The Blacksmith

by Bryan A. Salisbury

  “Unless you want them,” Blake said smiling. “New ones are on the way. I’ll be over at the saloon.When he’s done, send him over to me, please.”

  “Sure thing,” Brady called back.

  ******

  Blake stopped by his hotel to get cleaned up and change his shirt, and then made his way to The Trails End. Business was slow and Blake stood at the end of the bar sipping a beer. The bartender named Clyde came down to him with a jar of pickled eggs. “Feel free to help yourself.”

  Blake fished one out and took a bite. “Do you know anything about a kid named Caleb?” he asked.

  “The one who lives out back of here?”

  “Yup, that’s him.”

  “About sixteen or so, with blond hair?” Blake nodded and finished his egg. “His ma used to work here as a dove, nice enough, always a smile. His pa was probably a customer who was gone before she knew she was pregnant.” He was done wiping glasses and stood there cleaning the bar.

  “Anyhow, about two years ago she caught the clap and got real sick. Doc said if he found it earlier he might of helped but she was too far gone. She had the boy a while back and lived in the shack behind here, she tried to provide for him but times got real hard. She wanted Caleb to go to the school but that hawk-faced biddy of a schoolmarm thought he was retarded because of his stutter and wouldn’t let him in. The old bat wasn’t about to have a whore’s child in her school, anyway. Della, that was his ma’s name, tried to teach him but she didn’t have much schoolin’ herself. He lives out there in his ma’s shack with that scruffy cur dog now. I tried to hire him on to do chores around here but once the cowpokes found he stuttered, they made such fun of him he ran off. I see him from time to time but he always runs away before I can talk to him. Why you asking about him anyway?”

  “I met him today,” Blake said. “Thought maybe I can help him.”

  “He’s a lost cause I think. Hate to say it but the cards have always been stacked against him.” The bartender walked away to refill a mug.

  Blake continued to sip his beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Caleb. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He was thin to be sure and looked as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs but, damn, he was handsome. He had piercing blue eyes and strong jaw. With his blond hair cut and combed he was sure to turn a lady’s head. The bartender saw a new customer and came over to him.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Would you like anything, Caleb?” Blake asked.

  “N-No.”

  “That can’t be Caleb!” his mouth hanging open, the bartender was shocked.

  “In the flesh,” Blake smiled. “You hungry?”

  Caleb nodded his head.

  “Let’s go down to the café.”

  “I will be truly damned and go to hell,” muttered Clyde as he watched them leave.

  Chapter 6

  Blake and Caleb entered the café and took a seat. Chrissy came out of the kitchen carrying food and left it at a table near them. Coming over to them with her usual hard expression she said, “The special today is beef stew and biscuits.”

  Blake was growing tired of cold receptions, so mimicking her tone, said, “Good afternoon ma’am, it’s lovely to see you, too. Beef stew and biscuits sound delightful. May we please have two orders?”

  Chrissy’s face turned a bright shade of pink. Trying to figure out if she was going to light into Blake for his smart ass attitude or just ignore it, her eyes fixed on Caleb. “Do I know you?”

  “Y-y-yes, m-m-ma’am.”

  Chrissy’s face changed to disbelief. “Caleb?”

  “Y-y-es, m-m-ma’am.”

  She stared at Caleb a second longer, then she closed her mouth and turned her gaze to Blake.

  “This young man stole something earlier today and needs to repay me for it. I have decided to turn him from his life of crime and teach him a skill. I’ll be staying in MacIntyre and will teach him the art of blacksmithing.”

  “Why?” was only thing she could find to say with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Because,” Blake said flatly.

  She was taken back, totally at a loss for words. She opened and closed her mouth, like a carp on dry land. Finally she said, “I’ll be right out with your dinners.”

  Blake turned to Caleb and caught the amazement on his face. “Speak your mind, boy.” He tried but could not get any words out. Blake held up his hand, “Look, the town needs a blacksmith and I need someone to help me. Because you owe me money, you’re it. Once you have paid your debt, you’ll be free to go. If you’re not careful you might learn a trade that you can use the rest of your life. Make no mistake; the work is going to be hot, smelly and hard. But I think you will come to like it. You are big enough, strong enough, and smart enough.”

  That was the statement that shook Caleb, tears welled in his eyes, “S-s-s-stup-p-pid.”

  “A stutter doesn’t make you stupid. I don’t see stupid in you.” Chrissy arrived with their food. She hesitated when she saw the look on Caleb’s face. Blake continued. “I won’t do this without you, son. Are you game to give it a try?” Blake held out his hand.

  There comes a point in every man’s life when he hits a crossroad. One way is more comfortable and familiar; the other scares him to death. One aspect of bravery is to plunge headlong into the unknown. The hardest step is the first. Caleb screwed up his face, it was a lot to take in. Suddenly he looked Blake straight in the eye, grabbed hold of his hand shaking it and said, “Hell, yes.”

  They agreed to meet at the café for breakfast the next morning. Blake had made arrangements with Joe to stay in the loft with Hap and Avery. Afterwards, they had breakfast that was served by an almost pleasant Chrissy. Blake thought she smiled at one point but he couldn’t be sure.

  They headed over to the forge. Taking the keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door and opened the big door in front. “All right Caleb, the first thing we have to do is get this pig sty cleaned up. Take everything you can lift and put it outside. Try to keep the tools that look the same together. Put smaller things in boxes and be careful, some of it may be pretty sharp.”

  Caleb nodded and went right to work. After Blake thought he had a good start Blake left for the bank.

  Mr. Weatherby was sitting at his desk working in a ledger. As Blake approached him he held out his hand without looking up. Blake sat in the chair across from him. “I would like to talk, please.”

  “About?”

  “Purchasing the blacksmith shop.”

  Weatherby’s eyes brightened a little. “Had a change of heart, have you?”

  “You might say that. My circumstance has changed.” Blake’s voice had a very businesslike quality.

  “Good, good. Well the price for the lot, building and its contents is one thousand dollars,” Weatherby said sitting back in his chair.

  Blake snorted, “I take it you haven’t seen the lot, building and its contents lately.”

  “It may have fallen into a minor state of disrepair.”

  “The main header for the roof is broken, pigeons have been using it for an outhouse for what looks like a year and the access hole in the roof they have been using is big enough to throw a cat through … which, incidentally, has allowed many of the tools to rust and rot.”

  “Perhaps I can negotiate the price down a little. When, and if, I can secure a loan for you, I’m sure we can come to manageable figure.”

  “I will not need a loan. I wish to know your bottom price right now,” Blake pressed.

  Weatherby was flustered. “Perhaps seven hundred fifty.”

  Blake smiled now. “I have no idea what was owed on the building before and I do not care. I do know, however, that when the bank owns it, the bank is responsible for back taxes; I do not care how much that is either. What I do know is the town needs a blacksmith, and it would be better for you to get this building off your books. I will offer four
hundred.”

  Weatherby took a handkerchief out and mopped his forehead. “Seven,” he said.

  “Five.”

  “Six and I will go no lower,” Weatherby huffed.

  “Five-fifty it is,” Blake stood and held out his hand.

  “Fine, five-fifty, then,” Weatherby looked like he had been in a prize fight. He stood and shook Blake’s hand. “I’ll get the deed.”

  When he returned Blake reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out an enormous wad of bills. He counted off six hundred dollars and handed to the banker. Weatherby reached in his desk for the change and Blake took it. He signed over the deed and handed to Blake. “Now to the next bit of business,” Blake sat back down.

  “Lord, what now?” sighed Weatherby.

  “I’ll need a place to live. Do you have any reasonably priced houses?” Blake liked toying with him.

  The banker pursed his lips. “I do have a modest house at the end of the street. It was owned by a Confederate officer who lived out his final days there. I know the house is in decent shape because it is two doors up from my own. A Negro woman has been living there; she was his servant and stayed on after he died. But I can have her out by day’s end if you wish.”

  “And where will she go?” Blake asked.

  “That is not my concern.”

  What a heartless bastard, Blake thought. “I would like to see it.”

  “I can take you over now but it will have to be quick, as I have other appointments this morning.”

  “Let’s go,” said Blake, as he stood up.

  ******

  They left the bank and turned right up the street. As Blake passed the street where his new shop stood he could hear the clanking of metal and knew Caleb was hard at work. Blake really did not think Weatherby was going to last by all the huffing and wheezing he was doing. He sounded like a steam engine about to explode. Finally the banker turned and opened a gate to a small white house with black shutters. It had two stories with a small porch on the first floor. Mopping his brow again he marched up the stairs and went in.

  “No knock?” Blake asked and stood on the porch outside.

  “The bank owns it,” Weatherby puffed.

  Just when Blake was about to give him a lesson in manners a small black woman appeared in the hall. She marched straight at them with fire in her eyes. Only about five foot tall, she was just as wide wearing a flour-coated apron and she was carrying a rolling pin. She pointed at them and yelled, “Who is you to come bustin’ into my house like that?”

  Weatherby stood his ground, “It’s the bank’s house, Sadie, and this gentleman is looking to buy it.”

  “I don’t care. Knockin’ is what decent folk do,” she said with hands on her hips.

  Blake took off his hat and stepped through the door. “Ma’am, my name is Blake Thorton, and I apologize for not knocking, if it would be no trouble I would like to look around some.”

  “Well, I knows the day would come,” Sadie said relaxing a little. Then she shot the banker a dirty look. “I gots no say, do what you want,” and stomped back to the kitchen.

  Blake looked at the rest of the house while Weatherby rested on the porch. It had three bedrooms upstairs and a sitting room downstairs along with a kitchen and a small room on the side that was where Sadie obviously stayed. Adjacent to the kitchen was a room with a bathtub and dresser. There was a small back yard with a garden and some neatly pruned rose bushes. He went back to the kitchen where Sadie was baking some wonderful smelling bread. “You have done a fine job with this house, ma’am.”

  “Don’t know where I is going now,” she grumbled.

  “Well if I buy the house, I would like you to stay on and work for me.”

  “Doin’ what?” she said suspiciously.

  “Well, cooking, cleaning and such.”

  “Nutttin’ else?”

  “Like what?”

  She turned to Blake with her hands on her hips and a hard look on her face. “Major Crawford wanted all sorts of ‘other’ things, not that he could do ‘em mind you, but he tried.”

  Blake smiled and looked down. “No ma’am, nothing else.”

  “I don’t be needin’ your charity, mister,” she said looking straight at him. “But seen’ as you be needin’ help, I s’pose I could.”

  “How does twenty dollars a month sound?”

  “Like you is funnin’ an old lady,” disbelief covered her face. Then thinking she asked, “How much for my room and meals?”

  “I’ll throw those in, but you have to do the cooking,” Blake said smiling.

  A strange look came over Sadie’s face, and then she let out with a high pitched laugh. “You and me is goin’ to get along fine, we is. An’ fo’ twenty dollars a month, there will be hot vittles and clean sheets for you, Mr. Thorton.” Then her face got a very hard look. “If’n you try any foolishness I’ll dent yo’ head with this here rollin’ pin.”

  “Deal,” Blake said holding up his hand. “I may have a young man staying here that I just hired on. Will that be a problem?”

  “No suh, tha’d be fine, but I’ll need to go shoppn’. Ain’t gots enough food here now.”

  Blake reached in his pocket and gave her forty dollars. “Twenty to stock the shelves and a month’s pay in advance.”

  “Thank you and bless yo’ heart, Mr. Thorton.”

  “If it would be no trouble, could you bring some sandwiches and something to drink over to the forge around noon?”

  “Yes, suh, I’d be happy to,” Sadie said taking the money. “Lord, two men to care fo’, I’d best get movin’.”

  Blake smiled and turned to the door. As he went out he was greeted by an agitated Weatherby.

  “Well, is it suitable, Mr. Thorton?”

  “Yup, it’ll do. Do you have a price in mind?”

  “I think seven hundred is a very reasonable price,” he stated.

  “I think five is more reasonable.”

  “Five with no furnishings, then.”

  Blake thought for a moment and scratched his chin. “Six with the furnishings.”

  “Then the price is seven hundred,” the banker said firmly.

  “Then I will look elsewhere,” Blake put his hat on and started for the gate.

  Weatherby waddled to catch up, wheezing he said, “Six will do, six will do. Deal?” holding out a sweaty hand.

  “Deal,” Blake said shaking his hand then wiped it on his pant leg. “I need to go to the hotel and gather my things. I’ll meet you at the bank to get the deed.”

  “It will be ready,” puffed Weatherby.

  Blake crossed the street and headed for the hotel. He went up to his room and removed his shirt which was hiding a money belt. Then he emptied his saddlebags and took four one-pound gold bars from a hidden compartment in the bottom. He counted the bills in the belt. There was about nine thousand dollars. He counted out six hundred and placed it in his shirt pocket. He repacked the saddlebags and placed the gold and money on top. Gathering the rest of his belongings he headed downstairs. The weasel greeted him with his usual sour look. With his usual snotty tone asked, “Checking out, sir?”

  Blake tossed the key on the counter, “Yup.”

  “I will settle your bill in just one minute, sir.”

  Blake had enough of his rudeness. He leaned on the counter staring at the little man. “Why don’t you keep the rest and go over to Dooley’s Mercantile. Maybe he has a new personality for you, because your shitty one irritates me.”

  “Well, I never,” huffed the clerk as Blake strolled out the door.

  Back in the bank Weatherby was behind his desk waiting for him. “Everything is in order, Mr. Thorton,” he said as Blake sat down.

  “Here is your money,” Blake said and gave him the money from his pocket.

  “And here is the deed.” Weatherby handed him the papers. “I will have the Negro woman out at once.”

  “There will be n
o need for that. I hired her on to take care of the house,” Blake replied examining the deed.

  “But you just purchased the property!” the banker said loudly.

  “I was confident we would reach an agreement. Now on to other business.”

  “Good Lord, what now?” Weatherby slumped in his chair.

  “I need to open an account,” he said reaching in his saddlebag.

  “How much will you be depositing?” Weatherby’s eyes brightened a little and he sat up.

  Blake set the gold bars on the desk and started counting out the money. “These gold bars and nine thousand dollars.”

  Weatherby’s mouth hung open and said with an exasperated voice, “You could have easily paid my asking price for the properties.”

  “It was business, Mr. Weatherby, I did not want to be taken advantage of, plus I am certain you took no loss in the transactions.” Blake set the money on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Thorton; you do not have the appearance of a man who has wealth. How did you come by this small fortune?”

  Blake’s eyes became very cold and hard. He spoke in a very controlled, calm voice, “I do not dress to put on airs. I dress for comfort and function. Secondly, how I came by my fortune is no one’s business but my own. Are we clear?”

  Weatherby swallowed hard, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now I want you to set up a transfer from the Commercial National Bank in St. Louis in the amount of ten thousand dollars to be deposited into my account here.” Weatherby was just staring at Blake with his mouth open. Blake smiled, “Don’t you think you should be doing some paperwork?”

  “Yes, oh my, yes,” said the now-excited banker as he started to pull forms from his drawer and scribbled furiously.

  “Take your time, Mr. Weatherby, a man died who was in a hurry once,” Blake drawled.

  When his business was concluded, Blake stood and gathered his things and made to leave. “Thank you, Mr. Weatherby. It’s been a pleasure. It would cause me great displeasure to have our transactions broadcast around town or anywhere else for that matter.”

  “Property deals are a matter of public record here but, rest assured, personal accounts are strictly confidential,” Weatherby stated firmly. Then he stood and shook Blake’s hand.