July, 1938

  “Listen up, donkeys.” The Bootknife stood over his trio of students.

  Having just finished their morning run, the boys lay about panting and wheezing. A morning breeze flew up the mountainside, sweeping over the team with a welcome coolness. Drenched in sweat and morning dew, Calvin listened to his teacher.

  “Got this note from the Sanctuary.” Logan waved around a sheet of paper, “Turns out I can’t just keep you boys up here for months like I thought. Go figure.”

  “Didn’t… know the rules?” glared the Calhoun on the team.

  Logan kicked him, his boot thumping into already bruised flesh. “Shut up! Point is, we gotta do at least one assignment per month or I’m gonna get a demerit. I done collected them by flunking the other boys, and I only have one left before they strip my trainer permit and its back to my old job.”

  Picking himself up, Calvin raised an eyebrow. “Your old job? What did you used to do, teach?”

  “None of your fucking business.” The Bootknife puffed out a cloud of cigar smoke, “But to be truthful, I would’ve liked to go back up until you boys passed my test. This whole training for the exam has me kinda fired up, so I actually don’t want the demerit.”

  “Logan actually likes us...” snickered Buster.

  Logan reeled his foot back to kick the clown hard, forcing him to flinch. He couldn’t stifle a slight smirk, betraying the harsh demeanor. He put his foot down.

  “Alright, alright. All that is to say, we gotta go do an assignment.”

  “Finally.” John rubbed his side as he sat up, “You got one in mind, teach?”

  “Oh yeah, you’ll love this one.” grinned Logan, his wide teeth exposed, “Pack your stuff, we’re going for a train ride.”

  ^^^

  “Would you guys quit it?” John crossed his arms, sitting in the private train car.

  Glued to the window, Buster and Calvin watched the Tennessee hills roll by. Neither had rode on a train before and the excitement hadn’t waned in the hour since they boarded. Neither of them bothered to answer John’s question.

  “How do you put up with them?” He turned to his trainer, who sat on the bench seat across from him.

  “Well, I smack em around a bit.” Logan shrugged, “But that’s how I deal with just about everybody.”

  Dipping his head, John found he didn’t have the mind for small talk. Things hadn’t changed for him, just because they had their first assignment. He still had Willerbee to contend with. Hallows Eve was still coming.

  Nothing had humiliated John more than being beaten by Vincent Willerbee and his friends. No cruelty afforded to him by rowdy older brothers, not the disapproving way his father looked at him, not the insults hurled at him by his crass teacher; none compared to Willerbee’s haughty grin. That night at Kitty’s Saloon had left a mark on John which he was still trying to understand. It was frustrating to have to wait many months to redeem himself.

  The Bootknife could tell, looking at his charge, that there was more going on than a little family feud. John seemed the most competent of his three students, but he was clearly suffering from some kind of inferiority complex or imposter syndrome. Logan knew that this happened with noble Guns. The weight of their lineage and inherited Resolve sometimes turned out to be too much of a burden.

  Himself coming from outsiders, Logan knew he could not relate. That asshole Cobb, he thought, could definitely offer John a good perspective. The Cobbs were as famous and storied a family as the Calhouns, and Lou had always carried the weight of his line well. It had a lot to do with Madeline, his wife. Everybody knew that Lou Cobb’s partner witch Madeline had supported him completely, kept him alive and in good spirits. In turn, Lou ensured she too remained happy and supported over the decades. Their partnership represented a shining example of a Pact between Six-Gun and coven witch.

  The little blonde firebrand in the adjacent room didn’t strike Logan as an ideal partner like Madeline. He wondered if she would do John any good. The feud with the Willerbees definitely wasn’t helping the kid out either, Logan knew that. This was why he was willing to go the extra mile to help them succeed in October. The idea of sticking it to Six-Gun nobility while helping John with his confidence really seemed appealing. Logan was ready to clear this mission to check his box for the month and get back to training.

  Logan felt the train decelerate as it made its final approach on the station. Within a few minutes they were stopped and the Bootknife stood from his seat.

  “Made it to Chattanooga. Come on boys, we gotta get off here.”

  “Why here, of all places?” John followed him out with the others, stopping in the hall as Logan opened the door to the girls’ private room. “What’s the assignment anyhow? You haven’t told us yet.”

  Gesturing for the witches to follow, Logan sighed. “I think it’s a weird one, I didn’t get a good pick for the low tier missions on account of submitting for it late.”

  “Figures.” Remarked Elise, floating by him.

  “What is it?” John repeated as they walked past the other passengers.

  “You’ll find out when we get where we’re going.”

  People stared at the team, their faces a mixture of curiosity, awe, and anxiety. Calvin found their eyes on him to be unnerving. He hadn’t interacted with members of the populace since he joined the Posse in 1934. It had been only Plaidshirts and Six-Guns for him. The Plaids had no specific reaction to seeing a Gun, they were as entrenched in Posse Culture as the sorcerers were. These people watching Calvin, however, were different. Cal read on their faces all the worry and excitement.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Excuse me, sir.” A brave passenger in a bowler hat gestured to Logan. “Pardon me a moment.”

  “What?” The Bootknife responded bluntly

  “You four are Gradymen?”

  “Sure.” Logan flashed his card, the Queen of Hearts, “Why, got a problem with that?”

  It struck John that his teacher was not very friendly to civilians. Growing up in the Calhoun house, he had been taught that Six-Guns lived to serve the people of America. Part of this service involved politeness and grace towards civilians, those outside of the Posse, even if they become aggravating or disrespectful. Everyone he knew, even his rowdy brothers and uncles, all treated everyday people with dignity and respect. This was the first time John Calhoun had ever seen a member of Grady’s Posse talking to a civilian in such a manner. He knew Logan was a rude, ornery man; but this belied some deeper truth about him that had left John just a little curious.

  “Are we in danger here?” The man shrunk a little.

  “Not here, no. Just looking into something, so calm down.”

  With that, Logan waved a hand and stepped off the train. The team followed him as he walked along the tracks, ignoring the station proper. This John found interesting, but not more than the way he had spoken to the man earlier.

  “Hey, Logan? What gives?” He caught up to him, Elise teetering after.

  “We are gonna do a little detour. We don’t need to be in the station; we’re going to the depot.”

  John could see the train car depot ahead of them, where many cars sat free of their trains. Depots like these were made for storage for a great many spare cargo cars, when they weren’t in use.

  John shook his head, “No man, you were rude to that civilian. Why’d you talk to him like that?”

  Calvin raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know what was off about the interaction. Having not been brought up like John, it just seemed like a normal conversation with the Bootknife.

  “Got a problem with how I speak to people?” Logan snickered, “Wanna check me on it?”

  “Well, it’s just that I was taught-“

  “You were taught,” Logan cut him off, “how noble sorcerers speak to the populace. Or public servants, like most of the Guns hanging around the Sanctuary.”

  “Aren’t we ALL public servants?” John walked alongside him.

  “Not all of us, no.” sighed Logan, “My career in the Posse has been different. Civilians only complicate things for me, get in the way.”

  John looked off to the train cars for a moment. “There’s no chance you’d tell us what you mean, right?”

  “Maybe someday, kid.” Logan pat him on the shoulder, “But it’s really not important. Let’s go and meet our contacts, go over the assignment.”

  The party came to a derelict train car with a very clear white ‘U’ marked on it. Logan stopped to admire the marking, hands on his hips. The boys and the witches followed suit, though it was clear only the Bootknife knew what the marking was for.

  “We’re here.” He nodded, starting off past the train car.

  Calvin cocked his head, “What’s it mean?”

  “It’s Hobo Code.” Logan waved a hand, not looking back, “We’re going into a Hobo Jungle.”

  Beyond the train car, the Hobo Jungle lay before them. This was an established camp for the vagrant populace. Makeshift tents from large coats and ripped open bags littered the depot. Pots brewed thin soups over weak flames, and clotheslines stretched back and forth, like jungle vines, casting shadows across the entire camp. The place had the activity of an entire village with dozens of hobos milling about in their torn, baggy clothes. John looked to some of them trading from sacks, exchanging one ravaged item for another. The mix of mismatched colors imparted an almost enchanting feeling.

  By 1938, the Great Depression had ravaged much of the population in America. Though the federal jobs programs were in full swing in this particular time, many migrant workers still rode the train cars. The Hobos, as they had taken to being called, had developed their very own culture. The Hobo Code, a set of glyphs imparting information between illiterate Hobos, was one such example. The Hobo Jungle was another.

  Grady’s Posse had established a working relationship with the Hobos. The nature of the Hobo lifestyle, riding around from place to place, had granted the Hobos a unique information surplus. The average Hobo on his way to his next job, his next meal, had most likely been given “tips” from a dozen other Hobos for free. These tips ranged from where to find good fishing, to what areas are unsafe because of a marauding werewolf. By 1938, the Hobo information network spanned the entire country, along the railways. The Posse of course took advantage of this. In exchange for food and supplies, the Posse took as many of these ‘tips’ as possible. It was not uncommon to see many crates within a Hobo Jungle marked with the Rose and Crossed Pistols, the symbol for materials produced by the Plaidshirts of Grady’s Posse.

  “Hey!” A man shuffled over, his hat too big for his head, “Gradymen!”

  Logan turned to him. Team Bootknife observed as more of the Hobos slowly made their way over, hearing the commotion from their ramshackle tents. The sight of them all made Mavis just a little uncomfortable. She wrapped her arms around one of Buster’s for support. Nodding, the Clown pat her a bit.

  “Yeah?” Logan didn’t drop his rough tone for the hobos. “Here about this ghost train.”

  Calvin’s eyes widened. He had been wondering what the assignment was about. A ghost train hadn’t crossed his mind. He had heard stories of such things from the other boys at the sanctuaries.

  Adjusting his hat, the Hobo nodded. “I’m Tinker.” He held out his hand.

  Logan didn’t take it; he just stared him down.

  “Eh… Anyway.” Tinker withdrew his hand, “I’m supposed to keep an eye out for you guys and take you to this camp’s Hobo Lord.”

  “Hobo… Lord?” The idea sounded ridiculous to John.

  “There’s nine Hobo Lords in the South.” Logan told him, “They agree on Hobo Code, their system of writing and their rules. Just keep in mind when we meet this guy that he can command basically a whole army.”

  “Its TEN!” Shouted a bum from the crowd, “Theres ten Lords in the South!”

  A few of the hobos moved back as Logan looked over, revealing the man behind the outburst. He had a rag around his head, clearly covering some injury. His gait shaky, he hobbled over.

  “Ten Lords!” He repeated, “Two-Ball Jackson is a rightful Lord, by Code!”

  “Two-Ball is a thief and a murderer!” shouted another from the crowd.

  “Now’s not the time, Crate.” Tinker shook his head, “The Gradymen don’t need this display.”

  The Hobo named Crate stood firm, “Six-Guns oughta know, these are dark times for Hobo-kind in the South. They’ve denied the sovereignty of Two-Ball for over a year! I was there for the fateful night.”

  “Shut up!” Logan barked, “I don’t care about Hobo politics. I’m here to see your Lord and fix your train problem.”

  “You, Gradyman.” Crate dragged himself just a little closer, “You ain’t the regular kind. Know it when I see it. You’re one of them. Come here!”

  Whispers sprinkled in from the crowd as the Hobo approached Logan. Tinker found this display embarrassing. He put his hands on Crate’s filthy shirt, trying to pull him back. Crate fought it for a moment, throwing himself onto the Bootknife.

  “Wary!” He whispered harshly, the smell of corn liquor on his breath, “Ain’t no ghost train…”

  As he was forced away, thrown into the hands of the other bums, he shouted, “THEY’RE GONNA SELL YOU, SIX-GUN!”

  “What’s with that guy?” Logan asked Tinker bluntly. The veteran gunslinger-sorcerer stood unphased by the display.

  “It’s Crate.” Tinker led them off down the alley formed by parked train cars, “The man’s not been the same since the Lords denounced Two-Ball Jackson. He was loyal to him, see? Times are strange, since the big government program started. Old bonds are breaking, and all…”

  “What was that about us being sold?” Buster raised an eyebrow.

  “I really don’t know.” Tinker rubbed his neck, “We need your help, don’t wanna sell you nothing.”

  Logan gestured for the boys to follow closely. “Its crazy Hobo talk. Some of these guys drink too much.”

  “Yeah, sometimes me too…” Tinker mustered a nervous grin.

  Noting the look on Logan’s eye, John could tell that Hobo had whispered something important to him. It was obvious that the other Hobos mistook Logan’s flippant demeanor for disregard, but John didn’t. Logan was one of the keenest men he had ever met. Nothing slipped past the Bootknife.

  Something was off, John could tell. He exchanged a look with Calvin, who nodded silently. The Hobo politics were troubling, to be sure, but it was clear to all of the Guns that the ‘crazy Hobo talk’ had much more to do with their assignment. John knew he would have to see what this Hobo Lord had for them. Walking behind his teacher, he prepared himself for what awaited.