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.
Letter from the Editor
Dear Readers,
I hope this issue you finds you well. All across the Five States there is tragedy and darkness spreading. A poor mother searches for her son in the bayou, a man dies for cheating, and many abscond with the property of others. And yet, there is still light. Willie Simms proves black men are not inferior with his racing prowess. A thug gets what’s coming to him. And finally, we have the next part to Mr. Levin’s story. It reached our office a day after last week’s issue went to print. It is now available for those eagerly anticipating the close of the story started two weeks ago.
Whether you find yourself on the side of fortune or tragedy, the Herald continues to bring to you the news you need to know. To those we are only just reaching in Pawnee County, we look forward to your arrival and will continue to distribute the Five States Herald in your region so that you may come in with the knowledge necessary to succeed.
William Warrington III, Editor in Chief
Horse thief and gang killed in shootout with marshals
By Alois Burditt
U.S. Marshals joined with local authorities in Rio Bravo to lay siege to Fort Mercer, where known horse thief and thug Teddy Brown was holed up. The marshals appeared to underestimate Brown’s force and were woefully outmanned and outgunned. The only reason the siege was successful was due to the intervention of four cowpokes who led the charge.
I have also learned that the intervening cowpokes had personal reasons for getting involved and were not there simply to help the marshals. Whatever their motive, the marshals were not going to turn down help from rugged folk willing to put themselves in harms’ way. To balance the odds, the cowpokes dawned armor on their bodies that was cumbersome but offered protection from the many bullets fired their way.
After a long siege, the four cowpokes pushed through by using a cannon to knock down the door. The group assaulted the fort killing each and every one of the gang members until Teddy Brown showed himself. He attempted to drive the attackers off using his own body armor and explosive ammo, though he was brought down in the end. The story takes a wild turn here as a high society woman came along and walked right into the fort. The marshals and local law enforcement busied themselves with clearing the bodies and paid no mind to the blonde woman identified as Mrs. Jessica LeClerk, whose husband was killed several months ago.
A witness stated that Brown confessed to the killing of Mrs. LeClerk’s late husband Philip LeClerk before being shot himself by Mrs. LeClerk. The authorities would not confirm or deny the accusation that Mrs. LeClerk pulled the trigger on a captured and defenseless Teddy Brown. In an official statement a marshal said, “That would be murder. Do you think the law would turn the other way and ignore murder?”
Moreover, I uncovered information that authorities in Blackwater were attempting to get the marshals to back down and leave Teddy Brown alone, indicating some kind of inner-government conflict. Whatever is behind this conflict, one must ask, why are authorities cozying up to a known criminal and why are they trying to get others to let said criminal off the hook?
New Austin
Owlhoot family brought to justice… more than once
By Wylie Frey
The general consensus about the bounty hunting initiative is that it has been a resounding success. However, sometimes a project can be too successful. A bounty was put out last week for the Owlhoot family, the details of which were covered in last week’s issue. Many bounty hunters went out for the bounty and many came back with bodies ready to collect.
Dozens of bounty hunters rode to the Tumbleweed jail with four tied up people the claimed were members of the Owlhoot family. “Keeping goddamn track of those wackos got to be too much trouble,” said Sheriff Freeman, who had the task of doling out the reward money. Most of those who were turned in called themselves ‘aunt’ or ‘uncle,’ with a few ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters.’ “Might of been a few mamas and papas turned in too, I stopped asking their damn names,” Sheriff Freeman said.
The BHTC honored every bounty. “The Owlhoot Family is a unique situation, in most cases bounty hunters will not be able to turn in the same bounty multiple times. We see no reason to change the way the system works at this time.”
Two dead bodies wash up on the shore of the San Luis
By Wylie Frey
The San Luis River is a powerful force of nature that claims lives regularly. Just last week some cowpokes were killed attempting to cross the river into Mexico. Weeks before that a few folks drowned. This week two more lives have been claimed, though the river was merely the weapon. Two bodies floated to the surface of the river and came to rest on the shore of Gaptooth Ridge.
Both men were bound at the ankles and wrists, with their arms behind their backs. Their wounds were superficial, likely gained during the struggle before being bound or during their rough ride in the San Luis. Neither man was able to be identified and it is believed they were dead for several days before floating ashore. While these murders are similar to a recent wave of killings in West Elizabeth, it is difficult to confirm this case is related to those murders.
For one, the bindings and drowning are the most significant similarities. However, this is also a method that can be used by others. Secondly, the drop off location is unknown and so cannot be investigated. The men were buried at Oddfellow’s Rest in Cholla Springs in a single unmarked grave.
Ambarino
Explorers go missing attempting to access the Tempest Rim
By Caylen V. Hornby
The area called the Tempest Rim has long frustrated explorers looking for a way to explore the area. Recent attempts to find a passage through the steep cliffs have all failed, with explorers returning in frustration. A recent expedition into the region appears to have failed once again, though there are no signs of the group of explorers. Most have written the group off as having become lost and likely already dead. However, others point out that so far no bodies or equipment have been found.
“Maybe they found a way in,” a searcher suggested. If that were the case, certainly they would return to lay claim to the fame of finding the Tempest Rim passage. It is possible what they found was so astonishing fame no longer mattered, or perhaps they found something that claimed their lives. We may never know if another group does not find the passage.
Photographers wanted!
Do you have a camera and an adventurous spirit? Great! The Herald is looking for photographers to take photographs of events as they happen. Our reporters will do the rest. Just send your photographs and a description of what happened, and we’ll do the rest.
Apply today!
Horse lanterns for sell!
The world is a dangerous place, why make it more dangerous by traveling in the dark? Rocks and holes are hidden from sight but not from your horses steps! Prevent injury and light up the night with a horse lantern today. Only $350!
West Elizabeth
Shipwreck brings collectors ready to salvage its cargo
By Ela Q. Asken
A transport ship carrying hundreds of valuables from Blackwater to the Northeastern United States through the Lannahechee River was shipwrecked when a storm broke out on Flat Iron Lake. The ship was forced north into shallow waters at the mouth of the Dakota River where it bottomed out and wrecked. The damage was severe and the valuables were spread over the shore.
Bandits set upon the location almost immediately and scattered with goods. However, cowpokes soon showed up looking to fill their satchels with valuables. Using new technology, like metal detectors, these collectors were able to find things the bandits could not. An adventurous few chose to chase down the bandits and acquire what they took. Most of the collectors left with their goods, however, some returned the goods to the owner, for a price of course.
Spy brought in by bounty hunter
By Nick McCrary
The U.S. Government recently uncovered a spy working in the Five States and decided to put a bounty out for the spy. Alexander Krasnoff had been operating in the U.S. for an unknown period of time and is believed to have stolen information as well as sabotaged U.S. Government facilities.
Making known the truth about a spy operating in the U.S. was controversial, however authorities decided it was the right decision. “Krasnoff likely fled to the Five States knowing the law’s presence there is sparse. With plenty of bounty hunters in the region, we knew we’d catch him quick,” said a spokesman for Washington. .
Krasnoff was brought in to the Blackwater Police Station by the bounty hunter Nathaniel Cross. He was promptly transferred to the custody of the federal government, where he will be tried as a spy. If found guilty, the U.S. Government plans to hang him.
Demand for wagons outpacing supply
By Adam Parvey
The explosion of trade across the Five States has had many consequences. This paper has documented the effect on the animal population, the increase in thefts of supplies, as well as increases in cooperation among traders. Another consequence has been an increase in demand for wagons. Across the Five States hunting wagons as well as transport wagons from small to large have been hitting the market and being purchased almost immediately.
As a result, many wagon builders have ramped up production. However, that is not enough. Residents of the Five States have begun building wagons and repairing their old unused ones to fill the gap and make some money in the side. “I can’t make ’em like those companies, but I reckon I can fix a few and sell ’em” said a man in Rhodes as he hammered on the sides of a wagon he was repairing. “I can sell this here wagon I wasn’t using for $500. That’s a lot of booze and a lot of… um booze!”
If the larger companies ever ramp up production these individual builders may be unable to get their wares to on the market. However, for the time being many are taking advantage of the high demand. With the arrival in the coming weeks of folks from Pawnee County, it is possible demand will never be met, which would be a boon for small builders.
New Hanover
Legendary bounty
By Van R. Seldon
Former military sniper Sergio Vincenza was spotted in Roanoke Ridge. A large bounty was quickly issued, bringing many bounty hunters into the woodland region. Vincenza is known for espousing anarchy ideas and criticising the U.S. Government, especially the military. Vincenza has alleged that there is a significant amount of corruption in the military. Additionally, Vincenza has claimed that it is his 1st Amendment right to free speech to criticize the government and share anarchist ideas.
However, it is not Vincenza’s speech that is being targeted. A plot to assassinate the Governor of Lemoyne was recently foiled by federal authorities. It is this action that earned Vincenza his bounty. Lemoyne has recently enacted an amendment to their state constitution that disenfranchised black men who are guaranteed the right to vote by the 15th Amendment to the United States Constitution and the Governor has been championing such polices. It is alleged that the Governor also hired assassins to take out a rival. He seems like the ideal target for someone like Vincenza.
“Bounty hunters should approach with caution, Vincenza is a deadly shot,” warned the bounty hunter liason of the BHTC. “If he sees you, you will probably die.” The risk comes with a high payment. And while the risk of death seems too high for any payment, it is a risk bounty hunters take every day. A risk they take so the rest of us can be safe.
Murder at Flatneck Station
By Emery Cosberry
Poker is a popular game in the Five States and is played in many saloons. However, for those who want to avoid the busy cities and towns, Flatneck Station offers a quiet place to play poker. Between the local farmers, station employees, and travelers, there are always folks ready to play.
One such game turned violent when one player accused another player of cheating before shooting him in this head with his pistol. While the dead man was found to have cards stashed in his sleeve, the other man was arrested for murder. “He’s a goddamn cheater!” the man screamed as he was taken onto the train by marshals. The man, who witnesses said is called Pete, was taken to the Valentine sheriff’s office.
Write for the Herald!
Do you explore every nook and cranny five states? Good with a typewriter and a camera? You might have what it takes to write for the Five States Herald. Apply today!
Lemoyne
Indian tracker hired to find missing boy
By Aloisius Levron
The Herald has covered the tragic story of the Rudnab family, who lost a child in the bayou of Lemoyne. Her tireless search has so far turned up no signs of her son. Mrs. Rudnab has taken to hiring trackers, the most recent one being a Chickasaw recently returned from Indian Territory. Akanowa is known as an expert tracker, especially in the regions surrounding the Lannahechee River.
“I heard of her before but, she was gone. I’m so lucky she’s returned to the bayou!” Mrs. Rudnab told me. As for Akanowa, she is not optimistic. “It has been too long, the boy is likely alligator food.” She has camped in the bayou and waded through the swamps the last several days. She found pieces of fabric and bone fragments, though she cautioned that these could have belonged to other victims of the bayou. “The bayou is dangerous, but also full of tasty snacks,” Akanowa told me, holding a bucket full of crayfish.
It is this mix of danger and reward that draws many to the bayou. While the sense of adventure is what usually overshadows the danger, it is an intense focus that overshadows the danger for Mrs. Rudnab. She pays little attention to where she is going, constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of her boy. Once she had nearly stepped on a poisonous snake and was only saved by Akanowa’s quick reflexes and a well thrown ax.
If anyone has any information, they are encouraged to contact the Rhodes sheriff department. The sheriff has said everyone should keep an eye out for any recently displaced children. It is important that the child is not frightened, so it is recommended that you not approach the child but merely note his location.
Rhodes issues several bounties at once in aggressive attempt to take advantage of fortunate situation
By Mathilde Orry
Several outlaws with loose affiliations met in Scarlet Meadows, bringing their respective posses along as well. The details of this meeting are unknown, but the sheriff in Rhodes immediately put out a bounty and sent telegrams out to neighboring regions. Many bounty hunters answered, however Sheriff Gray said full payment would only be made if every single target was brought in. And, they had to act quick before the targets disappeared into the wind.
The operation ran smoothly enough, with the first several targets being brought in quickly after their posses were slaughtered. However, as the last target was being brought in several other bounty hunters who turned their bounties in already stood in front of the sheriff’s office. The bounty hunters spent the next several minutes tackling, lassoing, and throwing bolas at each other in attempt to be the one who turned in the last bounty and earn the honor of most captures. Sheriff Gray sighed from the stoop before walking down and shooting the target in the head and throwing the pittance of a payment on the floor.
“I said bring ’em all in for full payment and look, I had to grab the last one myself. Damn fools,” Sheriff Gray said as he scooped up the dead bounty and returned to his office.
Across the Nation
Black jockey breaks barriers and proves to be more than equal to white jockeys
By Frederick Vannesse
Willie Simms continues to amaze fans of Thoroughbred horse racing. Having adopted the short-stirrup style more successfully than others, Simms has dominated the competition riding many different horses over the years. In 1895, Mr. Simms became the first American to win a race in England on an American horse. As a result, some have begun calling Willie Simms a national treasure.
In 1896, Mr. Simms won the Kentucky Derby and this year, Mr. Simms has repeated the feat. With his success in the sport, Mr. Simms has changed the mind of many racing enthusiasts. “Honestly, I never thought much of colored folk. But Willie has made me so much money I could kiss him!” a gambler told me. “The only color I care about now is green,” said another.
Mr. Simms remains humble and attempts to downplay his role in history. However, he holds himself with great poise and it is clear he understands the symbol he has become to many. His focus remains on racing, however. Which is probably for the best, as it’s his racing that is changing minds.
Around the Globe
Hong Kong leased to the United Kingdom
By Humphrey Harker
The United Kingdom has had a long interest in Hong Kong and has secured their interests there for the next 99 years. The Qing Dynasty of China has agreed to lease Hong Kong to the United Kingdom. Though China first ceded Hong Kong to the UK as a result of war in 1842, this agreement ensures British colonial interest for nearly a century.
So what happens in 1997, when this 99 year agreement comes to an end? Will Hong Kong be happy to reunite with China? Or will the people of Hong Kong becomes accustom to western customs and have issues reintegration? 1997 is a long time away and none of us will see the year. However, this will be a real concern for future generations.
Folklore of the Five States
A Girl of Green: Ch. 2 Pt. 2
By Theodore Levin
Evangeline was restless that night when she finally got back to her dwelling, Domhnall had escorted her home around three but here it was eight o’clock in the morning and the sun had long since shown its face. The bustle of city, folks going about their day and children shouting were usually a comfort to her but she couldn’t bear it this morning, it was deafening to her and whiskey didn’t help, it made her shake more. How close had she come? How close to taking a life the night before in cold blood. As the stickiness of the Saint Denis summer morning rose bringing with it the smell of the slums in all their glory, rotting meat and putrid waste seemingly stuck to her top lip and inescapable she decided to head down to the harbour, her mind was racing and this was the place she went to when she needed to think. At the very least it would clear the stink from her airways, at least she hoped it would as she went about picking apart the night before.
Like a fever dream the memories played back in her mind were not linear and hard to focus on, she remembered the gang there all stood silent, menacing while Pete Mimieux from the Bastille Saloon was beaten and tied to a chair and she could picture Domhnall. She hadn’t seen this side of him before all sneering and snarling as his rugged, handsome face contorted into that of a smiling devil as he told her what Mr Mimieux had said, how he hates Irish and that she deserved to be an orphan with a foolish and weak father leaving his family to die for a stupid lost cause and a whore mother who should have known her place. How the knife got into her hand she couldn’t recall but she could remember the look in the barmans eyes as his words and screams, muffled by the gag in his mouth went unheard and her own anger rising in tandem with the feeling of absolute power over this man. She was ready to make him pay, holding the knife to his throat as Domhnall’s howling laugh rose to crescendo she imagined how it would feel to sink it into his windpipe and watch the life drain from his eyes, he would never insult her again that’s for sure. Then she thought of her Mammy murdered over some stupid words, what would she say if she could see her Evie now. What would Da say? She had killed before but she had to, it was survival but this? Her tempered cooled some as her rational side appeared, she had lost so much to violence already and this was leaving a particularly bad taste in her mouth. How did he even know about her family and her life?, her father was fighting for a free Ireland he wasn’t stupid or selfish he was a hero in her eyes and her mother was no whore, in fact she stayed a widow never remarrying or finding comfort in another’s arms. Her catholic vows stayed intact all the way to the grave, she loved Billy McGrath with all her heart and couldn’t bear to think about being with another man after all they had been through, the stillborn birth of their first child- Evangeline’s older brother, the constant fear of the power tripped R.U.C raiding the house as she nursed Evangeline from her breast while Billy kept watch with a shotgun. She honoured his life.
Thoughts turned to Domhnall and how he was the only one she had told of her story, this didn’t make sense why had he done this? What was he trying to prove? Or was it simply some sort of gang initiation? Exacerbated by her shaking hands and conscience she dropped the knife and broke down in tears. She turned to Domhnall arms, she didn’t know she could trust him but she was drawn to him, helpless as he held her and told her everything would be ok and she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. She never noticed the disappointment in his voice, the rest of the gang stood silent still as he helped her on to the back of his horse to take her home, ever the gentleman. They rode in silence until Doyle’s tavern came into view,
“Don’t worry Mag we won’t hurt him Padraig will see him returned unharmed, my little experiment is over. Get some rest and if you want to come find me we’ll be hiding out in Lakay, it’s a constant move this O’Driscoll life.”
She didn’t say a word.
“I’ll say goodnight then Red.”
Watching the ships come and go that morning calmed her down, the smoke of a whole pack of cigarettes helped too as she continued mulling things over as the tobacco filled her lungs again. The more she thought of Domhnall the more she could see that he was testing her, had she passed or had he failed? Did she even want to pass? She was no killer but his allure had a grip on her so strong it had nearly made her one. She would give it a few days of reflection and go and see him, explain how she was feeling about what she was and what she wasn’t and hopefully this would be enough. Feeling slightly better she decided to walk back home, on the way thinking of her own relationship with religion. Once a good Catholic girl she would say her prayers and take confession or she would meet Mammy’s wooden spoon, sometimes she could still feel the sting. Not setting foot in a church for years, she last made the sign of the cross in Boston as she crossed the church threshold for Mass although she had no reason to talk to God, she had realised that whoever they were they weren’t on her side.
As she ambled up the mud and manure covered quagmire of a road towards Doyle’s there was a strange feeling in the air, a commotion. She was too busy with her own problems to care as she went upstairs to her cupboard room, grabbing a drink on the way up – a nice single malt, not caring that Doyle himself was saving it for a rainy day. No sooner had she got the stopper out the bottle there was a knock that nearly took the door off the hinges.
“Open up Evie it’s me”
“Mr Doyle, if this is about the single malt I swear I’ve not touched a drop..”
Sterner now..
“Open the door girl”
She obliged, eyes fixed on Mr Doyle as he caught his breath. Why was he so red and flustered?
“ I’ve just heard, what have you done girl?”
Perplexed, this was clearly not about Whiskey..
“Nothing Mr Doyle what have you heard?”
“It’s all over town” He spluttered
“ O’l Pete Mimieux..the owner of the Bastille Saloon.. he..he..”
“ He what Mr Doyle spit it out, what’s happened.”
“He’s dead..they found him this morning cold, sat up against the front entrance of his own bar, holding his own head in his hands and his tongue removed..”
She felt her stomach drop as she sat down, she was going to be sick.
“Don’t sit down girl you need to leave, the S.D.C have had an anonymous tip off.. they’re looking for an Irish woman with red hair…Mag the Mick or Red Mag they’re calling her. It’s you isn’t it..”
“I didn’t do this Mr Doyle you know me, I knew the guy sure but I could never do that..what happened was..”
“ I believe you girl I really do but it makes no difference now, word is they have a motive. That means your wanted dead or alive..even without a motive Pete Mimieux was connected to smuggling gangs in Van Horn who will see to you even if the law doesn’t..if I was you I’d pack what you can and get the hell out of Lemoyne or you’ll hang or worse…please go now.”
“I won’t forget your help Mr Doyle, thanks for the warning. I don’t think I’ll ever see you again let alone repay you but I’ve got one more favour to ask, when Gardaí come tell them I’ve not been home in days..”
“ Of course..GO NOW”
Packing what little belongings she had, a few clothes and a green flatcap that belonged to her father that stayed in a drawer and reminded her too much of Éireann. She tied her hair back, put the cap on and climbed onto the balcony and out into the city. It fit her well with her bushy hair now though the only reason she had it one was to cover as much of those telltale red locks as she could, climbing up onto the rooftops in this crowded corner of the city. Thank God for Mr Doyle she thought as she crept, the swampland of the bayou would give her cover for now. She hated the swamps, there was something creepy and eerie about them, never lingering to long in or around them the tales of the Night Folk were enough to keep even the bravest of men away let alone the alligators, how those Cajun and Creole folk stay out there is a mystery but she had no choice, besides she had business to see to in Lakay. The views of Saint Denis were quite breath taking that evening as she made her way north, wondering if she would ever see the city again.
She arrived at the hideout in Lakay two days later for she had to move slowly and silently as the search for Mag the Mick continued. Blankets of fog lingering for hours at a time had helped her hide, taking cover when law patrols were near. She was used to not being spotted and thankfully she found some cover scent lotion, by now the dogs would have her scent for sure there’s no way they didn’t track her to Doyle’s tavern. Taking cover behind a large tree she watched as some of the gang ride out of Lakay, perfect she thought as she realised that Domhnall wasn’t amongst them and must be staying put so she waited for darkness and the right moment to make her move, he had used and betrayed her all for some sick joke and would meet her wrath tonight, there was no doubt in her mind that it was him who tipped off the law.
A piercing shout interrupted the serenity of the empty camp, waking up more than a few Spoonbills and sending them flying as the bayou’s waters lapped against the wooden structures
“O’DRISCOLL”
Moments passed, there was no sound maybe he wasn’t here?
“DOMHNALL O’DRISCOLL OUT HERE NOW”
She could hear the shuffles of someone moving inside, then the door swung open.
“Look its Mag the Mick, you know I like a woman who tries to boss me around..”
Evangeline wasn’t in the mood
“How can I help you red”
“Don’t play coy with me you evil bastard, you know why I I’m here..why did you do that, I wanted to join your family I would’ve done anything you asked..all except killing in cold blood..i just can’t do it..why?..why did you tell them it was me I didn’t do anything..”
“Oh Mag don’t you see, you could never join us until you’re an outlaw, a true outlaw. That means bodies. Now you can be one of us like you wanted don’t you see?”
This wasn’t what she wanted, all she wanted was a family to belong to not a murdering gang. She realised how naïve she sounded in her own head, she knew he was dangerous but she went along with it anyway.
As she stepped forward towards him, they stood close and for once she felt she had his full attention.
“I don’t want anything from you anymore Domhnall..make your peace with God or Colm or whoever you fear in your forsaken life”
“Ahh Mag don’t be like that..”
Her hand went for her Cattleman but in a flash he had disarmed her, pocketing the bullets before throwing her revolver to her feet in a display of complete arrogance. She had never seen anyone as quick as Domhnall was that night.
“ You want to play it like that Mag then fine..”
The moonlight through the trees shone off something in his hand and just as quick as before, he lunged towards her moving his hand in a clean sharp movement across her left eye. It took a moment for Evangeline to realise what had happened, as warm blood run down her face and her pain receptors caught up she let out the loudest scream of her life. It was a knife, he had slashed her face real good was she blind she didn’t know all she knew was the pain and the disorientation, tears streaming from her right eye, now the good eye. This was it, he would kill her now for sure. She had come for revenge but she wasn’t prepared.
The arrogant O’Driscoll laughed, not even looking at her as she stumbled around trying to get her bearings feeling for something, anything to use as a weapon and then she felt the clasp of her lantern.
“You arrogant bastard”
Knocking him off his feet as she swung the lantern, catching him on the head causing the device to shatter and sparks fly like drunk fireflies. He was angry now though he had no gun, not on him anyway so she had a chance to escape. She had to go, she grabbed the gun and ran as quickly as she could humanly manage, out of the camp and into the swamps again. Domhnall’s laughing still ringing out, she wasn’t ready but next time she will be. Heartbroken, in agony and woozy from the blood loss, she kept going until her body gave out chasing the lights infront of her, although they seemed to relish the chase. As she sank into unconsciousness, it seemed the bayou would swallow her whole and then she heard it, the Bean Sí closer than ever.
This wasn’t the night for Evangeline to meet her maker however, although she would relish giving them an earful. Fortunately for her, a night fisherman from Lagras spotted her crumpled body and took her to the settlement and to the local healer. Ritual healing helped, time will help even more but the heartbreak and anger would stay with her as surely as the scar across her left eye. She was grateful for not losing sight in that eye but the marked skin would serve as a constant reminder of her naivety. She vowed to never put herself in that position again as she started her new life as Mag the Mick – an outlaw and headed far from Lemoyne, west to New Austin.
She hated it the unbearable heat all day long was not suited to her pale Irish skin, especially in the desert. The land had some beauty sure but mostly it was the same to her just dust and orange and no news on any O’Driscolls. When she wanted a drink she would drink, any carnal desires she felt would be taken care of no questions asked like ships in the night though she was sick of these cowboys acting big and tough in the saloon but timid and disappointing when the moment arose. The good catholic girl was in there somewhere but she had grown cold, it had to be this way and the next man who referred to her as a ring-dang-do was meeting the business end of her cattleman revolver, the same gun she had all those years ago.
She did what she did best for nigh on a decade, stealing for a living but finding some honest work here and there when needed, a kind family gave her a chance working on their ranch on Hennigans’ Stead although this was short lived, stealing a beautiful chestnut horse and leaving a trail of dust and a dead body though that’s a story for another day. She would spend days practicing her shooting, while she was always quick on the draw her accuracy would leave a lot to be desired. When she first learnt to shoot in Boston running with a pickpocket gang they would call her ‘Miss McGrath’ to tease her so she kept on shooting until she could take bollocks off a muskrat from thirty paces, putting the skills to real use when the situation warranted as New Austin was unforgiving and more lawless more like the cowboy stories she had read when she was a wee girl and there were bandits and gangs to contend with. Doing a brief stint in Sissika Jail under an assumed name, where else best to get information on outlaws than from outlaws themselves but there was still no worthy news on Domhnall though the mention of his name in there caused more than a few inmates to shudder, him and his gang must be truly living underground. She was sprung soon after from a prison transport headed back to New Austin.
When she fancied a bit of proper civilization she would venture to West Elizabeth, to Blackwater for whiskey and poker although truthfully this place could get as rowdy as a Saturday night in Tumbleweed real quick but the payout was good, did these cowboys even know how to play cards?. Occasionally she would venture to a place called Valentine in the Heartlands, she didn’t mind the mud anything was better than the desert but she never lingered too long, word travels fast between New Hanover and Lemoyne and though her accent was not as strong as it once was it still stood out and the wrong words to the wrong person would give her up. She was living but the revenge she desperately craved eluded her, that is until one fateful night.
It had been six months since she had last been in Valentine and this time in the early spring would prove fruitful, drinking in Smithfields saloon one night there was talk of a gang seen in the area two days prior, robbing stagecoaches. Not paying much attention Mag finished her hand, bluffing a Queen high to snatch the pot. Cashing out and heading to the bar for yet another whiskey when a man crashed through the swing doors and promptly collapsed, the spring sun was out but the snowy winter was still evident on his boots and clothes. How long had he been out in the wilderness? Why not go straight for the sheriff why come to the saloon? Mag pondered that it probably seemed warmer. When he came round he told the saloon his story but not before a stiff drink and some warm stew. He was a stagecoach driver by the name of O.B Billington booked to take a party up to the Adler Ranch in the snowy far north of Ambarino for a birthday party when the carriage was ambushed, bushwacked and all the passengers executed. He survived by playing possum in the snow, lucky not to lose a finger or toe he kept himself warm by sipping whiskey from his hipflask- Mag could relate. He said it was O’Driscolls and he kept mentioning the leader who was laughing maniacally the whole time while members of the gang put bullets in the heads of the group of travellers one by one. O.B feared he would hear that laugh until the day he died.
This was all Mag needed, she knew the man behind the laugh so she downed her whiskey and was out the door, heading into the snow for the first time she stopped at the general store for a winter coat, some blankets for her horse and then to the gunsmith for some express rounds for her revolver before heading north, further north than she had been. The cold was biting, almost suffocating now as she tracked the gang through the snow, keeping a keen eye and ear out for any potential signs of the O’Driscolls. The snow covered a lot but this was not going to stop her, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. After three days of relentless cold, she was beginning to get disheartened but she carried on searching, she wasn’t going to give this one up. She would be prepared.
A lucky break came on the fourth day, she had hidden her horse Derry Girl and gone to fetch some water for coffee when she could hear a group passing nearby, stalking them through the trees she could make out pieces of what they were saying, how they were sick of the cold mostly and where were all the animals to hunt, living off oatcakes and bad coffee and then she heard something that made her smile, Domhnall’s name. Returning for her horse who was small, fast and silent she proceeded to follow the group for some miles, keeping her distance and sticking to the tree line as much as she could until they came to their hideout. It looked like an old outpost of some sort, must have been abandoned for some time now. The wooden structures didn’t look very warm at all but any respite from that white hell would be better than nothing, there was small sign on the southern entrance, Colter.
Mag stayed hidden for a few hours, waiting for night to draw in. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see much as long as they couldn’t either so having oiled and checked her gun she made her move. Starting at the edges of the camp she went quietly at first, slitting the throats of any O’Driscolls on watch to not alert the rest of them, making sure to drag the bodies out of eyesight. She would be prepared. While the plan was working at first, there’s one thing Mag didn’t account for and that’s the weakness of a drinking man’s bladder. While carefully creeping round one of the structures, a door swang open and a man emerged with his braces down ready to relieve himself, she tried to stay still but he saw her and she saw him, it was Dún na nGall Padraig. The years had not been kind to him but it was definitely him, she always though he was on ok man he didn’t have Domhnall’s evil in him, more a young lad caught up in the gang life. She knew she wouldn’t get any joy from killing him but it didn’t matter, as soon as he started to shout a shot rang out, Mag quick on the draw as ever put a hole square in his head and moved to find cover. The next few minutes were pandemonium as the O’Drsicoll gang poured from the cabins and took cover themselves, firing a hail of bullets in Mag’s direction with more than a few coming close. She returned fire carefully, when she downed one she would move to a new spot quickly, the gun flashes were a dead giveaway of her location so she was always moving. She would be prepared.
While not being the quickest or efficient killing method, it worked, when she was sure there were no more she gave as shout, much like all those years ago in Lakay but with a coolness to it now, this was a woman used to the outlaw life now, more used to killing with clarity of vision. Her angry heart would not rule her head this time. The moonlight set the scene and wolves could be heard in the distance.
“Domhnall O’Driscoll..i’ve found you. I’ve found you now at last you flash arrogant wee bastard..come out!!”
The door of the cabin opened, a figure rushed out and Mag could make out a sawn off shotgun in his hand, he didn’t move like Domhnalll and with a gun with the range of a baby throwing stones she waited as she knew he needed to come close. He moved quickly for a big man, not panicking she lined up her shot and just as he was lifting the shotgun he was down, Colter was silent as the gunshot reverberated.
“I’ve met your bodyguard Domhnall, we were getting on famously. Scared to face me are you? Now he’s dead and you’re next. If you don’t come out I’m coming in.”
The door flew open as Mag entered the cabin, the low light made it difficult to see and the place was a mess, bottles everywhere and the stench was foul. Scanning the room slowly she found him, stood hunched in the corner his frostbitten hands betraying him as he fumbled for his gun.
“Evening Red..I’ve bee..”
With no desire to let him finish the sentence she had dropped him kicking his gun away first before landing a smart one two catching him in the nose with her left , then a knockout blow to the jaw with her right. His poison words would not be uttered again as she gagged the O’Driscoll, binding his arms and legs twice to make sure. A simple bullet would not be enough for him, she smiled to herself sadistically conjuring up a way for him to suffer as she rummaged through his pockets finding a strange old looking coin probably worth a pretty penny to the right buyer along with some cigarettes. She lit one, drew a breath of the smoke deep into her lungs and exhaled calmly as she spun the antique coin between her fingers, vengeance was now hers for sure.
Stowing the unconscious body on her horse she thought she noticed something out of the corner of her eye moving in the bushes by the fence near the Colter entrance, was it a man? Certainly looked and moved like one but too unkept to be another O’Drsicoll and he didn’t look aggressive. A hermit living the cold life perhaps? Whoever it was wouldn’t stop her from finishing her business so she hit Domhnall on the head with the butt of her revolver for good measure and headed out towards the sounds of the wolves howling, scouting the perfect spot for her to leave him and take high ground to watch. This spot was as good as any so she tied him to a tree and with the earlier binding of his limbs he would not escape she was sure of it. Throwing snow in his face in an attempt to wake him up proved useless and he needed to be awake for this, swiftly shooting him once in each thigh to really get the smell of blood in the air. As it sunk in what was in store, Domhnall didn’t scream instead his eyes showed a man smiling, smiling with fear or pride perhaps it mattered not as the wolves drew closer.
Reaching higher ground to watch Mag was transfixed as the hungry wolves sized up the gift, howling and tearing at Domhnall O’Driscoll one at a time at first until she could see all four ripping chunks from his flesh, his face everywhere as hot blood pooled and started to melt the snow and ice around him contrasting to the white of the snow the dark red blood like a macabre nativity scene, it reminded her of Christmas. Feeling finally at some kind of- not peace exactly but something like that and deciding she had seen enough of the gruesome scene she turned to Derry Girl and gave her a pat, some oatcakes and a wee sip of whiskey to keep warm and after obliging herself a bigger drink of the strong stuff, set off down the trail and out towards warmer climes. Who could she find to sell this vintage coin to? And what other rare items might there be out there in the Five States.
The Five States Herald 