Sipping Whiskey in a Shallow Grave

by Mark Mitten

  “What outfit were you working for last?”

  “Spent all last summer at Ferguson’s ranch, up in Estes,” Davis replied. “Worked till the wagon pulled off, the last of November. Lee was up there, too…at the Elkhorn. But you know how winter goes. Not much for a buckaroo.”

  “Don’t tell me you signed on with the railroad.”

  Davis grinned.

  “Took up with the Rio Grande, laying track down across the Bayou Salado,” he told Casey. “Boy, they’re probably up Trout Creek Pass by now. Shoulda drifted south — cording mossheads on the Matamortos would be better than freezing my tail in Lake George. Miserable work.”

  Now that both Rufe and Steve were out of his sight, LG was starting to relax.

  “Any work you can’t do from a saddle is miserable,” he said. “Ain’t that right, Ima?”

  LG kicked at Ira’s outstretched boot.

  Ira frowned and pulled his foot away. He had only known LG for less than a week. He wondered how long it would take for LG to get his name right.

  Chapter 25

  Ward

  Even in the light of dawn, it was obvious the fresh snow was not going to last. Everything started dripping as the air warmed. It seemed like every few minutes another pine branch would shake off a clump of snow.

  Julianna stood on the porch, bundled up beneath the stout eaves which overhung the front door. She loved mornings. It was so peaceful. Two robins flew down and landed in a fir tree. Their red chests were fluffy and they shook their feathery wings to flick out the moisture.

  With a smile, Julianna watched them chirp at each other. Then they noticed her. Their little black eyes were curious.

  “I have no crumbs for you,” she told them.

  From inside the house, she heard footsteps and low conversation. It was Samuel and Josephine, starting the day themselves. Julianna was an early riser, especially when she slept in a strange place. Their guest room was nice and the spring bed was comfortable — but it wasn’t hers.

  Julianna was about to go in and say good morning, but then she heard Josephine’s voice rise. It was obviously an argument. Perhaps it was better to wait outside for a few more minutes.

  Finally, the door creaked open. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, Josephine came outside and joined her on the porch.

  “Domestic tranquility,” Josephine announced wryly. “Head of the household…what purebred nonsense.”

  She stomped the porch — she was mad. Julianna gave her a hug and a kind smile.

  “You’re moving, then.”

  Josephine sighed.

  “We’re moving.”

  The two robins were still watching from their tree. After a minute they both flew down onto the wet grass, looking for worms to come to the surface. The snow was melting and they knew it.

  Julianna took her hand and squeezed.

  “Come on, let’s walk.”

  The air was cool but not as cold as other mornings that week. The sky was getting lighter with each step.

  “Let’s get breakfast together one more time before I go home,” Julianna said. “Away from Samuel and his Hilltop Mine.”

  They walked up the road and wound past the neighbors’ homes. Other people were up with the dawn, too, but the two young women had the road to themselves most of the way. Above town somewhere, dynamite went off and shook the air. The first blast of the day.

  They turned onto the main road and made their way uphill, breathing loudly with the effort. The Haw & Gee was still open — it had never closed. Like most of the mountain towns, Ward entertained its own gamblers and drinkers all night long. For them, the first detonation of the day was their dinner bell.

  A wagon was parked at the top of the hill, where several men were busy leveling a tall pole with ropes and mules. Julianna and Josephine walked by, looking up to see what was going on.

  “Telephone line,” Josephine told Julianna. “Can you believe it?”

  “It was only a matter of time.”

  “Don’t have that in Horseshoe,” Josephine muttered darkly. “Don’t have a school, barely a post office. What am I suppose to do when the child comes?”

  Stopping suddenly, Julianna grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “A baby?” she asked. “Is that what’s going on?”

  Josephine nodded. She was in a bad mood, but Julianna broke into a warm smile and gave her a hug.

  “Josephine, you could have told me you were having a baby! I’m so happy for you.”

  “Come on, I’m hungry,” Josephine said. But it was hard for her to stay angry. She was angry at her husband anyway, for deciding to take a job at the Hilltop Mine and relocate the family to Horseshoe — without her say in the matter. Since he was back at the house, she decided to let it go. This may be one of the last times she got to spend with Julianna, and she did not want to waste it complaining about an obstinate spouse.

  They went to the Halfway House for breakfast. At that hour, they had their pick of tables. Several Chinese men were there already, having their own morning meal. Their conversation was gibberish to the women. Coming out from the kitchen, Hugh waved them over.

  “Something to eat for you?”

  “For both of us, please,” Julianna answered.

  They made their way to a table by the big picture window. They looked out over the treetops and the steep green slopes. It was a beautiful morning, and Julianna could not believe her friend’s news.

  “Why haven’t you told me yet?”

  “If you would come to town more than once a month, I could tell you these things.”

  “I get here more than that,” Julianna retorted. “What about Hazel? Vera?”

  “Haven’t said,” Josephine said softly. “I’ve just realized myself, here, recent.”

  Hugh set down two steaming plates of eggs and beef.

  The main door swung open and a tall stockman came in. Hugh glanced up from Julianna and Josephine to see who it was.

  “Til Blancett!” he called. “With you in a moment.”

  Til waved. He stepped up to the bar and set his coat and gloves on top. He had slept later than he expected to. But the barn had been closed up tight — it had kept the heat in, but when the sun rose it kept the light out, too.

  “Let me fix you a plate,” Hugh told him and disappeared in the kitchen.

  Til turned to survey the room. He saw the Chinamen talking among themselves, and the two women sitting at the window. He tipped his hat towards Julianna and Josephine.

  Hugh returned from his kitchen with a plate and coffee. He set it in front of Til.

  “Two bits?”

  “Yep,” Hugh said. “How’s the B-Cross-C?”

  “Moving out, actually.”

  “Thought you just moved back up there!” Hugh said, surprised.

  “I did.”

  “Guess it has something to do with the Great Die-Up.”

  “Changes the game.”

  Til sampled the eggs. They were scrambled up and mixed with some kind of cheese. Usually Til ate hard-fried eggs. But that was because whenever he cooked eggs for himself, that was how they turned out.

  “Tell Xin he did good.”

  Hugh snorted.

  “That Oriental can’t comprehend a bleat I say.”

  Chapter 26

  The door eased open and Bill Ewing walked into the Halfway House. Vincent came in right behind him.

  Before he got very far, Bill turned to look out the window. There they were, walking around in a tight-knit group: Poqito, Caverango, Granger and Lem were following Ned around. Bill grimaced. They looked like a damn circus troupe. Didn’t they realize all the locals were staring at them? This was just a dinky little mining town. In a small town, you had to take pains to blend in — you don’t want to stick out. Now here they were, trying to outrun a posse and these fools were making a spectacle of themselves.

  “Traipsing along like mice and the piper,” Bill said softly. “Tell those clowns to separate.”


  Going back outside, Vincent flagged them down. Ned saw and came right over — the others turned and followed along on Ned’s heels. Still watching from the window, Bill shook his head at their tactless behavior.

  “Get you a plate?” Hugh asked him.

  Bill pulled off his wet leather gloves. His coat was damp and dirty. He took it off and hung it on a wall peg.

  “Whatever you got on the stove.”

  Vincent came back in. He took off his own coat and draped it over his arm. His vest looked prim and clean, like he was out in his Sunday best. Bill smirked. That guy always looked proper. Even after getting shot at, burnt out, and riding all night in the wind.

  “What about those pickle-nuts?” Bill asked him.

  “Parsed out — two by two,” Vincent said, pointing out the window. “Like Noah’s Ark.”

  Bill turned and looked again. Ned had stopped and was standing in the street unscrewing his whiskey bottle. Lem and Granger were walking one way, while Poqito and Caverango were headed in the exact opposite direction. Across the street, a freighter was loading his wagon at the general store. The storekeeper was helping him with crates. They both had stopped to watch.

  It was clear they needed to keep moving, but Bill wanted a hot meal first. It had been a long night, and they were not carrying many supplies. Hugh came by their table and set down plates and coffee cups.

  Hugh took their money and went back to the bar. He paused in front of Til, who was still standing. He had remained where he was, standing at the bar while he finished his eggs and beefsteak.

  “Ought to sit down to et, Til.”

  “Naw. Gonna be in the saddle rest of the day,” Til replied. “This’ll do fine.”

  “Telegraph’s open by now.”

  “Hope that wet night we just had don’t interfere with the connection any.”

  “Just a spring squall,” Hugh said. “Not like we got three feet. That’d bring down the wires for sure.”

  The front door opened again. Ian Mitchell and Jim Everitt came inside. Ian carried a double-barreled shotgun. He set it on the bartop, just a few steps from Til.

  Vincent and Bill noticed them come in. Who were these two? The posse? Had they gotten there already? That shotgun made Bill uneasy. But they both stayed seated, trying to stay cool and not draw attention to themselves. Vincent and Bill forked their eggs with one hand, while under the table they each took out their .45′s and placed the guns in their laps while they listened to Jim and Ian talk.

  “Leaving out this morning?” Hugh asked them.

  “Jerk-line’s all hitched,” Jim said to Hugh. “Soon as we eat.”

  “Down to Gold Hill first, pick up their mail and such,” Ian mentioned. “Why? Something to send along?”

  Hugh reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a silver pocketwatch by the chain. He unhooked it and dangled it into Jim’s palm.

  “When you get to Boulder, just pass this on to John Meeker. Tell him it goes to my sister Lynn.”

  “Condolences,” Jim said. “About your father.”

  “Means a lot more to her than me,” Hugh informed him. “He was an old cuss. Good to the girls, though. I ain’t going to the funeral, but this’ll do. Family heirloom — take good care with it.”

  Jim Everitt turned it over in his hand. He opened the cover with his thumbnail. Inside was an inscription: John Frederick Hughes, from Helena your loving wife: Absence from those we love is self from self.

  “Your last name is Hughes?” he remarked. “Hugh Hughes?”

  Hugh stared at him but did not say anything.

  “I’ll make sure it gets to John Meeker, then.”

  Hugh nodded his appreciation.

  “Thank you much.”

  Jim put the watch into his own vest pocket, patting it securely. Hugh nodded once more, and moved off to check on his other customers. The Chinese men were gesturing, trying to get his attention. They were pointing at their cups.

  Julianna and Josephine watched Hugh bring out their coffee.

  “Those Chinamen are hard workers, Samuel says,” Josephine mentioned.

  She looked around the room. It was still early for the Halfway House. Most mornings were quiet like this, whenever she stopped in for breakfast. A couple tired-looking gamblers came in and took a table. Other than that, it was just Vincent, Bill, Til, and the Chinese miners.

  “If there were any Italians in here, we might see a fist fight,” Josephine said. “Samuel tells me they don’t get along too well with Chinamen.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Don’t know,” Josephine said with a shrug. “Samuel just says they don’t. Guess there are big fights up in Como, in those coal mines. Happens all the time. According to Samuel, Ward is pretty tame.”

  Chapter 27

  Spring Gulch

  Preacher’s Glen

  The sun was just starting to color the sky. Emmanuel knelt down and blew on the coals to see if he could coax a flame out of it. Morning was Emmanuel’s favorite time of day. On the far side of the glen, he watched the moon floating over the Great Divide. The crescent had grown big and turned a rich yellow. It was suspended right over the ridgeline, getting bigger as it inched down. All night long he watched the moon. When he was driving the chuckwagon in the dark he saw it creep up over the trees in front of him, stark white like a fat thumbnail. Up it went, up into the cold windy sky and right over the top of his head. Now here he was, trying to get the fire back up for breakfast. The coals were still glowing and all it took were a few pinches of pine needles. Pine needles always burnt quick, hot and put out thick smoke. He added a few dead branches and the cookfire was going again. That big yellow thumbnail moon was almost touching the snowy ridge — like it was going to land right on top of it.

  “Look at that, will you?” LG asked, with his normal wry grin. He pointed up at the ridge. Emmanuel was relieved that LG seemed to be back in a good mood. He had been fairly bent out of shape with the McGonkins. Or the McSpookies, as he called them now.

  LG was an early riser no matter how late he stayed up or how little sleep he got. It was his habit to check on the horses as soon as he woke up — he even beat Emmanuel out of the bedroll most mornings.

  “That moon gonna sit up on that ridge,” Emmanuel told him.

  It was chilly, but Emmanuel could tell it was going to warm up nicely before long. By the wagon, the McGonkins were still buried in their bedrolls. So were Casey and Edwin, and Gyp. Ira was off in the meadow riding the final watch for the night. When Emmanuel first drove the chuckwagon through there, the glen had a perfect layer of fresh snow all across it. It was beautiful in the moonlight. His own wagon tracks were the first thing to cut across it. Now, in the morning light, Emmanuel looked out. The fresh powder was completely churned up from the stampede. It was like a farmer had tilled the whole field.

  Davis smelled the smoke. He was wrapped up in his blanket so thoroughly only his nose stuck out. Moving quick, Davis threw off his bedding, grabbed his boots and danced across the cold ground without even taking the time to put them on.

  “Hoo hoo!” Davis called, poorly mimicking a train whistle.

  Lee watched him go. He was shivering and had been waiting for the fire, too. He sat up, but unlike Davis, took the time to wiggle on his stiff frozen boots.

  “What was that supposed to be?” LG asked Davis.

  “Locomotive.”

  “Don’t know why you would stoop to railroad work,” LG asked him, mystified.

  “Ferguson ran out of cow work,” Davis told him.

  “What’s that ol’ boy run up there anyhow?”

  “Hereford.”

  Lee sat on a rock next to Davis and pulled his boots right back off his feet. It was only twenty quick steps from his bedroll to the fire, but Lee was sensitive about his bare feet.

  “Ferguson didn’t run outta no cow work,” Lee explained with a knowing smile.

  LG looked over at Davis, but the man just rubbed his toes and stretched his feet
out over the flames.

  “Heard about Aspen?” Davis asked LG. “They are blasting railroad grade right up the Roaring Fork even as we speak. Narrow-gauge.”

  “These are historic and industrious times,” LG said in a disinterested tone. “Let ‘er buck.”

  “Ferguson’s got three awful purty daughters,” Lee mentioned.

  Davis examined the sole of his foot and picked at a corn.

  Casey came up and sat down on a stump. He yawned.

  “Wonder what Ferguson would do if one of the hired hands was to court one?” Lee continued thoughtfully. “A barn dance is only a barn dance when other folks are invited.”

  Suddenly, Davis reached over and cupped his hand over Lee’s mouth. Lee jumped up and spat in the fire.

  “Now my mouth tastes like your filthy toe corn.”

  LG looked over at the chuckwagon. Emmanuel was working the coffee mill. In the quiet morning, it was easy to hear him scoop coffee beans out and pour them in the mill.

  “Grind that thing,” LG called.

  Off in the aspen grove, Gyp crawled out from his blankets. The horses saw him, too, and started nickering. Gyp went over to the wagon and dug around in the back. He found the grain pail and headed to the rope corral. There was enough grass to keep the horses busy, but Til gave him specific instructions. He wanted his remuda grained. So Gyp fed them grain every morning.

  Steve and Rufe were both awake, but lying silently in their bedrolls. Neither had any interest in going to the fire and being berated. Edwin finally roused himself and came over. He held his hands over the fire.

  “I don’t see no church,” he pointed out, apropos of nothing. “Why’s it called Preacher’s Glen if there ain’t no church?”

  “You need to confess something?” LG asked him. “You can tell me. I’m a peach at keeping secrets.”

  To the west, the moon had dropped below the Divide. To the east, the sky was turning a whitish blue as the sun came up.

  “There’s a preacher up in Estes Park that climbs them mountains,” Lee mentioned.

  Edwin glanced over at him curiously.

  “Elkanah Lamb. Used to go inside the saloons, Bible in one hand — .45 in the other.”