by S. F. Wood
The Preacher had called into the hotel before setting off for Nauchville to pick up his valise. And as insurance, the Le Mat was inside. As for Jackson, he had already made up his mind to buy a proper gun at the earliest opportunity. He’d convinced himself that a Derringer would be no use in an Indian attack. Though if he had been honest with himself he would have had to admit that if a Derringer were good enough for Nathan Banks, then it most certainly was not good enough for him.
Any disappointment that Jackson had felt on discovering Hickok was not in Ellsworth had been replaced by feelings of excitement and danger at visiting a real bad Wild West town. He made up any number of lurid headlines for The Herald. Yet all he was likely to do, if Williams’ story was correct, would be to move some furniture.
When they reached Nauchville, Jackson saw an unwholesome cluster of shacks and shanty houses spread out in front of him. A bedraggled hound began to follow them. The Preacher picked up a stone and threw it at the creature and that had the desired effect. Then a woman leant out of a canvas opening and called them over with a half-cheery greeting. That did not have the desired effect, so she threw them a full-blown oath.
“To clarify,” Jackson said, bringing his thoughts back to the task in hand, “the prisoner, Williams, hid his life savings under the floorboards of a boarding house when he came here. Or should I say, ‘bawdy house’. Boarding - Bawdy, eh?”
“Very droll, Mr. Beauregard,” said the Preacher, not breaking step. “If you fail to establish a career in journalism, you should consider Vaudeville.” The Preacher wasn’t interested in prolonging the conversation, having sighted perhaps the only double-storied building in the encampment. The painted sign above the doorway introduced The Chance. It was a good opportunity to concentrate Jackson’s mind on the task at hand. “Over there Mr. Beauregard, that’s where we are a-headed,” and he pointed down the dusty track.
Jackson continued probing, “What did Williams do to amass such a fortune? Cattleman was he? Businessman? Legitimate work I trust.”
“You are being deliberately disingenuous, Mr. Beauregard. I think we can be assured his er, fortune, was not made through honest labor. And I didn’t say it was a fortune. All I know is that he said he had placed something for safekeeping under the floorboards of a bedroom under a stairwell in that there hotel.” To which the Preacher added, “For to be given to charitable causes.”
“Guess he felt there was little chance of it being found eh? Little chance in the Chance! What do you say to that, sir!”
“Do you take anything seriously Mr. Beauregard?”
“Life sir, Life. Everything else is mere...”
“Do not dare to say ‘frippery’ Mr. Beauregard, or I will shoot you. You flatter yourself that you are something of a wordsmith, yes?”
“Well that is my profession. Not that it pays well, but yes.”
“Your lack of remuneration does not surprise me. But instead of puns and wisecracks, can you spin some prose that will persuade this Rowdy Joe to let us into his bordello, pry up some floorboards, and make off with...”
“Exactly! With what? Gold? Double Eagles? What are you expecting? Didn’t Williams give you any sort of clue?”
“I was led to understand that the treasure is in the form of greenbacks. Much the better for carrying and safeguarding about the person.”
They walked on.
Leering eyes stared out from under hats and canvas awnings. A few mangy ponies were tethered to shrubs. Clearly the Chance had been doing relatively well, for it was pretty much the only building that was constructed using timber and stone. Jackson was taking in the surroundings, just in case he did end up having a good story to write. The Preacher, on the other hand, was concentrating solely on what was about to happen. Trouble was, he didn’t have a plan.
“So what’s the plan?” asked Jackson.
They were some 50 yards from the entrance now, and one thing was sure, the Lowes wouldn’t just let them walk out with the money. “We will act like customers,” replied the Preacher, “and trust to providence.” The Preacher was thinking about the ploy that had worked so well for Williams and Pickens. He hadn’t told Jackson that bit. Hadn’t told Jackson about Pickens either for that matter. “We are here now, so just follow my lead.” And with that they stepped over the threshold.
No one paid much heed to them, largely because most people were strangers to each other anyways, what with local Ellsworth folk staying well clear of the neighborhood. A few Texans were inside, drinking and playing cards, but otherwise it was quiet. Jackson ordered two beers and they settled at a table in a corner, one that gave them a good view of their surroundings.
“Guess that’s the staircase,” said Jackson, stating the obvious, but redeeming himself by being discreet in the way he gestured with his head over to the other side of the room. A door was beneath the staircase and it was open. Jackson could see a bed and a window. “Can’t see if there is a dresser from here. And that must be Joe Lowe.” Jackson was referring to a tall, thick set man behind the bar who was obviously the owner as he was not making an attempt to serve anyone, leaving that to a slighter, red headed woman. “Guess that’s Rowdy, what was her name? Kate? Mind, they seem very quiet now. Models of sobriety no less.” But Joe Lowe had been watching them. Made it his business to keep an eye on every drifter who used his saloon. “He’s coming over.”
Close cropped dark hair showing the first signs of aging. And sporting a pair of untamed moustaches above a goatee beard that was also in need of attention. Had a hard, straight nose did Lowe, which was very effective in smelling early signs of trouble. Despite his build, Lowe did not exude an air of overt menace; it was more an air of authority. He wore a frock coat, shirt and tie. After all, he saw himself as a businessman. And even if his business wasn’t of the highest moral order, it was still a business. So he didn’t want to scare these two customers away. Indeed, the cut of their clothing suggested easterners. And easterners often had money. Least, those that weren’t travelling on wagon trains did. “You gentlemen looking for company?” He was quickly to the point. No ‘Pleasant weather for the time of year’; no ‘How long you staying in our fair town?’
“Depends,” said the Preacher. “We could be. Otherwise, we are just happy enough to finish this drink and move on down the street some.” That of course, Lowe could not allow, for it would be bad business. He looked around and his eyes fell on a woman who was just coming down the stairs.
“Emmy-Lou!” he called, “Over here sweetheart. Two respectable gentlemen here would like to know why The Chance is the finest bar south of the Great Plains. Don’t want them to go wasting their money elsewhere do we? Gentlemen, may I introduce the adorable Emmy-Lou.” And with this, Lowe swung round and took a chair from an adjacent table and placed it so that Emmy-Lou could sit between the Preacher and Jackson. Then he left her to earn her corn.
Poor Emmy-Lou looked as if she’d had a hard night. She had yet to put on her makeup and wasn’t happy at having to entertain customers so early in the day. If nothing else it meant she’d have to get them to buy her drinks and that didn’t mean coffee. “Hello good sirs,” she said seating herself at the table. The affected cheerfulness in her voice was mainly for Lowe’s benefit. “You gen’lemen gonna sit there and not buy a lady a drink?”
Lowe signaled to the barman who brought over a long black drink - Mule Skinner it was, whiskey and blackberry liquor. Emmy-Lou took a sip without thanking anyone. She was pleased to taste that it didn’t contain much of the hard stuff, and that was due to the barman following Lowe’s orders not to waste good liquor on the girls. “An’ do I take it you gentlemen are looking for a bit more, shall we say, serious company?” Emmy-Lou wanted to get this over with quickly; the sooner this was done the quicker they’d be gone.
She wasn’t a handsome woman was Emmy-Lou, but she had some pleasant characteristics. She was in sore need of a hairdresser, what with her long black curls cascading over her brow. But the way she kept swe
eping it away from her face was attractive - made most men want to do that for her. Pretty smile too. She still had most of her teeth, and the gap between the front two at the top didn’t detract much from her looks.
“That your room over there?” The Preacher motioned to the open door under the stairwell.
“Could be.” Now Emmy-Lou was putting on her best coquettish air. The sparkle in her eyes, albeit affected, helped make her look ten years younger. OK, call that five. “But only for the right man.” She leant forward, looking at the Preacher. He had the choice of looking back into those appealing eyes, or down at her cleavage, resting - and uplifted - on her folded arms. “You look like the kind of man would take care of a young girl like me.” To the Preacher she was young, being maybe twenty years his junior. “Or do you gentlemen share...” a glint in her eye set Jackson’s pulse racing, “...everything?” She could turn on the charm like a professional could Emmy-Lou. Well, being as she was a professional…
“Let’s go into your room and make this discussion a bit more private.” Jackson was uncertain about this, but as the Preacher was taking the lead he felt he had to follow. The three of them rose and headed for the room. The Preacher allowed Emmy-Lou to go first, and Jackson brought up the rear, carrying her drink.
Once in the room Emmy-Lou went across to the window, then turned to find both the Preacher and Jackson admiring the dresser. It was standing against the wall behind the door. Both men immediately took note of its size and wondered whether to move it left, right or forward. “Most fellahs look to the bed when they get in here,” said Emmy-Lou pointedly.
“I’m surprised to see something that big so far out west,” said Jackson, running his hands over the dresser, ostensibly to admire the quality, but in reality weighing it up in his mind. “Surprising what they can get on them wagon trains.”
“What’s with it with men this week an’ furniture?”
The Preacher quietly shut the door. He looked directly at Emmy-Lou, fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Has someone else been talking about this dresser?” He moved up close to Emmy-Lou, real close. Emmy-Lou remembered all the times she’d been roughed up and began to fear for the worst. But generally, them that mistreated her were soaked. This beating looked like it was going to be because of a piece of furniture.
“Martha still work here?”
“Martha? Who is Martha?” asked Jackson.
Emmy-Lou answered the question, talking to Jackson, looking at the Preacher. “Works here, sometimes. But she’s done gone away now. Been gone for a few weeks. Don’t rightly know when she’ll be back, but she will. Allers does.” She attempted to take back some control. She held her hands up, palms outwards, attempting to pacify the man as well as create some distance between them. And if it came to it she could get her hands up in front of her face to shield the blows. “Mister, all I did was comment on the fact that you seemed more interested in the chest over there than this chest of mine!” Emmy-Lou quite liked that. She was known for her spiky wit and it had got her out of trouble plenty before now. Defuse the situation, that’s what she wanted to do. “You’re just like the other fellah. He...”
This put whiskey on the fire. “What other fellow?” The Preacher grabbed Emmy-Lou by both wrists and pulled her close to him, almost lifting her clear off the floor. She was standing on strained tip-toes as he spoke right in her face: “Out with it, woman. What? Other? Fellow?”
“Hey! Put her down!”
“Yeah, put me down! I got nothin’ t’hide from you!”
The Preacher relented somewhat and relaxed his grip. But still he kept hold of her wrists.
“You said that someone else has been asking about that there dresser. Who?” It dawned on Jackson that the Preacher hadn’t told him everything about this story.
“Just give me a break why don’t you!” Emmy-Lou’s anger got the better of her fear. And clearly the young fellah was on her side so she still had a chance.
The Preacher released his grasp completely and as soon as he did Emmy-Lou moved to stand beside Jackson.
“First of all, if you want this room,” and the implication here was clear, “you need to pay. Six dollars on account there is two of you an’ that’s as good a deal you’ll get anywhere. An’ once that’s settled I will tell you ‘bout this other fellah. But business is business an’ I’ll have Old Man Lowe on my tail if I don’t show ma face in a minute and give him the money.”
Jackson had no intention of parting with his money. He was only in town to find Wild Bill Hickok, who’d evidently been in Hays all along. Now here he was, mixed up with putting pressure on a whore who had done him no harm. And right under her pimp’s roof too!
The Preacher reached for his purse and produced six one dollar coins. As he handed them over Emmy-Lou said, “An’ if you want to give a poor working girl an extra buck I will tell you everythin’ I know about this other fellah.” She’s pushing her luck, thought Jackson, and good for her. Maybe from guilt at having roughed her up some, or maybe because he thought it was the most pragmatic way of ensuring she didn’t spin a pack of horse shit, the Preacher handed over another coin.
“So, everything is straight between us,” said the Preacher, more measured now, “What did you mean when you said someone else was interested in that there old dresser?”
Jackson placed his hat on the offending piece of furniture and folded his arms. He was less interested in Emmy-Lou’s tale as he was in the Preacher’s reaction to it.
The Preacher took Emmy-Lou’s arm, but gently this time, and led her to the edge of the bed, sitting themselves both down. Now he was the kindly old uncle. “OK Emmy-Lou, let us just say that you have me intrigued. I mean, it’s only an old piece of furniture, probably off some wagon train. I’m just curious to know what it is that makes folk think it’s special, that’s all.”
Emmy-Lou began to relax. She had her dollars, so in some ways it was a good start to the working day. “All I meant to say - an’ I didn’t mean to get you all fired up an’ all - was that yesterday night some cowboy came in the bar and asked for Martha by name see. Well she ain’t here, like I said, an’ Kate - that’s Joe’s rib - she was the box-herder last night - I confess there are times when someone has to keep us girls in line - an’ Joe couldn’t ‘cos he was well corned. So anyways, this saddle tramp, when he’s offered someone else on account of Martha being gone, says it don’t matter who, but it does matter where. Now that’s peculiar ain’t it? An’ he says he wants it in this very room. Of all the rooms, he says it has to be this one or else no deal. Now Kate, she don’t care. In truth we get all sorts, so wanting a ‘ticular room don’t signify. An’ as I was free it was me was sent in to him.”
“I don’t want the details of what you did together, but I am curious as to why this gentleman was interested in the dresser. I mean, did he move it?”
“Well it’s gracious of you an’ all to call him a gentl’man. Be that for others to judge. Once inside he shuts the door then pushes me away. He goes over to that thing an’ tries to move it. Now I was sudden a’feared, thinking maybe he was gonna block the door and then beat me some, or worse. But seems not. He tried to get me to help him move it. ‘Course I wouldn’t. Couldn’t really e’en though I pretended to try. You can see fer yourselves it’d take two men, three maybe. Why I doubt you two could shift it an inch!”
To the Preacher it was clear that this man knew of the stagecoach robbery. Apart from Williams, only his partner would know about the money hiding under the floorboards. “What was he like, this fellow? Strong? Tall?”
But to Emmy-Lou there was nothing special about him. “No, he was just medium. Not as tall as you two, but not short neither.”
“His eyes?”
“Guess you could say that was his only distinguishin’ feature, if’n you could call having one eye distinguished.”
“Did he say anything about coming back?” It was clear Pickens would return. But when?
“Well he didn’t get his m
oney’s worth if you see what I mean. Seemed more interested in the dresser than me. Maybe if it’d been Martha, seems he’d known her before. Musta been here previous when she was in town. Anyways, he was in a foul mood an’ in no mood fer lovin’. Jest picked up his hat and walked out. Said he’d get his money’s worth tomorrow. By that I mean today. Like to see him try. Joe and Kate won’t wash with that. Many a cowboy’s bin too soaked to hold it up if’n you see what I mean and then they want their money back! Else they want it free next time when they’re sober on account of... Well like I said, that dog won’t hunt with Joe, no siree. An’...”
The Preacher held up his hand; he’d heard enough. “Thank you my dear, for clarifying that for us. Seems like my curiosity was raised for no good reason and I am now satisfied. But before we... I know my partner here is mighty hungry and I am too, if truth be told. If I gave you five dollars, would you be so kind...” Jackson allowed himself a smile, but suppressed anything more audible. “...be so kind as to get us a beer and a beef sandwich each? You can keep any change that’s a-coming.”
Emmy-Lou stood up and accepted the coins. Things were turning out just dandy. “I’ll be five minutes. Don’t you go away y’hear,” she said to them with a cheeky wink over her shoulder as she left the room. There’d be plenty of change a-coming and Jo and Kate wouldn’t be getting their hands on a single cent.
As the door shut the Preacher moved quickly over to one end of the dresser. “Get a hold of the other end of this beast and pull while I push.” The Preacher’s idea was to move the dresser to its left where it would block the door. He felt it likely that Williams and Pickens would have done the same. “Ready? One, two, three... heave!”
It was hard work, but not as hard as Emmy-Lou had suggested. As the Preacher knelt to examine the flooring, Jackson said, “So this Williams, the hanged man. He must’ve been strong to move this on his own. But he wasn’t on his own, was he?”