The room would have held two beds easily. All the wood in the room was dark, polished and carved, the seating upholstered. Best of all was the hot bath. Ten minutes after he’d asked for it, two women had a five-foot-long copper tub filled with water, and the biggest towel he’d ever seen hung across the privacy screen next to the bath. He soaked until the water cooled, then shaved and dressed in clean clothes. After damp mopping the dust off his hat, he felt ready to see the sights.
He stopped halfway down the stairs to survey the dining room. Big enough to easily seat two hundred fifty or more, most of the tables were full. He decided to have a look at the town, and continued down and out onto the boardwalk. The street, nearly wide enough to turn a freight wagon around in, flooded with a sea of people and horses. One particularly well-lit saloon, across and down the street, caught his eye and he headed for it, dodging shays, surreys and horses all the way.
The noise inside was as loud as McCaffrey’s at its best. He jostled his way to the bar, and waited for a bartender to catch his eye.
“What’ll ya have?” the harried man asked.
“Rye.” Simon turned to survey the room. The scene was familiar, except the customers were a lot better dressed, and there was gambling other than cards. He watched a man spin a three-foot gambling wheel, and a dozen men crowded around it immediately start to shout.
“That’s a dollar,” he heard the barkeep say.
Simon turned back, laid an eagle on the bar and reached for his drink.
“You old enough to be in here, boy?”
The hair on his neck bristled as tension seized his body. And then he recognized the voice. “Lacey!” Simon turned to see the Texan, his hands on his hips, grinning widely. “I’ll be double damned.”
“Howdy, Simon. I couldn’t hardly b’lieve my eyes when I saw ya walk across the floor. What’n hell ya doin’ here?”
“I live up north, Fort Laramie. I . . . ah . . . boy you’re . . . damn.”
“Still jest as unflustered as ever, I see.” Lacey chuckled. “We’ll try agin. What ya doin’ in Cheyenne?”
“Came here to pick up a bar for my saloon.”
“Yer saloon? Ya own a saloon?”
“I manage one. Buell works there too.”
“How is thet boy? Got hisself shot yet?”
“Dang near, but no, he’s fine. What’re you doing here?”
“Rode a herd up from Texas on the Goodnight. I’m stayin’ ’bout five miles down Crow Creek. Work fer a fella named Iliff.” He studied Simon for a moment. “Damn, it’s good ta see ya. How’s yer folks?”
“They’re fine. Near’s I can tell, Pa’s done real well since you and Mister Greene brought up that first herd of cows. He’s bought quite a bit of land and grows grain. I haven’t been back since sixty-eight.”
“What about that sweet young gal you was sparkin’?”
“Didn’t work out.” Simon looked directly at Lacey, his eyes unblinking.
“Oh.” A moment of awkward silence passed. “Well . . . how’s Mace?”
“Let’s go find a table, Lacey. There’s lots to tell you.”
Two hours later, the Texan leaned back in his chair, and fixed Simon with a steady gaze. “I figgered Buell might get a little wild, but yer somethin’ of a su’prise. Hell far, ya can’t let people thet don’t count more’n a grasshopper fart run ya off.”
“Well, I’m where I am, and I kinda like it.”
“Yep, I kin tell,” Lacey said sarcastically. “I’m ’bout done with the spring calvin’. I jist might ride up and see what yer doin’.”
“That would be grand. Buell will be real glad to see you.”
“Let’s go over to the railroad hotel and I’ll buy ya supper. Damn, can’t say how good it is ta see ya agin.”
CHAPTER 14
The trip back to Fort Laramie seemed endless. The scenery, monotonous at best, was even more so because Simon had already seen it once. He’d vowed never again to ride a wagon for more than a few hours. It was about four o’clock when Rosie hauled the tired horses to a stop behind Amos’s saloon. Simon groaned when his feet hit the ground.
“Gawdamn, Simon, that’s one hell of a load. What’n hell did you buy?” Amos stood on the back step.
“Just the bar and the mirrors. There has to be half a wagon-load of sawdust and shavings packed around that glass. Anybody in there that can give us a hand unloading?”
“Yeah, there’s four or five.”
“Good, ’cause I’m about beat to hell.”
“Well, see if you kin get ’em out here, Amos,” Rosie said. “I’d like to get home before dark.”
An hour later, they’d stacked the crates next to the back wall, and Rosie and Daggett headed for the fort. Simon slumped into a chair, and Twiggs brought him a beer.
“Glad to see you back. How was the big city?”
“Lot bigger than I would have thought. The dining room in the hotel where I stayed would seat near three hundred people. And they were full till after eleven o’clock. Food ain’t as good as Lori’s though. Where’s Buell?”
“Went to see Berggren. Should be back pretty soon.”
“I’m gonna go clean up. I feel like I’ve been rolled in the dirt.” Simon took another long pull on his beer and got up. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.” He headed for the door.
Simon sat relaxing on the couch when Buell pushed open the door. “Well, I see ya came back.”
“Missed your ugly mug.”
“Sure ya did. How was Cheyenne? Big, huh?”
“Yep. And that ain’t all.” Simon looked at Buell, a half smile on his face.
“Well?”
“I saw Pat Lacey. Had supper with him.”
“Sumbitch. Lacey? How is he? How’d he look?”
“You’ll see for yourself. He’s gonna ride up in a week or so, and have a visit.”
“A week? What’s he doin’? Boy, I can’t wait.” Buell sat.
Getting back to the saloon was forgotten as they spent the next hour remembering their summers spent with Nathan Greene and Pat Lacey in Nebraska, living rough on the prairie and learning how to be cowboys—and how not to be.
The next week saw a flurry of activity as three of the best carpenters Amos could find uncrated and installed the new bar. Solid mahogany wood with carved panels and spiral-turned posts surrounded the heavy plate-glass mirrors of the back bar. The countertop of the service bar measured fifty-two feet of French-polished beauty, thirty inches wide. Twiggs had three beer-pumping stations instead of two, and real cash drawers built into the back counter. He looked like the captain of a new sailing ship.
Just one day after the last house was finished, three very dusty women arrived in a covered surrey. May and her girls were up to greet them, and ushered them into the new houses with squeals of delight and a stream of chatter. Word of their arrival spread rapidly, as did news about the remodeling, and curious patrons packed the saloon nearly every night. More and more, people were making their way to McCaffrey’s ranch for the accommodations and the gambling. Adventurers, gamblers, hunters, and Europeans out to see the West, came and went without a letup.
Buell, from his perch at the end of the saloon, watched every face that came through the doors. Simon had been back nearly a month and Lacey had yet to show up. Buell had more or less decided his shooting mentor had finished his job and gone back to Texas. And then one morning, a horse stopped outside at the livery, and someone knocked on the door of their little house.
“Sumbitch, Lacey! Been expectin’ ya fer two weeks. Come on in.” Buell stepped back.
“Got tied up a little. How ya doin’, Buell?” Lacey offered his hand.
Buell clutched Lacey’s hand with both of his, and shook it vigorously. “Real good. Ya been to the saloon yet?”
“Nope. Simon said you fellas lived next to the livery. Only place I could see, so I stopped.”
“Let’s go see Simon, and I’ll introduce ya to the rest of the crew.” Buell grabbed h
is hat and followed Lacey out the door.
It was still early so there weren’t many people in the place, and Buell led the way to Simon’s office. “Look who’s here.”
“Hey, Lacey, we about gave up on you.” Simon got up and stepped around his desk, hand extended. “Good to see you again.”
“Same here.” He shook Simon’s hand. “Nice place ya got. I’m su’prised to see somethin’ this fancy out here in the middle of nowheres.”
“Well, we’ve improved it a lot since we arrived.” Simon headed out the door. “C’mon, I’ll buy ya a drink.”
Outside the office, Simon caught the barkeep’s attention. “Twiggs, pull me a beer.” He turned to Lacey. “What’ll you have?”
“I think a beer would be good,” Lacey said to Twiggs. “Little early fer the firewater.”
“Let’s sit down,” Simon said.
A minute later Twiggs brought them their drinks.
“Max, I’d like ya to meet Pat Lacey. Lacey, this is Maxwell Twiggs, late of Pennsylvania.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mister Lacey. Buell has told me some about you, mostly because he took your name.”
“He what?” Lacey looked at Buell.
“I said my name was Buell Lacey when we first came here. Amos, the guy that owns this place, he found out real quick, but I never changed. Everybody knows me as Buell Lacey.”
“Be damned. Ya ain’t got a sprout runnin’ around do ya . . . or shoot someone important?” Lacey grinned.
“Naw. Used that short wagon spoke ya told me about. Since then, most folks keep one eye on me when they get to feelin’ frisky.”
“Actually, it was a rifle butt,” Twiggs said. “And then he faced down the biggest man in Wyoming Territory. Things stay pretty even when Buell’s on his perch.” He nodded at the high chair by the stairs as he headed back to the bar.
“I noticed thet fancy Remington,” Lacey said. “Where’d ya get it?”
Simon told him the story about the river bottom ambush.
“Gawdamn, I hate bushwhackers,” Lacey said. “You fellas coulda been kilt.”
The screen door opened and Lori came in. She walked directly to the table. “Mornin’.”
“Lori, I’d like you to meet Pat Lacey. Lori is our chef, Lacey. We wouldn’t be in business if she hadn’t come along.”
Lacey stood and gave a slight bow. “Ma’am, pleased to meetcha.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. Simon’s told me a lot about you and Mister Greene. You going to be staying a while?”
“Naw, got to get back. Maybe a coupla days.”
“Well, enjoy your stay here. Nice to meet you.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
“Nothin’ shy about her,” Lacey said.
“No, sir. She’s a bear cat, that one,” Buell said. “But she’ll do anything for her friends.”
“So, Buell,” Lacey said. “Let’s go out and you kin show me how yer shootin’s gettin’ on. I ain’t kicked up no dust in a long time.”
“Sure. I got a place down by the river. Simon, you comin’?”
Buell was already heading for the door.
“No. You guys go ahead. I talked his leg off in Cheyenne.”
“Okay. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.” They headed out the front door.
Twiggs came around the bar again and over to the table. “So that’s the fella that taught Buell how to shoot?”
“Yup, actually the whole crew did, but we used Lacey’s gun.”
“He don’t look like no hard case.”
“He’s not. One of the mellowest guys you could meet. But I wouldn’t want to back him into a corner. All them Texans were like that.”
Simon picked up his half-empty glass, and headed for his office. “Nice to see someone from home, kind of.”
The fact three quarters of the tables were occupied on a Thursday evening surprised Lacey. Twiggs had two helpers at the bar, and Lori and her kitchen staff had been running full tilt all evening. Now, with the dining rooms closed and the more genteel customers gone home, the saloon was left to the gamblers, skirt chasers, and drinkers.
Lacey and Simon joined Amos and three others at Amos’s table: two regulars, a teamster named Rosie and a whiskey drummer called Saint Louis Bob, plus a man from Kansas City named Quinn. Buell sat in his chair by the stairs, vigilant.
It was Quinn’s turn to deal again. Over the course of the last three hours, he had won a dozen hard-fought hands, draining Rosie and Bob’s finances considerably. He had lost only one seriously contested hand, his kings-over-fives full house to Rosie’s aces-over-threes.
“Straight five-card draw.” Quinn dealt the cards for the next hand expertly, then laid the deck on the table. “Openers?” He looked around the table.
“Check,” Simon said.
Lacey looked at the two aces in his hand. “Check.” A frown shadowed Quinn’s brow for the briefest moment.
Amos shook his head. “Check.”
Rosie pushed his bet into the middle. “I’ll open for two dollars.”
“Call,” Bob said.
Quinn dropped two dollars in the pile. “Cards.”
Simon shook his head, and tossed his cards onto the table.
Lacey stared at Quinn for a bit, then pushed two dollars into the pile. “I’ll take three.”
“Fold,” Amos said and threw his cards toward the center.
Rosie slowly fanned his cards open and closed. “Give me three.”
“I’ll take one,” Bob said. He flashed a smile at the rest of the players.
“Dealer takes two.” Quinn dealt himself. “Your bet.” He looked at Rosie.
“Five.” Rosie pushed a gold piece forward.
“And ten,” Bob said, the smile now fixed on his face.
“And ten more.” Quinn looked at Lacey. “That’s twenty-five to you, cowboy.”
Lacey glanced at Rosie, but couldn’t catch his eye. Then at Bob, who was now grinning from ear to ear. His gaze settled on Quinn’s impassive face for several seconds, then he looked down at his three aces. “I’ll fold.” He laid his cards facedown on the table.
Rosie spread his cards in his hand, looked at them for a moment, and then closed them. His face gleamed with sweat. “Call.” He pushed the twenty dollars across the table.
“See your ten and raise ya twenty.” Bob chuckled and glanced around the table proudly as the rest of the players gasped.
“And twenty,” Quinn said quietly, and pushed the money out. He looked at Rosie.
“Gawdammit!” Rosie slapped his cards down and glared at Bob.
Bob’s smile had disappeared, and he studied his cards intently while Quinn leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes. Bob glanced at Amos, and then settled his gaze on Simon’s face. Lacey could see the desperation. There was complete silence from the other players as Bob nervously turned the twenty-dollar gold piece over the backs of his fingers. “Call.” He flipped the coin into the pile.
Quinn shrugged his shoulders. “Four kings.” He turned his cards face up.
Bob slumped back in his chair and flipped his hand over, a six, seven, eight, nine of hearts—and a five of diamonds. “Beautiful,” he said, then slowly got up, gathered his meager stack of coins and walked out of the saloon.
“He came close.” Quinn chuckled.
“I’ve had enough,” Rosie said as he turned his hand over. “When ya ain’t got the balls to bet this, it’s time to quit.”
Lacey looked at the ten-over-jacks full house and then at Quinn. Quinn’s return gaze exuded pure arrogance.
“Reckon I’ve had enough too,” Lacey said. “Had a long ride today. Maybe tomorrow.”
Twiggs came over from the bar. “All done?”
“I think so,” Amos said as he got up.
Twiggs gathered the cards up and squared the deck. “I’ll put these away.”
“Another one tomorrow, then?” Quinn asked.
“I suppose so,” Simon said.
“Right. I’
ll see you all then.” Quinn got up and headed for the stairs.
“You don’t look happy,” Buell said as he came over to the table.
“I ain’t,” Lacey said. “We jist got cheated, and I don’t know how he did it. I had aces and he knew it. I think Bob almost lucked into beatin’ him but Quinn knew Rosie’s hand too. Sumbitch is slick, I’ll give ya that.”
Simon’s brow furrowed in thought. “But he lost a big hand to Ros—he meant to, right?”
“Ya got it. That last hand was worth over one hunert and fifty dollars and that was what he was waitin’ for.”
“But Twiggs keeps the cards, and he wouldn’t cheat us,” Simon said.
Buell shook his head. “I looked at the cards, Simon. They ain’t marked. I studied ’em close.” He glanced toward Twiggs. “I better not catch anyone at it.”
“Well, we got cheated. I’m goin’ ta bed.” Lacey got up and stretched. “I’ll figure it out. See you two in the morning.” He turned and went up the steps.
Lacey came downstairs about nine o’clock the next morning and found Twiggs idly staring at a cup of cold coffee. “Mind if I join ya?” Lacey smiled at the bartender.
“No, not at all. It’s always too quiet in the morning. I like the action in the evening better.”
“Some action. Did you happen ta catch that last hand at Mister McCaffrey’s table last night?”
“Some of it. I saw Rosie get excited, but he always does, win or lose.”
“Mind if I ask ya a couple questions about the cards?”
Twiggs looked at Lacey for a moment, then sat up straighter in his chair. “I don’t suppose so.”
“I noticed you picked up the deck when we were done last night. D’ya always do that?”
“Sure. Amos doesn’t let the customers use their own cards or dice. Makes sense.”
“And that deck we used last night, do ya still have it?”
“Well, actually, no. When they get worn, and that one was, I burn ’em. That deck went in the stove this morning, with breakfast.”
“Was it the same deck as the one you gave us to start?” Lacey raised one eyebrow as he studied Twiggs.
“What are you driving at? I’m not sure I like what you’re inferring.”
Laramie Page 17
