by Jim Cox
The man turned and looked at Bart through bloodshot eyes lined with swollen veins and sadness. “Sonny, could you spare fifty cents?” the man said with breath reeking of whiskey. “I need my afternoon drink, and I’m out of money, I’ll be sure to pay you back.”
Bart sat looking at the beaten old man while music and loud voices came from within the saloon behind them. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have money to spare. I just got to town and don’t know what kind of expenses I’ll be having.”
“That’s all right,” said the old fellow in a friendlier manner than Bart had expected. “I really didn’t expect anything. Maybe someone else will come along. By the way young man, if I can be of help, look me up. Folks around here call me Jug. I guess you can tell how I got that name? I’m the town drunk.” Bart felt sorry for him. He was down and out, but even though his words were slurry, Bart could tell he was an educated man. He spoke with good diction, which indicated he hadn’t always been the town drunk.
Bart parted company with Jug and ambled down the boardwalk, crossing over to the other side when he reached the south end of town. He started to enter the mercantile store but decided against it. Maybe I’m going about this wrong? I’ll look up the captain tonight and see if he’s heard of any jobs. Maybe he can at least give me some pointers.
Bart got back to the wagon an hour early that evening. The Douglases were not there when he arrived, so he started a fire and put on water for coffee. Afterward, he gathered enough firewood to last the Douglases a few days and then gathered several armloads for the Kaisers. As he was leaving their site, Mrs. Kaiser noticed him and called him back. “Thank you, Bart. That’s most considerate of you.”
“I’m glad to help, Mrs. Kaiser. How’s Mr. Kaiser doing?”
“Not very well, I’m afraid. I don’t think he has many days left.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kaiser. What are your plans? What are you going to do?” Bart asked.
Tears filled the eyes of the powerful woman. “I don’t know,” she said between sobs. “We don’t have much money saved, and what little we have will be used on the funeral. I don’t know what lays ahead for me Bart, I…I simply don’t know.”
No words Bart could think of were adequate, so he simply stood near her. After a long wait, he said, “Mrs. Kaiser, I hope you’ll not think me presumptuous, but I’ve done something on your behalf.” Bart then recounted the conversation he’d had with Jenny at the café and suggested she call on Jenny if she was interested in the job.
“That’d be perfect. I couldn’t ask for anything better. I love to cook and be around people. You can’t imagine how relieved I am to know of that possibility, Bart. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” And with that, she pulled him to her and hugged him until her sobs quieted.
Bart noticed the Douglases were back, so he excused himself and hurried off.
“I’ll see Jenny tomorrow, Bart,” Mrs. Kaiser shouted, “First thing tomorrow.”
“What was that all about?” asked Mrs. Douglas. Bart recited the story to the Douglases.
“That’s a relief. I’ve been wondering what was to become of her. You did a good deed, Bart, thank you,” Alice said with a smile.
During supper, Mr. Douglas asked, “Bart, I hear you were in a couple stores this afternoon looking for a job. Did you find one?”
“No, sir, I didn’t. Besides the cafe, I only asked at the livery stable. The old man there was nice but said he didn’t have enough business to keep himself busy. I thought I’d ask the captain for some advice. Have you seen him lately?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Bart asked, “Mr. Douglas, what are your plans? I’ve been so busy thinking of mine I haven’t asked about yours.”
“Our dream is to purchase a small ranch and raise some cattle and horses, but that won’t be possible for a few years.”
“Why not?” asked Bart.
Mrs. Douglas broke in, “It takes a great deal of money, Bart. We have a small savings but not nearly enough to buy a ranch and stock it. Liz needs to continue her education, and that takes money, too.” Liz tightened her lips with a facial expression that showed her disagreement. “I’ll be getting a job, too, Bart,” Mr. Douglas interjected. “So, if you hear of anything, I’d appreciate knowing about it.” After a pause, Mr. Douglas continued, “I’ll work, we’ll save up, and hopefully we can realize our dream in a few years.”
Bart broke in. “My Pa always said if you evaluated all of your options and chose the best one, almost anything was possible. The captain told me much the same thing. He used different words, but the meaning was the same. Maybe you should try finding a way to get that ranch sooner, Mr. Douglas?”
“That’s good advice, Bart, but right now my best option is to be realistic and find a job.”
The new day started with a chill in the air, but in no time the sun warmed things up. Bart left camp before breakfast, looking for Captain Willard. Bart was near the Seed and Feed store when Jug spotted him. Bart started to turn, wanting to avoid him, but decided to brace himself, say hello, and pass on.
“Hello, young man. Have a seat. I’ve got something to tell you.” The old timer spoke from beneath the same oversized hat that still rested on his ears. His unbearable body odor remained, but he was clearly sober and had something on his mind. Bart sat on the bench beside him. “I’m awful sorry I asked you for money yesterday. I’m ashamed of myself, you being new in town, and a youngster at that. I was drunk and out of my right mind.” Jug lowered his head almost to his knees as though it wore him out to speak, and when he raised it, Bart saw tears in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Jug. I knew you’d had a few too many when you asked me for money.”
“No, it’s not all right. You won’t believe this, but a few years back, I was an important man in this part of the country, a well-thought-of rancher. I had a wife and two children.”
“What happened?” Bart asked.
“Sixteen years ago, my wife and I planned to leave Maryland and start a new life full of excitement and adventure in the West. I had a successful business at the time and was able to accumulate five thousand dollars within the year. We moved to Flat Peaks and began to fulfill our dream.
“We purchased twenty-five hundred acres of land the first year and stocked it with a couple hundred head of longhorns. We couldn’t afford help, so my wife and I worked side by side the first five years on roundups, branding, castrating, and any other jobs needed doing. We continued to buy land, and within five years, we owned thirty-five thousand acres and had six men working for us. I became known as a shrewd land buyer.
“After we hired men to do the work around the ranch, my wife devoted herself mainly to household chores. It wasn’t long after this she became pregnant with our first child. Two years later she delivered our second. Our son and daughter fulfilled our dream—life was wonderful.”
Bart could see Jug choking up, so they sat quietly for several minutes before he asked, “What happened, Jug? What happened to your family?”
“I thought I had the world by the tail and started gambling. At first, it was for small stakes, but I quickly developed an appetite for larger ones. At the same time, I started drinking, which became an everyday ritual. I didn’t tend to my business affairs like I should have, and after two years the bank foreclosed on me. I don’t blame the bank. By that point I was staying drunk, day and night. When I sobered up, I found a note from my wife saying she had left me, that she and the kids were heading back East and never wanted to see me again. That was eight years ago, and I’ve been drunk every day since.”
Bart was about to say some words of condolence when a young boy, a couple of years younger than himself, walked up. His clothing was as filthy as Jug’s, he wore no shoes or hat, and even though his odor was not quite as pungent as Jug’s, he smelled terrible.
“This here is Stu,” Jug said. “It’s short for Stutter. He can’t talk long without stuttering.”
“Glad to meet you, Stu. My
name is…”
But before Bart could introduce himself, Stu said, “I-I-I-I know who y-y-y-you are. Your n-n-n-n name is Scar. Everyone in t-t-t town knows w-w-w-who you are. Y-y-y-you’re the famous In-In-In-Indian f-f-f-f-fighter.”
Bart looked at Stu in amazement, and then turned and asked Jug, “Where did he get this story? He has it all wrong. I didn’t fight any Indians, and besides, I haven’t talked to anyone in town about my adventure with the Indians.”
“No, but word gets around. Everyone in town thinks you had dealings with the Indians that resulted in a fight. Some of their gossip may be true, and some has been exaggerated, but given time the truth will prevail.”
Bart felt pangs in his stomach. It was partly from finding out folks were calling him an Indian fighter, but mostly because he hadn’t eaten breakfast and it was going on eight o’clock. Before he realized what he was saying, the words came out. “Let’s go have breakfast, I’m buying.”
Jug and Stu grinned from ear to ear. “T-t-t-that’s real n-n-n- neighborly of y-y-y-you, Scar, but-but I-I-I don’t t-t-t-think t-t-they’ll l-l-l-let us c-c-c-come in the c-c-c-café. I-I-I ain’t never b-b-b-been in there b-b-before.”
“Stu is right, Scar,” Jug said with a pained voice. “You go ahead. They won’t allow anyone like us in the café.” Bart was indignant. He was going to buy breakfast for these two, no matter what people thought. “Wait a minute,” he said. “We’re all outcasts. We’re three of a kind—let’s stick together. Stu, you stutter and Jug, you drink too much. I have a terrible scar that makes me the ugliest person anyone ever laid eyes on. I say we can have breakfast. And, by the way, my real name is Bart—Bart Carter.” They all brightened up and headed for Jenny’s Place.
They entered the café and sat down at a table in the far corner. The room was empty except for two men sitting across the room by the stove. Bart glanced at them when he sat and knew trouble would be coming. They were fairly well-dressed young men, and their expressions indicated they thought they were the kings of the roost. They both rose and approached the outcast table. “What’s the meaning of this?” the taller man asked. “You ain’t fit to be in here. Now get out before I skin you alive.” The three outcasts didn’t move, nor did they make any counter remarks. “I said to get out, and I mean right now.”
Bart looked at the two men and said, “Mister, we’re not causing trouble, and I have the money to pay for our meals. Why don’t you leave us alone? We’re not bothering you.”
The first man grabbed Jug and threw him toward the door. Jug fell, hitting his head against the edge of a table, and blacked out with a deep, bleeding gash on his forehead. The second man reached for Stu, but Bart’s roundhouse swing caught the man’s jaw, stunning him for a few seconds. Then the two men grabbed both boys from behind, ready to pitch them out when a deep, strong voice at the door confronted them. “Turn the boys loose.” All eyes went to the voice. It came from a mountain of a man who stood six foot three with wide shoulders and a trim midriff.
“Mister, you’d stay out of this if you knew what was going on. What’s in it for you anyway?” said the man with a grip on Bart.
“That’s my son you’re fixing to throw out of here, and I reckon the other boy must be his friend. Any friend of my son is a friend of mine, so let ’em both go.” It was Mr. Douglas.
As the two troublemakers contemplated their next move, the batwing kitchen doors flew open, and there stood Jenny pointing a double-barreled shotgun at the two well-dressed men. “This is my place, and I say who can and who can’t eat in here. And I say these youngsters and Jug are welcome in here at any time, but you Abernathy boys aren’t. Now get out, and I don’t ever want to see you in here again!”
As the two men scrambled for the door, Jenny and Douglas kneeled beside Jug to evaluate his injury, but he was smiling. “I haven’t heard such kind words spoken about me in a long time. Thanks.”
“We’d better get you to our wagon and let Mrs. Douglas patch up that cut on your head,” said Douglas. When they arrived at the wagon, both Liz and Mrs. Douglas had to hold their breath for a few seconds as Jug’s smell overcame them, but they did not hesitate to perform the task at hand. After Mrs. Douglas finished placing five stitches in Jug’s forehead, she turned to Bart and her husband and said, “Go give these two a bath in the river. Take plenty of soap and a change of clothes from the wagon. Be sure to burn what they’re wearing.”
When they returned to camp, Mrs. Douglas had coffee and sandwiches ready, made from leftover salt pork. Their clothes fit rather loosely, but otherwise, Jug and Stu looked almost presentable.
While Jug and Stu were enjoying their meal, Liz and Bart strolled to the edge of camp, talking about the events that had taken place. “You should have seen your Pa, Liz. He stood up to those two guys without a flinch. I believe he would have taken them on if they hadn’t turned us loose. Had me worried for a while. Those two could have ganged up on him, and he could have been hurt.”
“I don’t think so, Bart.”
“Why do you say that, Liz? Those men seemed pretty tough.”
Liz hesitated for a minute, and said, “He’d have been all right, Bart. You see, Papa used to be a boxer, a professional fighter.”
Bart uttered softly, “Mr. Douglas was a professional fighter?”
“Yes. He had several matches before he met Mama, and won most of them, but she insisted he stop fighting if he was to court her. My grandfather, who was a well-known fighter in Ireland, trained Papa.” There was a moment of quietness before Liz asked, “Please don’t say anything about Papa being a fighter, Bart. He wants it left alone.”
“I’ll keep quiet, Liz, but it sure is a surprise to learn your Pa was a professional fighter.”
Liz smiled.
“I had another surprise today, Liz.”
“What was that, Bart?”
“Your Pa called me son. He called me his son, Liz!”
Chapter Twenty
The next two days were quiet. Bart talked with several business owners about a job, but nothing was to be had. He talked with Captain Willard over coffee at Jenny’s Place, but he had no suggestions either, beyond saying that ranchers were always looking for men to stay in their outlying range huts during the winter, to keep water holes open and nursemaid any livestock with problems. He advised Bart against this work because it was dangerous and extremely lonely to be holed up in a shack, miles from anyone.
Bart left the captain and walked to the livery stable. He smiled when he found the old man dozing in his chair again. It seemed as though he was glued to the tilted chair.
“I’m not asleep, young man, just resting my eyes. By the way, my name’s Eli…Eli Williams. I know who you are.”“There’s gossip going around about me,” Bart said, “but most of it is made-up tales. I did have an encounter with some Indians, but I was treated well. They called me Scarface, which seems to have caught on, but my real name is Bart Carter.”
“Saw you talking to the captain. If I was you, I’d keep a close association with him. He’s an important man in these parts. I suppose half the folks around here came west in his train. He brought our territorial governor out several years back, and as I understand it, they’ve remained the best of friends.”
“Mr. Williams, I need some advice and thought you might be able to help.”
“I’d be glad to help if I can, but first off, let’s forget the Mister. Call me Eli. How can I be of help?”
“How does a person around here go about buying a ranch? I mean, how much money does it take and are there any for sale?”
“There might be a few small places for sale, but it would take a lot of money to swing a deal like that. I hear land prices are up around fifteen to twenty dollars an acre.”
“How many acres does a small ranch have, Mr. Williams? I mean Eli.”
“The small landowners around here have spreads of about four to five thousand acres. The largest ranch in the area has over a hundred thousand acres and is owned by
Henry James.”
Bart couldn’t believe what he had heard. “That means even a small ranch would cost over forty thousand dollars and that’s on the low side,” he said with a startled expression.
“That’s right, but if I was you, I’d go talk with Jug. He’s the most knowledgeable man in the area when it comes to ranches and what they’re worth. Of course, you’ve got to find him sober.”
“You must be joking? Jug may have been up on land prices in years’ past, but he doesn’t seem like someone who’s kept up with the times.”
“Don’t be fooled, Bart. There’s none better. Just find him sober.” Bart was turning to leave when Eli called to him. “Heard what you did for Jug and Stu a few days back. It was right neighborly of you, got the whole town talking.” Bart nodded and continued his pursuit of Jug.
Jug was sitting in front of the saloon. At first, Bart thought he might be sober enough to discuss ranching and ask Jug several questions. However, it soon became apparent he wasn’t coherent enough to discuss business, so Bart left after a few minutes of small talk.
After supper that evening, Bart was feeling lonely and somewhat depressed. He wanted someone to talk with, so he asked Liz to go for a walk with him by the creek. The sun was in its last hour, and the low angle of its light reflected off the snowy mountains and floating clouds, illuminating every color in the rainbow—it was a beautiful sight. The stream took a sharp bend, causing the water to flow faster with a lively gurgling sound. Bart saw a log the right height and asked Liz if she wanted to sit. Minutes went by before he asked, “Liz, what lies ahead for you? What are your plans?”
Only the creek’s bubbling song could be heard for the next minute or two. Then with a soft, sincere voice, she said, “I’ll probably go off to school and further my education. Mama thinks schooling is extremely important and deep down, I think so too. After that, I’ll teach school—hopefully, around here.” After further hesitation, she continued. “Someday I want to marry and have a family. What about you, Bart? What are your plans?”
