Chapter 7

Krista quickly had us back under the shower, rinsing off the soapsuds. Then she dressed us for the trip. Luckily, we were used to dressing in authentic costume for our shooting sports.

Preparations began to move along at a quicker tempo. We pulled the buckboard and harness out of the shed. Dan easily threw the wooden 'gang box' on the back of the buckboard. J and K were quickly stocking the box with short-term necessities. D and I were collecting the weaponry for our trip.

It was fully dark by the time we were ready to move. That suited me just fine. As we left the B and B, Francis was pulling the buckboard with me at the reins. Krista was slightly ahead of me on Duke. J and D were following on their horses.

We were all armed; maybe even a bit over-armed. Extra guns and ample ammunition were stashed in the gang box. We each carried the equivalent, in twenty-dollar gold pieces, of a couple years' pay for any miner in Deadwood.

I had my Winchester Yellow Boy replica in 44-40 tucked in the scabbard next to my seat, with a short-barreled, twelve-gauge, double barreled shotgun tucked in the dashboard.

My seven inch barreled Colt with the walnut stock fittings was in my strong side holster. Two shorter Colts were in my radical cross draw and shoulder holsters. One more was tucked in my belt behind my hip.

Krista had her 'Snake' fanner in her strong side holster, with another short Colt on her weak side. Her seven-inch Colt was in her radical cross draw position. Her strong side holster was an extreme forward rake holster, almost horizontal, strapped to her thigh.

Jan wore a long barreled Colt in a strong side holster. She would be carrying her .38- .55 Winchester lever gun.

Dan carried his oak staff with the brass strapping and end caps. His large bowie knife and tomahawk were in his belt. He would have his ten-gauge double shotgun as well.

The reins felt light in my thin leather gloves. Despite the hurried preparations I felt good about our journey. The moonlight lit our way very nicely.

Krista swung down from Duke to open the livery stable. She ground tied him while she backed my pickup and the horse trailer out. Jan directed her onto a small grassy area next to the barn.

I was backing the buckboard into the stable while they were busy. Dan took a position next to Francis's bridle.

I had one last thing to do before we 'left.' I had a CK-6 timer in the cab of the truck. It was a digital count up timer with a scale up to 99 days then hours then minutes. I plugged it into an accessory plug that would remain live when the truck was off. I reset it to zero then, starting it just before I slammed the truck door heading for the barn.

Krista asked, "Why time us?"

I said, "We need to know how long we're gone -- to keep our story straight."

Everybody nodded. Krista was holding Duke while Jan held Buttercup's bridle. I walked to the counter in the stable attendant's office. I silently held up my lucky silver dollar. Glancing around the stable, I saw nodding and heard words of assent. I gave thumbs up, and said, "Three, two, one, drop."

The room rocked once to the left, then spun once on its axis to the right. It was no less stunning the second time. Again the building was in better shape, with oats and fresh straw in the stalls.

I picked up my coin as the others were peeking out the door at Gold Rush Deadwood. I moved to Francis but he was unfazed by the transit. We quickly organized. I stepped up into the buckboard, untying my reins from the whip socket.

Krista swung the stable door open. Dan led Francis and his horse Red into the street. Jan followed, already mounted on her Buttercup, leading Krista's Duke.

Krista closed the big door, joining us in the street. Krista was quickly aboard Duke, taking the lead. I followed, spanking Francis lightly with the reins to get him moving. Dan and Jan were just behind me.

Krista moved Duke through the moonlight at a walk on the deeply rutted dirt road that was Deadwood's main street. She walked Duke past the Bullock House Hotel. I was looking for Saloon Number Ten, where Wild Bill Hickok died, shot in the back of the head, while holding his aces and eights.

Krista stopped in front of a saloon called The Orient, mostly because the alleyway next to it made a good spot for our small wagon. I backed into the alley. I stepped down with a small weight with a line that I clipped to Francis's headstall. He was well trained, so this would effectively hold him. They tied their three horses to the hitching post.

The front door was completely open. I let Krista walk through ahead of me, with Dan and Jan just a bit behind.

The bar was on our left with tables on our right. The middle of the bar was empty so we stepped up to it. Jan and Dan stood back at the curve of the bar. I dropped a couple of silver dollars on the bar to get the bartenders attention, glancing at the big mirror on the wall behind the bar.

Suddenly a thin short man with long greasy black hair and yellow teeth was standing up from his table.

He yelled, "Whore. My name's Johnny. I'm your REAL man. I got a whole silver dollar for you. Or maybe you'll pay me."

Now Johnny was moving toward Krista. Krista and I both squared up to Johnny.

I said in a loud voice, "She doesn't..."

Johnny yelled, "Fuck you!"

He drew his pistol.

The sound of the three shots was so fast that they blended together into one thunderous noise.

Johnny cleared leather. Barely. He never got off a shot. He was sagging forward to the floor, his chest and stomach a mass of blood. I had my gun out as I heard the rick-rack of Jan's Winchester behind me.