sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
More bad guys, maybe they can take care of them later 
. Thank you very much Pac.
. Thank you very much Pac.
Story Grace, Mercy and Blessings
- Thread starter PacNorWest
- Start date
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#399
"I'd fancy drivin, soes I couuld talk with Adam," Tom spoke with Mark. "Now look, if yous see a single rider coming across and gettin off and ridin hell bent for leather, yous got to shoot him. He's the signal for the group that's hidin out ahead of us. If he gets there to tell them, they'll attack us. If no rider comes, they'll let us pass peaceful like."
"Big and I will lag behind and keep watch. Milo can scout out front. I'll have him drop back and talk to you about what to expect and where the other group may be hiding."
"Thanks Mark for keeping cool back there. I sure was hoping you'd let the horses go without problems." Tom grinned at the pained face Mark made.
"I'd fancy drivin, soes I couuld talk with Adam," Tom spoke with Mark. "Now look, if yous see a single rider coming across and gettin off and ridin hell bent for leather, yous got to shoot him. He's the signal for the group that's hidin out ahead of us. If he gets there to tell them, they'll attack us. If no rider comes, they'll let us pass peaceful like."
"Big and I will lag behind and keep watch. Milo can scout out front. I'll have him drop back and talk to you about what to expect and where the other group may be hiding."
"Thanks Mark for keeping cool back there. I sure was hoping you'd let the horses go without problems." Tom grinned at the pained face Mark made.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you, a little is better than nothing.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#400
Sorry about the short paragraph. We had company come last night. We have the best neighbors in the world!
Today we had a taste of the dust bowl. 53 mph wind with gusts to 60+, no rain for a long while. Or at least rain to soak into the ground. Dust in the air was thick.
Mark and Big slowed their horses to a standstill, discussing how far apart they should ride and if Big saw the lone messenger, could he fire to kill?
Big's hesitation told Mark all he needed to know. "That may get you killed," Mark leveled with Big. "I'll ride the left side; where I'm supposing the rider may pass. But, I can't stress enough; if you see the rider and don't shoot, I will shoot you. Either you are 100% for us in thought, word and deed; or your dead." Mark wasn't kidding and Big could tell.
"Yes sir," Big answered, "it just seems to be harsh and in cold blood. What if the rider isn't a scout for the attackers and we kill a wrong man?"
"Then he will be dead," Mark said harshly.
A movement far to the left behind them caught Mark's attention. "Well, the man is making a run for his friends. I'm going to wait until he is closer, but kill him I will. I don't like the situation we are in, and it makes me sour and cranky. I want this over as soon as possible, we are already one week in on a three week window of expected trouble. I hope your woman can shoot; she may need to, to save her life."
Big jerked like he had been shot. "What's going on?"
"Tell you later." Mark had his rifle at the ready, he sighted his distance, led the running horse and fired. They watched the rider crumple and Mark spit in disgust as he shouldered his rifle again. This time it was the horse that went down.
"Can't let the horse wander in to the other nest of robbers, that would be a giveaway as to the fact we knew what was happening."
Big nodded, the taste of bile in his throat that prevented him from speaking. He suddenly understood Mark's reputation and the precarious position he was in. He now understood the 100% remark, and it gave him the shivers. He decided right away that he was in right up to the top of his cowboy hat.
Sorry about the short paragraph. We had company come last night. We have the best neighbors in the world!
Today we had a taste of the dust bowl. 53 mph wind with gusts to 60+, no rain for a long while. Or at least rain to soak into the ground. Dust in the air was thick.
Mark and Big slowed their horses to a standstill, discussing how far apart they should ride and if Big saw the lone messenger, could he fire to kill?
Big's hesitation told Mark all he needed to know. "That may get you killed," Mark leveled with Big. "I'll ride the left side; where I'm supposing the rider may pass. But, I can't stress enough; if you see the rider and don't shoot, I will shoot you. Either you are 100% for us in thought, word and deed; or your dead." Mark wasn't kidding and Big could tell.
"Yes sir," Big answered, "it just seems to be harsh and in cold blood. What if the rider isn't a scout for the attackers and we kill a wrong man?"
"Then he will be dead," Mark said harshly.
A movement far to the left behind them caught Mark's attention. "Well, the man is making a run for his friends. I'm going to wait until he is closer, but kill him I will. I don't like the situation we are in, and it makes me sour and cranky. I want this over as soon as possible, we are already one week in on a three week window of expected trouble. I hope your woman can shoot; she may need to, to save her life."
Big jerked like he had been shot. "What's going on?"
"Tell you later." Mark had his rifle at the ready, he sighted his distance, led the running horse and fired. They watched the rider crumple and Mark spit in disgust as he shouldered his rifle again. This time it was the horse that went down.
"Can't let the horse wander in to the other nest of robbers, that would be a giveaway as to the fact we knew what was happening."
Big nodded, the taste of bile in his throat that prevented him from speaking. He suddenly understood Mark's reputation and the precarious position he was in. He now understood the 100% remark, and it gave him the shivers. He decided right away that he was in right up to the top of his cowboy hat.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you Pac, sounds like a horrible storm, we used to get those in CO.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#401
Big chewed on his problem all day. The deed of killing the rider was done, couldn't be retracted or glossed over, and now he was complicit by association. It took a lot of mental gymnastics and prayer to bring a conclusion to his hurting soul. In the end, Big couldn't let the prisoners die in an ambush. As a free man, he was responsible for their welfare as long as the captured men were in his care.
The group pushed hard across the prairie and finally found a Northward bound road of sorts close to the river.
If they had passed the hideout of the robber group, they were unaware, but no one was anxious to go looking for the band of brigands.
It was well into dark before Mark called a halt. The night was chilling down, the low clouds bespoke an oncoming storm, and the Dakota hole fire pit cooked the huge pot of oatmeal.
Someone had to constantly stir the oats as the fire was newly lit and blazing up. Mark would have certainly preferred two smaller pots, but they had to make do with what they had. Finally, the oatmeal was cooked, and bowls of the mush were passed to the men in the wagon.
"Eat slow and chew it well, or you'll be sorry," Mark cautioned the men. "I want to re -inforce that none of you are getting out of the wagon, no matter how dire your circumstances. Are there any questions?"
There were none, all the prisoners were busy chewing.
Tom grinned as he shoveled mush into Adam's bowl. "Go ahead and eat my portion," he offered to his son. "I ate a good breakfast this morning. Our lookouts told us you were coming up the track, so I volunteered to do the dishes, and the dishwasher gets to eat all the leftovers."
"That's gross," Adam admonished, shivering at the thought of eating off another's plate.
"Not if you're hungry enough, " Tom laughed silently and humorously. "I was the new guy, and they didn't feel over generous toward dishing out food towards a body they hadn't got sold on 100%. Besides, if you were busy in the kitchen, you got to overhear a good bit of the planning information."
Mark was listening, as Tom handed Adam the bowl. Turning around to talk to his friend and mentor, Tom told about the robbers that had a sophisticated operation.
"They have several bands, each under the control of a captain that gets orders from some commander. The head guy is never mentioned by name; and I understand that they had a band up where you guys used to live. I heard some pretty bad, sicko stories of what the northern band did to the people they slaughtered. That was part of your group, wasn't it." Tom spoke low and with pain in his voice.
Mark nodded shortly. White hot anger sizzled from his countenance. "We'll deal with them on the way back, but they will be sorry. I can guarantee you that."
Big chewed on his problem all day. The deed of killing the rider was done, couldn't be retracted or glossed over, and now he was complicit by association. It took a lot of mental gymnastics and prayer to bring a conclusion to his hurting soul. In the end, Big couldn't let the prisoners die in an ambush. As a free man, he was responsible for their welfare as long as the captured men were in his care.
The group pushed hard across the prairie and finally found a Northward bound road of sorts close to the river.
If they had passed the hideout of the robber group, they were unaware, but no one was anxious to go looking for the band of brigands.
It was well into dark before Mark called a halt. The night was chilling down, the low clouds bespoke an oncoming storm, and the Dakota hole fire pit cooked the huge pot of oatmeal.
Someone had to constantly stir the oats as the fire was newly lit and blazing up. Mark would have certainly preferred two smaller pots, but they had to make do with what they had. Finally, the oatmeal was cooked, and bowls of the mush were passed to the men in the wagon.
"Eat slow and chew it well, or you'll be sorry," Mark cautioned the men. "I want to re -inforce that none of you are getting out of the wagon, no matter how dire your circumstances. Are there any questions?"
There were none, all the prisoners were busy chewing.
Tom grinned as he shoveled mush into Adam's bowl. "Go ahead and eat my portion," he offered to his son. "I ate a good breakfast this morning. Our lookouts told us you were coming up the track, so I volunteered to do the dishes, and the dishwasher gets to eat all the leftovers."
"That's gross," Adam admonished, shivering at the thought of eating off another's plate.
"Not if you're hungry enough, " Tom laughed silently and humorously. "I was the new guy, and they didn't feel over generous toward dishing out food towards a body they hadn't got sold on 100%. Besides, if you were busy in the kitchen, you got to overhear a good bit of the planning information."
Mark was listening, as Tom handed Adam the bowl. Turning around to talk to his friend and mentor, Tom told about the robbers that had a sophisticated operation.
"They have several bands, each under the control of a captain that gets orders from some commander. The head guy is never mentioned by name; and I understand that they had a band up where you guys used to live. I heard some pretty bad, sicko stories of what the northern band did to the people they slaughtered. That was part of your group, wasn't it." Tom spoke low and with pain in his voice.
Mark nodded shortly. White hot anger sizzled from his countenance. "We'll deal with them on the way back, but they will be sorry. I can guarantee you that."
Nature_Lover
Wait! What?
Thank you, Pac. I really appreciate you and your story. ❤
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
OH boy the ones that killed so many of the families folks. Thank you Pac,
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#492
It rained during the night, wetting down and chilling the entire camp. The wind started, the particular direction a moaning, hair raising shivering sound. Huddled in their coats, the prisoners were especially miserable, finding the cold wet day as problematic as the hot, dry dusty ones.
The Lindermans pushed hard. it took two and a half weeks to get to D. C. It rained all but three days of those two plus weeks; and most of the prisoners were sick with colds or worse.
Adam decided he was as miserable as he had ever been; he and Tom had to sit outside the Federal building while Mark and Milo delivered their prisoners. Big stayed with the horses, and in the end, the men of the clan had to take the horses and wagon back with them.
"What if we used the wagon to haul provisions back with us?" Milo supposed. The contrast between the rural area they lived in, and the hustle and bustle of inner city D.C. was astounding.
As a favor to the marshals that had completed the transfer, the service gave the two men pay for the job and the inside track of a wholesale grocery jobber's location. D.C. was already a thriving metropolis, and the men learned more information than they could handle.
The United States was the only country that had been turned upside down and inside out, by the wind and it's consequences. All the other nations had whatever power, progress and abilities they had worked for.
That accounted for the airplanes they had noticed, the manner in which the prince had arrived in America, and the ability to trade in all manner of merchandise.
Mark went to the head banking instution of his Carolina branch and inquired about his account. He was floored that it was still viable. If he hadn't been a marshal with impecable credentials; he wouldn't have been able to produce enough identification to be allowed to access the account.
The bank was close to declaring the account 'dead', due to the lack of activity, and the healthy amount was a ripe plum they hated to lose.
The first thing Mark bought with his newly discovered money; was enough cases of coffee to cover the bottom of the clean and scrubbed prison wagon. It was for his Clora.
It rained during the night, wetting down and chilling the entire camp. The wind started, the particular direction a moaning, hair raising shivering sound. Huddled in their coats, the prisoners were especially miserable, finding the cold wet day as problematic as the hot, dry dusty ones.
The Lindermans pushed hard. it took two and a half weeks to get to D. C. It rained all but three days of those two plus weeks; and most of the prisoners were sick with colds or worse.
Adam decided he was as miserable as he had ever been; he and Tom had to sit outside the Federal building while Mark and Milo delivered their prisoners. Big stayed with the horses, and in the end, the men of the clan had to take the horses and wagon back with them.
"What if we used the wagon to haul provisions back with us?" Milo supposed. The contrast between the rural area they lived in, and the hustle and bustle of inner city D.C. was astounding.
As a favor to the marshals that had completed the transfer, the service gave the two men pay for the job and the inside track of a wholesale grocery jobber's location. D.C. was already a thriving metropolis, and the men learned more information than they could handle.
The United States was the only country that had been turned upside down and inside out, by the wind and it's consequences. All the other nations had whatever power, progress and abilities they had worked for.
That accounted for the airplanes they had noticed, the manner in which the prince had arrived in America, and the ability to trade in all manner of merchandise.
Mark went to the head banking instution of his Carolina branch and inquired about his account. He was floored that it was still viable. If he hadn't been a marshal with impecable credentials; he wouldn't have been able to produce enough identification to be allowed to access the account.
The bank was close to declaring the account 'dead', due to the lack of activity, and the healthy amount was a ripe plum they hated to lose.
The first thing Mark bought with his newly discovered money; was enough cases of coffee to cover the bottom of the clean and scrubbed prison wagon. It was for his Clora.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
WOW, and thank you Pac, very much.
steamroller
Contributing Member
Great story, thank you Pac
Is the United States considered to be the "Great Satan"?
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
It how the Radical fundamentalists (ISIL, el Qaeda et al) refer to us; pretty sure Saudi & our other Arab friends do to.....
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#493
Mark and company were just two aisles in the vast warehouse, when four very obvious young men from the marshal's office interrupted the buying trip.
"Sirs, the director requests that you and your son return to the office for an urgent conference," the oldest looking of the four politely asked. "There is a distraught father that needs information that only you can provide."
Mark growled, turned and gave the list to Big and an envelope full of cash. "If there's not enough cash here, just wait, I'll be back shortly." he almost snarled. "We've already been through this, I don't see what we can add."
"Please Sir, we need to hurry." The deputy had an urgency in his voice. "The director doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Mark said something that sounded like "tough s---." under his breath, but came up with what sort of passed for a smile. "Lead on, let's get this over with."
It was a forced silence as they walked the two streets over to the building. With no electricity, they had to pass through a strict Protocall of matching credentials to the face and physical description. Then there was the walk up three flights of stairs. Mark and Milo practically galloped up the flights, leaving the city soft deputies panting as they tried to keep pace.
Gary sighed hard as he tried to exercise good ole Dr. Bruce into a human that might actually be of some help defending the retreat. Clora did a better job of walking, jogging and running for endurance; than Bruce. One person who was huffing and puffing, was Tilly, but she gamely smiled and kept on trotting around the exercise room.
Toby and Dony had already been in for their practice and worked hard to Gary's satisfaction.
"No desserts Ma. You ladies are ripe for all sorts of physical problems caused by sugar." Gary was issuing all sorts of orders.
Mark and company were just two aisles in the vast warehouse, when four very obvious young men from the marshal's office interrupted the buying trip.
"Sirs, the director requests that you and your son return to the office for an urgent conference," the oldest looking of the four politely asked. "There is a distraught father that needs information that only you can provide."
Mark growled, turned and gave the list to Big and an envelope full of cash. "If there's not enough cash here, just wait, I'll be back shortly." he almost snarled. "We've already been through this, I don't see what we can add."
"Please Sir, we need to hurry." The deputy had an urgency in his voice. "The director doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Mark said something that sounded like "tough s---." under his breath, but came up with what sort of passed for a smile. "Lead on, let's get this over with."
It was a forced silence as they walked the two streets over to the building. With no electricity, they had to pass through a strict Protocall of matching credentials to the face and physical description. Then there was the walk up three flights of stairs. Mark and Milo practically galloped up the flights, leaving the city soft deputies panting as they tried to keep pace.
Gary sighed hard as he tried to exercise good ole Dr. Bruce into a human that might actually be of some help defending the retreat. Clora did a better job of walking, jogging and running for endurance; than Bruce. One person who was huffing and puffing, was Tilly, but she gamely smiled and kept on trotting around the exercise room.
Toby and Dony had already been in for their practice and worked hard to Gary's satisfaction.
"No desserts Ma. You ladies are ripe for all sorts of physical problems caused by sugar." Gary was issuing all sorts of orders.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Gary hard at it again,. Thank you pac.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Considering Chlora is low on caffeine, his survival could be in question if he gets too wild/wierd......
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#494
The director, Seaton Scott, was indeed waiting, as was Phil Sr. of car dealership fame.
"Mr. Linderman," Phil Sr. spoke even before the director of the Marshals Service could offer the two rangy marshals a seat.
Please tell me about Phil. Do you know what happened, how was he shot, where is his body?" The father in Phil Sr. was obviously distraught.
Mark looked at the director for permission to speak, and got a nod from the head of the service. Very carefully, he reiterated what he remembered from the dark and camp fire smoky night.
"To begin, Al and another man came tumbling into our camp site, fighting, rolling around on the ground as they traded punches. We had no knowledge of who was the 'good guy' and who was the 'bad guy.' Eventually, Al's coat flipped open and we saw his star, and then stepped in to stop the fight. We identified ourselves as marshal's and Al yelled at us to hold the fighter and his two buddies that were circling around. He was yelling my partner has been hurt, and he ran back into the night toward what we assumed was his camp." Mark stopped to draw a breath.
"We followed with the three bound men and found Al's camp. Al was trying to get some response from a slumped over body that appeared to have a scalp wound. Al was also trying to fight off a hobo who was rifling through the injured man's pockets.
I shot the man in the foot to stop his stealing. We then discovered Phil Jr. had been shot through the heart."
Phil Sr. slumped against the side of the desk, defeat all over him.
The director, Seaton Scott, was indeed waiting, as was Phil Sr. of car dealership fame.
"Mr. Linderman," Phil Sr. spoke even before the director of the Marshals Service could offer the two rangy marshals a seat.
Please tell me about Phil. Do you know what happened, how was he shot, where is his body?" The father in Phil Sr. was obviously distraught.
Mark looked at the director for permission to speak, and got a nod from the head of the service. Very carefully, he reiterated what he remembered from the dark and camp fire smoky night.
"To begin, Al and another man came tumbling into our camp site, fighting, rolling around on the ground as they traded punches. We had no knowledge of who was the 'good guy' and who was the 'bad guy.' Eventually, Al's coat flipped open and we saw his star, and then stepped in to stop the fight. We identified ourselves as marshal's and Al yelled at us to hold the fighter and his two buddies that were circling around. He was yelling my partner has been hurt, and he ran back into the night toward what we assumed was his camp." Mark stopped to draw a breath.
"We followed with the three bound men and found Al's camp. Al was trying to get some response from a slumped over body that appeared to have a scalp wound. Al was also trying to fight off a hobo who was rifling through the injured man's pockets.
I shot the man in the foot to stop his stealing. We then discovered Phil Jr. had been shot through the heart."
Phil Sr. slumped against the side of the desk, defeat all over him.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Big thank you Pac.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#495
Director Scott stepped in when he determined that Phil Sr. was too emotional to continue the questioning. "And then....." he prompted.
"The man that had stayed in our camp, found us with reports of a band of raiders, that were destroying everyone in the string of camps behind us. They were equipped with high powered rifles and silencers. In the situation before us, we decided it was prudent to remove ourselves and the prisoners to safety." Mark wasn't sure Phil Sr. could even hear him, but the man spoke up asking what they did with juniors body.
"We took him with us," Mark replied simply. "There was no time to do a burying; nor did we have any tools. We followed the west side of the river until we found a defensible place where we could engage the raiding party that was hunting us. In the fight, we lost one of the prisoners who was shot in the head; and the ten raiders were killed and their bodies were dumped in the river." Milo told the stark truth, stepping in to ease some of Mark's pain in the death of Phil Jr.'s death.
Phil Sr. was slumped against the over large directors desk, his white knuckled fingers practically leaving indentations in the polished wood. "And then..." he croaked.
"We dumped Junior in the river, rather than let scavengers, human or otherwise have his body." There it was, the information Mark would have given anything not to have to repeat.
"But you arrived here without Al," the director continued. "What happened there??"
"Al decided he couldn't go on; he had to go find Junior's body, so he told us to get to D.C. and he'd see us later. Bringing the prisoners such a long way was a very poor decision. We had to keep them caged like animals, didn't dare let them out for any reason, and we had extreme problems getting here. The decision to bring those men was poorly thought out at best, and cost the life of at least 5 marshals. That's criminal." was his harsh reply.
Director Scott stepped in when he determined that Phil Sr. was too emotional to continue the questioning. "And then....." he prompted.
"The man that had stayed in our camp, found us with reports of a band of raiders, that were destroying everyone in the string of camps behind us. They were equipped with high powered rifles and silencers. In the situation before us, we decided it was prudent to remove ourselves and the prisoners to safety." Mark wasn't sure Phil Sr. could even hear him, but the man spoke up asking what they did with juniors body.
"We took him with us," Mark replied simply. "There was no time to do a burying; nor did we have any tools. We followed the west side of the river until we found a defensible place where we could engage the raiding party that was hunting us. In the fight, we lost one of the prisoners who was shot in the head; and the ten raiders were killed and their bodies were dumped in the river." Milo told the stark truth, stepping in to ease some of Mark's pain in the death of Phil Jr.'s death.
Phil Sr. was slumped against the over large directors desk, his white knuckled fingers practically leaving indentations in the polished wood. "And then..." he croaked.
"We dumped Junior in the river, rather than let scavengers, human or otherwise have his body." There it was, the information Mark would have given anything not to have to repeat.
"But you arrived here without Al," the director continued. "What happened there??"
"Al decided he couldn't go on; he had to go find Junior's body, so he told us to get to D.C. and he'd see us later. Bringing the prisoners such a long way was a very poor decision. We had to keep them caged like animals, didn't dare let them out for any reason, and we had extreme problems getting here. The decision to bring those men was poorly thought out at best, and cost the life of at least 5 marshals. That's criminal." was his harsh reply.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you, and Mark is very right.
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#496
"I suppose you understand the marshals were under orders;" the director had a tinge to his voice.
"Orders, by some higher up mouthpiece that needed a little glory to the end of his name, I suppose." Mark flared with anger. "The whole setup was as stupid as could possibly be. Five good men, probably six if Al gets lost in the mele, have sacrificed their lives to this nonsense."
The director was frowning mightily. "Where did Al leave you, where possibly might he have gone. And by the way, I was the one who ordered the subversives brought up here." he didn't look, act or sound like a happy director with the dressing down by a subordinate.
"Those men should have been hanged where they were convicted. It would have saved the life of all the marshals. Such a waste;" Mark didn't back down just because his superior was foolish from the heart both ways.
"You certainly live up to your reputation," the director said dryly. "Did you know Al is my son?"
"Not a clue," Mark was as abrupt as possible. "We never exchanged last names. It appears foolishness runs in the family," was the next sentence out of his mouth.
Phil Sr. and Milo both coughed hard, trying to cover their astonishment at the verbal exchange. Milo understood that his Dad spoke his mind, but never like he had just witnessed; especially with a superior.
"You have expressed your opinion Marshal Linderman, I don't need to hear any more." Seaton Scott closed the discussion firmly. "I would appreciate knowing where Al broke away. He is my son." There was pain in his voice, and Mark relented.
Giving directions as to the bend in the river, adding the information about the roving bands of raiders, Mark talked and Scott took notes.
"The raiders, you're sure where one of their camps is located?"
"Yes Sir, one of our men was in the camp for a while. However many bands there are, they are under the command of a Captain, and there is a 'head guy'calling the shots.
Who this man is, is unknown to us. I also want to tell you that when we lived in Iowa, our family was attacked by these raiders and most of the family was killed. I intend to take appropriate measures on our way back home."
"I suppose you understand the marshals were under orders;" the director had a tinge to his voice.
"Orders, by some higher up mouthpiece that needed a little glory to the end of his name, I suppose." Mark flared with anger. "The whole setup was as stupid as could possibly be. Five good men, probably six if Al gets lost in the mele, have sacrificed their lives to this nonsense."
The director was frowning mightily. "Where did Al leave you, where possibly might he have gone. And by the way, I was the one who ordered the subversives brought up here." he didn't look, act or sound like a happy director with the dressing down by a subordinate.
"Those men should have been hanged where they were convicted. It would have saved the life of all the marshals. Such a waste;" Mark didn't back down just because his superior was foolish from the heart both ways.
"You certainly live up to your reputation," the director said dryly. "Did you know Al is my son?"
"Not a clue," Mark was as abrupt as possible. "We never exchanged last names. It appears foolishness runs in the family," was the next sentence out of his mouth.
Phil Sr. and Milo both coughed hard, trying to cover their astonishment at the verbal exchange. Milo understood that his Dad spoke his mind, but never like he had just witnessed; especially with a superior.
"You have expressed your opinion Marshal Linderman, I don't need to hear any more." Seaton Scott closed the discussion firmly. "I would appreciate knowing where Al broke away. He is my son." There was pain in his voice, and Mark relented.
Giving directions as to the bend in the river, adding the information about the roving bands of raiders, Mark talked and Scott took notes.
"The raiders, you're sure where one of their camps is located?"
"Yes Sir, one of our men was in the camp for a while. However many bands there are, they are under the command of a Captain, and there is a 'head guy'calling the shots.
Who this man is, is unknown to us. I also want to tell you that when we lived in Iowa, our family was attacked by these raiders and most of the family was killed. I intend to take appropriate measures on our way back home."
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Good for Mark, just like it should have been done in the first place. Thank you Pac.
just like it should have been done in the first place. Thank you Pac.
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
We know where the kid got it from. nurture or nature.
Old Gray Mare
TB Fanatic
Maybe AL had a personnel reason for skipping out before DC? PAC you do twist a good plot!
Griz3752
Retired, practising Curmudgeon
Yes she does! Always something to ponder over!
PacNorWest
Veteran Member
#497
"Gentleman, if you would complete your shopping and wait for us here at the building; I intend to gather up troops and ride with you to where the camps of the raiders are located. We need to completely erase these marauders, and you have given us the most recent and reliable information, to date."
Director Scott looked levelly at the marshal's Linderman, and got the nods of agreement he expected.
"Yes Sir," Mark replied for the both of them. "It will take us a couple of hours to complete our shopping and we will be grateful for your protection as we return. Will we be expected to fight?"
"Only to protect your wagon full of goods. I need you to be an island of lawful protection in the western part of the known world." Scott smiled a little. "One thing about it, the Mississippi is a formable barrier."
"That it is," Milo agreed, "It's a bear to cross. How come the Army Corps of Engineers isn't on the job, creating crossings?"
Director Scott had a swift dumbfounded look on his face, gone as quickly as it began,
Mark shrugged his shoulders, obviously the brass running the country was way behind the eight ball in common sense thinking.
Scott waved his men out the door, "go do your shopping, be back here by 3pm. Oh, do any of you have watches to keep track of time?"
"Yes Sir," Milo flung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, back at the retreat; Clora walked every day to the forest and had the 'boys' dig up the buried items she sensed were in the ground. They had close to fifty keys, of all sizes and description.
"This is a baffling mystery," Toby was keeping track of the keys, and didn't have any sort of explanation for the amounts of keys they were finding. "I thought for sure we'd encounter urns, and yet we haven't found a one. There has to be a connection of some sorts, that we are missing."
"Gentleman, if you would complete your shopping and wait for us here at the building; I intend to gather up troops and ride with you to where the camps of the raiders are located. We need to completely erase these marauders, and you have given us the most recent and reliable information, to date."
Director Scott looked levelly at the marshal's Linderman, and got the nods of agreement he expected.
"Yes Sir," Mark replied for the both of them. "It will take us a couple of hours to complete our shopping and we will be grateful for your protection as we return. Will we be expected to fight?"
"Only to protect your wagon full of goods. I need you to be an island of lawful protection in the western part of the known world." Scott smiled a little. "One thing about it, the Mississippi is a formable barrier."
"That it is," Milo agreed, "It's a bear to cross. How come the Army Corps of Engineers isn't on the job, creating crossings?"
Director Scott had a swift dumbfounded look on his face, gone as quickly as it began,
Mark shrugged his shoulders, obviously the brass running the country was way behind the eight ball in common sense thinking.
Scott waved his men out the door, "go do your shopping, be back here by 3pm. Oh, do any of you have watches to keep track of time?"
"Yes Sir," Milo flung over his shoulder.
Meanwhile, back at the retreat; Clora walked every day to the forest and had the 'boys' dig up the buried items she sensed were in the ground. They had close to fifty keys, of all sizes and description.
"This is a baffling mystery," Toby was keeping track of the keys, and didn't have any sort of explanation for the amounts of keys they were finding. "I thought for sure we'd encounter urns, and yet we haven't found a one. There has to be a connection of some sorts, that we are missing."