A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
"You are as gracious as you are beautiful, Miss Caroline," Roland said, lifting his mug in a salute before setting it down again.
And if any more serious affront is ever offered you, rest assured I'll fight to be first in line to address the offender in question."
He relaxed now, knowing he'd not earned any lasting ire nor made any ill-afforded enemies. He did not need to have known Caroline long to sense that she was probably well-liked by the local citizenry. Indeed, how could it be otherwise?
"I wonder, Miss Caroline, if you might consent to share anything about the business-owners in town? I hope to take my place among them, soon. I would be deeply grateful of any intelligence that might help me avoid a misstep in my dealings with the local elite."
He took another sip of his beer and eyed her with evident curiosity. But then a part of him worried she might take further offense if she concluded he was calling her a gossip.
Setting down the mug again, he added hastily, "Of course, I inquire only after things these folk might want known about themselves."
"And if any more serious affront is ever offered you, rest assured I'll fight to be first in line to address the offender in question."
'Awww, hon, that's nice of you ta offer but see that man behind the bar. That's Ralph and he's not just a bartender, he is the bouncer too. And after he had to make a few examples of the a few who tried to take advantage of me....well, no one wants to deal with Ralph anymore. If you catch my drift?" Caroline explained.
"I wonder, Miss Caroline, if you might consent to share anything about the business-owners in town? I hope to take my place among them, soon. I would be deeply grateful of any intelligence that might help me avoid a misstep in my dealings with the local elite."
Setting down the mug again, he added hastily, "Of course, I inquire only after things these folk might want known about themselves."
"Ahhh, makes sense," she nodded but then shrugged, "But I should tell you I am not one who has much dealing with ...local elites. The better class a folks in this town look down on me for bein' saloon trash. I get their dirty looks when I take walks down the boardwalk. I am not welcome at Sunday services. I'm used to it though, it's a part of bein' what I am as much as who I am."
"That said, I do know lots of people and places. Well..............lemme think. Oh the bank, well they'll take anyone's money of course. It was almost robbed once but the fools who tried it are in the cemetery now. I believe the man who runs it, Mr. Wentworth, is trustworthy enough, heard no complaints about him. A relative of his Matt Wentworth owns the hotel. Like I said, too expensive for my tastes, but he seems like a nice enough fellow."
"We got a nice diner....oh and their baked goods .......ta die for. I admit I go there just ta get a slice of some of their pies. It's owned by a woman, Emeline Pike. But she's on a long trip with her new husband, who is...or at least used ta be a deputy here. Right now a very young gal is managing it. Daughter of a dirt farmer out west a town. She's newly married and she's carryin' a child. Important thing is food's good and prices cheap."
"Oh we got us a newspaper. You might want to go there and take out an ad for this new business of yers.....by the way, what sorta business you fixin' on runnin' if I might ask?"
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland turned his head to regard the burly fellow tending the bar. Tall, well-muscled, and with a well-kept but manly beard that almost seemed capable of getting the job done all on its own.
"Well," Roland acknowledged, nodding his head in a gesture of respect towards this 'Ralph,' "I shan't infringe upon the purview of a man who already does the job well."
Returning his attention to the lovely Caroline, he listened avidly to the notes she gave.
Saloon workers were despised, here? Interesting. The social order was confusing to him. He'd just ridden with a woman who ran a wagon. Was that rated higher or lower than Saloon employees, he wondered?
The Wentworth family must be a powerful one, with the Hotel and Bank both coming under the same surname. Apparently, their concern was with cash, not reputation.
A woman owned a local dining spot despite being married? Interesting. Emeline Pike. He wondered if her ownership of the diner would continue after the honeymoon. He did not know if women were permitted to retain their property after marriage in this country, or whether it reverted to the control of their spouses. At the moment, it seemed a young farmer's daughter was running the shop.
He also noted that the town deputy was away on this same honeymoon, and there seemed to be some doubt as to whether he would be resuming that position. Roland wondered what the duties of a deputy were like in a town like this. Perhaps it was something one could do part-time to earn extra money.
A newspaper! A connection to civilization and one's fellow man. Or woman. He did indeed need to think about raising an advert once he got his equipment settled in.
"Do you know the newspaper owner," he asked, before answering the question she'd laid upon him.
"I am a custom gunmaker, Miss Caroline. Late of London, I apprenticed at a shop which hand-fitted guns to order. Different calibers, actions, barrel arrangements. Plain, or more often with detailed custom engraving. Mostly for those officers and gentlemen interested in Indian or African adventure.
Here, I imagine a broader clientele with a wider array of needs. I brought some Beaumont-Adams revolvers with me, and some Martini-Henry rifles. Trade-ins from British clients.
I believe before long I'll acquire some Colts, Smith and Wessons, Remingtons, Winchesters, and Spencer Rifles. Not everyone wants a custom gun made, after all. Some customers will prefer a lightly used and well-maintained firearm for mundane purposes, provided by a seller they can trust. I intend to have stock to cover all potential needs within a year's time."
His eyes lit up as he discussed his plans. Roland was vulnerable to the egoism of most men. He liked talking about himself and his interests.
"Say, why don't we share two bowls of that excellent stew you alluded to? And if you like, I can tell you about the Lancaster oval rifling system. I'm hoping to make it popular here in the States..."
It was evident that, if allowed to do so, he could fill the night with such talk.
Infringing on Ralph's purview? She was not sure what that meant but it sounded harmless enough. She refrained from comment lest she expose her ignorance further. And instead tried her best to help him learn more about the town and businesses here in this leafy burg. When she got to the newspaper he did have a question.
"Do you know the newspaper owner."
"As in friends, hardly," she chuckled, "But I've talked to him enough and he even visited the saloon once. Now Mr. Phineas McVay is a mite quick on the trigger as far as printing local business stories if you know what I mean? I got mad at 'im a few times and paid a visit to his office to protest. Got a couple retractions even. So I will give the man credit, he can be persuaded to change his views."
I am a custom gunmaker, Miss Caroline. Late of London, I apprenticed at a shop which hand-fitted guns to order. Different calibers, actions, barrel arrangements. Plain, or more often with detailed custom engraving. Mostly for those officers and gentlemen interested in Indian or African adventure."
Caroline grinned, "Hope yer not expectin' a lot of customers for African adventures out here?"
He then went on to launch into his plans for the place. Well, in his favor, Caroline figured guns were so common and often necessary that he should do well providing he was competent and charged fair prices. She already judged him competent and she prided himself on being a good judge of character.
"Oh I got me a gun," she suddenly interjected and reached under the table, squirming around just a bit. She then brought up a derringer, no doubt from it's hidden place within that voluminous dress of hers. She set it down on the table.
"Nothing fancy but in my line a work ya never know what might happen," she pointed out, "Careful it's loaded." Like she needed to warn a gun expert.
After the weapon was discussed he had an idea.
"Say, why don't we share two bowls of that excellent stew you alluded to? And if you like, I can tell you about the Lancaster oval rifling system. I'm hoping to make it popular here in the States..."
"Sure, but only til I finish my bowl then. I gotta make the rounds ya see with other customers. Part of the job ya know," she smiled.
"Oh and all this palavering is thirsty work, will you buy me another drink too?" Caroline never forgot another important facet to the job, getting customers to spend money, such as buying her drinks. Most menfolk didn't seem to mind.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Phineas Mcvay.
Hmm. Prone to writing unsavory articles about local businesses, eh? Roland would have to be sure to always keep an ad running in his paper, lest he be tempted to write something salacious and dishonest about him. Or worse- salacious and honest.
Indeed... that would be far worse.
Roland laughed when she made her comment about western frontier big game hunters. "I imagine few Americans here have an interest in the African Safaris or riding in a tall Howdah in India. But I do hear a bit about Buffalo hunting from time to time..." Buffalo rifles must be big-bore beasts. Perhaps there was some overlap?
When she mentioned a gun of her own and began rummaging inside her dress, he had to work hard not to look as interested as he was. And that interest wasn't even half to see what firearm she might produce.
Though when she finally did withdraw the weapon, he had to wonder if just everyone was armed out here? He'd had his own fracas in getting to town. But were things so bad that even a professional woman in a guarded Saloon needed to have some lead to throw about the place?
He recalled that savage beating he'd observed seven towns ago, where one saloon patron beat another half-to-death using his mug of beer as a bludgeon.
Yes... perhaps everyone did have cause to go heeled on the frontier.
"Ah. A Remington Double Derringer. 41 Rimfire, unless I miss my guess. Manufactured in New York under Elliot's patent, I believe..." He leaned close to the firearm but did not actually pick it up. The 'Derringer' style firearms were sometimes derided, but these sorts tended to be large-caliber weapons. Deadly as sin within the span of five paces. Its heavy, slow-moving slug likely to stick itself in a chest or belly and push all of its deadly energy into the target. The Remington was a good model on account of its second barrel... in case the first didn't make the point sufficiently well.
"Better than the Philadelphia Sharps, which tend towards anemic calibers. A fair firearm for saloon work. I approve of your choice.
Though I have known the hammers on these to be a bit stiff, as well as the triggers. A good quality to avoid an accidental discharge... But possibly disconcerting in a crisis."
He sat up straight again and nodded, "If the desire moves you, I'd be happy to adjust the hammer and trigger for a lighter touch. On the house, even, if you'll spread the good word about my shop. Assuming you like the result, of course."
When she mentioned that she'd have to soon circulate to other customers, he held up a hand. "I would not dream of keeping you from your appointed rounds. I shall enjoy you for as long as I can have you, and then remember you fondly when we part."
He nodded his assent when she mentioned another drink. "Of course. Have two, even, if it pleases you. We must keep the stew warm in your belly, after all."
He dared a wink to accompany his grin.
Caroline shrugged, "Menfolk tell me most of the buffalo are gone now. Hunted out. Big market for buffalo tongues back east or so I hear tell. I never tried one and no desire to now either."
Well, he knew her gun alright, more about it in fact than she did. Not that she cared about guns other than hopefully this one would work if she needed it to. He did approve of her choice of weapons though, that was nice to hear.
He sat up straight again and nodded, "If the desire moves you, I'd be happy to adjust the hammer and trigger for a lighter touch. On the house, even, if you'll spread the good word about my shop. Assuming you like the result, of course."
"Oh? Well, I guess that'd be nice but wouldn't it make it more likely to go off accidentally then? Like while it's in my dress or when I struggling to pull it out? I can the local paper headline now "Saloon girl shoots self"," she grinned.
He wanted a bowl of stew though so she needed to get on that, he was a customer afterall. She rose from the table, taking the shot glass with her.
"Be right back then with the stew. And my drink, thank ya," she nodded with a pleasant smile.
As she headed for the back of the saloon, one of the customers stopped her with a light tug on her dress and there was a quick but friendly exchange that had both parties chuckling. Then she disappeared into the back. However she soon returned carrying a tray with two clay bowls and a full shot glass. Oh and another beer too.
"Here we go. Yer in for a treat, Mr. Smith. First time I tasted this stew, I thought I was in heaven. Come ta think of it, given my life probably the closest I ever will get to the Pearly gates," she remarked good naturedly.
"Beer's on the house since it's your first visit to our fine establishment," she informed him.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland deflated slightly at the news that the Buffalo were becoming scarce. It meant there probably wouldn't be much of a call for big game rifles here, which had been a major focus of his rifle manufacture in the past. But perhaps there were other avenues he could explore. He'd heard that duck hunting was a celebrated pastime for the Yanks, never mind a source of food for some families. Oval rifling could be a good fit for that, as well as the hunting of other small-game. The oval rifling didn't ruin shot patterns the way cut rifling could.
Perhaps guns in .45 Colt, which could also chamber the recently introduced .410 gauge, might be an item here...
When Caroline expressed concern over a self-injury with the Derringer, and produced a hypothetical headline, he chuckled softly.
"Well, the truth is most things which make a gun mechanically easier to use will also make it easier to use carelessly. But of course, the lock-work has an inherent safety: If you don't cock it, it won't fire. And so if you can restrain yourself against cocking it until it is free from your frills," he glanced at the folds of her dress, "then the only danger of misfire is to other souls after you get it out."
He shrugged, "That having been said, you should never make a change to a gun that will make you feel less secure with it. So you may pass the offer by if it worries you in the least, and not be judged for it as anything other than a careful and responsible person."
He'd leave it up to her to decide, and not pressure one way or the other.
Roland nodded his appreciation for the kind gesture of the Beer, and then tucked into the locally famous stew.
Savoring the first mouthful, he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before declaring, "Whatever aspersions any misguided soul in this town ever casts upon you, Caroline, let them never suggest you are a liar. This stew is uncommonly good in its quality of flavor."
It was a welcome hot meal after a long day of travels. Whether it was truly as good as it seemed, or he was merely very hungry, he did not know. Nor did he care. He ate with the grateful vigor of a starving man, just barely remembering his table manners.
The man did then point out the gun would not fire with the safety on regardless. Good point! Caroline was less than experienced with firearms and uncomfortable with them on top of it. But it was a necessity in her job, she truly believed.
He shrugged, "That having been said, you should never make a change to a gun that will make you feel less secure with it. So you may pass the offer by if it worries you in the least, and not be judged for it as anything other than a careful and responsible person."
"No, I shall take you up on it, I believe. Just one other question - how long will it take? I have to admit, I feel naked without it. No cracks please," Caroline grinned.
Being a saloon girl, actually she did not mind such wisecracks from male customers.
He then tried the stew and sure enough, he liked it. Liked it a lot and he proved it by tucking into it with enthusiasm. Caroline took her time with her own bowl, for one thing when she was done eating she had to then go make further rounds on the floor and mingle. And for now, this English fellow was the most interesting man in the room.
"You know I didn't get to finish telling you all about the town and it's businesses n' people. Oh and I shouldn't forget the dark cloud over this whole community. We got us two big ranches outside of town - Evergreen and Lost Lake. And the principals involved hate each other's guts. Everyone is just waiting for an all out range war to start any time now. Already a few men on both sides been killed. It's comin'....you can bet money it, it's comin'."
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland smiled at mention of Caroline feeling naked. He wasn't nearly old enough yet that he could fail to take amusement at that notion. But he was too polite to acknowledge it out loud, and she quickly lamp-shaded the comment as though to de-fuse any such notions.
"It would be the work of a handful of hours," he said, considering the modifications in question. Careful filing of certain parts, and perhaps the replacement of a spring. He took another spoonful of the stew and chewed it over before suggesting, "Bring it by one morning before your saloon opens, or on your day off. I think I can manage it in a quarter of a day, especially as I haven't got any other jobs taking up my time currently. Rest assured, I would never leave you in such a delicate condition." Okay, so perhaps he hadn't been able to completely resist.
"If for any reason I don't finish it before you need to meet your public, I have a Budding Pepperbox a chap traded in back home for five pounds off of his campaigning pistol. You could borrow that."
His father's shop was a high-end custom gunmaking establishment which did not typically sell other people's guns. But sometimes it had been good business to accept a trade-in. When a Captain's cash-strapped nephew needed a discount, a traded-in weapon was as good a pretense as any to grant it. It kept the Captain from being upset that his family hadn't been favored. It prevented the boy from losing honor by leaning too publicly on his family name. It gave the shop something of value that was at least in their bailiwick. And it ensured a favorable impression with the lad in question. Something essential, for nepotism was rife in the army. After a few years the nephew's fortunes would have improved, and he'd be recommending a Lancaster to all of his fellow officers.
When Roland had absconded with Thorn's machining some few months ago, he had also come away with a small number of these trade-ins. Worth little to Thorn or his father, but quite valuable to Roland out here in the States... At least until he could build up a native stock.
But then Caroline brought up a piece of local news that was somewhat alarming. A range war? Was that a thing? Did ranchers muster armies against each other like the petty kings of Old England? Perhaps they were America's brand of nobility. Born not of blood, but of business.
Well, as much as such a conflict might bring business, he did not like the idea of such violence between presumed gentlemen.
"What is the source of such a conflict? Property border disputes?"
"Well, I don't work on a Sunday, but then if yer a religious man, why should you have ta work then?" Caroline answered.
"Maybe I can drop it off early in the mornin' if I can manage to get outta bed," she grinned, "then pick it up before my evenin' begins."
The subject moved on to the saloon girl continuing to appraise the newcomer about some of the important Kalispell matters he should know or at least be alerted to so he doesn't do something in ignorance. And that was the tension between Evergreen and Lost Lake. And soon to happen range war.
"What is the source of such a conflict? Property border disputes?"
"Yeah, of course. But it's more than that. You know how it can often work? Blood feuds, revenge, one death brings on more. Now me, I don't much like Steelgraves who own the Evergreen place. Most townsfolk don't. Nasty bunch other than Steelgrave's daughter I believe. She's working hard on getting a hospital built here in town. She's also on the outs with her father. Not sure on the details though.Mr. McVay, now he could tell ya more I'm betting."
"One of the Lost Lake owners I believe, he killed three Evergreen hands in a gun battle outside of town. Wounded another, who happens ta be a friend of mine. But he got smart and he quit that place, got himself a decent job now. Evergreen just hired some more gunmen ta replace those," she shrugged.
"Oh and then another friend of mine, a bounty hunter at that, he stopped by in town for a stay, and he killed an Evergreen jasper too, right out on the boardwalk. Not really about the range war though, more like settlin' up a debt from the War....you know, the late unpleasantness we had between North and South.," she added.