“It’s our job to make you young’ens think. Anyways, I’m pleased yer plans’re workin’ out. I’ve heard some good talk about what yer doin’ out there.”
“Got some good help, and a little luck don’t hurt.”
“Speakin’ a luck, glad that Injun didn’t stick ya. A good dog can be better than a man at times. And ya made the right choice about the horse.”
“Huh?” Buell asked, and snorted. “Why’s that?”
“Fast horse’s like a fast woman. Sometimes they’ll get ya there before you’re ready. Simon strikes me as a feller who likes ta take things a little slower.”
Buell looked at Simon for help.
“Like I said, old-timers talk like that,” Simon said. “There’s a French word for it, double something, I can’t remember exactly, but I think you just got insulted, Buell.” He laughed.
Buell took a playful jab at his shoulder.
Simon dodged, then looked at Tay. “Where could I find a good source for some standing dead timber?”
“You mean stuff the bugs’ve got into?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I want to make some lumber, and I might not have time to wait for it to cure.”
“How much ya need?”
“Enough for eight sixteen-by-twenty-foot cabins.”
“Oh, hell, you ain’t lookin’ for much. Right up the creek here about sixteen miles there’s a whole hillside that’s over a third dead. Been that way for over ten years and still dyin’ in spots.”
Simon looked up at the rising hills. “Was last year fairly typical for snow?”
“Fairly. You’ll get three feet, more or less, where I’m talkin’ about. Thinkin’ ’bout cuttin’ this winter?”
“Maybe. Depends on how an idea is received.”
“Workin’ on Amos again?”
“A little.” Simon smiled at the older man. “If it comes about, would ya like to sign on?”
“Ya know, I jist might. I’ve been gettin’ soft, and I completely skipped a year in the Dakotas. Let me know. You fellers drink a cup of coffee? Got some left over from breakfast.”
“Sure. That sun feels good, and we don’t have anything else to do, do we, Buell?”
Tay entered the dugout and rounded up two more cups.
Sergeant Barrschott tapped on Lieutenant Maupin’s door, waited a heartbeat, and entered. The officer jerked forward from his semi-reclined position and looked up, his eyes overly open.
“Yes, Sergeant?” His voice had a snap to it.
“You told Trooper Twining you needed to see me.”
“But can’t you kno . . . can’t you wait until I bid you enter?”
“Thought I heard you say so . . . sir.”
“I’ve decided I want you back on the supply detail. You’ll take a contingent of eleven wagons and leave for Fort McPherson Monday morning. See the quartermaster for a list of requirements. That will be all.” He looked down at his desk and picked up a sheet of paper he studied intently. Barrschott smiled at the top of the lieutenant’s head for a second, then turned and left.
The dark confines of the supply building smelled of cowhides, kerosene and damp wool. Barrschott found Sergeant Lemming in the back, playing cards with four other men. “Fuzznuts sent me to get the roster for Monday. I appreciate you puttin’ in the word with the major, Lem,” Barrschott said and pulled up a wooden box to sit on.
“You weren’t worried about it, were you?” the quartermaster asked. “When I told the major the lieutenant wanted to lead it, he laughed out loud. Hear Fuzzy ain’t happy about it though. We may have to be extra careful this trip.”
“How much of it have you put on a Form Forty?”
“All the stuff you wanted, and a couple things for me. The rest are in as regular requisitions. Nothin’ to worry about, we just have to be sure nobody checks till we get it all unloaded.”
“We gonna come in at night again?”
“Yeah, that works best. I think the sixth will be good. Fuzzy likes his sleep. Let’s go get the lists.” He laid his cards down with a pointed look at the younger men. “I’ll be right back.”
The two sergeants walked toward the front of the supply building.
Amos entered Simon’s small office and sat down in a soft chair. Spud raised his eyebrows in greeting and dozed off again. “Got something I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” Simon leaned back in his chair.
“I’ve been thinking. The dining-room idea has worked out well, real well, but I noticed something.” He paused a few seconds, eyebrows raised.
Simon waited.
Amos continued, “I noticed that about nine out of ten of our customers are men, and the women that come in don’t seem to come back.” He paused again.
And again Simon waited him out.
“So what I think is happenin’ is the ladies might be offended by our ladies, see what I mean?”
“Our ladies? From the dining rooms they don’t even see the saloon, much less our ladies.”
“But they know they’re here, upstairs, uh . . . doin’ what they do.”
“So what’s your solution?”
“Well, I ain’t got one. I just come in to tell ya what I thought. Figgered maybe you could come up with somethin’.”
“Like build six or eight cabins across from the stable?”
Amos sat upright in the chair and stared at Simon.
“And let each girl have one to decorate like they want, pay you rent on it and, as you put it, do what she does right there. Probably never have to set foot in the saloon again, unless she wants to.”
“I might have known.” Amos sagged back into the chair, shaking his head.
Simon opened his desk drawer and took out a twenty-inch square sheet of paper. He handed it to Amos. “Here’s what they’ll look like. I think we can support eight. We have three girls now, but Saint Louis or Omaha can supply five more soon as we tell May.” Simon waited a minute as Amos studied the drawing, and then handed him a smaller sheet. “That’s a detailed list of materials, down to the nails. How they are furnished will be up to the lady who lives there. We’ll subsidize the furnishing fifty percent, and lend them the other fifty. I think you can get your money back in less than two years.”
Amos studied the list carefully and then asked, “You really think you can build them for three hundred fifty each? Freighting that much wood in can’t be cheap.”
“You’re right, costs us a dollar per hundred pounds per hundred miles. Nearest mill would cost us over seventy dollars a thousand.”
“Then according to this, you can’t build them for three fifty.”
“I could if I get the lumber for a fifth of that.” Simon leaned back in his chair. “And I can.”
“Mister Tapola, your sawyer friend?”
“Right. Tay Prescott wants to help, and I’ve asked Daggett to go along.”
“Daggett?” Amos scoffed. “He won’t last three days without a bottle.”
“Something I saw when I was a kid tells me he will. We don’t need to go into detail. Anyway, the three of them can cut all winter. Zahn says they can throw up a log hut in ten days. Say the word and we’re in the building business again.”
“Green lumber makes a drafty wall after one summer.”
“We’ll cut only dead stuff, dried and standing for five or ten years. Tay knows where there’s a hundred times what we need. They can be very selective.”
“Just how long you been thinkin’ about this?” Amos tilted his head forward, his brow furrowed.
“Since we started the dining rooms.”
Amos laughed out loud. “I’m sure glad I hired you when I had the chance, Simon. You’re an amazing young man. Sure, let’s do it. I’ve always been ready to put money back.”
“I’m glad you hired me too. You’re a good man to work for. Got a request though.”
“What? Uh-oh, the catch.”
“Not at all. I’d like to put some of my own money into it.”
“H
ow much?”
“I want to finance the little houses. At the end of three years, you have the option to buy them from me for what I put in them, plus a flat twenty percent of the difference between what a girl made for you on average over the three years before, and what she makes you in the three years after she moves into a house.”
Amos wrinkled his brow in thought for a minute. “You have the money?”
“I will have, come the twenty-fifth. My grandfather left it in trust.”
“Then let’s do it.” Amos got out of his chair and extended his hand. “Partner.”
Buell faced Simon across the table as they waited for Lori to bring them breakfast. The first signs of morning light shone through the windows of the saloon.
“Sure would like to have the company. I can wait a couple more days,” Buell said.
“I know, but I’m not ready to go back yet. I’ve committed myself to this deal, and I better stay here and see it goes right.”
“Nothin’ gonna go wrong. Ya can’t even start till March at the earliest. C’mon, we’d have some fun. Get to see Jake.”
“Nah, I’m gonna stay here. But I want to ask you a favor.”
“Anything.”
Simon picked up an envelope that lay on the table and handed it to him. “That’s what’s called a Power of Attorney. Give it to John Lindstrom. He’ll give you what I have coming from that trust fund I told you about. Bring it back with you.”
“Sure, I kin do that.”
Lori served their food about five minutes later, and half an hour after that Buell left the saloon and rode south toward Cheyenne.
Zahn and Daggett stopped by the carpenter shop at the fort and loaded the stack of boards, two small boxes of nails, and four rolls of tarred paper that Simon said would be waiting. Along with the logging tools, household things, a table and two benches, a sheet-iron stove with ten feet of stovepipe, and food supplies for both men and mules, the load had to be thoroughly lashed down on the flat wagon. Just as the sun crested the hill on the far side of the meadow, they arrived at Tay’s to find him waiting. By three that afternoon, they were stopped on a wide, flat meadow, surrounded by tall pine trees.
“First thing is to fix us a place to sleep for a week or so,” Zahn said. He drew his ax from the foot box. “I’ll go cut some poles to set up the tent. Plato, you unharness the mules, and string a rope corral for them and Tay’s horse. Tay, you kin start throwin’ the stuff off the wagon.” He turned, and his long easy stride soon carried him out of sight in the trees.
“Gawd, I ain’t slept outside since I was a kid,” Daggett said. “Kinda lookin’ forward to it.”
“I’ll be happy when we have something solid around us. These tents have a way of headin’ downwind at the damnedest times,” Tay grumped.
It was nearly dark by the time they’d lashed together a rough frame and draped the canvas across it. Tay had a hot bed of coals going, and the sliced spuds were about half done in the eighteen-inch, cast-iron skillet. He stood by the rough table slicing thick steaks off a twenty-five-pound ham.
“I’ve marked the trees we’ll need for the cabin,” Zahn said. “Two of us on a crosscut and one swampin’, we’ll down what we need in a day. Then, another day buckin’ the sticks into eighteen-foot lengths and we’re well on our way to having a home for Christmas.” He sat on the ground with a short piece of log between his knees, his double-bitted ax stuck in it. He slowly drew his stone in smooth sweeping strokes across the gleaming edge. “A little work tonight will save a lot of work tomorrow,” he said to Daggett. “I needn’t tell you what happens if this thing gets away from you.” For emphasis, he tested the steel with his thumb.
Simon walked through the propped-open door of the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. Lori stood at the table, white flour a third of the way up her arms, kneading a six-loaf-lump of bread dough. The muscles in her forearms rippled under her summer-brown skin. She puffed at a strand of light-brown hair that had escaped from her scarf. After a minute, she stopped to straighten her back, and her gingham dress stretched across her bosom as she flexed her shoulders.
“Oh! I didn’t hear you come in,” she said when she finally noticed him. She looked at the cup in his hand and smiled. “Pour me one too. I’ll set this to rise and have one with you.”
A rush of heat flashed towards the top of Simon’s head and he hurried to the stove. With his back to her, he deliberately poured the two cups full.
“Go on out to a table and I’ll bring the cups,” he said, still facing the stove.
“That’s all right, I’ll get it.” She picked up the dough and dropped it in a large pan.
“No! I mean . . . go ahead, I’ll bring them.”
He glanced over his shoulder just as she covered the dusty white lump with a cotton dish towel. Then, she walked into the saloon. Simon waited as long as he dared, then followed.
“That will taste good,” she said as Simon came from the kitchen.
“You work hard, I’ll tell anyone that. But your bread is so much better than what I can get at the post bakery, I’m not going to discourage you.” Simon fiddled with his cup.
“You couldn’t. I’m used to working, and don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t busy. I’m very pleased you offered me this job.”
“You earn what we pay you and more,” he mumbled.
“How long did you stand in the door and watch me?”
Simon felt the familiar rush. “I’m sorry. You reminded me of S—something my ma used to do. Guess you caught me staring.” He blushed, and unable to meet her eyes, stared at his cup.
“I’m a married woman, Simon. I know from experience that what we have here could cause both of us trouble.”
“But I wouldn’t—”
“Not on purpose you wouldn’t, but most people who get hurt in a situation like this are not hurt on purpose. Just the opposite, the reasons are so filled with good that they fail to see the bee in the blossom.”
“But—”
“Please listen to me, Simon. I dearly want to be your friend, even your best girlfriend, but I am truly happy with Zahn. So don’t let yourself create reasons to think otherwise. A smile from me is a smile because I like you. There can be nothing else.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing you need to say. A fine-looking man like you, smart and hardworking, must have attracted someone. I can only guess that something went wrong. I don’t know you well enough to offer my shoulder, but I do understand.”
“Thank you, Lori. You not only make bread like my ma, you are as straightforward as she is. Friends, then?” He picked up his cup and with a half smile, saluted her.
“Friends.”
CHAPTER 11
Buell let his horse pick its way along the trail, easy to see and follow in the bright moonlight. Eager to get back and unable to sleep, he’d saddled up Shadow Walker at midnight, and continued his journey from Cheyenne. Fort Laramie was only another couple of miles farther. Expecting to see the lights of the fort as he crested a ridge, a wagon train moving from the east surprised him. He stopped and watched as someone from the front rode toward the rear of the column. Soon, two wagons swung away from the road and headed toward the hills to the north. The rider rejoined the head of the train.
“Just like when I was a kid, Shadow. Used to watch goin’s on like this back home. Think we ought to go see?” The horse pricked his ears, turning one back to listen.
Buell waited until the main column moved out of sight, then rode in the direction the two stragglers had gone. They were fording the shallow water of the river when he caught them. He followed them upstream as they passed a half mile north of the post. An hour later, they crossed the river again, drove straight toward McCaffrey’s ranch, and into the open rear doors of the stable. The doors swung shut.
Buell swung his leg over his saddle and had just planted a foot on the ground when the door to the house opened and Spud bounded out, tail wagging furious
ly.
“Hey, dog.” Buell reached down and stroked his head. “Heard ’em comin didn’t ya?” He looked at Simon’s shadowed face. “And looks like you were expectin’ ’em too.”
“Guess some things are meant to be. What in hell are you doin’ up at this time of night?” Simon asked, chuckling. “Old habits die hard I guess.”
The front door of the stable opened and two men walked toward the house.
“Who’s that with you, Steele?” a voice asked.
“Rankin. And Pettit,” muttered Buell half under his breath.
“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, Buell,” Rankin said when he recognized him. He edged warily toward Simon. “He in on this?”
“I guess he is now.” Simon looked at Buell, his eyebrows raised in question.
Buell shrugged.
“Fine,” Rankin said. “This was my last trip. I’m discharged next week.”
“I’ll get Twiggs,” Simon said and headed toward the saloon. “You go with them, Buell.”
When he entered the barn Buell saw two men pulling the canvas covers off the loaded wagon. They stopped when they saw Buell.
“It’s all right,” Rankin assured them. “Get that uncovered. Pettit, help me with this one.” Rankin climbed the wheel and waited for him to undo the ropes on the sides. Soon both wagons were uncovered.
“Everything goes against that wall,” Simon said as he walked in.
Twiggs was right behind him. “Hello, Buell. Simon said we were found out. Have a good trip?”
“Yeah. Am I understandin’ this?”
“I think so,” Twiggs said. “Want to help us get this off? They have to get back downriver. The rest of the train is waiting for them a half mile east of the post.”
“And they arrive, unload, and everything the army ordered is marked off the list?” Buell smiled. “And McCaffrey gets his coffee and sugar for cheap.”
“McCaffrey doesn’t have a lot to do with it,” Twiggs replied. “He knows, but right now he’s hard asleep—on purpose like.”
“Give us a hand, Twiggs. You’d think someone would find a way to put handles on a barrel.” Simon rim rolled a thirty-gallon cask toward the end of the wagon. “Ham-Smoked” was burned in the wood.
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