Golems of Steam, Steel, and Bone chap 28

Three days, and two completed boilers, three sets of molds created and touched for three differing designs out of Elisa's books, and one plain set to make replicas for museums and other collectors. One of the boys had even shown great skill at making small mockups out of wood and bronze to sell to those come to see the dig. His skill led all there to ask him to instead set up a small carving and wood work shop, which he still resisted, but all could see his love was in making the beasts look alive again, not just as framework golems to aid man in tasks that others broke backs and took much longer on.
Hickok walked the town, its marshal by appointment of the elders, Big Ear being an old friend of the rider from his Pony Express days. Just the lawman's presence calmed things down, but when a hand rested on the handle of a pistol, even the wildest man calmed down. When Elisa asked more about him, Big Ears offered up his opinion and reasons for hiring the gunfighter.
"Chased him many a time, just to watch him ride. But he was better shooter than rider. Now, his eyes are failing him, but he not admit it. Made Black Coyote his deputy, asking Bill to listen to him. Wild Bill is not mean as they say, just quick to draw. He wants to live many winters, said he bet Cody over who die first, and wants to collect the gold from him someday." the old chief sat there, grinning. "Man never sit with back to door, not even to flap of my lodge. He very intent to live long. But loves to play poker. Will get him killed someday." The rueful shake of his head said much of his feelings about gambling and taking such chances with one's wealth.
Lips tight, she pressed the chief. "But he shoots so often. How many men has he killed?"
Laughter filled the tent. "Less than most say, more than most comfortable counting."
Which left Elisa wondering, The tales that reached the east spoke of hundreds of dead behind the lawman. Ivan even told here that was nonsense. "Debeitsa, he kill that many, there would not be Dodge still there. Nor other towns. Few in cow towns are permanent residents, much like this town, the tribe and we are the residents, the others are transients, passing by like the gypsies, staying for a while before moving on."
To the girl that she had been that made sense, but the girl grew into a woman amid the settled and rarely moving folk of Ohio. Oh, many left to seek the adventure of the western lands, seeking money or fame amid the Indian States, the cattle drives, and the gold rush out in the Bruin Republic of California. But most came home, with tales of those not coming back being outlaws or dead.
Again, the reality of the west being more like a new east, just settling down, was coming to make her uneasy. She worried that night if she was right, that the west was dying as folks like her came to hunt it, changing the land forever.
Shots rang out in the darkness. Five of them, three distinct, in between two lone soft shots. Then came the cries from town. Elisa grabbed her clothes, dressing even as Ivan's weight leaping off the wagon left her staggering in the lurching wagon.
More shots cracked the rising clamor of the valley. The rumble of hooves came from around the wagon, making Elisa curse, they had not fired up the boiler tonight due to the hot, sticky air filling the darkness. The steam guns would not work, without vapors to power them. Hands seeking beside the bed found the rifle she kept there still. The action moved smoothly, the click a loud noise in sudden falling furor outside.
Then horns blared, in the bugle calls of the Southern Rebels, the call of Jeb Stuarts wild bunch, riding still for the southern glory, even so long after their leader's death. Each note a challenge to come out and die.
Using the loop holes, she checked around, but without the moon, the darkness was too much for her eyes, still used to the lantern doused at the first shot. Bits of motion showed, deeper blacks against the velvet night shades, with no way to tell friend from foe. Nor to tell the full shape to target. Steam fired from somewhere, taking light from a tossed match, the orange glow showing her the wicked left gauntlet of Ivan, moving suddenly to the ground in anticipation of a shot.
Which never came. The rebels were already gone, or waiting. The stars became more for her, and faint horizon with darkness shifting to the glory of sky for Elisa's eyes. Still there were hints of motion out there, over the ridgelines.
It was not like the Jeb Gang to leave so fast, without what they came for. She heard that whisper moving among them. Until Black Coyote's curses could be heard. "They got the damned horses!"
A town without horses would have a hard time even in the age of steam. The horse was still the engine here in the wild lands, too rugged for wagons like hers in many places. And the hunters used the horses when seeking game. The fifty bison taken days before no longer would be enough.
Elisa said words normally saved for casts going wrong, in all three languages she spoke. The horses also drove several other things, like the supply wagons, the stage coach from Fort Kearney to the west, and the message relays the natives used. If all the horses were gone, they might as well be on an island in the distant Pacific Ocean.
"Uncle?"
"Stay put Els, Ivan fell into the dig when they lit that match." Coyote's voice was nearby, comforting. Until Ivan's laughter split the air.
"The fools, rhino horns exposed, and they left them here! The took only food and my spare gun up here." The rough voice was still laughing at the fortune left behind. Despite years in the west, Ivan was still a Russain peasant at heart, locked into the idea that as long as one could walk, they could live.
Which for all save him was true. Without a boiler, his legs became just flopping metal contraptions, unless he locked them into place with pins. But every step would be an effort for him, one that would leave him another of the victims of these cruel lands.
"Uncle Ivan, without horses, we have no communications, and no hunting." She let her uncle know her anger by her tone, and speaking in his native tongue.
Ivan merely shrugged with a grin. "I say they made a mistake. And while our friend is upset, I think it is more over how he missed them coming, not that they got the horses."
Indeed even at a distance, the displeasure of Black Coyote with his guards that night was very clear, in tones and loudness the young man rarely used. But never once did he suggest the still mounted men seek out the herd taken. Nor did the marshal as he came by, with a dark stain on one sleeve of his white shirt, lit by the first bits of the moon to rise.
"Fools, all of them. That damned Jeb kept egging them on, and now they ride forever, chasing their damnations to their graves." Hickok's voice was surly, full of disapproval. Each word measured, slow in its delivery, but toned with hate.
"Marshal, you have been shot." Elisa worried about the man now, it was obvious that he also had no worries about the horses.
"Nothing much, caught a big splinter of wood when they missed that first shot." He chuckled. "Cody is out there, coming up from his ranch with beef and horses to switch out. That damned aide to Lincoln has his rough men from Rapid City to the north as well, coming to visit." Hickok suddenly coughed. "Forgive the language ma'am. But that bunch has ridden their last raid."
Ivan chuckled harshly. "Thee is out there? Damned if he will let them get away then."
Hickok's grin shown as half a moon rose from the east. "Indeed, Mister Geranof. Indeed he won't let them. But knowing his mean streak, I would not be surprised if him and ol' Buffalo don't run them to frazzle the next few days." Some one came up with the marshal's hat. "Thanks Olly. Ma'am, best you get back to sleep. Town folk are looking forward to you installing that steam kitchen and having bear sign all the time soon." He seated the hat, tipped its brim, and walked into the night, still a mystery to Elisa, who stared after him with new eyes, ones opened by his kindness, and admission to not shooting.