****************************************************************************
  *                          "New to Love Honeymoon"                         *
  *                                 (part 3)                                 *
  *                              by Vince Water             August 11, 2005  *
  ****************************************************************************
  | Copyright 2005-2006 by Vince Water                    UNFINISHED: 9/2/06 |
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

     I sit with my lover over the bed. :You'll have a hot bath in little bit.:

     :I'm about to sleep right now.: Jesse yawns to prove his point.

     I get sticks of jerky from the saddlebag. :Eat, my love.:

     :I can't!:

     I'm biting on my stick. :Try to, Jes. You need to keep up your strength.:
  He accepts the beef jerky and bites down on it. I make sure he eats it all.
  :After our bath, I'll put you to bed. I'm gonna have lunch... ah, dinner at
  Ruth's rooming house. She's promised to make up a basket of food for you.:

     :I won't be hungry again until tonight if I'm not sleeping through to
  morning, love.:

     :Well. The food will be waiting for you.: I'm looking around our small
  drab room. There's a porcelain chamber pot in the corner. The lantern flickers
  in the air coming through our window. Tom had forgotten to set the glass lens
  down after lighting it. I do so now. A box of matches is set beside it. When
  returning to bed, Jes has his eyes closed. I'm pulling him into arms for a
  kiss. He responds after a moment. "Awake now?"

     :I'll try to keep my eyes open long enough to take that bath. I'm really
  hurting, Mike! That's the only reason why I haven't keeled over on the bed
  and fell asleep already.:

     :Soon, love.: I'm holding Jesse in my arms until a thought strikes me.
  :I need to hide our money in this room somewhere.:

     :How about under the mattress, love?:

     :There is no mattress!: Oh. He was only kidding me since that's the usual
  place people are known to hide their cash. I'm going through the room. Wooden
  beams above my head offer narrow places to shove bills but it's too obvious a
  place to search. The walls, though roughly formed offer nothing. I find a
  'spy hole' near the door. Hmm. I'll have to get a rag to plug it. When I'm
  searching the floor, a plank under the window appears warped. Probably from
  rain soaking it in the past. I pry my fingers under and pull. There's some
  give... snap! I've broken off the end to that damn plank.

     A small space is revealed in the floor that would make a great hiding
  place but that piece of plank in my hand, when put back, will show up like a
  sore thumb.

     :You could rub dust into that crack. That's what my mom did when she broke
  the floor near the washing machine to hide what she'd done from my father.:

     :Okay. I'll try it.: That rolled wad of big bills and those hundreds in
  $20 bills are pulled from my breast pocket. Six hundred dollars in all. They
  are dropped into that hiding place in the floor. I decide to keep that $100
  in twenties in my left pocket and that wad of smaller bills and coins in my
  right pocket for now. The broken plank is fit back into the floor. I'm
  obscuring that break with dust as Jesse suggested. Hmm. Not bad.

     I return to Jesse who's sitting in bed yawning. To keep him awake, we
  kiss and hold each other for a while. When it's been half an hour since Tom
  left us, we leave the room. The hallway is dark. We manage to find that
  bathroom and meet the boy holding two buckets in his hands.

     Tom fills the metal tub with steaming water. Jes is sitting over a stool
  in the corner awaiting his bath. I'm standing next to the boy. We're in a
  curtained room. No window. The floor is of stone with a drain in the middle.

     "I'll return shortly with these buckets filled with water so you can rinse
  with. Here's the soap."

     I'm handed a hard cake of lard. "Thanks." When the boy passes through the
  curtain, Jesse drops the blanket from around himself. He pulls off my elk
  skin robe, undergarment, socks and moccasins. His eagle's feather is untied
  from his dick. It's reverently set over his clothes. Naked, I help him into
  the tub which was filled with cold water before the boy added those steaming
  buckets. He tests the temperature with his toes. :Is it okay?:

     :Yes.:

     Jesse sits in the tub. I'm handing him the soap. He cleans his body with
  a shy grin, steam rising around him that tempts me into joining him. Sure,
  why not? I pull off my clothes and get in behind him.

     :Can you wash my back?: Asks Jesse.

     :Of course.: He hands the soap to me. After using it on myself, I lather
  up his back that turns into a long massage. My lover moans contentedly. He
  leans onto my chest with my hands going around to rub over the front of him.
  I'm Feeling him going to sleep. I take 'advantage' of my lover by kissing his
  left shoulder.

     "Here's the rinse water," whispers Tom.

     I'm quick to hide Jesse's breast from the boy with my arms but from the
  way his eyes widen like saucers, he knows that this isn't a woman with me.
  I glare at Tom.

     "I'm not gonna say anything to no one," promises Tom. "Cross my heart and
  hope to die!" The boy quickly adds, "It's not like I haven't seen two guys
  together before."

     I'm nodding, relief filling me. :Wake up, Jes.: He doesn't stir in my arms
  and I'd rather not wake him up. "Can you rinse us?" The boy nods excitedly.
  Jesse is lifted in my arms. His body is very slippery but I manage to keep
  him from falling back into the tub. Water is poured over our left side. Tom
  runs around to the other side of our tub to rinse our right side. I'm
  struggling to pull Jes from the tub. Tom helps by lifting my lover's feet
  out. I drop Jesse over a stool. The boy runs from the room.

     I want to cover Jes up with that blanket but I'm needing my arms to hold
  him up. Tom returns. He has a towel in his hands and without asking, dries my
  lover's body. Mine, too. "Thanks." I'd seen the way his eyes looked at us.
  That familiar longing in his face. When I Glean the boy, I learn that he's
  given himself to needing men who stay the night at this livery. On weekends,
  a group of boys service the lonely men such as that black youth who sold me
  the newspaper.

     "Can you carry him back to your room?" asks Tom. "Here's the blanket."

     "Yeah." We're covered up. I'm holding Jesse tight in my arms while
  grasping the ends to our blanket. My clothes will have to be left behind.
  That worries me since there's cash in both of my overalls pockets.

     "I'll carry your clothes for you."

     Tom gathers everything up in his arms. I heft Jesse in my arms and
  hurriedly make my way back to our room. The boy is following close behind.
  Relief fills me when we reach it without anyone seeing. I'm laying Jes over
  the bed. The boy sets our clothes down at the foot of it. Then he turns to me
  with a sly grin. He checks out my cock which has become semi-erect from our
  bath. I see the boy's smile for me that fades from his lips when he looks at
  the bed's occupant.

     "He's a Blackfoot warrior, isn't he?"

     I'm nodding. Tom looks at the eagle's feather laying over the clothes he's
  brought from the bathroom. Jesse is covered up with the blanket. I'm putting
  on my undergarment. The boy's eyes are on my butt with a hunger filling them.
  I playfully slap my cheeks before they're covered from sight.

     "Can I come later tonight?"

     "We'll see." The boy has just propositioned himself to us. I am tempted
  but Jes will likely be sleeping through the night and I don't want to use
  this kid for sex. My lover satisfies me. Tom gently touches my arm. I hold
  the boy's shoulders and peer down at him. "He's my lover. Do you understand?"

     Tom nods. "You won't be wanting to see me tonight."

     I want to tell him that's so but I can't bring myself to it. A huff of
  breath blows out my nose.

     "I'm half Cree," says Tom. "This warrior would likely drive his knife into
  my back than tumble in bed with me. Our People are mortal enemies."

     "Jes-ee-ah wouldn't hurt you," I'm assuring the boy. "He doesn't regard
  the Cree as an enemy."

     "He's not from the western reservation?"

     "No. We've come from... a Canadian tribe." That gives Tom something to
  think about.

     "Is that where you bound yourself to him?"

     I don't give the boy an answer. He peers up at my chest where that small
  bundle hangs down from my neck. It contains our wedding rings but he doesn't
  know that.

     "I hope my asking don't bother you, Mister."

     "It don't. You of all people understand what it's like to be with a man."
  Tom quickly nods.

     "He's very handsome. I'm kind of envious of you, Mister."

     "Please call me Michael." I'd said that to get the boy off this subject.

     "My mother named me Little Blanket." The boy bites his lower lip. "I've
  not given my true name to a White skin before."

     "I'm honored, Little Blanket. My given Indian name is Short Hair." That
  gets the boy smiling when he looks up at my head.

     "That's a good name." Tom drops his eyes down to his feet when he asks,
  "Can I see you tonight? Just to talk and all." The boy breathes in deeply.
  "I've not seen a White skin with an Indian before. Ah. Both being men."

     "Really?" He's 'tumbled in bed' with white guys before. He's an Indian.

     "You musta knowed by coming here that men are spending the night with other
  men or want a boy like me."

     I'm nodding. "Actually, I tried getting us a room at Ruth's rooming house
  but she wouldn't allow it on account of my 'squaw'."

     Tom giggles. "If she'd knowed it was a warrior..."

     "Yeah." We exchange knowing grins.

     "Can I come by tonight?"

     I release a tense breath. To say no would hurt him but I don't trust
  myself by having this boy in my room if Jesse is asleep.

     "I ain't gonna come between the two of you," assures Tom. "How could I?"

     What does he mean by that? I'm shrugging my shoulders.

     "I seen how you look at him. Your eyes light up from being strong in love.
  All the men just want is my body. They don't care to see me fer who I am."

     I'm shamed by his words. From first laying eyes on this kid, I'd been
  lusting for his body too. He's gotta really nice ass. Tom is staring at me so
  I meet his gaze. "Maybe I'm no better than them."

     "Maybe. But I'll take my chances."

     "Chances at what?" I suspect what the boy is trying to say.

     "Friendship. I want to know things that the two of you knowed and share
  with each other."

     "You mean about love?" The boy slowly nods. He peers up at me with such
  want in his eyes that it melts my heart. I'm giving him a hug. "Okay." His
  arms give me a tight squeeze. Then he runs from the room like a happy pup,
  closing the door behind him.

     I sit beside Jesse who's softly snoring. My eyes close, and I Sense how
  deeply asleep my lover is. He really needs the rest. I'm wanting to get out
  and about. There's a whole town to explore as it was in 1891! I still can't
  believe that we've been brought back in time. It's unbelievable. Grandfather
  knew this would happen and he's asked that we follow the path set before our
  feet. That's gonna lead to the Blackfoot reservation. What are we to do there?
  I've read about the Plains Indians before they were put on reservations and
  Christopher's memories are from that same time period some thirty years ago.
  The 'free' Indian is no more. I don't have a clue about what things are like
  for them now.

     I'm getting dressed into my overalls, shirt, socks and boots. This room
  won't be so cold if them window shutters are closed. I do so now. I'll be
  needing a coat when going outside. My elk skin robe wouldn't be appropriate.
  I should make a few purchases before supping over at Ruth's. My hand feels
  over that wad of bills in my right pocket. There's $97.88 I can spend for
  clothes and such. Another hundred is in my left pocket. I'll not get supplies
  for our journey until tomorrow after consulting with Jes on what we'll need.
  It can't be a lot of stuff since we only have one horse between us. How much
  is a horse? Hmm. I'd rather not buy another mount but save my money 'cause we
  may need it in the 'moons' ahead. When will the first snows come? I think
  it's in November. So three months must pass before Jesse can invoke that
  Fireball Spirits summoning spell and return us to 2003.

     After checking on Jesse again (a kiss to my sleeping prince's cheek),
  I turn down the lamp and leave the room. There's no lock on the door which
  concerns me. Someone could come into our room while I'm gone. Tom is found
  in the stables.

     "Going out?"

     "Yeah." I'm turning towards the rooms. "Can you keep an eye on him for me?"

     "Sure will!"

     "Has anyone else rented a room?"

     "Not yet. I expect one or two may later tonight."

     "There's no lock on my door."

     Tom's eyes widen. "A locked door? There's a latch on the inside where
  you'll be ensured privacy."

     "He's sleeping right now so I don't want to disturb him."

     "Oh." Tom decides to reveal something. "Tell you what I can do. We'll
  latch the door from the outside."

     "How?" The boy smiles, taking me in hand back to the rooms. He grabs
  something hanging from a nail in the passageway that looks like a long thin
  piece of metal.

     "Open the door," asks Tom.

     We quietly enter my room. The boy peers over at Jesse for a moment, then
  he's showing me the latch on the right opening side of my door. It's a thick
  piece of wood that fits into a catch on the door frame. He sets it just above
  the catch. With a gesture, we leave the room and close my door. Tom inserts
  that thin piece of metal between a space through the door frame where the
  latch is on the other side. He works his tool expertly. A hard downwards
  shove drives the latch in place. I glare at the boy.

     "We sometimes need to get into a latched room," Tom explains. "Some drunk
  who didn't wake up after spending the night so we can take away his body."

     "Uh-huh." It's also a great way to sneak into a room late at night when
  its occupant is sleeping to rob him blind. In the morning, he'd find his door
  still latched and scratch his head. "Well, thanks. I'm only gonna be out for
  an hour." The boy nods in understanding. "I really appreciate you helping me
  and all. I'll see you tonight." He beams at me.


     I'm walking down west Second Street with a freedom I've never experienced
  before. No one knows me in this time. All my troubles have been left behind
  in 2003. Well. My legal troubles have gone away for the most part but there's
  still Jake to settle in, our wedding in a few Saturdays that my parents may
  attend (and likely try to dissuade me from going through with it), and all
  those other challenges likely to face Jes and me being together. For now,
  all that has been put on hold. I am getting a longer honeymoon as I wanted!
  Anywhere or any 'time' that I can be with Jesse makes me happy.

     I get out of the way of a buggy speeding towards me. Two horsemen nearly
  run me over when I step into their path! I'm walking closer to the buildings,
  noting what they are so when I'm ready to supply up for our journey, I'll
  know where to go. That'll be tomorrow.

     I'm wrapping my arms around me for warmth. Brrrr! It is a cold August day.
  That cowboy told me it was the 12th. The year is 1891. Only the day remains
  the same - Wednesday, as it was in 2003.

     A clothes shop is spotted. No billboard to announce what it is, but I see
  garments displayed in its window. Not too many buildings have big windows.
  I step onto the porch, turn the handle and step inside. My nose wrinkles at
  the strong smell. I'm not sure what that is but it sure has to do with
  clothes. There's lots of 'em piled over tables or hanging from long racks. A
  woman spies me, smiling, and approaches.

     "Good day, sir."

     "Ma'am." I wonder if this shop only sells women's clothes. It strikes
  Chris how unusual it is for a woman to run the shop. Gotta remember to talk
  right to fit these times.

     "What can I do for you today?"

     I face this young woman. She's nicely dressed but more a professional
  look. Smooth skirt curves without anything that could stick out and catch on
  a corner. No hat. "I is lookin' for some'm to wear." She gives me a once over.

     "How about a coat?"

     I'm nodding. "Sure cold out there."

     "Do you have a hat?"

     I shake my head back and forth. "Need ah..." I'm sticking fingers down
  into the front of my overalls. "To keep warm at night."

     "Long johns. A night shirt would also help with warmth." The woman nods.
  "Yes. I can set you up with some clothes your size."

     "Another pair of overalls too, Ma'am." Jesse comes to mind. "I've a kid
  brother needin' clothes, too. He's nearly my height but skinnier round the
  waist. A size 26." The woman was nodding until I mentioned that number.

     "You should have brought him with you."

     "Can't. He's... bed ridden for a spell."

     "Did you come on the train?" the woman asks.

     I'm barely nodding my head. "Colder round these parts than we expected."
  At least that was the truth.

     "Alright. Let me get this straight before I go around collecting clothes.
  You want a coat, hat, long johns, night shirts and overalls. For both of you?"

     "Yes, Ma'am. A pair of long johns fer me, two fer him. A pair of overalls
  fer me, two fer him and remember, he's a mite skinnier than me." I'm smiling.
  Dipping back into 'Christopher talk' is real pleasurable.

     "Did you want the night shirts?"

     "Sure. Two fer me since I ain't got any and two fer him." Oh. Jesse needs
  some shirts. "Ma'am? This the only shirt I got. Canna you find another fer me
  and two fer my kid brother? His arms are longer 'an mine." I'm stretching
  out my arms for her. "Some'm warm and long lastin' while we travel."

     "I sure can." The woman thinks for a moment. "All them clothes are going
  to cost you close to fifteen dollars."

     She's wondering if I got the money. I'm turning from her for a moment to
  pull out $20 from my left pocket. The bill is waved in the air between us.
  The woman is beaming.

     "Very well, sir. Why don't we look at coats first?"

     She leads me to a rack. I'm picking out a dark tan coat that reaches down
  to my thighs. It has a fur lining. After trying it on, I chose one for Jesse
  that should fit his slimmer figure. For hats, I chose ones like that cowboy
  had worn. Wide brimmed with a neck string. That way, it won't fall to the
  ground when we're galloping in the wind.

     "Need some handkerchiefs?"

     "Yes 'um." I hear a clock chiming in her shop. "What time is it, Ma'am?"
  She doesn't need to check it. It's chiming more than the quarter or half
  hour. Before I count to four, she announces that it's Noon. "I've gotta go
  dine at Ruth's rooming house! Can you gather up the other clothes fer me and
  I'll be back for 'em?"

     "I can do that."

     When the woman glares at me, I hand over my twenty bill. A smile returns
  to her face. "I'll take my hat and coat now, Ma'am." She helps me put on my
  coat and the hat is placed on my head. "Thank yeh kindly."

     I'm racing from her shop. Sure hope Ruth won't be upset that I'm a bit
  late for dinner. Oh. Need to clean my hands and face like she asked. There's
  a horse trough so I'm dipping my hands in, rubbing them together and wipe my
  face. That should make me presentable enough. I turn right on Main Street.


     There's five of us sitting down at the table, not including Ruth. Seven
  empty chairs. Either this rooming house isn't full or some of her guests have
  skipped dinner. Our host is last to sit down. I'm looking around this long
  table and see a young couple, a man (about my age), an elderly man, and that
  young girl who was reading a book when I came this morning. Maybe she is
  Ruth's daughter or a ward. All are dressed in good clothes with suits and
  ties for the men, dresses for the women folk. The simple clothes I'm wearing
  can't match their finery. I've worn them since yesterday so I hope they don't
  smell too strongly of horse and sweat. At least I'd taken a bath earlier.

     Ruth speaks Grace. We're all folding our hands at the table's edge. A
  black serving woman waits nearby with a white towel draped over her right
  arm. After prayer, Ruth introduces us all by name until lastly coming to me.
  Oh, yeah. I didn't give her my name. "I'm Michael... Michael Walker." Might
  as well use my former self's last name.

     "Michael isn't rooming with us but has come for the meals," explains Ruth.
  "Excuse me, please."

     I wonder why she made that point? Ruth gets up from the table and leaves
  the room. Her black servant follows. We're quietly glancing at each other
  uneasily around the table for being strangers until that elderly gentleman
  speaks up.

     "I've read in the newspaper today that the fine mayor of this town has
  announced an economic boom..."

     I'm tuning him out. My eyes close in concentration to Reach out for Jesse.
  He's still deep asleep.

     "... He attributes that to the flock of Eastern folk taking up residence
  here, the expansion of farms and ranches in the area, all possible because
  of the arrival of the steam locomotive. I for one have come here to set up my
  practice. It's important that folks have someone to turn to in legal matters.
  No longer is the law entrusted in your ability to use a gun. Not here in
  Montana, though if you were in some lawless town such as San Francisco..."

     Ruth returns with her servant. Steaming trays and bowls burden their arms
  and are set on the table. The attorney doesn't continue with his spiel. All
  our attention is on the food: potato pancakes, green beans, corn on the cob,
  tomato slices and bread. I'm last to be have my plate filled. My glass is
  filled with water. When looking around the table, the attorney's glass
  contains a dark red liquid. Wine? I'd rather drink milk with a meal. We dig
  in with our forks and knives. That potato pancake is more like an omelet by
  its lightness of batter with onions, pork bits and nuts mixed in. Sure tastes
  good! I think those are walnuts or pecans.

     I've smothered lots of butter on my bread and corn on the cob. It may just
  be my imagination, but food seems to taste better in 1891. The conversation
  picks up when our plates empty. The black servant is busy clearing the table.
  I notice that only the older folks are speaking. I'm not gonna risk saying
  something wrong so I fill my mouth with food to keep it busy.

     "Where are you from?" asks Mr. Falk.

     The attorney is asking me? I'm quickly swallowing the food in my mouth.
  "Indiana."

     "Where about?"

     I was gonna say Gary but I'm not sure if it exists yet in this time.
  Christopher's hometown is given. "Shelbyville, Sir." My glass of water is
  quickly brought to my lips. Mr. Falk goes around the table asking others
  where they're from.

     "Many fine towns and cities do we hail from," says Mr. Falk. "Yet all of
  us sitting here have come West. That's sure proof of this nation's need to
  expand into the empty territories. From ocean to ocean, we'll fill this
  country up and become a Power the world will be in envy of and tremble at!"

     A question begs to be asked. "What 'empty' territories? Native Peoples
  were here long before we invaded their land."

     Mr. Falk smiles. "The Indian didn't make good use of it. We will."

     "By chopping down whole forests, strip mining, polluting rivers, hunting
  indigenous wildlife to the brink of extinction and building towns crowded
  with people who'll overtax environmental resources?" The attorney gives me a
  startled look. Then he breaks out in a grin and laughs.

     "My, my. We have a Naturalist in our midst! There are sacrifices to be
  made to fulfill our Manifest Destiny, I'll admit. Those who cannot conform
  will be swept aside."

     "Such as Native Americans?" Ruth is glaring at me in warning.

     "They've been given reservations to live on and are well tended to by our
  government. Farming and ranching is being taught them. Their children are
  given an education. We're lifting these frightened, beragged people out of the
  dark ages to where they can live better lives."

     "In our image. Who are we to say that our way is better? Sure. We've
  advanced in the sciences that has given us modern conveniences such as the
  train you were praising earlier but what about our spirituality?"

     "God is still in our lives, young man. I saw you praying earlier."

     "For how many is that only lip service?" Gasps are heard around the table.
  "I don't intend disrespect to our Lord. What I'm trying to say is that we
  risk losing our humanity by setting our eyes on gaining material things but
  leaving emptiness in our souls. The Native American didn't covet his
  neighbor's land and take it by force as we did. They are a very spiritual
  People whose aspiration was to improve themselves not through the gaining of
  things but in looking inwards for strength and understanding and that's given
  them a happy life. Their ways may seem to be from the 'dark ages' as you've
  said but that's because we don't really know them."

     "You seem to know them, young man. How is that?"

     "Is anyone ready for dessert?" Ruth asks abruptly.

     Mr. Falk is waiting for me to answer him. The other folks around the
  table are clamoring for dessert that Ruth describes in mouth watering detail:
  the fine hand-picked ingredients, how it was prepared from her mother's
  secret recipe and the heavenly taste. It's only apple pie.

     Ruth didn't ask if I'd like a slice. She helps her servant remove the
  remaining plates and trays from the table and they leave the room. No one is
  looking in my direction. The conversation turns to other matters but
  surprisingly, Mr. Falk remains silent. I'm obviously not welcomed here. This
  is a good opportunity to make good my escape. "Excuse me."

     In the hall, I don my new coat and hat. Mr. Falk's voice from behind
  startles me.

     "You impressed me back there for being a well spoken young man."

     I turn to the attorney. "Thanks. But did anyone listen?"

     "I did. You've lived amongst them, haven't you?"

     I'm nodding. "If you only knew what I've seen with my eyes! It's nothing
  like what people say that depicts them as savages and an ignorant 'dark age'
  people. Their God is our God, only different in Name and how we practice
  worship unto Him. I've become a better human being because of them. Sure,
  their ways may seem simple and superstitious but they live happily, in
  acknowledgement that we are spiritual beings held for a brief time in flesh."

     Mr. Falk ponders over what he's heard. "Perhaps you should document this
  truth so that others may come to know the Indian for themselves. I fear that
  the people you've known will pass away, for good or ill."

     "Write a book?" The attorney nods with a serious expression on his face.

     "Mister Walker. I've wrapped up a piece of apple pie for you."

     Ruth hands me a tied paper wrapped square. "Thank you, Ma'am." My head
  hangs. "I didn't mean to upset your guests." Mr. Falk grasps my shoulder.

     "A lot of what you've said went above my head so perhaps 'upset' is too
  strong a word," says Ruth.

     I didn't regress into 'Chris talk' at the table because Ruth has heard me
  speaking good English when we met.

     "This young man has a good head on his shoulders," says Mr. Falk. "His
  words have me reconsidering some of my notions."

     I glance at the woman who looks at me with new eyes. "I'm afraid that I
  won't be able to attend dinner tonight, Ma'am." Ruth seems relieved by that.

     "I, for one, will miss our conversation." Mr. Falk laughs. "Instead, I'll
  be enduring talk about the weather, someone's health and the shameful rise in
  prices of things around here."

     "If you want, I can fix a basket for you and the squaw," offers Ruth.
  "Come back at around seven tonight."

     She had to mention my squaw in front of Mr. Falk! His eyes flash for a
  moment as I imagine his fine opinion of me slipping a few notches. I'm only
  nodding in reply to Ruth. "Well... good afternoon, then."

     I leave the rooming house with my piece of pie in hand. A cold brisk wind
  strikes my face. I'm lowering my head so the hat spills it away. This coat is
  very warm which reminds me. I've some clothes to pick up from that shop for
  me and Jesse. That has me racing down the street. I'm feeling the need to be
  with my lover as soon as may be!

     The smell of fresh baked bread stops me in my tracks. I'm drawn to the
  porch and enter the bake shop, filled with other customers. Dark uncut
  loaves are stacked in rows over the counter. A sign above the ovens reads:
  'Two for a penny'. They're being snapped up by the waiting crowd. Purchases
  are wrapped in paper and tied up with string by two busy women. There are
  pastries being sold here as well. When it's my turn to be waited on, I
  inquire if they have chocolate pudding.

     "Pudding?"

     I'm meekly nodding. The woman who's waiting on me turns to the baker. He's
  a short burly man wearing a white apron. Really strong arms by the way his
  muscles bulge like a weight lifter. A woman customer standing at my side
  sighs impatiently. It seems that she's in a rush to make a purchase. "Ma'am.
  Go ahead of me." The baker meets me around the counter.

     "Sir? Pudding is only made for ze days like Thanksgiving and Christmasss,"
  the baker explains.

     "Only on holidays?" The Frenchman nods. My hope sinks. I wanted to get
  Jesse his favorite dessert to help him feel better.

     "It's not even made on ze premise, like ze pastries. We only bake bread
  here but special orders for parties and weddings can be arranged." He looks
  towards his ovens anxiously. The next batch of loaves are about ready to be
  taken out.

     "I'd like to arrange the purchase of chocolate pudding then." When he
  nods, I'm digging into my right pocket for coins. "How much would say... a
  bowl full cost me? When could you have it ready?"

     "How big a bowl?" the baker asks. "A better question would be, how many
  people do you want to serve and when to need it?"

     "Not a party bowl. Enough for two people and could I pick it up tomorrow
  morning at nine?" I'm planning on breakfasting at Ruth's tomorrow so that
  would give me the opportunity to pick it up on my way back to our room. As to
  asking this man for two portions of pudding, that's so Jesse can eat his
  fill without there being too much extra since we don't have a refrigerator.
  I can polish off what he doesn't eat.

     "Hmm. Chocolate, you said? That's not a common pudding flavor. Not common
  at all. Let's say, twenty cents on account that you need it by ze morning."

     I'm handing over two silver dimes while beaming at the man. "Thanks!"

     "What name to put on ze order, sir?"

     "Michael Walker." He's scribbling that on his notepad. People are jostling
  me to get closer to the counter of bread and since it seems that our business
  has been transacted, I wade through the crowd and leave. Damn! I'd forgotten
  to spend a penny. There's no way I'm gonna wait ten minutes again to be
  served. The cold air hits me when I'm leaving the warmth of that shop. I make
  my way up Main Street.

     The train station catches my eye. I hurry towards it while darting out of
  the way of a passing horseman who's in a rush. He was dressed all in black -
  boots, pants, overcoat and even his hat. Reminds me of them Jesuit priests
  at Jake's school except this man wore pistols and bore a silver star over his
  heart. Was that the Sheriff?

     Through the archway, my boots clomp over the wooden floor. I'm not
  noticing their heaviness to my feet anymore. I turn right. At the ticket
  window, a man dressed in a smart uniform peers out at me. "Good Afternoon."

     "Afternoon to you, sir."

     Behind him, set on the wall is a clock. It reads 1:18 PM. I'm realizing
  how much I miss not knowing the time by a simple flick of my wrist. Always
  knowing the time has been an obsession for me. That's one thing I'm gonna
  miss by being in olden times. Oh. The station master is glaring at me. What
  has brought me here other than that stolen look at his clock? I'm clearing
  my throat. "Do you have trains that head west towards Browning?"

     "Browning did you say? Don't know that town. Is it in California?"

     "No." That town I'd gone to with Jes and his mom for that meeting probably
  doesn't exist yet or it's called by another name like this town. "I'm lookin'
  to head straight west out of here."

     "It is a fact that there are no tracks going that way out of here. Only
  a stretch laid for loading cattle cars a few miles out of town."

     My heart sinks. It seems that Jes and I are gonna have to ride all the
  way to 'Ice Mountain' that grandfather had marked on his map. That begs
  another question. "Do you have a map of Montana?"

     There's one in the telegraph office."

     "Thanks." The man shakes his head at me so I might as well ask him another
  stupid question. "Why is this place named 'Bull Hook Bottoms'?"

     "You aren't a local!" The man laughs. "Comes from this town being situated
  at the 'bottom' of Bull Hook Creek." The man looks around for anyone who
  might be within earshot. "I've heard that President James Hill of this here
  railroad line don't like the name either. A lot of folks coming off his
  trains have muttered about this town's peculiar name too. Just wait and see.
  They may be replacing the billboard on this roof in years to come."

     "Yeah. Maybe 'Havre' will be more to his liking." The station master gives
  me a queer look. Hey. I couldn't help myself! I'm heading into the telegraph
  office where a large map covering the wall draws my attention.

     "Can I help you?"

     I'm forced to look to my left. Standing up from a desk is a short man with
  balding that his open haired hat doesn't hide. Oh. I've seen hats like that
  worn by clerks before. The forward rim helps keep the glare off when doing
  paperwork and such. It's not a hat worn for warmth. "Just wanted a look at
  your map as all. Thank you." He waves me off before sitting at his desk.

     To my surprise, this map is in color. Blue for rivers and lakes, rectangles
  of different sizes in green (can't be forests) and red for what are likely
  railroad tracks. That station master was right. The railroad doesn't go west
  out of this town (yet). I run my finger along the intended path Jes and I
  will go to reach Ice Mountain. No Browning. I'm seeing Shelby which appears
  to be three quarters of the way to our destination. Cut Bank is northwest of
  that. I'm pulling out grandfather's map from my back pocket. I need a pen to
  write down towns, distance in miles to them and our final destination to the
  Blackfoot Reservation.

     I walk up to the counter. "Excuse me, sir. May I please borrow your pen."
  The telegraph officer glares at me.

     "I'm sorry, but they're only for official use."

     "Where can I purchase them in..." I hear a series of taps that sends the
  man's hands flying. He grabs a pen and starts jotting down letters on his
  pad. Dit. Dot... dot... dit. Dit. Dit... dot. Morse Code! This is the
  telegraph office, I remind myself. A narrow wheel of paper slowly turns on
  the clerk's desk. A backup system to record the message in case he's not here
  or messes up? I think so. My hands burn around grandfather's map. I really
  need to copy down those towns, rivers and distances from the wall map onto
  this piece of paper! That task sends me back into town so I can find a pen to
  write with.

     Hmm. Where can I find a stationery stop? People weren't as literate in
  this day and age so I'm not expecting to find an office supply store
  equivalent to a Staples or an Office Depot. Maybe someone at the newspaper
  office can send me the right way. I pass the bank. Brad is standing out front
  smoking a cigarette. Our eyes meet. Recognition fills his in spite of my new
  coat and hat. He draws smoke into his lungs then flicks his cigarette to the
  ground near my feet. Before I can give him mean eyes, the young man returns
  inside the bank. I'm Sensing ill will from him. My hands drop to feel over
  the bulges of paper money in my front pockets in assurance. The bulk of our
  money is hidden under that floor board in our room.

     I walk into the 'Daily News'. There's that strong ink smell in the air.
  No sound of presses running. Maybe they'll be printing tomorrow's paper later
  this evening once the stories are written. I see that black kid who'd sold me
  the paper this morning. He's scratching the front of his pants until noticing
  my approach, left hand rushing to his knee. He gives me a guilty look.

     "You want a paper, Mister?"

     "Already got one from you this morning." We exchange looks. His eyes light
  up when he remembers me.

     "Did you find Brahman's Livery?"

     "Sure did. Your directions were right on the mark." I decide to say
  something to test this boy's reaction. "Tom has been very helpful to me."

     "He's a good boy. Very helpful."

     I'm given a knowing grin by this kid. He looks past me to see if anyone is
  gonna enter. I look over my shoulder, seeing that we're alone. When I set
  eyes on this boy again, he's gotten up from his perch and slowly turns around
  in front of the stack of newspapers he'd been sitting on. My eyes check out
  his butt sticking through his pants. It's unusually large for his age. I
  think he's almost ten, a bit gaunt in the face with a willow reed figure.
  Curly black hair. A very dark skin tone (must be full negro) but his accent
  is White. He's been raised by White folks instead of with his birth parents.
  Sorry, but I don't mean to be racists; it's just the impression that popped
  into my head from Gleaning him.

     He looks towards the front office and I'm looking too. No one's there. I
  get a strong inkling of what he's about to show me when he stands in a small
  alcove that blocks view of him from anyone who might enter from outside.

     "Mr. Clans is in his back office finishing up a story," the boy explains.
  "His print devils are busy setting the type."

     I'm slowly nodding. To my surprise, the boy drops his pants. My eyes fall
  to his black butt. Really big cheeks, more than to my liking and I prefer
  Indian brown. He slaps his hands over himself back there with a giggle.

     "I ride 'em good!"

     He means from cocks that have fucked his black ass. My boots are glued to
  the floor, jaw dropping in surprise to hear the kid admit that. He turns
  towards me with a sly grin. My eyes check out his penis. It's standing
  against his smooth groin, black like night and bearing a foreskin. Not thick
  because of his young age but it's really long nearly reaching to his navel.
  He gives it a few playful tugs.

     "Wanna see me perform a little jig over your lap tonight?"

     I'm quickly shaking my head back and forth. "There's a squaw with me."
  The boy's eyes widen in shock from hearing that. He quickly pulls up his
  pants (no underwear).

     "Sorry, Mister. I thought..."

     "That's alright, kid." I'm laughing to put him at ease. "What's your name?"

     "Robert." He looks towards the back of the building when returning to his
  stack of newspapers.

     "Don't worry. Your little 'flash' will be our secret." Robert smiles with
  relief. He returns to his perch. "You were good with directions this morning
  so I've come to ask you where I can find pens and paper in this town."

     "Sure. May's Bookshop on East Second Street. You could get those from the
  general store but I know for fact that May sells what you're wantin' cheaper."

     "Thanks." I'm digging into my right pocket for a coin. What comes out are
  a few pennies and a nickel without pulling them all out. I'm handing over the
  nickel to Robert. "Here's for your trouble, kid."

     "Wow. You don't need to, Mister."

     When Robert sees that I insist, he tucks my coin into his front pocket.
  His erection is apparent by its revealing bulge in his pants. He's rubbing
  it through his pocket. "I'll likely be coming back for more directions."

     "You can rely on me!"

     I fondly rub the boy's head. It's sad that his two jobs to earn money are
  like day and night. Selling newspapers and then himself to needing men. I'm
  feeling bad for not stopping his 'dancing' earlier. It was cute, well worth
  that nickel.


     I'm walking into a bookshop. Even blind, I could tell by that familiar
  paper smell. It's small. Wooden bookcases line the walls with two desks set
  in the middle of this room. A woman and her daughter (it's obvious by their
  similar facial features) rise at my approach.

     "Bet you, mother." She sticks out two fingers at her right hip.

     "Done. Ah... Good afternoon, sir."

     "Ma'am." I'm touching the brim of my hat before getting it to fall at the
  back of my neck. "Miss." The girl smiles slyly at me, holding out a book that
  she's taken with her from her desk.

     "Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you knew how to pronounce this word."

     The woman shrugs her shoulders in dismay but I smile to assure her that
  it's alright with me. "Sure." The girl turns her book around and points out a
  word to me. "Ah, yes. Grommet. Short 'o' and short 'i' like in 'comet'." I'm
  pronouncing it again and add, "It's a reinforced eyelet through which a
  fastener is passed." I lift a button from the top of my shirt to reveal the
  stitching around its hole. The girl stares at me dumbfounded.

     "Mother! How could a MAN possibly know that?"

     'I won,' the woman mouths.

     The only reason why I know that word is from a college class I'd taken in
  English writing. It was a term the teacher asked that proved our ignorance
  when none of her students knew what that button hole stitching was called.
  The girl grabs her book back from me.

     "Ah, Ma'am. I was directed here in the hope of purchasing some pens." What
  that attorney said about me documenting the truth about Indian People comes
  to mind. "Do you also have a journal book about this size?" I'm extending my
  thumbs and pointing fingers in the air to form a rectangle.

     "Yes, sir. I can supply you with pens, ink, and a journal book that size."

     "Thank you." The girl has returned to her desk and sulks. She's lost her
  bet of two somethings (pennies or a higher coinage?) when she expected that I
  couldn't pronounce that word right let alone tell her what it meant. Most
  people would have made the 'o' long or pronounced the 'e' as in 'bet' instead
  of a short 'i'.

     The woman scrounges around her shop for a blank journal. She returns to me
  with a wooden crate hefted in her hands, handing me a book.

     "Will this do?"

     It's about the size I wanted. Flipping through the empty pages counts to,
  in my rough estimation, over fifty sheets with two sides that'll provide me
  with a hundred to write in. "Yes, Ma'am." She sets the wooden crate over her
  daughter's desk. This teenaged girl won't even look up at me.

     "How fine a point do you need?"

     I'm shown a pen that looks more like a scalpel with a small hole and a
  fine separation between the curved metal 'blades'. I have no idea. "Anything
  that can endure a long journey and be easy to write with." The woman shows me
  another pen with a larger curved blade.

     "How many will you need?"

     "Well. If I'm writing daily in my journal for three months..." She nods.
  Three pens are gathered into her right hand. Two small glass bottles filled
  with black ink are set on her daughter's desk. "How much for all this?"

     "Two dollars."

     I'm nodding in agreement. The pens are wooden shafted with a cap fit over
  the blade to protect it. I wonder if I'll even be able to work it. Hmm. Dip
  it into the ink, write until the lettering begins to fade, then dip again.
  Don't press down too hard. Allow the written line a chance to dry before
  beginning the next line or end up with a smudge and blackened palm. That's
  what I've Gleaned from this woman just now.

     "Patricia. Could you fetch me a small cigar box from the back room?"

     The girl gets up from her desk, glares at me a moment, then does as her
  mother asked. The woman bursts out laughing after her daughter has left the
  room. She brings her left hand up to her mouth while peering at me uneasily.

     "Sorry." She controls her outburst after a moment. "I ah... would like to
  apologize for my daughter's behavior. Mine as well."

     I'm giving her a grin to show that I wasn't offended. "What was the bet
  she lost?" I show her two fingers and shrug my shoulders.

     "Two days of helping me with cataloging our books. It's tedious work as
  you can imagine since we have new acquisitions to sort through."

     I'm nodding in understanding. It's no wonder that Patricia hates me. I
  bring out two bills from my right pocket and hand them over to this woman.

     "Where are you journeying to, if I may ask?" She pockets the $2.

     "Straight west towards Ice... ah, that glacier mountain." The woman's
  smile quickly fades.

     "You know that's Indian Territory."

     "Yes, Ma'am. The Blackfoot."

     "Are you exploring there?"

     I Glean that she means if I'll be prospecting for gold. "No. I'll be
  visiting with the Blackfoot People. My... companion (almost told her squaw!)
  is from a northern tribe."

     "You've come down from Canada?"

     I'm nodding. That's better than voicing the lie.

     "Will your companion be translating for you?"

     "No, Ma'am. I'm well spoken in Siksika but his presence... will help ease
  things. I want to document these People's ways before they're rolled over by
  the uncaring wheels of Manifest Destiny."

     "You're a scholar!"

     "In a way." The woman looks at me with new eyes. Patricia enters the room
  from a doorway where she'd been listening to us. I Glean her interest in
  Indians. She brings the cigar box.

     "Is this what you had in mind, mother?"

     "Yes, thank you." She places four pens and three ink bottles into the box.
  When I express my surprise at that extra pen and bottle, she waves away my
  concern for her generosity.

     "There won't likely be a place to renew your supply of writing instruments
  out there," the woman explains.

     "Not likely, Ma'am. Thank you." I touch my hat and am about to turn from
  them to leave when a Siksika word is uttered by the girl.

     "Oki."

     I'm smiling. I hold up my right hand and say, "How". The word she'd given
  me was for 'thank you' instead of a farewell as I've properly given her.

     "That's all I know," Patricia sadly mutters.

     "It's more than most people around these parts do, or care to." I realize
  that we've not exchanges names. "I'm Michael Walker, Ma'am."

     "Carter. This is my daughter, Patricia. We're glad to have met you."

     "Likewise, Ma'am." I look at Patricia who smiles at me. "Miss. Good day to
  you both." I turn again to leave and make my way outside. My hat is set back
  over my head. That journal book is tucked under my left arm. I'm grasping the
  cigar box in both hands while balancing Ruth's slice of apple pie on top.


     By the time I'm returning to Brahman's Livery, my arms are loaded down
  with paper wrapped bundles of clothes, Jesse coat and his hat. Tom spies me
  in the stables. I surrender the coat and hat to him when he offers to help
  me carry stuff. "Thanks." A quick look to my right assures me that Rebecca is
  in her stable. "How are you, girl?" The horse ignores me.

     "You sure have been busy this afternoon," the boy comments.

     "Had to get us warmer clothes."

     "I was wondering about that. Samuel had thought you looked a bit under
  clad when you approached him this morning."

     He must be that blacksmith to whom I'd paid for our room and to stable
  Rebecca. Tom leads me through the dim passageway, grabs that long thin piece
  of metal from a hook and 'unlocks' my door for me. I find Jesse still asleep
  in bed. We try to be quiet with placing all the paper wrapped packages, coat
  and hat over a chair. Tom faces me with a grin. I'm mouthing 'thanks' to him.

     The boy looks over at Jesse. I can't help myself when dropping my eyes
  down to his butt. The pants he wears outlines it nicely. Probably not wearing
  underwear either, like Robert. His shirt is long sleeved. There are holes in
  it and a few dark stains covering the back. When Tom turns to me, I can see
  his upper chest showing through from not buttoning up. A nice brown color.
  I'm trying to guess this kid's age again. He has upper body strength but real
  thin below. Strange facial features from being a half breed. Yet his face is
  pleasant to look upon, expressive eyes and not too big a nose. A broad
  forehead. His black hair flows down just past his shoulders.

     Tom has also been looking me over. He stares at my crotch but my cock
  hasn't erected, just tingling pleasantly after his look there. I remove my
  hat, coat (which wasn't buttoned) and lay them over the chair's back. The boy
  looks over his shoulder at Jesse again.

     "Is your companion not well?" asks Tom.

     "He's not used to riding." The boy's eyes widen in surprise.

     "Don't his tribe have horses?"

     "Some." I'm thinking fast to make up a plausible story. "Jes has been
  attending school in the East for a spell."

     "Really! How much learnin' did he get?"

     "Enough. He can read and write English."

     "And speak it?"

     I'm glaring at Tom. "Of course. Pretty good talker, too." I had to tell
  the boy that since he'll be coming later tonight for our discussion. Jesse's
  perfect English will be heard.

     "Why are the two of you out here?"

     I shake my head back and forth. "Wait for tonight and we'll tell you."
  Tom smiles. I'm relieved since that puts that off until later. We end up
  looking at each other again. I can't help being attracted to this kid beyond
  his physical appearance. He's thoughtful, kind, and such an honesty to him
  that's refreshing after having to deal with Jake last week. Whoever raised
  this boy did a good job.

     "If your companion is really hurting from your ride, I've got something
  that will help."

     I'm nodding in gratitude. When it seems like Tom is gonna run off to get
  the medicine, I stop him. "Let him sleep. You can bring it tonight."

     "Sure."

     Part of the reason I stopped him was out of selfishness. I want him to
  stay a while longer. Just having the boy near me feels good and not because
  he's a good looking fellow. I'm wanting to know who Tom is but more than that,
  to simply be in his presence. He's like a friend I've known for a long time
  (I know that doesn't make any sense since we don't know each other). He is a
  comfort to me in this place where everything is strange and not quite real.
  Tom seems to realize my need, smiling gently at me with kind eyes. I'm
  closing mine briefly in concentration. My lover is still deep asleep. He may
  not wake up until tomorrow like he's said. The rest will be good for Jes but
  that means skipping meals. I think the last time he ate was a stick of jerky
  before his bath. That reminds me. Ruth will have a supper basket ready for me
  at seven so I'll awaken him then to eat. I've saved her slice of apple pie
  for him.

     "Michael?"

     "Yeah."

     Tom opens his mouth but closes it on second thought. He looks towards the
  door. "I need to get back out there. Samuel will be cross at me if someone
  comes needing to stable a horse or something."

     'Or something' means giving his ass to some horny bastard. Guilt fills me.
  If given the chance, I might jump him. Tom is peering at me. "Go ahead." The
  boy walks to the door with a back glance at me. I'm waving him to be off. He
  closes the door gently behind him. A deep sigh comes out of me when I look at
  the chair filled with stuff. Unwrapping the paper from around our new clothes
  will cause too much noise (and wake Jesse) so I'm setting everything on the
  floor. The lantern near my lover is taken. It's set over a hook on the wall
  near my chair. I turn the knob that raises its wick from the coal oil which
  results in a brighter flame. I've some hours to kill.

     That newspaper is pulled from the saddlebag and I take my seat in the
  chair. While I'm waiting for my lover to wake up, I might as well catch up
  with the news of the day.

     This town's newspaper is called the 'Daily News'. It's printed on a large
  piece of paper that I'd folded twice (beyond its middle fold) to fit in the
  saddlebag. It consists of two sheets, printing on both sides. There are no
  photographs; only text. Below the paper's fancily printed name and the date
  of August 12, 1891 is this headline:

            A Notorious Desperado Defies The Sheriff - Refused To Be
            Arrested And Is Killed

         Aug. 7, Cypress town - Mose Edwards, a condemned murderer
         meets a just fate. On Friday afternoon, Mose Edwards, a
         notorious desperado and an escaped condemned murderer, was in
         town, drinking, flourishing his pistol and defying the
         authorities. He got on his horse just at night, with pistol in
         hand and started home coming up with Josiah Foster, Jr., in
         Cypress town, where he commenced to abuse him for the purpose
         of provoking a quarrel. Foster fearing his life would be
         taken, ran from Edwards, and went to the residence of Sheriff
         Winfrey which is on the road, asking protection and the arrest
         and disarming of Edwards. The Sheriff knowing the desperate
         character of Edwards, summoned a posse, taking with him his
         shot-gun. We will let the evidence before the Coroner's
         inquest tell the rest:

         W J Alexander, Esq., acting as Coroner: Josiah Foster Jr. left
         town just before Edwards, going up the main road through
         Cypress town; deceased left presently after, going by the
         Pennywit Mill; deceased was noisy and drunk and had his pistol
         out. Wm Howell was with him and trying to get him to put up
         his pistol; deceased overtook me on cemetery hill; punched me
         with his pistol and asked if I was his friend; said he would
         kill me and in every way threatened me; until I became alarmed
         and ran from him. I then went to Sheriff Winfrey and asked him
         to arrest and disarm Edwards. The Sheriff handed me a pistol
         and told me to make the arrest and that he would follow on.
         The deceased saw me coming and turning to me we commenced
         firing about the same time; he fired twice and I twice or
         more; gave up my pistol and got a shot-gun; was nearby when
         the Sheriff was encountering him; saw him fire at the Sheriff;
         don't know whether he had two pistols or not. Upon reflection
         think he had time to reload his pistol before the Sheriff came
         up; deceased waited for us, he could have gone on and got far
         ahead of us if he had wanted to.

         Sheriff Winfrey: Saw Edwards, Foster, Howell, and one other
         coming along the road riding together. Josiah Foster left the
         party and came to me and said that deceased had a pistol and
         he thought I ought to disarm him. I followed on foot with a
         double barreled shot-gun; saw deceased had a pistol in his
         hand as he passed my house, and heard him say "by God he
         wanted to fight"; it was sometime afterwards that I followed;
         deceased upon seeing me left the road he was on crossed over
         into the main road ahead of me and was advancing upon me with
         pistol in hand; I commanded him to surrender, when he wheeled
         his horse and presented his pistol at me; whereupon I fired,
         he fired twice, once at me and the second shot, I think at
         Foster. I had furnished Foster with arms to assist me in
         making the arrest; I considered I was acting in the discharge
         of my official duty in making the arrest and am satisfied that
         the deceased would have killed me had I not been too quick for
         his purpose. I put up the pistol of Edwards after he was shot,
         it was a colt army revolver, a good weapon, loaded except the
         two barrels as about stated.

         Oscar Beeler: Saw Edwards galloping through Cypress town; saw
         Josiah Foster following; two shots each were fired; heard talk
         between them but did not understand what it was; don't know
         which fired first; presently after, the Sheriff came up; heard
         the Sheriff call upon the deceased to surrender; deceased drew
         his pistol and fired about the same time as the Sheriff; the
         reports were very close together.

         Edwards lived until the next morning. The Verdict of the Jury
         called to examine into the cause of the death of Mose Edwards
         is that he came to his death from a gun shot wound, at the
         hands of the Sheriff and posse in discharge of their duty as
         such officers, in attempting to make the arrest of said
         Edwards. George Wood, Foreman. J L Whitfield, A H Lacy, E A
         Lauenstein, W H Bushong, A C Scrimsher, B F Hinkle, W T
         Merrill, P B Scott, John Neal, Sam White, James Yager.

     That was an interesting story. I'm not surprised by the account since this
  is the Old West where violence was commonplace. Violence also leads the news
  in my time but with lots more people being killed by terrorist attacks or
  some deranged man gunning down kids in a school.

     The word 'Indian' catches my eye on the newspaper's second page:

         Marriage Of A Government Contractor To Beautiful Indian Maiden

         July 11, Fort Assinniboine - The Blackfoot, Indian Territory.
         Correspondent William Scott to the Helena News says: The most
         unique and pleasant wedding of the season transpired at the
         Mitchell house last evening. Miss F V Labertelle, a beautiful
         young Indian maiden, was doubly united in indissoluble bonds
         to Mr. A J Maxwell, government contractor; Miss Susie Dice as
         bridesmaid; Major W T Vandorn of Washington as groomsman. The
         charming couple were united by Major J J Upham, post commander
         at Fort Assinniboine, acting Indian agent, and resolemnized
         according to the usages of the church by Rev. John Elliot,
         Colonel E J Brooks giving away the bride. Among the many
         distinguished guests present we observed the beautiful Mrs.
         Peck, wife of Colonel J M Peck, U S Commissioner and sister of
         Mrs. Senator Dorsey of Arkansas; Major Taylor, paymaster U S
         Army, Major O L Brown of Washington Department of the Interior,
         Ralph Jones, esq., Peter ...

     I skip over the many names listed to get to the good part. After looking
  over at Jesse with longing in my heart, I continue reading.

         The evening closed quietly and happily, near the wee small
         hours, with music and dancing. The impressive scene was also
         witnessed by Blackfoot, Chippewa and Cree Indians who put off
         their rivalry to share in the merriment.

     That's all to the story? There's no mention of the happy couple's
  honeymoon together. If someone where to write about our honeymoon, I'd fill
  up more than four newspapers this size to account what's happened to Jes and
  me so far! I start reading the next article.

                              At Starvation's Door

         March 7, Oklahoma, Oklahoma Territory - Little Rock Democrat
         says: During the past six weeks the colored population of the
         central counties of state have been leaving for Oklahoma and
         Indian Territories for the purpose of making claims and to be
         monarch of all they surveyed. The immigration movement among
         the negroes has progressed to such an extent that an
         immigration society has been organized by the name of the
         Southern Immigration and Colonization Company.

         A deplorable state of affairs exists, however, among the
         negroes who have lately immigrated to this Territory. They have
         come to the number of several thousand, with the understanding
         that their government would feed them and give them a piece of
         land, and they are now opening their eyes to the fact that the
         land is all taken by the white men and that the government
         will not feed them, and as they have no money and there is no
         work for them to do they are in a deplorable condition. The
         white people of the Territory do not seem to welcome their
         colored brethren, and they are at starvation's door, without a
         friend within a thousand miles, as many of them are from
         Louisiana, Mississippi and Arkansas.

     I'm not surprised. People of minority have always been given a bum steer
  when it comes to my government helping them out. Of course the 'white men'
  grabbed all the land already. They've stolen it from the Native Peoples so
  why should some Black guy (no offense) expect to get a piece himself? They
  were promised that the government would feed them during that land grab so
  that sent many Blacks from their homes in the hope of making a better future
  for themselves. They're likely gonna go through 'starvation's door' without
  anyone lifting a finger to stop them from death and shedding no tears over
  their loss. Really, really sad!

     Here's another article about the Blacks. I'm more interested in reading
  something about Indians but in a way, African Americans suffered a similar
  fate as the Native Americans.

                             Blacks Off To Canada!

         Between one thousand and fifteen hundred negroes went to Canada
         last year, settling in Saskatchewan and Alberts, attracted by
         the image of free lands, and also that everyone had the right
         to vote and was a free man. Black Americans returning to the
         United States from Canada painted the image of a safe, law-
         abiding country. "There has never been a lynching in Canada.
         Put that to the credit of the mounted police, who administered
         justice so successfully that there was never any temptation
         for the work to be taken up by private enterprise."

         The reasons for this migration north is due to adverse
         legislation here against negroes, "Jim Crow" work and depot
         laws, the "grandfather clause" that acts to prohibit them from
         voting, separate school laws and other forms of discrimination.
         One spokesman for a group entering Canada said, "The people of
         Oklahoma treat us like dogs. We are not allowed to vote and
         are not admitted to any of the theatres or public places. They
         won't even let us ride the streetcars in some of the towns".

         This 'welcome mat' image of Canada isn't entirely true. There
         is a great deal of racism there. For example, negroes trying
         to enter Canada encounter strict regulations of health,
         literacy, and financial support. These regulations were set up
         on the assumption that most negroes wouldn't be able to meet
         them and thus would not be allowed to enter the country. Bruce
         Shepard described racism in Canada as "diplomatic racism,"
         that is, western Canadians used the power of the government of
         Canada to place limits on negro immigration. The most extreme
         example of diplomatic racism was "an order-in-council barring
         negroes from entering the country" because the Black race "is
         deemed unsuitable to the climate and requirements of Canada."
         Even though this law was never acted upon and was repealed,
         "the fact that it was approved at all indicates how serious
         Canada was about keeping the northern plains white."

     I'm rereading that last sentence about 'keeping the northern plains white'
  while shaking my head in dismay. Even in my time, if a Black family were to
  move into a white neighborhood, they feared that property values would drop,
  crime become rampant and other bad things just because of the color of their
  skin. One race of people usually dislikes and distrusts the other. When one
  is stronger, they force the other to submit as in the case of the Indian.

     Native Peoples were moved off their ancestral land both here and in Canada
  and put onto reservations. Food and clothes were promised them just like the
  Blacks were in that land grab. At dinner today, Mr. Falk assured me that the
  Indians are being well tended to by our government, farming and ranching
  being taught them and their children given an education. The government had
  let them blacks down so what chance do the Blackfoot Indians have for being
  'well tended to'? Will we find these People 'at starvation's door' when we
  arrive at Ice Mountain? I'm really worried now.

     Jesse continues to sleep. I have no idea what time it is without my
  watch. Grandfather had taken it from me right before I left One-white-horse's
  place. If I were outside, my outstretched finger measurement could be made of
  the sun to determine that. Living in this time is gonna be hard in some ways.
  No clock, no television, no computer, no pickup truck to get to places fast,
  no toilet (I'm looking mournfully at that chamber pot and resist my urge to
  piss at the moment).

     With a sigh, I return to my newspaper. Another violent headline catches
  my eye:
                                Killed His Rival

         Harlem, MT., August 2. - About twenty-three years ago, Hal
         Cope and Buck Donaldson were neighbors and widowers courting
         the same lady. They had a row in the city, but made friends.
         On their way home, Donaldson, it is alleged, renewed the row
         and shot Cope, killing him instantly. Donaldson then married
         the lady, escaped to Arkansas, settled in Hempstead County
         near Hope, has lived there since under the assumed name of
         Teddie Odneal, and has been a quiet, good citizen. Last week,
         officers from Hill County, Montana, arrived with a warrant and
         requisition for his arrest, and shortly after Donaldson, alias
         Odneal, rode into Hope, and was arrested. The officers left on
         the next train with their prisoner. Cope has a wealthy son in
         Hill County, who will have Donaldson vigorously prosecuted.

     That's probably the reason why Donaldson was found because the murdered
  man's son was wealthy. He likely employed investigators to find his father's
  killer and got law officers from Montana to go way down to Kansas and collect
  him. If Donaldson isn't wealthy himself to hire a good attorney, he hasn't a
  prayer to avoid the gallows.

    An article about the railroad catches my eye:

                   Railroad Bridge Built Over Big Sandy Creek

         This 160-foot long through-pin connecting Pratt truss was
         completed last month by Chicago's Lassig Bridge and Iron
         Works for the Northern Pacific Railway. N.P.R's spokesman is
         quoted to have said: "This feat proves that swift rivers such
         as the Big Sandy can be broached in the railroad's spread
         across Montana. It's only a matter of time before the
         independents such as the St. P. M&M which connects Helena and
         Bull Hook Bottoms join with ours to provide unprecedented
         economic boon to the citizens of our fine State."

         The newly built bridge is used not only by trains, this
         reporter noted. Cattle were observed crossing from Everage
         Ranch. It's also a convenient way through for travelers to
         cross over the Big Sandy who'd otherwise get feet wet or drown
         their horse in this creek. N.P.R. has warned that the bridge
         not be used by pedestrians who could get run over by their
         fast moving trains. A boy who didn't want to be mentioned by
         name said, "We know a train is coming 'cause they always toot
         their whistle on approach. We also knowed when trains are
         expected to come across. A stranger won't, but he can always
         take a dive off into the creek if he's caught in the middle.
         Everyone uses this bridge."

         A fine for trespassing onto N.P.R. property, especially on
         bridges they have proposed to the Hill County...

     A train schedule for the St. Paul, Minneapolis and Manitoba Railroad Line
  draws my attention. It offers daily service from Bull Hook Bottoms to Helena
  six days a week. A train leaves here at Noon. Passenger service, cattle
  transportation to the markets in Helena and Great Springs are offered. No
  fare prices listed. It's too bad that there aren't tracks laid to the west
  from this town to where we're headed. We could have loaded Rebecca onto a
  cattle car or left her behind while Jes and I enjoyed the comfort of riding
  in a train for Ice Mountain instead of using a horse.

     I'm looking over at Jesse with concern. He's still sleeping, the result
  of only a day's riding from One-white-horse's cabin that's hurt him bad. How
  is he gonna endure the week or more it'll take us to ride to that Blackfoot
  reservation? Maybe after his initial soreness, he'll have gained riding legs.
  I'm feeling sore but nothing compared to what my lover has suffered. That's
  because I've kept in shape from all my hiking in Montana. Jesse can't risk
  physical exertion like playing sports at school or even a long walk because
  of his Marfan's Syndrome. Man! Are we gonna ride a day then take the next day
  or two off for him to recover all the way there? I don't want to put my lover
  through such hell! It'll be the death of him.

     The obituary column ominously catches my eye. It takes up the bottom half
  of this newspaper's last page. Wow. A lot of people have died. I'm skimming
  them for anything interesting that catches my eye.

         Bozeman - A shocking death occurred at Whitewater last Saturday.
         The children were out in a grove playing, and had built up a
         fire, and smothering it down with leaves and pine straw and
         running through it. While engaged in this dangerous amusement,
         a little daughter of Mr. Thomas Bozeman caught her clothing on
         fire and was burned to death before any relief could be had.
         The tenderest sympathies of the whole community are tendered
         the grieved parents and family in this sad misfortune.

         Flewellen - The Indian boy, Flewellen, brought here from New
         Mexico by Mr. W.C. Sanders, died in Big Sandy last Wednesday
         night. Mr. Sanders did all he could for poor "Flew", but his
         time had come, and he passed over to the "Happy Hunting
         Grounds". Mr. Sanders had him buried according to the custom
         of our people.

         Pynes - We regret to note the death of the little son of Mr.
         Pynes, near Shelby, who was killed by a falling tree during a
         storm last Thursday. He was a grandson of Mr. R.H. Stallings
         of Shelby and he was carried there for interment.

         SEARS - Jude Sears, a colored woman, well known in this
         section, died last Tuesday night at the age of about thirty
         years. Jude was a faithful servant, being industrious and
         energetic, and had many friends among the white people who
         sorely regret her death. She died on Mr. Alfred Revels place
         where her husband had moved for the present year.

     There are lots of deaths reported in a time period covering the week
  earlier. I suppose it would take that long for news to reach this town. Sad
  about that Indian boy from New Mexico. I wonder which tribe he was from? A
  sinking feeling comes to me when I think about Jesse. If he were to die,
  what would the obituary column say about him?

         Unknown Indian - Man in his early twenties found dead on the
         road out of Bull Hook Bottoms. A sprite Appaloosa mare found
         wandering nearby, believed to have been his horse. Coroner's
         report states that the Indian suffered from fatal muscle
         fatigue due to riding. He was buried according to the custom
         of our people.

     I'm shaking my head violently to get rid of that morbid thought yet I
  can't stop thinking about it. I realize that if Jesse were to die, per our
  Connection, I too would follow him to the Above. That's what grandfather
  warned us before performing that Passing rite of the Power Bundle's spirit
  into us. We accepted our fate. That obituary would list two deaths, an
  unknown Indian and an unknown white guy. Cause of death for me would be from
  being heart broken though the coroner couldn't make that determination.

     I lower the newspaper to my lap and close my eyes. It's hitting me hard
  now. We've really been sent back in time. To help the Blackfoot People? We
  need help ourselves. These are dangerous times! I'm gonna keep Gleaning
  people for our own protection even though I'd promised Jes that I wouldn't.
  Knowing that something bad could happen needs to be countered with more than
  the knowing. We don't have any weapons. I'm not counting Christopher's knife
  in the saddlebag. It's dull with a rotted wood handle. I won't touch it!

     Jesse stirs from sleep. As I'm Reaching out to him, pain assaults my
  senses which he escapes by going back to sleep. I rush to his side. There's a
  grimace on his lips and a painful expression that mars his beautiful face.
  I'm powerless to help my lover. He can't Pull strength from me to ease his
  suffering that only sleep can heal. Tom claims to have medicine which I hope
  will help Jes. That reminds me... What to tell the boy about us? It has to be
  uncommon for a white guy to be with an Indian warrior in this day and age. If
  he were my squaw, that would explain things but not gain people's acceptance.

     I return to my chair. That journal book I've purchased from Mrs. May is
  seen on the floor along with that cigar box. While waiting for Jesse to wake
  up (likely won't be 'till morning), I've got time to kill. I don't even know
  what time it is now. Might as well write some entries to catch up on what's
  been happening to us. Hmm. Ron's diary comes to mind. I won't put anything
  in my journal that could be used against us if someone reads it. Writing
  English will be easier for me than Siksika even though I'm fluent in both
  forms, old and new. I want to document my experiences in this time. Just got
  to be careful with how much detail I put down to paper.

     The empty journal book is taken from the floor. A pen and ink bottle, too.
  Where to begin? When we arrived at One-white-horse's cabin, our first night
  in the plains or the following morning? I've decided. From Gleaning Mrs. May,
  I expertly ink my pen and begin to write my first entry:

         Wednesday. August 12, 1891

         Jes and I awaken to such cold! Circles pressed down in the
         grass around us are wound in a huge spiral. We're no longer
         where we were in...

     I was gonna write 'time' but remember my promise to Jesse. No hint to
  anyone about Fireball Spirits whisking us from the year 2003. I continue.

         ...these empty lands. We ride through the circles five times
         before their spiraling end. A dirt road running north/south
         comes before us. Two cowboys are galloping up it towards
         Canada. Jes thought they were bank robbers. A Canadian Mounty
         was chasing after, asking me if we'd seen them...

     I recount in my journal all the other happenings this day. My pen makes
  a loud scratching sound that I'm unused to. The ink needs to dry before
  turning a page so that gives me a chance to collect my thoughts. Not too much
  detail is divulged. Just enough for me to recall years from now after our
  adventures in 1891 ends. I'm shaking my head in dismay. We're only at its
  beginning. At least three months must pass before the snows come.

     Nearly four pages are written to bring my journal up to date. I reread
  its first entry, satisfied that I haven't left anything out but not detailed
  enough in case it should fall into the wrong hands. I'm mindful not to change
  the future. My journal is closed, ink bottle stopped and the pen's wooden cap
  secured. I glance at my wrist, startled at first for not finding my watch
  there and that's when it really hits me. I'm in the Old West.

     I look around at our 'honeymoon sweet' in disappointment. Four drab wooden
  walls, door (that Tom or anyone working at this 'motel' could open), a window
  with a draft and no proper bathroom. I eye the chamber pot with distain. I'm
  pulling my pants and undergarment down and let go into it. Anger fills me.
  Jesse deserves better than this! Because of damn prejudices, I couldn't get
  us a proper room. Ruth would have taken me in but she said my squaw would
  have to sleep with my horse. No way!

     Jesse is snoring softly. Love bursts in my heart for him that turns to
  worry strangling it. He's hurting bad. I hope that Tom's medicine will ease
  my lover's muscle aches. My head hangs with doubt. This is 1891 where such
  elixirs, powders and snake oil treatments often caused more harm then good.
  I pull up my pants. The chamber pot is set in a corner so I won't trip over
  it in the dark (later tonight). What time is it now?

     I head for the door. The passage is dark so I'm fumbling my way along it
  for not bringing the lantern. I smell and hear horses. After passing a few
  stalls, I come into light. Tom has a lantern set over the wall where he's
  cleaning mud from a saddle. A fancy none. I note its fine leather engravings
  and silver studs. "Tom?"

     The boy turns. "You needin' something, Michael?"

     "Yup." My eyes try remaining on the saddle but after a long moment, our
  eyes meet. I see Tom's gentle smile for me. He is an attractive youth. The
  saddle makes me realize something. Instead of asking him what I intended,
  these words come out instead. "A new boarder?"

     "Yeah." Tom smiles, returning to his task cleaning mud from the saddle.

     "Will he be... needing you later tonight?"

     "Naw. He's already at the saloon. Told him which one has the prettiest
  gals when he asked."

     "Why he bedding down here?" Tom turns to give me a thoughtful look.

     "I wondered about that too. This man is fine looking fellow, rides a good
  horse with all the fancy trappings. Can't be for lack of money. He tipped me
  a quarter to clean his saddle and for giving him my recommendations. Maybe he
  hopes to avoid trouble... Naw. That can't be it. His showing his face at the
  Double Eagle saloon would be stupid if he's on the run from the Law." Tom
  shrugs his shoulders.

     "Any other boarders?" I ask.

     "Nope. Just you and... the squaw." Tom looks around to make sure that
  they're alone. In a lower voice, "I'll be bringing the medicine to your room
  when I'm done here."

     I'm nodding. "Tom? Could I ask you to fetch a supper basket for me from
  Ruth? She'd said it'd be ready at seven."

     "Sure! I'll be done with this here saddle by then."

     I wonder if Ruth would hand the food basket over to one of Brahman's
  'boys' on just his say so. She might need some convincing. "Give Ruth my
  apologies for not coming for it myself on account that my squaw is ill. She
  knows I'm boarding here at the livery."

     "No problem. Ruth has prepared baskets for boarders here before and she
  knows my face well enough. Just need to remember to wash my hands and face
  before entering her place so I won't be given the boot." Tom reaches back
  and feigns that his butt is hurting him.

     I'm laughing. "Thanks. I sure appreciate you fetching it for me."

     "It's my job to be helpful."

     Tom gives me puppy dog eyes that gets my dick tingling. What an actor!
  "You sure are good at giving a fellow bedroom eyes, kid."

     "Have to earn my living," answers Tom.

     I'm saddened to know how this boy earns his keep. Stable work during the
  day and giving his ass to men at night. I swear not to be one of those horny
  bastards! Besides, I've made that pledge to Jesse. The manly function of my
  body is kept for him. Only from behind can I offer myself to others... Hmm.
  I'd seen Tom's interest in my ass. Admiration? or would he like to ride it?

     I cast that unworthy thought away. I'm half expecting Jesse to Send some
  apt comment to me for Peeking in my head but he's deep asleep.

     "You needing anythin' else?"

     "No." I abruptly turn from the boy and make my way down that dark passage
  back to my room. The bulge in my pants reminds me to stop listening to my
  dick. That can get me into trouble.


     I'm awakened from my nap by a rapping on my door. Must be Tom. I gently
  slide out of bed so as to not awaken my lover. A yawn escapes my mouth. The
  lantern catches my eye so I turn its flame up before answering the door.
  Caution comes to me. "Who is it?"

     "It's me... Tom."

     I undo the door catch and let the boy in. His hands are full. I relieve him
  of Ruth's basket and a bottle. Whiskey? That's what the label indicates. Tom
  keeps hold of a smaller bottle clutched in his left hand.

     "I've brought medicine," says Tom. "Both are good easing pains." He winks.

     This kid plans on getting me drunk?

     "Is he still asleep?"

     I look towards Jesse and nod. "He'll probably sleep through to morning."
  That was stupid of me to say since Tom might have taken that as a hint. I'm
  not seeing the expected reaction on his face. He's showing sadness.

     I drop Ruth's basket onto the stool. Tom stands near, taking a deep breath
  through his nose.

     "I've been enjoying the aroma all through town. Ruth cooks good."

     "Are you hungry?" Tom only shrugs his shoulders in reply. I'm parting the
  basket's covering cloth. I find meat loaf, biscuits, a bowl of creamed corn
  and two slices of Ruth's 'famous' apple pie in the basket. I'm looking at
  Jesse again with concern. He's fast asleep. As much as I'd want him to eat,
  rest would suit him better. "Let's dig in, Tom." The boy's eyes light up.

     We quickly devour the food. Tom wipes his mouth with a shirt sleeve. He
  takes another swig from his bottle of whiskey. To my dismay, I'd drunk some
  of that alcohol myself for not having anything else to drink with my meal.
  My head is buzzing slightly.

     "That was good!" remarks Tom. "An' there's nothin' better than whiskey to
  wash it down."

     He's about to take another swig when I grab the bottle from him. I'm
  concerned that he'll get too drunk to administer the medicine to Jesse.

     "I ain't worried you'd jump me fer getting meself smashed."

     I see the hurt in Tom's face. An act? He looks at the nearly empty bottle.
  It'd been a third full of whiskey when he brought it.

     "I can drink that an' more before really feelin' affected. Don't fret.
  I'll play doctor all right fer your partner."

     Tom gets up from the floor. We'd been sitting over it while eating so as
  to not awaken Jesse from our munches, crunches and bottle swigging. I get to
  my feet and feel a fainting spell coming on. Man! That one swallow is really
  affecting me? I sit down heavily over the stool.

     The boy laughs. "Better that chair has yer butt than my hands."

     Huh? Tom outstretches his fingers and wiggles them in a gesture of goosing
  my ass. Then he bucks forward as if fucking it. "Has a man let you do him?"

     "Naw. They're paying me to play dead under 'em. Sometimes I get sucked.
  That gets a man excited and thinkin' he got me off so I'm obligated to return
  the favor. White piss don't taste good. Sticky at the back of me throat a
  swig of whiskey can take care of. I'd rather take it in the butt."

     "So you haven't..."

     "Sure I have! We boys break in the new uns so they can take a man's size.
  Mine is respectable so I go last after Robert, Kenneth and Pete have stretched
  the boy's asshole. I'm the only one who can shoot in him."

     He's probably broken in Robert. That little black kid had offered himself
  to me at the newspaper office only this afternoon. Is Tom satisfying himself
  in that black ass? I decide not to Glean him. Knowing if he is won't matter
  to me. I might even be disgusted.

     Tom starts removing his shirt. "Hey! I'm not wanting you to do anything
  with me. Okay?" The boy looks hurt.

     "Don't want the medicine messin' up my shirt as all."

     "Oh. Sorry." Tom tosses his shirt to the floor. He wipes his hands on his
  pants then fetches that little bottle. He pries the stopper loose.

     "Can you uncover him fer me?"

     I slip into bed and lower the blanket to Jesse's feet. My lover's smooth
  brown skin is revealed from his shoulders down to his knees. I'm sure that
  Tom is checking out his dick. Not much to look at in its limp state.

     "This is good medicine for muscle aches," says Tom. He gets into bed.

     "What is it?"

     Tom pours some out into his hands. "Some plant extract. It smells real
  strong and I knowed it works."

     "Where'd you get it?" Hopefully not from a snake oil seller.

     "A Chinaman's shop. Their folk go there for medicinal teas and stuff since
  they can't get healing from our doctors."

     Tom kneels around my lover's lower legs. I'm smelling a strong mint odor
  in the air. He lowers his hands to Jesse's thighs, massaging the medicine
  into them for a while.

     "Can you turn him around fer me?"

     I grasp Jesse's arms and gently turn him onto his belly. He doesn't stir
  from sleep. Tom pours more oil into his hands. After peering at me for a
  moment, he goes to work on my lover's thighs. His butt, too. I'm about to
  object to the boy touching Jes there but realize that that's where he was
  hurting the most after our ride.

     "I'm not trying to molest him or anything."

     "I know, Tom." The boy's oily fingers dig into Jesse's cheeks. I Sense my
  lover's pain and he moans out.

     "Sorry 'bout that but I need to work the medicine in if it's to do good."

     :Love?: Sends Jesse sleepily.

     :I'm here, my love! Tom is applying Chinese medicine to your body so you
  won't hurt so much.: Jesse relaxes. He was only half awake when we Talked so
  I don't know how much he Heard from me. I Sense him returning to sleep.

     Tom's hands reach up for my lover's hips. He massages them with firm finger
  pressings, returning to Jesse's butt but not lingering there. His hands lower
  to work on the thighs.

     "Yeh partner must be real saddle sore. I feel how tense his muscles are."

     "His butt was really hurting him from all the riding." Tom nods. His hands
  rise to my lover's brown cheeks. He kneads them in his fingers for a while.
  Jesse doesn't awaken.

     "He's got a nice one if you don't mind me sayin' so."

     I smile in reply.

     "You can't... ah. You know. The oil will make your dick smart bad."

     "I don't plan on jumping him tonight." My tone might have been too harsh.

     "That's why I'm careful not to get any in there," mutters Tom.

     He means Jesse's asshole. "I really appreciate what you're doing for him.
  Could you leave the bottle so I can attend to him tomorrow if he needs it?"

     "I plan to. You'd see what I'm doin' with my hands? Work the oil into his
  muscles where he's hurting."

     Tom's hands stop their massage. He rests them over Jesse's butt while
  giving me the eye.

     "Can I ask you something?"

     "Sure." The boy hesitates in his asking. I suspect what he's curious about
  so I beat him to the punch. "We offer each other completely in love making."

     "You take turns playing the squaw fer each other?"

     I'm nodding. "We act as men from the front part of our bodies while from
  behind... well. You know what I mean." The boy grins knowingly.

     "I wanted to know if you are hurting any from your ride?" asks Tom.

     Oh. He wasn't wanting to know if we fuck each other. "No. I'm okay."
  Tom reveals his disappointment. I realize that he's wanting to get his
  hands on me under the guise of applying medicine to my thighs and butt.

     Tom pushes on my lover's butt to get himself out of bed. I'm drawing the
  blanket up to cover Jesse.

     "Don't. You need to let the oil dry some from his body. It'll mess up your
  blanket otherwise."

     It's not that cold in our room. The only heat source comes from the lamp
  but at full flame, it is warming up this small room.

     "I need to wash my hands," says Tom. "Be back soon."

     The boy runs from the room. I slip out of bed (after giving my lover's
  butt an admiring look) and stand over the chamber pot. My pants and
  undergarment are pulled down. With a sigh, I let go. I've got a piss hard on
  so I'm having to bend over to keep my aim true.

     A coolness is felt from my butt. I reach back for it, feeling over my
  moist cheeks with a sense of longing. Does Tom like my ass? He'd seen it
  after our bath. I've been trying not to look at his. Even when the boy pulled
  off his shirt to attend to Jesse, I didn't allow myself to admire his brown
  chest. I've caught glimpses of his two ovals of darker skin around his tits.
  Would he like having them sucked and nibbled on?

     I scold myself for my lustful thinking. There's a movement of air in the
  room so I'm turning towards the door. Tom is standing there. I rush with
  pulling up my pants.

     "I'm going to close the door. Okay?" asks Tom.

     "Sure. And latch it." The boy steps into the room. When he turns to secure
  my door, my eyes fall to the seat of his pants. Nice cheeks on this kid. Man!
  I've gotta stop doing that because I'm not wanting to jump his ass though
  he's offered it to me.

     I sit over the edge of the bed at Jesse's feet and point out the stool to
  Tom. He sits down. "How long have you been working here for Mister Brahman?"
  The boy looks down at his knees.

     "Four years."

     "Did you think it was just livery work?" Tom shakes his head.

     "He took me off the street. I'd been selling myself to men long before
  that. Samuel gave me a place to sleep and honest work during the day."

     "But at night..."

     "Sure. I can earn more at that and have Samuel's protection. None of the
  men dare rough me up or try gettin' out of paying."

     I feel sad for the boy. "What happened to your parents?"

     "Lost 'em. I never knew my Pa. My mother died from fever."

     "How did you end up here?" I'd think someone from his People would have
  taken in the orphaned boy.

     "She was working in town. Cleaning rooms for the hotel and stuff."

     "Oh."

     "When she died, I had no means to get back to the reservation. Things are
  bad there so I took my chances here. I'm not bad off at the livery."

     "What do you plan to do when you're older?"

     "You mean when the men no longer want to bed me for not being a boy
  anymore? Samuel says he'll keep me on to help him run the livery. Things will
  get busy around here on account of the train bringing lots of folk here."

     "Do you get any schooling?" Tom gives me a look of surprise.

     "Book learning? What fer? I don't need any to know how to saddle a horse,
  clean tact and shovel shit out of the stables."

     "Tom. With an education, you could better yourself. Get a respectable job
  that'll earn you a good living."

     "Doing what? Who would hire an Indian?"

     I'd forgotten the time he lives in. Even in 2003, it's difficult for
  Native Americans to get good jobs. A thought strikes me. "What about helping
  your People?"

     "How? Even if I'd struck it rich with a gold mine, it's gonna take more
  than money to free my People."

     I'd caught something in Tom's eyes after saying 'free my People.' He still
  considers himself a Cree. "If you had book learning, you could return to them
  and help that way."

     "How?"

     "A lot of trouble for the Indians has come from them not understanding the
  treaties they've signed. You knowing how to read and write English would
  help them to negotiate better deals with the White man."

     "Negotiate?"

     Tom doesn't understand that word. "Make a better deal for your People."

     "The Whites don't negotiate! They write their promises out on paper but
  end up breaking them. My People starve, get killed and are forced to live on
  bad land so white settlers can move into our hunting grounds."

     I don't have an answer for that. "Learning how to read and write would
  help you........

  ... {THESE THREE DOTS INDICATE THAT THIS SCENE IS UNFINISHED.}


     Tom finishes relieving himself and turns to me with his pants still
  dropped at his feet. He bears an erection. It's a respectable size for a boy
  his age. Not that thickly skinned but of length where his knob nearly reaches
  to his navel. His hand reaches down for it. With a sly grin, he begins
  stroking his dick.

     "Giving me a show?" That's what Robert had done for me at the newspaper
  office before I stopped him.

     "Naw. I'm not trying to get you doin' anything with me. Just feelin' the
  need to piss out the white stuff. You can watch if you want or I'll go to one
  of the stalls."

     I look over at Jesse. The oil should have since dried from his body so I
  cover him with the blanket. My back is to the boy. Yet I can still hear a
  skin rubbing sound from him. My cock erects in my pants. From behind, I feel
  a more pleasant tingling coming from my butt. I unsnap my pants and drop them
  to my feet. That rear 'flap' to my undergarment is undone.

     "What you doin', Michael?"

     "What do you think?" Maybe it's the alcohol that's making me feel so
  lustful at this moment. I know this boy is in need. It's my sacred duty for
  being Mahyee-na to offer myself to him. Will he?

     "I told you that I won't come between you and Jesse."

     "You're standing behind me." There's a long moment where nothing happens.
  "I love him with all my heart, Tom. We're pledged to each other in love and
  won't give the front part of our bodies to anyone but each other. He and I
  have satisfied men from behind."

     "I'm only a boy."

     "Maybe in age but you have a man's need right now that I want to satisfy."

     "Can I?" asks Tom in a high-pitched squeak.

     "Sure." I feel a hand over my left butt cheek. The boy's breath trembles
  with lust. He fondles my other cheek. I'm bending over to stick my butt out
  for him. "Yours ain't puny so if you could get my hole ready to take it,
  I'd much appreciate it."

     "The other boys are likely asleep," he teases.

     That has me laughing. Tom had told me about breaking in a new boy by
  having Robert, Kenneth and Pete stretching his asshole first before he could
  stick in. Unlike those younger kids, his dick can shoot. I'm wanting to feel
  his male explosion deep in my ass. This boy has 'reach' so that's likely
  gonna happen if I can coax his manly performance.

  ... {THESE THREE DOTS INDICATE THAT THIS SCENE IS UNFINISHED.}


     The horses are disturbed from their sleep and stomp the hay. A shadow
  moves past the stalls. Not wolf by the smell. He also breathes wrong. A man!

     The creaking of a door being slowly opened. Then another. A disappointing
  grunt at the third empty room. The shadow moves further down the hall.

     Silver coins spill from my hand. It doesn't satisfy the wolf's hunger who
  desires bills. Gold had been exchanged for twenties. Lots of them. Brad saw.

     I'm startled awake. Jesse is softly snoring in my arms and I nearly
  sneeze from that strong smelling medicine Tom applied to his body. A breath
  is drawn into my mouth that builds to a sneeze... Don't! The wolf will hear!
  A sound from our bedroom door. Long silence. Its handle from the other side
  is pulled on once more. I've bolted it earlier. I pull from my lover, ease
  out of bed and quietly stalk to my door. Footsteps are trailing off down the
  hall. My dream returns to me. A thief in the night had come!

     I'm looking towards the bed but can't see much in the dark. Moonlight
  streams through a crack in the closed window shutters. I sneeze. It's cold
  in this room with only my undergarment covering me so I'm returning to bed.

     Jesse is deep asleep. His warmth is felt against my legs when I draw the
  blanket around me and lay beside him. My arms go around my lover. Sleep won't
  return in spite of the assurance that we're safe behind a bolted door. Tom's
  trick comes to mind. At that moment, I hear a queer sound. The soft scraping
  of wood. I'm rushing out of bed as quietly as I can. That thief has returned
  and he's trying to unbolt my door! Can't be Tom. He wouldn't rob me? At the
  door, I'm reaching up for the side bolt along the frame. My hand is cut by a
  piece of metal. I stifle my yelp and grab hold of the wooden bolt to secure
  it. An upwards jab. He's gonna unlock this door in a moment!

     My forehead is drenched by a cold sweat. Should I keep hold of the bolt or
  find something to defend myself against this intruder when he comes in? I'm
  in possession of no weapon! Jes is still asleep. Unknowing of our danger. I
  try Calling out to my lover but his head is muddled with dreams. :Jesse!:

     My hand is cut again when the bolt is freed. I'm sucking in a breath
  through my mouth. Did he hear it? The door slowly creaks open while I stand
  as if frozen to the floor. Only at the last moment do I manage to move,
  pressing myself flat behind the door. It has stopped opening. Moonlight casts
  beams of light near my feet and in that eerie glow, I see the man enter with
  his right hand out in front of him wielding a knife. Christopher's training
  takes over. I'm chopping down on his wrist that gets him dropping the blade.
  He yelps out in surprise. My left foot is driven into his butt, pushing him
  forward where he trips over my chair. I rush over to him in a loud war cry!

     My downward punches strike the man's back and his head. He grunts in pain.
  When he turns around, I see his face in the glow of a lantern. He's scared as
  death. Not for me since his eyes are on the man standing by my door. It's
  Mr. Brahman holding the lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.

     "What's goin' on here!" shouts Mr. Brahman.

     "This man came to rob me." I back away so I'll not be in the line of fire.

     "Scott, God damn it! You're stupid for coming back here."

     I'm Gleaning Scott and learn much. Mr. Brahman advances onto him with the
  rifle and gives his side a harsh kick.

     Scott groans out. He points his finger accusingly at the man in long johns
  while babbling out a story. "He not pay me for service rendered, Mr. Brahman!
  Then we got into a scuffle."

     I'm given a stern look by Mr. Brahman. His rifle wavers from Scott so I
  give him my account. "That man entered our room with his intent to rob me."
  I'm showing the cuts to my hand. "That happened when I tried stopping him
  from unbolting my door from the outside by using a piece of metal slipped
  through my door frame." Mr. Brahman's eyes widen. He's well aware of that
  trick Tom showed me. His rifle returns to Scott.

     "Is your squaw unharmed?" asks Mr. Brahman.

     Scott's eyes flare. He didn't know there was someone else with me in the
  room that puts a hole in his story about him being here to 'render service'
  to me. Sex, obviously. I go over to Jesse. He's still asleep in spite of all
  the commotion. "Yeah.

     "Empty out your pockets, boy." He jabs the end of his rifle into Scott's
  belly. The young man pulls out a long slim piece of metal along with a few
  bills and a pocket knife.

     "That's what he used to open my door." Mr. Brahman recognizes that piece
  of metal for what it is. There's even a hole at one edge. It's the same 'key'
  Tom pulled from a nail peg out in the hall. "We should get the Sheriff."

     Mr. Brahman slowly nods. "If your wish to."

     Oh. I'm Gleaning that doing so will cause more trouble than its worth.
  Mr. Brahman and his boys have used that key themselves to rob drunken
  boarders. Scott used to work here himself when he was younger. That's how he
  knew about the key and make his way down the hall in the dark.

     "I'll tell the Sheriff!" warns Scott. "You git in trouble too!"

     Oh-oh. That gets Mr. Brahman thinking about his own skin so I tell him,
  "I don't need to press charges. No harm done." Relief shows in the man.

     "I thank yeh." Mr. Brahman glares at Scott. "Now what to do 'bout you."

     "I'll git outa town. You won't see me again to cause you no trouble."

     "That's my thinkin' too." A grim smile comes to Mr. Brahman's lips when he
  thinks of a slight change to Scott's proposal. "Shuck off them pants, boy."

     Scott's eyes flare in alarm.

     "Your shirt, too." Mr. Brahman jabs him in the belly again with his rifle.

     Scott remains laying over the floor when he pulls down his pants. He's not
  wearing an undergarment. His cock is uncut and limp against his balls. Next,
  his shirt comes off. This young man is a mite thin with skin the color of
  bleached flour.

     "I'm gonna let you git out of town my naked jay bird." Mr. Brahman laughs.

     "It real cold out there!" complains Scott.

     "Better 'an dead cold if you git my meaning, boy."

     Scott rolls over onto his stomach. "You can ride me if I git to have my
  clothes." He spreads his legs and sticks up his ass.

     Mr. Brahman is considering it. I've Gleaned that this man rides all his
  boys during the week as part of their regular stable duties. His boarders pay
  them for 'bed' services on the weekends with a cut coming back to him. I
  think about poor Tom. Sadness for that teen turns to anger in my eyes for
  Mr. Brahman which he takes for my distain if he were to accept Scott's offer.

     "Your hole is too loose. That, and you being bad with the horses is why I
  fired yer ass. Get up!"

     Scott does. He turns to me with pleading in my eyes but I'm shaking my
  head back and forth.

     "Yer gettin' out of town with naught but your skin. Yer lucky to be
  keepin' it for trying to rob this man."

     "I gotta have clothes!" Scott pleads.

     Mr. Brahman shakes his head. "Maybe some cowboy outside of town will have
  pity on yeh. Them lot are often a mite lonely... Now march!"

     Scott gives me a black look before he streaks from my room. Mr. Brahman
  follows behind with his rifle.

     "I'll be back soon to make amends."

  ...


  AUTHOR'S NOTE:
  Some of the articles from the 'Daily News' that Mike reads while Jesse is
  sleeping are authentic accounts from 1891. My thanks to the RootsWeb.com
  website that provided me with them.
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  End of file: HONEYMO3.TXT               The story continues in: HONEYMO4.TXT
  Folder: NEW-TO-LOVE-HONEYMOON            (When completed, it will be posted)