0 comments/ 9120 views/ 0 favorites Remington By: LunarKitten I was utterly devastated. I walked into the house, put my keys on the foyer table on my way to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of wine, walked up the back stairs to the master bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. With tears running down my face, I slowly stripped. I walked into the bathroom and filled the antique claw-foot tub with water as hot as I could stand it, adding a few sprinkles of bath salts and some baby oil. I lit the candles scattered all over the room, remembering the last time they were lit and why. Crying, I lowered myself into the tub. I missed Remy so much. My heart ached just to remember his lopsided smile and the glitter in his eyes. I couldn't believe I would never see him again. Our relationship had started eleven months prior. It was one of those rare friendships that developed into something more. The fire inside us burned hot and deep. I was so sure that it would last forever. This time it was right. Boy, was I ever wrong! The trouble all started to happen two weeks before that fateful day. Remy had gone out on his monthly ghost hunt with the guys. I was once again left at home to amuse myself. I decided to watch some of his old home movies of past ghost hunts. I watched tape after tape, I couldn't stop myself. It was like passing the scene of a head-on collision, you just have to look. * * * * * When Remy came home that night I was waiting up for him. I had the videos scattered all around the living room. I was floored by the phenomena recorded on those tapes. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on? Did you think I couldn't take it? Did you think I was so simpering and weak that I would freak out and not believe you?" Remy was patient in explaining past experiences with other people, people who were supposed to be experts, when he told them about the happenings that went on each month in that old house. When shown videotaped footage they would claim that it was a fixed tape. No one wanted to believe it was true. That would mean they would have to believe the rumors that had once floated around town about the couple that owned the house. That would mean they would have to begin a new investigation and admit to their mistakes. They would have to admit they were blind and prejudiced about one of their own. I sat there on the couch, curled up next to him, listening to the stories. Listening to him recounting the rumors and speculation. Listening to him putting the pieces together and coming up with the truth. The truth of the horrors that went on in that house. The torture and maiming and raping and killing of innocent victims. Victims that had no idea of the fate that awaited them when they walked through the threshold of that horrible, horrible house. I went to bed that night in quiet contemplation. My thoughts would not be still enough for me to sleep for hours. We lay next to each other, our legs barely touching, not saying a word until the next day. And the next day I begged him to let me become a part of the group. I had to see these things for myself. I had to solve the mystery. Help put all those lost souls to rest. * * * * * I spent the entire day at the regional library, two towns over. I decided that it would be a bad idea to go to our local library, if what Remy said about the town protecting the couple was correct. I was sure they would not like my "noising around in their business". It would probably cause a lot more trouble than it was worth. So I spent the day pouring through old newspaper articles on the microfiche machine. Reading the stories of disappearances that occurred during that time. Jotting down notes and looking through books on serial killers and why they do the things they do. I came home with a briefcase full of copies and books that I had checked out. I had news stories with headlines that I couldn't believe the people in this town had just ignored. Had no one spoken up for these victims? Was no one willing to stand up and say enough? Why did they allow it to go on? Why did no one stop them, arrest them or lynch them? I sighed, assuming that since the victims were all from out of the county the towns people had assumed they and their loved ones were safe from these two monsters. Therefore no one took action, no one stopped the slaughters. I walked through the front door, put my keys on the foyer table as I had millions of times before and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of wine and mull through all the information I had gathered. Passing by the living room I noticed a fire was going in the fireplace, so I decided to curl up on the couch and drink my wine and sift through the paperwork instead of doing it on the kitchen table. I had simply assumed that Remy was downstairs, in the basement where he had set up our home office. I opened the door and yelled down that I was home on my way back to the living room. He never replied, but he sometimes was so involved in his web designing that he didn't hear me. I decided to go down an hour later and bring him back to the real world for dinner at Dick and Jane's house. I had no idea at the time that I would not find him downstairs. That he was not in the house at all. That I would never see him again, until the fateful day that I had to identify his body. * * * * * I went down to the basement about two hours later, having lost all track of time. I called downstairs from the doorway. When he didn't answer I ventured down. The computer was on, so I assumed that he had gone upstairs to get ready, that he must have seen how involved I was and didn't want to disturb me. So I headed upstairs to the master bedroom. There was no sign of him at all, but I could tell he had been here recently. Drawers were not completely closed - something he knew drove me up the wall as much as an open cabinet door. I checked in the closet. Yes, his ghost hunting bag and equipment was gone. I couldn't believe he would just up and leave, no note or anything, when he knew we expected for dinner at Dick's. Then it hit me. Dick was part of his ghost hunting team. So I called Jane, sure enough, Dick had vanished without a clue, as well. I slumped downstairs, Jane was going to call Jill - whose husband John was part of the trio of ghost hunters - and we were going to drink margaritas and male bash for the rest of the night. Walking to living room to grab my purse I noticed a message on the answering machine. It was John, on his cell phone, it was a bad connection but the message was clear. Tonight was the night, he was going to contact Dick as well, hurry up and get to the mansion. I drove over to Dick and Jane's as fast as I could. Luckily Jill was already there. I told them of the mysterious message. We were all in agreement. The vibes weren't good. We loaded up in my car and headed out to find the mansion. * * * * * None of us knew of the exact location of the old mansion the boys had been going to for the last six months. None of us knew why they would up and go in such a hurry without letting any of us know where they were going or what they were planning on doing there. Thankfully I had done my research and at least had an idea of where we were going. I had also seen the video the boys had made, the others had not and didn't seem interested in watching them, so I knew what the outside of the house looked like. All Jane and Jill were concerned about was getting a hold of their husbands and giving them what-for because they had ruined their evening. But knowing what I knew of what they had uncovered and what my own research had revealed I was scared. Scared for us, and scared for what I was sure the boys were going through down in the basement of that old house. We drove for what seemed like hours before we found the old dirt road that lead onto the property. Weeds and flowers gone to seed strangled the driveway. You could see the beauty that the property once had been, when the mayor and his new bride occupied the house. There were beautiful flowering dogwoods that lined the drive. And rosebushes surrounding the circular drive in front of the mansion. There was a fountain in the middle of the circle that no longer spewed water from the pitcher in the cherub's hands. Ivy grew up the face of the house and rose bushes gone wild covered the windows on the first floor. We walked up the marble steps to the front door. It was already open, as if the house had been waiting for us to come after its latest victims - and that is what I thought of them already, they were victims. I could feel the link which we had shared all these months had been severed. The link that let us know when the other was sick or hurt. From almost the day we had met it was as if we could read each other's minds. We were totally perfect for each other in every way. And now I couldn't feel his presence at all. I looked over to tell the others what I felt, knowing that they would think I was as crazy as they had thought the boys were for as long as I had known the two couples. I turned, noticing them staring toward the top of the staircase. I walked over and looked up. What I saw chilled me to the bone. Jill and Jane screamed, turned and ran out the front door in less than a minute. Rooted to the spot I heard the car's engine start and the tires squeal as the car took off down the drive, neither girl caring I was still inside. * * * * * I remember the rest as if it were a dream. Laying in the tub, with the lavender bubbles soothing my aching head and the wine soothing my pain, I remembered how the girls had come back to the mansion with the police and an ambulance. I remembered the EMTs walking slowly up the stairs to untie Jack, who was tied between the two railings and had been carved open with his insides on display. I remembered the young rookie had gotten sick at his first site of the scene. They found Dick in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He was hiding in the closet, incoherent. The doctors called it post traumatic stress syndrome. They are not holding out hope of a recovery, nor a coherent explanation of what happened, anytime soon. And Remy. Remy's body was discovered in the basement. He had been shackled to an ancient rack, his body had been cruelly torn in half, signs of torture all over his now pale body. I collapsed when I saw him. The doctors called it a mental breakdown. I spent three months in the mental ward of the hospital. But I'm better now. They released me just a few hours ago. I came straight home from the hospital. Jill and Jane picked me up and brought me home. They wanted to come inside with me, make sure I settled in and was ok to be here alone. They still feel guilty about running off and leaving me in that house all alone. Especially when there had been the possibility of someone still being in that house with me - they and the police still believe a group of transients had found the old abandoned house and had attacked and killed Jack and Remy. But I politely told them to go home, that I wanted to be alone and take a nice long private bath. I could feel the effects of the sedatives starting to take effect. I had dissolved twenty tablets into my glass of merlot. My body was beginning to feel heavy and my eyelids were starting to droop. I couldn't live without my Remy. I loved him too much to go on alone. Suddenly, I detected a movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning, almost positive Jill and Jane had followed me in against my wishes. Slipping down in the tub, no longer able to hold my body up above the water, I saw him. My wonderful, loving Remy. He had come to me in my final moments. He was reaching out for me and I could feel myself floating up out of my body, as my head slipped below the water. We were together again. Remington .44 Another tale of the turbulent times during and following the Civil War. Constructive comments, emails, and critiques are requested and very much appreciated. Thank you for taking time to read and comment on my story. Remington .44 "Hello John, I always said some young gun would kill me but reckon I was wrong. My horse stepped in a hole and threw me and I'm all busted up inside. Reckon my back is broke and I fell on a broken tree and am gutted like a pig. This young fellar with this note is Luke Donaldson. He found me on the trail and tended to me the best he could. Weren't much he could do, but he tried. He'll tell you where my body is and ifin it's not too much trouble I'd like to be buried on that little knoll over lookin Lynx Creek. Always did like fishin in that little creek; never caught much but sure liked tryin. Anything of value in my shack, give to Pastor Fuller. He'll make the best use of it. There's a Greener 12 gauge coach gun under my bed that might help you with your marshaling. I wished you'd take care of it for me until we meet again. If the Pastor is right, we'll get together again one of these days. In the meantime thanks for being my friend. Elwood Sloan. Luke took the gun belt and strapped it on. He used the oilskin ground cloth from his bedroll to wrap around Elwood to protect his body from the elements. Luke started to pick up the whiskey bottle but smiled and left it next to the old man. He sure did appreciate good whiskey, Luke thought. When Luke rode into Prescott he saw what had to be Marshal Tillman sitting with another man in front of the marshal's office. He got off his horse, hitched him to the post in front of the office, and stepped up to the two men. "Marshal Tillman?" The lawman nodded and Luke handed him Elwood's note. "Mr. Sloan asked me to bring this note to you." "Elwood Sloan?" Marshal Tillman unfolded the note and read it. "You Donaldson? Luke nodded. "What happened?" Luke explained everything he knew and the job Elwood had hired him to do. "Elwood's on that old loggin road that cuts the trail to Chino Valley; about a hundred yards back in the woods; I wrapped him in my ground cloth. If that's all Marshal, reckon I better get on the trail to Wickenburg." "Mr. Donaldson, thank you for helping my friend," Tillman said and shook hands with Luke. "I'll be headin out to get Elwood; ifin I leave him out there the varmints might get at him. If you got a mind to, I'll put you up at the boarding house and stand you to a good meal. Y'all can ride south tomorrow morning with a good night's sleep and a full belly." "Thanks Marshal. Another day won't make a difference to me I reckon." At first light, Luke saddled up and started his ride down the hill, as the locals said, to Wickenburg. All day long Luke rode at a slow lope for half an hour, walked his horse for fifteen minutes, and took the animal back to the lope. He stopped three times that day for about an hour at a time to water and rest the horse. He made good miles that first day and stopped just before dusk to make camp. Prescott was situated in the Bradshaw Mountains at an elevation of 5400 feet. Wickenburg was in the high chaparral of a semi desert at 2000 feet. The road was mostly downhill and was well traveled. As Luke got closer to Wickenburg, the countryside changed from high country pines to junipers to sagebrush and an occasional Acacia or Mesquite tree. There were a lot of other low bushes and desert plants that Luke didn't know as he'd grown up in the high country. The weather changed too; from the high country coolness to the hotter temperatures at the beginnings of the desert. The mostly arid land once you got down off the mountain was the hardest part of the journey from Prescott to Wickenburg. Luke followed the same plan the second and third day. Making camp on the evening of the third day, he told his horse, "We'll make Wickenburg about midday. Then we need to decide if we head back to Prescott or take a different trail." He was pouring a cup of coffee when a rifle shot rang over the mesa. Luke dropped the cup and moved behind a big mesquite stump; three more shots kicked up dust in front of his hiding place. He pulled Elwood's Remington and waited. A dark figure crept toward Luke but never made it closer than 30 yards; the bark of two shots from the Remington put an end to the figure. Another man rose and fired a rifle at Luke. It was at extreme range for the big Remington but it spoke two more times and that man went down too. A shadowy third figure must of had a horse waiting and rode away, whipping his mount to make the animal run faster. Luke walked over to the two men on the ground. One looked like an Apache and the other was a white man. Probably from the reservation, he thought as he toed the Indian and the other's what's called a renegade. Luke went back to his camp and changed the cylinder in the Remington. Have to get some more cartridges in Wickenburg. There were no more incidents during the next morning and as he'd told his horse, Luke rode into Wickenburg at mid day. He thought the two places that might know where Gillian Sloan lived, was the general mercantile and the post office. In this case there were one and the same. "Howdy Mister. How can I help you?" The older man behind the long counter asked. "Need a couple of boxes of .44 cartridges and some information." "Got the cartridges right here," the man said and reached behind him, took two boxes of ammunition, and set them on the counter. As far as information I might be able to help, might not." As Luke paid for the cartridges, he asked, "I'm looking for Gillian Sloan and her boy Caleb. Can you tell me what part of Wickenburg they live in?" "Can't," was the reply. "Pardon?" "They don't." Pardon?" "They don't live in Wickenburg; haven't for over a year." "Can you tell me where they went?" "Why do you want to see them?" Luke turned at the voice and saw a large man with a Sheriff's star on his vest. "I have some personal things from her husband. Promised I'd deliver them to Mrs. Sloan." "What's your name Mister?" "I'm Luke Donaldson, from up Chino Valley way." "And you rode all the way from Chino Valley to make a delivery?" The Sheriff's tone showed his disbelief. "I'm Sheriff Deevers, and I was a friend of Gillian and Caleb's while they were here." Deevers paused for several seconds. Changing the subject he asked, "How do you know Elwood Sloan? Did you gun him down?"" "No sir. Mr. Sloan and I got to be...well sorta friends." Luke explained how he'd found and met Elwood; and the promise he'd made to a dying man. "I aim to keep my word Sheriff. With your help or without it, I aim to make that delivery to Mrs. Sloan." Sheriff Deevers stared at Luke for almost a minute. Luke had just turned back to the store clerk when Deevers spoke. "I like your looks youngster and not many would make that trip just to keep his word. Gillian and the boy moved to Tucson about a year ago. She said she knew some people there that would give her a job. Johnson here," the Sheriff pointed to the store clerk, "has been forwarding her mail to the post office in Tucson." "Any more you can help me with?" Luke asked. "It ain't a lot of information to find a woman and a boy." "Not much to add son," Johnson said. "I've been sending any of Mrs. Sloan's mail to general delivery at the Tucson post office." "She said a woman she used to work with years ago had opened a general mercantile there. Said she was gonna help with the store," Sheriff Deevers offered. He paused, took off his hat, and scratched his head. "Don't rightly know the name of that place, but there can't be too many general stores in the Old Pueblo." "Old Pueblo?" Luke asked. "That's what a lot of folks call Tucson. They tell me it comes from Tucson being founded back in 1775." Luke nodded and waved at the clerk. "Thanks for the help Mr. Johnson, Sheriff. I'll get a bite at the café and head out." "Nobody would blame you if you didn't keep goin. Sloan only hired you to go to Wickenburg," Deevers said. "I would blame me," Luke replied. "Like I said, I gave Mr. Sloan my word to get this stuff to his wife." "What's so important that you'd ride four days from Prescott and then another week to ten days further south? "I've got some money for her. Also got a journal written by Mr. Sloan that he wanted his wife to have. Of the two things, I think Mrs. Sloan will appreciate the journal the most." "The country between here and Phoenix is a hard land Mr. Donaldson and it gets worse south of Phoenix; there's not many water holes. There' be a lot of bandits and other outlaws along that trail, so you stay sharp." "I ran into a couple of, guess you'd call them renegades, comin down the mountain. Thanks for the warning Sheriff, I'll keep my eyes open. Maybe I'll see you again on my way back." Luke nodded at Deevers and left the mercantile. As Sheriff Deevers had said, the land between Wickenburg and Phoenix got worse the farther south he rode. It was hot, and windy. Luke followed a trail that ran along the Hayassampa River for several miles before having to cut cross country. The river was lined for long spaces with cottonwood trees and the water made for easy camping. That first day out from Wickenburg, Luke was chased for a few miles by a group of men. They had no way of knowing that Luke carried a lot of money; they were just bandits trying to pick up what they could. Luke and his horse were able to out run and outlast the bandits. There would be a full moon that evening and Luke had planned to ride late into the night to put some miles between him and the outlaws. Phoenix was the biggest town Luke had ever seen. He looked around, marveling at the number and different types of people walking the streets. Along with the whites, he saw a lot of Mexicans, some blacks that had to be freed slaves, and several riders that looked to be ex soldiers. Luke rode past a "bawdy house" with several women sitting on the front porch, who called out invitations to come join them to most of the men that rode in front of the building. He resisted the temptation to see if the "ladies" were as friendly as they seemed. Got better things to do with my time and my money, he told himself. Sides, if I stop there I might stay for a week or more and I need to get to Tucson. Luke got a sleeping room at what was called a flop house and had the first real supper he'd had for three nights. Before going to bed he bought some trail supplies, including an extra canteen. Luke thought he might have need of it if the water holes were as few and far between as he'd been told. At first light, Luke put his horse on the road to Tucson. He wanted to ride in the relative coolness of the early morning until around mid day when the heat was almost torture; then he'd hole up until late afternoon or early evening and ride as long as there was light to see. The pleasant spring weather in Prescott had changed into the searing heat of summer in the desert. The land along the trail wasn't quite desolate but what little vegetation grew was mostly Creosote bushes, stunted Mesquite trees and more of the short, knee high bushes he'd seen riding into Wickenburg. That first day he followed his plan and stopped at mid day. That evening he rode till nearly 8 PM and as he began to look for a place to bed down until morning, he saw the light of a fire. Riding closer, he could make out a camp of ten freight wagons. "Hello the camp," Luke called sitting on his horse about a hundred feet from the wagons. "Like to come in if I might" "C'mon in Mister but keep your hands in the open and don't make no sudden moves." Holding his hands out to his side, Luke used his knees to guide his well trained cow pony into the circle of wagons. "You don't look like trouble," a very large man holding a Winchester said. "Climb down and sit a spell. Jacob get the man a cup of coffee and a plate of that stew," he ordered. A young man of no more than 17 jumped to getting the food. "Name's Toland Stafford," he said. "I'm the boss of this group of misfits." "Luke Donaldson," he replied and shook hands with Stafford. Toland was very large standing close to 6'7 and looked like as wide as a buffalo. Toland looked to be in his 50's and with his long brown hair, streak with gray here and there, wore down his back and the full bushy beard, the man had a striking resemblance to a big grizzly bear. He told Toland about his run in with the bandits two nights earlier. "Like to camp here with you tonight if I could," Luke said. "Where you from and where you headed?" The big man asked. "Come from up Chino Valley by way of Prescott. Headed to Tucson to find a woman and her son; got some possessions for her from her late husband." "Came through Prescott did ya?" Toland asked. Luke nodded with his mouth full of stew. "Run into Marshal Summers up there?" Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Only Marshal I met was a man named Tillman. Didn't know there was two Marshals in Prescott." "There's not," Toland said and smiled. "Just testin you boy." Luke sat down his plate and cup and stood up. "Why would you do that?" He asked in a voice that didn't quite hide his anger. "Take it easy Luke." Toland picked up Luke's cup and motioned for Jacob to refill it. Once Luke had coffee, Toland, said, "I just wanted to see the cut of your jib fore I let you stay the night in our camp." "What did you say? Cut of a jib, what's that mean?" Toland laughed. "It's a seafarin term. Means see what kind of man you be. Guess I forgot not everyone knows nautical terms." "You were a sailor then," Luke replied. "For thirty of the last forty years, I was a seafarin man. Started as a cabin boy when I was twelve. Worked my way up to first mate and then begged, borrowed, and stole until I could buy a ship of my own." "What are you doin running a freight business here in the desert? If you don't mind my askin." "Lost my ship in a typhoon in the Philippine Sea off the coast of Japan I did." Toland looked down at the ground but was seeing his ship go down. "Had everything I owned tied up in the 'Rose Marie', when she sank so did my life." The big man shook himself and raised his head. "Havin become used to eating at least a few times a week, I got a job with a freight company when I got back to San Francisco, and here I be. Put together a stake and set up this company a couple of years ago." "Don't you miss your old life? I mean you said you'd been at sea for thirty years." "Well now...let me tell ya. Sometimes I miss the feel of a ship under my feet somethin fierce. Then I remember how many times the sea tried to kill me. I remember how she picked up my ship and shook it like a dog with a bone and I don't miss it so much anymore. Lost nine men when the 'Rose' went down; damned near drowned myself." Toland smiled. "The sea is like a beautiful woman; full of promise and excitement. But she can be a vengeful bitch at times. That's the part I don't miss." Motioning again to Jacob, Toland said, "He'll show you where to spread your bedroll. Ifin you like you can ride with us on to Tucson. Won't be a fast as by yourself, but we've got guards and outriders so the bandits and such usually leave us alone. And if they do make a raid, we've always been able to beat them off. See you in the morning; we'll be leaving at dawn." At daybreak Luke had saddled his horse and helped hitch the teams to a couple of wagons. Toland watched him for a few minutes. When Luke saw the wagon boss watching, he said, "Figured I'd earn my spot with you. I'll be an out rider if it suits you." The wagons stopped at midday to rest the horses and then rolled on toward Tucson. They had slowed down crossing a dry arroyo, when Toland saw Luke coming at a high gallop. Shooting back over his shoulder with his Remington, Luke was being chased by about 25 riders; they were about a hundred yards behind him and returning fire. Toland ordered the wagons into a protective circle. As the wagons circled, he shouted orders to the guards and outriders. He placed them in the best positions to beat back the raiders; 'repel the boarders' was the term he used. Some of the men making the trip for the first time were confused but the veterans who knew of Toland's background smiled and did as ordered. Luke pulled his horse to a skidding stop when he got inside of the circled wagons. He pulled his Winchester 1866 .44 rim fire "Yellow Boy" from the saddle scabbard and quickly climbed up onto one of the wagons. Beneath the front or driver's seat of the big Conestoga type freight wagons was a fairly deep space. The 'well' was large enough that a man could crouch there and fire a rifle while he was protected by the sideboards. Most of the other guards and riders carried Sharpe's military carbines .52-70s that had been converted to use a metal cartridge like Luke's Remington; some still carried older types of rifles. The Sharpe's was a single shot weapon and had to be reloaded after each firing; their rate of fire was much slower than Luke's "Yellow Boy". The lever action of the big Winchester could bring 15 rounds to the fight before reloading. In spite of the defensive fire from the wagons, four of the bandits made their way inside the circled wagons. Luke jumped off his wagon and faced the raiders. He didn't wait to face them down or challenge them; Luke pulled his Remington and started shooting. Two of the men went down with the first shots; the other two returned fire. Luke wasted little time and put the two remaining bandits down with four more shots. As he climbed back onto the wagon, he reloaded the Remington by changing to a preloaded cylinder. Picking up the Winchester, all Luke could see were the backs of five or six robbers riding away from the wagons at a high gallop. The raiders had lost better than fifteen men and wanted no further part of the wagons or their defenders. "We better hole up for the rest of the day," Luke suggested. "They might get more men and come back." "Nope," Toland said. "They've had enough. Looks like they're headed back to Perdition to lick their wounds a bit." "Perdition?" Luke asked. "It's an outlaw town down in the Alvarez Mountains southwest of Tucson. Reckon that bunch will spread the word that we're best left alone." The remaining trip into Tucson was just the boring, normal, slow pace of the freight wagons. Toland didn't know anything about a Mrs. Sloan. He told Luke that the town marshal knew about everyone in the area and should be able to help track her down. The wagons tracked down the main street and Luke peeled off in front of the Marshal's office. Toland stopped with him and introduced Luke to Marshal Dixon. As Toland was leaving he handed Luke $20 in gold coins. "That's for riding guard and helping to beat off those damn raiders." He refused to let Luke return the money. "Anytime you need a job, look me up. There'll always a spot for ye on my crew." Luke thanked his new friend and turned to Marshal Dixon. "Looking for a Mrs. Sloan and her boy Caleb, Marshal. Know where I might find them?" "I do," Dixon answered but asked, "And why might you be lookin for them Mr. Donaldson?" "Got a delivery to make; from her husband." Luke stared at the Marshal and decided he could be trusted. "Her man is dead and he hired me to bring her and the boy some money; also sent a journal written by him." Marshal Dixon was impressed with Luke. Toland had told him of the man's actions during the attack and Luke had an air about him that led people to trust him. "Mrs. Sloan works at the mercantile on the south side of town." Dixon pulled his watch out of his vest. "She should be about ready to close up but you should be able to meet up with her fore she leaves for home." Luke nodded his thanks and left the office. He mounted and turned his horse toward the south side of Tucson. As he pulled rein in front of the general store, a handsome woman, with a pock marked face, came out and locked the door behind her. Remington .44 "Mrs. Sloan?" Luke asked. He dismounted and held his hat in his hands. "Yes?" "I'm Luke Donaldson ma'am. I got a package for you." "A package. From who?" "From your husband ma'am." Luke handed Mrs. Sloan the drawstring buckskin bag and the journal. "Elwood asked me to bring this to you and your son." "Where did you meet my husband?" Luke explained finding Sloan on the trail and how he died. He motioned at the bag again. Mrs. Sloan opened the bag and saw the gold Double Eagles. "Do you know what's in this bag?" "Yes ma'am. Elwood said it was $800." "You said that my husband asked you to bring this to me." "Yes ma'am. Well...he hired me to go to Wickenburg to give them to you. " "We haven't lived in Wickenburg for over a year." Gillian looked at Luke for what seemed like a long time. "You could have taken the money for yourself." "Yes ma'am, I could've." She smiled and added, "And you were hired to go to Wickenburg, not another near 200 miles or so. Why did you?" "Ma'am?" "Why didn't you keep the money and why did you travel farther than you were hired to?" Luke shrugged and returned Gillian's smile. "Your husband and I sorta became friends fore he died. But mostly I came to find you because I gave Elwood my word." Gillian impulsively hugged Luke. "God bless you Mr. Donaldson." Luke handed Mrs. Sloan the journal. "Elwood said he wrote down things about his life and such in this book; said I should bring it to you too." "Ma?" Luke turned at the voice and saw a tall young man walking hurriedly toward Mrs. Sloan. "You alright?" "Yes Caleb. This is Mr. Donaldson. He brought some money and a journal from your father." Caleb walked up and stood beside his mother. "Your father is dead Caleb." Gillian told Caleb how his father had died and that he'd hired Luke to find them. "I didn't know Mr. Sloan very long Caleb," Luke said. "But we became friends real quick." Caleb frowned and looked down at the ground. "He told me about you and your mother; he was real proud of you." Caleb raised his head. "I just wish he could've changed so he could've lived with us." Gillian put her arm around Caleb and pulled him close to her. Luke made a point of looking down the street; letting the mother and son grieve alone for a few minutes. He cleared his throat. "If you don't mind me saying so, you sure do look like your Pa, Caleb." "Ma tells me that all the time," Caleb replied with a smile. "Elwood gave me something else; something for you Caleb." Luke unbuckled his gun belt and handed it and the Remington .44 to the boy. "He carried that gun for a lot of years and said it should belong to you." Caleb took the belt, looked down at it for a few seconds, and then buckled it around his waist. He had to pull the belt through to the last notch to make it fit. Caleb pulled the Remington then set it back in the holster. He nodded his thanks to Luke. "Reckon my job is done," Luke said. "Guess I earned my wages, by God." He shook Caleb and Gillian's hand. "I might as well head back to Prescott. Ma'am, Caleb. Y'all take care now." He turned, mounted his horse and rode away. Gillian and Caleb watched him go and then headed down the boardwalk toward their house. Before heading back to Prescott, Luke made a stop at the gunsmith. He wanted to buy a pistol to replace his Colt Navy 1860. After carrying and using the Remington .44, Luke wanted something bigger than the .36 caliber Colt. He looked at several weapons; including two or three used Colt Army model 1860 in .44 caliber, a nearly new .45 Peacemaker and a few less well know pistols. A smile spread across his face when he saw a Remington .44 in a display case at the rear of the shop. "That's a real dependable weapon," the gunsmith said. "Been converted to use metallic cartridges and I got an extra cylinder for it. It's been used a bit but it's in damn good condition." Luke nodded and took the pistol when it was handed to him. "I'll take it," he said with a big grin.