"It was nice of you to stick up for me." the blind girl smiled up at where she imagined the singer was standing. "I'm used to it, though. What is it they say? 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.'"
"I will always stick up for you, hon, you are part of our saloon family. No one is gonna give you a hard time or they can deal with me. And if I can't handle it, Ralph will," Caroline was confident she always had the backup of the veteran bartender. Not true about her boss though, he didn't get it or just didn't care.
"I can't imagine anybody's ever rude about you, Caroline. The customers here seem to admire you universally: but if anybody ever did say anything, I hope I would be brave enough to tell them off like you just did to those newcomers." she said "Of course, I'd probably berate totally the wrong person! But it would be the thought that counted."
"Oh I'm popular enough with much of the menfolk. But not everyone likes me, it goes with the territory. A lot of the proper citizenry, the church goin' types look down on my sort. Oh well," Caroline shrugged.
"But please, kiddo, if someone insults me, just don't jump in, don't say a word. I can handle myself just fine. I'd feel terrible if you got hurt..........as a matter of fact, hon, it ever shootin' should break out in here, just as fast as you can, drop straight to the floor and stay there til the noise is over," she dispensed some hopefully never necessary advice.
"Now that we got settled, let's figure out what numbers I should do tonight."
Next day....
Fortner and his latest cronies had set up a table and were now preparing to sell stock offerings from this new company of theirs. The so called 'too good to be true' offer which Caroline did not believe when Frank' lackey tried to push it on her...right after he had dared to make fun of Frances. His timing couldn't have been worse.
Caroline had been in the kitchen, having just finished a bowl of stew which should hold her then for the rest of her work shift into the night. She now entered the main saloon and it didn't take more than a scant minute or two before she was chatting and laughing with some of the customers. It was her job and she was good at it too.
"Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows" - Helen Keller
"Oh I'm popular enough with much of the menfolk. But not everyone likes me, it goes with the territory. A lot of the proper citizenry, the church goin' types look down on my sort. Oh well," Caroline shrugged.
"I don't understand it." Frances looked genuinely confounded, not just using a turn of phrase. "Well, I'm a church going type and so is Arabella and we both love you" she added.
"But please, kiddo, if someone insults me, just don't jump in, don't say a word. I can handle myself just fine. I'd feel terrible if you got hurt..........as a matter of fact, hon, it ever shootin' should break out in here, just as fast as you can, drop straight to the floor and stay there til the noise is over," she dispensed some hopefully never necessary advice.
"I promise, honest." the blind girl said "Cross my heart and hope to die, but not by getting shot."
"Now that we got settled, let's figure out what numbers I should do tonight."
The other girl nodded.
"How about trying that 'Gay as a Lark' number we rehearsed? You sing it so beautifully..."
Storyteller / Shared NPC
Fortner and his latest cronies had set up a table and were now preparing to sell stock offerings from this new company of theirs. The so called 'too good to be true' offer which Caroline did not believe when Frank' lackey tried to push it on her...right after he had dared to make fun of Frances. His timing couldn't have been worse.
The first man to approach the table where Fink and Cadwaller had ensconced themselves was a tall and somewhat intimidating looking bearded figure with a slightly wild look in his eyes and a whiff of last night's booze about him. He paid no mind to the attractive blonde, he only had eyes for the pieces of paper and their 'get rich quick' promise that the two blow-ins were peddling.
"Fifty dollars! How many shares d'I get for fifty dollars?!!" he demanded, waving a fistful of greenback in the two shysters' faces.
It was Abraham Matthews, the town's erstwhile barber, who had gone off the rails since his wife had got sick and recently died. Where he got the money from, who knew? He hardly opened the shop now, and even when he did, few men trusted those shaking hands holding a cut throat razor near their throats: his son and daughter basically worked to support the father and themselves.
Frank, at last, saw Caroline visiting with their new piano player, now that Arabella had lit out to the Undertakers. This never made sense to him. Why in Hell would she prefer combing dead people's hair and arranging their hands in manners of prayer rather than mingling with living folk, drunk or not? There would always be a place for her at the Star Dust if she ever decided to return.
As for Caroline, she was great at her job. He'd have to look far and wide to find a replacement if she were ever to skip out. Unfortunately, she hated him to his core, and he'd come to the conclusion that the gap between them would never be breached.
He returned his attention to the activity of the day when Hiram Priest moved beside him and spoke. "See that feller sitting at the table in the corner by the window, the cowboy with the buckskin vest?"
"Yeah. Sure." Frank saw the new face come through the doors about an hour earlier. He'd ordered a whiskey and had been nursing it ever since. "What about him?"
Before speaking, Priest spat out a wad of tobacco juice into a conveniently placed spittoon. "That feller's the plant. He came from Helena to do his part. He's a friend of Cadwaller."
Franklin nodded. "Well it's about time, so I guess you're about to say your piece."
With that, Hiram Priest stepped beside the two salesmen and began.
"Fellow Citizens of Kalispell! May I please have a moment of your time because I want to share with you a golden opportunity that is being offered to all of us. Now over here," he pointed to the two men behind the table, "we have Mister Luther Cadwaller and Mister Mason Fink. They are agents for the Montana Mining and Mineral Company, and they have an offer that they want to propose to you good people. It's a chance for you all to prosper, for all of us to prosper. How do you do that? You put some of your hard earned pay into an investment and not just piss it away like happens so often. You invest it in M M & M."
The place had grown quiet.
Luther Cadwaller stepped beside Hiram who then moved away.
"Our company is looking for investors to aid in searching for wealth that will benefit all the shareholders. Our mining engineers have spent months examining the Montana territory for ore producing veins, and we believe we have some good prospects. But all this means the need for additional equipment and money to payroll some miners. Now the investment isn't much. All we.."
Before he could finish, there was movement.
The first man to approach the table where Fink and Cadwaller had ensconced themselves was a tall and somewhat intimidating looking bearded figure with a slightly wild look in his eyes and a whiff of last night's booze about him. He paid no mind to the attractive blonde, he only had eyes for the pieces of paper and their 'get rich quick' promise that the two blow-ins were peddling.
"Fifty dollars! How many shares d'I get for fifty dollars?!!" he demanded, waving a fistful of greenback in the two shysters' faces.
It was Abraham Matthews, the town's erstwhile barber, who had gone off the rails since his wife had got sick and recently died. Where he got the money from, who knew? He hardly opened the shop now, and even when he did, few men trusted those shaking hands holding a cut throat razor near their throats: his son and daughter basically worked to support the father and themselves.
Mason Fink answered the call.
"Well sir, we are offering shares at two-dollars and fifty cents per." If anything, Fink could calculate money. "That means you would get 20 shares of Stock. You would get a beautiful Certificate printed in gold-lettering with your name on it and the number of shares. And I guarantee you that your original $50 will grow like a .." he struggle to find an analogy the man might understand .."like a cow on alfalfa."
Storyteller / Shared NPC
Well sir, we are offering shares at two-dollars and fifty cents per." If anything, Fink could calculate money. "That means you would get 20 shares of Stock. You would get a beautiful Certificate printed in gold-lettering with your name on it and the number of shares. And I guarantee you that your original $50 will grow like a .." he struggle to find an analogy the man might understand .."like a cow on alfalfa."
The wreck of a barber handed over the cash like it was poison and snatched at the nicely produced share certificates, looking longingly at them like a man in love. It was as if he expected them to start dripping gold coins as he held them in his hand. He walked out of the place as if in a dream, a look of rapture on his ill kempt features. Well, that was one satisfied customer. Well, satisfied for now.
When Matthews' daughter found out what her father had done, of course, there would be hell to pay, but that was another story for another day.
"So two church goin' folks love me, huh? Maybe there's hope for my salvation yet," Caroline smiled but thinking of her part in that Potee affair....no, probably not. Besides, she was not truly convinced that Ara did really love her? That girl was complicated. Frances though was a sweet young thing and Caroline was determined that the girl was going to be safe while working in the saloon, if nothing else. And maybe even happy too? Something Arabella had no longer been it seemed.
The talk now focused on Caroline warning the girl not to do interfere if ever there was some sort of incident even if it was involving the saloon girl herself. She could take care of herself and besides, there was Ralph.
"I promise, honest." the blind girl said "Cross my heart and hope to die, but not by getting shot."
Caroline chuckled at that, the girl had a sense of dry humor. Good!
"Now that we got settled, let's figure out what numbers I should do tonight."
The other girl nodded.
"How about trying that 'Gay as a Lark' number we rehearsed? You sing it so beautifully..."
"Compliments will get you everywhere," Caroline grinned, "So yeah, let's throw that in. And then the usuals of course."
Meanwhile Fortner's lackeys had apparently made their first sales as the local barber handed over precious cash and got a couple of slips of paper in return. Seemed like a hoodwink scheme if you asked her but no one did. She just worked here she told herself.
The wreck of a barber handed over the cash like it was poison and snatched at the nicely produced share certificates, looking longingly at them like a man in love. It was as if he expected them to start dripping gold coins as he held them in his hand. He walked out of the place as if in a dream, a look of rapture on his ill kempt features. Well, that was one satisfied customer. Well, satisfied for now.
Cadwaller and Fink stared at each other, mouths slack, then laughed.
"Hell! " Luther said. "That was easy." Then he raised his voice and spoke to the room in general. "Now there's a man who knows a sound investment when he sees one. Now are there any other men on-the-make who want to become shareholders in M M and M?
The plant stood up. "Don't mind if I do," he announced as he walked toward the business table. "I like doin' business with a big western outfit like yours. I've been led up the garden path a couple of times by East Coast slickers, and they never pay off. Tell me, do you fellas think there might be a new gold strike in this territory?"
The room fell silent.
"Well sir," Fink began. "Our engineers have some promising leads - very promising. What we need is to do some exploration with the help of some backers .. er .. like you."
The plant reached into his pocket and produced $250 and slapped it down on the table. "I'm purchasing 100 shares."
Cadwaller sat at the table and, with a quill pen and a year's calligraphy lessons, produced a beautiful Stock Certificate. "Suitable for framing," Mason chimed in.
By now there was a new energy in the room.
By late afternoon the Company had raised a surprising amount of money, at least for a town like Kalispell. As they removed the table and banner, Luther Cadwaller counted out $620 in cash and coin, and Mason Fink reviewed the stock ledger showing 248 shares.
Hiram stood by, his face creased with a thin-lipped smile, and Frank Fortner sat with his highly varnished shoes up on the table top.
It had been a successful day.
At the end of the week, mining engineers were examining the gold vein on the banks of the stream that flowed through the former Potee Homestead. They even were using the Potee cabin as a land office and the barn as an equipment shed.
It was all legal -- now. An many citizens of Kalispell had a piece of the action. Of course, 248 shares was nice, but others: Priest, Fortner, Cadwaller and Fink had the balance of 1,752 shares outstanding, spread between them.
"This calls for a celebration!" Fortner announced, and he, along with the three other members of the Montana Mining and Mineral Company, raised their glasses of whiskey and drank a toast.
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At the same time the conspirators were bathing in congratulations, Horace Potee sat alone in the corner of the livery stable, a living arrangement he'd worked out with the stable owner. In his poke was an old service revolver from the Civil War. It was heavy, cold and dangerous. Someday, those thieves who robbed him would pay for their transgressions. Someday.