Hoosegow
Ben Collins-Sussman
adaptive hints casual game play competition #7 collaboration Comedy cover art humor I7 source available male protagonist multiple solutions on Jay Is Games One room parser prison single room strong NPCs walkthrough western Xyzzy Awards 2010
Muddy's plan done landed you and your partner in the hoosegow. Now you're fixing to rectificate the matter before the marshal introduces you to the business end of a hangin' rope at dawn.
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As the sun sets on the plains, Sheriff Cheney angrily snaps on the cuffs. You are shoved into the coach and land on top of Muddy Charlie and a pile of silver dollars, which until recently had been the property of the Missouri, Kansas & Texas Line.

Muddy whispers, "Don't fret none, Rick! You done good blowing up that tunnel -- I just didn't plan on the sheriff getting word ahead of time, is all. That were powerful bad luck."

The sheriff climbs onto his horse, spits, and you begin to rumble forward. "You boys really got it coming this time," he yells back cheerfully.

Muddy shakes his head. "No offense, Sheriff, but I reckon you got the wrong men. We was just on our way to the theater."

The sheriff disagrees. "The only place you boys are heading is straight to the...

A Wild West Wreck by Ben Collins-Sussman and Jack Welch

Type "help" for instructions and "hints" for hints -- or just roll into town guns a-blazin'.
Inventory
In the twilight, you sight the sheriff's sturdy brick office near the edge of town. "That's mighty fine construction," notes Muddy, sounding less feisty now. "Mighty fine indeed." The coach rolls to a halt and a thick arm yanks you roughly from your seat. You land awkwardly in the rutted street, where the sheriff holds you in place with the heel of one boot. He yells to his men, "Bring the coach around back, we got to impound that evidence." You are shoved into the sheriff's office and then into a small holding cell.

The deputy wakes with a start, whips his dusty boots off the desk and stands, tucking his shirt back into his pants. The sheriff gives him a brief, judgmental glance and offhandedly tosses an arrest warrant on the desk. He barks, "Jimbo, listen up. Picked up these two down near the train. A federal marshal will be coming for them at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. There's going to be a hanging!" The deputy nods slowly. The sheriff continues, "Please take care of our 'guests'. I got to head down to Wichita Falls to discuss my invention with some investors, so you is in charge." The deputy smiles until the sheriff adds, "Jimbo, don't screw up," as he heads out the door.

Why are you not surprised to have landed right back in the hoosegow after another one of Muddy's dubious plans? Will you ever learn? How did it come to this?

The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

Muddy leans against the wall tapping a harmonica on his arm.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.
You check your inventory
You're carrying your pocketwatch and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your hat, pants, overcoat, left boot, and right boot.

Your revolver was confiscated, it seems.

Muddy puts his hands in his pockets and seems to be daydreaming.
You look at paper
Muddy's scribbled instructions for holding up the train, which you carried out faithfully before the Sheriff showed up.

Muddy closes his eyes and rubs his temples.
You read the paper
In smeared scribbles: "DEER RICK, 1. GET DYNA-MITE FROM MTNSIDE, 2. INSERT SPARKER, 3. BLOW UP TUNNEL, 4. WAIT FOR ME".

That was Muddy's cunning plan, and unlike most of his plans, it went off without a hitch: you got the silver, nobody got hurt. Yup, not a single hitch -- except for getting caught.

A faint breeze wafts by.
Examine watch
It's the wind-up timepiece you received when you were commissioned as an officer in the Confederate Army. You may have lost everything else in that war, but at least you have this fine pocket watch. It currently reads eighteen minutes past seven in the evening  -- less than thirteen hours until you and Muddy are hanged.
About yourself
Big boots, pants, a plains hat, a tattered overcoat, and some attitude. Not so different from the uniform you once wore, just more lived-in.

Back in the office, the deputy stares at Muddy.
You examine the deputy
Big and strong, but lacking numerically in ancestors.
You look at stool
A small stool, with legs a couple of feet long. It's three-legged by design, but two-legged in practice, hence its inability to stand upright. There's an empty socket where the third leg should be. All of the paint has been worn off the seat by your illustrious predecessors who inhabited this cell. Those same occupants carved every square inch of the stool's seat with their initials (and the initials look intriguing!)  A small bronze plate has been nailed to the bottom of the stool.

Muddy stares out the window.
You read the initials
You notice a set of initials. "It says here, "RH"".

Muddy nods knowingly, "That'd be Ricochet Howard. Cattle rustling, hog hauling and snake twizzling".

"Snake twizzling?"

"All right, I made that one up. But the rest is true."

A couple of other sets of initials catch your eye.

Over in the office, the deputy sniffles loudly and wipes his nose on his sleeve.
You read the initials
"Here's some more initials, Muddy: S.X."

Muddy smiles slyly, "Oh sure. That's Sixshooter Xavier, the roughest Friar west of the Mississippi. An ornery character with a taste for mead, and he plays a mean five-card stud."

"What'd he do?"

"Knocked over the Tulsa Casino, but donated it to orphans."

"That don't sound so bad."

"They wasn't orphans when he started."

One other set of initials catches your eye.
You read the initials
"Hey, how about this one, Muddy: MTO. That's a strange one."

"That's got to be Tymme O'Malley, or the Leprechaun Kid like they call him in Kansas. Wicked fast with a rifle."

"Nah, I said MTO, must be someone else."

"Nope, that's him all right. Dyslexic as all get out. Feds caught him red-handed with a bag of tool."
You look at the gate
(the gate)
A metal gate stands between you and freedom. The gate is set into the metal bars that surround your cell, and its hinges must be internal. The gate has a massive padlock that clicked definitively behind you when you were thrown into the cell. You've seen banks with poorer locks. At least this is a quality institution.

Back in the office, the deputy reaches into his pocket, produces a strip of beef jerky, and chews on it for a while.
You examine the padlock
A cast-iron padlock of diabolical ingenuity. It is like no lock you've ever seen.
You pick the lock
You don't know how. The thing doesn't even have a keyhole.

Just to the side of the desk, the metal contraption rumbles for a moment and then stops.
You look at the contraption
All bronze and shiny, with lots of pipes, rivets, and flanges, the word "Protocappuccinomatic" is engraved on the main body of the machine. The device stands about five feet high and must weigh a ton. A sturdy iron pipe runs from the machine to the boiler.
You look at the man
The man crumpled in the corner wears black vestments and a pastor's necktie. He'd almost look respectable, if it weren't for the immediate environment. He reeks of booze and snores loudly. A pamphlet is sticking out of his pocket. You don't consider yourself a common pickpocket, but it makes you wonder what else he might have on him.
You get the pamphlet
You carefully slip the pamphlet out of the sleeping man's pocket. He almost wakes up, but doesn't.

"Whatizit?", Muddy rasps.

On the other side of the jail bars in the office, the deputy runs his hand through his sparse hair.
You read it
You read it aloud:

"The Prairie Gospel Church of Uncanny Righteousness (copyrighteous 1871)"

"For lo, the impetuous and retributive spirit of FINAL JUDGEMENT is stirring in the heart of the unfaithful, and a FIERY thunderhead of retribution is gathering across the plains of the undeserving, the bereft of propriety, and promulgators of heresy, and the scalding hot sparks of TRUTH are spraying forth, catching light the arid and HIGHLY FLAMMABLE and veritably kerosene-soaked sawdust of the weak-willed. And into this fray, the unwholesome BEAST shall arise and the earth shall tremble. Its body shall tower above like a mountain, and upon the body shall be nineteen heads, each like unto a serpent. Upon each head, twelve horns, like that of the ram, the bull, and the elephant, say four of each. And upon each horn, sixteen stalks, not unlike celery in some respects, yet more flexible, more like the arms of an octopus, except being twice as numerous. And upon each stalk, eighty eyes, or forty pairs of eyes, if you prefer!"

Muddy, who had been staring intently at his boot tips, looks up, eyebrows knit in concentration. "I don't get it. Why would anything need two hundred ninety-one thousand, eight hundred and forty eyes?"

"What?" you remark, looking up from the pamphlet. "Are you kidding me? How could you figure that out?"

"Don't rightly know. Just something I do. Same way as I know there's 69,105 railroad ties between here and Muskogee. Ma said I was some kind of idiot savage."

Dumbfounded, you stop reading halfway through the pamphlet to stare incredulously at Muddy, who picks his nose. "Yeah, go on. What else's it say?"
You read it
You straighten out the pamphlet and skim it, paraphrasing for Muddy.

"Well let's see. It keeps going on like that for a ways without really saying much. By and by there's this part about a revival meeting. Some kind of doxology works, but out in the open, like under a circus tent. It says they'll be some preaching, some healing and even some dancing. I'd allow it sounds like a right pleasant shindig, it do."

Muddy pauses. "Can I see that pamphlet a minute?" asks Muddy

"Ain't you gonna ask me about my plan?" Muddy whispers.

Muddy scrapes some dust off his boots.
You give the pamphlet to muddy
Muddy grabs it from you, squinting and sounding out words silently with his mouth. His eyes open wide in amazement.

"Pete? Wait a gosh darn... PASTOR Pete? That really him? Hot diggity!"

Muddy jumps to his feet, runs to the bench and shakes Pete wildly; Pete screams and throws his hands into the air, gesticulating to heaven as he's awoken from his dream --

"BEGONE, daemons! The Prince of Piety shall SMITE thee! He who brushes the Celestial Cavalier's horses shall not clean the stables of PARADISE!"

The grubby preacher collapses back on the bench, eyes closed and snoring before either of you can take a step.

"This time my plan is surefire -- go ahead, ask me. C'mon." Muddy jibes quietly.
You ask muddy about PASTOR
There ain't no reply.

"Ain't you even a speck curious to ask me about my plan?" taunts Muddy.

Muddy tugs down on his vest, which had ridden up a bit.
You ask muddy about PASTOR Pete
Muddy replies, "Seems mostly harmless."

"Truthful, Rick," whispers Muddy solemnly, "this ain't like all my other plans, this one is iron-clad. Ask me about it. Go ahead."

Over in the office, the deputy looks tired.
You count the bricks
You can ASK someone ABOUT something or SHOW something TO someone.

Muddy vibrates with excitement and gushes, "I got to tell you, Rick, or this new plan of mine is going to drive me plumb crazy!"

"Let's keep this between us, though," he whispers.

Muddy leans towards you, his face barely an inch from your ear and his buzzard-worthy breath even less so from your nose. "Okay, Rick, I'm a-going to tell you my plan." Muddy pauses dramatically. "Here it is: we got to break out of this jail before we get strunged up."

"That's it? That's your whole damn plan? That don't count as no plan!" you fume.

"Keep it down, Rick!" Muddy's gaze darts over to your third cellmate. "Yeah, that's it for now. It takes time to cook up a good plan. You need lots of ingredients."

"Muddy Charlie," you retort, "I heared you was the worst cook in the Confederate Army. Your cooking like as did more damage than Sherman's March."

Muddy gives you a hurt look and sulks in the corner. After a while, you regret being so quick-tempered with your old buddy.
You read the bronze plate
You find a tin of chewing tobacco. It looks interesting, so you borrow it.

You read aloud the engraving on the bronze plate: "Donated to the Crawdad's Gulch Municipal Hoosegow by the Gunslinger's Widows Association, Chapter Forty-One."

Muddy shakes his head, "They sure are an upstanding organization."
You examine the tin
A rectangular tin of "Spitting Image" chewing tobacco. The cover shows a cowboy painting a portrait of an Indian, and true to its name, the image on the canvas looks just like the Indian. The tin is closed.

Pastor Pete throws his head back, howls, and stands on the bench. He screams, "The ENVELOPE of KNOWLEDGE is sealed with the WAX of PRIDE and impressed by the unwieldy RING of TWISTED ASPIRATIONS, but did anyone remember to put the LETTER of CIVILITY in the envelope? Does the envelope bear the STAMP of HUMILITY, or is it sent cash on delivery? Shall it thusly come to pass that FATE arrives one day in our letter boxes, and we find ourselves searching and shuffling through piles and piles of ADVERTISING, only to find a bill for a life of sinfulness? No! Not if we are quick-witted and change our addresses or even our names, and leave no forwarding instructions and nail shut our letter box, and saw it down, and cast it in a tall VOLCANO and watch it sink into the sulfurous lava. Yea! That might just work!"

Pastor Pete faints onto the bench and resumes snoring without missing a beat.
You open the tin
You open the tin, revealing a wad of tobacco.
You search pastor
You don't find anything that Pastor Pete wasn't born with.

Muddy looks like he's about to have a great idea, but then goes back to staring at the floor.
You search the tobacco
You don't find nothing at all.

Pastor Pete curls up into a ball, muttering to himself.
Look around
The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

Muddy leans against the wall tapping a harmonica on his arm.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

In the office you can also see the deputy.
Chew tobacco
(first sticking some in your maw)
The tobacco is getting juicy and soft.
You ask the deputy about stool
The deputy looks annoyed, but says, "Yeah, go ahead, try it out."

Muddy rubs up and down against the brick wall, scratching an itch.
You look at the wall
The jailhouse walls are made of brightly painted white bricks. The bricks still smell like fresh paint.
You examine the stool
A small stool, with legs a couple of feet long. It's three-legged by design, but two-legged in practice, hence its inability to stand upright. There's an empty socket where the third leg should be. All of the paint has been worn off the seat by your illustrious predecessors who inhabited this cell. Those same occupants carved every square inch of the stool's seat with their initials (and the initials look intriguing!)  A small bronze plate has been nailed to the bottom of the stool.

Pastor Pete curls up into a ball, muttering to himself.
You touch the bricks
The walls feel rough and a little bit powdery.

In the office, the deputy pokes his head out of the office and yells at some passersby.
You look at the bench
A long wooden bench made of rough, splintery planks. Under the bench, you notice a piece of questionable meat, a spoon and a metallic can.

Muddy pats down his wild hair but only makes it worse.
TAKE MEAT, SPOON, CAN
meat: Yuck. You are holding the rancid meat.

Fetched.

spoon: Fetched.

can of beans: Fetched.

A cockroach scuttles by, making a detour around Muddy. Cockroaches have noses, you figure (not that you smell all that flowery neither).
You look at the can
A closed metal can labeled "BEANS". On the back, some fine print says, "Precooked beans. No claim is made regarding the cardioprotective nature of this product. May cause abdominal distension if ingested. No fitness of purpose is implied. No warranty is provided for personal or other injury, or injury or loss related directly or indirectly to the use of this product. By opening this can, you agree to the terms of service posted in town."

Muddy rubs his eyes, "I didn't get a good night's sleep last night either. I'm bushed."
Inventory
You're carrying a can of beans, a spoon, a hunk of meat, a tin, a pamphlet, your pocketwatch, and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your hat, pants, overcoat, left boot, and right boot.
You ask Jimbo about the padlock
There ain't no reply.

Muddy cracks his knuckles loudly.
You examine the spoon
A bent old spoon.

Pastor Pete bounces from wall to wall. He exclaims, "The ENVELOPE of KNOWLEDGE is sealed with the WAX of PRIDE and impressed by the unwieldy RING of TWISTED ASPIRATIONS, but did anyone remember to put the LETTER of CIVILITY in the envelope? Does the envelope bear the STAMP of HUMILITY, or is it sent cash on delivery? Shall it thusly come to pass that FATE arrives one day in our letter boxes, and we find ourselves searching and shuffling through piles and piles of ADVERTISING, only to find a bill for a life of sinfulness? No! Not if we are quick-witted and change our addresses or even our names, and leave no forwarding instructions and nail shut our letter box, and saw it down, and cast it in a tall VOLCANO and watch it sink into the sulfurous lava. Yea! That might just work!"

Pastor Pete falls onto the bench and falls back to sleep immediately.
You wake pete
Suddenly, Pastor Pete leaps up and rants, "The desires of an earthly PRINCE are met not by gold or myrrh or power over his enemies, but by HERRING. Salted, preserved herring from a can. Kippered Herring. Sweet, sweet, kippered herring. Who could desire more? Indeed, after a few, who could desire more KIPPERED herring, at least for a little while, having filled up on the first tin of them? They're indeed salty, harmless to you and me, but for a SLUG or snail, lethal. This is part of the divine wisdom, and why herrings live in the sea (prior to being canned) and slugs do not (and are, therefore, unlikely to be canned). To argue with this is sheer madness". He then collapses on the bench again and falls fast asleep.

Over in the office, the sheriff's invention ticks like a clock.
You ask Jimbo about the invention
The deputy looks annoyed, but says, "Sheriff Cheney done rigged up that machine and the steam whistle, both of them run off that steam boiler stove. Near as I can tell, the machine makes coffee, but oh, what fine coffee it do make. I can't as much as figure, though, how he's paying for all the inventing he does. Well, I guess sheriffs is paid more than deputies is."

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the boiler rumbles for a moment and then stops.
You sit on the stool
The deputy folds down the warrant he is reading and smiles encouragingly, "Please, go ahead. The stool is stronger than it looks."

You carefully climb onto the precariously balanced two-legged stool and subsequently find yourself face down on the dusty jail floor. Muddy helps you up and brushes you off.

The deputy laughs himself hoarse. "I declare, that were powerful entertaining!" The deputy continues to chuckle to himself, even as he turns back to his newspaper, "I said, please go ahead, and he sits on it. That were rich. Maybe he'll try again."

On the other side of the jail bars in the office, the deputy watches you with a bored expression.
You examine the boiler
Midway between the jail cell and the door to the sheriff's office stands a pot-bellied inferno. Through a small grate on its front, you can see flames burning within. Above the combustion chamber, there is a round, rivet-studded ball, which in turn leads into a junction. One pipe runs sideways to the bronze machine behind the desk, while the main pipe runs straight up through the roof. There is a lever at the junction which looks like it could swing either towards the front door or towards the rear of the office. Right now, it is nearer to neither position.
You examine the bowl
A beat-up mining pan full of dents and scratch marks. The bowl seems to be nailed (yes, nailed!) to the office floor.
You examine the lever
A swinging metal arm that pivots on the pipe junction. The arm can swing towards either the door or the back of the office. Right now, it is nearer to neither position.

Muddy burps loudly and remarks, "Oh, that's much better."
Examine watch
It's the wind-up timepiece you received when you were commissioned as an officer in the Confederate Army. It is some small consolation that your jailers were so incompetent as to overlook your one treasure. It currently reads three minutes past eight in the evening  -- less than twelve hours until you and Muddy are looking all so peaceful and serene.

Muddy strokes his whiskers.
You throw the tin at the lever
You can ASK someone ABOUT something or SHOW something TO someone.

Pastor Pete rolls back and forth on the bench.
You ask muddy about lever
Muddy replies, "I don't rightly know."

Muddy rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.
You give the tin to muddy
Muddy glances at the tin and says, "I ain't got no idea what I'd do with a tin. No thanks."

Over in the office, the deputy inspects his LeMat revolver lovingly.
You look at the window
Pretty far up on the wall, as wide as your shoulders, and secured by four vertical iron rods as thick as your thumb. And you have thick thumbs. The green tip of a vine pokes in from outside and lies on the narrow window sill.

On the other side of the jail bars in the office, the deputy peeks through the jail cell window at the saloon across the street. It's clear he'd rather be there.
You look at the vine
Only the leafless tip of a wiry vine pokes into the cell through the window.

Over in the office, the deputy warms his hands near the boiler.
You pull vine
You yank on the wiry vine and it yanks back. It's too tough to break off. From outside the window, you hear the bulk of the plant rustling as it swings back and forth.

In the office, the deputy repeatedly counts his fingers, but is unable to get a firm answer.
You pull the vine
You yank on the wiry vine and it yanks back. It's too tough to break off. From outside the window, you hear the bulk of the plant rustling as it swings back and forth.
You examine the meat
The deputy has been watching you and he smiles sardonically. "I see you found your dinner. Or was that last week's dinner? Har, har!"

You are distracted by his comment and forget what you were doing.
You put the meat in bowl
You can reach through the bars, but not far enough to touch the food bowl.

Back in the office, the deputy makes you nervous as he waves his gun back and forth, jerking the barrel up and shaping the words "Pow! Pow!" with his lips.
You ask the deputy about the saloon
The deputy looks annoyed, but says, "I get my best work done there."

Muddy seems lost in thought.
You examine the left boot
A cowhide boot that has been rubbed smooth. The heel is worn-down, and the spurs have broken clear off.
You examine right boot
A cowhide boot that has been rubbed smooth. A metal riding spur is about ready to fall off the worn-down heel.

Over in the office, the bronze machine ticks like a clock.
You examine the vine
Only the leafless tip of a wiry vine pokes into the cell through the window.

In the office, the deputy pokes his head out of the office and yells at some passersby.

Only the leafless tip of a wiry vine pokes into the cell through the window.

Muddy spends some time looking over at the machine in the office.
You cut the vine with the spur
That don't work none. What kind of crazy talk is you up to?
You give the spur to muddy
Muddy glances at the spur and says, "I ain't got no idea what I'd do with a spur. No thanks."

Just to the side of the desk, the boiler gurgles and bubbles quietly.
You open the beans with the spur
Muddy cranes his neck to see what you're doing. He's never seen someone open a can with heel spurs. You slide the spur into the groove along the top of the can, and wiggle it back and forth. The can revolves, and the lid is nearly sawn off. It is hard to tell which of you is more surprised that this worked.

Over in the office, the deputy sniffles loudly and wipes his nose on his sleeve.
You check your inventory
You're carrying a spur, a can of beans, a spoon, a hunk of meat, a tin, a pamphlet, your pocketwatch, and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your hat, pants, overcoat, left boot, and right boot.

On the other side of the jail bars in the office, the deputy inspects his LeMat revolver lovingly.
You examine the beans
An open metal can labeled "BEANS". The can is full of plump, glistening, little beans. On the back, some fine print says, "Precooked beans. No claim is made regarding the cardioprotective nature of this product. May cause abdominal distension if ingested. No fitness of purpose is implied. No warranty is provided for personal or other injury, or injury or loss related directly or indirectly to the use of this product. By opening this can, you agree to the terms of service posted in town."

Pastor Pete sits bolt upright, howls at the moon, and flips back over, fast asleep.
You eat the beans
When you were a child, you remember visiting your cousins, who all liked beans. Your aunt insisted that if they could eat beans, so could you. You choked on them, and coughed them up, and they made fun of you. Since then, you don't even like the way they smell. The beans, that is. Actually, your cousins are kind of rank too.

Nonetheless, your stomach is growling and you could do with a meal.

[You have dealt with a repressed childhood memory in a constructive manner, your score just went up by two points]

Pastor Pete pedals the air with his feet, while making sounds like a ringing bell.
You pull the bars
The deputy looks up from the warrant, annoyed at the distraction. "Them jail bars is solid iron, boys. Now stop messing with them. I would surely hate to have to shoot you tonight and ruin tomorrow's hanging."
You look in the can
The can of beans is empty.

Over in the office, the deputy warms his hands near the boiler.
You ask the deputy about the coffee
The deputy looks annoyed, but says, "Nothing is as good as the coffee that comes out of the sheriff's machine."

Muddy looks around the sheriff's office.
You ask the deputy about the machine
The deputy looks annoyed, but says, "Sheriff Cheney done rigged up that machine and the steam whistle, both of them run off that steam boiler stove. Near as I can tell, the machine makes coffee, but oh, what fine coffee it do make. I can't as much as figure, though, how he's paying for all the inventing he does. Well, I guess sheriffs is paid more than deputies is."

Pastor Pete spins in the air. He yells, "The SUN ariseth, the MOON setteth and the leaves, they do in a chaotic manner blow themselves around and around, presuming it is the time of the year for them to do so, and that the weather has cooperated. The latter pertaining to the leaves, and not so much to the sun and moon, which are independent of the WEATHER, except in so far as being observable only when the weather permits. So, it seems that the weather itself is somewhat a culprit in these matters, but what will a brisk rainstorm do against the fiery, hot flames of eternal damnation? STEAM. Yes, steam. Because it's not so much the heat, it's the HUMIDITY. Back on your heads, my lads!"

Pastor Pete crumples onto the bench and is soon lost in dreams again.
You look in the can
The can of beans is empty.
You eat the beans
When you were a child, you remember visiting your cousins, who all liked beans. Your aunt insisted that if they could eat beans, so could you. You choked on them, and coughed them up, and they made fun of you. Since then, you don't even like the way they smell. The beans, that is. Actually, your cousins are kind of rank too.

Nonetheless, your stomach is growling and you could do with a meal.

[You have dealt with a repressed childhood memory in a constructive manner, your score just went up by two points]
You put the can in the socket
Putting the can of beans into the socket don't make a lick of sense. Not likely to fit well anyway.

Not far from your jail cell, the metal contraption puffs some steam into the office.
You examine the ceiling
The stucco jailhouse ceiling is too high to touch.

Outside, there is a brief cloudburst. The wind comes right behind the rain.
You stand on the bench
You can't! A pastor is passed out on it. There's no room for you.

In the office, the deputy looks tired.
You look under the bench
You peek under the bench but don't find anything new.

Back in the office, the deputy stares at Muddy.
You make coffee
You can reach through the bars, but not far enough to touch <illegal object number 302>.

Pastor Pete murmurs repeatedly, "Kippered herring, please! Kippered herring, please! Kippered herring, please!"
Examine watch
It's the wind-up timepiece you received when you were commissioned as an officer in the Confederate Army. It currently reads twenty-four minutes to nine in the evening  -- less than twelve hours until you and Muddy are daid.
You give the beans to muddy
Muddy takes the can and stares hungrily at the beans.

Even in the most dire situation, Muddy's appetite remains intact. He looks expectantly at you and says, "Rick, got a spoon?"

Muddy rubs his belly and says, "I reckon I could do with a snack right about now."
You give the spoon to muddy
Muddy cracks a gap-toothed smile and says, "Much obliged," before digging into the can of beans like a miner hot on a fresh gold vein. A couple moments later, he finishes circling the inside of the can with the spoon, trying to get every last drop of bean juice into his mouth. Afterwards, he places the can and spoon on the floor and rubs his stomach with satisfaction.

Muddy has an aura of well-fed contentment.
Break stool
You reckon violence usually is the answer, but maybe not just now.

Muddy holds his belly and comments, "Got a bit of indigestion, I does."
Wait
Time passes.

Muddy wraps his arms around his belly, and moans softly, "I might have overdone it with them beans."

The deputy looks up from his reading, curious.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

Muddy doubles over, "Rick, you should get to high ground. I'm feeling a mite bloated after them beans, and I think you know what's coming!"

"Where the Sam Hill do you think I'm going to run to, Muddy? We're locked up in a hoosegow! Deputy, if'n I was you, I would put some distance between Muddy and your nose. "

The Deputy looks concerned, but confused.
You wait for a while
Time passes.

You hear nothing. The smell nearly knocks you out. Vision fades, the room spins.

Muddy whispers in that understated manner of his, "That were a silent but deadly."
You look at Deputy
Big and strong, but lacking numerically in ancestors.

Suppressing the urge to throw up from the smell, the deputy reaches over to the whiskey bottle and half drains it on his way out the door.

The fragrance gradually improves as the universe cools.

Muddy picks some food from between his teeth.
You look around
The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

Muddy leans against the wall tapping a harmonica on his arm.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

You can also see an empty can (in which is a spoon) here.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.
You pull the vine
You yank on the wiry vine and it yanks back. It's too tough to break off. From outside the window, you hear the bulk of the plant rustling as it swings back and forth.

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the sheriff's invention percolates.

The deputy pokes his head back in the office and remarks, "I've about had enough of you characters. You can stew in your own juices here. I got important things to do over yonder in the saloon. But I reckon I would be dairy licked to leave you jokers alone."

The deputy grabs a dinner bell from the hook where it hangs next to the office door, and he rings the bell slowly a few times. Nothing happens. He rings it again. Minutes go by and the deputy waits impatiently. Finally, a fat bloodhound waddles leisurely through the doorway, tempted by the dinner bell.

The deputy reaches into his pocket and retrieves a scrap of beef jerky. He pitches it into the dog's bowl, and the bloodhound gobbles it down. The deputy leads his mangy old dog towards the office's strange-looking steam boiler and ties him to it with a leash.

"This here's Flash, my hunting dog. I got to warn you that he can be vicious when he gets riled up, so don't cross him." Flash slowly slumps down next to the boiler, enjoying the heat. His heavy eyes close, and drool drips from his toothless mouth.

"Flash here's apt to rip your throat out if you so much as look at him funny, but I got him hooked up here to the sheriff's fancy steam contraption." The deputy narrows his eyes distrustfully. "If you boys were so stupid as to make for the jailhouse door, 'ol Flash would yank that lever and set off the steam whistle on the roof. The sheriff installed it special for me, so as I can come when he wants me. I can hear that halfway across town, and if'n I do hear it, then you'll have to deal with me *and* Flash." The deputy gives Flash one last pat on the head, swigs the whiskey one more time, and departs for the saloon.
You give the meat to Flash
Flash don't seem interested.

"That worked out well," says Muddy proudly.

"For you maybe," you reply. "But I near to lost my lunch what with that stench."

To which Muddy counters, "Ain't much worse than your feet, I reckon."
You throw meat
Ditched.
You put the tobacco on the meat
You need to be holding the tobacco before you can put it on top of something else.

Not far from your jail cell, the metal contraption puffs some steam into the office.
You take the meat
Yuck. You are holding the rancid meat.

Fetched.

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the furnace creaks.
You dig the wall with the spoon
I only twigged your meaning as far as hankering to dig the walls.
You give the meat to muddy
Muddy reaches eagerly, but stops just short of taking it. You've never seen Muddy turn down food before, so you're not sure how this experiment will work out. He sniffs it tentatively, hoping that the smell will be better than the sight. His eyes cross and he staggers backward, fanning the air and loosening his collar. "I think I'll pass," he says weakly."
You dig the wall
That's crazy talk.

Muddy scratches his leg.
You stand on the stool
You teeter momentarily on the stool and then topple face first into the floor, like a blacksmith's hammer striking the anvil. This is getting old real fast now.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You're carrying a hunk of meat, a spur, a tin, a pamphlet, your pocketwatch, and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your hat, pants, overcoat, left boot, and right boot.

Flash shifts his tail by an inch.
You examine the overcoat
The gray riding coat reminds you of past adventures with Muddy Charlie: the speckled holes on the side where you caught a shotgun blast when a bank transaction done gone awry, the hole on the other side from the time you and Muddy got to fooling around with a bow, an arrow, and a bottle of whiskey, and the charred, frayed edges of the coat from the time you and Muddy were almost burnt as witches. Each flaw in the garment reminds you of one of Muddy's plans, each of which sounded so reasonable at the time....

Flash sneezes, but somehow he manages to do it slowly.
You examine the stool
A small stool, with legs a couple of feet long. It's three-legged by design, but two-legged in practice, hence its inability to stand upright. There's an empty socket where the third leg should be. All of the paint has been worn off the seat by your illustrious predecessors who inhabited this cell. Those same occupants carved every square inch of the stool's seat with their initials (and the initials look intriguing!)  A small bronze plate has been nailed to the bottom of the stool.

A yellow-fringed surrey trots past the sheriff's office.
You look at the socket
Once upon a time, a stool leg about two feet long must have occupied the now empty hole in the stool seat. Without that leg, the stool isn't much good.
You examine bars
You look across the street at the saloon. Oh wait, did you mean the prison bars? Yeah, probably. Anyhow, the bars to your cell reach from floor to ceiling and are made of matte black metal. All except one, which is sort of gray in color and as short as a table leg. They are a bit under an inch thick, and they are reinforced by three tiers of horizontal bars. The gate to your cell is framed in the same black metal and inset into this meshwork of bars.
You examine the gray bar
The gray bar is just a shade lighter than the surrounding jail bars. You notice that the gray bar is held to the ceiling by a screw the size of a railroad spike.
You look at the screw
A large, rusty screw. It's holding a gray bar in place.
You unscrew it
Nothing obvious happens.
You unscrew it with the spoon
I only twigged your meaning as far as hankering to unscrew the screw.
You pull the screw
The screw is too high for you to reach.

Pastor Pete stares wide-eyed at the ceiling for a moment and then falls back asleep.

Nothing obvious happens.

Flash has died. Wait. Sorry. He's just really immobile.
You unscrew the gray bar
Nothing obvious happens.

Flash has a nightmare and growls quietly before returning to a deep slumber.
You hold the stool
Muddy ain't having none of your balderdash.

Muddy drums his fingers against the wall.
You stand on the stool
You ain't gonna get onto the stool unless it stands solidly on three good legs.

Not far from your jail cell, the metal contraption gurgles and bubbles quietly.
You remove the boot
Which all do you mean, the left boot, or the right boot?
Left
Oh, you really don't want to do that. Not indoors at least. Are you sure?
No
Muddy murmurs a prayer of thanks to whatever he sometimes prays to when he's running away from something bigger or badder than he is.

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the furnace hisses, venting some steam.
You examine the hat
An unusually capacious, wide-brimmed hat to protect you from the sun.

Muddy counts the number of stars he can see out the window, divides by the number of bars in the jail cell, and takes the natural logarithm. "Yup," he says, "that's what I thought."
You remove the hat
You take off the hat.
You look in the hat
There ain't no reply.

Flash starts to rub a flea but then decides it to be too much work.

Enter saved game to store: Ok.

Ten gallons of nothing. You sure could shove a lot of loot in there, you reckon.

Flash snores loudly, his jowls fluttering with each breath.
Chew tobacco
It tastes pretty horrid.
You remove the right boot
There are people within a thousand yards. Are you sure?
Y.
You rock back and forth on the floor, locked in a death struggle with your foot. Beads of sweat form on your head, as you struggle to twist and pull the boot off. With a sudden sucking pop, the boot relents and you tumble backwards.

Muddy's eyes water as he complains, "Ain't you got no sense of smell in that head of yours?"

To which you reply, "Not after I been downwind of you around feeding time, nope. This ain't nothing next to what you can do with a can of beans!"

Flash wakes with a start and sneezes loudly. The fur on his back bristles, and he opens his eyes to stare in horror at your feet. He backs away, towards the front door. The leash pulls taut. He seems caught in the balance between an urge to run away from your stinky foot and his own laziness, which holds him to the spot.
You remove the left boot
In some states that would be a felony. Are you sure?
Yes
You rock back and forth on the floor, locked in a death struggle with your foot. Beads of sweat form on your head, as you struggle to twist and pull the boot off. With a sudden sucking pop, the boot relents and you tumble backwards.

Muddy's eyes water as he complains, "Not again! My poor nose!"

One foot was bad enough, but two is more than the old dog can handle. Trying not to sniff the air, Flash turns tail and breaks for the door, straining against his leash, which is tied to the steam pipe lever. The lever swings towards the door, and from the roof you hear the ear-splitting drone of a railway steam whistle.

You agree with Muddy that the deputy is not likely to be in a good mood when he arrives, so you put your boots back on.
You put the gray bar in the socket
You flip the stool over and wiggle the hollow gray tube into the empty socket. It fits perfectly and remains in place when you let go of the bar, but you think you could yank the gray bar out again if you needed it. You now have a stool with three even legs: two wood, one metal.

The Deputy slams through the swinging doors to the office, lurching to the side as he struggles to put his other leg into his pants. He is bare-chested and empty-handed, aside from a nearly drained bottle of whiskey.

The deputy thunders, "What the cluster-chucking blazes is the matter here?" The deputy surveys the office quickly and then rattles the gate to make sure it is still locked. In his drunken rage, he doesn't notice the missing metal bar.

Satisfied that you haven't escaped, he pushes the lever back to the middle position and warns, "I don't know what you were up to what made old Flash trigger-happy, but don't let it happen again."

"Dumb dog," he mumbles, "I was doing important business." The deputy shakes his head in frustration and sets off again towards the door.
You look at the stool
A small stool, with legs a couple of feet long. One of its three legs is a piece of gray jail bar, but it seems relatively solid. All of the paint has been worn off the seat by your illustrious predecessors who inhabited this cell. Those same occupants carved every square inch of the stool's seat with their initials (and the initials look intriguing!)  A small bronze plate has been nailed to the bottom of the stool.

Pastor Pete pedals the air with his feet, while making sounds like a ringing bell.
You sit on the stool
Muddy holds it steady as you climb up. Your head is now even with the top of the window.

Pastor Pete shakes and twists spasmodically.
You stand on stool
You are already high enough up.

Muddy murmurs to himself about not being able to recall a limerick he once heard that had something to do with cowboys and farmers.
You look at the window
Pretty far up on the wall, as wide as your shoulders, and secured by four vertical iron rods as thick as your thumb. And you have thick thumbs. The green tip of a vine pokes in from outside and lies on the narrow window sill.

The Deputy slams through the swinging doors to the office, lurching to the side as he struggles to put his other leg into his pants. He is bare-chested and empty-handed, aside from a nearly drained bottle of whiskey.

The deputy thunders, "What the cow-poking sheep-sheering bear-baiting turkey-trotting blazes is the matter here?" The deputy surveys the office quickly and then rattles the gate to make sure it is still locked.

Satisfied that you haven't escaped, he pushes the lever back to the middle position and warns, "I don't know what you were up to what made old Flash trigger-happy, but don't let it happen again."

"Dumb dog," he mumbles, "I was doing important business." The deputy waves his fist at you and sets off again towards the door.
You look at the gate
(the gate)
A metal gate stands between you and freedom. The gate is set into the metal bars that surround your cell, and its hinges must be internal. The gate has a massive padlock that clicked definitively behind you when you were thrown into the cell. You've seen banks with poorer locks. At least this is a quality institution.

Flash basks in the glow of the boiler.
You look at the grey bar
The gray bar is just a shade lighter than the surrounding jail bars. You notice that the gray bar is held to the ceiling by a screw the size of a railroad spike.

Muddy murmurs to himself about not being able to recall a limerick he once heard that had something to do with cowboys and farmers.
Turn screw
Nothing obvious happens.
You tie the vine to screw
You would achieve nothing by this.

Flash nuzzles up to the boiler.
You give the tin to PASTOR
Suddenly, Pastor Pete leaps up and rants, "The SHIP of INTEGRITY floats merrily on the sea of justice, and we on the shore are lapped by the waves of righteousness, drizzled upon by the REIGN of PROPRIETY, and spat upon by the unyielding sense of honor and self-worth that could be extracted from fried food if one had the time and inclination to do so. We are doused by a fire brigade of good works, immersed in the RIVER of NOBLE DEEDS, pulled under by the CURRENT of good will, and drowned within an inch of our very lives in the deep, dark well of DUTY. Thus, I say, swimming is something that should be learned at an early age, and then avoided". He then collapses on the bench again and falls fast asleep.

Muddy leans against the wall and sighs.
You give the tin to muddy
Muddy glances at the tin and says, "I ain't got no idea what I'd do with a tin. No thanks."

Muddy paces back and forth impatiently.
You remove the screw
(first taking the screw)
The screw is too high for you to reach.

Muddy hums "Camptown Races", singing the "Doo-Dars" off key. The effect is annoying.
You stand on the stool
You ain't gonna get onto the stool unless it stands solidly on three good legs.

Pastor Pete shakes and twists spasmodically.
You eat the tobacco
(first taking the tobacco)
You take a pinch of tobacco.

"Glmph."

"You didn't just swallow that chaw, did you?" asks Muddy incredulously.

"I reckon I done just that -- and it didn't go down pretty."

You galoot. You're supposed to chew it. Hain't I learned you nothing?"
You get on muddy
(first sticking some in your maw)
You wonder if tobacco is really good for you, like the doctors say.

Muddy glances over at you, and seems about to speak, but then walks away again.

That ain't something what you can loiter on.

A fly buzzes past your ear and lands on the ceiling.
You spit the tobacco at the bowl
The tobacco hits the food bowl, but drops off.

Pastor Pete somersaults from the bench into the center of the jail cell. He chants, "The mystery of unfounded knowledge knows not the day of its own destruction, nor whence it came. It is a PUZZLE wrapped in an enigma, boarded up in a box lined with straw, and surrounded by another metal box with RIVETS, and finally an even larger metal box that is encased in concrete and thrown into the ocean, where it is swallowed by a whale, which is in turn swallowed by a sea turtle of unusual proportions. That SEA TURTLE is subsequently swallowed by a still larger sea turtle, and from there on, it's turtles all the way down!"

Pastor Pete collapses onto the bench and resumes his previous position as if nothing had happened.
Spit tobacco at Pete
Suddenly, Pastor Pete leaps up and rants, "There shall be an ACCOUNTING and it shall come swiftly, and with little notice, most likely in a four hour time slot in the morning, but perhaps in the late afternoon or evening if they're running late. THE WAGES OF SIN shall be entered into the ledgers, in duplicate, after first deducting the withholdables of sin and carrying over any offsetting credits from previous GOOD WORKS, and taking into consideration the INFLATION of EVIL, the DEVALUATION of MORALS and the exchange rate with PAGAN BELIEFS". He then collapses on the bench again and falls fast asleep.

Flash half opens one eye and looks at you and Muddy.
Spit tobacco at Flash
(first chewing some tobacco)
The stomach-churning mass of glistening tobacco pulp splashes on the floor, just in front of Flash. His nose twitches, as his finely honed bloodhound sense of smell detects tobacco ball. Your stomach churns as he stretches lazily forward and laps it up, swallowing it in one gulp before falling asleep again.
Twist grey bar
Nothing obvious happens.
You spit the tobacco at the screw
(first chewing some tobacco)
You're not keen to spit at anything in the jail cell with you. A man don't spit where he lives (excepting maybe on the floor, of course).

Just to the side of the desk, the boiler gurgles and bubbles quietly.
Spit tobacco at lever
(first chewing some tobacco)
The tobacco sails right past the thin lever, hits the boiler pipe and slides down, out of sight.

Flash sniffs his food bowl.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You're carrying a hunk of meat, a spur, a tin, a pamphlet, your pocketwatch, your hat, and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your right boot, left boot, pants, and overcoat.

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the metal contraption puffs some steam into the office.
You examine the pants
Rugged, blue denim.

Flash raises an ear halfway and then lets it flap back down.
Look around
The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

Muddy leans against the wall tapping a harmonica on his arm.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

You can also see an empty can (in which is a spoon) here.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

In the office you can also see Flash.
You ask muddy about the harmonica
Muddy replies, "Give it a toot, Rick."
You play the harmonica
You got to be holding it first.

Pastor Pete pedals the air with his feet, while making sounds like a ringing bell.
You get the harmonica
"I ain't never seen you play the mouth organ, Muddy."

Your partner turns the harmonica back and forth. "That's 'cuz I ain't never learned how," he replies.

Muddy hands the harmonica to you.
You play the harmonica
Tentatively, you blow a few notes. The bars in the jail cell rattle sympathetically.

"Look at that, boy", Muddy laughs, "I swear that screw up there holding that bar is wiggling loose!"
You play the harmonica
Again, the room resonates with the rich and vibrant tones of a bagpipe connected to the blowhole of a beluga whale.

Muddy points excitedly towards the top of the gray bar, "When you played, that screw worked its way out more. It's like you got some kind of sonic screwdriver or something! I think one more time will do it."

Muddy tugs down on his vest, which had ridden up a bit.
You play the harmonica
The screw vibrates out of the ceiling, rebounds off the concrete floor in a shower of sparks, and rolls under the deputy's desk. A hollow gray tube falls loose from the upper reaches of the jailbars and lands at your feet.

"You done it!" shouts Muddy.

Flash drools.
You get tube
You grab the bar.

You hold it lengthwise and stare down its hollow shaft at Muddy. He looks back at you.

"Don't that just beat all," ponders Muddy.

Flash lazily sniffs the machine.
You look through it
The bar is a hollow tube, with an inner diameter of about a half-inch. If you look carefully, you can see a spiral groove running up the length of the inside of the shaft, kind of like a rifle.

Over in the office, the bronze machine creaks.
You put the meat in the tube
You don't reckon there's much point in that.

Pastor Pete curls up into a ball, muttering to himself.
You put bar in the socket
You flip the stool over and wiggle the hollow gray tube into the empty socket. It fits perfectly and remains in place when you let go of the bar, but you think you could yank the gray bar out again if you needed it. You now have a stool with three even legs: two wood, one metal.

Not far from your jail cell, the boiler rumbles for a moment and then stops.
You stand on the stool
Muddy holds it steady as you climb up. Your head is now even with the top of the window.
You examine the window
Pretty far up on the wall, as wide as your shoulders, and secured by four vertical iron rods as thick as your thumb. And you have thick thumbs. The green tip of a vine pokes in from outside and lies on the narrow window sill.
You look out window
The jail is at the end of a long street. Directly across the street is a saloon, which is open, unlike the stores on both sides of the street that have pulled down their shades for the evening. Below the window there is a covered barrel; you can almost touch its top. Just to the left of the window, a berry-covered vine has grown up the side of the building, and pokes in the window, lying on the narrow window sill.

Up in the sky, you notice a couple of hungry, circling vultures.

Flash looks admiringly at the dinner bell.
You look at the barrel
It's a weathered oak barrel. You can't tell what's inside it, if anything.
You look at the sill
A three or four inch wide ledge just inside the small window that looks out onto the street.
You examine the berry
Each berry is plump and red, and got no short of mystery about it. Don't look so edible.
You get the berry
You pluck a plump juicy red berry from the part of the vine growing outside the window.

Flash gazes at the dinner bell.
You eat the berry
Muddy stops you, "Don't be a coward -- if'n you eat that, you'll sleep clear through to the afternoon -- and we only got till eight in the "A" of "M" to get out of here."

Muddy leans against the wall and sighs.
You examine the bell
A shiny silver bell with a black handle. It is hanging on a small hook by the doorway.
You put the berry in the bowl
You can reach through the bars, but not far enough to touch the food bowl.

Flash moves his front leg slightly.
Spit at bell
Muddy shifts around too much for you to even attempt the shot.
You put the berry in the tube
You don't have the gray bar in hand.

Pastor Pete leaps into the middle of the jail cell. He rants, "Blessed is the terribly, terribly DISMAL. How glorious in unpleasantness, how lovely in loathing, how simply pleasing in depravity. In the whole world full of pain and suffering and plagues, not to mention sock monkeys and advertising, how refreshing is the endless potential bounty of disappointment. How much more character we might build were we but marginally more afflicted by adversity, we can only pray. Let us extol the joyfulness of misery and cheer the horrifying facts underlying the production of sausages, and revel in the lack of things we have to celebrate!"

Pastor Pete dives onto the bench and resumes snoring without missing a beat.
You get off the stool
You jump down to the ground again.

A fly buzzes past your ear and lands on the ceiling.
Unscrew bar
Nothing obvious happens.

Muddy drums his fingers against the wall.
You take the grey bar
You yank the gray tube out of the stool's socket.

Flash keeps an eye on his food bowl.
You put the berry in the tube
You drop the berry into the gray tube.

"Oh, I get it!" nods Muddy, "You're making some kind of berry gun. I seen the Injuns do something like that, except you ain't got no darts in there to blow at people."

Pastor Pete froths at the mouth.
You shoot berry at bowl
The berry hits the food bowl, then bounces away out of sight.

Muddy murmurs to himself about not being able to recall a limerick he once heard that had something to do with cowboys and farmers.
You shoot the berry at the bell
Ding! The bell is hit so hard that it spins around on the hook several times, clanging like a church bell on Sunday.

The amoeba-like mass of fat and fur known to you as Flash leaps immediately to his feet, saliva dripping from his toothless jowls. He lunges like a champion fencer for his food bowl. His leash snaps taut, pulling the lever away from the front door and towards the strange machine.

The boiler hisses and gurgles, steam jets from the rivet joints in the pipe that connects to the machine, and the machine itself vibrates and rumbles for a minute. A white cup drops from a chute and brown liquid squirts from a nozzle and fills the cup. The smell of fresh coffee pervades the office.
Look around
The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

Muddy leans against the wall.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

You can also see an empty can (in which is a spoon) here.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

On the machine is a cup (in which is some coffee).

In the office you can also see Flash.
You examine the door
The cabinet's door covers the front of the cabinet and opens on brass hinges. The contents of the cabinet are recognizable through the cabinet's uneven glass. Despite the distortion, you see what looks like a gun belt some kind of shiny yellow object. Maybe gold, you think, hopefully.
You look through the bars
A one-room jailhouse is fitting for this jerkwater town. There's a big, wooden desk in the middle of the room. Just behind the desk is a fancy cabinet, with real glass in the door. Next to the cabinet, a large, framed picture of the sheriff stands on the floor. To the side of the desk, there is a weird-looking contraption: clearly, some sort of steam boiler which is connected by pipes to a strange-looking machine. On the opposite side of the room, two swinging doors lead back to town; a small bell hangs on a hook attached to the door. Flash's empty dog food bowl is nailed to the floor just in front of your jail cell.
You look at the picture
A bombastic portrait of the sheriff, who is dressed in a Napoleonic uniform save for the ten gallon hat. In the background, dogs play poker.
You look at the desk
A beat-up old wooden desk with time-worn corners, and a pitted, scratched surface.
You put the bar in the stool
You flip the stool over and wiggle the hollow gray tube into the empty socket. It fits perfectly and remains in place when you let go of the bar, but you think you could yank the gray bar out again if you needed it. You now have a stool with three even legs: two wood, one metal.

Flash rolls over and takes a few minutes afterwards to catch his breath.
You stand on the stool
Muddy holds it steady as you climb up. Your head is now even with the top of the window.

Flash is as still as a statue.
You take the berry
You pluck a plump juicy red berry from the part of the vine growing outside the window.

A cockroach scuttles by, making a detour around Muddy. Cockroaches have noses, you figure (not that you smell all that flowery neither).
You continue
You already got a mighty nice one.

Muddy pats down his wild hair but only makes it worse.
You look at the barrel
It's a weathered oak barrel. You can't tell what's inside it, if anything.
You look through the window
The jail is at the end of a long street. Directly across the street is a saloon, which is open, unlike the stores on both sides of the street that have pulled down their shades for the evening. Below the window there is a covered barrel; you can almost touch its top. Just to the left of the window, a berry-covered vine has grown up the side of the building, and pokes in the window, lying on the narrow window sill.

Up in the sky, you notice a couple of hungry, circling vultures.
You examine the vultures
They look hungry. Why else would they circle like that?
You show the meat to the vultures
You can only do that to something animate.
You put the meat on the sill
You put the hunk of meat on the window sill and almost immediately, a vulture drops from the sky, lands just beneath the window and drags the meat outside. You can hear it munching away on the meat, and see its tail waving back and forth just outside the window.
You get the tail
That seems to be a part of the vulture.
You take the feather
You pluck a feather from the vulture's tail. The bird twists its head momentarily to glare at you before plunging back into its task of devouring the rotting meat.

Pastor Pete pedals the air with his feet, while making sounds like a ringing bell.
You take the vulture
You would achieve nothing by this.

I don't reckon the vulture would much care for that.
You examine the feather
A long, black feather with white stripes.
Look around
Jail Cell (on the stool)
The small jail cell is brick on three sides, metal bars on the other, with a tightly locked gate. A small window is set into the brickwork above your head. Through the jail bars you can see the sheriff's office.

Muddy leans against the wall.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

You can also see an empty can (in which is a spoon) here.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

On the machine is a cup (in which is some coffee).

In the office you can also see Flash.
You look at the can
An open metal can labeled "BEANS". Unfortunately for Muddy, the can is empty. One end of a spoon sticks out of the can. On the back, some fine print says, "Precooked beans. No claim is made regarding the cardioprotective nature of this product. May cause abdominal distension if ingested. No fitness of purpose is implied. No warranty is provided for personal or other injury, or injury or loss related directly or indirectly to the use of this product. By opening this can, you agree to the terms of service posted in town."
You take the spoon
Fetched.
You examine the spoon
A bent old spoon.
You examine the food bowl
A beat-up mining pan full of dents and scratch marks. The bowl seems to be nailed  to the office floor.
You throw the feather in the bowl
Tobacco's the only thing worth chewing.

You can reach through the bars, but not far enough to touch the food bowl.

Pastor Pete shakes and twists spasmodically.
You cut the feather with the spur
That don't work none. What kind of crazy talk is you up to?
You get hollow
You yank the gray tube out of the stool's socket, lose your balance, topple backwards and plant your face smartly in the prison floor. Muddy looks away in embarrassment.
You put the berry in the tube
You drop the berry into the gray tube.

A yellow-fringed surrey trots past the sheriff's office.
You shoot the berry at the bell
Your projectile ricochets off the bell with a metallic "ding!"

Flash reflexively jumps towards his feeding bowl, pulling the lever and somehow causing the machine to rattle and buzz. Finding no food, the despondent dog returns to his favorite place in front of the boiler, shutting off the coffee machine.
You examine the coffee
Steaming hot, black joe.

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the furnace puffs some steam into the office.
You put the berry in the tube
You drop the berry into the gray tube.

Muddy looks like he's about to have a great idea, but then goes back to staring at the floor.
You shoot berry at the cup
The berry splatters against the side of the cup, and its juice dribbles downwards.

Muddy jumps up, claps you congratulatorily on the back, and you nearly swallow the metal tube still held to your lips.

He beams, "That were a one in a million shot, Rick!" Muddy strokes his chin and wags a finger at the cup, "Now, if we can only get the deputy to come back and drink some coffee, he might be a whole lot more cooperative, I reckon."

You sure like the way Muddy thinks.
You remove the left boot
Oh, you really don't want to do that. Not indoors at least. Are you sure?
Yes
You rock back and forth on the floor, locked in a death struggle with your foot. Beads of sweat form on your head, as you struggle to twist and pull the boot off. With a sudden sucking pop, the boot relents and you tumble backwards.

Muddy's eyes water as he complains, "Man, them feets of yours stinks powerful bad!"

Flash wakes with a start and sneezes loudly. The fur on his back bristles, and he opens his eyes to stare in horror at your feet. He backs away, towards the front door. The leash pulls taut. He seems caught in the balance between an urge to run away from your stinky foot and his own laziness, which holds him to the spot.
Yes
You rock back and forth on the floor, locked in a death struggle with your foot. Beads of sweat form on your head, as you struggle to twist and pull the boot off. With a sudden sucking pop, the boot relents and you tumble backwards.

Muddy's eyes water as he complains, "Man, them feets of yours stinks powerful bad!"

One foot was bad enough, but two is more than the old dog can handle. Trying not to sniff the air, Flash turns tail and breaks for the door, straining against his leash, which is tied to the steam pipe lever. The lever swings towards the door, and from the roof you hear the ear-splitting drone of a railway steam whistle.

You agree with Muddy that the deputy is not likely to be in a good mood when he arrives, so you put your boots back on.
Wait
Time passes.

The Deputy slams through the swinging doors to the office, lurching to the side as he struggles to put his other leg into his pants. He is bare-chested and empty-handed, aside from a nearly drained bottle of whiskey. Flash is so scared that he yanks the leash and snaps the lever clear off the machine.

The deputy thunders, "What the saddle sore slapping blazes is the matter here?" The deputy surveys the office quickly and then rattles the gate to make sure it is still locked. In his drunken rage, he doesn't notice the missing metal bar.

"Dumb dog," he mumbles, "I was doing important business." He looks around for Flash, but the dog has already slid out of the office. The deputy gives you a mean look and sets off again towards the door.

The deputy brightens. "Ummm. I do smell me some coffee." The deputy drains the mug with a single gulp. "That's good. I got to wake me up some."

Almost immediately, the deputy spins on his heel and drops to the floor just in front of your jail cell.
You look at Deputy
You are relieved to find that the deputy is unconscious, but breathing. He is wearing only a pair of pants -- no shirt, no gun belt, no boots.

Muddy picks some food from between his teeth.
Search deputy
You rifle through his trouser pockets and find a federal warrant. You also find a small brass key. Naturally, you take both.

You don't find anything else but pocket lint.
You read warrant
"Muddy, this here's a federal warrant!"

"What's it say, Rick?"

I'm a-reading it now: FEDERAL WARRANT. This warrant is issued this eleventh day of December in the year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-One and duly executed by the hand of United States Army Major General Philip H. Sheridan of Fort Sill, the Indian Territory of these United States of America. The fugitives Mudlark Abercromby MacGyver alias "Muddy Charlie," alias "Mudshoe," alias "Pensicola Thelma," and one Major Richard Carter, alias "Gentleman Rick," alias "Poor Richard," alias "Gumball Ricky," both formerly of the Confederate States Army, having been implicated by observation and circumstance of innumerable delicta, dacoiteries, iniquities, infringements, infractions, and indeed immorality, as well as trangressions, trespassing and trainstopping, are considered deleterious and detrimental to the welfare of the State, and THEREFORE, ordered thereupon that a Mittimus be made out to keep them confined until such time as they be discharged for proper hanging -- It's signed by the General."

"Mittimus?"

"I reckon it's after Thanksgiving, before Easter."

Muddy gives you that familiar old look that always leads to trouble. "I got me another cunning plan. C'mon, ask your old buddy Muddy..." Muddy leans forward, clearly impatient for you to ask him about his latest stroke of (in his opinion) genius.
You ask muddy about the plan
Muddy says excitedly, "Here's my idea: I reckon I could take that warrant and forge a different ending. Maybe trick them into releasing us."

"That's a great idea, Muddy, let me get my pen and some ink. Oh, wait a minute. I don't have either!" You glare at Muddy.

"Oh, yeah. I suppose. I didn't think of that." Muddy considers the matter. "Maybe we could make one. If you can find something that I can use as a pen, I reckon we can squish something or other up to make some kind of ink for it."
You give the feather to muddy
"Thanks, partner. That'll make a right proper pen."

He continues, "To finish this business with the warrant, I'll need something to serve as ink."

Halfway between the door to the outside and your jail cell, the sheriff's invention puffs some steam into the office.
You give the tobacco to muddy
(first taking the tobacco)
You take a pinch of tobacco.

Muddy reluctantly accepts the tobacco, saying, "Well, I suppose I could use the tobacco juice." Muddy chews the tobacco some more, fills his makeshift pen with the juice, and throws the wad out the window.

He continues, "To finish this business with the warrant, I'll need the warrant itself."

A yellow-fringed surrey trots past the sheriff's office.
You give the warrant to Muddy
Muddy accepts the document and stares at it for a while, turning it this way and that.

Muddy applies his quill to the paper and with a few flourishes, scrawls an additional sentence on the warrant. He blows gently on it to dry the "ink" and hands the warrant back to you for your inspection.

A faint breeze wafts by.
You read the warrant
It says: FEDERAL WARRANT. This warrant is issued this eleventh day of December in the year of Our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-One and duly executed by the hand of United States Army Major General Philip H. Sheridan of Fort Sill, the Indian Territory of these United States of America. The fugitives Mudlark Abercromby MacGyver alias "Muddy Charlie," alias "Mudshoe," alias "Pensicola Thelma," and one Major Richard Carter, alias "Gentleman Rick," alias "Poor Richard," alias "Gumball Ricky," both formerly of the Confederate States Army, having been implicated by observation and circumstance of innumerable delicta, dacoiteries, iniquities, infringements, infractions, and indeed immorality, as well as trangressions, trespassing and trainstopping, are considered deleterious and detrimental to the welfare of the State, and THEREFORE, ordered thereupon that a Mittimus be made out to keep them confined until such time as they be discharged for proper hanging of the Sheriff's portrait on the office wall.
You look at the key
You see nothing special about the small brass key.

Pastor Pete jumps straight up, immediately animate. He hollers, "BLESSED is the snail who crawls its time across the face of the earth yet, safe in its routine but for the SALT sprinkled upon him, the salt of the earth, well not so much earth per se, earth being dirt, but the ocean, which covers it, and would not cover him so lightly were he not, like a SLUG, so counterintuitively susceptible to its powers. How too we, like the SNAIL, curled in our houses made of our own SUBSTANCE, that being what differentiates the two, after all, amongst other minutiae, which are neither here nor there, nor relevant to the topic at hand, except in such a way as all things are relevant being made by HIS HAND, that by the end of such an analysis one must conclude not based on the FACTS, yet with the INARGUABLE voice of FAITH, which rails against the shackles of REASON itself, having lost track of the original THESIS. Which, were it important, chances are, we would remember. That is why you see so few slugs these days, at any rate!"

Pastor Pete falls onto the bench and resumes his previous position as if nothing had happened.
You give the warrant to Deputy
The deputy groans deeply and curls up into a ball, rolling towards you and blinking quickly. His half-focused eyes drift from you to Pastor Pete and finally fix on Muddy, who gives him a full-toothed (as many as Muddy still has, at any rate) grin.

The disoriented deputy asks, "What? What in tarnation happened?"

Muddy takes the initiative, "I reckon you must've drunk some potent firewater, deputy. You plumb passed out. Now, why don't you get up and let us out, we got work to do -- just like it says on that federal warrant."

The dull-witted deputy, still stunned by the recent turn of events, stares at the warrant.

Muddy leans forward and points out, "Down there, near the bottom. It says that we should be discharged to hang up the sheriff's portrait, don't it?"

The deputy yawns and rubs his eyes, "I reckon it do. But I thought you was criminals."

"Oh shucks, no, deputy." Muddy puts on his most endearing smile. "Don't you remember the sheriff asking you to take care of his guests? We were just staying here overnight. Now, why don't you let us out? The sheriff's going to be mad at us all if that picture ain't hung by morning."

The deputy reaches down and does something arcane to the lock. You don't quite see what he did, but it clicks open. He slumps wearily against the jail bars, and the gate swings open, permitting passage eastward into the office.
Unlock cabinet
What do you want to unlock the cabinet with?
Key
Is you talking plain English? I ain't following the words coming out of your lips. Mayhaps it's your accent.
You unlock the cabinet with the key
(the cabinet with the small brass key)
You'd have to go over to the office first.

Just to the side of the desk, the bronze machine ticks like a clock.
You go to the east
[Your score has just gone up by five]

There's a big, wooden desk in the middle of the room. Just behind the desk is a fancy cabinet, with real glass in the door. Next to the cabinet, a large, framed picture of the sheriff stands on the floor. To the side of the desk, there is a weird-looking contraption: clearly, some sort of steam boiler which is connected by pipes to a strange-looking machine. On the opposite side of the room, two swinging doors lead back to town; a small bell hangs on a hook attached to the door. Flash's empty dog food bowl is nailed to the floor just in front of your jail cell.

Muddy leans against the wall.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

You can also see the deputy here.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

In the jail cell you can also see an empty can (empty).
You unlock cabinet with the key
(the cabinet with the small brass key)
That doesn't seem to be something you can unlock.
You open the cabinet
(the cabinet)
The cabinet opens to reveal two gun belts and a banana.

"Come to papa!" beams Muddy, as he reaches for his gun belt and straps it on.
You examine the banana
Sometimes a banana is just a banana. This is one of those times.
You take the banana
Fetched.
Hang picture
What do you want to hang the portrait on?
Wall
Muddy walks over to the portrait and hangs it on the wall, calling back to you, "Do this look centered?"

You regard the portait critically, "A little more to the left."

"Good?"

"A little more..."

"Now?"

"There. I'd say it's well-hung."

Muddy raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.
You eat the banana
You eat the banana, peel and all. Because cowboys are made of stern stuff and need the fiber.
You look at the desk
A beat-up old wooden desk with time-worn corners, and a pitted, scratched surface. The rear of the desk has a drawer with a small lock.
You unlock the drawer with the key
You unlock the drawer.
You open the drawer
You open the drawer, revealing a folder.
You get the folder
Fetched.
You look at it
(first opening the folder)
A manila cardboard folder containing a telegram, a patent, a note, and a receipt.
You read the telegram
It says: "AGREE TO YOUR OFFER [STOP] WILL SUPPLY MACHINE PARTS IN EXCHANGE FOR 5000 US DOLLARS IN SILVER COIN [STOP] CONGRATULATIONS ON WINNING LOTTERY [STOP] SIGNED JEFFRIES & BRAND STEAMWORKS CO LTD [STOP][END]".
You examine patent
A thick technical document describing the coffee machine invented by the sheriff. Reading through it, you can see his plans to make these machines in factories and to sell them throughout the country. Your mind reels in horror at the prospect of coffee shops on every street corner selling fancy, steamed beverages.
You examine note
The note is written in a flowing cursive script. It reads:

"Dear Sam, I can't go on like this. When you were just a plain old sheriff that was one thing, but since you started inventing stuff, I can see what you are made of. A man that kicks my dog isn't cut out for marrying anyone. I thought you were an honest lawman, but I can see what you've become. Don't come around no more or my pa might just take a disliking to you. I was going to send you my ring, but I found out it was glass. Why am I not surprised? You are a scoundrel and not fit to wear that uniform.

Explicitly not yours,

Ella".
You look at the receipt
A receipt from Jeffries & Brand Steam Works Co Ltd of Witchita Falls. The receipt is for four hundred dollars worth of pipes and fittings purchased by Sheriff Sam Cheney of Crawdad's Gulch. At the bottom of the note, written in red is the following postscriptum: "Your account with us is severely in arrears. No further credit will be extended. Remit all payments immediately or we will take legal or other actions as required.".
You show the telegram to Deputy
(first taking the telegram)
The marshal demands, "As the senior lawman present, I must be the one to examine all evidence."
You take all from the envelope
You can't take but one thing at a time. You ain't no juggler.
You show the note to Deputy
(first taking the note)
The marshal demands, "As the senior lawman present, I must be the one to examine all evidence."
Inventory
You're carrying a note, a telegram, a folder, a banana, a warrant, a small brass key, a gray tube, a spoon, a harmonica, a spur, a tin, a pamphlet, your pocketwatch, your hat, and a scrap of paper. You are wearing your right boot, left boot, pants, and overcoat.
You show the folder to Deputy
The marshal demands, "As the senior lawman present, I must be the one to examine all evidence."
You look in the folder
In the folder are a patent and a receipt.
You ask Deputy about the SILVER
The marshal interjects, "I am the senior lawman present. The prisoners will address their remarks to me."
You tell Deputy about the patent
The marshal interjects, "Address your remarks to me."
You describe your surroundings
There's a big, wooden desk in the middle of the room. Just behind the desk is a fancy cabinet, with real glass in the door. An aesthetically questionable portrait of the sheriff hangs on the office wall. To the side of the desk, there is a weird-looking contraption: clearly, some sort of steam boiler which is connected by pipes to a strange-looking machine. On the opposite side of the room, two swinging doors lead back to town; a small bell hangs on a hook attached to the door. Flash's empty dog food bowl is nailed to the floor just in front of your jail cell.

Muddy leans against the wall.

A dented food bowl sits on the office floor, only a few feet from the jail bars.

You can also see the deputy here.

A broken stool lies on the floor.

In the corner of the cell, a disheveled man in a black suit is stretched out on a crude wooden bench and is snoring loudly, oblivious to your presence.

In the jail cell you can also see an empty can (empty).
You talk about the patent
Is you talking plain English? I ain't following the words coming out of your lips. Mayhaps it's your accent.
Leave
Which way? West to the jail cell, or east towards the open range?
You go to the east
Muddy relents and says, "All right, Rick. I reckon we done what we can do. Let's make for the hills."

As you head out of the office, two men appear in the doorway: Sheriff Cheney and Federal Marshal McLuhan. They are followed by a small detachment of U.S. Army guards.

Sheriff Cheney surges forward, pointing his finger at you and Muddy, "It were these two what blown up that train tunnel! They's escaping when we walked in! Look, they done killed my deputy! We should drop 'em where they stand."

The marshal looks uncertain and waves the army guards forward. They train their pistols on you.

The marshal rests his hand on the sheriff's trigger arm and says, "Sheriff, without any evidence to substantiate your accusation regarding the train robbery, I was reluctant to see these men hanged without a trial. Given the corpse of a lawman in front of us, though, even I have to agree that justice should be swift and definitive in this instance."
You give the receipt to the marshal
You show the marshal the receipt and suggest that the sheriff is quite in debt, and might turn to illegal activities to pay it off.

The marshal looks disappointed and says, "Being in debt is no crime, although it does eat away at the soul. Once, I went an entire week owing more than five dollars, and I regret it to this day. However, there is nothing to suggest that the sheriff has resorted to any illegal measures to fund his plans."

Muddy whispers, "Rick, we ain't got long. I reckon that marshal is someone what can be reasoned with."
You give the patent to the marshal
You show the patent to the marshal and intimate that the sheriff had extensive business plans, far beyond his mandate as a public servant.

The marshal flips through the patent for the sheriff's invention and looks at you questioningly.

"So?" he asks. "It seems like a clever enough invention, and I presume this work was not done on public time, or using town resources. I also would guess that he will need some big-time investors to put a plan like this into action, but I don't see anything wrong with that. The sheriff's a businessman pure and simple. There isn't anything more American than a man willing to make a profit, when the profit is there for the taking."

The marshal advises, "Citizens, I am required by federal law as it applies to the Territory to advise you that CAPITAL CHARGES have been filed against you, and summary execution will take place, unless evidence to the contrary can be brought to light."

The sheriff rolls his eyes, "For the sake of all that's Hog-Tied and Rightful, whyn't we shoot 'em dead right here?"

The marshal looks at Sheriff Cheney and answers, "Because some of us believe in maintaining some semblance of due process."
You give note to the marshal
The marshal reads the note and then looks up. He says evenly, "While this does speak unkindly of the sheriff, his personal life does not interest me. The content of this note is not germane to the matter at hand."

The sheriff wholeheartedly agrees, "Exactly. You is exactly right, marshal."

The marshal looks back at the sheriff with a hint of annoyance.

Muddy whispers, "We got to show that marshal something. I reckon maybe we could make up some kind of excuse or shift the blame, maybe."
You give the telegram to the marshal
You show the telegram to Marshal McLuhan, telling him that he'll find the sheriff's stagecoach full of stolen silver just behind the jail.

Sheriff Cheney wipes his brow nervously, "I forgot that's where we left that coach. I do reckon I'm always forgetting where I park. I was going to mention the silver as evidence any second now."

The marshal dispatches two guards to search behind the office, and when they return with corroboration about the stolen silver, the marshal instructs his guards to restrain and disarm the sheriff, concluding, "So, now it is clear. The sheriff took advantage of the railway incident to rob the train's silver himself in order to finance the development of his invention into a business. He framed these two itinerant laborers to shift the blame. No wonder he wanted them killed so quickly."

The marshal rips the gold star off Sheriff Cheney's shirt and instructs the guards, "Place Mr. Cheney behind bars."

With a wide yawn, Pastor Pete walks out of the cell as the guards wrestle the sheriff past him. "I do reckon I slept like the dead last night. Thank you for a peaceful night, deputy," and he walks out the front door.

The marshal raises his eyebrows but continues, "Deputy James Smith Bush, by the power invested in me as federal marshal of this district, I hereby promote you to Sheriff of the Town of Crawdad's Gulch. Congratulations." The newly appointed sheriff grins and shakes his hand. The marshal almost pins the star to Jimbo's bare chest, but stops short and just hands it to him. The marshal advises him, "James, you'll probably want to get yourself some deputies -- men you can trust."

Sheriff Jim looks over to you and Muddy. The color drains from Muddy's face.
Easter egg
PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
The sheriff enters the office, shotgun in hand. You and Muddy freeze in your tracks and raise your hands in the air. The sheriff kicks the prone deputy, who stirs slowly at first, but then jumps to his feet.

"You." The sheriff points at you. "Your name Muddy?"

"No. I ain't Muddy," you reply. "That there is Muddy. I is Rick."

"Damn. What were she thinking?" growls the sheriff. "Mary Sue, you come on in here now, you hear?"

A young woman -- you hesistate to guess her actual age on account of propriety -- edges nervously into the office, her eyes cast to the ground. By the way she walks, you guess she is in a family way, and after she turns towards Muddy, there's no question. Judging by the size of her belly, you'd have to say five, maybe six months. She raises her eyes to Muddy and her face brightens.

"Oh, Lordie," mutters Muddy, closing his eyes and running his hand over his face. "The one thing I don't plan -- and look what happens."

Lowering the shotgun, the sheriff walks over and puts his arm around Muddy's shoulders. Distributing cigars to you and the deputy, he smiles, "Deputy Jimbo, Rick -- I'd like you to meet my new son-in-law, Muddy. Ain't that right, Muddy?"

"I do reckon it's better than a-hanging."

Muddy never sees it coming. Mary Sue's roundhouse punch lands square on his jaw, launching him towards the jail bars like a sack of potatoes.

"Well," you observe, "maybe this marriage just might work out."

> Planned Parenthood
PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting

> Planned Parenthood
PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
Go north
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting

> PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
The sheriff's wheelchair rolls up the front ramp, and he enters the office with his multicultural posse, who represent the diverse members of the community of Endangered Arthropod Valley. Two of the named women in his posse discuss a subject other than men. The sheriff draws a nonlethal weapon that has not been tested on animals, and waves it in a non-threatening manner at you and your partner.

The deputy finishes his yoga stretches and stands up, draining his bottle of health water and setting the recyclable bottle on the renewable hardwood desk. "Sheriff, we had a right pleasant evening, and I reckon these gentlemen is sincerely regretful of their wrongdoings."

The sheriff agrees, "I do reckon, but they still got to repay their crime, even if the blame for that crime ultimately rests on society itself, and is the result of a poor educational system and the lack of adequate social welfare and state institutions."

The deputy nods sagely, "How about some community service? The Gunslinger's Significant Other Association runs a camp for autistic spectrum disorder orphan Native Americans on the outskirts of town. I reckon they could use a hand running their cruelty-free all-vegetarian farm."

There is a murmur of agreement from the posse, and the sheriff claps the deputy on his back. "That's mighty forward thinking of you, James."

Muddy gives you a distressed look and asks the sheriff, "I reckon I'd prefer the hanging. Is that still an option?"

> PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting

> PC
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
You go north
> A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting

> A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
The sheriff strolls into the office and immediately notices the portrait. Hands on his hips, he admires the painting. "I declare, that *do* make the office. It breaks up that entire space. That wall were so stark and empty before you done hung it. I owe you two a debt of sincere gratitude."

Muddy considers the painting as well and then looks around the room. "That seemed the right place to hang it, considering you got all them wood tones in the desk and the cabinet, and yonder doorway gives that area a bright, natural light most of the day."

The deputy stirs. "Yeah," he adds, "It's a shame we don't got no windows in the office, excepting in the jail cell. I reckon we could knock out that front wall and put in a bay window, maybe add a window treatment that would soften the room a jot. Also, how about a stencil? Something rustic, running as a trim, just below the ceiling."

You brew four cups of dark, whole-bodied espresso, sprinkling the top with nutmeg. The steam curls upward and fills the room with a rich aroma. You settle down on the plush wraparound couch that has appeared in the office and join the sheriff, the deputy and Muddy in browsing through a book of fabric swatches.

PC
> A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting

> A Flare For Design
Range Rover
Just Visiting
You go north
A Flare For Design
> Range Rover
Just Visiting

A Flare For Design
> Range Rover
Just Visiting
The waving fields of wheat are incinerated in the actinic flame of fusion rocket exhaust as a quarter-mile long football-shaped metal ship extends its landing pylons and sets down across the street from the sheriff's office.

The sheriff is transfixed by the sight, and the marshal faints outright.

A gangplank extends and a massive cargo door rolls open. A woman in a blue flight suit is followed down the ramp by an energetic white dog with black spots. She walks to the office and stares at Muddy.

"Janet?" croaks Muddy dryly. "I didn't expect to see you around these parts."

"I bet you didn't," she replies matter-of-factly. "We have a situation in The Belt, grab your saddle bag."

"I got a buddy, Janet. He's real good with a gun and plays a mean harmonica." Muddy turns to you, "Janet, this here is Rick."

Janet nods and is already walking back to the ship before you can so much as say "howdy".

"What's with her?" you ask.

Muddy sighs. "It's complicated, I reckon."

PC
A Flare For Design
> Range Rover
Just Visiting

A Flare For Design
> Range Rover
Just Visiting
You go to the north
A Flare For Design
Range Rover
> Just Visiting

A Flare For Design
Range Rover
> Just Visiting
The sheriff walks into the office, followed closely by the marshal. The marshal trains his pistol on you while the sheriff examines the deputy, who is stretched out on the floor.

"He ain't dead," the sheriff observes. "But he like as hit his head on the bars. Wait a minute." The sheriff leans closer to the prone body. "This ain't right. Where he lost some skin, I see scales. Like he were a lizard, or something."

The marshal hisses and swings his gun to cover the sheriff. The hissing is echoed by the cadre of soldiers behind the marshal.

The marshal replies, "A regrettable observation, earthman." He beckons some guards forwards. "Glulx, take the sheriff and lock him up. Glk and Zil, you go out back and take charge of those iridium discs in the stagecoach." Swinging the gun back to you and Muddy, he drawls, "Now, as for you two..."

Muddy laughs lightly and pushes the gun aside, "Heck, Zilch, it's me, Ifmud, and this here's Rixyzzy. We was sent after that iridium our own selves, but we got captured by the earthmen. Good thing I had a backup plan!"