Chapter 1

God ... Damn ... It! Where am I this time? Ever since I put on that damned ring, I keep getting bounced from adventure to adventure. After eight years in the military, most of it as a SEAL, and a promising career as an accountant when I got out, I have bounced through time from one era to another, not knowing what will happen to me next.

It all started out when I got that funny looking envelope in the mail one day. Inside was nothing but a short note and a very simple ring, a white gold band that looked a lot like a man's wedding ring. The note said, "Slip this ring on the little finger of your left hand and enjoy an adventure like you have never before experienced." That was all.

Hell, I don't know why I didn't just pitch the whole thing in the trash and go on about my life. Well, yes, I do know why—I was bored to death. I had been at the accounting business for several years and had gotten my CPA. I was making a fair living in a small town, but life had settled into a deep rut. I was not married and had no immediate prospects. I didn't even have a steady girlfriend. Here I was in my mid-thirties and had hit a dead end.

I had no idea what I was getting into when I slipped the ring on my finger. It was way too big for my finger when it went on, but, unaccountably, it immediately shrank to be a proper fit. The problem, now, was that there was no way for me to get it off.

A few moments after the ring settled into place on my finger, the whole world seemed to disappear in a cloud of smoke and a flash of bright light. The next thing I knew, I was stark naked and standing in a line of people, also naked, up on a platform. Other people in a crowd below me were bidding for my services as a slave. I was bought by a man to be trained as a gladiator. I went through that for a while, and, from there, I went through seven other adventures of an equally exciting and dangerous sort until this last transfer.

This time, naked as usual, I was lying in tall grass beside a road. I just lay there trying to clear my head when I heard a woman scream. That was a scream of terror and pain if I ever heard one! I jumped up and saw a rape in progress. A man had pushed a woman to the ground and thrown her skirt up over most of the upper part of her body. He was between her legs with his fly open, and he was pumping away at her in the classic style of mating humans. From the way she was acting, this had to be a rape!

I was never one to interfere with an honest coupling where both parties were in agreement, but I never could abide rape in any of its forms. Therefore, I jumped up and charged at the man. This time, I was 5'-11" tall and probably weighed about 175 pounds. Other than that, I probably looked like I did just after I finished Seal basic training—at least, I felt that way. Back then, women drooled over me, so I was not ashamed of my appearance.

Anyway, I was a suitable size to run over him. I was not armed, so I was going to break up this rape only by charging in and using my "empty-hand" skills, which were lethal when I was aroused that way. It only took me a few steps to reach full speed, and I was going so fast that I decided to attack the man with my feet. I suspect, now, that I was trying to show-off for the woman. I hit him with my left foot on his right ear and my right foot on his body just below his shoulder.

Yeah, I had not lost my touch. The rapist went flying away from the woman several feet, and I came down beside her so that she was not harmed by my falling body. I jumped up and was ready to finish the job when I saw that the rapist was not moving. Closer examination showed that I had separated his head from his spinal cord, and he was as dead as dead could be!

I had hardly regained my balance when I was attacked! However, this was a much more pleasant sort of attack. The woman had risen from the ground and had me wrapped in her arms and was about to smother me with her kisses. Between kisses, she was blubbering thank-yous. Her accent was so thick that I had some trouble understanding her at first, but that problem quickly solved itself.

After a few minutes of exuberant expressions of gratitude, the woman seemed to suddenly realize that I was naked. She stuttered a little bit as she asked, "Mister, why are you naked?"

"I do not know. I have lost my memory. I do not know where I am, nor do I even know what year it is. Please tell me that, and tell me how you wound up in that man's clutches."

"This here is the state of Missouri. I do not know which county. I was headed toward Branson when these two men rode out of the bushes and claimed to be Confederate guerillas. At first, they wanted only money, but when they found out that I was alone, they wanted me, too. Oh, and it is June of 1862."

"Okay, thank you for the information. It looks like that man is about my size, so I guess that I will take his clothes. He does not appear to need them anymore. Oh, you said that there were two men. Where is the other one?"

"Him? He is over in them bushes where he fell after I shot him. All I had for protection was a single-shot derringer, and, let me tell you, I will never make that mistake again. It came close to costing me my life!"

I put on the clothes that the rapist was wearing and found that they were a close-enough fit. In this era, nobody's clothes fit them well unless they could afford a tailor, and I was not that concerned. I took the man's weapons and found that I was now in possession of a Bowie knife and a real treasure of a gun. The gun was a Starr DA in .44 caliber. The "DA" meant double-action; that is, it only took a pull of the trigger to both cock the hammer and to release it. All other guns of this era were single-action in which the hammer had to be cocked as a separate action before the gun could be fired by pulling the trigger.

I checked out the other man, and it looked like his clothes would also fit me well enough to get by. Excellent, that gave me a change of clothes, which I knew I was going to appreciate. He also carried a Starr DA in .44 caliber, as well as a Bowie knife. I gave them to the woman.

It dawned on me that we had not introduced ourselves, so I said, "I am John Wilson. What is your name, if you please?"

"Oh, Dear, how rude of me! My name is Mary Godell. I am on my way to Branson to see where my husband died and try to get some revenge for his death. He was killed by these here God forsaken Bushwhackers what call themselves Confederate patriots. I wish that I could kill every one of them!

"My husband was a Quaker, and he bore no ill will toward anybody. I cannot think why they would kill him, but the report was that they did. They shot him in the gut and robbed him. They left him to die beside the road, but he was found by some good people and nursed for the week it took him to die. During that time, he wrote me a letter telling me what happened, and them people mailed it to me after he died. That was two months ago, and I am just now getting this far. I hate to impose on you, but will you help me to get to Branson if you are going that way?"

I had no idea where I should go; Branson was as good a place as any. "Certainly, Mrs. Godell, I will be happy to ride with you and render such assistance as I may. If you do not mind, I will dump these clothes in your wagon until they can be washed. I got $13 in gold and some change from the bodies, and you are welcome to half of it. Also, we can sell one of the horses and the tack at the next livery stable we come to, and we will get a little more money from these thieving Bushwhackers. I want to keep one of the horses for myself. I hope you do not mind if I do that."

"Not at all, Mr. Wilson. You do whatever you think is appropriate. And please call me Mary, since we will be traveling together."

"Very well, Mary, and you should call me John. I will fetch the horses, and we should get a move on before the day gets any later."

I helped Mary get back into the wagon to drive. After that, I fetched the horses and tied one to the rear of the wagon. I adjusted the stirrups and mounted the better of the two horses. Neither one struck me as being all that great, but they were usable. We continued toward Branson and I rode close enough to the wagon that Mary and I could converse.

That was when I found out that Mary considered me to be her new husband because I had won her by right of conquest. To say that I was startled was to minimize my reaction all out of its true nature. Now, what was I going to do! Then I realized that it must be part of the plan of my handlers, whoever they were, to hitch me to Mary. Well, she seemed nice enough, and I did not seem to have much choice in the matter! I decided to go along and see what would happen.

That evening, we made camp in a grove of trees with a little stream running through it. Mary fixed supper from jerky and some vegetables. It was a very tasty stew, so I figured that my new wife was a good cook. That made me feel better! She also could fix better than average coffee, which was great with me. I did worry, though, about how long we were going to be able to get coffee with the Union blockade of the Confederate coast. Oh, well, I was going to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

As I had come to expect from my handlers, we were well armed. Not only did we each have a Starr DA, but we also had two Henry rifles, courtesy of the Bushwhackers. Not only that, all four weapons were chambered for the Henry metallic cartridges. I thought that was an anachronism, but I sure was not going to complain! To compound our good fortune, we each had four extra cylinders for our revolvers and what looked like plenty of ammunition. As far as I was concerned, the only thing missing were shoulder holsters for each of us, but I would take care of that at the first town with a decent leather worker.