by J. T. Edson
‘I’ve just been getting acquainted with the girls and making sure we’re going to see eye to eye on me being the one who’s running things,’ Madam explained, also glancing to where the disheveled and wet trio had halted and were watching. ‘Now Joe Turner’s going to take me to meet Counselor Scrope. Maybe you’d like to come along with us and see that I really do own the Hide and Horn?’
‘Yes, these documents are genuine,’ Aloysius P. Scrope reported, in his dry-as-dust Philadelphia accent. Tall, lean, with a sharp face having the texture of ancient parchment, his somber clothes and manner gave no indication of the hearty and excellent company he could be on suitable occasions outside his office. ‘And they definitely establish that you are the legal owner of the Hide and Horn Saloon, Mrs. Can—!’
‘Madam Bulldog,’ the buxom blonde interrupted, from where she was sitting between Tune Collier and Joseph Turner facing the attorney across his desk. ‘That’s the only name I want to be known by and, so far as I know, there’s no law against it.’
‘There is not,’ Scrope confirmed. ‘Unless it is for illicit purposes, the use of an alias is entirely permissible under the law.’
‘And there’s nothing to stop me running the Hide and Horn, I mean like it was a rooming house, or a women’s clothes store?’
‘Nothing at all. I know of no statute, whether at Federal, State, or county level, prohibiting a woman from owning and, indeed, personally running a saloon. Nor is there any municipal ordinance to that effect.’
‘If there is, I’ve never come across it,’ Collier asserted, the attorney having directed the last part of the statement chiefly his way. ‘Which I’ve read them all from bellow to tail tip. As long as you run a straight place, you won’t hear any complaints as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You mean there’s not got to be any watering down of the liquor, rolling fellers after they’ve been got liquored up, rigging all of the gambling so the house can’t lose, nor running the old badger game?’ [8] Madam inquired. ‘Damn it, and there I was counting on doing all of them to help me turn a profit.’
‘You would be most ill-advised to do so,’ the lawyer warned, so seriously he might have believed all the illicit measures were to have been employed. ‘And that is my opinion as your attorney, Madam Bulldog.’
‘Then, hot damn, I’ll take it even if it means I go broke before I can pay your fee,’ the blonde promised, with a similar air of seriousness. It became more genuine as she continued, ‘And you can count on that, Marshal Collier.’
‘I reckon I can, Madam,’ the peace officer replied. ‘Which being, you won’t see hide nor hair of me.’
‘Only in your official capacity, I hope,’ the woman answered. ‘Happen you play the same brand of poker as Big Ranse, I’ll be right obliged to have you sit in against me. That should keep me from a pauper’s grave.’
‘I can’t sit in on the same brand of poker as Cousin Ranse on a marshal’s pay,’ Collier warned. ‘It doesn’t come close to as high as he makes out from running the R Over C spread.’
‘Way he plays poker, he has to make out high from running it,’ Madam maligned and, although she was aware that such a reference to the small size of his pay from some peace officers would have been a hint for it to be supplemented by her, she felt sure this was not the marshal’s intention. Turning her attention to the lawyer, she went on, ‘One thing, Counselor. Can I count on you to make sure there’re no sneaky legal shenanigans to get a new civic ordinance slipped in to stop me before I can prove I’m not aiming to turn Tennyson into another Sodom and Gomorrah?’
‘I think you can rely upon me for that,’ Scrope claimed.
‘And I’ll be backing you up to the Green River on it,’ Collier promised, his instincts as a peace officer suggesting the change of ownership could be of benefit to the town generally as well as the saloon. ‘But, the way things are, there’ll be some who’ll take more than just a mite of convincing you don’t aim to.’
‘You mean with folks wanting so bad to get Tennyson made county seat?’ Madam guessed, having been told of the controversy by the driver of the stagecoach while waiting for the team to be changed at a way station.
‘That, and with the changes that are coming along down to Austin,’ the peace officer agreed, impressed by the extent of the blonde’s knowledge concerning local affairs. He was not allowed to raise another matter to do with the running of the saloon as at that point he was interrupted.
‘Excuse me, father,’ said the pretty daughter of the attorney, who served as his clerk. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Ratchet have arrived for their appointment.’
‘Very well,’ Scrope replied. ‘Tell them I’ll see them as soon as I’m through with this lady.’
‘Is there much more to talk about?’ the marshal asked, knowing the couple to be very strait-laced and believing they would not be made to feel any better disposed to the new owner of the saloon if delayed on her behalf in keeping their appointment. ‘I’ve got things waiting down to the jailhouse and I reckon Madam’s wanting to get back and see what’s doing in her place.’
‘You should have been a diplomat, Tune,’ the lawyer declared, having drawn a similar conclusion despite the instructions he had given. ‘And, unless there is anything further you feel we must discuss right now, Madam, I think you can leave everything in my hands.’
‘There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow at least,’ the blonde admitted, guessing why the suggestions to end the meeting had been made and concluding she had acquired two staunch friends. Noticing the girl had not left the room, she pushed back her chair and rose, commenting, ‘Come on, Joe. It’s time we were getting back so I can meet up with the rest of the crew.’
Watching Madam leaving, followed by Collier and Turner, the attorney frowned. While aware that the conclusion of their meeting had been a tactful act, he wished he had been able to raise the matter of the gambling at the saloon as this could prove to be a matter of grave concern for her.
Four – Maxie Didn’t Hire Them
‘Well now,’ Madam Bulldog greeted, turning from the safe into which she had placed the brown pigskin valise—which she had taken with her when visiting Counselor Aloysius P. Scrope—and looking at half a dozen of her employees brought into the private office by Joseph Turner. ‘I reckon you might all have a pretty fair notion why I’ve had you fetched in here.’
While going to see the lawyer, Turner had found his respect and liking for his new employer continuing to grow. On emerging from the saloon onto the sidewalk, upon which a fair sized crowd of men had gathered, watching with unconcealed expectation, she had told him to leave the front doors open. Although this had implied the Hide and Horn Saloon was now open for business, albeit under new ownership, she had not made any announcement to that effect. Nor had she paid any discernible attention to those members of the Ladies Guild For Civic Betterment who were hovering in the vicinity.
Seeing the buxom blonde was accompanied by the local peace officers and the bartender, who was carrying the pigskin valise, the “good” women had speculated audibly that she was either being taken to the jailhouse for trying to obtain the saloon under false pretenses, or was to be sent on her way in the stagecoach which had not yet departed. From the direction she and her party had taken, with the exception of Deputy Town Marshal Herman ‘Pockets’ Hoscroft—who had left to go about his duties—they had realized neither assumption was correct. However, according to snatches of conversation made just loudly enough to be overheard by her, the general consensus of their revised opinion was that one or the other would take place after Town Marshal Tune Collier had seen her claims proven invalid by the attorney on subjecting her to an investigation.
Annoyed by the behavior of the women, Turner had decided they had met their match in Madam Bulldog. A less experienced and self-confident person might have fallen into the error of openly flaunting her immunity from either of their expectations and further antagonizing them. She had avoiding doing anything of the sort. In fa
ct, her demeanor had suggested she was merely attending to a piece of trivial, yet necessary, business before getting on with more important matters.
Returning to the saloon, Madam had discovered trade had become brisk in her absence. Although none of the gambling games were being operated, there were now several customers present who had not been in the crowd from the Wells Fargo depot. Authorizing a ‘drink on the house’, she had taken the valise from Turner and, politely declining offers to join various groups wishing to become better acquainted, had taken it into the office. While waiting for the bartender to carry out the instructions he had received before accompanying her to visit the lawyer, she had opened the safe with a key supplied by Maxwell Higgins and made enough room inside to insert what was a most valuable piece of her property. Noticing a couple of surprising omissions from the people she had requested to be brought to meet her, she had decided against asking why this was so and addressed those who were present.
‘It could be to tell us how you’re figuring on doubling our pay, ma’am,’ suggested the taller of the waiters who had been in the barroom when the blonde had put in her first appearance. He was grinning broadly.
‘Well, yes, it could be for that,’ Madam replied, also smiling, as she returned to sit at the desk in the center of the room. ‘Only, before any of you start to figuring out how you’re going to spend all that extra money, I’d best come right out and say it isn’t.’
‘Somehow I didn’t reckon it would be,’ the waiter admitted cheerfully.
‘Now me,’ went on a short and jovial man who had been serving behind the bar when summoned by Turner. ‘I just hope it’s not to tell us’s you’ll be paying us any less.’
‘I’d say I’m going to pay you what you’re worth,’ the blonde asserted, running her gaze around the half circle of faces on the other side of the desk. They were studying her speculatively in return, but without hostility, and the comment from the jovial bartender had not held the timbre of an implied threat. ‘But, if I do, I just know somebody’s going to tell me you’ll be damned if you’ll work for that little.’
‘Dad-blast and consarn it, ma’am!’ protested the smaller of the two elderly men employed as swampers; to sweep floors, clean spittoons and perform other menial duties. ‘How’d you know that was pre-zactly what I was going to say?’
‘I just took one look and natural’ thought you might,’ the blonde claimed, but her manner was friendly. ‘In fact, was I asked, I’d reckon you was there the first time it was said.’
‘Well, no, ma’am,’ the swamper contradicted, showing no offense, regardless of the implication that he was extremely old. ‘I ain’t quite that all fired ancient. But I do recollect my ole pappy telling momma on the night’s they got hitched’s how he’d just heard good ole Georgie Washington say it when asked to be first President of these United States of America.’
Listening to the chuckles and watching the reaction to the brief exchange, Madam concluded it was being enjoyed. Nevertheless, while she knew she had been accepted by Turner, she realized that the others were reserving their judgment upon her. Nor did she underestimate how important it was for this to be favorable. Each was a leader in his, or her, special field and, as the blonde knew, it would be extremely difficult to run the saloon without their full support. Certainly it could not be done as she intended unless she was given their wholehearted co-operation. Therefore, it was essential to either win them over, or decide whether to even let them remain as employees. For this reason, she had not asked Turner to supply information about any of them. She preferred to make her own estimation of their respective worth without being influenced by preconceived ideas.
‘You’re boss girl, huh?’ the blonde asked, turning her attention to Viola Grant.
‘I used to be,’ the brunette admitted.
‘You still are, happen you want it and don’t try to be boss over me,’ Madam offered. ‘I don’t know what kind of deal you had with Maxie Higgins, nor want to. With me, you’ll get ten dollars a month more than the other girls. For that, I’ll expect you to keep them in line and make sure there’s no trouble of any kind from them inside, or outside. Can you handle it?’
‘I’ll give it a damned good try, boss,’ Viola assured, having received far better treatment than she had expected. At best, if she was not fired, she had believed she would lose the authority granted by her toughness and association with the previous owner. Instead, she had had her position confirmed and was granted an increase to her pay. She realized this had not been done out of a frightened desire to curry her favor and knew the privilege would have to be earned. ‘There’s one thing, though—!’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve been living in Max … Mr. Higgins’ rooms upstairs while he was away—!’
‘Then I hope you’re a whole heap tidier than I am,’ Madam commented, but refrained from expressing her supposition that the occupancy had been of a longer duration.
‘That’s what I meant to tell you, boss,’ the brunette confessed, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m not!’
‘So the rooms are a touch messed up?’ the blonde guessed, as the words once more trailed to an inconclusive end.
‘More’n just a touch,’ Viola corrected, with an air of shame which came as a surprise to the men.
‘Those two buddies of yours are quick to help you, aren’t they?’ Madam asked.
‘Sally ’n’ Bottles?’
‘Nobody got around to introducing us all formal and proper, but I reckon that’s who they must be.’
‘We’ve worked places together for years,’ Viola explained. ‘That’s why they tried to jump you.’
‘And there I was thinking it could have been because our dresses clashed,’ Madam declared with a smile. ‘Anyways, I reckon they might be ready to start helping you again. My maid went down with the grippe and won’t be along for a spell, so I’ll be calling for three volunteers to make the rooms ready for me.’
‘We’ll get on it straight away, boss!’ the brunette promised.
‘It can wait until after you’ve heard what I’m going to say,’ the blonde declared, her manner showing she considered the matter was closed. ‘This is the way I’m going to have things r—!’
Before the instructions could be passed on, the door giving access to the side alley was unlocked from outside and thrown open to allow a man to stalk in!
An inch taller than Turner and several pounds heavier, the face of the intruder was surly and unshaven. No matter what the original color of his hair might have been, it was turned black by an over liberal application of some sickly smelling lotion. While his loud pin striped suit had cost more than the clothing worn by any of the male employees, it was rumpled, stained and strained at the seams. Nor were his collarless light green shirt and Hersome gaiter boots any cleaner. Despite his truculent air, he was not wearing any kind of weapon in plain view.
‘What’s all this I’ve heard about Maxie selling out?’ the newcomer challenged, slamming the door behind him and standing with his back to it.
‘And who might you be?’ Madam demanded, without answering the question.
‘The name’s Moses Stern,’ the man introduced, his manner suggesting no more need be said upon the subject.
‘Do you work here?’ the blonde asked quietly, remaining seated at the desk.
‘Do I work here?’ Stern rumbled, swinging his gaze around the other employees. ‘I’m head bouncer is all!’
‘Head bouncer, huh?’ Madam said, keeping her voice quiet, having been wondering why Turner had not brought one of that particular branch of the staff to meet her.
‘That’s who I am!’ the newcomer confirmed, slapping both hands against a bulging and far from solid paunch. ‘And I’m here to be showed something’s proves you got this place from my brother-in-law the way you reckon you did, ’cause I don’t believe a “mother-something” word of it and ain’t figuring on letting you just walk in ‘n’ take over!’
Glancing around,
Madam found all the other occupants of the office were watching her in a speculative fashion. Much to her satisfaction, she sensed the men in particular were awaiting her instructions. However, she knew the less than polite demand to produce proof of ownership constituted a threat to her authority which she must meet unaided. By doing so, if she could, she would strengthen the respect she felt sure was building. This in turn would ensure they would help her enforce her intentions for the way the saloon was to be operated. Nevertheless, she appreciated any action she attempted was fraught with danger. Certainly, considering the way she was asked, merely displaying the documents she had produced at the lawyer’s office would not serve her purpose in this instance.
Sharing the latter summation formed by the blonde, Turner was alternating worried glances between her and the head bouncer. Knowing Stern to be reasonably competent at such work, the liking he had developed for his new employer notwithstanding, he realized there was nothing he could do to help her at that moment. She must be allowed to cope with the situation unaided.
‘Well?’ Stern demanded, taking the pause without response from the woman to indicate he was correct in his assumption regarding the change of ownership. ‘Why don’t you out ‘n’ show me something, you goddamned tail-peddler?’
‘All I’ll show you is the door you came through!’ Madam stated, looking into the bleary and bloodshot eyes of the newcomer. Rotating the swivel chair slowly, until her legs were no longer in the space beneath the desk, she went on, ‘You’re not my brother-in-law, for which I thank the Good Lord, so I don’t have to keep you on!’
‘Is that so?’ Stern spat out, dropping the key with which he had gained admittance and starting to lumber forward. ‘We’ll soon see happen I can make you change your mi—!’
Before the man could take his fourth step, or complete the threat, the blonde was thrusting herself from the chair. Showing an even greater speed than when dealing with the three saloon girls, she hurtled to meet him. Bending at the waist, she twisted and rammed her left shoulder into his chest. Such was the force with which he was struck, aided by the not inconsiderable weight of her shapely body, he was flung away from her. Crashing backwards against the wall, he was unable to prevent himself rebounding from it. While his wits were never quick to respond to the unexpected, he reached the unpleasant conclusion that his misfortunes might not yet be at an end.
