by Len Levinson
Stone fired his Colt, the gun flew out of the guard’s hand, the corridor echoed with the explosion. The guard blinked. He still wasn’t sure what happened. A nearby door opened, revealing a man in long underwear, a shotgun in his hands. “What the hell’s goin’ on out here!”
“I’m from the Lodestone Gazette, and I wonder if I could ask you a few questions, sir.”
“Don’t talk to newspapers. Down the steps, or I’ll put a hole in you that a wagon could ride through.”
“You know what they say? You’re a crazy skinflint son of a bitch. Here’s your chance to give your side of the story.”
“What do I care what they say? I can buy and sell the whole damned bunch of ’em! Don’t give a damn either way. I ain’t lookin’ fer favors. Once a man gits money, everybody tries to take it from him. Can’t walk the sidewalk without parasites askin’ me fer handouts. Every mother’s son got a charity, investment, sad story. Never leave a man alone. You think it’s easy bein’ rich? Well, it ain’t. You got to invest wisely. One company goes out of business, two more come into being. Jay Gould and his gang in New York buy and sell each other every day. The economy’s a rubber ball. They bounce it up and down whenever it suits them, but they can’t fool me. I’ll outsmart ’em, ’cause I understand their game.”
“What was it like when you struck gold?
“That was Lemuel what found the gold. You’d better ask him. My name’s Jacob Sloat.”
“John Stone.”
“Heard that name before. Ain’t you Belle McGuinness’s new fancy man? Used to be one of her best customers. Really knows how to shake that ass, don’t she?”
Sloat pounded on the nearest door with the butt of his shotgun. A short man with a long beard, wearing a black evening suit, white shirt, and diamond stickpin in his bright red cravat, greeted them.
“Who’s this galoot?” Lemuel asked suspiciously.
Sloat made the introduction. “He wants to know what happened when you hit paydirt?”
“None of his goddamn business.”
Sloat held up his hands to Stone apologetically. “Lemuel ain’t the friendliest person in the world.”
“What the hell I have to be friendly fer?” Lemuel declared. “What anybody do fer me? Worked hard for all I got. You’d think we’re millionaires!”
“You’re not?” Stone asked.
“Never was that much ore. I’ll show you somethin’.”
He led them into his deluxe suite of rooms. On a desk near the fireplace were several stacks of gold coins. “This is all I got left,” he said. “Thirty thousand dollars. We only divided ’bout a hundred thousand twixt us in the beginning, ain’t that right, Jacob?”
“He’s right,” Sloat said, “but I ain’t cryin’ poor mouth. I invested my money wisely. A company in New York’s workin’ on a machine that’ll let you talk to somebody in another town. Company in New Jersey figuring out how to light lamps with wire and air.”
“Bosh,” said Lemuel. “Pie in the sky. The onliest thing that really matters is gold. Love to touch the stuff.” He fingered his coins, lost in thought.
“He sits there all day and half the night,” Sloat said as he led Stone to the door. “Stacks and restacks gold coins. Sometimes he’ll put one in his mouth and suck like candy. Gold can make a man crazy.”
“Where’s the third partner?”
“Really gone bonkers, that one.” He led Stone to the door, turned the knob. The room was dark except for one lone candle still burning in a holder.
Stretched out on the bed was a naked obese man with a long beard. On either side of him, also stupefied, naked women, bottles strewn across the floor, a table of food half-eaten, clothes lying everywhere, stench of whiskey and tobacco.
“That man was skinny as me once,” Sloat said. “A sober, steady, hard-working miner. Soon as he got his hands on money, drinkin’ and whorin’ ever since. He’ll kill himself he keeps on this way, but he can’t stop. Maybe he’ll run out of money first.”
Stone descended the stairs. Had the Grand Monarch been salted? For one hundred thousand dollars, a smart man could make millions.
~*~
Slipchuck pushed his broom down the second-floor corridor, a new red bandanna tied round his neck. Jamie grunted, beckoned with his head.
“What the hell you want?” Slipchuck asked.
Jamie grabbed his shirt and pulled him to the stairs.
Slipchuck climbed to the third floor behind him. Must be a special sweeping job, Slipchuck thought happily. Maybe I can git a peep at the boss lady takin’ her bath.
Slipchuck found himself in the living room of Belle’s apartment. The boss lady sat on the sofa, wearing a low-cut black gown and a pearl necklace, a red rose affixed to her hair. “Have a seat, you old codger. I want to palaver with you.”
Slipchuck dropped to a chair. Belle filled her glass half full of whiskey and handed it to him. The boss lady is a-tryin’ to git into my pants, he thought happily. He winked, like the young stagecoach driver he’d been so long ago.
“You got somethin’ in yer eye?” She threw him a handkerchief.
He touched it to his nose. Her perfume intoxicated him.
“Tell me ’bout John Stone.”
“What yer want to know?”
“He got a girl in every town?”
“Ain’t my place to say.”
“Got his pick, ain’t he?”
“Damned if I know.”
“A man like John Stone needs a woman to take care of him.”
“He’ll git shot a-fore long,” Slipchuck mused. “I can see it a-comin’. Sometimes a man’s got to back down, but not John Stone. Goes plumb loco when somebody starts a-pushin’ on him. Never seen nothin’ like it.”
“You’re his pard. He’d listen to you.” She leaned forward, breasts nearly falling out of her bodice. “How’d you like to sleep with a different whore every night for the rest of your life? You git John Stone to settle down here with me, take yer pick of the girls. He’d never have to worry again, and neither would you, old man.”
They heard noise in the hall. Slipchuck opened the door. Jamie Boggs scuffled with Bart Madden.
“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Madden hollered indignantly. “I’ll sue!”
“What the hell’re you doin’ here?” Belle asked Madden.
The banker straightened the front of his suit. “Had to talk with you, Belle.”
“Must be serious, a-comin’ to the Grand Palace where folks can see you. Ain’t you afraid of yer reputation?”
“That’s what I want to talk with you about.”
“Take a walk,” she said to Slipchuck. “You too,” to Boggs.
Boggs muttered malevolently at Madden. She closed the door behind them. Madden spotted the bottle of whiskey. “Been drinking, Belle?”
She flopped onto the sofa and poured another glass. “So what if I have?”
“I’m going to divorce my wife, marry you just the way you wanted.”
“You’re a week too late. Got another man.”
“John Stone? He’s a saddle tramp.”
“Lodestone’s goin’ bust, accordin’ to him.”
“That stupid hat he wears around. Probably wasn’t even in the war.”
“I seen war wounds before. He got ’em all over his poor body. I think he’s an honest man, unlike some I’ve met.”
Madden’s smile faltered as he thought of them naked in bed together. “He’ll leave you in the lurch, mark my words.”
“Like you’re a-leavin’ yer wife?”
“That’s different!”
“I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, Bart.”
His face flushed with shame, he made a threatening motion. She pulled up her dress and slipped out her derringer. “I’ll blow yer goddamned head off.”
He stared down the twin barrels. “Look at us, Belle. We’re ready to kill each other. Everything was all right before that damned John Stone came to town. But he won’t be around long.”
<
br /> “Is he leaving?”
Madden laughed snidely, recalling Randy LaFollette. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What’re you sayin’?”
He let the cat out of the bag, now had to stuff it back. “Drifters don’t stay in one place long. After he moves on, what’ll you do?”
“I saved my money, and not in yer crooked bank either. All a woman needs is a roof over her head. Men’re a headache. If they’re not a-lyin’ to one woman, they’re a-lyin’ to ’nother.”
~*~
Jamie Boggs smoked a cigarette nervously. He’d never seen Belle in such a state. She drank nearly a quart bottle of whiskey that day. Tougher than a man one moment, a child the next. Boggs loved her madly and hopelessly, wanted to take care of her, but he was a deaf mute, object of pity and derision.
He pounded his fist on the table, cursing his infirmity. If only I was like other men. Maybe someday she’ll see me for what I really am. He saw an old Confederate cavalry hat coming up the stairs, gurgled as he rushed out the door, shaking his head no.
“What’s wrong?” Stone asked, reaching for the doorknob.
Jamie made guttural sounds and waved his hands frantically. He pointed to Belle’s door and shook his head. Stone pushed the door open, saw Belle facing Bart Madden in the middle of an argument.
Belle, white as a sheet, unsteady on her feet, spilled whiskey from the glass in her hand. Her fierce expression transformed into a smile.
“You two know each other?”
Madden wore no visible guns, but surely had one stashed somewhere. Stone watched his hands. “I visited Mr. Madden and his lovely wife earlier in the evening.”
Madden choked with jealousy and rage. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. Stone behaved as if he could do anything. Take him down a peg in front of Belle.
“The gentleman visited my home this evening,” he explained, “to pay court to my young sister-in-law. How many female admirers do you have in this town, Mr. Stone?”
Belle looked accusingly at Stone. He raised his hands in the air. “She invited me to supper and I went. She’s a friend of mine. We got robbed together on the train yesterday.”
“Not the way I heard it,” Madden said. “I have reason to believe you’re attempting to seduce my sister-in-law, who’s practically a child.”
“Your whole life is a deception,” Stone replied. “I know a flimflam man when I see one. Go home to your wife. I want to talk with Belle.”
She looked at the banker. “Get the hell out of here.”
Madden was stunned. “After all that’s happened between us, you’re treating me like your servant!” He poked his thumb into his chest. “This is Bart Madden you’re talking to! I’m not one of your fancy men!”
“I’m not a-gonna tell you again, Bart. Get out, and don’t come back.”
Madden wanted to whip out his derringer and put a hole in Stone’s head, but Stone would shoot him first. “You’ll pay for this,” he mumbled. “You’re forgetting who you’re dealing with.”
Madden stormed past Jamie, who read the threat on his lips.
“Leave us alone,” Belle said to Jamie.
The mute followed Madden out the door. Madden and Jamie glowered at each other in the corridor, then Madden turned and descended the stairs.
Jamie returned to his room, lit a cigarette, puffed nervously. Belle was disintegrating before his eyes, fear and frustration boiled inside him, couldn’t let it out like normal people. He wondered what transpired between John Stone and Belle behind the closed door.
~*~
“You don’t look happy to see me, Johnny.”
“What’s Madden doing here?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You don’t have anything to be jealous of. The man’s nothing compared to you.”
Her breath heavily scented with whiskey, eyes half-closed, unsteady on her feet, Stone led her to the sofa. “Madden’s a snake in the grass.”
“I don’t trust nobody,” she said thickly. “I don’t even trust you.”
“I never lied to you. I told you I was engaged.”
“That din’t stop you from a-crawlin’ into my bed last night.”
“I couldn’t resist,” he confessed.
She moved toward him, pressed her lips against his temple. “I’ll do anything for you, Johnny.”
He couldn’t push her away. She licked his ear insidiously, tickles ran up his spine, he fell back to the cushions. Her hand groped for his belt buckle.
~*~
The moon rolled over a fluffy blanket of clouds. Amos Twimby climbed down from his horse, pulled the bag of gold ore from the saddle, threw it over his shoulder. Prospectors slept in their raggedy tents fifty yards away. Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of gold ore would cause a sensation, Lodestone the topic of dinner conversation across America tomorrow.
Twimby giggled as he descended the mine. He could steal the ore and disappear, but loved to cheat and snitch, outsmart other people, make him feel he wasn’t the wretched nothing he deep-down believed he was.
He wasn’t strong, handsome, fast with a gun, or particularly likable, but wanted desperately to make his mark on the world. In a few days, Lodestone would overflow with new citizens, he’d gloat over his cleverness behind the scenes.
He scooped up holes in the bottom of the mine, dropped a few chunks of genuine gold ore into each, emptied the bag quickly, then climbed out of the mine and returned to his horse. If only I could see their faces in the morning.
~*~
“Lodestone, one hour!”
Randy LaFollette sat alone at a table, cup of coffee in front of him. A Negro porter dozed behind the bar. The rest of the parlor car was empty, other passengers asleep, the train thundered alongside a vast lake gleaming in the moonlight.
Randy LaFollette pulled down his leather satchel, removed his gunbelt, strapped it on. His choice of weapon was the Smith & Wesson Model Three, most modern up-to-date revolver made. The Board of Ordnance of the U.S. Army said it was “decidedly superior” to every other revolver tested. Not available on the open market yet, LaFollette obtained an early production model for thirty-five dollars. The ability to load and eject cartridges faster than anything else was its main innovative feature. He dropped it into his well-oiled holster.
The Negro porter behind the bar watched through sleepy eyes. “Plannin’ to shoot somebody, boss?”
Randy LaFollette tied the bottom of the holster to his leg, then checked position, balance, feel. He took off his jacket, stood in the middle of the aisle, fast-drew. “That’s pretty quick, boss.”
Randy LaFollette whirled, drew again, spun, ducked, fanned the hammer, danced around the parlor car, killing imaginary adversaries. One moment his hand empty, the next it carried the Smith & Wesson. He pirouetted, drew again, the gun pointed between the Negro porter’s eyes. “Don’t worry, boy,” he said to the porter nearly twice his age. “It’s not loaded.” LaFollette tossed a card on the bar. The porter bent over and read the words: THE UNDERTAKER.
“Can I get you another drink, boss?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Never too much trouble for you, Mr. LaFollette.”
The gunfighter returned to his table. He retrieved a box of cartridges from his valise and loaded the Smith & Wesson. The porter poured a stiff shot of whiskey. Two days from now in Saint Louis, he’d tell his son he waited on the fastest gun alive.
~*~
“Belle, something I’ve got to tell you.”
They lay naked in her bed, entwined in each other’s arms. A candle burned on the dresser, illuminating an oil painting of naked nymphs cavorting in a meadow.
She touched her lips to his throat. “What is it, honey?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to stay in town long, and ...”
She stiffened in his arms. “You’re not leavin’!”
“Noon tomorrow. Got a job with the railroad. Told you I’m headed for San Francisco. Sorry.�
��
A sob escaped her lips. He hugged her. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Belle. But I belong to somebody else. I don’t know how to explain it any better.” He felt her tears against his cheek.
“Why don’t nothin’ work out for me, Johnny?”
“Doesn’t work out for anybody else either.”
“We got somethin’ special between us, and you know it. Take me with you. I’ll do anything you say.”
“Can’t.”
She opened her mouth to plead, pride stopped her. She pushed him away, rolled over, got out of bed. “You’re a son of a bitch just like the rest of them. You just got a smoother line of shit.”
She pulled on her robe. He crawled out of bed and got dressed, she reached for the whiskey bottle. “Every man I ever wanted, left me,” she muttered. “Every man I didn’t want, can’t get ’em out of my hair.”
He strapped on his heavy Colts, bare-chested in the light of the candle. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes. “Don’t worry about old Belle. I’ll git along.”
He placed his arms around her. “Maybe I’d better find a hotel room for the night.”
“Like hell you will. Git downstairs and make sure my saloon’s all right, if’n you want to git paid a-fore you leave. As for where you’re a-gonna sleep, you can put them muddy boots under Belle McGuinness’s bed any day.”
She tried to tough it out, tears betrayed her. He kissed them from her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
~*~
Gail gazed out her open window at mountaintops bathed in moonlight. The breeze fluttered diaphanous white curtains, carrying the scent of distant pine and fir forests.
She couldn’t put John Stone out of her mind. Everything reminded her of him. He was like Greek sculpture in the Boston Museum. Whenever he moved, she felt strange sensations. Something magnetic in his eyes. I think I’ve fallen in love with him!
She couldn’t understand it. How can I love a man I don’t even know? She wasn’t even sure what love was. Confused, bewildered, frustrated, she fidgeted beneath her blankets.
She imagined him lying naked on top of her. I’m losing my mind. She rolled onto her stomach and thought of him lying beneath her. Tears filled her eyes. I can’t take much more of this.
