by Julie Weston
“Is she married?”
Gwynn interrupted. “Not so’s you could tell. Goodlight is supposed to be her husband from what I’ve heard. But that cowboy Tanner hangs around a lot. I even seen her goin’ up to that dude campout a couple weeks ago, said she was takin’ up some ‘entertainment.’ They’re thick as thieves if you ask me.”
The subject of their conversation arrived with plates filled with food—steak, bread, and beans. She took bottles of sauce from her apron pocket and plopped them on the table. “Anything else?”
“Don’t forget the wine,” Gwynn said. He kept his head low.
Her interruption gave Nellie a chance to hide her feelings. Knowing Pearl and Tanner were an item disturbed her, maybe only because she herself had been attracted to the man. She would have thought his depredation of the sheep camp and the ewe had destroyed any attraction she might have felt. Apparently, it hadn’t. Nor had her friendship with the sheriff kept her from some dreamy speculation about living on a ranch, with both cattle and sheep. In one short space, she had learned Ned Tanner didn’t own the cattle he was herding and he was having some sort of affair with a bar girl, a married one at that. Nell looked for a wedding ring on Pearl’s hand and saw nothing on her left hand. Her right one carried a band with her namesake—a round, creamy pearl mounted between two green stones. Were they emeralds? An expensive piece of jewelry.
“Your ring is quite lovely,” Nellie said to Pearl before she could walk away.
“Yeah?” Pearl lifted her hand to show it off better. “That’s a pearl. A friend gave it to me.” She studied it herself. “Those are emeralds, to match my eyes.”
Nell looked at Pearl. She wasn’t sure she’d call the waitress’s eyes green. They were more like Nell’s own, hazel. Perhaps they changed too with what she wore or depending on the weather.
“I’ve seen Mr. Goodlight several times since we ran into each other at Lulu’s store,” Nell said, “where I first saw you.”
Both Mr. O’Donnell and Pearl sharpened their attention to Nell.
“He was at the Smiley Creek store, then with a group of campers and then with Ned Tanner and some cattle. He certainly has a lot of different jobs, it seems.”
Did Nell imagine it, or did Mr. O’Donnell’s interest wane immediately? Pearl’s didn’t.
“I wondered where he’d gotten to. He was supposed to come home that very night after I dropped him at the store, said he’d catch a ride with someone else after he took care of some business.” She turned to go, then came back. “I’m surprised he was with Ned. They don’t get along too well. Still, money’s money.” She shrugged and left them.
Her absence left a gap of silence at the table. Gwynn filled it with some sheep stories, but both Mr. O’Donnell and Nellie had little to say as they concentrated on eating the food in front of them, notable only for lack of taste. Nell preferred the generously herbed and spiced mutton. She mulled over the words “come home.” Surely that meant Pearl and Goodlight were married? And that she was just friends with Ned Tanner, that good-for-nothing cowboy.
By the time they finished eating, Sheriff Azgo still had not arrived. O’Donnell took his leave, lifting Nellie’s hand once more, not shaking it, and telling Gwynn to stay in touch. They had common business interests. He stopped to talk with Pearl on his way out. Nellie watched. The man said several sentences. A brief splotch of color burned in Pearl’s cheeks, and then she said something back, shaking her head and lifting her chin. The cattle man briefly responded, and Pearl’s face turned pale as her name. She kept her mouth shut, turned, and walked away.
“I wonder what that was about,” Gwynn said.
“Maybe it had to do with what you mentioned—Pearl and Ned Tanner being thick as thieves.” She told Gwynn about meeting Tanner on the trail with the cattle, the mess she’d found at the camp, and what she and Alphonso had done. “Maybe Tanner was stealing those animals.”
Gwynn laughed out loud. “Wish I’d a been there, Lassie. No, Tanner works for O’Donnell. I didn’t know Goodlight did. That’s interesting, too. Goodlight moonshines up one of those draws, I’d swear on a Bible. Never been caught, but I’ve seen him cartin’ sugar out of the Galena Store more than once.” He plunked some cash on the table and stood up. “Where’s that goddammed Charlie Azgo?”
“I’d like to take a photo or two in here. Do you suppose that bartender would mind?”
“Hell, no. I’ll go talk to him. That’s Sam. He’s a good ole boy. Crooked as the day is long, but otherwise, not too bad.” Gwynn strode to the bar, his head half obscured by a layer of blue cigarette smoke, and had a word, then motioned for Nell to join him. “This here’s my friend Nellie Burns, Sam. You don’t mind if she takes a few pictures of your bar, do you? Might make you famous back East. She’s doin’ a big job for the railroad.”
The bartender still looked ornery, and his long handlebar mustache gave him a slightly evil countenance, but he nodded his head. “Fine with me. I could use more business, payin’ business.” He scanned the group of cowboys at the bar with a small sneer on his lips. “Hey, Pearl. Get out here.”
Nell jumped at his shout. Pearl sauntered through the doors from the kitchen. “You call me?”
“This here lady wants to take some pictures of my place. You ain’t doin’ anything. Give her what she needs.” Then he turned to Nellie. “And if you want Pearl in ’em, that’s okay, too. Didn’t know you was a famous person.”
“Thank you.” Nell smiled briefly, trying not to laugh. She exchanged a quick glance with Gwynn. His eyes sparkled. The door swung open behind him and she saw the sheriff stop to let his eyes get used to the gloom, too. “You’ve got company,” she said, and headed back to the table to retrieve her camera and tripod. They could sort out all the troubles by themselves.
CHAPTER 6
Late-afternoon light beamed through a dirty window to the left of the bar, lighting several faces, shading others. With the door ajar, more light reflected off the shiny bar surface, so Pearl propped it open, while Nellie situated her back to the window with her camera facing the seated patrons and the barkeep’s back. Apparently Sam told the men what she was about because one of them straightened his hat and another twirled the end of his mustache to make it pointier. One fellow at the end of the bar turned in his seat so his face wouldn’t be in the photo. Setting up took longer than usual because Nellie wanted as much light directed on the cowboys as possible. She pulled her dark cloth around her head and the camera to focus, then, dissatisfied, folded the cloth over the top and moved the camera, more than once.
The level of light called for a slow shutter speed, which would mean she might get some motion. The longer she took, the more the men became involved in their own conversations and drinks, which was what she wanted. Pearl became impatient and strolled to the bar to position herself between two of the men. Nellie again viewed the scene through the camera, black cloth blocking out all light around her focus. The bar girl’s hand rested on one man’s neck in a gesture of familiarity and even affection. The man’s profile struck a chord in Nell, but no name surfaced. She concentrated on waiting for the exact moment of maximum light and minimum motion, then released the shutter and moved to yet another position.
In the meantime, she was also aware that the sheriff and Gwynn had seated themselves at the same table where Nell had eaten. Their voices rumbled, but no words were distinct to her. One of the drinking patrons turned his head toward them just as she was going to release the shutter again. “Damn,” she whispered to herself, took a deep breath, and waited a moment, but the head didn’t swivel back, so she took the photo anyway.
In the doorway, she took up another position, hoping for a different cast of light. While she was under the black cloth, two sets of boots thunked up to her, so she pulled her head out and grew aware that her hair was messed and that she must look tired. The sheriff and Gwynn stood to her side, trying to see what she was focusing on with her camera. “Do you want through?” These two men
together would have made an interesting portrait themselves—one white-haired and aging but still containing a measure of power in his physical stance and strength; the other dark, almost moody, in presence, and straight-backed with a hawk’s demeanor, softened for the moment with a hint of a smile in his eyes, if not on his lips.
“In a minute. Finish what you’re doing,” the sheriff said.
Nell forgot what she was doing when she looked again through the camera, so she stood, released the shutter, and began to close up the tripod, preparatory to moving it again. “Would you two mind if I took your photo outside?” She shrugged, wanting to impart that it wasn’t important, which was exactly the opposite of what she felt. “Won’t take but a minute, and might fit in with what I’m doing here in Stanley.” Then she preceded them out the door, as if their answer was an automatic “yes.” When she turned back to see if they were coming, she saw Pearl stumble away from the man she had been fondling as if he had flung her off. She headed for the door into the kitchen.
“We’re going down the road a piece, Lassie. Got no time for picture-takin’.”
Nell wondered if Gwynn just didn’t want to be photographed with the sheriff. In spite of the fact that they shared the love of two boys, no friendship marred their antagonism. “Won’t take but a minute,” she responded and proceeded to set up her camera again as quickly as possible.
“Where do you want us?” the sheriff asked. “Won’t hurt you, Gwynn. We’re doing the lady a favor.”
“Next to the auto, standing as if you were discussing . . . Domingo’s death. I want you serious.” Both of their faces hardened and their aura of power evolved into menace. Perfect. “Hold still.”
One exposure was all she was allowed. When they climbed into the sheriff’s auto, she walked over to it. “Can I come?” The sheriff didn’t bother answering. Gwynn leaned forward to talk to her, but the auto began to back up. He opened the window and called, “Be back in an hour or two—give you time to take lots of pictures.”
Abandoned outside the saloon, Nellie looked around. Several log cabins on either side sagged on their underpinnings. Up the street, a clapboard structure that needed a coat of paint and clean windows to appear habitable advertised “Rooms.” She hoped that was not the only place to stay. Most of the buildings sported boards across windows and doors, hardly inviting photographs for railroad brochures to attract tourists. She remembered Moonshine was still closed in her own auto and she let him out. He sniffed around and marked territory at what was once a hitching post along the front of the bar. Then he looked inquiringly at Nellie.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s explore.” She hoisted her camera bag to her shoulder and carried her tripod over the other shoulder. The mountains looming over town made a picture postcard all their own. If she walked down the road, a photo with log cabins in the foreground and mountains behind would be romantic enough. She debated whether to include the “Saloon” sign, not certain if the railroad man would want to advertise an illegal activity. She decided to take one photo with and one without it. She had plenty of film with her and she expected to be able to charge the railroad for its cost.
Too bad there wasn’t a horse around. That would be even more enticing.
As if conjured up by her thought, a horseman clip-clopped around the corner and stopped beside her. His head was right in front of the sun as she peered up to see if he was any one of the horsemen who had passed by the sheep camp. All she could see was his cowboy hat and a shaded face above a red bandana. He might have ridden off of a moving-picture screen. “Oh, you’re perfect,” Nellie said. “Can you stay right there while I move down a ways to photograph the scene?”
“Didn’t think you’d want a sheep-killer in one of your pictures,” came the reply. “But sure. My friend Luke can use all the dude tourists he can get. Maybe he’ll even pay you for a photo himself.”
Nellie’s good spirits died away. Ned Tanner. He was like a bad smell, as her mother used to say, turning up everywhere. “Hello, Mr. Tanner.” Moonshine barked once, but held his ground next to his mistress. If he remembered attacking the cowboy the day before, he didn’t give any sign of it. “The railroad won’t know you’re a sheep killer,” she said, “even if you and I know it.” She turned to walk down the street. “Stay right there, please. This will take a moment or two.”
The distance of half-a-block away gave her the right perspective, although the term “block” could hardly be applied to the space. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the placement of the cabins and the few other structures. The cowboy sat his horse and rolled a cigarette. He was too far away from her for that detail to turn up in the photo, which Nellie regretted, but she decided to ask him if she could take a close-up as well. Everything about him, from his leather chaps to his tall, lean figure, to his scarf and hat reflected every easterner’s view of the American cowboy. Too bad he didn’t have a Colt .45 slung around his waist. The rifle, sticking up at the back of the saddle, would have to suffice.
The sun was lowering in the sky. The scene was partially backlit and Nellie was worried she would get flare in her lens. An early-morning photo session, with the sun shining directly onto the peaks, would have been more conventional, but less dramatic. When she walked back to the waiting cowboy, who had been remarkably patient, he had dismounted and sat on a rickety chair by the door of the saloon. “Will you be around in the morning?” she asked.
“Can’t get enough of my company, is that it?”
Nellie blushed and cursed herself for doing so. “I’d like another photo with the sunshine directly on the peaks and you, if you’d care to help again. I’ll give you copies for your family, or girlfriend, or—” She stopped, remembering Pearl was his rumored girlfriend.
“Sure, I’d be happy to help out a lady.”
His “aw shucks” tone irritated her. Maybe one of the cowboys in the bar had a horse available and would cooperate with her. Just before she could say “Never mind,” he added, “It’ll have to be early, though. I got to get back to the cattle.”
That reminded Nellie of her lack of a place to stay, although the sheriff must have had something in mind when he suggested she come to Stanley. Driving all the way back to Galena Store for the night and returning in the morning didn’t seem feasible. “Is there a place besides that—” she said and pointed to the “Rooms” sign, “where one can stay the night up here?”
A lazy smile played around Ned Tanner’s mouth. “There’s the Rocking O bunkhouse, up the road a piece. Only a couple of us there for the night and four or five empty bunks.”
She waited. He couldn’t be serious.
“And there’s an old roadhouse in Lower Stanley, down by the river. It takes paying customers in the summer.” He pointed to her auto. “Hop in. I’ll tie up my horse and ride with you to show you where it is. We’ll be back in two shakes of a cow’s tail.”
That phrase made her smile. “All right. Let’s go. Come on Moonshine. Into the back.”
They traveled the quarter mile to the main road and turned north, or left. Nellie hadn’t known there was yet another town in this valley, but when she drove up in front of the so-called roadhouse, she saw there was no “town.” With fewer buildings than the regular Stanley, it looked even more derelict. Even so, the roadhouse, another log building that had seen better days and probably a number of hard winters, appealed to her more than the “Rooms” place. Inside, the main entry area was filled with overstuffed furniture, which gave it a cramped but also comfortable feel. No one was in the room. Ned followed her in and shouted, “Hey, Beans!”
A small, round man came in through a door along one side. “What can I do you for, Ned? This here another lady friend of yours?”
Nellie watched Ned blush before she answered for herself. “I’m a photographer from Ketchum. I’d like a room for the night.”
“Your name Miss Nellie Burns?” The man opened a book on the desk.
Surprised, Nellie responded. “Yes, h
ow did you know?”
“Sheriff stopped in earlier, said you’d need a room for the night, maybe two nights. I already got you signed up. Cabin 4.” He turned to a peg board behind him and took down a large piece of bark with the number 4 painted on it.
“Oh.” She held out her hand for what she thought was a key. “Cabin 4.” She wanted to ask where the sheriff was staying, but didn’t. The clerk told her anyway. “Sheriff’s in Cabin 3. I gave you the best one. Thought you might like a picture of the river. Plus, you’re a woman. It’s right underneath the back porch.” He came out from behind the desk. “I’ll show you.”
Her small bag in hand, Nell followed the clerk and Ned Tanner followed Nell. “I have my dog. Will it be all right if he stays with me? He’s very well behaved.”
The man scratched an itch along his side. “Ain’t no dogs allowed.” Then he grinned. “Sheriff told me you’d want that. Sure. Can’t nothing hurt these cabins. If they can survive gold prospectors, drunks, cowboys, and other fools, they can survive a dog.”
Ned Tanner cleared his throat, but the clerk kept talking. “Only place to get dinner is back at the Saloon. Same with breakfast. All I got is rooms,” he said as he opened the door to Cabin 4. As near as Nell could tell, there was no lock and then she realized the piece of bark only carried a number, not a key. She held it up.
“What’s this for?”
A loud guffaw exploded from Beans. “Just for show. If you have it, then I know you’re in your room. If I have it, I know you’re not. We don’t lock much around here. When you’re inside, you can lower the wood piece here. If you want anything kept safe, you gotta bring it inside to me. And I can’t guarantee it ’cause I got work to do.” The cabin smelled musty, as if it had been closed for some time. Sounds of water running caused both of them to raise their voices. He crossed the small room with a small bed and a small chair and pulled aside a cotton gingham curtain. “This here’s the river.”