1.

Cull Valley, referred simply as Cull by its residents, is built deep in the Sonoran Desert, in a bowl-like valley. The actual founding of Cull and its history is mostly unknown. The earliest records show that in the fall of 1862 a Mr. James A. Havers of West Virgina found copper in the hills of Cull Valley, and that winter, thinking the land undeclared, Havers submitted an application to the Offices of the Territorial Governor to name the area “Haversville”. Additional records show that the application was rejected on the basis that the area was in fact not undeclared but had already been named Cull Valley. Who had named it or when it had been named, Havers would never find out; a year later James Havers was found dead on his bed cot.

In a letter written by the Tucson coroner, Dr. Alfred Whitman, a miner employed by Havers (unnamed in the letter) claimed that Havers had been complaining of stomach pains several days leading up to his death. The cause of death on Havers’ death certificate reads “peritonitis”.

Ten years after Mr. Havers’ death, the town of Cull Valley has grown into a thriving, expansive mining town, and would be unrecognizable to Havers if he were still alive today. The town has most the amenities of any lively community: hotels, boarding houses, saloons, stables, general stores, blacksmiths, banks, a post office, cobblers, and even a theater.

The only remembrance of the founder is the name of the original mining camp, Havers’ Hill, the camp that Havers had built (and died in). But this camp would be just as unrecognizable to the dead man as would the town in the valley below. The new owner of Havers’ Hill, Jed Ramsey (businessman and Cull’s first Mayor), turned the two-shack mining camp into a small town unto itself — two small towns in fact: Havers’ Hill and the Negro encampment, Abol, named after abolitionism, the movement to end slavery in the United States. These two operations employ five hundred and fifty-six miners, half a dozen foreman, three carpenters, ten cooks, two dozen guards, and nine general laborers.

These two encampments, Havers' Hill and Abol, are in constant motion with day and night shifts pulling out copper ore all hours of the day (and night).

2.

Monday May 22nd, 1871

To the east of Haver's Hill and Abol, perched on the northern hills, overlooking Cull, is Mayor Ramsey’s estate— a large, Georgian style plantation. The estate is referred to as “The Big House” by Cull residents.

It is a bright sunny morning and Alden rides his horse up the road towards the Mayor's rambling estate.

Every Monday, at eight-thirty in the morning, is a council meeting up at Big House.

3.

Inside a room, no bigger than a closet, the Mayor of Cull, Mr. Jed Ramsey, sits in a high-backed chair. His face is pressed to a very crafty, and well-hidden peephole.

“Cull is more than a mining town. It is a home. It is the future,” he repeats quietly. “Cull is more than a mining town.”

On the other side of the peephole, is his office. At that moment, the room is occupied by two people: his newly appointed Chief Foreman, Mr. Arthur Gray, and a young woman, Miss Deborah Singer, a journalist from New York City. Ramsey hired her on last month and she just got into Cull the previous evening. She sits behind a metal contraption that she had brought with her.

Ramsey, still repeating his mantra, Cull-is-more-than-a-mining-town-it-is-a-home-it-is-the-future, checks his gold pocket watch. He has to squint in the dark closet. It’s twenty past eight.

Ramsey has plans to renovate the office. The plans include the addition of a liquor cabinet (though he is not very fond of liquor), replacing the two windows with one larger window, add a built-in bookcase behind his desk, and install a wall mounted oil lamp in the hideaway in which he currently resides in.

Twenty past eight. Ramsey goes back to the peephole just as Sheriff Alden Cotes is being ushered into the room. Ramsey watches the sheriff walk to his usual chair, notices Miss Singer, stops, nods, and says something in which Ramsey can’t hear. Most likely an introduction, though Ramsey can’t be sure. Miss Singer smiles and says something back, this also Ramsey cannot hear.

A conversation is started between the three. Ramsey catches only a few words, and broken phrases. He catches Sheriff Cotes saying: ‘how do you like?’, and ‘it ain’t’, and ‘oh, you’ll love Pauline’, or maybe it was ‘Darline’, or possibly ‘Parline’.

Miss singers says: ‘wagon ride,’ and ‘awfully dry,’ ‘very nice,’ and ‘in context.’

Ramsey also has plans to install pipes in the walls that can carry sound into the hidden room.

Mr. Gray spent a lifetime blowing up rock and he nearly yells. “I’d like you up to Abol, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Cotes says something, and Gray responds with, “Just give ‘em a talkin’ is all. Bring your boys up maybe. Even Ramsey’s boys. Show them we serious is all.”

Miss Singer says something.

“Deserters,” Gray says.

Ramsey repositions himself in the chair. “Cull is more than a mining town,” he recites. “It is a home. It is the future.”

Another minute passes.

Daniel Moreau, Ramsey’s assistant, enters the room and then disappears from Ramsey’s view, presumably taking his place in the back corner, suggesting that the meeting is about to commence.

Ramsey checks his watch again. It was two-minutes ‘til eight-thirty. He told Moreau on multiple occasions that he was not to enter the room until he had received an explicit order from him, which of course he had not.

“Cull is more than a mining town. It is a home. It is the future.”

A minute past eight thirty, the reporter, Anthony Hill, rushes into the room. “So sorry I’m late.” He fixes his hair. “There was a— oh, hello.” He extends his hand out to Miss Singer and Ramsey is up and out of the hiding room. He crosses quietly through the drawing room, exiting through the back room there, checks the back hallway, finds it empty, straightens, and marches down the hallway. His steps echoing off the walls and floor.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Ramsey says, striding in through the office doorway. “I was just going over the Main Street extension plans one last time.” He raises an open hand towards Miss Singer and her machine. “I’d like to introduce you boys to Miss Deborah Singer. Gracing us all the way from New York City. I don’t believe I need to ask you barbarians to be on your best behavior. Do I?” He smiles and adds, “she’s a journalist.” Then to Hill, “You’ve got some competition, young man.” Laughs.

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

Miss Singer smiles. “Mr. Ramsey hired me to—”

“She’s writing a novel,” Ramsey interrupts. “About Cull and the ingenuity, and leadership it took to conquer such a hostile, yet profitable land. You all in this room will certainly be a part of her book, I’m sure.”

Ramsey sits behind his desk. “Alright, let’s begin shall—”

“All the way from New York City?” Alden says and whistles. “Alone?”

“She rode in my personal caravan, Sheriff,” Ramsey says. “She was, I hope, very well taken care of.” He looks to Miss Singer for confirmation.

“Oh yes, quite. Thank you. It was a very comfortable ride.”

Gray nods and smiles at all this not hearing a single word.

“And while she is here,” Ramsey says, “Mr. Moreau will be chaperoning her. Now—”

“Where are you staying?” Alden says.

“The Biloxi.”

“The Biloxi? That is the finest hotel in all of Cull,” Alden says.

“It is lovely,” Miss Singer agrees.

“The Mayor owns it, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Beautiful place,” Hill says.

“We can catch her up on all these—”

“Really lovely place,” Alden continues. “Cull owes the Mayor here a great debt. I think in five years this whole desert will be full of shops and hotels and saloons—”

“We can only hope,” Ramsey says. “Now—”

“I’m just down the road at the Queen Anne— My wife and I,” Alden snaps his finger. “You two will have to meet. Soph is wonderful. She can show you all over town. She helped start a woman’s club— The Cull Valley Ladies’ Association.”

“I would like that.”

“I’m sure Miss Singer will be quite busy, Sheriff, writing the novel and all—”

“A novel about Cull,” Miss Singer says, in a tone implying that Ramsey had forgotten why she was there. “I would quite like to know all aspects of the town and its people.”

Ramsey smiles. “Of course, you’re right Miss Singer. Moreau here will be pleased to help you, isn’t that right Moreau?”

“Certainly,” Moreau says.

“So it’s settled,” Alden says smiling. “I’ll talk with Soph this evening—”

“May we begin?” Ramsey says. His tone cool.

“Why sure, Mayor,” Alden says. “Don’t let me stop you.”

When no other comments are made Ramsey leans his elbow on the desk and opens his hand palms up.

A moment passes.

Another moment and eyes shift around the room. Then Hill makes a noise, remembering. He fumbles with his bag, produces a newspaper, passes it rolled up to Moreau, and Moreau puts the paper it into Ramsey’s waiting hand.

Ramsey takes the paper, unrolls it, leans back in his chair and begins reading.

“A paper?” Miss Singer says. Then reads the title. “The Cull Valley Gazette. You have your own paper?”

“For over two years,” Ramsey says, satisfied.

“Great newspaper,” Alden says. “He owns that as well.”

“The paper? I’ve never heard of a Mayor owning their own newspaper?”

Ramsey opens his mouth to say something.

“Our Mayor here is one of a kind,” Alden says smiling. “He also owns two of the mines here in Cull: Havers' Hill and Abol. The Biloxi Hotel—”Alden counts them off on his fingers.

“Oh, I’m sure Miss Singer doesn’t have any interest in my—”

“The Copper Nose Saloon,” Alden continues.

“Paddle Creek,” Hill adds.

“That’s right,” Alden says. “Paddle Creek. Another mine, a days ride from here.”

“May I have one?” Miss Singer says.

“You want a mine?” Alden says.

“A copy of the newspaper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hill says. “That’s the only one. It’s just the mock-up—”

“This one is coming out to-morrow,” Ramsey says, then to Hill, “You’ve misspelled perpendicular. Page two.”

Hill jots a note in his notepad. Ramsey turns the page.

“Are you the editor of the magazine too?” Miss singer asks. She now has her own notepad and pencil out.

“Oh, heavens no, Mr. Douglas is the editor. Though I do wonder sometimes how such misspellings do get past him—”

“He’s normally at these meetings,” Alden says.

“The line, wagons coming and going,” Ramsey says. “Page three… use something more eloquent. Arriving and departing.”

Hill makes another note and Ramsey turns another page.

Alden moves his chair closer to Miss Singer. It makes a loud grating noise. Alden winces apologetically.

Ramsey turns another page.

Alden leans over and whispers something in Miss Singer’s ear. Miss Singer shakes her head and whispers something back. Alden snaps his finger to get Hill’s attention. And now Hill is leaning over and the three are whispering about something. Ramsey watches them from over the newspaper.

“Page five,” Ramsey says getting their attention. Second paragraph. “And their will be fun and games. It should be there— t-h-e-r-e.”

Hill makes the note and is back to whispering with Alden and Miss Singer. Alden raises his hands pantomiming something large. Ramsey clears his throat and eyes are back on him.

“Just make those changes, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright what’s next?” Ramsey drums his fingers on the desk.

“I was just telling Miss Singer and Hill here about the miniature stampede we had in town this morning.”

“Miniature stampede?” Ramsey says.

“It was early. Sometime just before five. There were coyotes, and Mule deer. Jackrabbits, a whole mess of mice—”

“Stampede you say?” Gray says, nearly shouting it.

“Yes, sir,” says Alden.

Ramsey laughs. “Surely you’re joking, Sheriff.”

“No, it was the strangest thing. Mr. Matthews fired at a coyote that jumped at Mrs. Huber.”

“How awful,” Miss Singer says.

“What’s that?” Gray yells.

“Mr. Matthews fired at a coyote.” Alden says louder and slower.

“Good,” Gray says. “Dirty dogs, those things.”

“I was just telling Hill that he should write about it,” Alden continues.

Ramsey shakes his head. “Appreciate that energy, Sheriff But Leave the news-papering to Hill a I and we’ll leave you to the Sheriffing… which leads into the next subject. Any updates on the missing Fremont boy?”

Alden shifts in his chair. “I could use some of those miners of yours maybe,” Alden says. "We’ve done two search parties already but they were small. If we start from the Fremont’s house and fan out—”

“How many men are you thinking?” Ramsey says.

“Fifty men— more would be—”

“Fifty men?” Ramsey nearly laughs. “For a full—” He clears his throat and straightens up. “The poor mother…” He shakes his head as if he came to a conclusion. “I will do you one better. I will raise the reward.”

“I could use the men more,” Alden starts.

“Nonsense. You’ll get two hundred men combing the desert for him every day,” He snaps his finger. “Moreau. Work with Hill here to draft up more of those poster. Actually—” his voice brightens. “We’ll run a full page ad. Three hundred dollars!”

Alden whistles. “That’s awfully nice of you, Mayor.”

Ramsey smiles. “Community first.”