“I was considering telling you, but I didn’t know if I should.” Marl pulled a letter from his breast pocket. “We got this letter from Cindy today. It was mailed from New Orleans about a month ago asking for money. It seems that Raphe beat her up, took all her money, and left her stranded. I know she’s desperate, but I don’t know how to get money to her other than to mail it.”
“I know how to get money to her,” Alex exclaimed excitedly. “I’ll take it to her myself. I can get it there faster than a letter and without the chance of the money being lost on the way.”
“I was hoping you’d go to her,” Marl said, taking Alex’s hand, “but I was afraid your anger ran too deep. I can see there’s a lot of Vard in you. I hope you can forgive Cindy and that she’ll come to her senses and marry you. You’re the man she needs.”
“I’m vain enough to believe that I’m the man she needs,” Alex replied sadly, “but am I the man she wants? The next train going east doesn’t leave until Saturday, so I have several days to get ready. I’ll hang out at the saloon, and maybe I’ll hear some gossip that will help me find Father’s killer.”
Chapter 17
As they were talking a porter came in and hollered, “Alex, there’s a man at the train station looking for you!”
“Hmm, I wonder who?” Alex hurried to the station and saw his college roommate Jeffrey Hamilton waiting beside a pile of luggage. Jeffrey’s smile left no doubt that he was relieved to see Alex.
“This is a wild town,” Jeffrey said. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a place like this. When I told the people on the train that I was looking for Alex Vanor, everyone knew you and said you were well known as a man who is fast with a gun. One man said, ‘Oh, my God, if you find him, you’d better be good with a gun. Alex Vanor has killed seven men in gunfights.’ Alex, is that true?”
“No,” Alex laughed, shaking his head. “I haven’t killed seven men; I’ve killed only six. Did they also tell you that I’ve never killed even one man who wasn’t trying to kill me?”
“Yes, they said that, and they also said they want you to take the job of sheriff and clean up Timberland. Are you going to do it? You know, our classmates called you The Quiet Man, but they had no idea who you were.”
Ignoring his question about becoming sheriff, Alex picked up Jeffrey’s bags and asked, “What’s a rich man’s son doing here in the West?”
“I’m sure you remember that I got a degree in anthropology with a minor in archaeology. When we were in school, you told me stories about the Anasazi that triggered my interest, and I want to write a paper about them. You said you knew some Indians who might tell me more.”
“The Ute are friends of mine. They’ll help you if I ask them to. You might have to live with them to get the information you need.”
“How will I talk to them? Will you be my interpreter?”
“I can’t interpret for you right now because I have to make an emergency trip to New Orleans, but I know a girl who’s the daughter of a mountain man and an Indian woman who speaks both English and Ute. She can help you,” Alex said as they walked to the saloon. “But first, I want you to meet my friend Marl—he’s the owner of the Trail’s end Saloon—and then we’ll get you checked into the hotel. After you get cleaned up, I’ll take you to Ma Chambliss’s place for a steak, and then I’ll show you the nightlife.”
“Nightlife—how can there be nightlife in a hick town like this?”
“Be careful who hears you call this a hick town. People around here react to insults with extreme violence. You’d be surprised by the shows they put on at Marl’s saloon. Dancing girls display their charms twice nightly, fistfights occur about every hour, and at least one killing takes place almost every week.” Alex grinned as he looked at Jeff for a response. “Does that sound exciting enough for you?”
“Does Marl provide armor for those who simply like to watch?” Jeff joked, not knowing what to believe.
“He has bouncers, and I’m sure he’ll furnish protection if I tell him you need it. But if you don’t ask for help, you’re expected to take care of yourself. You’re not wearing a gun, so no one will shoot you, but don’t start an argument unless you’re looking for a fight. Some real scrounges drink in our saloons. Some of them are so dirty and pathetic even the whores won’t have anything to do with them.”
As they walked through the batwing doors of the saloon, Jeff overheard a man wearing two guns say, “That’s Alex Vanor, but who’s the dude with him?”
“I don’t know, and I’m not foolish enough to ask,” his companion replied.
“Vanor don’t look so tough to me,” a huge man wearing one gun remarked.
“They’ve buried several men who’ve been fooled by his innocent looks,” another man replied. “If you’re smart, you’ll take my advice—don’t challenge him.”
Kyle Coulter and two of his riders were sitting at Alex’s table. When they saw Alex come in, they jumped to their feet.
“Mr. Vanor,” Kyle said, “we heard you were here earlier and thought you wouldn’t be back tonight, so we sat at your table. We’ll move; no problem.”
“No, Kyle, don’t move. I’d like to buy all of you a drink and introduce you to my friend, Jeffrey Hamilton. he also goes by the name Jeff. We went to school together back east. he’s here to get information about the Anasazi. he’s going to write about them.”
“What’s an Anasazi?” one of the cowboys asked.
“The Anasazi lived here in cliff dwellings a long time ago,” Kyle explained.
“Yeah—I’ve seen some of those old rock houses hanging onto canyon ledges,” the other cowboy chimed in. “What happened to the people who lived in them?”
“That’s what I hope to find out,” Jeff answered.
The Bar H riders knew that Alex’s mother was sleeping with their foreman, so the conversation was a bit strained. They weren’t sure who was in the driver’s seat at the ranch these days.
The barmaid, elsa, showed up with two bottles of the best whiskey the house could provide. The stranger who said Alex didn’t look so tough sauntered over to their table. “Why don’t you stand up and show me how fast you are with that gun?” he said in a boisterous manner.
“My friends and I are having a drink. Would you join us?” Alex said, sizing him up.
“I don’t drink with cowards,” the stranger snarled.
When Marl heard the man call Alex a coward, he motioned for everyone to get back. he knew how Alex would react to being called a coward. Kyle and the riders from the Bar H got up and moved away. Jeff didn’t know what was happening, so he did nothing until Alex waved him aside. Jeff joined Kyle and the Bar H riders and stood watching.
Alex pushed his chair back, slowly got to his feet, faced his challenger, and looked squarely at the arrogant man.
“Mister, I’ll forget you called me a coward if you’ll let me buy you a drink. I don’t want to kill you, but if you draw your gun, I’ll have to.” Then he said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the back of the saloon, “If this man has any friends here, please take him outside and let him cool off.”
“Can this be the same quiet man I knew in college?” Jeff muttered to Kyle, who was standing next to him.
“I don’t know who you knew in college,” Kyle replied, “but your friend who has been called a coward has the reputation for being the fastest gun in the West. Only someone very foolish, or someone who doesn’t know him, would dare call him a coward.”
Across the room, a voice was heard. “Sam, let’s have that drink! Or can you settle this with your fists?”
“Fists or guns,” Sam, the foolish challenger, replied, “I can beat him either way. Nobody has ever beaten me with their fists.” Then he turned to Alex. “What do you say, tough man, shall we settle this with our fists?” Sam laughed, sure he would win.
Alex unbuckled his gun belt and passed it to Kyle. The outcome of a fistfight was far from certain. Alex was glad to avoid a gunfight—he didn’t like having
to kill another man.
“Fist it is,” Alex said as he shed his shirt.
“I’ve never seen Alex use a gun,” Jeff said to Kyle, “but I’ve seen him use his fists. He’s two hundred pounds of muscle and bone, and the best boxer I’ve ever seen.”
“But Sam outweighs him by twenty pounds and looks even stronger than Alex,” Kyle said.
Jeff nodded. “Fight fans back east would pay a lot of money to see this match.”
Sam removed his shirt, revealing a barrel chest and huge arms. Alex, at six foot two, looked small by comparison, but he was wide through the shoulders and lithe as a panther.
The bigger man started the fight with a right cross that would have dropped an ox. Alex ducked and hit the challenger with a right uppercut that snapped his head back. Sam shook his head and came back swinging. Alex danced around him, landing quick left jabs followed by punishing right crosses and quick, powerful uppercuts.
Alex’s trained hands countered Sam’s every try, so Sam decided to use his size to better advantage. He grabbed Alex from behind and locked his massive arms around Alex’s midsection, trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. The tactic was working—Alex didn’t have the strength to break Sam’s grip. Remembering the training the Irish street fighter had given him, Alex pushed his body as high as he could, lowered his head, and then whipped it back into Sam’s nose, breaking it. Then he stomped down hard with the heel of his boot on Sam’s foot, breaking the arch. That loosened Sam’s grip, and Alex came out of the clench and with both hands slammed a punishing blow to Sam’s chin that knocked him cold as a lizard in wintertime.
“I would never have believed anyone could beat him,” the fallen man’s friend said as he looked at the scene with amazement. “I saved his life, but I’m not sure I did him a favor—he now has a broken nose, a broken arch, and a broken ego.”
“His bones will heal, but a bullet through his heart would have been fatal, and that’s surely what he would have gotten if he had attempted to draw his gun,” a Bar H man said.
Alex put his shirt on seemingly unscathed by the fistfight.
“That’s all the excitement I can stand for one night,” Jeff said to Alex. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast at Ma Chambliss’s.”
“I’ll be there,” Alex said as he turned to Jeff while buttoning his shirt. “We’ve got to get you outfitted with a horse and some proper gear. What you’re wearing won’t hack it here. After I teach you to use a gun, I’ll take you to the Indian village and introduce you to Talking Drum and Morning Flower. They’ll help you search for information about the Anasazi. They know more about the Anasazi than anyone does. I’ll be leaving for New Orleans to help an old friend.”
When Marl heard Alex say he was going to New Orleans, he said, “Don’t forget to stop by the house before you leave.”
“The train for St. Louis leaves Saturday noon, so I’ll be at your place early,” Alex said to Marl.
“Marian and I will be expecting you,” Marl nodded.
* * *
The next day after breakfast, Alex took Jeff to the general store and helped him select a complete outfit, including a hat, boots, saddle, a six-shooter, and a rifle with ten cartons of cartridges.
“Why do we need so many cartridges?” Jeff asked.
“You’ve got to learn to shoot, and it’s going to take a lot of practice,” Alex explained. “And you’ll need a horse, so let’s buy you one.”
They bought Jeff a red mare with a splash of white on her face and speckles of white on her rump.
“Alex,” Jeff said with excitement, “she’s my first horse, and she’s a beauty! Look at the speckles on her. I’m going to call her Speckles.”
“Speckles it is, Jeff; that’s a nice name, and she seems to like it.”
Alex showed Jeff how to saddle Speckles and gave him a quick lesson on riding a horse. Then they went to Thunder Canyon and Alex gave him a key to the Vanor home. After Jeff became acquainted with his new surroundings, they went into the canyon and Alex taught him how to use his guns. Alex told Jeff about the legend of the lost city and explained that Talking Drum would tell him much more.
* * *
Both Talking Drum and Morning Flower were pleased to help a friend of Alex’s. They gave Jeff a tepee to sleep in and permitted him to sit in on the stories told by the elders. To have such an opportunity to study Indian culture was beyond his wildest expectations; plus he was instantly smitten by Morning Flower.
With Jeff in good hands, Alex rode back to his and Cindy’s old rendezvous, got a gold coin, then buried it in the loose dirt in the dry cave in preparation for allowing Jeff to find it at a future time. he got a letter of credit from his bank in Timberland to the bank in New Orleans. Then he went to the big house on the hill to see Marl and Marian.
* * *
Marian had breakfast ready, and they talked as they ate. Marl gave Alex a valise of gold coins to take to Cindy.
“Alex, please bring her home!” Marian said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“I’ll make sure that she’s doing well and that she has all the money she’ll ever need,” Alex replied. “It’s my hope that she’ll want to come home, but I won’t force her to do anything. The trip down to New Orleans will take about a month, the trip back will take another month, and I’ll need time to convince Cindy to come back, so I hope to be home in about three months, with or without Cindy.”
Alex paused and looked at Marl. “Marl, if my friend Jeffrey Hamilton comes into the saloon, please look after him. He carries a gun, but he doesn’t use it well enough to defend himself.”
“Sure, I’ll look after him,” Marl replied with a smile.
When Alex stood up to leave, Marian clung to him. “Alex, I know you’ve been hurt, but if you can, please forgive Cindy and take her back. I can’t justify her behavior, but it’s you she loves. She’s always loved you.”
“Mrs. Nalor, I’ve always loved Cindy, and I probably always will. I thought we would marry when we grew up, and I was waiting until we were old enough, but that was a mistake. It’s not a matter of my forgiving Cindy. The question is, am I the man she wants? My own mother knows that I’m leaving today, and she’s not willing to leave the bed of her lover long enough to see me off. The man she sleeps with is the man with the most to gain from my father’s death. When Father died, that man already had his wife, and now he also has his ranch. If you were me, would you trust a woman?”
Marian, ashamed, glanced at Marl. “No, I guess I wouldn’t, but when you see Cindy, tell her that we love her and want her to come home.”
“Do you know where Cindy lives?” Alex asked.
“Yes, here’s her address,” Marl said as he handed Alex the letter, blinking back his tears. “Please find her and bring her home.”
Alex put the envelope in his pocket and picked up the valise.
“As soon as I find Cindy, I’ll give her your message. I’ll try to convince her that it would be in her best interest to come home, but if she still doesn’t want to, I’ll see to it that she never wants for money, and then I’ll come back without her.” He gave Marian a hug, shook Marl’s hand, and left.
* * *
As Alex had thought, the train ride to St. Louis and the riverboat to New Orleans took almost a month. he was eager to see Cindy because he wanted to know how she was doing, and what she was doing to make a living. It had been more than four years since he last saw her, and he hoped she would recognize him and greet him enthusiastically, but he knew that was more than he had a right to expect. he kept remembering what Elsa had told him, about how he had contributed to Cindy’s seeking satisfaction with another man, and how her having sex with other men hadn’t harmed her. Once he was satisfied that Cindy really wanted to return, he would make sure that she made the trip safely.
Chapter 18
The sun was still a few hours high when the riverboat docked in New Orleans. Alex paid a carriage driver to take him to the address on the envelope. It was
to a nightspot called the Bamboo Curtain. he then checked into a hotel close by. Feeling out of place in his buckskins, he went to a men’s shop and bought a suit. Now he was ready to find out about the Bamboo Curtain.
Loud music was blaring as he walked in. A doorman sized Alex up quickly and escorted him to a table near the stage. A group of pretty girls formed a line and began a provocative dance. Then a gorgeous blond walked to the center of the stage and began singing. It was Cindy! She was wearing a tightly fitted dress displaying her tiny waist, and a low-cut bodice showed off her full bosom.
Alex had never heard Cindy sing with accompaniment before; she was surprisingly good. Even with all the beautiful girls in the production, every male eye was on Cindy. She was the star of the show. Alex tried to attract her attention but when she finished her song, she walked to the bar and stood by a man who seemed to be the owner or the manager. Men dressed in expensive clothes rushed forward to bid for Cindy’s company. It seemed that every man in the Bamboo Curtain wanted her.
Alex didn’t understand the bidding procedure, so he wasn’t quick enough. The owner or manager took the money of the highest bidder, and then Cindy led the lucky man up the stairway to the rooms where the whores satisfied their clients’ needs. The winner was caressing Cindy’s bottom as they walked up the stairs.
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