Thread: Bound to Grace

Elijah Allen, warranted US Marshall, was out of his jurisdiction for several months in the summer of 46. Following a blood bath between cattle ranchers near the Platte and outlaws from Missouri, Elijah choose to check out for a spell, traveling into Northern Mexico and staying for a spell in Trinidad. There, he drank himself into a stupor night after night, listening to tales of Texas its bold claim of independence from Mexico, its appeal to Congress to be admitted as a state. The curiosity of whether it would be allowed and, if so, as a slave state or not was quite the talk north of Mexico, but down there in New Trinidad, it was mixed between whether a people could proclaim such independence. Marshall Allen didnt so much care, what concerned him near that summers end was that his funds were bordering on low and hed have to take some work if he wanted to forget about his fellow men for another spell. He could claim what was his rights up at Vrains Fort, north of Castle Rock, his government allotment, if he could find someone to vouch for the paper or a miner to sell it off too. Thus, one warm morning, he loaded up Star and road that horse for the Fort. Good news was that despite America entering into war with Mexico, there wasnt much of either country in this part of the world, he could just ride between non-existent borders and freely go about his business. The mark of his profession, the star in the circle, returned to his breast once he was confident he was on American soil. Within a week, he was at the gates, ready to return to his bed at home but it wasnt to be. Steve Campbell was there to greet him, a wiry, wisp of a man that was aid to Consul Thomas O. Larkin. His purpose was to greet a coach coming by way of St. Joseph Missouri. Mr. Campbell couldnt hold the fort on that one, when the Marshall returned to his post, the man wanted the Marshall out north of Indian Territory waiting the guests of Consul Larkin and to escort them to the fort and, perhaps beyond. Elijah took the man to private quarters and bartered a fair fee for these services, above and beyond his authorization as a US Marshall and, in that constraint, Mr. Campbell could do ought but oblige with an extra fee for services to be rendered by Marshall Allen. This was good for Elijah, he could hold off on US bonds and finding someone to make good with real money on such a trade. It would go into the pile in his safe. Thus, it came that Marshal Elijah Allen road forth alone, wearing a worn hat, curved under the strain of fingers adjusting to block the sun, a duster for comfort alone, chaps and boots. His face grizzled, dying to meet a razor but not grown enough to be a beard just yet. With provisions for a fortnight, he packed his only modern item, a Winchester Packmaster with carbolic steam chamber designed for distance and velocity, vortexed barrel that increased the torque of the rounds for accuracy, and a steam barrel extension to prevent burn back from steam released during firing of the weapon. It was packed to the horses load, but ready to be drawn from anyone on saddle, or anyone on foot who knew where to pull the weapon at. His olive eyes took in the landscape around him as he road along the worn, dusty trail the coach travelled, marking rocks, lizards, buzzards, plant life, the mundane usual in this part of the West. Instead of focusing too much on these details that hed seen a hundred times, he thought of the steam coach crossing the plains out there. It was a newer Concord, with a light generator intended both to give power to the chassis, reducing the horse load, as well as giving some sort of modern convenience for the slickers coming out this way to catch up with family or do whatever it was they were intending. The drapes would reel up and down on their own when it worked and there was a personal ladies fan that would buffet a lady with air. From what Elijah had heard, the rotary coils of the fan was enough to make it more of a noisy nuisance than a convenience, but he enjoyed the weather in these parts. More than a week had passed and he was nearing where he guessed he would meet the specific coach his fare was travelling in. The coach left weekly on the dot, meaning there was 3-5 coaches moving along the line and several days ago he had met last weeks coach. No news of the other coach, but rumors of uprisings in Indian Territory was a concern. Not to mention bandits active in Nebraska Territory seeking to make good on those people traveling to newly opened territories out west or simply wanting to escape US Law. He'd camp out a night and then proceed slowly along the trail until he met that coach.