

WHISKEY JOE

Ricardo Aardal

©2019

ONE

"I finally made it!" Joe Kaminsky shouted to the clear blue prairie sky as he waited to hop off the slow moving passenger train. Joe checked his gold pocket watch and smiled. "Only 11 hours late, and my ass feels numb!"

Steam filled the air as the squeaking train eased to a stop. It bloomed a glorious late spring afternoon in 1903 as an 18 year old Joe stepped off the puffing and hissing train at an action packed rail station in the tiny town of Ituna, Saskatchewan in the heart of the Canadian prairies. He rode the uncomfortable train for days on end. Starting out in Montreal, Quebec after he departed the boat which steamed over from Europe, Joe rolled across Canada on an uncomfortable, smelly over-crowded passenger train.

The travel worn Joe departed the train wearing his only dirty set of clothes, tattered canvass bag in one hand and a mega smile on his dusty face. He gazed upon dozens of welcoming folks lining the platform. Except, not one of those folks were there to meet the Polish immigrant.

Right behind Joe, hovered Anna Boyko, a 17 year old girl with large calculating blue eyes, ready to step off the train. Anna traveled with her family, who also waited to depart the train at Ituna, eager to take over their awaiting homestead.

Joe dropped his tattered bag, turning to the plain looking girl. He winked and said in a grand manner, "My Lady!" Dramatically, he grasped her ring laden hand, assisting the well-rounded Ukrainian immigrant off the train. Her protective parents watched the young folks with weary eyes.

The train conductor began chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Boyko, leaving Joe and Anna to say a moving good-bye. Joe continued to hold her hand even once she was secured safely on the newly constructed train station platform.

"Thank you Joe!" She batted her eyelashes and flashed a coy smile. The girl with the host of bracelets on both wrists wanted to let Joe know that she appreciated and approved of him. "Even though, you're beneath me on the social ladder, you're quite the gentlemen at times."

"And Anna, you're such a charming traveling companion!" Although, her none stop boasting, whining, pouting, and the tons of cheap clattering and clanking jewelry she wore; irritated him to no end. But Joe grinned as he thought of the positive side to her company. "And thank you for sharing your food on the train. You helped me out greatly, after I'd that misfortune in Montreal."

"My pleasure Joe," the short blonde gushed as her multiple tin earrings played a squawking tune.

Joe released the girl's hand, executing a theatrical bow and stepped off the train platform. He kissed the ground. The act sparked a cheer from the waiting crowd . "I love you Canada!"

"What are you doing?" Anna inquired as she rushed to his side, clutching his arm.

"My dear Anna, I'm giving thanks for a new lease on life."

She sniggered. "Oh Joe! You still need so much refining."

He ingratiated Anna with his signature winning smile. "And I'm so thankful I was able to enjoy the rail journey with such a giving Princess."

Anna's chubby cheeks reddened a fraction. She attempted an awkward curtsy. "My pleasure!"

"Such a delightful pleasure." Joe clasped her hand again and squeezed it, along with flashing another knowing wink. "An unforgettable pleasure. Especially, our stolen moments in the baggage car."

"Oh Joe!" Anna shrilled in her piercing voice which was a similar sound to her high pitched jewellery. She slapped his arm, and blushed the darkest shade of red. "Will, will I see you again?"

Joe repeated his courtly bow. "My dear, who knows when our paths will cross again."

"But Joe!"

"We won't say good-bye. We'll merely say until we connect again." Joe kissed her hand with flare, initiating sighs from some of the ladies in the crowd.

Anna whispered, "But what if I am?"

Joe was saved from answering, when the girl's protective heavyset father, Mr. Boyko, stomped over to the couple. He seized his daughter's arm, sneering at Joe. "Come along Anna."

"And goodbye to you and your wonderful wife, Mrs. Boyko," said Joe as he went to shake the man's hand.

Mr. Boyko brushed Joe's hand away, shaking his sizeable fist at him. "Good we'll never lay eyes on scum like you again." He scowled back at Joe as the family walked away. "You can do better than that Galician trash!"

"For sure," Joe agreed with Mr. Boyko's statement as he watched the family leave. He inhaled the fresh spring air. Joe puffed up his chest, preceding to the Main Street of the bustling rail town. Ituna sat on the main line of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway. At the time the newly built railway ended in Ituna. It was a major rail station and construction hub for now. For there were still hundreds of miles to build in the Canadian northlands.

Joe's intelligent brown eyes observed the horses, wagons, piles of lumber and rail ties littering the rail yard. With his beat up bag in hand, he navigated his way among all the chaos of a boomtown, heading down the bustling dirt street. He spotted a general store, blacksmith's shop, cafe, barber shop, butcher shop and oh yes, a bar.

An overweight young man about Joe's height holding a whiskey jug, rammed into him. The drunken man slurred, "Out of my way you stupid immigrant."

"Sorry," replied Joe, attempting to move on.

"Stupid peasant!" The drunk spat at Joe. "You say sorry sir when you're speaking to Fredrick Romanow."

"And why would I do that?"

Fredrick poked Joe in the chest with force. "There's two names that rule the town of Ituna. Ivanov." Fredrick tapped his own chest. "And Romanow."

"Really!" Joe levelled a cocky grin at the man. "Screw you! Sir Asshole Romanow!"

TWO

As Joe walked away from a stunned Fredrick, Joe glanced up at the beaten up old sign that read, Ituna Hotel and Bar. The ramshackle building displayed two battered doors, one for the hotel, one for the bar. In spite of Joe's solid education and upbringing, he loved to gravitate to the exciting side of life. So, he made a v-line for the drinking establishment. He shoved open the creaky wooden door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He eased in a foot. The stench of the reeking bar halted his progress. He smelled a putrid combination of whiskey, urine, vomit, smoke and sweat of the rail workers. He noticed the grime and dirt covering everything. It reminded him of the Krakow dives back in Poland that he often frequented.

A sharp eyed Joe noticed the only bright light in the dump. A flaming red-haired Scottish lass named Gracie McDonald. She broke with the convention of the day, wearing tight fitting pants. She radiated a warm energetic aura. Except, the tall 18 year old Gracie wore a nasty black eye ruining her lively fresh face. Joe thought this gal possessed real spunk inside, but her spirit seemed to be weighed down.

"Get in or get out, but shut the fucking door!" Mike Ivanov bellowed. "Stupid immigrant!" A roar of laughter went up from three tables of muscle bound rail workers.

The lean and wiry Joe shut the door. He shuffled up to a makeshift bar. It was a crooked board set on a couple of old wooden barrels. Standing behind that sorry excuse for a bar stood a heavily built, six foot two inch Mike, owner of this hotel and bar, and the second citizen that rudely welcomed Joe to Ituna.

"Good day sir," said Joe in a cheery tone with his Polish accent oozing out. "Where could I go to find work?"

The dark featured handsome Mike puffed on a cigar. His shifty eyes took a moment to study the new arrival. "You're a fucking Galician!"

"Yes, my family comes from the beautiful area of Galicia in Poland."

Even though Galicia had been dissolved as a country in 1885, Joe and his family stayed loyal to the concept of an independent Galicia. Joe's father and uncles fought in that 1885 war. They all had visions , like many others in that region, of returning Galicia to glory as an independent country in Europe one day.

"Fucking loser Galician!" Mike waved his cigar in the air, spitting in Joe's direction. "Us Russians want that dirty hole called Galicia for ourselves to shit in." The patrons in the bar roar at his remark. "Boys, this Galician needs a drink." The brawny bar owner, tossed his cigar in a dinted old tobacco can he used for an ashtray. He picked up a filthy dipper, filling it with slimy water from a pail of stinking sludge. "Get the fuck out of here." The big Russian, wearing his signature beaver hat, threw the water in Joe's face. Another roar erupted from the barroom.

Joe wiped his face with his sleeve. "Not a real friendly town."

"I run this town," Mike growled as he jabbed a finger in Joe's chest. "And you're not fucking welcome here!" His huge hand then slapped a nearby Gracie on her ass. She cowered, lowered her head and teared up. He snapped his fingers, letting out a mirthless laugh. "Clean it up slut," he pointed at an empty table piled with glasses. "And wiggle more for the boys." He clamped his grimy hand around her mouth. "And shut your fucking yap when the boys grab your ass!" Mike guffawed, which was followed by a lewd chuckles from the rough crowd.

The five foot nine inch Joe smiled, stroking his fledgling moustache. "Okay." He moved to leave. But the athletic Joe stepped toward Mike, wound up and punched him square in the nose. It knocked the 26 year old bar owner flat on his ass with his beaver hat flying into that pail of slop water. "Learn how to treat a lady!"

"Get him boys," Mike ordered.

The crowd held a few Mike lovers. Four of them rush Joe. He rolled his shoulders, raised his fists, preparing for the onslaught. "Come and get it!"

A fierce struggle unfolded. Joe held his own, sending two of the rail gang down with a well place punch combination and a beer bottle smashed to the head. Even though, Joe honed his excellent scrapping skills in the rough streets of Krakow, possessing an unusually powerful right cross, he was no match. Soon the kicks and punches from the remaining rail workers took their toll. Two of the rail boys held Joe while a bloody nosed Mike rose. With his tattoo of a bear snarling similar to the Russian, he delivered a few hard shots to Joe's stomach. Mike walked over to his tin can ashtray. He retrieved his lit cigar. He approached a helpless Joe with the clear intent of leaving a burn mark. As Mike approached Joe, the Polish immigrant fought like a mad man to escape the railmen's solid hold.

Mike snarled as he held the cigar near Joe's eye. "Remember this Galician!"

Joe delivered a hard knee to Mike's groin. It dropped the pig headed bully like a sack of rotten potatoes. "Remember that asshole!" Joe shouted.

The final two railmen were joined by a couple more work buddies. They pounded Joe to a pulp. When the rail workers were done, they threw the newly arrived Polish immigrant out on the street, bloody and bruised.

Joe's old bag was hurled out the door by a giant of a man, smacking him on the head. "And Galician! Don't be asking for work at the railway." The Railway Foreman enjoyed a deep laugh. "Cause I does the hiring."

Spying the bloody man from the door of the hotel was a 13 year old sympathetic girl. She scurried out the door with a wet rag in hand, concern flooding her beautiful teenage features. "Oh my Lord!" The dark-haired angel knelt next to joe. "Are you okay?"

"No!" Joe spat out blood. "But I didn't hear any of my bones snap in there." He winced in pain. "So, I'll be fine."

The good Samaritan wiped blood from Joe's face as he moaned. He attempted to rise off the dirt street. She pushed him back down. "Stay put! You are a fool!"

"For sure." He peeked at her with his one open eye. "My name is Joe Kaminsky. What's yours?"

"Caroline Gomulka." She touched a welt on his head. He flinched. Caroline shook her head in disgust. "You shouldn't be fighting."

"But Mike and those guys are assholes."

Horrified, Caroline pressed her hands to her cheeks in shock. "Watch your language Joseph."

"You must have heard worse," Joe said.

"Of course, but I am a devoted Catholic. I hate that kind of devil's talk."

"Yet Caroline, and I love that name, you work in a bar?"

"My parents and I just immigrated from Poland. My mother and I got work in the hotel. I never step foot in that devil's den."

Joe felt for his pocket watch. He breathed a sigh of relief when he touched the family heirloom. He attempted to sit up. This time he managed to rise to his feet. "Devil's den, never heard it called that before."

"Well, it is!" Caroline wagged her slender finger at Joe. "And you'd be wise to stay as far away from that evil room as possible."

"You're young Caroline, but already a real looker. Wow!" Joe ingratiated her with a crooked pained smile. "Someday soon, you'll be the prettiest woman in this country."

She flushed, becoming flustered, her naturally smouldering eyes looked down. Joe could tell no one had ever been this upfront with her. So, he ensured he was the first. For there would be many more to come as she blossomed.

Joe carried on, "But I certainly will not stay away from the part of this hotel where you work."

Caroline continued to gaze downward, fidgeting with her hands. "You shouldn't talk like that Joseph. You need to find a church."

Joe took her hand. "That's one place I'll never be found my dear."

"But you must!" Caroline grew more nervous as Joe held her hand, pressing her full lips together. Finally, she pulled her hand away. Although, she rather enjoyed the man's touch and the man's good looks. She scolded herself for that first-ever thought. She'd head to church and pray for forgiveness.

"Me and God have an understanding. I'll stay out of his business, he stays out of mine."

Carolyn sucked in her breath, about to lecture the new arrival. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek with the oat flawless glowing skin, catching the young lady off guard. "You got plenty of spunk. I love that!" He gazed deep into her dark eyes. "Now, you're a little young, and I've got a fortune to make. But promise me. You'll not give your heart away."

Joe picked Caroline up and twirled her. She slapped him and fought to free herself from his grip. He planted another kiss on her rosy cheek. "Cause Caroline my dear, you are going to be my wife one day!"

THREE

Joe scooped up his bag, chuckled cockily, strolling off with a nasty limp in his step. In spite of his show of confidence, he'd no idea where he was so self-assuredly limping. Although deep down, Joe believed he was a lucky guy. It was time to put that belief to the test. So, he eyed the various establishments along the Main Street, selecting the one he most needed to enter.

The bells rung above the solid oak front door as Joe entered the town's only General store. Joe had no intention of purchasing anything. But he spotted the tiny sign in the window that spelled out — Dominion Land Office. He took a tentative step towards a smoothly polished oak counter with a small statured elderly man standing behind it, leaning over a list.

Joe cleared his throat. "Excuse me sir."

The little man wearing oversized wire rimmed spectacles peeked up, studying the bruised young man. "What can I help you with?"

Joe shuffled forward, scratching his head. "Is this where I make my claim on my homestead?"

"Sure is kid," the sixty year old Sol Goldstein said as he stood up straight, fixing his eyes on Joe's ripped clothing. "Did you fill out an application?"

"For sure. Did it back in Poland when I signed up."

"What's your name kid?"

"Joe Kaminsky!"

"Welcome to Ituna Joe, I'm Sol Goldstein." He pulled out a cumbersome official looking book, began flipping pages. "Aha! Right here. We need to fill out another form. And do you have ten dollars?"

Joe whipped out his cash, counted out ten one dollar bills and handed them over. "That's all I got!"

"Not all you got kid, cause that's a pretty nice watch chain hanging there. If the watch in your pocket is as nice. That's worth a pretty penny." Sol snatched up the money. "But this will do." Sol filled out a form, sliding it to Joe. "Just sign this paper. You'll have a quarter section of land, 160 acres of prime soil to work."

Joe laid down a fancy signature, sparking a chuckle from the store owner. Sol unrolled a well used map, showing the young immigrant where his quarter section sat. " Right here across from Mr. Boyko. The family was just in here securing their property."

"Shit!"

"And of course, you must follow homestead regulations. If you do, you'll own that homestead in three years."

Joe raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Regulations!"

"In Canada it is called proving up the homestead. That means items like in the first year you must break and prepare for planting five acres of land. Also, after year two you must have a home built on the property. And plant at least five acres of crop, as well as break and prepare for planting at least 10 additional acres."

"I'll do it," said Joe, back to his confident attitude.

Sol stroked his long white beard while studying him. "You will, cause you got chutzpah."

Joe wiped his brow. "Spunk won't be enough. I need money. Do you know of anyone hiring?"

"Best place to get a job is with the railway."

Joe dropped his eyes. "Railway won't hire me! I closed that door over at the bar."

"So, you met their rail fists." Sol chuckled at his words. "They're a tough crowd. Well, kid, what can you do?"

"Have a good amount of schooling? Lots of chemistry knowledge. But nothing that might help out here. I can play this." Joe dug out a small accordion from his bag.

"Not much need for that round here. Can you carpenter? Lots of buildings going up, even looking to build a leather goods factory in town."

"Can't build worth a shit! But I can work on a farm."

"Hmm!" Sol thought for a moment as he fiddled with his own battered and inaccurate pocket watch. "There may be a little work."

"And with my knowledge of chemicals and with lots of experience, I make the best dam whisky you've ever tasted."

Sol adjusted his spectacles, then slapped the counter. "Now you're talking kid."

Early that night Joe wrapped himself in a heavy patched blanket that Sol sold him. He curl up against the side of the blacksmith shop which retained some of its heat from the busy day. Certainly, it retained much of the distinct nose-curdling smells of the day. He twisted and turned, finally, finding a tolerable position.

Joe gazed at the stars, attempting to fall asleep. Except sleep didn't come. He was dog tired, yet his mind raced. He shivered. He took a bite from a ring of Polish sausage Sol had sold him. Joe groaned as he thought about how he exchanged his valuable gold pocket watch to Sol for a few items, a credit in the Ituna General Store and five dollars cash. He shook his head in regret. He wished he never gambled away his money back in Montreal. He worked his ass off over in Poland to scrape that money together, and he pissed it away in one poker hand.

"Hey, Galician," sounded from a deep voice from the street. "Can see your sorry ass hiding there." The speaker then began to sing a few lines of a lively Irish tune.

Joe moaned. "Shit!" Joe sucked in a breath, preparing himself for another battle. Except, he hadn't healed from the pounding he received earlier today. He slipped a 1891 original Swiss Army knife from a leather sheath he wore under his shirt, hidden high on his back. The engraved knife was the other present his father gave him when he began this trip. There was no way he was trading that gift the way he swapped the pocket watch.

"Don't worry Joe, me boy," sung out from the Irish accent. "Not hunting trouble. Sol Goldstein filled me in. Me name is Danny O'Reilly, thought I'd check on you."

"Thank goodness." Joe sprung to his feet, made his way to meet the stranger. Joe offered his hand. "So glad to meet you, Danny O'Reilly."

The big eared Danny clasped the bruised faced immigrant's hand. "Heard me workmates gave you quite the going over."

"Sure did!" As Joe shook the man's callused hand, he realized the incredible strength it held.

"Also heard you gave as good as you got." The broad-shouldered six foot three Danny chuckled. "There'll be some pretty busted up lads showing up for work tomorrow."

"So you work at."

"I'm a railman." Danny flexed his bulging muscles. "But don't be holding that against me."

"Not a chance!" Joe sized up Danny. He wore wide green suspenders and a tiny green bowler hat. Joe thought this strapping Irishmen with his goofy grin was made of good stock. Not what folks would call good looking, and the battle scars on his face didn't help.

"Good!"Danny said. "Well, I figure you're a sound fellow. Sol sure thinks so." Danny punch the air with a well executed combination. "Use to be called Dukes O'Reilly. Anyway, if you can stand me off key singing, Sol thought I could come in handy with your new business."

FOUR

Half an hour later, Joe and Danny headed for the other drinking establishment in Ituna called Nicole's Place. An old dilapidated two-story building which enjoyed better days. As the two talked and laughed on the walk to this bar, they were becoming fast friends. Something that surprised Joe. For back in Poland, he was more guarded and cautious about his friendships.

In spite of the bar's outward appearance, Nicole's Place displayed a glimmering mirror which ran behind the entire length of a finely crafted bar. It supported clean glasses, solid wooden tables and chairs with one fancy cloth covered poker table. The entire place was well lit and spotless. Unlike Mike Ivanov's bar, it didn't smell as if it were a pig barn.

The owner of Nicole's Place was the mysterious and exotic Nicole LaForge. She opened recently on the outskirts of town. The controversial establishment sparked much scandal and numerous complaints from the fine citizens of Ituna. For Nicole not only served whiskey, allowed gambling, and most troublesome, had a couple of girls working their asses off upstairs each night, pleasing many of the men for miles around. This pissed off every spiritual leader and bible toter in Ituna. Except of course, when some of those hypocrites slithered over in the wee hours to satisfy their urges.

Joe and Danny grabbed a table, ordering a whiskey. Joe asked for ice with his whiskey. That's the way he preferred to drink it, with just a bit of ice. Nicole rolled her eyes at the request, but obliged the young man with the good looks, even with his large nose, and an intense burning fire in his eyes. This cocky young pup, definitely stirred something primeval in her which she'd not felt for ages.

At the poker table next to Joe and Danny, a game of cards rolled on. Four foul smelling men were draining a whiskey bottle like thirsty pigs, but with poorer manners then those pigs. The unsavoury characters played a spirited game while waiting for their turn upstairs. Danny and Joe learned from the talkative toughs at the table that they were drifters passing through on their way to the gold fields in Alaska.

Nicole tapped one of the men on the shoulder, letting him know it was his turn for some fun. As another man descended the stairs, smiling in satisfaction, letting out a massive fart, doing up his pants, heading out the front door.

Joe eyed the inviting pot. "Not much of a card player, but, but I'd like to learn." He pulled out his few dollars with trembling fingers, asking in an uncertain tone, "May I, ah, sit in on your friendly game?"

The three remaining players salivated like rabid dogs at the easy mark. One of them pointed to a chair. The game commenced. The three were most likely playing for fun, but Joe was playing for his future.

Joe bungled and fumbled his way threw the first few hands. One hour later with a smiling Danny there to witness his new chum's skill, Joe made a bundle. Anyone could see Joe set the drifters up.

"You fucking cheated," grumbled the largest of the empty pocket gamblers, pointing a dirty finger at Joe. "My name's Leo. I wanna let you know the name of the man who's gonna kill you."

"I watched every hand," Nicole stated. "Leo, he never cheated. Simply taught you a lesson."

"Fuck you!" A raging Leo wound up to take a swing.

A quick moving Danny reached over, grasping Leo's arm before he struck Joe. "Not a good move mate. Just leave quietly. And be on your marry way."

With his one free hand Leo attempted to punch Danny. A smooth block by the huge Irishman, followed by Leo being placed in a vicelike headlock. Leo was escorted roughly out the front door, culminating in Danny delivering a monster kick in the ass to the swearing man.

Danny returned to the table. The remaining drifters glared death at Joe. The small wiry drifter said with a hostile tone, "You're one fucking lucky kid!"

"Luck is believing you are lucky," informed Danny. "An old Irish saying."

The small drifter hissed as he pulled out a skinning knife. "Kid, your luck's about to run dry."

An ever alert Joe slipped out his Swiss Army knife lightening fast. Both bug eyed drifters stared back in surprise. Joe flipped the gleaming blade in the air, catching it with one hand, while stroking his moustache with the other.

Joe shook his head. "You don't want to, knives are my weapon of choice." He chuckled with a malicious overtone. "And there'll be no luck involved in this bloodbath."

The two saw the skill in Joe's speed, cold eyes and calm. They fled the place grumbling, slamming the door behind them.

Joe let out a relaxing breath. "Thanks Danny!"

Danny smacked Joe on the back, "Hey mate, that was amazing! How much cash?"

Joe rubbed his hands together as a broad grin filled his face. "Enough to buy the materials and supplies to start that business."

Nicole played with her flowing hair and asked in a smokey tone, "Would you two like another?"

Joe eyed the lady with the inviting ruby-red lips, wearing the matching red, tight fitting dress. He admired her voluptuous body, holding up his glass with only an ounce remaining. "This tastes like shit!"

"Damn right!" Danny agreed. "But I'm not drinking at Mike's hole. That bugger stole me Gracie." He shot his whiskey down in one swallow. "This really is shit!"

"What'd you mean Monsieur, its shit?" Nicole asked in her French accent. "You are shit!"

The 24 year old Nicole possessed a unique half French, half Native ancestry. Her father from Quebec, and Crow mother, combined to produce a lady with striking beauty and a sharp mind. Although, she wore clothes with a distinctly French design, she honoured her native heritage by wearing tight fitting thigh-high moccasins which enhanced her overall sex appeal.

"My dear," Joe said in his smooth silky voice. "It is pure crap." He spilled the whiskey on the floor. "Horse piss tastes better then this so called whiskey."

"Swine!" The fiery tempered lady threw a glass at Joe. He ducked, letting the glass smash against the wall.

"Such fire beneath such beauty." Joe smiled and winked. He watched her eyes dilate, showing a hint of sexual interest. For there was definite sexual interest on Joe's part. On top of her extraordinary facial features and curvaceous body, she wore the most hypnotic jasmine scented perfume which only enhanced her overall allure. "Such extraordinary beauty!" He held up his hand, flashing his winning smile. "But, before you toss us out, my buddy and I have a solution to your problem."

The following morning Joe awoke to the sound of a blacksmith's pounding hammer. For last night he made his way back to the side of the blacksmith's shop where he originally chose to sleep. He trembled most of the night, clutching his newly won stash. Was it from the cold, or fear of being robbed? In addition, a nearby neighing horse which serenaded him through the night didn't help his pursuit of sleep.

A tired Joe stretched and proceeded around to the front of the blacksmith shop. "Excuse me!" Joe said to the sweating blacksmith. "I need to purchase a horse. What can I get for twenty dollars?"

"Fuck all," answered the gigantic blacksmith with thick biceps and thick bushy eyebrows. "My handle's Paul. What the hell's yours?"

"Joe Kaminsky."

"Well, Joe, I might have a stubborn old ox for that much."

"How about throwing in a wagon and harness?"

Paul's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. "You got guts. But no chance!" He swung his humongous hammer, scaring Joe with the loud clang.

Joe licked his lips, glancing around, speaking softly, "How about if I give you ten jugs of my first batch of the finest home made whiskey you've ever tasted?"

FIVE

One hour later Joe rolled up to the Ituna General Store with a slow moving ox, worn jingling harness and a battered old farm wagon. Sol walked out to meet Joe, raising his hand in greeting, wearing a huge smile. "Your fortunes turned over night."

Joe leaped off the wagon seat. "With a turn of a card. Now I plan to use up that credit, and I stumbled into some extra cash."

Within the hour, Joe had the oversized farm wagon loaded. He purchased food, dishes, tools, clothes, boots, seeds, lanterns, and the list went on. Also, he purchased supplies that would assist with his new business.

Joe shook Sol's hand warmly before departing. "I've used up my credit, and spent every penny I can."

The store owner fidgeted with his spectacles, getting them back square on his nose. "If you stick to used equipment. And negotiate hard, you've just enough for your last two items."

"Thanks Sol, much appreciated."

The store keeper held up his hands. "Wait! I've a present for you." Sol scampered back in the store, returning in a moment. He carried an old rifle and three boxes of ammunition, handing them to Joe. "For some reason kid, I think your gonna need these."

As Joe got the creaking wagon moving he chewed on another ring of that Polish sausage with its potent garlic flavour. The sausage made him homesick. For it reminded him of his mom's kitchen back in Poland as the warm hearted lady always had plenty on hand. He encouraged the plodding ox to pick up the pace with no luck. He crawled by the blacksmith shop, noticing a disturbance.

Mr. Boyko, supporting finely tailored, new looking coveralls, yelled at the owner. "Paul, that's too fucking much for a plough!"

"That's the price for a brand new John Deere plough," Paul responded. "Take it, or leave it."

Mr. Boyko ranted and roared, threw his hands up in disgust. He began to walk away.

Joe halted the ox and wagon. "What's the problem?"

"Move on Galician," bellowed Mr. Boyko with blood vessels about to erupt. "Mind your own business you lazy dupa."

Joe Chuckled. "I may be an ass. But I'm not lazy. And it's great to see you too, neighbour."

"What the fuck do you mean, neighbour," Mr. Boyko asked.

"My homestead sits right across from yours."

"Fuck! Having a horny dupa like you near by." Mr. Boyko shook his fist at Joe. "You stay away from my Anna."

"Got my word on that!" Joe turned to Paul, "How far apart are you two on the plough?"

"Miles," replied the base toned blacksmith.

"He's being unreasonable!" Mr. Boyko kicked the dirt with his shiny work boots. "Damn unreasonable!"

The nimble Joe hopped off his wagon, slapping Mr. Boyko on the back. "Why don't you and I go half and half on this new plough?"

Mr. Boyko spat in the street. "With a Galician like you?"

"You got a better offer neighbour?"

Mr. Boyko dropped his gaze, ramming his big paws into his coverall pockets. "Damn, I don't have enough to even go half with you." He pulled a fancy multicoloured handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his worried brow.

Joe ushered Paul off to the side for a private chat. Within a couple of minutes, Joe removed cash from his jacket pocket, anding it to the blacksmith. Joe walked by Mr. Boyko and slapped him on the back again, leaping up on the wagon. "Looks like we got a deal. Now go pay your half. We follow a schedule, one week yours, one week mine, no exceptions. You can have the first week, and you bring out the plough."

Mr. Boyko nodded. "Agreed Galician."

"See you soon neighbour." Joe flicked his reins. "Get going! You stupid ox."

An excited Joe headed out of town, anticipating his final stop before he would lay his eyes on his homestead. Sol gave him specific directions. It took Joe only a few miles out of his way. The trip seemed to take forever. The stubborn ox kept its own plodding pace, not altering it for anyone. The squeaking wagon irritated Joe. Until he stopped and greased the wreck.

Finally by early afternoon, he pulled up in front of a lean-to type shelter constructed out of ripped weather-worn canvas and grouting tree branches. A chaotic camp site, fire pit piled with ashes, with garbage and whiskey bottles scattered everywhere, and a horrid stench that Joe smelt a half mile away.

"Woe!" The wagon thudded to a stop. "Anybody home?"

Two identical scruffy young men about Joe's age rose from their disgusting blankets that crawled with flees. The two men grumbled, mumbled, spat, pissed and farted loudly, scaring the nearby birds away.

Joe eased off the wagon, stretching his soar muscles. "I'm Joe Kaminsky. Are you Jimmy and Tommy Cardinal?"

The two longhaired natives wearing lumberjack shirts nodded their heads and scratched themselves. "Got whisky?" Jimmy asked who had a raiser sharp knife strapped to his hip.

"I might, if you sell me your Daddy's whiskey still?"

The older twin by ten minutes, Jimmy, inched forward. "What if we ain't selling?"

"That's fine guys. But from what I hear, your Daddy was the man who made the whiskey. Neither one of you have the magic touch."

Jimmy kicked an old whiskey jug. "Could if we wanted."

"But, do either of you Cardinal boys want to make whiskey?"

Tommy shuffled in his bright orange work boots and mumbled. "Maybe."

Joe shook his head, never seeing that colour boot before. "Don't have time to wait until you decide." He moved to get up on the wagon.

"Wait!" Jimmy yelled. "We don't mind working round the still. But Daddy did the making."

"So you'll sell?"

Jimmy nodded. "Just wanna good price."

Joe walked up to the malnourished twins. He plucked out cash with a flare. "Here it is. Only if the still is in good shape. This is yours if you agree to sell."

"Not enough," said Jimmy.

"Well, no use me even sizing up the still. Seeing how we're not talking the same language." Joe motioned to leave. "Good luck selling it."

"Wait!" Tommy whispered.

Jimmy flicked a flea off his ripped shirt. "On one condition."

Joe sighed. "And what's that?"

"After our daddy died, Tommy and me lost this place. And we ain't welcome at our reservation in Manitoba." Jimmy wilted as he swallowed his pride and inquired with a quiver in his voice, "Can, can we come live with you?"

With the extra large whiskey still piled on top of the load, the three headed for Joe's homestead. The added weight slowed the ox even more. So, the twins walked along side, carrying their few possessions. The only additional clothing they packed was a lumberjack shirt each. Although, one item the Cardinal twins treasured was a picture of their parents. It was wrapped carefully, and handled with care as they trudged along.

The other item they guarded with their life, were a number of large potted plants riding in the wagon. They called them their Mex tabacky. They got the seeds from a traveling salesman, and mastered the art of growing the unusual plants in this cold climate. They both carried a bulging leather pouch filled with the treasured Mex tabacky.

Joe enjoyed getting better acquainted with the Cardinals on this final leg. Certainly, he could now stand to be near them as he insisted they jump in water and scrub if they were to travel with him. Joe realized the twins had more to them then he first thought. Jimmy chattered nonstop while Tommy was a fella with few words. The five foot six twins claimed they could hunt, trap and fish. They joked about their love of playing pranks, promising to play none on Joe.

Jimmy bragged he could build some, run a trapline, and throw a knife as accurate as anyone. Reluctantly, Tommy disclosed he could work a plough, tend a producing garden and tend livestock. Joe hoped they were being straight with him as he didn't want to regret this impulsive decision.

As they crested a hill, Joe gasped. "Shit guys! This is it!"

The Cardinal twins whooped and hollered. Joe broke into a lengthy belly laugh as he never dreamed the final stage of his long journey to his homestead would unfold in this manner. Although, he relished the fact he'd someone to share it with. He stood up with the reins in hand, ox plodding along, pointing to a spot a quarter mile away. "That's where we're building a cabin!"

The location was a high lush meadow surrounded by plenty of protective bush. The meadow overlooked the 160 acres of fertile soil with endless trees which needed to be cleared. Most important, this meadow was located conveniently 50 yards from a sizeable clear water pond. Joe knew he required an endless water supply for his home, livestock, garden and especially his whiskey making.

He plunked back down on the wagon seat, pulling out the accordion from his bag, playing a tune that could be heard for miles around. The twins jigged, while they continued to whoop and holler. They let the world know they felt this was every bit their new home too. While the new immigrant had a sentimental moment, thinking of his dad. He wished he could be here with him, taking in this 160 acre piece of paradise that Joe could have never ever owned back in Poland.

SIX

"Fucking Galician," Mr. Boyko roared as he rumbled over to Joe's camp site one week later with smoking pipe in hand. The Ukrainian immigrant halted when he stared in shock at the progress Joe made around his place. For in one week, Joe and the Cardinal twins erected a make shift dwelling out of logs and canvas. They constructed a stone fireplace which would become one corner of their permanent cabin.

They used their hand tools to plant a garden in a cleared area, built a basic table and chairs, and built a small log corral. A side of deer meat hung from a tree branch, with a large hide drying in the sun. What Mr. Boyko didn't see was a well worn path that ran to an already functioning and well hidden whiskey still.

Mr. Boyko took a puff from his pipe, glaring at Joe. "I'm keeping that plough for longer."

"Wow!" Joe chuckled sarcastically. "You know how to keep your word."

"I need it!" Mr. Boyko took a threatening step towards Joe. "So, I keep it! And I don't need lip from a Galician dupa."

"For sure I'm an ass. And your deal with this ass, was one week for you, one week for me. It is my turn."

Mr. Boyko clinched one large fist, with the other he pointed the lit pipe at Joe. "No!"

"Guess we're gonna settle this the old fashion way," Joe threw off his coat, rolling up his sleeves and stretching.

"I'll break you in half," Mr. Boyko boasted and enjoyed a hardy laugh.

While Mr. Boyko continued to laugh, Joe stroked his moustache as he kicked the big man in the crotch. Mr. Boyko hit the ground. It felt like a small tremor hitting the prairies. He gasped for breath, curling up into a ball. A loud agonizing bellow originated from the man sounding like an enraged bull buffalo. The noise brought the twins racing home from where they were cutting wood a quarter mile away.

Quickly, Joe snatched up the pipe. He put it out, shoving it in the Ukrainian's pocket. "Now, if you ever attempt to pull anything like that again, I won't be so gentle. Do you understand?"

"Fucking dupa!" snapped Mr. Boyko.

"Okay." Joe stepped on Mr. Boyko's hand. "I can break it with one stomp."

The struggling man attempted to free himself, slapped at Joe's leg feebly, but was too weak. "Fucking Galician."

"I'll ask again. Mr. Boyko, do we have an understanding?" Joe applied a bit more pressure on the hand.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to keep your word this time?"

"Yeah, yeah, now stop!"

"And to show I'm a reasonable man, you can keep the plough for two more days." Joe eased off the pressure.

Mr. Boyko massaged his bruised hand. "Fucking Galician!" He moaned, gritting his teeth.

"But only two days."

"And like I said Galician, you better keep clear of my Anna!"

"I gave you my word."

Right then the Cardinal boys burst into the clearing, axes in hand. Joe stepped away from the moaning man. Mr. Boyko sat up slowly. It took him a second to focus in on the twins. He pointed an unsteady finger at the two. "What the fuck are them heathens doing here?"

"They live here," replied Joe. And work with me. Damn hard workers these fellas.

"No Indian gonna be a neighbour of mine

"Don't see you got much choice Mr. Boyko. This is my land."

Joe's neighbour wobbled as he rose to his feet, glaring hate at the twins. "I'm getting the Mounted Police out here." He reached over and grabbed a garden hoe. "They'll be sending them heathens back to their reservation." He shook a threatening hoe at them. "And if they don't, I sure as hell will!"

Four weeks later Anna Boyko crept across to Joe's farmyard to speak with him. She wiggled up to Joe, planting a passionate kiss on his lips. "Oh Joe! I've missed you. Are we alone?"

"The twins are off hunting," Joe replied, inching back.

Anna glanced around, taking stock of the yard. "I can't believe what you've done with the place. Your home's half built. You've a garden, cleared land, and even a well dug."

"For sure, Jimmy said he had the gift to find sweet water, and he did."

"Two weeks ago Papa cut himself bad with an axe. He hasn't done much since." She laid another juicy kiss on Joe and said in a honeyed tone, "My parents are in town, we have time to."

Joe seized her pudgy hands, sizing up the over sized penny ring on each finger. He noticed the green rash on a couple of her fingers from the cheap jewelry. He looked up, studying her blue eyes. "Anna! We can't. I promised your father I'd stay away from you."

She winked, jutting out one hip clumsily and attempted to speak in a suggestive manner. Except, it sounded more like a whine. "But, haven't you missed this?" The stout Anna attempted to strike an enticing pose.

Joe shuffled backwards a couple of steps. "Anna, we can't!"

She blinked in surprise. "How could you not want me? You're so far beneath me."

"Class system means little over here Anna."

Inside Joe enjoyed a chuckle, for on that long trip from Montreal, all Anna could talk about was their place in society back in their small home town in Ukraine. And she promised that one day she'd married somebody of the right class. In her mind, people of social standing displayed their jewelry. And the man she married must supply plenty of that. In her mind Joe should be that man.

She gathered herself for another try at her enticement trap. "Oh silly Joe, are you sure you don't want me?" Anna flashed him a pouty look, undo in the top buttons on her dress.

"Look Anna, I'm sorry. You want something I can't give you."

She moved in, thrusting out her breasts, running her hand over his shoulder. "But we both want." She licked her lips hungrily.

He removed Anna's roving hand. "I am sorry, just not going to work."

"If there's someone else."Anna stomped her foot. "I'll kill her!"

"You and I are just different."

Anna raged, shed tears and mumbled, "My father's right. You're not good enough for me."

"For sure."

"Well, I want to get married right away. Fredrick Romanow asked me to marry him. I think I'm gonna accept."

"Hope Fredrick makes you happy!"

She jabbed him in the chest with a warning finger. "This is your last chance. Otherwise, I'll marry Fredrick on Saturday."

Joe stared deep into her angry blue eyes. "Anna, I wish you and Fredrick all the best."

"You bastard!" Anna shrilled, winding up and cracking Joe across the face with her rings leaving a distinct red mark.

"Perfection!" Joe declared one month later on a warm summer day in 1903. He just sampled their first batch of whiskey, licking his lips, enjoying another sample. "Guys! So smooth!" Eagerly, the Cardinal twins sampled the whiskey as well, giving it their stamp of approval. Savouring a second sample in order to be 100% positive.

All three preceded to fill jugs with the potent juice. In the middle of the night Joe and the twins loaded up the wagon. They greased the wagon in order to limit the squeaking, and headed for town. Fortunately, the nearest North West Mounted Police office sat over 40 miles away, and Ituna boasted of no law enforcement. Except, the young whiskey maker knew he must be careful.

Joe was off to fulfill his commitment to Paul the blacksmith, giving Nicole her large order, slipping Sol at the general store a couple of jugs, and filling the multiple orders which Danny secured from the railway gangs.

The trip into town went off uneventful, not a person to be found. All late night drop-offs went like bootlegging clockwork. All went well, especially after Nicole sampled Joe's liquor. "Please, come back when you are fini," the exotic looking Nicole whispered as she wore her low-cut short red dress which was standard uniform for all the ladies at Nicole's Place.

She ensured Joe would return as she seductively rotated her hips, jutting out her ample cleavage. "A sizeable nose." She tapped Joe on one nostril. "Magnifique for the love." She winked, licked her full moist lips and moaned erotically. "And I will grace you with an added reward." She pinched his ass.

Joe completed the drop-offs on cloud nine, until the final stop at Paul's blacksmith shop. Joe's ever searching eyes noticed two outlines of men, who were watching them passing the jugs to Paul at the side of that blacksmith shop. The over curious watchers stood across the street. They hid in the shadows of the Ituna Hotel and Bar.

Joe pointed with an ever so slight movement. Jimmy and Tommy picked up on the cue. They slithered off away like sly silent night crawlers. The twins were masters of moving anywhere without detection. Joe and Danny continued to chat with Paul as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Five minutes later, two thuds were heard in the night. Joe, Danny and Paul raced over to where the men where hidden. The twins hovered over the two, sizeable rocks in hand, supporting mischievous grins.

"Wouldn't come quietly," explained Jimmy.

"Who are they?" Joe asked.

Danny knelt to take a better look, bowler hat falling to the ground. "Two lazy thugs who got fired from the railway." He scooped up his hat, and took on a serious tone, "I heard around town that Mike hired them as his own personal muscle. And these blokes play real rough!"

A scorching hot day in August of 1903, as Joe and Danny lounged around a table in the nearly completed cabin. The smell of freshly cut wood filtered through the place. All doors and windows gaped open, attempting to let a breeze cool down the overheating cabin.

"Love the monster dog," Danny said as he admired the pure white Siberian Husky filling the doorway.

"Bogan is one smart tough dog."

"Guess the brute is good protection?"

"For sure!" Joe tossed Bogan a treat which the dog caught like a baseball star of the White Stockings of Chicago, who had become the whiskey maker's favourite team to follow in the growing sport he was learning. "Although, Danny, Bogan likes to howl with the coyotes. Keeps me up."

"The pup likes to sing like me!" Danny took a sip of whiskey from his glass. "Pretty damn sweet!" He savoured another sip. "The whiskey, the dog and the cabin."

Joe took a sip of the whiskey. He wished he'd some ice to go with it, but too hot. "Best decision I ever made was those Cardinal twins. Shit, can they work." Joe chuckled. "Except, those two continually hold their farting contests."

"No way!"

"It is a legendary event to watch them load up on baked beans, and go to work." Joe laughed louder. "And the crazy thing they take enormous pride in victory."

Danny teared up as his laughter grew in intensity. "How can you stand it?"

Joe fanned himself. "Make both sleep as far from me as possible on the night of the main event." Both men bent o over enjoying the belly laugh. "But the stupidest thing was the other night, they tried to get Bogan in on their contest. But the dog had too much class for that!"

Danny blurted out with tears rolling down his cheeks. "Bogan would a kicked their ass if he wanted!"

"I think Bogan snubbed the twins cause of their pranks. They continually dig up his bones to confuse the poor dog."

Danny snapped his green suspenders. "And them pranksters tied me pant holders into a million knots."

"I love those two! Even though, they like to get funny on that Mex tabacky they grow. They laugh themselves silly with that smoke. Then eat me out of house and home. But always got my back."

"Loyal mates."

"Speaking of loyal mates!" Joe pulled out a wad of bills, slapping the large bundle of cash in Danny's hand. "And here's your latest cut buddy."

"You're kidding! You just gave me a bundle."

"Yeah, but the way you got the rail gangs buying the stuff. Like we hit a gold mine."

"Just hope this mine don't play out," said Danny. "But I can't believe how me luck changed when three things happened all on the same day."

"What's that?"

"The day I bought me lucky Irish green suspenders and hat. And the day we met."

"Let's hope our luck keeps up cause we're on a roll. The way Nicole takes anything we got. The way Jimmy's got the Big Bear reserve buying a ton cause he's dating the Chief's daughter, and with you working your rail magic. It kind of spreads out the sales. Shit, can't keep up with demand as it is."

"Great problem to have mate." Danny shoved the cash in his pocket.

"And buddy, we couldn't do it without you. And it's only the beginning."

Danny leaned forward in his chair. "I'm saving every cent I get. Someday this bloke hopes to buy into me own bar." His shoulders slumped. "When Gracie and I were engaged, we dreamed of that day together." The Irishman drained his glass. "Then that wanker Mike got hold of her," he kicked of the leg of the table. "The bugger will never marry the lass."

Joe stretched out and slapped his friend on the back. "I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, I still love Gracie. Even though she dumped me one week before our wedding."Danny poured the last drop from the jug. "To the future!" Both men emptied their glasses. "Enough serious shit, want to hear some gossip?"

"Give it to me."

"Well, Joe, big mouth Fredrick Romanow claims he's already got his Anna knocked up."

Joe choked as he was about to in hail a huge swallow of whisky.

"Yeah, that lazy Fredric can't stop crowing about what a man he is," Danny continued. "The rubbish spends a ton of time at Mike's bar. Does he do anything over their at the Boyko place, now that he and Anna are living there?"

"Not a thing. Although, he does sit up that big hill, picking his nose, watching the three of us work our ass off."

"Do Fredrick, Anna and Mr. Boyko still hate the twins?"

"For sure! But finally stopped calling them filthy names and throwing rocks at them. But only after they got the message."

"What message Joe?"

"Gophers left in Mr. Boyko's coveralls. A mysterious substance slipped on Anna's jewelry, making it stick to her like glue for days. And horse piss in Fredrick's whisky jog."

Danny howled. "Them twins are the best!"

Jimmy burst into the cabin, out of breath. "Tommy and me gotta run." He grabbed his old musket loader, powder horn and bullets. "Police a coming. Mike from the hotel, Fredrick and Boyko with 'em."

SEVEN

Joe ambled towards the Ituna General Store three months later when he spotted Caroline and an elderly gentlemen approaching. She raised a welcoming hand in greeting. He smiled and studied her with admiring eyes. For she was definitely an early bloomer. Caroline had now become a stunningly beautiful young lady with a woman's shapely figure.

Joe waited for them to catch up. He winked and bowed to Caroline who ore a simple royal blue dress. "Good afternoon Miss Caroline, how are you? And may I say, you look positively lovely in my favourite colour."

A sweet sounding giggle erupted from the youthful goddess. "Joseph, you're a funny man." She didn't understand, but once again, this handsome young man stirred something inside her. Something she knew was sinful.

The sour-faced portly man with Caroline asked, "Who's this?"

"Oh Papa! This is Joe Kaminsky." "And Joseph, this is my father."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gomulka." Joe offered his hand for a handshake.

The short Mr. Gomulka sniffed. "I've heard of you from that successful Mike Ivanov." The balding man didn't return the offer of a handshake. "And I'd advise you, Caroline, never to speak to this dirt poor criminal again."

Joe retracted his hand with a blush.

"Papa!"Caroline squared her shoulders. "That was rude."

"Of course, you can't be seen talking to filthy trash like this." Mr. Gomulka gripped her arm pushing Caroline along. "Otherwise, the arrangement I have with Mike Ivanov when you come of age will be in jeopardy."

"Shit!" Joe mumbled to himself. For that night a somber Joe hung out at the end of the bar at Nicole's Place. The negative comment from Caroline's father, Mr. Golmulka, affected Joe. He hated being seen as dirt poor trash. He took pride in what he'd done so far, but he knew he had much more to accomplish. He sighed with a bit of satisfaction as Joe felt his whiskey had a small part in the fact Nicole's place was packed. Standing room only, not a chair to be found. For Mike's customers were flocking to Nicole's now as Joe's smooth whiskey was a mega hit.

Danny strolled over and asked in a hushed tone, "Hey mate, have you had any more visits?"

"Just that once," Joe replied quietly.

Lucky Jimmy and Tommy had time to clear out.

Mr. Boyko fumed when the Police couldn't find any sign of either twin. Although, they came within 30 feet when searching for the whiskey still. Those Cardinal twins knew how to camouflage. Mike went crazy when no sign of a whiskey still could be found. Fortunately, the Police were there to restrain him as a battle would have broke out right there.

Unfortunately, Mike's two thugs had spotted Joe handing the jugs to Paul that delivery night. And they also recalled who knocked them out with rocks, as those duplicate lumberjack shirts gave the Cardinal twins away, along with Tommy's orange work boots. So, the Mounties were determined to catch the twins, and locate a working still. Except, the Mounties required much more credible evidence then the word of a couple of unscrupulous thugs to nail anyone.

Joe got lucky, and knew it. "I need to move the operation."

"Where mate?"

"A long way from my homestead." Joe took a shot of whiskey on ice. "Ah, this is good! But I'm not going to get lucky twice."

The evening unfolded without event until midnight when a chair opened up at the gambling table. Joe had observed the table with a gambler's eye all night. Betting patterns and tendencies were well understood. He felt it was time to strike.

"Watch my back," Joe muttered to Danny. "It could get interesting."

"You got it," said Danny as he slipped off to find a more convenient location.

Joe sat in on the game, within no time he was up a decent amount. The cards were with him tonight. He was in twice this month. He'd lost a bundle each time. But the skill of these gamblers tonight weren't of the calibre playing those particular evenings.

By three in the morning, only Joe and a farmer remained at the table. The short hawk-faced farmer owned a number of quarters of land a few miles south of town. He swilled plenty of whisky throughout the night, won consistently and his courage ran high.

"Do you want to call it a night," Joe asked.

The farmer, wearing a grimy vest with no shirt underneath, yelled out for all to hear, "Are you fucking scared Galician?" Only the quiet clinking of glasses could be heard in the bar as the room sensed the tension. He sucked back another mega shot of whiskey, supporting a smug look on his poxed mug. "I hear you're scared of a lot of things."

"What'd you mean?"

"Big Mike at the hotel told me chicken Joe never come back since he whipped your ass." The farmer cackled as he slapped his knee. "Chicken Joe is what Mike calls you." The farmer began making the sound of a clucking chicken.

Joe gripped the arm of his chair to settle himself down. "So, let's play on. But let's stop pissing around."

"What'd you mean Galician? Or is that chicken Joe?"

"Let's up the stakes. See who is chicken."

A total silence fell over the place. The farmer thought for a long minute. He grinned. "Okay Galician. I can't wait to tell Mike that I whipped chicken Joe in cards like he whipped you in a fight."

"So, what'll it be?" Joe asked. "One hand takes all. Bet an ox, twenty dollars, or something big like that."

"You is a chicken." The farmer slammed down the remainder of his glass of whiskey. He announced in his rough tone, "You is playing with a real man! Try again."

"Well, let me think." Joe filled the man's glass.

The overconfident farmer pounded down the full glass. He hammered it on the table, rattling the whiskey bottle. That bottle hit the floor, sending shattered glass in every direction. "Someone fucking clean that up! And give me another bottle."

Nicole clenched her fist. "Oui, Monsieur Swine." She handed Joe a fresh whiskey bottle, taking money out of the farmer's pile. She began sweeping up the mess, cursing the farmer in French. Joe filled up the man's glass one more time. Joe let his pounding heart slow down before he jumped in the deep end. "How about we bet a quarter section of land? One hand, one draw, nothing wild."

The farmer sputtered, "I, I don't have a deed on me."

"Neither do I, but there has to be a way." Joe grinned. "Unless your chicken?"

A quiet chuckle rose up from the few remaining folks. The farmer turned many shades of scarlet. He looked around for help. "Too bad I don't have a deed Galician, or you'd be in some kinda trouble."

Nicole eased closer to the table. "Not a problem. If you gentlemen sign a paper with the correct wording, and we obtain proper witnesses, as good as gold."

"I'm in," said Joe, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

A long silence unfolded. The farmer broke out into a sweat, mopping his brow with the back of his hand. "Ah, well, okay."

"Might I ask for a volunteer to deal the hand," Joe asked the crowd? "To ensure it is on the up and up."

A smartly dressed gent, who sat in the corner, stood. "Let me volunteer. I used to deal on occasion back inChicago."

The documents sighting a quarter of land for Joe and the farmer were drawn up, and signed by the appropriate individuals. The dealer assumed his position. The five cards were dealt to both players.

The farmer only asked for one card, grinning from ear to ear. Joe took three cards, causing the farmer to chuckle and snort. "Feeling the heat chicken Galician?" The farmer cackled at his new handle for Joe.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table drawing out the moment. "How'd you like to make it even more interesting?" Joe inquired.

"What'd you mean chicken Galician?"

"Let's say, you put in that big horse of yours standing outside, and I'll throw in my ox and wagon."

The farmer grabbed the bottle on the table and took a long pull. "Done! May as well clean you out."

Joe maintained his straight face. "Now show your cards."

"Let this be a lesson to you chicken Galician or chicken Joe, either way, you're a loser." Two aces and two kings were slammed down on the table. The farmer stood, wobbled and grabbed for the documents from the centre of the table.

"And I think you better work on your story for Mike." Joe laid three jacks on the table. "A chicken or loser don't fit my name tonight."

Within two days Joe and the Cardinal brothers transferred the whisky making operation to the newly acquired quarter section of land south of Ituna. The quality of land Joe won was suspect. Although, its extensive bush, ample water, and poor access made it the perfect location for a high producing still. One bonus was a dilapidated log cabin with a functioning well nearby.

In one week they made it livable. Holes were filled, mice chased out, and pains of glass installed. The cabin sat ready to protect any occupants from the upcoming prairie winter. A wood stove pumped heat, basic furniture set up, plenty of food and supplies in place, and a crewed corral and lean-to erected for the draft horse Joe also won in the poker game. The ambitious young Polish immigrant also purchased a solid wagon to be used for deliveries of whiskey out of this location. Finally, the whiskey still was set up and operational.

Jimmy was ready to make this place his new home. He transported the picture of his parents, hanging it with pride for all to admire. Along with half of the Mex tabacky plants. Joe would travel back and forth between the two farms as required, while Tommy would spend the majority of his time on the original north homestead. Clearing land, planting and tending livestock had become his main focus and passion.

Now as far as Jimmy, his passion was the whisky business. He turned out to be an excellent seller and distributor of the smooth potent juice. One other advantage of this south location was its proximity to three large native reservations. The reservations sat within 20 miles with plenty of back roads for Jimmy to transport the liquor. Also, the womanizing Jimmy had girlfriends scattered along his stops, making his deliveries more enjoyable.

While setting up the new whiskey operation, Joe journeyed into Ituna on two occasions for supplies. On one of the trips, he met Caroline on the street. She was unescorted, no Mr. Gomulka in sight to get in the way. "You look more beautiful each time I set eyes on you," the silvery tongued Joe said.

Caroline smoothed down the front of her long skirt, appearing flustered by the forbidden Joe. "Thank you." She glanced about nervously. " I'm not supposed to be talking to you." Except, the last thing she wanted was for him to move on. She studied his frame, liking the cut of his cloth, liking and disliking the thoughts and emotions surfacing inside her.

He let fly with his mischievous wink, on top of that never failing smile. "But do you want to talk to me?"

Slowly, she brushed her silky soft hair back, gazing directly into the roguish Joe's eyes. "Hmm. Yes!" She blushed at saying that. But she found Joe better looking and more interesting each time she ran into him. She'd never admit that to anyone.

"And I definitely feel the same." Joe tapped his anxious fingers against his thigh. "But I must know. Has your father promised you to Mike Ivanov?"

"That's his plan."

"Is it yours?"

Unconsciously, she balled up her fists. "I know they're not married. But I've seen how Mike treats Gracie."

Joe frowned. "That man should be."

"Hush Joseph!" She placed her fingers to his lips. "Don't say it. I pray every night that Gracie can be delivered from the hell she lives in."

"Why doesn't Gracie leave?"

"She loves him. Well, maybe not so much now." Caroline sighed with concern. "She's scared of him."

"She should get out! Maybe Danny would."

"She's ashamed of what she did to Danny. Gracie could never go back."

"She might be surprised. Danny still loves her."

Caroline widened her expressive eyes in surprise. "That'd be a shock to Gracie."

"So Caroline, what about you marrying Mike?"

"He's already looking at me in that way." She blushed. "He scares me." Caroline tensed her shoulders, shuffling her feet. "Really scares me." She bit her lip before continuing, "But the priest at our local church and my father insist."

"Caroline, you don't have to."

"I know I could go against my father's wishes." She sniffled. "Except that, if a priest demands it." She clutched her rosary. "Then I must."

"She's hurt bad!" Sol blurted out as Joe stepped into the Ituna General Store.

It'd been one month since Joe ventured into town, and he had his disturbing conversation with Caroline. He required supplies. He craved some news, and wanted some excitement. Therefore, he ventured in, braving the frigid temperatures and falling snow.

"Who?" asked Joe as he brushed off the snow on his toasty warm full-length buffalo coat. It was a present from the Cardinal brothers.

"Nicole was beaten up. Her place busted up as well."

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs with my wife. Go on up."

Joe flung his heavy coat on a chair, racing upstairs, leaping two steps at a time. When he entered the room, he sucked in a breath. A black eyed Nicole wept, curled up on the sofa, rocking herself back and forth as if in a trans. When she realized Joe entered, she turned her face away. Mrs. Goldstein slipped out of the room to give the two some privacy.

"Who did it?" Joe asked with a soothing tone.

A despondent Nicole moved her hair to partially cover her scarred face, taking her time to respond, "Who else? Mike's goons."

"I'll kill them." Joe slammed his fist into his palm.

A crestfallen Nicole wiped her tears, shaking her head. "Look at this." She handed him a note. "Left it with me after the swine smashed up the place."

Joe grabbed it, read the note, looked up and groaned. "Is it true?"

A downcast Nicole nodded her head. "Oui."

Joe slumped his shoulders in defeat, thought for a second. "Okay, I get it!"

"If there's any retaliation, he'll expose moi. Time for me to flee."

"Stay Nicole!" he took her hand. "You can stay."

"I'm ruined!" She scrunched up her face, letting out a painful and bitter laugh. "I've no money to rebuild. And with that note, I can never own property again."

"I've a solution. Nicole LaForge, it is time to team up."

"Oh Joe!" She shed her first tear. "You've been a magnifique friend and lover." Abruptly, Nicole pulled her hand away, grasping at her silver bracelet. "But we'll never never be more."

"Nicole, I'm not talking about marriage."

"Thank you! Then what are you talking about?"

"I've some cash. So does Danny. We can buy Nicole's Place from you right now."Joe held up the note. "Before this news gets out. We'll rebuild. You'll run the bar for a salary and a percentage of the profits."

"Joe, please get serious?"

"I am serious." Joe looked deep into her eyes as his scintillating smile penetrated her soul. "Let's do the sale documents right now." Joe yelled downstairs, "Sol, we need you! And send somebody for Danny O'Reilly."

"No, no Joe!" Nicole shuttered. "They'll come back?"

Joe pumped his fist in the air. "You'll have the best protection for a hundred miles."

"You're crazy!"

"Crazy about half owning a bar run by one smart lady!"

Nicole paused for a minute, slowly raising her head, breaking out in a radiant smile. "Let's do it!"

Joe and Danny put the finishing touches on Nicole's Place on the afternoon of Christmas Eve in 1903. It'd been a hectic time for the two. Winter hit hard, but the two friends with the help of the Cardinal twins, restored the bar to its original state with a few major improvements.

Joe wanted revenge for Mike's actions. Nicole talked him down several times. She'd no success talking down the Cardinal twins. For they treated Nicole like a precious older sister. But they did agree that their undercover pranks would be done without wearing the easily identifiable lumberjack shirts or Tommy's orange boots. So in retaliation, they stole a shipment of alcohol being delivered to Mike's bar, leaving his place dry for three days.

Joe and the group added two extra rooms upstairs for permanent bartender/security guards. They managed to make room for ten more tables by knocking out a wall to an unused storage room. They built an exclusive gambling room at the back with a craps table, roulette wheel and two fancy poker tables. They built a tiny special smoking room where the twin's Mex tabacky could be enjoyed. Finally, they expanded the kitchen, in order to now serve food.

"Are we almost ready?" Joe asked as he moved the new tables in place. "Cause Sol's bringing her any minute?"

"Damn right mate!" Danny lifted a barrel of whiskey in place behind the shiny new bar.

A series of knocks came from the front door. Joe scampered to that door like an excited puppy after his mother's tit. "She's here!" He flung open the door, and ushered in Sol and a blindfolded Nicole into the warm room.

Nicole sniffed the air. "I love the smell of cedar!" She supported a permanent scar running down her cheek which was a result of the attack. "When can I remove it?"

Joe maneuverer around her, undid the blindfold. "Right now!"

As the blindfold tumbled to the floor, Nicole screamed! Then clutched her hands to her face. "The place is beautiful. It feels gigantic." She clapped her hands. "You brought in a piano." She began to cry. "And you set up a massive Christmas tree too. Oh it is so, so magnifique!" The floodgate of tears opened up wide. Nicole hugged Joe and Danny. "Thank you! Thank you! I never dreamed."

They escorted her on a grand tour with nonstop tears spilling out. In her excitement, she pinched Joe's well proportioned bum several times on the tour. They sat Nicole down in a chair at the end of the emotional walk through. They popped a bottle of champaign. All took a glass. Toasts were made to the new and improved Nicole's Place. For there was no way the name would change, even though there were new owners.

"This is the best Christmas ever!" Nicole beamed. "I'm not leaving here tonight. I want to savour this."

Danny propped up his feet up on a chair. "Can't think of a better place to be."

"Me too." Joe sipped his champaign. "The twins are south with the still and a couple of their long lost cousins. So, I'm staying right here where it is warm."

Nicole twirled a lock of her hair with a finger. "I'm glad." She then leaned over, kissing Joe, tapping him on the nose and said in a throaty tone, "You are magnifique!"

"I heard Mike was fit to tie when he heard Nicole's Place was reopening," Danny informed. "And he couldn't stop it by blackmailing Nicole."

"To Sol!" Joe toasted the small man. "Thank you for making that timely deed transfer."

"My pleasure! Great job on the place!" Sol adjusted his glasses, heading for the door. "Got to get back to my wife."

He opened the front door, cold roaring into the room. A panting Caroline raced up, stopping at the door entrance, not entering the devil's den as she called any bar. "Joseph, I heard the men talking at the hotel." Caroline took a moment to compose herself. "They're saying, your homestead place north of town has burnt to the ground."

EIGHT

Upon hearing Caroline's upsetting news on that Christmas Eve, Danny and Joe shared a conspiratorial nod, knowing what needed to be done. Ignoring the pleas from Caroline, Nicole and Sol, the two marched down to Mike's bar. As they approached, Joe and Danny heard drunken singers butchering a christmas carol.

Silence and surprised faces greeted them, as they eased open the bar door and strode inside the wretched joint. For all the talk in the dive that night was the way Mike showed that Galician by having someone torch his cabin, and that chicken boy wouldn't do a thing about it. Joe challenged Mike immediately, one on one. The two agreed, no interference from anyone.

"Boys, watch the blood bath." Mike flexed his muscles. "And a round's on me when I whip this Galician." A cheer went up from his cronies.

A boisterous Mike continued to jeer and taunt Joe, openly admitting he was responsible for the fire. A few tables were set a side. Bets were laid. The two combatants eyed each other as they circled in the makeshift ring. Although, the burley Mike possessed a size and reach advantage, Joe recognized a slim glimmer of fear in the big man. Something he'd seen in the eyes on a few other big men back in Krakow, the instant before he fought them.

Lightening quick, Joe slapped Mike across the face, while he stroked that full moustache. It shocked the giant for the speed and power behind the younger man. "Hear you bragged on how you pounded me in a fair fight once before?" Joe slapped him hard again. This time the crowd gasped with the speed in which the Polish immigrant moved. "You're a liar Mike Ivanov. You'd a gang of your rail boys do that dirty work. You were on the floor pissing blood from my shot to your balls." Joe punched the big man in the face, snapping his head back.

Mike gathered himself, roaring like a crazed beast. He rushed at Joe, attempting to lock him in a deadly bear hug.

No such chance as Joe halted Mike's progress. He drove him with a straight shot to the solar plexus. He sent a couple of quick jabs, setting up a nasty right uppercut under the chin. A blistering shot to Mike's left eye followed right behind.

It was apparent Joe was going to finish Mike off in a hurry. Until one of Mike's thugs slammed a chair into Joe's knee. It brought him down, allowing Mike to leap on top of Joe with fists flying. Danny charged after the thug and made short work of the scum.

Except, Joe absorbed several direct blows from Mike with blood flowing from the whiskey maker's lips, and his tooth flying across the floor. Feebly, Joe attempted to rise. The Russian now held the advantage. For a salivating Mike sat upon Joe, using his weight to full effect. He gripped his hands around Joe's neck. He began a death choke on the smaller man.

Yells from the crowd echoed through the bar, "Kill the Galician!"

Joe went limp for a moment. He used the time to gain a firm grip on Mike's wrists. He took a few relaxing breaths, chasing the pain from his mind. He spat in Mike's face for a diversion. With one massive exertion, he raised his head, butting Mike in the nose. He completed the series by driving his knee upward into Mike's groin. The hotel owners eyes glazed over. It gave Joe the opportunity to scramble to the side.

For thirty-seconds the two men panted in their exhaustion, gasping and licking their wounds. One of Mike's pals yelled, "Its over. Call it a draw."

Joe spat out another tooth. "Fuck that!" He stood up unsteadily with an obvious limp. "Get up you son of a bitch! This is for what you did to my cabin."

Joe gripped Mike by the hair and pulled him to his feet with screams expounding from the Russian. Another one of Mike's muscle bound thugs moved to deliver a punch to Joe, forcing the whiskey maker to relinquish his grip. A whistling Danny levelled the thug, down and out before the scum knew what hit him. But the diversion gave Mike that second he needed to escape to temporary safety.

Mike weaved and staggered, grasping a pole, regaining his balance and sneered. "You fucking piece of Galician trash. I'll finish you for good this time."

To the cheers of his cronies, Mike roared forward. He wound up for a monster haymaker punch. It'd have levelled Joe if it connected.

The young man summoned new found energy, reacting with his usual speed even with one good knee. A duck, and the combination of devastating punches to Mike's face and body unfolded. It flooded the floor with Russian blood as the man staggered backward. Mike should have gone down. But that pole kept him standing, allowing Joe to lead his mark. "These are for what you did to Gracie." Joe drilled Mike in a rhythmic manner with numerous bone crunching blows .

The battered bar owner went limp, half dead, silence filling the room. Mike's pal yelled again, "Enough, clearly it's a draw!"

"Piss off!" Joe grabbed Mike by his blood soaked hair, slipping in close and whispering, "And these are for what your thugs did to Nicole."

Fear flooded Mike's eyes as he stared at Joe's anger. A second passed, Joe flashed a crooked grin. Mike wet his pants for all to see and smell. Joe rammed Mike's face into his rising knee. He did it again. Mike hung there for a second as Joe stepped back. In slow motion, the hotel owner crumpled to the floor like a twisted rag doll, swimming in his own blood and urine, out cold.

Joe brushed his palms together, "Any doubts who won?"

The liquored up patrons confirm the one sided result, bets were settled. Proudly, Danny displayed a huge roll of cash.

The victor staggered over to where Mike stored his cash box for the bar. "You guys figure I got money coming since Mike burnt down my cabin?"

The men in the bar murmured their agreement.

Joe opened the cash box, plucking out a number of bills. Joe carried over a bucket of the filthy water in a pail. He dumped the oozing slop on Mike. He grabbed him by the hair and lifted up his head. "Do you agree to pay me for damages?" Joe shook Mike's head up and down. Mike groaned.

"Looks like Mike agrees." Joe dropped the big Russian's head to the floor with a loud thud. Joe straightened, facing the stunned crowd. He limped over and slapped a couple of large bills on the table, yelling, "Next round's on Mike! Merry Christmas!"

A pleasant sunny day in February of 1904 with tons of fresh snow covering the ground. The brightness made Joe's hung over eyes scream. He over consumed his own brew last night with the Cardinal twins at the South farm. To cure his hangover, Joe decided he needed to do something that allowed him to sit more than work.

Ever since the Christmas Eve fire he lived at the South farm location, focusing on the still operation, and a successful trapline Tommy launched. The re-construction of a cabin at the North homestead farm would occur in the spring.

The fight with Mike gave Joe all the retribution he desired. He wanted this war to end. Except holding back the twins was a challenge, for the two Cardinal brothers carried a long list of get even tactics, and Jimmy in particular was major upset his carpentry skills were burnt to the ground. Joe managed to talk the twins into standing down on the revenge pranks. But not before the brothers had put a dead mouse in the beer keg in Mike's bar, a live skunk in his house, and blew up his outhouse.

As for Mike Ivanov, in anticipation of any further retaliation and to expand his holdings, he increased his gang of goons. He hired thugs to work in his new Ituna lumberyard, frequently using them to provide protection and inflict pain and anguish on anyone standing in his way.

Although, an added retribution toward Mike was that Nicole's Place reopened, and success was an understatement. The rebuilt bar packed them in each night, steeling lucrative business from Mike's scum-invested hole. As well as it drew in new cliental from miles around. The Mex tabacky played a part in the growth. For trips to the special smoking room were a critical part of the experience for many. And food sales skyrocketed, due to visits to that mind-blowing smoking haven.

The one whiskey still couldn't keep up. So, Joe purchased a second whiskey still. This sparked Joe to expand sales. Immediately, bars in neighbouring towns of Yorkton, Melville and Foam Lake placed sizeable orders, claiming almost all the second stills capacity.

His trips to Foam Lake put him in contact with a local farmer named George Babchuk. The two became fine friends. The fun loving George began selling the coveted whiskey for Joe in the region. The two shared a common bond. Both their fathers fought in the Galician army back in 1885, and their fathers remained friends to this day back in Europe.

The Babchuk's were of Ukrainian descent and from eastern Galicia, while Joe's family were Polish, and from western Galicia. Both Joe and George carried a burning passion to see Galicia back as an independent country in eastern Europe. And both men loved to take their whiskey with just a bit of ice. As well, both handsome men enjoyed hitting the local dances, taking the ladies for polka twirls.

Also, Joe hired on another person to help with the two still operation. A friend of the Cardinal brothers, Sonny Belgrade, joined the team along with a new horse and wagon. A big part of the nonstop cigarette smoking and talking Sonny's job was delivery.

The five foot Sonny had a unique way with animals, especially horses. He managed to encourage them to go where few horses would. This enabled him to embark on the most obscure routes without detection, as the wily man knew the backroads of Central Saskatchewan like the back of his hand. The other reason for the hiring was that Joe was determined to ensure at least two people resided at each farmyard from a security perspective. For as much as he wanted it to end, Joe felt the war with Mike may just be heating up.

So Joe decided he needed a day away from the chaos at his whiskey operation. As the constant chattering from Jimmy and Sonny would hammer in his aching hungover head, if he didn't escape. He loaded up the slay, hitching up the horse, and headed out, enjoying the peace. He drove for his original homestead north of Ituna. Joe wanted to ensure there were no more damages.

A quarter mile from his farmyard, he spotted Mr. Boyko chopping down a tree. "Congratulations Mr. Boyko on your granddaughter," Joe hollered as he guided his sleigh right up to where the man was sweating profusely over the half fallen tree. "I hope Anna and the baby are doing well."

Mr. Boyko wore a drawn in look about him. This prairie winter ranked as a cold one. The large man lost weight. "Anna and the baby are getting by." He laboured in making a couple of steps. His limp was pronounced. That axe injury left permanent damage. "Did you see Fredrick in town?"

"I did see Fredrick as I passed through."

Mr. Boyko sighed in disgust. "Was he in the bar?"

Joe looked down, not wanting to snitch on Fredrick. But he owed Mr. Boyko the truth. "That's where I saw him headed."

"That fucking pompous ass is such a weasel!" Mr. Boyko slammed the axe into the tree. "That bum is the laziest dupa I've ever met." He pulled out a polkadot handkerchief, blowing his red nose, beginning a long coughing spell.

"You shouldn't be outside with that cold."

"No choice! Fredrick Romanow's good for nothing. Except for digging for gold up his fucking nose."

"Here, let me cut you some wood." Joe eased the axe out of Mr. Boyko's hand. "You go inside, and if it's okay, I've some presents for the baby."

"Thank you!"

Within thirty minutes Joe hauled a large pile of wood, stacking it at the front door of the Boyko's immaculately built cabin.

Joe knocked lightly on the door. Mr. and Mrs. Boyko welcomed him. Anna and the baby slept in one of the bedrooms. It was some kind of place. Mr. Boyko possessed a carpenters touch, a true craftsmen. Mrs. Boyko had incredible talent in sewing and decorating, a creativity that took Joe's breath away. All the work done with no cash to speak of. Joe shook his head in amazement.

"I won't be long," whispered Joe. Here are a few presents from Danny, the twins and myself. Joe set down an extra large, finely polished, wooden cradle, filled with all sorts of goodies. Everything from food, thick woollen blankets, clothes. "Jimmy built the cradle himself. We weren't real sure what to give a baby. So, we bachelors kinda guessed."

The haggard looking Mrs. Boyko, supporting a dazzling flower-pattern kerchief on her head, said with a lump in her throat, "So very thoughtful!" The one thing about Mrs. Boyko was every time Joe saw her, she wore either a kerchief, bonnet or scarf. They were vibrant, bright, lively and colourful, everything from pastels, polkadots, stripes, rainbows and anything else that one could imagine. And she made handkerchiefs for her husband that were every bit as flashy.

"Oh, I knew Anna loved honey and jam so I threw in a few jars. As well as Tommy made her and the baby matching pairs of fur trimmed moccasins." He held up his hands. "Wait!" Joe slipped out and carried back two beautiful matching fur coats. "Just so the baby and Anna don't get cold." Also, he set down two bolts of cloth, turning to Mrs. Boyko. "Thought you might want to sew the baby some clothes."

She accepted the gifts with her eyes full of tears. "These are all so beautiful. Thank you!"

"And one last thing. I hung a dressed and ready to eat, half side of beef, high up on your big tree out front."

"Oh bless you," gushed Mrs. Boyko.

"Wanted to make sure Anna had plenty of food to well, you know, give the baby a good start."

Mr. Boyko shook Joe's hand. "Thank you." He began to cough again, stepping closer to the wood stove to warm up.

Mrs. Boyko wiped her tears. "And I have something for you." She rummaged around until the seamstress revealed a pair of coveralls identical to the ones her husband wore, only smaller. "Exactly as ordered."

Joe laid one of his winning smiles on his good hearted neighbour. He grasped them, inspecting the with admiration. "Perfect! Thank you. The first day I saw Mr. Boyko wearing them, I thought they were expensive store bought coveralls."

The plump Mrs. Boyko blushed. "Only me!"

"Only the most talented seamstress I've ever seen!" Joe hugged Mrs. Boyko. "Thank you so much." He slipped cash in her pocket, more then she asked. Joe paid her to sew many of his and the twins clothes. He knew they needed the cash.

"Thank you!" She then whispered so her husband wouldn't hear, "His leg will never heal." She held her neighbour for a moment longer. "So sorry about your cabin."

"Have another up in no time?"

"You don't know how many times I wished our granddaughter was yours." She assumed a forlorn look. "But unfortunately, the baby has Fredrick's features."

NINE

"That's it!" Joe yelled as he slammed a nail home in June of 1904.

It was the last nail hammered in the new cabin. With the success of Nicole's Place and the two stills working at maximum capacity, Joe carried cash to hire additional help for the construction of the two bedroom dwelling on his original north homestead. This cabin stood built bigger and better, than his first dwelling that ended up in ashes. The expanded cabin even boasted a hidden fireproof safe in his bedroom which only Joe knew of. Although Joe maintained a small account at the Ituna Bank for appearances. He never trusted banks.

Joe contemplated completing one final task. Except, he decided to wait. He'd leave that task to another day as the talented seamstress, Mrs. Boyko, sewed him some colourful curtains for the new cabin. He'd hang them next week. Also, she left him a heaping full plate of Ukrainian perogies and cabbage rolls, which sat enticing him on the kitchen table.

"Time to christen the place!" shouted Danny who rode out to help Joe for the day. The jovial young Mr. O'Reilly continued on working with the railway, and spent every moment of his spare time at Nicole's Place. Except for today, he wanted to spend time with his best mate.

Danny jabbed Joe in the ribs. "You built a cabin that's ready for a family."

Joe handed his buddy a fork. "For sure. Someday, they'll be kids here."

"So who'll be the lass that brings bachelor Joe to his knees?" Danny began inhaling the food, working his fork like a speeding shovel.

Joe dove into a delicious cabbage roll. "Yum! So good!" He moaned with pleasure as he chewed for a minute. Finally, Joe answered, "That pretty young Caroline Gomulka will be that lady. I hope." He speared a perogy. "And I hope she learns to cook like this. Wow, these are good!"

"That pretty wee lass sure has eyes for you." Danny chuckled with a knowing wink. "Watched her conveniently run into you."

"We've secretly managed to get to know each other, even though we are not supposed to be speaking. And it's mainly cause of Sol and his wife arranging the meetings."

"You fox." Danny pounded his friend on the back. "Hope it works out for you two."

"She's still too young. And we'll need a lot of luck. Caroline sure is loyal to her church. Could be the death of her."

"Gracie used to be the same." Danny grew deadly serious. "Have you heard from Caroline, how me former fiancé is doing?"

Joe pulled out a jug of their finest whisky, no ice handy. He savoured a swig, passing it to his chum. "Danny, not good." Joe encountered a feeling of revulsion merely thinking of Gracie's plight. "Not sure how to tell you, but Gracie's been knocked around pretty good. And pretty regularly. But she's scared to leave."

The Irishman made a fist. "I'll kill the filthy wanker!"

"I've thought of that. Should have done it when I had the chance."

"Gracie was such a bonnie Scottish lass before the asshole got hold of her." Standing, Danny paced like an angry dog, pointing a finger at himself. "And she was this chap's bonnie lass!"

"The evil oozes from those black eyes," Joe said. "And now Mike's Mayor of Ituna. And his influence with the police is even greater."

"Bugger fixed the election!"

"For sure Danny! Thank goodness Nicole's place sits outside town limits. He can't make as much trouble. But he can put pressure on the Mounties. I'll bet he's got them watching us even closer than before."

"I'll kill him!" A boiling over Danny struck the table with force. "Don't care if they string me up."

"Well, Danny boy, I do. I've another idea to get Gracie out. But I need you to swallow your Irish pride."

"Here he is!" Sol announced as Joe waltzed into the Ituna General Store. Joe rode into town to gain Sol's advice on some business matters. He valued the storekeeper's opinion, contributing part of his success to Sol's mentorship and wisdom. Also, Joe enjoyed how many times Sol would reset his oversized spectacles on his nose.

This fall of 1904 was most plentiful from a farming perspective. Joe's crops and garden delivered bounty, 50 more acres cleared, a solid barn erected for his twenty cattle. Tommy and him worked hard that fall. The farming twin with the flashy orange work boots, loved it, honing his agricultural skills.

On the other hand, Joe realized he loved the excitement of the whiskey business, the bar, the gambling and so on. He drove on that fall, knowing that next spring he'd hire another person to work with Tommy on the farm. Joe wanted to concentrate his efforts on his true passions.

Sol continued on, "Told you he'd be here this morning."

Joe scanned around to see who Sol was talking to. "Pete! What the hell are you doing here?"

"Heard ya needed help," Pete Kaminsky said, sticking out a confident chin. "Older cousin decided to come and save Joe's sorry ass."

"Where did you hear I needed help?" Joe eyed his older cousin wearily. He didn't like Pete back in Poland. His view hadn't changed upon seeing the scruffy man again.

Pete looked down at the holes in his shoes. He brushed the dirt off his stained shirt and ripped pants. He chewed on a wad of tobacco. "Well, I knew ya'd need me."

"What are you planning on doing?"

"Joe the snot nose kid!" A skinny Pete stuck out that chin, smiling with his black stained teeth. "Ya need a partner who knows what he's a doing."

Sol jumped in, pointing at Joe, "A kid with lots of chutzpah!"

Joe planted his feet in a firm stance. "A partner like you is one thing I don't need. But there's lots of land. If you want to set up a homestead for yourself, go for it."

"Ain't got ten dollars." A shaggy blonde haired Pete jammed his dirty hands in his pockets. "Nor the coins to get goin."

"Guess you'll have to work."

"Ah Joe," Pete whined as he spat out his chewing tobacco on the floor. "Can't ya cut me in on your action? Cause were kin and all?"

"First off, don't be spitting that shit in here." Joe ground his teeth. His nostrils flared as he thought of the trouble this cousin caused him back in Poland. "You and me, were never close."

"But the man ya called Pa, loved me like I was his own."

"Bullshit Pete! Pa hated you. Why are you really here?"

The hideous smelling Pete shuffled his feet. "Had to get out of Poland fast."

"What did you do now?"

"I didn't knife that police officer," Pete explained as he tugged on an ear with a tiny chunk missing. "Was another guy? But the Warsaw Police blamed me."

Joe levelled a look of utter contempt for his cousin. "Sure, sure, just like you didn't rape that store clerk."

Pete face turned red with embarrassment. "But."

"Guilty as sin!" Joe smacked Pete on the shoulder. "So, you got a fresh start, now do something with it."

Pete shoved a dirty finger in his ear and dug. "Ah, can't ya give me a few bucks to get me on my feet?"

Joe handed Sol ten bucks. "Set Pete up with a homestead." Joe slapped twenty dollars in Pete's hand. He jerked his thumb towards the door. "Now go forth and prosper."

A humming Danny paraded into Nicole's Place in the spring of 1905 with a well dressed gentlemen, who worked for the railway as a regional executive. Introductions were made and Joe sat with the two with a jug of the fine whiskey at a quiet back table.

The railway executive leaned forward and said in a nasal tone, "I understand you are interested in purchasing the quarter section next to your homestead."

"For sure," replied Joe. "But will the railway sell it to me?"

"Danny informed me of your extremely low offer. It would be as if the railway is gifting it to you."

"That's all I got," Joe explained.

The executive held his nose in the air. "I see!" He examined Joe's dirty clothes through his tiny gold rimmed spectacles. "Yes, it is painfully obvious you cannot pay more," said the self important executive utilizing a condescending tone.

Thoughts of punching the cocky ass in the mouth rushed through Joe's mind. Instead, he smiled, brushing some of the dirt off his clothes. "It has been a pleasure meeting such an important and distinguished gentlemen as yourself."

The man puffed out his chest, twirling his waxed moustache. "Yes, indeed, I bet it is!"

"And such an important and distinguished gentlemen as yourself wouldn't waste his precious time haggling over a few dollars." Joe set his palms on the table, staring the man in the face. "So, why don't you tell me what the hell you really want?"

The executive squirmed in his chair. "Well, ah, I suppose, we could possibly consider such a ridiculous deal." The man then spoke in a quiet conspiratorial voice, "However, there would be a rather unusual condition to the sale?"

"What kind of unusual condition?" Joe studied the man with suspicious eyes.

The little dandy sipped the whiskey, wrinkling up his nose and coughing. "I'm not much of a whisky man. But I hear this is the finest spirits in the land."

"Damn right!" Danny roared.

The rail executive plucked at the cuff of his silk shirt. "We have an exclusive gentlemen's club in the new Saskatchewan capital city of Regina called the Assiniboin Club. I now sit on that club's distinguished board."

"Congratulations!" Joe said with a smirk.

"Yes, quite an honour for me," pronounced the arrogant rail executive. "Now, since our most important members wish to be granted a continuous supply of your fine spirits for free. No cash can be paid. This will be a gentlemen's agreement."

Instantly, Joe stuck out his hand. "You've got a deal!"

TEN

"Okay buddy, time to shine!" Joe announced as he slipped his wagon up to the back of the small Methodist Church which sat at the head of the Ituna Lake on the outskirts of town. Two weeks elapsed since Danny and Joe met with the rail executive. Except, this meeting had nothing to do with business. It was much more important.

Danny showed a pained expression. "Never thought I'd."

"Yeah, I know. You where only going to enter this church once, and that was to get married. But it's the only time Gracie is left alone. Mike's got her on a short leash."

"Me sweating like a hog off to market."

"But, you've got your lucky hat and pant holders on," Joe snapped one of the suspenders. "So, what could go wrong?"

Danny's hands trembled. "Me heart could get broken. Just seeing the lass in this church."

"Just talk to her, for her sake. Even if you only let her know you forgive her."

Danny departed the wagon with reluctant feet. He shuffled off toward the back door of the church. Joe touched his rifle under the wagon seat, giving himself a little reassurance in case any unwanted intruders happen by.

A couple minutes passed, and a quiet voice sounded in Joe's ear, "Thank you for bringing Danny."

Joe hopped down, taking Caroline's hand. He noticed the pretty royal blue dress she wore. "What are you doing here?"

"Gracie wanted support, so I walked her over. I don't think anyone saw us. Except that cousin of yours may have spotted us." She cringed. "He seems strange." She looked down. "Us girls keep far away from Pete as he's all hands."

Joe frowned. "I need to chat with that creep." The mere mention of Pete's name, sparked Joe to sweat heavily. Pulling out his handkerchief, he wiped his brow. "How's it going for Gracie?"

Caroline made the sign of a cross. "I'm so afraid one of these days, Mike will kill her."

"Are you still going to?"

"I hate Mike." She shuttered, gripping the cross on a chain hanging around her neck. "But you know my thoughts on going against the Catholic Church." She leaned in closer, gripping Joe's elbow. "Father Kissel and Papa want to announce the engagement on my sixteenth birthday."

Joe embraced her comfortingly. "I'll kill Mike before that happens."

"Pete, you in there?" Joe hammered three times on a broken old door the following evening. That door rattled as it hung on one worn out hinge, and belonged to a tiny wooden shack about a half mile out of Ituna. The weather beaten shack was about to collapse. One stiff prairie wind and it'd be flattened.

"Pete!" Joe hammered the door three more times. "I can see you through the cracks in your door."

"Coming! Coming!" Crash! The sound of braking glass resonated from within Pete's shack. "Ouch!" Pete screamed. "For fuck sake!" The door opened and a long haired Pete with a full beard stumbled out with a whisky jug in hand. "My rich cousin who won't share with his kin."

Joe rolled his eyes as he stepped back from the drunk's nasty odour. "Have you ever been out to your quarter section homestead?"

"I'll get around to it." Pete grasped the doorframe to hold himself erect while chewing his tobacco.

"Going to loose it, if you don't get clearing land."

Pete attempted to stand taller, bring himself eye to eye with Joe. "Been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Working on some prospects. But if ya could see me a few bucks until they come through."

Joe flashed a disgusting look. "I gave you a few bucks three weeks ago for food. You're sure not eating. You're as skinny as when you got here. What happened to that money?"

"Had a run of shit luck," a brooding Pete replied?

"You drank it away," Joe accused. "Do you know Caroline Gomulka at the hotel?"

Pete rubbed his crotch in a lewd manner. "Would I like to fuck the young thing!"

Joe grasped the whiskey breath Pete by the collar. "You stay away from her."

Black drool oozed from Pete's mouth. "I'm gonna ruin her," Pete jeered. He then let out an evil cackle which sent a shill down Joe's spine. "I'll fuck her good!" Pete spat out a wad of the gross tobacco, slithered in close and hissed, "Just like I done your sweetie back in Poland."

"I need a drink!" Joe yelled. For immediately after his session with Pete, he stormed to Nicole's Place for whisky. The establishment was quiet with a smiling Gracie McDonald polishing the bar.

Joe reflected on that night where Danny and her met in secret at the Methodist church. They decided right there to reconcile. Gracie moved into a spare bedroom at Nicole's Place. When the news reached Mike. He threatened to come and drag Gracie back by her hair, and burn down Nicole's Place.

So that night, to head off any potential retaliation for Gracie running back to Danny, Joe cornered Mike alone behind his hotel. Joe reminded him of the beating he had inflicted on the Russian. Joe threatened to do it again, if he or his thugs came near Gracie or Nicole's Place. Joe stroked his moustache. Mike backed up two steps. Joe raised his knee, further reminding Mike of that beating night. Joe saw absolute fear in Mike's eyes. A few drops of piss spilled onto Mike's pants. The Russian turned and ran away. There had been no retaliation yet. But Joe knew better than to let his guard down when it came to Mr. Ivanov.

Gracie didn't conform and wear the red dress the way Nicole and the two ladies of the evening did. She worked as a barmaid only, Gracie was off limits with Danny as her protector. She stuck with her form fitting pants. But now they were red, and with her plaid tartan top, and flaming red hair; she sparked as many admiring looks from the men. "So, you'd like some of Joe's finest?" Gracie inquired in her singsong voice. "You do look like a lad who could use a little pick me up."

"I just did something I should have done years ago," revealed Joe as he inspected his bruised knuckles.

"Want to tell me about it?" Gracie put a comforting hand on Joe's shoulder.

"No, Gracie, I just want to drink."

The bright eyed Scottish lass served Joe a glass of his exquisite whisky. He downed it in one gulp. "Want another Joe?"

He nodded his head. "How are you settling in?"

"Love it here." Gracie replied with her lively tone which had returned since her escape from Mike. She leaned over, hugging Joe. "Thank you! You saved me, and Danny's been so." She wiped a tear. "So wonderful!" She gazed down. "Except."

"Except what?"

"Oh Danny gets so jealous. I guess the big lug doesn't trust this lass after what I did."

"Has Mike ever?"

"You've security here all the time. He won't come near." She plunked herself down in a chair at the table. "You know as well as anyone, Mike's a blackguard and coward. He usually gets others to do his dirty work."

"Know all about that."

"Me too!" She rubbed her nervous hands on her thighs. "He should have a tattoo of a mouse. Instead of strutting that fierce bear."

"Have to be a mean mouse, full of dirty surprises."

"And you'd be surprised who does some of his dirty work."

Joe brushed his chin thoughtfully. "I probably would be."

Gracie took his hand with concern. "And I must warn you about a respected silent partner of his."

A wheezing and wobbling Fredrick stumbled to Joe's cabin one excruciatingly hot July day in 1905. "I need a drink."

"Got no whiskey here," replied Joe.

"Fuck you!" Fredrick yelled. He was even more overweight than when the two-first met. His hands trembled as he demanded his fix, "Just give me a jog."

"Go do some work. Mr. Boyko needs you."

"Fuck him!" a baggy pants Fredrick swore with hangover breath poising the air. "I hate that crippled old man."

"A good man, once you get to know him."

Fredrick began mining for treasure up one nostril.

"Pull that finger out Fredrick. Or I'll break it with one shot to your beak."

"Fuck off," Fredrick mumbled, but did remove the slimy finger. "Hate the way the Boykos compare me to you." An enraged Fredrick spat at Joe and missed. "Me being compared to a fucking Galician. A joke!" He attempted to pound his fist on a porch rail and missed that as well.

Joe sniggered.

"Don't fucking laugh, the only reason you do so well is you're fucking lucky." Fredrick shook his fist at Joe. "That's right. You got good land. Not like our crap dirt."

"Same soil Fredrick."

"Fuck you're lucky, having all that water. And stop giving us food from your garden."

"We've more than we need."

"And that Indian." Fredrick made a slashing motion across his throat. "Fucking Tommy, always bringing over milk for my whining brat. Even that old hop along thinks those Cardinal twins are great now."

"They are great! And our cow just produces more then we need."

"Don't give a fuck. No more!" Fredrick picked up an axe that leaned up against the cabin. "And the way you gave your half of the plough to the Boyko's. No more charity from you Galician." He shook the axe threateningly at Joe. "Do you understand?"

Joe never flinched. "Just being neighbourly." Except, he was concerned about the family. He hated to see the sadness and worry on their sunken faces. Ever since Mr. Boyko's leg injury, it limited his ability to work the land, and Fredrick was useless in that area.

"You wait!" Fredrick swayed on his feet, pulling the axe back ready to unleash a swing. "Your luck will end. For I know, soon the powers that be will have your neck in a noose." The unsteady drunk attempted a swing with that axe, missing Joe by a couple of feet.

Joe whistled. "Bogan!" A low growl came from around the side of the cabin. "Get 'em!"

Err! Bogan delivered one deep throated growl.

Fredrick squealed, dropping the axe. He ran clumsily, with pants sliding downward. Joe's husky dog snapped and chased the crazed and thirsty man back home.

ELEVEN

"Where are they?" Joe asked himself.

It was mid September of 1905 as Joe drove a wagon heading for a special delivery drop-off. He eased up to their regular exchange spot outside Fort Qu'Applle, Saskatchewan in the middle of the night. This was the extra special whisky the railway ordered for the highbrow Assiniboin Club in Regina.

Joe, Jimmy or Sonny had delivered whiskey every month to this drop-off spot for quite some time. Then it was transported to the fancy gentlemen's club with no cash being exchanged at any point. But for this one special occasion, the rail executive promised to pay a cash bundle for a load of prime grade A whiskey. He stated the Assiniboin Club had a gala occasion on the horizon. They required a large quantity of Joe's finest.

Joe stood up on his wagon with tentative movements, peering about in the dark. He made a bird call three times in succession. There was no response. He whispered, "Anyone here?"

An eery silence met the signal until a muffled voice sounded from the shadows, "You got the stuff?"

"Clear and sweet!" Joe leaped off the wagon. "Exactly as ordered." He ripped a canvas cover off the load.

Another voice boomed out from behind the bushes, "We got enough! Move in!" Four North West Mounted Police rushed in grasping Joe, slamming him to the ground, slapping handcuffs on him.

Mike and the executive from the railway, who sold the quarter of land to Joe, stepped out from behind the bushes. They supported smug smiles. "We finally got the bastard," hollered Mike. "Thanks to me." The big Russian fired up a cigar. "Time to celebrate."

Roughly, the Mounties dragged Joe to his feet. An intense faced Sergeant ordered, "Read Joseph Kaminsky his rights."

Mike snapped his fingers. "Throw the book at him boys!" He punched Joe in the gut. "A long prison visit awaits you."

The no nonsense Sergeant, who was running this show, pushed Mike aside. "None of that!" He turned to one of his Constables. "Check the load, we'll need it for evidence."

The rail executive held his head high, tapping himself on the chest. He spoke in a plummy voice, "Certainly, I'm thankful my new partner, Mr. Ivanov, persuaded me to assist with this elaborate sting operation."

"How much did he pay you?" Joe asked, which resulted in another punch in the stomach. This time it was the rail executive.

The Constable checking the load yelled, "These jugs are filled with water!"

Joe cocked his head, smiling at the rail executive who was rubbing his hurting fist from the inept punch. "Isn't that what you ordered?"

Joe never entered a church in his life until this moment. His eyes widen in awe as he sized up the expensive trappings the Ituna Catholic Church displayed for a smaller size town. It was January of 1906 as he slinked his way to the front. The stagnant air and dust in the church made Joe cough as he approached the altar.

A grey haired Father Kissel posed proudly behind that polished altar reading the bible. "Welcome, my son!"

"Afternoon Father Kissel." Joe claimed a seat in the first pew directly in front of the fifty year old Priest."I'm Joe Kaminsky."

"I know who you are," Father Kissel snorted. "A heathen like you should not be in this house of worship."

Joe chuckled. "Probably right, but I've a favour to ask."

"What could I, a man of God, possibly do for a sinner like you?"

"Release Caroline from the spell you have over her."

"What do you mean?" Father Kissel asked with an indignant tone.

"You know what I mean Father Kissel. She worships the ground you walk on." Joe stood. "And if you insist on her marrying Mike, you know what he'll do to her."

The priest stood taller, ensuring he could look down on the sinner in an intimidating manner. "Mayor Mike Ivanov is a fine civic leader and fine person."

"He beats his women, and almost to death. Is that what you want to happen to Caroline?"

"He does not!" Father Kissel gave a dismissive wave of his hand which displayed a small tinny ring. "Now please leave. Cannot have that sort of talk in my church."

"Can you live with yourself if they marry, and Mike beats her to death?"

Father Kissel gulped. "Please leave!"

"How much does Mike pay you to pressure Caroline?"

The priest flushed. "Get out of this sacred place! How dare you?"

"I just did." Joe extracted a huge roll of cash from his pocket. "How much will it take to release that pressure?" Joe began counting bills. "Oh hell, how about I give you, not the church, but you get 200 dollars?"

Father Kissel's eyes bugged out. He'd not seen that kind of cash for ages. He wiped his suddenly perspiring brow. "Ah, money means little to a man of God."

Joe noticed the man had a couple of tiny cheap rings on his other hand. "How about I double the offer, 400 upon your successful intervention? Plus 100 bucks right now for a new, more showy ring suitable to your position."

Father Kissel re-wiped his heavily perspiring brow. "I really can't be."

"And I ensure a jug of my finest is set in your back porch once a week for as long as I make it."

Father Kissel swallowed hard, executing the sign of the cross twice. He scanned about to ensure no one was listening. "May God forgive you and I!"

Caroline Gomulka's jammed packed sixteenth birthday party unfolded in the spring of 1906. Well, wishers celebrated her special time at her parents small home in Ituna. Joe managed to hide in the backyard to witness and hear the festivities threw the partially open kitchen window. Mr. Gomulka, Mike and Father Kissel stood proudly and loudly, guzzling spirits, congratulating themselves.

Sugar laden cake served, greedily eaten and the presents were about to be handed out. A blustering Mike grasped centre stage, displaying a dirty scratched engagement ring for all to see. "Caroline, I know it's already been decided." Chuckles sounded from the group including Mike. "But, time for you to be my wife. So, go ahead and put this on." He shoved the cheap tiny ring in her face. He turned to a gang of his pals attending. "Boys, that's how its done."

A nervous Caroline coughed, "I'm sorry Mike, I can't marry you." She eased his hand away holding the used ring.

A furious Mike raised his fist threateningly towards Caroline. He checked himself at the last second. He roared in a guttural tone as he turned to an open mouthed Mr. Gomulka, "What the fuck?"

Caroline levelled a scathing look at Mike. She was about to say something. But her mother stopped her whispering, "No child."

Mr. Gomulka recovered, grabbing his daughter's arm, shaking her. "Caroline! Say yes and stop this foolishness,"

The beautiful birthday girl tilted her chin upward in defiance. "I've no intention of marrying Mike! I'll choose my own husband."

A raging Mr. Gomulka shook his daughter more violently. "I demand you accept!"

Caroline wrestled away from her father while locking her determined eyes on him. She edged beside her mother. She spoke in a firm tone, "Absolutely not!"

"Father Kissel," Mike pleaded. "But you."

Joe leaned forward to capture every word. For this was the moment he waited for. Would the priest accept the well intentioned bribe? Or would he stay loyal to Mike?

Father Kissel raised his hands for calm, displaying a humongous black onyx ring. "As long as Caroline is married in the Catholic Church. She can choose her husband on her own."

"Merry Christmas!" Joe said quietly to himself. For on this chilly Christmas Day in 1906 Joe celebrated alone in his cabin. Yesterday, he sent Tommy off to be with his twin brother down on the South quarter. They claimed they never missed a Christmas together. Joe stayed back for he insisted somebody be at one of the places. He didn't want another fire like 1903.

Joe heard a jingling sleigh entering his farmyard. He opened up the door expecting to greet some well wishers.

Danny halted the slay and yelled, "Tommy's been found dead!"

TWELVE

Tommy Cardinal's funeral was a quiet somber affair. Only a few well-wishers showed on an early January day in 1907. Tommy's plot sat in the Ituna graveyard. Jimmy took it hard, losing his twin, his best friend. Drunk throughout, only sobering up for the funeral. He attended in a brand new lumberjack shirt with another in his hand, insisting his twin was buried in that brand new lumberjack shirt he provided, along with Tommy's orange work boots. Jimmy headed off immediately after the funeral, falling back into the bottle.

In the morning of Tommy's funeral Joe encountered tremendous difficulty digging the grave with the hard winter earth. Now that the funeral was over, he was about to fill in that grave himself after all had left. He stood alone with his thoughts at the grave sight, shovel in hand. Fondly, he remembered the good times Tommy and he enjoyed at the farm.

He went to work, finding a rhythm with the shovel, perspiring heavily. He lost himself in the physical labour, when a soft voice spoke behind him, "So sorry Joseph. I know you loved him like a brother."

Joe spun about to gaze upon a comforting vision. "Thank you Caroline."

"Wonderful service Joseph, I hid in the back of the Methodist Church."

"I felt for Jimmy."

"Tommy and you were close as well," Caroline said with a sympathetic tone.

"Yeah!" Joe wiped a tear from his eye. "Going to miss him."

She touched him on the arm. "Of course you will. And so will I, even their foolish pranks."

She had heard about some of their pranks. She witnessed the one in her home. For after Mr. Gomulka snubbed Joe on numerous occasions, the Cardinal twins snuck in his house in the middle of the night, painting his bald head black. One prank Caroline was unaware of as she was out of town, was when the twins secretly donated special brownies laden with their Mex tabacky to a church social. This in response to Father Kissel's multiple sermons trashing Joe Kaminsky. It resulted in the church social being a spiritual buzz for believers, some swearing God talked directly to them.

Joe thought of the way the twins were protective of himself with their pranks, and the way Tommy relished in the prank planning. He wiped another tear, becoming embarrassed with his show of emotion. "I better get back to work."

Caroline hugged him impulsively. Joe dropped the shovel, holding her close. They stood there for a few minutes, savouring the connection. Joe broke the spell. "Ah, well, better finish this job," he grasped the shovel. "In other circumstances, I'd have kissed you."

Caroline laughed. "In this circumstance, I'd have let you." She couldn't believe she said that. But in the back of her mind, she wondered what kissing Joe on the lips would be like? She'd be fleeing to the church after that thought.

"So Caroline, what's gonna happen with you and me?"

"You and I are like fire and water. Two complete opposites. We've so many obstacles."

"For sure Caroline! But everything can be overcome."

"Not everything!" She stepped back. "And you know it."

"No, I don't know it."

The devoted Catholic wagged a scolding finger at Joe. "As long as you own that devil's den."

"But what fun that devil's den is."

"Saton's kind of fun!" An exacerbated Caroline placed her hands firmly on her hips. "I heard about another fight Danny was in at that place of devil worshipers."

"True. Danny's been getting into fights with anyone who looks at Gracie the wrong way."

"I heard Gracie say one time that a little flirting was worth the tips she got."

"Danny and her have to stop. Or someone's going to get killed."

"That house of sin is nothing but trouble." She huffed. "And worst of all, you've never set foot in the only real house of God." She withdrew a small cross from her pocket, gripping it tight. "The Catholic Church!"

Joe blew out a breath. He wasn't about to divulge his one meeting with Father Kissel in the Catholic Church. And his second venture inside a church was today at Tommy's funeral. "My dear Caroline, church's aren't for me."

A stern Caroline folded her arms, flashing her determined look which was well known throughout Ituna. "And that's why it will never happen between you and me."

Joe drove a horse and sleigh into Ituna three weeks later, stopping in the brand new eating establishment called Wong's Cafe. From the first time Joe ate Chinese food, he was hooked. He then proceeded out to the South farm to check on Jimmy and Sonny. He scanned the yard as he entered the well hidden place. All he heard were birds singing, and a horse nickering. Joe headed for the cabin.

"Holy Shit!" A mess stared him in the face. This was unusual as Sonny was a neat freak. But he then remembered Sonny was leaving for a couple of weeks to visit family. Therefore, Jimmy was on his own. Except, Sonny did leave behind the distinct odour of his strong cigarette tobacco, very different from Jimmy's Mex tabacky.

Joe inspected the main living area. He found nothing and moved on. He opened the bedroom door. There he found Jimmy passed out, looking like a mean mule kicked him in the face. The room reeked of a powerful whiskey and Mex tabacky odour. In the three weeks since the funeral, Jimmy showed no signs of snapping out of his depressed state. Joe flipped open the window, releasing the acrid stink from the room and allowing cold fresh air to enter.
Joe left the room for a moment. He returned with a pail of water, dumping it on Jimmy. A cursing and sputtering Jimmy attempted to wake up, curling up at the corner of the wet bed. But the mourning twin was out of it. With a ton of effort, several cups of coffee, finally, Joe coerced Jimmy to the kitchen table.

"Jimmy, your brother would want you to go on."

The twin let out a mournful groan. "Feel like a part of my soul died with Tommy."

"It did."Joe passed the broken man a fresh cup of coffee. "But you're young. Got so much to live for."

"What do I have to live for?"

"Look Jimmy, I've been putting a portion of your share in the Ituna bank. You can take a nice holiday with some of that cash. Get your spark back."

A tiny glimmer of life formed in Jimmy's eyes. "Only one thing that'll get me any peace, and it ain't much."

"What's that?"

Jimmy wavered as he stood, clinching one fist, rage overtaking his face. "To kill the man who had my brother killed." He threw a cup at the fireplace, smashing it to pieces. "that Russian bastard!"

"Joe help!" a distraught Mrs. Boyko yelled as she waddled towards Joe's cabin in the spring of 1907.

Joe scurried out to meet the frantic lady. "What is it?" He thought this must be urgent for this was the first time he saw Mrs. Boyko without any headwear.

A heavy panting Mrs. Boyko required a moment to catch her breath. "Fredrick beat up my husband."

"Where's Fredrick?" Joe asked.

"Drunk and heading for town."

The next few minutes were a chaotic frenzy of activity. Between Anna's screaming, the little girl crying, and Mrs. Boyko's panic, Joe struggled to concentrate on dealing with Mr. Boyko. Clearly beaten badly, cuts, bruises, and Joe suspected Mr. Boyko also suffered from a broken arm and ribs. But the worst, was his sliding in and out of consciousness. Joe loaded the heavy man on the wagon, ready to head for town.

"I'm off, Mrs. Goldstein can help him. At least set the arm properly."

"Wait, don't forget his lucky pipe." She handed Joe a pipe and tobacco pouch. "He'll be asking for it." The pipe was gold plated, and a present from Joe to his neighbour when the Boyko's received clear title to their homestead.

Joe grabbed the items. "I'll bring him back as soon as I can."

"We can't pay Joe."

"Don't worry about that."

She buried her head in her hands and mumbled, "What are we going to do? He's been struggling for so long, now this."

On the way into town Joe thought hard. What could he do to help out the Boyko's? In a funny kind of way, he'd grown extremely fond of the elderly couple and their granddaughter. Of course, Fredrick and Anna hated him, but that was natural. They also hated his new farmhand, Carl.

Carl Washington was a large black man who Joe picked up on the side of the road on one of his trips to Yorkton. Carl's father escaped from the US south during the civil war, settling in Nova Scotia. After a few failures back east, where he collected four permanent and nasty scars across his back, Carl traveled west where he hoped to face less discrimination.

The out of luck black man faced every bit as much discrimination on the Canadian prairies. Desperately, he wanted an opportunity to start fresh. Joe offered that opportunity to the gentle giant. Carl was a Godsend. The intelligent man worked dawn to dusk, allowing Joe to focus on his other operations the way he did when Tommy Cardinal was alive.

Halfway into town Joe halted the wagon, checking on his passenger. He cleaned off fresh blood from the man's face with his red, blue and yellow striped handkerchief. "Can you hear me?"

Mr. Boyko opened his eyes. "Oh fuck!" He groaned as he attempted to move. "What the hell happened?"

"Fredrick! Lie back and relax. I'm taking you to get patched up."

"You're a good man Joe. I'm sorry I treated you so shitty before."

"Not to worry. You and I have become close. I've enjoyed having you as a neighbour."

"Me too! But Joe, you know I can't farm anymore, and that dupa, Fredrick doesn't have it for the land." He flinched in pain. "What the hell am I going to do?"

Joe handed him a canteen of water. "Drink! I've an idea."

"You and your crazy ideas." Mr. Boyko let out an agonizing smile. "But they always work out!"

"How about I buy your quarter section off you?" Joe held up his hands. "Before you object, fair market price, and we need a handyman for the bar, around all my farmyards, and another venture that just hit me a few minutes ago. And there's a perfect house in Ituna your family can live in."

Slowly, Mr. Boyko's cheeks gained a bit of colour. "Me actually work for you?"

"For sure!"

Mr. Boyko grabbed Joe's hand. "I'd be proud to work for you, Galician."

THIRTEEN

"Damn I'm freezing!" Danny said as he shivered on a frigid cold day in January of 1908. Joe and his best friend hung around the bar with the Irishmen holding his hands near a crackling hot wood stove.

"Need to get the ladies to make me some warmer gloves," said Joe as he feverishly rubbed his hands together.

"Can't believe you hired Caroline and Mrs. Boyko to work in your dress shop."

"Can't believe I own a dress shop." Joe shook his head in amazement. "The crazy thing, been a real success. And it is good to have Caroline working full-time again."

"Funny the way Father Whiskey stood up for her all of a sudden," remarked Danny. "Some Joe shenanigans paid off just before her sixteenth birthday."

"For sure. And her getting out of Mike's hotel immediately after she told him no, was best." Joe took a shot. "She had bits of part-time work since, but this works out great. Mrs. Boyko's an excellent teacher for her." Joe chuckled with a gleam in his eye. "And having a reason to keep close to her is convenient."

"You dog."

"Woof! Putting the shop next to Sol's store works well from a business perspective as well."

"So Joe me boy, she's gonna be eighteen in the spring, and I thought you two would a tied the knot by now."

"This guy won't give up the stills and the bar, that's her condition. So, we continue to date other people."

Danny let out a long whistle. "That's a kicker! But do you know how the lads flock to pay court to the attractive lass."

"Yeah, I may have to up my efforts. Maybe she'll give in. but I'm not giving up my devil's passions as Caroline calls them."

"Bloody hell!" Danny smacked the table. "You both are over the top stubborn."

"For sure." Joe grabbed his glass, draining the whiskey, swirling the ice in the glass. He even used ice on these frigid days. "Speaking of stubborn, Mr. Boyko's doing a hell of a job."

"Damn right! Never seen that man smile so much."

They heard a baby cry from upstairs.

A door opened and Mrs. Goldstein yelled down, "Momma and baby are fine."

Danny mumbled, "Wonder if the wee one's mine."

"You know that baby is yours. And you know Gracie has never cheated on you since she came back."

"And the little darling's a healthy boy!" Mrs. Goldstein announced.

Danny shrugged his massive shoulders. "I guess so."

"You bet that child's yours!" Joe pounded Danny on the back. "Congratulations buddy! And you're going to make a great daddy!"

In the spring of 1908, Joe rearranged furniture at the Boyko's former cabin. Upon the purchase of the place, he used it for his hired men. But now he'd let Carl take over the cabin for himself as they constructed a bunkhouse for those men.

Carl was clearly his right hand man, invaluable to his farm operation. Joe moved in some new furniture for Carl. He hoped to surprise the man when he returned from the South farm.

Joe heard a commotion outside. "What the hell is that?" He eased his right hand to his hidden knife sheath.

A scratchy voice growled out, "Anyone here?"

"Inside," yelled Joe.

In walked a disheveled Pete Kaminsky. "Ah, Joe."

"What are you doing here?" Joe stood and stared daggers at his cousin. "Last time we talked, I took out my frustrations on you."

A malnutrition Pete clutched his arm. "Took me a week to mend from that."

"What'd you want?" Joe asked with a curt tone, not yet lowering his right hand from the sheath.

A chagrin faced Pete mumbled, "I'm in real trouble."

Joe let out a massive sigh, relaxing his right hand. "What now?"

"Not my fault!"

Joe folded his arms over his chest. "Right! How much?"

"Just need a place to hide." Pete fidgeted. "Please"

"Okay, you can stay in the bunkhouse."

"How about this here place?" Pete looked around at the well built cabin. Pete whistled. "This here's more my style."

"Garbage dump's more your style. You're in the bunkhouse."

"Shit Joe! Maybe I should hide out where ya make that whiskey."

Joe chuckled with a suspicious undertone. "First, I don't make whiskey." Joe slapped him on the shoulder. "And if I ever did, which I don't, you're the one person that would never be shown where."

"Okay! Okay! Damn, I guess I stay in the bunkhouse."

"But if you stay cousin, no booze."

Pete's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No booze!"

"And you'll work."

Pete held up his palms. "But."

"No booze, you work, you eat properly, and chew that shit tobacco outside. Those are the rules, otherwise,get out."

"For fuck sakes!"

Joe pointed at the door.

Pete groaned in defeat. "Okay, okay." The gloomy faced man slouched. "Shit!"

"With the new grain elevator now open in Ituna, we've a number of wagonloads of grain to move. So, prepare to shovel."

Pete adopted a hostile tone, "I don't shovel grain."

"You do now!"

"Fuck!" Pete struck a table. "Okay, for now. But I can't go to town to unload the grain."

"All right. But wherever you are, the Mounties may come looking."

"Not the Mounties I'm worried about." Pete broke into a sweat. "Much, much worse."

"There we go!" Joe declared in October of 1908, as he signed a legal document. He stood, pen in hand with Sol perched behind the Ituna General Store counter. Joe continued to rely on Sol's advice which consistently proved to be sound.

"We're all done," said Sol as he fiddled with his specs. "Got Pete's and your marks. So, his homestead quarter section is now yours."

"Lucky we got the minimum amount of land cleared and cabin built on time to satisfy the homestead requirements."

"Kid, I never thought you'd pull it off."

"And thanks again for granting that extension, due to extenuating circumstances, on proving up the homestead."

Sol tapped the legal document. "And immediately upon proving up that homestead, officially becoming Pete's, he sold to you."

"That's the agreement we had. He was going to lose it, so I presented him a chance to make some easy cash. You know, he never set foot on the land." Joe chuckled. "And its great land! Also, I was lucky that quarter of land sits only a mile and a half from my north homestead. Made things easier to meet the tight deadlines."

"You sure got chutzpah kid! And now own five quarters of land."

"Feels good!" Joe grinned from ear to ear. "Keeping my crew busy. Had another great year?"

"How's Carl working out?"

"Carl's amazing!"

Sol rubbed his forehead. "Did Pete the troublemaker stay on with your crew?"

"Never got much work out of him all this time. But he's off to Regina for good. That man will piss his new found cash away."

Sol widened his eyes in surprise. "But isn't that near the native band that wants his head?"

"You bet! Pete crippling the chief's son is like heading into a poisonous snake pit."

New Year's Eve on 1908 as Joe rode his old ox toward town. He'd been visiting Jimmy and Sonny at the South farm. Whether he traveled north or south of town, the surrounding community of Ituna was used to Joe riding his ox. He wore his huge buffalo coat, playing the accordion, ring of Polish sausage wrapped round his neck. He kept a jug near at hand for a sip on the trip, and that wise old ox knew exactly where to go.

Joe left Jimmy and Sonny at the South farm as the New Year celebration was underway. He smiled as a chain smoking Sonny and a chattering Jimmy were in fine form.

Jimmy still grieved for his twin brother. He swore Mike would end up with a slit throat one morning. Joe talked Jimmy down from that retaliation. So for now, Jimmy settled for what he called payback pranks which he played on the hotel owner.

The first prank involved planting a pack of snakes in the hotel. That trick left many of Mike's customers scared out of their wits for days. Jimmy slipped something in the daily bar stew, which left many of Mike's pack of thugs throwing up for 24 hours. Those stood as warmup pranks in Jimmy's mind. He wanted real revenge for his brother's death.

So, Jimmy stole most of Mike's horses, giving them to his girlfriends and leaders on the local native reservations. Finally, he burnt Mike's lumberyard to the ground in the middle of the night. Fortunately, there were no injuries.

Joe filled the air with his music as the ox plodded along. He anticipated celebrating New Years with the newly married Danny and Gracie at the bar. Also, he looked forward to celebrating with a recently distant Nicole.

Joe worried about Nicole as she seemed out of sorts when he departed the bar two days ago. Joe spoke openly about upping his efforts in regard to Caroline. Although Nicole continually swore they were just friends, free to date whoever they wished. No commitments, no love what so ever, and would never be anything more than what they were. He thought he heard a bit of jealousy in her voice.

"No way," Joe said to himself as he shook his head, this was Nicole he thought, running a bar all those years had given her a harsh view of men. And he was just another stupid man as she constantly referred to the opposite sex, including him. He then was convinced he miss read her mood. There was no jealousy involved. Nicole could never be the possessive type.

As he entered Nicole's Place, there was an eery silence in the bar. Danny clutched him by the arm, "Come outside mate."

"What is it?"

"Nicole packed up." Danny raked his fingers threw his hair. "And moved over to Mike's."

FOURTEEN

"Here's our favourite owner," Mrs. Boyko greeted Joe with a warm smile as he wondered into the Dress Shop in June of 1909. She wore a bright pink bonnet with little red heart patterns weaved in. Joe appreciated how Mrs. Boyko's vivid and outlandish headwear drew the ladies in from Ituna and surrounding area, in order to see what shocking creation she'd design next.

"Our only owner," added Caroline with a smirk, but definitely flashing adoring eyes at Joe.

Joe noticed Caroline happen to have a fashionable royal blue dress on today. He figured that was a good sign. For she knew how much he loved her in royal blue, and Caroline was well aware that he was stoping in today. "How are you two lovely ladies?"

Joe planted himself on a side chair. Joe moaned with pleasure as he popped a peppermint candy in his mouth, that he snagged out of a jar the ladies kept full of treats. He smelled the hypnotic fragrance resonating from lilac blossoms sitting in a Crystal vase. Joe enjoyed entering this place for it gave him a sense of peace and calm. It reminded the bachelor of how his Mom kept their home back in Poland.

Also, Joe marvelled at the ladies sewing up a storm. He only started the Dress Shop to give Caroline and Mrs. Boyko a job. He never dreamed it'd be this successful. The startup costs were minimal. He purchased the tiny cottage like shop for a song, with equipment and materials acquired via some creative whiskey exchanges.

"Busy as ever," responded Mrs. Boyko. "We can't keep up. That contract you made to do the fine stitching on some of the Leather Factory products has us working day and night to keep up."

"Do we need to hire?" Joe relaxed as he put his feet up on a stool.

Mrs. Boyko set down her work. "No, we can manage. Caroline's caught on so quickly, such a talent."

Joe stared into Caroline's eyes. "So talented."

"I've not much skill," said Caroline. "But Mrs. Boyko's a wonderful teacher."

Joe winked at Caroline. "Humble and beautiful." He winked again. "Extremely beautiful!"

Joe had upped his attentions towards Caroline over the past year and a half, and upped his efforts even more six months ago when Nicole hooked up with Mike. Joe chuckled to himself, thinking how the town of Ituna was like a square dance, single folks continually changing partners.

With Nicole's sudden departure, he and Danny mulled over the idea of changing the name of the bar. Except the name, Nicole's Place, drew in folks from far and wide. So, In spite of Joe's apprehension, they stuck with that name.

One major item that became very apparent Over the past six months was the undeniable fact that Caroline and he had become great friends, and continued to be highly attracted to each other. Last week Mrs. Boyko clued Joe in on the many suitors the gorgeous girl spurned over the years, and that he was the reason why. Except the strong minded girl would never cave in on her demands. Joe thought hard on just how long she would wait for him to cave?

A blushing and flustered Caroline attempted to speak after Joe's compliments, "Ah, well, you and your devil's tongue."

Anna burst in the shop. Her noisy jewellery letting all know she'd arrived. That low quality jewelry letting Anna display a green rash on most fingers, and on one wrist. She slammed the door and snarled, "Mother! When are you gonna be home?" Then she realized Joe was in the room. "Oh I see the boss came to check up on his help."

"I'd never question anything these two ladies do," replied Joe.

"You should." Anna turned to Caroline with angry eyes. "The hem on this dress you mended is shoddy. You're incompetent."

Mrs. Boyko bent down to inspect the work. "Looks as if it was purposely ripped."

"It ripped on its own." A bitter scream sounded from Anna, "You incompetent slut! You should be fired." Anna then threw a piece of cloth at Caroline. "And stay away from my husband."

Caroline straightened her back in defiance. "I've never encouraged Fredrick in any way. And I mean never!"

"Foolishness," scolded Mrs. Boyko. "Anna apologize for your rudeness. And as far as your husband, he is the biggest lecher in town."

"My husband's now a respected town employee," Anna bragged. "As Mayor of Ituna, Mike hired Fredrick as town garbage man."

"Congratulations to Fredrick," said Caroline.

"We're now part of the social elite of Ituna." Anna snatched up the garment Caroline worked on, flinging it to the floor. "I'd never apologize to this piece of low class trash. She can't even afford jewelry. She should be fired and run out of town right now!"

Joe flared and was about to respond when Anna headed for the door, yelling on her way out, "Oh no! Horny Joe wouldn't fire Caroline." A frothing at the mouth Anna sneered. "He couldn't fire his replacement for that halfbreed whore he was fucking."

Joe and Jimmy laid well hidden in the thick foliage three hundred feet from the South cabin. It was the middle of the day. They watched two Mounties, along with Mike and Fredrick surround that cabin in July of 1909. The intruding party attempted to keep quiet. They looked like an untrained comedy show, especially a drunk Fredrick who stumbled and bumbled along. Joe and Jimmy shared knowing glances, straining to not laugh out loud, not wanting to give themselves away.

When the uncoordinated group realized there was no one in the cabin or in the farmyard, the search took on a feverish pitch. Ransacking and destruction unfolded. Nothing incriminating could be found. The search spread out, attempting to locate the whiskey making equipment. Again, after two hours of searching the nearby bushes, nothing could be found that would put Joe and Jimmy away.

Unfortunately, Mike took the opportunity to damage as much as possible. Joe heard Jimmy gnashing his teeth. He restrained Jimmy on numerous occasions from raising his gun and putting a bullet between the Russian's eyes. Fredrick continued to be a comedy show as he plummeted into holes and became tangled in thorn bushes. Although, the height of the comedy occurred when Fredrick squawked like a chicken and wet his pants, after a snarling badger was unearthed from his hiding spot.

"Clowns," whispered Jimmy as he snickered.

"For sure," Joe replied.

Thank goodness Caroline relayed a juicy tidbit her mother overheard while cleaning at the hotel. Joe and Jimmy had plenty of time to remove the stills from the premises. Joe knew he'd been lucky again. So, he pondered where to move his whisky operations next?

Also, he pondered why Nicole would have snitched on him? Why she turned on him like that? Why did she reveal the secret path to their south whiskey making location? Joe shook his head in frustration at his lack of understanding of the opposite sex. For on top of Nicole's betrayal, Caroline presented him a final ultimatum. If they were to have any future, the stills and his half ownership in the bar had to go. Otherwise, she was ready to move on.

A hot summer day in August of 1909 as Joe walked along the quiet, newly built sidewalk on Ituna's Main Street. He mailed a letter to his parents to Poland from the brand new Ituna Post Office. Every letter he received from his parents, and every letter he sent to them, induced extreme levels of excitement and sadness.

Joe sent them money on a regular basis. For he knew how tight things were over there. He and George Babchuk also sent funds to the Galician Independence Fund. They were holding out less and less hope for that cause with each passing year. But they loved to get together with their whiskey on ice, and dream of Galician independence.

Nicole backed out of the Hotel, shutting the door, not noticing the speeding Joe. He was deep in his thoughts and dreams. The two former lovers collided, startling each other. Angry eyes flashed. Faces flushed and a long awkward pause unfolded.

Joe interrupted the silence. "Why?"

"You're stupid," raged Nicole with her fiery whiskey breath.

Joe leaned back from the alcohol mouth. He heard Nicole hit the bottle hard since moving in with Mike. "I'll agree with that!" He slumped both his shoulders. "But, why did you reveal the spot?"

She glanced away, speaking in a sour tone, "I want to hurt you, the way you hurt moi."

"But you said you didn't love me. We'd no future!"

Nicole turned back to Joe, her eyes shooting daggers even the one black eye. "Fucking fool!"

"But you insisted many times you didn't love me."

Nicole flashed a mocking look. "You're a fucking fool!" She slapped his face with meaning. "What I told you, wasn't what I meant."

"But."

"Do you know I was never with another man after that day we first had sex?"

"But I didn't know."

"And I'd rather be with a swine who does this." She pointed to her hideous black eye. "Than be with an imbecile who doesn't return my love."

"I'm so sorry! But I truly didn't know."

"And I know, you'll fuck it up with Caroline." She began to walk away. "The way you fucked it up with me!"

New years Eve of 1909 as the Ituna Catholic Church overflowed with the dedicated believers. A hymn filled the night, incense filtered through the church, and the odd member of the congregation slept. A non-believer slipped into a pew beside Caroline Gomulka. Father Kissel's eyebrows shot up in shock as he witnessed the event.

"I just made verbal agreements to sell the bar and stills," Joe whispered in Caroline's ear.

A surprised look filled her captivating face.

Joe grasped Caroline's hand, lighting up the room with his smile. He gazed into her eyes. "Now will you marry me?"

FIFTEEN

"All legal and binding," Sol stated as he scrawled his final signature on the paper. "Joe, you're no longer a 50% owner of Nicole's Place."

Two weeks after the church proposal, Joe, Danny, Gracie and Sol huddled around a table after signing legal documents at the back of the general store. They signed the transfer of Joe's half of the bar to Danny and Gracie.

"Caroline will be happy." Joe sighed as he formed a pained expression on his face.

Danny patted Joe on the back. "Mate, you'll always be welcome at the bar. Your favourite chair always awaits."

"Appreciate it!" Joe leaned back in his chair. "But you may not want me. I sold my stills to Jimmy. He's shipping the whiskey operation 40 miles south of the current location."

"We'll find another supplier," said Danny. "Not sure I want Jimmy's hooch. Not sure he's got your touch."

Sol glanced up from the documents. "Joe, are you going to be okay with letting these businesses go?"

"No! But I promised Caroline."

Sol chuckled mischievously, removing his spectacles as they were about to dive off his nose. "Cause I have something you can spend your new found money on."

A cool prairie evening unfolded as Joe and Carl sat at the kitchen table at the North farm. It was the night before Joe and Caroline's wedding. The two men enjoyed a glass of whiskey on ice, while Carl gave his boss some comical marital advice.

Joe's mind slipped back to this afternoon's events. He rode into town to see Father Kissel. Joe informed the Priest he was giving up the stills, and wouldn't be able to deliver the jug once a week for the alcoholic church leader. Father Kissel ranted and raved. Joe calmed him down with a $200 personal gift, plus a pricy men's ruby ring Joe acquired in a defaulted whiskey deal. Father Kissel blessed Joe, and agreed the donation would suffice in leu of the regular whiskey drop off.

Joe made his next point to the priest. He warned the padre, if he ever molested, fondled or sexually abused Caroline; he'd cut off his privates. And he'll do the same if he doesn't stop sexually abusing Caroline's mother. Father Kissel denied, objected and ranted. Joe grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking the man. Joe's penetrating eyes slashing through the sinning show, breaking the man's bluster. It sent the priest into tears. Promising he'll never touch either lady.

Joe was jolted back to the moment. A gun shot sounded. The kitchen window shattered. The whiskey bottle on the table exploded, adding to the glass mayhem. The two men hit the deck soaked in whiskey.

Woof! Woof! Woof! Bogan erupted with frantic barking, attempting to escape the cabin.

Another gunshot sounded. The bullet smashed a plate on the table with a third bullet nicking Joe's accordion. Joe crawled to the door where his gun leaned up against the wall. He eased open the door. He let Bogan loose All they heard was a horse speeding away with a barking Bogan in pursuit. Except, the unknown shooter held too much of a head start.

"Holy shit!" Joe stepped outside. "Lucky we weren't hit. They sure got up close."

Carl gazed out of the broken window. "Someone sure wants one of us six feet under."

"Thank goodness they were a bad shot."

Joe scratched his head. "So we know it is somebody who is a poor shot, and rides a fast horse."

A beautiful sunny day in the spring of 1910 as a beaming Joe and Caroline stepped out of the Ituna Catholic Church, arm in arm. Huge blissful smiles radiated from the newlyweds. Joe felt like the luckiest guy in the world as he gazed at the drop dead gorgeous Caroline. He continued to stare with adoring eyes at the picture of loveliness which was now his bride. She took his breath away. Elegantly, she floated in her white silk wedding gown. That gown that took Mrs. Boyko and Caroline hours to create. The effect was stunning. For her something blue, she wore a set of sapphire earrings and matching necklace given to her by Joe on her last birthday.

It was a packed church, much of the town witnessed the ceremony performed by Father Kissel with his flashy ruby ring. All were every bit as happy as the excited couple, except for Mr. Gomulka. He scowled and grumbled throughout the church ceremony. Frustrated that his last minute plan to stop the wedding failed.

Last night he threatened to cut off all ties with Caroline if she went through with the marriage to Joe. Except, his wife sided with Caroline in an uncharacteristic show of defiance. He then attempted a play on her sympathy, indicating he was in debt to Mike. If she did beg the Russian to marry her, her father's debt would be forgiven by Mike.

When Caroline refused, Mr. Gomulka pleaded with her. He revealed his life could be in danger. Mike's thugs would be dealing with him in a most unpleasant manner, if the money wasn't paid back promptly.

Caroline shocked her father, removing a sizeable stash of cash from her worn mattress. Cash she earned working in the Dress Shop. She handed over what her panicking father required. She shut herself in her room, finding peace in her bible.

Her wedding day was a fresh start for a glowing Caroline. She admired the look of Joe in his store bought suit. He showed tremendous potential to turn into a true gentlemen, and maybe even a spiritual man, bringing respectability to herself and their marriage.

Caroline's wedding day went off without a hitch until a drunk Pete Kaminsky arrived. All were gathered out on the church front lawn after the ceremony. Pete staggered up to the newly weds with his hideously scarred face and arms. Those repulsive scars were received in a retaliation for crippling a native chief's son. Pete was lucky to escape with only that damage.

The slurring Pete yelled out so all could hear, "Joe, hope ya enjoy this here sweet piece of ass." A malicious grinning Pete pointed at a horrified Caroline. "I sure as fuck did!"

"Not as good as mine!" declared Joe as he pounded back the whiskey's on a quiet night at Nicole's Place in the fall of 1910.

"Very true, Joe Kaminsky!" an energetic Gracie agreed as she bounced on her toes in front of Joe. "It's hurt our bar's business. The lads loved Joe's finest, and they miss it."

Joe held up his glass. "Well, this isn't mine, but it'll do."

"And you've been swimming in the spirit cups lately!"

Joe drained his glass, pouring another. "For sure!"

"Be careful!" Gracie warned with genuine concern in her voice.

"I'll be fine! But I sure miss making it." He took another mega shot, hanging his head. "Miss being involved in this bar too."

"But we've seen your mug here more now then when you were an owner."

Joe massaged his neck. "Just can't get fired up about farming."

Gracie's expressive face held a worried look as she sat down at a chair. "Then why did you buy those additional four quarters of land?"

"That section was a hell of a deal." Joe guzzled the rest of his glass. "Great land! Have to hire more men." He rubbed his temples. "A bit out of the way. Ten miles west of Ituna." He chuckled ironically as he thought of his former business. "Has a great place to run whisky stills? If I was doing that?"

"How's Caroline?"

"Doing well! Except for Sunday church, she's still embarrassed to come into town after that wedding incident. But I'm glad Danny cold cocked Pete with one punch on the church front lawn. And Jimmy revenged the act by flooding Pete's shack with a variety of insects that left Pete scratching himself nonstop for weeks."

"Good for nothing lay about that Pete!" Gracie shivered. "Gives me the willies."

"Does that to a lot of people, including my wife?"

"How does Caroline like being seven miles from town?"

"Adapted well," replied Joe. "She loves the farm. Loves her garden. Loves her lilac bushes, and all the sweet smelling flowers around the place. Do love the way the cabin feels like a home now."

"So, what doesn't she like?".

His voice took on a strangled quality as he confessed, "She hates the amount I now drink. And hates the threats."

Gracie eased forward anxiously in her chair. "Have there been more?"

"Fence ripped down, chickens stolen and horse shot."

"Oh no Joe! Caroline ought to be scared. We've had Fredrick skulking around in his job as garbage man." She made a fist. "And I swear there's been little acts of vandalism done around here. Do you think Fredrick is doing yours too?"

"Don't know! Sol claims he's had vandalism done at the store as well. Did you see Fredrick do anything?"

"No! But he sure bad mouths you and Danny a lot. No shortage of threats."

Joe exhaled a long breath. "Speaking of threats, a note was left on our porch."

"What'd it say?"

Joe ran his fingers through his hair and choked out the words, "Move or you all die!"

SIXTEEN

"Whether a boy or girl, it is a fighter," Sol said as he slapped Joe on the shoulder. "Congratulations!" It was one year after the memorable wedding and newborn cries were heard from Joe and Caroline's bedroom.

Joe sipped his whiskey on ice, mopping his brow. "So glad your wife is here for Caroline's first." He pulled out the gold pocket watch his father gifted him. The same watch he'd traded Sol on his first day in Ituna. Except, Sol had kept it all these years, returning it to Joe on his wedding day. He reflected on the moment when Sol placed the watch in his hand, bringing a tear to his eye.

Joe grinned, muttering as he gazed at that sentimental watch, "Our first child's born at high noon!"

Late in that year of 1911, Joe took Caroline out for a special evening. The first time she'd left the baby. Mrs. Boyko babysat for them. She cuddled little Katey in her loving arms, oohing and awing at the darling bundle's every move. Joe loved gazing at his first born. He thought she possessed the most intelligent eyes, and for a baby had the mature look of a no nonsense girl.

Joe bursted with pride as he escorted Caroline to the opening of the new Ituna Town hall, which hosted a grand opening dinner and dance. Practically the entire town attended, parading in their finest. Caroline's excellent seamstress skills were in full display as the royal blue dress she wore turned every head in the hall. It sent additional prideful feelings gushing through Joe's body.

The couple enjoyed the evening until the incident. A drunk Pete staggered in, chewing his tobacco, spitting on the floor every couple of seconds. Lecherously, he eyed Caroline talking to a group of ladies. The repulsive man unzipped his fly, weaving his way over, hand massaging himself. He shouted for all to hear, "How's that daughter of mine?"

Silence filled the room. Caroline said softly, "You are a liar." She slapped his face. "You are a disgusting man!"

"Ya loved my big cock," boasted Pete.

"I've never been with you, ever. So apologize right now."

Pete cackled, spitting his filthy black spew on her beautiful dress, flashing his sardonic grin. "Fuck ya!"

Joe marched across the hall, flushing with anger, yet knew exactly what he was about to do. He gathered his energy to strike, and strike hard.

Except, to add to the tension in the hall, a drunk Fredrick near at hand, staggered over to the group before Joe got there. Fredrick brayed like the ass he was, "Caroline, I think your new daughter's mine!"

Pete guffawed and slapped Fredrick on the back. "Not ya too!"

As Joe stepped into the group, he deliver a right cross to Pete's jaw, followed by a left shot to Fredrick's stomach. Joe's anger spilled out in a series of painful blows landing on the two drunks. Joe heard Mike's raucous laughter in the background. So, he let fly with a few more devastating shots, leaving the two losers out cold on the dance floor, floating in their own blood.

The shock of shocks, which sent Joe breaking into hysterical laughter, occurred when the gentle Caroline walked over and kicked both men squarely in the ass. She turned to Mike, walking up to the laughing man, cracking him across the face to the cheers of the crowd.

"Here's your families presents," Mrs. Boyko handed Joe a large bag full of packages. It was the early afternoon of Christmas Eve of 1911, as Joe chatted with Mrs. Boyko in the dress shop. Mr. Boyko repaired a broken shelf, and their granddaughter played at one of the sewing stations. The young Molly spied the adults with her perceptive eyes. Joe could tell she was absorbing their every word.

"And for our present," announced Joe. "After everything you two have done for Caroline and I over the years. We want to give the Dress Shop to you. Merry Christmas!"

The Boyko's all stopped whatever they were doing. A slack jawed Mrs. Boyko clapped her hands together. "Are, are you really giving us the Dress Shop?"

"For sure," Joe affirmed as he hugged Mrs. Boyko and shook Mr. Boyko's hand.

"Merry Christmas to you and your family," said Mr. Boyko. "And thank you Joe. You're such a good man."

"Merry Christmas!" Joe shouted. "Now all of you go home and start celebrating!" He pulled out a wrapped package. "And this is for Molly."

"You're a bad man!" A peeved Molly then stood up, walked up to Joe, snatching the present, kicking him in the shin. "I hate you. Daddy hits Mommy cause he says she's still in love with you."

In mid April of 1912, Joe and Carl sweated and strained as they attempted to fix a broken plough. Joe panted, holding up his hands. "Stop! I need a break." He snagged a jug of whisky from under a bench. "Need a swig."

"Not for me," said Carl. "Never touch the stuff."

"I shouldn't." Joe uncorked the jug and relished a greedy gulp. "Ah, that's good! You know, the sinking of the Titanic on April 10 was such a sad thing!"

"Sure was Boss!"

"Shit! I came across the Atlantic on a leaky old tin can." Joe took another swig. "We were lucky. Had few life rafts, just like the Titanic."

"Criminal! Somebody gotta pay for that."

"For sure." Joe guzzled a sizeable amount. "Speaking of criminal, Carl, who do you think's doing all this damage to us?"

"Don't rightly know."

"Now our well being poisoned is scary."

"Lucky we smelt it before any humans drank that water." Carl slapped a fence post. "Except, just darn sad those three cows died before we figured it out."

Joe indulged in another long swallow. "Keep thinking it's Pete or Fredrick or Mike. Or any combination of those three creeps. But can't nail it down."

"Was in town yesterday and heard Fredrick's some upset that you gave the Boyko's that Dress Shop."

"That damn Fredrick continues to skulk around our friend's businesses, making mischief."

"Yeah Boss! And I know Pete wants to fix you for beaten the hell out of him more than once." Carl chuckled. "Sure do like how Jimmy paid Pete back for insulting Caroline at that dance. Putting that crap in Pete's chewing tabacky had Pete shitting real shit for days."

"And putting turpentine on Fredrick's fingers the next night. Leaving the man screaming in pain when he commenced to picking his snout in the morning. Jimmy always strikes back."

"Then there's that dang Russian."

"And Carl, we know how Mike would like to kill me. So, there's quite a line up wanting to do me in."

"True enough." A nervous Carl scratched his ear that had a gold erring attached. "Ah, but don't let those spirits kill you first." Carl wore a sheepish look. "Don't mean to pry, but, well, you've been drinking a lot lately." The big man shook his head. "A lot!"

"Shit!" Joe spat on the ground, taking another drink. "I know Carl. I'm an alcoholic, but I can't stop."

"I love you like a brother," Carl admitted. "Worry about you."

"I'll stop soon Carl, just need to sort some things out."

A concerned Carl placed a comforting hand on Joe's shoulder. "If you need help licking that stuff. I know all about it. It darn near killed me."

"Joe! Joe!" Gracie hollered in a panic as she scurried along the Main Street of Ituna on a cold rainy day in October of 1912.

Joe just arrived in town. He sipped whisky on his way in, wishing he could slow down on the boozing. Except he couldn't seem to stop now that he was only farming. It was a major sore spot between him and Caroline.

The other major sore spot was he lost $300 in a poker game last week. Caroline raged at him. For he'd lost a lot lately. In fact, the only thing he'd won over the last couple of years was the sleek black horse named Fly, which he'd road into town today. That fine horse could truly fly as it was a real thoroughbred. Although that long legged horse was all he had won while losing a bundle. It was the fact he was gambling when he was drunk, and that was a lot lately.

"What is it Gracie?" Joe proceeded towards the upset lady.

An out of breath Gracie reached Joe, hugging him. "I've bad news."

"What is it?"

Gracie gripped Joe by the arm as she blurted out, "Nicole is dead!"

SEVENTEEN

After hearing the news of Nicole's death Joe embarked on a bender of all benders. His alcohol consumption hit a critical level. As on this fateful day, he guzzled like a man possessed, never quenching his whiskey thirst, knowing Nicole was murdered.

Gracie informed Joe that Mike claimed Nicole fell down the stairs in the hotel. Mike talked to the Mounties immediately, establishing his alibi, backed up by the Mayor's cronies, clearing himself of any suspicion. Although, Gracie also told Joe how most folks in town believed Mike killed Nicole. But evidence was non existent. Therefore, Nicole's murder would go unpunished, exactly like Tommy Cardinal's death. The injustice ate at Joe as he drowned his sorrow with whiskey.

A wet and inebriated Joe weaved his way down Main Street, stumbling, mumbling, falling, throwing up all over himself and the empty street. A cigar smoking Mike and some of his cronies stepped out of his bar, as Joe laid face down in his own vomit and mud. Mike snapped his fingers. He pointed at the passed out Joe. One of the thugs walked over and kicked Joe in the ribs. Joe moaned and threw up.

Mike glowered as he and his posse surrounded Joe. Mike flicked an ash from his cigar on the drunk man. "Boys, what should we do with this Galician trash?"

"Kill him," shouted one of the thugs.

Mike stroked his beard, grinning with evil in his eyes. "Good idea! Should we cut his balls off first?" The comment sparked hardy laughter from the group.

Mike slid out a knife. "You're a fucking loser!"

A filthy Joe rolled over slowly, his head throbbing and shot back, "You're a fucking killer!"

"Shut up!" An enraged Mike stepped in, attempting to kick the man on the ground. Joe managed to dodge that kick. Except, one of the thugs did the job, delivering a painful boot to Joe's stomach.

A wild-eyed Mike assumed a crazed look on his face as he hissed, "One more word and I'll slit you're fucking throat." Brutally, he kicked Joe again, this time connecting. "You're an embarrassment to your wife, and everyone in this town." His pals hooted and hollered in agreement. The jeering continued until the dark aura enveloped Mike's entire body. He edged closer with knife positioned to inflict damage as he brayed, "Prepare to die!"

Paul the blacksmith and Danny rushed out from Sol's general store as they heard the noise. They raced toward the gang of thugs. The unsavoury group scattered like fleeing rats, with Mike whispering for only Joe to hear, "Whiskey Joe, I will kill you. Then I will fuck your wife. And beat her to death too."

"My God! You look just like your Momma." Joe said in the spring of 1913 while he rocked his brand new baby daughter named Lilly. Joe peeked down at the dark haired bundle and chuckled with admiration. "You're going to be a beauty!"

Lilly cooed and Joe tickled her nose. "The spitting image. And I'll bet you'll have your mother's spunk." He smiled from ear to ear, enjoying the moment. "I'm a lucky man, but Lilly, why am I killing myself with the whiskey?"

Joe thought back to the humiliating night when he laid drunk in the middle of the Ituna Main Street. Thank goodness his friends saved his ass. "I have to stop! I'm such an embarrassment!" he sighed. "But the farm bores the shit out of me! I miss the excitement of the stills and being involved in running the bar."

Right then, Caroline crept up behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Forgive me Lord for what I'm about to say. Joseph, would you be happy if I let you run your still again? But no devil's den."

An excited Joe wouldn't do anything concerning the still operation until he received Father Kissel's blessing. For he knew, Caroline's guilt would eat her alive if the priest raised any objections. Therefore, Joe made his way to the Ituna Catholic Church, catching Father Kissel enjoying the spring sun while sitting on the front bench.

"Good afternoon. Are you going to finally repent for all your sins?"

"No Father Kissel, too far gone for that."

"Very, very true!" Father Kissel pulled a condescending sneer.

"But, what I'm here to talk about is that I want to open up my operation again. You know what I mean."

Father Kissel wagged his holy finger at Joe. The spiritual leader was renown for his finger wagging lectures and pronouncements. "You are a heathen!"

"For sure, but I won't start making again until I can be sure you won't add to Caroline's guilt."

"I will not be a part of brewing alcohol," Father Kissel said with an indignant tone. "Who do you think I am?"

Joe thought about answering that question with honesty. But he decided to stayed focused on his purpose. "How about if I go back to gracing the church with a jug a week?" Joe smirked as he pulled out a roll of bills. "And I donate $200 to the cause."

Father Kissel's eye's rose with interest.

"And let's say that I double Caroline's weekly contribution to the church."

"I don't know if that will change my handling of this situation."

Joe laughed inside as he realized they were now merely negotiating price. "Okay, I'll triple it. Making sure the contribution goes directly to your private collection plate. And with that arrangement a glittery diamond ring may be well within your grasp."

The perspiration flowed from the holy man as he contemplated. "Don't know." Father Kissel scratched his head. His eyes glimmered with greed as Joe recognized a man who was attempting to up the price further. "I am a Catholic Priest! Operating high above these types of sinful activities and discussions."

Joe offered all he could. He knew the man had a higher price in mind. But Joe was staying pat. So, Joe slapped Father Kissel on the shoulder. "I think we have a deal. And I'll never mention the fact that Mike sends one of his whores to you every month."

"What a dive!" Joe muttered as he stepped with caution into a dimly lit, stale aired Fort Qu'apple Bar, one week after his successful discussion at the church.

Joe hunted for a certain man. He heard this might be the place to find him. Joe spotted his man. He sauntered up to a corner table with a dishevelled dirty drunk passed out, head resting on that crude table. Joe seized a half full picture of beer, pouring it on Jimmy Cardinal's head.

A spluttering Jimmy, wearing a lumberjack shirt that had seen much better days, raised his head like a man in a trance. His body shook like a drenched dog. "Fuck!"

"How's things?" Joe slapped him on the back.

A glazed eyed Jimmy threw up on the table. He dropped his head back down in the mess and mumbled, "What'd you want?"

"Oh Jimmy boy!" Joe sighed with an empathetic look, snagging a chair, sitting down. "I want you, and I want those two whiskey stills." Joe heard that Jimmy only lasted a year making whisky on his own. He gave it up, hitting the bottle hard.

"I thought you was done."

"Well, the good Lord and I made a deal." Joe slapped the table. "I'm back in the whiskey game. Do you have any money left?"

Jimmy groaned. "Not a fucking cent."

"Will you sell the stills to me for what I sold them to you?"

"Yah."

"Will you come and work for me?"

Jimmy popped his head up like a gopher out of a hole, looking Joe in the eye. "Let's get going!"

One day later, Joe and Jimmy scouted the new location where their whiskey operations would be established. It was smack dab in the centre of the four quarters Joe purchased with Sol's assistance in 1910. This out of the way land west of Ituna boasted a sizeable hidden valley which fit the bill perfectly.

"Yea-Haw!" Jimmy threw his hands in the air in excitement. "Lots of water, lots of bush, them stills can be hid there." He pointed to a sheltered spot.

Joe's voice overflowed with passion, "Except this time we're going big. I want sheds for the stills, sheds for storage, first rate delivery equipment and so on."

"Really?"

"For sure! Time to strike."

Jimmy sucked in a breath. "Joe, cost a bundle."

"Worth every penny we invest." Joe grasped Jimmy by the shoulder. "My friend, were going to be the biggest whiskey maker in Saskatchewan! Maybe Canada!"

Jimmy laughed uncontrollably until he got hold of himself. "So great to be back with Whiskey Joe." He shook Joe's hand. "I forgot. Go big or go home!"

EIGHTEEN

Joe collected their mail at the Ituna Post Office in September of 1914. All the talk in town concerned the outbreak of war in Europe. Canada was heavily involved already. Young men were being shipped off to do battle.

Joe strolled down the Main Street of Ituna browsing at the various letters. He halted. "Holy Shit!" He ripped open the official looking brown envelope. Joe jerked his head up, talking to no one, "I've been drafted."

"Are you gonna fight?" Danny asked as he and Joe met for a meal at Wong's Cafe. It was one week since the army draft letter was opened. Joe stalled his answer, placing their order first. Starting them off with a pot of green tea and a massive bowl of hot & sour soup, followed by a variety of scrumptious dishes. Joe loved using the chopsticks while Danny stuck to his trusted fork. The highlight of every one of their meals here was of course, the fortune cookies.

Danny leaned forward. "You're driving me crazy. What happened?"

"Well, I went to the recruiting office in Yorkton." Joe shook his head in amazement. "Scary shit! So, I did the medical."

"Did you pass?" Danny asked as he was about to bite into an egg roll.

Joe savoured a spoonful of the savoury soup before answering, "For sure."

"Did the army think you were too old?"

"Didn't talk about age. But when they found out I was a farmer, and had nine quarters of land, they told me to go."

"Excellent!" Danny sighed with relief.

"For sure! They said the country needs farmers. They told me to go home and finish my harvest."

Joe ran into his friend George Babchuk in Yorkton that day. The Foam Lake man received his draft letter as well. Both men laughed at the irony. They had been rejected from the Canadian army cause they were farmers. Yet, both their fathers back in Galicia served. That day, they shared a whiskey on ice in celebration. Joe and George toasted to an independent Galicia one day. As well, they planned new whiskey sales opportunities around the Foam Lake area.

"Thank God! We couldn't loose Whiskey Joe. Especially since you're back in the business." Danny sipped on his tea, tension leaving his face. "Your sweet spirits have brought the lads back to Nicole's Place in droves. Like old times again mate."

"This past year has been crazy. Jimmy and I have almost returned sales to what they were at our peak." Joe grabbed a jumbo shrimp with his chopsticks. "I love this stuff. And thank goodness Carl can run things on the farm with only a little guidance from me."

"How the hell do you lads deal with your land being scattered?"

"Great farmhands at each place." Joe popped the shrimp in his mouth, chewing for a long moment. "Yum! And between Carl and I, we travel a ton."

Danny whispered, "How's the new still location?"

"Excellent," Joe replied quietly. "So well concealed, Mounties will never find it. Unless someone snitches."

"Did Jimmy ever find Sonny?"

"No, too bad!" Joe said with disappointment in his voice. "Sonny seemed to disappear. But we've hired a couple of new top notch workers for the whisky business." Joe pointed at Danny's eye. "What happened?"

The huge Irishmen rubbed his half shut peeper. "Ouch!"

"Another black eye? Danny, you'd one not long ago in the other eye."

Danny shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment. "Ah Joe. Another drunk got out of line. And the bastard tore me lucky green hat." He touched his hat on his head. "But, I'm not giving it up."

"Was it something to do with Gracie again?" Joe asked as he tapped his chopsticks nervously on his plate.

"Damn that woman! She's still flirting."

"Gracie's harmless. She's just being friendly. This has to stop." Joe took a dead serious tone, "Or you'll end up dead in one of these fights."

An ashamed Danny cringed. "I can't stop. What's wrong with me?"

Joe opened his fortune cookie. As he red it, a thought floated into his head. "Yeah!" Joe set down his chop sticks. "I don't think you can stop either. This will take a while to unfold, but maybe its time to make some big changes."

In the middle of the night in August of 1915, screaming originated from Joe and Caroline's bedroom. Except, Joe was outside that room. Joe, Katey and Lilly sat in the living room, scared to the bone with each of the agonizing shrieks. Caroline struggled in this labour. Mrs. Goldstein assisted the birth. But this birth presented a frightful challenge. The baby was breeched. The painful labour dragged on for hours. Caroline's screams grew weaker, the concern increased.

Joe led the girls out for a number of walks. He now sat on the girl's bed, reading them a story. His trembling hands held the book.

"Is Mommy gonna die?" Katey inquired in a soft voice.

The two year old Lilly shouted, "Mommy die!" She commenced to crying and kicking the wall.

Joe wrapped the girls in his arms, hugging them, giving comfort to them and himself. "Your mommy's very strong, and she needs you girls to be strong right now."

Mrs. Goldstein burst into the girl's bedroom, dishevelled and disoriented, "Joe, we've a decision to make."

The next day Joe sat alone, rocking a cradle which held Joe's first son, John. He gazed down at the constantly wiggling boy, touching his tiny nose. "You're a fighter." An exhausted Joe promised his new son, "I want to be a better man than I have. I want you and your sisters to be proud of your father." He swallowed hard. "And your mother deserves a better man. She's one hell of a lady, one hell of a fighter."

Joe could hear Mrs. Goldstein chatting with a worn out Caroline in their bedroom. The difficult decision never unfolded. For Caroline refused to give up hope, or give up fighting, and sure enough, a short time later Mrs. Goldstein managed to pry little Johnny out.

Joe had improved himself, but he was determined to step it up a notch. He'd abstained from partaking in any spirits since he fired up the stills again. He didn't miss the liquor one bit. He continued to play poker, but he was giving that up as of now.

Joe sat up straight in his chair, receiving a jolt of energy as he savoured the sight of his son. Now that the trauma of last night was over, and he could think about it, he felt fantastic about his life. He'd the passion back, and now had a son. He loved Caroline, Katey and Lilly a ton, loving how they'd him wrapped around their finger. Except now that he had a baby boy, it completed the happiness picture in his mind.

Little Johnny burped, making Joe laugh. "You got that fun loving look about you, just like me when I was a little guy. Then well, life catches up to you, and I got all serious."

Joe grabbed his son's finger. "Yeah, you gotta good grip their tiger. You can help me balance things out in this house of females." Joe sniffed the sweet fragrance radiating from a vase of roses set on the table. "Real nice! But I'm going to show you the other side of life."

Johnny cooed and gurgled in response.

"You and me are going to have some fun. I'm gonna teach you so much. Like how to farm. Although, that's not my thing. Carl can help us out there. I can teach you how to make fine whiskey, run a bar, deal from the bottom of a deck, use a knife, ride a horse, and a ton of other things."

Joe then shed a tear. "And I'll teach you about your grandpa and my father. I miss him a lot! Got a letter from Poland last week and he's sick." Joe's eye's watered. "I mean real sick. He's a great man, taught me a lot. That's why I named you after him."

Err! Bogan let out a low menacing growl while standing in a protective stance in front of Caroline, who rocked a two month old Johnny on their covered porch. A dreary fall day unwound as Joe piled wood into a nearby shed to protect against the upcoming winter.

Err! Bogan let out another warning growl with his ears perked high in the air.

"What is it?" Caroline asked the rigid dog.

Err! Err! Err! Bogan's growls continued to grow in intensity.

"Joseph!" Caroline yelled.

Joe hurried out of the nearby shed. "What is it?"

Three German Shepherd dogs charged out from the bushes. They headed straight for Caroline and baby John. Only a growling Bogan stood in their way. The noble husky challenged the three intruders. The largest of the well trained fighting dogs maneuvered past Bogan, continuing on its way towards the porch. Joe zeroed in on the largest of the attacking canines. He could hear the other two dogs fighting with Bogan. He could hear Caroline screaming with fear. He used every ounce of energy to reach the charging German Shepard, while slipping out his knife. Luckily, Joe leap upon the dogs back a split second before it reached Caroline and the baby. He sunk the knife deep into the humongous dog's neck. Blood gushed everywhere. The dog dropped in a couple of seconds.

The struggling German Shepherd flopped about in the final throws of life. It gave up as it went limp. A bloody Joe rolled off. He ushered Caroline and the baby inside. He noticed with pride Johnny never showed an ounce of fear.

Joe picked up a shovel and entered the battle Bogan was engaged in. He heard the sound of drumming horse hoofs running away. He saw a bleeding Bogan fighting the two remaining killers like a dog possessed. So, Joe tore after the second German Shepherd like a man possessed himself, knocking the dog back. This dog was a trained fighter. It knew how to fight a man. Although, Joe's rage made short work of the wily German Shepherd.

Buy the time Joe finished with the second dog, the third German Shepherd lie dead next to a whimpering Bogan. Tears flooded Joe's face as he crouched next to the critically injured Husky.

"Oh my God!" Joe realized it was hopeless. Bogan was ripped bad.

Bogan focused his one eye on his master, blood gurgling from his mouth. The dog took a few pained breaths while Joe stroked his long time canine friend. "You've protected me for years, now you saved my wife and son."

Within two minutes Bogan died, and Joe continued to stroke the dog tenderly. "Go in peace my friend." Joe laid beside the dog and wept.

In November of 1915 a large group hover around a table at the Ituna General Store. Mrs. Goldstein signed, then Sol put his signature on the same legal document. "It is done!" Sol shouted while looking at his wife. "My dear, we are foot loose and fancy free!" Sol tossed his spectacles in the air, attempting to catch them. They fell to the floor, breaking into pieces. He chuckled and embraced his wife with affectionate arms, exuding an uncommon show of emotion. "Time for us to play!"

Joe hugged Mrs. Goldstein, Gracie, and then shook Sol and Danny's hand. "This is one deal that feels right."

Joe orchestrated a deal where Danny and Gracie sold Nicole's Place to an out of town buyer. Danny and Gracie took the money and purchased Sol's General Store. Sol agreed to stay on and assist Danny and Gracie in the transition. Sol and his wife were now over seventy and slowing down, wanting to retire to a small house on the edge of town.

Gracie exclaimed, "This lass is so happy!" She embraced Danny, pinching him on his firm bum. We get a fresh start in a booming store.

Danny wearing his brand new green hat,sighed as if a heavy weight came off his shoulders, pinching Gracie's perfectly shaped ass. "And me promises to never get jealous again."

"Caroline my dear,you know my favourite saying," Joe said. "Go big or go home!" It was two weeks before Christmas in 1915 as snow fell lightly on Joe's head. He wore his buffalo coat. He sat on a well groomed, energetic Fly in front of their porch

Joe leaned down, kissing Caroline goodbye. "Don't worry! You and the kids are safe." Joe assured her that Carl and the farmhands would protect the place with their lives while he was away.

Joe decided it was time to think big, time to dream big. He wanted to expand into the lucrative whiskey market in the capital city of Regina, Saskatchewan. He'd been corresponding with a hotel owner. He'd been invited in to talk.

When Joe arrived in Regina he was surprised at the size of the city. Then as he arrived at Champs Hotel, owned by Henry Jacks, Joe received another surprise. Clearly, Champs Hotel stood as the largest hotel in the growing city of Regina. Along with it being the most luxurious and expensive in the province of Saskatchewan.

The two men met alone in a private dining room. Joe felt uncomfortable. This was way out of his league, beautiful chandeliers, smartly dressed waiters, fine china and all the trimmings of a high end establishment.

"I finally get to meet the infamous Whiskey Joe." The large Henry let out a deep belly laugh. "I've tasted your fine liquor." He hammered the table. "Best fucking whiskey in the province of Saskatchewan! Maybe the best in all of Canada!" He downed a glass of whiskey served in the fanciest whiskey glass Joe had ever seen. "Ah, so smooth! And thank you for the sample!"

"And thank you Mr. Jacks for taking the time."

"Call me Henry!" The jovial man with gigantic jowls poured himself more spirits. "How many stills do you have going?"

Joe peered around with nervous eyes, clearing his throat before he spoke, "Two."

"That's all! Now Joe, I want all of it!" Henry shoved a massive meatball in his mouth.

"But."

Henry finished chewing. "Delicious! Tell you what I'm gonna do." The 300 pound man pulled out a stack of one hundred dollar bills, handing it to Joe. "This is an advance on your shipments to come. Go buy yourself a couple more whisky stills"

"Holy shit!"

Henry went after another meatball, blaring like a fog horn, "Welcome to the big time boy!"

NINETEEN

"Please consider it!" Joe pleaded with his wife. Early spring of 1916 when Joe covered Caroline's hand with fond fingers. He looked into her eyes with genuine sincerity, while the two cuddled alone on their living room sofa.

Joe continued to speak, "I want to donate $300 to the building of the Beaver Hills school. And I want to join the Beaver Hills school board to ensure that school's set up right." Desperately, Joe wanted to bring some respectability to himself and the family. He knew underneath Caroline was embarrassed of what he did.

"As I said Joseph, any money we give should be to the church," insisted Caroline wearing her signature look of determination.

"But there are so many children in this area. That way our kids would only have a mile and a half to get to school, rather than that seven mile trip into that sorry excuse for a school in Ituna."

"No, Joseph!" She made a steeple with her fingers. "If we give, it is to the Catholic Church."

Joe slipped a peppermint candy from a jar sitting on the coffee table in front of them. "Yum! I love the way you always have treats around." He was stalling, sucking on the candy, giving himself time to think about what he was to say next. "Except Caroline, every time we give to the Catholic Church in town, they buy another useless piece of art."

Caroline slapped Joe on the shoulder. "How dare you? Talking like the devil himself."

Joe had flashed his signature winning smile early in the discussion, but the tactic had no impact on his wife. So, he was down to his last gasp. His voice became firm. "I want our kids to have a chance at a solid education."

She took on a stern look. "No! I don't believe in education." Caroline turned to Joe, making her other signature move, placing her fingers on her husband's lips. "There's only one book to read. You know which one."

This time Joe shocked his wife by gently removing her fingers from his lips, speaking with unwavering purpose, "Caroline, I don't ask much. But, please think bigger picture. Please think of our children."

"Oh, I don't know!" She fussed and fidgeted. "I need to talk to Father Kissel. He's so wise. I guess, if he agrees."

Joe was amazed at the power these priests held over their flock. Also, he was amazed at some of the dirty secrets and vices these priests hid. "I talked to Father Kissel. And he's all for it. Cause I said we'd donate the exact amount to his church."

During the winter of 1917, Joe and Caroline welcomed a brand new daughter. No labour complications, Beverly was born in the middle of a cold prairie night. She danced into the world in a hurry, and was cooing and chirping in no time. It was as if the little darling came out talking, and never stopped.

When Joe cuddled Beverly in his loving arms, she filled the air. Joe laughed and smiled. "I love the sound of your sweet voice. And you'll be bossing your dad around in no time."

Katey tiptoed into the room, standing beside Joe. She peeked at her newborn sister.

"Isn't she cute?" Joe asked.

"Sure is Daddy. Was I cute too?"

Joe winked playfully at her. "Absolutely! And your real smart as well as pretty." He tickled her under the chin. "How was school?"

"The new Beaver Hills school is amazing," Katey said as she excitedly clapped her hands.

All through the spring of 1916, Joe fought, coerced and begged his neighbours. Finally, all agreed to build the schoolhouse. The construction went like clock work. Joe spent additional cash to ensure the Beaver Hills school was first rate, and ensuring the teacher was of the highest quality.

"So, you're enjoying first grade?"

"You bet!" She pulled her dad's nose. "And our teacher even said what a great job you did in leading the building of our school." She kissed Joe on the cheek. "And Daddy, I'm so proud of you!"

"Let's go Johnny," Joe said as he carried his rambunctious son out the front door of their cabin in the spring of 1917. It didn't appear like a cabin any longer. Joe, Carl and a couple of farm hands built two additional bedrooms and a large pantry. Also, they installed indoor plumbing and running water. That crystal clear water was source from their nearby well which had provided Joe with endless refreshing drinks all these years.

"Where are you taking my Johnny?" Caroline asked with a quiver in her voice.

"Time for him to get the feel of a horse." Joe positioned Johnny on the saddle, Fly never moved a muscle.

"No Joseph. He could fall."

Johnny squealed with delight, pulling on Fly's mane. "I'll be holding him tight," Joe reassured his wife.

"But my baby boy!"

"Honey! You can spoil Katey, Lilly and baby Beverly all you want." Joe swung up on the horse behind Johnny. "But this little tiger needs action, and can't be coddled."

Their daughter, Lilly, pushed threw the front door demanding, "Daddy, I want to go for a ride."

"Lilly, I took you yesterday."

She screamed, "Don't care." She stomped her foot. "I want to ride now!"

"You can have a turn after Johnny," Joe said. He did worry about how spoiled Lilly was becoming. Certainly, she was an incredibly beautiful little girl, but was turning into a selfish brat.

She stuck out her tongue. "I hate you," shrieked Lilly for the world to hear, slamming the door, beginning a sulking pout which would last for days.

Caroline sighed with worry. "She's becoming more and more demanding."

"For sure! Now Johnny and I are going for a ride."

Caroline clutched at Joe's arm. "But he's still out there!"

"Buster here." He pointed at the families new Siberian Husky dog. "Has grown into one top notch protector."

"But Joseph."

"And Carl is right close in the woodshed. So don't worry. Johnny and I'll be taking a ride around the farmyard." The wriggling Johnny grasped one of the reigns. "I'll always be here to protect you." Joe opened up his coat, revealing a pistol. "And I'll shoot to kill!"

A month later Carl strode up to Joe's front porch. "Boss, found something you're gonna wanna see."

"What's that?" Joe continued to read the book on his lap. He'd become an avid reader, studying business, economics and politics, investigating new ventures to enter into. Joe enjoyed the way him and Carl were expanding the farm. They were cultivating large amounts of land, exploring new agricultural techniques. It sparked a new interest in farming for himself.

On top of that, Jimmy and himself had the whiskey operation humming, expanding with two brand new industrial size stills. Additional men hired. Numerous permanent sheds constructed. Top of the line equipment used and a super efficient delivery system. His whiskey operation was becoming a dominant player in that unsavoury area. The name of Whiskey Joe was spreading throughout Saskatchewan, and into other parts of Canada and the United States.

"Found the spot our troublemaker's been using to watch us," said Carl.

Joe leaped out of the chair. "Let's go!"

"And by what he's got there now, his next act gonna be even more deadly."

Joe and Caroline walked down the main street of Ituna in the fall of 1917. Caroline held a chattering baby Beverly. Katey and Lilly walk behind teasing their excited brother who held Joe's hand.

"You stay close to me Johnny," Joe commanded. "Cause if I let you go, you'll be gone. And even your bossy sisters couldn't stop you."

Anna and her daughter pranced round the corner, stepping in font of the Kaminsky family. "Quite the unruly brood," Anna declared with her well developed sarcastic tone. "Can't you handle them Caroline?"

"They're a spirited bunch," replied Joe as he sized up the green rash on all of Anna's fingers, both wrists and round her neck.

Anna released a cynical chortle. "And they don't look like you at all Joe."

The shot at Caroline was apparent. She responded with a forceful posture, "They look a lot like Joseph, and you know it."

"Of course, you'd say that!" Anna snorted. "Did you know my Fredrick was recently given the position of Head Parishioner at our Catholic church?" She elevated her nose. "Yes, quite an honour. I bought this priceless neckless in celebration." She stuck out her neck for all to admire.

"Congratulations to both of you," muttered Caroline under her breath. By Caroline's face, this struck a negative cord with her. For Joe had only attended church for their wedding, the kids christenings and the odd funeral. Joe knew that Mike paid to have Fredrick take the church leadership roll, in order to have more influence over Father Kissel.

Katey whispered to Lilly, but all heard, "That necklace is ugly." Both girls and Joe giggled.

Anna scowled at the two girls. "Yes, certainly is an honour," Anna gloated in her grating voice. "Father Kissel only wants upstanding citizens and people of the highest social standing in leadership positions. He despises criminal types such as whiskey makers." The thin lipped Anna sneered. "And everyone knows about Whiskey Joe here."

Caroline turned fifty shades of red, while Joe attempted to keep the kids in line. He grimaced with each moment of this nightmare conversation.

Anna cackled in her mocking manner. Then she assumed her aura of superiority, "Poor foolish Caroline, I often chat with your father. Mr. Gomulka, is so disappointed with your choice of a husband." She touched Caroline patronizingly. "I should give you a few lessons on choosing a good man. And decent jewelry."

The perceptive Katey piped up, "You're mean!"

The outspoken Lilly joined in, "Yeah! And ugly!" She followed that up by sticking out her tongue multiple times and making a horrid face at Anna.

An appalled Anna raged, "You little bitches!"

Not to be outdone, little Johnny broke free and kicked Anna in the shin and said, "Green witch!" He scampered back to the protection of his father.

"What a little heathen!" Anna fumed, shaking her fists, tinny sounds filling the street. "Just like his sinner of a father." She proceeded to move on past, firing one last barrage in a scornful screech, "And Caroline, still can't get your husband to even go to church." The irate Anna then shouted for the entire town to hear, "And stop your husband's womanizing ways!"

"Whiskey Joe!" Henry Jacks bellowed. "You're among friends here."

December of 1917 and a nervous Joe found himself sitting in the Assiniboin Club in Regina. He never dreamed he'd enter the fancy gentlemen's club, whose board member and Mike, were involved in attempting to set him up in a sting operation many years ago. Except, Joe decided to come and listen. He purchased a new set of clothes, new boots and hat for the occasion.

One of the reasons for this meeting was a liquor tasting contest that took place a month ago in Regina. The cash prize for the winner stood high. Joe put his whiskey up against the best alcohols for hundreds of miles. It came down to a vodka with a fancy Mexican name and his. The five judges sipped and sipped again, smelling and swallowing. In the end, Joe won the cash, sending his orders through the roof, and a greater interest in his operation.

At this meeting, there were two sharply dressed men who positioned themselves across from Joe. One was a member of the Saskatchewan Provincial Legislature. The other was Henry, owner of Champs Hotel where Joe was staying. Joe provided whiskey to that fine hotel for almost two years now. It'd been an extremely beneficial relationship for both parties.

The weasel like politician inquired. "If you had a chance to take your whiskey operation legit, would you?"

Joe tugged at his shirt collar with uncomfortable fingers, taking his time before responding, "What whiskey operation?" He smirked, flashing an innocent look. All the men chuckled, joining in the joke.

"We mean to set up a whiskey distillery that could be huge with the right partners," Henry said.

Joe mopped his brow. "What would it take to set up an operation like that?"

"A three way partnership that may take up to a year to finalize and get proper approvals," replied Henry. "I'll put up the majority of the cash for 30% of the action. My political friend here will ensure a long term licence for our Distillery for 5% of the company. And a discrete cash donation to his private bank account."

The pencil neck politician added, "And the licence will not only allow us to distribute your fine liquor in the province of Saskatchewan, but in the rest of Canada, and even in the United States of America."

Henry leaned in. "Now as for you, Joe, you'll put up some cash. You'll put in your existing equipment. You'll run the company, owning 65%." The businessman drained his glass of whiskey. "And most exciting, the new company will be called Whiskey Joe's."

TWENTY

Danny, Paul the blacksmith, and Joe stood around the counter of the Ituna General Store, smoking cigars to celebrate the birth of Joseph Jr. early in 1918. Joe rode a definite high. Family was doing great, business was great, and he and Caroline were truly in love. He had to do some reassuring of his love for Caroline after Anna's lie concerning him and other women.

Danny and Gracie were also very happy, raising a fantastic batch of children, running a successful general store, and no fits of jealous rage from Danny. Joe enjoyed this Danny who continually sang his Irish tunes, for through some of those jealous days at the bar, not a tune could be heard from the man.

They heard a shout from the back alley. "What the hell?" Joe asked as he sniffed the air. The three men piled out of the front door, slipping and sliding on the ice and snow as they made their way around the corner. They ran along the side of the General Store and the Dress Shop. When they emerged onto the back alley, they spied the corner of the dress shop burning. And they spied Fredrick striking Mr. Boyko with a shovel on the head, while the older man laid helpless on the ground.

Upon spotting the three men, Fredrick fled, throwing the bloody shovel away. Danny pursued Fredrick. Paul grasped the shovel, throwing snow on the fire, putting it out in short order. Joe ripped off his shirt, propping up a bleeding and busted up Mr. Boyko. Joe attempted to halt the flowing blood with his own shirt and Mr. Boyko's rainbow coloured handkerchief. "Just relax, we'll get you help."

Mr. Boyko sputtered, "Tried to save the place." He coughed and wheezed. "He was trying to burn." Massive lengthy coughs filled the air. "Give me my lucky pipe." He hacked for a long moment. "Gonna need it."

Joe removed the gold plated pipe from the man's shirt pocket. He placed it in Mr. Boyko's hand.

"My luck turned after I got this pipe." He began an endless eery wheezing sound, pausing to whisper, "Take care of." Mr. Boyko rolled his eyes. His body spasmed. An eery chill ran through the back alley over the next minute. Mr. Boyko died in his friend's trembling arms.

Half an hour later at the Boyko's home in Ituna, Joe consoled Mrs. Boyko with a never ending hug. Her tears drenched his new shirt. He communicated the sad news of her husband's death. The hardest part was letting her know that Fredrick was the killer. A belligerent Fredrick was locked in a jail in the back of the Post Office until the Mounties would arrive to collect the raging murderer.

Joe slipped the gold plated pipe into Mrs. Boyko's hand. "Was in his hand when he passed."

"Oh Joe, he treasured this gift from you!"

"Let me know if there's anything I can do," offered Joe.

Mrs. Boyko asked with a thick emotional voice, "What'll we do without him?"

"He was a good man. He died protecting your property."

"Does Anna know yet?" Mrs. Boyko inquired as she sniffled and wiped tears.

"No! Do you want me to tell her?"

She shook her head. "I'm going right now. My granddaughter will take it hard. She loved her grandpa." Mrs. Boyko began weeping again. "But, but Molly won't miss Fredrick."

Joe stepped back. "Why?"

"From an early age Molly seemed to sense Fredric wasn't her real father."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "But you said Fredrick was."

Mrs. Boyko wiped more tears, looking downward in shame, and spoke in a whisper, "I lied!" She lifted her chin. "I am sorry! You're definitely Molly's father."

"Have to explain something to your mother." Joe cringed later that day. "And is she going to be pissed," He rocked a squirming Johnny on the perfectly crafted rocking chair Carl gifted the couple upon the birth of their first child back in 1911. He thought how this rocking chair had been well used, providing endless warm motion memories.

"Mommy mad!" Johnny gazed up at his Dad and grinned.

"She'll be." Joe tousled his son's hair. "You know, you have that same glint in your eye that I do. And Johnny, that can get you in a lot of trouble."

Johnny reached up and pulled Joe's nose. "Big nose!"

"And yeah Johnny, you got the same nose as me, and your grandpa back in Poland, who'd a big one too. But remember, you can always tell the size of a Man, by the size of his nose. And someday, you'll understand what that means." Joe tickled Johnny, sending giggles through the home. "Last letter I got from Poland, Grandpa John passed away. Wish I was there at the end. Wish I could have had one last laugh with my dad before he died."

"Grandpa die," Johnny said.

"Yes, he did. I wonder someday if you'll have a grandson named John," speculated Joe.

"Me Johnny!" The dark haired boy hopped off Joe's knee, grabbing a ball on the floor. "Ball!"

Johnny threw the ball to his dad. "Nice throw." He tossed it back. The nimble Johnny caught it with ease. "Wow! You're a natural."

Joe chuckled as Johnny did a little jig. "And you're quite the dancer." Joe held out his hands to little Johnny. The bundle of energy scampered back onto Joe's knee, receiving a hug. "You and me gotta stick together."

"I love Daddy!" Johnny hugged his dad.

A tear formed in Joe's eye. "And I love you! And one thing I'm gonna cherish, is how we're gonna grow this business I got going." Joe smiled with affectionate at the fidgeting boy. He thought how the nine quarters of farmland were humming with Carl and the farmhands. Plus, they now had six stills running flat out, providing whiskey to over 80 bars and restaurants within three hundred miles. The last two whiskey stills they purchased were monsters, setting up the operation to graduate to the big time of whisky production. "Yeah Johnny, farming and whiskey are quite the combination."

Johnny stopped fidgeting and stared into his Dad's eyes. "Whiskey."

"You, your brother Joseph and maybe one of the girls if your mother lets them, gonna take the farm and the whiskey operation to the next level, cause I'm gonna teach you kids everything I know." Joe took on a very serious tone. "But what I've learned from dealing with a couple of gents in Regina. We'll eventually think bigger than whiskey making and farming. A ton of business opportunities out there. That's why you kids are going to get an education to go along with your real life learning." Joe tickled his son again. "But first things first. We're gonna start a company called Whiskey Joe's."

Late that night after Caroline had finished crying over the sad news about Mr. Boyko, Joe knew it was time to face the firing squad. For a dry mouthed Joe was about to explain the other news of the day to Caroline. They sat alone at their kitchen table. His fingers tingled, his breath quickened. He figured he was in for it. He wouldn't even attempt one of his disarming smiles. For that'd make it much worse with Caroline who knew every trick in his charm book.

Joe thought this conversation would be even worse then the one they had concerning starting Whiskey Joe's. She fought the idea, dead against it, even though it would make the operation legal. In Joe's mind this would have made the whiskey operation and their family more respectable, but not in her mind. Caroline's objections rung loud and long to the fact now his whiskey making would be totally out in the open. Instead of her fellow church goers merely whispering behind her back about Joe's sinful activity, now they would openly scorn her and the family.

Once again, Joe beat Caroline to the punch. For when she mentioned Father Kissel, Joe had taken care of the crooked church leader with the appropriate cash bribe. Sealing the deal when Joe flashed a rare pure gold cross pendant in front of the holy man which sent his jewelry obsessed eyes to dancing. So with Father Kissel onside, finally, Caroline agreed. Although, she pouted for one week.

The ticktock of the clock was the only sound in the room as Joe summoned the courage. Eyes downcast, sweat streaming from his face as he went to speak, "I'm about to tell you something, that'll support you calling me the devil's helper. I, I swear I thought Molly was Fredrick's child." A cheerless Joe slumped in his chair. "But she's mine." Joe waited for the onslaught. "I'd have told you. I'd have tried to be a father to her. I'd have given money for her upbringing."

Caroline tapped Joe's knee. "It is okay Joseph."

He looked up in surprise. "But Caroline, aren't you mad?"

She flashed a knowing smirk, Then in her signature move, she placed her fingers on his lips. "I knew all along. I slipped Mrs. Boyko money each month." Caroline had ensured Molly was taken care of. "You've a lovely daughter there, in spite of her mother."

One week later Joe shared a table at Wong's Cafe with his newfound daughter. Molly wore a stylish well-tailored dress. She stared at Joe with those penetrating teenage eyes.

Joe squirmed in his chair. "Um, ah Molly, I recently learned that you're my child."

"Took you long enough to figure it out." She said with a cheeky grin.

"You mean you knew?"

The blonde haired Molly giggled and nodded her head with her ringlets hopping about.

"Was I the only one who didn't know?"

"Only you and that dupa Fredrick!" She giggled again at saying the word ass. "But Mom insisted right up until two days ago, then she finally confessed."

"I'm so sorry Molly. I didn't know!"

She pulled his nose. "Not to worry. I knew about the money Caroline was giving Grandma. And I know how good you were to my grandparents." A freckle faced Molly, who wore no jewelry, grasped Joe's hand. "Grandma is happy it is all out in the open. She thinks your the greatest!"

"How's she doing?"

"Grandma and I will miss Grandpa." Her eyes began to water. "But."

Joe squeezed her hand with tenderness. "If there is anything you need, just ask. This morning I set up a bank account for you and put money in it for your education or whatever you wish."

Molly perked up. "Grandma's teaching me all about the sewing and design business. And Grandpa used to tell me that your favourite saying was, Go big or go home!"

Joe admired the spark in her eyes, and the enthusiasm in her voice. As he watched Molly, he realized she received her shortness in the hight department, her blonde hair and blue eyes from her mother. But many of her facial features and overall bone structure were definitely his. He kicked himself for not realizing it sooner.

"So, I want to run the Dress Shop one day." She held her head up high. "And have my own clothing line. And even sell Grandma's wild headwear and those handkerchiefs she made for Grandpa!"

Joe leaned back in his chair, roaring with laughter. "You really are my daughter."

"I was so proud when I found out." Molly leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Dad, I'm so happy you're in my life." She pulled out a handkerchief in the pattern of the Galician flag. " And I sewed a present for you."

Joe's tears welled up. He swallowed hard. "Thank you Molly. I love you already daughter dear."

She fidgeted excitedly. "And I want to take on your last name."

TWENTY-ONE

July 1st of 1918 and the entire town celebrated Canada's birthday at the seventh annual Ituna Fair. The long anticipated occasion promised all sorts of fun activities for every age. Joe gazed about, sighing with satisfaction. All the people who were important to him were right here. He wished this moment could last forever.

Pride swelled in his chest as he looked with fondness at Caroline and the kids, along with a fun loving Molly fitting right in.

He then peeked over at his special friends: Danny and Gracie and their family, Sol and his wife, Paul the blacksmith and his family, along with Carl, Jimmy and many of the farmhands.

Even Joe's newest friend, Henry Jacks and his family, journeyed out from Regina to enjoy the day. Of course, Mrs. Boyko, wearing a flamboyant multicoloured bonnet, stood in the centre of things, helping with the children. Lovingly, she distributed her delicious food which Joe had overindulged on once again. Joe was thankful Anna didn't show as her animosity would have put a damper on this scene. She hung out in Yorkton these days, pursuing a new husband after divorcing Fredrick, once he received his life sentence for murdering her father.

"Come on Joe," yelled Jimmy. "Please put Fly in the horserace."

Joe shook his head.

"Come on mate," Danny encouraged. "Mike's horses have won the Ituna horserace for the last 6 years."

Big Henry threw in his opinion, "I've seen Fly run, no horse could outrun that lightening bolt"

Joe shook his head again. "Fly's getting too old."

"Or is it Joe's getting to old," Gracie teased.

Right then a cigar smoking Mike Ivanov and a couple of his thugs staggered by, reeking of cheap booze. Mike slurred, "What's this about being to old?" He reached out, slapping Gracie's bum in her snug fitting pants. "Hey boys, that fucking ass isn't too old yet!" His cronies enjoyed a hardy chuckle.

Danny, Carl, Joe and the men were scrambling to their feet when an outraged Gracie whirled, smacking Mike across the face. "You're a coward and a blackguard!" She kneed him in the balls. The huge man dropped to the earth, wailing like a braying jackass for the entire fairgrounds to hear.

Gracie scooped up Mike's lit cigar, holding it to his perspiring face. Mike wet his pants. "Be off with you. Or I'll shove this lit cigar up your ass." Gracie then kicked him solidly in that ass. She turned to his flunkies. "Boys, take away this trash! And Mike, if you ever come near me or my family again. You're a dead man." She kicked him in the ass one last time.

Danny thundered with laughter. "And all those years, thinking me needed to protect her from assholes." Everyone joined in the joke as Mike's thugs dragged him off with a pain in his groin, and a badly bruised ego.

"Now Joe, after that wouldn't you like to kick his ass in that horserace?" Sol inquired while touching his well fitting spectacles purchased after his last ones broke, when he sold the general store.

"No, not worth it," replied Joe.

Caroline interjected surprising the group, "Oh yes it is Joseph."

Two hours later Jimmy sat upon a long legged Fly at the starting line. Jimmy was the logical choice to ride as he was the most skilled horsemen of the bunch, and the lightest. A recovered and dry pants Mike had three of his horses in the race. The Mayor limped around, making wagers with all takers.

Caroline whispered to Joe, "You are placing a sizeable bet on Fly?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, do it," demanded Caroline.

"But Caroline, you hate gambling."

"This isn't gambling," she stated. "Fly's a sure thing. And besides I know how close you are to having the money for Whiskey Joe's."

"But, I thought you were against Whiskey Joe's."

Caroline put her fingers over Joe's lips. "This could take you closer to that number you need." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Now do it Joseph!"

As they packed up the kids to head home, Joe turned to Caroline, kissing her on the lips with all the kids giggling at their parents. "Kids! Your mother is one smart lady." He then whispered in his wife's ear, "By fall, we'll have enough."

"Help! Help!" Ear piercing screams flooded the countryside in August of 1918. Joe and Carl perched on their fence in the farmyard, discussing the upcoming harvesting of the crops, sharing a drink of water. As they continued to hear the screams for help, laughter broke out from both men.

"How long should we let him suffer?" Carl inquired.

"Let's go!" Joe hopped off the fence. "Let's get our guns, and see what we've caught."

The two men approached the hole which was a part of their trap. A well camouflaged hole that would reveal the person that caused them such chaos. Carl ensured anyone caught in the deep trap would be begging to get out. Both men peered into the hole, guns cocked and ready to blow someones head off if they had a weapon.

Joe slumped his shoulders when he saw who stood down in their trap. "Why'd you do it?"

"Fuck you," the frantic man yelled. "Now get me the fuck out of here."

Joe scowled at the culprit. "You hid enough dynamite here to blow the entire farm." Carl and Joe rendered that dynamite useless the first time they found it.

"You're fucking lucky! Pull me out before these." The man screamed.

"But why?" Joe asked, still not believing his eyes.

"I hated it when you sold the stills. And somebody paid me a bundle to join his team!"

Carl cocked his gun. "Were you gonna use that dynamite today?" Carl had to ask, even though the dynamite would have never gone off, but this scum didn't know that.

"Fucking right! After the horse race, all bets were off."

"You sleazy prick," Joe yelled. "I treated you well."

The captured man threw one of the snakes off him and screamed again, "And I wished I'd a shot you the night before your wedding."

Joe kicked dirt in his face. "I ought to shoot you Sonny!"

The following day Joe delivered Sonny to the law. There was now a Mounty stationed in the town of Ituna. Joe locked Sonny in a shed for the night. Carl and Joe rotated guarding him, giving the man food, but no smokes, driving Sonny crazy. Joe hoped the promise of a cigarette to a nicotine deprived Sonny, if he co-operated with the Mounties during the interrogation process, might assist in expediting that process somewhat.

Charges were laid after a short yet effective interrogation. The no nonsense Mounty scared the hell out of Sonny with minimal effort. Joe listened in amazement as a shaking Sonny quickly confessed to his crimes. Except, he never implicated Mike in any of the criminal activity. Joe gained an entire new respect for the police force. Re-enforcing to himself, he must never be caught.

As Joe exited, the Mounty turned to him, levelling a predator like stare. "Whiskey Joe, we are bringing in a special police team to nail your ass."

Joe gulped. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You've become too big." The Mounty pulled out his revolver. "You must fall!"

"How ya doing cousin?" Pete Kaminsky yelled as he drove a rickety old wagon up to Joe and Caroline's home, in the beginning of November in 1918. The unusually clean Pete guided the wagon close to the front porch. He hopped off, smiling from ear to ear. For the first time since arriving in Canada Joe noticed Pete had put on weight, shaved his beard and cut his hair short. He still chewed his tobacco, spitting out the crap every few seconds.

"What the hell do you want?" Joe asked as he straightened his back, eyeing Pete suspiciously.

Joe was packing up. He accumulated all the cash he required, currently stowing it safely in their bedroom safe. For that cash would travel with him to Regina, contributing to his portion of the large new company. Joe's dream was so near. Upon the cash being delivered, he'd finally sign the legal documents to create, Whiskey Joe's. And stop that special police team in their tracks. For they were getting closer.

Joe eased off the porch, entire body tight with a sickening feeling. "You got a lot of nerve coming around here."

"Ah Joe, just want some water. On my way to town."

"Then go get some water." Joe pointed to the well. "And get lost."

"Wanna see what I got in here?" Pete stepped to the back of the wagon.

"No Pete!"

"Come on!" A sly faced Pete ripped the cover off that wagon, reaching in and pulling a blanket off the body laying inside. "Come on and look. Taking it to town."

Joe crept to the wagon, peeking in. Pete threw the filthy blanket at Joe. Instinctively, he caught the diseased ridden item. Pete levelled a wolfish grin at his surprised cousin. Quickly, Joe threw the blanket back over the dead body. "What the fuck is wrong with you Pete?"

"Relax Joe, just a dead body."

Joe stormed back to his porch. "Get out of here."

"Don't be such a wimp!" Pete snickered maliciously. "Too bad this here stiff died of that there dirty black plague sweeping the world." He chortled, spitting out his black drool, hopping on the wagon seat. "Sure glad Mike paid me to stop by to visit ya."

Two days later a weak Joe stared at his lifeless baby son. Tiny Joseph, Jr. just couldn't fight that killer black plague. Tears flowed down a sick Joe with a haunted look on his face. A despondent Caroline slept in their room, she was all cried out after Joseph Jr's death. Joe thought how death has followed his life. Tommy, Nicole, Mr. Boyko and now baby Joseph, he wasn't sure he could handle this last one.

"Joseph, it's just not fare," A dejected Joe said in a beaten flat tone. He shook his head, dropping it in total defeat. "Joseph, for the first time in my life, I truly prayed." He rubbed his flushed face. "But, it didn't do a bit of good."

Johnny peeked at his father as he lie in his bed one day later. Joe breathed weakly, looking like a ghost. Johnny crept a little closer with apprehension. "Daddy."

Joe's eyes opened. He turned to his son. "Johnny," whispered Joe in pained breaths. "Take care of your mother and the girls." Joe graced his three year old son with a warm smile. "Love you Johnny."

The effort to speak took massive energy from Joe. So, he shut his eyes.

"Love you Daddy!"

Joe reopened his dazed eyes. He pointed at a his Swiss Army knife in a sheath and his gold pocket watch laying on a night table which his father had given him. "Those are now yours Johnny." Joe's breathing became even weaker.

Johnny's concerned eyes continued to watch Joe and his laboured breathing. "Daddy sick?"

A few minutes later, a haggard looking Caroline entered the room, walking over and feeling her husband's forehead. She took his hand, kneeling down beside him. "Joseph," she said softly.

There was no response. "Joseph," she repeated with more urgency. "Joseph!" Caroline screamed as she realized he was dead.

TWENTY-TWO

Two days later Caroline embarked on a walk with all the children. She shepherded them to Joe and Joseph Jr's graves which sat at the top of a hill a few hundred feet from their home. Caroline and the kids watched Carl set two well crafted tombstones in place. The children stayed with Carl as he had a magical way with all of them.

A forlorn Caroline returned to the cabin alone. To her shock Pete Kaminsky sat at the kitchen table, suitcase at his feet. He chewed his tobacco, guzzling from a jug of whiskey.

"What are you doing in my house?" Caroline asked.

Pete wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Having a drink. And this is our home now." He spat a stream of the black tobacco juice on the floor.

She took on her determined look, planting her feet solidly on the floor. She readied herself for a fight. "Where'd you get the idea this was your place?"

"You need a man Caroline," Pete said in a matter a fact voice. "I'm kin, so I'm moving in." He kicked his suitcase. "Unpack my bags woman!"

"Buster!" Caroline shouted. The huge husky stepped into the cabin through the open door, flashing his killing eyes on the stinking man. Joe taught Caroline how to command their new dog.

Err! Buster let out a bone curdling growl.

Pete waved his hand at the dog in a dismissive manner, enjoying a hardy laugh. "Relax rover! Dogs love me, and woman, ya will love how I fuck you silly." He scratched his balls.

"Get out," muttered Caroline, gritting her teeth, edging closer to Buster.

"Come on, ya know you need me. Need me for more then running things." He began unzipping his pants, using a guttural tone, "I'll show ya what a real man can do in bed."

"Get him Buster!" Err! Err! The dog growled and snapped as he lunged for the man. Pete fell off the chair, spilling his whisky. The next snap from Buster, ripped the man's pants.

"Get out," screamed Caroline, hurling a cup from the table, striking him on the arm. "And never come back."

Buster lunged a third time, extracting a small chunk of flesh. "Ouch!" A pained holler sounded from him as Pete grabbed his suitcase, fleeing from the cabin with Buster hot on his heels.

"Get fucking packed up," a cigar holding Mike ordered as he rode into Caroline's farmyard the day after she ran Pete off the place.

That first week of November in 1918 delivered unusually warm weather. Therefore, Caroline decided to hang the wet clothes on the outside line to dry. She was lost in her grief while working. She turned to Mike in a total daze.

The big Russian scanned the farmyard, sizing up the potential. He scowled at Caroline. He snapped his fingers, commanding, "Get moving! I'll send some of the boys out to pick up you and your stuff in two days."

Unfortunately, Buster wasn't near at hand. He was off with Carl and the kids on a walk. She came back to earth, scrutinizing the obnoxious man for a long moment. "Why would you think I'm moving?"

Mike pranced his large black horse closer to Caroline. "You need a man." He pointed to himself. "And I'm that man."

The sound of the horse's swishing tail filled the air as Caroline studied the arrogant Russian. "I don't need a man!"

Mike enjoyed a lengthy deep chuckle. "You were always stupid. But your still a looker, so I'll take you." He slapped his knee as he sniggered lasciviously. "And wench, I'll take you hard!"

She stared with defiance into the man's eyes towering above her on the horse. "I'm not going to live with you!"

"Don't be stupid." He waved his hand in a noble gesture. "And I'll let you keep the girls with you." He laughed with a sickening edge. "They might grow up to be pleasing. But that boy, get rid of the little fucker!"

She folded her arms in front of her in another show of defiance. "No!"

Mike pointed his cigar at her. "Do what I say woman!" He spurred the horse, causing the animal to stamp dangerously close to Caroline. "I'm not asking, I'm telling you bitch." He slashed her with the reigns of his horse.

A determined Caroline didn't flinch. She didn't blink. "No! You're Satan himself. Leave right now!"

A loud click sounded from a gun being cocked. A shot rang out with a bullet knocking the cigar out of Mike's hand. "You got one-second to get out a here. Or next one gonna go right between your snake eyes!"

The horse backed up, becoming skittish. "Woe." Mike then looked around in panic, attempting to identify the speaker as he freed a few drops in his pants.

The sound of the gun being cocked again echoed through the air. "Got lots a reasons to kill you," Jimmy Cardinal snarled as he stepped out from the side of the woodshed. "And I'm about to blow your ass off that horse."

Mike commenced a coughing fit which lasted a couple of minutes. Slowly, he wiped his sweating forehead, pointing a threatening finger at Jimmy. "This is far from over."

"Leave right now Mike," Caroline commanded. "If you ever come back, I'll shoot you myself."

TWENTY-THREE

Caroline shed many tears over the next week, imagining many fears. Carl and the farmhands worked hard to finish off the last of the harvest activities, and to prepare the farm for the coming winter. Caroline instructed Jimmy to shut down the stills. She wanted nothing to do with the devil's brew.

A prosperous Danny and Gracie journeyed out to provide support. Although, Danny needed more support then he provided as deep down he'd a huge hole in his heart with the death of his best chum. As well, Molly came and stayed at the farm, helping out with the children. She became better acquainted with her half brother and sisters. Also, she showed off the legal papers changing her name to Molly Kaminsky.

Jimmy returned from town informing Caroline that any threat from Mike was over as the Mayor had died of the black plague. Jimmy felt a sense of calmness. For the man who orchestrated his twin brother's murder, was no longer. Also, Jimmy smirked when he informed her, Pete wouldn't be returning to bother her. All he said was, "Pete's gone looking for greener pastures." And finally, before Jimmy headed back to Manitoba, which he never thought he'd do, he informed Caroline he got married. Getting married and soon to be a dad, were more things Jimmy thought he'd never never do. Caroline instructed Jimmy to sell the six whisky stills, and keep the cash. She wanted no part of that dirty money, and that cash was his wedding present.

The aging Sol rode out as he was the executor of Joe's Will. He too, had suffered with Joe's death. He kept shaking his head and muttering, "Thirty-three is too young to go." He took Caroline's hand. "Joe was like a son to me. Mrs. Goldstein and I will always be here for you."

Sol explained her options. He laid out how if she wanted to keep the land, using hired men, she could keep the farm operating successfully. Also, with the Great war ending, there would be plenty of good labour available.

Although, she'd have to take the time to manage things. Sol offered to help, guaranteeing her Carl would be very capable of overseeing day to day farm operations. He merely required a bit of guidance.

Sol assured her things would be fine on the financial front, providing she didn't spend foolishly, or give her money away. There would be enough to provide for her family. Being careful and cautious, he hoped she would talk over major decisions with him. Exactly the way Joe did. Caroline listened to Sol, never disclosing the fact that Joe and her had a pile of cash hidden in their bedroom safe.

Father Kissel made the seven mile journey from Ituna to the farm in early December. Caroline greeted him enthusiastically, treating him with all the respect and fear she felt for the black robed religious man. Her tears flowed as he consoled her. He ensured the widow that all would be well, providing she trusted in God and the Catholic Church.

"Do you think I need a man to take care of me?" Caroline asked while wiping the latest round of tears.

"No, Caroline," said Father Kissel in his intimidating voice. "You must understand, the only thing you need in your life is God and the Catholic Church." He pointed his finger at his chest. "And most important, you must listen to me, your spiritual beacon!"

"I'm worried about making ends meet. But Sol assures me I can."

"God will provide my dear, if you are a true believer."

"Oh Father Kissel, I am!"

"Are you really?" Father Kissel inquired with a harsh tone.

She hung her head. "I think I am."

He hammered the arm of the chair. "I think not!"

"How can I prove it to you?"

He slipped a bible out of a pocket. "God will provide us the answer. You must consider making a strong gesture." He wagged his finger which was weighted down by an expensive diamond ring. "Especially, after living with a true sinner like Joe."

Caroline wilted. "But."

"I told you to have nothing to do with whiskey," he screamed at her. "How can you live with yourself?" He huffed, slapping her with the bible. "You disgust me!"

"Please forgive me!"

He threw the bible at her, hitting her on the head. "You are a disgrace to the Catholic Church!" The holy man grasped her arm, shaking her hard. "You were an accessory to his sinful activity. That makes you a sinner, sinner, sinner!"

Her entire body shivered, cowering in the chair. "Please, please forgive me Father Kissel!"

"An evil sinner," he thundered, "You need to repent!" He struck her on the shoulder. "You need to make amends!" He shook her one last time, shoving an exhausted Caroline against the wooden arm of the sofa.

A long moment passed as she rubbed her bruised shoulder. She clutched at her throat, fumbling for her cross. "I will Father! I will!" She fell to her knees. "I'll do anything you want!"

"Then start by making amends with me." He slapped her across the face.

Caroline hung her head in shame, praying for a minute. "Okay Father." She leaped up, rushing to her bedroom, cleaning out their safe, which Joe had showed her how to open when they were first married. She returned with a bag filled with cash. "There's thousands of dollars here. Much of it received illegally. All this cash, all goes to your church."

Theatrically, he retracted his hands in disgust. "That is filthy money. I shouldn't take it." He then reached for the bag with greedy hands. "However, it can go to a good cause, so I will touch the ill gotten gain."

"Oh thank you, Father! You're so noble!"

He clutched a gleaming gold cross pendant hanging on a chain around his neck. "But, this is as close to touching the devil as I have ever come."

"Oh Father Kissel, I'm so sorry for putting you in this position."

"And Caroline, now that my hands are already tainted by the whiskey cash, I may as well take away any of the devil's brew that sinner Joe had hidden around the farm." With an actors skill, he pulled off an exaggerated face of a truly disgusted and repulsed man. "I can spill the evil spirits out for you. God's work is never easy."

"Thank you Father. You're an angel! Joseph did have a number of jugs he was taking to Regina. Please, please destroy them."

Father Kissel's alcohol eyes danced with glee. His hands began trembling. "Certainly, I will ensure that disgraceful whiskey ends up where it belongs." He then held up the bag of cash. "This is a start, but what else will you do?"

Caroline held her head up high. "It is time to sell the land." She glanced around the cabin. "I could move into town to be closer to your church and God."

"Getting closer to God is the only way." He gripped her hand. "When you get closer to God, putting all your faith and devotion in God, abundance arises."

"You're right," Caroline agreed with conviction. "I need to do something else to truly show my devotion."

"Yes, the more you sacrifice, the more you cleanse your blackened soul."

Standing, Caroline looked to the sky. "Lord! I wish to sell six quarters of land, donating it to the Ituna Catholic Church."

Father Kissel let out a sly grin, going for the entire pie. "That is a nice gesture. But, you still have three quarters of land left."

She massaged her neck as she pondered. "But, but will my family suffer, if I were to?"

He waved a dismissive ring heavy hand. "Not to worry! God will begin to shine rays of love towards you and your children for a generous offering. So I insist, you make it as generous as possible."

Caroline's facial expressions said she was about to hand over the other three quarters of land, when Johnny burst into the room, holding a toy horse and cow. "Me farmer like Daddy!"

Caroline pressed her nervous hands to her cheeks, studying her remaining son for a moment as Johnny played with his toy farm animals. "Oh maybe I'll hold off on giving our last three quarters away."

Father Kissel frowned at the young boy, using the tone that was guaranteed to scare a child, "John, go to your room right now! Your mother is not done satisfying God."

Johnny glared defiantly at the Priest, moving towards his bedroom with a hostile and suspicious look in his eyes.

"Go on Johnny," Caroline encouraged her son.

"That boy has his father's disposition," grumbled Father Kissel. "We must scare that out of him."

"I'll ensure Johnny begins attending your church often."

"Yes, I will whip the little heathen into shape. But, God needs more from you."

She pondered for a long moment. An aura of giving returned to Caroline's face.

Unobserved by the spiritual man, Katey poked her head out of the kitchen with her fists clenched in rage. For she heard every give away word. She caught her mother's eye, shaking her head, mouthing the words, "No, no, no."

Carolin swallowed hard, lowering her head. "I, I believe I will hold on to the last three quarters for now. But I'll dedicate myself totally." She held her hands to the sky. "I'll dedicate all my time and energy to you and the Ituna Catholic Church for the rest of my life. I'll never take a penny for that labour!" She fell to her knees again. "Lord and Father Kissel, I am your slave!"

Father Kissel grimaced at not snatching all the land. He'd revisit that issue later. A second passed as a smile formed on his face. Her slave declaration gave him cause to rejoice. A glow filled the wily Priest with his new found treasures, arriving in a variety of forms.

"Let us pray." Father Kissel placed his holy hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. "And then we'll expedite the sale of those first six quarters of land."
