by Tempe O'Kun
September 14, 1890 -
I have been piecing together clues from my uncle’s journals. This, combined with some information from Harding, has led me to believe there is more going on here than I at first suspected. Turns out that Harding reported the former Hayes’ mining operation to the Office of Indian Affairs, since it cuts in on ‘yote holy land. This resulted in Jasper Haus, Six’s father being sent out to investigate. Before the investigation was complete, however, Jasper ended up killing the elder Hayes and being wounded himself. I shall have to check into this further.
September 15, 1890 -
Fate has seen to it that I learn more about the Jasper-Hayes affair. One of Hayes’ men confronted me for delaying the search for Six yet again, but Doc smooth-talked him off my case. I was then obliged to accept, at long last, his invitation to dinner. While there, he and the misses informed me further on the subject of Hayes’ mine. What’s more, it seems Charlotte has known for some time now that Six is a woman! I nearly choked on their fine cactus wine when she hinted at that fact. Does everybody in this town know more than I do?
September 16, 1890 -
I flew out and located Six in the desert, with some aid from Harding. We re-entered the mine, more covertly this time. However, the mine seemed to have an even more detrimental effect on her this time, as she passed out soon after entering. I brought her back to the foxes’ place, where we started to formulate a new plan.
Unfortunately for me, this plan entailed me wearing a dress so we could infiltrate a party being held at the Hayes estate in Scoria Grove. After embarrassments I shall not go into here, I managed to find records of the ore Hayes has been digging up. Shortly after, we were found by Hayes and had to flee. His men tried to stop us, but Six handcuffed me to a cart and chased the horse team off!
After being freed from my predicament by the local sheriff, I set off after Six. As I neared White Rock, the mine once more exploded, nearly cracking the mountain in half. I knew instantly that Six had to be involved. I flew with all haste to the washout that had been created by pent-up water inside the mine. I found Six, half-drown and half-deaf, but alive. I managed to fly her to the edge of town, despite some unladylike comments she made. I wish I could say these were brought on by the delirium from the mine collapsing around her.
At Harding’s place, the foxes and I managed to put Six’s arm back into place, which was the worst of her injuries. We decided it would be for the best if she hid out here for the time being.
September 18, 1890 -
I visited Six today, to see how she was recovering. Being alone and happy to be alive, we became somewhat amorous. I fell fast asleep beside her. To my sorrow, but not to my shock, she was gone when I awoke.
January 4, 1891 -
I had only just now begun to contemplate what life would be like without Six. She showed up today. I find myself forced now to contemplate life with her.
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Hayes’ Story
You see, Mei Xiu, it all started when I arranged for some funds to go missing. The intent was for them to end up in the right paws, keep the right eyes looking elsewhere. But somehow that damned bunny found out and managed to steal the cash first!
I know, I know. I have to control myself.
Once I heard tell of the robbery, I summoned the sheriff. I mostly meant it for show; I’d already sent Morris to go round up our would-be thieves and send them after that bunny. The next morning, my men were hauled back into town by the sheriff and hare, trussed up like turkeys. I demanded to see them, but the fox and his wife wouldn’t hear of it, seeing as how they were wounded. In the end, they were shipped off to prison before I could get anything from them about the money.
No, it wasn’t really about the money. You’re right. It was about a threat, a threat to what was mine. I can see that now. Too bad I had to lose everything first.
After that, I plotted with Morris on how best to deal with the situation. Luckily for that rabbit, she didn’t show her face in town for a while.
Oh, yes. Didn’t I mention? She’s a woman! Just dresses like a man. Of all the prey debauchery...
I had no real means of getting revenge and had resigned myself to waiting, when the sheriff showed up at my mine unannounced. Some of my men found him, roughed him up (without asking me, mind you), and locked him up in the mine. When I heard about this, I was riled something fierce. I didn’t let it affect my judgement, however, instructing the men to clean the lawbat up and bring him to town to recover in the comfort of my offices, the better to explain this as a sad misunderstanding.
But that bunny had to come charging in! She blindsided two of my men, stole the key, and hauled the sheriff out of the cell. I would never have even known who she was, were it not for Bennet, another hare, swearing up and down that she was Jasper Haus, his long lost relation of some sort.
I had to think fast. I knew that once the sheriff got back to town in that condition, people would be coming up here to see just what I had been doing. I didn’t need that manner of attention, so I dynamited the front entrance.
Yes! It was rash. But I needed a plan and that seemed as good as any. Someday, when I’m back on my feet, I’ll dig you all the mines you want.
I spent some time stewing in my own juices. This was about the time we had one of our little hunts. You remember: the one where that fat lizard got jammed between the bounders? I knew you wouldn’t forget...
The next time I saw the sheriff and hare was at that party I hosted. Yes, that one. I think everyone was having a right lovely time until the fight. But what most folks never realized was that not only was the bunny dressed as a man, but the sheriff was wearin’ a dress! The lawbat managed to escape somehow, but my men caught Six Shooter.
No, I assume that’s not her real name. She has some connection to Jasper Haus, the bunny who killed my uncle, who had some tie to Bennet, but he’s gone and probably still running now, and with no small amount of my money. If I ever get my claws on him or his little marmot friend, I’ll—
Oh. Yes. I had them bring her back to the mine, so I could get the truth from her. It was then that I found she was a woman.
It was nothing indecent! She’s only prey, madam. Ugh! No, it’s just that certain facts came to my awareness in the process of interigatin’.
My finding this out brought forth a fearsome reaction from the bunny. In the twitch of a whisker, she had grabbed one of her guns and was fighting my men.
Of course I had her tied up! I didn’t get this far in life taking unneeded chances.
Never in my life had I seen prey put up such a fight. Beautiful, after a fashion. But not so beautiful that I cared to stand around and wait for her to plug me. I took off, one of her guns in paw. I knew that she’d come back that way, and I could have my revenge on her on my own terms.
I had just about made it out of the mine when she did the unthinkable. She somehow managed to shoot our explosives, propelling me out of the entrance like a cork and collapsing the mine completely.
Sometime in the confusion, Bennet and Morris made off with my money and the ore. I sent men after them, but I’ve not heard so much as a word back.
Now what’s this you say about where the ore might be going?
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Six’s Past
I grew up poor. Dirt poor on a dirt farm.
Daddy had been an off-and-on lawman. He took a bullet in the gut the year before we homesteaded. Never recovered his full strength. I reckon he was happier farming, even with that lead still in him. Momma was able-bodied enough, but she was doing the work of at least ten people, eleven after that. So it fell to me to fetch things from town.
I was a shy child and even then I had never taken to dressing like a proper girl, so when a few of the folks from town started jawing at me like a boy, I couldn’t drum up the sass to tell ‘em ‘no.’ Word got around that the new hares down the road had a darlin’ little son. Momma thought this was for the best anyway. Daddy didn’t, but he had e
nough trouble tending to the few cattle we had, let alone trying to check up on my every move.
Helps that I’m taller than the most of folk. My breasts ain’t precisely a part of the Rocky Mountains either, but they suit me fine, thank you very much. A good loose shirt and you’d never know I was packin’ a cozy little burrow in place of a trouser snake.
Daddy died the winter I turned sixteen. Broke my heart and Momma’s spirit. She loved him something fearsome, like I’ve never seen anybody love anything.
We moved back East, but I found it not to my liking. I had a good bit a’ country in my blood by then, and the city wasn’t the place for me. Worse, we lived with my Grandma Roslin, and she would not abide her fine young granddaughter gallivanting around dressed as a boy. Before Daddy was gone, when Momma wasn’t a three wheeled wagon, she’d have rained hellfire down on ol’ Grandma for gussyin’ me up against my will. But in the end it fell to me to make my druthers known.
We won’t be goin’ into the unsavory details to be found there. Suffices to say that for every ladylike word Grandma tried to impress on me, I taught her another one, less ladylike.
One year in, I was goin’ feral. I reckon that year put the fight into me, as I’ve caused no end of mischief since. I told Momma I got a job riding mail routes. I felt a pang for lying, but it was a good one. Mail service likes to employ bunnies. We’re small, we’re quick, and we don’t eat meat. That means we won’t be tempted into shooting and cleaning some damn varmint when we should be riding. Momma believed it. Grandma didn’t believe a whit. I was gone and it thereby was nothin’ of concern to me.
That great coffin of a dress brought me enough coin for a ticket back to the old Hase homestead. I stepped off the train and walked a day and a night. I suspect nothin’ there but Daddy’s iron tombstone these days. Wood’s scarce on the prairie and even then the outbuildings were gone.
I did take one thing, though. On the door to the house, a bronze plate hung. Had little full moons runnin’ across the bottom; hare’s moons, my daddy used to call them. It declared “The Warren” to anybody who happened by. Few folk ever did, yet that plate always shone clear and shiny from the hard work and pride of my parents.
I had a few friends back in town. I was a trail hand, a handyman, a stablehand: did everything I could to be the productive type.
Now you might wonder how I kept the more astute of noses from noting my delicate aroma. Those days, as now, I took to wearing more leather than the hide of a summer calf. As to the delicate subject of woman’s time, I make it a point to be scarce near enough once a month. I don’’t mind. Something right peaceable comes to a soul, staring up at the Moon, Old Hare staring back down at you, stirring her medicine pot. Hares have always seen her up there and never mind what other species might find.
Sometimes, though, keener folk may dog me out. But the solution to that is forthright enough: I take to visiting prostitutes. Turns out they’re decent enough folk, so long as you bribe and lie to them. I even played a bit with them, but only very occasionally and only on their side of the fence. There are some things a girl best takes care of herself, when she doesn’t want the state of her britches widely known. ‘Course, these days I ain’t opposed to a little tumble with a certain fruit bat Sheriff every now and again, but that is another matter entirely.
Then there was James. James Ray Stoker. He was a friend of the family, tough ol’ badger. I worked for him out at his ranch for the better part of two years, workin’ his small herd. Probably twice my age, I’m dead certain he knew I wasn’t all buck. Never mind all that tobacco burning out his sniffer like a pan a’ bacon. He kept his peace on the matter, but gave me a look now and then like he didn’t quite know what to think on the matter of me. Got me a taste for a fine smoke now and then, so I have to thank him there.
I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I sure do now. I took to fancying on him something fierce. Even I was young and stupid once, but I’ve long since grown into my ears. Anyhow, I doubt he’d have batted an eye if I’d told him. He tolerated me fine, but I never heard tell of him bedding anybody. Could’ve been he cottoned to the menfolk, but I don’t think so. I think stayin’ out there in the quiet, lonely grasslands dulls the edge of a body’s need for that sort of tie. But ah am just some fool bunny, so what do I know?
I learned how to shoot keeping critters away from the herd. Turns out I had a knack for such endeavors. This would come to use sooner than I had reckoned.
Then came that terrible morning I woke up and he wasn’t in the cabin. Gone. I went out into the fields and the cattle were gone too. I found him on the fence line. I saw he was clutching his side. When I reached out to touch him, he was cold. I called to him, but he didn’t move. Once I got him turned over I saw the blood on his belly. I reckon he’d been dead for the better part of the morning.
James kept a my daddy’s old guns in the cabin. A herd of cattle isn’t hard to follow. Two of the cattle rustlers died cleanly and the third... The less said about him the better.
I rounded up the herd as best I could. The next day, I rode into town on one of the rustlers’ horses; James had friends there and they deserved to know he’d died. The sheriff, a pony with a scar across his right cheek, came out with his sons and helped me bury James. I didn’t help them bury the rustlers. We didn’t talk much on it.
After the deed was done, the pony pulled me aside. He explained there’d be some manner of legal business and since I had been helpin’ James for a long while I’d be entitled. While I could never manage the herd by my lonesome, some of the proceeds were find their way down to me. When all accounts were settled, I had a bag of gold US tender, more money than I and ever seen.
I took to drink. That helped a little, but never for long enough. In remembrance of the old badger, I smoked his brand of tobacco. But in the end, I got restless.
Daddy’s paws were a touch bigger than mine, making the guns unbalanced. Darn things halfways knocked my paws off when when I confronted the bandits, so I had the local blacksmith do up a couple a’ new weights for ‘em. Bronze, with little moons runnin’ across the bottom. Made from an old sign that used to hang over an old farmstead. They balance true. They grip steady. And I always keep ‘em polished.
(Note: The difference between this version and the original is that her gun handles were made entirely out of bronze, rather than just weighted with it, after being damaged in this original shoot-out.)
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