Grace paused from her serving for long enough to point to the door.
“Yeah, but you’ve got real trouble brewing,” she said.
Trip turned and winced. Chester was standing in the doorway and surveying the chaos with his face bright red while snorting his breath through flared nostrils. Trip signified that Grace should serve his next batch of customers, and then wended a path through the heaving mass of brawling men to join him.
“Do you fancy enjoying your first drink in Kincaid’s Saloon?” he said, holding a hand invitingly to the side.
“I do not,” Chester said, eyeing two fighting men who were standing toe to toe and slugging it out beside the door.
“You must still be pleased. I bet Calloway’s Crossing has never been this busy.”
“It hasn’t, but I leave this sort of . . . of madness for the townsfolk of Wagon Creek to deal with. It shouldn’t happen in Calloway’s Crossing.”
“This isn’t madness. These are just hard-working men enjoying themselves.”
“I can see that, but what worries me more is the hard-working women in my barn.”
“Ah,” Trip said. He’d wondered what had happened to the saloon-girls Grace had collected from Wagon Creek earlier this evening. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. I’m a family man with a son and a daughter and I don’t appreciate having . . . having all sorts of goings-on going on in my barn.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
“You will do more than that. You will never bring the likes of these bridge workers here again.”
Trip pointed up the hill. “Before you take that attitude, remember that you destroyed my land.”
“I destroyed Milton’s land with his misguided agreement, but if this is the alternative, I’ll light that dynamite myself.” Chester set his hands on his hips. “Tonight is Kincaid’s Saloon’s opening night, and it’s its closing night.”
With studied finality, Chester turned on his heel and walked away. Trip shrugged and hurried back to the bar where Grace was facing a dozen impatient and thirsty customers.
“What did he want?” Grace asked when they’d cleared the backlog.
“Well, he didn’t want no drink that’s for sure, but I guess he was saying we need to work harder at keeping everyone quiet.”
“We do, but. . . .” Grace turned to the door.
Five newcomers stood before the door, and a quiet and still zone was spreading around the saloon. These men were packing guns and had the hard-nosed look of men who caused trouble even when they didn’t have a drink inside them.
Trip was gesturing at Grace to prepare for serious trouble when the tallest man nodded to a customer, and this initiated a ripple of nodding and waves toward them. Amid the grunted comments, Trip heard the name Ryan Trimble uttered several times.
He guessed that the tallest of the men, who stood at the front, was this man. He also guessed that he was a railroad supervisor and that everyone’s deference meant he had authority over the workers even when they weren’t working.
A half-forgotten memory battered at Trip’s thoughts and told him he’d met Ryan and maybe one of the other men before. He shook that thought away and smiled as they walked across the room to stand before the bar, everyone that was in their way scurrying to clear away from their path.
“Welcome to Kincaid’s Saloon’s opening night,” Trip said.
Ryan noted the broken furniture, the smashed glass, the unconscious man sprawled over the end of the bar.
“Will it be your last night?”
“Nope. I reckon I’ve made enough to cover the damage. I’ll be open for business to the railroad for as long as the workers want to come here.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
Ryan smiled, but for a reason Trip couldn’t identify, he felt his own fixed smile die away. He gestured for Grace to serve Ryan and stood back, but it was only when Ryan hunched over the bar that he recognized him. He was the bandit who had bushwhacked Milton Calloway.
Chapter Four
RYAN TRIMBLE’S ARRIVAL in the saloon generated a permanent lull in the level of chaos. Although Trip didn’t confirm his position at the railroad, the workers gave him and his men leeway, neither approaching them nor catching their eyes.
The poker games and chuck-a-luck proceeded as before, and the drinking continued at the same determined pace, but everyone limited their arguments to mild disagreements and didn’t let their tempers flare. For their part, Ryan and his companions maintained a boisterous circle of fun at the bar, chiding each other over matters that Trip didn’t understand – not that he listened in on their conversation.
Whenever anyone else raised their voice, Ryan’s group turned in that direction and silence instantly returned. Ryan didn’t pay any more attention to Trip than he would to any bartender, so he didn’t appear to have recognized him from their previous encounter.
Then again, when they’d met it had been dark and Trip had been rolling down the side of a ridge and screeching in pain. After midnight, small groups headed away, thinning out the saloon.
Later, a wagon rolled up. Many of the customers who were too drunk to make their own way back to the bridge staggered into it to roll out of town accompanied by much liquor-fueled bawdy singing and good-natured shooting.
This left around a dozen men. With the main bulk of the workers having left, the saloon-girls wandered back into the saloon from the barn, flustered and weary, but smiling.
“I’m mighty pleased you invited us,” the buxom Sally said. She patted a bulge beneath her bodice that Trip presumed contained a considerable stash of money.
“I said it’d be more profitable out here than back at Wagon Creek,” Grace said, and took her hand, green flashing as bills changed hands.
Trip had gathered that Grace would take a cut of the women’s earnings, but he’d decided that as she’d already done him more favors than he could repay, he’d let her profit from this on her own. She moved on to surreptitiously take money from the other two women, Melanie and Wanda, while offering support for their hard work.
“And you’ll come back next week?” she said, after making their cuts disappear into her clothing.
“If it’s this good, sure.” Sally then turned to leave, but a bleary-eyed drunkard, Lee Johnson, was standing in her way.
“You forgot about me,” he said, slurring his words. He wheeled his arms and planted his feet wide apart to avoid falling over.
“I didn’t,” Sally said. “You’ve already had your turn.”
“That was with that one,” he said waving a finger in Melanie’s general direction. “It wasn’t with you.”
Sally sashayed up to him and planted a firm finger on his chest. She pushed, knocking him back a half-pace.
“Then remember, I’ll be here next week and waiting for you if you have the money to pay.”
“I have the money to pay now and I don’t want no waiting.”
Sally sighed as Grace and the other women joined her. The solid phalanx of rouged and buxom women faced up to Lee, but he was beyond behaving reasonably and he lunged for Sally.
Before Trip could react, Grace grabbed Lee’s elbow and yanked it up his back, spinning him around in the process. She pulled him back to her chest and hissed something into his ear that caused Lee’s eyes to boggle and his throat to shake with a pronounced gulp.
Then she threw him away toward the door. He staggered to a halt and kicked at the floor. Then, with his shoulders slumped, he wended a path to the door. By the bar, Ryan laughed at his predicament.
“Perhaps I ought to hire her to build the bridge,” he shouted after him. “She’s more ornery than you are.”
Ryan’s men laughed with more enthusiasm than his weak joke warranted as Lee stopped, straightened up and turned. With deliberate paces, he strode back to the women, his breath coming in harsh snorts and his face bright red, but Grace stood before him ready to repel him.
Trip
reckoned Grace could take care of this drunkard and he judged that an important test of her ability to keep control was getting underway. So he stayed by the bar as she moved to the side, keeping Lee in view.
Lee lurched around to follow her, his arms wide apart and his movements unsteady. Then he lunged for her, but the move was slow and wild, and she easily ducked under his flailing arm and when she came up, she delivered a kick to the rump that piled Lee into the bar.
More laughter ripped out, adding to Lee’s discomfort and, when he rolled to his feet, his mouth was set in a grimace and his red-rimmed eyes were wide. Still, Grace stood before him and even beckoned him on.
Ryan and one of his men, Pike, brushed past Trip and the watching women to stand behind Lee. Ryan slapped a hand on his shoulder and spun him around.
“She says that she doesn’t want you,” he said.
“I can take care of him,” Grace said, but Ryan ignored her.
“You can’t tell me what to do when I’m not working,” Lee said, standing up to Ryan.
A sharp intake of breath rippled around the onlookers, and Lee himself winced as he appeared to suddenly realize who he’d just threatened.
Ryan flashed a harsh smile. “I can, assuming you want to work again, or to breathe again.”
Lee gulped and took deep breaths. Then he waved in a dismissive manner at Ryan and slouched off on a snaking path to the door. Ryan turned on the spot, holding his hands high and signifying that he’d resolved the argument and now everyone should leave.
He tipped his hat to Grace, who returned a curt nod, and then slapped a hand on the bar and ordered another drink. As Trip served him, most of the remaining customers filed out of the saloon, as did two of Ryan’s men.
Grace spoke to the other women, her hunched shoulders and shortness of tone showing that she wasn’t happy with having her authority usurped. Trip detected some uneasiness in himself, but judged that being nice to people he didn’t trust would be a part of his new life as a saloon owner and he maintained his smile.
Presently, raised voices sounded outside. Ryan had returned to talking with his remaining colleagues, and Grace and the women were already heading to the door to investigate. Trip followed them and outside, a fight was underway in the area between the saloon and the back of the barn.
The stragglers from the saloon had formed a loose circle around the fight in which one of Ryan’s men, Heath, was holding Lee upright while Pike administered a firm pummeling, knocking Lee one way and then the other. The barely conscious Lee couldn’t muster the strength to defend himself.
“That’s enough,” Trip said, advancing on them.
Pike broke off from hitting Lee to turn to the approaching Trip.
“It isn’t.” Pike gestured at the onlookers. “Everyone needs to see what happens if they talk back to Ryan.”
Pike paced in and delivered a short-armed jab to Lee’s guts that had him folding over and spitting bile over his boots. Trip hurried to the circle and, as Pike flailed two round-armed punches into Lee’s face, fought his way through to stand in front of Pike. Heath signified that Trip was raising his fists and in response Pike raised his hands high and put on a mocking smile.
“Hey, we’re just keeping the peace,” he said, backing away a pace.
“This isn’t any kind of peace I know,” Trip said, stomping toward Pike and rolling his shoulders. “Leave him.”
Pike noted Trip’s belligerent stance and then gestured at Heath, who snapped his arms upright to leave Lee standing and swaying. Pike turned away, but then snapped around and with a solid pile-driving blow hammered Lee’s cheek, sending him reeling into the dirt. Pike batted his hands together and turned to Trip.
“I’ve left him. Are you fine with that?”
Trip snorted his breath through his nostrils, but a man from the circle stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Walk away while you and Lee still can,” he said.
As Ryan was leaning on the saloon doorframe, eyeing the situation, Trip sighed and acknowledged the sense, if not his desire to do this. Then he headed past Pike to kneel beside the unconscious Lee.
With the confrontation ending, the rest of the onlookers broke up, although Chester and his son came out of the trading post to join him. Chester ignored Trip as Isaac confirmed that the beating had been serious enough for them to take Lee to the barn to check out his injuries. Trip offered to help, but Chester just sneered at him.
“We’ve had enough of your help tonight,” he said. He took Lee’s shoulders and Isaac took his legs. As they maneuvered him to the barn, Trip headed over to Ryan.
“Your men didn’t have to beat him that badly,” he said.
“He’ll get over it soon enough if he wants to earn enough to eat,” Ryan said. He gave a huge smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t you worry. You’re under my protection now and nobody harms you or your business, or they answer to me.”
With that promise, Ryan gathered his men around him and they followed the rest of the customers in heading out of Calloway’s Crossing.
“You didn’t thank him,” Grace said, joining Trip.
Trip sighed. “That’s because he wasn’t doing me no favors and I reckon I’ll be paying plenty for that protection.”
Chapter Five
TRIP SPENT A SLEEPLESS night wondering whether Ryan’s promise of protection was the bad news he feared it might be. In the morning, he was no clearer as to whether it was and what he should do about it.
He mooched around the saloon, feeling unenthusiastic about clearing up last night’s mess, and finally sat on the planks he had yet to use on the edge of the gully. Chester had given him land on the top of the bank, so Trip could sit with his back resting against the saloon’s back wall and with his legs stretching down the bank into what, if the creek still ran this way, would be water.
Today he’d planned to work on a third wall, but was lethargic about doing that, too, and he leaned on his knees, his mind drifting as he avoided dwelling on his problems. Halfway down the bank was a pile of freshly turned earth.
Trip couldn’t remember throwing the soil they’d dug out for the foundations this way and he shuffled down the bank. He decided that a burrowing animal had dug into the bank and had thrown the earth behind it as it made a home for itself beneath the saloon.
He kneeled and searched for the hole it’d made, but then stood up, accepting that he was only interested in discovering what the animal was to avoid facing up to the bigger problem he had to deal with today. With that thought, he headed to the barn to check on Lee. Isaac was tending to the injured man and he snorted and then shooed him away.
“He’ll be fine,” he said. “He’s getting the best care a man could want – no thanks to you.”
Trip winced. Lee lay on his back, his features puffy and unrecognizable, and the mottled mixture of cuts, scrapes and emerging bruises told the story of every blow Pike had inflicted on him.
“You’re a talented man,” Trip said, noting the care with which Isaac was cleaning a long scrape.
“I have to be to earn a living at a place like Calloway’s Crossing.”
“So you don’t get many people pass by, then?”
“The railroad is bringing more, but most people still prefer Wagon Creek.”
“Then we have to attract more.”
Isaac gave a knowing smile. “You know Pa’s view on that.”
“I do, but it doesn’t have to be yours.”
Isaac opened his mouth, and although Trip reckoned the young man was about to offer support, he closed it and returned to dabbing at Lee’s bruised ribs. Beneath his gentle touch, Lee emitted a groan although he didn’t open his eyes.
Trip thought about sharing his fear about Ryan with the potentially sympathetic Isaac, but decided he didn’t want to risk the news reaching Chester. He patted Isaac’s shoulder, offered him encouragement and headed to the door.
He stopped in the doorway to offer a silent prayer for
Lee to get better. Either that prayer was answered or Lee was more resilient than he’d feared because later that morning, when Trip had cleaned out his saloon and was preparing to head to Calloway’s Gulch, Lee came out of the barn to accompany him.
No customers had visited on this fine Sunday morning and with Grace having returned from Wagon Creek, Trip left her in charge. As he mounted his horse, one man did meander into town from across the river.
He was hunched and silent, repeatedly yawning. Trip tipped his hat, but he didn’t acknowledge him as he headed past him, dismounted and then slouched into the saloon. Trip decided that Grace could readily deal with this placid customer and, with Lee, headed off.
On the way, he pressed the morose man for details about Ryan and his role at the railroad, but Lee wasn’t prepared to talk about him. When they reached the bridge, he hobbled off to join the other workers without even one word of thanks for his help last night. There was no sign of Ryan, so he located Frank Moore, the bridge overseer, to find out if he had more interest in the subject of Ryan’s behavior than Lee had.
“You had trouble last night, I heard,” Frank said after they’d exchanged pleasantries.
“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Trip took a deep breath. “Then Ryan Trimble provided his help, and I ask myself why.”
Frank gestured to the bridge. “Taking care of this is a mighty big job. We work seven days a week, non-stop, and I need men with all sorts of skills.”
“What are Ryan’s skills?”
“Since he’s joined us, he’s kept people quiet and when people are quiet, the railroad gets built. Does that explain?”
“All too clearly, and what do people like me who don’t want to be quiet do?”
Frank snorted a harsh laugh. “They remember this – the railroad payroll is overdue and my men spent the last of their money with you last night. Now they’re getting twitchy, but twenty thousand dollars arrives tomorrow to pay them and to pay off Adam Calloway. I need muscle like Ryan around in case anyone reckons they’d like that money for themselves. So if you have a problem with Ryan, I’m not listening.”
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