Showdown at Dead End Canyon

by Robert Vaughan

  “Well now,” he said loudly. “Ain’t this a little bit of fancy drawers? We got us a piano player.”

  “Yes, and he has been playing beautifully too,” Lulu said.

  “Is that the truth? Well now, tell me Mr. Fancy Pants piano player. Is this here little lady tellin’ the truth? Have you been playing…beautifully?” He sat the word apart, mocking Lulu. “Or does this little filly have her cap set for you?”

  “Sir, if you would please find a seat and be quiet so the others can enjoy the music, I will continue to play,” Hawke said as politely as he could.

  “Oh, yeah, I should be quiet,” the cowboy said. Standing in the middle of the car, he turned to everyone, making an exaggerated show of putting his finger across his lips in the symbol of shushing. “All right, I’ll be quiet.”

  “Thanks, I would appreciate that,” Hawke said as he turned back to the piano.

  It wasn’t a second later before the cowboy spoke up again.

  “Hey, piano player!” he shouted in a loud and belligerent voice. “Play ‘My Dog Is Dead.’”

  Over the last several years of playing piano in saloons from Beaumont, Texas, to Denver, Colorado, Hawke had played just about every cowboy ditty ever written. But he had never heard of the song “My Dog Is Dead.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know it,” he said.

  Hawke moved into another song, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the cowboy move to sit next to Lulu. She moved a couple of times, but each time she did so, he moved with her.

  “Hey! Piano player! Play ‘My Dog Is Dead’!” the cowboy shouted again. Laughing, he turned the bottle up to his lips and took several, Adam’s-apple bobbing swallows. Lowering the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and extended the bottle, by way of offer, to Lulu. She shook her head no.

  “You sure?” he asked. “It’s not bad whiskey.”

  “No, thank you,” Lulu said quietly.

  Several of the others in the car made shushing sounds.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m s’posed to be quiet so Mr. Fancy Pants piano player can play,” the cowboy said.

  Hawke began playing.

  “Hey! Piano player! Play ‘My Dog Is Dead’!” the cowboy shouted one more time.

  By now the others in the car were getting fed up with him, and one of the men asked him to leave.

  “I’ll leave when I damn well want to leave,” the cowboy said. “Unless there is someone in here who is man enough to make me leave.”

  The cowboy’s belligerence and implied threat quieted everyone.

  “Hey, ladies, you all turn your heads now and don’t peek,” he said, laughing. “’Cause ol’ Johnny is goin’ to go out on the platform and take a leak.”

  “Well, I never!” one woman gasped.

  “Hey, that rhymes,” Johnny said. “Did you hear that? Turn your heads and don’t peek, ’cause ol’ Johnny is goin’ to take a leak. Listen here, Mr. Fancy Pants piano player, when I come back, maybe me ’n’ you could get together and write that up as a song.”

  Laughing, Johnny stepped out of the car, onto the vestibule platform.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please excuse me for a moment?” Hawke said just after the cowboy left. He got up from the piano and went outside behind the young cowboy. Johnny was standing on the edge, unbuttoning his pants.

  “No, no, no,” Johnny said in a singsong voice. He didn’t bother to look around. “I told you ladies not to take a peak.”

  “I promise not to look,” Hawke said.

  “What?” Johnny replied, turning around when he heard a man’s voice.

  Hawke grabbed the cowboy by his collar and belt, then tossed him over the side, pitching him far enough to make certain he cleared the cars.

  “Hey, what the hell!” the cowboy yelled, though it was in Doppler effect because as the train proceeded, his voice receded.

  When Hawke returned to the palace car, he was roundly applauded by everyone there. Bowing, he took his seat then played a piece by Chopin.

  “That was beautiful!” Libby said. “What was it?”

  “It was Waltz in D flat, Opus 64, Number 1. Sometimes called the Minute Waltz.”

  “The Minute Waltz? Why do they call it that?”

  Hawke chuckled. “I never have figured that out, because it takes a minute and forty-five seconds to play it.”

  Those in the car laughed.

  “It’s dinnertime, Mr. Hawke,” Dupree said. “Would you care to join the ladies and me this evening?”

  “Thank you,” Hawke replied. “I believe I will.”

  As the dining car was just one car in front of the palace car, it was a short walk to dinner. They were met by one of the stewards who, showed them to a table.

  “Mr. Hawke will be joining us for dinner tonight, Adam.”

  “But sir, the table will only seat four,” the black steward replied.

  “You can put these two ladies at the table just across from us,” he said, pointing to Lulu and Sue.

  “Very good, sir.”

  The dining car was set up so that tables on one side would seat four, while on the other side the tables sat only two. Lulu and Sue were put at the table for two.

  Outside the window the bare, featureless seascape that had been their vista yesterday while still in Nebraska had turned to yellow and gray foothills climbing up to red buttes, guarded by ring-tailed hawks that sailed along the walls, their sharp eyes searching for prey.

  The steward returned with the menus.

  The main choice tonight seemed to be between steak and salmon. Hawke and Dupree chose steak. Libby, Lulu, and Sue selected salmon.

  “So, what do you think you will do when this trip is over?” Dupree asked as the steward left with their order. “Will you continue to play piano for the Union Pacific?”

  “Well I—” Hawke began, but was interrupted by the conductor, who came storming into the car, his face red and twisted in rage.

  “Mr. Hawke! I have been told that you threw a passenger from the train. Is this true?”

  Hawke chuckled. “I wondered how long it would be before you heard about it.”

  “It is no laughing matter, Mr. Hawke,” McCutcheon said with barely controlled anger.

  “Look, Mr. Conductor,” Dupree said, “if Mr. Hawke hadn’t thrown that unpleasant gentleman from the train, I would have done it myself. And if not me, someone else would have. Either that or someone would have shot him. He was one of the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met.”

  “Nevertheless,” McCutcheon said, addressing himself to Hawke, “you can’t just go about tossing disagreeable passengers off the train. Especially when it is moving, and especially in the middle of the desert.”

  “I’ll be more careful where I throw him next time,” Hawke said.

  “In addition to throwing a paying passenger from the train, you are in blatant violation of my specific orders not to fraternize with the passengers. You don’t have to worry about being more careful next time, because there won’t be a next time. Your employment with Union Pacific is hereby terminated.”

  Literally spinning on his heel, McCutcheon turned and left the dining car. For a moment the five sat in silence, with the women staring at their plates in embarrassment.

  “I believe you asked if I intended to stay with the railroad?” Hawke said.

  “I did ask that, yes.”

  “I think I can safely say that I will not be playing piano for the Union Pacific Railroad.”

  Dupree laughed, and Hawke laughed with him. Then the three women laughed as well, and when the conductor happened to glance through the door and saw them all laughing, he turned away, angry and confused as to why Hawke would find it so amusing that he had just been fired.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” Dupree asked.

  At that moment, their meal was delivered and Hawke waited until the steward withdrew before he answered.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ll go looking for a saloon that needs a p
ianist.”

  “Have you ever considered playing the piano in a whorehouse?”

  “Jay!” Libby said.

  “Well, let’s face it, dear, what we will be running is a whorehouse, no matter what fancy title we give it. And if Mr. Hawke accepts the invitation, he will have to know what’s going on upstairs.”

  Hawke smiled. “I’ve not only considered playing in such an establishment, I’ve actually done it. At many of the saloons where I’ve worked, a rather brisk business was being conducted upstairs.”

  “Then you have nothing, in principle, against the profession? You might come to work for us?”

  “I have absolutely nothing in principle against playing the piano in a whorehouse,” Hawke said. “But I’m going to say no, because I don’t want to commit myself to anything right now. I do thank you for the job offer, though.”

  “I understand,” Dupree said. “But I do want you to know that if you ever change your mind, the invitation still stands.”

  Chapter 11

  ALTHOUGH HAWKE HAD BEEN GONE LESS THAN two weeks, he almost didn’t recognize Green River when he returned. There were at least twice as many people as when he’d left. The new arrivals had come from all over the country: longshoremen from New York, coal miners from Pennsylvania, farmers from Missouri, and gamblers from New Orleans.

  Their accents were different, their clothing different, their backgrounds different, but in one respect they were all the same. All were there in response to the news that had spread throughout the country about the gold discovered in the Sweetwater Mountains. And everyone was there to make their fortune.

  Just exactly how they were going to do that differed among the individuals. Some planned to strike it rich in the goldfield. Others started new businesses to take advantage of the rush. In fact, the businesses were so new that most of them didn’t even have permanent buildings, but were working out of tents.

  An outfitter was selling picks, shovels, tents, ponchos, canteens, knives, boots, everything a prospector would need to get started. A brand new wagon outfit, with the ambitious and optimistic name of Gold Nugget Haulers, was in business, providing both freighting and passenger service up to the Sweetwater Range.

  One enterprising huckster was selling “Maps to the Goldfields,” purporting to show the best places to dig to guarantee success.

  Jay Dupree and his girls planned to make their fortune by catering to the prurient interests of all, prospector and businessman alike.

  “Well, now,” Dupree said, rubbing his hands together in glee as he eyed the crowded streets of Green River. “Ladies, I do believe we have already discovered gold.”

  Not all the gold seekers were recent arrivals. Practically every ranch in the valley suffered losses, as cowboys left to search for gold. Northumbria was no exception. Three of Dorchester’s hands had left with the initial news of the discovery, now seven more, including his foreman, had come to see him.

  Rob Dealey was at the head of the group, and he and the others stood on the front porch of the building the cowboys referred to as the “Big House,” holding their hats in their hands. Most of them couldn’t meet the gaze of the man who had kept them on year round, even during the slack season when all the other ranchers let their cowboys go.

  “So, that’s the way it is, Mr. Dorchester,” Dealey said as he rolled the brim of the hat around in his hands. “Me ’n’ some of the boys figured that, well, if there is gold up there just lyin’ around waitin’ to be picked up, we’d like to try and get our hands on some of it.”

  “All right,” Dorchester replied. “I certainly can’t force you to stay here.”

  “So, what we was thinkin’,” Dealey went on, “that is, what the men wanted me to ask you was, uh, that is, if…”

  “You are wanting to be paid out, is that it, Mr. Dealey?”

  Dealey nodded. “Yes, sir, if you don’t mind. I mean, the thing is, you owe us the money up until now, so…”

  “That’s not entirely correct,” Dorchester said. “The agreement is that I will pay you once a month, for a month’s work. If you haven’t done a month’s work, you haven’t completed your part of the agreement.”

  The men looked at each other in disappointment and concern.

  “But don’t worry,” Dorchester said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I fully intend to pay you, even though I am not legally bound to do so. I just wanted you to know the way it really was.”

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Dorchester,” Dealey said. “Ever’body says you are the best rancher they ever worked for.”

  “But not good enough to keep you away from the gold-fields, right?

  Nobody answered.

  “That’s all right,” Dorchester said. “I’ve no doubt but that if I were a young man, I would go up there myself. Wait here, I’ll get the money.”

  “Hey, Eddie, what you goin’ to do with your money when you get rich?” one of the cowboys asked another.

  “I don’t know. Maybe buy all the horehound candy they got in the store. Oh, and send my mama some money,” the young cowboy answered.

  The others laughed.

  “What about you, Win? What will you do?”

  “If I get just a little bit rich, I’ll prob’ly go someplace like San Francisco or Denver and spend it all on a good time. But if I was to get really rich, why I reckon I’d come back here and buy this ranch,” Win said.

  All the cowboys laughed again.

  “What makes you think Mr. Dorchester would sell it?” Eddie asked.

  “I’d give him so much money he’d have to sell it. Then I’d let him and his daughter stay with me in the Big House.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they would love that,” one of the others said, to more laughter.

  Dorchester had overheard the last bit of conversation and chuckled to himself as he came back out onto the porch with his money box. He walked over to sit at the table he used on pay day, opened the box and took out a ledger book.

  “Mr. Dorchester, if it don’t work out up there for us…uh, that is, if we don’t find nothin’, can we come back and work for you?” one of the cowboys asked.

  “Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Dorchester replied. “If I find it necessary to hire more men while you are gone, then I’m afraid there won’t be a place for you.”

  “I reckon that’s only right,” one of them said. “I mean, what with us runnin’ off on you an’ all.”

  “I will take you back if I have a place for you,” Dorchester said. “But, Mr. Dealey, if you come back and I am able to rehire you, you must understand that I won’t be able to give you your job as foreman back. I will have to replace you as soon as I can.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dealey said. “But I don’t reckon I’ll be comin’ back. If there’s gold up there, I aim to find it, and if I do, and get rich, I won’t be doin’ no more ranchin’.”

  “Very well, as long as you understand. All right, gentlemen, as you know, I keep my book in chronological and not alphabetical order. So line up according to how long you have been working at Northumbria.”

  The men lined up accordingly.

  “Mr. Rob Dealey,” Dorchester said. “Forty-five dollars per month is a dollar and a half per day. At twenty-two days that comes to thirty-three dollars.”

  Dorchester counted the money out and Dealey picked it up, thanked him, then stepped aside for the next person.

  “Win Woodruff, thirty dollars per month is a dollar a day. Twenty-two days is twenty-two dollars.”

  The cowboy who was going to strike it rich and then come back to buy Northumbria picked up his money with a mumbled thanks.

  “Eddie Taylor, thirty dollars per month is a dollar a day. Twenty-two days is twenty-two dollars.”

  Eddie took his money then joined Win, who was waiting for him on the steps.

  “First thing we’ve got to do,” Win said as they walked away while, behind them, the other cowboys were getting paid, “is get into town and get some of the tools and stuf
f that we need.”

  “Are we goin’ to be partners, or look for gold for ourselves?” Eddie asked.

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “’Cause if we are goin’ to be partners, we wouldn’t both of us have to buy every piece of equipment. We could share equipment and it would be a lot less expensive gettin’ started.”

  “Good idea!” Win said. He stuck out his hand. “All right, we’re partners.”

  In the back room of her office, Bailey McPherson pulled a chair over and climbed up on it to get a closer look at the large map that Jason White had tacked up on the wall.

  The map covered the southwestern corner of Wyoming Territory from the Continental Divide in the east to the territorial line in the west, and from the territorial line in the south to the Wind River Range and Sweetwater Mountains in the north.

  A wide, cross-hatched swath ran from Green River City, along Green River to the Big Sandy, up the Big Sandy to the Little Sandy River, and up the Little Sandy to South Pass.

  “That’s a lot of territory,” Addison Ford said, standing beside her, looking at the same map. Even though Bailey was standing on the chair, her head was only slightly higher than Ford’s head.

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “And since it controls all of the water, once we get our hands on this land, we’ll be able to squeeze the others out.”

  “In order to do that, you will have to dam off the rivers and creeks,” Ford said.

  “I’ve already started.”

  “You’ve already started?” Ford replied, surprised. “How can you have already started? We haven’t served any papers on anyone yet.”

  “Well, you and the government have your schedule, Mr. Ford, and I have mine.”

  “You must be very careful about this,” Ford said. “As it stands now, we have the law on our side. So far, everything we are doing is legal. Step over the bounds, just a little bit, and everything could fall apart.”

  “Do you have the papers drawn up yet?” Bailey asked.

  “I do. It’s just a matter of where to serve the first one.”

  Bailey looked back at the map, then put her hand on the Little Sandy, way up top.

  “We may as well start here and work our way down,” she said. “Serve them there.”