"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Posted September 17, 2021 / Arabella Mudd
"I stroll thru town on the boardwalk all the time, quite interestin' it can be too. Don't need a square," Caroline seemed unimpressed. Chicago was a bigger city by far than this place and she found much about that place she had not cared for.
"It's true!" Arabella backed up her friend "Caroline's one o' the most experienced street walkers I know!" she nodded in confirmation. "But I'm right interested in this square thing you're proposin' Mr Priest, cause I'm real good at square dancing. How'd we go about getting one of them contraptions?"
He took a sip of liquor and then laid his hands flat on the table. "What you need is the right kind of Mayor."
"Ya mean like one who folks actually see on occasion?" Caroline chuckled.
Arabella laughed, too. "See, that's funny cause nobody ever sees him!" she explained to Hiram, just in case he didn't get it. She figured that Caroline might want to be left with the old man to work her drink-encouraging routine on him, so she jumped up with a cry of "Hey, I'll play a tune on the pianna fer you! What's your favourite tune Mr Priest? Oh, never mind, I'll do The Bonny Blue Flag!" she yelped running over to the piano and tinkling out the tune with some gusto.
"I play this to drag the Southerners in from the street when it's quiet!" she shouted across the room "And then I do the Battle Hymn of the Republic to drag in the Northerners. And then I do Dixie and they all have a fight!" she beamed, pounding the ivories.
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Posted September 18, 2021 / Hiram Priest
"I only been in town a few months and I never saw the man much less met him. As fer his virtue, reckon that is none of my business," Caroline dismissed the question with a raising of her glass for a toast.
"A Mayor's fitness for duty is every citizen's business," Judge Priest lectured through a wad of tobacco.
"You didn't say 'fitness' you said 'virtue' and frankly, hon, the jasper can go fuck goats for all I care if he can do his mayor job properly," Caroline countered.
"The Mayor" did wish to get dragged into a verbal dual with Caroline. She was entitled to her opinion and, also, why alienate a potential voter?
Of course Arabella, being Arabella, had a whole lot more to say on the subject. Caroline listened...well, she did lose the train of thought about halfway thru. Vast majority was nonsense no doubt anyway.
"I stroll thru town on the boardwalk all the time, quite interestin' it can be too. Don't need a square," Caroline seemed unimpressed. Chicago was a bigger city by far than this place and she found much about that place she had not cared for.
Priest barely shrugged. She was a contrarian, he determined.
"What you need is the right kind of Mayor."
"Ya mean like one who folks actually see on occasion?" Caroline chuckled.
"Absolutely, Miss Caroline," Hiram agreed in his most cordial way.
Arabella laughed, too. "See, that's funny cause nobody ever sees him!" she explained to Hiram, just in case he didn't get it. She figured that Caroline might want to be left with the old man to work her drink-encouraging routine on him, so she jumped up with a cry of "Hey, I'll play a tune on the pianna fer you! What's your favourite tune Mr Priest? Oh, never mind, I'll do The Bonny Blue Flag!" she yelped running over to the piano and tinkling out the tune with some gusto.
Priest laced his fingers together, ready to listen to some music instead of her persistent, inane chatter.
"I play this to drag the Southerners in from the street when it's quiet!" she shouted across the room "And then I do the Battle Hymn of the Republic to drag in the Northerners. And then I do Dixie and they all have a fight!" she beamed, pounding the ivories.
She played, and Hiram had to admit that the girl had talent. If only she'd think what she was saying before saying it.
And, as she played, he leaned toward Caroline so she could hear him over the piano.
"This saloon seems like the center of social life in this town. " He looked around. "I mean, this time of day things can be slow, but I've seen it pretty crowded most times. Do you have any competition or is this the only game in town?"
While he waited for her answer, he eyed the doors. Where the Hell was he? he wondered, and checked his pocket watch.
Posted September 20, 2021 / Caroline Mundee
Caroline made a face at Ara's choice of songs, there was really no point in riling up the customers with bringing up songs from the past bloody and bitter war. She personally made it a point to never sing 'Dixie' for example as she had strong Northern sympathies. Lincoln had come from her home state and she took it badly when he had been murdered by a southerner, an actor at that! But off went Ara to the piano.
"I play this to drag the Southerners in from the street when it's quiet!" she shouted across the room "And then I do the Battle Hymn of the Republic to drag in the Northerners. And then I do Dixie and they all have a fight!" she beamed, pounding the ivories.
Caroline rolled her eyes then pointed out to the old gent, "That's not true by the way. We'd never allow her to do that. Fights are bad for business."
"This saloon seems like the center of social life in this town. " the man looked around. "I mean, this time of day things can be slow, but I've seen it pretty crowded most times. Do you have any competition or is this the only game in town?"
"Oh we are much busier in the evenin' especially on weekends when we get more cowpokes. Miss Devereau has even considered being open on Sundays but the town folks would probably frown on disturbing the day of the Lord so so far we don't," Caroline was happy to talk about the place, it was her world afterall.
"But yeah, this is the only saloon. Kalispell is a small town and a new place opening up would have a hard time making much money. Besides they wouldn't have me for entertainment," she beamed.
Well, it might sound like bragging, but the truth was she was an excellent singer and very popular with the local menfolk.
"You want another round, hon? I could use one, all this chatting makes my mouth dry."
Address me as Hon. Hiram Priest, esq.
Posted September 20, 2021 / Hiram Priest
"Oh we are much busier in the evenin' especially on weekends when we get more cowpokes. Miss Devereau has even considered being open on Sundays but the town folks would probably frown on disturbing the day of the Lord so so far we don't," Caroline was happy to talk about the place, it was her world afterall.
Hiram nodded sagely. He'd been in many cow towns and many watering holes. This one was like so many and, because of that, he felt at home.
"But yeah, this is the only saloon. Kalispell is a small town and a new place opening up would have a hard time making much money. Besides they wouldn't have me for entertainment," she beamed.
"Seems I need to stick around a spell and hear you warble. I bet you'd outshine any of the nightingales prancing around on stage anywhere in this territory.
"You want another round, hon? I could use one, all this chatting makes my mouth dry."
Mr. Priest reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a shiny silver dollar and slapped it on the table next to Caroline. "I suspect that'll cover one for me and one for you too, and maybe one for our sarsaparilla girl."
Arabella stopped to stare at the keyboard and span her hand across a lengthy cord. It was not a long pause, just long enough for Hiram to hear foot falls from a new arrival.
Posted September 21, 2021 / Franklin Fortner
Highly varnished black boots hit the saloon floor for three steps, then halted. Their owner stood straight and confident, each hand clutching a side of his open suit coat. It was all there: silk vest of brocade, watch chain, diamond stick pin, and neat creases to his pant legs. Frank Fortner had arrived.
He stood and surveyed the interior, looking from one side to the other, and with a look on his face that seemed to ask, What wonderful things are any of you going to do for me?
Some girl was hammering away at the piano, playing to a non-existent crowd except for a table where an older man sat with someone who looked like she could put him in his grave if she bothered to offer him any of her charms.
Fortner strode to the bar and asked the barkeep, "Give me a whiskey, and don't be cheap."
Posted September 21, 2021 / Caroline Mundee
"Seems I need to stick around a spell and hear you warble. I bet you'd outshine any of the nightingales prancing around on stage anywhere in this territory," Mr. Priest seemed to be warming to her charm, Caroline was pleased to note.
"Everyone sez I got a great voice, just sayin' and I do some dancing up on that stage but to be honest think the menfolk like when I show'em some leg more so than my actual dancing," she shrugged.
"You want another round, hon? I could use one, all this chatting makes my mouth dry."
Mr. Priest reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a shiny silver dollar and slapped it on the table next to Caroline. "I suspect that'll cover one for me and one for you too, and maybe one for our sarsaparilla girl."
Caroline swept it up with a Cheshire Cat grin, "That it will, hon, that it will. Thank ya kindly. I'll go get those then."
Bout then Arabella paused in her playing just as another customer entered the place, glancing his way Caroline had to admit she hadn't seen that jasper before either. A day for strangers it seemed but hey, customers were customers.
Posted September 21, 2021 / Ralph Flandry
Ralph noticed the new arrival of course from his position behind the bar, the man practically lived behind that bar. But then he was used to it. He'd been a soldier once, during the war, and a damned good one but bartending was his career since and he was quite suited to it. The newcomer paced up to the bar then as Ralph nodded acknowledgement.
"Give me a whiskey, and don't be cheap."
"I take you mean the whiskey," Ralph replied dryly then reached for a more expensive bottle of the stuff, "Irish whiskey, genuine article, that work for ya?"
He poured a shotglass up to the brim, "Price comes dear though, that'll be a dollar."
Of course a customer could get a whole bottle of the rotgut kind for a little more than that.
Hold that critter down!
Posted September 22, 2021 / Frank Grimes
"Give me a whiskey, and don't be cheap."
"I take you mean the whiskey," Ralph replied dryly then reached for a more expensive bottle of the stuff, "Irish whiskey, genuine article, that work for ya?"
He poured a shotglass up to the brim, "Price comes dear though, that'll be a dollar."
Ralph Flandry had to be nice to all the paying customers, of course - at least those who didn't cause trouble. Those rules didn't apply to the handful of loafers, thumb-twiddlers and general miscreants who were hanging around the bar at this time of day instead of doing an honest day's work. One of them had wolf-whistled and uttered a derisive cry of "Say fellers, get a load of this city slicker!" when the well dressed Fortner had walked in.
With the unerring attraction of a bully to a weaker looking person, this same scruffy individual now approached and spoke, making sure that the other men, that he was showing off to, could hear him clearly, of course.
"Well, well, buyin' the good stuff, eh, Mr Fancy Pants? Must be more money than I thought in being a perfume salesman!" This got a laugh from the other roughs. "Or mayhaps you're one o' them French Dancing Masters like they got back East" (Grimes himself was actually from Cincinnati, hardly the Wild West) "Why don't you give us a demonstration of that there fancy dancin' Mister? And if The Reb's pianna playin' ain't music enough, I can add a little percussion of my own!"
He went for his six-shooter, obviously intending to play the oldest Western trick in the book, shooting up the floor at the rube's feet, making him dance a dangerous and humiliating jig.
Posted September 22, 2021 / Franklin Fortner
Give me a whiskey, and don't be cheap."
"I take you mean the whiskey," Ralph replied dryly then reached for a more expensive bottle of the stuff, "Irish whiskey, genuine article, that work for ya?"
"Sure. That's what I meant," said Fortner with a smile.
He poured a shotglass up to the brim, "Price comes dear though, that'll be a dollar."
Frank kept his eyes on Ralph, and kept the smile, too, as he reached in his pocket and put a dollar on the bar. "Thanks, friend," he said without any sarcasm.
Ralph Flandry had to be nice to all the paying customers, of course - at least those who didn't cause trouble. Those rules didn't apply to the handful of loafers, thumb-twiddlers and general miscreants who were hanging around the bar at this time of day instead of doing an honest day's work. One of them had wolf-whistled and uttered a derisive cry of "Say fellers, get a load of this city slicker!" when the well dressed Fortner had walked in.
Frank didn't rattle. Every town had a saloon, and every saloon had someone who thought they were as tough as a nickle steak.
With the unerring attraction of a bully to a weaker looking person, this same scruffy individual now approached and spoke, making sure that the other men, that he was showing off to, could hear him clearly, of course.
"Well, well, buyin' the good stuff, eh, Mr Fancy Pants? Must be more money than I thought in being a perfume salesman!" This got a laugh from the other roughs. "Or mayhaps you're one o' them French Dancing Masters like they got back East" (Grimes himself was actually from Cincinnati, hardly the Wild West) "Why don't you give us a demonstration of that there fancy dancin' Mister? And if The Reb's pianna playin' ain't music enough, I can add a little percussion of my own!"
The businessman didn't move a muscle. Perhaps he had an ace or two up his sleeve.
He went for his six-shooter, obviously intending to play the oldest Western trick in the book, shooting up the floor at the rube's feet, making him dance a dangerous and humiliating jig.
"Loudmouth! Stop before I shoot you ----- in the back."
It was Hiram Priest, sitting comfortably at his table, a revolver in his hand aimed straight at the trouble maker.
In the confusion caused by the former judge, Frank was able to swiftly and deftly slip a derringer from an inner pocket.
Posted September 22, 2021 / Ralph Flandry
The man seemed amenable to the price and produced a dollar coin for the whiskey, calling Ralph 'friend' during the transaction. Ralph simply nodded as he swept up the coin up, "Yer welcome, mister."
That's when Grimes had to go butt in, he was one of the sort most towns and saloons seemed afflicted with, a loudmouth and troublemaker. He was worse when he was with a few others of his ilk and Ralph barely tolerated the man because he did at least buy drinks. Caroline had an aversion to the jasper too and avoided him whenever possible and the veteran saloon girl normally was good with almost any customer.
But this well dressed fellow was new and apparently Grimes decided he would have some fun with the man. Ralph tensed for trouble but decided not to make the first move, just see what might happen. If Kalispell was lucky, the fellow would surprise everybody and make a swift end of Grimes, no loss to the town. More likely though the town wouldn't be that lucky.
Insults came first but that didn't satisfy Grimes who suddenly went for his pistol. Ralph lowered his hands under the bartop and reached for the sawed off double barreled shotgun but turned out he did not need to.
"Loudmouth! Stop before I shoot you ----- in the back."
It was Hiram Priest, sitting comfortably at his table, a revolver in his hand aimed straight at the trouble maker.
In the confusion caused by the former judge, Frank was able to swiftly and deftly slip a derringer from an inner pocket.
Caroline pulled away from the table as fast possible just in case there was going to be an exchange of lead, not wanting to be right next to Hiram, so she could be completely out of the line of fire and headed straight for Arabella at the piano. At the first shot she was planning on tackling the girl to the floor, never knew where bullets might fly.
Ralph now spoke clearly but softly, "Grimes, if the man shoots you, it's no skin off my nose. You got yerself inta this, yer on yer own."