Glorious (19 page)

“No, I want to support your business as a paying customer,” McLendon said. “In fact, send the fellows at the bar another round of beer on me. Maybe that'll keep 'em better tempered so they don't go around talking Glorious down.”

“Well, aren't you a sweetheart,” Mary said.

•   •   •

I
F ANYTHING,
the damp heat intensified during the afternoon. McLendon spent much of it playing checkers with Mulkins in the Elite lobby. Mulkins won most of the time. McLendon was distracted and had trouble keeping his mind on the game.

“Major, Mary Somebody says that Glorious only has a few more months if nobody strikes silver soon,” he said. “Are you in agreement with that?”

Mulkins's king took two checkers in a double jump, and the hotel owner celebrated by rolling and lighting a cigarette. “I try not to distract myself with negative thoughts,” he said. “Imagining trouble often creates it. We're in a slow stretch, sure. You've been the only overnight guest I've had all week. But it's certain there's silver to be found here. There's too much sign, too much promising float, for it to be otherwise. And when it's found, word will spread, and then my second floor will be full each night and I'll probably have to add on a third.”

“And if there's no strike?”

Mulkins sucked smoke deep into his lungs. “I've been out in the territories since right after the war. Glorious ain't my first time at the dance. Towns dry up overnight. When it happens, it's usually fast. It won't happen here. It can't.”

“But what if there's no silver?”

“There's silver. Now pay attention to the checkerboard, because you're about to get whipped.”

After a few more thrashings at checkers, McLendon excused himself and went to pick up his laundry. Then he had another beer at the Owaysis. The prospectors were gone and he was the only customer. Ella flirted with him outrageously and Girl beamed at him from afar. He drank his beer and thought about Gabrielle.

•   •   •

I
T WAS ALMOST FULL DARK
before the stage rattled in from Florence. There were no passengers, but the carriage was laden with boxes of supplies for the dry goods store, and several barrels of beer and whiskey were tied up top for the Owaysis. Bob Pugh greeted the driver and shotgun guard. McLendon, wearing his new denims, helped the livery owner and stage crew unload. Crazy George and Mary came out and rolled the barrels off to the saloon. Gabrielle and her father carried some of the boxes to their store. Joe Saint carried the others. The sheriff chatted a few moments with the stage crew and amiably bid Pugh good night. “You, too,” he told McLendon.

“Joe, ain't we going to enjoy your company in the Owaysis tonight?” Pugh asked.

“No, I'm taking dinner with the Tirritos,” Saint said. “Sal likes to be early abed, and after he retires, Gabrielle and I typically linger over coffee and conversation. It's the pleasantest of times.”

“Don't be so quick to flaunt your dinner company,” Pugh said. “My dining partner will be C.M. here, and as we've all learned, his conversation is among the most sparkling in the territory.”

“A farewell meal?” Saint asked.

“Watch the Florence stage depart tomorrow morning, Sheriff,” McLendon suggested. “That's when you'll find out.”

As promised, Pugh served bacon and spicy beans. His beans, though decent, didn't rival Preacher Sheridan's, but McLendon didn't say so; he ate a big helping and praised Pugh's cooking.

After dinner, Pugh and McLendon moved the livery stock into stalls for the night, then strolled to the Owaysis. McLendon couldn't help staring at the flickering light behind the oilcloth curtains at the near side of the Tirrito's dry goods store. Pugh saw where he was looking and said, “It don't do no good to torment yourself. If you do stay, are you going to be mooning after Miss Gabrielle every waking minute?”

“As much as anything, the problem is the damned sheriff,” McLendon said. “Every time I see him, he gloats.”

“It seems to me that if he felt secure with Miss Gabrielle, he'd have no need for such posturing,” Pugh said. “Now, let's drink beer and rise above distress over matters of the heart.”

Inside the saloon, they saw Mayor Rogers at a table with Lemmy Duke from the Culloden Ranch.

“Charlie's got his head real close together with Lemmy's,” Pugh said. “I wonder what that's all about. Let's join them.”

“The mayor may object to my presence,” McLendon said. “He was offended by my dance with Sydney Chau.”

“Then go drink a beer at the bar,” Pugh said. “I aim to learn what's afoot.” McLendon got his beer from Crazy George and sipped it, watching as Pugh sat down at the table and joined the intense
conversation. Duke talked low and vehemently, sometimes jabbing the tabletop with a thick forefinger. He spilled some small items out onto the table from a sack, pushing them in front of the mayor and the livery owner. Rogers looked appalled, and Pugh, who'd cheerfully backslapped both men when he first joined them, immediately turned serious. After another minute or two of conversation, with Duke doing most of the talking, the Culloden ranch hand walked out of the bar. Pugh saw McLendon watching and waved him over.

Rogers looked upset as McLendon sat down. “I didn't mean to offend you at the dance,” McLendon said. “I was unaware of local dictates regarding the races. If you wish, I'll leave you entirely alone.”

“Don't flatter yourself, C.M.,” Pugh said. “Our mayor's got a concern that dwarfs your little floor turn with Doc Chau. Lemmy says he and the vaqueros found considerable Apache sign today not a mile west of town and brought some to show us. Lookie here—these are beads like the warriors wear on their deerskin shoes, and also some roll-your-own butts. They were found right where the creek cuts through the canyon. There were footprints all over. It seems that the miscreants might have some aggression in mind, and soon.”

“The beads I understand,” McLendon said. “But cigarettes?”

Pugh scowled. “The damn Apaches smoke more than white men. They suck on cigars and pipes when they can get 'em.”

“This could be the ruin of us,” Rogers moaned. “That's all we need, Apache attacks. That fellow Duke, he says Mr. MacPherson thinks Sheriff Saint and I should announce in a general meeting that anyone venturing out of town needs to be especially vigilant. That might be enough to run off all the prospectors remaining. No prospectors, no strikes, and no strikes, no Glorious. This Apache news comes at just the worst time.”

“Like Lemmy told you, Charlie,” Pugh said. “It might bruise our
reputation some to warn of Apache activity, but it'd hurt it a hell of a lot more if we keep this news quiet and then have a bunch of prospectors massacred. Shit, all of 'em here already know the Apaches are lurking. There was no exodus when Tommy Gaumer went down. You and Joe Saint just remind everyone to be watchful, the Culloden vaqueros will be on extra-careful guard, and we'll get right through this. But you got to issue the warning. It's the responsible thing to do.”

“Oh, I'm strongly considering it,” Rogers said. “I sent Duke over to the Tirritos' for the sheriff, because Joe's at dinner there.”

“That's a romantic supper all ruined,” Pugh said, winking at McLendon. “So Lemmy's fetching the sheriff back here?”

“No, I don't want the sight of us together starting up speculation,” Rogers said. “Duke and I are going to continue the conversation with the sheriff down at the jail. Then, if we decide to go ahead and make a general Apache warning, we'll call everyone together here at the Owaysis. I don't believe there's enough room for a full gathering in the Elite lobby. I'm off to the jail now, Bob. Promise you won't mention any of this until we come to our decision. It won't be long.”

“I'll contain my socializing until your return,” Pugh said. “Ol' McLendon and I won't leave this table. But just to make certain, on your way out you might slip Mary a dollar and tell her to keep the beer coming. I do tend to chatter when I'm thirsty.”

Pugh kept his word. He wouldn't even discuss the new Apache threat with McLendon. “Enough of that for now,” he said, and talked instead about the rising price of riding mules, up to almost $100 in both Florence and Tucson. A man couldn't find a decent bargain mule anywhere in the territory. When the big silver strike came, Pugh said, he'd need a lot more mules, and quick: the prospectors pouring in would need pack animals and he could charge a premium for their
rental. McLendon only half listened, thinking instead about Gabrielle and Joe Saint. If he left on the Florence stage in the morning, any chance of getting her back was lost forever. If he stayed and the town should die, she might be more amenable to an offer of life with him in California. He didn't want bad things to happen to his friends in Glorious, but if it was inevitable that the prospectors were all going to leave, he might as well make the best of it for himself and the woman he loved. And now, with the increased threat of Apaches . . .

“Stop woolgathering, C.M.,” Pugh said. “The mayor is back. What's the word, Charlie?”

“We're going to make the announcement,” Rogers whispered. “Joe is rounding everyone up and sending them here. I think there's a way for us to come out of this stronger. Over at the jail, Duke revealed a wonderful suggestion from Mr. MacPherson. If he'd mentioned it sooner, I wouldn't have been so distressed. Duke's riding back to the Culloden now to report that I've accepted on behalf of the town.”

“What suggestion was that?” Pugh asked.

“Let me tell everyone at once,” the mayor said. “Look, people are coming.”

Mulkins came into the bar, along with a few sleepy-eyed prospectors who'd turned in early. Rose Rogers arrived with Gabrielle and Salvatore Tirrito. Crazy George pulled the lead pipe from his boot and pounded it on the bar. Mayor Rogers and Sheriff Saint stood in front of the bar and faced the crowd.

“Is everyone here?” Rogers asked, and as he raised the question Turner stalked in. Then Gabrielle said, “Have we forgotten the Chinese?” and the mayor suggested that everyone settle down while the sheriff summoned them from their river camp. After twenty minutes the Chinese filed in, many of them with their hair loose instead of braided. They took their usual place along a back wall. Crazy George
banged the pipe on the bar again. Mayor Rogers stepped up and cleared his throat.

“Folks, can you all hear me? Okay, earlier this evening I was informed that the Culloden vaqueros suspect the Apache are getting a bit more active. They found unmistakable sign. The first purpose of this gathering is to remind everybody to be alert when you're out, staying sensibly in groups as most of you already do. Those who usually don't, for the time being, attach yourself to others. That's the way it needs to be.”

“Fuck that,” Turner snarled.

Joe Saint said sharply, “Mr. Turner, there are ladies present. Moderate your language.”

“Turner, nobody's ordering you to be smart, just strongly recommending it,” the mayor said. “It's your call if you want to be stubborn at great personal risk.” Turner snorted and walked out. “Well, then,” Rogers continued. “It's not like we all haven't known anyway that the Apache are everywhere. This news from the vaqueros just confirms it. We should all go on about our business, keeping in mind that vigilance is part of our mutual quest for fortune. It's only a matter of time before something fortunate happens, and it's everyone's good luck to be in place to benefit from it. You prospectors, go out in safe groups tomorrow and find that silver. Back here in town, the rest of us will offer all the services you require to support you.”

Sydney Chau stepped forward from among the other Chinese lining the back wall. “Mayor Rogers, in the event of Apache attack, may we take shelter in town?”

Rogers seemed uncertain, but Mulkins said, “Doc, at the first sign of trouble, you all just make your way into the lobby of my hotel. You'll be welcome there.”

“Charlie, have any of those Culloden Meskins actually spotted
Apaches, or have they just seen signs?” asked a prospector with long gray hair.

“Archie, it's my understanding that it's just signs. Lemmy Duke, the rider who brought me the news, said it was beads and footprints and so on. Just more of it than usual.”

“So it might be nothing at all?” another prospector asked.

“Exactly right,” Rogers said. “We all just need to exercise caution. And to that end, I have some very welcome news. As we're all well aware, Mr. MacPherson of Culloden Ranch has been a benefactor to our town. He now offers what can only be termed a blessing. Because this Apache sign is significantly closer to town than has previously been the case, Mr. MacPherson proposes that he build—at his own expense, mind you—small, stout structures immediately to the west and east of town and place in each of these two- or three-man vaquero teams, so that from dawn until dark we'll have skillful armed guards on hand to defend us in case of a town attack. This security—and I repeat that the cost of it will be entirely borne by Mr. MacPherson—ensures that we in turn can go about our business and make our town of Glorious as substantial as Tucson itself, if not more so. The Apaches, if they are contemplating mischief, will be discouraged, and we will be the safest people in Arizona Territory.”

“When do these guard posts go up?” Bossman Wright wanted to know.

“I believe construction will begin in a few days,” Rogers said. “Mr. MacPherson will send to Florence for planks and a work crew.”

“Some of the Culloden Mexicans are bad apples,” Mulkins said. “Sheriff, how do you feel about them being possible threats themselves? They're experienced gunmen—will they respect your authority?”

The light from the kerosene lamps reflected off Saint's spectacles.
“Well, Major, I believe Mr. MacPherson's discretion is such that he'll keep the ornery ones away on their usual area patrol. Angel Misterio can be counted on to help keep them in line. Duke assures me that vaqueros posted in town will observe our laws. And anyway, the worst of the vaqueros is still a pleasanter fellow than an Apache.”