The Paiute Springs Sentinel

Sunday Edition

March 12, 1876

"Ever Vigilant, A Beacon of Truth!"

$0.05

Fireball Streaks Toward Keeler House

by Oliver Milhouse

During the fantastic storms we had sweep through our town on the night of March 3, as the lightning danced through clouds and the winds whipped through the mountains, our very own Ryland Weeks saw a sight he won’t soon forget.

“There I was, sitting in my tent, hoping like Hell the whole damn thing wasn’t going to up and blow off down into the Basin, when I look up into the sky and see this flash of fiery light. It started careening downward and I yelled for the other fellers in the camp to ‘take cover’ but then I saw it was more southerly than I thought.

Then, this ball of flame streaked down toward old Doc Keeler’s place on Church Street. It was as if the Devil’s own billiards were being played in the Nevada sky. I saw the fire alight down behind the house, but lost track of it after that. All I did was hear a terrible crash-—and then the eeriest nothing you ever didn’t hear. It was like the storm stopped to listen to things for a moment. Then the thunder cracked and the weather took to stormin’ up again.

The next day, I half expected to hear that the Keeler place was a-fire. It weren’t—-and I’m glad of it, mind you. Nevertheless, I’ll never forget the way that fireball careened through air, not like it was fallen, but like it was flyin’ itself. Damnedest thing, I tell you.”

Anyone else have a story of the Paiute Springs Fireball to report from that night? What about Geraldine Keeler? We at the Sentinel approached the owner of the house for a statement and actually received one! Indeed, Miss Geraldine confirms that a flying machine of undetermined origin crashed into her back yard. She is personally investigating the device and its origins and hopes to present your humble reporter with more information within the week!

Stay vigilant, gentle readers. And watch the skies!

Confederate Spies Infiltrate Paiute Springs

by Oliver Milhouse

There's been a fair amount of gunplay going on in our fair town this past week. It turns out that a band of Confederate spies had come Paiute Springs to foment trouble and cause unrest.

It began with the arrival of "Miss Lavern Stefano" (if that is her real name) and her "cousin" Max Tucci. They and their entourage of ten "ranch hands" began snooping around town on March 7th. It turns out many of their inquiries concerned the flying machine found in Miss Geraldine Keeler's backyard. I am proud to say that your humble editor did not fall for their story and remained vigilant, as promised, against trouble. I never trusted that woman, but I digress.

This snooping precipitated a meeting between our esteemed Mayor and our beloved Town Marshal, who both descended upon the Keeler House to confer with Miss Geraldine. Now, I was not privy to that conversation (and have been stonewalled at every turn by Town officials), but it was sufficient to cause Miss Keeler and her boon companion, Roland Dupre, to high-tail it out of town.

The two were pursued by a couple of the "ranch hands" employed by Mr. Tucci. Mr. Dupre, in the process, was shot in the arm, but Miss Geraldine made it out of town.

This action seemed to anger our "visitors", who posted guards at the each of the main intersections leading out of town and "Miss Stefano" and "Mr. Tucci" began to hole up in the Prince Royal—with our Town Marshal and Mayor helplessly in tow.

Meanwhile, Miss Geraldine returned with a squad of Union soldiers from nearby Fort 51. The soldiers infiltrated the Prince Royal and captured the ringleaders!  

Currently, "Miss Stefano" or "Miss Josephine" (depending on who you talk to) is being held in our town jail, awaiting pick-up by the Union authorities. The Confederate "troops-in-sheep's clothing" have been escorted to the Arizona border.

But the question remains—just what was it that Geraldine Keeler found in her backyard that so interested the Confederates? She's not saying and it seems our Town officials have been sworn to secrecy by the Union. But will the rebels return to claim their bounty? Is the town really safe?Only time will tell..

The Arachne Circle to Meet

by Oliver Milhouse

"The Arachne Circle", a meeting of the town's spinsters, will take place in Mamie McDaniel's Boarding House three o'clock this afternoon. Miss Imogene Crane welcomes any woman who wishes to join them for tea and fellowship.

Get Well Soon!

by Oliver Milhouse

Best of wishes to Clara Dunwoody, of the mining camps. She's gotten pneumonia pretty bad. Friends are soliciting food and funds for her speedy recovery. Contact Jeb Wallingford for more information.

Ask Aunt Sally

by Sally Mae Baumgarten

Dear Aunt Sally, I often come home from a rousing night at the Imperial and wake up feeling poorly. Do you have any suggestions for a "morning after" cure? — X.

Dear X, Other than simple clean living, you might find that this will help. Drink plenty of water. Find some ginger root or prickly pear cactus—either one of these might help. But, most of all, your morning after is cured by your night before—consider a change there and your ills will be over! — Yours, Aunt Sally. 

Dear Aunt Sally, I just can't stand my boss. I need the money though. What can I do? — P.

Dear P., You have to ask yourself what you need more—peace of mind or the almighty coin. What are you willing to put up with? Nobody's boss is perfect—and I am my own boss. But you have to figure out what your heart and soul will survive. Also, you might try settling your differences with your boss—you could be pleasantly surprised! — Yours, Aunt Sally.

Dear Aunt Sally, My Mister is a miserable old cuss. He didn't used to be, but now I can't stand to breathe the same air as him. Is God going to strike me down if I take the next stage out? — D.

Dear D., I'm sorry you're so unhappy. As far as the proverbial lightning bolt, that's a question for Reverend Gage, I'm afraid. But I can say that marriage is sometimes hard and you have to work at it to get it right. Before you head to the stage coach, try fixing what is broken. The work may be worth it. — Yours, Aunt Sally.