Chapter 16

“What’s all this?” asked Marion. She was surveying the booty from Mr. Brown.

“Gun parts.”

“Like a kit?”

Nothing for it, he had to show her the pieces. If nothing else worked the maple plank did it.

“Not a kit,” she said.

“Nope, I can and have made locks but the barrel is out of my league. I know how ... but wasps nest flux is not any fun.”

Marion retrieved her Uberti kit from the back of the Dodge.

“Where are we doing this?” She asked.

“Don’t you have to work?” He said.

“I have positively YEARS of vacation and sick time built up ... I’m taking a month.”

“You can do that?”

“They beg me to take time off in the fall and winter.” She said, “Why bother. I’m not into cruising, I don’t ski ... I used to go dig in Arizona ... what?”

“Archaeology minor?”

“One hundred and twenty five credit hours.”

“Double major?”

“Yep.”

“Arizona?”

“Cliff Dwellings. My principal investigator died. No fun without him.”

“Okay,” he pondered. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends ... blood ... no ... guts ... no ... smuggling ... no? I’m pretty much reliable with the rest.”

“How about grave robbing?”

“Digging?”

“No.”

“I’m good.”

“Follow me.” They went in the cabin. This was her firast time.

The rifle trembled as the panel was opened. His little yip of pleasure was stifled by the womans screech, “Wow ... I’d never have guessed. Ooooh. Pretty.”

She had her nose buried in the handmade 6 point Hudson’s Bay Company blanket capote ... and came out sneezing. “ACHOO!” A swipe across a suddenly drippy nose. Several more sneezes and she thrust it away.

SNIFF “Needs washing,” she said.

“Wash tubs in the coalshed. Have at it.”

“Oooh ... Treating me like a wife, Wash it yer self.”

So ... he did ... considering how old this capote has to be ... and the availably of modern suds then and the like, he tossed it in the Maytag and fired up the gas engine. It might not be recommended by HBC but it had to be better than bashing it on a boulder or pounding it with a canoe paddle.

‘I’m no savage ... Woolite! in the water.’

Wringer washers have a distinct sound. Brings back memories. Wow ... three waters before it came clean. He hung it out to dry on his solar powered linear dryer.

“Weatherman says rain and maybe snow tonight,” she said.

“Good ... get rinsed too.”

All the while his brain was screaming, ‘FIX THE GUN!’

During the Capote debacle Marion hadn’t paid a lick of attention to the gun. She was watching him wash with a wringer.

She was amazed he knew how.

His Mom had a wringer.

Of course he knew.

She stood there tapping her finger on the Western Arms Santa Fe Hawken kit box and asked ... again, “Where are we doing this.”

“This? Oh ... the build. Choice. In the garage or in the hired hand house. Garage has the forge, a big bench and most of the tools. House has a Warm Morning woodstove ... and a little bench.”

He waved a dismissive hands at the little house.

The garage was huge. The hired hand house was tiny.

He mentioned one more thing, “The garage has a door to the two holer outhouse. The outhouse is a hike from the little house.”

“Where are you going to work?”

“The garage.”