by John Legg
The man laughed. “I figure he’ll be a lot happier this happened than if we’d run down Warren Yarnell’s wife. There’d be hell to pay over that, I can guarantee.”
Coffin nodded.
“I’d be obliged if you was to let me buy you a drink or two. Or more. Kind of say thanks.”
Coffin nodded again. “Next time you see me. I usually go to the Twisted Water.”
“Vern Moore.”
“Joe Coffin.” He walked off, back still hurting, but not as bad as before. He wasn’t sure if he was getting over it or if the cold was just numbing him some. He was grateful, though, that he had been wearing the heavy blanket coat when that bale of cotton goods had landed on him.
He stopped at one of the mercantile stores and bought himself a new outfit. It was time for it anyway, but his impending supper at the Yarnell house made it almost imperative. He walked slowly back to Eagan’s with his packages, and asked Eagan if he could get a tub and some hot water up in his room.
“We ain’t set up for that, Mr. Coffin,” Eagan said apologetically. “About the only place I know of you can get a bath—and a shave, if you’re of a mind to—is Hennessey’s down on Cottonwood Street. A couple doors down from the Catfish Saloon.”
Coffin nodded. “I’ve seen it.” He walked up to his room and set his things down. Moving slowly, he cleaned the Remington he had used and reloaded it. Then he napped for two hours.
He felt a little better when he awoke. He headed out with his packages again. He stopped at Hennessey’s and had a haircut, a shave and a hot bath. Afterward, he dressed in the new store-bought suit and derby. The outfit—especially the hat—made him feel ridiculous, but he vowed to suffer through it, if only for this one night. He felt sillier when he buckled on his gunbelt.
Annoyed at being so concerned about his looks, he checked his pocket watch. He still had plenty of time before he had to be at the Yarnells’ house. Gathering up his old clothes, which he did not think were ready for the dust bin yet, he headed out. He dropped his old clothes at Ling’s Laundry and then headed back to the hotel. There he peeled off his gunbelt. With a sense of foolishness, he grabbed his saddlebags and pulled out the shoulder rig he had made up. He checked the two Colts to make sure they were loaded. He pulled the contraption on and then put his suit coat on over it. He looked into the small mirror on the bureau and nodded. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do, he figured.
Finally it was time to leave. As he walked along the chill streets of Crooked Creek, he realized he was more worried about this supper than he had ever been about anything. Then he was at the house and knocking on the door. He shifted from foot to foot, feeling the cold air filter in through his coat.
The door opened and a tall, regal-looking black man stood there. “You’re Mr. Coffin?” he asked.
Coffin nodded.
“Come with me, sir.”
Coffin followed him down the hallway and into a sitting room. Warren Yarnell stood from his heavy chair and came to greet Coffin, hand outstretched.
“Welcome, Mr. Coffin,” Yarnell said jovially. “I hear I have a lot to thank you for.”
“No, sir.”
“You’re much too modest. You saved my wife from a horrible death, and you say it’s nothing?”
“Well, maybe I did save her, but I wound up dumping her on the ground in the doin’.”
Yarnell laughed, and Coffin’s opinion of him rose quite a bit.
“Yes, Edith did mention that,” Yarnell said. “And, while many respectable folks might have been horrified by that, I, like my wife, am grateful you did so. I’d rather have her here and unhurt, if a little mussed, rather than having to bury her in any condition.” He smiled. “Now, sit, sit. Would you like a drink?”
“If you don’t mind,” Coffin said from the big upholstered chair Yarnell had indicated.
“Cigar?”
“How long before supper?”
“Not long. Hungry?”
“Well, yes, but mainly I’d hate to waste a good cigar if supper is due soon.”
“A wise thought.” Yarnell handed Coffin a glass of bourbon. He held up his own glass. “My heartfelt thanks, Mr. Coffin,” Yarnell said in salute. They both drank.
“Have you found a job, Mr. Coffin?” Yarnell asked after he had sat again.
“Not really. I’ve been helping Harry Carstairs over at the livery, but that’s just something to pass the time. I’m afraid now, though, that I’ll have to pass even on that.”
“Oh?”
“He took quite a blow from something that flew out of that wagon today, Warren,” Edith said.
“Oh?” Yarnell was surprised.
“I’m not sure what it was, but it hit him—and would’ve landed on me if he hadn’t flung himself on top of me at the last moment.”
“Well,” Yarnell said with a hearty laugh and a note of gratitude in his voice, “your heroics grow, Mr. Coffin.”
“Anyone would’ve done the same,” Coffin said modestly.
“Then how come none did?” Yarnell countered. “From what I was led to believe, dozens of people were standing around just watching. You were the only one who acted.” Coffin nodded and took a sip of bourbon.
“Edith said you would take nothing for your heroics today. Is that right?”
Coffin nodded.
“I—we all—would feel slighted if you did not let me do something for you in payment. Come now, there must be something we can do for you.”
Coffin polished off the small glass of bourbon. He had an icy stillness in his stomach, as he often had had when preparing for battle. It was an interesting feeling, and he rather enjoyed it. “I’d be obliged if I’d be allowed to court your daughter, sir.” He paused a moment as a shocked stillness spread around the room. “But only if she’s willin’,” he added. “I wouldn’t want to put her or you folks out any. I’d understand if she was to say no, since I know I don’t have the best prospects in the world, but I think I’d...”
“Hush, Mr. Coffin,” Edna said boldly. “You make too light of yourself. I’d be happy to have you come a-courting, if Father doesn’t mind.”
“I have no objections,” Yarnell said. “Edith?”
“Your visits will be welcome, Mr. Coffin.”
“Then it’s set,” Yarnell said.
Coffin wasn’t sure, but Yarnell seemed to actually cotton to the idea. Coffin felt a lot better about things.
Chapter Eleven
Coffin felt like a king when he squired Miss Edna Yarnell around Crooked Creek. The only trouble was, winter was on them, and it made their walks first uncomfortable and then almost impossible. So Coffin had to settle for spending time in the Yarnells’ sitting room, more often than not under the watchful, though somewhat tolerant, eyes of Edith Yarnell.
Still, it irked Coffin a little. He was not used to being under such constraints any longer. He thought all that had ended when he left the army. Then again, he had never had such a reason to be tied down. He tried not to let it bother him much, and he was usually successful, mainly because he was able to spend quite a bit of time with her. It helped that Warren Yarnell offered Coffin a job two weeks after Coffin had begun courting Edna.
“Doin’ what?” Coffin had asked, surprised.
“Guard.”
“What kind of guard?” Coffin was intrigued.
“The bank. We haven’t had much trouble there, but you never know. Occasionally, we might have you ride along with a shipment over to the Missouri.”
“Shipment?”
Yarnell shrugged. “We have no real gold here or other precious metals, but we do have to ship money on occasion. Townsfolk also sometimes need to ship things of value.”
“Why me?” Coffin asked. He was skeptical.
“Anybody who can use those pistols like you did when you saved Edith is a benefit to me.” He smiled. “Besides, I need to know that a prospective possible son-in-law has a job.”
Coffin laughed. “Might be a job of mighty short tim
e once I’m shootin’ it out with all them bank robbers and such.”
“I’ll give you sixty dollars a month—to start.” He paused. “You know, Joe, I wouldn’t mind being your father-in-law one of these days. Now, I’m not forcing the issue. I know how much you care for Edna. And I know she cares very much for you. If it should come to pass that you two do tie the knot, I’d probably like to bring you into the business one day. Starting out as a guard at the bank will give you the opportunity to see how things work.”
“I ain’t so sure about that part, Mr. Yarnell, but I’ll give it a try, if you want.”
“I do.” Yarnell laughed. “Sort of a fateful phrase, isn’t it?”
It took a few weeks, but sometime around Christmas, Coffin began to think that there was more to Warren Yarnell than just a prosperous banker. He began to notice short, almost furtive, meetings between Yarnell and hard looking men. He noticed a few small confrontations between Yarnell and Rupert Lyons. It all puzzled Coffin, but he kept quiet about it, at least until he could learn more.
Yarnell had told Coffin that if he wanted to frequent a saloon, he should use the Eagle, rather than the Twisted Water. Coffin nodded and visited the Eagle. It was on par with the Twisted Water. It might’ve been a little newer, and the bar and back bar a little finer. The whiskey was no more—or less—watered, and the women working there were no more or less desirable than those at the Twisted Water.
It did not take long for Coffin to figure out that Yarnell owned the Eagle. Coffin wasn’t sure if Yarnell was the sole owner or part of an ownership group, but it didn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, the Eagle belonged to Warren Yarnell.
Coffin did go into the Twisted Water some of a time. He enjoyed jabbering with Schmidt. But more, Coffin wanted—or maybe needed—to see Blue Gladys every now and then. Edna was, of course, a good girl, and could not be expected to do such things. Not until she was married anyway. Besides, with Edith always hovering nearby, there would be no opportunity even if Edna had been willing. So, periodically, Coffin would visit Blue Gladys, sometimes for just a short while, sometimes for the night. He did not think he was doing anything wrong. He even figured that Edna would be glad for it, since his time with Blue Gladys would keep Coffin from pestering Edna too much.
Between his time with Blue Gladys, his infrequent chats with Schmidt and from listening to others in both the Twisted Water and the Eagle, Coffin began putting pieces of the puzzle together. He finally realized there were two leaders in the town—Warren Yarnell and Rupert Lyons. Each had money, each was tough and unyielding, each had a few gunmen at his disposal, and each hated the other.
Coffin didn’t know quite how to feel when he realized that he had become one of Yarnell’s gun hands. In one way, it annoyed the hell out of him. He supposed that was because he had been reeled in like a fish. He would not have been angry if Yarnell had simply come up to him and told it to him straight. On the other hand, it kept him close to Edna, and, since Yarnell treated him very well, he knew he was in Yarnell’s inner circle, or would be soon.
Once he knew all this, he could pretty well relax in the Eagle Saloon. In the Twisted Water, however, he was always on the alert. Lyons and his henchman, Mike Finnegan, had confronted Coffin inside the Twisted Water, but it never got too troublesome. Coffin finally figured that Lyons had suspected that Coffin knew far more about Yarnell’s dealings than he did. Once Lyons realized that, he backed off some, while still keeping an eye on Coffin, particularly while Coffin was in the Twisted Water.
Yarnell didn’t take kindly to Coffin’s visit to the rival saloon either, and told him so one night after they had eaten. Yarnell handed Coffin a glass of whiskey and a cigar. When Coffin’s and his own cigars were going, Yarnell said, “I hear you’ve been spending time at the Twisted Water.”
“Occasional.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking you not to.”
Coffin’s eyelids narrowed. He held the cigar up, as if studying it, then said quietly, “Just because you pay me a salary, doesn’t mean you own all my time.”
Yarnell considered that for a moment. “You’re right on that.” He paused. “But on the other hand, I’ve taken you into my family, or at least I am thinking of doing so.” Coffin shrugged.
“What’s the appeal of the Twisted Water anyway?” Coffin shrugged and smiled. “It ain’t the Twisted Water itself. It’s what’s in it.”
Yarnell looked baffled.
“I enjoy chewing the fat with one of the bartenders.”
“That all?” Yarnell asked skeptically. “Well, if you really got to know, there’s Blue Gladys.”
“She’s one of the fallen angels over there?” Yarnell did not sound shocked or bothered.
Coffin nodded and took a sip.
“There’s plenty of such women at the Eagle.”
“I know. I just like Blue Gladys is all,” Coffin said without apology.
“You like her?” Yarnell asked, voicing some alarm. “Yep,” Coffin said with a chuckle. “It ain’t like I’m gonna marry her or…”
“I should say not,” Yarnell huffed.
“…it’s just that she’s fun to be with.”
“I’d still rather you kept away from the Twisted Water.”
“I ain’t over there much. Just once in a while. I figured you’d rather have me go visit Blue Gladys than...”
“That goes without saying. Look,” Yarnell added in some exasperation, “I don’t give a damn how many whores you bed, Joe. But I don’t like my money going to...” He suddenly clamped his mouth shut, inwardly cursing himself.
Coffin smiled in his head. It was the closest Yarnell had ever come to admitting his feud with Lyons. “I wouldn’t want someone spending my money in a rival’s place neither,” he said flatly.
“You know?” Yarnell was surprised.
Coffin nodded. “Some. I expect there’s a hell of a lot I don’t know. And that gets my hackles up more than a little.” He allowed just a bit of his temper to show. “What the hell are you angry about?” Yarnell said.
“I don’t mind bein’ one of your hired guns, Mr. Yarnell. I don’t even mind bein’ told what saloons I can—and can’t—use. But what really ruffles my feathers, dammit, is the fact that you didn’t see fit to play straight with me.”
“But...”
“Don’t give me no ‘but’ bullshit, Warren. I’m young, but I’m not a goddamn fool. Like I said, I don’t know much of what’s going on exactly, but I’m bright enough to figure out that you’re more than what you seem to be, and that you and Rupert Lyons’re at loggerheads. I have no idea why.”
Yarnell nodded. “You’re right, of course. Rupert and I don’t go back far, but we’ve never been peaceable toward each other. He likes to think he runs the town, and to a certain extent he’s right. On the other hand, I have my influence, too. I can hire as many guns as he can, match him in anything. So it’s a Mexican standoff of a sort. We keep circling each other like a couple dogs meeting for the first time. We keep snarling and yapping at each other and not accomplishing a whole hell of a lot.”
Coffin nodded. “There somethin’ you want me to do about it?” he asked. “Somethin’ you’ve been warmin’ me up for?”
“No,” Yarnell said with a shake of the head. “No, I just want you on my side if something happens.”
“Are you expectin’ somethin’ to happen?”
“Yes. But I have no idea what or when.”
Coffin nodded. He stood, setting down the empty glass. “I don’t mind bein’ around in case somethin’ happens, Warren. I’d be mighty damn put out if you didn’t count me in, considerin’ my feelin’s for Edna. But I’d be obliged,” he added pointedly, “if you wouldn’t give me no more bullshit. You got somethin’ you want me to do—or not do—tell it to me straight. If I ain’t willin’, I’ll tell you straight, and we can jaw it out like two reasonable men.”
Yarnell also stoo
d. He nodded firmly. “I will do that, Mr. Coffin. Now, come, the ladies are waiting.”
Christmas came and went. Going with it was a truce that had existed as part of the Noel season. But not long after the new year began, the old enmity returned. To an outsider, nothing really seemed to be amiss. If it was noted at all, it was just put down to two hardheaded businessmen having their differences.
Coffin could feel more tension, though, in the Yarnell household, in the Eagle Saloon, and in the Twisted Water. It was a strange kind of thing, nothing that one could get a grasp on, just a sensation as if everyone was waiting with baited breath for something to happen. Only nothing did.
In mid-January, Coffin went with a wagonload of freight and cash, heading for the Missouri River. He made another trip in mid-February and a third a few days into March. He hated the trips, but did not feel right in refusing them. He missed Edna on the journeys, and he was bored—and frozen stiff.
There was no excitement on the treks. The journeys were just slow, jolting rides with him sitting on a hard piece of wood and cradling a cold scattergun in his arms. At the end of the outward trip, he could expect several hours of backbreaking work unloading the wagon, a foul, rancid meal and then a few hours sleep in a log and sod house with no windows.
He was always glad to get back. Edna always was waiting for him at the edge of town, standing in front of Gelman’s Book and Stationery Store. She would be bundled up against the cold, and her pert face was flushed from it. He thought her a lovely sight, even though her lips were a little chapped, both from the cold and from her nervous chewing on them.
She was not there when he returned from the March trip, though. As the wagon got farther down Cottonwood Street, an icy fear began to build in his stomach. Then he spotted her. She was backed against the wall of Oversham’s Millinery Shop by Rupert Lyons and Big Mike Finnegan.
Coffin hopped off the slowly moving wagon and hit his stride. In moments, he was on the boardwalk right behind the two men. “Afternoon, boys,” he said evenly. “Nice of you to keep a watch on my fiancée durin’ my absence.”