How the West was 'not' won...

Talon

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((OOC-This is a private thread for myself and Maid of Marvels. But please, feel free to follow along and PM either of us with your comments and reviews! Thanks.))


Character info:
Name:Seth Williams
Occupation:U.S. Marshal
Description: Seth is a tall man with well built shoulders and a ruggedly handsome face that carries a stern look permenantly engraved on it. He wears his brown hair short, complimented by a well trimmed mustache and a small patch of hair underneath his bottom lip. Clothed in a black suit of the times, a white button up undershirt and a black stetson perched on his head, he fits the perfect stereotypical image of a law dog. Never far from his reach are his trusty pair of Colt Peacemaker .45's, which rest in thier holsters on his hips. Seth is a man with little tolerance for small talk, and since joining the Marshals, has strived to prove himself in the field. He begged his superiors to assign him to this case, and nothing in the West could stop him from hauling this woman in to face trial...
 
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...a legend in her own time...

A man named Walter Bagehot once said, "An element of exaggeration clings to the popular judgment: great vices are made greater, great virtues greater also; interesting incidents are made more interesting, softer legends more soft" and Callie Hobbes was the most curious of all to find out what she would do next.

Born to a Mexican father and white mother, Callie had tacked on the "Hobbes" at fourteen after a brief marriage to a cow boy named Joe Hobbes who died of snake bite two weeks after they said their "I do's". She kept it out of respect -- or maybe it was just to keep her real name under wraps -- depends on where you heard it or who was doing the telling. Irregardless, there were less than a handful of people left alive that knew her as Carlotta Vasquez. And she liked it that way.

Pouring the last bucket of boiling water into the nicked and dented tin tub, she set her "Big Fifty" within reach and undressed, climbing in to soak the dust of the road off her body. It had been a while since she'd been home -- well, if she could call this home. Truth, it was just a two room dog-trot not far from Nacogdoches.

The heat of the water coupled with the long, hard ride she'd just had, lulled Callie to sleep, and it was near dark when she finally woke, her skin dappled with gooseflesh and her stomach groaning with hunger. Washing quickly, she stepped out of the chilled water, dried off and pulled a clean shimmy over her head.

Callie wouldn't bother dressing, interested only in filling her belly with the cornbread and hominy to which she'd added a bit of salt pork that she'd left on the stove to keep warm. Since she'd already curried, watered and fed her horse, Guerrero, before leaving him in the breezeway, there wasn't much more for her to do save go to bed.

She slept fitfully, as she often did. Her dreams of an earlier time and the mob who had beaten and lynched her father whom they'd mistaken for a horse thief. Callie woke up screaming as she relived those same men breaking into their home and raping her. She'd only been twelve.

The young woman took little comfort in the fact that she had sworn a blood oath that day which she had kept successfully. One by one, those dozen men had disappeared; one or two showing up with their throats mysteriously cut. Who was it said revenge is a dish best served cold had never gone through what she had. Carlotta Vasquez liked hers fresh and hot.

Shaking, she drew her knees up to her chin and pulled the quilt as close around her body as she could, rocking slowly back and forth. No matter now that nearly seven years had passed since the incident that first set her on the owl hoot trail, it would never be long enough to forget.

It was nigh on dawn when sleep claimed her, too tired this time to dream.
 
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First day on the job...

Seth Williams had spent the past few weeks traveling to Austin, the capitol of Texas, to meet with the Rangers in thier headquarters. Working closely with them, he studied all available information gathered about his new quarry. Her latest sightings occured around the town of Nacogdoches, and he'd ride out in the morning to take a look for himself.

Since arriving in Austin just that morning he'd heard many rumors about his new prey, mostly heresay and hogwash, but some had a semblance of truth. He wondered, if when the time came, he'd truly be able to pull the trigger, if it came down to that. He put such thoughts out of his head, for he'd need to find her first.

After checking himself into a hotel and taking his coplimentry shave and bath, he settled into his room for the night. Seth tended to his handguns, freshly cleaned and oiled, and enjoyed a cigar and glass of brandy before putting himself down to sleep.
 
The sun was high in the sky and the temperature was steadily rising by the time Callie finally woke. It was going to be a scorcher, but that didn't stop her from putting a pot on for "coffee" made from parched corn and sweetened with sorghum to drink with the leftovers from last night's supper.

Still dressed only in her shimmy, Callie ran out to the privy before carrying out the water left in the tub from the night before. That done, she fed and watered Guerrero before turning him loose. He wouldn't wander and she wasn't going far herself. Besides, she had things to do and plans to make.

Callie hurriedly ate her breakfast then opened the large cedar chest against the far wall. Pulling out a blue linsey-woolsey, she slipped it over her head with a grin. Here was one of the few places she wore a dress anymore... Well, except for that little while when she was a dealer at a Deadwood gaming house after Joe had passed.

She'd gone to work there thinking she could make a living at it, but she just couldn't stomach the men. Always groping and pawing. It was too much like... Callie shivered despite the heat.

Not really schooled for anything in particular, though she could read and write, finding a way to support herself was getting slimmer and slimmer by the time she'd heard enough talk to make the decision to rob the Deadwood stage. What a fiasco that had been! Callie laughed out loud at the memory.

She knew the route and the time it would come through from watching and listening. Sometimes it had a lot of folks on board, sometimes not, but she was certain there'd be a shitload of gold. Whispered talk said that it was how the pay came into town.

On the day Callie finally decided to do it, she put on some of Joe's clothes and tucked her hair up under his wide-brimmed hat. She rode a couple miles out along the post road and tethered her horse in a stand of trees while she waited, her Big Fifty in her hands and a pistol at her waist. It wasn't long, but it seemed like hours.

When she saw the dust rising, Callie stepped out into the road. The driver pulled up short and pulled his rifle,too, she recalled. But she was faster and he was deader than a doornail before he could say "How do you do". She'd nearly peed herself and for all her trouble, she'd managed to get fifty bucks and a crate of peaches.

Still, the stage was usually a good bet. Not the same one, Callie didn't mind travelling a bit. Some take was better than others, but after a while she moved on to bigger and better things. Always dressed like a man, she hit saloons and assay offices. She'd even raided a gold camp or two. It was mostly hit and miss though and that's when she graduated to banks. The smaller ones mostly, she was too careful to bother finding a sidekick.

Hefting the two heavy saddlebags she'd carried in with her the night before, Callie went round back and down into the root cellar to stash the contents in her hidey-hole. You just couldn't trust banks these days, she chuckled to herself. Never know when someone's gonna rob one of 'em.

Over time, she'd become a sort of folk hero for standing up to "big business" and folks, especially ones hereabout, often left her "stores" just in case she'd be coming home. 'Course no one knew she'd been responsible for those miners, but that didn't stop them from contriving other tales. Last she'd heard, Callie Hobbes was responsible for forty dead -- both fair and otherwise -- and for the longest time she'd actually passed as a man... til that day she got in a tousle and her hair came loose. Even so, Callie still did it up in men's clothing... Partly habit, partly cause she thought it brought her luck. It sure brought her gold.
 
Seth was up before dawn, shaving and preparing himself mentally for the day to come. He lived for the chase...months spent in pursuit of a criminal before that fatal moment. He pulled on his slacks and boots, studying himself in the mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. What truly seperated him from the criminals that be put behind bars? Some were just plain loco, sure, but most were regular people...drove to the edge by one event or another.
He pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders, and buckled on his pistol belt. A knock at his door set him on edge, and he moved to answer the door with a hand on his pistol. Only the serving girl, bringing him coffee and food. Politely refusing the food, he carried his cup of coffee to the table and took a seat. Sipping slowly from his cup, he again studied the documents concerning his prey.

The sun rose on yet another beautiful Texas morning, and the sounds of people moving about the town on thier everyday buisness filled the small motel room. Seth pulled on his hat, pinning the silver 'Marshall' badge onto the breast pocket of his black coat. Time to earn his keep...
 
The light that shone in from the door gave her all she needed to see and, using a shovel that had been propped in the corner fo the small underground room, Callie worked her way down til she hit metal. Clearing out a bit of the dirt around it by hand, she knelt and opened the strongbox with the key she wore around her neck.

By her calculations, she must have about twenty three thousand dollars by now. A couple more years and she'd have the fifty grand that would allow her to retire in luxury. Paris, Callie thought. And she didn't mean Texas.

Having made her deposit, she closed the box and replaced the dirt before sweeping the floor to hide any traces of disturbance before going back outside. It was gonna be a scorcher and she wondered if the little creek on the far end of the property had already dried up and gone, it'd been so long since she'd been home last.
 
He rode out of Austin with the sun barely clearing the horizon, determination setting a hard pace for the days travel. Minutes blurred into hours; the rhythmic beat of the horses hooves, the blazing sun beating down on him. He slowed his pace only to feed the horse, and occasionally himself. Day gave way to night as he neared the outskirts of town. He pulled the Marshal badge from his pocket, tucking it away.
He slowly rode into town, Stetson pulled low over his eyes. He stopped outside the local saloon, tethering his horse outside. He pushed open the double doors and strode in, stopping just inside the doors. He took in his suroundings with a careful eye. Nothing outside the usual small town dive, a handful of men were crowded around one of the tables engaging in a poker game. A table in the corner was occupied by a few unruly looking fellows. Seth walked to the bar, tossed a few coins down and waited for the bartender to take his order.
 
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Grabbing an apron from where it hung on a nail, Callie placed her .50 caliber Sharp on the table and set to breaking it down and cleaning it. Truth, she should have done it last night, but she was just too dang tired. She'd only stay another night. Maybe two, she thought to herself as she began to reassemble her rifle and started on her pistols. More than a couple days of this and she'd get too soft to go back to that other life.

The sound of hoofbeats drumming up dust brought her bolt upright. Grabbing the 'Big Fifty', she held it behind the folds of her dress as she stepped out onto the breezeway, her left hand shading her eyes to see if she recognized the rider. Still too far, she thought, whistling softly for Guerrero. Just in case.

"Senorita Callie! It's me! Manolito!!"

Callie eased her finger off the trigger and set the rifle down. Manolito was the son of one of her few friends. They lived out near the Guadalupe Mission in Nacogdoches. She'd swung by there on her way in, leaving a small pouch in a hollow beneath a large rock near Rosita's door like she always did. Looked to her like they found it.

"Hola, Manolito!" she called out, waving. "Cómo es usted?"

As the boy eased himself down from the big old palomino, Callie let out another whistle. "Well, just look at you! My, how you've grown!"

"I'm thirteen now," he said, pulling himself up proudly to his full height of just barely over four feet.

"And so you are. How's your ma?"

"She sent some things," he said, turning back to his horse and began untying two enormous bundles. "Fresh corn," he said, struggling with a knot. "Salted pork. Hominy. Some sausage Ma put up."

Callie chuckled, clapping her hands in genuine delight. "Gracias. Gracias."

Manolito shrugged off Callie's offer of help as he dragged the bundles inside. "I'll put everything away while you curry Zeb and water him. It's a hot day for an old boy like him." She grinned as she looked into the first bag, spotting more than a couple plump yellow lemons. "Woo hoo!" Callie cheered. There had to be a pitcher somewhere to make some lemonade in. "Nothing like lemonade on a hot day," she said to Manolito's back as he went back outside.
 
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