The Proprietor of the Stardust Saloon had spent the weeks after its purchase feathering a nest for himself in Kalispell and, for the most part, he'd been successful. By pumping his clientele with better-than-average liquor, keeping the help he'd inherited, notably Ralph and Caroline, and with his sharp-eyed, friendly but slightly sinister omnipresence, he'd become a town notable. Customers felt a bit reassured that every time they passed through the saloons doors, they'd invariably spot Franklin Fortner lounging against the bar, one or two patrons surrounding him and trading local news. Likewise, they'd spot Fortner's business associate and lawyer, Judge Priest seated at his reserved table playing solitaire.
It was at this table where the two gentlemen, Roland Smith and Franklin Fortner now sat. Roland spoke first.
"Thank you, Sir. I was recently informed- much to my disappointment and horror- that a man I contracted with made a ruin of the tranquility of your establishment. And perhaps worse, he damaged a work of art for which this saloon is known. I assure you I would have come sooner to address it, had I heard of it sooner."
Naturally, the man himself did not deign to report his buffoonery to me. I had to hear it by way of rumor. Which only increased my dismay."
Franklin nodded and a slight smile creased his lips.
"I appreciate the situation your hired man got you into. The same type of thing has happened to me from time-to-time. What is it they say? Only one man was perfect, and look what they did to Him.?"
Frank slapped his hand on the table and shouted, "Ralph! Two glasses and bottle of Old Overholt,..the good stuff."
"Your hired man was a good shot," Frank continued. "The bullet took off the left tit on the lady over there." He pointed to the "art work" rehung on the wall after the staff cleaned it up a bit, but the hole remained. "I can see you're a man of some breeding, so, let's face it, the hanging isn't exactly what one would call fine art. So, what are you proposing?"
Caroline wasn't sure if Fortner was signaling for her to come over to the two men's discussion? Before she could decided their employer yelled out to Ralph behind the bar.
Frank slapped his hand on the table and shouted, "Ralph! Two glasses and bottle of OT,..the good stuff."
Ralph frowned but made no move, he did not run drinks out to tables, that was not his job, he manned the bar. He had his dignity. Fortunately Caroline at least, if Fortner did not realize it, caught on instantly and headed straight for the bar.
"I'll get it, boss!"
A moment later she was back with the bottle Fortner wanted and two clean glasses on a tray. She set the tray down before the two men and gave them a customer service smile. As for Fortners remark about bad hirelings, she let that go but it annoyed her. Ralph went back to serving customers at the bar.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland smiled at the man's generous allowance, suggesting that he too had suffered the Albatross of bad hirelings. Whether that was true or not, the mere suggestion was a signal that Mr. Fortner was a reasonable man who did not seek a quarrel where one could be avoided.
When Fortner requested a Pennsylvania brand for their drink, Roland eased somewhat into his seat. At least the liquor wouldn't break the bank. It wasn't some exotic distillation imported from France.
In response to the man's further inquiry, Roland reached under his western suit jacket. Only realizing the potential negative interpretation of the move when he was in the middle of it, he slowed his hand as he withdrew a small six-inch wooden tile, which he laid upon the tabletop.
"In the course of my gun-work, I had to learn engravings and carvings. Wooden stocks, metal cylinders, frames, and barrels. What I propose is that I carve you a new Mermaid from a fine plank of wood. Carved, sanded, and lacquered, just as I did with this tile by way of demonstration. A replacement work of art for the one damaged by that fool."
He paused, adding, "And perhaps when I've done so, you'll consent to return the revolver I leant Mr. Craddock, which I've heard was rightfully confiscated in the wake of his carelessness."
@[Steve_Larimore]
"In the course of my gun-work, I had to learn engravings and carvings. Wooden stocks, metal cylinders, frames, and barrels. What I propose is that I carve you a new Mermaid from a fine plank of wood. Carved, sanded, and lacquered, just as I did with this tile by way of demonstration. A replacement work of art for the one damaged by that fool."
Roland paused, adding, "And perhaps when I've done so, you'll consent to return the revolver I lent Mr. Craddock, which I've heard was rightfully confiscated in the wake of his carelessness."
Now here Caroline saw her chance to contribute to the discussion, "Oh yeah, that's the gun I picked up off the floor that time. I still got it."
She specifically looked to Roland, "I was even thinkin' of going to a certain gun shop in town and seeing how much money I could get for it." She grinned while she said it though.
Franklin appreciated Caroline, even if she didn't give a damn about him. He'd grown to accept her polite but terse treatment of him. What else could he do? In time, perhaps, there might a thaw. Who knew?
She put the bottle and glasses on the table.
"Thanks doll," he praised, before reaching for the bottle.
In response to the man's further inquiry, Roland reached under his western suit jacket. Only realizing the potential negative interpretation of the move when he was in the middle of it, he slowed his hand as he withdrew a small six-inch wooden tile, which he laid upon the tabletop.
Fortner's smile froze, careful, watching, when the man reached into his coat pocket. One could never be too careful, but relaxed when Roland withdrew a piece of wood.
"In the course of my gun-work, I had to learn engravings and carvings. Wooden stocks, metal cylinders, frames, and barrels. What I propose is that I carve you a new Mermaid from a fine plank of wood. Carved, sanded, and lacquered, just as I did with this tile by way of demonstration. A replacement work of art for the one damaged by that fool."
The tile of wood was remarkable for its smoothness, color and shine. It had been tooled and there was some carving on it.
"This is choicely good, my friend. It shows great craft." Choicely was a high compliment of Fortner's.
Roland paused, adding, "And perhaps when I've done so, you'll consent to return the revolver I lent Mr. Craddock, which I've heard was rightfully confiscated in the wake of his carelessness."
Now here Caroline saw her chance to contribute to the discussion, "Oh yeah, that's the gun I picked up off the floor that time. I still got it."
She specifically looked to Roland, "I was even thinkin' of going to a certain gun shop in town and seeing how much money I could get for it." She grinned while she said it though.
"This one's as tough as railroad spikes," Franklin added. "If she ever gets tired of slinging drinks at the Stardust, she could find a place in a wild west show." He looked to Caroline for, at least, a smile.
"As for your proposal, I would be honored to have a real piece of artwork gracing our walls. But look.." he leaned a bit closer toward Roland,. "I don't want to take advantage of anyone. I believe in plain dealing. Why don't we agree on a price for your efforts, maybe discounted a bit over the circumstances?"
He glanced, sidelong, at Caroline, the girl who knew the entire story of how he'd grabbed the Potee homestead in a crooked card game. Plain dealing? What would she think of that?
"Do you have a price you'd like to suggest?" Fortner pressed his guest, reaching over to pour liquor into his glass.
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland glanced to Caroline, trying to gauge whether or not she was joking. Her grin set his mind at ease. He answered with a slight smile of his own.
Then he returned his attention to Mr. Fortner, whose account of Caroline's toughness he did not doubt. But on the issue of payment...
"I would be a rare class of schemer, Sir, if I let a man ruin your art just so that I could be paid to replace it."
He held up a hand to forestall objection.
Though it pained him to refuse payment, there were matters of honor and image to defend. Roland must be seen to make proper restitution. Mr. Fortner must not seem to have been taken in by some trick. Everyone had to come out of this clean and strong, and Roland could only see one way to do it.
"I do not suggest this is your implication. But I do think it is important that all see this as a stand-up affair. I hired a fool, and the fool did a fool's work.
I owe you this, Sir. It is no gift. It is proper. Not only for an honorable Englishman, but also for an upstanding citizen such as yourself. You should be seen to be fully respected by a newcomer. There ought be no doubt about your place and mine in the affairs of this town.
I certainly have no doubts about it."
Roland held the man's gaze for a moment in emphasis. A saloon owner was a fixture in a place like this. And he might have more influence than the Mayor. Paying respects was a gesture that paid for itself.
He cleared his throat, "I estimate it will take about six weeks to complete the project to an acceptable level of refinement."
He'd have to do it between paying jobs, and something as large as he envisioned would take dozens of hours of work. Sanding. Carving. Lacquering. He might even have to do it more than once, if the first plank of wood proved to have some imperfection, or he bungled the carving badly on his first attempt. He factored all of that into his estimate, along with the possibility of delays he could not currently imagine. What if he came down with the flu for a week? Best to set expectations for a long wait and then deliver early, than to be late on a job meant to restore his honor.
"If that is acceptable, I'll begin work.
Now... if you should decide you'd like a second piece at some future time, or you need a quantity of arms or ammunition to provide for the security of your establishment, I won't turn down a paying job at that time."
He smiled, raising the beverage that had been poured, hoping they'd have an accord.
@[Steve_Larimore]
Men! All this dickering over a wooden statue to replace a damaged painting. Personally the saloon girl didn't care how it turned out. Long as those two were satisfied. It did mystify her though why her boss hadn't even answered about the gun. The gun Mr. Smith specifically was asking if he could have back. Well, Fortner didn't have it. She did and she had openly said so. Smith now knew that.
Whatever!
"I gotta git back ta work," Caroline announced. She'd go in person to the man's store then and deal with the whole gun business. One thing was absolutely for certain, Scrappy was not going to get it back!
She headed over to a few customers and started chatting with them. It wouldn't be long before they'd be buying themselves another drink and one for her too. It's what she did.
He'd have to do it between paying jobs, and something as large as he envisioned would take dozens of hours of work. Sanding. Carving. Lacquering. He might even have to do it more than once, if the first plank of wood proved to have some imperfection, or he bungled the carving badly on his first attempt. He factored all of that into his estimate, along with the possibility of delays he could not currently imagine. What if he came down with the flu for a week? Best to set expectations for a long wait and then deliver early, than to be late on a job meant to restore his honor.
"If that is acceptable, I'll begin work.
Now... if you should decide you'd like a second piece at some future time, or you need a quantity of arms or ammunition to provide for the security of your establishment, I won't turn down a paying job at that time."
He smiled, raising the beverage that had been poured, hoping they'd have an accord.
Franklin Fortner's eyes met the other's dead on.
"All right, Mr. Roland Smith, I accept your proposal. How can I argue?" He raised his glass in concert and drank. "Two gentlemen businessmen and adventurers, on the road to great riches, hey?"
In Fortner's mind was the gold deposit found on the Potee Homestead .. er .. the Fortner Homestead now. When the mining engineers finish with their work and the report comes in favorably, he'd need some protection at the dig site. Smith could be a valuable asset, maybe even a partner. Time would tell.
"What the hell ever brought you to Kalispell .. or Montana for that matter. You talk like a college professor." He held up his hand. "That's meant as a compliment, Sir. Oh, but in the matter of the gun, you'll have to take that up with Miss Mundee."
A good person is like a good gun: Reliable to the Last.
Roland nodded at the news that he could settle up the gun issue with Caroline. He was almost certain of a positive outcome in that quarter.
Everything else was agreed upon, and he felt a great relief that the unpleasant detail of salving Craddock's misdeeds was finally at an end. Or would be, when he delivered his carving.
"Ah, no offense taken, Sir. My mother would be quite pleased that my costly boarding-school education has borne some fruit." He chuckled with an accented 'har har' particular to his nature.
"I used to work in London until recently, an apprentice at a prestigious London gunmaker. But now past 40, it seemed high time to take my life into my own hands and make my own way of it. Packed up all my worldly possessions and took to the States, thinking the ex-colonies could use some British ingenuity." He winked, to show that he wasn't being entirely serious. If anything the Yanks were known for, it was their ingenuity. They'd proved that to the British on at least one very notable occasion.
"In New York, there was an advert for property in Kalispell. And I thought... well, the edge of the frontier. A wild place of the world. The train doesn't even reach it, yet. There's some that'll need a good buffalo busting rifle. Or a reliable pistol. Life and death out that way. A good piece of iron could make the difference. And hence I came. So far, I'm glad of the choice. This seems to be a good town, full of good folk."
He sighed a bit, "Though I hear the Buffalo dwindle. Well... perhaps people will want to hunt a bear?"
He nodded to Fortner, "What about yourself, Sir? What made this place especially suitable to a purveyor of spirits? Why not a lucrative mining town, for instance?"
Everything else was agreed upon, and he felt a great relief that the unpleasant detail of salving Craddock's misdeeds was finally at an end. Or would be, when he delivered his carving.
"Ah, no offense taken, Sir. My mother would be quite pleased that my costly boarding-school education has borne some fruit." He chuckled with an accented 'har har' particular to his nature.
"Well, like they say," interjected Franklin. "A boy's best friend is his mother."
His guest, Roland Smith, continued his informative biography.
"I used to work in London until recently, an apprentice at a prestigious London gunmaker. But now past 40, it seemed high time to take my life into my own hands and make my own way of it. Packed up all my worldly possessions and took to the States, thinking the ex-colonies could use some British ingenuity." He winked, to show that he wasn't being entirely serious. If anything the Yanks were known for, it was their ingenuity. They'd proved that to the British on at least one very notable occasion.
The Stardust's owner took no offense. Besides, the Englishman seated opposite him didn't look like the typical John Bull, and Franklin thought that perhaps there were some hidden truths lurking behind the narrative. Did he leave England to avoid prosecution or onerous debts? Who knew?
"In New York, there was an advert for property in Kalispell. And I thought... well, the edge of the frontier. A wild place of the world. The train doesn't even reach it, yet. There's some that'll need a good buffalo busting rifle. Or a reliable pistol. Life and death out that way. A good piece of iron could make the difference. And hence I came. So far, I'm glad of the choice. This seems to be a good town, full of good folk."
"The finest group of citizens lassoed into one place. Sure, we have a few hair-triggers and a few who can't handle their liquor, but all-in-all a fine bunch.
He sighed a bit, "Though I hear the Buffalo dwindle. Well... perhaps people will want to hunt a bear?"
He nodded to Fortner, "What about yourself, Sir? What made this place especially suitable to a purveyor of spirits? Why not a lucrative mining town, for instance?"
If Franklin Fortner was surprised when the term "lucrative mining town" passed Smith's lips, he didn't show it. Cool as a cucumber, that Fortner.
"I've traipsed all of the West since the War. Left my mark on many a town, hopefully a good mark. This isn't my first emporium, by the way, but it's been one of the most lucrative. We've got Miss Mundee to thank for a lot of the success, she and Ralph ever there." He pointed to the steadfast barkeep. Two people that came with the place, and they know where all the skeleton's are hidden, let me tell you.
As for mining .. have you heard any news of any strikes?"