“Where’s that?” Cam asked.
“Over at the Cheyenne Star.” He turned and pointed to a saloon about halfway down the main street. “Jim left his horse here.”
Cam thought that over for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. “A cattlemen’s meetin’, you say?”
“Yeah, it ain’t a big to-do, just three or four of the bigger outfits havin’ a meetin’ to talk about boundaries and whatnot, so as not to step on each other’s toes, I reckon. They’re meetin’ in the back room at the Star. Just a chance to see which one of ’em can hold the most whiskey, if you ask me.” He paused for a moment while he watched Cam deciding. “If you’re just lookin’ for his ranch so you can deliver those horses, I can tell you how to get there.”
“Well, I’m hopin’ to sell four of these horses, and I heard he buys horses,” Cam said. “Course, I’m lookin’ to sell those saddles, too, since I won’t have no use for ’em if I ain’t got horses to go under ’em, or fannies to sit on ’em.”
The bald little man laughed again. “Well, that makes sense. I couldn’t help wondering when I saw you leadin’ horses in with empty saddles—couldn’t help wonderin’ what happened to whoever was settin’ in the saddles.”
Cam smiled in response. “I reckon it does look kinda strange at that, but it ain’t what it looks like. The folks who were ridin’ in those three saddles took the stage in from Chugwater night before last, two ladies and two little girls.”
“I saw ’em,” the man exclaimed, “saw ’em when the stage rolled into town, with that one ol’ gal ridin’ on top of the coach with a rifle!” He paused at once and said, “Don’t mean no disrespect.” When Cam merely smiled, he went on. “My name’s Porter Thompson. Folks call me Smiley.”
“Cam Sutton,” he returned. “So they made it all right?”
“Yep,” Smiley replied, “and I know why you’re askin’. That one lady put a whole load of gold dust in the bank this mornin’. Mr. Proctor over at the bank said Bob Allen and Larry Bacon—they drive the stagecoach—sat up guardin’ it all night at the stage office till the bank opened.”
Cam smiled at the picture that created in his mind. “Well, it didn’t take long for word to get out about what the lady was carryin’, did it?”
“Hell, half the folks in town knew about it last night,” Smiley said.
“How safe is her gold in that bank?” Cam asked, immediately concerned that, after all they had come through to get it to Cheyenne, it was now known by everyone in town to be sitting in a bank, waiting to be robbed.
“Safe enough,” Smiley assured him. “Mr. Proctor’s already hired a couple more guards, and the sheriff’s gonna keep an eye on the bank, too, till they change it to paper money and ship the gold out on the train.”
“How ’bout if I turn my horses out in the corral till I find out if I’m gonna stay in town or not?” Cam asked. Smiley nodded. “I’ll go down to the saloon and see if I can get a chance to talk to Mr. Pylant.”
“That’ll be fine. You know, I buy horses from time to time. How much are you lookin’ to get for them four?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Cam said. He paused to stroke his chin while he thought. “They’re all good, sound horses, but I ain’t lookin’ to ask a lot for ’em—about fifty dollars apiece, I reckon.”
“Whoa!” Smiley blurted as if shocked. “Two hundred dollars for the four of ’em? That’s a little steep, ain’t it? I mean, they ain’t nothin’ but plain ol’ cow ponies.”
“Maybe Pylant might look ’em over a little closer,” Cam told him. “That bay is as strong a horse as a fellow could want, and that black one is a Morgan as far as I can tell. What would you give?”
“I don’t know,” Smiley said, then proceeded to look the horses over with a close eye. Although he tried, he could really find no obvious flaw in any of them. After another look at the bay’s teeth, and an inspection of the gray’s hooves, he finally stood back as if to look at them as a group. “I swear, that gray’s got a wild look in his eye, kinda spookylike.”
“He’s the gentlest of the bunch, but he’s strong as an ox,” Cam commented, and he thought of the dappled gray gelding the first time he had seen him, with the black Spanish-style saddle and the scornful killer astride him. “What’ll you give?” he asked again.
“I don’t know,” Smiley repeated, “a hundred dollars.”
“Apiece?” Cam responded.
“Shit no!” Smiley blurted. “For all of ’em.”
“Hundred and fifty, and I’ll throw in the three saddles.”
“Why, them saddles are pretty wore out,” Smiley protested. “They ain’t worth much.”
“I expect I’d best go see if I can talk to Mr. Pylant. I’ve been told he pays a fair price for good horses,” Cam said, and put a foot in the stirrup, preparing to mount.
“All right,” Smiley said, “a hundred and fifty.”
Cam took his foot back out of the stirrup, and extended his hand. They shook on it, and Smiley said, “I’ll have to get you the money outta the bank. I don’t keep that much money here in the stable. Whaddaya say I run over there before the bank closes and I’ll meet you in the saloon afterwards and we’ll have a drink?”
“Sounds fair to me,” Cam said. “I’ll help you take the saddles off the horses you just bought, and I might as well leave my two here for the night, too, since it looks like I’ll be stayin’ over.” He pulled his saddle off the dun and relieved the packhorse of its small load, then stowed it all in the stall Smiley said would be his. “I’ll go on over to the hotel and get myself a room. Then I’ll meet you at the Cheyenne Star.” He drew his rifle from the saddle sling, picked up his saddlebags, and started out across the street.
“I’ll be there directly with your money,” Smiley assured him.
• • •
Cam felt like treating himself for a change. His little adopted family had arrived in Cheyenne safely, Mary’s gold was secured, and she was probably on her way to Fort Collins. The men who had chased them were no longer constantly on his mind. He had evidently lost them, thanks to Ardella’s knowledge of the mountains she had lived in for so many years. So he asked for a room on the second floor that faced the street, paying in advance. “That looked like a bathhouse on the back of the building,” Cam commented to the desk clerk.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk replied. “Would you like to get a hot bath?”
Cam hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yes, sir, I believe I would.” He had never had a bath in a tub with hot water, and he figured it was about time he tried it. Having never before been so flush with money, he decided he’d spend a little of it. Turning his attention back to the clerk, who was awaiting his decision on when he wanted his bath, he said, “First, I need to buy me a new shirt and a couple of other things. Then I’ll order up one of those baths.”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk said. “All I’ll need is enough time to heat up some water, so you just let me know. You should be able to find a shirt across the street at Freeman’s.” He pointed toward a dry goods store next to a barbershop.
“Much obliged,” Cam said, picking up his room key from the counter. The barbershop put another idea in his head that he might consider, but first he had to meet Smiley in the saloon. As he ascended the stairs to the second floor, he realized that he felt like the first day upon reaching a cow town at the end of a long cattle drive—with the exception of having a hell of a lot more money in his pockets. He even forgot for a few moments that he missed Mary and the girls.
When he got to his room, he went inside and turned the key in the lock to see how securely the door closed. Satisfied that it was a sturdy enough barrier to discourage curious petty thieves, he looked around the room in search of a hiding place for the sack of gold dust in one pocket of his saddlebags. “Ain’t that fancy?” he muttered when he spotted the washstand with a pitcher and basin
. He walked over and looked in the pitcher, and found that it had been filled with water. He was truly living like a rich gent, if only for a night. There was no obvious place to hide his gold, however, and he immediately reminded himself that if it was obvious, it wasn’t a good place anyway. Then he saw another item that spoke of affluence, a chamber pot. So you don’t even have to walk out to the outhouse behind the bathhouse, he thought. That’ll be the best place to hide the gold. He peered into it to make sure it had been cleaned since the last use. Then, holding the sack over the pot, he hesitated to consider if he should just give it to the clerk. They probably had a safe. He gave it another moment’s thought, then dropped it in the pot. Anybody figuring to rob the place knows there’s money in the safe. Most likely wouldn’t bother with my room after one look at me. Satisfied that the odds were in his favor that his gold would be safe while he was gone, he locked his door and went downstairs on his way to the Cheyenne Star.
Smiley was not there when he walked into the saloon. He hesitated to look over the few men sitting around a couple of tables playing cards before going to the bar and ordering a glass of beer. He took his beer to a table and sat down where he could watch the door for Smiley. He sipped the beer slowly, but was almost finished, and beginning to wonder if Smiley was going to show up, when the bald little man pushed through the swinging doors. “You been waitin’ long?” he asked. “It took me longer’n I figured at the bank.”
“Just long enough to finish a glass of beer,” Cam said. “You got the money?”
“Right here,” Smiley answered, and produced a neat stack of bills. While Cam quickly put the money away, Smiley called out to the bartender, “Fred, lemme have a shot of whiskey and a glass of beer.” Then back at Cam, he asked, “You want another?” When Cam said he did, Smiley ordered that from Fred, too, and then he produced a folded-up paper from his pocket. “I need you to sign this,” he said.
“Sign it?” Cam asked. “What is it?”
“It’s a bill of sale,” Smiley told him. “When that U.S. marshal comes to town lookin’ for them horses you stole, I’ll show him that I paid for ’em, fair and square.” He grinned to show Cam he was joking.
Cam signed the bill of sale, and then sat awhile with Smiley, who seemed anxious to tell him all the things that were happening in Cheyenne that were going to make it a better town. “Sure, it’s got a reputation as a wild, wide-open town, but there’s a lot of good solid folks moving in around Cheyenne, folks like Jim Pylant that you was askin’ about. It’s gonna be a decent town for women and children, people like that lady you were askin’ about.”
“Mary Bishop?” Cam replied. “She’s headin’ back home to Fort Collins, might already be on her way, if she was able to arrange transport.”
“She’s stayin’ right here in Cheyenne, accordin’ to what Mr. Proctor told me when I was in the bank.”
Cam couldn’t believe he heard right. “Mary Bishop, the woman with two little girls?” he asked incredulously. “Why would he say that?”
“I think Mr. Proctor got hold of her when he saw all that gold she had,” Smiley said. “He’s a smooth talker, Garland Proctor is. He said she decided to invest her money here in Cheyenne, ’cause she sees a lot more opportunity here than that other town she was thinkin’ about.”
“Fort Collins,” Cam supplied.
“Yeah, I reckon. Mr. Proctor said she was thinkin’ on buildin’ a nice roomin’ house with a dining room.”
Cam was stunned. He had to give himself a few moments to grasp all that had happened in such a short amount of time. It was the last thing he would have expected to happen. All she had talked about was getting back to Fort Collins where she at least knew a few people. After he thought about it for a few minutes, he shrugged and decided it really didn’t matter where she decided to light. He just hoped she would be happy here, and the girls would like it. Ardella, he wasn’t worried about. She was one soul who could adapt to living in hell itself. Further conversation on the subject was interrupted when the door to the back room opened and several of the ranchers attending the meeting walked out.
“Well, I reckon the meetin’s over,” Smiley commented. “That’s the feller you were askin’ about, Jim Pylant.”
Cam looked up to see a tall, lean man, with a neatly trimmed brown mustache and wavy brown hair. He paused just outside the back room door to carefully settle his flat-crowned hat upon his head so that the brim was just above his eyebrows. Then, spotting Smiley sitting at the table, he walked over to speak to him. “Well,” Smiley greeted him, “I didn’t hear no firearms goin’ off. Did all you ranch owners agree not to shoot each other?”
“Nobody got shot,” Pylant replied. “I don’t know if we accomplished anything or not.”
“I got some new horses I just bought,” Smiley said. “One of ’em looks like a Morgan, the kind them army officers like to ride. You oughta take a look at ’em before you leave town.”
Cam cocked a suspicious eye at Smiley. He had a feeling that he had just been skunked by the stable owner. He started to get mad but then decided it was kind of amusing. Hell, I got what I wanted for them, he thought. Maybe the joke’s on Pylant, if he ends up buying them. He could have gotten them a hell of a lot cheaper if he’d bought them from me.
“Who’s your friend, Smiley?” Pylant asked, smiling at Cam.
“This here is . . .” He glanced down at the name Cam had signed on the bill of sale. “. . . Cam Sutton. He just brought in the horses the new lady in town was totin’ her gold dust on.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bishop,” Pylant said. “I met her and Mrs. Swift in the hotel dining room last night. They’d just gotten off the stage.” He offered his hand to Cam. “You must be the fellow who guided them through some pretty hazardous times.”
“I brought ’em as far as Chugwater,” Cam replied modestly. “She decided to take the stage on in.”
“I think Garland Proctor and I talked her into staying right here in Cheyenne,” Pylant said. “She’s a fine woman. I think she’ll do well here. I’ve volunteered my services to help her get her boardinghouse built at a fair cost.”
“I reckon she was lucky to run into you,” Cam said, still a bit overwhelmed by how much had been accomplished in such a whirlwind fashion.
“I’m supposed to have a meeting with her in the morning at the bank,” Pylant said. “I told her I’d stay in town a couple of days to help her line up a couple of good carpenters. Does she know you’re in town?”
“No,” Cam replied. “Fact of the matter is, I wasn’t plannin’ on comin’ to Cheyenne, but I changed my mind ’cause I figured I had a better chance to sell some horses here.” He glanced over at Smiley and said, “But I decided to give ’em away instead.”
“Somebody should have warned you about dealing with Smiley,” Pylant said, and punctuated his comment with a chuckle. “Like I said, I’ll see Mrs. Bishop in the morning. I’ll tell her you’re in town.”
“Thanks just the same, but there’s no need to bother,” Cam insisted. “Sounds like she’s fixin’ to be plenty busy, and we wound up our business back at Chugwater Station, anyway.”
“All right, then,” Pylant said, signaling a conclusion to the conversation. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Cam. Smiley, I’ll stop by the stable sometime before supper and take a look at those horses you stole from Cam.” He left them with a broad smile on his handsome face.
“That’s the man that’ll probably be runnin’ this town before long,” Smiley commented as they watched Jim Pylant moving toward the door, with a wave for the bartender as he went out. “He’s done more than anybody else to draw decent folks to Cheyenne, just like he done with that Bishop lady. Hell, if she’s got money to invest in a town, it might as well be our town.”
Cam still had his eyes on the swinging doors after Pylant had disappeared. “Is Pylant a family man?” he asked.
“Yes and no,�
�� Smiley answered. “His mama and daddy live with him out at his ranch, but he ain’t married, if that’s what you mean.”
Cam didn’t comment, but for some reason he couldn’t explain, that information disturbed him. His rational mind immediately asked the question Why do I care, one way or the other? Still, he couldn’t help forming a picture of the handsome and smooth-talking rancher dazzling Mary, and it bothered him. He was beginning to regret coming to Cheyenne, instead of heading back north. “What?” he said when he realized that Smiley had asked him something.
“I said, do you want another glass of beer?” Smiley repeated.
“No, reckon not. I gotta go over to the store and buy me a shirt and some things.” He pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. “I reckon I’m buyin’ the drinks, since I’m the one that sold the horses.”
“Well, now, I hoped you’d say that,” Smiley laughed. “I ’preciate it. It was a pleasure doin’ business with you.”
“I’m just payin’ for the drinks you’ve got on the table,” Cam said. “Anythin’ after that, you’re on your own.”
Smiley laughed again. “Fair enough. Like I said, pleasure doin’ business with you. Tell you what, I won’t charge you nothin’ for boardin’ your horses. How’s that?”
“That’ll help a little. Thanks.” He stopped by the bar and paid the tab, then went out the door.
• • •
“Yes, sir,” Ed Jervey greeted the tall young man when he walked into the store. “What can I help you with?”
“I need a new shirt,” Cam said. “This one’s a mite loose, and it’s picked up some stains that won’t come out.”
“It does look like you musta lost a lot of weight,” Jervey said.
“I ain’t lost any weight,” Cam explained, “it’s just that the shirt’s too damn big.” He was still wearing the shirt that Ardella had given him. Long Sam Swift must have been as big as Ardella boasted, he thought.
“Well, I can fit you with a nice hundred percent cotton shirt, or a wool one,” Jervey said. When Cam said he preferred cotton, Jervey brought out several from his shelves. “This one here is the latest thing out. It’s got a pocket on it.”
Long Road to Cheyenne Page 22