Hi guys
Here's my write up of last week's session. Feel free to add your own again from your character's point of view. There'll be an extra bennie in it for you!
Part 3 – Malificient Evan
Having squared everything with the local sheriff in Odessa, Antonio, Rabbi Wolowitz, Bob and Cobb stood on the station platform, surveying the small town laid out in front of them and squinting in the bright noon sunshine.
A dull thud resonated the planks of the station’s floor as a couple of railmen dumped a large wooden packing crate next to the posse.
‘Your problem now, fellas.’ One of the men gruffly muttered, before walking off with his colleague back onto the train.
Suddenly a hot breath suddenly puffed out across the side of Antonio’s stubbled face, startling him, followed by a quiet whickering sound. The Mexican, visibly relaxed, reached up and patted the side of his horse’s face, affectionately.
‘Si, Caballo, we have arrived, mi amiga.’
The posse headed down onto the main street of Odessa, hefting the large crate between them, and headed for the livery stable, hoping that Grainger had indeed arranged the necessary transport to take them to Red Hill. They sure didn’t want to have to carry this thing themselves.
Unable to resist the lure of cheap alcohol and cheaper women, Antonio found himself heading for the saloon as if his feet had made the decision without consulting his brain. Antonio shrugged, after all, who was he to refuse such a compelling order? Even if it did come from 6ft lower than the normal place decisions were made.
The others arrived at the livery to find that a wagon and several horses were waiting for them, already saddled and readied. They heaved the crate onto the bed of the small cart, retrieved their Mexican companion from the saloon and were on the trail to Red Hill within the hour.
The locals in Odessa weren’t able to provide much in the way of information about the village they were heading for, save that something bad was going on down there but they’ve pretty much kept out of it.
The trail was nothing more than a dirt path through the dry scrubland but easy enough to follow. After a few hours of uneventful riding, the village of Red Hill came into view. Just beyond the village, and several miles further south, the hill that gave the village its name jutted up from the horizon, the colour of the sandstone looking like dried blood in the fading afternoon light.
As they approached, the bell of the village chapel began to ring, whether it was a call to prayer or a warning, the posse couldn’t tell. One thing they could tell, however, was that the village had seen better days.
A few sad-looking, emaciated cattle wandered about aimlessly, trying to get sustenance from the dry brittle grasses that grew in clumps around the scrub.
Ahead, two small children were quickly ushered indoors by a fearful mother who had spotted the riders approaching.
The peeling sign denoting the place as Red Hill, creaked as it swung in the gentle breeze, a sorry welcome for a weary traveller.
The posse passed through the gate and were greeted by a village fallen on hard times. Several empty buildings straddled the wide street. A small church, its bell now silent, lay at the far end; it’s once bright, whitewashed walls now dirty and neglected.
A stone pen, filled with pigs, grunting and rooting about in their own filth, lay to the posse’s left as they took in this pitiful sight.
The team headed straight for the hotel to get some rooms for the night while Antonio, ever hopeful, wandered off to the saloon in search of whatever entertainment this dunghole offered.
Stashing the crate in one of their rooms, the posse joined Antonio in the saloon, if you could call a couple of stools, a table and a sullen man behind a bar with only moonshine to offer, a saloon that is.
Suddenly, the doors flew open and a boy of about twelve stood there, brandishing a rusty shotgun at the posse.
‘Everyone may be afraid of you but I’m not!’ He shouted. ‘I’m not going to let you take any more from us or hurt anyone else. I’m here to settle the score!’
The shotgun descended, its barrels pointing directly at the surprised posse. Just then, a man appeared and ripped the weapon out of the boy’s hands and gave him a solid smack round the head. The boy ran off, crying and holding his ear.
The man approached the posse and pleaded with them.
‘Please don’t hurt the boy, he is young and doesn’t know any better. You know we would never give you or your boss any trouble.’
Perplexed, Cobb Whateley calmed the man down and tried to get to the bottom of this disturbance. Once the man realised that these strangers weren’t involved in whatever was behind the village’s difficulties, he opened up and explained everything.
The village used to be fairly prosperous before Evan Henshaw, the man the posse were supposed to deliver the crate to, turned up with his band of rowdies a few months ago. He took over, claiming all the grazing land, the watering hole and taking whatever he wanted, including the women. If anyone stood up to him, they were shot in cold blood. Most of the villagers left and the few still here had nowhere else to go.
The man, Eddie, confirmed that there had been a large number of deliveries over the last few months and Henshaw always meets them at the well in the centre of the village.
Concerned by these revelations, the posse deliberated long and hard about what to do. Some felt that they should make the delivery in good faith and leave the villagers to their own fate. Others felt that, given Henshaw’s apparent attitude towards taking things for himself, they were sure to be double-crossed and that they should perhaps help the village rid itself of this scumbag.
One thing the posse agreed on, was that they needed to find out what was in the crate they were to deliver. Sourcing a few tools from the store, they headed back to the hotel and prised the crate open. Lying amongst the packing straw was a top of the range, brand new, ten-barrelled Gatling Gun with a large amount of ammunition. As well as a standard floor mount, there were several other metal spare parts that didn’t appear to have an obvious function.
After speaking with the Hotel owner, the posse began to formulate a plan. The Hotel owner ran off and brought back the rest of the men from the village, including the local priest, Father Montgomery. The Father managed to persuade the posse to help defend the village and drive Henshaw and his cronies off.
The following day, the posse planned a surprise welcome for their delivery contact. Backed up by twelve men from the village armed with rifles, the posse set up an ambush. The women and children were safely holed up in the back of the church, with Antonio and the Gatling Gun set up in the porch to protect them.
With everyone in place, all they could do was sit and wait.
As the Sun reached its apex, the thunder of hooves could be heard as Evan Henshaw and twenty outlaws rode into town and formed up round the well in the centre of the village. When no one appeared with his crate, Henshaw demanded someone bring out his delivery or there would be trouble, then spat a wad of chewing tobacco onto the ground to emphasise his point.
Rabbi Wolowitz, concealed in the livery stable noticed a curious thing, Henshaw was wearing a Confederate soldier’s grey cap, with the crossed rifles brass insignia of the infantry pinned to the front. He was also whistling that famous army anthem, Dixie.
Unfortunately, the rabbi did not have the leisure to consider this revelation further or what, if anything, it meant, because just then, the prearranged signal sounded.
As the church bell’s ring faded, the church doors flew open to reveal Antonio, cheroot hanging out of the side of his mouth and grinning wildly, lounging nonchalantly behind the huge Gatling Gun. With a slightly insane giggle, he let rip with the mighty weapon.
Several outlaws literally tore apart in a bright red haze, the drops of blood glinting like liquid rubies in the sunshine. Before the echoes of the Gatling Gun’s first salvo died away, the crackle of gunfire opened up from every building, roof and doorway as the villagers and posse opened fire.
Taken completely unawares, the flying lead scythed through the men gathered around the well. The carnage was terrible to witness. Bob Two-Feathers, his aim never more true, singled out Evan Henshaw and launched a couple of well-aimed shots at the bandit leader. Henshaw crumpled with the impact but managed to keep his feet, blood pouring from a number of wounds.
One of the villagers, fired at Henshaw as well hoping for a lucky shot. Lady Fortune was with him as Henshaw fell, bleeding out into the dusty ground.
Wolowitz and Whateley, took out a number of outlaws on their side fairly handily too. Afterwards, some of the villagers would whisper fearfully that they had seen them both produce some very strange phenomena that they couldn’t quite explain.
The ambush had been devastatingly effective leaving all but four of the outlaws dead or bleeding out within seconds of the church bell ringing. The remaining heavies, seeing their leader and most of their comrades fall, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and rode like the wind to escape the bloodbath, firing wildly to mask their escape.
Their shots were lucky as Bob Two-Feathers found out to his dismay, several bullets finding a home in his flesh and leaving him inches from death.
Two villagers also fell to the desperadoes’ hail of gunfire but retribution was swift. The rest of the riders were taken out before they could escape, with one being taken alive for questioning.
A bleeding Bob Two-Feathers staggered over to the well, where he noticed that Henshaw hadn’t yet passed over to whatever hell was waiting for him. Bob noticed he was trying to speak so he leaned over to hear what final words the man had to say.
Evan coughed up some blood stained brown by the chewing baccy. He turned his head to the side and spat the foul gobbet into the dust. He chuckled painfully.
‘You bastards may have killed me but I’ve done my bit. You think you’ve achieved something dontcha? Well, y’all screwed once the Endeavour begins. My brother will see to that. It’s just a goddam shame I ain’t gonna be around to see it.’
He coughed once more and tried to catch his breath but it rattled in his throat and he slumped back against the well, dead.
Questioning their captive, they discovered that Evan’s hideout was in the caves beneath Red Hill itself. Leaving the Gatling Gun with the villagers, the posse rode off to check out the hideout.
Inside the caves, they found a load of similar crates to their own, scattered across the floor, all empty. Various bedrolls and other detritus of twenty men living together were strewn across the floor. After a brief search, they found Evan’s belongings and, tucked inside a coat, they found a letter addressed to Evan from his brother.
‘Evan
I hope this letter finds you in good health. The plans for the Endeavour are continuing at a pace but I need your help now more than ever.
As per our arrangement, I need you to secure the necessary items for me from our contact back east. I have arranged an ongoing contract with a courier service out of Colorado Springs who will deliver the items in a staggered fashion to avoid drawing the notice of certain authorities and hopefully allay suspicion of such unusual shipments.
As a second precautionary measure to further obscure the trail, they are to deliver the items to you in Red Hill and you are then to arrange transport for them to my facility marked on the enclosed map.
Do not fail me in this, brother. The Endeavour is far bigger than either of us now and we cannot afford to let our dedication in this matter slip. Too much is at stake.
Keep your head down and don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself. I know what you get like when you are bored!
Be patient and we will soon be rewarded, I guarantee it.
Yours in partnership.
Robert.’
Attached to the back of the letter was a crude map with a route drawn on it leading up into the mountains. A big ‘X’ was marked clearly on the map next to a town called Silver Plume.
What does this all mean? What are the deliveries for? Were they all Gatling Guns? Were they something else? Why such secrecy surrounding them? And most importantly, what the hell is the Endeavour?
Find out more next week in Part 4 ‘How the West Was Wrong’