"Oh, it was so nice to meet you Mr Convoy! Especially with you bein' from Dixie just like me, and don't forget to vote for Mister Pettigrew in the elections, he's from the South, too, you know, and he's a Democrat!" she hadn't been banned from electioneering in the saloon, yet, but it was a ticking clock "... and don't forget to to ask your beautiful daughter Alice if she needs me to be her bridesmaid! Now, you all come back soon, y'hear!" she yelped as she guided him through the swing doors.
"Well now, been a pleasure meetin' you as well, Miss Arabella." He said with a smile. "Not sure of just who'll get my vote, have to look over the field providin' there is one. But I'll shorely keep that feller in mind, not that I ever met him, an' I'll be speakin' to Alice about the weddin' if they got it planned. You have yerself a good evenin' now. See ya next time." Not that he knew when that might be. It seemed he was about to be very busy.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Arabella saw Mr Conroy off and, coming back into the saloon, overheard the newspaper man McVey talking to Mr Flandry at the bar, who had his usual 'Good Listener' face on. Arabella often wondered what Mr Flandry thought about when the customers were talking to him. Maybe about his time in the War, or some lost love, or why he lost his faith in the church or maybe just how low the beer supply was getting and if he needed to order more whiskey.
"San Francisco? Now there's a town. And good luck to her there. Plenty of folks there, and prpobably plenty of room for another saloon." Phin offered. "Now, Priest and Fortner, I could do that. Actually, I could do both gentlemen easily enough. I think the folks that don't know would appreciate knowing about the ownership change here, and about it's new owner. Might just increase your business some." Not that a change of ownership always drew in new customers, but one can never count out the curious.
The little Reb sailed in like the Confederate cutter Harriet Lane sweeping into Charleston Harbor.
"Oooh, Mr McVey, are you talking about the mysterious disappearance of Mrs Matilda Devereau, and the strange appearance of the sinister looking Mister Francis Fortner with his villainous looking pencil thin moustache?" she asked wide eyed with feigned fear. She looked about dramatically, as if she was scared of being over heard.
"Did Mrs Devereau really 'go' to 'Frisco? Why, then, was it that she left behind a valuable copper bracelet behind the bureau and a worn-out stocking under the bed?! Is it a mere coincidence that the so-called 'Judge' Priest happened to appear the very same day as the sinister looking Mister Fortner? And what is that terrible smell emanating from the outhouse of the Saloon? It is surely something unnatural!"
Well, that was the way she would write the story if she were in charge of the newspaper: not all this boring reporting of facts. Actually they had recieved a letter from Matilde two days ago and the smell from the outhouse, although terrible, was all too natural in origin.
"Every town needs a newspaper."
"Oooh, Mr McVey, are you talking about the mysterious disappearance of Mrs Matilda Devereau, and the strange appearance of the sinister looking Mister Francis Fortner with his villainous looking pencil thin moustache?" she asked wide eyed with feigned fear. She looked about dramatically, as if she was scared of being over heard.
"Why, yes we were, though not about your employer, Mister Fortner." Phinn responded to what sounded a bit overly dramatic.
"Did Mrs Devereau really 'go' to 'Frisco? Why, then, was it that she left behind a valuable copper bracelet behind the bureau and a worn-out stocking under the bed?! Is it a mere coincidence that the so-called 'Judge' Priest happened to appear the very same day as the sinister looking Mister Fortner? And what is that terrible smell emanating from the outhouse of the Saloon? It is surely something unnatural!"
Phin looked to Ralph with a smile, then turned toward the young woman, "That men arrived the same day is hardly cause for scrutinizing." He went on, "Is there some reason, other than the bracelet and the stocking to think she did not go west?" He asked. Although a titillating thought, leading to the 'what if' of the event. Perhaps the men came together, perhaps separately. Perhaps they are in league for some, as yet unknown, mischief, or worse. And perhaps both simply arrived unbeknownst to one another, and met there in the Stardust Saloon. "As far as the smell emanating from the outhouse? Who's to say?"
Ralph sighed, "There was no mystery why Matilda left. She wanted to try her luck somewhere else. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't listen to her."
As for the outhouse mystery, that was so patently silly it was not worth even addressing. There were no sweet smelling outhouses. Fortunately, another customer at the bar was calling for a refill so Ralph could go attend to that man. He'd told the newspaperman what he knew.
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Don't listen to her"
Arabella watched Ralph go, feeling that odd glow she always did when he spoke to her or about her, even in grumpy dismissive terms. Oh it was no mystery to Arabella, the affection she felt for this strong silent man: he was her father replacement - no Freud or Jung needed to invent psychoanalysis to tell her that. And she was glad she was the way she was: had she been 'normal' she would have fallen into romantic love with him long ago and spoiled everything.
She often wondered about Mr Flandry: in a sense HE was the real mystery in her life: not the strange smell in the outhouse, or why Mrs D. had left so precipitously, or how Caroline could sleep for so long even when the Sun was shining so brightly in the mid-morning sky.
She could picture in her minds eye a younger, even more handsome, Ralph, with a spark of optimistic hope for life in his bright eyes. How could it be that no woman had ever snapped him up? How had Mrs Devereau been able to not fall in love with him? At one time she had wondered if he was like her, Arabella, but soon rejected that idea. Perhaps there had been a love in the past: one so strong and so catastrophic that it had ruined women for him forever.
He must have felt her eyes on him. When he turned, she caught his eye and gave him a little smile and blinked her eyes at him, the way she only did for him. Then she carried on annoying Mr McVey - presumably that's what the reporter had come in for...
"Now then, Mr McVey, why don't you write a story about them three men what always follows Miss Steelgrave around: I think folks'd like to know more about them. Like where do they sleep? What do you suppose they talk about to each other all the time? And that Mr Bannister, do suppose that is a real moustache? Looks pretty fake to me!"
"Every town needs a newspaper."
"Now then, Mr McVey, why don't you write a story about them three men what always follows Miss Steelgrave around: I think folks'd like to know more about them. Like where do they sleep? What do you suppose they talk about to each other all the time? And that Mr Bannister, do suppose that is a real moustache? Looks pretty fake to me!"
"Well I'm afraid most folks already know about, Bannister, Santee and McKinney. They have assumed the role of bodyguards for Miss Steelgrave, I thought you would have known that. Fairly common knowledge." He explained. "They did come to Marshall Guyers support, a ways back." Then he frowned, "Sleep? Why, the have a house across from hers on Nevada Street, not sure what you are getting at Miss, not sure at all." Which of course was a lie. He knew exactly what was behind such a question.
"Well now, there's a good question, what they talk about among themselves. A mystery we may never solve, but I'm sure that a good deal of their conversations is about Miss Steelgraves safety." He replied, "Now, about this Mister Priest, and his candidacy for Mayor? What do you make of that?" He would value her opinion on this subject. "I think perhaps I'll see if he is available for interview."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Well now, there's a good question, what they talk about among themselves. A mystery we may never solve, but I'm sure that a good deal of their conversations is about Miss Steelgraves safety."
A thought struck Arabella. "Say, Mr. McVey: you know Miss Steelgrave's real pretty? Well, what if them three fellers all fell in love with her all at once at the same time and started to fall out with each other about it and had a big shootout an'... an'... no hear me out... what if Mr Bannister shot one of 'em and then said to the other 'I'll fill you full o' lead yuh big masher, Miss Leah's gonna be mine all mine!' An' he shoots at him just as Miss Leah comes out and he misses and kills her right between the eyes and he goes "Oh no! I shot the only woman I ever loved!" an' then he blows his own brains out - BANG!! Wouldn't that make a good newspaper story?"
He treated this trip into the realms of violent fantasy with all the attention it deserved.
He replied, "Now, about this Mister Priest, and his candidacy for Mayor? What do you make of that?" He would value her opinion on this subject.
"Poooh! He ain't got no policies!" Arabella informed the reporter with a dismissive wave of her hand "I asked him about what he thought about the whole greenback inflation issue and he couldn't give me a straight answer, just like some kind of.. of politician! Now, Mr Pettigrew, on the other hand, is dead against the greenback inflation. He is also dead against..." she started to enumerate things on her fingers:
"... One: the corruption of the Grant Tyranny; Two: the rapacity of carpetbag tyrannies in the South; Three: the arrest of naturalized United States citizens visiting their homelands; Four: Asian immigration; Five: land grants for railroads. Oh, and he is for: tariff reform." She didn't know what most of thee things actually meant or how the Mayor of a little town in the middle of nowhere would effect these national changes in Government policy, but the good little democrat had learned the cant of her chosen party with all the accuracy of a professional actress.
"Now, if you want to ask Mr Priest what his position is on these here important issues, help yerself. That's the old rascal there" she pointed.
"I think perhaps I'll see if he is available for interview."
Arabella shook her head sadly as the reporter set off on a hiding to nothing. The problem was, there were now so many men standing for Mayor that the vote was becoming increasingly diluted to the point where anyone might win: even the vague 'Judge' Priest.
"Every town needs a newspaper."
There was just something not right with that young lady, he had known it, and he also knew better than to get into a conversation with her, so that was on him. Arabella Mudd was just not where she wanted to be, that was, the center of attention. Her dream was New York, up on the big stages that the city had, which beckoned to the star stuck, her being one of them.
He wondered, how much would it cost to get her there?
He stopped at the man in the top hat, "mister Priest, I am Phinias McVay, owner of the Kalispell Union. It is my understanding that you've tossed you hat in the ring to run for Mayor of our fine town." He began, "I wonder if I might conduct an interview for the next edition?"