by Edward Gates
Charlie watched the animals mill around in the fenced yard while he waited for Dave to return. He leaned against the wagon and thought about the rest of his life in this era. He started thinking about these old Southerners and the smuggled rifles. How could he agree to be a part of this? Well, up to this point, he hadn’t done anything illegal. All he’d done was deliver mining equipment to Denver... at least it looked like mining equipment. Dave had offered him a way out; he’d have to consider that. He knew that after the war a lot of Southern sympathizers and spies were hunted down and either killed or imprisoned. He couldn’t be a part of that. He was afraid of how history would be affected if he were ever caught in this conspiracy.
His thoughts drifted to other parts of history. He thought about all the mistakes mankind had made over the centuries and how a simple little nudge of the past in one direction or the other could have dramatic changes in the future. With all his historical and technical knowledge, he literally had the power to change the course of mankind for the better. But would a change today really turn out for the better? Or would history just find a different route to the same end?
Ed, Jesse and Walter all silently stood around by themselves, as did Charlie. He wondered whether he should tell them about his discussion with Dave concerning their mission. He looked over and caught Ed’s eye. “You all right?”
Ed smiled and nodded. “Yep. Just tired. Looking forward to a bed and a good sit-down meal.” He paused and smiled. “A sip of whiskey would be nice, too.”
Charlie chuckled.
“You a drinkin’ man, Charlie?”
Charlie thought about the last drink he had shared with his old college friend that night before the accident. He could still savor the taste of that scotch. He knew that he would never find a spirit of that quality in this era. He smiled. “I’ve been known to have a sip now and then.”
“Once we get settled, we’ll get us some supper and have a drink or two,” Ed said.
“Sounds like a good plan.”
After a few minutes Dave emerged from the warehouse with the satchel draped over his shoulder. Charlie joined him and they walked to where Ed, Jesse and Walter were standing.
“We’re done here,” Dave began. “Tappan will be by to get his supplies tomorrow or the next day. Asa will settle up with us when Tappan pays him.” Dave paused and looked at Ed, Walter and Jesse. “I explained to Charlie what we’re doing here.” The three looked a little surprised. “I gave him a choice to throw in with us or take the bay and clear out now… no questions and no hard feelings.” They all turned to look at Charlie. Dave paused. “Charlie chose to join us. He says he’s in it with us.”
Charlie smiled and nodded. But he was already having second thoughts.
“We’re happy to have you,” Ed said with a smile. Walter echoed Ed’s remarks and welcomed him. Jesse said something under his breath to Dave and walked over to the wagons.
“Okay. Grab your gear. Let’s get them animals up to William’s,” Dave said.
Charlie pulled his valise out of the wagon, put the box of rifle cartridges in it and picked up the rifle. They began herding the animals together. Dave climbed on the bare back of the roan and Jesse mounted a dark dun gelding. Ed and Walter didn’t get on a horse, so Charlie walked with them. He wasn’t sure about riding horses in the first place, let alone bareback. He remembered his time at Clemens’s farm where young Jed showed him how to saddle and ride a mule, but not a horse. He figured it would be pretty much the same routine. Riding bareback might be something he’d try later on… when he’d be alone.
They left the gate and walked the animals down Blake Street, past the Planters House Stage Stop to Williams Brothers Livery and Corral. Once the animals were penned, Dave made arrangements for their care. Then they all walked back along the street and checked into the Planters House.
The rooms were just as Ed had described: clean, warm and cheap. In other words, no frills. Charlie’s little room had a small metal-frame bed and a small two-drawer dresser with a hurricane oil lamp on it. A small washstand stood next to the dresser, just big enough to hold a porcelain bowl and pitcher set. The wooden slat floors were bare. The one window in the room looked out over a field behind the hotel. There were no curtains or drapes adorning the windows, just a pull-down paper shade. The back yard had an outhouse and a small corral that held two teams of horses ready for the next stagecoach.
Charlie poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, stripped off his smelly, muddy clothes and hand-washed himself from the bowl. He made plans to locate a laundry tomorrow. He got dressed in some clean clothes and stared at the bed. It was only late afternoon, but all he wanted to do was climb into the bed and sleep for a week; however, he’d made arrangements to meet Ed and Walter for supper and a drink. Dave and Jesse both declined the offer to join them.
Charlie looked forward to a good sit-down meal, but he was a little apprehensive about going to a bar. A saloon in the old Wild West… with Ed and Walter? What was he thinking? This could be an interesting evening… or a downright disaster.
36
A Denver Night
Ed took Charlie and Walter to a small restaurant on Fifteenth Street. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a good hot meal served at a table with dishes and utensils... something they hadn’t seen for quite some time. Charlie ate his fill of chicken and biscuits, potatoes and beans.
After dinner, the three went next door to a saloon. It was a long, narrow room with a bar that ran along the right side, and a single row of three tables along the left wall. The putrid aroma of smoke, body odor, stale beer and other unpleasant stenches greeted Charlie as he entered. Thick smoke from cigars and cigarettes hung in the air and trapped the yellow glow from two oil-burning chandeliers.
Charlie couldn’t see the back wall through the haze. The three slowly made their way through the crowded saloon until they found an open area at the far end of the bar. As he approached the back of the establishment, he could see that the tavern continued into a back room. The rear section was larger, although not by much. It held a few more tables and a few gaming stands that were all crowded with customers.
“It stinks in here,” Charlie hollered to Ed above the crowd noise.
“It stinks everywhere in this town. After a while it won’t bother ya.”
The bartender, a middle-aged stocky man with a dreadful, greasy comb-over, approached and waited for their order. A soiled apron covered his white shirt and black slacks from above his waist to his knees.
“What whiskeys you got?” Ed asked.
“I got a good rye, a keg of rum and local rotgut. I got some champagne, beer and some corn squeezin’s. What’ll ya’ have?”
“Rotgut?” Charlie asked.
The bartender ignored his question. Walter grabbed Charlie’s arm and leaned into him. “Rotgut’s no good, Charlie. It’s pure grain alcohol they bottle here. They cut it with water, burnt sugar, tobacco, kerosene and the like. It’s cheap and it’ll git you talkin’ to yourself.” Walter laughed.
Ed ordered a glass of rye and Walter ordered a beer. Charlie thought the beer would probably be the safest thing to drink, so he ordered one as well. He thought about the controlled, sanitized, pasteurized, brewing processes of the beers he had drunk in his previous life. He could only imagine how this beer would taste. The bartender pumped the tap and drew the beer into large glass mugs. A frothy head filled the top half of the glass and spilled down the side. Charlie took a big drink to get past the foam and actually taste the beer. It was full-bodied, warm, bitter and not very carbonated. Nothing reminiscent of the smooth, crisp, cold beers he left behind.
Charlie leaned against the bar and took in the sights, scents and sounds of the smoke-filled room. An occasional laugh pierced the air above the constant murmur of conversations. There was the hoot from a patron who won at the gaming tables, along with the disappointed moans from the losers. He eavesdropped on a number of discussions that mostly had to do with news about the town,
the mines, the railroads and the war.
The occupants were all men, except for a few “working girls” mingling with the patrons hustling drinks and other services they might provide… for a small fee. Walter was right. The women didn’t look all that appealing.
Charlie was relieved to see men of all ages enjoying the saloon. It wasn’t just old men unable to get into the army. Men his age, scattered throughout the bar, made him feel justified in being there.
Ed ordered a third rye. Walter was drinking his second beer. Charlie had finished his first beer, but still held on to the empty glass, keeping his hand around it to conceal the fact that it was empty. Already feeling a little light-headed, he didn’t want to take the chance of getting drunk. He wondered if he was overly tired, or if the alcohol content of nineteenth-century beers was higher than those from his time. Either way, he knew he had to maintain control of himself or risk getting involved in some history-changing situation.
A particular conversation at a table near Charlie began to get more and more boisterous. Based on what was being loudly pointed out by the three men at the table, he gathered it had something to do with the war. The discussion soon turned ugly with name-calling and threats being tossed around. The largest of the three men quickly stood up, knocking over his chair in the process. The other two rose and a brawl ensued. To avoid the action, Charlie backed away and buried himself in the corner where the bar met the wall.
His initial thought was to intervene and stop the fight, but he noticed that no one else was getting involved. The crowd just stepped back excitedly as they watched the three men fight.
The drunken wrestling match soon turned into a poorly fought battle of fisticuffs. All three of the participants were too drunk to land any meaningful blows -- or to feel any, for that matter. No one seemed to be getting hurt. Finally, the larger man, apparently tired of the two-on-one battle, pulled a knife from under his jacket. He lunged at the other two, forcing all three to the floor. There was a scuffle, a cry of pain, and the fight was over. The large man stood, put his knife back in his belt, ran out of the saloon and disappeared into the crowded city street. No one stopped him or followed him.
The second man knelt over the wounded man lying on the floor. Charlie took a step toward them to help, but then stopped himself and moved back against the bar. It was going to be difficult for him to just sit back and let history roll on. A couple of other men stepped forward and checked the injured man. Charlie could see that the wound, although a bad cut, was not life-threatening. Some patrons helped move the wounded man outside.
Charlie was still huddled back against the wall and the bar when Ed raised his glass of whiskey for a toast. “Welcome to Denver City,” he said with a smile at Charlie, who returned the gesture and feigned taking a drink.
Ed ordered another whiskey. Charlie could see that the three previous drinks were having an effect on him. His speech included a few slurred words and the volume of his speaking had increased a notch. He seemed to be getting a little unsteady.
“You want another beer?” Walter asked Charlie.
“No, thanks. I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll head back to my room and get some sleep.”
Walter nodded. They both looked at Ed for a moment. “Don’t worry about Ed,” Walter said. “I’ll take care of him. I’ve done it before.”
Charlie smiled at Walter and headed outside. He took a deep breath of fresh air and coughed. There was no fresh air, but it was better than what he had just left. He stood for a moment looking around the city streets. Other than a few oil lanterns hanging on support posts and the light from the various establishments that filtered out onto the streets, the city was dark as pitch. Music and laughter from the saloons and dance halls filled the air. Charlie smiled. Even though Denver was crowded, dirty and smelly, he was happy to be off the road and around civilization.
He was just about to start walking back to his hotel when he heard the crash of glass breaking. The noisy barroom he just left suddenly became quiet. Charlie peered into the room from the open doorway and saw a young man, unsteady from drink, facing Ed, who was standing at the bar a few yards away. The crowd had parted leaving an open area between Ed and this young man. Ed had a nasty cut across his cheek. A startled bar girl, wide-eyed with fear, stood close to Ed against the bar. Broken glass was strewn around Ed.
“That’s my girl, there!” The young man hollered at Ed, his hand close to the pistol hanging on his hip.
Ed faced the boy and kept as still as possible. “She’s a bar girl, son. I didn’t mean nothing. I was just saying hello.”
“I ain’t your son, old man!”
Charlie silently stepped inside and infiltrated the crowd to get a closer look. Walter stood off to the side from Ed with his arms crossed and his right hand resting on the handle of his gun.
“I don’t have a firearm on me,” Ed said as he slowly raised his arms and pulled open his jacket to show he wasn’t wearing a gun. “Why don’t I buy you a drink and we can talk about this?”
“Hang your drink! Unarmed? That’s your mistake, old man.”
One of the boys sitting at the table with the young man facing Ed stood up. “Just go ahead and shoot the old codger, Frank!”
Charlie became afraid for Ed. Why wasn’t somebody putting a stop to this madness? He took a step forward and removed his gun from its holster. He began to tremble as he drew closer to the young man from behind. As he slowly approached, the crowd parted around him, leaving Charlie alone and exposed.
“You’d better move away, honey.” Ed gestured to the girl to get her out of the line of fire.
“You stay right there, bitch! I’ll deal with you next.”
At that moment, Charlie hollered “Hey!” and raised his gun, pointing the muzzle of his pistol at the boy’s head.
Frank jumped, startled. He turned and then froze.
“That’s enough. You make any play for that pistol and It’ll be your last.” Charlie slightly moved his pistol side to side and up and down to conceal the shaking of his hand. Two other young men, sitting at the same table as Frank, stood and took a couple of steps toward Charlie.
“You two boys just stay where you are,” Walter said as he walked out into the open with his gun drawn. The two men lifted their arms away from their gun belts and stood still. Charlie reached down with his free hand and removed Frank’s pistol from its holster and tossed it onto the bar. Charlie stepped away, keeping his gun pointed at him.
Frank glared at him with a mean, angry look. “You’re a dead man! I’m gonna kill you for this.”
“Not tonight, you won’t.” Charlie motioned to the bartender and then looked at the young man. “He’s going to keep your gun here. You can pick it up tomorrow after you sober up and can think straight.”
The boy stood for a moment and watched the bartender pick up the gun and set it behind the bar. He looked around the room at the patrons staring at him. In a fit of rage, he screamed at Charlie and then stormed out of the saloon. The two other young men followed their friend and gave Charlie a stern look as they left. Charlie let out a deep sigh of relief. Ed and Walter joined him and thanked him for stepping in. He was still shaking inside and felt like he needed to throw up.
“You may be in for a fight down the road,” Ed said. “I don’t think that young fella liked being taken down like that.”
“I told you. Didn’t I tell you? I told you to watch yourself,” Walter reminded Charlie.
“Yeah, you sure did. But I couldn’t let him shoot Ed.” Charlie looked at Walter.
“He weren’t gonna shoot nobody,” Walter said. “Drunk as that boy was, he probably woulda dropped his gun trying to pull it.”
At that moment Charlie realized that Walter had Ed’s back all along, something Ed would have counted on. He didn’t have to get involved at all. Like a light bulb being switched on, it finally dawned on Charlie that these old men knew each other like brothers and could size up people and situations and act accordingly
. They’d been doing it their entire lives. Charlie lowered his head. His overreaction could have gotten someone hurt. Now it looked as if it might be him.
Charlie had to learn how to size up people and situations if he was going to survive in the Old West. He would have to trust his friends and watch and follow their lead, instead of reacting with his emotions.
A few patrons were still looking at him, but most went back to their business as if nothing happened. He looked at Walter. “Sorry I got involved. I should have figured you guys had this under control.”
“No harm done,” Ed replied.
Charlie looked at Ed. “So, what happened to your face?”
“Aw, that kid threw a glass at me. It missed but hit the bar next to me. I s’pose a piece of glass sprung up and cut me.”
“You need to wash that out,” Charlie said as they slowly walked out of the saloon onto the sidewalk along Fifteenth Street. Ed and Walter joined him and they began the short walk back to the Planters House. None of them spoke on the way back to the hotel. Charlie just kept scolding himself in his mind about not being able to stay away from trouble. When am I going to learn to mind my own business? I wonder what mess I got myself into this time.
37
Next Day
A loud knock on his door startled Charlie out of a sound sleep. “What?” he mumbled, half-awake.
“You gonna get some breakfast?” Dave shouted from outside the door.
Charlie squinted his eyes and looked at the window. The sun was shining. It was the first time since he’d left Fort Smith that the sun had risen before he did. He sat up in bed and thought about rushing to join his coworkers for breakfast, but then had second thoughts.
“You go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a little while.”