[Skyrise] couldn’t wait to brush up on his tracking skills and I hope he’s good
at it because two Arapaho braves left with Sage. I know because I counted them
yesterday and there were thirty; this morning there’s only twenty eight.”
Jericho nodded; “There is something going on because Owen overheard two braves
at the well filling their water sacks. They obviously thought he wouldn’t
understand Arapaho and they know all about Sage and the ‘white dogs in grey’.
That must mean the Confederate Calvary.” He finished his coffee and
gestured to the wagon; “Come on people, we’re heading for the ghost town of
Devil’s Dyke this morning and should get there by tomorrow afternoon.”
Owen
and Wilson walked the horses to the wagon’s yoke and soon the team were heading
south; the warriors in single file some distance in front. The day was hot and
humid and Alex swore she was melting in her dress and wasn’t comfortable. “A
pair of shorts and a t-shirt would be better.” She moaned to Owen who handed
her his water bottle. “You dressed up like that would cause quite a stir
amongst the Indians; they probably have never seen a white woman dressed
like a squaw.” Alex just shrugged;
“It would be better than bleeding melting!” She had pulled open her blouse and
was removing the tight bodice, allowing her magnificent breasts freedom. She
could now breathe without struggling; “Bloody men oppressing woman.” She added,
making Wilson and Owen chuckle.
Corporal
John Norton wiped his face several times and replaced his hat, staring at the
barren horizon. His companion – Isaiah Smith – slumped in the saddle and
cussed; “Why the fuck did whitely pick us for point duty? I wouldn’t know a
fucking red man if one stole my fucking horse from under me!” John smiled;
“Don’t let the lieutenant hear you call him whitey; he’ll have you digging
latrines again.” Isaiah just grunted and followed John towards the small ridge.
“Does this fucking town have a saloon that serves us black boys?” He asked for
the third time and John sighed; “No, like I told you, McKay says the bloody
place was abandoned years ago. There ain’t no beer or a cat house: just bloody
ghosts and dust.” Isaiah groaned loudly and wiped his face. “No beer
or women? What the fuck do those Southern white boys want with a dump like that?”
John chuckled; “If I knew that, we could all have stayed at the Fort and I
would have been promoted to sergeant.”
They
rode for several minutes and made the ridge; both dismounted and John left
Isaiah holding the horses. He climbed the ridge quickly and lay staring out at
the shimmering horizon. There was nothing and he wiped sweat from his eyes
several times and gripped his rifle. He was about to start the climb back to
his friend when something caught his eye. Covering them with a hand, he stared
really hard and slowly smiled, then quickly descended and ran back to his
companion. “Single horseman with a pack mule and his headed south east;
towards the old town I would guess.” Isaiah finally smiled; “Does that mean we
can join the fucking column again?” John nodded; “I think the lieutenant will
be very interested in this and McKay will have a good idea what’s going on; he
knows the meaning of stuff like this.” They both mounted and turned east, back
towards the column and straight into the Arapaho scouting party.
Rain
Cloud stared at the two black troopers and they stared back at the braves.
Isaiah was struggling to get his carbine from its holster hanging at his side.
John slowly pushed his hand away and said quietly; “Keep calm. I don’t think
they’ve ever seen a black man before.” He held up his hand and smiled slowly,
introducing
himself and Isaiah who was physically shaking in his saddle. The five braves
all exchanged glances and Rain Cloud rode forward – spear at the ready – and
shouted at the pair [in Arapaho of course] making John shake his head and
gesture that he didn’t understand. Rain Cloud sent Dog face straight back to
Youngblood; TIbbs would understand what the strange black men were saying.
Sage
lay on the ridge top and lowered his little brass telescope and cussed a couple
of times; if there were two Union troopers way out here from Fort Caleb; then
there must be others. Probably a couple of dozen under a white officer or
experienced sergeant and he guessed that they could only be heading for Devil’s
Dyke. He cussed again; someone had betrayed them, it was too much of a
co-incidence otherwise. He lay on his back and stared at the clear blue sky;
now what? He struggled to his feet and quickly climbed down and remounted his
horse. He examined the horizon behind him and wondered where that damn Apache
of Tibb’s was. Still, he would deal with him later; he needed to get to Devil’s
Dyke.
Youngblood
stood arms folded and listened to Jericho without any expression. John and
Isaiah were squatting in the dirt; arms tied behind their backs and two Indian
spears at their heaving chests. Their horses had been stripped of their saddles
and lead away by a young brave. The horses had value to the Indians; but they
didn’t use saddles. The trooper’s carbines were now the prizes of Rain Cloud
and Dog Face who swore that they would treat them better than their squaws.
That didn’t please Alex who grabbed a water bottle and took it over to John and
Isaiah; the braves didn’t stop her; it was the Whiteman's water after all.
John
asked nervously about what was happening. Alex didn’t smile; “Jericho is trying
to convince Youngblood not to stake you out over an ant hill. He’s explaining
that you are slave soldiers who are made to fight by the white dogs who own
you. You better pray that he’s making a good case.” That’s when Isaiah
spotted Wilson and called out to him for help. Wilson just raised his hands in
a hopeless gesture and shrugged his shoulders; he couldn’t do anything to help.
Owen
joined Jericho as Youngblood stood talking quietly with his senior braves about
the fate of the black men. Owen whispered into his ear about what he had
discovered about the two troopers from
Human Records. “The one called Isaiah Smith is of no real importance to the
Human Time Line; he’s killed in a couple of years in Kansas City over an unpaid
gambling debt. The line would change little if he’s dispatched early. But John
Norton is a different matter entirely.” The pair walked a little further back
and were joined by Alex and Wilson who was particularly concerned about the
fate of the two ‘brothers’. He would find it hard to watch the pair
murdered and just stand by, doing nothing. Owen continued; “John Norton – a
former slave – is really important to the current Human Time Line and if he
doesn’t survive and marry Lilly Washington then the line changes a hundred
years from now. You see, John is the Maternal Great Grandfather of el-Hajj
Malik el-Shabazz; a very important figure in the Civil Rights movement of the
early 1960’s.”
Wilson
rubbed his chin; “I’ve never heard of him.” Owen smiled; “He was better known
as Malcolm X big brother and if he doesn’t get born, then things change and not
for the better apparently.” Wilson now nodded and whispered; “Shit! That’s a
major problem baby brother – a real major problem.” Jericho slapped Owen on the
back and smiled; “Excellent research Owen; as usual. Here comes Youngblood.”
Youngblood
didn’t smile; “The black soldiers are fighting for their freedom like we are.
But they wear the colours of the dogs that kill braves, women and children. So
if they want freedom they must fight for it; to the death. That is our
decision; if they win they go and are free. If they die, then it was their fate
never to be free.” Jericho nodded and took a deep breath; “Wilson
you better tell the pair they are about to fight to the death. Make sure they
know that they must kill their opponent otherwise the other braves will
kill them for their weakness.” Wilson sighed and walked over to the pair
and explained quietly. Owen softly and anxiously whispered to Jericho; “We
can’t let John Norton die Jericho!”
Jericho
nodded, grim faced; “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Two braves
were picked and stripped everything off; keeping only a knife. Wilson told John
and Isaiah to do the same and Youngblood gave both a knife; throwing them into
the dirt at their feet. John pulled off his tunic and spat on his hands slowly
picking up the knife; he had been in the Indian lands long enough to know the
score here. But Isaiah was having none of it and screamed in fear and panic; he
ran for the wagon and a brave
simply shot an arrow through his back. Alex actually hid her face as another
brave jumped on the screaming man and slit his throat in one swift movement.
Only the Team saw ‘Little Rajiv’ the Collector appear and walk the confused
soul towards the light. Everyone’s attention turned to John and the brave; Big
Bear. They were circling each other knives at the ready. Alex forced herself to
watch and gripped Wilson’s arm tightly who muttered; “Come on brother, you know
you have to kill him; just fucking get it done!” Alex just hung her head – a
little ashamed – at what was happening. All she could think of was Ancient Rome
and the gladiatorial contests. Now she was witnessing one for real and close
up. It made her feel a little sick.
Big
Bear shouted in Arapaho and kicked dirt at John who jumped to one side and
swapped the knife to his right hand. Jericho almost smiled at that; John was
clearly left handed but would the brave fall for that. The two came together
and rolled about in the dirt grunting and shouting at each other. Big Bear drew
first blood cutting John across the chest, but it wasn’t deep enough and John
rolled from under him and staggered back. Big Bear leapt on him and caught his
shoulder with the blade and blood ran out but didn’t spurt; again it wasn’t
deep enough to inflect real damage. John and Big Bear rolled in the dirt again;
Jericho noticed with a little smile that the knife was now in John’s left hand.
Then a sickening scream filled the air and the Indian staggered to his feet,
clutching his belly. John certainly had gone deep enough with his knife. “You
have to fucking kill him!” Wilson shouted.
John
jumped to his feet and crashed down on the brave and drove his knife through
the screaming man’s throat. There was no sound after that. John rose to
his feet and stared at the now quiet braves; he threw the knife down and
staggered a few feet then sat down. Alex grabbed her ‘Gladstone bag’ from the
wagon and rushed over; she skilfully attended his wounds while the braves
carried off the body of their fallen comrade.
Youngblood
nodded and turned to Jericho; “He has won his freedom Tibbs. He can travel with
you without fear as a warrior should.” Youngblood walked away to oversee the
burial of Big Bear. Wilson and Owen would bury Isaiah Smith whilst Alex and
Jericho helped the shocked – and relieved – John Norton to the wagon.
“He’ll need stitches but they are not
dangerous. Infection could be the only worry, in this heat the wounds could
suppurate.” Jericho handed John a water bottle; “Keep him in the wagon in the
shade. There’s a bottle of brandy in my satchel; you may need that.” John
managed a smile; “I think I need it more than her.” That made Jericho and Alex
chuckle.
John
swallowed down plenty of water and stared through the wagon flap at Owen and
Wilson digging. “All he ever wanted was women, beer and poker. Not too much to
ask was it.” He softly murmured and drank more water. Alex smiled; “This may
hurt, I have to sew you up and I can’t give you anything for the pain John.” He
just smiled; "Be my guest pretty lady, to me you are an angel of mercy.”
He winced as she threaded a big needle after dosing it in brandy. “You may not
think that when I’ve finished.” She said quietly and set about stitching him
up. He just chuckled and took a swig from Jericho’s brandy bottle.
Jericho
had to ask; “Where did you learn to fight like that John?” The big man didn’t
smile; “Being a slave taught you many things Mister Tibbs; some of them not
very pleasant.” Then he stared out the tent flap at the burial of Isaiah and
sighed. “My master had a great fascination and love of Ancient Rome. Once a
month he organised games for his friends; if you won you were given beer and a
woman. Nothing has changed much.” He gestured to the brandy bottle and Alex and
then smiled a little. “See what I mean.” Jericho just nodded and
dropped from the wagon; Youngblood had returned and told him that they were
moving out. The wagon could follow at its own pace and the braves remounted and
departed in small cloud of dust. Owen and Wilson returned – shovels slung
over their shoulders – and grabbed the water bottle from Alex who had
finished stitching up John Norton. Jericho was reading his mirror and called
the other's over; “Skyrise tells us the Sage Columbine is definitely heading
for the old ghost town and he asks what happened to the Buffalo soldiers.”
Alex
sat on the wagon step, wiping her hands; “What the hell is a buffalo
soldier?” Wilson smiled and jerked a thumb towards John Norton resting in
the shade of the wagon; “He is.”
4. THE CONFEDERACY
NEEDS GOLD.
Captain
Jerome Sommerville halted the small column and wiped his
face and neck before pulling out his small brass telescope and scanning the
bare horizon. He turned to Master Sergeant Amos Yallu and lowered his
telescope, gesturing towards the sole blackened and dead tree that dominated
the horizon because it was the only thing standing there. “That’s the
rendezvous point Sergeant. The lightening tree is where we meet Sage and he’ll
guide us the rest of the way.” The sergeant spat with some relish; he loved
chewing tobacco. “Can what he say be trusted captain?” Jerome sighed and wiped
his face again; pushing the telescope into his small sack that hung from the
saddle. “Well, I don’t know Sergeant, but old Granny Lee can’t afford not to
check the story out. We need money and fast; Spanish Gold will buy a lot of
supplies that we need. A damn lot of stuff that we must have to win this damn
war, so we must check it out.”
The
sergeant eased in the saddle and stared at the old burnt tree and spat again.
“Is it true that the nearest Yankee troops are all useless, cowardly N****rs?”
The captain threw a sideways glance at his sergeant and nodded; “A black man
with a rifle can kill you just as good as a white one.” The sergeant missed the
sarcasm in his voice. Captain Jerome was a Confederate Officer who hated
slavery, but loved his State; Virginia and he didn’t want his home state
bullied by some damn Northerners who wanted to dictate what they could do and
say. He believed that the evils of slavery would die of “natural causes” over
time. But the war was here and now and he had rushed to defend his home state
from invasion and Northern occupation. Before the war he was a Lawyer with a
modest practice in Richmond; that made him think of Julia and Katherine; his
wife and infant daughter.
He
patted his mounts neck and gestured the column forward. “We’ll camp by the tree
and if this Sage fellow doesn’t appear by noon tomorrow; we’ll head home.” Now
that did make the old sergeant smile; he was gasping for a beer and a proper
bed to sleep in. The little column headed up the gentle slope and Jerome
watched carefully as two riders appeared; both waving a hat in the air.
His scouts were signaling that it was clear ahead. He looked back at his
command; twenty troopers, a supply wagon and two mules. He actually chuckled as
he thought about what Julia would say about his ragged little command. She had
pleaded with him not to go; but she knew that he must and like thousands of
other men; he had joined the colours to defend his state. Most had never owned
a slave in their lives and really didn’t care about slavery; that was for the
rich folks. But they cared
enough for their state and their ‘rights’ to fight and die for it.
With
the pickets posted Jerome sat on his ground sheet and studied the two pages of
his written order – direct from general Jim Longstreet himself – and shook his
head; a little in disbelief. He had been ordered to check out the story that a
certain scout had imparted to General Robert E. Lee [old granny Lee] about a
large amount of buried Spanish Gold Coins in or near the ghost town of Devil’s
Dyke. The scout had produced a small bag of old coins – all Spanish Gold
Doubloons – as an example of what was buried there. Just that little bag would
buy rifles and ammunition for half a Regiment; and they did. General Lee had no
choice but to check the story out. Hence Jerome was sitting deep in enemy [and
Indian] territory. He sighed deeply and took a swig from his canteen and
watched the rations being handed around by young Corporal Swiggers. They were
on cold rations for now; a fire could be seen for miles around these flat bare
plains and would bring either hostile Indians or federal troops down on them.
He replaced his canteen and pulled the last letter he had received from Julia
out and re-read it with some pleasure.
Night
had now fallen and the moon was full and clear. Everyone was wrapped in their
blankets and cussing; most would happily shoot someone just for a cup of hot
coffee; the days were hot and uncomfortable and the nights cold, but dry. The
troops smoked their pipes and cigarettes under their blankets; any light could
be seen at night here.
The
captain was dozing under his hat and blanket when Sergeant Amos woke him with a
couple of pushes and whispered; “That man sage is here captain.” Jerome rolled
from the blanket and jumped to his feet, adjusting his hat. Sage stood arms
folded in the moonlight and Jerome looked the big man up and down; Sage looked
exactly how General Longstreet had described him. He walked over and the pair
shook hands.
The
two men squatted down and spoke quietly with the sergeant standing a few yards
behind. Sage told him about the coloured troops and where they were; just a
couple of days ride away. He told the captain about the band of Arapaho’s under
their war chief Youngblood who were even closer; maybe a day’s ride away. Sage
mentioned Tibbs and his small party; saying they could be gun or bloody whisky
peddlers. But they were definitely heading
for Devil’s Dyke as well. He chuckled as he spoke about the Apache that had
trailed him so skilfully. “Now he’s the real mystery here captain; the
Arapaho’s are allowing an Apache to cross their land without killing him.
That’s strange, mighty strange.”
The
captain nodded and the pair agreed to reach Devil’s Dyke by nightfall tomorrow
which would mean hard riding with only fifteen minute intervals to rest the
mounts. The men could smoke and eat on horseback if necessary. A plan of action
agreed; the pair separated and Sage found himself a snug crop of rocks to
settle down behind. He watched the Confederate soldiers settling down for the
night. He rubbed his chin and pulled his blanket around his big shoulders; he
was concerned - really concerned - about Captain Sommerville; he had not once
asked about the gold! Sage checked his pistol and slept lightly with it close
to his chest. The captain’s apparent lack of interest in the gold worried him
until he fell asleep. He did smile about the two braves going after the damn
apache that could wreck everything – he hoped they would be successful.
John
Norton finished off the last of his beans and bread with a long swig of the water
canteen and watched through the canvas flap of the wagon as the dry barren
plains passed behind him. He gently touched his bandaged chest and nodded; that
woman knew her stuff. John thought again about young Isaiah and shook his head
with sadness. Owen leaned back from the driver’s board and shouted if he needed
anything. John raised a hand and shook his head again. “No thanks Owen, I’m
doing just fine back here.” Owen grinned and returned to face front. Alex
leaned across him and reminded John to shout for her if any signs of blood
appeared around the bandages. He again nodded and thanked her again. She just
smiled and turned back to speak with Owen.
Jericho
and Wilson were riding with Youngblood in silence. Indians didn’t make small
talk and Jericho was quite happy about that and wondered how Skyrise was
getting on. That’s when Youngblood dropped the bombshell that put a smile on
Jericho’s face. He slowly gestured to some thick brush that was growing up
the walls of the ridge they were by passing to reach Devil’s Dyke. “That’s
where we go; it will take a day off our journey. The little gap cuts through
the ridge and so, we don’t have to go all around.” He held up a hand and
signalled for the group
to head for the dark and deep brush. “Will the wagon fit?” Jericho asked and
Youngblood nodded. Jericho threw a glance at Wilson and the pair smiled. They
both wondered if Sage knew about the short cut. Wilson turned his horse saying;
“I’ll tell Owen and Alex.” and rode to the rear of the slow moving group. Jericho
finally asked the quiet Youngblood if he knew anything about what happened to
the settlers to make them abandon the town. Youngblood shrugged his shoulders
and didn’t smile; “The whites all moved away many moons ago; they all left for
somewhere better except for the dead man who walks their resting ground.”
Jericho stared at him and realised he could mean a ghost!
When
quietly asked to elaborate about the ‘dead walking man’ Youngblood just
shrugged his shoulders again; “The spirit walks the place where he should rest
and is a fearsome spirit who can move things and is filled with much anger.”
Jericho sat back in the saddle and whispered; “A bloody poltergeist!” he rubbed
his chin and thought they may have to call a Guardian for such an aggrieved
soul; if it won’t go with any collector they may call.
Two
braves rode ahead and started to pull the brush back and sure enough; there was
a gap in the ridge. The convoy passed into the ravine and the wagon did fit;
but only just. Jericho was a little amazed at Owens’s skill in handling the
wagon and horses. As they appeared from the small ravine onto an open plain,
Alex slapped Owens’s shoulder and praised him. John slept soundly in the back
and didn’t even know they had passed through the tight gap until told by Alex
when she checked his bandages. They would reach the deserted town by the
afternoon. They weren’t the only ones to reach the town before the soldiers.
Jericho
and Wilson joined Rain Cloud and Youngblood as they went ahead to scout the
town. That’s when they saw the smoke rising from what would have been the
saloon. Someone had a fire burning in the derelict saloon! As they slowly rode
down the main street, they saw a horse and pack mule tied up outside the
saloon called the “Golden Nugget”. Jericho quickly advised Youngblood that
he should make contact first; some white folks had an itchy trigger finger
around Indians. Youngblood had to smile a little at that comment and just
nodded his agreement and Jericho and Wilson dismounted and shouting out that
they were coming in; headed into the saloon. They carefully stepped over the
broken wooden swing doors and walked in. The place was thick with dirt and dust
and plenty of cobwebs hung everywhere.
“Lovely
place for a party on Halloween.” Wilson muttered wiping his face with his
gloved hand and then gently tapped Jericho’s arm and gestured to the big table
just by the bar. The little man was sitting at a dusty table; his boots slapped
upon it and gently rocking a little in the chair. He pushed back his hat to
reveal a full white beard and deep dark eyes. He made no effort to pick up the
colt pistol laid upon the table next to his boots. He almost smiled and ran a
hand through his long beard; “Howdy there strangers; what brings you strange
pair to Devil’s Dyke on this fine warm day?” he had a strange accent which
neither Wilson nor Jericho could identify.
Jericho
raised his hat to him and said they were passing through with some Indians that
they were friendly with. The little man dropped his boots from the table and
scratched his beard; “Local Arapaho’s or that damn Apache that’s been creeping
about these parts? Still can’t fathom why they [ The Arapaho’s]ain’t cut his
throat!” Jericho and Wilson exchanged a glance; how the hell did he
know about Skyrise? The little man saw the look that passed between them and chuckled;
then Youngblood and Rain Cloud walked in. “That answers that little question my
friends.” He raised a hand to Youngblood and in Arapaho asked who the strange
white man was and what was he doing here with his negro servant. Youngblood
actually smiled and gestured to Jericho; saying he was son of good friend to
Arapaho’s old chief LittleBull.
The
little man eased himself the wobbly chair and stared hard at Jericho, then
slapped his thigh and laughed; “Sweet Jesus and mother Mary! He’s a dead ringer
for his pa!” He walked over and shook Jericho by the hand and slapped his
shoulder; “Me and your pa had some good times before the damn war. Did you
bring me what the bastard owed me from back then?” Jericho shrugged his
shoulders and said he didn’t understand what he was saying. Jericho knew full
well that the man had never met his ‘father’ because he was his father!
The old man shook his head and grunted; “Well, let’s have a drink and
discuss this.” He muttered quietly and picked up his big canvas bag from the
floor. “I got a good bottle of sipping whisky in here my friends.” Jericho
turned to Wilson and whispered; “I’ve never met him before!” and shrugged his
shoulders again. The old man produced some ‘frontier’ whisky and slapped
the bottle on the table. He walked slowly over to the bar and pulled up a
handful of whisky gl asses and handed them around. Wilson wiped the dusty
glass on his shirt
and the old man filled the glasses; still chuckling to himself. He raised his
glass and said; “Here’s to old friendships and debts that have to be paid.” He
knocked the whisky back in one hit; coughed violently and re-filled his glass.
He clutched his glass with both hands and spoke quietly; “Well, young Tibbs, in
payment of your pappy’s debt to me I’ll take the Negro servant and sell him. I
will also take your wagon and horses' and sell them too. You can keep the dumb
looking boy and Youngblood can have the beauty to sell for plenty of ponies'
and rifles. I think that’s fair aren’t it Youngblood?”
Jericho
lowered his glass and shook his head; “I don’t think so old man….” He didn’t
finish because Youngblood’s spear was at his throat. “I think that's
satisfactory deal Tibbs. We get rifles and horse’s and you stay alive.” Rain
Cloud was already shouting out the door for the braves to grab the wagon and
horses and the white woman; but not harm her. She would fetch many rifles and
horses. The old man now had his pistol on the pair and he grinned; “Youngblood
and me have a sort of agreement. I supply what he needs and he gives me what I
want.”
Jericho
just stared at Youngblood who finally smiled; “The man who owed you his life is
dead. I owe you nothing and we need rifles and horses to kill more of you
whites. You understand that my no longer friend?” Jericho just nodded slowly.
Rain
Cloud returned angry and shouting; the white woman, the boy and the black
soldier had gone from the wagon without anyone seeing them. The old man cursed
loudly and told Youngblood to search for her; they could do what they like with
the black and the boy. Rain Cloud disappeared back out the door; shouting
orders.
Wilson
and Jericho managed to refrain from smiling as they were tied to chairs by the
bar. The old man sat at the table and re-filled his glass; he wasn’t a happy
soul. Finally he shouted at Jericho; “What the fuck are all these soldiers
heading here for?” He finished his whisky and poured another one. He repeated
his question and finally – unsmiling – Jericho answered him. He told the old
man about Sage Columbine and the Spanish Gold that had been found here. Both
Youngblood and the old man slowly exchanged a glance and both nodded. The old
man coughed; “Well, I know that’s the truth God damn it Tibbs. Like fuck I do!”
The old man rose from his chair and spat on the floor, he turned to
Youngblood; “Let’s find that damn woman; she’s worth real money and not
imaginary Spanish fucking gold!” A young brave was assigned to watch the pair
after the old man and Youngblood disappeared to search.
Jericho
and Wilson spoke quietly together; in French. They both wondered how Alex and
Owen knew it was time to disappear. Skyrise had called Jericho just half hour
ago to say that he had lost the two braves following him and they certainly
were working for Sage; so the rest of the Arapaho’s must be also. Jericho
whispered that there was more double crossing going on than in some crime
novels! The brave waved his spear at them and shouted for silence. He
stood back and stared at the pair, gripping his spear with both hands; he was
very young, not much older than Owen. Jericho smiled at Wilson and managed to
push some fingers into his rear trousers pocket.
5. THE DEAD ARE
DAMN RESTLESS IN DEVIL’S DYKE.
Alex
crouched low behind the big tombstone which declared that “Ambrose Cuttings was
resting in heaven with his favourite horse; Judd. May 1842.” and watched the
braves spreading out in the old town. She turned back to John and whispered;
“Thank you John, you were right about that old bastard. Good job you recognized
his horse and mule.” John just nodded and said quietly; “He’s a know gun runner
to the Indians and his description was circulated at the fort several times.
You can’t miss that damn horse of his. It looks like one of them Zebra’s that
you see in books about the old country. If that bastard Indian was heading here
too then something wasn’t right. You being worth so many guns and horses I
guessed that’s why he allowed you and your friends to travel here with him.”
Owen
lay behind a small mound that actually looked quite fresh. The grave was
unmarked apart from a stick driven into one end with a pair of boots hanging
from it. Owen pulled the boots down and turned them in his hands. He whispered
across to Alex; “Unless I’m mistaken these are army boots.” Alex rolled her
eyes in mock despair; “Terrific, but does knowing that really help?” Owen
placed them down; ”I don’t know but my mirror tells me they were made in 1971,
in France.”
Alex
glanced at John and sighed with relief; he had been too busy watching the
Indians to hear about the mirror or the strange
boots. She crawled over to Owen and picked them up. Carefully she checked her
mirror; he was right. The boots had been made in Paris in 1971. Discretely she
ran her mirror over the grave and sat back; “Jean-Paul Duvance; born in 1949 in
Marseille and is a missing soul. Little wonder since he bleeding obviously died
out of his time.” Owen nodded; “Yeah, but what the hell was he doing here and
how did he get to this time and place?” Alex stuck the boots back on the pole;
that little mystery would have to wait. They had more immediate problems to
worry about; like freeing Wilson and Jericho and getting out of this ghost town
that was crawling with now hostile Indians.
John
gestured to his left and both stared at where he was pointing; it was a half
filled drainage ditch and it ran to the rear of the cemetery. Alex and Owen
followed him slowly and carefully into it. They made their along the ditch on
their hands and knees. They crawled for a couple of minutes and the ditch
suddenly dog-legged left and sloped down. They crawled on in silence until both
Alex and Owen suddenly stopped; staring up. John couldn’t see anything and
whispered for them to move on. After a few seconds they continued crawling; both
throwing concerned glances at each other. The ditch ended by a broken down
fence and an empty horse trough. They were outside the derelict undertaker’s.
John
whispered he would take a look and crawled into the abandoned shop and yard.
They both turned and stared at the figure that had followed them. He was
wearing a shabby suit with a holster hanging from his right hip. He slowly
pushed back his dark black hat, revealing sandy blond hair and deep green eyes.
He was about six foot and aged in his mid twenties; he was a big man. A silver
badge was hanging from his jacket collar. He folded his arms and stared down at
the pair. “Just what the fuck are doing? Why did you bring all those damn
Indians here?”
Alex
managed a smile and introduced herself and Owen to him and said that John was
checking out the undertakers. He pushed his hat back and nodded; “So you can
damn see me! First people that have in many a year. Now what are you doing in
my damn town?” Alex explained about the Spanish Gold, the two Calvary troops
and the Indians. She explained that they were holding two good friends of
theirs in the saloon. He stood hands on hips and finally smiled; “Well,
I’m the damn sheriff of Devil’s Dyke and I don’t allow that sort of behaviour
in my bloody town. The two
damn Spanish fellows who hang about the saloon won’t be happy about this.”
Alex
asked for his help with a big smile, but was interrupted by John telling them
it was safe to come in. The sheriff jerked a thumb towards the old
undertaker’s; “You best get. Them damn savages won’t go near the coffin shop
when I’ve finished with them. Hold tight missy, Sheriff John Hammond is on
the case.” He disappeared and they crawled into the “coffin shop” and found
John reading a very old newspaper with some interest.
He
held it up and tapped the headlines of the “Devil’s Dyke Courier” which was
dated May 1842. “Towns folk moving out!” it shouted. John sighed; “The water
dried up and so they couldn’t stay. Apparently people had been killing each
other and stealing water whenever they could. Finally the Mayor called it a day
and they have arranged a wagon train and everyone is leaving. The paper says
this was the last edition. It says they would go on May 20th and head
north; apparently about one hundred and fifty people.” He lowered the paper and
wiped his face. Owen took the paper [it was a single, double printed sheet] and
read for himself about the coming evacuation. But what caught his skilled eyes
was the small column on the back page; next to the obituaries.
“Listen
to this; three kids playing near the dried river bed pulled a strange helmet
from the dirt and they dug around and found a sword hilt and two gold coins.
Miss Edna Weemes the local school teacher identified the coins as old
gold Spanish Doubloon’s from the 16th century and the helmet was Spanish
too; from the same century. This – she said – gave credence to the legend about
invading Spanish Conquistadors having passed through the area some three
hundred years ago who were killed by natives in a big battle. Says here that an
old wooden chest of the coins is supposed to be buried around Devil’s Dyke, but
no one has any details of where it may lay. It finishes by saying that some
town’s folk have vowed to return and find it.” Owen stopped reading and placed
the paper down. “Do you think bloody Sage found it?”
Alex
shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t know. The discussions were ended by the
noise of gunfire; lots of it. Crouching low they gathered around the big window
and could see horsemen in the main street; all in grey uniforms. They were
having a running gunfight with the Indians. “The cavalry have arrived.” Owen
said with a grin. John just grunted with some anger; “Yeah, but they
are wearing the wrong uniform. If they find me I’ll be returned to slavery or killed.”
Alex patted his arm; “Not while we’re around John.” That’s when they heard the
big bang and dark smoke arose from the east part of the town. John crouched
down; “That’s bloody dynamite! Who the hell is throwing bloody dynamite about!”
he shouted as another big explosion was heard and more black smoke rose into
the air. Owen gestured to the far end of town as yet another huge explosion was
heard and a big, thick cloud of black smoke and dust rose into the air.
Alex
shouted; “The Indians are running for it! They think the rebels have brought
artillery with them I bet!” That’s when she could feel her mirror vibrating
under her dress. She tapped Owen on the arm and he understood what she wasn’t
saying and he distracted John by talking about the rebels and returning
coloured soldiers to slavery, while Alex disappeared out the door to answer her
mirror.
Owen
and John watched the band of Indians disappearing onto the plans; the
Confederate troops didn’t follow. “I think they are setting up HQ in the saloon,
where Jericho and Wilson are.” Owen said quietly but Alex, standing in the
doorway, chuckled and jerked a thumb behind her; “Not any more they are!”
Wilson and Jericho followed her in and Owen jumped up with happiness; “Come on
how did you do that?” Wilson grinned; “Which do you mean? The explosions or the
escape?”
John
– for the first time in hours – actually smiled; “It was you two throwing the
damn dynamite about weren’t it?” Jericho and Wilson nodded, with Jericho
patting his shoulder; “Now we need to deal with the gold hungry rebels. They
won’t be taking you anywhere.” He smiled broadly and added; “Just follow me
people.”
The
old man lay on the saloon bar with little Jim the corpsman wrapping a bandage
around his leg. “It went clean through old timer. You’re lucky.” The old man
cussed him out and groaned loudly again, he wanted to throw a punch at the
grinning young man but both his hands were tied. He would have had difficulty
explaining about the ten rifles and case of whisky found on his mule.
Captain
Sommerville stood by the broken door watching a burial party carry two
dead troopers up to the cemetery; the three wounded
men weren’t seriously wounded though one could lose an arm without some
proper medical help. Sage was telling him to search for the Tibbs party; the
woman was skilled in medicine and would certainly help if asked. The captain
wiped his face and stared out the door. “Just find us the gold Sage; that’s
what the boys died for; that damn gold to help the cause.” He slapped dust from
his trousers and turned to the old man; “Well Walter, your whisky and gun
running days are at an end. We’re going leave you and your illicit stock for
the Yankee’s to find. I understand they’re hanging fellows who trade such items
with the Indians now days. You know; because of the war.” He chuckled and waved
to sergeant Amos; “You and I will assist Sage in procuring the gold.”
The
sergeant just stared at him and the captain sighed; “You and I will help Sage
find the gold.” The sergeant grinned and grabbed up his hat and rifle. The
captain turned to Corporal Swiggers; “Take some boys and find them strangers
who like throwing dynamite about and find that coloured soldier; I need to talk
with him.” The Corporal nodded and grinned; “You gonna hang the black bastard
sir?” The captain wiped his face and told him to get on with it. He watched the
corporal and two men go with some sadness. “I really don’t know where all this
hate comes from.” He whispered to himself and followed Sage through the saloon
doors; sergeant Amos close behind, chewing some tobacco and spitting.
The
captain wasn’t there when everyone ran – some screaming – from the saloon just
minutes later. Even old ‘Walter’ had jumped from the bar and hobbled at speed
through the door; shouting and cussing. He hadn’t seen anything like it before
in his sixty-one years. He hid himself in the ruins of the ladies dress shop
opposite and breathed deep, wiping his face with a shaking hand.
Two
figures had simply walked through a wall dressed up like a couple of soldiers
from hundreds of years before. They had swords, big helmets and were wearing
long boots. Old water thought they were shouting in Spanish; some of the old
Indians around here still knew some Spanish words. But it was when two rebels
fired their muskets at them and the bullets passed straight through, making
neat holes in the wall behind them that did the trick. Everyone in the saloon
was gone some seconds later. The two ghosts faded away.
The
team reached the ruined church at the far end of the town and
managed to climb over the big door that lay to one side. The interior was
surprisingly cool and that made Alex happy – who was still moaning about the
‘tent’ she had to wear – ladies fashions in the 1860’s were layers of
petticoats and skirts built over a hoop. It was actually like dragging a tent
around and she hated it. She had enough of that and pulled her skirt off and a
layer of long petticoats; the corset came next and basically she was in her
underwear [for the time] had it been the 1920’s or 1960’s she would have looked
quite fashionable!
John
was quite surprised that her male companions said nothing about her stripping
down to her underwear in front of them. They just carried on if such an
outrageous performance [in his eyes] was perfectly normal. Owen showed Jericho
the newspaper that John had found and he read it quickly with some interest.
Alex checked John’s bandages and he certainly felt a lot better as she leaned
over him; the removal of her corset had allowed her magnificent breasts some
freedom and John was more than happy to enjoy the view on offer.
Wilson
had to smile at that; she’s one hell of a distraction he thought as he sat on
the far pew and checked his mirror. That’s when he called Jericho over –
quietly and calmly – and showed him the mirror. Jericho rubbed his chin in
thought; there was a powerful machine operating nearby – really powerful –
powered by nuclear fusion. Now that certainly didn’t exist in the 1860’s!
“Can
you locate it?” Jericho asked and Wilson nodded, tapping at his mirror and sat
back; “Apparently it’s coming from just outside the town, from that ridge we
passed through. Now let’s try….” He tapped at his mirror again and smiled; “Got
it. The ridge slopes down on the west side and there’s an old silver mine there.
Abandoned even before the town was. That’s where the energy signal is emanating
from.”
Jericho
nodded and looked at John having his bandages changed. He had to smile at the
happy expression on John’s face. “I’m sure Alex and Owen can keep John
distracted while we take a look at that old mine.” Wilson pushed his mirror
into his shirt pocket and smiled; “None better for distractions.” He murmured
and they called Owen over quietly and explained what was happening. Owen nodded
and watched as the pair disappeared out the side door to operate their mirrors.
He returned to Alex and John and whispered in her ear. She just nodded her head
in reply; you can – most of the time – depend on Jericho!
6. THE OLD
SILVER MINE AND ALEX MAKES A DISCOVERY.
Jericho
and Wilson walked the edge of the ridge carefully as Wilson consulted his
mirror. He stopped and pointed to a thick clump of scrawny trees and bushes
that seemed to climb up the ridge. “They seem to be well watered for a place
where there’s supposedly no water anywhere.” He said and the pair headed for
them. They both jumped back a little as the big mountain lion broke from the
bushes; roaring and growling. It lowered itself as if to pounce. Wilson
actually smiled and held up his mirror; “It’s bloody good, but it’s just a
hologram, probably being generated by the power source as some sort of defense
mechanism.”
Jericho
nodded and checked his mirror; “Yeah, but what is it protecting? The power
readings are off the scale. I wonder what’s being generated by all that power;
it can’t just be holograms like this.” They walked towards the growling lion
and it simply vanished. They pushed into the thick foliage and found what it
was hiding after a couple of minutes; an old cave entrance. There was wood
scattered about and the remains of a small, wheeled carriage that would have
been pulled by a mule or pushed by a couple of men. They stood in the dark
entrance and shone their mirrors in. It twisted and turned, going downwards;
they noticed a small gauge rail track and decided to follow that.
They
walked constantly descending for about ten minutes. Jericho stopped and ran his
fingers over the dark walls; “These walls are damp, there must be water under
the ridge.” That’s when they heard the rumbling noise. Wilson held up his
mirror and shouted; “Another illusion I think!” the wall of water came rushing
around the bend and crashed over the pair and faded away. Jericho folded his
arms; “Someone or something really doesn’t want any visitors; do they?” Wilson
nodded and they walked on; still descending.
The
tunnel seemed endless with no conclusion and so they stopped at a junction; two
tunnels now. Wilson grunted; “Which one do we take?” Jericho shrugged his
shoulders; “The mirrors cannot give an accurate location of the power source
now. We are too damn close to it.” Wilson stabbed a finger downwards; “Only one
has the little rail track. Follow that?” he asked and Jericho nodded. It was
that or toss a coin!
They
continued to follow the rail tracks and found another carriage
on its side and the tunnel now seemed to narrow. That’s when Wilson sighed
loudly as he peered into the open carriage; “Take a look Jericho. We have a
visitor.” Jericho looked over the side and wiped his face: it was skeletal
remains with the hat and boots still in good condition, but the
checked shirt and trousers had almost disappeared. Wilson ran his mirror
over the bones. “Phillip Renior, born 1946 in Perpignan southern France with a
scheduled dispatch date of 2010, but he never made that; he’s a missing soul
and now we know why. Strange no temporal detectives were allocated the case.”
“Another
bloody missing soul from France with army boots. Alex and Owen found one in the
cemetery.” Jericho rubbed his chin; “Now that’s very interesting.” He muttered
and the pair walked on; still descending. They turned yet another corner and
Wilson grabbed Jericho by the arm and gestured downwards; the little rail track
stopped in mid air, below some sixty or seventy feet lay a cavern. It was huge
with a small waterfall running down one wall into a small dark pond. Their
mirrors showed that the floor of the cavern was strewn with bits of mining
equipment and two ramshackle huts; one much larger than the other. There were
two dark entrances on the opposite wall, right on the cavern floor. There was a
pale white light showing from the smaller of the two.
Jericho
patted Wilson’s arm; “Thanks for that my old friend. I think that’s the next
tunnel we want.” He gestured to the tunnel with the light emitting from it.
Then added; “I hope the mirrors can do small jumps.” He tapped his mirror and
the pair was gone.
Owen
sat by the window and watched the rebel activity in the town. “Sage, the rebel
captain and sergeant have just gone into the old school house. Some more men
appear to searching each house in turn, the rest must be in the saloon.” He
told Alex who left John resting on a pew and joined him by the door. Owen
chuckled; “You know if you stand in strong light, those petticoats will be a
little transparent?” Alex sighed and asked; “How long have they been in the
school house?”
“About
ten or fifteen minutes, why?” Owen replied and Alex sat down and leaned against
the wall. “Just in that newspaper it was the school teacher that made the
statement about the legend of Spanish Gold, confirmed the authenticity of
the coins, helmet and
sword hilt as being Spanish. Consult your mirror while John is asleep and find
out if that story appears anywhere else.” Owen tapped his mirror for a couple
of minutes and shook his head; “There’s no mention of the story anywhere. But
then; how many copies of the ‘Devil’s Dyke Courier’ would exist? I mean how
many would have reached the Newspaper archives?”
Alex
almost smiled; “So if there are no records of the story available for
historians; how did Sage know about the story? We know he’s from the 1920’s and
not from this time and place, so how the hell did he know about the story?”
Owen rubbed his chin; he knew that was a bloody good question. He pulled the
old newspaper from his back pocket and ran his mirror over it. The look on his
face was priceless. Alex gave him a gentle shove and said “Well?” with some
frustration. Owen slowly smiled; “You clever girl; this paper was made from
tree’s felled in 1957 and the ink was manufactured in 1961!”
“I
smell a large rat and it’s called Sage Columbine. Do you think he showed that
fake newspaper to General Longstreet and set this whole thing up for some
reason we haven’t discovered yet? All he had to do was have a bag of Spanish
Gold doubloons that he could have acquired from anywhere; he’s a damn
time-traveller after all! Then add the newspaper and he has Longstreet hooked.
Such a quantity of gold would be irresistible to the rebel cause; they are
desperate for money to pay for equipment and keep the war going. But why is he
doing all this? If he was a true supporter of the rebel cause; why not just
give them the damn coins?” Alex spoke quietly and Owen leaned back and looked
at his mirror; “Because the coin hoard doesn’t actually exist; but that don’t
make sense, as you say, why then, all this crap?”
Alex
sighed again; “The original mission was to undo minor changes to the current
time line caused by the rebels and federal troops fighting here. Bloody
thirteen unscheduled deaths that never happened in the original time line. Then
we discover that John Norton’s great grandson is important to the time line in
the 1960’s….” She stopped talking and said quietly; “The paper was made in 1957
and the ink in 1961. Sage is from the 1920’s but would have lived through the
1960’s had he not discovered time-travel. There’s a definite connection there;
but what the hell is it!”
Owen
lowered his mirror; “Sage changed the original time line with this fake gold
scam. He engineered the fight between the rebel
and Federal troops by convincing General Longstreet that there was gold in this
old ghost town, but as you say; why?”
Alex
tapped his shoulders; “Who were the soldiers that died? Check each one against
Sage’s human genealogy and see if anything comes up.” Owen tapped his mirror
again; “If I can remember the mission briefing; it was five federal troopers
and seven confederate soldiers.” Alex grabbed his hand and almost smiled;
“That’s only twelve men; who was the thirteenth victim?”
“Good
spot.” Owen murmured and held up his mirror; “A certain Walter Carlton who died
of blood poisoning from a wound to his leg. Probably Sepsis.”
Alex grinned; “That’s the name of that mean
old whisky and gun peddler that was dealing with Youngblood and the Indians.
What changes to the original time line did that cause?” Owen consulted his
mirror and didn’t smile; “His great grandson was a civil rights lawyer in the
1960’s and defended several of the top civil rights activists at the time. But
that’s weird; I mean Walter is sixty-one in this year with no record of any
children born before this date. That can’t be right can it? He fathered a child
in his sixties?”
Alex
was checking her mirror and grunted; a little angry. “In the original time line
dear old Walter is hung in Silver City in 1865 for the rape of a minor; a
seventeen year old girl. She had a child; a boy in 1866 that was given up for
adoption. That’s how he had descendants: the fucking animal.” Owen pushed his
mirror back into his jacket; “I bet the prestigious layers family won’t shout
about an ancestor like that or they don’t know. That sort of dark family
history wouldn’t be passed down if the boy was adopted.”
Alex
eased herself up; “Well, we’ve discovered why the original time line changed in
the 1960’s. But if we restore it now, then that fucking beast rapes the girl
and the child is born right on schedule. That means we have to stop Walter
getting Sepsis and dying. Now that’s really going to get up my nose.” Owen
nodded; “I’ll inform Jericho.”
Alex
stood arms folded; “Do you know I think Sage was aiming to kill someone else;
not bloody Walter Carlton, to change the 1960’s but we turned up and changed
all that. Youngblood would have killed the two coloured boys if Jericho hadn’t
convinced him to allow them to fight for their freedom. That threw a big
spanner into Sage’s plan. I think he hoped that John would be killed in the
fighting and if not, kill him himself and history would have
put the death down to the battle, but we messed all that up. I don’t think he
even knew about old Walter’s descendant. Nobody in the 1960’s would have done.
But he would have certainly known about that civil rights leader’s family
history.”
“Come
on, we need to stash John somewhere safe and find that sick old bastard and
save his wretched life.” Alex walked over to the sleeping John and didn’t look
happy. She placed a hand upon his forehead and sighed again; ”No wonder he’s so
sleepy; he’s burning up. He has an infection and we need to deal with it
urgently.” Owen nodded and held up his mirror; “I’ll watch him and you jump to
the lighthouse and grab your bag. Does he need penicillin?” Alex nodded and
pulled out her mirror; that’s when a bullet smashed what’s left of the window
and another thudded into the wall. “They have found us!” Owen yelled and Alex
said; “No shit Sherlock.” she operated her mirror; the temporal detectives were
gone and John with them.
Corporal
Swiggers came through the door, bayonet at the ready and cussed loudly; “Where
the fuck have they gone?” the two soldiers following said nothing; they
certainly didn’t know.
7. THE MACHINE.
Jericho
and Wilson shone their mirrors at the tunnel with the faint light and made
their way down the much smaller tunnel; Wilson had to bend a little and moaned
a couple of times about that. Both could feel the vibrations in the walls and
floor and it was becoming louder with each step; almost to the point they
covered their ears. “De-materialize!” Jericho shouted over the intense and
painful noise. They both stood and sighed with relief; they were now basically
holograms or ghosts for want of a better description and the physical noise
didn’t bother them now.
“Now
that’s one clever fucking defense mechanism against humans and animals.” Wilson
said as they walked on for several minutes. The tunnel suddenly opened up into
small cave with smooth walls and ceiling. It looked ‘man made’ and they stood
before a stone door covered with strange hieroglyphs. Wilson lowered his
mirror; “No translation possible. They are totally unknown.” Jericho grunted
and ran his hand over the surface of the door. “It appears to be stone but
I bet it is not.” That’s when they both realised they were not alone standing
before the impressive door. They both turned and stared at the women standing
there. She was dressed in a short white skirt and blouse.
Her dark hair tied with a black ribbon; around her neck was a collar that
looked like gold. She would easily be called beautiful. Jericho noticed a gold
ring on her big toe; she was barefoot.
Jericho
held up a hand and introduced Wilson and himself. Wilson lowered his mirror and
whispered; “She’s a real strong hologram, probably made from hard light, like
they discovered in 2205.” Jericho nodded; “Agreed, but I don’t think she’s from
2205. I think she could be much older than that. Probably even before modern
humans.”
The
woman said nothing but gestured towards the door. Jericho and Wilson turned to
see the door slide back revealing a brightly lit room. The floor and ceiling
appeared to be made from light itself. The hologram swept past them and
gestured for them to follow. They did. The big door closed silently behind
them. They walked slowly down the passage and stared at the ‘mirrors’ on the
walls. One each every seven feet and as they passed each, several human faces
appeared in the mirrors and they eyes watched the pair pass. Jericho stopped at
one and studied the faces that were studying him. “They appear human – like we
were when alive – but I don’t think they are now.” He looked closely at a
couple who smiled at him; did he know them? A strange sensation passed over
Jericho and he wondered why the faces were there. But the woman urged them on
and so they walked until the lady hologram stopped by a large round mirror that
protruded from the wall by four or five inches. She bowed and was gone.
An
old man’s face appeared; he looked ancient and neither Jericho nor Wilson could
even guess his age. He smiled slowly and spoke; the language made no sense to
the pair and they both consulted their mirrors which – unusually – couldn’t translate
it. Jericho quietly explained they couldn’t understand. The face smiled again
and said; “Colloquial English, in use from the fourteen hundreds until the end.
I welcome you to Omega. It has been a long time in human years since I had
visitors. Please state you business here.”
Jericho
explained who he and Wilson actually were and – briefly – the case they
were on. The face nodded; “Jericho Tibbs; a human who existed organically
between 28 human years from birth to death. Wilson Franklyn; a human who
existed organically between
35 human years from birth to death. Now both existing in the secondary plane of
existence and serving a higher species. Your current endeavours please me. You
are still basically animals but are struggling to evolve further; to assimilate
with your creators. What do you wish to know?”
Jericho
and Wilson glanced at each other; the holy family [God] is just a ‘higher
species’ to this face? Jericho had to ask; “Who created you?” The face
smiled; “I have been in existence since before this planet was newly formed. I
was created to watch and wait for humans such as you. My creator was myself; I
came together by my own means. I existed because I wanted to exist. Everything
on this planet apart from you humans I called into existence. I created the
garden and your creators filled it. I am existence; I am time past, time
present and time to come. I am rock and water; night and day. I cannot die
because I was never born. I am light and dark without me there would be
nothing; a great void of non-existence. I am everything including nothing. I am
the dream without a sleeper. I exist in everything and everything exists in me.
I am the why to all the questions you could ask. That is I. I am I. Do you
understand?”
Jericho
rubbed his chin; “So you created yourself; how was that possible? I mean
creating yourself from nothing?” The face smiled; “I have existed before humans
could even understand what time is and will exist long after they have gone.
There is no time; just me. Humans have no understanding of true existence
because they are organic with a limited time restrained by their fragile
creation. Even your higher species will succumb to the passing of organic
decomposition eventually. But I will still be here. Nothing can exist outside
me; even nothingness itself. There is a void because I exist; without me even
non-existence would not exist.”
The
face almost smiled; “I am happy that I have seen your next step in your
evolution; like the gentle butterfly you will change stage by stage until you
reach the ordained pinnacle of your existence. It has pleased me and now you
can rejoin your people.” The face slowly faded and was gone. The woman was back
and gestured them to follow her. They did in silence and found themselves back
outside the door and it closed quietly behind them. They stood in silence for a
second or two, then Wilson said softly; “Is it only me or did he have a huge
ego?” Jericho started to laugh; “I don’t think he is a he. I think it’s a
really very old machine – artificial intelligence taken to the extreme – that’s
been around for bloody millions of years and it has no idea who created it; so
it’s worked out that it must have created itself; logical really. But for what
actual purpose it was created for; God only knows.” Wilson grunted; “And I
can’t see him telling us that anytime soon.” He stopped and held up his mirror;
“My mirror tells me that no time has passed since we entered the tunnels from
outside the ridge. Like that hour didn’t happen.” Jericho checked his mirror and
agreed.
Now
standing outside; below the ridge, they both stood for a minute or two without
speaking, just staring at each other. Wilson looked about and ran a hand over
his face; “Well, that was a waste of time. There is no energy source around
here. My mirror is showing nothing. Come on let’s go, this was a waste of
time.” Jericho nodded; “Must have been some sort of surge that the mirrors
picked up. But your right; there’s nothing here to investigate. Let’s get
back.” He operated his mirror and they were gone.
Deep
in the underground complex, the face smiled and all the faces in the wall
mirrors smiled with it.
8. SAVING CORPORAL
NORTON.
The
old house was still in fair condition despite being abandoned in 1842 and was
located on the edge of the equally deserted town. “This was the town’s doctor’s
house; it has a small surgery room with a big table and a large window for
light. Apparently the doctor was called Thaddeus Ambrose and he left with the
wagon train. It will do nicely.” Alex placed her ‘Gladstone’ bag down and
rolled up her sleeves. She watched as Wilson and Owen gently lowered the
mumbling John Norton onto the table. He was a little delirious and talking
about angels; at one point he sat up and cursed God for having no mercy, then
slumped back and continued to mumble.
Alex
carefully removed the chest bandage and sighed; “The wounds infected. The
Indians knife probably hadn’t been cleaned for ages. It could have been
contained with old blood or dirt. I’ll start with some penicillin shots and
then clean and redress the wound with fresh sterile bandages.” Jericho nodded,
standing in the doorway, checking his mirror. He told Owen to watch for anyone
coming up the dirt street. Owen didn’t say anything and sat
in the large front room on a clean chair and watched the street. Alex set
to work, watched by an interested Jericho and Wilson. What did make Wilson
chuckle was Alex’s wonderful pink rubber gloves! She prepared her needle and
carefully injected John’s thigh. Then set about cleaning the wound. “How long
before we can move him?” Jericho asked; still a little puzzled about his
mirror; the local time shown seemed to be about an hour out. Alex checked
John’s temperature and didn’t smile; “I’d say about a couple of hours. He’s
young and fit which helps a great deal.” Jericho nodded his thanks and then
answered an incoming call on his mirror; it was Skyrise.
He
smiled and thanked Skyrise and lowered his mirror. “Skyrise is now trailing a
detachment of Federal Calvary, a young white officer, but all the troopers are
coloured. They will here by morning. So that will give us time to thwart Sage’s
gold trick. I think he will supply the coins himself to cover their arrival in
this time and place. History will record it as a convenient find for the rebel cause.
But it never happened in the original time line and so we need to stop him.
Such an amount can buy many extra weapons and horses and that could have
serious effects later.”
Alex
reminded him that they had to save – reluctantly – that old bastard Walter or
the time line would also change. Wilson softly chuckled; “We get all the good
jobs don’t we?” and helped cover the sleeping John with a blanket. “We can
leave him for his own side to care for, once Alex says its ok.” Jericho rubbed
his chin and consulted his mirror again. But Owen interrupted them; “There’s
something going on in the town. The troopers are mounting up and the officer,
with Sage and a couple of troopers are loading something into their supply
wagon; covered with a blanket.”
Jericho
cursed; he knew that Sage had already probably pulled the switch and the
confederates were about to leave with a huge quantity of gold that could change
the time line a great deal. “I could stop time, but that would only give
us fifteen minutes to grab the box and dispose of it. Then the story of the
chest’s sodding disappearance could be repeated; there would be a lot of
witnesses to a totally unexplainable event. So this is a tricky one.” Jericho
folded his arms and didn’t smile. Wilson slowly did smile; “I can think of a
way to do it which will cause very little change and the confederates won’t
shout too much about being conned and history won’t be too bothered to note it;
considering there’s
a huge war going on.” Jericho slapped his back; “Over to you prospective
Temporal Detective Inspector!” Leaving Alex to watch over John, the rest of the
team disappeared.
Jericho
was crouched low beneath the window ledge of the big bedroom on the second
floor of the now deserted saloon; watching the activity in the street below. He
checked his mirror for Wilson’s signal that they were ready to do their own
little bit of switching. His mirror beeped and he ran from the room, down the
back stairs and in to the alley which opened directly on the street. He stopped
time; he had already informed the Senior Time Controller on duty. Wilson drove
the wagon quickly from the back of the saloon and pulled up just behind the packed
confederate’s wagon. Owen leapt from the back and threw the canvas flap up.
Wilson and Jericho ran past the still figures of Sage and the captain and
grabbed the blanket covered chest from the two troopers.
It
certainly was heavy and they lowered it to the ground. Owen appeared with a
large metal box; he was struggling to carry it. Jericho pulled open the lid on
the confederate chest and they all stared in. “Sweet Jesus, that’s a lot of
coin.” Muttered Wilson and waited for Jericho to appear from their wagon
carrying a big metal box that was empty. They carefully tipped the gold into
the metal box. Jericho – panting – said quietly; “Six minutes to go.”
Owen
opened his metal box and tipped the washers into the chest. Everyone grabbed a
couple of handfuls of coins and covered the washers. Then the lid was slammed
down and the blanket replaced; the chest was carefully placed back into the
arms of the two troopers. They almost dragged the metal box back to their wagon
and hoisted it aboard. “Three minutes to go.” Jericho shouted and Wilson drove
the wagon behind the saloon and Jericho operated his mirror and re-started
time. He then –again – operated his mirror and the wagon and horses, with them
aboard disappeared. They had done it with one bloody minute remaining!
The
two troopers pushed the chest into the wagon and climbed aboard; Captain
Sommerville gave strict instructions that only he and Sage were allowed near
the box. He shouted to the sergeant for the men to mount up and the little
convoy headed out of the town. The three wounded men in the wagon didn’t mind
in the least squashing up for the box and slowly passed a canteen of water amongst themselves. “Granny lee will hand out whisky for what we
did!” The youngest shouted and the other agreed with him. They would be heroes.
Alex
checked John and pulled his blanket up, that’s when she heard the noise in the
doorway and turned expecting the team back. She was disappointed; it was old
Walter, limping badly and holding a scatter gun on her. [In the UK, that’s a
shotgun]. He smiled and cussed at his leg, then at Alex; “Get away from that
black bastard you white whore and get over by that old sofa!” he yelled and
held the gun up. Alex realised that her mirror was in her ‘Gladstone’ bag;
sitting next to John’s head. She raised her arms and walked slowly to the old
sofa under the big window. “I need to look at your leg Walter; see if it’s
infected…inflamed. That could be dangerous.” She said quietly, smiling a
little.
Walter
just grunted; “Fucking standing there in just your shirt and drawers with that
black bastard, I can see what’s been going on you slut! Now the only fucking
thing you can help me with is this!” his free hand tugged at the buttons on his
trousers and he pulled out his cock and tugged at it. “Now fucking strip naked
and bend over that dam sofa, I’m gonna fuck you then kill him!”
He
weaved the gun at her and pulled the safety catches back on both barrels. “Come
on! Get them fucking clothes off!” Alex slowly pulled off her blouse and
Walters eyes opened with delight and lust. “What a fucking pair of tit’s, God
damn it whore, I’m really gonna enjoy this. Now get those drawers off and bend
over that God damn sofa before I cum in my own hand!”
Alex
slowly pushed the petticoats down and stood naked apart from her little boots;
she covered her herself with two hands. But Walter screamed for her to drop her
hands; which she did. He was almost raving; shouting for to bend over the sofa
with her knees on it and her hands on the back of it. She did as she was told
and could hear the old man frantically trying to get his trousers down with one
hand.
That’s
when she heard the loud thud and turned slowly to see Walter stretched out on
the floor, with John carefully pulling the scatter gun away from his hand. Her
Gladstone bag lay next to Walter’s head; broken open and the contents spilled
out. John smiled; “The old idiot should have killed me first.” Was all he
said and threw Alex the blanket he had laid under. She wrapped herself up
and walked over; kissing him, which really surprised John. He smiled again;
“Thanks for that, but just seeing you naked
was thanks enough!” Alex leaned over Walter and checked his pulse, then his
eyes. “Fucking shit! He’s dead!” She suddenly exclaimed. That’s when she
saw little Yuri the collector in the corner with a protesting Walter. Yuri just
raised his soul ledger and smiled. The pair was gone soon as the light
appeared. John just shrugged his shoulders; “Must have had a weak head or your
bag is more lethal than anyone could imagine.” He hadn’t – of course – seen
either the Collector or old Walter’s soul departing.
That’s
when Jericho and the team returned, walking through the door, laughing amongst
themselves until they saw Alex in just the blanket and Walter dead on the floor
clutching his cock. Owen shifted the body with his foot and said quietly; “Now
that may fuck up things.” Wilson groaned; “Now that’s some fucking
understatement my little brother!”
John
was telling Jericho about what happened as Alex grabbed up her discarded
clothing and dressed quickly under the blanket. Jericho patted John's arm and
thanked him, telling John that his comrades would be here in the morning and he
would travel back to the fort with them.
Alex
discretely ran her mirror over Walter and nodded to herself; the old man had
suffered myocardial infarction [heart attack] and must have suffered heart
failure for some years and in this time and place there was practically no
treatment. John clobbering him with the bag must have triggered the fatal
failure. But when she spoke to Wilson about it; he just chuckled and muttered;
“Or seeing a woman like you stark naked, bent over in front of him, could be
the real cause!” She just sighed in reply and didn’t even bother telling Owen
why the old man had died. But she was happy that the old bastard died before he
could get hold of that young girl. She now knew he would have been quite
capable of such a terrible act; despite his age.
That’s
when Jericho’s mirror buzzed and John looked around; puzzled. Wilson pulled
John to one side and asked about the dead old man again. Jericho wandered into
the hallway and answered his mirror. It was Skyrise.
9. ANOTHER
BATTLE OF DEVIL’S DYKE?
Jericho
stood – arms on hips – and sighed loudly. This was not good news from
Skyrise. Youngblood’s renegade band of Arapaho’s
was on course to cross paths with the Federal cavalry unless one or both
changed course; and soon. If they clashed, then the time line would change
drastically with the unscheduled deaths, as it did in the altered time line. He
cursed Sage and his plan to supply the confederacy with Spanish gold.
There
had been minor – and acceptable – changes with the deaths of the few Indians
and Confederates during the fighting in the town. But this would be different;
a serious number of deaths will alter things and not in the best interest of
the current time line. He stared down at his mirror and thought hard;
then saw the wagon and horse’s through the broken down door, standing quietly
in the deserted street. He managed a smile; “Sod it, must be worth a try.” And
when John was sleeping off his penicillin and pain killers; he called the team
together and outlined his plan.
The
wagon trundled slowly through the clouds of dust and dirt being whipped up by
the unusually strong winds that were now running across the prairie. Owen
slapped the reins and adjusted the scarf tied about his face. He glanced back
at John sitting up in the rear, with Alex checking his bandages; they were
laughing quietly together. Owen smiled and called out to Wilson, who was riding
next to the wagon. “I take it the Indians now have the rifles and whisky that
old Walter had on his mule?” Wilson tugged at the scarf over his mouth and
shouted back; “Yeah, Skyrise said they half of them now had rifles and they
were passing bottles amongst themselves!”
Owen
shook his head; “Not a good mixture; guns and whisky and Indians not use to
either.” Wilson nodded and looked behind to see Jericho reading his mirror as
he rode. They should cross the path of the Federal cavalry in a couple of
hours. What concerned Wilson was that they [the team] should soon see scouts
from the cavalry or as Jericho had commented; they should have seen them
already. Wilson stared at the horizon; it didn’t look good, there was a storm
coming. Jericho spurred his horse and joined Wilson, pulling down his
scarf; “My mirror tells me there was quite a storm in these parts about this
time. We may need to find shelter and sit it out!” Wilson nodded his
agreement with that.
Then
both shouted about the lack of scouts from the cavalry column and Jericho
called up Skyrise and asked where the Indians were. The reply made him laugh
out loud and then cough as the dust got up his nose. He shouted over to Wilson;
“The Arapaho’s have stopped in a small ravine about twenty miles east of
us. Skyrise says they are firing their rifles and staggering about; they must
have finished that case of whisky!”
Wilson
laughed and coughed too; “I think we should call it a day. Maybe the bloody
Indians will be too drunk to ride through the storm!” Jericho nodded and
gestured to a big clump of trees and bushes ahead. “We’ll stop there; at the
least we’ll have some protection. I’ve told Skyrise to take no chances and get
some shelter!” He turned to Owen who raised a hand; he had been listening and
drove the wagon towards the thick trees and bushes. He managed to get the wagon
and horses several feet into foliage before he had to stop; the wind was now
really driving the dust and dirt, so much so that the sky had actually
darkened.
With
the horses secured; everyone crowded into the wagon and the canvas sides and
back flap were tied down with extra rope. Owen passed his hipflask around and
everyone had a sip; except John. Alex wouldn’t allow him because he had been
shot full of antibiotics! He didn’t understand that but refused the alcohol
because Alex said so.
The
canvas flapped and the wind could be heard above anything else. “I think it’s
getting bloody worse.” Muttered Jericho and moved up the behind the driver’s
seat and discretely consulted his mirror. Alex was handing out the rations;
salt beef, biscuits, cheese and apples. The water canteens were greatly
welcomed.
The
talking soon died away as the storm now raged around them. John was asleep with
Owen leaned against him; snoring quietly and moving slightly in his sleep.
Wilson was dozing, his head nodding gently up and down. Jericho lowered his
mirror; now concerned. The storm they were enduring was far stronger than was
reported in the original time line. He wondered just how significant that could
be. Still, there was absolutely nothing they could do nothing about anything
until the damn storm cleared.
Bored;
he checked his mirror and read about the two French men from the 1970’s. He had
no doubt that Operation’s would almost certainly lumber Team 74 with that
one. That’s when he thought he could hear something above the storm;
strange deep, weird noises that he couldn’t place or recognize. He adjusted his
mirror and did a body search for five square miles. He had to look twice; there
were five living humans not a hundred yards from this position! Covering his
head with the scarf; he peered out the driver’s front flap; but could only see
flying dirt and moving trees and
bushes. That’s when he caught a glimpse of something. He stared hard and
between gusts of howling wind and dirt; he saw what it was for just a second or
so. He ducked back inside and shook his head. Alex moved carefully over the
others and joined him; “I can hear it too over the storm. Do you know what it
is?” Jericho slowly nodded and whispered in her ear; “A bloody American armoured
car from the Second World war by the looks about it. It has EC-417 pained on
the side. I think the crew of five are still with it!” He tapped at his
mirror while Alex sat back and said quietly; “Oh fuck.” Jericho looked up
from his mirror; “It’s from the 7th Calvary, it should be in the Libyan
Desert in 1943 fighting the German ‘Afrika Corps’. What the fuck is it doing
here?”
Alex
suddenly sat up and tapped his arm; “Listen. I can only hear the storm.”
Jericho quickly re-checked his mirror and rubbed his chin; “Nothing. No humans for
miles. They have gone.” He said quietly. Alex leaned back; “Rouge time portal?”
she whispered and Jericho agreed. There was something definitely strange about
Devil’s Dyke and he couldn’t put his finger on it; yet!
Darkness
was starting to fall when the storm finally cleared up and the decision was
made to stay where they were. The Federal Calvary wouldn’t travel at night with
no moon. Alex and Owen managed to brew some coffee and cook beans to go with
the remaining salt beef and everyone appreciated their efforts. That’s when
Owen slipped up to Jericho as he relieved himself behind a tree. “I couldn’t
say anything to you or the others in front of John, but check your mirror and
see what the local time is.” He buttoned
up his flies and pulled out his mirror and really wasn’t happy. The local time
was April 8th 1551. Jericho lowered his mirror and cussed; they [him and
Alex] had been right about the rouge time portal.
Owen
looked grim; “That’s not the best of it. Check your mirror for where Devil’s
Dyke will be located; there’s a large column of Spanish soldiers, cannon,
Calvary and wagons camped there. But it gets worse; Coming from behind that
ridge is a huge band of Arapaho’s and I don’t think they’ll welcome the Spanish
in a friendly manner.”
Jericho
called Skyrise who confirmed that his band of Indians was still laid around;
trying to recover from some serious hangovers.
Jericho
told Skyrise to use his mirror and jump to where the town is and report if
there were any Spanish troops there. Skyrise did laugh at that assignment, but
did as he was asked. He buzzed Jericho back to say the place was deserted with
no humans in sight. Jericho grunted his thanks and called the Senior Time
Controller; he needed to know if this totally unknown conflict was in the
original time line. The answer came back; yes it was, just human history had
never recorded it!
Owen
scratched his chin; “That could mean that the gold is genuine and Sage must
have stumbled on the story somehow, maybe he travelled to that era jumping back
to 1551 and saw that the Spanish were here: then came up with his plan. What
happens to Devil’s Dyke in the modern area I wonder?” Jericho told him to look
that up and tell him later; for the immediate future they need to travel back
to the civil war era.
Jericho
operated his mirror and they returned; it was just in time [pun intended!] for
the Federal cavalry passed their position just an hour later. Corporal John
Norton had a very happy reunion with his colleagues, but some were sad over the
killing of Isaiah. Sergeant McKay thanked the team for looking after John; the
officer was more concerned about where the confederates were. He also tried to
‘chat’ up Alex at the same time! He wasn’t successful in that endeavour.
The
Calvary troop left at dawn the following morning and Alex was sad to see
the supply wagon disappearing down the dirt track. Alphas did raise his hat to
her and Troy waved frantically as they departed. Alphas and Alex really did
smile at each other which only Owen noticed; but he wouldn't comment on that to
anyone except Alex. John said his goodbyes to Team 74; especially Alex. Jericho
watched the column leave; heading back to Fort Caleb and when they were out of
sight operated his mirror and everyone was gone. Supplies arrived and cleared
up everything and returned with the wagon and horses. There would be no trace
of the temporal detectives visit. The team joined up with Skyrise outside the
lighthouse and the dinner conversation that night would definitely be
lively! But that would not be the finish of Team 74’s involvement in the
little town of Devil’s Dyke.
“The mission was considered a success despite the
unscheduled deaths of some Native Indians and Confederate Troopers. The death
of old Walter did make a few changes further down the Timeline, but Angel
Margret was more than satisfied with the Team’s performance. The Spanish Gold
was to prove a pain for Jericho and Team 74: they were not happy to find they
were sent back to Devil’s Dyke to sort out possession of the damn gold yet
again!” [See concluding episode: The vanishing tribe of Spirit Mountain.]
Captain Dwight
Russell
[Union] remained at Fort Caleb after being promoted to Colonel; he was an army
career man and retired in 1876. He moved east and lived in Washington State
until his death in 1888, He had never married but had a son by a native Indian
woman in 1871. His soul was collected and processed.
Lieutenant Foster
Graham
[Union] served at Fort Caleb for three years before his death in 1866. He was
killed when his horse threw him whilst on routine patrol; he suffered a head
injury and died a few days later. His soul was collected and processed.
US Surgeon Paul
Hamilton
was the post doctor for several years and was well respected for his
knowledgeable and quiet demour around the men and officers. Few realized that
the good doctor was ‘hiding out’ at the fort; escaping a serious sex scandal in
Boston involving several under-age school-girls resident at a private academy!
Paul escaped justice hiding at the fort until his death in 1871 bought his
brother to the fort to clear up his affairs and he ensured that everybody knew
his brother’s scandalous past: they had hated each other since childhood!
Paul’s soul was collected and processed, receiving no quarantine for his
actions.
Sergeant Moses McKay
[Union]
left the army [again] at the end of the Civil War and ended up a US Marshall in
Montana. In April 1869 he went after the notorious Le Croix Brothers in the St.
John Mountains and was never seen or heard of again. His soul is currently
missing. Inspector Jericho Tibbs and Team 74 have
been assigned the case. There is no resolution yet.
Philippe Paul Bates
[Sheriff] was found dead in his bed in November 1865. He had suffered a massive
coronary. He was morbidly obese and so no-one was surprised by his death. His soul
was collected and processed, receiving fifty human years in quarantine for the
brutal rape and murder of a young saloon girl at a small town on the US/Mexican
Border when his was a young man. He had escaped ‘human justice’ at the time,
but couldn’t escape the Divine kind!
Corporal John
Norton
[Union] remained in the cavalry until the end of the war. In 1866 his
enlistment was up and he moved north, meeting and marrying Miss Lilly
Washington. His great, grandson was El-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz or ‘Malcolm X’ a
very important
figure in the Civil Rights movement of the early 1960’s. He
died in 1892 and his soul was collected and processed.
Private Isaiah
Smith
[Union] had an early death [he should have died the following year in a
skirmish with the Arapaho’s] which changed the Timeline very little. His soul
was collected and processed.
Sage Columbine
[Confederacy Scout] the Confederate Army Scout was a time-traveler from 1925
and his reasons for the Spanish Gold Plot remain a mystery. But it is expected
that he wished to – somehow – change the outcome of the civil war. He is known
to McIves [another time traveler who
is frequently encountered by Jericho and Team 74] and his whereabouts -
currently - are unknown. He remains a missing soul.
Youngblood Small
Dog
[Arapaho Native Indian] and his band of renegade warriors returned to their
village; somewhat a failure; but he had secured 10 repeating rifles. He never
made Great
War Chief and died in 1871 of smallpox. His soul was collected and processed.
Walter Carlton [Gun
& whisky peddler] died earlier than his scheduled death and that caused
some problems later down the Timeline. He never raped the young girl and so,
she subsequently never had the child that was adopted. The changes had to be
absorbed into the current Timeline. His soul was collected and quarantined for
two murders for which he never faced Human justice for. His soul was released
from quarantine in 1964.
Captain Jerome
Sommerville [Confederacy] never survived the war; he was killed at
the Battle of Petersburg in April 1865. The war ended on the 9th of that month.
He never did get home to see his much-loved wife and daughter. His soul was
collected and processed.
Lieutenant Harvey
Banks
[Union] never did recover from the fever that had laid him low and near
Christmas that year suffered strange fits, collapsing, and dying. He was 26
years and had never married. His soul was collected and processed.
Sergeant Amos Yellu [Confederacy]
survived after the war by moving west and becoming an Indian Scout. He worked
around Kansas and North Texas and had five children by two native women. He died in the bitter winter of 1872 [He was
in the mountains for some unknown reason, when attacked by a large bear who
caused him serious injury and he lay in the snow for almost two days before
succumbing to his injuries. The bear survived two bullet wounds and stabbing
with a tomahawk to roam the mountains for another six years. Amos had his soul collected
and processed.
Corporal Randolph
‘Randy’ Swiggers [Confederacy] didn’t survive the war; he was shot dead
by another soldier during a drunken argument over gambling debts just three
weeks before the war ended! He left a young window and three children. His soul
was collected and processed.
John Hammond was
Sheriff of Devil’s Dyke between 1839 and 1842. He was murdered by his
brother-in-law; Samuel Geeks when Samuel found him in bed with his wife;
Hammonds’ Sister! The incestuous relationship had been in progress since the
pair was teenagers. Samuel fled the town and moved to Mexico. His wife moved to
New York and worked as a prostitute in a cheap dockside brothel. John Hammond’s
soul was not collected; he told the collector where to go! He remains one of
the resident ghosts at the now tourist destination of Devil’s Dyke.
Jean-Paul Duvance; born
in 1949 in Marseille and died in Devil’s Dyke in 1842. He was obviously a
time-traveller, but the reasons for his visit to such a time and place remain
unknown. He
died outside his ordained time and so he is a missing soul, which currently has
been lost to the darkness of real death.
Phillip Renior born
1946 in Perpignan southern France had a scheduled dispatch date of 2010, but he
never made that; he was killed [with Duvance] in Devil’s Dyke in 1842 and was a
time traveller too. Like Duvance the reason for his visit is a mystery. He’s a
missing soul because he died outside his ordained time and he’s soul is currently
lost to the darkness of real death.
"IF
Jericho or Wilson could recall their encounter with the ancient and
mysterious machine buried in the mountains outside Devil’s Dyke; they may well
believe it was ‘The Creation Machine’
which was described in the episode: ‘Jericho
Tibbs and the tablet of creation."
MISSION CONCLUSION:
Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.
