The Wrecker
Folwilliar

	Lady and the Tramp and Fox and the Hound are copyright the dude with the mouse ears and the big castle. Balto goes to Universal. This is an 'Alternate Universe' and takes liberties with the movies and the canon from which it’s set around. Big vode of thanks to the user “LoneWolfSniper44” for helping me edit this. 


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I was sittin’ in The Thirsty Devil, one sheet hung to the wind
When the bat wing doors creaked open and a stranger sauntered in
He moved his head from side to side and glared with a sunken eye
I heard the spin of a rusty spur as he shook off the dreary night…

He lowered his hat, checked his gun and headed toward the bar
Walked on up beside me, I knew he'd traveled far
In a voice as thick as mud he looked to the 'keep and said
"One shot of whiskey for myself and one for my new friend"




Marceline, 1893.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the second story bedroom of the Victorian styled house on Snob Hill. The house sat in a more comfortable portion of town, where fine lawns and rustic gates occupied most yards. Unlike most houses in this neighborhood, this one was a rather frequent stop for the callboys of the Western & Atlantic Railroad Co. as its owners were both gainfully employed in the fine business of railroading. It was turning into the witching hour, and other than the sound of rain pelting the window glass and the occasional rumble of thunder, the great house was silent, save for the soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway. The gas heat was on, and the bed room felt like a warm respite from the blowing storm outside.  

The cocker spaniel glanced at herself in the full-length mirror that occupied one corner of the bedroom. She had just come from the claw-footed bathtub, and after a bit of drying, stopped to inspect her nude reflection. Her soft paws sinking into the rich carpet. Running a hand across one of her fine breasts, and then the other, she mentally critiqued her own body. Gently turning in place so as to examine the whole of her furry form. Despite being first a mother, and then a locomotive engineer, Lady Dear had held up well. She had a sort of softness to the rounded curves of her chest. neck and head. Large brown eyes and beautiful eyelashes accented her thick muzzle with its black nose. Soft honey colored fur and long mahogany ears which dropped down mid-breast filled her form. A slim waist flowed into a set of legs and a docked tail rigidly hung high. She was a beautiful young canine.

Lady smiled at her reflection, before giving herself a small curtsy, and turned to walk over to her vanity. Dropping into the plush chair, she grabbed a comb and began to groom the long fur of her spaniel ears, letting out a soft wince whenever she found a knot. She was alone, something that seemed to have become more and more common since her and her mate's seniority got out of sync. A result of her recent adventures. They would pull a few shifts with their locomotive, the Dispatch, together. Then one would be called to do some odd job in the railyard or a quick run that wouldn't see them far from home while the other got some time off. Then, the cycle repeated. While she found herself wanting to be out on the rails with her lover, she was privately thrilled to have been left behind on this night. She had taken her alone time for a nice long soak in the tub, and was just now finishing up a grooming process.

As the rumble of thunder rolled in the distance she put the comb down, and looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She had definitely changed in the last few months. Even just a year or two ago, she would have felt slightly uncomfortable just walking around her own home in the buff. But now, as she looked at her own bare shoulders and chest, there was a feeling of confidence. She was about to grab the curry comb and run it through the tan fur of her legs, when the sound of knocking came from the front door, downstairs. Lady's ears perked, as the knocking was so faint that she wondered if indeed she had imagined it. But a second round confirmed to her that someone was on the doorstep. Hopping up from the chair, she quickly pulled on a delicate lace nightgown. She tied its straps around her midriff as she left the room and padded down the stairs towards the front vestibule. The lights in the house were dimmed, as she only had the gas turned up in the bedroom. Lightning flashed through the stained glass window at the top of the staircase.

“I'm coming!” Lady called out as she reached the vestibule. Padding over towards the big wooden front door, she flicked the lock, and turned its big brass handle. Lightning flashed again, and the spaniel's soft brown eyes went wide as she took in the figure at the other side of the threshold.

“Hiya, Pidge. I hope I didn't wake you,” The gray furred mongrel smiled. He stood, drenched head to toe, his trousers having a layer of caked sediment and a mud-line that went up to the level of his crotch. One of his suspender straps was broken, and dangled limply at his side. But what caught Lady's attention the most was the layer of bandages that wrapped around his torso and shoulder, layered over his torn cotton shirt, and covered in a dark discoloration that clearly was dried blood. “I uh...lost my housekey.” He chuckled awkwardly.

				************


Tramp sat in a chair at the table in the kitchen, having changed into a fresh pair of trousers. His bare paws sat in a pan of warm water, and his wrappings had been removed so as to examine the wound in his shoulder. The coal stove had been fired up and was giving off plenty of heat, and Lady already had a pot of hot chocolate brewing. Lady had been quick to bring him inside and get him into the warmth and had set about examining and fretting over her mate. His shoulder wound had bled pretty heavily into his shirt and bandages, ruining his shirt. The cut, while not deep, seemed to wrap around the blade a substantial distance. His triangular ears fell limply to each side of his head, and his hissed as she pressed a white cloth with iodine against his bare shoulder-blade.

“Well, it looks far more threatening then it could have been,” She said, blotting the cloth. “I'm sure you've had worse”

“Oh, most definitely,” He rolled his blade. “I wouldn't mind a fresh shirt, that is, unless you like having me sitting here topless.”

“Don't push your luck mister,” She pulled the cloth away and swung around to go to the sink. Her lace night-gown flowing and swirling against her motions. “You're lucky I didn't leave you outside for the night.”

“Only funnin' Pidge, I swear,” He cast a warm smile at her, his triangular gray ears perking, which made her wrinkle her nose at him. While she was mostly joking, she did find the handsome mongrel very attractive, even half beaten and looking like a ghost from the night. His fur was unkempt and tousled, yet it didn't detract from the sharp and strong features of his body. His light gray muzzle was full of whiskers. She couldn't help but place a hand on his clean shoulder and gently run it up the side of his neck in a warm stroke. “Oh mercy, I don't know what I'd do without you,” He teased.

Lady shook her head, running the cloth under the water in the sink before hanging it up to dry. The Tramp had always been a charmer, and she would always fall for those charms. The beautiful cocker spaniel nuzzled the top of her mate's head before wrapping her arms around his torso from behind. Letting the lace sleeves of her night-gown fall across his shoulders. “You would be very wet and cold for starters,” She snickered playfully. “So, would you care to tell me what happened?”

“Oh well...it's quite a story,” He leaned back into the soft form of his mate, letting the back of his head rest against her chest while he listened to the rain hit the side of the house. “You sure it can't wait until tomorrow?”

“Only if you are willing to sleep in the rain,” The spaniel playfully threatened.

“Okay, okay, you've got me Pidge,” He took a deep breath. “So... you know I got called for a work train this morning?”

“Of course, how could I not? They said you would be back in a few hours. It did not seem like anything too big.”

“Right! That's what I thought,” He gave a soft snort. “Well...the plans changed.”


					******************
Earlier That Evening, Along the Taccoa River. 

The sky that evening was a thick gray and the mountain tops were shrouded in storm clouds. Occasionally, one would be illuminated from within by a flash of lightning, and the Toccoa River valley rumbled with distant thunder. The trees shook in a warm breeze, and to all who rode the work train that was slowly moving down the mainline of the Western & Atlantic Railroad, a storm was clearly imminent. The train was made up of a number of ballast hoppers, loaded high with their gravel load, and a few work boxcars. The most interesting piece of equipment, coupled directly behind the huffing steam locomotive, was a device known as a Jordan Spreader. The spreader was built on a wood flatcar, with two large steel blades fixed to each side. The blades were braced by large steel channels that had to be manually adjusted. The device was used to sculpt and shape the railroad right of way with its two blades, which could be extended out and down to dig into the landscape, or be kept folded for travel, as they were now.

Work trains had been occupying the railroad wherever space in the schedules would allow. The Western & Atlantic Railroad Company was taking the time to clean up and make improvements to the railroad's property. This was more than just annual maintenance. The Western & Atlantic Railroad was in an unusual position in that the company did not own the railroad outright. Rather, it leased the railroad's property from the state of Georgia. Negotiations on that Lease were coming up in a few months, and the Tramp suspected that this work train and the many others were all a part of the company's show to the state that it was a good steward of the W&A itself.

The Tramp stood outside on the deck of the spreader, the wind from the train's movement rustling the fur of his face and neck. It had been a long while since he had last operated such a piece of equipment, and he had been using the trip to the job site to familiarize himself with its controls and levers. He was one of the few based out of Marceline who knew how to operate the device. A side effect of his roving days before settling down was a wide expanse of side skills gained doing odd jobs. Carefully, so as to not trip over the number of pipes and guide cables that ran along the deck, he moved to the side of the car to look around the locomotive. They were slowing down, and up ahead he could clearly see the job-site where the work was to be performed.

The Western & Atlantic railroad followed the river as it carved its way up the valley. For most of the route, the railroad was set far enough back from the river to have a good number of trees and forest between them. But here, the tracks were right alongside the riverbank, although higher on the hillside on a raised embankment. Work was being done to place a new culvert underneath the track, as well as rebuild a siding that had been washed away by a previous storm. The hillside was crawling with track-men and laborers. As the train slowed to a crawl, Tramp alighted from the spreader, and began to walk towards the track gang, his tail wagging out of the seat of his trousers. He turned around to face the locomotive, and gave a “Stop” hand signal. The engineer responded with a single blast of the whistle. For this job, as long as they were working the spreader, the Tramp would be in charge of the moves.

Track gangs were almost military like in their performance. They moved as a unit, and worked with a rhythm that infected all involved. They had camped out on the hillside overnight, and the Tramp could see their row of trim white tents pitched just above the right of way. The mongrel was one of the few furs to be found in their camp. Most of the laborers themselves were Chinese men, which was not unusual for the W&A RR. Roving bands of Chinese track laborers could be found drifting from railroad to railroad looking for work. As the canine walked along the side of the new tracks, a group was busy lining a new rail atop the bare ties.

As soon as the rail was in place, three men stepped forward. One, a lanky man with his hair pulled back into a black bun, seemed to dance from one side of the rail to the other, dropping spikes in place, one to each side of the rail on each tie. Right behind him came a rather large individual with not a hair on his head and a face that seemed to define the word chubby. He came along with an iron bar that fit over both newly placed rails, checking the gauge to be sure before the rail was spiked down. He then carefully placed each spike into position, and with a small sledge, tapped them into place so the tips were buried in the wood of the ties. He looked up at the Tramp as the gray mutt walked past, and gave him a warm and friendly smile, to which the Tramp returned. As soon as the rails were in place, and the spikes ready, a third man, short and squat with a scowl on his face and one black eye, stood up to the track. He held a spike maul with both of his stubby hands together at the end of the handle and whipped it over his shoulder for each blow. The maul was almost as tall as he was, but with a look of utter determination, he swung the maul like a windmill and with a high pitched “strike” landed the head square atop the spike. Driving it into the wooden tie. Three strikes to the spike, and he had it set. Then, off to the next tie.

In this manner, they worked down the track. One team of a dozen. Driving spikes, carrying ties, carrying rail, distributing material, making the joints between rails, and tampers to follow and pack dirt and ballast around the ties. It was a grand thing to watch, the air full of the sounds of voices, the clanking of hammers and spikes, and the thick scent of ozone as the sky rumbled. On their sweat and labor, the railroad was built.

The work revolved around a single man; the walking boss. The Tramp approached him from behind, as he was engaged with shouting orders in Chinese. Unlike the others, this man stood with his arms crossed, his tools behind his voice and mind. He wore a black derby, which the mutt realized was covering hair that was long enough to reach his shoulders, had it not been tied up in a bun under the hat. He ran a hand over his face, clearly exhausted from the race to finish before the storm hit.

“Afternoon. Uh. Nǐ s-shì lǎobǎn ma?” The mutt greeted. Tramp's words were shaky and the dog was sure his pronunciation was off. His travels long before he settled down had exposed him to many tongues. Hopefully enough was there to get his message across.

Behind them, the locomotive let off a few quick blasts of its whistle. The clouds were rolling in, and a breeze fluttered their pant-legs. The man turned and assessed the canine.

“Yes, I'm the walking boss of this crew,” he answered in absolutely perfect English. As if reading the Tramp's mind, he quickly followed up with; “New country, new opportunities...new language. Best to learn it quick.”

“Well, it saves us from having to listen to me butcher your first language,” Tramp perked his ears “They call me The Tramp, I'm running that lunk of iron that passes for a shovel.”

“Shang,” He waved a firm hand towards where the men were working. His gaze tuning skyward. “We're losing time, and we need to get that new rock down before the storm hits. Otherwise the earthwork will be vulnerable.”

As if to emphasize his words, a crack of lightning split the gray sky and the boom of thunder rolled down the valley. The fur on the gray mutt's muzzle twitched as he felt the charge in the air. He looked at Shang. “You from the military? You hold yourself like an officer.”

“Academy graduate. Long ago, in distant lands.” The wind was picking up, and Shang reached up to hold his derby, lest he lose it. Despite his stone-face, the dog could see a glint in his eyes of experience. The man paused, and took in a long inaudible breath, “Times have changed. The railroad here is far better than the army back home.”

“That can't be saying much,” The dog slipped a hand into a suspender strap. “I don't envy the work of the gandy dancer.”

Shang managed a small chuckle at that. “A chinaman gandy dancer has a better chance at a successful life here then the emperor back in the Middle Kingdom. I'll take my chances on the iron. These men were my soldiers, and their basic knowledge is more than enough to tackle the needs of the company.”

The dog nodded. He could feel the gentle tap of droplets on his head. “I don't know, mother nature might have the final call on that one.”

“Not if I have my word on the matter,” Shang swung on his heels and shouted orders in Chinese at his crew. Like a general commanding his forces in battle, the tide of humanity turned. The sounds of hammers on iron changed to the crunch of pick and shovel. The track was in place, and now the earth had to be built around it. “We have a fighting chance. As long as the breakwater two miles back holds.”

Tramp snorted in agreement. “Well Mr. Shang. Just tell me where you want the rock and I'll start holding you to that promise.”

				**************


The locomotive's whistle echoed up the valley. The iron horse nosing herself down into the rear coupler of the spreader. Her sturdy drive wheels gripping the rails and sending the train forward at a walking pace. Tramp held onto the control valves from his station smack in the center of the device. He grabbed hold of the cord that ran to the spreader's own air whistle to give a shrill reply to the engineer. Directly ahead of the spreader, a ballast hopper was coupled. With the locomotive pushing the whole set up forward onto the freshly laid track. Tramp's station was outside, exposed, and the rain was starting to come. As he held onto the rocking piece of railroad equipment, the locomotive's exhaust filling the air over his shoulders, his ears and headfur became soaked and started to drip water down his muzzle.

Shang walked alongside the ballast hopper, a great wooden rod with an iron hook on the end held in his firm hands. As they approached the new section of track, he reached out with the hook and grabbed hold of a locking lever on the side of the car.  As soon as the lever was released he stepped back and turned to shout up at the Tramp as the train slowly rolled past him. The rain was coming down hard, and he held a hand to his face to cast his voice over the sound of the chuffing locomotive.

“Spread it thin until you reach the culvert,” Shang's voice was hard and firm, easily being herd over the rumble in the hopper as the rock started to shift. “Aim for the far side of the culvert.”

The mongrel held his hand in the air above his head, a hand signal for “Understood”, and started to unfold the massive iron wings of the spreader.

As soon as the latch had been opened, the hopper car started to discharge its load. Between its wheels and the ties, a flood of gravel poured out alongside the right of way. The train now had to keep moving. Otherwise instead of a thin layer of rock that rose to the rails, a massive pile would form that could bury one end of the hopper or worse...derail the train. Clouds of rock dust filled the air, and the sound of several tons of gravel flowing like water from the belly of the hopper filled the saturated air. As the spreader reached the fresh pile, the wings were manipulated to drag across the side of the embankment, scraping and shaping the freshly laid rock to form a solid barrier of stone. Tramp slipped a handkerchief that had been hanging tucked into his collar around his nose to keep out the dust. With the rain, it seemed to stick like cement to the sides of the spreader's wings. Down below, the Taccoa river churned, it's surface a rolling broth as it swirled and swelled its banks.

Once the ballast was in place and the hopper empty, the train backed up and the hopper was replaced with a side dump flatcar loaded with large stone. Lightning flashed and the track gangs moved for the safety of their tents. Nonetheless Shang, The Tramp, and the work train had one final job to complete. Shang rode the very front of the heavy rock laden flatcar. His hair had come undone in the storm's fury and now hung in black strings from underneath his derby. As the train slowly advanced across the embankment, he turned a wheel mounted just ahead of the flatcar's hold. The whole center of the car began to tilt on mechanical driven pistons. The side of the hold opened up on hinges under gravity, and the large stone and small boulders rolled out to crash down onto the embankment. As the spreader reached the now deposited rip-rap, Tramp worked the wings to shove, push and nudge the larger stones into place. The Taccoa river would be held at bay, even as it boiled at the heels of the Western & Atlantic Railroad.  

				**************




After the empty flatcar was cut off and its handbrake tied down, Shang walked alongside the spreader and pulled himself aboard. The downpour seemed to have little effect on him other than drenching his clothing. The Tramp was turning off the valves that ran the wings and setting the blocks in place to secure them. The river was rushing with the incoming torrent from the hills above. Their fresh culvert added to the flow as water swelled through it, well past the railroad, and out into the Taccoa. On this branch, the river was slim, but further out beyond the sandbanks where the river widened and became navigable it crashed and churned. The sky had become dark enough that lanterns and headlamps were lit.

“I think it's about time for a warm shelter and a spot of something hard to warm the innards,” The dog greeted with a damp snort.

“How far do your orders carry you?” There was little humor in Shang's voice.

“As far as Curtis Switch. There we become an extra on the schedule for the return to town. Why?” One of Tramp's eyebrows rose.

“We need to head downriver,” The walking boss stated sharply, water dripping from the brim of his hat. “The banks are swelling and I want to look at a culvert and make sure it's doing its job before I open the line.”

Tramp's shoulders sagged. “Well, this is the time to do it. I suspect water will be rolling off these hills until tomorrow morning the way this cloud dropped.”  

Leaving the worksite, the locomotive of the work train ran backwards without the spreader or its equipment. Shang and the Tramp stood on the foot-boards of the tender, one to each side. Their hands gripping the wet grab irons tightly. Riding the foot-boards had its danger during the best of times. The thin wooden boards hung only a foot above the rails. The rain had made the wooden surfaces slick, and the two males held on tight as the locomotive rolled at a slow and even pace. Giving them a chance to examine the right of way as it moved underneath them like a conveyor belt. Their pace was intentionally kept slow, almost to the trotting gate of a man. The roadbed was fresh and water flowed through all of the culverts and ditches cleanly around it. Li Shang and his boys had done first class work and the Western & Atlantic stood as strong as the Great Wall of their homeland.
	
The rain had already started to lighten up to a fine mist, and the Tramp found himself resisting the urge to whip his head side to side in an attempt to dislodge water from his tousled fur. Yet the wind continued to blow, shaking the trees and pulling the smoke from the locomotive's big diamond stack in a long thin thread. The railroad had left the riverside, and was now running through the forests just above the rolling waves of the Taccoa. Here and there, the trees and hillsides lined up to give a view of the river valley and the tumbling gray waters. The sound of a steam-whistle echoed up the valley, causing the Tramp to swing around and look up the river. It was at one of these breaches that he saw the steamer.

The river had grown in size further down the valley. Unlike the tributary that the work camp occupied, here the river was wide enough to be navigable. There, slowly puffing downstream, was a steamboat, her rear paddle wheel churning up the river into a froth. The name on the sides of the pilot house read: MARK TWAIN. The boat was moving very slowly, heading upstream against the raging current. Her lower deck was full to the overhead with cargo. With boxes and bags, bales of hay and straw, stacks of cord-wood, and with a barge towed behind her, the Mark Twain was heavily overloaded. 
	
“Looks like we're not the only ones fighting mother nature,” his mouth was a grim line as he watched the riverboat clearly struggling to make headway. Her two jet black stacks pumped thick clouds of exhaust into the air. The clouds were highlighted by twinges of orange from the fireboxes and dim yellow from the boat's skylights. Its paddles were foaming in the water behind it. In the gloom of the storm, it seemed to be surrounded by a halo of light cast into the choppy river surface from its own lights.

“That's the first boat I've seen since we started working up here.” Shang looked up from the rails momentarily. “Do they not use this part of the river?”

“Can't say that they do. The railroads just about beat them at their own game down here,” The dog looked back down at the rails as the locomotive overtook the steamboat and put her in their smoke. “You see them more out of Cape Suzette. Strange to see one this far upriver.”

“Maybe he's lost?” Shang suggested.

“Hell of a night to be lost!” Tramp twisted his muzzle and curled his lip. “The river narrows up ahead. If he's lost, he's in for it.”

The gray furred mongrel took one last look at the steamboat making its way upriver through the rough forbidding waters, then turned his attention back to the tracks.

					**************	
	
The Mark Twain was a typical river-born wooden steamboat, with a very low hull and tall superstructure. Powering the set of paddles at the rear, her engine-room had bulkheads around it, with a forward deck loaded up to the bottom of the next deck with cargo. The boat had king-posts or internal masts rising from the hull to support hog-chains which prevented the hull from sagging. The second deck was crowded with cabins and a saloon. The wooden trim-work along the railings and atop her pilothouse was ornate and carved with craftsmanship. Not too long ago, these decks would have been echoing with the sounds of travelers. This was not the case tonight, as the Twain was running empty of all paying passengers.  

The red furred feline in the thick tweed jacket turned without taking his hands off the big wooden wheel. He peered forward from the big glass windows of the pilothouse. The lights of the steam locomotive were barely discernible through the thick woods that boarded the riverbanks. He could see his own reflection cast back in the misty panes, and he smiled. One foot tapped against the deck-boards to a song that played only in his head. The rhythm of the boat's creaking and gentle sway was interrupted as the pilothouse door opened. The cat swung his lite body around, thin tail whipping around his legs, and cast a warm smile at his visitor.

“Permission to come inside, Capi-tain,” A white Persian feline teased from the rear of the pilothouse. Her tone was calm and laced with a heavy French accent. “Do you wish for a drink? Or perhaps some warm soup. It is such a dismal night.”

“Always looking out for me, aren't yah,” The captain chuckled. “Just the presence of such a fine Duchess in the pilothouse is enough to warm my soul.”

“Oh, Thomas O'Mally, don't say things unless you mean it,” Duchess said with a sly smirk as she let the door close behind her, her long silken black skirt flowing across the deck. She stepped to the front of the pilothouse and looked at a barometer that was mounted to the wooden window frame. “Goodness, such a wretched night. Have we ever been this far upriver?”

“My first time, but the old Twain is a fine and strong boat,” The red furred feline slipped a hand into his coat to pluck out a cigar and lit it. “She'll see us both through. There's a light we have to turn at, and it should put us in the right channel.”

“Honestly, we're lucky the company has found us a cargo. It has been oh.... two weeks since we sailed? Not that I myself mind the downtime. The kids do love it when you are home.”  

O'Mally huffed on his cigar, before reaching a hand out to place atop her shoulder and give it a soft squeeze. His other hand never left the wheel. “As much as I like spending time with the kids, this wooden magic carpet needs to be kept in business. It wasn't all that long ago when I was turning away pallets at the docks and I couldn't make enough trips in a day to satisfy all the punters that lined up on the banks. Now...”

Duchess's smile wavered and her light ears dipped forward. “The railroad? It's changed oh so much.”

“Can't blame them. They are in the same game as us,” He slowly moved the wheel to one side, and the wind rattled the glass panes in the pilothouse windows. A gentle twist of the wheel, and the cat's eyes peered through the darkness of the storm. He was guided by the churning waters against the rocks. As long as he stayed clear of the white foam, he had deep water under his keel. “I think this is the last time we'll be on this particular river. Fortuitous luck will be better west of the Tennessee River. Something I think the company knows.”

“Well, then let us complete one final voyage, no?” The Persian's white fur seemed to glow from the low lamp light.

The Twain rocked slightly as she made a hard turn, following the course of the river where it narrowed and the rush of water gave the steamer a small boost. A soft tug from behind let them know of the barge's presence. O'Mally's hands were solid, and he kept the wheel firmly against the mighty water's whims. The giant wheel at the stern shuddered as its paddles sank into the turbulent waves.
	
Duchess left her mate to his warm pilothouse and dropped down a deck on her way towards the galley. The space beneath the promenade deck was packed with bales of cotton that reached from the deck below into the rafters above. Some piled within a foot of the smokestack casing. Duchess had found it strange how the stevedores had loaded them. Despite O'Mally's complaints, the company had overloaded the Twain, packing the flammable cotton so close that they had been forced to snuff out a number of small fires since departing the docks at Cape Suzette. The rest of their cargo, in wooden crates, was stowed around the shields surrounding the engines.  

The cat ducked her head and dropped down into the engine deck. Far from the cold and the damp outside, the Mark Twain's two steam engines and their boiler provided a bubble of steaming warmth. To each side of the hull, the steam cylinders powered a set of rods that extend out the stern to rotate the paddle wheel, much like the side-rods on a railroad locomotive. The boiler was originally built to burn wood, but had been modified to take coal. The coal bunker was fully stocked. With a full head of steam, the paddle steamer cut the water at fifteen miles per hour. Faster than the Confederate blockade runners a few decades prior. Duchess glanced over at the quivering needles on the brass steam gauges when she felt a tap on the shoulder-blade that caused her to leap forward and swing around on her heels.

“Goodness, Mademoiselle Sabor. You frightened me,” She gave a warm smile and placed a hand over her heart. Her black skirt settled around her ankles.

Sabor was the chief engineer, although she didn't seem to say much. The cheetah glaring back through a face full of soot at the pristine Persian. A coal scoop held tight in her strong fingers. Truthfully, Duchess didn't know much about the spotted engineer. Sabor being appointed at the last minute by the company rather than the Twain's usual compliment. Duchess's smile waned and she took a step forward towards the passageway.

“Well, as soon as we pass Fowler's Point I imagine things will lighten up for you. No?” She spoke over the low roar of the boilers. “Too bad Monsieur Tibbs came down with the fever and you had to leave your fireplace for such a dreaded run?”

“Cold is the last thing I worry about down here by the boilers, Miss,” Sabor spoke in a deep voice, low and cold. She paused to spit a stream of tobacco into the bilge before wiping the back of a hand against a dirty yellow muzzle.

“Do you require anything? Perhaps some food, or some coffee? I was just about to return to the kitchen and....”

“I have a stiff cup of coffee on the feed-water valve and I'm not hungry.” A hand reached for a tin of hash, putting a new wad into her mouth to replace what was now in the bilge. “You come down to the engine-room often?”

“Oui, Monsieur Tibbs always enjoyed the company,” Duchess said. Although she suspected the question was asked with a bit of sarcasm. “With the boat as empty as she is, company must be welcomed. No?”

Duchess's smile slowly fell away at the glare that she received from the cheetah. Sabor's eyes seemed to match the flames burning in the boiler. Duchess felt her arms fall aside her body, her ears dipping back.   

“I prefer solitude miss,” The spotted engineer stated simply.   

A bell rang, indicating a change in the engine's settings commanded from the pilothouse. Sabor reached up and spun a set of throttle valves. The sound of the steam engine growing deeper as the paddles labored away.

“Oh, well, I shall leave you to your work,” Duchess backed away with a polite smile and a nod of her head. She started her way up the gangway out of the boiler room, feeling Sabor's sharp eyes on her back the whole of the way. “Au revoir.”

Sabor watched the snow-white cat vanish, hocking up another stream of tobacco before turning back to her engines. She glanced up at a pocket watch that hung off a bolt set in the wall. The bell rang again, causing her to break away from the slowly advancing hands of the timepiece.

	                                                     ************

The Tramp's boots sank into the mud as he skidded down the embankment towards the river. With a lit railroad lantern casting a red glow around him, the gray furred mutt turned around so he faced the ground, and started to step down the steep incline. He leaned inward with his arms out, ready to catch himself should he slip. The rain was still coming down, and his shirt was starting to get soaked as his already saturated jacket grew less and less waterproof.

The railroad clung to the hillside above the river, and a stone culvert ran under the railroad and down what normally would be a stream to the river. Tonight however, that stream had turned into a raging torrent spilling out onto a large stone-studded beach that the waters of the Toccoa River washed clean of any foliage. Here the river made a wide bend, the outside of which was dotted with stone, rocks, and boulders of all shapes and sizes. The Tramp silently cursed his luck as he descended to the very bottom of the hill, where the waters raged and pumped against their banks. He needed to check to make sure that nothing was blocking the flow of water from the culvert. Less the torrent washes away the track bed high above.

“Trust it to be me that draws the short straw tonight,” He hissed under his breath. His triangular ears plastered to the side of his head. “Railroading be damned. I’m sticking to the engine department from now on.”

He slipped a hand around a root that stuck out from the hillside, rolling his wrist to wrap the root around and get a good grip. The root felt stable, going taut into the underbrush as the Tramp put his weight on it and slipped a boot down to find another foothold. Yet he felt the damp and dirty tendril stretch, and knew instantly he had made a mistake. Brown eyes went wide and his body went ridged as instinct took over to prepare to catch himself. Sure enough, the root snapped and with his weight tossed against it, gravity took over.
	
The Tramp tumbled backwards down the hill towards the river. In what felt like a split second, the mottled gray terrier covered the distance in a cascade of rolls and bounces through brush, rock, and thorns. Broken up by the occasional vocalization and the clatter of his lantern or one of his tools as they followed him down. The distance wasn't far and all too quick it was over. The Tramp landed on his back on the bank of the river, where the waters were shallow and calm compared to the rushing current further out. His red lantern landed next to him.

For a few seconds, he lay there in the cool waters that flowed around him. His ears floated in the inch-deep puddle while the falling rain pock-marketed its surface around him. Suddenly, the sky above him lit up with a brilliant light. One of Tramp's eyebrows rose as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His clothing practically dripped off his body. It wasn't sharp enough to be a locomotive headlamp, nor was it high enough up the hillside to be from the railroad itself. It was as if someone in the darkness of the storm had a white lantern. It was probably Shang, Tramp mused. Seeing what had become of the dog who had fallen well beyond his intended destination.

His head whipped over his shoulder as a bolt of lightning split the sky above, and the low whistle of a steamboat echoed up the river.

					***********

Duchess closed the door on her and O'Mally's cabin. The small room was furnished warmly, if not spartan. She kicked her shoes off and walked across the thick rug that spread across the wooden deck. The cabin was warm, thanks to the heat from the nearby stacks. The bed was small, tucked against the wall. A writing desk occupied the spot under the window. The glass was ripping with the downpour of rain. Life aboard the Mark Twain was comfortable, if not simple. It was one of the reasons she liked it. Much like her significant other in the pilothouse, it was a life full of surprises.

However, Duchess allowed herself one luxury. Sitting down atop a small stool, she laid her legs to the side along a beautiful brass harp. Closing her eyes, she picked up a beat from the steam engines below, and started to pluck at the cords.

One deck above, O'Mally wiped the glass of the pilothouse, which had started to mist from the inside, and peered out into the downpour. He turned the wheel over ever so slightly, looking for the water's edge. However, it seemed as if the froth from the bank had vanished. The view seemingly being a black expanse from the surface of the river all the way up the mountainside. He looked at the barometer again, his whiskers twitching. Not a good night to be outside, he thought. He glanced down at the waters as they skimmed past his hull, spreading into the wake, and couldn't imagine the horror of finding himself immersed in it that night.

Then, he saw it. A light on the hillside, glowing steady. There was no apprehension as he peered out at the beacon. He felt safe on the Twain, she was a stout boat and responded well to his handling. He spun the wheel, and pointed the bow towards the light. Then he reached a hand up and pulled the braided cord to give a loud blast on the steam whistle. His tail flicked back and forth against the back of his legs.

With the light, the trickiest part of the trip was alleviated. O'Mally pulled the lever that rang the bell in the engine-room twice and called down a voice tube. “Pour it on Miss Sabor, we're in the clear!”

“As you wish, captain,” came the low voice from the tube.

Smoke poured from the stacks of the Mark Twain, thickened and mushroomed. A white bone grew at her bow and arched up in the rough waters of the river. The water beneath her paddles seethed and boiled. O'Mally felt the sudden lurch of speed and the gentle heave as the lines between the steamboat and barge went taught. The speed was a little more than he wished, but he concentrated on his course for the moment. Then he would heel back the cheetah in the engine-room.

				***********

The Tramp looked out at the riverboat. Smoke and flame poured from the stacks, and the steamer seemed to lean to the side as its rudder bit the waters. However, to his horror, the ship didn't turn back into the deep waters of the channel. It seemed as if it had turned its bow and aimed for him, on the shore.

“What sort of game is that pilot getting at?” The dog hissed to himself. He held his red lantern out and tried to wave it. But the glass had broken and the rain quickly snuffed out the flame, putting the dog in darkness. Just as it did, the light on the hill also vanished. Confused, Tramp's head whipped between the shore and towards the steamboat. He started to cry into the rain-swept gloom. “Hey! Turn! TURN!”

			
			            ***********

O'Mally tapped his foot against the wooden floorboards of the pilothouse, the ends of his mouth turned up in a slight smile. A low hum of a tune passed over his lips as a beat from the engines below put a melody in his head. Down one deck below, Duchess was just sitting down at the harp letting her fingers draw over the cords. A warm melody filled the space inside the cabin. The boat's bow was aimed right at the light, a froth of water at the stem, and the paddle churning up the stern. Judging by the sound of the steam engine below, Sabor had the throttle wide open.

The guiding light blinked out. Instead of the definition of the riverbank, O'Mally suddenly found himself looking out into black nothingness. His tune stopped instantly, and he leaned forward to peer into the gloom. His heart started to race.

“Well, now how do you like that?”

A flash of lightning illuminated the scene in front of him. The cat's heart suddenly jerked into his throat as he saw not the open river, but the mountainside directly in front. Without missing a beat, he swung the wheel hard over. His hands became a blur as they grabbed the handles and spun the heavy wheel as hard as his strength could handle. He grabbed the handle for the engine room bell and rang it to indicate to stop the engines.

There was no response from the engine-room. O'Mally leaned forward to the speaking tube and cried out. “Hey! Call it quits on the engine will you! We need to stop this ark!”

They had gone too far.

Tramp saw the boat turn towards him. He tossed his broken lantern to the ground and ran down the river bank, scrambling up the wooded embankment as the steamer started to strike the sandy shoreline with a thunder that could be felt underfoot. There was a great shriek of iron and a crunching and splintering of wood as the Mark Twain met the riverbank. O'Mally's head hit the glass of the pilothouse, a crack forming in the pane from where his temple met it. Deck planks popped free and the wooden supports for the hull and superstructure twisted and groaned.  The whole ship seemed to flex and twist as its sheer momentum drove it up onto the bank.

The force of impact sent a small wave crashing inward, which caught the Tramp and forced him to fall forward and roll down the bank onto his back. He looked up as the steamboat slammed hard into the earth. Just as soon as the water settled around them, the barge they were towing hit the stern with a thunderous crash. Smashing the paddle wheel and crushing the rear of the engine room. The ropes lashing the two together snapped, and the barge swung in the current. Dislodging itself from the stern and floating downriver free.

O'Mally pulled himself upright, and felt a warm trickle of blood from his temple. “Duchess....” he mumbled in a dazed bewilderment. Already smoke was starting to fill the pilothouse. At first, he thought that this was from the stacks, now drifting down from the sudden stop. But the smoke was getting thicker, and thicker. He realized with sickening certainty that in less than a minute, his boat had been lost. He stumbled to the door of the pilothouse, and pushed himself onto the deck, coughing and spluttering.

The Tramp's mouth hung open at the sight of the beached steamer. Most of the oil lights on board went out as soon as the riverboat made landfall. Yet he could see a deep glow down in the belly of the ship. A fire had broken out. He rushed towards the steamer, jumping into the water and wading out to where the ship was beached. The waters reached up to his stomach when he was able to place his hands upon the broken hull and pull himself aboard. His clothing was soaked and hung off him like moss from a tree. The mongrel found himself in the center of the bottom deck, and facing the stacks upon stacks of cotton. Flames jumped from bale to bale, quickly spreading. But it had yet to reach the Twain's woodwork.

“Anyone down here!” The Tramp cried out, running toward a water bucket that hung on the wall. 

He dipped the bucket into a pool of water that was gathering on the broken deck and started splashing it into the growing holocaust. Not far away, in the stern, the engines continued to steam, immune to the fire. However, cold river water was pouring in around them from the smashed transom where the barge had ripped the paddle wheel away. The boiler itself was located forward, so for the moment it was safe from explosion.

Up on the main deck, O'Mally saw the glow down through the staircases, rain pouring down upon him as he scrambled down towards the lower decks. The air was full of smoke and the whole ship had taken on an errie twist that made familiar rooms and passages seem bizarre. “Duchess!” He called as he reached each deck in succession.

The Tramp's ears perked when he heard a voice call out. “Down here!” He replied, chucking another bucket load into the blaze. 

Already it was clear his attempts were making no headway as the flames spread with incredible speed. O'Mally's head poked through the smoke. In any other circumstances the sight of a strange mutt on his ship would have borne many questions. Instead, he grabbed a wooden crate that was stacked by the stairwell and dumped its contents of lead rod onto the deck. Turning it into an improvised fire bucket to join the mutt in a belated effort to stop the onslaught. Despite their quick efforts the strength of the flames soon overwhelmed any attempts to put them out with fire buckets

“C'mon lad. She's lost!” The cat said, his eyes seeing the growing hell spreading across the lower holds of the riverboat. Any hope of saving the Mark Twain had now evaporated. “I have an engineer in the boiler room. We need to get to...”

The whole riverboat rocked as a steam line burst and the engines stopped. Suddenly the fire grew ten-fold as the fuel supply was reached and a wall of flames flew across the whole breadth of the hull. Tramp and O'Mally retreated to the stairwell and started up toward the next deck. Both realizing with a sickening fear that anyone in the engine-room was trapped by the wall of fire. Doomed to the river and the flames.   

“It’s not far to the shore. We can jump it and get out of here.” Tramp shouted over the growing roar of the flames.

“No...” The cat replied firmly, looking over his shoulder as they both spilled onto the deck. Now outside in the rain. Fire vomited from the deck below and the entire midsection of the wooden boat was being consumed by the second to its voracious appetite. “My wife is somewhere. I'll be damned if I leave without her.”

Tramp's eyebrows rose and his ears fell. “How many others are onboard?”

“Just me and her. You don't have to stay. I'll find her.”

The mongrel thought about Lady, and recognized the fear and fortitude set in that auburn furred face. “Alright, let's take a walk through the valley of death.”

They retreated from the staircase, where what was just moments ago a clear landing now turned into a portal to hell. Running around the front of the superstructure, they made their way down the side of the boat that faced the river. The wind and the rain were heavy, and broken beams and splintered deck-boards had to be hopped over. Looking over the side, Tramp saw cotton bales, lit up by fire, floating in the raging current like smaller pyres surrounding the shipwreck. The wind was fresh and the current carried them downstream.

They reached the cabins. O'Mally tried one door, and then another to grant access to the main cabin. Yet the twist in the ship's superstructure had jammed all the doors against their frames. Struggling to break into the cabins, Tramp thought it was a stroke of luck that the ship was empty. However, their luck ran out as the Mark Twain let out a hard shudder and the main deck started to sag. With a crash of wood, whistles of steam, and the growing bellow of the fire, the stern half of the main deck slipped forward and fell inwards. An immense black cloud of smoke reached high into the sky. Blocking out any stars and creating a deep pall for the lightning to illuminate. The Twain was growing heavier and heavier, threatening to drag herself off the bank and into deeper waters.

“Duchess!” O'Mally's voice cracked.

Tramp looked across the gaping chasm of flames where the deck suddenly ended in a twist of wood. His head whipped side to side as he looked for a way across. It wouldn't be long before the whole boat collapsed into itself. Both males ducked down as a heavy crack of iron came from above, and one of the two stacks fell backwards. The black tube came down with a clatter across the blazing heart, before sliding down the other side and blocking passage towards the land that was oh so tantalizingly close.

They reached the door to the cabin shared by the two feline lovers. O'Mally tried the door, with no real luck. Tramp swallowed hard, then as the captain stepped aside, the canine railroader threw his weight into the door. Instantly a jet of pain split through his shoulder as a crack in the wood appeared at the side of where the lock was mounted near the keyhole. Yet the door did not budge. Without thinking, he reeled back and slammed into the door again. This time a chunk of wood splinted and dug into his shoulder. Tramp growled as he tumbled back. The cloth of his shirt was torn and a dark spot started to appear.

“One more, I'll get it this time!” The mongrel stepped back and braced himself for another go.
	
The cat stood next to him and lined himself up with his shoulder towards the door. “Together. On three. One.. two... three.”  

Both O'Mally and the Tramp then leaped back as a window in the cabin shattered, and a brass harp was shoved out through the broken glass and onto the deck. The sudden appearance and subsequent musical clatter of the instrument falling to the deck catching them both by surprise. The mongrel's tail fluttered as the lump of brass and string was followed by a white feline, Mrs. Duchess, carefully slipping out through the broken window. O'Mally rushed over to her and without a word slipped an arm underneath her to help her through the opening.

“Oh, thank the heavens. You're alright,” She said as she fell into O'Mally's arms. One look over at the Tramp and an eyebrow rose on her pure white face. There would be questions later, but her appreciation for the stranger's help would not go without note. “Merci, Merci, both of you.”

“Don't thank us yet!” Tramp looked over the edge of the railing. The whole lower deck was awash with flame. Debris, some aflame, was drifting out into the heavy current of the river and away from the shipwreck like the tail of a comet. “We might be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak.”

“Should we not jump?” Duchess asked. “We can't just stand here and be burned to death.”

The flames were making their way from the bow of the steamer, and already the forward part of the cabins was alight. The wreck shifted once again. Because the hull had grounded at an angle with the bow slightly raised, the incoming water flowed towards the stern.

“If we can get down to the water's edge, we can swim for it.” O'Mally joined Tramp and looked over the railing.

The Tramp put his hands on the railing and hoisted himself over it, twirling around to face the flank of the burning steamer. He could feel the heat from the fire on the deck right below him. Using the heel of his boot, he kicked in three cabin windows, and using the sills as footholds, lowered himself down so that he stood on the very edge of the bottom deck, hugging the hull of the steamer. His feet planted on a solid rib of timber that gave strength to the hull. The rain beat down on his back and the pattern of his gray fur could be seen through the white cotton of his shirt. Lightning flashed and he looked up to see Duchess following his footsteps down the side of the hull, O'Mally helping her over the railing. Tramp looked away, down the hull of the steamer, so that he wouldn't be looking up the poor girl's skirt.

He motioned with his tousled muzzle a cotton bale that was floating free of the wreck. “If you want to save your skin, you better get on that bale.”  

Duchess looked down at him, then over at the bale. “Oh pas de problème, I can't swim.”  

“Hang on, I'll bring it closer.” Tramp huffed, blowing a bang of fur out from his face. O'Mally had already swung himself over the edge and was about to join them on the ledge. The water pouring into the broken holds had decreased the flames on this side of the steamer, but now the ship was twisting. The wooden beams and planks vibrated and groaning as they threatened to splinter under the forces of the sinking.

The Tramp took a deep breath, then let go of the side of the ship. An action he instantly regretted. His shoulder was smarting from the attempt to knock in the door, and as he slid down the hull into the water it felt as if someone had hit him with an iron bar as water splashed over the open wound. Still, he grit his teeth and pushed on. A splash next to him told him the captain had joined him in the waters. All around the burned hulk, ash, chunks of smoldering wood, and cotton bales floated in the churning waters. The Tramp clenched his jaw as he and O'Mally grabbed the bale and started to paddle it against the hull.

“Your chariot awaits madam!” O'Mally called out over small waves that splashed over his head.

Duchess carefully lowered herself aboard the bale, and was able to lay down on her chest atop the fabric that wrapped around the bail. She looked into the warm eyes of her mate, floating next to her with his arms wrapped into the bale, and gave him a kiss between his ears. “Merci, merci”

The Mark Twain let out a heavy groan of wood and the sound of crashing beams caused all three of the survivors to look up at the broken hulk. O'Mally and the Tramp kicked with all their might to pull away as the riverboat started to shift off the bank. The additional weight of water finally overcame the weight of the bow, and she slipped free of the gravel and mud. The riverboat slid backwards, engulfed by flames from end to end. The shriek of steam from her boilers and safety valve cut through the rain and wind of the night. Flames burst from her rigging and the cabins and erupted into the night sky, casting a flickering orange blaze that illuminated the three on the cotton bale as they made their escape towards the shore.

Looking like a floating flaming pyramid, the once proud and ornate Mark Twain was a funeral pyre. O'Mally and Duchess watched stony faced as with a hiss of steam and a slow dousing of the flames, the paddle steamer rolled over and became a dark shape in the waters before slipping below the surface of the river with merely a whimper of spray and foam. Duchess looked away and her ally cat mate only shook his head as he watched his one-time home die.

“There she goes,” Tramp commented. “I'm sorry,”

“Don't be,” The alley cat looked into the eyes of his mate. “It was only wood and iron.”

The mongrel understood.


					
					*************


“What happened next?” Lady's ears perked forward. She was changing his bandages. Her hands carefully moving over his arm and shoulder-blade as they peeled away the cloth.

“Well, we reached the shore and camped out until the work train found us.” Tramp brought a mug of hot chocolate to his lips. “Shang and his track gang spotted the fire from up on the railroad line, and had already started clearing the way towards the wreck site before the Mark Twain let go of the shore.”

Lady gently ran her fingers through the fur on his arm. The wound on his shoulder-blade from bashing down the door had stopped bleeding. It looked worse than it really was and it wouldn't be long before his gray fur grew back over it. In the meantime, its jagged shape was, to Lady at least, a badge of courage. “My brave dog,” she said.

“Wasn't so much bravery as stupidity,” One of Tramp's ears perked back. “Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just had to take my licks.”

“Well, I know of two souls tonight that are probably happy you stumbled along,” The cocker planted a light kiss atop his head, between his ears. “Three, if you count me.”

“Just the same Pidge, someone died tonight,” Tramp's eyes drifted down to the kitchen's tiles.

“And it might have been two more had you not come along...or three when you had.” She placed a hand on each of his shoulders, and leaned forward so that they slid down over his chest. Lady lay her head atop his as she hugged him from behind. One of her ears spilled over his shoulder and tumbled down between their heads. “I'm so glad you're home.”

“You're the warmest thing I've had wrapped around me all night.” He said, closing his eyes. “I thought about you while I was on that steamer. I saw the look in the captain's eyes when he was searching for his girl. Would have been exactly the same had you been in her place.”

Lady's heart fluttered. For a few seconds the two remained silent. Just enjoying each other's presence as the rain continued to tap out a soft rhythm of the window panes. Tramp running one of his hands atop Lady's. The cocker spaniel was the first to break the silence.

“So, any idea what caused that captain to steer right into the shore?”

“None whatsoever,” Tramp cocked his mouth to the side. “The last time I was on a steamboat was when I was a pup. I don't know what he was navigating by, but there was this light that was on the mountainside for a brief moment.”

“Lightning?” Lady mused.

“No, it was too steady and actually came from the mountain. No idea what it was about. Was too low down the hillside to have been from the railroad.” The fur on Tramp's muzzle twitched. “It goes without saying that someone is going to be doing an investigation.”

The chair screeched on the tile floor as the gray dog stood up. His stubby tail flicked at the seat of his trousers. Tramp stretched his arms around and rolled his shoulders. Feeling a few tolerable shoots of pain from the one injured blade. “Goodness. I remember a time when I was young mutt doing all things. Something like this would have just been another day on the railroad.”

“Well, all of that can wait for morning. Right now, I think a nice bath sounds like a welcome respite after what you've been through.” The cocker started to clean the table. “I'll draw the water and get things ready.”

“You going to join me in the tub?” One of Tramp's eyebrows rose and he flashed her a goofy smile.

“Easy now mutt,” She bantered playfully before standing on the tips of her toes to whisper into his ear; “Maybe later we can find some other ways to get you warm,”


				*************

The rain had slowed down when Tramp slipped out of the claw-footed porcelain tub. His ears perked slightly when the grandfather clock in the hallway downstairs chimed out the hour. He felt much better following his warm soak and a good scrub.

Tramp pulled the plug to allow the water to drain, and started the task of drying off his fur. Unlike Lady, he didn't work too hard to bring his unkempt coat into any sort of grooming pattern. Rather, just a good drying and let the coat find its natural flow. A quick run with the curry comb, and a set of clean trousers were pulled on, ready for bed.

As he opened the door that separated the bathroom from the master bedroom, the sound of his bare paws suddenly muffled by the carpet, he found his mate already in the bed. However, she wasn't under the covers, and he found himself suddenly smiling warmly at the sight that greeted him.

Lady lay on her side atop the soft blankets and down pillows. Her nightgown unlaced and showing off her nude midriff and cleavage. Her bare legs were crossed over each other, the lace of the gown flowed and rolled over the natural swell of the female spaniel's body. Making the curves of her thighs prominent.

“Well, now. You look comfortable.” he joked, as he sat down on the bed beside her. She slipped her legs over the side of the bed and sat up against him. “Sure you don't want to slip under the covers?”

“I'm perfectly fine,” she assured, waving a hand. “It's been an interesting night, and I'm wide awake now,” she added before sinking back into the bed. Closing her eyes, she let the warmth of the room's radiators wash over her before opening her eyes to look at Tramp. Seeing him gaze lovingly over her, she gave him a soft smile before speaking. “Just, thinking about how lucky I am to have you. After all of this.”

“Just the same Pidge, just the same,” Her words drew a blush out of his face as he looked to the side sheepishly. “If it wasn't for you, I would have long ago ended up in the pound, or worse.”

“Just the same, no matter what happens, no matter where we go, let's always go together.” Her voice was soft over the volume of the rain still tapping lightly on the glass of the windows, and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. Her response made his heart flutter,

“Together, always,” He said, slipping an arm around her shoulders, one of her long deep red ears spilling over his own shoulder in a waterfall of fur. Lady beamed at him, drawing a small grin out of him likewise. She found her head coming to rest on his outstretched arm. He didn't pull away, and neither did she.

“Still not sleepy?” He asked.

“No,” She said. His eyes watched hers and he could tell what was on her mind. His ears tipped back and those eyes left hers for a moment, carefully looking over the features of her face. From her soft-looking lips to her warm honey furred cheeks, and then back to her eyes. Those deep brown pools begged him to speak.

But her body decided it for her: she caught him by surprise when she leaned up and brought her lips to his, the spaniel's hands laying on his chest. One of his hands came up and gently cupped her cheek, while the other held her hand against his chest, squeezing it gently. Tramp was a smooth lover, and it took him not even a second to get past the shock of feeling those gentle lips against his muzzle before he could respond.  

When they finally parted, she was left breathing deeply, tucking her head under his chin as he drew her in closer. His hand on her cheek stroked slowly.

“It feels like it's been a while,” he whispered, “But this old mutt still got some moves left in him.” he joked, making her giggle before she looked up at him, a new light taking her eyes. He softly brushed his fingers under her chin and through the fur of her ears.

“Old mutt my paw,” she rolled her eyes. “You're the most handsome and dapper dog there is.”

Her anticipative tone wasn't lost on the Tramp, who only smiled before leaning down to join his lips to her’s once more. Pushing back into the kiss, they shifted to lay on the bed, the curvy cocker atop his firm form in an instant but never parting from their kiss. Their muzzles slipped slightly to the side, and her lips parted to grant him the entry that the mongrel gladly claimed. He soon found her tongue and his own pink muscle danced along with her’s. Only when the need for air had become too great did they break apart, separating with Lady grabbing Tramp's tongue between her teeth and giving it a firm tug. Both took a deep breath only to return once more with vigor. Lady's tail was wagging merrily in the air above her, and if it hadn't been pinned down, Tramp's would be doing the same. It was a wet kiss, but one they both savored. Lady giving an appreciative moan. With her atop him, Tramp's unoccupied hand had no trouble in brushing her back in slow soothing motions.

When their lips separated, loose strings of saliva briefly connected her muzzle to his until Lady sat back far enough that they broke. She rose up onto her haunches and paused, making him rise up to meet her as she was balanced on his lap.

“You know...I think I may be a little overdressed for this,” she said with a smirk, making him raise a black furred eyebrow incredulously. The cocker giggled at his reaction. It was a flighty sound, as if smiles could sing.

“Yeah? You figure so?” he asked, playing along. Her nod made her fluffy ears bounce about her shoulders as she drew her hands up along her sides before curling them up behind her. The gesture made her chest stand out, something he didn't miss as he glanced to the shaking mounds before peering back to her mischievous brown eyes. Lady grinned slyly, the ends of her mouth turning into dimples in her soft cheeks, while her delicate fingers toyed with the string of her nightgown before undoing it.

It fell from her shoulders easily, seemingly glad to be free from clinging to Lady's body while her teardrop shaped tits fell free of the lace. Tramp let off a soft exhalation as he was given an unobstructed view of her light furred breasts, the lovely mounds capped with light pink nipples standing at attention, surrounded by a darker patch that begged to be touched. His breath-taken expression made her roll her eyes playfully, snapping him out of his daze and into action. 

 “What's the matter? Not like it's the first time.” Lady tilted her head slightly.

“Oh Pidge,” His eyes beamed.  “With you, it's always the first time.”

With a quick motion, Tramp found his head buried between the two lovely mounds. His hands came up to squeeze and knead them as he dotted her flesh with careful flicks of his tongue. The scent of her fur, clean and hinted with the soft tinge of rose shampoo filled his nose as he pressed it into her cleavage.

“Ooh, Tramp! You are such a mutt!” she gasped, earning another kiss to her breasts in reply as he continued to toy with them. Pulling himself out of her valley, he refocused his attention on her lips, kissing her firmly as he massaged her bare bosom. She began to slowly grind her hips against his as he pressed his muzzle to hers once more. Just as quickly he left her lips. Allowing her to moan freely before he kissed a trail down to her breasts, where he claimed a nipple for his own. He wrapped his lips around it and savored it, lavishing it with his tongue before suckling at the sensitive nub. The soft mounds sent jiggling around his head.

Lady's hands came to his head and pushed him in further, panting as she whimpered softly from his efforts. The Tramp had made love with many a woman in his younger days, and even a few since then. But none came close to what he found within Lady, his cocker spaniel partner. He soon swapped, giving her bosom's twin its fair due attention while his hand switched tactics, tweaking the now saliva wet nipple between his fingers before massaging her chest once more. She could feel his growing excitement beginning to press against her groin, knowing full well her own lust was growing as he bore on. He couldn't keep his hands off her. Sliding them down around her breasts, then under her arms to wrap his arms around her. His fingers worked and caressed all-over her back, running up and down her sides before cupping her supple rump, giving a playful tug of her docked tail, not letting her escape.

As much as she was enjoying him, she didn't want him to go alone. Reluctantly, she pushed him back, watching with a small chuckle at the confused expression on his gray furred maw. It soon gave way to a blush as the honey furred cocker shifted to lie belly-down atop his legs, putting her head at level with his groin.

“You're not the only dog who knows a few tricks,” Lady seemed to moan, her breath against his clothed crotch made him shiver. 

Once she undid the strings atop it, the offending cloth was tugged down with ease. Tramp's arousal, rigid and thick, appeared and smacked against his light gray belly gingerly, making Lady's chocolate eyes light up with delight at seeing it. His eyes closed as her delicate hand gripped him, stroking him slowly against his belly as she held him there, urging a small groan from his own lips to encourage her. 

Tramp gasped, and his organ pulsed under her touch. “Dear god...Oh, Lady.”

His use of her real name seemingly told her she was doing things right. His length was now rigid in her grip as she continued to tease him with her strokes. Lust overcame her as she lowered her head to his base. The spaniel nuzzled his cock before planting a kiss against it. Then she began to lather his shaft with attention as her tongue traced every bump and vein she could find on his masculinity. Beneath it, her free hand cupped his balls, the cocker feeling their heaviness shift in her fingers as she squeezed gently. Tramp openly moaned, urging her on. He tried to watch her, but forced himself to look away to prevent himself from losing control too soon.

She soon reached the hot red bell where her tongue swirled around his head before cupping it with her lips. When she took him into her maw, she witnessed his hands claw the bedsheets through lidded eyes. Lady engulfed more of Tramp into her mouth, pressing herself down until no part of his length was uncovered by hand or mouth, save for his steadily clenching balls. Once she had taken his length, she began to slowly bob her head up and down. As her head went down, her cheeks puffed, and as she rose, she inhaled in a deep suck. His cock's head soon began poking at the back of her throat as she worked to swallow it. Her moans at the taste of his maleness on her tongue sent vibrations up his shaft that left him trembling. 

Lady wiggled her tongue against the underside of his length, slathering it in her saliva as best she could while working him back and forth in her muzzle. Her lips slid along the surface of the member as it was drawn out, leaving a trail of sheen in its wake. Then, down she came. Breathing quickly through her nose as she took him in again and again. 

Tramp's ecstasy was enough that he began pumping his hips up, the urge to climax steadily charging through his being. The cocker sensed this and pulled off of him, her lips leaving his saliva coated cock with a wet 'shlurk'. Tramp blinked his eyes after gathering his wits enough to open them. Lady was now sitting up and resting on her elbows, looking up at him so that the tips of their muzzles met when he looked down. 

“You win.” He leaned into her fluffy ear before giving it a playful nip of his teeth.

“Can't let you get off that quickly.” Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Oh, you devilish little pup,” Tramp said, grinning madly as he ran his muzzle up and down the side of her head. 

Surprising Lady, he shifted her and himself around, letting her back come to rest on the bed with him atop her. Tramp started kissing her deeply once more whilst her legs wrapped around his pelvis.

“Would you like me to tie you up first?” He asked, one ear tipping up quizzically.

She put a finger against his lips, and gave him a squeeze of her thighs. Her brown eyes locked with his. “No. I don't need ropes when I have my strapping stud of a dog to fuck me sideways. Take me, my love.”

He didn't need to be told twice. With the cocker bracing against the bed, he thrusted his hips forward and buried himself shamelessly into her needing folds, hilting in one desperate motion all the way to the gray fur of his crotch. The mutt then pulled back and rocked forward again, losing himself to his baser instincts. They cried out together, both dogs tilting their heads back with splayed ears as Lady’s slick hot tightness draped itself around Tramp's crimson length. He kept that gentle rhythm for a few moments. The cocker's legs kicked to each side with her toes splaying on each thrust in.

“More!" Lady panted out. “Oh god, take me!”

The cocker wrapped her legs around him and hooked her ankles above his stubby, fluttering tail. His pace built, each surge of those powerful hips pounding his cock into the reeling cocker spaniel beneath him. Those gray furry balls started to slap against her lips rudely on each stroke. Lady closed her eyes and she could feel her breath in her own chest, her heartbeat, the eager twitch in his cock as she nuzzled his snout, every motion he made. Her mound was velvety soft and smooth, and the folds and flesh had become so nicely lubricated with her female juices that Tramp’s motions were like silk.

His hands moved forward up her body. They found her pert bouncing breasts and fondled each one, letting him feel his every frenzied thrust jolt ripple through her delicate body. 

“OH!” Lady screamed, arching her back into his body. Her inner muscles spasmed around his shaft. Her eyes were open wide and Tramp felt her crushing his torso with her thighs.

“Found the spot?” he playfully asked.

“You know me well. Oh, good h-heavens,” Her voice hiked. “That's so divine! D-damn it. Oh, I love my big mutt!”

Lady's colorful oaths perked his ears and slowed his pace. Trading speed for depth. Each thrust of his hips jolted her gentle body as he buried himself deep again and again. He lowered his body and slipped his arms underneath her. One hand cupped the back of her head and let her wrap her arms around his back to hang on.

Her intimacy in this position let him bury his head into the side of her neck as he rocked his hips. She moaned into his ear with each stroke and he grunted in return each time he rammed home, with their pelvises making a dull slap as they connected. The gentle spaniel's keening whimper held the perfect musical note as he relished how her soft tits pressed into his chest and her body's heat fused with his own through their fur. Her flowery scent assaulted his nose as potently as ever.

Tramp started to quicken his pace again. Faster the mutt's hips pounded into her. Lady's impassioned cries took on a new heightened edge. Her internal muscles grew tenser and tighter beneath him. Squeezing his shaft on each slick pass. He let gravity help, as he kept his bitch pinned against the bed with her legs pulled back in a welcoming mating press. The lewd slurping and sucking of their love making was growing wetter by the second, mingling with both dogs' impassioned grunts and whimpers.

Lady's hitching breath beneath him faltered in that moment, and ended in a long-winded whine underneath Tramp as he bit down on her shoulder. His own view was of her flowing ears as they tumbled and fanned out between their heads. She clamped her eyes shut and smothered her intoxicated whine into his fur as she cried out in the throes of wave after wave of hot passion. Her soft body shook in his hands, those warm and wet folds clamping down on him powerfully once more and squirting her warm release onto the mutt's crotch fur.

He pulled her back against him now, meeting his every surge with her haunches to add more vehemence to the wet passage of his cock. Lady was seemingly lost to the bodily pleasure. She didn't resist him, and didn't move at all. The energy within surged to a new high, twisting him tighter and tighter. Nothing mattered beyond that one loving craving to plow the fertile dog beneath him. Tramp felt nothing but pure love and bliss as the sensation of his balls tightening and the impending peak loomed ever closer. The bed rocked against the wall and a hard “thump” came as the headboard struck the silk wallpaper.

Tramp gave one last fervent buck and squeezed his eyes shut, driving his tapered tip directly into her vulnerable womb. His body teetered on the ragged edge and then careened over the cliff headlong into an earth-shattering high. He felt her go taut beneath him and tried to hold out as long as he could. Her folds squeezed him hard, enveloping his cock in warm and wet vise-like tightness. The pressure built to a zealous pitch. Each stroke came with greater and greater waves of stimulation.

“Oh, Lady!” He grunted through the fur of her ears. Turning his head to rub his nose into her cheek.

“T-Tramp,” She puffed her cheeks in a long-exhilarated sigh and managed to look back over at him, fighting the urge to pant and losing. "So wonderful."

He tilted his head back with ears pinned and only managed a weak groan as his furry balls jerked and his cock twitched, shooting the first thick creamy spurt of canine cum deep into her heat-soaked womb. Another followed, more powerful than the last. Again, and again his balls jerked and his cock gave a gush of the dog's potent seed. Relishing each burst of sensual pleasure that rocked his body to its very core.

Below him, Lady thrust her pelvis up and laid her head back. Muzzle pointing to the ceiling and soft brown eyes clamped shut and tearing at their corners. She gasped in a harsh intake of air before her back arched and it overtook her, gasping moans cutting off anything else as she rode out every intense wave of her orgasm. He slowed his pace for her and made each thrust hit as deep as he could as her climax overtook her, the motherly spaniel left gasping with each stroke he made. He rode out the high with her, thrusting weakly against her trembling body. That extraordinary high remained, grew stronger, and consumed all.  

“I love you Tramp.”

“I love you too Lady.”
 
			                     ***********


The sunrise cast its rays through the lace curtains that hung in the bedroom windows. The storm was gone, and the new day found Lady and the Tramp on their bed, snuggled together under the blankets. The gray mongrel wrapped his arms around his cocker mate as he dug his maw into the soft fur in the back of her head, enjoying the warmth of her body as they spooned, and the welcome scent of her lilac soap. His mind isn't really processing this – it simply sits in a sleepy haze, his arms tucked under her bare breasts, hands nestled atop one another over her heart. Lady dug herself closer to Tramp. He could feel her docked tail wagging slightly against his thigh. Another few moments passed, both canines engaged in simply listening to each other’s breathing, and the birds chirping outside. He lies there, floating on the surface of sleep. Everything is warm and soft and safe.

The peace ended abruptly with a series of harsh knocks at the door. Tramp openly moaned, and he could feel Lady's body rustle, her tail ceasing its motions. Pulling his head out from his mate's cocker spaniel ear, he cracked his eyes open and for a few seconds looked up at the plaster ceiling, vision unfocused at the dust spinning in the light.

“Oh, blast that railroad,” Lady moaned. “Can't they just, bugger off for a few days.”

Tramp chuckled, before leaning in and planting a soft kiss at the spot where her ear met the side of her head. “It's okay Pidge. I'll answer it this time.”

“No, not in your condition,” Lady slid out from under his arms, and kicked the blanket off her legs. Her nude body seemed to glow in the early morning light. “In fact, I should give them a word on rustling an injured dog.”

“Easy Pidgin,” Tramp laughed, leaning up on his elbow. “It's fine, really. A short life and a merry one after-all.”

The Tramp lay his head back down on the pillows, his eyes drifting shut as Lady moved to the dresser and threw on her light blue robe. He cracked one eye and smiled slyly at the sight of her rump, its curves highlighted by the robe, as she rushed past the bed and to the door. Closing them as she vanished from sight, the sound of her paws thumping on the stairs accompanied by another rash of pounding in their front door. He lay like that for a few moments, eyes closed, idly hearing the voices downstairs. Already he was bemoaning the prospect of having to fire their locomotive with a bum arm. He hoped they could get an extra brakeman, so that Angel could help relieve him at the coal scoop.

All of this was shattered as his ears slid forward. A sound reaching them that made his eyes shoot open, suddenly wide awake. It was the sound of raised voices, and a yelp of distress from Lady! The gray mutt shot out of bed like a ball from a cannon. He grabbed a pair of trousers off a chair, and threw them on as he rushed down the stairs. Skipping one step at a time to reach the landing and the vestibule.

The mutt's brown eyes were wide, and he felt a snarl come to his teeth and his heart race. Lady was pressed up against the wall just inside the door, a Siberian husky with golden fur holding her arms behind her back and securing a set of shackles to her wrists. Lady's face was pressed against the wallpaper, disgust plastered across her muzzle. Tramp posed himself as if he was about to leap onto the other dog's back! Only to freeze in place as he realized that the husky wore the blue uniform of a police officer. Holding himself back, he looked over to see standing in the doorway was a brown chow, his arms crossed over his thick chest. The badge of a marshal stood out like a gleaming gem atop his vest.

“Alright, she's secure Nikki,” The shepherd called out, letting Lady's arms fall behind her back, wrists chained to one another.
	
“Unhand me at once!” Poison practically dripped from Lady's voice. “You have no right to barge into a home and start dragging citizens out into the night!”

The uniformed husky pushed the chained cocker towards the front door, guiding her with a hand on her shoulder. “It would be most agreeable, most acceptable, most appropriate for you to refrain from resisting.”

“Get her in the wagon Kaltag,” Nikki stepped through the door and to the side to let the two pass by and into the dreary night. Lady's mouth was a thin line as her eyes rooted to the wagon. “And be a gentleman about it. Please do accept my apologies ma'am.”

Through the door and over the Marshall's shoulder, the Tramp spied a wagon, its back door made from a screen, and the word "Pound" painted in big letters on the side. Seeing Tramp, he stepped forward, past Lady and Kaltag and motioned for the gray dog to hold his hands out. To which Tramp complied.

"What in the hell is going on?" Tramp barked as he felt the cold iron of shackles being placed on his wrists. "Why are you putting chains on us?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Tramp Dear," the marshal stated, a slight hint of a lower Manhattan accent on his tongue. Once the chains were secured on the mongrel's wrists, he reached into his velvet vest and pulled out a warrant. Letting it unfold in the dim light of the vestibule. "You are both under arrest. For the crime of Shipwrecking."


	

The patrons whispered hushed and low, they seemed to be afraid
As if a ghost had stood right up and walked out of its grave
His face was shallow and dirty, his skin like leather hide
Sure he spoke like any man, but something wasn't right

So I twisted on my stool, turned to him and said
"Thank you sir, but just the same, I'm chasin worms instead"
He growled and shoved the drink my way, his eyes cold as death
"I pick the drinks, you knock 'em back, else draw against my hand"