by Bill Markley
“Yes, but what about Texas Jack?” Jack asked.
“Oh well, he raced into town with his own Injun head tied to his saddle, flopping around. Folks thought it was disgusting and he paraded it from saloon to saloon, until that Bullock fellow—he and his compadres have styled themselves as a self-appointed sanitary commission—said it was unhealthy. Just last night they took it away from Texas Jack right here in this establishment, dug a hole outback of here and buried it.”
A faint sweet scent drifted in from behind Jack.
“Don’t say?” a deep female voice drawled behind him.
“Why, pull up a stool, Dirty Em!” Calamity said and to the bar she shouted, “Johnny, bring another glass for Dirty Em here!” and turning to Jack she said, “Captain, this here’s one of our best friends, Dirty Em. Dirty Em, this gent is Captain Jack Jones, reporter for a big paper back East. He’s gonna make us all famous!”
“We’ll see. Nice to meet you, Em,” Jack responded as he stood, turned, and tipped his hat to a stunning brunette standing behind him. She nodded her head, a cigar clenched between her teeth. She wore a red paisley evening dress, revealing her limbs and a bit of cleavage. Dirty Em slowly dragged a stool to the table and sat down as Jack returned to his seat. She was young, but she had a haggard, hangdog look, with dark circles under her brown eyes. She held in her left hand a bundle of ten cigars tied together with a string, which she plunked down on top of the table.
“Whatcha got there, Dirty Em?” Calamity asked.
“The fellow I was with last night didn’t have as much money on him as he had claimed. I insisted on full payment, so he offered these cigars in partial payment. I can’t smoke them all myself so here, each of you have one.”
They all thanked Dirty Em as she distributed the cigars. Everyone pulled out knives of various shapes and sizes and cut off the tapered smoking ends. They all struck their lucifers on the rough pine table, they held the flames to the ends sticking out of their mouths and were soon puffing and enjoying the cigar fragrance and taste.
“Can’t understand why someone would want to smoke one of those newfangled little cigars they call a cigarette?” Calamity said. The others nodded in concurrence.
There was a lull in the conversation as everyone enjoyed the cigars.
“Anyone know where I can find California Joe Milner?” Jack asked.
“Hell no!” Kitty spat.
“He is a most disgusting animal!” Madame Moustache said.
“You’ll know when he’s around,” Calamity said.
“How so?” Jack asked.
“Because ya’ll be able to smell his stench a mile away, even upwind!” Calamity shouted over the laughter of the other women.
Changing topics, Calamity said, “Captain Jones, you may not know this, but you’re sitting with an illustrious passel of beauties here.”
“How so?” Jack asked with a smile.
“We’re all just about the first women that came in to this here town and I can tell you, none too soon. Lots of these here billy goats looked like they ain’t seen a woman for years. Like they’ve been stranded with that Franklin expedition up in the Arctic for years and were running out of food or something. We were about as popular as cats in a barn full of coonhounds.” Changing course, Calamity said, “Why, that makes me think we need some food, and we need it now! I’m as hungry as a bastard weasel in a hen house!” Calamity shouted, “Johnny! We need some of that stew and hard bread!”
Burns looked up from reading the latest edition of the Black Hills Pioneer spread out on the bar and scowled at Calamity.
“In a minute,” he responded.
“Bring seven plates!”
“Seven? There’s only six of you.”
“I need seven! I’m not forgettin’ my favorite hound here,” Calamity said as she rubbed one of Stonewall’s ears. Burns muttered to himself as he disappeared out back to where a cast-iron pot sat on a wood fire. Burns brought the pot and set it on the table, then he ladled beef stew onto seven tin plates. He took the pot back out to the fire and returned with six spoons and a package of hard bread.
“Thank you, Johnny dear,” Calamity said.
“You’re welcome,” Burns said. Conversation ceased as the six humans and one dog wolfed down stew. Customers entering the Cricket headed straight to the bar to wet their whistles. Jack gnawed a cracker and finished his stew. Pushing his plate toward the center of the table, he stoked his cigar with a few puffs. He watched the women each finish their meals, then stack their plates on top of his. Leaning back and blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, he moved to the topic he was most interested in.
“Anyone see Laughing Sam?” They all stared at him, frowning in disbelief. Tid Bit gasped, frozen mid-stitch. Calamity Jane, pushing back from the table, stood, knocking over her stool. Stepping back from Jack, she shouted, “What business do ya have with that horse’s ass son of a bitch?” The tip of the cigar clenched between her teeth glowed bright red. Jack, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at their reaction, was at a loss for words.
“I said, what business do ya have with that horse’s ass!” Calamity repeated.
Jack found his tongue, “I want to ask him what he knows about Bummer Dan’s murder.”
“What’s to ask?” Calamity said. “Harry Young plugged two lead bullets into that old fart Bummer Dan. Case closed.”
“That horrible man!” Tid Bit said.
“Who? Bummer Dan?” Jack asked.
“No! Laughing Sam!” Tid Bit said.
“I’m confused,” Jack said. “All I want to do is ask Laughing Sam a few questions about what was going on last night when Bummer Dan was killed.”
“No good was what was going on, if you ask me,” Dirty Em said as the rest of the women nodded their heads in agreement.
“Calamity, sit down,” Jack said. “Please.”
She picked up the overturned stool, brought it back to the table and sat down.
“I want to find out why Bummer Dan walked into Saloon Number 10 wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat,” Jack continued. “And I want to know why I saw the two of them talking in the street about an hour before the shooting.”
“Why, ya silly ass! Ya really don’t know?” Calamity said. “Why, that bastard Laughing Sam and that rat-faced Bummer Dan were in cahoots together. They ran a crooked faro game. They were partners—partners in crime, thick as thieves—the worst type.”
For the second time within the course of a minute, Jack was stunned and at a loss for words.
“I–I–humph, Bummer Dan and Laughing Sam partners?” Jack said.
“That’s right, Captain,” Madame Mustache said.
“Laughing Sam is a very bad man,” Tid Bit said. She still had not resumed her embroidery project.
“The worst,” Kitty agreed.
“Why do you say so?” Jack asked. “There’s plenty of men in this town running crooked games of chance.”
“Let me tell ya a little story, Captain. But I think it’s one ya ain’t gonna print in your paper,” Calamity said.
“I’m listening,” Jack said, picking up the whiskey bottle and pouring them all another healthy shot.
“Laughing Sam was smitten by Tid Bit here,” Calamity started. Tid Bit smiled and looked down at the dress she had resumed working on. “Laughing Sam agreed to pay Tid Bit two ounces of gold dust to be with him for the night. The next morning, he gave her a poke bag, saying there was two ounces of gold dust in it. Laughing Sam told Tid Bit she needed to give him the bag back after she took the dust back to our camp. When she arrived in camp that morning, Tid Bit asked me to take care of her gold dust. When I looked at it I saw it weren’t gold dust.”
Tid Bit took up the narrative. “Calamity says to me ‘Tid Bit, you poor little red-headed devil. That ain’t gold dust, it’s just brass filings and black sand.’ I started to cry.”
“I told Tid Bit to shut up,” Calamity said. “We’d fix that son of a bitch, Laughing Sam.”
; “About eight o’clock that evening,” Tid Bit continued. “Me and Calamity visited Colorado Charlie Utter’s camp. I told Charlie and his friend, White Eye Anderson, what Laughing Sam did to me.”
Calamity continued, “I says to Colorado Charlie, ‘Charlie, I need to borrow your two ivory-handled six-shooters,’ and he obliged me. Tid Bit and I marched over to the Senate Saloon, followed by Colorado Charlie and old White Eye. As you know, the Senate is always crowded. It’s a busy place filled with all sorts trying their damnedest to lose all their money. That’s where Bummer Dan and Laughing Sam had their crooked faro operation set up. Well, I’ve got Charlie’s ivory-handled pistols in each hand and march right up to Laughing Sam’s layout. His weasel partner, Bummer Dan, is standing there too, and in my loudest voice, I shout to the crowd. ‘Listen up, you sons of bitches!’ That got their attention. I also might have fired off a shot straight up towards the ceiling. I dunno. Anyway, I told the crowd what that sorry horse’s ass had done to poor Tid Bit. There were lots of angry fellas, let me tell ya.”
“I never heard a man get such a cussing as Calamity gave Laughing Sam,” Tid Bit said. “She held those pistols pointed right at his nose and said he owed me two twenty dollar gold pieces for my pain and humiliation. He quickly found two twenty dollar gold pieces and handed them over to me.”
“So now ya know why we could care less about what happened to Bummer Dan,” Calamity said. “And if the same thing happens to Laughing Sam, I say good riddance!”
“Hear, hear!” chimed in the women.
“I understand now why you were upset,” Jack said. “But I’m still trying to piece this story together. Why would Bummer Dan be wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat?”
“I have no idea,” Kitty said and the others nodded their heads in agreement.
“Have any of you seen Laughing Sam today?”
“Not me,” Dirty Em said, and the others agreed.
“Let me try a different approach,” Jack said. “Do any of you know where Laughing Sam lives?”
“No!” Tid Bit said and the rest shook their heads in agreement. “He moved to a different location after he cheated me. He must have been afraid Calamity or me might try to do something more to him.”
“How about Bummer Dan? Anybody know where his place is?” Again, they all shook their heads no.
“Let’s try a different tack,” Jack said. “Any idea why Harry Young and Laughing Sam disliked each other?”
“I’m just supposing,” Kitty said. “But us girls all came to Deadwood Gulch together with Wild Bill and Colorado Charlie. Harry Young worshipped Wild Bill and so a friend of Bill’s was a friend of Harry’s. So when Laughing Sam cheated Tid Bit, that set Harry on the warpath against Laughing Sam, and the bad blood between them just got worse and worse.”
“Poor Harry,” Tid Bit said, not looking up from her embroidering.
Jack was rapidly scribbling in his notebook. “Humph, this is all very interesting,” he said.
“It still don’t amount to more than a pile of steaming horse shit,” Calamity said. “Harry Young pulled out a pistol and shot that rat-faced fart dead. Where’s the rope? Let’s get this deed done and proceed on.”
“Calamity Jane Canary! No!” Tid Bit looked up from her work, fuming at Calamity.
“Well, just sayin,’” Calamity said. “Sorry, Tid Bit. I just get carried away sometimes.”
“Bear with me,” Jack said. “This is what we know. Laughing Sam and Bummer Dan are partners. Laughing Sam and Harry Young are enemies over Laughing Sam cheating Tid Bit, who is a friend of Harry Young.”
“He was very kind to me,” Tid Bit interjected.
“Who was kind to you?” Kitty said.
“Harry.”
“Last night,” Jack continued, trying to regain control of the conversation, “Harry Young throws Laughing Sam out of Saloon Number 10 and tells him if he comes back in, he will shoot him dead. A couple hours after that, Bummer Dan, wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat walks in and Harry shoots him. Am I missing anything?”
“No, Captain,” said Calamity. “Except good riddance to Bummer Dan and it can’t be too soon for that horse’s ass Laughing Sam.”
Jack was still scribbling notes when up walked a middle-aged man with black thinning hair, a moustache, and a slight paunch.
“Why, Al, how do ya do today?” Calamity said.
“Fine, Martha, and how are you?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“And who’s this gent who seems hell bent to out write Sam Clemens?”
“This be the honorable Captain Jack Jones, with one of them big Eastern newspapers out of Chicago,” Calamity said. “And Captain Jones, this is Al Swearengen, owner of the Cricket Saloon.” Jack stood and shook hands with Swearengen.
“Glad to make your acquaintance,” Swearengen said.
“Likewise,” Jack said and sat back down.
“Shouldn’t you ladies be paying attention to our fine customers over there, belly up to the bar, most likely in need of female companionship?”
“Go to hell, Al,” Calamity said. “We’ll go to work when we damn well please. We ain’t your little hussies you can hit and push around. Remember our arrangement, we’re independent business women, and we pay you a percentage of the take for using your pus-covered hell hole of an establishment.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I was just trying to encourage you to make a little money for yourselves and to throw me a measly shekel or two.”
“You might say, they’re all entertaining me,” Jack said.
Turning from Calamity, Swearengen said to Jack, “And what brings you to our fair establishment, if I might ask?”
“I’m trying to track down Laughing Sam Hartman. I want to ask him a few questions about the murder of Bummer Dan last night.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to ask Harry Young those questions, seeing as how he’s the one who pulled the trigger—twice?”
“I’d like to know why Bummer Dan was wearing Laughing Sam’s hat and coat.”
“That I couldn’t tell you, and I haven’t seen Laughing Sam at all.”
“Do you know where either of them live?”
“No, can’t help you there either.”
“Al, we were talking about Preacher Smith,” Kitty said. “Don’t you think it’s strange the Indian didn’t scalp the preacher, took only his money, and Texas Jack didn’t find any of the preacher’s money on him?”
“Maybe it wasn’t an Indian that did kill poor Preacher Smith, but some no-good white man,” Tid Bit said.
“That’s horse shit!” Swearengen responded. “We all know it was the work of those damn heathen devils and not white men.”
“Just saying,” Tid Bit responded and went back to her embroidery.
“Jones, what do you think? I plan to tear down this rattrap and rebuild the Cricket Saloon into a proper theater, with a long stage for shows that will be real extravaganzas. I’ll have a long bar where men can easily order their libations, and I’ll have some discrete, curtained areas where the ladies can entertain their beaus. It will be a gem of a saloon, in fact that’s what I will call it—The Gem Saloon. What do you think?”
“That sure does sound like something else,” Jack said.
“Huh? Oh, thanks,” Swearengen said. “I need to see about some new girls who just arrived. Make sure they know the ropes.” He left and the women began to snicker. “He don’t have much rope to show them hussies,” Kitty said.
“I’m going to have to get moving to see if I can track down Laughing Sam,” Jack said and then in a louder voice to reach Burns at the bar, “Johnny, I’m ready to pay up for the whiskey and the grub for the entire table here.”
“Sure, boss!” Burns responded and walked toward the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” Dirty Em said.
“No, I insist,” Jack replied, holding out a ten-dollar gold piece. “Will that cover it?”
“It sure will, Captain Jones!” Burns rep
lied.
“By the way, have you seen Laughing Sam? Or for that matter, California Joe?”
“Ain’t seen neither of them fellows,” Burns said as he snatched the coin out of Jack’s hand and pocketed it. Scooping up the dirty plates, he left toward the back door.
“Well, ladies, it’s been a pleasure. Tid Bit, may I ask what you are embroidering?”
“You surely may, Captain,” she responded and stood up. “It’s my continuing project. I’ve been sewing on my dress the names of all the men who have spent the night with me. The higher the name placed on my dress, the more favored they are. My most favorite I place near my heart. The ones I despise, I embroider them on my dress’s derriere. See where Laughing Sam is?” Jack looked at the dress and saw prominently displayed on the area of the derriere: “Laughing Sam Hartman.”
“This way I can sit on him whenever I want!”
Jack laughed, tipped his hat, turned, and walked out the door into the street, followed by Stonewall. The mass of humanity and oxen continued moving about the street, each to his own purpose.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wednesday Afternoon, August 23, 1876—What do I know about this murder? Jack thought. Young and Hartman are feuding to the point that Young threatens to kill Hartman if he returns to Saloon Number 10. I see Hartman and Bummer Dan conversing on the street. They are partners in running a faro game. Hartman is known for pulling dirty tricks. Bummer Dan walks into Saloon Number 10 wearing Hartman’s hat and coat. Young shoots and kills Bummer Dan. Young claims he thought he was shooting at Hartman. So what about the haversack and gold? Bummer Dan had it at the time I saw him and Hartman on the street, and Bummer Dan did not have it on him when he was killed. So…maybe Bummer Dan gave it to Hartman for safekeeping. Another reason to find Laughing Sam Hartman.
