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 addressed to Johnathon Wilson. What was peculiar was that everyone knows me as John. 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 several other adventures of an equally exciting and dangerous sort until this last transfer.

At least, this time, I arrived fully dressed. I was wearing brown canvas pants sort of like jeans and a red and black checkered shirt. I had high lace-up boots with a flat heel and a straw hat with a moderately wide brim. My pants were held up by a wide belt to which were attached holsters holding double-barreled pistols of the cap and ball design. Lying on the ground beside me was a Mississippi Rifle in excellent condition. It was also cap and ball, so I knew that I must be in the West sometime between 1848 and 1860.

Standing to my left was a saddled horse, so I was not completely bereft of a means of transportation. I bent over to pick up the rifle just as a shot rang out. Dammit, I could hear a ball passing over my head! I would have been hit in the lower chest area if I had not reached down for the rifle. I dove the rest of the way to the ground and grabbed the rifle. I checked and saw that it was loaded and needed only to have the cap put in place to be ready to fire. That I did; I had caps in a small pouch at my belt.

I looked around and spotted a plume of gun smoke about 100 feet to my left. I could see a man standing near that puff and madly reloading his weapon. I could not tell if it was a rifle or a musket, but I was not going to wait around to find out! I rolled into a prone shooting position and aimed at the chest of the man who had just shot at me. The iron sights on this rifle were well adjusted and I hit where I aimed. This rifle was .54 caliber and was designed for a spherical bullet. This was well within the killing range of the rifle, and all I needed was that single shot.

I had no idea if this man was the only one trying to kill me, or if I had other enemies also after my life. I was not about to stand up until I knew the answer to that. The only practical way to load a muzzle-loading rifle was to stand up while doing it, and that was a good way for me to get shot if there was anyone else around with designs on my life. Therefore, I laid the rifle on the grass and crawled to a stand of brush nearby.

I took the time to inspect the two pistols at my belt. Both were the same type, and both were loaded, except for the cap. I moved the hammers of both guns to the half-cock position and loaded in the caps. Now, all I had to do to fire was to pull the hammer to full-cock, aim, and pull the trigger. A quick glance told me that these pistols used the same .54 caliber ball as did the Mississippi Rifle. That was damned convenient, but something to be considered later.

I am ambidextrous, but I tended to use my right hand whenever there was the chance to do so. That kept other people from noticing the slight edge that being able to shoot with either hand gave me. Thus, I took the pistol in my right hand to use against an enemy, and carefully looked around for a potential opponent.

I spotted another man in among the trees, and he was holding a rifle at the ready. He seemed to know where I was, but I was not presenting a good target because I was almost completely prone. Hell, I didn't have much choice: I lined up a shot at the man's chest and fired. I didn't hit the man in exactly the center of his chest, but I was close enough. He dropped the rifle and fell as if he were dead.

To be on the safe side, I scooted to my left to get away from my smoke. By this time, I was at the trees, and I stood up. A careful look around did not reveal any more potential shooters, so I took the time to reload my pistol. Dammit, my rifle was still out in the field, so I could not do anything about it!

It took me about 40 seconds to reload my pistol (I would be faster next time), and I did not draw any shots during that time. I looked again and did not see any more shooters, so I holstered my pistol and ran to pick up my rifle. I hardly slowed as I picked it up and ran back into the trees. There, I reloaded the rifle, including the cap, and moved the hammer to full-cock.

Now, I had five shots if I needed them, and I had a Bowie knife with a 10" blade as a backup weapon. Somehow, I knew that I was highly competent with the knife if I needed it, so I felt as if I was as fully protected as was possible in that era.

Okay, there was the question of why I was being shot at. I might never know, but I had to try to find out. Besides, I wanted a better look at those men who had been shooting at me. I was closer to the first man whom I had shot, so I went after him first. I looked him over, and I could not find anything that indicated why he had shot at me. This may have been a robbery attempt that went wrong from his point of view, and I could not find anything to indicate otherwise. Oh, well, I stripped him of his valuables, including several silver coins of Mexican origin.

I laid everything else to one side while I looked at the second man. The results were the same as with the first one, except that I did find a gold coin marked as being worth $5, but it was obviously not from a US federal mint. These things made me suspect that I was in California around 1850-1855, but I would need more evidence to substantiate that.

When I combined the two bits of money, I figured that I had about $8. If I were where I had guessed, that was enough money to carry me for a month. Very good, at least I would not starve!

I hunted around and found two horses hitched to a tree, so I could sell them and their tack and make even more money off this attempted robbery. I led the horses back to the men and picked up what I had found on them. Interestingly, both men had been carrying Colt Pocket Revolvers. These were .31 caliber five-shot revolvers with short barrels. They were the usual cap and ball design. I wasn't sure what to think about them, but I did drop them in my pockets. The bullet was so small, about the size of a single #00 buckshot, that I was not sure that they were very useful, but a gun is a gun, so I went along with them. They were very popular around 1850, so I figured that they must be good for something.

Anyway, I gathered up what I could use or sell and mounted my horse. Dammit, I just realized that I had no idea of which way to go! Oh, well, maybe my horse did know. I gently poked him in the side with my heels, and the horse headed down the hill. He knew what he was doing because we soon came to a well-used trail. He swung north on the trail, and I didn't argue. The horses that I was leading didn't object, either, so we rode along the trail for about five miles.