1880 Census – Manhunt
Update 36
Spring 1880
Nearly a week had passed since Stevens and his census crew had clanked into Porthaven on the new branch line. The last home was tallied yesterday, and it was time to move on. Stevens was busy checking out of the Inn when Mr. Delin and the sheriff rode up on horseback.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” announced Stevens.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Blankmair woods nae shaur 'at assessment,” quipped the Sheriff.
Stevens gave a puzzled look.
“It seems there was an altercation near the port last night, and Mr. Blankmore was shot dead,” said Delin. “The assailant was seen fleeing towards the ferry, which I understand is where you and your group are headed this morning,” he added.
“Yes sir, we were just about to head over there now,” said Stevens.
“The Sheriff is set to pursue the killer, and I’ve asked him to allow you to accompany him. I don’t feel right possibly sending our guests into harm’s way,” Delin explained.
“We’ll heed 'at way as suin as ye an' yer colleagues ur ready,” announced the Sheriff.
The old ferry landing was a mess of shacks and some old docks. The Sheriff spoke with a few of the inhabitants and learned that a man fitting the description of the accused murderer had taken the first ferry across the river this morning.
Sheriff Vincent MacLachlan was aged beyond his years. Frontier life was hard, and Vincent had spent his adult life living on the edge of civilization. A full blooded scottsman, he came with his family to America during the Highland Potato Famine when he was a young boy. Life eventually landed him in Porthaven a few years back. He was a man of few words, but he earned the respect of the townsfolk through his actions. He kept the streets safe and the riffraff at bay.
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Stevens drew a smile as his group of bean counters in their eastern fashions mingled about with Sheriff MacLachlan in his dusty worn coat and muddy boots. Still, as the unlikely group made its way across the river in the weathered ferry, Stevens felt at ease with the Sheriff among their party.
“Ever since th' railroad started upgradin' th' port, lowlifes an' scumbags hae bin showin' up lookin' fur jobs an' causin' trooble.,” grumbled Sheriff MacLachlan as Stevens looked back towards the port.
“Th' miscreant responsible fur Mr. Blankmore’s mudder is probably frae th' sam lot. nae tae worry… we’ll catch th' wee scunner,” he added.
The ferry pulled into the docks on the other side of the river. A few houses and a shop or two hugged the road leading away from the shore. While the Sheriff went looking for a lead on his runaway, Stevens and crew took the time to add to their census tally.
“Ye ur in luck, ay sorts,” chuckled the Sheriff. “Th' damned reprobate has gain an' skipped town… looks loch ye lads ur stuck wi' me fur a while longer.”
“Your company is much appreciated, Mr. MacLachlan. We all thoroughly enjoyed the hospitality of Porthaven, and it saddens me to leave, but my spirits are lifted knowing we will be taking a bit of it with us on our journey,” laughed Stevens.
The group saddled up and was on their way. Stevens checked off the little box in his journal, satisfied the census of Porthaven was complete.
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The road led south, away from Porthaven, and it hadn’t changed much since Mr. Stevens trip through the SorGun region 10 years earlier. The rhythmic clap of horses’ hooves on the trampled dirt road was soothing to the ears, but rough on the rump. Stevens and his crew were already spoiled by the ease and comfort of travel by rail, but fortunately their first stop was nearly upon them.
Pineford was nothing more than a blip on the map 10 years ago – and as Stevens crossed the rickety old bridge, he noticed that was about were things stood today. Main Street had filled in a bit, and where grass fields once flowed years earlier, houses and cabins now stood.
“Someain haur will hae noticed uir mukker. I’ll need tae make some hoose calls, sae feel free tae do… whatever it is ye folks dae,” said the Sheriff.
Stevens barked out orders, and the census crew got to work. As Fredric walked around in the dirt and mud, he quickly remembered trudging over the same streets a decade earlier.
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Towns this size could be covered quickly, and by now Stevens and his entourage were like a well-oiled machine. Each worker covered a few blocks, and within a couple hours Stevens had one more town to check off his list.
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Not long after, MacLachlan rode back into town.
“A farmer saw someain crossin' thoroogh his field puckle hoors ago headin' sooth,” said the Sheriff. “We're gettin' close,” he added, with a wink.
As quickly as they came, the group was off again, wondering on down the dusty track.
Giant cedar trees flanked the trail with not a sign of civilization in sight.
It occurred to Stevens how easily one could disappear off the face of the earth out here. He began to wonder whether the Sheriff would be successful in his pursuit. If someone didn’t want to be found, this was the place to be. Then again, the isolation of the western territories could drive a man to insanity. After a while the group came to a small settlement hugging a fork in the trail.
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A few house visits came up with no information regarding MacLachlan’s fugitive.
“At way leids tae New Sorgin,” said the Sheriff, motioning towards the right fork. “An' thes heids up intae th' moontains, towards Foxton.”
For a moment Stevens tried to imagine what way a criminal might choose, but who was he kidding – he knew less about criminals than quilting a four patch.
“Hmmm,” grumbled the Scotsman. “Ah believe th' highlands ur callin' me haem.”
And with that, MacLachlan nudged his horse and began trotting up the dusty trail.
Credits:
I’d like to thank all the folks who submitted a name for the Sheriff. Congrats to Blunder for his original submission – we now have a Scotsman in New SorGun. I will do my best to incorporate everyone’s ideas into the story, so keep an eye out to see if your character shows up down the road 
I’d also like to thank whoohoo.co.uk for their neat ‘Scottie Translator’ – it came in handy
Replies to:
Gugu3, Luiz P. Romanini, Katherman111, bazoka, 111222333444, ggamgus, APSMS, and glad2meecha:
-Thank you for the great submissions and comments. Don't be surprised if your characters find their way into the New SorGun tale in the future!
infamousjbe: Bufford Grills' the name. Born suthern sie the plains.
EDIT: I actually spent like 20 minutes writing a whole back story to my character until I re-read your request for the name and nothing else.. bummer.
-I'm glad you submitted the story - it was a fun read! BTW, check one of the location names in this update
Deaghaidh: Just wanted to say this is a great CJ. I was thinking of doing a late 1800s steampunk-flavored region myself, would you mind naming some of the custom content you're using? Finding period buildings is one thing, but how are you able to keep your roads car-free? What are you doing for electricity and water? Any advice you can give regarding building good timber and coal mining towns would be appreciated as well. You do such a great job of making real feeling small rural areas, something I'd love to copy.
Also, am I correct in detecting some influence from Sons of the Profits, the excellent book on the timber and prostitution fueled rise of Seattle? Your CJ reminds me of it a great deal.
For the Sheriff, I submit the name Billy O'Dea, Irish immigrant formerly working as private security for the NPRR, but who had a falling out with the local bosses.
-Thanks for the great reply! You are indeed correct, the founding and evolution of Seattle has been a heavy influence on the development of this CJ, and Sons of the Profits has definitely been a helpful research tool. I'm actually shocked that you caught that - big time kudos!
Snugies: 1880 so the intercontinental railroad has been completed. Will you go through the entire historical development of this region? I think electricity may come soon maybe 1890ish? start getting electric streetcars then trams and elevated rail etc. then car later. Then we could see like before and after photo's. Looks really good, good job.
-New SorGun is on the edge of the American frontier, in the secluded pacific northwest - so it will be some time before electricity reaches these folks. But it will happen in due time
Schulmanator: Gotta be Andy Griffith Sr... Deputy Barney Fife, Sr. What could be better? If it was an English town I'd suggest Sheriff Nottingham.
-That's funny - you aren't the only person to go the Andy Griffith route (Krashspeed from SimPeg had the same idea)
NMUSpidey: "China" Rad Coffinson, because when Rad drops you, you break like fine china. Hm. He might make an even better bandit, now that I think about it. Or better yet, a bandit turned sheriff! Who better to be a scourge of the underworld than a man who was once a major part of it! Of course, he only turned 'good' because the money was 'good,' too, and the way the railways went about the whole property grab thing, we're not talking about a bunch of people who are real high on ethics.
Unless of course, I'm thinking of a different town. Then you can ignore this completely 
EDIT: they had china in the States in the 1880s, right?
-Great submission - "China" may pop into the story down the road - but the Scotsman won the Sheriff job this time. And yes, the Chinese were definitely part of the western population at this point - they provided much of the manpower for the railroads. Don't be surprised if that story find's it's way into the New SorGun narrative soon.
-
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