By the end of the first month, The Little Haymaker was almost ready for business. Cartload after cartload of tables, chairs, beds, desks, stools, bureaus, china, glasses, and silverware arrived daily, sometimes twice a day. Every-day accouterments arrived as well; chamber pots, light-fixtures, spittoons, bar towels, door-hooks, bath towels… anything and everything Allen could think of.
Crowds gathered outside and watched as a beautiful, bright red, grand piano arrived by train from Chicago, and a different sort of crowd gathered as, a couple of weeks later, a gaggle of high-priced whores arrived in three matching carriages just as the sun began its descent behind the mountains. Goldie Adams had arrived, along with ten of her finest and many of the men, who had come to watch, threw their hats in the air and whistled as the women disembarked from the coaches.
As the Little Haymaker took shape in front of his eyes, O’Donnell hired his own, personal army of men. Some would be strong-arms and others, simple messengers, runners and bookkeepers. He did not fool himself; although the Sisters of Mercy had taught Allen to read and do simple mathematics when he was a child, he had no real sense of figures and, more importantly, how to make those figures expand.
There was a knock at the door and Allen was startled out of his reverie. “Come!” he called and Joey stepped into the room with a sterling-silver coffee pot, cream and sugar and pastries on a matching tray.
“Here you go, Boss. Cookie says that he’ll send some stew and fresh bread up in about an hour. Is that alright?” Joey placed the tray on Allen’s desk and stood up with a sunny smile. Allen liked Joey, although he was not the sort of man he would normally hire.
He was too young, too fresh and as Irish as a shamrock. He had come to the Little Haymaker, hat in hand, and asked Dave if he could speak with the man (Allen O’Donnell himself) directly. At first, Allen was tempted to boot the kid off his front stoop but when he heard the soft lilt of Ireland in the boy’s voice, a memory stirred in his heart; of times long gone, when he didn’t have to live and die by his wits (and the blade of his knife) in this harsh new country.
He was just starting to interview bartending positions and, after a brief hesitation, he had hired Joey on the spot. So far, the kid was doing well. Picking up a cup of the strong, heavily sweetened coffee, Allen took a sip and said,” Thank you, Joey. Tell the cook that will be fine, and when you’re done with that, go and fetch Josh up here.”
“Will do, sir,” Joey said and left. Turning back around and staring at the wall of the opera house across the street, Allen smiled. There was only one fly in the ointment of his carefully, crafted plans. He wanted, more than anything else in the world, to be considered “high salt.”
But that had not happened yet. Allen knew, by God, that money could buy anything, including social and political standing but, so far, his attempts at fitting in to this town’s elite had failed. The goddamn mayor is nothing but a trumped up grocery store clerk! he fumed, referring to Christian Yeger, of Yeger’s Dry Goods, who was voted in as mayor in 1899.
He was shunned, though, at every turn! He had tried to join in the Men’s Auxiliary Club last month, and was met with regret. He had also dragged Dave and Josh to the closest Catholic Church one Sunday but had felt a distinct chill from the parishioners and the priest, alike.
It wasn’t his clothing, he was sure, nor was it his faint Irish accent… in truth; O’Donnell had never heard such a dizzying assortment of accents and dialects before he first took up residence in Billings. It must be the whore-end of his business, he thought ruefully. That was the only explanation he could conjure up for his failure to blend in.
It was a cold comfort though, especially since he knew, as fact, that half the big wigs in town were nothing but crooks. Hell, one of the biggest cattle barons around was a known thief and rustler and the chief banker, President Walker Thompson, at the Yellowstone National Bank, was rumored to be a sodomite. It was that same man, though, that had offered Allen O’Donnell the deepest insult.
Since his first day in town, Allen had looked toward the west side of Billings and coveted the grand homes that sat like handsome, dozing dowagers amongst tree-lines cobbled streets. One, in particular, a redbrick mansion with pale, yellow pillars and black shutters had sat empty since his arrival.
He had walked through the empty, echoing rooms with the same land agent that sold him the warehouse, and asked the cost. The little agent, obviously bolder now and afflicted with the same lofty attitude toward Allen and his men, as his betters answered, “This is the Landry estate, Mr. O’Donnell. I really shouldn’t have let you in here, since it’s not on the market.”
Stopping, Allen had gazed into the man’s face and something in his cold, blue eyes caused the fat man to back up a step. “Why then, is there a FOR SALE sign in the front lawn?” he growled.
“Well” the fat man gulped. “That was a mistake on my part, I’m afraid!”
They had left the house then, but Allen swore he would own it someday, and the devil take the hindmost!
There was another knock on the door, and Josh called out, “Boss, you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, Josh. Come in!” Allen said and watched as the young man entered. Josh was much improved, as of late. He was bathing regularly now, and his hair was cut, and combed. He had also grown a little mustache, which served to hide his weak mouth and rubbery lips.
“Pull up a chair, Josh, and sit down,” Allen said and walked over to bolt the door. Returning to his chair behind the desk, Allen said, “Do you remember the bank president, Walker Thompson?”
Josh nodded. He would never forget the murder in Earl…er, Mr. O’Donnell’s eyes when his bid for that house on the west side was first rejected by the bank. “Yes, sir!”
O’Donnell smiled. “Well, I got a job for you.”
Josh sat still and listened to instructions, as his boss planned the murder of his biggest obstacle in purchasing the home of his dreams and acceptance into the “Upper Crust of Billings’ society.
Chapter 12
The Greedy Baron
Matthew sat and listened while Patty Hanson talked about her life, her family and the threat that hovered over all of them, since Atkinson had bought land adjacent to hers a year earlier. The longer he listened, the sadder, and angrier, he became.
Patty said, “As yer must have guessed by now, Marshal, I was a whore for most of my life. A high paid one, mind you, but a whore just the same. That all changed when Lanny Hanson showed up one day at the whorehouse I used to work in.” She shook her head and her cheeks flushed with pleasure at the memories her words recalled.
Looking into Matthew’s eyes she stated, “I wasn’t always fat, ya know. Used to be, I was known fer my beauty and the gents came from miles around to spend the night in my bed. Well, one night, the dirtiest man I ever clapped eyes on showed up. Whoeee!” she chortled. “I could smell him clear across the room!”
Sobering, she continued. “He asked my boss, Arnie, if he could spend the night with me and I almost refused, but Arnie said the man had promised to take a bath before he came to my room. Plus, Arnie said that filthy man was willing to pay fifty bucks fer the honor and there was no way Arnie was going to pass that kind of money up. Needless to say, I couldn’t say no.”
Standing up from her chair, Patty walked over to the cook stove and asked, “Want another cup?”
Matthew said, “Sure, thank you.”
Pouring each of them a fresh cup, she sat back down and continued her tale. “Well, I can tell you, that man cleaned up just fine. So fine, in fact, some of the other girls were ready to fight me over him, but he wanted me—and only me. It was the luckiest day of my life.”
She sighed, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Smiling through her tears, Patty said, “Lanny was a mule-skinner, Marshal… a good one. He had scrimped and saved, and bought a freight wagon and six good mules. He contracted out, mainly, to the Army and made a pretty penny over the fifteen years he worked that job. He saved every
dime he made, too.”
Patty grinned. “He told me, that first night, he had visited the brothel a few months earlier and saw me working the room… said, he hadn’t ever seen anything prettier in all his days and he told me he was ready to hang up his mule-skinnin’ days and settle down if I would agree to be his wife.”
She snorted, “Well, I had heard that before, of course, plenty of times. I laughed at him, thinking he was a touch loco, but I still gave him a good ride that night and sent him on his way.”
Patty’s eyes glowed. “Well, he came back the next night—and the night after that and he kept coming, paying that greedy old bastard, Arnie, fifty bucks each time until he finally talked me into it. If nuthin’ else, I admired the man’s stubborn streak!”
“We got hitched a couple of days later,” she continued. “And I jumped into that wagon of his. Truth to tell, as we headed out over-land, I had to wonder what had gotten into me. For all I knew, he was going to murder me…or sell me to one of the rogue tribes who like to trade women for whiskey. But Lanny, he was true-blue, Marshal. It took about a week to get here, but when I saw this little valley and the house he had already built, I couldn’t believe my luck!”
“Anyway, we made a good life fer ourselves here. The boys came along, one after the other, and a couple of years after that, we got our little Hildy.” Patty sat up a little in her chair and glared. “That’s the real test of a man, in my opinion. It’s all well and good when a child comes out of its mother’s womb sound, but when a young’un comes out wrong… well, I seen it happen before. A lot of men will skedaddle, or turn hateful toward a baby like that.
Patty smiled again. “Not my Lanny, though. My God, he took one look at my little crooked girl and fell in love all over again. He was a saint, my man and I miss him still, although he’s been gone almost eight years, now.”
“What happened… if you don’t mind my asking?”
Patty shook her head. “It ain’t no secret… one of his own mules kicked him in the head. I had the whole team shot, right after.” Staring at the table, she added, “Weren’t one of my finer moments, I reckon.”
“My family and I have made out okay, since Lanny died. There weren’t much of the way of spending cash, though, so I called on a few of my old friends to see if they was interested in moving out here and servicing the cattlemen and Buckaroos that live in these parts.”
“It’s been a successful endeavor, too, by God. We ain’t rolling in the clink, by any means, but we have a fine home, with a good Doc who comes by once every couple of weeks. Some of my girls were raised on farms and they take care of the pigs, sheep and cattle just fine.”
Matthew sat back in his chair and stared in to Patty’s eyes. “Tell me more about this Atkinson guy, why don’t you?”
“Oh yeah, I mean to.” She responded. “About a year ago, the honcho of this new cattle outfit rode in with a bunch of his paid cowboys. They rode in blazing, too, like they was fixing to light the whole place up!” Patty glared. “Well, I sent the kids inside and met them on my front porch. My heart was pounding to beat the band, I tell ya, but I can be tough when I need to be!”
Matthew grinned. I just bet! he thought.
“Atkinson was in the back of the pack, first time he rode in. Once, his boys had me in their sites, he rode through like some sort of king and says, “My name is Col. Miles Atkinson. Are you the owner of this estate?”
“Well I knew, right then, that he already knew who I was. You hardly ever hear of a stranger not asking to speak to the man of the house. I answered yes, and he said that he wanted to give me a hundred dollars to vacate my property. Said, he had a mind to turn my home into a bunkhouse for his men and wanted to run his cattle, unimpeded, through my fifty acres!”
Patty scowled. “Marshal” she said, “I ain’t no genius, God knows, but Lanny paid close to two hundred dollars for this land fifteen years ago, and that was without the house, and the barn, the well, and the fence-lines!”
“I tried to be polite about it, but I told him and his boys to go hang! He didn’t take kindly to that and, before they left, three of his boys put bullet holes into the front of the house!” She shook her head and said. “They have come in once a month, since that first time. Every time they ride in, they shoot their guns, steal a pig or two, maybe slaughter one of my sheep… last time they was here, one of those boys set fire to the back of the barn!”
She sat very still, and stared into Matthew’s eyes. “Marshal, you and the star you wear are an answer to my prayers. You know, Atkinson and his men could ride in here and take what they want… all they would have to do is kill the lot of us. Something is holding them boys back, though. Although the local sheriff hasn’t showed up to help, I have the feeling that Atkinson doesn’t want to be tangled up with the law. That cattle baron is greedy but he ain’t stupid.”
“So, what I was hoping is this… come the weekend, I fully expect another visit from the Colonel. I was thinking that if you was here, wearing yer star, he might get scared off enough to look elsewhere for more land.” She grinned. “I also know that the doc will be here in a day or two. He is pretty handy with a needle—maybe he could fix up a couple of those scratch marks on yer pony’s rump?”
Matthew thought about it for a moment or two. Although he was in a hurry to chase down the dirty, low-down dogs that killed his wife, right now he was clueless on which way to go in his search. His horse was lame and he, himself, was stiff and sore from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head.
He knew that three or four days wouldn’t make any difference in his hunt, so he nodded and said, “I’ll stay through the weekend, Patty. If the Colonel shows, I’ll do my best as a marshal to make him see the error of his ways. If he doesn’t show up by, say, Sunday, I’ll pay you twenty dollars for your hospitality and be on my way. Deal?”
Patty nodded with a smile and spit in her hand, sticking it out over the table to shake. “Deal, Marshal. Thank you!”
He shook and stood up. “Now, what can I do around here to make myself useful?”
A few minutes later, Matthew strode across the barnyard with a long list of chores in his back pocket.
~
It was late Saturday morning now and Matthew was beginning to wonder if Patty’s Colonel was going to prove a no-show. He wanted to help the kindly lady out, if he could, but time was wasting and he simply couldn’t afford to waste much more of it.
It had been a fine and restful interlude, though. He had spent the last three days helping around the house and ranch doing everything from helping bring in firewood, to fixing the barn’s roof. Lincoln was doing better as well. Most of the deep scratches and puncture wounds on its rump and neck were healing nicely, and the gelding was growing restive in the corral.
Except on weekends, the whores rolled up their sleeves and worked around the ranch, as well. They tended to the pigs and sheep, washed laundry, tended to the garden, made soap, and tallow candles and generally made everyone in their vicinity smile with their bawdy jokes.
They weren’t the prettiest women Matthew had ever seen but they were healthy enough and obviously happy with their decision to move here and keep their old friend, Patty, company.
A few of the whores had approached Matthew and asked if he would like to partake of the wares, but he politely declined. Although he was a very attractive man, something in his expression kept the women from taking offense. They sensed that his heart belonged to another and with a smile and a wink, they faded away, leaving him alone again to yearn for his lost wife.
One of the women, a redhead named Dixie, did take umbrage, however. Of the three, she was the prettiest and when Matthew declined her free offering her cheeks blazed red in embarrassment. “Too good fer the likes o’ me, eh?” she hissed.
Matthew tried to explain, but she picked up her skirts and flounced off. He heard her speaking to the other whores who were sitting on the porch in a loose group, and he also heard a titter of derisive laughter fol
low her complaints as he made his way across the front yard and into the barn. He shrugged… even if his broken heart allowed him to have his ease; he doubted whether he could perform the deed.
One thing was constant and that was little Hildy. She had shadowed his every boot-print from day-one. Patty thought it was because Matthew reminded Hildy of her daddy. She also worried that her daughter’s constant attention would anger the marshal, but Matthew just smiled and said, “Oh… let her be. She’s no bother.”
Matthew had just finished cleaning his shotgun and both pistols. His hands were covered in gun oil and he wiped them on a soft towel. Then he laid the shotgun on the towel and holstered his 45 Long Colt and his placed his back-up 38 pistol in his shoulder harness. Walking to the well to take a draught of cool water from the bucket, he was staring down the road when Hildy ran up, waving something long and green in the air. “Marsh! Marsh, lookit wha I made ya!” she yelled.
Matthew turned around and saw that she had a woven a dandelion chain. Most of the yellow blossoms were facing inwards and some were nothing but bits of fluff, but his lips twitched in a grin. Remembering Chance, and how he had once commanded his pa to wear the same kind of necklace, he bowed to the girl and said, “Very beautiful necklace, Hildy. Thank you!”
The girl grinned with delight and held the weedy contraption up in the air. Knowing that the chain wouldn’t quite fit over his head, he removed his hat and placed the dandelion chain around the brim. Hildy jumped with joy and Matthew knew his simple gesture would stick with Hildy for years to come. Glancing up, he saw Patty standing on the front porch, watching them with a fond smile.
“I’m going to take Lincoln out for a bit and see how his gait is,” Matthew called to Patty who nodded in acknowledgement.
He walked into the corral and mounted his horse, bareback. This will be a good test, Matthew thought as he gently nudged Lincoln’s belly. The horse sprang into action with a nicker and they trotted quickly up the hill behind Patty’s house. Easing up on the reins, Matthew gave the beast room to run and they flew up the incline and onto a plateau overlooking the valley. Matthew gauged his animal’s progress and smiled in satisfaction. Lincoln was sound now… and it was high time for both of them to be on their way.
Deadman's Revenge (The Deadman Series Book 3) Page 9