Glorious (3 page)

“Does the hotel have real beds?” McLendon asked. “If it does, that's my preference. I've spent far too many recent nights trying to sleep on moving stages, or else curled on a rough pallet in the corner of some depot. I want sheets and a pillow if I can get them.”

“Oh, you can get those at the hotel, but there are other considerations,” LeMond said. “I'll let you discover them, and if you pick the livery stable instead, it won't be hard to find.”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but I'm sure I'll choose a pillow and sheets over straw,” McLendon said. “However, I'll ask a favor of you. Should you encounter Miss Gabrielle before I do, could you please not mention me? I hope to surprise her tomorrow.”

“Glad to oblige,” LeMond said. “I expect to call on her and her father at their store quite early in the morning. They have to be open by dawn; that's when the prospectors begin their treks out of town in search of color, and most stop by the store to buy their necessaries for the day. I'll be done there by nine, and ready to board the stage for Florence. It usually departs about ten. Perhaps if your visit with Miss Gabrielle is concluded promptly, you'll be joining me on the return journey?”

“I think not,” McLendon said. “I expect I'll have some things to arrange.”

“Well, fine,” LeMond mumbled, and looked down at his hands. “Arrangements can be confounding. I wish you well.”

McLendon, adept at interpreting gestures and tone, wondered why the man seemed doubtful.

•   •   •

T
HE BATTERED LITTLE STAGE
rocked along; after another half hour the ride again leveled out. McLendon tugged the curtain aside to peer out the window and was startled to see, about a half mile in the distance, two armed riders seemingly trailing the stage.

“There may be bandits,” he said to LeMond, who leaned over him to look.

“No, those are Culloden vaqueros,” the drummer said. “They're out on patrol. Nothing coming into or out of the valley escapes their scrutiny. Say, put your face right out and look straight ahead, just below the Pinals. You may have to squint a bit.”

McLendon craned his head out the window and blinked against the blowing dust. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and stared until his eyes burned and watered.

“Nothing,” he called in to LeMond.

“Study the base of the mountains, not the mountains themselves,” the salesman said, and McLendon tried. After several moments he noticed what appeared to be smudges at the far end of the valley. These gradually came into sharper focus: a few very low buildings, lighter in color than the bloody Pinals, and also flapping shapes that he recognized as tents. McLendon kept staring, waiting for the actual town to come into view, something considerably more substantial than what he'd seen so far. When nothing did, he sat back in the carriage and wiped his eyes, which ached from the strain.

“There are some outskirts, but I failed to sight the town,” he said. “There must be another rise or two remaining for us to climb.”

LeMond chuckled. “No, what you saw is what there is. That's all of it. That's Glorious.”

T
he Florence stage didn't clatter into the main street of Glorious because there was no formal street there. Instead, the town began with a few dozen tents and lean-tos gathered in a haphazard clump, and then came a dozen adobe buildings and one large wooden structure whose second story was topped by loosely cinched canvas rather than an actual roof. A few of the adobe buildings were whitewashed. The others were dull brown. There was also a shack atop a hill fifty yards from the rest of town. It seemed to be constructed from slabs of wooden packing cases. The driver eased the stage past the tents and most of the buildings before reining in the mule team in front of a structure identified as Pugh Livery by a sign swaying in the stiff breeze.

“Here we are,” LeMond announced to McLendon. “Climb out and look around. As you can see, it won't take long.”

McLendon disembarked, rolling his shoulders and neck. His entire body felt battered from the daylong ride. A small smiling man with a mustache curled at the tips emerged from the livery building
and waved to the stage and wagon drivers. “Welcome, boys!” he called. “Good trip, was it?” He clapped LeMond on the back, said it was fine to see him again, and then extended his hand to McLendon. “Bob Pugh,” he said. “Always glad to meet a newcomer to our town. Hope you like it enough to stay or at least return often to do business. Call on me if I can be of help.”

“Kind of you,” replied McLendon. He shook Pugh's hand and looked past him at the windswept, dismal little settlement. Except for a few ragged men slouching around the tent area, no one else besides Pugh and the arrivals from Florence seemed to be stirring. To the west there was nothing but the hulking silhouette of Picket Post Mountain. To the north was a steep hill that fed into the jagged mountain range, and after a few level miles there were also mountains to the south. Directly east of town was the steepest sheer cliff that McLendon had ever seen, like some stark monstrosity in a particularly disturbing nightmare. The cliff would have dwarfed a sizable city beneath it, and Glorious was only a speck of a town.

Pugh helped the stage crew and wagon driver unhitch their teams. LeMond said to McLendon, “Well, I'll drop off my bag and sample case at the livery office, then repair to the saloon for refreshment. Care to join me?”

“There's really a saloon?” McLendon asked. “Here?” Despite the sloshing barrels he had seen loaded back in Florence, he found it hard to believe that such a ratty place as Glorious had amenities.

“Of course,” LeMond assured him. “Where there's prospectors, there's whiskey. It's right over there.” He pointed to a sprawling, squat adobe building next to the canvas-covered wooden structure. There was a hand-lettered sign out front:
OWAYSIS
. “Crazy George, the owner, can't spell worth a damn, but he serves an honest drink at a reasonable price. George even has girls there if you're of a mind for
that sort of sport. On the other side of the Owaysis is the Elite Hotel, which as you can see still has the top floor unfinished. Major Mulkins will rent you a room if you're set on staying there, but haggle with him on the price. He's money-mad, though inoffensively, if such a thing is possible. The Chinese laundry is between the hotel and the tents, fast and efficient service offered by the yellow folk who run it. Across from us is the jail. Just a little place with two cells, I believe. Next to the livery right here is the farrier's, and then the place where he lives with his wife, and adjacent to them is the Tirritos' dry goods store. The shack you see up the hill, the one made of scrap wood, belongs to one of the prospectors, who's a mean-spirited loner. His name is Turner, and it's a challenge to make him converse, even a single word. And that covers everything. See you soon in the saloon, perhaps? The first drink's on me.”

“I think I'd rather a bath and a meal,” McLendon said, “assuming that these can be had in Glorious.”

“Major Mulkins will offer both,” LeMond said. “Remember to negotiate. And also remember that the return stage to Florence departs at ten tomorrow morning. If you like, I can ask the driver to linger just a little longer in case you complete your business with Miss Gabrielle quicker than expected. Since you don't wish to encounter her now, I'd suggest that you step lively to the hotel. After their teams are installed in Bob Pugh's corral, the stage and wagon drivers will start unloading supplies for the Tirritos' store, and the lady and her father will come out to assist them.”

“I'll be on my way to the hotel, then,” McLendon said. “Thanks for all your courtesy, and don't concern yourself with having the driver wait tomorrow.” He shook LeMond's hand, picked up his valise, and walked twenty dusty yards to the self-styled Elite, which, to his surprise, did not seem entirely undeserving of the name. In contrast to
the mud-colored adobe buildings that made up much of Glorious, the Elite was constructed of fine wood planks, all smoothly cut and varnished. There were stairs up to a wide front door, and McLendon stepped inside to a lobby where a man stood up from behind a desk and introduced himself as “Major Mulkins, proprietor.” Mulkins wore a suit and cravat. His red beard was neatly trimmed, and he was the first person McLendon had seen since Tucson who wasn't covered with a layer of dust.

“Would you want a room for the night, sir?” Mulkins inquired. “We have a fine selection still available. Since I anticipate a late rush of new guests, I advise you to make your selection promptly.”

McLendon couldn't help grinning. “Are other stages expected to arrive in town this evening? I hadn't realized that Glorious was situated at a busy travel crossroads.”

Mulkins grinned too. “The number of daily visitors varies. Meanwhile, here you are, in need of first-class accommodation. Our rooms suit every budget. Though I perceive that you're too much the gentleman for the least of the selections, I'll mention that a place upstairs with canvas rather than a wood-and-shingle roof overhead goes for a mere six bits. There are actually those who tell me that they prefer our upstairs rooms, what with fresh air being that much more present under the canvas. Downstairs rooms are a dollar fifty, much snugger and with dust swept out daily. I'd suggest that you spring for one of the three first-class rooms with real glass windows; they'll allow you to enjoy a view of our ruggedly beautiful surroundings. Two dollars, and a bargain at the price.”

“It'll soon be dark, so there will be nothing to see,” McLendon said. “Four bits extra for a window of such little use seems steep.”

“The windows furnish ambience,” Mulkins said. “A bit of sophistication out here in the wilds. There are no glass windows to be found
anywhere else in town. It cost a fortune to have the panes shipped here from Tucson. Take a windowed room, sir—you'll revel in the luxury of it. Given my personal pleasure at having you as a guest, I'll ask just twenty-five cents additional, a piddling amount to invest for a night of royal comfort.”

McLendon laughed and agreed. Mulkins produced a guest register and peered at McLendon's signature.

“Welcome to Glorious, Mr. McLendon,” he said. “Will your stay be extended? Shall I reserve this fine room for a week, or perhaps even longer?”

“It's hard to say,” McLendon replied. “Let me take it for tonight, and tomorrow we may discuss an additional reservation. Though should that be the case, I'd hope that the rate might be adjusted accordingly.”

Mulkins led McLendon down a hall to a room that contained a bed on a wood frame, a dresser with four drawers, and the promised window that, in the late afternoon, offered a view of the Owaysis saloon. There were candles, a pitcher, a basin and a small hand towel on top of the dresser, and lace curtains on the window.

“Is a bath possible?” McLendon asked. “I've got nearly a month's worth of travel dirt stuck to my skin.”

“I'll have a tin tub in your room promptly,” Mulkins said. “A dime for its use, of course. And I'll get water boiling on the stove out back, another nickel for the water. Soap's a dime, too, but it's delightful soap, scented with rosewater. A drummer brought a supply of bars to the dry goods store here about a month back, and they've proven very popular with my guests. And of course you'll be wanting a bath towel—a mere penny for its use, seeing as you're in my finest room.”

McLendon calculated. “So you're charging me twenty-six additional cents to bathe?”

“I forgot the dime for the firewood,” Mulkins said. “It's a total of thirty-six cents in all. I have to go out and cut the wood in the mornings; the dime is to compensate me for that time and effort. You're getting quite the bargain. Visiting a hoity-toity bathhouse in Tucson would set you back fifty cents.”

“Will you also charge for the air that I breathe as I bathe?”

“Oh, no. Air is free at the Elite Hotel.”

Despite the additional expense, McLendon enjoyed his bath. The water Mulkins brought to the room was steaming hot, and the soap did smell delightful. William Clark LeMond hawked a splendid product. McLendon lingered in the tub, washing his hair and using scissors and a small handheld mirror from his valise to trim his dark hair and beard. Feeling refreshed, he dried himself with the bath towel provided by the Major, then put on his good suit. As he had feared, it was somewhat wrinkled, but any smells acquired from dirty clothes packed around it were offset by the strong scent of roses that still clung to McLendon's skin thanks to the perfumed soap. By the time he'd smacked as much of the dust as he could from his hat and made his way back to the hotel lobby, it was fully dark. Mulkins sat behind the desk, scribbling in a ledger by the light of a kerosene lamp.

“Your bath has worked wonders, Mr. McLendon,” he said. “In your new attire you're every inch the gentleman. It's such a privilege to have a guest of your quality in my hotel.”

“Are there currently any other guests, Major?” McLendon asked. “If so, I fail to discern them.”

“This may be a night of late arrivals,” Mulkins said. “If you've already retired, I'll caution them to step quietly so as not to disturb you. Meanwhile, what services may I offer you further?”

“Having suffered through so many indigestible stage depot meals,
I long for a decent supper,” McLendon said. “Perhaps you might suggest a place where I could eat?”

“There's only one actual dining establishment in Glorious, and it's here, of course,” Mulkins said. “The dining room is down the corridor to your right. At some point I intend to employ a fine chef, but for now I handle the cooking. Let me get you seated, and I'll see to your meal.”

Mulkins led McLendon to a room lit with several kerosene lanterns, which emitted yellow, smoky light. “The wicks need trimming,” Mulkins said. “If it's all the same, I'll deal with that tomorrow.”

“You're the complete hotel staff, then?” McLendon asked.

“Not entirely. There's a Mexican woman from the ranch across the creek who comes in to sweep every morning, and she also changes the sheets on such beds as have been used on the night previous. As the town grows and visitors become more numerous, I intend to employ courteous professional staff who will pamper my guests at every turn. For now, I'm honored to be at your beck and call.” Mulkins ushered McLendon to one of five tables. No one else was there. “Are you ready to eat? The stew is warming in the kitchen.”

“Is that the extent of the menu? I had in mind something grander.”

“It's very good stew,” Mulkins said defensively. “It contains sizable hunks of beefsteak and substantial portions of carrot and potato. The vegetables were picked fresh today in the Chink camp by the creek. Potatoes are scarce in this area; most of the ground is too warm for proper planting. The yellows somehow manage it, so this delicacy is available from our kitchen. Though if you prefer, I could instead give you bacon and biscuits. The stew is two bits, bacon and biscuits a dime. I heartily recommend the stew.”

“If it contains vegetables, I'll gladly have it,” McLendon said.

“With what will you wash it down? I have coffee, tea, or water. If you prefer beer or stronger spirits with your meal, I can send over to the Owaysis.”

“Coffee, I believe,” said McLendon. “How much additional will that set me back?”

“Not a cent more,” Mulkins said indignantly. “This is a class establishment. So long as I don't have to buy it on the spot from Crazy George, the beverage is included with the meal. And now I'll fetch your supper.”

Besides the three guest rooms, the Elite also had glass windows—large, impressive ones—in its lobby and dining room. As he waited for his supper to be served, McLendon stared out the dining room window. It was very dark and there were no streetlamps, so he couldn't see much, mostly the campfires in the tent area and flickering candlelight behind oilcloth curtains in some of the adobe buildings. These curtains were pulled tight over openings cut into the walls. Besides Major Mulkins, nobody else in Glorious seemed able to afford window glass. McLendon wondered what Gabrielle was doing—probably fixing supper for herself and her father. Perhaps tomorrow night he'd share their evening meal.

Mulkins, now wearing an apron over his suit, placed a bowl of stew and a cup of coffee on McLendon's table, cheerfully wished him a mispronounced but sincere “Bone appetite,” and left him to eat. As the captain promised, it was very good stew. McLendon especially savored the vegetables. The coffee tasted fine, too, and was a definite improvement over the sour sludge he'd been choking down at the stage depots.

A few other diners drifted in, prospectors by the look of their patched, dusty clothes. Mulkins greeted them warmly and made jokes about the heat. The newcomers looked exhausted. McLendon
noticed that they all chose bacon and biscuits over the pricier stew. He guessed that they probably could ill afford a hotel meal, but were so worn-out from their day's sweaty labor that they had no energy left to cook for themselves over a campfire.