Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club, BOOK I

by Robert P McAuley

of Pearls in about ten minutes. Why don’t you get your rig and meet us there?”

  “Good enough. See ya in a bit.”

  Meanwhile, Emma walked along the dusty street, taking note of the many things that weren’t reported in the history books . . . mainly, the smell, and the flies! As she walked along the wooden sidewalk, a group of cowboys rode slowly into town. A group of young boys ran after them. She stood transfixed as they went by . . . they were dirty and all need a shave but they were the real thing. She suddenly realized that a dead man was lying across the saddle of one of the horses. Emma was horrified to see a swarm of flies following the group. She felt herself getting sick until she noticed others hardly glancing at them. A normal day in Dodge City, she thought, just another day.

  She felt a presence by her side and saw Bill. One of the cowboys tipped his hat to him. Bill nodded in return.

  “That’s Wyatt Earp.”

  “The Wyatt Earp?”

  “Yes. As I told you, he’s looking for a deputy, and it’s up to us to get Masterson ready to take that job.”

  “Well, I’m ready,” Emma said.

  Bill pointed up the road with his chin and said, “Here’s our ride now. And the driver is William Masterson. He’s not known as Bat, yet.”

  “Does he know I’m a woman?”

  Bill clenched his teeth and raised his eyebrows. “Well . . . he will in a minute. Don’t forget you’re my cousin on your way to California. I don’t think he’ll want a woman staying around reminding him that she was his teacher.”

  Driving his rig down the dusty street, Masterson spotted Bill standing there with a woman. Wonder where his cousin is, he thought. He stopped and motioned to Bill to climb aboard as the woman looked up at him. Pretty, he thought, don’t remember seeing her in town. He was startled as Bill helped her up and placed her next to him on the wooden seat and then settled down next to her. He looked at Bill questioningly.

  Bill said, “William Masterson, this is my cousin Emma Walters.”

  “Your cousin?” Masterson asked, confused.

  Emma put out her hand, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Masterson.”

  He felt himself staring. “Ahhh, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Walters.”

  She turned her blue eyes to him, “Emma. Please call me Emma.”

  Masterson looked at Bill then back at Emma. “Well, Miss Emma, I’m Will.” He looked at Bill once more. “Your cousin? Am I right in saying you are in town with two cousins?”

  “Nope. Just one; Emma.”

  They pulled away from the wooden sidewalk and Masterson looked straight ahead while Emma’s head was on a swivel as they left town.

  She’s a talkative one, thought Masterson after a while. How hot does it get around here, does it rain much, how hard does the wind blow, is there much sand blown about? Seems ta me that she asks questions that no other women ever seemed ta care about. Least no woman I’d ever met. He still looked straight ahead.

  Finally, they went over the little bridge that signaled the beginning of his acre of land. On top of the hill was a small log cabin surrounded by oak trees and a low fence. The land around here was fertile and it was a good investment. Some farmer will want to buy me out, he thought.

  Once by the gate, Masterson jumped down and tied up the horse as Bill helped Emma out of the wagon. Masterson walked up the cabin’s three wooden steps. “Come on inside. It’s cooler in here,” he said holding open the heavy wooden door for them. Emma entered and Bill followed, carrying her bag.

  Inside the cabin was a small kitchen, a round knitted rug on the floor with a wood burning stove and wooden sink with a water pump. Two cabinets were built into the wall on either side of the sink and Emma saw dishes and mugs with a few pitchers. Masterson opened a small wooden door and tossed his hat onto a bed. There were stairs going up to the second floor. Nice and clean, thought Emma, as Masterson worked the pump handle in the sink. Water poured out, and he caught some in a mug. He offered it to her. Delicious, she thought as she drank.

  “Come and sit,” he said. He escorted them to a small living room with a fireplace centered on the far wall with a rifle above it. Masterson kneeled down and blew on the hot embers and the fire roared to life as he placed a split log on it. The room had a rocking chair and a sofa anchored by another round, knitted rug centered on the floor. In a corner sitting on a small wood desk, was a Royal typewriter and a stack of writing paper. Beneath the desk was a three-legged chair while mounted on the wooden wall above the desk was an oil lamp to illuminate the work area.

  Bill and Emma sat on the sofa and both were happy to be off the hard wooden seat of the buckboard.

  “Coffee will be ready in ten minutes,” Masterson said, as he hung a coffee pot on the iron arm and swung it over the flames. He sat and looked at both of them. “Now, Bill, if you don’t have another cousin in town, does that mean that Miss Emma here is going to teach me how to handle a gun?”

  Bill nodded, “Yes, Will. Is that okay with you?”

  “Not sure. I mean, with all due respect, Miss Emma, you don’t come from these parts and it shows. I mean, you’re a dainty little thing and . . . well, it just ain’t right.”

  “Isn’t right.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t right. The correct way to say it is, ‘It isn’t right,’ not ‘ain’t right.’ As a writer, you should know better, Mr. Masterson.”

  He sat back at this. Dang! She is right, he thought, and she says it right straight out. Addressing Emma, he said, “Excuse me, Miss Emma, I just mean the last teacher I had was a little old grumpy woman. That’s all.”

  “I bet she was a good teacher, though. You seem to be a good writer.”

  He perked up. “Have you – have you read my stories, Miss Emma?

  “Yes, I have. And I think the project you and my cousin Bill are working on is going to be well spoken of. And please call me Emma.”

  Masterson found himself staring at her again. He mentally shook his head as he reached for the coffee pot. “Coffee? Miss . . . I mean Emma.”

  “Yes, Will, I’d love a cup.”

  As they relaxed, Bill motioned to the rifle over the fireplace. “Nice rifle. What kind, Will?”

  Before he could answer, Emma spoke up. “Kentucky rifle. It first appeared about 1810 and they were mostly plain guns. That’s a .45 caliber probably with a 44-inch barrel, a double-set trigger, a low front sight and a fixed open rear. It probably weighs eight or nine pounds and made, I’d say in 1830 or 40.”

  Both men looked at her with surprise.

  “You sure do know your guns, m’am. It was made in 1837. My daddy gave it to me. It’d take out a jackrabbit’s tail at one hundred yards.”

  Bill turned to him. “Did you ever get one at that range, Will?”

  “Yep, more than once.”

  “But I thought you were a terrible shot?”

  “I am, with a handgun. But with this long barrel, anyone can shoot. It practically reaches the target with the barrel. No, it’s the handgun I can’t get to shoot straight.”

  Emma put her cup down “Will, if you let another lady teacher into your life, I’ll teach you all you need to know about hand guns. Okay?”

  “If you promise to keep this between us, then I agree, Emma.”

  “Fine. It’s a perfect time to start then. Is there a place I can change my clothes?”

  “There’s a bedroom at the top of the stairs but the roof’s a little low. Will that do?”

  “Yep! Down in a minute.” She grabbed her bag and went up the stairs.

  Ten minutes later she reappeared dressed in a tan, two-piece, close-fitting cowhide outfit. Strapped around her waist was her gun belt with a pistol in both holsters. She stood in front of the men shaking out her long blonde hair.

  Both men stood, Masterson in a state of shock. “Miss Emma. My Lord, you are a sight to behold. I . . . I never, well, I . . . never saw a woman . . . what I mean to say, is well . . .”

  “It’s all right,
Will. I know what you mean. You never saw a woman dressed to teach gun lessons. I can’t very well teach you while dressed in that long, frilly, wide and dainty skirt, can I?”

  Saved, he answered, “No, no I guess not. Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. Do you have a revolver, Will?”

  “Yep.” He went into his bedroom to a small dresser and took out a pistol, holster and belt. He strapped it on, and they went outside.

  The sun was at high noon as she put on her wide-brimmed hat. She set up two-dozen clods of dirt on a fence and paced back one hundred steps. She turned to Masterson and nodded her head toward the targets.

  “Will, show me your technique,” she said.

  He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. He grabbed the revolver, tugged it out of the holster, aimed and pulled the trigger. About thirty feet past the targets, the bullet hit the dirt. He turned toward them. “Told you. I’m really bad.”

  “True, you need some work, but if you follow my instructions we’ll get you there.”

  Will put his pistol away, kicked some dirt and looked at Bill. “Maybe this project of yours needs someone with quicker reflexes. Maybe I’m not your man, Bill.”

  “You are the man, Will. If we had someone faster we’d be defeating our project,” Bill responded.

  Masterson nodded, “Yeah, guess so. I just feel like I’m an impossible student.”

  Emma put her hand on his shoulder. “Not so, Will. I’ll give you some pointers, and you’ll see the difference right away.”

  “If you are the teacher, I’d sure like to have a lesson. Will you give me a demonstration?”

  She