Mission Statement:
To endeavor to bring to all residents of the Five States the most current and important news from across the entire Five States region. Never yellow, the Five States Herald vows to serve only the people of the Five States, from New Austin to Lemoyne, free of charge now and forever.
Heat Wave Ravages Five States!
By Sofia Kathleen Fairfax – Lead Correspondent
As you can likely tell if you stick your head out the window, the Five States region is experiencing a heat wave unlike anything it has seen in many years. It brings to mind the heat wave that hit New York only two years ago, which ultimately killed over a thousand people.
There are reports of animals dying in their pens in Valentine, cattle falling over in outlying farms, and horses having to be moved into rivers and lakes to remain cool. In Strawberry, several fires have been sighted, due to trees catching fire. New Austin is burning, with citizens either refusing to leave their homes in Tumbleweed, or fighting each other for space in the San Luis River. In my home state of Lemoyne, workers are debating a strike due to rising temperatures with no changes in work schedules. Farmers only tend to crops at night when it’s cooler, and at least three people have been attacked by alligators while trying to cool off in the swampy waters. Even the Night Folk aren’t coming out at night!
My advice, if you need it, is to get an electric fan if possible. If not, find the nearest safe body of water and stay as long as you can.
Preacher delivers… the mail
By Jose Chavez
Near the crumbling depot at Benedict Point, a preacher calling himself Brother Elijah set up a ramshackle pulpit made from a whiskey crate and began delivering fiery sermons to passing drifters, promising absolution, healing, and — curiously — the return of lost mail. At first, folks thought he was just another sun-addled prophet with too much dust in his lungs. But then he started handing out real letters: overdue parcels, family correspondences, even a few government forms, all sealed and stamped. Turned out he’d scavenged the wreckage of a derailed mail coach in the Rio Bravo canyons and was distributing its contents under the banner of “God’s Mail.” “What was lost shall be delivered,” he would shout, holding up envelopes like holy scripture.
When word reached the Postal Inspection Service, they were less impressed. Two inspectors rode in from Tumbleweed to shut him down, but Brother Elijah had already relocated to the desert edge, preaching to coyotes and cacti alike. They finally caught him delivering a long lost wedding invitation to a confused rancher’s grave. He surrendered peacefully, muttering that “The Lord works through postage due.” The inspectors charged him with mail theft and obstruction but later admitted he had somehow returned more letters than the actual mail service. One of them even kept a sermon pamphlet — not for spiritual reasons, but because it included a missing page from his pension paperwork.
Colter redevelopment plan falls apart
By Jane Duran
The plan to revitalize Colter has come to an end. Senator Roscoe Brody, who championed the Colter revitalization, has officially retracted his plan. The bill that would fund and organized the revitalization was pulled from consideration. Senator Brody had claimed that much of the revitalization of Colter would be shouldered by partners in the private sector. However, it was exposed that a number of those partners were given significant boons despite smaller contributions to the cause. Senator Brody had singled out particular investors as “core investors” and as a result, would get signicantly more share in the profit. The so called core investors contributed smaller amounts that other investors and had been linked back to Senator Brody, leading to corruption claims.
Senator Brody continues to deny such claims and says pulling his bill has not related to “rumors.” “I am aware of rumors of malfeasance in office but I deny them,” Senator Brody said, “I have done nothing but served my constituents to the fullest of my ability and I realized this project would not benefit them as much as I originally thought it would.” Ambarino residents seem unbothered. “In truth, I don’t think it matters,” said one resident I spoke to, “why would I go to Colter?” Most residents viewed it as a tourist trap and did not anticipate the project to improve their lives.
Close shave in Blackwater
By Odell Clifton
Trouble walked into Blackwater’s barbershop last Tuesday afternoon in the form of a masked man with a revolver and a plan: to rob the barber. He barged through the door shouting for the till, startling the barber as he was giving a customer a shave. Unfortunately for the would be robber, the man in that chair was Mr. Roy Lindell, a retired cavalryman known for two things: disliking interruptions and carrying a knife in his boot. Before the thief could finish his threat, Roy stood up mid-shave, face half-covered in lather, and drove the blade clean through the man’s foot. When the robber screamed and raised his gun, Roy calmly wrestled him into the mirror, knocked him out cold, and sat back down as if he just got up for a quick stretch.
The barber, still shaking, asked if he should call the sheriff. Roy just grunted and pointed to the lather brush. “I didn’t come here to start bleeding,” he said. The shave resumed, though the barber swears his hands never stopped trembling. When the sheriff finally arrived, Roy was reading the newspaper, freshly shaven and sipping coffee. The outlaw was still unconscious on the floor. Asked why he didn’t kill the man, Roy replied, “I needed to get my shave finished.”
Dynamite farmers disturb neighbor
By Emery Cosberry
Just outside Emerald Ranch, cousins Judd and Vernon Greeley inherited a stretch of farmland and promptly began arguing over where one man’s wheat ended and the other’s began. Lacking proper surveying tools — and, arguably, sense — they decided the best way to settle the matter was with dynamite. Sheriff Malloy of Valentine was summoned when a blast launched half a scarecrow clear into a second story window of Emerald Ranch. According to Eugene Wegner, his daughter was almost hurt. When the sheriff arrived, he found both men blackened with soot and furiously drawing chalk lines over the crater, claiming it proved ownership.
After being fined for reckless endangerment, unlicensed explosives, and “agricultural stupidity,” the cousins were ordered to cease and desist. But the blast inadvertently uncovered a long-forgotten bootlegging tunnel running beneath their fields, complete with old barrels and rusted stills. Now they are squabbling again but not over wheat, but over who gets to restart the illegal distillery. Locals have taken to calling the property “Boomer’s Patch,” and rumor has it a few enterprising souls are already using the tunnel for late-night runs to Valentine. Sheriff Malloy, meanwhile, has stopped asking questions and started carrying earplugs.
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The Bayou has a new hero
By Aloysius Levron
Down in the swampy shadows of Lagras, Odette “Detty” Giroux has made herself something of a legend — half trapper, half informant, and fully impossible to ignore. Detty’s bayou operation is unconventional: she baits her animal traps with gin-soaked breadcrumbs and her human traps with rumors scribbled on napkins, pinned to tree trunks with fishhooks. She claims gossip is more effective than bait, and to her credit, she has trapped everything from poachers to debtors. Her latest catch? A wandering Pinkerton with a sprained ankle, a missing revolver, and a letter he was not supposed to be carrying. He was found caught in a snare near her shack, dangling like fresh game.
Detty turned him in the next day, but not before copying the letter and charging five dollars per head for anyone wanting to read it, including the man’s supervisor. The letter in question reportedly contained a list of names tied to a long-defunct Confederate smuggling ring operating out of Shady Belle. Detty claims she read it aloud “with dramatic flair” while gutting a garfish, and even gave it a title: “Bayou Bastards and the Men Who Owe Me Money.” Despite repeated warnings from both local law and federal agents, Detty refuses to stop meddling in affairs “too big for her boots.” When asked why, she simply said, “Ain’t no such thing as boots too big when you’re barefoot.”
Authorities admit, grudgingly, that her information is usually accurate — even if her methods are, in the words of one deputy, “a crime unto themselves.” Detty now keeps a ledger of “caught fools” nailed to the wall beside her door, next to the skins of raccoons and federal agents alike. Folks in Lagras have grown used to the racket — gunshots, shouting, the occasional explosion — and they know better than to steal from her lines. Detty Giroux may not be deputized, but as one constable put it: “She gets results, and she pays her taxes. That’s more than I can say for half the marsh.”
The Great Mule Chase
By Adam Parvey
What began as a simple delivery turned into a weeklong fiasco when Percy Malloy, a courier for the New Hanover Supply & Post, lost control of his mule just north of Cumberland Forest. The animal, named Charlotte and allegedly smarter than her handler, bolted after being startled by a snake, carrying with her two crates of payroll envelopes, three parcels of medical equipment, and a half eaten apple pie. Percy gave chase immediately, but after tripping into a creek and losing a boot, the situation escalated from inconvenience to incident. By the time word reached the office in Valentine, the mule had been spotted as far north as the foothills of Ambarino — and was now believed to be on a deliberate path, stopping at waystations and eating only the pies.
Postal Inspector Bernard Pike was dispatched to assist. He reportedly muttered “Not again” when informed. Pike and Malloy eventually tracked Charlotte down to a frozen cabin near Lake Isabella, where the mule was found calmly warming herself beside a fire, having apparently been taken in by a trapper who assumed she was “a gift from God or the Army.” The mail was mostly intact, though one envelope had teeth marks and smelled strongly of rhubarb. When asked what he had learned, Percy replied, “Never trust a mule with dessert. Or anything, really.” Charlotte was returned to service, though she now receives her own ration of pie, under strict supervision.
The Five States Herald 