The wagon train was calmly pressing across the wilderness in the dead of night, and yet the moon in the sky was providing a sense of reassurance for the passengers. There were five horse-drawn wagons altogether, though some were for freight holds of kitchenware and firewood and clothing, and there was one singular stagecoach in the middle of it all, but each vehicle was guarded by a driver and armed guard, or simultaneously both.
The lead wagon wobbled calmly along the terrain, providing a calm composure for the driver. Most occupants of the other wagons had tuckered in for the night time ride, aside from the lead wagon. The passengers were a trio of young girls among the clutter of scattered books, chatting all night. The driver didn’t feel bothered. She felt a soft spot for these particular kids, and couldn’t help herself but smile at their antics. Tonight was no different. She leaned against the wagon, one hand on the reins and the other on the trigger of a classic western rifle, with the brim of the hat over her piercing eyes that watched the land ahead like a hawk.
Among the rest of the wagon party, the lead driver had the most adapted scouting eyes. Claimed she could spot the smallest mouse from atop the Grand Canyon, and could haul five grown stallions up and across the Rockies.
Of course she had left behind the life of the adventurous Wild West, content with a quiet relaxation on a countryside farm, having endured enough adventure of the American Spirit. Presently, while calmly whistling, she noticed a tall pole up ahead with wires strung off ahead and behind the wagon train.
She smiled. “We’re now five miles away from Salt Lake City.”
“How’d you know tha’?” came a reply.
“Easy. I followed the ‘Singing Wire’.” The driver nodded toward the wires overhead.
“The ‘Singing Wire’?” replied a different voice, sounding in disbelief.
“That’s what the Indians call it. Not me.”
“Wha’bout the Injuns?”
She chuckled at the girl's dialect pronunciation of the word. “That’s what they called the Telegraph lines, because they said it would whistle in the wind.”
“Wow!”
“Meh, I’ve heard better.”
One particular member of the three was the kind of kid who would always hurt at anything that didn’t remotely sound ‘exciting’ or ‘cool’.
“What are you talking about, Scootaloo?” the third girl finally spoke up. “The Telegraph wires finally connected the Eastern and Western United States.”
“Yeah, but it brought an abrupt end to the Pony Express! There’s no excuse for that!”
The first girl groaned. “Look, we git it, Scoots. You wanted to be a part of the Pony Express when you were younger…”
“Only because it was the most exciting thing to have happened on my boring farmland.”
“I thou’ you said you were from the city?”
“That was before we moved to Missouri. The Pony Express messengers would always come galloping over the horizon and right past our land. I would always stay up late and wake up early just to wave to them. I remember thinking it would be the perfect life for me, until I got word of the telegraph wires, and before I knew it, those damned poles had forever spoiled a perfect view of the sunrise.”
“It wasn’t all bad. It helped my sister find her way into the fashion industry of America, or at least the designing portion of it.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us have lived in the lap of luxury, Sweetie Belle.”
“Don’ ferget, it helped ma family a ton with raisin’ money to even move us out West.”
“And I was mostly left on my own to handle household chores, whereas you had the luxury of making money from your family’s apples, Apple Bloom. Face it, life would be more exciting if it weren’t for this damned telegraph stuff.”
“What about the telephone? It can connect you across the country in ways the telegraph only dreamed of. That sounds cool,” Sweetie Belle suggested.
“If by cool then you mean convenient and nothing else, then yeah, it’s ‘cool’,” Scootaloo argued, quoting with her fingers.
The driver smiled. “You know, it was quite an adventure just setting up the telegraph wires.”
“Really? How so?” Scootaloo asked.
“It’s a story of traversing perilous and rugged terrain, mixed in a bit of sabotage and you’ve got yourself one hell of an adventure, and that was right after the Pony Express was finished, but at least I got to stretch and exercise my wings.”
“You were a part of the Pony Express?!” Scootaloo’s eyes practically glowed in the moonlight.
“You better believe it, kid.” The driver playfully ruffled the kid’s hair. “While I can outrace any standard land horse—”
“—besides Rainbow Dash!”
“—I could never master the art of shooting faster than my own shadow.”
“Shoot faster than yer own shadow?” Apple Bloom asked.
“That sounds cool!” Scootaloo beamed.
“That’s not possible,” Sweetie Belle said.
“Really?” the driver smirked. “Then how come Lucky Luke can pull it off in his own sleep?”
The mere mention of his name sent sparkles flying into Scootaloo’s fast bulging eyes. “Lucky Luke?! THE Lucky Luke?!”
“The very same, kid. Him and I used to be a part of the Pony Express, but that was only just to satisfy our own hunger for adventure.”
“YOU AND LUCKY LUKE USED TO BE A PART OF THE PONY EXPRESS?!!!”
The driver laughed. “For the time of the Pony Express itself, but the story of the Singing Wire, in my opinion, did more than satisfy my hunger for adventure.”
“Oh, please tell us! PLEEEEEEASE!!!”
“And there she goes again: fanning herself over another legend of the Wild West,” Sweetie Belle shrugged off.
“Hey!”
“Relax, kid. Your sisters are already asleep, so they wouldn’t mind it if I told you a story. It’s about the time Lucky Luke, Jolly Jumper, and I helped construct the 'Singing Wire', and it begins about twelve or so years ago, but some historical context is involved.”
Scootaloo groaned.
“I don’t like it either, kid, but this is how every Western balladeer begins their tales…”
Author's Note
Key:
Italics=thought
Bold (lowercase)=shouting
BOLD (uppercase)=screaming/town name on a sign
The Singing Wire: Part One
Author's Note
Narration and character quotes come from Morris & Goscinny
The Singing Wire: Part One
One of the biggest problems that had to be addressed in the young United States was that of the communications between East and West. Imagine, for instance, that a young man recently settled in San Francisco to write a letter to his fiancee back in New York…
“Priscilla, my darling,
Leave everything and come join me in San Francisco. My love for you is as strong as ever, and I desire above all things to hold you in my arms again…”
Well, in 1848, this letter would have traveled by the ships of the U.S. Mail Steamship Co. and the Pacific Mail Steamship Co. From 1851 to 1852, it would have been transported by mule trains. In 1856, it would have been part of the load of a camel caravan—75 ships of the desert that had been imported from Egypt by Edward Fitzgerald Beale (causing some of the local Injuns a bit of a scare). From 1857 to 1861, the letter would have been carried by stagecoach.
Now, supposing that the letter managed to avoid shipwrecks, mutinies, Indian wars, and desperados…it’s likely that it would have arrived too late…
“MAMA! A LETTER FOR YOU!” cried a little boy, being tailed by his three other siblings from the mailbox.
“No time now; I’m busy with the baby. Give it to your papa to read.”
And then the telegram made its appearance, but, until 1861, the line from the West ended at Carson City in Nevada Territory and the line from the East ended at Omaha in Nebraska Territory, leaving a gap of nearly 1,600 miles to close, which proved problematic. The government wavered before the costs of the operation.
Thus, in 1860, the Pony Express was created. Daring riders carried the mail, covering enormous distances in record times. To do this, they galloped day and night, changing horses in acrobatic fashion outside relay stations that lined the route.
Along the way, dangers were numerous, as one discovered for himself while being chased by feather tipped arrows…“Almost to the next station!”
…But, above all, the Pony Express were prized by Indians and bandits of all kinds, as the rider discovered for himself.
“Honestly! Look before you leap!” the stationmaster said. “You didn’t give me time to tell you that all the Express Horses were stolen!”
Among the extraordinary riders of the Pony Express, some of them well-known, including Buffalo Bill, a strapping man that carried himself with a sense of calming pride, and Lucky Luke, our story’s titular hero. His horse, Jolly Jumper, ran the entire route without stopping, giving Luke enough time to catch up on his own pleasantries, such as shaving, while Jolly would gallop along even in his sleep.
We should clarify, however, that rider and horse took turns sleeping. “Jolly Jumper, it’s your turn to keep watch now.”
“If I could find a way to graze without stopping, that would be perfect.”
“Says you, Jolly! At least I can fly!”
Ah, yes. The other titular hero of our little campfire fable, or rather, heroine is more appropriate. Apart from his trusty steed, Luke had himself a loyal and trusted companion and friend by his side at all times, Gilda the Griffon. A creature out of folklore, she is as headstrong as she is bad tempered and stubborn, but more so playfully childish. She stands at about Luke’s height, is as strong as an ox, and has the ego of a rattlesnake in a den of mice.
During the days of the Pony Express, she and Jolly and Luke would race each other across the desert to see if one or the other were the fastest in the lands; one day it would be Jolly and three weeks later it would be Gilda, who had the advantage of having a strong wingspan for flight, but lacked Jolly’s endurance, sometimes fighting for the same sack of letters, or one.
But the saga of the Pony Express was to be brief, for, in Washington, President Lincoln—worried about the start of the Civil War—had summoned Hiram Sibley, President of Western Union. “I have decided to finance the junction of the telegraph lines,” President Lincoln said to his visitor.
“Happy to learn this news stop send instructions immediately to begin work stop.” Mr. Sibley had the habit of speaking in telegraph, even during official business meetings.
“Have the responsible parties from both ends come to Washington. We shall settle the details,” replied President Lincoln.
The same day, two Pony Express riders took off in opposite directions. The one heading for Carson City was none other than Lucky Luke, and just ahead, resting behind a cactus with a toothpick in her beak, was Gilda, waiting to pounce. A normal simple routine.
“Look sharp, Jolly. Here she comes,” Luke calmly said.
“And high time, too. I’ve been itching for some excitement, and I believe the old girl’s been going soft on us,” Jolly snarked, like the wiseass he was.
Suddenly, a brown streak zipped right past them, still unfazed. “We’ve still got plenty of time until we reach Carson City,” Luke smiled.
“But where’s the fun in trotting? Not to mention it would be extremely boring.”
Gilda, oblivious to the boys behind her, laughed to herself as she flew through the desert sky to the letter’s destination. “Gilda’s got this one in the bag. Better luck next time, slowpoke!”
“At least she could be original for a change.”
Gilda was always one for harmless fun, at least when harmless was defined as exacting hilarity on those who she deemed worthy enough to be exacted upon, and the Wild West was certainly the place for a playground of “harmless fun”. Lately, her aim was becoming more refined, but of course she bragged that she could outshoot the Lucky Luke, and every time she failed to listen to reason when her ego was given a reality check. While Luke could shoot faster than his own shadow, Gilda had the eyes only a Griffon could attain, and thus had the advantage of flying or gliding at any height and still be able to spot her target with ease.
“Aha! Carson City. Dead ahead! Beat that, Chummy!”
The residents of Carson City had opted to stick a wooden welcome sign at the top of their telephone wire where a small noose hung right above it. It read, “CARSON CITY. Home of the telegraph. Won’t hesitate to hang coyotes stop.”
“Well, that’s very welcoming,” Gilda smirked, before spotting the Western Union Telegraph Office. “And look, there’s Jolly the slowpoke. Behind me, as usual.” She landed with a loud thud, and was smugly stroking her chest feathers right as Luke and Jolly pulled up. “Took you boys long enough. Eight seconds, that’s a new record, and this time the wind didn’t steal the letter.”
“Sure, and the last few times involving those pesky ‘river rats’ didn’t ‘eat the packages for dinner’ either,” Luke chuckled.
Credit to Luke, it took not as much to idle his nerves, and a short-tempered Griffoness could have only been achieved through a few years of tolerance. “Hey! At least I don’t waste my time killing my lungs with those cigarettes of yours!”
“Don’t try it yourself. Even I can’t convince him, either,” Jolly sighed.
“And besides, I arrived here first,” she boasted, brandishing the letter. “Buffalo Bill’s got nothing on me.”
In her standing smug boasting, she didn’t notice Luke come up around her, plucking the letter from her claw, and casually stride in the front door.
“‘Eyes of a Griffon’, ay?” Jolly smirked.
Gilda whipped around to give a death glare to the snarky horse with clenched claws and beak, before turning away and flicking her tail in his direction.
“Deal with that often?” the horse tied up next to Jolly asked.
“Trust me, she’s good company to keep around once you get to know her,” Jolly yawned.
“Tired?”
“Well, with all the jouncing I had a hard time sleeping.”
Back inside the Telegram Office, Lucky Luke announced himself. “Lucky Luke, of the Pony Express. Letter for the engineer James Gamble.”
“That’s me. Let’s have it,” came the reply.
“And I’m Gilda, the one who actually took the time out of my life to bother delivering your stinking mail,” Gilda moaned from the doorway. She watched from underneath the brim of her hat as Luke handed the letter to the man behind the desk, James Gamble the engineer, he was. He had clean blond hair that looked like the beak of a duck, a red-checkered shirt underneath a gray jacket, and brown boots complimenting black pants with a brown belt. He also wore no holster.
‘No holster for the Wild West? Just what asinine culture was this man born into?’ Gilda thought, while scowling as Luke prepared another cigarette for himself.
James Gamble took one look at the message inside the letter, before he howled in an amusing glee. “YAHOOOOOOOO!!!”
“Good news?” Luke asked as he stroked a match.
“It’d better be, with a noise like that,” Gilda grumbled, clutching the sides of her head.
“Good for me. Not so good for the two of you,” Gamble explained. “The pencil-pushers in Washington have finally decided to complete the telegraph junction.”
“And it only took them, what? A year?”
“For both of you, that means the end of the Pony Express.”
Gilda groaned. “Aw! And I was having such fun!”
Lucky Luke shrugged. “I don’t know about you ,Gilda, but Jolly Jumper and I have had enough of playing messenger boy anyway.”
“You’re just scared that I would always beat you and Jolly.”
“Except in the rain, wind, and snow, and whenever you came across a flying rattlesnake.”
Luke retained his smug grin even when Gilda angrily huffed and mimicked rolling up her sleeve while glaring right into his face. “Anyplace, anytime, cowboy! You and me!”
Gamble however stepped in to dissolve the tension. “Wait a minute, you two. You could become telegraphers instead!”
Gilda gripped a claw on his collar and lifted him high off his feet. “What you’re about to say better be worth it, because if not, I’m going to throw you right through the roof!”
“Well, now…if you would be so kindly as to—”
“As to what, dweeb?!”
“Ease up there, Gilda. He’s not worth your time,” Luke calmed. Gilda looked to the smoking cowboy, then back to Gamble holding his hands up in defense before lowering the man back to his feet.
“S-s-sorry, about that,” she choked and coughed. “Anyway, what were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that I’m going to need the kind of folks, especially with your kind of strength, Miss Gilda, who can help me put up the Singing Wire. It won’t be a piece of cake…”
“The ‘Singing Wire’?” Luke asked.
“That’s what the Indians have nicknamed the telegraph because of how the wind makes it sing.”
Gilda could see that Luke seemed to be on board with the idea right off of the bat, which made her even more skeptical. “And why should we be concerned with this so-called ‘Singing Wire’? I don’t care if it’s supposed to connect the lines of Carson City and Omaha, because right now I’m feeling very peeved that the line of work I’ve been doing for the past year has all suddenly been shut down by the feds.” She huffed angrily. “It would be nice to have an actual paying job every now and then.”
“Well, how about you join us on the journey? With those sturdy wings of yours, you could easily help haul up the poles into position and then nail the wires into place.”
“Hmm…hard pass.” She grinned while twirling her rifle. “You’re going to have to do more than that if you want to convince me.”
“The terrain is sure going to be plenty of perilous—” Luke offhandedly suggested.
“Perilous?!” Gilda gasped.
“Did I say perilous?”
“Yes you did, Luke,” Gamble said.
Gilda straightened up with a swank in her hips, twirling her rifle until she settled it over her shoulder. “Well then, why didn’t you say so before? I’m all in!”
“Okay for the Singing Wire,” Luke agreed, shaking Gamble’s excited hand.
“Splendid! We leave on the hour for Washington!”
The moment the two men shook hands in agreement, Gilda calmly and smugly strutted outside. “Y’hear that, Jolly? We’re going to Washington.”
“While I would like to go see new places every now and then, at least Washington is always changing for the better.”
“Race ya there!” She immediately took off into the sky leaving behind a strong gust of wind that threatened to blow the horses clean into the stratosphere.
Lucky Luke soon came out. “I wonder how long it will take her to realize that Washington isn’t on the Northwestern Coast?”
“Probably about the same time it takes her to preen her feathers.”
“Well, at least I’ll have enough time to dress myself more presentably for the President.”
“You got to meet President Lincoln?!” The moment Gilda began her story, Scootaloo was hanging onto her every word with gleaming eyes that perfectly reflected the stars.
“He was as humble as he was wise, at least that’s what Luke said about him…right around the time he was shoving me into looking ‘presentable’ for the Commander-in-Chief…”
Not long after, after Gilda reluctantly followed behind Jolly once she finally realized that flying willy-nilly was not the greatest plan ever, they all arrived in Washington to meet with President Lincoln, and Gilda was not pleased to see that Jolly was already outside tied to a post.
“Took you long enough. You know how long we’ve been waiting just for you to swallow your pride and join us?”
“Alright, fine! So I got lost, sue me!” she snapped. “Where’s Luke?”
“He’s just finished getting dressed up for the meeting.”
Gilda glared at the wiseass. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Oh, he’s just been waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on you so that you may look more presentable for the President.”
Gilda chuckled as she looked around. “Really? And why should I look presentable for some fat cat in a tiny chair?”
“Because, Gilda, President Lincoln is patiently waiting on us,” a calm and familiar voice broke through the silence of the quiet streets outside the White House gate. “And we are expected to look our very best.” Luke’s head emerged from behind one of the gate pillars in front of his hand that carried a hanger.
Gilda took one look at the clothing and snorted. A white buttoned-down shirt with a black waistcoat and green “Southern Tie”, as she called it. “Why? I didn’t vote for him.”
“He is as humble as he is wise.”
“Seriously? Since when did you talk all corny?”
“Saw it on a campaign slogan, that’s why I voted for him.”
“Say whatever you want Luke, but I’m not going to wear that. It’ll cramp my wings.”
…
“It’s cramping my wings,” the lone Griffon groaned.
“Easy there, old girl,” Luke calmed. “It’s only for the occasion.”
“That’s good, because as soon as we’re outta here, I’m ripping this to shreds and using them as fuel to cook my dinner.”
While Gilda grumbled all through the White House halls to the meeting room, Lucky Luke calmly strutted along beside her with a fresh cigarette not in the least bit knocked up by his not-so cowboy appearance. “You’re lucky I was able to find these suits. Unfortunately, I could only afford one pair of pants.”
“Why?” his friend saucily smirked, placing a claw on her hips. “D’you like what ya see?”
Luke, of course, completely ignored her attempts at “being dolly”, as she put it, even when she distractedly rammed into a passing butler. She then turned completely red with anger as she hoisted him up by the collar. “WHY DON’T YOU LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING NEXT TIME, YOU SNAKE?!!”
Luke paid no particular attention to the ruckus happening behind him, as the butler scurried off out of sight of the pissed off Griffoness, then she caught up tail behind the cowboy. She was in a mood that had no patience for any sort of small talk, especially since everyone else that was invited was already gathered at the table. At one end sat Hiram Sibley, Luke sat next to James Gamble, and on the other side of the table was Edward Creighton, responsible for the line terminating at Omaha.
Even if there was an available seat, Gilda opted to stand in a lean against the door, arms crossed and paining from her rifle in its holster crushing against her already cramped wings. Edward Creighton looked to be a businessman through and through, she recognized the eyes on his face for it. She even caught a sliver of a professional smile as he looked at Gamble’s ever famous optimistic face of glee.
The man next to Creighton, she couldn’t say the same even if she attempted to try, not that she would even bother an attempt anyway. He was Willard Bradwell, Creighton’s head of works in Omaha, and every inch of his skinny-armed pudginess screamed “shady rattlesnake”. His chin stuck out to match his nose and his eyes were squinted by his curvy eyebrows.
I don’t like the way he looks, she leered.
All eyes were on the empty seat at the head, waiting patiently with anticipation, or at least the men were well practiced to professionally hide their ants; except Lucky Luke, of course.
Soon enough, in walked in President Abraham Lincoln of the United States. He was tall and dressed in complete black, had a few slight bald patches on his head, and a visible black beard. What surprised Gilda the most about the man was how aged he looked, like an old and humbled grandpa. And yet despite everything, his presence commanded respect all the same from the entire gathering in the room.
He said his usual introductions around the room, even warmly smiling exactly like a grandpa towards Gilda, catching her stoic bad-tempered pride off guard back in Dodge City, before getting officially down to business. “Gentlemen, and lady,” his slight nod caused Gilda to smile with pride, “Mr. Gamble will leave from Carson City, and Mr. Creighton will leave from Omaha. The junction will be made at Salt Lake City, capital of the Mormons. Their leader, Mr. Brigham Young has promised aid and support.”
At least the Mormons are more friendly and easy-going than the Puritans, Gilda sighed with relief, even if it is a little bit weird, for humans at least, for the men have multiple wives.
“I propose,” President Lincoln calmly stated, “that you both leave on the same day: on our national holiday, July 4th, in this year of 1861.”
What followed was what Gilda could describe as ear-piercing and deafening screeching vultures.
“YIPPPEEEE!!!” Creighton hollered joyfully.
“YAHOOOOO!!!” Gamble gleefully and childishly whooped yet again.
Hiram Sibley snapped his neck to both men as they jumped out of their seats, and Gilda laughed at the man’s dialect and sweated spluttering. “Gentlemen stop you are in the presence of the President of the United States stop repeat President of the United States.”
“Let them be, let them be, Mr. Sibley,” President Lincoln eased. “I understand these gentlemen’s enthusiasm. It is justified by the historic significance of the task.”
President Lincoln then wished the men and Gilda Godspeed. “Go, gentlemen and Ms. Gilda, and good luck.”
Gilda smugly smirked at Luke as he and Gamble left the room, Gamble clapping his hands in optimism. “How’d a grandpa like him become President?”
“Beats me. I just voted for him,” Luke grinned.
“Mr. Lincoln?” came the sound of a homely feminine voice.
“Yes, my dear?” President Lincoln replied.
“Mr. Lincoln?” Apple Bloom asked.
“Turns out, his wife had the habit of referring to her husband as ‘Mr. Lincoln’, or ‘Father’, for some reason…”
“If your visitors have left, come right to the table. I’ve fixed your favorite lamb stew.”
At that moment, Gilda the Griffoness Wild West sharpshooter to rival Calamity Jane, prideful that nothing could startle her, had just forgotten how far her hearing matched her sight.
“YIPPEEEEE!!!”
She turned completely green as she clasped her claws against her beak to prevent a deafening and embarrassing screech. Instead she heard a sudden ripping noise in its place, and after two moments of shell shock, she noticed that her giant wings had stretched themselves out from under the suit, and suddenly realized how much more comfortable the suit felt. With a smile on her beak, she strutted out of the White House lawn.
“How’s the suit treating you, Gilda?” Lucky Luke asked, puffing a bit of his cigarette.
“Honestly, I’m keeping it. I’ll wear it around the west the whole way through,” she smirked, putting a claw on her hip, and swishing her tail in a swanking manner.
“I thought you were against wearing clothes.”
“Yeah, well, there’s always time to try new things. How’s it hanging out here, Gamble?” she said to the engineer, putting a toothpick between her beak.
“Creighton and I were just talking about how proud we are to begin both our expeditions,” Gamble grinned. “After all, we’re both setting out on a historic journey that will connect the country like never before.”
“Well,” Creighton said, adjusting his jacket, “let’s see who gets to Salt Lake City first. May the best man win!”
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Creighton?” Gilda asked, raising a brow.
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Creighton,” Gamble smiled. “Thanks for the good wishes, but you have a slight chance of winning, too!”
This man’s optimism is something to admire, Gilda mused. At least to his own mother. If he’s not careful, that optimism of his will land him in trouble.
“Always the proverbial optimist, Gamble!” Creighton laughed. “Care to make a wager?”
The talk of the word “wager” caught Gilda’s attention. “A wager? A wager to what?”
“I wager,” Creighton suggested, “that the telegraph line from Omaha will reach Salt Lake City before the line from Carson City.”
“And I accept the wager,” Gamble agreed, “on the grounds that the line from Carson City shall reach Salt Lake City before the from Omaha.”
“Good idea stop—”
“BAH!!” This time Gilda actually screamed in green when Hiram Sibley suddenly showed up. “You crazy old man! What was that for?!”
“I am sorry stop did not mean to scare you miss stop,” Hiram Sibley apologized, still talking in telegraph lingo.
“Scared? Hehe, what’re you talking about? I wasn’t scared.” Her nervous claw rubbing the back of her neck could’ve saved her face if Lucky Luke didn’t stand nearby chuckling at the entire scene. “Shut up, Luke,” she glared, and Luke calmly subsided.
“As I was saying stop,” Sibley continued, “Western Union offers a $100,000 (one hundred thousand dollars) bonus to the first team to reach Salt Lake City stop.”
“You’re on!” Creighton smiled.
“Let’s shake on it!” Gamble agreed.
While Gilda was certainly all claws in for racing Creighton for the bonus, she couldn’t help but notice that Bradwell was working those shifty eyebrows as he scratched his elongated pointed chin. She also noticed that Luke was more in shock at the apparent and complete friendliness between the two rich entrepreneurs, which also worked to dampen her joys for the bonus.
“Come, Bradwell!” Creighton said, leading the pair of them back to Omaha. “We need to recruit our team!”
That Bradwell is up to something. I can feel it in my feathers, she pondered.
“Let’s get back to Carson City, guys! There’s not a moment to lose!” Gamble’s optimism was starting to become slightly annoying to both Gilda and Lucky Luke.
“I don’t like this kind of bet, Gamble,” Luke addressed, hopping onto Jolly Jumper. “It appeals to the greedy side of folks.”
“I’m game to tackle any sort of wager if it works in my favor,” Gilda added, “but I learned a long time ago how far greedy people are willing to go for high stake winnings.”
“I know, I know,” Gamble said. “We got a little excited…”
Not in Bradwell’s shifty eyes it wasn’t.
“…but I know Creighton. He’s a big talker but completely honest, but trust me, fellas, we’re going to win!”
As much annoyed Gilda was with Gamble’s utter and sheer optimistic personality, she couldn’t help herself but smile with satisfaction at his words. “I don’t know about you, Luke, but right now I feel more than ready for the Singing Wire.”
“…and that cowboy was smart enough to keep his laughter under control.”
“So tha’s wha’ caused ya to change yer mind about wearin’ clothes,” Apple Bloom smirked.
“But you didn’t really wear that suit on your adventures, right?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Of course not! I wasn’t that idiotic! Anyway, while Luke, Gamble, and I made our way back to Carson City, Creighton and Bradwell were returning to Omaha to also make preparations…”
“That Gamble!” Creighton guffawed. “Fortunately, he’s a good sort of fellow and we need not fear any dirty tricks!”
“Yes, boss. No dirty tricks. Heh heh heh,” Bradwell evilly chuckled. Sure, Creighton kept himself back with a friendly personality and a sense of trust between respect, but the same could not be said for Bradwell, who had already concocted a devious plan for winning the bonus by any means necessary.
Once he found himself back in Omaha, he organized a secret meeting in the town saloon with his hired hitman. “I’ve got to win that $100,000 bonus!” he said, talking seriously before gulping down his glass.
“$100,000 shared among all the men on the team isn’t much per person,” the man replied, feeling rightly skeptical about the mathematics in the deal. “That wasn’t worth my coming to Omaha.”
Bradwell didn’t drop his emotionally-stopping wall, and he put on a smug grin, the kind that was common for Wild Western rattlesnakes. “Who said anything about sharing? I’m in charge of the team. I’ll be the one in charge of dividing the bonus, and once I get the bonus, I’ll disappear…” He leaned forward to pierce his shifty eyes into his tablemate. “…and half of it’ll be yours.”
The unseen man was not yet wholly convinced. “But you already have a chance of reaching Salt Lake City first, even with no tricks.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a chance,” Bradwell brushed off, before snapping his fingers to point to his soon-to-be hired aide and flashing a devious smile, “but if you hide yourself among the others, then we’re sure to get there first! In any case, there’s $50,000 in it for you! So, are you in?”
$50,000 was a complete impossibility to come by in the days of the Wild West, and to the eyes of greedy rattlesnakes it was an offer that was completely idiotic to refuse. You would have to be senile to back away from that kind of straight up offer.
“I’m in,” the man finally agreed, after about seven seconds, shaking Bradwell’s hand, “but don’t you dare skip out with my 50%!”
“Do you take me for a scoundrel?!” Bradwell laughed.
“I’m going to Carson City to take care of Gamble’s team. I’ll make it in time for the hiring process to begin. Trust me, that bonus is ours!”
“Yes, but don’t let them spot you!” Bradwell warned, burrowing his eyebrows. “That honest idiot Creighton would skin me alive!”
“That bastard!”
“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle chastised. “Language!”
“Wai’ a minute. How’d you know abou’ Bradwell in Omaha?” Apple Bloom asked.
“I found out about the exchange later on,” Gilda replied.
“Also, what is it with you and rattlesnakes?” Sweetie Belle asked.
“Rattlesnakes are the kind of people I call that act in a way that they feel overly confident in a situation and are not afraid to warn their enemies of said power.”
“So, does tha’ make you a rattlesnake?”
To Apple Bloom’s surprise, Gilda laughed. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Yeah, I admit, I once acted like a rattlesnake, but that was until I actually met Lucky Luke for the first time, and he saved my life.”
“YOU WERE SAVED BY LUCKY LUKE?!!!” Scootaloo gleamed.
“Scootaloo, if you don’ mind, Ah would like to the rest of the story,” Apple Bloom assessed.
“Sorry. Please continue, Gilda.”
“Anyway,” Gilda picked up, “where was I? Ah, yes. Once we reached Carson City, the hiring post was immediately set up…”
