Previous chapters in the Wild Western Roundup...yeehah!
27th March 1857, Dallas Texas
Sherriff Patsy Henderson strode into McCalls with her deputy, Erasmus Sumner, who was holding a bloody rag to his mouth with one hand and a rifle in the other, and two other armed men walked with them.
“That him?” Henderson asked pointing at Morgan who was quietly sipping his wine, the bottle down to a quarter.
“Uh huh.” Erasmus coughed.
She motioned for them to stay, and she wandered over to the table, tossed her hat next to the bottle and sat herself down. “Mister Red.”
“It’s Fogg, not Red. Morgan Fogg. You the law around here?” Morgan asked mid sip.
“Sure am.”
“You going to arrest me?”
“Probably. You hit my deputy in the face.”
“True, but he wouldn’t pay my bounty.”
“All bounties are paid by me, and you don’t have a Dallas Bounty Permit.”
“Which I understand, but catching bounties OUTSIDE of Dallas and bringing them in doesn’t leave much time to get one does it?”
“No, it does not, but it also doesn’t excuse you hitting my deputy.”
Morgan nodded and swirled the wine around the glass. “My grandfather use to drink this swill all the time especially after dinner…what was it he used to say…Psalms something…You cause the grass to grow for the livestock and plants for man to cultivate, that he may bring forth food from the earth and wine to gladden the heart of man…”
“Psalm 104,” Sherriff Henderson chimed in. “Reverend Mullock would be proud. Now, finish up and let's head back and settle up.”
“You want me to come quietly?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I am a very good shot and have a mean right hook, but I honestly hate using either of them.”
“Same but my left is the dangerous one,” Morgan sculled the glass, took up the bottle and quietly stood. “No tricks?”
“No tricks,” Henderson placed a hand on her chest. Morgan flicked a coin at the nervous bar attendants and walked with the sheriff.
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“DAS! YOU! SPRACKEN! ZEE! ENGLISH!” Klaus Mannheim yelled and gestured at Hiamovi, their new Indian companion.
“Why does the guy who barely speaks English, speak to the guy who obviously can’t speak our language?” Frank Waterman muttered to Ellison Quimby as they trotted along through the woods.
Ellison shrugged. “They’re all godless feather plucking savages.”
Remus Supple shot them both a look over his shoulder which shut them up quick smart. “His name is Hiamovi, means whirlwind or strong wind, something like that.”
“Then why aren’t YOU talking to him?” Frank questioned.
“Because this is funnier.”
“Verstehst du mich, du roter mischling?” Klaus roared.
__
Morgan stood as he watched Sherriff Patsy Henderson scribbled some paperwork then hit it with a big stamp. “One Dallas Bounty Permit, meaning now I can take your boys off your hands and settle up.”
“Much obliged,” Morgan said.
“Part of settling up is an apology to my deputy.”
Morgan grit his teeth, forced all what he wanted to say down into his gullet, and nodded. He turned to Erasmus. “Sorry I knocked your teeth out.”
Erasmus looked at the ground and muttered something.
“Years of gun fire has damaged my hearing,” Morgan said sarcastically and cupped his ear. “You’ll have to say it louder!”
“Apology accepted,” but it was clear it was just lip service. Morgan shrugged and his eyes caught a look of the bounty board and one particular sheet with a $2,000 reward attached.
“Who is Catalina Maria de la Véneno?”
Sherriff Henderson smiled as she moved Erasmus on and motioned for Morgan to sit. “Arma de Araña or...”
“Gun Spider. I speak a little Spanish.”
“She’s out of your league,” Henderson chuckled. “A posse went after her a few months back, all came back dead.”
“How’d they come back if they were dead?”
“She delivered them to the saloon herself, then tied the doors shut and set it on fire. Shot everyone who left out the windows.”
Morgan slowly stood up and yanked her poster off the board. “I got nowhere to be, nothing to do, and a brand new Dallas Bounty Permit. Be shame not to christen it.”
“I’ll speak to Reverend Mullock,”
Morgan was puzzled. “Why?”
“Arrange your impending funeral.”
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