SEASON: 0 EPISODE: 0
First published: 8th February 2022.
Status: COMPLETED.
Age recommendation: 12+
Average Reading Time: Approximately 30 Minutes.
Human Time: 1864D-1280AH Mission: 347610 - 7 - 5012
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| Age 12+ |
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| 30 Min. |
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| Book series 5. |
1. FORT CALEB;
KANSAS/TEXAS BORDER MAY 1864.
Captain Dwight Russell slowly folded the letter and nodded at the dust covered messenger; “Thank you corporal, get yourself some food from the canteen and the Sergeant will find you somewhere to bed down. The stables will take care of your horse. But when you’re rested I’ll need you to ride back to Fort Jackson.” The corporal saluted and left as the Company Adjutant stood in the doorway, adjusting his glasses. The captain sighed; “Get me Lt. Graham please Arthur.” The Adjutant didn’t smile and headed back into the outer office, shouting at old Trooper Byles to fetch the young lieutenant.
Dwight
reread the communication from the Fort again and slowly smiled; at last the
company was going to see some action in this bloody war. He walked to the big
window and stared across the dusty parade ground. Sergeant Mckay was taking 2nd
and 3rd Sections through mounts and dismounts on the wooden horses.
It was going well; the men were keen and willing to learn, now that had
surprised him about his coloured troops. ‘C’ Company of the 27th
Coloured Regiment of the Kansas Volunteers had been holding the small outpost
on the border with the Indian Territory for the last few months. They had relived the previous company – all
white – so they could fight in the Civil war between the states. They were not expected to see any kind of
action. The Indian nation had been quiet for a few years since their War Chief
‘LittleBull’ had died in a bad winter.
There had been rumours about ‘Youngblood’ who apparently was filling his place and that could mean real trouble; the young brave would have to prove himself before the other braves and would mean fighting the ‘white dogs’. Dwight wondered what the Indians would make of the coloured soldiers. Maybe they would call them ‘Black dogs’. Either way, the captain knew that trouble was on the horizon. The Arapahos had been resident in North Texas for centuries and they weren’t about to give it up.
There was a knock at the door and he shouted enter. Lt. Foster Graham strode in and saluted; he was smiling. The Captain gestured for him to join him at the big map pinned to the office wall. The pair stood discussing the letter and Lt. Graham was clearly happy about being assigned this patrol. “Foster, I want you take sections 2 and 3, a supply wagon and some mules and head out to Devil’s Dyke. It’s a small town that borders the Indian territory about here.” He tapped the map and they both had to stare at the tiny dot that indicated the town. It appeared right in the middle of nowhere. “For some God forsaken reason; Lee has send a small detachment of cavalry to the place. Intelligence doesn’t know why and we’re the only Union troops for hundreds of miles and so it’s landed in our laps. I suppose they know we’re a coloured Regiment. “
The lieutenant grinned and pushed back his hat; “Our boys are spoiling for a fight Sir. No mistake about that.” The captain grunted and walked back to his desk; “Take McKay as your sergeant, He’s been in action and was a scout for General Reynolds before he re-joined the colours. And do listen to his advice Foster; it may stop too many boys being killed.” Foster didn’t smile and just nodded.
The captain watched the young Lieutenant stride from his office with a little sadness; the boy had arrived just three weeks ago and wasn’t – frankly – much use. But Dwight couldn’t send the other – and experienced - Lieutenant; Harvey Banks because he was still laid up with the fever. So it was down to the untested new boy. He sat behind his desk and puzzled over why the Rebel Commander would be interested in a small town, sandwiched between basically nothing and the Indian nation. He had commanded this area since the sudden death of Colonel Jarvis some months ago. Found him stone dead in bed. Old Doc Hamilton reckons it was his heart and the heat. The young squaw that normally shared his bed had also disappeared off post. That may have explained the money missing from the late Colonel’s wallet. He smiled at that.
He rose and walked back to the map; in his six months here, he hadn’t even heard the place mentioned. Shouting and activity from the parade ground drew his attention back to the window and he watched the preparations under way for the extended patrol to be undertaken by Lt. Graham. That’s when the Sergeant Major knocked and brought in the Captain’s afternoon coffee; Dwight asked him about Devils Dyke. The old soldier rubbed his chin; “That’s odd sir, just a few days ago I was in town and Isaac the saloon owner told me that a wagon had stopped overnight and the young man with it asked about Devil’s Dyke. Isaac said
the saloon owner told me that a wagon had stopped overnight and the young man with it asked about Devil’s Dyke. Isaac said he had a young boy with him and a huge black Negro servant.
But
what caught everyone’s eyes was the woman with them; an absolute peach
apparently. They purchased some supplies and headed off; didn’t really mix with
anyone.”
The captain sipped his hot black sweet coffee and wondered if that was a co-incidence. He told the sergeant major to let the young Lieutenant know about the story. He looked again at the map; why the hell hadn’t he heard about the damn little town before this?
The patrol left that afternoon; Lt. Graham commanded thirty troopers and a supply wagon with Alphas the old Negro cook and his young assistant; Troy. They were civilians because army cooks were hard to get hold of around here. They were accompanied by two mules loaded down with ammunition and water. At least he had a good sergeant with him; Mosses Mckay knew his way around real fighting. He had fought in the early Indian wars and scouted for the general. He had re-joined the colours in 1861 and had seen action at Gettysburg and Fredericksburg. He had been transferred to a frontier post after being wounded. He also thought the coloured troops had potential and treated ‘his boy’s’ well. Very firm but fair and they seemed to respect him.
But Lieutenant Graham was a different matter; he used the ‘N’ word openly to the men and showed them little respect for volunteering to fight for their freedom. He could be a real problem unless seeing real action changed his ways. But Captain Russell wondered how many of the ‘boy’s’ would die during that change? Then there was the mysterious wagon; probably whisky and gun peddlers to the Indians. Little wonder they kept themselves to themselves. He wasn’t surprised that the town Sheriff – Phil Bates – did nothing about them; he was a fat useless man with a yellow streak. He was only sheriff because he was married to the mayor’s ugly sister!
The captain thought about the Confederate cavalry; what possible interest could the small town be to General Robert E. Lee? Now that really did get his mind racing. Could the wagon be heading for them for some reason? He finished his coffee and picked up the Post Order’s and signed them. He would take a small bottle of decent whisky and visit Harvey in the infirmary. Maybe with Doc Davis they could play some cards.
2. JERICHO TIBBS AND THE ARAPAHOS.
The wagon trundled through the dust with Wilson at the reins and Owen sitting next to him. Alex was just behind; sprawled across a pile of colourful blankets; moaning about the heat and being over dressed. Jericho rode a small pony some yards in front, constantly lifting his hat and wiping his face and neck. Owen was consulting his mirror; “In the original human time line, the Battle of Devil’s Dyke never took place and then suddenly; there are thirteen unscheduled souls. Something or someone changed this little piece of history and the time line alters badly some 101 years later. Apparently Jericho had an assignment back here in the late 1840’s and knows the local Native American’s well. Except, of course, he hasn’t aged a day so he’s here as his own son!”
Alex stirred and ran a beautiful big fan over her face; “It’s hard to imagine our Jericho as an Indian fighter.” She stared through the rear flap of the wagon and found herself smiling at the extra member of the team; added just for this mission from Doc Silas Underhill’s team 13. ‘Skyrise’ was a Native American and had helped team 74 previously. He was also mounted on a pony and really did look magnificent to Alex. She wouldn’t admit to her colleagues but she found him very attractive; very attractive indeed. [See the episode; ‘Doctor Alexander Harris and his battle with God’ Series 1: Episode 4.]
Jericho turned his pony about and joined the wagon – as did Skyrise – and they stopped. “Several Indians skirting the ridge on ponies; they will make contact because we’re on their lands now.” He gestured to the stick tied against the side of the wagon; it was an Arapahos signal meaning peace and friendship; he had acquired it from his old friend ‘Littlebull’ many years ago.
“They will certainly be curious about that and wish to find out how we obtained it. I hope it still works.” He smiled and wiped his face again. Alex leaned forward, a little concerned; “Will Skyrise be OK? I mean he’s Apache; aren’t they enemies or something?” Jericho smiled again; “He’ll be fine; the Indians are now fighting a common enemy; white people.” Everyone watched carefully as the group of warriors approached slowly and Jericho noted that only two had rifles; the rest were armed with spears and had bows strapped across their backs. “Gun runners must be in short supply around here.” He said quietly and held up his right hand. He greeted the natives in their own tongue, which made them stop and stare.
Youngblood rode forward and stared at Jericho really hard; then the sign hanging from the pole. “How did you come by this white stranger and how do you speak our tongue?” he said simply with no emotion or curiosity in his voice. Jericho nodded and gestured to himself; “Jericho Tibbs, son of Jericho Tibbs the father. Big Chief LittleBull and he had friendship pack and I have come to pay my respects to great chief and tell him that my father has passed into the land of the spirits. I bring gifts for my father’s friend and his people.” Youngblood sat up in his saddle and really did look surprised now. “You are son of Tibbs?” Jericho nodded and asked if he was Youngblood; the old chief’s nephew.
Youngblood and the other braves all looked at each other; Tibbs – this man’s father – had saved LittleBull from certain death and carried him on his back through the desert to his village. He had been made a friend of the tribe and good friend of the old Chief. Youngblood nodded and indicated beyond the ridge; “The camp lays by the river Tibbs. You do indeed look like your father. I was only a small boy, but I remember your father and what he did.” He indicated for the wagon to follow him and the warriors turned their ponies and headed back towards the ridge with the wagon following.
Jericho could have won an Oscar for his performance when Youngblood told him that the old chief had died. He knew the chief had – of course – but played the sadness of the declaration well. He had liked the old chief and so that part wasn’t hard to fake. They made the encampment just before dusk and Jericho realised that it was a warrior’s camp. There were no women or children about the place. That fact alone made him curious; what were Young blood and about thirty braves doing so far away from their villages? The conclusion wasn’t pleasant; they had to be a raiding party. But who were they raiding? There were few settlements or farmers around here and the nearest town was Devil’s Dyke and that had been abandoned years ago. Jericho knew that Union troops were headed for the old town because of the approaching Rebel Calvary. None of this was in the original time line and that’s why Team 74 was there and of course; the thirteen unscheduled deaths that should never have taken place here and now.
Jericho cautioned Alex to stay close to the wagon and him. A beautiful white woman would be considered fair game to the warriors who would easily fight over her. He told the team to pretend not to understand the language; that would be nearly impossible to explain and would raise too many awkward questions. It was accepted that Skyrise would know some of the language and indeed three of the braves could speak some Apache. Jericho was a little surprised that the Arapahos accepted him readily into their camp and that did concern him too.
Only Jericho was invited to sit by the big fire with Youngblood and his senior warriors. Owen brewed coffee and cooked beans for supper with some cold ham and biscuits. Wilson was the centre of attraction to the braves – after Alex of course! – They had never seen a black man before and appeared fascinated by him. Some asked to touch his face and arms to see if the ‘black’ came off. Youngblood impressed Jericho by asking him to keep Alex away from the men; he didn’t want to lose a single warrior fighting over a woman. Not even one that beautiful. He confided to Jericho that Chief Little Raven would pay at least 20 ponies for such a woman and most of his braves knew that.
Younblood knew that the whites were after land and even the poor land they occupied would be taken; eventually. He passed Jericho some ‘prairie chicken’ and lamented his lack of modern weapons; he needed rifles and pistols that shot more than just one bullet. But his land produced very little gold and gold was what the white gun traders only wanted. He shrugged his shoulders; “Much has changed since the time of your father and a young Littlebull my friend; except the lies, stealing and killing by the whites.” Jericho could only nod and enjoy his meal and then rejoin his team by the wagon. The Indians sat around their camp fires and sang mournful songs about the glories of their past.
The team sat around their fire and quietly talked amongst themselves. Owen reminded everyone about the events which would unfold around this time and place come autumn; “The Arapaho and the Cheyenne join together to fight the whites and it all ends up with the Sand Creek Massacre in November of this year. A Union force killed hundreds of Indians including a lot of women and children who were camped and peaceful. A real dark day for humanity.” Alex slept in the wagon, with Owen and Wilson beneath in their blankets while Skyrise found his own place to sleep. Jericho made himself comfortable on the wagons seat and discretely consulted his mirror. Their peaceful night was interrupted by the arrival of a single stranger with a pack mule. The team recognised him at once; it was Sage Columbine. He clearly recognised them; but made no reference to their previous encounter which Jericho found strange and disturbing. [See the episode; ‘Betrayal at Gettysburg’ Series 1: Episode 6.] The Arapahos also knew him and he made his camp away from the wagon and the Indian encampment, sitting around a small fire, smoking a cigar and swigging from a hipflask. He clearly felt safe amongst the Indians and Jericho wondered what his involvement with the Arapahos was.
Jericho joined Wilson and Owen and they discussed the arrival of Sage; they knew he had been a scout for the Confederate Army at Gettysburg and Jericho believed he must be involved with the Confederate Calvary troop that was heading this way. “He’s dangerous and we know he’s from 1925, so he would clearly know what should happen here. Is he trying to change the fate of someone alive now? Or maybe the fate of the Indians, but whatever he’s up too, we need to find out and make sure nothing changes.”
They were joined by Skyrise and Jericho gave him some specific instructions which he was more than happy to follow. Everyone settled back down for the night
3. JOHN NORTON – CORPORAL: ‘C’ COMPANY of the 27th COLOURED REGIMENT of the KANSAS VOLUNTEERS.
Alex noticed immediately that Skyrise had gone and that Sage Columbine had also left early; before sunrise. She handed Jericho a hot cup of coffee and he smiled; “Skyrise is back doing what he loves; tracking. He’ll follow Sage discretely and report on his movements. We need to know what he’s up too and Skyrise can shadow him and keep us informed.” Wilson accepted a cup and smiled too; “He [Skyrise] couldn’t wait to brush up on his tracking skills and I hope he’s good at it because two Arapaho braves left with Sage. I know because I counted them yesterday and there were thirty; this morning there’s only twenty eight.” Jericho nodded; “There is something going on because Owen overheard two braves at the well filling their water sacks. They obviously thought he wouldn’t understand Arapaho and they know all about Sage and the ‘white’s in grey’. That must mean the Confederate Calvary.” He finished his coffee and gestured to the wagon; “Come on people, we’re heading for the ghost town of Devil’s Dyke this morning and should get there by tomorrow afternoon.”
Owen and Wilson walked the horses to the wagon’s yoke and soon the team were heading south; the warriors in single file some distance in front. The day was hot and humid and Alex swore she was melting in her dress and wasn’t comfortable. “A pair of shorts and a t-shirt would be better.” She moaned to Owen who handed her his water bottle. “You dressed up like that would cause quite a stir amongst the Indians; they probably
have
never seen a white woman dressed like a squaw.” Alex just shrugged; “It would
be better than bleeding melting!” She had pulled open her blouse and was
removing the tight bodice, allowing her magnificent breasts freedom. She could
now breathe without struggling; “Bloody men oppressing woman.” She added,
making Wilson and Owen chuckle.
Corporal John Norton wiped his face several times and replaced his hat, staring at the barren horizon. His companion – Isaiah Smith – slumped in the saddle and cussed; “Why the fuck did whitely pick us for point duty? I wouldn’t know a fucking red man if one stole my fucking horse from under me!” John smiled; “Don’t let the lieutenant hear you call him whitey; he’ll have you digging latrines again.” Isaiah just grunted and followed John towards the small ridge. “Does this fucking town have a saloon that serves us black boys?” He asked for the third time and John sighed; “No, like I told you, McKay says the bloody place was abandoned years ago. There ain’t no beer or a cat house. Just bloody ghosts and dust.” Isaiah groaned loudly and wiped his face. “No beer or women? What the fuck do those Southern white boys want with a dump like that?” John chuckled; “If I knew that, we could all have stayed at the Fort and I would have been promoted to sergeant.”
They rode for several minutes and made the ridge; both dismounted and John left Isaiah holding the horses. He climbed the ridge quickly and lay staring out at the shimmering horizon. There was nothing and he wiped sweat from his eyes several times and gripped his rifle. He was about to start the climb back to his friend when something caught his eye. Covering them with a hand, he stared really hard and slowly smiled, then quickly descended and ran back to his companion. “Single horseman with a pack mule and his headed south east; towards the old town I would guess.” Isaiah finally smiled; “Does that mean we can join the fucking column again?” John nodded; “I think the lieutenant will be very interested in this and Mckay will have a good idea what’s going on; he knows the meaning of stuff like this.” They both mounted and turned east, back towards the column and straight into the Arapaho scouting party.
Rain Cloud stared at the two black troopers and they stared back at the braves. Isaiah was struggling to get his carbine from its holster hanging at his side. John slowly pushed his hand away and said quietly; “Keep calm. I don’t think they’ve ever seen a black man before.” He held up his hand and smiled slowly, introducing himself and Isaiah who was physically shaking in his saddle. The five braves all exchanged glances and Rain Cloud rode forward – spear at the ready – and shouted at the pair [in Arapaho of course] making John shake his head and gesture that he didn’t understand. Rain Cloud sent Dog face back to Youngblood; TIbbs would understand what the black men were saying.
Sage lay on the ridge top and lowered his little brass telescope and cussed a couple of times; if there were two Union troopers way out here from Fort Caleb; then there must be others. Probably a couple of dozen under a white officer or experienced sergeant and he guessed that they could only be heading for Devil’s Dyke. He cussed again; someone had betrayed them, it was too much of a co-incidence otherwise. He lay on his back and stared at the clear blue sky; now what? He struggled to his feet and quickly climbed down and remounted his horse. He examined the horizon behind him and wondered where that damn Apache of Tibb’s was. Still, he would deal with him later; he needed to get to Devil’s Dyke.
Youngblood stood arms folded and listened to Jericho without any expression. John and Isaiah were squatting in the dirt; arms tied behind their backs and two Indian spears at their heaving chests. Their horses had been stripped of their saddles and lead away by a young brave. The horses had value to the Indians; but they didn’t use saddles. The trooper’s carbines were now the prizes of Rain Cloud and Dog Face who swore that they would treat them better than their squaws. That didn’t please Alex who grabbed a water bottle and took it over to John and Isaiah; the braves didn’t stop her; it was the white’s water after all.
John
asked nervously about what was happening. Alex didn’t smile; “Jericho is trying
to convince Youngblood not to stake you out over an ant hill. He’s explaining
that you are slave soldiers who are made to fight by the white dogs who own
you. You better pray that he’s making a good case.” That’s when Isaiah spotted Wilson and called
out to him for help. Wilson just raised his hands in a hopeless gesture and
shrugged his shoulders; he couldn’t do anything to help.
Owen joined Jericho as Youngblood stood talking quietly with his senior braves about the fate of the black men. Owen whispered into his ear about what he had discovered about the two troopers from Human Records. “The one called Isaiah Smith is of no real importance to the Human Time Line; he’s killed in a couple of years in Kansas City over an unpaid gambling debt. The line would change little if he’s dispatched early. But John Norton is a different matter entirely.” The pair walked a little further back and were joined by Alex and Wilson who was particularly concerned about the fate of the two ‘brothers’. He would find it hard to watch the pair murdered and just stand by, doing nothing. Owen continued; “John Norton – a former slave – is really important to the current Human Time Line and if he doesn’t survive and marry Lilly Washington then the line changes a hundred years from now. You see, John is the Maternal Great Grandfather of el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz; a very important figure in the Civil Rights movement of the early 1960’s.”
Wilson rubbed his chin; “I’ve never heard of him.” Owen smiled; “He was better known as Malcolm X big brother and if he doesn’t get born, then things change and not for the better apparently.” Wilson now nodded and whispered; “Shit! That’s a major problem baby brother – a real major problem.” Jericho slapped Owen on the back and smiled; “Excellent research Owen; as usual. Here comes Youngblood.”
Youngblood didn’t smile; “The black soldiers are fighting for their freedom like we are. But they wear the colours of the dogs that kill braves, women and children. So if they want freedom they must fight for it; to the death. That is our decision; if they win they go and are free. If they die, then it was their fate never to be free.” Jericho nodded and took a deep breath; “Wilson you better tell the pair they are about to fight to the death. Make sure they know that they must kill their opponent otherwise the other braves will kill them for their weakness.” Wilson sighed and walked over to the pair and explained quietly. Owen anxiously whispered to Jericho; “We can’t let John Norton die Jericho!”
Jericho
nodded, grim faced; “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Two braves were picked and stripped everything off; keeping only a knife. Wilson told John and Isaiah to do the same and Youngblood gave both a knife; throwing them into the dirt at their feet. John pulled off his tunic and spat on his hands slowly picking up the knife; he had been in the Indian lands long enough to know the score here. But Isaiah was having none of it and screamed in fear and panic; he ran for the wagon and a brave simply shot an arrow through his back. Alex actually hid her face as another brave jumped on the screaming man and slit his throat in one swift movement. Only the Team saw ‘Little Rajiv’ the Collector appear and walk the confused soul towards the light. Everyone’s attention turned to John and the brave; Big Bear. They were circling each other knives at the ready. Alex forced herself to watch and gripped Wilson’s arm tightly who muttered; “Come on brother, you know you have to kill him; just fucking get it done!” Alex just hung her head – a little ashamed – at what was happening. All she could think of was Ancient Rome and the gladiatorial contests. Now she was witnessing one for real and close up. It made her feel a little sick.
Big Bear shouted in Arapaho and kicked dirt at John who jumped to one side and swapped the knife to his right hand. Jericho almost smiled at that; John was clearly left handed but would the brave fall for that. The two came together and rolled about in the dirt grunting and shouting at each other. Big Bear drew first blood cutting John across the chest, but it wasn’t deep enough and John rolled from under him and staggered back. Big Bear leapt on him and caught his shoulder with the blade and blood ran out but didn’t spurt; again it wasn’t deep enough to inflect real damage. John and Big Bear rolled in the dirt again; Jericho noticed with a little smile that the knife was now in John’s left hand. Then a sickening scream filled the air and the Indian staggered to his feet, clutching his belly. John certainly had gone deep enough with his knife. “You have to fucking kill him!” Wilson shouted.
John jumped to his feet and crashed down on the brave and drove his knife through the screaming man’s throat. There was no sound after that. John rose to his feet and stared at the now quiet braves; he threw the knife down and staggered a few feet then sat down. Alex grabbed her ‘Gladstone bag’ from the wagon and rushed over; she skilfully attended his wounds while the braves carried off the body of their fallen comrade. Youngblood nodded and turned to Jericho; “He has won his freedom Tibbs. He can travel with you without fear as a warrior should.”
Youngblood walked away to oversee the burial of Big Bear. Wilson and Owen would bury Isaiah Smith whilst Alex and Jericho helped the shocked – and relieved – John Norton to the wagon. “He’ll need stitches but they are not dangerous. Infection could be the only worry, in this heat the wounds could suppurate.” Jericho handed John a water bottle; “Keep him in the wagon in the shade. There’s a bottle of brandy in my satchel; you may need that.” John managed a smile; “I think I need it more than her.” That made Jericho and Alex chuckle.
John swallowed down plenty of water and stared through the wagon flap at Owen and Wilson digging. “All he ever wanted was women, beer and poker. Not too much to ask was it.” He murmured and drank more water. Alex smiled; “This may hurt, I have to sew you up and I can’t give you anything for the pain John.” He just smiled;”Be my guest pretty lady, to me you are an angel of mercy.” He winced as she threaded a big needle after dosing it in brandy. “You may not think that when I’ve finished.” She said quietly and set about stitching him up. He just chuckled and took a swig from Jericho’s brandy bottle.
Jericho had to ask; “Where did you learn to fight like that John?” The big man didn’t smile; “Being a slave taught you many things Mister Tibbs; some of them not very pleasant.” Then he stared out the tent flap at the burial of Isaiah and sighed. “My master had a great fascination and love of Ancient Rome. Once a month he organised games for his friends; if you won you were given beer and a woman. Nothing has changed much.” He gestured to the brandy bottle and Alex and then smiled a little. “See what I mean.” Jericho just nodded and dropped from the wagon; Youngblood had returned and told him that they were moving out. The wagon could follow at its own pace and the braves
mounted up and departed in small cloud of dust. Owen and Wilson returned – shovels slung over their shoulders – and grabbed the water bottle from Alex who had finished stitching up John Norton. Jericho was reading his mirror and called the others over; “Skyrise tells us the Sage Columbine is definitely heading for the old ghost town and he asks what happened to the Buffalo soldiers.” Alex sat on the wagon step, wiping her hands; “What the hell is a buffalo soldier?” Wilson smiled and jerked a thumb towards John Norton resting in the shade of the wagon; “He is.”
4. THE CONFEDERACY NEEDS GOLD.
Captain Jerome Sommerville halted the small column and wiped his face and neck before pulling out his small brass telescope and scanning the bare horizon. He turned to Master Sergeant Amos Yallu and lowered his telescope, gesturing towards the sole blackened and dead tree that dominated the horizon because it was the only thing standing there. “That’s the rendezvous point Sergeant. The lightening tree is where we meet Sage and he’ll guide us the rest of the way.” The sergeant spat with some relish; he loved chewing tobacco. “Can what he say be trusted captain?” Jerome sighed and wiped his face again; pushing the telescope into his small sack that hung from his saddle. “Well, I don’t know Sergeant, but old Granny Lee can’t afford not to check the story out. We need money and fast; Spanish Gold will buy a lot of supplies that we need. A damn lot of stuff that we must have to win this damn war, so we must check it out.”
The sergeant eased in the saddle and stared at the old burnt tree and spat again. “Is it true that the nearest Yankee troops are all useless, cowardly N*****s?” The captain threw a sideways glance at his sergeant and nodded; “A black man with a rifle can kill you just as good as a white one.” The sergeant missed the sarcasm in his voice. Captain Jerome was a Confederate Officer who hated slavery, but loved his State; Virginia and he didn’t want his home state bullied by some damn Northerners who wanted to dictate what they could do and say. He believed that the evils of slavery would die of “natural causes” over time. But the war was here and now and he had rushed to defend his home state from invasion and occupation. Before the war he was a Lawyer with a modest practise in Richmond; that made him think of Julia and Katherine; his wife and infant daughter.
He patted his mounts neck and gestured the column forward. “We’ll camp by the tree and if this Sage fellow doesn’t appear by noon tomorrow; we’ll head home.” Now that did make the old sergeant smile; he was gasping for a beer and a proper bed to sleep in. The little column headed up the gentle slope and Jerome watched carefully as two riders appeared; both waving a hat in
the
air. His scouts were signaling that it was clear ahead. He looked back at his
command; twenty troopers, a supply wagon and two mules. He actually chuckled as
he thought about what Julia would say about his ragged little command. She had
pleaded with him not to go; but she knew that he must and like thousands of
other men; he had joined the colours to defend his state. Most had never owned
a slave in their lives and really didn’t care about slavery; that was for the
rich folks. But they cared enough for their state and their ‘rights’ to fight
and die for it.
With the pickets posted Jerome sat on his ground sheet and studied the two pages of his written order – direct from general Jim Longstreet himself – and shook his head; a little in disbelief. He had been ordered to check out the story that a certain scout had imparted to General Robert E. Lee [old granny Lee] about a large amount of buried Spanish Gold Coins in or near the ghost town of Devil’s Dyke. The scout had produced a small bag of old coins – all Spanish Gold Doubloons – as an example of what was buried there. Just that little bag would buy rifles and ammunition for half a Regiment; and they did. General Lee had no choice but to check the story out. Hence Jerome was sitting deep in enemy [and Indian] territory. He sighed and took a swig from his canteen and watched the rations being handed around by Corporal Swiggers. They were on cold rations for now; a fire could be seen for miles around these flat bare plains and would bring either hostile Indians or federal troops down on them. He replaced his canteen and pulled the last letter he had received from Julia out and re-read it with some pleasure.
Night had now fallen and the moon was full and clear. Everyone was wrapped in their blankets and cussing; most would happily shoot someone just for a cup of hot coffee; the days were hot and uncomfortable and the nights cold, but dry. The troops smoked their pipes and cigarettes under their blankets; any light could be seen at night here.
The captain was dozing under his hat and blanket when Sergeant Amos woke him with a couple of pushes and whispered; “That man sage is here captain.” Jerome rolled from the blanket and jumped to his feet, adjusting his hat. Sage stood arms folded in the moonlight and Jerome looked the big man up and down; Sage looked exactly how General Longstreet had described him. He walked over and the pair shook hands.
The
two men squatted down and spoke quietly with the sergeant standing a few yards
behind. Sage told him about the coloured troops and where they were; just a
couple of days ride away. He told the captain about the band of Arapaho’s under
their war chief Youngblood who were even closer; maybe a day’s ride away. Sage
mentioned Tibbs and his small party; saying they could be gun or whisky
peddlers. But they were definitely heading for Devil’s Dyke as well. He
chuckled as he spoke about the Apache that had trailed him so skilfully. “Now
he’s the real mystery here captain; the Arapaho’s are allowing an Apache to
cross their land without killing him. That’s strange, mighty strange.”
The captain nodded and the pair agreed to reach Devil’s Dyke by nightfall tomorrow which would mean hard riding with only fifteen minute intervals to rest the mounts. The men could smoke and eat on horseback if necessary. A plan of action agreed; the pair separated and Sage found himself a snug crop of rocks to settle down behind. He watched the Confederate soldiers settling down for the night. He rubbed his chin and pulled his blanket around his big shoulders; he was concerned - really concerned - about Captain Sommerville; he had not once asked about the gold! Sage checked his pistol and slept lightly with it close to his chest. The captain’s apparent lack of interest in the gold worried him until he fell asleep. He did smile about the two braves going after the damn apache that could wreck everything – he hoped they would be successful.
John Norton finished off the last of his beans and bread with a long swig of the water canteen and watched through the canvas flap of the wagon as the dry barren plains passed behind him. He gently touched his bandaged chest and nodded; that woman knew her stuff. John thought again about young Isaiah and shook his head with sadness. Young Owen leaned back from the driver’s board and shouted if he needed anything. John raised a hand shook his head again. “No thanks Owen, I’m doing just fine back here.” Owen grinned and returned to face front. Alex leaned across him and reminded John to shout for her if any signs of blood appeared around the bandages. He again nodded and thanked her again. She just smiled and turned back to speak with Owen.
Jericho and Wilson were riding with Youngblood in silence. Indians didn’t make small talk and Jericho was quite happy about that and wondered how Skyrise was getting on. That’s when Youngblood dropped the bombshell that put a smile on Jericho’s face. He slowly gestured to some thick brush that was growing up the walls of the ridge they were by passing to reach Devil’s Dyke. “That’s where we go; it will take a day off our journey. The little gap cuts through the ridge and so, we don’t have to go all around.” He held up a hand and signalled for the group to head for the dark and deep brush. “Will the wagon fit?” Jericho asked and Youngblood nodded.
Jericho threw a glance at Wilson and the pair smiled. They both wondered if Sage knew about the short cut. Wilson turned his horse saying; “I’ll tell Owen and Alex.” and rode to the rear of the slow moving group. Jericho finally asked the quiet Youngblood if he knew anything about what happened for the settlers to abandon the town. Youngblood shrugged his shoulders and didn’t smile; “The whites all moved away many moons ago; they all left for somewhere better except for the dead man who walks their resting ground.” Jericho stared at him and realised he could mean a ghost!
When asked to elaborate about the ‘dead walking man’ Youngblood just shrugged his shoulders again; “The spirit walks the place where he should rest and is a fearsome spirit who can move things and is filled with much anger.” Jericho sat back in the saddle and whispered; “A bloody poltergeist!” he rubbed his chin and thought they may have to call a Guardian for such an aggrieved soul; if it won’t go with any collector they may call.
Two braves rode ahead and started to pull the brush back and sure enough; there was a gap in the ridge. The convoy passed into the ravine and the wagon did fit; but only just. Jericho was a little amazed at Owen’s skill in handling the wagon and horses. As they appeared from the small ravine onto an open plain, Alex slapped Owen’s shoulder and praised him. John slept soundly in the back and didn’t even know they had passed through the tight gap until told by Alex when she checked his bandages. They would reach the deserted town by the afternoon. They weren’t the only ones to reach the town before the soldiers.
Jericho and Wilson joined Rain Cloud and Youngblood as they went ahead to scout the town. That’s when they saw the smoke rising from what would have been the saloon. Someone had a fire burning in the derelict saloon! As they slowly rode down the main street, they saw a horse and pack mule tied up outside the saloon called the “Golden Nugget”. Jericho advised Youngblood that he should make contact first; some white folks had an itchy trigger finger around Indians. Youngblood just nodded his agreement and Jericho and Wilson dismounted and shouting out that they were coming in; headed into the saloon. They carefully stepped over the broken wooden swing doors and walked in.
The little man was sitting at a dusty table; his boots slapped upon it and gently rocking a little in the chair. He pushed back his hat to reveal a full white beard and deep dark eyes. He made no effort to pick up the colt pistol laid upon the table next to his boots. He almost smiled and ran a hand through his long beard; “Howdy strangers; what brings you strange pair to Devil’s Dyke on this fine warm day?” he had a strange accent which neither Wilson nor Jericho could identify.
Jericho raised his hat to him and said they were passing through with some Indians that they were friendly with. The little man dropped his boots from the table and scratched his beard; “Local Arapaho’s or that damn Apache that’s been creeping about these parts?” Jericho and Wilson exchanged a glance; how the hell did he know about Skyrise? The little man chuckled when Youngblood and Rain Cloud walked in. “That answers that my friends.” He raised a hand to Youngblood and in Arapaho asked who the strange white man was and what was he doing here with his servant. Youngblood actually smiled and gestured to Jericho; saying he was son of good friend to Arapaho’s old chief LittleBull.
The little man eased himself the wobbly chair and stared hard at Jericho, then slapped his thigh and laughed; “Sweet Jesus and mother Mary! He’s a dead ringer for his pa!” He walked over and shook Jericho by the hand and slapped his shoulder; “Me and your pa had some good times before the damn war. Did you bring me what the bastard owed me from back then?” Jericho shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t understand what he was saying.
The old man shook his head and grunted; “Well, let’s have a drink and discuss this.” He muttered quietly and picked up his big canvas bag from the floor. “I got a good bottle of sipping whisky in here my friends.” Jericho turned to Wilson and whispered; “I’ve never met him before!” and shrugged his shoulders again. The old man produced some ‘frontier’ whisky and slapped the
bottle on the table. He walked slowly over to the bar and pulled up a handful of whisky glasses and handed them around. Wilson wiped the dusty glass on his shirt and the old man filled the glasses; still chuckling to himself. He raised his glass and said; “Here’s to old friendships and debts that have to be paid.” He knocked the whisky back in one hit; coughed violently and re-filled his glass. He clutched his glass with both hands and spoke quietly; “Well, young Tibbs, in payment of your pappy’s debt to me I’ll take the negro and servant and sell him. I will also take your wagon and horses' and sell them too. You can keep the dumb looking boy and Youngblood can have the beauty to sell for plenty of ponies' and rifles. I think that’s fair aren’t it Youngblood?”
Jericho lowered his glass and shook his head; “I don’t think so old man….” He didn’t finish because Youngblood’s spear was at his throat. “I think that satisfactory deal Tibbs. We get rifles and horse’s and you stay alive.” Rain Cloud was already shouting out the door for the braves to grab the wagon and horses and the white woman; but not harm her. She would fetch many rifles and horses. The old man now had his pistol on the pair and he grinned; “Youngblood and me have a sort of agreement. I supply what he needs and he gives me what I want.”
Jericho just stared at Youngblood who finally smiled; “The man who owed you his life is dead. I owe you nothing and we need rifles and horses to kill more of you whites. You understand that my no longer friend?” Jericho just nodded slowly.
Rain Cloud returned angry and shouting; the white woman, the boy and the black soldier had gone from the wagon without anyone seeing them. The old man cursed loudly and told Youngblood to search for her; they could do what they like with the black and the boy. Rain Cloud disappeared back out the door; shouting orders.
Wilson and Jericho managed to refrain from smiling as they were tied to chairs by the bar. The old man sat at the table and re-filled his glass; he wasn’t a happy soul. Finally he shouted at Jericho; “What the fuck are all these soldiers heading here for?” He finished his whisky and poured another one. He repeated his question and finally – unsmiling – Jericho answered him. He told the old man about Sage Columbine and the Spanish Gold that had been found here. Both Youngblood and the old man exchanged a glance and both nodded. The old man coughed; “Well, I know that’s the truth God damn it Tibbs. Like fuck I do!”
The old man rose from his chair and spat on the floor, he turned to Youngblood; “Let’s find that damn woman; she’s worth real money and not imaginary Spanish fucking gold!” A young brave was assigned to watch the pair after the old man and Youngblood disappeared to search.
Jericho
and Wilson spoke quietly together; in French. They both wondered how Alex and
Owen knew it was time to disappear. Skyrise had called Jericho just half hour
ago to say that he had lost the two braves following him and they certainly
were working for Sage; so the rest of the Arapaho’s must be also. Jericho
whispered that there was more double crossing going on than in some crime
novels! The brave waved his spear at
them and shouted for silence. He stood back and stared at the pair, gripping
his spear with both hands; he was very young, not much older than Owen. Jericho
smiled at Wilson and managed to push some fingers into his rear trousers
pocket.
5. THE DEAD ARE DAMN RESTLESS IN DEVIL’S DYKE.
Alex crouched low behind the big tombstone which declared that “Ambrose Cuttings was resting in heaven with his favourite horse; Judd. May 1842.” and watched the braves spreading out in the old town. She turned back to John and whispered; “Thank you John, you were right about that old bastard. Good job you recognized his horse and mule.” John just nodded and said quietly; “He’s a know gun runner to the Indians and his description was circulated at the fort several times. You can’t miss that damn horse of his. It looks like one of them Zebra’s that you see in books about the old country. If that bastard Indian was heading here too then something wasn’t right. You being worth so many guns and horses I guessed that’s why he allowed you and your friends to travel here with him.”
Owen lay behind a small mound that actually looked quite fresh. The grave was unmarked apart from a stick driven into one end with a pair of boots hanging from it. Owen pulled the boots down and turned them in his hands. He whispered across to Alex; “Unless I’m mistaken these are army boots.” Alex rolled her eyes in mock despair; “Terrific, but does knowing that really help?” Owen placed them down; "I don’t know but my mirror tells me they were made in 1971, in France.”
Alex
glanced at John and sighed with relief; he had been too busy watching the
Indians to hear about the mirror or the strange boots. She crawled over to Owen
and picked them up. Carefully she checked her mirror; he was right. The boots
had been made in Paris in 1971. Discretely she ran her mirror over the grave
and sat back; “Jean-Paul Duvance; born in 1949 in Marseille and is a missing
soul. Little wonder since he obviously
died
out of his time.” Owen nodded; “Yeah, but what the hell was he doing here and
how did he get to this time and place?” Alex stuck the boots back on the pole;
that little mystery would have to wait. They had more immediate problems to
worry about; like freeing Wilson and Jericho and getting out of this ghost town
that was crawling with now hostile Indians.
John gestured to his left and both stared at where he was pointing; it was a half filled drainage ditch and it ran to the rear of the cemetery. Alex and Owen followed him slowly and carefully into it. They made their along the ditch on their hands and knees. They crawled for a couple of minutes and the ditch suddenly dog-legged left and sloped down. They crawled on in silence until both Alex and Owen suddenly stopped; staring up. John couldn’t see anything and whispered for them to move on. After a few seconds they continued crawling; both throwing concerned glances at each other. The ditch ended by a broken down fence and an empty horse trough. They were outside the derelict undertaker’s.
John whispered he would take a look and crawled into the abandoned shop and yard. They both turned and stared at the figure that had followed them. He was wearing a shabby suit with a holster hanging from his right hip. He slowly pushed back his dark black hat, revealing sandy blond hair and deep green eyes. He was about six foot and aged in his mid twenties; he was a big man. A silver badge was hanging from his jacket collar. He folded his arms and stared down at the pair. “Just what the fuck are doing? Why did you bring all those damn Indians here?”
Alex managed a smile and introduced herself and Owen to him and said that John was checking out the undertakers. He pushed his hat back and nodded; “So you can damn see me! First people that have in many a year. Now what are you doing in my damn town?” Alex explained about the Spanish Gold, the two Calvary troops and the Indians. She explained that they were holding two good friends of theirs in the saloon. He stood hands on hips and finally smiled; “Well, I’m the damn sheriff of Devil’s Dyke and I don’t allow that sort of behaviour in my bloody town. The two damn Spanish fellows who hang about the saloon won’t be happy about this.”
Alex asked for his help with a big smile, but was interrupted by John telling them it was safe to come in. The sheriff jerked a thumb towards the old undertaker’s; “You best get. Them damn savages won’t go near the coffin shop when I’ve finished with them. Hold tight missy, Sheriff John Hammond is on the case.” He disappeared and they crawled into the “coffin shop” and found John reading a very old newspaper with some interest.
He held it up and tapped the headlines of the “Devil’s Dyke Courier” which was dated May 1842. “Towns folk moving out!” it shouted. John sighed; “The water dried up and so they couldn’t stay. Apparently people had been killing each other and stealing water whenever they could. Finally the Mayor called it a day and they have arranged a wagon train and everyone is leaving. The paper says this was the last edition. It says they would go on May 20th and head north; apparently about one hundred and fifty people.” He lowered the paper and wiped his face. Owen took the paper [it was a single, double printed sheet] and read for himself about the coming evacuation. But what caught his skilled eyes was the small column on the back page; next to the obituaries.
“Listen to this; three kids playing near the dried river bed pulled a strange helmet from the dirt and they dug around and found a sword hilt and two gold coins. Miss Edna Weemes the local school teacher identified the coins as gold Spanish Doubloon’s from the 16th century and the helmet was Spanish too; from the same century. This – she said – gave credence to the legend about Spanish Conquistadors having passed through the area some three hundred years ago who were killed by natives in a big battle. Says here that a chest of the coins is supposed to be buried around Devil’s Dyke, but no one has any details of where it may lay. It finishes by saying that some town’s folk have vowed to return and find it.” Owen stopped reading and placed the paper down. “Do you think bloody Sage found it?”
Alex shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t know. The discussions were ended by the noise of gunfire; lots of it. Crouching low they gathered around the big window and could see horsemen in the main street; all in grey uniforms. They were having a running gunfight with the Indians. “The cavalry have arrived.” Owen said with a grin. John just grunted with some anger; “Yeah, but they are wearing the wrong uniform. If they find me I’ll be returned to slavery or killed.” Alex patted his arm; “Not while we’re around John.” That’s when they heard the big bang and dark smoke arose from the east part of the town. John crouched down; “That’s bloody dynamite! Who the hell is throwing dynamite about!” he shouted as another big explosion was heard and more black smoke rose into the air. Owen gestured to the far end of town as yet another huge explosion was heard and a big, thick cloud of black smoke and dust rose into the air.
Alex shouted; “The Indians are running for it! They think the rebels have brought artillery with them I bet!” That’s when she could feel her mirror vibrating under her dress. She tapped Owen on the arm and he understood what she wasn’t saying and he distracted John by talking about the rebels and returning coloured soldiers to slavery, while Alex disappeared out the door to answer her mirror.
Owen and John watched the band of Indians disappearing onto the plans; the Confederate troops didn’t follow. “I think they are setting up HQ in the saloon, where Jericho and Wilson are.” Owen said quietly but Alex, standing in the doorway, chuckled and jerked a thumb behind her; “Not any more they are!” Wilson and Jericho followed her in and Owen jumped up with happiness; “Come on how did you do that?” Wilson grinned; “Which do you mean? The explosions or the escape?”
John – for the first time in hours – actually smiled; “It was you two throwing the damn dynamite about weren’t it?” Jericho and Wilson nodded, with Jericho patting his shoulder; “Now we need to deal with the gold hungry rebels. They won’t be taking you anywhere.” He smiled broadly and added; “Just follow me people.”
The old man lay on the saloon bar with little Jim the corpsman wrapping a bandage around his leg. “It went clean through old timer. You’re lucky.” The old man cussed him out and groaned loudly again, he wanted to throw a punch at the grinning young man but both his hands were tied. He would have difficulty explaining about the ten rifles and case of whisky found on his mule.
Captain Sommerville stood by the broken door watching a burial party carry two dead troopers up to the cemetery; the three wounded men weren’t seriously wounded though one could lose an arm without some proper medical help. Sage was telling him to search for the Tibbs party; the woman was skilled in medicine and would certainly help if asked. The captain wiped his face and stared out the door. “Just find us the gold Sage; that’s what the boys died for; that damn gold to help the cause.” He slapped dust from his trousers and turned to the old man; “Well Walter, your whisky and gun running days are at an end. We’re going leave you and your illicit stock for the Yankee’s to find. I understand they’re hanging fellows who trade such items with the Indians now days. You know; because of the war.” He chuckled and waved to sergeant Amos; “You and I will assist Sage in procuring the gold.”
The sergeant just stared at him and the captain sighed; “You and I will help Sage find the gold.” The sergeant grinned and grabbed up his hat and rifle. The captain turned to Corporal Swiggers; “Take some boys and find them strangers who like throwing dynamite about and find that coloured soldier; I need to talk with him.” The Corporal nodded and grinned; “You gonna hang the black bastard sir?” The captain wiped his face and told him to get on with it. He watched the corporal and two men go with some sadness. “I really don’t know where all this hate comes from.” He whispered to himself and followed Sage through the saloon doors; sergeant Amos close behind, chewing some tobacco and spitting.
The captain wasn’t there when everyone ran – some screaming – from the saloon just minutes later. Even old ‘Walter’ had jumped from the bar and hobbled at speed through the door; shouting and cussing. He hadn’t seen anything like it before in his sixty-one years. He hid himself in the ladies dress shop opposite and breathed deep, wiping his face with a shaking hand.
Two figures had simply walked through a wall dressed up like a couple of soldiers from hundreds of years before. They had swords, big helmets and were wearing long boots. Old water thought they were shouting in Spanish; some of the old Indians around here still knew some Spanish words. But it was when two rebels fired their muskets at them and the bullets passed straight through, making neat holes in the wall behind them that did the trick. Everyone in the saloon was gone some seconds later. The two ghosts faded away.
The team reached the ruined church at the far end of the town and managed to climb over the big door that lay to one side. The interior was surprisingly cool and that made Alex happy – who was still moaning about the ‘tent’ she had to wear – ladies fashions in the 1860’s were layers of petticoats and skirts built over a hoop. It was actually like dragging a tent around and she hated it. She had enough of that and pulled her skirt off and a layer of long petticoats; the corset came next and basically she was in her underwear [for the time] had it been the 1920’s or 1960’s she would have looked quite fashionable!
John was quite surprised that her male companions said nothing about her stripping down to her underwear in front of them. They just carried on if such an outrageous performance [in his eyes] was perfectly normal. Owen showed Jericho the newspaper that John had found and he read it quickly with some interest. Alex checked John’s bandages and he certainly felt a lot better as she leaned over him; the removal of her corset had allowed her magnificent breasts some freedom and John was more than happy to enjoy the view on offer.
Wilson had to smile at that; she’s one hell of a distraction he thought as he sat on the far pew and checked his mirror. That’s when he called Jericho over – quietly and calmly – and showed him the mirror. Jericho rubbed his chin in thought; there was a powerful machine operating nearby – really powerful – powered by nuclear fusion. Now that certainly didn’t exist in the 1860’s!
“Can you locate it?” Jericho asked and Wilson nodded, tapping at his mirror and sat back; “Apparently it’s coming from just outside the town, from that ridge we passed through. Now let’s try….” He tapped at his mirror again and smiled; “Got it. The ridge slopes down on the west side and there’s an old silver mine there. Abandoned even before the town was. That’s where the energy signal is emanating from.”
Jericho nodded and looked at John having his bandages changed. He had to smile at the happy expression on John’s face. “I’m sure Alex and Owen can keep John distracted while we take a look at that old mine.” Wilson pushed his mirror into his shirt pocket and smiled; “None better for distractions.” He murmured and they called Owen over quietly and explained what was happening. Owen nodded and watched as the pair disappeared out the side door to operate their mirrors. He returned to Alex and John and whispered in her ear.
6. THE OLD SILVER MINE AND ALEX MAKES A DISCOVERY.
Jericho and Wilson walked the edge of the ridge carefully as Wilson consulted his mirror. He stopped and pointed to a thick clump of scrawny trees and bushes that seemed to climb up the ridge. “They seem to be well watered for a place where there’s supposedly no water anywhere.” He said and the pair headed for them. They both jumped back a little as the big mountain lion broke from the bushes; roaring and growling. It lowered itself as if to pounce. Wilson actually smiled and held up his mirror; “It’s bloody good, but it’s just a hologram, probably being generated by the power source as some sort of defense mechanism.”
Jericho nodded and checked his mirror; “Yeah, but what is it protecting? The power readings are off the scale. I wonder what’s being generated by all that power; it can’t just be holograms like this.” They walked towards the growling lion and it simply vanished. They pushed into the thick foliage and found what it was hiding after a couple of minutes; an old cave entrance. There was wood scattered about and the remains of a small, wheeled carriage that would have been pulled by a mule or pushed by a couple of men. They stood in the dark entrance and shone their mirrors in. It twisted and turned, going downwards; they noticed a small gauge rail track and decided to follow that.
They walked constantly descending for about ten minutes. Jericho stopped and ran his fingers over the dark walls; “These walls are damp, there must be water under the ridge.” That’s when they heard the rumbling noise. Wilson held up his mirror and shouted; “Another illusion I think!” the wall of water came rushing around the bend and crashed over the pair and faded away. Jericho folded his arms; “Someone or something really doesn’t want any visitors; do they?” Wilson nodded and they walked on; still descending.
The tunnel seemed endless with no conclusion and so they stopped at a junction; two tunnels now. Wilson grunted; “Which one do we take?” Jericho shrugged his shoulders; “The mirrors cannot give an accurate location of the power source now. We are too damn close to it.” Wilson stabbed a finger downwards; “Only one has the little rail track. Follow that?” he asked and Jericho nodded. It was that or toss a coin!
They continued to follow the rail tracks and found another carriage on its side and the tunnel now seemed to narrow. That’s when Wilson sighed loudly as he peered into the open carriage; “Take a look Jericho. We have a visitor.” Jericho looked over the side and wiped his face: it was skeletal remains with the hat and boots still in good condition, but the checkered shirt and trousers had almost disappeared. Wilson ran his mirror over the bones. “Phillip Renior, born 1946 in Perpignan southern France with a scheduled dispatch date of 2010, but he never made that; he’s a missing soul and now we know why. Strange no temporal detectives were allocated the case.”
“Another bloody missing soul from France with army boots. Alex and Owen found another in the cemetery.” Jericho rubbed his chin; “Now that’s very interesting.” He muttered and the pair walked on; still descending. They turned yet another corner and Wilson grabbed Jericho by the arm and gestured downwards; the little rail track stopped in mid air, below some sixty or seventy feet lay a cavern. It was huge with a small waterfall running down one wall into a small dark pond. Their mirrors showed that the floor of the cavern was strewn with bits of mining equipment and two ramshackle huts; one much larger than the other. There were two dark entrances on the opposite wall, right on the cavern floor. There was a pale white light showing from the smaller of the two.
Jericho patted Wilson’s arm; “Thanks for that my old friend. I think that’s the next tunnel we want.” He gestured to the tunnel with the light emitting from it. Then added; “I hope the mirrors can do small jumps.” He tapped his mirror and the pair was gone.
Owen sat by the window and watched the rebel activity in the town. “Sage, the rebel captain and sergeant have just gone into the old school house. Some more men appear to searching each house in turn, the rest must be in the saloon.” He told Alex who left John resting on a pew and joined him by the door. Owen chuckled; “You know if you stand in strong light, those petticoats will be transparent?” Alex sighed and asked; “How long have they been in the school house?”
“About ten or fifteen minutes, why?” Owen replied and Alex sat down and leaned against the wall. “Just in that newspaper it was the school teacher that made the statement about the legend of Spanish Gold, confirmed the authenticity of the coins, helmet and sword hilt as being Spanish. Consult your mirror while John is asleep and find out if that story appears anywhere else.” Owen tapped his mirror for a couple of minutes and shook his head; “There’s no mention of the story anywhere. But then; how many copies of the ‘Devil’s Dyke Courier’ would exist? I mean how many would have reached the Newspaper archives?”
Alex almost smiled; “So if there are no records of the story available for historians; how did Sage know about the story? We know he’s from the 1920’s and not from this time and place, so how the hell did he know about the story?” Owen rubbed his chin; he knew that was a bloody good question. He pulled the old newspaper from his back pocket and ran his mirror over it. The look on his face was priceless. Alex gave him a gentle shove and said “Well?” with some frustration. Owen slowly smiled; “You clever girl; this paper was made from tree’s felled in 1957 and the ink was manufactured in 1961!”
“I smell a large rat and its called Sage Columbine. Do you think he showed that fake newspaper to General Longstreet and set this whole thing up for some reason we haven’t discovered yet? All he had to do was have a bag of Spanish Gold doubloons that he could have acquired from anywhere; he’s a damn time-traveler after all! Then add the newspaper and he has Longstreet hooked. Such a quantity of gold would be irresistible to the rebel cause; they are desperate for money to pay for equipment and keep the war going. But why is he doing all this? If he was a true supporter of the rebel cause; why not just give them the damn coins?” Alex spoke quietly and Owen leaned back and looked at his mirror; “Because the coin hoard doesn’t actually exist; but that don’t make sense, as you say, why then, all this crap?”
Alex sighed again; “The original mission was to undo minor changes to the current time line caused by the rebels and federal troops fighting here. Thirteen unscheduled deaths that never happened in the original time line. Then we discover that John Norton’s great grandson is important to the time line in the 1960’s….” She stopped talking and said quietly; “The paper was made in 1957 and the ink in 1961. Sage is from the 1920’s but would have lived through the 1960’s had he not discovered time-travel. There’s a definite connection there; but what the hell is it!”
Owen lowered his mirror; “Sage changed the original time line with this fake gold scam. He engineered the fight between the rebel and Federal troops by convincing General Longstreet that there was gold in this old ghost town, but as you say; why?”
Alex tapped his shoulders; “Who were the soldiers that died? Check each one against Sage’s human genealogy and see if anything comes up.” Owen tapped his mirror again; “If I remember the mission briefing; it was five federal troopers and seven confederate soldiers.” Alex grabbed his hand and almost smiled; “That’s only twelve men; who was the thirteenth victim?”
“Good spot.” Owen murmured and held up his mirror; “A certain Walter Carlton who died of blood poisoning from a wound to his leg. Probably Sepsis.” Alex grinned; “That’s the name of that mean old whisky and gun peddler that was dealing with Youngblood and the Indians. What changes to the original time line did that cause?” Owen consulted his mirror and didn’t smile; “His great grandson was a civil rights lawyer in the 1960’s and defended several top civil rights activists at the time. But that’s weird, I mean Walter is sixty-one in this year with no record of any children born before this date. That can’t be right can it? He fathered a child in his sixties?”
Alex was checking her mirror and grunted; a little angry. “In the original time line dear old Walter is hung in Silver City in 1865 for the rape of a minor; a seventeen year old girl. She had a child; a boy in 1866 that was given up for adoption. That’s how he had descendants. The fucking animal.” Owen pushed his mirror back into his jacket; “I bet the prestigious layers family won’t shout about an ancestor like that or they don’t know. That sort of family history wouldn’t be passed down if the boy was adopted.”
Alex eased herself up; “Well, we’ve discovered why the original time line changed in the 1960’s. But if we restore it now, then that fucking beast rapes the girl and the child is born on schedule. That means we have to stop Walter getting Sepsis and dying. Now that’s really going to get up my nose.” Owen nodded; “I’ll inform Jericho.”
Alex stood arms folded; “Do you know I think Sage was aiming to kill someone else; not bloody Walter Carlton, to change the 1960’s but we turned up and changed all that. Youngblood would have killed the two coloured boys if Jericho hadn’t convinced him to allow them to fight for their freedom. That threw a spanner into Sage’s plan. I think he hoped that John would be killed in the fighting and if not, kill him himself and history would have put the death down to the battle, but we messed all that up. I don’t think he even knew about old Walter’s descendant. Nobody in the 1960’s would have done. But he would have certainly known about that civil rights leader’s family history.”
“Come on, we need to stash John somewhere safe and find that sick old bastard and save his wretched life.” Alex walked over to the sleeping John and didn’t look happy. She placed a hand upon his forehead and sighed again; ”No wonder he’s so sleepy; he’s burning up. He has an infection and we need to deal with it urgently.” Owen nodded and held up his mirror; “I’ll watch him and you jump to the lighthouse and grab your bag. Does he need penicillin?” Alex nodded and pulled out her mirror; that’s when a bullet smashed what’s left of the window and another thudded into the wall. “They have found us!” Owen yelled and Alex said; “No shit Sherlock.” she operated her mirror; the temporal detectives were gone and John with them.
Corporal Swiggers came through the door, bayonet at the ready and cussed loudly; “Where the fuck have they gone?” the two soldiers following said nothing; they certainly didn’t know.
7. THE MACHINE.
Jericho and Wilson shone their mirrors at the tunnel with the faint light and made their way down the much smaller tunnel; Wilson had to bend a little and moaned a couple of times about that. Both could feel the vibrations in the walls and floor and it was becoming louder with each step; almost to the point they covered their ears. “De-materialize!” Jericho shouted over the intense and painful noise. They both stood and sighed with relief; they were now basically holograms or ghosts for want of a better description and the physical noise didn’t bother them now.
“Now that’s one clever fucking defense mechanism against humans and animals.” Wilson said as they walked on for several minutes. The tunnel suddenly opened up into small cave with smooth walls and ceiling. It looked ‘man made’ and they stood before a stone door covered with strange hieroglyphs. Wilson lowered his mirror; “No translation possible. They are totally unknown.” Jericho grunted and ran his hand over the surface
of
the door. “It appears to be stone but I bet it is not.” That’s when they both realised
they were not alone standing before the impressive door. They both turned and
stared at the women standing there. She was dressed in a short white skirt and
blouse. Her dark hair tied with a black ribbon; around her neck was a collar
that looked like gold. She would easily be called beautiful. Jericho noticed a
gold ring on her big toe; she was barefoot.
Jericho
held up a hand and introduced Wilson and himself. Wilson lowered his mirror and
whispered; “She’s a real strong hologram, probably made from hard light, like
they discovered in 2205.” Jericho nodded; “Agreed, but I don’t think she’s from
2205. I think she could be much older than that. Probably even before modern
humans.”
The woman said nothing but gestured towards the door. Jericho and Wilson turned to see the door slide back revealing a brightly lit room. The floor and ceiling appeared to be made from light itself. The hologram swept past them and gestured for them to follow. They did. The big door closed silently behind them.
They walked slowly down the passage and stared at the ‘mirrors’ on the walls. One each every seven feet and as they passed each, several human faces appeared in the mirrors and they eyes watched the pair pass. Jericho stopped at one and studied the faces that were studying him. “They appear human – like we were when alive – but I don’t think they are now.” He looked closely at a couple who smiled at him; did he know them? A strange sensation passed over Jericho and he wondered why the faces were there. But the woman urged them on and so they walked until the lady hologram stopped by a large round mirror that protruded from the wall by four or five inches. She bowed and was gone.
An old man’s face appeared; he looked ancient and neither Jericho nor Wilson could even guess his age. He smiled slowly and spoke; the language made no sense to the pair and they both consulted their mirrors which – unusually – couldn’t translate it. Jericho quietly explained they couldn’t understand. The face smiled again and said; “Colloquial English, in use from the fourteen hundreds until the end. I welcome you to Omega. It has been a long time in human years since I had visitors. Please state you business here.”
Jericho explained who he and Wilson actually were and – briefly – the case they were on. The face nodded; “Jericho Tibbs; a human who existed organically between 28 human years from birth to death. Wilson Franklyn; a human who existed organically between 35 human years from birth to death. Now both existing in the secondary plane of existence and serving a higher species. Your current endevours please me. You are still basically animals but are struggling to evolve further; to assimilate with your creators. What do you wish to know?”
Jericho and Wilson glanced at each other; the holy family [God] is just a ‘higher species’ to this face? Jericho had to ask; “Who created you?” The face smiled; “I have been in existence since before this planet was newly formed. I was created to watch and wait for humans such as you. My creator was myself; I came together by my own means. I existed because I wanted to exist. Everything on this planet apart from you humans I called into existence. I created the garden and your creators filled it. I am existence; I am time past, time present and time to come. I am rock and water; night and day. I cannot die because I was never born. I am light and dark without me there would be nothing; a great void of non-existence. I am everything including nothing. I am the dream without a sleeper. I exist in everything and everything exists in me. I am the why to all the questions you could ask. That is I. I am I. Do you understand?”
Jericho rubbed his chin; “So you created yourself; how was that possible? I mean creating yourself from nothing?” The face smiled; “I have existed before humans could even understand what time is and will exist long after they have gone. There is no time; just me. Humans have no understanding of true existence because they are organic with a limited time restrained by their fragile creation. Even your higher species will succumb to the passing of organic decomposition eventually. But I will still be here. Nothing can exist outside me; even nothingness itself. There is a void because I exist; without me even non-existence would not exist.”
The face slowly faded and was gone. The woman was back and gestured them to follow her. They did in silence and found themselves back outside the door and it closed silently behind them. They stood in silence for a second or two, then Wilson said softly; “Is it only me or did he have a huge ego?” Jericho started to laugh; “I don’t think he is a he. I think it’s a very old machine that’s been around for millions of years and it has no idea who created it; so it’s worked out that it created itself; logical really.
But
for what actual purpose it was created for; God only knows.” Wilson grunted;
“And I can’t see him telling us that anytime soon.” He stopped and held up his
mirror; “My mirror tells me that no time has passed since we entered the
tunnels from outside the ridge. Like that hour didn’t happen.” Jericho checked
his mirror and agreed.
Now
standing outside; below the ridge, they both stood for a minute or two without
speaking, just staring at each other. Wilson looked about and ran a hand over
his face; “Well, that was a waste of time. There is no energy source around
here. My mirror is showing nothing. Come on let’s go, this was a waste of
time.” Jericho nodded; “Must have been some sort of surge that the mirrors
picked up. But your right; there’s nothing here to investigate. Let’s get back.”
He operated his mirror and they were gone.
The face smiled and all the faces in the wall mirrors smiled with him.
8. SAVING CORPORAL NORTON.
The old house was still in fair condition despite being abandoned in 1842 and was located on the edge of the equally deserted town. “This was the town’s doctor’s house; it has a small surgery room with a big table and a large window for light. Apparently the doctor was called Thaddeus Ambrose and he left with the wagon train. It will do nicely.” Alex placed her ‘Gladstone’ bag down and rolled up her sleeves. She watched as Wilson and Owen gently lowered the mumbling John Norton onto the table. He was a little delirious and talking about angels; at one point he sat up and cursed God for having no mercy, then slumped back and continued to mumble.
Alex carefully removed the chest bandage and sighed; “The wounds infected. The Indians knife probably hadn’t been cleaned for ages. It could have been contained with old blood or dirt. I’ll start with some penicillin shots and then clean and redress the wound with fresh sterile bandages.” Jericho nodded, standing in the doorway, checking his mirror. He told Owen to watch for anyone coming up the dirt street. Owen didn’t say anything and sat in the large front room on a clean chair and watched the
street.
Alex set to work, watched by an interested Jericho and Wilson. What did make
Wilson chuckle was Alex’s wonderful pink rubber gloves! She prepared her needle
and carefully injected John’s thigh. Then set about cleaning the wound. “How
long before we can move him?” Jericho asked; still a little puzzled about his
mirror; the local time shown seemed to be about an hour out. Alex checked
John’s temperature and didn’t smile; “I’d say about a couple of hours. He’s
young and fit which helps a great deal.” Jericho nodded his thanks and then
answered an incoming call on his mirror; it was Skyrise.
He smiled and thanked Skyrise and lowered his mirror. “Skyrise is now trailing a detachment of Federal Calvary, a young white officer, but all the troopers are coloured. They will here by morning. So that will give us time to thwart Sage’s gold trick. I think he will supply the coins himself to cover their arrival in this time and place. History will record it as a convenient find for the rebel cause. But it never happened in the original time line and so we need to stop him. Such an amount can buy many extra weapons and horses and that could have serious effects later.”
Alex reminded him that they had to save – reluctantly – that old bastard Walter or the time line would also change. Wilson chuckled; “We get all the good jobs don’t we?” and helped cover the sleeping John with a blanket. “We can leave him for his own side to care for, once Alex says its ok.” Jericho rubbed his chin and consulted his mirror again. But Owen interrupted them; “There’s something going on in the town. The troopers are mounting up and the officer, with Sage and a couple of troopers are loading something into their supply wagon; covered with a blanket.”
Jericho cursed; he knew that Sage had already probably pulled the switch and the confederates were about to leave with a huge quantity of gold that could change the time line a great deal.
“I
could stop time, but that would only give us fifteen minutes to grab the box
and dispose of it. Then the story of the chest’s disappearance could be
repeated; there would be a lot of witnesses to a totally unexplainable event.
So this is a tricky one.” Jericho folded his arms and didn’t smile. Wilson
slowly did smile; “I can think of a way to do it which will cause very little
change and the confederates won’t shout too much about being conned and history
won’t be too bothered to note it; considering there’s a huge war going on.”
Jericho
slapped his back; “Over to you prospective Temporal Detective Inspector!”
Leaving Alex to watch over John, the rest of the team disappeared.
Jericho was crouched low beneath the window ledge of the big bedroom on the second floor of the now deserted saloon; watching the activity in the street below. He checked his mirror for Wilson’s signal that they were ready to do their own little bit of switching. His mirror beeped and he ran from the room, down the back stairs and in to the alley which opened directly on the street. He stopped time; he had already informed the Senior Time Controller on duty. Wilson drove the wagon quickly from the back of the saloon and pulled up just behind the confederate’s wagon. Owen leapt from the back and threw the canvas flap up. Wilson and Jericho ran past the still figures of Sage and the captain and grabbed the blanket covered chest from the two troopers.
It certainly was heavy and they lowered it to the ground. Owen appeared with a large metal box; he was struggling to carry it. Jericho pulled open the lid on the confederate chest and they all stared in. “Sweet Jesus, that’s a lot of coin.” Muttered Wilson and waited for Jericho to appear from their wagon carrying a big metal box that was empty. They carefully tipped the gold into the metal box. Jericho – panting – said quietly; “Six minutes to go.”
Owen opened his metal box and tipped the washers into the chest. Everyone grabbed a couple of handfuls of coins and covered the washers. Then the lid was slammed down and the blanket replaced; the chest was carefully placed back into the arms of the two troopers. They almost dragged the metal box back to their wagon and hoisted it aboard. “Three minutes to go.” Jericho shouted and Wilson drove the wagon behind the saloon and Jericho operated his mirror and re-started time. He then –again – operated his mirror and the wagon and horses, with them aboard disappeared. They had done it with one minute remaining.
The two troopers pushed the chest into the wagon and climbed aboard; Captain Sommerville gave strict instructions that only he and Sage were allowed near the box. He shouted to the sergeant for the men to mount up and the little convoy headed out of the town. The three wounded men in the wagon didn’t mind squashing up for the box and passed a canteen of water amongst
themselves.
“Granny lee will hand out whisky for what we did!” The youngest shouted and the
other agreed with him. They would be heroes.
Alex checked John and pulled his blanket up, that’s when she heard the noise in the doorway and turned expecting the team back. She was disappointed; it was old Walter, limping badly and holding a scatter gun on her. [In the UK, that’s a shotgun]
He smiled and cussed at his leg, then at Alex; “Get away from that black bastard you white whore and get over by that old sofa!” he yelled and held the gun up. Alex realised that her mirror was in her ‘Gladstone’ bag; sitting next to John’s head. She raised her arms and walked slowly to the old sofa under the big window. “I need to look at your leg Walter; see if it’s infected…inflamed. That could be dangerous.” She said quietly, smiling a little.
Walter just grunted; “Fucking standing there in just your shirt and drawers with that black bastard, I can see what’s been going on you slut! Now the only fucking thing you can help me with is this!” his free hand tugged at the buttons on his trousers and he pulled out his cock and pulled at it. “Now fucking strip naked and bend over that dam sofa, I’m gonna fuck you then kill him!”
He weaved the gun at her and pulled the safety catches back on both barrels. “Come on! Get them fucking clothes off!” Alex slowly pulled off her blouse and Walters eyes opened with delight and lust. “What a fucking pair of tit’s, God damn it whore, I’m really gonna enjoy this. Now get those drawers off and bend over that God damn sofa before I cum in my own hand!”
Alex slowly pushed the petticoats down and stood naked apart from her little boots; she covered her herself with two hands. But Walter screamed for her to drop her hands; which she did. He was almost raving; shouting for to bend over the sofa with her knees on it and her hands on the back of it. She did as she was told and could hear the old man frantically trying to get his trousers down with one hand.
That’s when she heard the loud thud and turned slowly to see Walter stretched out on the floor, with John carefully pulling the scatter gun away from his hand. Her Gladstone bag lay next to Walter’s head; broken open and the contents spilled out. John smiled; “The old idiot should have killed me first.” Was all he said and threw Alex the blanket he had laid under. She wrapped herself up and walked over; kissing him, which really surprised John. He smiled again; “Thanks for that, but just seeing you naked was thanks enough!”
Alex leaned over Walter and checked his pulse, then his eyes. “Fucking shit! He’s dead!” She exclaimed. That’s when she saw little Yuri the collector in the corner with a protesting Walter. Yuri just raised his soul ledger and smiled. The pair were gone soon as the light appeared. John just shrugged his shoulders; “Must have had a weak head or your bag is more lethal than anyone could imagine.”
That’s when Jericho and the team returned, walking through the door, laughing amongst themselves until they saw Alex in just the blanket and Walter dead on the floor clutching his cock. Owen shifted the body with his foot and said quietly; “Now that may fuck up things.”
John was telling Jericho and Wilson what happened as Alex grabbed up her discarded clothing and dressed under the blanket. Jericho patted John arm and thanked him, telling John that his comrades would be here in the morning and he would travel back to the fort with them.
Alex discretely ran her mirror over Walter and nodded to herself; the old man had suffered myocardial infarction [heart attack] and must have suffered heart failure for some years and in this time and place there was practically no treatment. John clobbering him with the bag must have triggered the fatal failure. But when she spoke to Wilson about it; he just chuckled and muttered; “Or seeing a woman like you stark naked, bent over in front of him, could be the real cause!” She just sighed in reply and didn’t even bother telling Owen why the old man had died. But she was happy that the old bastard died before he could get hold of that young girl. She now knew he would have been quite capable of such a terrible act; despite his age.
That’s when Jericho’s mirror buzzed and John looked around; puzzled. Wilson pulled John to one side and asked about the dead old man again. Jericho wandered into the hallway and answered his mirror. It was Skyrise.
9. ANOTHER BATTLE OF DEVIL’S DYKE?
Jericho stood – arms on hips – and sighed loudly. This was not good news from Skyrise. Youngblood’s renegade band of Arapaho’s was on course to cross paths with the Federal cavalry unless one or both changed course; and soon. If they clashed, then the time line would change drastically with the unscheduled deaths, as it did in the altered time line. He cursed Sage and his plan to supply the confederacy with Spanish gold.
There had been minor – and acceptable – changes with the deaths of the few Indians and Confederates during the fighting in the town. But this would be different; a serious number of deaths will alter things and not in the best interest of the current time line. He stared down at his mirror and thought hard; then saw the wagon and horse’s through the broken down door, standing quietly in the deserted street. He managed a smile; “Sod it, must be worth a try.” And when John was sleeping off his penicillin and pain killers; he called the team together and outlined his plan.
The wagon trundled slowly through the clouds of dust and dirt being whipped up by the unusually strong winds that were now running across the prairie. Owen slapped the reins and adjusted the scarf tied about his face. He glanced back at John sitting up in the rear, with Alex checking his bandages; they were laughing quietly together. Owen smiled and called out to Wilson, who was riding next to the wagon. “I take it the Indians now have the rifles and whisky that old Walter had on his mule?” Wilson tugged at the scarf over his mouth and shouted back; “Yeah, Skyrise said they half of them now had rifles and they were passing bottles amongst themselves!”
Owen shook his head; “Not a good mixture; guns and whisky and Indians not use to either.” Wilson nodded and looked behind to see Jericho reading his mirror as he rode. They should cross the path of the Federal cavalry in a couple of hours. What concerned Wilson was that they [the team] should soon see scouts from the cavalry or as Jericho had commented; they should have seen them already. Wilson stared at the horizon; it didn’t look good, there was a storm coming. Jericho spurred his horse and joined Wilson, pulling down his scarf; “My mirror tells me there was quite a storm in these parts about this time. We may need to find shelter and sit it out!” Wilson nodded his agreement with that.
Then both shouted about the lack of scouts from the cavalry column and Jericho called up Skyrise and asked where the Indians were. The reply made him laugh out loud and then cough as the dust got up his nose. He shouted over to Wilson; “The Arapaho’s have stopped in a small ravine about twenty miles east of us. Skyrise says they are firing their rifles and staggering about; they must have finished that case of whisky!”
Wilson laughed and coughed too; “I think we should call it a day. Maybe the bloody Indians will be too drunk to ride through the storm!” Jericho nodded and gestured to a big clump of trees and bushes ahead. “We’ll stop there; at the least we’ll have some protection. I’ve told Skyrise to take no chances and get some shelter!” He turned to Owen who raised a hand; he had been listening and drove the wagon towards the thick trees and bushes. He managed to get the wagon and horses several feet into foliage before he had to stop; the wind was now really driving the dust and dirt, so much so that the sky had actually darkened.
With the horses secured; everyone crowded into the wagon and the canvas sides and back flap were tied down with extra rope. Owen passed his hipflask around and everyone had a sip; except John. Alex wouldn’t allow him because he had been shot full of antibiotics! He didn’t understand that but refused the alcohol because Alex said so.
The canvas flapped and the wind could be heard above anything else. “I think it’s getting bloody worse.” Muttered Jericho and moved up the behind the driver’s seat and discretely consulted his mirror. Alex was handing out the rations; salt beef, biscuits, cheese and apples. The water canteens were greatly welcomed.
The talking soon died away as the storm now raged around them. John was asleep with Owen leaned against him; snoring quietly and moving slightly in his sleep. Wilson was dozing, his head nodding gently up and down. Jericho lowered his mirror; now concerned. The storm they were enduring was far stronger than was reported in the original time line. He wondered just how significant that could be. Still, there was absolutely nothing they could do nothing about anything until the damn storm cleared.
Bored; he checked his mirror and read about the two French men from the 1970’s. He had no doubt that Operations would probably lumber Team 74 with that one. That’s when he thought he could hear something above the storm; strange deep, weird noises that he couldn’t place or recognize. He adjusted his mirror and did a body search for five square miles. He had to look twice; there were five living humans not a hundred yards from his position!
Covering his head with the scarf; he peered out the driver’s front flap; but could only see flying dirt and moving trees and bushes. That’s when he caught a glimpse of something. He stared hard and between gust of howling wind and dirt; he saw what it was for just a second or so. He ducked back inside and shook his head. Alex moved carefully over the others and joined him; “I can hear it too over the storm. Do you know what it is?” Jericho slowly nodded and whispered in her ear; “A bloody American armoured car from the Second World war by the looks about it. It has EC-417 pained on the side. I think the crew of five is still with it!”
He tapped at his mirror while Alex sat back and said quietly; “Oh fuck.” Jericho looked up from his mirror; “It’s from the 7th Calvary, it should be in the Libyan Desert in 1943 fighting the German ‘Afrika Corps’. What the fuck is it doing here?”
Alex suddenly sat up and tapped his arm; “Listen. I can only hear the storm.” Jericho quickly re-checked his mirror and rubbed his chin; “Nothing. No humans for miles. They have gone.” He said quietly. Alex leaned back; “Rouge time portal?” she whispered and Jericho agreed. There was something definitely strange about Devil’s Dyke and he couldn’t put his finger on it; yet.
Darkness was starting to fall when the storm finally cleared up and the decision was made to stay where they were. The Federal Calvary wouldn’t travel at night with no moon. Alex and Owen managed to brew some coffee and cook beans to go with the remaining salt beef and everyone appreciated their efforts. That’s when Owen slipped up to Jericho as he relieved himself behind a tree. “I couldn’t say anything to you or the others in front of John, but check your mirror and see what the local time is.” Jericho buttoned up his flies and pulled out his mirror and really wasn’t happy. The local time was April 8th 1551.
Jericho lowered his mirror and cussed; they [him and Alex] had been right about the rouge time portal.
Owen
looked grim; “That’s not the best of it. Check your mirror for where Devil’s
Dyke will be located; there’s a column of Spanish soldiers, cannon, Calvary and
wagons camped there. But it gets worse; Coming from behind that ridge is a huge
band of Arapaho’s and I don’t think they’ll welcome the Spanish in a friendly
manner.”
Jericho called Skyrise who confirmed that his band of Indians was still laid around; trying to recover from some serious hangovers. Jericho told Skyrise to use his mirror and jump to where the town is and report if there were any Spanish troops there. Skyrise did laugh at that assignment, but did as he was asked. He buzzed Jericho back to say the place was deserted with no humans in sight. Jericho grunted his thanks and called the Senior Time Controller; he needed to know if this totally unknown conflict was in the original time line. The answer came back; yes it was, just human history had never recorded it.
Owen scratched his chin; “That could mean that the gold is genuine and Sage must have stumbled on the story in that old newspaper, jumped back to 1551 and saw that the Spanish were here. Then came up with his plan. What happens to Devil’s Dyke in the modern area I wonder?” Jericho told him to look that up and tell him later; for the immediate future they need to travel back to the civil war era.
Jericho operated his mirror and they returned; it was just in time [pun intended!] for the Federal cavalry passed their position just an hour later. Corporal John Norton had a very happy reunion with his colleagues, but some were sad over the killing of Isaiah. Sergeant McKay thanked the team for looking after John; the officer was more concerned about where the confederates were. He also tried to ‘chat’ up Alex at the same time! He wasn’t successful in that endeavour.
John said his goodbyes to Team 74; especially Alex. Jericho watched the column leave; heading back to Fort Caleb and when they were out of sight operated his mirror and everyone was gone. Supplies arrived and cleared up everything and returned with the wagon and horses. There would be no trace of the temporal detectives visit. The team joined up with Skyrise outside the lighthouse and the dinner conversation that night would definitely be lively!
But that would not be the end of Team 74’s mission to Devil’s Dyke.
EPILOGUE:
“The mission was considered a success despite the unscheduled deaths of some Native Indians and Confederate Troopers. The death of old Walter did make a few changes further down the Time Line, but Angel Margret was more than satisfied with the Team’s performance. The Spanish Gold was to prove a pain for Jericho and Team 74: they were not happy to find they were sent back to Devil’s Dyke to sort out possession of the damn gold yet again!”
SJW.
CHARACTERS:
Captain Dwight Russell [Union] remained at Fort Caleb after being promoted to Colonel; he was an army career man and retired in 1876. He moved east and Lived in Washington State until his death in 1888, He had never married but had a son by a native Indian woman in 1871. His soul was collected and processed.
Lieutenant Foster Graham [Union] served at Fort Caleb for three years before his death in 1866. He was killed when his horse threw him whilst on routine patrol; he suffered a head injury and died a few days later. His soul was collected and processed.
Sergeant Moses Mckay [Union] left the army [again] at the end of the Civil War and ended up a US Marshall in Montana. In April 1869 he went after the notorious Le Cruix Brothers in the St. John Mountains and was never seen or heard of again. His soul is currently missing. Inspector Jericho Tibbs and Team 74 have been assigned the case. There is no resolution yet.
Philippe Paul Bates [Sheriff] was found dead in his bed in November 1865. He had suffered a massive coronary. He was morbidly obese and so no-one was surprised by his death. His soul was collected and processed.
Corporal John Norton [Union] remained in the cavalry until the end of the war. In 1866 his enlistment was up and he moved north, meeting and marrying Miss Lilly Washington. His great, grandson was El-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz or ‘Malcolm X’ a very important figure in the Civil Rights movement of the early 1960’s. He died in 1892 and his soul was collected and processed.
Private Isaiah Smith [Union] early death [he should have died the following year in a skirmish with the Arapaho’s] changed the Time Line very little. His soul was collected and processed.
Sage Columbine [Confederacy Scout] the Confederate Army Scout was a time-traveler from 1925 and his reasons for the Spanish Gold Plot remain a mystery. But it is expected that he wished to – somehow – change the outcome of the civil war. He is known to McIves [another time traveler] and his whereabouts - currently - are unknown. He remains a missing soul.
Youngblood Small Dog [Arapaho Native Indian] and his band of renegade warriors returned to their village; somewhat a failure; but he had secured 10 repeating rifles. He never made Great War Chief and died in 1871 of small pox. His soul was collected and processed.
Walter Carlton [Gun & whisky peddler] died earlier than his scheduled death and that caused some problems later down the Time Line. He never raped the young girl and so, she subsequently never had the child that was adopted. The changes had to be absorbed into the current Time Line. His soul was collected and quarantined for two murders for which he never faced Human justice. He was released from quarantine in 1964 and returned to the Human Life Cycle.
Captain Jerome Sommerville [Confederacy] never survived the war; he was killed at the Battle of Petersburg in April 1865. The war ended on the 9th of that month. He never did get home to see his much loved wife and daughter. His soul was collected and processed.
Lieutenant Harvey Banks [Union] never did recover from the fever that had laid him low and near Christmas that year suffered strange fits; collapsing and dying. He was 26 years and had never married. His soul was collected and processed.
Sergeant
Amos Yellu [Confederacy] survived after the war by moving west and becoming an
Indian Scout. He worked around Kansas and North Texas and had five children by
two native women. He died in the bitter
winter of 1872 and his soul was collected and processed.
Corporal Randolph ‘Randy’ Swiggers [Confederacy] didn’t survive the war; he was shot dead by another soldier during a drunken argument over gambling debts just three weeks before the war ended! He left a young window and three children. His soul was collected and processed.
John Hammond was Sheriff of Devil’s Dyke between 1839 and 1842. He was murdered by his brother-in-law; Samuel Geeks when Samuel found him in bed with his wife; Hammonds’ Sister! The incestuous relationship had been in progress since the pair were teenagers. Samuel fled the town and moved to Mexico. His wife moved to New York and worked as a prostitute. John Hammond’s soul was not collected; he told the collector where to go! He remains one of the resident ghosts at the tourist destination of Devil’s Dyke.
Jean-Paul Duvance; born in 1949 in Marseille and died in Devil’s Dyke in 1842. He was obviously a time-traveller, but the reasons for his visit to such a time and place remain unknown. He died outside his ordained time and so he is a missing soul, which has been lost to the darkness of real death.
Phillip Renior, born 1946 in Perpignan southern France had a scheduled dispatch date of 2010, but he never made that; he was killed [with Duvance] in Devil’s Dyke in 1842 and was a time traveller too. Like Duvance the reason for their visit is a mystery. He’s a missing soul because he died outside his ordained time. He’s soul is lost to the darkness of real death.
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