Calamity Jane 6: The Hide and Horn Saloon (A Calamity Jane Western)

by J. T. Edson

  The assumption proved painfully correct!

  Having gained an advantage from her unanticipated reaction to the threatening behavior, which she suspected was all the man had believed would be necessary to achieve his ends, the blonde had no intention of losing it. Despite the success she had attained, offering him an opportunity to recover could prove a costly mistake. Even though not in the peak of condition, he was larger and undoubtedly stronger than her. What was more, his duties had probably required him to deal with rambunctious or even violent customers on occasion and he must have more than a rudimentary knowledge of roughhouse self-defense.

  Stepping to meet Stem, whose arms were waving wildly in an attempt to regain some control over his movements, Madam gave the impression that she was intending to rake at his face with her left fingernails. Acting instinctively, without pausing to consider she was wearing gloves and could not employ such a feminine tactic, he started to tilt his head to the rear. Doing so caused his torso to advance. Bringing around her clenched right fist, instead of continuing the innocuous movement with the other hand, she stepped in to increase its power and buried it almost wrist deep into his unwisely offered stomach. Nobody who ate and drank to excess as he did, along with avoiding the effort required to keep in condition, could take a blow in such a vulnerable region without showing an adverse effect. What breath remained in his lungs was expelled in a ‘whoosh’ and he sat down to the accompaniment of a soggy thud. Letting out a wheeze that was intended to be a profane description of his attacker, he clawed under the left side of his coat with his right hand.

  ‘Watch him, boss!’ Viola yelled, having no liking for the head bouncer. It was he who had told the wife of Maxwell Higgins of their intimate relationship and this in turn had caused her to be left behind when the trip was commenced which resulted in the saloon changing hands. ‘He’s got a stingy gun under there!’

  While grateful for the warning, considering it evidence of having acquired a loyal supporter on the distaff side of her employees, Madam had not required it. Keen eyed and knowledgeable, she had noticed the slight bulge caused by the concealed weapon and was already setting about protecting herself when the brunette spoke.

  Reaching with both hands, the blonde grasped Stern by the shoulders and hauled him from the sitting posture. Amazed by the strength she was exhibiting, he allowed the Remington Double Derringer to remain in its place of concealment. Brought to his feet, he staggered on being released. Again the fist was propelled into his stomach. Folding over, he collapsed on to his knees and started to vomit. Then he dropped face forward on to the mess he was making. His body twitched and writhed spasmodically, but not in an attempt to rise and move to a cleaner spot.

  ‘Is he really Maxie’s brother-in-law?’ the blonde inquired, turning as soon as her victim went limp and lay motionless at her feet.

  ‘That’s the only reason he got kept on as head bouncer,’ Turner replied. ‘He didn’t show up half the time, but Maxie’s missus wouldn’t let him be fired.’

  ‘Get him out of here!’ the blonde commanded, nodding to indicate she had suspected what she was told.

  ‘Yes’m!’ the bartender assented cheerfully.

  ‘And when he can take notice,’ Madam continued, before the order be acted upon. ‘Tell him to come and let me know, happen he still reckons I can’t fire him.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure, boss,’ Turner declared. ‘Only, knowing him, I’ll take bets he won’t have the guts to do it.’

  ‘Was I asked, which I don’t conclude it’s likely I will be,’ declared the taller swamper in an amused cackle. ‘I’d reckon he’s lucky happen he’s still got any guts, what you done to him, ma’am. Come on, Sonny, let’s you ‘n’ me haul him into the alley.’

  ‘Sure thing, Young ‘N’,’ the shorter replied, showing a similar enthusiasm. ‘Then, while he’s coming ‘round to get told, I reckon the boss-lady’ll be wanting us to fetch buckets ‘n’ mops to clean off his leavings.’

  ‘ “Sonny”, “Young ‘N’,’ Madam queried, looking at Turner, as the elderly pair left without waiting to find out whether the suggestion met with her approval.

  ‘We couldn’t think of any other names which suited them better,’ the bartender explained, the twinkle in his eyes matching the delighted beams on the faces of the remaining employees. ‘It doesn’t make Viola and the other gals blush like if we was to call them the Two Old Farts. Top of which, did we call them any such thing, they’d be like’ to whomp us up good.’

  ‘Urgh!’ the blonde ejaculated, seeing she was being subjected to universally cheerful grins. Making a wry face, she went on in mock exasperation, ‘I’m starting to figure out why Maxie was so all-fired willing to stake this place on a flush when he knew I was holding a full house. Talking of which, Joe, I don’t see anybody who looks like a gambler.’

  ‘No, boss,’ the bartender admitted. ‘There wasn’t none of them around when we went to see Lawyer Scrope.’

  ‘Some of these boys weren’t around then, either,’ Madam pointed out. ‘But you sent for them and they came.’

  ‘Yes’m!’ Turner grunted noncommittally.

  ‘Are the gambling crew something special?’ the blonde challenged.

  ‘Might be you’d call them that, ma’am,’ the bartender said quietly and eyed the buxom woman in a speculative fashion. ‘Didn’t Maxie tell you—?’

  ‘He told me there was gambling done here.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘How much “else” is there for him to have told?’ Madam asked, then realized she had heard no mention of an important member of the staff. ‘Who’s floor boss when Maxie’s not around?’

  ‘We don’t have one,’ the bartender replied.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Mrs. Higgins was never so willing for him to throw his money around that she’d let him take one on. Or, happen she’d come to figuring there was a need, likely she’d have fetched in one of her kin to do it.’

  ‘I don’t have any kin to fetch in,’ Madam declared and a brief suggestion of emotion crossed her face as she continued, ‘Not that I’m in what could be called close touch with, anyways. Still, I don’t reckon I’ll be needing to look for one.’

  ‘No, ma’am?’ Turner asked, being a trifle disappointed as—having been performing the duties since the departure of Maxwell Higgins—he had hoped to be offered the position.

  ‘Why should I be needing one?’ the blonde asked with a smile. ‘Or are you going to walk out on me now I’ve made you floor boss?’

  ‘Me?’ Turner gasped, hearing mutters of approval from the other members of the staff.

  ‘Hell, you look the best of a worthless bunch,’ Madam stated in mock disdain, satisfied she had made a popular selection. ‘And now, seeing’s how you’re not one of the hired help anymore and us bosses’ve got to stick together, you don’t need to keep on being all shy and bashful about telling me what some of them are up to. Just how much more “else” do you reckon Maxie should have told me about the gambling men he hires?’

  ‘That’s just it, boss,’ the newly appointed floor manager answered. ‘Maxie didn’t hire them. At least, not them’s are running the games now.’

  ‘How do you mean, now?

  ‘Just over a week back, a jasper called Leo Wallace showed up with a letter signed by Maxie saying’s how he was to take over all the gambling.’

  ‘Was it genuine?’

  ‘Lawyer Scrope allowed the signature was, so far as he could tell, and Mrs. Higgins, her being there with Wallace, allowed everything else was as well.’

  ‘Maxie didn’t tell me anything about it, nor even that he was married,’ Madam declared, the game of poker in which the saloon changed hands having taken place six days ago. ‘Did you get told why this Wallace jasper was being let take over?’

  ‘Seems like he’s half-brother to Mrs. Higgins and asked for it,’ Turner replied. ‘Which being, Lawyer Scrope concluded there wasn’t nothing could be done, ‘cepting like Maxie
said and let him take over. He’d brought some men with him and just yesterday his own faro table was fetched in. He’s already started to pay off the old gambling crew.’

  ‘Weren’t they running straight games?’

  ‘They were.’

  ‘But those jaspers Wallace brought in aren’t?’

  ‘Nobody’s caught any of them cheating,’ Turner answered, glancing around and finding approval on the faces of his fellow workers. ‘Which I can’t set up as any kind of expert on such things. Even if I was, they’ve never left the cards, dice, dealing boxes, nor anything else’s could be toted off at night around when they’re not here so’s I could take a closer look.’

  ‘Somebody had better do i—!’ Madam began, realizing why the three men had been using a tumbler instead of a dice cup when she arrived.

  ‘Joe didn’t hold back ’cause he was scared, boss!’ Viola put in. ‘But his missus’s just had a baby and, well, Mrs. Higgins has backed up Wallace every time he’s said anybody should be fired. Which’s always after they’d showed nosey about the gambling.’

  ‘If it’s a boy, I sure hope it doesn’t grow up ugly like it’s pappy,’ the blonde remarked, making sure nobody believed she had harbored doubts about the courage or willingness of her new floor manager to take risks in the performance of his duty. ‘Anyways, I said, “Somebody had better”, not “Somebody should have” and, rank having its privileges, I’m the one who’s going to do it as soon’s—’

  Before Madam could finish, there was a knock on the door giving access to the barroom.

  ‘They’re here and setting up, Joe!’ announced the second of the waiters who had been present when the new owner arrived, stepping into the office.

  ‘Just them?’ the floor manager asked.

  ‘He’s not here yet,’ the waiter replied.

  ‘It’s Wallace’s men, boss,’ Turner explained. ‘Him and Mrs. Higgins went over to the county seat, her having more friends there than here. But I’d a notion you’d be wanting to look over the gamblers and the games as soon as they got here, whether he’d come back or not.’

  Five – I’m Counting On You Losing

  ‘Howdy there, boys,’ greeted the new owner of the Hide and Horn Saloon, halting at the operating and well patronized table which was equipped for the game of faro. The name’s Madam Bulldog and I reckon by now you’ll likely all have heard I’ve won this place from Maxie Higgins in a poker game?’

  ‘We’ve heard,’ agreed one of the players, whose attire suggested he was a local businessman of moderate means, and the others mumbled concurrence with a similar lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ the buxom blonde inquired, although she could guess.

  ‘Lousy!’ answered the businessman. ‘Ain’t none of us can call a god-damned card right tonight!’

  Having delayed only for long enough to explain to the members of the staff collected by Joseph Turner how she meant to have things done, Madam Bulldog had followed them from the private office. While they were scattering to their various duties, she and her newly appointed floor manager had looked around the barroom. As she had anticipated, business had now vastly improved upon what it was when she had first arrived that afternoon. There was no sign of Town Marshal Tune Collier, or his elderly deputy, but Lawyer P. Scrope was seated at a table with half a dozen prosperous looking men she assumed to be among the leading citizens of Tennyson and who had been brought to make her acquaintance.

  Although aware of how important it was to make a favorable impression upon them, the blonde had not gone across to the table of the attorney and his companions. Instead, saying she would commence her examination of the gambling games at the one which had been brought in most recently by Leo Wallace, she had asked Turner to tell them she would join them in a short while and hoped they would consider themselves her guests for the evening. She had felt sure that, unless her judgment of their character was at fault, they would be flattered by the invitation and lose any resentment which the delay in joining them might otherwise have aroused.

  Judging from the far from amiable response to her greeting, the blonde considered she had reached a wise decision in making the faro game her first objective!

  As far as appearances went, the table to which Madam made her way was apparently designed to be sufficiently sturdy to stand up to heavy usage. Its top, covered by a tiger decorated green baize cloth, also bearing the layout upon which bets of various kinds could be indicated, was some four inches thick and seemed to be solid timber. The faro game was supervised by a shortish, plump and flashily dressed dealer. He was assisted by a case-keeper who was clearly related to him and probably a twin brother, sharing a similar taste in clothes.

  With his vision shaded and helped by a green eyeshade, the dealer was producing cards from a small box. Specially made for the purpose, this prevented the deck from being removed out of the top. Instead, a spring at the base held it firmly against the upper part of the frame and, having been loaded through the open rear, each individual card could be extracted through a narrow slot at the front. Equipped with a device like an abacus, except that it carried—-as convention demanded, although the suits themselves had no significance in the play—pictures of the thirteen spade cards and there were four sliding wooden balls on a wire below each symbol, the case-keeper kept a record of every card as it was brought from the box. [9]

  ‘And I’m right pleased to hear you can’t,’ the blonde informed the players, with a disarming cheerfulness and although this was not the case. ‘Hell, fellers, I’m counting on you losing to help keep me in the manner to which I’m real willing to become accustomed.’

  ‘We’re doing that all right!’ another of the players, a cowhand, stated as he was watching the final card of the deck leaving the box and the case-keeper began to help the dealer to collect the unsuccessful wagers. ‘At least at the table’s used to be here I got around to winning some of the time.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Madam inquired. ‘Well, this’s only my first day here and everything is new to me. So I reckon I’d better start sweetening you boys up a mite to make sure you keep coming back and losing more. Tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to give this old dealing box a rub and see happen I can make your luck turn better.’

  Having walked forward while speaking until standing alongside the dealer, the blonde reached out to pluck the receptacle in question from his grasp without giving him a chance to comment. Starting to do as she promised, by rubbing its base against the left sleeve of her jacket, it slipped from her right hand. Letting out a moderately profane exclamation of annoyance, she appeared to be compounding her clumsiness by stepping upon and crushing the sides of the box in her haste to retrieve it.

  ‘God damned if just taking over’s not making me all thumbs tonight!’ Madam ejaculated, bending and picking up the ruined container. Then she swung what seemed to be a guileless gaze to the dealer. His face was registering a much greater annoyance than the incident appeared to warrant, particularly when the cause of the accident was also the owner of the saloon and, ostensibly, his new employer. With her voice taking on something very much like a timbre of apology, she continued, ‘Sorry, but it looks like I’ve busted this son-of-a-bitch to hell and gone. Oh well, hang the expense, get another out of the drawer down there. Only this time pick one with just a finger hole and not an open top. They don’t get all scrunched up so easy, should they get stepped on.’

  ‘Drawer?! the flashily dressed man inquired sullenly, but his pretense at ignorance was far from convincing and, although there was no sign of such a fitment being included in the table, he could not prevent himself from throwing a hurried glance downwards before going on, ‘What drawer’d that be?’

  ‘Maybe the layout’s too new for you to know about it?’ the blonde suggested, still seemingly amicable and eager to help. Pointing at the thick end of the table nearest to her and the dealer, she elaborated, ‘That drawer in there!’

  ‘I don’t—!’ the man
began.

  ‘One thing you’d best get to know about me from the start, which’s now,’ Madam warned and, despite her apparently bland expression, there was a discernible hardening of her tone. ‘I’m the kind of boss who expects to have everything I tell done straight away and without arguing.’

  ‘But—!’ the dealer commenced, turning a worried look towards the case-keeper who was his younger brother by about thirty minutes and was showing an equal consternation.

  ‘Was I you Fletcher boys,’ Turner commented. ‘I’d do just what the boss-lady tells you!’ Having delivered the message and having it accepted with gratitude by the attorney’s party, he had come across to the faro table in time to hear the latter part of the conversation. Halting alongside his new employer, ready to support her even though he was not certain in what, he dipped his right hand into the pocket of the jacket he had donned before leaving for the interview with the lawyer and in which he was carrying a short, leather-wrapped, spring-loaded sap he used to help the bouncers when necessary. Although he grasped it, he did not bring it into view as he spoke.

  Ever since the table had been installed in place of its much less sturdily constructed predecessor, the floor manager had suspected it was less innocuous than it appeared externally. However, as he had been awaiting the return of Maxwell Higgins before deciding whether to remain, or quit the saloon and seek employment elsewhere, he had not attempted to satisfy his curiosity. He had realized that, should his assumptions prove correct—as he had anticipated was probably the case—he would be asking for trouble if he had made them known. Now, confident he had an employer who would back his play in return, he was willing to take risks by supporting her.