A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Here he was.
Kallispell.
Or was it Callispell?
He hadn't noticed the sign on the way in, and wasn't entirely sure he could trust the logography of the local population in any event.
Well, that wasn't fair.
He mentally chastised himself. His British prejudices were blinding him to the capabilities and scope of these frontiers-persons.
His remarkable, surprisingly attractive, and capable drover had managed his goods cross-country and into the freight office warehouse. There to sit until such a time as he could transfer his equipment to his soon-to-be-purchased property. If Addy wasn't an example of prowess being found where it was unexpected, what was?
Ember was safely stabled. For now, Roland only had three concerns: Get a drink. Find a bed. And visit the bank in the morning.
Would the bank be open tomorrow?
What day was it?
He had to think for a moment. The days tended to blend together whether you were on a train or a trail.
Tuesday.
It was Tuesday afternoon. Early evening, almost.
He walked up the dusty main street of town, looking at the weather-blasted buildings on either side. Many were casualties of sun, rain, snow, and wind. They looked to have survived too many seasons without a fresh coat of paint. Others were newer, suggesting the town was still expanding rather than dying out.
Still... a far cry from London.
Well, he thought to himself, it is a bit late in the day to lament your choices, now.
A sign came into view. The Stardust Saloon.
He'd murder someone for a drink.
No... he shouldn't think that way. In this frontier country, such an outcome was an actual possibility.
Carrying the one suitcase he'd taken from his belongings, he walked through the doors of the saloon. His gray suit was dustier than it had ever been. His boots finally looked like they'd been worn for more than a month. The black hat he'd bought in Wisconsin had now seen more sun and grime than the inside of a train could provide. He could almost be mistaken for someone who belonged out here.
The heavy Lancaster at his side might give him away... but how many people in this country even knew what a Howdah pistol looked like?
Entering the establishment, hefting his suitcase, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darker environs within.
As often happened, the entry of someone thru the bat wing doors into the saloon drew most eyes in that direction. A table of four card players barely paused in their game to check out the newcomer, did not recognize the fellow, and went right back to their focus on the far more important matter, their hand of cards. A heavily bearded relic leaning against the bar stared a bit longer but then lifted his beer glass for another slurp.People came and went all the time in this place, it would take quite the individual to cause a stir. This fellow did not merit it.
Caroline Mundee was in the middle of a conversation with two cowpokes and all seemed in quite a good mood, a smile on each. But then it was seldom one would catch the vivacious saloon singer/dancer not smiling. Those in the know about the place would tell you Miss Mundee was the bright light of the establishment both for her looks and personality.
"What's that all about? Is that jasper lookin' fer a room here?" chuckled the older cowboy noting the suitcase carrying stranger's entrance.
Caroline set down an empty shot glass onto the bar top and studied the newcomer for a few precious seconds. Nope, never saw this one before. Her instant assessment was someone from back East maybe.Certainly no local or cowpoke. She was in speaking and thus hearing distance so she called out to him in warm welcoming tone of voice.
"Hey there, mister! Welcome to the Star Dust. Can we get ya anything?"
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
The convention of swing doors was a novelty that Roland had yet to become fully accustomed to. It seemed to be de rigueur here in the Americas, and he'd encountered it with increasing frequency as his travels had taken him further West.
The inside of the pub... saloon... had the usual assortment of local color. Already, Roland had met all sorts of people in his stretch from the East Coast to the Midwest. The citizenry here seemed to take little notice or care about his arrival in the place, which was frankly for the best at this time. Undue attention tended to be unfavorable, more often than not. Its absence was a gift.
Finally, a young woman of very handsome features and good dress spoke to him. Roland judged she must either be the proprietress or an elegant serving maid. It was not clear to him which. He'd just been driven across country for two days by a female drover, so he wasn't prepared to make any further assumptions regarding women and what businesses they might be in charge of in this country.
Roland smiled, "Thank you, Ma'am. I fear I've had my fill of dust for the time being, but I'll gladly partake of whatever brew or ale has earned the gold star here."
He paused briefly before gesturing about vaguely with his suitcase. "Is the seating here by arrangement, or at pleasure?"
He surely had the look of a man who would be grateful to get off of his feet for a time.
"Ma'am, aww, that's sweet. Just call me Caroline, everybody else does," she turned to the two cowpokes, "Later boys. Gotta make my rounds."
They were used to how she operated and went back to their own conversation.Meanwhile she closed the distance between her and the newcomer.
"Now, we got us all kinds of drinks to wash that awful dust down. We got beer. We got all those shelves there filled with bottles of almost any liquor you can imagine. From cheap swill to some really expensive kinds, cost ya an arm and a leg," she gestured with a wave of an arm to behind the bar.
As for his question about the seating, she replied, "Everything here is by pleasure. Pick an open table, there's a lot ta choose from right now, mister.....and if you be wantin' a little company, I can join you for a while when I bring yer drink over."
Everything was said with a warm smile and flashing eyes that made folks think she was really interested in them or....a damn good actress.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"Miss Caroline," Roland removed his hat and dipped his head, "Pleasure to meet you. I am Roland. Roland Horatio Smith, late of London."
As she approached, and Roland took measure of her posture and tone, he had the sensation that she was indicating romantic interest. But people were so informal in this country, it was hard to be sure. Something that seemed salacious in England was scarcely to be remarked upon here. Particularly on the frontier, where every established societal role and behavior was turned on its head.
"Hmm," he replaced his hat on his head for lack of anywhere obvious to put it. "Perhaps I should keep my arms and legs for now. I may need them later." He approached the closest open table and set his suitcase down beside a chair before claiming it for himself.
"Beer would be fine for myself. And if you'd enjoy a chat, whatever you like that can be had for less than a dollar." There was the chance that the business model here was built around the proprietress charging for expensive drinks while she entertained guests. Roland was not one to shun the company of a beautiful woman, but neither did he wish to find himself with a back-breaking bill at the end of his stop here for refreshment.
"I don't suppose this establishment also serves meals... or has rooms to rent?"
He had been to all sorts of saloons in his short time in the country, and the amenities varied as much as the clientele.
"Homer Horatio Smith? Very well then, Mr. Smith," Caroline nodded, the first two sounded original to be his real names, the third she bet was an alias. And an Englishman? Could be the truth.......or not. What did it matter, the man was here to spend money. It was her job to see he spent it.
"Beer would be fine for myself. And if you'd enjoy a chat, whatever you like that can be had for less than a dollar."
Ahh, so this one was a smart one. He was too clever for the old trick of the saloon gal buying one of the most expensive drinks in the house. She smiled and nodded again.
"Alrighty, one beer comin' up. And one shot for me, I thank you for that, sir," actually she would have Ralph pour her from her special bottle some colored water that sure looked like whiskey. Another trick of the trade so she could remain standing after a long night of downing drinks with the menfolk.
As she turned to the bar, Ralph was already on it, it took less than a minute to pour her shotglass and fill up a mug of beer. The man had another question of sorts.
"I don't suppose this establishment also serves meals... or has rooms to rent?"
"Yes to one but not the other, Mr. Smith. We happen to serve the best stew in this whole town and that includes that fancy pants hotel down the street. Plus a whole lot cheaper. As fer rooms, nope, sorry."
"We do have that hotel I just mentioned if you can afford it. I sure as hell couldn't. Plus we got a boarding house too, the Wigfalls. If you can stand the woman of the place, she's got a personality about her that curdles milk."
Caroline then took the drinks over, set the beer in front of Mr. Smith and sat on the chair next to his, shot glass in one hand.
"Wanna do a toast, hon?" she grinned.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland smirked at her use of 'Homer.' She was clever, this one.
"Well," he half-chuckled in reply, "I suppose getting here has been something of an Odyssey."
Taking off his hat again, he placed it in one of the vacant seats beside him at the table. "I managed to get into quite a scrape at the end, but that remarkable drover-lady 'Addy' saw me through it. I must say, you Yanks build women differently here than we do in London. Barring the Queen, of course."
There was no boarding here, Caroline informed him. But a hearty stew of some description. Roland decided he'd probably eat here and board at the hotel for the night. One shallow expense and one deep expense might balance out to something his pocketbook could better fathom. Once he paid for his property and took possession, he'd have precious few spare dollars to burn.
As she rejoined him, he quickly picked up his deposited hat from one chair to place in another, accommodating her seeming desire to sit intimately close. Was this a game she played on all the customers, or just the Englishmen? Probably all of them, and she was charming and handsome enough so that they wouldn't mind it.
He certainly didn't.
"A toast?" He lifted up his mug. "Shall we drink to your Centennial? Or to your well-built women?"
Hmm. This place was already having its way with him.
Well," he half-chuckled in reply, "I suppose getting here has been something of an Odyssey."
Caroline smiled but she did not get that line. Actually rather than allude to ancient Greek tales, the uneducated young woman had simply called the man by the wrong first name. She meets so many people almost all men in her line of work, that thing did happen on occasion.
Taking off his hat again, he placed it in one of the vacant seats beside him at the table. "I managed to get into quite a scrape at the end, but that remarkable drover-lady 'Addy' saw me through it. I must say, you Yanks build women differently here than we do in London. Barring the Queen, of course."
Caroline nodded, "Me n' Addy are good friends. We had quite an adventure together not that long ago. She's tough and she's smart." As for this British Queen, the saloon girl had no clue.
Once they both had hands on drinks, Caroline gave the honor of making a toast to him.
"A toast?" He lifted up his mug. "Shall we drink to your Centennial? Or to your well-built women?"
She lifted one eyebrow, "Umm, alright hon, to our Centennial then?" They clinked glasses and she took a gulp of her whiskey.
"Say, you bein' English and all maybe that means something different over where you live but round here ...well-built kinda means thick, heavy set, ummm, stocky. I hope you aren't calling me any of those," she gently wished to point this out. A gal had her vanity afterall.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland's eyes went wide and he stopped mid-gulp when he realized he'd made a graver transgression than he'd intended.
Setting his mug down hurriedly, he pressed a hand to his mouth for a moment before shaking his head.
"I pray you'll forgive me, Miss Caroline. My comment already strained the bounds of decency for my home country. I failed to imagine the potential for more grievous interpretations."
He frowned slightly, wondering how to best salvage the moment.
"I meant well-formed, including a slender frame, but not bounded by it. Constructed well in body, mind, and spirit."
That wasn't doing a good job of repairing this. He searched his mind.
"As the poet Wilson of Islington famously wrote -
The beauties in this fallow land are wild, strong, and true. They stride the earth fiercely, slender and mighty like the yew. If ever wit is wanted, those wanting for it here are few. In a world of wondrous women, praises sung to these are due."
He cleared his throat, adding, "He wrote fancifully of the Amazons, those great beauties of Greek legend who could match a man in any endeavor. Wilson likely never imagined that he could find the match of such myths alive and well in America.
That is how I find the fairer sex here.
Not wide, Miss Caroline. But Wondrous."
He smiled at her somewhat hopefully.
It was a small town. He couldn't afford to have insulted anyone on his first day here.
Once the English jasper realized he had just said something that was less than flattering, he seemed horrified.
"I pray you'll forgive me, Miss Caroline. My comment already strained the bounds of decency for my home country. I failed to imagine the potential for more grievous interpretations."
"Gosh, you certainly have a fancy vocabulary, Mr. Smith," Caroline was bemused not angry.
"I meant well-formed, including a slender frame, but not bounded by it. Constructed well in body, mind, and spirit."
"I didn't know wimmen were built by carpenters," she chuckled.
He then mentioned somebody named Wilson of Islington and quoted a poem from memory. Pretty impressive not that she was into poetry.
"Afraid I never met the man," Caroline gave a shrug.
He was now going on about Amazons. She'd barely heard of 'em but thought she recalled someone once saying they weren't real?
That is how I find the fairer sex here.
Not wide, Miss Caroline. But Wondrous."
Seemed he was finally wound down? Caroline gave him a big grin and even a couple of claps of applause.
"You sure do know how to apologize, hon. Almost worth getting insulted just so one can hear the apology. But please...you did not insult me. I been called far worse. I find you to be an incredible gentleman, sir. That was most entertaining indeed."