Calamity Jane 7, page 9
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Town Marshal Tune Collier inquired, swinging around to look about him.
‘I’m running scared’s how the mayor’s just called you in to say it don’t need even two of us to run the law hereabouts no more,’ the deputy explained, now sounding morose and close to petulant. ‘Which being, seeing’s how you out-rank poor lil ole me, I know who’ll get to stay on, and I’m way too blasted old to start looking for honest work at my time of life.’
‘Huh!’ grunted the senior municipal peace officer of Tennyson, Sand County, Texas, his manner seemingly disdainful. ‘I’ve never known the time when you wasn’t too blasted old for work of any kind.’
Just over six foot tall, Collier was a well set up and powerful figure of a man. Nor had forty-five years of life in the Lone Star State, twenty-four of which had been spent as a peace officer in various places, brought more than a tinge of grey to the temples of his brown hair. There was a suggestion of underlying humor about his tanned, clean shaven and ruggedly handsome features. He was wearing a low crowned, wide brimmed, tan J.B. Stetson hat, an unfastened grey jacket over a dark blue shirt with a black string bow tie, matching trousers and low heeled riding boots. The gunbelt around a waist which was more slender than the spread of his shoulders, albeit not quite so much as in his youth, carried a rosewood handled Remington New Army Model of 1863 revolver at the left side in a cross draw holster. Rig and weapon were well maintained, clearly having seen considerable use.
Medium in height, stocky, white haired, walrus mustache and leathery featured, the deputy was equally a product of the Texas range country. In fact, if it had not been for two things, he could have passed for a not too affluent elderly cowhand. A silver badge of office glinted on the left breast of his black and white calfskin vest, indicating his true status. This was also implied by the short barreled ten gauge shotgun resting with apparent negligence across the crook of his bent left arm and augmenting the walnut handled Colt 1860 Army Model revolver in the open topped holster of his Confederate States’ Cavalry style gunbelt. Appearances notwithstanding, regardless of his having long since passed the first flush of youth, he was still competent at his duties. More than one celebrating cowhand had discovered it did not pay to try to hooraw him, but this did not stop the majority of them liking and according him a respect similar to that given to his superior.
At that moment, all in all, Collier was feeling at peace with the world. Even if it had been intended seriously, he knew there was no justification for the concern expressed by his companion.
Due mainly to the presence and personality of the woman known only as ‘Madam Bulldog’ to everybody with the exception of Lawyer Aloysius P. Scrope (although the marshal was one of the very few residents accorded the privilege of calling her ‘Charlie’ in private) Tennyson had been growing steadily over the past six months. As was invariably the case when a town could boast of a resident who became a celebrity, as she had done, the presence of the Hide and Horn Saloon’s latest owner had had an advantageous effect upon the financial prospects of the population as a whole. Wanting to see her at first hand and discover whether all they heard regarding her various accomplishments—such as skill with a gun, at fist fighting, playing poker, cursing and the ability to drink under the table even the most hardened toper—were true, numerous men had considered it would be worthwhile to visit her establishment. Travelling specifically for this purpose, many had settled upon the town as a rendezvous with business associates. This, in turn, had brought in trade which otherwise would have gone elsewhere and added to the profits accrued by the local residents.
In addition to the interest aroused by Madam personally, there had developed a further lucrative source of revenue for the town as a result of one of her activities. Although less well known outside gambling circles than Poker Alice or Madame Moustache, xiii she was accepted as an associate and skillful opponent by gamblers who played for big money. Shortly after her arrival, poker games with stakes rivalling those of the ‘Big One’ at the Silverbell Saloon in Fort Worth became a regular occurrence and drew a similarly wealthy clientele. When news of this had got around, men who could not afford to participate for such big stakes still arrived to rub shoulders with the famous players, and they too had spent money with the local businesses as well as at the Hide And Horn Saloon.
An experienced peace officer, whose disenchantment with the soon to be replaced Reconstruction Administration had kept him from accepting any of the more important positions he had been offered, Collier had had mixed feelings over the benefits which had accrued from the presence of Madam Bulldog. At first, there had been trouble between her and Wanda Higgins—wife of the previous owner—who had tried to regain control of the saloon. However, when Madam had emerged victorious from the boxing match they had had and about which the citizens were still talking, this had died away without the need for action on his part. It was the increase to the transient population which was causing extra work for his office. In fact, the meeting he had just concluded with the mayor had been to discuss whether at least one more deputy marshal was required to keep the peace in the town. Having decided this might be advisable, it was also conceded there was no need for haste. The selection had been left to the marshal and he had elected to send for a man he knew to have the qualities of honesty and ability rather than appoint somebody who already lived in the vicinity for the sake of convenience.
Bringing his examination of the Square to a halt as his eyes reached the imposing front of the two story Hide And Horn Saloon, Collier gave a smile. His main source of anxiety over the expansion of the town had not given rise to any of the problems he had envisaged as a result of past experience. Regardless of the often extremely high stakes, the special poker games had not resulted in breaches of the peace. This was, he acknowledged willingly, entirely due to the strict rules and code of conduct imposed by Madam Bulldog. Furthermore, any disturbances on the premises had been handled with competent efficiency by her loyal staff. Only rarely had it been necessary for himself or his deputy to intervene.
Thinking about the precautions taken by the woman to ensure the good behavior of her customers in general and the players in the high stake poker games in particular, the marshal resumed his instinctive scrutiny of his surroundings. He quickly found something else to attract his attention.
‘Nice looking rig and saddle-hoss,’ Hoscroft commented, following the direction in which the eyes of his superior had travelled with what was clearly considerable interest. ‘And that’s one tolerable big jasper driving it.’
‘Tolerable,’ Collier conceded laconically, or so it would have seemed to a stranger, as he watched the Rockaway road coach entering the Square from the southern end of Vernon Street. Turning his gaze from the massive young man who was driver to the saddlehorse hitched at the rear of the vehicle, he went on, ‘I reckon I’ll just drift on over and say howdy, you-all.’
‘You know him?’
‘I know him!’
‘I reckon I’ve seed him afore.’
‘Not around Tennyson!’ the marshal stated, having been away on vacation on the previous occasion when the young man had paid a visit to his bailiwick.
‘Want me to come along and help you say, “Howdy, you-all”?’ the elderly deputy inquired, a long association with his superior leading him to suspect—regardless of the apparently unemotional mode of speech—that any previous acquaintance with the new arrival had not been of a pleasant nature.
‘Nope,’ Collier refused. ‘Seeing’s it’s cooled down some and you’re so eager to be seen out ’n’ about doing your duty, why don’t you go ’round to the livery barn and see if there’s anybody else new in town?’
‘Whatever you say,’ Hoscroft assented, assuming an air of long suffering patience. ‘And, while I’m down there, happen I might’s well go over to the smithy and ask Joshua Gilmore hisself should he want to take on a tired and wored out ole former deputy.’
‘Do that, happen you’re so minded,’ the marshal suggested. ‘But I’d leave it for at least a couple more days afore I’d start thinking about looking for some other work, was I you.’
‘Sounds like I ain’t going to be sent off into a hard ’n’ cruel world to work honest after all,’ the deputy claimed, satisfied the visit to the mayor had gone as his superior had planned. ‘And, anyways, I didn’t want to have to go work for Josh Gilmore. I don’t cotton a whole heap to some of the help he’s got.’
‘Go on!’ Collier drawled, despite sharing the sentiment just uttered by Hoscroft. ‘Moe Stern’s never done you any harm.’
‘Neither’s pizen ivy,’ Hoscroft countered, there having been nothing provable in a court of law against the man in question over his part in the troubles suffered by Madam Bulldog as a result of which he had had to be allowed to remain in the town. ‘But I wouldn’t chance rubbing up against none of it on that account.’
‘Your trouble is you’ve got no milk of human kindness,’ the marshal stated drily, despite duplicating his deputy’s antipathy towards Moses Stern.
‘It’s kept me alive for a fair spell,’ Hoscroft asserted, then nodded across the Square. ‘Happen you play your cards right, you could get a tip for helping that big feller tote his bags into Fortescue’s.’
‘I’ll split it with you,’ Collier promised.
‘Sure, seventy/thirty, like always,’ the deputy replied and, satisfied his assistance would not be required to deal with the newcomer, turned to stroll away.
Setting off across the Square, the marshal did not appear to be in any hurry. As he was approaching the coach it was brought to a halt in front of the two story high Fortescue Hotel, and although no discernible notice was being taken of him, he felt sure he had not been overlooked by the driver. Climbing down, with agility for all his massive bulk, the young man opened the door and held out his right hand to the beautiful and elegantly attired black haired woman inside the vehicle. She too paid no apparent attention to the peace officer’s impending arrival. Instead, descending to the sidewalk with all the imperious dignity of a duchess arriving for the opening of the Grand Opera, she stood gazing at the building with something close to disdain. Having assisted the only passenger to disembark, the young man removed the long, lightweight dust jacket he was wearing over the attire of a professional gambler. Tossing it on to the seat of the box, he began to brush off his black cutaway coat and, displaying a similar disinterest in the presence of the marshal, joined her in the scrutiny of the hotel.
‘Howdy, Cousin Jessica,’ the peace officer greeted, as he knew was required of him. ‘I wasn’t expecting to run across you and Cyrus in these parts.’
‘Why great heavens to Betsy!’ the woman ejaculated, turning towards the speaker and showing what appeared to be surprise. ‘Will you just take a look at who we have here, Trudeau. It’s Cousin Tune Collier no less!’
‘Yes, momma,’ replied the massive young driver, making an effort to conceal the irritation he always felt when a member of the family referred to him by the sobriquet based upon the name of his father and which he thoroughly detested. xiv ‘So it is!’
‘Well now, Cousin Jessica,’ Collier drawled, trying to sound more cordial than he was feeling. ‘And what brings you to Tennyson?’
‘I trust you aren’t asking in your official capacity, Cousin Tune?’ Jessica Front de Boeuf countered, her attitude very much that of a grande dame condescending to make conversation with a social inferior whom fate had caused to be distantly related to her.
‘I’m not,’ Collier asserted, although this was hardly the truth.
‘And I hope this hotel is less dreary than it looks from the outside?’ the woman went on, although the establishment had been painted and redecorated externally since she had last found accommodation there—wearing a blonde wig which she hoped would prevent her from being recognized by any member of the staff. She had noticed as she was approaching, that the Hide And Horn Saloon and the Cattlemen’s Bank had also been painted.
‘It’s the best place in town,’ the marshal stated. ‘Are you figuring on staying hereabouts for long?’
‘We may stay a while,’ Jessica answered, her manner implying she considered she was doing her kinsman and the population as a whole a favor by admitting even that much. ‘Trudeau tells me he has heard poker for worthwhile stakes is often played here, presumably in that saloon thing across the street. So he wishes to try his luck and you know me, I just dote on the dear boy too much to refuse him his simple pleasures.’
‘So I’ve always heard tell,’ Collier admitted, with more veracity than when replying to an earlier question, although some of the “pleasures” to which his massive young kinsman was addicted were rumored to be neither simple nor innocuous.
‘Would there be any objection to him playing?’ the woman challenged.
‘Objections from who?’ asked the peace officer.
‘Why from you, of course.’
‘Me?’ the marshal said, and continued speaking just a trifle more quickly than he intended. ‘Why me? It’s none of my say-so who-all’s let sit in on the games at the Hide And Horn!’
‘Perhaps not,’ Jessica replied, with a knowing smile. ‘But I’ve heard you are on quite friendly terms with the owner.’
‘Not just with her!’ Collier corrected, his manner cold. ‘I’m friendly with all the law-abiding folks in my bailiwick!’
Although Madam Bulldog and the marshal had come to be on excellent terms, this was an age long before promiscuity had become elevated by a certain very vocal type of mentality to replace genuine effort and achievement as the ultimate symbol of success. Aware that convention frowned upon a relationship which included sexual intercourse outside the bounds of wedlock, they had never allowed their association to pass beyond a warm friendship based upon mutual respect. Knowing that to do otherwise would offer a chance to those opposed to them to level charges of complicity against them, or even immorality, they had taken care to let it be seen their affiliation was no more than platonic. Nevertheless, unfounded rumors hinting at something much closer had been circulated and he was always ready to refute them.
‘My dear Cousin Tune!’ Jessica said in a placatory fashion, sensing her words had touched a nerve more sharply than was intended and, as doing so would serve her purpose better than antagonizing Collier, wanting to convey an impression of seeking to make amends. ‘I assure you that I did not wish to imply there is the slightest impropriety in your relationship with the lady owner of the saloon. I hope that I haven’t inadvertently given offence?’
‘There’s none taken,’ the peace officer claimed, showing signs of being mollified.
‘Then you won’t object to Trudeau joining the poker game?’ the woman inquired, exuding an aura of innocent hope.
Coming so quickly after the unexpected and surprisingly gracious apology, the question placed Collier on the horns of a dilemma. Although not closely related, to one raised as he had been in the Southron’s tradition of respecting family ties no matter how loosely they might be, the newly arrived mother and son were qualified to be considered as ‘kin’. Such was the reticence of Cornelia Front de Boeuf where more distant relatives were concerned, he had not heard of the wrongs done to her, and knew only that they were not liked by other members of the clan. On the other hand, while he had never received any proof—the incident at Benson City having taken place under an assumed name and gone unrecorded due to the visit by Frank Cousins’ gang—he was aware that the massive young man was suspected of using dishonest methods when gambling. Therefore, he was torn between his duty to keep the peace, a wish to avoid trouble in his bailiwick, and a reluctance to show a lack of courtesy to people who classed as his kin.
‘Like I said,’ the marshal drawled, after a moment’s thought, realizing the owner of the saloon was probably even better informed than himself regarding the activities of Trudeau Front de Boeuf and, even if this was not the case, was well able to protect herself against crooked gambling. ‘That’s up to Madam Bulldog, not me. She’ll expect him to put at least two thousand dollars in the Cattlemen’s Bank as surety against his good behavior while he’s in town, and he’ll have to show proof of how much higher losses he’s good for in the game.’
‘We know the house rules,’ Jessica stated, nodding as if to indicate approval. ‘They are a most sensible precaution.’
‘Most folks reckon so,’ Collier asserted, without admitting he had reached such a conclusion when informed by Madam Bulldog of the rules she intended to enforce. ‘But the next big game’s not for two weeks.’
‘Good, that will give Trudeau plenty of time to get to know at least some of the players he will be up against,’ the woman replied. ‘So, provided the hotel proves satisfactory, we’ll stay here until it takes place. Do they have any bellboys to carry in our luggage?’
‘Sure they do,’ the marshal confirmed, just a trifle indignantly, the question having been asked in a manner which implied a negative answer was expected. Refraining from mentioning the service had only recently come into use and resulted from the flow of well-to-do clients brought to Tennyson by the presence of Madam Bulldog, he went on, ‘You’ll find a couple in the lobby, Cy … Trudeau.’
‘I’ll go and take a look, momma,’ Front de Boeuf offered, confident the disguises employed by his mother and himself during the previous visit would avoid recognition on the part of the employees in the hotel.
‘Er … I hope you don’t mind, Cousin Tune,’ Jessica remarked, in an apparently close to apologetic tone, as her son was disappearing through the front entrance of the building. ‘But Trudeau and I feel it would be best if we don’t mention you are our kin while we’re here. It might appear we were trying to capitalize upon our relationship if we should do so.’
